Last Days in Lima

Well, I'm finally home from my latest epic journey: a two-week shoot all across the country followed by an unexpected 14-hour drive from Chicago to New York.  Luckily my apartment is fully functioning and intact, in spite of the fact that I left my window open a crack having not anticipated that a hurricane would blow through while I was gone.  I am extremely fortunate and much better off than many others in New York City, Long Island and New Jersey as I have electricity, heat, hot water, cable and even Internet service.  My office is still closed since there's no power below 34th Street and the subways are just starting to partially open again tomorrow so it looks like I'll be working from home for at least the next few days.

But enough about all that for now.  I've finally reached the final blog post on the specific day-to-day adventures of my around-the-world trip.  I have a few follow-up posts to write over the next few days, but this is the last one about my final days overseas before coming back to the U.S. this past summer after eleven months abroad.  Now that the major posts are out of the way, I will try to gradually update the rest of the stats, figures and photos on the rest of the website so that everything will soon be completely up-to-date.  So on that note, let's get right to it.

On the morning of Monday, June 18th, my parents and I flew back to Lima, Peru, from Cuzco.  We took a cab from the airport back to the bed and breakfast where we had stayed before leaving for Cuzco and Machu Picchu.  It was an overcast and slightly drizzly day so there wasn't much that we could do outside.  We found a place where we could have a cheap prix fixe lunch, which left my parents amazed at the value.  Then in the early afternoon, we took a walk on the promenade along the cliff overlooking the rocky Costa Verde beaches across from our hotel.  My dad had to exchange some more money at the bank so we walked to a commercial area near the Larcomar shopping mall and then continued a bit farther until we reached the end of the pedestrian walk.  Along the way, my parents completely embarrassed me by pretending to make out just like the giant statue of two people kissing in Love Park. When we returned to the hotel, we found a place to have dinner nearby and then headed in for the night.

On Tuesday, I went to go check out a tandem paragliding place across from our hotel since I hadn't had the chance to go hang gliding when I was in Rio.  We stopped by first in the morning, but there wasn't enough wind so the guys told me to try again in the afternoon.  After the aborted paragliding attempt, we decided to head in the opposite direction along the promenade from the day before and walked down a set of stairs to the check out the beachfront below.  All of the beaches on this side of the city are covered in small rocks rather than sand so they can be very difficult and uncomfortable to walk on, especially in bare feet.  After heading back up to the top of the cliff, we veered away from the coastline to try to get some lunch.  I found a roadside place where I decided to stop, but my mother wanted to go back to the place where we'd eaten the day before.  After I ate, they headed off in the opposite direction and I went back to the hotel before going to sit out in the park across the street along the Costa Verde.  I was still hoping to try to paraglide in the afternoon, but my attempt was foiled again as the weather conditions just did not want to cooperate.  I did walk back down the beach again and made arrangements to take a surf lesson at 10:00am the following day.

Wednesday morning, my dad and I walked down to the surf spot about ten minutes from our hotel.  My mother made it over a bit later.  When I got there, the instructor I had arranged to meet was nowhere to be seen.  I was about to give up, when another guy who was set up on the beach talked me into taking a lesson with him instead.  He loaned me a wet suit, but didn't have any booties so it was tough to walk on the rocks.  In spite of the wet suit, the water was pretty cold as it was an overcast and windy day.  The instructor had given me a brief demo on shore before we headed into the water, which actually better helped me to understand the technique for standing up on the surfboard.  I had one of those big foam boards and my instructor would tell me exactly when to start paddling and even give me a push.  Following a few unsuccessful attempts, I was actually able to stand up!  Even though in reality I was pretty far off, I got scared as I got approached the shore so I jumped off after only a few seconds on the board.

After that I was able to stand up a few more times, but also got knocked around quite a bit and took on a small amount of water.  The Pacific Ocean off the coast of Lima is supposed to be pretty polluted so that didn't make me feel too reassured.  Luckily, I didn't get sick.  It was so much fun whenever I got up on the board, but being rocked around while I was waiting for the waves started to make me feel seasick and nauseous.  In the end, I decided to cut the lesson a bit short.  I was still out there for about an hour and was really glad I did it because now I have more confidence for the next time I get to go surfing.

In the afternoon, I tried once again to go paragliding, but it seems I was doomed to repeat my bad luck from Rio.  Finally, just an hour or so before sunset a few guys started getting airborne and they  allowed people to sign up for tandem flights.  I managed to be the second person on line so I gave my dad my video camera and then went inside the barricade to get all suited up.  The one girl before me was there with her boyfriend who stood off to the side to take pictures as she got ready to take off.  She was only wearing sandals so as she began to run with her instructor she tripped and nearly fell before getting dragged back on her feet.  I don't know if it's because they lost speed or there just wasn't enough wind, but right after the pair went off the cliff they went nearly straight down instead of up into the air.  I think the instructor was able to land safely on the beach below, but it was a very truncated and possibly dangerous flight.  After that, the guys running the place told us that there just wasn't enough wind so we were going to have to try again the next day.  I got so close, but given what had happened to the person before me, it was probably best that the rest of the flights were called off.

The next day was our final day in Peru before our flights back to New York.  In the morning, the weather still wasn't cooperating so my parents and I took a taxi to the city center to go to the Museo de Arte de Lima.  It was our first time actually going downtown away from the beaches of Miraflores.  The art museum was undergoing renovations so only a few exhibits were open.  One of them was an overview of all of the museum's recent acquisitions from all different eras of Peruvian art.  The other three were contemporary art exhibits, including one called "Milagros de la Torre," which featured several series of photographs.  One series was printed completely in the negative.  Another exhibit by artist David Zink Yi featured several large-scale pieces, including a video project showing a man blowing on a trumpet until he nearly asphyxiated himself.  The last exhibit, "Liquidacion," was comprised of several black and white films.  One showed scenes of a man walking around a campus and another opposite it simply showed a hand turning rocks of different sizes over and over.  According to the curatorial description, the films were supposed to "invite us to reflect on different social, historical and architectural development aspects," though I don't think any of us were particularly impressed.

After leaving the museum, we walked around the park out front and checked out a public art display of aerial photographs from various neighborhoods around Lima.  Then we had a prix fixe lunch at a nice outdoor cafe.  Nearby in the park was a theater and drama school where we got to watch students practicing an assignment right outside the building.  As the afternoon stretched on, we took a cab back to Miraflores, where I checked on the paragliding situation one last time.  Since it was still a no-go, we took another walk on the promenade and as we were resting on a bench the ground suddenly began to shake.  It turns out it was an earthquake!  Luckily since we were already outside we didn't have to worry about anything falling on us.  It actually wasn't that strong and didn't last for too long.  It was still an interesting story to bring back from our final afternoon in Peru.

A few hours later, it was time to head to the airport.  My parents had an overnight direct flight to Newark on United, but I was flying Spirit to LaGuardia and had a layover in Fort Lauderdale.  The original plan was for my parents to come pick up me once they landed in New Jersey, but that was not to be.  I'll save that exciting story for my next post later this week.  It sadly reflects heavily upon the events of the past few days.

