Chile - Santiago (Pictures)

Chile - Santiago

The ride over the Andes was highly recommended as a sight to see. The Andes are quite an impressive mountain range but because this region is so arid, there’s no growth on them. They are literally just giant rocks covered in sand and dirt. No trees, shrubs, rivers or snow (it was summer…). Having seen the lush Andes region of Peru, I was a little bit disappointed.

Then came the border crossing. After a 45 minute wait for a couple of stamps, a half hour wait for a bag scan, we were finally able to get back on the bus. As we all started filtering back on, someone started calling a name out. I was sitting on the top deck at the very back, and the man had a very thick Spanish accent. I couldn’t really make it out. A few more minutes passed and a loud bang startled me. On the ground outside my window, the bus driver was pointing at me and signaling for me to come out. They then asked for my passport. Not knowing what was going on, I was getting really nervous. Here I was at the top of the Andes, miles from anything, thinking, “Am I going to be let into the country?” They took me back to the counter and showed the border guard my stamp, said something in Spanish and motioned for me to get back on the bus. I have no idea what happened, but there were about 5 minutes I thought for sure I wasn’t getting in. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

After that whole fiasco, the ride became much more enjoyable. The Chilean side was far more interesting. Just as the bus leaves the border patrol, it begins its descent. The road had thirty-six turns in total, all numbered, all visible from your window. The bus just kept going back and forth down this mountain. It’s kind of scary in the summer…I can’t imagine how terrifying it would be in winter. As we continued our descent, the mountain peaks mere feet from the bus would occasionally open up and a snow-capped mountain would appear off in the distance. Then the road followed a river much of the rest of the way down and vegetation began to appear along the base of the mountains.

Looking back, it makes perfect sense. Most of the rain comes off the Pacific and drops onto Chile, but stops once it hits the Andes, leaving Mendoza nice and dry.

We hit another snag as we were pulling into the terminal. We sat for two hours on the road, trapped amongst a sea of buses trying to get to the station. My planned six-hour bus ride had turned into ten. By the time I got to my hostel, it was already midnight.

The next day, my last one in South America, was spent on a walking tour. It was simply a way to pass the time. But, I was pleasantly surprised by what the city had to offer. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more interesting that I’d heard and had come to expect. My flight wasn’t until 1130pm, so when the tour was done, I grabbed a couple of beers with some of the other people on the tour. After a few hours of chatting with them, I said my goodbyes, popped my headphones in and walked back to the hostel as the sun dipped below the buildings. Just before the end of the day I was in the air and on my way to a new continent.

I was really excited to be moving on. While two months isn’t nearly enough time to see everything, and there’s plenty more I would like to see, I’d seen and done a lot and was ready for a different culture.

Actually I was just really glad to be going to a country where they spoke English.

Argentina - Mendoza (Pictures)

Argentina - Mendoza

Having drunk my face off in Rio, you’d think I’d be done with alcohol for a while. Except, I was going to wine country. There’s no way I could stop now. I had nothing planned for my first day so I just started walking with no direction in mind. I was simply motivated to wander. After a few hours I’d made my way into the large park on the outskirts of town. Mendoza is located in an arid region of Argentina, so the park wasn’t very lush. However there was a hill in the middle of the park that offered outstanding views. To one side was the city and surrounding vineyards. To the other side were the Andes towering from one horizon to the next.

By now it was mid-afternoon and I was dripping with sweat. Having walked well over ten miles, I’d worked up a moster appetite. I wandered back into town in search of food. As I’m walking through town I hear someone screaming “Matt! Matt!” I turn around to see a guy I’d met a month and a half prior in Cartagena. I knew he was Argentinian, but I had no idea he lived and worked in Mendoza. We chatted for a few minutes, exchanged numbers, and went our separate ways. Unfortunately that was the last I saw of him. We were never able to connect during my stay in town.

When I got back into town I’d noticed the streets were eerily empty. At first it felt as if I was in some sort of zombie movie where everyone disappears. It wasn’t until I got back to the hostel that I found out everyone was on Siesta, meaning everyone took a break in the middle of the day. It also meant everything was closed.

Finally after 5, I was able to get some lunch (technically dinner by then) and relax the rest of the evening. But, before I started making dinner, two people from the hostel asked if I wanted to go down to the harvest festival with them and drink some wine. I’d thought the festival was the following weekend. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to be wrong.

I’ve long forgotten their names, but one was an Israeli in his early twenties and the other was an eighteen-year-old girl from Oregon. The girl had a self-proclaimed “hatred” of wine and had never really drank. Her mom forbade it. To her, wine was bitter and disgusting. I now had a goal for the night: make sure this girl gains a newfound appreciation for wine.

