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Link #16
2 - 14 June, 2000
Urguaiana, BRAZIL to Puerto Iguazú, ARGENTINA (599 km)
Dear Mom & Dad,
Travels continue well. Better than well. Nicole and I still wake up and
wonder where we are, what we're doing. Then with sleep still in our eyes
we might remember we're in a farmer's field in Uruguay or in the fire
department's bunkbeds in a small town in Argentina. Usually we remember
how yesterday was a riding day and that we had great weather and met some
interesting characters. Then comes the gratitude and intense happiness,
at times bordering on smugness, when we realize that we get to do THIS
for many many more days.
The hills of Argentina's Misiones province exhausted us. I know that
often I've written about "the hills" on various stretches of
road, and now I wish I had saved some of my hill whining for this last
bit. It isn't that the hills were huge, they were just steep and nonstop.
For three days we oscillated between roughly 150 and 300 meters above
sea level, but logged over 4500 meters (14750 ft) of vertical gain. Nicole
attests that, unlike riding the Patagonian steppes where her mind was
free to roam for hours at a time, in Misiones her mind was held hostage.
All energy, all thought, she claims, went into making it up the hill under
her wheels. I can't quite recall what I thought about but I do know that
I didn't add a single entry to either my "What should I do when I
get back" or "Ideas from South America" lists.
Despite its wavy terrain and being cerebrally barren, Argentina's subtropical
northeast corner was vale la pena, a favorite expression of the
locals which literally means "worth the pain." Anything from
an expensive restaurant to a needy friend might be vale la pena.
The Jesuit mission ruins, after which the province is named, were very
much vale la pena.
Back in the early 1600's the Jesuits built this amazing network of missions
in the then isolated and overlooked upper Paraná of Paraguay and
Argentina. When the Jesuits began their work, the Spanish colonists hadn't
yet expanded their estancia system, which required native labor, into
the Paraná, and the Portuguese slave raiders were still content
to mine the areas closer to the ocean ports. So, for the first fifty or
so years, they were left in relative peace to work with the Guaraní
Indians. To make a long story short, the Jesuits were wildly successful
and brought about a major political, economic, and cultural transformation
among the semisedentary Guaraní. They had crops, livestock, art,
music, and were largely self-sufficient. This caught the eye of everyone
and everything from the Pope to the colonial landowners to the Portuguese.
Then land pressures increased as did need for free Indian labor. Raids
became more common, small pox epidemics hit. Despite all that, the Jesuits
more or less held the missions together; that is, at least until the Church
rewarded them with their expulsion papers in 1767.
San Ignacio Miní, founded in 1632 in the southern part of Misiones,
is supposedly the best preserved of the original 30 missions. When the
Jesuits were expelled, it had a population of 3200 but possessed ten times
that many cattle and twice that many sheep and goats. We spent a day in
the town of San Ignacio, and a few hours walking around the ruins of the
mission. My head swam thinking about the flurry of activity that must
have enveloped those very same grounds almost 400 years ago. We wandered
from Indian quarters to priest's lodgings to the chapel and marveled at
the stonework and masonry - each room had ornately tiled floors, laid
in unique patterns. It struck me that they didn't have to do that. It
certainly would have been quicker to figure out a decent pattern and use
the same one in all the rooms. But they didn't. Jesuits and the people
they affect tend to do things a little differently, no?
Being there made me think of a rather exemplar Jesuit, Fr. Becker, my
freshman year English teacher. Mom & Dad, I know you remember him
- he's the one that during a parent teacher conference told you that his
goal is to teach his students to make frozen orange juice. Over the years
I've often thought about "the old priest" (that's what he called
himself), but walking the ruins really sent me back to his classroom.
One of the most amazing things about the Jesuit order is that they've
got themselves doing everything from practicing law to writing children's
books to teaching English. It seems they really want to do whatever they
do, and so do it well and with all their energy. For me, the old priest
exemplifies this energetic commitment to life.
His was a different kind of classroom from the start: we had no texts,
just a thin pamphlet called "Cerebrations" that was the culmination
of years of teaching. In it was his grading scale - since he eschewed
letter grades he crafted his own scale based on onomatopoeias that topped
out with "WOW," flat-lined with "HO-HUM" and hit bottom
with "UGH." Also in that pamphlet was his seemingly interminable
reading list. He was to have us on a new book every couple weeks. Bridge
of the River Kwai, To Kill a Mockingbird, All the King's Men, Shane,...