City of the Incas

I'm currently on my way home from a two-week work shoot following the arrival of Hurricane Sandy along the East Coast.  Our Monday night flight from Austin, Texas, to New York was canceled so we flew instead to Chicago and have been driving back from there ever since.  Tonight my producer and I are holed up in Youngstown, Ohio, and hope to make it home tomorrow.  I hope all my "loyal readers" out there are safe and sound after the storm!  I actually just recently surpassed 10,000 page views so I guess that's something to celebrate.

To finish up the tale of my travels (only one or two posts left!), we head back to South America where my parents had met me in Peru in the middle of June.  After a few days at the high elevation in Cuzco, we headed down by train to the town of Aguas Calientes just outside the ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu.  A car picked us up early in the morning to make the 20-minute trip to the train station where we boarded a tourist train for the four-hour ride.  My dad had considered not coming along since he still wasn't feeling that well, but in the end decided it would be better to head down with us to a lower altitude.  On the train, my parents and I sat next to another American family with two daughters about my age and a son and had a nice conversation with them while we ate breakfast and watched the beautiful mountain scenery roll by outside the windows.

When we arrived in Aguas Calientes, we dropped off our luggage with a porter and met the guide who was going to bring us up to the ruins.  There were about a half dozen other people in our group who joined us on the shuttle bus that brought us up to the top of the peak.  It took about 20 minutes winding back and forth up switchback roads for us to reach the entrance to the park.  Crowds were already starting to form, but since we got to the mountain at around 10:00am it luckily wasn't too congested yet. 

We walked through the front gate, down a short path and got our first view of the city spread out all around us.  It is exactly like it's pictured in photos, but obviously even more remarkable in person.  Our guide brought us to an out-of-the-way spot where he gave a short talk about the history of the Incas and how they built the stone city in the 15th century.  The 7,000-foot high site was built on a series of terraces hewed into the steep Andean slopes surrounding Mount Wayna Picchu, which overlooks the ruins.  It was abandoned only 100 years later during the Spanish Conquest.  The city was "rediscovered" in 1911 by the American historian, Hiram Bingham, who was brought there by some local Peruvians.  Our guide brought us around the main part of the site, showing us the Temple of the Sun (which you can't actually go inside), the Royal Tomb, the Three Windowed Temple, the quarry, the solar clock/observatory and all the other highlights.

After our guided tour ended, it was time for us to have lunch.  We made our way out of the park to a restaurant right next to the entrance.  Three or four of the other tour group members joined us at our table, including a young Japanese guy who was studying medicine in California.  We had a pretty decent buffet lunch that was part of our package deal before heading back into the park.  Most of the other tour members had to get back to Aguas Calientes to catch the train to Cuzco, but the Japanese guy joined my parents and I for the afternoon.  Once back inside, we decided to hike 20 minutes down a trail to the Inca Bridge.  The bridge is part of a stone path that was cut into the cliff face leading westward out of Machu Picchu.  It spans a 20-foot gap over a 1,900-foot drop.  Visitors can't actually cross the bridge any longer, which is probably a good thing since it looks rather frightening.  I was able to walk right up to the edge of it before a barrier blocked my progress.  After making it back from the bridge, we wandered around the stone structures for a little while longer before catching the bus to the bottom of the hill.

The shuttle bus dropped us off at our hotel in Aguas Calientes where we were able to pick up our bags and get into our room before going into the village for dinner.  We ate at one of the typical tourist places so it wasn't really anything special, but luckily everyone was feeling better by this point so we all were able to eat dinner for the first time in a few days.  Back at the hotel, we had to get up bright and early the next morning so after taking showers we all got ready for bed.

The alarm went off at about 5:00am the next day, alerting us it was time to wake up to see the sunrise.  We got one of the first shuttle buses back to Machu Picchu, but by the time we arrived it was already starting to get light out.  This was actually probably a good thing since it gave us enough visibility to climb up the steep hill to the Watchman's Hut without tripping all over ourselves.  Luckily, it took a while for the sun to actually rise over the mountain peaks so we didn't miss much of anything of great importance.  We met our Japanese friend once again at the top where we were able to catch the sunrise as it slowly illuminated the whole city down below us.  It was definitely a magical sight to witness in spite of the hundreds of other tourists gathered to see the same thing.

After sunrise, we made the arduous trek up to the sun gate high above the city walls.  For those who trek to Machu Picchu, the view from the sun gate is the first they see of the city after several days on the Inca Trail.  We did it in the opposite order, but it was still pretty majestic all the same. I can imagine it's a completely amazing sight for hikers who view it for the first time coming up from the other direction.  I sat meditating for about 15 minutes with Tibetan chants (I know, wrong region) playing on my iPod since it was so peaceful and serene.  It was then time to walk the hour back down the trail with my parents.  When we got to the bottom, my mom went to rest while my dad and I tried to find the Mortar District where there are two carved-out stone circles that form reflecting pools, which were once used as large mortars.  My dad wanted to try to get a better picture of the reflection of the sky, but we had the hardest time finding the right room.  The city became a maze that continually led to dead ends, including one where we ran head on into a llama that was munching on some grass.  We nearly gave up before finally finding the spot, though the lighting wasn't quite right to the get the shot that my dad wanted.

Following one final glance at the ancient wonder, we decided to head back down the mountain to Aguas Calientes.  We wandered around the small village for a little while and then sat down by the river in front of our hotel before walking to the train station.  On the way back through the mountains there was a crazy fashion show right in the middle of our train car.  Our cabin attendants showed off alpaca wool to the beat of loud pumping music in an effort to sell the clothing items.  It was amusing to watch, but the clothes were insanely overpriced.  When we arrived back in Cuzco, there was a driver there to meet us.  On our way to the hotel, I commented to my parents that I was having a bit of a hard time with having everything completely taken care of for me and not having to constantly think about how to get from Point A to Point B.  It was a total departure from my normal routine and actually made me feel a bit lazy.

That night we went back to the"organic" restaurant where my dad and I had gone the first night in Cuzco since my mom had not been able to join us then.  Fortunately this time we were all acclimated to the altitude and were able to enjoy a good meal.  I did, however, pass on a second stab at the alpaca steak.  The next morning, we got up early once again for the short ride to the airport.  We boarded a plane and were off to Lima for the last few days of my journey.

I'll post more photos from Machu Picchu and all the photos from Cuzco in the next few days.  I don't know if I'll have internet once I make it back home, but I'll do the best I can.

In Peru With the Parents

On Wednesday, June 13th, I flew from Buenos Aires to Lima, Peru, where I arrived just before 5:30pm.  My parents were meeting me in Lima to spend the last week of my trip with me before I flew back to the U.S. after 11 months away.  They had told me they were sending a taxi to come pick me up at the airport, but when I walked out of customs into the waiting area, they were standing there with a sign (as if I wouldn't recognize them.)  It was definitely a surprise to see them, though I'd had a secret suspicion that they might come meet to me so it wasn't a total shock.

It was rush hour when we left the airport so it took a little while to drive over to the Miraflores neighborhood where our hotel was located a few blocks from the beach.  We finally did arrive and I dropped my bag off in our room before we left again to go get some dinner.  None of us were all that hungry and my parents had eaten a big lunch so we found a cafe within walking distance where all had some sandwiches.  It was warmer than it had been in Buenos Aires so even after the sun set it was a nice walk back to the hotel.

