We arrived in Cuzco a few days ago. I'm desperately losing track of time here. Yesterday I thought that we would have to wake up today to go on our four day hike on the Inca Trail. ... No. In fact we arranged a briefing with the guide and he thought we were on crack (which is not all that uncommon here) because we asked him what time we would have to wake up "tomorrow." Ridiculous.
Speaking of crack... I'm sorry mom!!! I will have to give in tomorrow, though in my defense I have held out until now. Our guide pretty much said that coca is practically necessary for the climb to 4500 meters above sea level. It all has something to do with numbing the pain in the muscles from the lack of oxygen flow due to the altitude. The good part is we don't sniff it while listening to Marylin Manson... it's (sort of) just the natural leaf, dried, and you chew it like chaw - maybe with the ash of some other plant to enhance the effect... it's all biological really. Anyway, I just don't want to pass out and die since it's already difficult to walk down the street in the city without getting winded and it's only 3500 meters above sea level!
I did see one sad sight. I was on the bus to go on a tour of Inca ruins around Cuzco and this man had a sizeable mouthful of leaves and was holding out his hand for money. He had followed Mel and to the bus and then came to our window. Chewing and chawing while hanging on to his cane and with this pitiful, sad, hungry look on his face kept his hand held out to the closed windows of the tour bus. I did hear though, that although the leaf is not addicting, it does curb hunger and pain, so it was understandable that he chews and happens to be a beggar - or should I say it is understandable that because he is poor, he happens to chew coca...
__________________
On a different note, the tour that we took the other day - after we drove off leaving the poor man and his leaf - was a tour of all the major Inca ruins just outside of Cuzco. Apparently, the Cuzco of the Inca people was litterally shaped like a humongous Puma. We visted the ruins of what would have been the head, although because the conquistadors used the finely chisled stones to build their homes, there was unfortunately only about 20% of the head left. Aparently the indescribably gigantic stone walls were just the wrinkle on the forehead of the Puma. This place is so amazingly full of history and awe-inspiring sights. The largest stone (in the wrinkle) weighs 300 tons... besides which they are pieced together without the aid of mortar or cement yet they have withstood every natural disaster (earthquakes being the main concern) and they have seen the destruction of the settler's architecture without being phased by the disaster. The greatest disaster that the Inca architecture has suffered is the looting. The walls of the buildings were commonly plated in gold and silver and were ornamented with their golden statues. In some places in the walls, you can see where they set precious stones directly into the walls. I am amazed at the advanced intelligence and ingenious architecture and political and social organization... I might even say (if it weren't so pagan) that it was even more powerful than the U.S. today.
______________________________________
In an entirely different song, we've been having a blast (socially) too. Travelling is the best way to meet people. Of all the thousands of people that go to the U of M, there have never been as many wonderful and interesting (and friendly) people as there are on the road in South America. And there is never a lack of things to do or places to go to have a good time as a group. We have most of their contact information too, so when we return to BsAs there will be no shortage of weekend fun.
If I'm not dead in 4 days, I will write again soon!
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
The facts
It's been unbelievable this past week. I feel bad talking about it since it will only make the rest of you jealous...
We FINALLY left Santiago - the land-of-nothing as far as I'm concerned - and eventually made it to the fabulous town of San Pedro de Atacama. This is the launching grounds for all tours Atacameños... Atacama also happens to be the driest desert in the world, so you can imagine the risk for skin cancer (that one's for you Ma). The first day was supposed to be a relax-and-do-nothing day since we spent a really tough day at the beach the day before in La Serena (another land-of-nothing --- except beach). Instead we decided to shop around for tours of the desert. This amazing place is full of saltplains, volcanoes, sand dunes the size of Tijuana (that one's for you Mel), and the Valley of the Moon was like something of a dream at sunset. Our guide told us that it would be romantic, but since I forgot the recommended chaqueta I was unable to think of much more than hiding from the sand blowing hard on my skin like little pinpoint needles and just before the sun actually set, the temp dropped a whopping 5 degrees (which is a lot in celsius degreezes) and I in fact decided to run like a crazy monkey for the tour van. Not sure how crazy monkeys run, but I'll stick with the analogy.
The next day was ... nearly indescribable (since I possess such awesome talent I will try my best). We booked a tour for the next day at 4AM.
