The end has arrived... apologies for the long lapse in correspondence, but Dave and I have been busy riding the final wave of the travel high. Buenos Aires to Iguazu, down to Florianopolis, up to Curitiba and Ilha do Mel, further north to Rio and finally here, Salvador de Bahia. In three weeks we were barely able to scratch the surface... Brasil is as beastly in terms of diversity and cultural richness as it is in vastness of territory. Beaches, samba, soccer, beautiful people, freaks, favelas... all testament to the fact that this journey, as epic as it has been, is merely the smallest of windows onto this nutty continent. Final thoughts from back stateside... for better or worse, America here we come. Get er done!

MP

18 de Febrero, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Suddenly we find ourselves in the sexy mad capital city of Buenos Aires in summertime, alive with sweltering cosmopolitan energy, the true king of Latin American cities, complete with a Euro-caliber level of fashion that makes even the ugly people seem beautiful. Indeed, after an entire month navigating the length of Patagonia, from the lakes to the steppe to the peaks and back to the wind-blown vastness of flat nothings again and again, the city comes to us as somewhat of a shock. This is a place on par with the New Yorks and Romes of the world, and even though we’ve already been here for the better part of five days (rather mammoth proportions on this trip of constant motion), I have the feeling that Buenos Aires is truly a city that would be an ideal backdrop for the proverbial “setting up of shop” during these ripe youthful years. It definitely has a quality that the other Latin American capitals lack, a sort of old-world flavor that has endured the McDonalds’ and shopping malls and cellphone billboards; walking through the city’s neighborhoods even reminds me of parts of South Philly, like the people living there have been there forever and the thought of leaving never so much crossed their minds.

So, the Beasting Boys continue north. Currently we are enjoying a welcome respite from the hostal scene here in BA, in the posh Recoleta apartment of Jocelyn and Kelley, two cousins from New York who have moved here for the year to teach English, do some volunteer work and live richly. Dave and I are most grateful… these last few days have been great. Jocelyn and Kelley are certainly incredible examples of what we’ve encountered all too infrequently on this journey: Americans out of the box, traveling and living and daring to spend a little time doing something different. True, we did encounter a few more American folks on this last stint in the mountainous sections of the southern cone, but they were hopelessly outnumbered by the trekking-pole-wielding Euro types, and of course the Israelis.

It’s really incredible the number of Israelis we’ve come across in Patagonia, and perhaps even more staggering is the size of the groups they travel in, prompting me and Dave to discover the unfortunate yet painfully true McRaeli phenomenon. A fairly self-evident trend, the McRaelis are simply the indistinguishable hoards of fresh army graduates finding their way in the world, effortlessly adding to their shitty reputation as ungracious travelers almost without fail. As “members of the tribe,” the McRaelis are a bit embarrassing to me and Dave, especially when we hear locals rant on and on about how terrible they are, those “rich, arrogant Jewish bastards… always leaving their campsites full of trash and arguing to the bitter end over five measly pesos…” It’s unreasonable to expect that locals differentiate between Israelis and Jews, or even understand that these youngsters might not reflect the personality of their country as a whole. But it’s hard to argue that they’re not digging themselves continually deeper… they rarely speak a word of Spanish and roll deep in their McRaeli packs. Hebrew is without a doubt the most spoken language on both the Fitz Roy and Torres del Paine circuits. On several occasions Dave and I have been greeted in Hebrew, as though we too must be Israeli (I mean, what ELSE would we be??). In Fitz Roy we were awoken one night to the alarming sight of several McRaelis blazing a monstrous bonfire in hopes of attracting their doofus buddies who hadn’t yet come down from the mountain. Meanwhile sparks were flying into the dry trees above the campsite full of slumbering hikers… and as the volunteer rangers tried frantically to put the fire out (while the McRaelis watched indifferently), I couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the ugly stereotypes that were solidifying all around me. Of course Dave and I have met many Israelis who are generous and interesting people, but they are exceptions to the rule. It disappoints me to say it, but the McRaelis come in super-size quantities, and that’s a fact.

In any case, we’re already on the way out… leaving BA this evening bound for Puerto Iguazú and the famous waterfalls before we cross into Brazil and commence the final chunk of beasting, climbing latitude back into the tropics like its our job. You’ll notice that we are now merely lowercase beasting, the Beast herself already thousands of kilometers behind us in the horrible city of Punta Arenas, the duty-free southern bunghole of Chile. After we finished the well-trodden “W” trek at Parque Nacional Torres del Paine (in case you were wondering, it’s named for its actual resemblance to the letter, not to W himself), we broke clear to Puerto Natales and on to Punta Arenas with our eyes on the prize… it was time to sell the Beast. Dave and I arrived into town on a Tuesday afternoon under the illusion that we would have the animal sold by that Friday, in order to get the hell out of dodge by week’s end. Unfortunately, despite the early sparks of interest at our attractive asking price of 2.5 million Chilean pesos (2 palos y medio in local automotive banter), the confusing behemoth of latino bureaucracy soon reared her ugly head, and we settled in for the weekend. We quickly became acquainted with the local cast of shady characters on the local automotive/ duty-free scene. You see, thanks to the Zona Franca, Punta Arenas is essentially the only port on the continent where it is actually legal to import used cars into the country, so that a potential buyer could change out the Colombian plates for Chilean ones. Dave and I spread the word around town, made inquires at several used car lots, junkyards and mechanic shops, hoping for a bite. In the meantime, we made ourselves familiar with the official process of used vehicle importation, thanks to all the friendly folks down at the customs office… what a bunch of sleazeballs.

Alas, the Beast’s new lawful tamer soon emerged from the fray, one Francisco, who bears a striking resemblance to Sideshow Bob. A deal was cut, and on Monday we handed over the keys and shook hands. Dave was wailing like a banshee and holding onto the bumper like a toddler might to his mother’s leg when she drops him off at daycare, but eventually we made it out and began the northward swing back to Argentina, this time in a bus like the regular schmoes.

