After a snowy Christmas spent with my sister and her crew in Tahoe, I took off for Buenos Aires with my geared-up and giddy parents. Before jumping to South America, here's a few pictures of Tahoe in December- pictures are from Diamonds Peak and Heavenly.
In true Porten Weston fashion, my parents jumped on the chance of traveling to South America when they learned I was studying in Chile winter quarter. They are two hearty travelers, backpacks and all, and I’m grateful for their time, energy, mobility, shared passions, and friendship.
We flew into the humid capital of Buenos Aires, on December 28th. From the high altitudes of the Sierra Nevada to Buenos Aires in the height of summer, my skin experienced a pleasant shock as we immersed ourselves into the heat, soaking up vitamin D and enjoying the everlasting daylight. For the sake of catching up to the present, I must briefly describe Argentina, although it deserves much more. I quickly fell in love with Argentina and the Argentines. They are open, loud, calm, generous, and night owls. The three days we spent in Buenos Aires were filled with late night tango halls, deliciously cheesy empanadas, coca-cola and Fernet, yerba maté delight, the most fantastic carne asada I’ve ever tasted, and endless weaving walks through the streets (getting lost with Heather!). We visited the Casa Rosada, the equivalent to our White House, and got a flavor for the various districts as we walked around the old Italian district called La Boca. Buenos Aires is a city of ex-patriots and immigrants. Distinct neighborhoods separate the immigrant communities into a variety of colors, customs, backgrounds, religions, and foods.
La Casa Rosada- Where Eva de Peron gave her famous speech in 1950
Gifted graffiti artists fill the streets with color.
Skyping with my Sister!
There are a few things that struck me about Argentina immediately. First off, the Spanish in Argentina and Chile is way different from anything I’m used to. In Argentina everyone uses the vos form instead of tu, and they pronounce yo like Joe, also they speak with a strong Italian-sounding accent. It became a running joke that with my dad’s commendable yet rusty attempts at speaking Spanish he persistently got confused over peoples names. He would ask people what their name was, and because they always needed to clarify his question, they would answer, “yo (pronounced Joe)?” My dad thought that everyone he was meeting was named Joe. Love it. Secondly, the Argentines don’t sleep! I literally don’t understand how this city, this country, functions. People, young and old alike, walk the streets at 12, 1, 2, 3AM. Some bars and restaurants don’t even open until 12AM, and then people don’t go out until 2AM and don’t return around 5 or 6AM. I adapted quickly, because it’s the norm, but I was always baffled when we’d get back to our hostel or to Heathers house and it was 3AM and everything was still open and the streets were still crowded. It would be hard to persistently function on this schedule, at least for me, if you enjoy the daylight that is.
After drinking Maté during the mornings we spent our afternoons walking. Cheese, wine, bread, and meat delight everywhere we walked- our favorite! The plazas here in Chile and Argentina are green and filled with trees. Compared to Mexico, the plaza architecture is noticeably different. Grassy lawns and well-maintained gardens scatter this city. Lovers, musicians, soccer players, families, friends, sit outside on the grass and the benches, sharing this common space in the heart of the city - so Latin. At night we’d get a hint as to where the best tango event was. We'd spent an hour searching for a name, an obscure street, hoping that we were going in an accurate direction. Eventually, just when we were about to give up, as our surroundings became more indistinct and dark, we’d hear music, we’d climb stairs to a seemingly disserted building, we’d see dim lights and a few people standing outside a door, and then we’d enter. The tango halls were like old disserted barns that came alive at night, with high ceilings and dangling chandeliers. A 8-man band, including 4 lively accordionists stood on the stage, as the romantic and sensual dance floor moved swiftly and suavely. Watching tango dancers in underground dance halls in BA is definitely a highlight of this trip. Incredible movements, passionate looks, crowded dance floors, young and old celebrating this dance.
When the time came to leave Buenos Aires, I was ready. The constant activity in the city was fascinating and stimulating, but I need to breath fresh air, I need to see mountains, lakes, the ocean, I need the countryside. Too much time in a cement world drives me crazy, although the late-night dance halls and electric pulse of the city I will miss.
The Lake District:
From Buenos Aires, we caught a 23 hour bus ride to San Carlos de Bariloche, in the northern part of Patagonia called the Lake District. The bus was a double-decker, like all buses here, and because buses are the main form of transportation, it was packed full. Air-conditioned and comfortable, we were served trays upon trays of airplane-type food and of course Coca-Cola. The consumption of coca-cola and soda here is incredible....If I'm not careful I'm going to have a mouthful of cavities when I return! As my mom wrote in an email, our bus ride to Bariloche can be described as The 23 Hour Village. From the reiki healers who soothed a young girl panicking with car-sickness, to the two professors on summer break who were visiting their daughters, to the man with his 3 year old son, the community was strong and unique, always keeping a watchful eye.
Bariloche is beautiful. Travelers from around the world seek-out this outdoor haven. River rafting, kayaking, mountain climbing, skiing, mountain biking, and sailing are among some of the activities here. Like the Northwest it is surrounded by mountains, forest, and water. The landscape is green and lush, and the mountains are jagged and rough. We stayed in a wonderful hostel called, Hostel 1004, for two nights before busing south to El Bolson. While my parents hiked the mountains, I rented a bike and took an adventure around the lake, making friends with Brazilians, Israelites, Panamanians, and Italians along the way and drinking from fresh mountain creeks. Swimming in the cold water and exercising was refreshing and much needed after the long bus ride.
