Still having fun here in BA, although our one complaint is that it’s so damn hot here. The temperature is at least in the 80s or 90s every day, and the sun is bright and blazing until 7pm. I ran around the dikes today (that’s not code for anything; I simply went for a run around the long row of water-filled dikes) but had to wake up at 7am just to beat the heat. And Wilkie can’t take two bites of any meal, let alone walk one block, without beads of sweat forming over his entire face. My peoples are built for the desert, so I’m doing just fine (except that I’m not).

La Boca

La Boca is a unique neighborhood that lies at the southern end of Buenos Aires. It is known as a very blue collar area that is notorious for street crime against tourists, even in daylight. You may be safe on the current street, but just one street over might be a dangerous one. However, the neighborhood is also known for its colorful buildings and lively street scene.

La Boca is also home of the Boca Juniors, the Buenos Aires football (soccer) team. Here, just outside the stadium where they play, is a star on the ground for each of their current and former players. This is the star for probably their most well-known player, the now disgraced Diego Maradona.

Nightlife

Buenos Aires has a very thriving nightlife, unfortunately it starts so late! Dinner is typically eaten 10 or 11pm; if you go around 8 or 9pm, you’re more likely to be eating with other tourists (not that there’s anything wrong with that). And once a few hours haave passed after dinner, only then do the locals really go out. People here love live music and clubs. We got lucky and were able to watch a fantastic live performance by one of the very popular local bands:

Below is Milion (shown in front and from the back), an awesome lounge built inside a vacated 3-story mansion.

One night Wilkie and I decided to check out a club, but we had to kill several hours in various bars just waiting until 2am, when the clubs opened. Once 1am hit, we were yawning and struggling to remain energetic for this whole endeavor. After we completely ran out of topics to talk about, couldn’t drink anymore, and got tired of each other’s faces, to stay awake we resorted to playing hangman with crayons on the tablecloth. The bar was not amused. Anyway, once we got inside the club, it was so packed we just left for home (not before having a few drinks, of course).

(fans of the show Big Bang Theory will be amused by something here)

In other news, when Argentinians ask where you’re from, they don’t like it if you respond “America.” Apparently South Americans think they’re from “America” too. The nerve…

Ola!

We are now in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. My initial thoughts about this country were not pleasant ones, and it began as early as applying for a visa. First, they make all applicants apply in person, and if you have a family member or friend apply for you, they charge you extra money. Next, they don’t allow married women to travel without her husband. Finally, they have strict instructions on your visa photo (with respect to what to wear, where to look, and lighting). They kindly provided a sample photo as an example:

So, I dutifully followed their instructions and had my photograph taken.

But now that I’m here, I’m actually loving this city. It’s a very beautiful and energetic place. From the long expanses of scenic coastline, to the friendliness of the locals (noticeably absent in Buenos Aires) and amazing cultural diversity and finally the hotness of the locals, this really might be the Cidade Maravilhosa (marvelous city).

The moment we arrived here, we went immediately to eat feijoada, a distinctly Brazilian stew composed of slowly-cooked black beans and a variety of meats that is traditionally served only on Saturdays, and is always served for two people. Also, it is usually enjoyed with a cold caipirinha (think of it as a Brazilian mojito).

We are staying in Ipanema, the cool kid’s neighborhood. It’s where the young and rich tend to live; unfortunately I’m neither, but I can play the part for a few days. I woke up early-ish this morning and went for a run. On Sundays, the street closest to the beach in Ipanema are closed for people to walk, run, bike, rollerblade, or walk their dog. This was my beautiful view.

Off to the beach for the rest of the day. So who are these men in speedos, and more importantly, why the heck am I taking a photo of them? This is the sport of futevolei and it is a very common sighting on the beach. It is essentially volleyball using only your feet, chest, and head. It looks incredibly difficult, and I can’t believe these people keep the ball in the air for as long as they do.

By the way, the people here are very serious about football/soccer… some people just walk around on the streets with a soccer ball. I’m not sure what they’ll do with it, but I’m already intimidated. Finally, as the afternoon winds down, I cool down with a refreshing agua de coco.