The Beast has certainly served us well, nomadically roaming close to 15,000 kilometers since the equator, 54 degrees of latitude traversed, from the coast to the alta montaña down to the steamy jungle and back up again, Toyota trucks just know how to get ‘er done (Larry the Cable Guy should seriously get in on the import truck advertising business). Personally, I think the Beast came into her own in Patagonia, swallowing those mammoth distances between glaciers and fjords like a champ. Beast, wherever you are, may you always roam free, and may you eternally drink from the youthful fountains of plentiful Patagonian petroleum.

MP

Some final Beast stats for all you diehard fans out there:

Total kilometers Quito-Punta Arenas: 13,784

Gallons of fuel chugged: 620

Average Beast fuel economy: 22 km/gal

Number of oil changes: 5

Suspension sheets busted: 2

Cops bribed: 3

Hippies picked up (beast passengers): 28

Shady mechanics visited: 6

International border crossings: 7

Narcotics canine searches: 1

Illegal vegetable confiscations: 2

Value of gettin’ er DONE in the Beast: priceless

Dirty South!

WARNING: This is a long update due to the intense amount of activity we’ve experienced in the last several weeks.

Damn, it has been a while since the last update. Don’t fret though, everything is fine with the Beast and Beastin’ crew. Again, it’s always overwhelming to reflect on what we have accomplished, or at least everything that we have seen just in the past week or so. Time is truly a slippery concept when traveling. Not only are the days of the week meaningless, when looking back to last week (let alone the beginning of the trip), it seems so long ago that time loses all dimensions entirely. Thus, from now on I am under the impression that time really doesn’t exist when traveling. Or at least, it’s rigid concrete conception when working or while in school. Ay, que dura la vida!

We have seen some really incredible landscapes in the last several weeks. Starting in San Martin de Los Andes we made it to the heart of the Argentine Lake district which appeared surprisingly similar to the great Pacific Northwest. The forest, mountains and bright blue lakes made us feel quite at home and were a huge relief after the dry, monotonous pampa. The section, known as Ruta de Los Siete Lagos, was also full of vacationing Argentinean university students hitchhiking, camping and partying. Not really a genuine wilderness experience, but a lot of fun nonetheless.

From Siete Lagos, we headed south to the hippie haven of El Bolson. El Bolson is a laid-back, small town surrounded by densely forested hills, with an open-air market and lots of good food. Add to the equation that it has a microbrewery, with the best beers we have tasted in all of South America (which really isn’t much of a contest since most beer available is the same pissy pilsener with a different label). El Bolson was truly a place where we could spend a lot of time. In fact, if shit goes down in the states (interpret this however you like), this is where I’m heading.

We sadly left El Bolson, and crossed the Argentine border to hit up Chile for a second round. Due to a family friend connection, we took advantage of an invitation to stay in a first class fly-fishing lodge. Damn, is it good to have connections! This was certainly the largest hookup we’ve had this entire trip, hands down. Especially after camping, and cooking our own food for a week the luxury was incredible. We were literally shocked at the discrepancy. We stayed there for five days taking advantage of the delicious yet very reasonably priced employee meals, the wood-fired hot tub and sauna, the big screen satellite television, and one night even rewarded ourselves with a first-class meal in the restaurant. We knew that if we spent too much time in such a luxurious environment that we soon become accustomed to the high life and could never return to the cheap bastard lifestyle we had been living. Thus, we took off for the next adventure: the Carretera Austral.

In South America, the Pan-American Highway starts all the way north in Colombia, meandering down through Ecuador, Peru and Chile following the Cordillera de los Andes until you reach the end of the road in Puerto Montt. However, thanks to the efforts of General Pinochet (who just recently passed away with a pretty contentious reputation) there is a small highway that continues south down the tiny sliver of Chile that continues to Tierra del Fuego. This is known as the Carretera Austral or the southern highway. This isolated section of Chile is only accessible after two very expensive ferries. A Beast feat of strength indeed! Accompanied by 60+ Jaime from Catalonia (who turned out to be the most laid-back, enthusiastic person we’ve traveled with who was probable in better shape as well) we did just that. The 1000 km section that we drove down skirted between the Pacific Ocean and temperate rainforest-covered fjords (called fiordos in Spanish) with towering peaks and glaciers peaking out from above. There were plenty of opportunities for day hikes, camping in beautiful locations, cooking up fresh fish, and enjoying this isolated part of the world.

After a week on the Carretera Austral, we crossed the border again into Argentina. After the unfortunate stop-over in the ghost town of Perito Moreno we sped south through the empty Argentine pampa to the tiny mountain town of El Chalten. The town didn’t even exist 15 years ago and relies on the stream of tourists that pass through in January and February to visit Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. We spend several days hiking in the park and were lucky enough to get clear views of the gothic spire-like peaks of Mt. Fitz Roy and Cerro Torre.

We are currently in the town of El Calafate at latitude 50 degrees south. Like El Chalten, Calafate is surrounded by the bleak pampa. Calafate is actually quite touristy due to its proximity to the badass Perito Moreno glacier. The glacier is massive, one of the few advancing glaciers in the world, over 50m tall and 14km deep. Yesterday, we checked out the glacier for a sunset viewing, strapped with empanadas and beer for a solid birthday celebration. Not a bad place to celebrate your birthday.

Tomorrow we will be crossing the border once again to Chile to visit Parque Nacional Torres del Paine. We, like almost everyone else, will be hiking the ¨W¨, a five day adventure that we have heard is pretty fuckin’ rad. After the hike, we are planning to sell the Beast. Yes, it will be sad to part ways, but we feel the time has come. The Beast will be set free to roam the wilds of Patagonia. If anyone is interested, in coming down to southern Argentina in the next two weeks, please let us know. From there we will fly to Buenos Aires and begin the exodus to Brazil.

Hope all is well back in the states.

Word,

Dave R

5 enero de 2007, Mendoza, Argentina

Currently a bit sore from a long day of rafting on one of Aconcagua's

glacial rivers, but it is nonetheless high time for a Beasting Boys

update. We have once again covered a dizzying amount of territory

since our last episode, cruising south from Salta to Catamarca, from

La Rioja to Cordoba to ring in the new year, back west to where I sit

now, at the foot of the Andes in Mendoza. Needless to say, Dave and I

have been enjoying the relatively developed-world standards that Argentina adheres to… the roads are top quality, the meat and wine is

scandalously good, and Argentinos are for the most part a great bunch.

