The Last Few Weeks in S. America

Oddly, I used to find more time to write when I was on the move than I do now stationary in Buenos Aires. I have been wanting to write, but my limited computer access and circumstances have kept me away from the keyboard. Two things have kept writing at bay in the last few days. Preparing to fly my bike to Miami definitely commanded my attention. If something had gone wrong with that, I would land in Miami next Wednesday and would be stuck. Of course, there might be worse places to be stranded. Fortunately, all went very well this last Tuesday. I rode my spic and span bike out of BA to the international airport, met the contact person, rode to the cargo terminal and met Martin who crated and wrapped my bike after I had removed the front wheel, loosened the handle bar, and squeezed all the gear I could into my panniers and any free space on the pallet. For any riders who are reading this and wondering who they can trust to ship a bike out of Buenos Aires, All Cargo has been totally reliable and professional for my friends and me. There are woeful stories out there of scam artists and there are companies that offer amazing services but cost much more. And speaking of woeful stories...the other matter that has cost me a lot of time recently and caused me much anxiety is the state in which my former tenants left my home after abandoning my house without any notification on the first of June. Fortunately, I have amazing friends in Vermont. Karen Alexander and Roo Mold checked my house, made sure new locks were installed, and made sure no permanent damage was done to the interior of the home. Denise and Paul Scavitto and Jennifer Goodhue worked with one of my tenants all day Tuesday and removed the 900+ pounds of garbage that my tenants had left unattended (for over two weeks!) outside the house. Hopefully the bears will now forget my home and stop prowling around the neighborhood (my poor neighbors). This drama is still not resolved, as the tenants still have lots of  stuff in my house and of course a huge clean up job awaits me when I get back. I expected that to a certain degree, but this is more than I had imagined.

Despite all that, I have plenty to share about the last few weeks here in Argentina. I moved out of my room in Chacarita on the 3rd of June. Being sort of homeless (I spent two nights at Stafford and Fernando´s), I figured this was the perfect opportunity to ride north to the Misiones province. Misiones is named for the Jesuit Missions established there in the 17th century. The ruins of these remarkable settlements remain, but by far the biggest tourist draw in Misiones are the Iguazu waterfalls. They are considered one of the world´s seven natural wonders and a day´s visit leaves no doubt that they are worthy. The falls are not just a couple grand cascades, but well over one hundred of them, big and small, falling an average of 200 feet. The surroundings are green and lush. Water seems to be everywhere and it is all heading in the same direction. The volume of water is not as much as the Victoria Falls in Africa, but my friend and fellow rider Tim, who met me at Iguazu, confirmed first hand that the falls of Iguazu are much more of a crowd-pleaser - partly because of how observable the falls are. Indeed, the infrastructure of the park on the Argentine side of the border is impressive. Well constructed walkways winding over the river and above cliffs give visitors amazing access to views, mist, and the gentle thunder accompanying so much force. Tim and I had a great day exploring the park and taking a plethora of photos. Every new angle seemed ready to give me my most Ansel Adams-esque photo.

The next day, I started heading back south. I didn´t ride far though, as I got a late start after an oil change and because I wanted to visit the ruins of the San Ignacio Mission. Anyone who has seen the movie, the Mission (with Deniro, Neeson, and Irons), understands the draw of these historical sites (and if you haven´t seen the movie, you should. Great acting, great soundtrack, great scenery, essentially true story.). More than perhaps any other religious enterprise in the so-called "New World", these extensions of the Catholic Church found considerable success and sympathy among the local aboriginal peoples - in this case, the Guarani. This is partly because the Guarani belief system fit quite well with what the Jesuits presented them and because the Jesuits were working and even fighting to protect the Guarani from slave traders. The very communal Guarani people also appreciated that the Missions´s profits (which were considerable) were put right back into their communities.

I spent that night in the border town (to Paraguay) Posadas. I knew I had a long ride ahead of me. The ride from BA had taken two long days of riding through a lot of flat, visually numbing farmland in the province called Entre-Rios. To break up the return trip and to see another major Argentine city, I decided to ride back to BA by way of Rosario. The ride to Rosario took over ten hours and crossed more than 1000km in one day. This was probably my longest single day ride of the entire trip. I was soon struck (literally) with just how alive the Entre-Rios region is. For the first time since last August, I hit a bird. A brown pigeon enjoying the hot tarmac, waited too long to fly away and when it did, it veered right in front of me and smacked the top of my helmet. I looked worriedly in my rear-view mirror expecting to see blood, guts, and feathers. Instead, all I saw was a bit of a sag in my visor. I stopped and found that the force of the impact had broken a plastic bolt that attaches one side of the visor to the helmet. That meant I was now riding with a broken bolt on my helmet, a broken bolt on my crash guard, and the consequences of a broken bolt on the right-side foot peg. (Good bolts are really important) At any rate, as I rode on, it became clear why I had finally hit a bird - there were thousands of them all along the road. There were gorgeous birds of yellow, others all white except for a bright red head, there were pigeons of all sorts and duck like amblers that were surprisingly nimble on the ground, but never flew. There were also birds of prey and foxes looking for some easy feed.