The festival had a large stage in the central park with all sorts of singers and other performance acts. More importantly there was a wine tasting round back. Ten dollars got you six glasses of standard wine. I got my own ticket while she and the Israeli shared one. My first sampling was some sweet white. After I gave her a sip, she was off to purchase her own ticket book. We continued on as I kept suggesting sweet reds and whites. When I took her for drunk enough, I then suggested she move to the drier reds. By the end of the night my job was accomplished. She rarely said a bad word about any of the wines and she’d definitely changed her mind about wine. By now it was time to go grab some munchies and pass out.

Two things to be learned from this:

1.     Corrupting youth is fun

2.     I should never have kids

Less than eight hours later I was in the back of a van en route to some wineries. Our bicycle tour was led by two people: the main guide was an older Argentinian who spoke very good English, the other a young Swede who spoke both English and Spanish, but couldn’t translate one to the other very well. This became a bit of a problem in our first stop. While the head guide went to prep our bicycles, we took a tour of an old Bodega Mansion. The curator spoke no English. He would have say things three different ways before our “translator” could understand. It was highly frustrating.

When that was done we were finally able to get to the point: winery tours. More importantly: tastings. Our first stop was the old Giol winery. Their operations had been moved to a different location so there was no real action going on here and it was rather desolate. I’m still unsure was to whether their casks were still in use or the entire factory was just a tour spot.

After our tasting (I don’t know why anyone would ever spit it out) we cycled a few kilometers to our next stop: Bodega Lopez. This is one of the larger, more commercial bodegas in Mendoza. Much like Robert Mondavi to Napa. I didn’t care for it as the tour was impersonal and mechanical. There was a quick rundown of the basic process, a very meager sampling of their cheapest wine and we were sent packing. Fortunately our next stop would more than make up for it.

Another 8 kilometers up the road we stopped at a small, family owned, organic winery named Familia Ceccin. It is the largest organic vineyard in Mendoza and has been run by the same family for nearly 80 years. The people were incredibly friendly and very passionate about their wine. In the middle of the vineyard sat an old oak tree underneath which sat several tables and chairs. We sat and enjoyed a delicious traditional Argentinian meal along with several bottles of their wine. By the time we actually took the tour of their operations, I already knew their wine was good. It wasn’t until I got to taste their other varieties that I knew I was in love. If I didn’t have another seven months of travel left, I would have purchased a case, or several, and brought them home.

Luckily they import to the U.S. The minute I find a case of their wine, I’m snatching it up.

I’m already waitlisted.

By now, we were done with our bodega tours, but there was one last stop; an olive oil factory. They showed us how olive oil is made, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I knew there was a tasting coming and that’s all I could think about. Boy was it worth it. Twelve tables lined up with different breads smothered in olive oil and some other ingredient. Anything from a simple vinaigrette to a sun-dried tomato or pesto spread. It was the perfect way to cap off our tour.

That night I back to the wine festival with a different set of people from the hostel. However, tonight I went with the four large glasses of premium wine. At one booth I struck up a conversation with one of the men working there. The minute I even hinted that I grew up in the vicinity of Napa, his wine was on the house. It’s like he went out of his way to make a good impression on “the man from California,” even though let’s face it; I’m no wine connoisseur.

The next morning I was on a bus travelling over the Andes towards Santiago for my final day in South America.

Brazil - Rio de Janeiro (Pictures)

Brazil - Rio de Janeiro

November 17, 2011 was a day that, without me realizing it at the time, would drastically affect my trip to Rio.

Dan and Jason and I were on the same flight, so we shared a cab to the airport. When I got to the check-in counter they scanned my passport and no record came up. I figured there must be some mistake, so I pulled up the confirmation email. I was right, there was a mistake. I had input my flight details for February 17 when I was booked to fly on the 16^th. When had I booked that flight? November 17.

While Dan and Jason went past security, I put myself on standby. I was told to wait and check in 45 minutes before the flight to know whether or not I’d made it. For the next hour I sat in the main terminal researching every which way I could get to Rio if I wasn’t on the flight. I didn’t matter. I got on. I rushed through the terminal with only 20 minutes left to board. Again, didn’t matter. The flight was delayed. When we actually got on the plane, I counted five empty seats. Figures.

I arrived in Rio, got to the hostel, dropped everything, and grabbed a beer. I stayed a few blocks from the arches and the main square in Lapa and the streets were teeming with people. Busses, taxis and cars were at a standstill while locals and tourists alike were drinking and dancing around. This would become a running theme. Lapa was one of the hot spots of Carnaval. The two guys I went out with were from Melbourne – Adam and Spencer. There would be a lot more partying with them to come. As we’re walking around the streets, out of the crowd I hear a “CALIFORNIA!” I turn around and see two girls I’d met in Peru. They were part of a long train of people dancing. I was so shocked to see them that it took a moment for me to register what was going on. By the time I could even respond, they were swallowed up in the crowd. I went in search of them but found nothing. In doing so I got separated from Spencer and Adam. By now it was late, I was drunk, and ready for bed.

