I like Buenos Aires.

So that is where I am. It was a flight to the familiar.

Yesterday a boarded an Air Canada plane that took me comfortably from Santiago to Buenos Aires. The Andes, that I had recently crossed with trepidation at ground level, passed far below.

After a long comfortable sleep, this morning I enjoyed my first coffee at Café Origen and re-established acquaintances. I have just finished watching a 10 men Liverpool side heartbreakingly concede a late goal to Arsenal drawing the match 1-1.

I intend to read for a while before taking siesta. Coffee, football, reading and rest. If tonight is without incident it will be close to a perfect day.

Crossroads.

Santiago seems an ordered and efficient city. It citizens seem to have aspirations towards Western capitalism. It seems to look towards the United States more than its South American counterparts.

Order and efficiency always exist at the expense of variety so from my very cursory view Santiago lacks the bohemian charms of Buenos Aires. Much to their credit it doesn’t seem like a country that experienced a massive earthquake. Although the epicentre was in the south of Chile, the capital shook, but I cannot detect any lasting effects. The jewel of Santiago, for me, is Santa Lucia, an ornate park built on a steep hill in central Santiago that affords 360 degree views of the city.

Valparaiso, the port city two hours west of Santiago, is a tumble down collection of shanties that sprawl up from the port far into the hills beyond. The citizens are in an unfortunate position and it seems every day is a struggle. It was difficult for me to be there. In life’s lottery I could not stop thinking, ’but for the grace of God go I’.

My night in Valparaiso was a seminal moment. Many of the disagreeable elements that I left the Navy to avoid have returned since I left Buenos Aires. Communal living and broken sleep in particular, although this is ameliorated by the fact that I don’t have obligations. I looked ahead to the many long bus rides that would be required for me to see what I want to. I asked my self is it better to know one place intimately or many places but only superficially?

Well the answer is..

Crossing the Andes. Mendoza, Argentina - Santiago, Chile.

The residents of Mendoza take pride in the appearance of their city. Unlike the chaos of Buenos Aires the streets are free of rubbish and canine land mines. It maintains large public spaces like Park San Martin and the quartet of small plazas surrounding the large central Plaza Independencia. Should the residents have thoughts of defacing these areas the Municipal Police that patrol the Plaza’s, packing enough heat to hold off a small army, would make them have a second thought.

Fountains of Plaza Independencia, Mendoza.

Mendoza endeared itself to me not because it is clean and not because the restaurant attached to the hostel I stayed in served exquisite meals that cost the same as a McDonald’s combo. It endeared itself to me because on the day before I left the sun shone. In the morning I sat in Plaza Independencia and took in everything it offered. Warm and beaming a purchased a pair of running shoes and went to Park San Martin and ran to a stand still. That afternoon, ‘if I was ever going somewhere, I was running!’.

I am now in Santiago De Chile. The bus from Mendoza to here crosses the Andes. I am not a good passenger and this journey tested me. On the Chilean side of the Andes the road has 27, 180 degree turns to take you down the mountains. I was beyond care at this stage and left my future to fate. I made it.

What goes up must come down.

Empty Vessels Make the Most Noise

Last year I had the honour of witnessing the creation of a sand mandala. Over five days two monks from the Tashi Lhunpo Monastery fashioned this extraordinary work.

An integral part of the ritual is the destruction of the mandala. The sands are swept up and placed in moving water. This is to remind us of the impermanence of all things and to guard against attachment.

I was walking through Mendoza city centre today and I came across a protest. The protester’s anger was directed at foreign banks. At one stage they surrounded a branch of Citi Bank. Under the cover of the crowd, slogans were spray painted across the building.

I respect protesting as a right in an open society. It should not have to extend to property damage but that’s their form of expression. Plaza Independencia, close to the site of the protest, has a large fountain and water feature. I passed the Plaza as I walked back to the hostel and it reminded me of skipping stones on Lake Nahuel Haupi. This, in turn, made me recall the sand mandala.

The Tashi Lhunpo Monastery is the traditional seat of the Panchen Lama. Most people are aware of the Dalai Lama. In Buddhism the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama is revealed to the Panchen Lama and vica versa the Panchen Lama is revealed to the Dalai Lama.

In May 1995 Gedun Choekyi Nyima, the six-year-old boy identified by His Holiness the Dalai Lama as the 11th Panchen Lama, disappeared. Suspicions that he had been kidnapped were confirmed in May 1996 when the Chinese leadership admitted to holding him and his family in "protective custody." After repeated attempts to gain access to the boy, no international agencies or human rights organizations (including the United Nations) have been allowed to visit Gedun Choekyi Nyima or his family, and their condition remains uncertain.

In this way the Chinese will have broken the chain of succession if they can hold the Panchen Lama until the death of the current Dalai Lama. If ever a people had a reason to protest it is the Tibetans.

The more I see of the natural wonders this planet has to offer the more I understand the concepts that Buddhism espouses. Our concept of time is so short. The Glaciers I saw took hundreds of thousands of years to carve great valleys but carve they did. A few meters a year they eventually moved mountains. A drop of water given enough time can wear away a mountain.

Today I offer a drop of water for the release of the 11th Panchen Lama and the return of exiled Tibetans to their homeland. 

Time is on my Side.

The city of San Carlos de Bariloche and its surrounds are known collectively as Argentina’s Lakes District. The harshness of southern Patagonia in El Calafate has given way to thick pine forests and postcard perfect blue lakes. After spending 28 hours on a bus to get here a change of scenery was expected.

The trip did not follow the most direct route. Ruta 40 is the most direct road. It holds iconic status for Argentines as Route 66 does for residents of the United States. Unfortunately at this time of year it is impassable.

Bariloche is a year round playground. In Winter crowds flock to Cerro Cathedral, Argentina’s biggest and most popular ski resort. Unlike the intimate resort in Ushuaia, Bariloche is high volume tourism. When the weather warms and the snow melts trout fishing, horse riding, mountain biking, hiking and water sports take over.
 
The bus ride took its toll on me. I arrived at 8.30 in the evening. The bus terminal is 30 mins walk to the centre of town. After finding a hostel, I showered and hit the hay.

That was two days ago. I was tempted to strap a snowboard on again but I have resisted the urge. Instead I spent a good portion of yesterday skipping stones on Lake Nahuel Haupi. It took mother nature countless years to smooth the stones I was throwing. I could think of no more enjoyable activity than returning them to the lake for another cycle.

Smelling roses or skipping stones, if you find yourself doing either, you know that time is on your side.

Next stop, Mendoza.