Virginia, Travel Writer.

Remember how way back at the beginning, I claimed blogging was super difficult?

That does not even begin to describe the impossibility that is maintaining a blog.

For instance, I have not posted in at least a decade.  Why, you ask?  It certainly isn’t for lack of stories.

Rather, I have developed the rather paralyzing fear of not being funny.  It’s addicting, having people tell you that they laugh at loud at your writing.  Now, I sit petrified at my computer for hours, watching the cursor blink mockingly as a symbol of my failure.

So I have abandoned the idea of comedy as an art form, and will now turn to travel writing.  As I was just in Patagonia, I feel this is fitting.

I will now commence.

Pre-Departure Steps.

Unless you are a wandering hobo, it is generally advised to pick a destination.

This involves spinning and pointing wildly at a map.  Did your finger touch land?  That’s your new paradise!

Next, it is of the utmost importance to research your place of vacationing.  If you find that traditional reading and studying is simply not for you, I recommend the following technique, which I frequently employ myself:

Wander the streets of your current area, randomly shouting the name of the place you will be visiting.  People are certain to approach you with all kinds of helpful advice.

The final step in preparing for a trip is perhaps the most thrilling – packing! 

Suddenly, you are granted the opportunity to defy all rules regarding what will fit into a backpack – testing age-old assumptions about the capacity of an enclosed space!!

I highly recommend abandoning all hopes of looking in any way human during your adventures.  Fashionable items have no place in a bursting backpack.  On desperate occasion, neither do hygienic items.  Who cares about smelling decently when you’re busy seeing the world??

(Until a cute guy shows up in your hostel.  And then you’re horrified by your own constantly disheveled appearance and vague odor.)

With all these things accomplished, it’s time to start your journey!

Buying tickets is optional.

Day One.

Attempt to get on bus.  This was more difficult for my gang than predicted.

Our first mistake was leaving our neighborhood late.  Retiro, the bus station, is about forty minutes away from where we live.  From where we get off the train to the bus station is anywhere from a five to fifty minute walk, depending on how many times you are shoved and/or robbed.

We got on the train less than an hour before our bus to Bariloche (point of destination) was set to leave.

This would have been fine, had we gotten on the right train.

We did not.

We were informed of this when I attempted to confirm with a fellow passenger that we were, in fact, headed in the right direction.  Upon hearing my broken Spanish, we were assisted by an American Robert Pattinson lookalike, who helpfully assured us that no, we were heading AWAY from our desired destination.

Horrified by our combined lack of inner compass, we scuttled off the train at the next station, frantically asked a cop the closest place to encounter a taxi, and set off in that direction – leaving the cop chuckling at our optimistic belief that we’d be able to make it to the station in time.

After a thoroughly uncoordinated shuffle after a taxi (honestly, trying to spring gazelle-like after a moving vehicle with a fifty pounds strapped to your back and a large bag dangling from your front is complicated), we made it, and got on the bus.

23 hours later.

Get off the bus.

Day Two.

Move into hostel room, taking in the views and avoiding smelling your own scent.  A shower at this point is recommended.

Do not be alarmed if two young American men barge into your room, demanding to use your bathtub to wash their feet.  They are generally harmless and offer good advice for activities.

This is then a good time to Explore the City.  This is a bit tricky.

First, you must leave the hostel room.  Depending on how motivated your crew is, this in and of itself can pose a challenge, as it is upon leaving that the most pressing concerns erupt (bathroom usage, hair brushing, launching nuclear attacks on foreign countries). 

Once Out and About, it is imperative that you not once consult a map.  The point of this exercise is to enjoy the city, which you cannot do if concerned about small issues such as accidently walking into a lake.

At this point, we also adopted a stray dog.  This activity is entirely optional, but I personally highly recommend it.  Keeps the stray humans away, and dogs are excellent company.

Upon returning to your hostel, be kind to the receptionist.  Ours was Damien, and we became great friends, though I have reason to believe he doubted my sanity.  Especially after I spent half an hour in a futile attempt to get him to quit his job to ride horses with me.

I’m still convinced it almost worked.

Day Three.

If your travels take you to Bariloche, as mine did, hike the Cerro Campaniero.  It’s an “easy” hike.

Only forty-five minutes!

VERTICALLY.

When it comes to an afternoon activity, why not go riding through Patagonia on horseback? 

A strange old man comes and picks you up from your hostel in an unmarked taxi, then wordlessly takes you to a jolly woman who throws you up on a horse and off you go.  Riding ability is never taken into account, which is convenient for those who have never ridden before but would still like to gallop through the mountainside.

Day Four.

To celebrate my fourth day, I snuck into Chile illegally.

This was not my fault.

Went white water rafting with Argentines and a Dutch couple.  Luckily, the Dutch didn’t speak Spanish, so everything was going to be in both languages.  When the guide first got in the van, he asked me if I spoke Spanish.  “Mas o menos,” I replied.  More or less.

Fortunately for me, the Spanish-speaking world always takes this to mean not at all.  I can then bumble around uselessly with my own little language.

This did mean, however, that the rest of the raft was forced to speak English, which they did haltingly, greatly amused by their own errors.

At lunchtime, I joined in on one of their conversations.

They gaped.

And I was in.

As far as Chile goes, floated down a river, then climbed a rather steep hill in a wetsuit to arrive across the border.  I was an illegal immigrant, even if only for a moment!

Life goal accomplished.

After eating everyone’s leftovers (didn’t pay for lunch – why pay for food when you can pay for ADVENTURE?), went riding (again, can’t help myself).  This time, spent a full ten minutes working on convincing the tour guide that I was not going to fall off.

This was my own fault, really.  Got too confident in my Spanish ability and suddenly was convinced that I was capable of making jokes.

Note to future travelers: despite everything your high school Spanish teachers told you, you do not speak Spanish.  You will never speak Spanish.  Accept this, and act accordingly.

Days Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and evermore.

Keep on adventuring.  I opted for further riding, repelling down waterfalls, and wandering through a hippie town. 

Now, I am back in Buenos Aires, fervently missing Bariloche and my newfound friends.

But school is keeping me busy. 

Especially because everyone in my class is Mexican.

As in, their parents are from Mexico.

They speak Spanish in Mexico.

They do not speak Spanish in St. Louis, Missouri.

I see problems in my future.