Day 9: Exodus

I couldn't tell whether the palour hanging over our heads that morning was from last night's doings, or from the thought of most of the gang leaving for Ann Arbor that afternoon. Huynh and I shopped for breakfast, and by noon we had all trekkers fed, packed and ready to head out into the city for one last hoorah. Most of the crew had last minute shopping to do, but not Jonghwan.

I remember him sitting across the breakfast table in his yellow rain jacket with a particularly determined look on his face, and then saying the words "I want to go to the ocean," before heading out. A part of me was a little worried about what he meant and what he was going to go do. He would have to eventually make do with a glimpse of the Rio de la Plata - BA was still relatively inland from the Indian Ocean.

Amrita, Hunyh, (memory fails me) and I made it out to Teatro Colon only to find the gods of English-language-tour-timing had forsaken us for the day. Huynh did make a valiant (if unknowing) attempt to break into theplace without paying for ticket, but didn't make it very far.

The find of the day was a little bakery outlet in the shopping streets close to Florida, where we were literally handing a steel dish to pick out any 15 pastries for 10 pesos. 15 for 10. What.. is wrong with these people?? So naturally we made out like a bunch of gluttonous bandits before we went on our way, snacking as we window shopped. Among the stuff we bought were a cellphone charger, scarves, alfajores, and sundry gifts for some lucky people back in the US.

Later that afternoon Amrita, Sawna, Hunyh and I bid almost tearful goodbyes to our 12 trekkers as their bus pulled away. That was okay though - another week and we'd be back in Ann Arbor with the lot of them.

Us 'parents' enjoyed a relatively peaceful dinner that night in the Las Canitas neighborhood at a place called Morelia, which specialized in pizza parilla style. Not bad at all. Great empanadas too. A fine bit of excitement occurred when Sawna discovered a fake 100 peso bill in her possession. The restaurant wouldn't take it of course. Smart little buggers.

Day 8: City by day, Tango by night

Scrambling to get to a 9 am tour bus pick up after a 3 am night at a nightclub (Rumi, not bad) is always going to be difficult. Somehow we all made it. And so it was that a lazy bus ride and light sightseeing got underway. Casa Rosada and La Boca featured heavily on the tour, and we finished up at San Telmo market. And that was just the way most of us wanted to spend the afternoon - traipsing around a crowded Buenos Aires market, picking up gifts, drinking mate and eating cajetas.

With a group this big and enthusiastic, everything's a production. And given our own room at this mate house - we kinda went to town. Hundreds of mate glamour shots later, we cabbed it back home to our apartments.

The highlight of the weekend of course, was Tango night. I don't have group pictures on hand, but trust me, we all looked very spiffy decked up to tango. And in the capable (if forceful - in a good way) hands of our instructor Julietta, it was only a matter of minutes before we were like.. totally redefining the way that Tango should (never) be danced.

This took place at a lesson-dinner-show tango place. And so after the lesson we were treated to a very solid dinner and a fun stage show. Of course, this being our last night in Argentina as a big group, there was much toasting and speechifying. Remember that this was at a tango show, so all that merrymaking didn't go down too well with the patrons at other tables. I'll have you know it was Amrita's table (NOT mine) that came close to being thrown out on account of disturbin' the peace.

It was indeed tragic that Jonathan had to miss the show. Not that he couldn't make it. He totally did. He was at the same table as I was. He just wasn't... all there. You know?

After the show wrapped up we insisted on continuing as if we owned the place - and so eventually the owners pretty much had to usher us out. (It was getting to be just that kind of night)

The afterparty at home was just a sordid affair that needn't be described here. Suffice it to say there was rowdiness and assault with deadly shaving cream thrown into the mix. If you don't understand what that means - you should feel fortunate.

Day 7: Of Peruvians and Quilmes

[You'll notice with great relief that my blog entries are much skimpier here on. I seem to have run out of steam. This is not necessarily a bad thing.]

Standing in line for an hour to check in at Mendoza airport may have its drawbacks, but it gives you a chance to see your fellow travelers in action. We will forever remember how the typically quite and very polite Jongwhan brusquely debarred line-cutters from well.. line cutting by drawing the tape across their path. That gave us about 10 minutes of amusement.

Back in 'civilization' in Pallermo our thoughts turned to shopping, so we cabbed it to Plaza Serrano for some 10 peso hot dogs, scarves, wallets, coffee and sundry other things. Some of us made it to Florida St. to buy more blue-and-white Argentina-themed stuff. I will forever remember being stunned by the sight of a full-on espresso machine and barista setup at the McDonald's on Florida - making excellent coffee. Why don't we have that elsewhere in the world?

