At 2 a.m. Friday morning, I flew over 6,400 miles (or 13.3 hours) from Buenos Aires, Argentina to Auckland, New Zealand. The plane landed at 7:30 a.m. Saturday, New Zealand time. Here they are one hour ahead of Argentina and 17 hours ahead of Ohio.
Katie and I were delayed through the airport and security a bit because our luggage was late and every ounce of dirt, produce or other transportable piece of nature must be expunged of your person before you are permitted to enter the country. The good news was they cleaned our muddly sandles and tent.
I became high on NZ the minute my feet stepped out of the airport and the rain struck my face. In the distance were lush greenery and foggy mountains. There wasn't a high rise to be seen. I no longer felt the handicap of not speaking the local language, and I reveled in the accented English all around me (New Zealanders sound very similar to Australians). I fancied everyone was on his or her way to trek through one of the hundreds of bush walks, climb to the crater of a volcano or bike home, regardless of the rain and luggage.
I felt like myself and all other passengers of flight AR 1182 had arrived just in time witness the shedding of winter and the awakening of spring.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Few Argentinean Specialties
Sebastian picked Katie and me up today in the General Rodriguez square. It is Sunday, a light work day in the community, so it’s a reasonable day to escape our normal duties.
Time froze as we sped down the highway, windows down, cool air blowing my hair across my shaded eyes. My outstretched arm glowed from the sunlight (I’m pale again…lost all my hard earned Ohio tan), and sliced through the air at 110 km/hr. Three youths, tasting the sweetness of freedom on an open road.
Sebastian played traditional Argentinean folk music, a perfect backdrop to our culturally exploratory afternoon. We visited the Lujan (spelling?) Basillical, a beautiful Catholic church over run by tourists and infested with vendors. Then after a short stroll over the river Sebastian treated Katie and me to a traditional Sunday meal, a large platter of sizzling beef and cow inards, fried steak and salad. They aren’t the healthiest eaters I’ve ever met. Katie, who eats vegetarian as much as possible looked like someone had asked her to lick the bathroom floor. The sausage grizzle, popped when Sebastian sliced it into three chunks. It’s really stuffed with a pish-posh of cow parts and blood. Can I have seconds?? I regret to confess that I liked many of the other parts including brain and liver. Katie was a champ and sampled each item in turn – after all when you are in Argentina, a country that eats more meat than any other, it’s difficult for even the strongest vegetarian to pass up a good blood-stuffed intestine.
Time froze as we sped down the highway, windows down, cool air blowing my hair across my shaded eyes. My outstretched arm glowed from the sunlight (I’m pale again…lost all my hard earned Ohio tan), and sliced through the air at 110 km/hr. Three youths, tasting the sweetness of freedom on an open road.
Sebastian played traditional Argentinean folk music, a perfect backdrop to our culturally exploratory afternoon. We visited the Lujan (spelling?) Basillical, a beautiful Catholic church over run by tourists and infested with vendors. Then after a short stroll over the river Sebastian treated Katie and me to a traditional Sunday meal, a large platter of sizzling beef and cow inards, fried steak and salad. They aren’t the healthiest eaters I’ve ever met. Katie, who eats vegetarian as much as possible looked like someone had asked her to lick the bathroom floor. The sausage grizzle, popped when Sebastian sliced it into three chunks. It’s really stuffed with a pish-posh of cow parts and blood. Can I have seconds?? I regret to confess that I liked many of the other parts including brain and liver. Katie was a champ and sampled each item in turn – after all when you are in Argentina, a country that eats more meat than any other, it’s difficult for even the strongest vegetarian to pass up a good blood-stuffed intestine.
The Last Day in Argentina
Wednesday Katie and I left the Twelve Tribes Community and returned to the Capital Federal, Buenos Aires. We need to be at the airport around 11:30 p.m. for our 2 a.m. flight to New Zealand, so we decided to stay a night in a hostel, enjoy the city, take our dear Argentinean friend, Sebastian, out to dinner, and prepare for the next leg of our adventure.
It was a wonderful last day. I really fell in love with Buenos Aires.
At first glance the city was not much different than other big cities I’ve visited -- Bumper to bumper traffic, overlapping horn honking, swarms of people on the sidewalks, homeless begging for money, street vendors selling magazines and junk food, and construction and flyers decorating every block. But then today I started to discover this city’s gems.
