Iguazu, Iguassu, and Yguazu

While cruising me from site to site between Paraguay and Argentina, Pablo, my driver for the weekend, commented, "You don't waste a single minute of the day, do you?" Then, after considering which rock star first said it, declared, "I guess you have time to rest once you die!" At exactly the moment when the word "die!" left his lips, Pablo, while going 70 mph in his small Renault sedan, hit an unmarked speed bump. We went flying.

Besides being a brief metaphor for the unpredictable nature of my weekend in Iguazú--and my constantly tempting death--Pablo's quotation is an especially appropriate explanation for my little adventure up north. Ten minutes after my last post, I was at the entrance of a random hostal, twenty minutes later, a guy was driving me to Argentina's national park bordering the Falls. The next day I ventured into the beautiful and very hospitable Brazil. The following day I ended up in Paraguay's poor, littered Ciudad del Este, then I was back in Argentina for a lightning-visit to a secluded national park two hours away from my hostal. I was constantly moving, constantly doing something. Each of my days began with the same question, directed each time toward a different person: if this were the only time in my life that I could experience this place, and I had one day to do it, what would you tell me to do? I met lots of new people, heard amazing stories, and had some unforgettable experiences. There's definitely something to be said for traveling alone, especially to a place as unique and diverse as Iguazú.

I arrived back in Salto early this morning, bringing over 300 pictures with me. It's going to be tough for me to boil down the images and experiences for this update, but I guess I'll try to do so by taking you on a tour of each of the three countries I visited: Argentina, Brazil, and, finally, Paraguay.

But first, just so you get an idea of the layout of the falls and their surrounding environment, I'm posting a few pictures I shot during a helicopter ride I took on my second day.

Here you can get an idea of just how dense and lush the surrounding rainforest really is:



This image captures the Falls in their entirety. At the time of my visit, there were 270 falls, which is about the average number. The border between Argentina and Brazil basically runs right through the middle of the falls lengthwise, with the vast majority of them on the Argentine side. Thus the fact that Brazil offers the more panoramic views. The area furthest to the left, with the rising mist, is the most dramatic area, with the highest and most powerful falls. It is known as the Devil's Throat (La Garganta del Diablo):



Another image of a cluster of falls, all lying on the Argentine side:



So let's start with Argentina...

Argentina, like Brazil, has dedicated an enormous amount of land surrounding the Falls to preservation. This means that now (unlike the years prior to the early 20th century, when the park was founded), the trees in the park cannot be cut down, animals cannot be hunted, fishing is prohibited, and swimming is prohibited. These rules, from what I can tell, are not compromised, in either Argentina's or Brazil's parks. Both countries take enormous pride in Iguazú, and do all they can to preserve and maintain it.

Driving into the park, the scenery instantly transforms into sub-tropical rainforest. Along both sides of the road are tall trees and impenetrable vegetation. Besides this, the first thing I noticed was the enormous number of butterflies flying around, of various colors and shapes and sizes. They were everywhere, and would only increase in number as I approached the Falls.

Arriving at the park entrance, my driver dropped me off and agreed to meet me in the same spot several hours later. I immediately bought an all-inclusive ticket, and boarded a large, open-air Mercedes truck, which romped through the rainforest, finally arriving at a small boat dock on the shore of the Iguazú River. Just as I was boarding the boat--a 30-foot long motorboat with several other passengers--and at the height of my anticipation, some sort of tropical mutant horsefly stung me on my right calf. Welcome to the jungle!!

Our motorboat did a surprisingly good job of maneuvering through the rapids as we cruised upstream, toward the Falls. At this point, I had still not seen the Falls, so it was with great excitement that I took the following photo, which captures my first view of them:



In the boat, we were only able to go a limited way up the river, and not even close to La Garganta del Diablo. Nonetheless, we got very close to some of the "smaller" falls (still huge), and so I exited the boat completely soaked with water and anticipation.

The trails surrounding the Falls on the Argentine side offer some amazing, close up views. My primary concern was taking it all in, and not wanting to forget a single moment. The Falls at Iguazú are especially known for the large amount of mist they generate. As a result, almost every view of the Falls is accompanied by a vivid rainbow. As I wandered along the trails, I was gradually befriended by more and more butterflies, which rested on my arms, my shoulders, and even my head. Everyone I saw was also accompanied by numerous butterflies, and I think we were all equally surprised by the number of them and their willingness to come so close to us.




