A Hitch-hikers guide to the Atacama desert

Following an amazing 3 week stay in Cordoba, I was craving for a change. After all, an integral part of the journey is the act of traveling, right? Teaming up with Shlomi, one of the guests at the hostel where I was working, we decided to head out to the Atacama desert in Chile, the world{s driest desert and home to some amazing natural treasures. The standard, tourista way of getting to Atacama from Cordoba is to spend 370 pesos on two buses, as well as 30 pesos for a night stay in between. 400 pesos is more or less 120 bucks American, which to some may seem like not too much, but to us it means over 123 nights stay at a hostel. If only on principle, we couldnt buy into this gringo-cheating machine. So we chose the alternatrive: Hacer con dedo aka hitch-hike.

We began our quest for cheap transportation in the Northern outskirts of Cordoba. Cheered on by a busload of school-children, we were dropped off at a defunct gas-station, and within 20 minutes were picked up by couple of artists heading out to fix their car. Chatting with Alpha Blondy in the speakers, the couple brought us 20 km further than their stop, at a gas station North of Jesus Maria. We said our farewells with kisses and gifts (incense and bus tokens) and began work on our next ride.

First ride...

After 40 minutes of waiting, we get picked up by a traveling salesman, who brings us North another 40 km, and leaves us with a tip. Apparently, you can find a bed at any volunteer fireman{s house in the world if you become part of the rapid response team. Unfortunately Dormida, the town we were dropped off at, is little more than a service station and a kiosk. This is where the luck runs a bit dry. from 4 pm until midnight, not one ride. We truly reached a black hole of transportation. Empathizing with our cause, the girl working the pump became our spokesmen to the clients, while the woman at the kiosk tried bribing the bus drivers for a free ride, to no avail. We set up our tent behind the garage, with music from the Jungle Book blaring off some arcade game lulling us to sleep.

Dormida, home sweet home...

The next day, my thumb was already stretched out by 8:30. 2 hours of nothing, and our hopes are slowly draining, when Shlomi walks up to a bus on its way to Jujuy, one of the major hubs in North Argentina.ñ A little bit of haggling and we get a reduced rate for the ride. 100 pesos a person instead of 180. A lot of money but we were comforted by the fact that the drivers probably pocketed to cash instead of serving it up to THE MAN.

Sticking it to the man, one peso at a time...

10 hours, 4movies, 20 free cups of soda and coffee, and 4 meals (spare box lunches are a treasure for the mochilero) and were in Jujuy. It finally hits me that I am about to leave Argentina. The Faces in Jujy are much more indigenous looking, the smells and sounds a lot more chaotic, a lot less European. Planning to stroll a bit in the city and head out to the outskirts for a service station to sleep in, we make friends with a local working in one of the area kiosks. Jose ends up letting us crash in his apartment and drives us to the service station the next day.Life is Good.

These cars still existy and are being used!!!

8:30 on a Tuesday, and that thumb is stretched out again. No Luck. The people are friendly, and seriously wish they could help. Its just that they are all heading South, except for one truck who offered us a ride to Bolivia. At 6 pm,. two tankers show up to refuel. Doubtful of any success, seeing as they petrol companies are quite strict about not allowing their employees to pick up hitch-hikers, i tried my luck nonetheless. With a wink of his left eye, the jefe of the three says no. He then demands 200 pesos. We haggle it down to 150 pesos, and within 10 minutes I{m riding shotgun in a 16 wheeler carrying enough gas to blow up a small island.

The only way to cross that desert

Eduardo, our driver, is pretty much what you{d expect from a trucker. Big, round, serious, but always open to conversation. We offer him so Coca leaves, he bests us with his fresher stash. We share with him our food, drinks, music and words. He maintains a constant pace of 25 km an hour while climbing up the Andes, all the while pointing out llamas, rivers, constellations, and other treasures of the road. Unlike the caffeine-pill guzzling Gringo truckers, Argentina has strict laws regarding the amount of hours a trucker can drive. And so around midnight we settle in Sasques, a pre-fabricated wild-west looking town built solely as a home for a customs office.

We head out towards the Chilean desert at 10 the next day, finally arriving at San Pedro De Atacama at 3 pm, not before making offerings to Pachamama, of course.

Offerings of Coca to the gods...

San Pedro is a 3-street town sitting at the edge of the Atacama desert, named after the tribe who had populated the region for centuries. I wont get into the details regarding all that the Atacama has to offer, as I cannot do this immensely beautiful region justice. So I will let the pictures do the talking...

They always have to remind you who is boss in these parts...

