I know that I’ve taken an embarrassingly long hiatus from blog writing, but I have an interesting story that I hope will make up for my month-long absence of material. This story actually finds its beginning in another country, taking a few years’ worth of steps back in time. It’s a story that has yet to conclude, one that, with any luck, will continue for years and years to come. The most recent chapter took place in Ecuador, but the story begins on a VERY hot day, hace unos años atrás, in the city of sueños (dreams) and Tango, Buenos Aires, Argentina (Capital Federal).
A young man (you could call him young for the fact that he was, but the term “young” certainly didn’t reflect his state of mind at that time) was embarking on what would become a life-changing trip. He was dropped off by friends and family at IND, destined for a transfer in MIA and an eventual arrival at EZE. He was a bit strange for the fact that he had no fear of flying and, unlike most people, he really quite enjoyed airports and the whole process of getting on a plane (he still does, in fact, enjoy them). If you haven’t guessed by now, the young man was me, and I definitely didn’t know that the trip was going to be life-changing. I should think that, if we did know which of our actions were to be life-changing, we would most likely not take certain risks or make such decisions due to the presence of our constant, annoying and persistent fear of CHANGE (with capital letters). Fortunately, I had little to no idea what was in store for me in Buenos Aires and, as Robert Frost said, “…that made all of the difference.”
I remember distinctly driving into the city from the Buenos Aires Airport, Ezeiza, and beginning to question myself about where I had gotten off to. If you haven’t seen Buenos Aires before, then it may be a bit hard for you to comprehend, but I will try to explain it. The city is Euro-Latino, that’s the best way I know to put it. The buildings, plazas and parks are beautiful, most of the constructions date back at least a hundred years or more, but the city is also filled with trash, graffiti and dog shit awaiting the unknowing foot on all of the sidewalks, among other unpleasant things. The porteños, people from Buenos Aires, are a rare species of Latino, many, but not all, of whom lack every quality one loves about people in South America. They don’t tend to be the friendliest, many are quite pretentious, when you ask them where they’re from they usually say Spain or Italy and they almost seem contemptuous of the detail that they just so happen to be born in Latin America. To make a call back to Frank Sinatra, luck was a lady with me when I got my roommate for that tiny apartment in Buenos Aires over Calle Viamonte. He was Argentine, no doubting that, but he most clearly was not porteño.
My first couple of months in Buenos Aires was actually a little depressing because I got my room and there was absolutely no one there. I waited and eventually arrived at the conclusion that I simply wouldn’t be getting any roommates. I went on a trip to Uruguay with a few friends and, when I got back to BsAs, I walked into my apartment to find a very long-haired young man sleeping in one of the extra bed. We made introductions, he told me that his name was Branko, and the very first thing I learned about Branko was that he was a TALKER! If I recall correctly, we spent the next three to four hours conversing about most of Branko’s life story, which was great because I had gone two months with hardly anyone to talk to.
During the rest of the time I spent studying in Buenos Aires, Branko and I became very good friends, we were brothers. We also got another roommate, José Manuel, whom I also consider a very dear friend. When I left Argentina to study my Master’s, I had to say goodbye to a lot of friends, but saying adiós to my roommates was the most difficult. When you live with people for some time, it is a drastic change when you check out. I wasn’t sure if or when I might see these guys again, it was rough.
When I went back to the states, I was a bit of a wreck for a year. They call it culture shock in reverse and it hit me pretty hard. That whole year all I could think about was BsAs and the life I had there. I didn’t really know how, but I had to figure out a way to get back. After a year of studies, I decided to bite the bullet and pay the ridiculously expensive ticket back to EZE, even if I was only going to be able to spend a month there, I knew it would be worth it. It turned out that Branko and José were still roommates and that they had acquired a pretty decent sized apartment in the barrio (neighborhood) of Flores in Buenos Aires. So I stayed at their place for a month in the summer of ’09. Being back in the city just made me want to live there more, but I had to head back to finish up the MA, me despedí otra vez, I said goodbye again to my friends and to Buenos Aires.
I spent two years in Terre Haute, studying my Master’s, teaching, working and dreaming up different schemes for how to find my way back to BsAs. I maintained contact with Branko through Facebook, but nothing regular. Slowly but surely, I got used to living back in the states and I had to forget about my vida bonarense, the Buenos Aires life. I progressed into the last stage of my Master’s in 2010-2011. During that time, I made a trip down to Ecuador, over the holidays, and made some painful observations that began to direct my thoughts and desires into a definitive decision. I came to the realization that I, most selfishly, wanted to go back to Argentina mostly for personal reasons, just for me. Argentina is a fairly well-developed nation, one of the wealthiest in Latin America and things are more or less stabilized. Of course there is poverty and there are many things that could be improved, but the situation is not totally dire. What I saw in Ecuador, to the contrary, was an extreme poverty, a people hurting and a huge need for some change. I also met incredibly humble and inviting people who treated me with a hospitality that I hadn’t ever known before. You already know how the rest of the story goes and how I ended up here in the middle of the Amazon, swatting arenillas as I write this blog and they proceed to bite the hell out of me.
