Watch Out for the Drips

I moved into my host home this morning. I'll be staying here for fourteen days, the duration of my language classes.

So as to make sure to make a timely arrival for my first day of class in the morning, I wanted to travel the route to the school, so, after dropping my bags at the apartment and taking a nap, I purchased a good map of the city at a magazine stand, walked the few blocks to the subway station, bought a subway pass for ten trips, and hopped on board to travel the route downtown and track down the school. After arriving at the appropriate stop—about twenty minutes after departure—I walked the few blocks to the school and located it with no problem.

Hungry, I headed back toward the main avenue to find a place to eat. While walking along a side street in the direction of the main thoroughfare, I walked precisely underneath a leaky air conditioning unit some floors up. Unbeknownst to me, it dripped cooling fluid on my head, my camera bag, and my shirt—I thought I had merely be assaulted by a few water droplets. Thankfully, a helpful couple—a man and woman in their 40s, I would say—were nearby and gladly pointed out the green goo all over me. They had a few napkins and a bottle of water handy and helped dab the ickiness off of me. What a kind gesture. I thanked them and made a beeline for food.

In a moment of weakness, I walked right into a McDonald's. After a wait of about five minutes, I placed my order and reached into the front left pocket of my shorts—where I keep my money—only to find over 150 pesos absent. All my cash, gone. That's over $50USD. I turned around, bewildered, and walked out, heading back to the subway. No money, no VISA—that's in my backpack at the apartment—and no way to buy lunch. I'll go home, shower, get some cash from an ATM, and buy dinner.

Welcome to Buenos Aires, sucker.

Weather, Internet, and Miscellany

• Contrary to popular belief—or at least the hope that I had—it's not always sunny in Latin America.
  • When I was in Rio de Janeiro, it was generally nice, but did rain some. It was plenty warm, though. I was informed, however, that this summer it cooler than usual. Yikes! I'm glad for that, as mid '80s is plenty warm for me. The Amazon is going to melt me.
  • Iguazu Falls was very nice the day I went to the falls—warm and sunny. The next day was cloudy. I was going to take the helicopter over the falls on that day, but nixed that idea, since I'm not going to pay a bunch of money to get photos with bad lighting.
  • In Uruguay, it was generally cloudy. It rained a bit and was humid.
  • Buenos Aires continues that trend. It's been mostly cloudy with intermittent rain. As I sit in my room on the bed typing away on my laptop, I'm enjoying the AC and seeing the rain out the window. I bought some grub earlier at a small supermarket a few doors down from the hostel, so I'm livin' large. Food, laptop, Internet, music on the iPod, comfort, and watching the rain outside. Can't beat it.
• Youth hostels and hotels in Latin America.
  • So far, the accommodations have been pretty good. I've paid between about $10 and $25 a night for both hotels and hostels with one night in a hotel for $35.
  • In Uruguay, there are very few hostels in the less popular cities, but the hotels in those cities are pretty cheap.
  • Every hostel I've stayed at so far has had at least on PC with Internet and a wireless router with a cable modem.
  • In some small cities, you may not find a Internet Cafe or WiFi anywhere. In big cities, you can wander around a bit and find unsecured WiFi within a short distance. There are tons of Internet Cafes in Buenos Aires.
• Piercings seem very popular in Montevideo and Buenos Aires, especially in the mouth.
• Went to the Abasto shopping mall today in Buenos Aires. It was sweet. Built in the early 20th century as a food market, it's now a multi-story shopping center. Very cool architecture and pretty darn big. It's got all the latest stores and products and a gigantic food court.
• People carry everything—including the kitchen sink—on their mopeds down here. Some people have racks mounted to both the front and back of the scooter, everyone carries items between their legs resting on the frame, from a briefcase to large packages and boxes, and I've seen anywhere from just the driver to husband/wife/dog or a dad and three children on one moped...none wearing a helmet.
• Electronics are expensive down here. In Rio de Janeiro, a DSLR that costs $500 in the States might cost $1,500. Import taxes are the main culprit. I saw a Sony A700 here in Buenos Aires for over $2,000 that sells for less than $1,400 back home.
• The vast majority of streets down here are one-way. Not sure why. They are also cobblestone—many, but not all.
• Many sidewalks are covered in tiles measuring about six inches square. Sometimes they come loose and water works its way underneath. As you're walking down the sidewalk, you step on the loose one. As your other foot passes by the first foot, water squirts out from under the first tile all over your foot. It's extremely annoying.
• It's 10:00 A.M. on Sunday, March 9th. I'm going to grab a bite of breakfast downstairs (still at the hostel), then pack, check out, and get a taxi over to the home of my new family. The weather is perfect today.

