Last night, for Erev Rosh Hashana, I went with Marina and her youngest son, Tommy, who's 12, to services before enjoying a delightful family meal at the Werthein house. When they go, which is rare, they go to the other Reform-esque synagogue in Buenos Aires. Although everyone calls it Templo Libertad, after the street on which it is found, the full name of the synagogue is CIRA, or the Congrecación Israelita de la Republica Argentina. I really like the word Israelita.
This is the oldest synagogue in BA, and the inside looks more like a church than what I've come to expect from a Jewish house of worship. It's big, and stone, with a domed ceiling and wooden pews. Still, it was magnificint in its austerity. Marina mentioned that until a few years ago it was significantly more conservative, with the mechitzah only being taken down four years ago.
This congregation seemed a bit more exclusive than Emanu-El, and in front of each seat was the name of the person who had reserved it, presumably based on the amount which that person contributed. The service itself was similar in concert-ness to the one I went to on Shabbat, with cordless microphones and continuous keyboard accompianament.
Dinner was great, back at the Werthein's most of Gabriel's family had converged, and the group totaled 25 people. Wine was served, although it seemed like I was the only person drinking, and somehow my cup was never empty. I guess it's one thing when it's your own family, but this was someone else's and everyone was speaking another language. I felt great being included and having somewhere to go, and Marina insisted I was the guest of honor, but it still would have been nice being in Villanova.
This morning I set my alarm for only the 2nd time in the two weeks I've been in Argentina, planning to check out the other services at Emanu-El and to get my year's fill of hearing the shofar blast. Arriving on time was certainly not required, although the service did start, but most people (including the senior rabbi, this I really did not understand) arrived at least 45 mintues into the service. Rather than being in the actual synagogue, the service was in a rented out convention center, and the room felt pretty cold. Unlike at Shabbat, no one introduced themselves to me, and the abundance of space allowed for no one to sit right next to me. I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend Kol Nidre back at Libertad with the Wertheins, because at least then I'll have someone to sit with.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Delta
In officially catching this blog up to the present day, I'm now writing the last of my retroactive posts. Last weekend, my first here, Martin invited me to go fishing in Tigre, a town about thirty minutes outside the Capital City. I figured it would be a fun Saturday afternoon, and every day was still a complete adventure, so saying no was out of the question.
Martin picked me up from the hostel and we drove the hour or so out of town. We had the option of just fishing in the afternoon or spending the night at his grandfather's cabin and fishing in the morning, which was supposedly better. Not being sure what the right answer was, and not wanting to miss out on the "better" fishing, I opted for the overnight. We stopped at the supermarket to load up on 24 hours of groceries, and drove to the marina. I knew he had a boat, and I knew he had a cabin, so I didn't quite understand why we needed to bring all of the groceries onto the boat if we weren't even going fishing until the next morning.
It was partly my fault for not asking for clarification earlier, but apparently where we were going, and where his grandfather's cabin is located, is in a region known as the Delta. It's a network of estuaries that all feed the Rio del Plata, the main waterway next to Buenos Aires. The delta has about 10,000km of rivers, each defining narrow islands that are populated with tons of vacation homes.
It took us about twenty minutes in the boat to get from the marina to the cabin, but it felt extremely isolated. There were small conveniences, cell reception for one, but it was really a tranquil hideaway that can be reached fairly easily from the hustle and bustle of the city.
We cooked our frozen pizza and played some cards, eventually falling asleep on the early side so we could wake up at 8 and catch the fish while the catching was good. With the help of neighbor and year-round caretaker Carlos, we caught four little ones, and I wish I could remember what they were called. Carlos freid 'em up for us, and they made for a delicious lunch.
Martin picked me up from the hostel and we drove the hour or so out of town. We had the option of just fishing in the afternoon or spending the night at his grandfather's cabin and fishing in the morning, which was supposedly better. Not being sure what the right answer was, and not wanting to miss out on the "better" fishing, I opted for the overnight. We stopped at the supermarket to load up on 24 hours of groceries, and drove to the marina. I knew he had a boat, and I knew he had a cabin, so I didn't quite understand why we needed to bring all of the groceries onto the boat if we weren't even going fishing until the next morning.
It was partly my fault for not asking for clarification earlier, but apparently where we were going, and where his grandfather's cabin is located, is in a region known as the Delta. It's a network of estuaries that all feed the Rio del Plata, the main waterway next to Buenos Aires. The delta has about 10,000km of rivers, each defining narrow islands that are populated with tons of vacation homes.
It took us about twenty minutes in the boat to get from the marina to the cabin, but it felt extremely isolated. There were small conveniences, cell reception for one, but it was really a tranquil hideaway that can be reached fairly easily from the hustle and bustle of the city.
We cooked our frozen pizza and played some cards, eventually falling asleep on the early side so we could wake up at 8 and catch the fish while the catching was good. With the help of neighbor and year-round caretaker Carlos, we caught four little ones, and I wish I could remember what they were called. Carlos freid 'em up for us, and they made for a delicious lunch.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Jews!
With the High Holidays right around the corner, I started looking for a synagogue. The Wertheins, who are Jewish, graciously invited me to their house for a Rosh Hashana dinner, although they aren't very observant, and being that I'm in a foreign place I figured it would make sense for me to find a synagogue.
Since I was hoping to find a somewhat liberal synague, I started at the URJ website and quickly navigated to the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and from there found the only member synagogue in Buenos Aires. It's in Belgrano, about 3 subway stops from my apartment, and from their website it seemed nice.
On Wednesday afternoon I tried just walking in. It was almost as bad as Bologna before Passover 2007, when Jess and I were not only shown the door but then followed around the block by the security guard. This guard made it very clear that I was not allowed to come in, but at least didn't follow me when I left. I was pissed off, but determined, and so I went straight to an internet cafe to find an email address and send someone an email about who I was.
The email was replied to by Thursday morning, along with instructions to return to the synagogue at 6pm to buy tickets for High Holiday services. Now I had a name of a human being, and when I returned to the synagogue and met with similar hostility, I stood my ground, and was eventually allowed in. I spoke to the woman who had emailed me about high holidays, and she advised me to come back on Friday for Shabbat services to get a feel for the community before Rosh Hashana. On the way out I advised the security guards of my impending return, and they took my name to make sure I wouldn't get hassled anymore.
So, that brings us to Friday. I had no idea what to expect for services last night, but now that I went I know I picked the right temple to jump into while I'm here in BA. The rabbi, who reminded me of Greg Eskin from WVMS Jazz Band, was not a day older than 35 and had hair well past his shoulders. Rabbi Ale welcomed me warmly, and since I was about a half an hour early, we chatted for a few minutes as people slowly trickled in. He was really excited to have me, and wanted to make sure I had a family to eat with on Rosh Hashana and promised to introduce me to a few of the people my age.
I also chatted with the father of one of the Bat Mitzvah girls, who was clearly not used to being in synagogue, but convinced me that of all the synagogues this is the one he prefers. His family all looked remarkably familiar, as if they had been picked up out of the Main Line and dropped into this synagogue. I sat in front of a lady and her 12-year old daughter who chatted me up for a while before the service, and invited me to their house for holiday meals.
Dress code among the congregation (which was packed; I was told on behalf of the fact that there were 3 b'nei mitzvot today and it's the last Shabbat of the Jewish year) was casual at best, most men wore open necked button-down shirts and some of the kids wore jeans and sneakers.
