Sunday, February 23, 2014

Autobus Olympics

Over the past four months, we've traveled from Peru to Uruguay and back, passing through Bolivia, Paraguay, Argentina, and Chile on the way. There are quite a few differences between these countries, but the differences become more pronounced when comparing the three above the belt (Peru, Bolivia, and Paraguay) with those below (Chile, Argentina, and Uruguay). The latter would probably unfairly call it "civilization," thinking that genetics and history (they killed off all of their indigenous) have set them not only apart but above.

Whether it's related to genetics, the indigenous, or history, I don't know, but there is one domain in which I might agree with the Southerners : public transport. That is one part of Latin America I certainly won't miss. Getting on or off a bus is a competition of Olympic proportions from Paraguay all the way up to Venezuela. Elbows up, chin forward, eye on the door. No elderly man, pregnant woman, or crippled child will get in the way of a Latino's exit-from-bus victory. Someone must be keeping score and handing out award money or prizes or medals because those speedsters surely weren't rushing off to work.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

Dolph, come back !

Most long-distance bus rides in South America have some kind of entertainment. Usually, it comes in the form of a dubbed Dolph Lundgren straight-to-video action flic. Considering the alternative, this is not a bad option. The alternative is Latin American music videos. Aaaaaahhhhh !

There are only two premises for Latin American songs : Love or broken hearts. That's it. The genre doesn't matter, salsa, merengue, cumbia, tango, vallenato, whatever, it doesn't matter.

The videos, by attempting originality, are all the same. Man is on a yacht with a half-naked woman on his shoulder, or man is next to a pool with half-naked woman, or man is riding a horse with a half-naked woman. The male singer - there is always a male singer - is pained because he's in love : the model on his yacht has just
bared her soul and most of her breasts. To demonstrate this, the videographer catches him and her in 14 different outfits, sometimes in color, sometimes black and white. Nauseating and mesmerizing at the same time.

But it does give you the opportunity to say something you never ever thought you'd say, "I hope this bus will be showing a Dolph Lundgren movie."


Saturday, February 15, 2014

A Swede in Bolivia ? Oh la la...

French miners at Potosi
Most people, excepting some Bush-era Republicans, do actually like the French. Non, really, they adore the French. They may be reluctant to admit it, but they let it slip with every self-admiring use of rendez-vous, déjà vu, and oh la la. "Honey, there are some French doors on sale at IKEA this month." "Ooh la la." "Sweetie, where's the Pert Plus ? And what's this Garneer Fructis ?" "I switched brands. It's French - you should try it." "Ooh la la." and "Actually in some circles they refer to my syphilis as the 'French disease.'" "Ooh la la. I never realized it was so sexy. Voolay voo cooshay aveck moi say soi ?"

French hitchhikers near Sucre
By the way, the French actually write and pronounce that famous interjection "oh la la". The double-o vowel combo is considered uncouth and unsightly by the French and their language. Low-class words such as boob, booger, poop, ooze, and Oompa Loompa cause the French to wince.

French people making dinosaur tracks
Yes, we like the French, and we can't help it. Meeting a French person gives that same type of joy as seeing a toucan or a waterfall. " Ahhh, will you look at that ? A real French person." The people are ambassadors of their culture : the food, the style, the sexiness, the class, you know, that ol' Frenchiness. The French are a cultural Santa Claus for us. To the educational elite, they gave existentialism. To the humble poor, mayonnaise. They gave roulette to the hopeless gambler and romance to the hopeless romantic. Braille to the blind. Cinema for the sighted. Bras and bikinis for women. Etch a Sketch for kids. Loppers for the fellas.

Their history reads like the Game of Thrones. War, betrayal, check. Wedding massacres, double check. Beheadings, triple check. And those White Walkers in the North just seem like a particularly disgruntled and pasty group of Belgians. All they need now for their histories/stories to align is for a savior figure, Joan of Arc-like if you will, to be caught, sold, and burned at the stake. HBO would have made a killing if they showed French history as a reality show. Just don't you dare kill Arya.

