tango, vermicomposting, community-centered activities, self-sustainability

let it come to no surprise to you, dear readers, that you will not hear from me for a while.

i am deeply immersed in my projects. striving to live self-sustainably, developing my artistic dimension, and loving every moment of life. i'm in too magical a place with a sun too gorgeous to not take advantage of every opportunity to learn, live, and love.

please stay tune. feel free to sign up as a follower of the blog so when i start blogging again (and, oh, the stories i will have to share!!), you will be notified!

all the best, the girl with the purple shirt

Waste not, want not.

The house I live in is found a little more than a stone’s throw from downtown San Marcos Sierras. Distance has its consequences. It means I’m happily and peacefully isolated in my own little project haven. It also means that we aren’t frequented by garbage collectors… meaning that all the trash we produce is our responsibility. This presents a serious question: if we don’t want to be waist-deep in waste, what do we do with our trash??

Sure, we could load it all into bags, cart them into town and have them magically disappear. That would be the easy option. But have you ever stopped to think about what happens to your trash once it disappears from your doorstep?

If you live in Argentina, it is most likely discarded onto the ever-growing piles of trash known as the local dump. The plastic, Styrofoam, glass, wood, paper, metal and organic material are then left to sit and think about their existence. Everything is mixed together. The organic material, due to lack of oxygen, then begins to ferment, producing a very unpleasant odor. Then the wind picks up and carries whatever it can into the countryside. The plastic bags cling to trees in desperation. The soda bottles await their fate in roadside ditches. Candy wrappers are whisked into streams, rivers, lakes, and lagoons. Decorating the beautiful countryside, people’s back yards, and city streets with trash.

Or… It is sometimes lit on fire and burned. Mmmmm….

If you live in the United States, it is mostly likely dumped into a landfill or the ocean.

Tada! No more garbage!

But I say, no thank you! I don’t want to participate in that destruction of natural resources. I want to be able to walk through the mountains and not see a wine bottle or a crumpled bag of potato chips. I want to be able to swim in water that isn’t contaminated. I want to be able to breathe air that is transparent. I want to continue cultivating the earth and drinking waters from the streams. And, even if you aren’t as hippie-idealed as I am, perhaps you can agree with me that accumulation of trash can have negative impacts on us and the world around us.

Sure, we can talk about recycling. But recycling requires recycling plants, fossil fuel burning transportation and processing. And, yes, it may to more good than harm… but why not, instead, concentrate on consumption patterns? Why do we create so much trash? Perhaps it would be more effective if, instead of treating the symptoms of the problem, we figure out the source. Once we have the core, the origin of the issue, we can work to find the solution.

Look at each and everything thing that you throw out. And imagine how it would be to take responsibility for that trash. To cohabitate with it. To confront its existence and your role in bringing to reside in your possession. What would you DO with such material? Every candy wrapper. Every bottle of potable liquid beverage. Every sheet of paper. Every yogurt container. Milk carton. Piece of clothing. Tin can. Everything! Everything everything! Everything we consume, and then throw away, results in a huge quantity of primarily unbiodegradable crap.

One simple solution, consume less. Produce more. Make homemade! Things are easily made in your kitchen, bathroom, back yard. Don’t be tricked into believing that they can only be bought in the supermarket. That’s what marketers want you to believe. So many things from edibles to ant repellants can be made with a little research, your own hands, and a few minutes. Don’t have enough time? Turn off your television. Or your smart phone. You’ll discover you have more time than you thought.

And… if you do consume, try to buy local and without a lot of packaging. Bring your own Tupperware, or plastic bag, or jar to the store for your milk, honey, flour, and rice. Here in San Marcos I’ve joined a community-organized purchasing collective. Great way to meet the neighbors, save pesos on ingredients I use every day, and never set foot in a supermarket.

Once you’ve reduced the waste that you produce… now what do you do with the things you DO throw out?

We separate the organic from the inorganic. All organic (veggie kitchen scraps minus the citric, meat and dairy) become pet food.

