Colonia del Sacramento

In an effort to take advantage of Uruguay's proximity to Bunos Aires, Lenay and I made an excursion across the Río de la Plata. I loved the idea, because filling my passport with visas has become a preocupation of mine. It's unhealthy, really. I'll spend hours on end staring at my passport, as I did with my toy passport at the festival of nations as a child. Buquebus ofers a day trip to Colonia, on the other side of the river for just over a hundred pesos, so we took the subway to the terminal. Twice actually. Yesterday we woke up late, and after rushing out the hostell door, flagged down a cab. Driving through the Recoleta barrio I asked Lenay if she remembered her passport. PASSPORT!?

SO TODAY, after doing our duediligence, waking up early, and taking our passports, Lenay and I got to the boat terminal and bought tickets. IT was perfect because the package was just a day trip, nothing complicated. Our transport was a boxy, blue, eighty meter long ferry, a cumbersome beast that lugs across the river daily. I found a chair in the main cabin, and dozed for the next three hours.

At noon I was woken by the loud speaker, anouncing the arrival of our buquebus ferry in Colnia. Lenay an I disembarked, and found our way to a moto rental center. Twenty five bucks would have gotten me a moped to rent for the whole day. Apparently, you need a drivers license to drive a moped around. Huh, didn't see that coming. South America? Really? Lenay didn't seem upset, though, and we both love to walk.

We wandered residential Colonia, found a local bistro, and ate ravioli for lunch. Around 2 PM or so, we found the local collectivo (bus) and caught a ride to the beach. The bus, however, dropped us off in the middle of rural Uruguay, in front of a condemned bullring. Seemingly pulled from a different epoch, the coliseum was crumbling in some places, and wired off with barbed wire. I imagined chained gladiators locked in mortal combat, or a matador, in all his glory, striking the coup de grace to his sworn enemy. Both to deafening applause.

We walked the beach, noticing the islands, kilometers out into the river, and the rotting wooden piers, ancient derelicts, long past their use. The tide was low, and white shells, the size of my thumbnail, were washed up in the thousands. Asking a local for directions, we were directed to another bus stop that would take us to colonial Colonia (haha). Colonia del Sacramento was founded by the Portuguese (1680) and is the oldest city in Uruguay.

We walked up la calle de suspiros (street of sighs), which still has it's original 1680 paving. Dozens of uneven pitch black stones, with seemingly lateral cleavage jutting out of the oldest street in Uruguay. Additionally, traditional colonial Portuguese houses remained, as well as the reconstructed Viceroy's house, sitting at the edge of the plaza, where the military once practiced manuevers. There are just trees and fountains covering the field now. Lenay and I found the ruins of a colonial convent. It was attached to a lighthouse, but now all that exists are its foundations.

After climbing the city wall I spied the Buquebus port, so we strolled back through the town towards our ferry. Having over an hour to spare, Lenay indulged in her love for ravioli and had it for a second time. We were led to a restaurant by a stray german shepherd. He kept following us, and after petting it for two minutes, he gratefully accompanied us through the streets. We named him Moto, so at least we could get one today.

Half an hour later the german shepherd left us amicably, and we returned to the ferry. Curling up across four seats, I fell asleep, pushing the three hour voyage out of my life, exhausted.

Paddle and Milanesa

Lenay woke me up today at noon. How wasteful of me to spend my time in Buenos Aires, yes I know. But you go out in this city on a friday night. I mean, people aren't even having dinner untill eleven at night! It's an early night if you go home anytime before four in the morning without your fernet.

She dragged me out of bed this morning because Manu was on his way over to the hostal with Pauli. They were bringing us to their athletic club in Tigre. Situated on the outskirts of Greater buenos Aires, Tigre is a a weekend getaway for many Argentinians. It hugs the Paraná delta, and canoes, rowing shells, and motorboats can be see plying the Río Lujan even this late into autumn.

Uriel and Alex (friends) were already in the car as Pauli's Peugot pulled up to the hostel. With the six of us crammed in the car, Pauli pulled onto the highway. For the last few days wildfires have been chokling Buenos Aires with smoke. It's been all over the news, Manu even tells me this has never happened before. It's like a polluted haze, and visibility is limited, though we're safe.