The service itself was wonderful, if not a bit concert-y, and was 100% musically accompanied. I knew I was in the right place when in the front of the sanctuary I saw no less than 3 bongo drums, along with wireless microphones and an electric keyboard. These are no shomershabboses. They began with about a half an hour's worth of Kabbalat shabbat, the singing of 6 different melodies culminating with L'cha Dodi, a tradition I understand and am accostomed to thanks to the hard work of Max Chaiken, and even recognized a few of the melodies. The rest of the liturgy, barchu, sh'ma, etc, went by fairly quickly, and the whole thing was probably about an hour and 15 minutes. One thing I really thought was cool was that they all get up and dance during L'cha Dodi, the prayer to welcome the Sabbath. It was as if they really felt that Shabbat was a full day, something to be excited to be welcoming, instead of considering the service itself to be the full extent of Shabbat as is often the case in our home synagogues. They also included the kiddush and the birkat hamishpachah (family blessings) in the service, at which point everyone stood up and got into little family huddles while they prayed. Fortunately for me, the mother and daughter behind me forced me into their circle.
I left shortly after the service ended, but I'll be back. With the schedule as it is here, dinner not before 10 on a Friday, I might just make a habit out of going to services. And I'm glad to have a real synagogue to pray in for the High Holidays, even if saying so is going to give my mom uncontrollable nachus.
Since I was hoping to find a somewhat liberal synague, I started at the URJ website and quickly navigated to the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and from there found the only member synagogue in Buenos Aires. It's in Belgrano, about 3 subway stops from my apartment, and from their website it seemed nice.
On Wednesday afternoon I tried just walking in. It was almost as bad as Bologna before Passover 2007, when Jess and I were not only shown the door but then followed around the block by the security guard. This guard made it very clear that I was not allowed to come in, but at least didn't follow me when I left. I was pissed off, but determined, and so I went straight to an internet cafe to find an email address and send someone an email about who I was.
The email was replied to by Thursday morning, along with instructions to return to the synagogue at 6pm to buy tickets for High Holiday services. Now I had a name of a human being, and when I returned to the synagogue and met with similar hostility, I stood my ground, and was eventually allowed in. I spoke to the woman who had emailed me about high holidays, and she advised me to come back on Friday for Shabbat services to get a feel for the community before Rosh Hashana. On the way out I advised the security guards of my impending return, and they took my name to make sure I wouldn't get hassled anymore.
So, that brings us to Friday. I had no idea what to expect for services last night, but now that I went I know I picked the right temple to jump into while I'm here in BA. The rabbi, who reminded me of Greg Eskin from WVMS Jazz Band, was not a day older than 35 and had hair well past his shoulders. Rabbi Ale welcomed me warmly, and since I was about a half an hour early, we chatted for a few minutes as people slowly trickled in. He was really excited to have me, and wanted to make sure I had a family to eat with on Rosh Hashana and promised to introduce me to a few of the people my age.
I also chatted with the father of one of the Bat Mitzvah girls, who was clearly not used to being in synagogue, but convinced me that of all the synagogues this is the one he prefers. His family all looked remarkably familiar, as if they had been picked up out of the Main Line and dropped into this synagogue. I sat in front of a lady and her 12-year old daughter who chatted me up for a while before the service, and invited me to their house for holiday meals.
Dress code among the congregation (which was packed; I was told on behalf of the fact that there were 3 b'nei mitzvot today and it's the last Shabbat of the Jewish year) was casual at best, most men wore open necked button-down shirts and some of the kids wore jeans and sneakers.
The service itself was wonderful, if not a bit concert-y, and was 100% musically accompanied. I knew I was in the right place when in the front of the sanctuary I saw no less than 3 bongo drums, along with wireless microphones and an electric keyboard. These are no shomershabboses. They began with about a half an hour's worth of Kabbalat shabbat, the singing of 6 different melodies culminating with L'cha Dodi, a tradition I understand and am accostomed to thanks to the hard work of Max Chaiken, and even recognized a few of the melodies. The rest of the liturgy, barchu, sh'ma, etc, went by fairly quickly, and the whole thing was probably about an hour and 15 minutes. One thing I really thought was cool was that they all get up and dance during L'cha Dodi, the prayer to welcome the Sabbath. It was as if they really felt that Shabbat was a full day, something to be excited to be welcoming, instead of considering the service itself to be the full extent of Shabbat as is often the case in our home synagogues. They also included the kiddush and the birkat hamishpachah (family blessings) in the service, at which point everyone stood up and got into little family huddles while they prayed. Fortunately for me, the mother and daughter behind me forced me into their circle.
I left shortly after the service ended, but I'll be back. With the schedule as it is here, dinner not before 10 on a Friday, I might just make a habit out of going to services. And I'm glad to have a real synagogue to pray in for the High Holidays, even if saying so is going to give my mom uncontrollable nachus.
How am I filling the days?
Now that it's been a week, I'm sure many of you are wondering what it is that I do all day. Well, the truth is, daytime doesn't bring too much excitement. Usually I wake up around noon, and by the time I've showered and eaten some eggs it's usually 1pm, and I'm off to the internet cafe. I embarassingly spend the best weather hours of the day in a dark room paying 60 cents an hour for high speed internet so that I can keep up this blog and make an attempt at knowing about world events. Then I eat lunch around 3, and the afternoon hours mean time to explore. I usually pick a new area I haven't been to and walk around, sometimes I stop at a coffee shop and read for a bit, but generally not doing anything of note.
This would all sound like I'm bored here, but the truth is, I'm not. I like doing very little during the day, and I've made it a goal, a goal that I've achieved, to do something interesting, sometimes even adventurous, ever night. Here's a list of the adventures I've managed to have in the past week:
This would all sound like I'm bored here, but the truth is, I'm not. I like doing very little during the day, and I've made it a goal, a goal that I've achieved, to do something interesting, sometimes even adventurous, ever night. Here's a list of the adventures I've managed to have in the past week:
- Sunday. First time in Belgrano, dinner and hookah with Alexis and Brennan in their studio
- Monday. Took bus for the first time (that was an adventure in itself) so I could try to meet up with some Dutch friends of mine from the Hostel who were going to a drum concert. After waiting in line for half an hour (not knowing if I would find them once inside), I went into La Bomba del Tiempo, a hipster concert in the courtyard of a cultural center. It was awesome, and I quickly found the Dutch guys, and we sipped $3 beers (a full liter each) and danced to the beat. Afterwards we went to another bar where I conversed with some people they were staying with, including some interesting internationals.
- Tuesday. I met up with Cristian and explored San Telmo, a bit of a touristy area but with good food and drink. This is where most of the tango milongas are, but we didn't see any.
- Wednesday. Dinner and conversation with the Wertheins, my surrogate family in BA.
- Thursday. The Dutch guys came over in the morning and spent the night couch-surfing in my apartment. We explored Palermo, and the Zoo (which was creepy), and then returned to the apartment to make dinner and drink some wine with Nicolas, my roommate.
- Friday. Went to Kabbalat Shabbat services at NCI Emanu-El, the only reform synagogue in the area. That warrants its own post. Then I went to the apartment of one of Cristian's friends for a small gathering, and fruitlessly tried to follow the conversation of ten Argentinian twenty-somethings while we drank beer and strawberry flavored wine.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Moving right along
Two things:
First, I take back what I said about BA being a racist city. The more I look around the more I realize how diverse this place really is, and furthermore, I get asked for directions in Argentinian Spanish almost every single day. That took me a month to happen in Barcelona.
