I'm currently in Hanoi, commie capital, and flying solo for the first time in 3 weeks. The Pham-ily flew back to Saigon yesterday morning and the Jess & Pooj circus act flew to Phnom Penh to continue their invasion of Southeast Asia. I spent a few hours catching up on emails and other sundry business and just sitting. In silence. Silence has been a rare commodity during my time in Vietnam. Yes, the honking and street noise is non-stop. But more importantly, my Pham-ily is loud; it's in the blood.
Clearly, the blogging while traveling through Vietnam didn't work out so well. We were on the go every other day or so, making leisure internet time scarce. To do things backwards, I'll post entries and pics from the States.
I fly out tonight at 11pm for a 24+ hour journey back to Atlanta.
goodbye vietnam. hello america.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Love is in the air
One bus ride and one ferry ride away from Bangkok, we arrived on the island of Ko Samet. I think the most effort spent in our 3 days there was the 15 minute walk into "town" to access an ATM and the local 7-11 for some bottled water... which we only bothered to do once. Seriously? Seriously.
I managed to get ridiculously tan in a ridiculously short period of time. Now, everyday as I walk through Saigon, I get catcalls. No, not that kind. But the kind guessing my nationality: Kampuchea? Thai? Filipino? Laos? Even when I correct them, I'm accused of lying. What a bittersweet homecoming to the motherland: rejected by my own people.
But I digress.
We befriended 3 Cambodian guys who worked at our hotel on the beach, only one even spoke English. Somehow 2 of them had fallen under the spell of my "magnetic face" and "charming smile." Direct quotes, my friends. Maybe I won't be returning to Emory in a few weeks after all...
p.s. Check out http://poojandjess.blogspot.com for more on our Thai adventures.
I managed to get ridiculously tan in a ridiculously short period of time. Now, everyday as I walk through Saigon, I get catcalls. No, not that kind. But the kind guessing my nationality: Kampuchea? Thai? Filipino? Laos? Even when I correct them, I'm accused of lying. What a bittersweet homecoming to the motherland: rejected by my own people.
But I digress.
We befriended 3 Cambodian guys who worked at our hotel on the beach, only one even spoke English. Somehow 2 of them had fallen under the spell of my "magnetic face" and "charming smile." Direct quotes, my friends. Maybe I won't be returning to Emory in a few weeks after all...
Friday, June 27, 2008
Quick update
We are back in Bangkok after 3 glorious days on the beaches of Koh Samet. I am about 5 shades darker. Jessica has a busted sunglasses tan. Pooja is anxious about meeting up with the Phamily in T-minus 1 day. Life is good.
We have one last night here in Bangkok (balls to the walls) and then off to Saigon tomorrow!
We have one last night here in Bangkok (balls to the walls) and then off to Saigon tomorrow!
Monday, June 23, 2008
The eagle has landed
... albeit with some minor mishaps. I may have partied a little too hard in commemoration of the end of my M1 year. I may have made a pit-stop to the airplane lavatory for a little gastric acid removal via my upper GI tract. I may have forgotten to pack my glasses. I may have written down the name of my hostel incorrectly and had to go searching for Pooja at a few Khao San Road hostels. But at least I made my flight and am now in a Bangkok internet cafe staving off a little jetlag. The same could not be said for a certain Miss Jessica Nguyen. She partied a little too hard as well and completely missed her trans-Pacific flight. She is en route now on the same itinerary, only one day later.
The Nguyen sisters are a classy duo....
On a different note, as I boarded the shuttle from the airport to Khao San, I smiled as I heard the sweet melodies of Rihanna, Usher and Leona Lewis.
Welcome to Asia.
The Nguyen sisters are a classy duo....
On a different note, as I boarded the shuttle from the airport to Khao San, I smiled as I heard the sweet melodies of Rihanna, Usher and Leona Lewis.
Welcome to Asia.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Freedom
...I can almost taste it.
Pooja is already in transit to Bangkok. Jess has finished her LSAT and said goodbye to her second graders. I'm almost done with this godforsaken renal module.
Tomorrow, freedom is going to taste like a cold cold beer on a hot hot day (and maybe some fried chicken). And as of Sunday, it's going to taste like endless curries and noodle dishes and pho and bu bo hue and hot street food and fresh tropical fruit and spring rolls and all sorts of dishes that I don't even know the names for... I cannot wait.
Pooja is already in transit to Bangkok. Jess has finished her LSAT and said goodbye to her second graders. I'm almost done with this godforsaken renal module.
Tomorrow, freedom is going to taste like a cold cold beer on a hot hot day (and maybe some fried chicken). And as of Sunday, it's going to taste like endless curries and noodle dishes and pho and bu bo hue and hot street food and fresh tropical fruit and spring rolls and all sorts of dishes that I don't even know the names for... I cannot wait.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
On the road again...
Goin' places that I've never been
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.
