SUP on a lagoon during sunset

The title of this blog post makes me jealous just thinking about the next person who gets to do this soon. As you are probably aware, I am out of the city and onto the beach in Pipa, Brazil. I can't tell you what a relief it was to see the ocean and to get on a surfboard in the warm water and paddle out to try to catch waves I very rarely catch and see dolphins pop up alongside me and breathe in life and nature. Today it was flat so we went out in a group on a huge lagoon and it took us several hours to paddle to the other side. With a short break, we were paddling across the lake at sunset and I was barely afloat, as my little legs shook with the excitement of the view. I have never set eyes on anything quite so beautiful. We recovered from the effort with a big bowl of acai and these are the times I never want to leave :) And yet, it feels a little like the clock is ticking and I need to set my mind to the fact that I am coming home, as wonderful as al of this is.
But for now, a few more sunsets lie in store and perhaps a few broken surfboards. What a place.

a week in Salta

 the Salta region

Day one:

I board a flight to Tucuman in the early morning. It's a two hour flight from BA and I swiftly arrive in the home of Argentinian independence. A rental car makes an efficient yet inspiring journey through luscious forests and hills up to Tafi Valle. I stop there, despite the wind and rain and scour the regional shop for something to eat.  I settle for some typical salami and stock up on coca sweets to help with the altitude. The weather is cold and blustery, reminiscent of Wales in autumn and I start to worry I have packed for the wrong trip. I take a few pictures at the lake and carry on up to Amaicha del Valle. I stop here, spurred on by hunger and stumble across two lovely ladies prepared to take my order of beef, raviolis and salad. Heartened by their warmth and speed of service, I am drawn to the simple housing here, the picturesque square and a tourist information which is no more than three men sat in  deck chairs.

I continue on the route 40 ( the immensely long road marking the length of the country) and head to Cafayate, by now a little restless and ready to put my hat down.

I head to the square for some locro ( a corn soup containing no less than vicuna which is distressing but tiredness relieves it somewhat) 

Day two:

After a good night's sleep in a basic hotel just off the square, i pay the few hundred pesos and start the long journey to Antofagasta. The whole way, I am under the impression that this is not a road most travelled and as I climb higher onto the Andean plateau, I am struck by the immensity, vastness and total solitude of my incomparable surroundings. It is a sight for sore eyes, made all the more sore by the dusty roads and growing tiredness.

I become slightly concerned for the rental car, as it traces very old tracks, mountains and even volcanoes. It is obvious from the views that the car needs to suffer this pure nature and the layers and layers of prehistoric earth.

On arrival, I head to the prebooked hostel, Incahuasi, which contrary to expectations, is locked and dark. I am not sure whether the altitude or pure fear of being left out in the cold takes over but I am left a little short of breath. After being given a few leads, I head to find the supervisor of the hostel who is at home in her small, clay home preparing dinner for her large family.  She tells us that wifi is down a lot in these parts and perhaps the booking did not go through. However, she comforts me with news of a spare room in the hostel; a very traditional looking room with old ornaments and a couple of in-house cockroaches lurking. Despite their unwelcome presence, the place is inviting and I am grateful for anywhere indoors. I meet a pair of middle-aged travellers staying here from Rosario and they flood my mind with ideas for excursions and visits around these special parts. My somewhat limited, urban imagination just didn't expect these worlds.

Day three:

The next morning, I am served a simple breakfast of french toast and marmalade before setting off on a gentle hike towards the volcano, an ultimate goal. However, distances prove a lot longer than the eye tells me, so I head back for a rest and some lunch after wandering the plains alongside llamas, vicunas and flamingos, vowing to come back in the afternoon.

In the meantime, I move to a self-catered apartment and make a simple lunch with some products from the only little supermarket. It stocks very little, due to transportation issues and I am reminded of the simplicity of the villagers here.  Products we Londoners take for granted like olive oil, most fruits and veg simply don't exist here. I settle for some tuna salad, fried zapolla ( a type of courgette ) and some white rice. This basic meal, followed by some sneaky Aguila ( argie dark chocolate) almost puts me to sleep like a lizard on the terrace overlooking the clay coloured cordillera and the main square.I am finally at peace, after months of discovering the humdrum of porteno life- I got what I asked for when I asked for solitude.

Later on, I drive to the volcano but it is difficult to reach its base, given the sea of hardened lava surrounding it. There is none around , only those uninformed enough to walk the trek to the base of the volcano in searing heat. I make it halfway up the volcano and then lie down on the rough, rocky slant supported by my backpack and soak in lands I have never even seen in photos. My very own safari, as it were with no guides and only lost tourists. The lava beneath me mixes with the echoing old bones of wild foxes that once crept around these parts. This volcano is the great, symbolic mound of death and destruction; a great reminder to the people of Antofogasta and beyond that we are forever at its bleak yet dormant door.

