Jen and Brian Storm South America

End of the line

2010-01-18T21:01:00.000-08:00

I am typing today from a keyboard where all the letters and symbols are in the right spot, having returned to the land of ice cubes, stop signs and nacho-cheese doritos after two and a half months in South America.

I haven't blogged since the New Year, leaving many amazing adventures unwritten. Maybe I stopped because the experiences were piling up too fast to catalogue. Or maybe I thought people had stopped listening. (Though I have been recently assured that wasn't the case) Or maybe I grew tired of internet service slower than a turtle on valium...

Regardless, we are back in the states, safe and sound. There were trains and planes and buses and bicycles. Food and shelter of every form. A few things I wouldn't do over again and a million I would. We sat down last night to go through the pictures and I felt very lucky to have visited all the places that were causing the audience to ooh and aah. Very fortunate indeed. My journal is thick with scribbles and thoughts from every corner of the trip, and if I ever find the time to push them into some kind of pile, I will be sure to let you know.

On a personal note, I would like to take a moment to give a heartfelt thanks to the Lyons family for adopting me during the times before and after our trip. They have been generous beyond words, and I am eternally grateful for their willingness to include me. They are welcome to visit me anywhere I land. I will keep the deep fat fryer on standby...

And to Jennifer, a caliber of friend very rare in this world. Since leaving Sun Valley we have spent 81 straight days together with only the smallest of hiccups. I couldn't have asked for a better travelling companion, and I find myself hoping we can share another adventure together somewhere down the road.

Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting, and to those of you who are urging me to keep on writing. The support means more to me than you could know.

Bombs in Bolivia

2009-12-30T11:30:00.000-08:00

I must apologize, for I have been suffering from bloggers block of late. My head is filled with tales and images from our recent adventures, but I haven´t been able to find the right words.

I have wanted to tell you of our three day journey across the Bolivian desert. Flamingo filled lagoons, wind carved rock sculptures, blinding white salt flats, remote villages whose existence defied comprehension. I wanted to explain the comedy of languages, as our group of five juggled Spanish, Portuguese, British English and American English in an effort to build friendships. I wanted to paint pictures of beds so hard they left bruises and bathroom floors covered with an inch of standing water and sewage. I wanted to explain altitudes so high they made just changing clothes an exhausting task.

I wanted to tell you all about a trip that was part safari and part summer camp, but I sat at the computer in Potosi, Boliva last night and failed to do any of that. Maybe the air in the worlds highest city left my mind blank, and maybe I just needed something to break through the bolck. And as I found out this morning, dynamite proved to be just the trick.

Now I may have led a sheltered life, but this was my first time buying dynamite. I also bought ammonium nitrate, fuses, detonators and a soft drink. It is one stop shopping here in Potosi.

Potosi is a city defined by the mining industry, dating back 400 years to Colonial Times and the millions of miners who lived and died pulling silver from the mountains surrounding the worlds highest city, elevation 13,320 feet. The silver is largely gone these days, but miners still work in absolutely obscene conditions to pull out tons of rock containing traces of lead, zinc and a bit of silver. And for those tourists crazy enough to take it, a few agencies offer a trip down into the mines to give you a taste for the industry that makes up the very fabric of the city.

You pay money to go and there is a guide who escorts you, but this is not a tour. It is a dangerous, eye opening experience that sheds light on a world of unthinkable working conditions. It is two hours scrambling through 400 year old tunnels and makeshift shafts filled with dust and chemicals guaranteed to cause serious lung problems within 10 years of working there. My throat is raw from the trip, and these miners, starting as young as 13, spend 12 hours a day literally scraping out a living with their bare hands. We met a 39 year old miner who had been in the tunnels for 25 years. Our guide implied he would be dead in another five.

Low overhangs and loose pipes are everywhere. Two ton ore carriages appear unannounced running down aging rails. The tunnels are held up with makeshift lumber and rock, and the rickety stairways and crawl spaces lead as far as 340 feet under the rock. The air is a deadly cocktail of asbestos and silicon dust, and the working altitude is almost 15,000 feet. We were three levels down in a hundred year old tunnel no bigger than a storm drain when I heard a carriage rumble by overhead, and it certainly gave pause. What in the hell possessed me?

Before we descended, we bought coca leaves and water and yes, dynamite to give to the miners as gifts in exchange for taking pictures and talking with them. There is a market at the base of the mountain filled with little shops that carry mining equipment and other tools of the trade. Anyone can walk into these shops and buy nitro glycerine base dynamite and the detonators required to make them go boom. They also sell grain alcohol and cigarettes, since the popular wisdom among miners seems to be that if you are going to be dead or seriously ill in 20 years, why not party along the way.

We would give these presents out as we stopped to visit with groups of men, and often boys, who were working in this world. They were a rough sort for sure, but they had an amazing optimism and sense of humor considering the hell that surrounded them. It was truly an experience that I will never forget.

And to top it off, our guide assembled several dynamite charges, lit the fuses, and tossed them to us like a game of hot potato. Jen actually has a picture of me with a lit stick of dynamite in my mouth. But with time to spare he ran off a hundred feet or so and put them in a field, and we all waited with cameras ready.

Even in the open air, the concussion was enough to knock you back. It was a fitting end to a wild tour, and helped jar loose the words I needed to get back on the blog. Hopefully the border patrol won´t find the sticks I put in my luggage.

bg

Feliz Navidad y paz a los todos

2009-12-25T11:09:00.000-08:00

Well, it took 43 days of South American imersion for Jennifer to break out of her shell, but I finally found myself nodding intently as she leaned over to whisper translations and explanations for what I was seeing. Normally I have been responsible for using my marginal spanish skills to fumble through menu´s and bus schedules and such, but I found myself in very foreign territory today, and was grateful to to have her expertise nearby. There were rituals I didn´t understand, readings I couldn´t follow, even foreign food and drink. Maybe she had just been waiting for the perfect setting...

Christmas Mass at the Catholic Church in San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

Now I won´t bore you with the statistics, but lets just say my track record for church attendance is less than noteworty. (I sit here trying to think back to the last time I might have been to a Catholic Mass, and I have already passed through the Clinton years without success.)

