Saturday, March 26, 2011

Once upon a time…



A girl with a purple shirt couldn’t buy a motorcycle due to bureaucratical hardships. Her lips formed a pout and her arms crossed themselves at chest level as she pondered her options. Her mind oscillated among the dream worlds of feasibility, possibility, creativity, passion, and imagination. Much like mental window shopping.

The idea of pedaling crossed her mind, but was dismissed along with many other good ideas. If it wasn’t motorcycling, it just was not good enough. It’s mind-blowing what amazing possibilities can be sent packing due to even the smallest doses of stubbornness and closed-mindedness. Consequently many competent results of various brainstorming sessions got thrown in the idea compost.

But when the desire for travel, the itch for adventure, the yearning for change all become too great, options once casted away are reluctantly reconsidered. Maybe the hot-air balloon idea wasn’t TOO bad. Or maybe helicopters aren’t AS difficult to fly as they say. Or maybe I CAN do a long distance bike trip, even though I’ve never really ridden a bike.

And so the idea was conceived. Over the time, it took shape and form; details ironed out and questions satisfactorily answered.

February 28 was my last day as a Canopy instructor. What a fun job! I learned a lot and spent a lot of quality time flying through the trees enjoying the Patagonian summer sun.

The very next day I bought the bike.

And the helmet… Mom…

And that’s how it began. Over the next three weeks I got the bike racks, the saddle bags, the reflector lights, the kickstand, the mirror, the cool gadgets to adjust screws and things, and… my favorite purchase by far… the bike shorts with the butt padding. I love these shorts. A lot.


In fact, my love for my bike shorts far surpasses my love for any other inanimate object. True statement.

But along with all the cool biking toys I get to purchase with my hard-earned Canopy money, comes the training. I have to build up my legs, my lungs, and my spirit to prepare for a trip of this scale.

My goal is to get to Jujuy, northern Argentina. For a beginner biker, that’s quite a trek. Over 3000 kilometers. Have I mentioned that I’m not really a biker? I do alright. I defend myself. But I’d never even considered a long distance bike trip. It was always for real bikers. I most certainly wasn’t a real biker.

But there’s nothing like the smell of a good adventure (and gorgeous Argentine landscapes) to get you to push your own limits. What if I CAN do this? Amazing the limitations that you put on yourself with a closed mind. But I think I’ve mentioned that already in this blogpost…


Over the past three weeks, this trip has been unfolding, developing, and blossoming. And it’s starting to look not only possible, but that it also could end up being enjoyable. How do I know this? Well, I did a mini-trip. A test-trip I call it. And it was good.

Up until the day I left for Villa La Angostura, I had been training a little bit. Maxing out at 40 kilometers per day. Some hills. Some flat. Some traffic. Some deserted winding mountain roads.

From Bariloche to Villa La Angostura there are approximately 85 kilometers. That’s double my daily average. And, yes, I planned to do it all in one day.

I don’t want to go into details by giving a kilometer-by-kilometer commentary, but I made it. In one piece. Needless to say I was an incoherent exhausted mess, but triumphant nonetheless.


What I will mention though is that I may have picked the windiest day in the history of all windy days to do this trip. And, of course, the wind was heading east as it always does, and I was heading west. I understand now why some people find Patagonian wind infuriating. Yes, I did lose my temper. Yes, I did scream and curse. Yes, I lost a lot of energy getting angry at the wind. And, yes, I do understand that there is nothing productive about getting angry at the wind. But I’m relatively new to biking… and I’m starting to realize that the world is a windy place when you’re on a bike.


The last 10-20 kilometers were the longest, toughest, and most challenging ever, but as I rolled into the quaint tourist town of Villa la Angostura, it was suddenly all worth it. Suddenly my legs didn’t hurt as much. Suddenly my goosebumps erupted in jubilation. Suddenly the hours and hours and hours on the bicycle seat didn’t seem so bad. Suddenly wind, the horrible wind, was a distant memory. And in my exhausted excitement, I took a picture.


I was too tired to look for a free, out-of-the-sight-of-the-police spot to pitch my tent, so I forked over some pesos for the rights to a small plot of grass in a campsite. After some of the best mates I’ve ever had, I threw my barely conscious body in my tent and passed out to the sound of Bob Marley coming from the next tent over. It was 9pm.


