I saw the Andes yesterday

I am back to the land of lots of rain and slurred speech. I promise I will write more and tell about the excitement of Buenos Aires (Argentina) and the Desierto Florido in northern Chile, but you may have to just satisfy yourselves with pictures. I am posting some new ones, but I will add some more, once I correctly identify the flora from the desert.

I also got my hair cut, which is exciting, considering it is so short that I can barely put it in a pony tail (more like a little tuft). It is pretty much the same haircut that my sister (that's you, Caroline) had the last time I saw her and it is a little weird because every time I walk by a mirror or glass window I keep thinking that I am my sister. Talk about not knowing who you are.

Also, I wrote an article for the Bowdoin Orient last week (click on posting title for link), but it was a good deal funnier before I put it in for editing, but I guess we can't be too nasty about the Chileans or the Argentines in this country (I mean your country, in this country you can be plenty nasty about the Argentines, and kind of nasty about the Chileans, or at least ones you don't like). If you want an uneditied version that is entirely un-PC, contact me for a copy.

Signing off from Valdivia

Not that I have really been all that “on” in the last few weeks, I’m sorry.

But anyways, I am heading out to Buenos Aires followed by a short jaunt to the north (of Chile) to see the desierto florido which only happens ever 4 to 5 years and I should be lucky enough to see, and maybe, if I can manage it and depending on how I feel, I might make to Viña del Mar and Valparaiso to see our friend (well, she’s mine at least) Avery Galleher. I plan to be mailing some postcards while away (since I have already stripped the rather meager selection at the post office here) so keep your eyes peeled if you have yet to receive one and think you might be due for one soon. I am going to hold a post-off to see whose mail system is faster. If you would humour me and let me know when you get postcards, that would be cool, the winner will be awarded a prize of a personal recommendation on my part. I have my money on Chile losing this one hands down (considering it took them a week to return my absentee ballot even though I doubt it left Valdivia), but just like the presidential election, there will be no nay-saying until the results are in, so just get out there and be part of the democratic experiment. Ok, sorry, I didn’t mean to let that patriotic rant slip out, I promised I wouldn’t, I don’t want to make those non US-citizen folk amongst you feel bad.

Chile. So, yeah. Guess what, it is still much the same, although this country is making me decidedly floja (lazy, but beyond that) and the best procrastinator (not that I was all that bad at it before) with what little work I have (or what little work I thought I had to do, turns out we are supposed to be reading a couple novels of Maya literature—gag—that the gringos of course didn’t know about, we never seem to get the memos, or the education system). I have also reverted to a constant state of having or fearing that I have fleas. I think I am on my third or fourth generation right now, who are busy ransacking my ankles. I am pretty sure I got them from the particularly vile bedding we slept on this weekend at some boarding school while working on “Un Techo para Chile” (the Chilean equivalent of Habitat for Humanity, except they build houses for people who literally have nothing—read, just the burnt remains of their last house). I helped fold blankets and move mattresses afterwards and my hands were literally black, that is how gross they were. It is getting pretty bad, any little itch and I start getting paranoid about where I might have got them and trying to figure out which item of clothing needs fumigating.

Chile is also making me hate meat. I have never really been a big fan of it and haven’t (knowingly) eaten it in a solid ten years. But this country (and my tía especially) is making me not only ideologically, but also preferentially (is tastebudly a word?) opposed to it. She has (I suspect on the urgings of the meat starved brothers and primo) taken to throwing a piece of meat (chicken or nondescript piece of beef) in with a mix of peas, carrots, beans, and onions and boiling the living daylights out of it and serving up everything but the meat to me with some sort of starch (usually rice or potatoes in every shape and form). The whole dish of course tastes of meat (meat is used to flavour dishes, right?), which is simply starting to make me nauseous. In fact, I suspect that yesterday’s lunch is directly responsible for my current feeling of nausea, I mean, I haven’t been using the beef fat digesting bile salts in ten years and they must be kind of rusty. It is just kind of sad, since Argentina is so well known for its excellent meat and might be capable of swinging unrestrained vegetarians, but I guess good taste for beef was never carried over the Andes (neither was mate either, apparently, which is why I have been commissioned to stock up while in BA).

Oh, mate, I haven’t told you about mate. Ok, so, my mom (real mom, not any of this funny foreign host relation business) was telling me that one of the things that she remembers most about Chile is the decided lack of anything other than NesCafé as a coffee option. This is a curious fact since some of the world’s biggest and best coffee producers are on the same continent (and yeah, I know it is big, but it isn’t as though all the coffee is grown in Kenya), like Ecuador, Colombia, and Brasil. But, I have figured out that you don’t need coffee when you have mate!! Mate is this Uruguayan tea that has this whole involved ritual which I am not going to explain, but is really cool, and when it is flavoured and has a little sugar (which is not traditionally added, but bitter is not one of my favourite tastes), it is yummy. I had the misfortune of drinking a lot of it one night when I got to playing poker (sorry kids, all clothes were kept on our bodies, there was no nudity involved) with the boys and when I got home at about 2.30 that night, proceeded to stay awake for another hour and a half, my mind absolutely buzzing. It isn’t like coffee, which has absolutely no effect on me or my level of sueño and in some produces a buzz and makes them jittery, it just keeps you awake. Keep a watch out for lots of mate coming to a Tower quad near you soon.

