Valparaiso

When a person visits Santiago and Chile for an extended period of time a choice is usually made for a weekend getaway. As the trip is only 2 hours away, the options are the "Garden City" modern beach metropolis Vina del Mar, or the grungy port city of Valparaiso ("Valpo" for short).

I chose Valpo. 

Granted, Valparaiso, isn't all bad reputation. On wikitravel under the"Stay Safe" section it does say "in the context of Chile being a relatively safe country, Valparaiso is among its most dangerous locales" but whatever. It's a port city. Port cities are always dangerous in certain areas. Yet, Valpo's locale is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Why? Because it is a stunningly beautiful city...just with a slight edge. 

Now, I mentioned before that my reason for visiting Chile was because of my adoration of Pablo Neruda. It made sense to me to visit Valpo in order to see Neruda's second house, La Sebastiana. As I said, I felt it would be significant to see what he saw and he saw enormous beauty and strength in Valpo. The city's houses are designed like ships to be closer to the ocean because Neruda suggested they be designed like that. 

Valpo isn't a huge metropolis akin to Santiago. It's more of a microurban area; if Asheville, NC was on a coast it might be Valpo. Notice the "might be." It's impossible to compare Valpo to a lot of cities in the US or even Latin America. Valpo is a category of its own. 

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I stayed four days, but one of those days was spent trekking somewhere else. Let's start with getting there. 

In my Santiago post I complimented how efficient and stable Chile was, particularly in regards to transport. It would spoil me; Peru was less kind. From Santiago I took the Metro to the Pajaritos station which has the domestic bus station. I found a bus company, Tur Bus, and got a ticket to Valpo for about CH$3000 or about $6 and headed to Valpo. The drive was supposed to be 2 hours but it only took 1 hr 30. 

It was here I found my favorite hostel, which I shall name: Angel Hostel. I was originally supposed to stay at another hostel but they didn't answer their doors when I arrived so I said "screw it" and walked down, where I was stopped by a person complimenting my beard which earned that person a bear hug, and found the Angel Hostel. They answered their door. It was $14/night, but they said the magic words "hot water" and I decided I would stay there. They also had free blankets and unlimited free towels, plus free breakfast cheese sandwiches which kicked so much ass. 

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Valparaiso isn't a city tourists go to in the same way they might go to Santiago or Bueno Aires, with set itineraries of sights and museums. It isn't huge; the bulk of the city can be scaled in a good two days. Yet if you tried to scale it in two days you'll miss out. Remaining still is the best way to take in the city.

Seriously, go to google right now. There. Good. Now click on images. Now type "Valparaiso, Chile" so it doesn't bring up "Valparaiso, Indiana." With these images you get a faint idea of Valparaiso, this city with scattered colorful buildings plopped on a mountain looking toward the sea. Beautiful, no? Oh hell yes it was gorgeous. The city layout was a work of art in its own right. 

Like Santiago, art was big here as well. Everywhere there was graffiti but incredibly adept and skilled graffiti that was more art and less scribbling. The architecture was a combination of old Latin America or old Spain and...Germany. No joke; this city was largely settled by German immigrants after the Spanish landed and they helped influence the design of the admiralty or Chile's department of the navy building. They also brought the first firefighters so all the firetrucks of Valpo are named in German. Art museums were everywhere and I had two favorites. One was a museum underground that had exposed brick walls exhibiting artwork in collaboration with an Italian group. Another was a former prison during Pinochet's regime that was turned into a grass roots art project. The former prison was incomplete and still being worked on, but it remained quite beautiful if not interesting. 

All the old houses were painted bold colors like yellow, blue, etc and they were made of metal. Valpo was a tsunami zone so it was for a practical reason but the metal were recycled shipyard metal. 

This city revolved around its port. For the beach, most people went to Vina del Mar which was about 10 minutes away by train (at most). In Valpo, it was a port city, a shipping center, and it was where a good part of the Chilean Navy stopped. There were battleships and cruisers all along the coast.

Speaking of which I need to mention something about the coast and me. When I was younger I very rarely traveled...I mean truly traveled. We went to Gatlinburg, Tennessee or St. Augustine, Florida but those were small vacations. Before this trip I had never been as far west as Austin, Texas. So Valpo was the first time I saw the Pacific Ocean. That's right; I always figured it might be California but I saw the Pacific coastline via Chile. I got near the tracks of the Valparaiso train line and walked along the sidewalk near Bellavista (in South America there are a ton of Bellavista neighborhoods and street names) and found a staircase. There was no one on it but I thought whatever, walked up, and got my first proper view of the Pacific. For me it was significant because I felt it represented me climbing out of my Georgia shell. I mean there was the ocean...but it was on the wrong side. 

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I had no set itinerary while I was in Valpo. I knew I wanted to see Neruda's house and I wanted to trek in one of my days, but otherwise I hadn't a clue. Valpo offered a free tour of the city much akin to the one in Santiago and this time I decided to do it. There were only two people besides the guide: a man from the south of England who quit his job as a nurse to backpack and me. As touristy as it might seem it was quite fascinating. We went up the funiculars or ascensors, which were rickety and at an angle that seemed near impossible to move up (but they did). We walked around and got a deeper glance of the architecture of the houses, of the places, plazas, etc. We were taken to a cave that had been filled in because in Valpo's history many of the people who went around the area would be disappeared. Soon rumors began that it was because this cave was an entry into hell and the devil or his demons were capturing people. Out of fear the people filled the cave. One of my favorite pieces was the statue of justice at the Valparaiso courthouse. The statue, unlike Lady Justice statues, doesn't have her blindfolded or with balanced scales. The story is that the artist of the statue had such a difficult time with the Valparaiso authorities he sculpted the statue as an act of bitter resentment to where the Lady Justice statue is corrupt. I also thought Lady Justice was also giving a middle finger. Still...interesting.

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What I did mostly in Valpo was walk around. It sounds boring but Valpo is a walkable art museum. 

In my first night I did meet some really great Irish folks who let me accompany them to a seafood restaurant near Plaza Sotomayor. It was touristy; they had English menus, plus musicians came in to play music then proceeded to put envelopes on our tables to pay them. I took this opportunity to get some more paila marina, my death row if in Chile dish. Having this company was great because we talked about what we did, our differences, each other's culture, our travels; they were going to Mendoza so I talked about it with them. The thing about travelling solo, as the English backpacker from the tour stated, is that it forces you to make friends and meet people. Otherwise you're just sore. Already I was enjoying myself in Valpo and we capped our night at a local bar down from our hostel. 

The next day I started walking around again, this time on Avenida Alemania which was supposed to have beautiful houses but the city was a bit overcast in the morning. I still walked, however, because it was on a hill so instead of looking up and seeing the houses on the hill I was looking down and seeing the ocean and the buildings kiss (if I may be a bit poetic). Plus this street would eventually hit Ferrari which would lead to La Sebastiana, Neruda's house. La Sebastiana was more beautiful than La Chascona actually, and it had tours to walk in the house. I found it more interesting to walk around his courtyard because I imagine this was where he might conceive of a line or a poem. From his courtyard I could see the ocean, I could see the gardens around and the people's houses hovering above me with clotheslines. It was a different and simple kind of life I was witnessing and eventually a poem or two would come out of it. 

I made a friend in an exchange student temporarily stationed in my hostel and we walked around, stopping for jugo de pina and finding Lider, the supermarket that was quite extraordinary as supermarkets go. With my hostel I had organized a trek to Parque La Campana so I gathered food for the trek and water. 

In my Santiago post I mentioned how I'm not a discotheque person, I'm more of a live music person. It was difficult finding live music in this city and most live music was tribute bands. Granted, they were unique tribute bands (there was a tribute band for Mike Patton which was endlessly fascinating to me) but it wasn't what I was looking for. I read about a discotheque for an alternative crowd and as I researched it I also found out it catered to a gay crowd too. Now I'm not gay but this club was right down from my street so I thought I'd give it a shot. It was called Mascara and from that name I wasn't too thrilled. 

The clubs and discotheques in Valpo are a bit different than the States because they don't open until 11 at night. So I waited till 11, went down and got in. I was expecting a bit more than what I got. There were very few people really into the music, dancing; they were sitting around, drinking. It wasn't a full on gay club so much as it was for people who were different. I'd say there were just as many straight guys as gays and I'm confident enough in my heterosexuality to be in a place like that without feeling uncomfortable anyway. I mean I did feel uncomfortable but it wasn't the crowd so much as it was the music. The music was '80s New Wave and gothic music. I was in there 30 minutes and then they played Klaus Nomi's "Lightning Strikes" which led me to decided to head out. Klaus Nomi is where my tolerance for '80s New Wave music ends. Still, interesting experience. 

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Now Valpo is a bit known for its edge but I had no problems. For the most part cops were all around just like in Santiago. On Saturday nights whole trucks of cops would be unloaded to ensure peace was kept. There were certain areas that, even during the day, a person didn't go to. The easy way to avoid those areas were to...not go there. So there were no problems and I generally felt safe.

My Santiago post discussed briefly the stray dog problem in Chile and in Valparaiso you'll see stray dogs everywhere. Everywhere you'll see strays dogs that haven't been cut or neutered, that have splotches of fur missing or handicaps. I stayed at a place on Av. Cumming and down from my hostel was a relatively small plaza but even in this relatively small plaza there would be at least 10 or so stray dogs lying down. On every street there would be stray dogs and it's hard to not feel bad. It really is. For me, particularly, as a dog owner I wished something could be done but that's the way it is in Latin America, especially Chile and especially Valpo. Even the most touristy streets, though safe, might have a dog turd or two that you would have to step over. Valpo isn't too dangerous but it is grungy to the average person not from Latin America. 

Don't let my commentary stop you from going to Valpo. It is truly one of the most unique cities in Latin America and one I felt a powerful pull toward. When travelling in general it is imperative to keep an open mind but Valpo may not be everyone's cup of tea. 

