tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79105382954644528842024-02-19T16:12:15.010-08:00Leah in South AmericaWell I do regret choosing that URL.Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-88963585095768792022010-06-22T11:22:00.001-07:002010-06-22T11:35:13.576-07:00WORLD CUPDear 18 and 14 year old selves, you don´t know what you were missing by being completely ignorant about this sporting event. It´s SO FUN.<br /><br />Can we talk about how the US should have won that last game?<br />Or the hottest hottie from Paraguay, Roque Santa Cruz?<br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Micro-3/CONFIG%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyItpiMYxEENZ78vcSeThdZSlHydlYyNvy-w2J4Tmf9ACPNfQe2nrDgNTdbQC7fNpvVf10PLaxvGXK6riXQxuiWOBWT9DyqIP_QJhsh4VTINHiT5LxPO0QM9eQbgYRLrhBYG01uUQPLOm1/s400/santacruz_ima_020806.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyItpiMYxEENZ78vcSeThdZSlHydlYyNvy-w2J4Tmf9ACPNfQe2nrDgNTdbQC7fNpvVf10PLaxvGXK6riXQxuiWOBWT9DyqIP_QJhsh4VTINHiT5LxPO0QM9eQbgYRLrhBYG01uUQPLOm1/s400/santacruz_ima_020806.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Or the complete bull-shittiness of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nH7B6GnOdCI">this</a> call?<br />Or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJyfqIMujsk">this Shakira song</a> that made me cry today? (@ Stephen)<br /><br />Surriously though Brazil is OBSESSED and it´s been hard not to join in. It´ll be sad to leave a country that has a team playing (Bolivz/Peru/Ecuador/Colombia nope) but I´m confident that I can continue the 24/7 WC coverage. It´s still South America, after all.<br /><br />PIX from the Pantanal coming as soon as I have access to both a computer and my cam cord. Heads up: SO MANY CROCODILES!Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-3649972194766763652010-06-09T22:04:00.000-07:002010-06-10T19:15:45.358-07:00To Market, To MarketPhotos from the São Joaquim market in Salvador, easily one of the best things I've seen in South America thus far.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVapR5sYES832PczcGlVEAkkVqEDjOowiN35B2gGOilVt4FZwrA9_4tWZKm61u_M1vbq3j89wTlPjH5L79N8spgDS5zmmBn2RnrtuNlXrnmezNkhG9VLO1q8qrXLhKREQcIgl_b_ZNUXs/s1600/Brazil+8+188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVapR5sYES832PczcGlVEAkkVqEDjOowiN35B2gGOilVt4FZwrA9_4tWZKm61u_M1vbq3j89wTlPjH5L79N8spgDS5zmmBn2RnrtuNlXrnmezNkhG9VLO1q8qrXLhKREQcIgl_b_ZNUXs/s320/Brazil+8+188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481007193001081010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uV6E6iBNS0F0IHNH9E-RjlIjc9AKnEnGzebScVn3XV7LaarboEyL3_u9O2lOYbpGRLhKmdu6QkheGof5VkOKySY9RYbViEsH83hB0X3w5dHsZHLyxqKpCtt4NnfCys6lXXInIKPiX_4/s1600/Brazil+8+194.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uV6E6iBNS0F0IHNH9E-RjlIjc9AKnEnGzebScVn3XV7LaarboEyL3_u9O2lOYbpGRLhKmdu6QkheGof5VkOKySY9RYbViEsH83hB0X3w5dHsZHLyxqKpCtt4NnfCys6lXXInIKPiX_4/s320/Brazil+8+194.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481007839195036418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8xopwnGlmSAzDwZItoLWZFYtqOQErEdAoT8ZnBVS2WE09McdVQ1N8kVwhbdvMpkxrTFlq_jOiQ7IptEfezTfgCx-ELey3dBUNaJy4WBxs_hr_4uhOZCj5rS8UVP8LBon9eYWyRcVVhg/s1600/Brazil+8+197.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS8xopwnGlmSAzDwZItoLWZFYtqOQErEdAoT8ZnBVS2WE09McdVQ1N8kVwhbdvMpkxrTFlq_jOiQ7IptEfezTfgCx-ELey3dBUNaJy4WBxs_hr_4uhOZCj5rS8UVP8LBon9eYWyRcVVhg/s320/Brazil+8+197.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481009155586146482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8d1NswhHMLl4bcUMt0ev9jTQ8cxPXmP9dd4B2QWzdg_QW-MifHTTXJUdxNLKgZvB-GG6MhgPmcSwU8e_KzmfkKwnVtDeF6ZOQmOi3I_ckjKbVmQ_PxRgFyQAqxpv_VyFE5zoJ8FGQWBI/s1600/Brazil+8+200.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8d1NswhHMLl4bcUMt0ev9jTQ8cxPXmP9dd4B2QWzdg_QW-MifHTTXJUdxNLKgZvB-GG6MhgPmcSwU8e_KzmfkKwnVtDeF6ZOQmOi3I_ckjKbVmQ_PxRgFyQAqxpv_VyFE5zoJ8FGQWBI/s320/Brazil+8+200.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481008367800752066" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdyln0LgwRPRvbNYOHysN_tp6m60c8EEWiJD7SS6Ax3s_ib33EKo65HtIn6tiDJo2776LXgE_24w8ZhU5VicXLfVl9MHRB8zUjZQAIY4WnGlYfgpLIENlC3nyfsb-pEFen8x5Aj650Ao/s1600/Brazil+8+201.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdyln0LgwRPRvbNYOHysN_tp6m60c8EEWiJD7SS6Ax3s_ib33EKo65HtIn6tiDJo2776LXgE_24w8ZhU5VicXLfVl9MHRB8zUjZQAIY4WnGlYfgpLIENlC3nyfsb-pEFen8x5Aj650Ao/s320/Brazil+8+201.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481009560752195218" border="0" /></a><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-52007785836241400262010-06-09T21:39:00.001-07:002010-06-09T22:03:23.150-07:00My Mom is a BallerNot only did she go with me to Rio's Friday night party capital Lapa (where we ordered two rounds of 2 for R$5 caipirinhias made on the street by a girl that couldn't have been older than thirteen) BUT in tiny Northeastern Len<em>çó</em>is, we went spelunking together. Twice. Proof below:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfiLQ9rEIF8bo5yX1-V45OWFkfZaTKBTwKNk_UPslcd8eMuufcf8ejsHaZDmB8EGP2Dr0eLw2rUaTMYM7scyilukQFq1DSzhBovDeHp44Ny8upzQ4365lj7VGl7wH1KOXBYAR0JU_6Ew/s1600/Brazil+8+269.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfiLQ9rEIF8bo5yX1-V45OWFkfZaTKBTwKNk_UPslcd8eMuufcf8ejsHaZDmB8EGP2Dr0eLw2rUaTMYM7scyilukQFq1DSzhBovDeHp44Ny8upzQ4365lj7VGl7wH1KOXBYAR0JU_6Ew/s320/Brazil+8+269.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481001954181462722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWyEocPB9s4BzXhcA71IK4wy4kfjqxoI_5ilcNQcR02gDr6Mi_eKEVotx2eSG7Cz9B0fPjUVag-BNh-NxhOOpGs68Rm2EnIf-QDy_Yq6c4dJHhAap0rCHJ3DbHsZ921uG6k4tJIAqFko/s1600/Brazil+8+265.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWyEocPB9s4BzXhcA71IK4wy4kfjqxoI_5ilcNQcR02gDr6Mi_eKEVotx2eSG7Cz9B0fPjUVag-BNh-NxhOOpGs68Rm2EnIf-QDy_Yq6c4dJHhAap0rCHJ3DbHsZ921uG6k4tJIAqFko/s320/Brazil+8+265.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481003006217759698" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDB4JRuuTemDGtiYK8ZSYbzC1bVZvRQvAZK50lz_Jj7hS2AYvbYcYLqdZ0L4efIOI9jdmDEDZwAuDdThpMPFHZIdlG8Rdgj8cdk-tFrAvxnRYD4STadvZ-ZM6sOIC_MBt7x1-HZagUNI/s1600/Brazil+8+290.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieDB4JRuuTemDGtiYK8ZSYbzC1bVZvRQvAZK50lz_Jj7hS2AYvbYcYLqdZ0L4efIOI9jdmDEDZwAuDdThpMPFHZIdlG8Rdgj8cdk-tFrAvxnRYD4STadvZ-ZM6sOIC_MBt7x1-HZagUNI/s320/Brazil+8+290.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481000893439935778" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1PWt2_LoXM3VsNaCHNDEFzYC_xCVSZKC3DZsgAuOMkUC2SuOtclu1H9K-2tCVgNMjrltIU8T8bY4vu37ZT8nB-xMKnbggafu1fMkJJE7eVNi_EDs2afMLkeYeXE-WiF9zF1hC1Su_E8/s1600/Brazil+8+350.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX1PWt2_LoXM3VsNaCHNDEFzYC_xCVSZKC3DZsgAuOMkUC2SuOtclu1H9K-2tCVgNMjrltIU8T8bY4vu37ZT8nB-xMKnbggafu1fMkJJE7eVNi_EDs2afMLkeYeXE-WiF9zF1hC1Su_E8/s320/Brazil+8+350.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481004336159451234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Cave 2 had stalactites.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGj2eEzn4mz7WC8YigzCksAiheMwiuXh7vP8B_OnV_iWwKW7GUbGeIDrZ3PI8Wi8kvnN6q6naYChYynFVxZHzd5FJUeSvFhmXuvNnGO3Al4DfbYzBjj9POOrZFqf5GJk1TfU8QVPiiZw/s1600/Brazil+8+356.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioGj2eEzn4mz7WC8YigzCksAiheMwiuXh7vP8B_OnV_iWwKW7GUbGeIDrZ3PI8Wi8kvnN6q6naYChYynFVxZHzd5FJUeSvFhmXuvNnGO3Al4DfbYzBjj9POOrZFqf5GJk1TfU8QVPiiZw/s320/Brazil+8+356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481005241333276482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Yeah thanks I wouldn't have seen them otherwise.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div>Tomorrow, she returns to the States, taking my lil baby (and by lil baby I really mean large, dinosaur-like) laptop with her. I'm therefore soaking up all the free, uninterrupted internet I can get tonight. It's hostels and internet cafes from here on out.<br /><br />I'll miss you, Mom / uninhibited web browsing.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-41671249512009539472010-05-31T16:34:00.000-07:002010-05-31T17:02:28.311-07:00Channeling TLCAfter a combined total of nine months in Argentina and Brazil, I <span style="font-style: italic;">finally </span>made it to Iguazu Falls, the lil´(and by lil´I mean overwhelming) natural wonder that straddles the two countries. In the most expensive visa renewal that ever was, my ma and I flew from Rio to spend one day in Foz do Iguacu, Brazil and one in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. While most people describe their Falls trips as ´sweltering,´´sunny,´and ´full of butterflies,´mine was none of the three, reaching a high of 54 and loaded instead with weird-ass coatimundis. Still, the clouds made it more dramatic, and I´m definitely glad I went (also because I stocked up on Frutigran and gulped down some Malbec and ice cream. My mom asked whether I was more excited for the waterfalls or the Argentine snacks. Not wanting to lie, I said nothing.)<br /><br />Tomorrow, onto Salvador! Right now, pix (and vid!):<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eLX9oCuqT-z5G5wRnt_uLWEjzTSKVK-xGcr7RFOUWUdHKd94S9NI2CnJ2yyCc9k-sOp2E9oPFOo_HBAap4UUM3Zi8yQ6gOIFTwaH9Vs2aj9y6b2FLbvsLscN5gv8Jfv6M_FoBOY4sak/s1600/IMG_9401.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7eLX9oCuqT-z5G5wRnt_uLWEjzTSKVK-xGcr7RFOUWUdHKd94S9NI2CnJ2yyCc9k-sOp2E9oPFOo_HBAap4UUM3Zi8yQ6gOIFTwaH9Vs2aj9y6b2FLbvsLscN5gv8Jfv6M_FoBOY4sak/s320/IMG_9401.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477585209626426130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Brazil<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGH7IrgYQ02EAAeC_orqor6_hfi5p_VTd-SNYUInCuvan0cEstMd-qXkAvxYK2hVcm1Ztp8KqSWdFZvXdr5ghQKb8-mA-VnAjRDfJ1mZWJKETQn8Vd_TE6rEMOyxjYUrnBDbDL7dQejh0/s1600/IMG_9410.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGH7IrgYQ02EAAeC_orqor6_hfi5p_VTd-SNYUInCuvan0cEstMd-qXkAvxYK2hVcm1Ztp8KqSWdFZvXdr5ghQKb8-mA-VnAjRDfJ1mZWJKETQn8Vd_TE6rEMOyxjYUrnBDbDL7dQejh0/s320/IMG_9410.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477586430733843666" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Brazil<br /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3c0q2T0uyYchggaZqBg00HXkGRKQYk2f8Vbvpqnkiq_R05moPn0s3Gf2NKns5UFqLLBr4Uqw9h1YlW8mQaUQDXVMZEveo0H96oBdvjDyNocg9ZTs3Gb3i7iYvgbrJ23ZGswZwBimeRj4/s1600/IMG_9434.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3c0q2T0uyYchggaZqBg00HXkGRKQYk2f8Vbvpqnkiq_R05moPn0s3Gf2NKns5UFqLLBr4Uqw9h1YlW8mQaUQDXVMZEveo0H96oBdvjDyNocg9ZTs3Gb3i7iYvgbrJ23ZGswZwBimeRj4/s320/IMG_9434.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477587579845620946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Surprise haircut! Surprise weird skin tone here!<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIqpLxJWeVKcqtThUWNK0uq3qxhJR3sKkRdkSwQ9vOvpkh7JbNJM9BPpIsfuq9XwjR5pTxXgwEzNs2fU6ypf4yiMdbJji2RO3pJ7HXrEolFwzZgRruPwmu1oyhuYLnvGB1-fSNMZFliQ/s1600/IMG_9437.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguIqpLxJWeVKcqtThUWNK0uq3qxhJR3sKkRdkSwQ9vOvpkh7JbNJM9BPpIsfuq9XwjR5pTxXgwEzNs2fU6ypf4yiMdbJji2RO3pJ7HXrEolFwzZgRruPwmu1oyhuYLnvGB1-fSNMZFliQ/s320/IMG_9437.