But this morning we put on our backpackers´s best and strolled to the town plaza, watching as brightly dressed citizens danced and drummed their way into the church. We followed in behind and enjoyed a very nice service, despite my absolute lack of understanding for the ceremonies. Jen would politely keep me in the loop, and I managed to sucessfully sit and stand at the appropriate moments and sing in Spanish to a few Christmas hymns that I recognized.

So thank you Jennifer for inviting me to attend and for being my guide. Merry Christmas to you and to everyone.

Merry Christmas To All

2009-12-24T07:41:00.001-08:00

First off, we would just like to wish everyone out there a very Merry Christmas... Hopefully Santa is good to everyone and happiness and health are spread all around.

Been awhile since my last post, so this will just be a calendar update. Stories will have to come later...

Left Paraguay last weeks after a few days baking in the heat, and worked our way towards Salta, Argentina. Bus ride to get there was our worst yet, but finally we made it, and Salta was very good to us. Beautiful town plaza with lots of Christmas parades and fetivities. We went horseback riding in the mountains for a day, rented a car for a beautiful drive through a deep canyon to Argentine wine country, and spent a day seeing museums and touring the sites. Really a neat city.

Left for San Pedro de Atacama, Chile early yesterday morning, and we are here now. Will be spending our Christmas in the middle of the world´s most arid desert, but this is a great little town with lots to do. Headed out this afternoon for sandboarding, which is something like snowboarding but on on sand of course. Also researching the desert jeep trip we are going to take to Bolivia after the holiday.

The days seem to be slipping by faster and faster despite our best efforts to slow them down. I can´t believe January is just around the corner !! Best wishes to everyone and save some egg nog for us...

j and b

Stealing Air

2009-12-16T08:34:00.000-08:00

We rolled into Asuncion, Paraguay last night, home to many things dangerous. Malaria, Dengue Fever, crime and corruption, to name a few. But I have no fear today, certain the searing heat is sure to keep us safe.

The mercury hit 100 well before noon today; far too hot for street muggers to run off with purses, far too hot for taking bribes. I´m guessing even the mosquitos down in the shanty towns are tucked up under some leaves with a tall glass of lemonade, looking at each other as if to say, ¨can you believe this fucking heat?¨

And so we wander the streets, decorated with the red and green of Christmas, hopping from one air conditioned oasis to the next, regardless of their purpose. We consult our travel book looking for the little fan symbol that denotes air-conditioning, and point our compass accordingly. (Weaving museums and post offices have never sounded so interesting...)

It is so hot I would gladly browse an entire store devoted to tampons or breast pumps if it meant stealing just a little more of that cool, sweet, artificial oxygen. Maybe even ask a few questions... But we continue to laugh as much as we sweat, browsing the street markets and grabbing a bite at a locals lunch counter. The centro is alive with Christmas shopping and the usual weekday hustle, and we are determined to start shopping for souveniers and gifts now that our trip is half way over.

Yep, 35 nights in the books, and 35 more to go. We both feel like the past 5 weeks have gone by mighty quickly, filled with a wide variety of people, places and experiences. We are excited to charge into the next 35, curious as to what will come next.

My body temp has dropped back below triple digits. Time to get back out there.

bg

A Trip to The Falls

2009-12-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

Iguazu falls was impressive. Very impressive. It certainly deserves to be considered as one of the most spectacular displays of natural terrain on earth.

But yes, popularity does come with a price. The National Park built around the falls has a distinctly ¨Disneyworld¨polish to it, with elaborate catwalks, jetboat tours, overpriced concessions and even a quirkly little train that rumbles from point to point. Tour buses unload wave after wave of camera happy visitors ready to snap a photo of anything they can squeeze in the viewfinder, but the scale and scenery are so amazing that you really can´t blame us. (Certainly including myself in this group) The massive falls spread out in two rough semi-circles, and every step of catwalk seems to offer an even better view of Mother Nature´s spectacular creativity.

The river plain high above the falls appears almost as a lake at times, but the jagged rim and the tug of gravity ultimately force the water to splinter into thousands of veins, quickly gathering speed before the final plunge. Several times we just stopped and stared, awed by the sheer volume of water tumbling over the edge into cauldrons of froth and mist hundreds of feet high. In a word, it was awesome.

We also managed to sneak away from the beehive for a 3 hour hike to a far less visited waterfall, and it was certainly as close as either of us have ever been to experiencing the ¨real¨jungle. Scorching sun in places and dense forest canopy in others. Obnoxious heat and humidity. Tinges of fear from unfamiliar sounds in the thicket. There were lizards and iguanas wandering about, troops of giant ants and hundreds of butterflies in a full rainbow of colors. We also saw tracks from animals that seemed to be far bigger than us, but were content to never actually discover their source. The highlight was seeing what we think is called a¨toucan,¨the very colorful and surprisingly large bird better known as the Fruit Loops mascot.

Rolled into Posadas, Argentina last night, a nice little city on the Rio Paraguay, across from the country of the same name. We continue to be amazed by how different the South American timetable is from what we are used to back in the states. We strolled down to the river around 8:30 pm, passing a steak restaurant with easily 100 tables and not a single customer. We walked into the same restaurant at 10:30 and had only three tables left to choose from, as the masses had seemingly appeared out of thin air to claim the night. I saw a family of four, with two children no older than kindergarten sit down to eat at a little past midnight. And I bet they still qualified for the earlybird specials. It is surreal.

Headed to the Mercado Central, or Central Market, this morning for a little retail amusement. This place was essentially a two story self-storage complex that had been transformed into a flea market. Vendors were pushing cheap clothes, pirated dvd´s, barbies, electronics, hardware, you name it. I found myself wondering how much of the stuff must have ¨conveniently¨ fallen off the back of a truck before it made it to customs, simultaneously wishing I could fit a 40 inch plasma TV into my backpack. The place was really pretty overwhelming, but if you found yourself short on time with a shopping list that included bikinis, belt sanders and blenders, this is the place for you.

