Rodeo in Patagonia

Last week CT heard that there was going to be some kind of traditional Gaucho gathering in El Bolson, but no one at tourist information, or anywhere else knew when, where,etc. Turns out it got cancelled because of the cold weather. And furthermore, scuttle on the street was the gauchos had their horses hitched up and ready to go, and were mighty peeved that anyone thought a little bad weather would make a difference.
So, this weekend, CT persisted in asking around, and again found out that there might possibly, maybe, kind of likely, could be.... but where ? Rumor said in a little village El Hoyo, about 20Km to the south. We took a taxi in that direction, driver didn´t speak English, but got the idea and actually pulled over a gaucho riding by on his horse for details. We pulled into this little pueblo just as the last of the gauchos rode into a large field, followed by everyone in town, marching in groups, carrying banners. There must have been at least 100 horses, and the gauchos were wearing their finest pants, chaps made of unscraped cowhide, spurs, sort of elongated berret hats, wide belts that were woven and some embellished with silver. After some level of ceremony, the dancing started as group after group of young people in traditional dress presented folk dancing. Then everything paused for, oh about 3 hours, because the meat was ready. Giant carcasses and miles of chorizo sausages had been grilling over the pit, and everyone lined up with knife and plank to get a hunk, wrap it in bread and enjoy.Hot grease and white bread and dust. The cowboys where washing it all down with beer. Then the games started with a kind of obstacle course around bamboo sticks. Not very efficient in terms of fair start for the contestants, but no one seemed to mind. We were absolutely the only tourists there. But no one seemed to mind that either. Camera was broken, too much dust. Sigh.
The next day we wanted to get back to hiking, and planned to take a bus to the National Park at Lago Puelo. There you can take a boat out across the lake, and head towards Chile, at the other end. Surrounded by the snow covered peaks. Got off the bus, hiked a mile or so, then saw the lake, deep blue, mountains reflected in it. Saw the boat, but no one around running it. So were ready to hike instead. A couple false starts as we tried to find the trail, rivers carrying the spring melt were too wild to cross. Found a great marked path to a high view point and hiked up there. From our position could see the little village of Lago Puelo below. Very small, quiet. But thru our binoculars, we could see some kind of commotion on the road leading out of town towards the lake. Ah yes...horses, kids, gauchos, fire pits. Turns out they were having their own Festival of Traditions that day too. Experienced now, we timed our decent from our perch, joined the lines, watched the games, and this time scored a bottle of beer too.
It was touching to see the pride the families held for their horses, the skills of the littlest boys, the stiff competition between the grown men, the elders watching and nodding from shaded viewpoints under the trees. The parallels between this scene and Tonasket Rodeo were many.

Timed our hike back to the edge of the park to catch the bus back to El Bolson. ( 4 peso ) .
That night, decided to not cook, instead walked to the edge of town to a little parilla restaurant. Got there as night fell and they were removing the cordero ( lamb) from the fire pit. They had grilled potatoes and garlic as well. That could count as our vegetable for the day.

Piltriquitron

After a fairly strenuous hike on a hot day, we were relaxing over cold artesenal (microbrew) beer at Otto Tipp, when the bar caught on fire. We were the only patrons at about 4pm. In fact, Miguel had opened the place an hour early just for us because we looked so hot and tired standing outside the door. He was very convivial, gave us shotglass samples of all 4 brews before asking for our order, and chatted with us a bit about our trek. Outside some workmen were installing a new roof on the patio, and using a welding torch. Suddenly, the corner behind us began filling with smoke, and we yelled for Miguel. A spark from the torch had lodged in the wall and started a fire, and the workmen didn´t notice because the airflow was pushing all the smoke into the pub. CT handed what was left of our waterbottle to Miguel who squirted it into the crack while yelling through the window at the workmen. The fire was out quickly without the need of the Bombaderos.

The hike had been great. We had a taxi take us to the trailhead just a few km from the hostel, then hiked up to the refugio near the top. Piltriquitron is a huge jagged rock ridge that forms the eastern side of the valley, and the one that fills the view from our window. When we arrived in El Bolson it was covered in snow halfway down from a recent storm, but now after a week of warm weather it showed just patches here and there.

