From Iguazu to Corumba

From Iguazu Falls to Corumba and everything in between, I had nothing short of a heavenly time. I met wonderful people from all four corners of the world, visited unforgettable spots and for the first time ever in any trip I ever made, I was left with a feeling I could come back for more.

I keep finding myself thinking about Bariloche all the time. I want to go back and trek again at Chalten, Los Alerces and Bariloche. Maybe at some other time I will go to Torres del Paine after all, as well as San Martin and San Junin de Los Andes.

It is funny how I set out to see the Moreno Glaciar and Torres del Paine, then shoot straight North to Peru. Instead of that I found myself captivated by Argentina and never made it to Torres or Peru.

Argentina was amazing, not one bad thing to say about it. From its spectacular nature to its warm and receptive people, it is a country that is easy to fall for.

Being from Brazil makes it easy for me to go back there, and I can't wait to do so.

As for my next trip, I hope to be off to Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. It will hopefully happen in 2005, if all goes well.

I end this diary, the story of a recorrido, rejuvenated. Four months or so of road were wonderful to me. My spirit is high and I am fully ready to embark on a new stage of my life. Once again, I feel reassured that traveling is an intrinsic part of me.

I wonder what kinda of places I will have seen when I am finally too old to travel (if I ever get that old). What kind of people I will have met and most importantly, what kind of person will all this traveling turn me into.

La Paz Airplane Station

La Paz airport is so tiny it doesn't really qualify as an airport, it is more like a bus station with planes.

In all fairness, it is like that because the altitude makes it difficult for planes to land there. The air is too thin to support big planes and the largest plane that is able to land there is a 727, which was the one I took.

There had been some problem with some emergency landing and my flight was delayed for over 3 hours. After a stop over in Santa Cruz to switch planes, I made it to Puerto Suarez, on the Brazilian border, at 7pm at nite.

Border towns give the creeps and this one was no different. The hostel here was he most expensive I had stayed in in all of Bolivia. After spending an uneventful night in Puerto Suarez, I crossed the border into Brazil. It was strange to read street signs in Portuguese. I would read them and try to make sense of them, even though I had already understood them.

A twenty hour bus ride separated me from my place. The bus was ride was fine. Not as good as in Argentina but infinitely better than in Bolivia. Border police was the rudest one I encountered in all of my trip. They were very rude to everyone on the bus, specially to Bolivians. Police in Brazil, and in South America in general, is hard to trust or feel comfortable around.

Bumming in La Paz

Having bought my ticket, I had nothing to do for like a week. I figured I would bum around, walk to places and take pictures. Knowing I was very close to making it home made it easy on me. I had been very irritable and impatient but I was no longer. I used my left over time to digest some of La Paz's sights and sounds.

One day I went to the valle de la Luna, a valley with rock formations. It was less impressive than what I expected but it was fun nonetheless. After a few pictures, I headed back to the city.

I had been eating at downtown's comedor publico the entire time. it was actually quite good. For seventy cents you would get a meal soup and another dish (albondigas or pollo dorado: meat balls or golden chicken)

As always, the hostel was packed with Israelis.

After buying gifts for my family. I was ready to take my flight and go home.

Making it Easy on Me

After having found a place to stay, I went to this internet place to check my mail. To my surprise I found a group of Brazilian there, all desperate to get to Peru.

In general, Brazilians are horrible travelers. They never backpack, never share a room or much less a bathroom. If you are not in Miami, Paris or Rome, finding a Brazilian is a real rarity... not that I miss'em.

Anyways, they were desperate because of some supposed strike. Since I couldnt make up mind about either going to Cusco or going home, the people at Llave decided to make that decision on my behalf. Just a little past the Peruvian border, the citizens of Llave built a road block in an attempt to get the mayor out of office.

That meant no one could cross to Puno and make it to Cusco. It was beyond me. I couldnt get there even if I wanted to. Peru was no longer accessible at least for another week or so.

I heard what these Brazilians had to say and went on to check with the Bolivian border patrol. As soon as I heard it was true, I was on the first bus back to La Paz. Two hours after I made it town, I had my ticket back to Brazil.

Home was less than a week away.

The Last Breath I Could Muster

After a week or so of laying low in La Paz, I figured I would give it a shot and crawl my way to Peru. I took a bus to Copacabana, three hours away from La Paz.

The city of La Paz is an interesting one and riding out of it is an experience in itself. La Paz stands on what can be described as a canyon. There is a flat top part, a hilly part and a flat bottom part.

The top part, called el Alto, is the poorest. The day I decided to ride out of la Paz into Copacabana, there was a swap meet going on. You would be amazed at what Bolivians manage to fit in a bus. Bed frames, tvs, rocking chairs, anything they bought at the swap meet will have to go in the bus. It is amazing what they will do to a back pack. They will toss it around, flip'em over, place them upside down, fold them... whatever it takes so they can jam another random thing in the bus.

I was freaking out about my backpack the entire time but we made it to Copacabana in one piece.

Copacabana was really nice, with a big church that was impressive. Multi colored tiles cover its domes, making it look very much like a Turkish mosque, or at least what I have seen on pictures.

Lake Titicaca, a holy place of Aztecs, Incas and Mayas, is not actually that impressive on account. The thing is people can't perceive altitude in front of a lake and therefore the highest navigable lake on earth (which is impressive) becomes just another lake on earth (which is not that impressive)

One thing did catch up with me, the change of country. Whenever you change countries, there is a change in spices, bacteria or whatever it is that you drink in the water or eat in food. Eventually, you stomach catches up to it... big time.

