What can we say. It was worth every penny. It was a thrilling adventure. It expanded our understanding of the world. It changed our perceptions of the US. It revealed our limitations. It challenged how our minds worked. We learned how to pick coffee. We learned how to dance tango. It was scary at times. We were exhausted at times. It was the biggest gift we have ever given ourselves… It was a great start.

There is nothing like travel – especially long-term travel – to stretch your abilities and challenge your senses. We recommend it – highly – to anyone who thinks there might be something to this rumor that there are things to learn beyond our borders. We learned a tremendous amount during our journey. We won’t try to summarize – you will need to take us out for a glass of wine to get those pearls of wisdom – but sufficed to say that we feel so privileged to have made this trip and so grateful to everyone who gave us advice, support, and hospitality along the way.

After a brief, whirlwind tour to visit family in Los Angeles and Detroit, we are slowly resettling into San Francisco – seeing our favorite city again with overwhelmed new eyes. Here, we will try to hold on to those lucid moments we had during our adventure, and apply what we learned to our new lives. We can already tell it will be a challenge…

All in all, it was a great start to the next chapter in our lives. Can’t wait to see what happens next!

Buenos Aires is everything you would want in a big city: fascinating, walkable barrios full of unique historic and cultural sites, a bustling downtown with commerce and top-notch museums; welcoming restaurants – invoking modern innovation and traditional flavors; incredible shopping at creative, local boutiques; cafes serving strong coffee at all hours; beautiful plazas filled with stylish, proud, and friendly people; and the tango – a culture that pervades the city like a plague with its sultry, melancholy air. Hands down our favorite big city of the trip – and the best way to end our giant adventure.

After a couple of days searching for a temporary apartment in the city, we found a great pad in the leafy neighborhood of Palermo – the heart of locally-designed clothing and hip restaurants. Having a home rather than a hostel room made all the difference in the world. We felt human again! We relished our own little kitchen, our private bathroom, and even our own TV! Pure heaven. But we did manage to leave the apartment and thoroughly enjoy the city; even taking day trips to the beautiful delta region of Tigre – where small canals, lined with stunning island homes on stilts, replace streets – and also to the colonial village of Colonia across the Rio de Plata in Uruguay.

Time passed quickly, as we rushed to enjoy the last moments of our big adventure. From the Casa Rosada on the Plaza de Mayo to tango legend Carlos Gardel’s house, we saw the sites, took in the culture, and enjoyed the sensuous flavor of Buenos Aires. We volunteered at the local food bank, took tango lessons, and temporarily joined a gym! But before we knew it, we were eating our last steak on our last night at the most popular parrilla in town: La Cabrera. With a very nice glass of Mendoza Malbec in hand and tears in our eyes, we toasted the close of this major chapter in our lives. Hasta la proxima, Buenos Aires!

Best moments: 1) Those few and far between moments in tango class when we were able to move seamlessly together across the floor, giving in to the music and letting go of our fear – for a moment!
2) Listening to the wild strains and dramatic crooning of the genius modern tango band – Orquesta Tipica Fernando Fierro – in a dark, smoky club with hundreds of portenos.
3)Drinking a “Submarino” – hot chocolate made from dropping a chocolate bar in hot milk – at La Biela, a classic cafe in tony Recoleta.
4) Drinking tea in our little apartment, cozy and dry, while it rains cats and dogs outside.

Most unfortunate adventure: Apartment challenges. The great thing about hostels is that if you don’t like one, you move along – to another hostel or the next city – easily. But we signed a short term lease for our place, so we had to put up with the good and the bad. We had two challenges. 1) Cockroaches – including a three inch feller lingering in the bathroom molding and hundreds of babies that materialized instantly in drawers and sinks. Luckily, the fumigator came along three days into our stay, and dispatched our roommates. 2) Being on the ground floor, street side meant we were privy to all activities right outside our window. Every Saturday and Sunday morning at around 7 am, these activities consisted of drunk portenos – sometimes folks in their 40s or 50s – loudly enjoying the last moments of their weekend night. Portenos begin their nights with dinner at 11 pm, drinks at 1 am, dancing at a club at around 3 am, and heading to a cafe for some coffee around 6 or 7 am. So those outside our window were no early risers, but just heading home!

Best meal: Our last supper at La Cabrera. Goat provoleta (a grilled, melty cheese covered in spices) served with warm bread; perfectly cooked steak; amazing Catena Zapata wine; and perfect creamy, eggy Argentine flan for dessert. A great end to an incredible eating adventure.

Favorite person: Florencia! Our wonderful, encouraging tango instructor. She also took a break from her career at about our age to travel and reevaluate, discovering that tango (and teaching tango) was her true calling. Yah Florencia! We promise we will stick with the tango!

Quote of the two weeks: “Maxmitch, contra todo. Al final, la gloria.” (Maxmitch, against everything. In the end, only glory!) - what would be inscribed on the statue to commemorate our maiden journey.

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Day-colored wine,
night-colored wine,
wine with purple feet
or wine with topaz blood,
wine, starry child of earth,
wine, smooth as a golden sword, soft as lascivious velvet,
wine, spiral-seashelled and full of wonder, amorous, marine;
never has one goblet contained you, one song, one man,
you are choral, gregarious,
at the least, you must be shared.

- excerpt from Ode to Wine, Pablo Neruda.

This story begins with Chile’s populist poet Pablo Neruda and ends with Santa Evita – the everlasting star of Buenos Aires. But first, we find ourselves waking up on a bus in cool and collected Santiago….

Its all about business on the streets of Santiago, as men in suits run place to place throughout the day, every day. Seemingly driven by the same invisible hand as American workers, Santiaguinos are serious, hard-working, and busy (only taking a break for “cafe con piernas” – coffee served by tight miniskirt-clad women.) But amidst the staid office towers and government buildings, we find a couple bohemian enclaves filled with artist boutiques, cafes, and independent movie houses. We also take a climb up the labyrinthine Santa Lucia park – where a Greek revival fountain serves as a gate to winding uphill trails that end at a tall castle-like tower with sweeping views.

We quickly move on to historic Valparaiso, an absolutely decrepit port city that served as one of the main stopping off points for travelers on their way to the California Gold Rush. “Valpo,” as it’s called, is like a bizarro San Francisco. Built on a series of hills facing a bay, the weather and development of the city closely resembles SF. Heck, they even had an earthquake in 1906! But, unlike SF, it seems no one bothered to rebuild or invest in Valpo, and its ornate Victorian houses rot and crumble on many a hillside. As in similar places, grime and a bedraggled atmosphere has given birth to a great arts and nightlife scene, with passionate singers belting out odes in rusty bars and artists working out of dingy studios in seedy barrios. Adding to its character are a series of outdoor elevators, resembling funiculars, from the early 20th century that cart passengers up and down the steep hills for a small fee. These are not really the touristy sort, just rusty, creaky workhorses that provide a dazzling view of the port as you head skyward. No doubt Valpo is atmospheric.

But the highlight of our visit to this town is an excursion to the seaside resort town of Isla Negra – home to Pablo Neruda’s favorite house. Neruda was an eccentric character – obsessed with all things regarding the sea, while simultaneously being afraid of the water. His collections of shells, mastheads, shoes, costumes, glass bottles, etc. are all on display for the curious to inspect in this beautiful spot. It is impossible to resist immediately sitting down in the sand to compose poetry.

Our time in Chile draws to a close, and we board a bus for our last Andean crossing. And it’s a doozy! We emerge from the trans-Andean tunnel to see Aconcagua – the highest peak in the Americas. Our spirits (and wallets) are overjoyed to be back in Argentina. Vineyards begin to spring up along the road; we have finally arrived to Mendoza – number one wine-growing region in Argentina.

Although Mendoza is a large city, it has that small town feel thanks to the forward-thinking urban planners that lined each of its principal avenues with rows-upon-rows of shady sycamores. Our fall arrival is ideal – the weather is perfect, the trees are still leafy, and the wine harvest is in full effect. Although plenty of American tourists and investors prowl the streets (and nearby vineyards, overpriced restaurants, etc.) of Mendoza, it is still easy to escape the touristed parts of town and immerse ourselves among Mendocinos enjoying picnics in hundreds of inviting squares dotting the city. Five days pass quickly as we relax, drink (and buy) plenty of the local vino, and fatten up on great food. Another week in Mendoza, and we might have ended up with a vineyard! But we are really ready for Buenos Aires, so we don our earplugs and nightshades for one last coche-cama night bus: a 15-hour ride across the pampas to the legendary capital.

Best moment: 1) Watching the foamy, wild Pacific crash on the jagged rocks in front of Pablo Neruda’s mast-guarded tomb and eccentric, boat-shaped house at Isla Negra.

2) Barrel tasting wine at its different stages of production with our effervescent, incredibly hospitable host – Carmelo Patti – during an in-depth tour of his eponymous winery.

Most unfortunate adventure: Oh so lost in the hills of Valparaiso! Valpo consists of seven hills (“cerros”), each blanketed by a different neighborhood and crisscrossed by sinuous roads (no grid here, folks). Only one single road links all seven hills, called the “Calle Cintura” (Belt Road). After taking the longest antique elevator to the top of one of the hills, we thought “Why not walk along the Belt Road to reach our neighborhood, three hills away?” Soon after leaving the first hill, the houses and streets become markedly grungier; people are beginning to stare at us as we walk by. Streetlights are broken and the sidewalk is in nonexistent… as we walk by a group of teenage boys, they call out to us in Spanish “Be careful on this hill.” We pick up our speed as the houses become still more decrepit. Groups of men stand on corners, halting their chatting as we walk by. We covertly glance at our map and realize we have no idea where we are (you would really think we would be smarter at this point in the trip, right?) No matter whether it is just our imaginations or really dangerous, we are ready to get off this hill! At the next corner, we head straight downhill, trying to get back to something familiar as quickly as possible. Cats peer out from broken fences and the narrow street becomes a set of broken stairs, that turns into a dirt path. Finally, we reach a square that we can locate on the map, only a short walk from our hostel. A big sigh of relief… We made it out of another scrape unscathed (knock on wood)!