There is a tango studio one block from the Portul del Sol hostel where I’m staying that charges 15 pesos (or about $4) for three hours of lessons, down the street are gorgeous, crumbling cathedrals and parks where the roots cover an entire street corner. I walked through two areas – Palermo and Santelmo – that won my favor, with their cobble stone streets, ivy adorned buildings, sidewalk cafés, artwork and narrow alley way streets. These areas have been more heavily influenced by Europe than the newer sections of the city. Gazel-like women, wearing skinny pants, boots and black jackets walked through intersections, unfazed by the speeding taxis, groups of men held philosophical conversations, or so I imagined since I can’t eavesdrop on Spanish, over tiny cups of cappuccino. This place is intrinsically exotic with it’s layers of culture and influence. I’m happy the city decided to put her best foot forward tonight. My mind is already overly romanticising this place.
It was a wonderful last day. I really fell in love with Buenos Aires.
At first glance the city was not much different than other big cities I’ve visited -- Bumper to bumper traffic, overlapping horn honking, swarms of people on the sidewalks, homeless begging for money, street vendors selling magazines and junk food, and construction and flyers decorating every block. But then today I started to discover this city’s gems.
There is a tango studio one block from the Portul del Sol hostel where I’m staying that charges 15 pesos (or about $4) for three hours of lessons, down the street are gorgeous, crumbling cathedrals and parks where the roots cover an entire street corner. I walked through two areas – Palermo and Santelmo – that won my favor, with their cobble stone streets, ivy adorned buildings, sidewalk cafés, artwork and narrow alley way streets. These areas have been more heavily influenced by Europe than the newer sections of the city. Gazel-like women, wearing skinny pants, boots and black jackets walked through intersections, unfazed by the speeding taxis, groups of men held philosophical conversations, or so I imagined since I can’t eavesdrop on Spanish, over tiny cups of cappuccino. This place is intrinsically exotic with it’s layers of culture and influence. I’m happy the city decided to put her best foot forward tonight. My mind is already overly romanticising this place.
Toilet Paper
Last night I had a dream, or nightmare, that the toilet was clogged with toilet paper and the trash can with overflowing with a huge pile of the used tissue. The paper covered the floor and I stood in the middle of the mess, horror-struck and confined to the small space.
Here in Argentina they don’t flush the used toilet paper. Instead, after wiping, they throw it in the trash can. This has been a difficult concept for me to grasp. I suppose after 21 years of practice, I’m very good as flushing the toilet paper without much thought.
Here in Argentina they don’t flush the used toilet paper. Instead, after wiping, they throw it in the trash can. This has been a difficult concept for me to grasp. I suppose after 21 years of practice, I’m very good as flushing the toilet paper without much thought.
"Working" in the Bakery
Friday, Katie and I worked in the Bakery, which is in a newly acquired property in town (General Rodriquez). The entire house is nearly unliveable with gutted rooms, construction and carpentry equipment about, yet in the midst of all the chaos behind to double doors rests the community’s bakery.
The bakery produces one of the community’s main exports (baked goods) and supplies staple foods for the members’ enjoyment. Out of the baker’s oven come the most wholesome, nutritious and delicious breads. Loaves sprinkled with seeds, raisins, whole grains and honey. The Baker, Shi (for short), has over ten years of experience and can tell the temperature of the dough by working it through his fingers.
Inside the bakery it’s warm, regardless of the cold, wet conditions outside. Flour rises from the center of table as dough is kneaded, cut, rolled and placed on a tray for baking. The yeast that is poured into the mixer smells slightly sour and bubbles. Shi knows how much of each ingredient to add without measuring cups.
All day Katie and I are the lucky recipients of sample after sample of breads.
The bakery produces one of the community’s main exports (baked goods) and supplies staple foods for the members’ enjoyment. Out of the baker’s oven come the most wholesome, nutritious and delicious breads. Loaves sprinkled with seeds, raisins, whole grains and honey. The Baker, Shi (for short), has over ten years of experience and can tell the temperature of the dough by working it through his fingers.
Inside the bakery it’s warm, regardless of the cold, wet conditions outside. Flour rises from the center of table as dough is kneaded, cut, rolled and placed on a tray for baking. The yeast that is poured into the mixer smells slightly sour and bubbles. Shi knows how much of each ingredient to add without measuring cups.
All day Katie and I are the lucky recipients of sample after sample of breads.
