Antarctica

I couldn't sleep. It was 3am on the third night of my Antarctic expedition. I grabbed my jacket and headed outside to the deck of the boat. The sky was pitch black, the wind fierce, the temperature downright mean. I stood there, alone, and stared into nothingness. Just a few hours before, I had seen my first glimpse of Antarctica, and taken my first photograph of the White Continent. I couldn't stop thinking about how amazing it was. That night, as I stared into the void, all I could think - all I wanted to think - was, "Holy crap. Antarctica."

As I mentioned in my previous post, this was a last minute, spur of the moment thing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that people took trips to Antarctica, but I certainly hadn't planned on it. Then one day a flyer in my hostel screamed out to me. A 50% discount for an Antarctica trip leaving in three days. I actually deliberated for a while whether or not to do it, which is kinda pathetic when you think about it. What possible reason could keep me from going? I signed up first thing in the morning the next day. The timing worked out well, too, because had I signed up one day later, the trip would have been fully booked. The reason: another expedition leaving two days later had been cancelled because that boat, on its return voyage from Antarctica, hit a rock and suffered major damage to the hull. Not exactly the kind of thing you'd want to hear about right before signing up for the same type of trip. I kept my fingers crossed that the same fate would not befall my ship.

What did I expect to see in Antarctica before I left on the trip? Probably the same as anyone would expect to see: something like these pictures. Whiteness everywhere. Snow. Ice. Icebergs. Everything white. Frigid cold. Howling winds. Gray skies, low lying clouds, and occasional rough seas. That's exactly what I got. It wasn't always pretty out, but even when the weather was nasty, it all seemed to fit perfectly. Of course, the pictures do it no justice. You really can't appreciate the whole experience through these crappy photos. Not only am I a terrible photographer, but my camera is ill-equipped to handle Antarctica. (I had severe camera envy during the trip because a lot of people had fancy equipment with footlong lenses and tripods and stuff I had never even seen before.) The thing you have to keep in mind is that it's white, everywhere. Three hundred and sixty degrees. Sometimes the rock shows itself along the coast line, but for the most part, it's snow and ice as far as the eye can see. When the sun is out, sunglasses are a must. The reflection is actually painful. When the skies are gray, it turns into this other-wordly atmosphere. I felt like I landed on another planet where the only things around were snow, ice, and water. And, of course, the pictures can't capture the cold and the wind. The temperature varied from a balmy 34 degrees to negative numbers. Gusts in the 75mph range were not unheard of. Despite the painful weather, though, being outside was a must to really appreciate the spectacle that is Antarctica. Much of the time the boat was travelling through narrow channels and passages along the coastline. The land and ice shoot up almost vertically from the water. Icebergs and glaciers are everywhere. It feels like you're traversing an antarctic version of the Grand Canyon. It's about as amazing as you'd think it would be. I often just stood outside for hours on the deck of the boat watching this foreign world pass right before my eyes.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. How does this whole travel-to-Antarctica thing work? During the summer months from mid-November to mid-March, expedition boats and cruise ships leave almost every day from Argentina. The large cruise ships often spend 30 days travelling around Antarctica. However, the passengers on those ships never set foot on land. That seems incredibly pointless to me. (I think it's some rule enforced by a multi-national treaty that ships with more than 100 passengers can't unload the passngers onto land.) So if you want to actually walk on the continent, you have to do it from a smaller vessel. Like the one I took. That's the M/V Ushuaia. It wasn't a cruise ship at all. "Cruise ship" makes it sound like it was some giant boat like a Royal Carribean behemoth carrying 5,000 overfed people whose daily exercise is limited to walking the buffet line. The Ushuaia was built in 1960 (in Louisiana; go USA!) for scientific expeditions. Just a few years ago it was converted for tourism purposes. From the moment I walked on the ship, it was obvious that there was going to be nothing luxurious about this voyage. No jacuzzi, no movie theater, no gym. The rooms were cramped and the shared bathrooms were a bit smelly. That's my room on the right. It was smaller than the prison cells I once visited at Alcatraz. I got the top bunk, which was about 2 feet from the ceiling. Of course, I was in the cheap section - those who paid more got their own private bathrooms. The food ranged from 'this is pretty damn good' to 'no thanks, I'll pass.' (Leftovers were a common occurence. Yesterday's beef dinner became tomorrow's beef stew.) All meals were eaten in a dining room with open seating. It was a nice way to mix and mingle with new people at every meal. There was a lounge area where most people hung out, talked, read, and drank (there was a bar serving cheap beer and wine), but that was basically it. People were either in their rooms or in the lounge area, or out on the various decks of the ship, weather permitting. All that being said, no one came for luxury and I certainly didn't need it. I think I would have actually felt worse about the trip had I been pampered. The boat just seemed to fit with the whole Antarctica experience: rough and tough.

