We made the crossing by boat -- taking a speed boat 10 hours down-river from Iquitos to the cities of Leticia, Columbia and Tabatinga, Brasil. The ride down was cramped and uneventful, but quite pretty all the same. From the windows of the boat, and at our few stops along the way, we saw an unending series of small communities along the side of the river. All the houses seemed to have roofs of palm-thatch and stilted, wooden floors. Very few had any walls to speak of. We arrived in Tabatinga in the early evening, and learned that a boat was leaving the next day for Manaus. Perfect.

Things on this side of the border are, indeed, different. The most immediate and obvious difference is, of course, the language. Portuguese. It's close enough to Spanish that it's no problem to read written Portuguese, but everything is pronounced totally differently, making it quite difficult to understand anything spoken or to speak. It's exciting to be in a place where the language is different, but frustrating as well. I'm once again having to communicate in gestures rather than words, and can't follow up a smile with any sort of conversation. It's become clear to me how important it is to speak the language of the place you're visiting -- it just makes it a totally different experience. Time to learn Portuguese.

There are a number of other differences on this side of the border as well. It's somewhat difficult to compare the people, as I don't feel like I can communicate well here, but everyone so far has been incredibly friendly. When we arrived in Tabatinga, for example, we didn't have any Reais (banks were closed, and the Brazilian ATMs didn't like American cards), so the girl running our hotel lent us money and then joined us for dinner. The life in Amazonas seems very different, based on what we could see from our next boat. All the communities on this side of the border were higher up, away from the water. Rather than thatched roofs they had tin or zinc or some form of metal, painted walls usually, etc.. They had electricity, water, and telephone service. In short, the government had invested a lot of money in the Amazonas region to bring the small communities more into the modern life. Food is different, of course. Lots of good fruit juices, and again all manner of things I don't recognize nor know the name of. But so far, all tasty.

Back to the boat. We went down the night before to check it out and claim hammock space (On the boat, everyone sleeps in hammocks). I had my doubts about how it would be to sleep in a hammock for three nights, but figured it couldn't be too bad. Looking at my mom's face as we got on the boat, it became obvious that she had her doubts as well. We decided that we'd try it anyway, and figured that we could make it work. Strung up our hammocks to save some space, then back to a real bed to sleep.

The next day when we arrived, the boat had filled up. Where before there had been one row of hammocks, there were now three. Excitement mixed with new doubts as I saw my mother's reaction to the news hammocks in her personal space. Well, we thought, we'll just have to make it work. And work it did. Quite comfortably. For three and half days we chugged downstream, watching the jungle slip by on either side of the river. It was a relaxing time -- reading, enjoying the view, and having a beer or two with friends from the boat made the time go by quickly. From the boat we got only glimpses into the lives of people living in amazonas. Frequently, we'd slow or stop to meet a canoe full of fruit to sell or to drop someone off. At one point, we stopped and loaded a person on a gurney onto the boat -- a two day ride to the hospital in Manaus.

It was good to finally get into the city, and to get off the boat, but it was somewhat difficult to leave behind the comfort and ease of a life with no difficulties or responsibilities for the bustle of a city. Especially one in which you don't really speak the language...

But, as always, the new has its charms to lure you away from the old. Exploring Manaus has been fun. Did some shopping. Saw an old Charlie Chaplin movie in one of the plaças last night. Silent films are wonderfully portable. Saw a nice sunset over the port, and watched the coming and going of many, many boats for a while. Tomorrow we fly to Brasilia for a day, and then on to São Paulo. Looking forward to seeing more of Brasil.

This time I'm sitting next to my mother in an internet cafe in Iquitos, a city in the Peruvian jungle. The walls, both inside and outside, of the cafe are purple and covered with little signs, and AC/DC is blaring from the computer at the front desk, making me long for the Maná that was playing there before. It's warm and humid, but the breeze from the fans feels great.

We entered the cafe through a small door, about 4 feet high, cut into the big door used to lock the cafe up at night. The cafe is half-closed, like any other businesses here seem to be, on account of a nation-wide strike here. Political unrest and unhappiness seems to be a part of life anywhere in the world right now, and it's interesting to see how different places deal with it.

I had spent the past week wandering around, blissfully unaware that there was going to be a strike. There was graffiti for it on the walls, but not all that much, and none of it registered with me until our taxi driver mentioned it, and my mom told me that she had read about it before leaving the states. "Huh," I thought, looking around, reading the walls. "Fuera Toledo. Paro 14 de Julio." I guess I should have seen it. (Toledo is the amazingly unpopular president of Peru. His approval ratings have been in the single digits since January, and this strike is largely to show disapproval.)

Things really seemed to begin on the night of the 13th. Coming back to our hostel we ran into a big crowd of people gathering in front of one of the workers syndicates. Most of the people were carrying meter-long sticks, and now and then a glass bottle would fly out of the crowd and shatter on the street. We joined a few scattered onlookers on one of the side streets, and watched as they chanted and shouted anti-toledo slogans that we only half understood. After a short while they marched off toward the central plaza, and we went to bed wondering what tomorrow might bring.

