Rainy Day Conversation...

There has always been something magical about the rain for me. Something purifying, as if the Earth itself was trying to scrub itself clean, to absolve itself of all the sins that take place on its surface. The sky is neither the blue of day or the black of night, merely an endless horizon of white like a blank canvas waiting anxiously for colour. A fresh start. It's a nice thought, I suppose, but it's just a fantasy. The rain is no reprieve, and those caught below are often wet and miserable. Still I sometimes like to sit inside, sheltered from the relentless fat drops, and imagine it is the former.

It was on this rainy morning that I had my first real conversation with Chris since we parted ways back in December, albiet an online one. We talked about our respective trips and plans for afterwards. It felt good to have that kind of talk again after months of the same tired discussion travellers have with each other over and over again. I had forgotten the sensation of talking with someone who already knows me, and knows me well. We might or might not reunite in Peru, and I can't help but think how strange it would be to meet up again. It would be good though. He's the closest link I have to home and he's hundreds of miles away and in a different country.

Poetic Burp...

What Good Are
what good are mere days
when our lives span the course of years
what good are simple smiles
while we are hunched over and racked with tears
what good are friendships
that form so fragile from these chance meetings
and what good are happy memories
when with each day that passes,
become faded and more fleeting
simply,
they are the bridges we use
to cross the emptiness of our lives
they are the hope that holds us up
when we are burdened with dispair and tired
they are the lights that guide us through
when we become lost in the dark within
and they are the inspiration that gives us strength
when we must endure or somehow find faith again

these days, the smiles, our friendship, all the memories - I thank everyone for sharing them with me...

On Being Alone...

Somewhere back in October, I started this journey alone. Steve drove me across the border to the Tijuana Airport and as he sped away back to California, the only home I've ever known, I stood there, a dry cold wind whippping at my jacket, and thought: This is it. I'm on my own now. For the first time in my life, I was working without a net. But my expectations didn't conform to the reality I encountered. I wasn't ever alone, not really.

I can count on one hand the days of this adventure where I truly had no one. Even before Chris got to Quito, a week or so after my arrival, I had already found friends. Then we travelled together for two months before he had to go to Rome, leaving me to fend for myself in Mendoza. From there it was a solitary bus ride to Bariloche where I met and quickly bonded with a Californian named Tony. We would travel together for a month down Patagonia and eventually reach Ushuaia. We left Ushuaia together on a cruise ship to Antarctica for two weeks where I would meet my next travel companion, Mie, the crazy Danish girl. From Buenos Aires, where the cruise ended, we went to Iguazu, back to BA, to Cordoba, then Salta, and eventually to Tupiza, Bolivia. There our paths finally diverged.

But even before I left Tupiza, I hooked up with two Israeli girls, Nati and Sharon, who were headed toward Uyuni, same as me. Everytime I think I might be on my own again, I run into another person heading in the same direction; a hazard of traveling in an area overrun by backpackers I suppose. So I will do the Salar de Uyuni (the Salt Flats) with Nati and Sharon, and afterwards head to Potosi alone. That is unless chance delivers onto me another traveling companion before then. If the past is any indication, I count my chances as fairly good.

No Visa, No Problem...

For most citizens of the world, getting into Brazil is a simple, streamlined process consisting mainly of showing up with a valid passport, but for those of us with US citizenship, it's not quite so easy. We must apply for a visa and pay $100 US, typically at a Brazilian embassy. This might seem unfair at first glance, but they have a name for the price we're forced to pay: a reciprocity fee. It means they only charge us because we charge them. Thanks to some bureaucrat at the State Department, who thought it would be a good idea to tax the Brazilians, innocent travelers, such as myself, are forced to suffer. But no matter. I had heard that the visa was good for five years and with tenative plans for Carnaval next year, I thought it would be convenient to have it ahead of time.

So with that thought in mind, I headed to Iguazu. There I found out to my great disappointment, after hunting around town for a good hour in the bitter rain I might add, that while the visa might be valid for five years, it can only be used once for a period of a measily 90 days! To add insult to injury, because I had choosen to wait until the border to apply, the fee was not the expected $100, but was in actuality $120. Forget that, I thought. There was no way in hell I was going to pay that much for just one day in Brazil. I would have to settle for simply seeing the Argentine side, which I had heard was better despite being considerably smaller.

When I returned to the hostel, I informed the girl who we had booked our upcoming tour with and she told me that no visa was necessary. I asked her if she was sure, and she said if I couldn't get through, they would refund my money. Well, a win win situation if I've ever heard one. So the next day, Mie and I got up and took the bus to the Argetina Brazil border, where with only only a minor delay, our tour guide managed to sneak me into Brazil, at least for one day.

We spent the day doing a host of activities. Mountain biking, where my shoes got utterly destroyed thanks to the pungent red jungle dirt turned into mud from the recent heavy rains. A river boat ride with a pilot who enjoyed hard banks and flying over small patches of rapids. Kayaking, where Mie's rafting-like paddling and my inexperienced piloting flew us, oftentimes backwards, into the branches of river trees almost none stop. A speed boat ride into the falls, where we were thoroughly soaked, but where our cameras, safely bundled in plastic bags, remained relatively dry and functional. Rafting with four Russians who spoke neither English or Spanish. The guide was sure the boat was going to flip, but luckily, everything remained upright and we reached the bottom of the rapids no worse for wear. Finally we ended our physical activities and walked to the view points to see the falls, for the first time in their entirity.

The first thing you notice is the din of the falls crashing. Over the rise, I could see the mist rising slowly from the bottom. And as I reached the first view point, I finally saw just how massive the falls are. They stretched from one side of my peripheral to the other. I've never seen Niagara Falls, but I imagine it would be something like this, if Niagara were situated in the middle of a lush tropical rain forest. I wondered what the first natives thought as they cut their way through the jungle and suddenly came upon the largest waterfall system in the world. I knew it was here but was still unprepared for it. Just when I thought that I might start becoming blase about these amazing places I've been seeing, I see a natural monument like this, and my hope is renewed. I'm still amazed, and as such, will continue my search for other such experiences.

The next day was a whirlwind tour of the Argentina side of the falls, which did honestly present better views. Mie and I had a bus to catch that night and so we rushed through all the trails at warp speed. Still we managed to snap some great shots and even had time to stop to eat a packed lunch on top of a rock overlooking a small waterfall. I also took a ton of videos and panoramics. And as we were leaving, I managed to get attacked by some local wildlife, who thought that the plastic bag hanging from my day pack was filled with food. To their great disappointment and my utter amusement, it was only stuffed with my mud-crusted trainers from the day before. Afterwards, we got a bus back, packed, and caught the night bus back to Buenos Aires.