Uruguay - Colonia del Sacramento (Pictures)

Argentina - Buenos Aires Pt. 2

My first tourist trap, as it is with every city was the free walking tour. It’s not always the best way to see a city, but it’s free and gives you a good layout of the touristy areas. It also always includes a good amount of information. And did I mention it’s free? Our group set out from one of the sister hostels and, despite our guide being for 45 minutes late, took off for La Boca. We spent most of our time in this old docklands section. It’s not only what most people think of when Buenos Aires comes to mind, it’s also the birthplace of Tango. From there we ended up in San Telmo, which, in contrast to La Boca, was where the wealthy used to call home. At the end of our tour we were left to fend for ourselves in the main plaza of San Telmo. It was there that a few of us stopped to have lunch and a beer. Then a Tango show broke out.

On the tour I had bonded with two Brits, Alex and Kate, who were wrapping up their travels in South America over the week. They were in the mood for a quality steak. Because that’s what you do in Argentina. Eat steak. There are two places in particular that have been recommended to me throughout my travels. One of which was La Cabrera. Whoever told us to go there hit a home run. That place is fantastic. For just under 60 dollars (that’s USD) each, we got two bottles of wine, three large appetizers and three massive steaks. I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same about going into Morton’s ever again.

With a food coma, I went straight to bed. Only to be woken up at one in the morning by the staff saying I wasn’t supposed to be in the room. For some reason their registration system had me booked for the three nights prior and the three nights following. But not that night. So the room was overbooked. Standing in the middle of the lobby telling off the guy behind the desk ain’t fun. I started off politely enough with the “let’s figure this out” attitude, but after 20 minutes of accomplishing nothing I finally gave in and yelled at him. Seriously though … “how on earth am I in the room with a key if I’m not booked in it?” Eventually it got sorted, but I won’t bore you with the details.

The next day Kate went on a Gaucho (you know, Argentinian rancher) tour which neither Alex or I had any interest in. Instead we bussed over to Recoleta to see the Evita museum and the giant metal flower. After we’d had enough wandering around, Alex and I went back to the hostel and met up with Mike for dinner. Mike is one crazy Dutch dude who has no qualms with saying what on his mind. This usually ends up being something sexual in front of someone who might find it either offensive or be embarrassed by it. Whether he’s intentionally doing it or not didn’t matter. It’s funny.

We again went out for steak (see a theme?). This time, though, it was an all you can eat steak buffet (the other highly recommended place). For $25 USD, you get a bottle of wine and all the steak and potatoes you can shove down your throat and cram into your belly. So my fat ass had four plates full of steak, two plates of sides, the entire bottle of wine, and dessert.

For a good three hours we gorged ourselves stupid and talked about nothing but sex. What else are three guys at an all you can eat steak buffet gonna do?

The next day was fucking miserable. Alex, Kate and I took a day trip into Uruguay to see the old port city of Colonia del Sacramento. That wasn’t what sucked. I felt like I had a giant steak baby growing inside me. I was on the verge of hoping an alien would burst from my stomach. It might have been less painful. I could tell Alex felt just as bad because he slept the entire ferry ride over. I kinda wish I had done the same. The wind had picked up over the river plate and this boat was rockin’. The water was so chopy that the whole boat just kept swaying back and forth and you could tell multiple people were vomiting in the toilet.

Good thing I don’t get seasick. For those of you that do…I don’t envy you.

We got on our tour bus to quickly see the new part of town (where all the rich Argentine’s have weekend homes) before taking a walking tour of the old part. The tour was…well…a let down. The buildings are really old and in fairly good condition considering their age, but it’s tiny. We were done with everything within two hours. After lunch we just went down to the water and killed time before our ferry ride back.

According to Lonely Planet, Colonia de Sacramento is the number one thing to do in Uruguay. Fuck Lonely Planet. I’m sick of them being so many backpackers’ travel bible. Do they have their place. Sure. For morons who can’t figure shit out for themselves and need to be told what they “must see.” You can find all the same information on the Internet. You want to know the best way to figure out what to do? Start a conversation with someone.

