Gary has tagged me to tell 8 random facts about myself. In turn, I need to tag others. Very well Gary, and Seraphine, I accept the challenge and give you 8 random facts about myself.
1. I have only ever one bone in my body break. My skull. I suffered a skull fracture from falling from a galloping horse that had spooked. It is reckoned that the helmet I was wearing saved me from fatally serious damage.
2. Since I was the tender age of 6, I've had every teacher that taught me English tell me I have a special gift for writing. I blame all 12 of them (not including any substitute teachers that might have said something) as the reason I keep a blog, and that I write poetry.
3. Carrying on about poetry. I only started writing in my current favourite genre (I write performance Spoken Word, also known as Slam) when I met a guy called Ben at a Red Cross Youth Conference, who introduced me to the genre. I have been writing and performing ever since.
4. I was born in Vancouver. At 2 I lived in Masset, on the Queen Charlotte Islands, from age 3 to age 8, I lived in Terrace, in northern BC, from age 8 until present, I have lived in Penticton, in the Okanagan Valley.
5. I became clincally depressed at age 14. Recovery from this lowest point in my life, started when a good friend cajolled me into coming to my first Amnesty International meeting. Everything else is history.
6. In my human rights work, I enjoy doing work that involves helping minority groups. I find this amusing as the only minority status I can claim is that I'm left-handed.
7. My favourite tea is made by the Metropolitan Tea Company, based in Toronto, and is called Royal Bengal Tiger.
8. On my trip around South America, I have been carrying around, in the interest of good photography, a Zenit-E. It is built in Russia, but, because it is at least 26 years old, the casing reads "Made in USSR." It was given to me by my dad, and wieghs a ton, giving credence to a statement made by a Russian friend just before I left "The only thing a Russian camera is good for is bludgeoning people."
Now, my tags (however, due to my lack of blog networking, I only list 3):
Dayleigh at Silly Ninjas
Matt at Some Fine Website
Damaya at The Ramblings
The rules, should you decide to accept them:
1 - Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2 - People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
3 - At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names (I only did five, will that bring harm to me?)
4 - Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.
Let the games begin.
28.12.07
19.12.07
Day 102 - Back at it
So, a lot of time has passed since I've written. To save the obviously exhaustive entry required to account for the time, I will bring you back with my arrival in El Bolson, where I am now. It's a hippie enclave, of sorts, with not so much hippies as alternative-lifestyle folks. For the map, I am in south, central, western Argentina, haha, basically on the northern edge of Patagonia. It looks like somewhere in southeast BC, with the huge, rocky snow capped peaks of the Andes to the West, and hills and valleys to the East. It's green, and for once, it's cool, whereas everywhere else has been uncomfortably hot.
So I arrived in El Bolson from Bariloche, home of Argentina's chocolate makers, and a total tourist trap, so I decided to get out after 2 days. Got a ticket and sat in the bus terminal eating a sandwich, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, life was good. Bus ride was quiet and uneventful, there were a group of Israelis, who felt it necessary to jostle for position to have their bags loaded into the luggage bays, not something you do in Argentina, where the vibe tends to be a little more mellow. Woke up halfway through the bus trip and wondered where I was. Arrived in El Bolson, had the kid unloading the luggage ask me for money, not kosher. Without map or any idea how to get to the hostel where I was booked, I bought an ice cream and sat in the main plaza and waited for the city bus. Sitting there, I met Silvia, a German woman, who, by coincidence of a low number of hostels in El Bolson, was waiting to get to the same hostel. She's come from the south, heading the direction I've come from. We determined that there are several public buses in El Bolson, but only one goes around the town itself. Got on and the driver was kind of enough to stop at the end of the hostel driveway. El Pueblito, is basically a big property involving the main wooden building, sheds and other utilities for the projects of the 3 men that run it, and gardens of rocks and trees. Got shown around by Baltazar, Argentine hippie character. It being a lazy Monday afternoon, sat out on the porch with a good book, and later ended up chatting with Fernando, a psychiatrist from Cordoba, and sharing mate with him. Over dinner, met a couple from Toronto, who'd been out on bike trek all day, Paul kept complaining how much his ass hurt. Things wound down early, around 1 am. This morning got up and sat around listening to all the strories of hikes and trips everywhere. I went out on a hike with Silvia to find some waterfalls late this morning. Everything started out well, but I guess, we took a wrong turn, and we ended up on this dodgy path, I had the ground give out under me, and we got thorns in our hands and arms. Eventually, we managed to get out and found a different path, which did in the end take us to the waterfall. Went back to town and had a cold beer in the afternoon sun! Yep, so life is good.
