Today was awesome and started out normal. I had plans to meet my friends at the bus station to get a ride out to an estancia, which we successfully did. The estancia was amazing, it was out on the pampas of Argentina, a couple hours outside of Buenos Aires. I had an awesome time because it was the first time that I had been riding in a while. Lynn and Caroline had ridden a lot so they helped me out. I galloped a little so that was really fun, but the thing that I'll remember is the food. They had an asado that was incredible and I can't believe how many plates of meat they brought out for us to eat. I could have sat there all day eating if I hadn't gone out to ride in the afternoon too.
We got back and I bought tickets at the bus station to go to Foz de Iguazu, then Rachel and I went to a tango show. The show was really amazing but the night will most likely be remembered for what happened after I left the tango show.
I had just dropped Rachel off in a cab, heading for Palermo, and I decided to walk my way back. I was pretty tired, feet and legs were sore from riding and I smelled pretty bad. While walking back, I just happened to run into a girl that I met in Pichilemu. I didn't know her very well but she was friendly enough to invite me to go to a reggae show with her. I initially told her no because I had/have no cash on me (I'm writing shortely after getting home) but she told me that she was going to pay for drinks, so naturally I went.
She started to talk to me and began telling me how she had a deep love affair with an artist from Pichilemu. I didn't know her or anything about this so I just said "oh." That, apparently, means "please continue and add more details." So she continued with more details. Apparently she had met this artist and they had had an affair, she thought they were in love. Well, shocker, he wasn't leaving his girl for a white chic that was moving back to the united states in less than a month. So she's there and realizes it wasn't going anywhere and decides that because the guy "wasn't being true to himself," that she should tell his girlfriend. Two things should be noted at this time: 1) she speaks horrible spanish, I mean terrible and 2) she's a complete nutter. I'm not talking about those girls that get emotional because you didn't interpret what she says (mild craziness, but something that is possible to deal with/we need to learn to deal with), I'm talking she will buy drinks for random guys and start dancing at the front of a stage for a group that has not inspired any other dancers so that she is obstructing many views (although I'm sure most didn't mind, she is attractive). This is exactly what she did tonight. The only person she got to dance with here to the reggae is this girl that quacks like a duck during all the songs. I enjoyed my free booze and the reggae show. After it finished, a bunch of the guys came over and started talking to us about music. We (I) were (was) conversing the girl that quacks like a duck (who the bandmembers and workers actually call duckwoman) stole my hat. I was pissed, because I love my dodger hat and it's also my only hat. So I waited for my time to get the hat back (which I did) and I noticed that the girl was speaking to the barpeople...and didn't look happy at all. I went over there to find that they charged her for a 100 peso bottle of wine (she called the waitress a lying bitch, so that wasn't helping her cause) when she had asked for a cheaper bottle. Neither her nor the waitress in charge of the bill spoke a common language so it's understandable that there would be a difference in price (although I would not be surprised if the waitress did this on purpose, the south americans think it's cool to overcharge americans, it's one of there past times). She gets all pissed and walks outside, I try to talk her down and I see that one of the bartenders has come outside. I tell her that I'll go talk to him to see if I can get some money back.
So I'm talking to this guy and I'm making headway when I look around and the girl has just taken off. I don't know what to do so I apologize to the barman and take off. Absolutely nothing bad happened to me, I didn't have to pay a cent, I kept my dodger hat and I enjoyed a show, but I can't help feeling bad for the girl, even if she is a complete nutter.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Hostile Hostel Life
Yesterday was a weird day, everything I love and hate about hanging out in hostals. I had a long night on Friday (I hung out with a friend from UCLA, Lynn and her friend Rachel and Lynn's twin Sarah). So I obviously woke up really late, way later than I normally do, at around 2. I hadn't any plans for the day until I got an email from Lynn saying that she, Rachel and Sarah were going to go to the Buenos Aires cemetary (way more amazing than it sounds and a lot less creepy) and after were going to hang out in the park, drink maté and listen to music. They had given me a time and a place, but neglected to tell me how to get there. I was a little nervous so I asked reception and this guy behind me quickly tells me that he's going that way right now if I want to go with him. Obviously I took the free help and went with the guy.
He was a really cool guy, Juan from Columbia, that is here in Buenos Aires to study literature (letra) at one of the many universities here. I've recently started reading in spanish (real reading, like books) and so I was asking him about the best authors to read and he gave me two names that I'm going to investigate (Borges from Argentina and Marquez from Colombia). I tell him I've read Marquez, but only in english and somehow this quickly transforms into a discussion about books in english. He ends up telling me that his favorite english author is Faulkner and I was curious how the translation would, well, translate. He quickly responds that he didn't read Faulkner in spanish but in english. I thought that was quite impressive, seeing as I have never read a Faulkner novel (although after reading {though maybe not understanding} Gravity's Rainbow by Pynchon I think everything will be easy.
