Asking Hard Questions

"Our perception of joy, fear, pain, and beauty are sharpened or dulled by the way we rub against time. My senses have become dull and this trip is an effort to sharpen them."

~ Donald Miller, from his novel Through Painted Deserts

With just a little over 12 hours left in Latin America, the freak out is quickly sinking in and I am barely managing to hold down the small panic attacks that frequently send my stomach into a thousand knots. I have officially given up on putting together coherent closing thoughts, but one thing is at least certain: Latin America has changed me. The "how" might not be fully realized for some time still, but I do at least feel like I am a more observant, inquisitive, and active person. Now, the question is how to keep that new spirit alive upon returning?

Why does it take leaving to ask the hard questions? Why does being in a new, unfamiliar place bring up issues and ideas you somehow simply failed to ask before? That you failed to ask because you don't care, or perhaps because you assumed you already knew the answers?

It wasn't until I was asked by a young South African traveler about my opinions on America as a country, did I find myself realizing that I had never really thought about it that much. Do you like America, he asked bluntly. I...I guess, well not really, there are a lot of problems ..but I like home...I...(aka big FAIL). Then he asked, would you prefer to live in America than in any other country? I struggled to spit out something about how I love traveling and would love to live somewhere new, but also how I took for granted what it means to be a woman in America and so in conclusion...I don't know...(aka mild fail.) The overly-simple and almost naive questions managed to bring up issues I had somehow previously never considered.

Likewise, during my last couple days in Buenos Aires, I have been staying in the apartment of a new and dear friend. In a deep conversation comprised of some serious Spanglish, my friend and I began discussing 9-11, something a young American should be pretty savvy about. The conversation then moved on to a critique of the mentality of the American public. And I found that I didn't have composed-enough thoughts to defend South America's criticism of the States. And it's not like I'm a die-hard, flag-waving patriot. But at the same time, I will be the first person to attempt to prove that not all Americans are ignorant, stupid, war-loving imperialists. And just as I had begun to make some head-way to prove Americans aren't all terrible, we turned on the movie Zeitgeist and I quickly became embarrassed for my country's soul. And then I realized...why am I being shown this movie that came out 4 years ago about 9-11, about my country, by an Argentinian who has already seen it twice?

Again, why does it take leaving home to ask hard questions about your home? Or about the world? And just as I was beginning to think deeper about this, I came to the page in Donald Miller's memoir Through Painted Deserts about his road-trip across the U.S. where he wrote: "It's funny how the questions never come up in the room you grew up in, in the town in which you were born. You have to stand back a few feet and see things in a new way before you realize nothing that is happening to you is normal."

Bus Count

The total count is in folks:

In the 225 days I have been out of the country...

336.75 hours were spent traveling by bus*,

which calculates to 14 days,

and 6% of my total trip...

*Does not include travel time via train, car, pickup truck bed,

taxi, boat, plane, motorcycle, or by foot

One Final WOW!

The border between Brazil and the northern-most tip of Argentina falls smack in the middle of the Iguazu River. In the middle of this river (Iguazu meaning Big Water), lies one of the most breathtaking natural marvels in the world. Iguazu Falls is comprised of not one, but rather 275 sheets of water cascading down 270 ft to meet the raging river.

According to local legend, the falls were created by an angry god. The god had planned to marry the beautiful Naipi. Yet to escape the inevitable marriage, Naipi fled with her mortal lover Taroba downriver a in a canoe. Furious, the god sliced the water in front of their canoe, condemning the lovers to an eternal fall.

Whether one believes in myths or not, there is no denying that these waterfalls fill you with a sense of wonder and almost spiritual serenity while standing before them...

Without having any definitive reason why, the falls were on my bucket list of things to do in South America. Unfortunately they are incredibly far from...well, anything. It is a 20 hour bus ride (one way) from chaotic and noisy Buenos Aires to the small town of Puerto Iguazu - which survives largely on tourism but yet remarkably manages to retain a sense of local character. Exhausted and pocket-poor from 7 months of traveling, I decided this would be my last big trip, one final hurrah before closing out my adventures.

As I boarded the bus, I thought, great I can use the next 20 hours to reflect on my trip and to contemplate what it's all meant to me; what I want to take from it all. Yet instead, I managed to spend 20 hours thinking of everything but my trip; attempting to pretend that it's not coming to an end. Yet my attempts all failed and as I checked into the hostel it felt like the gray clouds outside were also inside my head; the imminent end of my travels was raining down harder than the drizzle outside.