The next day was a bit of a wash. Most of the hostel was hungover, myself included. There were talks of going to the beach but nothing ever came of it. By the time anyone had rallied together to do something it was early evening. So “doing something” became “drinking something.”

I went back out into the Lapa streets for another night of dancing. Unfortunately this night I got a little carried away and forgot to be mindful of my surroundings. In Rio, muggings and pickpockets are highly common. I was no less immune than anyone else. As we went out into the streets I got swallowed up in a crowd of people. In most circumstances I am aware of my pockets. This time, however, I had gotten so lost in the music and atmosphere that I forgot all about it. Big mistake. When I came out of the crowd, I checked my shorts. My camera was gone. Money and phone were still intact, but even putting everything in the cargo pockets of my shorts did no use.

Despite the loss, I was having so much fun that I almost didn’t care. Again the melee that was Lapa separated me from Spencer and Adam. And oddly enough, I ran into Tim and Josh, the two Aussies I hiked Macchu Piccu with. I joined their group and continued partying the rest of the night.

My hostel room consisted of five guys and one girl. The next morning was the first time that we all caught a glimpse of her morning routine. It consisted of getting completely naked in front of everyone and lathering herself for a good 45 minutes before getting dressed. That morning all of us were in the room while she did it. Being that all of us were either hungover or still drunk, we all had a good laugh about it. Especially her.

Adam, Spencer and I set off for the beach in the afternoon. We went to Copacabana to meet up with a friend Spencer had made earlier in his trip. However, getting there was turning into a problem. A block party had just ended and there were swarms of people trying to leave Lapa. The line for the subway was horrendously long and it was impossible to find a taxi. When we did, they wanted to charge a 50 Reai flat fee. Normally on a meter it would be less than 25. After nearly an hour of searching for something, we were able to find a bus. And that’s when things got interesting.

When we got on, there was a whole slew of screaming. One woman was yelling at the driver then towards the back. The driver then starts yelling at this group of kids roughly 10 to12 years old. The bus continued on down the street but the commotion refused to die down. Another few minutes of chaos passed before the bus driver stopped. He got out and called over a couple of cops. The kids then proceeded to jump out the bus windows and run down the street.  The bus erupted into cheers and we were back on our way.

Spencer, Adam and I just looked at each other like “what the hell just happened.” It wasn’t until a little while later that a bi-lingual woman explained what happened. Apparently the kids in the back were smoking and the woman was complaining that her son couldn’t breathe. She asked the kids to stop and they told her to “fuck off.”

You see some crazy things when you’re travelling.

Spencer’s friends: Sebastian, Ella and Leanne are all from England and all really cool people. We spent the next couple hours on the beach lounging in the sand and soaking up the sun. After a while, Spencer went back to the hostel to meet up with Tony Garnicki, a buddy of mine from high school. He is also the first person I know from home to have met me on the road.

We were off to the Sambadrome to see the world famous Carnaval parade. Tickets for the good sections were being sold for anywhere between 400 to 650 Reais. (roughly 250 to 330 USD) We were told that scalping tickets would yield a price for roughly half that. And that’s when our adventure began. The first broker we ran across was missing an arm, had a glass eye, and refused to show us the tickets before hand. Needless to say, we didn’t trust him and moved on.

The next broker tried to sell us a good section for 400. We tried to get him down to 300, but he wasn’t budging at 350. While we were continuing to barter, a young couple from Argentina came up to us and offered to sell us two for 300 a piece. We needed three and they were gracious enough to find another broker who would sell one to us for 300 as well.

Minutes later we had tickets and were inside the Sambadrome. Upon entry, ushers are there to hand you loads of programs and schedules and condoms. Yes…condoms. I guess there’s a lot of fucking in the bathrooms? The entire place is crammed with energy. People get absolutely amped for the parade and with good reason. Over two nights a collection of 12 to 13 schools have their own parade. Each school is given one song, which is played on repeat for the entire 90 minutes that they parade down this stadium. This is something they plan all year for and it shows. There’s an insane amount of detail put into each float, and each school has about ten. In between the floats there are hundreds of people parading down the aisle. Each group dressed in some different elaborately themed costume. All of this is to celebrate their song and the theme they’ve come up with to match it. Meanwhile, everyone in the stands is dancing the entire time. It’s unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

As an outsider and non-Portuguese speaker it can get a little redundant. I believe if you knew the background to each school’s theme and understood it’s meaning, it would be a lot more enjoyable. Regardless, I enjoyed it tremendously. The only reason we didn’t stay longer is because it goes until 530am. We left at 230am so we could get some shred of sleep before our big day tomorrow.

