Buenos Aires - The Portal to Adventure

The City
Buenos Aires offered me a taste of what Argentina had to offer me—relaxation, spontaneous fun, excellent new friends to hang out with, memorable football, language challenges, and the kindness and generosity of Argentinean people—and prepared me for the next segment of my trip. A portal to adventure, Buenos Aires opened the door for the next 10 weeks of adventurous, exciting, hilarious travels throughout South America, this great, great land of fun and excitement! In walking through this gateway to travel, you experience a shift in priorities. Your most critical appliance changes from blow-dryer to headlamp, and the coolest thing you own is no longer your laptop, but the twisty elastic travel clothesline (you don’t need clothespins!).

Surprisingly, I didn’t live it up in BA. I arrived around 9am, exhausted from a mix of flying all night and a 5-hour time difference. The first day I walked across the entire city on a 6-hour journey to sightsee. It’s a busy city, but not overwhelming. Bright colors, cute boutiques, and dog walkers exercising 10 dogs of all shapes and sizes at a time. People not just kissing on the street, but seriously making out in public. Cute small corner restaurants and little confiterias/pastelerias. After my day of be-a-rock-star-and-go-all-day-until-2am, I reminded myself that I am on vacation, and my stay in the city proved this point. Each other day I slept in until noonish, getting up to hang around the hostel, watching soccer and drinking coffee in my sweats for a good hour before showering and being "productive."

The People
The travel experience is not only about what you see, but whom you meet. The people in my hostel were great. One of the girls, Kelley, is from the US and had been in the hostel for 3 months. I went out to dinner with her and her friends, all of whom had been staying in the hostel for months, each either doing long-term travel and staying in BA to learn Spanish, teach English, or learn Tango or Salsa. Also in the hostel was a group of 5 British boys, mostly from Bristol. They were all in my dorm, so I felt pretty acquainted with them after they got home from the clubs around 8 or 9 in the morning! Much to my delight, they invited me to go with them to see a Boca game and the experience was nothing short of memorable.

The Experiences
In preparation for my trip to Necochea, I needed to buy a bus ticket. Upon arriving at the main train/bus station, I looked around for the bus ticket booth. Nothing. I lapped a couple times, studying my surroundings in the ever-so-stealth, "I’m clearly not a tourist, so don’t mess with me" way. I soon realized I needed to ask someone for directions. Ok, who? Yes—I’ll go ask that old lady working in the pharmacy. While I asked in Spanish, apparently my accent was so bad that she couldn’t understand what I needed (but give me a break, that was Day One). More and more people crowded around to see what I needed and I kept trying, my face flushed with embarrassment. Estacion de Omnibus! Necessito una boleta para Omnibus! Finally, this nice lady approaches me and asks me in English, "What do you need?" She explained where the bus ticket booth was (actually a completely different building), and walked me halfway there while chatting with me about where I was from and where I was traveling. The unselfish kindness of complete strangers is such a reassuring feeling when so far from home.

The highlight of my experience in BA is without a doubt the Boca game. When I watch soccer and basketball, I get some sort of adrenalin rush. I’m focused, almost as if I am making the decision as to where the next pass will go, and whether or not it’s the right opportunity to take a shot. It’s always been that way for me. Here I am, watching—no, absorbing—something I get to be a part of...once again. It was the perfect warmup, a glorious little taste of what was to come the following week in Necochea.

Boca Juniors vs. Racing, April 29th, 2007

Accompanied by Ed, Olly, Steve, Mike, and Nathan (5 boys from England), I went to my first Boca Juniors game. Thrilled to have people to spend this experience with, we all piled on a bus to leave our hostel in Palermo and enter La Boca. Upon arriving at the stadium, we milled around looking for tickets and enjoying a day-old slice of pizza that Mike kindly brought along. We approached a man in what looked like a ticket sales box and I asked where I could buy 6 tickets. He replied that there were none. Hmm. After a few more tries, we found some scalpers on the street and after much deliberation, coughed up the cash to pay for tickets. A tour bus (Condor Estrella for those familiar) rolled in with the team and like the Dead Sea parting, everyone got out of the way to cheer the team through. The excitement began to rise as we all looked at each other with wide eyes and sheepish grins like kids in a candy store.

To get in the stadium, you have to line up behind a few specified fences. Think "animal pens". Everyone is awkwardly close; some awkwardly drunk. That said, I gathered that we were at a pretty "civilized" entrance, if you will. We were surrounded by dark hair of all styles—some styles certainly questionable and lots of aspiring mullets—and different shades of blue and yellow, Boca´s colors. I certainly stood out in my red t-shirt and knock-off sunglasses. People were singing and jumping up and down with excitement: You could feel the energy in the air. As soon as the police began letting people through, it became a mad, trampling rush and we were soon all shoved together up against the wall. Once moving forward, we went through about four checkpoints and one with the full frisk (where there was one, lone woman police officer for me).

