Yesterday, I had another really vivid dream. This time I had flown back to the United States after about a week in Argentina saying that I needed a break from South America. While there, I wore a really cute dress, had shaved my legs, was on my way to making Tamale Pie (my new fave dish), and had a really sick (aka cool) fro, was wearing contacts and sunglasses, and was sitting in the front seat of Mom’s gold van marveling at how smooth our journey was because there were no bumps in the roads in America. I texted my friend Alyssa which I do constantly and almost to excess—almost—and waited and waited for her to text me back. Then I realized she was in Costa Rica (which she is) and was really sad. Then I woke up and found myself in hotel in Formosa, Argentina. Alas…one day I’ll be back in America. But I’m still so happy to be here.
We have officially made it ½ way in our journey across the top half of Argentina. We are going in a REALLY BIG circle counterclockwise. We’ve visited some pretty cool places and have done some pretty cool things and now we are on our way to what my professor claims is the most beautiful city in all of Argentina.
Speaking of my professor, he seems to know a lot about Geography and every time something is mentioned about a part of the world, he says, “Oh yeah. That place is really neat…” I just found out that he’s been to 176 countries—and there are only between 206-215 countries total depending on who you ask and who likes whom on any given day. 176?!?!!! Man! My adult goal was to visit a country a year and to have a significant experience (a very vague and undefined term at the present) while there. But at my current pace, I will be 193 before I see 176 countries. I will need to bump up the pace a bit. So I’ve changed it to making an international trip every year and having a significant experience in each country that I visit. I don’t just want to take a guided tour, but I want to live, even if for a day, like the citizens/natives there. So far I’ve accomplished that in my four countries—Canada, Belize, Mexico, and now Argentina. Anyway, I digress.
We just crossed the most bumpy part of the trip in what’s called the Chaco. It looks a lot like…a mixture between Kansas aaaannnnndddd…a place with a lot of dry trees and shrubbery. I’m not a nature person at all, but there were these really pretty flowers with a dark brown middle and were bright yellow on the outside. We’re driving so I can’t get any good pictures of them. I think they might be called daisy-susans or black-eyed-susans or lazy-susans or something like that. I don’t know, but they were growing wild on the side of the road. For about 30 minutes, my butt got some significant air-time—it was pretty fun for the first 27.5. Almost roller-coaster-esque. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel the steel track under your coaster car at Six Flags. After about 30 minutes of that, it was finally smooth enough for me to take my third nap in the van.
An hour later, I woke up not to the smell of Folgers Coffee, but to the Andes Mountains. They were way off in the distance and had a blue tint to them on the horizon. So majestic and awe-inspiring. We got out of the van to take a pee-and-eat break and my professor says—“You think those are big, just wait ‘til you see what’s behind them!” He’s been saying that we’ll see some snow so I’m pretty excited about that. I just hope I can find my socks! They’ve been missing for 3 days now.
BTW: I think we’re in the middle of the layers of the mountains now because the mountains I was describing in the last paragraph are now behind us. Dr. Keeling said that the mountains are in 3 layers going east to west (or west to east) with each layer getting bigger. So looking at a map of Argentina, we are going east to west through the Andes and are currently in a valley between the first set of mountains and the second set. If I were to take a wild guess, I would think the 3rd set would have snow, but I wouldn’t take my word for it. I have no Internet access now and can’t look it up on Wikipedia ☺
2 or 3 days ago (all the days are in a blur), I saw one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever seen in my life. There’s a system of waterfalls that is like Four Corners in the US (Colorado, Texas, Nevada, and Arizona meet at one stoplight—still on my list of places to take a picture at), but it’s at the corner of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay. It’s called Iguazú Falls and is one of the largest waterfalls in the world. We took some trails and walked over several waterfalls. Thankfully, the geniuses who made this place tourist-friendly back in the 1960’s made walkways through much of the park so that you could actually see this masterpiece without getting in a helicopter.
After about 3 or 4 waterfalls, I actually started getting pretty weepy because it was just absolutely breathtaking. I couldn’t believe I was actually here getting misted and sprayed (lightly) by this site. Then I started thinking, “Wouldn’t it be cool to stick my toes in the water?” But oh well.
I had heard rumors that there was a splash boat thing at the beginning of the trip and I was on a mission to get more information about it. At lunch, I saw a sign and talked to the guys about it. They said it was a 12-minute ride for $25 American. My limit for this adventure was $50, so $25 was an EXTREME bargain! I grabbed a couple other guys to go with me and we made the trek to the bottom of the park to catch the boat.