The next morning, we had to get up early again to catch one of the first flights out to Cuzco.  We took a cab to the airport and then had a short, direct flight to the 11,000-foot high Andean city.  An English-speaking guide with the tour company that my dad had booked our trip to Cuzco and Machu Picchu through, met us at the airport with a driver.  She drove with us to our hotel and explained a bit about the city and our four-day tour along the way.  I was feeling a bit woozy from the plane flight and my mother also seemed to be affected by the altitude so when we got to the hotel we took a short rest while my dad went off exploring.  Then in the afternoon we all wandered over to the main Plaza de Armas where celebrations were underway for the final day of the Catholic Corpus Christi festival.  As we stood in the crowded square, the 14 saints of Cuzco were carried on floats from the main cathedral in a procession around the plaza.  Somber bands played over one another in a cacophony of music.  It reminded my parents and I of the Semana Santa festivities that we had witnessed in Sevilla, Spain, when they visited me during my semester abroad.

As my dad ran around taking pictures, my mom had to sit down because she had a pounding headache.  After watching the procession for about an hour, we'd all had just about enough sensory overload and so we headed back to the hotel.  The high altitude was really getting to my mom so she drank cup after cup of coca tea and then lay back in bed.  At that point, my dad and I were for the most part feeling fine so we went out to dinner at a nice organic (or so they said) Peruvian restaurant.  I decided to be adventurous and order the alpaca steak because I couldn't bring myself to try guinea pig since I'd had one as a pet.  The alpaca was actually not all that bad.  We brought my mom some plain pasta back and she was able to eat a few bites.

All seemed fine until the middle of the night when my dad suddenly woke up and started getting sick.  It woke me up too and I felt really bad, but there was not much that I could do.  In the morning I offered to get everyone coca tea (which is supposed to help with the altitude) but my dad was not a big fan.  My mom, however, drank the stuff like it was water.  I went off to get my laundry washed and then in the afternoon we had our city tour of Cuzco.  My dad still wasn't feeling well, but my mom was doing better so the two of us went by ourselves.

We met up with the rest of the group in the Plaza de Armas and went inside the Cathedral of Santo Domingo where we got to see some of the saints from the day before up close.  It was interesting to learn how Peruvian traditions had been interwoven into the Catholic symbolism.  A painting of the Last Supper, for example, included a cooked guinea pig as the main course.  The choir loft appeared to be made of a dark wood carved with traditional religious symbols, but on closer inspection also featured naked Incan idols.

From the church, we traveled to an actual Incan site downtown called the Korichanca or Temple of the Sun.  During the time of the Incas around 4000 priests and their attendants lived in the temple confines.  It was a glittering palace with gold panels lining the walls.  The gold is now gone, but many of the original walls still remain intact, integrated into a Dominican convent, which has since taken over the space.

Getting back on board the bus, our tour group headed out of the city center into the hills surrounding Cuzco to visit some of the Incan archaeological sites.  The first stop was Tambomachay where we had to climb a small hill to get to the ruins.  During Incan times the stonework was used as a site for ritual bathing and hydraulic cascades of waters still remain, though they're no longer accessible.  From Tambomachay, we went down to Q'enqo, another Incan ruin that features an underground chamber.  No one is exactly certain of the chamber's function, but the theory is that the cold stone slab shaded from the sun was used for ritual sacrifices or embalming nobles.  The last stop on the tour was at the Sacsayhuaman Fortress where we arrived just as the sun was setting.  The site is known as a fortress because of its immense terrace walls made out of large polished dry stones that fit tightly together without mortar.  It was definitely a magical sight to see as the sunset turned the rocks a rosy color.

On the way back down to Cuzco, we stopped at a warehouse where vendors tried to sell us all manner of alpaca wool garments, but the prices were pretty steep.  When we arrived at the hotel, we convinced my dad to come join us for dinner where my mom and I ate pasta, but my dad could barely manage a few spoonfuls of soup.  We learned the likely reason why a few days later.  Apparently when up at high altitude, it can take a longer time to digest food.  That's why my dad had trouble when he lay down in certain positions and why he had no appetite.  Unfortunately, we realized this a bit too late, but luckily the problem soon solved itself when we headed down to a lower altitude the following day.




I'll post the photos tomorrow.

To Argentina Again

Buenos Aires pretty much became my home base while I was in South America because it was relatively cheap to fly in and out of.  Therefore, since I had decided not to go to Iguazu Falls, I headed back to the city after my week in Brazil.  I bit the bullet and ended up taking a car home from the airport because the next shuttle bus to downtown didn't leave for over an hour after my arrival. Then I still would have had to take a city bus back to Palermo and I was already exhausted.

On Sunday, I was so tired from traveling (and barely sleeping) the day before that I slept in rather late.  I was still fighting a cold so I ended up just spending most of the day walking around the neighborhood.  I think I had reached a sightseeing saturation point and just needed to take a break.  Close to where Adela lives is a small Armenian community so I did have a nice dinner at a local Armenian restaurant.

On Monday, I took the subway to Tribunales armed with my video and digital cameras.  I had lunch in a nice cafe in a pedestrian plaza right off of Avenida 9 de Julio and then went out along the main street to get some shots of the Colon Theater, the Obelisk and the huge portrait of Eva Peron.  I had planned to also go back to Puerto Madero to cross over to the other side of the harbor, but I just ran out of time.  I had to get back to Palermo because I was meeting Lisa who had just arrived the day before from Rio.  I met her at the Plaza Italia subway station and we walked from there back up Armenia toward Adela's house until we picked a place to stop and get some dinner.  We then found a bar where we had some drinks and got into a ridiculous conversation with a local Argentinian guy and his female German exchange student friend.  Neither of them spoke very good English so I think they were using us to practice.  Once it started getting late, Lisa caught a cab back to her hostel and I walked home to Adela's.

On Tuesday, it was my last full day in Buenos Aires before heading out of town for the final time.  I didn't do anything too ambitious because I had some last minute things I needed to get organized before I left.  I walked down to Plaza Italia to get some things from the drug store and thank you cards and gifts for Mateo and Adela.  On the way there and back I stopped at several real estate agencies that I had previously spotted so see if they had any potential clients who might want to apply for House Hunters.  Some spoke better English than others, but it was definitely a big challenge trying to explain the process of the show in my broken Spanish.  I did get a bunch of business cards, though, so I figured I would e-mail them with the details when I had more time.

In the evening, once I was back at Adela's, Mateo stopped over to say goodbye.  Antonio was sick at home with Greta so he couldn't stay too long.  We did share a cup of tea and he helped me to arrange a car to the airport for my flight to Lima, Peru, early the following morning.  He then found a milonga where I could go to watch tango that night.  Fortunately, it was right down the street, but unfortunately it didn't start until after 11:00pm.  I knew I had to get up pretty early so I packed all my bags to make sure I was ready to go before I went to bed.

The milonga was a few blocks away on the main road in a large open space with a dance floor.  When I arrived shortly after 11:30pm, recorded music was still playing.  I picked a table off to the side and ordered a glass of red wine.  Sitting there watching the couples spinning around the dance floor I soon became almost mesmerized.  It was nearly 1:00am before the band arrived and finally started playing so I decided to stick around a little longer and order a second glass of wine.  Tango is such an intimate and sensual dance that I had the sudden urge to learn how to do it.  Several older men actually did approach me and ask if I wanted to dance.  However, even though I was slightly tempted, I was way too bashful to get up in front of everyone.  Besides, instead of wearing heels like all the other women, I was wearing flip flops.

