this week nate left for cochamo. it was a tough week.
marcus, cerin, ash, ros, nate and i made record time last friday reaching puerto varas in a mere 5 hours. smooth talking at the border and good driving skills (not mine, of couse) made all the difference. el caminante is a new hostel in town and it has my vote for one of the best-onda hostels around. nate and i dined at 'donde el gordito,' a cozy seafood restaurant for our last night together.
the next morning we moved nate into his hilltop hotel and said goodbye.
so nate and i have certain obsessive hobbies. his is climbing and mine is traveling. we realized that we have been making some compromises, neither one of us truly fulfilling our own goals. so we have made a tough decision. nate will travel to the cochamo valley for 3 months of climbing, hiking, and opening new routes in the beautiful and relatively unexplored terrain. i will finish up my school year in bariloche and then starting january begin traveling again. my goal is to adventure through deep-south patagonia and then north through the amazon rainforest of brazil ending up in colombia. passing through uruguay, paraguay, guyana, suriname, and venezuela on the way. i want to learn portuguese and immerse myself in culture!
but we will take all this adventure with a spoonful of salt. we will be apart for a long unspecified amount of time. and that's tough.
so we said our dreaded tearful goodbye. i got into the car and reluctantly returned to bariloche. i would be understating it to say i was an absolute mess.
back in bariloche, my friends were so unbelieveably helpful and supportive. i still miss nate tremendously, but i'm sure that what we're doing is the right thing for us both. i wish him the best of luck in his endeavors and i hope he continues to spread his positivity, limitless energy, love, encouragement, generosity, and humor to inspire others to follow their dream. you're one in infinity, nate. i love you.
meanwhile, the weather in bariloche could not have been better. bluest of blue blue skies were bordered by snow capped mountains. the sun was fierce, but the wind off the lake made all the difference. i spent time on the beach. even braved the lake's icy temperatures. held my classes outside in the grass. enjoyed ice cream to the fullest! summer is upon bariloche again!
There is a refugio nestled in the rolling hills just a 3 hour hike from El Bolson, Argentina. This moderately-sized lodge and tourist hub is run by Atilio, a Buenos Aires-born trilingual no-nonsense kind of guy. It was upon this modest refugio that 5 weary hikers descended one Saturday evening.
It started with a 1pm departure from Bariloche in the olla, a painted motorhome owned by a couple of friends. Kris, Maxi, Caro, Jeru and Ali (that’s me) took off and slowly made our way south on Route 40. I slept the entire way.
Stowing the motor home at el polaco’s, we shouldered our packs and set off. With my tent, sleeping bag, sleeping pad, a few clothes, and food I had by far the largest backpack. But stubbornly declined help carrying my stuff. If I wanted to bring that stuff, it was my responsibility to cart it over the river and through the woods. Or no?
Down up down up over a river or two, stop click photo, down down up up. Past the burnt house, Kris, Maxi and Jeru stopped for a banana while Caro and I carried on. The water was a spectacular color of turquoise as we looked down into the knee-shaking crevasses. I don’t think the photos do it justice.
As we reached the outer gate, a handful of hares darted across a pasture. The horse brayed us a welcome and we approached the house. Almost immediately I noticed the garden and green house!Garden and green house! Horray!
Atilio came outside to greet us and offered us the customary welcome mate. We received it warmly.I took a look around at the spacious common area. Wood mostly. With sheep skin seat covers. When I asked about a compost, he showed me two buckets, one for compost and one for chicken food, and explained the difference. Chickens sheep horses compost garden green house?! Sigh. I had found paradise.
Our friends had shown up and I went outside to pitch my tent. A small stream ran parallel to the camping area. A large shed showed evidence of woodwork and animal skins. I took a chance and asked if I could take a twirl around the garden. He gave me a personal tour. Rhubarb (from which he broke off a piece for me to gnaw on), several types of lettuce, tomato, squash, and countless other veggies. I knew this was a man whose brain I just had to pick.
I waited for the right moment though. After all there was a large sign in the main room with the words “ANTES DE PREGUNTAR, PIENSE!” (BEFORE YOU ASK, THINK!) so I knew I had to chose my words carefully.