I got really really sick and basically got stuck in the hostel I was at.

It was holy Friday and prices on the hostel were going up from 10 Bolivianos to 20 U$, 2o times the original price.

I figured I would keep my cool and go seat for a new hostel that didnt want to gauge my eyes out but it is hard to keep your cool when your stomach is acting up on your. I eventually found a spot that was willing to charge me the same price all through the holiday. It was dingy,dirty, musty and ugly. I had already paid for one more night at my current hostel so I told the lady I would come back in the morning.

La Paz

There was still the matter of La Paz. I was there so I might as well enjoy it. I actually like La Paz quite a lot. It does have its charms, in avery questionable way. Just like every big city, there is plenty of stuff for one to do, but mainly cosmopolitan stuff, like going shopping or going to the movies...

And that I did. I went to grocery stores and saw two movies I really wanted to see. Mistic River and Some's Gotta Give. I bought a whole bunch of stupid little things at the local markets, I walked around. Mostly, I thought about my family, my unborn nephew Pedro, my new life in Baton Rouge and Capoera.

I was at La Paz and I was in peace. One day I was walking one of La Paz's many market when I looked down my hands and realized I had very beautiful fingers.

In Brazil, a country of many ups and downs, there is a saying that helps people cope with their losses:

"Nessa vida, vao-se os aneis mas ficam os dedos."

In life, we may loose our rings, but we get to keep our fingers.

This saying makes an obvious reference to the loss of wealth and the findings of oneself, represented by what is often hidden by our material possessions.

Sometimes in order to see ourselves for what we really are, we need to strip ourselves of our material possessions and see what we are made of. It is a scary but revealing experience. Do it, and you may find that your bare fingers may actually glitter brighter than your expensive golden rings.

I was walking the markets, contemplating about my shifts in life and my new upcoming challenges. I was about to embark on a new stage, where I will have to live on less than 1000 U$ a month. I will have to work hard, but my ass for five years so that new doors can open for me.

The ride here, from that January 5th, 1995, has been miraculous. Almost 19 years have passed an I am a whole new person. My fingers are bare, my nails are long and dirty, their skin is crackled dry and of many colors. Cold and altitude have taken a huge toll on my cuticles. Nevertheless, my fingers have never looked so beautiful. I am at peace in La Paz.

Time is up

This bus ride did it for me. My time was up and my batteries had died again. There was no fridge that was going to revive them. I wanted to go home.

I was struggling with the idea of not making it to Matchu Pitchu, my initial traveling goal. It is a place I obviously want to visit, but I felt I would spoil my visit by going only because I had to , or because I had made it that far. I wanted to see it with a fresh and invigorated perspective.

Besides, three months after my departure from the Barra Funda bus station in Sao Paulo, a lot had changed. I was officially a graduate student and no longer an applicant. Twenty pounds light, I had discovered camping, trekking and fishing, not to mention I had rekindled my sky watching interests.

This trip had given me much more than whatever I could ever have planned. It was okay not to go to Matchu Pitchu. It was time I headed back.

Enjoy Coca Cola

If I were a Jehovah's witness and I had to convince people to come to my church, I would get a list of people who had travelled in Bolivia, and tell'em if they didn't join our congregation they would be doomed to an eternal hell of riding a Bolivian bus.... from La Paz to Uyuni and back ...forever.

Knowing what the ride is like there is no way they wouldn't join.

Come to think of it, I should rewrite Dante's Divine comedy, reevaluating the various states of hell. Next to the hell of liars and cheaters there would be the hell for backpackers: a never ending Bolivian bus ride, complete with Cholas, chickens, all nite crying babies, backpacks falling off the roof of the bus and no coca-cola what so ever.

Anyways, where was I. Ohhh, Tal and I boarded our bus ride to La Paz.

The bus absolutely stank, it was ten times worst than the worst Laidlaw school bus you ever rode in. I was old, with bald tires and cracked windows. Seats had patched holes or straight out holes on them. There were peole sitting down, people standing up and other just comfortably sleeping on the floor.

I wanted to know what they were on. I'd bottle it, sell it and make a fortune out of it. If there is something you can take that will make you sleep on the floor on this bus, it can make you sleep anywhere.

After riding for seven hours, I was dieing to go to the bathroom for a quick #1. I had waited for the next stop to come, but apparently Bolivians don't concern themselves with such trivial matters like bodily functions. I got up and hopped over three of four people before making it to the driver. My effort was all in vain, as this guy did a better job at ignoring me than Republicans do at ignoring Black voters or Arizona cops ignoring Latino people's rights. For half an hour I begged this guy to pull over so I could ease my pain, but it was wall in vain.

Resolute in my decision to do something, I tried to make it back to my seat without pissing my pants. As I held onto the overhead luggage compartment in an attempt to balance myself, I accidently grabbed on to a coca-cola bottle. A bright light immediately lit inside my head. I was free at last.

I didnt care about whose bottle it was or if it was empty or full. I just grabbed it and rushed to my seat. It was pitch black inside the bus, making for a perfect crime scene.

2 minutes and almost a quart later, I was the happiest most relieved guy on earth. Ohhh man did I enjoy my coca-cola

Never in a million years did the marketing folks at coca-cola could have though that the phrase enjoy coca-cola would be used in this context.

Cheap Bastard !!!!!

I hate prejudices and stereotypes, one of the reasons I spend so much of my time, money and patience traveling around is so I can become more and more aware of how people live. Constantly getting myself out of my comfort zone has forced me to become more receptive and less judgmental.

