It's Not Paranoia if They Really Are After You

I was thinking about this yesterday -- well, not "paranoia" exactly, but where exactly the line is drawn between good sense in trusting your instincts, and being overly cautious, seeing potential danger where none might exist.  I pretty much go with my gut; if something feels "off" or makes me uncomfortable, I don't do it or I get the hell out of wherever it is.  I like to think that, after 20 years of looking after myself and navigating big-city life, that my instincts are pretty reliable.

I'm fine with things that make other women I know nervous -- walking around downtown Toronto late at night, for example -- because I have enough experience to tell me that it'll be fine.  Hey, I used to live at the corner of Jarvis and Gerrard, right near the "hooker Harvey's", when I first moved to Toronto, and walked home many a night by myself with no incidents.  (Except for one night I was mistaken for a hooker myself and almost arrested, but it was the fault of my Hallowe'en costume and some unfortunate coincidences.  But that's another story.)   I can travel other strange cities with ease and without worrying; I remember going to Washington with my Jeansmarines women for the marathon and realizing just how much more seasoned a traveller I was than many of them.  Some of them were overwhelmed just by the task of getting on the Metro and I had to shepherd them through it.

I`m conscious when I'm travelling that a women alone is more vulnerable -- I hate it, but it's a reality any female backpacker has to live with -- so there are things I choose not to do by myself.  Sometimes this means passing up things that I want to do, and I wonder if I play it too safe sometimes -- am I missing out on experiences that could have been rewarding, am I worrying for no reason?  I was thinking about this yesterday, after I came back from my hike. 

I went southwest of Cafayate heading for the Rio Colorado, and from there I was going to carry on up the river to a waterfall about an hour and half upstream.  While I was still about two kilometres from the river, though, a man appeared out of a side trail and started walking along with me, on the other side of the road.  At first, it was fine -- he seemed nice enough, we chatted amiably and I enjoyed the chance to practice my Spanish.  I held up my end of the conversation pretty well, although once in a while what I had to say was dictated more by what words I know than what I actually wanted to say!

By the time we got to the river, though, it started to feel ... off.  I don't mean threatening, exactly, just that something didn't quite feel right.  His questions were getting much more personal -- how many boyfriends did I have in Canada?  Did I have any boyfriends in Argentina?  Where was I staying?  Was I staying alone?  Did I know anybody here?  Why didn`t my friends come hiking with me?

He urged me to carry on with him on the path to the waterfall.  "It's a short walk, just up ahead -- it will only take 10 minutes -- and it's very beautiful, you will love it," he insisted. 

I took a look at the narrow, overgrown path leading off into the woods.  I looked around and realized there was no one else for miles around.  I remembered that my guidebook had said it was at least an hour and a half to walk to the waterfall ... not ten minutes.

So I "suddenly" noticed how late it was getting and exclaimed that I had to get back to town to meet my husband.  (Fake husbands or boyfriends are very useful things to bring travelling.)  I was already going to be late and he would be worried if I was any later.  With a hasty good-bye, I started back down the road towards Cafayate, and I never did get to see the waterfall.

He didn't follow me.  So if he was really just a nice guy who only wanted to help out a tourist or who was only looking for conversation with an interesting foreigner, then I'm sorry for thinking ill of him.   (But, really, I couldn't stand up my imaginary husband, could I?)  However, if he wasn't actually a nice guy ... then it could've gone very, very wrong had I not turned around and walked away.

But that's the thing about trusting your instincts.  You won't ever know what would have happened if you hadn't listened to them, if you'd made a different choice.  You can't tell whether anything bad would've happened, or not, so you can't judge whether you're being sensible or overly paranoid.  But I figure that, if I do something contrary to what my instincts tell me, then I'm going to be uncomfortable and worried the whole time anyway -- so even if it turns out to have been perfectly safe, I won't really have enjoyed it.

I have a pretty good idea, now, of what's a good idea for me and what isn't, but I'm sure everyone's comfort level or sense of security is different.  Where do you draw that line?

Where the Viento Zonda Blows

Cafayate, Argentina is one of my new favourite cities. Well, towns ... it`s perhaps about six blocks square so it doesn`t quite rank as a city. There is one main square, and one main street, and a scattering of parillas, cafes and hotels to take care of the tourists who come in droves to drink some fine torrontes wine and explore the weird and wonderful countryside around the town.  How grapes can grow in what is essentially a desert (complete with cacti and tumbleweed), I still haven`t figured out.   Today, on Sunday, the entire population of the town appears to have congregated in the square, and I could hear the church bells ringing all morning

The viento zonda has quieted today. It`s a warm, dry wind that travels down off the Andes -- northern Argentina`s equivalent to Alberta`s chinook -- and it blew fiercely for the past two days. It made for hot, dusty travel as I went south on Friday to just over the border in Tucumán province and the ruins of Quilmes, and yesterday as I went north through the Quebrada de las Conchas in the Valle Calchaquies. But it’s astonishing countryside around Cafayate, and well worth the heat and the dust; I do have some clothes that will never quite be clean again, though. The red dirt here is like the Australian Outback’s that way: once it’s there, the colour is there to stay.

