We HAVE CROSSED THE BORDER INTO CHILE!
We are in Puerto Natales and leave at 7 30 am tomorrow for 5 days of hiking and 3 days of kayaking in Torres del Paine National Park. We are very excited and will be back in contact on the 6th of February.
Here are some photos from El Bolson/El Calafate
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2257525&l=035d0&id=802760462
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Ruta 40 (El Bolson, El Calafate)
Ruta 40 is a mostly gravel road that follows the eastern side of the Andes down through Argentinian Patagonia. The landscape is bleak and desolate with a few glances of the snow covered peaks. There are plenty of sheep but not many settlements or people. We decided to do this 28 hour journey from El Bolson to El Calafate on a semi-cama bus. 
The journey wasn´t as bad as it could have been because the bus was quite empty on the first night, which meant that mom, dad and I each had a pair of seats to ourselves. The route 40 experience is a fleeting one. There was plenty of evidence of active road paving and straightening. Within a year, the road will be a long balck ribbon of asphalt the whole way south.
We were unceremoniously dumped on a dusty El Chalten street at 4 am in the morning. There was no bus station to speak of. Just a little hut for the bus company. For a moment, we, and the other passengers who had disembarked, were completely befuddled. Where were we supposed to go? What were we supposed to do. There was nothing indicating where we might find accomodation. We asked the bus driver where the campsite was and luckily it was only a few hundred metres away. We walked through the dark dusty streets of the town and stealthily put up our tents in the campground. By 5 am we were asleep.
In the afternoon, we went for a hike to the beautiful Cerro Fitz Roy, a mountain with sides so steep that the snow can´t stick to it. The town of El Chalten is only 22 years old and is built in the haphazzard fashion of a gold rush town. The streets are unpaved and buildings are clustered irrationally and are in various stages of completion. However, the town was hopping with foreigners eager to enjoy the mountains.
On my birthday we hiked out to Lago Torre where we got great views of Cerro Torre and a glacier.
The hiking was spectacular and very enjoyable. In the evening, we went out to a parilla restaurant, where they slow roasted lamb on skewers over a hot wood fire. I had lamb, dad, had steak and mom had lamb raviolli. 
It was the best dinner that we have eaten out so far.
The next day we packed up our tents early and headed for El Calafate (4 hours by bus). El Calafate is a much more developed town, full of tourist stores and crawling with foreigners. The main attraction of El Calafate is the Perito Moreno Glacier 80kms away. In the afternoon we caught a bus to the glacier, which is one of the few advancing glaciers in the world. The glacier is a truely spectacular sight. The front wall of the glacier is 50 meters high and towers over a glacial lake. The ice makes an amazing cracking noise as it moves forward and every few minutes huge chunks of ice fall off of the glacier into the water with a giant crash. We spent three hours watching the glacier before returning to the campsite and drinking some packaged soup prepared with lukewarm water. We are glad that we didn´t bring a stove and pots (because we don´t want to carry them) but it certainly does limit your food options.
Today, we are taking the bus across the border to Chile and Torres del Paine national park.
The journey wasn´t as bad as it could have been because the bus was quite empty on the first night, which meant that mom, dad and I each had a pair of seats to ourselves. The route 40 experience is a fleeting one. There was plenty of evidence of active road paving and straightening. Within a year, the road will be a long balck ribbon of asphalt the whole way south.
We were unceremoniously dumped on a dusty El Chalten street at 4 am in the morning. There was no bus station to speak of. Just a little hut for the bus company. For a moment, we, and the other passengers who had disembarked, were completely befuddled. Where were we supposed to go? What were we supposed to do. There was nothing indicating where we might find accomodation. We asked the bus driver where the campsite was and luckily it was only a few hundred metres away. We walked through the dark dusty streets of the town and stealthily put up our tents in the campground. By 5 am we were asleep.
In the afternoon, we went for a hike to the beautiful Cerro Fitz Roy, a mountain with sides so steep that the snow can´t stick to it. The town of El Chalten is only 22 years old and is built in the haphazzard fashion of a gold rush town. The streets are unpaved and buildings are clustered irrationally and are in various stages of completion. However, the town was hopping with foreigners eager to enjoy the mountains.
On my birthday we hiked out to Lago Torre where we got great views of Cerro Torre and a glacier.
The hiking was spectacular and very enjoyable. In the evening, we went out to a parilla restaurant, where they slow roasted lamb on skewers over a hot wood fire. I had lamb, dad, had steak and mom had lamb raviolli. 
It was the best dinner that we have eaten out so far.The next day we packed up our tents early and headed for El Calafate (4 hours by bus). El Calafate is a much more developed town, full of tourist stores and crawling with foreigners. The main attraction of El Calafate is the Perito Moreno Glacier 80kms away. In the afternoon we caught a bus to the glacier, which is one of the few advancing glaciers in the world. The glacier is a truely spectacular sight. The front wall of the glacier is 50 meters high and towers over a glacial lake. The ice makes an amazing cracking noise as it moves forward and every few minutes huge chunks of ice fall off of the glacier into the water with a giant crash. We spent three hours watching the glacier before returning to the campsite and drinking some packaged soup prepared with lukewarm water. We are glad that we didn´t bring a stove and pots (because we don´t want to carry them) but it certainly does limit your food options.