As of Friday June 20 circa 4pm, I will officially be done with my M1 year. Lordy lordy. And what do you think I'll be doing on Saturday June 21? Leaving the country but of course. I fly to Bangkok, meeting up with Lil' Nguyen (aka J-Gun) in Tokyo's airport en route, and plan on putzing around Thailand for a week. Beaches, food and sun, oh my! We'll be with Pooja, a fellow NU'er (go 'cats!), and then it's off to Saigon... to meet up with 15 relatives. Pooj has no idea what she signed up for when she agreed to join three generations of the PNKD clan on their 2-week Vietnam invasion. Expect madness and mayhem to ensue.
After I leave Hanoi, Jess and Pooj will continue through Laos, Cambodia and Thailand (again)... I'm really happy that they're traveling without me. Really, I am. Not bitter at all...
It's been an up-and-down year. They weren't kidding when they said med school is an emotional roller coaster of a ride. Thank god for the good people in my life though. But hell, I've survived one year so no pity party for this girl. Life is different but it's still good.
I haven't been so good at updating this blog, but that's also because no one reads it unless I'm abroad.. I'm sure there'll be some stories to tell from the motherland though.
Until then... there's this little thing called an "exam" that I must pass.
Seein' things that I may never see again,
And I can't wait to get on the road again.
As of Friday June 20 circa 4pm, I will officially be done with my M1 year. Lordy lordy. And what do you think I'll be doing on Saturday June 21? Leaving the country but of course. I fly to Bangkok, meeting up with Lil' Nguyen (aka J-Gun) in Tokyo's airport en route, and plan on putzing around Thailand for a week. Beaches, food and sun, oh my! We'll be with Pooja, a fellow NU'er (go 'cats!), and then it's off to Saigon... to meet up with 15 relatives. Pooj has no idea what she signed up for when she agreed to join three generations of the PNKD clan on their 2-week Vietnam invasion. Expect madness and mayhem to ensue.
After I leave Hanoi, Jess and Pooj will continue through Laos, Cambodia and Thailand (again)... I'm really happy that they're traveling without me. Really, I am. Not bitter at all...
It's been an up-and-down year. They weren't kidding when they said med school is an emotional roller coaster of a ride. Thank god for the good people in my life though. But hell, I've survived one year so no pity party for this girl. Life is different but it's still good.
I haven't been so good at updating this blog, but that's also because no one reads it unless I'm abroad.. I'm sure there'll be some stories to tell from the motherland though.
Until then... there's this little thing called an "exam" that I must pass.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Culture shock, anyone?
We've been back stateside for a month already. Where does the time go? Clearly, blogging got to be a bit tedious during the tail end of the trip. It's hard to sit still long enough to post entries and photos when you're having the time of your life, but I plan on getting around to recapping the last month (eventually). It's easier to send people to this site when they inevitably ask, "How was South America?" than answer with, "It was really South American."
Jess has returned to DC, and I am now a resident of Atlanta, Hotlanta, Antlanta, whatever you want to call it. It's been a whirlwind, and I don't feel quite at home yet. One Monday I was in Lima. On Tuesday I was in Houston. On Wednesday I was in Georgia. I wasn't used to putting toilet paper in the toilet proper before I was thrown into the crazy traffic and pollution of the ATL. Oh yeah, and I started med school at Emory. Culture shock on all levels... Slowly but surely, the longing to be back on the road is subsiding as I carve out a new life in a new city. I need the summer to be over stat because this smog and 100F weather is driving me bonkers.
over and out,
Ant
Jess has returned to DC, and I am now a resident of Atlanta, Hotlanta, Antlanta, whatever you want to call it. It's been a whirlwind, and I don't feel quite at home yet. One Monday I was in Lima. On Tuesday I was in Houston. On Wednesday I was in Georgia. I wasn't used to putting toilet paper in the toilet proper before I was thrown into the crazy traffic and pollution of the ATL. Oh yeah, and I started med school at Emory. Culture shock on all levels... Slowly but surely, the longing to be back on the road is subsiding as I carve out a new life in a new city. I need the summer to be over stat because this smog and 100F weather is driving me bonkers.
over and out,
Ant
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
We're not in Kansas anymore
Happy 1 month and 4 days!!!! (Yes, it's been over a month since Ant and I left the comforts of home!!!)
So, Ant and I have crossed the border. No, not the Taco Bell border (shout out to Pooj and Kisa!), but the Argentine border to Bolivia, the country of superlatives. Bolivia is apparently the hemisphere's highest, poorest, coldest, warmest, windiest, steamiest, richest in natural resources, most indigenous, most isolated, most rugged country...(Thank you, Lonely Planet).