Partway up the mountain, the trail winds through a sculpture park where many different artists have contributed statues in wood to a permanent display. They are all rather large, and range from forest themes like pumas and javilens, to abstract, to fancyfull like a typewriter eraser.

After enjoying the art, we moved on, climbing the steep path to the refugio. There we had the place to ourselves except for the inkeeper. We brought some homemade bread and tea to supplement our picnic, and tho it was sunny, we ate inside out of the wind. Condors are know to blast by, but alas none graced us this trip.

After lunch, and after talking to the innkeeper, I decided to go a little further to a mirador (viewpoint, lookout) about 30 min on. The top of the peak was another 2 hours beyond that, but pretty steep rock and talus. CT decided to stay with the tea and enjoy the view, so I set off at a good clip to see how far I could get in 30 min. I passed the mirador in less than 15 minutes, and was really moving up the steep trail. I was feeling very strong and intense about the effort, when I turned a corner and met a guy on two CRUTCHES coming down. He looked to be about 50, and was with a slightly younger woman who appeared to be a Mupuche - local indigenous person. We smiled and exchanged greetings, and they continued on down. I pressed up to a high saddle, windswept, devoid of vegetation, cold and desolate. I crossed a snowfield, and could see off in the distance another party of hikers coming toward me. I met them after crossing the second snowfield about 100 meters wide. The group turned out to be a very young woman with a baby and 4 other small children under the age of 6 or 7. They had worn cloth coats, one water bottle and one child was carrying a puppy.

The woman asked me in Spanish if I had seen a man with two hiking sticks, and I started to answer no when I realized she was talking about the guy on crutches. With a combination of bad Spanish, gestures, and diagrams in the dust, I told her (I think) that I had seen the man with a woman on the trail close to the refugio going down the mountain. This information seemed to satisfy her, then she asked one last pregunta. "Was the man on crutches walking or sitting down?" Walking on, I assured her. With that information, she smiled, thanked me, gathered the kids and dog, and turned around heading back UP the trail toward the peak!

What was going on I had now idea, but it was time for me to turn around and meet CT. At the refugio I told the inkeeper about the group since part of his job seems to be keeping track of who passes up and down. We had to sign in when we got there, and tell him where we were going when we left. CT said that shortly after I left, the woman in native garb had stopped by, said something about children, and that the inkeeper had started making a bunch of pizzas.

Forturnately, as we left going down, I took one last look back and saw the group come over the edge of the saddle, heading for pizza I guess.

Further down, we passed the parasail launching site. There was a group there with two wings. A guy (apparently the instructor) and a young girl who looked scared spitless were getting ready to take off as a double. The had lots of gear and clothing on, and helmets, but the girl´s hair kept blowing into her face. CT ran up to her and gave her two hair pins. The girl thanked her and said "I'll give them back to you if I live..." We waited for the launch for about half an hour, but the wind wasn´t cooperating and we had a 12 km walk down to town ahead of us so we left. But halfway down we saw them soaring high overhead, then up over the mountain.

Back at the bottom the trail turned to streets, and we were about 2km from the hostel when the truck with the parasailers stopped and offered us a ride. We jumped in the back, and the girl gave CT her hairpins. She gave us her email as well, so we will send her the photo of the bright yellow and red wing high over the jagged peak of Piltriquitron.

Hit the Andes

We started out from the Youth Hostel , joining a young couple from Delft, Netherlands to share a taxi to the trailhead about 20K from the city. The driver indicates that we should go thru the gate into a farmer´s pasture. We follow the trail throught that to a rickety suspended bridge over the Rio Blanco. One at a time ( CT first) we carefully cross, tight grasp on the rusted cables, stepping over the missing planks, gauging the swing of the bridge , the rushing glacier melt rivier below. Then we follow the trail markers ( lids off tin cans, painted yellow and red, nailed to trees) as we go up, up, up. The Dutch couple of course, surge ahead. She is a former speed skater. We try to keep up a steady pace as the trail goes steeply up the grade, somewhat hampered by slippery mud, results of the melt and recent rains. CT is VERY HAPPY to use her new trekking poles. We start at hiking at 10:30a.m. and arrived at Refugio Hielo Azul 7 hours later, tired , sweat drenched despite the cold breeze, but delighted to take off our packs.

