Prior post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/19/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-30-santa-rosa-to-see-friends/

[NOTE: To enlarge any image, right click it and choose “Open image in New Tab” or similar.

We get up refreshed after our first night at Cabañas Kangarú. Chris is cleaning the pool outside and we strike up a conversation. He, like me, is not suitable for a 9 to 5 job and seems to have found his niche with Yanina, who is a Buenos Aires escapee. They bought the property, which was a neighborhood trash repository (or “tip” in Chris’ Aussie terminology), brought in machinery to haul off all the garbage, and built their house several years ago. As they found the funds, they added two well thought out cabañas, the pool, and various amenities. The coming summer is their first full season and we are their first non-Argentinian guests.

Yanina brings in outside money teaching in a school, tutoring English, and who knows what else, while Chris’ main work seems to be upkeep of the property. Chris and Yanina are both so friendly we feel at home here after just a few hours.

Susan’s author friend Josie Peralta is who drew us back to Santa Rosa for a second visit. We meet up with her this morning at a coffee shop and catch up on the two years since our last visit.

Josie’s invited us to her son, Alberto’s, house in a nearby town for the afternoon. We drive out there with her and enter a gated community with large, sun baked lots and scattered homes. Clearly, there is much more construction to come. Subdivision lots for sale can be seen everywhere in Argentina. Due to the vicious inflation, pesos have no long term value (one friend refers to them as painted paper), so Argentinians are constantly looking for ways to preserve value. Real estate is one favorite approach. Buying dollars, despite legal limitations, is another.

We pull up to a nice house surrounded by open lawn. I park next to a large Toyota Hilux, what I long ago dubbed the Argentine national pickup truck. At one side of the house is a concrete swimming pool, the deep green agae color showing it’s currently unused. Alberto is there to greet us. He grew up in the U.S. while Josie lived in Woodstock NY for many years and only moved to Argentina and learned Spanish as an adult. He’s one of those maddening people who can master a second or third language completely, while I perpetually struggle to speak and, especially, understand anything beyond English. It took me a long time to accept that any language learning I accomplish is by brute force rather than aptitude.

Alberto founded a successful chain of gyms in New York and now makes his living remotely in a most unusual way. Residing in rural Argentina, he owns a popular takeout restaurant in Lahaina, Hawaii! Through a network of cameras and a reliable on site manager, he runs the operation via internet. In inflation ravaged Argentina, his US dollar income seems to keep him very comfortable. For someone like me who’s found a thousand ways not to get rich, his feat is very impressive.

Alberto feeds us parrillada, the Argentine national dish, consisting of several kinds of meats barbecued very slowly over a sparse bed of coals.

Parrilla is an obsession here and every cook has their own secret techniques and spices. In some parts of the country, produce is almost nonexistent because the diet consists almost totally of meat and starch. This led the late Anthony Bourdain to exclaim during a foodie visit to Buenos Aires, “After a week or two here, even confirmed carnivores like myself will fall to their knees praying for a vegetable.” After spending several months, over 4 trips, traveling almost every corner of the country, I know exactly what he meant.

Unfortunately, asado (barbecue) here is truly delicious, so the temptation to eat it returns quickly once your body clears out the globules of fat careening through your arteries after a meal. The only down side is that some of the items presented eagerly by your host are various organs and body parts that aren’t very appealing to dilettante carnivores such as myself. It takes some real diplomacy to negotiate exhortations to taste and compliment grilled calf intestine or goat brain on crackers.

Of course, the meat fest is all wasted on Josie, who is a vegetarian — seemingly one of the few in all Argentina. It must work for her because, at 79, she still has incredible energy and purpose. Alberto makes sure he has items that fit her diet as well.

We also meet Leonardo, Alberto’s employee who does groundskeeping and other work for him. Leo is a shy man who speaks very softly and reticently, but we soon realize he has a good command of English. It turns out he did very well in school but due to poverty he was unable to advance his education. His is, sadly, a typical South American story.