It was nearly 2:00am before I finally pulled myself away and headed back to the house.  After two glasses of wine and hours of being lulled into a trance by the dance, I was feeling rather mellow.  Then something happened that snapped me back awake.  I put my key into the old fashioned lock on Adela's imposing wooden door and it just wouldn't budge.  I'd had a bit of trouble with the lock before, but nothing quite this bad.  I stood outside for at least 15 minutes jangling the key till my fingers ached.  I didn't make any progress.  I finally resigned myself to my fate and knew what I had to do.  I had to ring the doorbell and wake up my gracious, snoozing hostess.  After several buzzes, a drowsy and confused Adela finally arrived and I explained the situation through the divide.  She tried to open the door from the inside, but had no luck herself.  In the end, she unlocked the window in the front salon/drama room and I crawled inside through there.  I felt absolutely awful for waking her up, but I had no other choice unless I wanted to sleep on the sidewalk.

Five hours later when my taxi arrived, I feared I would have to wake Adela again since I didn't want to leave the window unlocked.  When the driver came to the door I tried opening it from the inside again, but still had no luck.  At just that moment the cleaning woman arrived and she tried as well from the outside.  Nothing was working so I went to grab my bag and handed it out through the window before climbing out myself.  The good news was that since the cleaning woman had come I didn't have to wake up Adela.  The cab driver and I gave the terrified middle-aged woman a boost through the window and with that I was off to the airport.

At the Copa, Copacabana

Even though I didn't get much sleep on my second night in the new hostel in Rio, I still woke up the next morning to check on the weather for hang gliding.  Lisa had decided she wanted to join me so we went down to the front desk at the crack of dawn.  Once again we were told that the weather was too windy and overcast with a threat of rain.  I headed back to bed and slept for several more hours.  With our plans dashed yet again, Lisa and I decided to head downtown with Mana, Tulee and Angus to the Santa Teresa neighborhood.  Another new arrival from Germany named Zeyep and an Australian guy named Will also planned to join us.  Unfortunately, Zeynep couldn't get money out of the bank since her ATM card had accidentally been demagnetized and Will offered to stick around to help her.

The rest of us hopped on the subway and rode downtown to the Lapa station.  Our first stop was supposed to be the Escadaria Selaron, which is a famous set of stairs decorated by the Chilean-born artist Jorge Selaron.  Selaron began renovating the dilapidated steps in front of his house in 1990 using fragments of blue, green and yellow tiles in reference to the colors of the Brazilian flag.  Now the 250 steps are covered with 2000 tiles from 60 countries all over the world.  At first we had a bit of trouble even locating the staircase, but after asking several different people on the street, we finally found our way.

Since the stairs are covered with tiles from all over the world, we all had fun trying to find ones that matched our home countries and states.  I found one or two from New York, but didn't see any from Connecticut.  About halfway up, however, we ran into the artist out in front of his home.  He was mainly there trying to get people into his shop to buy his own homemade tiles and works of art.  The cool thing was that if you did buy something, he would personally sign it.  I bought some (pre-signed) magnets since that's my cheesy tradition.  Selaron's assistant who spoke English explained to us that people still send him tiles to swap out for ones currently on display.  Maybe I should send him one from Connecticut to add to his collection.

Once we finally got to the top of the escadaria, we were at the lower end of Santa Teresa.  The neighborhood is on the top of a hill in the center of Rio and is known for its narrow, winding streets and enclave of artists.  We wandered up to the top and tried to go to a museum, but couldn't find the entrance.  At another stop, Mana tried ordering a serving of acai, but the guy in the shop was too bothered to make it.  We considered stopping for lunch, but instead just popped into a few different boutiques and art galleries before making our way back down the hill.  By the time we got down, everyone was in the mood for some acai so we stopped at one of the innumerable juice shops.  After resting for a bit, the group headed back toward the subway.  It was still only mid-afternoon so I decided to stop in the National Museum of Fine Arts before returning to the hostel.  I had a nice time walking around and particularly enjoyed seeing old paintings of Rio and an exhibit of family and self portraits by a Brazilian artist.

That night, Will and I had talked about getting tickets to a soccer match either on our own or through the hostel, which was organizing a group outing.  In the end, we never got our act together, but it turned out to be for the best.  It poured down rain that night and we would have been completely miserable outside in the stadium.  We basically all just took it easy instead since we were tired from the late night before.  Lisa and I also wanted to get up early on Thursday morning to try once again with the hang gliding.

Unfortunately, the morning's cloud cover foiled our plans for the third time.  We hoped it would clear up by the afternoon and we'd have another shot then.  With that in mind, Tulee and I decided to go up to the Christ the Redeemer statue in the morning, figuring we would be back down to the beach on time for an afternoon flight.  I arranged to meet up with Lisa back at the hostel at around 1:00pm to reassess the situation.   In the end, things didn't go according to plan.  I hadn't extended my hostel reservation on time to remain in the same room for another night so I had to move all my luggage to the room next door.  Once I finally got organized and took a shower, Tulee and I were already running late.  We asked the hostel for directions, but then had trouble finding the spot where we were supposed to catch the bus.  By this time it was nearly noon.  I realized there was no way I was getting back in time to meet up with Lisa.  I felt bad about completely ditching her so Tulee and I went down to Copacabana where she had gone to swim.  Since it was still really overcast and windy, the prototypical Alaskan girl was the only one splashing around in the water.  She was therefore pretty easy to spot.  Both Lisa and I agreed that we didn't think the weather was going to change so I was free to go off with Tulee to attempt to go to the statue.

Unfortunately, our luck didn't improve after that.  Tulee and I took the bus to the base of Corcovado mountain where visitors can either take a private taxi or a tram ride up to the 130-foot-tall statue.  There was no line at all for the tram, but there was a very good reason why.  We could see from the video monitors showing the view from the top that the peak was completely shrouded in clouds.  The visibility was practically zero.  Obviously we would be able to see the statue up close, but there would be no chance of seeing the view of the city, which was the main attraction for Tulee, the Jewish Israeli.  We decided it wouldn't be worth it to pay to go to top and we would try again the next day.  We hopped on the bus right back to Copacabana, our plans for the afternoon ruined.

Back at the hostel, I ran into Lisa who had returned from the beach.  She was just about to leave to go over to the Confeiteria Cafe, a Victorian tearoom in downtown Rio that's been open since 1894.  I hadn't really eaten and had nothing better to do so I tagged along.  We shared a late afternoon tea set, which for Lisa was a first.  Everything was really good and definitely filled us up for dinner.  Unfortunately as we were leaving to get on the subway, the skies once again opened up.  We had to race down the street dodging rain drops to make it into the station.

That night back at the hostel, our multicultural contingent, weary of the bar there, decided to venture over to the hostel next door.  That hostel had a bar in the basement, which unlike the bar at our place, stayed open past 11:00pm.  We had so much fun writing messages on the walls, learning how to samba dance (not too successfully on my end) with lessons from the bartender and drinking caipirinhas into the wee hours of the morning.  For most of us, it was our last full night in Rio so it was a bit bittersweet.  The next evening, Mana was heading back to Holland after five months away, Tulee was on a flight to Israel following seven months of travel and Will was off to Canada for the next leg of his journey.  Meanwhile, on Saturday I had a flight back to Buenos Aires from Sao Paulo and Lisa was also planning to fly there that day from Rio de Janeiro.  The only ones sticking actually around for longer were Angus and Zeynep.  That said, I was actually debating back and forth about whether I was going to just blow off my flight and take a bus to Iguazu Falls and then to Buenos Aires instead of lying.  However, I felt like I was starting to get sick so that new plan was literally still "up in the air."

