For any psych majors, I am listening to Gunther's album while I'm writing this. Let's see how it manifests itself.
This past weekend was a long weekend and also my birthday weekend, so I went away to La Rioja province with Maria (tee you eff tee ess represent), Mara, and Glen. The theme of the weekend was pretty much the reaction of everyone when I told them I was going to La Rioja (host mom, dad, brother, professor, program director):La Rioja? Nobody goes to La Rioja.
Bit of background:
La Rioja is in the desert in northwestern part of the country. Poorest province per capita. Has 1/6th the population density of Mendoza province. Major export: aceitunas. Blech. Aceitunas are green olives. The gods have ambrosia, Lucifer has aceitunas. They're in everything and disgusting.
Back on topic:
Wednesday night we leave from the bus station in BsAs at 8.30 pm and arrive in La Rioja (La Rioja is both the name of the province and the capital city) at 11:00 the next morning. So you don't have to strain yourself, it's 14.5 hours. Luckily, the bus was pretty luxurient with leather lazy-boy style seats that reclined to about 150 degrees. Theoretically, one would be able to sleep on such a bus if the bus drove on the interstate. However, we drove on dirt roads about half the time, so you know, it was bumpy and stuff. I was able to sleep, though. Ok this post is pretty boring so far.
Racism!
We pull in to the bus station in La Rioja and Mara and Maria go to ask for directions to the tourism office, because we traveled 14 hours without any real plans for what to do when we got there. Two police officers come over to me and Glen and ask us to register in the police office/broom closet. Real routine, they say. Ok, seems pretty harmless. They take us into the 'office' and take out a blank sheet of paper and ask for our names and document numbers. Then they ask to look in Glen's bag. Real routine. They take out every single one of his belongings - underwear, unfold them and shake them out. Contact case - open each one of his compartments. We're just looking for guns and drugs. Real routine. Blah blah blah. When they're finally done, I put my bag on the table. I don't even get my zipper halfway opened and they say we're free to go. Sorry? Didn't you just make Glen unpack his entire bag? But you don't really care what's in my bag? By this time I was pissed cuz I realized it was a race issue, so I started unpacking everything - opening up my camera case, opening my toiletry kit, etc. They insisted that we were free to go, so we took off. Asswipes.
By the way, we were the only people they asked to register.
Next, we went to the tourism office to find out what people do here. The people in the office were helpful and attentive since probably 5 people go in there a day. What they basically told us was that we were on the wrong side of the province and we had to take a bus to Villa Union, which was like 3 hrs away. And the last bus for the day left in 20 minutes. So we thank them and run like crazy yanquis to fetch a cab to go 8 blocks to the terminal so we don't miss the bus. (Gunther is over now, switched to Journey Greatest Hits). The bus tickets are sold out. Yes!! Sweet!! Don't worry, reader. We weren't stranded. The people in the tourist office were dirty dirty Argentine liars. There was another bus that left in an hour. No problem. Cool.
We go to Villa Union.
Villa Union is the smallest little shittown ever. But it is adorable and I love it. We stayed in this little hostel with this adorable little family and vomited and vomited from the adorableness.
Friday (the beginning of my third decade) we went to Talampaya and Ishigaulasto National Parks. Freaking sweet. Not gunna be hubristic and try to describe these places using words, so get yourself to my facebook albums or http://picasaweb.google.com/stevenpdyer.
Saturday. Did some horseback riding. Saw some more cave drawings that were probably fake. Paid 6 dollars for a 3 hour horseback ride. This made me content. My horse was 30 years old and probably fractured some joint-type bones, but he could giddyup when I told him to. Mara informed me that I ride Western style, not English, and that I know how to 'post' while trotting. I call it "not becoming sterile while trotting". Plate tectonics continued to play a major role in the scenery. La Rioja is the spawn of Arizona and the Meridiani Planum.
In the afternoon, we took probably the most incredible bus ride anyone has ever taken to Chilecito, which means 'Little Chile'. The chileciteños must have failed geography or something, because it is neither a small country nor a small pepper. They just failed across the board. Anyway, Glen has the pictures of the bus ride. I'll get a link to them soon or something.
