Back in Boston

Well, friends and family, I am back in the lovely US of A. From Rosario, I took the bus down to Buenos Aires, where I stayed a few nights at the same hostel I had been to twice before. It was nice to know some people there, and I also quickly became friends with a few other guests who were listening to reggae music on the patio when I arrived. We made a little family for the weekend. I picked up my new, hideous passport (ugly not for the photo of me but for the horrendous background photos on all of the pages), bought a few cd's and a handful of books (a season of the cartoon Mafalda, a copy of the epic poem Martin Fierro, and stories by Horacio Quiroga), gave away my polyester sleeping bag, said goodbyes, and then left. Simple as that, I suppose. 

I flew to Miami, where I rented a car and drove across the state to visit my grandparents. After so long traveling by bike, I was amazed again by how much distance I can cover with standard transmission and internal combustion. I spent five days with my grandparents, listening to their stories and wisdom, and letting myself be entertained. And then I flew to Boston, where a new phone number was waiting for me, along with the reality that I have to get a job and that I'm going to start forgetting how to speak spanish unless I work hard at retaining it. Yes, it's something of a drag... 

But all hope is not lost, for I know I will return to the open road. This journey has struck a reverberating chord in my soul and filled me with energy and enthusiasm, and I am putting it upon myself to maintain it, as much as is possible. 

Nine Floors Up

I am nine floors above the ground in Rosario, in the apartment of a friend. I met Mariano in Puerto Pyramides a few weeks ago, and he invited me to stay with him on my way to Buenos Aires from Cordoba. I arrived last night.
I suppose, in the interests of chronology, I should recount the tales of my bike tour in the sierras of Cordoba, and of the few nights and days I spent in Rio Cuarto and the capital city of Cordoba. I will do so, but in general, in the last week, I have been feeling rather critical of my own writing, feeling that I am too easily succumbing to the temptation of producing the kind of travel writing I least admire, that of the 'I am so tough' mode. Certainly at times I have felt pretty rugged, and have tried to convey that feeling, but I need to work towards developing another mode. Maybe it's because I left the bike behind, or because I am no longer sleeping in a tent, or because I am leaving the country one week from today, but I am feeling reflective.
Before the bike tour began, I was taken to Rio Cuarto by my friend and was treated tremendously well. I spent one night at the house on his farm, where, like many campos in Argentina in this day and age, they are growing soy. Diego and I spent the night looking at each other's photos of the south, where we had met before. The next day I spent at Alejandro's house, meeting his two daughters, his son, his nephew, his sister, his brother, his brother-in-law, and his mother, who I stayed the night with. Signora de Alonso lives in Rio Cuarto in a lovely old house that serves as the base for her English language school, named for William H. Hudson, an Englishman who lived in Argentina for many years. In English and Castellano we talked about immigration, current politics, literature, history... It was fascinating, and she sent me to bed with two of Hudson's books to read. I fell asleep almost immediately. The next afternoon Alejandro and I set out for the sierras, but this experience, which I was fortunate to have again at the end of my riding, has shown me yet another lens for viewing the places I am getting to know. It really warrants more attention than I am giving it now, but I have a lot to recount.
The bike tour! I spent ten days and nights riding around the sierras, riding anywhere from 30km to 100km or more. The mountains are generally located to the west of the capital, and there are a few ranges and valleys that I was able to explore. I started out with my friend Alejandro, in a Germanic town called Villa General Belgrano, and together we went on a three day circuit into the mountains and then back into the Valle de la Ctalamuchita. We visited La Cumbrecita, Villa Yacanto, Santa Rosa de la Ctalamuchita, and some places in between. It was great to travel with a friend. I went on solo for the week, as my compañero had to go back home to tend to his campo and his family. I struggled some days and coasted on others. I experienced my first flat tire, and then experienced four more on the same inner tube. One of these occurred on an enormously long descent into a valley from a place called Observatorio, and it sent me skidding along the pavement and now I've got some minor road rash to show for it. I bathed in several small rivers, camped at the foot of the tallest mountains in the area (Los Gigantes), pedaled along the road through the Alta Cumbres, peeked into the neighboring province, and met some nice people along the way. I finished by riding back to Rio Cuarto, where I met up with Alejandro and Miguel, another friend I made in the south. After two days of staying at the house of Signora de Alonso, of having an amazing asado at the campo, of returning of the borrowed tent and sleeping bag, of storing my bike somewhere safe, I headed north on the bus towards the capital, Cordoba.
Miguel provided me with a contact in Cordoba, and I spent a few nights at the house of some more friends. A group of brothers and friends, they welcomed me very hospitably. I got to see a bit of the city, bought myself a mini soccer ball to entertain myself now that I am bike-less, and listened to them play and sing folk music. It was pretty fantastic, except for the mosquitoes. (Did you know there's a Dengue epidemic here?)
Last night I came to Rosario by bus and I am admiring my luck at being able to travel among friends. The apartment here is small, but Mariano claims that my imposition is not so significant. It is a wild experience to travel through so varied of landscapes. I am struck by the extent to which the types of houses I have stayed in and the lifestyles of the people I have met have varied. I wonder what consistency I provide, but I am not too preoccupied by it. I just have to come up with ways to repay the kindnesses that are being offered to me.