Now, let me fast forward to January/February 2012. At the beginning of the last jornada I got a Facebook message from Branko, “¡Chris, estoy en Ecuador broooo!” Branko made a five day trip in bus from Buenos Aires, Argentina, to Lima, Perú and ended up in Montañita, Ecuador. I could hardly believe it when he told me, but my dear old argentine brother was in the same country as I. In the last week of January I headed up river to Los Ríos, made the three hour bus trip up to Tena and, after some walking around, found Branko in the flesh with a huge backpack on his shoulders. It was a sublime experience to see him again after three years, and in the Orient of Ecuador of all places.
Branko spent a few days in Yachana, he went around everywhere barefoot and shirtless and didn’t seem to get bit by a single bug, qué envidia (what envy). All of the others got along with him very well; Branko is an easy person to get along with. I actually did something new that I had yet to experience in Yachana with him and the coworkers, we went tubing! It’s a pretty simple concept, you just get one of the old style semi tire inner tubes, get in a canoe and go up river, jump into the Napo (the tributary of the Amazon that we live by) with your inner tube and let it carry you downstream. The only trick is to make sure you can paddle a bit with your hands so that you wind up on the shore when you get to where you want to stop. The Napo does have Cayman, Anaconda, Piranha and other such animals, but they seemed to just leave us alone, I guess we weren’t interesting enough.
At the end of the week we headed back up to Tena along with the group of other volunteers. We had decided to all travel to Cuenca, the third largest city in Ecuador. As you might expect, the bus ride from Tena to Cuenca was quite miserable and deserves a bit of story in itself. Our original plan was to travel in train from a city called Riobamba (about five hours from Tena) down to Alausí and the Devil’s Nose (this is a famous railway for two reasons; because it’s a feat of incredible engineering that cuts its way through the Ecuadorian sierra and you used to be able to ride on the top until someone, quite literally, lost their head). Once we got to Riobamba, they informed us that the train was not operating, “When will it be up and going?” They told us, “In June,” which in Ecuadorian means, “In a few years.” The other volunteers decided to stay in a “classy hostel,” which cost about $8 a night, and Branko and I opted for the more economic option, $5 a night. You can imagine what $5 a night looks like, but, on the plus side, we got to leave our mark on the wall. Who’s classy now?
We grabbed a bus on down to Cuenca, which meant another six hours through mountain highways and no bathroom, what joy! Branko, after having spent five days in a bus, didn’t have a single complaint about six hours. I fell in love with Cuenca just about as soon as I got there. It’s very similar to Quito in the fact that it’s between the mountains, but that’s about where the similarities end. Cuenca is incredible clean, it’s cold, but a bearable cold (nothing like the freezing nights of Quito), the people are incredibly friendly and have a sing song way of talking, there are beautiful parks and plazas, a considerable part of the city consist of Spanish colonial constructions and, best of all, there isn’t a ridiculous amount of traffic congestion. Branko, the other volunteers and I all agreed that we could easily live in Cuenca. It would appear that there are many foreigners that agree with that sentiment. Cuenca is one of the number one spots for expat retirees, especially from the U.S. It’s easy to understand why, life is tranquil, the cost of living is low, the people are amazing and the landscapes are beautiful. I’ll put it on my list of potential future places to stay for an extended period.
When we got to Cuenca, we went in search of a specific hostel, but it was all booked. We were guided around the corner and, per chance, we just happened upon a great place, $8 a night, with an amazing ceiling. The hostel was originally a mansion from Spanish colonial times. These constructions are great, the center of them is open (kind of like the plaza of a city), the ceiling is glass so all of the light comes in and you feel like you’re outside and all of the rooms surround the home’s open center (interior patio).
The first day we were in the hostel, I went down to the kitchen to heat water for maté and happened upon a group of Argentines doing exactly the same! Branko and I became quick friends of these fellow Argentines and discovered that they were porteños. These people were great, it just goes to show you that not all porteños are mala onda (bad vibes) and you can’t generalize. It would be like saying that all Parisians are jerks, although I’ve heard many are! We spent a few days drinking A LOT of maté¸ lazing around, walking slow, cooking, hanging out and downing Cuba Libres with our new found friends. They were a very Argentine couple of days. We came to the conclusion, together, that in Cuba the Cuba Libre probably isn’t known as such. We speculated that there it may be known as the Bloqueo Económico or the Guantánamo Preso (Economic Blockade or Imprisoned Guantanamo). Just a little political humor, for those of you who get it J.
The Argentines told us that they had only a week left in Ecuador and, therefore, were going to head down to Vilcabamba (a town known for the longevity of its inhabitants, many of which live to see 100 years of age or more). Branko, also having limited time in Ecuador, decided to head down with the group to check it out. Once again, my brother from another mother and I were to part ways. The goodbye was not so tough this time because I knew, at that point, that the two of us are simply destined by chance to be friends and we will certainly meet up again in the future. Buenos Aires is not far off!