Thinking we are going to branch out tonight and try some steak. I hear it´s good down here.

bg

Welcome to the Jungle

2009-12-10T14:32:00.000-08:00

Just a quick update, since i am so hot and sweaty that my fingers are starting to stick to the keyboard. It took a few buses and a few borders, but we have arrived in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina, home to the fabled Iguazu Falls. We knocked out a 13 hour overnight bus trip and arrived at 6:45 this morning. We began to sweat at 6:46 this morning. Low 90´s here with humidity off the chart, which represents close to a 100 degree temperature difference from our friends in Sun Valley. It was so hot so quick we ventured into the pool at our hostel despite its rather murky appearance. The open sores should be breaking out anytime now.

We are at meeting point of Paraguay, Argentina and Brazil, with nothing but rivers and jungle to the north. Got our first look at Brazil today, which may or may not be as close as we get. Still a chapter or two to be written on that topic. Regardless, we will be leaving behind the beaches for awhile, heading into the steamy northern interior of the continet. Trying to navigate (no pun intended) a river trip from Conception, Uruguay down to Asuncion after we leave Iguazu.

Headed to the National Park that houses the mighty falls tomorrow, and we are going to splurge for a jet boat trip up the rapids to get a close up view. The falls are higher, wider, and according to everyone we have spoken to, a hundred times more spectacular than those at Niagra. We will cast our vote soon enough.

Gotta run now... meeting a guy in town to sell our fleece and long underwear for a 55 gallon drum of bug spray.

bg

Can´t let the bed bugs bite

2009-12-04T10:25:00.001-08:00

There is nothing third world about the mosquitos down here. They are well organized, well funded, and well armed.

(It is 3am in Punta del Diablo, Uruguay. I am wide awake in bed, tossing and scratching like a detox patient with poison ivy. It would seem I have played host for a five hour blood buffet since I fell asleep, and now count no less than a dozen fresh bites. Two on the shoulderblade, both biceps, one on the knuckle between my pinky and ring finger, and one behind my ear that makes me want to scratch all the way down to my skull. The sheets are pulled over my like saran wrap, but still they are finding their way through. I lay in state, listening to the constant high pitch whine, sometimes real and sometimes imagined, of a would be feeder circling my head. My only defense is to wait in the dark for one to close in and land on my face so that I can slap myself so hard you would think I had given my mom the finger...)

That was three days ago, and thankfully the mosquitos have faded, along with any other cares or concerns we might have had, drifting out to sea in this sleepy little beach town on the northern edge of Uruguay´s Atlantic coast. We chose to pass up the tourist hotspots further south for this little hideaway, and we have been greatly rewarded. We found a bungalow that suits our attitude and budget: not on the water but with a nice view of it, weathered but clean, small but ample. It is one of dozens that line the sandy streets that snake their way up from the beaches and surf. This is a town of shacks and shantys built to house people who take pride in a softer pace of life. The wind always blows enough to push the hammock, and the clouds lay about like small boats at anchor in a sea of blue. There is no bank or atm or even any building that sits on a level foundation.

There is nothing ¨resort¨about this place, and it is damn near perfect. It has only been a few days, but I can feel the attachment growing. What was at first ¨the¨grocery store is becoming öur¨grocery store, and we walked to the beach today as if we could do it everyday. Surely a town of only 700 could find room for two more?

We have spent the days watching surfers on the beach, wandering the streets, and generally trying to avoid a flip-flop tan and keeping the sand from sneaking into our wine glass. We are searching for a fine piece of meat or fish to put on the grill tonight, while wondering how hard it might be to leave this place. I should mention that Jen announced earlier that not only is this her favorite spot so far, but quite possibly the best place she has ever visited. I am inclined to belive her.

We talk about leaving, but we always conclude the conversation by saying we will talk about it tomorrow.

bg

p.s. For the record my mom never smacked me growing up, though I am sure at times she should have. :-)

Change Anyone?

2009-12-02T04:35:00.001-08:00

I think we both agree that Buenos Aires was an amazing city. We found a great hotel, probably our best and cheapest yet, and ended up staying for four nights. We explored numerous neighborhoods filled with character and color, and managed to get a feel for the vibrance and pride of its citizens. Friday night was for Tango, and we are both glad we went. The show was comprised of dancing and singing and orchestra numbers, but the dancing was clearly the highlight. My joints still ache thinking about the agility and flexibilty it must require to perform the elaborate combinations while still maintaining an ambience of seduction and elegance.

We emerged from the theater to find the METRO had closed for the evening, so we hopped a cab back to the hotel. Our driver stomped on the gas and shot out into traffic like he was a lap down at the Daytona 500, leaving us scrambling for seatbelts and wondering if we had bothered to sign our most recent life insurance forms. Jen covered her eyes most of the trip, but I couldn´t stop staring as he weaved and honked and cursed his way through Buenos Aires nightlife with amazing skill. Maybe it´s a guy thing, but it was the best $3 roller coaster of my life.

We kept the good times rolling on Saturday, heading to the opposite side of the city for a River Plate futbol game, one of the two most popular teams in town. The cheers and chants started on the packed bus ride there, and didn´t stop all night. These people are FANS ! We weren´t in the ultra rowdy section, but we were plenty close enough to witness their passion, anger and pyromania. Yes, they actually lit a section of the stands on fire at one point in the first half...

There is no love loss for the refs or the opposing fans, which helps explain the speical tunnels that the refs leave the field from and the 15 foot high razor wire fences and dozens of riot police that surround the visiting fans section. We had to wait 45 minutes after the game for them to be escorted out before we could leave the stadium, and this wasn´t even a rivalry match.

Now we find ourselves having crossed the river basin from Argentina into Uruguay, what I am nicknaming ¨The land of many monies.¨ We arrived in Colonia del Sacramento, a port settlement dating from the 1500´s, to find that they accept about any kind of currency you can throw at them. Argentine pesos, US dollars, Euros, Uruguayan pesos, Brazilian real´s, whatever. I actually bought Uruguayan water with US dollars and got Argentine pesos as change. It was SAT caliber math trying to keep all the exchange rates straight, but the merchants seem to have the system down. If it is worth something, they will accept it. I think I am going to try and pay for our hotel tonight with a Sammy Sosa rookie card, a driving range token and my old bowling trophy.

