Intermission

This post comes to you from a wholly nondescript internet cafe in the basement of the bus terminal in Santiago, Chile. We just booked our tickets for La Serena, which is a coastal town about seven hours north of here. The bus leaves in an hour and a half, which leaves us with a not-so-rare bit of free time.

Dylan has chosen to spend his time researching Brazilian soccer stars. As a matter of fact, he has recently declared his intent to become a full-fledged soccer fan. All he needs to do, according to him, is pick a team. I don't have the stomach to talk with him about it.

As the culmination of our long-standing bet with Kelsey regarding the availibility of good seafood in Santiago, we went to the Mercado Central for lunch today, which is essentially a giant produce and fish market that happens to house a few restaurants. Unfortunately, the lines of communication between the two of us and Kelsey broke down, so she wasn't able to join us.

The smell of fish overwhelms you upon entering, just before you are overwhelmed all over again by the army of waiters and hosts clamoring for your attention, explaining to you why their particular restaurant - with the same prices and menu as all the others - is vastly superior. To make things even more comfortable for the modern American traveler, all these salesmen have learned just enough English to cross the line from being interesting, if loud, elements of a foreign experience to being unreservedly obnoxious pests. Once we finally selected one of the cheaper-looking establishments, I proceeded to look at a menu I did not understand. Well, let me rephrase. I wanted steamers. You know, steamed littleneck clams - in their shells - with melted butter to dip them in. I basically tried to import that dish on the spot, and I thought I had gotten my point across to the waitress when she left the table with a smile. What I got in return was a bowl of cold clam soup complete with a pound of scallions and a liter of lemon juice. It was, in a word, terrible. After pretending I liked it for five minutes, including twice confirming to the waitress that "¡si, me gusta mucho!", I made a desperate confession to Dylan, who just looked at me and, even after tasting my dish and agreeing that it was terrible, had no suggestion as to what I should do. To sum up, I didn't eat lunch today. Dylan loved his meal, though, so we still win the bet.

Our food fare yesterday was not especially noteworthy, although, feeling incredibly lazy, we did have our quiet night punctuated by a dinner of two medium pizzas and a 2-liter bottle of Coke at the Chilean equivalent of Dominos (except way better than Dominos).

The most remarkable thing about yesterday was San Cristobal, which is a giant hill in the middle of Santiago and home to the famous statue of the Virgin Mary that overlooks the city. We took an acensore (think poor man's ski lift) to the top of the hill that I would charitably describe as "rickity". The view from the top, though, was really something to see. Urban sprawl for as far as the eye can see, all surrounded by a thick ring of pollution (which I noted was mostly concentrated at the exact altitude of the top of the hill we were on). Beyond the sprawl and the smog are mountains, mountains, and more mountains in every direction. Some are nothing but grey rock and white snow, others nothing but lush, verdant monuments to nature's dominance over even the most impressive of human cities. We sat on the top of the hill in the shadow of the statute for a good while, until the cold wind became too much to justify staying to watch a rather disappointing sunset.

Leaving Santiago, we note that this is the last real city we'll see until we reach Lima at the end of our journey. The rest of our trip will be made of mountain towns and, when those are unavailable, just the mountains themselves. I am essentially more of a city person than a mountain person, and so it won't surprise me if, in four weeks, I find that I enjoyed the first four more than the second. That being said, the next four weeks will be unlike any others in my life and I can hardly wait to get on with them.

Not quite the meaning of life, but close enough

First, I have to say for the record that I have no memory of creating the previous post. I was apparently far more inebriated than I thought coming back from that club at 3am.

Second, I hope you'll all join me in a unified front against the kind of self-aggrandizing nonsense that we saw in Dylan's Valparaiso post. The meal we had on a small side street there was indeed one of the most interesting dining experiences of my life. With food as beautiful as it was delicious and noteworthy company to say the least, it was certainly unforgettable. That being said, Dylan's post was still disgusting, even as it admirably described a truly amazing city.

We're in Santiago now, and I think we've been pleasantly surprised so far. We had a productive day, managing to get our laundry done, changing our return flights to the states to July 27 instead of August 5, and even each getting much-needed haircuts. Best of all, we met back up with Kelsey, whom we had originally met during our second stint in Buenos Aires and who is proving to be outstanding company. The three of us toured the main areas in the middle of the city, had an overpriced lunch of, essentially, steak and eggs, and managed to secure some gelato on the way back. We're planning to meet her and some of her friends tonight to go salsa dancing. Ha. This night will likely include several pisco sours.

