the 7:30 bus

RUNNING down Allem Avenido I consider the consequences of slowing down- I would miss my pre-booked  bus to BA.  Not an option.  Alex right behind me, Taryn and Jeremy a few blocks over.  The back pack bounces against my spine as the waist belt slips up and off the illiac crest to my waist.  Two purses are slung over either shoulder, I pull their weight tighter to my chest.  The flip flops clap against the pavement as I dodge the lamp posts, gaping holes in the concrete and human beings walking at a normal speed.  My breath is even and I thank god that I usually practice cardio at a 7000 foot elevation!
I have to say- I saw it all coming.

The VW red van slams hard into the back end of the mustard color tailgate-less chevy truck.  Neither vehicle moves to the side of the road to discuss insurance.  "Que?" they loudly question each other through open windows with big hand gestures as we slowly drive down the street.  The traffic is a mess, four cars wide inching down the side streets on a series of one ways.  We are heading towards the hostel.  We continue to insist to our friend of a friend who was driving us that we can get out and walk.  Finially, we NEED to get out in order to make it to our 7:30 p.m bus.

It is 7:05 and we are supposed to arrive at least 20 minutes before the departure.  So, we get to running.  Taryn and Jeremy have their luggage at the bus station so we part ways as Alex and I head towards the hostel which is holding our gear in a closet in the dining room.  The six blocks to the hostel was merely a warm up.  Weightless and jogging, we had our bags and were ready to move again by 7:20.  Alex requests a taxi to be called from the front desk, but we know that there is no time to wait AND the traffic due to road construction is what put us in this problem in the first place. 
I will also mention that the driver drinking 3 mojitos and a few beers definitely assisted in both his poor judgment of depth and his lack of desire to leave the bar to take us where and when he had prior promised.
At about a block per minute I figured we would just make it.  We had to run.  I took off, only looking back once but I figured as long as one of us reached the bus... I could stall the driver with some sort of song and dance!
Sloppily pounding pavement, weaving through the masses, I arrived with two minutes until departure.  The mojito buzz is gone, feeling the lungs for the first time in awhile, I handed off my luggage.  Laughing as I climbed the stairs to the second floor to find my seat, I could help but smile.  Jeremy throws me a high five as he passes through the aisle.
We made it.  I guess I knew we would.  Five minutes on the drive and the bus attendants (I guess they would be called) have already passed through to offer complimentary candies and soda for each of us.  First class 12 hour bus ride didn't turn out to be too bad; movies and sparkling made the few waking hours pass quickly.  Sleeping was a little rough, but the seats turned into comfortable beds and everything was very clean.  Vietnam could learn a few things... Argentina's overnight bus system is where it is at!

"It's my job, God is my friend."

Pepe Reginato does not speak English very well at all.  He had a translator describing the many details and steps of creating "champagne."  His English statements were few and far between, but this one really had made me smile. "It's my job, God is my friend."  If he had said, "I am thankful and enjoy my profession." I would not have remembered his statement.  How his simple English made his thoughts so much more meaningful.
He may not know much English, but what he does do well is create a mean bottle of sparkling wine, and smile the most genuine expression of friendliness I have seen in weeks!  His fantastic laugh is unique and guttural, and speaking of gut!  His upper body is enormous, his biceps large from a life of hard work, his shoulders broader than any I have seen down here, and his huge gut pouring comfortably over his thin belt.  Casually dressed in jeans and a purple horizontal stripped tee shirt Pepe followed us around his own winery during the tour.
He showed us how the thousands of cellar-ed bottles are turned daily, just a small bit in order to carefully collect the residue from the fermenting yeast into the neck of the bottle.  (In most wineries it is done by a machine, but for years Pepe's own hands touched each bottle dozens of times before it reached our tables to be enjoyed.  Now he has some help turning the bottles, they only have one machine but still need many hands to make it happen!)
He demonstrates the freezing of the neck of the bottle, the removing of the temporary cap, and the replacing it with a cork.  He preforms the tasks of wrapping the metal cage and the foil around the cork, and then he brings us upstair to the table that can hold 6 or 8 people who label each bottle by hand with three separate stickers per bottle!
We go back downstairs and proceed to drink the most delicious sparkling I have ever had.  Also, the only sparkling that I have ever seen which is derivived from malbec grapes (giving it a richer pink color).
http://www.vineconnections.com/viewproduct.php?c=1&pid=196
Seriously people, go get you some today. Celebrate life!

