I don't often write about people I travel with. Not today my friends.

I am currently traveling with a friend from Boston, and we are hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu starting tomorrow. Christy has asked me why she hasn't received a shout out on the blog yet. I am hopeful this posting satisfies that criteria.

Aside from being very cool, Christy is among 3% of the population with something called the Simian Crease. The Simian Crease is defined as "a single line (crease) that runs across the palm of the hand. People normally have three creases in their palms". (Works Cited: A Website). I had never heard of it, and when I asked Christy to explain further, she noted that it is typical in people with down syndrome or with people who are genius'.

This provided for further discussion, as I was trying to determine which end of the spectrum Christy fell on... Judging by the fact she went to Princeton, (pre-med, engineering and econ) and is choosing between Business, Med or Finishing School (or possibly all three at once), I have to conclude that the findings are inconclusive.. Just kidding, she is a genius. This can be evidenced by the fact that she thinks the you can't smoke in the shower because you'll get electrocuted. (actually, that was another person I knew in High School, I have just never had the forum to share that person's views.) Honestly, Christy has said some stupid things, but none come to mind right now. I'll obviously keep you posted..

ps. I will be out of internet range until July 4th, at which point I will shall pretend to be Scandanavian so not to draw attention to my big bad American self.

Happy 4th of July Everyone!

pps. just met with our hiking group. We are between 10-40 years younger than everyone in our group. If you do the math, that means there is a 65 year old Australian woman named Wendy in our group who probably won't be leading the pack. We also have another outwardly vegetarian woman who asked if there would be bathrooms at regular intrevals along the trail. Our tour guide said "yes, Bushes you idiot".


ppps. This post was written under the expressed written consent of Christy, INC.

What could be more fun than 13,000 used car salesmen in one room?

Thus far, Cuzco is one of my favorite places I have visited along my travels. I am too lazy to explain why, but just be confident it involves a picturesque mountain city, old Incan architecture and a television station that broadcasts RED SOX games.. YES, that is correct.. For the first time in 2006, I saw a Boston Red Sox game, and besides not knowing who the hell half of the players are, I was like a Hurley (fat kid from "Lost") stuck in a cake when watching it. SO HAPPY. They beat the Mets, Ortiz hit a homerun, Papelbon saved the game and I felt as though I was watching the game from the 66th floor of the Prudential Building while watching it on the 9 inch mostly color TV in the hotel room.

In other news, Cuzco is filled with street merchants who are merciless when it comes to making a sale. They will not quit until you start running away from them yelling NO GRACIAS. "Buy my voodoo doll that sits on your index finger and has two eyes, no nose and a piece of yarn representing its mouth!!", "have this sweater with a donkey on it", "enjoy my wool socks that are too big to serve any practical use", "want to smoke drugs", etc. they plead.

For the first few days, I was stalwart in my no purchase stance, however yesterday I cracked when my friend, Christy, and I were in the outskirts of the city and we saw a friendly, yet desperate street vendor huddled in a corner with some gloves, hats, sweaters and wool dolls. I decided to try on a hat. The lady flattered me by saying it looked really "fantastico". I didn't want to buy it, but she kept pushing more and more hats in my face to try on. At this point, it would have been more of a hastle to walk away than pay the $1.67 for the hat, so I bought it and went on my way feeling weak and defeated by the merchant.

On this note, in hopes of avoiding the future street vendors' harrassement, I intend on buying one of everything (Stockings, Sweaters, Wool Pants, Hat, Gloves, wooden shoes, a voodoo doll for every finger, a water bottle holder, wierd jewelry, postcards (taping them too my chest), etc) and wear it at all times so they know that I am not a potential buyer of their low grade product.. Who's the sucker now??

On this note's note, the hat that I was roped into buying was decidedly girly. So Mom, or sis, I hope you like your future homecoming gift.. It was VERY expensive.

The many colors of Cuzco, Peru

From the comfort of the Arniboldi's home in Santiago, I ventured northward for 4 hours on a plane, and 17 hours on a bus to get to Cuzco, Peru, the access point to Machu Picchu. In the last 4 nights I have slept a cumulative 16 hours, partially because the high altitude (10,000 feet) and mostly because sleep is for the weak.. I am just kidding, I would slay a new born llama right now for a restful 8-hour night of sleep.

