Iguazu
The movie shown on the bus to one of the largest waterfalls in the world, the Iguazu, was Jules Verne's "Journey to the Center of the Earth," which added to the general sense of excitement and anticipation. The entrance to the Iguazu Park is very attractive and the beauty of the park induced us to sample all four of its walking trails. Tons of roaring water spilled down from the height of a sky scraper, crashing into the water bellow, producing a cloud of droplets that soaked you in minutes. In a word: Wow! Recovering from the first magnificent impression, I allowed myself a quiet moment with the falls, a few long seconds just to look and later close my eyes and observe the feeling of that immense energy and beauty. Beautiful butterflies dedicated part of their short lives to sitting on our hands, cameras and noses and posing patiently. I also got to see monkeys in the wild for the first time, but they were anything but photo-oriented. Buenos Aires
Grumpy teenagers, cultural events, enormous avenues, dogs in sweaters, pollution, street markets, slums, homeless children, the port, the local slang, the dance recognized as a world heritage, local pride, the subway, classic coffee shops, fashionable men and women, and a hundred people lining up politely for the bus - Buenos Aires is the beating heart of a large nation. There is no way you can match up with the city. At the clubs, the night starts at 2 a.m. Sometimes you just skip sleeping altogether. Osorno
Osorno turned out to be an unattractive Chilean town with a rather small but hopeful night scene. The hostel scene, however, was much less promising. We passed on a hostel ruled out by Eti for "sanitary deficiency" in favor of what we thought was a domestic dwelling run by sweet old people. That first impression, deceiving as first impressions are sometimes, soon gave way to a rather more disturbing scenario. The owners, an irate and loud-mouthed old man and his ageing, unwelcoming daughter, who habitually wore only a bathrobe, refrained from connecting the stove to the gas and instead used one big wood-burning oven for heating, cooking, drying (their) clothes. And also for keeping the tens of birds which slept in the kitchen overnight warm. No one was worried about bird flu here. Between the Sun and the Earth
Some say it's the second most beautiful trek in the world. At over 5000 meters, no doubt it is one of the most difficult. One thing is for sure Hebrew is its second official language. "Europeans," they told me at the agency, "do the trek in 12 days. There was actually no eight-day trek until the Israelis came." And we came, all right. Out of the eight people in the group, only Kevin did not speak the holy language, did not have army stories to share and knew for sure that he had no common acquaintances with any of the others. It's a breathtaking trek. Literally. Look at the pictures. Going north
Everyone told me that the north of Argentina would be different. When I arrived in Salta I realized it myself. The vast majority of the inhabitants are not of European descent, street markets replace supermarkets, the siesta is longer and the overall economic level lower. Since most of the effective tourist hours are dedicated to the sacred duty of siesta, I mostly walked the streets and spent long hours talking to interesting people in the hostel. We cooked large international meals and celebrated them with multi-lingual toasts. We took a day trip to a nearby park. We got to a viewpoint over the valley in which the city lies and all fell asleep in the sun. I spent a night in Jujuy in a hostel with a Muslim delegation from South Africa. Nobody made new friends. The next day I went on to Tilcara, a dusty yet rather touristy village in the arid Argentinean north. I got there with an Australian woman who sold everything she owned and now travels the continent to look for a place to open her own hostel. Looking for a place to sleep, we followed a tip to what turned out to be a peaceful paradise overlooking the green valley and the colorful dry mountains. I took two tours around Tilcara, one by myself and one with a group, and while at it touched one Jewish Point and one Israeli point. The Jewish point I discussed with Sophia, whose grandparents survived the Holocaust and raised their children in England free of any religious affiliation. I suggested that though her identity was a matter of personal choice, she, like many other Jews throughout the world, may maintain her identity even free of religious beliefs and symbolism, if only she wished to do so. Argentinian politics
A fascinating subject. I've conducted a study based on late-night bar discussions with friends, chats with taxi drivers and a total avoidance of the media. As in earlier, somewhat more classic studies of politics, I've outlined my insights in the form of a dialogue: Me: Why were the stores closed today? Friend: It was Workers' Day. Didn't you see the demonstrations? Me: I did. Why were the stores closed? I couldn't get groceries. Friend: Well, it was Workers' Day. Me: So? Friend: So people don't work. Me: On Workers' Day? Friend: Right. Me: So what does it have to do with work or workers? Friend: shrugs. Short silence ensues. Uruguay