I hated leaving, I wanted to drink sparkling and talk about how God is my friend too!  But we had to leave, I mean, Susana Balbo was waiting for us ;)
We pull away from Pepe's warehouse of an office onto a dull alley.  His winery is a non-descript cement building with a broken gate.  We head to Susana Balbo's palace of a winery.  She greats us in her crisp business clothes with a pleasant smile.  We receive a nice tour of a nice place, but it all feels a little more distant.  A little less real and more showy, to me.

We sit down to eat lunch.  At least 8 glasses stand like proud statues at the heels of our plate, which has a small green salad, cooked veggies, and a baguette toasted with cheese.  The lunch choice is refreshingly different to anything offered to me thus far in my Argentina experience.  I eat it all, enjoy every bit of each color I find on the plate.  Once they remove my dish, we listen to a Susana Balbo monologue a bit about her story (she is eating lunch with us... at the head of the opulent set table, which over looks miles and miles of her vineyard).  My heart feels for her, she has lost her husband recently and has a couple of children... and here I thought she was mostly a machine.  As she wraps up her talk they begin to bring course 2 of lunch (I did not know you could do that, 2 courses at lunch!)
A 20 oz ribeye is placed in front of me.
What's a veghead supposed to do?
I smile at the scorched animal, thank it for it's life... and try to use the butter knife they have placed at my left to further slay the way-over-cooked little bastard.  I love meat, I was raised in a house that always has half of a cow in the downstairs freezer.  I won't blab about why I don't eat meat anymore, but no one should eat meat that is as overcooked as the Argentines enjoy- it's ruined.

I ate a few bites, cut it up a little more and used the push-it-around-the-plate trick we all learned when we were young.  I then re-focused on the delicious wine.  I had no idea we would be given our own variety of dessert plate as a 3rd course!  This course was paired with the most tasty late harvest torrentes I have ever enjoyed and a fab late harvest malbec as well.

After the over exuberant lunch, we were given a challenge by Susana Balbo herself: create a new blend.
Five bottles of already perfectly created wine were sitting at each table, we were asked to make teams of four, and mix until we found the perfect blend.  Although we admittedly called ourselves the JV squad, team Rendezvous Bistro (with Alex as a sub from Trio) sticks together, through rich or poor, better or worse- I wanted to win.
It was so fun using a beaker and documenting different ratios of the varietals, trying to make a balanced blend.  The wines we were using are all amazing so nothing tasted poorly, but it was awesome to see the different qualities each mixture acquired.  Well, we got second place. and then headed out to the vineyards.

Here, my camera frame alternated from the two extremes in my view.  The migrant workers filling their metal bins with grape bunches for 2 pescos a bin ($.60) to the wine makers schmoozing the US wine reps.  The workers protecting their entire body with scrappy cotton clothes, while fresh summer apperal and heels were worn by the buyers.  Head down, maybe embaressed, and working fast with a knife in their hands compared to leisurly strolling, happy to feel the sun against their pasty skin.

The old men and middle age women literally run to trade their bin of grapes for a plastic coin which they redeem at the end of their long work day.  Proud of the fact that their grapes are all handpicked, I find it a little unsettling to watch.  The sun begins to set and we part ways with this grand spectacle of a winery.  As we slowly drive down the romantic dirt path, I wonder if Susana Balbo thinks that God is her friend...

Mendoza, please seduce me.

The hot Argentine at my side lights the cuban cigar I just chose from an impressive selection in a beautiful cigar box.  I am warm with wine pulsing through my blood.  I have not over drank, but it takes great control not to with the day I have been given and the beautiful wines I have been poured.

