Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Yesterday morning, fortified from a dinner the night before of two large rare fillet mignons, a platter of french fries, guaranteed to be at least a runner up in the Guinness Book of World Records for the largest single serving of fries, and a half bottle of lusty red (a little over 12 bucks, thanks to the peso devaluation), it was time to leave San Carlos de Bariloche.
First, a bit about Bariloche. It is a ski town situated beside a lake that is nestled under the shadow of towering snow-fringed rocky peaks. It must look lovely in the winter, all dusted in white. But a ski town anywhere out of season is muddy and drab. Well, maybe that is a bit overstated.
The road that snaked its way into the city the night before proved to be the same on the other side. It wended its way through a national forest that held the same snow-capped peaks one after the other. The mountainsides were clad in a tightly woven coat of evergreens, punctuated at times by the brilliant yellow splashes of poplars in full fall regalia. The ride between Bariloche and el Bolson - about 40 or 50 miles - was one of the finest fall drives I have taken in my memory. Of course that is not saying much. Hmmm, where was I last year?
After el Bolson, the road wended through a few more mountains and finally down into a valley, and then across miles and miles of what could be taken for many areas of Arizona or New Mexico, or Utah, or, or….
Then, after about umpteen hundred kilometers, the ocean came into view at my destination, Rividavia. But a tour of the town proved it to be noisy and bustling - not a place for a tranquil night. My map showed me a city, Caleta Olivia about 40 miles south towards my ultimate destination. Less than an hour later, I was ensconced in a hotel in this tranquil oceanside city.
Today, it is further south to Rio Gallegos. Gee, only 700 kilometers. The next day it is on to El Calafate and the glaciers, a mere 250 kilometers distant. Well, that is, if I don’t get up that morning and decide to fly to Ushuaia, or find those caves with ancient paintings, or go fishing, or, or, or…
Monday, April 23, 2007
A Word is Worth a Thousand Pictures
Monday, April 16, 2007
… especially if they were taken over the 600 kilometers between San Rafael and Neuquen. About 90 kilometers below San Rafael is the town of General Alvear. Just outside of the town limits, you will see scrub growth and little else for hours. Think desolate parts of New Mexico or Arizona. The only life apart from a few cows or goats and the occasional guinea fowl lies below the surface of the earth. There pulse natural gas lines and later oil pipelines.
Above ground is the occasional windmill pumping water up into a stock tank, or, rarely, a natural gas transmission line. The only respite for the eye are infrequent stands of poplars starting to get dressed in their golden fall color.
I set the speedometer on 150 kpm and devoured most of the remaining 500 kilometers below Alvear. Then I spent half an hour negotiating around Neuqen which is a sprawling urban area replete with a gauntlet of traffic lights on its bypass.
As the sun sank into the west, I had 300 kilometers left for my destination of San Carlos de Bariloche. So after 1,020 kilometers, here I sit.
The monk Dom Perignon wandered up from the cellar after tasting accidently fermented wine. His words were: “brothers, I am drinking stars.” Well, tonight, brothers (and sisters), I am drinking in the stars. They were a constant distraction for the last two hours of my trip. What a brilliant night in the southern hemisphere!
[Ed. note: Speaking of pictures, Russ does actually have his digital camera with him but unfortunately left the cable for downloading photos back here in Arlington, so the photos will not be available till his return in May.]
… especially if they were taken over the 600 kilometers between San Rafael and Neuquen. About 90 kilometers below San Rafael is the town of General Alvear. Just outside of the town limits, you will see scrub growth and little else for hours. Think desolate parts of New Mexico or Arizona. The only life apart from a few cows or goats and the occasional guinea fowl lies below the surface of the earth. There pulse natural gas lines and later oil pipelines.
Above ground is the occasional windmill pumping water up into a stock tank, or, rarely, a natural gas transmission line. The only respite for the eye are infrequent stands of poplars starting to get dressed in their golden fall color.
