South America

It's Calling To Me!
I hope George has an exceptional International phone plan for all the countries that are calling to her. Chile started dialing a few years ago – showing up in magazines, on TV and in restaurants. And George wanted us all on a conference call.

I must admit – I never heard the phone ringing. Oh sure, I wanted to go. I just didn't think it would be everything she imagined. It wasn't until we were driving into Puerto Varas that my inner circuit board lit up. From now on, when George tells me a country is calling, I'm going to pick up!

It appears that every inch of South America is gorgeous. I'm sure it didn't hurt that we were there in the spring. And on every leg of the trip we were told how fortunate we were to have such spectacular weather. Some people never see the mountains or volcanoes. Some never even know there's a lake. Once the waterfalls even dried up. The only downside to the great weather was the volcanic ash. But that's another story...

I almost regretted that Iguazu Falls happened so early in the trip. It was such an awesome spectacle that I feared nothing else could possibly match. Until we reached Bariloche and saw some of the most stunning lake and mountain views imaginable. Followed by a boat crossing through the Andes on a sun-drenched day with breathtaking views of their famous volcanoes.

And after that, the idyllic farms and villages in Chile with "jamas and ships", cattle, horses, chickens – and I'm sure baby St. Bernards – with an unrealistic backdrop of the mountains. Layer upon layer of green, frosted with trees in bright pinks, yellows, reds and lavendar.

If south America ever calls you – don't hesitate to pick up the phone. You will not be disappointed. Right now, Borneo's got George on speed dial. There were even posters all over South America advertising it. I just hope we can put them on hold while I save up enough money.

Put Some Caramel On It.
How amazing to start breakfast every day with a big bowl of dulce de leche on the breakfast buffet. And not only there – inside churros, in cakes and everywhere else imaginable. You can imagine my delight when trying a muffin one morning to actually bite into a yellow cupcake filled with ooey gooey caramel.

Que-Bear and I made a game of seeing what products were best when covered with caramel. The winner – strawberries. Look for us at next year's fair with dulce de leche strawberries on a stick.

Other foods that were equally delightful included:

Lucuma: My new favorite fruit. I first tried it in Portland at a Peruvian restaurant and was overjoyed to find it was in South America as well. The lucuma pudding was delightful! The ice cream was also delicious.

Chilean Hot Dog: I'd read about this in the guidebooks and thought it sounded too good to be true. Take a hot dog. Cover it with diced tomatoes. Add some guacamole and smother with mayo. The result –one happy Carol. I had two. :)

Empanadas. A tasty little fried-crust treat filled with cheese, seafood, chicken or beef. Always good.

Hot Chocolate: Although none quite matched the memory of the steaming hot chocolate following the safari in South Africa, South America's mugs of coca were plentiful and yummy. In addition, there were chocolate shops galore in Bariloche. There must have been enough chocolate to satisfy even George. Usually everything was very reasonably priced. The exception was 3 very small cups of hot chocolate and a can of Pringles for $15 at one of our bus stops.

Fish: I love me some Chilean see bass and was looking forward to having it as a taco or light snack every day. There is no such thing as a light snack in South America (see tea below). But we enjoyed many meals of some of the best salmon ever. George also tried a native fish (conger eel) and I had another (reinata) in Valparaiso. Outstanding! And so cheap. The most we ever paid for the three of us for nice dinner was $90 with drinks, appetizers and dessert. So what's up with

the Pringles?

Tea: George and I needed a "light snack" at our hotel in Buenos Aires one day. So, that's exactly what we ordered off the room service menu. But what we got was tea for an army. Just enough tea for barely two people but enough food for the whole hotel. Scones, cookies, cake, sandwiches. It was ridiculous. Que-Bear got a good laugh, though, and thought she was traveling with the rich, elite who ordered the Queen's tea.