Rosario was like a small BA (but still has more than one million residents). The waterfront, overlooking the Parana River was lovely. Joggers and walkers and maté sippers love this long, public space. Gazing across the great Parana back into Entre-Rios, a giant wetland devoid of any sign of human activity, it felt like being at civilization´s last outpost at the end of the known world. Rosario was significant for my voyage in a unique way though. The inspiration for my trip was the movie, Motorcycle Diaries, about a great motorcycle trip made by the young Che Guevara. Che was born in Rosario in 1928 and the elegant bourgeois building where he first lived is still standing. There is nothing on the building itself to indicate it´s most famous resident, but the Che Guevara Hostel right across the street takes care of that. So in a sense, Rosario was a very fitting place to visit here at the tail end of my journey. It was also the site of the last (I hope) roadblock of my trip. My nighttime ride into Rosario took me through a villa (slum) and led right to some protesters and newly ignited tires. While sizing up the situation, a young man told me motorcyclists could pass through. So, I rode up to the line of tires, hopped up on the sidewalk and went around the blockade. A few kids and a woman came over to object, but I was already through and short of using force there was nothing they could do. I was delighted with how vacant the streets were on the other side!

After two nights in Rosario, I rode the remaining four hour trip back to Buenos Aires and moved into the Kilca Hostal in the downtown area. This hostel is not elegant. Indeed, it is rather run-down, but it is friendly, inexpensive, and has room to park a number of bikes - very rare in BA. The nice thing about living in hostels is meeting people and being tourists together as opposed to alone. So, I have revisited some places here and checked out some new places. A couple nights ago, I went to the Cathedral with my friend, Tim, and a couple others. This former church is now a very cool Tango venue. The walls are covered with graffiti-like modern art. That and the darkness of this space create an almost gothic ambiance - which is magic when combined with tango music, organic Argentine wines, and inexpensive tango lessons (and lots of cute women!). I met one of them on the dance floor - Carla Soto of Lima, Peru, who taught me the first few steps of Tango (or did I teach her?? Hmm....). I also finally visited Tigre, a small city outside BA famous for its quaint waterways through parts of the Parana delta. Carla and Vaneska and I enjoyed a boat tour past groves of reeds and cute cottages.

Another noteworthy evening was when I met with Ade Barkah a few days ago. Ade, a computer programmer from Toronto, and I first met in Baja and rode together for about three days. He just arrived in BA after pushing just as far south as he possibly could before being pushed back by the Patagonian winter. Ade and I went to my favorite pizza joint, Angelín, and then walked along the lively Avenida Armenia. We each had a lot of stories to share. I look forward to visiting him sometime in Toronto.

The goodbyes have begun of course. Tim (who I first met in Guatemala) sold his KLR (a big goodbye) and caught a freighter headed to Senegal. My last night of volunteering at a home for girls was Wednesday. As usual, I met my friend Majo (Marie José), and went with her to the home. Being a holiday (Dia de la Bandera - flag day), not many of the girls were there, so we played board games with those remaining and just hung out. Afterwards, Majo and I swapped stories and shared a pizza.

More goodbyes are coming in the next couple days before my flight to Miami. I will miss quite a few people and I know days are coming where I will wish to be back in BA, but I am ready to move on and to explore the US some as I ride north to Michigan.

A Really Fine Night

The following comes from an evening about three weeks ago. I took notes as it was happening. I realize that some of the likenesses drawn in this journal-style entry will mean nothing to those who don´t know the persons referenced. But it is my blog after all :)

It has been a tough day. I left my debit card in an ATM about a week ago and just realized it yesterday. Today was spent scrambling in order to get money flowing to me as soon as possible. Thank goodness Stafford was able to spot me some cash to tie me over.

So I was feeling a bit brain-dead and hungry too as I approached the corner cafe on the way back to my apartment. Since it is cold now, the windows were closed and I heard next to nothing, but there were lots of people inside and a number of smokers just outside the entrance. The big crowd and the warm light reflecting off wood trim and antique cameras beckoned. It was tempting to pass it all by and return to one thing that was a sure thing on this marathon day (that being my apartment and the salad nicoise whose fixings I was carrying with me). But why not escape for a while into a charming, bustling porteño cafe?

I stepped in and found a white haired jazz band playing It Had To Be You. One last table remained free. I took my place and ordered a beer which came with a tiny bowl of peanuts. Beer and protein - a good combo! Particularly the beer in my empty tummy had an almost immediate effect and added to the fun and the free flow of writing ideas as I scribbled in my notebook. It became abundantly clear to me why Christopher Hitchens prefered to write while drinking whiskey.

Whether it was the beer, a bit of nostalgia or just coincidence, the white-haired virtuosos of the Musicos Cabildo Norte Jazz Club almost all reminded me of someone.

The trombonist with his generous round belly and simple button-up shirt reminded me of my Grandpa Ehrean. If he had stopped and stuck his false teeth out at any of the kids present, the illusion would have been complete.

The keyboardist was a diminutive (and aged) version of my friend Jim Webber who I once helped schlep a vintage electric keyboard into the back of his Subaru.

The guitarist looked like a Gunter Grass without the burdens of a self-anointed moralizer.

The saxophonist reminded me of Saint Johnsbury Academy´s now retired automotive teacher, Tom Moore, as one might see him all dressed up at the Academy´s Christmas Party.