The good news is that I finally finished my poorly planned 3-week bus tour of Argentina, Bolivia, Chile and Peru, which saw my ass perched in bus seats for 130 hours, (not including 3 days crammed in the backseat of a Toyota Land Cruiser), 6 nights sleeping on buses, 4 hours on a plane (Yea, I buckled and bought a flight instead of a 28 hour bus ride. I don't feel bad about this.) And other than the stray night of puking violently on a bus and some stern border patrolmen thinking I was Pablo Escobar, I made it with flying colors.

Speaking of which, Cuzco is a beatiful ancient Incan City up in the Andes Mountains. One peculiar item of note in Cuzco, is that almost every building and flag pole flies a rainbow colored flag, not un-identical to the Gay Pride flags seen in the U.S. After some investigative questioning, I found out that it is just the Cuzco flag, and has nothing to do with the City's sexual preference.

What do you say when you've misplaced your "Lost" DVD?

I have stayed in one place for more than 2 days, which is mountainous considering my last month of backtracking and getting a sore ass on buses. (The camera obviously didn't help).

I was in Santiago, Chile for the last 4 days and have enjoyed the perks of living as an Arniboldi. (For those of you unfamiliar, the Arniboldi's are the sugar daddy family of sorts I stay with in Santiago. They are amazing, and if I ever amount to anything, they will receive a large dedication. For instance, when I win Wimbleton in 2008 or 2009, I will owe it all to the Arniboldi's, pilates and a daily regiment of ginseng. )

News from the Arniboldi household: Pedro (the hilarious 15-year old son, who is possibly more mature than me) was recently ranked #3 in his entire grade. When pressed for his opinions on #1 and #2, he summed it up with "stupid assholes". (Later that day, I taught he and his buddy the meaning of Mo Fo).

The other big news was that Lucho, the father and least proficient English speaker in the family, received two massive boxes for his birthday containing the "Learn English Now!" language programs (Volumes 1 and 2) involving CD-ROMS, videos, CD's, Books, an English speaking Indian to be placed in the cupboard, etc. When I came home to the house that day, he was less than pleased with me, adding "This fault is all yours". Apparently on a previous visit while having lunch with Lucho's mother and the rest of the family, she noticed Lucho's English was not up to snuff compared to everyone else. So her big birthday present to Lucho was this very expensive language program and nothing else. He says that I owe him a big birthday present because I caused all of this. In due time, I shall make up for my blunder. In the meantime, it is entertaining to see him strolling around the house with "1 O'clock, 2 O'clock, 3 O'clock Rock" stuck in his head. I of course jump in to provide baritone support.

General Recommendation: If you have an addictive personality, I advise not purchasing seasons 1 and 2 of the TV show "Lost" and putting it in a DVD player connected to a television. Day's of your life with be lost. (see how I did that) BOOYA!

Wonder if Tiger Beat needs a new lead photographer

I didn't get a digita camera until January 2006. Does that make me slow?

Rock Tree formed by centuries of earth, wind and fire (and rain) albums.


The lake is 2 miles away. Lucas (pictured) is 20 minutes away from going on strike.


Normally I am pretty flame retardent, but I spilled gas all over myself.


One gringo surrounded by Kiwi's (New Zealanders). Don't let our new age hand gestures suggest that we are comfortable.

30-second recap of days 2 and 3 in salty 4x4

Day 2 on 4x4 tour: After the 2nd worst night sleep ever (the first being the night I slept on a stair case in college), we hopped back into the 4x4 and Lucas pressed play on his audio cassette for the 11 time in less than 24 hours. I hate Bolivian music, especially when it is played in repetition like me commenting on my biceps.

We went to semi-famous "rock tree" rock sculpture, then went to the middle of the desert, where 5 of the passengers were enchanted by the mirage effect, and tried walking to a 'nearby' frozen lake that was actually 2.5 miles away. I waited in and around the car pleading with Lucas to go pick them up. He had none of it.. Sink holes was his number one counterpoint. Touche. Went to Lunch at some random dirt town and I played an 11-year old Bolivian girl (who was an attendant at a convenient store) named Maribel at tic tac toe on the side of our dusty Toyota. And by played, I mean, kicked her ass. I won two out of three, and we tied the third. I rule. We stayed at a nice hostel with real mattresses, hot water, interior space about 40 degrees (f) and a hidden area to store llama parts.