A Brief Stop in Buenos Aires.
Buenos Aires was really just a jumping off point for the rest of the trip. But it was our first introduction to the colors of South America. Pots and plants in the windows, busses, multi-colored houses in San Telmo. Everything was splashed with color. One color was good. Two were better. Three were exceptional.

Buenos Aires has the biggest downtown street in the world. Six lanes of traffic in each direction. what makes it super fun is you apparently don't need to use the lights on your car at night. Maybe I wouldn't want to see that much traffic coming at me either. Better not to know.

Even their white house is pink and has the balcony where Eva Peron gave her farewell speech. I can't believe how many people I've spoken to here in Minneapolis who don't even know who she is. Madonna would be so ashamed of us and our ignorance of musicals and fashion. And whatever else Evita was famous for...

Water, Water Everywhere – Except In the Hotel.
Ironic, isn't it, that there's so much water pouring down outside our hotel room in 275 waterfalls and yet there's none in the faucets in our hotel. For two nights!! At least there are free showers just steps away.

The falls were spectacular! It almost felt like the first time I saw the ocean – realizing what a vast and powerful entity it was. Walking up to Devil's Throat – hearing the thunderous roar and seeing the steam rising from the crashing water – literally gave me chills. Our guide told us they actually dried up once which seems almost unfathomable. When we were there, the volume of water was four times the usual amount.

We went on a speed boat ride right into the base of Devil's Throat. Got soaking wet and loved every minute of it. I hope I never forget that feeling since the souvenir DVD is going to do nothing to help re-live the experience. Yawn.

Our tour guide, Nuxa, was a lovely little Brazilian who so earnestly wanted us to make the most of our stay. As most South American's, she was very proud of their countries and the park. At her recommendation, we timed our visits to several areas of the falls to experience the rainbows in late afternoon sunshine. As if the falls aren't amazing enough on their own, God sprinkles them with rainbows – sometimes even double rainbows – to showcase them even more.

We didn't see a lot of wildlife, but it sounds like no one has ever seen their pumas, jaguars or macaws so can't get too upset about that. (Unless we want to complain to their PR folks.) Coatis (small raccoon-like animals) scampered around – predominantly where the free food handouts occurred. And on a drive through the park we were entertained by a whole troop of monkeys passing over the road in the treetops right above us. I do love me some monkeys!

I also love me some birds. Again, I had hoped to see more species, but there wasn't much to see in the heat of the day. I went for an early morning stroll to see what I could spot in hopes that the toucans might make an appearance. George and I had seen them quite close in Costa Rica but Que-Bear had never seen them in the wild.

On my way back to the hotel, I spotted some large birds high in a barren tree – and sure enough – it was my beloved toucans. I texted Que-Bear's cell phone then ran to the front desk with the urgent message "Toucans out front!" George was there in seconds. Que-Bear? She needed to put on a bra. Because everyone knows that when there are toucans to look at, you need to be especially careful with your own appearance. Someone's eyes may drop from the beautiful birds high above to briefly rest on your chest only to realize, "That girl did not even bother to put on a bra before she came out!" Scandalous!

While I was watching the toucans, a brilliantly green colored parrot swopped by but I'll never know just what it was. On the much smaller side of the nature wheel, we found a swarm of brightly colored mariposas (butterflies) swirling around a puddle of water. Another pretty sight in an absolutely stunning part of the world.

Food Morsels.
There are a couple of things in addition to dulce de leche that South Americans seem to love. The Argentinians have a real passion for jamon and queso. Sometimes at lunch, our choices

were jamon and queso with lettuce and tomato sandwich, jamon and queso with lettuce sandwich, or jamon and queso sandwich. Choices. Choices. If you didn't care for a jamon and queso sandwich, you could always get it in an empanada instead. Or maybe on a hamburger, in a salad or in your eggs.

And for sure you'll want some mayo on it. Oh hell – why not just give it out for Halloween and let the recipient decide how best to use it. Easier for everyone. But if you do order the hamburger with mayo (and jamon and queso, of course) be aware that it will be as big as your head. With a serving of french fries from a whole field of potatoes.