El Bolson: The bus driver dropped us off alongside the road as we came near to El Bolson. We walked down a quiet dirt road for 20 minutes, wondering if we had the correct directions to the hostel, El Pueblitio. We were greeted in front of an intricately carved wooden sign by two Oregonians, one German (the owner), and an Irish- behind the house was 4 hammocks, 3 small dormitory cabins, a river, and a large vegetable garden. After orienting ourselves, we jammed off on bikes and headed for the mountains were we encountered a plastic bottle greenhouse and a waterfall just big enough to stand under and let the cold-water rush down on our heads. Two nights in wonderful El Bolson and we were off to Trevelin.
Trevelin and the border crossing: We traveled to Trevelin in southern Patagonia, hoping to cross over to Chile and work our way up from the southern part of Chiloé Island. Little did we know the border would be closed for two days due to strikes on the Chilean border- the custom agents were demanding higher wages. Additionally, we learned that a huge volcano erupted the year before and parts of the Highway Austral and the Pan-American Highway were still closed because of severe flood destruction. We went out to a delicious carne dinner, however, with Kylie’s wonderful Argentinean host-family. After one night in El Trevelin we decided to head back up to Bariloche, a 6-hour bus ride. My dad nearly got arrested at the border because he forgot about an avocado that was in his backpack and he didn’t declare it- it was a very serious border crossing. The custom agents were diligent about making sure NOTHING foreign was entering Chile. I’ve heard some Chileans refer to their country as an island because it’s so well protected: mountains to the east, ocean to the west, Antarctic to the south, and desert to the north. When we crossed over to Chile the fog was so thick you couldn’t see 10-feet ahead. The Andes became less jagged and sharp, smoothing out along green agricultural fields. The bus drivers, who were Chilean, turned up the music as soon as we entered Chile, as if to say, YES we’ve made it! The music sounded traditional, something similar to Mexican music, and the Spanish changed from Italian accents to Chilean idioms. I have to say, the Chilean Spanish is incredibly hard to understand. The people speak so fast, so quiet, and they drop all of their endings while leaving no room between the words. It is an endless task to learn all of the unique Chilean phrases, dichos. Here, words like bean, corn, and avocado, have entirely different Spanish names than in Mexico. We arrived in Puerto Varays, a beautiful port looking out at Chiloé Island just in time to watch a traditional Chilean Cueca dance, where the women flickered their handkerchiefs and twirled in dresses around the men.
Chiloé Island, Valdivia, and Pucon: After renting a car, we caught a 20-min ferry to Chiloé where we stayed for two nights. Chiloé is the biggest island in Chile and numerous small islands surround it. It reminded me a lot of Ireland- green rolling hills, herds of sheep, cows, and horses everywhere. Small farm houses scattering the land with bogs and swamps hiding on the surface. The island is full of mystical characters, and the forests can be described as primeval. Unfortunately it was too windy to visit the penguin colony, so instead we hiked through the National Park and admired the color of every house that stood on stilts overlooking the bay. We stayed in a beautiful hostel called, Hostel Palafito, in Castro, the capital of Chiloé. I was grateful that I had brought warm cloths on this trip. The southern part of Chile rains everyday and the wind brings bitter coldness into your skin. The Chileans say that you can experience every season in one day here. Wind slams against you one minute, while the sun shines down the next, just as dark rain clouds tumble in from the depths of the Pacific Ocean.
With time demanding our departure we left Chiloé with a hunger for sun and the lively hostels that we had grown to love in Argentina. Chile does not yet have the Hostel network that Argentina does. I don’t know if this is because fewer budget backpackers travel to Chile or if it has something to do with the culture, but so far, the hostels in Chile are hard to find and more expensive. Another thing that is interesting is that Chile is very tuned into the TV and radio- everyone owns a TV and it seems to be at the center of community and family gatherings. Before heading to Pucon we spent one night in the seaport city of Valdivia where we watched, mesmerized, as the fisherman threw their scrapes behind them to the hungry and snorting Sea Lions. The port scene in Valdivia was fun to observe. A long row of fishermen working hard to please their customers and cut the perfect fillet of 10+ varieties of glistening fish. Sea-birds and gulls flew over-head, circling the scene hoping to get a slice of it, as the enormous Sea Lions with thick whiskers and tough skin waited in the water or on the cement outcroppings for fish guts to come flying their way. Although I love sea-food, and I have enjoyed eating it a few times on this trip, these huge sea-food markets always disturb me, as if I was standing in front of a slaughter house of cows or pigs, except in the case of cows and pigs there isn’t hungry whales, or sea lions, or other mammals competing for the food source. The proportions we take from the sea for human consumption is mind-blowing, especially when you think about everything within the sea that is dependent on this source of food for survival. We can live without fish, but the whales and seals can’t- I’d much rather consider myself a vegetarian that only occasionally eats chicken and red meat than a vegetarian that only occasionally eats seafood. Anyways, back to Chile.
From Valdivia we headed to Pucon, the most notorious tourist destination for Chileans during the summer months. Families from Santiago and across this country come equipped with tents, loaded cars, bikes, and Pisco Sour, to enjoy the mountains and the fresh lakes. My dad and I decided to splurge and pay the $80 to hike Volcán Vilarrica. We departed with a group of 8, including 3 Israelis, 2 French, and 3 guides, at 6AM on a clear morning. Crampons, helmets, wind gear, sunglasses and the much needed sunscreen, and hiking boots- we were fully equipped to make the 5 hour climb followed by the 45 min. decent where we sledded down on our butts. The volcano is very active and it was spouting sulfur gases that forced everyone to collapse and hide their face until it passed. Standing at the top of the volcano, not daring to look too far in, we enjoyed the clear skies, the outstanding view of the lakes and hills below, and the contagious smiles of triumphant hikers.
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