Refugio Hielo Azul is staffed by 2 guys, and 1 cute four year old, resupplied by sporadic pack horsees. We quickly find out they brew beer there, and so we celebrate our trek by splitting a liter. This place looks like Roger´s original cabin, though larger. Located very close to snow covered peaks, can watch avalances roll down during the day across the narrow canyon. Rough hewn log structure , wood stove, fire going to heat water for the banos ( 6-8pm each night). For 30 peso you get a mattress in the big loft area, another 30 pesos buys dinner ( a hearty stew and homemade bread). The Dutch couple is there. They had planned to go further, but were tuckered out and decided to spend the night also. A bit later we were joined by 12 members of El Bolson high school handball team and their 2 coaches, who had climbed as a team exercise. The kids were just great. We beat them climbing the hill, but while we relaxed and took off our boots, they went back outside and chased each other around the forest. All 19 of us bedded down in the loft that night, and slept very well.
Next morning ( Martes, 11/11) we started up the trail alone. Handball Team went back to Bolson. Dutch team went surged ahead again. The first 2 hours was almost too much. Had to scramble up steep, slippery. CT used poles, clung to roots, couple of times SC had to double back to carry her pack up areas that were extreme, ( but only a COUPLE times, and they were short areas !!) Near the top we broke into flatter trail that crossed amazing snow fields, just follow the footprints, sun is brilliant, views of the Andes are outstanding, it was cold enough that we didn´t posthole in the snow, skirting lakes still frozen, exotic ducks standing on the ice on one foot. We decided they were a new breed of alpine penguins.

We loose elevation, then have to regain it as we cross a ridge, then loose it very shrapely. Have these people never heard of switchbacks ? We finally get down to the next major river and it is the most beautiful shade of green/blue/ deep azul, flowing straight out of the peaks, can see the trout just below the surface. SC eyes them longingly. CT offers him bent safety pin, dental floss, trekking pole but he demurs. Trail contines along the wild river, now we have to climb up and down rustic pole ladders. But finally come to Refugio Cajon del Azul. This is a lovely rustic structure, built by a man named Atilio over the past 28 years. He raised his family here, has a garden, sheep, chickens, campground next to the house. He says he can get up to 200 people a day in the peak season Dec/Jan. But tonight there are only 7 of us. He serves up an incredible meal of steak Milanesa, green salad right out of the garden, fresh baked bread and quince jam. Great conversation, then CT and SC spread their sleeping bags outside on a pile of saw dust. The moon is almost full, and our sleeping bags plus all our clothes keep us warm enough. Plus we save 24 peso each ( 8$).
Next day, we start the hike home. It should be all downhill, but somehow isn´t. More suspension bridge crossings, more dicey than before, as the valley comes into view. Altogether we hiked at least 7-8 hrs a day. Some of the toughest stuff either of us has done, but well worth the effort. Saw nobody near our age at all. This route is popular with Israeli military and British fitness instructors, but that´s another story.
At hike´s end we get to a rural intersection where we could call for a taxi from town while we down a beer , but CT thinks it would be more authentic, or something, to hike another hour to catch the local bus. She doesn´t know that it will be another uphill trek, and the bus, after we get it , traverses the countryside for 1 1/2 hours before returning to El Bolson ( about 15 minutes by taxi). SC eventually forgives her.

Asado at the hostel in El Bolson

We arrived in El Bolson, "the purse" in Spanish because it in a long narrow valley between two mountain ranges, and found a friendy hostel, Refugio Patagonico, in a good location and with a great view. By now we are really sold on hostels in this part of the country. They are inexpensive, have a convivial atmosphere, and there is lots of good current information offered by staff and other travelers.