And what about the people? There were 84 passengers hailing from 17 countries. About 20 were Americans. Virtually everyone spoke English if pressed to do it, but at times the lounge area resembled a U.N. conference - Dutch, German, Hebrew, Russian, Spanish, etc. The median age of the passengers was probably 50. (The average age was probably higher than that, but averages are useless. To wit, the average American has one tit and one ball. What good does that do?) Other than two kids travelling with their families, I counted no more than 12 people under the age of 40, most of whom were solo travellers like myself. I attribute this to two main factors: cost and 'the bucket list.' A good 66% of the travellers were retirees who had always wanted to visit Antarctica before they died. The fact that there were so many older folks was turned out to be a wonderful thing. They all had an appreciation for what they were experiencing far beyond what us younger folks felt. They were there to live out a lifetime dream; we were there because it seemed like a cool thing to do. Talking with the older folk and listening to their stories about wanting to do this trip for years - the planning, the dreaming, the saving - made me appreaciate just how fortunate I was to be there. It heightened my own sense of the grandeur of Antarctica. (It's funny, though, that the prospect of near death is probably the greatest motivator for a lot of people to get out and live life to the fullest. A bit of a sad irony, in a way.) Along with the passengers and the crew were was a team of five expedition leaders. These were all scientists - two biologists, two geologists, and a climatologist. They gave daily lectures to explain what we were seeing and experiencing. They came along with us on every expedition and answered most questions with great aplumb. So I learned some things, too, which is always nice.

So that was the setup. But before we reached Antarctica, we had to cross the dreaded Drake Passage. It's the body of water between Cape Horn and Antarctica, where the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans meet. Some combination of wind, water temperature, salt content, and who-knows-what makes for very rough seas. I'm not talking about 10 foot swells. I'm not talking about 20 foot swells. I'm talking about 30 and 40 foot swells. The kind of swells that make the boat rock n' roll back and forth and side to side so violently that if you dare to stand up, you'll find yourself right back on your ass in less than three seconds. Using the bathroom becomes an extreme sport - I don't think I've ever clung so tightly to to a toilet bowl in my whole life. And all this, for two straight days. You could overdose on dramamine and still get sick. I managed to survive this hellish portion of the trip by not leaving my bed - indeed, not moving - for 36 hours. After not sleeping the entire first night because I was tossed like a rag doll between the wall and metal railing on my bed (note: when you walk into a room and find that your bed has a metal railing to keep you from falling out, you know you're in for it bad), I spent the rest of the day staring nubly at the ceiling. (This is not a picture of the Drake Passage. It's a happy, fun picture. The exact opposite of the Drake Passage. I include it here, just for balance.) At first I ran through my ordinary melange of random thoughts - what do the Lakers have to do to make it to the NBA Finals?; how can I better market my idea for a handless toothbrush (patent pending)?; which Greek/Roman god would I be, and why? Eventually, though, I ran out of things to think about. There was a distinct click in my brain. Everything went dead. It's like my mind was an ATM, saying, "Sorry, your transaction cannot be processed at this time." So I just stared at the ceiling. The first hour I was restless and bored and antsy. Then I fell into a zen/yoga trance - my shakras aligned and my mind was total blackness. For the next six hours, I was a zombie. But, I managed to never vomit. Take that, Drake Passage! When I did come out of hibernation, I awoke to find that at least half of the passengers were still feeling the effects of seasickness. Less than 30 people showed up for dinner on the second night. Those that did looked always had this look like they were about three seconds from vomiting. At least the crew had been nice enough to tape vomit bags on every door, handrail, and chair in the boat. By the end of the trip, most of them had been used at some point or another.

While on the subject of spending lots of time in my room, I should mention my roommate. He was this Russian guy named Alex. I think he was former KGB. As roommates go, he wasn't all that bad. He was clean. He was quiet. He slept a lot and didn't snore. But during the 11 days of the voyage, we probably said no more than 100 words to each other. Our initial meeting was - what's the word? - awkward. It went something like this:

Me: "Hello."
KGB [imagine a totally stereotypical Russian accent]: "Hello."
Me: "Where are you from?"
KGB: "Russia. Moscow. You?"
Me: "The U.S. Los Angeles."
KGB [awkward pause, staring at me. Then...]: "You play chess?"
Me: "A little. Let me know if you want to play some time."
KGB [staring at me just a little too long before answering]: "Ok."

