Mean what you mean.

While walking the three blocks to the bus stop this morning, I was thinking about what motivates people to say the things that they say. How often do I drop a line because I mean it, or to provoke the listener so I can hear what I most what to hear? Recently, I've been able to pinpoint situations like the latter, although I hope (don't really believe) that I carry out conversations only in this manner. I don't think this means I never say what I truly feel, but it does indicate a certain level of doubt I might have about the person to whom I'm speaking. So I wonder, do I clam up, lie in wait, and hope for a flowing, meaningful conversation to just...flow? Or do I stretch the truth a little bit (whatever it might be) to get the kind of dialogue I want?

les choses petites...

When I was younger, I never understood why my mother would pass out at 9 pm after a day at work. Now that I'm somewhat of a working (interning) woman myself, I completely understand. Which is why yesterday, Saturday, July 14, 2012, was the best day of the summer. Why? Because I didn't do anything. Waking up late (11 am) led to staying in my pajamas all day. It meant making a pot of coffee and drinking the whole thing by myself whilst plowing through The Dubliners. My razor-sharp focus on the book obviously required that I reward myself with some homemade maple walnut cookies, which of course translated into an excuse to put down the book, gather my ingredients and indulge in some homemade cookie dough. Of course, warm cookies are only most appropriate with some slow-churned (half the fat!!) vanilla ice cream and on a summer's day, only to be enjoyed in front of Lord of the Rings.

Greatest Saturday afternoon ever? I can't think of a counter argument. 

Finally that night at 1 am, ran into my old friend, the Chantilly Donuts Delivery man, who, like on the other Saturday night 3 weeks ago at about 2 am EST time, willingly bequeathed to me one of his extra boxes of chocolate donuts. He remembered me from last time and asked for my number, but I declined with the excuse that it was "better for visits to be surprises" then planned via text message. I'll probably see him next Saturday now that I know his route.

The most gourmet thing I've ever created. 

Second to Krispy Kreme.

It's D-Day People

Listen live at www.georgetownradio.com  to hear me on my new show, ALPHABEAT, every Thursday morning from 11 am-12 pm.

Today's D-Day.

Artists whose last name begins with the letter "D" will be played.

What do you think next week will be?

At long last, las fotos

Rio's beach

Scaled this in running sneakers.

It was totally worth it.

This is true.

Portuguese (?) side street in Colonia, Uruguay

I was a little early for Colonia's sunset.

Two hours later.

We were disappointed by Colonia's other attractions.

Why my park was called "El Rosedal"

Staying warm and camping out in an construction site at 6 am.

View from caravan to Punta del Diablo.

Big rocks.

The crew.

Taken from a bus; when I knew that making the solo trip to Bariloche was worth it. 

Again, more evidence that Bariloche is beautiful.

Sfumato.

So athletic.

Hazy from ashes.

Lucky to capture a few hours of an ash-free view.

The cutest.

Post-Kayaking.

Oasis.

Misty of Chincoteague?

Above a waterfall.

The brightest bit among the green.

Trespassing.

Cannonball.

This is why Bariloche is the Queen of the Andean Lake District.

An interesting choice for a baby-clothing store.

barilochay babay

So I told myself that I would report back every evening about my various activities here in Bariloche, but clearly I am incapable of keeping my word, even to myself. Maybe that is because when I decided to solo it to Bariloche from Buenos Aires, I pessimistically thought that I would spend evenings by myself and thus have time to sit down in front of the computer and blog. Sometimes it pays to be a little pessimistic because I have actually not been alone (ie I have made friends) and am having the best time. Ever.

I decided that after my 19 hour bus ride from BA I should probably do something a little active to stretch my legs out a bit. Opting for the Circuito Chico by bike, I thought that I would have a nice, short, leisurely ride around Lake Nahuel Huapi. When I got to the bike rental place, there were two other people also planning on riding-- a Taiwanese girl and an Israeli dude. All three of us were travelling alone, so the only logical thing for us to do would be to ride the Circuito Chico together. Feeling stubbornly independent, I quickly biked away from the others, thinking it would be better if I biked by myself...but within five minutes, I crashed into a bush on the side of the road. So I decided to not be an asshole. I swallowed my pride, dusted off my knees, and rejoined my new friends.

The 25-Km Circuito was beautiful but do not be fooled by the "Chico." It was pretty hilly at times, although on the whole, not impossibly difficult. Since I am not really a biker (only because I hate helmets and hate going really fast downhill), I am going to pat myself on the back for setting out to do the bike ride. I did not even complain once. For those who know me, you might admit that this is pretty good for me.

The bike rental company gave us vouchers for free beers at a local brewery, so after the 6 hour ride, all three of us headed straight there. Great marketing on the part of the bike company and the brewery because what did I learn about Bariloche that day? It is the land of chocolate, beer, ice cream and berries. You cannot beat that.

The next day, I climbed the Cerro Campanero with an Argentine and a French boy. It is only a 30 minute trek, but it is also very steep going up-- and honestly, it was all I could handle that morning, if you know what I mean. Beautiful view of all of the lake and the mountains surrounding it. The three of us stayed up at the top and did not talk; we just looked at the scenery and sat in silence for about 45 minutes. It was a perfect morning. A few months ago, a volcano in Chile erupted and the ashes from the eruption still hang in the air. Luckily when we first got to the top of the Cerro, the wind had not blown the ashes our way, but within the hour that we were up there, slowly the view became clouded over by a thick layer of ash. So after a bit we climbed back down. And then I got ice cream for the first of two times that day.