I've been keeping a separate, hard copy journal along with this blog. The entries in the journal are certainly more personal in nature, but it's not really a diary or anything like that. I think it's appropriate, though, to share one thought that I had initially only included in the journal. One reason behind this trip, as I mentioned in the first post, is to provide an opportunity to clear my head before school. I think that part is finally coming to fruition.

I don't think it surprises anyone reading this to hear me admit that I hadn't yet reached a point of complete, unreserved enthusiasm for law school prior to departing for Argentina. I had a moment a few days ago, however, and in that moment, I felt - for the first time - genuine excitement for everything that waits for me upon my return to the US. Part of the standard conversation I've been having with people we've met along the way is describing, basically, what my current life status is. Everyone has a story, and everyone wants to know everyone else's story. The process of describing my story to so many people and hearing their stories has been, on one hand, fascinating, and on the other, highly instructive and revealing. And quite useful to me. I've finally reached a level of comfort with my plans that had been worryingly absent for some time.

God knows where we were ten minutes ago

At some club near the water in Valparaiso. After making complete fools of ourselves in front of the locals as well as this pair of British chicks who are staying at our hostel but who waited until 20 minutes ago - at the club - to inform us that they were spoken for, we have opted for bed. At least I have. Dylan has ostensibly opted to determine from Ximena, our host (who is absent at this hour), where the best action is on Wednesday night and to then go to wherever that may be. However, as I write this, he may well be passed out in bed upstairs.

A friend of mine once asked, rhetorically, what the purpose of traveling abroad was since "all you do is find out how much better America is at everything". It's easy to scoff at that kind of remark, and I do scoff at it. At the same time, I wouldn't exactly object to a brief dose of Americana right about now, especially in the form of a late-night chocolate milkshake and french toast Scotchwood diner run. Mmm.

Let There be Fish

This one comes to you from Valparaiso, Chile. While I would like to write more fully about the last couple of days, I regret to inform you that the keyboard I'm using here is more appropriately classified as "broken" than "not broken".

We're in country number three on our expedition, and Dylan is beside himself with joy at not having to walk through any more cities with "leaves and nice plazas". Instead, we now get to spend our days doing advanced cardio exercise, walking up hills that are, in my view, wholly unsuitable for building any of the thousands of vibrantly colorful houses that line the cobblestone streets in this delightfully decrepit city.

Walking next to Dylan, who was practically orgasming at every turn today, we've already explored much of the western half of the city, which is marked by over two dozen cerros, or hills, of various height. There are lifts - or, when lifts are not available, very long sets of stairs that are reminiscent, to me, of the Exorcist stairs in Georgetown - that bring you up to the top of the various hills for one unreal scenic overlook after another.

We've already had two very good seafood meals in this country, out of a total of two meals. It's not that we're trying to prove anyone wrong, but let's face it - this country is famous for it's God-damned fish and we're going to eat it. I had grilled salmon last night (gotta start easy) and then fried hake today for lunch, which was really about as perfect as fried fish can be.

However long you think this entry has taken me to write, double that number. My patience has been exhausted. Our trip into the country was truly amazing and will be relayed better in pictures than in words, but definitely check out Dylan's post on the topic for some of the more exciting highlights.

EDIT: I neglected to mention our accomodations here. While the hostel on the whole is a pretty cool place, our room has managed to defy reason in one particularly uncomfortable way. It is consistently and significantly colder in our room than the outside air temperature, without the aid of air conditioning. Not a problem, you say? It is when it's 35 degrees out in the morning. In fact, it's still a problem when it's 55 degrees out during the day. It is always freezing. At night, we're now each using a sheet, three blankets, and our sleeping bags.

Also, as Alex would say, this place is dead. I believe we're the only ones here right now, which makes this the third hostel in a row without much in the way of fellow travelers to talk to. And while Dylan and I have been getting along even better than I think either of us expected, it would be nice to have some additional interaction now and then. Finally, the place smells like mildew. Any longer than three days here, and I'd be concerned about asbestos poisoning or something.