The high point of the day (and for some, perhaps of the trip), was the amazing evening we spent with Willie and his family in La Boca. Dinner with Peruvians is someone everyone should do at some point in life. Our evening featured Willie's puppy, his grandma, his darling wife (a week away from having a baby!), his cousins, friends, a parilla grill with kilos upon kilos of meat, lots of Quilmes, and some very spirited dancing. And of course, like any civilized cultured, Willie and the boys drank out of one cup, passing the bottle around.

A night to remember. Of course, making it out of La Boca alive for the second time was also something to be celebrated.

Day 6: Wining and dining in the Andes

When you wake to a crisp, sun-bathed winter morning in the foothills of the Andes, you're in a good mood as it is. And if you've happened to have the first full night's sleep in nearly a week, you can't be blamed for being extra chirpy. Especially if you walk downstairs to the dining room and find yoghurt, pastries, coffee and toast waiting for you.

Eugenia herded us onto the bus and we were off to our first winery in Lujan de Cuyo, just outside Mendoza. And it didn't take us long to be greeted by the Andes, rising high in the distance, snow capped all the way to their top. The previous day had just been bad weather - the mountains had been there all along.

Our first winery was Alta Vista, a small-to-medium scale setup owned by a French family, who of course, kept their private stash locked away (in plain sight) in the winery cellars below. The guide said something about them flying into Mendoza a few times a year to pick up bottles. Damn. Nice life. I also want.

It was here that most of us were introduced for the first time to the Torrontes varietal. It makes for a dry white wine with sharp, almost tangy flavour, and a lot of complex things going on in the background. But it was dry. And sweet tooth that I am, it gets no love from me. Only respect. There was also olive oil for the tasting - wineries in Mendoza seem to nurture olive trees quite easily, it seems. I don't understand how olive oil could feel both light, and creamy at the same time - but it did. Well done, and stuff!

Our next stop was Lagarde, a more well-known medium sized winery that clearly knew what it was doing. I'll have you know that along with a nice buzz (Wolverines are lushes, we just are), we were also developing an appreciation for how complex, and artful the wine-making process can be. Synthetic vs. natural cork, oak vs. steel barrels, concrete vs. stainless steel tanks, the angle at which bottles are rested as the wine sediments - there's a seemingly unending depth to which you can take the art. Pretty cool.

The lunch that followed is an an experience that is forever etched into all our memories. We walk into the compound of what looks like somebody's home estate turned into little mini-restaurant dining rooms, and are greeted with a feast that is quite literally befitting of kings (or that French family that flies in just to pick up their private wine, I'm sure). There were probably eight types of cured meat, a dozen side dishes of vegetables, purees and sauces, cheeses, stew, dessert, and of course, wine. If we all felt sluggish on the last winery visit that followed, you know why.

I do believe Eugenia had saved the best for last. Carmello Patti, pictured smiling next to Bryant here, is an expert wine maker who quit the large scale wine business, and started out his own small operation in a single shed. For Carmello, it's very, very personal. And we were taken on an intimate tour of his small but capable setup. We signed his guest book - so if any of you reading this happen to visit him years from now, say hello, and try to find a big "GO BLUE" in his books.

Dinner that night was at La Lucia, a restaurant on the same drag as El Pelanquet that some of us scoped out. And it was a good choice. Almost as memorable as the rump steak I had, was the restaurant's peculiar taste in restroom art. The men's room had a drawing of a.. little person, striking a strange pose, with.. no clothes on. While that may sound only odd, and not scary, trust me on this - it was. And by the end of the night, the entire crew, girls included had taken a look. Thank you La Lucia, for a great meal, and some memorable amusement!

Day 5: Mendoza (Oh look it's winter in Ann Arbor)

You'd think that after four consecutive days of being sleep deprived, waking up early and possibly hung over, we'd learn to call it quits earlier at night and take it easy. Well that's the thing. You'd think. Turns out that we, on the other hand, aren't that bright. We woke to a 7:30 am pick-up and flight to make our way to Mendoza. But Iguazu had been brilliant, and so even if some of us were a tad queasy on the plane - we were happy on the inside.

However, Iguazu didn't seem to happy to see us. Clouds. Rain. Temperature like Ann Arbor around Thanksgiving? Somewhere around us the gorgeous Andes were alleged to rise out of the earth. But it was too cloudy and misty to spot them that morning. At one point during our bus tour of the city that day, it even started snowing. At this point I'll bring your attention to the fact that just that morning, we woke up near a tropical rainforest. Ah Argentina.

On the plus side, our guide Eugenia (eww-hen-ya) turned out to be a darling. And Sawna's joy knew no bounds when, after arriving at our hotel she found all of zero flies in our room's bathroom.