A Few Final Words and Thoughts on the Community
At first I was resistant to the community’s lifestyle, but now I feel a fondness for this shared life. Like a fondness I would feel for a beloved cousin whose shoes I would never want to walk a mile in. I respect and admire the beautiful spirit in this oasis from the world and I see how God has brought salvation, renewal and joy to all the members. My admiration and their persistent confirmation that this is the only way to devote one’s life to God, however, did not convince me that this could be a permanent location for me.
I, too, desire the comfort of a large family, but here the family is not related by blood but by their devotion to a common vision. In both “families” unconditional love abounds, but I prefer to not dwell in the same grounds with my loved ones all day, everyday. Often I appreciate my family the most after a decent amount of time away from them- unconditional love is the easiest to take for granted. I also enjoy spending time alone and in a home where every bedroom and common space is the sanctuary for 50 other people, it’s hard to find solitude.
Here they are all artists of humility and all their toiling is out of respect and love for Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). They, as do most Protestants, believe that the root of man’s fall stemmed from pride (Eve desired Godlike wisdom and understanding and therefore ate of the forbidden fruit that has since allowed sin to enter the world and separated us from a perfect union with God). They lovingly critique one another’s character and actions and the receiver of this criticism humbly accepts the admonishment with the intent of eradicating the flaw.
It’s been an honor to live and learn with these people. Their hospitality has been overwhelming. It was not uncommon to find loving notes left on my bed or a couple extra cookies to be passed my way after lunch – I was the envy of all the children. They never lost patience with my lack of Spanish abilities and sent me on my way with hugs and tearful goodbyes. I will cherish the memories I made here.
I, too, desire the comfort of a large family, but here the family is not related by blood but by their devotion to a common vision. In both “families” unconditional love abounds, but I prefer to not dwell in the same grounds with my loved ones all day, everyday. Often I appreciate my family the most after a decent amount of time away from them- unconditional love is the easiest to take for granted. I also enjoy spending time alone and in a home where every bedroom and common space is the sanctuary for 50 other people, it’s hard to find solitude.
Here they are all artists of humility and all their toiling is out of respect and love for Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). They, as do most Protestants, believe that the root of man’s fall stemmed from pride (Eve desired Godlike wisdom and understanding and therefore ate of the forbidden fruit that has since allowed sin to enter the world and separated us from a perfect union with God). They lovingly critique one another’s character and actions and the receiver of this criticism humbly accepts the admonishment with the intent of eradicating the flaw.
It’s been an honor to live and learn with these people. Their hospitality has been overwhelming. It was not uncommon to find loving notes left on my bed or a couple extra cookies to be passed my way after lunch – I was the envy of all the children. They never lost patience with my lack of Spanish abilities and sent me on my way with hugs and tearful goodbyes. I will cherish the memories I made here.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Recipes: Calcium supplement
Calcium supplement:
Soak one whole egg in lemon juice for 24 to 48 hours, until the liquid becomes a milky white color. The lemon juice extracts the calcium from the egg´s shell. Drink one tbsp per day.
Soak one whole egg in lemon juice for 24 to 48 hours, until the liquid becomes a milky white color. The lemon juice extracts the calcium from the egg´s shell. Drink one tbsp per day.
Recipes: Viny
Viny- a drink that benefits the immune and digestive system
Mix apple cider vinegar, honey and water together and drink as frequently as possible. Here in the communtiy they try to have a glass a day. More or less honey and water can be added to achieve a palatable flavor. I happen to love the tart vinageryness.
Mix apple cider vinegar, honey and water together and drink as frequently as possible. Here in the communtiy they try to have a glass a day. More or less honey and water can be added to achieve a palatable flavor. I happen to love the tart vinageryness.
The Water Bottle Makes a Splash
Katie´s water bottle has become a spectacle here in the community. She has a sticker attached that says ¨God´s original plan was to hang out in a garden with a bunch of naked vegetarians.¨ In this conservative, meat-eating community the sticker causes such alarm that upon reading it most members look whistfully toward the sky...maybe praying for our souls. I think the humor in the message is lost in translation.