Best meal:1) Trevi restaurant. We must admit, the first time we walked by Trevi, which had been highly recommended to us by a friend of Jamaica’s dad, we weren’t too sure. Located in a hotel with very traditional fixtures and floodlighting, it seemed a little stodgy and old-fashioned. We decided to keep walking. Little did we know that this traditional atmosphere is a key part of what makes this place THE BEST RESTAURANT EXPERIENCE of our trip. We returned the next day, having been foiled by our previous evening’s overpriced, under-good meal. The food is traditional Italian with an Argentine twist. The meal starts with homemade Italian tallegio cheese, arriving at our table drizzled with olive oil and chives. The entrees range from housemade pastas that are heavenly – whether they are hearty sorrontinos (large raviolis) or fresh linguini – to hearty fare – like wine-roasted lamb or perfectly cooked pork loin. Vegetables are fresh and tasty; our favorite being the sauteed spinach covered with melted parmesano reggiano. For dessert, the tiramisu is sinfully rich. Different from any other tiramisu we have tried, this version is light on the alcohol, heavy on the cream, and missing the ladyfingers. Instead, Trevi creates a rich frozen mousse with intense vanilla and cafe flavors. Equally amazing is their amaretto mousse, dotted with bits of almond. But the best thing about Trevi is the service. Run by the DiCaro brothers, Antonio DiCaro is always wandering the floor, greeting customers and confirming that the food is blowing away their expectations. As you near the end of the meal, you can’t stop him from pouring a complimentary glass of homemade limoncello. And if you like it, he might pour you a glass of his amaretto, alcohol de neuces (nut liquer brewed in malbec), creamy limoncello, or fernet-like digestif (in our opinion, better than the original). We tried them all, and lived to tell the tale (barely!) We heart Trevi!

2) Ju-I – Rotiseria Vegetariana. This hole-in-the-wall vegetarian chinese take-out spot is cheap, creative, and filling – making it perfect for Maxmitch, and the many in-the-know Mendocinos who frequent it at lunch. Ju-I specializes in tasty casseroles, like filo-wrapped chard, egg, olive quiche, or butternut squash and cheese lasagna. Plus, they have light salads with roasted beets and asian dressings. Yum!

Favorite person: Armando, our waiter at Trevi. This Vespa-driving, tuxedo wearing Argentine-Italian became our best friend at Trevi, with his humor and amazing service. Armando put aside the last bottle of a very special wine for our second visit, and gave us many tips on all things Mendocino. We knew we had made a new friend when he gave us his cell phone number and told us to call him if ANYTHING happened during the rest of our time in Argentina (he recommended we just stay in Mendoza rather than go to “feo” Buenos Aires for two weeks.) Gracias Armando! Hasta nuestro viaje proximo a Argentina!

Quote of the week: This town is so gritty, there are rocks in your food… literally! – Jamaica, during an otherwise tasty dinner in Valparaiso, after Nelson bites down on a large pebble.

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24 hours on any bus is too much, and we are numb and perplexed as we look out the windows in the final hours of our endless bus ride to see…. Switzerland? The Argentine Lake District welcomes us with glistening lakes and furry green peaks, dotted with chalet-style luxury hotels and lakeside mansions. It is dramatically beautiful scenery that could not look less like the jagged remoteness of El Chalten. Night falls as we approach the capital of the Argentine Lake District – Bariloche. All is dark as we enter the city during what must be a power outage and make our way with packs and flashlights up the steep streets to find our hostel. Not only does the area look like the Alps, but it is filled with descendents of Northern European immigrants (mainly Germans who arrived during and after WWII) who have populated the area with chocolate shops and restaurants specializing in Germanesque food. We spend four days in Bariloche, enjoying the glorious scenery, exploring the historic lodges, going on the legendarily-beautiful Siete Lagos road trip, and eating a lot of chocolate.

Next, we cross back over the Andes into Chile (our third time!) and head to Valdivia – a river port only a dozen miles or so from the Pacific coast. Although parts of Valdivia are a bit down and out and Chile is shockingly expensive, we relish the untouristed feel of this University and port town. Valdivia was once quite remote – one of the most Southern outposts of the Spanish colonial empire and the last stronghold of the Spanish before Chile gained independence in the early 1800s. The city was basically abandoned after independence and ruins of Spanish forts are dotted among the tiny fishing villages that cling to the foggy Pacific coast. The empty city was refilled with German immigrants at the turn of the 20th century, giving the area a more pronounced German feel, complete with an award-winning German brewery and beautifully preserved German-style homes throughout the city.

We end our tour of the Lake District in Pucon – a small lakeside village with easy access to some of the most beautiful national parks in Chile. Pucon has only recently developed into a hub for all things adventure, with ample opportunities to spend tons of money on overpriced hikes and rafting adventures. Regardless, the city has a wonderful small town feel in the off-season, while also having great restaurants and a sophisticated air. We spend three days in Pucon, going on long hikes, talking for hours over hot chocolate, and sitting by the lakeside, enjoying perfect weather and views of the nearby volcano. Our time in Pucon is topped off with a visit to an incredible modern architectural gem – the Antumalal hotel (www.antumalal.com). This Bauhaus luxury hotel from the 40’s has hosted every notable figure who has come to this far-flung mountain town. If this place was in the US, it would have been gutted and updated, but thank goodness it has been preserved! It is a stylistic time capsule that instantly draws you in with retro spaces and incredible views of the lake languidly lapping at the hotel’s small lake beach. This is where we will stay on our next visit.

Life is good in the Lake District, and we are sorry to leave behind the small town life and striking beauty of the region. But Santiago calls and we board a coche-cama night bus to the capital. We will definitely be back to this gleaming corner of the world.

Best moment: 1) Peering across the mountains, lakes, and luxury chalets from the top of Cerro Campanario in Bariloche.

2) Hanging out with the giant sea lions at Valdivia´s fluvial market. Valdivia has a farmers market right on the edge of the port, where fishermen gut fish while eager sea lions scale the sea wall and beg for fish heads. These sea lions are about three times the size of our SF variety, and are the indisputable stars of this morning market, as they bark, dive, and sun themselves alongside the cacophony of the market.

3) Wandering through the beautiful fall foliage of Parque Nacional Huerquehue to small alpine lakes and views of nearby volcano Villarica. One of our favorite hikes of the trip.

Best meal: Nothing beats your own cooking, especially in pricey Chile. Our best home-cooked meal of the trip must be this one: fresh roast salmon, spicy chard with chilote (a variety of elephant garlic), and crisp Chilean white wine, cooked up in our hostel kitchen whilst tango plays in the background.

Best edible thing: KUCHEN – of German origin, this fruit and cream tart is ubiquitous throughout the region – and tasty in all its incarnations. Our favorite was the framboise version, bought from a preteen boy in a kiosk at the side of the trail in Parque Nacional Huerquehue.

Favorite people: Andrea and John – our new Colombian friends. We had a great adventure with these Bogota, Colombia natives as we explored the Argentine lake district in a shared rental car. They gave our Spanish a workout as we discussed everything from the effects of the US Drug War on Colombia to daily life in the big city. We hope that some day the US visa policy will let families like Andrea and John’s visit the US, but until then, we will have to plan a return trip to Colombia in order to visit them. If only we had met them before Christmas time!

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Buenos Aires greets us in all its humid, sultry glory as we awake on the overnight bus. We wonder if we have somehow been transported to Europe during the night as our taxi drives us down the widest avenue in the world, lined with glass skyscrapers and 20-story french revivalist apartment buildings. Giant neon signs flash in the rising sun and the gleaming white obelisque, reminiscent of the Washington monument, marks the navel of the city. Our taxi takes us to San Telmo, where crumbling colonial buildings, spririted locals, and ever-present music (in this case, the melancholy strains of tango) remind us of New Orleans. Fresh pasta stores and pastry shops overflowing with dulce de leche treats fill every block. Young Argentines in designer clothes stumble into coffee shops at 9 am – ending another marathon Friday night out. Porteños (folks from BsAs) sure know how to live! Buenos Aires has a singular spirit that we only dip our toes into during three days rushing from place to place as we plan the remainder of our trip. We find time for the requisite steak dinner (not as good as our steak in Cafayate!) and a meander through the antique, arts, and tango-filled Sunday market in San Telmo before saying goodbye to the plague of mosquitoes that have descended upon the capital in a sweltering late summer heat wave.