Blood, Sweat, and Wine

(I know this post is epically long, but I think you'll find it worth the read)

My ass hurts. A lot.

So yesterday, with much anticipation, we went to Maipú, which is a well-known wine-producing region about 25km outside of Mendoza. I've been pretty excited to get here, as the wine in Mendoza is supposed to be some of the best in the world. After discussing our plans with Gaspar, our hostel host, we agreed to sign up for a deal that included door-to-door transportation from our hostel to a bike-rental place in Maipú as well as all-day rental of a bike, all for ARS$45.

Everything started off well enough, except that it was about 50 degrees outside (a negative 25 degree swing from the beautiful 75 and sunny of Friday). They gave us a map (this little town embraces tourists to the point of designing entire road systems for our benefit) that indicated all of the wineries and other factories (including an olive oil farm and an artisinal chocolate factory) along a 12km stretch of the main street through town.

Predicting the effect of a day of wine-tasting on our motor skills, Dylan suggested that we bike all the way to the end of the 12km road and start our day at the last winery, then work our way back up. I agreed.

Shortly thereafter, we learned that we had rented the worst bicycles ever manufactured. They seemed to be standard 7-gear hybrid bikes perfect for our purposes. However, we soon found out that, even at the highest gear, these bikes required an unprecedented amount of effort to cover ground. By kilometer 3, I felt as though I had been asked to race in the Tour de France without any preparation. I mean any. I don't remember the last time I was on a bike; it was probably at least a year ago when we rented bikes in DC during the summer. And while I have made going to the gym a priority once I get back home, I think it would be a stretch to call me "in shape" these days. Dylan was exerting himself as well, though not quite to my extent. He insisted on reassuring me every kilometer that we were "almost there", as if I had been so debilitated by the cycling that I had forgotten where we were in the world.

I suppose I should make at least brief mention of the scenery, which was quite nice once we got out of the town itself and into the vineyards. Despite the overcast, chilly weather, there were many picturesque stretches of roads and vistas across the fields.

By the grace of God, we made it to our first winery dripping in cold sweat and with my quads and calves filled with what might as well have been molten lava.

Carinae Vineyards is a lovely place with an even lovelier hostess named Noille (we think). She showed the two of us around their bodega, which is what we're calling the room with all the wine in it. Vats, barrels, and bottles galore, all explained in very good English (a trend that would continue in this town).

Then we sat down for our first wine tasting of the day. It was the two of us plus this other pair of guys from Britain. Together, we comprised the most unlikely of wine tasting audiences. Four straight guys from the US and UK, aged 23-27, each arrived via rented bicycle. As Noille poured and explained each of three wines, it was all I could do not to break into hysteria at the sight of us. After each one, she would look at us, waiting for our comments. All Brit #1 could muster was that the Malbec was "good". At one point, I commented on the viscosity of one of the wines, though I was later informed that viscosity is generally not considered in the evaluation of wine by anyone who has any degree of competence.

Having embarrassed ourselves enough for one place, we headed across the street for the next place, an olive oil factory named Laur. As I mounted my bike, I realized exactly how demonic these things really were. Having been previously preoccupied with simply managing to turn the pedals, I had neglected to notice up to this point just how uncomfortable my bike's seat was. I'm talking active discomfort - what many would call "pain". The lengthy ride to the end of town had ... bruised, shall we say ... my rear end to the point where any contact with the seat necessitated the same grimace one might use upon being struck with a hot cattle prod on the site of an open wound.

So we learned about olive oil production, tasted some olive oil, then started the ride back. We would eventually stop at a two additional wineries along the way, the first being a really cool, old place that's been around since the mid 1800's, the second being a really lame, old place that now also fuctions as a museum to old tools for all sorts of trades, from the look of it. There was no guide and no explanations in the museum, so Dylan and I were left to surmise for ourselves the meaning of all of it.

My ass pain was so acute on the ride back that I needed to stop and walk my bike for several stretches. Dylan would ride ahead and wait for me at the next spot. It was on one of these walking stretches that I was nearly killed.