My First Day in Buenos Aires

My first day in Buenos Aires was a rather productive one.

I walked by an electric appliance repair shop yesterday, made a mental note of its location, and went there today to see if he could fix my headphones.

My headphones are the Koss PortaPro—the best portable headphones ever made, at a smokin' price—and the connection on the plug went bad a couple weeks ago. If I were back in the states, here's what would happen. I would send my old PortaPros to Koss and they would send me a brand new pair for free. Along with the new headphones, they would send a bill asking that I send them money for shipping. They are an amazing company. Here, however, that ain't gonna happen. The guy at the repair shop didn't have a mini plug as he fixes things like vacuum cleaners and blenders, so he sent me a few blocks away to an electronics parts shop where I bought a 1/8" mini plug for one peso—about 35¢. Then I went back to him where he soldered the new plug to the headphone wire for ten pesos—around three bucks.

Next, I went to a computer shop—JAV Microsystems—where one of their techs, Lucas, got the wireless on my laptop working. This is a great shop. They're friendly, sharp, and have all the latest stuff. If you need a server, PC, or components like motherboards, switches, routers, or just a mouse, they've got it.

Next, I went to Banco Piano and got my leftover Uruguayan Pesos changed for Argentine Pesos. While banks in Uruguay are open from 1:00 P.M. to around 5 or 6:00 P.M., banks in Argentina are open from 10:00 A.M. to 3:00 P.M. Seems like all the banks' hours in Latin America are wacky.

Last, I got registered for language school. Sunday, I'll be moving in with a local family here in Buenos Aires and will stay with them for fourteen days—that was arranged by the language school. I will attend class each weekday for the next two weeks from 8:00 A.M. to noon. Then I'll have a one-hour private class each day. On top of that, there are a couple cultural activities each week. Staying with the local family will be icing on the cake.

I also had a great little lunch at one of the gazillion little restaurants here in Buenos Aires. There are so many stores of every type here, it's silly. My lunch consisted of a sandwich called bondiola de cerdo, basically a sub with pork, and a Coke, for just under ten pesos, or just over three bucks. Good food at a good price.

It's been a very productive day. I can't tell you how important this laptop is to my travels—and without Internet access, I feel like a fish out of water. If I weren't connected, you wouldn't be reading this and I wouldn't be uploading new photos right now!

Ciao.

I Have Given Up

I have finally given up. I tried and tried and tried to avoid eating at McDonald's, but I have finally quit trying. I now go to McDonald's with some regularity to get my McFlurry. There was also a very nice ice cream joint in Colonia, Uruguay—think 31 Flavors—and I went there several times. Gotta have my ice cream fix!

Update

I just arrived in Buenos Aires, Argentina, today, along with Roxie and Charlotte, the identical twins from Australia. We stayed together, along with Alex from D.C., in Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay for a couple nights. Now, Alex is headed back to Montevideo, then back to the States.

I was hoping to go to Tacuarembó, Uruguay, for the gaucho festival, but everything was booked—no place to stay. Coming here earlier than planned will be fine. It will give me time to arrange for language school, which I will attend for either one week or two weeks.

Here's a quick summary of my last week-and-a-half. I left Iguazu Falls and entered Uruguay from the northern end, at Artigas. From there, I traveled to Salto, then Paysandú, Montevideo, and finally Colonia, staying a few days in each of those cities.

Today, I traveled from Colonia to Buenos Aires, via a high-speed ferry. The ferry is a tunnel-hull design, holds over 400 people and a number of cars, is about seventy meters long, and has four 5,400 kW diesel engines. I'm not sure how fast it goes, but it makes the trip in less than an hour. On board, there was singing, clapping, and whistling—continued from in the terminal in Colonia—because of a soccer game on TV.