___________________
Sidebar: We thought it would be smart to go out the night before. We met a couple of Brazileros on the tour from that day and a couple of Chilenos from our hostel. So we gathered at our hostel at the early hour of 11PM and took some wine together. We decided San Pedro was a great place to try and go out at around Midnight and found that the city (or province?) has issues with serving customers after dark. So, we ordered a round of drinks, waited 15 minutes, and were told to leave.
Because I am who I am, I insisted we follow one of the many large groups of people who were also dumped out onto the street and see where the fun would lead. The best tip I got was from one abnormally young-looking Chilena who said, "Vamos al arbol." Since sitting at a tree didn't sound like the makings of such a great time to me, I decided to take matters into my own hands.... We ended up in some guy's relatively clean room in a boarding house drinking wine from a box and listening to Manu Chau until 3ish when Mel and I had to pack up and run to the tourist office to catch the van.
___________________
The good news is we caught the van and "slept" through the 3 hour ride that could not have been more bumpy while rattling metal somewhere under the van made sure that conversation or true rest would be impossible. Our destination - the Tatio Geysers - was worth the suffering. We arrived just before sunrise and the Geysers were bubbling, sraying and steaming like something from a horror film (I only took a thousand fotos so when I am able I will post them).
That was amazing...ly cold. It is incredible to me that in the same region it can be so arid and hot and when it is dark it can be so incredibly and ridiculously freezing cold.
The tour didn't end there. We got our freezing butts back into the van and drove another half-hour to the real treat: the Tatio hotsprings. It was definately a challenge with the freezing weather, layers and layers of clothes and trying to change into the swimsuit where there was no place to change. I changed (relatively) carefully and dipped my freezing arse into the warm, salty liquid, and squished my toes in the muddy, hot poolbed (burned my foot a little).
One nice thing about a bunch of strangers bathing together in a natural wonder is that it is a fabulous conversation-starter and a great place to meet new friends. I met a small group of "porteños" (people who live in Buenos Aires, Argentina) and struck up convo about my plans to study in their great city in March and learned their life and travel plans. Mel and I will likely hook up with them again in Cuzco (they left a couple days ago).
Soon after that, we drove another 40 minutes through the desert until we came to the oddest little oasis - if you can call it that. It was green, but I'm unsure if it was "real" vegetation or just moss and algae. Anyway, there was water and green stuff surrounded by mud surrounded by desert. In the middle of this gigantic puddle were hundreds of basking pink flamingos. We enjoyed the view, got a little muddy trying to get the best angle for our fotos and then made our way for another hour in the van to a Pueblo (village) where we would essentially buy empanadas and give our money to the adorable little sister standing at the adorable little church at the top of the... adorable little hill. Again, I made sure to take pictures that I won't have posted until March.
Day 3 was a much needed beach day in Iquique, which also served as a good get-yourselves-organized-you-fools day. We made reservations for the next day for the most amazing, once in a life-time tour: paragliding.
We arrived at the top of the desert mountain at around 11AM. I looked down over the cliff and couldn't breath for a second. The well-intentioned guide tried to explain the procedure in english, but I got more confused and asked for spanish, which worked our perfectly. I was to stay straight in my seat - no squirming, stay balanced while still on the ground since the wind was very strong and could yank us and our chute off the cliff if it so desired, and hang on to my seat when we take off. I got to wear a silly suit and the take off was exhilerating... the 40 minute flight was so amazing and tranquil and peaceful. It felt like the only people in existence was me and my tandem pilot. All I could see for miles on one side was endless ocean and on the other endless rolling beautiful desert and the sprawling, solitary city below us. I am a little jealous that these people get to do this everyday for a living. Again, the fotos are coming!
Again, a million and-a-half fotos are on the way.
We FINALLY left Santiago - the land-of-nothing as far as I'm concerned - and eventually made it to the fabulous town of San Pedro de Atacama. This is the launching grounds for all tours Atacameños... Atacama also happens to be the driest desert in the world, so you can imagine the risk for skin cancer (that one's for you Ma). The first day was supposed to be a relax-and-do-nothing day since we spent a really tough day at the beach the day before in La Serena (another land-of-nothing --- except beach). Instead we decided to shop around for tours of the desert. This amazing place is full of saltplains, volcanoes, sand dunes the size of Tijuana (that one's for you Mel), and the Valley of the Moon was like something of a dream at sunset. Our guide told us that it would be romantic, but since I forgot the recommended chaqueta I was unable to think of much more than hiding from the sand blowing hard on my skin like little pinpoint needles and just before the sun actually set, the temp dropped a whopping 5 degrees (which is a lot in celsius degreezes) and I in fact decided to run like a crazy monkey for the tour van. Not sure how crazy monkeys run, but I'll stick with the analogy.