The drummer was a shorter version of former US Director of Intelligence, John Negroponte. The drummer did not miss a beat, so unlike his doppelganger who spoke unintelligently at graduation a few years back about Saint Johnsbury´s namesake (His assumption was wrong - the city is not named for Saint John.).

As they advanced from one jazz standard to another, the performers rotated, giving a slightly more literal meaning to musical chairs. There were a lot more musicians present than I thought...maybe even more performers than audience members.

The shortest and perhaps oldest of the performers, occasionally picking his guitar, occasionally joining other vocalists, reminded me paradoxically of Herman Munster with his box-like head and very prominent chin. His face, however, was as white and wrinkled as Herman´s was green and taut.

Another guitarist, perhaps the most elegant of the men bore a resemblance to my great grandfather from Sweden...perhaps crossed with post-war Germany´s chancellor, Adenauer.

There was a clarinetist too. A Benny Goodman with an incredible comb-over.

Of all these men, there was only one dark-haired interloper. I think I would have bleached my hair if I were him.

The elder musikmeisters, the tunes from the golden age of jazz, the b & w photos in this cafe cum photography museum all carried me away from the day´s worries. I was struck by how many amazing musicians there are in Buenos Aires and by how such quintessentially American music has become a part of the world´s musical heritage. This American felt really lucky and even a bit proud to be enjoying one of his country´s great and truly appreciated cultural gifts performed masterfully by men who may never have set foot on US soil. It was a really fine night.

May in BA

It has been weeks since I last posted an article on my blog. In some ways, I am a bit disappointed that more has not happened. The opportunity to work at a hotel fell through without a word from its owners. It has been hard to find volunteering opportunities. Such opportunities for foreigners usually comes with a price tag (but I am making progress here). Making friends has also not been a piece of cake. Thankfully I have had Stafford MacKay and his partner, Fernando, to help me and give me company from day one.

Nevertheless, things are good here in Buenos Aires. My explorations of this city continue - and there is a LOT to explore and observe.

Walk through Buenos Aires on a nice, sunny, weekend day or holiday and you will see people walking with friends and family, sitting at nice cafes, or chilling out with their kids and dogs and sipping yerba maté (a traditional green tea). That´s what I did on May Day. At the time, I was reading Pamuk´s My Name is Red, and would sit and relax in the sun while half reading and half people-watching. In a grassy neighborhood park I was pleased to see people frolicking and extremely good-natured dogs running around, sniffing each other and sniffing the ground.

On this day I was headed for the Ateneo, a spectacular book store in the affluent Palermo district. But after walking at least 1.5 hours, I found the workers of this biblioteca were also celebrating their day. No worries. I know that bus #39 can take me from Avenida Santa Fe right to my apartment. Any time I am out late at night (as was the case last Saturday - until 2:30am), if I don´t know how to get home, I can simply hoof it over to Avenida Santa Fe and catch this bus. At night, some of these buses have red curtains and blue lights and (typically) 80s music playing (Boy George, Queen, Duran Duran). I was surprised to see even the fire extinguisher replaced by a decoration - a mini statue of the Virgin Mary. The Catholics in this country probably figure that the latter is just as likely to save lives as the former.

What else have I found in the last few weeks? In the Almagro district I stopped at a cafe across from the Italian Hospital (there is also a German one, a British one, and probably more) and found not only really good coffee, but the best cheesecake I have had since leaving the US. What a great surprise! Not far away is a shopping mall made out of an old marketplace. The building is enormous, composed of three parallel arched spaces (the middle one being the highest, not unlike the nave of a cathedral). For me, the highlights of this place were found in the upper levels. There are two McDonalds in this mall, but one is truly unique - it is kosher! The menu is not as expansive as at other franchises, but the lines were still plenty long. There is also a carnival for kids upstairs. Neverland is the name and offers a swinging pirate ship, a mini roller coaster, and an elegant Ferris wheel fitted snugly in the arch of the central hall. It was a crowded place on that rainy day.

Buenos Aires is not without poverty. I still have not happened upon a slum (although I have been told there are slums and warned to stay away at night), but one walk brought me to Plaza Miserere, a sadly apt name for a city square. An enormous mausoleum for Bernardino Rivadavia, Argentina´s first head of state, sets the mood. The homeless and their makeshift tents and beds perpetuate the sadness. Tragically, the adjacent train station is where well over one hundred people died a couple months back when a typically overfilled train´s brakes failed.

One new friend is Valeria (as a friend of mine asked, yes it is pronounced like ´malaria´). We spent one evening walking from art venue to art venue on one of BA´s Open Gallery Nights. Coincidentally, that day was the anniversary of the Guernica Bombing during the Spanish Civil War. There are quite a few ethnic Basque in Argentina. It seemed somehow fitting that there were a number of pieces that were reminiscent of Picasso´s cubist and collage periods. While not one of the better exhibits, the exhibit that most hit home was a gallery full of embellished motorcycle helmets. The message was that every rider should wear one (Shame on you Michigan!! All The Gear, All The Time - ATGATT). Seven million Argentines ride 4.5 million motorcycles and accidents on these bikes are the number one killer of people between 15 and 19 years. It is estimated that 80% of those deaths would be prevented by properly wearing a helmet. Later, Val and I went to a bar called Dada. I doubt Duchamp and his rebellious Dadaists would have approved of this rather bourgeois hangout using their name. But at least the food was good. I don´t think I would like Dada food.