The last checkpoint was the final frisk. Again, I head toward the one woman police officer. Before I know it, they are guiding me toward a different entrance than the guys. The security was motioning for me to walk forward as I am looking around to see where the guys are. Pretty soon I am 50 meters away and can’t see them at all. Oh crap. I am going through the entrance, still with everyone waving me through like they know who I am. I expected to see them on the other side of the door to the stadium. I didn’t—I had no idea where they were. There I was with rowdy fans everywhere—all men—and I couldn’t find the guys. Did I somehow get a ticket in a different section? They all looked the same. ?? This was NOT a place where I felt I should exercise my independence...

I stood off to the side, calming myself and praying the boys I came with would show up. After a few moments, they did! Thank god! I’d had visions of being in the pit all by myself and finding my way home on my own after being pawed at or spit on by rowdy fans. Upon entering our section, all was well. And the nice man gave me the last program! Sometimes it IS good to be the only girl! Ha! Our seats were at the top of the stadium and had an amazing view.

The game was incredible. People would throw receipt paper rolls from the top of the stadium down to the field, like streamers unraveling through the sky. Confetti was everywhere, flares were going off (doesn’t seem terribly safe to me either). The crowd roared, sang, jumped up and down and the entire stadium swayed with activity. The Racing team sat opposite us with light blue pom poms and balloons, signs, streamers, banners, and umbrellas. They were screaming, jumping, and singing the whole game!

Racing got the first goal, Boca quickly followed with a PK (but they missed the first one). Toward the end of the game Boca started playing like crap (lots of Burros!), and their defense left a lot to be desired the whole time. Racing scored again.

At the end of the game, after devouring a huge bag of chips from a nearby gas station, we made our way home. Once back in Palermo, I went out to dinner with a couple of the guys at a fabulous establishment where they served fantastic cheap white wine. The three of us polished off three bottles. After the first one, the waitress tried to bring us "algo mejor?". "No! No, no. Nada mejor!" We love our cheap wine! Nothing tops a wonderful day like a hilarious, celebratory night.

**I am now most proud to announce that Alex, my little brother from the training school in Necochea, was selected for Racing! A pro at 16....not bad. Remember the name Alex Gutierrez from Nicaragua. He'll be famous very soon.

The Long Road to Argentina

In Argentina, soccer is a way of life. It is a part of the culture, and with its excellent teams and coaches, makes a great place to get back into shape to play again. In researching my travels, I found a training school in Necochea, Argentina, at which I made arrangements to train for two weeks. For me, however, the opportunity to train alongside pro hopefuls was more than just about the sport itself. It was about a personal battle I fought, and—I am beside myself with joy in being able to say this—ultimately won. In the end, only a small component of this experience was about the sport. It was about having my health back.

The Long Road
After years of struggling with unwelcome, unexplained symptoms and consulting numerous healthcare professionals for help I was given a blanket diagnosis...that really got me no where. All I knew was that when I exercised heavily, I became extremely, painfully ill for days on end. How do you tell an athlete it is over?

I want to say that the solution came swiftly. I want to say that I handled it well, and accepted it like an adult. That this new lifestyle didn’t phase who I was. For a few years, the fallout of this unusual set of circumstances did not paint a pretty picture. And to add to it, the challenges I faced were never something I felt comfortable being public about. It was hard to put into words something you don’t really understand yourself. I knew I wanted my sports back so badly, but I had to pretend I didn’t. I had to be in denial, because facing it was too painful. I tucked away all signs of my athletic past, I refused to watch any soccer and I avoided going to games. I often didn’t tell people that I played because I didn’t want to explain why I couldn’t play now. It wasn’t a time in my life I cherish: the diagnosis, the misdiagnosis, the confusion, the fear, the reality and the denial. The trials, the pills, the procedures...and the tears that flowed on the way home from every pointless, waste-of-time doctor’s appointment. But also, there was the courage I managed to muster to push for an answer—the answer I ultimately found.

And here I am, sharing my experience from training in Argentina. I am in a time in my life I always hoped for, but didn’t think I would get. For me, training was about a lot more than an improved touch on the ball and a cool story to match a stamp in my passport. Just stepping on the field, now, for me, is likely my greatest accomplishment.

Back into Shape
For training, we would either do an indoor session, and outdoor session, a small practice at the park, or scrimmages at either the stadium or indoor facility. The guys would also go to the midday conditioning trainings with the semi-pro team, but my fitness level was not up to par with that level of intensity. And my quads were simply not going to accommodate it. They held in, though. After many pep talks; “C’mon girls. Stay with me.” Yes, I was referring to my quadriceps when saying ‘girls’. Most evenings we would go to the stadium to train with the local boys’ team. Our coach would pick us up early for our small training, and then we would join the group for evening scrimmage.

Welcome to Argentina
The last night in Necochea was the most memorable. It was a cool night, with dark clouds threatening. The air filled only with the stampede of cleats gushing through mud, the varied thumps of the ball, and each of us yelling at each other as we battled. There I was, in the pouring rain with this handful of local boys and my brothers, pushing the ball forward. We’re sprinting, we’re stretching, we’re screaming. Pushing, pulling, lunging; getting that slight tap to your teammate and digging in to get forward and receive the next pass. Demanding, punishing your body to step hard and get there never felt so comfortable, so natural.

