Salvador is one of the more exotic places to visit in Brazil - it's got a completely different vibe to it. The center of the slave trade until its abolition (which only completely ended near 1900), this community has a strong african heritage, and is the home of condomblé (a mix of catholicism and arfrican mysticism) and very different food culture. It was also where everyone, including lonely planet, says "if you're going to be mugged/robbed anywhere in Brazil, Salvador will be it." Um, sweet.

So we arrived in an en-garde posture, and while trying to figure out how to get to our couchsurfing hosts apartment had our first bahian street food - acaraje. It's basically a hushpuppy, cut in half, with a creamy paste and shrimp inside (this first one was meh, so we actually didn't try it again for several days). We took the bus to his house, and that night the three of us went to the Pelorinho - the historical center of the town, which surprisingly, is also still the poor neighborhood despite being the tourist part. We would end up spending most of our time here, as it's the picturesque and cultural center of the city.

In the following days we walked along the coast, seeing the beaches filled with colorful sunbrellas, take a stroll through a few handicraft markets, touring magnificent (and oftentimes decaying) colonial buildings and churches, the squares where slaves were brought and sold, and running into bands of drummers parading down the cobblestoned streets. We ate the regional dishes like Moqueca (fish stew) and Bobó (another kind of stew).

Every day we would turn an extra corner and find another wonderful hill full of colorful houses. This was truly the first place that we got to take our time in a place (i know, i know, 5 days is only a relatively long time to be in a place).  Only once did I feel unsafe in the city, while carrying two hammocks through the emptying streets around 9 at night. And only really because the street vendor insisted we get a taxi for the three block trek home. 

Well, there was one other time that I felt nervous for our safety. We took the bus when we left our couch surfers apartment and headed into town to our hotel. We had all of our things in our large packs and the bus got very crowded. We had taken this bus several times in the couple days we had there, and knew that we went down the coast, up a hill, down a hill, up a hill, down it, and up one more hill to the Pelo.

I mistimed our trek and because it would be a struggle to pass all the people in the aisles to the exit, we got up early and started moving up. Unfortunately we got up way too soon (one hill early) and it was almost impossible for people to get by us to the exit of the bus, AND we were standing in the "reserved for disabled/pregnant/retired persons" section and a few of these retired people started verbally assaulting us and pushing me, forcing us to get off the bus about 1km from our destination. I owed Erin a drink for that one.

On our last day we opted to have a guide take us to a few places that would be difficult to do on foot and on our own. We first went to a local market that sold the food to restaurants and the people that sold fruit on the street, as well as many goods required for condomblé rituals and offerings. There are a lot of similarities between condomble and other african-based new world mysticisms, such as Louisiana Voodoo and Haitian Vodou (I almost bought a voodoo doll). It was interesting how the catholic church tried to combine this mysticism into it's calendar and saints in order to phase them into christianity, but were unsuccessful at actually getting the locals to give up their spirits.

Speaking of which, our next stop was the Bonfim church. You may have at one point noticed a little string tied around my wrist, which is a lembranca do senhor do bomfim, but are sold all over brazil. It was exciting to see the origin of this practice and to see the magnificent display of these little strips tied to every available surface in the church as a prayer offering.  Lastly we went to see an Orisha fountain, a controversial public work due to the rising evangelical population who see condomble as a devil worshiping cult (to be fair, they do have witches). We then took a little trip out of downtown to have two of the disputed best acaraje's in town. They were worlds better than the one at the airport (go figure).

All in all, I loved Salvador. I would love to come back here. But shortly after we left we were reminded how lucky we were to have felt so safe. Four days after our departure, a third of the city's cops went on strike, prompting a severe week-long crime wave including about eighty murders. It's terrifying to that there is such a delicate climate in this town, especially in the growth of Brazil as the worlds fifth largest economy. Along with the overt violence that happened in Salvador, and has historically happened in the favelas of Rio, many of the arcane purchasing restrictions that we've encountered on our trip are supposedly created to hinder crime, creating a frustratingly complex system to hold the balance of money and power.

The disparity between the haves and have-nots in Brazil (and furthermore in Mexico) have made me draw disturbing parallels with political discussion happening in the US. But lets not go into that. I'm also not going to focus on our frustrating and expensive last night in Brazil back in Sao Paulo. Nevermind that I bawled at the airport. The trip is taking it's toll on us, but  we're focusing on the great things we're able to experience.

We've got two weeks in Mexico before home, and we're going to make it a grand vacation.

-SB

Sao Paulo

Sao Paulo was not really a tourist stop. This is a city that I spent about two weeks every summer vacation hanging out with my grandparents and whenever my other relatives could stop by, with them. And that's pretty much what happened this trip. We arrived and our four days were a whirlwind of visits and trips with my relatives. We celebrated a birthday with my cousins, had pizza with my uncle, visited the soccer museum and historical center with my aunt, and had street food and played cards with my grandma.  I'm not sure erin had a great time, what with me having to translate everything that was going on, and not having any of the freedom to roam that we've had the past six months, but I was thankful to get to spend time with my family, which I see way too seldomly. Example: the last time I had come to visit, they weren't sure I still spoke portuguese. So I proved my continuing fluency, met the new girlfriends, learned about the new jobs, and promised to keep more in touch.

Parati

Giving my grandma a final big hug, we shoved off back to the bus station and hopped on a bus to Parati. A city of great importance in the 16th century as the port for gold, diamonds and coffee it lost significance with the building of an inland railroad to other ports. Now it's a quaint little colonial town surrounded by islands toward the sea and waterfalls to the hills. We only spent two nights here, but I could have spent much longer. Our favorite spot was a cascade called the toboggan, because the moss covers the smooth rock surface and ends in a pool, making it the coolest natural slip 'n slide ever.  This is one of those places where words cannot describe its quaintness, so please check out the pictures. you'll see.

Rio

While it was unfortunate that we had to leave Parati, we had a date to keep, as I was invited to referee a the Rio beach rugby tournament that weekend. I was pretty excited to take part, as I had never actually seen beach rugby before, but figured I could pick up on the differences pretty easily.

We had a stroke of extreme luck in that while we were going to be in Rio, a close family friend was sending her daughter to Buenos Aires to stay with my mom. So the two of them exchanged daughters and we had a wonderful room close to the metro and buses. Oh, and breakfast and wonderful food to come home to every night. Yes I will, thank you very much!

Henrique, the local ref, picked us up after a lovely breakfast and we arrived a couple hours before any games started (rugby is universal in it's tardiness). But once the games started there was hardly time to have food. One thing I hadn't really thought about was the fact that sand is effing hot in the summer in Rio ("duh", you may say - Hush, i reply), so Erin had to run and buy me socks so that I didn't burn my feet to a crisp. Even with the socks I was halfway to the refs tent while blowing the final whistle to save my feet. After two very sunny days, the final was played in a freak downpour which may not have been welcome by most beach-goers, but was perfectly pleasant for the players and refs.

Rugby duties done, we set our goals to touristing the city. Want to know a great idea in theory? climbing Corcovado, the 2400 foot mountain with Christ the Redeemer at the top. The first 45 minutes of the hike were fine, no big deal. But then we get to the climbing, and I mean this thing goes straight up for 1000 feet through a steep, hot, humid jungle. We only brought a liter of water (how hard could this hike be?), and when we got up to the top, we didn't even get a discount  on entry (why would you do that to yourself?). But it's fun to say we did it, not to mention the crazy looks we got from the locals when we told them we climbed.