The next day, we all agreed to meet at the hostel at 6:00pm for farewell drinks before Mana, Will and Tulee had to head to the airport.  In the morning, Lisa and I tried one final time to go hang gliding before giving up for good.  With the weather still uncooperative, Tulee and I instead headed back over to Corcovado.  This time there was a sizeable line to get onto the tram.  The mountain remained clouded over, but it was our last chance to get up to the top.  Once we arrived, the peak was mobbed with people.  We had to fight our way through the crowds to climb up the stairs and get a good look at the Art Deco statue of Jesus of Nazareth holding his arms to the sides as if on the cross.  Tulee had fun playing around with the sculpture, but others were clearly not so easily amused.  Luckily, even though the sky was white with haze there were breaks in the clouds that gave us a good view of the city and sea stretched out below.

Getting down off the mountain was thankfully much less of a hassle.  When we got to the bottom, I made the decision that I should really go buy a bus ticket to head back to Sao Paulo so I wouldn't miss my flight.  Trying to go to Iguazu was in the end just way too complicated.  Since I didn't have a room booked in Rio that night and our current hostel was full, my plan was to take an overnight bus to Sao Paulo and then take a shuttle to the airport from there.  After trying to book a ticket at the company I had originally wanted to use, but not understanding where I was supposed to go, I finally resigned myself to booking a spot on the 11:00pm bus with the same line I'd taken to get there.  I then splurged and caught a nice tourist bus (as opposed to the local bus) back to Copacabana.

By the time I got off the bus, it was nearly 5:00pm and I had some shopping to do before our arranged meeting at 6:00pm.  There was a certain gift that I wanted to get for my new friends, but it was a bit difficult to find.  I finally tracked it down and arrived at the hostel just a few minutes late.  However, the only ones there were Angus and Will.  Finally Mana and Tulee drifted in, but Lisa and Zeynep were nowhere to be seen.  I finally gave up and went through my elaborate gift presentation without them.  Lisa arrived a short time later, having just missed out on all the fun.  By that time, the other three had to catch their cab so we all had to say our goodbyes.

Once they were out the door, Angus, Lisa and I went over to the other hostel for some drinks and a barbeque.  The owner wanted us to recruit people to come over, but at first we were only mildly successful.  Eventually more people started arriving and we had a pretty good time.  As the hour approached for me to leave for the bus station, I continually put it off for a little while longer.  Finally it was imperative for me to leave or risk missing my bus.  I was really torn about going since I was having so much fun.  However, I knew in my heart that I had to be responsible and do the right thing.  I pulled myself away and luckily grabbed a cab that was just passing by out front.  Angus kept trying to get me to change my mind and stay or even to turn around and come back.  Once the cab pulled away, though, I knew I would get on the bus.

We arrived at the station and I got on board only to sit there waiting to leave.  After nearly an hour, they made us disembark and get on a different bus since apparently ours wasn't working.  Once we got on the new bus I passed out until we pulled into Sao Paulo just after 7:00am.  My flight wasn't until 1:00pm so I had plenty of time.  I figured I would book a shuttle bus over to the airport where I could relax for a few hours.  There were two other girls ahead of me in the ticket line who were also clearly backpackers.  When they found out the price for the shuttle, they had a change of heart.  They decided to take the subway all the way to the airport.  Like them, I had plenty of time and the ever-present inclination to be frugal and hoard money.  Should I take the subway as well?  In the end, my exhaustion won out and I decided it wasn't worth the effort.  I did feel a bit like the hardened traveler who finally sells out after 11 months on the road.  But I guess sometimes you just realize convenience is worth the extra cash.

Rockin' Rio

I'm writing this right now from exotic (not so exotic) Lansing, Michigan, on a shoot for work.  I have a few more posts to finish up the rest of my trip so I'll try to get those all done soon.

I arrived in Rio de Janeiro by bus from Sao Paulo late in the afternoon on June 3rd.  The bus station wasn't very centrally located so even though the hostel where I was staying had sent instructions for getting there by bus, I decided to take a taxi.  I knew the hostel was located in a favela or slum area, but most of the reviews I had read on-line seemed to indicate that the location was relatively safe so I wasn't too concerned.  However, as we got closer and started to go up the hill, things took a turn for the worse.

My first clue that something was amiss was the torn-up and muddy road that the cab driver had trouble driving on.  At one point he said he couldn't go any further, but when I pointed out that I didn't know where I was and had all my bags with me, he reluctantly agreed to keep going.  Some of the local guys even jumped on the car's hood to help him try to get traction.  Then we got to another spot that was nearly impassible and this time he completely refused to continue uphill.  As I loudly protested and asked where the heck I was supposed to go, he vaguely waved up the road as I grabbed my bags and paid him (without giving a tip.)  I had to trudge the rest of the way on foot along the side of a narrow muddy road with all my belongings on my back.  Luckily I hadn't gone that far when I saw a sign for the hostel and was able to get inside behind the locked gate.

Once inside I found out the cause of the horrendous road conditions.  There was currently no running water.  The water main had broken for the entire favela, which was why construction crews had been digging up the streets and leaving them a mess overnight.  The guy at the front desk told me he was hoping the water would be back on by the next day, but I decided to cancel one night of my three-night stay because the situation still seemed to be pretty dire.  I felt bad about canceling at all so I figured I could stick it out for two nights.  Unfortunately, with the lack of water the hostel was in pretty rough shape.  The kitchen was a mess with dirty dishes piling up and the only available water in the bathrooms was in huge jugs to be used only for "flushing" the toilets.  I had to venture out beyond the hostel walls again just to get bottled water from the bar next door so I could brush my teeth. Washing my face or hands was sadly out of the question.  In my dorm room there were only two other people and one of them was a middle-aged man, which was also slightly awkward.  Then starting very early the next morning, people were out smoking on the balcony right next to the room.  That was the last straw.  No matter how bad I felt for the people running the place, I just couldn't stay there any more.  I booked another hostel on-line and then went downstairs to check out and cancel my second night.

Luckily the woman at the front desk was understanding and even gave me a map to show me how to get down to the main street.  There was probably a way to take a bus, but it seemed like it was just easier to walk to my new hostel so I decided to hoof it.  The favela was much less intimidating in the morning light and the construction crews were already back at work on the roads by the time I walked by.  I made my way down the hill to the main street along Copacabana Beach and then found the new place a few streets back from the beach relatively easily.  The most annoying part was the steep uphill climb right before I got to the entrance.  Once inside I had to leave my bags by the storage lockers until I was able to check in later in the day.  Fortunately, they let me take a shower in one of the bathrooms so I was able to finally get clean.  I then put on my bathing suit and set right off for the beach.  I ate lunch at an outdoor restaurant across the street and then spent the rest of the afternoon lying on the sand.  In retrospect, I'm really glad I did because it turned out to be the best beach day of the week.