Merry Christmas!
So I arrived in El Bolson from Bariloche, home of Argentina's chocolate makers, and a total tourist trap, so I decided to get out after 2 days. Got a ticket and sat in the bus terminal eating a sandwich, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, life was good. Bus ride was quiet and uneventful, there were a group of Israelis, who felt it necessary to jostle for position to have their bags loaded into the luggage bays, not something you do in Argentina, where the vibe tends to be a little more mellow. Woke up halfway through the bus trip and wondered where I was. Arrived in El Bolson, had the kid unloading the luggage ask me for money, not kosher. Without map or any idea how to get to the hostel where I was booked, I bought an ice cream and sat in the main plaza and waited for the city bus. Sitting there, I met Silvia, a German woman, who, by coincidence of a low number of hostels in El Bolson, was waiting to get to the same hostel. She's come from the south, heading the direction I've come from. We determined that there are several public buses in El Bolson, but only one goes around the town itself. Got on and the driver was kind of enough to stop at the end of the hostel driveway. El Pueblito, is basically a big property involving the main wooden building, sheds and other utilities for the projects of the 3 men that run it, and gardens of rocks and trees. Got shown around by Baltazar, Argentine hippie character. It being a lazy Monday afternoon, sat out on the porch with a good book, and later ended up chatting with Fernando, a psychiatrist from Cordoba, and sharing mate with him. Over dinner, met a couple from Toronto, who'd been out on bike trek all day, Paul kept complaining how much his ass hurt. Things wound down early, around 1 am. This morning got up and sat around listening to all the strories of hikes and trips everywhere. I went out on a hike with Silvia to find some waterfalls late this morning. Everything started out well, but I guess, we took a wrong turn, and we ended up on this dodgy path, I had the ground give out under me, and we got thorns in our hands and arms. Eventually, we managed to get out and found a different path, which did in the end take us to the waterfall. Went back to town and had a cold beer in the afternoon sun! Yep, so life is good.
Merry Christmas!
5.12.07
Wine, Dine and Wild Parties
So, I'm in Córdoba, I've really been enjoying it. There is an increasingly nagging notion though that I'm running out of time, and there is still so much I want to see and do. For the time being, my next stop is going to be the capital, Buenos Aires, and then blaze south toward the end of the world.
So, backpeddling to Friday, my winery day. Double checking which bus I was supposed to catch and armed with a wine map, off I go. I have grief with the bus meter, as the system is designed for using electronic cards, and I was trying to pay with change. Had a bloke on the bus donate 40 cents from his card to cover the change I couldn't make. Getting off the bus, I have a bunch of young boys crowd around me asking about bike rentals. After having spent so much time on buses the previous work, I decide, despite the extra time involved, I'd rather walk. So off I go, and the first winery I visit, whose name escapes me now, I came to the front door, and rang the bell, as the sign said, and waited about 10 minutes, and several more bell rings, before giving up and heading across the road, to Tempus Alba. The place has a nice peaceful vibe, I gues I came on a non-tour day, as there are only a handful of other visitors. The front door squeals extremely loudly as I open it. The man that greets me first asks if I'd rather he spoke english or spanish, something I'm still getting used to here in Argentina, where every man and his dog seems to be bilingual. This place is very small, carrying only 7 wines, all reds. It's cool to walk through the facilities and think about the amazing amount of work and commitment needed to get a winery off the ground. I pick 3 of the wines for tasting (I liked the Syrah best), so there I was in a big leather armchair, looking out over the vineyard, enjoying good wine. Yep, life is awesome.