And then we walked and walked around the city. We spent time in center, seeing spectacular old buildings, strolled in the posh Ipenama and Leblon beachside neighborhoods. We listened to live music in Lapa and went to the Sambodromo and watched a few Samba schools warm up for their Carnaval parades. And we went up to Santa Teresa, a bohemian neighborhood traditionally reached by a cute little train. Unfortunately the train was shut down last August when a crash killed 5 people and injured many others when due to several mechanical failures. eek. Luckily, because we had to walk up, we stumbled upon the famed Selaron staircase, which I've confirmed I'd seen in a music video.

We somewhat reluctantly left the city for a few days, originally to go to trendy and beautiful Buzios, but failing that due to holiday price hikes, we went to Ilha Grande, a large (and also beautiful) island halfway between Parati and Rio. A string of bad luck dampened the excursion, what with bad weather, erin being sick, and a botched hotel reservation (don't say you're ON ilha grande, when you're not). But we made the most of it with a full day snorkeling excursion.

We may have had time to do more if we hadn't had trip-planning to do. Besides the failed Buzios /Ilha Grande hotel debacle, and the normal couchsurfing requests, we found out mid-week that the flight that we'd bought at Christmas had never been purchased, thanks to a "sorry about that" email from the travel agent. Thanks. So, we literally spent 4 hours trying to buy another ticket online, and in the end had to ask our host to front her credit card and then go to the ATM to pay her back. grrr.

Luckily I'm not worried about missed opportunities in Rio, I'll be back. Maybe, quite possibly in 2016??

-SB

PS - Next up Salvador do Bahia and some final thoughts on Brasil.

Brazil may be the wildest place I've ever been.  That's counting Cambodia, Croatia, Bosnia and Thailand.   For our three weeks in the country, we went to quite a few cities, and it felt the same in each place.  The entire country (or at least the parts of it we saw) feels as though it might be reclaimed by the rainforest at any moment.   Palm trees sprouting straight out of concrete, the rainforest swallowing walking paths and every kind of insect poised to attack the moment a little skin is shown.  Camping was interesting.  After Iguazu Falls we we had planned on going to Florianopolis, a small beach town south of Sao Paulo.  However, when we went to buy our tickets, as would become the rule rather than the exception, we found that we had to change our plans.  Tickets to Florianopolis were sold out, so we decided to head to Curitiba instead.  

Four hours later we boarded our very fancy overnight sleeper bus.  Very fancy except that the seats didn't actually lay flat like the ticket seller claimed, and as soon as we were on our way, we found that the overhead compartment was so loose that with every small bump it emitted a very loud squeaking noise.  Not exactly the makings of a good night's sleep.  Now, as a kid growing up watching MacGyver, I'd always dreamed of being able to thwart bad guys with a rubber band and a pencil, build an internal combustion engine with things found on the beach or fix a squeaky overhead compartment with the contents of my backpack.  So I set to work on it.  First, I added as much weight as I could to my reusable shopping bag (luckily I had just bought a bunch of Spanish baby books for some friends of mine) then tied it to the railing closest to the noise (also luckily the seat below was empty).  This helped quite a bit, so I settled in to get a little shut-eye.  About one minute later, I quickly realized a flaw in the plan.  Every time the bus took a turn the shopping bag would swing wildly on on its handles, and I was easily able to picture my knot coming loose, and the books knocking either Steph or me (or an unsuspecting sleeping passenger) unconscious.  No good.  So I got back up, zipped my jacket around the bag and attached one of the sleeves to the window of the still empty seat.  Problem solved.  New problem created…on my way back to my seat I stepped on a full juice box that was sitting on the floor.  Juice everywhere, all over my legs, on the floor, and slowly making its way to the passengers in the back.  I quickly grabbed the blanket from the empty chair, threw it on the juice and headed back to bed.  Problem solved (except for the sticky legs).  All good until at the next stop (at 2:30am) when a new passenger got on.  Guess where he was sitting.  Of course.  In the chair that now had a swinging bag full of books dangling over it, with my jacket tied across it, and a juice covered blanket.  Though here's where I got really lucky.  Steph explained the situation (thank goodness for her portuguese) about the noisy bin and the juicy blanket, and the guy said it was no big deal, squeezed under the jacket and went to sleep without a blanket.  I think he probably slept better than I did, as I spent the rest of the night worried that he would either be smashed by my books or cold.   It was a fun start to Brazil.

We worked our way up the coast from the South, and most of Southern Brazil was spent on a beach with a caipirinha in one hand and a pastel (brazilian form of an empanada) in the other.  It was a nice vacation within a vacation.  Between the sugar, alcohol and fried dough, I probably gained about 5 pounds over that week.  Then I rolled my way onto another bus, and off we headed for Sao Paulo.  

Sao Paulo is where Steph was born and where much of her family still lives, which meant that this city was a little less about sightseeing and a little more about family time.  We stayed with her Grandmother, were taken sightseeing by her aunt Thelma, and out to dinner with her uncle Fabio.  It was fun being included in another family, listening to another Grandmother's stories.  It was interesting how similar the stories were, which was yet another reminder of how small the world is, and how we really are living together on one small planet instead of being as insulated as we think we are in our own countries.  Steph's grandmother had many memories of WWII, and made money by creating replicas of fabric patterns created in Paris.  My own grandmother still has my grandfather's WWII uniform, and worked for a time as a seamstress.   It's so far away, and yet strangely familiar.  Steph's grandma also tried to feed us way too much food.  Classic example of Grandmotherly behavior.

Making our way up the coast of Brazil, our next stop was the small colonial village of Paraty.  Paraty (pronounced pah-dah-chi), was once the biggest port in Brazil, with the surrounding land supplying the portuguese with gold, diamonds and iron.  Thinking that these resources would last forever, the Portuguese poured money into this city, building up a large and very charming village.  Then, of course, the resources ran out, and the town shrunk as most of the citizens headed for the cities with more possibilities, leaving behind empty beautiful buildings.  The town only had a resurgence recently when people figured out that the city was ripe for the picking as a tourist destination.  We spent two nights there, one night in a hostel, one night camping.  Camping in Paraty may have been the worst camping that we had on the entire trip.  It was thirty dollars per person person per night, the ground was muddy and the bathrooms were dirty.  Not so bad, those things we're used to.  What we weren't necessarily used to was camping next to a discotech.  Tents don't keep out much noise, so we listened to dance and techno music until about 4am.  It was so loud we might as well have been camping on the dance floor.  Needless to say I woke up at 7:15 when the sun came up (which meant the temperature went up to about 85 degrees), after having had three hours of sleep, pretty grumpy and happy to board a bus for Rio de Janiero.