A short flight (what flight isn’t short after all those bus rides!) over grand mountains and waterways finds us in Ushuaia – the southernmost city in the world and the named goal for our big journey (yah! we made it!) There is a magic is this small town that was once nearly impossible to reach (many an explorer perished in their pursuit to find the end of the continent.) Perched between giant glaciers and the Beagle Channel, Ushuaia was not long ago a town of slapped together frontier buildings standing against the Antarctic wind. But, for both good and bad, it is becoming more and more accessible. Now, cruise ships pull into port on a regular basis and frequent flights from BsAs make it easily reachable for most of the year – creating a thriving, overpriced industry for anything imprinted with “Ushuaia – Fin del Mundo.” But only a short drive takes us to the beauty of the Tierra del Fuego National Park – where we hike along the Beagle Channel, through lenga forests and truly end-of-world scenery. However, introduced rabbits and beavers have reproduced to the point of being a plague (we counted upwards of 100 rabbits in a single field), making the whole experience even more surreal. A boat trip through the Beagle Channel, retracing Darwin´s voyage, takes us to one of the most southern lighthouses in the world and gives us a chance to see sea lions, cormorants, and penguins (!!!!) up close. The minimal human presence in this desolate corner of the world has allowed wildlife to thrive; there is nothing like visiting animals at home!

Our next stop takes us to the heart of Southern Patagonia – Calafate. The landscape is shockingly bleak compared to the unique, wild lushness of Tierra del Fuego. Short brush and smooth rocks are all that is visible for as far as the eye can see across the Patagonian tundra. As the tundra meets the Andes everything changes and water and ice have shaped a very different landscape. This is an undiscovered land, where wild horses (descendents of abandoned horses) and guanacos (related to llamas) run free. This makes the tourist mecca of Calafate all the more shocking. The most expensive city in Argentina, Calafate is an overdeveloped hotel and souvenir shop disaster in the middle of nowhere. However, there is no denying the awesomeness of the town´s claim to fame – the mind blowing Perito Moreno Glacier. This natural phenomenon is 30 km long and rises about 100 feet above the water of the giant Lago Argentino. Its millenial ice glows aquamarine and appears like thousands of giant popsicle soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder between the Andean giants at their sides. Over three days, we blow our budget on various tours and boat rides to experience the glacier and make an exhausting day trip into Chile to Torres del Paine National Park (see misadventure below.)

Next, a four hour bus ride along the desolate Route 40 takes us to the small village of El Chalten. Now this must be what Patagonia once was! A dusty frontier town inside Los Glacieres National Park, El Chalten is made up of about a hundred wooden buildings and a dozen streets, most leading to trailheads that take you into the park within minutes. The park itself is glorious – Fitz Roy´s dramatic granite peaks jut into the sky and well maintained trails trace lush river landscapes; it is a hiker´s paradise and, despite Jamaica fighting off a nasty case of bronchitis, we enjoy this windy, chilly town that has transported us to a world of rugged settlers and explorers.

We delve deeper into the Patagonian experience on a 24-hour bus ride North along the mythical Route 40. This road, legendary among Argentines, traces the whole of Argentina from the border with Bolivia to the Straight of Magellan. A great deal of it is dirt and traverses the unpopulated and barren world of Southern Patagonia. It is a meditative experience on the bus for two 12 hour days, the only vehicle on the road, stopping infrequently at tiny outposts where true Patagonian gauchos (beret and giant daggers intact) serve tea and excellent cake to passerby. For hours on end, the land is unchanging, only broken up by herds of sheep and wild horses that scamper away from the approaching bus. What must life be like for these far-flung settlers? Descendents from Welsh, Czech, and other immigrant groups that live a hundred miles from the next settlement – with only the amazing endless sky and unbreaking landscape as a comfort. Truly fin del mundo.

Late on the second day, the ground begins getting lush. Forests, farms, and rivers appear. The occasional estancia becomes a small town, and suddenly we enter a landscape of rolling hills and sparkling lakes. The imposing peaks of the Andes have eased into softer green giants, inviting exploration and backpacking. We step out of the bus in El Bolson and into bright sun and perfect 70 degree weather. Hippies with dreads trawl the tree-lined streets, beating drums and selling necklaces. Families wander about with fresh jam and cheese just bought at the local market. Only hours ago we were alone, in the middle of nothing. Yet it is somehow a comfort, to know that the fin del mundo is out there – existing in all its desolate glory, awaiting the next adventurer.

Best moments: So many, we will be brief:

1) Watching the Magellanic and Gentoo penguins frolic with their recent offspring on the rocks and in the waves of the Beagle Channel at their rookery, near Ushuaia. So curious about our boat, they squawk and swim around our metal hull, inviting play in the icy waters.

2) Staring off into space in Tierra del Fuego National Park, looking towards Antarctica

3) Standing several hundred feet away from the Perito Moreno Glacier in Calafate, watching as giant boulders of ice, the size of buses, calve off the glacier with a deep, thunderous roar and crash into the lake, causing a tidal wave that surges into the tourist boat sitting at the base of the glacier.

4) Hiking in the shadow of the Fitz Roy range, getting a better view of its majestic peaks and nearby glaciers with every step we take.

5) Endless hours staring at the nothingness of Patagonia on Route 40. Who knew that places like this still existed??

Most unfortunate adventure: 1) Showing up without a hostel reservation in Buenos Aires. Have we learned nothing? Assuming that the low season of the North would also be in effect in the metropolis of Buenos Aires, we arrive in the city without reservations. The receptionist at our first choice hostel laughs at us when we ask if a double is available. We spend three hours pounding the pavement in search of an affordable hostel, full backpacks in tow. One day we will learn….

2) Aerolineas Argentina: potentially the worst airline in the world. Our flight to Calafate leaves four hours late – no explanation and no customer service to answer angry customer questions. Then we learn from our new friend Ashley (see below) that after three flights on AA, he has not had one flight leave within an hour of its scheduled time and they have lost his luggage… twice! We then hear a story about a biker that has biked from Alaska to Ushuaia who, on his arrival to Buenos Aires from Ushuaia, finds that his precious bike has been run over by a luggage cart! I am sure there are worse airlines in the world, but we hope to never experience them!

3) Our unfortunate experience in Torres del Paine. We have heard from many a traveler that Torres del Paine National Park in Chile is one of the most amazing parks in South America. However, it is also known for incredibly variable weather and bone chilling winds. We leave our hostel at 5:15 am to cross into Chile for a day at the park. Unfortunately for us, we have hit a very bad weather day; the icy rain feels like tiny daggers on the skin, and the wind blows with gusto through every layer we wear. Add to that a thick fog that makes sighting any of the landmark granite towers impossible and a US$30 entrance fee. We spend 12 hours on a minubus trying to spy any site that varies from the Patagonian plains that we have grown accustomed to, but our only success is viewing many a graceful guanaco and plenty of ñandus (Argentine ostriches). Despite the best efforts of our guide, we leave the park incredibly disappointed, and chlled to the bone.

Best meal: We had some good meals along the way in Patagonia, but only one stands out as truly outstanding. In a small wooden house made of bits of bark and using wooden skis for banisters in El Chalten, we had out of this world hot chocotate. At “La Chocolatería Josh Aike”, they serve the chocolate bitter with sugar on the side, having made this artisanally produced cocoa in their tiny kitchen in giant copper pots. They also make to-die-for alfajores (Argentine oreos made with dulce de luche) and molten chocolate tarts. In the chilly winds of El Chalten, no meal could top the creamy luxury of this truly fabulous, rich hot beverage.

Meal we never need to have again: In many of the hostels we stayed, breakfast was included. How wonderful!, we thought, imagining eggs and toast. Unfortunately, the ubiquitous Argentine breakfast consists of coffee (usually Nescafe in the average hostel) and medialunas, which are a deplorable cousin of the croissant. Unlike their flaky cousins, medialunas are dense, small, bready crescents covered with a sticky, sugary film. They are low on taste and nutrition. The average Argentine eats two to get started in the morning. After about a week of these things, our stomachs began to heave every time a basket of medialunas was put down in front of us – we had hit the proverbial medialuna wall. Thumbs-down on the Argentine breakfast.

Most overrated food: Patagonian food, although exotic, not so tasty. Food at the end of the world is basically what you would expect: over-salted smoked deer, boar, and fish – no vegetables or fresh things in sight. The Patagonian “lamb” was actually tough old mutton – almost inedible. Luckily for Patagonia, they now receive things from the rest of Argentina. Strangely, Patagonian food is being exotified all over Argentina and you can find overpriced Patagonian restaurants in many places, especially Buenos Aires. Thankfully, Patagonian wines are quite tasty.

Favorite person: Ashley – British doctor extraordinaire whom we met while awaiting our delayed flight in Ushuaia, and who we had the chance to share several adventures and meals with during our time in Patagonia. Ashley was particularly helpful when Jamaica became worried about her lingering bronchitis, assuaging her fears that an airlift home would be necessary. Thanks Ashley! Hope the new job is going well! Come and visit soon!

Quote of the week: “…a toast… to toast, and long walks, short piers, and good restaurants.” - Nelson, after finally finding a restaurant during a long night in Buenos Aires, reflecting on the state of getting lost in big cities and the need for a healthy breakfast.

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Where did we leave off…. sitting on a windy hill between Bolivia and Chile. A blue bus appears on the horizon with Chilean plates. After some confusion, a group of us dirty, salt-caked travelers board and we are off – moving along a dirt path, marked in the blowing sands by only the small green sign welcoming us to Chile. Within 20 minutes we abruptly turn onto a glorius paved road we haven´t seen the likes of since Colombia, and the whole bus murmurs with delight (having all suffered the same rocky roads for three days straight.) The driver pulls over and welcomes us to Chile and to San Pedro de Atacama: the oasis amidst the driest desert in the world that has served as a stop-off for travelers for millenia, and now serves as the tourist capital of Northern Chile.