Twenty minutes later we drive into a hazy Tigre and find some lunch. The guys wanted to give us the typical experience, so while Lenay was munching on gnochhi, I tried my first true milanesa. It's more or less a breaded and fried beef stack, that they add to ham and provologne cheese. being one of Argentina's most well known dishes, I had some idea of what to expect. I dug in, but fifteen minutes later I was out, full. If you like fried food, and steak, you still may be in for a surprise.

After lunch we went to the athletic club. Closing early because of Passover, we were one of few groups at the club today. I saw tennis courts, softball fields, basket ball, ping pong, and even a weird bunch of pole baskets spread out over a hard court. The pool and waterslide were already closed for the season, but a few people were out on the river, rowing. I was thrilled to see rowing shells in the boat house, though we'd be playing something else today. I can tell that Manu was ithcing to get out on a kayak, being a former youth national kayaking champion.

I followed the group to the paddle courts. With the mechanics of tennis and the speed of raquetball, paddle is played on a short, walled hard court in teams of two. Instead of the webbed tennis raquet, a raquet sized wooden paddle is used. They look kind of like ping pong paddles, on growth hormones. I hadn't played before, but the guys were happy to include me in the game. It's easier to pick up than tennis (sorry Rach haha) and I had a great time playing it too.

San Juan de Dios

For weeks now I've been meaning to write a blog about the experience I had volunteering in Peru. I don't know why I'm behind. I could say I've been busy, traveling and just haven't gotten to it yet. But honestly, I''ve just been having so much fun on this trip. It has been life changing, and my volunteer program was no exception. So here goes...

I spent my last two weeks in Peru volunteering in the hospital San Juan de Dios. Other than being a therapy center, hostel, and agricultural farm, San Juan de Dios is home to over fourty children. Having special needs, these children, ranging from toddlers to twenty, require special attention that their family just cannot give. Some are visited by their parents occasionally. Others will never know the face of their mother. They were just left in the care of the hospital. Never the less, walking into the orphange instantaneously casts a change upon you. It's something that you don't realize at first, but by the time you leave, you'll know. These kids are awesome.

I walked into the orphanage my first day having know idea what to expect. Working with kidss frightened me, in that aspect. The head nurse brought me to the childrens' ward. There I met my guys. Instantly my new friends lit up when I walked in. José in particular never stopped smiling. Wilson, a year old, thought I was the funniest guy in the world, and laughs at EVERYTHING. Angelica, was always dancing in her chair and insisted that I would to. Bonds formed in those two weeks.

I wasn't asked to do much. Just be their friend, the nurses asked me. A relief, because aside from babysitting my brothers years ago, I had no experience with caring for children. So, I passed the mornings playing with toys, singing, and walking around the hospital. Aside from Roger, who I would need to chase around the hospital, the toddlers were confined to wheelchairs for much of the day. So my german friend Gunda and I would take walks across the complex, visiting all of the animals. Dozens of pigs, busy at their troughs, would waddle to their gate to greet us. The larger sows squealed wickedly, fleeing from machos. One particular friday, I returned alone to the farms, stone cold stunned, as workmen were busy slaghtering these three month old animals. It was an awful sound.

Other than pig squealing burned into my memory, I can recall a particular white llama spitting on me as I was taking snapshots. Flaming camelids...

At lunch I would help the kitchen prepare lunch for forty odd children, be it slicing meat, frying hamburgers or dishing up rice (mmmm...rice). We'd rush out the plates to the dining room and hand them out according to age. There are many children who have trouble feeding themselves, and a volunteer is most valuable at lunch. The staff needs assistance making sure these kids are eating right, and I played a key role in this part of the childrens' day. While some children, like Carmen, absolutely adored her lunch, others didn't realize playtime was over and made the meal a real trial.

Overall, I loved this experience. Completely unique in my trip, it provided me with some important memories. After knowing what these children are dealing with in their lives, my own feel insignificant, quite petty. In spite of not seeing family, these children are quite optomistic, and well cared for by the nurses, who adore them. I fell very lucky to have played even a small part in their lives.