Rio is one of those cities.  One of those cities like London or New York or Paris that we see so many times in movies (I can't even tell you how many times I've seen the Christ the Redeemer flyover) that we feel like we know it.  And when I first arrived, it was strangely familiar.  Before we went to Copacabana beach (where we spent our first two days) I almost knew what the boardwalk would look like.  Beautiful tiled sidewalks, beach huts selling fresh coconuts and sun bathers in very small swimsuits as far as the eye could see.  I, myself, was not in a very small swimsuit because the reason that we spent two full days at the beach was for a rugby tournament that Steph was helping referee.  From my comfortable seat under an umbrella next to a cooler full of water, everyone looked like they were having a great time, though I had a hard time seeing why.  It was hard to get past the fact that the sand was so hot everyone had to wear socks (not fun on the beach).  And on top of that, watching people get tackled and having their faces shoved into the hot sand.  Not my idea of a good time.  I'll let Steph tell you more later.  

After the tournament, we pretty much touristed our way around the city, trying to hit all the big sights, Ipanema, Lapa, Santa Teresa and Downtown.  We even climbed up to the Christ the Redeemer statue.  Yes, you read that right.  Climbed.  It seemed like a good, "fun way to get exercise and save a little money" way to get to the top.  Information that I read about the climb said it would take about 2.5 hours.  Now, usually when a hike guidebook says that, it means that the climbing part of the hike will take about an hour.  Not true with this one.  The climbing part took 2.5 hours.  2.5 hours of climbing so steep that at parts we needed to hold onto a chain provided to keep from falling backwards.  It was a really hard hike.  And at the end of it, when we finally got our very sweaty selves to the top, we found out that the ticket to get in was the EXACT same price than if we would have taken the very expensive bus to the top.  Sigh.  Brazil 1, Us 0.

Our last town to visit in Brazil was much farther north and so different that it might as well have been in another county.  It was far enough away that we had to take a plane to get there, and it seemed that many Brazilians consider it the 'true Brazil' or the soul of the country.  When we landed in Salvador, we had five days to spend in the city.  I read quite a bit about Salvador before we left, and was looking forward to seeing another side of Brazil.  This is the part of the country where most of the African influence still lies - a little like the deep south in the states.  Of course the part the interested me the most was the food - having never been to Africa (save for Morocco) I was looking forward to experiencing a new cuisine.  And new it was.  Salted cod fritters, dende oil, spicy fish and coconut stews, and more fruits I had never seen before.  Heavenly.  The only real drawback was the fact that Salvador has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous cities in Brazil.  Like, so dangerous that we were told to take a taxi even if we were only going three blocks.  We got very good at carrying nothing but a small amount of cash on us at any point.  I read in a guidebook that, "muggings can happen at anytime, sometimes in broad daylight.  Recently muggers have taken a more violent turn, with the perpetrator pushing the victim to the ground and emptying their pockets.  But don't worry, this has happened to me, and it's not all that bad."  Not all that bad??  Luckily we didn't experience anything of the sort, and were able to make our way out of Salvador (and Brazil) with all of our belongings.

Actually, almost all.  When we arrived in Mexico City and picked up our bags I quickly noticed that someone had gone through most of the pockets.  Good news:  I only lost one thing.  Bad news: it was my really nice multi-use leatherman pocket knife that my sister got me before I moved to Istanbul last year.  We used that thing for EVERYTHING, including giving each other haircuts along the way.  Luckily, we'll be home soon enough that I won't need another haircut before we get back.  But still very sad.

Now we're in Mexico, and I'm having a blast.  Looking forward to writing about it.  Last country before I'm home!


-EC

Happy New Year! 

And just like newborn babes, we stumble out of my mother's care on our own again at 6am. We navigate the flight over, which I won't revisit, and land in the tiny Puerto Iguazu airport. Erin asks if I had looked up how to get to the hostel we had booked (which she had reminded me to do back in BA). No, but it'll be fine. Our bigger problem was that in my haste to take out money to pay for our tickets this morning, I took just about exactly what was necessary, and no more. Now here we are with enough money for maybe our bags to go into town without us and the one ATM is broken. that was a fun problem. but hey, you've got to crawl before you can walk.

We arrived at our pension at 10am, dropped off our things and hopped on the bus to Iguazu national park. A friend of ours said she had spent one day but could have stayed for a few more, so we were expecting the park to be quite large. In honesty, if we hadn't been so tired, we could have easily done the park in one day, that's just the kind of travelers we are. But since we decided to take a nap in the shade for a couple hours, and I was toying with the whole "take your time" travel idea (i think erin was of the same mind), we decided to take the two day pass. 

At the entrance there's a picture of a family walking down a trail surrounded by a dozen little creatures, with some tagline about how much nature is in the park. I thought it was one of those setup shots where they probably have a bunch of food in their pocket, luring all the animals for that one perfect shot. That was until we walked about 100 feet into the walking trail and were met by a dozen little creatures walking all around the trail. they were a mix of raccoon and monkey, and we were a little intimidated by them - quick hide the food and water bottles! But luckily tourists haven't turned the coati's into dependent scavengers. they just walk around, burrowing their noses in the ground looking for ants, uninterested in the groups of people taking their pictures. In the end erin had to convince me not to grab one of the little ones and stuff him in my bag to take home.

The falls themselves are, as you can imagine, pretty spectacular. there is such an immense quantity of water falling into this whole in the world. We took all the paths to see the tops and bottoms of all the cascades on the Argentinian side. The Brazilian side is where you get the closest to the Devil's Throat, which is the highest flowing part of the system, and we were hoping to go there on the third day but that never happened (waiting at the border for an hour for a bus didn't help our tight schedule).

Leaving Puerto Iguazu mid-day, we crossed into Brazil. Brazil! Hooray! Although I am sincerely sad that we didn't get to hike patagonia, I am so excited that we get to explore Brazil for a month. I have grown up being Brazilian, and speaking the language, but in my 30 years, I've only been to Rio and Sao Paulo, mostly spending my time with family, hardly sight-seeing, and never choosing what we were going to see, so this is going to be my chance to do it. And as much weight as we'd gained in BA with my mom, I was planning on doubling it eating all the delicious Brazilian food, and drinking the juices and caipirinhas.

It took us long enough to cross the border that we didn't get to see the Brazilian side of the falls, and it turns out Florianopolis is a popular place to go, therefor the bus there was sold out, and we opted to go part of the way to Curitiba on a sleeper bus. We spent the afternoon sitting at an outdoor restaurant, eating as much rice and beans as we wanted, chatting, and reading until our overnight bus. 

The bus ride itself was not as relaxing as the websites make them out to be. As much as erin complains that I could sleep on a donkey in the middle of the day while a mariachi band plays, that doesn't mean i would sleep well. 

But yet we forged on, arriving in Curitiba at 7am, finding a hotel, dropping off our bags, and going to the train station to catch an 8:30am train through the southern rainforest. BAM, we're back to being lions of travel.

This train is one of the few in Brazil, and exists pretty much solely for tourism. We wound our way through the hills, overlooking vast valleys covered in thick green vegetation, saw waterfalls, remains of disused train stations from the old days, waved at all the small children that came out to watch the train ride past, had another caseiro (homestyle) buffet lunch, tried ginger ice-cream (but stuck to coconut and passionfruit) and took a nap by a river where the boys came up with different ways to almost kill themselves by flipping off the high banks.  Most people apparently just take the bus back, and on our slow train ride back we could see why, but we made it back, and after a shower and a quick rest, we went out into the city for dinner.