Chilecito was a neat little town. Everyone in this little clothing boutique hit on me and Glen because we knew the lyrics to Celebration.
Sunday morning we were going to go to the botanical gardens (which specialize in different varieties of cactus), but they were having a special showing for reporters only. Jerks. Didn't want to look at your stupid cacti anyway. The ladies went on a trek up a mountain and Glen and I went on a photo-snapping spree throughout the town.
Bus station - the creepy man with the falling off face didn't chop us into pieces and put us in his
juicer. Success!
Went back to La Rioja (city) for the sole purpose of going to the state-owned ice cream parlor to get a scoop of communism. Took a nice little photo essay. Then I had all of my dreams shattered by the evil woman who worked there, saying that La Rioja has never had state-owned ice-cream parlors. Fucking dream bubble popper.
Disconcerting moment of the trip - it was a holy day, for a saint or a virgin or something, and they were having a procession from the church to the plaza. It was probably the creepiest thing ever, and that's not an exaggeration. Yes it is. Ok, it was a little uncomfortable because I appreciate the separation of church and state.
Accompanying the statue of the virgin was the military. And the police. (side note, addressed to the Argentine military and police- if you want to command respect, don't text message and make cat calls while in uniform and in public. Might help the total disregard for your position and authority. Just saying. It might be a start).
The priest was giving a sermon about how God hates gays and how homosexuality will destroy all of our families.
Then, two nuns recited the Lord's prayer in the Devil's Interval, and the procession started. I never want to see another religious symbol followed by men in fatigues again. I had to eat some apple pie, invade some countries, play some baseball, have a stable governent for more than 20 years, and gain 40 pounds to overcome the discomfort.
Then we came home. I had 81 emails. The Gmail notifier was working overtime. Thanks for the birthday wishes, everyone! Also, it's really cool that my host family actually missed me.
P.S. In La Rioja, they say r's like y's or ll's. So it's "la zhee-OH-ja".
P.P.S. My last post was better than this one. I acknowledge this.
This past weekend was a long weekend and also my birthday weekend, so I went away to La Rioja province with Maria (tee you eff tee ess represent), Mara, and Glen. The theme of the weekend was pretty much the reaction of everyone when I told them I was going to La Rioja (host mom, dad, brother, professor, program director):La Rioja? Nobody goes to La Rioja.
Bit of background:
La Rioja is in the desert in northwestern part of the country. Poorest province per capita. Has 1/6th the population density of Mendoza province. Major export: aceitunas. Blech. Aceitunas are green olives. The gods have ambrosia, Lucifer has aceitunas. They're in everything and disgusting.
Back on topic:
Wednesday night we leave from the bus station in BsAs at 8.30 pm and arrive in La Rioja (La Rioja is both the name of the province and the capital city) at 11:00 the next morning. So you don't have to strain yourself, it's 14.5 hours. Luckily, the bus was pretty luxurient with leather lazy-boy style seats that reclined to about 150 degrees. Theoretically, one would be able to sleep on such a bus if the bus drove on the interstate. However, we drove on dirt roads about half the time, so you know, it was bumpy and stuff. I was able to sleep, though. Ok this post is pretty boring so far.
Racism!
We pull in to the bus station in La Rioja and Mara and Maria go to ask for directions to the tourism office, because we traveled 14 hours without any real plans for what to do when we got there. Two police officers come over to me and Glen and ask us to register in the police office/broom closet. Real routine, they say. Ok, seems pretty harmless. They take us into the 'office' and take out a blank sheet of paper and ask for our names and document numbers. Then they ask to look in Glen's bag. Real routine. They take out every single one of his belongings - underwear, unfold them and shake them out. Contact case - open each one of his compartments. We're just looking for guns and drugs. Real routine. Blah blah blah. When they're finally done, I put my bag on the table. I don't even get my zipper halfway opened and they say we're free to go. Sorry? Didn't you just make Glen unpack his entire bag? But you don't really care what's in my bag? By this time I was pissed cuz I realized it was a race issue, so I started unpacking everything - opening up my camera case, opening my toiletry kit, etc. They insisted that we were free to go, so we took off. Asswipes.