I decided in my head to not wear the poncho that they were offering. I wanted to get as wet as possible cuz I knew I would never be back here and had to take in the whole experience. We got our waterproof bags to put our stuff in, I switched into my handy-dandy $10.50 Crocs, and bound onto the boat. They started off slow and moved to one of the “smaller” waterfalls and got us pretty wet. Then they went to the Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat)—appropriately named and we got DRENCHED!!! I squealed and the rest of the boat yelled/screamed/etc. Then we pulled up to the dock, and there was another boat docking. The group on the boat started yelling a phrase that pretty much meant “Encore!!” and the boatman obliged and we got drenched again and again and again! 2.5 times more than we paid! What a deal!
I feel sorry for the tour guide when I go to Niagara Fall for the first time in my life because I’ll walk under the falls when everyone is ooh-ing and aw-ing at the sight and think to myself—“Y’all ain seen nuthin cuz I’ve seen and got sopping wet at Iguazú!”
So Jesus blessed me with this incredible sight and I not only got my feet wet in Iguazú Falls, but I got soaked to the bone and refreshed in mind and spirit way down in God’s creation.
Psalm 19:1-4 “(1)The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. (2)Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. (3)There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard. (4)They voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world.”
Sunday, June 6
Thursday, June 3
Argentina 4: Chocolate Drops
Black Count: 21
I decided to count the Black people that I pass on the streets while I’m here in Argentina. Now there are a few rules to this game. #1: They have to have my kind of hair (capable of a fro) or relaxed hair that used to look like mine. #2: They can’t be mixed to the point where it’s hard to tell that they’re Black. #3: I prefer to count Black Americans, Africans or English-Speaking Black people, but that’s just a preference.
When I went to Mexico, it took 3 weeks before I saw a Black person. I was looking too!!! I was in an area of cafes where there were probably 500 Mexicanos. I scanned the area to find my next snack and cup of tea at dusk. Lo and behold! Way across the crowd, I spot a chocolate drop! I told my group, “I will be right back!” I weaseled my way through the crowd (with some quite fantastic Jack Bauer moves, I might add) and ran up to this Oklahoman woman. I told her that I had been here for 3 weeks and she’s the first one I had seen. She looked at me and laughed and enjoyed her mono-paparazzi, but that was my experience.
I'm very much interested to see how Blacks travel--and why they do. Statistically speaking, less than 1% of Blacks travel outside the country and even fewer do study abroad trips. I'm not exactly sure why either. It might be fear, because nobody else is doing it or creating a model to follow, or maybe they/we just don't know there are opportunities outside of our comfort bubble. The second reason I'm counting Black people is because even outside the country there is a common bond that we all share and I find that fascinating. In the States, we recognize the common bond using a head nod, a glance, a smirk... Outside the States it's the same--regardless of if you're Black American, African, or mostly one of the former. One of my friends said that it's because we all understand that we're in the same struggle and have the same heritage (roots) although our family trees have different stems, branches, and limbs. There are always exceptions, but this is pretty commonplace.
Here, the people are so well mixed because of their history. Argentines feel like they are displaced Europeans. People have come from all over and their skin tones are absolutely breathtaking. There are Jews, Muslims, French, Natives, Germans, English, Spanish, on and on and on. I enjoy watching the kaleidoscope of the epithelial layer. Family trees are crazy. I talked to one guy who’s grandparents are Italian, Native Argentine, and Spanish. I’m just Black—but I like being Black. Therefore, I’m counting Black people.
That’s all for now.
JLP
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!!!
I decided to count the Black people that I pass on the streets while I’m here in Argentina. Now there are a few rules to this game. #1: They have to have my kind of hair (capable of a fro) or relaxed hair that used to look like mine. #2: They can’t be mixed to the point where it’s hard to tell that they’re Black. #3: I prefer to count Black Americans, Africans or English-Speaking Black people, but that’s just a preference.
When I went to Mexico, it took 3 weeks before I saw a Black person. I was looking too!!! I was in an area of cafes where there were probably 500 Mexicanos. I scanned the area to find my next snack and cup of tea at dusk. Lo and behold! Way across the crowd, I spot a chocolate drop! I told my group, “I will be right back!” I weaseled my way through the crowd (with some quite fantastic Jack Bauer moves, I might add) and ran up to this Oklahoman woman. I told her that I had been here for 3 weeks and she’s the first one I had seen. She looked at me and laughed and enjoyed her mono-paparazzi, but that was my experience.