The following morning we packed up and headed south to Florianopolis. We arrived in the early afternoon, and hopped on a local bus that took us to Lagoa da Conçeçao, a lake in the middle of the island.  We were dropped off at a campsite, which was not the one we'd planned on staying at, but it turned out to be more fun, as we quickly made friends and spent the evening drinking communal caipiroskas with locals, regulars, and foreigners. 

The next day we got up early, and after finding a coffee (surprisingly a difficult task) headed over the hill to the beach. What a gorgeous day that was. We spent all day playing in the crystal blue surf, sitting on a beautiful sand, and eating grilled cheese on a stick and fresh juices. The next day we hauled our packs to another beach to get in some more sun before we headed to the bus station and learned the difference between a vitamin (fruit/milk shake) and batida (alcoholic mix drink). Live and learn. 

This week made Brazil for me. It was the country I was looking for, and there are still two more weeks to explore. Next we're headed north to Sao Paulo, then Paraty, Rio and Salvador Bahia. No way one blog post could contain that all. Til next time!

-SB

Waterfalls and cooking.   Those are the two things I want to write about in this post, and I've been trying in vain to come up with a clever way to link them together.  You don't necessarily cook while looking at waterfalls, and the water doesn't need food to keep it falling.  I thought about switching the two topics for things that matched a little better, but Iguazu comes next in the itinerary, and I've been looking forward to writing about food for weeks.  So I just have to settle on having two slightly unrelated topics to try to work in a clunky transition between.  So here goes.

For those of you who haven't heard of Iguazu Falls, it's a series of waterfalls right on the border of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay.  It was one of the places that we had hoped to get to, but as our pocketbooks and time remaining got thinner and shorter, respectively, we talked of cutting it out of the trip.  It'll always be there, it's right in-between Buenos Aires and Brazil (and all of Steph's family) so it wasn't like the opportunity to see it wouldn't come up again.  In fact, we had all but made that decision, when fate took control and sent a rather irresponsible camper to Patagonia to start a forest fire.  The next thing you know, trails are closed, backpackers are evacuated, and we're on our way north instead of south.  As sad as I was to miss out on Patagonia (and the friends who were going to meet us there), I think in the end it probably worked out for the best.  We got to see the waterfalls AND have an extra 9 days in Brazil.  Not such a bad alternative.  

As I was saying, Iguazu Falls is an incredible series of waterfalls on the borders of three countries.  And when I say incredible, I mean it.  Niagara eat your heart out.  I don't even know how it's possible for the Iguazu River to sustain the intensity of the falls 24 hours-a-day, seven days-a-week.  It was so much water, it seemed like it would have to run out sometime.  But no, on and on it goes.  At the main falls, the water fell with such intensity that standing 100-meters away the spray was so strong I could probably have taken a shower and shampooed my hair.  It was really incredible.  Unfortunately, this also meant that the town of Puerto Iguazu, where we decided to stay, was damp all the time.  We stayed at an inn, that was really just a room in someone's house, and it was probably one of the worst places we've stayed so far.  It was so damp everything was a little moldy and breathing was not easy.  This was something that might (emphasis on 'might') have been acceptable before we stayed with Steph's mom in Buenos Aires, but after the luxury it was like a slap in the face.  Back to reality.  

Due to the state of our accommodations, and how aware we were becoming of the limited amount of time we had left before returning home (as of this writing we return in exactly one month), we cut our time in Iguazu short by one day, jumped on an overnight sleeper bus to Curitiba (more on that in the next post), and felt satisfied that while we had not hiked Patagonia (one of the things I was looking forward to the most), we had at least seen one of the world's most amazing waterfalls and successfully crossed the border into Brazil nine days early.

As this epic trip is winding down, I've been starting to take stock of the places I've been, the things I've seen and experienced, and if it was all worth it/I accomplished anything besides seeing some really amazing places.  The biggest reason I decided to take this leap and travel the world this year was not to see things like Iguazu or Petra or Patagonia, though each of those places would be worth traveling the world to visit independently.  It biggest reason was to experience the food.  Having worked in restaurants since I was 15 (some better than others, I do count my years at Taco Bell and Olive Garden in there, since I certainly learned a lot about mass production), I have come to better understand how cooks learn.  Going to culinary school is one thing, and I would never discount what I learned there, because it provided me with an amazing knowledge base from which to build on, but it's not where I really learned to cook.  Cooks first learn to cook from other cooks, then second by experiencing new things and deconstructing how they were made.  For the most part, up until this point in my career my learning has been entirely the former.  Everyone in a professional kitchen has something to teach you, even the guy who clearly should have chosen another profession.  Which means I've spent 16 years collecting as many techniques, recipes and cooking theories as I could, in an attempt to become the best cook possible.  Because I love what I do.  I love the process, I love the exactness and inexactness, and I love the satisfaction that comes from mastering a new skill - each new skill adding a new level of understanding to the process.

The problem was, finally being at the point in my career where I felt comfortable enough in my understanding of that process, it was time to run a kitchen.  But when that opportunity unexpectedly presented itself, I realized that I wouldn't feel fully confident in that role until I had a larger base of the second kind of knowledge on which to draw from.  So I needed to get out, go to Morocco and Prague and Brazil, experience some new kinds of foods, flavor combinations and techniques and bring those back to help make any kitchen I run a slightly stronger and more interesting place to eat (and cook).  So this, in a nutshell, is why I came on this trip.  To be better at what I do.  

I know that when we first designed this blog, Steph and I both set aside a section of the site under the title 'wandering education,' and it was my intent to write about the things I was learning about food.  I have to say, it's hard enough to find time to write one blog post, let alone an entirely separate post just about food, so I'm sorry for anyone that was interested that I had to abandon that page so quickly.  But rest assured, I have been keeping notes in a journal along the way, and with Steph's help, I've been keeping track of some of my favorites along the way.  It's been fun.  Often during the course of a meal I'll say something like, "do you think this is something that could work at Heirloom (the restaurant I used to work at in San Francisco)? What if we changed this around, added a little of that, made this component into a salad instead, and then made a little sauce out of this? Yeah, that would work, and it would be really good.  I wonder what Matt would think about pairing with it?"  Like I said, it's been fun, exciting and educational.  Isn't that what all students hope their classes will be?

Some places that we've been were a little more educational than others, much like that guy in the kitchen that you're certain isn't going to last more than a few months before he heads off to get a job at a record store.  But I've taken as much information as I could, and I wanted to write a tiny bit on some of the highlights along the way (when have I ever been accused of writing a 'tiny' bit).

Morocco was one of the more disappointing places that we visited, and maybe because I had such high hopes for the food.  I expected highly spiced couscous with braised lamb and harissa paste.  I was looking forward to seeing the tagines (a traditional Moroccan clay pot), and tasting the difference that these pots can make (having never actually used one).  Aside from one meal which was pretty amazing, the rest of the food we had in Morocco was generally bland.  Though, the one meal we had (which I've already written about), will be one that I will try to adapt to Californian tastes at home.  Chicken, onions, potatoes, oranges, peas and spices all cooked together in a tagine, and served alongside couscous and chicken broth.  It doesn't sound all that exciting, but it was so perfectly done it was fantastic.  