The next day was ... nearly indescribable (since I possess such awesome talent I will try my best). We booked a tour for the next day at 4AM.
___________________
Sidebar: We thought it would be smart to go out the night before. We met a couple of Brazileros on the tour from that day and a couple of Chilenos from our hostel. So we gathered at our hostel at the early hour of 11PM and took some wine together. We decided San Pedro was a great place to try and go out at around Midnight and found that the city (or province?) has issues with serving customers after dark. So, we ordered a round of drinks, waited 15 minutes, and were told to leave.
Because I am who I am, I insisted we follow one of the many large groups of people who were also dumped out onto the street and see where the fun would lead. The best tip I got was from one abnormally young-looking Chilena who said, "Vamos al arbol." Since sitting at a tree didn't sound like the makings of such a great time to me, I decided to take matters into my own hands.... We ended up in some guy's relatively clean room in a boarding house drinking wine from a box and listening to Manu Chau until 3ish when Mel and I had to pack up and run to the tourist office to catch the van.
___________________
The good news is we caught the van and "slept" through the 3 hour ride that could not have been more bumpy while rattling metal somewhere under the van made sure that conversation or true rest would be impossible. Our destination - the Tatio Geysers - was worth the suffering. We arrived just before sunrise and the Geysers were bubbling, sraying and steaming like something from a horror film (I only took a thousand fotos so when I am able I will post them).
That was amazing...ly cold. It is incredible to me that in the same region it can be so arid and hot and when it is dark it can be so incredibly and ridiculously freezing cold.
The tour didn't end there. We got our freezing butts back into the van and drove another half-hour to the real treat: the Tatio hotsprings. It was definately a challenge with the freezing weather, layers and layers of clothes and trying to change into the swimsuit where there was no place to change. I changed (relatively) carefully and dipped my freezing arse into the warm, salty liquid, and squished my toes in the muddy, hot poolbed (burned my foot a little).
One nice thing about a bunch of strangers bathing together in a natural wonder is that it is a fabulous conversation-starter and a great place to meet new friends. I met a small group of "porteños" (people who live in Buenos Aires, Argentina) and struck up convo about my plans to study in their great city in March and learned their life and travel plans. Mel and I will likely hook up with them again in Cuzco (they left a couple days ago).
Soon after that, we drove another 40 minutes through the desert until we came to the oddest little oasis - if you can call it that. It was green, but I'm unsure if it was "real" vegetation or just moss and algae. Anyway, there was water and green stuff surrounded by mud surrounded by desert. In the middle of this gigantic puddle were hundreds of basking pink flamingos. We enjoyed the view, got a little muddy trying to get the best angle for our fotos and then made our way for another hour in the van to a Pueblo (village) where we would essentially buy empanadas and give our money to the adorable little sister standing at the adorable little church at the top of the... adorable little hill. Again, I made sure to take pictures that I won't have posted until March.
Day 3 was a much needed beach day in Iquique, which also served as a good get-yourselves-organized-you-fools day. We made reservations for the next day for the most amazing, once in a life-time tour: paragliding.
We arrived at the top of the desert mountain at around 11AM. I looked down over the cliff and couldn't breath for a second. The well-intentioned guide tried to explain the procedure in english, but I got more confused and asked for spanish, which worked our perfectly. I was to stay straight in my seat - no squirming, stay balanced while still on the ground since the wind was very strong and could yank us and our chute off the cliff if it so desired, and hang on to my seat when we take off. I got to wear a silly suit and the take off was exhilerating... the 40 minute flight was so amazing and tranquil and peaceful. It felt like the only people in existence was me and my tandem pilot. All I could see for miles on one side was endless ocean and on the other endless rolling beautiful desert and the sprawling, solitary city below us. I am a little jealous that these people get to do this everyday for a living. Again, the fotos are coming!
