Charades

We’re back. More or less. UBA is still taken over by the students, but they’ve relaxed their stranglehold on my facultad. We could get into the building, and believe it or not the classrooms on the ground floor were available. Lecture was had for the first time in a month, and actually in a classroom. Don’t pop the champagne yet, though. Students leading the toma came into our class and instigated a heated 20-minute discussion on what we thought of the strike, because it is far from over. Tomorrow night is another student assembly, i.e. party congress, which will issue a new 5-day plan to lead La Facultad de Ciencias Sociales to a bright and glorious future. Viva la Revolución!

In the midst of this prolonged crisis was yet another holiday, El Día del Estudiante. This came after butcher’s day, secretary’s day, street cleaner’s day and guard-standing-at-the-front-door-of-city-hall’s day. There could be a holiday for all of these professions, as there seems to be some sort of ferria every other week. Student’s Day, however, doubles up as a holiday celebrating the arrival of Spring which I think is fantastic. We stare at groundhogs and watch it spin around in a circle, wonder why it woke up when it didn’t need to, and go back to bed. Argentines throw a huge party. Any excuse. I made my way up to the Central Park of Buenos Aires where every student in Buenos Aires seemed to have migrated. I’m sure the students leading the tomas were there – striking is a tiring business and holidays are incredibly necessary. I headed to a free outdoor concert, where I heard one good Santana-like band and one trashy pop band that had it been singing in English I would have run away and puked in a trash can. Singing in Spanish, however, eased the pain and allowed me to simply watch the spectacle of outrageous outfits running around on stage singing things which I couldn’t completely understand. Here is the lost in translation play of the day- I was told ‘Happy Spring’ at one point and I simply agreed, thinking that yes it’s a happy spring indeed. The same person then turned to Laura, who was standing right next to me, and said the same thing. Laura replied with a huge gracias. So this is like a birthday? Thank you for wishing me a happy spring? It’s only my spring? No wonder the person was looking at me funny. That Sudafed is mine, don’t you touch it.

Speaking of parties, it was Tina’s husband’s (Niko) birthday on Friday, so of course we had another asado. Sorry to all of you out there who have to pay $40 for a Brazilian BBQ – I had one ten times better in our kitchen. It was a family affair, which was fine by me because that meant more beef for everyone. Dinner conversation was as animated as always, with at one point Ramiro revealing that he wanted to buy a motorcycle. His girlfriend then jokingly shot back that if he bought one, she was gone. I think though she might have been serious to some degree. Stories about everything under the sun were told. Niko got out of his chair several times to physically act out a conversation he had with whoever about whatever. With all of the Spanish yelling going on at mach 10, watching Niko give Tom Hanks a run for his money helped me keep up a little better. Sign 'im up - he was pretty good!

Niagara What?

Check out the Iguazú album under 'Photos' for more pics

I've never been to Niagara Falls, but from the pictures I've seen of that North American wannabe Iguazú blows away just about anything that includes water moving from up to down. The trip up to Puerto Iguazú was another epic 16 hour ride on one of these Argentine luxury liners, complete with pirated movies, champagne and white bread in as many shapes and forms as you can think of. Life could be worse. We made friends with our bus attendant - we were the only ones that actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. I guess spending 16 hours in a metal box on wheels doesn't excite a lot of people. After our glass of champagne (in special plastic champagne glasses, of course) with the final pirated movie of the night, we called it quits for the evening.

I woke up staring at the seatback in front of me, and dozed off an on as we made various stops at small towns along the way until finally reaching the town of Iguazú. We successfully got on the correct local bus on our first try, and were on our way to the hostel. If we didn't tell our bus driver where we were going, I might still be on that bus. We were dropped off on the side of the highway (bus stop? What bus stop? I think the bus driver picks out certain bushes along the way that he wants to stop at to get a closer look), and made the short walk to our hostel. We passed the swimming pool on the way in, dropped our stuff and headed down the highway to a sort of animal hospital. We were driven through the forest in a tractor-trailer by a guy having way too much fun with his job until we jumped off to see the animals. It was basically a zoo, but still pretty cool nonetheless.