There are six wine glasses standing elegantly behind my dinner plate; a softly lit sauvignon blanc, a velvety malbec, an inky tempernillo malbec blend, a golden sauternes, and a pungent grappa, oh, and a water.  The table is set for over a dozen, so wine glasses perfectly litter the goreous linen.  We have just finished a several course dinner which began at almost 10 p.m. and mostly consisted of the 7 different kinds of meat BBQed on the grill.  A local described Argentina's love for BBQ to me as, "if there are more than two people together at night then there is a BBQ, and there will be food and drinking though out the night.  It has been easy to politely pass on all the meats being passed by servers.  Not only because of the loud room and other food options of mixed green salad and the few vegetable options, but also because the Wendell winery we visited prior finished their tour and tasting with a picnic snack of a table full of AMAZING cheeses and treats.

Mariano's low raspy voice echos through the great dining hall like the godfather.  His wine making partner Pepe sits across from him a little more quietly.   (Mariano and Pepe are the Ma & Pe of Mapema)  They are charming and professional.  They have three beautiful, witty, and sassy women who surround them as translator, graphic designer, and assistant.  These women create the night by adding comedy, games, and a general loud and festive excitement!  This party, being the second tour of the afternoon, started around 9 p.m. with glasses of sparkling rose as we toured their museum full of ancient wine making tools, barrels,etc.  We finish dinner with cuban cigars and dessert wines.  When I whisper to my new friend at my right that, "I am not that into grappa." He responds quickly with, "That is like saying you are not into freedom."
We laugh and pour wine and smoke cigars.  By midnight, I feel that I truly am almost 30 (tehehe) I am exhausted from the day and ready to rest my head.  We all move towards the shuttle bus holding our recent gifts of delicate jams and signed bottles grappa with a toasted buzz.

At this moment I understand why it is labeled one of Argentina's "most seductive cities."  Illuminated by a waxing moon, hectors of perfectly lined fruit bearing vineyards stretch for miles on either side of the dirt roads we are taking back to the city.  It's harvest season and even the energy of the town seems ripe!  The city itself was not overly impressive.  Uneven pavement, speeding cars with honking horns, giant holes in the walkways which are lightly polluted with garbage, are a few of the less than seductive qualities this town holds.
But now, freshly wined and dined, I thank my lucky waitress stars for having a fantastic "hook up" in the wine world.  We are dropped off at the Sheraton hotel, where all the wine reps that were invited on this tour stay for free.  We bid our party adieu and the four Jacksonites walk our broke asses to the hostel down the street!

Yesterday, we took the day bus from Valparaiso, Chile to Mendoza, Argentina.  Alex and I were repeatedly told not to take the night bus because it is an eight hour ride with spectacular views of rocky mountain scape.  Spoiled by the every day backdrop of the Tetons, I was sleeping with in the first 20 minutes.  More entertained by Harry Potter in English for my waking hours, until the TV monitor broke, and we listened to the remainder of the movie at a very loud volume.
The border crossing was easy and simple.  I was a little surprised when the police man looked at my passport, made me remove my hood, and then made a Brittney Spears joke...
Our hostel we ended up staying in the second and third night was booked the evening we arrived.  We headed down the street and found a place that I recommend never ever going to.  This place was a Dump.  Sharing an overly cramped dorm room with a handful of older Argentine men didn't feel great.  Fortunately, the beds were so close, I was able to shake the pillow of the snoring man to my left (ah, gross.)
Alex laughs at me with this one- but I slept with my down jacket as a pillow cover and a scarf around my neck to protect me... from germs I guess.  Regardless of if those fabrics work at protection against diseases, they did help dampen the smell of stale cigarettes from who ever was washing or folding the linens.  I dreamt all night of imaginary gross things I would find in the hostel (ie- in one dream, I showed my mom a pacifier in the sink...)

Needless to say, waking up at 7a.m. to check out of one hostel and book into another was no problema.  But now, the tables have turned,and Mendoza has began to seduce.  Touring and tasting with the owners at Mendel and Mapema wineries was outstanding, a forever cherished rare experience.  Comparing hundred dollar wines of different years side by side was awesome.  Touring of cellars and production lines was educating.  Watching the wine makers describe their art was stimulating.  Walking through the rows of vines was invigorating.  The wineries were hooking me in with their enticing atmosphere.  I asked for a job.  I wanted to stay, to learn.  Fully swept of my feet on this first day, I knew I had to go to bed with a clear head in order to enjoy the following day.  Meeting at 10 a.m. to head towards bubbley!