Leaving the winery, I find that I spent a lot more time there than I thought I would, already it's the early afternoon and I'm not going to be able to make it down the road to the next winery in good time. Why the hell did I not get a bike? Tried to flag a bus back to Mendoza, it would seem that Argentine bus drivers require a lot of persuasion to stop. Feeling frustrated, I bought an ice cream from a corner store and walk back up the town of Maipu, where I'd gotten off. It ended up taking forever, I missed another bus by about 2 minutes, and ended up walking about 10 km to an intersection where I manged to get a bus home. At least my legs were feeling comfortable again.
Getting back to the hostel, feeling tired from my day of walking, I go straight to bed. I decide that it would be good to move on, as I'm beginning to feel down, a kind of second culture shock seems to be setting in, adapting to life in Argentina, which is much different from Ecuador or Peru. Slept in late, finally finished the kilo of cherries I had, they really were very delicious. I had lunch at this cool all-you-can-eat vegetarian buffet, a very tasty anomaly here, where steak and beef are the mainstays of the Argentine diet. Feeling very full, I stop at El Reinese, my favourite ice cream shop,then spent the afternoon wandering through and buying little gifts in the artists' markets in the various city squares. Got lost on the way back, somehow managing to end up going in the exact opposite direction of my hostel. It was time to leave Mendoza.
Next day, packed up and caught a bus to San Luis, a nice stopover between Mendoza and Rosario, where I'd planned to head next. Arriving in San Luis, it took them forever to get my bag out, the packers seemed to have made it as difficult as possible to get it out, then, notably without a map, tried to find somewhere to spend the night. I kept on wandering finding nothing, notably the youth hostel that I'd been told was somewherearound the city center. I asked a guy on the street for help with directions, he just sat there and said no. I tried to flag a cab, but, for reasons unclear, he drove off before I even said anything about where I'd like to go. Feeling rather discouraged, I end up back near the bus station and end up at this rather run down place, which charges me 30 pesos ($10, quite high) for a room with 1 more bed than I needed, both of which were has hard as bricks, no window, or toilet seat. There was a child down the hall wailing something awful, and a dog barking outside. Fall asleep, hoping tomorrow be better.
Monday was better. Woke up to sunshine and the smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door. Packed up and went next door to get breakfast. My back was aching from the bed the previous night, but generally, I'm feeling good. Got a bus here, to Cordoba, as all the buses to Rosario didn't leave until 11 that evening. Leaving the Andes behind, returning to dead flat horizons of the Argentine pampas. The landscape has an extremely fresh and green appearance, with fields and the occasional fruit orchard. It's end of November, it's hot out, with bright sun and not a cloud in the sky. Life is good.
Cordoba is a pretty dope city. The second-largest in Argentina, and a resolutely university city (it bears the nickname "El Docta", The Scholar). Getting off the bus, I have lunch in the shopping mall style bus terminal and try to decipher the map I was given in Mendoza. I walk a dozen blocks in the blazing heat to the hostel. Setting myself up in the dorm, I spend the rest of the day working on the Westworld article. Feeling particularly lavish, what with the last few days being rather shitty, I have a big bowl of ravioli for dinner and finish it with this enormous milkshake. Coming back from my evening of good eating, I run into a bunch of people that I'd met in Mendoza, who'd apparently also arrived that day, and the party was just getting started. Tom and Andrew, both Aussies. Tais (no idea of the spelling), Clemont and Julian, all French, Raul, a Spaniard, and an Argentine and a Portugeuse bloke, both of whose names currently elude me. A massive amount of red wine was procured, some 10 bottles, by the Portugeuse fellow, as well as massive amount of steak, and fair bit of bread and salad to round things out. Up on the hostel rooftop terrace, Portugal, who is already quite drunk, operates the barbecue. Tais is trying to teach the Andrew how to tango, I'm playing the guitar and listening to the conversations about the pros and cons of different nationalities, this being such a diverse group. Over the course of the evening, i learned how to open a bottle of wine with a knife and 2 forks and basic French words. Feeling extremely tired, I managed to roll off to bed at around 4 in the morning.