Everything's big there. Even the rhubarb. The stalks are gigantic. Maybe they're growing so big cuz nobody ever cuts them to eat. Universally people seemed to hate it. Why, then, are they growing so much of it?

The tutti fruitti cheese pops (for real) did not come in rhubarb flavor, either. They must be popular, though, cuz you could buy them in regular or super size. Just in case the small size of styrofoam flavored balls of perfume was not quite satisfying enough.

It was amazing how little American influence there was in food. Coke rules the world, of course, but very few other products were prevalent. Not even McDonalds. And we had to search high and low for a bag of M&Ms. Our supply was completely depleted after the bus rides!


That's What I Said.
Que-Bear was the master of simplification. I would ask, "Are the bushes in bloom just for the season?" and get nothing but a blank look in reply. Que-Bear would translate, "Are the flowers yellow all year?" and voila – we have a connection! I just started asking Que-Bear to translate before asking the questions. Much easier.

George just simply translated the words she knew and ignored the rest.
"It's fish. It comes with something. Don't worry about it."
"It was about the water. I can't read it all, but it will be fine."
"They said something about the people on the street. They must be friendly."

For myself, I found it best to just walk away. It made me super uncomfortable to stand there while they tried so emphatically to tell me something. So I just left. That way, no one's feelings get hurt. As long as the person talking to you wasn't offended, of course. Or maybe this is how we get the "rude Americans" label.

Another viable alternative is to use the translator app on the iPhone. You can type in anything and have it magically translate it to English or Spanish. Very helpful when you have time on your hands and are trying to figure out a menu or translate a word or two. Problems could occur when you type in a brilliant question and show it to the Spanish-speaking resident to reply. Sometimes they'd start spewing out their answers in Espanol. In that case, just walk away.

A lot of interesting things can happen when you don't know exactly what you're being asked – or saying. On my first day at the bookstore, I responded "Si" when asked if I wanted a bag for my book. But, wait...Where's she going with my book? What's she doing with it? Then, I realized it was the day before Mother's Day in Argentina and I'd said yes to having it wrapped. That works out fine, though, cuz there's nothing I like better than a present for me!

In Argentina our tour bus driver constantly told us to "watch our hair" when getting off the bus. But you know – your hair is attached to your head – so same difference really.

What I really wanted to know was WHO exactly is on the other end of the phone when the guides rushed to answer saying "Eets de boss." I felt like I was in an episode of Charlie's Angels without the benefits of their looks or bodies. And my curiosity over what could possibly be so important almost got the best of me. Was it the same boss calling them? Was it about me? Or is it just code for something? I want to know!!

I know my Spanish wasn't great, but I felt I should have been given more points for trying. Every meal I'd ask for the check (puenta) and every day they'd carefully correct my pronunciation. so I'd dutifully repeat it. Puenta. Puenta. Until on the very last day, the waitress stressed – cuenta. Cuenta. Really? Are you sure about that? I went to my app translator to verify. Sure enough – she was right. I had been asking for a bridge. And zero points for trying.

But I must say they had their issues as well. Picking up the key at one hotel, we were given room key #650. So, off we went, taking the elevator up to the 6th floor. To....nowhere. There were two rooms – neither one was ours. And nowhere to go but back down. So back to the receptionist we went. Asking where our room was, we were asked incredulously "You couldn't find it????" And to Que-Bear – "You couldn't find it EITHER?" Sadly, they needed to ask the bell boy to escort the stupid Americans to their room. In the end, it was clearly our misunderstanding. See – to get to room #650 you need to take the elevator to the 5th floor. Then walk down the hallway to the opposite end of the building where the hidden slave stairs take you up to the room. Stupid Americans indeed!