Oh – and if anyone ever gets me a Lonely Planet book. I will burn it.

Their photo competitions are cool though.

Okay I’m stepping off the soapbox.

The following day was my last in Buenos Aires and likely my favorite. I spent the early part of the day in La Boca retaking photos from my walking tour earlier in the week. It’s nearly impossible to take good photos when someone’s constantly rushing you. But that’s not where the fun begins. It was the evening that brought that around. Alex, Mike and I were going to see a futbol match of Argentina’s best club, Boca Juniors.

On the bus ride over the three of us hit it off with three girls from another hostel and hung out with them the whole rest of the night. We had our pre-game drink and meal two blocks from the stadium even though there’s a drinking ban within a ten block radius of the stadium on gameday. Probably for the best. Argentinian futbol fans are insane.

Then there was the security. We walk up and get thoroughly patted down. Then continue on through a metal detector and get patted down again. Then go through the turnstyles with our ticket only to be patted down again. These weren’t your usual American “I’m gonna just tap your pockets” pat downs. No, these were closer in line with a fully clothed cavity search.

The actual game wasn’t mind blowing, but that atmosphere was fantastic. The truly raucous section was on the other side, but I’d say we got a good taste of what it’s all about. You don’t have seats. You have concrete steps. You don’t sit. You stand. If you don’t sing you’re not a fan. And they don’t stop singing.

And of course there are the drummers, who don’t stop drumming for the whole 90-minute match.

At the end of the game our section sat for nearly thirty minutes before we were allowed to leave. Apparently they let the stadium out one section at a time. The first to leave are the visiting supporters. Once they are completely out, the Boca supporters are allowed to leave. Once again this is to curb any potential violence. It basically makes American sports fans look like a bunch of pussies.

It being Friday we had to grab a drink. Fortunately our hostel had a decent bar and nightclub below it, so it was easy to convince the girls to come back and party with us. We spent the next four hours doing so. During conversation we brought up the notion of crossing a futbol match in South America off your bucket list. That easily transitioned into everyone creating their own bucket list. Here's mine:

1.     Climb Mt. Kilamanjaro

2.     Go to outer space

3.     Produce a widely released movie

4.     Travel to all seven continents

5.     Be fluent in a second language

Argentina - Buenos Aires Pt. 1 (Pictures)

Argentina - Buenos Aires Pt. 1

High altitude had gotten to me. I was in South America in the middle of summer and I was cold. How preposterous. I needed the heat of the sun, nice sandy beaches and good-looking women. The previous two weeks I’d spent in the mountains of Peru and Bolivia and nary a single gorgeous woman was to be found. Hell, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: the indigenous population of southern Peru and Bolivia are not pretty. You could even say they’re ugly. But that’s a strong word.

At 6am Andrew and I hitched a cab to the airport. Little was said between us, as we were both tired and slightly hung-over. The first flight was an experience unto itself. The plane was at least twenty to thirty years old and you entered from the back. Not from the side…the back. As in a stairwell descended from the tail and went up to the center aisle. I took my seat in the next to last row and shortly before takeoff, was asked to move seats. There was hardly anyone on this flight. I didn’t understand a word that was said to me, but I understand the idea of weight distribution on an airplane. This was a big enough plane that it shouldn’t be necessary. Whatever. Flying is still the safest mode of transport.

We take off and as we begin to climb the plane banks steeply to the left. Normally I have no qualms about flying. However this was on a whole new level. I’d never experienced an immediate bank after takeoff and I could feel a twinge of nervousness creeping into me. The woman across the aisle whispering Hail Marys and the dude next to me with his kung-fu grip on the armrest didn’t help calm me either. But I’m here writing this so clearly the flight went okay.

The plane landed in Santa Cruz barely twenty minutes before my next flight was scheduled for departure. Andrew was on a later flight so I said a quick goodbye and took off running to get through customs. Little did I realize it would be the last time I’d see him.

Upon arrival in Buenos Aires, I was greeted rather pleasantly. There was some mix-up at the hostel and they weren’t able to put me in a six-bed dorm like I requested. Instead they put me in a single room for three nights. I had a double bed and a shower all to myself. For the first time in a month I had a little bit of privacy. These are the things you miss most when travelling for so long.