Day 3: Woke up for sunrise at 6:15AM. The sun rising is a surprisingly slow process. After freezing our asses off, it finally came up at 7:09AM. The third and final day of the trip took us through the Salt Flats, which is a 27KM by 15KM expanse of dried salt (the biggest in the world), where the main purpose of visiting is to take pictures making use of the zero horizon/zero perspective such as having one person squatting close to the camera with their pants down like they are taking a dump, and another person really far away imitating the turd portion of the process. While we didn't do that one, we tried some other ones which made me feel mildly creative for thinking of. The penis one being my Mona Lisa.

The island of Cacti (Cactus') was next, followed by Lucas blowing up at one of the girls in the 4x4 because she asked too many questions. I agreed with his assessment. To round out the trip, We saw a hotel made of salt, a dead armadillo carcass and Lucas' face light up upon receiving a $5 tip. (this was half of what he made for the entire 3 day tour). ps. tour companies in South America are thieves. So are the thieves in Bolivia.

Fun with Shadows (I use the term "fun" loosely)

Bolivia is the number 2 importer of red food coloring. (Behind only Luxembourg)


Have I mentioned that I apolize for posting such small pictures.


I met the BFG along my travels. He was training for a decathalon and smelled gamey.

Tragic smelting accident.

Bolivia is the second largest exporter of Sumo Wrestlers in the world. (behind only Luxembourg)

Driver with death wishes, high altitudes, LLAMAS HEADS ARE FALLING OFF!!

As I may have mentioned, I went on a 3-day tour through the Bolivian Desert and Salt Flats last week. It was rather exceptional and the following is what I like to call.. words and pictures about the trip.

Day 1: We showed up to the Bolivian border crossing, which consisted of 2 mud huts and an abandoned multi-colored bus.

BOLIVIAN BORDER PATROL

After spending less than three minutes with the rigorous Bolivian border patrolmen, we proceeded down to a frozen lake and a crooked sign indicating that Bolivian belongs to the Bolivians and boarded the 4x4.

THERE'S A NEW MAYOR IN TOWN

It was precisely this time that I had my first negative run in with our driver, Lucas. I say negative, because Lucas, a Bolivian with one functioning eye, had strapped all of our luggage to the roof (under a tarp) when I realized he included my day pack with the roof luggage. This all transpired when I was in the bathroom (which had toilet bowls filled will solid toilet bowl shaped ice), so after initially thinking my bag had been stolen, I kindly asked if I could get my day pack. This was anything but pleasing to Lucas. It took him 3 minutes to unstrap the tarp, 5 seconds to get my bag, and another 7 minutes to re-secure the tarp. As I would surmise later, Lucas spent those 10 minutes and 5 seconds plotting my death.

RIGHT BEFORE LUCAS HATES ME (I see him eyeing my orange day bag)

Because I am tall and mostly lanky (I say 'mostly' because my biceps could cause the entire sorority sister population to faint upon viewing... (those periods were me taking a moment to kiss each bicep)), the group decided that I got to ride shotgun for the first day. We had seven people and our driver, Lucas (who never took his sunglasses off ever). The cast of characters included 2 Americans, 2 New Zealanders, an Israeli Couple and one Frenchman. Off we went, and as we hit the open/bumpy/dirt road, our cycloptic driver popped in a cassette tape of traditional bolivian music. (I could feel the culture absorption). After checking out some old lava rocks, and performing the finishing touches on a rock pyramid that I slaved away on, we arrived at a hotspring pool next to a frozen lake, threw on our bathing suits and lounged for an hour. The whole time, Lucas sat in the 4x4, probably pondering the best method of disposing 7 bodies. .