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477588660954603346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Argentina.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh856iozXW2TCp2XcXtuC78k-tAXPeZSlT3JVycB3aCa7rMIdgzr6v9N8D1Pl8p5jHJTc83bhWeCY0bZlPvQyrq6o0L-uTH59az1IyyZfDbg__NsugDBeS1-2Ivdqc0arrfdWwASMHMiPg/s1600/IMG_9448.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh856iozXW2TCp2XcXtuC78k-tAXPeZSlT3JVycB3aCa7rMIdgzr6v9N8D1Pl8p5jHJTc83bhWeCY0bZlPvQyrq6o0L-uTH59az1IyyZfDbg__NsugDBeS1-2Ivdqc0arrfdWwASMHMiPg/s320/IMG_9448.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477588161283249746" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Argentina.</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">GARGANTA DEL DIABLO, the climax, Argentina.</span><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwDtsLiPeJNJ75vdc0H5tpAjT0Du4tjV7RXct_bQelIDQ6PJT6f7Sf1C4P1vErkDBc1DWN33kbRVg76KjEaLA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-39228626949625121962010-05-29T05:01:00.001-07:002010-05-29T19:13:22.493-07:00Going hard before I go homeSO I've fallen off the blog wagon a bit (yeah I know that expression doesn't work because being 'on' the wagon is successfully quitting alcohol and this is the inverse and nothing to do with alcohol, but just let me use a tired cliche OKAY). Not much has been happening: I've been teaching oil execs the difference between past simple and present perfect, eating rocket pizza without tomato sauce, and feeling DISsatisfied with the LOST finale and the ensuing big gaping hole in my life. A hole that has just been filled with three bags of puppy chow and a visit from my mom!<br /><div><br />Now starts the post-work travel binge, where I spend every dime of what I made teaching in South America (what are savings?). I'll break it down for you now, and hopefully not suck at actually blogging about it when it happens.<br /></div><div> </div><br /><div><strong>Nearest future:</strong></div><br /><div>Tomorrow morning, my ma and I leave for Iguazu Falls for two days of frantic waterfall photo ops and a border-crossing into Argentina that will save me $100 in visa renewal fees. Then on to Salvador (where all the food is spicy -- I'm screwed) and <a href="http://webcontrol.brazilnuts.com/images/wc/13321_chapada_diamantina_ricardo_rollo.jpg">Chapada Diamantina</a> nat'l park for my first real underground cave! Then back to Rio for more mom-time (read: eating in nice restaurants, actually going to Sugarloaf) until June 10.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3452/3279777256_215d3ffea8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 356px; height: 238px;" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3452/3279777256_215d3ffea8.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">What is even going ON in this photo? It is MAGICAL<br /></span></div></div><div> </div><br /><div><strong>Near future:</strong> </div><br /><div>Literally the day my mom peaces, my good friend <a href="http://www.natestephens.blogspot.com/">Nate</a> arrives . From Rio, Nate and I'll head across Brazil to see the <a href="http://opiniaoweb.com/viagens/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/pantanal29.jpg">Pantanal</a> for hopefully less of <a href="http://www.viagensmaneiras.com/viagens/pantanal30.jpg">this</a> and more of <a href="http://www.riobranco.org.br/arquivos/sites2008/6_agosto/grupo8/Orc/Imagens/pantanal1%5B1%5D.jpg">this</a>. From there, we're Death Train-ing it into La Paz to chill in Nate's dope apartment, <a href="http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2006/11/most-dangerous-roads-in-world.html">live dangerously</a>, and try not to throw up from altitude sickness.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=09bfccf604&view=att&th=1232fd83ae3a030d&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=f_fyj9kfp5&zw"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 305px;" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&ik=09bfccf604&view=att&th=1232fd83ae3a030d&attid=0.1&disp=inline&realattid=f_fyj9kfp5&zw" alt="" border="0" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>Remember that time we turned the champagne reception into a contest?<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">To quote Nate: 'I hope we're mocking our own large smiles here.'</span><br /></div><br />Post-Bolivia, I'll island-hop over Lake Titicaca (lol. every time) with my friend Fresco (Matt --> Matteo --> Matteo Fresco. Props to Candida, queen of the nicknames) before continuing on the Gringo Trail up to Machu Picchu (because you gotta, right? summer of world wonders FTW). I'll ditch Fresco for Ecuador to do some solo travel including WHALE WATCHING and, like, climbing in cloud forests maybe. This part is still a bit sketchy. But whales!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.morrodesaopaulo.travel/data/tour/551143910/humpback-whale-watching-morro-de-sao-paulo-bahia-brazil-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 362px; height: 272px;" src="http://www.morrodesaopaulo.travel/data/tour/551143910/humpback-whale-watching-morro-de-sao-paulo-bahia-brazil-1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">July is humpback mating season!<br /></span></div><br />In mid-July one of my fave SCIC compatriots, <a href="http://www.funnymomentswhenthingshappened.com/">John Sears</a>, is meeting me in Quito to head to Colombia. Imma be honest, I'm maybe most excited about this country than any of the others; every Colombian I've ever met is extremely awesome, and Colombia is on every travel org ever's top 10 places to be. A week in Cartagena will give me a little bit of a tan, too, before I ...<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">RETURN </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">TO </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">THE </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">U</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">S</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">A</span> on July 23!<br /><br /><div> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.paascheairbrush.eu/contents/media/Eagle-USA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 331px; height: 247px;" src="http://www.paascheairbrush.eu/contents/media/Eagle-USA.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I'll be on the East Coast first before flying into Minnesota, so if you're in NYC or Philly or Minnesota (or Kentucky or Nashville or Baltimore or Houston or N/SC) I'd better see you. MMKAY?<br /><br /><div><strong>Not so near (but near enough to be slightly terrifying) future:<br /><br /></strong></div>I've been flirting for months with the idea of teaching in South Korea next year. I'm turned off for a number of reasons (teaching in SA has left me lukewarm and weary, another year without donuts) but I'm turned on (lol again) for others ($$$$$$$$! jk also enriching lives and getting to see Asia). I finally started the apparently grueling application process, so we'll see how that goes. This URL definitely will not be applicable if I'm in Seoul.<br /><br />Well this is the longest post ever, I'ma go pack. xo y'all<br /><div><strong></strong> </div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-91161023969353910302010-05-19T19:07:00.000-07:002010-05-19T19:14:25.293-07:00This is Why You're Fat (, Brazil)How do you make sold-on-the-street popcorn even unhealthier? If it's salty, add chunks of bacon among the kernels. If it's carmelized, top it off with about a twelve-second outpouring of sweetened condensed milk, then add a healthy dose of shaved coconut.<br /><br />Guess what I'm eating right now?<br /><br />(This is just a teaser for a longer post on street food that very well may be my blog masterpiece. I'm currently [and devotedly] sampling types and collecting photos. It's gonna be as big as I've gotten in the past two months.)<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-75162214907759773552010-05-15T15:59:00.000-07:002010-09-15T20:13:52.974-07:00Most adorable translation of the day award:<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span>In Portuguese,</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">poxa</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> means </span><span style="font-size:100%;">gosh</span><br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">poxa bem, eu querida</span>..." --> oh gosh, i'd love to!<br /><br />CUTE.Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-77568704016108458882010-05-08T14:46:00.000-07:002010-05-08T15:34:52.954-07:00I do kinda feel like the 'K' should be backwards*<span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Okay, so more than once in my life I've been waiting for a taxi, watched one pass with one or two people in the backseat, and thought 'why can't we just SHARE if we're going in the same direction? It'd be more cost-efficient for everyone!' Brazil read my mind.</span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.limbobus.org/images/1g.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 238px;" src="http://www.limbobus.org/images/1g.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >One of the most idiosyncratic (and the most fun) ways to get around Rio is the kombi, named after the model of Volkswagen van whose form it takes. Kombis, like busses, drive specific routes around the city; <span style="font-weight: bold;">unlike </span>busses the vans do not have obligatory stops. Instead, you can hail a kombi – much as you would a cab! it's PERFECT – as it passes and disembark at precisely your desired location. The kombi costs R$2 per person, regardless of the length of your journey, making it the city’s cheapest form of public transportation. (The bus is R$2.35, requiring perhaps the most inconvenient amount of extra change possible, and the metro is an eye-gouging R$2.80.)<br /><br />At first the ride can be daunting: basically, it involves climbing into a huge van and cramming shoulder-to-shoulder with Brazilian strangers as the driver careens down a cobblestone hill (at times with only one hand on the wheel while the other texts [I say 'at times' because it's happened to me multiple times]). It is not a gentle ride, but it is always an interesting one.<br /><br />What makes the kombi such an ideal form of transportation is the feeling of community unique to the big white vans. Almost always, someone in the van will start a conversation – the motorista (driver; pronounced <span style="font-style: italic;">motoreeeeeeeeshta </span>usually in the whiniest voice possible) or cobrador (money collector - this guy takes the cash so the driver can focus on </span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >driving/texting) if the kombi is empty, another passenger if it’s full. As passengers climb in, they may ask you to hold on to their groceries or small children or offer you a handful of the chips they’re munching. If an important futbol game is occurring, the entire van reacts to the radio’s play-by-play. And if you don't know where you're going, eight individuals will crane their necks seeking the proper street number as the van slows down to a crawl so that it can deliver you right at the door.