Today, we are taking the bus across the border to Chile and Torres del Paine national park.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Travelling South (Mendoza, Neuquen, Bariloche, El Bolson)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=88747&l=8404f&id=802760462
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=88741&l=90f25&id=802760462
After both an emergency room doctor and a blood/urine test declared that I was perfectly healthy, I was beginning to feel a little embarassed by all of the dramatics surrounding an illness that in Canada I would have treated by heading straight to bed and staying there until I felt better. Instead, I found myself on Monday evening, still tired but feeling much more spritely, in a taxi with my mother, father, and language school teacher heading to a specialist doctor. The taxi stopped infront of a large, suburban house bedecked with big gold name plates announcing the name of the doctor.
We were buzzed through a security gate and let into a small waiting room with padded benches. As I sat there looking at the impressive degrees and art on the wall, I began to feel exceedingly ridiculous. I was not suffering from anything that a few days of rest would not solve and my entourage was larger than a common cold warranted. I was probably just exhausted from my time in the jungle and my bus ride to Argentina. I told mom that I wanted to leave but the door opened and a middle aged Argentinian doctor ushered me (and mom and Susanne, the language instructor) inside. The room resembled a personal office with the addition of an examination table. The doctor sat behind his desk and asked questions about my symptoms and medical history while Susanne, translated anything I didn´t understand. When the doctor saw the marks on my stomach and legs that, I had assumed were bug bites, he claimed that they were caused by my illness and within twenty minutes had sent me out the door with two perscriptions and the assurances that I had been right to come.
After being told that my health was good enough for us to continue our journey, we went straight to the bus station and purchased tickets for the next evening to Neuquen, a town 11 hours south from Mendoza. The bus journey passed uneventfully.
Mom and dad were pleasantly surprised by the luxury of the Argentinian buses and the amount of food served on them. By the time we arrived in Neuquen at 8 am the next morning, my normal energy level had returned and the marks on my belly had begun to fade. From the bus, Neuquen appeared to be like any large North American prairie city whose main purpose is to support oilfields and agriculture. The road into town was lined with big box stores (including a Wal-mart which looked like it could have been transplanted directly from Idaho), fast food restaurants, and car dealerships. The surrounding countryside consisted of sedimentary river terraces and rolling grasslands. It was not a place that appeared especially inviting to tourism. Our own interest in Neuquen actually lay in the paleological discoveries about 80kms outside of the city. We had been under the impression that it would be an easy matter to take a day trip out to the dinosaur museum and continue on our journey the next morning. However, it quickly became apparent that the tourist route had not been established and that a visit to the museum would require 2 days or the rental of a car. We decided to push on South to Bariloche. We purchased tickets for a bus departing 2 hours later but soon learned that the bus was delayed an indefinite amount of hours. We spent half of the day in the bus station researching Bariloche on the internet (trying to find accomodation, a nearly impossible task), and scrounging for food. In Argentina, it is very difficult to buy anything with the 100 peso notes that are dispensed by the ATM´s. Many places will not accept them and are often unable to provide change for considerably smaller bills. As a result, it is a constant struggle to keep oneself in a steady supply of small bills and coins. One may have several hundred pesos in 100 peso bills and not be able to buy anything. Mom and I went on an expedition to the grocery store 4 blocks away from the bus station to get some small change and almost missed the bus in the process.
The road between Neuquen and Bariloche is a beautiful one. The terrain transitions from dusty, well eroded plains (perfect for the preservation and excavation of dinosaur bones) to lush green river valleys crowned with craggy mountains. We arrived in Bariloche around 8pm (because of Argentina´s daylight savings it is light until nearly 11pm but the sun doesn´t rise until 7 30 am). After 5 months in South America on my own, I was feeling quite frustrated with the pace and strategy of my parents in finding accomodation for the night but luckily, within a few hours we had managed to acquire the last campsite at the Selva Negra Campground and put up our tents (the first time my tent had been put up since I left Vancouver in August). The campsite was nice enough, if a bit dusty, but had the advantage of being close to town.
Bariloche is very similar in function and feeling to Banff in the Canadian Rockies. The mountains in Bariloche are a bit further away and it is situated on a large lake, but it, like Banff, is filled with trendy shops, restaurants and excursion companies and is inhabited by
wealthy vacationers and shoestring backpackers. The setting was undeniably beautiful and the trekking oportunities seemed plentiful, but as soon as the parallel to Banff had been made Dad declared that he ¨was more of a Jasper kind of guy¨and that ¨Bariloche was not his style¨.
We spent our one day in Bariloche researching the rest of our trip through Patagonia. We had decided that we wanted to travel south down the famous Ruta 40, a gravel road that hugs the eastern edge of the Argentinian Andes for 3000km, but it seemed that our only travel options were a two day excursion or to rent a car of our own both of which were prohibitively expensive. We were fortunate enough to discover a third option, a small bus company which runs buses the length of the road for a fraction of the price.