As I walked along a wide earthen path between the paved road and the small houses that lined one side of the road (unending vineyards occupying the entirety of the other side of the road), I encountered three dogs. Those who have been reading along with Dylan and I know that stray dogs run rampant in this country, although we had yet to meet any that were at all aggressive. That all changed yesterday. The lead dog appeared to be a German Shepard, followed by two smaller, but still sizeable, mutts. As I noticed them, they were on a driveway to my right, about 80 feet ahead of me. As they noticed me, their teeth were bared and they were growling. I continued to walk forward, and then they started taking steps toward me. The dogs knew what was going to happen next as well as I did.

Mounting my bike seamlessly, I started my escape. The dogs bolted for me. Dogs accelerate very quickly, and the German Shepard appeared to understand geometry as well, as he was taking an angle to try to intercept me rather than simply chasing my current location. With my adrenaline in overdrive, my ass pain disappeared, and the lava in my muscles cooled. With the lead dog now less than 20 feet away and closing fast, I swerved left onto the road (no traffic as far as the eye could see, thankfully) and put everything I had into that bicycle. The two mutts having been outmatched, they turned back. Not the German Shepard. Now in full attack mode, he was barking and running at full tilt on a route to intercept. As he closed to within 5 feet, my chances of escape seemed to be about 50/50. I found an extra bit of energy somewhere in me and made a sudden lunge forward. Sensing his opportunity, the dog made his move. He lept on an angle for me, jaw wide open. He nicked the edge of my rear tire, but not enough to make me fall.

The intensity of the chase had left him without enough energy to engage in a full pursuit, and so it was that I escaped a dog mauling.

Life on the Lam...

...might be cool, but we were actually cleared to go to Mendoza yesterday and I write this post, in fact, from our hostel in Mendoza. Dylan and I have a feeling we're going to like this town a lot. Our bus got in just past 8 am. The sun had just risen and illuminated the mountains that separate the city of Mendoza from all of its famed wine-producing valleys with an awesome array of colors, all through a light morning mist. The air here smells clean, which is a welcome change from both Córdoba and Buenos Aires before that.

We were able to book a twin-private room at this hostel for pretty cheap, meaning we have our own bedroom with two twins and then our own private bathroom. I actually haven't minded being in the dorms, but this is a welcome reprieve from having to walk through the entire hostels to get to the bathroom in the morning. They even have shower curtains.

We've been advised by Gaspar, our host here, that the pass through the Andes that connects Mendoza and Santiago/Valparaiso, Chile - our next destinations - is closed today and tomorrow, and probably Sunday, due to snow. He expects a mad rush for the bus station on Monday, when the weather is expected to allow travel along the pass again. I have a feeling that being stuck in Mendoza drinking fine wine is among the fates I am best equipped to handle.

As a final sidenote, I have to admit that my Spanish is not progressing at quite the pace I had hoped for. I think you need to reach a certain threshold in the classroom before you can significantly improve your language skills simply by following along in conversation. Being that I don't even know how to speak in past tense yet, it's quite possible that I haven't reached that threshold.

WANTED

We may or may not be under surveillance by the federal government of Argentina right now. Ever since Dylan went to the hospital (see his post on the subject), his doctors have notified the Ministry of Health and they strongly suggested that they do not want us to leave the city of Córdoba for at least five days, or until Dylan has recovered. Now we recieve daily check-ups by phone to determine our location and Dylan's status.

This city is beautiful, though I have to say that the stray dog situation here is close to out of control. I have seen no fewer than three pairs of dogs shagging away in the middle of streets and crowded pedestrian areas. And today, sitting on the steps of the cathedral next to Plaza San Martín, I watched one particular horndog make propositions to every dog of every gender he could find, getting rejected every time until he finally just went to sleep.

When the authorities permit us, we'll be moving on to Mendoza, where we will drink lots of wine.

Also, I have to say, I'm not sure which one of us is more pretentious based on the book each of us is reading. I'm reading Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls and Dylan is reading a book by Franklin Foer called How Soccer Explains the World. We are so cool.

Things we do better in the United States

1) Napkins. Here, they use the same stuff they use to make coffee filters. You must use at least ten, and even then they don't perform the traditional function of the napkin, i.e. to absorb or pick up residue, but instead, by using them in sufficient volume, you can eventually push the residue off your hands and face. Misses the point.