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My third day was about going to Parque La Campana. Because of the success of my Aconcagua trek with a guided tour I thought to get one for Parque La Campana except this time it wasn't with a group. A piece of advice for travelling--never go on a tour with just a guide and oneself. Don't do it. It's too expensive. My tour cost $140 US almost. It was an expense that in hindsight wasn't worth the guide; I could've done everything by myself for much, much cheaper. Why didn't I? My confidence of doing any of the parks by myself eroded as I found very few people who had done them, who were going to do them and few who knew anything about what to do. Even the hostel people seemed befuddled at my options. That was why I gave up on Radal Siete Tazas, which I would've very much liked to see--I couldn't find any information on how to get there without renting a car. So I got a guide. 

Parque La Campana was a bit of a compromise to Atacama and Radal Siete Tazas, both of which I aim to see one day. I was honestly a bit disappointed in myself and had lowered expectations. Parque La Campana was part of a larger biosphere aiming to protect the botany of the area as it was home to "wine palms" or "Chilean palms." It was also home to a massive mountain, Cerro La Campana, that Charles Darwin once went to the top of. I figured if Darwin liked it, I'll give it a shot. 

Right away it didn't start well, however. I was told to be ready by 8:00 in the morning. I was. No one came until 8:45. Already there was a mix-up. Shit. Then I met the guy and started talking to him. From the get go he was an annoying guide. He dressed European and thought like an American. In Latin America these are dangerously annoying people. His hair was as slick back as his personality. 

To get to Parque La Campana we had to get off the Valparaiso Metro train at Limache and then take a bus to Olmue and La Campana. We did so but the guide didn't have his shit together because we got on the wrong bus and had to get on another. It was still nice to see the rural villages of Chile, however, like Olmue. We got inside the park and started hiking up when the views came through. The day, I must admit, was perfect; it was no more than 25 C and no less than 17 C. The views of La Campana were quite impressive and coupled with the wine palms and cactus trees it was a view one could get from a "lost world" movie or "Up." 

While the crowd went one way hiking we went up the harder way to get higher and get the best view. At first the hike was level and went by pretty smoothly. Then all of a sudden it just got steep and steeper and it started kicking my ass. I was barely moving and at that point of nearly giving up, just like with Cerro San Cristobal, but I decided instead of eating lunch at the viewpoint I'd stop and eat my sandwiches at some random dirt spot. I took my bag off and my back was drenched in sweat. It was a swamp. After eating, however, I felt better and eventually our trek went back to level and we got to the view. 

The view was quite lovely. We were about 1500 m above sea level but I could see the blue hues emanating from the wine palms of the mountains and I was quite taken. The wind also helped the experience. It was worth the steep hike. 

Then we started walking down on an area that was more green. One on side the mountain was more desert or Mediterranean climate and the other side was, the side we were currently walking down, was more rain forest or maybe just forest. We had more trees and rivers around us. We could hear the water rushing around us. We also heard the sounds of animals. Throughout the trek we heard animal sounds but when we were walking down we saw what we heard: wild horses. They were frightened of us but there were at least 6-7 wild horses roaming around. 

Now going down to this end of the park we were supposed to hit the bus back to Limache but once we finished the breathtaking hike the bus wasn't there. The locals told us we had to walk into town, into Olmue, to get back. I was frustrated at the guide for not having this knowledge or foresight to know that the bus wouldn't be there. Admittedly, though, it gave me an opportunity to see more of the rural villages of Chile and Olmue. As a rural person I always feel this is where the true country is. Eventually we hitched with a car to the bus station in Olmue that took us to the train station. I paid the guy at the station and told him, since he lived in Vina del Mar, he could get off there and not worry about accompanying me to Valpo. 

La Campana may not be on par with Atacama or even Radal Siete Tazas but being around the multiple climate zones and getting the views like they had made it worth it. With hindsight, I'm pretty sure I didn't need a guide for it, so never get a guide if you're the only one in a group. Particularly with a guy who dresses European and thinks like an American (or United Statesian, whatever).

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My last day was a last call before I headed over to Santiago to prepare for my flight to Peru. I took the time to walk some more, overcast as it was, and visit the National Congress, the new one, which was uglier than the old one. I also visited the beachfront right outside Valpo and sat down to eat my lunch. The stray dogs also joined me. 

I would finish up a script I had a deadline on and walk around before evening hit. There was a park right near my hostel I would sit on. It was next to a school so little kids were getting out and playing on skateboards. It was quite serene. 

My foreign exchange friend and I would celebrate our last night in the hostel by going out to eat. The student chose a restaurant I could tell was touristy (English menu) and I got a disappointing salmon. 

Despite this Valpo was a unique experience, an experience that was helping me continue in my quest to be less timid and more open. I had to learn to be less timid in Valpo and Valpo rewarded me by being a marvel I couldn't experience in the States.

I had to go back to Santiago, however, and prepare for my flight to my third and last country: Peru. 

If Cities Were Women, Santiago would be a future ex wife

You don't go to South America if you're a city person.

If you're a city person you go to Europe; you go to Rome, Florence, Venice, Paris, London, Munich, Amsterdam, etc. With South America...you might have Rio de Janeiro in your radar, but South America isn't a city lover's bastion; it's a trekker's paradise. That's what I thought. 

Then I met Santiago. Santiago doesn't have the image of romanticism that Buenos Aires has cultivated. It doesn't strike up a personality like Rio. People kept warning me about Chile in Argentina; Chile was supposed to be a brute, authoritarian place, a near police-state not quite recovered from Pinochet. It was more about its military than art; a Sparta if you will. 

In my travels though, Santiago was the crown jewel, a city I fell in love with. For me there was always one city, Chicago, that I harbored an unhealthy longing and romance for; it was my Irene Adler. Santiago, though, is right up there with Chicago, a city that offers everything in the most accessible way. 

Let me backtrack though. Why would I go to Santiago? I mean its not really on anyone's radar, travel wise. 

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I knew Chile would be special. I really did. As I mentioned previously, my journey to and throughout South America was predicated on my substantial love of this continent's, this region's literature. Whereas Argentina had Borges and Storni and Peru had Vallejo and Llosa, Chile had to me the best of the best: Pablo Neruda, who was once described as the greatest poet of any language and I absolutely agree with that. Chile also had Gabriela Mistral, Paz Molina, Maria Luisa Bombal, Violeta Parra and her brother Nicanor, among many others. It was "Nation of Poets" and as a poet I knew this would be my country. I mean, this is a country where a poet has three custom made houses. How the hell can a poet have one house, much less three?

I often described this journey to people I met as me travelling to see what my favorite writers saw. Therefore, I had an exceptional amount of anticipation because I was going to see what Pablo Neruda saw. 

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When I last left off in Mendoza I was in a bit of a layover because the system of Andesmar, the bus company from Mendoza to Santiago, went kaput. Great. 

Nevertheless their system went live somewhere around 6 en la tarde so I was able to get the 10:30 AM ticket out of Mendoza to Santiago. 

I should take a moment to talk about the buses in South America. Like I mentioned in my Buenos Aires post, talking about Retiro, buses are the primary mechanism of travelling cross country. It's extremely common in South America, to a point that buses often offer amenities not unlike plane travel. In the Greyhound Bus, which I took from Athens, GA to Austin, TX, the bus would usually make pit stops for you to grab something to eat. Not Andesmar or the other long distance buses I took; they provided their own food, lunch and snacks, like Delta or United would. They would provided in-bus entertainment via rather crappy American films. I almost sat through two showings of "Life as We Know It" starring Katherine Heigl. Still, all this was very common in South American buses. 

Now I say sat through but I didn't watch. The true entertainment of that bus ride wasn't the hijinks of Katherine Heigl's bland character but what was outside of my window. In order to get to Santiago from Mendoza we have to go through the Andes Mountains. Notice I didn't say "go around." We have to "go through." 

The views of the Andes mountains, like my trek, were equally awe-inspiring. I just sat in my seat, jaw down, taking in all the views. 

Now once we got to the Chilean border we had to undergo a customs inspection. Chile is very strict about what food products you bring in from other countries to your country. Because of its relative isolation via the Andes and the Atacama desert, Chile has been able to maintain a very healthy and clean amount of vegetables and fruit. They stake a part of their economy on the exportation of fruits and veggies which means they want to ensure that nothing will harm or interfere with that. So whereas most of the time customs took no more than 30 minutes in other countries I visited, Chile took at least 1 hour. We had to sit our bags out and have a dog sniff them. There was one guy who brought salami with him and the customs agents took it away from him and gave it to the dog. Don't bring in outside food. 

Afterwards we continued into Chile. For the most part going through the Andes was a pretty steady adventure, but we reached a point where we had to go down...and not in a level vertical kind of way. We had 23 steep curves we had to drive around; no rails, nothing to stop the bus. As it was a double decker it was a bit unwieldy and so any time we wrapped around a curve we were looking down and thinking "Oh SHIT!" The driver, on the other hand, was as calm as Lebron James not only driving steadily but PASSING drivers. What you learn in South America is that bus drivers just don't give a shit. 

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One thing I learned in my travels over the years was to never judge a city based on where their bus station or airport was. Regardless of where you are the bus station and airport is always going to be in a neighborhood that is strikingly sketchy. 

I had taken this journey alongside a New Zealander couple I had met at my hostel in Mendoza. We got out, witnessing a foggy Santiago setting for the day and in a not touristy neighborhood we realized we needed to bail and find a Metro station. They had been in Santiago before and they knew the Metro was the best way to get around. Their hostel was in Bellavista and my hostel was in Providencia. To get where they needed they just needed to get off at Baquedano, which is this huge station, where I would also get off to get on the Vincente Valdes line. My station was Santa Isabel. 

