Tuesday, September 16, 2008
rasta!rasta!
There is no shortage of creativity found in the Buenos Aires hairstyle department. It's incredible, the way these Argentinos sport the dos...especially when it comes to the "rastas"- Argentine for "dreadlocks". Whether it's five dreadies shooting straight out the back of a shaved cabeza, or one lone dread running the span of one's back, I find myself intrigued, and yeah, one might say a bit inspired. I don't think I personally could rock the lock, but hey, to those who can...cheers to you!
Saturday, September 6, 2008
mendoza: storms of dirt n' ice
I do consider myself a positive individual, but there are times on ones journey when things, well, they just suck. The whole being optimistic bit- you just have to fess up, face the facts, and drop it :) ... a good sense of humor being an absolute must. Last week upon our reuniting w/Brit and Erasmo in Mendoza, things just weren't happening for us. I had had high hopes for this last minute escape from the city. We were going to the the highly raved about wine country of Argentina, and clearly, we would be sipping wine at the foot of the Andes...
The city of Mendoza? I'm gonna have to go ahead and say it was 'okay'. No sparks, none at all. Some might say a little 'blah'. It did feel good to lounge in the sunshine at the park, and her tree-lined streets and plazas were pleasant, but I'm going to stick with 'ehh' to sum up my thoughts. Most travelers stay in Mendoza and then pack their days full of activity in the surrounding area- rafting, hiking, wining, and the likes. I suppose the first of our comical run-ins with disaster came on our "bikes n' wine tour" in Maipu. With Napa Valley in mind, we were picturing rolling vineyards, a charming country road, perhaps a crisp breeze wafting through...but I am assuming we came in the off season, because no era asi. I found Maipu to be a bit of a dumpy town, not the most attractive of places...and the neverending whistles from the male population was out of control. The majority of our 'wine tour' was set along the towns main drag- semitrucks and beat up roadsters blowing past we pedaling foreigner, creating some serious hot exhaust-debris inhalation. Not your healthiest bike ride. I must say though that the road did become more charming as we got farther and farther from town- as can be seen in the first few photos below. But don't be fooled...one bodega was perched right behind a gas station.
On our return trek, the scorching skies decided to deliver a windstorm of sorts, picking up all of the dust and dirt from Maipu's sunbaked tierra and lofting it about. Have you ever seen the movie Twister? Yeah, like that. Trash filled skies, alarms being sounded, branches falling on the unlucky (Brit being one of them)...oh it was madness. Biking in such conditions wasn't the most pleasant experience, as ones vision was entirely impaired and lungs were filled with the grit of a city whose name sounds like "my poo". We were basically in the dustbowls of Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath.
Back at the hostel in Mendoza, we thought, "We've gotta get out of here..." and after a few hours of indecisiveness, we jumped on the 2:30am bus and headed for the peaks of Las Leñas. And the story goes something like this: After scanty sleep, we arrive at the mountain at 7am. Snow is dumping. Brit and Erasmo are sick. Colleen is in a cotton dress. And I, well I don't love cold weather. Can we say, unprepared? Now, we can't afford to stay at the resort-esque hotels that lie at the base of the slopes, so we are without a place to go...and oh yeah, the bus that heads down the mountain and to Malargüe (where we will find a cheap hostel)- it doesn't leave till 5:30pm. Perfect. Our homeless, entirely ill-prepped for the snow day consists of four tired and hungry haggards hanging in a ritzy hotel lodge, riding the transit bus around, and dropping a ridiculous amount of plata on a measly bfast...and with loads of time to kill, thinking the whole time "Please don't kick us out..." Brit and Ras, who are really not feeling so hot (and with 6 hours until that bus departure) think it best to find lodging, and so after a few hours of catching up on shut eye in their room, Col and I bajar the mountain and head straight for Malargüe...
Now I have never been to Fargo, North Dakota, but Malargüe certainly brought up images of those stretches of nothingness from the movie entitled Fargo. Let's just say there wasn't a whole lot going on in the town I renamed 'Malargo'. As we wandered her frozen streets in search for a decent meal, we thought, "Where are we right now?" As you might guess, we never found that decent meal...and the hostel? "Ehh." The laughter was uncontrolable...both of us in that hysterically negative, make fun of everything mode...the decor of the hostel taking the major verbal beating- a given though, as it resembled a nursery school slash cafe, with a tumbleweed of monstrous proportions perched above the entrance armoir. The following day we packed up and headed back up the mountain to meet up with Brit and Ras. As Brit was still pretty beat, and as I wasn't dying to ski nor throw tons of money down for a few hours on the slopes, we kicked back in their toasty room while Col and Erasmo rocked the mountain (this, of course, came after 2 hours of frustrating haggle with the skipass grinch who wouldn't accept Col's voucher...never fails.) And so...the story ends. We parted ways once again and Col and I jumped on our lengthy bus ride back home to Buuuenos Aiiiiires...hallelujah.