<br /><br />I'm particularly interested in taking the mythical <span style="font-weight: bold;">party kombi </span>before I leave Rio. According to legend, its driver, Valdesere, has installed not only black lights, but dashboard and drop-down TV screens. His chosen playlist includes the Backstreet Boys and Boys II Men -- at full volume -- and Valdesere's tendency to barrel down the hill at a breakneck pace earns him the affectionate nickname 'speed racer.'</span><br /><br />Actually, my boss has his phone number. Maybe I'll just book him for my ride to the airport.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">*I actually adapted this post from one I wrote for my pousada's blog. I just like kombis so much! I felt kompelled to share with you as well -- they're just so kool! Guyyyyz!</span>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-82186679157779569482010-04-27T17:46:00.000-07:002010-04-29T08:01:56.528-07:00Welcome to My Nightmares<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.lilaschow.com/Queimada_Grande_web.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 343px; height: 257px;" src="http://www.lilaschow.com/Queimada_Grande_web.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Blissfully and</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">unassumingly researching islands to visit off the coast of Brazil last week, I stumbled upon</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" > Ilha de Queimada Grande</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, nicknamed Snake Island. The island, off the coast of the São Paolo state, has the world's largest population of venomous Golden Lancehead pit vipers, about one to five per square meter.<br /><br />ONE TO FIVE SNAKES PER SQUARE METER. Plus, the snakes are two meters long and breed year-round. They feed on migratory birds and have no natural predators (or human ones, because let's be real).<br /><br />The island even made it on <a href="http://atlasobscura.com/">Atlas Obscura</a> (awesome website, by the way, it finds and presents weird stuff from all over the world) which provides readers with this comforting anecdote:</span><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Locals in the coastal towns near Queimada Grande love to recount grisly tales of death on the island. In one, a fisherman unwittingly wanders onto the island to pick bananas. Naturally, he is bitten. He manages to return to his boat, where he promptly succumbs to the snake's venom. He is found some time later on the boat deck in a great pool of blood.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-size:100%;"> GREAT. Apparently, the island's only permanent human inhabitants were a lighthouse keeper and his family. That is, until a handful of snakes entered through a window and attacked the man, his wife, and their three children. In a desperate attempt to escape, they fled towards their boat, but they were bitten by snakes on branches overhead because, oh yeah, the snakes slither on the ground <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>in the trees.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">Luckily, I can't have too much fear of naively stumbling here on some tropical boat ride: the Brazilian Navy currently bans any entrance to the island without a permit. I will not be applying for one.</span><br /></p><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-66372883548935116412010-04-22T17:33:00.000-07:002010-04-22T17:51:48.078-07:00Back to Greek, Greek Style<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjLBouN6kuPmrrvZIQenBzpOzs8MB5jTbKaS-AifGLLQkC-NF8cbLTfsAtteSaIEKuxsmfVmVphzrOy3uBFAQSjTVQTPc7g80olCYMX43VmL02hGOY0bxwQbAzvdKHD3zkc-nkjxjJHg/s1600/Gaucho's+menu+pg+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjLBouN6kuPmrrvZIQenBzpOzs8MB5jTbKaS-AifGLLQkC-NF8cbLTfsAtteSaIEKuxsmfVmVphzrOy3uBFAQSjTVQTPc7g80olCYMX43VmL02hGOY0bxwQbAzvdKHD3zkc-nkjxjJHg/s400/Gaucho's+menu+pg+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463126554679445138" border="0" /></a>Cantina do Gaucho is about half a block away from my door (the only restaurant within comfortable walking distance, actually; the drawback to living on top of a mountain with sick views is a lack of proximate grocery stores and restaurants) and ridiculously cheap. Like, one dish equals three or four meals all for the equivalent of $5 cheap. It used to be run illegally in this guy's garage until everyone in the community (cops included) frequented it often enough for its owner to earn a license.<br /><br />The best part about Gaucho's -- apart from the ridiculously inexpensive food -- is the menu's English translation. I have no idea who was assigned the task, but it's clear that it's a human because Googletranslate can't even account for some of these errors. I've scanned it and circled my favorites with Microsoft Paint (you might have to open it in a new tab). Some highlights: the "meat with rice crazy, crazy rice" and the plate that promises two cars along with some 'crackling' and 'bens with flour.' Also if you feel like eating Italian bread crump (___ legs, clown arms -- I can't remember anymore, help me out Erose!), you have several options.Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-36865455844437642512010-04-13T18:27:00.000-07:002010-04-15T18:50:50.668-07:00Portuguese is funnyMy friend Tim once said that speaking Portuguese is like speaking Spanish drunk with a sock in your mouth. He's actually pretty right, and that's what makes it so fun.<br /><br />The language is very nasal, so basically if you don't sound like you're whining a little bit while you speak, you're not doing it right. When Brazilians are actually whining, the nasality (and the volume) reach ridiculous levels. Additionally, T is "ch" and S is "juh" and if words end in hard syllables, an "ie" noise is added after them for no apparent reason. For example:<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Mackey</span>: the kids' name for my friend Mac<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">ippie-oppie</span>: hip hop<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">pikki-nikki</span>: picnic<br />and my fave, <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Chee-cha-nee-kee</span> starring Leo and Kate and that old woman who is <span style="font-style: italic;">still alive</span>! (Happy Titanic anniversary, btw. Or sad, I guess.)<br /><br />Also, "x" in the Portuguese alphabet is pronounced "sheesh" -- Brazilian restaurants or snack stands, in their effort to Americanize, therefore advertise<span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">X-Burgers</span></span> (cheeseburgers). And in perhaps the most confusing pronunciation/translation (aside from "<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">nao</span>" meaning "no" and "<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">no</span>" meaning "on the" and "<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">agora</span>" meaning "now"), the word for "pull" in Portuguese is <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">puxe</span>, pronounced "push." WHAAAAA<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-28296254231028953012010-04-09T18:22:00.000-07:002010-04-11T20:34:45.294-07:00On the rainsI had a plan to post on Tuesday morning about my trip to Paraty (a historic lil' town on the Costa Verde south of Rio) -- actually a quite eventful trip, complete with a late-night ER visit and a falling-asleep-in-the-sun half-of-the-face tan. NATURE, HOWEVER, HAD OTHER PLANS.<br /><br />As I taught an evening lesson on Monday night, it started to rain. Wait, not rain, downpour. Quickly the streets flooded and cross-city transportation became a pipe dream. I made my way home over the course of 3 hours, abandoning a bus stopped for an hour in favor of the metro (not anticipating the winding line and 35-minute wait for tickets with others having the same line of thinking), then standing in the pouring rain to wait for a kombi van up the hill to my home against a strong river of water flowing down the hill. The pouring rain did not stop, and I woke up Tuesday morning to a pounding on the walls and windows. We lost all power, and sometime midway through Tuesday afternoon, all water. My three lessons Tuesday were canceled, and I settled in with the other houseguests to a long evening.<br /><br />We gained power back late Wednesday morning, internet Wednesday night, and regular bus service Thursday; aside from a small leak in one of the upstairs rooms, our pousada is no worse for wear. <br /><br />One can't quite say the same about the city. The floods made international news as the worst in over 50 years; the death count from favela landslides is currently at 224. <a href="http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/36217980/ns/weather-picture_stories/displaymode/1247/?beginSlide=1">This slideshow</a> is pretty intense, and photos like this resemble what I experienced firsthand Monday night. Basically huge mudslides hit residents of favelas in both Rio and neighboring Niteroi (see previous post), not simply affecting but completely fucking with these communities.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIdD8bAPg391GSGwJq0Bn3WmiQP-6tR0rNJeCrLF9ZRORqDdT04ZgQS6-X2egzBJMDB-GF2XaiKoaDSfll4YeOC2JCRH_j0vJ2qrfXdlXYHv6Dqxy_ntqwqIRw9XGxU5uYBUt3U6UUoo/s1600/landslide.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIdD8bAPg391GSGwJq0Bn3WmiQP-6tR0rNJeCrLF9ZRORqDdT04ZgQS6-X2egzBJMDB-GF2XaiKoaDSfll4YeOC2JCRH_j0vJ2qrfXdlXYHv6Dqxy_ntqwqIRw9XGxU5uYBUt3U6UUoo/s400/landslide.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458315558602237458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The landslide in Prazeres, the favela right outside my house.<br /></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Brazilians are certainly sympathetic, but at the same time resignedly cynical. Igor, our pousada's live-in maintenance man, said something to the effect of "it's what happens when they build their homes stacked on the hills. The residents know that." In fact, even as Rio's mayor insists that he's going to remove the over 10,000 favela residents he considers to be in danger (worried that he "won't be able to sleep all summer" knowing the mudslides could happen again), the favela residents refuse, either insisting that Prazeres is their home or bluntly questioning the government "yeah, but where will we go?" The situation gets more complex when one considers that in actuality most favels are governed not by the city but internally by drug dealers and idiosyncratic moral codes -- even if the police were following an order to remove favela residents, they may find it tricky.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHX5w5xTq3vq9H4Q7YXIHjx-9ol8iF76SHaEC0fbXRVlu4aarOf60n4e24M7Ah1QP2dY6F5ScXCQxyga3kC0MkNtZ-EDXH9oGGGGKoS9VKC1i1BbcNZXO7hPIUEDhqr7eKW2TILJsRzU/s1600/DESTRUCTION+%28willem%27s+photo%29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHX5w5xTq3vq9H4Q7YXIHjx-9ol8iF76SHaEC0fbXRVlu4aarOf60n4e24M7Ah1QP2dY6F5ScXCQxyga3kC0MkNtZ-EDXH9oGGGGKoS9VKC1i1BbcNZXO7hPIUEDhqr7eKW2TILJsRzU/s400/DESTRUCTION+%28willem%27s+photo%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458996203837539954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Destruction just down the road.