And that was it. After that, we exchanged no more than mere pleasantries the entire trip. I kept having this urge to tell him that the Cold War had ended. That it was ok for us to be friends. But at the same time I was afraid he'd do something sneaky like poison my food using some nifty spy gadget he had tucked away in his belt. The other thing that was weird about him - check that, there were A LOT of weird things about him - but the one thing that really stood out was that he never smiled. Never. As in, not once. One time I happened to be standing near him when he asked a nice older woman to take his picture. He handed over his camera to her, and just as she got into position, she said, quite normally, "Smile." He didn't. So she said it again. "Smile for the picture." He wasn't having any of it. She finally said something like, "Don't you want to smile for the picture?" No he did not. I've never met a more dour human being in my life.

As for the trip itself, we had five and a half days wandering around Antarctica. The days usually followed a regular pattern. Breakfast at 7am. Then we'd gear up to hit the continent around 9am. (Every excursion required taking a zodiac boat from the ship to the land.) We'd be back on the boat for lunch around 1pm. Then we'd gear up again for another excursion at 3pm. That would last for anywhere from two to five hours. Then, dinner. Most of the excursions involved walking around and exploring glaciers and the like. We had a few serious hiking trips, like the one pictured here. Hiking in knee deep snow (on top of 75 feet of compacted ice) is a lot harder than it seems. Chalk that up to ignorance on my part. When the guide said we'd be hiking for three hours, I thought, "Piece of cake." Yeah, not so much. Half the passengers got no more than 20 minutes up the mountain before turning around. I was desperately sucking air by the time I reached the top. Of the 84 people who started the hike, only about 15 made it all the way, including yours truly! Not only was the trail crazy steep in certain parts, but the wind started to really pick up when we got close to the top. Plus, we were walking on a very, very narrow ridgeline, as you can see. Instead of enoying the view, I was focusing on not dying. As a general rule, we were told never to stray from the path created by the guides. Otherwise, we might hit a crevace and plumet to our deaths or accidently walk over a portion of a glacier that might break off an fall into the water. Seemed pretty reasonable to take that advice. But just once, I couldn't resist running away. My friend and I took off for a flat section of a mountain that was white as far as we could see. A few minutes after this picture was taken, we found ourselves thigh deep in fresh snow. Time to go back. Unfortunately, the falling snow was so thick that visibility was reduced to virtually nothing. We couldn't retrace our steps because we couldn't find them. After a brief freak out, we chanced it on a 50-50 guess as to where the coastline was. The prospect of a cold, slow death in Antarctica was not appealing, so we moved fast and hard and, with luck on our side, found our way back to the coast before we became some seal's dinner.

A few times, instead of landing on Antarctica and exporing, we'd stay in the zodiacs to get up close and personal with icebergs and glaciers. We'd see stuff like this:

Some of the smaller icebergs take on really crazy shapes. In one section, called Iceberg Alley, there's tens of thousands of icebergs ranging in size from footballs to houses, and they come in every possible shape imaginable. Also, due to air being compressed and trapped in the ice, they often give off these brilliant blue colors. Iceberg Alley had a very other-worldly quality to it. When we were there, it was cloudy and grey and cold. When the boat driver turned off the engine, it was perfectly quiet expect for the occasional crash of icebergs. It felt like I was in some post-apocalyptic world.

Many of the landings involved watching penguins and seals. Before we got to Antarctica, the guides made it seem like it would be a special treat to see them. Not even close. You literally can't go anywhere in Antarctica without stepping on a penguin or seal. If anyone ever tells you that penguins or seals are endangered, tell them that David Newman says, "Bull. Shit." Sadly, Emporer penguins are not around in the summer. Whatever. I can tell you, though, that after a while, all penguins look alike. I saw so many penguins I never need to see another one for the rest of my life. On one island, called 'Penguin City,' there's about 500,00 penguins. You have to watch every step you take or esle you'll step on one. We were supposed to stay five yards from them at all times, but in many situtations, they'd just walk right up to you. At the time I was there, it was the last weeks of birthing season, so I got to see little chick penguins walking around and getting fed by their parents. Watching penguins regurgitate their food for their children is way more disgusting in person. There's gotta be a better way to feed one's young. And now, for the penguin portion of the trip:

So cute. But here's one thing they don't tell you about penguins. They poop a lot. If you see a penguin, you'll see - and walk in - penguin poo. A giant swath of Antarctica smells like shit. Even on a boat moving at 20 knots, and with winds gusting at 50 mph, you can smell penguin poop way off in the distance. How do you know you're getting close to a penguin colony? Just give yourself a nice deep breath through you nose. It hits you like a Mike Tyson jab. It's this white and red and green mix of nastiness. They don't put that in the brochure.

