Waterfalls And Falls And Falls and Falls

Within the first twenty minutes at the waterfalls, I am drenched. Water sloshes in my shoes and my camera is soaked. I don’t care because this is a magnificent place. Falling, churning, splashing, liquid. The water first plummets and then broken into smaller molecular masses, is sprays back into the air almost to the height of the initial departure. The water vapor transforms the sunlight into rainbows. And what would a beautiful jungle-waterfall experience be without butterflies? The delicate creatures land on my hands, arms and shoulders. They hitch a ride as I walk from one area of the falls to the next. What a day.

Meat Sweats

Asados (grills) occupy picture window, tempting the stomachs and imaginations of passers. The smoky scent drifts down streets, wafting in the hot summer breeze. I should have known that a place called Siga La Vaca (Follow The Cow) might be trouble. I arrive at the restaurant as innocent as a spring chick. All-you-can-eat has never been a problem in the past. The bread is deliscious and I can’t help but eat two pieces. Rookie mistake, but what can you do? The salad bar is lacking on the greens but heavy on the prosciutto and provolone. I dabble.

It is time for the grill. I take my plate to the window and point at the various slices of medium-cooked steak that I desire the most. The grill attendees question my fortitude, I will show them. My plate is packed: shoulder, rump, leg, upper back, lower back, rib, and who knows what else. My plate is stacked with meat, only meat. After taking my seat, I go at it. My mother would disown me should she see this display of table manners. The beef (and maybe a little bit of pork) melts on my tongue. Juices elate my taste buds. Each cut is unique in taste, tender and supple. I marvel at every bite: smoky, slow cooked artistry. Half way through, I wipe a napkin across my brow. This is getting intense. Gentle perspiration turns into a persistent flow of sweat. Who ever said: “woman don’t sweat, they glow,” has never encountered me eating copious amounts of beef.

As I approach the window again, I contemplate bulimia. I have never vomited up food with the intention of continuing to binge. I have never vomited food by choice. I will not lie to you, the thought weighs as heavy in my mind as the meat weighs in my stomach. I am at it again. This time, I cannot taste the subtleties of the different cuts of meat. With my knife I remove small chunks from the greater mass, hoping that my body will not register the addition. I keep going. I tell myself it is delicious. Cognitively, I believe it. Physically, my body is finished. I continue on.

For those who have seen the movie Seven (with Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman) you might just imagine the scenes that are playing in my mind’s eye. Sure I am moments from explosion, I push the half-finished plate of meat away. I am done. The tenedor libre (all you can eat or more literally free fork) meal includes desert. I refuse. The bill cannot come quickly enough. Get me out of this restaurant and into a reclining position!!!

Success, I make it back to the hostel. I am in my bed. Life is bloated, but good. I drift into a meat induced comma. Little do I know the meat sweats that I experienced in the restaurant are only a prelude. At 4am I awaken drenched. My back, forehead, legs, arms and everything else is drenched in sweat. Clammy, sticky sweat. I can’t breathe, I must be running a fever. I feel my head. It’s hard to tell with all the liquid that has accumulated. Is that a purple hippopotamus over there? Oh no. I am hallucinating. I lurch out of bed and throw myself into a cold shower. I fill my water bottle and slowly sip at it, worried at my stomach’s ability to handle the additional occupancy. For the rest of the evening I toss and turn. This is horrible.

2pm the following day, I still have not eaten. Nothing. I am not even a little bit hungry. In fact, the thought of food still repulses me. It is not until 5:00pm that I am able to choke down some carrot sticks. I swear to a life of vegetarianism. 10pm (early dinner by Buenos Aires standards) rolls around and what do I order? The lomo. A beautiful tender juicy cut from the rear of the cow. Soooo delicious.


Post Script: though I had my camera on me for all of my beef eating excursions, I am too week of heart and mind to postpone the moment of ingestion long enough to snap a few shots. Maybe it is better that these moments are not commemorated.

More Pictures From Tierra Del Fuego

Napping With The Penguins

What does one find at the end of the earth? Penguins of course. Ushuaia, the world’s southern-most city, the place where roads end, is home to a rather large rookery of these black and white birds. As I step onto the island, I feel as though I have just walked onto the set of National Geographic special. The fat squat birds dot the landscape and splash in the surrounding waters. A rainbow hangs in the air over the scene, just an added dust of magic.

They do not flee at my approach. I find myself standing less than three feet away from these bulbous creatures. They waddle, fat stores jiggling and wings flapping at their sides. Many are in the midst of a morning nap, snoozing on their stomachs. These are my kind of birds. Most people want to walk with the penguins, but for me, napping with the penguins sounds much more appealing.


When we leave the island, my clothes are covered in fishy penguin poo. Ahh, to be one with nature.

Land Of The Ice Queen

We were told that the weather in El Chalten is unpredictable and more often than not, rainy and windy. Imagine our delight when we wake at sunrise to find a clear pink sky and beautiful day. Time to go. We ready ourselves quickly; scarfing down a breakfast of eggs and toast, lacing boots, filling water bottles and ensuring we have all the necessary cold weather gear. We are on the trail an hour after sunrise. The air is still, clean and invigorating. The view from the first 100meters of the trail sends adrenaline pumping through our bodies. The seldom seen jagged peaks of Cerro Torre and Fitz Roy loom in the distance. Our clip is fast, we serge uphill passing slower hikers. This is our day. Not a cloud in the sky.

We wind our way up the path through wind swept meadows and forests. The surrounding trees are short, trunks twisted by the weather. Their small leaves are ideal for resisting the wind and cold. The trickle of a stream creates soothing sounds. The hike feels strange, reminiscent in so many ways of the thousands of Colorado hikes stored in my memory. The landscape is similar, but tweaked just enough to be exciting and slightly unsettling.

Two hours in and we have left tree line behind. Rock stretches out before us as far as we can see. Igneous, granite and sedimentary samples shift below our feet. I am walking atop every geologists dream. The sun is warm on our backs. The wind makes us aware of our altitude, whipping at our jackets and hair.

Over the bend and I can’t believe my eyes. Surely, this can’t be real. Lord Of The Rings has nothing on this moment. Stretching out before my eyes are the most jagged and daunting mountains I have ever seen. Their peaks rise in spires, like the castle complex of a fictional ice queen. Glaciers are tucked into crevasses, hanging like small accessories on the cold faces of the mountains. The wind pushes and pulls at my body, but I don’t care in the least. Places like this only exist in the distant recesses of my imagination. Julie and I are the only people here. For the moment, this place, this view is ours and ours alone. We watch the newly forming clouds drift and swirl in the wind. Birds drift and float atop the upsurges of mountain air. All is silent but for the wind. This is living!

Other pictures from El Chalten:

Bariloche Argentina

What continent am I on? A-frame houses, endless chocolate shops and Saint Bernard dogs roving the streets. Is this Switzerland?