I got my chance over dinner, we invited him to sit with us and dived into a conversation. What a life he’s had! And with the last 29 years working at the refugio! He speaks with quiet authority on many topics. I found him rather inspirational.
That night instead of sleeping in my tent, we slept around the campfire under a blanket of jaw-dropping stars. I think I stared into the fire for a few hours, not uttering a single word, just soaking in the energy of the hissing wood and the peace of life around me.
We got lost on a day-hike the next day. I could have explored caves forever, but even the summer days come to a close and we had many kilometers to cover. After some of the most delicious bread ever, we said our farewells to Atilio and settled the bill. Off we went, quicklier than the previous day. I felt strong and healthy.
Towards the end of the hike, I started distancing myself from the group. I knew that the worst of the hike was yet to come, so I forged ahead dominating the subida and arriving back at el polaco’s with time to rest before the others got there.
I bought the first beer. We sat on the grass eating soggy snacks and airing out our feet. Two more beers later, we were back on the road.
Besides having the get out and push the motor home up a hill and picking up a hitchhiker, the journey was uneventful and I fell asleep until we were rushing past los cohiues. As I said goodbyes to my friends and walked home, I smiled at everything I had seen, learned, and experienced. Life is magical.
I’ve decided that I would like to start growing some of my own food, which is not a particularly practical idea considering that I’m thinking of packing my things and leaving Bariloche in about one and a half months. But why put off something that I want to start doing now? True, I don’t have a particularly spacious and well-lit apartment. True, I won’t be able to see the fruits (and vegetables) of my labors and good intentions in the time frame that I have left. True, I have never really done this before and would be starting from seeds, soil and high hopes. But life is about living, and I want to have some fun.
It started with an idea: introduce plants into my classrooms. On a whole, city kids aren’t familiar with the agricultural arts. I know from experience. In my mission to live a greener life, I feel an obligation to introduce the younger generation to options they might not ordinarily get exposed to.
My youngest class, ages 9 through 11, was the guinea pig class. We voted on the veggies we would be planting. Tomatoes, carrots, spinach, onion and green peas. I persuaded the director of the institute that it was a wise investment of AR$21 (equivalent to US$6) to provide seeds and soil to ten eager elementary English students.
Mixed results came from this project. Students were enthusiastic when their plants started to sprout, some more than others. They learned new vocabulary. And felt a sense of pride and responsibility of caring for another organism. But I found it difficult to incorporate the plants into the curriculum. With another class to keep up with and a textbook to follow, the plants were pushed into the background.
Meanwhile, I used leftover seeds and some new ones (basil and parsley) to accompany my vibrant hot chili pepper plant, Ludro, to create my own minigarden. Without a proper place to put the plants, they live perched precariously outside my front door. Nighttime temperatures dip below the ideal and this spring has been a mixed bag of unpredictable long days of rain followed by abundant sun. So far nothing is showing much response to my endless love and affection, except Ludro who is an expectant mother of 5 plump chili peppers. Yum.
My plan is to leave Bariloche on the second of January 2010. Amazing how I’ve now been comfortable in Bariloche for over a year. And you know what that means, a sappy looking-back-at-the-last-year blog post is sure to follow. Stay tuned!
The school year is officially coming to a close. But I still work until December 17th.
Newest plan is to leave Bariloche on January 2nd.
My basil, hot pepper, and tomato plants are growing!!
I had a nice blogpost written and saved onto a flash drive, but this computer won´t recognise it. So you´ll have to make due with this. I have photos also. I promise.
I would like to note that: Reading this blog is purely optional and you may choose to close the window of your preferred internet browser and stop reading at any point.
We Americans, I have noticed, have a fairly hard time talking about certain topics dealing with bodily functions. We are easily squeamish and tend to avoid those topics all together. In this blog post I would like to push your comfort level a wee bit and talk about…
MENSTRUATION!
Yes. It’s the joy of Aunt Flo’s visit each month that can get us out of phys ed class, give us sometimes crippling side cramps, and provide unflattering stains when unexpected. But it is a natural and normal process that all women must go through.
So why not have some fun with it?