The sun has gone down and we’re playing under the buzz of the lights coming on, with the rain sporadically pounding us. The scrimmage gets more and more players as the night goes on, and quickly moves from controlled, working-the-ball down the field to an all-out pinball machine scrap fest. The game has changed and I realize I will either be in it, or out of it. Well? If you bitches want to scrap, then I’ll scrap! Hacks, lunges, slices, dices. Welcome to Argentina. Crashes, slashes, cuts, dodges. The occasional quality pass. Thwacks, thumps, knocks—chasing each other down the field to pick off that ball. A loose ball and three of us go for it. The guy in front of me took a larger step and we collide in a full-frontal smash—and I go flying. I am so wrapped up the adrenalin of it all I hardly notice the nosebleed and the growing bump on my forehead. While these players were exceptional with footskills and strength, they didn’t anticipate as well. In such a game, the strategy of place-yourself-next-to-the-beehive-and-scream-like-hell-for-the-ball proved to be effective and earned me some excellent shot opportunities. I didn’t score that night and I really wanted to, but I was dangerously close to the upper V three times. It’ll happen.

Where’s Your Sports Bra, Hill?!
I learned so much in my two weeks in Necochea. To bring more socks and sports bras than you can shake a stick at. To pay attention all the time and to look tough, play hard, and hit back. To scrap, scrap, scrap! That challenging yourself makes you smarter, faster, stronger, and better. That playing with a small, ghetto ball on turf will demand improvement with your control. That you must never take off your sports bra so that it can dry in between trainings, because you’ll forget to put it back on and have to tell the coach why you shouldn’t scrimmage… That blisters are your friend—be hospitable to them. That Argentinean MTV is hilarious, and it’s even more hilarious to mimic the characters with your little brothers. That dulce de leche is delicious with everything (and I thoroughly tested this theory). That 26-year-olds aren’t as fit as 16-year-olds, but that just means you have to work a little harder to get there. That few things are more gratifying than Abel with a grin on his face, a look that crosses between pride and surprise, shaking both fists as he yells with enthusiasm, “BUENA! BUENA SSSHHHHEEEEE-LA-RRREEEE!! BUENA!!!!!!”

And despite my nonchalant approach to what I thought was doing there, it soon became evident. I came to Argentina because I needed to ask the question. And in Argentina, I found the answer. Indeed, soy futbolista!

Family Life in Necochea

Aspiring football players come to El Potrero to focus on training for various amounts of time, from several months up to a year. I, however, was a bit of an anomaly in countless ways. I was the backpacker traveler in for a few weeks, having only a vague, undefined idea of where I wanted my football to take me, and of course, I was a girl. I was the first girl to come to El Potrero. The program is set up by Enrique Amarante, and his family opens their home to provide the residential experience of the football school. With an Argentinean couple, their son, their three dogs, 5 boys from Ecuador and Nicaragua, and one girl from the United States, the experience is similar to that of a family.

Arriving and Meeting my New Family
Upon arriving in Necochea, Enrique came to pick me up at the bus station with his son Esteban, who was slightly older than me. Once we arrived at the house, I dropped off my stuff and went to meet the other boys. Graciela, Enrique’s wife (and my new Argentinean mom) came running in to greet me and give me a big hug. It was quite relieving after being in the awkward spotlight of strange-first-girl-to-ever-come-here-and-just-got-off-a-10-hour-bus-ride-they-told-me-would-be-7-hours-oh-my-god-I-am-really-here-and-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into feeling. We all sat down to have dinner together, and after smiling politely to acknowledge the surprised look on their faces that I do indeed have a healthy appetite, I was off to bed to sleep off the long journey and get ready for my experience in Necochea.

Ochenta y Cinco Bis
As students, we live in the Amarante-Graziano home on 85 (ochenta y cinco) Bis. The boys have a separate area, connected via the patio with a separate street entrance. There they live with their sleeping loft upstairs, kitchen, bathroom, and communal area. The communal area was a big room, perfect for these boys: mismatched furniture, regular TV and then one for video games, posters of Maradona on the wall, and of course, dirt smudges on the walls from kicking the ball around indoors. And yes, I did it too. Being the only girl, I got to take residence in the family’s house in their daughter’s old room, complete with private bath. As much as I loved my new little brothers, and as seasoned a traveler I now consider myself to be, cohabitating with 16 and 18-year-olds was not part of what I signed up for so I was thrilled to have my own room and bathroom.