The next morning we packed up our tents, ran around town to buy a new pair of hiking shoes (mine had finally become unusable after 3 months in the Bolivian jungle), and took the bus two hours south to El Bolson.
El Bolson is a much smaller town than Bariloche. It has more of a hippy undercurrent and is closer to the mountains. From the bus station we walked across the road to the C.A.P. (Club Andino Piltriquitron) office to get information on treks in the area and half an hour later we found ourselves on the lawn outside of the house stripping our backpacks of everything we didn´t need. By 4pm (with considerably lighter packs, although still heavy because of food) we were off trekking up to a series of refuges in the mountains.
At the refuges you can either camp or sleep in the loft and many of them sell meals and basic supplies including home-made bread and beer. We spent 4 nights in the mountains of El Bolson exploring the beautiful forests, glaciers, and crystal clear aquamarine rivers. It was an amazing hike (although a bit dusty in some spots). 
We were surprised to discover that the Argentinian hiking culture differs greatly from that in Canada. The vast majority of our fellow trekkers were groups of university aged Argentinans, people of my parents´generation were rare, wearing sneakers and jeans and carrying small daypacks stuffed with bulky sleeping bags. This confirmed in Dad´s mind what he already suspected, that he was carrying way too much stuff and resulted in a major purge once we returned to El Bolson.
We are spending the day in El Bolson catching up on the world and buying food before taking the 30 hour bus ride south down Route 40 to El Chalten (Fitzroy) at 11 pm tonight.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=88741&l=90f25&id=802760462
After both an emergency room doctor and a blood/urine test declared that I was perfectly healthy, I was beginning to feel a little embarassed by all of the dramatics surrounding an illness that in Canada I would have treated by heading straight to bed and staying there until I felt better. Instead, I found myself on Monday evening, still tired but feeling much more spritely, in a taxi with my mother, father, and language school teacher heading to a specialist doctor. The taxi stopped infront of a large, suburban house bedecked with big gold name plates announcing the name of the doctor.
We were buzzed through a security gate and let into a small waiting room with padded benches. As I sat there looking at the impressive degrees and art on the wall, I began to feel exceedingly ridiculous. I was not suffering from anything that a few days of rest would not solve and my entourage was larger than a common cold warranted. I was probably just exhausted from my time in the jungle and my bus ride to Argentina. I told mom that I wanted to leave but the door opened and a middle aged Argentinian doctor ushered me (and mom and Susanne, the language instructor) inside. The room resembled a personal office with the addition of an examination table. The doctor sat behind his desk and asked questions about my symptoms and medical history while Susanne, translated anything I didn´t understand. When the doctor saw the marks on my stomach and legs that, I had assumed were bug bites, he claimed that they were caused by my illness and within twenty minutes had sent me out the door with two perscriptions and the assurances that I had been right to come.After being told that my health was good enough for us to continue our journey, we went straight to the bus station and purchased tickets for the next evening to Neuquen, a town 11 hours south from Mendoza. The bus journey passed uneventfully.
Mom and dad were pleasantly surprised by the luxury of the Argentinian buses and the amount of food served on them. By the time we arrived in Neuquen at 8 am the next morning, my normal energy level had returned and the marks on my belly had begun to fade. From the bus, Neuquen appeared to be like any large North American prairie city whose main purpose is to support oilfields and agriculture. The road into town was lined with big box stores (including a Wal-mart which looked like it could have been transplanted directly from Idaho), fast food restaurants, and car dealerships. The surrounding countryside consisted of sedimentary river terraces and rolling grasslands. It was not a place that appeared especially inviting to tourism. Our own interest in Neuquen actually lay in the paleological discoveries about 80kms outside of the city. We had been under the impression that it would be an easy matter to take a day trip out to the dinosaur museum and continue on our journey the next morning. However, it quickly became apparent that the tourist route had not been established and that a visit to the museum would require 2 days or the rental of a car. We decided to push on South to Bariloche. We purchased tickets for a bus departing 2 hours later but soon learned that the bus was delayed an indefinite amount of hours. We spent half of the day in the bus station researching Bariloche on the internet (trying to find accomodation, a nearly impossible task), and scrounging for food. In Argentina, it is very difficult to buy anything with the 100 peso notes that are dispensed by the ATM´s. Many places will not accept them and are often unable to provide change for considerably smaller bills. As a result, it is a constant struggle to keep oneself in a steady supply of small bills and coins. One may have several hundred pesos in 100 peso bills and not be able to buy anything. Mom and I went on an expedition to the grocery store 4 blocks away from the bus station to get some small change and almost missed the bus in the process.The road between Neuquen and Bariloche is a beautiful one. The terrain transitions from dusty, well eroded plains (perfect for the preservation and excavation of dinosaur bones) to lush green river valleys crowned with craggy mountains. We arrived in Bariloche around 8pm (because of Argentina´s daylight savings it is light until nearly 11pm but the sun doesn´t rise until 7 30 am). After 5 months in South America on my own, I was feeling quite frustrated with the pace and strategy of my parents in finding accomodation for the night but luckily, within a few hours we had managed to acquire the last campsite at the Selva Negra Campground and put up our tents (the first time my tent had been put up since I left Vancouver in August). The campsite was nice enough, if a bit dusty, but had the advantage of being close to town.