Somewhere that I hadn't expected to fall in love with the food but did was Prague.  Prague is all about the charcuterie - roasted pork, smoked ham, sausages, dried and cured meats, homemade cheeses and surprisingly, pickled sausages and cheeses.  I had never even heard of pickled cheese before.  Surprising as it was, it paired perfectly with the light Czech-style pilsner that the city is known for.  I have long admired the restaurants that create their own charcuterie (not terribly common in San Francisco, extremely common in Prague), and thought it could be great to try making some house-smoked meats, and hand-pulled cheeses (maybe even pickled) with fresh condiments like pickled mustard seeds and fresh grated horseradish.  

A country that I did expect to have amazing food and it lived up to all expectations was Israel.  I have always loved Israeli food - hummus, eggplant, tabouli salad, falafel and shawarma - and it was even better in the homeland.  Everything in Israel is served with pickles and a salad, either a cucumber-tomato salad or a very lemony tabouli salad (basically bulgar and parsley), which makes the act of eating all of the small plates extra enjoyable.  All of the flavors are distinct, separate and mix perfectly well together.  It made me think, what if you made a salad out of perfectly fried falafel, fresh heirloom tomatoes, summer cucumbers, parsley and lemon, served it alongside a bed of smooth lemony hummus, added some grilled eggplant or chicken, then topped it with fried chickpeas?  Wouldn't that be almost everything I loved about Israeli food on one plate? Maybe a drizzle of tahini and a sprinkle of chili pepper?  My mouth waters just thinking about it.

South America has a food culture that I was/am most excited to explore.  In Argentina there are empanadas and chimichurri, in Brazil there are pasteis, fruits I've never seen before and a strong African influence that I'm hoping to see more of as we work our way north.  Empanadas and pasteis got me thinking about how much the world likes stuffed pockets.  It seems like you can take almost anything and wrap it in a crispy dough, and people will be happy.  In Argentina the pockets are baked, in Brazil they are deep-fried, elsewhere in the world they are boiled, pan-seared, served cold, hot or somewhere in-between, but the idea is always the same.  The problem with serving something like that in a nice restaurant is that pockets are a bit…well…plebean.  They're street food.  Can those be translated to an upscale restaurant, or are they best left for the street venders?  I'm interested in giving it a shot.  Afterall, the French have done pretty well with wrapping things in a crust, calling it 'en croute,' and selling it to high society.  Why not in California?

I've obviously skipped a lot.  There were small things - the impossibly crisp fish and chips in Australia, the grilled ground meat served with fresh sheep's cheese and onions in Bosnia, braised lamb and potatoes cooked underground in New Zealand and everything else in-between.  But this is what this trip has been about for me so far.  Broadening my horizons, thinking of ways to twist those new ideas into usable prototypes for the type of restaurant I love in California, and planning ways to become better at my job.  So far so good.  One month left and I'm still learning.  Next up?  Northern Brazil and Mexico.  My mouth is watering already.

-EC

Ah, home again. no matter that I've only been here one other  time, there is something about going to a parents house that breeds that homey  feeling - mainly that of lethargy and reverting to having decisions made for  you. We are traveling lions that turned into little lambs, needing shepherding  most of the time. 

For example, in  all of the cities we visited so far we had never taken a tourist hop-on hop-off bus (special thanks to Rick Steves), but ok, we'll try it (I don't recommend it in B.A.s). Then we have a day touring the city on our own and realized halfway  through the day we'd forgotten my mom's recommendations, and wandered around somewhat helplessly. This is followed with my mom asking, "did you do ____?" uh, no, we couldn't remember the name of the place you told us to go. "Oh, jeez. Well I'll just have to take tomorrow off then to show you around or you won't see anything." (Can't be mad about that)

 We went to the ballet, getting all dolled up in my mom's clothes, and almost wearing high heels, although it was lucky we didn't because even mom's fancy flats gave us blisters. We also had an amazing dinner with my mom's friends, who are a riot and if we hadn't been such grandma's they probably could have stayed there all night gabbing away.

Besides having a comfortable place to stay, a personal tour guide, gaining 5 pounds each due to overconsumption of empanadas and steak, we also had ample internet on which to plan our trip to Patagonia and Brazil. We had planned to go to Iguazu falls on our way into Brazil, but because Patagonia is so far away from the rest of the world, we were having a rough time figuring out how to get back up there and have enough time to visit the planned route of Brazil. Ok, we'll figure it out later, now we're going kayaking in Tigre (how cool would it be to say you were from "Tiger"?).  

While kayaking, admiring the little houses that lined the numerous canals, and trying to keep up with the boat containing my mom and the guide, who could paddle faster than Erin and I by himself, we chatted with a guy who tagged along with us. Oh you plan on going to Patagonia? Did you hear that some hiker started a forest fire and they're evacuating the whole Chilean side of the park? Nuh-uh. Yeah, you might want to rethink that.

So we got a workout keeping up with mom, all while worrying whether a) our friends were ok (they were) b) if our Patagonia leg was going to happen and c) what was going to happen with the flight that we'd bought down there.  We begrudgingly decide to cut out Patagonia and try to change our flight Iguazu. It was a bit heartbreaking. So we call Aerolinas Argentinas and had a very pleasant experience changing our flights, and in the process we were going to get reimbursed $39! sweet.

That settled we prepared for new years eve. One of the things I loved that my mom cooked for me growing up was shrimp pie. Sounds weird, like many of the more latinate things that I grew up with, it probably is, but it's delicious. So we went to the supermarket and had to buy everything for it, including the pie tin, because my mom doesn't really cook anymore (i love getting that reinforcement that it runs in the family). We couldn't find all the ingredients, but we went ahead with it  anyway. We came home, made it, put it in the oven, went to go hang out in the living room and 30 minutes later, bam, we'd burnt the crust. oops. Despite these setbacks, the pie tasted pretty good and I was told that a few days later (per usual), it tasted great.

Dinner over, we hung out together and watched an awesome impromptu firework display right in front of the apartment building. This was the second firework display we'd gotten to see and we enjoyed it much more than my 17 year old mini-schnauzer. Nike (named after the goddess of victory, not the shoe), survived a stroke earlier in the year and held on in order to see me (she obviously knew I was coming). I was worried she would have a heart attack with all the fireworks, but she just huddled in the back of the apartment and we able to comfort her when it was over.

After a few, brief hours of sleep, we headed to the airport to embark on our next adventure. Mom asked if she should come inside and help us, but no no, we can handle it, love you, mwah. 
 
Man, I wish she'd come in. We should've known that our experience had been all too easy, because when we went to collect our tickets, not only were we not going to get a reimbursement, they were CHARGING us to get on on our flight. Our inability to argue in spanish (even if we had studied it, I don't think they teach you "This is Bullsh…" in spanish class), and the closing flight time meant we ponied up the cash. So, unless you speak fluent spanish and enjoy litigating, try to avoid Aerolinas Argentinas. In their defense, we did have a lovely flight experience on Astral (their partner airline). 

Next time - Iquazu! Curitiba! Florianopolis! BRAZIL!