A La Casa
We had training every day at different times (which I either didn’t understand, or they would change at the last moment, so I just tried to be ready for everything and anything). We had breakfast whenever we woke up—and I was usually up first—and then el almuerzo and la cena was usually around our training schedule for the day. In between trainings, we would spend time lounging around in the TV room, watching quality programming such as trashy MTV shows, the Simpsons, and (when I got my way), classic girl movies like My Best Friend’s Wedding and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. While hanging around at home, I would have my 501 Spanish Verbs out and work on my vocab, verbs, grammar, and correct pronunciation of inappropriate, dirty phrases that my little brothers proudly taught me (and would make me practice, “No! You have to yell! You have to sound mad!”). We would practice my skills at rolling the Rs, which tripped me up every time...but I am getting better! When I would hear a new word, I would try to look it up or write it down (which was a non-stop pursuit).

Como?
Being immersed in the language sped my progress dramatically....and also lent itself to a constant feeling of frustration. One of the boys, Alex from Nicaragua, spoke English well, however, I came to find how much I speak with idiomatic expressions, and how humor and tone simply don’t translate. I have so much respect for people who work hard to learn a language in a foreign country—the level of frustration from not being able to express yourself became too much sometimes.

“A-le-jjjooooo!”
I lived with Enrique and his wife Graciela, their son Esteban, and their dogs Che, Tobey, and Luna. But I spent most of my time with Jesi, our cook and housekeeper—and my helper in beating up on the boys—Alex from Nicaragua, Andres from Ecuador, Cristopher from Ecuador, and Jean from Ecuador (who came for the second week). After only a few days I became clear on what it’s like to have brothers: throwing things at each other, mimicking each other’s voices, doing silly imitations of TV characters, etc. One night we all sat up in the loft, turned off the lights and told ghost stories! I told the famous tale of my scary haunted house-sitting experience, and Andres had a nightmare about it! (no my Spanish isn’t that good...yet. Alex translated).

Bienvenido a Necochea
Necochea is a sleepy little town. During the summer it’s popping because it is right on the beach. During the winter, however, a lot of the cafes are closed and the shops are only open for a few hours. It is very spread out; we would have to get a ride from either Abel, the head coach, or a taxi to training. Our house was located within walking distance to the beach and a handful of amenities such as a cyber cafe, laundromat, shops, and cafes. The center of town was about a 5-minute drive and held a typical main drag of retail fronts and restaurants.

The people seemed even nicer than those in Buenos Aires, and because this place isn’t a hub for tourists, immediately can’t detect my gringa status and would unleash the Castellano propelling out like a machine gun. However, once they realized I wasn’t able to keep up with the language, I felt like everyone made a warm effort to help assist me with whatever I needed. When I told people I was in Necochea for football training after being asked why I was in town, some people actually laughed and I had to continually say, “Si, yo juego. Yo juego con los chicos.” Then I kept getting asked the most absurd question in the world, "why do you like football? I don´t understand." I began to get frustrated.

Novelty or Freak? Five Minutes of Fame
Because women in Argentina do not play soccer, I was a bit of a novelty. Novelty, or freak. I think freak is more precise while novelty is more flattering. Regardless, I awoke one morning to be told that we were going down to have an interview for TV. I was interviewed for a large newspaper article that ran in the Sunday paper, and a TV program about sports in Necochea. It was all very strange; I never felt there was anything that unusual about my being there, training with the boys. However, a few days after the article about me ran in the paper, people would recognize me when we would be out in public, which, actually, made me feel really awkward.

In all, I had an enchanting time in Necochea. To me, it was about as authentically Argentinean as you could get: Soccer, tango, family homestay, and meeting locals in a place that rarely has tourists. Necochea prompted me to learn not only about Argentina, but also my place in terms of what type of athlete I am, what type of traveler I am, and what type of family member I am. The last day in Necochea I was at a grocery store and the woman who worked there approached me and said (Alex was there and translated), "You are the girl in the paper. You get out there to kick ass, and to the kick the asses of those boys. Good for you!" And she was right. In the end, while Necochea impacted me, it seems, I impacted Necochea too.

Pachamama By Bus - North Chile down to Santiago

What is this ‘Backpacking’ Thing You’re Doing?
On a group bus tour of backpackers, I immediately adopted the roaming, nomadic lifestyle which includes battling to be the first to run in the dorms to snag the best bed, re-discovering the muscle memory employed when taking effective cold showers, the inevitable wearing of dirty-clothes consistently (just use the sniff test), eating petrol-stop ice cream bars (which I am confident had nothing to do with my vacation weight gain), passing out the ear plugs due to the dolby digital surround-sound snoring from multiple culprits, and sleeping in hostel rooms with swarms of bugs. Cheers to that.

On the bus, everyone was on his or her own schedule of napping, spending hours lost in the magic of mp3 players, or scrounging around to find that last package of junk food from the previous petrol stop. Off the bus, if we weren’t in the middle of some adventurous, outdoorsy activity, we would fill our time with a mix of the following: bonding over crazy travel stories, figuring out some new shenanigan, or just hanging out and getting to know one another.