I'm very much interested to see how Blacks travel--and why they do. Statistically speaking, less than 1% of Blacks travel outside the country and even fewer do study abroad trips. I'm not exactly sure why either. It might be fear, because nobody else is doing it or creating a model to follow, or maybe they/we just don't know there are opportunities outside of our comfort bubble. The second reason I'm counting Black people is because even outside the country there is a common bond that we all share and I find that fascinating. In the States, we recognize the common bond using a head nod, a glance, a smirk... Outside the States it's the same--regardless of if you're Black American, African, or mostly one of the former. One of my friends said that it's because we all understand that we're in the same struggle and have the same heritage (roots) although our family trees have different stems, branches, and limbs. There are always exceptions, but this is pretty commonplace.
Here, the people are so well mixed because of their history. Argentines feel like they are displaced Europeans. People have come from all over and their skin tones are absolutely breathtaking. There are Jews, Muslims, French, Natives, Germans, English, Spanish, on and on and on. I enjoy watching the kaleidoscope of the epithelial layer. Family trees are crazy. I talked to one guy who’s grandparents are Italian, Native Argentine, and Spanish. I’m just Black—but I like being Black. Therefore, I’m counting Black people.
That’s all for now.
JLP
HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!!!
Tuesday, June 1
Argentina 3: Red Dirt, My Empathizable Digestive Tract, and a Mandito for the Police
Sandwich Bamboozlement
I woke up from my slumber in the 3rd row seat in our van to a gas station with Red Level, Alabama dirt. The kind of red where if you inhale when walking through a dust plume and get an MRI of your lungs, the physician would be able to see the once clear lungs covered in red soot. Like red red… Like blood red red…you get the idea.
We all piled into the Argentine-Shell-Wanna-Be and purchased “lunch” which I will discuss in story #2 of this blog. When we all walked in—all the Gringos (White Americans) plus the Chocolate Drop (Me), the workers had a look of perplexity and shock—why are they all here in the middle of nowhere not able to speak Spanish? So we’ve figured out the best way to tell how much we owe is by typing the price into a calculator, then they show how much we owe and we pay it. Not difficult. There were tons of sandwiches to choose from in this mini-Shell. Most of the students got one and then went to go sit and eat. Like we always do, we wanted to see how much we paid for our food and who got the best deal. Little things are entertaining when you’re on the road for long stretches of time. We soon found out that we were bamboozled! Some sandwiches were MUCH more than others and the workers there used our inability to decipher prices and speak Spanish fluently so that they could get extra profit.
Lunch at an Argentine Gas Station
So bad dieting. I’m not a fast food, snack food, or processed food in bags sort of person. I would love to make enough money to spend half my paycheck and not be homeless at a Whole Foods, but alas…I’m broke and my current state doesn’t look like it will be changing any time soon. I’ve had two lunches in gas stations in the past two days. I’m really empathizing with my digestive tract right now—I hope it’s not angry with me. So in trying to translate my lunch choice options, I came up with very bad things in which to ingest. Also, I don’t eat pork or cheese. Lucky me—the only sandwiches available were ham and cheese. I don’t think this country is very big on health bars with soy nuggets and brown rice syrup. I had to get next best thing: Lay’s Potato Chips, shortbread cookies with chocolate, and apple juice. Vegetables, bread, milk, and fruit. Perfect! No more griping. I could have starved tonight so I am grateful for my well-balanced and nutritive filled sustenance.
Frisked
Yesterday, while I was the unconscious passenger in the back seat (I actually drooled sorta today—it was bad), we got to a crawling speed. No big deal—another toll booth. I went back into SleepVille. Then I felt the van pull over to the side of the road. “Hmm…this is new.” I’m awake now, but my vision is quite fuzzy. They asked a few questions. Then they asked to see all of our passports. 3 minutes later they come back to the van and tell us that we have to get out of the van with out luggage. Oh no!!!