It is still low season, so the staff decided to try out putting on an asado (traditional Argentine bbq) for the 7 guests for just 15 pesos each if we brought our own wine. We got to watch Niko prepare the meat - about 5 different LARGE cuts of beef rubbed with rock salt- and Julio prepare the fire. Julio build a hot oak fire in the large fireplace in the dining area, and as the wood turned to coals scraped them sideways underneath the heavy grill about 8 or 10 inches above the coals. The coal arrangement was carefully matched to the thickness of the cut of meat above, the type of cut, and when in the meal that cut was going to be eaten.

The idea of this meal is to eat a series different cuts of beef in a particular order that accentuates the flavor of each cut buiding up to the cuts with the most distinctive and best flavor. These are the most prized, not necessisarily the most tender. Our asado began with a grilled spicy sausage, Chorizo (non beef I think) which is common, kind of an appetizer. But it did not include any organ meets; a full asado often features grilled sweetbreads, kidney and intestine. The idea is to pace one´s self over a couple of hours of eating and drinking red wine so you don´t get full until the final round of meet. I think there were a few vegetables and/or a little salad, but I´m not actually sure. This is strictly an event for carnivores.

CT peaked a little to early in the meal, and was only able to taste the last couple of rounds. But I soldiered on manfully through full portions of each course. It was a fine meal, with great company. Others at the table included Phil a free lance technical writer from Friday Harbor, Celine from France who crews on private yachts in the Maldives, Carlos and Arienna from Columbia who are siblings and both computer engineers, and one other very friendly guy from Peru whose english was even less than out Spanish so we didnt get many more details about him.

The dinner got off to an early start for Argentina, about 9:30pm, and wound down sometime after midnight. We were stuffed, and I for one had had plenty of Malbec. But then as we finished, the staff announced that we were heading down the road a few blocks to the brew pub. El Bolson is famous for it's beer and has many local artisanal breweries, in part because all the hops in Argentina are grown in the valley. The deal was, that if we all went to the pub, then both the staff guys could go too, and they could just lock the place up. If anyone wanted to stay at the hostel, then one of them would stay too. So off we went into the beautiful night to pub Otto Tipp where we started by tasting samples of their 4 brews. I chose a pint of a really nice ale, and CT a glass of something lighter. By the time we finished those, for me the place could have been named Aught to Trip, but we made it back to hostel just fine relying on CT's sense of direction. We got in about 2:30, and at breakfast the next morning learned that some had stayed till 6am..... Ah, youth. SC

Election night

On the 4th, we ate in at the hostel and started checking the web every few minutes for results. We were following the NY Times page, and tho they were very conservative about calling any state early, we were encouraged but still not daring to hope. Because of the time difference, it was well after midnight before this happened, and others from all over the world were gathered around following too and asking lots of questions. Then, about 3am, as the Times reported 230 electoral votes, Joanne, a teacher from UK, came in from the TV room to say that Argentine TV was declaring Obama the winner. We moved to the TV, not daring to believe, but in just a few minutes McCain came on and started to concede! That´s when we broke out the champagne... CT went to bed about a half hour later, but I stayed glued to the set till almost 5am. After very little sleep and a great phone call from Two Shoes, it was time to get up and catch the bus for Angostura. SC

Hau Hum II

The next morning, we walked the 2k back to the restaurant, where we had clearly established the night before that theywould be open by 8am. But they werent. Finally, after circling the building and peering in every window, a lady came out and explained they would be open for lunch from 1 to 4. Dishartened, and hungry, and trailing the string of horses, we headed back to the campsite. We decided to explore up the road a bit, on the off chance that there would be a store or something, but 15 minutes later we were at the border into Chile, and no food in sight. So it was the peanuts and water.