I used to be embarrassed walking up to the supermarket or drugstore checkout line with a box of my preferred tampons or sanitary pads. My face would go red and I would feel the embarrassment of the cashier (and everyone else) knowing that I was at ‘that time of the month.’Or, when going through my bag, a tampon would slip out and go bouncing along the floor for the whole world to see. Every guy that I’ve met turns his face into disgust when the topic is mentioned, as though we were talking about some rotting carcass. Yes, we are taught that a period is something to be dreaded.
And the infamous PMS symptoms… Cramps, bloating, and everyone’s favorite MOOD SWINGS. I cursed being born a girl, mumbling something about how guys had it so much easier…
But this month was different. I looked forward to the first sign of menstruation with gusto! I did the period dance, to ask the nature gods for a speedy arrival. I made many of my male friends uncomfortable with my constant chatter. Why?
Because I found the Keeper. By word of mouth, I was informed of the existence of a tampon alternative and, in my interest of living a greener life, I researched it. A small cup that sits snuggly in place of a tampon that collects the menstrual fluid and can be emptied a few times a day. It was at that moment I thought about the extreme quantity of waste produced by conventional products. Plastic wrapping, paper applicators, cotton products… month after month produce an unbelievable mountain of non-biodegradable garbage.
Meanwhile the Keeper is made with all natural rubber and can be rinsed, dried, sterilized, and reused for up to ten years! Imagine, also, the amount of money saved…
So I ordered one. With a3-month money back guarantee, what did I have to lose? And then I waited rather impatiently for the arrival of Aunt Flo. Come on, come on!
Once the period started, the Keeper did take a little getting used to; I have to admit. Insertion, the feeling of something there, removal, rinse and repeat. But by the end of the cycle, I was a pro!
Now my period is not something to be feared, but something to look forward to. And it’s a plus to know that I’m doing my part to help the environment!
I hope I didn’t gross you out too badly! :)
Links:
www.keeper.com (also the Moon Cup, for those with allergies to rubber)
For purely financial motives, Nate and I decided to leave our cushy two-story apartment to move in with a friend. Besides overcoming my emotional attachment to the extra large windows that looked out onto the not-so-faraway mountains, the comfort of having a relatively spacious living space, and the freedom to walk around the apartment scantily clad… I had to learn to accommodate the lifestyle and routines of another roommate.
Have I mentioned that I’m an only child?
Despite the fact that I consider myself a fairly flexible only child, there are some things that I like MY way. For example, I require a clean bathroom and clean kitchen. Punto. I get fairly distraught when the dishes are left in or around the sink for a number of days. Or if I’m the ONLY ONE who ever cleans the bathroom. Also, I like my plants to get the maximum amount of sunlight possible. And this may mean putting them in precarious places in order to obtain that sunlight. Those plus a few more peeves may encumber my ability to get along peacefully with others in an enclosed space.
Thanks to the aid of various charitable friends with cars, we moved our belongings a few hundred meters to our new home.
Our new bedroom was dirty. Dirty in the sense that it had never seen a vacuum cleaner. Dirty in the sense that it still contained belongings of the previous inhabitant. The kitchen was small and cluttered. How in the world was I to fit all of my precious cooking equipment in such a space? The apartment as a whole was dark; where were my beloved plants going to drink up their sunlight?
But in the first week of my new residence, my father was in town, so I didn’t have time to fret. After October 17th, though, I was able to come face-to-face with my problem.
Our new roommate and I had very different lifestyles. I’ll leave it at that.
Oh, the injustice I felt as I washed his dishes! Nate prepared dinner alone, while our roommate played the guitar. And after a week we found ourselves griping about our new roommate. “He never washes his dishes. He never helps out around the house. He never helps with dinner… “
So I started leaving dishes in the sink.
And I started leaving my things on the table.
And then I found out just how alike we were.
One day I came home from work. Our new roommate said something along the lines of: “ let’s try to keep the table clean, please!” He had moved all my papers into my room. So I retorted with: “let’s try to clean our dishes please!” So he retorted with “let’s try to help out instead of drinking tea all day long!” referring to Nate. So I retorted with “as I recall Nate washed all the dishes and cooked dinner before you two went trekking!” And we stopped there, realizing that we both had made good points and that, perhaps, we were not as different as we both had thought.