I'm staying in a hostel called El Candil. It is excellent. If you need a place to stay in Buenos Aires, I recommend it. The bathrooms are big and seemingly never occupied. The staff is very nice and helpful. Breakfast is included. Accommodations are nice.

Uruguayan Cuisine

• I have determined my favorite restaurant in Paysandú, Restaurant Artemio...right across the street from Plaza Constitucion. Just had a steak topped with a cheese sauce and onions with some lovely—don't worry, that's as sing-songy as my food reviews get—rice on the side. All that and a bottle of Coke for about nine bucks.
• Hamburgers here are a bit different than those back home. Besides the usual toppings, they have a layer of egg—basically a simple omelet—and may also have a slice of ham. Pretty darn good. I think I'll start making my own burgers this way in the future. A burger (we're talking a good one), fries, and a bottle of Coke go for about $4.50.
• I'm getting into the habit of finding the closest bakery each morning. These are common and the pastries are outstanding—baked fresh each day. As with the aforementioned items, they are cheap. This morning, I bought four small pastries for about 70¢.
• My first night in Montevideo, I went to a nice sit-down restaurant recommended by both my taxi driver and the hotel staff. Had a couple Cokes, fries, and a good steak. Paid $20. Not worth it. Good steak, but not that good.
• Went to a big Sunday market called Tristan Nevarra in Montevideo. Had a sweet hamburger and Coke for $2—the best deal on my trip so far.
• The tostada is a staple here—basically a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich.

The CT-70 Lives!

For those of you missing the Honda CT-70, fret no more. Just come to Latin America. Motorcycles based on that engine design are all over the place. It must have been a good design. There are actual Honda C-70s and C-90s, and an occasional Suzuki, Yamaha, and Kawasaki, but most bikes are ones you've never heard of—probably Chinese. There's the Winner, Baccio, Tys, and my favorites, the Yusuki and Yumbo.

In Rio de Janeiro, there's a helmet law, but everyone ignores it. I think there's a helmet law in Uruguay, too, but it's unclear. In Salto, everyone wears a helmet, in Paysaydú, no one.

If you want to get around in the quickest way possible, a bike is the ticket. Traffic can be crawling on the freeway, and the bikes just keep zipping right along, right between the rows of cars.

People are serious riders down here. When it rains, they just pull out their rain suit and off they go. It's stowed under the seat or in a bag for quick access. For many people, I suspect the bike is their only set of wheels, so taking the car is not an option. Others who aren't prepared—or don't care—just get wet.

Some of the bikes are 4-strokes, some 2-strokes. Many of the 2-strokes sounds just like model airplanes or chainsaws. I suspect they're only 50ccs. They're the kind you pedal to get going—typical mopeds. I've seen hardly any bikes bigger than 125-150ccs—nothing like in the States where the smallest bike you typically see is 500-650ccs. I guess it comes down to economy and need.

The Dot Was Not What I Thought

My brief stay in Artigas is over and I'm heading into the interior of Uruguay. I need cash, but the bank doesn't open until 1:00 P.M. for some reason, so I watch a movie in my hotel room to burn time. After getting some cash, I head to the bus station and get a ticket for Biassini. Back at the hotel, I chill for a couple hours, then check out at around 4:00 P.M. I was supposed to be out of my room by 10:00 A.M., according to the attendant, so she charges me an extra fifty pesos—about two-and-a-half dollars.

My true destination is Tacuarembó, but I don't want to be a tourist, I want to be a traveler, so I pick a spot in the middle of the route and decide to stay a night there. I don't know what's in Biassini, but I'm pretty sure it's not a major tourist destination. It's not on a main highway, just a back road, and the dot on the map is pretty small.

Every so often, the bus stops in the middle of nowhere and someone gets on or off. At one stop, a young man wearing tennis shoes and jeans and carrying a backpack exits the bus and begins to walk down a dirt road. The road goes into the distance for miles. I don't see any house or building. At another stop, a motorcycle is waiting for the passenger. At yet another stop, a horse is the ride.