When we woke up and walked out of the hostel it was obvious that today was different. The city was quiet. No taxis. No motorcycles. Only a few people strolling along, and now and then the sound of kids playing. Broken glass in the intersections, and the occasional remnants of a burned tire, were almost the only sign of what had gone on the night before. After breakfast, walked down to the market. The streets are full of kids playing football, but the market was quiet. Here and there people were selling things, but generally it was closed. Felt very eerie to walk around. Iquitos doesn't seem like the kind of city where there should be peace and quiet.

...

In the afternoon, more people seemed to be out. There was a huge march along the plaza -- lots of people from all sorts of different groups protesting. Very peaceful. Families marching, mothers with babies, old and young, men and women alike.

As the day wore on, the city became louder and louder, as more and more taxis went back to work, restaurants opened up, and people became to come out again. After dark, the city began to take on it's usual character...

Coming to the jungle after spending a month in the sierra was shocking. My flight got in just as the sun was setting, and I was greeted by a wall of thick, moist air and a beautiful red sky over a wall of green vegetation. Caught a mototaxi (a motorcycle with a bench seat on the back) into town, then wandered around watching bits of a football game at each bar I passed. Iquitos is a loud city, but a friendly one. There are virtually no cars, but the streets are full of motorcycles and mototaxis. It's warm, and all the buildings are open to the outside, with music (usually something from Tropical 2004) pouring out of each store. My first interactions with the people here were incredibly positive -- very friendly, and interested in talking.

The next morning, I walked past the main plaza down to the river and took in my first glimpse of it during the daylight. It was pretty -- shimmering water reflecting the morning sun, lots of boats of all sizes coming and going, and little islands of floating green lilies and other vegetation. "Oh," I thought after a little while, "I'm looking at the Amazon. Wow!" Water -- the rivers -- are a major part of life here. Boats still seem novel to me, so I find it interesting to see them as such a basic part of life.

The jungle is so different from the mountains. The market is filled with fish and tropical fruit, along with the usual selection of beef, chicken, spices, and so on. There is a big aisle of traditional medicine -- different barks and plants from throughout the jungle, each with a different look and aroma, as well as bottles and jars of shamanic potions and other drinks. Fascinating. The food is different as well. Everything in the market seems to be packaged in a banana leaf and tied shut -- no telling what's inside.

The next day I met my mom at the airport. Wonderful to see her again after so long. She'd had a great trip up that point, visiting Cuzco, Machu Pichu and the sacred valley, and it was great to see her so excited. Spent the next day catching up and deciding what we were going to do, and decided to spend some time in the jungle around Iquitos.

We went to one of the jungle lodges a few hours upriver for a few days. Was great to get away from the city, into less-inhabited jungle. It was a good feeling just to be moving on the river, on the way up to the lodge. Everything in brown and green -- the water and the banks brown, merging into a wall of green vegetation in different shades on the side of the river. All along the river were cleared fields with thatched-roofed houses, fruit trees, and a large collection of children playing. The variety of boats that we saw -- from simple dugout canoe, to oil boats, to long, covered boats just packed with people -- was amazing.

The lodge itself was up one of the tributaries of the amazon, a smaller, black-water river. We saw a huge number of different birds on the trip, with names that I could never keep straight, as well a collection of different animals. Highlights for me were seeing one of the smaller communities on the river near the lodge, with about 100 residents, seeing a bunch of different frogs one night, and seeing the river dolphins the next morning. Pictures soon to follow, but net is slow here in Iquitos so it may be a little while.

Huaraz itself is a strange mix of heavily touristed city and Peruvian mountain town. Our second day here, we went into a place called the California Cafe -- it was straight out of Boulder, with a dead concert playing softly in the background; a menu of breakfasts, cafe foods, coffee, and chai; a nice library; and "Boulder people", discussing climbing and hiking with the same tone that you find in Boulder. It was really strange, and made it very easy to forget that I was in Peru. However, in the same street you can find children selling toasted peanuts or offering to shine your shoes. Walking a little way out of town, you find adobe houses, dirt roads, and the usual collection of dogs, chickens, pigs, etc.. Downtown, the streets are lined with stores selling and renting mountaineering equipment, and agencies to take you into the mountains, but nestled amongst them are the usual collection of restaurant selling 1/4 chicken for $1.50, and so on. It-sa weird mixture.

The highlight t of the time here has been the time spent outside of the city, however. McKenzie and I did two different trips, both about a week long, in the Cordillera Blanca. It-s an amazing range of mountains -- very different from anything I-ve ever seen anywhere else. The mountains are, in a word, big. Tall, steep, snow-covered peaks dominate the view from deep, narrow valleys (or quebradas) full of grazing cattle, horses, and donkeys. In the more popular locations, trains of burros loaded with gear and fields dotted with tents are common sights.