French speakers in a cave
But in Bolivia, French tourists currently make up an estimated 12% of the population (By whom?, asks Wikipedia. By me.). Whenever we met light-skinned backpackers, we immediately spoke to them in French, not even wasting our time with English or Spanish. I wonder if the Plurinational Bolivian Government is considering adding French as a national language. There are so many French that the Bolivians have gotten a wee bit blasé about these people.  Up on the salt flats...des français. In the Potosi silver mine, encore des français. At Copacabana...putain, ils sont partout !

Esuidis ?
So when Pauline states proudly that she's French, the Bolivians tell her to get in line. Afterwards, I sheepishly add that I might be Swedish. Esuidis ? They have no clue where I'm from, or if I just ordered some raw meat, but they know I'm no French. Esuidis ! Welcome to Bolivia ! 

Paraguay The Hell Not ?

Paraguay is the heart of South America. Or perhaps the less-understood spleen of South America. It's surrounded and quite overshadowed by its larger and more visited neighbors Brazil, Argentina, and Bolivia. We spent three weeks in this wonderfully unknown land and met exactly two other travelers, a German and a Hungarian. This is most certainly because Paraguay lacks the big tourists draws of the other South American nations. No Iguazu falls, no Machu Picchu, no Rio de Janiero, no Salar de Uyuni, no Roraima.

Someone once asked me, about ten years ago or more, why I was going to visit South Korea. "I mean, um, France has the Eiffel Tower, Italy has the Coliseum. What does South Korea have ?" Later on, I heard she finally did get to go to Italy on her honeymoon and see lots of buildings that she'd already seen pictures of. Good for her.

Laguna Blanca at sunset
Termites, like Jesuits, can build, too
But if you do ask that question, "What does Paraguay have ?", I can definitively say, "one and a half places of touristic and photogenic merit." The first, in the southern town of Encarnacion, is the Jesuit-built and -abandoned cluster of missions. Nearly as beautiful as the Inca cities, but slightly diminished by their smallness and lack of altitude. The half is a very pretty lake in central Paraguay called Laguna Blanca. If this lake were in any other country, it'd just be a very pretty lake. But here in flat landlocked Paraguay, it's their only lake and their only beach.

Everything else in Paraguay - the landscapes, the people, the culture, the history - was so charming and naive that we quickly fell under their spell. A few descriptions and anecdotes might be in order to get a sense of this place.


  • The vast majority of the country, in the countryside that is, looks the same. In Paraguay's case, that's not a bad thing. Everywhere you look, you see the same scene : clear blue skies, Irish-green vegetation, and more importantly, a bold burnt red dirt road. Over and over and over again, you confront this scene. After a while, it becomes like a harmonious visual soundtrack for the country. 

  • Paraguay's most famous dish is called sopa paraguaya, or Paraguayan soup. Are you picturing a stew with big chunks of potato, tomato, beans, and corn ? Sounds delicious, but in reality, it's just a solid chunk of corn bread. Presumably to dip into real soup. And speaking of soup, Paraguayans might casually ask a young bachelor one day, "When are we going to eat soup?", soup evidently being an important dish at weddings. Whether that soup is liquid or solid I never discovered. 
  • The dictator Alfredo Stroessner ruled the country with an iron fist for 35 years until a coup finally exiled him to Brazil. How did the people react to this vacuum ? They kept voting for the same party ! In fact, the Colorado party stayed in power for more than 60 years : before, during, and after the Stroessner regime. I think they just wanted to be on the winning side. The only reason the Colorados lost the election in the late 90's, I'm sure, was because they ran a woman for president. Only in Paraguay do they speak so reverently of their past strongmen dictators.
  • Their favorite holiday is the Hallmark-created but Paraguay-championed International Friendship Day, a day in which you're expected to send friendly texts to your friends. Just don't expect one back unless you have the same phone company.
  • Paraguayans don't drink mate as the Argentines do. In hot and humid Paraguay, the last thing you want to drink is a lip-burning mate. So instead, they pour ice-cold water over their mate, which they mix with various herbs, such as mint. This they call terere and drink in abundance all day long. While they gossip about the neighbors.