After an early miscommunication and an hour delay, we were all headed towards the south of the city for the most quintessential thing you could do in Rio: Hang gliding. Adam, Spencer, Tony and I were picked up by our tour guide Fernando and taken through the streets and mountains of Santa Teresa. This section of town is one reason I would love to go back. The houses are all nestled in the hills above the city and offer stunning views. There used to be a cable car that ran through but was shut down due to an accident. If it ever gets back up and running, this would be a must-see in Rio.

Hang gliding takes place well past the tourist spots of Copacabana, Ipanema and Leblond at the Sao Conrado beach. Because of our tardiness, Fernando had to scramble to find two instructors last minute. This meant that only two of us could go at a time. While Spencer and Adam went up, Tony and I hung back on the beach talking with Fernando. He’s about 60, but he’s one of the most spry, upbeat 60 year olds I’ve ever met. He told us about his 25 years as a Hang glider test pilot and how at one time he’d been able to fly for well over an hour all the way out to the Christ the Redeemer statue and back to land on the beach. What’s impressive is that not only is the statue a significant distance from the takeoff point; it’s also at a higher elevation. He had to hit multiple hot air pockets to pick him back up. When you actually see the distance in real life, it’s mind blowing.

After an hour of stories Adam and Spencer had gotten their flight in and it was Tony’s and my turn. We were driven up the mountain and waited in line as our instructors set up the gliders. The take off platform is 550m (1800ft) up the hill. You watch everyone else in front of you running off this ledge and just gliding gracefully down towards the beach. About all the instruction you get is to practice running in unison with the instructor and you’re told not to jump, just run straight off. Seems natural, right? Much like skydiving, you try not to think about it and just focus on how much fun it’s going to be. Easier said than done. I wasn’t nervous until I actually got onto the platform and was staring down the runway dropoffx.

You aren’t given much time to think before you’re running and are off the platform. There’s a split second of drop before the wind catches you and you’re floating over this massive canyon of jungle. It’s an amazing experience. It’s actually pretty relaxing to let the wind carry you like that. We were in the air for about 15 minutes as we circled down towards the beach where we landed rather ungracefully.

After a 45-minute pit-stop inside a favela market to pick up a phone for Adam, we were off into the mountains for a scenic drive. Coupled with some absolutely stunning views of the city (which is unbelievably large – and unbelievably picturesque) it was really nice to be in the tranquility of the jungle rather than the hustle and bustle of the city.

As the afternoon grew later, we went up to Christ the Redeemer. We got there around 6pm. The crowds had died down but it was still fairly well packed. The statue was pretty cool (apparently it’s the largest Art Deco statue in the world) but more importantly the placement of it offers some of the best views in the city. What struck me as fascinating is that the reason the statue was built was not because of the large Catholic population of Brazil – which it does have – but mainly as a tourist attraction for a growing city.

Our next and final stop was Sugar Loaf Mountain. We stopped at the car park near the walk up and had some Açaí (pronounced Ah-sah-ee – NOT Ah-kai) with granola. This is like an Açaí slushee and it’s extremely delicious. After our quick snack, we went for a half our hike to skip the first gondola. This is when I found out how spry Fernando really was. This hike was almost straight uphill and he led the entire way. None of our “young” legs could even keep pace with him. We got to the gondola and took it up to the mountain just in time to catch sunset.

The sun setting over Rio is probably the most amazing sunset I’ve ever seen. The landscape of the city nestled amongst the rolling hills makes for one of the most picturesque settings. The sun setting behind it only adds to its beauty. After the sun dropped we went back to Lapa to meet up with Ella, Leslie & Sebastian where we partied the night away.

Fat Tuesday was spent capping off an awesome week Carnaval by joining a blocco and partying on the beach. Spencer and I went out into the streets to join an early afternoon blocco. This largely consists of a small truck with a sound system, a marching band, and a singer. Large swarms of people swarm in and dance and sing about as they swarm through the streets playing music. It all lasts for a few hours and….IT’S SO MUCH FUN!

After that was done a large group of people from the hostel went down to Ipanema. We bought a couple handles of liquor, a few bottles of coke and created a party on the beach. In all, there were probably a good twenty of us together. We stayed on the beach drinking and bullshitting with each other as we watched the sun set behind us. After dark we wandered the streets of Ipanema in search of some mischief to get into. But all we were able to find was the metro station. I have no idea how we ended up in there – one minute we were in a crowd, the next minute we were in the metro station. Oh well. It was time to go back anyways. Back in Lapa we did the same thing we’d done every night before.

The next day I was scheduled to leave for Santiago. After my fiasco in Uruguay, I was completely paranoid about screwing up another flight. Turns out that paranoia was warranted. My booking was for November 22, 2011. When did I book this flight? You guessed it – November 17, 2011. Oops.

Instead I extended my stay a night and booked a flight to Mendoza for the next day.