The People
The only thing more fun than being on an amazing, active adventure exploring some of Chile’s great natural wonders, is doing so with fun-loving, ballsy, hilarious, like-minded adventurous people. Our trip consisted of a handful of travelers, all at different points in longer journeys with both radiant energy for fun and fantastic stories from other destinations along the way. About half of our tour group was somewhere in the middle of round-the-world journeys. I was the only American, but there were a few Canadians, Australians, English, Dutch, and a Brazilian outside our tour guide and driver, both Chilean and an absolute blast. Early on, I made a couple strong friends with whom I would hang out with the most. However, the cool thing of being in a group of 15 is that everyone really does everything together and you get to know each individual.

What surprised me most was the balance in activity; typically, tours have the people who want to party every night, and the people who want to stay in every night. With our group, the moods transferred from one to another, and be it a quiet night sharing a communally prepared meal and chatting about education and career prospects, or going out and partying it up until 4am, our respective moods and motivations were on par with one another nearly every night.

We had the usual suspects on any tour group: the fun ones, the annoying ones, the cranky one you stop bothering with, and the cute ones. It was great.

Six Days through Chile
While the group was chill while on the road, we were all ready for the next stop, the next activity, the next fun thing.

Day One: Antofagasta to San Pedro de Atacama

The Adventures
On my first day, we were headed into the Atacama desert to visit the salt flats which was only a few hours away. Once the salt has been mined for all the chemicals and substances, it is discarded in one place, which over time has developed into a salt mountain. We climbed up the side of it, and while it wasn’t too difficult, it certainly got the heart rate going and all the loose chunks quickly slid down leaving any exposed skin thoroughly exfoliated. In the late afternoon we visited the flamingo reserve to watch the desert sunset before rolling into San Pedro de Atacama for two nights. That night we all went out to dinner and enjoyed the lovely, 2-for-1 all-night happy hour on selected drinks. And being partial to sampling cultural delights, I had my fair share of Caipirinhas, a Brazilian drink. As the night went on, we found ourselves at a large, round table all with a 3-drink head start on a fun evening. Before we know it, Ian is explaining the infamous “handslap” game. All with our hands on the table, left hand on top, right on bottom, we went through the rules. Different numbers of handslaps can continue the sequence, skip a hand, or change direction. When you mess up, you drink. And when you keep messing up, you keep drinking, and then…. It can get a little ugly [hilarious]. After we were all sufficiently drunk, we headed back to our hostel, to share beers around the campfire, chat about travels, practice the dirty Spanish phrases I taught everyone, and discuss names for our new-found friend stray dog (we ultimately decided upon Bobby Red).

The Funniest Part
Trying to finagle the extra beers from one of our travel companions who was asleep as he had to get up at 4am to see the geysers. After a few of us tried waking him up to coax more beer, we were all unsuccessful, and such began a bit of a dramatic episode in the group and a unique display of questionable interpersonal skills...alas, there is always excitement in every group travel situation! For some reason he didn’t appreciate each of us waking him up. Still can’t figure out why…it seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Day Two: Day in San Pedro de Atacama
(this was also the day I received the email from Dave letting me know he crashed my car while I was away…)

The Adventures
While the morning was slated for visiting the geysers or doing other activities, a few of us slept in. In the afternoon, we went out to the Salt Caves to do some exploring and a bit of rock-climbing. Here I realized that hanging on to my turf shoes in lieu of trainers was indeed a good idea! Parts of the caves are indeed made of salt and when you put your headlamp up to it, a large area will glow. After the caves we went to climb up a huge sand dune to watch the desert sunset on the mountains. Again, talk about a workout—I felt like I was at St. Helens again (but this time without crawling into the fetal position, thank you!). The top was breezy, but incredible!

That evening, we were all still up for a good party. We started at the fun happy hour restaurant, hit up a local bar, and then left at 1am with everyone to head to a private party. In this case, private party meant a one-room studio with little more than a bedroll on the concrete floor, with all the guests sitting and chatting in a whisper so the landlord wouldn’t hear and bust it up. I had a great time practicing my Spanish and Swedish, as we made friends with a couple Swedish girls who were there. The night went on, meeting new people from all over the world, all passing around one cup where I had mixed pisco and Pepsi. I am cringing just thinking about it—I had a bit of a rough night. It was one of those “who’s puking now?” nights. More like, “who’s dry-heaving out of the bus window the following morning?” nights. I am not proud of that one, and it is a fact that I stayed away from alcohol for the next few weeks.

The Funniest Part

Laughing as Darcie shared with a local the bad Spanish word I taught her. And it was a really, really bad word.

Day Three: Travel day from San Pedro de Atacama to Pan de Azucar

The Adventures
After having Lucy wake me up, I packed my things as fast as I could and boarded the bus. I overdid it the previous night and was feeling like 1.) I got hit with a freight train 2.) my body was ready to refute any substance I opted to ingest, as well as refute in general, without substance 3.) I was way too old and responsible to be this hungover. After a tasty sandwich, some water, and potato chips, the hangover cleared and I was feeling rockstarish once again. That day we drove south to Pan de Azucar where we camped on the beach. While I am a fan of camping, freezing cold weather does not a fun camping trip make, but I toughed it out without a problem. Our Australians Kym and Chris cooked up a FABULOUS curry that night for everyone to share. We left early in the morning, all feeling a little less-than-rested but me (thank you Thermarest! I knew I was carting it around for a reason!!!).