I got off and got on the Vincente Valdes line, but what I didn't realize is that during rush hour the trains that normally hit Santa Isabel change. I needed to get on a train that had a green light, but I didn't realize this so I got on the one that said Vincente Valdes. Turns out it had a red light and having not realized it was the wrong train once we came upon Santa Isabel the train passed and I thought "what the shit?" Instead it landed on the Irarrazaval (which I still can't pronounce) station. From there I GPS'ed my directions and saw that it was a 20 minute walk. Ok, fine. It was dark now. Ok. There were no street lights where I was. The United Statesian in me had a "Oh, shit" moment. 

When you read a travel guide or two under the "Stay Safe" section it usually says to avoid walking into the areas of Santiago where the windows had bars on them. All the buildings in the neighborhood I was at had bars on their windows. Whoops. 

What I would realize is that I was in a communa, a residential neighborhood. Providencia isn't a nightlife hub a la Bellavista, or a tourist hub a la Santa Lucia or Plaza de Armas. I would also realize that I was in a fairly safe communa and developed a confidence walking around the area. At the time, however, I was alone at night not familiar with this territory with very little lighting so I was consequently being a wimp. Eventually I found the hostel, got settled in, and went out and ate a ton of grilled meats and peppers. Not so bad. 

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The next day was tourist day, for me. There was a free tour of Santiago offered but I decided to not do it because it would interfere with a specific goal I had, which was to have paila marina. 

Before coming to Chile I had read up on dishes common in Chile and discovered paila marina. For me any organism that has to breathe in water in order to survive is delicious. Paila marina is a dish that is sort of a soup, with a spicy broth in cilantro with assorted seafood. Whatever the restaurant had, they put in. Shrimp, scallops, oysters, mussels, clams, etc. I was giddy. 

The front desk gentlemen at my hostel told me that if I wanted seafood I needed to go to Mercado Central. This was off of Plaza de Armas so I figured I'd start there. 

When you imagine Latin America you sort of imagine something like Plaza de Armas in Santiago. Wonderfully beautiful, colorful Old Spanish buildings mixed with green life and people trying to solicit and sell you any and everything they have from art to tourist brochures and seeing retired old men in flat caps read the newspapers. One of the cathedrals had a bookstore where I got a Spanish collection of Neruda's "24 Poems about Love and One Song of Despair."

The most delightful thing I saw on Plaza de Armas, though, was a ballet company practicing. In the middle of the plaza, with ballet music playing, a substantial group of dancers decided this was their place for practice. Awesome.

The reason I didn't do the free tour was because I wanted to be able to break away and hit Mercado Central and see if I can find paila marina. After a moment of not knowing where the hell I was going I eventually found my way to el mercado. I walked in and could whiff at a specific, pungent stench that I knew could only belong to fresh fish and oceanic creatures. I was drawn in. 

My senses did not fail me for I was beholden by the spectacular sight of fish, fish everywhere! For me it was a paradise. To my right I saw food stands run by the market individuals, and on their signs I saw the magic words "paila marina." It was around 12 so, like I was floating on air, I was led into a no name place for paila marina. I was sat down, given bread with salsa, a coke, and waited as the dish came to me. It was like seeing a Seurat painting in person it was so beautiful. The deep pot with shrimp and seafood in an orange broth that smelled so...screw it. I didn't take it all in like some pretentious wine drinker. I ate it, taking much joy in each bite. Paila marina was helping me fall in love with Chile. 

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At the hostel I stayed at we were given information about a free tour of Santiago along with a map. Because the times didn't really work with my schedule of eating paila marina I decided to take the free tour myself. The main sight I really wanted to see was La Chascona, one of the three (freaking three) houses of poet Pablo Neruda. It was the last stop on the our so what the hell I'll follow the path on the map.

I followed most of the free tour areas which were primarily government buildings, such as the Presidential Palace, the Palace of Justice (their Supreme Court). I also saw the old congress building which bore a striking resemblance to the US White House. What made it fascinating (marginally) was that it was the "old congress" building; the new congress building was in Valparaiso, wouldn't you know? I would find this out in Valparaiso (where I would see the new congress building) but sometime in the 1960s/1970s Chileans really had a demand for government branches in more than just Santiago because why just Santiago. They decided to put the new congress in Valparaiso. It's like if the US people decided they wanted a government branch in Omaha, Nebraska.

Still all the buildings were pretty neat. On the way I'd take pictures of the buildings, walk around them, etc. I walked into two buildings; one a cathedral because mass was going on and I wanted to see what it was like. As an anthropologist-sorta I found it fascinating because it was 2 or 3 in the afternoon and there was an exceptional amount of people inside. Anytime a person walked by a cathedral or iglesia they always crossed oneself. Another building I went into was the National Library which was, frankly, infinitely more interesting looking than the National Library of Argentina. I walked around, people watching because I'm a creep, trying to sneak into digital archives but not being able to because the doors were locked. The library also had a bookstore inside and a freakin' cafe. I thought it was neat, but I was being tourist so maybe not I don't know screw you. All this was leading to something truly transcendent, however: Cerro Santa Lucia. 

If you do a lonely planet, wikitravel, or tripadvisor search on Santiago Cerro Santa Lucia is always going to come up. It's a main tourist attraction for Santiago and rightfully so. It's a park that at the ground level doesn't seem to awe inspiring until you hit the ornate, yellow painted first building. I started walking up and as I walked up I got better and better views of Santiago. It was a layer cake of ornate buildings atop ornate buildings with gardens such as Jardin Darwin or "Darwin's Garden." As one walks up, like I did, the views become more and more impressive until  you reach the old fort set up by the Spanish, a red brick mammoth. The city was laid out  with its mixture of plain high rises and old Spanish colonial buildings. The very top, however, was at the top of the old fort looking towards the east with the city laid out underneath the clouds and the snow capped Andes peaking above the clouds like the clouds were a blanket. The words I give you to describe this view barely conjure the experience that felt almost, dare I say, divine. Cerro Santa Lucia also has a nickname, "Lover's Hill," and I understood why because most of the individuals at the top were couples and they took Samsung Galaxy photos of themselves kissing with the clouds in the background. I couldn't help but feel a tad uneasy at my status of being partner-less, and frankly I missed P (whom I mentioned in the Buenos Aires post). Even alone the view still left you threadbare.

It was hard to beat this climax but I figured a good denouement would be finishing up the walk to La Chascona. To get to La Chascona I had to make my way through Bellavista. As I mentioned before, the individuals I met in Argentina had a tendency to pin the Chileans as more brute and less artistic. Bellavista was where I saw how truly wrong they were.

Bellavista earns scores of accolades among travelers thanks to Lonely Planet (or if you're an amateur and read Frommers) so it has a reputation among the locals, like the people in my hostel, as a touristy barrio or neighborhood. In reality Bellavista does attract tourists and it has a few gentrified areas, but for the most part it's not the most touristy area. It's an area that for Atlantans would approximate to Inman Park or Decatur with the Baquedano/Plaza Italia area nearby as Midtown. Due to the proximity of three universities including the University of Chile, Bellavista is a college town within the city. Walking around there was definitely an alternative vibe as college students and sandwich and hot dog stands were everywhere. I got myself on Constitucion to find La Chascona and on my way saw colorful buildings with graffiti bordering on Basquiat-esque artwork. La Chascona was seemingly anticlimactic as one such as myself couldn't go in but being around this neighborhood led me to hatch up some plans for the next day.

Speaking of plans for the next day I realized I wasn't experiencing a good portion of nightlife. Granted, this was due in part to my schedule (I was in Santiago on Wednesday this day) but I felt especially bad after primarily staying in the hostel that night to stream a hockey game and eat leftovers. I figured this needed to change.

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By the way I should note I didn't like this particular hostel. I mean it's hard to like any hostels but this hostel never gave me a comfortable vibe.

In Santiago, the temperature was quite low. At night it was no higher than 5 C and from there it could be as low as -2 C. Most hostels didn't have heating, which I was used to. I slept in layers and snuggled in the blankets. With this hostel, however, blankets cost. They charged for freakin' blankets. You, my reader, may think "well it's a hostel, what do you expect, 'Holiday Inn?'" Most of the hostels I stayed at, even the most run down ones, offered free blankets.

It was also in Santiago I came to appreciate hot showers. This hostel promised hot water but rarely delivered; at best the water could be lukewarm. Now, I could scratch this to the "it doesn't pay to be cheap" part of my trip as I chose this place due to its low price of $14/night compared to the others that were $18/night. When I got back from Valparaiso I picked another hostel that was in fact $18/night and in Bellavista no less and the showers...were still cold. There was a point in this Bellavista hostel where I was standing naked, waiting for the water to warm up, putting my hand in the water to see if it would get warm. Sometimes it might feel lukewarm and I would get excited that it was going to be hot then a second or two later it would turn back to ice cold. I did this for 20 minutes and gave up.

As nasty as this sounds I decided to not take a shower if it was a cold shower. No way. I didn't care if it wasn't hygienic, forget cold showers. On the opposite end the key word for any hostel I found online was "hot shower." I didn't care if they put me in the open park and made me take a shower in front of hot ladies laughing at me I would be gracious enough to do it so long as it was a hot shower.

...

On another tangent before I go into my second day I want to mention a few things about Chile. Chile, of all the countries I went to in South America, was the safest, stablest country.

Now, I never felt unsafe in Peru and Argentina, but in Chile there was always a police presence. These police, the Carabiners, were not like US police. They were not part of a separate civil service branch; they were a branch of the military. This mean they were wearing fatigue green, they were fit, and they were scattered in enough areas to where so long as you didn't veer away from heavily populated areas and communas safety was never an issue. There was also a fair gender equality in the Carabiners; nearly half if not 1/3rd of all the police were females. The police are also pretty reliable and if you try to bribe one of them you'll end up going to jail.