Pets? Yes.

I have acquired, and now feel a compelling responsibility to care for, my new pets. Well, they pretty much care for themselves; my job is to make sure that they are well fed, that their environment retains a certain level of moisture, and that they are happy.

Not only are my pets emotionally satisfying, they are of the functional variety as well. They digest organic kitchen scraps and poop out rich organic matter that is very useful for gardening. They are very low maintenance and require very little care. They pretty much keep to themselves. True, they aren’t cuddly or fuzzy. They are fairly shy. They are awesome.

If you haven’t considered wiggly squiggly worm pets, I urge you to entertain the idea.

The worms love decomposing banana peels, squash skins, and coffee grounds. I just make sure to chop everything up before I bury it in their worm haven. The question becomes, what on earth did I do before I had earthworms??

And, honestly, it’s super easy to set up your own worm box. Here’s what we did.

Went to Geraldo the worm guy.

Got to dig out our own worms.

Carried them home.

Found a discarded crate.

Lined it with discarded pieces of wood and plastic bag.

Put shredded newspaper on the bottom.

Filled with dirt.

Installed worms.

Covered with dirt.

Covered with damp newspaper.

Covered with scrap pieces of wood.

Bury food scraps in different places.

Keep humid.

Keep fed.

If you don’t feel comfortable constructing your own worm home, there are complete worm kits (with instructional DVD) for sale online. They come with everything included. My father has one in his NewYork City apartment. He is a fan. Read about it on his blog:

Avoid giving the worms citric wastes. Instead, you can use your orange or lemon peels for jam making. See “orange peel jam”. Meat and dairy scraps should also avoided in your worm care; they are, however, welcomed by the dogs and cats.

The rest of the trash we try to reuse.

Plastic bottles are great for planting seeds. The reflective interior of potato chip bags are perfect for lining the solar oven. Jars are always in demand when preparing your homemade olives, jam, yogurt, dulce de leche. Paper products are used to start the fireplace or mud oven. I’ve begun to look at everything with a different perspective. How can I reuse this? How can I transform that? Hmmm… I need a smaller watering can, maybe I can use this bottle. Almost everything in the house is recycled, reused and overall waste is thus reduced.

That which does not serve any other purposes is, yes, burned. It’s not pleasant, but it is a reminder to keep conscious of the consequences of my consumer actions.

Epic Bike Trip Reaches Intermission.

Over four months ago, a girl with purple shirt and a multicolored bicycle left comfort, certainty, and beautiful Patagonia in search of adventure. The direction was north, the path was uncertain, and a solid time frame was non existent. The decision to head off into the unknown, to let life play me like a puppet, to try something so different from anything I had ever done… was a very difficult decision to make. It meant throwing comfort to the wind and placing my life in the universe’s tentacles. It meant saying, ‘here goes everything’ and facing every bump in the road with positivity and eagerness to learn. However difficult and terrifying it seems, it meant following that little voice inside my heart, trusting that this is my path, and knowing that I’d understand why in the world I decided to embark on such a trip…when the time was right to know such information.

The reason I never put an actual physical geographical tangible destination to this trip is because having such an objective was exactly what this trip was NOT about. I knew that the road would wind. The wind would push. Opportunities would arise. Fate would step in. And that I would have to respond accordingly. And there was no telling where I would end up. Only I would stop when I knew the time was right.

Ladies and gentlemen, that time is now.

After four months, over 2,500 kilometers, one flat tire, many inexplicably kind strangers, uphills, downhills… I have arrived to many conclusions and to the first real intermission of this epic bike trip.

A new chapter has begun.

A chapter filled with high hopes and sustainable living projects. A chapter of local food production and appreciating nature. A chapter of goals of the longer term variety. A chapter of stability.

At least until I decide to do something else…

Traslasierra. Top Ten Things I thoroughly enjoyed.

The magical Argentine province of Córdoba is divided straight down the middle by a mountain range called las sierras. Traslasierra, or behind las sierras, is the name given to the land in the shadow to the West of these mountains.