The Funniest Part

Embarrassing and unflattering as it is, feeling so sick from the bumpiness of the bus ride I had to shove open the bus window and (after dry-heaving a bit) leave my head hanging out like a golden retriever. I’m sure the commuters on their way to work found it amusing. Classy, Hill. Classy.

Day Four: Pan de Azucar to Vicuna

The Adventures

The fourth day was also a travel day—I think I was going through a set of AAAs on my mp3 player each day. We were headed south again, toward the Elqui Valley. We arrived in the evening, just in time for me to get a—gasp—hot shower and leave for the Planetarium. I fully admit to being an astronomy dork, so I had been looking forward to this the whole trip. It was great, but also soooooo cold. What is with this country? Oh right, it’s winter… We first went up to the main telescope to view Saturn and Jupiter, the only planets viewable this time in the season. After that, we went downstairs to receive a rather odd presentation, and then outside to see more stars and parts of the galaxy from the smaller telescope. Two thumbs up, but go during a warmer season.

The Funniest Part

One by one dropping out of the planetarium tour to wait it out in the bus because we were dying of frostbite.

Day Five: Day in Vicuna

The Adventures

While there were some local tours planned for the day, our tour guide was so sick she needed to go to the doctor. In the end, we had a chill day writing emails, backing up photos, going out for meals, and taking naps. There was a nasty flu bug going around that was taking people down one-by-one, so we were all hitting the vitamins hard and trying to have as much juice as we could get our hands on. That evening we went out for a nice healthy dinner together and a few of us came back to our dorm to watch a movie on TV.

The Funniest Part

“This looks like shit. Smells of shit!” James enunciated loudly to the lady who washed his clothes. They came out covered in mud and dirt—way worse than when they put them in. Liz had to come and explain in Spanish.

Day Six: Travel into Santiago

The Adventures
The last day of the tour was a travel day. We made a stop in the Fray Jorge National Park, which featured a small rainforest climate up on the top of the mountain, overlooking the water. The bus twisted and climbed to the top (not without me getting a little nervous from problems in previous mini-bus trips), and we all piled out for a little nature walk to enjoy the scenery. The last day in the bus was full of passing around journals to get each others’ email addresses, chatting about upcoming destinations, and relaxing to the varied music mix on Lucy’s iPod. I seem to recall a heart-felt sing-along to Elton’s Tiny Dancer. We said our goodbyes, and such ended yet another segment of my trip.

The Funniest Part

After Dave went on and on about his “famous” hat—the one he explained was so famous because it made itself on the news (while on his head?) and was one of his most important possessions—he managed to leave it behind on the bus.

I was in Santiago for 4 nights with a couple awesome people I met on my tour. I didn’t do a lot of sight-seeing while I was there, but the little I did, I realized I didn’t miss anything! We did enjoy the Champion’s League finals with nearly everyone else in our hostel....and a package of cookies! Bummer for Liverpool.

Off to Mendoza…

Wine, Great Friends, and Accidental Adventures in Mendoza

I met Kelley in my hostel in Buenos Aires. She was in my hostel room and had been living at the hostel for a few months, along with a handful of other long-termers. After a few conversations we realized that we had a lot of similarities and I quickly suspected that she and I would be good friends for a long time. She left Buenos Aires to take up residence in Mendoza, Argentina, doing a marketing internship and taking Spanish classes. While I was traveling, she invited me to come for a visit, and I was excited to fly by the seat of my pants and take her up on it (and miss the frostbite that would surely ensue from the non-heated hostels in southern Chile).

Meeting my Twin
Meeting friends while traveling is always one of the greatest rewards of the open road. However, Kelley and I soon realized that we were so similar, it was uncanny. I have never met anyone with such a close personality, humor, taste, sense of adventure, outlook on life, etc. And paired with that, it came down to unusual parallels. For example, I had some of the exact same articles of clothing –right down to the brand—and various household items, such as a little brown notebook with blue flowers (Target, baby!). She too was a travel-obsessed, left-handed, vegetarian, all-things-Swedish-loving, middle-child-in-the-family-of-three-girls, American chick. And daaaaaaaaaamn cool!

One of our first evenings we met up with Jeri, an English teacher from Kelley’s language school, to taste wine flights at the Vines of Mendoza and go out for dinner. We had a delicious and amazing 4-course vegetarian meal complete with wine and tales of travels and various boludos. A very Bridget Jones evening.

New Friends Like Old Friends
We found this quiet little tucked-away restaurant in an old, unique building. Each room had only one or two tables, and there were different bright, autumn-toned colors in each room. Each table and set of chairs were different, and outside our little dining room was a patio where they were holding a birthday party with guests of all ages and a small quartet playing in the corner. While the patio seemed a little chilly on this brisk, late-autumn evening, the indoors was a perfect location for our dinner. Listening to Jeri’s stories, the three of us were laughing, eating, drinking, commiserating, empathizing, and having an overall blast. She had a special energy about her, which we soon determined led to her amazing luck and positioned her for some incredible experiences. How many people get bumped to first class in order to avoid sitting with an ex-boyfriend on a trans-Atlantic flight? How many people charm the attendant into an invitation for a very memorable gaseosa in the back of the bus on an overnight journey?