The tour guide in Puerto Montt had some of my favorite language memories. He explained while driving by one house that it was a toy factory. Que-Bear inquired "What kind of toys?" "Toys for children," he responded. Later, at an outdoor event they were playing popular American music and he explained to us that they watched all the same TV and listened to the same music we do. Then he tried to tell me about the recent artist's tour. After a couple of guesses on my part as to who he was trying to tell me about, he said "Oh Baby Baby". AHA!! It's Bieber Fever. And everyone's taken ill.

At dinner one night, my answer to "best part of the day" was language. It was so apparent to me that no matter what language we spoke, the goal was all the same. To be heard and understood. And so many people would try to help achieve those goals – the neighbors in the restaurants, the ladies in the airport, the stranger on the street. It was endearing. The young Spanish students who so proudly stated, "Look at me! I'm speaking English!" summed it all up. And I asked, "Hablo inglese?" which means "I speak English?" I'm not sure who's speaking what anymore but in the end, it didn't really matter.

'Lil Friends.
One of the many joys of traveling is the people you meet along the way. Many of them are only in your life for minutes yet make lasting memories. Some of them were the Brazilian couple who showed up every night at the same restaurant we were in Puerto Varas. George started rudimentary conversations with them and soon we were seeing them everywhere.

Frank and Edna were in the restaurant on our first night in Puerto Varas. They'd traveling everywhere – even Minot, ND – and they had a second home in New Zealand. We need to plan a trip there and Frank will help us coordinate it.

At that same restaurant was a lovely young girl studying English at school. She would find reasons to stop by to ask questions and test her grammar. Very cute.

At another cafe was the waitress who finally taught us the important difference between puenta and cuenta. And our nice table neighbors who helped us order the empanadas.

In Bariloche, our tour guide was "Argentinian Meggie." Same long dark hair, build and freckles. She didn't have Meggie's charm and smile, but reminded me of her in so many other ways.

In Puerto Varas, our guide was Antonio who had a million "solutions." He spoke excellent English, was well read and obviously knew a lot about the U.S. As with so many people we met, he had not traveled much but had big dreams including the Grand Canyon and the Mormon Tabernacle choir.

One of our favorites was Nuxa – the guide at Iguazu Falls. A tiny little thing with an overwhelmingly big personality. "Look liiii-dies" was one of her key phrases. She truly loved her job, the falls and showing guests the beauty of her country. Her smile and personality were bubbling over. And she got major bonus points for bringing us some of her homemade blackberry jam before we left.

The hands down winners, though, were the boys at Peulla. Gorgeous young men with long black hair, big brown eyes, ridiculously long lashes and wicked smiles. Sweet Christian who took us horseback riding. And drop dead gorgeous Ivan who took us zip lining. Thank you Que-Bear for finding some excuse to take his picture so we can always have that one joyful memory to treasure!

Planes, Trains...and Busses.
We knew there were problems with air travel due to volcanoes before we left, but apparently you only get half the story until you get there.

Our first disruption was unexpectedly in Buenos Aires the morning we were scheduled to fly to Iguazu. So glad I got up at 4 a.m. so i could enjoy the day to its fullest. Trapped in an airport with a mountain of bags in tow enjoying my jamon and queso breakfast. And lunch. A worse disruption was the freaking squeaking chairs which I hadn't even noticed until George said, "Are these chairs driving you crazy?" Yes. Thank you. Now they are.

We knew about the detoured plane route to get to Bariloche and the three-hour bus ride. What we didn't know is the plane would experience such dreadful turbulence only to land in

Argentina's version of Iraq. I termed it Esquehell. Barren, desolate, deserted. We were so glad to get off the plane, though, that we didn't even worry about the bus. Well, just like Gilligan's Island, that three-hour tour had no end in sight.

