to move up and down
El Cupolog
Pan-american Transmissions : The Road to Tierra Del Fuego
Guanacos at the exit gates / Guanacos a las puertas de salida
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Stoned Immaculate
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Follow the river / Sigue el río
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Fifteen Faces / Quince Rostros
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Cuerno Espada
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Morning’s first sight / Primera vista de la mañana
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Mochileros
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Me desperté en un mar de hielo
Grey Glacier, Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Bienvenido a Torres del Paine
Parque Nacional Torres del Paine, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Muros Verde / Green Walls
Bosque Encantado, Parque Nacional Queulat, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
El camino de ripio / The gravel road
When I touched down on Chile’s mainland I decided to hitchhike or walk the rest of way south on the Carretera Austral.
I had a lot of time to think on the boat ride over and realized I had been spending a lot of money on buses and wasn’t really enjoying the journey. A change was needed. The new adventure began and I received confirmation when I got my second ride from a park ranger who took me into Pumalín Park free of charge.
Parque Pumalín, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2013
Parque Nacional Chiloé
Isla Grande de Chiloé, Chile - © Diego Cupolo 2012
Buenos Aires Without Porteños
I realized something important among the pot smoke, dreadlocks, jugglers, mate sippers, and all the people in Parque Centenario shouting “por aja”, “por la caje”, “vos” and “sos.”
My life in Buenos Aires included few locals – few porteños. I looked at all the circles of friends in the park knowing I understood little about their lives, thoughts or culture. A disappointment, really, and the first of its kind in this long trip through Latin America where mixing with locals has always been the most memorable part of the experience.
Sure, I’ve been enjoying good company from Chileans, Peruvians, Colombians and about half the French expat community that has recently swarmed into the city, but my lack of contact with the people of Buenos Aires made me a bad traveler, a bad integrator.
The next day, I took these thoughts with me as I headed to Villa Crespo to see a German friend that lived with group of porteños. I walked into her house and found two housemates drinking wine on the terrace so I said hello, introduced myself and sat down. This action was followed by complete silence.
The two guys, both with big beards and Peruvian hippie pants, looked around the terrace for about two minutes, awkwardly sipping their wine and nodding there heads between thoughts.
I figured they were waiting for me to say something so I tried to start a conversation.
“¿Cómo va la vida? ¿Cómo va el fin de semana?” I said. “How’s life? How’s your weekend going?”
One guy didn’t move, unresponsive, and the other looked at the tile flooring for while before sipping his wine and shifting his gaze towards me.
“La vida, no lo sé … y el fin de semana, no me acuerdo,” he responded slowly. “Life, I don’t know … and the weekend, I don’t remember.”
I laughed a little just to be friendly, and was then confronted with complete silence once again. I sat there for another minute looking at the two men in front of me. Their faces showed the lack of discourse was forced, unnatural, and I wanted to get out of this situation, but my friend was getting ready in the bathroom.
With few options, I tried again, and again and again. I asked questions to fill the void and they were all responded in the same manner. It was either philosophical phrases without any true meaning or nothing at all. Intellectual masturbation or the uncomfortable, cool silence of a seemingly deep concentration.
My friend eventually came out of the bathroom and was ready to go. I got up, said “Hasta luego” to the guys and walked into the street reminded of the reason I have few porteño friends here in Buenos Aires – a city of 15 million people where somehow, someway, I keep having the same non-conversation.
“I must be meeting the wrong people. I must keep trying. I must not lose faith,” I tell myself, but the faith was lost a long time ago.
Caballito, Buenos Aires - © Diego Cupolo 2012
Surrounding
Valle de Cocora, Colombia - © Diego Cupolo 2012
Caribbean Camping
This place was out of our budget from the start.
It was a long road to Patagonia so we skipped through most of Costa Rica and saved money where ever we could. We stayed with friends, we lived on a white bread, bananas and avocados, and we hitched rides through the entire country.
When we got to the Caribbean, Ania and I camped on the beach. It was free and better than Rocking J’s - the cheapest, most obnoxious hostel in the area. (Some people never graduate from college.)
On the beach, alone, we watched the sun rise out of the ocean and swam naked in the morning light. When we got thirsty, we cut open a coconut.
Not bad for budget traveling.
Cahuita National Park, Costa Rica - © Diego Cupolo 2011