After being on the road for five months and staying with couchsurfers, camping camping and in random cheap hostels, arriving in Buenos Aires was a luxury almost beyond comparison.  After our redeye from Auckland on Aerolineas Argentinas (don't ever fly with them unless you're desperate and it is absolutely your last option), I was more tired than I can remember being in a long time.  I had gotten maybe two hours sleep on the 12-hour flight, was still painfully sore from the horseback ride, and desperately needed a shower.  All of these put together made it nearly impossible to concentrate as I fumbled my way through the passport control ($140 reciprocity fee. bummer), bag pick-up, customs and finally the exit.  Emerging into the sea of waiting people at the arrivals gate, I felt a bit drunk as I greeted Steph's mom for the first time.  

So where is all of this 'luxury beyond compare' that I was referring to earlier?  Well let me tell you.  First, as is the case when you're with your parents (no matter how old you are) you get to turn your brain off.  As soon as we were under Ms. Bruce's wings, I was able to look around and enjoy the scenery.  No worries about where we were, how we were going to get anywhere, how much it would cost, doing cost/benefit analysis of different options - all while trying to stay upright.  No, none of that for me.  Just relaxing in the comfort of knowing that I was with someone who knew where we were going, knew how to get there, and knew what to do if we needed to change plans at the last minute.  Luxurious.  Second, when we arrived at her apartment in Buenos Aires, we found that we had our own room, complete with comfortable bed, balcony, closets and private bathroom.  You would be amazed at how something as small as a private bathroom can make a difference after so much time without.  Third, she had already picked up some empanadas for us for dinner.  Again, I didn't have to worry about where we are going to eat, whether or not the restaurant we have chosen is a good one, if there is something better around the corner.  Just delicious empanadas already on my plate waiting to be eaten.  And finally, she had scheduled massages for us for the next morning.  Lux. ur. i. ous.

Our first two days in Buenos Aires I basically refused to leave the house.  We took a couple of trips out to pick up groceries (I got to make Christmas dinner), see a few things close by, and get some ice cream, but really, with how comfortable the apartment was, it was hard to find the motivation to leave.  Luckily, my lack of motivation was reinforced by the fact that it was Christmas and nothing was open anyway.  

After spending a glorious three days inside, lazing around, catching up on emailing and showering, the day after Christmas we finally emerged into the sun ready to explore.  Over the next five days or so we spent time navigating the many different areas in Buenos Aires.  I never knew it was such a big city.  We visited the Boca, a colorful old (now touristy) neighborhood with constant tango shows on the streets.  We visited downtown with its huge buildings and monuments, and the ritzier neighborhoods of Recoleta and Palermo.  We lounged in parks and rose gardens, and took long strolls down tree-lined streets.  We even paid our respects at the city cemetery where all the prominent Buenos Aires families are buried (we skipped Evita's grave due to the incredibly long line to take a picture with her tomb.  weird).

Buenos Aires was also an excellent place for us to get caught up on our culture.  At times during this trip we have blown through cities (and countries) so quickly, we don't have time to take in any of the local theater or music.  In fact, the most we can often hope for is for time to watch a movie on the computer before we fall asleep - and I don't think that counts as culture.  I mean, it's not like seeing the ballet.  Which, by the way, we did in Buenos Aires.  As a Christmas present to us, Steph's mom got us tickets to the Buenos Aires ballet.  The first thing I thought when I opened the envelope containing my ticket?  

'What am I going to wear?' 

By now, after wearing the same six t-shirts, two pairs of pants and ratty hiking boots - everything that I have is looking a bit rough around the edges.   Should I wear my jeans (with a small hole in them from climbing a fence) with my "best" t-shirt?  I imagined the cultured citizens of Buenos Aires all dressed up walking into the theater with me sneaking in behind them looking like I just rolled off a bus.  After a little discussion of my worries with Steph and Ms. Bruce, Steph and I did what you might expect.  We raided the available wardrobe.  Luckily, we're all the same size, and I found a delightful skirt suit with matching heels, and Steph found a green dress.  Now problem solved, we headed out for a lovely evening of music, dancing, fantastic set-design and good company.  I made it home that night feeling tired, but satisfied in knowing that I had seen something that I don't normally see while traveling.  

Aside from the ballet, we also caught a tango show - complete with the dancers playing the part of mafiosos, going through about ten wardrobe changes over the course of an hour.  They wore more different outfits in that hour than I have worn in six months.  And the dancing.  The dancing was pretty incredible.  Having spent a tiny bit of time trying to learn how to ballroom dance many years ago, I have some idea about how hard it is to make your body do all of those things - and let me tell you, these guys made it look like a walk in the park.  The men would pick up the women and throw them in every direction, and the women would land as gracefully as someone had just set them down in a cushioned chair.  It was pretty incredible.  

Spending the holidays away from home was one of the harder things about this trip.  It's one of my favorite times of year, going home to my mom's house and eating her special peanut clusters until I'm sick to the stomach, and then heading to my grandma's house for some of her famous coconut cream pie.  I don't think anything can replace the wonderful feeling I get when surrounded by the aunts, uncles and cousins that I have spent every Christmas with for the past 31 years.  That said, it was a pretty new experience to spend my first hot Christmas in the Southern hemisphere away from my family.  Though it seems that Christmas traditions aren't all that different whether you're in Buenos Aires or St. Louis.  I got to cook a nice Christmas dinner of braised beef and roasted vegetables.  We had a delicious bottle of Malbec.  We opened Christmas presents around the tree, and just generally enjoyed each other's company.  The biggest difference was the fireworks.  You heard me, in Buenos Aires at midnight on Christmas eve, everyone in the city sets off fireworks.  So the end of our evening was spent on the balcony, drinking a very good Malbec, watching various fireworks displays go off around the city.  Later that night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I could still hear the distant cracks from all around the city.

So what do the people of Buenos Aires do on New Year's eve if they've already set off all of their fireworks on Christmas?  I was told not very much.  Apparently the first New Year's eve that Steph and her mom spent in Buenos Aires they had sat expectantly on the balcony awaiting a grand show (after witnessing such a fuss over Chrismas eve, surely New Year's would be ten times better), and nothing happened.  A few cracks of stray firecrackers and not much more.  So as we sat around that night, drinking champagne and eating Ms. Bruce's delicous shrimp pie (Steph's favorite), we didn't expect much.  Boy were we wrong.  After a few modest displays across the city, a large group of people emerged on the street directly below our building, carrying more fireworks than I have ever seen.  As they set off their first few rockets, I was pretty nervous that one might veer off course, and wind up on our balcony.  Then pushing that fear aside, as they set off round after round of increasingly larger fireworks displays fifty yards from the balcony, we settled in for a good show.  Sitting there on the balcony with fireworks exploding dangerously close to us, I felt like I was back in at my Grandma's farm on the Fourth of July, setting off fireworks in the front yard with my Dad.  It was maybe one of the coolest New Year's eves I've ever had.

After only a couple hours of sleep, we woke at 4:30 the next morning to head to the airport, bound for Iguazu Falls.  We had originally planned on flying to Patagonia that morning, and had set aside eleven precious days to hike the famous Torres Del Paine National Park in Chile.  Fate, however, had a different idea, when a wildfire broke out three days before we were supposed to leave.  So far, the fire has burned about 8% of the park and killed seven firefighters.  400 hikers had to be evacuated.  We (somewhat grudgingly) changed our plans, decided that someday we would come back to Patagonia, and headed to Iguazu Falls.  And Iguazu is where I'll pick up the next post.  But I'll leave you with a picture just to whet your appetite.  It was amazing.