I had no idea what to do or where to go, so I did what felt most natural. I signed up for a pub-crawl. The nightlife in BA doesn’t start until midnight and doesn’t end until the sun rises. Which is exactly what I came back to: the day’s new sun. And if I’ve told you what happened this night, consider yourself lucky.

The next day could hardly be considered that. Waking up at 3 in the afternoon basically creates a half-day. Therefore instead of spending my daylight hours doing touristy stuff, I did absolutely nothing in preparation for another pub-crawl. I’d planned to be in BA for a full week, I had plenty of time to see the city. It was the weekend. I wanted to experience the nightlife. The early hours of crawl were uneventful. Then we jumped on a party bus to a club the likes of which I’d never experienced before.

This place was absolutely massive. From what I can recall, it was titled something in Spanish that meant rooms, or something along those lines. It was aptly named because there were plenty of rooms, seven to be exact. Each more packed than the previous and each playing a completely different style of music. One of the rooms even stretched out onto the patio and out towards the sea. Complete with lighthouse in the background. If I had to guess there was well over 3000 people there. But I got frustrated with the whole thing fairly quickly.

1.     I don’t speak Spanish, so the ability to chat up the Argentinian ladies was limited.

2.     It was far too crowded, so dancing was out of the question too.

3.     The drink ordering system is fucking stupid. You get in line for the cash register to order your drinks and get a ticket. Then you get in another line to take your ticket to a bartender. This completely defeats the skill of hailing down a bartender. Which is just that. A skill.

After a few hours I was done, so I went back to my room.

Super Bowl Sunday was the main reason I came to BA when I did. If you’re going to experience the big game in a foreign country, you’re best served being in a large city with a high number of American ex-pats. I had caught wind of a bar called El Alamo (get it?) that would have the game. I grabbed a Canadian from the previous nights pub-crawl and we went and watched the game. Amusingly enough, he played in the CFL. I spent the next seven hours doing what every good American does during the Super Bowl.

Monday was spent moving out of my single room and back into a six-bed dorm. Then it was wandering around the city for a few hours in the blistering humidity. The highlight of my day was in the evening when I finally caught a showing of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. I quickly realized if I were to hear anything, I’d need to sit up front. The theater was old and the clicking of the film reel could be heard all throughout the room. I also have a suspicion that the dialogue tracks are brought down some for foreign subtitled films. That or the sound was just turned down in this specific theater.

Four days in Buenos Aires and I hadn’t done a single touristy thing. So the next few days were dedicated to travelling the tourist route.

Bolivia (Pictures)

Bolivia

It was early and I had to pee. I stumbled through the dark and wound my way down the tight stairwell to take care of business. When I was done I took my seat. Not more than five minutes later, we had stopped. Had I known we were making a bus transfer in Puno rather than going straight to Copacabana, I would have held back. Bus bathrooms stink.

The wait in Puno lasted just over two hours and the sun was slowly rising over Lake Titicaca. I walked to the edge of the lake but could barely hold myself as it smelled like Peruvian sewage. The border crossing went fine (my first land crossing of the trip) but when we arrived in Copacapana, it was clear I was the only one who wanted to stay.

After a long walk, and a few misdirections, we found our hostel. Shortly thereafter, we went in search of some cash. In Bolivia’s Copacabana, there are two machines. If your cards don’t work at either of them, you’re basically fucked. Sadly, Andrew’s didn’t work at either and he was already fed up with this town. Assuming the machines were just out of cash, I didn’t bother. By now, Andrew had basically made up his mind. He was leaving on the first bus out of here in the morning.

On our search of a potential other ATM (which proved fruitless), we ran into a group of people I had met back in Cusco & Machu Picchu. I joined them while Andrew went in search of something more. After a long and boisterous lunch we decided to climb the hill that overlooked the town. It was only now that I made an actual attempt at the ATM’s. My card worked and, unlike everyone else I knew in this town, I was able to pull out cash.