Yet the next day the weather cleared and somehow so did my mind. When I got to the entrance of the National Park, I was overwhelmed by a sense of pure excitement and childhood glee. I skipped through the gate with two sweet girls I met at the Eco Yoga Park and we raced towards the first mirador (lookout point), not even really sure what we were about to see.

What we eventually saw was unreal. Neither words nor pictures can do justice to the sheer magnitude and beauty that poured down. The platform of the mirador lets you stand almost on top of the water; the cool mist from the splash instantly soaks your clothes. Everywhere I turned there was a rainbow, or two or three.

A train resembling Disney World's carted us from one side of the park to the next and the walkways were filled with visitors lugging huge digital cameras around their necks. I stood in front of the sheets of water surrounded by hundreds of other tourists speaking dozens of different languages. Yet as I stood in one of the most touristy places in all of Latin America, the crowd somehow seemed invisible. I was absorbed completely by the natural beauty.

And when I did finally come around to noticing the crowd, I realized: Here I am, in one of the most beautiful places in the world, staring at something few are able to see. Here I am, not only fortunate enough to see the famed Iguazu Falls, but fortunate enough to have Iguazu Falls be the final spectacle after 7 months of incredible adventures.

It was then that I was no longer overwhelmed by the waterfalls in front of me, but rather by the beauty of my trip.

Wearable Memories

7 months ago, Amanda and I began acquiring bracelets as souvenirs. She began the tradition of wearing her memories when she studied abroad in Spain in 2007, and this trip I quickly jumped on board to copy her. Overwhelmed by the incredible artisanry that lined the streets in every Central American city, we decided to put a limit on ourselves - 1 bracelet per country we said, for the sake of both our budgets and, more importantly, our physical appearance.

Now, too many bracelets later, and after too much time since my wrists have seen the sun, I´ve been thinking that it finally may be time to un-hippify myself in preparation for my return to the States...This morning as I sat in the sun soaking up some much needed vitamin D after spending my days in cloudy Buenos Aires (damn you Southern hemisphere autumn!), I decided perhaps it would be a perfect opportunity to untangle the ridiculous amount of hemp and beads lathering my scrawny wrists. I should remove them while I have a chance to even out the tanlines, I vainly thought to myself.

Yet it wasn´t long after I removed first Costa Rica...then Peru...and stared down at my foreign-looking arm, that the tears began to flow. My new Australian friend Ella looked up from her book. What´s wrong, she asked. Then she noticed my arm. Put them back on, she said. It´s not over yet. And with her help and my confusion of both laughter and tears, we tied them back on.

With exactly 1 week left of my Latin American Adventure, I find myself in complete denial that it is all coming to an end. I am currently making more plans for the month of June in New Mexico than I am spending on planning my time left here in Argentina. I already have 2 camping trips, 1 wedding, 1 job, 1 house-sitting opportunity, and 8 coffee dates planned for just June. Yet even as my calender fills up, it all still seems surreal. Every day I sit down to write in my journal and attempt to arrive at some kind of closure for this trip. And every day I fail to do so.

As I wrote a month ago (and obviously still haven´t answered): How do you cope with the finish line? Not sure. But I am sure that I will at least continue wearing my bracelets until I arrive home and have my mom to hug me and have cell phone access to Amanda. I just don´t think I´m strong enough to take off my wearable memories alone...

Anorexia and Plastic Surgery in a Vain City

For months I had heard from fellow Americans, Europeans, Australians, even Peruvians and Chileans, that Argentina has the most attractive women in all of South America. "Just wait until you get there," I frequently heard guys rave to their traveling comrades. So it wasn't a surprise whenI finally got to Buenos Aires and found myself surrounded by a remarkable amount of Barbie-shaped, and dressed, women.

For the first time in 7 months, running is not an unusual thing to do. Granted some men still mutter "rubia" (blondie) under their breath as I weave in and out of the pedestrian crowds on my way to one of the many parks in this green city. Yet my blonde hair and active nature doesn't stick out nearly as much as it did in Central America and Ecuador and Peru. And once I reach the grassy fields I am no longer alone, but instead surrounded by both men and women running, walking, roller blading, and biking. How wonderful, I thought, finally active South Americans! But it was only a few days later that this glamor and fitness began to show its true colors...

Buenos Aires has been deemed the "Paris of South America," for it's European styled architecture, prideful citizens (almost to the extent of snobby), and fashion conscious residents. Women wear tight jeans, heeled boots, and leather coats. Their male counterparts aren't scrappy looking either. Are the people more attractive here, or do they just care more about their appearance?