Valparaiso, Chile

Valle Paraíso (Paradise Valley) is found in central Chile along the coast. It is a deemed the most colorful city in the world and I quickly fell in love.  The port city is built on a series of rolling hills ignited with brilliant colored houses and artistically painted graffiti murals.  The streets tangle within themselves, the stray dogs own the streets, and the sky is fragmented with wires crisscrossing above every corner.  Inspiring and chaotic, Alex and I adore this stop on out travels.  We spend the days buying art and dreaming of the creative projects we wish to be woven into our lives at home.

Do not let Chile make you cry.

I have arrived to Santiago airport and tears fall hopelessly as I sit and wait for Alex.  She will arrive in a few hours, just on different flights today, traveling from Peru to Chile.  I have been dragged from window to window with nothing but the absence of communication and understanding.  No one speaks English, and I did not learn Spanish on the flight over.  It is late and I am tired.  There seems to be no empathy for this foreign blondie.  To enter Chile, people from the US must pay $131 crisp, non-ripped US bills.  This I knew, and was prepared for, but not with exact change...

I follow the rest of my plane to the "The Police" window to get a visa stamp on the passport.  After waiting until they make it to the end of the line,  I am told to go pay the tax first.  I walk over to where the finger pointed me.  The man tells me $131, so I hand him two hundreds.  He shrugs as he speaks.  I can tell he has no change but he pulls the empty drawer out to prove his side of the situation. I shrug, for I have no change either, nor an idea what to do next.  He shrugs, showing empty hands.  Neither of us can do anything to fix this current situation.  If anyone knows what to do next it would be him, so I continue to stand.

He points me across the large room, "The Police."  I walk through the empty maze to get up to a window.   The woman is shocked that I walked straight up to a window, and cockily spits Spanish at me to wait to be called.  I recede to the appropriate red line, waiting to be called by one of  the five free windows....
I watch two of them read newspapers, while others putz around with their pens or tap at their computers...
Oh- one is ready for me; he calls me over with a wave.  I show them my passport and the $200 and they point me to the Tax counter.  I try to use sign language to explain I have been there and they try to use Spanish (a little louder) to explain that I need to go there.  Finally, I get a police officer to go with me.  I follow her over there, they talk, and have come up with some sort of plan.  She brings me through the red line and down the hall to an Exchange counter.  He exchanges my hundred for 200,000 pesos, but I need US bills ETC ETC ETC! Back and forth, back and forth.  It really helped pass the time while waiting for Alex, but it was semi telling of how difficult the next few weeks will be.

I guess it was all foreshadowed a few hours back, when I shuffled down the narrow airplane aisle to find from my seat to the back of the plane taped off with some type of blue "caution" tape.  After watching the flight attendant calm down a few very upset clients, I asked what was happening.  She did not know much English, but I understood "not safe in emergency."

I finally get the money and stamp I need.  I follow the signs to baggage. 
From down the hall, I can see all the carousels have stopped.  Up and down the long room, I look for a clue.  The International Airport of Chile is a ghost town.  I find two men at a small desk at the end of the room who have my backpack and my heart rate returns to normalcy.  Next, I go through a routine livestock and vegetable check...

Everything is just a little more difficult for me today, and the tears I was choking back came loose. I sit by the exit, cold air is blowing through the doors, I pull the scarf up over my head a have a good cry :)
I wait, feeling defeated.  The tears are not of stress nor sadness nor anger.  The just fall easily for I am tired.  I take a few moments to wish I was somewhere else, somewhere easy- California, Florida, me bed.  I don't want an adventure anymore!  I want warmth and comfort! 
Back to the breath. and stop crying!


