October, 2009

I’m better with my muscles than I am with my mouth
I work the landscape in the summer
And raise the dust down south
And when I feel those chilly winds
Where the weather goes I follow
Pack up my traveling things, go with the swallows

And I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

Now I’m rambling through this country glad (mad) as a man could be
Think I’ll just lay me under this old tree
On and on we go through this world of shuffling
If you got a truffle dog you can go truffling

But I might get lucky now and then
Sometimes I win some
And you might get lucky now and then
Sometimes you win some.

(M. Knopfler)

One last journey here in Colorado before I catch my breath and direct myself south for work and winter in Austin. Beyond that is hope for continued discovery.

This journey literally nudged and shoved me to the edge of cliffs where I saw an expanse of line, color and shape, that begged for view and then expression, whether a scream of wonder and amazement, or through the potential of paint, or photo. From the encouragement of a friend, who calls me a “seeker”, I first visited the Colorado National Monument, and then later returned to Pagosa along one of the listed “scenic routes” between scenic destinations in this land of beauty.

First, the Colorado National Monument slapped my senses with a perimeter drive around the rim of mesa cliffs, overlooking from a distance the town of Grand Junction. I reached this wonder in the last two hours of the day, not near enough time to take advantage of the changes in shape and shadow as the sun descended. Still, even in the sparing moments of the daylight, the creative changes of land surface caused by the interacting elements of erosion and the varying hardness of rock, provided a gallery of natural sculptures and colorful murals that excited both sense and emotion. To be blessed to stand above, beside and above such creation only brought questions, without answers, to my worthiness and receipt of such reward. What justified my gift, what action had I taken to deserve this view, my shared presence? What scripture passage says “seek and ye shall find”? For, me, the only thing it seems I have done is, as my friend noted, be a seeker. Something I cannot deny, a rather simple acknowledgment, that wraps many times around the packaged contents inside. Not just a search for sights such as this monument, but almost a quest for place and location, understanding, expression, change, impact, connection and too often control. Certainly a struggle to let one lead and assign others to follow.

Second day sent me down the route of river and stream, Gunnison, Dolores, and others unrecognized. Through red stone canyons, carved and cut deep, by the waterways running alongside, hundreds, maybe even a thousand or so feet below the tabletops. A marker notes the age of some of these rocks, some even older than the Grand Canyon. In some ways this route resembles the Grand Canyon, though the water is not as wild, nor the depths as great. Still, there were as many and varied canyons, broken off the axis road as the shattered lines of a windshield splintered by a kicked rock from an unconcerned 18-wheeler recklessly speeding by. A 30-mile distance covered took more than two hours due to my constant need to pull aside and gaze and gasp. Cottonwood was in full golden cover along these liquid trails, providing a color wheel of contrast to the red canyon walls, and the occasional olive green juniper. Such beauty seemed unconcerned about my presence or impact, having seen and felt the steps of the first humans thousands of years ago, later followed by Native American dwellers or travelers, then the Spanish, eventually miners (seekers themselves). There were a few markers to note the first interlopers, and some direction given to show evidence nearby. But, there had to be undiscovered signs hidden, or at least, unobserved, of indications of other seekers, others transient in their lifestyle, others curious and needy to establish their place and purpose. In this amphitheater, it is impossible for me to believe or accept that previous steps could have been taken otherwise.

Now back at home, having to pack for that trip down south, another scene, another setting, a continued search.

El Calafate, April 29, 2009

Normally I ramble in sequential order, but this time I will begin with the best. All has been good, but this last Argentinian adventure is leaving me a most positive memory of my visit. As long as I can return the remaining 6,000 plus miles over a 24-hour period, without being quarantined for pig flu, then this last memory will be a keeper.

Started the day with a nice long warm shower and real coffee, both of which were lacking with my familes (about the only negative), got on the bus about 8:00 for the three hour ride to El Chalten, across the barren steppe that foots the Andes. Sunrise is about 9:00, so thanks to my Ipod, I was content. The bus was comfortable, clean and not crowded, nothing like my previous South American bus experiences. The sun rose on schedule, casting beautiful lines above the blue purple shadowed landscape below. If you want true wide open spaces, this is the place to come. Other than the isolated estancias, that lie miles apart (original land grants were 20,000 hectares), there is no human evidence here.