Perhaps one of the most striking differences we've noticed since

leaving Bolivia and the rest of the Andean nations is the color of

skin… thanks to the Euro-factor present in Argentine bloodlines, a

surprising amount of people are, well, white as hell. For one this

gives us the illusion of being back in the states or in Europe, but more

interesting is the subtle fact that we suddenly blend in. In the

Peruvian alitplano, for instance (or even my former haunts in the

Quinder), just being the white guy was in and of itself more than

enough reason to draws stares from all angles. Now, Dave and I could

pass for any Argentine macho-men… minus the rat-tail mullet estilo at

least. And I have to admit, while it may feel slightly less exotic,

is definitely a relief of sorts to be back in an environment where

skin color doesn't draw stares. Call me a comfortable homogonist if

you will, but such is the nature of us human Beasts.

Speaking of Argentine machos though, the subject certainly deserves a

couple minutes of musing. First of all, the similarity between the

locals and the limited experiences I've had with Italians is uncanny.

Aside from the aforementioned physical resemblance and affinities for

their own food and self-proclaimed good looks, Argentines love arguing loudly, gesticulating wildly,

and speaking scornfully about almost every other country as though

they were bad attempts to duplicate what Argentina naturally and

obviously does so well (especially Chile). And they drive like

maniacs. Seems pretty damn Italian to me. Or Jewish, Greek, or ____

ethnicity I guess. Still, the macho factor seems to stick out a bit

more here. A few days ago, for example, we decided to take a New Year’s day excursion to the riverside beaches near Cordoba. We elected to leave the Beast in its cave and rode the bus out with old Cordoba roommate Veronica. A great afternoon was had by all, sipping mate and cooling off down by the river. We got on the bus back to Cordoba at around 9pm, unfortunately without a seat, and proceeded to trudge back to the city, inching along in nasty homeward bound day-tripper traffic. Along the way there were hordes of people waiting at bus stops, all visibly annoyed that our bus was already full. At one such stop, a group of angry Argentine gentlemen stepped in front of the bus and demanded that the driver open the door… the leader screaming that he’d been waiting for 3 hours and therefore he had an undeniable right to get on the bus. “Cut the bullsh*t and open the motherf*cking door asshole, or I’ll ram your face in,” his eyes wide with rage. His sidekicks grunted their agreement and as the driver lifted his hands in protest the crowd behind Sr. Macho grew and grew. Girls, boys, other semi-inebriated machos all shouted in riotous anger, and many started banging on the windshield and on the sides of the bus. Meanwhile the other busriders also felt the need to get in on the action. Several machos quickly identified themselves among our fellow passengers and started returning expletives. More frightened riders quickly closed their windows for fear of what the crazy bastards outside might do. The whole exchange went on for several minutes before the mounting cacophony from car horns behind the bus pressured the mob to dissipate. As we finally pulled away, several deuschbags even launched rocks at the bus. The whole scene was unreal, and it was easy to see how quickly a full-on riot could have broken out, if say, a soccer ball had been thrown into the picture. Maybe its my recent trip to Italy that evokes the hotheadedness of the machos involved, some kind of feeling of entitlement, that since their country is more developed, it is thus their absolute RIGHT to demand first-cabin service at all times, even if it means starting a riot in order to get a spot standing up on a crowded bus full of holiday-weekenders. ¡Qué quilombo!

Continued 8 January, San Martin de los Andes, Patagonia

The whirlwind has brought us even further south, now to the beautiful Pacific-northwest like surroundings of San Martin. To recap, the journey from Salta to Cordoba was a relatively non-stop 3-day Beasting campaign, with a brief respite at Parque Nacional Talampaya… nice place but kind of an outdoors-experience-in-a-box type of episode. We proceed to directly to Cordoba on the afternoon of the 30th, where Dave and I met up with old roommates from my study-abroad time three years back. Veronica and Francisco met us downtown and generously offered us accommodation in their parents’ spare apartment… since the family was in town and there was no room left at their own. Free accommodation in beautiful Madrid-like downtown Cordoba…not a bad way to spend Año Nuevo. We were invited to the family barbeque extravaganza on New Year’s Eve, and proceeded to a live cuarteto (local cumbia-like folk music) performance into the wee hours. The crowds were staggering, but good times were certainly had.

We stuck around town until the third, meeting old friends, eating great food and soaking up some easy big-city summertime living. Cannot say enough thanks to Veronica and Francisco and family… they were almost too nice to us. Rolled out for Mendoza last Wednesday, covered the 550-odd km with relative ease and got into town the same evening. It took us four tries to find a hostal with vacancy, our first indication of the fact the Argentine summer vacation is in full swing. Our hostal had more Argentine and Chilean youth than gringos… an interesting and welcome change, since we have been so used to crashing in hostals with an almost exclusively foreign crowd. The mostly porteño (hailing from Buenos Aires) faction was also incredibly hospitable, eager to invite us to their asados (barbeques) and defend their city’s reputation as the best when it comes to the preparation of all things animal. Excellent (and cheap) Mendoza wine flowed liberally. Another stark difference in development from the northern Andean nations: Argentine and Chilean youth travel, Ecuadorians, Peruvians and Bolivians do not.

We left Mendoza two days ago, new Israeli y’didot Yael and Gal in tow, Patagonia or bust. While they were for the most part easy passengers, the ladies seemed to have a bit of trouble adapting to the ways of the beast. Food, for example. Dave and I like to adhere to a strict road diet of pasta and sandwiches, both for ease of preparation and stocking the necessary carbs to transfer energy from foot to Beast gas pedal. The girls, however, were not down. They politely refused our offerings, claiming they were watching their figures. While we ate they smoked Parliament Lights and drank Diet Fanta. We camped the first night about 400km south of Mendoza, lending the Israelitas our surplus Bolivian tent. Not exactly a solid refuge from the elements, the Boliviana was no match for the freak storm that rolled in around 2 am. They were soaked in minutes, and forced to seek shelter for the rest of the night in the Beast. I half-seriously proposed that Dave and I could crash in the truck instead, but they reasoned that we should get some good rest in the dry tent since we would be the ones driving the following day. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess we just assumed it would be us. Needless to say, the ladies were not in the best of moods during the 700km haul down here to San Martin yesterday, nor were they pleased when all hostals were determined full and we proceeded to the Municipal Campground. We parted ways this morning, the girls in need of some pampering, Dave and I bound for more outdoor adventure in the Seven Lakes District. Beasting aint for the weak, ladies. NFP pues, no cabe duda.