Peoples, this may be the last post from me … forever. A girl we met here invited us tonight to a party in a favella. Favellas are the shanty towns here, essentially slums that are run by drug lords. She claims it is for some journalistic piece she’s doing for back home in Boston. In the interest of doing what the locals do, we’re gonna go to it. A friend from back home predicted I’d get decapitated on this trip. Who knows, he might end up being right.

Holy crap.

It began when a girl invited us to a street party at a favela. She was an American college student studying Latin American music and was invited by one of her connections, one who lives in a favela. Let’s call him Christopher. And let’s call her Laila, because, well that’s her real name.

Even though we knew well what favelas were, we decided to attend for the sake of doing as the locals do. I comforted myself by noticing that many local hotels were advertising similar favela funk parties…so how dangerous could they be if entire groups of tourists were attending?

Apparently there was a slight difference. Some favelas are “pacified”, meaning that there is a strong police and military presence enforcing peace and the law — some have even made the news very recently. The vast majority (there are >600 favelas in Rio) are unpacified, and thus keeping the peace is left unto to the favelas themselves. The hotel-organized parties were at the few pacified favelas. The one we’d be going to, however, was not. I comforted myself by believing that it’d be unlikely for anyone to harass two American tourists. I also deemed Christopher as somehwat trustworthy if Laila trusted him, and Laila herself she was American, and a student at a semi-reputable American college no less.

That night at 10pm we met Laila, who took us to meet Christopher and another guy. Christopher was British and living and working here as a photojournalist, and the other was a local who lives in a nearby favela. The commute involed a subway ride to the end of the line, a long trek through what appeared to be an uninhabited neighborhood, and the eventual arrival at the outskirts of the favela. Then Christopher delivered terrible news when he said photos were strictly forbidden.

Streets slowly transformed into small, dark alleyways, which then became narrower and narrower. The buildings were small units the size of sheds, each two stories high and with no room between it and the neighboring unit. Streetlights disappeared and were replaced by random strings of blinking Christmas lights (probably there all year), over bar-covered windows. And every telephone pole contained masses of tangled wires knotted together and running across the alley, just 10 feet above our heads. Every minute a young kid whizzed by on a motorbike, and very few people were walking around. It seemed like the “projects” back home, but everything was smashed much closer together.

We finally reached the entrance to our destination. A large wall blocked the rest of the alley, except it didn’t fully reach the other side thus creating a door-sized passage to what lay beyond. At this entrance were two young guys: a friendly-looking grinning one was standing and the other was sitting and holding a large, clear plastic bag filled with money. Christopher handed a wad of cash to him and the standing guy invited us in. As I went in to shake his hand I noticed he was wearing a backpack…and a large machine gun. I took my hand back, soiled my pants just a little, and kept walking.

As an unpacified favela, police don’t even bother intruding. Not only are there not enough officers, but the alleys are too narrow for the police cars and too maze-like for non-residents to navigate. Thus there are designated people in the favela who carry the guns and maintain security. At this point we were notified of a few ground rules:

1) Do not fight. Girls who do get their hair and eyebrows chopped off on the spot; guys get beaten with wooden sticks until the sticks break.

2) If you want to hit on a girl, first ask if she has a boyfriend. (And if she says no, make damn sure she’s not lying, because if she is you’ll soon see a red laser dot swirling around your chest.)

Newly educated, we walked in. The other side of the wall turned out to be a massive wall of speakers. Because it was only midnight and the party hadn’t yet started, we walked down the street to look around. Along the way I saw at least a dozen kids all with big guns resting on their back. Christopher identified the one we saw earlier as an AK-47. As the night went on, we’d see uzis, M16s, bazookas, and one called a FAL. I’d never heard of it so he told me a little about it. (Double checking things on Wikipedia this morning, it turns out he was right, down to the size of its shell (7.6mm)) Also, there was an occasional sniper on the roof. All the gun-toters looked very young and seemed way too happy to have a big gun.