Along the way we make a brief rest stop at a converted estancia, a place where Butch and Sundance made presence before a nearby bank robbery put them on the run, before their death near the Bolivia border. Onward. If you have crossed the desert in the northwest corner of New Mexico, and have viewed at great distance the strange rise above the level landscape, which turns out to be Shiprock, then you have an impression of what I received.

As we approached west, closing in on snowcapped peaks, appeared Mount Fitz Roy. What a sight. I have been rewarded with views and presence at numerous peaks in Colorado, the Sisters of Wyoming, Half Dome in Yosemite, Devils Tower of exterrestial fame, and even the Matterhorn, Chimborazo, and now Aconcaqua. Nothing prepared me for Fitz Roy. The almost 90 degree vertical rock faces, like the bottom row of teeth of some ancient menacing meat-eater, stops you immediately. Soon our bus stops at El Chalten, a town of 500 servicing thousands of hikers and climbers in the summer. But, this is the tailend of fall. Graced by one of the few windless days over the past month, plus full sun, I found one of the trails for an estimated 3-hour hike before I would have to turn and retreat. During my slow steady climb, I continued to view the glacial river valley below to my right, when a large dark shadow quietly passed over me. Instinctly I looked up to catch the spread winged flight of a condor, no more than 40-feet above me, that had left the rock cliffs to my left. What good luck.

It continued as I watched it glide down the valley, out of sight. With a sigh and deep breath, I began again. A little more than an hour later, briefly talking to a native and his Russian wife (they use english to talk to each other), I take a brief rise to a rock mirador (overlook). You could do nothing but freeze in awe at the sight, almost as if you could reach out and touch using some kind of 3-D visual aide. Total amazement at this creation. What a blessing to have seen this. A few more moments in stillness, then continued on for another hour or so, interspersed with more stops and breathless moments. Eventually the sad state of affairs of bus schedules turned me around and I retreated. When I eventually sided next to the cliffs of the previous condor sighting, I stopped to look. There far above the cliffs were now three, circling at distant heights.

Down below back in town it did not take long to inspect the town. Returned to the bus stop for beer and papas fritas, and back on the bus. It was now dark and the lonely ride across the Argentina Patagonia steppe. No traffic on this road, which is maybe a good thing, since I have found that Argentina has the highest vehicular mortality rate in the world. (Ecuador is number three, so who is numero dos?) But, this day, no problemas, no eventos, nada. ¡Que un dia magnifica y increible!

Now to retrace my steps. The previous two days were about glacial watching. In Parque Nacioñal Los Glaciares, there are over 350 glaciers. On my two days I saw maybe 20, via bus and boat. Truly beautiful and amazing, as to both the visual and the geologic. For those doubtful as to human impact to our earth, note that these glaciars have retreated in the last 20 years the same distance as in the previous 20,000 years.

At one of these, Perirto Moreno, I witnessed some cracking and falling from the advancing wall, at a rate of two meters per day. The cracking sound from just small chunks would knock you out of your LaZ Boy. Unfortunately, the crack is heard after the fall, so getting a photo shot is near impossible. However, the park is working with university scientists to refine an advanced warning system, similar to earthquake detection. Strategically placed sensors would detect the proximate location of impending collapse, send a message to several sites on the opposing catwalk views above the river, which would then send laser light points on the wall soon to collapse. Their hope is to perfect a 30-second advanced warning for photographers and other onlookers.

The shapes and colors appear as abstract ice sculptures as they drift down Lago Argentino, away from the glacial walls. All degrees of blue shades. The degree of density from previous compression determines the amount of air in the ice, which accordingly determines the spectrum changes from deep blue to white. Again, just amazing the beauty that is found on this earth, in this country.

Much more to share. But, this is the last posting for Argentina 2009. Hoping departure and return is uneventful. Then I can evaluate my six weeks here with a five star rating. My spanish is still crude, needs much work, and more time. As for Argentina, beautiful place, beautiful people, maybe the nicest I have ever encountered anywhere. Somewhat surprising reflective of the brutal changes made since the 60s, to have such smiles, and to have protected much of what has been a gift to them, but all are things of which I shall remember. Muchisimas gracias por todo.

