subiendo el sur

dudes broes pals, dudettes hoes n gals,

We be in the Comodora Rivadavia waiting for a bus to Rio Gallegos, where we bus and ferry down to the southernmost city in de world. But we´re mostly here for the petroleum museum, that is, if it´s free. YPF owns most of de land down here, but we hear there´s an ocean to be seen so we´ll do that too.

Brux puked last night on de bus, no he was not drunk just a stomach flu thing, wish (or not) that Robin Eleanor and I could say the same, as we do not remember finishing that dang third box of wine. Can´t blame us; they played the movie adaptation of GhostRider with the volume too too pumped up. Pump up the valuum please.

Sancho is fattening up for the cold lurking ahead. We´re discussing the possibility of fitting and knitting him a sweater. Everyone we meet tells us of how crazy we are, of how frio it already is down there.

Well, we´d like to see fer ourselves.

In other bodily news, my mustache will now stay in a smart curl on each end if I use enough earwax n spit, thus saving me money on Qtips, which I never bought anyway, but hey, the possibility is enough to tickle my empty wallet. Regardless it´s putting beard trimming thoughts into me head, you know, to accentuate the mustache since it´s still not that long, but they´re thoughts that startle me, I´ve grown quite fond of it you see. Maybe a little touch up on de sides. A Jesus Cristo beard like Shawn´s. Shawn do you read this? Is your named spelled Sean?

That sed, I must go venture out into the bustling late morning city to build up more wax in de ears for future mustache curling.

Catch you in the fiery lands of the south.

Man oh man. What a month.

Ma and Pops came down for some farmin and backpackin. After a few days in Tunuyan, we hightailed down to San Martin de los Andes, Bariloche, and El Bolson, then back up for another few in Tunuyan and Manzano Historico. Turns out travelling with your folks ain´t so bad afterall. They both ditched their cases and lived for nearly two weeks out of small daypacks. Of course, I had the larger pack with quite a few larger essentials of their´s (shoes, warm jackets, make-up (Mom´s of course; despite various circulating rumors the Colonel does not, in fact, wear make-up)) but regardless they did well. More than well. Above all they treated me to such Patagonian regional delights as trout, wild boar, sheep and deer, plus microbrewed brews and much wine. Throw in warm showers, cute hosterias and fancy buses, and all possible complaints get thrown out with the cans of tuna and shitty hostels.

Note to other young, supposedly broken-free and liberated South American traveller: it ain´t so bad inviting your parents down for a short visit.

Next stop was the Andes. 4300 meters up in the Andes, complete with snow, howling winds and a touch of altitude sickness and/or a bug from an undercooked asado. Speaking of which, when embarking on multi-day treks in mountains, always invite at least one Argentine. All mountains bound Argentines come with mules, horses, meat and wine. Not a bad way to hike at all. But you can´t blame a kid whose never been nearly as high for getting a little tummy and head ache. And because I charged, denying offers to mount a horse. We spent the first night at 3000 m in a refugio to rest up for a nine hour walk up and through EL Portillo, the 4300m pass, then down into a river valley called El Real Cruz to stay at another refugio. There we spent the next day collecting sorting garbage, exploring, and eating more asado. Then it was back out again, another 8 hours back from where we came through slushy melted snow and ice. I´ve never been so challenged both physically and mentally.

And now I´ve got the bug. Trying the cram in as much of the Andes as possible while cruising down and up to and from Ushuaia. We´re in Bariloche at a campsite outside of town right now waiting for Brux and Robin.

And yes, Sancho Panza is along for the adventure! He´s managed to escape several times from various makeshift transportation homes. Turns out he can chew not only through linens but plastic bottles as well. We woke up thrice on the busride from Mendoza to Bariloche with La Panza crawling around us. Last night he got himself stuck halfway out a chewed-open airhole in a plastic water bottle. Poor guy. Today we´re looking for a better more durable and breathable option. Otherwise he loves exploring sites on our shoulders or in our hairs. He´s quite the traveller.

Pic A Ture time.

bombachos

Today I purchased a pair of bombachos, or gaucho pants.

Granted, they´re not the huge, baggy uber traditional kind but they sure have a loose knee and tapered ankle, alright. Not to mention fancy pleats going all the way down the leg sides. I wish I had appropriate boots, but one can´t be too picky on a 20 peso budget.

Besides, I don´t have a horse.

That is all.

keep on keepin´ on

It´s about time I go now.

The farm has been so much more than (and not just more than but different, something else and beyond) any grouping of words I can manage to find up in the realms of me noggin. So I spare me the effort and you the difficulty required to comprehend whatever I might manage to come up with.

He came, he dug holes, he ate a tomato.

The first day I arrived I planted a small row of tomatoes among and jungle of weeds and purple and green spotted, striped, wrinkly lettuces. I never got to eat these tomatoes, as they died, but as the months crawled and sweated on, more were planted (and replanted and re-replanted and so on) and now that I`ve eaten these (small Mexican sweet delicious variety), I feel a completion of sorts.

Time to go then he says. Time to see what´s up down south before the cold´s hairy white fingers clutch bonely the southern tip of the Americas, reining down snow and ice and winter. Got me a new sleeping sack and all, ready for a fist fight or a brawl. Let´s go cold.

Frankly this heat up here in Mendoza is too much but the freak thunderstorms we´ve had make up for some of it. Regardless it´s down south with Robin and Brux and Eleanor. Down till we can´t bajar no more.

So last chance for burrito slash monetary donations being sent to the farm. After two weeks then on I´m technically lost, uncharted, what have you.

I gotta get my mouse some travelling pants.