At this moment, I am struck with a brilliant idea. After spending the night in Biassini, I'll head out tomorrow for Tacuarembó, but instead of riding straight through, when the bus stops at some random remote location to pick up or drop off a passenger, I'll ask the people exiting the bus if there's a hotel there. If I hear a "sí," I'll grab my stuff, stay in a quaint little town in the outback of Uruguay and see what this place is all about. Maybe I'll even meet a gaucho and get to ride a horse. I'm pretty fired up about this idea. No tourism for me.

After a few hours of travel on rough roads through beautiful, rolling countryside, the bus pulls off the road and the bus driver opens the door which separates his cabin from the passenger compartment. He looks at me and asks "Biassini?" along with a few other words I don't understand. I ask "¿Estamos en Biassini?" More words I don't understand along with "Biassini" again. I grab my camera bag, stand up, and walk forward.

As I look out the door into the toasty Uruguayan air, I notice a small building—more like a shack, really. I don't see much else. At this point, I ask if there is a hotel here. The bus driver says all kinds of things I don't understand. I look at him with a blank look on my face. More stuff I don't understand. I tell him that I need a hotel. Apparently, it doesn't occur to him that, when the tourist—er, traveler—doesn't understand what he is saying, he might speak more slowly and use smaller words, as he just keeps saying a bunch of stuff that merely serves to confuse me slightly. The blank look on my face remains.

Eventually, I come to the conclusion that Biassini is Podunk. The bus driver corrects me. "Biassini is the freaking capitol of Podunk." I get the picture. No hotel here. I'll have to take the bus to the end of its route—Salto. Salto is the second largest city in Uruguay, next to Montevideo, with a population of just under 100,000. I'll spend two nights there and take the next bus to Tacuarembó, which departs on Wednesday.

The moral of the story is this: just because there is a dot on the map doesn't mean there is something there. The only reason there is a dot on my map with the word Biassini next to it is because that's the place where two roads intersect. From here on out, no assumptions about dots on maps.

Important Information

When you're traveling in Uruguay and need a place to spend the night, make sure to ask for a Hotel. If you ask for a Motel, they will probably wonder where your female companion is. The length of time one stays in a Motel is typically measured in hours. If you don't know what I'm talking about yet, it probably doesn't matter.