I take off the sandals and reach for the boots, I grab the down jacket out of the top of my bag.  I start to get comfortable, another hour for Alex and then four more until the bus station opens.  The man two seats down scoots over.  He monologues in Spanish for a few moments until I explain "lo seinto, no entiendo. no hable español."  Ah," mucho frio."
"si, mucho frio" (I mean, it really is chilly folks!)
His only English is the word beautiful.  
"Ahhhh, Peru. es bonita. Tu es bonita. Chile es bonita. La playa es bonita. Miaimi es bonita. Les mountain es bonita. Es Wyoming bonita? Tu es muy bonita."
I stumble through some spanish too, "me amiga arrive (sometimes I throw in a french verb hoping the romantic languages are transferable) en una ahora, no taxi necessito (hes a cab driver and I fear he is wasting his time on me!) le bus a Valparaiso..."
At first I feared he was in some ploy to steal my things, but he is genuine. And making my day :)
We have exhausted our knowledge of each others language with in about 30 seconds, but we keep trying for the next hour.
Alex arrives and we are both in good spirits as we find a spot to sit for the next four hours, a little spot to eat and drink tea. 
"It's 4:20 a.m. do you know where your head's at?" The Soul Coughing lyrics repeat in my head after noting the time.  One hour until we begin to inquire about the shuttle to the bus terminal.  Where is my head?!  It feels dry at this hour.
Alex takes a turn to the bathroom as the man sitting behind me asks me to watch his bag.  I say yes, not sure why. I feel nervous the whole time he is gone, but this is how we meet Maurice (or Morris?).  The man who gets us safely to the bus by 6, heading west for Valparaisa!

Machupicchu

Machupicchu "old mountain" and Wynapicchu "new mountain" craddle the site of "The Lost City" of the Inkas.  Standing strong on a remote mountaintop, it is the most interesting and spectular thing I have ever seen.

The forest grows quickly here, even in these high elevations.  When the American archaeologist Hiram Bingham was guided to the site by a local boy in 1911, it was completely covered by dense foliage.

The Incan Enpire was strong from the 12th century to the early 15th.  They were a rich civilization, brilliantly connected to mother earth.  Their gods were the elements- the sun (fire), water, air, earth, etc.  They were forever grateful for their surroundings and were so in-tuned with nature that they healed ailments with local plants and oriented structures in regards to the rising sun and the stars.  Cusco was the center of the commerce and government aspects of the civilization, Machupicchu was their temple.

Incan history was never documented so it is deeply steeped in mystery and myth.  All we have to tell their story are their buildings which have seemed to hold the test of time.  Built on the slopes of the highlands, stone steps lead up to this stone fortress.  Terraced platforms ascend the entire mountain, which held various crops, depending on the elevation.  The Lost City has stone houses and temples.  The stone work is impeccable.  The rock quarry above the city was were they received the resource.  Using rock hammers, wood, and water they sliced giant rocks into a little less than giant bricks.  These bricks were rubbed perfectly smooth by smaller rocks by dedicated community members.  It is said their was no slavery, but a tax system which afforded all this labor.

It is easy to imagine them at work.  As I walk around the grounds I can almost see the Incans living life.  Shaman mixing their medicines in stone bowls, women rubbing small stones against the giant ones, men creating mortor and lining the stones as perfect puzzle pieces, scientists discussing constelations, etc.
The energetic vibration of this land is high, the connection to the earth can still be felt by its visitors!
"They built this place not for this life, but the next." Javiar explains to us.  I offer the idea that they are in and living again as the animals, the roaming lamas and condors.  He suggests that they are here, living again in each of us.

Javiar tells their story with the same passion the Inkas built their structures.  Dedicated strength (represented by the puma), universal wisdom (the snake), and a connection to the elevated divine (the condor).  Thankful to be reminded again, of the truths I desire to acknowledge in my daily life.

namaste!

a few of the crew... :)

1. The whole crew.
2. The Brits dwarfing Alex and me.
3. Our meal tent that would be set up (tablecloth and all) by the time we arrived!
4. History lesson from Javiar.
5. Thomas, the horse man.
6. "Poppy," the everything else man!
7. Jump if you like Peru :)
8. Passing a potato farmer.
9. Incan warriores!
10. Dude carrying sticks.
11. Womans house we stayed at final night.
12. Dish duck?
13. Poppy serving us the traditional first course of soup (chef made 8         different veg soups on the trip, every lunch and dinner started with soup!)

Salkantay Trek- princess in the mountains!