Another part of this stability was transportation. Transportation never felt sketchy. In Buenos Aires, the city was fairly walkable and safe but the rapid transit, the Subte, wasn't so friendly. This wasn't the case with the Metro in Santiago, which was rapid, efficient, and incredibly clean. So Santiago was fairly walkable but if you started feeling the blisters you had the Metro. Cool.

With this stability there is a price for tourists...literally. Whereas Argentina and Peru might spoil one with low prices, Chile was kind of expensive. By expensive I don't mean the country overcharged any specific group but the prices were similar to the US or Europe even. This is good for Chile because it means their economy was stable but as a traveler I wanted to whine.

There were homeless but it wasn't as severe as Buenos Aires and there weren't any homeless children in the areas I walked around. If there was anything that might turn off a tourist, particularly a United States one, it would be the amount of stray dogs. I'll talk about that in my Valparaiso post because it was more severe there but stray dogs were everywhere in Chile.

...

My second day had a bit more of a tight itinerary. First and foremost I intended to walk up Cerro San Cristobal, a 800 or so meter hill in the Bellavista neighborhood that I got a glimpse of the day before. Secondly, I intended to visit Centro Cultural de Gabriela Mistral. Then I intended to find some food at a place I heard good things about called Ciudad Vieja. Lastly, I intended to do something that night, but I was uncertain.

Originally I wanted to trek but despite what my hostel said in their signs they were not much help, particularly with Radal Siete Tazas. In fact I couldn't find anything on how to get to Radal Siete Tazas so I ended up scratching that idea despite how beautiful it looked.

Looking online I wanted to see what theatrical events were going on and found very little aside from "The Barber of Seville" at Teatro Municipal. When I say very little I mean there wasn't much to intrigue me but I also realized looking for stage shows was a bad idea as my comprehension of spoken Spanish was...lento, or slow. So I looked into ballet performances and discovered the National Ballet was in Baquedano near Bellavista and had a show going on for CH$2000 or $4 (student price).

I started off on San Cristobal which wasn't the stacked layers of ornate buildings that Santa Lucia was. It was steep, arduous, and despite being a measly 800m I found myself in a difficult position, almost giving up. Most people when they want to go to San Cristobal take the ascensors or funiculars. I decided to walk because I'm hardcore like that. Or cheap; I'll say hardcore. Out of breath I made it to the top or so I thought but no just a road. I had to walk to get to the very, very top, which is dedicated to the Immaculate Conception. Consequently once I was at the top I started to hear Gregorian chant and other holy music, seeing walls of people's written prayers, finally making it to the statue of the Virgin Mary, where I sat and gazed upon Santiago. I was pretty exhausted but it was worth the view for I could see more up there than Cerro Santa Lucia.

Going down I decided it was time for lunch but the restaurants in the area didn't feel the same as me. Even though it was after 11:30 most of the restaurants weren't opening until 12:30PM. Fine. I'll just go to the Gabriela Mistral Cultural Center.

I talked about how the conception of Chile as anything other than a lover of arts was bullshit. This was the day that proved it more than anything because for me a good city that loves art not only has a lot of arts going around but it has it in an accessible format. Instead of the arts community being in a sketchy area you need a taxi to go to  the arts community here is omnipresent. This was Santiago. Baquedano is the biggest metro station so it is the most accessible place, relatively speaking. Around the area was Plaza Italia, Parque Forestal, and the two neighborhoods Lastarria and Bellavista.

Within this area was a good portion of the arts life but there was others in Barrio Brasil and Barrio Nunoa. The Gabriela Mistral Cultural Center was on my radar, honestly, because of my affection for Gabriela Mistral's poetry (she was the first female Latin American to win a Nobel Prize by the way). From I read it seemed like primarily a shopping area and there was a shopping area component to it alongside a cafe. Fair enough. It was also an arts center and it showcased the artwork of the faculty of the University of Chile as well as a special exhibition on Japan, with a photography showcase and a series of short, experimental films by Japanese directors. I sat down and watched at least four of the short films and took in that a) this kind of place was here which was awesome and b) it was all free. I didn't have to pay a cover charge to get in; I could just walk around and enjoy the art. There was also a performance space and cinema on the other side of the center.

Since it was nearly 1 in the afternoon I decided to make my way to Ciudad Vieja. Most of the sandwiches were lomo sandwiches except one called the "Olympico" which grabbed my fancy, particularly because it was only CH$3900. I thought being cheap wouldn't pay off but oh did it ever. I didn't really know what to expect but they brought out the sandwich and it was covered in melted cheese. When I say covered I mean there was a toasted ham and tomato sandwich and the entire plate including the sandwich was covered in melted cheese and oregano. Holy crap it was tasty. This day would lead me to forever discuss Santiago as the city where you could hike a 800 m hill, come down and watch experimental Japanese films for free and then eat a sandwich covered in melted, gooey cheese. For me that was kind of sublime.

That evening I would go and see the dance show, which was quite fantastic. It also led me to a revelation about dance and the nature of art. I realized that great art, even in the most brute mistranslation of oral or written language, can still have a pathos understood by anyone. Even though I barely understood Spanish I understand the language of this performance, immersing myself in the mood of the music and movement of the performers. The dance was about a woman leaving in a relationship but its depiction was quite striking. There was a moment when her lover wanted her to stay, with a literal visual representation of him holding her and her breaking away. When broken away she doesn't dance but walks slowly as if in hesitation about not knowing she made the right decision; she knew it was truly right to leave but was fearful of the loneliness. As someone who has done this, many times, I felt her pain and her loneliness.

It was only in Santiago I would have an artistic experience this transcendent.

...

I would leave for Valparaiso the next day but I came back to Santiago because of a flight. That Tuesday evening and Wednesday afternoon weren't too eventful so I'll be reasonably brief.

The main event for me was going to the International Documentary Film Festival, or FI Docs. There weren't many documentaries in English or with English subtitles but I saw that it was showing a documentary called "No Habra Revolucion sin Cancion," which dealt with how music influenced the revolutions of Chile in the 1970s and the 1980s. Even though I didn't understand any of the interviewees I understood the movie and the pathos of the music. I understood the movie enough to be inspired to do two things: 1) I wanted to see live music before I left Chile and 2) I wanted to visit Museo de la Memoria.

The first wasn't easily accomplished because most of the places around Bellavista (where I was now staying) were discotheques. Around 10PM I was walking and found a place with an acoustic folk singer playing. The club was decorated with images of Violeta Parra and Victor Jara and since I had watched a documentary about the influence of folk I figured this was the place. I sat down, drank coffee, enjoyed myself until a comedian came on. He was asking people where they were from and most were from Brazil, France etc. He was into his bit when he saw me. He stopped mid-routine and starting looking at me. Then in his microphone "de donde eres?" "Estado Unidos." He smiled with excitement and said in his mike "gringo en la vista." I knew he would involve me in his routine so like a poon I bailed.

The next day I took care of number two before I went to the airport. First and foremost everyone in the United States needs to understand something about what happened in Chile, September 11, 1973. With US logistical and technical support a democratically elected president named Salvador Allende was overthrown in a military coup. Allende, under pressure by the military, committed suicide and the military installed a dictatorship with Gen. Augusto Pinochet at the helm. Unlike most South American and Latin American nations, which had a history of caudillos or "big, tough guy" military authoritarians, Chile had remained a primarily Democratic nation. Allende, a Socialist, was seen as a threat to the economic prosperity of the nation. Some, Conservatives, in Chile actually don't view Allende as a martyr and talk about bread lines and economic despair during his brief presidency. Regardless, after Allende and during Pinochet's regime many leftists and anti-dictatorship people were imprisoned, executed, including the aforementioned singer Victor Jara. Over 3,000 people "disappeared." For more information I'd highly recommend going on wikipedia or googling this information.

No less, Museo de la Memoria was a museum dedicated to remembering these events, the "disappeared," and the struggle for bringing back democracy to Chile via the Si/No vote of 1988. The museum including a Declaration of Human Rights, pictures from protests during the Pinochet government, among others. There was a special exhibition of clothes on the steps of the museum representing the different types of people affected by the dictatorship via empty shirts and pants, dresses, suits. The exhibitions included documentation of arrests, propaganda posters, video clips of the leaders, etc. The most special exhibit was a candlelit vigil of sorts with pictures on the wall of various "disappeared." You could see in their faces a special humanity and feel the full weight of what this dictatorship did to the innocent. This isn't fun, but it's transcendent and important, especially as an American. It's important to understand the tangible effects of our foreign policy and there's a bittersweet feeling of both guilt for our contribution to this horrific regime but happiness that Chile has moved on to become a great nation.

...

Santiago has moved on with a modern sensibility unique in how it embraces its history and art. Many will tell you Chile isn't an artistic place, but Santiago proves them wrong. You learn by being around its history and art that it was through artistic expression that Chile brought back democracy. As a writer I found it transcendent that it is through artistic expression via both individuality and due process that democracy is created and maintained.

More importantly Santiago is the kind of city you dream of. It's on par with Chicago.

I couldn't help, though, feeling lonely as I missed P, as I didn't make a lot of friends here, but even alone the city will treat you will with its gargantuan pork sandwiches and heaping bowls of paila marina.

Never neglect Santiago in your itinerary.

In between my four day stay in Santiago I made my way to Valparaiso, which would prove to me how wonderful Chile truly is. 

Mendoza, the Gateway City

I gave Mendoza two days in my itinerary. Two days. A weekend.

This is what most people give Mendoza. It's unlike Buenos Aires, which is a bustling, cosmopolitan metropolis that drives Argentina's economy. Mendoza isn't a bustling, cosmopolitan metropolis; it's a tourist town.

A good tourist town. It has a charm.

It isn't mercilessly tacky or absolutely 100% driven by tourism. It's merely a gateway city for other excursions. People come to Mendoza because they are on their way to Santiago, because they want to tour the wine country of Argentina, or because they want to trek and ski around the Andes.