Then we loaded one pack for a day hike, and set off for a highly touted waterfall. After walking a couple of hours, and seeing some incredible raptor much like a goshawk in the forest, we arrived at the falls, which were spectacular. Three men about our age from Mendoza arrived while we were at the viewpoint, and we had a long talk about the election. They asked and we told them we had voted for Obama. They said the same thing as a number of others had told us: they were rooting for Obama, and every North American that they had ever met since the end of the primary was for Obama, and they were mystified as to Bush got elected, and incredulous that Bush had been reelected. They were interested in the concept of the absentee ballot. Voting is compulsory in Argentina, and you can only be excused if you are >500 km from home, and then you haveto go to the local police station on election day and have them sign your identity card to prove you werent home.

Anyway, after viewing the falls we headed back to the campground. Careful study of the map had lead me to conclude that there was a atajo, a shortcut, via an abandoned trail at the viewpoint. Despite the sign that said essentially "no passage, danger of death" CT reluctantly agreed to give a try for just 50 yards. It became immediately apparent that indeed it was the old much shorter way into the falls through the woods, and absolutely no danger of death, except maybe death by starvation if we didnt get back to the restaurant in time or they were still not open.

But the restaurant WAS open, and we settled in for a late afternoon lunch. I ordered what seemed to be a hunters stew made with wild boar, and CT opted for something called venison arrojo. While we were scarfing down the bread basket and waiting for the food to arrive she got out our Spànish dictionary and discovered that arrojo meant "throw up". But fortunately when the food arrived it was not deer vomit, but instead venison rolled up around a morel stuffing. Both dishes were delicious, and made even more so due to the level of our hunger.

Back to the campground for nice hot showers, a long siesta, reading for a few hours, then back to the restaurant for dinner. CT wasn`t hungry, and just ordered bread pudding, but I had a wonderful fresh trout. By the time dinner was over, about 10:30 (we ate early by Argentine standards), it was of course pitch dark when we headed back the 2k to the campground. I had the headlamp and halfway there, we saw a pair of glowing eyes ahead of us. I thought a dog, but it darted across the road and CT glimpsed a big bushy tail. It came back and approached us cautiously, and we realized it was a zorro! Then we looked behind us, and there were 2 more circling us. They were beautiful, but it was unnerving. CT stamped her foot, and they backed up but just a little. I stamped really hard, and gave my best "get out of the way, cows" yell, and they ran off into the brush. Soon we were passing a ranger station with a bunch of dogs, and we never saw the foxes again.

The next morning, the weather was looking a little forboding as we packed up. As we worked, the boy of the family came out and put an enormous wooden yoke on the two large steers that shared our pasture, hooked some leather loops from the oak yoke over their horns, and with taps from a cane pole coupled with verbal commands lead them off into the woods where the family was logging. After absorbing all that, we decided not to take the 4k walk to the boat dock, figuring that the chances of the boat not showing up were high and if it didnt we would have to walk 6k to the restaurant to call a remise. We really wanted to be back at Puma hostel to follow the election results that night, so we just went straight to the restaurant to call the car. En route, we had to cross the Hau Hum river as we had done many times already on a rickity one lane bridge. But today they were repairing the deck, and at the moment about 20 feet of it was missing. The workers showed us that this was no problem, and all we had to do was walk across this gap on the underlying steel griders. Since they were only about 5 inches wide and we were 30 feet above the swiftly flowing river, this was daunting. But they showed us if we used the sidemost girder, we could us part of the bridge as a hand rail. CT swallowed hard, and walked straight across while I took pictures. We recovered by reading for an hour while we waited for the remise.

hostel hints

Just sat down to blog in the big family front room. The dozen 15 year olds visiting Angostura from a nearby small village have been sent to bed by their 3 very exhausted teachers. We did treat them to a swing dance demonstration during dinner .A very distinguished looking father in his mid 70´s, here with his 3 grown sons for a fly fishing trip, just brought me a glass of champagne, to help me blog. They showed us a video of their fishing this afternoon, proof that they really landed a big catch, since the big trout they caught was carried off by a stray dog on shore, and they had to bake pizza for their dinner.
Also here is an Israeli student trying to learn spanish with his Russian-to-Spanish dictionary. And a couple from London, who also enjoy hiking. Everyone politely shares the kitchen and swaps ingredients and finished products.
My recipes for Hostel cooking so far¨:
buy 3 chicken thighs, take the skin and off and render it in the pot, when the skin is crispy remove it, and then brown diced onion in the fat, add 2 diced potatoes, 1 diced red pepper, then add the chicken thighs and water . Season a little packet of something called ¨pizza herbs¨,cover with a cookie sheet, and just let it simmer while you play pool or watch an Argentine movie. When it , or you, are ready, dice the crisped salted skins and serve up a bowl of great chicken stew.
or
Cook up some pasta, drain, and add one container of herbed port salut cheese, a few sundried tomato , rest of last nights onion and mix with smoked lake trout.