Alberto and I get along famously, despite substantially different approaches to life, and we tend to talk non-stop. It turns out the house we’re in, nice as it is, is just a rental while his “palace” is under construction nearby. After lunch, we all hop in the Hilux so he can show us the new place and his horses. Alberto loves horses, he owns several and is an accomplished jumper, a sport I find excessively dangerous. As he backs off his lawn, instead of heading perpendicularly to the road, he spins the wheel a bit to angle out and — BANG! –the corner of his enormous truck whacks the Subaru parked adjacently. My instinctive reaction is a very sarcastic “Thank you!” which, fortunately, is ignored in the heat of the moment.

The truck bumper hit the front passenger quarter panel and bashed it in noticeably, and the damage is enough to prevent the passenger door from opening fully. Alberto is obviously embarrassed but we put off further discussion until we return from our little tour. First, Josie insists that we stop on a road in the subdivision named Capricornio. I have no use for astrology. In fact, it’s hard to describe how quickly my respect for someone plummets when they give any credence to the idea that the accident of birth divides all humans into 12 categories of personality. I often try to tell astrology nuts that my birthday is 6 months later than it is, so they can go through some elaborate analysis of how my traits fit whatever sign my false birthday puts me in. Unfortunately, Susan, who claims not to believe in this bunkum but brings up the subject repeatedly, never lets me get away with my ploy. She outs my attempted deception immediately. I have yet to receive satisfaction at hearing someone go off an astrological cliff.

Josie picked up on my distaste for the topic immediately and delights in good naturedly tormenting me with it. Alberto and I were both born in January and she insists that we take pictures under the Capricornio street sign. This humiliation accomplished, we continue on to the new house, Nearing completion, it’s been under construction for, I think, two years and it is impressive. Beautifully designed, it offers great views of the sunset over the western mountains.

Alberto has included space for Josie to move in when she’s ready and for her schizophrenic 60-year old daughter, Alberto’s half-sister, as well. His generosity gives each of them a secure living option as they age, but it strikes me the rural location would make it difficult for either Josie or Leda to engage in external activities and social life. They currently live right in the center of Santa Rosa where they have easy access to cultural events, restaurants, and services.

The pride and joy of the house design is Alberto’s beer garden on the roof, although today it is still unshaded and brutally hot up there.

He has bought an adjacent lot to ensure that no one builds nearby and he’ll be able to keep his horses right outside once he moves in. Our next stop is his temporary pasture, where we meet his three horses.

Alberto loves these animals and each one plants their wet lips squarely on his face when he intones “Besito” (little kiss). Having never been a horseman, I marvel at the strong bonds some people have with these enormous, intelligent animals. Alberto’s connection with his is obviously very deep.

Returning to the scene of the crime, Alberto offers to pay for repairs and I tell him all that’s needed is to yank out the worst of the damage so the door is again functional, rather than “good as new” body work. Really, the 2007 car has 140,000 miles on it and other blemishes (one when I was lightly rear ended at a speed bump by a distracted driver in Tierra del Fuego and another when I carelessly backed a tail light into a tree trunk in Perú). When we’re ready to return to Santa Rosa, we convoy to a body shop en route, drop off the car, and Alberto arranges and pays for a functional repair. The car is promised in 24 hours and Alberto takes us and Josie to our respective residences.

Stuffed to the gills with asado, we don’t even think about dinner and spend the remainder of the evening at the cabaña. Touchingly, Chris tells us Yanina was very worried at our daylong absence, concerned that something happened to us. He reassured her, “No worries. They’re experienced travelers.” I really don’t understand all the unfounded worrying people do. In Susan’s family, it’s a moral crime not to let someone know that you’ve arrived safely after leaving their home. Of course, it’s nice to have someone else do your worrying for you. Since Susan and her sister worry intensely about everything bad that might conceivably happen, I let them carry my load and, as a result, can go through life care free. In Yanina’s case, I find it rather endearing that this young woman bothered to be concerned about the two old farts who she had just met as customers the night before.