We pile out of the van with our backpacks—and tell them this is all the luggage we had (not the case at all). They stand there are ask us tons of questions. Then they pick 5 students randomly and take them to their Police Docking Building to be searched. About 15 minutes later, we were good to go. Then they asked to see the driver/program director. They take him back. When he returned he was hot and mad! They made him pay a fine because his lights were not on—an Argentine traffic thing. The fine was $300 pesos or $75 American dollars. He had asked for a list of grievances against them and they were quite reluctant to show him that and to give him a receipt for the fine. Basically it was a bribe to the police—a mandito. I think they just were hungry for lunch and used us for pizza money. Oh Latin American Justice.
We all pile into the van again and are ready to get on the road after being frisked by the police. THEN we start the engine and to no avail. The battery is dead. Fantastic. So we all wondered if it’s ok to go ask the Argentine police for a jump after they had just finished searching us for drugs. We decided against that idea. I don’t know what happened after that. Something about the van being diesel and some light needed to be on…that’s all manly mechanic talk.
On the road again.
That’s all for now.
JLP
I woke up from my slumber in the 3rd row seat in our van to a gas station with Red Level, Alabama dirt. The kind of red where if you inhale when walking through a dust plume and get an MRI of your lungs, the physician would be able to see the once clear lungs covered in red soot. Like red red… Like blood red red…you get the idea.
We all piled into the Argentine-Shell-Wanna-Be and purchased “lunch” which I will discuss in story #2 of this blog. When we all walked in—all the Gringos (White Americans) plus the Chocolate Drop (Me), the workers had a look of perplexity and shock—why are they all here in the middle of nowhere not able to speak Spanish? So we’ve figured out the best way to tell how much we owe is by typing the price into a calculator, then they show how much we owe and we pay it. Not difficult. There were tons of sandwiches to choose from in this mini-Shell. Most of the students got one and then went to go sit and eat. Like we always do, we wanted to see how much we paid for our food and who got the best deal. Little things are entertaining when you’re on the road for long stretches of time. We soon found out that we were bamboozled! Some sandwiches were MUCH more than others and the workers there used our inability to decipher prices and speak Spanish fluently so that they could get extra profit.
Lunch at an Argentine Gas Station
So bad dieting. I’m not a fast food, snack food, or processed food in bags sort of person. I would love to make enough money to spend half my paycheck and not be homeless at a Whole Foods, but alas…I’m broke and my current state doesn’t look like it will be changing any time soon. I’ve had two lunches in gas stations in the past two days. I’m really empathizing with my digestive tract right now—I hope it’s not angry with me. So in trying to translate my lunch choice options, I came up with very bad things in which to ingest. Also, I don’t eat pork or cheese. Lucky me—the only sandwiches available were ham and cheese. I don’t think this country is very big on health bars with soy nuggets and brown rice syrup. I had to get next best thing: Lay’s Potato Chips, shortbread cookies with chocolate, and apple juice. Vegetables, bread, milk, and fruit. Perfect! No more griping. I could have starved tonight so I am grateful for my well-balanced and nutritive filled sustenance.
Frisked
Yesterday, while I was the unconscious passenger in the back seat (I actually drooled sorta today—it was bad), we got to a crawling speed. No big deal—another toll booth. I went back into SleepVille. Then I felt the van pull over to the side of the road. “Hmm…this is new.” I’m awake now, but my vision is quite fuzzy. They asked a few questions. Then they asked to see all of our passports. 3 minutes later they come back to the van and tell us that we have to get out of the van with out luggage. Oh no!!!
We pile out of the van with our backpacks—and tell them this is all the luggage we had (not the case at all). They stand there are ask us tons of questions. Then they pick 5 students randomly and take them to their Police Docking Building to be searched. About 15 minutes later, we were good to go. Then they asked to see the driver/program director. They take him back. When he returned he was hot and mad! They made him pay a fine because his lights were not on—an Argentine traffic thing. The fine was $300 pesos or $75 American dollars. He had asked for a list of grievances against them and they were quite reluctant to show him that and to give him a receipt for the fine. Basically it was a bribe to the police—a mandito. I think they just were hungry for lunch and used us for pizza money. Oh Latin American Justice.
We all pile into the van again and are ready to get on the road after being frisked by the police. THEN we start the engine and to no avail. The battery is dead. Fantastic. So we all wondered if it’s ok to go ask the Argentine police for a jump after they had just finished searching us for drugs. We decided against that idea. I don’t know what happened after that. Something about the van being diesel and some light needed to be on…that’s all manly mechanic talk.
On the road again.
That’s all for now.
JLP
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