Bariloche is very similar in function and feeling to Banff in the Canadian Rockies. The mountains in Bariloche are a bit further away and it is situated on a large lake, but it, like Banff, is filled with trendy shops, restaurants and excursion companies and is inhabited by
wealthy vacationers and shoestring backpackers. The setting was undeniably beautiful and the trekking oportunities seemed plentiful, but as soon as the parallel to Banff had been made Dad declared that he ¨was more of a Jasper kind of guy¨and that ¨Bariloche was not his style¨.
We spent our one day in Bariloche researching the rest of our trip through Patagonia. We had decided that we wanted to travel south down the famous Ruta 40, a gravel road that hugs the eastern edge of the Argentinian Andes for 3000km, but it seemed that our only travel options were a two day excursion or to rent a car of our own both of which were prohibitively expensive. We were fortunate enough to discover a third option, a small bus company which runs buses the length of the road for a fraction of the price.The next morning we packed up our tents, ran around town to buy a new pair of hiking shoes (mine had finally become unusable after 3 months in the Bolivian jungle), and took the bus two hours south to El Bolson.
El Bolson is a much smaller town than Bariloche. It has more of a hippy undercurrent and is closer to the mountains. From the bus station we walked across the road to the C.A.P. (Club Andino Piltriquitron) office to get information on treks in the area and half an hour later we found ourselves on the lawn outside of the house stripping our backpacks of everything we didn´t need. By 4pm (with considerably lighter packs, although still heavy because of food) we were off trekking up to a series of refuges in the mountains.
At the refuges you can either camp or sleep in the loft and many of them sell meals and basic supplies including home-made bread and beer. We spent 4 nights in the mountains of El Bolson exploring the beautiful forests, glaciers, and crystal clear aquamarine rivers. It was an amazing hike (although a bit dusty in some spots). 
We were surprised to discover that the Argentinian hiking culture differs greatly from that in Canada. The vast majority of our fellow trekkers were groups of university aged Argentinans, people of my parents´generation were rare, wearing sneakers and jeans and carrying small daypacks stuffed with bulky sleeping bags. This confirmed in Dad´s mind what he already suspected, that he was carrying way too much stuff and resulted in a major purge once we returned to El Bolson.
We are spending the day in El Bolson catching up on the world and buying food before taking the 30 hour bus ride south down Route 40 to El Chalten (Fitzroy) at 11 pm tonight.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Hospital (Mendoza)
The heat has broken in Mendoza. Since we arrived here a week ago, it has been warm enough to entirely melt popsicles in the short time it takes to walk 100 m from the grocery store and struggle to unlock the two security gates to our apartment (42 C). 
The heat sapped us of energy and we found it difficult to do much more than take our Spanish lessons or find refuge in an air conditioned movie theatre. When the heat lifted, however, my tiredness did not and we became worried that I might be seriously ill. In the afternoon, while dad attended his Spanish lesson, Mom and Susanne (mom´s Spanish teacher) accompanied me to the emergency room at the local hospital. The waiting room was stark, there was no sign of the standard hospital health posters, and the seats were long, backless benches made with strips of metal. It was impossible to get comfortable but somehow I managed to doze half slumped over with mom´s lap as a pillow. After an hour and a half of observing the ill and infirm stumble, or be accompanied in, to the waiting room, my name was called and I was ushered through the doors into the hospital.
I was met by a doctor in cranberry scrubs who led me to an examination room. The walls were bare and white and there was nothing in the room besides a black examination table. The doctor whisked in and clucked disaprovingly at my healing feet and insect bites. She stared at me uncomprehendingly when she was told that I had just come from 2 and a half months in the Bolivian jungle and seemed even more baffled after learning I had come in close contact with monkeys. But why? Why would you go there? Was all that she could ask. She took my blood pressure and examined my body but could find nothing immediately wrong with me. She commented disapprovingly about my Boca jrs jersey (I tell you. Every time I wear it...) and told me to go to a lab to get some blood and urine tests done in the morning. I thanked the doctor and left the hospital (where I did not have to pay anything)
The people at our language school have been extremely helpful in helping us navigate the medical system here in Mendoza. They have made phone calls, given us advice, and accompanied us to every doctor to make sure that there are no miscommunications and that we are given the best service. This morning at 8am I went to a clinic to have my blood taken and Maru (a teacher from the school whose mother is on her death bed and who does not teach anyone in the family) met us there and tried to arrange a doctor´s appointment for me in the afternoon once my test results come back. My symptoms are nothing more than extreme fatigue and some slight disorientation. At home, would just go to bed and hope that I got better but because I have spent so much time in the jungle and I am travelling we are treating the situation much more seriously. We are so grateful to the wonderful people that we have met here. Their kindness will not be forgotten.