Some people, however, make it really hard for me not to just go to those long lived stereotypes that are perpetuated generation after generation.

Some lady had offered us a direct bus ticket to La Paz for forty Bolivianos, while all the other companies only charged thirty five. Tal, my jewish traveling companion, went on a mission to bring the price down from 40 to 35.

All I wanted was to buy the darn ticket and go walk around, but paying the entire forty Bolivianos, argued Tal, messed up his game plan to get the price down.

We must remain a united front, he said

You understand you are arguing over fifty cents of a dollar ?

It is the principle that counts, he replied.

Come on dude... it is fifty cents. I was losing it

She is about to crack

I had to sit there for 20 minutes, listening to his broken Spanish attempts to drive down the price

You are a cheap bastard, you know that? I said to him

If you do this every time... he continued ... you end up saving 100 dollars over six months. I've done the math. he gloated.

Yes, I thought. That is true, but you will also end up with absolutely no one willing to travel with you !!!!!

One more minute and she will cave

It was unbelievable. After twenty solid minutes of annoying arguments, the lady finally caved.

You give jews a bad name !!! I poked him a little bit.

I may give'em a bad name, but I did get that discount, didn't I?

When it was time to pay, the lady didn't have change for my fifty bolivianos so I told'er to just keep the change, just to spite him a little bit.

He shook his head in betrayal !!!!

People you can trust

Knowing who to trust in Bolivia is a complex business. Like I said, they will tell you anything in order to get you to buy their product.

After we were done with out tour, the guide dropped us of at the bus station so we could check on bus schedules and prices. As soon as we got of the can, people swarmed on us, trying to sell tickets from there to Mars, direct and connecting to up to three other planets.

Tal, Rosanne and I were off to La Paz, a twelve hour journey that would seen longer than my 70 hour bus ride from Santiago to Sao Paulo. Apparently, there were no direct buses to La Paz. We had to take a bus to Oruru and switch buses at 2 in the morning. The whole thing would cost 4 dollars.

Salt Hotel and the Garbage desert

After having missed out on Hadas naked, the voluptous Israeli, we headed to the salt hotel

Just like any other tourist trap, it is basically a house made of rock salt bricks, costing 50U$ a night. It was our lunch stop so I just sat down and ate some pure de tomate.

After lunch,we were supposed to head out to the train cemetery, which was lame. One thing was very impressive : the trash. The people of Uyuni put all their trash in plastic bags, drive five minutes into the desert and dump indiscriminately. In the desert there are tumble weeds and wind, the wind blows and the garbage bags end up ripping, leaving garbage as far as the eye can see. It is a pretty dumb thing to do.

Silly Salt Pictures

The immense whiteness of the salar prompts people to take some silly pictures. The unchanging background playes tricks wih our perspective and a dosage of creativity combined with a dosage of sillyness makes for some cool/corny pix. People holding others on the palm of their hands, or girls lifting cars are just a few of them.

After having taken almost an entire roll of slides of the cacti, Tal told me to rush over to one end of the island. I didnt quite understand what he wanted so I paid him no mind. He kept insisting so I rushed over with him but as I walked over, I ran into Avishai, the nasal sounding Israeli from Tupiza

I stopped to chat wit him for about 2 minutes and said I'd be back in a jist, after I saw what Tal so admantly wanted me to see. When I got to him, Shani's group, which had three other girls, were putting on their clothes, after they had decided to get silly in the salar and go for a naked photo session

I missed out !!!

It was the only I should ever have listened to Tal... and I didn't

A piece of land surrounded by salt from all sides

Isla del pescado is the only island I have ever been to that you can drive to without taking abridge or a ferry boat. Technically, it is not an island, since it is not surrounded by water. Still, it is undeniably an island.

The salar is absolutely flat, much like an ocean, and its whiteness makes it just as homogenous as an ocean.

I am telling you, if you close your eyes you can almost head the waves crashing in.

Much like an island, there is a very specific vegetation : cacti. The cacti is very different and it takes forever to grow. There is this one specific type of cactus that is 1200 years old. At 25 feet high, it grows about half an inch per year. It is amazing.

Salar: Day Four

Day four was our last and most exciting day, we were off to the Salar. We left our hospedaje at five o'clock in the morning so that we could watch the sum rise already on the vast white flats of salt.

The sunrise was nothing short of magnificent, The salar was huge and it feels like an injustice to try and write about it. There is no way I can put down on paper how oddly beautiful the salar is. After driving for and hour from the salar gates, we drove another hour so we could get to Isla del Pescado

Salar: Day Three

Day three was a day for rock formations. We would go to this one valley where the arbol de piedra was. The arbol de piedra or tree rock, is a strange area where volcanic activity combined with erosion and sand created mystical rock formations. One specific formation looks just like a tree, only it is all made of rock.

When we were about to leave this place, after taking a whole buncha cool pictures, Shani's group pulled up on their jeep. She came to me and said she wanned to thank me for the tea I gave her. It had made her feel better. I liked her.

Unfortunately, once again we didnt spend the night at the same spot and I didnt get to see her that night. I seemed like it wasn't meant to be.

The Skies

Another amazing thing about this trip was that it brought back my interest in the sky. In my sophomore year in college, I fucked up and curve for everybody in my intro to astronomy class. I have always enjoyed watching the stars, but living in the big city has made this habit practically impossible

With my newfound interest for camping, I was able to once again go star watching, making sense of constellations, planets and their motion across the sky.

At Puente del Inca, I saw six or so shooting stars in one night, the first one I saw went from one end to the horizon to the next. I had never seen anything like it.