And friend and family, I will be back this weekend for lecture and slide show to any who wish to inquire. Ciao.

Bariloche, April 19, 2009

It just seems to get better the longer I stay here. Away from B.A. and Mendoza I am where I should have been from the beginning. In the mountains almost free of crowds and noise. Bariloche exists for the tourist, but it rests amidst mountains, a volcano or two, and an unbelievable glacial lake.

Today I took an excursion and in one short day see the variety, and only a part, of the Patagonia region. I wonder at how easily one could love this place, and in a few hours find stillness and loset thoughts beside the reflection of cliff and plant upon the mirrored surface of the lakes, which are strung along one after another, as turquoise stones on a Navajo necklace. Though not a fisherman, what thoughts, what excitement, what expectation, one might have to wade out from the shore and cast out, only slightly shaking the surface, alone. Other than these tourist vans, no others appear in sight. How strange to have a treasure chest open to view, and no pirates to grab the gold, the jewels within.

One stop, two stops, along the way to our destination of San Martin de los Andes, I enjoy tortas fritas, somewhat like sopapillas, in small secluded get aways within the immense space of Nahuel Huapi National Park. Isolated hosterias, distanced from the city and pueblo, cabins in the woods, awaiting the arrival of Red Riding Hood and the wolf. Alas, too little time spent, the burden and disappointment of schedule. Not sure the size of the park, but we were in and out throughout the day. Lago Nahuel Huapi lies within, stretched out full length, from satellite view, looking like some ancient petroglyph depiction of an antelope in stride.

We reach San Martin, a pueblo in the mouth of a horseshoe, the open mouth one of seven lakes along the way, the shoe being the mountains rising around. Luckily we approach from above and get a downcast view of the network of criss crossed streets. We stop for lunch, and due to siesta time, little activity otherwise. Our driver gives us a short view upon departure, driving around to give us a look at the mixture of frontier cabin and swiss chalet architecture. No adobe here.

Only a few miles out and a dramatic change in scenery. The trees disappear and steppe trundra vegetation on not so tall mountains, with numerous volcanic rock eruptions, scattered about. Off in the distance is a perfectly coned shaped volcano, snow-capped, towering above its surroundings, the king above the lords below. Along the way is a sign to look for condors. No, I saw none, but further along did see some Guanaco, and even a flock of pink flamingo on the edge of yet another lake.

As we drove nearer to Bariloche, the sun was in its final hour. Almost as if by stage call, the rock croppings increased in number as the road twisted beside an unnamed lake for miles and miles. Unfortunately I sat on the wrong side of the bus, with direct sunlight in my camera view. But the shapes danced, their movement not hindered by their cemented fixture, only by human lack of imagination. Though religion does not appear as prevalent here as I anticipated, these stone figures easily became characterizations of New Testament story, robed, bowed, hands clenched in prayer.

As the sun resisted its final descent, the colors amazed me. The ochred and crimson vegetation, set against the red cliff, the black volcanic rock, the sky blue water lit from beneath, the occasional gold alamo, and the random pine, a full rainbow (arco iris en español) stretched across the wide horizon before us. I try to compare this landscape, but cannot. A bit of Big Bend, some of New Mexico, Monument Valley, yet none fit. ¡No importa!

How easily early man would have found necessity to somehow create ceremony to give thanks, to receive grace in this setting. And, maybe, what a shame that an equal spiritual effort to connect, to relate, to confirm, may be little more than a one-day excursion, documented by quick photo collections.

These are memories. Two weeks for only a few more.

Memories can´t be boughten
Can´t be won at carnivals for free
It took me years to get those souvenirs
And I don`t know how they slipped from me.
(S.Goodman)

God moved in that moment
And the angels all cried
And they gave you a memory
That you will have ´till you die.