This afternoon I am lazing on my balcony after a late start to the morning and a wander around the town. I am much happier, right now, than I have been for quite a while; time and space and permission to stop and recharge for a few days seems to have been just what I needed. The hotel is lovely, and the owner very charming; she seemed to realize immediately that I knew some Spanish but am not yet fluent, so she speaks to me in clearly enunciated and slowed-down Spanish that I can (mostly) grasp. She does speak perfect English as well, but she seems to have guessed that I like the chance to practice! And she doesn`t react to my attempts at Spanish as some people do, when they coo condescendingly “Oh, isn’t she cute trying to speak our language”.

Quilmes ruins, near Cafayate

Friday I decided on a whim to go to the Quilmes ruins about 60 km south of town along Ruta 40 (the same Ruta 40 that starts thousands of miles away in El Calafate, one of my first stops on this trip). It’s a bumpy, rutted road through wide-open country, ringed by mountains and dotted by towering cardón cacti 4 or 5 times my height. I travelled with a French couple that I’d been chatting to in the square, neither of whom spoke much English; fortunately some French knowledge does exist, buried in the recesses of my brain, and I could dig it out well enough to get by!

It got interesting when we got to Quilmes, though. Quilmes is Argentina’s oldest surviving ruin, dating back to about 1200 A.D., and it made it mostly unscathed through the Inca invasion and conquest.. It eventually fell to the Spanish in the 17th century, and the population was forcibly relocated to Buenos Aires (which still has a suburb named Quilmes, although few descendants remain). It’s a huge open ruin built up the side of a mountain; how far up you lived reflected your family’s social status, with the chief living at the top.

You can wander around on your own, and there are also guides on site to give you a history of the site. This is where it got interesting: our guide didn’t speak any English, but spoke deliberately slowly and carefully so we could grasp most of what he was saying. So if I understood him, I did my best to translate into French for the other two, and if they understood more, they`d translate for me (also into French). Or they`d ask me questions in French, for me to translate into Spanish and ask the guide. My brain physically hurt by the end of the afternoon, as I attempted to keep three languages straight in my head! And I was quite muddled for the rest of the day, throwing in French accidentally when I was trying to say something in Spanish. Fortunately, it`s often quite similar, so I can still usually make myself understood.

The French couple understood me well enough but were quite confused by my accent, though, till they learned I was from Canada; then they decided it was a `Canadian` French accent they were hearing. I didn`t tell them that my French accent is pretty muddled, too; after high school French taught by an Acadian and an Argentine (whose unique Spanish accent may have carried over into her French), I don`t actually know what kind of accent I have! Except that I don`t apparently sound TOO much like an Anglo, which makes me happy.

And in English, my accent confuses people sometimes too – I travelled north to the Quebrada in the company of some Brits yesterday, and they were all convinced (till I told them otherwise) that I was Irish. (Not sure if that`s the Phelpston or the Newfy side coming out ... ) Maybe next time I`ll just go along with it, and make up a whole new history for myself. Part of the fun of travel is that you get to re-invent yourself, after all!

The Quebrada (gorge, in Spanish) is a stretch of mountains and rock formations, that stretches for about 80 km north of Cafayate. The rocks don`t look like they`ve just eroded gradually over time; they look tortured and twisted by a giant unseen hand into fantastic and other-worldly shapes. And they are all the colours of the rainbow, just about, from the various minerals present that have oxidized – red and green and blue and yellow, layered on top of each other and shining brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

Garganta del Diablo

The most spectacular formation is probably the Garganta del Diablo, or Devil`s Throat; walking into this canyon did feel like walking into the maw of the earth, with it poised to swallow us whole. Those of us in adequate footwear (I am so glad I brought hiking boots after all!) scrambled over rocks and up sheer rock walls nearly to the end, walls of stone looming ominously around us.

The rest of the group waited near the entrance; what they were thinking in the outfits they chose that day, I`m really not sure. There was an English girl dressed as if she was off to a club, with cute little impractical slip-on shoes; one German girl in a denim skirt, purple shiny tights and a thick wool sweater and socks (on a very hot day); and a second German girl who was wearing what looked like pajama bottoms with flip-flops. Not exactly the best choices for hiking or climbing up rocks ...