The heat sapped us of energy and we found it difficult to do much more than take our Spanish lessons or find refuge in an air conditioned movie theatre. When the heat lifted, however, my tiredness did not and we became worried that I might be seriously ill. In the afternoon, while dad attended his Spanish lesson, Mom and Susanne (mom´s Spanish teacher) accompanied me to the emergency room at the local hospital. The waiting room was stark, there was no sign of the standard hospital health posters, and the seats were long, backless benches made with strips of metal. It was impossible to get comfortable but somehow I managed to doze half slumped over with mom´s lap as a pillow. After an hour and a half of observing the ill and infirm stumble, or be accompanied in, to the waiting room, my name was called and I was ushered through the doors into the hospital.I was met by a doctor in cranberry scrubs who led me to an examination room. The walls were bare and white and there was nothing in the room besides a black examination table. The doctor whisked in and clucked disaprovingly at my healing feet and insect bites. She stared at me uncomprehendingly when she was told that I had just come from 2 and a half months in the Bolivian jungle and seemed even more baffled after learning I had come in close contact with monkeys. But why? Why would you go there? Was all that she could ask. She took my blood pressure and examined my body but could find nothing immediately wrong with me. She commented disapprovingly about my Boca jrs jersey (I tell you. Every time I wear it...) and told me to go to a lab to get some blood and urine tests done in the morning. I thanked the doctor and left the hospital (where I did not have to pay anything)
The people at our language school have been extremely helpful in helping us navigate the medical system here in Mendoza. They have made phone calls, given us advice, and accompanied us to every doctor to make sure that there are no miscommunications and that we are given the best service. This morning at 8am I went to a clinic to have my blood taken and Maru (a teacher from the school whose mother is on her death bed and who does not teach anyone in the family) met us there and tried to arrange a doctor´s appointment for me in the afternoon once my test results come back. My symptoms are nothing more than extreme fatigue and some slight disorientation. At home, would just go to bed and hope that I got better but because I have spent so much time in the jungle and I am travelling we are treating the situation much more seriously. We are so grateful to the wonderful people that we have met here. Their kindness will not be forgotten.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Simply Spanish (Mendoza)
The last leg of my journey to Mendoza was decidedly less dramatic and far more comfortable than the rest of the trip had been. I had a beautiful full night´s sleep on a seat that reclined fully horizontal. In the morning, I awoke to a hot blue sky day and my mother waiting on the bus platform so excited that she could barely stand still. She hadn´t seen me in 5 months.
In the following days my parents and I found a language school (after being told by a lady in the tourist office that there were no schools that taught Spanish in Mendoza) called simply Spanish. The school is bedecked in maple leaves and every room in the school is plastered with posters of Canada. Needless to say, the administrators were delighted to have 3 Canadians show up on their door step unannounced. Alberto, the owner of the school, is a typical passionate Argentinian and has taken it upon himself to show us the hilights of this city which he loves so much. Mendoza is a beautiful city. The streets are lined with huge trees which shade the streets from the beating sun and with irrigation ditches left over from Incan times.
Argentina has been sweltering under a particularly hot summer and we are suffering along with the rest of the population. The apartment we have rented has no air conditioning and it can be difficult to sleep even with the fan on high. Our hope lies in the fact that our journey is to the more temporate south.
In the following days my parents and I found a language school (after being told by a lady in the tourist office that there were no schools that taught Spanish in Mendoza) called simply Spanish. The school is bedecked in maple leaves and every room in the school is plastered with posters of Canada. Needless to say, the administrators were delighted to have 3 Canadians show up on their door step unannounced. Alberto, the owner of the school, is a typical passionate Argentinian and has taken it upon himself to show us the hilights of this city which he loves so much. Mendoza is a beautiful city. The streets are lined with huge trees which shade the streets from the beating sun and with irrigation ditches left over from Incan times.
Argentina has been sweltering under a particularly hot summer and we are suffering along with the rest of the population. The apartment we have rented has no air conditioning and it can be difficult to sleep even with the fan on high. Our hope lies in the fact that our journey is to the more temporate south.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
The Departure
I have finally left the animal refuge in Villa Tunari. For days I had been counting down to my departure but when the moment actually came, I left with tears rather than smiles. For the past 3 months Inti Wara Yassi has been my home away from home. I love the ideals, the animals and the people and had I not had a reason to leave I might not have been able to do so. Still, I was physically and emotionally weary of the everyday toll of the jungle and I was ready to take a vacation from my vacation. I expect one day I will return to Parque Machia but now my focus is on the journey ahead of me.
My last morning in the park began before sunrise. I stole out of bed at 4:30 am and walked the dark, rainy path to Spider Monkey Park for the dawn watch. For the last month, two wild spider monkey males have been coming down from the forest and attacking members of the captive group in an attempt to infiltrate the group or steal some of the females. They have left two of our male monkeys with serious injuries and we have set up a watch to ensure that those monkeys that do not sleep in cages are safe from from first light until the spider park volunteers arrive at 7:30. After a quick check to make sure that all was well, I sat in the rain shelter and watched the trees materialise from the darkness and the sky lighten to a muted grey. The watch was uneventful. The rain kept the monkeys, friendly or otherwise, away until 7 am when several soaking wet monkeys decided to crawl up under my shirt and chitter happily in the warmth. When my watch was over I made my way through the park saying goodbyes to the people and animals. I had a big lump in my throat as I walked across the death bridge one last time and waved goodbye to the park.
