20 - Where the Penguins Roam (Ushuaia)

Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 28 december 2002

Pablo and I had yet another farewell hug at yet another airport. The last time was in Moscow, Russia when I saw him off at the airport and then, I had made my way to the nothernmost town of my entire trip - St. Petersburg.

Now, in turn, he saw me off at the airport and I would be making my way to the southernmost town of my entire trip - Ushuaia.

As the plane flew over Ushuaia, getting ready to land, I saw before me the most beautiful landscape I could ever recall from the air.

The snowy and craggy mountains stretched nearly to the edge of the bay. The mountains were simply breath-taking and I was lost for words. I gaped from my window, stupefied. The lady from my next seat had to ask me to sit back so that she could partake of the view as well. The pretty little town of Ushuaia sat at the bottom of the mountains, in front of the bay. I kept thinking where exactly I was on the map and I just could not get used to it.

I got off the plane and studied the people around me. I figured that this was probably the closest I ever got to rubbing shoulders with polar explorers, research biologists and people rich enough to afford the Antarctica cruises.

The air was absolutely crisp, fresh and cool. I left a 35°C Buenos Aires and arrived at a 7°C Ushuaia. I was enchanted by the colourful flowers all over town. I later learnt from a Chiliean that they are called ‘chochos’, they look like ears of corns in purple, pink, orange, etc… Delightful.

The sun was shining but the wind vicious. Many Argentine flags had tattered ends as they probably had been subjected to the relentless wind for ages.

Taking out my wind-breaker, I nearly lost it to oblivion. Standing by the dock, I nearly got tossed into the Beagle Channel. I tried to enjoy the outdoors and the sunshine by walking around but it was a tad difficult when you imagined your eye-lashes could be swept out to Antarctica any moment.

As I had just rejoined the ‘backpackers’ circuit after a two-month hiatus, frankly, I needed some time to get used to it again. I was not in the mood yet to chat with anybody… you know, the usual backpackers’ talk… “So, where are you from?”, “Are you just doing South America?”, “How long are you travelling for?”, “Where are you heading off next?”… In fact, listening to English being spoken in the next table in the café I was in, already disorientated me.

Here in Ushuaia, the sun set at around 10:30pm or 11pm. Yet another near ‘White Night’. I remember writing about this phenomenon when I was in St. Petersburg in summer. Then, I had giggled from my bed when I looked out of the window at midnight and could still observe the after-sunset blue. Now, nearly half a year later, I was in Ushuaia, in summer again, and experiencing the same phenomenon.

Two near ‘White Nights’ in one year. For someone whose natural habitat is on the Equator where the sun rises and sets at the same time everyday of the year, this was really a fantastic experience!


Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 29 december 2002

I headed to Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego in the morning. I had wanted to do this trek alone. I figured it would be a nice walk in the woods, totally immersed with nature.

I got off at the start of the trail with Paul, from England. He had just returned from a US$4000 10-day Antarctica cruise. See, I told you I would be rubbing shoulders with one of these luminaries.

We did the first 2km or so of the Coastal Path together. He did not mind doing this stretch of the trail with me but I feared I was slowing him down as he still wanted to conquer other more strenuous trails later. I kept urging him to feel free to move on ahead. In the end, he disappeared into the woods, never to be spotted by me again.

As I made my way through the woods by myself, I realised THIS was the way to enjoy nature. Ever so often, I stopped dead in my tracks and listened. The gentle lapping of the waves from the bay… the occasional distant songs from birds… the rustling of the leaves as the shifting wind blew over… the soft pecking of the trunks by invisible woodpeckers… I would miss all these if I had been walking with someone. We would be chatting away, totally clueless. Even if we did not talk and I had stopped in my track, the sound of the other person’s movements, the rubbing of his pants as he walked, his footsteps, would drown these subtle and gentle natural melodies.

I finished the Coastal Path and sat in front of the Lapataia Bay and had a sandwich. There were two possible trails from here and I tried to decide which one I would take. I decided to walk the Lago Roca trail to the border of Chile-Argentina. Hmmm… to walk through the woods to the border of two countries… Yep, there was a nice frontier ring to it.

I made my way along the lake and at some point, got myself a little lost. When you start having to turn away from sheer drops, or crawling through very narrow gaps between huge boulders, or getting pricked every so often, you could pretty much guess you had strayed from the required trail.

I could see no yellow poles for a while now. Either I turned back or I persevered on, hoping the yellow pole was just around the corner. In the end, to my relief, I spotted the ‘3km’ sign some distance away but I had to clamber on top of huge boulders and slide down a little slope unglamourously to reach it.

At the end of the trail, there was an orange obelisk-thingie and a sign ‘LIMITE INTERNACIONAL - NO PASAR / NO TRESPASSING’. I was naughty, I crossed into Chile illegally and did a wander around to test if there were hidden snipers or laser-triggered machine guns. Nope.

I sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite. The wind was extremely strong by the lake. I stood up, put on my Peruvian ‘alpaca, baby alpaca’ woolly cap and my Langmusi (Tibetan town in China) fashion-challenged gloves. Then, I re-sat by the lake and stared ahead of me at the mountains opposite.

I mentally noted my geographical location on the globe. This was a moment to treasure, to savour.


Ushuaia, ARGENTINA - 30 december 2002

I had complained about the high cost of sending post from Argentina but I made an exception today. I wrote a postcard to myself, a ‘Happy New Year’ greeting and sent it from el fin del mundo [the end of the world]. I wonder what I would make of it when I return home in a few months and read this postcard.

I took a boat ride down the Beagle Channel to veer near islands with resting cormorants and lounging sea-lions.

The way cormorants fly is great. They flutter their wings desperately ever so close to the water as they try to gain height and swoop away. I loved watching them take off. If I was not misinformed, their wings are not waterproof, hence, they need to stand around the island and dry their wings after that… which was what they were doing most of the time on the islands.

The sea-lions dozed away and lumbered around sleepily and grumpily. A few babies clustered together near their mommies.

On the boat was this guy, with a Texan drawl, from my hostel – Regi. He told me he had been doing some research to see how he could get to the Antarctica cheaply. He claimed that he always wanted to head out there because it was the last continent he had not set foot on. He was not too keen on those 10-day cruises, he just wanted to set foot on Antarctica.

Oh, sigh… I guess, all sorts of travellers exist. I did not agree with what he was saying but I exercised supreme self-control by clamming up, not saying a word and simply nodding away politely. Unsolicited, he went on to fortify my knowledge with his past trips and adventures. Well, once everything was out of the way, I guess I should be nice to say he was NOT THAT BAD a company.

19 - The Great Stain Robbery (Buenos Aires)

Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 05 - 07 december 2002

The street vendors and buskers have been back along Calles Florida and Lavalle for the past week now. I am not sure if the police had lifted the ‘ban’ (which lasted a whopping 10 days or so) or the vendors just kept coming back that the police had given up trying to fight them.

I also saw children 8 to 10 years old, trying to play accordions for pesos. The poor dears, they had barely mastered the instruments and now they were most likely sent to the streets by their parents to make a living.

At many traffic junctions, one could see jugglers, clowns or performers who twirled a stick with two sticks. They would rush to the front of traffic at each red-light and perform their routines. Then, the guys went around to collect some change from the drivers before they drove off. Again, it pained me to see children jugglers.

The Argentinian government had introduced two new ‘currencies’ since the crisis - the patacones and lecops. One could see some shops stating that they accepted patacones and lecops, while others claimed they did not accept patacones and lecops.

These ‘currencies’ looked like Monopoly play-money. People would earn their salary in combinations of pesos, patacones and lecops. These are paper-money printed for the sake of increasing circulation without having real Arg Pesos. However, only certain shops accept patacones and lecops and these currencies exist only in Buenos Aires. One could not spend them in other parts of Argentina.

Frida baby had grown to a whooping 10.5 inches long and seemed to be holding for now.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 08 december 2002

I had met an Australian girl briefly in Mexico in 2000. Carolyn was then on a RTW trip for about a year. She had returned to Australia to work for a few months and was now on another long trip of about eight months. To my surprise, she had written that she was coming to Buenos Aires with her friend, Lydia!

They arrived last night and we arranged to meet today. Imagine, we had kept in touch via email since we first met very briefly in Mexico and now we were meeting each other again, not in HER city not in MY city but in ANOTHER city on the other side of the globe, again! It was incredible.

Lydia, Carolyn and I clicked immediately. Lydia had just started on her one-year RTW trip too. The three of us had many things in common, our frequencies were exactly the same, we could not stop talking and sharing our experiences. They were both well-travelled and had tons of stories to share. We were laughing all the time.

It would had been a wonderful, perfect day had it not been spoiled later by a robbery.

First, we noticed a smell. Lydia felt her hair and out came a gooey, oily stuff with a horrible stench. I checked my bag. It was similarly stained with that gross stuff. Lydia figured someone threw something out of the window. I set my bag down to clean it. Carolyn had that stuff trickling down her back.

Two women were nearby and appeared to be similarly stained. They came over, asking if we had paper or water. Naturally, we opened our bags to retrieve them for the women. Soon, they got us checking their backs and one women stood between me and my bag and started wiping my back.

Then, they were gone. I looked at my bag. It was open and I was now missing my camera!

AARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! This was the famous stain-and-distract trick! We had all heard about it. We had all been warned about it. Carolyn had had been stained once in her trip and she was quick enough then to disengage herself from the culprits. We were all relatively experienced travellers. Because we were in a group, we felt secure, we felt that we could watch one another’s back. So, when it happened to us, we were all fooled blind. We were SO STUPID!!!

I could not stop kicking myself. I could not believe it all happened so fast. We could not even remember how the women looked like. I felt suspicious that she was so agitated about wiping my back and getting me to check Carolyn’s head. Yet, it just did not occur to me to shove her out of my way between me and my bag.

I want to believe in the goodness and kindness of people. I hate to travel and live a life, forever suspicious of everyone and cyncical and sceptical about everything. But the truth is… some people are just not nice.