More photos!

Near the end of the Carreterra Austral, route 7 in Chile, there is this sign. I was loosely traveling with Cyprien, from Marseilles, and the Molina cousins, from Santiago, and we were all together to take this photo. This was the part of the trip where I was riding with about ten other cyclists making roughly the same journey, and feeling good because we were reaching a terminus.



A few days later, I sent my bike across the Lago del Desierto with a gentleman named James, another cyclist, who I decided to call William of Wales before I knew his name. After crossing the lake in the ferry, James of Gales locked my bike to a tree on the other side while I walked around the lake on the trail. I lost the trail twice, one time going far enough off track that I met a construction worker building a private lodge on the lakeside. Carlos showed me back to the trail, which I followed up and down the ridges in light rainstorm. I saw an eagle and a couple of red-headed woodpeckers before I reached the other end, from where I rode to El Chalten to meet up with my friends.





Also at Cabo Raso, near the sea lion colony, there is this shipwreck on the rocks. The area to the north, near Peninsula Valdes, has lots of shipwrecks in the waters. If one has the experience and money, there are scuba diving excursions to explore the naufragios. I thought this one was quite picturesque.

A few photos!

Wow! I have photos to show!

Right before we all left, I made Jesus and Nati take a photo with me. The boys are Santiago and Vicente, and they have red red hair. They were leaving this same day to go to El Calafate, because Nati was expecting a baby at the end of that week, and the facilities are better there.





At Cabo Raso, on the Atlantic coast, I went to see the sea lions in the morning.








This picture I took yesterday. I passed by the Recoleta cemetary, where there was a small parade and gathering in memory of the former president Alfonsin. It´s not a good picture, I know, but it delivers something of the vibe.



That´s a random smattering of what I´ve been able to capture with my mostly broken camera. I´ll try to present more today, before I leave the hostel this afternoon.

Alex in Buenos Aires

I came back to the big city. The biggest city. I´ve been riding my bike around the past couple of days, and I am amazed at the distance I can cover without reaching suburbs, or city limits, or anything other than the concrete constructs of the city. Kind of like parts of Argentine Patagonia, I travel for miles and miles without dramatic changes in the environment. There are certainly distinct neighborhoods in this city, but it is the scale and uniformity that I am amazed by these days.
I handled my passport business in a couple of afternoons. The embassy experience was less than thrilling, but proceeded without incident and the staff was very helpful and consoling. In ten days I will possess a new passport.
I will be leaving the city tomorrow afternoon with my friend Alejandro, who lives near Cordoba. We are planning to go for a bike ride together for a few days, and then I will continue riding on my own for a few more days before I head back towards Buenos Aires at the end of April, when I will head back to the United States of America. I am beginning to feel nostalgic for my trip, but am content with what has transpired. I have many reasons to return, and I know that I will be back.
Here in the city, in the midst of other travelers and a handful of foreigners trying their hands at living in Buenos Aires, I am being reminded of the unique and valuable experiences that I have had while traveling in Patagonia. I hope that I am not expressing an excess of pride by saying that I feel full of a certain vitality that has been growing in me through the experiences of the life I have been living. For this, I am looking forward to another bike tour, another couple of weeks spent camping and living near mountains.
I am swallowing up some of that which is offered by the city, and have missed enough spots that I will stay here a few more days at the end of the month. There is clearly a particular vitality offered by building a life here: it isn´t all bad in a place where you can buy the Iliad along with your daily newspaper.
Today is a holiday: the anniversary of the war with Britain over the Islas Malvinas. The respected former president Alfonsín passed away a few days ago, and there is a large gathering in celebration of his life. Despite the rain there is activity in the city, as always, it seems.