The Three Marias

The culture of Cocoa & El Hermito

It´s deep into the third week of my stay in Cordoba. These type of situations usually occur when you don´t have a stringent itinerary. Believe me, this is a good thing. These past few weeks have been dedicated to studying Spanish, surviving Passover, and taking in a bit of the urban culture in Argentina. Yet this week has taken a bit of a twist towards the region´s natural treasures. The following are a few random stories with little to no common thread...bare with me:


The culture of Cocoa:


You are all aware of Cocoa and its power in our world (some more than others, sniff sniff) More than just disco and Scarface, Cocoa represents the vastly complex indigenous culture of Bolivia, where it is revered as a sacred gift from Pachamama (the nature goddess, AKA Gaia), as well as a daily staple of life. Natives use the leaves as a casual habit, yet it is beloeved to have the affect of heightening one´s sense and awareness, as well as ending pangs of hunger and thirst. Cocoa culture is an integral part of Bolivian culture, as highlighted by Evo Morales´crusade for its legitimacy. The following is an illustrated guide to partaking in this cultural experience, as presented by Geronimo, an interesting Dutch character I´ve met here in Cordoba. Geronimo has been living in Cochabamba with his Bolivian fiancee for the last year or so. Their wedding rings were made by Jorge the artisan (refer to earlier posts)



Step One: offerings to Pachamama









Before enjoying these fruits of nature, one must remember the powers that have bestown this treasure. Three of the best leaves are held in your hand, and with a small physical showing of appreciation, they are thrown into the air, a sacrifice to Pachamama.




Step Two: begin chewing those cocoa leaves, but remember they leave out the stems. After chewing the leaves, move them to the to right part of your mouth.









Step three: Bicarbonate






Chew off a small piece of this catalytic substance. Bicarbonate triggers the active ingredient in the cocoa leaves, causing a slight numbing feeling and an elevation in one´s mood.





step four:

Go on chewing those leaves and bicarbonate. When you are done, remember that all remains of the leaves must be left on the ground. What comes from nature must return to it, not to some synthetic trash bag.



The wad...








The hermit of Costa Blanca:
Thursday morning (more like mid-day) we set out for Hippie beach, an hour or so from Cordoba. 5 Israelis, Geronimo from Holland/Bolivia, and Remy from France. Hippie Beach got its name from the tranquil atmosphere in the area, as well as the rasta-crowned, bracelet wearing populace. Costa Blanca, isn´t exactly what one would call a tourist trap. In fact, most people in Cordoba have never been there. Its a white-sand beach off the main river of the region. Yes, a river, not the ocean or sea. But given its solitude (Its hidden behind mountains and valleys) the area is truly a paradise.

One of main reasons it is so secluded, this is the only bridge to the beach...






Figuring out the way to paradise...










Given the fact that there are nearby weed-fields guarded by armed guards, one ca´n´t help but be reminded of Danny Boyle´s The Beach. Victor, the owner, drew us a nice little treasure map and we set off. So after 2 buses, an hour of hiking, scaling of a dam and swimming, we get there. There are 4-5 others already there, and we are greeted by the Hermit. That´s right, Argentina´s own Henry David Thoreau. Long haired, covered in bracelets, and with a disarming smile, he came right up and greeted us as neighbors.

El Hermito

The Hermit, formerly known as Orlando, had quite an interesting story to tell us, when he was not playing Spanish renditions of The Eagles and Clapton. Born into a wealthy family in Cordoba, Orlando was well on his way to achieving the Bourgeois dream: married, with 3 kids, and a steady banking jobs. This all ended when he was held up and robbed at gunpoint...by none other than a relative of his. The following is what we call a moment of clarity. Having his life flash before his eyes, Orlando gave the thief his money, and then proceeded to give up everything else. His job, his belongings, his middle-class life, everything. He moved into a commune and took up existing´as he called it. His entire family disowned him, including his children who haven't seen him in years. After a while, Orlando realized that communal life isn´t enough for him, and so he moved on to Solitary existence. The Hermit built his tarp & plastic home here on the beach, where he has been living since (10 years!). He exists upon others´goodwill, eating only what they bring. Many have made it a tradition to embark upon a pilgrimage to the Hermit´s home and bring offerings. The Hermit spends his time existing. I can sense your first reaction. It´s okay, quite understandable, really. But ask yourself this, are you happy? he is. GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL...1-0 El Hermito.

If you found this, you´re home...