Oh, I LOVE my camera! I L-O-V-E IT! It had brought me so much joy on this trip. I learnt to express myself with it. I could not accept that it was now gone. People would say, it is just a camera, you can replace it. Sure, that will come later…

I realise now I have to live with my stupidity forever.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 09 december 2002

I did not sleep a wink last night. Sometimes, when people complained that they did not sleep a wink last night, they actually fell asleep by 4am or so. But, I DID NOT SLEEP a wink last night. I tossed and turned, I thought and wept the entire night. I looked up and it was morning, time to go to school.

I had not come to terms with my loss yet. I know I still felt horrible most likely because I could not forgive myself.

If it had been an attack-and-grab robbery, it would have been easier to forgive myself for it was not my fault. For sure, there was a high chance of being hurt but it would have been easier to forgive myself. But this was just O-U-R fault.

I met up with Lydia and Carolyn after class. They too did not sleep well last night, replaying the scene in their heads over and over again. We were still thoroughly devastated.

We could wallow in grief forever but we tried not to. We had to do something to distract ourselves. We visited the grand Teatro Colón which was rather interesting, with its multi-level basements of costumes, head-gears, props and shoes and even a replica of the stage for rehearsal, below Avenida 9 de Julio.

Avenida 9 de Julio is reputedly the ‘widest avenue in the world’. The landmark of Buenos Aires, the Obelisk, is in the middle of this avenue.

For several evenings the past week, I had set my camera (back when I used to own a camera) on my tripod, in the middle of the sixteen lanes of traffic, on a tiny island, trying to capture night shots with the Obelisk in the background, and the streaks of yellow and red lights by the sides and hopefully, the perfect orange across the evening sky.

Ah, those were the good old days when I had a camera… A-R-G-H!!!!

We headed to El Ateneo, a bookshop in Avenida Santa Fe which is a fully restored, converted theatre. It is elegant, exquisite and looks very, very grand. Everyone should check this bookshop out when in Buenos Aires. We sat in the café which was at the ‘stage’ area and had all the spotlights shining on our pallid faces. We simply stayed there and chatted for hours. To me, there would always be hidden gems in Buenos Aires like this, slowly to be uncovered.

That evening, over parilla a la carbon [barbecued meat], we more or less managed to hold a conversation in Spanish with a guy from the next table. Horacio actually asked if I was the translator for Carolyn and Lydia.

Whoa… first, people mistook me for the Chinese translator for Jane when we were in China. And now, even with my wonky-tonky Spanish, I was again mistaken for the translator. I guess since I looked different from the usual Western tourists, the locals just found it difficult to classify me.

Horacio is from Ushuaia or thereabouts. He offered to show me around when I get there after Christmas. Great. I mentioned that Carolyn and Lydia had just arrived from Ushuaia. His eyes lit up.

Carolyn had had some weeks of Spanish lessons in Guatemala under her belt. When asked which was her favourite place down south in Tierra del Fuego, she turned to me at once, uncertainly, “What’s… ‘we went’?” “Fuimos” I replied. Right, she explained she always used ‘I’ since she usually travelled alone, and now, ‘we’ was a problem. She turned back to Horacio and began her long, stuttering tedious hike of an answer, using the pronoun ‘we’.

I glanced around and noticed an amused old man, giggling at our struggles with conjugation and past tense. Horacio wiped tears from his eyes as he tried to stifle his laughter.

We, the tourists,
pledge to provide
entertainment
and constant merriment
to the bemused locals
so as to achieve happiness
and progress
in human communications.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 10 - 12 december 2002

I would be joking to say that I got over the incident easily. It took me days and many sleepless nights. I plunged into a state of depression that surprised even me. I wanted to throw myself in front of traffic. I would burst into tears suddenly while on the bus, in the middle of a queue at the supermarket or cooking dinner. Despite my allergy to alcohol, I took to drinking wine to get myself to sleep.

I visited Mr Huang, my acupuncturist and told him about the incident and the sleepless nights. Yes, I had gotten that settled in Buenos Aires that I had been frequenting a Chinese acupuncturist for my back problem. He stuck needles at two new spots. I barely made it home before throwing myself onto the bed and snoozing 5 hours straight that afternoon.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 13 december 2002

I passed by CITIBANK along Avenida Corrientes today. It was shuttered up and smeared senseless with graffiti. Protesters were banging the metallic shutters and nearby lamp-posts with kitchen utensils. They were chanting and yelling.

OK, ‘me robaron’ [They robbed me] vs ‘Argentina robaron’ [They robbed Argentina]. Seeing this, I realised my grieving period had come to an end.

It was time to look at the silver lining. I REALLY ought to be glad it was a stain-and-distract robbery and not an attack-and-grab robbery. Now, I just walked around with the sign ‘STUPID’ on my forehead, instead of a 3-inch scar (always assuming I could still walk).

I REALLY ought to be glad they just took the camera and left my bag. Otherwise, my journal and my little book of contacts and scribbles which I had earned along the way, including addresses written in Krygzy, Uyghur, Mongolian and Russian would be gone too. And thos TREASURED notes would be irreplaceable.

I recalled Goretti (whom I travelled with in Mongolia) who had had her entire bag stolen at the Ulaan Baator train station. I remembered Ben (whom I travelled with briefly in Russia) who had had his camera relieved from his bag when he went to the toilet and had left the bag on the bus in Nepal. Yeah, it would be great if this sort of things do not happen but they do… sometimes. That is the risk one takes while travelling.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 14 - 15 december 2002

Pablo had returned from his Patagonia trip with the Italian tourists. It was a success and he was really pleased with everything. It was his first time guiding as a tour guide, instead of as a nature guide. It was also with adult tourists, instead of children and educational groups that he was used to and it was guided entirely in Italian. Not the easiest job for there were also group dynamics to worry about and politics among the drivers and his assistant to handle. Well, the tourists loved what he had done for them and tipped him well. That was great!

He was also happy to see that Frida Baby which had been merely a bud when he left for the trip was now 12 inches long. I did not kill her.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 16 december 2002

Well, my stay in Buenos Aires would be coming to an end. I would start travelling again after Christmas. While here in Buenos Aires, I had been visiting bookshops to look for Lonely Planet guidebooks for Argentina and Chile.

I preferred LP because of the tiny maps. It was always easier to have a guideline of where to head off once outside the bus station.

But because of the economic crisis, no LP guidebooks appeared to be imported to Argentina anymore. In fact, even if I was not picky, there were hardly any proper guidebooks in English for South America.

In the end, I settled on an Argentina-Chile guidebook, printed in Spanish. It was not very good, but what could I do? I skimmed through it. Skipping those words I did not know, I more or less could still figure out what was written. I had to concentrate on every word though. It was not possible to speed-read it.

Back in Singapore, I had learnt the Spanish word ‘coger’ which means ‘to take’, ‘to catch’, ‘to grasp’, ‘to seize’, ‘to take hold of’. Innocent enough. Yet, somehow, the Latin Americans had twisted its meaning that it means ‘to f*#k’ here.

I had known this before and had simply not used this word. Pablo even forbade me to use ‘escoger’ which was ‘to choose’ for it sounded like ‘coger’. I had to choose another word for ‘to choose’.

So, it was to my greatest amusement to read the guidebook, printed innocently in Spain, and constantly spot ‘se puede coger un autobus para xxx’ [one can f*#k a bus towards xxx], ‘coged vuestros trajes de baño’ [f*#k your bathing suits], ‘coged la carretera xxx’ [f*#k the highway xxx].


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 17 december 2002

I went and bought an air-ticket to Ushuaia, leaving after Christmas. Gosh… how ARE air-tickets priced? I first asked for an air-ticket from Puerto Madryn (near Peninsula Valdez, which I wanted to go first from Buenos Aires) to Ushuaia. It would cost me 500+ Arg Pesos. But if I flew from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia, with a stop-over in Puerto Madryn (which I could not get off), it would cost 300+ Arg Pesos. Longer distance for 200 Arg Pesos less.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 18 - 19 december 2002

I had my end-of-course test and I passed with flying colours… ahem!


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 20 december 2002

Today was the first-year anniversary of the history-changing events when the President of Argentina (a few of them consecutively, actually) resigned, when the Argentinian Peso plummeted, when Argentinians’ savings were robbed from them. Some people had literally dropped dead at the banks when told of the news. There had been massive demonstrations and violence on the streets, lootings, burning, beatings, killings…

A few days before, things had been a little tense around town, as many wondered if history would repeat itself this year. There were posters and graffiti telling people to hit the streets on 19 and 20 December to remember the events of last year. There were also rumours that there would be transportation strikes.

I was in Burger King when a march went by. Fearing the protesters might storm in to plunder the beef patties, lettuce and ketchup sachets, the security guards hastened to lock us in. But I wanted to go out and see the march. At the door, the guard stared at me and asked in an incredulous tone, “¿Querés salir???? [You want to leave????]” “Sí.”

Well, nothing bad happened that day. There were peaceful marches down by the Plaza de Mayo and probably, near the Palacio de Congreso to remember last year’s horrific event and to continue the ‘fight’.

Pablo and I headed to Jardín Japonés [Japanese Garden] in the evening, because Marcelo, the photographer whom I met last month, had informed me by email last week that his slide-show would be held ‘el viernes que viene’ [the coming Friday]. But to our disappointment, we could not locate anything.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 21 - 23 december 2002

I emailed to Marcelo to tell him that we went to the Jardín Japonés on Friday but could not find him. His nonchalant reply was, “Oh, what a shame. It was actually held on Thursday, not Friday.”

I did not know if I should laugh or cry. In a way, Pablo and I were very disappointed he gave me the wrong day and we did not get the chance to see the slide-show of his excellent photos.

But, on the other hand, this type of mix-up was so latino, if I may say so. Back in my country, I would have found it unforgiveable. But here, I just felt somewhat amused by it all.

Promises, appointments, plans were peppered vaguely with ‘Quizás’ [Perhaps], ‘Tal vez’ [Maybe], ‘Creo que si’ (I believe so), ‘No seguro' [Not sure], ‘No sé’ [I do not know], ‘Puede ser’ [Can be], ‘Nos vemos’ [We shall see each other…] and a personal favourite ‘Mañana’ [Tomorrow].