To all NRSCA students, I recommend this program. Apart from helping people who are in dire need of attention, you will experience Peruvian culture outside of the tourism industry. Additionally, the spanish school offers a thirty percent discount on classes to all volunteers. It really adds up when you study for four weeks, something I wish I had known about. But now that you do, get haughling to PERU!

Cheers.

Es Para Vos

Coming to Argentina as a footbal fan, I had prior knowledge of how big the sport is in this country. I had to check out a game. But which team? Argentina has dozens of clubs. Furthermore, because buenos Aires has two HUGE rival clubs, I had to pick.

BOCA JUNIORS, or the team Maradona played for has won six Copas Libertadores (one of the South American championships). based out of a barrio near the docks, the original club members painted their jerseys and clubs and houses with leftover ship paint (blue and gold). Today this club is an international fixture in Futbol and is considered one of the world's best.

RIVER PLATE, Boca's chief rival, is based out of the Núñez, is their chief rival. They are of equal renown in the world and have won two Copas Libertadores. Their most famous player is Enzo Francescoli, o el Príncipe (prince). Playing in the '86 and '90 World Cups for Uruguay as well, Francescoli won River Plate the Copa Libertadores in 1996. French footballer Zenadine Zidane even named a son after him.

Nicholas, the owner of our hostel, offered to get us tickets, so I accepted. When I found out that he was going to charge us one hundrd and fifty pesos, I quietly changed my mind. I didn't want to spend fifty dollars on a futbol game. I could do better. So I went to Emanuel about my problem. His friend Holli (with whom we went to the parilla) took us to the River Plate stadium and we bought tickets for sixty pesos instead. Yeah, I like that price a lot better too. But I suppose you can't blame a guy for being opportunistic.


Our game last night started at nine thirty. Wind changes had pushed the wild fire smoke back into the city, so the game was pitched against a city wide haze. The other side of the stadium was even difficult to see. No matter, River Plate took to the field against San Martin, a Peruvian team, that had to win or was out of the Copa Libertadores.

Eighty some minutes later, River's five goals sealed the fate of a scoreless oponent. Coimpletely dominating, Emanuel said it was a baile for the team they were having such an easy time. In Peru, something that is easy is called Papaya, though they didn't say this tonight. Peruvians usually don't travel all the way to Argentina for futbol games, so the stadium wasa not half full. Barras, or chants were still the rage though. Everytime river scored, all its fans would chant-

Es para vos, es para vos, bostero puto puta que te parió! I don't know, I'd rather you translate it yourself.

The funny thing about chants with River is that they are usually not to support theteam. Rather, the chants are to disparage Boca. Not any other team, just Boca. And when it is another team, fine. Those chants will do to.

Caramel Apple Dopplegangers

Aside from nearly getting carjacked, I've been quite busy in Buenos Aires. Besides registering for classes three thousand miles away, I've ridden my first subway. Coming back from the city center felt like riding in a Cusqueño combi bus. I've visited the Casa Rosada. Basically the historical white house of Argentina, I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Madonna serenading her people. Inside was a presidential museum. While watching a video, Lenay's schedule caught up with her and she fell asleep, exhausted from traveling.

We visited the zoo yesterday. Inside the Polar Bear was absolutely frightened of its poolside reflection, twitching constantly. Snow leopards were restlessly pacing, and the resident indian elephant just stared at the wall of its cage. It made me a little sad. Zoos.

We walked to the San Telmo barrio. There are most likely fifty antique stores in the vicinity, witha as many tango dancers outside, doing their thing. Lenay found some clothes boutiques. Who doesn't like having their own Argentinian wardrobe, I suppose. The buildings there are beautiful, treelined, terraced apartment buildings, in the old style.

Aside forom the cat garden in Palermo, Manu took us to an empanada restaurant in Palermo. I recommend the choclo empanadas. They're pretty much the best thing that happened to South America. To hell with those caramel apple dopplegangers at taco bell...

We were walking in the Plaza de Mayo one night, and there was a protest. La Manifestación was fighting for workers' wages, and the Malvinas war of '82. It covered several´parts of the plaza. Additionally, Orange vested police officers lined the sidewalks, just waiting for...something. Manu tells me all of the cops here are corrupt, and will accept bribes for just about anything. It makes me feel lucky.