We got up at the crack of dawn the next morning to try and get a full day in at the park. We wandered back over to that bush we were let off at the preceding afternoon, and caught the local bus to the falls. I can't even begin to describe what these waterfalls are like. It's almost one continuous waterfall for a solid 3 kilometers, with La Garganta del Diablo (the second photo from the top) as the centerpiece (Argentina has a thing for using the same names for everything - there's the Garganta del Diablo right outside of Salta. Street names are the same in every city - come on guys, maybe a little creativity?) in the distance. We started our day on the upper circuit, which took us literally to the edge of some of the falls. By itself, any one of these waterfalls would be a superb tourist attraction anywhere in the world. But here seeing one by itself was a bit of a letdown. Line up maybe 50 of these falls together, though, and you've got Iguazú. That's just a lot of water. Following the Upper Circuit we naturally headed to the Lower Circuit, which, as I'm sure you can imagine, took us to the base of several of the falls. It was so loud I could barely hear myself think. Halfway through the lower circuit we took a boat ride that zoomed us into the spray of the falls (there are some photos in the album with the boats in them. These boats are not small - the falls are just huge). Every one of those 12 minutes was worth it. There used to be boat options at the top of the falls, where you could hire a local and he would take you to the edge where you could spit or do whatever and then he would row as hard as he could back against the current and get you back safely. That was until one boat didn't quite make it back. That option is now no longer available, sir. Can I tempt you with the scenic helicopter ride or the Grand Adventure through the forest?

After a lunch battling the coatíes (basically an ant-eater crossed with a raccoon) trying to get at our food, which only ran away after making loud gorilla noises at them, we walked the 2km up to La Garganta. This was probably one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen. It's a giant 'U' shaped waterfall with an obscene amount of water falling making simply what was a deafening roar. I could have spent hours there just mesmerized by the sheer power, scale and beauty of what I was looking at. We could see the mist from a long way off, and even when we were right at the top of La Garganta the mist obscured our view of the bottom like fog hides the Golden Gate. We finished the day by getting back to the hostel and finding some long-chairs, putting our toes in the clay and having an Argentine PBR on the way. Life was good.

Day two found ourselves finding little things to do to fill the time until our various bus departure times, as the main reason for going back to the park (San Martín Island, right in the middle of everything at the falls) was closed due to high river levels. We discovered a house made entirely out of PET bottles, and decided to check it out. The walls, stairs and roof were made of plastic 2-liter bottles (the roof had some help from milk cartons), with the doors constructed from CD cases. It was pretty amazing to see how resourceful these people were - the most impressive gadget (aside from the house itself) was a solar water heater. That could be the future right there, my friends. Our last stop of the day was a spot where we thought we could be in three different countries at once (Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina), but was actually a spot where we could see three different countries at once. And I was ready to one-up 4 Corners.

To cap off the trip I spent the 16 hours going home figuring out the different pitches of engine noises on these long distance buses, as my seat was in the last row right above the engine. I'm now your resident expert. You know where to find me.

Welcome to the Jungle, Spain

(There are more pictures in the Spain v. Argentina album under 'Photos')

Call in the cavalry. The school has been taken over, and there is no end in sight. Originally the students were going to hold their lockout for only last Thursday, but it's successfully gone on for over a week now. Call Roger Goodell - he could get some negotiation practice in. From what I understand, they're protesting the conditions of the facilities, and the fact that a good portion of government money is going to private institutions when UBA building projects have been left unfinished due to lack of funds. I can't understand why they would be protesting the state of the facilities with all of the peeling paint, broken desks, and missing window panes. However, the students running the September Revolution did not want class to stop, so they thoughtfully provided desks and chairs for us to use outside. In the street. So after waiting around for several minutes listening to some guys standing on tables trying to connect profs with students, we finally found ours and set up shop in a crosswalk. As I was walking over, I was sure that a different professor was handing out midterms to his students as they took their seats in the street. If that profesor wanted to win popularity points, that's definitely not how the Xs and Os tell you to do it. Needless to say, my profesora was far from happy about being kicked out of the building and wound up cutting class short just because she couldn't deal with it.