If they say they will call at 8pm, they mean about 2 hours after 8pm, if at all. If they say they want to do this thing today, they mean they want to do this thing… in this lifetime… or tomorrow, if it is possible… I learnt that this had been diagnosed by others before me as the Mañana syndrome.

Nothing is ever certain. Life remains a constant mystery. I have to get used to this but I like it… maybe… I think so…


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 24 december 2002

Over the past few days, from a Sunday lunch to a nephew’s birthday, I had slowly met the rest of Pablo’s wonderful family members.

It would be excellent to spend Christmas Eve with his nephews and niece.

I was surprised to learn that his youngest nephews still believed in Santa Claus. I myself cannot remember if I ever believed in Santa Claus. In Asian culture, or at least in my family, we just did not grow up with the Santa Claus myth, ever.

So, the rest of the family had to put up a ‘show’ for them tonight. OK, Tomás is two, practically a baby. So, I was looking forward to seeing Nicolás’ (who is six) reaction when Papa Noel arrive tonight. Between drinks and cakes, the boys ran around the house, chanting “¡Faltan 25 / 14 / 5 minutos!” [25 / 14 / 5 minutes left!]

We counted down to Christmas. Buenos Aires burst into life with fireworks all around. We distracted the children by taking them up to the roof to look at the fireworks and the stars. Meanwhile, the adults downstairs laid out the gifts and Pablo’s brother, Sergio transformed himself into Papa Noel.

Pablo got them to shout for Papa Noel over and over again up on the roof. Then, we spread rumours that Papa Noel was already here.

The children rushed downstairs to the living room excitedly. The lights were off. A very ugly Papa Noel stood next to the Christmas tree.

Gosh, I would never forget the look on Nicolás’ face as he gazed in amazement at Papa Noel. The perfect ‘O’-shape formed on his mouth. His eyes practically popped out and glowed in awe. He was hopping up and down in pure excitement. He was trying to see Papa Noel clearly. Yet, he dared not approach him.

A few quick words, ho-ho-ho… a show of the presents, Papa Noel waved goodbye and left. Nicolás tried to run after him, but some relative blocked his way. The lights came on and everyone pounced on the presents, searching for their names.

Oh, the precious look on Nicolás’ face will symbolise, to me, the magic that we still want to believe in life. How wonderful things (like presents) will continue to fall in our ways. How wishes and dreams will happen if we work towards them (like behaving yourself, for Papa Noel is watching). He is so sweet. What an angel!

To my surprise, there were presents for me too.

In the rest of the Spanish-speaking world, the pronunciation for ‘y’ and ‘ll’ was ‘y’ (or a soft ‘j’). So, ‘yo’ would be ‘yo’ (or ‘jo’) and ‘llave’ would be ‘ya-vey’ (or ‘ja-vey’).

In Argentina, I do not know why but they were pronounced as ‘sh’. So, ‘yo’ was ‘sho’ and ‘llave’ was ‘sha-vey’.

Imagine, I had to convert in my mind all the words with ‘y’ and ‘ll’ I learnt previously to what were used here in Buenos Aires. I had to mind-map everything when I listened to the Argentinians. And I would have to undo all these changes once I leave Argentina.

And so, my presents were addressed to ‘TRILLA’ - my Argentinian name.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 25 - 26 december 2002

I decided to stock up on books here for my coming three-month trip toggling between Argentina and Chile. I did not plan on going to Santiago, Chile. Hence, my chance of obtaining good English books later on in my trip in the nature reserves, national parks and Andean towns appeared to hover around ‘zero’.

I had mentioned that intellectual Buenos Aires is a bookstore paradise. The choice of good Spanish books was incredible. If I could read decent Spanish, I would have stuffed myself silly, swiftly devoured the books long ago. But I could not.

The choice of English books here was not too bad, frankly, compared to, say, Moscow. But one thing very obvious in the bookstores I found in Russia, Brazil and now, Argentina, was the sheer number of classics available.

Did the non-English-as-first-language population seriously think we read ‘Bleak House’ for leisure? The huge variety of classics (and extremely cheap too) on sale seemed to perpetuate a myth that we could quote Shakespeare in our everyday conversations (“Is this a butter knife I see before me? Come, let me clutch thee.”), boast of the entire Jane Austen collection on our shelves and know of the intimate details of 18th century country-living and ways and means to procure husbands for our daughters.

Just a thought, wouldn’t the poor dears be so discouraged from ever picking up an English book, if their first exposure to English books had been these classics?


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 27 december 2002

I bought a new camera today. Finally. On my last day in Buenos Aires too.

To be honest, for the past two weeks, I had been scouting around. I poked my nose into camera shops. I made inquiries. I lusted after lenses. I baulked at the prices. I kicked myself again. I turned to Buddha to remind myself ‘Craving causes suffering’. I readjusted the ‘STUPID’ sign on my forehead lest people should miss it. I made mental sums. I rolled my eyeballs. Yeah, the works.

I settled on a particular shop because Rodrigo, the salesman, had appeared to be helpful and trustworthy. However, Rodrigo, or his supplier as he would have me believed, suffered from the Mañana syndrome. So, mañana became ‘Sunday’ became mañana became ‘Christmas Eve’ became ‘Christmas Day’ became mañana became ‘my last day in Buenos Aires’.

When faced with the mañana man, one had to douse oneself with a generous spray of the ‘Qué sera sera’ [Whatever will be will be] attitude.

I had earned myself the ‘Most Frequent Visitor’ title that when the sale was finally executed, Rodrigo gave me a strong hug, kissed my cheek and made me promise to visit the shop with my photos when I returned to Buenos Aires in March. Then, he just had to reach over and give me another hug and plant another smacker on my cheek.

Well, sometimes one did not know what one might miss until one had left the place. I spent today wandering around my old haunts, lunching on a bife (beef-steak) which I had not had for a while, splurging on yet another helado (ice-cream) and taking stock of the idiosyncracies of Buenos Aires again.

Buenos Aires has been great. Truly a city that never sleeps. It has its dark sides and I had had a bad incident but Buenos Aires has really been wonderful. I truly love it here. I hope I had managed to convey the essence of Buenos Aires to the readers over these two months. There would be plenty of things I would miss, for sure.

Well, hasta luego, nos vemos… [Until later, we see each other…]

18 - Much Ado About Buenos Aires (Buenos Aires)

Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 11 - 13 november 2002

Every other day, there appeared to be street protests and demonstrations somewhere. Occasionally, after my classes, I would stumble upon a group waving flags, shouting into loud-hailers and preparing to march down the streets. Some groups drew messages on the ground or pinned up notices on the walls, lambasting the government and the president. Others made lots of noise with brass bands and drums. The police would always be lined up nearby, in their bullet-proof vests, ready and waiting.

The street-wares for sale on Calle Florida which I had noted when I first arrived in Buenos Aires had also been disallowed recently. These people were trying their utmost to earn just that little more money selling something but no… they could not do that anymore. As expected, the street vendors protested against this issue too.

But the worst must be the news that in Tucuman province, there were children who had died of starvation because of the economic crisis and possibly, corruption. Gosh, this was horrible news! From the news on TV, I saw many protesters confronting the officials and the president outside government buildings and screaming, “Have you read the papers today? HAVE YOU?!!?!!!”

I bought ‘Clarin’, an Argentinian newspaper, hoping to understand more about the politics and economics situations in Argentina. I nearly dissolved in tears. I was checking the dictionary after every two words. Pablo told me to stop, for I would be discouraged from reading anything Spanish in the future. Even HE did not understand the politics and economics of Argentina.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 14 november 2002

I donned my tourist garb, grabbed my camera and headed out to San Telmo and La Boca today. The sun was brilliant; the sky, a perfect blue.

I made my way slowly along Calle La Defensa in the San Telmo region. This place has charming old buildings with wooden doors and iron balconies, and some streets remain cobbled-stoned. This is a traditional corner of Buenos Aires, peppered with many of those lovely, traditional bar-cafés I had written about. There are also numerous antique shops selling all sorts of, well, antiques - old record players, Baroque-style furniture, vases, discoloured posters of Che Guevara, Eva Perón and the likes, glass-wares and crystals, terribly kitsch plastic toys, ancient books and mate cups, etc… Kitschy but charming.

I spotted two decorative statues, the size of my hands, to be placed, preferably, on a piano or mantlepiece. What of them, you ask? They were the heads of two chimpanzees, one male, one female and dressed like what the costume designer had in mind for Glenn Close and John Malkovich in ‘The Age of Innocence’. Yes, they had white wigs and powdered faces. The female chimpanzee even had a tiny heart painted on her cheek. Like, W-H-O would BUY these?

Outside one house, I saw the owner had artistically-bent spoons and forks and other metallic kitchen wares as his window grilles. I was taking a photo of it when a boy and a girl appeared in my frame. They peered out of the window at me curiously. We chatted. Well, I could only ask them for their names and ages while they chatted on and on to me… Argh, I really kicked myself. I had no idea what the sweet dears were talking about. Like all children, they did not understand why someone else could not speak their language and prattled on innocently. They were beautiful. I love them!

Along one of the roads nearing La Boca, there were colourfully-painted caricature-dummies looking out of fake windows of fake houses. The walls by the side of the road were also painted with the legendary (to me, I would put inverted commas on) ‘heroes’ of Argentina like a very stocky Maradona.

Then, when I arrived at La Boca, I realised the stretch around the famous Caminito was similarly decorated with such caricature-dummies, including more ‘heroes’ like Juan and Eva Perón and Maradona waving down from a balcony.

La Boca is at the south of Buenos Aires, next to the smelly river Riachuela. It had gloriously colourful wooden buildings. I understood from Pablo that the reason the buildings were so colourful was because this region was previously populated by sailors who had to paint boats. And what did they do with the left-over paint? They painted their houses with them.

The fire department of La Boca was also rather famous because of the frequent fires here due to the wooden houses. In fact, a cluster of houses had been burnt down perhaps a week or so earlier.

This place was quite a tourist playground. There were many souvenir stalls and shops. There were expensive cafés and restaurants. And there were cut-out boards where one could place one’s face against the hole and pretend to be playing football with, yes, again… Maradona or doing a sensual tango with a babe they would NEVER get the chance to do so in real life. Argentine kitsch. But a pretty place to take photos if the sun is right.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 15 - 16 november 2002

I was informed that the Recoleta area is the place where the rich and shameless hang out. True, the streets were lined with very, very fashionable international branded shops like Christian Dior, Armani, etc… and chic, fancy clubs and restaurants. Shiny and posh, well-coiffed and immaculately-dressed porteños walked around with… well, scowls on their faces.