Eventually, I made my way to La Garganta del Diablo, which lies at the end of a 2km catwalk that wanders over the upper waters of the Iguazú. On the Argentine side, La Garganta is viewed from the top of the Falls, which offers a stunning view, and a deafening roar, as the water falls about 300 feet:



On my way back to the hostel, after finding my driver at the entrance of the park, I began asking him about whether Iguazú was currently in a dry or wet season. His response took me by surprise as he told me that although the Falls used to experience dry and wet seasons in the past, global warming has completely thrown them off. Thus, although April is usually relatively dry, the Falls are actually experiencing a high flow of water right now. One of the effects of this abnormal climatic situation is the high number of butterflies. I was told by a park official that the people working there couldn't remember the last time so many butterflies had been present. I found it alarming to see such an obvious example of the effects of global warming, especially since, just the day before, I had had a conversation with a student at the university where I teach about how global warming is deteriorating Argentina's Perito Moreno glacier in Patagonia. I oftentimes find myself at a loss for words when people here ask me what the United States is doing to alleviate global warming.

A short drive later, I found myself back at my hostel, my shirt, pants, and shoes soaked. In my excitement and eagerness to not waste a second, I hadn't eaten all day. So the first thing I asked about was the restaurant with the best steaks. Everyone pointed me in the same direction: Tio Querido's.

I've had good food in South America, but my dinner at Tio Querido's stands out as a highlight. I have to admit that I made a very big mistake before leaving for Uruguay--I asked my dad for a farewell dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. Ever since that night, I've been plagued by the desire for a steak as good as the one I had there. And I've had absolutely no success...until I walked into Tio Querido's. I asked for the most tender steak in the place. And boy did I get it...enough of it to feed three people. I had no idea until the huge, sizzling plate was laid before my eyes, but the steak I ordered was 25 ounces of rare "baby beef." To say the side of potatoes I ordered with it was superfluous is an understatement.

Ladies and gentlemen, at first bite I realized I had finally found the steak I had been searching for all these weeks. It was spectacular. It had to have been spectacular (and huge) to justify the $35 pricetag on it. And to justify a description almost as long as the one I dedicated to the Falls. But I digress.

Let's go to Brazil.

Let me start off by saying two things: first, yes, Brazil is absolutely all I thought it would be, and more. I have fallen in love with yet another country. Which indirectly leads me to my second observation: I think Brazil is one of the few countries on the planet where the women could distract someone from something as unbelievable as the Iguazú Falls.

Struggling to keep my attention focused, the panoramic views offered by Brazil's Iguassu (different spelling) National Park were amazing. Since the Falls are primarily on the other side of the river, the Argentine side, it's easier to photographically "take it all in" (although it's still hard to do so mentally):





Perhaps it was just me, but I felt that the ambiance of the Brazilian side of the Falls was different from that of the Argentine side. It seemed to be wilder, with more animals such as this one just strolling around:



Additionally, I felt that the people's attitudes were, as a whole, different. Everyone was smiling or laughing. Kids were yelling at each other to see this or that spectacular view. One shirtless man stretched out his arms, lifted his face, and stood in the mist of one of the waterfalls.

The climax of my experience at the Falls was seeing La Garganta del Diablo from the Brazilian side, which, unlike the Argentine side, is actually from within the Falls, not above them. A walkway extends out and over the Falls, and walking out on it gave me the feeling of being right in the middle of it all--water was falling in front of me, behind me, to my left, to my right, and even right under my feet.





Upon [reluctantly] leaving the park, Pablo took me to have some wonderful Brazilian food, including fish, various meats, and even shawarma. We wandered a bit through Foz do Iguassu, Brazil's nearest city to the Falls. The residents of the city come from all over the world, as is apparent in the high number of Chinese and Middle Eastern restaurants I saw.