That evening saw me don a knock-off Argentine jersey and travel with the masses to the River Plate stadium in the northern reaches of the city to watch la selección nacional (literally translated as 'national selection,' which I think is a great term, but really means national soccer team) take on Spain. Security might not be the stadium's strong point, since I completely bypassed stage 1 without even knowing it. I walked along some quiet residential streets before turning onto the main street leading to the stadium and finding myself already beyond the first pat-down and bag check which had a line a couple blocks long. Alright then, here we go!

We found our seats, but not after having to ask someone where they were. Not that we would be sitting much anyway. The section letters were chalked onto the ground, and there were no row numbers. So after counting the rows and checking the seat numbers, we found ourselves twelve rows back from one of the corners. Not bad for $35 US. You couldn't even walk into Fenway for that. We were also luckily right over the visiting players tunnel, so we got some close up views of all of the Spanish stars that were there- Casillas, Torres, Xavi, Fabregas, Iniesta, Villa, Alonso, and more.

After coming to grips with the fact that yes, I was actually seeing who I thought I was seeing, I noticed the barbed wire fencing around our section. The people seemed nice enough in my section so far, but I think that if Argentina found itself down 2-0 with a hostile ref Dr. Jekyll would disappear and the Argentine extended family of Mr. Hyde would make an appearance. I looked up to the second deck, and there was fencing around another section which I was told was the visiting team's fan section for River Plate's games. Apparently for River games, you have to wait 45min before you can leave the stadium so the opposing team's fans can get a head start. Run, Forrest, run.

The game was everything that I could have asked for, with Messi striking first in the 12th minute with a little chip that floated right over the keeper (not Casillas, unfortunately) into the goal. Higuain doubled the score with a goal three minutes later that saw him come celebrate with a massive fist pump in our corner. Do I need to say that the stadium was absolutely rocking by that point? Tevez closed the half with a third goal for Argentina, making it 3-0, which basically ended the game. Argentina wound up winning 4-1, with a spectacular show put on by Messi during the second half. He made the World Champion Spanish defense look like 3rd grade soccer players as he dribbled straight through about 5 or 6 defenders and set up a beautiful strike into the upper right hand corner from a forward making a run. And the line ref had the audacity to call him offside. It was still probably some of the most beautiful play I've ever seen, though. I mean, the defense knows what Messi can do, they know he can run, they stick 5 guys on him when he gets the ball, but he still destroys them anyway. And this is Spain we're talking about here.

For my first international soccer game, it couldn't have been better. I need to go see a club game now - I hear they're more intense (it was actually pretty quiet for stretches - no continuous chanting or singing like Japan) than when the national team plays. That seems a little counterintuitive, but then again a lot of things don't make sense here. But no matter - Vamos Argentina!

Viva la Revolución!

(L-R around the table: Niko, Tina, Laura, Matias, Ramiro's novia, novia of Tina's cousin, Tina's cousin, brother and fam of Matias' novia, Matias' novia, Ramiro, y yo)

So when Argentines decide to throw a fiesta, there's no holding back. Last Thursday was Ramiro my host-brother's bday, and it was a fiesta fit for the ages. No, no piñatas or anything, but I don't think I've ever seen that much beef on the grill at once. I got to the party late, as I had my UCA public econ lecture. It was another great session - I shared a mate during lecture with all of the other guys sitting near me, and successfully could not understand the extremely important idea brought up at the end of lecture. That part wasn't so great. But Thursday nights definitely are something to look forward to, even if we have to break out the popcorn and marshmellows since it ends so late.

I walked into the dining room to see a good fifteen people sitting around the table eating beef and, surprisingly, salad. No one was eating too much of it, but it was encouraging to see some green stuff around the table. Maybe there is hope to knock Argentina from it's 2nd place spot on the number of heart-problems list. As far as I know, the topic of conversation was yours truly just as I was walking in. They told me that it was somewhat ironic that I was absent due to studies when they thought that I don't study too much. I mean, I only have class four days a week and three of those days include 3 hours or less... I guess when you line that up next to Laura's full 5-day course load that doesn't look too good. I promise, we international relations people do get things done. It just takes time, many handshakes for the cameras and lots of superfluous talking.