Seals were also a common sight. Unlike penguins, seals can get a little testy if you get too close. A good 20 yard perimeter is a wise idea. Otherwise - and this happened several times - they'll come chasing after you. I wish I had caught on camera the sight of this one obese Russian guy running for his life as a male fur seal was chasing him down the beach. Those seals are not to be messed with. So, to be fair to the seals, they get some pictures to:

Other animal sightings were less rare, but still spectacular. We spotted a few killer whales, a pod of dolphins, and three humpback whales.

That was pretty cool. The whales actually circled the ship a few times. They didn't do any of those famous jump-out-of-the-water-and-make-a-big-splash manuevers like they do on tv, but it was still cool to see them right beloew the surface of the water.

There were a few times when we encountered 'civilization.' We visited scientific bases run by Ukraine and England. The bases are pretty sparse with no more than 15 people at each location. Right now, the bulk of the research at both places is the effect of the hole in the ozone layer. We were given short tours at each location. The scientists at both bases had wicked senses of humor - I guess that's how you survive living in Antarctica for months at a time. The Ukranian base, called Vernadsky, also has the distinction of maintaining the most southern bar in the world. At a latitude of 65 degrees below the equator, it's the last place on earth you can buy a drink before you reach the south pole. They make their own vodka. It tastes like crap. Yet just about everyone on the tour figured it was worth it buy a shot for three bucks, myself included. Talk about a once in a lifetime experience.

I've run out of words to use. It was amazing. It was more than just another continent to tick off the list or a rare stamp in the passport. (I must concede, though, that I really dig these passport stamps. How often have you seen these before?) It was magical. Everyone on the ship, from the oldest passenger to the youngest, had this constant look of awe in their face. It was clear from the get-go that it was truly something special. For most people on the ship it was a once-in-a-lifetime trip, but I'm not sure I see it that way for myself. Not because I'm young and I have time to make my way back here in the future. I realized that just because something is remote and exotic doesn't mean it can't been appreciated more than once. Antarctica was such a special trip that I think I'd be a damn fool never to go back. It would be a crime to limit myself to only visit to this spectacular place. A crime, people. Like Schwarzenegger said, "I'll be back."

Now, on to Patagonia...

Postscript: At the time of publishing this post, I was in Patagonia. While it is beyond true that Patagonia = splendid natural beauty (with a blog post soon to come), it is also true that Patagonia = terrible internet service. As such, I was not able to upload all the photos I wanted to show you (I took over 800 pictures) as well as some videos. (That also explains why much of the formatting is off on this post. Oh well.) Those will have to wait until I can upload them on Facebook.

Tierra Del Fuego

After leaving Buenos Aires, I headed south as far as I possibly could to a place the locals call "el fin del mundo." In the Americas, the civilized world ends in a little town called Ushuaia (pronouned oosh-WHY-a). It's in the southernment part of the Tierra del Fuego region of Argentina. A former penal colony, it's now become a popular hotspot for adventure seeking tourists who want to trek around the absolutely beautiful terrain surrounding the city. It's also grown in popularity as the primary port in the world for tourists to travel to Antarctica (more on this later). Despite the recent influx of tourism, the town doesn't feel touristy or tacky. Other than a single street lined with shops selling North Face and Patagonia and Timberland gear, the rest of the town has retained its essence, or so it seems to me. The houses are modest, the streets often unpaved, and the locals a little on the salty side. Since the town draws in a wide variety of tourists - from hearty backpackers looking to do some serious trekking to retirees easing their way along on a comfortable cruise ship to Antarctica, it's a real mix of people walking the streets. In fact, at times there were so many old folks around it felt like an AARP convention had rolled into town. But, as nice as the town is, it's not why I came here. I came to explore and enjoy the natural beauty of Tierra del Fuego, and that's exactly what I did.