After we got to the Cemetary stop on the bus, he tells me that the Library is a cool place to check out and really close. I thanked him and we parted ways, me to the cemetary, he to the library.
Hanging out with Lynn and crew was really fun, because she really learns a lot about the places she's in and tried to be best tour guide possible. And then hanging out and having maté in the park was just nice and relaxing, except for the mozzies that come out at dark. When we left we had talked about meeting up later that night but it wasn't a certainty.
It's hard for us to get in contact with lynn, her phone doesn't really work the best and the phone in the hostel is definitely not up to par. The phone here has the habit of cutting off when you least expect it. Last night, it kept cutting off early, so I tried to call Lynn four consecutive times. And after it all, I still only left a message. So that just leaves me in the hostel, hanging out with my computer and perusing the internet. They have free wifi in the hostel, which is really cool, but it only works in the lounge. This means I spent a lot of time just sitting on the couch by myself, which invites the solicitations of the hostel crazies.
Hostel crazies are a common phenomenon, everyone who has stayed in a hostal will have a really random/bad/scary/funny experience to tell. My worst/funniest/scariest experience has been a mainstay. Even after traveling all through Europe in 2005, it came when my brother and I were in Ireland in 2004. We stayed at the dodgiest hostel ever, and we were aware of it as soon as we arrived. We got into the hostel and the beds were all horribly stained, sunken (truly sunken as only a hostel goer can understand) and there weren't much in the way of sheets. There was also these 4 shady russian guys in there. We were a little nervous so we just put our bags down and took off for the night. We had dinner and a few beers but didn't stay out very long because we didn't feel comfortable with these guys next to our stuff. We got back, and while getting ready for bed, I was asked by the russians if I wanted, you know, to do any cocaine with them. A little shook up, I decided against it and went to go to the bathroom. When I walked into the stall the ground was all wet (thank god I was wearing sandals) and there was no bowl, just the head of the toilet and it was still running. I rushed back to the room and Reynnie and I had a quick pow-wow, slept (if you can call that sleeping) and left well before checkout the next morning.
Back to me on the couch, open to solicitations. I'm sitting there following fantasy baseball, checking emails, just killing time when a condom falls into my lap. This is something unusual for me so I look up inquisitively to see this coked out (or maybe now sober but had done enough coke in her time for a very small country), incredibly skinny and faked tanned lady standing right above me. Like most coke heads, she is of indeterminable age. She looks a solid 60, but probably is closer to 35. In addition, her combination of coked out look plus fake tan gives her a leathery look (which is appropriate I guess, seeing as Buenos Aires is famous for it's leather). What's classic about this whole situation is that she is wearing a very short dress and is inviting me to a party (also asking for me to pay a bit for the party). I say thanks for the condom (although it's not necessary seeing as I already have a woman repeller aka bushy beard inc. neck beard), but that I am going out with my friends later.
So she leaves me alone for a second, and I just sit there waiting for an email from Lynn telling me where to meet, no dice. Of course I knew this was going to happen. When I need something to get me out, I get stranded. While waiting Leather Coke lady has invited some other person to play pool, and the pool table is right next to the couch. Every time she walks by or takes a shot, she warns me not to look as she bends over or leans to hike up her dress. I definitely feel more uncomfortable. I notice that I'm sizing her up to see how much damage she could possibly inflict if she set her mind to it. Very small. And skinny, but you know what they say, never underestimate the strength of a coke head. Well, maybe they don't say that, but they should.
She finishes her game and decides to come and talk to me and with all the people watching I don't move to show my weakness. As with the lot of cokeheads, her ability to talk has been heavily impaired because of the cracked, pulled in cokehead lips. This makes understanding her near impossible, especially since this is all in spanish. She starts small talk/flirting. The "oh, so where are you from?" "do you hate bush?" "what part are you from?" followed by "so you have Shwarzennegger as your governor?"
She loved that Arnold was the governor of my homestate and found every opportunity to bring him back up. I find a way to get out of the conversation so she goes to another part of the lounge. I'm left in peace, but I'm starting to get really hungry and Lynn hasn't emailed me to tell me what's up. 10:30. Email from Lynn, going to a birthday party (which I was aware of, but she didn't seem to thrilled about going to the party and was thinking of just hanging out with Rachel and me). Well I've got to get out of here and get some food.