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Anyway, things in Rio are fairly tense now. This is the closest to a natural disaster I've really ever been (and to be honest, I'm a little miffed about the minimal coverage it received, especially seeing how severly it impacted the lives of people here) and this week, combined with the earthquakes in Chile/Mexico/Indonesia, make me slightly less dubious about my Thursday-noon English student's 2012 theories...</span><br /></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"></div><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-14991951257223327222010-03-29T10:22:00.000-07:002010-03-29T10:45:15.928-07:00Paolo's houseYesterday I had lunch at my neighbor's house. Let me tell you a bit about Paolo:<br /><br />- He's in his late 60s, but very youthful. He wore swim trunks to lunch yesterday.<br />- His home has 54 rooms, including eight bathrooms and a guest wing built into a turret.<br />- He makes designer handbags for a living and shows them at international fashion weeks.<br />- He is obsessed with Queen Elizabeth and got to meet her at a dinner in Buckingham palace (on Brasil's 500th anniversary [this confused me too, apparently the event celebrated the arrival of the Portuguese on the continent, not the actual date of independence], the country invited renowned artisans on a diplomatic/cultural tour of the world). Paolo also loves Whitney Houston.<br />- He was shot twice leaving his warehouse in Zona Norte five years ago, and after recuperating began to do all his designing from home. Three more of the 54 rooms are designated as purse workshops.<br />- He served us a traditional (and delicious) Brazilian meal with traditional Brazilian portions -- two HUGE scoops of rice with tomatoes, two tong-fuls of salad, and an enormous piece of chicken cooked in a red garlicky sauce. When Anna, who weighs maybe 100 pounds, cleaned her plate, Paolo asked her if she wanted more. When she refused, he asked "you did not like it?"<br />For <span style="font-style: italic;">sobremesa</span> (dessert), we had a Brazilian pudding made from blended avocado, cream, and sugar. The avocados came from Paolo's backyard. After two cups of coffee to end the meal, I could barely move my stomach was so full. Luckily the great conversation (half in English, half in Portuguese) allowed us plenty of time to digest.Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-21127639970620594992010-03-27T17:54:00.000-07:002010-03-27T19:19:46.296-07:00Arts and crafts<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CCASA57%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CCASA57%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CCASA57%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> 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mso-footer-margin:35.4pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0cm; mso-para-margin-right:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0cm; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Took a ferry to one of Rio's 'burbs, Niteroi, Thursday to see their giant spaceship/contemporary art museum, designed by really cool architect <a href="http://www.niemeyer.org.br/">Oscar Niemeyer</a>. I'ma be real, the art inside was less than inspiring, but I spent the better part of an hour photographically exploring the exterior. (Now that I have that huge memory card, I can mindlessly take about 100 photographs of the same thing and not realize until they take 20 minutes to transfer to my computer.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">)</span>
<br /></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_b2-e2VCghlpYJEnpENVGK1bhXbi_D1kny9sstYcLK_tuQUJyhHOvwgAUc6NDClqSo4Qw7RYB18-OENmUEQNNABqkCytB76pno54Mb3pKBP7Dby8ZQCSY_AxKm2Pf5W02GCnSvdQxyM/s1600/Brazil+2+013.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_b2-e2VCghlpYJEnpENVGK1bhXbi_D1kny9sstYcLK_tuQUJyhHOvwgAUc6NDClqSo4Qw7RYB18-OENmUEQNNABqkCytB76pno54Mb3pKBP7Dby8ZQCSY_AxKm2Pf5W02GCnSvdQxyM/s320/Brazil+2+013.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453485214629791890" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfYL_Qu8hPutb3byS-iBFa4XAvcXr_RWMtqdn4QEIYdfB79smQniKC1r4mcfayhRs3-kVq8z1tqVX4NxPRmm6_CafTkAr6hu7Q9oxpR5wI_HaMJ4dbtmt7hHX6PyPBNHuOL5xMavgFLI/s1600/Brazil+2+049.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvfYL_Qu8hPutb3byS-iBFa4XAvcXr_RWMtqdn4QEIYdfB79smQniKC1r4mcfayhRs3-kVq8z1tqVX4NxPRmm6_CafTkAr6hu7Q9oxpR5wI_HaMJ4dbtmt7hHX6PyPBNHuOL5xMavgFLI/s320/Brazil+2+049.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453484644593354354" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-tTAgwaP-_YDsJkV4Fi0xO29kRe2IrgtKDEAFkADiiXpU-GSWrDlnVLzKPAzkcRYHPjyZ3-spUdKUyYFKU6DjDleUWCKAEr0pTvzBflPNYPRkrOJrHPOvzjF2EuHWczVFp_ZfATtK4A/s1600/Brazil+2+032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-tTAgwaP-_YDsJkV4Fi0xO29kRe2IrgtKDEAFkADiiXpU-GSWrDlnVLzKPAzkcRYHPjyZ3-spUdKUyYFKU6DjDleUWCKAEr0pTvzBflPNYPRkrOJrHPOvzjF2EuHWczVFp_ZfATtK4A/s320/Brazil+2+032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453482961550936418" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE23hE8j4TqCrGwuFydCnJvgbmW0g0pyP5A025Xi9jnspQtcb08jneI1y5X05qjUfqG1-V4jB79uB-qHsR103_O2McD66G_dxo8KVGSVQ3-So_lZg0p8gB6dFKacOJrHS3MQpmOZyjeYs/s1600/Brazil+2+041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE23hE8j4TqCrGwuFydCnJvgbmW0g0pyP5A025Xi9jnspQtcb08jneI1y5X05qjUfqG1-V4jB79uB-qHsR103_O2McD66G_dxo8KVGSVQ3-So_lZg0p8gB6dFKacOJrHS3MQpmOZyjeYs/s320/Brazil+2+041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453483311092205522" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAwUF10eO0UGTofb4qLB3Mt9K2cF2pmStKAgYUbk7ynoVi1TGq9OLyreEd_GbDZ7WTackZYyO1RBgRucxaMBfjJBAqSjKLMxD0PoG0iFCgFhY7ROSkO9rwORSSXujaG96S_OhING-fAo/s1600/Brazil+2+046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaAwUF10eO0UGTofb4qLB3Mt9K2cF2pmStKAgYUbk7ynoVi1TGq9OLyreEd_GbDZ7WTackZYyO1RBgRucxaMBfjJBAqSjKLMxD0PoG0iFCgFhY7ROSkO9rwORSSXujaG96S_OhING-fAo/s320/Brazil+2+046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453483651343550450" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Em9nY9AZLOa4QPTcV1pTS0UH1_LWoBLfl2vphddSkDM-8ynZ3Zp60I3onntodJkNxNYGG8RV338HrO-FMTGQyNWEbHtPNUjgzlwU_PNBumSW_5EoUYHGeFHuyty_peKo3oIGY_JfUMo/s1600/Brazil+2+052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Em9nY9AZLOa4QPTcV1pTS0UH1_LWoBLfl2vphddSkDM-8ynZ3Zp60I3onntodJkNxNYGG8RV338HrO-FMTGQyNWEbHtPNUjgzlwU_PNBumSW_5EoUYHGeFHuyty_peKo3oIGY_JfUMo/s320/Brazil+2+052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453483963376048514" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AcuSxSiGZp2yEjk67LT7nVBlCohbrLrfPMmqH3UWqdx0zHC5ajIzlAzyE-wIyw-CYrBXrsCHkuzq63F8f3Vcz9dcssKIckAmG0mEimsEiNoXLgpAMkB56AAAMvV_URzEfDozYrip_CQ/s1600/Brazil+2+054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AcuSxSiGZp2yEjk67LT7nVBlCohbrLrfPMmqH3UWqdx0zHC5ajIzlAzyE-wIyw-CYrBXrsCHkuzq63F8f3Vcz9dcssKIckAmG0mEimsEiNoXLgpAMkB56AAAMvV_URzEfDozYrip_CQ/s320/Brazil+2+054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453485700147627602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This piece was four blank pieces of notebook paper, framed and hung on the wall.</span>
<br />
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">Niteroi also had some awesome beaches and this kid who works in a Thai restaurant and invited us back for free dinner next week. More pixx to come.
<br /></div></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-46592020669662863852010-03-25T06:27:00.000-07:002010-03-25T06:34:00.870-07:00Guess who's coming to breakfast?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfzJoHNKt5eibdwxx0QkUTIpN-ZNNfYQUlwwKw1N7KtL7mrGO1B2QZu3CYM0xGPyBbqVADMzzt-g5Bd3Aw0Upau8g15r-rZsUqxWHHmlEZntiQHRoCO6kDDVJMDE1F6kG9MLVzQroy_s/s1600/Brazil+1.5+001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfzJoHNKt5eibdwxx0QkUTIpN-ZNNfYQUlwwKw1N7KtL7mrGO1B2QZu3CYM0xGPyBbqVADMzzt-g5Bd3Aw0Upau8g15r-rZsUqxWHHmlEZntiQHRoCO6kDDVJMDE1F6kG9MLVzQroy_s/s320/Brazil+1.5+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452563512926942482" border="0" /></a><br />Came upstairs for coffee this morning and this lil' guy was noshing. Guess when your backyard's a patch of rainforest it's to be expected.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsP29xmH8U-Ew5vclnj_hnLgSptP2O5BBJZmcBz_cwPjHxMqv0mJyTDoW58HIixTMAjxurGRdeKBBmnU4cbqbZGWvBU2oeDWUsFXuJ0zogx_lnYWogZP2iwNXjFTyyMzNouofmWknqMk/s1600/Brazil+1.5+002.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijsP29xmH8U-Ew5vclnj_hnLgSptP2O5BBJZmcBz_cwPjHxMqv0mJyTDoW58HIixTMAjxurGRdeKBBmnU4cbqbZGWvBU2oeDWUsFXuJ0zogx_lnYWogZP2iwNXjFTyyMzNouofmWknqMk/s320/Brazil+1.5+002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452563698965922210" border="0" /></a><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-91576591903943042782010-03-20T19:27:00.000-07:002010-03-20T20:06:17.001-07:00On fruitsPop quiz: what food is this?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://danielcosta.ca/wp-content/uploads/Persimmon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 335px;" src="http://danielcosta.ca/wp-content/uploads/Persimmon.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />If you said 'tomato, duh' you are WRONG. As wrong as I was when I bought one last week and put it on my ham sandwich only to find out that it is in fact a persimmon (called <span style="font-style: italic;">caqui </span>here). The inside is far more gushy, far less seedy, and very sweet. The tomato/persimmon mix-up was just the first lesson in my ongoing fruit education. During a given breakfast about 6-8 different kinds of fruit are presented in either solid, smoothie, or liquid form. I'm slowly developing an exotic-fruit palate. (Haven't had a banana in daaaaaays.)<br /><br />I've learned that I really like <span style="font-style: italic;">goiaba </span>(guava, yet another fruit the Milaca Supervalu doesn't / will never stock)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://cdn.sheknows.com/articles/guava.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 260px;" src="http://cdn.sheknows.com/articles/guava.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>and that I really hate papaya (seriously spit it out the first time).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.papayalovers.com/papayas.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 384px; height: 299px;" src="http://www.papayalovers.com/papayas.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Carambola </span>is deec, but involves waay too much work to find the worthwhile parts for eating.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.volunteer.blogs.com/winewaves/images/starfruit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 232px;" src="http://www.volunteer.blogs.com/winewaves/images/starfruit.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Totally forgot until now you could cut it up into stars! Gonna be having too much fun at breakfast tomorrow.