Second, I just booked a flight for next week, October 1st, to Santiago, Chile. It was somewhat impuslive, but I'm excited to explore a new city alone now that everything in BA is starting to become routine. I'm considering adding Valparaiso (on the Chilean Pacific coast) or Mendoza, Argentina (the wine region) to the trip. Feel free to comment/email with suggestions.
First, I take back what I said about BA being a racist city. The more I look around the more I realize how diverse this place really is, and furthermore, I get asked for directions in Argentinian Spanish almost every single day. That took me a month to happen in Barcelona.
Second, I just booked a flight for next week, October 1st, to Santiago, Chile. It was somewhat impuslive, but I'm excited to explore a new city alone now that everything in BA is starting to become routine. I'm considering adding Valparaiso (on the Chilean Pacific coast) or Mendoza, Argentina (the wine region) to the trip. Feel free to comment/email with suggestions.
Clubbing!
The onset of my first weekend (for those of you keeping score, yes, I'm still a week behind) meant my first ventures out into Buenos Aires's nightlife. The sleeping/partying schedule in Buenos Aires is fairly backwards, in my opinion, since they party like Spaniards until 6am and then go to work like Americans at 9. There's no mid-afternoon siesta, no 35-hour workweek (many people work 6 day weeks), and all in all, no sleep. That's not really a problem for me, though, since so far I've yet to start doing anything productive or meaningful with my time besides wandering around the city, so I go out late and sleep until noon.
Last Thursday night, my third in the city, I decided it was time to go out and thus called Sarah and Carly, who had plans to go to some club or another. We hung out at their apartment for a few hours--they live in the busier neighborhood closer to the center, along with two of their roommates. They live in a 5-bedroom apartment, and their roommates are an eclectic bunch of twenty-somethings, and it seems like a pretty fun situation. The two we hung out with were a girl from France and a guy from BA who spent much of his childhood in Miami. I called Martin, my local family friend and he came over as well, and soon we were in the taxi on the way to Puerto Madero.
Although I barely saw it from the window of the taxi (we were squished 4 in the back seat), Puerto Madero seems to me to be similar to Puerto Olimpico in Barcelona, that is, a modern development of fancy clubs and bars that overcharge tourists who come seeking a feeling of stylish entitlement. The club we had picked, Acqua, let the girls in for free but charged the guys 40 pesos a piece, which although only costs US$13, is an obscene cover charge for this city. We stayed and danced for a few hours to music that was too loud, and the place was too crowded, but at least I was out and exploring something besides the hostel. The one up-side--drinks were free with the cover. If you can manage to get to the bar twice (once to get your ticket, and a 2nd time to actually get your drink) through the crowd, they make fairly generous drinks.
Friday night I was looking for something a bit more authentic, and hopefully more fun. I had been in facebook contact with a guy from Buenos Aires whom I had messaged out of bold outgoingness, and he mentioned to me that there was a great gay club just outside the center that he would be going to with his friends. I asked to meet up with him and his friends before the club, thinking how nice it would be to sneak into a gay friend group while I'm here. He politely declined, ostensibly because they already had advance passes into the club and wouldn't have to wait in line, but probably because I was just some dude from the internet.
My options were thus twofold: I could have stayed with the pack (of dudes) from the hostel going to some club that someone read about in Fodor's, or I could go alone in a taxi to this club, and hope that I might meet up with my new friend. I chose 2, and after a 15-minute cab ride (which only cost US$8) and a 20-minute wait outside, I was in the Fiesta Plop, hosted at the Teatro de Flores. The club was great, it's a converted theater that has a stage, pit, and balcony cleared of all the seats, and plenty of bar space meaning lines were short. After the 20 peso cover (more typical, about $7) drinks were only 8 pesos apiece, including some vodka in the glass and a whole can of RedBull.
Fortunately, through text messages, I was able to meet up with Cristian (the facebook friend) almost immediately and then somewhat forcefully joined his group of friends. After a little while of dancing and chatting/screaming to one another over the music, I seemed to have earned my right to hang out with them, and ultimately I had a fantastic time. So much so, that I have plans to meet up with them tonight for dinner and round two of Fiesta Plop.
Last Thursday night, my third in the city, I decided it was time to go out and thus called Sarah and Carly, who had plans to go to some club or another. We hung out at their apartment for a few hours--they live in the busier neighborhood closer to the center, along with two of their roommates. They live in a 5-bedroom apartment, and their roommates are an eclectic bunch of twenty-somethings, and it seems like a pretty fun situation. The two we hung out with were a girl from France and a guy from BA who spent much of his childhood in Miami. I called Martin, my local family friend and he came over as well, and soon we were in the taxi on the way to Puerto Madero.
Although I barely saw it from the window of the taxi (we were squished 4 in the back seat), Puerto Madero seems to me to be similar to Puerto Olimpico in Barcelona, that is, a modern development of fancy clubs and bars that overcharge tourists who come seeking a feeling of stylish entitlement. The club we had picked, Acqua, let the girls in for free but charged the guys 40 pesos a piece, which although only costs US$13, is an obscene cover charge for this city. We stayed and danced for a few hours to music that was too loud, and the place was too crowded, but at least I was out and exploring something besides the hostel. The one up-side--drinks were free with the cover. If you can manage to get to the bar twice (once to get your ticket, and a 2nd time to actually get your drink) through the crowd, they make fairly generous drinks.
Friday night I was looking for something a bit more authentic, and hopefully more fun. I had been in facebook contact with a guy from Buenos Aires whom I had messaged out of bold outgoingness, and he mentioned to me that there was a great gay club just outside the center that he would be going to with his friends. I asked to meet up with him and his friends before the club, thinking how nice it would be to sneak into a gay friend group while I'm here. He politely declined, ostensibly because they already had advance passes into the club and wouldn't have to wait in line, but probably because I was just some dude from the internet.
My options were thus twofold: I could have stayed with the pack (of dudes) from the hostel going to some club that someone read about in Fodor's, or I could go alone in a taxi to this club, and hope that I might meet up with my new friend. I chose 2, and after a 15-minute cab ride (which only cost US$8) and a 20-minute wait outside, I was in the Fiesta Plop, hosted at the Teatro de Flores. The club was great, it's a converted theater that has a stage, pit, and balcony cleared of all the seats, and plenty of bar space meaning lines were short. After the 20 peso cover (more typical, about $7) drinks were only 8 pesos apiece, including some vodka in the glass and a whole can of RedBull.
Fortunately, through text messages, I was able to meet up with Cristian (the facebook friend) almost immediately and then somewhat forcefully joined his group of friends. After a little while of dancing and chatting/screaming to one another over the music, I seemed to have earned my right to hang out with them, and ultimately I had a fantastic time. So much so, that I have plans to meet up with them tonight for dinner and round two of Fiesta Plop.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
More on Diversity: Tourist Now, Tourist Always
An Argentine friend of mine (I know, right?) said that I look just like a typical American. No, it's not how I dress, it's not my hair or my shoes, it's my face.
That pissed me off, since I'm trying to blend in, but furthermore because it made me realize that Buenos Aires isn't different from Barcelona, or the rest of the world for that matter, where nationality and race are so closely linked. It seems to me that only in some American cities, along with maybe London, are there vast numbers of people of different races who have all been living there for generations.