The city of Mendoza? I'm gonna have to go ahead and say it was 'okay'. No sparks, none at all. Some might say a little 'blah'. It did feel good to lounge in the sunshine at the park, and her tree-lined streets and plazas were pleasant, but I'm going to stick with 'ehh' to sum up my thoughts. Most travelers stay in Mendoza and then pack their days full of activity in the surrounding area- rafting, hiking, wining, and the likes. I suppose the first of our comical run-ins with disaster came on our "bikes n' wine tour" in Maipu. With Napa Valley in mind, we were picturing rolling vineyards, a charming country road, perhaps a crisp breeze wafting through...but I am assuming we came in the off season, because no era asi. I found Maipu to be a bit of a dumpy town, not the most attractive of places...and the neverending whistles from the male population was out of control. The majority of our 'wine tour' was set along the towns main drag- semitrucks and beat up roadsters blowing past we pedaling foreigner, creating some serious hot exhaust-debris inhalation. Not your healthiest bike ride. I must say though that the road did become more charming as we got farther and farther from town- as can be seen in the first few photos below. But don't be fooled...one bodega was perched right behind a gas station.
On our return trek, the scorching skies decided to deliver a windstorm of sorts, picking up all of the dust and dirt from Maipu's sunbaked tierra and lofting it about. Have you ever seen the movie Twister? Yeah, like that. Trash filled skies, alarms being sounded, branches falling on the unlucky (Brit being one of them)...oh it was madness. Biking in such conditions wasn't the most pleasant experience, as ones vision was entirely impaired and lungs were filled with the grit of a city whose name sounds like "my poo". We were basically in the dustbowls of Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath.
Back at the hostel in Mendoza, we thought, "We've gotta get out of here..." and after a few hours of indecisiveness, we jumped on the 2:30am bus and headed for the peaks of Las Leñas. And the story goes something like this: After scanty sleep, we arrive at the mountain at 7am. Snow is dumping. Brit and Erasmo are sick. Colleen is in a cotton dress. And I, well I don't love cold weather. Can we say, unprepared? Now, we can't afford to stay at the resort-esque hotels that lie at the base of the slopes, so we are without a place to go...and oh yeah, the bus that heads down the mountain and to Malargüe (where we will find a cheap hostel)- it doesn't leave till 5:30pm. Perfect. Our homeless, entirely ill-prepped for the snow day consists of four tired and hungry haggards hanging in a ritzy hotel lodge, riding the transit bus around, and dropping a ridiculous amount of plata on a measly bfast...and with loads of time to kill, thinking the whole time "Please don't kick us out..." Brit and Ras, who are really not feeling so hot (and with 6 hours until that bus departure) think it best to find lodging, and so after a few hours of catching up on shut eye in their room, Col and I bajar the mountain and head straight for Malargüe...
Now I have never been to Fargo, North Dakota, but Malargüe certainly brought up images of those stretches of nothingness from the movie entitled Fargo. Let's just say there wasn't a whole lot going on in the town I renamed 'Malargo'. As we wandered her frozen streets in search for a decent meal, we thought, "Where are we right now?" As you might guess, we never found that decent meal...and the hostel? "Ehh." The laughter was uncontrolable...both of us in that hysterically negative, make fun of everything mode...the decor of the hostel taking the major verbal beating- a given though, as it resembled a nursery school slash cafe, with a tumbleweed of monstrous proportions perched above the entrance armoir. The following day we packed up and headed back up the mountain to meet up with Brit and Ras. As Brit was still pretty beat, and as I wasn't dying to ski nor throw tons of money down for a few hours on the slopes, we kicked back in their toasty room while Col and Erasmo rocked the mountain (this, of course, came after 2 hours of frustrating haggle with the skipass grinch who wouldn't accept Col's voucher...never fails.) And so...the story ends. We parted ways once again and Col and I jumped on our lengthy bus ride back home to Buuuenos Aiiiiires...hallelujah.
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