I also took a brief excursion up to the Itaipu Dam, a binational project between Paraguay and Brazil that is better known as the largest hydroelectric plant in operation in the world (soon to be surpassed by the Three Gorges Dam in China). "Popular Mechanics" listed the Dam as one of the "Seven Wonders of the Modern World." It produces about 20% of Brazil's power, and 90% of Paraguay's. Although I only briefly visited, the structure was beyond impressive. I gathered some interesting facts during my visit: the dam stretches almost 8 km in length, and is 196 meters tall. The maximum discharge of the spillway is 40 times greater than the average flow of the Iguazú Falls. To give you an idea of the vast amount of power it produces, Brazil would have to burn 434,000 barrels of oil per day using thermoelectric plants to get the same amount of power produced by Itaipu. Its rate of construction set world records, and was equivalent to a twenty-story building every 55 minutes.

In the early afternoon, while driving along a well-maintained road on the outskirts of Foz do Iguassu, Pablo pointed toward a large, beautiful white mansion with a Spanish tile roof. "You see that?" he asked, having just put on the left blinker. "Nice house. There's a favela about 200 meters up this road." I asked if we could drive through, so I could see it. "Are you crazy? I can guarantee you we would be robbed." He agreed, though, to give me a quick glimpse. As we passed in front of another three-story mansion, Pablo pointed across the street. There, in a tiny lot, were piled up about eight feet of garbage bags in a large heap. Just to the side of the bags I could make out a shack, made of wood and a flimsy metal roof. A little girl, her formerly pink clothes filthy, knelt outside and munched on something. "That is one of the things that, unfortunately, characterizes Brazil. You have the extremely wealthy living, side-by-side, with the extremely poor."

Paraguay.

Waking up on day three, I had absolutely no clue what I would do with my day. I was thinking about visiting the Jesuit ruins, but was also tempted to wander into Paraguay, which people had formerly discouraged me from visiting. After talking with an older man who worked at my hostel, I decided to go into Paraguay to visit a little-known waterfall called Salto Monday, and to follow that up with a visit to the city, Paraguay's Ciudad del Este.

I was unsure what to expect in Paraguay, not knowing anything about the country beforehand except for the multiple times Argentines had warned me not to go there due to the poverty and danger. Pablo and I crossed the border and entered Ciudad del Este with no problem (the Brazilian and Paraguayan borders are patrolled only occasionally, and weren't patrolled at all during my visit). Immediately the scenery changed. The bridge crossing the river that marked the border was poorly maintained, and littered with trash. The poverty was apparent--people were dressed in clothes that didn't fit them properly. I was reminded of scenes I had viewed in pictures of Bolivia, or during my visits to central Mexico.

Paraguay has attempted to take advantage of the high flow of tourists in the area by building enormous shopping centers that offer counterfeit and oftentimes stolen electronics. Ciudad del Este greets its visitors with enormous billboards advertising Pioneer, Sony, and Samsung electronics. It's like a poverty-stricken Times Square, with dusty streets. Huge signs throughout the city , and even in Brazil, read "Come buy the Mona Lisa in Paraguay!" The advertisement reveals more than it probably intends to by hinting at the fact that much of what is available at the shopping centers is ripped off and faulty. Officials in Brazil and Argentina are aware of the businesses, and frequently search cars and tour buses in their countries for such contraband. My bus back to Concordia/Salto was searched numerous times, and each time people had to produce papers for the electronics they had purchased.

Pablo had actually never been to the Salto Monday, so we had to stop for directions at least fifteen times. Being a proud Argentine (and Porteño, at that), and driving a car with Argentine plates, Pablo warned me that people will oftentimes run up to the car and grab things out of it. He completely rejected the idea of eating lunch in Ciudad del Este, claiming that the car would be robbed. Eventually, we arrived at the waterfall, which could be found after driving through several small neighborhoods. The Salto Monday waterfall was not advertised at all, and I was surprised that Paraguay hadn't attempted to lure tourists to it. Although small in comparison to Iguazú, it was still pretty. The site was relatively untouched by tourists. The park was even hesitant to accept Argentine pesos for the entrance fee.