<br /></span><em></em><br /></div><span>Brazilians love </span><span style="font-style: italic;">sucos</span> (juices) and the juice aisle of the supermarket can be incredibly overwhelming. I've made myself try both<span style="font-style: italic;"> maracuja</span> (passionfruit) and <span style="font-style: italic;">caju </span>(cashew fruit? i know right?) but still love a good old carton of strawberry juice -- <span style="font-style: italic;">morango</span>, in case you actually care about the italicized vocab lesson here.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Picked the grossest pic I could find</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://angelaloiola.zip.net/images/maracuja_01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 352px;" src="http://angelaloiola.zip.net/images/maracuja_01.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.superbom.jp/images/products/thumb_1212_Camp_caju.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 337px;" src="http://www.superbom.jp/images/products/thumb_1212_Camp_caju.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> <span style="font-size:85%;"> Spending the summer at Camp Nectar</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span><br /><br />But my favorite Brazilian fruit is and forever will be<em></em><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.rotacapixaba.com/media/colunas/original/aa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 314px; height: 265px;" src="http://www.rotacapixaba.com/media/colunas/original/aa.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><em style="font-weight: bold;">açaí</em><em>, </em>which, I'll be honest, is never this well-presented -- usually the sorbet that's synonymous with the fruit's name comes in a 300mL plastic cup. About R$2 and full of antioxidants. <span style="font-style: italic;">Perfeito.</span>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-31476150668509842462010-03-18T18:00:00.000-07:002010-03-18T18:55:13.004-07:00Portuguese phrase of the day<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">tampao de ouvido: </span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>earplugs<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>Literally,<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>tampons of the ear canal.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>That's what they call them.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-5164365661537947932010-03-16T16:51:00.000-07:002010-03-16T17:41:37.061-07:00Channeling TLCToday I stood under this:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qZ4zosTVcpQYtdI6FUO2xAhjOihxn2byJJaA3HiMJhXf2g-cA2Op0CJGDhHn6njFGYRmk6XXljAk6t1_0pOmmx-RTMTXuVaRKX1kZFcbN669LQq-drHFLeCW0K-puMjnaoEo1K7d0-4/s1600-h/Brazil+1+022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qZ4zosTVcpQYtdI6FUO2xAhjOihxn2byJJaA3HiMJhXf2g-cA2Op0CJGDhHn6njFGYRmk6XXljAk6t1_0pOmmx-RTMTXuVaRKX1kZFcbN669LQq-drHFLeCW0K-puMjnaoEo1K7d0-4/s320/Brazil+1+022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449386685454918546" border="0" /></a>Tijuca National Park in Rio de Janeiro is the largest urban forest in the world; destroyed in the 19th century to create coffee farms, it was re-planted by a baller general named Manoel Archer (who sadly does not even have a Wikipedia page). <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Today I went with friends to the other side of town to do a lil' bit of hiking there. The going was a bit brutal at times -- it rained (hard) last night, making the ground incredibly slippery and every rock/vine foothold the muddiest. You can imagine my trepidation; remember how I'm the textbook opposite of coordinated/dexterous? Luckily though, among the five of us, we only had one fall -- poor Anna slid about 10 meters in a scene that could have been from a horror film (she was actually clawing at the earth to stop and later slowly rose out of the mud). She was a total trooper, though, and the at-times-utterly-terrifying hike also allowed us to see butterflies, monkeys, and scenic gems like these:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFFrSxwgUZfcPuWd7D4eapS623LTNcPVHtpBBhBsHmyZV3mDLDSwvJoZwV5JjrxSblejUGiLJ3BDzOPVYEQWSzzjvtdrJKC8LIJodzZXFpUgUSyC_toJtRQGU8Zi63dmFVbRsgltP3KE/s1600-h/Brazil+1+046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFFrSxwgUZfcPuWd7D4eapS623LTNcPVHtpBBhBsHmyZV3mDLDSwvJoZwV5JjrxSblejUGiLJ3BDzOPVYEQWSzzjvtdrJKC8LIJodzZXFpUgUSyC_toJtRQGU8Zi63dmFVbRsgltP3KE/s320/Brazil+1+046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449387316890565010" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4GnSQZdzO5DyQif-yXEbibOMtmGGwA2f64VpQPG5ACJ0le1vEMdnpHzSAMA7qGVPu-EaylEXf9CNqJE6Kkxterp-EUFTszfdIr_miL0QmwBLzj8ijyirk9HIo1MwqqaGS3_i-2I9Wps/s1600-h/Brazil+1+039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju4GnSQZdzO5DyQif-yXEbibOMtmGGwA2f64VpQPG5ACJ0le1vEMdnpHzSAMA7qGVPu-EaylEXf9CNqJE6Kkxterp-EUFTszfdIr_miL0QmwBLzj8ijyirk9HIo1MwqqaGS3_i-2I9Wps/s320/Brazil+1+039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449389262979964562" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqtbS0ywTHtCWdt8aKUbZUYA2JQHqd25O7IilT3UfbUFpTGZbLSsreRJhCRppY53GA398Jx3OwlDpHeLRt3QYPpDXjYLR_y20P8owRJER7FW9CjCIve0PgPHfl_AXV6UJmMVSfFhYamI/s1600-h/Brazil+1+048.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAqtbS0ywTHtCWdt8aKUbZUYA2JQHqd25O7IilT3UfbUFpTGZbLSsreRJhCRppY53GA398Jx3OwlDpHeLRt3QYPpDXjYLR_y20P8owRJER7FW9CjCIve0PgPHfl_AXV6UJmMVSfFhYamI/s320/Brazil+1+048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449388803901189730" border="0" /></a>all without a single snake sighting!<br /><br />Speaking of, happy St. Patrick's Day, y'all! I'm going to a pub crawl in Ipanema in the early afternoon to drink beers by the beach with one Irish girl, some Brits, and a Mexican. It all makes so much sense?<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-876910722953109592010-03-15T06:49:00.000-07:002010-03-15T09:52:58.410-07:00Too Much Light(ning)Remember when I said that when it rains it pours in Argentina? Turns out it's true in Brazil too.<br /><br />So I leave the house yesterday evening to walk to a church about 30 minutes down the road in my neighborhood of Santa Teresa. As I walk, faint overhead flashes and far-off rumbles of thunder begin to disquiet my evening stroll. As I look out over the [spectacular, unrelatedly] view of the city, I see dark clouds ploughing across the sky. Knowing some, but not quite enough, about how lighting/electricity works, I begin to feel sheer terror about walking next to metal tram tracks under sketchy power lines with an umbrella at one of the highest points in Rio de Janeiro. Having no idea how much farther I need to go, I stop under a tent where a woman dressed completely in white wearing a turban and a lot of jewelry sells some kind of banana-cakes to ask a young man directions to the street with the church. He tells me I'm only about five more minutes walk, and just as he finishes explaining how to get there, the sky opens up and it POURS. In the ensuing shitshow, I get completely drenched (even with my umbrella as a shield under the shelter), the turban woman's hot pan of banana-cakes gets knocked over, and about 6 passing motorbikes send huge waves of water up to splash everyone's faces. I move to a nearby bar to experience power outs 1 and 2 of the evening (5 total) before trying again to walk the last five minutes. My fear/the downpour are faaaaaaaaaaaaar too great, however, and I run back to the bar, where the owner invites me to "dry myself off" in the bathroom (aka pat down my head and exposed skin with paper towels, knowing that there's absolutely no point when I'm just going to have to go back out in it. I miss my car more than ever).<br /><br />After 10 more minutes of watching the <span style="font-style: italic;">rua </span>turn into a <span style="font-style: italic;">rio</span>, I give up the goal of Mass (figuring God might understand) and look instead for a combi (Volkswagon van that's cheaper than a bus and functions as a large, multiperson, multistop taxi) to take me home. I don't have enough to pay him, however (I didn't take any money to church in fear of getting robbed on the walk), and get out promising to grab money from my house. Set on this goal, I run into the road through an enormous puddle of water and avoid <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">by inches</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>getting hit by a taxi with low visibility. The combi driver, perhaps taking pity on the drenched, frightened gringa, drives away without giving me an opportunity to pay.<br /><br />Please watch <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tgpG0SQe_aU">this video</a> to understand the magnitude of the rain -- it gets good at about 2:00, when the power goes out and the game gets delayed <span style="font-style: italic;">for 18 minutes</span> while the field becomes a wading pool. So good.<br /><br />Next time there's a storm, I'll try to take some pics/video from my house. Huge bolts of lightning are way more fun to watch epically illuminating Pao de Acucar and Cristo Redentor when one is safe and dry inside.<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-84742769789390401862010-03-10T17:26:00.001-08:002010-03-10T17:57:17.234-08:00Things I love about RioTHE BEACH (DUH)<br />I have been three times in the last four days. Yesterday I ran along the shore with a view of Sugarloaf while the setting sun created a pink glow on the water. Yeah no really. And really, have you ever thought about how cool crashing waves are? The water folds on itself! Also I am tan again.<br /><br />THE FOOD<br />Acai! Cheap greasy pastries with meat inside! All you can eat beef stroganoff/dessert pizzas! Strawberry juice!<br /><br />REALLY, EVERYTHING<br />As I walked down the street my first night back, I remembered what Rio has that Argentina doesn't -- people were pouring out of the open (as in, has three walls and the fourth just spillos onto the street) bars and standup food counters laughing, chatting, drinking beer, watching futbol with their shirts off. In short, Brazil has <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_place">third places</a>!<br /><br />I lucked into an amazing housing situation -- in exchange for working 24ish hours a week at a pousada (like a hostel but fancier), I get a free room, breakfast, and laundry. It's in Santa Teresa, a neighborhood with amahhhhhhhhhhhhzing views of the city (see below), I'm working with cool people, AND the house has a kitten! I'm also interviewing for teaching jobs to fill up the daytime hours -- in Rio they pay twice (<span style="font-style: italic;">twice!</span>) what they do in Buenos Aires. TUDO BOM.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEium6w7csNKudrNvAY8T_UV_NfoFO5r27Aqs7i9XrAKHahVgQf3XugvX0eU4eFiXw6HD5o1Y8p9LpuXeCPESiJjzifJsr4SmD-s5TG9j65-xzybVY69XJiPW-_-Noe4MfeGN088gSk32RY/s1600-h/Casa579.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 87px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEium6w7csNKudrNvAY8T_UV_NfoFO5r27Aqs7i9XrAKHahVgQf3XugvX0eU4eFiXw6HD5o1Y8p9LpuXeCPESiJjzifJsr4SmD-s5TG9j65-xzybVY69XJiPW-_-Noe4MfeGN088gSk32RY/s320/Casa579.