Wake up yesterday and I head off late in the morning with Tais, Clemont and Julian, hereafter collectively refered to as the French, to Villa Nydia, the childhood house of Che Guevara. We buy bread and cheese and have lunch on the steps of the terminal waiting for the bus to Alta Gracia, the area of the Villa. The museum there is really cool, and houses El Poderosa, the motorcycle used by Che and Alberto on their first trip across South America (remember the Motorcycle Diaries). We go and check out the renvoted church of Alta Gracia before heading back to Cordoba. Very pretty. We make friends with an Australian couple on the way back, and they come with us to the buffet dinner we had at this massive tenedor in Cordoba. We pass this huge palace on the way there with a fountains with coloured lights, making it look like a water rainbow. The tenedor, was truly massive, with literally yards of food. I was particularly fond of the different kinds of salad and the chocolate pudding. Talked with the Australians about how Argentines don't appear to sleep. Coming back, we spend a few hours sitting around and chatting, the Aussies went back to their hotel, then headed out to a club a few blocks down the street. It was pretty fun, but halfway through, my nose decided to spontaneously bleed, which put a little damper on my festivities. Got back, tired, and a little bloodied. This morning I got up really late, unsurprisingly, and have to wait until 4:30 for the laundry place to open so I can get the blood taken off my T-shirt.
So this has been a week of ups and downs. There has been laughing and there has been crying. Overall though, it's been good.
So, backpeddling to Friday, my winery day. Double checking which bus I was supposed to catch and armed with a wine map, off I go. I have grief with the bus meter, as the system is designed for using electronic cards, and I was trying to pay with change. Had a bloke on the bus donate 40 cents from his card to cover the change I couldn't make. Getting off the bus, I have a bunch of young boys crowd around me asking about bike rentals. After having spent so much time on buses the previous work, I decide, despite the extra time involved, I'd rather walk. So off I go, and the first winery I visit, whose name escapes me now, I came to the front door, and rang the bell, as the sign said, and waited about 10 minutes, and several more bell rings, before giving up and heading across the road, to Tempus Alba. The place has a nice peaceful vibe, I gues I came on a non-tour day, as there are only a handful of other visitors. The front door squeals extremely loudly as I open it. The man that greets me first asks if I'd rather he spoke english or spanish, something I'm still getting used to here in Argentina, where every man and his dog seems to be bilingual. This place is very small, carrying only 7 wines, all reds. It's cool to walk through the facilities and think about the amazing amount of work and commitment needed to get a winery off the ground. I pick 3 of the wines for tasting (I liked the Syrah best), so there I was in a big leather armchair, looking out over the vineyard, enjoying good wine. Yep, life is awesome.
Leaving the winery, I find that I spent a lot more time there than I thought I would, already it's the early afternoon and I'm not going to be able to make it down the road to the next winery in good time. Why the hell did I not get a bike? Tried to flag a bus back to Mendoza, it would seem that Argentine bus drivers require a lot of persuasion to stop. Feeling frustrated, I bought an ice cream from a corner store and walk back up the town of Maipu, where I'd gotten off. It ended up taking forever, I missed another bus by about 2 minutes, and ended up walking about 10 km to an intersection where I manged to get a bus home. At least my legs were feeling comfortable again.
Getting back to the hostel, feeling tired from my day of walking, I go straight to bed. I decide that it would be good to move on, as I'm beginning to feel down, a kind of second culture shock seems to be setting in, adapting to life in Argentina, which is much different from Ecuador or Peru. Slept in late, finally finished the kilo of cherries I had, they really were very delicious. I had lunch at this cool all-you-can-eat vegetarian buffet, a very tasty anomaly here, where steak and beef are the mainstays of the Argentine diet. Feeling very full, I stop at El Reinese, my favourite ice cream shop,then spent the afternoon wandering through and buying little gifts in the artists' markets in the various city squares. Got lost on the way back, somehow managing to end up going in the exact opposite direction of my hostel. It was time to leave Mendoza.