I felt a bit uneasy in the park. Although well-maintained, I was clearly the only caucasian. Even Pablo the Argentine stood out--people asked if he was my father. On the platform overlooking the waterfall, I met four Paraguayans who put me at ease at least a little bit--they were all police officers. Normally that fact wouldn't really put me at ease. But these guys were great. They gave me some of their tereré, which is similar to the mate consumed in Argentina and Uruguay, except that it is cold. They were also very eager to learn about the United States, and even about the Falls at Iguazú, which they had never visited. I showed them the pictures on my camera, which they enjoyed. I asked them why Paraguay doesn't advertise its waterfall and take advantage of the money that could attract. They responded that Paraguayans take great pride in their country, but that they don't want thousands of tourists to swarm in. The waterfall is for the Paraguayans, and they want to keep it that way. I quickly learned that Paraguayans place great value on their culture and traditions, not only on their waterfall. The four police officers began teaching me Guaraní, Paraguay's indigenous language, and the language listed as the country's first language. They proudly told me that every Paraguayan can speak Guaraní, and that it was the language that was used to name not only Paraguay, but also Uruguay and Yguazú (Guaraní spelling). "You know," they told me, "Iguazú Falls used to be Paraguay's. We used to be a very rich country." Although their tone was somewhat sad, they said this with a smile.

I couldn't help but get a photo with the guys before leaving the park:



Now, being back in Salto, I find myself telling locals about Iguazú again and again. Many of the people here have been there, yet many have not. Many of the people I've talked with have commented that they know the Falls must be amazing, because of the smile on my face when I talk about it. Although filled with extreme emotions on both sides of the spectrum, I learned about three countries--two of which I had never previously visited--and their people. The Falls were beyond description, but equally so were the people I met and the aspect of their lives I was able to briefly witness.

Iguazu or bust

Faced with another long weekend due to a national holiday that falls on next Monday, I--completely on a whim--decided to visit a place I have dreamed of visiting for years: the Falls at Iguazú. So yesterday I crossed into Argentina by ferry, spent a nice, lazy day in Concordia, then boarded my bus. Twelve hours later, I am writing you from the tropical and very green town of Puerto Iguazú.



Reportedly, Eleanor Roosevelt said "Poor Niagara!" upon first seeing the Falls at Iguazú. Known not only for its waterfalls, but also for the nearby Jesuit ruins and "Triple Frontier" between Argentina, Paraguay, and Brazil, this region is extremely popular for tourism. On the trip here I met backpackers from Denmark, Australia, South Africa, and Ireland. The town of Puerto Iguazu reflects the heavy influence of tourism--hostels that look like bungalows line the streets, images advertising tours of the falls are everywhere, and I seem to run into caucasians wearing backpacks more often than locals.

Traveling north from Salto to Puerto Iguazú, the change in scenery is apparent. The vegetation gets increasingly lush, the flat terrain transforms into rolling hills, and lakes and rivers appear with increasing frequency. I really felt as if I had arrived in Brazil--Amazon jungle and all! The arrow on this map shows exactly where I am:



I found a few sites that have more information on the Falls. The first site (whether or not it's reliable, it's entertaining) was created by a guy who identifies himself as an authority on the "Modern Wonders of the World." He listed Iguazú as #8 on his list of the top 100 wonders (http://www.hillmanwonders.com/iguazu_falls/iguazu_falls.htm)

Wikipedia probably provides the best information and pictures of the Falls. I think it's section "Comparisons to other famous falls" is especially interesting: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iguazu

Alright, that's enough time for me in the Internet cafe--it's time to go see the Falls! I'll be writing again soon, and posting my pictures once I get back to Salto on Monday. Have a great weekend!

the border crossing

As soon as I clicked the "Publish" button on my last post, I realized I had forgotten to include one of the more exciting and bizarre events of the week...getting back into Uruguay from Argentina.

One of the issues dominating the headlines of Uruguayan and Argentine newspapers alike is that of the "papeleras." The story, basically, is this: after Argentina rejected the plans for an international paper company to build a factory on the Argentine shore of the Uruguay River (the river that forms the border between Argentina and Uruguay), Uruguay accepted the offer. The company, together with the Uruguayan government, is developing plans to build the factory on the shore of the river, not far from my humble home of Salto. Consequently, there is now a significant amount of hostility between Argentina and Uruguay, motivated by either the factory's pollution of the Uruguay River, or, perhaps, more political factors (exactly why Argentina rejected the company's offer and now criticizes Uruguay's acceptance of it is debated). This political cartoon expresses the commonly accepted Argentine side of the argument:



This whole conflict didn't really affect me, until I decided to come back to Salto from Buenos Aires. In opposition to the building of the factory, groups of Argentines have taken to cutting off the bridges that connect Uruguay and Argentina. When I bought my bus ticket from Salto to Buenos Aires, I was warned that the bridge between Salto and Concordia, Argentina, would be cut during the entire week of Semana Santa, but I decided the trip was worth it, and I would take the risk. If all else failed, supposedly there was a ferry that could get me across.