Our first hike took us up Quebrada Quillcayhuanca, over a pass, and back out Quebrada Cojup (quechua names). In Huaraz, we caught a cab to a nearby town ("How much to LLupa?" "S./50" "That's expensive -- we were told it should be 12" "Oh. Okay, 15?") and began the hike. Walking through populated areas, there was no shortage of people willing to offer directions or advice, many demanding a piece of candy in exchange.

The first goal was a trip up to Laguna Churup -- one of many turquoise alpine lakes. The trail up was steep and tiring, as we got used to the altitude and walking with packs on our backs, and we stopped just short of the lake to camp the first night. The next morning a steep scramble over rock brought us to the lake, where we were lucky enough to see the sun peek through the clouds for a few minutes. The lake was beautiful, at the foot of Nev. Churup, an imposing, glacier-covered mass, but a cold wind encouraged us to descend and put our packs back on.

We hiked down from the lake, and made our way into our first quebrada. Like one of the boys had warned us, there were "lots of burros, horses, and cows" in the valley. The bottom was flat, green, and a few hundred meters wide. The walls on the side were steep rock, ascending to the base of mountains that remained out of sight. At the end of the valley, mountains once again filled the view.

After a day and a half of hiking up the valley, we started to ascend the side of the valley, to a pass below one of the smaller mountains of the Cordillera, Huapi. Getting to the base of Huapi, which we were considering climbing, was a humbling experience. Although one of the smaller and easier mountains in the Cordillera, it was still BIG. Climbing up to the ridge near the mountain to get a look at it was difficult work for our unacclimatized bodies, and ended with a 20m scramble up rock to a narrow, sandy ledge that left both of us shaken and nervous. "I don't want to climb that mountain." "Okay." There was no further discussion. The next day we had a lazy morning in camp, then hiked over the pass (16,500') and down into the next valley, and out the next day.

Back in Huaraz we went out for dinner, drinks, and dancing with a couple people -- a woman and her guide -- that we met on the trail the last day. It was a good time, but in the end it cost us an extra day of recovery in Huaraz. The next day was spent sleeping off hangovers, and then going to see "Monsoon Wedding" at a small cafe that also shows movies. Comfortable cafe, good hot chocolate, good movie.

The next day we developed our plan for the next outing. We decided that if we wanted to climb anything, we should bite the bullet and hire a guide. We decided that Pisco would be a good goal -- a good next step for both of us. It also linked together nicely with a hike up quebrada santa cruz, which would allow us to see another part of the cordillera and allow us to stop at the alpamayo base camp to see the "most beautiful mountain in the world" (exactly who it is that gets to make these absolute judgments of aesthetics I don't know).

The weather on this hike was not as nice -- lots of clouds, and a bit of snow and rain here and there. Luckily, we were able to see most of the mountains through a few cloudless hours each day. The hike itself was generally easy and relaxing, after having put in the acclimatization work on the first hike. The mountains were, again, incredible, but this is a story best told by pictures. The valley was much more crowded, and were were frequently being passed by trains of burros carrying climbing gear, or supplies for other trekkers, along with groups of other hikers and once (memorably) a large group of Japanese tourists on an organized tour.

We finished our trek, and after a harrowing bus ride down a long set of narrow switchbacks characterized by the smell of burning} clutch as the driver repeatedly backed up to get around the turns, met our guide at the starting point for the Pisco climb. An easy day's hike took us to the base camp, where we should have had a nice view of Pisco. However, the weather was such that part way up to the camp, McKenzie asked our guide, "And, where's Pisco?" The skyline was pure white, with thick clouds rather than mountains being the defining feature. As we made our way up to camp the intermittent rain turned to hail and then to snow flurries. Ideal climbing weather, we joked. I hoped it would get better, and I tried to keep my suspicions that it wouldn't to myself.

We went to bed that night with the clouds still thick overhead, calculating how to make three days worth of food last four four. When we awoke at 10 minutes to one, however, the sky was clear and the moon was shining bright above us. The excitement of leaving for a climb made it easy to crawl out of a warm sleeping bag and prepare a quick, but hot, breakfast of potatoes and coffee. As we walked toward the mountain, crossing a large moraine by light of head lamps, the moon set, leaving us with a crisp sky full of the now-familiar stars of the southern hemisphere. The frost on the rocks glittered in the light of the head lamps. After several hours of walking, we arrived at the foot of the glacier. I was glad for the rest as we stopped to take out the rope and put on our gloves, harnesses, and crampons before getting onto the ice.

We started walking up the mountain, over a well defined trail that had been trodden by others before us this morning. At the base of the mountain there was several inches of unconsolidated snow, on top of a layer of much harder snow. I was grateful for the trail, especially moving in the dark. After an hour of walking, the sun began to rise, offering us an amazing view of a large portion of the cordillera in the first reddish rays of daylight. As we climbed, the sky behind the mountains turned from the first grays of dawn to brilliant reds and pinks and then to a deep, clear blue. If much of mountaineering is slogging and hard work, it is these moments that make it all worth it.