I ACED INDUSTRIAL ARTS (And by slaved away on, I mean, that one rock was exceptionally heavy)


TRI DELTS.. DON'T BE SHY (there are no less than 8 girls passed out to the left of the picture. Unfortunately, my camera doesn't have the wideangle feature)

After drying off in 2 minutes due to the intense sun and dryness, we got back in the 4x4 a drove to some 424 degree (f) gysers. Sadly, the air temperature around the gysers was about 400 degrees less than the bubbly water temperature. In my state of frigidity, I had serious thoughts of jumping in, but then I realized I was wearing no jewelry (other than my all hemp outfit), and thusly, i would have no evidence that i actually existed if I jumped in.

The day was rounded out with a 1 hour walk around a red lake at an altitude of 4,278 meters (I was nearly certain that I would keel over and die from altitudal exphixiation), and then we tried sleeping in 0 degree weather (in the same altitude) with beds that can only be described as two inches of llama fur wrapped in cardboard wine boxes perched upon three metal bars.

ps. right outside our dormitory style room for 8-people was a llama head, recently (and seemingly tragically for him/her) separated from its body.

Just to put it in perspective.

Locate Bolivia.. I was at the lake in Bolivia last friday. By next monday, I will have gone from there to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Then Buenos Aires to Santiago, Chile (to go skiing), and then from Santiago to Machu Picchu, Peru. Wouldn't it have been a little easier to go from the lake in Bolivia directly to Machu Picchu?? Perhaps, but that just seems lazy..

(Mind you, South America hasn't had a cunning leader such as Mr. Eisenhower implement a worthwhile highway infrastructure between all of these points. Most especially in Peru and Bolivia).

2-day long bus trip from Bolivia to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Flat tires, people peeing/pooping themselves and vomiting are prominently involved.

Uyuni, Bolivia: Friday, June 16th
4:50AM: Wake up to catch 5:30 Bus
5:20AM: See bus pulling out, so I chase after it and bang on the door. Driver shakes his head at me, indicating that it wasn't my bus and I should stop banging on his door immediately.
5:30AM: My "bus" is a 8-person Toyota Land Cruiser.
5:32AM: I find that I have been assigned "asiento dos" (seat 2) which means I am sitting shotgun. This is pleasing to me. Especially since the other people in the back are sitting on benches facing each other.
5:35AM: I open the door to sit down in asiento 2, only to hear "Uno Mas Amigo" (One more Friend). One more what?? I think..
5:36AM: Stocky Bolivian with mild case of halitosis jumps in front of me and plops down in my seat. We are sharing the front seat.. He brought a blanket, it was 10 degrees (f) out. He is my immediate friend.
5:40AM: We leave pavement and hit the washboard dirt road (this is a common theme until Argentina). I see stocky Bolivian do the cross on his chest.. why? I wonder (answer: Bolivian buses are simply not safe).
5:45AM: I am freezing cold and squished up against the freezing cold door. There are 14 people in the Toyota, and the driver has the window down with his head out due to the unseethroughable windshield.
6:15AM: One hour away from sun rise, we get a flat tire. I provide my headlamp to help fix the tire. It comes back with head lice.
The Next Hour: I go from freezing to just really cold. (the heat in the 4x4 hasn't worked since the mid-80's)
7:00AM: We catch up to another 4x4 that won't let us pass. We try anyway.
7:15AM: Large sack of potatoes (or walnuts) fall from the roof of the other 4x4 (we'll call the other 4x4 Bob). Since we are nice, we stop and pick it up. Since I was sitting up front, it was put on my lap. The potatoes (or walnuts) are cold like a dead baby penguin.
7:15-8:15AM: Honking, we try catching up to Bob to get his attention and give him his nuts back. Bob thinks we're trying to pass, so he twarts our attempts by swerving into us. Bob sucks.
8:15AM: the replacement tire blows. We stop at a random mining town where we give Bob (who had stopped) his sack of nuts back. We have a 2 hour wait for a new car to arrive (because they have no more spare tires). I go to a restaurant and watch the 1st half of the Argentina vs. Serbia Montenegro soccer game. It is 3-0 at half time. I am down o-2 versus the travel gods.

10:30AM: New 4x4 arrives and we load into the Toyota. I once again have shotgun "to myself".
Until we start moving and someone (not the stocky Bolivian from before) pounds on the passenger side door and hops in pushing me to the non-existent middle seat with no cushioning, a 90 degree back rest and the clutch in my crotch.
10:30AM-12:30PM: Misery. My face is 3 inches away from the rear view mirror.
12:35PM: I ask the guy sitting shotgun with me; "podemos cambiar asientos a la uno??" (Can we change seats at 1pm).
12:35PM: "No" responds Bolivian, shaking his finger.
12:36-1:00PM: I stare at him cursing him under my breath. ps. my comfort level is at an all time low.

