Spring Break

I've been out of town for the last week, traveling Argentina. It's incredible how big this country is, and just how much I still have to see. But I tried to at least make a dent in it. The plan was to set out to Bariloche, check out the Alps, cross them into Chile, and then bus up to Santiago. It went more or less according to plan.
First thing, we head over to the airport. It's a 10 minute cab ride on the highway. But in the tollbooth line to enter the highway, because our cab driver is listening to his radio too loud, the battery drains, and the car dies. It won't start back up. My friend and I are sitting there, dumbfounded, but nowhere near as dumbfounded as the cab driver. After 10 seconds, with nobody saying anything, I finally ask him if he needs us to push the car so he can pop the clutch and get it started again. He starts laughing sheepishly, turns around, and admits that that is what he needs. So we get out, in the tollbooth line, and start pushing the cab. But he's not popping the clutch right, or we're not going fast enough, so it's not working. Now he gets out of the cab and starts pushing with us. Still no luck. I tell him he's not doing it right, and to let me try. He says no, he knows what he's doing, but I tell him I don't wanna push anymore unless he let's me try. He still won't budge, so I go back to pushing. Finally, with a police officer yelling at us, and cars whizzing past us, the car re-starts. We get back in and drive to the airport. When we arrive he apologizes to us, but still charges us the full rate. I made a comment about how we pushed a good distance so maybe we could get a discount, but he just laughs it off. Whatever, off to Bariloche. Funny note. On the plane, I'm sitting next to an older Argentine couple, and get to talking with them. Since Argentina just got spanked 5-1 by Bolivia, I make a comment about the team. This sets this guy off. He starts throwing out excuse after excuse. His two best excuses were that all cocaine that Maradona snorted made him crazy, and that the air is a lot thinner in La Paz and since the Bolivians are used to the thin air they played a lot better. I said all his excuses were pretty weak, and he finally gave in and admitted that the Maradona era may not be going so well.
Bariloche is absolutely beautiful. It's on a lake, surrounded by lakes, surrounded by the Andes. It's raining constantly but it's OK, because it sort of adds to the ambience. The next day we went on an 8 hour hike up one of the mountains. We started in sort of a desert, moved into a tropical rainforest with bamboo, and then climbed up the mountain until it was snowing on us. We finally arrived at the cabin at the top, had lunch, and got ready to head back down. But in the hour that we took to eat lunch, a blizzard has started. We're wearing tennis shoes, there's 5 inches of snow on the ground, and we have to cross a raging river. We somehow made it back down, our shoes soaking wet, and covered in sweat, but it was one of the coolest hikes I've ever been on, and it was worth all the pain.
We spent a couple more days in Bariloche, doing various other things. We checked out the casino, lost some money, but since it was all in pesos our losses weren't nearly as bad as they seemed.
The next day we took a bus across the Andes to Puerto Varas. It was a 6 hour bus ride with at least an hour of waiting in customs lines.
We finally crossed the Andes, and ended up in Puerto Varas. Looking for lunch for the day, I asked a woman in a pharmacy. It turns out that she was a chef, and she took us to the hotel she worked at cooked us all their specialties, which were absolutely incredible.
We stopped at a bar on the way back to the bus-station, to pre-game for the overnight trip to Santiago, and then headed to the bus station. The problem: one of my friends has the habit of falling fast asleep if he's drunk. And he fell fast asleep. We sat there slapping him in the face, trying to wake him up, until he finally came to, but the bus driver had been watching the entire time and was convinced that he was stinking drunk. He wasn't, but we couldn't convince the bus driver, so we weren't allowed to get on the bus. They gave us tickets for the next day, and then for some reason gave us money back. The next day my friend went back to switch the times for the bus, and they gave him money back again, while upgrading him to a 1st class bus. We didn't understand why they kept giving us money but we kept on taking it.
The next day we made it up to Santiago. Santiago is a pretty city, and we spent a lot of time just bumming around the downtown, checking out the scene. The scene was nice. I can't say much more about it. We were only there during the week, and apparently the Santiago nightlife during the week is not super-impressive. We also went up on the Teleferico, a tram that goes up to the top of the highest hill in the middle of Santiago. It provided incredible sights, but I spent the entire time holding onto the handle sweating. I hate heights, and my friend kept reminding me that the safety regulations are more lax in South America. Up at the top we saw the Statue of the Virgin Mary, not quite as impressive as Christ the Redeemer in Rio, but still pretty impressive.
One thing I forgot. When we were in Santiago we were told that the signature drink of the city was called El Terremoto, and it was only served at one bar, La Piojera. This translates as the tick, and it's called that because the customers there suck down drinks like ticks suck down blood. We head over there, and it's about as "authentic" as it gets. By authentic I mean that the place is filthy, we're the only gringos there, and half the people in the bar look like they're sizing us up for our wallets. Whatever, we head over to the bar, and order 3 terremotos. But I get intercepted. This big fat guy latches onto me, tells me I'm his friend, and insists I have a drink of his drink. I don't want any. I explain that I just ordered a drink, but he says I need to try it. I tell him I'm about to try the drink in a second, so there's no need to give it a pre-try. He insists, all while hugging me, and refusing to let me go. He shakes my hand, and when I try and pull it away he just switches handshake positions. When I try to pull it away again he switches back to the original position. We keep going back and forth, like some elaborate dance. It's funny at first, but this guy is insistent, and will just not let me go. We took some pictures with him, but he would just not drop it. So I take a sip, tell him it's interesting, and then go to the bathroom and scrub my hands down. I come back out, and guess who's there? He promptly grabs my hand again and we go back into the back and forth handshake dance. He still won't let me go, but at least my drink is there, and I can sit down. Doesn't matter to him. He won't let me go. He starts in on his lifestory. It's pretty sad. He tells me that he's from a dangerous slum, and he wants to show it to me so I can understand it. I politely decline. Then he starts telling me about the paco-addicts, and the violence, and how I need to see it for myself. I feel bad, but it's not a great selling point to invite someone to your house by telling them how horribly dangerous it is. So this guy won't let me get to my drink, he's telling me his life story, and he has a death grip on my hand. It can't get any worse. Then it gets worse. He starts crying. Starts out slow, wet-eyes at first, and advances to real crying. I really don't know what to do. It's all very sad, but I'm the only gringo in some random bar in Santiago with some guy sobbing in front of me. I just wanna get out of there. I'm making rescue-me eyes at all my friends, but none of them wanna get drawn into this ridiculous scene. Finally I physically pull away from him, tell him mucho gusto (which hasn't worked before because when I shake his hand to leave he starts in on the handshake dance again) and escape to my table. I pound this drink in about 5 seconds (it was horrible: sweet white wine, fernet, pisco sour, and pineapple ice cream. Anyone who was recommended to try a terremoto? Skip it). And I run out of La Piojera as fast as I can, without stopping to look back.
So that was Spring Break. Snowcaps instead of beaches, wet weather instead of wet t-shirt contests, and Escudo instead of Budweiser. Compares favorably with the American version.