Now exhausted, The descent is on automatic and the sound of footsteps carry me back. Fortunately, my weariness helps me forget my concern  about the rapidly emptying bottle of water and i carry on down this strange hill, grateful to have seen this day and to have been a transient part of its drastically different routines.

Day four:

I wake up early, in a sensible attempt to flee the cosy Antofogastan nest I have made for myself and make solid attempts to head back to Salta from  here. On my way out,  am diverted to the town square, where the Feria de la Puna is taking place, a traditional festival to celebrate the indigenous community's life in the mountains. I know I will not be back in a hurry, so I stay and take pictures of the old and the young, the gauchos and llamas, the community at its most alive. The villagers captivate me with their colour, pride of place and joyous vibe. I watch a octogenarian woman light a cigarette, only to throw it as an offering to Pachamama, or mother earth into a hole dug up especially for the occasion. The children follow suit, throwing wine, spirits, coca leaves into the hole as part of the ritual.

Unfortunately, the locals warn me against travelling up the challenging roads to Tolar Grande, as there is no help for miles should a flat tyre decide to catch me out. So, I choose to go back on myself back to Cafayate, another long and uncomfortably sticky journey  but make it to the Quebrada Saltena and there find just enough strength to marvel at both sides of the road, stopping to take pictures and awaiting the next bend with curiosity. I hit the Garganta del diablo, the throat of the devil and decide to take a rest in its special natural chambers . It is a jaw-droopingly huge rock, carved out from years of evolution and erosion and is, in fact, million of years old.It is not difficult to understand why it became a sacred, indigenous relic back in the day.

After a fly-by visit and with layers of old rock etched in my mind, I arrive in Salta and as if awoken from the strange, nomadic dream I have been in, I realise it is a friday night with little chance of a hotel room for the night at this very last minute. Fortune favours the brave, it seems, as I land the only room left for the night in an old hotel by the plaza central. Granted it has no windows the walls are marked, the doors creak  but the painting above the bed is Van Gogh's La chambre de l'artiste'. So, artist or not, I settle here and at least my illusions protect me from this new batch of cockroaches under my bed.

Day five:

A narrow road in profoundly green hills takes me up to Jujuy in the morning and I am eager to leave the city behind. A winding, scenic ride and sights of birds, perhaps even condors, keeps me entertained until I reach a man-made lake named Dique las Maderas. I stop here to take pictures and stretch my legs, pleased with the progress en route.

I reach Jujuy and am more at ease here in this town The friendly atmosphere is contagious and I find my mini goldmine of a veggie restaurant serving quinoa and continue on my path to peace to stay in Yala, the nearby national park. I instinctively lean towards staying in Las Hortensias b and b, a set of cabanas, or cabins nestled in dreamy countryside, with a pool, tennis court and countless geese to play with. In the afternoon, I head up to the lagoons on a hike not expecting to be surrounded on all sides by the most wonderfully scented, oversized magenta /violet hortensias (hence the name of the residence) and am so startled by these that I lose my way to the lagoon and just trace these around the mountain, finding more birds and deer along the way. It is a hive of natural wonders and I don't notice the hours pass as i weave my way along the paths. I come back down only with the intention to find a cheap fill at the base. The draw of freshly made empanadas, tamales and papas makes my mouth and eyes water and I am sold to this cosy street side restaurant for the night.

Day six:

The next day, I head up the mountain to Purmamarca and a day of shopping for the most colourful looking bedspread ensues. I stop only to eat some quinoa pasta, fresh avocado salad and coca cake at Gabriels restaurant. Another short drive later on takes me to Tilcara, home of the Incan settlement and a spectacular botanical garden, which I am sure is one of its kind, given the enormous cacti and international herb collection. A delight to see it all and take in more stunning views the length of the quebrada. I meet a local artist who sells me a miniature indigenous looking print, whilst talking to me of the perils of living in a large city. 

I eventually leave behind the colours, fabrics, leather and souvenirs of the picturesque mountain villages and head back down to Yala to eat a picnic of empanadas once again.. it turns out you can't get too much of a good thing. `These are magical settings and magical days and I would wholeheartedly recommend anyone to do just the same.