We made it back to Cafayate as the sun set, and it got significantly colder after dark. But, as I have a fantastically large tub for my own exclusive use, it was easy to warm up again in a hot bath, as I sipped a glass of torrontes. I might stay another couple of days here -- I was supposed to leave tomorrow – as I`m enjoying this too much to rush away too soon. I`ll make some other budget trade-offs (maybe I`ll skip the $120 US Tren de las Nubes in Salta), and it`ll all be fine. And I`ll have a glass of torrontes tonight for you, too (but only one, since I`m going hiking tomorrow). Salud!

I Think I've Died and Gone to Heaven

Who knew that heaven would look just like the Hotel Killa in Cafayate, Argentina?  I just learned that when I arrived.  Oh, my, I think this may be exactly what I needed to get out of my funk and back into the travel groove again.

This won't be long since, well, I'm in heaven and I have better things to do.  Like have a glass of torrontes.  Or have a long, hot bath, something I haven't been able to do in almost three months.  Or maybe both of those things together.  At this rate, I'm probably not actually going to remember to have dinner tonight because I'll be too busy luxuriating in my big bed and my very own room, with my very own bathroom and bathtub and my very own safe to lock up all my valuables (so I don't have to walk around with everything strapped to me as I usually do).  And I can sleep naked tonight if I want. 

Any minute now I'm going to start singing.  "All I want is a room somewhere ..."  ... Eliza had the right idea.  Sometimes it's all about having your own space.

View from my balcony

Here's my quickie shot off my balcony -- note that there is even a pool!  If it's as warm tomorrow as it was today, it could even be swimming weather; today could've been a perfect late May summer day in Toronto.  It didn't feel at all like autumn.

You might think this is not much, for heaven.  Maybe you take all of those things for granted and think that heaven should offer something much grander.  Well, this hotel is nicer than my apartment (and probably your house too), and you've got to remember the perspective I'm coming from:  I usually sleep in a dorm with at least 5 other people (some of them 20-something boys, which is why I don't sleep naked), cook in a communal kitchen when I can get a turn at the stove and hang out in a common room with 20 of my new closest friends that I just met that morning.  The idea of an entire little world just for me is luxury, indeed.  I found the local vinoteca already, so I am prepared to spend as long as I choose in my room with ample supplies of wine to hand.

Actually, I think maybe all I needed was my own room for a little bit (but Hotel Killa is providing me with a lot more than that!).  I can be sociable and I like a good party, but I have a high need for solitude and "alone" time ... one of the characteristics of an introvert, I suppose.  It's hard to find this necessary solitude when you're staying in hostels most of the time -- while it's great to have all those other people around to talk to and have a beer with, or hook up for a day trip the next day, sometimes you just want them all to GO AWAY.  At least you do if you're an introvert, and particularly if you're one with hermit-like tendencies on occasion (like me, dear reader).

The town of Cafayate is very cute, too, and the bus ride from Salta was spectacular.  I spent an hour or so walking around town this evening, which means I probably saw the whole town since it's also very small.  But it's delightful, and it's a candidate to be added to my "where I could live" list (I'll keep you posted if it makes the cut, upon closer inspection).  I think I could happily spend a week here, although if I do, I'll have to move back to hostel living for some of that time or else I'll really be denting my budget.  A night here at Hotel Killa is about the same at a week at a hostel in Argentina -- not expensive by North American standards, considering the quality of what they're offering, but too much for a long-term stay if you hope to stretch your travel funds for a year!

Ahhhh ... I think that bath might be calling my name.  Along with that glass of torrontes.  I'll catch you later.

P.S.  And while I'm at it, here's an FYI, since it's a particular pet peeve of mine -- "introvert" DOES NOT equal quiet or shy.  It simply refers to where you get your energy from -- introverts recharge by being alone and spending time "in their heads" -- being "inward-directed" -- while extroverts feed on being around other people, being "outward-directed".  There are fewer true introverts around, so the majority extravert population tends to think we're a bit weird -- but please, please, PLEASE don't ever ask your introvert friend "Why are you so quiet?".   I used to get that a lot as a kid (I was extremely shy and quiet -- by comparison now I'm a regular social butterfly), and it always made me feel like a weird freak of nature; like being "quiet" was a character defect or abnormality.  (I would never say to a talkative person, "So how come you never shut up?" so please extend us introverts the reciprocal courtesy!).

La Linda, at last

I just arrived in Salta, Argentina ... nicknamed `La Linda` (`the fair` or `the beautiful one`) because it apparently is very lovely, with magnificent colonial architecture and a beautiful setting in the sierras.  I can`t really vouch for that yet, since I`ve spent the day mostly lounging around; what I did see on my walk from the bus station to the hostel this morning did look very pretty, though.

This has long been intended (well, for a month or so anyway) to be my most northerly stop in Argentina.  I hadn't quite realized just how bloody big Argentina is, or just how long it would take me to meander my way here!  But I arrived this morning, at last, off a very plush and comfortable bus ride -- complete with complementary malbec -- from Cordoba, Argentina.