The sky at Los Alerces cannot be described with words, much like Chalten's. One night at Poincenot the moon was so bright that there were shadows. I am not talking about half ass shapes, but full on shades of trees and rocks. I love Poincenot, my favorite place on earth.

When I came down from Chalten to restock on my supplies, I spent that night at the local campsite at the base of the mountain. That one night, people were moving their tents into shady areas in order to sleep better because it was too bright from the moon... that is amazing !!!!!

Salar: Day Two

I was only able to sleep for one hour, regardless of how nice or warm the beds were. Altitude is really a bitch fight off. I went to take a piss like five times last nite. On day two of the tour, I was tired, dehydrated and with a hell of a heartburn.

It was funny how they served us this fried egg that might as well have come with a side order of tums, yet I just couldnt say no to it. After all was said and done, it got me a heartburn that lasted two days.

Day two was a whole buncha lakes. Laguna Verde, Laguna Colorada and Laguna Blanca. Once again, Bolivia was all about colors, there were beautiful lakes with a whole bunch pink flamingos.

Altitude does take a toll on you. Besides not really being able to do anything that requires a bit more breathing, you get headaches, stomachaches and you cant sleep for longer than an hour..

I was looking forward to our second night because I had met a cute Israeli girl that was on another group, who I felt maybe was sending me some vibes. Her name was Shani

Our last stop before the alojamiento was a thermal bath in the middle of the desert. When we got there, Shani was kinda seating aside. I could tell she wasn't feeling well. We talked for a little bit and turns out she had altitude sickness, much like everybody else.

The only reason I felt a little better than the others was because I had drank like a liter of coca tea. To be honest, I was numb from the throat down. I convinced her to come and put her feet in the hot springs. We made little conversation. I liked her. In the end, I went to the car to get her a cup of tea.

Do you think it will help? she asked

You tell me if did later tonight. I replied

Usually, all groups spend the night at the same spot so I figured I'd see her later on that night. It is funny how backpacking experiences kinda change out perspectives. There I was, thinking about scoring with a girl when I hadnt showered in three days. I probably smelled of ass and she probably did too... Ohh well

Turn out that their group didn't stay in the same spot as we did so my plan ran afoul.

My heartburn was still kicking ass and taking names and I began to feel a presage of diarrhea... it was heaven on earth... :(

Salar: Day One

On day one we left Tupiza at 10:00 am on our way to the sillar, an amazing rock formation. It is beautiful not only for is formations, but also for its colors. Whenever you read a guide book about Bolivia, they always make reference to its colors, much like I did in the previous post. The combination of the type of earth and the altitude make for amazing landscapes.

The sillar was a breath taking spot. I was really excited because I was taking pictures with dia-positive slide film. I hope they will turn out great. The next stop was Paso del Diablo, a mountain top with red sand that is supposedly amazing. I wouldnt know, as I was stricken with high-altitude sickness and didnt even open my eyes, much less got out of the car.

When I made it to the place we were supposed to spend the night, I was really excited. The beds were nice and warm and we had plenty of time to sleep. It seemed like I had everything I needed: heat, water, beds. But at 17 plus thousand feet, the only thing missing was AIR...

Colores de Bolivia

Bolivia was indeed very different than Argentina. The mountains are all red with contrasting pieces of green patches that really do a great job at grabbing your attention. Typiza, at 10000 feet of altitude, was a beautiful place. Two of the Israeli kids that had crossed the border with us, Avishai and Shai, had decided to go to some other city nine hours away so they could save 30 dollars on the Salar tour.

Tal and I booked a tour for 95 U$, the average going rate. We would be out the next morning at 10 am.

The Salar is perhaps Bolivia's most famous tourist spot. Bolivia has all kinds of treks at 18000 feet of altitude, but the salar is very very unique. It is basically a six thousand square mile salt flat. It is much like a frozen lake, only it is all salt. The tour consists of four days running around the desert, looking for cool stuff.

With the tour, we get an experienced driver and a good cook, in our case Santiago and Dami. Other than Tal and myself, the group consisted of Colin and Carry, a couple from Oregon, Jeremy, a French salesman, and Rosanne, a nineteen year old Dutch woman.

Tupiza

From Salta, Itook a bus to Quiaca, Argentina's border town with Bolivia. Me and three israelis walked to the border check at six o'clock in the morning. One of the kids was named Avishai, a 21 year old Israeli who was fresh out of the military. He was always dancing and spoke in such a nasal way that you joust couldn't help but get a laugh out of it.

I still haven't made up my mind about how I feel about Israeli travelers. Some are friendly and welcoming, others brutish and overly in charge. The truth is, just like every other people, there are all kinds. Tal is another Israeli one. Very young but very good at heart. He talks exactly like my cousin Leo, even has the same accent. Tal is a cheap skate.

After we crossed the border, we walked to the bus station and caught a bus to Tupiza, where we would get a tour to the salar de Uyuni

Three hours in a dingy bus and we made it our destination. A little bit like Egypt, only milder, we swarmed by little kids who want to take us to some specific hostel in order to get a commission. In Bolivia, they will tell you whatever it takes to get you to buy what they sell. As we walked away from the station and in to the town, three little kids followed us all the way to the hostel. When we finally decided where we were going to stay, they rushed in and told the manager they had brought us there.

Se acabam las pilas

The thing about Bolivia that I was afraid of is that I had been traveling for a while and had begun to miss home. Not home home, as in my dad and his crew, but my ability to put up with dirty bathrooms, crooked beds, bumpy bus rides and sketchy meals was waning. Three or four months into it, I missed capoera, my mom and my sisters.