Now imagine 15 outspoken Argentines in the same room with several bottles of wine, and you're starting to get the feel of my Thursday night. There was much laughing and arguing as always, with insults flying in between bites of beef. I spent a lot of time just trying to keep up. Eventually there was a great debate on how to pronounce my name. The 'j' sound doesn't translate too well, so really my name is Chake. Me llamo Chake! Me llamo Chake! I poked some fun at Ramiro's english until he pointed out my less-than-world-class spanish skills. Alright fine, you got me. The wine was flowing into the early hours until the fiesta started to wind down around 2am. Or so I thought. I guess in this country bringing a party to a close means 'let's open another bottle!' So about 5 of us pressed on until about 3:30am, and then decided to call it quits. All in all it was a great night- Feliz cumpleaños, Ramiro!

I would say that I have class tomorrow as usual at UBA, but students have successfully taken over my facultad and put some riot fencing in the door so absolutely no one can get in (http://bit.ly/8X9WiS - it's in spanish, but I'm sure google will lend a hand). They're protesting some sort of money issue, which seems kind of redundant since the school is free for everyone. My TA sent out an email saying that lecture would take the place of recitation on Tuesday, as if this were incredibly normal. I think, to be honest, it is. If students took over Penn though, I think Penn parents would put an end to it before the school does - 'I'm paying how much money for you to do what?!' So class is now indefinitely postponed. I've got my fingers crossed that they don't start a 21st century Red Terror; maybe they should hire us International Security students to defuse the situation. I'll get the talks about the possibility of multilateral talks started, after the photoshoot of course.

The Frisbee Won

As hard as it is to picture myself doing work in such a busy and exciting place, class has been pretty good so far. From talking about the end of the world to the rise of Fascism and Nazism in the early 20th century to major social economic inequalities, I'd have to say it's been pretty uplifting. All in all though, I've been extremely happy with my classes. My favorite class content-wise is my international security (post-1990) seminar at UBA, as soon as I can find it through the maze of Trotsky posters and leftist political slogans. Just to prove the point, my class on Tuesday was interrupted four times by students advertising their various political groups. Profe, it'll just be a minute - can I talk to your class? Want to come write for a political humor magazine? Or how about march to protest the alleged censure problems?

In terms of classroom environment, my UCA Public Sector Econ class is by far and away the best. It doesn't really feel like a lecture; rather, it seems more like a conversation with the professor about anything to do with supply and demand and uncle Sam. I've already met some of the other argentine students in the class other than on the basis of hi-what's-your-name-where-are-you-from. Many students also drink mate during class, and it eventually gets passed around the lecture with it even making a stop with the professor. Germaphobes would cringe at mate, but I think it is one of the best social inventions. It is essentially a tea, based on the yerba mate leaf. Check out Whole Foods - they'll be all over it. You put it into a mate (yes, I was confused as well when I first heard - the cup/bowl is also called a mate) and then simply add hot water. The 'straw' is called a bombilla, which is a silver metal straw-looking tube. People walk around with thermoses and their mate on the street. I like it, but it definitely is an acquired taste - it's quite bitter. The key to mate though, from what I've heard, is the water. If it's too hot you'll burn the leaves and lose the flavor, and if you pour it into the mate in the wrong spot you'll be missing out. But hey, as long as I don't drop my tostada into it I think I should be OK. Oh, and don't move the bombilla once it's in. I did that, and was almost kicked out onto the street.

As for streets, I got my fill of them the other day. I was searching for a frisbee, but it seems as if no one in this city has any idea what a frisbee is. For three hours I wandered the streets of my barrio going back and forth from sports stores to jugueterias (kids' toy stores) in search of a disc. Eventually I found myself in yet another sports store (I honestly don't know how shops survive here - if they're in the same category, i.e. sports stores, they're all next to each other, sell exactly the same thing and present it in exactly the same way) asking for a frisbee or where I could find one. I got some blank stares when I asked for a frisbee. But when I said it was like a disco, with the relevant hand motions of course, that lit a lightbulb - ah, un disco! Tenés que ir a Musimundo, en Abasto (You need to go to Musimundo, in the Abasto shopping mall). I knew the store name sounded familiar, but it didn't quite click so I thought awesome, I finally found it. I walked the thirty minutes to Abasto and realized that they had sent me to a music store. Un disco - of course. They thought I wanted to buy a CD. Great. Talk about letdown. Lost in translation, anyone?