We soon caught up with the group that had been breaking trail for us -- a group of four Catalonians and their guide -- when we arrived at the base of a 160' wall of ice. The original route up the mountain had gone around the wall, and up a gentler section, but crossed a snow bridge that had collapsed some weeks ago. The collapse made the climb more technical than we had initially planned, but it provided a good challenge and made the climb much more interesting. While we were working on getting up the wall, a third group of people -- three climbers from the basque country -- passed us effortlessly.

As we continued up, having spent much more time on the steep section than we had planned, the snow deepened and the clouds closed in. The last hour of the climb was a long, hard push through a foot of unconsolidated snow. Visibility continued to drop as we climbed, and when we finally arrived at the summit, there was nothing to see but an expanse of white. However, the view of the sunrise from the ridge was more than enough to leave us satisfied. We found the other two groups at the summit, everyone tired but happy and sharing congratulations. The other groups each took out flags and took pictures with them, which made me feel like we were at a real summit. After a brief rest, some hot tea from the thermos, and a snack of chocolate and cookies we began our descent.

Three hours hiking saw us to the bottom of the ice, and another three hours to our base camp. Exhausted but content, we shared a thermos full of hot chocolate and made pizza after pizza before heading off to a much-needed night of sleep.

Back in Huaraz now, the climb is quickly turning into nothing more than a pleasant memory. A slight soreness in my legs and forearms is the only reminder of all the work that went into the climb. Looking out at the mountains, under the clear blue sky, I feel rejuvinated and ready to go out again. However, this is not to be -- different adventures wait.

In a few days, we will head back to Lima. McKenzie will go home, and I'll fly or take a boat to Iquitos, in the jungle. There, I'll meet up with my mother to share a jungle adventure, going down the Amazon river to Manus, in Brazil. It will be hard to leave the Cordillera Blanca behind -- there are still too many things I want to do here. This is a place to return to, on a different trip, to spend a season hiking and climbing.

The past month in Bolivia was a wonderful month, and it very much did not match my expectations. I had planned to spend most of the month around La Paz, in the mountains, but instead spent far more time in the lowlands than I did up high. However, I was not disappointed. Bolivia was a fascinating and beautiful country -- even the otherwise mundane bus trips were gorgeous. The people, the landscape, the culture, and politics were all radically different from Argentina and Chile. It was a nice change of pace, though it took some getting used to. In the end, though, I loved Bolivia. It's a different kind of love than I feel for Argentina; I never felt like I could just stop and live in any of the places I visited in Bolivia in the same way I felt like I could in Mendoza.

I think the main difference is in the people. Of corse, one can never separate the social culture from the economic conditions of a place, from the history of the people, both political and racial, and so on. In other words, it's somewhat useless to try to say what parts of a culture you like and what parts you don't as their all tied together. That said, the point still stands, useless though it may be.

Bolivian culture was strikingly different than that of Argentina and Chile (and for that matter seems to be very different from Peru as well). It was interesting to visit La Paz last, and I think it worked out well for me, as La Paz is at the heart of all the political activity and protesting that's going on. Being there and seeing the protesters and the people throughout the rest of the city helped me pull together and process what I had seen and heard through the rest of my trip through Bolivia.

Bolivia is a country full of frustrated and disillusioned people. Everyone I talked to outside of La Paz seemed to say the same thing, "It's always the same. Strike, strike, strike. People need to get back to work." Obviously, this attitude is not universal, and I suspect that many of the protesting school teachers across the nation would be quite indignant to see it written there. But, it reflects my experience with the people with whom I interacted during my trip through the country. In either case, though, the people are frustrated by politics and the government -- it's just a question of resigned acceptance in the hope of slow change or forceful and sometime violent rejection in the hopes of rapid change.

In the newspaper, my second day in La Paz, I saw a survey yesterday that said that 59% of the population would emigrate to another country if they could. Argentina and Chile are strongly nationalistic and proud countries; Bolivia couldn't be more different. The only shred of national pride the people seem to have is for their footballers (who, incidentally, won 2-1 vs. Paraguay that night).

This unhappiness, and the frustration surrounding it, was more obvious in my visit to La Paz than anywhere else I went in Bolivia. I couldn't keep track of the different groups protesting, marching, or blocking the roads. The teachers (both rural and in the cities) have been on strike for over three weeks now. On the day I wanted to leave, the main roads through El Alto (the poor barrio above La Paz) were been blocked all day today by different campecino groups primarily upset about issues relating to the natural gas reserves. The main street downtown was blocked by a group of miners, and I'm not sure what they're after. That they would be protesting is understandable -- conditions and wages in the mines are horrible, especially since the mines were privatized. The roads to the Peruvian border were sporadically blocked by groups of campesinos, again upset about the gas issue. Many of the roads to and through the lowlands are blocked by groups of farmers and coca growers, wanting better services (roads, etc.) from the government, legalized growing of coca, and again changes to the situation with the gas. For the past five days many cities have been cut off from outside supplies. Three protesters were killed just before I left when police and army groups came in to clear the blockade. And the list goes on, seemingly without end.

