down hominess

i watched from the upper decks as the ship pulled snug against the dock and spewed forth its complement of bloated travelers into the gold rush town turned fishing village turned tourist claptrap. i finished my coffee and wandered down to the gangway.

first, its typical of anyplace in the world where there are more visitors than residents. a hundred or so shops, selling all the usual junk; t-shirts and mass-produced 'artisan' carvings out of wood and bone, brilliant 'rare' ammolite jewelery hauled out of north africa by the truckload, shot glasses emblazoned with local images, et cetera. most of it making the pacific rim trek via southeast asia for north american consumption.

i did not enter any of these places.

the place itself is rather picturesque, i have to admit. nestled between mountain and sea, its not hard for me to imagine why a person might want to cut ties from wherever they were and live out their lives here.

after an hour or so on walk-about, i found myself on the other end of town in a small independent bookstore.

the first thing to catch my interest was in native history:

"there is nothing gentle about killing animals for food, whether pulling a twenty-five year old halibut from the sea by hook and gaff, slamming a cow on the head in a slaughterhouse, or slitting a pig's throat. it is bloody, messy, up-to-your-elbows work. people either do it themselves - typically, indigenous people like the pribilovians, subsistence farmers, and hunters - or have others do it for them. and those accustomed to picking up their meat in the supermarket are often appalled by the act of killing... a total of sixty seals were killed that july morning. the harvest crew worked past noon in the field, trucked the bags of fresh seal meat back to the village, and delivered them to people's homes."
~ summer macleish, excerpted from "seven words for wind", epicenter press 1997

next, over to poetry, where i passed on a large tome by bukowski thinking that i really didn't need his grit and negativity right now. instead, this:
Like the word,
I, too, carve something new
from space. Racing tides,
advancing limitations, or
the shelf-life of some exotic dream.
Time, deposited on my hands
can leave intentions thin
as a fragile web of silt
evenly split and left by the ebb,
or rich in texture as a woman
caught in a flood wave, clothes
clinging to bosom and belly.
~ mary lou sanelli, excerpted from 'lineage', empty bowl press 1985

on then to philosophy:
"Defeat sits in a chair staring at the grey doves on the porch. He holds his hand underneath his heart, fingers curled tightly into themselves, glued together in a paralyzed rage. He is unwilling to go forward and unable to let go. He is not blind or deaf, but it is unclear who he sees or what he hears. He had a stroke six years ago and sleeps most of the day. In response to questions he answers yes or no interchangeably. Speech has lost all meaning."
~ j. ruth gendler, 'the book of qualities', harper perennial 1988

feeling as i must leave before buying too many more books i head to the counter where the proprietor asks if i'm off a ship. 'yes', says i. she says that i don't look the type, which i tend to agree. we talk of portland and powell's and reedie trustifarians. i feel at home, or close enough so, in an outpost so far from where i curl next to the fireplace.

if you're ever in ketchikan alaska and you're looking for a book that you just won't find in the gift shops or borders, or just want to chew the fat with some good folk, i recommend a visit to parnassus books. they're at number 5 creek street, past the candle shop doorway and up the stairs you can't see from the sidewalk. it's good beans.

22 january - back to buenos aires, back to the us

a restless night at the giramondo hostel in a shared bunk room with brandy, jason, tam, and two strangers. the noises of the room, the street, and the lumpy bed had me twisting in my sheets most of the night. at one point, kids on the street throwing stones and whooping caused me to close the outer windows even in the heat of the night.

the ceiling fan, <...phiw-phiw-phiw...>.

these last few days have me in my vacation endgame, its hard for me to think of anything but homeward. i believe buenos aires has been difficult for us all, the being forced together now for an extended period. i am having desires to flight off for any minutes at a time that i can to have to myself.

mar de las pampas was not the awe-striking paradise on earth sort of place as much as a family get away for the middle and upper classes of buenos aires province. some nice resorts and such.

i never could get rallied up late enough for the discotech experience. the one night we tried got rained out in a torrential thunderstorm after trying to get indian food. the restaurant, had the word 'india' in its name and some architectural accouterments that lent to the idea of indian food, so we gave it a try. unfortunately, the restaurant had nothing to do with indian food at all; ham and cheese, pasta, and steaks. the normal argentine menu. of course.

the night ended in the downpour with tam, bethany, and myself running to the car through the monsoon style rains and backed-up sewers. tam and i made the best of it though, laughing all the way.

much of the week was whiled away in our small grassy yard, drinking cocktails and playing scrabble, or on the beach, swimming in the ocean, reading under our beach umbrellas. one day, traveling to pinamar, a much larger city to the north, returning to cook in our little kitchen. then friday, my birthday, shopping for our evening feast and then getting drunk around the parilla substituting for a fire pit. saturday, renting atv's and burning sand down to the lighthouse south of town. sunday, a quiet day with goodbyes to sierra, bethany, and justin. monday, the long drive to buenos aires, drinks with justin and sierra, and goodbyes again. a late night walk down florida avenue and to the bunks for the restless sleep.

it didn't suck. for sure.

still, i am left with a feeling of doing it better, somehow.