  • Germans are everywhere in Paraguay. They're not tourists. They came as socialist anti-semitic utopians more than a century ago and set up settlements with names such as Nueva Germania. Those settlements failed, but the many of the Germans stayed. Then came the Mennonites from the USSR and Canada (both with German roots) who landed in the deserted region of the Chaco. A few nazis, such as Mengele, came by later, but from what I've read, they changed location every couple of years to evade the Israelis. In some parts, you can see as many signs advertising Zu Verkaufen as Se Vende (For Sale). But these Germans, like those in the Fatherland, generally worked hard and created thriving communities in hostile environments. This is a quality known to the Paraguayans as guapo, which means "hard-working", not "beautiful" like you learned in high school.
  • Paraguayans are lovably naive and direct. Since every one of the very few tourists speaks Spanish, they assume (there is a logic there) that Spanish is the national language of France, Germany, and countless other countries. Most of us have a filter that tells us to shut up whenever ideas like "You're fat" or "You're so rich" come up. Paraguayans lack this filter. A Colombian might tell Pauline, "Your Spanish is really good." But a Paraguayan will tell me, "Her Spanish is so much better than yours." See the difference ?

  • Paraguay has capybaras.










So if anyone asks you why you're going to Paraguay, just answer, Paraguay the hell not ?!


Thursday, February 13, 2014

How to Travel for One Year (in South America or elsewhere)


Most local South Americans, and even many North Americans and Europeans in fact, think we're filthy rich if we can afford to travel for several months at a time. During our ten days volunteering in the Orinoco Delta, we met probably 75 European tourists, all of whom were astonished when we told them of our plans of traveling for a year.  Even more so when we told them our budget.  Because in a place like Venezuela, money has a habit of disappearing.  No, I'm not talking about pickpocketing or scams.  It's just that most of the National Parks require that you hire a guide.  Sometimes it's an actual written rule, otherwise it's the de facto case since almost none of the parks have infrastructure of any kind.  No signs, no maps, no marked trails, not even a park ranger.  And of course, there's the fear.  When you mention traveling in Venezuela to friends and family, most people turn white and begin delivering your last rites.  Upon arrival, you brace yourself for the warzone.  And thus travelers flock to the agencies and the guides and pay for private armored cars with chauffeurs slash bodyguards or take expensive flights from touristic site to touristic site.  One Spanish family we met bragged to us how they were going to take 13 domestic flights in less than three weeks in the country !  I think that same family spent as much in three weeks as we will for the year...

So back to all of those tourists in the Delta (Outside of the Delta, we never met more than a handful of tourists). Many of them asked us what are tricks were to stretch our pesos and bolivares. So here are a few tips on how to spend less money and see more of the country and its people and culture.  But nearly all of them require patience, flexibility, common sense, and a portion -no !-, all of your cunning.

The biggest expenditures on any trips are transportation, lodging, and food.

Lodging
The biggest cost of all, for a long trip, is generally for your bed.  Even staying in hostels for a year would set you back at least $4,000.  We expect to spend less than $10,000 for the whole year.  The biggest reason : CouchSurfing.  Nearly every night of our trip, we stay with the locals.  With singles, couples, families, with students, with senior citizens...And we never pay to stay.  It's an intercultural exchange, so we get to know each other, we cook for them, and sometimes they introduce the city or their friends and family to us.  And there are other similar sites such as BeWelcome, WarmShowers for cyclists, Hospitality Club, and Pasporta Servo for Esperanto-speakers ("Bonvenon !")...

Another way to save money is to bring a tent.  We sewed our own tent, it's the size of a head of lettuce when packed, and weighs as much as a potato.  We've already used it a dozen times, sleeping in the Andes, in front of a cave, and on isolated beaches.