We had a good hour wait on the dock while the sun slowly dropped from the sky. It was about an hour or so before sunset that we finally started the trek up to the top of the hill. There were several statues with religious symbolism along the stairway to the top and many more at the summit. We all marveled at the way the sun bloomed behind the clouds and created magnificent hues over Lake Titicaca. Once it was all finished we dropped back in town and went to bed.

The next morning, I walked towards the beach and sat down at a coffee shop as I waited for everyone to get ready.

“Matt!” Augusta screamed out their window. I looked up and saw four heads poking out. “We’re almost ready.” I was in no rush. Why should I be? The early morning sun shone brightly as I sipped my coffee. Little could bother me.

We bought ferry tickets and waited in line to board our ship. As we stood on the dock, two girls came racing up to Greg. We were all introduced and just like that our group had blossomed to seven. It was only later that I found out the minute they approached Greg, he knew I would immediately bond with them. Americans always have at least one thing in common. But to travel thousands of miles from home only to meet girls you could have drunkenly hit on while in a bar back home? It means you have at least two things in common. Especially when you now know two Sarah Ullmans living in Los Angeles.

The world just got a little smaller.

Isla del Sol sits in the middle of Lake Titicaca and was used as an Incan religious pilgrimage. Now it’s a Bolivian tourist trap. You get there and everyone tries to swindle you for money. Locals point you in the wrong direction in hopes that you get lost and hire a guide, and there’s multiple checkpoints to pay a “passing fee.”

On a side note, my experience in Bolivia did not shed a great light on the people there. It was the only place in South America where I felt like people were legitimately trying to screw you. I guess it’s a testament of how bad their economy is. They have to try and jack up the prices by three Bolivianos because you’re white. Which, in USD is about 40 cents. At the end of the day, you don’t stress over it because everything is dirt-cheap anyways that it hardly makes a difference. But it’s the principle that really matters. Look at their president as an example. Seriously, Google “President of Bolivia.” He looks like a sleazebag.

Racial profiling? Yeah, basically. Sue me.

ANYWAYS

Back on Isla del Sol, Augusta’s Cousin & her boyfriend decided to just hang back while Greg, Augusta, Greer, Sarah and I finally found our way to the trail. Again we were back to five. There are only a few scattered tourists and locals, so the island is very serene. Once we got to the Inca ruins on the north end of the island and sat down for a little bit, we realized we were running a bit later than we should have. The next few hours became a hard trek to the south docks so we could make the 330pm ferry.

Our last half hour was a huge rush, but we made it. Barely. Back in town there was a festival just starting, street performers and all. Greer and Sarah were all about it. But Greg and I had heard gunshots going off all night. Apparently the thing to do is to shoot them off into the air during festivals.

Drunk Bolivians with guns? Fuck that. We were out.

So we hopped on the next bus to La Paz. We followed the shores of the lake as the sun touched the earth behind us. We continue on until we hit our first town and stop. With no clue where we are or why we’ve stopped, Greg and I became a little wary. The driver started blabbering in Spanish and everyone else began to disembark. About the only word we could pick up was “restaurante.” We figured maybe it was a toilet break? So we grabbed our day packs and warily got off the bus.

It was then, as we were the last people off, that the bus drove on to a barge. We had to cross the lake. But we’re in a third world country. Bridges are expensive. All thirty or so passengers then crammed into a little boat, with maybe five lifejackets on board, and went from one shore to the other. Only in a place like Bolivia would you get an experience like this. Soon we were back on track and on to La Paz.

The city of La Paz is a dump. However the location in which it lies is amazing. The whole city lies in a canyon that flows down towards another mountain range. Everyone said to go see the witches market. So we did. And we were disappointed. It was built up as an awesome thing to see while in La Paz. But all it was were a few storefronts with random dead things, herbs and other potion ingredients. About the only thing of note were the dried Llama fetuses. To many people that’s shocking. But I’m of the Internet generation. I’ve grown desensitized to many of these things. As a teenager you go in search of the most shocking videos you can. I’ve seen everything from Two Girls One Cup to Bud Dwyer.

But then again, maybe I’m just a little twisted. If you don’t know what either of those are, trust me, you probably don’t want to.