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23 january

we spend the last day walking the cemetery of buenos aires, a veritable who's who of argentine history and culture. everyone from facundo to evita is here. rich, famous, or just connected. very cool.

a quick lunch then to the fine arts museum, followed by wandering around the puerto madero and visiting the historic fragata sarmiento sailing ship until time to go to the airport.

the long flight to d.c. the long wait in d.c. the long flight home, where erin picks us up at the airport and then deposits us at my house. 8:30pm, jan 24.

its 33°F and dark, cold winter. we pitch our luggage to the floor and head out for thai food.

14 january - mar de las pampas

we've been on the beach for a few days now, this being our fourth. trundled down (rather, up and over the dune, and then down) to the surf for a morning swim. at 07:30 my traveling companions are quite asleep though the sun is a good thirty degrees into the sky already. the beach is populated by joggers, wanderers, dog walkers. i swim, stretch, sit, and contemplate the future warren.

oh. what. to. do.
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15 january, tuesday

awake before dawn and forced myself out of bed to see the sun rising over the southern atlantic. groped my clothes on and stumbled over the dune to throw myself to the ground and wait it out.

as the sky becomes shades lighter, a group of seven later-teenagers run out of the brush about 300 yards to my left. one strips to his underwear and is soon in the break whooping and hollering. the other two boys in the group quickly follow suit while the girls take several moments, a confrence, a recon, and a deliberation before three of them strips down and head for the surf. the seventh stays clothed and with camera, shooting them all in the pre-dawn joy display. frolicking. indeed.

there are a few high clouds and the sky is the powder blue of the argentine flag. as the clouds turn pink and the kids dry themselves, the horizon is hidden. obscured by low fog many miles out to sea, the sun's appearance delayed by a half hour or so, ultimately showing itself first as a thin fingernail sliver of light. rising quickly and brilliantly over the ocean, it fills its disk. glinting light plays over the water with the gulls and cranes. lighting the sky and obscuring the stars.

i return to the cabana, shower the sand of of my body, and fall back into bed.
_______________________

19 january


from orion's feet proceed eight fists with an outstretched arm in the direction of his sword to the southern cross.

if not recognized at once, verify by following then the long leg of la croix a thumb's width to musca alpha and beta, forming a sort of fish-hook or making an anchor of the crux.

(fishermen and crosses. go figure.)

anyway, what latitude makes all the difference. in more northern climes the earth shoves her pregnant belly in the way.

of course, old and familiar ursa (ma and cub) are on the other side of the planet for me today. out of sight, but never out of mind.

i would like to think that someday i might think of this place and that crux. where ever that i may be and still count eight fists down, perhaps even into the earth's core, to see those stars yet again.

7 january - el chalten to buenos aires

early rise and hoof our gear over to the hostel calafete where we booked our next night. shuttle to the bus station, then the 5.5 hour bus ride to el chalten.

chalten is a remote village on the north entrace to the glacier park and we had glowing reports of the hikes in and around the area. the swede's recommendations at the puerto madryn hostel sealed the deal. we had to go, if only for a day trip.

the road to chalten was paved for a bit on each end, making the middle part of the journey a long and rocky pace across the glacial plain. this is what adds the hours to the not very distant 120km drive, i thought.

the geology of the place is amazing at every turn and crest; first reminding me of the north american west, dry and hard, then turning west around lake viedma becoming much like the run from jackson hole wyoming into yellowstone... except... except at the western origin of the lake viedma is a colossal glacier flowing down from the andes.

the bus dropped us at the ranger station in el chatlen for a quick orientation by the ranger (pack it in, pack it out. don't get lost. etc.), then we had a quick lunch before wandering off on our hike. we managed to get up to a couple of decent lookouts and viewpoints before the weather turned to wet with driving wind straight from the mountain fitz roy.

returning to town for coffee drinks while waiting for our bus back to calafete. then, having arrived at that place, a meal, then bi-lingual scrabble with a pair of women (one from holland and the other argentine). they played spanish words while we played english ones.
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10 january - thursday

where to start? the inner journey or the outer one? toss the coin, tails says 'outer'. so, i'll work backwards.

i sit this morning at the cafe la nina de oro on the corner of fray saint maria de oro and avenida sante fe in buenos aires, argentina. it is a mildly muggy morning and somewhat overcast after last night's thunderstorms. but also, and for the same reason, the city feels a bit cleaner.

it is about 10am and ave santa fe is an eight lane thouroughfare teaming with people attending to their morning business. hundreds of taxis and city busses jockey for position. pedestrians beware. it all tends to set me on edge, or perhaps it is the cafe con leche working through my veins.