1:00PM: Stop for lunch at a mostly abandoned village where some ladies are cooking nearly dead animals on their grills in front of their mud houses. I eat chicken. It tastes dead.
1:35PM: Get back on road. The guy sitting shot gun with me tries to make amends by saying that there are only 30 minutes left and that I should take a picture of the rock formation up ahead. The rock formation was cool, so i took my camera out and snapped a picture. The remainder of the Toyota constituency starts laughing at me for taking a picture. bastards. My ass kills from sitting on the wood plank for 3 hours.
2:00PM: Arrive in TUPIZA, BOLIVIA and wait for 2:30PM bus to VILLAZON, BOLIVIA on the Argentine/Bolivia border. I am assigned no seat, which means I am standing for the 2 hour bus ride..

2:57PM: My water bottle is on the floor, and I see a water-like substance collecting on the floor beneath my water bottle. I think someone has spilled their drink so I continue handling my water bottle like normal. I find out later it was pee from an 8 year old boy.
3:15PM: The 8-year old boy's 2-year old brother (who stared at me for a better part of 2 hours) shits his diaper. The mom changed him on seat. It smell like certifiable baby doodie. (He was probably staring at me when dumping in him pants).
3:15-4:30PM: I neither pee nor poop my pants.
4:45PM: Get to the Villazon and walk across the border to Argentina. It was a surprisingly easy border crossing. I wonder why... Also, I see pavement for the first time in approximately 12 hours).

5:00PM: I FINALLY FIND AN ATM, pay back the people I am traveling with, eat stale bread and check email while waiting for the 7PM bus, which gets me into SALTA, ARG at 2AM.. supposedly.

8PM: After falling asleep relatively quickly, I wake up to find the bus stopped and surrounded by Argentine National Guardsmen. We all get off, collect our luggage and get searched. This takes 2 hours. No drugs were found.
10PM: Get back on bus, we continue on and I pass out.
12AM: Wake up to Argentine National Guardsman (now on the bus) checking everyones' passport and questioning suspicious passengers.
12:15AM: I give my passport to the officer, and he forcefully asks me what I am doing, where I am coming from and where I am going. I tell him I am writing for a travel website (matadortravel.com), I am coming from Bolivia, and I am going to Buenos Aires (40 hours of bus rides) for 2 days. Then I am going to Santiago, Chile (20 hours of bus rides) for 3 days, and then I am going to Machu Picchu, Peru (40 hours of bus rides). The officer, knowing that Uyuni, Bolivia was only 10 hours of bus rides away from Machu Picchu, gave me the most skeptical look I have ever seen, and probably thought that he had located the drug smuggling culprit. He called his officer buddy over and told him my travel route. A laugh was heard. (It's not like I DIDN'T know my travel route was unreasonable, but I was already committed). After a few more minutes of questioning (in spanish), they got tired of my miserable grammar and vocab and gave up, allowing me to go back to sleep.

1-4AM: In and out of sleep. Get to Salta at 4AM and check into a hostel. I am put in a room with 7 others. The hostel worker opens the door to the room and turns on the light, opening up a chorus of "what are you doing", "turn the light off", "fuck you" from the seven inhabitants, who now know me as "that guy who came in at 4AM and turned on all the lights, and who sucks".

6AM: There is a professional snorer below me on the bunk bed. Finally fall asleep.

11AM: Wake up and prepare for my 20 hour bus ride to Buenos Aires.

2PM: Get on bus. I have a seat that turns into a bed. It is more comfortable than my bed at home. Me and my two Norwegian buddies on the bus are giddy like 13 year old girls accidentally running into a boyband member at a regional mall.