From what I can tell, most of the people are simply tired of the strikes and protests, which they view with a resigned acceptance. I was browsing through the selection of pirated CDs at one of the many stalls on the side of the street when I heard and felt a sizable explosion from somewhere nearby. Without really looking up or breaking from their conversation, the ladies selling CDs and food muttered under their breath, "Mineros..." (Miners). The detonation of dynamite on the streets just isn't something that disrupts the course of ones day in La Paz, it seems.

It's a tought situation. The protesters have a right to be upset -- teachers wages don't cover the cost of living, and raises are at a rate lower than inflation. The government is, in general, rather corrupt and money that has been promised to the people sometimes just doesn't make it all the way there. However, the current president seems like a good guy and is well regarded. He's in a really tough place, though -- his job is near impossible. Attempts to bring money into Bolivia by selling gas have been met with protest after protest, though it is money that the protesters are demanding.

Some back-story would certainly be helpful in understanding the situation. Z-mag has a good description of the state of things around the revolution last October, in which the gas question played a critical part. The BBC has a short article, without much to say, but it can be found here. And I just now found what appears to be a fairly good summary of the modern gas situation here.

The abbreviated version goes something like this: Bolivia has large natural gas reserves, which are worth a lot of money. Bolivia needs a lot of money. But, not long ago the gas companies were privatized, and much of the money to be made by exporting natural gas will end up in foreign hands. Bolivia can't re-nationalize the gas, because it will require far more money than is available to buy it back. Furthermore, the cheapest way to export gas is through Chile, but Bolivans hate Chile so they don't want to see the gas exported that way. Mesa (current president) has been an advocate of selling the gas for a long time, but has been unable to do so due to protests, etc.. On July 18th, the issue will go up for a vote, letting the people decide. It will be interesting to see what happens.

In seeing how people responded to the question of a referendum, I generally saw positive things. There were TV ads explaining each of the questions in simple, but I believed fair, terms. The newspapers were all answering one or two questions each day, such as, "How big are Bolivia's gas reserves compared with the rest of the wold?" (Answer, small, but not insignificant). When I was in Buena Vista, a small town outside of Santa Cruz, many of the campesinos and workers in the area had come to town for a meeting to discuss the referendum -- and there was a big crowd there. In short, people seem to knowledgeable and interested. This surprised me somewhat, but I think it's awesome. It will be a very difficult path that Bolivia will need to follow to solve its problems, but I hope -- I think -- they can do it.

At the same time, many of the protesters now are objecting to the questions on the referendum, and refuse to participate unless the questions are changed. I found this to provide an interesting shift in perspective. For much of my time in Bolivia I've felt surprised at the extent to which protests are tolerated and the extent to which they effect government. I've felt many times that, "No, the government should, basically, ignore the protest." However, when I was sitting in San Francisco before the war with Iraq, I felt a very, very different way. As usual, I believe the best answer lies somewhere in between. I think clear and honest dialog between both sides of the issue would go a long way in either case. I find it especially lacking in Bolivia, though that maybe simply because the US has gotten really good at faking it.

After spending a few days in Lima, so much of Bolivia seems so far behind me. It's amazing how quickly priorities and thoughts change with a shift in surroundings.

I'll be leaving Lima tomorrow for Huarez, at the foot of the Cordillera Blanca. The next month will hopefully offer a lot of great hiking and climbing experiences, and be a lot of fun. I'm looking forward to it.

However, once again, I've been sitting behind the screen for long enough for now. But, I do have more pictures to offer.

Specifically,

• Potosi and the mint, Bolivia, May 12-13, 2004
  
• In and around Sucre, Bolivia, May 14-19, 2004
  
• Samipata, Bolivia, May 21, 2004
  
• PN Amboró, Bolivia, May 25-28, 2004
  

Well, the sky opened up last night and let loose. So, I've spent the day taking advantage of the relativly fast internet connections here. I'm not caught up on email or anything yet, but I do have more pictures online!

Iguazu falls to part of my visit to Potosi are ready, and there's more on the way. They're in the gallery.

Enjoy.

I'm feeling "computered out" right now, so I'm going to leave it at that.

The tour was interesting. We crossed the Salar de Uyuni, which is a 12,000 sq. km salt flat. Originally, it was an inland ocean, but 20 millions years ago or so it began to evaporate. The rock surrounding it, and on the islands, is therefore coated with calcium deposits from the evaporation that resemble fossilized coral or something. The salt flat itself is just plain impressive. Big, white, and flat. At the edge of the salt flat we stopped at a village where they process the salt. They ull it out of the salar, add a bit of iodine, and bag it straight off -- quite simple really. One person bags about 1500 kg of salt (in one kg bags) each day. Hard work.

We spent the next three days going through beautiful desert landscapes at 13,000-15,000 feet, with volcanos towering in every direction. We stopped at a number of flamingo filled lakes, though they lacked the other bird life that I found pin PN Lauca at the start of the trip.

Returned to Uyuni yesterday, and headed to Potosi today. Unlike Uyuni, Potosi is a legitimate city. It's busy, and I've only seen it on a Sunday. Look forward to exploring it tomorrow.