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447188510214684434" border="0" /></a><br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-27760406970987631692010-03-02T17:26:00.000-08:002010-03-05T09:27:25.172-08:00On BussesCross country busses are not so much a thing in the U.S. I mean, I've taken the Megabus to Chicago like everyone and their mother, but the idea of riding 40 hours to California is foreign and strange. DRIVE, FLY, TRAIN. In Argentina (and the rest of South America), though, busses are the norm. In countries full of backpackers with too much gear and "sense of adventure" to fly and not enough money to drive, countries with terrible train systems (they exist but let's be real S.A. is no Europe), busses are it. And they're surprisingly posh -- even the worst I've taken has a more comfortable seat than an airplane, they always show films, and sometimes they have Bingo games or free bottles of champ. Sometimes, however, they are slow and hot and AGONIZINGLY LONG.<br /><br />The trip to Patagonia consisted of five separate bus rides with varying degrees of interesting landscapes and internal misery. Bus number one from Bariloche was the first in which I was given food. Flan! Twice! and two ham sandwiches for lunch -- one with jamon crudo on a croissant and one on white bread with regular ham. This was very funny to me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OlGThvQ1i-aii2jDL6OZEwqW5N228-Xzb7R495dNf-mQIbquRJA_os0JfsYl_K1oDXZIZmLa3AweJ2dhPvZFCWgYDKa_MMahm4tdxGmpgRiQaVXvcrPfjlZtLWBBlfZiPdrlKg2LbU8/s1600-h/Patagonia+001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OlGThvQ1i-aii2jDL6OZEwqW5N228-Xzb7R495dNf-mQIbquRJA_os0JfsYl_K1oDXZIZmLa3AweJ2dhPvZFCWgYDKa_MMahm4tdxGmpgRiQaVXvcrPfjlZtLWBBlfZiPdrlKg2LbU8/s320/Patagonia+001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445202454773239714" border="0" /></a>The bus also showed The Dark Knight in English, without subtitles. Great for us, likely quite annoying for the other 85% of the passengers. We arrived in Bariloche excited and fully sated.<br /><br />Bus number two took us from Bariloche to El Chalten down Ruta 40. It took 30 hours. That's two overnights. Ruta 40 is unpaved, so the regular two-level bus is not an option (too dangerous/wobbly), nor is food service. We traveled at an agonizing 20km/hr, stopping to sit on the bus stop curb of Perito Moreno (note: the town is about 13 hours away from the glacier, and in no way majestic) for three hours about halfway through. Kat took Benedryl and said funny things, and a smelly man accused me of stealing his cookies. Other than that, nothing of note happened with that day and 1/4 of my life.<br /><br />Our trip from El Calafate to Ushuaia began at 3am -- rather than booking a hostel, we decided to stay at a bar until 2:30 and then head directly to the bus station without sleeping. After a transfer in Rio Gallegos (which, by the way, looks ASTONISHINGLY like a medium-sized Minnesota town, Becker maybe) at 7:30am -- juuuuuust enough time to fall asleep and be woken, we began the second half of the journey to Ushuaia, set to arrive at 9pm. We had big plans to get seafood upon arrival (it was a port town, and a lenten Friday) and walk around before settling into our hostel. PLANS THAT FELL TO PIECES. Two hours waiting for an exit stamp at the Argentina-Chilean border, 25 minutes driving, then another hour for an entrance stamp, trip to the Magellanic strait, where we got off the bus then on the bus then off again in a 2.5 hour ferry-crossing process, then after more slow driving, another two-part border crossing and five more hours to the destination. We finally arrived at 2:45am, almost 24 hours after we'd left El Calafate. APPARENTly no seafood restaurants are open at 2:45.<br /><br />These trips, though seemingly full enough of foibles, are also apparently nothing compared to those in Bolivia and Ecuador -- I spoke with two friends last night who had just arrived back to Buenos Aires from a month of traveling around Bolivia. They listened with polite empathetic faces while I told of the Slowest Trip in the World, then described the three broken tires, bus accident, and week-long bus cancellation they had experienced. Sooo I'll count my blessings while I'm still in a semi-developed country, I guess, and anticipate the adventures to come in June.<br /><br />Tonight I take a 40-hour ride to Rio, crossing the border about halfway in (at Iguazu, though I presume there's no pit stop to walk around the Falls) and arriving Sunday afternoon. BUT this bus has cama seats and food service, and I have a charged ipod and a book to read. Plus who KNOWS what hot Brazilians will be riding next to me m.i.right??<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-35923009514175530722010-03-01T08:10:00.000-08:002010-03-01T13:42:30.876-08:00Big News BearsHI so I arrived to Buenos Aires last night at 2am from a journey down the eastern side of Argentina through the Lake District, Patagonia, and Tierra del Fuego in what was probably the most incredible trip I have ever taken. Twelve days of travel (3.5 spent on busses, I kid you not) is a lot to process, so this week I'm taking time to unpack, load pictures, catch up on the internet, and consider another small piece of information, the fact that <span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm moving to Rio de Janeiro on Friday</span>.<br /><br />I know, right? Seems sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a few months now. I have really enjoyed the people I've met in Argentina, and have done some baaaaaller traveling, but as much as I love the ice cream and as comfortable as I'm getting with Castellano, I want to take advantage of the rest of this post-grad gap year to go back to the beach. The plan is to find work teaching, relearn Portuguese, drink acai, and get tan tan tan until June-ish, then travel through Brazil with my good friend Nate (potentially on the AMAZON? let's work on that snake fear first maybe) to La Paz, Bolivia, past Macchu Picchu in Peru, up through Ecuador into Colombia before flying home from Bogota. If any of that sounds remotely interesting to you, <span style="font-weight: bold;">come join me</span>. Like, actually, let's talk.<br /><br />In the meantime, here are some teaser photos from Patagonz. Detailed posts to come (duh) as I take packing breaks this week.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yIu1qFZh44rlurUQq_ihO7zuYECCEJ3rhcOhbioZYISnbgNme0935wDjF6UdGm8n2qbYWVC4pzv72CW19VWO0dDnPAbSrexf2P2RXo3mNBC2F9A5kvluuJZHYmsirChS8wy2hx2Wpok/s1600-h/Patagonia+009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yIu1qFZh44rlurUQq_ihO7zuYECCEJ3rhcOhbioZYISnbgNme0935wDjF6UdGm8n2qbYWVC4pzv72CW19VWO0dDnPAbSrexf2P2RXo3mNBC2F9A5kvluuJZHYmsirChS8wy2hx2Wpok/s320/Patagonia+009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443748581056118514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3nnsS7BQm4DOUUC2ooFacVP0vWjJPOQG0JFFZ16JS-r2SZ_OLaipgqAHY8Mm7lyBcyHdQKni6d8f75bIK4QxxdVO0-WzykBG5oEbWhr8-IvgpQi_M_oUmUkciSU3yAiymr4f1d8-rjI/s1600-h/Patagonia+119.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR3nnsS7BQm4DOUUC2ooFacVP0vWjJPOQG0JFFZ16JS-r2SZ_OLaipgqAHY8Mm7lyBcyHdQKni6d8f75bIK4QxxdVO0-WzykBG5oEbWhr8-IvgpQi_M_oUmUkciSU3yAiymr4f1d8-rjI/s320/Patagonia+119.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443713361757739442" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqB_hGJErbUrDlIy2Lwk_sdf5t23FMD7gP3kuRhQafoFxllkOgF9e0Huy2vt0WwyiIVNbqppELL0cTeC1LB50XugkBA1wn3k4rS9srTTDBEB1xhIs7a34gth_wxi1O1l6v0zargyuUZVI/s1600-h/Patagonia+183.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqB_hGJErbUrDlIy2Lwk_sdf5t23FMD7gP3kuRhQafoFxllkOgF9e0Huy2vt0WwyiIVNbqppELL0cTeC1LB50XugkBA1wn3k4rS9srTTDBEB1xhIs7a34gth_wxi1O1l6v0zargyuUZVI/s320/Patagonia+183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443715820029743314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ8VaynDBPoHZSjxe5Pf5pqNK-ib3SItv0XaZDvGGLuatQmBE7a92GL7c6uvjjhvWYMy3axsvNsOzSRU98-x3AwIhYh_zz5iEMdrzzm9VFlffaS7o6su9_bCneqBfIFyzvZMBoAGZVG8/s1600-h/Patagonia+181.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ8VaynDBPoHZSjxe5Pf5pqNK-ib3SItv0XaZDvGGLuatQmBE7a92GL7c6uvjjhvWYMy3axsvNsOzSRU98-x3AwIhYh_zz5iEMdrzzm9VFlffaS7o6su9_bCneqBfIFyzvZMBoAGZVG8/s320/Patagonia+181.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443712792262693602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs75Kb08MjbdwxJP8p9uGqjknsvmZ5xjKNvRZWYnJCpq0ZILj1XO2AWZ1bd5dnXUDE1iRdcmc3HubCZ-GSpr-8OpQ68IK_Z34D-qMvFo3khyphenhyphennZSEZrGts4JSzuob_PBSAbGvZC-eV_7Io/s1600-h/Patagonia+205.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs75Kb08MjbdwxJP8p9uGqjknsvmZ5xjKNvRZWYnJCpq0ZILj1XO2AWZ1bd5dnXUDE1iRdcmc3HubCZ-GSpr-8OpQ68IK_Z34D-qMvFo3khyphenhyphennZSEZrGts4JSzuob_PBSAbGvZC-eV_7Io/s320/Patagonia+205.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443711003012403682" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydk0G3OM01TULWl3_6vd7qQF03Au-x05-VX-Qv9k2snkwtebpZvqgwN4QdjcC5AU-FgHJVUP0DA-G4XH7cm5jqXvINKUod9AaLx0gOTn26U2o4e3BpPJ6fmQTQBVjiBKLmXuYgiArjmU/s1600-h/Patagonia+260.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgydk0G3OM01TULWl3_6vd7qQF03Au-x05-VX-Qv9k2snkwtebpZvqgwN4QdjcC5AU-FgHJVUP0DA-G4XH7cm5jqXvINKUod9AaLx0gOTn26U2o4e3BpPJ6fmQTQBVjiBKLmXuYgiArjmU/s320/Patagonia+260.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443704102407031522" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCdGSEFFRyf-vCJx1ZTuUCHYyQpeSrAxSmvFKCQyLRtPKS5T-ned1XVMSsnWAhusyKDC6jZ7pV35099Zgsb6b9dCZji_YGpalbyRzzCpEwrWOLuPRVcRbexIgA4Wq_V2oPpi7N0GG2K8/s1600-h/Patagonia+348.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCdGSEFFRyf-vCJx1ZTuUCHYyQpeSrAxSmvFKCQyLRtPKS5T-ned1XVMSsnWAhusyKDC6jZ7pV35099Zgsb6b9dCZji_YGpalbyRzzCpEwrWOLuPRVcRbexIgA4Wq_V2oPpi7N0GG2K8/s320/Patagonia+348.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443701918124055986" border="0" /></a><br />Now to catch up on LOST...<br /><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-69419227685663116322010-02-24T18:47:00.000-08:002010-02-24T18:56:56.298-08:00The ironic thing about blogsis that when you´re in the middle of the action, it´s the very hardest to keep up. Here I am in El Chalten, Argentina, having hiked 46 kilometers in the past 48 hours and about to walk on a glacier in the morning, heading after that to the end of the world on a 13 hour bus ride that will seem like nothing compared to the 30-hour one I completed Monday morning, and I CAN´T WRITE ANYTHING or upload any photos because there´s a line three-deep to use this slow, sticky hostel computer. If you´re wondering, El Chalten, Argentina is absolutely enchanting and hiking to a summet paralleling FitzRoy is so so hard. El Calafate has yet to win my heart (as all I´ve done here so far is spend money on excursions and bus tickets), but I think the trip to Perito Moreno Glacier tomorrow will more than make up for that... expect a new profile photo as soon as I get back to BsAs (for only three days, before I move to the RdJ, BR! but that´s for another post).