Sports are often touted as a tool to unite warring factions within a society. While there are countless examples both affirming and refuting this conclusion, many arguments ignore a fundamental problem. Many sports transcend cultures. However, countless others do not. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to unite two cultures on the field if one side finds the sport absolutely incomprehensible.
Prior to this weekend, I would have argued that few sports could overtly offend. Yet, after attending the Chilean National Rodeo this weekend, I can see how some pracices could prove utterly incomprehensible to foreigners. The goal of the sport seems to be to steer a cow into the wall and urge your horse to kick it until it falls to the ground. When it rises and runs, the horses and riders repeat the process. It seems barbaric, at least to my sensibilities as a resident of suburban Massachusetts.
In all fairness, I understand why many of the Chilean fans enjoyed the sport. Living and working on farms, cow herding is a way of surviving. Animal cruelty is, after all, a concept that only certain demographics can actually adhere to without greatly disrupting their lives. The rise of the sport and its continued support are certainly reasonable in this context.
But, I'll be honest, I won't be attending anymore rodeos either. I can understand the sport, but I will never enjoy it.
Some sports, however, seem to have more international appeal. Prior to the rodeo, I attended the Santiago Marathon. Although I do often see other runners on my daily jaunts through the city, runners are not nearly as common in Santiago as in the United States. People find it surprising that I run 10 kilometers a day (mas or menos); and it's even more unbelievable that I enjoy it. Yet, the sport is becoming increasingly widespread, as evidenced by the fact that the marathon sold out, albeit only a couple days before the starting gun went off.
Regardless, the event was certainly nothing like the marathon in Boston (which is a significantly smaller city); I stood only a few hundred yards from the starting line, but was entirely alone. Almost no other fans ventured out of their beds to cheer. Moreover, some of the athletes seemed to have had a hard time waking up as well, countless arrived only seconds before the start and some did not make it downtown until quite a bit later (it was timed by a chip, so I guess it doesn't matter).
Regardless of the contrast, the marathon made me miss racing. In a future blog, look for an update on the contrast between road races in the USA and Chile...from a competitor's perspective.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
31.3.10
Por Lo Menos No Estoy Cubierta en Pintura
Something's afoot in Santiago. Swarms of individuals covered in paint have taken over the streets asking for money. Yet, they are not ordinary beggars; they laugh constantly and almost all seem to be between 18 and 20 years old. Who are they?
They are the mechoneos--or first year students--at most universities throughout Santiago. While in the United States any activities that remotely resemble hazing are strictly forbidden, Chile freshman receive a very public welcome.Upperclassmen shred their clothes and cover them in paint, tuna, pig guts, confetti, etc. Then, they are sent into the streets to beg for coins. It sounds awful, maybe even traumatizing.
On the contrary, most Chilean upperclassmen remember the experience fondly. There is, apparently, no better way to unite a group of new students and create enduring friendships.
And so, amid paint-splattered and foul-smelling freshman, my next semester in Chile has begun. Like last semester, I'm taking four classes along with a graded internship. Unfortunately, they happen to be located in five different spots throughout the sprawling city, which means that I either need to buy new "walking shoes" or prepare to spend hours languishing on public transportation. Pucha.
Admittedly, I knowingly ignored location when choosing my classes. I could spend all of my time on one campus, but then I wouldn't be nearly as excited about my classes this semester which include "La Ciudad y el Futbol," "Enfrentando la Pobreza," "La Politica de los EEUU hacia America Latina 1865-1990" y "Discursos Artisticos y Formas Politicos en America Latina." I have yet to choose an internship, although I have decided I would like to work with an organization tackling poverty using a multi-dimensional approach.
In addition to the subject matter, my assortment of classes proves interesting due to their varied locales on various campuses throughout the city. This semester, Tufts students have the opportunity to take classes at La Universidad de Chile and La Universidad Catolica. Although considered to be similarly competitive, the two institutions could not be more different.
As noted last semester, La Universidad de Chile has a distinctly leftist vibe at all its campuses. The most extreme, Macul, could even be considered somewhat anarchist. Political grafitti splatters the campus and (violent) protests and clashes with the police are not uncommon.
On the other hand, la Catolica reminds me of Tufts in that almost all purport to have strong political views, but very few actually act on them. Even the main campus resembles Tufts; dozens of buidings are nestled amid grassy lawns on whichs students study or recline in the sun.
Why study at two universities? Why endure long bus rides in order to traverse between classes? Although I often complain about the trips, the chance to experience Chile from two different perspectives is definately "vale la pena." At La Chile, I have to step outside my comfort zone and study in a still slightly unfamiliar environment, At La Catolica, on the other hand, the classes tend to be more challenging (in my admittedly limited experience) but the environment is eerily reminiscent of home.
Tufts and La Catolica are not, however, the same institution nor are they in the same hemisphere. After a few more weeks of classes and a few more hours spent on campus, I'm sure the differences will be more clear. At the moment, they do seem alike, but that's not necessarily a bad thing either.
They are the mechoneos--or first year students--at most universities throughout Santiago. While in the United States any activities that remotely resemble hazing are strictly forbidden, Chile freshman receive a very public welcome.Upperclassmen shred their clothes and cover them in paint, tuna, pig guts, confetti, etc. Then, they are sent into the streets to beg for coins. It sounds awful, maybe even traumatizing.
On the contrary, most Chilean upperclassmen remember the experience fondly. There is, apparently, no better way to unite a group of new students and create enduring friendships.
And so, amid paint-splattered and foul-smelling freshman, my next semester in Chile has begun. Like last semester, I'm taking four classes along with a graded internship. Unfortunately, they happen to be located in five different spots throughout the sprawling city, which means that I either need to buy new "walking shoes" or prepare to spend hours languishing on public transportation. Pucha.
Admittedly, I knowingly ignored location when choosing my classes. I could spend all of my time on one campus, but then I wouldn't be nearly as excited about my classes this semester which include "La Ciudad y el Futbol," "Enfrentando la Pobreza," "La Politica de los EEUU hacia America Latina 1865-1990" y "Discursos Artisticos y Formas Politicos en America Latina." I have yet to choose an internship, although I have decided I would like to work with an organization tackling poverty using a multi-dimensional approach.
In addition to the subject matter, my assortment of classes proves interesting due to their varied locales on various campuses throughout the city. This semester, Tufts students have the opportunity to take classes at La Universidad de Chile and La Universidad Catolica. Although considered to be similarly competitive, the two institutions could not be more different.