My Spanish continues to progress, albeit slowly. The day of the open galleries, I received an email from Valeria. I was surprised to see that it was addressed to "Dale, ..." I figured she must have another American friend named Dale and just had a little brain cramp. Later that night, I asked her about it. She pointed out that "Dale" (pronounced doll a) means ¨Let´s go.¨

Politics are ubiquitous in BA. Protests (whether for farmers, marijuana legalization, or any sort or subgroup of workers) are commonplace in front of the Congresso or the Casa Rosada. Just a couple hours ago, I was on the subway and a handful of young people were beating their drums in a station. A most likely homeless woman who was panhandling in my train car made a number of people laugh when she good-naturedly joked about how there is never a day without some protest in BA. Political graffiti can be seen everywhere, even in nice neighborhoods. Statements like "El pueblo por Christina" are reminders of the populist Peronist President Christina Fernandez de Kirchner´s popularity. She has been giving Argentines, journalists, and the world a lot to think about lately. Her expropriation and nationalization of the oil company YPF has angered Spain (whose Repsol previously owned YPF) and made international investors nervous about investing in Argentina. For me, this news was at least an interesting distraction from the Malvinas/Falklands issue, which is in itself a distraction from looming inflation and international debt crisis. I worry about this lovely country. Its economy is in danger of imploding and its president does not strike me as a steady and wise leader. A couple days ago she debuted a commercial for TV on the Malvinas issue. I can´t think of a democracy where the executive branch has run an advertisement on a foreign affairs issue (I bet someone is going to find an American example to prove me wrong on this!). For Argentines, many of them stoked by jingoistic propaganda, this issue is a no-brainer, but I don´t think many of them realize just how complicated it is historically and in terms of international law (not to mention the question of the islanders themselves who are loyal to the UK).

I have at last found a place where I can volunteer. Stafford asked a friend of his, Majo, if she had any ideas for me. Last week she took me to a home for teenage girls. I worked on a little English with one sweet 14 year old and helped a learning impaired young woman with a little very basic reading and writing. When Majo and I were done, it was time for dinner at this home of about 23 young women. We joined Padre Pablo (also a volunteer) and a bunch of the kids while others served the meatloaf and fries. It was a fun meal that kept me on my toes trying to communicate in Spanish. Volunteers at this facility are arranged through an NGO called Siloé. This seems to be a great organization. If you are going to spend a couple months in BA and want to volunteer, you should contact them.

Slowly but surely, the trees are growing bear and the temperature is dropping. I have taken my sleeping bag out of the stuff sack and have even put my water bottle filled with hot water in my bed to help me stay warm on a couple occasions. I like this weather though and the sense of change. Plus, I know that I will soon be enjoying this year´s third summer when I arrive in Miami on June 27.

Impressions of BA

One could easily feel adrift in a city like Buenos Aires. The anonymity that comes in a population center of over 10 million people attracts some and surely depresses others. For me, newly arrived, unable to understand the unique dialect spoken by the Porteños, and used to small town familiarity, Buenos Aires can seem cold and rather unfriendly. There are no nods of recognition and only rather rare passing smiles between strangers on the sidewalk or in the subway. But I knew all this coming in. It is no different from New York or Paris or any other major metropolis.

To keep me going and upbeat until I meet more people and/or begin to work a little, I am exploring, observing, and just being. My knowledge of Buenos Aires is very superficial and it will remain superficial when I return to the US. Three months are not enough time to get to know even rural communities in a meaningful way. Recently, I have taken a couple long walks with little more in mind than seeing what is around me, getting a bit of exercise, and enjoying the gradual slide into Autumn marked by yellowing trees and little clusters of dried leaves to kick through on the sidewalk.

A walk up the sidewalk (dodging dog doo) on the major street of Lacroze in my Chacarita neighborhood leads one past cafes, grocery stores, little kiosks, bakeries, fruit stands, clothing stores, pizza and empañada restaurants, and parillas. Everything one needs to get by. Parillas are a particularly Argentine institution. These restaurants serve up what Argentina is perhaps best known for - meat. Beef, chicken, pork, sausages including blood sausage - sometimes all of it served on a single heaping plate or on a mini-grill that is brought to your table... It's a wonder there aren't more fat Porteños. Maybe Dr. Atkins's diet was inspired here and not in the laboratory. My budget and taste keep me from indulging in such meaty hedonism, but a simple choripan or sausage sandwich for lunch (for less than two dollars) is becoming more than just an occasional treat for me.