The Recoleta Cemetery is unexpectedly delightful. I came to Argentina without a guidebook, so in a way, I was quite clueless about what to visit in Buenos Aires. I merely flipped through some guide-books from bookstores about places to check out in Buenos Aires and the Recoleta Cemetery was mentioned.

The coffins were not buried in the ground. The families of the departed constructed little mausoleums to hold the coffins, sometimes the mausoleums were constructed for a couple; others seemed to be for the entire family. As a result, the entire cemetery was lined with little mausoleums and not gravestones. It felt a little like walking down narrow streets with small houses by the side.

Some of the mausoleums were more elaborately done up than others. They had sculptures, gigantic crucifixes, plaques denoting the life history of the dead, intricate wrought-iron grilles… Others were a little run-down with broken glass, cobwebbed gate, dusty windows. It was one incredibly surreal cemetery, well worth the visit.

There was a park in front of the cemetery with a weekend fair. I spotted a sign from a Tarot-card reader – ‘ENGLISH SPOKEN’. Hmmm… I had never had my fortune read. I had been a little curious about Tarot cards. Oh well, yes… if not here, where? If not now, when?


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 17 november 2002

My school had organised a gathering to attend a ‘Tango y Poesia’ [Tango and Poetry] performance by an actress and a guitarist in Bar Seddon today. Bar Seddon is located in San Telmo.

I asked Pablo to join me. To my surprise, he had never attended such a tango-cum-guitar session in a traditional bar-café before. Naturally, I could not understand a word. Pablo told me too many Argentine slangs were used. He would not even try to explain them to me. So, I just sat there and enjoyed the performance.

The actress was seated on a bar-stool and she either read the poetry or she sang the songs. My goodness, from such an immobile position, I was utterly floored by the range of emotions and expressions she was able to convey. Her deep melodious voice trembled at the emotional bits or soared like a bird at the happy bits. Her clenched fists shook with anger or her fluid hands flowed with grace. Her performance was stunning, captivating. The guitarist was terrific. The nostalgic ambience in the bar was another strong factor. What an excellent way to experience a unique culture of Buenos Aires.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 18 - 20 november 2002

I had previously mentioned about dulce de leche but I feared I did not grant it enough print space.

I do not know if I suddenly turned into a pastry-and-pie person recently but no place within a city could, well… now at least, stop me dead in my tracks than the confiterias [confectionaries] of Buenos Aires.

I racked my brain for confectionaries in China (forget about Mongolia), Europe and Brazil… Hmmm… not many mouth-watering memories surfaced.

I recalled the Chinese baked huge tiered cakes and then, creamed it entirely with white, pastel-pink, lilac and sky-blue colours, wedding-cake style, that just grossed me out. In Europe, yes, in Austria, there were many charming confectionaries with pretty little cakes but nothing earth-shattering. In Brazil, I apologize, I was checking out other yummy stuff like tanned, bare-chested men.

But here in Buenos Aires, my goodness… I would stop suddenly and stare at the assortments of sweets, cakes, pies, pastries, alfajores (typically Argentine, shaped like a yo-yo with dulce de leche in the middle of two cake-biscuit thingies), cookies, chocolates, etc… laid out at the window displays to tempt us mere mortals. Sometimes, people behind me would crash right into me when I stopped. I would examine the cakes from different angles, tilting my head as perverts do when studying the pictures from Playboy magazines. I would check out the windows on the other side, lest I missed out some yummy pastries. I would pretend to be buying and enter the store for a quick up-close-and-personal browse. And dulce de leche was almost always prominently featured in these goodies. I must think of ways to import dulce de leche back to my country.

Speaking of ‘import’, I had written some post-cards, slotted them into envelopes and attempted to buy stamps for them. To my horrors, the price of each stamp was 5.25 Arg Pesos, that was about US$1.50. For something less than 20 grams, it was US$1.50?? It was incredibly expensive! I now understood why Sheena, this lady I met in Pantanal, told me she crossed over to Paraguay in order to post things she bought from Argentina home. If I had a package of 2 kg, would it cost more than US$150? Gosh, I sent a box weighing more than 2 kg from Brazil and it cost me merely US$15. I refused to send my post-cards. How could the Argentinians afford to send ANYTHING out of the country? My hope for importing dulce de leche dimmed.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 21 november 2002

Francisca brought me to experience another Buenos Aires high today.

I supposed, with cattle as the main industry here, cattle-related products like bife and dulce de leche (translated as ‘sweet from milk’) would be cheap and excellent. The other amazing ‘sweet from milk’ would be ice-cream, wouldn’t it? And as you know, I have always been an aficionada of ice-cream.

The city is strewn with brightly-lit heladerias [ice-cream parlours]. We went to a very posh heladeria in a very posh corner of Buenos Aires. The very posh price of the cone of ice-cream was 7 Arg Pesos. Gulp! Francisca insisted it was her treat, paid with her mom’s money.

As the master ice-cream scooper piled on the second scoop of ice-cream of the flavour dulce de leche (but of course), he turned the ice-cream cone upside-down and proceeded to elongate the ice-cream. It was of such rich, thick texture, the ice-cream would not flop down and die. It merely extended in length. Then, Master-Ice-Cream-Scooper dipped the ice-cream cone into liquid chocolate and placed the cone in a freezer for a few seconds to harden the chocolate.

We were now looking at the tallest ice-cream cone I had ever laid my eyes on, all of 1-metre high. We wielded it like it was the light sabre. As we proceeded to eat it, WE stopped traffic as five-year-olds just back from nursery schools stopped and gaped in awe. I offered them a bite but their mothers declined and hurried them along. They left but their eyes remained fixed on our posh ice-cream cone.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 22 - 24 november 2002

Pablo had to go to Patagonia on 24 November for three weeks, guiding a group of Italians. The past two weeks he had stressed himself out, revising his Italian, learning all the biological terms in Italian, trying to find out information about the trip which the company he worked for did not even know themselves.

Three days before his trip, he was then informed he would be going to Trelew by bus one day before the Italians arrived to sort things out with the drivers. Suddenly, he was told he would be doing the cooking for some of the days. He had to go shopping with the boss’s mom for groceries, by the way.

Then, the company informed him maybe he ought to find out about restaurants along the main routes of Patagonia to see if the group would be able to arrive there by meal-times. And ooops, the company had booked the hotels and restaurants for the wrong dates, they had booked one day in advance for the entire three-week trip.

Pablo was frustrated, jumpy, tense and very, very stressed out. But what could he do? In a country with so much unemployment now, everyone had looked at him with envy of having a job.

I would be apartment-sitting for him for the next three weeks. Remember to water the plants everyday.

The last plant I had, ten years ago, was a little cactus, reputedly the most resilient plant in the world. I probably killed it within weeks of procuring it. But I was so numb-skulled I did not realise it until months later when I touched it and it keeled over, revealing just an empty shell. The entire succulent insides had died out long ago. I thereby promised myself never to be in charge of the lives of another living thing… until now.

I had named one of the plants ‘Frida’. No, I was not cashing on the fame of the current movie by Salma Hayek. I love Frida Kahlo’s works. The plant looked radiant at the top but had some tortured-looking leaves at the bottom. So, it reminded me of how Frida Kahlo was radiant on the outside but tortured with pain on the inside.

On 20 November, Frida had sprouted a new bud. By 24 November, Frida Baby was 2.5 inches long.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 25 - 27 november 2002

A quick observation about the mental health of the Buenos Aires inhabitants. Apparently, it is really popular here to visit psychologists. Nearly everyone, especially those from the middle and upper classes, visits psychologists. They even send their children to such sessions. It is so common in Buenos Aires that there is absolutely no stigma with regards to this issue.

A classmate of mine has a psychologist girl-friend and her young patients’ mood-swings were like yo-yos. They could be partying one moment and then, 2 hours later, would call up my friend’s girlfriend, crying their eyes out, feeling utterly depressed. They were really reliant on her.

Francisca told me her friend visited one three times a week. She is just 21 years old. Gosh, I wonder what sort of problems she has? I suspect boy-girl relationships, friendships, insecurity, jealousy, etc… Stuff we used to solve by ourselves and grow up in the meantime.

Of course, in some cases, there are people who really needed help or at least, the sessions could help to improve self-awareness but, to me, the psychologist mania sounded a little excessive.

Frida baby was 4.5 inches long now.


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 28 november 2002

I was having my lunch in a Chinese Restaurant in the ‘Chinatown’ of Buenos Aires in Belgrano. A toddler veered near to check me out. I made monkey faces at her. The guy sitting behind me, made goo-goo noises too and he greeted her, “Ni Hao Ma? [How are you? -- in Mandarin]”

I turned to look at him curiously. He was Argentinian, not Chinese. Then, I spotted some photographs on the table which his friend was looking through. I gasped at the photos. They were gorgeous! And they looked strangely familiar too.

I asked him, in Spanish, ha ha, where they were taken. He said the ones I pointed to were taken in the western part of China, near Tibet.

“Langmusi?” I ventured. His eyes lit up, “Yes! Langmusi!!”

Oh my goodness!!! Imagine, meeting another person here in Argentina who had been to the obscure Tibetan town of Langmusi in China, where my best memories of China were from! The guy is Marcelo, he is a photographer and had been in Asia for one year on assignment.

As I went through the stack of photographs, I realised he had been to South East Asia, India, Nepal, China and Mongolia!! His photographs of China and Mongolia were especially precious to me for I had seen somewhat the same things. They were artfully captured with amazing spontaneity, skill and mood.

Marcelo pointed out one photo which was the niece of Leisha, of ‘Leisha’s Café’ fame in Langmusi. I had previously mentioned her in my article. Yes, she was the one who churned out apple pies and yak burgers. I nearly fainted with delight.