Next post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/24/south-america-by-subaru-19-11-01-carless-for-the-day/

Prior post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/14/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-28-rise-from-the-abyss/

[NOTE: To enlarge any image, right click it and choose “Open image in New Tab” or similar.

It’s with great relief that we pack up this morning and prepare to leave Mendoza after an unanticipated week here. We have the last of Ines’ breakfasts, take some departure photos, and head northeast out of town.

Our destination is a national park of which I just became aware a few days ago. We’re traversing typically flat Argentine terrain, along a paved highway with herds of goats grazing on the shoulders. The roads are quite empty and we make good time, covering the 160 miles to the park entrance by 4 PM. Susan has agreed to camp tonight in the park, which is quite isolated and with no nearby services or even, for that matter, public drinking water. I’m excited because this will be Susan’s and my first night in the tent that we purchased almost 2 years ago.

Sierra de las Quijadas is, indeed, remote. A friendly ranger at the entry station explains the layout. Two unrestricted trails, a small campground, and the chance (no guarantees) to see condors, pumas. guanacos, and maras (rodents with rabbit-like features). Unlike most Argentina national parks, there are no hefty entrance charges, although I see evidence of past fee collection. Even the camping is free. We check out the campground and find it surprisingly pleasant and shady for this hot, arid area. Since the sun is getting low, it’s a good time for hiking so we go out to the end of the park road and set out on one of the two short trails. Geologically, the area is an ancient sedimentary basin uplifted into mountains of relatively soft rock that have eroded into badlands — which we have all to ourselves this afternoon. The views out over the valley are gratifying and signs identify many of the plants along the trail.

We see vultures soaring high above, swallows diving frenetically in the ravine below us as they feed on the wing, and a few songbirds but nothing else in the way of wildlife.

Returning to the car we set out on the other unrestricted trail that leads through the sculpted formations to several valley overlooks. It’s not a difficult trail but heat, fatigue, and uneven footing cause us to turn back a little early. I have an extra backtrack detour to retrieve some litter I accidentally left on a bench.

There are two other trails but they require hiring guides, and those guides are based many miles away. One of the walks leads to dinosaur footprints — well, one footprint since the ranger explained that the rest were excavated and transported to a distant museum. Needless to say, the expense and time required to procure a guide don’t seem worth it to us. Now if they could assure we would spot a puma in the wild.. That would be a different story.

On the drive back to the campground, we see several maras in the brush alongside the road. They exhibit little fear of the car or us, continuing to browse as we approach to within 20 feet. They’re odd looking animals, with rabbit like ears and hind feet and an almost tailless two-tone rump.

Although not particularly bulky, they’re the fourth largest living rodent, exceeded only by the freakishly large capybara, the beaver, and the porcupine. Although the relaxed ones in front of us don’t show us, they are said to be capable of sprinting 18 or 30 miles per hour. You can choose which number to believe.

We’ve traveled thousands of miles in Argentina over 3 trips and can state quite authoritatively that most of the country has been so civilized that it’s virtually devoid of wildlife. Only in designated reserves and some areas of abandoned estancias (ranches) have we spotted anything other than cows, sheep, goats, horses, and the birds and rodents that coexist with them.

We choose the best of the 6 walk-in campsites and start carrying our gear from the car. To my dismay, I discover that the air mattress cap is not with the mattress and pump. I know I packed it but 20 minutes of intense searching fails to locate it. Even though it means sleeping directly on the ground, Susan gamely agrees to camp anyway.

As we eat a cold snack/supper, we’re treated to a magnificent desert sunset.

As darkness falls, an increasing array of stars become visible due to the clear air and absence of light pollution. In the hours after sunset, we see a crescent moon and 4 planets spaced in a narrow arc of the ecliptic: Venus, Jupiter, Saturn, and Mercury.