Again, a million and-a-half fotos are on the way.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
ooooh the hostel
It has been the most unique experience staying in hostels.
The wake up call I think is one of the more interesting things we've experienced. Your name and the time you wish to be woken up at is written down at the reception desk and when the hour rolls around you roll over and hear the low voice of the receptionist whistper in your ear, "Señorita... señorita, son las ocho." At first you can imagine the shock and surprise of being nudged so intimately awake by a complete stranger, but after a while the quirks of hostel living become second nature.
The wake up call I think is one of the more interesting things we've experienced. Your name and the time you wish to be woken up at is written down at the reception desk and when the hour rolls around you roll over and hear the low voice of the receptionist whistper in your ear, "Señorita... señorita, son las ocho." At first you can imagine the shock and surprise of being nudged so intimately awake by a complete stranger, but after a while the quirks of hostel living become second nature.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
The hostal trap
It´s an interesting feeling not knowing where you belong anymore...
I´ve found myself saying, "ok guys, see you at home in a bit!" when in fact I am referring to the hostal. This is regrettably not a translation. I have found that it is far easier to connect with people who are most like you (language-wise anyway). This has resulted in a tragic lack of spanish language usage on my part. I blame myself entirely since - as I have been reminded again and again during my travels - it´s my job to say hello and make myself known to people from the culture that I have come to discover. As it is, the only people with native spanish in the hostal who also happen to be from the area are the hostal staff - who are usually just young kids like myself so it´s not all bad, except they can´t go out at night or walk to the plaza or go for ice cream...
I have yet to speak up in Chile though. The difficulty here is that the languages differ so much from country to country that once I get used to using words and different verbs for different actions, I´m asked to immediately change my ways when I arrive in the new country. This is a big difficulty for me. It began in Panama of which I am very proud. I in fact began to understand a full sentence here and there before I left Panama. When I arrived in Argentina I was an alien. They used an entirely different word for "you!" YOU? If you could only understand how embedded my understanding of this word is, you would see my gigantic dilemma. A week in Buenos Aires and an additional week in Mendoza in fact began to cure me of this horrendous complication. I no longer felt silly saying a funny word - I had ADAPTED.
Then comes Chile. Meli, my usual last resort for translation is lost herself in this complicated country. Except it is not that complicated! In fact, I should be more comfortable here than anywhere I´ve been thus far. They speak quickly, but "normal." In any case, if adaptation only takes a week in Panama and two in Argentina, this should be cake.
Frustration is not an easy emotion to avoid.
I´ve found myself saying, "ok guys, see you at home in a bit!" when in fact I am referring to the hostal. This is regrettably not a translation. I have found that it is far easier to connect with people who are most like you (language-wise anyway). This has resulted in a tragic lack of spanish language usage on my part. I blame myself entirely since - as I have been reminded again and again during my travels - it´s my job to say hello and make myself known to people from the culture that I have come to discover. As it is, the only people with native spanish in the hostal who also happen to be from the area are the hostal staff - who are usually just young kids like myself so it´s not all bad, except they can´t go out at night or walk to the plaza or go for ice cream...
I have yet to speak up in Chile though. The difficulty here is that the languages differ so much from country to country that once I get used to using words and different verbs for different actions, I´m asked to immediately change my ways when I arrive in the new country. This is a big difficulty for me. It began in Panama of which I am very proud. I in fact began to understand a full sentence here and there before I left Panama. When I arrived in Argentina I was an alien. They used an entirely different word for "you!" YOU? If you could only understand how embedded my understanding of this word is, you would see my gigantic dilemma. A week in Buenos Aires and an additional week in Mendoza in fact began to cure me of this horrendous complication. I no longer felt silly saying a funny word - I had ADAPTED.
Then comes Chile. Meli, my usual last resort for translation is lost herself in this complicated country. Except it is not that complicated! In fact, I should be more comfortable here than anywhere I´ve been thus far. They speak quickly, but "normal." In any case, if adaptation only takes a week in Panama and two in Argentina, this should be cake.
Frustration is not an easy emotion to avoid.
Say wha'?
Passing by the vendors in the plaza some incredible handicrafts caught my attention. They were not beautiful, nor were they ¨barbaro¨... really these objects just had me confused. I thought at first that they were those napkin rings made of silver, but upon closer inspection they were in fact rings.... HUGE elaborate rings with maya and inca gods and godesses. One of these rings was about the length of my entire thumb. And if I even begin to describe the necklaces you wouldn´t believe me.