My hopes were that once I made it to Bolivia, the scenery change would recharge my batteries and I would find the energy I needed to make it to Cusco. However, I was afraid of the refrigerator phenomenon: when I was little (and poor) I had these battery operated toys and when the battery ran out, I used to go to my mom for new ones.

Put'em in the fridge. she'd say

I would run to the fridge, put'em tucked in all the way on the back and go wait for a little bit. After five minutes or so, I would slap'em back in my toys and they'd work like a charm... for about two minutes or so then they were dead again.

I feared Bolivia would be my metaphorical fridge. I would go in and get recharged at first, but I kinda felt my batteries wouldn't be able to carry me all the way.

Salta La Linda

Too bad for Luke that Salta la Linda (Salta the beautiful) wasn't actually that linda. Don't get me wrong, it was all right, but it stops at that.

People have told me that it is this very colonial place, with great architecture and very friendly people. Like I said, it was all right.

Luke managed to get over his cold feet and decided he was going to shoot back down to Mendoza and then find his way down to Bariloche, where I had initially suggested he should go. He was in for a forty one hour bus ride.

I too had my share of cold feet. Not that I was afraid of Bolivia, where I was heading to, but I was afraid of myself. I may have been running out of steem.

The London Fiasco

Roughly nine years ago, when I was a twenty year old freshman at Riverside Community College, I had about one thousand dollars on my bank account. I had met this guy who had sold me on this made up romantic image of backpacking as the ultimate expression of freedom. According to this jackass, all a backpacker ever needed was his backpack. He could go where ever he wanted, do whatever he felt like doing, eat whenever he was hungry . The backpacker was under no restrictions.

The only jackass that a was a bigger idiot that this guy was yours truly, the author of this blog, who actually bought all this crap as pure poetry. I got all the money I had and bought a ticked from L.A. to London. All I had was the intention to say fora week and 200 U$ in my pocket

My girlfriend at the time, Xochilt, had tried to advise against my going without as much as a phone call worth of preparation. Just so I can fully explain how stupidly unprepared I was, I will elaborate a little for you.

I had no guide book, map or address of a place to go to what so ever. I had a school backpack with 2 t-shirts, 2 pairs of underwear, a towel and a borrowed camera. I had no idea the British pound was worth almost twice the dollar and I figured the maximum I would pay for a nite at a hostel would be 10 dollars, which is 6 pounds.

Anyone who has ever been to London and is reading this is very likely to be rolling their eyes and foaming their mouths in laughter

I was so blind by the whole romantic "backpacking is freedom" crap that I felt that taking a guide book or making a reservation would go against the whole freedom thing. I felt it would be cheating.

So there I was, in Heathrew airport with 120 lbs and no a clue. A quick ride to downtown London and I was out 20 lbs. I began to look for places to stay but I couldnt find anything. It was getting dark and I was getting cold. A whopper meal at burger king and I was out another 10lbs. I found myself in a dark Picadilly Circus with no place to stay and 90 lbs in my pocket.

The whole freedom expression thing began to sound like a load of crap to me.

Another hour went by and I was scared shitless. I didnt know what to do and had no one to turn to. I went in the subway and saw these two tall blondes with a map on their hands. I walked up to them and explained my situation, asking if they knew of a place I could find a room. They told me of a subway stop around 30 minutes away, where I would find a place to crash.

I get to this place around 10 pm. It is a musty Allentown looking street, with smoke blowing off the sewage lids. I walked up to the first hotel I saw and it cost me 60lbs for a single with a shared bath. The room was tiny, the door couldnt even open all the way, as it hit the bed and forced me to slide sideways into it. Never in my life did I want to be back home so bad. I cried like a baby, feeling like I had been cheated out of my money by a stupid and naive idea of what being free really is about. I cried myself to sleep in my smoke smelling t-shirt and 25 pounds in my pocket.

The next day, London looked too inhospitable to me. I walked around for an hour and all I could think of was going back home to Riverside. I had gotten a 24 hour subway pass that was going to expire in one hour, which was an hour longer than what I wanted to be in London for. I went back to the airport and boarded the next flight to LA, which cost me a 100U$ change fee. After I tallied up the whole thing, two days cost US1100US. When I made it to LA, I was so ashamed by the whole thing that I changed the dates on the English stamp on my passport and made it look like I was there for month, even though I knew no one would ever even notice.

Going to a foreign country is not a simple thing. I spoke the language and a 100 thousand dollar limit credit card... and I still managed to freak out.

Imagine what Luke must have felt like. He was two years younger than I was went I went through this fiasco. He was fresh outta high school into Santiago, Chile, without speaking a word of Spanish. No wonder he was freaking out.

When he asked me if he could come to Salta with us, I knew exactly how he felt. All I did to him was what I wish someone would have done to me that spring break in London...

Of course you can come with me, it will be fun. I answered when he asked if he could join me.

So after I found out there was no room for me in Matze's bedroom, Luke and I were off to Salta.

Salta and Luke

Do there you have it, there was no room for my mayo in this peanut butter jelly sandwich.

Like I said before, sometimes you play, sometimes you get played. To be quite honest, I dont even think I got played. Often times we read too much into stuff, or misread friendliness for flertatiousness (if there is such a word) I think a good way to look at it is, quoting the great Scottsman Mark Knophler "sometimes you are the windshield, sometimes you are the bug". I eventually met the fortunate Mike and he actually was a nice guy. We hung out for a little bit and I couldnt come up with one bad thing to say about the guy.