Elections tomorrow and the country is feeling it

San Telmo señor

San Telmo in a storm

Today was another sweltering day and as summer heats up, so do my travel plans. Tomorrow, the deserted andean plateau and it could be a tricky climb. I have been studying ways to avoid altitude sickness and it appears coca leaves are the best remedy. I despair at the thought of my slightly pathetic, urbanised travel habits facing an isolated stretch of this enormous country. Cold at night and a desert closer than comfort to the Atacama, I am interested to see it and react to it and play with my humanity in these parts. And apart from that, buy a poncho.

moving times

I feel that things are finally moving career-wise here. I have been offered a freelance writing job for a languages/culture website, I now have an official RumboSur email address, from where I will be sending out many emails attempting to gain the attention of anthropological/ethnological organisations all around the world in the hope that they will diffuse the content that Rumbo Sur ha created about the survival of indigenous communities. And whilst that is all fireworks and taking off, I am contemplating moving to France as of January, as I am on the brink of being placed in a small, private school for some Spanish teaching. What a beautiful juggling act this would all be.

The search for Tango shoes

Volunteering can be intense, especially when, like me, you have come from a first world country and am witnessing some challenging situations on a regular basis.  When I first arrived, I quickly realised that I needed an outlet, a way to relax and let some steam off. And what better way than to hit the Milonga dance halls of Buenos Aires and learn some tango steps? So, I did and it was exactly as I had hoped; fun, varied and a dance spectacle every time, for a measly 80 pesos the whole night!

I started going to a place in Palermo called LA VIRUTA, which is located in an Armenian centre and is one of the better known centres around town. Despite a vast proportion of beginner dancers being tourists or ‘gringos’ (me!)  as they are best known, La Viruta still has a pretty good reputation for quality classes and a relaxed atmosphere. There are, of course, millions of milongas in town but most are usually strict, with rules to follow (e.g the man does not ask you to dance, he nods from far away!) so I preferred to stick to the tourist trail a little bit. 

As weeks went by, I realised that my beloved flat shoes that I was dancing in were not allowing me to get my feet stuck into the steps (I find that in tango, your feet take on a mind of their own and you have to let them seek out the floor beneath you!) The heels not only give your feet the shape they need but also I noticed that people in heels look a little more regal and a lot more elegant. 

So, I finally went shopping for the infamous tango shoes. A friend recommended Comme Il Faut, a boutique store in Arenales 1239, which makes handmade tango shoes and tailors them to your height, ability and of course, feet. When I arrived down a little European-like alleyway and up some flights of steps and rang the bell, a lovely lady answered the door and I was whisked inside the secret world of this important Porteno shoe. I was asked my size and sat down (whilst desperately trying to steal a quick click of my camera as photos are prohibited) to try on a million and one pairs of shoes; high heeled, less high heeled, thick heels, fine heels… spotted, silky, satin, velvet, leather designs...you name it, I tried it.  I told the lady my size was 39 in Europe and asked if it was the same here, to which she indignantly replied ‘but, mi amor, we are European’, bemusedly, if not a little indignantly! In any case, the name of the shop says it all. Of course they attest to being European because tango is a result of the diverse European community that settled in this very port and Uruguay. Tango itself is an amalgamation of all the colour and character of the italians, spaniards and many more immigrants who settled on these shores but who remained restless, passionate and nostalgic. The shoes are testament to that and almost characterise the fiery spirit of the dance. These shoes are there to be seen and so are you. If you dance tango, you are making a statement about the world you know and the person you are.

I ended up putting some shoes on hold, as I really could not decide which ones I would wear. I like my tango shoes simple, as it happens and black. The rest I will leave to the pros.

la noche de los museos

Last night was a busy one and as soon as I stepped out onto the streets of BA, I knew it was a special one. As I walked down my road towards Avenida Libertador, I realised that this was a unique opportunity to see the 222 galleries, museums and historic buildings that open their doors once a year until 3am for the 'night of the museums'. As I waited for a friend, I watched an open air ballet and although it was windy, the atmosphere was buzzing. We walked over to some of the museums and went to a sound exhibition followed by a strings quartet concert inside an art gallery and finally headed to Congreso, a huge and beautiful building and one which aesthetically proves the mix of cultures and history that BA stands for.
Unfortunately, I got home a little earlier than three and must have eaten something rotten, as I have been in bed all day with some kind of stomach upset or food poisoning.