I think the queasy-ness of the previous situation drastically built my appetite and I am starting to think of going a little bigger than the average dinner. But first I have to put my computer back. On my way back this lady is in the back out the lounge talking to this group and as I'm about to pass by she yells at me to come over. She asks me what I was looking at on the internet and I tell her I'm a big sports fan and I was following my baseball team. She responds by saying to her friends "this guy is from california and Shwarzennegger is his governor." Goddam you, Arnold. Had you not been the governor I might have been able to slip into the dark recesses of this coke head's short term memory challenged brain and she'd leave me be. Her friends laugh about it/at her and that gives me enough time to start to walk away again. She yells again for me to come over and just proceeds to do bad spanish impersonations of the Terminator (which is hilarious now, but I was overwhelmingly uncomortable at the time and only managed a light guffaw). Her friends laugh at this/at her again but louder and gives me enough time to slip into my door and tuck my computer away. I grab my coat and blow by her on my way to dinner.
I get out and have a great dinner, beef with peppers, mushrooms and potatoes with a light italian red sauce and a split of wine to myself. There is some football (soccer) on the tube and I thouroughly enjoy myself.
I get back to the hostel a little after midnight (late dinner because I was waiting to see if I was going to dinner with Lynn but pretty normal time for Argentinians), and to my great relief Leather Coke lady has left. A huge burden has been lifted. I find some of my friends from the few nights before and they implore me to take a swig of wine and suddenly a guitar has popped out. There are two guys in a band, an Uruguayan and a Brazilian, and they proceed to play these really beautiful latin songs. They wear out and a chilean guy asks to borrow the guitar. Surprisingly, he also can really play and has a great voice. He's playing mostly Chilean songs and when he realizes that one of the girls is getting really into, he switches from the politically loaded folks songs of Chile to the Chilean ballads. I don't blame him, the girl was into it.
It's funny how a day at the hostel can start out simple and good and rapidly devolve into a uncomfortably comedic moment and back into a great night. I guess the unpredictability of the hostel is what gives it such a unique atmosphere. I understand why people don't want to stay at hostels, but for stories sake, you'll get no better environment than a hostel.
He was a really cool guy, Juan from Columbia, that is here in Buenos Aires to study literature (letra) at one of the many universities here. I've recently started reading in spanish (real reading, like books) and so I was asking him about the best authors to read and he gave me two names that I'm going to investigate (Borges from Argentina and Marquez from Colombia). I tell him I've read Marquez, but only in english and somehow this quickly transforms into a discussion about books in english. He ends up telling me that his favorite english author is Faulkner and I was curious how the translation would, well, translate. He quickly responds that he didn't read Faulkner in spanish but in english. I thought that was quite impressive, seeing as I have never read a Faulkner novel (although after reading {though maybe not understanding} Gravity's Rainbow by Pynchon I think everything will be easy.
After we got to the Cemetary stop on the bus, he tells me that the Library is a cool place to check out and really close. I thanked him and we parted ways, me to the cemetary, he to the library.
Hanging out with Lynn and crew was really fun, because she really learns a lot about the places she's in and tried to be best tour guide possible. And then hanging out and having maté in the park was just nice and relaxing, except for the mozzies that come out at dark. When we left we had talked about meeting up later that night but it wasn't a certainty.
It's hard for us to get in contact with lynn, her phone doesn't really work the best and the phone in the hostel is definitely not up to par. The phone here has the habit of cutting off when you least expect it. Last night, it kept cutting off early, so I tried to call Lynn four consecutive times. And after it all, I still only left a message. So that just leaves me in the hostel, hanging out with my computer and perusing the internet. They have free wifi in the hostel, which is really cool, but it only works in the lounge. This means I spent a lot of time just sitting on the couch by myself, which invites the solicitations of the hostel crazies.
Hostel crazies are a common phenomenon, everyone who has stayed in a hostal will have a really random/bad/scary/funny experience to tell. My worst/funniest/scariest experience has been a mainstay. Even after traveling all through Europe in 2005, it came when my brother and I were in Ireland in 2004. We stayed at the dodgiest hostel ever, and we were aware of it as soon as we arrived. We got into the hostel and the beds were all horribly stained, sunken (truly sunken as only a hostel goer can understand) and there weren't much in the way of sheets. There was also these 4 shady russian guys in there. We were a little nervous so we just put our bags down and took off for the night. We had dinner and a few beers but didn't stay out very long because we didn't feel comfortable with these guys next to our stuff. We got back, and while getting ready for bed, I was asked by the russians if I wanted, you know, to do any cocaine with them. A little shook up, I decided against it and went to go to the bathroom. When I walked into the stall the ground was all wet (thank god I was wearing sandals) and there was no bowl, just the head of the toilet and it was still running. I rushed back to the room and Reynnie and I had a quick pow-wow, slept (if you can call that sleeping) and left well before checkout the next morning.