We disembark in the middle of dry desert heat, and quickly see we have left Bolivia far behind. Older tourists (mainly from France) wander the streets in Bermuda shorts; restaurants advertise US$8 lunches in their “authentic” mud-brick, adobe patios (plenty of “authentic” adobe in Bolivia too – usually melting back into the altiplano;) hotels starting at US$25 a night. We reel with sticker shock and know we can´t spend much time in this Sante Fe-esque tourist paradise. Yet, all the buses to Argentina are sold out for days (and cost US$60+!) A friendly tourist agent recommends that we go to the customs office on the border first thing in the morning and hitch a ride with one of the many truck drivers who will be heading into Argentina. With no other option, we check into a pleasant hotel, have an unbelievable hot shower, window shop at fancy boutiques, and enjoy an overpriced meal accompanied by stylized panpipe music at a restaurant where the Bolivian Paceña beer that cost 60 cents in Oruro costs $3+! Nelson says “adios” to his beard in preparation to say “hello” to Argentina. We make our way to customs early the next morning. After being turned down by many a mate-drinking truck driver, we land a ride in a cushy semi with the stoic Nestor – a Chilean driving an empty semi to Buenos Aires to pick up a load.

Our adventure with Nestor (see misadventure below) lands us in the equally touristy town of Purmamarca, Argentina at half-past 11 pm, where we are forced to splurge on a very nice (authentic adobe) hotel. But our sights have been set on the Northern town of Salta for weeks, and the next day we only take a moment to stare at the beautiful Hill of Seven Colors (reminicent of Sedona, Arizona) before hopping a minibus to Jujuy, and then on to Salta.

Salta lives up to its reputation of being a welcoming small city, filled with colonial sites, culture, and great food. Tree-lined streets packed with empanada stands, fruit vendors, and friendly locals at every turn make us start pausing in front of real estate offices. We spend five days catching our breath in Salta, taking care of errands, enjoying summer rains, and drinking REAL coffee/beer/wine in fabulous outdoor cafes and bars. Salteños (and all of Argentina for that matter) love their ice cream and their Italian roots have led to super high quality, gelato-like heladerias on nearly every corner. We indulge… frequently. Next, we take a beautiful bus ride through breathtaking red rock valleys and country lanes more Provençal than South American to arrive at the Northern wine capital of Cafayate. This sleepy town is barely operating in shoulder season, but we thoroughly enjoy our three days drinking wine, eating cheese, and getting (very) lost in the countryside. The mountains and rivers of this area call to us, but time (and money) are running out, so we must keep on moving South. We will definitely be back!

A long ride takes us to Tucuman – the city where Argentine independance was proclaimed. But aside from the historic hall where the proclamation of independence was signed, the city is a writhing, humid mass of traffic and dirt. We spend a day dodging cars and finding out museums are closed before deciding to get out on a night bus to Cordoba. One item of note are the amazing “Super Pancho” restaurants of Tucuman. These gleaming hot dog eateries serve foot-long hot dogs and offer a self-serve bar of 30+ creative and varied toppings to slather on your dogs. An Argentine innovation and the highlight of Tucuman.

Super-padded bus-bed seats on a luxury double-decker bus (perfected in Argentina!) guarentee us a full night´s sleep to Cordoba – Argentina´s second city and University capital. Cordoba is a bustling metropolis, with interesting art galleries, spectacular colonial buildings, and great restaurants. Shady pedestrian malls run through the center of the city – linking a variety of covered shopping gallerias into a giant outdoor mall. We take an amazing tour of “haunted” Cordoba – exploring a subterranean Jesuit chapel, that later became a crypt, and a variety of the well-preserved colonial buildings. From Cordoba, we take a day trip to Alta Gracia – once the main vacation town for upper-class Cordobans. We see the boyhood home of Che Guevera, who spent a good part of his childhood in this pleasant berg, and explore the remains of a Jesuit estancia amidst the collective mayhem of an Argentine Road Rally (literally).

We love Northern Argentina. Sophisticated cities that have a friendly small town feel. Gorgeous outdoor adventures combined with ample cultural offerings. And we can´t forget the wine! And the steak! And the super panchos! We relish and reminisce about the good life as we begin our 10-hour super bed-bus ride to the Paris of South America – Buenos Aires.

Best moment: 1) Crossing into Argentina – finally! WOOOHOOOO! See below.

2) Participating in ritual mate-drinking with a couple of Argentines in Salta. Yerba mate is a a caffeinated herbal tea that Argentines are obsessed with. Usually drunk out of a small gourd with a metal straw, mate is such an addiction that the average Argentine carries his mate gourd and a thermos of hot water at all times! Jamaica felt privileged to be invited to share some mate at our hostel in Salta. The rules are strict: one person makes the mate and hands it to one of the drinkers, that person drinks the entire gourd and hands it back to the mate maker, who refills the gourd and passes it to the next person, who drinks out of the same straw and gourd. You never pour water for yourself, move the straw, hand it directly to the next person, or say “thank you” (this infers you don´t want any more). The steps are repeated, sometimes for hours, as participants chat. In Salta, they add a great deal of sugar to their mate, and sometimes spices or coffee grounds!

3) Drinking Torrontes white wine (the signature wine of Cafayate), eating local goat cheese, and home-grown grapes under the grape-filled arbor of our hostel in Cafayate.

4) A true Argentine asado celebrated with a lively group of Argentines in Cordoba. Another tradition with specific rules. We arrive at the asado at 9 pm and are immediatley offered Fernet Blanca (a very strong Italian herbal digestif) and Coke – this strange concoction is the national drink of Argentina. A little after 10 pm we are offered bread and blood sausage. (Regardless of our feelings about blood sausage, we are too hungry to think of refusing!) Around this time, the asador (the male that has been deemed worthy of cooking the large quantity of meat) has started to put various cuts of meat on the parrilla. By 11 pm or so the first cuts of meat begin leaving the grill. The prime cut being the “bife de chorizo,” called so because it resembles a giant sausage, but it is actually tenderloin steak. Salad and potatoes make an appearance, and cheap red wine as well, for those of us who can’t stand another sip of Fernet. No dessert – only meat with a meat chaser. By 1 am, clean-up begins, and some folks talk about heading out for a night on the town – but we head straight to bed.

Most unfortunate adventure: 1) We aren’t what you’d call “experienced” hitchhikers, so we are proud when we score a free ride from San Pedro to Salta in Argentina – about a eight hour trip. As we begin our ascent into the Andes that divide Argentina and Chile, our quiet driver, Nestor, begins to open up and we learn about life on the road. We climb up, up and up and reach about 4800 meters (15,800 feet), when Nestor pulls over to the side of the road where a fellow truck driver has broken down. We are about an hour out of San Pedro, somewhere still in Chile in the middle of the Andes on a very high, windy mountain pass. Nestor comes back to get his tools. An hour passes, and hail begins to fall, then snow, which thickens into a blizzard. We get out when we see lights approaching and shiver at the side of the road, trying to flag down another truck or a car – but no one even slows. Nestor comes back and laughs. No one will pick you up out here, he says, we are too close to Bolivia, everyone has been told to watch out for drug traffickers! We keep trying, but with no luck. Another hour passes and a third truck arrives. Together, the three drivers huddle over the broken engine – working in the blizzard to repair the truck. Nestor returns to say that he is going back to San Pedro with the broken truck. We feel like the worst hitchhikers ever – we are going backwards! We continue sitting in the cab as Nestor detaches his trailer and tries to connect to the broken engine – but a faulty part won’t let the trucks connect. Again, the three truckers converge around the engine in the frigid, high-altitude cold and try to fix it, and another hour passes. The truckers look despondent as they return to their cabs. We sit hopeless, wondering if we are destined to never reach Argentina, when Nestor enters the cab and announces that we are continuing to the Argentine border! The broken truck is returning to town on its own. Finally – almost five hours after we stopped, we are back on the road!

We reach a desolate Argentine immigration station in the late afternoon, so overjoyed to finally be on Argentine soil (three countries in two days!) But the sun is hanging low in the sky and our goal of reaching Salta is looking ever more doubtful. We stop in the small village of Susques for a quick bite, and find the quiet dirt roads of this country town shut down to celebrate Carneval (when will it end?). Much more subdued here (although foam is still present), we find a single shop willing to sell us a cheap sandwich and cold beer while the entire city dances in costume in the streets.

We drive through dozens of glowing salt flats and dry desert patches before curving down the amazing Quebrada de Huahuamaca, where we drop several thousand meters in a matter of minutes on a dramatic set of tight switchbacks (even more dramatic in a semi!) At half-past 11 pm, Nestor pulls over in the small town of Purmamarca and tells us this is the end of the line for us: he is stopping before the next town at a trucker parking area. We say our goodbyes and he drives off, leaving us alone in the dry, warm, Argentine night.