The plethora of cafes reflect the Buenos Aires coffee culture. Elsewhere in Argentina, yerba matte, a type of green tea cultivated northwest of here since the 1700s, seems like essential fuel for Argentines. Indeed, gas stations and any place where Argentines are likely to stop have hot water spigots to fill the thermoses that are carried by seemingly everyone. In Buenos Aires, this tea culture is less obvious, although a quick look at a grocery store aisle packed with nothing but bags of tea shows that perhaps yerba is widely drank here too. Still, coffee is king here in BA. As one would expect in a city with European roots, espresso (called a cortado, and frequently served with a touch of milk) is perhaps most popular. Even as I write, I am sitting at a very special cafe (Museo Fotográfico Simik) across the street from my apartment. The windows, as is the norm here, are wide open to the sidewalk and the expectation (if not preference) is that coffee or beer sippers will sit there for hours while chatting with a friend, skimming a newspaper, or reading a novel (in my case, Richard Price's Lush Life). Starbucks is, of course, present here. I counted at least five during my walk down Avenida Corrientes yesterday. I don't believe, though, that it's putting much pressure on the competition.

(Note: Just now it sounded as if gunshots were being fired outside the cafe - at least four very loud pops. People are gawking and looking around for the perpetrator. I just asked an officer about it. Nothing but a backfiring motor!)

A number of groups of people have stood out for me in my comings and goings. The subway train is the site of some rather unique, but sad commerce. Young men can frequently be seen and heard selling random, small items on the train. The men will walk along and place the item in each seated person's lap. When they reach the far end of the car, they turn around and either pick up the cash for the item or the item itself if it isn´t wanted (which is usually the case). The men are not nuisances. They are a sad reminder of the poverty here. More tragic - I have recently seen a couple elderly men handing out religious trinkets using the same process. I was struck how these well-kempt men looked like they could have been businessmen or professionals of some sort not too long ago. These men and the dramatic dips in Argentina's economy in the last 30 plus years make Argentines especially mindful of the ephemeral nature and the dark sides of economic booms.

Almost every evening after the sun has set, the night streets of BA bustle with cartoneros - people who sift through the garbage and remove all the cardboard, which they then sell to companies that recycle paper fiber. Competing against each other for the greatest take, whole families of cartoneros hurriedly rip open garbage bags and throw the cardboard together into huge sacks that are then rolled away atop big two-wheel carts pulled usually by lanky, but muscular teenage boys or early 20 something men.

(For much more on Cartoneros, check out this documentary about them. It is very well done. Thanks go to the anonymous person who shared it with me!)

On a very different human note, there are over 250,000 Jews in BA. Buenos Aires, after New York, is home to more Jewish people than any city outside Israel. I am sure most Jewish people here are invisible, but it is not at all rare to see men wearing yarmulkas or to see either sex wearing traditional orthodox garb. I have yet to see if they are concentrated anywhere in the city. That's another thing to investigate.

The city does not quiet at night. Young people on noisy motorbikes are still cruising, garbage trucks are making their rounds, buses deliver riders all night long, and emergency vehicles can be heard any time of the day (although not more often than in any other big city). But for a bit of visual peace, just look up. This is an enormous city, but some stars are still visible. I can sit on the roof terrace and see Orion and the Southern Cross.

In general, I have been impressed with the air clarity here. Granted, it is not summer, but I still have not seen an ugly brown layer hanging overheard nor gotten headaches from too much ozone. Very few trucks belch out much smoke and people really do use buses and the subway. Maybe the air will get even clearer in the future. I think bicycling will grow here. The few enlightened young people and the poor who currently ride bikes have to put up with and look out for some fairly inconsiderate car drivers (I actually smacked the side of a car today that drove too close to me as I crossed a street - I don't know what got into me!). But there are already a few designated bike lanes here and this is a city without any hills. Bicyclist heaven!

Alas, another long entry. I hope you enjoyed it.

Making My Way In BA

Yesterday was April Fools Day and it was no joke. A couple significant things transpired - I will tell you about them later.

I am still in Buenos Aires. At this moment I am seated comfortably in the home of Stafford and Fernando in one of Buenos Aires's nicest neighborhoods, Belgrano. It is a holiday today, a memorial day of sorts for the people and the pride and opportunity lost in Argentina's 1983 fight for the Falkland Islands. The long weekend is a great opportunity to get out of the big city, so this well-to-do wooded neighborhood is even quieter than usual. Stafford is the younger brother of a dear colleague from my year teaching at the Leelanau School. Molly wrote to me as I approached BA that I should definitely meet up with him. He and his partner have been hugely helpful to me.

Stafford and I met about a week ago, probably the day after my previous blog post. I took my first ride in BA's underground (the Subte) to Belgrano and walked somewhat awestruck up his beautiful, quiet, tree-lined street. Stafford took me on a walking tour of the surrounding neighborhood which is home to numerous interesting architecture styles, grand high rise apartment buildings, and stately embassies (the German one being the largest). We concluded the walk with a delicious coffee at one of the many sidewalk cafes. At that moment, I knew that I could not turn my back on Buenos Aires. Santiago is a very nice city, but BA is a great one.

Time to start looking for apartments. Years and years ago in Paris, Paul Miotke and I would daily check the bulletin board at the Eglise Americaine for apartment offers. It was a hassle, but it was good to be out walking and exploring as we made the pilgrimage to the church each day. Nowadays people search for things they want on the internet. I used Craigslist, Mercado Libre, and Airbnb to find offers and then emailed my interest. As I checked the offerings and then waited for responses, I became a rather sedentary being at my hostel - barely straying outdoors for a couple days unless it was to check an apartment or get food.