When we left Villa Dolores, we bordered the sierras’ western coast heading first south along route 14 slowly meandering through small town after smaller town until we reached the city of Merlo. There we promptly turned around and then headed north. North north north! Sneaking around the northern edge of the sierras and dropping into hippie town San Marcos Sierras.

The trip, like the hilly terrain, had its ups and downs. I struggled while trying to adapt to traveling with the company of another person. Being a fairly independent, know-what-I-want traveler, sometimes traveling with others can be a challenge. But perhaps it’s another thing to learn in this great quest of mine to learn absolutely everything I’m faced with.

Because I’m falling behind on my blog writing, I won’t go into details about this leg of the trip (mostly because I have newer fresher very exciting adventures to write about). But it was an amazing adventure and I don’t want to skip writing about it all together. Maybe a top ten list will suffice…

Traslasierra. Top Ten Things I thoroughly enjoyed.

In no particular order.

1. Climbing a walnut tree and harvesting the few lonely nuggets still hanging from the branches.

2. Meeting the apiculturist. Hearing his story. Meeting his bees. Eating the most delicious honey. Paradise for my taste buds. Paradise.

3. Artisan ice-cream in Merlo on a very hot day.

4. Nighttime truco tournament in the tent. After losing the first two nights, I launched a major comeback and won the next two nights. Especially interesting when there’s betting involved.

5. Countryside dirt roads. Wide open skies and vast prickly views. Of even more countryside. Singing at full volume into the wind. Waving to the families in scattered houses staggered along the twisting turning winding climbing road.

6. Museum Rocsen. The most satisfying museum I have ever been to. If you are every graced with the opportunity, I implore you to go explore it. You will not be under whelmed.

7. Experiencing for the first time, the wind-shield effect of traveling in pairs. It’s amazing. The first cyclist blocks the wind and the other cyclist tailgates. Basically rides for free. Then switch! Alternating being human shield, you use less energy and pedal the same distance. The laws of physics never cease to amaze me.

8. The Cordoobés accent.

9. The in-your-face contact with nature. Leaving the main road and disappearing into the back country. Barefoot. Listening to the trees; it‘d been a long time since the trees had talked to me… or maybe it‘d been a long time since I’d sat to really listen. Playing with cold stream water. Watching the moonrise over the glistening golden red sierras. Admiring the waxing moon as it slowly swells to full capacity, threatening to burst wide open, throwing moonlight shamelessly down at those brave enough to face it. Bouncing along unpaved dirt roads, avoiding rocks, thorns, and washboard bumpity bumps. Cooking by campfire, cautiously aware of the firewood used and the responsibility involved in aspects fire-related. Basking in the sun’s radiant energy cascading down from the cloudless sky.

And, 10. arriving to San Marcos Sierras

orange peel jam

When orange trees are a common sidewalk occurrence, consumption of their citric fruits is almost morally obligatory. Whether in a orange-banana-honey smoothie or as a surprise ingredient in homemade goat-milk-farm-egg flan, fresh picked oranges are in abundance and always looking for ways to incorporate themselves into the daily menu.

But what to do with the peel? Sure, you can dry them and use them to flavor up your mate or you can place them near the crackling fireplace and fill the room with warmth and a citric aroma… but there are just so many peels. My newly inaugurated compost pail is easily overwhelmed when faced with too much citric acid; it craves a balanced diet. And our new pets, the earthworms, aren’t too well equipped to deal with citrics. So what to do with all those peels?

Orange peel jam. Obviously.

I first tried this delicious preserve over a bowl of creamy ice-cream at a get-together on a hot sunny day about a week ago. And I was sold instantly. So I decided to learn to make it.

Here’s what we did:

Obtained freshly picked oranges from our Tango teacher's backyard.

Washed six of them.

Juiced them.

Cut the peel into thin slices.

Lit a fire in the fireplace.

Boiled orange peels and some pulp in water over hot embers.

Added sugar.