Chileando en Chile

We have made some serious progress since our last update, dropping 1000´s of meters in altitude and finally passing Capricorn out of the tropics. We now find ourselves in the very Spanish-seeming Salta, Argentina. Much has happened, so I will do my best to recount past events of the last two weeks.

From La Paz we headed to the mining town of Potosí while making a detour at the scenic truck stop in Ventilla where we found some of the most luxurious accommodations and food so far. In Potosí, we were able to contribute to the local economy and boost the moods of the miners working in the silver mine by providing them with coca leaves, grain alcohol and dynamite. After paying homage to the devil, we ¨tested¨ some of the dynamite in a nearby mineshaft, making it out without problem.

From Potosi we drove on a decent dirt road to the isolated town of Uyuni in Southwestern Bolivia. The town is literally in the middle of nowhere and only exists because of its proximity to the Salar de Uyuni (the world’s largest salt flat). We talked a driver into letting us follow him on a three day salt flat tour. We thought ¨easy enough, we just follow the driver and will get to do the tour for free¨. With fellow American Mark and Belgian Pedro on board, we did just that; we Beasted it across the salt flats and the surrounding areas and then crossed into Chile. However, it was not as easy as we thought. Although the salt flat was no problem (it was incredibly flat and probably the easiest surface to drive on), the rest of the roads (or dirt tracks might be more accurate) were often in horrible condition, not mention that we had to keep up with the driver, who was often driving at breakneck speeds. The salt flats and surrounding landscapes were truly amazing. We are extremely glad we decided to do it. Would we do it again? Probably not. Although we can now claim that we drove across the salt flats of Bolivia. Hell yeah!

Once crossing into Chile, we noticed the difference immediately. A paved highway, of a quality comparable to that the of states, smoothly descended from the chilly altiplano of 4800m at the border down to the balmy climate of San Pedro de Atacama at a relieving 2400m - in less than an hour! San Pedro is actually quite touristy as well, something we weren't really expecting. It is also really, really expensive. I guess coming from Bolivia, one of the cheapest countries in the world, really amplifies the difference. But prices are approaching those of the States.

After checking out the requisite sites around San Pedro, which were quite impressive, we got the hell out of dodge for the cheaper waters of Argentina. Crossing the Argentinan border presented the Beast with its closest inspection yet. We thought that rigorous border crossings were behind us after entering Chile. The Chilean border guard methodically searched our car on a mission to dispose of any threatening fruit or vegetable specimens. However, not one to waste food, we insisted on eating them on the spot and found it amusing how patiently he waited for us to consume three tomatoes and a cucumber, and then demanded to properly destroy the peels. In Argentina however, the beast was subjected to a thorough search of all the items in the car and a drug dog accompanied by the Goliath of a border guard. They disappointingly (for them) found nothing and the Beast was allowed to cross into Argentina.

The success at the border and first night in Argentina was definite cause for celebration and in Jujuy along with our Catalonian cohorts (never ask if they’re Spanish) we treated ourselves to the gluttony of an all-you-can-eat Argentinian parillada (basically incredible barbecue rivaling American standards).

Our first several days in Argentina have been pretty incredible to say the least. Food has been tasty, cheap and plentiful thanks to the fact that there is pretty much a barbecue on every corner here. I feel sorry for vegetarians here, although I’m sure they get along just fine here, as the meat here is some of the best I have eaten.

While most of you were enjoying your Christmas festivities with family and friends in the comfort and convenience of your homes, we decided for the more adventurous option and headed to Parque Nacional Calilegua. Not far from the Paraguayan border to the north, Calilegua is tropical rainforest, a relief from all the arid desert and frigid high-montane ecosystems that have been consuming our time the last several weeks. We did a couple short hikes, swam in the river, cooked up an awesome Xmas meal with our Catalonian friends, and watched a tremendous thunder and lightening storm. Then the rain began. A serious, pounding rain that only the tropical rainforest can produce. It rained for a solid several hours drenching everything in its path, including our two tents. So rather than sleeping in inches of water we sought refuge in the bathroom with the mosquitoes. Not a very pleasant night, but a Christmas to remember even for one who doesn’t even celebrate it.

We now are heading for Cordoba where we will celebrate the New Year with several of Matt’s friends from when he was in South America three years ago.

Finally, Matt and I would like to extend our holiday greetings from Argentina. No matter if it’s a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Killer Kwanzaa, Wicked Winter Solstice, Bodacious Boxing Day and/or a Festive Festivus.

13 December La Paz, Bolivia

We have now travelled about 17 degrees of latitude since departure from Quito some six weeks ago… progress is indeed being made. Crossed into Bolivia after an uneventful day in Puno on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. Dave and I were a bit floored after the high 4600m pass crossing from Arequipa, so we spent a good portion of the day medicating and tag-teaming the stomach ailments. All part of the experience. We'll spare you the gory details.

In any case, entrance into Bolivia was attained without delay... the customs officers nodded approvingly at the Beast, patting her hood like they might their own children. We proceeded to Copacabana and checked into some stellar $1.50 accommodation... then walked down to the shores of Lake Titicaca for some $1.25 fresh grilled trout and $0.75 beers. Bolivia is no doubt the place to be for cheap bastards like us. Copacabana turned out to be quite the relaxing place... full of other travellers and artesan/hippy-like characters. We cruised the following day over to Isla del Sol... also a bit of a tourist haven but incredibly beautiful. With our new Brit and New Zealander buddies we set off on the north-south island trail and crashed for the evening at a hostal up on the cliff high above the lake. That ran us about $2.50 each. Even in hindsight these things make me happy. I love money by the way.