Now we sit in Montevideo, still plotting how in the hell we are gonna get into Brazil. It is proving to be our Achilles Heal, one we have been working on since August. And to be honest, I still don´t see the solution in site. I am trying to convince Jen that we are just going to have to swim for it. Does anyone know how to say ¨lawyer please¨in Portuguese?

bg

Small bumps...

2009-11-27T05:20:00.000-08:00

By my math, there are 1680 hours in a seventy day trip. It stands to reason that there will be some that just won´t pan out the way you planned, and the law of averages finally caught up with us.

Tuesday morning we were in Puerto Madryn, watching a steady stream of rain fall outside the windows of our hostel. We were sore in all the wrong places from a 20 mile bike ride the day before, having ventured out on ancient mountain bikes through gravel and sand to visit a colony of sea lions in a cove south of town. My bike was a Specialized Hard Rock, which i think stood for rock hard seat, rock hard grips, and rock hard suspension. Its 15 original gears had been reduced down to 2 by sand, rain and general tourist abuse over the last three decades. I paid 8 bucks to rent it...probably could have walked down the street and bought one for 3. We bitched and moaned and laughed the whole way, but it was a fun ride and adventure. The Lions were worth the visit, but we did wonder if they could possibly decide to swim a bit closer to town?

But now, with the rain keeping us pent up, we had plenty of time to surf the net and find our next destination, settling on Sierra de la Ventana, described by various resources as a beautiful mountain hideaway with hiking, swimming holes and tranquility. It meant a dull day playing cards in Puerto Madryn, an 11 hour overnight bus ride to Bahia Blanca, and a 2 hour bus ride to the above mentioned tranquil mountain town. But we checked the weather and it called for sun and 80 degrees, so we put the plan in motion.

For those of you interested in your next exploration, check out Sierra de la Ventana at Lonely Planet, or wecomeargentina.com, or other travel guides, and read about its wonders.

Then print everything out, assemble, and light on fire.

I will grant you that we arrived a few weeks before ¨high season,¨ but this town was a total bust. The Provinical Park that housed the beautiful hikes? Closed. The swimming holes? Stagnant and frightening, even with all the shots we got back in the states. Tranquility? To the point of comatose.

There were a few cute shops and beautiful surrounding views, but ice cream cones and craft shopping can only chew up so much time. We had already found a cheap room for the night, but by noon we were actively seeking an escape route, fearful of the delerium that a night in this town could create. There was supposed to be a train to Buenos Aires, but the train station didn´t open til 8pm. Supposed to be a bus to Buenos Aires, but the bus station didn´t open til 6pm. We were officially marooned.

Jen literally counted the hours as we walked back and forth through the streets, with ABSOLUTELY nothing to do. We were sitting on the train platform at 7:45pm like it was the first morning of the holiday shopping season or we were camped out for Grateful Dead tickets. It was pretty sad. Alas, there would be a train. First class for only 12 dollars apiece, 12 hour overnight ride to Buenos Aires. We didn´t care at all, as we would have taken The Pony Express to get out of that town.

I found myself wondering how the ticket could be so cheap, and my answer rolled into the station at 10:20 pm that night. This was a 75 year old train from the grand days of yesteryear. Windows cracked, seats torn, bathrooms that would make ex-convicts shudder. It rumbled and pitched with the kind of rythmic squeaking you would likely find at a by the hour motel. Jen managed to get some decent sleep, but my lanky frame didn´t fit well into the seats, and I finally fell asleep in a such a position that upon waking up, the entire right side of my body, skull and all, was numb, the kind of numb your mouth gets when the dentist goes a little heavy on the novicane.

But finally, our horizon arrived, rolling into Constitution Station in Buenos Aires. It was warm, sunny, and very busy. Exactly what we were looking for. Yesterday we walked the miles and miles of shopping promenade on their main boulevard. I think if you took every shopping mall in New Jersey and lined them up end to end, you wouldn´t even come close to the scale of commerce we witnessed. I think we were both thrilled to be such small fish in such a large pond.
And to top off a great day, we managed a traditional Thanksgiving dinner last night, complete with deep fried turkey, mashed potatoes, and a gravy that was beyond good.

Tonight we are planning to see a Tango show, and a soccer game tomorrow night. I have persuaded Jen that we don´t need to go on some tour where they hold your hand and keep you safe from the locals, and I hope I´m right. Updates to come. We are still having problems posting pictures... (Dad we might need some technical support. It takes literally 5 minutes to transfer one picture from our memory card to the blog, if it works at all.) We are taking some nice pictures, but are now considering doing a shutterfly or kodak gallery and sending the link.

j and b

ps- I am aware of the fact that i am misspelling words and such from time to time. South America doesn´t believe in english spell check, and i am frankly too lazy to go back through and check everything before i post. This is supposed to be a vacation. :-)

Toes back in the sand

2009-11-22T12:59:00.000-08:00

Just a quick update... Dipped our toes in the Atlantic this morning, completing a cross contintent run that started in Valparaiso, Chile and landed us in Puerto Madryn, Argentina, a medium sized beach and port city about half way up the Argentinian coastline.

Spent the last few days exploring windy and chilly towns in the mountains of Patagonia, wearing just about every layer we brought with us. Felt great to put on the swimsuits and head for the beach, even if our skin is white enough to freeze the sun. Should be a great starter beach for us before we head to the big league sands of Uruguay and Brazil. Gonna spend a few days exploring the coast, working our way North towards Buenos Aires. I am going to start doing my research now, because one way or another we are going to a soccer game while we are up there.

We are trying to find a way to get out on a horseback trip in the next few days, so we will surely update after that, assuming that one of us is capable of sitting down in a chair after the ride.

Hope everyone is well. We hear the snow is starting to fly in Sun Valley !