Keeping healthy in BA

When i first arrived here as a volunteer, I became aware that staying fit and healthy whilst working on the projects was going to be important but perhaps a little difficult. It is not that portenos don’t stay fit but they just do it slightly differerently, so I decided to take a look into it. Here are the tips I would recommend to stay in shape or eat healthily:

1. If you like outdoor running, then BA doesn’t do badly. I have had some great moments out in the Bosques de Palermo ( nearest station plaza italia) where you can run, rollerblade and bike for miles. This is a really great part of town if you just want a moment to yourself, to absorb what you have seen, read and done so far; a momentary pause to give you back a boost of energy.
2. I am a huge yoga enthusiast and when I came here, I found it hard to find a class that would suit me. It’s great for back problems or just to get you back in touch with your body if you are running around like a headless chicken trying to see and do everything at once. Your body needs a break, so if you have time, you should try ValleTierra on Plaza Armenia (the posher part of town but so great) where you can take an Iyengar yoga class and hang upside down for a while
3. Back home, I make smoothies and juices in the morning but I don’t have a machine here, so I found a few affordable options to go and get one squeezed for me. The first is called The Factory and they are a chain in both Recoleta and Palermo that do super juices. The company was started by a venezuelan/ danish couple who moved to the city realising that they needed to inject a little health awareness into the porteno population. It worked and now a lot of people go. Another one I really like is called Mango Bambo in Recoleta and they are the dons of juice. You can literally ask for anything and they will juice it up, all the while chatting and talking to you in Spanish. Thees pit stops in the city are fun and I find it easy to strike up a conversation in these cosy spots.
4. If you want to make your own healthy fare, I would suggest going to barrio chino in Belgrano where the shops are stocked with lots of products you perhaps can’t get elsewhere in the city. I have a soft spot for almond butter and they do a really good one there, along with fresh pak choi, coriander (usually a little tricky to find) and other delicious bites.
5. A really lovely afternoon can be spent on the banks of the river in Puerto Madero and for the more adventurous, you can try the Reserva just behind Puerto Madero, where green space stretches for miles. 
6. It would almost be criminal not to mention the huge craze that BA has for Crossfit. If you haven’t tried it, I would recommend it only for the die hard amongst you. It is a series of circuits that, should you actually survive a class, will make you feel like an olympic champion. I tried it and nearly died but i can see that a lot of portenos swear by it, so there must be something to it.

Dance for peace

Tonight, I was awestruck by a dance production for Unicef at the Cervantes theatre, in which many nationally famous dancers and prima ballerinas participated as an ode to all that is at this very minute affecting millions of children and their future. The dances reflected the passion of the project and I was surprised to like the argentine dance interpretation of an Ed Sheeran song, 'i see fire' the most. A Brazilian ballerina interpreted the swan's death so beautifully, she was literally falling apart gracefully.  Another famous pair paid a balletic tribute to tango in what was the most impressive set of moves i have ever seen. A greatly moving night and one which reminds me why I am here. Argentina is pure, raw and inspiring culture and every day, I feel hungry for more.

una charla

http://www.rumbosur.org.ar/RumboSur/culturaysociedad.html

Today I had a wonderful morning at Rumbosur office with Pablo, talking about the various projects he has on the go with films, books and pitches for new ideas. This organisation is just amazing and one of a kind. It spreads the voice of the indigenous, the impoverished and immigrants and is a platform and reminder that those communities not only exist and need help but are also invaluable for the preservation of Latin culture. I am fascinated by someone who has so much energy for the various projects and is consistently looking for new ones. Maybe one day I could pitch him an idea....

a little note

I haven't written tons here because things have been pretty busy. The projects are going well but I am nearly ready to let them go for a while and travel the country. Judging by the dynamism, grandeur and sheer enormity of what is on offer here in Buenos Aires, I am quite sure that the rest of the country will offer this in truck loads. Of course, I don't have the time to do it all but will attempt the south for a few days and hopefully head to Mendoza after that. I have been reading some journals about the first Polish immigrants (mama would be proud) and it turns out live in Misiones and are responsible for a large amount of yerba mate production. So, if time and resources allow it, I would love to head that way at some point. Our small island mentality makes it quite a challenge to remember the distances involved in covering a country like Argentina, so I have to tone down the hope to see absolutely everything and just go with the flow.
This weekend was busy socially, as my intermediate level tango lessons hit a high (i am still stepping on people's feet and deluding myself in the intermediate level group) and ended up dancing until 4am. The next night was spent at the Hotel Alvear, ahead of the elections on sunday. You might be as surprised as me to know that the government put a ban on alcohol after twelve the night before the elections, so this hotel was the only place in town to party! With an invite from a friend, it was a fun night. A lot of Argentine jet set dancing to Cumbia in a posh bar. Variety is the spice of life and this weekend was proof. Last night, I went to see Woody Allen's new film and finally cooked some beef.