I left with 6 other volunteers. Somehow, we managed to fit the seven of us, a truely remarkable amount of luggage, and one very large sombrero into a small cab which took us to the bus terminal where we caught a (slightly) less squished mini bus to Cochabamba. Going to Cochabamba was the first mistake that I made on my farcical journey south to Mendoza. I quickly learned that the best way to get to Argentina was from Santa Cruz (10 hours back past Villa Tunari). The next bus to Santa Cruz didn´t leave until late in the evening but there was a bus to the border town of Villazon leaving in 10 minutes. I bought a ticket (for 11 $ CAD), hugged my friends goodbye, went to the toilet and headed for the bus. At the first sight of that dirty, rusty monster, I almost abandoned my ticket. The bus was decrepit even by Bolivian standards. I had a feeling that my 18 hours on board were going to be hell. There was no movie, no toilet, and no room. I couldn´t find anyone to put my backpack in the underbelly of the bus and it would not fit in the overhead bin. I shoved it under my seat as best I could, depriving myself of a precious 20 cms of leg room.
The following are excerpts from my journal of the journey:
January 2nd, 2008
5:15pm
2.5 hours in. The bus ride is already becoming unbearable. After 2 nights of limited sleep, I am tired and I am cranky. I can´t find a halfway comfortable position and despite piling on all of my easily accessible clothing, I am freezing. There is no heat. I am very unhappy. I am very unhappy and I am only 2.5 hours in. Oh God!
6:15 pm
I am definately not in Villa Tunari any more. The landscape passing by outside my window is stark and frigid. There is a chill seeping into me- a feeling I have not experienced in Parque Machia. Is this summer?
The bus driver has jacked up the Bolivian guitar music to nightclub volume. Not even in Oruro yet. The girl in the seat next to me is purloining more and more of my space by the minute.
6:25 pm
Back in llama territory.
8:30 pm
Leaving Oruro. Things are looking up. During the break, I managed to use the bathroom, buy some bread, recline my seat a little and rearrange my bag so I have a bit more leg room.
8:31 pm
Things are looking down again. I overheard that we are expected to arrive in Villazon at 11am tomorrow not 8 am as I was told when I bought the ticket. That is 21 hours on this @#!€ bus. Only 6 have elapsed.
January 3rd, 2008
7 am
During the night, the bus ride became unbearable. All of my muscles cramped and spasmed, my head ached from the quick assent (Villa Tunari 300m, Potosi 4000m) and my throat was parched from my illness/lack of water (I had carefully rationed the water to avoid the pressing need for a bathroom break. Worst, though, was the cold. The bus had no heating and the leaky windows offered little protection from the chill of the thin air. I had packed my silk sleeping bag liner for extra warmth and lay completely entwined in it like a cocoon. It helped but not enough.
I kept looking at my watch and time seemed to stretch and slow so that it passed imperceptibly.
At 1 30, I was in agony. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to move to stretch, to jump off that god forsaken bus. I took drastic action. I managed to pull my rucksack upright from under my seat and wrestle out my sleeping bag from where it was packed at the very bottom, a taskthat took nearly 15 minutes due to my lack of space, and wiggle into it. Warmth spread through me and I attained a state as close to comfort as possible given the situation. I dozed and miraculously the sun eventually rose marking the end of that long torturous night.
7:33 am
During a break in an unidentified town, I took the opportunity to roll up my sleeping bag. In it I found my change purse that had inexplicably disapeared 2 months earlier when I changed residences in Villa Tunari. It had over 200 Bolivianos in it (enough to sustain me for a week in Bolivia).
8:40 am
The road is no longer paved. Too bumpy to write more.
2:55 pm
The border was a nightmare. Not that it took an incredibly long time or that I had any trouble but the combination of lack of sleep, lingering illness, dehydration, and altitude, plus the complete disorganisation of the crowd made me want to scream and cry in frustration. I held it together and while the wait was long, I was asked no questions and my bag was not searched. On the Argentinian side of the border I breathed a sigh of relief.
I was pressured into buying a ticket to Salta while in Bolivia ( I was told it was very difficult and more expensive to buy the ticket on the Argentinian side of the border). I was skeptical but tired enough to hand over my money anyways. Once across the border I wandered to the bus station and relieved my bursting bladder. I am sitting in front of the bus station now I just hope my bus comes.
7:53 pm
So, the bus may have come in time but I failed to take into account the TWO HOUR time difference between Bolivia and Argentina (even though I crossed a north-south border). My bus left before I made it to Argentina. To make it worse, while I was waiting for my bus I watched a bus direct to Mendoza pull into the station and leave. It doesn´t go again until tomorrow. I bought a new ticket to Salta and am now on the bus heading south.