I love sleeping next to a rushing river.  The sound is magical.  The power and strength of the water can not be denied as it cuts through the earth, yet somehow creates a peaceful sound and a graceful site.  Watching and listening to this act of natural beauty reminds me that this is the way I want to live.  Keeping stability and hardiness by grounding through the earth, nevertheless, eliciting a balanced overall loveliness!

This river is being fed by the too quickly melting glacier on Salkantay Mountain.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salcantay
Our camp-site is in a valley sitting at 4,200 meters (12,600 feet- only 1,000 feet lower than the Grant Teton.)  Alex and I are bundled in our tents, we have just been fed Anise tea and afternoon snacks of popcorn and cookies.  Today has been an amazing 12 km (7 miles) hike through the Peruvian mountain "roads."  We have been passing through high altitude villages, being passed by trains of donkeys hauling heavy loads, watching stray pigs wander, and imagining the life of those who live in the withdrawn farm houses.

Velvet green mountains lift on either side of us, with a glorious snow-filled rock peak in the horizon were the valley ends.  The rain held out all day, until now.  It drowns the sound of the river.  I can barely write because the last two days have been so long and physically exhausting... the weight of the rain drags me towards suspension of consciousness.
                                                                  -Journal, Day 2


I find myself laying on the soft grass in a local farmer's field- sharing the land with sheep, horses, and roosters in Peru!  A light breeze blows and cools the sun warmed skin.  Siesta time for the paying hiking group as the porters, the horsemen, and the chefs tear down the lunch site.  That's right.  Never have I been a treated like such a princess in the mountains! (note- hell if this girl hired a porter! Alex and I carried our own gear!)
But, seriously, we arrive to already set up camp-sites (5 tents for sleeping, two for eating/cooking, a standing port-a-potty tent and a several course traditional Peruvian meal- with a special dish for this vegetarian!) Also we have set lunch-sites (fully equipt with a long table and 9 chairs inside a large tent to shield us from the intense sun!)  Full on princess treatment!

I accept the treatment (the price of the trip included first born child) and enjoy a very different style of camping.  The hiking aspect is very demanding; I swear I have done this a time or two before, but I am worked after each day!  Waking at 5 a.m. and arriving at camp 12 hours later puts some cramps in the calves and blisters on the toes.

Today I witnessed am awe-inspiring glacial lake at 4,600 meters, higher than I have ever been before.  The Salkantay Glacier is where the Inca people buried most of their 12-year-old virgin sacrifices in a fetal position (to represent their thankfulness of the fertility of the land) with an abundance of gold.  I mean a little extreme, but... how often we forget to give thanks.  Gratitude for this simple gifts of the earth.
                                                                -Journal, Day 3


Dogs howl and roosters doodle their doo at about 4:30 a.m.  I try to sleep for the next half hour until Poppy comes "Beunos Dias" offering our morning coca tea and bowls of hot water to wash our faces.  It is the best way to be seduced out of bed!  Breakfast is nothing shy of amazing, omelettes, quinoa porridge, toast, fruit, coffee, etc.  Safetylaws are a bit different here in Peru compared to those in the US... we hike over freshly slid landslides and on thin trails were one twit of the ankle of few inches to the right of the trail and BAM- "rafting" as Javiar our guide would say.  The river is half a mile to a mile down a straight canyon wall.  Death.

Destruction is happening all around these parts as Peru tries to encourage tourism by building roads, the mountains fight back by falling apart right on top of these new developments.  Machu Picchu has just reopened five days prior;Closed do to catastrophic landslides after unheard of amounts of rainfall.  As humans, we just don't always listen.

Favorite part of the day= playing soccer with most the children from the small town in which we are sleeping in tonight watching or playing .  Our camp is set up in a family's backyard with several other hiking groups at the next door neighbors houses.  My soccer team included 4 Peruvian guides, 2 Frenchies and UK Chris from my group, and me against eleven 8-12 year olds.  And they are good!  High altitude and Andes as a backdrop made this an unforgetable memory. Two games and we both won one, so we bought all the kids coke!  Tomorrow we hit up Machu Picchu... I think it's going to be pretty cool.
                                                                      
                                                                         -Journal, Day 4