2) Bathrooms. Showers without curtains in the middle of tiny bathrooms are just dumb. Very wet.

3) Commercials. Terrible.

4) Small change. So hard to find that you must horde any you manage to collect until usage is absolutely essential. Taxi drivers, stores, cashiers, and restaurants all routinely refuse to provide change of ARS$100 bills, which is all that the ATMs will dispense. Then they refuse to change ARS$50 bills, which is less than US$15. And they give you dirty looks if you try to pay for something with a bill worth more than 10% more than the price of the item. Infuriating.

Picture test

I´m just trying out the photo uploading system here. This is a picture of the public bus that took us into Buenos Aires on the first day.

At some point I will figure out how I want to share the rest of the pictures, although I´ve been letting Dylan and Alex take the lion´s share of the photos so far.

And the "as-yet undetermined location" is...

Cordoba! We leave this morning on a 10-hour bus ride for Cordoba, Argentina's second city nearly due west of Buenos Aires. I'm a little sad to see BA go, as we've had about as good a beginning to this trip as I could have asked for. However, only 12 days down and 51 to go, so we have plenty more food, wine, and friends left to go.

Buenos Aires Strikes Again

It was interesting coming back to BA from Montevideo. Arriving at Hostel Estoril felt vaguely like coming home, and Buenos Aires is definitely a city that makes you feel comfortable. There's a cafe up the block that we've already been to at least 4 or 5 times; the wait staff recognizes us and we're as much regulars as we'll be anywhere on this continent.

Thursday night we went on a massive pub crawl with a bunch of other foreigners into the neighborhood of Palermo Viejo. We went to three bars and a nightclub. As testimony to our skill at navigating cities, the three of us had actually already been to one of the bars (where Dylan hit on the old woman) and the nightclub (Club Araoz). Porteños if I ever saw them, we are. Pub crawls are exercizes in pacing yourself, and we did very well. We got very drunk, met a ton of people, and then Dylan and I left Alex to his own devices again when we went home at 5 while he stayed out til the sun came up .

We had brought along a new friend, Kelsey, who we met at the hostel. She's 27, Iowan (Iowanese?), exceedingly cute, and about two inches too tall. Nevertheless, she's been awesome company and the two of us actually wound up having dinner Friday night. I'm a big fan. She's been claiming incessently - at first in earnest, subsequently as a means of infuriating me and Dylan - that the food in Chile is terrible, and in fact the cuisine revolves solely around hotdogs and hamburgers. She's been studying in Santiago for three weeks, and claims to have never met a Chileno who mentioned any type of seafood as a part of their diet. Dylan and I are due to arrive in Santiago for a three night stay on June 25. We will meet up with Kelsey and we will have seafood and it will be delicious and Kelsey will be wrong.

Friday night we saw a tango show. Except it was horrible. Well, I'm too harsh. The dancing was good, and the singing was fine, but we made the obvious and very embarrassing error of just going to whatever place caught our eye on our street. Touristy is wholly insufficient to convey just how tacky and corny this show was. Kelsey, I think, got the closest by calling it "a huge ball of cheese." Everything from the lights and the announcer to the forced audience participation was so obviously designed to satisfy gringos' stereotypical expectations. We were intensely disappointed with ourselves, more so after we had to endure the entire production without an opportunity to leave after we foolishly chose to sit right next to the stage (I believe my words at the beginning were "What great seats!"). Upside is that I now have a ridiculous picture of myself "dancing" with a tango dancer.

Then we went bowling, which was hilarious. It was Dylan, me, Kelsey, and Erez and Madi, who were friends of friends of Kelsey's. In front of these people, Dylan rolled what may have been the two most amusing games of bowling I've ever been a party to. His first three frames yielded a total of five points. He threw several gutterballs in succession on multiple occasions, with many rolls sent on such bizarre trajectories that they barely made it five feet down the lane before slamming into the edge. Those of you who have played Wii Bowling may be familiar with an annoying thing that happens sometimes when you let go of the ball too early: the ball drops to the floor with a thud during your backswing (before bringing the ball forward to release it, that is). Yep, Dylan did that too, causing all of us and four lanes of strangers next to us to break into uncontrolled hysteria. Final scores? A 43 and a 55. For the record, my amazing 105 was good enough for the win on the second game.