I felt good about the whole thing. I love girls just like any other guy, but it is much nicer when we can make a connection with a girl that makes it more than physical. So I didn't get the girl... it is not the first time and probably wont be the last.

Gotta roll with the punches

At least I wasn't scare shitless, like Luke was...

Luke was this Aussie kid I had met my last day in Mendoza. Towering at almost 6'10'', he was a lanky 18 year old fresh outta Adelide.

After landing in Santiago, Chile, he rushed to Mendoza, hoping to feel more at home in a smaller town. His hopes were frustrated as you could tell he had no clue about what he was doing in South America.

I spent a good hour talking to him about places to go and things to do. I recommended Bariloche, which was way more friendly and abounded with kick ass things to do. After explaining all there was to know about Bariloche, even my unborn nephew Pedro could make it there, yet I still sensed Luke had cold feet about it.

Bariloche was twenty hours South of Mendoza, with lakes, mountains and ice-cream shops that are to die for. Salta was 20 hours North, with flat horizons and Bolivia at its doorstep.

After I gave him my very long pitch about how he should head down to Bariloche, he asked me:

Where are you heading ?

Salta, I replied.

Can I come with?

I could have said I was going on a mission to colonize Mars and he still would have asked to come along. I can't blame him, it ain't easy being a first time traveller. I will tell you one thing, he was doing much better than I ever did on my first backpacking trip... my very own London Fiasco !!!

The Bomb drops

We hung out the rest of the afternoon. I was willing to be played here, for she was worthwhile company. Still, I did want to know how much I was getting played. I figured we all get played at some time or another. Sometimes we play, sometimes we get played. I just didnt want to be played for a total fool.

We went to get tickets to Salta, but they were already sold out.

I know you wanted to leave today, she said, but I am so glad they are sold out.

Yeah, why?

Because we will get to hand out together one more night

Cool. I am in, I though.

I should get back to the hostel quickly, I dont know if they are all booked and I need to find a place to stay for tonite.

And right then and there the bomb dropped.

Speaking of booking, since I dont speak Spanish, can you please speak to someone at the front desk about booking a double room from Mike and me, we dont want to share the room or get disturbed !!!!!!!

And with that, I end this post.

Darn emails

The next day, I basically hung out at the hostel, waiting for Matze to come back so we could go get tickets to Salta.

I spent the whole afternoon puzzling over whether or not there was some up between us. Funny thing about traveling is that because relationships your develop are multi-cultural, it is hard to tell what is what. What may look like an obvious green light by your standards is an innocent gesture by someone else's; turning an otherwise simple exchange into a complex riddle

Right when I had given up on making sense of the whole thing, she came back from her shopping spree.

Dija buy the whole store? I asked

You make fun of me?

Never !!!!!

I need to talk to you, she said

I am all ears.

It is important... I got this email

Ohhhh shit, here it comes. I can smell these derailing moments from a mile away

This friend of mine is coming to Mendoza tomorrow

Yeah !!!

I thought maybe I would wait another day.

I was confused. This friend, is it a guy friend or a girl friend. Would it be a boyfriend? I didnt mind going alone, but as much as I didn't want to be a third wheel, I also didnt want to blow a nice thing with this incredible chick.

We talked a little bit more, when I unsuccessfully tried to figured out who this friend was. We basically agreed I would head to Salta on my own, but would meet up with her the following day. I thought this friend couldnt possible be her boyfriend, otherwise she would have to blow me off.

Are you mad, she asked

No

Really, really no?

I was confused, but not mad

She grabbed my hand and gave me this huge kiss on the cheek. Where I come from, this was a huge yes sign. But then again, we were not in the place where I come from.

Back in Mendoza

Back in Mendoza, I didnt really have anything else I wanted to do, so I was ready to head North. Matze was also heading North to Salta so we figured we would go together. She wanted to go to this one Puma store so we decided to wait another day.

For one afternoon, I actually though there was something up between the two of us. We had definitely clicked and we were getting along great. On our way back from Puente del Inca, she asked:

What next?

I am heading up North, I replied

When?

I am not quite sure yet, probably tomorrow

Ohhh

Why ohhh, I asked

Nothing

No really, tell me. I insisted

It is because I really wanna go with you, but there is this place I need to go to.

It is a Puma store, isn't it. I guessed

She blushed like a twelve year old, it was incriminatingly funny.

You just want to go with me so I can carry your stuff, 3 bags worth of Puma gear. I joked

When a really cool chick with an amazing body wants to go travel with you but she wants to stay another night, it is really not that complicated a decision

It is cool, I will stay another day.

Really?

Really, why not.

I wasn't sure if we were connecting, but it really felt like it for me.

I had hooked up with other girls on my trip, but she was different. Funny, clever, outdoorsy, really really hot. I really liked her.

Puente y Las Aguas

Puente del Inca is a natural bridge made of sulfur that is smacked on the top of the Andes at 3000 meters, about 10000 feet. It has this orange-yellowish color that is very uncommon, rendering it a very unique look.

The place used to be a ritzy hotel where European types came to bathe in the hot springs, hoping that the mineral rich waters would do their bodies good. In 1963, an avalanche destroyed the entire hotel, prompting management to evacuate the area.

Whatever was left of the hotel stayed there and people now can come and use it for absolutely free. 40 years of sulfur rich waters running through metal pipes and tiled water ways can turn a ritzy hot springs paradise into quite a nasty place. There was one pool, however, that defied the works of nature and managed to remain off the hook through all these decades.