Where there´s too many memories
For one heart to hold
Once a future so bright
Now seems so distant and cold
And the shadows grow long
And your eyes look so old
When there´s too many memories for one heart to hold.
(S. Bruton)

Bariloche, April 12, 2009

That this posting appears is evidence that my self guided one-day tour with car rental was somewhat successful. Driving is DIFFERENT here. Lanes ar rarely divided and if one hestitates (como yo), or moves too slow, expect to be crowded over, one lane becoming two. This works in counter lines too. So, don't hesitate. As for velocidad, max is 60 km, but no one comes close to slowing that much. And, I´m not sure what the double yellow line is for. Gas ain't cheap either. I paid $30 American to add 3/4 tank to a 10-year old fiat sedan. Argentina does not import gas, but la gente here love to drive, if they can afford a vehicle. So, demand has not lessened and the price had not retreated.

Went through interesting countryside. Desert like flats, but mountains surrounding, somewhat like the background setting of an old Star Trek show. Destination was to a peninsula of Lake Nahual Haupi, a hugh and deep glacial lake. At the tip is an unusual woods. Finding it was nice, but the joy of walking was equally pleasant. Trail was excellent. Round trip was 15 miles, and don´t believe the entry sign saying three hour round trip. Nah. The bosque was wonderful, countless varieties, with the quiet muffled by the softness of the scene. Still, there were some small open spots where the sun reflected off of grass seemingly manicured, weedless, thick and short. At the end were the Anrayannes, trees unlike any other I have seen. A red and beige spotted trunk, pinto-pony like, with leaves similar to the Texas yaupon. A beautifully different speciman. I wish I had known my future difficulty, as I would have stayed far longer. Instead I hurried back with hopes of returning to Bariloche via a different route. But, I could not find access out of the busy touristy town of Angostura.

As it is everywhere, this weekend of Pascua is most important. Second only to navidad, this is a four day weekend, and Patagonia attracts folks from all over Argentina as well as Chile. Angostura and Bariloche are meccas. As it happened I did not find the route and returned early, but safe and secure.

Next day Saturday, I took an exursion to El Bolson. Most of Patagonia has only been settled in the last 100 years. El Bolson gots its life in the 70s by a bunch of Argentinian hippies. They are now elders, and the big attraction is a weekend market for artisans in the area. I enjoyed walking the booths, but not really that impressed with the quality. But, more importantly was the enjoyment of the countryside. Another one of those "most beautiful places I have ever seen". Lakes and lakes and lakes, all glacial, all blue, clean and deep. Colors are now showing in the area as fall is in progress. The most impressive of all are the brilliant yellows, blinding even, of the "Alamo". Yes, alamo, which is the spanish word for popular. Don´t recall seeing any in San Antonio. These are similar to ones in New Mexico, but these are actually healthy and vibrant. Definitely there is an idea for a painting in my photos.

Other stops were to a trout farm, and to a sweet factory. That is a factory that makes a variety of sweet products from its fruit orchards. Argentina, from my perspective likes two things to eat. Beef and sweets. Lots of both. Maybe a reason for the slight bulge in the waistline of the Argentinians, though a far comparison that us Americans.

Today went to mass in the cathedral, (photo posted earlier) here in Bariloche. Course I understood next to nada, but being in the presence on this holy day was important to me and I enjoyed. It is windy here today, cool enough for a jacket, though comfortably cool, for those who can understand. So, I am using the afternoon to post this. Anyone know if $120 American for a waist length 100% leather coat is a good deal? Anyway, ending my busy holiday. Only two weekends left, two weeks more of school. Not sure you can tell any difference, though there have been moments.

Good thing I am here, and not in Peru, which was my second choice (a maoist group murdered 13 soldiers this weekend). Could be interesting news tomorrow if Angle Cabrerra wins the Masters, he being Argentinian. Futbol news might temporarily take a second place for sport news.

Bariloche, April 6, 2009

This will likely not be completed before I start my first class here in Bariloche, toward the southern part of Argentina. But, I have some moments in front of a computer so will take advantage of it.

Bariloche, from what I have seen is beautiful. I say this unconvincingly as it has been rainy since my arrival on Saturday. However, I am pretty seguro in my statement. My initial impression brings a recollection, quite distant, of my visit to Europe in 1972, where part of the trip was in Lucerne, Switzerland. Even though the years passing have likely romantized somewhat mi memorias, still, there is a similarity. Though not commercial as Lucerne is, Bariloche lies amidst mountains, with a beautiful glacial lake beside. A few isolated glimpses showed newly fallen snow on the western slopes.