I have to admit, I've had a couple of rough days in the past month. Days where I've cursed everything South American: the graffiti on all the walls, the stray dogs that won't leave me alone, the constant smell of petrol and sewage, the way drivers NEVER stop at stop signs and constantly try to run me over when I attempt to cross the street (and no, I'm not jaywalking. I actually follow the crosswalk signs here!), the hosteling and the fact that I'm sleeping in beds that probably haven't been cleaned in decades (dude, just look at Ant's previous posts!!!), the quizzical looks I get every time I speak Spanish (I think I should just give up already), the hissing from men on the streets (no, that is NOT an acceptable way to get my attention and no, I will not go home with you!), but especially, the cuisine (I know, we're starting to sound like a broken record regarding this)...but my gah, give me some BBQ sauce and hot sauce, PLEASE!
Sorry, sometimes a girl just has to rant...=)
But those days have been far and few in between. I think the count is actually 2. Well, Ant says it's been probably 4 but whatever, who's counting?! RARGH. Life down here is so relaxed and carefree compared to the daily grind of work (HA HA to all you cube monkeys!!!) and I know I'll desperately want to pack up my bags and hit the road again when I return to reality in a month. But until then, like Ant always says, "C'est la vie!"
We've tried to be rather rugged these days...well, at least since Cordoba (my fave city in South America although Sucre gave it a run for its money) where we decided to climb to the summit of Cerro Pan de Azucar with our new best friend of the day, Dan (about 1250m, roughly 4100ft----and someone please explain to me why we are still on the English system of measurement!). Needless to say, I thought my heart and lungs were going to explode. At points, I was even tempted to trip the little 10-year-old Argentine kids who were running and jumping oh so fast up and down the trail, making me feel like an obese A-mur-ican who in twenty years will develop chronic heart problems and Type II diabetes. My response to those who think all Americans subsist on Big Macs and French fries (we've dropped the whole Freedom fries silliness, right?), the Frenchies across the ocean are climbing up the weight scale. Take that, red wine and baguettes!
After ziplining and parasailing through Salta, the next most obvious ''rugged'' adventure had to be traversing the mountainous terrain of Bolivia in a 4WD jeep over bumpy, dusty and unpaved roads with three smelly boys for 4days/3nights. DUH. I referred to us as the ''Lame Tour'' since we were the only group who refused half the time to get out of the jeep to look at and take pictures of the lagoons, flamingos, geysers and crazy rock structures (featured in many of Dali's paintings) for fear of frostbite. Don't judge us!!! =) We did manage to get out of the jeep twice to be ''rugged'' though---once to change a flat tire and another time to push the jeep out of the snow. Snow! In the summer. Wtf.
And because of Ben (the American), I've picked up grunting like a boy. Papa would be so proud.
Note to the wise: Do NOT attempt to drink 8 bottles of wine between 5 people when you're at 5000m above sea level. You might end up like Roddy (the Scotsman) at 3am in the morning, crawling on all fours as he searched in the dark for a ''torch'' (''flashlight'' for all you normal English speakers. Haha. I kid) to go vomit in the outhouse in -4 degrees Celsius. I'm sure it was a combination of mostly altitude sickness, with a side of too much boozin and sketchy Bolivian vegetation...but I was convinced not to touch anything that wasn't cooked for the remainder of the trip. Call me a spoiled American brat, but I wasn't going to be hugging any dirty toilets in the dark by myself! There are monsters and GHOSTS out there!
Like Iguazu Falls, I'm going to let the pictures do the talking for the awesomeness that was Salar de Uyuni.
Since my only impression of Bolivia thus far had been through a dirty backseat window of a jeep, I thought ALL of Bolivia consisted of only cacti, llamas, bowler hats (dude, the women here love those bowler hats! I actually can't bear to look at them at night because the sight of them conjures up images of hunched-back murderers in my head), mountains, dust, dust and dust. Imagine my pleasant surprise when, after saying goodbye to our guides, Jaime (who scared the beejesus out of us by falling asleep at the wheel twice in one morning) and Ely (who probably thinks we're the most immature 27, 26, 24, 23 and 22-year-olds EVER, esp after the constant kiss-y noises we kept making at them. And no, they definitely were NOT dating), I looked around me and saw PAVED roads and pubs (oh yes, PUBS which played awesomely bad pop songs!) in Uyuni.
I will never again diss the mountain roads from California to Lake Tahoe. NEVER AGAIN. Mark my words.
The only tourist attraction that we visisted in Uyuni was a Bostonian-owned pizza parlor, Minuteman Pizza. Between the 5 of us, we managed to finish off 3 large (think regular American-sized large) pizzas. We even took 2 huge chocolate chip cookies to-go as we ran to catch our bus to Sucre. I felt like such a brat ohhing and ahhing over food that was as far tasting from South American cuisine as possible. Cualquiera.
Oh the luxury, the decadence.
And since we've become millionaires after crossing the Argentine/Bolivian border (our gringo lunches cost about $3USD total), Ant and I decided to splurge and stayed in our OWN room with our very own private bathroom and TV in Sucre. Bolivia gave us cable TV but no toilet paper. You can watch movies in English with Spanish subtitles but TP definitely NOT included in rooms!!!!!
Also, the stray dogs on the streets that Ant and I always befriend have been replaced by stray pigs here.