As I meander through the city, sneaking looks at my map only on street corners so I don't appear lost, both men and women give me the once over. Men turn their heads because my blonde hair (even among so many European descendants) is still uncommon. Yet women take a second glance at me because my flip-flops are unacceptable and my gray hoodie is less than fashion-savvy. You may think I'm exaggerating or being self-conscious...I only wish I was. On the subway, there is not a single local wearing sandals. And no matter what neighborhood you take the subway to, you are bound to see a designer clothing store within 45 seconds of emerging from underground.

So Argentinians are vain. Fine, no big deal. No big deal, until it becomes a sociological problem and a contagious disease. Argentina has the second highest rate of anorexia in the world, closely following Japan. According to ALUBA, the Association for the Fight Against Anorexia and Bulimia, based in Buenos Aires, reports that "uno de cada venticinco jovenes argentinos sufre de Bulimia o Anorexia" (1 in 20 Argentinian youths suffer from bulimia or anorexia). Ummm...this seems high guys. No?

Apparently not enough for health centers to care. For Argentina also manages to rank at the top for the highest number of cosmetic surgeries in the world. While free health care is available to any Argentinian resident, many choose to instead opt for private health care options, not only offering basic services but including cosmetic surgery coverage. If your insurance is good enough, one can get up to 1 plastic surgery per year.

And even without free coverage, aesthetic surgery is more than affordable down here in one of the vainest countries I've ever been in (and I'm from the Home of Hollywood at that). People are now flying from all over the world to Buenos Aires to get in on some super plastic surgery savings. According to one report, patients can pay up to 75% less for their desired surgery than in the U.S. or Europe. And what better place to enjoy your post-surgery than by learning to Tango or shop in one of the sexiest cities in the world?

In conclusion, Buenos Aires it's true that you are beautiful - whether it's fake or not. And I'm very glad I visited you. But I am also more than content in my dirty sandals. Fortunate for you, you only have to deal with me being an eye-sore for just a few more days.

You Can Sleep When You're Dead...Or Can You?

In a city that literally never sleeps (clubs don't even open until 2 a.m. and close after 6 a.m. giving everyone just enough time to shower before work) and that is known for it's lively Tango shows, extravagant meals, and colorful open-air craft markets, how does a cemetery manage to make the Buenos Aires To-Do List?

But once you pass through the towering Greek marble columns of world-famous Recoleta Cemetery, you immediately understand that even this city of the dead is anything but dying.

Nestled within one of Buenos Aires' poshest neighborhoods, residents and tourists alike pour through the cemetery's entrance to wander the narrow streets of the wealthy dead, snapping photos and ogling at the artistry that has been poured into the marble tombs since the cemetery's creation in 1822.

Walking through the city walls you are transformed into a different world and a hodge-podge of history. Every direction you turn, there is an angel, a saint or Jesus looking back at you. As you meander along the brick streets, it is easy to not only lose track of time but to also forget that you are in fact living in the 20th century and surrounded by modern skyscrapers filled with busy bees processing their 9-5 paperwork.

Voted to be the 3rd most beautiful cemetery in the world - after those in London and Paris, Recoleta Cemetery is as much an art gallery as a place of mourning. The cemetery is laid out on a grid system of quaint alleys all lined with trees and marked by street signs. Tombs are made from marble, brass, stone, and stained glass, and fresh flowers mark almost every grave. Gothic Revival architecture mixes with Neoclassical, Art Nuevo and Art Deco styles.

The cemetery walls contain over 6,400 mausoleums, and the monthly rent to house your ancestors is quickly becoming astronomical, forcing some families to put their tombs up for sale. And who would buy someone else's tomb? Don't worry, the waiting list for a plot inside Recoleta is also growing.

Although there are several rumors floating about of ghosts still haunting this dead city, Recoleta Cemetery is anything but creepy. Perhaps the ghosts' presence is simply to reiterate that Buenos Aires never actually sleeps.

