A scent of Portugal in Uruguay

02/02/2009

Colonia, Uruguay – 09/01/2009

Colonia. An Uruguayan city founded by the Portuguese which breathes Portugal everywhere, in its stone houses, in the door and window frames, in the street names printed in tiles and even in the tomato sauce I had for lunch. The Rio de la Plata, brownish and warm as usual, bathes and gives meaning to the city, one of the main entry points into Uruguay from Argentina. Actually, nearly all the restaurants, shops and other businesses have the prices tagged in Uruguayan Pesos, Argentinean Pesos and US Dollars.

Calle de los Suspiros, Colonia

The town is small and beautiful, with little else to see except the old city centre and the Rambla, but it is surely worth the visit, even if it’s only to go up the lighthouse and watch the roofs of the houses.

The plan was to spend the entire day here but the town’s smallness, the excessive summer heat and the lack of a swimsuit to do some beach time take me back to Montevideo earlier than expected. I leave with an imprint of this little piece of Uruguay with brush strokes of Portugal, planted beside the Rio de la Plata.


Beyond words

01/25/2009

El Chalten, Patagonia, Argentina – 06/01/2009

The first view of the Fritz Roy.

The first photograph of Fritz Roy.

The organization and dedication of the wildlife guards.

The begining of the trek to Laguna de la Torre.

The sun.

The Rain.

The mist.

The snow.

The wind, always the wind.

The hundreds of broken down trees.

The hundreds of trees burnt by human stupidity.

The steppe.

The woods.

The bogs.

The Fritz Roy river and its blueness.

The rocks of all sizes.

The Laguna de la Torrre and the same blueness.

The Glaciar Grande.

The mountains hiding behind the mist.

The return.

The silence.

The 22km we walked.

The Rancho Grande steak with 2 eggs.

The bottles of Quilmes.

The few hours of sleep.

The 7am sun.

The beginning of the Fritz Roy climb.

The 1001 views of Fritz Roy.

The smoking mountain.

The streams and rivers.

The Poincenot, the Fritz Roy, the Madsen and the Glaciar de las Piedras Blancas.

The wooden bridges.

The climbs and more climbs.

The “holas” and “hellos” of the people who pass us by.

The 1001 photos of Fritz Roy.

The Rio Blanco.

The Camp.

The first view of the climb to Lago de los Tres.

The company of Marc and Martin.

The people who pass.

The people who return.

The steps.

The stone steps.

The arrival.

The view.

The Laguna de los Tres.

The Fritz Roy in close-up.

The heroes that climb Fritz Roy.

The 1001 photos of the lanscape.

The smiles.

The pause for some food.

The wind.

The beginning of the return.

The people who pass and ask how much further.

The waters of the river we drink.

The way down.

The 2002 views of Fritz Roy.

The 2002 photos of Fritz Roy, again.

The wind.

The lunch break in the sun with a view to Fritz Roy.

The return to the hostel.

The pen that writes.

The notebook in which I write.

There are no adjectives in this world that can describe any of this.


Walk this way (in BsAs)

01/23/2009

Buenos Aires, Argentina – 02/01/2009

How to see Buenos Aires in one day and a half? By walking. A lot. Really, a lot.

I arrived yesterday at 15h and, after a small adventure with the dumbest caretaker in the history of dumb caretakers, I managed to take hold of Juancho’s apartment key, a friend of a friend which allowed me to crash at his place even though he wasn’t even there. That’s why there’ll be no hostel reviews in this chronicle either. Anyway, moving on, I left all my stuff in the apartment and proceeded towards Recoleta and its parks. And what parks! The quality and quantity of Buenos Aires’ green spaces, all of them very well taken care of, is downright impressive. Truly in awe, I walked for hours from the Bellas Artes to Plaza Italia, always “on the green”.