Welcome to Bolivia.
I'm so rugged,
Jess
Next adventure, THE AMAZON!!!!! =)
So, Ant and I have crossed the border. No, not the Taco Bell border (shout out to Pooj and Kisa!), but the Argentine border to Bolivia, the country of superlatives. Bolivia is apparently the hemisphere's highest, poorest, coldest, warmest, windiest, steamiest, richest in natural resources, most indigenous, most isolated, most rugged country...(Thank you, Lonely Planet).
I have to admit, I've had a couple of rough days in the past month. Days where I've cursed everything South American: the graffiti on all the walls, the stray dogs that won't leave me alone, the constant smell of petrol and sewage, the way drivers NEVER stop at stop signs and constantly try to run me over when I attempt to cross the street (and no, I'm not jaywalking. I actually follow the crosswalk signs here!), the hosteling and the fact that I'm sleeping in beds that probably haven't been cleaned in decades (dude, just look at Ant's previous posts!!!), the quizzical looks I get every time I speak Spanish (I think I should just give up already), the hissing from men on the streets (no, that is NOT an acceptable way to get my attention and no, I will not go home with you!), but especially, the cuisine (I know, we're starting to sound like a broken record regarding this)...but my gah, give me some BBQ sauce and hot sauce, PLEASE!
Sorry, sometimes a girl just has to rant...=)
But those days have been far and few in between. I think the count is actually 2. Well, Ant says it's been probably 4 but whatever, who's counting?! RARGH. Life down here is so relaxed and carefree compared to the daily grind of work (HA HA to all you cube monkeys!!!) and I know I'll desperately want to pack up my bags and hit the road again when I return to reality in a month. But until then, like Ant always says, "C'est la vie!"
We've tried to be rather rugged these days...well, at least since Cordoba (my fave city in South America although Sucre gave it a run for its money) where we decided to climb to the summit of Cerro Pan de Azucar with our new best friend of the day, Dan (about 1250m, roughly 4100ft----and someone please explain to me why we are still on the English system of measurement!). Needless to say, I thought my heart and lungs were going to explode. At points, I was even tempted to trip the little 10-year-old Argentine kids who were running and jumping oh so fast up and down the trail, making me feel like an obese A-mur-ican who in twenty years will develop chronic heart problems and Type II diabetes. My response to those who think all Americans subsist on Big Macs and French fries (we've dropped the whole Freedom fries silliness, right?), the Frenchies across the ocean are climbing up the weight scale. Take that, red wine and baguettes!
After ziplining and parasailing through Salta, the next most obvious ''rugged'' adventure had to be traversing the mountainous terrain of Bolivia in a 4WD jeep over bumpy, dusty and unpaved roads with three smelly boys for 4days/3nights. DUH. I referred to us as the ''Lame Tour'' since we were the only group who refused half the time to get out of the jeep to look at and take pictures of the lagoons, flamingos, geysers and crazy rock structures (featured in many of Dali's paintings) for fear of frostbite. Don't judge us!!! =) We did manage to get out of the jeep twice to be ''rugged'' though---once to change a flat tire and another time to push the jeep out of the snow. Snow! In the summer. Wtf.
And because of Ben (the American), I've picked up grunting like a boy. Papa would be so proud.
Note to the wise: Do NOT attempt to drink 8 bottles of wine between 5 people when you're at 5000m above sea level. You might end up like Roddy (the Scotsman) at 3am in the morning, crawling on all fours as he searched in the dark for a ''torch'' (''flashlight'' for all you normal English speakers. Haha. I kid) to go vomit in the outhouse in -4 degrees Celsius. I'm sure it was a combination of mostly altitude sickness, with a side of too much boozin and sketchy Bolivian vegetation...but I was convinced not to touch anything that wasn't cooked for the remainder of the trip. Call me a spoiled American brat, but I wasn't going to be hugging any dirty toilets in the dark by myself! There are monsters and GHOSTS out there!
Like Iguazu Falls, I'm going to let the pictures do the talking for the awesomeness that was Salar de Uyuni.
Since my only impression of Bolivia thus far had been through a dirty backseat window of a jeep, I thought ALL of Bolivia consisted of only cacti, llamas, bowler hats (dude, the women here love those bowler hats! I actually can't bear to look at them at night because the sight of them conjures up images of hunched-back murderers in my head), mountains, dust, dust and dust. Imagine my pleasant surprise when, after saying goodbye to our guides, Jaime (who scared the beejesus out of us by falling asleep at the wheel twice in one morning) and Ely (who probably thinks we're the most immature 27, 26, 24, 23 and 22-year-olds EVER, esp after the constant kiss-y noises we kept making at them. And no, they definitely were NOT dating), I looked around me and saw PAVED roads and pubs (oh yes, PUBS which played awesomely bad pop songs!) in Uyuni.
I will never again diss the mountain roads from California to Lake Tahoe. NEVER AGAIN. Mark my words.