Once I got back to my hostel later in the afternoon, I was finally able to check in and move my stuff up to my room.  The room was nice because each bed had a set of privacy curtains, but I was stuck with the one bed that wasn't also up against a wall so only one side was secluded.  While I was getting organized I met two American sisters, one of whom was working on a research project in Brazil for the semester.  Then a bit later I met a Dutch girl named Mana who was also staying in my room.  The other girls had gone out apartment hunting so I invited Mana to go get some dinner.  She had told me about a woman from Alaska named Lisa who was another one of our roommates and when I met her as I was getting ready I invited her to dinner as well.  The three of us went to a local place where we cobbled together enough of our Portuguese/Spanish knowledge to figure out how to order since the waiter didn't speak English.  Mana, who had been in Brazil for a while and in South America as a whole for several months was probably the most proficient of all.

Earlier in the day, I had seen an advertisement for hanggliding (something I had wanted to try since childhood) in the hostel lobby.  The next morning I got up early and tried to organize a trip.  Unfortunately, the weather was overcast and rainy so they weren't flying.  I decided instead to head to downtown Rio.  Armed with just a map from the hostel I took the subway to the Flamengo station and randomly picked a direction to start walking in the hopes of hitting the coastline.  After a few missteps, I did make my way to the Parque do Flamengo.  I walked along the beach for a while and then crossed over to try to go up to the Gloria Church.  It was on the top of a hill, though, and I couldn't figure out how to access the road to get to the top.  Giving up after a few minutes, I walked back across the street, passed a World War II monument and a small boat harbor before getting to the heart of downtown.

Walking down the main Avenida Rio Branco, I passed some municipal buildings, the National Library of Brazil, the beautiful Municipal Theater and the National Museum of Fine Arts.  Then it suddenly started to pour down rain.  I found a place to stop for lunch and then once it let up, continued on my way.  Once I hit Avenida Presidente Vargas I headed west in the hopes of making it to a few more landmarks noted on my map.  Along the way, I wandered into the Praca da Republica where I ran around with these huge guinea pig-like creatures that looked like they could eat me (I think they were capybaras.)  Soon, though, I realized there was no way I was going to get as far as I was hoping.  My feet were aching and it was getting later and later.  I decided to make my way toward the subway to go back to Copacabana.  Unfortunately by this point, I had no idea exactly where I was, so I headed back vaguely in the direction from which I had come.  I went by the parade grounds and through some not-so-great areas until I finally reached the Rio de Janeiro Cathedral.  I didn't really know where the subway was and it was already starting to get dark, but luckily as it was rush hour I was able to just follow the flow of people until I got to a station.

Later that night, back at my hostel, I met up again with Lisa, Mana, their new friend, Tulee from Israel, and a South African guy named Angus.  We stayed up well into the night even get yelled at for making too much noise in the courtyard.  From there on out my time in Rio suddenly became much more interesting.

The Sao Paulo Saga

On Friday morning, the first day of June, when I woke up in Sao Paulo, Brazil, I was in desperate need of some clean clothes.  It had gotten to the point where I pretty much had nothing to wear.  The hostel had a washing machine and though it seemed a bit expensive (about $10 per load to wash it myself without the use of a dryer), I decided it was still preferable to lugging my laundry around trying to find a laundromat.  It didn't help that I was in a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of town.  Unfortunately, just as I was going to put my wash in, the cleaning lady had started a cycle with a very small number of towels.  This meant I had to wait another hour for her to finish.  She tried to talk me into waiting until the next day since there was a party that night, but I was afraid the clothes wouldn't be dry on time with the damp and chilly weather. As it was, I had to book an extra night to make sure they'd be ready.  Since I was washing pretty much everything in my bag, I was left wearing a black sweater and a pair of black capri pants that I guess I determined were still relatively clean.  That's probably because I hadn't had a chance to wear them in South Africa or Argentina where the weather wasn't that warm.  As it was, I was a bit underdressed, even for Brazil.

Finally by about mid-afternoon I was able to get my clothes into the washer and then I had to wait another hour for the cycle to finish before I could hang them on the rack.  I contemplated taking a shower while I waited, but my towel was in the wash and I couldn't seem to get any hot water, though in retrospect I think that was because I was confusing the taps.  I decided to just forget it and instead remain dirty and shrouded in black all day.  By the time the laundry was finished, it was too late to go into town and besides I was dressed like a crazy person.  It was drizzling a bit outside so I just walked about a block to a pub right out on the main street.  The menu was only in Portuguese, but since written Portuguese is somewhat similar to Spanish, I could nearly figure out what was listed.  However, after I put in my order, what the waitress came back with was not exactly what I had expected.  I ended up getting a hamburger-like sandwich with a fried egg on top.  Luckily, it was okay in spite being not quite what I'd pictured.

As I was finishing up my dinner, loud music suddenly started playing and an older Brazilian man grabbed a microphone to start singing.  It was apparently time for karaoke.  This same man sang three or four songs one after another until someone else finally got up to the mic.  His voice was loud and booming, but honestly not very good.  Most of the songs were in Portuguese, but one that I didn't recognize was in English.  That was actually rather amusing, since it was quite clear that this man did not know how to speak the language.  However, overall the loud, off-key music was really just annoying.  After paying my bill, I knew it was time to go, but not before I half considered going up there to belt out a tune in front of a bunch of random strangers just to have a funny story.  I ultimately decided against it because it seemed like there were a lot of people waiting in the wings and I couldn't stand to hang around listening any longer until my turn finally came up.

Unfortunately, my night didn't get any less annoying from there.  Just as I got outside to head back to the hostel, it started to pour down rain.  I didn't have an umbrella so I waited until it let up a tiny bit before deciding to make a run for it.  I couldn't escape getting a little bit wet, which wasn't helped by my lack of any other dry clothes.  Then when I got back to the dorm room, all the lights were off as my roommates were taking a nap.  I didn't want to disturb them so I kept the light off and worked on my computer until I fell asleep myself.  A few hours later, while I was still asleep, the group of the three or four guys and a girl suddenly turned on the light and started talking loudly in Portuguese right next to my bed while they got ready to go out.  I didn't mind the light so much as the unnecessarily loud conversation, especially since I'd been so considerate to them all earlier. 

The group finally left, but then the managers of the hostel started cranking music for the huge party they were hosting for all their friends that night.  Hostel guests were invited, but since I was unshowered and had nothing to wear, I didn't have the motivation to go out and try to meet people who didn't even speak my language.  I may as well have been out there, though, since it was so loud it felt like I practically was.  I tried to go to sleep for a while, but it was completely impossible.  They had a live band that didn't even START playing until almost 2:00am!  I don't think the thing wrapped up almost 4:00am or 5:00am.  I hate wearing earplugs because I find them so uncomfortable, but I finally put some in since it was the only thing that would slightly muffle the sound and let me get some rest.  To say that I was LIVID that the owners of a hostel where people theoretically come to sleep would not allow me to do so, would be a complete understatement.