My solution to the problem, as it is with pretty much any problem these days, was to google it. Up popped the webpage for an ultimate frisbee team here in BsAs. I emailed the captain, Maxi, and found not only a spot to buy a frisbee but also to play a little Ultimate. So last weekend I travelled out to UBA's main campus, La Ciudad Universitaria (yes, it's fittingly called a city), with a few friends to check it out. We got in on the USA-Argentina game and some pick-up after that. During the pickup game, I was going up in the endzone to catch a throw and, well, some of me was left behind. My defender stepped on my foot, and the picture above is what happened to my shoe. Completely ripped from one side to the other. Combine that with hurting my knee and getting smacked full-on in the side of the head by a pull, as well as the fact that my friend Dan basically ran into a pole, I can safely say Day 1 was a success. But it's 80/20 Argentines/Foreigners, and ultimate is a pretty intense sport for all of you doubters out there. I know barely anything about it, but I can run and find the open space. It seems like really a great group, and yours truly is now a proud member of the Discosur ultimate team.

Week 1 of the league is this weekend - I'll pretend I know the terms and I will definitely avoid all the soccer goal poles in the endzone.

Sweet Home Buenos Aires

I think it's a good time to talk about home life, as I've gotten so many requests and haven't actually talked too much about it. When I was originally deciding on where to study abroad, it really came down to Barcelona or here. The catch with Barcelona, however, is that I wouldn't be doing a homestay. And that, ladies and gents, would have been a shame because so far this experience has been one-of-a-kind.

My day always begins with a mixture of corn and frosted flakes and the news. The morning news consists of crime, weather and traffic. That's about it. If you want a bright start to the day, the news is probably not your cup of tea. Perhaps the best part of breakfast is the fresh-squeezed orange juice. My host-mom, Tina, squeezes it every morning, which is absolutely unbelievable. I told her that Tropicana is perfectly fine, but she insisted. Maybe United Fruit has left a negative legacy and she refuses to give US fruit companies business - I don't really know. But there are definitely no complaints from this end!

Speaking of orange juice, however, there was a crisis with the fresh-squeezed liquid gold. About a week and a half ago now a new student moved into the house. She's from Colombia, and is a full time student at USAL. She's very nice and will be good to speak spanish with - it will be great to have someone my age with whom to make myself look like an idiot with all of my grammatical errors. But no pain, no gain, right? Anyhow, as soon as she moved in the fresh-squeezed orange juice disappeared and was replaced by tang. This was a serious problem. After a couple days I decided it was time for Laura to go - the loss of the orange juice was just too hard to bear. However I brought a peace offering back from Bariloche (a box of chocolates), and all of a sudden the orange juice was back. Add that to the bowl of fruit that my amazing host-mom gives me now (this started after I cooked dinner for her the other night - she's on a diet, but decided to take a break for some chicken pesto pasta. 'A man will cook for me? Of course I'll take a break!'), and breakfast should now be featured in the michelin guide. All in all, my host mom treats me incredibly well and I couldn't be more grateful.

I have yet to figure out her marital situation, however. From what I understand, she is divorced, but her ex-husband comes over almost every day to have a mate and often stays for dinner. I think trying to clarify the situation might turn incredibly embarrassing with my lack of complete control of the language, so I'm just going to pull out the 'nod and smile' card on this one. The kids are also over often (they're both in their 30s), mainly around dinner time. They know what's up. Conversations often turn into what I would consider heated arguments, but as I'm thinking I better start getting ready to break up a a fight I realize that this is the way people talk here.