Back to me on the couch, open to solicitations. I'm sitting there following fantasy baseball, checking emails, just killing time when a condom falls into my lap. This is something unusual for me so I look up inquisitively to see this coked out (or maybe now sober but had done enough coke in her time for a very small country), incredibly skinny and faked tanned lady standing right above me. Like most coke heads, she is of indeterminable age. She looks a solid 60, but probably is closer to 35. In addition, her combination of coked out look plus fake tan gives her a leathery look (which is appropriate I guess, seeing as Buenos Aires is famous for it's leather). What's classic about this whole situation is that she is wearing a very short dress and is inviting me to a party (also asking for me to pay a bit for the party). I say thanks for the condom (although it's not necessary seeing as I already have a woman repeller aka bushy beard inc. neck beard), but that I am going out with my friends later.
So she leaves me alone for a second, and I just sit there waiting for an email from Lynn telling me where to meet, no dice. Of course I knew this was going to happen. When I need something to get me out, I get stranded. While waiting Leather Coke lady has invited some other person to play pool, and the pool table is right next to the couch. Every time she walks by or takes a shot, she warns me not to look as she bends over or leans to hike up her dress. I definitely feel more uncomfortable. I notice that I'm sizing her up to see how much damage she could possibly inflict if she set her mind to it. Very small. And skinny, but you know what they say, never underestimate the strength of a coke head. Well, maybe they don't say that, but they should.
She finishes her game and decides to come and talk to me and with all the people watching I don't move to show my weakness. As with the lot of cokeheads, her ability to talk has been heavily impaired because of the cracked, pulled in cokehead lips. This makes understanding her near impossible, especially since this is all in spanish. She starts small talk/flirting. The "oh, so where are you from?" "do you hate bush?" "what part are you from?" followed by "so you have Shwarzennegger as your governor?"
She loved that Arnold was the governor of my homestate and found every opportunity to bring him back up. I find a way to get out of the conversation so she goes to another part of the lounge. I'm left in peace, but I'm starting to get really hungry and Lynn hasn't emailed me to tell me what's up. 10:30. Email from Lynn, going to a birthday party (which I was aware of, but she didn't seem to thrilled about going to the party and was thinking of just hanging out with Rachel and me). Well I've got to get out of here and get some food.
I think the queasy-ness of the previous situation drastically built my appetite and I am starting to think of going a little bigger than the average dinner. But first I have to put my computer back. On my way back this lady is in the back out the lounge talking to this group and as I'm about to pass by she yells at me to come over. She asks me what I was looking at on the internet and I tell her I'm a big sports fan and I was following my baseball team. She responds by saying to her friends "this guy is from california and Shwarzennegger is his governor." Goddam you, Arnold. Had you not been the governor I might have been able to slip into the dark recesses of this coke head's short term memory challenged brain and she'd leave me be. Her friends laugh about it/at her and that gives me enough time to start to walk away again. She yells again for me to come over and just proceeds to do bad spanish impersonations of the Terminator (which is hilarious now, but I was overwhelmingly uncomortable at the time and only managed a light guffaw). Her friends laugh at this/at her again but louder and gives me enough time to slip into my door and tuck my computer away. I grab my coat and blow by her on my way to dinner.
I get out and have a great dinner, beef with peppers, mushrooms and potatoes with a light italian red sauce and a split of wine to myself. There is some football (soccer) on the tube and I thouroughly enjoy myself.
I get back to the hostel a little after midnight (late dinner because I was waiting to see if I was going to dinner with Lynn but pretty normal time for Argentinians), and to my great relief Leather Coke lady has left. A huge burden has been lifted. I find some of my friends from the few nights before and they implore me to take a swig of wine and suddenly a guitar has popped out. There are two guys in a band, an Uruguayan and a Brazilian, and they proceed to play these really beautiful latin songs. They wear out and a chilean guy asks to borrow the guitar. Surprisingly, he also can really play and has a great voice. He's playing mostly Chilean songs and when he realizes that one of the girls is getting really into, he switches from the politically loaded folks songs of Chile to the Chilean ballads. I don't blame him, the girl was into it.
It's funny how a day at the hostel can start out simple and good and rapidly devolve into a uncomfortably comedic moment and back into a great night. I guess the unpredictability of the hostel is what gives it such a unique atmosphere. I understand why people don't want to stay at hostels, but for stories sake, you'll get no better environment than a hostel.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
¿De tal pal tal astilla?¿O no?
I made a mistake, I shouldn't have made my trip to Buenos Aires so long. I'm already shaking for the ocean. I guess I figured it would be fine, but with missing three weeks due to injury, I never really got burnt out. I'm still ready to get back into the water. I don't have to worry, because I'll be back in Chile a week from monday, but I'm already antsy. I think one of the big reasons is that I am not a huge party guy. That's not to say I don't like knocking back a few with my friends but I'm not into the everynight sleep til 2 raging that some people can do. If I don't walk around and do stuff I start to get stir crazy.