A Day in the Life of the Tribe
The day opens at 6 a.m. to the sound of singing (in Spanish of course) outside the room I share with three other single ladies in the community -- plus Katie. After a brief song, accompanied by instruments, a woman says ¨Buenos dias mis hermanas,¨and to confirm that we are awake each of us slumbering beauties must reply ¨Buenos dias.¨ The early hour finds me resistant to the day´s work ahead, and I find the joyful singing a bit irritating. We have an hour to prepare ourselves before the minha, where the community members sing, dance and share what God is teaching them, then it´s breakfast, a plate of rice, hardboiled eggs and coleslaw, then it´s off to work.
Katie and work in the gardens with a few men digging roots from a field that was recently deforested. With a few English words and mime-like gestures the men inquire about the first 13 colonies in America, and the similarities between our motherland´s foundation and Argentina´s. I don´t think I could answer that question in English let alone in Broken Spanglish, but somehow I muster out an answer that either surfices -- or at least it exhausts my entire Spanish vocabulary and the men´t patience.
We break for lunch from 12:45 to 2:30, salad, rice and beans, then back to the roots for more digging. We break for a snack, yogurt and granola, and finish the days work at 5:45, just in time for another round of preparation and minha. We eat a healthy organic dinner of salad, soup and bread, then I collapse in bed by 9 p.m.
The day´s schedule leaves little room for free time.
Katie and work in the gardens with a few men digging roots from a field that was recently deforested. With a few English words and mime-like gestures the men inquire about the first 13 colonies in America, and the similarities between our motherland´s foundation and Argentina´s. I don´t think I could answer that question in English let alone in Broken Spanglish, but somehow I muster out an answer that either surfices -- or at least it exhausts my entire Spanish vocabulary and the men´t patience.
We break for lunch from 12:45 to 2:30, salad, rice and beans, then back to the roots for more digging. We break for a snack, yogurt and granola, and finish the days work at 5:45, just in time for another round of preparation and minha. We eat a healthy organic dinner of salad, soup and bread, then I collapse in bed by 9 p.m.
The day´s schedule leaves little room for free time.
Community Clothes
It has been colder than I´d expected, but I´m being provided for. The conservative clothing worn by the women in the community is more winter weather worthy than the scandalous shorts and tank tops I packed. My roommate, translator and friend, Hannah, who is from Chili, gave me a selection of her clothes to wear for the various community activities including work and minha, which is a meeting the community has every morning and evening for worship and sharing what God has laid on the members´heart. I look rediculous in my new attire, but that is part of this experience.
The women attempt to conceal their figure under layers of baggie garments. Mostly I wear XXXL pants that are tight at the ankles but so baggy it almost looks like I´m wearing a skirt. The shirts are all at least three-fourths sleeves and usually coverd by a long loose vest that falls between my butt and knees. The clothes were convenient for the extra pounds I´ve packed on while living with the community because of the wonderful fresh breads and cookies that are constantly being transported from their home bakery to my mouth.
The women attempt to conceal their figure under layers of baggie garments. Mostly I wear XXXL pants that are tight at the ankles but so baggy it almost looks like I´m wearing a skirt. The shirts are all at least three-fourths sleeves and usually coverd by a long loose vest that falls between my butt and knees. The clothes were convenient for the extra pounds I´ve packed on while living with the community because of the wonderful fresh breads and cookies that are constantly being transported from their home bakery to my mouth.
The Twelve Tribes Community-Argentina
At 2 p.m. Sunday afternoon Katie and I are desperatly trying to convince a bus driver that we have absolutely no idea what he is talking about, but we need to get to General Rodriguez. He believes if he yells at us in Spanish then we will miraculously understand...not so. We are frustrated to tears when a young man sitting in the front row explains that we are infact on the right bus, but we need to pay in coins, not bills. And so our hour and a half trip to the Twelve Tribes Community starts...
The bus coughs us up on the edge of General Rodriquez, a typical small city in Argentina, that doesn´t expect many tourists. Here kids walk to and from school, and men can be seen delivering produce from the backs of horse-drawn carts. Stray dogs loom the streets and with some cardboard and duct tape old cars are beaten down the road by sullen looking passengers.
My 35 lbs backpack, which starting ripping from the moment my mom put it in the trunk, is supported on my back by a prayer, a couple bungie cords and two very tired shoulders. Katie and I start walking toward town and thanks to the kindness of another stranger, found a small taxi service(la remis).
When a taxi driver has never heard of the address you give him there may be reason to worry.