Now that I'm here, I'm stopping for a bit, here and in Cafayate.  You may have read my previous rants and gathered that I'm probably overdue for this; sleeping in the same bed for more than a night or two will feel like a royal treat.  I might even splurge and stay at an actual hotel (i.e. have my own room, with no bunkbeds or roommates) in Cafayate ... Sarah or Steve, if you're reading this, where did you stay when you were there?  (And would you recommend it?)

I'll have a couple of days of enforced idleness, even if I felt like running around madly (which I don't); Monday and Tuesday are national holidays in Argentina, as May 25th is the 200th anniversary of the revolution that gained them their independence from Spain.  As a result, many things are shut, aside from the restaurants and cafes; I couldn`t play tourist even if I wanted to.  So my plan for tomorrow involves nothing more ambitious than parking myself on the hostel`s patio, with a glass of torrontes and a good book (I found an Anne Tyler and a John Irving in the last hostel`s book exchange, both of which I am very excited to read). 

And I`ll do some thinking about plans beyond Salta.  This is where I`m starting to tie myself in knots as I try to figure out options, so I`m probably going to ignore the whole issue tomorrow and get lost in a fictional world.  The problems of Anne Tyler`s characters are usually quite absorbing, so I doubt I`ll be thinking too much about my own dilemmas.

My original plan was to head from Salta to San Pedro de Atacama in Chile, and from there organize a trip through the salt flats of Salar de Uyuni into Bolivia (at least a 4-day excursion).  But I`m conscious that it`s the end of May, almost, and I still haven`t made it to Cuzco -- my four `must see`s` in South America on this trip when I started out were Easter Island, Mendoza/wine country, Machu Picchu and the Galapagos Islands.  Everything else I saw, I thought, would be gravy but I wouldn`t be too upset to miss other stuff.  Well, I`ve got two of those things still to do -- and I`m still determined not to miss them! -- so part of me just wants to get to Cuzco, and then to Quito, so I can organize those trips.  I decided to cancel my Inca Trail booking, so I could do one of the alternative treks instead; now, I`m quite glad of that, as I`d otherwise have to be in Cuzco and starting the hike next week!  (And I have one very sore heel that would seriously undermine my hiking ability right now.)

I`ve also realized that travelling through Bolivia would take a lot of time and effort, as their bus system is nothing like Argentina`s.  Flights from Bolivia to destinations out of the country are either non-existent or expensive, so my Plan B of simply flying onward from Uyuni to Cuzco doesn`t look possible either.  Then I thought maybe I`d just skip the salt flats, and fly directly from Salta to Cuzco; well, there are flights, but they`re about $900.  That`s just a wee bit steep for my budget, particularly after I already took an expensive (but worth it) detour to Easter Island.  And I don`t really want to skip ALL of Bolivia, just the scary bits (La Paz).

I went online and found a travel agency in Salta that does a Salta-Salar de Uyuni-San Pedro trip in about 5 days, which is much faster than I`d ever be able to do it on my own.  Plus, I like the idea of having travel companions for a few days!  From San Pedro, I could carry on over the border into Peru and be in Cuzco before too long, so it just might work.  I`ve emailed the company in question, but probably won`t hear back till at least Wednesday (everything being shut, as I mentioned).

So I don`t know, really, what I`m going to do.  I think I`m just going to put the question out of my mind for a few days and just relax:  read, write, go for walks, review my Spanish course books (I have become too used to just using basic Spanish and switching to English if I get stuck; I`d like to refresh my memory).  Maybe after a few days to recharge, all will become clear.  Or at least maybe I`ll just be able to pick a plan and go with it, instead of ruminating endlessly and driving myself completely mad.

Oy vey.  This travel stuff is not a walk in the park, but I`m going to have such a sense of accomplishment by the time I get home.  (This is important for us Type A, overachieving, first-born children so that`s a really good thing.)  And I`ve learned some stuff along the way; no, I haven`t figured out the big question of `so what do I want to do with my life when I get back home?`, but I do realize now, at least, that I like having a home base (so I won`t became a total nomad) and I like having a purpose/goal other than `what do I feel like doing today?`(That`s good in the short term ... but as a lifestyle, it wouldn`t work for me.)  And I really, really like to write, as I`ve learned from writing this blog; it`s gratifying to know that people out there are reading it (I love it when you comment!) but I`d do it anyway, because it makes me happy.  Maybe I`ll even dust off my mystery novel again over the next few days and get writing some fiction, too.

Anyway, I think I`ve probably done enough rambling for the moment.  I`m also hungry, so I`m going to go cook my dinner -- I`m excited about that, I found lots of vegetables and spices at the market and am going to make my favourite arrabiata sauce.  With perhaps another glass of torrontes to wash it down ... bottoms up!