On the whole though this trip has been cool. I have a lot easier time understanding the argentine accent, they speak a lot slower and clearer and the people have been amazing. It's funny because a lot of the Chileans in my hostile like talking to me because I am a foreigner but I still understand their slang better than a lot of the native spanish speakers here. I've made friends with the majority of the Chileans here and it's been cool that this hostile has so many spanish speakers. It's the only hostile I've been in where English isn't the main language being spoken by the people. It seems like everywhere you go the traveler's language has turned into English, and so I've tried to stay away. Here, it's been almost better than staying with my friend, because I'm using Spanish whenever I'm in the hostal.
I think my old man is going to love Buenos Aires, the people here are so conscientious about fashion, it has a real European feel and the wine is good and cheap. I think he's going to freak out with the wine, he has gotten accustomed to drinking wine and expecting to pay a lot for a bottle of good wine (especially at a restaurant) that when he gets down here and sees that a really good bottle of wine goes for 10 dollars US, I think he'll be excited. I know that when I visit BA with him it's going to be a few days filled with great food and wine and my old man commenting on how cheap everything is.
But for me, to spend lots of time here, it's gets a bit tough because I'm not quite as decadent as my dad is. I can tell that when he was younger he was much more of a party guy than me (or my brother). Plus he has gotten to the point where he frequently gets in long surf droughts. I think the crowds have finally gotten to him because when I was younger he'd usually sneak in more sessions even when it wasn't that good. So for him, a couple weeks down here without much surf will be cake. But for me, I'm ready to get back to Pichilemu.
On the whole though this trip has been cool. I have a lot easier time understanding the argentine accent, they speak a lot slower and clearer and the people have been amazing. It's funny because a lot of the Chileans in my hostile like talking to me because I am a foreigner but I still understand their slang better than a lot of the native spanish speakers here. I've made friends with the majority of the Chileans here and it's been cool that this hostile has so many spanish speakers. It's the only hostile I've been in where English isn't the main language being spoken by the people. It seems like everywhere you go the traveler's language has turned into English, and so I've tried to stay away. Here, it's been almost better than staying with my friend, because I'm using Spanish whenever I'm in the hostal.
I think my old man is going to love Buenos Aires, the people here are so conscientious about fashion, it has a real European feel and the wine is good and cheap. I think he's going to freak out with the wine, he has gotten accustomed to drinking wine and expecting to pay a lot for a bottle of good wine (especially at a restaurant) that when he gets down here and sees that a really good bottle of wine goes for 10 dollars US, I think he'll be excited. I know that when I visit BA with him it's going to be a few days filled with great food and wine and my old man commenting on how cheap everything is.
But for me, to spend lots of time here, it's gets a bit tough because I'm not quite as decadent as my dad is. I can tell that when he was younger he was much more of a party guy than me (or my brother). Plus he has gotten to the point where he frequently gets in long surf droughts. I think the crowds have finally gotten to him because when I was younger he'd usually sneak in more sessions even when it wasn't that good. So for him, a couple weeks down here without much surf will be cake. But for me, I'm ready to get back to Pichilemu.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
A Crappy Entry
Sitting in a hot dog shop, drinking a beer last night, it occurred to me that Buenos Aires is everything that my parents generation wanted from Europe in the 70s. It's interesting, cheap and overflowing with nightlife. Walking around you can see all the old architecture, and while I know that Argentina isn't as old of a country as my own, it seems to exude a greater historical importance than the cities I know. I think it's largely because I have this European construct of an important city and from which it is hard to break free. I would think that the American style of life is better but somehow I've been taught to associate culture with cafés and that is nothing more than eating food on the street. I'm not sure how this came to be, you'd think I'd pick something a little more sophisticated (I was about to bring up plaza, but that's just really drinking in the street). Maybe I should have picked Museums, but everywhere has museum. All big cities have museums, that's just a part of big city life, you get to see the work of dead people if you like. But where the big important cities separate themselves is in the café style. You can't eat on the sidewalk in tiny little towns. There's no room, or the sidewalks are dirty (or in South America's case just dirt). True civilization springs from the ability to say, "hey, I can eat on the sidewalk if I want".
I"m having a hard time thinking I'll write later.
I"m having a hard time thinking I'll write later.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The Green Bike Incident
Many of my earliest memories involved riding a neon green bike, during the second stint in Hawaii. I had learned to ride a bike with training wheels in California on this oversized red bike, but when my parents moved us back to the islands they gave me that green bike. I can still remember it well, it had white tires and parts of the frame were white too, but it was impossible to miss because is was nuclear reactor green. It was a perfect size for me at the time and I loved that thing. I would ride around outside all the time with it. I started to get better and tried doing wheelies, so I fell a lot too.