-EC 

The ferry crossing was rough, which at first provided some entertainment, but Erin got a little seasick. To add to that, our ferry was delayed, so instead of meeting my friends Naima and Heidi in Wellington at 9, we didn't make it until close to 11, which put a bit of a damper on the festivities. But we met up again the next day at the Te Papa, the national museum.

After a sushi lunch with the girls we decided to make the most of the crap weather and drive as far both as we could. Unfortunately we made it too far, and had to spend the night in a hostel because there were no national parks en route…oh and the forecast called for hail. So instead we spent a night on overused children's mattresses while drunk boys played rugby in the hallway. YES. love hostels (can you see why we avoid them so?).

We made it to Rotorua then next day and were amazed by how much steam was coming out of the ground. We hiked a bit, went to Hell's Gate geothermal park and a Hangi (traditional Maori underground bbq) and cultural show at a reconstructed pre-european Maori village. Although a little wary of the cheesiness of this type of packaged culture, it was better than going to a hotel show, and Erin wanted to try hangi. And I learned how to do the haka.

We  sadly weren't able to do what I had hoped to do in NZ which was carve our own Jade necklaces (a friend of mine had done that a few years back). We had to head out to Waitomo Caves for our blackwater rafting tour. This was really cool. We got dressed up in thick wetsuits that were totally stretched out, ancient wetsuit booties, rubber boots and caving helmets, picked out tire inner tubes that snuggled our butts, and climbed into a cave with freezing water. several times we got to stand with our backs on a ledge of a little waterfall and jump back into the river. i was sometimes terrified and repeating to myself that this is safe, and always freezing (shivering by the end), which our guides told us to smile about because "that's what we paid for!". And over tomato soup and a bagel, we did smile about the freezing. Because it was awesome. Oh, and we saw glow-in-the-dark worms. which are actually cannibalistic gnat larvae. sweet.

After spending the night in the Coromandel peninsula (but not actually seeing anything), our five days with Betsy (our car. She was a grandma) were over and we had to get to Auckland to return her. So began our last adventure. the secret one that Erin had planned for my 30th. I was excited to finally know what it all was, although a bit sad that I'd no longer get to see her try to pretend like we weren't doing anything. She had rented us a car and gotten us a B&B about an hour north of the city. Our well-meaning but ADHD host ruined the surprised that we were going horseback-riding the next day. 

We woke up bright and early for a special breakfast cooked by the B&B owners, and had an eventful  two-hour ride with the horses' owner. None of the horses were especially well-behaved and the horse that Erin was riding had a power trip over the one I was riding and so I was always relegated to the back of the line. I am not all that practiced in riding horses (i.e. I've only ridden once). so it was pretty "exciting" when my horse just took off in the middle of a forest, with me hanging on for dear life, getting smacked in the face by branches while I tried to get my feet back in the stirrups. And then when he decided to jump over a puddle and i ended up on his neck. it was fantastic. Really, I think i got the hang of it by the end. I'm sure it'll be gone the next time i ride though.

After a little rest, we went into the Auckand for a craft beer and a fairly decent cocktail made by an entertaining bartender, and headed over a bridge (a requisite for a proper date) to a cute restaurant in the north of the city for a great dinner. Only downside to the whole day was getting stuck for an hour on our way home due to a head-on car accident.

The next day, wooo were we sore. Talk about being 30. we packed up our bags, went downtown one more time for some last minute shopping (I bought myself a USA rugby cap, ha), and then headed to the airport for our flight.

I'm still trying to figure out the moral of our time in NZ. Two weeks was way too short and we missed seeing so much (I felt this here more than I did in any other country so far), but I'm glad that we got that we got to come and see as much as we did. I hope we come back. Hopefully during rugby season.

- SB

Ah, New Zealand. So majestic, so gracious, so…pollenated.

There are advantages to following spring around the world. We were originally going to follow summer, but that would have been so hot, whereas spring is nice and cool. I am what Erin calls a "sensitive flower," ironically so. And spring has two things that ruin vacations - rain and blooming vegetation. So while we have been camping in beautiful locations across the world, I have been getting wicked allergy attacks. awesome. They got pretty bad in Melbourne, but I got new medicine to deal with it. But by the time we got to the west coast of the south island of New Zealand I had to get even more medicine to deal with my eyes. Which seemed to work until the day before we left, Erin noticed that one of my pupils was larger than the other. Freaked us out a little but it went away and i haven't used them since. Aaanyway, that's not why you're here. You want to know how New Zealand was!

South Island

 We arrived in the afternoon and found our hosts place, which was on the ocean side of christchurch. this area was severely effected by the recent earthquake and many of the houses, including the one we stayed at, had been deemed damaged beyond repair and would have to be knocked down and rebuilt. the couple we stayed in had differing opinions on whether they would actually tear the whole place down or try to get through the laundry list of expensive repairs needed to salvage the existing structure (jointly paid by the gov't and insurance).

 We had two weeks in New Zealand. I had to fight for that two weeks (Erin wanted to leave later), and although this time is an appallingly short time for the country, I'm glad we at least have had that much. We decided, a week before leaving australia, that it might be fun to do a bit of touring on a motorcycle.  So in the morning I woke up bright and early and took the bus down to pick up the motorcycle, which was pretty exciting.

It took all of our organizational skills to fit all our camping equipment, clothes and other necessities into the hard cases provided, but since we left half of our stuff at the house, we lugged the bags onto the frame, climbed into our riding gear ( I was somehow able to bear wearing my moto pants despite the fact that an enormous spider crawled out of a leg after i pulled them on), and on a slightly drizzly day, were on our way into the country.

We were a little nervous about our experience after a couple hours of riding through farm land in the rain, until we literally turned a corner in burke's pass, when the skies parted, and the beautiful glacial ranges lay out before us. We weaved our way through the valleys, beside impossibly blue lakes, and made it to Mt. Cook around 7pm. This would normally be sunset time, but because we were so far south, we had another two hours to set up and eat dinner before we were rewarded with a gorgeous sunset reflecting on the mountains. We hiked the next morning and sunbathed next to a glacial lake with little icebergs floating by before heading down to Queenstown.

Queenstown is known as the adventure capital of the south island, and we decided the best way to partake is with a rousing game of frisbee golf (thanks to our world-traveling friend Krista for the recommendation. Unfortunately she's traveling in the opposite direction). Erin won handily, and then to add insult to injury she also won our mountain luging series 4-2. bad day for me.

The rest of our moto time was full of gorgeous scenery in a way that only New Zealand can deliver; High above are snow covered mountains, glaciers, with tropical vegetation growing just below. We took a cruise through the Milford sound and filled our water bottles with pure glacier stream water. We rode through driving rain in a lush tropical mountain pass, then warmed ourselves up soaking in a hot tub at the foot of Fox Glacier, and were given an early christmas present of a half tank of gas from a friendly farm-hand before heading through Arthurs pass. It was here also that we met the Keas, who look like a cross between a parrot and a hawk, are in no way afraid of people and are known for ripping tires to shreds because they like the texture (luckily that didn't happen to us).