Next day, packed up and caught a bus to San Luis, a nice stopover between Mendoza and Rosario, where I'd planned to head next. Arriving in San Luis, it took them forever to get my bag out, the packers seemed to have made it as difficult as possible to get it out, then, notably without a map, tried to find somewhere to spend the night. I kept on wandering finding nothing, notably the youth hostel that I'd been told was somewherearound the city center. I asked a guy on the street for help with directions, he just sat there and said no. I tried to flag a cab, but, for reasons unclear, he drove off before I even said anything about where I'd like to go. Feeling rather discouraged, I end up back near the bus station and end up at this rather run down place, which charges me 30 pesos ($10, quite high) for a room with 1 more bed than I needed, both of which were has hard as bricks, no window, or toilet seat. There was a child down the hall wailing something awful, and a dog barking outside. Fall asleep, hoping tomorrow be better.
Monday was better. Woke up to sunshine and the smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door. Packed up and went next door to get breakfast. My back was aching from the bed the previous night, but generally, I'm feeling good. Got a bus here, to Cordoba, as all the buses to Rosario didn't leave until 11 that evening. Leaving the Andes behind, returning to dead flat horizons of the Argentine pampas. The landscape has an extremely fresh and green appearance, with fields and the occasional fruit orchard. It's end of November, it's hot out, with bright sun and not a cloud in the sky. Life is good.
Cordoba is a pretty dope city. The second-largest in Argentina, and a resolutely university city (it bears the nickname "El Docta", The Scholar). Getting off the bus, I have lunch in the shopping mall style bus terminal and try to decipher the map I was given in Mendoza. I walk a dozen blocks in the blazing heat to the hostel. Setting myself up in the dorm, I spend the rest of the day working on the Westworld article. Feeling particularly lavish, what with the last few days being rather shitty, I have a big bowl of ravioli for dinner and finish it with this enormous milkshake. Coming back from my evening of good eating, I run into a bunch of people that I'd met in Mendoza, who'd apparently also arrived that day, and the party was just getting started. Tom and Andrew, both Aussies. Tais (no idea of the spelling), Clemont and Julian, all French, Raul, a Spaniard, and an Argentine and a Portugeuse bloke, both of whose names currently elude me. A massive amount of red wine was procured, some 10 bottles, by the Portugeuse fellow, as well as massive amount of steak, and fair bit of bread and salad to round things out. Up on the hostel rooftop terrace, Portugal, who is already quite drunk, operates the barbecue. Tais is trying to teach the Andrew how to tango, I'm playing the guitar and listening to the conversations about the pros and cons of different nationalities, this being such a diverse group. Over the course of the evening, i learned how to open a bottle of wine with a knife and 2 forks and basic French words. Feeling extremely tired, I managed to roll off to bed at around 4 in the morning.
Wake up yesterday and I head off late in the morning with Tais, Clemont and Julian, hereafter collectively refered to as the French, to Villa Nydia, the childhood house of Che Guevara. We buy bread and cheese and have lunch on the steps of the terminal waiting for the bus to Alta Gracia, the area of the Villa. The museum there is really cool, and houses El Poderosa, the motorcycle used by Che and Alberto on their first trip across South America (remember the Motorcycle Diaries). We go and check out the renvoted church of Alta Gracia before heading back to Cordoba. Very pretty. We make friends with an Australian couple on the way back, and they come with us to the buffet dinner we had at this massive tenedor in Cordoba. We pass this huge palace on the way there with a fountains with coloured lights, making it look like a water rainbow. The tenedor, was truly massive, with literally yards of food. I was particularly fond of the different kinds of salad and the chocolate pudding. Talked with the Australians about how Argentines don't appear to sleep. Coming back, we spend a few hours sitting around and chatting, the Aussies went back to their hotel, then headed out to a club a few blocks down the street. It was pretty fun, but halfway through, my nose decided to spontaneously bleed, which put a little damper on my festivities. Got back, tired, and a little bloodied. This morning I got up really late, unsurprisingly, and have to wait until 4:30 for the laundry place to open so I can get the blood taken off my T-shirt.
So this has been a week of ups and downs. There has been laughing and there has been crying. Overall though, it's been good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