Made salads out of shreded cabbage and apple.Topped with mayonnaise and salt.Carrots are hard to find here, and the lettuce is sad, but cabbage and apples are always available. The commercial salads available right now are based on frozen or canned vegies. Chocolate cookies that resemble moon pies are everywhere and everyone has a favorite brand, though they all taste the same to me. But these deep fried, breaded peanut things are terrific and cheap. Great to take hiking. Buy them at bus stations, and other odd places, but still have not figured out what they are called.
Hiked to end of a peninsula yesterday, really beautiful, with side trips to cliff tops for the grand view. The forest of Arrayanes trees at the tip of the peninsula was surreal, like Madrona trees in grace,but more colorful and delicate. At end of 13Km we were supposed to catch a boat ride back, but people at the end told us the boat was cancelled . Sigh. Anticipate 12Km hike back, starting to rain. But Walter hears a generator and realizes there is a little hut with power, which turns out to be a Tea House with hot chocolate and someone selling tickets to the boat which is indeed running today. Happy ending.
Today we hiked up to another waterfall and foothill overlooking Mt Belvedere. Great hike that took several hours, no one on the trail, the rain became serious only in the last half hour.
Note to self: so glad we sprayed our jackets with water repellant before we left, also glad we brought a good dictionary, gloves, sporks, hiking boots, line to dry laundry.
Tomorrow we head to El Bolson, might snow but then is supposed to warm up.
Love
CT

Hau Hum I

The herd of horses is following us (well, OK three horses), We hope they are not expecting breakfast, because we have come to the realization that OUR breakfast is going to be peanuts and water. We are camping about 50k up lake from San Martin, and our plan had been to stay at the campground, eat breakfast and dinner at the local hosteria (inn), and eat the food we brought on the trail during the day. But things got off to a rocky start when we got to dock to catch the boat to HH, only to discover that it was "broken" (read we think underbooked) and wouldn't be sailing for 2 more days. We had already rented a tent, packed up for camping, checked out of Puma, and left non essentials at the hostel, so we were not going to wait 2 days. We hired a remise (taxi) to take us uplake, which turned out to be much cheaper than the boat anyway, since it was a tourist "excursion" cruise. Once we got to HH it took a while to locate and walk to Don Bartolo campground a couple of k away. It was incredibly picturesque, and spread around an old farm about 60 or so places, each with picnic table and fire pit. We had our choice since we were the only campers - the season had just started the day before. The old farmer, sporting a beret, gave us the rundown, pointed out the bathhouse,as best we understood it. We picked a "level" site, and as we pitched our tent, we noticed he was chopping wood, and then bring ing a wheelbarrow full to the back of the bathhouse. He was building a fire under an ancient old boiler that would provide the hot water for our stay. It could have provided hot water for 60.

Then we walked back over to the hosteria for dinner, only to discover that the kitchen wasnt open. Apparently they didnt have any guests either, so they werent about to rev up the food service . But, the lady assured us, there would be coffee and rolls in the morning. So we went back to the campground, ate one of our trail lunches, enjoyed the sunset on the incredible mountains and went to bed.

F.C. III

(Read FC I and II first)

..... I was telling her more details about it the next morning while she was brushing her teeth. I was standing at the bathroom door, and turned on the light in the room. When I did this, the bulb ejected itself from the ceiling fixture, hit me on the shoulder and exploded on the floor at my feet, leaving me standing bare foot and bare assed surrounded by shards. But unharmed, and still happy. CT swept enough glass off me and out of the way so I could get to my shoes, and together we cleaned up the rest of the mess.