The old priest would give us short five question quizzes that tested whether
or not we read the book. I read every last one on the list except The
Oxbow Incident - not sure why that one escaped me, but do remember
the "UGH." Grammar was also high on his docket. A phrase can't
stand on it's own while a clause can - it has a nominative and predicate.
Gerunds are verbs used as nouns while participles are verbs used as adjectives.
He taught me to write "a lot," not "alot," and "all
right," not "alright." We also studied poetry a little
and had to memorize the first part of The Highwayman by Alfred
Noyes. A couple days ago I found it on the internet. Think I might try
to memorize it again. The old priest taught me to appreciate words, their
meanings, and how to play with them. He was a master of puns (although
I doubt you forgot, to make frozen orange juice is to concentrate). All
period long he'd let one slide after the next. I caught maybe a quarter
of them, but that was a lot more than most. After a particularly clever
one, he'd glance quickly around the room to see if any eyes lit up. I
always tried to pay extra special attention in his class because I wanted
so badly for my eyes to light up. We had vocabulary lists every week.
Tough words that I still have to think about using. Words like aver,
cajole, and eschew. And the culmination of all that grammar and vocabulary
was the weekly 100-word stories that we'd have to write. Each one had
us practicing a different literary device such as compare & contrast,
or personification. And of course we had to use our new words and exercise
different parts of speech. The old priest would give bonus points for
cleverly named characters, like Florence Joyce if the story was about
a carpenter. Remember how I would work well into the night on those stories?
I'd pour over my desk eking out my 100 words in the cleverest arrangement
possible in hopes of a WOW a few days later. Fr. Becker was also the moderator
of the school paper of which I was to be editor my senior year. I know
that was one of the things you weighed while trying to decide whether
or not to move the family to California. Right before leaving I remember
learning the old priest's favorite summer pastime was touring the States
on his bicycle.
I haven't talked with the old priest in a long long time. I sent him
a postcard from San Ignacio. I hope he gets it.
In San Ignacio, we met the first cyclist we've seen in almost two months
(2496 kilometers ago in Puerto Madryn). We were in our hotel room sorting
out our gear and watching the rain come down in buckets when a rather
wet guy with a Scottish accent knocked on our already open door. Nicole
thought he was 35, I took him for 25. At first, talking with him was a
real challenge. He seemed to have a hard time forming his words, stuttered
a little, and paused at length mid sentence. He let his eyes wildly dart
about the room. He was clearly trying hard to communicate. I could almost
hear his thoughts whirling away upstairs and pained with him when they
wouldn't come out on queue. It was like talking to an inmate after a month's
stay in solitary confinement. After about an hour's chat we learned that
Ian was a civil engineer from Edinburgh. Has done lots of bike tours over
the years but this one is by far his biggest. Turns out he started his
current excursion over a year ago from Amsterdam and has since ridden
across Europe and Asia, through Egypt and the Middle East, Pakistan, India,
and so on. From Thailand he caught a flight to New Zealand, pedaled for
about a month and then caught another flight to Buenos Aires. Says the
drivers in New Zealand are the worst the world over - they're generally
educated and thus have no excuse. He has ridden over 22,000+ kilometers
solo. From San Ignacio we were going to continue north with Ian but the
night before we were to leave he met a lass who was staying at his hostel.
She too was on her way to Iguazú Falls but would arrive the next
day by bus. Having been on the road for as long as he had, his longing
was long and so decided to crank the last 250 kilometers in 2 days (up
and down the aforementioned hills) in the hopes of a rendezvous. We wished
him luck and slept in the next morning.
That same day as we were changing out our third blown tire (tire mind
you, not just the tube...) in three days, we met yet another cyclist,
Hubert Schwartz from Germany. Hubert is apparently an official "ambassador"
of Expo 2000, hosted in Hanover. He pedaled off into the sunset on the
opening day of the Expo and is due back by its closing - around the world
on bike in four months! How's that? Well, he gets to pick which latitudes
to ride, and well, if his elections happen to cross water, he flies. Furthermore,
Hubert has three support vehicles and a quiver of five bikes. All that
sounded way posh until we heard that he averages 330 kilometers per day.