Uruguay - definitely a great experience. The night ferry departed from the elegant restaurant district of Puerto Madera and was followed by a bus connection to Montevideo, in which about half the Uruguayans live. By my count that means about 2 million Mate kits. I would bet that if you checked at random you would find people here are more likely to carry their Mate kit then their ID. Mate is a tea popular in Argentina and Uruguay. The basic accessories include a thermos (hugged close to the body with the left arm) and a leather-covered metal cup from which you slowly drink the tea with a metal straw. Those who can come up with a better use for their hands spoil themselves with a complementary accessory - a hard leather container for the above elements. Argentineans affectionately call Uruguay "La Provincia", the province. These two countries are probably among the only neighbors on this continent who aren't nursing grudges. A short walk in the old city reveals an eclectic mix of architectural styles. Surprisingly, Bauhaus (see Tel Aviv - the white city) is represented here, along with neo-classic and other nice combinations. I enjoyed it. At some point I forced myself to stop shooting pictures - no easy task. I got to the old and well preserved Post Office headquarters and asked if I could take some pictures. Shortly afterwards a guy approached me and asked whether I would be interested in a comprehensive tour of the building. As he led me to the PR office, he told me he had friends in Ein Hashlosha and Carmiel. The Uruguayans I met appeared to be pleasant and good tempered. They say one can recognize a Portenio (a nickname for people from Buenos Aires) because as a pedestrian he declines his right of way in fear and disbelief. Having been in Buenos Aires, I can tell you that's no joke. Homesick
Those of you who have read my past entries (or have ever walked up and down mountains) already know it involves some difficulty. Those of you who have been to the jungle know it's like Tel Aviv in the summer, only with more mosquitoes and less pollution. Those of you who have travelled on horseback know it's as bumpy as driving in Jerusalem. Homesickness, however, can rarely be compared with anything else. It has its physical dimension, though. Don't let anybody tell you it's just in your mind. It feels like your body contracts so as to fit into a tube that would release it on the other side of the planet. The process, though physically unpleasant, is eased by an expected sense of expansion and relief at its end. At home. It can happen after nine months or after two weeks, depending on the person and the experiences. It's hard when you miss your loved ones, though it's probably harder for the ones left behind. The parents, also left behind, are involved in these trips. They would love for their son or daughter to enjoy themselves but would be much happier to see them close again, exposed only to the known and familiar dangers. Cusco
Northern Chile was nicer than I expected. As an Israeli I was a little sceptical about desert tourism. I lived in the Negev, visited the ruins of Nabatian cities Shivta and Nitsana and rode Camels near Eilat. Taking a self guided bike tour with my English companion Davina, I learned that there is, as always, more to see. We left the tourist-swarming dusty village of San Pedro de Atacama and shortly found the remains of the long-lasting Atacamian culture. The Atacamians survived many attacks until they were occupied by the Inca empire and, a few years after at its fall, by the Spanish. A recently built observation point overlooks the former Atacamian plains, mountains and rivers. At its peak, in Spanish, is the the universally applicable quote: "My god, my god, why have you forsaken me." Entering Peru turned out to be more challenging than I expected. Like many other bordering countries, Chile and Peru have their disagreements. The Israeli reader might find a familiar pattern here, as the Peruvians claim historic title to territories currently held by Chile. The bus I took was meant to cross to Peru, but the Chilean authorities stopped it due to alleged violent disturbances on the Peruvian side which they said might jeopardize the passengers and the vehicle. Some of the passengers turned back. I stamped my passport and started crossing the territory between the border points on foot. When I got to the Peruvian border it was as quiet at the ruins I have seen the day before. The "risk" feared by the Chileans turned out to be a road block on the way to Cusco, a city more than a night's ride away. In the meantime I visited Arequipa, an old city surrounded by mountains and archaeological sites. My next stop would be Cusco, in which I spent over a month, and from which I embarked on tour and trek to Machu Picchu, the mountains and the Peruvian jungle. Cordoba
They say it's a party city, but I came to Cordoba during the week and soon found the Aldea Hostel, which was recommended to me. The Mezuza on the door left no doubt as to the denomination of the owners. |
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