Mendoza, as it turns out is a pretty huge place. Not some remote tiny-town we mistakenly assumed it would be. With origins in the cattle route between Buenos Aires and Chile, Mendoza is a desert town that owes its rise to a flood irrigation system and a dry, multi-altitude climate that makes the grapes happy.

The high point of the day was stand up, sit down - El Palenque - a delightful tavern-restaurant with amazing food and atmosphere. Have to say I got some of my best shots with the prime lens right here. It was here that we discovered caprese empanadas. And the carne empanada here was probably the best - spicy! 

Day 4: Of heights, ziplines and nightclubs

Riding around in an open, military-style truck at 7 AM on a winter morning in Iguazu is a surefire way of waking up. Which is for the best, considering our rappelling and ziplining ambitions that morning.

I remember the exact moment when the group of us harness-clad, mostly first-time rappellers (rappell-ees?) walked up to the railing on the bluff we were supposed to go over. There was a very perceptible "Holy shit, we actually have to do this!?" look in some people's eyes. Or perhaps it was just me, and I'm just projecting willy nilly.

The instructor, who had clearly seen countless groups of sheepish rappellers through this task, gave us clear instructions - keep your feet apart, stay perpendicular to the rock as far as possible, and kick off with both feet when you jump. Seems simple enough, right? Well it is. In theory. A little problematic to carry through when you're actually hanging off that rope, brain-bucket of a helmet on your head, and a 50 ft drop below you. But we did it. All 16 of us. I think the inspiration for a lot of us was the thought that a couple in their fifties who was part of our group was also going to it. And if they can do it, we definitely should. So it was shame, or the fear of shame that propelled some of us over the edge. And it all ended very well. Kicking off the rock and scooching 15 or so feet down the bluff with each jump was definitely fun. In the end, the most dangerous thing about the whole affair was the eager mosquitoes waiting for us at the bottom.

A quick trek and truck ride brought us to the ziplining platforms. The scary thing about the whole affair wasn't the zipping through the air, but standing on the rickety staircase (and I use that term generously) to the first platform. Don't let Nicole's radiant representation of St. Michigana fool you - we weren't happy waiting on that contraption.

Nighttime:
The evening started with (what I hope was) a romantical surprise for the MBA1 crew, as their leaders had wine, cheese, meats, crackers and candlelight waiting for them in the garden area by the pool.

[I wish I had pictures to prove this, but I guess I was way too busy pushing bottle after bottle of wine to man a camera that evening]

Later that night, the crew hit up Cuba Libre, an unsuspecting Iguazu night club that should be grateful to us. Because we definitely brought the party with us. The place went from  three people (aside from the bartender and the DJ) to a thumping party in half an hour after we arrived.

My most memorable images from the evening: Yoon bringing shock and awe by break dancing and doing the worm out of nowhere. And.. a certain someone getting up onto the high top table with the.. err.. dancer girl. It was.. amorous. Let's leave it at that.

Good day, no?

Day 3: Iguawesomeness

A 5:15 AM pick-up time for an airport ride is painful to begin with. Who wants to be alive at that unearthly of an hour anyway. And when you make that 5:15 AM time running on two hours of sleep, with an already burgeoning  sleep backlog, you know you're in for a rough morning. So if you happened along EZE airport that morning and saw sixteen maize-and-blue-clad zombies make their way onto a plane and wondered what was up - well, that's what was up.

So when the crew landed at Iguazu airport that morning and found out from our (enormously) chirpy guide Marissa that we were headed straight for the falls without a hotel pit-stop, there was a perceptible jolt to our already delicate moods. But Iguazu was sunny and warm, the bus was comfy, and Marissa's seemingly undying enthusiasm got the better of us, and we were restored to our amicable selves by the time we got to the National Park.

First stop: a top-side view of Devil's Throat - the main waterfalls. The falls were definitely massive, and the mist was everywhere. Bright sunlight + mist don't make for the best pictures, but that didn't stop us from posing for at least a couple thousand on the balcony overlooking the falls. That's a dashed good looking Michigan flag innit?

For a few people, being there at the top of the falls was the high-point of the day. I remember Joseph going "Oh this is so great! I am loving this!!" Now, I personally may say something like that about twelve times a day, give or take, but when Joseph pipes up with that - you know it's momentous for him.

A toy-train ride and sandwich lunch later, we found ourselves on an open truck ride through the rainforest, listening to a chirpy guide talk about trees, jaguars and preservation. And like everything else on this trip, we heard it all in English, and then in super-fast Spanish.