Around 2am I woke up to the most intense, most excruciating pain. But, in my delirium, when I tried to pinpoint the origin of the pain, I was surprised that it came from almost everywhere. My sunburnt legs stung. My back hurt, in two different places. My lungs burned. My throat ached. My jaw throbbed. My face felt like it was falling off. And my feet were frozen. I realized that my body was in shock. I drank some water. I ate some crackers. But I was in so much pain. Uncontrollable tears streamed down my face. What was going on?

If you push your body to its physical and mental limits, it will react. Especially if you then proceed to sleep in sub-zero temperatures in a tent. Especially if you haven’t had enough water or food. So push your body, but then take care of it. Or push it comfortably. Or push it hard, but be willing to deal with the side-effects. Hmmm… There may be some good lessons to be learned here.

That night and the next morning I seriously considered putting the bike on a bus and return to Bariloche. The idea of biking back was unfathomable. I had done my 90 kilometers. I learned some good lessons. I could still consider the trip a success. Couldn’t I?

The next morning, after a devouring a generous portion of hot oatmeal, I cycled into town and went to my favorite bakery. Arte y Manteca (Art and Butter) was recommended to David and me on a border-run trip that we did in June. Finger-licking good pastries. I’ve always been meaning to go back. So I did and I picked out some spirit-lifting, bad-mood-erasing, dulce-de-leche-filled goodies. And I decided to attempt the bike trip back home.

The day was perfect. No clouds. Blue blue blue skies. And, best of all, no wind!!

It was on this day, that I discovered the pleasure of biking.

Biking is freedom. There is nothing between you and the trip. You control the trip. You ARE the trip. You feel the breezes. You coast down the hills. You race the clouds and competitive little yellow-jackets. You stop for water. You stop for the subsequent bathroom breaks. You chose to eat your lunch at the most picturesque beaches and then take an after-lunch nap on the rocky shore. You wave to motorcycle dudes and dudettes. You stick out your tongue at cars and wonder where the rush is. You freak out a little each time a truck or a double-decker bus pass you. It’s adrenaline and relaxation. It’s the meeting point of being exposed and being in control. And you are the protagonist.


Biking is not about arriving at the destination. Biking is about the journey to get to a destination.

And, to state the obvious if I may, biking is slow. Very slow. It’s not for people who are in a hurry. It’s not for those with schedules and deadlines. It’s not about rush rush rush. It’s about the road. It’s about the moment. It’s about patience, enjoyment, and sloooooooooowing down a little bit.


I‘m still new to the biking lifestyle, but I’m picking up a few things. Like how sometimes you stop and have amazing conversation with super interesting bikers. Imagine, you’re going down the road and, along comes another biker. You’re going slow and so you have time to cross the road and come bike-to-bike with the other individual. You’re in no hurry. It’s a beautiful day. You stop and talk. They most likely have some amazing stories to tell. And then you each go your own way. It’s a great feeling to get encouraging waves, smiles, and fist-pumps from almost everyone you meet along the way. You can stop and try to help the exasperated Brazilian couple with the broken down car. It’s the small-town kind of traveling.

At the end of the second day of pedaling, I arrived in Bariloche exhausted, sunburnt, sweaty, and in disbelief that I had actually pulled off the seemingly impossible trip. Sometimes when you set the expectations high, you can surprise yourself when you achieve the unthinkable. So let this moment be the green light for you to do your unimaginable. Try something you’ve never done. Go above and beyond. Go for it!

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

i bought the bike

yes. the bike.

the bike that will be my only travel companion on the long desolate roads leading north.

the bike that will be my best friend, worst enemy, and everything in between.

the bike that will test my strength, mental and physical.

the bike that will accompany me on my first ever long distance bike trip.

i have yet to name the bike, but it will have a name.

i have yet to take a picture of the bike, but as soon as i do, i will post it.

now... alisa, stop blogging and start training! :)

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

a word on social activism

When a young woman’s thoughts wander into the highest strata alturism clouds and busy neurons, for this or that selfish or benign motive, entertain the idea of being a pivotal figure in global social change, she must think twice (three, four, fifteen, seventhousandsixhundredandfour times) about what that change might look like, how to implement it, and the heavy burden of responsibility in calculating its consequences.

Where does this motivation of instigating large-scale social change originate? Why do we feel the need to help others (a need that is evolutionarily unfavorable)? Is it because we honestly want to help people we know nothing about because of the goodness in our hearts? Is it because we have felt pain and struggle at one point in time and we want to prevent it from occurring to others? Is it because we have some hole in our lives and are desperate to fill it with something meaningful? Is it because we are escaping some bigger problem in our own lives by focusing on the misfortune of others?