It was one of those amazing moments you share with your friends. One when you realize you completely identify with one another, and nothing is more interesting or more fun than hanging out and chatting together. It all of a sudden became evident that the theme of friendship was presenting itself to me on this trip once again. Here I was with people who were—almost in a freakish way—exactly like me. It was like we had grown up together and were having yet another Saturday night together. Yet, the three of us had each met only a few weeks prior.

Old Friends Meeting the New Friends
While Kelley and I were at Bonafide mapping out our wine-tasting strategy over a couple cappuccinos (a decision in which we once again read each others’ minds), we ran into Kym and Chris from Australia, the married couple from the Pachamama bus! After chatting a bit, they hopped on the bus with us and joined in an afternoon of trying to find some bodegas open on a Monday. As we all trekked down a local country road in the outskirts of Mendoza, fall colors everywhere and locals passing and laughing at our ignorance (and foreign status), I admired their sense of adventure and laid-back, fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants mentality. Kym and Chris were on yet another international adventure. They were travelling Latin America for a year; beginning in Chile, making their way through Argentina and then heading north before going to Central America, Mexico, and Cuba. Not only do I respect people that can travel for an entire year, I really respect people that can travel together for an entire year—and I don’t think I’d ever run into more kind, laid-back, adventurous people who can make a mean curry. They provided an excellent example of a solid relationship, right down to their salsa skills (they took lessons back at home in preparation for their trip). Kym and Chris joined Kelley and I in a few of our adventures, and the three of them continued to see each other after I had left town.

The Vines of Mendoza
The themes and subtle lessons of Mendoza circled around relationships: both with friendship and romantic. In Mendoza I enjoyed time with girlfriends with whom I strongly identify, enjoying each others’ company, humor, and unabashed zest for life. I also got to get to know Kym and Chris better, and was able to observe the way their vibrant thirst for seeing the world mixes—and perfectly coexists—with their traditional “home life”, with having the house, the professional jobs, and the incredible marriage. The interests, personalities, and goals of these people were so aligned with mine that I couldn’t help but realize it was no coincidence we were all in the same city at the same time.

And with this experience, I flew to Peru revitalized with the reminder that without question, the universe puts the right people in the right places at the right time—sit back, trust, and enjoy.

The Wisdom of the Inkas - Lessons from the Inka Trail

With the highest point of the trail reaching 13,775 feet, the Inka Trail trek leads to Machu Picchu, the ancient city of the Inkas. Forget the soccer tournaments with three games a day: We hiked 45 kilometers in 4 days, and with the elevation and the heavy pack on my back it was surely the most intense physical conquest I have ever completed. The scenery is incredible—snow-capped peaks, enormous, jagged mountains, deep valleys, scattered wildflowers.

Las Chicas Poderosas
The Inka trail is heavily regulated, so there are only around 200-300 tourists on it per day, outside the 200-300 porters and guides. Group sizes vary, but I lucked out and got the best group imaginable: two other girls my age! The three of us were all from the states and all had a ton in common, and a great time together. We were perfectly suited fitness-wise; no one held anyone back or pushed anyone too hard. Jose was our guide, and he spoke excellent English. Each time we reached a ruin we stopped, took off our packs, and sat down for a “story time” of him telling us more interesting facts about the Inkas and the Inka culture.

We had 5 porters who all had great personalities, encouraging smiles, unbelievable strength and stamina, not to mention were amazing cooks! Our group was unusual in that we didn’t have additional porters to carry our personal stuff. A combination of our tour company not letting us know it wasn’t included paired with our inherent toughness, we carried our own things, increasing the intensity of the hike tremendously. The second day, this idiot looked at us and said, "You guys are crazy to be carrying your own stuff." Annoyed with such a ridiculous comment, I immediately snapped, "Nah, we’re just strong." Hahahaaa. Nicole and Kristin smirked. How do you like us now? Needless to say, he didn’t speak to us anymore after that. At the end of the second day we arrived at camp and three boys looked delighted to be camping next to three girls. But as we walked in they said "You are carrying your stuff? You know there are porters for that. Harharharhaaarrr" Needless to say, we didn’t take them up on the offer to share a cigar and a drink that night. Noooooooo, gracias. Jose, our guide, enjoyed the attention enormously. He said all the other guides were coming to talk to him about his group of three girls that carry their own packs! The "Chicas Poderosas."