Last night, after having some amazing pizza from El Cuartito, which we ate on a urine-stained ledge in a nearby park, we went out for another Pub Crawl, this one in San Telmo. The bars we went to were actually pretty awesome places, but the vibe was just not there for me. Dylan left after the first bar, feeling sick (he's now recovering from a fever). I left after the third bar, feeling bored (or unsatisfied with any of the non-Kelsey options... you choose). And Alex left from the club, with a girl in tow, and proceeded to bring her back to the hostel for a two-hour makeout session in the bed under mine which I miraculously slept through all of.

Alex leaves us today, which means we can stop spending so much money. Dylan and I are in BA until tomorrow morning, when we head west to an as-yet undetermined location.

"It's like they took Paris and fucked it up."

This is my paraphrase of Alex's summation of Montevideo. I disagree. This is actually a beautiful city, if a little rough around the edges. OK, a lot rough around the edges. But still, the people couldn't be nicer here, and we've again had several top shelf meals. Granted, the National History Museum was possibly the most boring, stupid museum I've ever been in, but that's the difference between free museums in the United States and free museums in Uruguay.

One of the most difficult things in this country is the pace at which they speak Spanish. It is one of the fastest in the world, and it has made keeping up something of a challenge (even more than usual, that is). We took a tour of Teatro Solis, which is a beautiful mixed-use theater in the Old City. The English tour was UR$40, or about $1.80 (I'll let Peter fact-check that). The Spanish tour was free. We obviously took the Spanish tour. Partly due to complete indifference as to what he was saying and partly due to his unbelievably rapid speech, I don't really know anything about Teatro Solis that I didn't know before the tour. I just nodded and walked, nodded and walked.

Dylan and I have agreed that we need to bring down the pace of spending a little bit. Sr. Gallo is, understandably, much more willing to spend the extra buck in any given situation since he's only in SA for a total of ten days. Dylan and I are significantly over our daily expenditure target, though we think we can bring it back down easily once we get out of BA and start cooking a few meals at hostels every once in a while.

Dylan and Alex are getting ready, then we're taking a 3-hour hydrofoil across the river back to BA. We'll be in BA through Monday morning (Alex says goodbye Sunday afternoon), and then we head west toward Cordoba.

"It's like a barbeque in my mouth!"

So said Alex, referring to a particularly amazing chorizo (sausage) that we ordered in Tigre, which is a suburb of Buenos Aires. The amount of beef we've consumed on a daily basis has been truly out of control.

I'm writing this update from a horribly slow computer at the hostel in Montevideo, Uruguay. This hostel is fine, but I'm not running back to it. We're in our first 8-bed room, and all of the beds appeared to be occupied by a variety of vagrants and sketchy miscreants, including some Japanese-Brazilian hybrid that does nothing but stare at the television and talk to some bald dude who's way too old to be here. It's all the stranger because they insist on sharing (in an otherwise empty lobby) a loveseat meant for either two very skinny people or one very fat person, and the hybrid is sitting with his legs crossed and his back against the arm of the seat, facing the old man, who is positioned normally on the seat but is what Seinfeld would call a "close talker". It's all rather ambiguous.

We were in Colonia, Uruguay yesterday and today. I really love that town. The history, the buildings, the streets, the food, everything about it. Our hostel was really nice, with actually hot water (!), and we met a bunch of cool people there. There was a fourth guy in our room named Michael from South Africa. He's white, and felt compelled to explain to us all the reasons he wasn't racist (including some horrifically graphic, actually very disturbing anecdotes about some of the more severe violence in Johannesburg). We met Aliana, who was kind of cute and fun, but more crazy and even more spoiled. The girl has lived in Mexico City, Buenos Aires, Boston, Austin, Houston, and elsewhere, all within the last like two years. We also met Chris (female), who is quiet, tall, Belgian, and almost definitely lesbian.

In Colonia, we had our best meal of the trip so far at a restaurant called El Porton. For the equivalent of $12, I ordered Lomo de Champaignon, which was essentially two rare 10 oz beef tenderloins covered in a champagne-based sauce. It was so good, we had to go back today for lunch so that Dylan and Alex could order the same thing. It was so good, I had to order it again too.