The only tourist attraction that we visisted in Uyuni was a Bostonian-owned pizza parlor, Minuteman Pizza. Between the 5 of us, we managed to finish off 3 large (think regular American-sized large) pizzas. We even took 2 huge chocolate chip cookies to-go as we ran to catch our bus to Sucre. I felt like such a brat ohhing and ahhing over food that was as far tasting from South American cuisine as possible. Cualquiera.
Oh the luxury, the decadence.
And since we've become millionaires after crossing the Argentine/Bolivian border (our gringo lunches cost about $3USD total), Ant and I decided to splurge and stayed in our OWN room with our very own private bathroom and TV in Sucre. Bolivia gave us cable TV but no toilet paper. You can watch movies in English with Spanish subtitles but TP definitely NOT included in rooms!!!!!
Also, the stray dogs on the streets that Ant and I always befriend have been replaced by stray pigs here.
Welcome to Bolivia.
I'm so rugged,
Jess
Next adventure, THE AMAZON!!!!! =)
Pour some SALTA on me
Salta. Salta. Salta.
After our oh-so-long stay in Tucuman, we were northward bound still. We didn't do an overnight bus (whew), but did manage to board a "working class" bus rather than the nicer, tourist-oriented ones we were accustomed to. Body odor knows no cultural or linguistic barrier and we got smacked hard in the face with it. Thank the Lord it was a mere 4 hr ride.
Another case in which Lonely Planet lies: Hostel Salta located at Balcarce 980, "smack in the middle of Salta's viva zona, is definitely the party animal's choice." Too bad it no longer exists!!! We managed to find 2 dorm beds at a different hostel and lounging about, guess who we run into? VICTOR THE FRENCHIE HIMSELF! It really shouldn't be that surprising seeing as how we all have Lonely Planets but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. And another example of how and why the gringo trail in SA is so small.
Because we did zilch in Tucuman, Jess and I vowed to do Salta right. Aside from walking around the city and soaking in its colonial, laidback vibe, we did not one, but two, excursions. Yup. We're soooo rugged.
Excursion 1: zip-lining down 9 cables on South America's largest canopy. The views were amazing, but unfortunately, I have no visuals since we didn't want to risk bringing our camera with us. You can check out Salta Rafting's website though. I was very proud of Jess as she is afraid of heights and um, we were zip-lining between mountains across a huge river. Besides that little fact, we'd only gotten 2 hours of sleep the night before and I'm pretty sure Jess was slightly intoxicated still after the bumpy-as-hell 2 hour jeep ride to the mountain base. Also, we didn't get the memo that we'd have to trek to the start of the zip line. The guide had to hold Jess' hand when she started to hyperventilate. Yup. Proud of the sis for managing to stay alive.
Excursion 2: paragliding off Cerro San Bernado over the city of Salta. Silly me expected some sensation of free-fall, but clearly, there isn't any when you have a huge parachute over your head. We both did tandem glides, Jess' lasting 30 minutes longer than mine due to better weather conditions. I would've enjoyed it more if I was wearing adequate clothing, but because our laundry wasn't done yet, I jumped off a mountain, in winter, in just leggings and a sweater. Whoops. Aside from the hypothermia, I enjoyed my 1st paragliding experience. Now I just have to bungee jump and y'know, skydive out of an airplane...
Salta is a wonderful city, near the Bolivian border, with a romantic feel. It has a thriving nightlife, which we only indulged in once (we're learning to be "adults"...), and is really just an all-around gorgeous place. It rightfully has a spot on the backpacking trail in Argentina. To top it all off though, our stay coincided with celebrations honoring the anniversary of the death of General Martin Miguel de Guemes, leader of the Gaucho Army which defended the Northwest territories of Argentina during the war of Independence. He was fatally wounded in Salta, his hometown, on the night of 16 June, 186 years ago. There were outdoor parties with folk music, food and most awesomely, gauchos in full garb on horses everywhere! Gauchos, Argentine cowboys, possess the same mythical stature and romanticism as our own frontier cowboys of the Wild Wild West. And there were wee lil gaucho/a(s) too, which made me miss my own bebes. The parade on Sunday morning supposedly had 15,000 horses, and because the horses didn't have bags beneath their behinds, there was a whole lotta horse poo on the streets. Aside from the overwhelming stench, the parade was breathtaking in its size and historical significance.
We only meant to spend 2 nights in Salta, but there's something about the city that gets backpackers stuck in its quagmire. One friend couldn't leave when planned because the laundromat held his clothes hostage. Another duo tried to leave but their bus just never showed up. But eventually, after 3 nights, Jess and I said "chau chau" to Salta and left for the Bolivian border with an American, a Scotsman, and the same ol' Frenchman in tow.
¡Adios Argentina y viva Bolivia!
besos,
Antoinette
After our oh-so-long stay in Tucuman, we were northward bound still. We didn't do an overnight bus (whew), but did manage to board a "working class" bus rather than the nicer, tourist-oriented ones we were accustomed to. Body odor knows no cultural or linguistic barrier and we got smacked hard in the face with it. Thank the Lord it was a mere 4 hr ride.