Since that day, we all share the work. And live happily ever after.
i, alisa, have succeeded in conquering my previously seemingly impossible goal.
last fall, i set a goal for myself, run 13km from my house to the ski resort. the route is mostly uphill and is almost as breathtaking as the view of snow-caped andes mountains separating us from chile.
i'm not a runner. to train for such a magnificent feat, i have been running a mere 7km to virgen de las nieves, with rest stops. that was the most i had ever run in my life. my goal seemed impossible.
today, a beautiful sunny spring day without a cloud in the sky, i set off to run my usual 7km. but something prompted me to take a turn at the catedral road. i kept running and soon thereafter, i decided that i was going all the way. upupup the winding path. my pace slowed, but my breathing held constant. pains in my knees and ankles tempted me to stop, but my mind was strong and my goal was clear. nothing would stop me.
1. The first asparagus of the season, which means, of course, that spring has officially arrived!
2. Asado! Our climbing friends Marcus and Seran had a spectacular Asado. Great people. Wine. And fabulous Argentinian grass-fed beef.
3. Speaking of climbing, we’ve been climbing a little more than I can take. In a good way! Casa de Dani. Valle Encantado. Piedras Blancas. And Cerro Ventana. We’ve had incredible weather. And have met some awesome new friends.
4. Homemade lasagna. Nate handcrafted perfect, thin, lasagna noodles. I provided the homemade sauce, local fresh spinach ricotta cheese, and extra layers. We put it all together… and voila! Without exaggeration, the best lasagna we had ever ever ever tasted! See below for the recipe!
Future things that I am looking forward to:
1. My birthday next Saturday. 2. My father visiting shortly thereafter. 3. My new Keeper. 4. Plants. Plants. Plants! 5. Yummy spring produce. 6. Trekking and more climbing.
Spinach Lasagna. Yum.
Noodles: Crack open approximately 2 eggs per decent-sized casserole dish. Beat and add flour until you can knead dough. Continue adding flour and begin to roll out in very thin sheets. Break dough into smaller balls to roll out to ensure manageability and thinness. Cut accordingly for lasagna and hang to dry for 20-30 minutes. Put in boiling water bit by bit with some vegetable oil so that the noodles don’t stick together. Test noodles as you go, and pretty soon you’ll have your very own sore shoulders from rolling and kneading so much to produce some excellent homemade noodles.
Sauce: Fresh tomatoes if available. It’s not yet season here in Bariloche, so I used store bought tomato paste and spiced it up. Plenty of basil, oregano, rosemary, and black pepper.
Ricotta: Homemade or packaged ricotta. Steamed or boiled spinach. Swiss chard works well also. Dash of olive oil. Salt and pepper to taste. Maybe some nutmeg ☺
Others layers: Mozzarella, fresh minced garlic.
Layer until all ingredients are exhausted. Cover with freshly grated parmesan cheese.
Nate and I ducked our hooded heads out of the rain and into the sugary aroma of the artisanal pastry shop at kilometer 8.We browsed the fresh baked bread and refrained from outright drooling on the impeccable designer cakes. Upon eyeing the bundle of crackers, I turned and asked the woman behind the counter, “so I’ve been wondering how to make crackers. Is it like making bread, except…?”
That’s as far as I got. She shot me a look and replied with the exasperated Spanish version of, “oh honey, I don’t know how to make them. They’re made in the factory and I’ve never even stepped a foot into that place.”
Defeated, I grudgingly picked out a tasty factura for the road. So much for a homey artisan shop.
Why am I so uptight about my pastry shop woman knowing something about what she’s selling? For the same reason that I try to avoid the sterile gigantic supermarkets and their terribly tempting lower prices in favor of small local venues.
No, not because I’m some idealist protester against the enormous capitalist globalization conglomerate that is usurping our food production, but rather because I’m a realist and a concerned global citizen. I prefer to know where my food comes from and to have a clean conscious of knowing that its path from seed to plate is not leading to the further destruction of this planet.