Seven Days of Sustenance

2009-11-19T09:37:00.000-08:00

We have been down South for 1 week now... I am sure Jen will update you with our adventures and pictures, but here is a bit of commentary from my side of the keyboard...

----
Our attack on our surroundings and the language barrier takes place on three distinct fronts; the daily needs for transportation, shelter, and food. Transportation has proven very easy, as the South American cities and towns we have visited have offered very efficient bus, train and subway systems that we have been able to navigate with relative ease. The buses travel at breakneck speed with little or no regard for traffic signs, pedestrians or passenger safety, but we usually know the intended destination.

Lodging has also been very manageable thus far, as my spanish has been sufficient enough to find rooms and negotiate rates. We are living a two star lifestyle, sleeping slightly above grungy hostels but still well below your average Super 8. There is usually street noise or other small flaws, and we did share one room smaller than a prison cell, but the owners have been very helpful and inviting, and the hole process has been pretty painless.

Bringing us to food, which has proven itself to be the most daunting and certainly the most amusing aspect of our day to day operations.

I realized that successfully feeding ourselves would take far more than just a knife and fork around noon last Thursday, and it has been an adventure ever since. We had skipped the drab airline food on the flight from Atlanta to Santiago, jumped a bus to Valparaiso and secured our lodging, and headed into town ¨to grab a bite.¨ What we found was a swirling street market, with vendors pushing everything imaginable, edible and otherwise. There were signs for restaurants on every corner, but we walked by one after the next, truly overwhelmed by the pace. Many had menus posted on their windows, and we would both dutifully stare at the offerings as if we had a clue, even though we might as well have been reading ancient sanskrit. My Spanish, while adequate enough to find a bar or a hospital, was clearly lacking in menu lingo or nuances of food preparation. All we could do was laugh at our ignorance.

Ultimately overwhelmed by hunger, (when Jen´s food light goes on you have to act QUICKLY) we ventured into a ¨cafeteria¨ in hopes that we could secure our meal through visual rather than verbal navigation. I think we made it as far as picking up a tray before I caught a look from Jen that indicated she was far closer to losing her lunch than gaining it, and we u-turned our way right the hell out of there.

Thankfully we retreated to the hills and found shelter in the phrase ¨plata del dia,¨ which translated into chicken and ravioli and bread. The waitress asked several questions that we carefully answered despite having absolutely no idea what she was talking about, and we managed to leave with a full stomach.

Got through the next few meals with the assistance of english speaking staff and the international language of pizza. Though i must say it was some excellent ´za, especially in the Santiago street cafe as we waited for the overnight bus to Puerto Varas, Chile

Puerto Varas is a small resort town with a commercial district no bigger than six square blocks, and I bet we walked the whole circuit at least three times before closing in on dinner. At this point we would only consider restaurants with menus posted outside, the more pictures the better. We would wander by casually, trying to avoid attention, and sneak peeks at the menu and at patrons dining inside, similar to the way you would case a bank prior to pulling off a big heist. I had the spanish-english dictionary at hand, and we would both try to memorize a few words or terms to look up as we continued the rounds. Lomo for beef, choco for corn... you get the idea. We were always careful to feign a lack of interest so as to avoid being snared in the web of an opportunistic proprietor, who would appear out of nowhere to open the door and usher you in with a wave of greetings. It was a tactic we had no defense against, too confused to counter and too polite to turn and walk away.

Sunday night we swam a bit too close to the shore, lured in by what looked like a sports bar from street level, and in a flash we were greeted, ushered and seated at a traditional Chilean restaurant. I think the owner might have even sold us a timeshare on the way to our table. Thankfully the food was delightful despite us having no idea what we ordered, and I finally mastered the art of getting the check. Experience had taught me that Chilean waiters, under absolutely no circumstance, would bring the check unless you specifically asked for it. And even then, there was usually enough time to play a game of risk or knit a sweater before you actually got it. We once waited at a lunchtime pizza joint, having already asked for the check, long enough to start thinking about ordering dinner. This is not a joke.

Since we first touched down in South America, Jen has been wondering where all the tacos are. She had assumed, as I did as well, that Spanish dialect and Mexican food would go hand in hand... yet another one of our comedy of errors. Chile was a taco-free zone, just when we needed them the most. So imagine her excitement a few days ago, having crossed the Andes Mountains into Argentina after an early wake up and a seven hour bus ride to Bariloche, when she caught glimpse of a Mexican themed restaurant claiming not just tacos, but fajitas and enchiladas and other wonderful spanish words that we have come to claim as our own. It was four in the afternoon and we had only eaten popcorn and doritos, and I had to physically restrain her from jumping off the moving bus. But we finally got our tacos, a sign that things were surely looking up.

Which brings me to our crowning achievement, dinner last night at a traditional Argentinian ¨parrilla,¨ an open flame barbeque where fresh meat is cut and grilled to order. It had been a full day of hiking and a canopy tour, where you zip line your way from various platforms suspended high in the trees, and we were very tired and VERY hungry by the time we got back to town. I had been seeing these parrillas all over town, and our time had finally come.

The menu at our parrilla was less than a page long, with generous use of double spacing. There were still plenty of words that I didn´t understand, but the categories were very clear: meat, salad and potatoes, either mashed or fried. The term broccoli was nowhere to be found, I can assure you of that. Two chefs worked one massive grill that was stacked with meat from open to close. No fish, no vegetables, and certainly no tofurkey burgers.

I merely had to say ënseleda mixta, bife de lomo y vino tinto,¨ and we were on our way to carnivore paradise. The meat was brought to our table as three perfectly grilled filets served on a wood plank. No sauce or frilly garnish. Just steak. The kind of steak that melts in your mouth and consumes your senses. The kind of steak vegetarians wish didn´t exist. The kind of steak that has made the word parrilla a permanent part of our vocabulary.

It was an outstanding meal, and the culmination of a clumsy and amusing week of South American food. We shall see what next week holds...

-bg

P.S. Did i mention that our tab for 3 filets, two salads, bread and a bottle of wine came to a grand total of $27 dollars with tip? Now that is an economic downturn that I can get behind!!

Valparaiso

2009-11-15T13:55:00.000-08:00

Goodbye Puckett.