Puerto Pyramides

I´m going to take a note directly out of my journal, which I have been writing in almost daily. The background information is that I came to a small town called Puerto Pyramide, which is the only town on the Peninsula Valdes, a national park that juts out into the Atlantic and is shaped like a ... well, I dont know what. In september and october, there are swarms of southern right whales here, but for now it´s pretty relaxed. I´ve been enjoying myself on the beach for a few days. This is what I wrote this afternoon:

I watched orcas today. Two of them were cruising the coast at Punta Norte in what a German tourist with a two foot lens on his camera called the 'attack zone.' For a while, only the dorsal fins were visible, and these only at certain moments, and I wasn´t sure what I was looking at, and if I was looking in the right place. But, after a while, we would see one of the two orcas rise up out of the water and rush towards the beach in an effort to snatch up a baby sea lion. Sparkling black and white, the orca would practically beach itself on the shore in pursuit of it´s prey. As I was quite far away, I did not try to sack any photos. I was also not equipped with binoculars or a foot long camera lens, and so my view of the attacks was not as detailed as that of some of the other visitors. But several times I saw the orcas rush towards the coastline, showing their bellies as they pushed the water out of their path.
It was impressive to see them chase the sea lion cubs, but, for me, seeing only the sleek black dorsal fin, or their glistening back rise up out of the water was just as impressive, and maybe more menacing. The hint of the danger lurking beneath the surface put chills into me.
The two orcas exited the 'attack zone' along the peninsula to the north, on their way out to the open sea. They paralleled the coastline, passing by our viewing platforms at a distance of about 50 meters. As they casually swam northwards, they played in the water, showing their tails and rolling onto their sides, splashing water around them. I was feeling quite satisfied at the spectacle I had witnessed on my second trip to Punta Norte.
My ride, I soon learned, had left without me, and before the grand exit of the orcas. I saw it happening, but chose not to worry. The young Romanian couple that picked me up probobly went on to have a romantic journey around the peninsula. I was brought back to town by a couple who I presume to be a mother and son, traveling in a big Mercedes van. They live in Quilmes, in Buenos Aires province, and own a lubricentro.

I wrote that and more when I got back to town, where I have also been playing soccer on the beach. I made friends with a guy from Rosario, where I am still planning to go, and also found a sharks tooth on the beach after walking a long ways to sit in some caves outside of town. I have been thinking how incredible it must be to be here when the whales are present, playing and learning to swim in the protected bay that we are looking into. If it is this nice now, I can only imagine what it must be like...
I am heading soon to Buenos Aires, and am thinking of this as my last peaceful experience before I enter the mess of the big city. For this reason, I have finally been taking it easy, not pushing for more distance on the bike, or hauling any gear anywhere. It has been a great rest, and I am not eager to leave.