The hiking opportunities range from very short days hikes of just a few hours to grueling multi-day affairs. Since I don't like camping in tents in sub-freezing temperatures, I chose to be a bit of a wuss and stuck to day long hikes. What can I say, I like a warm shower and a mattress at the end of my day. (It's not bone-chilling cold here since it's the peak of summer, but it's still cold enough that I had to buy a jacket.) Since the days are long here (the sun is up from 7am to 10pm), hiking for a full day can be exhausting enough. My first hike took me to the outskirts of town at the Glacial Martial. Way back in the day, there used to be a massive glacier that carved part of the Beagle Channel. Those days are long gone. Today, very little, if any, of the glacier remains; all that's left are some steep cliffs and lots of snow in the winter. But it makes for excellent hiking in the summer. I walked from the town to get to the base of the mountain - four miles - and then began the steady climb up the mountain. The first few miles are relatively easy. The path is well-traveled and the climb is gradual. But mile four begins a hellish journey up the face of the mountain. At some points the "path" ascends at a 45 degree angle. The terrain switches from small rocks to rocks the size of your head. And the rocks are loose. I felt like I was on a stairmaster. There was a five minute stretch were I was actually moving backwards due to slippage even though I was walking forward. It took me over an hour to travel a distance of less than half a mile. This included walking over snow, which I was not prepared to do. The shoes I was wearing were more than sneakers but less than boots. After walking through the snow for a while, I lost feeling in my toes. Finally I made it to the top after about six hours of virtually non-stop climbing. It might not be clear in the picture on the bottom left, but I was one hundred percent out of gas. My legs were on fire, my feet numb, and my lungs screaming for mercy. The walk down the mountain was b.r.u.ta.l.

About 10 miles outside the city is the small but pristine Tierra del Fuego National Park. In total there's only about 15 miles of trails, but they meander through the entire park and give a perfect sample of all that there is to see. As with the glacier, I gave myself the entire day to explore. I chose some of the more remote trails and was rewarded in kind with hours of solitude. (As I learned later, a lot of people eschew the trails in favor of having a bus take them to a few selected viewing spots. I'm not quite sure why people would do that since hiking the trails is really the best part, and seeing the sights is far more rewarding once you've actually had to trek to those places.) I've been thinking for a few days how I could describe the beauty I saw, but I can't. It's really beyond words. All I can say is that I felt honored and privileged to see such spectacular beauty. It's almost like a religious experience. I'll just show some pictures. (The first picture below is at the very edge of the continent. Across the water is Chile. A few miles to the left and there's nothing but the Atlantic Ocean.)

The national park also has lot of native wildlife roaming around. There aren't any really big animals like bears, but they are plenty of smaller ones like foxes and rabbits and beavers. During my hike, this fox walked right across my path, about 20 yards in front of me. It stopped and gave me a long stare. I was pretty sure that the fox wouldn't come chasing after me, but I sure as heck wasn't about to find out. I snapped the picture and scaddadled out of there.

After two days of 10+ hour hiking, my legs and feet desperately needed a rest, so I took a boat ride through the Beagle Channel. It's the southernmost passage a ship can sail to avoid going around Cape Horn. (The three options are the Drake Passage around Cape Horn, the Beagle Channel, and the Magellan Strait, which is the most northern route possible. It's amazing what you can learn on a boat.) The passage through the Channel offers great views of the mountains and forests in Tierra del Fuego:

The boat trip also provided an opportunity to view some of the native marine life, including birds and sea lions. The sea lion colony was fun to see, just for the sake of seeing them in their natural habitat. But even though they were out in the wild as opposed to being stuck in SeaWorld, they did the same thing, which is to say that they just laid around and barked. Not that I was expecting them to balance a ball on their nose or anything like that, but I was hoping for a big fight or some hunting. Maybe next time. The birds were equally interesting yet inactive. Since the wind was viciously howling that day (gusts of over 50 miles per hour), they basically did their best to stay put on this island. I was told that at any given time there are nearly 10,000 birds on an island the size of a 747. They look like penguins but they're not, which was kind of disappointing. (I forget the species name. But they fly.) At the end of the boat ride I thought I saw a killer whale, but it turned out to be a rock. The guide said, "that's the first time anyone thought that rock was an animal." Thank you, tour guide, for making feel really dumb.