HELLO Chilie.....
This is the breathtaking sunrise I woke up to on the plane Thursday morning.

We opted out of the big city of Santiago for the first couple of nights and headed for the hills of Valpariso on the west coast of Chilie.

Lots of steps. We are workin the cupcakes, Jenna!

We took the old elevators a couple of times.....only 50 cents a piece.

There are dogs everywhere. Brian had to stop me from buying a box of dog bones to carry with me. He almost lost a place to sleep too......

Mom and Dad. PLEASE don´t show this to Puckett.

There are tangled wires like this everywhere......

But this place is SO full of character and color.

Beautiful sunrise and sunset in the same day.

Life is good.......

P.S. According to my mom, Brian is the writer on this team. He is currently on strike until I do a post. He will return shortly.

Swine flu anybody?

2009-11-15T13:37:00.000-08:00

Just real quick... got to Puerto Varas but the weather is a little bleak so we headed in for a bit of internet time, only to have the guy at the terminal between us start coughing so hard i think he left a lung behind on his keyboard. He left five minutes ago but we are still holding our breath and spraying each other down with hand sanitizer...

If you read this, please send masks. :-)

Touch Down....Barely.

2009-11-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

Ok folks, 1st post from South America. We have been trying to figure out how to post pictures and have hit a few technical snags, but we will figure out soon. Have taken some great shots so far though.

Quick update: Ran into first problems at gate in Mississippi, since neither of us had the credit cards we used to purchase our tickets with, and the gate agent turned into a total bitch and refused to check us in. Didn´t help that it was veterans day so there was no way to contact a human at our banks... finally got a supervisor that was on our team and we managed to make it to Atlanta, at which point we did everything possible to miss our flight to Santiago as we lingered over burgers and beer at TGI Fridays. Yes, we heard our names paged even! Apparently you can´t just saunter down to the gate 20 min. before an international flight...

Smooth flight though, into Santiago at 8am and onto a series of busses to get out to Valparaiso, on the pacific coastline. For reference, our flight was 9 hours in the air from atlanta, covering about 4700 miles. The Chilean coastline is just shy of 4500 miles, but only 150 miles wide on average. That is one skinny broad!!

If you were to look at a map of Valparaiso, you would see a rather non descript combination of streets and plazas surrounding a half moon port. In reality it is an amazing combination of hillside neighborhoods where every square inch of space is devoted to houses, often perched on one another in ways that seem impossible. The downtown area, below the hills, is at best gritty and at worst flat out disgusting. There is trash and filth at every turn, with countless stray dogs and other staples of geniune dilapidation. There is charm buried beneath the surface for sure, but it takes quite a bit of digging to get to.

By contrast, the hillsides, accessed by an amazing labrynth of hidden staircases and turn of the century (read late 1800´s) ¨acensors´, or elevators, were filled with brilliant colors and eclectic architecture, and we spent hours wandering through the mazes, in total awe of how such a city could ever come to be. The pictures can´t do it justice, but hopefully you can get the idea.

We walked for miles, part of what will certainly be an ongoing South America fitness program, if even by accident. We were also incredibly sucessful at finding traditional chilean sustenance from restaurants stashed in the heart of the hillsides. Our spanish was choppy at best, but we proved to ourselves a willingness to venture out of our comfort zone in search of a genuine experience. Our first dinner was on a balcony overlooking the entire city, and if every meal can be that good, it will be one hell of a trip.

Back in Santiago now, waiting for our 10 pm bus down to the patagonia region, specifically a town called Puerto Varas. It will be our first all night bus trip, so it should be an experience. We hope everyone is doing well and thanks to all that have been following and commenting. It really makes us look forward to checking in with the northern world.

--j & b

Seven Layer Dip and Sorority Row

2009-11-11T07:39:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the lightning round blog… i have been chastisted for too much storytelling and not enough info, so I am trying to get caught up.

Thursday night we caught up with Pat’s brother Tim and his son Pat, better known as Little Pat (there is also big pat, pat, and baby pat, none of whom are jen’s dad… I have been here a week and have finally sorted out who is who) Had some fine redfish downtown then over to the 930 blues club for smooth sounds and strong cocktails. A real locals kind of place. Check out jesdablues.com to get a feel for it.

Jen met up with some girlfriends on Friday night for sushi and wine, but I steered clear of that one. The takeout she brought home was great though. More veggies than I had seen in a week.

I had been looking forward to Saturday since before we left Sun Valley, and it didn’t disappoint. SEC FOOTBALL baby!!! I want to personally thank Fred and Cherry Krutz, good friends of the Lyons family, for introducing me to their team, their skybox and their wonderful hospitality. Also want to say thanks to Tim, Patty, and Callie for showing me around The Grove and adding to the fun.

Here is my two minute drill report on my game day experience:

I went to a small college in central Maine known more for plummeting temperatures than soaring athletics. Our football team, typically the pinnacle of any campus athletic program, was consistently mediocre, and the fan support illustrated as much. Tailgating was limited to a few groups of alumni huddled over a grill swapping lies about times past. Students would wander through to catch glimpses of methodical hand-offs or errant pass plays, only to wander off just as quickly.

Fast forward to Saturday in Oxford, Mississippi, home to the Ole Miss Rebels. By comparison, it is like trading up from a goldfish bowl to SeaWorld Orlando.

Kickoff wasn’t until 6:30, which gave us plenty of time to walk through “The Grove,” a normally quite campus field that undergoes a hulk like transformation at the dawn of every home game. Canopy tents of all shapes spring up, satellite dishes and flat screens are mounted, grills are stoked, coolers are packed. The display goes on for acres surrounding the stadium, and it is easy to recognize the immense pride that goes into producing the scene. Rabid fans from all backgrounds converge on The Grove, and on big games it can be packed tighter than Bourbon Street at Mardi Gras, as infants and students and hopeful students and alumni and everyone else jostle together in the belief that massive amounts of whiskey, wings and 7 layer dip are the true keys to a Rebel victory. The pretty girls seem to help too…

Sorority life at Ole’ Miss is very serious busy, and business is booming. The Grove was blanketed by beautiful southern women, traveling in packs, bouncing from tent to tent in hopes of drawing the attention of their fraternity counterparts. They dressed like they were ready for both a Miss America Pageant and a Hooters wet t-shirt contest, wearing stickers or buttons announcing their particular sorority allegiance so as to not be confused with any of the inferior clans. It was really quite a bizarre and wonderful sight.