I wanted to do the latter; more specifically I wanted to trek around Aconcagua, known as the second tallest mountain in the world. I figured I'd give Mendoza a day, trek Aconcagua, then leave for Santiago for a journey to San Pedro de Atacama. Ultimately I'd end up staying another full day and giving up San Pedro de Atacama, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

...

In Buenos Aires I had taken one of the double decker buses, Chevalier, from Retiro to Mendoza. It was an overnight bus trip and when I arrived I decided to walk to my hostel located in the main area.

Mendoza has its cultural life. There are various theatres, happenings etc, but they are relatively small. As I was around the area most of the people I saw had families around because for Argentinians this was a family weekend getaway. That was alright; after the hustle bustle of Buenos Aires maybe it was time for me to relax and be laid back.

Mendoza is more of a day time city; now, locals may see this and cry bullshit but truly the beauty of Mendoza was better seen in the day. Mendoza was peculiar because it was located in the desert and surrounded by desert but inside the city were green landscapes. You had green plazas like Plaza Espana, Italia, etc and the big attraction was Parque General San Martin, a vast recreational park smothered in trees and green life. Thanks to an irrigation system this green growth was possible.

It was all very nice but easily done in a day for the most part. It was cleaner than most cities in the continent, but unless you knew what areas to go to nightlife wasn't too wonderful. That's ok; if you want nightlife Mendoza isn't the place. Mendoza is for trekking.

...

The first thing I asked about at my hostel was the Aconcagua trek, which cost AR$210 or roughly $50 US for a group tour. For the most part I had not planned on group tours but the more I looked into how to get there I figured it would save me the complicated processes and it would be easier to do the group. I signed up and was told to wake up at 7:30 en la manana ready to go trekking.

Now, this is when I realized how under-prepared I was for this trip. Essentially I took the Ulysses Grant route (see my preliminary post for this trip) and decided to travel light and as I needed things I would buy them. I was told that I would sun screen, heavy coat, and boots which they would provide. I had my Adidas and layers. I would go by a pharmacy and get some sun screen, which reeked. It didn't smell like normal sun screen kind of reek, I mean it reeked. As far as a heavy coat I knew South America would be cold but I figured I'd find a coat to wear but they were more expensive than I had anticipated.

Here is a lesson that came about: being cheap doesn't pay off.

Seriously, this is a lesson that I would take on with me through the entire trip. Being cheap doesn't pay off. Sure, I was able to do what I wanted and got away with it but I didn't have the comfort. There's a reason for cost. Being cheap doesn't pay off. Got it? Moving on...

So to cover up for not having a coat I decided to put on layers; one t-shirt, plus two flannel shirts and two pants.

We started the trek riding on a bus to our destination, with the entire trip taking approximately the whole day (12 hours) and within 2 hours we started making stops to check out local scenery. It was cool, but mildly cool. It was mainly desert formations.

There was a moment though when we passed by rock formations and looking out saw the Andes and its snow capped glory. Our bus ride went from "nice, very nice, nice, HOLY SHIT!"

It's difficult to be descriptive about these mountains. When you google the images for Andes, you see these impressive snow capped mountains but to see them in person is to feel the force of the mountains (that don't exist, just being poetic here) and feel the chill.

Despite my lack of clothing I was actually doing pretty well. I actually had to take off one pair of pants. So there. Right?

Oh no.

We got to Aconcagua National Park. This park has a trail that's about 1 hour 30 to 2 hours. Once we stepped off we could feel the chill and by chill I mean it bit hard. It wasn't the cold temperature necessarily, it was the wind. You'd be walking fine then the wind would come up and slap you. It was incredibly harsh. A family I met from Miami via Colombia actually decided to not hike it because of how frigid it was.

Was I backing down? No. I'm cheap; that means that even though I didn't buy a coat I also am not backing down something I paid money for. Plus, I could handle it for the most part and I wanted to get a view of Aconcagua.

I understood why the concierge felt boots were necessary; as we stepped on the road it was all frozen dead ice. A guy from Spain actually slipped right from stepping on it the first time. On this trek all of us, including me, would slip at least once.

We started to hike in the snow, taking in breathtaking views of the Andes, with the diversity of colors such as the blue tipped shadows of the mountains, the white snow, the golden grass. We had no idea of telling how deep the snow was; we'd walk and we'd feel the ground then all of a sudden the snow would swallow up our leg.

Shockingly, though, I felt fine. I didn't feel especially cold, just a little nippy. A Portuguese couple that was cold even in their heavy coats asked me where I was from, for which I just said Atlanta because Mt. Airy, Georgia doesn't have a ring to it. "Is it cold in Atlanta?" "No." "You don't seem that bad in the cold." I took a moment for that comment to stroke my ego.

The trek is essentially a ring that led us to a special view of Aconcagua. Aconcagua seemed short, hazed in blue, but it was there, the second tallest mountain in the world. Many men died trying to climb the mountain and to have a view where it just seems tiny--yes, I was crushing it with my thumb and finger--is a bit awe inspiring.

...

This is was my first trek that I had planned to do on this journey so I started taking in notes for what worked and what didn't.

The main thing that would be common for any trek I did was to always have plenty of water (obvious) and a ton of bread. Anytime I would trek, whether in La Campana or going to Machu Picchu, I would stock up on bread. Sometimes water isn't going to give you the energy you need, just the hydration, and bread will fill you up but also give you plenty of energy. Bring bread, always.

...

When I got back I felt I was right with this region of Argentina, that truly is one of the more stunning areas. Yet, I was ready to move on. I wanted to get to Santiago, then get to San Pedro de Atacama. Santiago was a 6 hr drive, and Atacama was a 20 hour drive from Santiago. Anxiety started setting in already, as I was trying to figure out how to squeeze everything I wanted to do in Chile within my time frame. I wanted to spend some time in Santiago, in Valparaiso, and Atacama. Atacama was at least four days, with driving there and driving back two days via bus, plus at least two days to enjoy it and trek. It was going to be tight.

The guy at the hostel told me to wait till tomorrow to order a ticket, they have a bus company they use. Fair enough.

I did and he tried to find me a ticket but the system was down. At 9 it was down, at 10 it was down, at 10:30 it was down, and at 11 it was down and the bus left at 12. He told me to make a run for the station but I realized it was futile halfway to the station and came back to find that the system was still down; even if I made it I couldn't get my ticket. Shit.

This tightened up my Chilean plans even more and I decided that Atacama may have to wait. It was my fault, the poor planning of my trip and my itinerary, primarily because I decided on Atacama so late in my planning. The way I figured it, though, was that Central Chile (Atacama was in the North) had some national parks as well and I could trek one of those. It would seem a step down and I'll touch on this disappointment on my Chilean posts, but for the meantime I was stuck in Mendoza.

...

I wasn't sure what to do and honestly I thought, maybe it would be a good idea to relax, stream the latest episode of "Mad Men," and just chill.

Eventually I would walk around again and by luck happened upon the food market. Mendoza observes siesta so between 2 and 5 most businesses were closed. In the food market were several stands, mostly closed, but Harry's Fast Food wasn't. Harry's Fast Food, despite its American name, is actually a popular Argentinian place in that area of the country with popular variations of the lomo sandwich. If you're not in the know, lomo is a very popular dish in the Spanish speaking world that is essentially beef tenderloin. A lomo sandwich, the one I got, had beef tenderloin, egg, ham, lettuce, cheese, and mayo on arab bread which was about the size of a rugby ball. It was huge. I ate half. That was enough for me. I would eventually leave the other half to a person in the hostel because I couldn't imagine eating the rest.

The food market had opened by then and I started walking around. I love local food markets because the food is inexpensive and it's all (for the most part fresh). Throughout this whole trip I really wanted fruit so I went to a merchant and got some grapes, which seemed appropriate for wine country.

...

Many argue that you should stay in Mendoza for a long period of time, but honestly I disagree. If you're into wine, stay for a wine tour or two. If you trek and ski, definitely come, but Mendoza isn't going to give you big city amenities.

Yet, there is something chill (literally and figuratively) and relaxing about this place. I can understand how people from other areas of Argentina come here during the weekend just for a getaway, to feel away from their lives. It's a nice place, and perhaps my memory is clouded in the frustration of not getting my ticket. Aconcagua is a marvel, however, and going through the Andes is necessary for anyone in their lifetime.

I would get my ticket and head to Santiago. More on that later.

Being Seduced By Buenos Aires

There's an unusual amount of romanticism associated with Argentina. There's something about the idea of Buenos Aires in particular that conjures up an image akin to what Lonely Planet calls an "elegant, seductive place with a ragged edge."

Perhaps it's the richness for which Spanish is spoken here by "los portenos," with "vos" instead of "tu," and softness of the language to accentuate each "palabra." Perhaps this image comes with the beauty of the quad syllable, feminine name of Ar-hen-teen-a. People come here ready to sit in on tangos or drinking really heavy espresso at the cafes.

Did I go here because of the romanticism? No. I came here because of Borges.

I mean there are several reasons I came to South America: the love of trekking, the interest of Spanish language culture, the wish to improve my Spanish. Yet, my interest in the three of the above reasons arose because of an insatiable appetite for Latin American literature sprung from Marquez in high school and sculpted by Neruda during university. I came here because of these writers. I wanted to see what they saw. I came here because of Borges because I wanted to see what Borges saw.

I think Buenos Aires is a bit disappointing to anyone who comes in expecting Latin America, who comes in expecting Lima or Santiago. Buenos Aires is on the Atlantic Coast and as a friend explained to me looks outward toward Rome, to Paris. "We are Francophiles...we feel we are closer to Paris than to  Caracas." He's dead right. Since most people come to Argentina via Europe and since the country had very few native inhabitants, it gets odd because of all the ornate Second Empire Mansard roof buildings that seems redundant, particularly when steeped in anarchist graffiti or on streets that reflect the "ragged edge" of the city. To me it was hard to pick through the city until I realized this is a Borgesian paradise. Just like Borges dreamed of a paradise as a library, I started to think of Buenos Aires as a library, with the buildings reflections of what people wanted to read about. It is the land of "portenos" which can mean "people of the port" but also "immigrants." Everyone here is Spanish, Italian, French, German, and unlike the US where there's an emphasis on a definitive "American" culture, here the definitive Argentinian culture is the witness of each culture sitting beside each other like books in Borges's library.