Marcelo’s photographs would appear in a magazine (free too!) in the middle of next month and he would also have a slide-show presentation soon. Pablo had been to India and Nepal as well and had loved those countries intensely. We would be delighted to see his presentation. I obtained his contact eagerly and promised to write him for more details. ¡Qué suerte! [Such luck!]


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 29 november 2002 - 03 december 2002

Professional dog walkers. I am not sure if they exist in such abundance in other countries but here in Buenos Aires, everyday, I saw at least one such dog-walker. People who did not have time to walk their dogs would enlist such a professional. The guy could have up to twelve huge dogs tied to his waist as he careened down the streets. Quite a sight!

With the dogs, came the poo on the streets. No, they did not clean up after their dogs.

While Buenos Aires has enchanting cupolas at the top of some corner blocks, I do not suggest you stare skywards when you walk. Watch out for the poo.

Frida baby was 6.5 inches long. I was really proud of her!


Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 04 december 2002

On one of the evenings when Pablo was still in town, we had gone to watch the movie ‘Kamchatka’. It was an Argentinian movie about the military repression period in the late 1970s.

My Spanish was terrible then, so half the time, I had no idea what exactly was exchanged between the characters. But the story was about a family who had to hide in the countryside after the colleagues of the father, a university lecturer, were kidnapped by the military. Then, finally, when all hope was lost, the father and the mother left the kids with the grandparents and they drove away, never to be seen again.

The horrific actions from the military were never spelled out in the movie. They were hinted at, suggested and implied. The movie was very intellectually, tastefully and subtly done, in that sense. However, to someone not familiar with this dark period in the history of South America, the impact might be lost. This, respectfully, was my humble two-cents’ worth.

After the movie, tears had streamed down Pablo’s face. He was between four and ten years at that time. It was the age of ‘Why?’ and ‘Why not?’. Yet, no one could explain why he could not do this, why he could not do that. Everything was hush-hush, lest there were spies.

The movie reminded him so much of his childhood, right down to the bag the boy was carrying and the sunglasses worn by the mother. Like the movie, there were suggestions at one point, to change their names and they also had a command that when uttered, all had to abandon everything and run out of the house to escape. It was a frightening and very dark period.

Pablo explained as much as he could about that period to me. I turned things over in my head. While my heart was heavy, my eyes had remained dry.

Today, tears flowed freely down my cheeks. By chance, I had strolled to Plaza de Mayo in the afternoon.

The square had painted white headscarves on the ground. The headscarves symbolised the mothers of that period, who had had their children kidnapped and who were left, asking ‘Why?’, ‘What happened?’, ‘Where are they?’

Today, in front of the government building ‘Casa Rosada’ [Pink House], police in full gear, including shields, were lining up and waiting for action.

25 years had passed. Nothing was forgotten. The square was lined with black-and-white photographs of the disappeareds. The parents, grandparents and even children of the disappeareds had prepared posters to commemorate their loved ones. Posters with the songs and poetry composed by them during their teenage years, the last letters written to their mothers or sisters, photographs of their first toddle, their 15th birthday, their wedding.

I circled the square several times and read the touching posters. My Spanish was more or less alright for reading. I recalled Pablo’s words and the movie. I blinked and tears streamed down.

The words ‘DETENIDA’ [detained], ‘SECUESTRADO’ [kidnapped], ‘DESPARECIDO’ [disappeared], ‘ASESINADO’ [murdered] screamed at me. The charming, good-looking faces of these people my age smiled back at me.

30,000 disappeared. Ariel Horacio Gabriel Roman Franco Manuel Adriana Omar Ernesto Álvaro Gustavo Eduardo Carlos Susana Norberto Hector Fernando Roberto Antonio Luis Graciela Stella Mario José Gisela Julio Nora Claudio Elena Alejandra Beatriz Teresa Samuel Rubén Nestor Nina Maria Rodolfo Ricardo Claudia Clara Juan Daniel Pablo Alicia Laura Jorge Rosalba Agustina Alejandro Cecilia Laura Margarita Mónica… No one was forgotten.

17 - Tango and Not Enough Cash (Puerto Iguazu, Buenos Aires)

Puerto Iguazú to Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 29 october 2002

I had to really wash ‘OBRIGADA’ out of my hair. I am now in Argentina, speak Spanish, por favor! Yet, over and over, from Iguazú Falls to this morning, I blurted out “Obrigada… [Thank you -- in Portuguese]” repeatedly.

I had written an email to Pablo whom I had met in Beijing way back in June and travelled together for one month, crossing three countries to Moscow. I told him I was coming to Argentina and he had replied that he was in Buenos Aires and was looking forward to meeting me. He could even put me up at his apartment. Excelente!!

I informed him I would arrive in Buenos Aires on 31 October, as I wanted to spend a day at San Ignacio first.

However, when I arrived at San Ignacio at 3pm or so, it was raining cats and dogs. Suddenly, I did not feel like staying in this miserable-looking drenched town. I made inquiries in a hotel if there was a night-bus to Buenos Aires leaving that night. The lady told me to phone an affiliated company selling bus-tickets.

OK, major test here. Speaking face-to-face in my so-called Spanish was moderately OK for one could still use sign languages, the magic of a smile, a knowing look, pointing and hand gestures. But to speak in Spanish on the phone to someone and to understand him was a little trickier. Well, I did a not-bad job. I managed to figure out there was one bus leaving at 6pm. I thanked the guy and said I would walk to his office now to make the purchase. Unfortunately, the office was ten blocks away and it was pouring! But he kept saying something about a ‘coche’ [car]. I declined the offer but he insisted, “Gratis. [Free]” “¿Gratis? Oh, obrigada… er, muchas gracias… Por favor, gracias.”

I set the phone down, wondering if I had misunderstood him. Did such excellent service exist? Was he driving over to the hotel in the rain just to pick me up to go to his office?

Indeed he arrived and later, after I purchased the ticket, I took out the wet map and wondered if I could still squeeze in some time to visit the San Ignacio Ruinas in the meantime. Again, the guy offered to drive me to the ruins! I was speechless for a moment. He hurried out to the car just when the heaven opened up some more and POURED all its sorrows out. The rain was torrential. It was certainly not a good idea to visit the ruins at all but my declines now appeared to him to be just trying not to trouble him. And he was very willing to be troubled and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. It rained so hard we could not see out of the car windows. But he was so kind, I had to at least pretend I would visit the ruins.

I stood at the ticket counter of the ruins for a long time before telling myself, “Hey, whatever… Stop being such a wimp. Enjoy the rain as one enjoys the sun.” and bought a ticket.

I sloshed through the gates of the ruins with ankle-deep water to the museum. A curator working there asked “¿De dónde sos? [Where are you from?]”. I peered down at his notebook and found him recording which country crazy tourists who visited ruins in torrential rain came from. I replied, “Singapur”. He neatly wrote down, “Japon”. I threw him a look, took his pen from him and corrected it solemnly. If anything, for the record, I had to make sure that it be noted that this crazy tourist came from the right country.

He then asked if I needed a guide. Oh no, obrigada… er, gracias… How could I bear to make someone else come out in this awful rain with me?

My feet were totally submerged in the flooded field. I waded through the grass and rivulets. I was surprised to see two other crazy tourists visiting the ruins as well. Visibility was so low, I could not see far. When I lifted my head to look at the walls, my eyes were closed because of the pelting rain.

I returned to the museum, wonderfully wet, and beamed at the bemused curator, “¡Qué lindo! ¡Qué bueno! [How pretty! How nice!]”

I dried myself in the restaurant opposite and ordered a bife [beef steak]. This would start my streak of bife-eating in this country. While I complained about the over-done, tough, tasteless beef in Brazil, here… just right across the imaginary line called the border, the Argentinians made the most gorgeous, juicy, mouth-watering piece of steak in the entire world. I praised the chef and muttered many thanks to the waitress.

Later, as I prepared to brave the rain once again to walk eight blocks back to the bus office, the owner of the restaurant stopped me. She refused to let me go out in the rain. The husband of the waitress had coincidentally just arrived to pick her up. The owner thus asked the waitress to get her husband to drop me off at the office. Oh my goodness!!! The Brazilians had been wonderfully friendly… and the Argentinians appeared to be even more hospitable and kind! I had just gotten three free lifts in a day!

Then, at 6pm, the most perfectly-evolved double-decker bus arrived to pick me up. There were three seats per row. The seat was as spacious as a business-class seat on airplanes. It could recline until almost horizontal. A set of pillow and blanket were provided. A pretty little stewardess came up and served cookies, drinks, dinner… I could not believe it! After all those horrendous bus-rides in China and Mongolia, this specimen of bus was utopia itself.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 30 october 2002

By the way, we were even served breakfast too this morning! Incredible.

Throughout the ride, however, police constantly got on the bus to check our documents and possessions. I noted I was singled out to be checked all the time. It felt a little weird for in Brazil, nothing like this ever happened.

So I arrived in Buenos Aires, one day earlier than the date I had informed Pablo. Upon arrival, I could not get him on the phone so I tried to contact him via email.

He later told me that when he realised I was already in Buenos Aires, his first reaction was sheer panic: “Oh my God!! Trisha is ALONE in my city!!!!” Through a comedy of errors of when, where and how to meet, communicated entirely by emails as he and I strove to log-in multiple times that day to check each other’s replies, we finally met at 6pm at the correct McDonald’s.

It was pure joy. We were thrilled to see each other again!! We jumped up and down in delight and gushed about what we had been doing the past months after we separated in Moscow, Russia. We talked excitedly about our trip together in China, Mongolia and the Trans-Mongolian Railway. “Remember this… Remember that…” It was fantastic to be reunited with Pablo again. And thoroughly unexpectedly soon too, for I had not intended to come to Buenos Aires until perhaps next March. Ah, yes, that guitar-pick we snapped into two in Mongolia… they would soon be united too.

We paced up and down Calle Florida, the main pedestrian mall in the centre of Buenos Aires, many many times. We were totally oblivious to the surroundings and thoroughly distracted as we yakked non-stop for five hours or so.

Like Jane when I was in Ireland, he felt extremely responsible for my safety and comfort. I felt as if I was a baby. He feared that the Buenos Aires traffic would crash into me; he feared that I would crash into the Buenos Aires lamp-posts and telephone booths, and loaded me with warnings and be-carefuls here and there. “Gee, Pablo, thank you for being so sweet and nice but I crossed the horrid China-Mongolian border by myself and didn’t die, remember??”



