city dreaming

Yesterday, on the way to CVS from my house, I was driving behind a Chevrolet Tahoe (for those who don't know, a large SUV) that had three lovely bumper stickers: 1. "Nope" in the Obama "hope" style; 2. MoM, on fire. Yes, with flames; and 3. "Socialism: A good idea until you run out of other people's money." (And the capitalism we have today is a great idea, until we run out of other people's cheap labor and lives.) I am definitively back in the suburbs.

To console myself, I will put up more pictures. These are pictures I actually took, as my family in Buenos Aires kindly lent me a camera for my week there. Oh, to walk city streets and hear Spanish again.



La Boca, a strange mix of extreme touristiness and somewhat sketchy neighborhood.



A work at the Proa Foundation in La Boca, where Jorge and I watched a storm descend on the port, and then had to take a bus that literally swam through flooded streets back.



Centro Cultural de Borges--which we originally entered this building to find... it was slightly confusing because the center is actually in the top levels of a massive shopping gallery, filled with Upper East Side style stores.



Cafe Tortoni, where Melody taught us how to conjugate vos, and where apparently famous people go. Many men in tuxes serving excellent coffee. (strange how high end places seem to always have men as servers instead of women.)



The Museo de Armas, a somewhat unsettling testament to the devices of war from all over the world. These are all the different ways we can kill each other.

Still working on the film pics...

más imágenes

Chiloé, home of bruhas (witches), lots of rain, and myself for a month and a half--though I lived in Ancud, about an hour north of Castro, shown below (also from Dan and Clare):



This photo I stole from Gisselle, my roommate in Valpo last fall; it's from the beach in the Chiloé national park, where I felt like I had reached the edge of the world.



When I was sitting on the side of a gravel road in a small drizzle, a red truck picked me up on the way to Coyhaique. I ended up spending the whole day with Magdalena (what a name!), who actually knew my host in Coyhaique, her niece Daniela, and their friend Mimi. These photos are from Dani, and don't even begin to capture the enormity of Patagonian nature.





My exit from the Aisén region was a prolonged one--my journey on a boat was beautiful but ridiculously long. Fjords, etc., were pretty cool--something about mountains in mist gets me every time.

sneak preview

I am officially home, where the streets are wide, I have more than three pairs of pants (the wonders of opening my closet this morning, I can't even describe), and people ask me about employment (o.O what! no not yet!). I can just walk outside to mail a letter, people don't look at me funny when I speak in English, and I can still make my way around New York!

Anyways, I also have been reunited with my laptop, which means I am again able to steal photos and post them. These are from Dan and Clare, whom I met at the end of January in Puerto Tranquilo. They're motorbiking across the world, as you can see from their many other pictures--check them out, I went to most places in this album.



Imagine coming around a bend in the car of a stranger after winding through impossible scenery (rushing rivers, waterfalls in the road, etc.), to see this gorgeous lake spread beneath a sunset. Yes, the water is emerald. This is the second largest lake in South America, and also has ridiculous caves made out of marble:



All decked out and ready for a Patagonian adventure:



More to come.

santiago--bogota--newyorkcity

Bogota, where I had a 12-hour layover, may be the most confusing city I've tried to navigate on my own. Colombia seems to be promoting tourism, with some bombass videos and really helpful tourism centers that even provide free tours of the city, but unfortunately, the strange arrangement of numbered streets (sin street signs) plus indicaciones malas from many friendly but wrong people together made for a bad situation. I couldn't find the pickup location and just winged it on my own.

One thing I realized--at the Museo de Arte Moderno Bogota, there was an exhibit about political cartoons from all over the world, and included artists from Bogota; similarly, in Buenos Aires, we always found exhibits that featured pretty piercing commentaries on life and politics all over South America, including Argentina. Whereas in New York, the political art in the big institutional museums like the Met or the MoMA is at least 30 years old, unless it's hidden away in Queens at PS1. We're still so careful. Or at the whim of large donors, perhaps.