We also went to the casino in town last night, which was obviously deserted due to it being Monday night in the lowest of the low season. However, with a crew of 7 hostelers at my back, I sat down at the roulette table (after losing $70 at blackjack), and proceeded to win back all my money and then some - in front of a live audience! Those who know me know that I thrive in such situations (that one's for you, Chrissy). It was an absolute blast.

Before lunch today, however, we talked with Aliana and Chris and decided we wanted to check out the northern part of town - basically, the entire beachfront. To do this, we rented one golf cart and one dune buggy. One of those vehicles was really fun to drive around town. One of them was not. I don't believe the golf cart broke 13 mph, while the dune buggy was easily getting up to 35-40, which, on these roads and in that vehicle, which had dangerously little in the way of protective equipment, and especially compared to the golf cart, felt like a goddamned Ferrari. It was a little foggy out today (Dylan was concerned that the fog might obscure his vision and cause him to careen into the ocean), but we got the idea and really, the driving was the fun part anyway.

I seriously want a vacation home in Colonia some day. Or at the very least, I want to stay at the Sheraton situated on this perfect little extension of beachfront all the way at the end of town.

I'm missing a couple of decent little stories from our last day in BA and then Tigre. I may or may not write about them myself. In the event that I don't, I encourage anyone reading this to check out Dylan's account of those at his blog.

Finally, they use different electrical outlet configurations in this country than in Argentina. As a result, my phone is dead. Anyone who has tried to call me or text me since Saturday, nothing personal. I'll recharge in BA on Thursday. I get free incoming calls from the states! Just dial 011-54-9-11-5651-3785.

"I knew you were American because you smiled at me"

This is what a cute American girl from Chicago says to me on the subway. She hasn't been smiled at on the streets in eight months in BA, according to her. We are skeptical.

So we're slowly waking up this morning after staying out until 5 or 6 last night at a club, Club Araoz. By the time we got into the damn place, we were next to sober. We were absolutely the only Americans in the place. To Dylan's credit, he was pretty good about talking to people, and they were universally nice to us. As for me, I generally dislike clubs when everyone speaks English; when nobody speaks English and I'm not quite there with the Spanish yet, they become strictly exercises in bearing discomfort. There was certainly no shortage of chicas lindas, though, so maybe next weekend when we come back I'll work up a little more courage.

We also went to El Museo de Arte Decorativo yesterday, which is in a very pretty part of town near the Japanese Garden. We took a guided tour in Spanish; our tour guide was very gentle with us. Dylan and Alex claim to have understood more than 90% of what she was saying, which is about how much I usually understand from a tour guide in the US. I was probably closer to 50%, which was still pretty kickass for only having started to learn Spanish in late March.

Dinner was Italian food last night - really really good Italian food in Plaza Serrano, which is allegedly a really hip part of town in the barrio of Palermo Viejo. We tried hard to find a good bar to chill at, but all we managed to find was a 50 year old Chilean woman whom Dylan insisted on hitting on in front of her two very pretty daughters. I think we were looking for American-style bars that were super crowded with very large actual bars. What we found were places with small bars but lots of tables. Alex and Dylan refused to accept my theory that there were no American style bars, so we just kept looking and looking until we finally cabbed it over to the nightclub in Barrio Norte.

We've developed a great general schedule here. Wake up at 11. Chill at the hostel for a while, on the internet, discussing plans. Head out to do something touristy during the day, then go to one of the millions of cafes in this city at around 4 for a glass of wine or cup of coffee and lunch. Head back to the hostel around 6. Nap from 7-9. Have a drink at the hostel and talk to our fellow hostelers for a while, then dinner at 1030-11, and then whatever follows until whenever we make it back. I could get used to it.

Buenos Dias, Buenos Aires

Banking left out of the Santiago airport en route to Buenos Aires, in front of the sunrise and above the clouds, there is a breathtaking view of the Andes. It's nearly impossible to tell where the mountains stop and the clouds begin. That was how this day started.

We got into BA just fine, easily secured our bags, and made our way to the hostel via public bus. It took more than two hours, but only cost ARS$2, or about $0.80. We got to see a wide range of outside areas along the way, including what appeared to be impoverished farming areas, upscale residential neighborhoods, and everything in between. We were moderately proud of ourselves for finding the initial bus stop and managing to get off at the right stop. It has given us a sense of confidence that the city is do-able.