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 31 october 2002

Pablo and I met up in Café Tortoni after his work and I was introduced to the most famous and charmingly traditional café in Buenos Aires.

The bar/café culture is a quintessential aspect of Buenos Aires. All over Buenos Aires were these traditional bars-cum-cafés which are usually located at the corners of streets. While many had closed, the few which remained were, to me, thoroughly charming. They had high ceilings, ancient iron-fans, antique lamp-shades shaped like flowers, black-and-white checkered floors, wooden tables and chairs and little old men for waiters.

For individuals, they are great places to sit and while away the time as one reads or ponders over various questions in life. For friends, they are excellent places to talk, discuss, reminisce, laugh, share, grow.

They are nostalgic and inspirational. And for many decades, poets, writers, political revolutionists, tango composers, the intellects of Buenos Aires, had pined for love, debated over ideas, grieved over disillusions, hoped for a new way of life, drowned their sorrows, praised their good fortune, recollected their pasts… and in turn, churned out the tremendously excellent culture of Buenos Aires - the poetry, the literature, the music, the tango dance of Argentina.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 01 november 2002

As I learn about the Argentinian way of life, allow me to introduce to the readers: Mate and dulce de leche.

Mate (pronounced Ma-tey) is the typical drink of the Argentinians. It is served in special cups made from round gourds or a vase-shaped silver vessel.

The mate leaves are not just a couple of wimpy leaves swimming at the bottom of the cups. The leaves and sometimes stems are crushed up really small and filled to the brim of the cups. To drink it, one needed a bamboo or usually a metal straw with tiny holes at the bottom to filter out the tiny leaves.

One could only pour enough water into the cup for one suck. The water, and this is very important as imparted gravely by Pablo, must be about 80°C or so. Never to 100°C. It is all alchemy. Mate is strong stuff.

So, all over Buenos Aires, one could see the locals holding their mate in one hand and a flask of hot-water in the other, refilling, sipping, refilling, sipping… It is a social drink too, meant for sharing among friends.

Dulce de leche (Dool-say dey ley-chey) is heaven. Yes, it is. I cannot explain what goes inside it for Pablo was unable or perhaps unwilling to part with this secret knowledge. It seemed to be a cross between chocolate cream and caramel. It is brown, sticky and gorgeously sweet. Every other pastries and desserts, magnificently and lovingly prepared by the wondrous chefs of Argentina, had fillings of dulce de leche. Cartons of dulce de leche are sold everywhere and people have been known, for example Pablo, to finish up a carton of dulce de leche in one day. I had grown to love it too. There was always a carton ever-ready in our refrigerator.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 02 november 2002

I had passed by many banks which were either shuttered up entirely or had a small door furtively left open for their employees to enter. Harsh graffiti messages like ‘CHORROS!!’ (Argentinians’ slang for ‘Thieves!’) were spray-painted on the walls and shutters.

Today, we spotted some people cleaning the wall of yet another disfigured bank.

When Pablo left his country in December last year (2001), Argentina was going through a major economic crisis. When he returned eight months later, he returned to a country totally unrecognisable to him. The Argentinian Peso had been devalued from US$1 = 1 Argentinian Peso to US$1 = 3.5 Argentinian Pesos now, ‘mas o menos’ [more or less]. So, imagine the mentality of the people… what they earn now appeared to be 3.5 times LESS than before. 100 Argentinian Pesos is now US$28.50, no longer US$100.

And I am sure the readers know that Argentinians who had savings in banks had had all their money robbed. Their money gone just like that. Disappeared. The middle-class basically went bankrupt, in a sense.

I tried to imagine how it would be like if the bank where my rapidly-depleting life-savings are stored now, suddenly announced that they have my money now and sorry, you have nothing anymore. I tried to imagine how it would be like to be in my 50s, to have worked my entire life, saving up my money for a nice retirement and then, to receive this piece of news. I could not imagine it. People would go mad, some could kill themselves and I am sure, a few had.

I do not claim to understand ‘Economics’ very well. I mean, amongst my er… ahem, considerably wide knowledge, my weaker subjects were ‘Neuro Brain Surgery’, ‘Myths and Practices of Ancient Mesopotamia and Sumerian cuneiform decipherment’ and I’m afraid, ‘Economics’.

But I looked at Buenos Aires now with a tinge of sadness. I spotted beggars on the streets, people going through every coin-drop of the telephones to see if there were any change, families pushing shopping carts and collecting and sorting out cardboard boxes, poor children busking, old men or women sleeping on the streets.

Along Calle Florida, a new phenomenon, even for Pablo, was people lining up wares, crafts, clothes, mates, souvenirs, kitsch Spiderman costumes, etc… in the middle of the pedestrian mall. All to earn just that little more cash.

On the other hand, the posh shops, trendy boutiques and chic cafés remained in the background. After all, (I believe) Buenos Aires had been the most expensive city to live in here in South America. The mighty rich who have savings in US dollars are 3.5 times richer now, if you think about it. They are still shopping in Emporio Armani and attending performances at Teatro Colón.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 03 november 2002

Being a Sunday today and being Italians, Pablo took me to his parents’ apartment for a wonderful pasta lunch (and some nagging on his side). I did not always understand what was being said among them. But through Pablo’s dad, I really found myself admiring the resilience of the Argentinians in such a sore period of the economic crisis. He had said he had lost everything but poof, what was he to do, he had to stay happy and ‘life goes on’.

Indeed, I had been thoroughly impressed with the general good nature of the locals here (not those getting ready for another protest on the street, of course). They are civil, polite, friendly, and very sweet. They bounce “Hola” off one another everywhere. The men almost always let ladies get on buses first. If they bump into one another, a profusion of apologies emerge. A picture of cultured behaviour.

I had come across a few street performances of tango by now. The couple whom I thoroughly loved watching could usually be found at the intersection of Calle Florida and Calle Lavalle in the centre of Buenos Aires.

Tango is sensual, beautiful, fluid. The music always nostalgic, always romantic. The dancers are the key-stones to my enjoyment of the art. The couple I love was perfect together. The lady appeared to be feather-light as she was lifted, pulled (as she leaned towards the man until her body was at an angle of 40 degrees) and twirled around seemingly effortlessly by her partner. The kicks between each other’s legs were swift and exact, in other words, no… they never tripped over each other. Their precise movements were perfectly synchronised. The mood was sometimes serious, sometimes playful, always enchanting.

I always stayed for a while whenever I passed by to admire them. I always had a huge smile on my face as I watched, with great excitement, as they expressed their craft so beautifully and passionately. I always willingly forked out money for them. Bravo.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA - 04 november 2002

I had decided to stay on in Buenos Aires to study Spanish.

I had wanted to do this in Bolivia before I embarked on the rest of my trip around South America. But since I could not go to Bolivia, I had headed south to Argentina. To be very frank, after the ‘high’ of the Iguaçu Falls, I felt a little drained now. I know the rest of Patagonia would be even more spectacular, so I decided I needed a breather for a moment before I pop a vessel with too many overwhelming experiences.

After travelling for six months, I also felt a need to stay longer at a place to get to know it better, instead of packing up every three days or so. And these few days had been great. I had grown to love Buenos Aires. Hence, I signed up for a Spanish course and would be here until Christmas.

I had contacted my other Argentinian friend - Francisca, whom I met in my Pantanal trip. She could not believe her ears when she learnt that I was already here in Buenos Aires and would be staying for two months. She squealed in delight over the phone. We arranged to meet at the McDonald’s at the Obelisk at 5:30pm this evening.

I waited for her at a McDonald’s, facing the Obelisk, for half an hour. I got suspicious and decided to pop my head out and see if there was another McDonald’s near the Obelisk. In the city with the most number of McDonald’s per square area… sure, why not? Not more than 100 metres away, I spotted a strangely familiar yellow curve of an arch! Argh!!! I quickly hurried over there and waited.

An old man came over and asked if I was Trisha. He took me over to the side of the road and there was Francisca, waiting in the car. She had been driving round and round for half an hour as she could not stop her car here. She drove so many times, the old man standing at the road recognised her and so she enlisted his help to look for me, la china.

We exchanged the typical Argentinian kissie-on-the-right-cheek. As she pulled away into the busy traffic, cars blared their horns at her and drivers shook their fists. An excitable Francisaca screamed and wailed, “Too many cars!!! I hate coming to the centre!! Oh, where do I go? I don’t know the centre!! AHHH!!! Sorry… sorry… Where to go?” Great to be united with la chica loca.

As I feared for our lives, I suggested that we should keep quiet while she concentrated on her driving but she would have none of it and chatted away, bombarding me with questions and enriching my knowledge with her life story. More cars whizzed by narrowly. More taxi-drivers cursed us.

Our conversation was peppered with, “Oh!!! Oh!! What street was that?? What street?? Did you see???? Oh… I want to go there… I want to turn there… Now, I cannot turn…” She was looking for Shamrocks, an Irish pub. She said she had been craving for their bruschettas. But she had no idea where it was.

We spun around in circles, she made left turn when she was on the right side of the street, she stopped suddenly to ask for directions, her engine stalled at traffic lights… When we found the pub, we spun around some more to look for FREE parking. In total, we had been driving around for more than 2 hours. And I was amazed we were still alive. I offered to pay for parking so as to get out of the car some time this century.

The biggest joke must be that Shamrocks did not serve bruschettas anymore. Ha. It was so fun to catch up with her.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 05 - 08 november 2002

I spent the days either going for my Spanish classes, doing my homework and wandering the streets of Buenos Aires.

I had really grown to love the hustle and bustle of Buenos Aires. The city seems to have everything.

The fine architecture of most older buildings in the beautiful city centre reminded me a little of the splendour of St. Petersburg’s architecture in Russia. Very pretty are the cupolas found at the top of some corner blocks.

The busy avenues, the wares sold on the streets, the high energy level reminded me a little of Mexico City in Mexico.