<br /><br />The point of this all, dear reader, is that Patagonia is bomb, and when I have so much time and free internet access to recount everything that´s happened I will prove why having a blog is worth it. PROMISE. So stay tuned; it´s gonna get GOOD.Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-48410836092693916042010-02-06T13:31:00.002-08:002010-02-11T12:28:45.784-08:00Salta III, or The Grossest Meal of my LifeWe woke up on our second morning in Tilcara with the best of intentions: head back to Salta to return our rental car, grab an American brunch in Jujuy half-way, and move south to Cafayate. Turns out <span style="font-style: italic;">Lonely Planet</span>'s definition of "American-style brunch restaurant" meant that along with medialunas and cafe con leche, you could also get eggs. (Guys, I am dying for some waffles.) Anyway, as we reached Salta/the valley the rains began. And did not stop. We decided, ultimately, to try heading to Cafayate anyway, but as a bus would be the same price as our rental car but with far less autonomy, to keep the affectionately-nicknamed Pepe Raul Lolita Thundercloud White Power Wagon for another day, return it Sunday at 7pm, and hop on a bus home Sunday night. The problem we didn't forsee was the severity of the rain in Salta. Our trip soon became XTREME CAFAYATE 2K10.<br /><br />If I had to sum up in one cliche the weather in this country it would be this: <span style="font-weight: bold;">when it rains, it pours</span>. If I had to extrapolate, I would add that <span style="font-weight: bold;">the drainage systems here are terrible. </span>This is true even in Buenos Aires, where two weeks ago a nice man to whom I was giving a private lesson offered to drive me home when the sky turned purple and alarming amounts of water began to pound at the windows. He had to turn the car around twice because the puddles were so high that they had the potential to flood his engine.<br /><br />WELL let me tell you who's not a pansy about driving through puddles up to the door handles. US, in our rental car. Well, eventually, that is: about 30 kilometres outside of Salta, we saw a line of cars stopped ahead of us in the road and a brave soul forging a puddle that was definitely up to its bumper, if not higher. We watched a few small cars (as well as the much rarer large truck or bus) cross the ridiculous mud-brown puddle, and far, far more turn around or park their car to wait for a better time / take an alternate route. After 15 minutes of should we/shouldn't we, we turned the car around and decided to wait/eat/withdraw money in the first town we encountered.<br />Walking around Cerillos, pop. 236 was an adventure in itself, as raging streams of water made crossing from street to sidewalk / sidewalk to street absolutely impossible. After twenty minutes, we found a hole-in-the-wall (no literally, keep reading) and stepped inside, only to find each table dirty and COVERED in flies. Old men sat at two of the tables, staring at a futbol match on tv. The old men were also covered in flies. It was like a horror film. As we backed slowly out, Matt commented, "Well, that was... local." Fifteen more minutes of walking / strenuously hopping across puddles got us to another restaurant, this one with fewer old men but probably just as many flies. When we asked the waiter to see a menu, he told us: "We don't have one."<br />-- "What do you have to eat then?"<br />-- "Asado."<br />-- "With which types of meat?"<br />-- "Eh, just asado. And fries."<br />Waiter returned with a large communal plate of fatty, uncuttable mystery meats, on which the hoardes of flies promptly took the opportunity to land and poop and land and poop.<br /><br />At that moment losing all desire to be stranded further in Cerrilos, we made the decision to GO HARD rather than GO HOME, walked back to the car, and drove through the puddle, praying so hard that Pepe-Raul-Tito-Lola-White-whatever's engine would not flood. The feeling of water swishing under my feet while seated in the car is one I will forever associate with Northern Argentina. GOING HARD was worth it: we made it through the puddle (and six or seven more just as big or bigger) before we were in the clear and climbing out of the valley.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyu_2Buu7psdgS2Mi-RnwFq5COMM-Bb_vW81q7Wq3OR6oPC08m8GzW4bb5p44a3FpYUSMiyoc6v4tZxxGlEg7Ehsps5iwpzXw5Y_G1T-BJ_L8jfsFX-ZgjhSyGbxpaCJQM-GqrbU5Uuxk/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyu_2Buu7psdgS2Mi-RnwFq5COMM-Bb_vW81q7Wq3OR6oPC08m8GzW4bb5p44a3FpYUSMiyoc6v4tZxxGlEg7Ehsps5iwpzXw5Y_G1T-BJ_L8jfsFX-ZgjhSyGbxpaCJQM-GqrbU5Uuxk/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435247024150391058" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Beautiful Cerrilos, Argentina.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4aJ4H_Su8GGSyfzStsneL4bD4dUHhLdZr-vNEtCY0D7Nl6J1oSCMTffCqnbO9g_hzVA2Ohp4uICF68OTRph92GI3Y1E8vcU97Cs2mzowGRXzpL8jz1yv7GkDGn3eg7o8-8SStOB4kO0/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+076.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP4aJ4H_Su8GGSyfzStsneL4bD4dUHhLdZr-vNEtCY0D7Nl6J1oSCMTffCqnbO9g_hzVA2Ohp4uICF68OTRph92GI3Y1E8vcU97Cs2mzowGRXzpL8jz1yv7GkDGn3eg7o8-8SStOB4kO0/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435247575965792802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Stranded in the street -- it was a matter of eventually realizing your feet were just going to get drenched anyway and having fun trying to jump while also accepting this fact.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbf5aQ_iXuOWCf00lUF06CtKxtQ3uG5wxOlWhCzdsyiGcZSj_9jCjufwIXA3x6HhvQTcuynqETWBIR5IiP8ckl0U3aiujcPtpwkhFkBRtQyeV6feBVWuY7MJMJAoq-E_HXe7SS-8UO-M/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+078.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbf5aQ_iXuOWCf00lUF06CtKxtQ3uG5wxOlWhCzdsyiGcZSj_9jCjufwIXA3x6HhvQTcuynqETWBIR5IiP8ckl0U3aiujcPtpwkhFkBRtQyeV6feBVWuY7MJMJAoq-E_HXe7SS-8UO-M/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+078.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435248136260454834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Action shot: this is mid-forge when we could feel the water under our feet and were praying that the engine wouldn't get flooded.<br /></span></div><br />Sure enough, as we climbed, the rain stopped and it even became sunny as we entered Cafayete. The Quedabra de Cafayate was entirely worth the previous stress/drenching -- as the Lonely Planet oh-so-over-eloquently reads we were able to experience:<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Gashes in the rock wall [that] let you enter and appreciate the tortured stone whose clearly visible layers have been twisted by tectonic upheavals into unimaginable configurations.</span><br />TORTURED STONE<br />UNIMAGINABLE CONFIGURATIONS<br />PULITZER-WORTHY WRITING<br /><br />In other words, the valley was full of striated red rock formations shaped vaguely like things and thus given appropriate designations (The Windows, The Toad, the Cross, etc.). You could climb into them and it was incredibly awesome. See below.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBL8cZyPEto8VUoDU6ebwLGpFmLEz8Df0VGK8Oav04vhXXC7SakaiGHS0THUNK90k5HU_1fE61pxPxqjIZM8fgt_MTsRa0xJLZHCKFutk_7MXVJBe1G-D1qwEqy6y1xiVk5kGHJq73SVk/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBL8cZyPEto8VUoDU6ebwLGpFmLEz8Df0VGK8Oav04vhXXC7SakaiGHS0THUNK90k5HU_1fE61pxPxqjIZM8fgt_MTsRa0xJLZHCKFutk_7MXVJBe1G-D1qwEqy6y1xiVk5kGHJq73SVk/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436080446808310466" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat)</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YPqJ8WfyjVtxDbYEekpgFaQqL5NqlFQuu__VraLBDFlhIHWCPLGFVMCvFYvz7GU3SLDxp58r98rBvdkd6cgN3MrNTGXfjIq86G8WXjX7tIAiLnrrnptGow76CVmxJ-nEMY_rZ-zlb7E/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+092.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YPqJ8WfyjVtxDbYEekpgFaQqL5NqlFQuu__VraLBDFlhIHWCPLGFVMCvFYvz7GU3SLDxp58r98rBvdkd6cgN3MrNTGXfjIq86G8WXjX7tIAiLnrrnptGow76CVmxJ-nEMY_rZ-zlb7E/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436086878419432338" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Elizabeth and Kat are obviously far more baller than I.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOaYtDsdOUnOoD7exGfxWAC9lLeVKsnt0iBCUdGlYh4Mgn5TqY41oGZ52KU87k_ozdiZ5Le9IOJqFaC1yx5P8yk4CI7LAoJjU7MbkdoWvoSw6E4TQisZrYxPcMBcRm9MPBr7bsp226eE/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+096.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKOaYtDsdOUnOoD7exGfxWAC9lLeVKsnt0iBCUdGlYh4Mgn5TqY41oGZ52KU87k_ozdiZ5Le9IOJqFaC1yx5P8yk4CI7LAoJjU7MbkdoWvoSw6E4TQisZrYxPcMBcRm9MPBr7bsp226eE/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436235245449536706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">El Amphiteatro (the Ampitheater)<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqx7-3G5fU6isRuhvcoifpZQsZCQiLtijwHBJD1ON-9MRxHlo6sEpH8UsUiCu4wGcrYvw5uKK3u7fSeIid2bLv0pQR5WA2-e6DY3ernZrNL4AvnUxctz6H3FY4F2-05tcaejEzzSMpso/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+104.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDqx7-3G5fU6isRuhvcoifpZQsZCQiLtijwHBJD1ON-9MRxHlo6sEpH8UsUiCu4wGcrYvw5uKK3u7fSeIid2bLv0pQR5WA2-e6DY3ernZrNL4AvnUxctz6H3FY4F2-05tcaejEzzSMpso/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+104.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436071661627521250" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This is not a formation, but doesn't it look like the Land Before Time?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">The town itself was very nice, and we got an excellent dinner to make up for the Worst Lunch. Cafayate is famous for Torrontes wine (which is stellar, perhaps my new favorite kind) and for wine-flavored ice cream, which burns the tongue just a bit and actually got us all slightly tipsy. We spent the night relaxing outside and the next day returning our brave lil' car back to (still rainy) Salta. </span><br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUGnXjtkEyaEaeeJwH5IaFJA4OKYi46xDX17MoGdxIpTyPtxnFRmrxjWIQkc0hyphenhyphen32Sh5duIiE7E_g8viKXj4ZFNMZSBmSTT55Ydeoxhd9XZTWquwi3oGBJo9BsDJLyAlPWT6KRwMn1-0/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+107.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCUGnXjtkEyaEaeeJwH5IaFJA4OKYi46xDX17MoGdxIpTyPtxnFRmrxjWIQkc0hyphenhyphen32Sh5duIiE7E_g8viKXj4ZFNMZSBmSTT55Ydeoxhd9XZTWquwi3oGBJo9BsDJLyAlPWT6KRwMn1-0/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+107.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436372530880859218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Torrontes ice cream</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">After 22 hours on a bus, we were back in Buenos Aires, and after four and a half weeks, I finally finished this blog post. Wu-juy.