Another case in which Lonely Planet lies: Hostel Salta located at Balcarce 980, "smack in the middle of Salta's viva zona, is definitely the party animal's choice." Too bad it no longer exists!!! We managed to find 2 dorm beds at a different hostel and lounging about, guess who we run into? VICTOR THE FRENCHIE HIMSELF! It really shouldn't be that surprising seeing as how we all have Lonely Planets but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless. And another example of how and why the gringo trail in SA is so small.
Because we did zilch in Tucuman, Jess and I vowed to do Salta right. Aside from walking around the city and soaking in its colonial, laidback vibe, we did not one, but two, excursions. Yup. We're soooo rugged.
Excursion 1: zip-lining down 9 cables on South America's largest canopy. The views were amazing, but unfortunately, I have no visuals since we didn't want to risk bringing our camera with us. You can check out Salta Rafting's website though. I was very proud of Jess as she is afraid of heights and um, we were zip-lining between mountains across a huge river. Besides that little fact, we'd only gotten 2 hours of sleep the night before and I'm pretty sure Jess was slightly intoxicated still after the bumpy-as-hell 2 hour jeep ride to the mountain base. Also, we didn't get the memo that we'd have to trek to the start of the zip line. The guide had to hold Jess' hand when she started to hyperventilate. Yup. Proud of the sis for managing to stay alive.
Excursion 2: paragliding off Cerro San Bernado over the city of Salta. Silly me expected some sensation of free-fall, but clearly, there isn't any when you have a huge parachute over your head. We both did tandem glides, Jess' lasting 30 minutes longer than mine due to better weather conditions. I would've enjoyed it more if I was wearing adequate clothing, but because our laundry wasn't done yet, I jumped off a mountain, in winter, in just leggings and a sweater. Whoops. Aside from the hypothermia, I enjoyed my 1st paragliding experience. Now I just have to bungee jump and y'know, skydive out of an airplane...
Salta is a wonderful city, near the Bolivian border, with a romantic feel. It has a thriving nightlife, which we only indulged in once (we're learning to be "adults"...), and is really just an all-around gorgeous place. It rightfully has a spot on the backpacking trail in Argentina. To top it all off though, our stay coincided with celebrations honoring the anniversary of the death of General Martin Miguel de Guemes, leader of the Gaucho Army which defended the Northwest territories of Argentina during the war of Independence. He was fatally wounded in Salta, his hometown, on the night of 16 June, 186 years ago. There were outdoor parties with folk music, food and most awesomely, gauchos in full garb on horses everywhere! Gauchos, Argentine cowboys, possess the same mythical stature and romanticism as our own frontier cowboys of the Wild Wild West. And there were wee lil gaucho/a(s) too, which made me miss my own bebes. The parade on Sunday morning supposedly had 15,000 horses, and because the horses didn't have bags beneath their behinds, there was a whole lotta horse poo on the streets. Aside from the overwhelming stench, the parade was breathtaking in its size and historical significance.
We only meant to spend 2 nights in Salta, but there's something about the city that gets backpackers stuck in its quagmire. One friend couldn't leave when planned because the laundromat held his clothes hostage. Another duo tried to leave but their bus just never showed up. But eventually, after 3 nights, Jess and I said "chau chau" to Salta and left for the Bolivian border with an American, a Scotsman, and the same ol' Frenchman in tow.
¡Adios Argentina y viva Bolivia!
besos,
Antoinette
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Untitled
So we're a tad behind in blogging. It's hard keeping this thing up so this will be a long-ish entry. Now, where were we?
Even though I got eaten alive by killer bugs in Cordoba, it's still Jess' new fave city. But to her credit, the city has a distinct vibe as it's a huge university town (and the 3rd largest city in Argentina). Sure, there was not a single Chicken Shack, 24 hour Burger King or Joy Yee's in sight, but it could still give Evanston a run for its money...Yeah, we did the tourist bit, visiting churches (duh), the 2nd oldest university on the continent, the Jesuit Block and even climbed up a mountain on a day trip to Cosquin. But really, we were just chilling like Bob Dylan in Cordoba. We met a great group in our hostel and managed to wake up after noon-- four days in a row. And we got to meet up with Kirsti again one last time before she left for London! The gringo trail is so small...
From Cordoba, we took yet another overnight bus to Mendoza, the Napa Valley of Argentina. (If I understood one of our tour guides right, which could easily have not been the case, 70% of Argentina's wine is produced in Mendoza). Oh. Yeah. I am so over buses. Hate to be a broken record, but I'm getting sores! It ain't pretty. We weren't traveling solo though as we'd picked up a Frenchie in Cordoba: Victor aka Hickey Vicky. Backpacking is a strange culture. You tend to trust fellow backpackers and pick up new travel partners quickly and easily.