i am in the pallermo, a barrio rather large. a working class neighborhood full of ten and fifteen story apartments with ground floor business fronts. our hostel sits a half block down sm de oro, behind my left shoulder. the din and hum of engines and mutterings of spanish by passersby sets me apart and observer.

the people, as you meet them on the streets, are brusk. it is not rudeness, it is the demeanor and sense of preservation borne of any high density population center. aware, but unwilling to be caught caring too much.

i slept well last night for the most part, waking only once to chug water and try and sooth my cigarette ripped throat. we keep the air conditioner on in the room blasting full 24/7. the days have been in the 100 degrees F range and about 80% humidity. the semi-tropical heat is great for plants and sweating out all of you clothes.

picked up laundry from the cleaners. there is a bit of paradise in a soapy smelling shirt. truth.

we came in a little late last night, a not terrible 1:30am, but i was stripped of energy after the day's adventures. a fine japanese meal at a place by the name of moshiemoshie. ultra hip and extra tasty after two weeks of beef and cheese, ham and cheese, criossant and coffee.

the late afternoon was disposed of exploring the museum of latin american art, a modern art must see here in Bs As. the walk there took us through the japanese gardens, an attempt at quiet reflection in the bustling traffic near the newberry airport. quite nice with koi ponds filled with hundreds of the gaping fishes. this bit of photo-op serenity was just as required having been moved to tears at the museo evita, a walk-through tribute to the social revolution and the instigating woman, eva peron. her wardrobe displayed in glass case boxes.

moved to tears. there's been a bit much of that the past twenty hours or so. julie called and maxwell is sick. oh, poor kitty. damn, and double damn. i've missed you so, and now you're to be gone forever. little pink paws.

January 5

(i've now returned home, and have to backdate the entries.)

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the past day and a half involved almost all travel. fourteen hours overnight to rio gallegos and a six hour layover before the next six on a bus bound for el calafete. rio gallegos is the central transportation hub for the region; anyone going anywhere to or from tiera del fuego, chile, calafete, any of the inland or coastal routes come through here. i have never seen so many people in a small bus station.

the town itself was an unremarkable business center and port. we lunched and tried to arrange the evenings accomodations via the interweb since we would be arriving at calafete in the wee hours.

unsuccessful, we did arrive at calafete with no reservations and humped our packs around to several hostels (closed) and hotels (full), finally landing at the hotel cerro cristal for a room with a split bed and a well needed sleep.

out and about calafete in the morning and afternoon hours. it is a small mountain town at the southern gateway to the glacier parks. the place reminds me of tahoe without the hummers.

there are a great many travelers from all over the world here and i am feeling the bite of lost opportunities. earlier encountering a late twentysomething woman at the hostel traveling on an open ended ticket after finishing her masters degree. i am beating myself over spending the last year in portland with no job, no ambition, and no prospects. in many ways, perhaps a big pot ó lost opportunities.

...and then, to finally be here in this natural wonderland and only two days to explore it! sacrilege! blasphemy!

in any case, we sit in the streetside cafes and stroll the shops, whiling away the hours in the southern sun. it is not bad, really, and tam wonders why i spend so much time in a state of dissatisfaction. i suppose i am my own worst critic.

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6 january

we made the 80km trek to glacier moreno in the morning clouds, minor off and on drizzling. on the way up, we got the economic low down from our english speaking guide.

ten years ago, calafete was a small and occasionally traveled mountain village frequented by the hardiest of travelers. winter population 900, summer population 6000. then a federal president elected from the area and a current president from rio gallegos began a series of economic development projects for the region; roads, waterworks, airports, etc.

today there is a year-round resident population of 9000 and they are expecting 20k in the next five years. it is an economic and tourism boon, there is no wonder why everyone here is smiling.

to the park (argentine entrance fee of eight pesos waived due to national holiday, foreign nationals pay $40).

the glacier was increadible. tam and i walked the grounds and viewpoints with terminal grins across our faces. a wall of ice spanning nearly a full kilometer across its face and winding twenty-five kilometers up into the andes. the glacier moreno has the interesting characteristic of creating an ice dam across two lakes and periodically collapsing on its retreat as the water pressure on one side blows the dam out in a cataclysmic affair. we happend to be there as the passage was closed, the water on the southern arm of the lake some 6 meters below normal.

we stood and watched from the hills above as great sections of ice shed off of the monstrosity, crashing into the lake with furious cacophany. the ice then rolling slowly, tumbling in the water to find equalibrium. the sounds of the place are increadible. cracking and popping, explosions in the distance echoing up the valley. i wish to describe it as unearthly, but of course the pallet of sound is entirely of this earth. the sounds of battle, seemingly... crack, pow, groan. an ongoing conflageration between elements and physics. mass, pressure, inertia. water, sky, rock. temperature. gravity wins, retaining title of master. creator and destroyer.

i have returned to calafete to a streetside cafe having just had a beer and a cou-ple of empanadas. a van just went by, blasting its stereo. a couple of large home stereo speakers strapped to the roof. strange.