That pissed me off, since I'm trying to blend in, but furthermore because it made me realize that Buenos Aires isn't different from Barcelona, or the rest of the world for that matter, where nationality and race are so closely linked. It seems to me that only in some American cities, along with maybe London, are there vast numbers of people of different races who have all been living there for generations.
Piso Compartido
As many who have been to this city correctly advised me, the market for apartments is ripe for the picking in Buenos Aires. Craigslist was full of options, and it only took me three tries to find an apartment that felt right. There are tons of apartments specifically meant for tourists, renting by the week or longer and approaching metropolitan US prices, although I was looking for something a bit more authentic, and as a consequence, cheaper.
The first place I looked at was a place shared by 4 people, ranging in age from 22 to 54, in the neighborhood of the Congreso (still pretty close to the centro, and full of noise and buses). The room I would have had (for US$350 a month) would have been in the attic, a small room with no window and a twin bed, along with a private bathroom also in the attic. The other rooms were on the main floor, along with a tiny living room and tiny kitchen. It was quaint, and the people were nice, but it wasn't right.
On Thursday, after parting with Alexis and Brennan, I checked out place #2, a beautiful--I mean beautiful--apartment right in the middle of Palermo, the best neighborhood, owned by a middle-aged woman and her active dog. The dog practically attacked me when I came in, and the place smelled a bit of dog. The woman herself was stern (at best) and made it very clear that there would be no fun permitted anywhere near her apartment. No friends, not even for lunch. That being said, she would have left food for me for breakfast and the room had a huge window and closet, still for only $500. Owing partially to having seen Michael's frustration with his landlady in Sunnyvale, as well as my own confidence that this would be a bad idea, I left, and called place number 3.
This apartment was closer to the edge of Palermo, actually on the road that divides Palermo from neighboring residential area of Colegiales. It was a small two bedroom with a shared bathroom, the sole resident of which is a 25-year old Chilean guy, Nicolas, and his 6-month old kitten, Ramona. He moved to Argentina three years ago to go to culinary school, and having finished a few months ago is now working full time at a local Italian restaurant. He's friendly, and we talked for about half an hour about the apartment, and about his life, and about our mutual preferences in terms of living, and although nothing is ever perfect, I decided that this was the right place. So the next day I came back, paid Nicolas the first month's rent of AR$1100, and started getting to know the area.
The neighborhood, being on the outskirts of Palermo, has some evidence of chic-ness but is still largely residential. Most of the buildings are less than three stories (which is rare in BA), and the streets are mostly residential. Each block has 2 or 3 businesses, which for the most part are cute cafes and furniture stores. There are two cafes on the corner right next to the apartment, both of which are great. There aren't really any supermarkets within a stone's throw, but we have a mini-supermarket a block and half away and a dry-cleaners even closer. (Side note: it is totally normal for everyone to pay for wash and fold, which costs about $3 a load, and weekly maid service, which costs about $10 for a small apartment)
I didn't really do much to move into my room besides put away my clothes, so the walls are still bare and probably will stay that way for the 10 weeks I'm here. I bought new pillows and sheets, and pretty much just took everything as it is. My main concern with the apartment, which has slowly been going away, is the presence of the cat. I've never lived with a cat before (and had a cat allergy as a kid), but this cat seems harmless, if not friendly. She's very curious and likes to walk around checking everything out, and my newness caught her a bit off guard. But Nicolas keeps her in his room when he sleeps, and I've learned how to pick her up and take her out when I need to, so, everything should be fine.
I feel like this post is getting a bit long-winded so I'll cut to the chase...here are photos of the apartment:
The first place I looked at was a place shared by 4 people, ranging in age from 22 to 54, in the neighborhood of the Congreso (still pretty close to the centro, and full of noise and buses). The room I would have had (for US$350 a month) would have been in the attic, a small room with no window and a twin bed, along with a private bathroom also in the attic. The other rooms were on the main floor, along with a tiny living room and tiny kitchen. It was quaint, and the people were nice, but it wasn't right.
On Thursday, after parting with Alexis and Brennan, I checked out place #2, a beautiful--I mean beautiful--apartment right in the middle of Palermo, the best neighborhood, owned by a middle-aged woman and her active dog. The dog practically attacked me when I came in, and the place smelled a bit of dog. The woman herself was stern (at best) and made it very clear that there would be no fun permitted anywhere near her apartment. No friends, not even for lunch. That being said, she would have left food for me for breakfast and the room had a huge window and closet, still for only $500. Owing partially to having seen Michael's frustration with his landlady in Sunnyvale, as well as my own confidence that this would be a bad idea, I left, and called place number 3.
This apartment was closer to the edge of Palermo, actually on the road that divides Palermo from neighboring residential area of Colegiales. It was a small two bedroom with a shared bathroom, the sole resident of which is a 25-year old Chilean guy, Nicolas, and his 6-month old kitten, Ramona. He moved to Argentina three years ago to go to culinary school, and having finished a few months ago is now working full time at a local Italian restaurant. He's friendly, and we talked for about half an hour about the apartment, and about his life, and about our mutual preferences in terms of living, and although nothing is ever perfect, I decided that this was the right place. So the next day I came back, paid Nicolas the first month's rent of AR$1100, and started getting to know the area.
The neighborhood, being on the outskirts of Palermo, has some evidence of chic-ness but is still largely residential. Most of the buildings are less than three stories (which is rare in BA), and the streets are mostly residential. Each block has 2 or 3 businesses, which for the most part are cute cafes and furniture stores. There are two cafes on the corner right next to the apartment, both of which are great. There aren't really any supermarkets within a stone's throw, but we have a mini-supermarket a block and half away and a dry-cleaners even closer. (Side note: it is totally normal for everyone to pay for wash and fold, which costs about $3 a load, and weekly maid service, which costs about $10 for a small apartment)
I didn't really do much to move into my room besides put away my clothes, so the walls are still bare and probably will stay that way for the 10 weeks I'm here. I bought new pillows and sheets, and pretty much just took everything as it is. My main concern with the apartment, which has slowly been going away, is the presence of the cat. I've never lived with a cat before (and had a cat allergy as a kid), but this cat seems harmless, if not friendly. She's very curious and likes to walk around checking everything out, and my newness caught her a bit off guard. But Nicolas keeps her in his room when he sleeps, and I've learned how to pick her up and take her out when I need to, so, everything should be fine.
I feel like this post is getting a bit long-winded so I'll cut to the chase...here are photos of the apartment:
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The Gender Barrier to Backpacking
I gotta say it, being male carries a huge advantage as a solo backpacker in South America. The hostel was teeming with dudes from all over Europe, many of whom are traveling alone, and it was extremely easy to befriend them and have someone to go out for a meal with, drink with, or explore with. The only girls that I met were with boyfriends, thus avoiding the situation in which a solo girl tries to make friends with the aforementioned solo dudes.
This is not to mention the fact that I feel I would not be nearly as comfortable walking at night alone, taking taxis alone, or doing much of anything alone in this foreign city of Latin dudes if I were a girl.
This is not to mention the fact that I feel I would not be nearly as comfortable walking at night alone, taking taxis alone, or doing much of anything alone in this foreign city of Latin dudes if I were a girl.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Apartment-hunting, friend-making, and general bearings-seeking
The rest of my first week, from Wednesday until Friday, was spent figuring out the city. I in no way am an expert now, although a few days of really trying to get your bearings can go a long way, even in a city as behemoth as Buenos Aires. Wednesday was another day for walking, this time starting to head more west towards the neighborhood of Once (own-se). Supposedly once the center of Buenos Aires' thriving Jewish community, and home to the only Kosher McDonald's outside Israel, there was no explicit evidence of Jewry, and the area was just as packed with diversity and people as the center. Since then I (think that I) found out that much of the synagogues, etc. are in the northern neighborhood of Belgrano.