The idea of making big social changes in the world (saving the world, as it is sometimes called) is a very upper middle class American idea. We dream of eradicating child labor, feeding the world’s poor, halting wars, educating school aged children, building houses-hospitals-watertreatmentcenters. These are all romantic ideas that many liberal arts college graduates have wet dreams about. I can safely assume that a good fraction of my readers are salivating at the mere mention of such examples of do-gooding. We desire that self-assured heart-warming sensation of knowing that we have made a positive difference in a person’s life. We congratulate ourselves, we feed our egos, we feel damn good about ourselves… and then return to normal life… forgetting perhaps that we have treated a single symptom and turned a blind eye to a much larger, much more evasive cause of the illness.

I went to a college whose motto was: Think one person can change the world? We do.

But with time (and subsequent travels and experiences) I am changing my view on what that change should look like. In high school I thought that protests, clever posters, and rhythmic chanting were the key to change. In college I thought individualized education, motivating, inspiring people was the key. Now I have a different outlook.

For example, I strongly dislike the Peace Corps, and other such volunteer-for-a-better-world organizations. I dislike the idea of going into other communities with the intention of helping them. I dislike signing petitions on issues I don't know anything about. I dislike supporting wars in other countries. I dislike protests on issues that aren't my own. Who am I to impose my views on others? Especially when the issue is much more complex and multifaceted than I can possibly imagine. It is never black/white, right/wrong, good/bad. It's never simple. How can I possibly know what's right?

And these organizations, international movements, petitions are like a semi-permeable wall between volunteers-concerned citizens and the very people being affected by these altruistic acts of kindness. Foreigners descend on a poor helpless community stricken with some unfortunate circumstance. A decision is made to help this community. Forget communication and working alongside the recipients of this noble act. Volunteers chests-puffed with good intention flood the surprised community. Within months the project is finished and the community is left deserted, inhabitants wonder what the hell just happened and why they now have this ridiculous monstrosity to deal with.

I dislike the volunteer-based-social-change-organizations just like I dislike tourism. It’s impersonal. It’s very self-absorbed. It’s ironically egocentric. It has little or no regard for the actual people or culture of the society. It’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am approach to a bigger, more valuable, realer action.

And just like the social change movement is a safer diluted form of international altruism, tourism is the safer diluted form of traveling. It’s comfort that you pay for. It’s a boundary placed between you and the local people, society, customs, culture. It’s a jacket placed on a puddle so you don’t get your feet wet. It’s training wheels on a bicycle. It’s a security blanket. It’s someone holding your hand. It’s safe, harmless, cuddly, and boring.

And another thing I've learned is that change can’t be forced upon people. It can’t be imposed because it will only be artificial. Change is not only on the surface; it is internal. Change can only be inspired.

So I think instead of taking the “I know what’s good for you, so let ME teach you a few things” approach to international altruism… there is a realer option. You could go to another country with the idea that perhaps they have something to teach YOU. Your objective would be to learn, absorb, live and observe. Not to impose, teach, turn your nose up, and hide behind a Lonely Planet in comfy English-speaking hostels. You could communicate in the colorful street language. You could learn a few local recipes. You could meet the people who live there. You could listen to their stories. You could dance to their music. You could grow like you’ve never grown before. You could be humbled by the beauty of local culture.

And I’ve learned that the best social change is nothing tangible. Social change is taught through experiences. From every trip I take a lesson learned. From every person I take a world of love. I grow as a person. I put aside my ego. I put aside my pride. I am a visitor. I am the outsider. I have everything to learn. I have my own experiences to teach. And we trade, barter, exchange stories, laughs, experiences. If I evaluate the tangible and the intangible things I’ve received or left behind, the intangibles are worth infinitely more than the tangibles.

So I think I finally truly understand what was meant by the quote: be the change you want to see in the world. Let yourself be changed. Absorb the beauty of every culture, story, song, smile, moment. Change with each passing experience. And then live. Truly live. Live ethically, live passionately, live based on what you’ve learned, live the example of what you believe, live well, live live live. And you will change people passively with your kind words, passion, view points, conversation, lyrics, and melody. You will influence the change you believe in. That is the only true way to realize social change.