...

When I first came into Buenos Aires, I saw less of the romantic and more of the ragged edge.

I came through Ezeiza Airport, about 45 minutes from downtown and went on a bus to take me to MicroCentro sorta.

It took 2 hours.

Buenos Aires traffic is a sludgy mess of horn pounding cars. If you get around--notice the if--walking around is your best way around, no taxis. Taxis are as slow as walking, if not slower.

Between the airport and downtown is when the ragged edge came out of Buenos Aires. For 10 to 15 miles there seemed to be an infection of blank, 1960s-1970s brutalist plain ugly ass high rise apartment buildings that looked like they were a part of the megalopolis in the movie "Dredd." Buenos Aires is a cruel city for a lot of people--many individuals move from Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, etc looking for a better life and they end up in the outskirts, in the high rises. I'll touch more on that as I write.

I got to a bus stop near Puerto Madero and a local helped me get on Calle Florida where my hostel was. Florida is well known in Buenos Aires as the shopping district of MicroCentro, with an influx of stores with images of Lionel Messi. It could be a pharmacy, "farmacia," selling toothpaste and Lionel Messi is going to be on there brushing his teeth.

That first night was like any first night in the respect that I just didn't care about doing anything because of the exhaustion of travel, particularly flying. I was in Microcentro, the equivalent of Times Square of the city, so I walked around. I saw the Obelisk, the advertisements for the Addams Family musical (which is "Los Locos Addams" or "The Crazy Addams"), the endless array of McDonald's, pizzerias, the "Tango Show" in bright lights that I would find out cost $87 US (if a business charges in $US don't go...unless you're in the US).

If I had any goal it was to eat a proper dinner and by proper dinner I wanted parrillera, asado meat. Every street had its parrillera where you'd see endless amounts of carcasses being smoked and grilled; on my way into Microcentro I saw carcasses standing up with fire being blown on them in Puerto Madero and decided that was for me.

I, on a whim, walked down Lavalle, which was full of sandwich shops, fast food restaurants, pizzerias, and I happened upon a parrillera. I saw the meat on the grill and sat down.

If you're a United States-ian, you're used to a certain protocol in restaurants. The host sits you down, you get a menu and order a drink, the waiter voluntarily comes back and you order food and the waiter checks up on you to give your refills even if you're drink is just slightly below the rim of your glass.

In Argentina, you just sit down. No fuss, just sit down. You wave down a waiter, who isn't too pleased to see you. "El menu por favor." You get a menu. You decided what you want to eat and drink? Flag the waiter or waitress down again. Order. Then wait. Play on your iPhone or Samsung Galaxy, try to find wifi and once you realize it's a fruitless endeavor you look through your pictures.

Many people would be at odds with such service but I didn't mind it. For a culture that values personal space like the US we seem content with waiters and waitresses interrupting us mid-chew to ask us how everything is. In Buenos Aires, no one interrupts your meal unless you absolutely need something. I liked that.

I got steak with papas fritas and gaseosa or Coca-Cola. It was quite tasty. And not too horribly expensive.

...

Buenos Aires was sort of a starter city to Latin America for my trip. I knew restaurant Spanish but my conversation Spanish was mediocre and Buenos Aires, with its proximity to pure Spanish Spanish (as opposed to local variants) and also its international diversity lent itself to a moderate number of English speakers.

It was in Buenos Aires I started to take in lessons that would permeate through my trip across South America.

I mentioned the restaurant etiquette. I also learned what restaurants to go to versus ones to avoid. I learned that parrilleras, as tasty as they were, were also expensive. I also learned to avoid restaurants that had tacky photos of their food plastered on their restaurant. I learned that after going into a place that had a sandwicha de milanesa for 6 pesos. 6 pesos!

I realized I made a mistake when he put the sandwich...in a microwave.

A sandwicha de milanesa, if you're unfamiliar, is a fried steak sandwich. I bit into the sandwich and it was a rock. At the least the coca-cola for 6 pesos was ok.

My policies starting forming about how restaurant choices were to be made:

1) If you're outside a restaurant and you see good looking food in the window, go in.

2) Ditto for smelling the food. If the food smells are so good and strong you can whiff it down the block, go in.

3) Trust the cafes. Cafes were the best places to eat, because they were simple and had primarily sandwiches. It was always fresh, always tasty.

4) If the restaurant has vegetables other than potatoes, eat there.

5) If the menu is in English, don't eat there. It's a trap. Don't eat there.

6) Tacky pictures....yeah...don't eat there.

...

UNESCO has designations for every damn thing, including "City of Design," which it has designated for Buenos Aires for evidently having a badass city layout. (http://portal.unesco.org/culture/en/ev.php-URL_ID=28228&URL_DO=DO_TOPIC&URL_SECTION=201.html)

This is justifiably so because you could walk around everywhere in Buenos Aires. It was such a brilliant city layout. No joke; UNESCO was right on the money.

Buenos Aires has a ragged edge, with some tourists (posting on tripadvisor, lonely planet forums, etc) believing the city to be grimy or dirty but I honestly didn't think it was above average dirty. It wasn't like Callao or the dog poo covered streets of Valparaiso alleys. It's an old city, established in the 16th century. It's always been the port of Argentina, the bustling city of any Argentine. It's got a little wear and tear, but for me it wasn't any dirtier than, say, Athens, GA. I had no problems.

I started out my first "day" after my night arrival at 7:30AM or de la manana to walk to the US Embassy. The US Embassy was within a neighborhood or barrio called "Recoleta" that had many green plazas and other tourist areas such as the National Library of the Argentine Republic and the National Museum of Bella Artes. I figured I could walk to the Embassy, take some pictures as I went down Ave. Santa Fe, so forth.

During the morning I would see people working on the streets, but the areas were fairly quiet. In the US 7:30 is on the cusp of rush hour-holy shit-time to do something. In Buenos Aires, I would find out, the days usually didn't start until 10ish. When I would eventually walk down to Museo de la bella artes I would find out that it opened at 12:30 de la tarde or noonish.

I figured I could go to the US Embassy to check in; I thought it would be special to do it in person instead of online. When I arrived after a brisk 1 hour walk I saw people lined up to go in from around the block. I mean there was a huge line. Shit. Was I really going to have to wait 2 hours to check in?

Now, as I walked down Recoleta that day I would notice the ornate Italian Embassy, the Peruvian Embassy, etc and there wouldn't be anyone around the area. The US Embassy, a goppishly hideous building, had me getting in a line that was barely moving and easily 200-300 people deep. A representative from the embassy was walking through the line to check everyone's appointment. I said I didn't have an appointment, I just wanted to check in, I was from the US. Oh? Apparently I said a magic word because then I was escorted above everyone else in line and told to speak in front of a window my business. I say window because I could not see anyone, but he let me in, and it wasn't 10 minutes before I got to a teller, who informed me that I could fill it out...online ("do you have internet access?") but I could fill it out manually. I did fill it out, but I was never called again. That was ok; eventually...after 30 minutes...I would get the message and bail, but I saw why everyone was in line. Everyone was in the Visas and Immigration area. I mean there was at least 150 people in that area. Now that doesn't mean everyone was trying to get to the USA to live. It could mean people wanted to visit. It was interesting, however.

What you learn from being abroad is how difficult the USA is to everyone else for coming in. When I came into Argentina by plane via Lima I had to pay a "reciprocity fee." Essentially, we decided to make Argentines (and Chileans among others) a hefty fee to come into our country and they in turn decided to charge me (and Australians, Canadians) $160. After 9/11 we've become an increasingly paranoid nation. I would learn this as I traveled; Americans are too scared of every damn thing.

As for Buenos Aires, I left the embassy and started to walk around Recoleta, an upscale district; it's the Buckhead of Buenos Aires (or Upper West Side,I don't know--I'm Georgian, imagine your city's fancy neighborhood). Recoleta had its mix of parks and green areas, such as Plaza Francis, its ornate statues sitting among roundabouts, ornate neoclassical or Beaux Artes buildings, and its ugly ass brutalist high rise buildings that were copied...from the Americans (or United Statesians, whatever).

I began to see the Buenos Aires fascination with Italy and France via the car places around this area. Granted, Recoleta is not representative of Buenos Aires as a whole. But it was fun to see the shops selling Citroen, Peugeot, and Alfa Romeos which you would never see in the USA.

It was also fun seeing these buildings so huge and ornate and covered in graffiti. One of the things I quickly realized as I was taking pictures was how incredibly intelligent the graffiti was. It wasn't personal "hey I'm here" graffiti. It was on religious and military statues, it was on the older buildings and it was clever political or social commentary. One of the pieces of graffiti I took a picture of was on the National Library of the Argentine Republic or La Biblioteca Nacional de la Republica Argentina. I made an effort to go into a lot of bookstores and libraries while I was in this continent; it was my love of this continent's literature that led me to trek here. I went in and it was...well, ugly. Uglier than the national library in Chile, uglier than most buildings. It was a Brutalist building, fairly recent; this means it was slabs of concrete atop slabs of concrete with no ornamentation. As an Argentine friend would explain, in the midst of French and Italian inspired buildings, we had one inspired by the US. Yep.

The piece of graffiti said "aires de ezorkia." The "a" of "aires" had the anarchist circle around it and that's what really caught my eye. It was later that I would meet a guy in my hostel, let's call him J, who was interested in politics and explained to me the translation. "Aires" means "wind" or "air," but he said "you know 'winds of change,' this is like 'winds of garbage' or 'winds of shit.'" He had also collected photos of the political graffiti which was all very cool.