I stop to gawk at these monstrosities, not having the heart to actually say anything other than, ¨nice work.¨ I asked the vendor if he made them all by hand. He nodded and bobbed his gypsy-style hair with its frizzy black curls and with more of a sneer than a smile informed that they were made from spoons! They were melted and reformed silver spoons.
I looked down at some - thank heaven - smaller items he had as well. He said they were figures from the maya calendar and asked me my birthday. Believing he would show me which figure represented my birth month year and day I told him when I was born.
He began instead to tell me that I am a magnet for people (haven´t noticed that) and that whatever I do will grow and prosper. I didn´t know the word for ¨seed¨at the time but when I pondered the word later I figured out that he had said that my seeds are fertile, which would explain his last warning: with a big gesture with his arms arching over his belly he said, ¨Cuidado¨(be cautious).
I stop to gawk at these monstrosities, not having the heart to actually say anything other than, ¨nice work.¨ I asked the vendor if he made them all by hand. He nodded and bobbed his gypsy-style hair with its frizzy black curls and with more of a sneer than a smile informed that they were made from spoons! They were melted and reformed silver spoons.
I looked down at some - thank heaven - smaller items he had as well. He said they were figures from the maya calendar and asked me my birthday. Believing he would show me which figure represented my birth month year and day I told him when I was born.
He began instead to tell me that I am a magnet for people (haven´t noticed that) and that whatever I do will grow and prosper. I didn´t know the word for ¨seed¨at the time but when I pondered the word later I figured out that he had said that my seeds are fertile, which would explain his last warning: with a big gesture with his arms arching over his belly he said, ¨Cuidado¨(be cautious).
Friday, January 5, 2007
A night in Mendoza
Last night was an experience all by itself.
Meli and I and two blokes from our hostal went for a stroll to the Plaza because I am the educated traveller who understands that even at midnight there are many things happening in latinamerica. We walked the few blocks to the plaza and at first the big fountainous area was completely empty and it didn't seem like anyone was in the plaza at all... we walked down the long steps toward the center (it is a big plaza) and found a big crowd surrounding a crude spotlight shining up at a couple of clowns and an even more crude looking ´backstage´ made of cardboard and painted to look like a proper circus.
There we witnessed the juggler of fire and the unicyclist who had no issue with risking the lives of the young children in the audience by asking for volunteers to ride astride his shoulders as he cycled in a the tight circle in the center of the crowd. Because the purpose of these shows is never just for fun, I handed 2 pesos to a boy of about 2 years and asked him to give it to the clowns. He was the most acutely adorable child I'd seen yet in Argentina and without a word, and without a smile, and without hesitation went to give the money to the clown.
I was unaware at the time of how much 2 pesos was to a street performing clown and the clown exclaimed loudly that he had received a ´billete´(paper money instead of a coin) and asked who had given the money to him. I happened to be standing in just the spot where everyone in the park could see me and the boy pointed to me... more exclamations from the clown and I was just embarassed because I had become the obvious rich-lady tourist who can afford to throw away 75 cents.
Very nearly after that gripping performance we witnessed a couple who also performed as circus clowns but who had recently heard that the circus had died and their mission was to revive the circus by performing acrobatic and circus-like acts. He walked on his hands and she stood on his shoulders while juggling (not in that order) and he twirled her about with his feet as he lay on his back and she did many pretzle-like poses as he held her up as though she were a fluff of cotton candy. She had also tied a type of stretchy circus fabric ropy-type thing to the branch of a tree which she climbed and twisted her legs and body around in it to dance, climb and slide down and end in many crazy, acrobatic poses.
As we walked along after that enthralling entertainment we walked in the direction of some drumming... well, this in fact was not your average performance. There were 8 or so young boys surrounding a bench, a few sitting on it and playing their congas, bongos, flingos and wangos. Two of the young men stood off to the side and since we saw no hat for accepting money, we continued to walk past them when I heard ´es cocaina nada mas' and I glanced to the side as I saw them exchange objects in their hands. I had witnessed my very first latin american drug deal. I was oddly unafraid and perversly disappointed that it wasn't a more dangerous, adventurous or thrilling situation (like the circus performers)... in the end I just felt bad that every country and city suffers from drug addiction.