6pm: "White Chicks" is the chosen movie for the 4th bus ride in the last 1.5 months for me. In case you can't tell from the title, the film is a magnificant atrocity, which gets worse with each viewing.
9PM-3AM: Sleep. Helped by a sleeping pill given to me by a friend.
3AM: Wake up feeling terrible.
3AM-7AM: Awake
7AM: Start Puking. Possibly from the sleeping pill.
8AM: Arrive to Buenos Aires, Sunday, June 18th. Puke aggressively for about 5 minutes near the taxi stand. Once I am done, I start walking towards one of the taxis. Having seen my projectile display, the driver speeds off. I eventually catch a cab to my friends apartment, where I spent the rest of the day on the couch. I moved approximately 22 feet all day. I feel much better today.

Moral of the story: The trip from Bolivia to BA is like taking the D.C. Metro system, just without the comfort, speed and general ease. ps. I get on a 20 hour bus tomorrow.

A tour that starts at 4AM and doesn't promise you a personal meeting with Santa Clause is definitely bogus.

I believe I mentioned taking a Geyser tour in a desert town in Chile. I further believe that I concluded that it was a tour not worth taking. I should have known from the brochure that this was a Junior Varsity operation, that failed basic proof reading.

Bolivia Smivia

I neglected to write that I was going on a 3-day 4x4 tour through the Bolivian Desert and Salt Flats. While I was neglecting to inform my blog of my trip, I also neglected to properly prepare for being in Bolivia. It is officially third world, and I officially have no way of getting money because they don't have ATMs. This presents a minor problem. Right now, I am borrowing money from a friend and tomorrow after a 9 hour bus ride, I plan on going to every store/hotel/travel agency to see if they will forward me money via my credit card. Thus far, I am 0-5 in that department.

Also, since last Tuesday (June 6), I have taken 40 hours of bus rides, 20 hours of sitting in a Toyota Land Cruiser and 8 minutes in a gondola. This might also be a good time to expound on the fact that tomorrow's 9 hour bus ride is a prelude to a 3 hour bus ride, which shall preface a 7 hour bus ride, which will be piggybacked by a 22 hour bus ride, hopefully landing me in Buenos Aires sometime on Sunday. I refer back to my "geographical" prowess in trip planning.

I look forward to writing about the salt flat trip, zero horizon, anarctic conditions, our driver with one eye, what llama meat tastes like (burning), etc. but for now, I am about to run out of money at the Bolivian internet place that has anything but a speedy connection.

Soccer, Bus, Bus, bad swimming experience, Soccer.

After I posted the picture of my visible distraction with a watermelon rhine, I had to jet to the nearest television to watch Argentina's opening World Cup Match against Ivory Coast. When I walked out of the internet cafe at 3:58 for a 4:00pm game, the city of Salta (and the rest of Argentina) failed to exist. At least outdoors. There was not a soul in the streets. I had never seen anything like it, so i went to the nearest (open) corner store, bought a liter of beer for $1 and found myself a seat in the back of the room at a local emporium equipped with a big screen and a less than clear feed. The 2 hour game went Argentina's way, and the 3 hours of celebrating in the street seemed to go Argentina's way too. It was round 1, game 1. Imagine Argentina is the state of Georgia, Soccer is NASCAR, and then multiply that by 12,000.

Since then, I hopped a bus back across the border to Chile where we crossed the Andes and 13,000 foot mountains. The buses climb the mountains on roads that zig zag endlessly up and down. This was my first experience with the high altitudes and just as we were entering the uphill "Z" formation of the road, I procured an altitude induced bloody nose. I grabbed some tissues, and made my way to the bathroom in the back, where I proceeded to be knocked around like a ragdoll for about 22 "Z's". At least my nose stopped bleeding. (My forehead found the door to be more forgiving than the window).

After the 12 hour daytime bus ride, My friend, Liz, and I made it to San Pedro De Atacama, and soon found out that none of the hostels have heat and the Desert is mindnumbingly cold at night. To combat the coldness, we made the illadvised decision to book a 4AM tour that took us to geisers and assured us that the sunrise would epic. At 4AM, it was 14 degrees (f), and I only had clothing meant for Autumn in the Berkshires. This, combined with the fact that it started with a 2.5 hour bus ride, I didn't locate the reclining lever on my seat until we pulled into the geiser parking lot, we were driving in the bus when the sun rose, and I went swimming in luke warm geiser pool in 30 degree weather, all adds up to a tour not worth taking.