El Camino
I had been in Cuzco for about 5 days getting acclimated to the altitude before beginning the trek. The tour company picked me up at 6am and we drove an hour to the porter village where we had desayuno with the other two girls on my trip. The first day we only hiked about 4 hours, which was the easiest day. Our lunch and dinner was always ready when we arrived to the camps. Our porters are some of the most amazing people I have ever seen: they would leave the rest stops after us and arrive to the next place long before us, carrying three times the weight, wearing nothing on their feet but sandals. The second day was the toughest. We did 3.5 hours of tough uphill to lunch, where we ate everything we could get our hands on and then took a quick siesta. After lunch it was another 2.5 hours of extremely intense uphill to the highest pass, "Dead Woman’s Pass" which sits at 13,775 feet. Dead Woman? I’ll say.

Following our uphill, we had about 2 hours of steep downhill until we got to our camp for the night. It was FREEZING that night, and I was so tired I went to bed around 8pm wearing every layer of clothing I had. The next morning, after being woken up by our porters with tea—which they kindly did every morning—we started our 2 hours of tough uphill to the second pass. It was about another 2 hours of steep downhill to lunch, and then after lunch we had about 4.5 more hours of moderate up and steep down (we are talking steep staircases you should climb down backwards like a ladder). Upon reaching our evening camp, my knees were DONE, and my group kept making me eat along the way because my blood sugar was so low I kept making stupid jokes (oh wait, that’s all the time! I was a little out of it, though).

The last evening, our cook baked us a cake and wrote on it, “We Made the Inka Trail.” That will make me smile for years to come, and I am still impressed he was able to bake a cake on a camp stove! We crashed that night early due to fatigue, and the fact that we were getting up the next morning at.....4am.

Reaching Machu Picchu
The morning came early, but we were chipper and awake because we were to arrive at Machu Picchu in only a few hours! We waited with everyone at the checkpoint. It didn’t open until 5:30am, but you want to be close to the front of the line because the trail is packed as we all had the goal to reach the Sun Gate before the sun rises fully around 7am.

Getting through the checkpoint, it was a tough, adrenalin-filled, race-like haul, but we, the "Chicas Poderosas" pushed through despite fatigue, sweat, and irritating disrespectful people stopping to take pictures. Come on! Toughen up or get out of the way!!!!! We climbed the last set of insane steps and burst through the Sun Gate, and, hearts pounding with anticipation and excitement from the view unfolded before us, immediately looked at Jose. Did we make it?! He smiled, "we are too early." Yes!!! We hauled past the Sun Gate to get away from everyone and hustled to the main lookout place as fast as our beat-up, sore legs could take us. Nicole actually ran a bit, and I almost fell over in laughter because it reminded me of the movie "Troop Beverly Hills" as her pack jumped back and forth with each step. Yes, the Chicas Poderosas made it in time for all the great photos of the sun light breaking through the jagged mountains and highlighting the buildings and structures of Machu Picchu.

The Wisdom of the Inkas
With hours of focus and time to reflect and process, a few key metaphors became evident that I realized were applicable to more than just the trail.

I will get there. It’s just a matter of when. When faced with a difficult challenge, a successful outcome occurs from embracing the notion that you really can do anything—it’s just that the tougher things take longer.

Always be looking forward, but every once in a while, turn around and enjoy the view of how far you have come. It is important to always look forward, but there are clear rewards in glancing back, even if it is just to view your progress.

Make every step solid. Give a strong, deliberate focus to the task at hand; a careless step can be painful and costly.

Less weight grants flexibility. And flexibility is often directly related to strength. Always, always, always travel light—even if that means leaving the soap behind!

Fuel your body for the challenges it faces. Health comes first. Take responsibility for making sure you are prepared and positioned for the tasks you undertake.

Experiencing—The Way I Wanted to Experience It
Taking on the challenge of the Inka trail was not only about making me better embrace what I was learning about the Inkas and ultimately appreciate Machu Picchu more, it was a personal feat. Not too long ago, intense physical activity was completely off limits for me. I was forced to sideline my affinity for active, adventurous pursuits, and opt for safer, tamer choices—which simply wasn’t me. I remember having moments on the trail, catching myself thinking, “for the love of god, why are there more stairs? When does it end?” and realizing where I was, and what I was doing. If you were to tell me a year ago that I would be here, doing this for 4 days in a row without any problem, nothing in the world could have made me happier. And so, with those painful steps, the burn in my quads, the ache of my knees, the weight of my pack, the slime of my sweat, I was grateful. So, so grateful to be here, on the Inka trail, experiencing it—breathing in the thin, Peruvian air and seeing all the mountains before me—the way I wanted to experience it and not hiding behind the threat of becoming painfully sick afterwards.

What Life is About
The Inka Trail was without question the most rewarding experience of my life. The scenery, the sites, the history, the friendships, the food, and the stairs…but most importantly, the opportunity to step out and truly absorb an incredible experience on my own terms, the way I like to experience it will all surely stay with me for a lifetime. This is what’s out there—this is what is in the world that you’re missing if you stay home. This is what life is about: Find your challenge, go sign up, then show up to kick its ass while coming away with amazing friends and a renewed sense of well-being and new-found knowledge of what it is that you are: una chica poderosa.