I set the speedometer on 150 kpm and devoured most of the remaining 500 kilometers below Alvear. Then I spent half an hour negotiating around Neuqen which is a sprawling urban area replete with a gauntlet of traffic lights on its bypass.
As the sun sank into the west, I had 300 kilometers left for my destination of San Carlos de Bariloche. So after 1,020 kilometers, here I sit.
The monk Dom Perignon wandered up from the cellar after tasting accidently fermented wine. His words were: “brothers, I am drinking stars.” Well, tonight, brothers (and sisters), I am drinking in the stars. They were a constant distraction for the last two hours of my trip. What a brilliant night in the southern hemisphere!
[Ed. note: Speaking of pictures, Russ does actually have his digital camera with him but unfortunately left the cable for downloading photos back here in Arlington, so the photos will not be available till his return in May.]
Back to Argentina
Russ returned to Argentina about a month ago, and I have been derelict in keeping everyone up to date with his news. For those of you who wish to catch up on his travels southwards, I am posting here the old and current email news from him as he drives deep into southern Argentina.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Praemonitus, Praemuntius
"Forewarned is forearmed.” The Latin version is 'Praemonitus, praemunitus.' The proverb has been traced to 'Treatises of Fistula' (c. 1425) by J. Arderne. In 1615, it was used by Cervantes in 'Don Quixote.' First used in the United States in 'History of New Hampshire' (1685). The proverb is found in many forms: Forewarned, forearmed; Forewarned is quite often forearmed; To be forewarned is to be forearmed, etc.
The above is my way of trying to spiff up my occasional announcements of the start of another trip. Basically, it says when you see the next series of emails from me, you can have foreknowledge of their contents and hit the delete key with confidence without reading them.
This is a short trip - only about a 14 day roundtrip from San Rafael, Argentina to El Calafate. El Calafate is situated in the southern portion of Argentina. The reason for my destination is that nearby is one of the world's largest glaciers, El Perito. If it’s not the largest glacier on the planet, you glacier enthusiasts, let me know where it ranks.
So tomorrow morning, my first step will be getting fortified with a large breakfast of french toast, swimming in butter and syrup, and bacon, washed down with numerous cups of coffee. The next step will be to make a sufficient number of ham sandwiches, of course sampling the ham as I put them together. Then toss in a bag of potato chips and other things to make a picnic on the first day.
The next step will be to turn the nose of my trusty (hopefully) VW Polo Classic south. Or perhaps lie down and take a nap after all that food.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Praemonitus, Praemuntius
"Forewarned is forearmed.” The Latin version is 'Praemonitus, praemunitus.' The proverb has been traced to 'Treatises of Fistula' (c. 1425) by J. Arderne. In 1615, it was used by Cervantes in 'Don Quixote.' First used in the United States in 'History of New Hampshire' (1685). The proverb is found in many forms: Forewarned, forearmed; Forewarned is quite often forearmed; To be forewarned is to be forearmed, etc.
The above is my way of trying to spiff up my occasional announcements of the start of another trip. Basically, it says when you see the next series of emails from me, you can have foreknowledge of their contents and hit the delete key with confidence without reading them.
This is a short trip - only about a 14 day roundtrip from San Rafael, Argentina to El Calafate. El Calafate is situated in the southern portion of Argentina. The reason for my destination is that nearby is one of the world's largest glaciers, El Perito. If it’s not the largest glacier on the planet, you glacier enthusiasts, let me know where it ranks.
So tomorrow morning, my first step will be getting fortified with a large breakfast of french toast, swimming in butter and syrup, and bacon, washed down with numerous cups of coffee. The next step will be to make a sufficient number of ham sandwiches, of course sampling the ham as I put them together. Then toss in a bag of potato chips and other things to make a picnic on the first day.
The next step will be to turn the nose of my trusty (hopefully) VW Polo Classic south. Or perhaps lie down and take a nap after all that food.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Monkey See Monkey Do
Wednesday, February 7th
Off travelling again. Yesterday (Tuesday) it was a flight from Dulles to Lima, Peru via El Salvador. Most of the supposed one-hour layover in El Salvador was chewed up in DC while waiting for late connecting flights there. My wait in El Salvador turned into a walk out of one airplane onto my connecting flight that was already boarding.