In these past 10 days we have driven to La Paz and flown down to the jungle, cruised the Pampas in boat, and now find ourselves once again in the big city. Cheapness aside, it’s been an overwhelmingly loaded week and a half… full of contrasts, climate changes, colourful landscapes and people. We have navigated lakes at 4,000m, tropical rivers at 150m, squared off with howler monkeys, 2 meter caimans, freshwater dolphins and the like.

Not to mention travellers galore. Alas, and for better or worse, Dave and I have been largely relegated to the Gringo/ Lonely Planet trail since leaving the friendly confines of Peace Corps and related connections. I don’t want to seem as though I’m complaining… the ability to follow any route, Lonely Planet’s or an aimless hippy’s (or both?) is certainly available to a privileged few, and we do not take this for granted. But having said that, it has started to wear thin at times, arriving to the same hostals, having the same “Oh hey buddy, how long have YOU been travelling for?” or “Which operator did you use for x tour?” type of conversation. Of course, these kinds of interactions are rather inevitable… just another reminder that I could not possibly follow this lifestyle for more than the few months I have allotted. On a similar note, the reactions that Dave and I have had with local Bolivians (and Peruvians to a great extent) are largely limited to those individuals within the tourist/ service industry… ie hotel clerks, tour guides, cab drivers, street food vendors, etc. Not to imply that these people are of lower calibre in any way… but it sort of pegs us as gringo meat, walking dollar signs, easy targets, however you want to call it. This kind of stigma, especially when compared to my PC experience in Quinindé, is kind of weak to say the least. Quinder, of course, was like Cheers, everybody knew my name… and not because we needed to have some kind of specific customer-client relationship, but because we were buddies, neighbours, host family, co-workers, school children, fellow basket-ballers. No doubt travelling away from this nice little bubble makes me appreciate it more in retrospect… and even causes the nostalgia to well up now and again. What can I say… there’s just no place like the Quinder.

As long as we’re on the general subject of travelling, let’s touch for a minute on the notion of Americans abroad. First of all, aside from the PC contacts in Ecuador and Peru, we have met almost zero fellow Americans. In fact, some of the first we did meet were a couple college dropouts from Colorado down in Rurrenabaque post jungle excursion. Nice guys, not exactly the most stimulating characters though. On the one hand, it’s not as though I actually MISS seeing Americans on the road, if anything it’s been interesting meeting up with the general Euro-crowd we seem to come into contact with. On the other hand, we have definitely encountered several instances of same Euros having very confused perceptions of what we real red white & blue Gringos stand for. Indeed, there are varying opinions across the spectrum… from Dutch bastards who look far down their nose at those of us who defend the stars and stripes, to curious Danes who seem pleasantly surprised to learn that all Americans are not war-mongers. On our jungle trip we had some particularly interesting discussions with Danes Ufer and Tina about how divided America has become over the war, contrary to the information they are bombarded with in the Danish media. I don’t think Denmark would ever seriously interest me as a place to reside, but the ease with which one is cared for by his Patria, ie free health and low-cost university education, is certainly an enviable situation. Dave and I found ourselves feeling a bit embarrassed while recounting the hoops an uninsured American must jump through in order to get some health care. Or the amount he must shell out in order to call him or herself educated. Not to mention the blows these causes are taking as we continue to flush billions down the Operation Iraqi Freedom Toilet. Ay yay yay. Tina says Danes have become a bit haughty when demanding these RIGHTS of health and education, when in fact they ought to be seen more as undeniable privileges. Either way, Que viva Dinamarca!

So, tomorrow we hit the road, to the south likely headed for Potosi or Sucre before we hit the salt flat and cross into Chile by xmas time. The Beast, for all you fans out there, has been recently serviced thanks to mecanico extrordinaire Don Fernando of USAID Bolivia. Yes, the Uncle Sam connection continues… fearless PC Ecuador Cisco hooked it up with the government connection here in La Paz… the suspension has been tuned and monstrously jacked up (will do wonders for the gas mileage were sure) for appropriately low Bolivian service prices. On another note, our guide from the Amazon, Don Negro (who incidentally dabbled in license plate falsification before commencing his gator-trapping career), assured us that the foreign vehicle market in Chile is quite lucrative for selling a ride like the Beast. Meaning that, in all likelihood, it would find its way to a contraband market and ultimately back to Bolivia, where one of Negro’s cousins would prepare it for “legal” sale on the local market. Ah, South America. The real land of opportunity?

Happy Hannukah,

LosBuddies

Narrator: Finally situated in the southern Andes town of Arequipa, we find Matt and Dave relaxing after a solid week of Beasting along the monotonous coastal desert. When we last left our heroes, they were distraught, realizing that there would no be thanksgiving festivities in the mountain town of Huaraz. Lucky for them, life is all about random-ass occurrences.

Back into the first person mode.

We randomly ran into fellow Lewis & Clark alum, Rachel, on the streets of Chiclayo about a week ago. Rachel who is now working as a Peace Corps volunteer in a nearby town was more than happy to provide other Peace Corps contacts. We were invited to attend their thanksgiving bash of which we were extremely thankful for the copious amounts of food and booze, beautiful surroundings, and the fact that we had a small break of the typical Peruvian cuisine.

We departed the mountains the next morning, Beastin’ it towards the coast still feeling ridiculously full. Driving through impressive valleys surrounded by towering peaks that seemed to recall the magnificent landscape of Lord of the Rings, we reluctantly found ourselves on the coast. While I definitely appreciate the ocean, the Peruvian coast is an endless expanse of sand, dunes, and more sand dunes which becomes pretty monotonous after the first several hundred kilometres.

We were able to keep ourselves entertained with plenty of reggaeton on the stereo and various international travellers who have accompanied us. From Tiphaine, who was kind enough to help us break down American-French politics/stereotypes while accompanying us to Lima; to the chiller duo of the Italian anarchist Mirko, and Spanish stoner-chileadora Erika (who we met sandboarding in Huacachina), the beast is always more entertaining when full of passengers.