We made it back to christchurch with no further gas issues (moto's go empty so quickly), returned to our de facto home, and spent the day doing nothing, and it was glorious. while it rained outside we stayed warm watching movies on the couch. It's days like this that are too few and far between. In hindsight we were very fortunate with our weather along our moto tour because it rained for the entire following week.

Erin was able to score us a relocation deal so instead of taking a bus for the rest of our trip, we had a car for the next 5 days. We took off north but because of torrential rain couldn't go to Nelson and Able Tasman park, which is supposed to be beautiful. boo. So instead we stayed near the ferry port town of Picton, ate green lipped mussels of all types and the regional wines (whites were better than red).

Then it was onto the ferry to the North Island...

(Continued in next post) - SB

Imagine trying to see an entire country in two weeks.  Granted, it's not a huge country, but still.  It's a country.  It has two large islands and one small one.  It has lush rain forests, snowcapped mountains, active glaciers, crystal clear blue lakes, enormous water-filled fjords, steaming prehistoric sulfur ponds and dazzling beaches.  And no, I did not just read that on a brochure.  If we spent two days trying to take in each of these marvels, the trip would be over.  Then that doesn't take into account the cities, Christchurch (wow, earthquake damage), Queenstown (adventure capital of the world), Wellington (cultural capital) and Auckland (largest city in NZ with nearly 1/4 of its citizens).

How do you even begin to get through all that that in two weeks?  I have to say, I think we did as well as we could, but we missed a lot.  For the first time since starting the trip, we decided to rent a motorcycle and give that mode of transportation a try.  After all, we had spent plenty of time in trains, buses, airplanes, cars and on foot - why not try a motorcycle?  Steph loves motorcycles, and when I read on the New Zealand information website that the country was one of the best places to tour by moto, I was game to give it a try.   So we reserved a bike in Christchurch, shoved as much of our things into the tiny suitcases as possible, put on the incredibly unflattering motorcycle clothing, and took off in the rain bound for adventure.  That adventure didn't take us too far before we had to stop for some hot coffee and an extra layer of socks.  Summer in New Zealand is not as warm as you might expect.  

We managed to make it 400 kilometers (at some point the clouds broke up and the sun came out,  which made it much nicer) to Mount Cook.  We found a great place to camp at the base of the mountain, thawed ourselves out, and enjoyed our first night on the New Zealand countryside.  Mount Cook is a gorgeous snowcapped mountain - the kind you see in postcards.  When we woke up in the morning, there was no time to waste.  We speed-hiked our way to the Mt. Cook glacier, then hopped on the bike and headed south to Queenstown.  

Queenstown, as I said above, is the adventure capital of New Zealand.  Here you can try your hand at skydiving, paragliding, kitesurfing, speedboating, bungy jumping, mountain biking…you get the idea.  With all of that adventure just dripping off the nearby trees, what did we decide to do?  Golf.  Frisbee golf to be exact.  Partly because I wanted to try it, and mostly because it was free - and all of those other activities most certainly were not.  We also did a bit of mountain luging to spice it up a bit.  Not quite the adventure of extreme mountain biking, but it worked.  And I won in 4 out of 6 races.  Bonus.  Queenstown is also the jumping off point for excursions into the Fjordlands National Park - a place where there are not only beautiful mountains, the mountains are covered in cascading waterfalls, all pouring into glacier dug fjords that lead out into the Tasman Sea.  It seems like all of New Zealand belongs on a postcard.  After the Fjordlands, we did a quick swing up the west coast, stopping to see the Fox and Franz Josef glaciers - both of which are currently growing (though the photos seem to indicate otherwise).  We did a pass through the middle of the south island, where we nearly ran out of gas.  Luckily, we chose wisely when we stopped at a farm to ask where the closest gas station was - because when the farmer told us that there were still several kilometers to go before we found a station AND that station was probably closed - we must of given him the saddest look we could, because he decided to give us a half a gas tank worth of gas for free.  "As a Christmas present," he said.  And, Merry Christmas to you too, friendly farmer.

That was our first six days.  We were not sad when we dropped off the motorcycle (named Jiminy Cricket, after its fairly high pitched roar), and picked up a car that we had scored on a relocation deal.  Free car, free ferry crossing, just have to pay for gas, and get it to Auckland in five days.  Sweet.  A mad-dash north followed, with a stop in the Marlborough wine region for some Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Noir tasting, and a dinner of green-lipped mussels made six ways - we found some great stuff.  Ferry crossing to the north island (not fun, three hours of rough seas.  I had to be escorted into the rear of the vessel because I was sick), and an overnight stay in Wellington.  We had a few drinks with friends, spent a couple hours in a New Zealand history museum, then headed north to Rotorua, home of Maori culture and the prehistoric sulfur ponds I mentioned above.  

As you get closer to Rotorua, you start smelling the sulfur.  The town is home to hundreds of natural springs and vents that spout gas and water from deep within the earth year round.  This area is sacred to the Maori people, and probably because of this, Rotorua is a center of learning about their ancient culture.  And learn about them we did.  The first thing we did when we got into town was make reservations to have a traditional dinner at one of the Maori villages on the outskirts of the city.  These dinners aren't particularly cheap, but the come with all the fixin's.  First when we arrived, we were greeted with a traditional 'welcome' dance, then shown how to participate in some of the games used by the Maori's to increase agility and speed.  After that, we were treated to dancing and storytelling - followed up by Hangi - which is a traditional style of cooking done underground.  Lamb, chicken, fish, mussels, veggies, sweet potatoes…all cooked with hot stones underground.  Awesome.  The meal was delicious, the entertainment was interesting, and the learning was fun.  I wish all meals could be that way.  Though, I guess if they were my job might be really hard (and I would have to learn how to dance).

With barely three days left in New Zealand (time goes so quickly!) we were trying to pack in as much as we could.  We had heard from some friends that we should try 'blackwater rafting'.  Having no idea what that was, but figuring it must be fun, we made reservations.  Blackwater rafting is basically spelunking along an underwater river with an inner tube.  And not just a little trickling stream - a river.  Complete with waterfalls, submerged passageways and rushing water.  We had to don thick and very unflattering wetsuits due to the freezing waters, and helmets because we had to jump off a few waterfalls backwards (and without being able to see where we would land).  We also were able to see what tour companies refer to as 'glow worms'.  These aren't worms at all, but flies that hatch out of their eggs, eat all their brothers and sisters, poop out phosphorescent poop to attract more food, eat until they have enough energy to hatch out of their maggot stage, have sex for three days without stopping, then die of exhaustion.  Not such a bad life as a fly.  And they are really really beautiful to look at - liking being underground looking at a starry night sky.  For anyone who goes to New Zealand - blackwater rafting is rad.  Try it.

All that's left to cover in New Zealand now is our last two days in Auckland - and Steph's 30th birthday (wow she's old now) - but I think I might leave that to her.  Let's just say we had a nice place to stay, we did a little horseback riding (my horse tried to kill me and I've haven't been as sore as I was afterwards since I played soccer in college), had a nice dinner and checked out a little of the cocktail scene in Auckland.  Then in the end, we got on a redeye flight bound for Buenos Aires.  

South America, our last continent.  Delicious food, different culture, more family, and new adventures.  Can't wait.

-EC