Those days seemed a bit gloomy. Hostel life was getting to me. Nick and Ivanka had left, there were only a few people I was really chatty with, I was getting shifted from room to room, and some of the people in the rooms were rather inconsiderate when going out at 1am and returning drunk at 5 or 6am (BA just might be the latest city in the world). My wardrobe was getting to me - same clothes every day, simply because I don't have any more. By far the most significant factor contributing to this gloominess was news from back in Saint Johnsbury. A lovely colleague, Melissa Jenkins, was murdered by a local married couple. The death of this 33 year old single mother and the unfathomable motives and cruelty of the killers has left everyone who had some connection to Melissa at a total loss. Suddenly, the world seems to be devoid of meaning and logic (even evil logic!).

But life goes on and so did my apartment search. In one day I looked at rooms in three apartments. I could have taken one, but it was dumpy - the landlord never responded to my lower offer. The other two didn't select me because I am only staying until the end of June.

Fortunately, Stafford and Fermando had invited me to stay with them. I have a comfy bed here, great company, both my hosts appreciate great food and drink (Stafford's beef carpaccio is amazing!), Fernando is tutoring me in Spanish, and I have internet access any time I want it.

So, it was with tempered optimism that I visited two more apartments yesterday. The first was across town in a much poorer neighborhood. The rooming arrangement there would not allow me to have visitors and the surrounding area lacked cafes, bakeries, and good food stores. Too bad, because the price was right. At six, I met with Nicole in her apartment about 12 blocks from Belgrano. The walk there brought me past numerous restaurants, cafes, ice cream shops, stores, and internet cafes. The neighborhood (Chacarita) lacks the polish, but also the slightly pretentious feel of Belgrano. So far, so good. The apartment is simple and clean. The roof is open for lounging and visiting. Nicole and I discussed arrangements, what it will be like sharing her apartment, and rent. We agreed upon a very fair monthly rate. We would speak again the next day to finalize things. My 30 minute walk back to Belgrano seemed to take seconds as all the sights and sounds and smells of this neighborhood now had a new meaning.

The evening was not over. Stafford had invited a few friends over for dinner. Delphine (a French expat) and Graham and Brenda (he is from the US, she is Argentine) made for great company. Graham and Brenda own a lovely little hotel in downtown BA (http://www.hotelpatios.com/) and mentioned that they need another receptionist. Stafford knew that the compensation is a free room, so he immediately said I might be interested. Indeed I was!

But what a conflict: Should I take the room in the cool, slightly gritty Chacarita or should I take free lodging and a job and live in a business and tourist district? I visited the hotel this morning and Graham understood why I was torn. The solution? I will take the room in Chacarita and then, when Graham and Brenda are out of town in May, I will supervise the hotel. I am thrilled! If I want to leave Chacarita, I can, but if I want to stay, I may.

All is well in Buenos Aires. No joke.

From Ushuaia to Buenos Aires

I should have known. Just after labelling northern Tierra del Fuego as boring (in my previous blog entry), Nick, Ivanka and I had a great drive through the same area. We left Ushuaia late morning, wound our way through the surrounding mountains and followed Ruta 3 northeast. The wind battered us the whole way to the border. Leaning against gale force winds so as not to be blown over or off the road was exhausting. Cooking up some coffee during a roadside break was impossible, as our cookers' flames would just blow out.

It was in that fatigued and wary state-of-mind that we reached the border, crossed over into Chile and once again faced the loose gravel roads of northern Tierra del Fuego. We decided against the same roads we took going south and so pushed inland a bit more this time. At the first crossroad, we asked a surveyor which way to go. He pointed up the smaller road. Hm. To our great relief, this was a dirt road more than a gravel one, so the driving was much more pleasant. Better yet, the wind died down. We passed only a couple pickups on this road, otherwise it was ours alone...along with occasional flocks of geese (they were also going north), guanacos (one of which ran just ahead of us thinking we were chasing it), and a rancher and his dogs herding sheep. This narrower road felt cozier and turned spectacular in a subtle way as we descended into a shallow valley that seemed very significant in this otherwise flat land. The ride became adventurous again when confronted with a little brook blocking our way. There was no quick way to gauge its depth or seek obstacles, so being on the bike with the lighter load, I shrugged my shoulder and cranked the throttle. Water somehow managed to fly up over my windshield. Exhilarated, I hopped off my bike and photographed Nick and Ivanka doing the same.

We were relieved to reach pavement again and then the Straits of Magellan and to have caught the day's last ferry. The sun had set before we reached the northern shore. We pushed on into the dark hoping to reach Rio Gallegos across the border in Argentina. Just before the border it started to rain and our vision was rather limited. So, at the border we asked where we could camp, as driving was unsafe for us. The boss told us we could sleep in the next building just outside the bathrooms. It was a bit smelly, but it was warm and secure. And free!

In Rio Gallegos, Ivanka needed to Skype with her boss. We needed a cafe with wifi. We parked to begin looking for such a place by foot. Out of nowhere, Mark appeared. He and Kevin and Andre had slept right across the street. While laughing about the coincidence, Adrian drove by.