One works up quite an appetite consuming large quantities of fossil fuels while driving through the coastal emptiness. Luckily the coastal cuisine far surpasses the carbcentric food in the mountains. Obviously, the proximity to the ocean provides generous amounts of cheap and delicious seafood including healthy doses of cebiche (a huge pile of raw fish and shellfish marinated in lemon juice served with onion, hot pepper, and sweet potato) and chicharron (pretty much the same thing but deep fried). We had the luxury to eat such dishes at least once a day.

With cebiche in our stomachs and international passengers tagging along to liven up conversations as well as help out for gas money, we were able to cover a massive distance without going crazy. We’ve got the Beastin down to a science too. Even the major feat of strength of getting through the chaos of Lima, went without issue. Although neither of us had spent any time in Lima before, it was pretty much what we expected: a dirty, loud, chaotic mess that made us feel completely relieved once we continued on past the outskirts.

We are now back up in the mountains and will continue on to Puno and Lake Titicaca before crossing into Bolivia. We are both really excited about Bolivia as neither of us has been there before. From untouched sections of Amazon rainforest, to the salt flats to the interesting political climate, Bolivia seems to have a lot to offer.

We celebrate the results of Ecuador’s presidential election from south of the border… the lefty progresista edged out the banana mogul last Sunday. We hope to see his social justice programs put into action come January. Dale Correa!

Hasta pronto--

Los Buddies

23 November 2006 – Huaraz, Perú

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you out there in Gringolandia… Dave and I are here in the Peruvian Andes in search of a turkey… unfortunately it’s already 5:30 in the afternoon and we’re yet to come up with a bird. So, if you are reading this before chowing down on your late-November feast, make sure to take a few extra bites for Dave and I.

Hard to believe we’ve only been out of Ecuador for a week… the south of the border experience has been a whirlwind… first the Beast passing another feat of strength crossing international borders with no problem, cruising down through the north desert, stopping in the cities of Piura, Chiclayo & Trujillo, a few days checking out the ruins of Chan Chan and lounging on the beach, and as of Monday trekking about here in the Cordillera Blanca. Time flies when you don’t have a job and are prancing around Latin America.

Some highlights: meeting Octavio in Chiclayo through www.hospitalityclub.org. Kind of strange to be meeting people on the internet… but this website has proved a useful way to get in touch with locals… strange but pretty sweet. Octavio introduced us to some friends and showed us a great time in Chiclayo.

Getting pulled over by Policia National on the Pan-Am on the way to Trujillo. After reviewing our documents, Officer Douchebag decided that we were missing the obligatory “special insurance for non-Peruvians” and threatened us with a fine of 350 soles. Conversation went something like this:

Officer: So I’ll just write you up for the fine then, unless we can work something else out, ok?

Me: Sir we have all the paperwork in order, I’m sure if this insurance were an issue, the police and customs officers at the border would have said something. And like I said, I work with the Peace Corps / Embassy in Ecuador, so if there’s any problem I can call the embassy here in Peru and I’m sure we can straighten things out.

Officer: Oh that won’t be necessary… why don’t you just come over here for a minute and talk with my partner here back in the squad car? (we walk over to his car)

Officer2: So you work for the Peace Corps? What can PC do for us poor bastards here in the Peruvian police force? As you can see we’re really hurting… (motions around his brand new SUV, laughing with officer1) Just help us out with a little something and we’ll forget about this little ticket… whaddaya say?

Me: Sorry guys… I haven’t done anything wrong.

Officer1: Didn’t you say you were working on an HIV/AIDS project in Ecuador? Say, you guys don’t happen to have any condoms in the car with you by any chance?

Me: Uh, condoms? I guess…

Officers: Give us condoms!

And that’s how Dave and I bribed Peruvian highway cops with PC-issued LifeStyles condoms straight out of the medkit. Thanks nurses!

Spent a couple days comparing war stories with Peru PCVs in the Trujillo area… good times but a little different now that I’m out of my home country of service. Definitely feel a bit more like an outsider.

Just finishing up a few days of hiking up here in the Cordillera Blanca. Tiphaine has been cruising around with us… breaking down those classic American-French rivalries/ stereotypes. Definitely nice to have some international company, not to mention a little help with the steep Peruvian gas prices.

Tomorrow we shall Beast back down to the coast… a few big days in the car until we get down to the Arequipa area… the goal is to be in Bolivia by the first days of December. We have a lot of ground to cover…

11 nov. 06 Loja, Ecuador

After celebrating Halloween in Cuenca with many enthusiastically inebriated PeaceCorps volunteers, Matt and I descended from the dry sierra to the exotic depths of la jungla with the infamous PeaceCorps volunteer, Jungle Dave. JungleDave´s site of San Juan Bosco, although a mere 30 km from Cuenca, required a brutal, asscrackin´ 5 hour drive through incredible cloud forest and primary tropical lowland forest. The scenery definitely evoked images of A Land Before Time, and at any moment I expected a triceratops or some other prehistoric creature to pop out from the giant ferns. JungleDave proved to be an awesome host providing a constant supply of food and beer supplemented by a cheerful southern accent with constant references to the greatest comedic mind of our times, Larry the Cable Guy, ¨get er done¨!

After leaving San Juan Bosco, our progress was almost stalled a couple times by ¨paros¨ or strikes because the local indigenous group, the shuar, had just kicked out Canadian mining companies and the military showed up to intervene to protect the miners. Go Canada! It was a surreal feeling getting back into town and having locals asking you where you have been and accusing you of participating on behalf of the mining operation. No serious threats luckily once we explained we’re just dumb gringos travelling through and know nothing about mining. Nonetheless, our plans were definitely influenced several times to get the hell out of dodge to make sure we didn’t get stuck somewhere indefinitely.

Now I’m all for the shuar’s cause, mining is fucked on many levels, from environmental impact to the fact that it probably wasn’t the local communities who would have benefited economically from the mining activity. Interesting to point out though, the shuar didn’t have a problem until the mining company finished building the road out to the mines and the miners had finished building their houses. It’s cool to see indigenous people standing up for themselves, regardless of timing. Sera bien interesante que pasara. Something tells me that this conflict might continue on for a bit.