In other news, the U.S. soccer team looked pretty pathetic today.. But it still pissed me off when the commentator shared those same sentiments over and over and over. Where does he get off making hurtfully accurate remarks like that.

F-ing seeded watermelons!! I explicitly asked for seedless!! ps. vanilla yoghurt is divine.

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L.A. stands for Love Actually

Argentines are some of the most loving people you will ever meet. Besides than the fact that couples are making out everywhere you look (mostly because everyone lives with their parents until marriage and have no place else to get some lovin'), you can see the caring nature of these people in the most unassuming places, like at the bus station.

It is rather touching to see 3-4 family members per passenger crowd around a departing bus, hugging and kissing their loved one goodbye. Or when the bus is pulling out and half of the passengers are standing plastered against the windows waving their arms wildly, as their non-passenger family members do the same from the bus platform. On my overnight bus last night, we stopped at a bus station at 3AM to pick up more passengers, and sure enough, there was a crowd of people hugging and smiling like an Argentine had just won American Idol, sending off the 15 people getting on the bus.

I comment on this because I found it really nice while peering out my window preparing to endure a 13 hour bus ride in anything but a comfortable bus seat. When was the last time we saw someone off at the bus stop, airport or teacup ride at a carnival..

I should add that the 15 people who got on the bus at 3AM were all 15-year old girls, who felt that conversation was more necessary than sleep between the hours of 3AM and 9AM.

They were probably just giddy from the hugs they received.

I am what you call "Geographically Retarded"

After some deep soul searching, I am officially at peace with the ridiculous Argentine vendors who won't sell me chocolate when I want to pay with a $100 peso bill. They are unofficially chill with me. I now have a beef with the Treasury/the printing press man. These a$$clowns are officially dead to me.

I left the massive amounts of falling water and the spring break scene in Iguazu Falls, and went back to Buenos Aires last weekend. The crew went out Friday night, and all of us woke up Saturday with unyielding conviction to never go out again.

Since then, I hopped an overnight bus to Cordoba, the second largest city in Argentina, to meet up with a friend I met a few weeks back. Liz and I went out last night, and I woke up today with unyielding conviction to never go out again.

The bus ride from Buenos Aires to Cordoba marked the beginning of the most assinine trip (geographically) that has probably ever been put together. In the next 2-3 weeks, I will probably log over 200 hours of bus time, 5,100 miles and re-cross my tracks at least twice. My travel agent is an idiot.

Please picture a map of the United States of America: Once you have located Atlanta, GA, imagine I take a bus to Kansas, and then continue northward to Nebraska, followed by a festive transfer via 4 x 4 to Chicago (to see a lot of salt). Then south to St. Louis and finally back to Atlanta (to get my computer and see friends from the states). Whereby, I will then take a bus from Atlanta to New Mexico (to get a my sleeping bag and get beat in Tennis by my Chilean mom), and continue northward via bus to Wyoming. Then I will cross the Wyoming/Montana Border patrol and drive 10 hours to Cuzco, Peru.

I bet none of you thought Machu Picchu was in Montana.

Chill with Me: Argentine Vendors laughing at my 'Benjamins', Olga, Shats, People giving me horn, Stray Dogs.

On Notice: Hangovers, Not outsourcing my travel planning, Dish rags, dogs.

Dead to Me: The Secretary of the Treasury, Mamushka Chocolate Store, salami.

Boiling point has been reached. Difficult to believe I haven't written about this yet..

In South American Countries (certainly in Argentina), they circulate monetary bills that are useless. This disutility is not because the denomination is economically useless, or due to a military coup and Marshall Law breaking loose. Rather, the bills are TOO LARGE. The argentines inability to break a bill of high denomination is the most frustrating thing since my last Fruit Mentos pack that gave me all pinks, when I clearly favor yellows.

In the states, we've all gone to a local store with a $50 or a $100 bill and the attendent will begrudgingly accept it. Afterall, it would be negligent business practice to not accept money from customers.. Right? Verdad?? Am I missing something???