11 pm
Our bus was stopped for a random passport and bag check. Everybody had to get off the bus and get our bags from under the bus. Mine was the only bag on the bus that they didn´t bother to take off. They told me they didn´t want to search it and to line up in the passport line. I stood in the line for 10 minutes before they waved me out of the line and told me to go back to the bus along with the rest of the tourists. I watched, unmolested, while the south americans had everything taken out of their bags and searched. I am glad that they didn´t search my bag. I would be embarrassed by the amount of oreos and lollipops in there ( I stocked up before crossing the border).
January 4, 2008
2:30 am
Just as I thought I was going to kill my seat partner for encroaching on my personal space (the story of my whole trip) he got off the bus and I had a glorious 1/2 hour of semi comatose almost comfortable sleep.
The bus rolled into Salta just before 2 am. I considered getting a hotel but I noticed a bus leaving for Tucuman. I bought a ticket and hopped on board. I have the two front seats to myself and it is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
6:25 am
Am arrived in Tucuman. No buses to Mendoza today. FUCK! I am so tired and so frustrated. All I want is a bus ticket to Mendoza. I am losing terribly at this amazing race. I should have started in Santa Cruz!!!!
Maybe I can get a bus to Cordoba and from there get to Mendoza. Could be dangerous...is it better to be stuck in Cordoba or Tucuman?
7:15 am
I am defeated and in tears. Nobody has a seat to Mendoza. Nobody has a seat to Cordoba. Nobody has a seat in remotely the correct direction. And everbody here has been extremely less than helpful as I have gone from ticket window to ticket window asking for advice and help. I have taken refuge in the bus station cafe to pull myself together enough to make a decision. I will try one more time and then I will find a hotel with a shower, a bed and a television. Just finding a hotel seems an insurmountable task... I want to sleep my troubles away on a bus to Mendoza. No hay, no hay, no hay.
9:35 am
Over breakfast I regained some control. I bought a bus ticket to Mendoza for tomorrow night. There is no point in running around getting stuck in Cordoba. A hotel will cost the same as the bus ticket and be a lot less frustrating. I wandered aimlessly around a supermarket for a while but I didn´t want to buy anything. I almost decided to walk into town but realised that in my state this was a poor decision and hailed a cab. The cabbie was very nice and took me to a hotel. Now the only decision before me is sleep or shower... I am still wearing the same clothes I wore two days ago for monkey watch but the bed is so soft...
My last morning in the park began before sunrise. I stole out of bed at 4:30 am and walked the dark, rainy path to Spider Monkey Park for the dawn watch. For the last month, two wild spider monkey males have been coming down from the forest and attacking members of the captive group in an attempt to infiltrate the group or steal some of the females. They have left two of our male monkeys with serious injuries and we have set up a watch to ensure that those monkeys that do not sleep in cages are safe from from first light until the spider park volunteers arrive at 7:30. After a quick check to make sure that all was well, I sat in the rain shelter and watched the trees materialise from the darkness and the sky lighten to a muted grey. The watch was uneventful. The rain kept the monkeys, friendly or otherwise, away until 7 am when several soaking wet monkeys decided to crawl up under my shirt and chitter happily in the warmth. When my watch was over I made my way through the park saying goodbyes to the people and animals. I had a big lump in my throat as I walked across the death bridge one last time and waved goodbye to the park.
I left with 6 other volunteers. Somehow, we managed to fit the seven of us, a truely remarkable amount of luggage, and one very large sombrero into a small cab which took us to the bus terminal where we caught a (slightly) less squished mini bus to Cochabamba. Going to Cochabamba was the first mistake that I made on my farcical journey south to Mendoza. I quickly learned that the best way to get to Argentina was from Santa Cruz (10 hours back past Villa Tunari). The next bus to Santa Cruz didn´t leave until late in the evening but there was a bus to the border town of Villazon leaving in 10 minutes. I bought a ticket (for 11 $ CAD), hugged my friends goodbye, went to the toilet and headed for the bus. At the first sight of that dirty, rusty monster, I almost abandoned my ticket. The bus was decrepit even by Bolivian standards. I had a feeling that my 18 hours on board were going to be hell. There was no movie, no toilet, and no room. I couldn´t find anyone to put my backpack in the underbelly of the bus and it would not fit in the overhead bin. I shoved it under my seat as best I could, depriving myself of a precious 20 cms of leg room.
The following are excerpts from my journal of the journey:
January 2nd, 2008
5:15pm
2.5 hours in. The bus ride is already becoming unbearable. After 2 nights of limited sleep, I am tired and I am cranky. I can´t find a halfway comfortable position and despite piling on all of my easily accessible clothing, I am freezing. There is no heat. I am very unhappy. I am very unhappy and I am only 2.5 hours in. Oh God!
6:15 pm
I am definately not in Villa Tunari any more. The landscape passing by outside my window is stark and frigid. There is a chill seeping into me- a feeling I have not experienced in Parque Machia. Is this summer?
The bus driver has jacked up the Bolivian guitar music to nightclub volume. Not even in Oruro yet. The girl in the seat next to me is purloining more and more of my space by the minute.
6:25 pm
Back in llama territory.
8:30 pm
Leaving Oruro. Things are looking up. During the break, I managed to use the bathroom, buy some bread, recline my seat a little and rearrange my bag so I have a bit more leg room.