Meli and I and two blokes from our hostal went for a stroll to the Plaza because I am the educated traveller who understands that even at midnight there are many things happening in latinamerica. We walked the few blocks to the plaza and at first the big fountainous area was completely empty and it didn't seem like anyone was in the plaza at all... we walked down the long steps toward the center (it is a big plaza) and found a big crowd surrounding a crude spotlight shining up at a couple of clowns and an even more crude looking ´backstage´ made of cardboard and painted to look like a proper circus.
There we witnessed the juggler of fire and the unicyclist who had no issue with risking the lives of the young children in the audience by asking for volunteers to ride astride his shoulders as he cycled in a the tight circle in the center of the crowd. Because the purpose of these shows is never just for fun, I handed 2 pesos to a boy of about 2 years and asked him to give it to the clowns. He was the most acutely adorable child I'd seen yet in Argentina and without a word, and without a smile, and without hesitation went to give the money to the clown.
I was unaware at the time of how much 2 pesos was to a street performing clown and the clown exclaimed loudly that he had received a ´billete´(paper money instead of a coin) and asked who had given the money to him. I happened to be standing in just the spot where everyone in the park could see me and the boy pointed to me... more exclamations from the clown and I was just embarassed because I had become the obvious rich-lady tourist who can afford to throw away 75 cents.
Very nearly after that gripping performance we witnessed a couple who also performed as circus clowns but who had recently heard that the circus had died and their mission was to revive the circus by performing acrobatic and circus-like acts. He walked on his hands and she stood on his shoulders while juggling (not in that order) and he twirled her about with his feet as he lay on his back and she did many pretzle-like poses as he held her up as though she were a fluff of cotton candy. She had also tied a type of stretchy circus fabric ropy-type thing to the branch of a tree which she climbed and twisted her legs and body around in it to dance, climb and slide down and end in many crazy, acrobatic poses.
As we walked along after that enthralling entertainment we walked in the direction of some drumming... well, this in fact was not your average performance. There were 8 or so young boys surrounding a bench, a few sitting on it and playing their congas, bongos, flingos and wangos. Two of the young men stood off to the side and since we saw no hat for accepting money, we continued to walk past them when I heard ´es cocaina nada mas' and I glanced to the side as I saw them exchange objects in their hands. I had witnessed my very first latin american drug deal. I was oddly unafraid and perversly disappointed that it wasn't a more dangerous, adventurous or thrilling situation (like the circus performers)... in the end I just felt bad that every country and city suffers from drug addiction.
So much to say... so little time
una nota de la desaparecida... todavia vive...
I've been enjoying my stay here at the hostal in M. It is incredible how at home one can feel in a dormitory atmosphere among strangers. I´ve befriended a few - unfortunately most do not speak spanish - and they have proven themselves to be fun adventurous people like myself and very friendly to everyone.
I suppose I've left out my New Year´s party experience. It was smashing. Meli has some friends in the city so we were invited to spend new years with some exchange students from Brazil. This party ended up being one long lesson in Portuguese and the dinner was served Thai-style. Someone's mother was there and for some happy reason forced the entire party of around 25 people out on to the tiny appartment's tiny balcony for the countdown and needless to say, although there were several languages represented we ended by counting down in Portuguese - which I pretended to know how to do. All in all it went over very well and again, we arrived home very near to U.S. breakfast time.... Now that I'm on the road it is not so difficult to adjust to the Argentine schedules since I get to pick my own schedule.
Another thing I would love to point out is that I read somewhere that culture shock comes from initially trying to associate everything you see to something familiar (oh hey, that's just like we do at home!). So my mission, to avoid this emotional and psychological rollercoaster is to seek out the differences and embrace them.
Difference #1: about half of the female population deems bras unnecessary. I have now embraced their way of life and discarded my bra in order to fit in.
Difference #2: the whole male population considers it rude NOT to whistle, holler, honk, or hiss at a woman. I now say a polite ´gracias´each time I pass by a gentleman who ogles.
Difference #3: it is considered rude not to accept an offered doobi in this culture so I have also taken to the occasional puff now and then... and that sort of crosses over to cigarettes too.
Difference #4: it is normal to be offered wine or an alcoholic beverage at any hour (even 10am) so I have also become accustomed to much alcohol intake.