Trelew and Points South

I rode the bus into Trelew on Sunday afternoon. I decided that this was a good way to get an introduction to a city as a traveler, as the town was sleepy and quiet and I calmly was able to reassemble my bike in the park across the street with a couple of old men nearby hanging out, helping me at times. I headed straight for the Paleontology Museum after buying a little food, and spent a couple of hours walking around their exhibit, taking photos, generally being fascinated and stoked that I was in a dinosaur museum in Patagonia. I spent a while talking with one of the guides after walking through the exhibit and watching a short film, and then I headed out into town.
I spent maybe another hour riding around the town. I went to the tourist office for maps, and the to the small art museum next door where there was a room full of comic art, and it was good. None of it was published, and I couldn´t take pictures, but, I suppose, the memories are mine. The tourist office and the art museum are housed in an old school complex, across from the main square that the Welsh residents built in honor of the Argentine republic. It was lovely, though the town itself was nothing fantastic: flat, hot, dry, lots of auto shops and banks and chain stores.
I left Trelew for the beach. I rode 20 or so crappy kilometers through Rawson, a nice enough sister town, to Playa Union, which reminded me of Coney Island. There was a boardwalk along the beach, and lots of people hanging out drinking mate. I camped at the overpriced campsite in town, chatted a bit with the owners, and went to sleep early.
I headed out in the morning amidst a big wind storm. I bought some groceries and rode on pavement to the dirt road I would take south to where I am now, a town called Camarones. I was heading directly into the wind. Very strong wind. It felt desolate, and dry, but I am very glad that I fought through the pangs of retreat, as I had some unique experiences along the way.
I was walking my bike after only a couple of kilometers, and after not too long, a pickup truck stopped to haul me and my bike. The man driving was an energy developer, looking into obtaining properties to install windmills to generate electricity for Chubut province. Together we went ten or so kilometers to Estancia La Normita, where he inquired about property lines, and then turned back to take a closer look at a few areas. I stayed at the Estancia for a couple of hours, waiting with an older gentleman for the winds to calm. They didn´t ever calm, really, but after drinking mate, eating bread and some meat and rice he offered to me, and watching him wash the dishes and start to swat flies, I decided I needed to make some progress. I fought the winds for another hour or so, and felt okay with the progress I was making.
Another truck came along, and two men from Rawson took me another ten or fifteen kilometers to the junction with a road to Isla Escondida, where they were going fishing. My bike was resting on top of their inflatable boat, and three of us crammed into the cab of the 1954 International, rattling down the gravel road. They gave me phone numbers and addresses, and told me to call before I come back to Argentina so that I could bring back a wetsuit for Walter. They left me, and again I was alone, with twenty kilometers of wind and wheel-devouring gravel to go until I reached a short stretch of pavement.
I made it to the pavement, and then a bit further, spending the night next to an old, abandoned postal building. It was a bit creepy, but was very quiet and I slept without waking up. In the morning, I rode twenty five kilometers, mostly again on gravel, to Punta Tombo, which in the summer is an enormous penguin colony. Many penguins had already departed for Brazil, and the ones that were there were losing their feathers and getting fat. It was pretty funny, all in all. Penguins are funny creatures to watch, and I spent a good bit of time talking to the guide about why they do the things they do, like stand with their beaks pointed at the sky without moving. I filled my empty water bottles at the Guardafauna station, drank some mate with the bored gentleman there, and then asked around for a ride back to the junction that I had just rode in from.
I didn´t secure a ride, but I met a family from Connecticut, and their guide from Trelew told me about her friends who live in Cabo Raso, a small bay that I would pass through on my way to Camarones. With the help of a truck driver who took me back to the junction in his empty water toting vehicle, and who has loads of relatives living in Camarones, I managed to arrive in Cabo Raso that night. There is only one family living there, and I stayed the night in their trailer, in a fairly real bed. They had three lovely dogs, and are working to develop Cabo Raso into a tourist destination, with cabins to rent and a kiosko to buy food and water. I spent the night with them, watching the movie ´The Hurricane´ for a bit, and telling the story of how I lost all my gear and why I am riding with a backpack on.
In the morning, I left my gear in the trailer and rode ten kilometers along the coast to a small sea lion colony. It wasn´t a reserve, only a place where sea lions and seals happen to live. I was the only visitor. Also hilarious creatures to watch, they were lazily hanging out on the beach until I came along to take photos of them and rile them up. They would all as one blunder into the water, where they felt safe, leaving only a couple of extremely lazy, or fearless, ones on the beach. I think there were three different species, and they were snorting and standing up and playing in the water while I walked along the edge of the beach, where the sand meets the scrub brush. The are huge and obviously powerful creatures. I expect to see more outside of Camarones and at Peninsula Valdes.
I retrieved my gear, said goodbyes to Ilyana, Eduardo and Antonio, and headed out for Camarones. After thirty kilometers, I reached Estancia La Maciega, one of the oldet and biggest in the area. There, I happened to meet the 88 year old owner and former resident of the hundred year old estate. I also filled my water bottles there, and drank until I wasn´t thirsty anymore. I rode twenty more kilometers under a blazing sun, and stopped to eat the rest of my food: matambre, cheese, crackers, almonds, water. As I was stopped, two cars showed up, and I figured I would accept what was being offered: a ride in the back of an old truck. We loaded my bike in, and me and the dog sat in the covered bed of the pickup, as the cab was occupied by an older man, an older woman and a young guy with a boino hat (like a beret, it´s gauch gear) and a rifle, or some big gun like that. They were clearly not going to harm me, so I allowed myself to be ported the last twenty kilometers into town, and directly to the campsite. The campsite, like the one in Playa Union, seems to be better set up for RVs than campers, but it costs only 15 pesos and there´s a washing machine and showers.
All in all, a pretty awesome adventure! Unexpected, yes, and I´ve met and become indebted to another handful of people along the way. Today I am resting some in town, where there appear to be no other tourists. I will ride without gear to the Cabo Dos Bahias penguin and sea lion and seal reserve; as it is 28km away I can go and come back in one day without trouble. And tomorrow, I suppose, I will disassemble my bike for a bus ride north towards Peninsula Valdes, which will be my last stop before heading to Buenos Aires.
Sorry to be so long-winded, and to still lack photos, but for me, this is all very exciting. I am tiring of biking, especially as I am riding with a very weighty backpack tugging on my shoulders and waist. Soon enough, I feel, I will have earned the luxuries of a month in the city. I love and miss you all.