The charming cafés, posh bookshops, theatres reminded me a little of classy London in United Kingdom, lending a very intellectual feel to the city. I love book-stores and Buenos Aires is full of them. I frequently popped into them. Oh, I wished I knew Spanish well enough to devour the huge range of books. Sadly, I could only head towards the English section, if any, and browsed through what they had to offer.

I really love it here. All sort of shops are found iin every other block. There are kioscos selling snacks and drinks, locutorios which offered telephone cabins and computers for internet use, stationery shops, laundries, clothing stores, garages, butcheries, pastry shops, grocery stores, hair-dressers, video-rentals, supermarkets, photo studios… everything was available. You never needed to go far to get something you want.

And what is best about the city is that it is a city that never sleeps. Late at night, many restaurants and cafés stay open. People show up for dinner at 11pm. And to us tourists, things now are cheaper. For example, a bife, and not just any bife: a thick, juicy slap of delicious beef steak, costs a little more than US$1 to US$3.



Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA – 09 - 10 november 2002

I hung out with Francisca over the weekend, meeting her friend, her friend’s mom and then, her family. I had never been hugged so hard in my life, thanks to Francisca’s grandmother. Gosh, Argentinians are simply so passionate and wonderful. I felt great to have made the decision to stay longer here in Buenos Aires.

16 - Crouching Caymans Hidden Piranhas (Bonito, Foz do Iguacu)

Bonito, BRAZIL - 22 october 2002

My whole body was aching from the gallops yesterday and I had some flesh wounds on my legs from rubbing against the saddle. I decided not to go to the river snorkel today in order not to aggravate my wounds since I always healed badly. I spent a tranquil day today, visiting caves.

The first cave was Gruta Lago Azul and it was really interesting. As we walked further and further into the cave, the water in the cave became more and more blue. It looked eerie and impossible. We could see huge rocks and fallen logs at the bottom of the lake. At first, we figured they were perhaps at a depth of 3 or 4 metres.

But when the guide explained that the huge rock that we were looking at was 25 metres below and the fallen log was 12 metres, our minds were simply blown away. 25 metres! I tried to imagine a regular swimming pool - that is, say, 4 metres. So, this rock was located 6 times deeper!! I could not imagine that EVER, as we could we could see it so clearly. It was incredible.

Last evening, we had arrived at the hostel in Bonito really late in the night. Yet, the receptionist wanted us to book the tours we were interested in right away in order for her to make transport arrangements.

I was with Daniel from the Pantanal trip and two Israelis, Patricia and Shuki. The three of them had signed up for the Rio Prata trip today but I decided to postpone it til later. And for tomorrow, Daniel, Shuki and I signed up for the abseiling trip.

Patricia refused to do it, claiming it was too dangerous for her. She was afraid. “But you did the ARMY! It should be OK for you!!” I tried to encourage her. She simply refused.

Shuki shook his head, saying that Patricia was a disgrace to the Israeli army.

Tonight, Daniel, Shuki and I had to go to the abseiling company to learn and practise how to go up and down on the rope. When we were done, Shuki decided to pull out of the trip. He now claimed he was afraid of heights. We were practising at perhaps ten metres just now and he had problems already. So, 72 metres would be too much for him. Poor dear.

Daniel and I looked at each other, “So. The Israeli army pulled out, huh? It is left to us mere peasants now…”



Bonito, BRAZIL - 23 october 2002

And Bonito just got better thereafter…

Daniel and I were tethered together and went down slowly. Along the 72 metres to the bottom of the cave, we were surrounded by wonderful stalactites. At the bottom was a subterranean lake. There was a huge hole which let in natural light so all was not totally dark.

We finally reached the bottom. It was eerily silent and we basked in the dim light, enjoying the splendid sights around us. We got on a boat and the (if I may add, very cute) guide Nilton paddled around explaining in Portuguese and pidgin English about the structures.

I had always been enchanted by cave structures. One thing unique here was that because the lake contained calcium, it actually formed structures IN the lake, that grew from the bottom of the lake, 1 mm a year. This kind of structure was different from the usual stalagmites that one saw at the bottom of other caves formed from the dripping of water from the top stalactites.

I could not really see the bottom structures properly until we donned the snorkel gear and our wetsuits and plunged in. Then, the most amazing sight unfolded below us.

The lake was ssssoooo deep we could not see the bottom. It just turned black after a while. The structures appeared to spring out from nowhere. They were cone-shaped, sometimes standing alone, sometimes in pairs or more, some small, some had reached the top of the lake and could only grow sideways now.

As we were floating at the top of the lake, it felt as if we were floating through space. All was quiet around us. We really could not see the bottom. If a person was afraid of heights and managed to overcome his fear and did the abseil, I seriously suspected he would have another panic attack here floating on top of this bottomless lake.

As I moved around, I saw more and more such curious cones emerging from the blackness down below and standing stubbornly in silence. It really felt like being in outer-space. I had never, never, never, ever seen such wonders and felt so surreal and eerie and yet strangely exhilarated about them. It was like being in a different world. Words did no justice. It was too amazing!



Bonito, BRAZIL - 24 october 2002

The next day, I joined the river-snorkelling trip at Rio Prata. Yes, a river! Usually, one goes snorkeling in the sea, so this was especially different.

The river was so crystal clear, one could see up to 50 metres away. It was not too deep and there was a current which carried you along.

As I was small, I floated faster and kept crashing into the people in front. I had to back-paddle, swim in circles or grab onto tree trunks in order to let them go further ahead first. The fish were just right next to us, some up to 1 metre or so big. It was superbly crystal clear, again I felt like I was floating in the sky and seeing all these wonderful fish around me.

At times where the currents got really strong, I put my arms straight by my side and torpedoed down the river, twisting here and there to avoid the fallen tree trunks and uneven ground. Precioso!! We even saw shoals of maybe 80 huge black fish and chased them a little.

Underground springs emerged from the bottom of the sand and we could see huge circles of bubbling sand as the spring burst into the river. Nature is gorgeous!! I had never felt so uplifted in my life!


Bonito to Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 25 october 2002

Spent the entire day on buses to Campo Grande and then, onwards to Foz do Iguaçu.


Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 26 october 2002

I realised I might have too much Brazilian reais with me. I decided to go for a last-minute shopping spree at Foz, my last Brazilian town.

Not the best time for it, as it was Saturday and many shops were closed. Here at the border, some sales assistant started to speak to me in Spanish already. For sure, I knew Spanish a little better than Portuguese but I was really confused, wondering if that was a Spanish word or yet another Portuguese word I did not know.

I was offered a menu at a café. As I pored over it, the lady came again and asked if I preferred the Spanish menu instead. “Oh, obrigada… melhor. [Oh, thank you… better.]” I replied, almost too confidently. But when I stared at the Spanish menu, I realised I had gotten so used to my juice vocabulary in Portuguese that now I had to re-recall my Spanish with difficulty: Zanahoria??? Er… Oh, that’s cenoura, carrots!! Err… Durazno? What’s that? I forgot… Ah, pêssego! Yes, peach peach…

How do people who speak multiple languages handle so many vocabulary in their heads?


Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL - 27 october 2002

Today was my six month anniversary of my trip. I landed in China (without my backpack, remember? Gosh, how long ago it felt!) on 27 April. Today was 27 October. I could not have given myself a better present!

As I was heading to the Iguaçu Falls, I wondered if I should have gone with a friend I made at the hostel. But when I arrived at the falls, I was glad I went alone for I could enjoy my solitude and be in touch with my thoughts so much more.

As I turned the corner and caught the first sight of the falls, I was floored. I had mentally prepared myself for this and yet, I was floored. The immensely captivating sight of the falls (and the best was yet to come!) left me in awe, with my mouth hanging open. I refused to move. People came, did a snappy and moved on. I grew roots there and savoured.

So many thoughts went through my head then. I would share some, even if it leaves the readers thinking what a sentimental load of crap I am. I felt glorious to be alive to witness this sight. I wondered how I deserved to be here, to stand before this priceless treasure, this unmeasurable wonder. I am nothing! I can be gone tomorrow just like that, but this waterfall will flow forever and ever, like it has always been!

About three or four years ago, I had gone to the Omnitheatre in Singapore and watched a 3D show about the wonders of the world or something. One of the wonders featured was the Iguaçu Falls. At that time, when I learnt it was in Brazil / Argentina, I had thought to myself, “Oh, that is impossible!! I can never get the chance to go to Brazil or Argentina!! They’re too far, so exotic, so difficult to get there. I will not know how to travel there! Gosh, the Iguaçu falls is magnificent but I may never see it in person!!”

Never say never. This thought flashed in my head when I was there and I had to say this, “Hey!! I’m here. I’m right in front of the falls! I had realised something I had thought impossible!” It was almost the same feelings I had when I was bulleting on the Trans-Mongolian train through Siberia. I had thought that impossible too.

While I felt undeserving of the honour to be at the falls, yet, I felt I deserved it too because I made the effort to come here and my reward was THIS… plus the chance to experience these overwhelming feelings. Now, I appreciate that I can choose how I want to lead my life and that I can change the things that I can to do what I want.

I realise I am gushing now. Usually, I am not like this. I am a lot more sensible. Bear with me. The readers must think I am some sentimental slob by now, but really you had to be here yourself.

And that was just at the start of the trek.

By the time I got to the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat) - the most incredible part of the falls which was shaped like a horse-shoe, my head popped into a total blank. I over-saturated myself with feelings. I ran out of thoughts. I walked all the way to right in front of the falls and drenched myself with amazement, soaking in the essence of the power of the falls. Nothing was in my head then. I just lingered in all the glorious sprays and stared into space.



Foz do Iguaçu, BRAZIL to Puerto Iguazú, ARGENTINA - 28 october 2002

The next day, just when I thought things could not get any better, they did.

From the Brazilian side, we saw the overall view of the falls from a respectful distance but at the Argentinian side, we were walking right ON TOP of the falls, the tremendous force of water gushing down at our feet.

Maybe because of the intensity of being so close to the falls, my thoughts flitted to the small, silly, ridiculous details - the patch of grass growing at the edge of the falls, right in the path of the falls: How did it survive and grow there, being whammed and trashed by the falls everyday all the time?; The butterflies: What in the world were they THINKING??? They were fluttering so so so close to the falls when a single drop could kill them! They were dancing with death!; And these swifts building their nests beneath the falls: Hey, you crazy pájaros!! Oh well, they must be proud of their prestigious home address.