Thank heavens it was a night game, because I can hardly imagine the carnage that would rain down on a sorority house bathroom as 50 to 80 girls all tried to primp and pamper in time to strut their stuff and shop for husbands before a 1 PM kickoff…

Alas, the game itself couldn’t compete with the appetizers, but was amazing none the less. I think the band alone was bigger than my graduating class, and far more enthusiastic. Our group gorged on mini cheeseburgers and brownies in the skybox as Ole Miss took care of business on the field. We were among the last to leave the stadium, as there is less of a desire to head for the exits when a full bar remains at hand. Thanks again to all the people I met and for putting up with my endless questions about the weird and wonderful ways of the South.
___

We leave Wednesday afternoon after a week in Jackson, but had to finish with dinner tonight at Cock of the Walk, where the only two entree choices are fried catfish or fried chicken, and guests are strongly encouraged to go with the catfish. Everything comes with cornbread, turnip greens, cole slaw, hush puppies, French fries and pickled onions, all served horse-trough family style that makes everything taste just a little bit better. Was a perfect final meal.

Y ahora, no mas tiempo en Los Estados Unidos. Setenta dias in Sur Americana. Vamos a escribir cuando tenemos tiempo. Muchos gracias a todos.

bg

Eating our way to South America

2009-11-06T18:14:00.000-08:00

After playing for two days in the mountains, we had to get down to business on Monday morning. We covered 850 miles Monday, urged on by clear roads, perfect weather and the better part of the Taco Bell menu. Finally stopped for the night at a Super 8 on the shady side of the tracks just east of Oklahoma City, where we unsuccessfully tried to sneak Puckett in without anyone seeing him. Apparently I am not much of a liar. It was Interstate 40 all the way from Albuquerque to Little Rock, passing every quirky billboard and fast food neon in the middle. (Amarillo, Texas takes top honors for the latter category. They had enough McDonald’s there to start their own softball league.) There were some genuine highlights though, such as gorgeous moon rises, fall colors in Arkansas, and of course, the Oklahoma birthplaces of Garth Brooks, Carrie Underwood and Troy Aikman.

Churned through another 800 miles on Tuesday and by 6pm we had crossed the mighty Mississippi River into the state of the same name. Jennifer’s uncle lives and farms in the Mississippi Delta, a huge expanse of fertile land patch worked with fields of wheat, soybeans, rice and of course, cotton. He had graciously agreed to put us up for the night, and Jen's parents came up from Jackson to join in the fun.

Local lore has it that Rosedale, Mississippi, specifically at the crossroads of route 8 and route 1, is the birthplace of Blues. I couldn’t get any straight answers and no footnotes seemed to be available, but the locals were pretty convincing. Just down the road in Merigold we drove by “Po-Monkey’s”, a rundown farmhouse that looked like all the rest except for the historical plaque in the yard declaring it to be one of the most famous blues juke-joints in all the south. Name a performer and odds on they have played this stage. If you are curious, google the name at the NY Times travel section and you will see what I mean.

I was awed by the beauty and simplicity of the Delta, the blue collar purity of its people and the sunsets that seem to consume the sky. (And that you can walk into a restaurant carrying a cocktail and no one misses a step.) Dinner in Rosedale Tuesday night was all things southern: fried green tomatoes, soft shell crab, blackened pork and catfish. The laughs flowed as fast as the whiskey, and we had a grand old time sharing food and listening to stories about life deep in the Delta. It was also the beginning of a gastronomic binge that I might not recover from.

Days in the south are planned around meals, and a good southerner wouldn’t dare miss one. Time is divided roughly evenly between food consumption and food coma, and quality napping is a near essential part of the process. Over the past few days my system has processed pork, steak, redfish, catfish, biscuits, bacon and enough butter to hose down a slip ‘n slide. The crown jewel was lunch today was at Mama Hamils in Jackson, Mississippi. If you ever want to see what a million calories looks like laid out buffet style, this is the place for you. People by the hundreds come here every day (except Sunday when they convert into a church) to feast on fried chicken, ribs, banana pudding, beans, slaw and every other dish that has ever been associated with any place south of the Mason-Dixon. You know you are at the right place when you are surrounded by local police and paramedics chowing down at neighboring tables. And it was good to know they were there, since I have to believe a patron up and drops dead from a coronary at least once a week, still trying to squeeze in that last sparerib. I must have checked myself for a pulse at least a dozen times.

We are a bit concerned that if we keep up our current rate of consumption we will have to buy a third seat on the plane, so we decided to join the local YMCA. We have been twice already and are hoping to go every day before we leave. At the very least it will give us something to do between feedings. Speaking of which, I think I hear the dinner bell ringing…

-bg

Cruising along at 5 MPG

2009-11-01T21:48:00.000-08:00

Just to get people current, we left Sun Valley Saturday morning en route to Jackson, Mississippi. Planning to roll in on Wednesday for a few days of fun before our flight to Chile on November 11th. Here is our first report:

_______

Sometime before my next cross country excursion, I am going to find a way to befriend a U-Haul manager. I will wine and dine her without shame, begging her to part with the secret code, or secret handshake or secret wink that guarantees I won't getting saddled with a piece of crap the next time I pick up a rental. Say the magic words, and out from the back comes a gleaming stallion with all the trimmings...

Thursday we picked up the truck and trailer rental, and sadly, we had no code, or wink or handshake. And thus, we are the proud drivers of a sixteen foot tugboat with the pick-up of a water buffalo that sucks down fuel faster than a frat party chugging contest.