After the first three hours, we stopped at a "rest area" to use the bathrooms and get food. Ironic indeed as the bathrooms had no toilet paper, running water, knobs on the sinks or toilets that flushed. And as Que-Bear so shockingly noted, "They were preparing for us." What would it have been like if we'd just dropped in? Perhaps they were only partially through their prep work, though, cuz George did find a wet shoelace string hanging from the ceiling to flush her toilet. They just might not have had time to get them all up.

I was the most popular girl there with my bottle of Purell. I still pull it out every time I even think of this experience. And why, oh dear God why, would anyone buy food there after witnessing these conditions? They don't have water! Repeat. NO WATER!

I'm not even sure how much longer we rode on that bus. Some things are best forgotten. But that ain't nuthin compared to the granddaddy of all bus rides in Chile from Puerto Varas to Santiago. All the reports clearly stated the Chilean ash blows over to Argentina. Nope. So the airports were shut down here, too.

And despite our suggestions to Antonio and the driver Ivan that we should drive ourselves – we were strongly urged "For you – much better to take the bus." A 10-hour drive. (Nope again. 13). Very comfortable. (OK – maybe the first 6 hours. Then, not so much.) And, it's a non-stop bus. (Nope. And this one we have proof of as Que-Bear was unable to sleep a wink due to the overly large snoring man in the seat next to her.) So what can you do on a 13-hour bus ride? Time the distance between stops, of course. Answer = 12 minutes. That's about 65 stops for a non-stop bus. Niiiiiiice!!

At least we weren't one of the passengers who "quietly disappeared" at one of those stops. Mr. Snoring Man eventually got up and never returned. Other than passengers being picked up and apparently dumped off literally in the middle of nowhere, other unusual things did occur.

For instance, the bus steward's job appeared to be a nightly lockdown of all passengers – following a rather strange pattern.
1. Give each passenger a blanket, Well – not so much "give" as unfold and spread out said blanket over every rider.

2. Round two means reclining everybody's chair. What? You're sitting up? Reading? Talking? Never mind! You'll be much more comfortable reclining. And after all – we were promised a comfortable ride.

3. Third round of the bus means the steward will lean over both passengers and draw the curtains. It's only 8 o'clock – typically when South Americans are getting started. But we're on bus time.

4. Now you're all comfy with your blankie, in the dark, with your seat in full recline – now's the time for round 4. A snack. Probably best that the blinds are closed so you can't see what it is...

Too Good To Be Forgotten.
It's fun traveling with others because you get to share the memories. I'll be able to discuss those fun bus stories with Que-Bear and George forever. And here are a couple more memorable moments.

As we were making our connection in Atlanta, the woman in front of George got to the escalator and launched her bag down it. A memory I won't share as I completely missed it. But I won't forget George's laughter. Or the look on the face of the baggage handler ahead of me.

One day we were talking about how there were no large people even though they eat four times a day. Que-Bear looks right at me and says, "I only saw one large girl in Buenos Aires." Really Que-Bear? Do you see her now, too? But I guess there must have been at least two because a few days later George reported she'd stepped on the bathroom scale at the hotel and it read "error."

At lunch in Buenos Aires, I said, "That's weird. Why would SpongeBob be at a restaurant here?" George's response..."The real SpongeBob?" Nuthin' to say to that.

Some of our biggest laughs came from the hotel room (that we were too stupid to find) in Peulla. It looked like a small attic room with slanted roofs. It was so hot in there I'm surprised the linen wasn't smoking. The bathroom was so tiny you could hardly get in and close the door. And once in, your ass was sure to hit the heated towel rack and brand your butt cheeks. I found out the meaning of "half bath" here as well. It's when the bathtub is so small only half of your body can fit in at a time. Upper half or lower – your choice.

My biggest laugh of the trip though was when I turned on the bath water. With one big snort the faucet spewed out a mud bath into the tub. It was comical. I laughed so hard I lost my balance and bumped bare naked into the towel rack. Ah...memories.