I'm starting to feel more excited about traveling again. I borrowed a copy of Lonely Planet's "Trekking in the central andes" from someone yesterday, which gave me lots of ideas about how to pass the next few weeks in Bolivia. I'm looking forward to getting out into the mountains again -- it's been a while now. Have a few days more of city stuff to do to finish getting healthy and to see a bit more of the country first, which also promises to be interesting. It's nice to be in a place where everything is different again.

Investigating the Bolivian political situation, and trying to understand the history of what's behind it continues to be an interesting, if difficult, task. It seems like the strike was largely unsuccessful, but last Friday several different roads were blocked or cut so the strike obviously still has some support. It looks like I can buy *today's* newspaper here (Uyuni had day-or-two-old newspapers for sale, when it had newspapers for sale at all) so news should be easier to find.

More on that after I've had time to read the paper.

It's been a long time since I've written anything here, and I've covered a lot of ground. The short version is that I spent a week in Mendoza before heading up to Salta and exploring northern Argentina. Spent a week exploring Salta and some of the smaller towns scattered through the desert there, then crossed into Bolivia at La Quiaca / Villazón.

The past couple weeks in Argentina were difficult for me. I'm not sure what was behind it, but I was feeling pretty burned out and tired. I enjoyed the time I spent with other people, and saw a lot of great places, but I just didn't feel excited about much of anything. In part, I'm sure it had to do with having a cold and adjusting to higher elevations; in part I just didn't want to leave Argentina and as I moved farther north the culture changed dramatically. Mostly, though, I think a lot of the newness of traveling was wearing off.

I've since met a small group of interesting people that I've been traveling with, and we've crossed into Bolivia, both of which should keep life interesting. Definitely feeling more awake now.

The day before heading to Bolivia, the 30th of April, I started to hear people talking about a general strike that was schedule to start on the 1st of May. It was not clear exactly what that meant, but typically roads and blocked and transportation simply stops running. The main reason for the strike is discontent over the exportation of Bolivia's natural gas. (article explaining the situation) About a week ago, a contract was signed between Bolivia and Argentina agreeing to export gas from Bolivia to Argentina (and I got to see the Bolivian president when he stopped in Salta on his way back from Buenos Aires).

In Argentina, there was little or no mention of the strike in the news, and we simple couldn't find information. So, we headed north to the border and figured we would see how things were when we got there. After crossing, we asked the cab driver who was taking us to the train station. "Everything's good now," he said, "the problems have all been resolved. People realize that we need to export the gas to solve our problems. If we don't export the gas, we get no money and we can't solve our problems."

But, when we got to Uyuni, the situation appeared to be somewhat different. Here people are saying that the strike will still happen, starting on the 3rd, but only around La Paz. And, of course, no one really knows what will happen or how long it will last.

In the mean time, I'm planning on taking the standard tour that just about every tourist in Uyuni takes. It's a four day trip that supposed to be quite impressive. And, when I get back, hopefully there will be more information on the situation with the strike.

I'll be gone for the next few days on the tour, and it seems like internet access is more spotty here than in Argentina, so updates will probably continue to be infrequent.

Villa General Belgrano is a german-style village in the Sierras near Córdoba. By "german-style" village, I mean a place where all the buildings are done in Bavarian style architecture, where all the signs are carved wood, and where everyone makes a big deal out of the local chocolate and beer. I probably would have thought this was very weird if it hadn't been for a visit to Leavenworth, Washington with my mother and sister several years before. VGB is very much a tourist town, and easter weekend is perhaps its busiest time. The interesting thing about it was that all the tourists were from Argentina -- mostly Buenos Aires or Córdoba.

The hostel was about 10 minutes out of town, surrounded by trees. They had a big organic garden, and made their own jams, honey, dulce de leche, yogurt, etc., all of which made for a wonderful breakfast every morning. Lots of nice places to sit and talk, and beautiful wooden tables and benches throughout. They weren't sure if there would be space in the beds for me when I arrived, and I figured my tent and sleeping back could use some air anyway, so I camped outside at night.

This turned out to be another good test for my tent (Mountain Hardware Waypoint 1, for those that care), as it rained pretty much every night. The tent kept me and my stuff out of the rain, but without any wind there wasn't enough ventilation and I saw why single-wall tents aren't more popular. For Colorado, I think it's a great tent. For the pacific northwest, I'd probably look for something else. It finally cleared up on the last couple days there, so I got to take everything out and dry it before packing. I'm so spoiled. :)

I spent the first few days exploring around the town, and taking day hikes in the surrounding mountains. Probably more properly referred to as "hills", they seemed a mix of the foothills near Boulder, and the steeper mountains in California. There were a number of granite outcroppings to be found, which reminded me of the rocks I used to play on in Gold Hill as a little kid. The feeling was heightened when, on a day trip to a nearby town (La Cumbrecita), I found myself in a pine forest, with Amanitas mushrooms growing all around. Generally nice hiking, with nice wildflowers and lots of green vegetation.