Kept boiling jam.

Tasted jam.

Filled three jars.

Drank the leftover orange juice.

Yum.

More recipes to come :)

Recent happenings

I’m falling way behind on my blogging. To tell you the truth, I’m finding it very hard to sit in front of a screen these days. And, even though there are so many beautiful things to write about, stories to tell, and laughter to share, I’m opting to dedicate myself to different activities and, in turn, neglecting my blog writing.

What in the universe am I so busy with to the point that I can’t document it? Let me give you a little inside glance to my recent happenings.

I’ve been waking up in the sparse moments before sunrise, feeling completely rested. Conversing profoundly with plant life. Painting. Reading Argentine poetry, sometimes outloud, listening to the sounds of each consonant patiently, yet decidedly, guide their vowel partners as they leap and slither and drip from my own lips. Picking arugula from the garden. Preparing “rifles” (the Cordobes beverage of choice). Dancing cumbia. Soaking up the sun’s rays. Eating homemade sausages and accompanying them with homemade bread. Waving at everyone. Communicating with water. Playing dominoes. Drinking herbal infusions. Learning to appreciate life’s elements. Getting the hang of the earth oven. Familiarizing myself with fresh goat milk. Repairing bicycle tire tubes. Singing. Smiling. Listening to the wind. Observing moon phases. Searching for my guitar. Eating lechon. Re-planting edible plants. Laughing at drunk hippies. Listening to my body and its relationship to everything around it. Getting soil under my fingernails. Licking local honey from the spoon. Registering the sun’s position in the sky, and contemplating how it affects everything. Eating freshly picked oranges from the Tango teacher’s backyard. Learning Tango and loving it. Using fresh local olive oil for a myriad of different purposes. Watching the Simpsons. Walking barefoot, feeling the breathing earth radiate through me. Learning to identify, and then sympathize, with native trees. Goat milk flan. Foot-powered washing machine. Compost. Politically prompted festivities. Local food production. Overwhelming bird song. Epiphanies. Hummus with fresh ginger. Climbing walnut trees and gently coaxing the nuts down. Walking on dusty dirt roads. Admiring, accepting, transmitting. Following the river, picking thorns from my flip flops. Finding peace. Writing. Breathing and thinking deeply. Cutting aloe vera from the patio for my sun burns. Being in nature, and realizing that here is where I’m meant to be. Skinny dipping. Learning and getting excited about building houses from the earth, with green roofs. Coming thiiiiiiiis close to eating a freshly picked avocado. Closing my eyes and not believing this is all real.

villa dolores. nothing short of awesome.

Villa Dolores is where I fell in love with Córdoba. Who would have guessed? Villa Dolores is perhaps the most populated town in the Traslasierras. It’s not exceedingly beautiful. And, now that I’ve seen much more of Córdoba, it still surprises me that I decided then and there to fall head over heals. But I did. And I think it was the people.

Melisa was my couch surfing host for 5 nights. She is true Virgo and unexpected fernet-inspired partier. She’s a cordobesa and a world traveler. She’s interested in social change at small town level. And she found me a job for a day. She’s pretty awesome.

Thanks to Melisa, her family and friends, I found it very hard to have a boring time.

The first two days were rest days. I needed some rest days.

The third day was a work day…? Work? Yes, work.

It’s elections-season in the Province of Córdoba. And it’s obligatory for all citizens to vote. So, the campaign trucks are out in full swing. The plaza is colored with banners, the ground littered with pamphlets, and the streets full of cars with huge speakers blasting propaganda.

My job was to hand out political pamphlets. I was a promoter. Yes, the political t-shirt, tight pants, and makeup wearing girls who walk down the street getting all the attention. They asked me to wear high heals, (I don’t have high heals) but they didn’t ask me to actually know anything about the candidate. All they asked me to do was to look nice, give people pamphlets, and smile.