The theme of Wednesday was craigslist.org, and the section devoted to shared apartments. There was really no shortage of places listed, although some of them are clearly posted by brokers trying to get you to call them for a place that may or may not already exist. I tried to stick to the ones that seemed like they were actually describing one apartment, with some sort of plausible situation. I emailed about ten of them, and before the hour was up I had already heard back from one. Then I heard back from another, and within 24 hours I had already visited three apartments. As Goldilocks taught us many years ago, the third option is usually just right, and so, within 72 hours of landing at Ezeiza Airport, I locked in the deal. I had already paid for two more nights in the hostel, so I would get to move gradually, but it was a huge relief to already be done what had seemed to be the most difficult task I was face with. I'll devote a future post to the apartment I chose.
Fortunately, I didn't have to spend all day in the internet cafes, and made a phone call to the house of a family friend of a family friend of mine from the US. The connection was a loose one, and the result a long process that started just by emailing my rabbi to help me find a Jewish family in BA to celebrate the holidays with, but right away they invited me to their home for dinner that evening.
Dinner that night was spent with Marina, the friend of the friend, and her sons Martin, who's 20, and Sebastian, who's 18. They live in a stylish apartment near the Palermo Park that is filled with artwork, owing to Marina's husband's passion for art. We ate steak prepared perfectly, a punto, and sipped the Malbec I picked up at a wine shop to bring. We conversed for three hours about language, culture, Argentina, Europe, the US, college, and my plans for my time here, and it wasn't until after midnight that Martin and Sebastian took me back to the hostel in their car. I was so touched by their hospitality and their eagerness to welcome me to their city. We promised to get together often, and I looked forward to having a home away from home while I'm here.
On Thursday I met up for lunch with Alexis and Brennan, two friends of mine and fellow '08ers from Stanford, who are spending a year here rather than rushing into jobs. They are currently living in a tourist apartment in Belgrano, just past Palermo on the subte, and we walked around for a few hours together. It was great to reminisce about the farm, and we started planning for a big Thanksgiving dinner for any and all American friends that we find here in BA.
So, within only two days of being here, I had already connected with two friends from middle school, two friends from Stanford and a local Jewish family with sons around my age. This is not to mention the friends from the hostel: a pair of Dutch guys spending a year backpacking, guys from Ireland and Sweden, and a group of six Americans traveling around the world by road in a pair of Toyota (read: sponsorship) trucks. They had already been driving a year and a half through Europe, Siberia, Asia, and Africa, arriving by boat in Buenos Aires only to be held up for a month by Argentinian customs officials. Suffice it to say I wasn't nearly as lonely as I could have been, and I knew that as time progressed I'd only make more friends.
The theme of Wednesday was craigslist.org, and the section devoted to shared apartments. There was really no shortage of places listed, although some of them are clearly posted by brokers trying to get you to call them for a place that may or may not already exist. I tried to stick to the ones that seemed like they were actually describing one apartment, with some sort of plausible situation. I emailed about ten of them, and before the hour was up I had already heard back from one. Then I heard back from another, and within 24 hours I had already visited three apartments. As Goldilocks taught us many years ago, the third option is usually just right, and so, within 72 hours of landing at Ezeiza Airport, I locked in the deal. I had already paid for two more nights in the hostel, so I would get to move gradually, but it was a huge relief to already be done what had seemed to be the most difficult task I was face with. I'll devote a future post to the apartment I chose.
Fortunately, I didn't have to spend all day in the internet cafes, and made a phone call to the house of a family friend of a family friend of mine from the US. The connection was a loose one, and the result a long process that started just by emailing my rabbi to help me find a Jewish family in BA to celebrate the holidays with, but right away they invited me to their home for dinner that evening.
Dinner that night was spent with Marina, the friend of the friend, and her sons Martin, who's 20, and Sebastian, who's 18. They live in a stylish apartment near the Palermo Park that is filled with artwork, owing to Marina's husband's passion for art. We ate steak prepared perfectly, a punto, and sipped the Malbec I picked up at a wine shop to bring. We conversed for three hours about language, culture, Argentina, Europe, the US, college, and my plans for my time here, and it wasn't until after midnight that Martin and Sebastian took me back to the hostel in their car. I was so touched by their hospitality and their eagerness to welcome me to their city. We promised to get together often, and I looked forward to having a home away from home while I'm here.
On Thursday I met up for lunch with Alexis and Brennan, two friends of mine and fellow '08ers from Stanford, who are spending a year here rather than rushing into jobs. They are currently living in a tourist apartment in Belgrano, just past Palermo on the subte, and we walked around for a few hours together. It was great to reminisce about the farm, and we started planning for a big Thanksgiving dinner for any and all American friends that we find here in BA.
So, within only two days of being here, I had already connected with two friends from middle school, two friends from Stanford and a local Jewish family with sons around my age. This is not to mention the friends from the hostel: a pair of Dutch guys spending a year backpacking, guys from Ireland and Sweden, and a group of six Americans traveling around the world by road in a pair of Toyota (read: sponsorship) trucks. They had already been driving a year and a half through Europe, Siberia, Asia, and Africa, arriving by boat in Buenos Aires only to be held up for a month by Argentinian customs officials. Suffice it to say I wasn't nearly as lonely as I could have been, and I knew that as time progressed I'd only make more friends.
Shamefully Linear Description of My Trip, Day 1
Generally, when writing for my blog, I try to avoid long-winded blow-by-blow descriptions of my activities, preferring to focus my posts on one concise idea, moment, or observation. This will be much less focused, unfortunately; although for those of you plagued by an unrelenting curiosity for what each day is like after arriving alone in a foreign city, this, and the following posts, should be a good read. Anyway, my onetime creative writing teacher always said that you never know what an essay is about until after it's written, so here I go, to find out what the heck this trip is all about.
I arrived in Buenos Aires on a chilly morning after my 8-hour flight from Miami which I mostly slept through thanks to the effects of Ambien and a glass of red wine. The taxi driver was friendly enough, and although it cost me about US$30 for the trip, I was glad to have door-to-door service . The hostel I was staying in, with a recommendation from my Stanford friend Sam, was called el Firulete, right smack in the middle of downtown. In hindsight, I probably would have chosen the other Firulete location in the quieter neighborhood of Palermo, although it was nice to be close to all the subway lines and retail outlets and banks.
The centro, during the day on a Tuesday, is a mob scene. Finance, among other industries, has taken off in BA, and the number of people working in offices in the area far exceed the number that this part of the city was meant to accommodate. The sidewalks are barely wide enough for two people to pass, and buses (collectivos) pass frighteningly close at unexpected speeds (see my previous post). Had I had to walk the 8 blocks from where the airport shuttle bus drops off to the hostel with all of my luggage, I probably would have been run over.
I spent the day, and the next days as well, walking around, as is my habit in a new city. I started in the center, seeing the famous Plaza de Mayo and having lunch in the Plaza San Martin
. I bought my sandwich at a ridiculously crammed counter-style restaurant, and since there was no menu, innocently did my best to ask for whatever the New York-paced line cook would make me. I think it turned out to be a chicken sandwich.