After going to check out the Aconcagua miradoe, we went back to the hostel and got ready to go to the springs. There were four of us, Margit and Rene (an Austrian couple we had met along the way), Matze and me. I had my Brazilian yellow speedos on, which were small enough by any American standards. But turns out was I the only one concerned about covering my body.

Before I could say cheese, the three were butt naked ...

Ohh... you have speedos? said naked Matze

yeah, duh. I said

You mind we go naked?

no, duh.

The funniest thing about the whole bit is that they kept going in and out of the pools to go get cigarettes, so it is safe to say I got my share of peaks. Matze has been rock climbing for ten years, so I dont need to go over her package. Still, there might be those readers who arent familiar with the degree of fitness that rock climbing requires from its practitioners, so here it goes. Her legs were more solid than sequoia trees, better toned than a tour-de-France ciclist and more ripped than Mick Jagger's cheek bones on his best cocained days. Her bubbly but defied her arian heritage and made it okay for her to refer to Black women as sisters. Her six pack was so well defined that when she flexed, you could see up to the fourth decimal point. The short of it is she had it going on.

One thing I realized almost instantly, however, was that hot naked ladies arent always sexy unless they are at least trying a little bit. Margit and Matze kept getting in and out of the pool, but they did it in such a casual way that it didnt look hot at all.

You girls are ruining it for me, I thought to myself.

I am bathing in a hot springs with two hot white girl (Hittler must be turning in his grave, by the way), the least that you two could do is behave a little sexier.

Ohhh well, you cannot always have it all I guess. They spoke German the whole nite, pretty much leaving me out of the conversation all together. I didnt mind, I wanted to watch the stars and I had already seen Matze naked, do it couldnt have been all that bad.

I counted six shooting stars that nite.

Matze and Mendoza

Bariloche was awesome. I wanted to stay longer, but much like at the Playa del Frances, I had a long road ahead of me and if I was going to make it to the end of it, I couldnt stay for two weeks at every spot I liked.

I did already feel I had stayed away for too long, but I was committed to the course, so I didn't really think too much about it.

My next stop was Mendoza, Argentina's third largest city with a little over 2 million people. I had already been to Mendoza, twice actually, but I'd never made it to Puente del Inca, so I figured I would head that way for a third time. Third time is the charm, as they say.

While waiting for the bus a the Bariloche station, this German girl by the name of Matze started to make conversation. Matze, short for Martina, was a thirty year old rock climber from Frankfurt Main. I had already seen her at the 1004 hostel, even though she didn't stay there. She had a caring smile that made it easy to make a lovely person out of her from the very first of impressions, even though her teeth were quite yellow from smoking. Well, show me a German that doesn't smoke and I will show you a fat Argentinean girl... these just don't exist !!!

The bus ride was twenty hours long and when we made it to Mendoza, we decided to head to the same hostel. We got there and after making little conversation, she said she was going shopping. She wanted to know what I was up to later on. The only thing I wanted to do was to check out Puente del Inca, which I was set on doing the next day. Matze came back later on that day with a huge Puma bag. I made fun of her for the rest of the evening

...Puma shares are up 30 points today at the stock exchange...

...New York times headlines: borderlining bankrupcy, Puma shoes shows miraculous overturn after strong sales in Argentina...

You make fun of me? she asked.

Her accent was adorable, we laughed a great deal. We agreed we would head to Puente del Inca the next day.

Key Chain Car

Back at the hostel, slutty girl was wrapped around some other dude, which was good because she didn't really do it for me

Mayra and I went to the movies to celebrate my scholarship. We were going to watch the Lord of the Rings III. On our way to the theater, I saw this tiny little fiat 600, it was probably twenty years old. It is so small it looks like a toy car.

Look at this car, I love it.

It is just a car, she said

It is not just a car, it is a key chain car

What do you mean?

If you think of it as a big key chain, you will find it cute, I said

She paused and looked at it for a while. She laughed, looked at me and said:

You should be a politician

What did I do this time?

It is just that you have a way to make people see things, it is a good thing

Whatever, I said somewhat disdainfully

I am serious, you are very good with it

All I said was that the car was cute

I thought it was just an old car, but when you think of it as a key chain, it is actually adorable. Politicians do that, they say something and change people's mind in a split second... you do that well. It is a compliment

I will take it

Good

To the movies than, it is that way

LSU

Upon our return to Bariloche, I rushed to the email place to check on my school status. After having gotten a couple of NOs, I have my hopes up on Connecticut

Login and password paved the way to my inbox, where an e-mail from University Of Connecticut awaited for my click.

I had a 33k attachment. I didnt even have to click on it, I knew was in.

The attachment is the new version of the big envelop/little envelope college acceptance drill. Ten years ago, when a teenager anxiously waited for his college acceptance letter, he already knew that if he got a big envelope, it meant he was in. The envelope would be filled with brochures from the housing department, financial aid, sororities and fraternities, all that good stuff.

However, if the envelope was small, it would read like this: We regret to inform that the program was unable to accept your application at this time ... blah blah blah. We wish you the best of luck on your pursuits

I had gotten an attachment, that is a fat letter...33 kilobytes worth... I had to be in.

I click on the message and then click on the attachment and it reads:

Dear Mr Costa

After carefully analyzing your file, we are glad...

... Proud to have you a a part of our department blah blah blah leading edge in Political Science iada iada iada exciting times in the field .... blah blah blah however....

However, we are unable to offer you any financial assistance.

I had gotten in but got no money. I was actually the number six on a wait-list for a scholarship.