Granted, he's mostly on a racing bike and not carrying any gear, but that's
still over 200 miles a day. We later learned from another cyclist that
once, at the end of a full day ripping through the Australian Outback,
he came to his destination hotel and it was closed. Rather than camp or
ride in his support vehicle to the next town, he just decided to pedal
through the night. A 500 km+ day. Yikes. Holy saddlesores! I think he's
some sort of motivational speaker back home - if you'd like to "get
pumped up," he's got his own website: www.justbeman.com
As if making up for lost camaraderie, a mere two days later we met yet
more cyclists in in Puerto Iguazú. Thane is from San Francisco
and started his cycle extravaganza in Alaska back in Sept. 1997. He's
still going. VISA apparently owns the next 3 years of his life, but he's
having a hoot while the hooting's good. Thane met Berniz in Peru after
being taken in by one family and then invited to dinner by another family
who happened to have 3 unwed daughters. Soon Berniz was meeting Thane
at various places in Peru while he was needling his way through the Andes.
They emailed for a couple months after he left Peru and then Berniz and
her bike flew down to Santiago, Chile. That was in May 1999 and they've
been riding together since. They hope to pedal another seven months together
up the coast of Brazil and into the Amazon. After that, Berniz plans to
go back to the States with Thane. Together, they'll be happily indentured
to the great American credit system. For me, Thane's three and half year
sojourn is both inspiration and lunacy: on one hand, life is too short;
and on the other hand, life is too short.
When you see and talk to other cyclists, you can't help but compare yourselves.
So how do we stack up? While they may need a little polishing by the time
we return, we like to think our conversational and social skills are still
intact. We've never turned the cranks for more than seven hours in one
day and have never ridden through the night. And while we may or may not
be home for Christmas, we won't be turning our tour into a three year
VISA sponsored ordeal. So, you see, at least by a few measures, we're
reasonably normal.
. . . . . . . .
At first we took Iguazú Falls as one of those places you just
have to see if traveling the area. We expected a touristy facade and expensive
coffee. It's not that we didn't get those, but we also got blown away
by the waterfalls themselves. They're immense. You can walk up to them,
almost into them, and feel their might. The first day we walked the catwalks
above and below the cascades on the Argentine side. Above one waterfall
we watched a group of 20-30 monkeys playing and jumping amidst the trees.
Like Uruguay, the birds were amazing, but different, more dramatic, more
showy. We saw Toco Toucans, Spot-billed Toucanets, Vermilion Flycatchers,
Bare-Faced Curassows, Blue and Yellow Tanagers, Scaly-Headed Parrots,
and Plush-Crested Jays. The latter the Collins Checklist of Birds of Southern
South America describes as having "electric blue brow above pale
yellow eye... dark violet on back extends to basal half of tail."
Reminded me of the bully jays that used to eat all the seed that we put
out on the deck feeder in Atlanta. Mom, you still get out your bird book
every once in a while?
The following day we evaded the visa requirement for entering Brazil
by taking a taxi across - like in the States, laws don't seem to apply
to cabbies. The Brazilian side of the falls was altogether different.
The trails stay high skirting the rim and afford fantastic vistas of the
cascades across the canyon on the Argentine side. At one point we stopped
for a quick bite at a trail side shack and were mobbed by a local pack
of rodents. No, not rats or raccoons, but perhaps a peculiar cross of
the two: coatimundi. They've long striped tails, sharp claws which help
them climb trees, and pointed anteater-like snouts for digging in the
dirt as well as the nearest uncovered trash can. At first they can easily
be mistaken for cute, but upon a brief five minute observation one must
agree with the locals as to their vileness.
While in Brazil, we visited the Parque de Aves. Zoo type places usually
depress me, but this park had quite the opposite effect. It's incredibly
well done and maintained. Set in the subtropical jungle and built with
native materials, the aviaries are surprisingly natural - their boundaries
almost indiscernible. And the birds! Parrots of every feather, most of
which we had never seen before, live nor in photos. One aviary must have
had two dozen macaws and as many other types of parrots cawing and flying
about. More than once we had to duck as they swished by. Though hands-down
our favorite was the picaflor y mariposa, hummingbird and butterfly,
aviary. (Interestingly enough, a picaflor is also a man who gets
around.) We were held spellbound by the astounding variety of hummingbirds.
To showoff my bird research once more, we saw Blue-Tufted Star Throats
and Rufuos-Throated Sapphires. Like the macaws, they darted within inches
of us; though the sensation was not one of sight but pure sound. That
thin vibration and unmistakable whirl is a sound I won't forget soon.
Hope and trust all is well back home. Take care of yourselves and don't
work too hard. Love from way south,
Matt (y Nicole)
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