One and a half miles from the center of town, down muddy roads, and past multipe homes that appeared to lack any modern convenience including electricity, I was nearly clawing my way out of the taxi to make a run for the bus stop to take me back to the hostel. But we pulled up to a large yellow, ranch-style home, identified the address and were recieved with open arms.
We were ushered into the courtyard (everyone fences in their property with gates and-or shrubbery) by a couple and introduced to the 50 person family also known as the Twelve Tribes Community´s Issacar Tribe (spellig?).
The communities are dispersed internationaly and founded on the Biblical belief that Jacob´s twelve sons established the tribes that will reign in the years of Jesus´return. The tribes happily welcome anyone who wants to live in the community and devote his or her life to Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). Here there are many family and singles all sharing a life together.
Katie and I found this place in our Argentina wwoof book, so our job will be to help in organic gardens. The community has an organic garden, bakery and is building a cafe.
The bus coughs us up on the edge of General Rodriquez, a typical small city in Argentina, that doesn´t expect many tourists. Here kids walk to and from school, and men can be seen delivering produce from the backs of horse-drawn carts. Stray dogs loom the streets and with some cardboard and duct tape old cars are beaten down the road by sullen looking passengers.
My 35 lbs backpack, which starting ripping from the moment my mom put it in the trunk, is supported on my back by a prayer, a couple bungie cords and two very tired shoulders. Katie and I start walking toward town and thanks to the kindness of another stranger, found a small taxi service(la remis).
When a taxi driver has never heard of the address you give him there may be reason to worry.
One and a half miles from the center of town, down muddy roads, and past multipe homes that appeared to lack any modern convenience including electricity, I was nearly clawing my way out of the taxi to make a run for the bus stop to take me back to the hostel. But we pulled up to a large yellow, ranch-style home, identified the address and were recieved with open arms.
We were ushered into the courtyard (everyone fences in their property with gates and-or shrubbery) by a couple and introduced to the 50 person family also known as the Twelve Tribes Community´s Issacar Tribe (spellig?).
The communities are dispersed internationaly and founded on the Biblical belief that Jacob´s twelve sons established the tribes that will reign in the years of Jesus´return. The tribes happily welcome anyone who wants to live in the community and devote his or her life to Yashua (Jesus in Hebrew). Here there are many family and singles all sharing a life together.
Katie and I found this place in our Argentina wwoof book, so our job will be to help in organic gardens. The community has an organic garden, bakery and is building a cafe.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Dulce leche y matte
At 3 a.m. I'm leading an amateur yoga and meditation class for Katie, Sebastian and Ramon in Sebastian's family's home. The original plan was to have pizza and meet up with Sebastian's and Ramon's friends at a local pub, but stricken with exhaustion from a long day of exploring the city and extensive Argentinean history lessons from Sebastian we have decided to abstain from further excitement. So, we decided to exchange relaxation techniques. I first lead the group through a modified vinyasa yoga flow and Sebastian teaches us a breathing exercise.
When Katie and I first arrived in the hostel, tired from our travels and concerned about our spanish inability, Sebastian befriended us. He is 23, studies tourism at the university and works part time in the Milhouse hostel selling travel packages. He is of medium build with short brown hair, and scruffy facial hair. Dressed in his wool sweater and black plastic rimmed glasses he looks like he could fit in on any college campus along the east coast of the U.S. He speaks almost perfect English and enjoys similar activities to Katie and me. You could say that wee are all kindred spirits who were destined to meet.
So over matte tea, which tastes like very strong green tea and is drunk out of a cup and straw, Sebastian generously offered to be our personal tour guide. He and his friend Ramon, who is stark contrast to Sebastian is tall, lanky and athletic with black curly hair and a shy demeanor, picked Katie and me up yesterday in Ramon's car.
We had a wonderful afternoon walking through a park in Palermo, an area in Buenos Aires, drinking matte tea, eating roasted peanuts, and exchanging vocabulary lessons. Then the boys drove us to a cafe in Tigre Delta where we sipped tea, cappacinos, and had our first dulce leche, which is a creamy caramel spread that you put on toasted bread with butter. The four of us watched the sun set over the river, enjoying conversation about politics, history and the current state of affairs in Argentina *Sebastian will make a wonderful professor one day. After our three hour tea time, we traveled to Sebastian's where we had pizza, met his family and ended our evening praticing yoga.
Sebastian's mother invited us to the family's barbeque and can't imagine a family I would rather spend a Sunday afternoon with in Argentina.