By the way, we were the only people they asked to register.
Next, we went to the tourism office to find out what people do here. The people in the office were helpful and attentive since probably 5 people go in there a day. What they basically told us was that we were on the wrong side of the province and we had to take a bus to Villa Union, which was like 3 hrs away. And the last bus for the day left in 20 minutes. So we thank them and run like crazy yanquis to fetch a cab to go 8 blocks to the terminal so we don't miss the bus. (Gunther is over now, switched to Journey Greatest Hits). The bus tickets are sold out. Yes!! Sweet!! Don't worry, reader. We weren't stranded. The people in the tourist office were dirty dirty Argentine liars. There was another bus that left in an hour. No problem. Cool.
We go to Villa Union.
Villa Union is the smallest little shittown ever. But it is adorable and I love it. We stayed in this little hostel with this adorable little family and vomited and vomited from the adorableness.
Friday (the beginning of my third decade) we went to Talampaya and Ishigaulasto National Parks. Freaking sweet. Not gunna be hubristic and try to describe these places using words, so get yourself to my facebook albums or http://picasaweb.google.com/stevenpdyer.
Saturday. Did some horseback riding. Saw some more cave drawings that were probably fake. Paid 6 dollars for a 3 hour horseback ride. This made me content. My horse was 30 years old and probably fractured some joint-type bones, but he could giddyup when I told him to. Mara informed me that I ride Western style, not English, and that I know how to 'post' while trotting. I call it "not becoming sterile while trotting". Plate tectonics continued to play a major role in the scenery. La Rioja is the spawn of Arizona and the Meridiani Planum.
In the afternoon, we took probably the most incredible bus ride anyone has ever taken to Chilecito, which means 'Little Chile'. The chileciteños must have failed geography or something, because it is neither a small country nor a small pepper. They just failed across the board. Anyway, Glen has the pictures of the bus ride. I'll get a link to them soon or something.
Chilecito was a neat little town. Everyone in this little clothing boutique hit on me and Glen because we knew the lyrics to Celebration.
Sunday morning we were going to go to the botanical gardens (which specialize in different varieties of cactus), but they were having a special showing for reporters only. Jerks. Didn't want to look at your stupid cacti anyway. The ladies went on a trek up a mountain and Glen and I went on a photo-snapping spree throughout the town.
Bus station - the creepy man with the falling off face didn't chop us into pieces and put us in his
juicer. Success!
Went back to La Rioja (city) for the sole purpose of going to the state-owned ice cream parlor to get a scoop of communism. Took a nice little photo essay. Then I had all of my dreams shattered by the evil woman who worked there, saying that La Rioja has never had state-owned ice-cream parlors. Fucking dream bubble popper.
Disconcerting moment of the trip - it was a holy day, for a saint or a virgin or something, and they were having a procession from the church to the plaza. It was probably the creepiest thing ever, and that's not an exaggeration. Yes it is. Ok, it was a little uncomfortable because I appreciate the separation of church and state.
Accompanying the statue of the virgin was the military. And the police. (side note, addressed to the Argentine military and police- if you want to command respect, don't text message and make cat calls while in uniform and in public. Might help the total disregard for your position and authority. Just saying. It might be a start).
The priest was giving a sermon about how God hates gays and how homosexuality will destroy all of our families.
Then, two nuns recited the Lord's prayer in the Devil's Interval, and the procession started. I never want to see another religious symbol followed by men in fatigues again. I had to eat some apple pie, invade some countries, play some baseball, have a stable governent for more than 20 years, and gain 40 pounds to overcome the discomfort.
Then we came home. I had 81 emails. The Gmail notifier was working overtime. Thanks for the birthday wishes, everyone! Also, it's really cool that my host family actually missed me.
P.S. In La Rioja, they say r's like y's or ll's. So it's "la zhee-OH-ja".
P.P.S. My last post was better than this one. I acknowledge this.
posted by Steve at 10:36 PM
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