We are in the final days of our Ecuadorian adventure before crossing the border into Peru. We will use the laid-back environs of Vilcabamba as our base to develop our plan of Peruvian penetration. There are several areas we are interested in visiting in Peru, but our interests are more focused on the greener pastures of Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. Thus, we hope to cruise through Peru relatively quickly, but we’ll see how long it takes.

The political news from the back in the states was extremely refreshing. I am elated to hear that the dems took back the senate and the house and that the greenspaces bond measure in Portland passed. Perhaps American politics aren’t completed hopeless after all. While on the topic of politics, the presidential election is currently going on hear in Ecuador. The race has been narrowed down to two candidates: Alvaro Noboa, the disgustingly wealthy banana tycoon, who’s strategy seems to be buying people off (though i guess money is the true universal language); and Rafael Correa, the intellectual, leftist populist who is looking to create a inter-Andean union with neighbouring countries. Each candidate represents such a political extreme, I have no idea who will win. DALE CORREA!

Hope everyone is well with their respective goings-on. I will try to write again soon.

Siga la lucha,

David Alejandro

8 November, San Juan Bosco, Ecuadorian Amazon

Thursday afternoon left Cuenca heading east toward the Oriente. PCVs Jungle Dave Goucher and Rene Pereira were also in tow as the Beast passed yet another feat of strength, climbing to the high Paramo on heavily potholed dirt road and dropping back down to roughly 1000m in the jungle. We arrived in San Juan Bosco at about 8pm, eager to unwind at Dave’s white jungle mansion. The next morning we were graced with views of the surrounding hills, including the mammoth Pan de Azucar mountain to the southwest, partially covered in swirling mist and dripping with deep green vegetation and the occasional waterfall. We took an easy stroll to la granja, an experimental farm and nature reserve project that Dave has been working on with the local high school and municipal government. The greenery was immense, and we were all impressed with Dave’s extensive jungle bird and tree knowledge.

Later in the day we began planning for our jungle excursion: a trek up to Filo de Paxi, the ridge that towers above town at 2600m, the last jungle frontier before the mountainous sierra begins. As it turned out, only three people had EVER climbed up this route before… another one of Dave’s projects has been to develop an eco-tourism corridor connecting San Juan to the virgin primary jungle that surrounds the area. We planned our attack that evening with Don Carlin, a municipal employee who has been helping Dave cut trails into the wild. So, Saturday morning we strapped on our rubber boots and began our trudge up the mountain. After a few hours and a brief rainstorm we finally past the last finca and penetrated the selva; Dave and I stood back beyond the swing of Carlin and JungleDave’s machetes as they carved a new route through the vines. Progress was slow… we were guided by GPS and the sporadic tracks of tapirs and other beasts, stepping over and under fallen trees, constantly mindful not to grab on to a nasty spiked vine or trunk for leverage purposes. At around 4 in the afternoon we finally arrived at that day’s destination, la casa de aluminio. The house was a simple structure, wood floor with aluminum walls and roof, nada mas. Nonetheless, it was a welcome sight. Even though we’d only hiked about 5km, the elevation gain was almost 1000m… hence we were rightfully spent. After dropping down to a nearby creek for a jungle bath, Don Carlin started a fire and cooked up the 5 pound chicken we had brought with us, having marinated in garlic and soy sauce since our departure that morning.

We were treated to a close-up toucan sighting the next morning as we polished off the remaining arroz con pollo… not a bad way to get the day started. This time the going was a bit easier since JungleDave and Carlin had already carved out the next segment. Still, for beginner selva walkers like Dave and I, climbing was far from painless. Rotting logs covered in vines and leaves easily opened up into rubber-boot-swallowing holes. Balancing on slick roots while trying to hang on to crumbling eaves was also an NFP experience. At around 11 we arrived at the campsite, just in time to set up a plastic tarp before being drenched by another torrential tropical pounding. The rains let up and JungleDave stayed back to set up camp; Dave and I continued on with Carlin and made the final push up to Filo de Paxi. Now with our packs off, safe and dry back at camp, we were able to move a bit more freely. Unfortunately for us, so was Carlin… the man showed off his amazing jungla maneuvering abilities, scrambling up wet rotten surfaces like it was nobody’s business. Dave and I mildly felt like jackasses for making him wait every 100m… but on the other hand Carlin is considering a career in eco-tourism, so it’s not a bad thing that he get used to the pace of slightly-less-than-jungle-savvy gringos. Another two hours of beasting (not to be confused with Beasting) put us on top of the Filo de Paxi ridge, the trees finally opening up to the incredibly dense canopy below. The clouds momentarily parted and gave us dizzying views across the valley to Pan de Azucar, and behind us to the monstrous Andean range still another 1000m above. We spent an hour watching the fog roll in and out before we began our descent back down to camp, where JungleDave awaited with a pitched tent and hot beverages. Penne and canned Ragu tomato sauce (gracias SuperMaxi) rounded out the evening.

Instead of pushing beyond Filo de Paxi so that Carlin and JungleDave could continue their hacking quest, we elected to head back down to San Juan the next morning. Dave and I were starting to feel sore… the nicks on our hands and prevalent mosquito scars were also evidence that we should respect the selva and call it a trip. We were treated to one last surprise though as we rounded a corner and saw a family of monkey-like creatures scurrying down the moss-covered side of a tree… some of them appeared to have snouts, Carlin identified them as cuchuchos but we’re still not entirely sure. As JungleDave and Carlin said though, every trip up into the monte affords a new experience. We arrived in one piece back into town late in the afternoon… ¡sobrevivimos!

Matt & Dave´s Blog

Despite a late start, here it is at long last…the electronic journal of Matt & Dave’s epic South American Journey. We realize that many of you who will be reading this do not know both of us… The last few years have afforded each of us different experiences, and of course this blog will find its way to people who know Matt and/or Dave from many different walks. Matt has just finished his two-year tour in the Peace Corps here in Ecuador; while Dave has spent the past year in Portland working on an AmeriCorps project. Now our paths are crossing once again: after months of planning and logistics Dave touched down in Quito on October 12th, and the adventure has begun.