2) Wine tasting on a double bike! Cafayate is a compact town with picturesque wineries just outside its borders. In order to reach a couple of the wineries just beyond walking distance, we hire a double bike (how romantic, right?) for the afternoon to explore these outskirts. We glide easily to the edge of town and turn onto the dirt road that leads to our first destination, however this one-speed bike struggles to move up even the slightest incline and the rutted road turns into a painful obstacle course for our backsides. Plus, the pleasant dry heat becomes a sweltering desert as we leave the tree-covered road and reach an uninhabited area that resembles the Arizona desert. We get off the bike, deciding it will be quicker to walk it and we continue struggling along. The ride we thought would take 20 minutes takes over an hour, and the time for the winery to close for siesta is drawing near. We walk quickly under the hot sun, wishing we had brought water or hats. We finally see the sign for the winery and rush along, hoping they will serve us some cool white wine. We rush into the winery building in the middle of the last tour, flushed, red, and sweaty. Three young women from Buenos Aires (who obviously have arrived by car) stare at us as we drip sweat onto the bodega floor and try to listen to the explanation of the bottling process. We thoroughly enjoy the wine, buy a couple bottles, and after a quick rest in the shade, re-mount our rusty steed, hanging the bottles from the handlebars (it would have been too easy to have brought a backpack, of course.) As we head back, it becomes painfully clear just how much of an incline we had climbed. We race down, on merciless washboard ridges that shake us like a paint can. On one turn, as we pick up even more speed, the handle on our wine bag gives way and the bottles tumble onto the desert dirt. Miraculously, neither bottle breaks and we carefully carry them the rest of the way home, eager to keep a memento of our adventure.

Best meal: 1) Our first real meal in Argentina – tuxedo dining on the streets of Salta. Our first night in Salta, we take a long walk through the breezy, tree-lined streets and find a classic parrilla (grilled meat restaurant). We take a seat on the sidewalk and a tuxedo-ed waiter serves us freshly pickled vegetables as an appetizer. We order the parrillada for two – a mixed grill that is basically Argentina´s national dish. Several cuts of steak, two types of chorizo, a bit of chicken, and a mish mash of organs (which we try before deciding it must be an Argentine acquired taste!) We wash it down with a liter of the local wine – a tasty red served in a metal jug and costing all of US$2. We linger for a while in the breezy warm night before enjoying some Italian inspired ice cream from one of Salta´s many artesanal heladerias.

2) Fine dining success in Cafayate (New York Times does good!) We are always wary of mainstream restaurant recommendations as we are on a budget and like to stay off the tourist track, but we are more than satisfied with a stellar meal we have in the small town of Cafayate. Tinajas seems to be the nicest restaurant in this one-horse town and, like most traditional Argentine restaurants, it is all about the beef. Historic note: Argentina´s obsession with beef is partially due to the thousands of wild cattle that have successfully multiplied across the unpopulated pampas for centuries. These cows are descendants from a number of herds brought by Spanish settlers in the 1600s. The cows were consequently abandoned in the pampas (along with a great deal of horses) when the colonists were driven off by the native population. We find the best meat of our trip yet at Tinajas – a modern restaurant with a rustic flair serving traditional dishes cooked to perfection and accompanied by excellent local wines and super fresh green vegetables (an unfortunate rarity in Argentine cuisine, we find). Although described as a ‘raucous venue’ in the NY Times article, we are the only patrons this Saturday night in low season, but we are not disappointed by the food or the service – the best we have had in months.

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Where are we now?

• May 5: Arrive San Francisco (home! yah!)
• May 2-4: Los Angeles, California, EEUU
• April 12- May 1: Buenos Aires, Argentina
• April 7-11: Mendoza, Argentina
• April 5-6: Valparaiso, Chile
• April 2-4: Santiago, Chile
• March 30-April 1: Pucón, Chile
• March 28-29: Valdivia, Chile
• March 24-27: Bariloche, Argentina
• March 23: Perito Moreno, Argentina
• March 20-22: El Chalten, Argentina
• March 16-19: El Calafate, Argentina
• March 13-15: Ushuaia (southernmost city in the world!), Argentina
• March 9-12: Buenos Aires, Argentina
• March 6-8: Córdoba, Argentina
• March 5: Tocumén, Argentina
• March 3-4: Cafayate, Argentina
• Feb 26-March 2: Salta, Argentina
• Feb 25: Purmamarca, Argentina
• Feb 24: San Pedro de Atacama, Chile
• Feb 21-23: Uyuni (and Salar), Bolivia
• Feb 18-20: Cochabamba, Bolivia
• Feb 16-17: Oruro, Bolivia
• Feb 13-15: La Paz, Bolivia
• Feb 11-12: Puno, Lake Titicaca, Peru
• Feb 9-10: Machu Picchu, Peru
• Feb 6-8: Cusco, Peru
• Feb 3-5: Lima, Peru
• Feb 1-2: Chavin, Peru
• Jan 28-31: Huaraz, Peru
• Jan 26-27: Trujillo, Peru
• Jan 25: Piura, Peru
• Jan 22-24: Vilcabamba, Ecuador
• Jan 18-21: Cuenca, Ecuador
• Jan 17: Alausi, Ecuador
• Jan 15-16: Riobamba, Ecuador
• Jan 12-14: Quilotoa Loop (Zumbahua, Chugchuilan, Laguna Quilotoa, Sigchos), Ecuador
• Dec 31-January 11: Quito, Ecuador
• Dec 30: Ibarra, Ecuador
• Dec 29: Popoyan, Colombia
• Dec 27-28: Cali, Colombia
• Dec 23-26: Bogota, Colombia

Copacabana is not “the hottest spot north of Havana.” In fact, on this summer day in February, it is quite cool, even fresh – and quite a bit south of Havana. This village on the shore of Titicaca appears pleasant, and quite modern in comparison to Puno, but we are ready for a city again, so we push on to La Paz – the highest capital in the world. Our minibus takes us on an amazingly scenic drive around the lake. We even see the Bolivian naval port! (The country has been landlocked since they lost their coast to Chile in a 19th century war… “We will have our sea again!” proclaims a bloody monument by the shore). We cross a particularly blustery part of the lake by ferry and, eventually, the mud hut farms we have seen for days are replaced by cabins and vacationing city dwellers, speedwalking in the shadows of Bolivia´s Cordillera Real.

By dusk we have reached ´the Alto´ – a slum at the rim of the La Paz valley and one of the fastest growing cities in the world. We see humanity in all its conditions crowding the dirt streets, lined by poorly-constructed cement buildings and tin shacks. Just when we feel as if the crowd and din may crush us, we reach the crest of the valley. In the setting sun, the highest capital in the world stretches out below us – twinkling lights climbing each side of the dramatic 5km bowl; the grinding and growling sound of ancient buses ricochets up the hillside.

La Paz does have its leafy neighborhoods with ritzy cafes and its historic districts with pleasant museums and colonial buildings, but what is unique is the adventure in the streets. For example, there is the wild “Black Market” in La Paz´s historic center, where hundreds of narrow alleyways are made narrower still by thousands of street vendors and shoppers threatening to fully take over if the traffic ever lets up. Each street is dedicated to a different product – from drawer handles, to light bulbs, to fabric, to shamanic instruments (such as freeze-dried llama fetuses). Also in the streets, we find endless examples of social protest (social demonstration is a way of life in Bolivia, we learn): of course there are the miners that have been striking at San Francisco square for years, and then there´s the protest that blocks the city´s main artery for many hours one afternoon (as we desperately try to get to the bus station), staged by a variety of merchants demanding that the Carneval parade be moved to the street where their businesses are located. It being Carneval time, there is also the potential that at any moment, a spray of foam or stray water balloon may hit you from a doorway or from across the street.

In La Paz, we visit the Coca Museum. We read about the plant´s 1,000+ year history in the Andes – serving as a medication, a stimulant, and a cultural totem; as well as its more recent history being used in pharmeceuticals (all products ending in -caine have a synthentic version of coca in them!), soda (Coca-Cola still buys 5 tons of coca a year!), and narcotics. As Bolivian president and former coca grower Evo Morales says: “Coca does not equal cocaine.” Of course, we have a chance to chew a bit of coca (organically grown at that) at the end of the tour.

From La Paz, we join a tour bound for Oruro – the Carneval center of Bolivia. We travel with hundreds of Paceñas (people from La Paz) to celebrate this world-renowned fiesta in the heart of the altiplano. The festivities are similar to Puno (endless parades, insanse costumes) but amplified by tens of thousands more spectators and dancers, a bit more organization (we have assigned seats on the bleachers – reached by climbing a shaky ladder), and loads of merciless water throwers. The costumes are stunning, the music hypnotic, and the celebration frenetic – like standing in the middle of a carousel. After two nights, we cry ‘uncle’ and head to Cochabamba.

Sunny, warm Cochabamba is a welcome relief to these weary travelers. We are graciously hosted by ex-pat George ann and her dog Chaski at a parkside house. We spend three days soaking in the lowland weather, celebrating the fabulous traditional feasting of Carneval with George ann´s hospitable neighbors, and dodging even more water balloons from roaming trucks of teenage boys wearing motorcycle helmets (will Carneval ever end?!) We leave Cochabamba thoroughly rejuvanated and ready for another big adventure….

That`s just what we get as we head South via slow, high-altitude train to Uyuni. Our second-class tickets get us our own seats and a dirty 70s-era dining car, but that is where the comfort ends. The train has not been updated in decades; the seat cushions and bathrooms have seen much better days. We are blasted by classic 80s latin music videos for 5+ hours and then the lights go out and passengers proceed to stretch out in the aisles. We arrive in the altiplano village of Uyuni at 3am, and by 11am we are back on the road – in a Toyota Landcrusier with five fellow travelers and our intrepid, yet dodgy, driver – blazing tracks across the desert. Over three days we climb to an icy 13,000 feet, glimpse vicuñas and flamingos, visit geysers and crystalline lakes, and experience first-hand the largest salt flat in the world (see below.) On the third day of our adventure, we wake at 4am to drive through snow and ice to a small border station in the middle of sand dunes, its Bolivian flag towered over by the surrounding snow-capped peaks. On the other side of this wooden shack is a small, windblown sign proclaiming “Bienvenidos a Chile;” a dirt road leading off toward the Pacific. We bid adieu to our new friends and watch the Landcruiser turn around and head back to Uyuni. Standing at this lonely outpost, we straddle the border of the two countries, waiting for our ride into Chile.