No trip to Tierra del Fuego is complete without doing at least one off-roading activity. At the hostel, I befriended another guy from California who was also travelling solo. He suggested that we try riding ATVs across one of the valleys outside Ushuaia. It seemed at little odd at first that we could just ride these bad boys roughshod over the natural terrain, but the owner of the ATVs said it was perfectly legit. That was good enough for me. So we geared up and unleashed 4x4 hell. Several times I thought I was going to flip over and die, but, of course, that made it even more enjoyable. Whenever there was a mound in front of us we gunned the engines and tried to get airborne. (Never happened - the ATVs were way too heavy.) Before we left on our adventure, the owner also told us not to worry about getting stuck in marshes or bogs, of which there are plenty. He said that between the all-wheel drive and the horsepower, there was no way we could get stuck in anything out in the valley floor. However, my friend did the impossible and proved the owner wrong. Ignoring a large wetland area directly in front of us, he drove straight into a series of bogs. The ATV sunk like a stone. His attempts to go in reverse only made matters worse. After 15 minutes of trying, without any success, to move his ATV, we decided to use my ATV to pull his out of the water. That took another 15 minutes. Lesson learned: when on ATVs in Tierra Del Fuego, don't drive into wetland areas. I won't make that mistake again.

Since the town of Ushuaia is pretty small, there are really only two bars at which to drink. While they're fun and often rowdy, they're also relatively expensive. As a result, a lot of people in hostels just stay in a drink in the common areas. It creates a fun, inclusive vibe. Early on during my stay, I joined a group of Canucks and Aussies in the "living room" of our hostel for some classic games of Uno and Jenga. I had somehow forgotten how fun Jenga can be after a few beers. Thanks to good genes passed on by my father, my hands remain steady even after a few drinks. At the end of the night, the group was in awe of my Jenga prowess. Six intense rounds, and never once was I responsible from bringing it down.

After taking a few days off from hiking to rest my legs, on my last day here I decided to head to the Emerald Lake. It's a two hour walk through two separate forests and one really muddy marsh field. I tried tip-toeing my way through the mud to avoid getting my feet wet, but a fatal mistep landed me ankle deep in red mud with both feet. And I still had another three hours of hiking. But the trip was well worth it. The emerald lake at the base of one of the mountains has earned its name. The water is a pristine light green color that contrasts beautifully with the dark green of the forests and the grays and reds in the rocks. A perfect spot for a little reflection.


You may have noticed that this is a shorter blog post than normal. The reason is simple: I had to complete it quickly because I won't have internet access for the next 11 days. As I mentioned before, Ushuaia is the primary spot for tourists to take cruises to Antarctica. When I got into town, I noticed a last-minute special for an 11 day trip to the White Continent. Even though it wasn't on my itinerary, and even though it kinda screws up my travel plans, I couldn't resist. (Oh, who am I kidding - I don't have any real plans. I'm making this up as I go.) It'll be me, penguins, glaciers, and a boat-load of snow. Even though I hate cold weather, I figure I should put that aside this one time. So I'm off to Antarctica...

Hola, Buenos Aires

New continent... new country... same adventure. After a brief timeout in LA I'm back on the road. This time, I'm in South America. The plan is simple: explore Argentina and Brazil, with potential stops in Chile and Uruguay. Since you're still reading this blog, then you're clearly bored with the rest of the internet. I can't blame you for that - it's all crap. Seriously, though, you could be doing anything else with your time, but you've chosen to stay with me for a while. Much appreciated. In return, I'll try to do my best to entertain for the next 10 weeks...

The adventure began before I arrived in Buenos Aires. The flight down to BA took nearly 20 hours (including a five hour time difference), but it wasn't as grueling as that might seem: a three hour flight to Dallas, a brief layover, then a 10 hour flight to BA. On the first leg everything went swimmingly: no delays, no crying babies, and no morbidly obese people sitting directly in front of me and crushing my knees. I even had a friendly flight attendant who gave me free wine. (New revelation - two glasses of white wine and an Ambien = lots of sleep.) The second leg of the trip wasn't quite as perfect. When I first sat down on the Dallas-to-BA flight, the seat next to me was empty, and it stayed that way until the very last minute. Just before we pushed back from the gate, some guy had to ruin the fun and plop down next to me. But it wasn't just that I had a neighbor with whom I would have to subtly play that "who gets control of the middle armest" game. It was far worse than that. The guy had epic bad breath. It was actually offensive. I smelled it even before he sat down. When he did sit down next to me and opened his mouth and it was like, "Whoa! When did you last brush, 1989?!" After about 30 minutes of breathing through my mouth to avoid the smell, he popped in some mint gum and I thought, "OK, this should do it." But it was to no avail. The mint gum was no match for whatever bacteria had comfortably found a home in this guy's gums. Not even the two Cokes, the dinner, the breakfast, and the tea that was served on the flight could erase his stench. His breath was a WMD - weapon of mass discomfort. It was literally a biological weapon. Argentina could win any war by dropping this guy into enemy territory and just have him walking around and breathing on everyone. I felt like the Defense Department needed to go to DEFCON 3 with this guy around. Good lord dude, get a truthbrush!