Lessons from a Vegan Yoga Farm

Things I have learned from working on an organic, vegan farm:

1. How many meals a week should be principally comprised of squash: 1. How many meals a week are based largely on some variation of cooked squash: 14.
2. When you live on a farm in the winter your crops (and thus your meals) consist of: squash, arugula, and apples.
3. Chickens are an essential component on a farm, even when you work on a vegan one that doesn't allow the consumption of meat or eggs. No one knows what purpose the chickens have; I'm going with esthetic value?
4. Like chickens, onions are also apparently essential to any true farm. Chives and pearl onions speckle the crops even though it is against the farm's religion to eat anything from the onion family.
5. I have lost my unhealthy obsession with weeding.
6. But have since gained an unhealthy obsession with uprooting dead squash plants.
7. Flies are just a way of life.
8. Despite the frost on the ground and the fact that I can see my breath as I pull weeds every morning, sunrise is incredibly gorgeous.
9. After eating nothing but squash and arugula and apples, a vegan birthday cake made with sugar, dulce de leche, (and yes apples too), tasted like a little slice of heaven.

Vegan Eco-Village Yoga Farm

No sex, no meat, no eggs, and no caffeine. I have somehow landed in quite possibly the most random project of them all: an Eco-village Yoga Farm.

Last Friday I loaded Amanda into a taxi for the airport, gave her a hug, and managed to hold back my tears until I reached the elevator of the 5-Star Hotel we splurged on for our last two nights together as two traveling blondes. Over 6 months later, our trip together has come to a close. Amanda flew to meet her family in Cairo, and I have one month more to fill in Argentina. Only once the taxi door had closed and pulled away from the curb into Buenos Aires traffic did the idea of traveling solo begin to seem quite...daunting.

As I sat in the suddenly vacuous hotel room alone, nervously eating the chocolate Easter bunny Amanda gifted me, I googled directions for my next destination: The Eco Yoga Park. Having heard about a volunteer project where you help farm and learn yoga for only $12 a day – including room and 3 meals, I decided what could be a better way to begin my solo travels than by spending time outdoors and meditating on what I want out of life?

The farm is located just 60km west of Buenos Aires, but evolved into a 3 ½ hour journey. Getting to the small pueblo of La Serenisima took an incredibly confusing bus ride that was refreshingly reminiscent of traveling through less-developed Central America and resulted in being dropped off on the side of the road among the cows and green pastures that comprise most of Argentina. After requesting the aid of almost every single passenger to pass my bag overhead and quite literally falling out of the jammed-packed public bus, I attempted not to appear lost as the bus pulled away in a puff of black exhaust. Now what? But to my confused relief, the Traveling Gods heard my silent nervous prayer and across the street sat an idling taxi. “Conoces la Eco Yoga Park?” I asked. “Quizas,” maybe, he said. And thus, I arrived still not sure what to expect.

A little over a week later, I can finally say that I am glad I made this my first stop of solo travel. My days consist of working in the organic garden for 4 hours in the morning, running, learning to cook vegan food in mass quantity (18 volunteers here at present), eating my body weight in vegetable casseroles and whole wheat chipati flat bread, doing yoga for an hour and half, and reading and writing. What can I say folks, life is hard.

To be honest, this project is largely what I thought it would be. Everything except for the minor detail they left off the website that the Eco Yoga Park is not just a relaxation retreat for wary travelers. But in fact is also home to practicing Hare Krsna monks and nuns. Hare Krsna is a religious movement from India that follows the ancient Vedic scriptures where Krsna is God and yoga and meditation are the processes by which to attain an understanding with the divine. Siddhartha, or Buddha, was apparently just one of 10 manifestations of Krsna.

But while there is certainly a Hare Krsna presence, it is by no means imposing or converting. The kitchen is holy and one is not supposed to eat or drink while cooking; a lesson in patience if nothing else, for I can't even begin to explain how hard it is to peel a bucket of mandarins without popping a slice in my mouth, or how much self-restraint it takes to not sample raw cookie dough. The monks are dressed in flowing white suits and we can often hear singing and chanting coming from the temple at odd hours; yet they too carry cell phones and are eager to laugh and chitchat. And while the nuns busy themselves in the afternoon in the temple feeding and clothing the Gods, we sunbathe on the grass swatting at flies and gossiping about relationships and late nights in Buenos Aires.

The religion perhaps is the reason this eco-village sprouted, but it is now certainly not the main reason for the village's success or life. The community is sustained off volunteers work and pocket change, and most of the volunteers are eager for a retreat from traveling and a detox from Buenos Aires. A nice symbiotic relationship's going on here in central Argentina.

And perhaps this is the universe's way of compensating for my continuous frustration that Cornell University doesn't offer a comparative religions course. Now I find myself in a hands-on Eastern Religions class.

Not sure exactly how long I'll be here or where I'm heading next, but at least rest assured that I am in quite possibly the safest place in all of South America and comfortable being a hippie yoga buff for at least few weeks.