I was worried about my bike's front end. Something did not feel right, but a quick inspection the previous day turned up nothing. There was a squeak too, but we figured it was just the front brake. I asked Mark to take a quick look and he showed that he could wiggle the front wheel from side to side. My nearly new wheel bearings were shot. Adrian also had to get work done, so we found the local bike shops and ordered the repairs.

The ride up Ruta 3 is a long one...nearly 2000 miles. It follows Argentina's eastern coast and is known for relentless winds and a rather featureless (dare I say 'boring'?) landscape. Indeed, the winds were constant and usually perpendicular to our path or against us, almost never at our backs, and the landscape was flat, flat, flat. There were very few trees but lots of scrub brush. It was during the long hours of driving through here that it dawned upon me that the wind is the reason all the trees in southern Chile and Argentina have such tiny leaves. Bigger ones would simply blow away. Nevertheless, to declare this whole region of steppe boring is a grave injustice to the coast. We visited two national parks (Monte Leon and Peninsula Valdez) with spectacular shorelines, tremendous tides (up to 12 meters!), and wildlife - penguins, seals, sea lions and elephants, whales, and orcas. The whale calving season was way past, but we saw magellan penguins, seals, both sea lions and elephants, and we hoped to see orcas rush the beach to snatch a seal snack. The orcas were a no show in both parks, but we still very much enjoyed the natural beauty of these places.

Rain is a seldom visitor to this region, but we drove through when they reportedly received more rain than in any other single storm in over five years. It still did not seem like all that much, but it was certainly impressive to watch the dark clouds roll by and to see how rain would fall straight down from a cloud and then suddenly turn 45 degrees at the elevation where the wind hit it. On Peninsula Valdez we witnessed heavenly art as distant rain mixed with the purples and oranges of the setting sun.

This treeless land is also nearly people-less in many places. Camping was difficult with the crazy winds and fence enclosed ranches. So, our new campgrounds were the isolated gas stations/truck stops along Ruta 3. This was ideal. We could stock up on drinking and cooking water, get a snack, and sit in the small dining areas (after we had eaten our own feasts) and play scrabble.

Slowly, the land transformed. Just south of San Antonio we encountered cultivated land. Fields of sunflowers welcomed us as did the smell of freshly unearthed onions. North of Viedma, Ruta 3 is lined on both sides by vast green farmland with occasional patches of trees. It reminded me of very flat sections of Michigan or what Iowa might look like. Compared to the unforgiving steppe of Patagonia, I felt very at home here.

One more national park was on our list - the Parque National Tornquist. This park protects a patch of mountains that pop out of the flat lands in spectacular fashion. We spent two nights there enjoying the scenery, a couple short hikes, the campground showers, and a dinner with perhaps the best sausages any of us had ever eaten (available at the mercadito in Villa de la Ventana, if you're wondering).

We left the park for what was Nick and Ivanka's last big ride. Buenos Aires is their departure point for flying home. Our arrival in Argentina's famous capital happened the next day though, after one more night camping at a gas station (albeit a natural gas service station - lots of Argentine's are driving with natural gas that cost just 2 pesos a liter - gasoline costs at least 5 pesos a liter).

We wisely rolled into this city of 13 million on a quiet Sunday morning. The traffic was minimal and considerate. We asked and were directed to a great little breakfast nook where we enjoyed tasty sandwiches and sinfully indulgent churros. Neighborhood men came out and appreciated our bikes and took pictures with us. Soon we were deep in the city, in awe of this urban cityscape with grand buildings overlooking plazas and narrow streets with apartment buildings reminiscent of Paris. With a little leg and phone work from Ivanka, we selected a hostel and made our way there. That short drive put us on Avenue July 9, which, with a total of 18 lanes, is the widest avenue in the world. Our hostel overlooks this avenue, the surrounding business edifices, and the very phallic obelisk.

One remarkable thing about this city`s traffic is the very spare use of horns. New York streets echo incessantly with audibles of frustration and indignation. Buenos Aires` streets are quiet and cool for the most part. This fits with my positive perception of Argentinians. Walk into a store or restaurant and you are greeted right away by perfect strangers. Lots of people ask us about our bikes and the journeys we have made and all wish us well. Many Argentinians are also considerate when speaking to us in Spanish, slowing the pace so we can grasp what they say or even writing out directions as opposed to just pointing and gesturing where we should go.

So far, Buenos Aires has been fantastic. Nick and Ivanka and I enjoyed the enormous San Telmo Sunday street market that teems with shoppers, vendors of all sorts of crafts, and street musicians, some of a remarkable calibre. And speaking of music, Nick, Ivanka, and I saw Roger Waters` The Wall last night. I call it a show rather than a concert because this really was more of a rock opera or perhaps a rock oratorio than a band playing and interacting with its audience. Images and names of dead soldiers and other victims of war and hatred from the First World War up to current conflicts were projected on the Wall. Clearly Water`s anti-war, anti-capitalist, anti-fascist philosophy has not waned. In a country with a history like Argentina`s, especially the latter of those three is very well received. Regardless, it was amazing to see music that has been with me nearly all my life performed live...and under the Southern Cross with 60,000 good people from all around the world.