Mercifully, I survived his breath and made it alive to BA. First stop after getting into town was the hostel. Yes, I'm putting myself through hostels again. Why? I've found that it's the best way to travel solo. Hostel upsides: inexpensive; usually decent services for the basics (clean beds, bathrooms, etc.); and, most importantly, ability to meet other young travelers, hang out with them, and trade information. Hostel downsides: it's a hostel. Hostels are full of random people who do random, weird, and annoying stuff at all hours of the day, but you can't really complain because you're only paying $15 a night. The hostel in BA was well-run and clean, and I managed to get a four-bed dorm with a private bathroom that was cleaned daily by the maid. (I was on the 'Che Guevarra' floor. There's me, Che, and Fidel just hanging out in the hallway.) The only problem I had with my hostel was that, for a couple of nights, one of my dormmates snored loudly enough to wake the dead. Even my trusty earplugs were no match for him. After an hour of listening to his snoring, I couldn't take it anymore. Have you ever gotten to the point beyond just wanting to kill someone - where you actually starting thinking of specific ways to do, just as a way to deal with the frustration? I did. I came to the conclusion that I'd dump him in a wood-chipper, wipe the dorm clean of all my fingerprints, and take the first bus the next morning out of the country and into Uruguay. I didn't do that, although I was tempted, but I tried to summon all of my mental powers in an effort to achieve some sort of Jedi mind trick to get him to stop. Nope, he kept on going. I lost control and blurted out, "Holy [bleep], you're [bleep] snoring so [bleep] loud I [bleep] can't take it any more!! Shut the [bleep] up!!" He slept right through it...

Enough of my ranting. Let's get to the heart of it. Buneos Aires is a large urban sprawl (something like 13 million residents) but most of the main sights are congrgated in a central area. I decided to walk around aimlessly while trying to remember where the main sights were located. Other than the guidebook, I only had two people to rely on for recommendations of things to do/see. Unfortunately for me, both of them were girls whose "must see" sights centered on places to drink coffee and shop. Since I don't drink coffee and I hate shopping with a passion, I was left with my guidebook, Lonely Planet, to guide me. For the first time in a while, it didn't lead me astray. So I roamed and wandered and enjoyed the city. It has an old world European charm, even though it's not really that old. Many streets are cobblestoned and the buildings are packed in tight. Cafes spill out into the sidewalks. There's a great mix of architecture (which also includes the all-too-common decaying building). It very much reminded me of Barcelona. One difference is that the streets are mapped out on a near perfect square grid, which on the one hand makes it very easy to walk but on the other makes it feel more like Manhattan or LA as opposed to a classic European city. True, the city is a bit rundown in certain areas - broken sidewalks, buildings in dire need or a paint job - but somehow that makes it seem more real. Overall, there's a fair amount to see and do, and I feel that four days was sufficient to see everything, but there was nothing monumental or life-altering. On reflection, I realized that I never once waited in line for anything even though it's peak tourism season. There's nothing like an Eiffel Tower or a Statue of Liberty. (The one 'symbol' of BA is this obelisk, which stands in the middle of the major north/south thoroughfare. Neat, but not exactly stunning. Especially since most buildings around it all taller and therefore block it out of the skyline.) Not that comparing cities is fair or even worthwhile, but visiting BA seems to be more about soaking up the essence of the place than visiting any one particular thing. So I can't describe any "wow" experiences, but there were things I really liked and are certaily worth mention.

One of my favorite places was the Recoleta cemetery, smack dab in the middle of the city. This is where the rich and famous of Buenos Aires are buried, so it's not your ordinary cemetery. For starters, there's no grass. None at all. The entire place is made of up individual masoleums erected for the dead. You'd think this picture was taken at a nice part of the city. But those aren't apartment buildings - that's the cemetery. The one pictured here on the left is three stories tall and built with marble columns. How ridiculuous is that? I guess it challenges the adage that you can't take your money with when you die. The cemetery is also the final resting place of Evita Peron. Her gravesite is relatively modest compared to others... it's only one story high... Amateur.