After settling in and taking a much-needed shower, we walked off to La Plaza de Mayo (May Square), which houses some of BA's most recognizable landmarks, including La Casa Rosada. After some brief people-watching, we walked off in the general direction of Avenida Corrientes and Calle Florida. Calle Florida is a very long, completely pedestrian street that is home to everything from run-of-the-mill trinket peddlers to large upscale shopping malls. We stopped at a dime-a-dozen cafe in what seemed to be BA's financial district and ordered what might be some of the most delicious margherita pizza in the world along with our first bottle of malbec. (Dylan thinks that you can't eat pizza with your hands in this country. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I went along with it for the moment. We're still awaiting confirmation.)

We then walked over to El Obelisco and took in the amazing sight that is Avenida 9 de Julio, which is - according to Dylan - the widest non-highway road in the world. After returning to the hostel for a much needed siesta and a drink with some of our fellow mochileros (backpackers), Dylan and I went in search of our first Argentine steak.

We decided to go to the barrio (neighborhood) of San Telmo, where one of our hostel hosts had identified a few good restaurants. Walking through what seemed like an endless series of semi-deserted, very residential streets, we finally got to San Telmo, which was itself most deserted at 10:00pm. Dylan and I assumed we were a little early for dinner, but were hungry enough to not care. We chose a place on the corner of Calles Chile y Defensa, right in the heart of the barrio. Really cool looking bar called Bar Seddon, which advertised all the right food outside at decent prices. Another bottle of malbec, and we both ordered bife de chorizo, which is your standard BA sirloin steak, con papas.

I'm sorry to report that this first steak was a bit of a letdown. The gristle in the first bite took about 10 minutes to chew through. The flavor would charitably be described as "interesting". We concluded that we will simply disregard this meal in our evaluation of Argentine steak. Tomorrow night, we'll look to go to a legit steakhouse and give it a fresh start. What was amazing was the postre (dessert) I ordered afterwards. BA-style Dutch apple pie. Unreal.

We were further disappointed when our plans to stay out late to enjoy the nightlife were foiled by a complete lack of attendance in the area we were in. By 1am, almost the entire area was fully deserted. We think it's possible that everyone was hiding and waiting to come out later, although nothing about the situation indicated that any sort of activity was pending. I'm now back at the hostel, heading to bed in a few. We'll meet up with Alex in the morning and really get into gear.

Major upside to the day is that my Spanish is already getting better, mostly through increased confidence in using it. I ordered at all the restaurants we went to and managed to get us through just fine.

We made it

Just a very quick update to confirm that we made it to BA safe and sound. This hostel is incredible. They have a 24/7 bar. And the room we had originally booked is currently adjacent to ongoing, very loud construction, so the management moved us to a larger, cheaper room upstairs (6 beds instead of 4), that will be private until the last day of our stay, when two girls will be moving in. Life is hard sometimes.

I'll try to get in a better update later today.

Now that I have a blog title...

It's mildly embarrassing to admit that I struggled to come up with a title for this blog for the better part of a week. Having settled on this masterpiece, I can finally get to the important business of introducing this blog and beginning to document my suddenly interesting life, at least for the next nine weeks.

For those who may have stumbled across this blog without a direct invitation, allow me a brief introduction of the author. I'm a 23 year old American, I just left my very boring desk job yesterday, and tomorrow night I'm leaving on a jet plane for Buenos Aires with a very good friend (for now), Dylan.

We will be traipsing around the South American continent - including stops in Argentina, Uruguay, Chile and Peru - looking for lost cities, pretty girls, and the meaning of life. If that all sounds a little cliche, that's because it is. But it's almost definitely better than what you're doing this summer.

GW Law School waits for me in August, and I hope to use this trip as a final chance to clear my mind before embracing the very demanding stage of my life that comes next.

As you might expect, this blog will be both a travel journal and a personal journal. I will endeavor to keep the material at least mildly interesting to those following along, but I hope you'll forgive me if I start to wander off now and then.

My next update will be from Argentina. If you're wondering, mi espanol esta mejorando, pero es basico todavia. Lo estudio desde Marzo con unas clases sobre mi iPhone. Espero que no me averguenze demasiado.