As noted last semester, La Universidad de Chile has a distinctly leftist vibe at all its campuses. The most extreme, Macul, could even be considered somewhat anarchist. Political grafitti splatters the campus and (violent) protests and clashes with the police are not uncommon.
On the other hand, la Catolica reminds me of Tufts in that almost all purport to have strong political views, but very few actually act on them. Even the main campus resembles Tufts; dozens of buidings are nestled amid grassy lawns on whichs students study or recline in the sun.
Why study at two universities? Why endure long bus rides in order to traverse between classes? Although I often complain about the trips, the chance to experience Chile from two different perspectives is definately "vale la pena." At La Chile, I have to step outside my comfort zone and study in a still slightly unfamiliar environment, At La Catolica, on the other hand, the classes tend to be more challenging (in my admittedly limited experience) but the environment is eerily reminiscent of home.
Tufts and La Catolica are not, however, the same institution nor are they in the same hemisphere. After a few more weeks of classes and a few more hours spent on campus, I'm sure the differences will be more clear. At the moment, they do seem alike, but that's not necessarily a bad thing either.
21.3.10
El Año del Verano Interminable: Perfecto
Growing up, summer vacation generally lasted for about two and a half months. College generally allows for longer breaks, but we're still back in the classroom a mere 3 and a half months after finishing our last finals. Luckily, summer in Chile has proven even longer. Although the circumstances around this prolonged break are certainly not ideal (La Universidad de Chile sustained some pretty significant damage during the quake), it has given us ample to time to reacquaint ourselves with Santiago and explore previously undiscovered corners of the city. Whether hunting for Chilean attire in the blur of colors that is Patronato, devouring exotic flavors of ice cream at Emporio de la Rosa (Chocolate Pepperocino or Miel del Ulma anyone?), jogging along El Rio Mapocho, or making homemade french fries, the added weeks without much work are certainly appreciated.
While I love the city, I've also enjoyed the chance to escape the endless cement grid on occassion. A couple weeks ago, most of the remaining Tufts-in-Chile crew reunited and hopped on a bus to Algorobo and spent a day on the beach. Unfortunately, the cloudy weather wasn't ideal for sunbathing and sloshing in the waves, but it did allow us to spread across the nearly vacant beach to toss a frisbee around (or, more accurately, try to throw it) and listen to Kamillah and Katrina strum on the guitar.
Even activities considered more "American" can prove to be interesting cultural experiences as well. In an effort to stimulate the economy after the earthquakes, most cinemas are offering significantly cheaper tickets. Obviously, we couldn't resist the opportunity to see "Valentine's Day" or "El Dia de los Enamorados." Although a relatively predictable romantic-comedy, it was definately an enjoyable film if only because of the vast quantities of Tufts merchandise in Jessica Biel's office (she's attended Tufts for a year before dropping out to pursue a film career) and some sizzling social commentary (let's be honest, we go to Tufts. Of course, we love that stuff).
It was also an incredibly interesting look into Chilean culture. Although most movies and television programs in this country have been imported from the United States, it was soon clear that some of the jokes just don't translate. Frequently, my "gringo" friends and I would be consumed with laughter only to realize that we were the only people chortling in the relatively crowded theater. And I promise the jokes were actually funny in an American cultural context. Some subjects, especially homosexuality, are still somewhat taboo in Chile and the related storyline just didn't seem to amuse most of the audience. Interestingly, many criticize the American media for exporting its values (I wouldn't call them American values) around the world, yet it seems as if many of these ideas remain foreign in Chile and most likely in other places across the globe.
Anyways, summer looks like its about to draw to a close. Classes in the majority of faculties at La Chile begin tomorrow and, combined with my two classes at La Catolica, I'll finally have a full schedule. But, I'm not too worried, we're in Chile. I'm sure we'll find more time to go to the beach.
While I love the city, I've also enjoyed the chance to escape the endless cement grid on occassion. A couple weeks ago, most of the remaining Tufts-in-Chile crew reunited and hopped on a bus to Algorobo and spent a day on the beach. Unfortunately, the cloudy weather wasn't ideal for sunbathing and sloshing in the waves, but it did allow us to spread across the nearly vacant beach to toss a frisbee around (or, more accurately, try to throw it) and listen to Kamillah and Katrina strum on the guitar.
Even activities considered more "American" can prove to be interesting cultural experiences as well. In an effort to stimulate the economy after the earthquakes, most cinemas are offering significantly cheaper tickets. Obviously, we couldn't resist the opportunity to see "Valentine's Day" or "El Dia de los Enamorados." Although a relatively predictable romantic-comedy, it was definately an enjoyable film if only because of the vast quantities of Tufts merchandise in Jessica Biel's office (she's attended Tufts for a year before dropping out to pursue a film career) and some sizzling social commentary (let's be honest, we go to Tufts. Of course, we love that stuff).
It was also an incredibly interesting look into Chilean culture. Although most movies and television programs in this country have been imported from the United States, it was soon clear that some of the jokes just don't translate. Frequently, my "gringo" friends and I would be consumed with laughter only to realize that we were the only people chortling in the relatively crowded theater. And I promise the jokes were actually funny in an American cultural context. Some subjects, especially homosexuality, are still somewhat taboo in Chile and the related storyline just didn't seem to amuse most of the audience. Interestingly, many criticize the American media for exporting its values (I wouldn't call them American values) around the world, yet it seems as if many of these ideas remain foreign in Chile and most likely in other places across the globe.
Anyways, summer looks like its about to draw to a close. Classes in the majority of faculties at La Chile begin tomorrow and, combined with my two classes at La Catolica, I'll finally have a full schedule. But, I'm not too worried, we're in Chile. I'm sure we'll find more time to go to the beach.
10.3.10
The Stove Exploded, the Guide Vanished, and It Rained in San Pedro....FML
As we traveled through Peru and northern Chile, everything went wrong. Stoves exploded, tour guides abandoned us, and rain fell in San Pedro. Yet, we still had an incredible time exploring Arequipa, Cuzco, Arica, San Pedro, and even Calama (an unforeseen final stop on our marathon trek).
Arequipa
After spending a rough night being attacked by swarms of flies in the airport in Arica, we finally set off for Arequipa early on Friday morning. The trip itself, although long, was relatively uneventful. We crossed the Peruvian border, met a Peruvian history professor who recounted old Incan myths to us for the majority of our journey, and watched countless bad (and badly dubbed) movies as our bus traversed the Peruvian desert.