As I rounded up in Recoleta I ended up in a fairly aimless position finding myself near an old church. I mean in the US a church from 1902 is old; this was 200 years before that, a white church that once you got inside shut you up. It was gorgeous, with extravagant almost surreal imagery, statues, huge books with a typeface that was its own form of art. Gold was everywhere and I started feeling like where I was, in Recoleta, could be pretty cool.

But then I saw the Recoleta cemetery. Cemeteries can be cool or boring, depending on what kind of person you were. Not Recoleta. Recoleta was nothing short of badass. Recoleta cemetery was a city, a city of mausoleums that were incredible. Huge domes, pillars, Greco-Roman figures, 19th century soldier statues dotted this mausoleums. It was a cemetery interesting enough for history lovers purely for having so many political leaders, writers, presidents entombed and buried; Eva Peron ie Evita was buried here. When I say it is a city, however, I mean it has its own plazas and boulevards. It was ridiculously awesome.

Speaking of ridiculously awesome (a very US use of that word I would find out from my British friends) after Recoleta I figured a new goal would be to visit El Ateneo by going through Palermo into Barrio Norte. If you google "beautiful bookstores" or something like that you're bound to find at least 10 articles featuring El Ateneo. Here's the thing, though; this area or neighborhood (barrio) above Ave. Santa Fe is crawling with wonderful bookstores. Buenos Aires isn't everyone's cup of tea, particularly if you're expecting tango on every other block or something that doesn't look like Europe. That's fair enough but Buenos Aires is a book lover's paradise. In fact one of the city's nicknames is "The city of books." As part of my interest to see what Borges saw, I understood his love of books because his city loved books as he did. On Ave. Santa Fe there was at least a bookstore every two blocks. No joke.

The grandest of the bookstores, El Ateneo, was a sight worthy of its own poetry. I talked about how the National Library was an ugly, grey stained building. El Ateneo was the opposite; a force of opulence that overwhelmed your senses. It was a former theatre turned into a bookstore. Where the stage was, there is now a cafe. Where the box seats were, the seats once occupied by the richest of patrons in order to be seen, are now places for people to grab a book and sit and read. It was three levels of books, music, movies and as an intense lover of all three I felt myself become very attached to this place...a bit too attached perhaps but because I somewhat agree with Borges that paradise is a library, I think this place is a bit of a paradise too.

...

That night I spent time with a friend whom I shall call P. P was a pen pal that was wanting to learn English and I was wanting to learn Spanish. We decided to meet that evening. I won't go into detail about our night, because it was mainly walking around, sitting at Plaza San Martin and talking but we became deeper than pen pals. It was something special, if brief. That is all I will reveal in public.

...

For the most part that night was about finding some empanadas. I tried a place on Av. Corrientes which leads to the Obelisk. Yeah...those empanadas weren't my favorite.

Disappointed, I found a gelato place and that was quite refreshing. What I found interesting was that my area was incredibly bustling; it was the shopping area of the city, on Calle Florida and near Corrientes and Lavalle. Yet, as soon as 9 hit, it was empty. Eerily empty, as if everyone just up and vanished.

Also, on Calle Florida I started to see some harsh realities about Buenos Aires. Like I said before, many immigrants came to Buenos Aires in the past 10 years and unfortunately quite a few of them haven't found much luck jobwise. Like any major city there's bound to be homeless; I'm used to Atlanta, whatever. Because this was my first time out of the country it was also my first time seeing children homeless. On Florida it wasn't uncommon to see kids coming up to tourists and asking for change. At first it was a bit of a shock to me, I mustn't lie. It was unfortunate but Buenos Aires has its ragged edge.

Honestly, though, I usually felt safe, even at night. Perhaps I was protective, or whatever, but I never had any real issues. I didn't go into neighborhoods that weren't well lit, and I kept to myself if in a crowded place. There are always stories of bad things happening to tourists such as getting sprayed into one's eyes by mustard and having a purse stolen or whatever, but I never came across that. All cities have this element; you get over it and find fun.

Speaking of finding fun, that night after walking around, chatting with P, I decided to hit my bed early. I know, boring, right?

...

My last full day, for I intended to leave for Mendoza on Friday afternoon, I started off early in the morning to San Telmo. Oddly enough, I've never been to Washington D.C. Buenos Aires was actually my first time in a national capital. So I decided to do the touristy thing and visit the government buildings. San Telmo is a neighborhood with old colonial buildings, far more Spanish and Italian than French unlike Recoleta. Plus, it was where many of the official buildings were.

It was where the Ministry of Defense building was, which was a lavish building surrounded by palm trees. It was where the Presidential Palace was, which I couldn't get but half a glance at because of construction and how closed off it was. Then I got to Plaza Mayo, named after the month of revolution, which had buses and buses of school children, endless graffiti, and banners about the "disappeared."

To get on a tangent, I want to bring this up. Not enough United Statesians know about the "disappeared" or "Operation Condor" wherein a good portion of South American nations were taken over by far-right military dictatorships which rose to contain terrorism and far left activities. In Argentina, this resulted in a military junta between 1976 and 1983 where the military was in control of the nation. This junta would take anyone prisoner that it felt was against peace, the right, and so forth; over 20,000 people were "disappeared" in that they were snatched and never heard of again. All around Buenos Aires I'd see spray painted faces with their names and years like "1977" indicating that it was someone who had disappeared.

It's important for people of the United States to know about this because these far-right dictatorships were ultra-capitalist which meant that during the Cold War they were given either market support or in some cases logistical and technical support (more on that with Chile) by the US. It's important because it is a part of our egregiously awful foreign policy legacy and I'm a firm believer in owning up to our faults.

I didn't go to the museum on the disappeared, because I didn't have enough time.

My last government stop was the very neo-classical Congress building which had its own plaza. It was in the plaza that I was to meet with P, who I would have coffee and bread (croissants and flan more specifically) with, then she would show me her university and we would walk down to Puerto Madero.

Puerto Madero is a relatively new area of Buenos Aires, and one friendly with nightlife and tourists. For the most part, though, the locals like the area as well.

Just like in the States we have these old places taken over and gentrified (for Atlanta I'm thinking the Atlantic Mill, now Atlantic Station area) this port of Buenos Aires is filled with high rise, transparent glass buildings. It is where the major corporations are, and it is a walking area for people to go alongside the port and stroll. I was there around 5 en la tarde or 17 horas, right as the sky was fading in its blue hue. It was gorgeous, to see the port near sunset. Most people like the ornamental, neo-classical buildings, but I felt something stronger in seeing and subsequently walking on Puente de la Mujer, or the "Woman's Bridge." It was very plain to the average eye but the way it was designed there was an intense movement about it; I found it breathtaking, particularly at that time of day, particularly with P.

...

After this, P helped me get a bus ticket for the next day and we walked alongside Puerto Madero into Retiro, a district that is historically known for the tracks. All the trains pass into Retiro and we reached a point to where Puerto Madero ended and all the gentrification vanished suddenly. It was night and locals were all around waiting for local buses. In Latin America, there isn't an extensive train system like in Europe or Japan. Most people travel cross country through buses so Retiro's bus station was like an airport. Each company had its own stall that you bought tickets for and you took on buses that were double deckers. You could go semi-cama or cama. Cama was sort of like business/first class because you got wider seats that would lie completely down.

Retiro was interesting because around Recoleta and San Telmo you often saw more cosmopolitan people, people dressed like Europeans. For a while I thought every woman over 24 had to wear high heels because walking around every woman I saw had on high heels and walked around like it was nothing. Even the men walked around in dress shoes. In Retiro, I saw the working class of Buenos Aires and I felt that was important for me to see. They were the salt of the earth of Buenos Aires and I could see them wearing shoes not made in Italy and so forth, but they had a dignity I quite admired. Perhaps because I grew up in a working class place I feel for them deeper than others but I had no trouble walking among them and I hope for a better life for them all.

...

That night I had a few options. I thought about seeing a theatre show, as Citi Teatro Metropolitan was showing "Amadeus" and "The Motherf--- in the Hat." Yet, I knew I couldn't leave Buenos Aires without seeing some kind of tango. It was touristy, and most of the tango shows were filled with tourists (not just US ones either), but hell yeah I was going to see tango. In the Obelisk area, there was "Tango Show" in lights but as I said earlier, it was $87 US. No.

Most of the tango clubs were in San Telmo, but I decided to stick local and found a club off Corrientes. It didn't start until 10 en la noche, but what the hell. I went to a cafe, got a nice sandwich, and moved to the club. Online it said the cover charge was $30 pesos. The hostess said $50 pesos. I said no and started to walk off, but then I thought "am I giving up that easily? No." So I went back and asked her to let me in, telling her it was my last night in Buenos Aires and that I would only stay 30 minutes. She relented and let me in.

This wasn't a professional tango club where the performers are like actors. It was amateur-ish. Unfortunately I came in to just see tango and not dance...and everyone else there had the same idea. There were collections of tourists aiming to watch tango, but no one was to dance. For 10 minutes, 15 minutes no one danced, but the music was playing. Then a young Argentine couple got up to dance. To someone expecting Baz Luhrman style lavish tango tackiness, this was anticlimactic. For me, as a poet, I enjoyed them because they were amateurs and seeing them enjoy themselves led me to enjoy myself. They didn't practice timing over and over; they just wanted to enjoy themselves. So I was just watching them try new ideas and things and when they got it wrong close up with each other and laugh or smile.

It got better as more people came in. The "bouncer" was this old Argentine and for the first 20 minutes it was mainly young tourists and these two old European guys. Then an old lady came in and I could tell she was a regular because the old "bouncer" beamed with joy seeing her and the lady opened up her jacket saying in Spanish "I am underdressed, excuse me" while smiling as the old "bouncer" said it was ok and gave her a hug and kiss greeting.

