breezy Saturdays and lomitos and beers

Chile was chillin brah.
Ef yah brah. like totally.

After a teary faced departure from Spencey Poo and Mama K in Concepción, I headed northish to Chillàn, a city not worth mentioning much, aside from an undulating Saturday market with howling veggie vendors and ancient prunes of women selling baskets and a bus terminal next door that would take me to the coastal towns of Cobquecura and Buchupureo that Spencer told me about. Whew. I should work on my run-ons. Two hours in a rickety minibus brought me to a beautiful wooded coast struck with chunks of slate.

But like a good and patriotic UnitedStatesean capitalist, I neglected to bring sufficient funds, expecting an ATM, and ended up stranded in said 1000-some person town with no bank but a two-year-old ATM that did not accept foreign debit or credit cards. I had enough money for a night of camping and fortunately had brought some for a day or two, but not enough to get by (comfortably at least). I met kids who had met kids, incredibly nice and curious Chilean kids, who ended up squeezing me into their already undersized tent and feeding me a few meals. I wove them bracelets and trenzas in exchange. When they left back home for Chillán via bus, I found myself on the side of the road with no food no money no place to stay and no choice but to stick my finger out and hope for the best. Hitching down here is easier and safer and after an hour I was being sped through mountain terrain back towards the next town of Querihue, 45 minutes away to look for an ATM that ended up being just as testy as the one in Cobquecura. Luckily the guy I received the ride from was a Buchupureano ex-pat living in Canada, building a house in his home town every summer. He brought me all the way back to Chillán, 2 hours, to the very bank he was headed, a bank with a very nice and willing ATM I might add, then to the bus terminal to catch a perfectly-timed bus back to Chillán, than another hitched ride to Cobquecura before nightfall.

The friends I crashed with knew the tourist info center employee, a local kid my age who I ended up befriending. He let me stash my goods while I hitched to Chillán. The night I got back his mom fed me dinner and coffee and we went out for a local`s tour of the town that actually ended up being more or less everything I had seen days before looking for a campsite. But the town is nonetheless perfectly quaint and South American in every way and the family´s hospitality was unending as was the list of Chilean slang Juan (aka Bonito, Pretty, to just about everyone in town) shared with me over beers. Turns out I can`t remember much besides a couple basics that Spencer had already taught me as well as the phrase for ¨giving a blow job¨, which is ¨darse una conferencia de prensa¨, or to give a press conference.

After taking too much sun with a wild sea otter who even let me pet him and after too much bread and canned tuna (except for some clam and crab and cheese empanadas I splurged on once), I decided to head back home on a relatively uneventuful 20 hours bus and terminal session (my legs did swell up again though) to a farm renewed and bustling with at least 8 volunteers. The alternative construction is speeding up and the tomato plants have pretty green tomatoes. Lettuces, beets, and a bunch of other plants are ready for seed saving and replanting. Things are good there. Sancho Panza was fed a lot and gained weight. He´s even cuter and things are good.

This morning (since we now have Saturdays off) I received many crotches in my face and bums on my back. A new volunteer taught us acrobatics. Turns out I´m a pretty good base and had a 6 foot 5 or so Scot on by back for a while. Sounds a lot sexier than it actually was. Surely nothing like giving a press conference--I mean--er, listening to one?

ops

It has come to me attention you guys can`t get into the photo site. Or maybe you can. But my sister can`t. So the username is as before, RinconMadreTierra. Guest password is ¨farming¨.

So check out how cute farm animals and farm kids are.

new photos

These photos and the newly updated photos on www.dropshots.com are courtesy of Ryan of Canadia and Christine of Michigan. (RinconMadreTierra, organic)


Patch here, bi/tri-weekly transmission currently being transmitted from Concepcion de Chile in the cute room Spencer has lived in for the past I don´t know how long. He´s asleep on the bed next to me with Mama K nestled quietly under his arm. His feet can be smelled from over here and speaking of feet, mine are swollen and look like elephant feet. I´m known for my cankles but man if you could see them now. My whole leg from my calf on down is swollen. Both of em.

The three of us spent some time on a tourist-swept beach in La Serena. Camping was expensive in compared to the rest of South America ($6US compared to $1 or 2US) but we had running water, a barbecue space and a picnic table. Nights were passed with plenty of pisco and choripan, so I was plenty pleased. Throw in beers on the beach with babes in bikinis and vacation really starts to feel like vacation.

Three or four horrible movies later we´re here, planning to go to Spencer´s host family´s campo house later on. They leave Friday and from there I have another week or two to roam around. And although I would like more beach, the prices here are killing me and I might make my way back into Argentina.

Do not see: Evan Almighty, The Condemned, the new Robin Williams movie with that one singer and the guy from the American Office about getting married and ish. These movies are not good.

Meanwhile, pick up What is the What by Dave Eggers. I wasn´t crazy about his other books but this one is worth reading.

A little over a month and ma and pops come to visit me. I really can´t wait. That sentence looks pretty boring and does not convey the excitement that I really do have inside. But I don´t like exclamation points much and therefore dont use em. You´ll just have to believe me.

Over and out.

Unwilling to be that guy who didn´t wear a costume to the New Year´s costume party (you know the type) I broke down, made an index card eye patch and tied a bandana round my head. It was tough and I left without looking in the mirror. I could not bare to see myself dressed as such.

You see, I hate pirates. Hate is a strong word, I know, but there is nothing redeeming about pirates. I like stink, I like booze, I like ocean and although I´ve never touched them, I imagine gold doubloons and shillings and what have you are pretty neat too. But in excess, these things result in a ridiculous Hollywood craze over a historical personage no one has ever liked but suddenly do now, ridiculously so, just because of a certain actor whom I cannot truthfully deny liking as well. But come on, if Johnny Depp starred in a ninja movie everyone would think ninjas are the dopest shit ever. But he hasn´t and they are apparently not. Remember how cool persons with mental disabilities were after Benny and Joon came out?

Moral of the story is I swallowed my pride and wore the costume because I had no other option besides a woman, and those who have known me for some time would probably agree that I´ve ended up in a few too many skirts than should be considered healthy and sane. The saving grace was that I perched Sancho Panza upon my shoulders to be my parrot (Oh and that´s another thing. Parrots are not cool at all). He peed on me but I´m quickly getting used to that.
Of course, fate or perhaps Capt´n Silver himself had it that no one else got the memo and I show up on the other farm the only one shod for the occasion. Azucena and the other volunteer brought their costumes to ¨change into¨and the other volunteers were getting dressed to go to a disco down the street. I knew the idea of dressing up on New Year´s was off. And that the fact the others ¨brought¨ their costumes as well. But the food was great as it always is at Peregrino and the neighbors shot plenty of fireworks.

If I had a ninja costume it would have been better.

And yes, there is a disco dance club in the middle of farmland, Argentina. All Argentines, no matter where they are, insist upon at least one boliche a week.

I´m in the Santiago de Chile bus terminal waiting for passage to La Serena tonight. I arrive up there at 6am and plan on finding a sandy beach to greet the sun on.

Today comin over the mountain (when we come) we passed a couple thousand meters below Aconcagua, the highest elevation in the Americas. It looked skinny, undaunting and mostly naked and I felt big; big not just in a physical way but some other way I´d rather not start digging into right now with stinging eyes and a cacaphony of beeping computers, blinking arcade games, horrible 90s music from the US, the hungry gases in my stomach and the resevoir of pee expanding my bladder.

There´s a tarta galicia with my name on it somewhere around here.