Along with the family members there are dogs galore, with Matias the older son bringing his two around several days a week and the ex-husband bringing his golden lab whenever he comes by. I don't know how the lab stays so skinny, because he eats the equivalent of a human meal during dinner every night. He definitely has my host family wrapped around his paw, as he easily devours half a loaf of bread every night. He is not quite at Othello's level though.

For dinner, I am normally the only one that eats anything green. My host-mom makes a plate of salad for me that she has me eat before the main part of the meal. She normally dumps more salt on it than McDonald's does on French Fries, but I really can't complain. It really is my only foray into the vegetable group each day. We normally eat milanesas, pasta, beef, chicken or rice. It is always delicious. Spicy is not a word in the argentinian vocabulary, however; a stew we had the other night was termed muy picante (very spicy) by most, but I personally thought it was full of flavor and a phenomenal soup. Maybe I won't ask to cook some Thai curry. In that case I might find myself swimming back to the northern hemisphere before I can say 'wasabi'. The main event of dinner though is the telenovela, or soap opera, which my host-mom watches like it's her job. There's a lot more blood and violence than I would have thought there would be in a telenovela, and Ramiro (the younger son) and I laugh about how outrageous it is sometimes. Only recently however, after weeks of religiously watching it, did I find out that Tina doesn't really like it too much mainly because often things happen that wouldn't occur in real life. We still watch it anyway, and it actually is pretty entertaining.

All in all, living here at 3708 Hipólito Irigoyen is a tough life. After hearing about the homestay situations of other students on the program, I realized I lucked out with housing. Not that I needed to hear the horror stories to know that - I knew I had a great home for the next 5 months from the very beginning. Even with the temporary disappearance of the orange juice.

Gone Skiing.

(Click 'photos' for all of the Bariloche photos)

Life is tough. The last few days have seen me living it up in Bariloche, Argentina, which is a small mountain ski town in central-southwest Argentina near the Chilean border. I know I said that Salta would be hard to beat, but I think Bariloche now has the yellow jersey and is racing ahead. And it's going to be hard to top.

My travels began with a twenty hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Bariloche. Let me just take a minute to put that in perspective. For those of you who have flown to Japan, think about it this way: you get there, say hi to the jetway operator, turn around and fly home. Once I thought about it like that, I figured that if they only had chicken or beef on the menu there might be a problem. In fact, I was given three meals on the bus, and had the opportunity to have some wine with dinner. Not bad. I have to add that the bathroom was locked during meal times, though. The reasoning behind that was beyond me. What were we going to do? Throw our cream cheese-covered corn beef down the toilet? They promised us champagne or whisky with the final movie of the night, but I think that was lost in translation because the attendant came around with coffee in styrofoam cups instead. I think I might have insulted him when I took the coffee and then gave it back because I decided not to get wired at midnight. Now when I say movies, I'm talking about the classiest pirated movies you know. The rare editions with half of the screen blocked out by someone's back or those that have the entire picture suddenly go crooked because someone let go of the video camera graced my bus trip.

We passed through La Pampa, which is Argentina's version of the midwest. Flat. Grass. More flat. Some of the passengers would jump off the bus at the most random spots along the way; I was under the impression that it was a bus to Bariloche, but apparently you could get off at Timbuktu, Argentina. The lady sitting next to me got up about 4 hours into the trip. I thought she was going to the bathroom, but when she hadn't returned after a couple hours I figured that either she was being punished for going to the bathroom during dinner or she was going to who knows where out in the middle of the desert.

A couple hours out from Bariloche we entered the Lake District, which essentially marks the end of La Pampa and the start of the Andes and Patagonia. I watched the sun rise over one of these lakes, and the view was unreal. But that was nothing compared with what was to come. Bariloche is set on the shores of one of these lakes (Lake Nahuel Huapi), which happens to be ringed by towering Andean peaks. As I looked up the name of the lake, the article mentioned that Bariloche is located in the "foothills" of the Andes. If these are the foothills, then the big boys must be in a league all of their own.