Difference #5: if water has run over a dish it is considered clean, so I have followed suit as well as ceased my quest to avoid herpes or hepatitis and accepted any food beverage or potentially germy product offered me.
I hope that everyone enjoyed my little cultural lesson and that you can appreciate the humor in a fine joke and have a laugh and consider it good fun to banter about (many folks at my hostal are english - it rubs off pretty easy).
I've been enjoying my stay here at the hostal in M. It is incredible how at home one can feel in a dormitory atmosphere among strangers. I´ve befriended a few - unfortunately most do not speak spanish - and they have proven themselves to be fun adventurous people like myself and very friendly to everyone.
I suppose I've left out my New Year´s party experience. It was smashing. Meli has some friends in the city so we were invited to spend new years with some exchange students from Brazil. This party ended up being one long lesson in Portuguese and the dinner was served Thai-style. Someone's mother was there and for some happy reason forced the entire party of around 25 people out on to the tiny appartment's tiny balcony for the countdown and needless to say, although there were several languages represented we ended by counting down in Portuguese - which I pretended to know how to do. All in all it went over very well and again, we arrived home very near to U.S. breakfast time.... Now that I'm on the road it is not so difficult to adjust to the Argentine schedules since I get to pick my own schedule.
Another thing I would love to point out is that I read somewhere that culture shock comes from initially trying to associate everything you see to something familiar (oh hey, that's just like we do at home!). So my mission, to avoid this emotional and psychological rollercoaster is to seek out the differences and embrace them.
Difference #1: about half of the female population deems bras unnecessary. I have now embraced their way of life and discarded my bra in order to fit in.
Difference #2: the whole male population considers it rude NOT to whistle, holler, honk, or hiss at a woman. I now say a polite ´gracias´each time I pass by a gentleman who ogles.
Difference #3: it is considered rude not to accept an offered doobi in this culture so I have also taken to the occasional puff now and then... and that sort of crosses over to cigarettes too.
Difference #4: it is normal to be offered wine or an alcoholic beverage at any hour (even 10am) so I have also become accustomed to much alcohol intake.
Difference #5: if water has run over a dish it is considered clean, so I have followed suit as well as ceased my quest to avoid herpes or hepatitis and accepted any food beverage or potentially germy product offered me.
I hope that everyone enjoyed my little cultural lesson and that you can appreciate the humor in a fine joke and have a laugh and consider it good fun to banter about (many folks at my hostal are english - it rubs off pretty easy).
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
A day in BsAs...
Interestingly enough, I was unable to get my yellow fever vaccination in the U.S. Since the shot is required for entrance to Peru as well as Bolivia, I had to find some way of getting this done 10 days before my entry. I went to the U.S. Embassy and got the name of a reputable medical practitioner who I was told would offer me this service. I went almost immediately afterwards to this clinic - everyone wearing white and very professional, clean, and friendly.... Relieved, I went up to one of the women behind a long glass counter and with my developing Spanish skills explained that I needed the shot. She said that I would need a professional medical practitioner's order (prescription?) to do so. Of course with only 4 days to go and our trip begins I asked if there were other possibilities. She looked at me with those professional eyes and took out her professional pen and a scrap of very professional looking paper and wrote an address and phone number on a piece of paper. I took it.
Once I finally got around to calling this recommended clinic, I was told that I would have to come in on Tuesday between the hours of 11 and 12. I thought 'that's odd, no appointment? no instructions? no information?' Oh well, it's latin america...
Tuesday rolls around and I hop on the 152 to go downtown (which is exceptionally far from my location in the city). After about 40 minutes I got off the bus, walked 7 blocks and at first had trouble finding the place. The block was full of official looking buildings that said things like "servicios publicos" and had the argentine emblem all over the front signs. Confused I stopped to ask a cop - again in my developing spanish - that I'm looking for this place (points to address). NOOO problem! Right around the corner, first door on your right. Thanks.
I walk around the corner, look through the first door on my right and thought, Maybe he meant the second door... So I pass by the door housing a bare room complete with chairs lining the walls and no one at the desk with blue, chipped paint. No. Nothing farther down.. What did that sign say anyway? ... (walks back towards the first door). "Servicios Medicos Publicos." I enter, passing a few broken people sitting in the doorway. Every chair in the room is occupied. There are nearly 30 chairs around this spacious room. I walk in and I thought, Act natural. As I stand in the middle of the big room and everyone sitting in their respective seats stare at me from their literal fly-on-the-wall perspective for a good 2 and a half minutes as I struggle to read the spanish Advisos.