Meanwhile Christopher, although responsibly looking out for us, was checking his phone every 15 minutes and then wandering off for a few minutes. We didn’t know what he was doing until we caught him in an alley handing over a small baggie of some drug in exchange for some cash…to someone who looked no older than 14. He made a lot of deals that night. The San Diegan in me hoped it was meth; unfortunately it was only marijuana.

Hours passed and the street packed with young people, the wall of speakers started to blast Brazilian funk that that blew painful sound waves through your clothes and ear drums (far louder than any bar/club I’ve ever been to), more young kids were buying drugs, and of course more grinning people walked by with guns bigger than they were.

Christopher luckily stayed close by us the whole time, which is what kept the locals from harassing us. Had he stepped away for awhile, the situation would have become grim. This was City of God meets Training Day meet Hostel. Why did I watch that movie before I left?

Despite all this craziness though, I actually felt very safe the entire night. At least for these six hours everyone in the favela was very well behaved, no fights broke out, and the gun obsessed didn’t abuse any of their powers. (Well except for the very end. As we were marching out, a group of machine gun-strapping motorbikers drove by us and one of their guns was shoved inches from Wilkie’s face. Also on the way out, one laughing idiot with a drink in one hand and a shiny silver weapon in the other spun around in a goofy fit and his AK-47 practically entered my nose. First, in our country drinking and gunning is frowned upon. Second, please get your fucking machine gun out of my face!)

We left safely and without any new holes in our body. Looking back, this was an eye-opening and enlighting experience for me and everyone. I’d never seen this many guns loose on the streets before, and the best part was that no organized tour could have provided such a raw look into true favela life.

I’m now looking forward to the next time someone points a gun to my face so I can finally say “Sorry, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a gun pointed at my face.”

We’ve spent the last several days enjoying Rio in bright sunshine. Unfortunately it’s been pouring rain non-stop for the last two days, but luckily we already got to visit Rio’s main attractions.

Rio de Janeiro’s most identifiable landmark is Cristo Redentor (Christ the Redeemer), a 130-foot statue of Christ set atop a mountain overlooking the entire city. If you look up from almost anywhere in the city you can see it in the distance.

We rode to the top of the mountain in a taxi, as the train that usually runs up there “ran out of energy” that day (apparently Newton’s laws don’t work everyday in Brazil). Once at the top, you see the big man himself as well as all the idiots taking photos like this:

All the idiots…

Jesus Christ, what an amazing statue.

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One day while exploring the variety of unique neighborhoods in Rio, we found ourselves in Lapa, which features the Lapa Stairs. They don’t look like much when viewed from above:

But from below they look pretty nice decorated with lots of colorful tiles.

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One morning we hopped into this cool Land Rover…

…and drove to the top of this mountain…

…saw this ramp overlooking the city and water…

…and then jumped off of it.

Hello from the southernmost city in the world!

We arrived here in Ushuaia and were ecstatic to hear that our booking company found us another Antarctica cruise. This was extremely exciting news, especially since our new cruise runs close to the same days as our original one. Our new ship is named the Ushuaia (creative, huh) and it’s a smaller boat, with a capacity of 88. But we’re still embarking/disembarking from Ushuaia, still going for ten days, and most importantly still planning for lots of penguins.

The city of Ushuaia is a small, peaceful town and a nice change from the big cities we’ve already been on this trip. Its main role is to act as the key access point for the South Atlantic and Antarctica. Here is a view of part of the port, at 11pm. Incidentally it stays light outside until about 11:30pm, which confuses my simple mind.

Looking down on the town during the day:

Because Ushuaia is the southernmost city in the world, there are many other records being set here on a daily basis. Here is a sampling.

This is the southernmost beer produced in the world:

This is the southernmost Goodyear shop in the world:

This is the southernmost haircut in the world:

This is the southernmost restaurant sign insulting your mother in the world:

And this is the southernmost conversation with a penguin in the world:

It certainly is exciting to witness such milestones.

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(To anyone at a certain southern California cath conference…you’re welcome.)

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OK peoples, I’m off to Antarctica tomorrow. There is no internet aboard the ship, so I’ll talk to you if/when I return!