Best moment:1) Carneval in Puno was a mild-mannered dinner party compared to the chaos of Oruro during La Diablada. Bolivia´s biggest celebration is a raucous blend of the over-the-top costume parade we saw in Puno and an anarchist street fair, complete with slapped-together wooden shacks serving (unsucessfully) as makeshift bathrooms. There are drunken antics on every inch of street – all day and all night. Yet the most unique experience in Oruro is the all-out water war that takes place on the parade route. Because the parade is such a popular event, every onlooker is stuffed into an assigned spot on a crowded bleacher. As soon as we find our seats, one or two lobbed balloons hit the lower region of our bleacher, launched by a group of chicos from the bleachers across the street. The war has begun. Within minutes, many of the men on our side, including Nelson, have bought bags of water balloons for 25 cents, sold by numerous nine-year-old arms dealers, and begin hurling them with all their might at the other bleachers. Nelson finds those muscles he last used in middle school baseball, and makes a couple direct hits on a particularly cheeky individual we nickname “the Monkey Man” for the hairy, shirtless dance he performs after making a successful throw. At one point, we look down the street and see a rainbow of hundreds of round globes arcing back and forth over the parade route for as far as the eye can see. As it gets later, people get sloppy. An unspoken rule of this war is to only throw balloons between dance groups, but as the throwers drink more, their consideration (and aim) worsens, and balloons hit the women in skimpy satin outfits and men in grotesque masks. Monkey Man defects from his side, racing across the parade route to join our bleacher and throw balloons at his own friends. But he has peeked early, and by 11am his friends are carrying a passed out Monkey Man home – the first of many casaulties during this wild event.

2) The “Salar de Uyuni” is the largest salt flat in the world, but in the middle of it, it is hard to believe there is a world beyond these salt beds. No horizon, no mountains; only nothing – bright blue-white emptiness – forever in every direction. Our visit is during rainy season, and much of the Salar is covered with water, creating the largest, most perfect mirror in the world. On a clear day, we have the sensation of floating in the sky, with nothing but blue and puffs of clouds above and below. One of the most beautiful, mind-bending places on earth.

Most unfortunate adventure: 1) Our experience in Oruro was great, but there were some difficulties we could have done without. First, our lodging was very – um – unique. We share a single bed (what they called a “single and a half” – we´d hate to see how big the single is!) in a dingy cement guesthouse where the bathrooms barely function. And when we ask for towels, they provide us with two Christmas hand towels. Second, Oruro is beyond frigid, even in summer. At nighttime, icy winds blow up tunnels of dust along the dirt streets, threatening to bury the entire cement and mud brick city in a sandstorm. Finally, we wonder, will the water balloons ever stop? We can tolerate, and even enjoy, the water wars during the parade, but we quickly discover we can´t walk down the street in Oruro without getting hit by a balloon flying out of a high rise window or from a roof a block away. We begin running from eave to eave, hiding behind walls, wondering how this abuse became socially acceptable….

2)The Salar is one of the most magical places on earth. Yet, to experience it, you must contract a three-day Landcrusier tour in Uyuni with a driver to transport you across the roadless no man´s land of Southwestern Bolivia. No matter what tour company you buy your tour from, you may end up being grouped with another tour company, who has no clue what your travel agency promised you. In addition, the driver is given the money to pay for housing, food, etc, and gets to keep whatever is not used; creating quite a perverse incentive. Although we lucked out with a capable driver and a car in good shape (we passed many a tour group with a broken-down truck), we still had some character-building experiences. Our lodging was – to put it kindly – bare bones (cement beds, no sheets, no pillows, outdoor latrine, no showers – and no heat in below zero temperatures!). And it turned out that our driver was hoarding a portion of our food for his family back in Uyuni… (There were three dozen eggs under the seats, but when we asked for eggs for breakfast he yelled at us! Who knows what else he was hiding in those coolers…) By the end of our three days in the Salar, we were dirty, hungry, and felt like we´d never be warm again – very ready for the sweltering Chilean desert!

3) Finally, we miss a bus. In Oruro, we have ample time before our bus leaves for Cochabamba, so we wander a bit and decide to get a bite to eat at a street stall sellling noodle soup. With only 10 minutes before the bus leaves, Jamaica votes to get it to go in a little cup, but Nelson says “When do these buses ever leave on time – especially in Bolivia!” and sits down to enjoy the soup at the little table. Time passes quickly, and we find ourselves running into the terminal a minute late. The bus is pulling out and Jamaica runs alongside the door banging on the glass. The driver opens it, but doesn´t stop the bus, saying he is only turning around and will be back in the terminal in five minutes. The bus is gone – with our luggage inside! Confusion ensues as the station workers try to figure out if the bus will actually be returning or if they should put us on another bus leaving momentarily for the same destination. For some reason the driver doesn´t return to the station – who knows what will happen to our luggage if we aren´t with it? So we run with one of the bus company employees up the street, searching for the wayward bus. There it is – pulling around the corner several blocks away! She throws us in a taxi and tells the driver to follow that bus! The driver speeds down the street, around the corner, and overtakes the bus two blocks later. We wave frantically and get the bus to pull over. Then we try to convince the taxi driver that the bus company should pay him, but he doesn´t buy it and demands we pay him double the usual rate (about $3). “Fine,” we say, running to the bus. We yell at the driver, “Why didn´t you stop and let us on!” He yells back “Why were you so late?” Everyone continues yelling as we settle into our seats. All because of soup. It was bound to happen one of these days.

Best meal: 1) A Valentine´s Day feast in La Paz. We hear that one of the nicest restaurants in the city is an excellent sushi place named Wagamama. After asking four different groups of locals for directions, we find it down a hidden alley. It was worth the search, as we gorge for hours on fabulous sushi, tempura, and sake- all for under $20!

2) We had no culinary expectations for Oruro. So we were thrilled to find out that the one good restaurant in town is indeed tasty and affordable. The French-trained, Bolivian chef has created a beautiful restaurant in what must be the nicest bulding in town. There, they serve regional dishes with a French touch. Our favorite was the tasty lamb stew that helped warm our souls on those chilly Carneval nights.

3) We experience the best part of Carneval in Cochabamba: Georg ann´s generous neighbors included us in celebrating the last day of festivities in Bolivia – Challa. This traditional Bolivian holiday is the day when families gather to bless their houses with a ritual cleansing, followed by a celebratory feast. We missed the cleansing – but the feast was out of this world! Multiple salads and appetizers were followed by meat, meat, and more meat! Four different cuts were roasted on the parrilla (BBQ), along with purple potatoes (not dehydrated), creamy rice with cheese, and the best chorizo we have ever had (made from pure meat by a group of prisoners at a special rehabilitative prison). All washed down with several bottles of high quality wine that the father of the house pulled out of the basement for the occasion. It was a true family celebration that we are so thankful we experienced. The best meal we had in Bolivia.

Most unappetizing meal: During Carneval in Oruro, we had the chance to try one of the most typical Bolivian foods – charco. Charco is rehydrated freeze-dried llama meat accompanied by whole hard-boiled eggs, farmers cheese, field corn, and rehydrated freeze-dried purple potatoes. Although we were very excited to see purple potatoes after not seeing them in Peru, these little guys did not taste anything like potatoes – more like styrofoam. And the llama meat was like chewing on wood, but worse. We understand that freeze-drying has always played an important role in preserving food for much of the population – but it must be an acquired taste!

Favorite person: Georg ann, an accomplished ex-pat development activist and roommate to the highest-ranking female politican in Bolivia, made space and time in her life to welcome us weary travelers warmly into her home. We rejuvenated, eating homecooked food, playing backgammon, and entertaining her beautiful Siberian Husky – Chaski (meaning “fast runner” in Aymara.) We left refreshed and inspired by what we had learned about the real Bolivia from Georg ann and her friends/neighbors/dog. We hope we see you soon in San Francisco, Georg ann!

Quote of the week: “The extra ingredient isn´t love – it´s salt.” - Nelson, at our salt hotel (salt walls, salt bed, salt floors) on the edge of the Salar, after a salty dinner and finding salt in our sheets.

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Our unfortunate welcome to Lima gives way to four positively civilized days in the comfortable suburb of Miraflores and the historic center of the city. We partake of national Pisco Sour day (Pisco is a grape brandy that, when mixed with lemon and sugar, is the Peruvian national drink), explore world class museums, and relax in leafy plazas sipping espresso. Lima was the shining jewel in Spain´s colonial conquest, and the old center is dazzling – full of ancient churches, catacombs, and imposing colonial government buildings. Glitzy Miraflores is equally satisfying to these road weary travelers, with gourmet supermarkets and pedestrian walks filled with English pubs and ice cream stores.