Anyways, Bogota was pretty sweet, for the ten hours I was there. Of the four major cities where I've taken micros (or collectivos, as they're called in Peru and Argentina--small buses that go all over the city), Bogota was definitely the most interesting. First of all, there are buses that look like a cross between a school bus and a tank, which is a little unsettling especially given the large numbers of uniformed men carrying large guns in the city center. Second, when you get on the bus, you have to squeeze yourself through this tiny space, turn the turnstile, and hand your 1300pesos to the driver, who has already started driving and will simultaneously shift while counting your money and finding change. Then, standing on the bus is like riding a bull--I swear there were times when if I hadn't been desperately hanging out to the seat backs (designed for absolutely no grip), I would have been flung probably all the way through the windshield. And finally, somehow the seats are too small even for me, making for some creative sitting positions--most people's legs were bent in some strange configuration.

But I survived, took the micro all the way back to the airport, and after a surprisingly pleasant flight on Avianca am BACK IN NEW YORK CITY! Which doesn't seem to have changed much, besides this ridiculous rain and wind and also wtf why is a subway ride $2.25?

It's strange to be back in the States again, and I have to train myself to both speak in English and to expect to hear English--I accidentally said "gracias" to my waitress today and still assume that English speakers I hear are gringo travelers who don't know Spanish. Which may be true, metaphorically, in some way, I suppose. But oh! New York! I don't understand it either, but the loudness of the metro, the endless stretches of pavement, the familiarity of this campus, are comforting to my soul.

on the other side

I think this city knows me. Valparaíso has greeted me again, with an exhibit of Pablo Neruda's shells, cazuela, and the ocean, which is still enormous. As for aftermath, there were three tremors today, only two of which I felt (and one just now!). In older parts of town, there are piles of rubble in the streets and lots of taped off sections; rumor has it the city is cutting off water for 72 hours starting tomorrow, I'm not sure why. We'll see how that goes...

Recap... Buenos Aires feels European with a Latin American twist. It is large. Tango is enrapturing. I think I only scratched the surface of a city to rival New York. I visited the mausoleum (I don't even know what the right word is in English) of San Martin, liberator of Argentina, Chile, and Peru, ensconced in very classical looking sculptures, and am thinking about what it means to inherit a tradition of revolution, from the continent of colonization. If the people embrace cultural colonization, that is, continued heritage, are they still creating an identity? (But who are "the people" making the identity?) What does it even mean to have a national identity in a world that has been "globalized," that is, interconnected, for centuries?

Anyways. What a trip to hang out with my cousins who speak perfect Argentinian Spanish but who are clearly Taiwanese. My week in Buenos Aires was filled with good food (my aunt is a fabulous cook, and how I missed Chinese food), huge trees, and random connections--Melody randomly appears in Buenos Aires and we have a South American RMHS reunion! Also I learned how to conjugate vos, though it still doesn't make sense to me why it even exists.

Mirá! (courtesy of Melody)

On a whim, I decided to visit Mendoza before returning to Chile, and I am enchanted. I haven't felt as at home in a city as I felt walking the shady open spaces in the desert air of this oasis, and how absurd that within a half hour's drive from the city you can surround yourself not just with tall, luminous, dusty peaks but also with a distant view of the snow capped Andes.

From Mendoza I took my last solitary journey into this naturaleza, and walked to the edge of a mountain lake that is home to flamingos, somewhere near Malargüe, plus curved pathways made by volcanic eruptions at Volcan Malacara. Wtf!

And now, me quedan less than four days in Chile. Speaking to Matt in English today was actually a little strange. I'm going to have to find some Spanish speaking people in the States, though I assume that won't be a problem at all.

still ok

8.8 is a hell of a big earthquake. I was in Mendoza, Argentina, at the time, probably 800 to 1000 km away from the epicenter, and we could feel it in the house!

So, luckily I was not in Chile, but it was a bit nerve-wracking trying to get through to my friends in Chile. Cell phone service was completely off, but somehow everyone was able to update facebook within two days. (Hey, this is what the internet was made for! Except, more along the lines of an anti-Communist communications attack severing connections.)

There's a lot I'd like to sit in my mind for a while, that I don't want to process yet, so I'll just say that Buenos Aires is huge (but not big enough that I wasn't able to hang out with Melody whom I hadn't seen since high school), me encanta la cafe en Argentina, I played in a murga in Mendoza, and this is my last little jump off the city grid as I type sitting in Malarguë, a pleasant pueblo that I feel like I could have grown up in.

And, the final days look like they will be Mendoza, Olmue, Valpo, Santiago, NYC, home!!!