After returning to the center and purchasing my cell phone (the cheapest I could find, and without a contract, of course), I hopped on the subway looking for a better neighborhood to alk around. I got off at Plaza Italia, at the center of Palermo, and then spent the rest of the afternoon walking back, zig-zagging the subway route for about 3 or 4 hours. It was really nice to get a feel for the neighborhoods--Palermo Viejo, Palermo Soho (supposedly like the NYC version, filled with boutiques), Recoleta (the wealthiest neighborhood) and Retiro (really an extension of the centro).
I got in touch with two of my friends from a past lifetime of Welsh Valley Middle School, Sarah and Carly, who have been here a month, and they gladly accepted my invitation to join me for dinner. We caught up on old times and old friends over bife de lomo, the standard cut of steak, before I headed back to the hostel to crash. The travel and walking really wore me out, so despite the hard bed and constantly passing busses, I slept well.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
First impressions, four days later
The cab driver said it best...¨¡Qué lindo que se han pintado líneas por los carriles!¨ or, roughly translated, ¨Aww, how pretty that they decided to paint lines on the road!¨ That should give you an idea of what it´s like taking a taxi around here.
More detailed post on the way. Soon.
More detailed post on the way. Soon.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Thinking about Buenos Aires
Well the truth is I've been thinking about Buenos Aires for a long time. When I accepted my NYC consulting job back in February, they told me that I would have the option of delaying my start date until January, 2009, my head swelled with ideas of how to fill the time. I ultimately decided to buy a round-trip plane ticket to Argentina, leaving tomorrow, September 15th, and returning on December 5th, giving me just under three months to live down there.
I have no idea how I'm going to spend my three months.
However, having lived for the past four years in three-month increments (gotta love that quarter system), three months seems like a really manageable period of time for, anything, really. Furthermore, I had a similar experience already in Barcelona for my study abroad. My program there consisted of 12 hours of class a week and an pre-arranged apartment for me and my friend from Stanford who was with me. The way I see it, this will basically be the same, except I will a) be on my own, and b) will have to find my own place to live, and c) need to figure out what to do with my time.
None of the statements above seem insurmoutnable, and thus, I'm about to get on a plane to see for myself. I'll make friends, I'll find an apartment within the first week or two (staying in a $11/night youth hostel in the meantime), and someone will be happy to let me volunteer my time in their organization. After 16 years of school and constant jobs and structured time, I feel like this is a perfect opportunity to fly a little bit by the seat of my pants, and really take life one day at a time. The best way to do that, it seems, is by having no idea what tomorrow will bring.
Now--why Buenos Aires? Well the more I've thought about this question, the more perfect Buenos Aires seems to be in my mind. I can bucket the reasons into three categories:
I have no idea how I'm going to spend my three months.
However, having lived for the past four years in three-month increments (gotta love that quarter system), three months seems like a really manageable period of time for, anything, really. Furthermore, I had a similar experience already in Barcelona for my study abroad. My program there consisted of 12 hours of class a week and an pre-arranged apartment for me and my friend from Stanford who was with me. The way I see it, this will basically be the same, except I will a) be on my own, and b) will have to find my own place to live, and c) need to figure out what to do with my time.
None of the statements above seem insurmoutnable, and thus, I'm about to get on a plane to see for myself. I'll make friends, I'll find an apartment within the first week or two (staying in a $11/night youth hostel in the meantime), and someone will be happy to let me volunteer my time in their organization. After 16 years of school and constant jobs and structured time, I feel like this is a perfect opportunity to fly a little bit by the seat of my pants, and really take life one day at a time. The best way to do that, it seems, is by having no idea what tomorrow will bring.
Now--why Buenos Aires? Well the more I've thought about this question, the more perfect Buenos Aires seems to be in my mind. I can bucket the reasons into three categories:
- Geographically, Buenos Aires is on a continent to which I've never been, and we're coming into their springtime which is apparently the nicest time of year.
- Financially, you can still get about three Argentinian pesos to the dollar, and I don't plan to have any income while I'm there. If I can spend US $300 a month on rent (which is typical), and $3 on a steak, I should be able to finish three months without even killing my signing bonus.
- Most importantly, Buenos Aires is great from a cultural perspective. It is said to be safe, liberal, cultural, and full of exciting things to do. BA boasts one of the largest Jewish communities outside the U.S. and Israel, as well as a thriving gay population. I'll also get a chance to practice and refine my Spanish abilities, hopefully feeling a sense of fluency by the end of my time.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
College 2.0
I just got back from a pretty crazy weekend. No, I didn't go back to Palo Alto to sneak into undergrad parties and relive my last four years, but spent five days in New York catching up with friends and enjoying my complete lack of responsibility.
Sure, New York would be a lot less fun if you had to go to work on Monday morning (and I know that I will be included among this group before long), but it still is great to be able to have brunch with college friends, happy hour with a future colleague, dinner with a family friend from childhood, and go out to a bar with some friends from camp, all in one day. I traversed Manhattan's neighborhoods relentlessly on my quest to hang out with as many people as I could, and in doing so gained a familiarity with the City that will make finding a place to live a lot easier in December.
I was staying in my sister's studio on the Upper East Side that she was generous enough to loan me, and although it's not the closest neighborhood to where many of my friends live, I felt like a genuine NYC citizen being able to leave my friends at 3am to catch a cab back to "my apartment".
I visited my friends Gabe and Jordan in their new apartment way the hell up by W. 125th street to help set up a wifi network and help Gabe open an account with one of the last Union-owned banks around. I spent time in Hell's Kitchen, having brunch with $8 all-you-can-drink mimosas with Mark, an old friend of mine from Camp Kesem. I schlepped to the Flatbush section of Brooklyn to help Becca move her stuff out of her grandparents' house that she had been staying in for the summer.
But what really made the weekend great was all the time I got to spend in and around the East Village, where I hopefully will find myself living in just a few short months. I walked up and down 1st Avenue, A, and even ventured as far east as Avenue B, enjoying sushi and sake bombs, burritos, and drinks with college friends, camp friends, and new friends. First Avenue between Houston and 23rd is home to at least six groups of my friends, and also happens to be within a 20-minute walk of my soon-to-be office. Although I may not actually get to share an apartment with any of them, it's great to know three months before the fact that I'll have so many friends within a short walk's distance.
Sure, New York would be a lot less fun if you had to go to work on Monday morning (and I know that I will be included among this group before long), but it still is great to be able to have brunch with college friends, happy hour with a future colleague, dinner with a family friend from childhood, and go out to a bar with some friends from camp, all in one day. I traversed Manhattan's neighborhoods relentlessly on my quest to hang out with as many people as I could, and in doing so gained a familiarity with the City that will make finding a place to live a lot easier in December.
I was staying in my sister's studio on the Upper East Side that she was generous enough to loan me, and although it's not the closest neighborhood to where many of my friends live, I felt like a genuine NYC citizen being able to leave my friends at 3am to catch a cab back to "my apartment".
I visited my friends Gabe and Jordan in their new apartment way the hell up by W. 125th street to help set up a wifi network and help Gabe open an account with one of the last Union-owned banks around. I spent time in Hell's Kitchen, having brunch with $8 all-you-can-drink mimosas with Mark, an old friend of mine from Camp Kesem. I schlepped to the Flatbush section of Brooklyn to help Becca move her stuff out of her grandparents' house that she had been staying in for the summer.