And now it was time for the boat ride. Not your typical 'Let's bob around on the waters in this here cool boat' kinda ride. More like a 'Let's play chicken with that giant waterfall over there by careening madly towards it' kinda ride. If that sounds dramatic, that's because it was. We had been warned playfully all day by Marissa, the forest-ranger-guide-person, and by other tourists that we were going to get very wet on that boat ride. But nothing could have prepared us for the feeling of being smack dab in the face of that wall of water falling from hundreds of feet above. A few of us cringed. A few of us put on brave faces and grinned, knuckles white on the edge of the seat. And then there those of us who could only channel that adrenaline by trying to stand up in all that spray, and try to yell back at the water like it actually made a damn difference.

Whatever your reaction, you couldn't have been there without feeling some kind of rush.

[As the group finally made its way off the boat and up the rocks toward dry land, I couldn't help but wonder how amazing this M-Trek had been thus far. And it was only Day 3!]

A special shout out to those of you who were out there in that boat, despite your fear of water, death, taking a shower, what-have-you - that was commendable. I know it wasn't easy. Glad we could all be there.

And now, a very brief word about our hotel. Because it's worth a mention. Cute from the outside. Cuter still from the inside (with the tiny two-level rooms, dark wood and bunk beds it kinda looked like a Hogwarts dorm). But the bathrooms were, for the lack of a better word - discomforting. If you encounter a hotel called La Strada in the Iguazu area, it may be alright to move right along. Si?

Dinner that night was a fifteen minute walk away, at La Rueda.

And despite having had a tiring day, the gang had enough left in the tank to hang out for wine in the garden area outside our rooms. Another great cork-collection opportunity for our resident oenophile, and benevolent East Asian ex-dictator Daniel Han.

Day 2: Gauchos have the best lives. Also, Boca fans are just plain loco.

Part I
Trekkers awoke to much grape-related pain that morning. A 3:30 am night followed by a 7 am wake-up call will do that to you.

[Unfortunately, this has kinda sorta become a theme for our merry gang. Apparently, we really like pain. Or suffer from the misguided belief that we're all 22.]

But the two-hour bus ride to a ranch outside the city gives us time to recuperate. And caffeinate. Si, si, muy importante. Which was good, because we wouldn't have wanted to miss out on the experience that followed. Pat, who seemed to run things at Elumbu estancia greeted us with a smile, and more importantly, freshly fried empanadas. If there's one thing you need to know about life, it's that fried, or 'frita' > baked, or 'boring' empanadas. There were even vegetarian ones for Sawna Peas & Carrots Patel, and Shaival 'foolish enough to pick this M-Trek despite having endured four years with Ajay' Shah, our resident vegetables. I mean vegetarians. Huh. What? Moving on.

And then began one of the high-points of the entire trip - horse back riding. With help from Gaucho extraordinaire Pablo, we all managed to make it onto our horses without incident. Shaival and I were matched with what were basically the Shaquille O Neals of the ranch, owing to our large err.. personalities. Seriously, these two horses were tanks. Just massive. Made Bryant's ride look like a seahorse. As our posse of 20 or so horses John Wayned our way around the ranch, we came to realise that Gaucho's kind of had it good. Vast expanses of verdant green flatlands as far as the eye can see, crisp air for the breathing, the company of fine animals, that rakishly handsome cowboy boots and Gaucho hat combo? Oh, and empanadas. Yeah. Give me some of that.

No WiFi though. Thought I'd mention that. In case you were about to click 'submit' on that one-way ticket purchase already.

Lunch was a grand affair. With Pablo doubling as host, and loading up our plates with chorizo (good!), steak (of course), ribs (yay), and morcilla (aka blood sausage, aka made us slightly uncomfortable, aka not getting seconds, evarr). Eating in Elumbu's charming dining room came with the added advtantage of roping random people at other tables into our 'name, where you from, fun fact' game. Groups of 16 seem to have their own gravity.

The post-lunch riding session was what took the cake though. Warmed up from the lunch, loosened up by the wine, we had a great time with the horses. Experimentation with the reins, making clicking noises and digging in with the stirrups upgraded some of us from a walk to a trot, trot to canter, and on some stretches, up to a gallop. Growing up in a flat in Bombay almost certainly precludes one from say - keeping a giant horse at home, so I never really understood why some people loved riding so much. But I get it now. The connection you feel with the animal as it powers across the ground, graciously allowing you to tell it what to do - it's magnificent. That afternoon I was jealous of Pablo and his lifestyle. What a rush. I have to find a way to go riding in real life. Jamee, you listening? Yo quiero horsie. Can has por favor?