Upon arriving, we meandered through the historic city. The center consists almost entirely of old buildings constructed from white rock from the surrounding volcanoes. It seemed as if each narrow block featured its own elaborate cathedral and convent. For dinner, we tried a unique Peruvian delicacy: cuy or guinea pig. Slightly rico, but I’m not sure I’ll be eating it again anytime soon. After all, his head was still attached.
Athough still overtired from the overnight flight the night before, we climbed out of bed at 2:30 AM to board a bus to Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. Throughout the day, we saw Andean condors, enjoyed stunning views of the canyons, saw some old ruins, and otherwise enjoyed the trip through the lush valley. It was an incredibly calm day.
The night, however, was anything but serene. Shortly after returning to Arequipa, we began cooking dinner in our hostel. As the pasta boiled and the homemade sauce simmered, we relaxed nearby. Suddenly, a sharp bang jolted us from our seats. The glass part of the stove had somehow exploded from the heat and shards of glass covered the floor. Luckily, no one was hurt although the food wasn’t quite edible given the likelihood that some glass had found its way inside the pots.
The night improved drastically only a few hours later. As we sat chatting at a roof top bar, some random fireworks danced across the sky somewhere else in the city. Stunning.
The next day, we spent more time exploring the city. Whether visiting more religious sites, artisan fairs, or markets, everything was stunning. The one blemish on the day was the police officer brutally kicking a drunkard on a street corner. While I don’t necessarily condone the victim’s behavior, it was a painful reminder that two different worlds exist within Peru’s borders (and in many other, if not all, countries in this world): the tourist and the reality for thousands if not millions of impoverished individuals.
This message was further cemented that evening as we bussed to Cuzco. A fatal accident delayed our vehicle for nearly four hours. Due to ice, perilous mountain roads, and lack of local emergency services, it took several hours for help to arrive. Could lives have been saved if firefighters or EMTs were more readily available? I can’t accurately answer that question, but combined with my experiences while locked in the bathroom in Paraguay, I am increasingly glad that the United States boasts efficient emergency services (at least where I live). I haven’t, fortunately, ever needed to call 911 though, so I’m relying on the five minute response time promised by firefighters who lectured in our elementary schools.
Cuzco
Whenever tourists discuss traveling to Cuzco, it’s generally considered a given that they journey further into the sacred valley to visit Machu Picchu as well. Unfortunately, the archaeological site has been closed since mid-January due to heavy rains that destroyed most roads in the area. Although we grumbled about missing a location often described as stunning and incredible, the situation is far worse for the majority of Peruvians living in the surrounding villages. Without the constant flow of tourists they have no jobs and cannot provide for themselves and their families, as demonstrated by the protest we witnessed our final day in the city.
Even without Machu Picchu, we were never bored while in Cuzco. We spent countless hours meandering through the narrow streets scaling the mountainsides, perusing through shops boasting Incan artwork and crafts, and dancing la salsa. The first night, we stumbled upon some salsa lessons and a discoteca where we would spend far too many hours during the next few nights with some newfound Peruvian friends.
This schedule proved exhausting; we still stumbled out of bed early in the morning in order to explore the city. One morning, we enlisted a local guide to take us to the various Incan ruins that dot the Andes mountains on horseback. After spending roughly on horseback, we finally reached Pukara and Tambochay. Our guide promised to stay with the horses while we wandered through the ruins. Unfortunately, it began raining and he vanished (unbeknownst to us at the time, the tour was temporarily suspended due to the inclement weather. Lost deep in the Andes Mountains, freezing cold, and soaked, we eventually located a minibus and retreated to Cuzco in order to dry off and find some coffee to chase away the chill.
The next few days included treks up to Cristo Blanco to see the city, an improved Incan dance performance on a mountain top, perusing dozens of artisan shops, lounging around in the plaza and watching a demonstration, dinner with Gaby (whose currently studying in Cuzco), stalking Amilcar, and finally joining him for coffee and a long chat on the American influence in the city. And lots and lots of salsa. Although we spent more time in Cuzco than any other city on our trip, I can say with certainty that we were definitely not ready to leave.
Arica
When initially planning our journey, we expected a marathon bus trip from Cuzco to San Pedro de Atacama lasting about 27 hours. Fortunately, our plans changed slightly and we broke up the trek into two more manageable segments lasting 17 and 10 hours respectively and spent a day relaxing in Arica, Chile. Or, more specifically, lounging around on the beach in this city on the shore before embarking on the next leg of our trip.
While we did not actually feel it, an earthquake measuring 8.8 on the Richter Scale rattled Chile while we dozed on the bus. We learned of it upon our arrival in San Pedro, but did not understand the magnitude of what had occurred until much later than evening (which explains why we failed to contact anyone in the US for several hours). Luckily, all of our host families and friends survived the disaster unharmed. My family’s washing machine even managed to fix itself as it shook on the balcony.
San Pedro de Atacama
Our final planned destination on the trip was a well-known tourist mecca deep in the Atacama desert. Unlike previous stops, we could not explore this city and the surrounding area on our own. Due to the immense, uninhabited expanses separating the city from various attractions, we had to enlist guides. We were not thrilled to lose some of our freedom, but it actually proved an excellent experience as we met interesting characters from across the globe.
The first night, we journeyed to Valle de la Luna. Unfortunately, as we wandered through the stunning rock and salt formations, it began to rain. Or maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate…as this is truly a remarkable occurrence in the Atacama Desert. It is, after all, the driest desert in the world and it only rained once in 2009 and never even rained in 2008.
After the brief shower, we continued meandering through the rocks, sampling the ample quantities of salt, and enjoying the views of the distant volcanoes. Eventually, the sun began to set and we perched on a rock ledge to watch the sun fall beneath the horizon and the sky and rocks turn a dazzling array of colors.
The next morning, we embarked on a trip to the Salar de Atacama and Lagunas Antiplanicas. The Salar de Atacama is an endless expanse of salt broken up by some small rivers and highways teeming with wild llamas and flamingos. After exploring a small portion of the salar (it is the third largest in the world), so hoped back into the vans and began a rapid ascent. Within two hours, we were thousands of meters above sea level and enjoyed a stunning walk along the shores two shimmering lakes. Nearby, volcanoes scrapped the sky while vicunas (llama-esque creatures frolicked in the field). Too soon, we began our descent and stopped in two tiny villages (Socaire and Tocanao) before returning to San Pedro.