The time spent in town was fun as well. It was a nice feeling to not stand out as a tourist, and if I looked like I knew where I was going or what I was doing, people would even ask me directions or questions. And I could provide a useful answer. A nice change. In the afternoons, the town put on a show in the central building. There were a number of different acts, mostly dance and different styles of live music. There was also a reenactment of the Easter story done in dance to upbeat music, which was enjoyable despite a rather violent crucifixion scene.
One of the highlights of the visit was the last night there -- Sunday night -- after most of the tourists had started home. The hostel was mostly empty and quiet, which was nice. I joined a group of arteseanos who had been staying at the hostel and selling their artwork at one of the arteseania fairs in celebrating a successful weekend. We had a big asado and ate good steaks and german sausage until we were full, and then we ate more. It was the first clear night since I arrived, dead calm with no wind, clouds, or moon. The stars were beautiful; it was a nice night for a fire. We made a big ol' white-man's fire, with flames leaping 12 - 15' in the air, and spent the rest of the night watching the flames and drinking maté.

The next day I took an afternoon bus back to Córdoba, and then another on to Mendoza.

Córdoba seems like a nice city, though it was completely closed down yesterday due to a national holiday. Yesterday was Malvinas day, which I guess is similar to veterans day in the states, but with a specific focus on the war over the malvinas (or the faulklands, as I knew them before coming here). The battle over those islands is still very much alive here. Near every border, you see a sign claiming them for Argentina.

I spent the day exploring the city, and wondering why everything was closed (I didn't find out until later that evening). Like Buenos Aires, Córdoba has a number of nice parks, and places to sit, though they seem to be smaller and fewer in number. That said, Córdoba seems like a much smaller and more livable city. Yesterday was another hot, humid day here, and just walking around was enough to leave me sweating and thirsty.

As I read more about the areas surrounding Córdoba, the mountains seemed more and more appealing, so I'm off to explore some of the smaller towns in the sierras (the central mountain range, still a good ways east of the andes) and maybe do some hiking, later today. My current thought is to try to make it up Cerro Champaquí. It's the tallest peak in the range, though it's not really all that tall, nor all that difficult. Still, it should be a nice break from the city.

This morning it's much cooler -- cloudy and overcast -- a nice change in the weather. I suspect that it will turn into rain, which I gather is much needed in this part of the country.

Before heading up here, I decided that it would be a good idea to take care of all of the requirements to enter brazil while I was still in Buenos Aires, so that it wouldn't be an issue later in the trip. Doing this was really pretty boring, and I normally wouldn't mention it, but the only reason I had to go through anything at all was to educate Americans about the process, so I figure it's fair to pass all this on.

On the trip so far, I've had no problem crossing any border. I've not had to pay any sort of fee or get any visas. It's been nice. Going to Brazil, though, is a different story. Brazil requires from US citizens the same thing the US requires of them -- a visa, a $100 "processing fee", and a set of fingerprints and a photograph at the door. The result? What would have been a pleasurable day trip to the other side of the falls is now no longer worth it, unless you're planning on spending more time in Brazil anyway. I was, so I figured it was worth the trouble of getting a visa before I came up here.

The Brazilian consulate in Buenos Aires is open from 10am to 1pm, weekdays. I showed up around noon, leaving me not too much of this three hour window. I completed my paperwork to the best of my ability, though I didn't have an address of where I was staying in Brazil, because, at this point, I wasn't even planning on staying in Brazil. After waiting in line for a while, I was told that I needed one to complete the form. I left to find the address on the other side of the border, and by the time I got back they were closed. *sigh*

Back the next day at the start of the day. Fill out the form again, with the address. Wait in line again, turned over the form, a photo of me, and my passport. Walk down the street to the bank that the consulate works with, and pay my $100 plus some other fees. The next day, I am to return between 4 and 5 pm to collect my passport.

This process is not difficult, but it did require being in a major city for 2 days (3 for me) and being free at specific hours during the middle of the day. Similarly, the border crossing itself, requiring fingerprints and photos, is not difficult but it is time consuming.

I can't claim to know enough about the reasons for implementing this program in the US, or weather or not it is actually useful, but I can say that it does make travel around the world more difficult. It sounds like my entry into Brazil was much, much easier than most people's entry to the US, and it seems like the results of the US program (US-VISIT) should be very obvious in order to justify the inconvenience.

Okay, rant over.

I went to sleep on the bus as it left Buenos Aires, and woke up a number of hours later to sunrise over lush, green vegetation. This was the sub-tropical rain forest. Green, wet, and warm. I had read that yerba maté farms lined the roads, but I wasn't sure what one would look like, so I really can't say if I saw them or not. The smaller towns and cities in the north all have a similar feel to them, through the window of a bus. Red stones pave the bumpy roads. The buildings are largely cement or stucco with large, painted signs on the walls. Old automobiles, palm trees, and families fill the shoulders and sidewalks.

It wasn't until I got off the bus in Puerto Iguazu that it struck me how warm and humid it was. High-90s, and quite humid (The bus went by a bank).