<br /></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"></div><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7910538295464452884.post-90673289052977635422010-01-31T09:41:00.001-08:002010-02-06T07:43:14.136-08:00Salta Pt. IISo after waking up in Tilcara, and having full use of the rental car for a full two more days, we <span style="font-style: italic;">aprovechar</span>-ed (the verb <span style="font-style: italic;">aprovechar </span>in Spanish means to take advantage, and it has become one of my favorites. That was dreadful usage there in the previous line -- apologies if you speak Spanish) and drove our little white Chevy all across the north of Jujuy. It was a warm, bright, beautiful day and since none of us had ever seen any of the three major circles of latitute before, we started by visiting the -- wait for it -- TROPIC OF CAPRICORN, Y'ALL!!!!!! 2K10!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhvR2xP9YMozG1TNco-SrWKoZP5svrK_T1kadYlPqLLkx1jLYm1J5576DC9YTAqLh7Gg2iVfh_Uq4B3JNnTq3L89A5LqQX_YauMg3LGkeiP0KgZQxF3PRwPvgPWfsyIzQbFfgHeyILmU/s1600-h/IMG_8269.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhvR2xP9YMozG1TNco-SrWKoZP5svrK_T1kadYlPqLLkx1jLYm1J5576DC9YTAqLh7Gg2iVfh_Uq4B3JNnTq3L89A5LqQX_YauMg3LGkeiP0KgZQxF3PRwPvgPWfsyIzQbFfgHeyILmU/s320/IMG_8269.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432961155570895602" border="0" /></a>That picture was pretty much it. Still, though, currently my favorite tropic by far.<br />After driving 25 miles out of our way to see the tropic and 25 miles back, we began an ascent up to the Salinas Grandes (salt flats, ironically located not in the Salta, but the Jujuy province) on a road chock-full of switchbacks and oftentimes lacking guardrails. At one point we were behind a truck of sulfuric acid covered in "PELIGROSO" signs and we had a fun time verbalizing our morbid visualizations of that truck slipping off the cliff edge in front of us or sliding backward into our car. Thought of you, Brooks House.<br />Again, the actual distance in kilometers was something ridiculously tiny, but the climb (4170 m above sea level) took about three hours -- enough time for me to take these sick photos:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgVSPq3dJXCKBrPbRjRG_1io2ECrmbkT5xw20bkqZqOf9ojKZql_2yENr_KSpqAeUuuKkiPcGHzvhnINBHqTKyZl2us_cgDcjN-lYOOaJfyB3ei594aTTdeOeWfX2u-4CsrxkrGal7o4/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMgVSPq3dJXCKBrPbRjRG_1io2ECrmbkT5xw20bkqZqOf9ojKZql_2yENr_KSpqAeUuuKkiPcGHzvhnINBHqTKyZl2us_cgDcjN-lYOOaJfyB3ei594aTTdeOeWfX2u-4CsrxkrGal7o4/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435143522554623170" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHoIfL3uDGcxWWJ2WAMYUB34aV3ANnFaxHkh_86zjUpgX-YKnzTcP4qNqvGQiAvPp6hr4ksDrqmc02yt5zQPkihkQIY_wtNtLhqYm2gTIkQ5B2Sod5h6rrnwPXWlav2rpuq98Hgxe_Og/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 189px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQHoIfL3uDGcxWWJ2WAMYUB34aV3ANnFaxHkh_86zjUpgX-YKnzTcP4qNqvGQiAvPp6hr4ksDrqmc02yt5zQPkihkQIY_wtNtLhqYm2gTIkQ5B2Sod5h6rrnwPXWlav2rpuq98Hgxe_Og/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435144823201777730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOsa9vELxMnmY6Tv5weWDJ8bTp0ryUTk_5cdCIuSUGNxWdR9RaKj4TsF86C7N7pkEGiHo7Lgus7PYNEcH69WruAldBEx0ppPtHDydXFD3h4rLENHe95_MwO-hB2GbV8DAz_1Pd5-P1E/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOsa9vELxMnmY6Tv5weWDJ8bTp0ryUTk_5cdCIuSUGNxWdR9RaKj4TsF86C7N7pkEGiHo7Lgus7PYNEcH69WruAldBEx0ppPtHDydXFD3h4rLENHe95_MwO-hB2GbV8DAz_1Pd5-P1E/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435145382579011458" border="0" /></a><br />Upon approaching the flats, we found a small outpost made of salt bricks -- tried the walls out of curiosity, before trying the ground in several places as well. I'm an adult? The outpost was owned by a toothless man who I'm pretty sure made his money strictly by charging tourists 1 peso to use the porta potties. While waiting in line to pay said peso, we overheard a man in front of us ask the salt-house owner whether he had any water. "No," replied the toothless man. "Anything at all to drink?" asked the tourist. "No," again. "Anything to eat?" "No." So just the bathrooms then.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUA_VuHq_8aFc2xT1iz75DQn0tV1ZuI2U8YlHL-OMt7V49uSaNY4bI8kptJdxD1UW3abMLyg3d7QurVqeJaU1lB9Zn_Z4l79qUBF-DAZs0fmO91ysZ9Sr6zBljKS7jVhg8FH_m13YMyo/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+060.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 340px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUUA_VuHq_8aFc2xT1iz75DQn0tV1ZuI2U8YlHL-OMt7V49uSaNY4bI8kptJdxD1UW3abMLyg3d7QurVqeJaU1lB9Zn_Z4l79qUBF-DAZs0fmO91ysZ9Sr6zBljKS7jVhg8FH_m13YMyo/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+060.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435148785825170802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Can't climb on the salt mounds. Bullllllllllllllllllllshit.<br /></span></div><br />The salt flats were, as expected, extraordinary. And extraordinarily bright. Kat forgot sunglasses and after fifteen minutes of watching her wince and cover her face, I figured she was being a baby and loaned her mine. I barely made it five. Picture looking into the strongest white light, but not being able to tear your eyes away, even when the eyeballs feel like they're burning a little. We also got markedly sunburnt from about twenty minutes outside of the car -- apparently when UVlight shines from all directions, it ups the exposure. HOW BOUT THAT. The Salinas Grandes looked like fields of snow, if snow were gritty and had flavor and was comfortable to sit on. There's also a lot of fun to be had playing with perspective; since the horizon is so far away, one can play all kinds of cameratricks, standing on bottles and holding friends in the palm etcetera etcetera. We didn't, really, though we did take advantage of how cool the field of white looked for some good shots.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFxcBEk7z5TmV39TvlAHSarN45jpn0a4VJTJDRmISfjCL16QU4vzdbut9whb37NLe581pGJhwzzzvWJMA_BA-tGASKwP_dx2KhNfkwsiK84uduYCMqAgyiKqTr-D4VcwGOhEUGnSXT9U/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgFxcBEk7z5TmV39TvlAHSarN45jpn0a4VJTJDRmISfjCL16QU4vzdbut9whb37NLe581pGJhwzzzvWJMA_BA-tGASKwP_dx2KhNfkwsiK84uduYCMqAgyiKqTr-D4VcwGOhEUGnSXT9U/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435147164990997346" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Far-off horizons add to the baller-ness of any photo, it turns out.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7COC__0Vrjp-AFLKi3b8UnO6XoVXZIcl696iCdUTL7J63HDijw-cYEe-KUsqjSQEzvLKABOL3DolNUKITwNA80q11VIr4_h5eMw13idPyFV_wlDCw-OwTanFh9iVaOaa9cVYRcm2Py8Y/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+065.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 340px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7COC__0Vrjp-AFLKi3b8UnO6XoVXZIcl696iCdUTL7J63HDijw-cYEe-KUsqjSQEzvLKABOL3DolNUKITwNA80q11VIr4_h5eMw13idPyFV_wlDCw-OwTanFh9iVaOaa9cVYRcm2Py8Y/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435147759073043682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">This picture is pretty nerdy but admit it, you're pretty jealous too.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">After thoroughly enjoying the Salinas (which took maybe 45 minutes... there's a four-day ride across the Uyuni flats in Bolivia and I question how one makes the initial wonder stretch for almost a week), we drove back down the mountain (which took half the time) and landed in Purmamarca, a town even smaller than Tilcara. Purmamarca is famous for the Cerro de Siete Colores, or Hill of Seven Colors, which <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> as literal as you might imagine.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68zSXzqocrB9UE4BXyEcOFlFiBvmkDwf59Q2R7JPvOGFxqTz8VTfNuQhuPMOSGOIYfLJaicbRN84NA-gZfKnJqx40IBq7nsQK18XfPJlAUsuAczefGLuHFi1n_aGzoCp4oa4kVbNasXI/s1600-h/Argentina+8+part+1+052.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 349px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh68zSXzqocrB9UE4BXyEcOFlFiBvmkDwf59Q2R7JPvOGFxqTz8VTfNuQhuPMOSGOIYfLJaicbRN84NA-gZfKnJqx40IBq7nsQK18XfPJlAUsuAczefGLuHFi1n_aGzoCp4oa4kVbNasXI/s320/Argentina+8+part+1+052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435151536879021618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Had fun imaginary-naming the seven colors: PUCE, MAUVE, BURNT SIENNA.<br /></span></div><br />In Purmamarca, we bought ice cream, climbed to the top of a hill overlooking the town, and got caught behind the oddest local parade, a group of children walk-dancing in unison to a snare and bass drum though the streets for no apparent reason whatsoever. Since hostels (hostel, actually, we found one) in Purmamarca were more expensive than Tilcara, we drove back to the town that had so charmed us the previous night and stayed there again. NOTE: this is one of the biggest shockers I've encountered traveling -- oftentimes the tiny, dirt-road towns offer more expensive housing than the big cities. Don't know why I expected it to be the other way, but I definitely did. I also continue to get surprised anytime food in Argentina isn't at least 25% cheaper than food in the US. I'm an asshole.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUq1qMW8LgdMgM9iE7ty3TL9c_6q0kIyRp4-nCmbK5dUg79NIIlCjtgrNYAUpaKfSip0JHYKuA852XLvLI3xBEemTNQ_UMZUGxR6OwxJyGo3GOVUETuv540p4fCmhdv6rPDGRhrzKOCI/s1600-h/IMG_8323.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUq1qMW8LgdMgM9iE7ty3TL9c_6q0kIyRp4-nCmbK5dUg79NIIlCjtgrNYAUpaKfSip0JHYKuA852XLvLI3xBEemTNQ_UMZUGxR6OwxJyGo3GOVUETuv540p4fCmhdv6rPDGRhrzKOCI/s320/IMG_8323.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435152568112623490" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Purmamarca.</span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsvBxPu3IeanNdu1uUI9F5n3sMmHGV79iAzM7oG0GzEo3CrRza37hg5kIAONjyxz__KYFu62k_UEXovNz-OMrjDsCufwKx_Sku0H6TAi1yHjrYWAFJ6h94NSccYi5vdern6b-DgeEj0Y/s1600-h/IMG_8324.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 247px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAsvBxPu3IeanNdu1uUI9F5n3sMmHGV79iAzM7oG0GzEo3CrRza37hg5kIAONjyxz__KYFu62k_UEXovNz-OMrjDsCufwKx_Sku0H6TAi1yHjrYWAFJ6h94NSccYi5vdern6b-DgeEj0Y/s320/IMG_8324.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435153112137471282" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUmjNDRWGprUbzfi2zYmMRUW3MnYtivgbKwPvdTO4GiZnb_rt7COjvO70oxSo_gANjfoJHlLb2QhQolZwONeIQkWc-iA3aYfRaqb3CRQ8TReER_kIvIr6GjUF0ULRS6T9GsbPveoMwrE/s1600-h/IMG_8319.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUmjNDRWGprUbzfi2zYmMRUW3MnYtivgbKwPvdTO4GiZnb_rt7COjvO70oxSo_gANjfoJHlLb2QhQolZwONeIQkWc-iA3aYfRaqb3CRQ8TReER_kIvIr6GjUF0ULRS6T9GsbPveoMwrE/s320/IMG_8319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435153834669171858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Bustling.</span></div><br />I guess Part III of this recap will actually contain the most epic story of the trip. Don't miss it. May post again this afternoon, as I don't work today, it's raining, and Megavideo only lets me watch two episodes of <span style="font-style: italic;">How I Met Your Mother</span> per hour. TIL THEN.<br /></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"></div><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden"><!--Session data--><input onclick="jsCall();" id="jsProxy" type="hidden"><div id="refHTML"></div>Leah!http://www.blogger.com/profile/13525672319283243630noreply@blogger.com1