I suppose in hindsight I could have planned this thing better. Must be that northern exposure thing. I should have started my travels south, then progressed northward as the fall lengthens and the climate becomes more winter like. As it is I started in the north, got hot, and now as the daylight shrinkens and temperatures drop, I find my schedule is pushing me toward Antartica. My last stop, in three weeks, is at the southern end, when it should really be cold. Guess I won´t miss cold weather after all, having spent winter in Austin.

The town itself is geared toward the tourists, with minimal industrial efforts. Accordingly the primary street is lined with shopes of clothing, tiendas de "recuerdos" (gift shops), cafes, and many, I say many, chocolaterias. My goodness, I have never seen so much chocolate. I have only had one sample so far, excellente, and one cup of hot chocolate which is probably the best ever for me, as it was indeed made with true genuine chocolate. It is made here, not imported. So many choices, I am not quite sure how to describe, much less figure out how to transport sufficient samples back to he states. Anyone know the tariff or limits?

My living situation is going to be ineteresting, but sufficient. My new mother, widowed and una enfermeria (nurse), lives in a small sixth floor apartment, two bedrooms, one bath, small kitchen, small living area. She shares the domocile, the second bedroom, with a tiny 95 year-old amiga she has adopted. Two days has not produced any difficulty yet. My room, also small, is somewhat like a cruise ship room I suppose, though I have not done that thing. But, it has a single bed, small closet, a TV, a chair, and, a most magnificent view. My window looks to the west where I gaze upon a beatiful cathedral, not sure how old yet, with the lake and mountains behind. I am waiting for the clouds to clear to get that great photo. Otherwise my mother is friendly and helpful.

She is teaching me to eat "correctly" as well, so I guess I will learn more than spanish. She is teaching me to not switch utensils after I cut, so now I am learning to cut left handed and to "fork it up" with the right hand. I will find out how ambidexterous I am. She also likes to watch the Italian news channel so maybe I will pick up a few italian phrases to mix up with my spanish. And, as with my previous mother, she cooks well.

Today I wait for the beginning of my class. Arrived early, taking no chances on finding the place. It is not located in town as my previous schools have been. Rather it is in a upscale neighborhood a few miles out. Since, the directions wind about I have for the time being decided to experience public transportation, and leave the map skills to the driver. I can catch a bus about four blocks from my residence, and if I get off correctly, am about four blocks from the school. I say IF, as I must learn the system. It worked today only due to the niceness of a departing passenger. I realized I had passed my "mark", got off, and with the kind directions got back to where I should have been initially. As this time my classes are in the afternoon, not to my liking, but acceptable, I left at noon. School is out then, businesses are closing for the afternoon siesta, so the bus was packed, SRO. I was very impressed, however, Very much so as the students who had seats got up and offered them to older passengers as they ascended upon the bus. Yes, I was offered a seat, so laugh if you want. And, no, I did not accept it. I don´t use the bus much in the states, but I doubt (tengo duda) if I would have witnessed the same there. So far, my entire trip has provided witness to graciousness and respect.

My teachers, profesoras, are great. Older than the ones in Mendoza, which really means nada, but just a piece of information. As always, two classes, grammar then convesation. I am so far, the only spanish student in the afternoon. Not sure if there are others in the morning, but only that I am the only individual student. I think I will learn some new things now that my review and recovery period has passed. Shall see.

Finally weather has broken some three days after my arrival, and indeed the place is beautiful. After five months I can smell a pine tree again, and it is lovely. The area itself is not too different from Pagosa, except the variation in curvature and depth has been glacially caused. The lake Nahuel Huapi is 500 meters deep. You figure it out, but it is deep.

The town itself, to repeat, is geared toward the tourist. Thus, the town is more expensive, more crowded on the sidewalks, and not too many out of the way places to find isolation. However, I am very likely to branch out this weekend and rent a car. This is a stretch for me, but to get out and really see the landscape I must do so. Yes, excursions are available, but too much time is spent on the road, and little at the places you want to enjoy. It likely won´t be any less expensive. This will be a release from my guarded protections in South America. Getting on the road, unsure of roadsigns, conditions, directions and what to do in an emergency to a degree has added some anxiety. But, despite the risk, the reward could be great. My mother and profesoras have given me support and encouragement, which I need at this point. So, friends if you don´t see something in a week then assume I did indeed fall off the end of the earth.