La Vida en Cordoba

Given the new, easy going schedule i got going now, I´ve been given the time and connections to check out the city and its culture. Some Highlights:



The music scene here is thriving and very student-oriented AKA free to cheap. On Friday, following a long shabbat ceremony attended with the interest of eharing prayers in Spanish, I went over to a near-by venue with one of the bands staying at the hostel. Turns out the band is pretty well known in these parts. Named the Peyotes, they play sixties-garage rock with a surf feel, sort of like the music on the pulp-fiction soundtrack. The band opening for them played rockabily...All in Spanish. The Peyotes came out in matching red oriental suits, commenced the show with a group yell and thrashed through about an hour of fast-paced songs that left no one still. By the way, they only started their set at 3 am! even concerts begin at 1 or 2 in the morning...I still can´t get over that one.


The opening act...










Nothing left standing...












Last Sunday, Hostel Joven aka Casa Reggae (the place I´m working at) hosted its bi-weekly Fiesta de Jazz, up on our roof. Yours truly played the role of door-man, Dj, Bartender, and eventually all-around-borracho (the definition for that one rhymes with crunk). 3 hours of South American flavored jazz, including classics by Tito Puente and Sergio Mendes, accompanied by liter-bottles of Argentinean beer and Fernet con Coco (the unofficial drink of Cordoba). Following the show the people stuck around, eventually dwindling to 8 or so, mostly artisans from the nearby international Artisan fair that had been been going on. For the next three hours, I was fortunate to be a part of a folklore ´session´. We sat around passing bottles of foot-pressed wine and a guitar, as people took their turns singing selections from Argentina´s rich heritage of folklore music. Ever region has its own type of music, and the people, both young and old, have a deep love for the classics. A prime example is Mercedes Sosa, an 80 year-old legendary singer, who still tours around the world. She became an emblem of the struggle against tyranny, after survivng and assasination attempt and living in exile for over 15 years. The gorup was quite diverse, made up of A Mapuche Native from Patagonia (in the South), a few Chileans, and a few artisans residing in Jujuy (North of Argentina). I understood about 35-60 percent of their banter (Chileans are especially difficult) but the sense ofcomradery was immense. It felt as though I was in a scene depicting a social gathering in South America pre-Television (think Motorcycle Diaries). We left each other with embraces and promises of more gatherings before we each go our separate ways.


Latin Jazz en vivo...




Nothing like the opportunity for inter-cultural excahnge







On Break...


When you can´t join ´em...



The zenith...


The Nadir... not me in picture)

Speaking of love for folklore, that same weekend a fund-raising concert was held for the local charities, featuring some of Argentina´s best folklore bands. Now I know that usually folklore is synonymous with old bearded men telling long-forgotten stories around a campfire. Not in Argentina! such music, in which the flute, guitar and accordian take a central part, is usually very fast and is accompanied by an array of dance-styles. These styles include the Chacarera, the Cuarteto, Argentinean Samba, and others. The frontman of this concert´s headlining band is the son of a disappeared artist (see past blog regarding day of disappeared). About 3,000 packed into the veue and stayed all night dancing away.

in midst of cuarteto




Argentinean for bring it on...









This past weekend, Chol Ha´moed for the Jews amongst us, I ventured to a 3-day íllegal´Osy-trance/ Dub reggae festival up in the mountains outside Cordoba. 3 days of continuous music (try lulling yourself to sleep with psy-trance blasting in your ears, i dare you!), outdoors living, and a tribe of Spanish speaking hippies as your hosts. Yes, quite the experience. I plead the fifth as to further stories, and will let the photos speak for themselves...




D.A.R.E to say...






Standard lighting for Beethoven´s 5th...






3 day trance festival, an excellent place to take your kids...






Chacarera and Puchero. The first is a typical Argentinean dance which accompanies the folklore music of Northern Argentina. The latter, a classic Argentinean ´commoner´dish, a recipe perfected over hundreds of years by the Gauchos and pobres of the Andes. My Chacarera needs help, but there are plenty of opportunities to practice it, such as at that fundraiser-concert the other night, or various dance-bars lining the streets by me. Argentinean are quite proud of their dance culture. We all know of the Tango, but there are dozens other music and dance styles, all equally emotive and fun to try.










New phrases learnt, try em at home kids:

Cullarse - to f@ck.

Borracho Cullado - drunk as f@ck

Instertar como un brochet - literally to insert like in a brochet, a type of dish where bread is stuffed...see where that one´s going?

Dos pelos de la concha son mas fuertes que una yonta de bueyes - two hairs of a woman´s... you know... are stronger than a pack of bulls.


yea, my spanish is coming right along!

the move to Cordoba

Since the last time this blog was updated, I´ve made the move from Buenos Aires to Cordoba, stopping by Mendoza for a couple days. It seems as though you can gauge my enthusiasm or lack-there-of based on the ammount of photos I take and put up. I have about 2.5 from Mendoza. Not that there´s anything wrong with the place. It´s wine country, producing about 70 percent of the country´s vino. And there are all sorts of outdoor/extreme activities available, as well as an active night-life and some great hostel. But, to put it in igorously scientific terminology, I wudn´t feeling it, B! So my stay in Mendoza consisted of a full day wine-bike tour (not for the ill-balanced among us) a huge asado, and the hostel pool. Pretty tranquil, considering that the day after I left a tear-gas bomb was thrown into the club I went to the night before...