We arrive. We shower. We rest and then off to explore Mendoza! Lesson learned: don't book a hostel outside the city center. I just picked a recommended hostel out of my Footprints book but forgot to check where it was actually located. The city is super cute but definitely becoming a tourist trap as it's a new stop on the gringo trail. I bet it's alive and happenin during the summer, but since it is the winter and off-season and all, it was relatively slow and quiet (esp on a Monday and Tuesday). We went sharking for friends, visiting at least 6 other hostels in the city, but alas, it got all free willy in the end with our loose fins. But we did get in some competitive games of 2x2 multiplication and country capitals and logic games and basic algebra problems... at the bar... in public... Perhaps those are the real reasons why no new friends were made in Mendoza...
Even at the apex of my bug-induced misery, I did get in some wine-tasting fun. Day 1, we did a guided tour of 2 bodegas (and visited a church too, but of course) and tasted a red and a white at each place. We were good and actually poured out the wine after each sip rather than drinking the full glass. I admit it did hurt to throw away alcohol, but I am an "adult" now. The next night, the three of us did our own cheese and wine-tasting at an upscale restaurant in town, Azafran. We're so fancy. Ten reds later, I know that I hate merlot and love cabernet sauvignon and a blend wine of malbec, cabernet sauvignon and tempranillo. Jess hates wine, esp red wines, and so every wine received a score of less than 4 (out of 10). Yeah, we were dorks and scored each glass. Big deal!
Our last day in Mendoza was spent hunting down medical care (see entry below), grabbing lunch and wasting the rainy, overcast day away in a cafe. We journaled; we read; we sudoku'ed-- all for the cost of one cafe con leche (well, a hot chocolate for Jess). I'll miss days like those soon enough. Also, Jess and I have decided that we're collecting shoes as souvenirs in South America and so I splurged on a pair of purple and yellow Nikes in Mendoza. Who needs postcards and shot glasses and local artesanal goods?
Then, it was time to say goodbye to Victor and to Mendoza. He was heading straight to Salta while we were making a pitstop in Tucuman for a few nights and maybe Tafi del Valle, which supposedly had amazing vistas. However, travel plans quickly change when you're on the road.
We had the worst bus ride (to date) from Mendoza to Tucuman. We thought it'd be smart to sit in the first row on the second floor of the double decker. But in hindsight, if there's ever an accident, we would've been the first to go! Hm, interesting how the bus companies like putting gringos in those seats. I also spent the entire night scratching my arms and hands, even with the socks on, and managed to get calamine lotion all over my clothes and sheet. I was not a happy camper when we rolled into town and was even unhappier to see it rainy and all around icky in Tucuman. After checking into a pretty dead hostel, we went hunting for food, where I found pieces of glass in my lunch. Delicioso.
We had a bit of a scare as some Americans had told us in the bus terminal bathroom (clearly, a logical water cooler location to strike up conversations with strangers, traveling is weird) that visas were required as of April 1 to enter Bolivia. Pre-departure, the US State Dept website had made no mention of it and now here we were, one week prior to crossing the border, and freaking out about traveling to Santiago or Buenos Aires to get to a Bolivian consulate. One good thing outta Tucuman was the fastest internet connection and newest computer we've used since we've been in South America, let alone at a hostel, for free. I readily admit that I'm an internet junkie so I had no qualms using the visa scare as pretense to waste hours on the good ol world wide web. After a quick email response from the Bolivian consulate in the US though, we were saved. No visas needed. For now. Evo Morales did decree on Jan 1 of this year to impose stricter requirements on Americans to stick it to us for making Bolivians jump through hoops to get into the US.
Perhaps it was unfair of us to write off Tucuman completely, but we just weren't feeling it. Since it was nasty out, we didn't even walk around town and instead, jumped ship for Salta after one night. Over and out, Tucuman!
the sister that doesn't use "y'all" multiple times in one sentence,
Antoinette
p.s. We caved and had Mexican food. In Mendoza. In Argentina. I have been duly unimpressed by South American fare so when that guacamole hit my mouth, it was heavenly. I will never again take food for granted. I love it. I live for it. So it's painful when the only spices known and used in Argentina is salt, salt and more salt. For the love of god!
Even though I got eaten alive by killer bugs in Cordoba, it's still Jess' new fave city. But to her credit, the city has a distinct vibe as it's a huge university town (and the 3rd largest city in Argentina). Sure, there was not a single Chicken Shack, 24 hour Burger King or Joy Yee's in sight, but it could still give Evanston a run for its money...Yeah, we did the tourist bit, visiting churches (duh), the 2nd oldest university on the continent, the Jesuit Block and even climbed up a mountain on a day trip to Cosquin. But really, we were just chilling like Bob Dylan in Cordoba. We met a great group in our hostel and managed to wake up after noon-- four days in a row. And we got to meet up with Kirsti again one last time before she left for London! The gringo trail is so small...