After several days, we take the third flight of our trip (unable to bear the thought of crossing the Andes by bus again!) and find ourselves in the majestic high altitude city of Cuzco. The one-time capital of the Inca empire and gateway to the sacred cities of the Andes is now the tourist capital of Peru, with more touts than ancient sites. Yet, despite 80% of the economy being based on tourism and more international tourists in Bermuda shorts than Alcatraz in June, Cuzco is still a joy to explore. Past its touristy main square are colonial buildings built with Incan stones and cobblestone streets that twist and turn up hillsides, hiding coca leaf candy makers and excellent artisans. With the Inca trail being closed for its annual cleaning, we are forced to take an overpriced train to reach the key destination in this part of our trip – Machu Picchu. Indisputably one of the man-made wonders of the world, the site is expensive to reach, but worth every penny the moment we glimpse our first view of the great city. Although significantly newer than most of the ruins we have visited, there is no questioning the impressiveness of this crumbling city, perched on the razor´s edge of the Andes, above hundreds of perfectly constructed agricultural terraces. Unfortunately for us, the city where all visitors must stay – Aguas Calientes – is a touristy, modern frontier town, full of shockingly overpriced restaurants and moldering cement hotels.

From Cuzco, we head to our final Peruvian destination – giant Lago Titicaca. This lake is practically a sea, dropped at high alltitude into the middle of the Andean mountain range. Without our knowledge, our arrival in the dreary lakeside town of Puno coincides perfectly with the region´s largest festival of the year – the Fiesta de la Virgen de Candeleria – an all-out party centered around endless (i.e. 7 am – 5 am for three days straight!) parades of elaborately costumed devils, monkeys, and slaves (see photos) that shut down the downtown and turn it into a raucous celebration of drinking, drumming, and dancing. One visible highlight are the children who run wild through the streets, spraying each other (and all unknowing tourists) with ample canned foam. We escape the parade for one day and head into the lake, leaving the chilly Puno behind and entering a Mediterranean microclimate, where tranquil isles filled with indigenous tribes live as they have for centuries. We visit the incredible floating islands – where hundreds live on islands built of squishy reeds – constantly replenished as the bottom reeds rot away – and sunny Isla Taquille, where the men are expert knitters and the women only speak when spoken to. We eat lunch in the patio of a mud brick house and then walk through the warm potato fields of this idyllic isle, chewing coca leaves to help with the high altitude (it really helps!) When we return to Puno, the party has reached full debauchery, with revelers reeling into parade dancers in the streets and foam shooting in all directions.

The next day we make our way by crowded local bus, then tricycle taxi, and finally by foot to reach the quiet Bolivian border on the southern edge of Lago Titicaca. Three busy weeks in the great ancient world of Peru and we have only hit the highlights, yet we are ready to move on. Peru has been tough – on our spirits and our wallets – and we are ready for a new challenge… Bolivia here we come!

Best moments:

1) Watching the Superbowl in a smoky, dark, off-track betting bar in the Miraflores district of Lima, where the buffalo wings are spicy and the fans from around Lima (and the world) are all rooting for the Bears… The owner is determined to find us a space in his overpacked bar, filled with dozens of flat screen TVs, heavy wood tables, and barstools. He takes us through the main bar and back into a hidden area, where a rowdy mix of foreigners and older Peruvian men sit, chain-smoking, drinking, and yelling at the large screens. He finds us a spot in a corner, sharing a table with some pierced local teens, where we drink beer and eat American snack food for hours.

2) Our picture-perfect view of Machu Picchu from the “Watchman´s House” following a pre-dawn hike straight up the great mountain. The rainy clouds part and we see a complete view of the ruins – straight from a Peruvian tourism poster – the verdant green terraces stretching for as far as the eye can see. We arrive soon after dawn, and have several hours to enjoy the ruins before the hordes (literally hordes) of tour package travelers from around the world descend on the site, creating a slow plodding line of tourists stretching like ants, moving from viewpoint to viewpoint. We leave them behind to trek to the “Sun Gate”, the classic entrance to Machu Picchu when arriving via the Inca trail. We walk along the ancient cobbled path, arriving at the gate just in time to see the distant view of the ruins disappear behind cloud. Moments later, torrential rains arrive and soak us to our skin, and we begin a long hike back to the entrance, squishing in our boots.

3) Experiencing an unexpected Carneval in Puno on Lago Titicaca. We heard rumors that there was a party happening on the northern edge of Lago Titicaca at around the time of our arrival, but we never imagined the huge celebration that shut down every major street in the downtown area. As our taxi approaches downtown Puno, we begin to see women in platform, knee high boots, crinnolined mini skirts, halter tops and feathered bowler hats – their costumes made from fluorescent-colored satin, velvet, and lace. They shimmy down the streets accompanied by giant brass bands, playing rhythms reminiscent of high school fight songs. They are followed by legions of dancing men, wearing elaborate devil masks and many-layered costumes, covered in shiny rivets and garish appliqués. The parades stretch in an endless line down the street as the whole town dances and drinks, watching the scene go by. The water balloons we began to see in Ecuador have morphed into cans of fake foam that every kid under 14 is carrying. Besides harassing the opposite sex, the kids especially love to spray the visiting gringos. After receiving a couple of small sprays from the crowd, Nelson decides to join the fun and buys a can. Standing and watching the parade, we spy several 7 year-old boys chasing and spraying each other nearby. One turns his back and Nelson unleashes a flurry of foam, covering the boy´s head. The boy spins, confused, wondering where the foam has come from? Nelson stands erect, innocently facing the other direction, and the little boy begins to suspect the teenage girl standing next to us. As the boy sneaks up behind her, Nelson spins and gets the little boy again – this time squarely in the face. The boy is shocked and screams out “Gringooo!?!” as he backs away, returning fire, and laughing wildly with his retreating friends.

Most unfortunate adventure: We arrive at the Bolivian border a bit wary. Supposedly, Bolivian president Evo Morales has instituted a new visa policy for US citizens that will be enacted any day now. Will they give us trouble, we wonder? Will we need to offer a bribe? As we approach the border, two policeman on the Peruvian side say that before crossing into Bolivia, we must stop at the Peruvian police station: there have been reports of drugs crossing at this border point. Fine, we think, better to be checked by the Peruvians. One of the policeman takes Nelson into a separate room and peppers him continuously with questions about our trip while thoroughly searching through our daypack. Next, Jamaica goes in and the policeman does a cursory scan of her purse. We leave feeling a bit violated – that was quite a thorough search for leaving a country. We scan our possessions and realize the policeman has palmed US$20 with a quick move while questioning Nelson! We are infuriated; for the first time we have been bamboozled at the border! However, the officer has taken a bill with a small tear in the corner, the very same bill the currency exchanger had just refused due to the damage! We hope it rots in his pocket forever… We then enter Bolivia with no problem, just a friendly ¨Bienvenidos.¨

Best meal: Many fabulous meals during this week and a half….

1) 4 star dinner in Miraflores, Lima at Raphael (thanks for the recommendation Jen!) We feel like our old selves for a night as we splurge in a big way at this first class spot, where the Pisco Sours are suberb, the sauces divine, and the service impeccable.

2) Delectable ceviche, the national dish of Peru, at Segundo Muelle – a sparse modern dining room overlooking the Pacific. Fresh, tasty, and a nice upscale contrast to the ceviche we had on the north coast.

3) Bibim bop and ramen at an authentic Korean restaurant, run by Korean immigrants, in Cuzco! What a surprise to find this Korean hole-in-the-wall hidden inside a colonial courtyard in Cuzco. Spicy kim chee and other tasty pickles and super fresh vegetables are a wonderful change from the cuy (guinea pig – very bony and greasy) and llama meat (fatty, without much taste) on most menus in Cuzco.

Most malnutritious meal: Our $20 hotel in Cuzco is one our favorite things about our time in Cuzco. La Piccola Locanda is an Italian-run hotel in a beautifully-restored colonial building, up a cobblestone staircase, with a commanding view of much of Cuzco. The rooms are gorgeous, with vaulted wood ceilings, skylights, and perhaps the most comfortable beds of our trip. However, the included breakfast, while tasty, is not a good way to start the day… It consists of a selection of about a dozen different types of Italian cookies, all excellent, but a bit rich at 8 am! After four days of “cookie breakfast,” we experience a severe sugar withdrawal on the first morning without our daily dose of cookies.

Our favorite person: Andreas, our favorite German mountain goat! In Cuzco we reunite with Andreas, whom we first met hiking in Huaraz, and travel with him to Machu Picchu. Just like in Huaraz, Andreas keeps us moving when we feel ready to turn around. The day we arrive to Aguas Calientes, Andreas suggests we climb up Pintinku, a steep mountain with an impressive view of Machu Picchu and the mountain it sits on. Although quite drizzly, we agree. The hike, consisting of approximately 1400 vertical feet of wooden ladders, with several kilometers of steep trail, is quite a challenge. As we begin our trek, the rain starts to fall. The first couple scrambles up the steep ladders has us ready to turn around, but Andreas urges us on. After several more precarious ladders and a steep stretch or two, we are rewarded with our first view of Machu Picchu from across the valley – definitely worth the climb! After we part ways, we learn that Andreas caught a nasty bug in Bolivia and had to cut his trip short. Andreas, we hope you are feeling better! Visit us in SF soon!

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We really weren´t prepared for the heat. Or the sand (quite a bit of sand in the desert…). In fact, we didn´t know that Northern Peru was desert – all desert – until after spending our first night in Piura, and then another 10 hours in a bus without airconditioning. This arid land of dunes and sandstorms could not have been more distant from the idyllic garden paradise of Vilacabamba. Things were made even more Mad-Maxesque by the scattered straw-mat huts, slowly losing their fight to stay upright against desert winds and flying garbage. Out of all landscapes of poverty we have seen, this one tops them all. We would take city tenement or tin mountain shack over a straw desert lean-to anyday.