Managed to set its maximum low speed, that is the slowest it can go with my foot pinned to the accelerator, at 48 mph. Our truck, loaded to its roof, towing Jen's Volvo, also loaded to the roof. Little Cottonwood Canyon; 25 winding uphill miles from Salt Lake to Park City. The transmission alternated between low gear and dangerously low gear and made sounds i can't describe. The gas needle dropped like a stone. I think we were even passed by one of those triple trailer Fed-Ex trucks. It was embarrassing.

All of which makes it about average for the U-Haul fleet, so I will be careful not to complain too much. Thus far, the miles keep passing by as our atlas pages have turned from Idaho to Utah to Colorado. We spent Saturday night visiting some friends in Park City, and got up early this morning and hit the road after a quick stroll down Main Street. The weather has been ideal and today's drive through Moab and the Canyonlands area of Southern Utah brought some spectacular scenery at sunset.

Jen has been battling a brutal head cold since we left, but is still holding tough. We did determine that while the recommended adult dosage for benadryl is 2 tablets, she should stick with a child's portion. =) Let's just say I was happy for satellite radio today, as her conversational contributions were few and far between.

Now down for the night in Durango, Colorado. Had some mighty tasty wings and watched in agony as the Yankees took another step towards having even more cash available to stack their roster. And the Jets lost today, so i am doubly bitter.

Puckett, Jen's dog and our mascot, remains way out in front in MVP voting. Despite his usually playful and rowdy demeanor, he has been amazingly cooperative during the long hours in the car. He did try and drive once, but it was on a straightaway...

Onward to New Mexico tomorrow, though we haven't quite chosen our route yet. Talk of going to Carlsbad Caverns, but it is starting to look a bit far out of the way. Besides, it's just a really deep hole in the ground, right?

Hope everyone had both tricks and treats. Will try to post again soon.

bg

Quick Getaway

2009-10-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

Had the chance to steal away last Thursday for a quick trip up to Missoula, Montana, a five hour road trip that includes two beautiful mountain passes and mile after winding mile of the pristine Salmon River. In the shadow of changing seasons and our first snowfall, the scenery was truly breathtaking. The highlight was undoubtedly Trail Creek Road, a 35 mile stretch that crosses Trail Creek Summit and passes through the rugged and remote Pioneer Mountains, connecting Sun Valley with the Lost River Range, home to some of Idaho’s highest peaks, including Mt. Borah, tallest in the state at 12,668 feet.

This is a badly rutted, unpaved road that is closed for much of the season due to heavy snow, and is flat out dangerous when it is actually open. Muddy conditions, sheer cliff drop offs, blind corners, wandering cattle, basketball sized debris… all of which is compounded by the relentless desire to pull your eyes off the road and take in the scenery.

The Devils Bedstead, Pioneer Mountains, elev. 11,865 ft.

The fresh dusting of snow brought out color and contrast across the landscape, and I must have stopped a half dozen times to get out, snap a photo and take in the show. There was an eerie calm, and you could almost feel summer giving way to fall, with winter scratching at its heels. I have never witnessed three seasons colliding with such grace and certainty.

First snow at Summit Creek, Trail Creek Pass

I doubt you will find its attributes published in any travel guide, but let me assure you this is one of the most beautiful stretches of American by-way that you could ever drive.

In other news, let me take a moment to give a big pat on the back to the members of the Salmon Police Department, who put the icing on what was already a fantastic road trip.

While heading home on the winding road from Lost Trail Summit in Montana towards Salmon, Idaho, I was first tailgated and then passed, on a blind corner no less, by a black lexus SUV who seemed to have little regard for his safety or mine. I have been tailgated before, and passed before, but this was one of the most brazen moves I have ever been involved with.

So you can imagine my joy as I rounded the bend into the town of Salmon to see the flashing blue lights and hoping…fingers crossed…jackpot!! Two cop cars had him yanked over to the side of the road, and from where I was sitting, the conversation didn’t appear to be going well. I smiled the rest of the trip home. --bg

Snow. Really? It's only September!

2009-09-30T13:17:00.000-07:00

Since it is snowing sideways right now (yes, on September 30th), I am daydreaming about warmer temps. I guess it is a good thing that it will be summer when we head south. The word on the street is that if you don't like the weather here in Sun Valley just wait 10 minutes....I am still waiting. I promptly took the P-man to daycare at lunch because this ninny ain't gettin' out in that stuff to walk him after work. i know better by now. A fire and a glass of wine is calling my name....oh, and Wheel of Fortune.

So, in honor of our warmer days, I am going to post some pictures of the rating trip several of us took earlier this summer. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think it was so warm that day. I believe the water was around 50 degrees. But there is nothing that several beers and a hot springs wont cure......so we did just that.

This trip was on the South Fork of the Payette on a Sunday in early August. www.payetterivercompany.com

Lunch Break!

Forging the rapids.

All forward!

We almost lost Brian and Cam on this one.....
and don't worry. I've got the cooler.

Erin and I in the back.
Brian and Billy in the middle and
newlyweds Annie and Cam in the front.

Visas, Avocados and Adams Gulch

2009-09-29T13:14:00.000-07:00

Seasons changed rather abruptly here in Sun Valley last night, as platinum blue gave way to dull gray, and 80 degree daily highs were quickly shaved in half. Must mean its time to get serious about leaving town. Just 30 days til we hit the road. What started as a far flung dream over several bottles of wine is now almost close enough to touch.

Tonight we have to get serious about crossing our first big hurdle... securing a visa for Brazil (our point of arrival). We have been trying for a month in vain. If only we could convince an employee of the Brazilian consulate in LA to respond to an email, pick up a phone call, let in the carrier pigeon, acknowledge the smoke signals, whatever. We would settle for a janitor, so that we were at least convinced there is such a thing as the Brazilian consulate in Los Angeles. We thought tourism was down and they might like some of our money... but we must be wrong.

So tonight is a quick hike out Adams with Puckett, the team mascot, followed by the finest in poor man's cuisine- turkey tacos. It has become a staple and a favorite of late, and even though saving pennies is a priority, we might have to splurge for some fresh avocado. Ain't life grand...

Puckett soaks up the rays at Yellowbelly Lake in the White Cloud Mountains.