The rest of the day was leisurely hanging out in the town, reading on the beach, punctuated by a couple of siestas. Carolina, one of the women who works at Puma, actually baked me a birthday cake. It was chocolate, filled with dulche de leche of course, and dusted with powdered sugar. Sarah and I went out for dinner at El Regional, a restaruant in town that specializes in local foods. She had trutas (trout), and I had javalin (wild boar) both in delicious sauces. Then back to Puma around midnight for a final birthday fiesta, where our friends gathered and we had the cake with champagne. It was a marvelous day.

F. C. II

We arrived at the disco about 1am. There was a rueda happening, but it soon quit and we were just in time for the salsa lesson. It was very much like the lesson you gave, Daven and Elena, at the Black's. Except there were ~ 45 chicas and 8 or 10 guys. Anyway, it was a great review for me.

Then the dancing started. In our group, of the 6 women, two were experienced salsa dancers and four were good dancers but new to salsa. Of the 3 guys, one was a very good salsa dancer, then Olivier and I were similar in skill. So I got to give dance instruction as well as English lessons. We danced salsa for about 2:30 or 3am, the usual starting time for the disco, when the music changed to spanish covers of rock and roll, then disco, then on to techno - like, and unknown genres. All with much latin flavor. We all danced pretty much the entire time. The women all wanted to know if I knew the words to the English language songs, and in many cases I'm sure I had been listening to the song since before they were born. The only gray hair in the place was mine. The dance floor was full, but not packed. Beer and sweet wine with ice cubes and occasional hurricaine like fruit drinks were the principle beverages consumed. The argentines apply the yerba mate principle to disco drinking. Someone buys something, then passes it all around. Everyone was smoking cigarettes everywhere, including on the dancefloor. Which is how I got the burn on my elbow.

By about 4:30, the group started to split up leave. Some of them had to be at work the next morning, and Olivier had his Spanish class. I had been having a more difficult time hearing conversation for the last hour, and when we got outside I realized it was because of the tinnitus, ringing in the ears induced by loud music. Those of us remaining walked back to the hostel. I tumbled into bed about 5:30am, tired, smoke suffused, deaf, but feeling well celebrated. CT was pleased I had had such a good time. To be continued, (almost done). SC

Felice cumpleanos

It's 9:30 am, my ears won't stop ringing, my feet and legs are covered with shards of broken glass, but the burn on my elbow only hurts a little. So all in all my birthday is off to a fantastic start.
It really began last night. Dinner at Puma was another delicious meal which CT put together from the grocery - triple cheeze ravioli in great Sauce Putenesca - accompanied by another delicious Malbec selected by me. The dining area was awash with fun. By ~11pm, CT was cerada (this was the day we climbed Cerro Colarado) and headed for bed, leaving me blogging. There was a lot of interest in this PDA with wifi connection to the internet, and bluetooth connection to the keyboard, and I was happy to show it off. About 11:30, Olivier, a young man from France living here for a month and taking Spanish classes, brought out the chocolate fondue. A hilarious feeding frenzy ensued - four young guys, six young women, and me. As things got more raucous, special attention was given to Evita from Spain whose birthday it was - Oct 31 - and whose face was decorated with stripes of chocolate sauce by the company. About then, the clock struck midnight, so I said "ahoa es me cumpleano", and was promptly annointed as well. Twenty minutes later, as the party began to break up, one of the young women said "We're going salsa dancing SC, would you like to come?" "Sure", I said, "let me ask CT if she wants to come too". CT was sound asleep, but roused and once she was convinced I had chocolate and not blood on my cheek, kissed a little bit of it off and said "Happy birthday. I'm going back to sleep, but you go." So off we all went, strolling throught a beautiful warm clear night, to the disco. And I'm reaching deep into my memory, both cerebral and kinetic, working to pull up everything that D & E & T and CT ever taught me about salsa.

To be continued... SC