But what really made the weekend great was all the time I got to spend in and around the East Village, where I hopefully will find myself living in just a few short months. I walked up and down 1st Avenue, A, and even ventured as far east as Avenue B, enjoying sushi and sake bombs, burritos, and drinks with college friends, camp friends, and new friends. First Avenue between Houston and 23rd is home to at least six groups of my friends, and also happens to be within a 20-minute walk of my soon-to-be office. Although I may not actually get to share an apartment with any of them, it's great to know three months before the fact that I'll have so many friends within a short walk's distance.
A Journey of Four Thousand Miles...
...isn't truly over until you've stepped into an ocean. Ryan, Gabe, and I did it on a cool Friday afternoon in Santa Barbara, our ears filled with the beats of twenty drums played by twenty middle-aged, pot-smoking white people. For Michael and I, it was in the town of Ocean City, Maryland; still accompanied by middle-aged white people although the East Coast variety, with less pot, a wider waistband, and 2.5 children.We had arrived to Michael's house on the Patuxent in Prince Frederick, MD the night before after our two-day, 30-hour marathon. At 11am on Wednesday we drove past Invesco Field in Denver on our way to Chipotle, and yet by the time Barack Obama was delivering his acceptance speech at 10pm on Thrusday, we were in reception distance of Washington, D.C.'s local NPR station to hear it live.
We celebrated our midnight arrival to Michael's hometown with a quick stop at Wawa, and then pretty much immediately crashed for a full 12 hours at his house. His dad and sister were nice enough to stay up a few minutes to welcome us, but we all needed sleep and it was nice to be off the road.
Friday was spent relaxing, with the ultimate goal of going out in the family boat. Rain pounded down throughout the afternoon, and it wasn't until 7pm that we were able to go for a short ride up and down the river. We came off the water and accompanied Michael's family for a sushi dinner. It was really nice to see Michael with his brother and sister, who hadn't seen him in months, sharing the unspoken closeness that only siblings can have.We finished dinner and got back in the car for a late-night drive down to the shore, arriving just before 2am to the condo rented by Michael's other two siblings, step-sisters Livi and Lexi. Saturday was our day at the beach, and then before we knew it it was time to get into the car and drive back to my house in Villanova for what would be the end of my cross-country journey. It was great having Michael over to my house for the eve of his 22nd birthday, and then he was off, back to Rochester, to finish his degree.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Fuck you, Kansas
Yeah, you. I drove through all 420 miles of your state. Here's why you suck:
- Clearly you value fetuses more than happiness, education, health, and even freedom from terrorism. We saw some piece of anti-choice propaganda at almost every milepost, from the small home-made sign reading "Thank your mother for choosing life" to the rental truck in the right lane bearing a 15-foot image of a quarter with a bloody fetus's hand resting on it, supposedly to scale.
- The WaKeeny Police Department insists on screwing out of state drivers. Okay, I was speeding. But not that much...is 83 miles per hour such a crime? When there is absolutely nothing either on the road or off of it to collide with?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
We made the pilgrimage
Even with 1800 miles to cover in two days, there's always time for a detour. We awoke Wednesday morning on the shores of Lake Granby, CO, where we had camped, and drove through Rocky Mountian National Park on our way back to the interstate. Rocky Mtn. Park wasn't as inspirational as we'd hoped, our having been desensitized to mountains and seduced by the red cliffs of Utah, and so we drove through Colorado hoping for something more.
Like a lightning bolt it came to Michael, as he realized that the original restaurant of a franchise that would become a national phenomenon was located right there, in Denver. The Evans Avenue Chipotle is smaller than the pre-fab chain versions in strip malls everywhere, but still serves the same, simple menu and delicious, brick-shaped meals. Apparently we weren't the first people to make the trip to see it (our detour was only about 20 extra miles), and the staff was more than happy to take our picture and even presented us with free t-shirts to mark the occasion. Between the t-shirts and the sumptuous meal, we left content and ready for the long journey that awaited us.
Like a lightning bolt it came to Michael, as he realized that the original restaurant of a franchise that would become a national phenomenon was located right there, in Denver. The Evans Avenue Chipotle is smaller than the pre-fab chain versions in strip malls everywhere, but still serves the same, simple menu and delicious, brick-shaped meals. Apparently we weren't the first people to make the trip to see it (our detour was only about 20 extra miles), and the staff was more than happy to take our picture and even presented us with free t-shirts to mark the occasion. Between the t-shirts and the sumptuous meal, we left content and ready for the long journey that awaited us.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Southern Utah: Wow
If you've never driven around Southern Utah in the summertime, plan a road trip and go. Go to your local AAA and grab the Southern Utah map, and then meander around roads like UT-12 and UT-128 for some of the most unexpectedly breathtaking parts of the country.
We entered Utah on the highway from Vegas, got off about 10 miles in, and drove across the state on one-lane roads that wound through cliffs, mesas, and 100-mile expanses of beautiful nothing. All in all we hit five national parks in Utah, plus countless National Forests, Preserves, and Monuments that alternate every 50 miles or so.
Four highlights:
Bryce Canyon National Park
We arrived at Bryce at 11pm after an exhausting day that started in Vegas
and included a five-hour detour to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We put up our tent in our pre-reserved campsite, and awoke at about 9:30 for a couple hours around the park. We walked for about two hours near the rim and then below Sunrise Point, admiring the hoodoos and vistas. A hoodoo, if you didn't know, looks like a big, fat stalagmite made out of rock jutting up from the ground. They're apparently made from erosion resulting from the daily freezing and thawing of moisture, and were thought to represent bad luck (it's not a coincidence that it sounds like "voodoo"). The real highlight of the park is the view from Bryce Point, where you look over a vast field of hoodoos in all directions.
Utah State Route 12
To get to Moab and Arches, our next stop, Google will tell you to head west to the interstate, although we decided to take the more direct route off-highway. Utah 12 is an absolutely amazing road. The first hour or so winds down Bryce Canyon into the valley with stunning views, and we thought we'd seen it all by the time we had lunch at a cafe in Escalante. A middle-aged British couple were the only other patrons at the cafe, and they were pale from the last sixty miles of their journey which apparently took them two hours. We got back in the car ready for a battle, and although I wouldn't call the experience harrowing, the views from the top of some of the mesas were incredible, with 100-mile visibility and literally no civilization to speak of whatsoever.
Arches National Park
I really wish we had had more time here. Okay, maybe not, because I would have died of dehydration and heat exhaustion. Arches is a vast expanse of red, with giant rocks that have gradually eroded to create dozens of huge arches that I'm sure you're imagining. Some of them are visible from the road, but the best ones require a few hours of hiking to get right next to. We saw the Delicate Arch--the most famous one--from across a canyon, rather than taking the 3-hour hike to see it up close. Also, this is a park worth going to soon, as one of the arches fell down earlier this year.
Utah State Route 128
To get from Arches back to I-70 most people take US-191, a four-lane highway west of the park, although if instead you are heading east it is more direct to take UT-128, which borders the park for the first bit and then follows the Colorado River before flattening out into the plateaus where the interstate lies. We camped out on the side of this road, just on the banks of the Colorado. The other side of the river is a huge cliff--undoubtedly created by the river over time--which is the border to Arches Park. Truly one of the most beautiful places I could have imagined spending the night, we couldn't resist driving along to see the rest of what the road had to offer.