Now, this isn’t a job I’d normally take. Nor do I think I’ll follow this career line in the future. Why? Because I was paid to sell a political party with my image, not my knowledge. And that’s not in line with my normal philosophy. But they paid surprisingly well and it was only for 4 hours. So I whipped out my smile and started littering the streets with paper for a candidate I may actually have been interested in if they had taken the time to inform me.

That night the boys arrived. Guille, a friend of mine I hadn’t seen in three years, and Miguel, the French backpacking couch surfer, arrived. That night it also happened to be Emilce’s birthday, so we got rowdy in the YPF station in Villa de la Rosas dancing quarteto, drinking beer, and causing a ruckus.

That night we threw some mattresses on the floor, and crashed.

The fourth day, we walked a lot through the city. I laughed out loud when I saw the palo borracho tree in the park. And instantly wanted nothing more than to climb it

The sunset provoked a late afternoon bike ride. We picked oranges from the sidewalk trees. It’s exceeding beautiful to me when I walk down the street to accompanied by orange trees, branches heavy with fruit. Even if no one cares for the trees and their fruit is bitterly acidic. Having fruit trees adds color to an ordinary concrete sidewalk. The oranges may not be edible, but they are useful for juggling practice and for making daquiris. So we did both.

That night was the big party. To sum it up: fernet, wine, guitar, singing, empanadas, a very very delicious cake, some dancing, and a whole lot of ruckus-causing. Sadly I have no photos to publish.

The next morning left us almost out-of-commission. But we got up relatively early anyway. Why?? One word: LOCRO!

Locro is a typical Argentine dish. It’s a stew of beans, meat, bacon, squash… una bomba! I had never tried it. Melisa’s mother was appalled when she found out and a few days later she prepared my first locro.

Of couse we picked the hottest day of the week to eat it (it is normally a cold weather dish, check out the ingredient list!), but it was amazing. I ate two heaping bowls.

Delicious.

We packed up the mate and sat at the dique sipping and chatting.

Diego (yes, Diego from Mendoza) showed up on his motorcycle and joined in for the asado that night. Guitar, singing, food, drink… En fin, another amazing night.

The next day was departure day. After five spectacular event-packed days, we said goodbye to Melisa and her amazing clan of friends and family, and pedaled away.

We? Yes. I have found someone crazy enough to hop on a bike and accompany me for the next 200+ km.

The road less travelled

Yes, that road. The one that passes through the unknown. The one that passes through long stretches of inhabitable countryside. The one that inspires philosophies The one that begs you to follow your heart.

On such road, important lessons are learned. Your instincts may take control. Your reason may shake hands with your imagination. Your intuition is tested.

Route 20 through the northern stretch of the San Luis Province is pretty desolate. Or so they told me. They told me that I would find nothing. And a whole lot of it.

I didn’t quite believe them. There is almost never nothing. There is almost always something.

And plus, if there really really wasn’t anything, just think of the adventure I would have!

I left La Tranca under a light dusting of precipitation. It was cold.

I passed a parked car on the side of the highway. I wouldn’t have stopped except that I saw a huge bag of bread in the back window. And I needed bread.

I slowed to a stop and asked the two guys sitting in the car if they would please sell me some of their bread. Hugo and Franco, two personalities from San Juan were on their way to go fishing for the weekend. Their car broke down and the third person, who I never met, went back for help. So, there they were sitting in the car waiting waiting waiting. They pulled out some bread and treated me to homemade sausages and whiskycola. People are awesome.

Back on the road with a fully belly and four graciously donated breads, I pedaled along. I passed the fork in the road and took, yes, the road less traveled.

I pedaled and pedaled. Urging myself to go a little bit further. I passed a few lonely houses. I laughed at people’s notions of this supposed nothingness.

And then I learned a few good lessons.

Number one. Arid countryside usually means thorns. Everywhere. I propped Tioca against a sign and went to use the bathroom. When I returned to the road, I noticed the tires decorated with thorns of all shapes, sizes and generosities. Oh no, it’s only a matter of time… Lesson: don’t go off road in prickly countryside if you don’t want to learn how to patch your tire tubes.