The major cities on Peru´s Northern coast are oases in the desert, usually located upon the sites of the great ancient capitals, of which Peru has many. Something about this dry desert land gave birth to not one, not two, but over a dozen great ancient civilizations, and was the heart of Spain´s conquest of the continent. Combined with mindblowing outdoor destinations, Peru is an overwhelming destination that could warrant a several month trip on its own. Our short visit to Peru was like drinking history from a firehose – a dirty, dangerous firehose.

We start our historical tour in the steamy capital of the North – Trujillo. Approaching Trujillo from the desert, we see a sprawling series of mismatched cement block buildings, the outskirts hardly hinting to the impressive colonial buildings at its core or the nearby architectural treasures. We arrive during the Marinera festival, a national competitive dance event drawing couples from throughout Peru. The Marinera consists of a bouncy, spinning routine in which pairs of dancers continuously wave handkerchiefs. Although we did not attend the festivities, the whole city buzzed with excitement – artisan fairs, live music, and various other celebrations bursting out of plazas. Not huge fans of the desert heat and sand, we stayed around just long enough to visit two ruins that made us understand why people come to Peru. The Temples of the Moon and Sun were the central temples of the Moche culture from around 700 AD. They were not considered particularly interesting or important until 1997, when a series of painted reliefs were discovered, leading to the uncovering of almost completely intact structures with brightly painted, intricately carved reliefs. The detail, age, and size of these works is pretty overwhelming. After a rousing lunch, we then continued on to Chan Chan – the ancient capital of the Chimús – who dominated northern Peru until the arrival of the Incas in the mid 1400s (see more in best moment below). A strange law requires that a Peruvian hairless dog guard each archaelogical site in Peru.

We then head inland – away from the heat and back into the Andes. We take an unpopular locals´ bus that weaves through the dramatic Cañon del Paton, one of the deepest and steepest canyons in South America. The beat up bus weaves along the skinny, cliff-hugging mountain road for over six hours, crossing under 30 tunnels carved out of the mountain face. We pass through dusty mountain outposts with faded adobe houses decomposing into the canyon soil. Rounding a desolote bend, we come upon a giant American-owned hydroelectric plant, surrounded by a complex of two-story American-style suburban houses – complete with lawns and even a pool! The difference between the complex and the world outside its high fences is one of the strangest contrasts we have seen to date.

We arrive back in the valleys of the Andes, filled with indigenous tribes and ancient archaelolgical sites. Archaic buses rumble along dirt roads, overcrowded with people and giant packages. We get off in the city of Huaraz, a windswept Andean mountain town. Huaraz is filled with expats eager to serve the stream of international tourists that come to this hard-to-reach corner of Peru to visit one of the world´s greatest natural wonders – the Cordillera Blanca mountain range. Our hostel terrace has a view of almost a dozen glacier-capped peaks. We enjoy several relaxed and comfortable days in Huaraz, hiking, lazing about in cozy cafes and even finding a place that is able to repair our packs (which have had minor damages for months!)

From Huaraz, we curve through the Cordillera´s national parks surmounting rock strewn ravines that go for hours before reaching the mountain village of Chavín – a two-street town lacking power for most of our visit, and consisting mainly of abandoned colonial buildings, slowly collapsing into its bordering mountain streams. Chavín is the namesake home to the remains of Peru´s oldest great civilization. There we visit the famous Chavín de Huantar ruins, whose highlight is a series of underground galleries forming an endless labyrinth of stone corridors – dating from 900 BC! Our detour to Chavín is extended due to a minor bout of food poisoning, and by the time we are ready to roll, we are eager to leave behind the Andes and head towards the great colonial capital of South America – Lima – seat of power and poverty in Peru (see misadventure below). Once again we leave the mountains behind and move to the steamy coast, ready to see what more Peru has to offer.

Best moment: Running through the ancient capital of Chan Chan, which once housed 30,000 people and was the largest pre-Colombian city in the Americas, after hours with our native tour guide. Appearing straight-laced in her crumpled linen suit and a straw hat, she has “seen it all” in her time. She tells us stories of tomb robbers, political intrigue, and attempting to protect Peru´s treasurs and hallowed ground from the desperate and unscrupulous. She even tells the story of how she snagged her British husband, an ally in her fight to preserve endangered archealogical treasures before they completely melt back into the desert. She showed us many secrets of the ancient mudbrick city (even letting us behind the rope a couple times to peek into tombs and down hidden corridors…) After several hours of exploring this sprawling ancient monument, the sun begins to set over the Pacific and Chan Chan. Guards arrive to shoo us away; it´s two hours after closing time.

Biggest adventure: The dramatic Cordillera Blanca is the second highest mountain range in the world, after the Himalayas. Over 50 glacier topped peaks soar over 18,000 feet in this remarkable string of shining giants. We arrive in Huaraz in the midst of rainy season, making one of the legendary multi-day hikes through the Cordillera impossible. We find a day hike that takes us past several magical lagoons before climbing high up to even more spectacular glacial lakes. On the overcrowded collectivo that winds up the long dirt road to our trailhead, we befriend a fellow hiking enthusiast from Germany, Andreas, and decide to do the hike together. As we start the hike, we curse the thick clouds that obscure our views of the peaks that surround us. After crossing several valleys, the hike starts ascending dramatically, with giant, free-falling waterfalls around every turn. After several hours hiking, we keep thinking our destination – Lago 69 – will be over the next crest, but the trail just seems to go on forever. For the first time in our trip, the altitude truly begins takes its toll, leaving Jamaica gasping and moving with lead feet along the steep trail (we are at almost 15,500 feet after all!) After a treacherous final uphill push, far above the treeline, we see the dramatic aquamarine waters of Lago 69. The clouds part to reveal the giant glacier above that feeds the raging waterfall into the lake. We lounge by the shore, sipping glacial water, before realizing that time has gotten away from us – we are supposed to be back at the road in an hour to catch the last collectivo to town! The hike up, estimated to take 3 hours, has actually taken us about 5. We rush downhill (much easier in that direction…), but make it back to the road 30 minutes too late. We contemplate going back to one of the lean-to refugios we passed along the trail, but our exhaustion, hunger, and the increasing cold convinces us otherwise. Managing to flag down a passing ambulance, they tell us a bus should be coming by in the next 30 minutes! Yes! We walk along the road to keep our blood flowing as the temperature steadily drops. 20 minutes later, a bus appears, slowly descending the road´s switchbacks in our direction! We flag it down and enjoy a bumpy, speedy return to Huaraz, feeling well-deserving of a hearty dinner that night.

Biggest misadventure: There is only one direct bus a day that goes from the tiny, archaeological hamlet of Chavin to Lima. It is estimated to take 9 hours, leaving at 1 pm. Although we don´t like getting into new cities, especially big cities, after dark, it is our only option. We spend the morning at a restaurant and then passing time in an archaic internet cafe. We get back to our hostel to pick up our bags, and they say the bus company stopped by (it is a very small town). Another direct bus had showed up and was waiting for us(!) – but unfortunately had already left. We wait for the 1 o´clock; It finally arrives at 1:30 pm and we eagerly jump on, ready to leave the small town. The bus drives two blocks and then stops! The driver announces we will have a 30 minute lunch break. An hour later, the bus still shows no sign of going anywhere. Finally, after an hour and a half, the bus is back on its way. It is a crazy ride, curving through dramatic ravines, past mountain ranges and bleak stone houses. The bus is also ripe with the smell of goat herders and moist wool. We curve and bounce along, as it gets darker and later. By 10 pm – our original arrival time – we have barely made it out of the Andes, and the desert heat has replaced the Andean chill. An hour from Lima, the bus begins stopping at almost every stoplight, letting out someone here and another person there. By the time we finally enter the city of Lima, only 5 people are left on the bus (including us.) At 12:30 am the bus turns down a dark alley near Lima´s historic center. Scantily-clad women and dirt smeared crazies gather around the bus as bus personnel bang on a large sheet metal garage door. It takes 15 minutes of banging for the guard to be wake up and let us into a gravel parking lot. A taxi has pulled inside the metal fence; we jump in as a shirtless man with a distended belly starts to lear at Nelson in broken English. Once safely inside the taxi, our driver asks:”Why in the world were you on that bus?” Explaining that it was the only direct bus from Chavin, he responds “That bus is for those too poor to take any other bus – it doesn´t even go to the bus station!”. At that moment, we drive by a group of about a dozen young men – literally rioting in the streets – charging and succussfully breaking through a shop gate. The cab driver swerves through the crowd and hits the gas. “This is not a good neighborhood.”

Best meal: We enjoyed a fabulous family lunch at a restaurant in Trujillo during our tour of the archaelogical sites. Someone in our tour group was related to somebody that led to us receiving the royal treatment at this great outdoor restaurant. Delicious fresh ceviche, papas a la Huachuana (baked potatoes in a creamy cheesy-egg sauce), plenty of spicy meat and rice. We learned about the special aji (hot pepper) that is central to Northern Peruvian seasoning, and the espeically fuerte lemon that is used to cook the ceviche (¨You really shouldn´t use any other type of lemon,¨ they told us firmly.) Great, tasty fun.

Favorite people: A mini bout of food poisoning led us to stick around in Chavin an extra day. We spent most of our time in Chavin at the fabulous “Chavin Touristic” restaurant. Our wonderful teenage waiter was there morning, noon, and night, always ready to help us select a local dish. He had us try a different type of homemade hot sauce every night and even made a tea from fresh oregano and coca for Nelson´s ailing belly. Our experience at the restaurant made staying in pueblo of Chavin that exra day a-okay.

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