That wasn't really the case. Fortunately, the bridges hadn't yet been cut when I left Salto for Buenos Aires. The situation had changed, though, by the time I needed to return. At 6am last Sunday, my bus from Buenos Aires stopped in Concordia, and left me at the bus station there. The bridge was still cut, and the bus wouldn't be allowed across. The sun hadn't yet come up, so, in the dark, I started asking around about whether a ferry could take me across the river, or if a taxi driver would drive me. Finally, I found a man who offered to drive me as far as he could.

The ride lasted about 30 minutes, and, finally, we drove up to the entrance of the bridge, across which a group of people sat, flying a large Argentine flag. What I had heard was correct--no one was crossing the bridge. Right there, in front of the protesters, the taxi driver told me that was as far as he could take me, so I paid him and wished him a good day.

Exiting the taxi, and standing face-to-face with the protesters prompted one of the most awkward and bizarre emotions I've felt. Were the protesters going to attack me, or just give me a customary greeting? I wasn't sure whether to walk up to them and ask permission to walk across, or to just ignore them. So I ignored them. I walked past, and, since they didn't say anything, I just kept walking. It was a lonely walk, but I was just happy not to have rocks thrown at me. About 15 minutes later, I arrived at the customs office.

I don't think the handful of officials there were expecting to have any visitors that day, but they didn't have a problem stamping my passport and saying, "welcome to Uruguay!" I smiled, thanked him, and walked away. Then I came back and asked if he could call me a taxi. It would have been a long walk to Salto.

Thirty minutes later, I was in my room, safe and sound. I fell into bed and caught up on sleep, grateful to have successfully arrived in Salto. Once I had rested, I thought back on the experience, and realized how political many of these issues really are. In the newspaper articles that cover the papeleras, the group cutting the bridges is made out to be a big, intimidating bunch of rabble rousers, as these pictures reveal:





In reality, there were a total of ten people blocking the bridge, chatting, sipping mate, and affecting trade, tourism, and general transportation. I am not entirely sure why the Argentine government would allow this to happen, but it does. Such is Latin American politics, I guess.

If you would like to read more about the conflict, please see this article from the BBC:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/spanish/business/newsid_6518000/6518363.stm

back in Salto

Some brief closing thoughts on Semana Santa vacation before getting into life in Salto...

My vacation in Chile (and, briefly, Buenos Aires) over Semana Santa served to emphasize the importance of the people in our lives--although Chile is a nice place to visit, the people I was able to see there made my trip especially memorable. Because I was in Santiago by myself for most of the time, I was able to reflect on a paradox that a friend, Evan, described while backpacking in Asia: although backpacking allows one to surround himself with new and interesting people, it is generally an incredibly lonely experience. I spent much of my time writing and reading in beautiful parks such as Cerro Santa Lucia:



As I was quickly reminded (having allowed my memories of doing research alone while in Mongolia to slightly fade), backpacking is more an opportunity for introspection than cultural immersion. Fortunately, my friends and "Chilean family" were there to take me in, and, for just a few days, I felt like a Chilean.

As soon as my bus arrived in Santiago, I walked a few blocks to my workplace, Fondo Esperanza, and visited my former boss, Patricio:



and my beautiful coworkers:



Later in the week, I visited Coté and his family, who hosted a friend, Glenda, while we were living and working in Santiago. Coté and his family treated our Harvard group to some very memorable asados (BBQ's) during the summer of 2005, so when they invited me to one during my visit, I immediately took them up on the invitation. The asado was at a beautiful apartment that overlooked Santiago, and featured some great steak and piscola. Here's a picture of Coté, his girlfriend, and me on our way back to my hostel:



I was also able to eventually get in touch with my Chilean host family. My mom, Pauline, and my younger brother, Luis Alberto, met me at their new apartment; unfortunately, my older brother, Pablo, was out of town:



My Chilean family treated me to a great traditional Chilean lunch consisting of eel soup and empanadas, then invited me to Starbucks (which, by the way, is located in a shopping center that also features an Apple store, and Crepes and Waffles, the restaurant that is so popular in Colombia). Needless to say, we had a great time.