The next morning I slept in for a bit, then got up, showered and found some clothes that were relatively dry.  From there I left the hostel and took the subway to the bus station in order to buy a ticket for Rio de Janeiro the next morning.  I had tried to do it on-line, but wasn't able to book it without a Brazilian ID number.  There was a company I'd found that I was planning to go with, but when I got to the station there were dozens of stalls for different companies and I couldn't even find one that listed Rio.  I kept walking around until I finally saw "Rio de Janeiro" on one stall's sign.  I bought a ticket from them by pointing at the screen to show which time I wanted (no one in Brazil speaks English.)  Then as I turned around to leave, I saw the booth for the company I'd been looking for all along.  By that time, it was too late to change my ticket, so I just hoped the one I had would be fine.  Before I left the station, I stopped to grab some food and once again screwed up my order.  I asked for a coxinha, which I thought was a cheese croquette, but turned out instead to be stuffed with chicken.  That's how I learned that frango means chicken and queijo (which admittedly is close to the Spanish word, queso) means cheese in Portuguese.

From the station, I took the subway to Sé, on the recommendation of one of the hostel workers. The Praça (or Plaza) da Sé is where the Catedral da Sé as well many court and government buildings are located.  It's also the starting point for all street numbers in the city.  I went inside the Neo-Gothic Catholic church where there was a mass going on since it was Saturday afternoon.  I walked around for a bit, but the crypt was closed so there wasn't much to see.  I went back out through the plaza, which sadly seemed to be a meeting point not just for the city streets, but also for its homeless population.  At the end of the plaza was the Caixa Cultural or Cultural Center, which had free admission.  I went in to look at the various art exhibitions on display, but my favorite was the one done by a graphic artist who used various repetitive shapes and patterns to create what amounted to one-dimensional obstacle illusions.  There was also a cool display of various photographs from outer space taken by the Hubble telescope.

After leaving the cultural center I walked toward the Pateo de Collegio where the whole plaza was blocked off for what appeared to be a car commercial shoot.  A lot of spectators were gathered around out of curiosity and I joined them along the barrier fence. Unfortunately, the crew started resetting the scene shortly after I arrived so I decided to move on.  I walked over to Sao Bento where there is another plaza with a basilica and school.  I then crossed over a footbridge and tried to figure out how to get down to the lower level where I had seen a market street I wanted to check out.  Once I got down there, I couldn't figure out how to get to the street I wanted.  It felt like I was in a weird area so I decided to instead go back up toward Sé to try to get some food.  Along the way, I was so thirsty that I stopped at a snack shop to chug down some freshly-squeezed orange juice.  From there I just wanted to find a grocery store where I could get something small to bring back with me to the hostel. 

As I walked along a nice pedestrian street, there was a restaurant that appealed to me and I nearly stopped.  Then I noticed that even though there were still people eating, the sign on the menu said "closed."  I kept walking and found a commercial strip with lots of stores and some bars, but all the stores were closing and none even seemed to sell groceries.  I finally gave up and decided to just go back toward my hostel.  Once there, I asked the guy at reception if he had any take-out suggestions.  He recommended a pizza place not too far down the road.  I quickly found the place and was able to order a small pizza, which I planned to take with me to go.  As I was returning to the hostel, however, I started to feel really nauseous.  I have no idea what came over me, but once I got back I had to force myself to eat a slice or two before finally giving up.  I put the rest of the pizza in the fridge and figured I would take it with me in the morning.  I was feeling so sick that I decided to go right to bed.  Unfortunately, I had to deal with my obnoxious roommates who appeared to be getting ready to go out to a "white party" that night (who are they, P. Diddy?!?)  They finally left and I was able get to sleep.  I barely even batted an eyelash when they returned later that night.

On Sunday morning, I was fortunately feeling a bit better, though I still had no desire to eat my pizza.  Since I also had no way to heat it up for lunch once I had boarded the bus (I don't love cold pizza) I just left it in the fridge to either be eaten by someone else or get moldy.  As I was packing up my clothes, which for the most part had finally dried, I noticed that some of them were all covered in dirt.  The workers had moved the drying racks for the party so I assume a few things had fallen on the ground and been trampled before being thrown back on the rack.  I was really pissed that I had spent so much money for laundry that I had to do myself and then still had dirty clothes because of that stupid party!  I went to talk to the receptionist to tell him I wanted a discount.  He said he couldn't do that, but would let me rewash the dirty items. 

"Uh, no," I responded.  "I'm leaving right now and besides the clothes already took two days to dry as it is."

In the end he finally gave me around a 25% discount on the laundry (not much, but at least something) and I checked before heading to the bus station.  After all those debacles, I was certainly in no rush to stay at that place again any time soon.  I took the subway to the station and then braced myself for the six-hour trip to Rio de Janeiro.

I'll post photos in the morning.

Back to Buenos Aires and Onward to Brazil

For my trip back to Buenos Aires from Montevideo, I booked an overnight slow ferry because it was the cheapest option.  This meant that I had to take a bus leaving the capital city at 1:00am for Colonia and then a ferry that left from the port at 4:30am for Argentina.  Since it was so late, I took a cab from my hostel to the Tres Cruces bus station and was actually able to board a bus that left Buenos Aires shortly after 12:00am.  I guess they just fill buses up as people arrive at the station and then take off when they are full.  The only problem was that this meant that I arrived at the ferry terminal shortly before 3:00am.  I was hoping that they would let us on early so I could just crash in one of the reclining seats.  In the end they didn't let us on until more than an hour after I arrived.

When we finally got on board just before 4:30am, I chose a seat out up front and out of the way.  I wore my eye mask and put in headphones, but unfortunately my seat was by the snack bar so I all I could hear was two people yammering away at a nearby table.  I finally moved a bit farther back, but not soon enough since I kept thinking they would eventually shut up.  I probably only got about two hours' sleep before the boat started pulling into the harbor.  The sun was just rising so it was actually really pretty, but by the time I got motivated to pull out my camera, the magic hour had already passed.

When I got back on dry land, I forced myself to take the bus all the way back to Palermo even though I was itching to just hail a taxi.  The ferry docked shortly before 8:00am, but by the time I disembarked, walked to the bus stop and rode the bus to Adela's, it was after 10:00am by the time I arrived.  I was so tired that I went directly to my room and crashed for quite a few hours.  I was even able to sleep through the private acting classes that Adela's daughter gives in the adjoining room.  Still feeling lethargic, I didn't do much all day long besides nap and go out for food.

On Thursday, the last day of May, I was scheduled to fly out to Sao Paulo, Brazil. To try to save money again, I decided to take public transportation instead of just grabbing a cab.  Since I had no idea how long it would take, I left the house in the early afternoon on the advice of Adela.  Suddenly, as I was riding the bus toward the airport shuttle stop, it dawned on me that I had no idea if I was flying out of the international airport or the smaller regional one.  I had assumed it was the international terminal since I was flying out of the country.  In the end, I'm really glad I checked because it was actually the regional airport.

Once I got off the bus at the end of the line, I had to walk a while to get to the spot where I could pick up the private shuttle.  I then had to wait about 25 minutes until the next bus was scheduled to leave.  Luckily the regional airport is not too far from the city center so, though I cut it a tiny bit close, I made it reasonably on time.  However, if I'd gone to the wrong airport first, there's no way I would have made it (flashback to Malaysia!)

Since I had booked my ticket on a Uruguayan airline, I had a short layover in Montevideo.  Luckily, I still had a few Uruguayan pesos remaining so I was able to get some dinner at the airport.  It was like I had never even left.  I got to Sao Paulo just before 10:00pm and, even though it cost me a small fortune, at that point I did spring for a cab.  At that hour I had no motivation to try to figure out how to get to my hostel by public transit.  I just wanted to get into bed.