Finally on to my ultimate destination, Lima. Lima is a city of false starts. Walking out of immigration, I spotted my driver holding a sign with my name, even spelled correctly. [Ed. Note: one of the perks offered by the hotel is airport pickup. Hotel was found on venere.com, a great resource for hotels around the world]. Start. The part of the city that first greets you on your ride into town is rundown. Stop. Then the road breaks open to run along the sea. Start. Then the road turns into a rough patch of whatever. Stop. Finally you get deposited at your hotel (nice enough) and you wash your face, go to the glass-enclosed restaurant with a warm breeze wafting in through the open front door and order paella. Start.
What does this have to do with monkey see, monkey do? That part came at dinner.
I was drinking my bottled water con gas. The three people seated at the next table ordered a pitcher of water. Aha, money conscious me [ed. note: cheap bastard]. A buck for a bottle of water, a pitcher free. Now, talk about a no-brainer.
This morning I was sitting at the same table eating breakfast. My “English” breakfast of eggs, ham, etc. etc. turned into toast, butter, and marmalade as the apologetic waitress reappeared and told me that the kitchen had run out of gas. Well, who needed the extra calories anyway?
So I sat munching my toast and reading my Frommer´s guide, well actually borrowed from a friend, and got to the part about drinking water in Peru as I was finishing my third glass of tap water.
“Drink only bottled water,” it proclaimed. Hope my next email isn’t a dissertation based on personal experience of waterborne evil thingies in Peruvian water.
Oops. Gotta run.
[Ed. Note: Not to worry. Not only did Russ survive, but in his next email he will be describing in exquisite detail the lunch he had shortly thereafter. My plan is once again to post all of Russ’ emails on a blog, but if you would prefer to keep receiving emails instead, just let me know.]
Off travelling again. Yesterday (Tuesday) it was a flight from Dulles to Lima, Peru via El Salvador. Most of the supposed one-hour layover in El Salvador was chewed up in DC while waiting for late connecting flights there. My wait in El Salvador turned into a walk out of one airplane onto my connecting flight that was already boarding.
Finally on to my ultimate destination, Lima. Lima is a city of false starts. Walking out of immigration, I spotted my driver holding a sign with my name, even spelled correctly. [Ed. Note: one of the perks offered by the hotel is airport pickup. Hotel was found on venere.com, a great resource for hotels around the world]. Start. The part of the city that first greets you on your ride into town is rundown. Stop. Then the road breaks open to run along the sea. Start. Then the road turns into a rough patch of whatever. Stop. Finally you get deposited at your hotel (nice enough) and you wash your face, go to the glass-enclosed restaurant with a warm breeze wafting in through the open front door and order paella. Start.
What does this have to do with monkey see, monkey do? That part came at dinner.
I was drinking my bottled water con gas. The three people seated at the next table ordered a pitcher of water. Aha, money conscious me [ed. note: cheap bastard]. A buck for a bottle of water, a pitcher free. Now, talk about a no-brainer.
This morning I was sitting at the same table eating breakfast. My “English” breakfast of eggs, ham, etc. etc. turned into toast, butter, and marmalade as the apologetic waitress reappeared and told me that the kitchen had run out of gas. Well, who needed the extra calories anyway?
So I sat munching my toast and reading my Frommer´s guide, well actually borrowed from a friend, and got to the part about drinking water in Peru as I was finishing my third glass of tap water.
“Drink only bottled water,” it proclaimed. Hope my next email isn’t a dissertation based on personal experience of waterborne evil thingies in Peruvian water.
Oops. Gotta run.
[Ed. Note: Not to worry. Not only did Russ survive, but in his next email he will be describing in exquisite detail the lunch he had shortly thereafter. My plan is once again to post all of Russ’ emails on a blog, but if you would prefer to keep receiving emails instead, just let me know.]
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