Whether or not you believe in global climate change or our increasing role in propelling it, there is no doubt that our daily actions are not helping the environment in which we live. From our energy, water, and gas use to the trash that we produce, bag up, and send to the dump where it seemingly disappears. We are using up or polluting precious resources without developing alternatives for the future. We are living on borrowed time that future generations will have to pay back one way or another. It doesn’t matter on which side of the political spectrum you lie, it is produced by and its effects are felt by all of us.
But why is it oh-so-important to have a healthy environment anyway? It doesn’t at all factor into the daily grind of getting up, getting to school or work, getting to after school or work activities, going home, going to bed. Or does it?
Human survival depends upon the availability of certain key ingredients. Food, oxygen, and water. Everything else is comfort (Hard to believe there was once life without cell phones or internet; although for certain stretches of time travelling, I had neither. And I survived).
Water.
Water is available to most of us by means of a kitchen or bathroom faucet. It is easy to forget that it must eventually come from some geographic location and must have undergone some purification treatment.
I will never forget Peru. When traveling, in general, it is imperative to be conscious of what you eat and what you drink. Bacteria vary between country to country and if your digestive system comes into contact with a never-been-seen-before strain, you may end up with the crummy tummy. I am a self-proclaimed adventurous eater. I’ll eat just about anything the locals eat. And sure, I get a little sick here and there, but it’s never anything too serious. Until Peru.
Imagine, hiking down from Machu Picchu, glorious lush trees everywhere. Humidity falling from the sky in droplets. It was misty and magical. But I didn’t feel good. Suddenly I was overcome with the urge to purge everything I had eaten in the last 24 hours. So I did. And did again. Next thing I knew, my face was quite literally bright red and I was simultaneously burning and freezing. I could do nothing but stay in bed caught in a fit of throwing off and huddling under the covers. The minutes until the doctor showed up at my bedside, I was in a panic. I was not well. The meds helped suppress the symptoms enough so that the next day I was on a train to Cuzco. In Ollantaytambo, I had no appetite for a delicious veggie soup and the next symptom appeared. I spent our layover in the quaint cobblestone-street town, in the restaurant’s bathroom. I made it to Cuzco and my symptoms worsened. A doctor was called when I started writhing in pain, scaring my dormmates out of the room. I came to the scariest realization while sitting in the hostel’s bathroom. I hadn’t eaten in days and I was losing nutrients quickly by every means possible. I feared that my body wouldn’t be able to combat whatever it was that was making me so sick. That’s when my head began to spin and I felt completely helpless. I was no longer in charge of my body’s wellbeing. I thought I wasn’t going to make it out of Cuzco. It was very humbling.
I was sick for the next month (yes, 30 days of forcing myself to eat soup while suppressing the simultaneous urge to throw up and run to the nearest bathroom) and I lost a lot of weight, but I did pull through.Why am I sharing this less-than-pleasant-but-happy-ending story? Because it taught me the importance of having clean water. I will no longer just turn on my kitchen faucet and let it run. I’ll celebrate every glass of potable water that I draw from the convenience of my own home, knowing there are many many many many people out there without such luxury (and without the means to pay for a doctor and the consequent medications). And although sometimes we forget it, clean water comes from clean environments. Let’s not take our environments for granted.
Oxygen.
One thing I remember from biology class is that we breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide; plants breathe in carbon dioxide and out oxygen. It’s a beautiful harmonic cycle. How lucky we are to have a renewable source of life!
Then why do we destroy the very beings that give us fresh air? Why do we crowd ourselves into concrete forests of cities and crisply groomed suburbs? It’s like we’re purposely making the earth less inhabitable for ourselves! I think we’re the only species on this planet that is deliberately destroying its own habitat.
We need green leafy plants to breathe. Period. Why do we constantly try to deny this fact when we pursue progress and production? There are ways to move metaphorically forward while being ecologically and environmentally conscious. Let’s do our best to protect, not uproot, the source of our breathable air.
Food.