I took the afternoon off and laid out on the rocky, but surprisingly very comfortable beach. The lake water was chilly but refreshing. I submerged myself a few times before running out quickly for safety and sun on shore. I ran into my Israeli friend and hung with him and some other people by the beach until the sun set and I decided I was too cold to stay any longer. Twas another awesome day.

For today, the hostel offered a discount on rafting in class 4 rapids. For 170 pesos, it was a great deal. Although I was a little hesitant at first because my last rafting experience in Wyoming was not my most favorite thing in the world, the excursion proved to be a great choice. It was very ashy in the morning, so any view at the end of a long trek would not have been the best.

Bariloche ceases to amaze me. The water was aquamarine blue, clean, and so refreshing. Oh and rapid-y. The rafting was exhilerating-- but the best part came at the end, when we could jump out of the raft and just float down the river. Again, I was hesitant at first to leave the safety of the raft, but I am so glad I took the plunge (literally).

We got back late in the afternoon, so I took a little walk through the town and stopped in every single chocolate shop I saw. It proved to be a great afternoon activity since nearly every shop offers free samples. I most certainly successfully played the part of the obnoxious tourist, as I walked into every shop, admired and tasted the chocolate, and then slyly escaped without purchasing anything! Now I do not feel so well.

Anyway. Now I am back at the hostel and I think I will go eat some free dinner (I love hostels and the great promotions they offer). More later and pictures to follow.

Hydrofracking.

According to the Times, the New York State government is coming closer to deciding whether to allow gas companies to extract natural gas via hydrofracking in various parts of the state. "Hydrofracking"-- an eery sounding name in it of itself-- is a potentially dangerous and environmentally-threatening way of sequestering gas from shale buried deep below the ground. Gas companies are heavily lobbying the government for permission to swarm little upstate villages and drill into these sources where apparently the gas lies untapped. The benefit? We get natural gas! (Some) people get jobs! The downsides? A majority of the New York water supply is poisoned with carcinogens, heavy metals and radioactive materials and the green hills of the countryside are broken up and destroyed.

In efforts to dissuade New York residents worried about hydrofracking risks, the most recent article in the paper cites a representative of the Independent Oil and Gas Association of New York, Jim Smith (cool name, dude), who claims "'Listen, it's not as bad as you're hearing.' There are risks involved, but any fuel source has a risk attached to it." Bingo Mr. Smith! You got it! There are big risks involved with "fuel source" extraction. Let's take a look at the past couple of years, shall we? To name just two huge "fuel source" disasters caused by pure carelessness, let's not forget the Gulf Coast oil spill and Fukushima. So is hydrofracking worth all the trouble? I wouldn't think so; especially since history tells us we can't trust energy companies to do their job responsibly and safely.

My grandparents spend most of the year in the little village of Sharon Springs, about 3.5 hours away from New York City. My grandfather has been fighting with the rest of the town in the anti-hydrofracking movement since the moment the subject was brought up for debate. Last summer he told me that already, the next town over had given themselves over to hydrofracking. Once a hot spot-- literally, the town was known for bringing some (apparently) very sore, but very famous people up to its hot springs back in the day-- Sharon Springs hit a serious lull; but in recent years, the village has completely turned around and revamped its tourist industry. Not too far from the Glimmerglass Opera House, hundreds of people from all over the country come up north to spend relaxing weekend getaways in Sharon Springs, staying at local favorites like The American Hotel, sipping coffee from The Black Cat café, and buying goat's milk soaps and cheese made at The Fabulous Beekman Boys' farm. Hydrofracking not only poses a threat to the water supply, but in ripping up the ground and ruining the area's natural beauty, it risks destroying the positive economic growth this village has seen.

Environmental groups simply don't have nearly the amount of funds at their disposal as these gas companies and unfortunately haven't been able to pour the same large quantity of money into creating lobbying groups of their own. It's now up to Governor Cuomo to determine soon whether hydrofracking should be allowed. This is a classic case where the government has to decide between money and the welfare of millions of people.

I just hope that he hasn't been too influenced by the "fuel" fever that has infected other public officials in our government and that he makes the right decision for his citizens.

Please read the latest from The New York Times and more on hydrofracking.
Click here to "like" Sharon Springs' "anti-hydrofracking" Facebook page.

Update 12/1: Look at the comment I've posted below to read some more.

And a month later...

Admittedly I've truly been slacking off on the blog-front. Apologies to all those with such a keen interest in my activities down here in Buenos Aires. It's pretty hard to believe the semester is wrapping up in less than a month. I'm trying to not think about it.

Well, this past month (god, I really am pathetic at keeping up with el blog!) has been great. I've left the confines of the Argentine borders twice-- once to Rio (words seriously can't describe) and then to the small colonial town of Uruguay called... YEP you got... Colonia (like Colonial Williamsburg but sans reenactments and bonneted townspeople).

Hmmm what else? A ritzy polo match, a McDonald's-play-pen-but-for-hipsters-like art exhibit, an abortion-rights demonstration, a gorgeous sunset, a rain storm that broke the intolerable heat, a visit to an ex-torture camp, fresh-squeezed orange juice from underground subway vendors, a rose garden, a music performance at the Teatro Colón, and some skype conversations with my new dog, Scarlett. 

More to follow.