Hmm, seems that I have overstepped the limits of the appropriate length of the weblog (a limit that I just made up on the spot, based on the fact that I am really supposed to be editing a paper right now that I need to turn in today before I leave for the week).

Democratic Duty

For those of you who can vote, go vote. I just sent in my ballot today. You have no excuse not to register and vote, it costs you nothing, I have to pay for postage. Matt, one of the boys from Midd shelled out US$30 just to get his ballot for the local election in on time. At least you have the right to vote, take advantage of it for those who don't.

No more patriotic two cents, I swear.

Continuing stardom

Continuing randomness from my illustrious sister:

Episode 2 Angkor Wat

What (ha ha ok sorry that joke is old) can I say about Angkor Wat?

Go. That's all I can say. You can look at all the pictures you want but the feelings of enchantment and intrigue you feel as you wander among the ancient stones and the faces of Jayavarman VII stare down at you from above cannot be captured in photographs. You can only take a little piece of those feelings home with you and I am afraid they will wane with time. Put this at the top of your 'TO SEE' list.

as an aside-or rather, the only this is in any way funny-the ingenuity of the children hawking things at the temples was unbelievable. the chorus of 'buy my postcard' and 'you want scarf?' follows one everywhere.

witness the following exchanges:

me: 'I don't need any postcards. I have no friends'
seller: 'Then who did you just eat lunch with?'
me: 'But they're here, I'm not going to send them a
postcard.'
seller: 'Your parents! They want a postcard.'
seller delivers note on lunch table wishing my family happiness and health complete with flower drawing, accompanied by the caveat that 'nothing is free.'

The kids rattle off facts about the UK (it is composed of England, Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Its capital is London. I love David Beckham) when you tell them that's where you're from and can speak myriad languages-Irish was among those spotted. I decided to test them one day when I'd had it with my bike lock: 'What I really need is a new bike lock' I said 'Ok ok' they all said, 'a good one now' I said, 'I've got to have a look at it first.' Lo and behold a new bike lock (hopefully not ripped off from some other unsuspecting tourist) appeared when I came back for my bike. The price was a little steep and I decided to just deal with the old one in the end, but I was well pleased with their diligence. Maybe I am a heartless bastard, and should have bought it.



Episode 3 The Culinary Desert of Kampot

Upon arrival at our guest house in Kampot Ealron and I had trouble locating the menu until we realized the small triangular item on the table was actually it. the diverse offerings included fried rice or noodles with vegetables. too tired and hungry to explore the town in the dark we opted for the fried rice and veg-yum. Breakfast was just as diverse, with the customary extraordinarily chewy Khmer bread (they apparently adopted this foodstuff from the french, but i think something in the recipe was lost in translation) and jam or la vache qui rit cheese. Our day's 50 km cycle to the nearby abandoned seaside town of Kep was rewarded with...you guessed it...fried rice with vegetables, and heaping portions too-the street kids happily ate our leftovers! We thought we'd be adventuresome and go out and look for dinner that night...we innocently went in search of the 'International Restaurant' only to find a half lit establishment that might have once been a restaurant no longer looking like one at all. now in the seedier part of town and quite hungry our only option appeared to be the famed (for scams and general trickery) Mealy Chenda guesthouse. A lady in her pjs answered th e door and showed us up to the rooftop. The menu looked to be an oasis until it turned out they had neither spaghetti, nor pumpkin soup nor a burger nor any of the other items on their menu. Knowing well this was all we were going to get and ignoring our quite real hunger, we took their last portion of french fries and shared it, with a banana milkshake which I admittedly drank most of. Not quite what we'd been hoping for after a day's cycling.

The offerings for the following day's motorbike journey up the nearby mountain were equally enticing: rice with fried, mixed vegetables was proposed for all 3 meals. We managed to convince our motorbike driver that we could eat bread for 3 of the meals and didn't quite require 2 kilos of rice. so there it was: la vache qui rit and chewy Khmer bread, and rice with mixed vegetables. Exploring the abandoned buildings at the top of the mountain (the French built and used them up until 1950 but since then, they've been languishing in the bushes when not housing Khmer Rouge forces) in thick mist was an otherworldly experience. In all that mist, somehow, Ealron and I managed t o miss the largest of the buildings-the old casino. Having come up part of the way with 3 of us on a trials dirt bike made for 2, we decided to walk down the mountain which was far more serene and less hair raising. The highlights for me were palms that looked like they belong with the dinosaurs and our encounter with a group of maybe 4 great hornbills who first flew overhead and then swooped from tree to tree in the distance as we looked out over the plain.

Upon our return to Kampot following said mountain adventure, we again found ourselves desirous of some hearty food. We made for an establishment we knew to be in operation and with some decent food. Unfortunately, it being 8 pm all they were serving was...surprise-baguettes! and crepes. although not quite what we'd been looking for, we went for the crepes and they were welcome. Even upon leaving Kampot the following day, the culinary strangeness struck again: in the car, which we shared with a Khmer lady, she began to eat a strange stodgy object wrapped in a banana leaf-my conjecture was a giant sausage in sticky rice. We must have been looking at it too intently, because before long, we unwittingly found ourselves in possession of one. After much discussion about how exactly to refuse this item without being rude, we opened up the trusty lonely planet to the language section. Ealron located 'I feel nauseous' and pointed to it. The lady immediately had a look of fear on her face, and was about to stop the taxi when he said 'no no no, I'm ok, I just can't eat this now.' with various hand gestures, somehow he message got across and the driver and lady had a good laugh.