There´s about 1.8 million pesos worth of wine in here...

Cordoba!

The second largest city in Argentina, a bustling university town (7 of them) which was once home to a one Ernesto ´Che´Guevara. Walking the streets, one feels as though drowning in book shops and watchmaker stores. In addition, there´s a thriving cultural life, and naturally an equally glamorous night-life. More on that later... As expected in Catholic-dominated cities, there are some impressive cathedrals. With that, there are some strong and fierce critical graffiti opposing criticizing the Church´s compliance, or lack of criticism, to the brutal actions of past dictatorial and cononial regimes. As I mentioned before, Argentineans are a fiercely political nations, and no one is spared.

Stencil on the side of one of the main churches. The skull is often used as symbol for the military regime, and this stencil protests the the Church´s cooperation in the acts of tyrrany.

Let the indoctrination begin...

The Man responds...

Alright, so I decided that it was time to settle down. On eof my goals in this trip is to improve my Spanish to he level of understanding Gabriel Garcia Marquez in the original tongue. I fell in love with the Argentinean dialect, and seeing as Cordoba has many opportunities for ´cultural enrichment´, it seemed as a natural choice.

Amongst a wide selection of museums, my favorite was the Museo de Bellas Artes Emilio Caraffa. Set in a renovated XIX century mansion, they hold various temporary exhibition. When I visitied, they focused on Swiss photography. No, none of those dime-a-dozen landscape portraits with yodeling Aryans. Lots of documentary materials, as well as more avant garde and surreal works. The museum itself is beautiful, furnished with black cow-hide couches...even the stairway is all cow. Meat is murder, but in argentina its cheaper than a bottle of water...

The guards were wondering what the hell i was photographing...

All you can eat:
Cordoba takes this concept to new heights, featuring the biggest all you can buffet in the country, which says quite a bit. There´s the stadium-size parilla (grill) the scores of salads (untouched, naturally) the various chinese cum Argentinean dish mutations...even Sushi. and the wine is cheap...money!

The look of gluttony...

All part of your balanced breakfast...

Fuckn Terrorists, even in the world of Alfajores...

step one: Get a fuckn job!

So yea, traveling during Carnaval, in Patagonia, and 2 weeks in Buenos Aires translates into a gaping hole where my wallet used to be. So i spent the first hours of day one scouring the different hostels, looking for a free stay. After 5 pretty gray ínterviews´, I stumbled upon HOstel Joven. Ringing the bell 2-3 times, I nearly gave up hen i hear a voice from above. No, not my savior, or rather maybe...Victor, the owner of the place checked to see who it is. Coming down to open the door, Victor greets me with a smile and a looong yawn. Apparently 3 rock bands stayed the weekend, which translated to non-stop drinking and a serious case of sleep-deprivation. After an hour long conversation about everything and her damn mother, the job is secured and i´m all smiles. A private room with a queen-size room is all mine.- Now for those who haven´t traveled budget-style, a private room might as well be gold-plated. And a free one, now that´s El Dorado! So there´s Victor, his dog Sophia, his other pet

Her name is Maria Jane

,

and an amazingly eclectic mix of characters for guests. Its been six days since, and so far i´ve shared Mate with native (Mapuche) artisans specializing in Leather and Silver, 3 different bands, a few Israeli Mochileros, a student from France on scholarship here at the Uni, and an open-heart surgery patient (He recovered!) Oh yea, we have a transvestite prostitute squatting as a neighbor. Last but not least, the hostel even has its own ghost. Yup, Cordoba has a dubious history involving the deaths of many in the hands of a Church-military áxis of evil´. Amongst the dead are Masons, Liberals, Communists, and a 4 year iold German boy who drowned right by the hostel. The latter isn´t exactly connected to political assasinations, but what he does havwe in common with the others is a long resume of hauntings and other mischievous activities. Think Áryan Casper´.

Stay here, i dare ye...

I´ll attempt to desribe the physical and mental state of this hostel, but pardon the liberal use of my borrowed poetic license. It is a cross between A 19th century half-way house the type in which dgar Allen Poe would be proud to pass out drunk, and one of those salons in Montmartre during the days of Picasso, Brauqes and Vlaminck. As I type this message, Victor who happens to be a chef as well, is preparing the asado (Argentinean grill) and the sound is being set up for our weekly Jazz concert up on the roof. No need to add more, right?