I am getting weary of this solo travel as well. Mixing in as an extranjero is tiring and much work. Other than my mothers and profesoras in both Mendoza and here in Bariloche it has been quite an individual thing. Have not cratered yet, but I am only now halfway complete on this South American adventure and beginning to yearn for the contact of friends and my own home. But, on the other hand, every day I use and hear the language is a tiny improvement. One thing missed is just plain old routine. I enjoy routine, the repetition. But, here I have to make some changes. Since my classes are in the afternoon, for one thing that is a big change for me. So, how long it takes me to adapt to this new typw schedule may be influential in my satisfaction. For now, it is okay, just different. I also would like a real cup of coffee in the morning. Instant coffee is all I have had here from my mothers. It works for them, but not real well for me.

Well, lets see if I can load a few photos on this old machine I am sitting at.

Guess its true that time really does slip away
You only lose the chances you don´t take
If you want to feel the wind
You gotta take a ride
You better dream big
If you want to touch the sky
Can´t be scared to risk it all
You´ll never gonna fly
If you´re afraid to fall.

Mendoza, Marzo 27, 2009

A few days past one week and it seems I have little time to look back and see my shadow. I have gotten into a mode of hurry and too much to do. Hard to fit in here in Mendoza where nunca are in a hurry. The town, quite literally shuts down for siesta at 2:00 and does not reopen until around 5:00. Some, including banks, don´t reopen until the next day. Sunday looks like the streets when the sherif (gary cooper) has to face the bad guys at High Noon. People don´t eat until 9 or 10:00 at night. Even the bodegas (wineries) wait on the wine to be "ready". The only hurry here is the vehiculos, which it seems is a world wide problem.

The town is not all that conspicuous. The orginal town was destroyed in the 1800´s by an earthquake, and even though it dates back to the 1500´s there is really nothing of that age to see. One captivating characteristic is that every street I have seen so far is lined with trees. It gives a very pleasant feel, despite the otherwise strange mixture of residential and business property side by side. My house here sits between a bodega on the back side and a hospital on the front. Yet, it is a nice house with others equally pleasant around. But, this is the way of Latin America, based on my limited experience. The concept of segregated areas for business, industry and residential just does not seem to exit to any great extent. I am not sure I can really make any generalizations of Mendoza. It exceeds one million in population, and my teachers say equally balanced economically. Besides the lack of hurry, the extreme enjoyment of eating or drinking amongst friends in afternoon or evening, and the numerous parks with statures of heroes, the only other consistent obsevation I can make is sidewalk sweeping. Every time I walk to class or return home, I pass a number of locals sweeping the sidewalks. The sidewalks here are very wide I should add, in a positive way, providing room to park vehicles ON the sidewalk as well as avoid the numerous people that are coming and going in this town. Not sure if it is a pride thing or what. It just seems quite common.

Mis classes are going well enough, and I have almost recaptured my prior year loss after being in the states post-Ecuador. My instructors are young, enthusiastic, patient, and doing well with this slow learner. Mi madre is wonderful. She feeds me far too well (at 9:00), enough that I generally skip any mid-day meal. Diet here is mostly carne, old fashioned red meat. Lots of red meat. I believe barbecue is the national occupation. Not much vegetable, except for tomatoes, with a finish of fruit.

Drink of course is vino, or mate. Mate is a herbal type of tea, pretty bitter, sucked through a barbillo (straw), I guess to temper any urge to gulp. The afternoons are very much devoted to mate consumption. Why not, ´cause the stores aren´t open. When the tour guides drink mate on the job, you get an idea of its popularity. Besides the straw the container is special as well, looking like a small honey pot that would make Winnie the Pooh very happy. Wine also is a big favorite, as this area is one of the largest wine producers worldwide and the most important wine region in all of Latin America. Check out Malbec types from Argentina. I am not much into wine, so I cannot help too much. I did go on a small wine tour to watch the process. How easy it is. You grow grapes, you pick grapes, you squash grapes, you collect the grape juice and let it sit for a long time. I preferred the olive oil factory instead as Mendoza is also a big olive growing region. Olives I can understand. Much better for my palette. You can get beer here also, but the typical size for native beer is about two liters worth. Not sure I could find my way home afterward. When I asked for una cerveza pèquena the waiter brought me a Corona. Geez.