Although tired from our trip, we again crawled out of bed at an ungodly hour to visit the Tatio Geysers Monday morning. As the boiling streams of water are most active between 6:00-8:00 AM, we arrived at the site early enough to view sunrise through the mist. Although we admittedly grumbled a bit about leaving at 3:30AM, it was definitely worth the early trek, if only to hear our Bolivian guide tell Ayamaran legends throughout the trip.
Calama
We initially planned to return to Santiago on Monday; however, due to the earthquake, cancelled flights, and an endless stream of worried emails from Tufts and our parents in the United States, we decided to stay in the desert for a few extra nights. Although we enjoyed our time in San Pedro, we moved to they nearby town of Calama due to communication difficulties when we were in the tourist mecca.
After waiting in several interminable lines that spilled into the street at the airline’s office, we finally rescheduled our flight for Thursday evening. In the meantime, we relaxed in the plazas, wandered through the down town area, and enjoyed far too much standard Chilean fare. We were all eager to return home and see our families, but the downtown was an excellent opportunity to unwind and catch up on all the sleep lost while sitting on overnight buses, salsa-ing until dawn, and arising before dawn for various tours.
We finally returned to Santiago Thursday evening. Luckily, we left Calama about 20 minutes before this city was rattled by another earthquake measuring 7.2 on the Richter Scale. A few hours later, after passing through an airport consisting of tents, we had finally arrived in Santiago and were soon shaking ourselves as the still-frequent aftershocks continued to unnerve the city.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
Arequipa
After spending a rough night being attacked by swarms of flies in the airport in Arica, we finally set off for Arequipa early on Friday morning. The trip itself, although long, was relatively uneventful. We crossed the Peruvian border, met a Peruvian history professor who recounted old Incan myths to us for the majority of our journey, and watched countless bad (and badly dubbed) movies as our bus traversed the Peruvian desert.
Upon arriving, we meandered through the historic city. The center consists almost entirely of old buildings constructed from white rock from the surrounding volcanoes. It seemed as if each narrow block featured its own elaborate cathedral and convent. For dinner, we tried a unique Peruvian delicacy: cuy or guinea pig. Slightly rico, but I’m not sure I’ll be eating it again anytime soon. After all, his head was still attached.
Athough still overtired from the overnight flight the night before, we climbed out of bed at 2:30 AM to board a bus to Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. Throughout the day, we saw Andean condors, enjoyed stunning views of the canyons, saw some old ruins, and otherwise enjoyed the trip through the lush valley. It was an incredibly calm day.
The night, however, was anything but serene. Shortly after returning to Arequipa, we began cooking dinner in our hostel. As the pasta boiled and the homemade sauce simmered, we relaxed nearby. Suddenly, a sharp bang jolted us from our seats. The glass part of the stove had somehow exploded from the heat and shards of glass covered the floor. Luckily, no one was hurt although the food wasn’t quite edible given the likelihood that some glass had found its way inside the pots.
The night improved drastically only a few hours later. As we sat chatting at a roof top bar, some random fireworks danced across the sky somewhere else in the city. Stunning.
The next day, we spent more time exploring the city. Whether visiting more religious sites, artisan fairs, or markets, everything was stunning. The one blemish on the day was the police officer brutally kicking a drunkard on a street corner. While I don’t necessarily condone the victim’s behavior, it was a painful reminder that two different worlds exist within Peru’s borders (and in many other, if not all, countries in this world): the tourist and the reality for thousands if not millions of impoverished individuals.
This message was further cemented that evening as we bussed to Cuzco. A fatal accident delayed our vehicle for nearly four hours. Due to ice, perilous mountain roads, and lack of local emergency services, it took several hours for help to arrive. Could lives have been saved if firefighters or EMTs were more readily available? I can’t accurately answer that question, but combined with my experiences while locked in the bathroom in Paraguay, I am increasingly glad that the United States boasts efficient emergency services (at least where I live). I haven’t, fortunately, ever needed to call 911 though, so I’m relying on the five minute response time promised by firefighters who lectured in our elementary schools.
Cuzco
Whenever tourists discuss traveling to Cuzco, it’s generally considered a given that they journey further into the sacred valley to visit Machu Picchu as well. Unfortunately, the archaeological site has been closed since mid-January due to heavy rains that destroyed most roads in the area. Although we grumbled about missing a location often described as stunning and incredible, the situation is far worse for the majority of Peruvians living in the surrounding villages. Without the constant flow of tourists they have no jobs and cannot provide for themselves and their families, as demonstrated by the protest we witnessed our final day in the city.
Even without Machu Picchu, we were never bored while in Cuzco. We spent countless hours meandering through the narrow streets scaling the mountainsides, perusing through shops boasting Incan artwork and crafts, and dancing la salsa. The first night, we stumbled upon some salsa lessons and a discoteca where we would spend far too many hours during the next few nights with some newfound Peruvian friends.
This schedule proved exhausting; we still stumbled out of bed early in the morning in order to explore the city. One morning, we enlisted a local guide to take us to the various Incan ruins that dot the Andes mountains on horseback. After spending roughly on horseback, we finally reached Pukara and Tambochay. Our guide promised to stay with the horses while we wandered through the ruins. Unfortunately, it began raining and he vanished (unbeknownst to us at the time, the tour was temporarily suspended due to the inclement weather. Lost deep in the Andes Mountains, freezing cold, and soaked, we eventually located a minibus and retreated to Cuzco in order to dry off and find some coffee to chase away the chill.
The next few days included treks up to Cristo Blanco to see the city, an improved Incan dance performance on a mountain top, perusing dozens of artisan shops, lounging around in the plaza and watching a demonstration, dinner with Gaby (whose currently studying in Cuzco), stalking Amilcar, and finally joining him for coffee and a long chat on the American influence in the city. And lots and lots of salsa. Although we spent more time in Cuzco than any other city on our trip, I can say with certainty that we were definitely not ready to leave.
Arica
When initially planning our journey, we expected a marathon bus trip from Cuzco to San Pedro de Atacama lasting about 27 hours. Fortunately, our plans changed slightly and we broke up the trek into two more manageable segments lasting 17 and 10 hours respectively and spent a day relaxing in Arica, Chile. Or, more specifically, lounging around on the beach in this city on the shore before embarking on the next leg of our trip.