From Cordoba, we took yet another overnight bus to Mendoza, the Napa Valley of Argentina. (If I understood one of our tour guides right, which could easily have not been the case, 70% of Argentina's wine is produced in Mendoza). Oh. Yeah. I am so over buses. Hate to be a broken record, but I'm getting sores! It ain't pretty. We weren't traveling solo though as we'd picked up a Frenchie in Cordoba: Victor aka Hickey Vicky. Backpacking is a strange culture. You tend to trust fellow backpackers and pick up new travel partners quickly and easily.
We arrive. We shower. We rest and then off to explore Mendoza! Lesson learned: don't book a hostel outside the city center. I just picked a recommended hostel out of my Footprints book but forgot to check where it was actually located. The city is super cute but definitely becoming a tourist trap as it's a new stop on the gringo trail. I bet it's alive and happenin during the summer, but since it is the winter and off-season and all, it was relatively slow and quiet (esp on a Monday and Tuesday). We went sharking for friends, visiting at least 6 other hostels in the city, but alas, it got all free willy in the end with our loose fins. But we did get in some competitive games of 2x2 multiplication and country capitals and logic games and basic algebra problems... at the bar... in public... Perhaps those are the real reasons why no new friends were made in Mendoza...
Even at the apex of my bug-induced misery, I did get in some wine-tasting fun. Day 1, we did a guided tour of 2 bodegas (and visited a church too, but of course) and tasted a red and a white at each place. We were good and actually poured out the wine after each sip rather than drinking the full glass. I admit it did hurt to throw away alcohol, but I am an "adult" now. The next night, the three of us did our own cheese and wine-tasting at an upscale restaurant in town, Azafran. We're so fancy. Ten reds later, I know that I hate merlot and love cabernet sauvignon and a blend wine of malbec, cabernet sauvignon and tempranillo. Jess hates wine, esp red wines, and so every wine received a score of less than 4 (out of 10). Yeah, we were dorks and scored each glass. Big deal!
Our last day in Mendoza was spent hunting down medical care (see entry below), grabbing lunch and wasting the rainy, overcast day away in a cafe. We journaled; we read; we sudoku'ed-- all for the cost of one cafe con leche (well, a hot chocolate for Jess). I'll miss days like those soon enough. Also, Jess and I have decided that we're collecting shoes as souvenirs in South America and so I splurged on a pair of purple and yellow Nikes in Mendoza. Who needs postcards and shot glasses and local artesanal goods?
Then, it was time to say goodbye to Victor and to Mendoza. He was heading straight to Salta while we were making a pitstop in Tucuman for a few nights and maybe Tafi del Valle, which supposedly had amazing vistas. However, travel plans quickly change when you're on the road.
We had the worst bus ride (to date) from Mendoza to Tucuman. We thought it'd be smart to sit in the first row on the second floor of the double decker. But in hindsight, if there's ever an accident, we would've been the first to go! Hm, interesting how the bus companies like putting gringos in those seats. I also spent the entire night scratching my arms and hands, even with the socks on, and managed to get calamine lotion all over my clothes and sheet. I was not a happy camper when we rolled into town and was even unhappier to see it rainy and all around icky in Tucuman. After checking into a pretty dead hostel, we went hunting for food, where I found pieces of glass in my lunch. Delicioso.
We had a bit of a scare as some Americans had told us in the bus terminal bathroom (clearly, a logical water cooler location to strike up conversations with strangers, traveling is weird) that visas were required as of April 1 to enter Bolivia. Pre-departure, the US State Dept website had made no mention of it and now here we were, one week prior to crossing the border, and freaking out about traveling to Santiago or Buenos Aires to get to a Bolivian consulate. One good thing outta Tucuman was the fastest internet connection and newest computer we've used since we've been in South America, let alone at a hostel, for free. I readily admit that I'm an internet junkie so I had no qualms using the visa scare as pretense to waste hours on the good ol world wide web. After a quick email response from the Bolivian consulate in the US though, we were saved. No visas needed. For now. Evo Morales did decree on Jan 1 of this year to impose stricter requirements on Americans to stick it to us for making Bolivians jump through hoops to get into the US.
Perhaps it was unfair of us to write off Tucuman completely, but we just weren't feeling it. Since it was nasty out, we didn't even walk around town and instead, jumped ship for Salta after one night. Over and out, Tucuman!
the sister that doesn't use "y'all" multiple times in one sentence,
Antoinette
p.s. We caved and had Mexican food. In Mendoza. In Argentina. I have been duly unimpressed by South American fare so when that guacamole hit my mouth, it was heavenly. I will never again take food for granted. I love it. I live for it. So it's painful when the only spices known and used in Argentina is salt, salt and more salt. For the love of god!
 |
Graduation Hall at la Universidad Nacional de Cordoba (illegal photo op)
|
 | |
|
 | |
|
 |
Inscription on bottom left --
distance of Texas from Cordoba: not far enough |
 |
| bodegas in mendoza |
 |
| mendoza |
 |
| american, american, frenchie |
 |
| tucuman |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)