Part II

I'm not the biggest fan of using the word 'crazy' to describe an experience. What does that even mean? Besides the fact that whoever's using it might be too lazy to actually describe what just happened, and would rather resort to saying "Yeah, dude, that was crazy." So I recognize both the irony and hypocrisy I perpetrate when I say that watching a Boca Juniors game in La Boca was just... crazy. Crazy. That's what Argentinian football fans are. Stark. Raving. Mad.

So let me give you some perspective here. I come from Bombay. To say that Bombay's local trains are "crowded," is severely understating how many heaving, jostling people you can fit into a space. To say that a cricket match at Wankhede stadium has "atmosphere" is also understating how.. atmospheric an experience an India cricket match at Wankhede can be. So I hope you understand the full weight of what I'm saying, when I say that a season opener Boca Juniors game at La Boca stadium probably has more atmosphere than a Wankheded cricket match, and more heaving,  jostling, borderline violent crazy people than a Bombay local train. And I don't want you to think it was a bad experience. Nah. It was kinda awesome. But it was plumb crazy.

It took us the better part of an hour, literally squeezing past hoardes of locals chanting Boca cheers and songs, near-crush experiences with barricades, and half a dozen pat-downs by the Buenos Aires policia - before we could get into the stadium. The scene inside the stadium was.. something to be remembered. It's as though an entire 50,000 capacity stadium itself was singing, loudly, in a single voice, to the accompaniment of the the most enthusiastic and loud drum and brass band I have ever seen. Of course, we wedged ourselves into a space right above said band. What self-respecting gang of 16 Michigan students wouldn't? I lost count, but it seemed like every local in the stadium knew a dozen Boca songs down pat, and sang them to the fullest as the band jumped from one to the next. And unlike a cricket match, the crowd was jumping, heaving and singing at full throttle pretty much the entire time - whether Boca was in possession or not. The most committed of the lot chose to stand precariously on top of metal railings (offering very little purchase for anybody's feet), holding onto fabric penants that ran across the stands, dancing pretty much the entire time. It was quite something to see. The football was good. Boca won 4-0. I'd love to tell you who exactly they beat 4-0, but I don't really remember.

What happened after the game was perhaps even more memorable. We spent 40 minutes wedged between a hoarde of hundreds of impatient Boca fans, and a wall of riot police - helmets, nightsticks and all - waiting to get out of the stadium. Given that half the crowd was baked (that goes on a lot at football matches, apparently), that everyone was tired of waiting, and that we had the same freedom to move around as passengers on the Virar local pulling out of Dadar station, it was quite an experience. After about half an hour, some of the policia took pity at the 'oh my god we're all going to die' look on some of the girls' faces, and let them out a few minutes before the rest of the crowd. The rest of us finally did get out, life and limb intact. The only thought on our minds - if this is how the crowd gets when Boca wins, we ought not to be there when they lose.

Day 1: Hola Buenos Aires!

When you have 16 people flying into a country they've never been to on three different days, you'd think whimsical weather patterns, belligerent baggage carousels and the fact that nobody has a working phone might cause some coordination issues, yeah? Well, apparently not. Think we cashed in a collective year's worth of good luck finding each other and moving into our apartments in Palermo, BA right on time. I did have to spend a full two hours with our dear but formidably chatty apartment manager Gloria, learning how not to break, flood, set fire to, or otherwise molest said apartments, but that's almost nothing. Really.

We did however, happen to fly into Buenos Aires on a rare dry day; which, to souls parched for some of that fabled Argentinian Malbec was a tad annoying. No alcohol before 8 pm. Something about an setting a precedent? Or electing a President. One of those two.

[Update: We have since made up for those few hours of teetollaing several, several times over. So don't worry. We're totally on top of it]

The highlight of the afternoon was definitely our first run at delicious empanadas. But that was followed by the news that the lunch place we were at (placed called El Sanguino? in Recoletta) were out of antelope stew. Which was quickly followed by the realization that venison stew was a damn good substitute. The meat eating had begun. Meat eating. Meating!

And here are two of my favourite shots of the day. One features a jump for joy at the discovery that the BA Tango festival is just around the corner. And the other featuring a studly MBA2 pondering which of his two-and-a-half killer Espanol pickup lines to use.

Nighttime saw us descend upon the capable Don Julio restaurant in Palermo. It was here that I met this fine cut of steak they call 'vacio' - so tender and fresh, that it mooed as I had a moment with it.

The evening took an unfortunate turn with some trekker-on-trekker violence involving one very red glass of wine, and one very white, very absorbent linen shirt. Names have been withheld to protect.. the vinery from whence the wine came. There are no pictures either. Eyewitnesses remember it being quite a sight.