Aside from the imminent departure of a number of my rider friends, the only bad news to share is that someone has stolen money from my bank accounts...and not just a little bit. Mark, Kevin, and Andre have also been victims of someone we are guessing is in Peru. I will sit tight here for a few days until a new bank card arrives. I was planning on staying here for at least a week anyhow and there is soooo much to see that I am not at all bummed by this imposed wait.

If you would like to see a fun video of our ride through Patagonia, arrival  in Ushuaia, and a debate of the EggGate scandal, follow this link. You might also enjoy the music from New Order.

Ushuaia

In terms of latitude, Ushuaia is about as far south as Calgary is north, but Calgary is nowhere near the end of the road in North America. South America's travellers reach the fin del mundo in this blustery tourist magnet where the southern shore of Tierra del Fuego meets the Beagle Channel.

Setting out from Vermont, Ushuaia was not my primary objective. It was and still is my goal to settle for a couple months in some major city so as to satiate my urban cravings before returning to Vermont, that most bucolic of states. That is still my plan (and Santiago, Chile will be that city), but Ushuaia has long been in my sights. Almost all my fellow riders planned on coming here and curiosity has also made Ushuaia appealing. As a teacher of history and geography, how could I not seize the opportunity to cross the Magellan Straits and explore this contested tip of the Western Hemisphere? Even the Beagle Channel is significant, being named for the historic HMS Beagle whose crews surveyed this area on two separate voyages. Darwin was aboard during the second voyage and wrote many observations about Tierra del Fuego in 1833. So, it seemed I should go.

Nick, Ivanka and I left Punta Arenas, Chile around 9am (our typical departure time) and drove along the north shore of the Magellan Strait for a couple hours until we reached a ferry crossing to Tierra del Fuego. We were not alone. There were trucks, cars, and about a dozen riders from Sweden on rented BMWs. The thirty minute crossing was over almost before we were able to take pictures and appreciate what Magellan must have seen as he cautiously entered what he hoped would be a southwest passage to the Pacific.

We hit the shore, headed inland and were very soon riding gravel roads again. That part of Tierra del Fuego belongs to Chile, but most of the people passing on that road are going to Ushuaia in Argentina. It seems Chile doesn't care to pave roads for the benefit of Argentina...nor for our benefit!

I was happy to fixate on the road both for my safety and because the scenery was boring. In the first couple hours I counted a total of three rather weakly trees. The landscape was mostly flat with a few very gently rolling hills...probably ancient moraines from the last ice age.

Rain soon dampened our ride and our spirits. We found temporary shelter in official buildings as we crossed from Chile into Argentina. We pushed onward and arrived in Rio Grande after a couple hours. Camping didn't seem very palatable in such weather so we looked for lodging and found nothing affordable. However, after sharing a couple pizzas and another hotel search, the rain had stopped. So we left town determined to find a place to camp...in the dark. After an hour of riding, we saw a home behind a fence and stopped to see if we could camp behind the fence. The owner was already outside and immediately said we were welcome. Indeed, he apologized repeatedly for not being able to offer any hot water or other amenities. We were just happy to set up camp and sleep in a safe location.

The next day's ride was considerably more interesting. Soon there were trees and then bigger hills and then mountains and lakes and herds of guanacos (like a mix between llamas and vicunas) and even a ski resort (closed for the summer). Ushuaia is nestled between these mountains and the Beagle Channel. At the city gates, we stopped for photos and did another dance routine for Nick and Ivanka's Ushuaia video.

There are lots of bikers here. I'm sure some of them party like crazy when they get here. I suspect though that a lot of them feel like I do - it's great to be here, but it is a bit of an anticlimax and even a bit sad as this signals the end...even if that is still months off. Nick and Ivanka will be heading to a home in Croatia (Ivanka has a big chat with her boss coming up and Nick is looking forward to being a house husband - only partly tongue in cheek.). Andre will soon return to Switzerland. Carole and Laurent (who I met in Palenque, Mexico) will ride up to Rio before flying home to France. Kevin, who has ridden all through Asia, and Mark who rode with his wife for three years around the world...both of them will be going home to their women in Australia. Other riders I know are scrambling to find good rates to ship their bikes home from here. So, to be sure, we have thrown back some drinks, toasted with champagne, and eaten our share of Argentine beef, chicken and mutton, but the mood is not necessarily jubilant. Almost all of us would keep riding and exploring if the money and circumstances would permit.

What have I done in Ushuaia? Not a lot really. I have slept well in a nice hostel with a very stern caretaker (n.b. I am NOT sleeping with the caretaker!). I have visited with friends and cooked much more than eaten out. I have changed the oil of my bike and had the pannier rack welded for a third time (this job was very well done and should last.). I have not visited the very good maritime museum nor the national park. Both are simply too expensive. I understand why food and many things cost a lot in such a far-flung location. However it is also clear that tourists are being fleeced here. I am keeping my fleecing to a minimum.

Tomorrow we will leave this nice little city and Tierra del Fuego. It is extremely satisfying to have been here and to have a greater understanding of this place...and of course the getting here has been amazing, both in the last couple weeks and ever since Vermont for that matter.

I am very grateful to all of you who have made this trip possible and who have supported me even if it's just been a kind comment on Facebook. Now keep that love coming for a few more month and I will do my part not to let my guard down - there are still a lot of miles to go!!