When Katie and I first arrived in the hostel, tired from our travels and concerned about our spanish inability, Sebastian befriended us. He is 23, studies tourism at the university and works part time in the Milhouse hostel selling travel packages. He is of medium build with short brown hair, and scruffy facial hair. Dressed in his wool sweater and black plastic rimmed glasses he looks like he could fit in on any college campus along the east coast of the U.S. He speaks almost perfect English and enjoys similar activities to Katie and me. You could say that wee are all kindred spirits who were destined to meet.
So over matte tea, which tastes like very strong green tea and is drunk out of a cup and straw, Sebastian generously offered to be our personal tour guide. He and his friend Ramon, who is stark contrast to Sebastian is tall, lanky and athletic with black curly hair and a shy demeanor, picked Katie and me up yesterday in Ramon's car.
We had a wonderful afternoon walking through a park in Palermo, an area in Buenos Aires, drinking matte tea, eating roasted peanuts, and exchanging vocabulary lessons. Then the boys drove us to a cafe in Tigre Delta where we sipped tea, cappacinos, and had our first dulce leche, which is a creamy caramel spread that you put on toasted bread with butter. The four of us watched the sun set over the river, enjoying conversation about politics, history and the current state of affairs in Argentina *Sebastian will make a wonderful professor one day. After our three hour tea time, we traveled to Sebastian's where we had pizza, met his family and ended our evening praticing yoga.
Sebastian's mother invited us to the family's barbeque and can't imagine a family I would rather spend a Sunday afternoon with in Argentina.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Buenos Dias Argentina
It's 7 a.m. and Katie and I are freezing. We have been waiting for a bus for over an hour and our summer garb is not sufficient against the chilling 50 degree air. We've been waiting at this bus stop outside the Aerolineas International Airport, waiting for bus 86 to take us to down town. Unfortunately we wrongly predicted there would be a greater prevalence of English speakers whom we could call on for assistance. We have run into no such person. There is a group of Argentinians waiting near us, obviously curious about our business there, but since we don't have a clue what they are saying we ignore them. We learned about bus 86 in a guidebook we read in the West Chester, Ohio public library. Too bad we didn't bother to look when the book was published.
Not too long after we decided we would take the next bus everyone else boarded a group of airline employees arrived and they directed us to take bus line, which included bus 86. We meandered through street lined with white cement homes with clay tile roofs. Little attention is paid to street line, most are non existent or severely faded, and cabbies and men on motorcycles weave in and out of traffic. I can't believe our bus hasn't wiped out half the motorcycle drivers in town.
With assistance from one other 'English' speaker...'I know 'hello' and 'goodbye' he said, we made it to a Millhouse Hostel.
So now the we have walked the area, taken the subway and made friends who took us to an amazing dinner in an area known as Palerma. We tasted the beef and wine Argentina is famous for.. for good reason! And we've planned a trip to Tigre Delta for tomorrow. Overall Argentina is wonderful. It has a strong European influence, but Sunday when we WWOOF in the organic Christian community we are staying with for two weeks I hope we see a different side of the country.
Katie and I are exhausted and opting out of the night life scene...not enough energy or money to explore bars.
Not too long after we decided we would take the next bus everyone else boarded a group of airline employees arrived and they directed us to take bus line, which included bus 86. We meandered through street lined with white cement homes with clay tile roofs. Little attention is paid to street line, most are non existent or severely faded, and cabbies and men on motorcycles weave in and out of traffic. I can't believe our bus hasn't wiped out half the motorcycle drivers in town.
With assistance from one other 'English' speaker...'I know 'hello' and 'goodbye' he said, we made it to a Millhouse Hostel.
So now the we have walked the area, taken the subway and made friends who took us to an amazing dinner in an area known as Palerma. We tasted the beef and wine Argentina is famous for.. for good reason! And we've planned a trip to Tigre Delta for tomorrow. Overall Argentina is wonderful. It has a strong European influence, but Sunday when we WWOOF in the organic Christian community we are staying with for two weeks I hope we see a different side of the country.
Katie and I are exhausted and opting out of the night life scene...not enough energy or money to explore bars.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Farewell America
I leave this country and the comforts of home in 19 hours. This trip has been a dream of mine for so long now, it doesn’t seem real. The hours spent planning, researching and purchasing are all a dress rehearsal for the main event. And ready or not the curtain will go up at 11:25 a.m. when I depart from the Columbus airport.