But one of times I won't ever forget was around the time I had gotten comfortable (aka: fell enough that I was accustomed to scabs) and my parents took me out for a bike ride. Of course Reynnie was there too, but in the form of a doughy little lump on the back of my dad's bike. We didn't go far, only to my school and back. But on my way back we were riding and I was racing out ahead and all of a sudden I hit something (I don't remember what, could have been a rock or a coconut) and I was launched from my bike. Nothing really happened, I was really lucky because I got really good at falling. I knew I was going down so I just looked for the softest landing and jumped into the grass and rolled it out.
Of course, this freaked my mom out. I know she had seen me come in with scrapes and cuts, bumps and bruises, but up til that point I'm not sure how much she saw me fall. Her mom instincts clicked into gear and she jumped off that bike and was right next to me in a hurry. Being four, I didn't see what the big deal was. I hadn't quite reached the point where I realize that I wasn't all important in the world and everyone should know that this fall was nothing for me. So I probably looked quizzically at my mom, and she went on and fussed a bit more until she realized that I was completely okay.
About 20 years have passed since that incident, and with those twenty years I have really learned that parenting really is a lifelong thing. Not because I have my own child (for the kid's sake, thank god), but because my mom is still there ready to help me up. I even think she knows I could do all this by myself, and that comforts her, but she'll never lose those instincts. I think Reynnie and I had enough falls (there was a period from about 4 to 14 where I probably had a scab on my body every day of my life) where my mom got used to running out to help us (and we needed it, I have broken an arm in the airport, been bounced off many a reef, Reynnie tore off his face in a freak kneeboard/skateboard accident, he also had a vicious spill after being towed on a skateboard behind a gokart). I got to the point where I was hoping that she would calm down, because I am a bit adventurous and I didn't want to worry my mom (ex. twenty third birthday I was in New Zealand and about to return home and I told her I didn't want anything for my birthday and she still sent a huge care package) . But now I just accept it, it's who she is, she likes sending care packages to me when away. It's like the green bike incident, she knows I'm fine but just wants to make sure I know she's there and that I don't forget her. She shouldn't worry, I love her, she's unequivocally the best mom ever.
Best wishes to all the great mothers out there, but especially my mom, Ellie Murphy.
Happy Mother's Day.
But one of times I won't ever forget was around the time I had gotten comfortable (aka: fell enough that I was accustomed to scabs) and my parents took me out for a bike ride. Of course Reynnie was there too, but in the form of a doughy little lump on the back of my dad's bike. We didn't go far, only to my school and back. But on my way back we were riding and I was racing out ahead and all of a sudden I hit something (I don't remember what, could have been a rock or a coconut) and I was launched from my bike. Nothing really happened, I was really lucky because I got really good at falling. I knew I was going down so I just looked for the softest landing and jumped into the grass and rolled it out.
Of course, this freaked my mom out. I know she had seen me come in with scrapes and cuts, bumps and bruises, but up til that point I'm not sure how much she saw me fall. Her mom instincts clicked into gear and she jumped off that bike and was right next to me in a hurry. Being four, I didn't see what the big deal was. I hadn't quite reached the point where I realize that I wasn't all important in the world and everyone should know that this fall was nothing for me. So I probably looked quizzically at my mom, and she went on and fussed a bit more until she realized that I was completely okay.
About 20 years have passed since that incident, and with those twenty years I have really learned that parenting really is a lifelong thing. Not because I have my own child (for the kid's sake, thank god), but because my mom is still there ready to help me up. I even think she knows I could do all this by myself, and that comforts her, but she'll never lose those instincts. I think Reynnie and I had enough falls (there was a period from about 4 to 14 where I probably had a scab on my body every day of my life) where my mom got used to running out to help us (and we needed it, I have broken an arm in the airport, been bounced off many a reef, Reynnie tore off his face in a freak kneeboard/skateboard accident, he also had a vicious spill after being towed on a skateboard behind a gokart). I got to the point where I was hoping that she would calm down, because I am a bit adventurous and I didn't want to worry my mom (ex. twenty third birthday I was in New Zealand and about to return home and I told her I didn't want anything for my birthday and she still sent a huge care package) . But now I just accept it, it's who she is, she likes sending care packages to me when away. It's like the green bike incident, she knows I'm fine but just wants to make sure I know she's there and that I don't forget her. She shouldn't worry, I love her, she's unequivocally the best mom ever.
Best wishes to all the great mothers out there, but especially my mom, Ellie Murphy.