El Che

El Che

Buenos Aires is a gigantic city and I’m usually not a big fan of such mega-metropolis (London, Madrid, Paris, Santiago, etc.). However, BsAs is a big city which knows how to be big. The ubiquitous presence of green areas and the wideness of its never-ending venues relieve the sense of claustrophobia its millions of inhabitants might cause. Exhausted after the five hour walk I returned to the flat in order to rest and prepare myself to discover Buenos Aires’ nightlife, on the first night of the year, a Thursday.

Prepared myself for nothing, it turned out, as the city was apparently stone dead, it had passed on, that night was no more, it had ceased to be, expired and gone to meet its maker, a stiff, bereft of life it rested in peace… you get the point. Eighty percent of all bars, restaurants and other commercial establishments were closed, and the ones that were open had hardly any clientele. The fact that I didn’t know the city and had only the faintest of ideas about where to go for fun also didn’t help. I walked for what seemed like an eternity to the Palermo neighbourhood only to find nothing. Then I took to San Telmo and, you guessed it, nothing. I ended up eating a hamburger in one of the few open spots in Avenida de Libertad, had myself a Quilmes and took a cab back to Juancho’s flat.

Today I woke up quite early to take care of my return from Patagonia and also to change the date for my return to Montevideo. I was expecting to dedicate several hours to these two tasks, but they turned out to be both quick and efficient. By 13h I was already done with the whole business. Went home, rested, hate and at 15h I was back on the street, to start off what was to be my longest urban walk so far. I took the Subte, the local subway, at Pueyrredon towards Catedral, the heart of downtown Buenos Aires, and, as always, I began wandering about.

I strolled into Plaza de Mayo where I visited the Cathedral, with its distinctive Greek-like columns, snapshot la Casa del Gobierno (the Government House), bought a bottle of overpriced cold water and set out towards the Obelisk, where the South American version of this year’s Dakar Rally was about to start. With the area completely packed with eager locals and tourists but completely devoid of any motos, jeeps, cars or anything else with a motor, I departed towards Retiro. Here I discovered yet another precious urban park, with a view to the Torre de los Ingleses and a statue of Gen. San Martin, the national hero. Following the cue of the slumberous locals I laid down on the grass for an hour-long dozy sunbath. The only moment of rest in the whole afternoon.

Batteries fully charged, I went back to the Obelisk on Av. 9 de Julio to mingle with the crowd and get a few shots of the motorcycles and their respective pilots. Bored to death (motorsports are really not my thing) I moved towards San Telmo through the lovely Florida Street, where I stopped to buy Borges’ “El Aleph” and two tango CDs at the mythical library “El Ateneo”. Must visit. On through calle Florida, then calle Perú and we’re in San Telmo where the bars, restaurants, tango houses, shops and tourists like me multiply themselves. It’s a party neighbourhood, and it shows. Due to my tight schedule I do not have a lot of free to linger around so, suddenly, I find myself entering La Boca, the most famous and troublesome neighbourhood in central Buenos Aires.

La Bombonera

Home to the famed Boca Juniors football club and the godlike Maradona, La Boca is more or less what I expected it to be: a poor, very poor, neighbourhood, with a lot of adults livening up the streets, kids playing football virtually everywhere and stone-eyed elders in varying states of decay. But what really stands out, both literally and symbolically, is, of course, La Bombonera. The most famous stadium in South America (compared only to Brazil’s Maracanã) is truly impressive. Its vibrant blue and yellow plays perfectly with the colourful and somewhat derelict houses that surround it, and its striking murals are a mirror of the fierceness and character of the neighbourhood itself. Due to the stubborn non-elastic nature of time I couldn’t go in and visit the stadium, but it really wasn’t needed. The stadium had already left its mark in me.

With La Boca ticked in my checklist I went back downtown, about an hour’s walk or more, and took the metro back to flat to await Juancho’s arrival.


Street life

01/16/2009

Parque Forestal, Santiago, Chile – 28/12/2008

Jugglers, musicians, artists, magicians, clowns, actors, acrobats, families, groups of youngsters and their bottles of beer and guitars, couples in love, couples seemingly in love, wanderers just like me, beggars, kids, elders, childern, many children, in an explosion of life and activity stuch between the Mapocho river and the avenues beside it. Where before there was nothing nor no one, a whole city of colour, music and a lot of laughter which had been hidden during the morning, who knows where, is born.