While we did not actually feel it, an earthquake measuring 8.8 on the Richter Scale rattled Chile while we dozed on the bus. We learned of it upon our arrival in San Pedro, but did not understand the magnitude of what had occurred until much later than evening (which explains why we failed to contact anyone in the US for several hours). Luckily, all of our host families and friends survived the disaster unharmed. My family’s washing machine even managed to fix itself as it shook on the balcony.
San Pedro de Atacama
Our final planned destination on the trip was a well-known tourist mecca deep in the Atacama desert. Unlike previous stops, we could not explore this city and the surrounding area on our own. Due to the immense, uninhabited expanses separating the city from various attractions, we had to enlist guides. We were not thrilled to lose some of our freedom, but it actually proved an excellent experience as we met interesting characters from across the globe.
The first night, we journeyed to Valle de la Luna. Unfortunately, as we wandered through the stunning rock and salt formations, it began to rain. Or maybe it wasn’t so unfortunate…as this is truly a remarkable occurrence in the Atacama Desert. It is, after all, the driest desert in the world and it only rained once in 2009 and never even rained in 2008.
After the brief shower, we continued meandering through the rocks, sampling the ample quantities of salt, and enjoying the views of the distant volcanoes. Eventually, the sun began to set and we perched on a rock ledge to watch the sun fall beneath the horizon and the sky and rocks turn a dazzling array of colors.
The next morning, we embarked on a trip to the Salar de Atacama and Lagunas Antiplanicas. The Salar de Atacama is an endless expanse of salt broken up by some small rivers and highways teeming with wild llamas and flamingos. After exploring a small portion of the salar (it is the third largest in the world), so hoped back into the vans and began a rapid ascent. Within two hours, we were thousands of meters above sea level and enjoyed a stunning walk along the shores two shimmering lakes. Nearby, volcanoes scrapped the sky while vicunas (llama-esque creatures frolicked in the field). Too soon, we began our descent and stopped in two tiny villages (Socaire and Tocanao) before returning to San Pedro.
Although tired from our trip, we again crawled out of bed at an ungodly hour to visit the Tatio Geysers Monday morning. As the boiling streams of water are most active between 6:00-8:00 AM, we arrived at the site early enough to view sunrise through the mist. Although we admittedly grumbled a bit about leaving at 3:30AM, it was definitely worth the early trek, if only to hear our Bolivian guide tell Ayamaran legends throughout the trip.
Calama
We initially planned to return to Santiago on Monday; however, due to the earthquake, cancelled flights, and an endless stream of worried emails from Tufts and our parents in the United States, we decided to stay in the desert for a few extra nights. Although we enjoyed our time in San Pedro, we moved to they nearby town of Calama due to communication difficulties when we were in the tourist mecca.
After waiting in several interminable lines that spilled into the street at the airline’s office, we finally rescheduled our flight for Thursday evening. In the meantime, we relaxed in the plazas, wandered through the down town area, and enjoyed far too much standard Chilean fare. We were all eager to return home and see our families, but the downtown was an excellent opportunity to unwind and catch up on all the sleep lost while sitting on overnight buses, salsa-ing until dawn, and arising before dawn for various tours.
We finally returned to Santiago Thursday evening. Luckily, we left Calama about 20 minutes before this city was rattled by another earthquake measuring 7.2 on the Richter Scale. A few hours later, after passing through an airport consisting of tents, we had finally arrived in Santiago and were soon shaking ourselves as the still-frequent aftershocks continued to unnerve the city.
Pictures have, of course, been posted on Picasa.
6.3.10
Life in a Shaken City
After spending far too many hours wedged onto a bus, we finally arrived in San Pedro de Atacama slightly before noon on February 27, 2010. I had barely slept throughout the past week, but still could not suppress a smile when looking at my surroundings consisting of arid desert and snow-capped volcanoes scrapping the sky. To put it simply, it was absolutely stunning.
Our earth, unfortunately, is not only beautiful but incredibly dangerous as well. Earlier that morning, an earthquake measuring 8.8 (the fifth largest quake ever recorded) on the Richter scale had rattled much of Chile and destroying countless lives. A series of tsunamis further terrorized Chileans living in costal regions and nearly obliterated numerous towns. To date, the death toll reaches into the hundreds and the whereabouts of hundreds of others remain unknown.
Given the magnitude of the natural destruction, it is mind-boggling that many consider the greatest tragedy to be one of human origin: the looting plaguing Concepcion in the chaos following the quake. Both individuals and bands of thieves stole everything from clothing to electronics from both homes and stores in the city. One major department store was burned to the ground.
Luckily, we did not feel the quake itself nor witness any looting or mayhem, but the impact of the disaster affected our return to Santiago and will most likely continue to impact our experiences throughout the rest of the semester. Physically, Santiago is relatively unharmed. The majority of buildings and houses remain standing due to stringent building codes; water and electricity have since returned to most neighborhoods.
Yet, it is still a wounded city. Many report being unable to sleep at night. Even the smallest aftershocks ( a daily occurrence) trigger fearful reactions in many residents, although they should be accustomed to small disturbances as they live in seismically active city. Work has since resumed and classes are about t begin, but all has definitely not returned to normal.
Not only has the quake revealed the fears of the city, but it has also demonstrated the resolve of both Santiago and the entire nation. It is impossible to walk even three blocks without being implored to donate some non-perishable food items or a bottle of shampoo. Money is, of course, needed as well and Chileans exhibited their generosity during a recent telethon in which they raised $60,000,000, doubling organizers’ goal of $30,000,000.
The support extends beyond the material, of course. Nearly all of the busses clogging the city’s streets sport painted windows declaring “Vamos Chile” or “Fuerza Chile.” And, perhaps I am imagining it, but I have seen a definite surge in Chilean soccer jerseys and other such patriotic attire in the streets.
Without a doubt, the earthquake, tsumanis, and subsequent looting were tragic, but such overwhelming solidarity and generosity proves that Chile will most certainly be able to rebuild and will most likely become a stronger nation than ever before.
FUERZA CHILE!
(The earthquake occurred during the final days of an incredible trip through Peru and the Chilean desert. I chose to discuss the quake as it is obviously an event that has had and will have a huge impact on my host country. A blog or novel chronicling our trip will be written soon!)