Finally, a stern looking woman came out of the door behind the chipped blue desk... She did not either look nor was dressed very professional. I asked her if this was the place to get the shot. No, not this place, the one a block down. Gracias (a dios).
Even better. I follow the woman's directions to what looks like a warehouse. Barred doors and a sign that says, Enter through the back door. Wonderful. I walk around to the back and enter through a garage door and walk into what really was ... a parking garage. Confusion sets in here and a young man, again, looking very normal and not very medical comes out of a door leading to what I thought was a large paybooth for the garage. I asked about yellow fever shots and even before he answered I knew I was in the right place... signs saying, "Fiebre Amarillo." "Adviso a extranjeros." "Informacion de vacunaciones." ... Hmm.
Si si, do you have documentation? My passport ok? Si si... He takes it from me and walks back into the paybooth. About 5 minutes later my name is called from the booth. So I enter into the paybooth - I mean the office - I really mean the room with a workbench and an old wooden chair. Do I sit in the chair? No no, that would be impractical. Just stand here. I will soak your arm in alcohol, stab you with this relatively sterile needle and "listo." Done. Go home, nothing more, it's free? Listo...
Now as I sit eating a fabulous beef and egg sandwich I'm wondering: Did he really give me yellow fever vaccination? Or is this what heroine feels like? (I have a slight headache and my arm hurts).
Once I finally got around to calling this recommended clinic, I was told that I would have to come in on Tuesday between the hours of 11 and 12. I thought 'that's odd, no appointment? no instructions? no information?' Oh well, it's latin america...
Tuesday rolls around and I hop on the 152 to go downtown (which is exceptionally far from my location in the city). After about 40 minutes I got off the bus, walked 7 blocks and at first had trouble finding the place. The block was full of official looking buildings that said things like "servicios publicos" and had the argentine emblem all over the front signs. Confused I stopped to ask a cop - again in my developing spanish - that I'm looking for this place (points to address). NOOO problem! Right around the corner, first door on your right. Thanks.
I walk around the corner, look through the first door on my right and thought, Maybe he meant the second door... So I pass by the door housing a bare room complete with chairs lining the walls and no one at the desk with blue, chipped paint. No. Nothing farther down.. What did that sign say anyway? ... (walks back towards the first door). "Servicios Medicos Publicos." I enter, passing a few broken people sitting in the doorway. Every chair in the room is occupied. There are nearly 30 chairs around this spacious room. I walk in and I thought, Act natural. As I stand in the middle of the big room and everyone sitting in their respective seats stare at me from their literal fly-on-the-wall perspective for a good 2 and a half minutes as I struggle to read the spanish Advisos.
Finally, a stern looking woman came out of the door behind the chipped blue desk... She did not either look nor was dressed very professional. I asked her if this was the place to get the shot. No, not this place, the one a block down. Gracias (a dios).
Even better. I follow the woman's directions to what looks like a warehouse. Barred doors and a sign that says, Enter through the back door. Wonderful. I walk around to the back and enter through a garage door and walk into what really was ... a parking garage. Confusion sets in here and a young man, again, looking very normal and not very medical comes out of a door leading to what I thought was a large paybooth for the garage. I asked about yellow fever shots and even before he answered I knew I was in the right place... signs saying, "Fiebre Amarillo." "Adviso a extranjeros." "Informacion de vacunaciones." ... Hmm.
Si si, do you have documentation? My passport ok? Si si... He takes it from me and walks back into the paybooth. About 5 minutes later my name is called from the booth. So I enter into the paybooth - I mean the office - I really mean the room with a workbench and an old wooden chair. Do I sit in the chair? No no, that would be impractical. Just stand here. I will soak your arm in alcohol, stab you with this relatively sterile needle and "listo." Done. Go home, nothing more, it's free? Listo...
Now as I sit eating a fabulous beef and egg sandwich I'm wondering: Did he really give me yellow fever vaccination? Or is this what heroine feels like? (I have a slight headache and my arm hurts).
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