And now I'm back in Salto, which, day by day, is feeling more and more like home.

That's largely because Liz, Holly, and I finally found a permanent residence, the Hostal del Jardín. As the name suggests, the hostel has a garden in the back, which, although small, is colorful and invites many hummingbirds during the warm hours of the day. I have a nice little room on the second floor, decorated with pictures of the Moulin Rouge and overlooking the garden, and am fortunate to have a refrigerator, a small desk, and a TV with around 50 channels (including HBO, MTV, and, of course, Cartoon Network). My favorite feature of the room is probably the large window, which is nice for inviting in the warm Salteño breeze. I enjoy living in a hostel, since the hostel setup and lifestyle allow me to meet travelers from different places, traveling to various destinations. In a way, it allows me to reach an equilibrium in the dilemma I described above; living in a hostel here allows me to find a sort of balance between cultural immersion and the adventure of backpacking.

Work at the public school is going very well. I am still considered an observer, but I am gradually developing lesson plans and projects for the five different grade levels. Specifically, I have been asked to teach the fifth graders about literature through fairy tales (an interesting coincidence since I am currently reading Nabokov, a teller of fairy tales in his own right). This project will likely take several weeks, and my hope is that it will culminate in a collection of illustrated stories written by the students, which future students will be able to read and base their own work on.

I have also been asked to give a presentation on Mongolia to the first through fifth graders in English, and to the sixth graders in Spanish (they have no training in English, unfortunately). I will probably give this presentation next week. The teachers at my school have fully embraced the importance of showing the children that they can create their own paths through life, based on their individual interests and passions. The hope is that introducing them to the Mongolians will exercise their imaginations and give them an idea of what possibilities are out there. And don't worry...I won't tell them about the mutton.

I am also toying with the idea of teaching several lessons on the diversity of US geography and culture, based on my very own motorcycle diaries. I haven't really shared this idea with my fellow teachers yet, but I'll let you know how that goes.

In addition to the public school, I have also begun work at the local university, aka the CERP. The CERP specifically trains its students to be teachers, and students can choose to study numerous disciplines. Of course, I work with the students who plan to teach English. I work with two of the leading English instructors, Ana Maria and Emita (oddly familial names), who both speak fluent English. In my opinion, they have more of a British accent than a Spanish one, even though both are native Uruguayans (Ana Maria has never studied English outside Uruguay).

My role in the CERP is basically two-fold. In the classroom, I act as a kind of assistant/classmate. I take part in the class activities with the students, but I also assist by answering any questions the teacher may have, and by serving as a second opinion on the ideas studied. Specifically, I have been attending classes on phonetics and "Language and Culture." The phonetics course consists of advanced students studying, to an impressive degree, the correct pronunciation of English words, and differences between British and American English. It isn't uncommon for me to get into a minor debate with a student over the correct pronunciation of a word (apparently their "pronunciation dictionaries" are British). In an attempt to make their English as proper as possible, I taught them the word "y'all," which may or may not have been a good idea. Anyway, in addition to debating and teaching Texanese, I have learned a lot in phonetics class. It is an interesting experience to be taught the technicalities behind the language one has always taken for granted. I have become conscious, for example, of the rhythm, flow, and cadence of the English language (and, as a counterpoint, to my lack of ability in recreating such qualities in Spanish). An interesting discussion last class centered on the "default vowels" in English and Spanish, which partially explains why English speakers "fill space" with "uh," and Spanish speakers with "eh."

In addition to attending classes, Liz, Holly, and I will be responsible for leading "Conversation Clubs," which are meant to allow both students and teachers to practice English while learning about US culture. I am hoping to use this opportunity to share such cultural treasures as "Sweet Home Alabama," Saturday Night Live, and Outkast. Yielding to the pressures of my conscience, I'm also planning to include lessons on Emerson, Allen Ginsberg, and Malcolm X.

I would really like to include some pictures of the CERP and public school, but I'm hesitant to bring the camera so early in the semester, before knowing the teachers and students well. I'll take some pictures eventually, though, and will be sure to post them here when I do.