Happy Mother's Day.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Spotlight
Surfing alone is a unique experience, especially for a Souther Californian surfer. I guess we grow up with this vision of always being around other people. Fighting for waves just seems to be part of the deal. It still doesn´t bother me, I´m sure I´ll be fine when I go back. I´ll be a local again.
But today, I fully enjoyed surfing all by myself. And the fact that it was at Punta de Lobos made it even more special. Punta de Lobos is one of those places that just seems to have magic. I guess magic isn´t quite the word I was looking for, it´s more of an energy. Punta de Lobos just seems to have a electricity to it. Something that makes it stand out and be unique amongst the beauties of Chile.
Everything about it is really extreme. Just driving in, from the opposite side you see these two huge, white morros sitting out top with whitewater lines peeling through the bay. Then once you get there, to get down into the water you have to climb down a cliff and escape into the water by two means: the first is to paddle across a little inlet and then climb onto the morros and jump off the other side, and the other is to sneak out through this little spit in the rocks. I chose the spit, seeing as it wasn´t as good out at the top by the morros. The spit is really easy because it just sucks you right out into the ocean. The only thing that you have to do is to time it right so that once you are out you don´t take a few on the head. Once out, you just paddle a little ways down the point and you´re in position A for the middle section of Lobos.
I didn´t catch a wave straight off today, I just kinda floated around enjoying the place. I saw huge groups of birds (penguins, sea gulls and these other birds that run on the water before take off and during landing) fishing. They would just dive straight down and come up with these little fish. It was interesting watching them because they would just follow the fish. It was then that I noticed that a set was popping up on the horizon and that the fish were following the wave and, in turn, the birds as well. I just happened to be in perfect position and took off with all the birds diving around me. If this were a movie, or a book even, I would have gotten a perfect ride. Well it´s not and I got axed in the head trying to make it around the first section. And then got caught inside for the next wave.
I got back out and a smaller set wave came through and I took off, a little weary of the last wave I raced out a bit ahead of it. It was impossible to see anything at this point because the sun was directly in line with the wave. It was a bright yellow light that felt like it was focusing right in on me. I somehow managed to get a feel for the wave and ducked into a quick little barrel on the inside section. It was unreal, because as I pulled in the whole barrel lit up from the sun, like there was a spotlight on me. I really, for an instant, felt incredibly important. Almost like I was the only one anywhere, surfing that moment. It was a feeling I´ll never forget. I guess, nature has a tendency to make us feel small and unimportant. I get that feeling all the time, like I could be wiped off the face of the earth by nature and nothing would happen. I like it, it seems to put things in perspective. But to get the exact opposite feeling was incredible too, maybe more so because I am so aware of the normal feeling that this was so much more unique and singular.
That one wave made my whole session and put me in a completely different state of mind. I just began to feel way more fluid on the wave. I would try to let the wave push me instead of trying to force my way around. It was a great session. Plus I got a long beautiful wave to end my session. I hitched a ride back and all I thought about on the way home was how incredible Punta de Lobos is.
But today, I fully enjoyed surfing all by myself. And the fact that it was at Punta de Lobos made it even more special. Punta de Lobos is one of those places that just seems to have magic. I guess magic isn´t quite the word I was looking for, it´s more of an energy. Punta de Lobos just seems to have a electricity to it. Something that makes it stand out and be unique amongst the beauties of Chile.
Everything about it is really extreme. Just driving in, from the opposite side you see these two huge, white morros sitting out top with whitewater lines peeling through the bay. Then once you get there, to get down into the water you have to climb down a cliff and escape into the water by two means: the first is to paddle across a little inlet and then climb onto the morros and jump off the other side, and the other is to sneak out through this little spit in the rocks. I chose the spit, seeing as it wasn´t as good out at the top by the morros. The spit is really easy because it just sucks you right out into the ocean. The only thing that you have to do is to time it right so that once you are out you don´t take a few on the head. Once out, you just paddle a little ways down the point and you´re in position A for the middle section of Lobos.
I didn´t catch a wave straight off today, I just kinda floated around enjoying the place. I saw huge groups of birds (penguins, sea gulls and these other birds that run on the water before take off and during landing) fishing. They would just dive straight down and come up with these little fish. It was interesting watching them because they would just follow the fish. It was then that I noticed that a set was popping up on the horizon and that the fish were following the wave and, in turn, the birds as well. I just happened to be in perfect position and took off with all the birds diving around me. If this were a movie, or a book even, I would have gotten a perfect ride. Well it´s not and I got axed in the head trying to make it around the first section. And then got caught inside for the next wave.