Number two. Just because there are houses doesn’t mean that there are people. Many gates were closed and locked. I clapped and clapped and yelled. Sometimes there just isn’t anyone home. And then, night approaches.

Number three. Sometimes country folks are a little creepy. I saw a purple pickup truck parked on the side of the road. Getting a little desperate for a place to sleep, I approached. The man in the truck gave me some advice. His green eyes and stutter caught my attention. But what really caught my attention was when he started following me at a distance. That’s when I started to get a little nervous.

I pedaled and pedaled. Getting more and more tired with every kilometer, every locked gate, and every abandoned house. I knew that there was a town in 60 kilometers, but that would mean night biking, which I wasn’t to keen on trying. Especially fatigued. Even with the absence of heavy traffic.

I finally found a gate that was closed, but not locked. I let myself in and found Leo. I was so relieved when he let me pitch my tent in his tool shed that I was speechless with gratitude. That night I drank sweet mate, made small talk, and dined a polenta-soy-wild quinoa concoction. That night, the grey sky blew a harsh, but understanding cold. And I wallowed in my relief.

In the middle of the night, the tapping of rain on the tin roof was silenced. In the morning, I opened the tent flap and understood why. SNOW! Huge white flakes cascaded down to the ground. Snow. Snow snow snow.

Tioca was quiet. I gave a loving pinch to each tire. Tada. The moment I’d been waiting for! My first flat tire of the trip! Leo helped me patch her up and soon I was ready for the next adventure.

Lujan was the next blip of human civilization on my radar. To get there I had 50km in front of me. Each day my body was getting a little more tired. But I wanted to arrive to Villa Dolores. So go go go!!

I passed the electrical plant. A nauseating monstrosity. I stood for a moment underneath thick wires that hummed a deathly terrifying hum. An electrical current buzzed through the air. Everything vibrated. It is horrifying the cancer that humans are to the planet. It depresses me.

Lujan is a small town with very very friendly people. It was a cold Sunday. Businesses were shut and no one walked the streets. In the province of San Luis, there is free WIFI in every city and town. I sat in the plaza and froze my fingers typing and skyping.

It was 6pm when I left. Usually the sun sets around 6:30. With 90 kilometers left to Villa Dolores, I decided to push just a little farther before resting for the night. The dusk was cold. My toes were numb. The sun settled beneath the horizon. I arrived to a chapel.

The family living behind the chapel treated me to mate and torta de rescoldo and allowed me to sleep in the chapel. I lit a candle before settling into my sleeping bag, thanking the saint who gave me the four sturdy walls and roof to spend the night.

The next day was very long. My legs were very tired. But I pushed and pushed the final part of the way to Villa Dolores. I passed Quines with very friendly people. I passed a lot of countryside. I was stopped by a family in a car who took photos of me. I arrived to the border of the province of Córdoba and shared mates with the police officer on duty. I witnessed the first snowy mountains I’d seen in many days. I pedaled and pedaled even when my body thought it could take no more. I arrived to Villa Dolores and kept pedaling.

I met Melisa in the GNC station at the other end of the city. I unloaded my bike, took my first shower in 6 long days, and fell in love with Cordoba. I had pedaled 430km of desolate countryside in 6 days. I had snow, wind, rain. I had my first flat tire. I experienced fear, joy, relief, and everything in between. But the toughest leg of the trip was behind me; I had made it.

Best leg of the epic bike journey, so far (part 1)

There is a misunderstanding about balance. When we observe something in equilibrium, it appears unmoving, unchanging, and unwavering. But a true balance is never static. It is only achieved by the natural ebbing and flowing of the relevant forces. Balance is fluid. It requires flexibility, movement, and compassionate understanding.

There is a tendency, however, once balance is achieved, to want to hold on to it, preserve it, keep it from changing. But balanced can’t be controlled, it can’t be forced. It trembles and shutters and yearns for movement. And it must be allowed to flow. It must be allowed to create its own path, untethered. Life naturally tends towards balance, even if it appears to do quite the opposite. Our job is to accept this movement along its path, and ride along with it.