Our earth, unfortunately, is not only beautiful but incredibly dangerous as well. Earlier that morning, an earthquake measuring 8.8 (the fifth largest quake ever recorded) on the Richter scale had rattled much of Chile and destroying countless lives. A series of tsunamis further terrorized Chileans living in costal regions and nearly obliterated numerous towns. To date, the death toll reaches into the hundreds and the whereabouts of hundreds of others remain unknown.
Given the magnitude of the natural destruction, it is mind-boggling that many consider the greatest tragedy to be one of human origin: the looting plaguing Concepcion in the chaos following the quake. Both individuals and bands of thieves stole everything from clothing to electronics from both homes and stores in the city. One major department store was burned to the ground.
Luckily, we did not feel the quake itself nor witness any looting or mayhem, but the impact of the disaster affected our return to Santiago and will most likely continue to impact our experiences throughout the rest of the semester. Physically, Santiago is relatively unharmed. The majority of buildings and houses remain standing due to stringent building codes; water and electricity have since returned to most neighborhoods.
Yet, it is still a wounded city. Many report being unable to sleep at night. Even the smallest aftershocks ( a daily occurrence) trigger fearful reactions in many residents, although they should be accustomed to small disturbances as they live in seismically active city. Work has since resumed and classes are about t begin, but all has definitely not returned to normal.
Not only has the quake revealed the fears of the city, but it has also demonstrated the resolve of both Santiago and the entire nation. It is impossible to walk even three blocks without being implored to donate some non-perishable food items or a bottle of shampoo. Money is, of course, needed as well and Chileans exhibited their generosity during a recent telethon in which they raised $60,000,000, doubling organizers’ goal of $30,000,000.
The support extends beyond the material, of course. Nearly all of the busses clogging the city’s streets sport painted windows declaring “Vamos Chile” or “Fuerza Chile.” And, perhaps I am imagining it, but I have seen a definite surge in Chilean soccer jerseys and other such patriotic attire in the streets.
Without a doubt, the earthquake, tsumanis, and subsequent looting were tragic, but such overwhelming solidarity and generosity proves that Chile will most certainly be able to rebuild and will most likely become a stronger nation than ever before.
FUERZA CHILE!
(The earthquake occurred during the final days of an incredible trip through Peru and the Chilean desert. I chose to discuss the quake as it is obviously an event that has had and will have a huge impact on my host country. A blog or novel chronicling our trip will be written soon!)
9.2.10
Sólo Quiero Ver
Don’t I have the right to be able to see five meters in front of me?
While my imperfect eyesight has been corrected by contact lenses, I still find myself crashing into walls and carefully scaling the stairs nearly every night. Why? Constant power outages have been continually plaguing Asunción. Although the power has never been particularly reliable in this city, a recent heat wave ( 45 degrees Celsius nearly every day. YIKES) and a consequent spike in air conditioning usage amongst those lucky enough to have such systems have overwhelmed the electrical system causing frequent black-outs.
Ironically, Paraguay boasts joint-ownership of the second largest hydroelectric dam in the world (as discussed in my last post). It just lacks adequate infrastructure to transport the electricity throughout the country, making black-outs common. Not only are they extremely annoying, but they also greatly hinder workplace productivity. At Fundación Paraguaya, and the majority of other businesses in the country I believe, the majority of the staff work on desktop computers. Power outages, therefore, generally signify several hours of wasted time. How can a developing economy expect to flourish if its businesses cannot even enjoy uninterrupted workdays? It seems obvious that the Paraguayan government and the company controlling the distribution of electricity (ANDE) must invest in more power lines. However, there is no money for such a costly investment. It’s a catch-22; the economy cannot grow due to a lack of infrastructures and, consequently, the government cannot raise enough money to facilitate the construction of such resources.
The link between infrastructure and sight extends beyond the power lines. Last Thursday, I attended a women’s committee meeting in which the group addressed safety concerns in their neighborhood. They planned to paint the telephone poles and trees lining the road white. Although not necessarily attractive, the paint serves to warn drivers of their existence if driving after dark. Street lights don’t exist in this neighborhood after all.
Given the extreme heat, the project went surprisingly well. I was slightly disappointed that the majority of the women briefly participated before relaxing under a tree to drink terere while Fundación Paraguaya staff and their children continued to work. Yet, the kids clearly had an excellent time and it was interesting to watch them take ownership of the project and their neighborhood. In fact, their involvement and investment in the work may be an unintended benefit of Proyecto Limpieza in Mariano Roque Alonso.
Friday, I again ventured outside Casa Matriz. Rather than trekking to another office in the countryside, I had the opportunity to meet with two women credited with leading the Women’s Rights Movement in Paraguay. For several hours, we snacked on pastries, sipped tea from an antique tea set, and chatted about their past work, their goals, and their personal stories of life in a machista society. Although I frequently mention astonishing statistics regarding gender equality (or the lack thereof) in Paraguay, the women’s rights movement has clearly made significant strides. For instance, only a few decades ago children borne by unmarried women could not even attend school. Relatively recent legislation, fortunately, explicitly gives such children (and all women equal rights) but ingrained cultural attitudes remain pervasive in some parts of the country.
While my imperfect eyesight has been corrected by contact lenses, I still find myself crashing into walls and carefully scaling the stairs nearly every night. Why? Constant power outages have been continually plaguing Asunción. Although the power has never been particularly reliable in this city, a recent heat wave ( 45 degrees Celsius nearly every day. YIKES) and a consequent spike in air conditioning usage amongst those lucky enough to have such systems have overwhelmed the electrical system causing frequent black-outs.
Ironically, Paraguay boasts joint-ownership of the second largest hydroelectric dam in the world (as discussed in my last post). It just lacks adequate infrastructure to transport the electricity throughout the country, making black-outs common. Not only are they extremely annoying, but they also greatly hinder workplace productivity. At Fundación Paraguaya, and the majority of other businesses in the country I believe, the majority of the staff work on desktop computers. Power outages, therefore, generally signify several hours of wasted time. How can a developing economy expect to flourish if its businesses cannot even enjoy uninterrupted workdays? It seems obvious that the Paraguayan government and the company controlling the distribution of electricity (ANDE) must invest in more power lines. However, there is no money for such a costly investment. It’s a catch-22; the economy cannot grow due to a lack of infrastructures and, consequently, the government cannot raise enough money to facilitate the construction of such resources.