I got back out and a smaller set wave came through and I took off, a little weary of the last wave I raced out a bit ahead of it. It was impossible to see anything at this point because the sun was directly in line with the wave. It was a bright yellow light that felt like it was focusing right in on me. I somehow managed to get a feel for the wave and ducked into a quick little barrel on the inside section. It was unreal, because as I pulled in the whole barrel lit up from the sun, like there was a spotlight on me. I really, for an instant, felt incredibly important. Almost like I was the only one anywhere, surfing that moment. It was a feeling I´ll never forget. I guess, nature has a tendency to make us feel small and unimportant. I get that feeling all the time, like I could be wiped off the face of the earth by nature and nothing would happen. I like it, it seems to put things in perspective. But to get the exact opposite feeling was incredible too, maybe more so because I am so aware of the normal feeling that this was so much more unique and singular.
That one wave made my whole session and put me in a completely different state of mind. I just began to feel way more fluid on the wave. I would try to let the wave push me instead of trying to force my way around. It was a great session. Plus I got a long beautiful wave to end my session. I hitched a ride back and all I thought about on the way home was how incredible Punta de Lobos is.
Saturday, May 5, 2007
I Have Surfed A Lot
Going from not surfing to surfing six hours a day has worn me and my wound out. I slept all afternoon today after one of the best stints of surf I´ve ever had. It´s been incredibly good for the last four days, to the point where even though it was good this afternoon I stayed in and took a nap. I have gotten to that point where I just needed a break. The other reason I stayed in is because my scab got ripped off yesterday and I need at least an afternoon to get part of the scab back before I start surfing again.
The thing that is hard is that I keep wanting to hang back but the surf just has been incredible. It´s been overhead to double overhead the whole week and the sand bar has been unbelievable, I´ve been getting some ridiculous barrels the last few days and I keep thinking it can´t last for much longer and then the next day is just as good. I think it peaked yesterday afternoon. I got out before the post lunch crowd and it was me and a couple other gringos and it was just beautiful. We were all just out trading waves until the local chilean crew got out. It was a bit more aggressive after that, but I still got waves. It was the lesser surfers that got rubbed out.
It´s been really interesting traveling again, especially hanging out with americans in the water. I´ve really come to the conclusion that the american surfer is pretty average. There haven´t been any impressive surfers, and the only ones that have been good and from the states have been older guys. The two best surfers that I´ve been surfing with have been these two guys in their early-mid 40s. All the other american surfers are below average. It´s really weird, because I consider the level of surfing in California to be pretty good, but when I´m out here it seems like the majority of people aren´t that great. This is in stark contrast to the aussies who always seem to be good surfers. It´s funny, whenever I meet an american surfer out here I automatically think he won´t be as good as me and with the australians, I think they are going to be better. I always knew they were better surfers on average, but here it´s just been ridiculous.
I´m beginning to realize that my time here in Pichilemu is coming to an end. I have ten more days before I go to Buenos Aires for two weeks. And when I get back to Chile I´m only going to have 4 weeks, the majority of which will be spent outside of pichilemu, before I go off to see some friends in Australia and my family in Fiji. Once I get back to the Continent I´ll probably spend most my time up north. It´s just weird. I really feel like I´ve made a good group of friends down here and it´s going to be strange to leave behind, just because it´s been so unexpected.
The thing that is hard is that I keep wanting to hang back but the surf just has been incredible. It´s been overhead to double overhead the whole week and the sand bar has been unbelievable, I´ve been getting some ridiculous barrels the last few days and I keep thinking it can´t last for much longer and then the next day is just as good. I think it peaked yesterday afternoon. I got out before the post lunch crowd and it was me and a couple other gringos and it was just beautiful. We were all just out trading waves until the local chilean crew got out. It was a bit more aggressive after that, but I still got waves. It was the lesser surfers that got rubbed out.
It´s been really interesting traveling again, especially hanging out with americans in the water. I´ve really come to the conclusion that the american surfer is pretty average. There haven´t been any impressive surfers, and the only ones that have been good and from the states have been older guys. The two best surfers that I´ve been surfing with have been these two guys in their early-mid 40s. All the other american surfers are below average. It´s really weird, because I consider the level of surfing in California to be pretty good, but when I´m out here it seems like the majority of people aren´t that great. This is in stark contrast to the aussies who always seem to be good surfers. It´s funny, whenever I meet an american surfer out here I automatically think he won´t be as good as me and with the australians, I think they are going to be better. I always knew they were better surfers on average, but here it´s just been ridiculous.
I´m beginning to realize that my time here in Pichilemu is coming to an end. I have ten more days before I go to Buenos Aires for two weeks. And when I get back to Chile I´m only going to have 4 weeks, the majority of which will be spent outside of pichilemu, before I go off to see some friends in Australia and my family in Fiji. Once I get back to the Continent I´ll probably spend most my time up north. It´s just weird. I really feel like I´ve made a good group of friends down here and it´s going to be strange to leave behind, just because it´s been so unexpected.
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