I just went to three stores trying to break my $100 peso bill, which is approximately equivalent to a $33 USD bill. (A denomination that should be surfacing in the States by mid-2007. In honor of Rolling Rocks 100-year anniversary of course). At the first store, I announced my intentions to purchase water, crackers and candy bar with a $100 bill, as this was all I had. My proposition was met with an abrupt "no esta bien" (not ok) and she coldly turned her back on me like I was trying to sell her used gum or something*.

At the second place, I didn't announce the contents of my wallet, hoping I could make a sneak attack and force him in to a $5 USD sale with a $33 USD bill. No dice. He twarted my advance with a brisk "no amigo". (No friend). He then turned to his amigo and laughed at this amigo trying to pay with a $100 bill that is readily prevalent in the Argentine economy, but never accepted because no one has ever put the crazy idea in motion to actually accept pesos and turn a mild profit. I left the items on the counter and stormed out.

The third attempt took place at a Disco Supermarket (basically the Stop and Shop/Shaws of Argentina). If anyplace could break my blacksheep of a bill, this place could. I collected a few more items to make it look like the $100 peso bill would be more equitably distributed.

I seemingly ruined the day of the cashier upon I presenting the hundo bill, and she even pleaded with me to give her a $20. I said no, standing my ground, and after she asked if I had the 40 cents to round the purchase, she yelled "CAMBIO" (change) to no one in particular. She then motioned for me to step to the side to allow other customers to pay with their cuter and smaller bills. After observing the finalized purchases of 2-3 fellow shoppers, a lady came over with change for exactly one $100 peso, and I finally received my change of $87. It took me three stores, 25 minutes and several curse words to finally obtain 2.25 liters of water, a massive Sahne Nuss and Mentos.

ps. Not to harp on the subject... But f-ing 10 out of 12 were pink. 1 orange, 1 yellow. No esta bien.

*There was a good 4-5 year time period in grade school, when the ABC gum offering joke rarely failed to kill in the humor arena) Right? Verdad?? Am I missing something???.

SO much water.

Moments after this picture was taken I was NOT all smiles, as Harrison Ford leaped to his demise while shooting a scene for "Fugitive 2: The Very Prosthetic Leg"

Few words can describe the magnitude of the Iguazu Waterfalls. (Or my bicep).

Therefore, I will not try to use awkwardly strung together sentences or obscure movie references to summarize the awesome scenery at Iguazu. Rather, I will just post some pictures.

I love 99.9% of Canadians

I am staying at the ultimate spring break hostel in Puerto Iguazu, Argentina. (And for the record, I went to Cancun, Mexico and believe that is where you go when you die and don't go to heaven). The Hostel-Inn hostel has a huge pool, a tiki bar, a volleyball court, a soccer field, many indoor games (ping pong, pool, foos ball, chess, probably dungeons and dragons, etc) and four computers offering free internet service. This free internet comes under the stipulation that you shall not exceed 20 minutes of world wide web action if people are waiting.

I normally don't mind if people extend their world wide webage to the 25-30 minute mark, but anything beyond that point is just plain rude.

Rudeness is something that clearly failed to register with 2 girls utilizing the 2 central terminals a few nights ago. These two girls had used well over 1.5 hours of the net* (*internet) while there was a healthy line of 6 people waiting behind them. I finally made it to the left flank computer and sat next to one of the squatters. After about 10 minutes, I casually leaned over and inquired if the girl (lets not call her Joy) has seen the posting that read "20 MINUTE TIME LIMIT IF PEOPLE ARE WAITING."

You would have thought that I slaughtered her first newborn with the scathing look she gave me. Canadians are typically friendly. She missed that boat.

I closed the junk mail window of my hotmail account (which pleasantly reminded me that men can easily sextuple the size of their male member in just days) and removed myself from the tension and visibly miserable Canuck, hoping to never cross paths with her again.

The next day, I went to see the falls. (Which, I shall write about at length later, because they are the definition of neato). As luck would have it, I boarded a boat to go to a small island and seated next to me was 'Not Joy', the Canadian princess of misery. Trying to put the past behind me, I offered a superficial conversation starter of "Hey there, how did you get to the falls today?" (And yes, I know I need to take a class to learn to ask more profound questions).

'Anti-Joy' abruptly answered in irritated breath with "I was in the same van as you. I sat right behind you." I spent the rest of the boat ride staring straight ahead hoping a crocidile would snatch her from the boat.