Catching Up

World Tour Fans --

Apologies again for the slacking in my postings here. I hope you all appreciate the new features on the blog, though. Nothing makes it better than statistics, I tell you. And I think I'm going to be disturbed by the number of places I'll end up sleeping in this summer.

I should let you know the epilogue to the Argentina tour.

I visited Iguazu Falls, an impressive display of nature's power and sheer tourist numbers. No matter how choked it was with people, however, there are few sights that cause me to gasp audibly, but Iguazu Falls' Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat) certainly had that effect.

This is what looking at oblivion is like, I thought.

Untold quantities of water poured from three sides into a boiling cauldron below, giving off so much mist that it actually created a cloud overhead. There was nothingness at the bottom, just brown water pouring off into a great white expanse. And water everywhere, soaking me when I waited too long to take pictures.

The rest of the falls was pedestrian in comparison, but impressive nonetheless. The park there includes metal walkways that let you stride over the top of massive waterfalls or walk right up to the base of them for a good soaking. And rainbows were omnipresent, making photography practically a joke.

I only spent about four hours at the park seeing the falls and taking a short, pointless hike in the jungle. A cab outside the park entrance took me to the tiny Cataratas de Iguazu International Airport. The cabbie and I had a second-Spanish-class-ever-conversation:

"Where are you from?"

"United States?"

"Did you like the falls?"

"Yes. Very beautiful."

"Have you been to Patagonia?"

"No...um, I want to go to Patagonia."

"Oh, next time."

"Yes. Need much time."

I'm so good.

Spanglish -- and forgetting to write Jessie's address down properly -- got the cabbie in Buenos Aires mad at me, and it was all I could do to convince him that we were on the wrong street and he should not throw me out of the cab in annoyance.

That night, Jessie and I went to Claudio and Paula's apartment to learn how to make empanadas. I did some of that but focused more on eating various types of chorizo (sausage) and drinking glass after glass of wine. I did learn an incredible amount about Argentine politics from a long conversation with Paula -- there is apparently still a great deal of dissatisfaction with the government, and class issues are much more obvious than they are in the U.S.

Their friend Antonio, a very short man who works in his family's restaurant, also told me something interesting about the origins of the word boludo. This little gem of the Argentine lexicon is a bit tough to translate -- it seems to be somewhere between "asshole" and "dude," but is often used by guys greeting their friends.

Apparently, the word comes from the revolutionary struggles. The revolutionary fighters stuck the black slaves at the front lines and had them throw big stones at the Spanish -- thus the literal translation of boludo, "big balls." Given that the Spanish were armed with guns, the slaves were little more than human shields. This tragedy is apparently one of the reasons why Argentina has such a small black population.

Back in the good old US of A, I spent several nights on Ben's couch in Adams Morgan, where I was fortunate enough to be sent off with a good party at Childe Harold. Two things I learned at that party:

1. Journey still rules, and likely always will.
2. The Russia House is really creepy. Don't go there.

Five days later, I was off to Boulder, where I am now, getting to know my future home. The weather is beautiful -- hot and sunny during the day, cool at night. I think I've found an apartment/place for ski friends to come and visit. Things are going well.