First, I have a confession: I may have a little bit of an obsession with food. Okay, that’s an understatement. I have a terrible, uncontrollable, constant obsession with food. I may or may not spend a good fraction of every day thinking about food (past, present and future). I love food shopping, eyeing my next course in a careful combination of raw ingredients. I love food preparation, from the washing to cutting, from sautéing to baking. It relaxes me more than a chocolate ice cream sundae with extra whipped cream. And I sure love eating the fruits (and veggies) of my labor! Taste is my favorite of the five senses, the way the flavors subtly mix to create a symphony of new combinations that leave my mouth wanting more and my belly waving the white flag of satiety.That, to me, is bliss.
Recently I have developed a taste for food politics. No wait! Don’t tune out!!! Come back! Let me explain. It’s really not that dry, boring or scary of a topic. I promise.
It’s about knowing where your food comes from and sometimes altering your consuming habits based on what you find. If we should argue for any basic freedoms, shouldn’t we have the right to know where and how our food is made? I think that perhaps the fuel and nutrients that enter our body should be something we care about and perhaps invest in, not the newest techie gadget or fashion fad. Why not make a big deal about food? Food is important, spectacular, succulent, interesting, and fun!
After poking my nose around the origins of conventionally produced industrial food, I found a fairly foul odor that reeked of harmful chemicals, petroleum, antibiotics, and a gargantuan quantity of toxic waste. Not only in the notoriously blamable fast food chains, but also in conventional supermarkets. From the produce section to the canned goods, from the drinkables to the edibles. It is never appetizing to discover such findings about things we ingest and, yes, it would be much easier for me to simply ignore them. But I can’t! The cognitive dissonance resounding in my head would be overwhelming!
So what do I do? I looked into alternatives. How could I eat with a clear conscience? I found that locally and organically produced edibles met my high standards of quality. And it makes sense! Why eat bananas (picked green from the next hemisphere over and shipped thousands of miles to my supermarket) when I can walk down to my local farmers’ market (meet those dedicated, hardworking and severely underappreciated folks who dedicate their lives feed us) and see what’s fresh in my neighborhood? What arises from those stalls not only tastes fantastic, but it supports local economic endeavors that I agree with. Wait! Supports local economies?! Aren’t we in the middle of an economic crisis? Perfect!
I recently asked my local fruit and veggie vendor, Carlos, where his produce came from. I was pleasantly surprised to hear that it all came from within Argentina (a country with a surprising diversity of terrain and climate) with the exception of kiwis and avocados from Chile. The spinach in our salad that night was from a local farm only an hour drive away!
Apart from fresh produce, Nate and I are experimenting with homemaking different kinds of breads (and thus pizzas!), sandwiches, yogurts, noodles, sauces, soups, stews and casseroles! In our nine months in Bariloche, we have still never eaten in a restaurant. We both agree we feel much healthier and happier (and richer! Cooking from raw local ingredients saves us a lot of pesos per week).And although some people might argue that farmers’ markets are more expensive than the nearest Costco, they are probably right. However, if there’s anything we should be investing in, shouldn’t it be food? The quality of the produce is far superior, the revenue is going straight into the local economy (not for foreign oil or fancy packaging), and it is so much fun to experiment in the kitchen with new ingredients!
All that being said, the purple-shirted girl has set off on a green mission. My goal is to explore different options of living sustainably. Learning to take charge of what I consume and take responsibility for what waste products I may create will make me a better and happier global citizen. Whatever blogposts follow will deal with these issues and include my successes and failures along the way. And recipes!
We arrived in New York, jetlagged and shaken from culture shock. In New York City, I stayed. The landescaper had further destinations that included scaling large rock walls.
My vacation was simple. Rollerblading and exploring by day. Dancing by night.
Have I mentioned that I love New York City? A lot?
One week surely wasn't enough. But it's all I had. After that I joined the landescaper and his father in Boston and even further northward we journeyed into the previously-unfamiliar-to-me territory of Maine. We spent a week in Maine adventuring and planning for the landescaper's sister's wedding.
The wedding was beautiful. Actually beautiful to the 27th power. Words really fail to describe. Pictures to come. Many felicitaciones for the newly married couple and their friends and family.
And then it was plane-to-plane-to-plane-to-plane-to-plane back to Bariloche. Where we are now. Classes have resumed. Swine flu panic has subsided. The snow has come. I feel healthier and happier than ever.
And in four months I hit the road again. This time in a big big bigbigbigbig way! Stay tuned.