1 November 2006, Cuenca, Ecuador

Many tourists typically spend their first days in Ecuador exploring some historical sites, churches, etc... not so with Dave and I. You see, we have elected to travel through South America not by bus but by private car. Anticipating this plan, I began scouring the Ecuadorian used car market back in September, and thanks to www.mercadolibre.com was able to hunt down a 1996 Toyota LandCruiser, from here on out known as the BeastMobile, or simply, “The Beast.” In any case, we got a steal (or so we thought), and after sealing the deal I drove the Beast from where I purchased it in Latacunga 100 km north to Quito, where it sat brooding in the Peace Corps Office until Dave’s arrival. A few days before Dave touched down, I was in Quito taking care of my final PC paperwork, gloriously ending my career as a non-paid government employee. In the meantime I consulted Fernando, the Peace Core auto mechanic, about where to go to get the final fluid changes and checks taken care of. The day before Dave’s arrival we were given some bad news: the beast was sick. A small pinging in the engine, which was thought to have been caused by a mere dirty carburettor and faulty timing, was actually the result of bad crank shaft seals. This was obviously not welcome information, but we had already gotten waist deep in the investment, and had no choice but to operate. Dave’s first day in Quito was thus spent at the Toyota parts store, the mechanic shop, and in the back of a pickup hauling our 500-pound 6-cylinder beast machine to have crankshaft retrofitted to the new parts. A cultural experience indeed for us both.

Unfortunately, work on the beast was a slow process. Dave rolled into town on a Thursday, and on Saturday the rebuilt engine came back from the retrofitters, all set to remount. Maestro Fabian, our mechanic, ensured us that the car would be done by Wednesday. So, we decided to take a hiking trip to El Altar, an extinct volcano near Riobamba, several hours south of Quito. The hike was fantastic, but upon placing a call to the Maestro on our way down on Tuesday, we learned that the job had not yet gotten under way in our absence. Unfortunately typical of Latino auto mechanics, one must be constantly present in order to ensure that work is actually taking place. Things got jumpstarted a bit when we returned to Quito, and finally on Friday evening, the beast was roaring with new life, gasoline having pumped through her transplanted crankshaft for a full three hours. After some small electrical fixes on Saturday, we were on the road at long last.

We left Quito from the north and dropped down to the coastal plain, through cloud forest and finally to the lush humid province of Esmeraldas. We stopped in Quinindé, where I lived and worked as a PC health & youth development volunteer for the last two years. Coming back to town after a two-week absence was strange enough… rolling up to my neighbourhood with Dave in the monstrous gas-guzzling Beast was truly an odd feeling. I’d spent two years trying to integrate into this community, convince people that they could relate to me despite my being from another country, culture, socioeconomic existence etc. Driving up in the beast all of a sudden widened the gap, reminded me that Peace Core was a temporary experience, and that it was time to move on. Still, no one in my barrio seemed to find it strange that suddenly Mateo was driving a car… to them it seems logical that I, an American, SHOULD have a car. Asi es la vida…

We spent a few days in Quinindé packing up my house, preparing the Beast for travel, saying goodbyes and indulging in some final Quinindeño gastronomical delicacies. Also took a quick trip out to La Laguna de Cube about an hour into the countryside from Quinindé… PCV Will Murtha was kind enough to host us in his tree house abode and lead us on an early morning avian survey of the lagoon. We also cruised in the beast out to the nearby bat caves (see pics). Finally, on the 25th, we pulled out of Quinindé and headed north to the city of Esmeraldas before embarking to the southwest on the Via del Pacifico. Our first stop was Mompiche, one of my favourite beach haunts during the last two years. A small fishing village of no more than 400 residents, Mompiche is hardly a beach resort town, but after two weeks of automotive reparations and move-out stress, this was exactly what Dave and I needed. Three days of sun, surf and incredibly fresh seafood were hardly enough. We continued south to the town of Canoa in the province of Manabí and pitched our tents again. $1.50 for camping on the beach is certainly not a bad deal. The following day we drove a further 200km south to Machalilla National Park and spent the night at PCV Scott Reganthal’s house in Rio Chico. Following in the grand tradition of volunteer hosting, Scott regaled us with food and drink as well as a guided schlep up to a local mirador of the ocean and surrounding hills.

On Monday we drove 40 km south to the surfer gringo hippy enclave of Montañita, mostly out of curiosity as I never had the opportunity to check it out during my two years here. The beach was beautiful, the town itself unbelievably overdeveloped with restaurants, surf shops and hippy beach gear outlets. We had a chance to speak with a California 40-something named Bruce, who expounded on the “you know, man, totally sweet party atmosphere” that brought him to Montañita. He periodically launched into Eagles and Pink Floyd melodies during the course of our conversation, but excused his incoherence by openly stating that he was quite “bombed.”

Scott rejoined us on Tuesday morning as we primed the Beast with power steering fluid for her journey inland and back up into the Andes. After one last encebollado (fish and yucca stew) stop on the coast, we crossed the peninsula to Guayaquil and attempted unsuccessfully to circumvent the chaos of the city. Lack of signage is certainly an issue down here. After an hour of sweltering city traffic we made it to the rendezvous point to the east of town and picked up two more eager Cuenca-bound PCVs. This unfortunately did not happen before I inadvertently turned the wrong way down a one-way street (of course every Guayaquileño driver was sure to courteously inform me of the fact) and was detained by a friendly city transit cop. Again, useless on the signage front. Thankfully he was a nice guy a let me off the hook, but not before reminding me that my offence legally carries a $500 fine and 30 days in jail (or a $50 bribe depending on which member of Ecuador’s finest happens to be serving you). Finally we made it out of the city and the beast, fully loaded with luggage and five passengers, began her trundle up the mountain pass at over 4,000 meters and descended into Cuenca. We wasted no time in fashioning makeshift costumes for the PC Halloween bash… one last blast for this gringo. Contact was established with one PCV Jungle Dave, with whom we shall be beasting into the Oriente in a few hours…

More to follow…stay tuned.