There is life in Santiago. My worst fears were unfounded.


Santiago de Chile

01/16/2009

Hostal Forestal, Santiago, Chile – 28/12/2008

The day I spent in Santiago can be easily divided into two completely different and well defined halves: the walk around the city centre in the morning and the trip do the Bellavista neighbourhood and the Parque Metropolitano in the afternoon.

My first impression of Santiago was not very positive. At all.

Blame it on it being a Sunday and everything being closed, blame it on being too early and there being no one on the street except for other tourists and blame it on a city centre which has basically no highlights. At all.

Starting with the ending, I would summarise Santiago (or at least its city centre) thusly: Santiago is any other town. There are no outstanding buildings (at least not in a positive sense), the resident statues and monuments could be lying in any unnamed European city and even the local shops and food stands, which usually give a very distinctive character to centre and southern American cities, are basically the same we can find in Europe.

An example?

There are eighteen; I repeat EIGHTEEN, Starbucks just in Santiago’s city centre.

Satisfied?

The best thing about this first excursion into Santiago was definitely lunch, a delicious “escalopa a la napolitana” and an excellent pebre to go with. Fed and extremely bored I came back to the hostel.

The afternoon was a completely different tale. Another time of day, another city, another life. The Bellavista neighbourhood, with its colourful houses and its myriad bars, restaurants, independent theatres and other cultural houses, has quite a vibrant and picturesque personality. Definitely the best of Santiago. At least from what I saw of its main street, bustling with people walking, eating, drinking and selling craftwork, it seemed like some other city which had nothing to do with one I had met before lunch.

Once I went through Bellavista I went up the “Cerro” (the Spanish word for Hill in this side of the word) of the Parque Metropolitano, an urban park of titanic proportions which starts in the Cerro and ends… who knows where?

The view from the Cerro, the highest point in the city I suppose, is overwhelming. Not by its beauty (if there’s an adjective I wouldn’t use for Santiago it’s “beautiful”), but for the incredible vastness of the city. It never ends. Really. You can not see an end to it. It’s all houses, skyscrapers and other buildings from the city centre to the foot of the mountain ranges which surround the Chilean capital.Santiago de Chile

I’ve never taken so many photos of such an unattractive view. Sitting on a ledge having Mote con Huesillo, a delicious local drink made of peach juice with corn beads in it, I took photo after photo of the infinite urban mantle, permanently covered by a layer of pollution which gives the photos an eerie atmosphere.

If you ask me if I liked Santiago or not, the answer will definitely be very ambiguous. I didn’t find it beautiful and I don’t think it has any sort of unique personality, but there is something about its sheer immensity that impressed me. Whether I like it or not.


Let the wanderings begin…

12/27/2008

Barajas Airport, Madrid, Spain – 27/12/2008

Thanks to the never-ending 4 hours I am currently killing at Barajas Airport (Madrid) between my inbound flight to Lisbon and my outbound flight to Santiago de Chile, it so happens I am opening my brand new blog in the local overpriced cybercafé.

In the following 20 days or so I’ll be travelling around Chile (well… just Santiago actually), Uruguay and Argentina (Buenos Aires and Patagonia) and I intend to post here anything I deem relevant about this trip.

Obviously, the concept of “relevant” is vague at best, so you can hope (dunno if hope is the appropriate term here) to find here anything from photos of deserted airports, to my random writings, to stupid little anecdotes only I will find interesting.

Right now I am bored to tears… I’ve been wandering the airport for 2 hours now (I know it’s not much, but I am easily bored) and it’s been a dreary wait… the airport is half empty (have a couple of photos to prove it, but this computer doesn’t like my cam’s memory card), the shops are as interesting as a brick and I’ve read the newspapers I brought from Portugal twice over.

Ergo, this blog was born. :)

Hope you enjoy it. Will try to come back to it in Santiago, hopefully with a couple of photos to liven things up.


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