At each viewpoint, I stood mesmerized, a silly grin on my face.

At the last viewpoint, which was right in front of the top of the Garganta del Diablo (the day before, I was at the bottom bit), I was staring at a profanely copious amount of brown water crashing down, mere metres from me. I felt weak in the knees in view of such power. Tears smarted in my eyes. I am so lucky to be alive to see this, I chanted. I gagged for breath. I was choked for words.

I looked around for someone and a woman (I learnt later from Ecuador - sweet dear) next to me returned my look and we connected, we knew. I paced the platform, like a confused person, shaking my head in disbelief and then, raising my head to face the sight before me again. Yes, believe it, dear. The Iguaçu Falls had shared its magic with me. I felt like soaring in the sky like those crazy swifts below.

I returned 40 mins late to my bus and found that they had left without me. Yeah, in other words, they ditched me. The day before, some people returned 2 hours later and the rest got really mad, so I think my driver feared I was going to pull the same stunt. As I was the only one to be left on the Argentinian side as I had crossed the border (the rest returned to Brazil), I guess the driver thought all the more he could leave me here.

OK, being ditched is never a good feeling but hey, I did not care. After witnessing the last MAGIC, being ditched was NOTHING.

Of course, when my rational thoughts returned and I found I had only 4 Argentinian pesos with me, I panicked a little. I later found the bus ride to town was 2 pesos. Well, things would always work out…

16 - Crouching Caymans Hidden Piranhas (Pantanal)

Campo Grande to Pantanal, BRAZIL - 17 october 2002

The group heading to Pantanal was made up of Daniel from USA, Sheena from Ireland, Mark and Florein from The Netherlands, Francisca from Argentina, Sherry from Canada and Trisha, (sorry, indulge me for a moment… for I have always wanted to do this) from the beautiful tropical island of S-I-N-G-A-P-O-R-E!!

It was a long drive to the camp-site today. During this time, we saw a great number of birds, caymans, capybaras. It was wild. It was fantastic.

The camp-site was one well-organised place. We would sleep in hammocks slung under a structure, lined with mosquito nets. There were flush-toilets and showers available. We could relax by the fire-place, a bar or at the dining tables. When meals were served, they would sound the gong.



Pantanal, BRAZIL - 18 october 2002

At around 5am, the howler monkeys started howling. Actually, it was like a siren with the sound of a growl. The growling sound grew in crescendos and diminished in descendos and went on and on, really quite like a siren. I was half-asleep and half-awake when I heard it. When I woke up, I was not even sure what I had heard.

We went for treks early in the morning and in the late evening to spot wildlife. We saw many types of birds like spoonbills, screamers, hawks, jabiru storks, etc… and mammals such as cabybaras, coatis, howler monkeys, etc… Although it was hot and tiring, I treasured the treks very much as we had seen quite a lot of animals today.

The true nature of Sherry started to emerge too. She whined on and on about the mud, about not being able to see the birds, about bugs, about everything.

While we were, at first, faintly amused by how naïve she was, for what did she expect out of a Pantanal trip, soon, her negative energy and continuous complaints really got on all our nerves.



Pantanal, BRAZIL - 19 october 2002

We were driven to the next campsite today. This was simply a tree with eight hammocks tied to the branches. What an amazing tree! Its luscious foliage provided very welcoming shade for us. Temperatures here at the Pantanal reached 40°C or so. And that was not all…

There was a river next to the tree. Although there were caymans (or alligators) in there, my guide Gabriel said he had never seen them bite anyone. So we all went in furtively. It was really hot. We were desperate to cool down.

We spotted about five or six caymans around. Some were basking in the sun, some had surfaced a notch above the water. When one of us tried to go near them, they would disappear back into the water beneath silently. We could not see what was in the water as the water was black, this being ‘Rio Negro’ (Black River) after all. It was a tad spooky to think the caymans were lurking amongst our feet and one wrong move, we might step on one of their snouts!

That night, when we shone our torch along the river, gosh… there were like thirty pairs of eyes up and down the immediate area, reflected back at us! And we had thought there were just five or six caymans!!

We headed to a nearby lake and fished for piranhas for our lunch. At first, we simply and cluelessly donated our baits to these cunning fish. Later, we got the hang of it and managed to reel in some juicy ones every five minutes or so. Yeah, the lake was teeming with piranhas.

Once, a piranha I caught dropped into the boat and started dancing around with the ferocious teeth chattering away. We screamed our heads off.

In panic, I lifted my legs away from the boat and let them hang out of the boat to avoid that piranha. Gabriel stepped on the side of the boat to try and walk over to my section to catch it. The boat tipped to the side and plunged my entire two feet into the lake!! Argh!! The piranhas in the lake almost got a taste of Chinese food…

The piranhas were brought back to the campsite and gutted. The caymans came to right by our feet when they smelled the piranhas. Ooo… treading on dangerous ground there. The cook deep-fried the piranhas for lunch. Gosh, they tasted excellent! They were surprisingly meaty. One of the best meals I had had in Brazil!

Sherry stared at her one piece of piranha and left the whole thing there, hissing, “God… I CAN’T EAT THIS STUFF!!!”

As for our evening trek, Sherry refused to go. I guess after she realised the jaguar and the giant ant-eater would not be delivered to her on a platter, and that she needed to put in effort to see some wildlife, she started to give up on the Pantanal trip. What a shame this was her attitude.

Before we left, Gabriel announced he would try to catch an armadillo for us. Sherry asked if he would bring it back to the camp-site. I looked up and almost said, “Why? You want to cook the armadillo too?”

Later, Gabriel actually caught an armadillo for us!

Its colour blended in perfectly with the background of dried grass. How Gabriel spotted it from 150 metres was beyond us. He crept stealthily across the grass, from the direction of the down-wind. At the final moment, he ran and threw himself on the ground and held up an armadillo. Just like that!

Despite the lack of mosquito nets here, I wanted to sleep in the hammock instead of in a tent to be closer to nature. I was dutifully devoured by mozzies throughout the night.

Much later, strong winds came and blew the mozzies all away. It felt like the coming of a huge storm, like the one I experienced in Campo Grande. The wind howled and howled. The hammocks rocked ferociously from side to side. I braced myself for the first sign of pelting torrential rain. Moments like these seized me with a strange mix of anxiety and exhilaration as I knew I was absolutely vulnerable to the elements of nature and yet, I wanted to be here to witness it. However, I was rocked to sleep instead. No rain. Still, it was magic.



Pantanal, BRAZIL - 20 october 2002

More treks today. Sherry refused to go again. We spotted more obscure animals like a tamandua (tree ant-eater). When we returned, she lamented that we were SO LUCKY to see the armadillo and the tamandua. What the…??

We spent the rest of the day, relaxing by the river at this AMAZING TREE. While Sherry was negative energy personified, Francisca was the exact opposite. She was the brightest sunshine, the beacon of positive energy, la chica loca [the crazy girl] of the group. She had a great personality.

Other groups had arrived to join us here and all of us interacted with information about trips in Bonito, Bolivia, etc… There was not much to do but sleep in the hammock, chit-chat and swim. During this afternoon, a number of us really connected with one another with our love for travelling and wildlife. It was a very enjoyable afternoon for us. Francisca got along swimmingly with almost everyone. In the river, we even tried to build a human tower. We had such great fun!!

Meanwhile, Sherry whined and whined about when we were going back to the first camp-site. Sigh… She was one sad person.

Oh, Gabriel caught an anaconda that night. We wondered vaguely if this was the token pet anaconda in the camp-site to wow the tourists.



Pantanal to Bonito, BRAZIL - 21 october 2002

Francisca had slept through all the alarm-clock calls of the howler monkeys from the previous mornings. So, when I first heard the howlings this morning, I got up from my hammock and gave her a nudge, “Listen…”

The orchestra of howler monkey calls felt surreal. It rose and fell like the sound of waves. Now and then, the exotic calls of this bird and that would play a melodious solo performance with the accompaniment of the howler monkeys in the background. The symphony was exquisite and unpredictable. My eyes remained closed as to better savour the incredible orchestral performance put up by nature. It was truly MAGIC, truly memorable!

Today, horse-riding… I had never galloped before in my life. The horse-trek in Songpan, China was merely walking and some trotting. And today, I got to experience the magic of a gallop.

The first time, I was unprepared. I reached for my camera behind and touched my horse’s back by mistake and it just took off. There was a herd of cows in front of us and they scattered in two thousand directions and that got my horse (and me) into further panic.

Transforming from a fast trot to a gallop was INCREDIBLE! It felt as if I entered through a glass mirror and crossed into a different realm. Suddenly, the rhythm, the mood changed. The thunderous hooves were there, but you heard nothing. You stared straight ahead, but you saw nothing. The bouncing on the back of the horse was higher and rougher, but you felt nothing. The whole experience felt unreal.

My feet lost their stirrups all the time so I could only hang on to my dear life with my LEFT hand holding the saddle while my right hand struggled to control the horse’s rein. It was an amazing experience.

After my first try, I was hooked! It was terribly scary yet addictive. I was game for some more. It was more or less alright if I was mentally prepared for it. But so many times, I thought to myself, “Oh no! I’m going to fall!! I’m going to fall!!” But I knew if I fell, my situation would be MUCH WORSE than if I maintained this frightening position of desperately hanging onto the horse’s saddle! It was all up there in your head.

Well, 10 minutes before we reached the campsite, a lady fell off! Her foot was caught in the stirrups and she was dragged for a while!! Argh, we thought she died!! Thank goodness, she fell off finally and actually got up and walked!! Later, she fell into shock and claimed she could not remember anything. She just cried and cried. Well, not without its danger…

After these few days at the Pantanal, we bade farewell to one another. Some of us would be going to Bonito and others to Campo Grande for their onward travels. Francisca hugged and bade farewell to us almost tearfully. She kept saying it was so difficult to say goodbye to Trisha. Oh, she was so sweet. She had been superb! I guess Latin Americans were just a lot more passionate. I promised to contact her when I got to Buenos Aires, sometime in the future…