The link between infrastructure and sight extends beyond the power lines. Last Thursday, I attended a women’s committee meeting in which the group addressed safety concerns in their neighborhood. They planned to paint the telephone poles and trees lining the road white. Although not necessarily attractive, the paint serves to warn drivers of their existence if driving after dark. Street lights don’t exist in this neighborhood after all.
Given the extreme heat, the project went surprisingly well. I was slightly disappointed that the majority of the women briefly participated before relaxing under a tree to drink terere while Fundación Paraguaya staff and their children continued to work. Yet, the kids clearly had an excellent time and it was interesting to watch them take ownership of the project and their neighborhood. In fact, their involvement and investment in the work may be an unintended benefit of Proyecto Limpieza in Mariano Roque Alonso.
Friday, I again ventured outside Casa Matriz. Rather than trekking to another office in the countryside, I had the opportunity to meet with two women credited with leading the Women’s Rights Movement in Paraguay. For several hours, we snacked on pastries, sipped tea from an antique tea set, and chatted about their past work, their goals, and their personal stories of life in a machista society. Although I frequently mention astonishing statistics regarding gender equality (or the lack thereof) in Paraguay, the women’s rights movement has clearly made significant strides. For instance, only a few decades ago children borne by unmarried women could not even attend school. Relatively recent legislation, fortunately, explicitly gives such children (and all women equal rights) but ingrained cultural attitudes remain pervasive in some parts of the country.
3.2.10
"If It Doesn't Hurt, It's Not a Sunburn"
Dear Travel Guides,
Do you mean to suggest that there are only seven wonders of the natural world? Do you truely believe that man has only created seven wonders in the modern world?
Love,
A confused backpacker
Perhaps the only thing more ridiculous than the number of "wonder lists" found online is the existence of these lists in the first place. How can anyone attempt to name the seven best sites given the sheer quantity of majestic locales dotting the globe? Why is the Grand Canyon anymore deserving of a spot on this prestigious list than the towering peaks on the Torres del Paine?
Regardless of the absurdity of such lists, the majority of highlighted sites are truly incredible and I had the opportunity to experience both a natural wonder and a modern one this past weekend.
Taking advantage of the vacation days afforded to each intern, I began my trek to Iguazu Falls late Wednesday night to meet Mim and Row the following morning at our hostel. Or more accurately, resort. Unlike typical hostels, this one featured a pool, pool side bar, and game room in addition to the standard dorm rooms and plethora of accents from around the world.
By the time we finished gaping at our surroundings, pretending to play ping-pong, and frolicking in the pool, it was too late to journey to the falls. We consequently dragged ourselves out to bed early Friday morning to maximize our time in the park.
Iguazu Falls. Amazing. Incredible. Phenomenal. Thousands of gallons of water spill over the falls which span nearly two miles along the Argentinean and Brazilian borders. Lush green rainforest surrounds and it teems with wildlife including swarms of butterflies, cotes, lizards, and gigantic spiders. Once we finally tore ourselves away from the falls we trekked through the rainforest until arriving at a small pond fed by a comparatively gentle, albeit tall, waterfall. Hot and tired, we jumped in to escape the oppressive heat. It was, I must admit, a much more enjoyable swim than me and Mim's brief dip in the glacial lake in Torres Del Paine.
Unfortunately, Saturday morning signaled the end of our time together. While my Australian amigos continued onto Salta, I hopped onto an express bus to Paraguay and started my journey home. The trip began with a brief stint in Brazil. Well, almost. The bus passed through the country but we could not disembark unless we stopped at customs and bought a pricey visa. So, I only experienced the nation through a window, but I still get a point in the admittedly stupid game of country collection, right?
After spending roughly an hour in Brazil, we entered Paraguay. Surprisingly, the bus seemingly forgot to stop at customs. If I was simply a local traveler, this wouldn't have been a problem. However, I'll be flying out of Paraguay in a couple weeks and can not do so without either an entry stamp or a large wad of cash to pay the fine. I consequently hopped off the bus on an unknown street corner and meandered through the overflowing streets until finding a customs officer and my stamp.
In the process, I also spotted a casa de cambio. As I still needed to change some Argentine pesos to Guaranis, I stepped inside assuming it was like any other casa de cambio. I was, to put it mildly, wrong. About 8 guards armed with gigantic guns lined the room while numerous men waited to change small fortunes. They dumped bags of pesos, guaranis, and reals on the table in exchange for thick wads of US dollar bills (and by that I mean hundred dollar bills). Each man appeared to leave with enough cash to pay for at least a year of my college education. Needless to say, the banker scoffed at my small fortune of 69 Argentine Pesos (between US$18-US$20). I had to endure a few more smirks from the staff, but at least I left with a handful of Guaranis and some unforeseen insight into the world of money laundering in Latin America.
Still slightly confused by my experiences in the casa de cambio, I began wandering through Ciudad del Este. Although I didn't stay for too long, the city certainly lived up to its reputation as a lawless border city. The informal shops and markets easily dwarfed those of Asuncion's Mercado 4 and its vendors sold everything from cheap electronics to locally-grown produce. Any shops housed within actual buildings were surrounded by armed guards constantly shifting oversized guns and sawed off shot guns from arm to arm. Meanwhile, thousands of people speaking in a mix of Spanish, Portuguese, and Guarani ambled through the stalls.
Although intrigued by the mayhem, I soon hopped onto a bus heading to the local town of Hernandarias. While the town itself proved relatively non-descript, it boasts the second largest hydroelectric power plant in the world: Itaipu Dam. Considered one of the seven man-made wonders of the world, it powers the entirety of Paraguay and upwards of 20% of Brazil. I, of course, took a tour of the facility.
The views of the power plant and river were stunning, but I actually left the facility slightly irritated by the entire experience. Understandably, the dam's operators created a tour designed to celebrate their architectural achievements while completely ignoring more controversial aspects of the project. For instance, no one mentioned that its construction destroyed a series of waterfalls once considered larger and grander than Iguazu Falls. Nor did anyone note that Paraguayans pay ludicrously large amounts for electricity due to an unfair accord with Brazil involving the dam's electricity production. Moreover, rolling blackouts still plague Paraguay. We've already had three today...and its only a little before 7:00.
After spending the next few hours exploring some unremarkable museums and zoos in the area, I finally hoped onto a bus returning to Asuncion eager to spend a night resting in my own bed. My adventure, I foolishly believed, was over. Within fifteen minutes of entering my empty house, I realized I had been sorely mistaken. I had locked the bathroom door when using it. No big deal...right?