I decided to write Prof. Garand at LSU about my status. I knew I was in at LSU but I didn't know if I had gotten any money. Professor Garand was really good about replying message very promptly, so I knew I would hear back from him in like two hours ...

I walked back and forth between the internet cafe and the hostel... I didnt know what to think.

What if this and what if that... should I get a loan... how about the waiting list.

These were long two houses. Half way through the waiting some bimbo girl from Atlanta stuck a conversation with me. She was slutty and overly forward, which made her both cheap and unappealing... but it was good enough to kill time.

I explained her my reasons for being so fidgity and she said

Well, you will find out soon enough. If you get in, we'll have to celebrate.

Can you be any more of a slut, I thought

Sure, I replied

Once again, login and password paved the way to my inbox. In it, I found a message from Professor Garand

I was in, I had gotten the money and I was awarded an additional three thousand dollar scholarship...

A huge weight was lifted off my shoulders... It seemed like I was moving to Louisiana

Punto Rojo

Mayra and I were off from Laguna Negra to Cerro Lopez around 10 in the morning. It was going to be a long day.

Treks are all marked with red dots (puntos rojos). Much like piercas, I cannot begin to describe how much relief these tiny red spots sprayed on rocks can bring. We would walk on a straight line until we didnt know what to do. Once we had no idea where to go, some miraculous red dot would shed some light on our way. I know it sounds rather corn but these red dots are almost poetic. Whenever we saw one, we would yell "... punto rojo" and we'd be instantly filled with a rush of calm that would last until we felt unsure about the path. We'd continue, restless, until either one of us saw another red dot or heard the other yell "punto rojo"

At one point, after walking the filo for 6 hours, I couldnt find a punto rojo. I had reached what seemed to be a dead end and my options were going down a glacier on my right side or going down a glacier on my left side.

I chose to go down the right side glacier but something felt wrong. Mayra also felt some weird about it and advised me to go back up. The fog was real thick and I couldnt see three feet ahead.

I knew this was a time when remaining calm was key, yet remaining calm when you are hungry, cold, tired and cranky can be quite tough.

I hiked back the 150 feet I had descended and began to think about what I could do, or better yet, what I should do. It is funny because, technically, we had nothing to worry about: I had a tent that fit 2 people, food and cooking gas, -10 graded sleeping bags. If it came down to it, all we had to do was set camp and spend the nite. However, it is very easy to see that when we are writing notes on a cosy and warm room, with hot cocoa and a private bathroom.

Back up in the filo again, we sat down and talked for a little bit...

"Nobody told us about going down glaciers"

"I know..."

"I mean, they would tell us"

"I know"

"It is not something you leave out of the vital information you need"

"I know..."

I closed my eyes for a little bit and thought about when I was hiking back from Laguna Sucia. That time, after trekking for a whole day, I had had no food and was starved. I was obviously tired and had begun to feel cold. The trek was relatively simple but all of these conditions began to add up. I chose to lay down for a little big, get some rest and recollect myself. It had worked like a charm a month ago so I figured it would work here.

I told Mayra we should stop for a bit, drop our backpacks and get some rest.

"No... it will get dark", she said

"Better dark and or our way than bright and completely lost", I replied

"I am not sure..."

"Listen, there has got to be a red do somewhere around here. Either the fog is too thick or we are too tired to see it. We'll get a little rest and it might pop up in front of our very eyes".

"You should be a politician..." she says.

"What !!"

"You really should"

"What is that got to do with anything ?"

"It is so funny that we are in the middle of nowhere and you are so eloquent, speaking about being unable to see what is right in front of our eyes"

"I am serious, you know"

"So am I", she says..."and I meant it as a compliment"

I felt good about what she said, she was being honest and I actually feel that is somewhat true about me. I smiled and got her to sit next to me for like ten minutes.

The wind began to blow and for a split second I thought it was the last thing we needed.

Only before I could conclude my thought, the wind cleaned the fog and showed a two foot long red arrow pointing the way, sprayed on a rock not 4 feet away from us.

"Punto Rojo !!!!!!" we both screamed

It was a great relief.

Two hours and a few punto rojos passed before we made it to the refuge

We were dead tired. It had been a four day journey altogether. The feeling of conquering the file was awesome and there was no haggard or hunger that could wipe the smile off of my face.

Walking the Filo

The filo stands for the very top of the mountain. When you walk the filo, there is basically a narrow ridge and nothing but sky. It can be quite nerving for the inexperienced, i.e. yours truly, so I figured it was a good chance for me to sharpen my patience

The thing about going through those long hikes is not just about skill or fitness, even though the latter helps a lot. The real issue is about the ability to remain calm.

When you trek, a single mistake could mean a twisted ankle, a broken leg or even worst. In order t oavoid that, all you have to do is pay attention to where you step. In all fairness, trekking is just walking with a backpack, but to pay attention to your very single step can be a pain in the ass

If you can stay calm, absolutely nothing is going to happen... but you freak out and a world of hell comes falling down.

When I was walking the filo I felt an awesome feeling of accomplishment. It is humbling to meet nature an face its ability to take your life. Nature wants very little of you, but it knows what it wants and it will take nothing short of it.

Watch your step, every step, and you get an unforgettable journey of peaks, glaciers, ridges and forests... Pay no attention and it is guaranteed something bad is going to happen.

On my third day of trekking I was supposed to follow this path that was pure filo for 7 hours. Mayra was going to come along with me. She was a proud 21 year old Israeli who accepted help from no one. It was so funny how she put out constant effort to prove, mostly to herself, that she could do it on her own.