I took a collectivo along the hilly lakeside streets to the hostel, located on the other side of town (the slow ride took all of twenty minutes). The hostel is set back up on a hill, with a view of the lake and background peaks in the distance. I dropped my pack, changed and bolted for the ski area. I should have expected the bus to take twice as long as I thought, because after all Argentina is on a bit of a different schedule, but I was still chomping at the bit to hit the slopes. I rented some gear and walked back outside into a drizzling rain. Rain. You have to be kidding. I proceeded to look up at the cookies-and-cream slope with dirt galore leading to the main lifts. Combine that with the fact that 75% of the lifts were closed due to 'high' winds, and you have a recipe for a less-than-optimal day of skiing. Maybe my expectations were a little high?

Not all lifts were closed, and that was all I needed to know. I grabbed a half-day pass and got up the slope to find my friends who had come down the night before. We ventured out into the whiteout with an Aussie (he's doing a year long travel deal - it seems like every Australian does it. There most be something in the water - if there is, they should export it) they had met at the hostel and explored the mountain for the rest of the afternoon. There was honestly no wind to be worried about; people would be having a party on #2 at Loveland. It felt great to get some turns in though. And no, I didn't have to pay any change on day 1.

Now many say that Argentina does not exploit their tourism potential very well at all. You wouldn't know that judging by the tourism setup in Bariloche. Or Braziloche, as it's also known. Hundreds of teenagers who have never seen the white stuff are bused from Brazil to Bariloche to look at the snow. No, not to ski, not to snowboard, but rather to ride a chairlift up, sing a song, take a picture, throw some snow around and come back down. OK for a day, maybe. But for a week? If I were them I'd call up my Prime Minister and tell him to lay siege to the Argentinian embassy until I could get on some skis. Or just kidnap Maradona and call it good. But hey, if you could wear matching jackets and get a free backpack, who wouldn't jump on the snowventure?

We spent the evening hanging at the hostel meeting the other travelers, aka ski bums, staying there. The common area/bar is run by two British guys, so you can imagine the craziness that happens on Friday and Saturday nights. Eventually we went out on the town, but didn't stay out too late because we had ambitious ski plans for the next day. Mick, one of the dynamic duo, did stay out late however; as we left the hostel the next morning at 9, he was standing outside holding the door completely plastered. Rough night? Long night.

Saturday was marked by a scavenger hunt to find reasonable snow. All that rain from the day before conveniently froze overnight, so I was tempted to rent some ice skates and try my luck on some of the runs. With fresh snow I think the area is amazing - there are dozens of runs for all skill levels. It's just our luck though that they're getting 15 inches Tuesday night. Oh well! The entire day we were laughing about our skis - they were at least 6 or 7 years old, and the wax job was just atrocious. Globs of wax all over the bottom, with bits missing here and there. We asked the rental staff about it, and all we got was a 'Don't worry about it! It'll be fine.' Gotta love that Argentine approach to life! All the way up until the point I get up close and personal with a tree.

By the end of the day we figured we knew the cause for the Argentine Economic Crisis of 2001. Cerro Catedral has about 25 lifts when 12 will do. Lift lines run parallel, roughly the same distance and are separated by maybe 200 feet. Superfluous spending maybe? Or how about the complete dogleg lift that goes up over a rock face with the towers drilled straight into the rock? Necessary? As such we experimented with many lifts, and many of them were too small for me to fit my skis on the rest bar. I really think they discriminate against tall people in this country. The views from the top of the mountain, though, were unbelievable. I really felt like we were on top of the world. Snowcapped peaks, lakes, small pueblos in the distance were everywhere I looked. I've come to conclude that from what I've seen, Argentina is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.

We decided to bail on skiing Sunday, just because the poor snow conditions were not making it much fun. Instead, we went for a hike. We found our way to several lakes, and the vistas definitely made it worth bailing on skiing Sunday. Our path was the 'bamboo trail,' which should actually be called the 'bamboo tunnel' for people under 5'5". I spent the majority of the hike hunched over. Did I mention something about discrimination against tall people?

Overall Bariloche was absolutely phenomenal. Do I really have to go back to class? Maybe I'll call up a snow tour company and tell them I can build a really good snowman and throw a mean snow-curveball. I have one condition: downloading is not an option.