Beginning of the (Rough) Road

• Get up at 8:00.
• Go into bathroom to take shower.
• Observe droplets of water trickling out of showerhead.
• Decide to use the faucet situated on the wall next to the sink—the sink has good pressure, so I figure the faucet might, too. Kneel, put head under faucet, shampoo, rinse.
• Wash face in sink.
• Good to go.
• Exit room and notice tables set up in reception area.
• Ask if they serve breakfast.
• José says yes, takes some items off a table, pulls it out from the wall, moves the seats with it, and I have a seat.
• José moves slowly at all times and whistles. Nice guy.
• A moment later, he brings out a table cloth, says "excuse me" and spreads the table cloth on my table.
• I get a breakfast of crackers, with a blob each of a caramel spread and butter on a saucer.
• He brings out a coffee. I tell him I don't drink coffee. Tea? No. He thinks to himself "what kind of idiot doesn't drink coffee or tea?"
• I ask for juice. No.
• I ask for milk or water. He asks if I want the milk cold or hot. I say cold. He brings me a warm glass of milk and a bottle of water.
• I walk over to the bus station to get a ticket to Artigas. They tell me I have to take a taxi to Uruguaiana and get a bus from there.
• The taxi driver is great. He drives me the one-hundred meters back to the hotel and tells me he's a friend of the the guy that works there. They go fishing together.
• After we arrive at the Argentine side of the border, he walks me through immigration. No problem. Exit stamp from Argentina and entrance stamp back into Brazil. We drive to the bus terminal in Uruguaiana.
• I ask for a bus ticket to Artigas, Uruguay. No bus to Artigas...only to Quaraí. Then I'll just walk across the border into Uruguay. Okay.
• Get bus ticket and wait for almost three hours for bus to leave. Perfect chance to polish off Eric Haney's Inside Delta Force, the book upon which the TV series The Unit is based. Excellent read. Done. Wait some more for bus.
• Take bus to Quaraí.
• Exit bus and ask how to get to Artigas and if I can buy a Coke here. The bus attendant gives me directions to Artigas and points to the guy with the little cart—basically a Styrofoam container with wheels. I look over my options and point at the orange beverage in lieu of a Coke. It turns out to be a reused pop bottle filled with cold, fresh squeezed orange juice. Rock on!
• Throw on my pack and grab my camera bag. Right turn...right turn...right turn. There's the bridge.
• There's a little guard building near the bridge. People and cars are crossing without stopping. Should I stop? Probably.
• The guy in the station says it's not an "official" border crossing and he can't stamp my passport. Bummer.
• After some thought, he says he can simply take my papers, call them in to immigration and then Brazil's computer system will have me as exiting the country today. Cool. I give him the paper I was given a few hours earlier when coming into Brazil.
• Cross bridge.
• Realize I forgot my travel towel back at the hotel in Paso de los Libres.
• Cuss several times.
• Reach other side in about fifteen minutes.
• Meet four cops/immigration guys on the other side.
• They will stamp my passport but the main guy says I'll probably run into trouble later because I don't have a corresponding exit stamp from Brazil.
• One of them suggests that we simply call George Bush and have him bomb Brazil.
• We all have a good laugh.
• Although I get the gist of what he's saying, I ask him to speak more slowly so I can pick up the details. He continues at full speed. I tell him he's still speaking too fast and the other guards laugh. One of them says that he's nervous and that's why he keeps speaking so fast.
• Long story short, I decide to cross back over, get a bus to another city on the Brazilian side so as to avoid a headache later on. The larger city has an official immigration crossing.
• The Uruguayan guards ask a motorist (Luis) to give me a ride so I don't have to carry my fifty-pound-plus load back across the bridge. Luis agrees and I tell him I'll pay him for his trouble.
• We stop at the guard building so I can get my paper back.
• The Brazilian border attendant calls immigration and they assure him that the important thing is the computer system, not the stamp.
• Luis and I head back over the bridge, much to the surprise of the Uruguayan border guards.
• I explain the deal and the immigration dude fills out the paperwork, gives me a copy, and stamps my passport.
• I explain that I want to go to a hostel, a place where travelers like me sleep. One of them knows the only hostel in town. I'll write down the name, address and phone number next time.
• We first go to an ATM so I can get some cash. First one doesn't work. We go to the bus terminal. ATM doesn't work. We go to a gas station so I can put some gas in Luis's car...we're running on fumes. I buy us a couple pops, too. The gas station changes forty bucks for me. Sweet.
• Luis and I drive to the hostel. It looks like no hostel I've ever seen and the guy there calls it a "club." He doesn't speak English. What kind of hostel doesn't have an English speaker?
• I tell Luis that if I had a computer, I could figure out the correct place.
• No cyber cafe in Artigas.
• We go back to Quaraí, where he takes me to a cyber cafe.
• I find the hostel. It's the place we were just at.
• Back across the border.
• The Uruguayan border guard calls the hostel and finds out it's full.
• We go to a hotel. The door is locked. Luis rings the bell. The attendant comes over a little speaker next to the door, so quietly, we can hardly hear. Then he pops his head out over a second-story balcony. No rooms
• He says the nearest hotel is a block that-a-way.
• We turn around and see a hotel across the street...they're full, too.
• We drive to another hotel...they have a vacancy.
• Perfect...three-hundred-fifty pesos...about seventeen bucks. AC and a shower in the room. I check the shower and plenty of water comes out.
• I give the attendant a five-hundred-peso bill...around twenty-five bucks. They don't have change. No change for a twenty. What the heck? I'm learning that many places in Latin America can't change anything bigger than around a ten-dollar-bill (equivalent).
• I take the room.
• Neither Luis nor the attendant has any brilliant ideas about what direction I should head on Monday. Maybe I'll just head South and step out of the bus when I get to a town that looks interesting.
• Work on this blog and watch Bandidas.
• Go down the street two blocks and have a sausage and two steaks cooked for me. Those and a Coke cost me about seven bucks.
• Everything would be easier if my Spanish were better.
• Vamos a ver.