Volunteering
Like I briefly mentioned above, we spent ten days cooking, cleaning, washing, translating, gardening in the mosquito-ridden Orinoco Delta and never earned a cent.  But we ate well, made all of the excursions, and slept in a palm-frond hut that would have cost us $100 a night if we were paying. We saw dolphins, monkeys, caiman, and a host of exotic jungle birds to boot.

There are opportunities for volunteering in every country in the world.  The easiest way to find a spot is with WWOOFing (Organic farming) or with HelpExchange (Unlimited), but there are others. These are all excellent ways of lowering your sleeping and eating costs while getting to know the region and culture a bit more in depth.

Travel
Planes, buses, taxis, boats....they all cost money, even in a country like Venezuela where you can fill your gas tank for four bits.  There are a few ways of reducing the cost of crossing a country (or sea). The obvious choice is hitchhiking, which works well at the bottom of South America.  Farther North, thumbing it works better between smaller villages, less so near big cities. And the driver will often ask for a contribution, which usually ends up being equal to or cheaper than a comparable bus. Otherwise, you can avoid paying for hostels by taking the night busses, which usually cost from $1 (Bolivia) to $5 (Uruguay) per hour in the bus. You miss some scenery, but save a bit of money.

Another option that we've explored is BoatHitching or using the FindACrew website.  With FindACrew, you can find a boat traveling from Brazil to Bali or from France to Fiji. Sometimes you cook, sometimes you clean, but you get a free ride.

Food
This is an easy one. Cook. If you're Couchsurfing, cook for and with your hosts.  If you're hosteling, stay where you can use the kitchen. When you don't feel like cooking, eat what the locals are eating. They can't afford a filet mignon either. Save the restaurants for nice occasions.

Choices
Salto Angel, the highest waterfall in the world, is a destination most visitors to Venezuela couldn't miss. I'd prefer to swim and jump in a 5m waterfall than just look at a 1000m cascade.

The Galapagos archipelago would probably blow my biologist's mind.  And certainly my wallet.  For the price of a few days there, we can spend several weeks elsewhere. Sorry, Charles Darwin, I'll visit when I win the lottery.

----------------------------------------

I started writing this article more than two years ago, before we found jobs in Colombia. Here's our rough budget : In the six months before becoming employed, we spent about $600 per month. And that was by traveling slowly through Venezuela and Colombia.

After finishing our contract in June, we spent four more months in South America, traveling much faster (Peru to Uruguay and back), using much less CouchSurfing, saw some of the great (and sometimes pricey) sites and sights of South America (Machu Picchu, Salar de Uyuni, Iguazu falls) and spent about $1000 - $1200 per month. So for those ten months, we dispensed around $8000. Since then, we crossed the ocean and landed in Southeast Asia. So after a year of traveling, we might be slightly over our target of 10 grand (but you can see how $7000 or $8000 could be achievable). And there aren't a lot of people who can survive in North America or Europe on $10,000 a year. A Floridian needs to earn more than $20,000 to have what's considered a living wage. It's $32,000 for two adults. With just over ten grand, we visited more than a dozen countries and learned Spanish. We visited the Inca ruins, the Jesuit reducciones, and Angkor Wat. We crossed the Orinoco, the Rio de la Plata, and the Mekong. We've encountered monkeys, river dolphins, sea lions, sloths, iguanas, elephants, rheas, vicunas, and toucans. And had one hell of a time.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Atrocity Exhibition; or, Monet at school

Colombian school children look very typical. Plaid skirts for the girls, khaki pants for the boys, and a polo shirt for everyone. I figured that all uniformed children around the world looked that way. You might change the color combinations, but that's the look, right ? Then we got to Uruguay.

First, let's take a lookee at Uruguayan children of yesteryear. Knee-high stockings : check. Identical white lab coats with flaring hips : check. "Surely," you say, "these uniforms are clearly from the 12th century and look nothing like today's styles." Surely, indeed.