I'd like to close by mentioning a friend who has been on my mind quite a bit lately. Evan, a classmate at Harvard and roommate in El Salvador (and, by the way, a different Evan than the one mentioned above), has spent the past few months in Officer Candidate School. His experiences have allowed me to reflect on the ideas of national pride and dedication, and have given me many opportunities to challenge myself. Evan recently graduated from OCS and is now a second lieutenant in the Marines. You can read more about his experiences, always colored by his characteristic humor, at his blog:
http://www.evanrjohnson.blogspot.com/

Thanks for reading, everyone! Check back soon for another update.

"semana santa" means vacation time

In Uruguay, the week leading up to Easter Sunday has traditionally been called "Semana Santa." Owing to modern Uruguay's secular nature, though, the week is now coined "Semana de Turismo," and features an exodus during which Uruguayans flock to surrounding hotspots--notably Buenos Aires and Southern Brazil. After working tediously for seven whole days, I was eager to put "Tourism Week" to good use. And that is why I am writing you from the paradise known as...Santiago (see pictures below--none of them are my own).





I actually love Santiago. When I tell Chileans that I am visiting their capital during my vacation, they give me a confused look and ask "Por qué?" Explaining to them that Santiago is the land of pisco and overflowing empanadas just doesn't cut it. Even with the option of traveling to Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires, Santiago really isn't a bad place to visit. Since arriving two days ago, I have visited several friends who I met while working here two years ago. I also visited my old workplace, a microfinance institution called Fondo Esperanza, and was happy to find that my former coworkers have quadrupled the size of the organization (they told me this expansion was made possible by my work...They like to make jokes here).

T.S. Eliot once wrote, "We shall not cease from exploration / and the end of all our exploring / will be to arrive where we started / and know the place for the first time." Although I won't go so far as to say I "know" Santiago, I must say that I see the city in a different light than I did while working here two years ago. For starters, my Spanish is much better, so I can easily communicate with the locals. When they ask me where I learned Spanish, I am pleased to tell them I learned here in Santiago. I notice things that have changed throughout the city--a monument erected in front of the bus station, a new sushi restaurant and Starbucks--and am able to share in the excitement the Chileans feel as they describe the changes taking place. I know what to expect here--I am accustomed to the Chilean accent and the fast pace of the city, so I actually feel at home here. Since I am still adjusting to Uruguay, this is a welcome feeling.

An observation that I will have to keep in mind as I live in Uruguay (briefly alluded to in an earlier post):
Today, while reflecting a bit, I recalled my perception of Santiago when I first arrived in June of 2005. Having returned from Mongolia only six months prior, I tended to involuntarily compare Chile to Mongolia, and to overlook those things that make Chile a uniquely beautiful country. Mentally, I was constantly in another place and time: dreaming of horseback riding along the steppe or walking with my host family through Ulaanbaatar. It wasn't until I had lived in Santiago for over a month that I began to recognize and appreciate Chile's uniqueness. Now it is all I see. In a way, I wish I had learned to "live in the moment" earlier that summer, and appreciated Chile and Santiago a bit more while I lived here.

Here are some photos of a couple of my favorite sites around Santiago. The first is a view of the avenue I walked along today:



This is a view of the Plaza de las Armas, which is very close to where I am staying:



To backtrack a bit, I actually haven't spent my entire Semana de Turismo in Santiago. I spent one day in Buenos Aires, visiting some prominent sites such as Recoleta Cemetary and Café Tortoni. Then I spent the weekend in the beautiful Chilean coastal city of Viña del Mar. The highlight of my time in Viña--a city I visited several times while in Chile in 2005, and which became one of my favorite sites in the country--was when I discovered a gorgeous beach just to the north of the city...a beach I never knew existed. I spent my last day in Viña there (the beach is called Reñaca), reading and writing in my journal. It was just the relaxing escape I needed, even if it did leave me with a mean sunburn. Here are some images of Reñaca:





I will be spending the next few days here in Santiago, then I will fly to Buenos Aires, where I will have another free day. From there, I will take a bus up to Salto. Once in Salto, I will post some of my own photos of my time here in Chile.

It's getting late here, and I should probably be leaving this hot and smoky internet cafe. I'll leave you with one more image of Santiago--the one I will see when I leave the café:



Good night.