Jamas and Ships. Oh My!
There are two dogs for every person in South America. Big, beautiful dogs. Well taken care of and obviously well trained. They know they can't go in the stores. They know they need to cross the streets at the crosswalks. And they know how to tell time – especially siesta time. They also know something we'll never know although Que-Bear persistently tried to the uncover the answer. They know where to poop. Clearly not on the streets or sidewalks – but some mystery location known only to them.

The biggest and best dogs of all? Che and Babykins! The most amazing St. Bernard and baby at the National Geographic's fourth most beautiful spot in the world. George and Que-Bear thought the baby was a stuffed animal when they first saw her. Later, George asked, "Why did you get to hold the baby?" (in the photos with them). Easy answer – when the photographer asked "Who wants to hold the baby?" I ran with open arms to him yelling, "Baby. Baby." Very reminiscent of Justin Bieber.

There weren't as many kitties, but why would there be with all those giant dogs? My favorite was the pretty kitten in Peulla who had spotted lunch. His head was tipped back watching a hummingbird flit about in the tree above. Que-Bear's photo captured the hopeful kitten perfectly.

Not as many birds as I would have hoped for either. Particularly penguins. With hopes of visiting a penguin colony on my list –

not seeing a single bird (probably because we didn't go to the colony...) was a disappointment.

The bandurrias in Puerto Varas were my favorite. Giant birds with splendid long beaks that perch in tops of trees. And laugh at you. The first night, they had a grand laugh at our expense as I was "in a mood" and stalked right by them in spite of George and Que-Bear's pleas to come back and see the birds. Not sure who the birds thought were funnier – me, for being such a brat? Or George and Que-Bear who were stuck with me.

After years and years of asking for a horse as a child, my wish to ride one finally came true. Riding a horse in the Andes was worth waiting for. Especially with cute Christian as a guide. My horse was Llagen. Que-Bear had Thunder. And Georgie had Columba – otherwise known as the horse that snacks. Every opportunity, he stopped for a little bite to eat. Just like George with M&Ms.

But the most common refrain of the trip was "jamas and ships" (llamas and sheep). We didn't see many jamas, but jama apparel was everywhere – hats, scarves, sweaters, hats, hats, hats. Ships were everywhere. Big, fat, fuzzy, happy ships grazing on the hills of the Andes. I think being a ship there would be a lovely life. Peaceful. Beautiful. Ivan and I could have a fabulous jama and ship farm. We'd have Christian as our stable boy to take care of the horses. And Che and Babykins would curl up together with a dozen kittens.

The End of the Road.
It was a long trip and I think Que-Bear and I were a little worn out by the time we got to Valparaiso. For whatever reason, I didn't love it as much as expected. Not to say it wasn't a quaint, pretty town – certainly it had its own charm. Built into the hills with houses, of course, in every color of the rainbow.

Apparently not as "charming" as one would think, though, based on the number of warnings we received. Basically, you need to "watch out for the people on the street." Don't carry a camera. Don't look at a map. Don't keep a map tucked out of sight in your pocket. All good. Now, how are we going to stop looking American when it seems they can spot us a mile away.

My favorite spot here was the Nobel-winning poet Pablo Nerudo's home. The man knew how to live. His beliefs were – you should never grow too old to play. Your house is a toy you should play with every day. And, if you want something, make it come to you. His house was full of amusements from a carousel horse to a clock music box with dozens of tiny moving parts to a beautiful set of floral dishes – every one a different pattern. To say nothing of the bright pink bathroom door with cutouts right off the kitchen. For the brave only, they said. Or perhaps the playful.

Home Again. Jiggity Jig.
At some point on the endless bus ride, I'm sure I had a panic attack that they'd make me ride it all the way home. They made a point, after all, of noting that you could get all the way by car. Fortunately, we were able to fly to volcano-free MN without issue. Good to get home. When are we going again?

In a difficult year, this trip shines as a bright spot. A time not to be forgotten in a year not to remember.