My other excursion this week was into the mountains to the east of the city. I have not been anything but hot since my arrival in Argentina. Air conditioning is not typical for the average household, including mine. But, you deal with it. However, the trip into the mountains was at least a temporary release. There were essentially three destinations, with a few other brief stops along the way. The most important draw to me was closeness to Cerro (Mt) Aconcagua. This is the highest mountain outside of Asia. As I saw it in the distance for the first time as we were leaving Mendoza I was not that much impressed, thinking how funny it does not look that high from here. Even further into our voyage the same thoughts ocurred. But, when we got as close as we were going to get it took hold. My gosh, it IS WAY UP THERE. Imagine standing on the highest mountain in Colorado, then having to climb over a mile and one-half FURTHER UP! Atmospheric pressure up there is about 40 percent of that at sea level.Yet, supposedly, despite cover of snow and ice year around, there is one route that is considered easy. I guess the over 100 dead at failed attempts should have considered the easier route.

At the further distance our tour climbed up to see the statue of Cristo Redentor de los Andes (Christ the Redeemer). It stands on the border between Chile and Argentina. I can now say I have been in three South American countries. The statue was built as a peace symbol between the two countries after border dispute between the two was settled. The metal statue is made from melted arms used by the two. Not sure why either would care too much over a few extra feet at these altitudes. The statue itself stands at just under 13,000 feet. Glad I have no desires to paint at such heights. However, the view of Aconcagua was very impressive from there, as were many of the Andes peaks that lay around.

The final significant stop was on the return as we stopped to observe a natural bridge undercut by a river in creation. Not sure how it was created for there was no other journey for the water. Once it hit here it had to do something, and there is no evidence of any other escape route. It also has hot springs here, sulfur fed, giving an interesting yellowish tint to the rocks. The bridge was once used by the Inca in their trades. Oh, one of the other short stops was a man-made bridge by San Martin, one of the South American heroes that paired with Simon Bolivar to gain freedom from the Spanish.

This will be last week in Mendoza, and next to Bariloche, to be even further into the mountains. I am somewhat excited about that journey and hopes are high. Therefore, despite the pushing and hurrying, I suppose for now I shall maintain my course, work on the spanish, encounter what I can and return with memories. And, if at all possible, "will" myself to release and let go just a bit more and be carried along.

The wing and the wind they carry things along
Whether its me that does the leaving
Or a love that flies away.
The moon outside my window looks so lovely tonight
There is a chunk out of its middle
Big enough for an old fool (me) to hide.
Where are all the dreamers that I used to know
We used to lean out neath the streetlights
With our hallos in the smoke.
The wing and the wind they carried them away
Now they all live out in the suburbs
Where their dreams are in the children at play.
There is a pale sky in the east
And the stars are in the west
Here is to all the dreamers
May our open hearts find rest.
(N. Griffith)

Buenos Aires, Marzo 22, 2009

I have arrived in Argentina and trying to adjust, to first impressions, incorrect presumptions, and new experiences. Argentina is not like Ecuador, if four days can justify that statement. Latin si, mundo tercero no.

BA is a CITY. Big, busy, beautiful, energetic, cosmopolitan, fast, noisy, much more. Despite all my misgivings about taking excursiones, due to my brief time here I did take one my first day, and quickly saw the major tourist photo stops. I can now say I saw them, but other than the documentation and maybe memory, the day was not satisfying, and my thoughts were of the greatfulness of only two days here. Perhaps I was influenced by a 11 hour flight, and remnants of the fears of the unknown on taking this trip.

I saw sights of many parks, not just scattered, but well placed throughout the central parts of the city. Each seemingly was anchored by some statue of historic personage, most unknown to me. Saw the Plaza de Mayo with its many government buildings including the Casa Rosado, from which the famous stand at the balcony to the cheers of their followers. This includes the Perons of course, as well as even Maradona, Argentina´s most famous football hero.