Another favorite was Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, or MALBA. It's a small musuem with lots of 20th century art. My only regret was that I wasn't high when I visited. Bright colors and bizzare shapes and textures are what this place seems to be built on. Even in a completely unaltered state of mind, It left my mind spinning. (I also really liked this bench. Just something cool that you don't see everyday.) One piece of art that really had me shaking my head was an exhibit that included actual people. In the corner of one of the galleries was a regular bedroom setup - bed, chest of drawers, nighttable, etc. As I approached, I thought that the artist had made a really good likeness of a woman sleeping in the bed. But when I got right next to it for a closer look, I saw that the "likeness" was breathing. Just as I was about to touch the woman to see if she was real, she "awoke", and then in came a a guy dressed in pajamas who kissed her on the lips. She got out of bed and walked away, and he slipped in under the sheets, and that was that. I don't know what kind of art that is, but it freaked out everyone in the musuem who was watching this.

Another highlight was walking through the Presidential Palace. It's tiny compared to the White House, but the decor and art are really beautiful in a centuries-old-Europe kind of way. It was regal and royal and opulent and everything you'd expect from a Palace. Still, I wasn't paying too much attention to detail until a guy from Calgary who somehow figured me for an English speaker approached me and started commenting on the beauty of the radiator in the hallway. I thought he was joking at first, but soon realized he was in the midst of an intellectual orgasm. He stopped and marveled at it's design and the etchings that were engraved in it and he was telling me about how rare it was to see radiators like that one and what it meant to the building as a whole and blah blah blah. You'd have thought this guy spent his entire life looking at radiators. At one point he said to me, "Man, they don't make 'em like this anymore," to which my response was, "I didn't know they made them like that in the first place." But I guess that's his thing. The best part of the tour was being able to stand on the balcony where Evita used to deliver her speeches to tens of thousands of adoring compatriots. (Terrible picture, I know.) I stood there and started to act as if I were giving a speech to an imaginary crowd of below. That only drew the ire of the security guard who probably thought I was nuts. Still, it's pretty cool to stand in the exact spot that is such an iconic part of a country's history.

Argetinians seem to be in love with street fairs. (I'll be generous and won't call them flea markets). Since I don't shop they are basically useless to me other than observing tourists buying useless trinkets. Why I find that interesting is beyond me, but I do. However, one benefit of the street fairs are the nearly ubiqutious tango shows. Where there are street fairs there are tourists, and where there are tourists, there are people doing the tango. These performances are a real treat to experience, both for the dance and the music. I must say that watching tango being performed by people who know what they're doing is a true pleasure. It's probably been said a thousand times by other people, so I'll just join the chorus: it's damn sexy. I wish I had the skill to pull it off...

Although not a "tourist attraction," another thing I really liked about the city is the huge number of parks, large and small, that are dotted throughout the city. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I love green space in cities. Most of these parks are dedicated to some revolutionary hero or Che Guevarra, or both. Every park had a least one bronze statute or bust of someone who did something at some time that was relevant to Argentina or the greater Latin American cause for independence. What amazes me is that, the world around, parks of these nature always seems to attract the exact same four groups of people: homeless, drunks, disaffected youth, and young lovers. What is it about the nature of the universe that small urban parks bring those four groups of people together?

I was told by several people that petty crime in BA is rampant. I survived unscathed, but I was in the city no less than 24 hours before I saw it happen to someone else. As morbid as it sounds, it was a really fun experience. I was on a crowded subway train to some random part of town when a huge commotion broke out about ten feet to my left. When I looked over, two guys were shoving each other and trading blows, and one woman was throwing cheap shots with her purse. There was lots of screaming and shouting, most of which I did not understand, but the word "puta" (Spanish for bitch) jumped out about 100 times. Pretty soon several other people were shoving and pushing one of the guys. As it turned out, he tried to steal the woman's purse. Not only had been stopped from doing so by the good Samaritans nearby, but they then rained down fire and hell on him. The physical violence was limited to a few punches and kicks, but this guy was the victim of the biggest verbal chewing out I've ever heard. Ten or 15 bystanders (of the passionate Latin type) brought this guy to tears. He managed to flee at the next exit, but that day surely turned out differently than he'd planned.

The only downside to BA is the schedule that people there stick to. Dinner no earlier than 10pm, arrive at the club or bar no earlier than 2am, and party until the sun rises. Having been jetlagged and tired from exploring the city by foot, I couldn't keep up. Both Friday and Saturday nights, I had the humbling experience of coming back to the hostel after a few drinks while a lot of other people were just beginning their night. How people can live like that night after night is completely beyond me.

So there it is. I began this leg of the journey in Buenos Aires, and now that I've crossed it off the list, I'm headed south. Way south. Next stop: Tierra Del Fuego.