As the moon sets and the darkness intensifies, the sky fills with stars and the Milky Way is very evident. Even lying in bed later, we see a celestial display though the gauze roof.

Most of the world’s population rarely sees such an unobscured night sky. Already in big cities, the glow of lights makes most stars invisible and it looks like it’s going to get much worse. SpaceX has started launching “constellations” of low orbit satellites to provide global internet service. It plans to have 42,000 of them. Other big companies like Amazon will compete and it’s possible that the look of the night sky, regardless of ground conditions, may be dramatically altered by hundreds of thousands of satellites speeding across it. Our grandchildren might never see what humankind has always known as the starry night.

Despite the hard ground, we drop off to a somewhat fitful sleep in the silent and remote Argentine landscape.

Next post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/19/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-30-santa-rosa-to-see-friends/

Prior post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/06/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-24-descent-into-the-maelstrom-santiago-chile/

[NOTE: To enlarge any image, right click it and choose “Open image in New Tab” or similar.

I’m up early, for no particular reason. My Subaru parts won’t be available until afternoon. The streets outside the hostel are quiet, the demonstrators having gone home to sleep.

I’m hoping to head back to Mendoza today, but the chances of pulling that off are slim. The last bus leaves at 1:30 PM and my parts aren’t promised until 2 PM. I’m going to check out of the hostel and get to the store at around noon, hoping they arrive early enough to let me catch that bus. My drop dead time for leaving the store, parts in hand, is 1:00 PM, so I’m clutching at straws.

I go downstairs to look over the optional $7 breakfast the hostel offers. There’s plenty of food and it’s nicely presented, but most of it is artificially sweetened fruit drinks, coffee, and South American pastries and breads. Although this is standard fare, I find all of it fairly unpalatable so I go out and buy breakfast items and sit in the kitchen eating. What I buy isn’t any better than what they’re serving, but it’s cheaper and I have a liter of cold milk with which to wash it down. I check out, realizing that I’ll most likely be back this afternoon. As I’m preparing to spend a couple of hours in the lounge researching and writing, an emergency message comes in from Susan. Somehow, the cell phone of Ines, our landlady of the moment in Mendoza, has disappeared, probably stolen. She’s asking if I can buy a replacement in Santiago and bring it back with me. I’m imagining a comical exchange since Susan understands only certain Spanish words and Ines speaks no English whatsoever. Somehow the concept comes across and the task is now mine to execute in the short period before I have to head for the parts store.

I immediately interrogate the desk clerk as to nearby cell phone vendors. A consultation group of staff and locals is quickly formed to ponder my problem. To my extraordinary good luck, there is an appropriate store virtually around the corner, but is it open today when so much is shuttered? I walk out to the Alameda, which still shows the effects of yesterday’s demonstrations, locate the store, and find it open and bustling. Excellent fortune as it will most surely lock down in a few hours as the demonstrators return. A salesman latches on to me immediately and I explain what I need, a basic smartphone, not carrier-locked, and cheap. My luck holds and they have just what I need. Ines had suggested a price cap of about 70 dollars and this one fills the bill for less than 60. I text back and forth a couple of times to Ines, via Susan’s phone, and Ines says “get it!” I close the deal, being careful to get a sealed factory box and inspecting the contents before paying. What seemed like an impossible task at the outset has been accomplished in under an hour. Susan tells me the reserved Ines has lit up and is literally dancing for joy at the economical solution to her problem.

Around noon, I shoulder my dead parts, cross the Alameda, and walk to the auto parts store. I ensconce myself on their waiting bench and do my best to cast significant looks at my salesman. Alternately pleading, impatient, and resigned expressions come pretty naturally to me, but it’s not as if he has any control over when the parts arrive. About 12:45, he tells me the delivery has come in. I excitedly queue up an Uber ride to the bus terminal, ready to trigger it the moment the metal touches my hand. The store paperwork and inventory procedures aren’t trivial, so I don’t actually walk out the door until 1 PM — probably too late. I call for the ride but it’s delayed in the heavy traffic and finally canceled. No go, but it was a long shot to begin with.