On Your (My) Way to Uruguay

On Friday evening, I caught a ferry across the Rio de la Plata to Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay.  I had a bit of trouble finding the ferry terminal after taking the bus from Palermo to Puerto Madero.  I had to walk quite a ways along the waterfront until I finally saw a big sign on a building announcing "Buquebus."  The terminal itself reminded me of an airport as we had to go through customs (both to leave Argentina and enter Uruguay) before getting on board.  The boat itself was nice and since it was a fast ferry it only took an hour to get across to the other side.  Colonia is a pretty small town so luckily it was only a few minutes' walk from the terminal to my hostel.

By the time I arrived, it was already late so I just chatted for a while in Spanish with a young woman and her mother from Argentina and then got ready for bed.  In the morning, I headed over to the historic neighborhood passing through the Porton de Campo city gate.  Colonia is a former Portuguese colony and the oldest city in the country.  It is one of the most charming and quaint little towns I have ever seen.  I felt like I was stepping back in time since the cobblestone streets the Portuguese built and many 17th and 18th century buildings are still standing to this day.  I also loved how all of the street signs were posted on traditional ceramic tiles.  I mainly spent the day just wandering around the waterfront, popping into different shops and having a leisurely lunch.  I did make it into the Basilica of the Holy Sacrament and up the steps of the landmark lighthouse, but by the time I tried to go to any other museums they were already closing for the day.  Instead I went to a cafe on the water to have a glass of wine at dusk before stopping at another place for dinner on the way back to the hostel in the "non-historic" district.

When I got back to the hostel, there was a new guest in my room who I introduced myself to in Spanish.  It turns out that my roommate, Remy, was actually French, but had been living for the past few months in Argentina.  He didn't really speak English and I don't really speak French so the only language we had in common was Spanish.  A bit later we met another one of our roommates who I believe was on vacation from Colombia.  The three of us went to go buy some beers and then sat in the hostel garden talking into the wee hours of the night.  We were all planning to go to Montevideo the next day so we discussed taking the bus there together.

The next morning, I had wanted to get up early to go back to the barrio historico one final time, but of course that didn't end up happening.  As it was, once I had showered, eaten breakfast and finished packing, it was nearly time to head to the bus station.  I had already booked my ticket and the two guys were planning to join me.  However, when it was time to leave the Colombian guy was still in the bathroom taking a shower.  I felt bad, but I needed to go so I wouldn't miss my bus.  Remy decided to come with me, which meant we left the Colombian guy behind.

The bus took a little over 2 1/2 hours and then Remy and I shared a cab to the hostel I had booked ahead of time on-line.  He hadn't reserved a bed, but luckily there was still space.  After checking in, we went to the grocery store down the street and bought some ingredients to cook lunch in the hostel kitchen.  We were only a few blocks from the riverfront so once we had eaten we walked down toward the beach.  Remy and I didn't really know exactly where we were going so we picked a direction and ended up heading west down the Rambla.

We walked for a while in the direction of the port until we started to get an uneasy feeling about the neighborhood and decided we should probably turn around.  We thought that on the way back we would walk through the Old City instead of right along the water.  The eerie sensation continued for a while as the streets and even many of the surrounding buildings seemed to be nearly abandoned.  I later learned that the neighborhood wasn't so much unsafe as just not very well maintained.  Uruguay is doing pretty well economically, but hasn't yet poured a lot of money into new development.  As a result, older buildings constructed in the early-1800s are still in continuous use and can appear rather dilapidated from a lack of consistent upkeep.  Also, the reason why the area may have seemed particularly empty was because it was a Sunday.  We passed through the deserted financial district and were able to walk right in the street given the complete absence of any moving vehicles during the weekend.  We then went by the Plaza de Independencia before making it back to the hostel.

That evening while he was using the hostel computer, Remy started talking to a French couple that was also doing an around-the-world trip.  The couple was planning to go out with some other friends they had met along the way so Remy and I tagged along.  We joined the other couple, a Spanish guy and his girlfriend, who I believe was also Spanish, at the Tres Cruces bus station.  We then walked around the area and tried to find a place to get some drinks, though it proved to be a bit of a challenge.  Evidently many bars were closed because it was a Sunday night.

We finally found a low-key place where we could sit out on the sidewalk and have some beers.  We also ordered food to share, including the traditional chivito sandwiches filled with vegetables and meat.  Communication was a bit of an issue as the French couple only spoke French and English, Remy only spoke French and Spanish, I only spoke English and Spanish and the Spanish guy was the only one who I believe spoke all three languages.  As a result, there were quite a few separate conversations going on all at the same time.  I ended up speaking mostly with the French guy who was sitting right across from me.  His English was excellent as his mother is a native English speaker.  Back at the hostel, we went out to the balcony where the three Frenchies started blabbing away, leaving me completely left out.  I finally called it quits and decided to just go to bed.

In the morning Remy was still asleep when I woke up so I ventured out on my own for the day.  I went back through the Plaza de Independencia in order to look for a bank.  After getting some cash I stopped at one branch of the National History Museum, which seemed to consist of only one room that was currently open.  Luckily I didn't pay anything to get in so there was nothing lost or gained.  I then got some lunch at an outdoor cafe in Plaza Constitucion across from the Montevideo Metropolitan Cathedral.  In the afternoon, I walked back to the Rambla promenade and set off in the opposite direction from the day before.  I went along the water for what seemed like forever until I finally reached the Parque Rodo.  It wasn't quite as exciting as I expected it to be, especially since one whole large swath was taken over by a golf course.  In spite of that, I meandered around for a bit around the ponds before going back through the city streets to get a different perspective.  That night, the French folks all cooked dinner together without asking me to join, so I just went out and grabbed some take-away on my own.  I was a bit annoyed about being left out, but I guess that's what can happen when there's some sort of language barrier.

On Tuesday, I was too unmotivated to figure out the bus system so I decided to walk north from the hostel with the vague notion of making it all the way to the botanical garden.  I ended up going by the commercial port area and made it as far as the Legislative Palace before realizing the park was too far to go by foot.  The actual legislature building is in a plaza in the middle of a major multi-lane traffic circle.  I wasn't sure if I was allowed to go inside as a layman so I didn't bother trying to cross all the lanes of traffic to find out.  I instead looped back around and set off toward an interesting modern building that I wanted to check out.  As I got closer I realized it was not really accessible since I was stuck on a narrow sidewalk along a busy highway next to the port.  It was a rather unpleasant walk for some distance, but I did get to go by the old abandoned rail station.  When I made it back to Barrio Sur, I grabbed my video camera and then stopped for lunch before wandering around the Old City to get a bit of scenic footage.

When I returned to the hostel in the late afternoon, I happened to run into Remy.  He apologized for the day before, explaining that he had needed to talk over some things and found it a lot easier to do with his "countrymen" in his native language.  We chatted for a bit and discussed how we couldn't believe the other French couple still kept to such a tightly-packed sightseeing schedule even after nine months of travel.  We both agreed that that would drive us nuts.  Soon it was time for me to leave to catch my bus and ferry back to Buenos Aires.  It was the quick and dirty tour of Uruguay but I'm still really glad that I went.