Unfortunately, it was a very big deal. The lock managed to break while I was inside and I couldn't escape. I tried everything: picking the lock, screaming, etc. Yet, I was still sitting in the sweltering bathroom almost three hours later when Izas finally returned home. Upon hearing my pleas for help, she too began fighting with the door. After an hour, she finally called the fire department. There was absolutely nothing else we could do.
Although the fire department indicated that they believed it was an emergency (they arrived with lights flashing after all), they didn't charge up the stairs to rescue me until nearly an hour later. Six firefighters kicked down the door at approximately 4:00 AM. Por fin.
Pictures of Iguazu and Itaipu have been posted on Picasa.
Do you mean to suggest that there are only seven wonders of the natural world? Do you truely believe that man has only created seven wonders in the modern world?
Love,
A confused backpacker
Perhaps the only thing more ridiculous than the number of "wonder lists" found online is the existence of these lists in the first place. How can anyone attempt to name the seven best sites given the sheer quantity of majestic locales dotting the globe? Why is the Grand Canyon anymore deserving of a spot on this prestigious list than the towering peaks on the Torres del Paine?
Regardless of the absurdity of such lists, the majority of highlighted sites are truly incredible and I had the opportunity to experience both a natural wonder and a modern one this past weekend.
Taking advantage of the vacation days afforded to each intern, I began my trek to Iguazu Falls late Wednesday night to meet Mim and Row the following morning at our hostel. Or more accurately, resort. Unlike typical hostels, this one featured a pool, pool side bar, and game room in addition to the standard dorm rooms and plethora of accents from around the world.
By the time we finished gaping at our surroundings, pretending to play ping-pong, and frolicking in the pool, it was too late to journey to the falls. We consequently dragged ourselves out to bed early Friday morning to maximize our time in the park.
Iguazu Falls. Amazing. Incredible. Phenomenal. Thousands of gallons of water spill over the falls which span nearly two miles along the Argentinean and Brazilian borders. Lush green rainforest surrounds and it teems with wildlife including swarms of butterflies, cotes, lizards, and gigantic spiders. Once we finally tore ourselves away from the falls we trekked through the rainforest until arriving at a small pond fed by a comparatively gentle, albeit tall, waterfall. Hot and tired, we jumped in to escape the oppressive heat. It was, I must admit, a much more enjoyable swim than me and Mim's brief dip in the glacial lake in Torres Del Paine.
Unfortunately, Saturday morning signaled the end of our time together. While my Australian amigos continued onto Salta, I hopped onto an express bus to Paraguay and started my journey home. The trip began with a brief stint in Brazil. Well, almost. The bus passed through the country but we could not disembark unless we stopped at customs and bought a pricey visa. So, I only experienced the nation through a window, but I still get a point in the admittedly stupid game of country collection, right?
After spending roughly an hour in Brazil, we entered Paraguay. Surprisingly, the bus seemingly forgot to stop at customs. If I was simply a local traveler, this wouldn't have been a problem. However, I'll be flying out of Paraguay in a couple weeks and can not do so without either an entry stamp or a large wad of cash to pay the fine. I consequently hopped off the bus on an unknown street corner and meandered through the overflowing streets until finding a customs officer and my stamp.
In the process, I also spotted a casa de cambio. As I still needed to change some Argentine pesos to Guaranis, I stepped inside assuming it was like any other casa de cambio. I was, to put it mildly, wrong. About 8 guards armed with gigantic guns lined the room while numerous men waited to change small fortunes. They dumped bags of pesos, guaranis, and reals on the table in exchange for thick wads of US dollar bills (and by that I mean hundred dollar bills). Each man appeared to leave with enough cash to pay for at least a year of my college education. Needless to say, the banker scoffed at my small fortune of 69 Argentine Pesos (between US$18-US$20). I had to endure a few more smirks from the staff, but at least I left with a handful of Guaranis and some unforeseen insight into the world of money laundering in Latin America.
Still slightly confused by my experiences in the casa de cambio, I began wandering through Ciudad del Este. Although I didn't stay for too long, the city certainly lived up to its reputation as a lawless border city. The informal shops and markets easily dwarfed those of Asuncion's Mercado 4 and its vendors sold everything from cheap electronics to locally-grown produce. Any shops housed within actual buildings were surrounded by armed guards constantly shifting oversized guns and sawed off shot guns from arm to arm. Meanwhile, thousands of people speaking in a mix of Spanish, Portuguese, and Guarani ambled through the stalls.
Although intrigued by the mayhem, I soon hopped onto a bus heading to the local town of Hernandarias. While the town itself proved relatively non-descript, it boasts the second largest hydroelectric power plant in the world: Itaipu Dam. Considered one of the seven man-made wonders of the world, it powers the entirety of Paraguay and upwards of 20% of Brazil. I, of course, took a tour of the facility.
The views of the power plant and river were stunning, but I actually left the facility slightly irritated by the entire experience. Understandably, the dam's operators created a tour designed to celebrate their architectural achievements while completely ignoring more controversial aspects of the project. For instance, no one mentioned that its construction destroyed a series of waterfalls once considered larger and grander than Iguazu Falls. Nor did anyone note that Paraguayans pay ludicrously large amounts for electricity due to an unfair accord with Brazil involving the dam's electricity production. Moreover, rolling blackouts still plague Paraguay. We've already had three today...and its only a little before 7:00.
After spending the next few hours exploring some unremarkable museums and zoos in the area, I finally hoped onto a bus returning to Asuncion eager to spend a night resting in my own bed. My adventure, I foolishly believed, was over. Within fifteen minutes of entering my empty house, I realized I had been sorely mistaken. I had locked the bathroom door when using it. No big deal...right?
Unfortunately, it was a very big deal. The lock managed to break while I was inside and I couldn't escape. I tried everything: picking the lock, screaming, etc. Yet, I was still sitting in the sweltering bathroom almost three hours later when Izas finally returned home. Upon hearing my pleas for help, she too began fighting with the door. After an hour, she finally called the fire department. There was absolutely nothing else we could do.
Although the fire department indicated that they believed it was an emergency (they arrived with lights flashing after all), they didn't charge up the stairs to rescue me until nearly an hour later. Six firefighters kicked down the door at approximately 4:00 AM. Por fin.
Pictures of Iguazu and Itaipu have been posted on Picasa.
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