Thanks in large part to my ambitious grandmother I’ve finished all my errands (picking up a the Lonely Planet’s Southeast Asia on a Shoestring Guidebook, going to the bank, repairing a watch, buying a flight from Nepal to Egypt, checking my email…the list never ends) and best of all I’m packed. The hiking backpack previously slouched on the floor is now upright and packed to the brim including my sleeping bag and yoga mat bungied to the top.
So at least if it doesn’t feel like I’m ready for the part. I look it!
Here is the most recent itinerary:
Leave September 10 to Miami, Fl then from Miami to Buenos Aires, Argentina
September 11-25, Argentina
September 25 – January, New Zealand
January-February 18th, Australia
February 18th-beginning of April, SE ASIA including Malaysia, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos and Vietnam
April 7 - ?, India
May, Nepal
June 2- ?, Egypt
Late June, Greece
Mid July, Spain
August, Morocco
Early September, Spain – London –Home
I included the dates to and from the places I have tickets for. Some tickets will be purchased on the road and some boarders will be crossed on land so there isn’t an exact arrival/departure date yet.
I hope you all will continue on this journey with me!
-Jeanna
Thanks in large part to my ambitious grandmother I’ve finished all my errands (picking up a the Lonely Planet’s Southeast Asia on a Shoestring Guidebook, going to the bank, repairing a watch, buying a flight from Nepal to Egypt, checking my email…the list never ends) and best of all I’m packed. The hiking backpack previously slouched on the floor is now upright and packed to the brim including my sleeping bag and yoga mat bungied to the top.
So at least if it doesn’t feel like I’m ready for the part. I look it!
Here is the most recent itinerary:
Leave September 10 to Miami, Fl then from Miami to Buenos Aires, Argentina
September 11-25, Argentina
September 25 – January, New Zealand
January-February 18th, Australia
February 18th-beginning of April, SE ASIA including Malaysia, Cambodia, Thailand, Laos and Vietnam
April 7 - ?, India
May, Nepal
June 2- ?, Egypt
Late June, Greece
Mid July, Spain
August, Morocco
Early September, Spain – London –Home
I included the dates to and from the places I have tickets for. Some tickets will be purchased on the road and some boarders will be crossed on land so there isn’t an exact arrival/departure date yet.
I hope you all will continue on this journey with me!
-Jeanna
Finaly the Fear Sets In
Here’s a secret I’ve been keeping to and from myself. I’m scared. There is good reason to be. I don’t know any of the languages of the places I’m visiting, nor do I have any transportation plans other than a plane ticket to most of the destinations (I say most because a few of the tickets Katie and I are purchasing on the road). I read about the political and economic structures of each country back in April but my memory retention stinks. So, what do I have going for me in the recipe for disaster? Well, I trust God to take care of me, and I have a lot of faith in humanity. Plus if push comes to shove I have an amazing family who would pay for my ticket home.
Poor Packing Practices
My bag sits on the floor, drooping over the surrounding piles of clothes and toiletries yet to be packed. This gray and yellow bag, a large internal frame hiking backpack that I bought off ebay for $40, will my transport my possessions for the next year. It will be my 35lb burden and constant companion. The bag has been resting on my floor for a week now. Cut free the plastic and tape in which it arrived, but I have procrastinated actually packing it. I dread sorting through the stock of half used bottles of lotions and expired sunscreens I’ve acquired, so I round them all up as I come across them, throw them by the backpack and promise to organize them later. (Later usually comes the night before I leave…a habit I will probably break only after this routine backfires and I forget some important personal item. Fortunately there have been no real catastrophes yet.) It would be easier to run to the store – or turn on my computer – and buy all new items. The travel pack of shampoo and conditioner and the super absorbent towels all sound appealing, but the price does not. Planning a trip on a shoestring budget does not afford itself to material possession overhaul. So, I will bite the bullet so to speak and use the perfectly good, perfectly old, things I already have, and eventually they will be packed up neatly in my bag. I just hope I get a few hours of sleep between packing and boarding the plane.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
View from the Farm
For nearly four months (June to September) I worked at Gravel Knolls Organic Farm owned by Jim and Linda Rosselot. Below are photos taken by Katie Pagenstecher of the farm, the campsite where Katie and I lived and the Saturday farmer's market.
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