I walk back to the hostel, this time lugging 50 pounds of metal, both old and new parts, and check in to my same bunk .

I forgot to bring my leftover Chilean cash with me and I’m trying to avoid getting more so I’m limited to buying from places that accept credit cards. Normally, that’s no problem but in conjunction with the closures, my selection of stores is very limited. I’m thirsty and end up walking almost a mile from the hostel only to buy 2 liters of overpriced, bad tasting fruit drink. By this time, the demonstrations have resumed, so I hoof it back to the wide Alameda. The mood today is a bit less peaceful. Intersection fires have already been lit, there’s much more invective being hurled at the still-patient police, and vandals are being more brazen. At one point I see about 20 young men energetically rocking a 60 foot metal bus station railing out of its sidewalk foundations, perhaps to use it as a street barricade.

As I walk further west, I start to get whiffs of tear gas drifting in from out of sight. My eyes tear, my cheeks are stinging, and as I cross an intersection, the acrid burning smoke of a mattress fire starts to choke me.

I decide a fast retreat is in order and head down a side street at a trot. A noticeable number of others are taking the same action. One young man seeing me rubbing my eyes offers some water from his bottle to rinse them.

In the smaller side streets, the more peaceful protest still dominates. Every block is filled with groups of young marchers. Plenty of vulgar insults are being hurled at the police who have blocked off certain areas for their use, but again by a minority of the crowd. A frequent shout includes a word that sounds like “culio” which from the context is no compliment. The derisive term for the police seems to be “paco”. At one point a plastic water bottle is hurled at a group of standing police but elicits no reaction.

I have to say, though, that in two days an article in the Guardian (https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/oct/27/chile-hundreds-shot-and-beaten-street-protests) reports that hundreds of protesters have been severely injured by beatings and non-lethal, but still very dangerous, ammunition. It also alleges that Chile media are self-censoring scenes of police violence, so my direct observations don’t tell the whole story. I talk to more people, take more pictures, and marvel at how committed the many thousands are to invoking real economic change. The original incitement, the 3% transit fare increase has been long forgotten, and the government has actually rescinded it in a futile effort to appease the demonstrators.

The people I met and talked to are committed to change, but with my limited Spanish, I couldn’t fully comprehend their nuanced or complex stories. If you want to see professional reporting of protester interviews, I highly recommend https://www.theguardian.com/world/2019/oct/30/chile-protests-portraits-protesters-sebastian-pinera.

As I mentioned yesterday, I shot a lot of photos. If you want to see more than the ones I’ve included here, the entire raw and unedited collection is at https://photos.app.goo.gl/pzeawM1WaUK9NhFg7.

I return to the hostel and sit in the lounge for a while researching and writing, but this isn’t much fun because I have only my phone to work on, rather than the laptop. Life is so hard. I give up and watch the live television news coverage which is reporting one million people in the streets. From the aerial photos of various cities, I can believe it. I sincerely hope these demonstrations lead to some fundamental economic changes but it’s not my fight and I have my own obligations. First thing in the morning, I have to get back to Susan and the Subaru in Argentina. I go up to bed and set the alarm for a 5 AM departure.

Next post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/14/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-26-my-iditarod-car-parts-to-mendoza/

Prior post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/01/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-23-stupidity-strikes/

[NOTE: To enlarge any image, right click it and choose “Open image in New Tab” or similar.

I’m out of bed at 5 AM to get to Mendoza’s main bus terminal in time for the 6:30 bus to Santiago, lugging my heavy, ruined A-frame.

