CRC

Sigh. The Spanish language opened itself up to me about 20 years ago (cue the yikes of realization) and I have never been the same. Sitting back in my 8th grade classroom, Sra. Weaver scribbled the words "presente" and "ausente" on the board... and time stopped. It is a bit bizarre to think of such an innocuous moment as one that has so changed my way, but maybe I had an inkling even then. Maybe I knew that I would become obsessed. Maybe I already had. So obsessed, you see, that a close lady friend and I embark tomorrow to Guatemala, making this my ninth Latin American country visited so far. And when I was writing a response email to dear Jesús, the first lad from whom we will be renting a room... I struggled. Can ... read more

No, I'm not traveling anymore. In fact, it's been one full month since I hopped off the plane and into Ryan's waiting arms. (Actually, he was sitting and reading a book about cholesterol... but he did launch out of his seat when he finally saw me and so concessions must be made.) The other night though, Aunt Sonia asked what had happened to the blog? I had written in Bariloche and then everything after (a full three weeks) was lost to the annals of weary traveling? Not so. But yes, I got tired of writing. I was tired of doing most everything associated with the trip. Riding on buses for hours (alone), going from hostel to hostel and eating dry cookies for breakfast (alone), spying beautiful vistas (alone). But here's the thing: traveling alone does force ... read more

Sitting alone in the Nina Cafe last Sunday, I was feeling quite despondent and alone. Every few minutes I would look up from my veggie sandwich and cafe con leche to a wall post on facebook wishing me the best for my 31st birthday. I was in Argentina, in the middle of a very powerful two weeks at Finca La Rosendo, and all I wanted was to be home with my loves spending the day in Carolina. Then things got worse. On Sundays, San Rafael becomes a ghost town. Nothing is open (well, excepting the Nina Cafe of course) and so my afternoon was spent walking up and down the main drag looking for some godforsaken place to call Alejandro, to let him know when to be waiting on the side of the highway to pick ... read more

Pupurichu (Pipirichu? Pupirichi?) fixed me with a stare that said, ¨I will eat you for breakfast, gringa.¨ This giant cocoa-colored horse was to be my trusty steed for the evening, and I was terrified. The remaining horses could have been small dwarves in Disneyland. I secretly gave them the following monikers: ¨Sleepy,¨ ¨Sir-Old-as-Hell¨and ¨Grumptitude Stiltskin.¨ I was granted the pleasure and privelege of riding Pipiruchito (??) because when asked if I had experience with horses, I answered that I had a tiny bit. ¨Ay, que bueno!¨ Javier the resident guacho answered jubilantly. Slingshoting me into the saddle Javier continued, ¨Pupurachinolio (??) is a little nervous sometimes. He likes to go fast.¨ Grrreeaaatt. We rode for two hours behind our awesome guide Mari, who had moved here two months ago from France to meet her Argentine father ... read more

Rumi says that we should sell our cleverness and buy bewilderment. He also says a lot of other things that are right on and lovely, but I´m sticking with this one for tonight because it seems to apply for Cordoba. Usually, when I sit down to put one of these posts together, an attempt is made to pick out one story or situation and make it bigger than it was using words (cleverness). Tonight I say nay! Let´s follow this pro-bewilderment trail and see how it goes. Cordoba started out not so great. I arrived early in the morning after a sleepless night on the bus, arriving to my hostel cranky and hungry. After a cup of coffee or two I headed out, ready to orient myself in another Argentine city. I had heard nothing but ... read more