It’s much like… riding a bike, for example. Balance is more easily achieved while in motion. Measuring the differing forces at play, and using them to your advantage. It is much more difficult to balance while the bike is at a standstill. There are fewer movements to manipulate. You strain and struggle, and yet the bicycle almost always tends to end up pedal to the pavement.

It’s much like… life? Balance is more easily achieved when you move with it, bend with it, flow with it. Life will move. Use its movements to your advantage. Don’t force it. Don’t grab it by the collar and make it walk along at your side. Don’t try to control it. Don’t deny its movements. Let it flow. Flow with it. You will find productivity, happiness, and peace.

Or at least I have.

I left Mendoza on a beautiful sunny warm day. I took Route 40 north and then abruptly turned east. I passed countryside. I passed small shrines dedicated to various saints. I passed hand-painted signs advertising homemade goodies of the countryside variety. It felt really good to be back on the road. My legs thanked me. So did my mind. Especially after one month of city sitting. The open road was relieving.

That night I slept in a community center in the small town of Costa de Araujo, home to the annual Melon and Watermelon Festival. Oh how I wished that I could have been there for the actual festival. Instead, I ate an avocado with a spoon and played with colored pencils in the cold sparsely furnished hall.

The next day was epic. Sun so strong that I biked in a tank top and shorts No wind. I pedaled strong along Route 142. I bounced along the dirt road leading to the little dusty town of Asunción, where I stopped for water. A man painting his house gave me non invasive, non intrusive, friendly advice. The best kind, if you ask me.

I would have stayed longer, but my trip objective has changed.

Before Mendoza, my objective was to meander. To wander through little towns, learning, getting to know people places and experiences. To go, stop, turn around, laugh, stray from the main road, take it easy, learn patience, find peace.

After Mendoza, my objective was simple: Get to Córdoba!

So, I continued, muscles laughing and skin glistening under the summer-like sun. I made good time and soon arrived to the National Park Patrol station. There was a group of people finishing their lunch. I asked for innocent route advice… and soon after a guitar appeared. Shortly after, we started singing and dancing the chacarera. Spontaneous parties are the best time ever! I love people.

I hit the road once again. Soon I arrived to the Posta San Gabriel. An awesome family let me pitch my tent in their garage. The grandfather took me under his wing and urged me to share my story. We talked life philosophy with the daughters, while the grandchildren ran around giggling beauifully. After an episode of the Simpsons and a few rounds of mate, they let me sleep on a mattress on the living room floor. It was cold outside. I saw the most wonderful shooting star that night.

The next day was of the blustery variety. The sun and all its radiance hid behind the dark dark clouds. The menacing wind picked up and carried all that it could creep its gusty influence around. The grandfather wanted me to stay until the cold front moved on. Two or three days, he said.

He was right, it most certainly wasn’t the ideal biking day… or was it? Only one way to find out! I packed up everything, said goodbye and thank you, and took off. That day was my three month anniversary of beginning this whole bike trip deal, I couldn’t NOT bike. Right?

I passed Encón. And decided to keep going. I consulted with some police officers. I had to do 55km in 3-4 hours. Or else I wouldn’t make it to a decent place to spend the night. I made a decision. I was going to try it. Ready, set, PEDAL!

The wind was against me, as the gaucho on horseback had predicted. I openly laughed away my frustration. I waved to all the truck drivers. I sang and sang and made up songs. I pushed my mind and my body pretty harshly. I had to arrive. I couldn’t stay in the middle of the countryside. Not with all the wind and cold. Really not an option.

Needlesstosay, I made it. I was destroyed. Mentally and physically. But I made it.

That night I pitched the tent in the three-walled creeky shelter with gaping holes, thanks to an elderly couple‘s kindness. The wind howled. As did my stomach, but I was too tired to prepare anything edible. In the middle of the night, it started raining.

That’s when things got really interesting.