The agent, pegging me immediately as a tourist, assigns me the front seat of the upper level, assuring I can see the expansive mountain views. The ride is uneventful and comfortable. Border formalities passing from Argentina to Chile are much simpler as a bus passenger than with our car.

I’ve sent a message to Álvaro in Santiago, who was so generous and helpful in storing and preparing the Subaru for its return to the road. He owns an automotive accessories business and, before long, he’s done the research, tells me what parts store to go to, and has arranged for me to pay the reseller price.

Arriving at the Santiago bus terminal, I immediately make my way the 4 miles to the store via local bus (micro) and foot. Although the city is in political upheaval, there’s no evidence of that along my route. At the store, I’m told the parts won’t arrive from the warehouse until tomorrow at 2 PM. Given the curtailed bus service to Argentina, my original hope of getting the parts to the mechanic in time to have the car repaired tomorrow, Friday, have already been dashed. Repairs can’t possibly happen until Monday but Susan is sitting in our Mendoza B&B with no car and very little Spanish at her disposal so I’m eager to get back as soon as possible. I’ve urged her to use this forced delay as a writing retreat but I know well that writing happens on her terms, when the timing and conditions are suitable.

I pay for the parts in advance and do a quick search for suitable accommodations. I find a US$7 bed in a highly rated hostel about a mile away on the Alameda, a prominent boulevard that heads west from downtown Santiago. Although Susan has never agreed to stay in a dormitory room, my needs are modest and I like the social interaction that often occurs, so I walk over there to check it out. As I near the Alameda, I see it occupied by a seemingly endless parade of overwhelmingly young demonstrators, many thousands, peacefully but determinedly marching, carrying an array of protest signs.

This piques my interest because we’ve been following the news from Chile every night. The protests are now in their eighth day and it’s clear they’ve become a mass movement, and unexpectedly here I am again not far from the heart of it. I check out the hostel, which is just steps away from the moving demonstrators, find it clean and pleasant, and get a bed in an otherwise empty 4 bunk room.

I quickly head back out to the street to observe events. All the stores and buildings are closed and protected with metal roll downs. There’s a heavy police presence including armored vehicles but where I am they are largely stationary and ignoring the vile insults hurled by a minority of the demonstrators. Underlying everything is the rhythm of Chilean protest, cacerolazo (from “casserole”), the rhythmic banging of kitchen pots with spoons. Vehicles passing by, duplicate the rhythm with their horns.

I speak to a variety of young people. They’re all very friendly to me as a North American and I’m struck by how deeply dissatisfied they are with the status quo. They’re out here, at some significant risk to themselves – in some cases, parents are wheeling children in strollers – to try to force big changes in a prosperous nation whose inequality exceeds all other Latin American countries — and that’s saying something.

I’m very skeptical of revolutions, whether peaceful or violent. Successful ones tend to create power vacuums which are too often filled with corrupt politicians or other criminals. The American and French revolutions, arguably, were beneficial to the masses, but those are rare examples and were simultaneously fraught with many injustices and persistent cruelties. In this case, having developed many local acquaintances and friends, I fervently hope some lasting good comes out of this upheaval

Despite the overwhelmingly peaceful tenor, there are some hooligans vandalizing public amenities and some intersections have trash fires fueled with plastic, pallets, mattresses, and other flammables.

I shot a lot of photos. If you want to see more than the ones I’ve included here, the entire raw and unedited collection is at https://photos.app.goo.gl/pzeawM1WaUK9NhFg7

After some hours, hunger overcomes me and I’m forced to walk at least 10 blocks perpendicular to the Alameda to find any kind of open restaurants or small grocery stores – large supermarkets are out of the question. The few available eateries are expensive and not to my taste but I make do, then hoof it back to my 3rd floor bunk and fall asleep to the sound of boisterous groups wandering the street below until about 4 AM.

Next post: http://blog.bucksvsbytes.com/2019/11/13/south-america-by-subaru-19-10-25-santiago-chile-in-turmoil/