I can't even imagine why on Earth they would want to model their styles on, what looks to me like, lame painter's garb from another century. Probably someone like Monet or Manet.

I did find a couple of images of painters wearing these horrible Uruguayan hourglass coats :

Exhibit A : Lilla Cabot Perry
Exhibit B : Pablo Picasso













So at least two painters have worn similar atrocities. But they each obviously took it up a notch and added montruous bowties...and seemingly and deviously inspired the school fashions of the latest generation of children in Uruguay. Oh, the monsters !



Bittersweet in South America

Other than bleeding steaks, Argentina and Uruguay are known for their extremely high consumption of two things : mate and dulce de leche. Mate, or yerba mate, is an extremely bitter caffeinated plant that is ground and drunk as an infusion. Most of the world, led by Finland and other northern European countries, get their caffeine from coffee, whereas several Arab countries and British Commonwealth nations get theirs from tea. Argentina and Uruguay, however, are the only ones that get their dose from mate.

The drinking of mate is a ritual. The ritual and the drink can not be separated. It can happen at your home, at a park, or at a party. One person holds the gourd with the mate and a thermos of scalding water. I shall call him the Gourdmaster. The Gourdmaster fills the gourd with water, sips from the sieve-straw until all the water's gone. Backwash is just as disgusting in Argentina. He then refills the gourd, passes it to the person beside him. They must not say "thank you", but just accept it, drink the water, and pass it back. The Gourdmaster refills it again and delivers the gourd to the next person in the circle. Only when the gourd has gone around the circle several times and your belly starts to distend with bitter water may you finally say "thank you," which translates to "My stomach hath spruck, Gourdmaster."

Dulce de leche, the opposite and equal to mate, is a caramel-like spread made from sugar and milk. Argentinians eat more dulce de leche per year than the Americans eat peanut butter, the French nutella, or the Australians vegemite. "Dulce de leche goes on everything," repeated our friend Lisandro. He stressed every syllable of every word and was deadly serious. In the three days we spent with Lisandro and Yessi, he proceeded to show us that his catchphrase, or rather, rallying cry, was sincere and heartfelt. Anything in his home remotely solid got a coat of dulce de leche. "Everything" the walls softly echoed. Pancakes, bread, ice cream, yoghurt, crackers, fruit, wallpaper, you name it. I smeared some on my finger but had to yank it away lest Lisandro see and chomp it.

Bitter and sweet. Sweet and bitter. You add those bloody steaks back in, and you got bloody, bitter, and sweet. And those, kids, make up the three vertices of the Argentinian Food Pyramid.

Where No Doorbells Ring

We were in Resistencia in the North of Argentina, in Gustavo and Andres' home, making breakfast. Clap Clap Clap !, someone clapped outside. Pauline continued making coffee. Laurent was setting the table. Cecile checked her email. And I was helping Laurent. Three successive hand claps outside in the road do not need to be explained. In fact, I'm sure we didn't even consciously hear it at the time. Clap Clap Clap ! again. Again the foreigners ignored it. Why shouldn't they ? We don't generally go investigating every sound of unknown origin. We're not cats.

But Gustavo stuck his head out the window. "Yes ? I'll be right down." Apparently Gustavo and his unknown friend had created some private doorless knock.

Later that month, we were in nearby Paraguay, staying with our friend Tim and visiting his Paraguayan friends in the neighborhood. We reached the property, which had a gate enclosing the front yard. The house was set back 15 meters. Clap Clap Clap ! clapped Tim. "Tim, what are you clapping for ?" And he explained this very efficient messaging system which translates roughly as "Hey, I'm here. Are you here ?" to anyone within a small range all within a second. No electricity needed. No need to walk all the way to the door to knock, I can knock from here.

While still in Paraguay, we found ourselves quickly adopting this wonderful clap-knock. We'd walk into a shop whose owner was out of sight. No need to raise my voice and holler, "Anybody in here ?" I just Clap Clap Clap !, and out she comes.  "What can I do for you ?"