The single highlight of this trip was the area of the El Caminito (little street) in the barios of San Telmo and La Boca. Supposedly the area receives credit for originantion of the tango. Tango appears to be very much a prideful obsession. I have tried a few steps at a dance club in Pagosa, and have no claims of understanding. However, having now witnessed first hand streetdancers in El Caminito, surrounded by street cafes and stores selling tango memories, I can see the charm, the draw. Not sure I will ever understand how the music aligns with step, but the presentation of the dancers exudes as they say, pure romanticism, if not outright sexiness.

Second days somehow seem better. And as on schedule, the pattern repeated. My second day was indeed worth it all, changing that first impression, to darn, need another day. But, I drew in far more than my tour. My very first objective, if only one was to be achieved, was to visit the Museo de Malba, a collecion of latin art, mostly if not all, contemporary. Wonderful and I got so excited to see Diego Rivera, Kahlo, Bolero, and introduction to a new, Antonio Berni. Must find an art book on Amazon about him. Day could not get better, but it did.

Next, to get every minute of the day, with my trusty street map, I headed to a Japanese garden, every bit as beautiful as one would expecte. Peaceful and pretty, quite a refuge from the busyness of the surrounding city.

Next, to another art museum, the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes. Amazing. Rembrandt, Reuben, Rodin, Picasso, Pissaro, Pollack, Manet, Monet, Modigliani, Toulouse and well, it just keeps on going. All for gratis. This collection is equal, if not better to any I have seen in America, including the Metropolitan of NY and National in DC. My head could not handle it. I believe I was hyperventilating at times.

From there to Cementario de Recoleto. Everybody has to see the Cementary where Eva Peron and others are buried. Her tomb, very simple black stone. She still appears to be much a person of the people. Not sure we as Americans can understand the importance. The cemetary itself is like nothing I have visited. All tombs above ground, family affairs. Not sure there is any room left for the future heros of the country. All stacked, side by side. Each strucuted differently, with its own face, or statues, or doors. Some had vent pipes above. Not sure what that is about, but it certainly is something to think of. Amongst all the rows and rows and rows of rock and concrete and marble, were enough trees to provide shade and semblance of nature. Despite the many tourists, most who appeared to respect the solemnity of the scene, it was indeed a very peaceful place, to visit certainly. I cannot take a stance on the eternal peace of the occupants inside.

By this time, even though daylight, it was late and I was hungry. How does one choose among the many restaurants lining the streets. No se. Pretty much by random I found one, went in at around 8:30 PM, which for BA is actually an early dining time. I can testify to this as the waiters were only begining to set the empty tables when I walked inside. Meal was good. And, no, it is very warm here, and because I was hot, I did not choose the wine, but an Argentinian beer, which was very good. Me gusto mucho.

Quick comments as this draws long. Wine is a much to do thing here. Have not yet tried the Malbecs, but will, and will comment later. As for the differences, more should come, but I was surprised at the size of the folks. I was a giant in Argentina. I do not stand out here. People of all sizes, and mostly, with plumpness to them, which was a total surprise. Not obese, but plump. More exposure as well. No shorts or shirtless in Ecuador. But, here, it looks like Austin the summer. Shorts everywhere, informal attire. Actually very rarely did I see anyone dressed formally, including the Friday visitation, a normal workday. So, enough for this first encounter. I am now in Mendoza and school starts tomorrow.

I gave up the fast lane,
For a dirt rock forest road,
Just burned out on all that talk,
Bout the mother lode
I traded it for an artbook
And a bigger piece of sky
When I miss the good ol´ days
I can´t imagine why.
Still I get restless
And drive into town,
Watch this world through the windows
While it all comes unwound
Its crazy but God knows
I don´t act my age
Like some old desperado
Tries to paint the town beige.
(R.Keene)

Getting started, again - 03/09/09

One week more, and plenty more to do. Guess when I leave, ready or not, I will be able to "leave" the undone behind, and deal with the days before. This is a renewal test, to see if it all still works. If so, then much more will follow.

There's no stronger wind than the one that blows
Down a lonesome railroad line
No prettier sight than looking back
On a town you left behind
There's nothing that's as real
As a love that's in my mind

There's lots of things along the road
I'd surely like to see
I'd like to lean into the wind
And tell myself I'm free
But your softest whisper's louder
Than the highways call to me.