8:31 pm
Things are looking down again. I overheard that we are expected to arrive in Villazon at 11am tomorrow not 8 am as I was told when I bought the ticket. That is 21 hours on this @#!€ bus. Only 6 have elapsed.
January 3rd, 2008
7 am
During the night, the bus ride became unbearable. All of my muscles cramped and spasmed, my head ached from the quick assent (Villa Tunari 300m, Potosi 4000m) and my throat was parched from my illness/lack of water (I had carefully rationed the water to avoid the pressing need for a bathroom break. Worst, though, was the cold. The bus had no heating and the leaky windows offered little protection from the chill of the thin air. I had packed my silk sleeping bag liner for extra warmth and lay completely entwined in it like a cocoon. It helped but not enough.
I kept looking at my watch and time seemed to stretch and slow so that it passed imperceptibly.
At 1 30, I was in agony. I wanted to scream, to lash out, to move to stretch, to jump off that god forsaken bus. I took drastic action. I managed to pull my rucksack upright from under my seat and wrestle out my sleeping bag from where it was packed at the very bottom, a taskthat took nearly 15 minutes due to my lack of space, and wiggle into it. Warmth spread through me and I attained a state as close to comfort as possible given the situation. I dozed and miraculously the sun eventually rose marking the end of that long torturous night.
7:33 am
During a break in an unidentified town, I took the opportunity to roll up my sleeping bag. In it I found my change purse that had inexplicably disapeared 2 months earlier when I changed residences in Villa Tunari. It had over 200 Bolivianos in it (enough to sustain me for a week in Bolivia).
8:40 am
The road is no longer paved. Too bumpy to write more.
2:55 pm
The border was a nightmare. Not that it took an incredibly long time or that I had any trouble but the combination of lack of sleep, lingering illness, dehydration, and altitude, plus the complete disorganisation of the crowd made me want to scream and cry in frustration. I held it together and while the wait was long, I was asked no questions and my bag was not searched. On the Argentinian side of the border I breathed a sigh of relief.
I was pressured into buying a ticket to Salta while in Bolivia ( I was told it was very difficult and more expensive to buy the ticket on the Argentinian side of the border). I was skeptical but tired enough to hand over my money anyways. Once across the border I wandered to the bus station and relieved my bursting bladder. I am sitting in front of the bus station now I just hope my bus comes.
7:53 pm
So, the bus may have come in time but I failed to take into account the TWO HOUR time difference between Bolivia and Argentina (even though I crossed a north-south border). My bus left before I made it to Argentina. To make it worse, while I was waiting for my bus I watched a bus direct to Mendoza pull into the station and leave. It doesn´t go again until tomorrow. I bought a new ticket to Salta and am now on the bus heading south.
11 pm
Our bus was stopped for a random passport and bag check. Everybody had to get off the bus and get our bags from under the bus. Mine was the only bag on the bus that they didn´t bother to take off. They told me they didn´t want to search it and to line up in the passport line. I stood in the line for 10 minutes before they waved me out of the line and told me to go back to the bus along with the rest of the tourists. I watched, unmolested, while the south americans had everything taken out of their bags and searched. I am glad that they didn´t search my bag. I would be embarrassed by the amount of oreos and lollipops in there ( I stocked up before crossing the border).
January 4, 2008
2:30 am
Just as I thought I was going to kill my seat partner for encroaching on my personal space (the story of my whole trip) he got off the bus and I had a glorious 1/2 hour of semi comatose almost comfortable sleep.
The bus rolled into Salta just before 2 am. I considered getting a hotel but I noticed a bus leaving for Tucuman. I bought a ticket and hopped on board. I have the two front seats to myself and it is a beautiful, beautiful thing.
6:25 am
Am arrived in Tucuman. No buses to Mendoza today. FUCK! I am so tired and so frustrated. All I want is a bus ticket to Mendoza. I am losing terribly at this amazing race. I should have started in Santa Cruz!!!!
Maybe I can get a bus to Cordoba and from there get to Mendoza. Could be dangerous...is it better to be stuck in Cordoba or Tucuman?
7:15 am
I am defeated and in tears. Nobody has a seat to Mendoza. Nobody has a seat to Cordoba. Nobody has a seat in remotely the correct direction. And everbody here has been extremely less than helpful as I have gone from ticket window to ticket window asking for advice and help. I have taken refuge in the bus station cafe to pull myself together enough to make a decision. I will try one more time and then I will find a hotel with a shower, a bed and a television. Just finding a hotel seems an insurmountable task... I want to sleep my troubles away on a bus to Mendoza. No hay, no hay, no hay.
9:35 am
Over breakfast I regained some control. I bought a bus ticket to Mendoza for tomorrow night. There is no point in running around getting stuck in Cordoba. A hotel will cost the same as the bus ticket and be a lot less frustrating. I wandered aimlessly around a supermarket for a while but I didn´t want to buy anything. I almost decided to walk into town but realised that in my state this was a poor decision and hailed a cab. The cabbie was very nice and took me to a hotel. Now the only decision before me is sleep or shower... I am still wearing the same clothes I wore two days ago for monkey watch but the bed is so soft...
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