We entered Utah on the highway from Vegas, got off about 10 miles in, and drove across the state on one-lane roads that wound through cliffs, mesas, and 100-mile expanses of beautiful nothing. All in all we hit five national parks in Utah, plus countless National Forests, Preserves, and Monuments that alternate every 50 miles or so.
Four highlights:
Bryce Canyon National Park
We arrived at Bryce at 11pm after an exhausting day that started in Vegas
and included a five-hour detour to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We put up our tent in our pre-reserved campsite, and awoke at about 9:30 for a couple hours around the park. We walked for about two hours near the rim and then below Sunrise Point, admiring the hoodoos and vistas. A hoodoo, if you didn't know, looks like a big, fat stalagmite made out of rock jutting up from the ground. They're apparently made from erosion resulting from the daily freezing and thawing of moisture, and were thought to represent bad luck (it's not a coincidence that it sounds like "voodoo"). The real highlight of the park is the view from Bryce Point, where you look over a vast field of hoodoos in all directions.Utah State Route 12
To get to Moab and Arches, our next stop, Google will tell you to head west to the interstate, although we decided to take the more direct route off-highway. Utah 12 is an absolutely amazing road. The first hour or so winds down Bryce Canyon into the valley with stunning views, and we thought we'd seen it all by the time we had lunch at a cafe in Escalante. A middle-aged British couple were the only other patrons at the cafe, and they were pale from the last sixty miles of their journey which apparently took them two hours. We got back in the car ready for a battle, and although I wouldn't call the experience harrowing, the views from the top of some of the mesas were incredible, with 100-mile visibility and literally no civilization to speak of whatsoever.
Arches National Park
I really wish we had had more time here. Okay, maybe not, because I would have died of dehydration and heat exhaustion. Arches is a vast expanse of red, with giant rocks that have gradually eroded to create dozens of huge arches that I'm sure you're imagining. Some of them are visible from the road, but the best ones require a few hours of hiking to get right next to. We saw the Delicate Arch--the most famous one--from across a canyon, rather than taking the 3-hour hike to see it up close. Also, this is a park worth going to soon, as one of the arches fell down earlier this year.
Utah State Route 128
To get from Arches back to I-70 most people take US-191, a four-lane highway west of the park, although if instead you are heading east it is more direct to take UT-128, which borders the park for the first bit and then follows the Colorado River before flattening out into the plateaus where the interstate lies. We camped out on the side of this road, just on the banks of the Colorado. The other side of the river is a huge cliff--undoubtedly created by the river over time--which is the border to Arches Park. Truly one of the most beautiful places I could have imagined spending the night, we couldn't resist driving along to see the rest of what the road had to offer.
On the Road Again
Before the summer began, when I was back in Palo Alto enjoying the wonderful Northern California springtime, I began to plan my luxurious 9-month interlude between completing my degree and starting my consulting gig in NYC. The sabbatical started with a final quarter at Stanford without any classes and only tour guiding and CS106B section leading to fill my days. I was spending a lot of time with my friend Michael, enjoying brief road trips along the Pacific Coast Highway and weekend adventures in San Francisco. He was in the Bay Area for six months doing a co-op with a green building materials company as part of his five-year program at RIT--where he was ultimately returning in the fall.
We realized that he would need to bring his car back to Rochester, NY in the last week of August, and having loved driving my own car across the country in 2005, I volunteered to co-pilot the journey. Although I was to be at Camp Harlam all summer, it was cheaper to get a round trip plane ticket for SFO-PHL-SFO after graduation, and so I planned to make my encore appearance in San Francisco on August 21st. Then I spent the summer in the 24-7 alternative universe of camp, and Michael kept busy at work planning out our route which would take us across 13 states.
Michael met me at the Stanford Golf Course after sharing a ride from SF with my friend Tyler, and off we set on leg 1 of our trip. We drove southeast through the Central Valley of California, stopping for one last In-N-Out in Kettleman City, just off of I-5. There is no direct highway connection between the Bay Area and Vegas, so really the only way to drive is by scooping down into the heart of the Mojave (where the outside temperature peaked at a dry 111 degrees), and then turning back towards the northeast.
While in the Mojave, we stopped to look at the Mojave Airport,
graveyard of many of the world's deceased airlines, as well as the Mojave National Preserve, a huge open space surrounded by mountains and completely deserted of human interference. Although we would see more breath-taking abysses later on our journey, this was our first foray off of the highway and we were completely taken. It was sunset by the time we turned north to leave the park, and 9pm by the time we arrived in Sin City. We checked into our room at the Flamingo Hotel, and after grabbing a quick shower went out onto the strip to gawk at the masses. My friend Sawyer from Stanford was coincidentally there the same weekend, so we had dinner in Paris, and walked around to see Venice, New York, and an incredible outdoor fountain display at the Bellagio.
I'd be lying if I said I liked Vegas, and two hours on the strip was enough. Neither Michael nor I spent a dime in a casino, and the only word that seemed to really fit the town was "trashy". Armies of people line the sidewalks slapping the cards they hand out trying to get your attention. The cards, of course, advertise "hot girls who want to meet you" and can guarantee arrival at your hotel room within 20 minutes of your call. The whole place felt like a scam to convince people to do things they will later regret, and then stealing their wallets while they do them. We weren't sad to call it an early night and hit the road only 12 hours after our arrival.
We realized that he would need to bring his car back to Rochester, NY in the last week of August, and having loved driving my own car across the country in 2005, I volunteered to co-pilot the journey. Although I was to be at Camp Harlam all summer, it was cheaper to get a round trip plane ticket for SFO-PHL-SFO after graduation, and so I planned to make my encore appearance in San Francisco on August 21st. Then I spent the summer in the 24-7 alternative universe of camp, and Michael kept busy at work planning out our route which would take us across 13 states.
Michael met me at the Stanford Golf Course after sharing a ride from SF with my friend Tyler, and off we set on leg 1 of our trip. We drove southeast through the Central Valley of California, stopping for one last In-N-Out in Kettleman City, just off of I-5. There is no direct highway connection between the Bay Area and Vegas, so really the only way to drive is by scooping down into the heart of the Mojave (where the outside temperature peaked at a dry 111 degrees), and then turning back towards the northeast.While in the Mojave, we stopped to look at the Mojave Airport,
graveyard of many of the world's deceased airlines, as well as the Mojave National Preserve, a huge open space surrounded by mountains and completely deserted of human interference. Although we would see more breath-taking abysses later on our journey, this was our first foray off of the highway and we were completely taken. It was sunset by the time we turned north to leave the park, and 9pm by the time we arrived in Sin City. We checked into our room at the Flamingo Hotel, and after grabbing a quick shower went out onto the strip to gawk at the masses. My friend Sawyer from Stanford was coincidentally there the same weekend, so we had dinner in Paris, and walked around to see Venice, New York, and an incredible outdoor fountain display at the Bellagio.I'd be lying if I said I liked Vegas, and two hours on the strip was enough. Neither Michael nor I spent a dime in a casino, and the only word that seemed to really fit the town was "trashy". Armies of people line the sidewalks slapping the cards they hand out trying to get your attention. The cards, of course, advertise "hot girls who want to meet you" and can guarantee arrival at your hotel room within 20 minutes of your call. The whole place felt like a scam to convince people to do things they will later regret, and then stealing their wallets while they do them. We weren't sad to call it an early night and hit the road only 12 hours after our arrival.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)