After her the other regulars, older people, started to come in, saying hi to each other because they all knew each other. They were dressed to the nine and sat down ordering drinks first, to get some energy. Then after about 20 minutes they finished their drinks and all at once got on the floor to start doing legit tango. I mean this wasn't extravagant tango but they knew what they were doing. I stayed a bit after I was supposed to leave, but whatever. I eventually left, but I got my haggled $30 pesos worth.

...

I left the next afternoon for Mendoza. Before I left I went to a cafe and grabbed one of the most delicious sandwiches I ever had, with Parma ham, arugula, mozzarella cheese, and sun dried tomatoes. Damn it was good.

When I left I had mixed feelings. I didn't feel romantic about it like others had. I didn't fall immediately in love with it like I did with Santiago. Yet as I look back it was a remarkable experience, to see the livability of los portenos, to be able to walk around and eat and drink at cafes and live casually.

I think P had a lot to do with that, and in hindsight I wished I stayed for one or two more days to be with her.

As I was writing this I felt the wound of nostalgia for this experience. It had its ragged edge, but Buenos Aires was a city of breathtaking beauty in the way to live within its borders.

As I left on the bus I saw the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. This was a city that always looked outward, but inward was where I felt the charm.

In short, go to Buenos Aires, if only once.

For Mendoza, you'll have to wait.

Life Update Special ie I'm back from South America

Well then.

If you read this blog and you've read my life updates you know that my life for the past year has been leading to a journey in South America.

That journey has been completed.

Hell yeah.

I mean really it hasn't been a journey since the past year; more directly it could be said for the past two years since June 2011 when I had the revelation that I no longer wanted to work in theatre and wanted to spend my twenties doing other stuff ie travelling.

Shit this journey could've started when I was 10 or 11 or 12 and thought so much about the world, dedicating myself at the time to geography and history (I got in the geography bowl in the 7th grade). So much of my life was dreaming about leaving the country and going on an excursion. In high school it was going to Germany or France and in university it was about going to Japan, China, and the Spanish speaking world.

To have been able to go abroad...feels nice. Once you're atop Machu Picchu it's a glorious feeling not only because Machu Picchu is a badass place to be but also because it means you did it. You had a dream and instead of letting it fester you actually worked toward making it a reality. You saw the pictures and postcards of Machu Picchu and the city between the mountains and decided to see it in person and you saw it in person and holy shit it's awesome (being grammatically correct isn't appropriate for my enthusiasm).

If this post seems like a ramble that's because it is. As this week progresses I intend to chronicle my experience in each country I went to in separate posts, but right now I'm in free-thought.

I thought about blogging about the whole trip everyday--treating this like a diary. Many of the friends I met on this trip kept diaries either on blogs or full on writing them with a pen. I did chronicle a bit of my trip through poetry but I kept steadfast at taking pictures. I've been never a diary keeper--which is a terrible confession for a writer. I keep journals in the midst of working on substantial but I broadly reflect more than daily reflect--not something I readily endorse. I think my artistic works were always my diaries, though. My poetry is a chronicle of how I was and just like we look back at our diaries from youth and cringe at the type of person we were--with the wisdom of our (relative) older age--I cringe at my old works. Hell I cringe at stuff I wrote last week.

In my poems I chronicled what I suppose I truly learned on this trip. They were about the people at "Retiro," a train and bus station in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I had one poem about the ugly ass national library in Recoleta. As poets we aim to improve the blank piece of paper--a quote from Chilean poet Nicanor Parra--so writing a poem about Machu Picchu is difficult because a) others have already written poems about Machu Picchu (including Pablo Neruda) and b) you cannot improve the blank piece of paper writing about Machu Picchu because language cannot barely capture its magnificence.

I should note that I will write a poem around an experience in Machu Picchu, however marginal it shall be.

Yet, I shall also work on a poem that I completed in Valparaiso, about stairs left incomplete. It deserves a poem too.

South America was truly a poets' paradise.

...

It was hard for me in May or April to know if this trip was going to be worth it. This past year was unusually rigorous as I've chronicled, if briefly, in my other "Life Updates." The rejection from the MFA schools, my mom's breast cancer, my grandfather's death were the big life events that felt heavy and made 2012-2013 the worse year I've had since sixth grade when I went through puberty. Each of them had their own webs of difficulties such as the uncertainty of what I would do when I got back from this trip via the MFA rejections, or living at home per my mother's request and dealing with my family issues, or the disintegration of my extended family via my grandfather's death. Those big three loomed but there were others, particularly concerning relationships.

The trip seemed far away to be tangible except in an email from Delta that I had a trip I was going on in June and I was returning in July.

It was necessary to do this, however. At any point I may have said "maybe this trip should wait" but I didn't. I don't know why but instinctively I knew I had to do this trip. I knew that if I didn't do it now then I would just keep saying "eventually" but not "now." I have thought over things in the past too much when I should have just did something. I needed to have this experience, to become more whole or self aware, to know more about the world than what is on the internet or books. I needed to give something to my 10 year old dreamer self.

Before I went on this trip I read "Battle Cry of Freedom" by James McPherson, a one volume history of the U.S. Civil War. In this book, McPherson discusses the mechanics and personality of Ulysses S. Grant and how whenever he went into battle he rarely planned for how the enemy my counter in a specific scenario--he just did it. This of course meant he would have some egregious losses, but instead of saying "no" we should wait he'd just do something and keep plowing. This isn't the smartest idea but for Grant at the time it worked because he took advantage of the Confederacy's relative cautiousness and lack of resources while living off the land.

I think in university I developed this mentality of just doing stuff. Realistically I shouldn't have gone on this trip because of what was going on around me and because of my precarious financial situation. Now that I'm back my job situation is odd enough. I had/have no backups; my dad even told me before I went that if something were to happen he couldn't bring me back because he didn't have the finances.

Meh. I decided it was now or not soon enough or never.

Ulysses S. Grant became my hero, a heretical confession by a Southerner.

...

The thing about travelling is that it is a bug, an illness like a sinus infection. Once you do a substantial amount of above ordinary travelling you catch this bug and you want to do more.

I would like to think I caught the bug going to Chicago, but I think now that was just a sinus infection. I have pneumonia now.

I wish other US citizens were there but not because I wanted to be closer to the US citizens. There aren't enough of us travelling outside the country into places not exactly in our comfort level. When I backpacked there were mainly Europeans, Australians, and New Zealanders, but rarely ever US folk. Most Americans (sorry Monalisa, Meliza, and others who don't like me using Americans exclusively for US citizens but it's just easier than saying United Statesians and I'm not saying yankees because that is a baseball team I hate) don't travel to South America because it isn't safe. I kept getting warnings about going to this continent with my mom showing me a news story about a couple who went missing in Peru or other coworkers in the schools and other places telling me about things they heard. I had one particular coworker who said "ooh what does your mother think" and "why are you going here" in a pejorative way. A Chicagoan I met at an airport was saying the same thing with her coworkers telling her that she was going to be kidnapped.

First off, that couple in Peru went off the grid on purpose. They were having fun, mom.

Secondly, I was never kidnapped, but this anxiety certainly permeated with me. There was a point where I was asked by a friend why Americans were all afraid and I didn't know but he was right. There's something about us that's afraid to travel outside anywhere other than Europe or Australia (which are fine places in their own right) that needs to stop. The only Americans going to Peru or South America were people going on mission trips but I would like to see more going to South America because this continent makes your life better by making everything wrong in your life seem miniature. I don't mean that in just a crime and problems scenario a la Brazil or Chile riots, etc. I mean next to something like Aconcagua or Cerro La Campana your problems aren't much.

The problems I was supposed to have, I didn't have. I wasn't kidnapped, mugged, or have my life threatened. Nothing of mine was stolen. The only close call was when I was on a combi and heard gun shots outside because of three kids trying to steal something but that's my own fault for being on a combi and being cheap. For the most part I was travelling solo and rarely in a group on my trip and I never had any issues. That being said, if you go to rural Peru or travel in hostels you will have to sit on toilets without lids, you will see stray dogs and feral cats, and you will get cold showers but you deal with it because that isn't a huge deal. If that kind of stuff makes you uncomfortable enough to where you cannot enjoy the beauty of the rest of the country you're an ass.

A perspective that I shall elaborate upon in a later post was when I was went on Machu Picchu mountain. Machu Picchu mountain is gargantuan in its steepness. I had paid for it with my ticket already but after hiking in the morning I had second thoughts and doubts. I decided to try it since I already paid for it...and didn't make it to the top. My water had run out and I was exhausted. So I went down, disappointed. Perhaps this is cognitive dissonance but I decided this wasn't the proper perspective. Sure, I didn't make it but I made it halfway. I got views few people get to see and trying to make it halfway a steep ass mountain in the Andes is a shit ton better than finishing a tv show on netflix on my ass at home. That's all I'm saying. There's no reason to exclude South America out of being too afraid. It's worth more than what you have.

...

That being said there was one hitch on this trip for me: the loneliness.
And I don't mean just not having friends. I was sharing my experience with others via my photos on facebook or emails but it was easy to feel alone.
In Santiago, in Mendoza, having no one to enjoy my big ass sandwich with left me with a bit of melancholy. Seriously.
Granted, being solo in my travels forced me to step out of my timidity in order to have company; I learned that just asking could get me a couple of people to eat out with in Valparaiso and Lima. I definitely had some good company, particularly in Buenos Aires and Cusco; those were bonds I intend to work to hold on to.
That being said, on my next travels I want to be able to share my experience with someone. It's difficult to describe this loneliness because it's easy to get into sentimentality and because of how intangible it is. I aim to never travel alone again though.

That's also why it's good to get on tours and treks. I did that for Machu Picchu and I'm glad I did.

Never travel in a group with just the guide and you, however, especially if that guide is a douche.
...

Over the next week I intend to go more in depth in the countries I visited but I wanted to write something to start this off with, an appetizer. Consider this post your mozzarella sticks.