I made my way into Brazil to see the falls from that side first. It was strange to hear Portuguese, and I felt awkward any time I had to ask any sort of question. I didn't know what language to use, or how to begin. I hadn't even taken the time to read the "guide to Portuguese" that takes up two pages of my guide book. In the end though, everyone in Foz do Iguaçu spoke Spanish and/or English (no surprise there) and I made it to the park without any trouble.

On the crossing there, the bus driver didn't stop at the Brazilian immigration office, which was interesting. I wanted to get my visa validated, though -- had to use it within 90 days of getting it -- so I got out on the way back and spent a while trying to explain to a frustrated Brazilian customs worker that I wanted to enter the country, then turn around and leave. But in the end, that's just what I did. The next day, I checked out the falls from Argentina.

Both parks, the argentine and Brazilian, are quite nice. Lots of rain forest, and shaded trails (wide and paved) leading through it to the falls. The falls themselves are impressive -- like something out of an illustrated children's book. They just don't seem real. Green jungle and darker green and foamy white river combine with black and red basalt cliffs to form paradise.

Of course, this paradise is punctuated by the persistent chop of helicopter blades, the chatter of other people, and the whine of boat engines taking load after load of people to the base of the falls for a shower. I must admit, though, that as much as I wish the boats weren't there, it was a fun and impressive way to see the falls.

Whenever I see a waterfall, I'm amazed that it can keep running. I can explain the way the water cycle works (thanks, grade school science!) but to see it in action I always find myself in awe. The falls are amazing as a snapshot, but its their continuity -- the wind and the crash and the spray that continues 24 hours a day indefinitely -- that really amazes me.

Tomorrow I'm heading back south, hopefully (no bus ticket yet). I'm planning on going to Cordoba for a bit, before heading to Mendoza.

I'm still planning on finding a map to mark up for you guys, but I haven't done it yet. Sorry!

The NOLS pictures do a good job of telling one side of the NOLS story, but they don't do the whole thing. I'll be trying to get caught up on old stories now that I'm done with the pictures. But, for now, I've been behind a computer for too long.

That said, I'm getting ready to start doing exactly that once again.

I've spent a number of days here just wandering around the city, visiting the different book stores, parks, and cafes, and doing a lot of people watching. The city has a nice feel to it -- it's quite manageable, despite its large size. There are an amazing number of parks throughout the city, with lots of green grass and healthy-looking trees. And, of course, there's always a lot going on.

Yesterday was an interesting day to be in Buenos Aires, as it marked the 28th anniversary of the military coup that started the "dirty war" in Argentina. (For a brief summary, google offered me this article, which should get the gist across. The number of missing people, listed in that article as 11,000, is hotly contested and believed to be between 15,000 and 30,000.)

This year there was a major celebration as the government made some major steps toward recognizing the past problems. The ESMA, a good sized campus in Buenos Aires and a major torture center during the dirty war was given by the fedral government to the city of Buenos Aires so that a museum of remembrance could be created there. For the first time in 27 years the buildings were open to the public.

I went over there in the afternoon. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to hear the president's remarks or to see the short concert that followed. However, I found it fascinating to wander through the campus, looking at the people and the buildings. The area itself is like almost any school -- lots of non-descript buildings, surrounded by green grass, wide sidewalks, and numerous trees. Were it not for the knowledge of the terrible history of the place, I would have found it a pleasant place to relax and enjoy some shade on a warm day in the city.

The people wandering through the buildings and around the grounds offered an interesting mix of emotions and reactions. Outside, along the lawn, families and small groups of people sat together talking, perhaps sipping maté, seeming generally quiet but contented. Nearer to one of the larger buildings a group of teenagers walked along carrying several large banners calling for peace. A small march had started to form behind them, with a mixture of people young and old, parents and children.

Inside of of the buildings a drum circle had formed, people danced excitedly, and confetti fell from the upper floors. There was a tremendous energy here -- the load beat of the drums reverberating off the walls of the large, empty room.

Other buildings were quieter, somber, as people walked through and reflected on what had taken place here during their lifetimes, perhaps thinking of a missing friend or family member.

Being in South America has made the political conflicts and struggles of the world much more real to me. Events like the dirty war in Argentina can be found in the history of most every nation in South America without having to look very far into the past. They have been major events in the lives of people here, people that I've met and talked to, people my age and younger.

I asked a group of Chileans, about my age that I met in southern Chile, about Pinochet and his impact on the life down there. One of a pair of cousins that were there answered me, pointing to his cousin, "My father went to jail during Pinochet's regime, and her father was in the army and put him there. We don't really talk about it much."

It's a new perspective, and one I'm glad to have gained.

I spent a while yesterday getting my pictures from the past orgainized and ready. Everything up to the NOLS trip is now online. I also fixed the problems that were causing the page to look broken for people using IE.

The new pictures are here and include: Villarica, PN Huerqueue, Valdivia, PN Alerce Andino, and a few pictures around Coyhaique from before the NOLS course. I've continued to just put pretty much everything online, so the pages are "visually verbose".

Enjoy.