Bus, Boat, Train, Where Am I Again?

Large orange fish skimed the surface of the pond, searching for food and jumping for bugs in violent splashes. Red arc bridges with golden caps at the point of each banister traversed the waters. A mixture of local Buenos Aires flora like palm fronds mingled with Japanese plants like pink roses. Bird song, duet with traffic roar outside the fence. Sky scraper shadows reminded me that this Japanese garden refuge was actually in the middle of Buenos Aires, Argentina. Blue sky littered with cotton ball clouds reminds me that all of these images are one in a big world and they can all be seen at once thanks to multi-culturalism.

Multi-culturarlism is the essence of the last stint of my journey. Before visiting the Japanese garden on Wednesday, Robert and I went to the Holocaust museum, which demonstrated the perspective of German immigrants during WWII. I was unaware of the large ammounts of survivors, including Jews and Nazis who immigrated to Buenos Aires, both to escape eachother and the aftermath of the war. Today the traces of both cultures can be seen in the Argentinian society. In 1997 a Nazi carbomber destroyed a Jewish business and killed a lot of people. After that incident, all Jewish owned businesses have metal baracades along the street, like poles sticking out of the ground, so that no one can drive into them.

It was a sad experience, as any holocaust museum, but what is even sadder is that a genocide just the same is going on today in Darfur, nearly hidden or ignored by the western civilization.

That evening I was invited to a dinner party by two Australian guys, Marc and Geoff, at Geoff~s appartment. The food was amazing, but the company was even better. There were also two Danish girls there, Line and Natja. This was part of the same group I went out with to the barbeque grill that a described in my previous entry.

Thursday morning we woke up early and hopped on a boat to Colonia, Uruguay, an antique town founded during the conquest as a Spanish port. Many of the original cobblestone streets are still in use and the original cathedral, lighthouse, and many other buildings are open for tourism. But I didn~t do any of that. As soon as I stepped away from the port, the first thing I noticed was the abundance of motorcycle rentals and I didnt even think twice when I saw it only cost the equivalent of $20 USA to rent a scooter.

I cruised around all afternoon. When stopped to wander around the historic area, through some shops and what not, was when I met Mauro, a guy selling handmade jewlery.I bought a pair of earings and asked if he could make a necklace custom for me. He told me to come back in a half hour. Well he wasnt quit finished when i came back, so I sat down and talked with him. He told me that he was originally from Brazil, but he had been traveling around and selling jewelery for ten years. Then he told me about an amazing lake near by and said he would show it to me if I wanted. It was only a twenty minute scooter ride. I was hesitant at first, but then he introduced me to several of his friends down near the beach, and I realized he was a genuine person out to see the world, just like me.

So we both hopped on the scooter. I was shocked to find that just after we crossed the train tracks that the ritzy tourist village turned into a shanty town with children in ragged clothing running around in groups with the dogs over garbage on the streets. He told me not to be affraid, that this is where he lived, and he pointed out a tent that was his. When we got to the other side of the shacks, I parked the scooter, and he asked some kids to keep an eye on it. They said no one ever takes anything around there and that it was safe. We crossed a wooded area with a few cactus prickling my sandaled feet and out of the trees came a glittering lake. He said it was so clean that you could drink it, so deep you would never touch the bottom, and hardly anyone knew it was there.

We sat down on the edge of the mica overhanging the water. Mauro told me that this lake was formed by mining. The miners extracted rock so deep down that one day they struck a layer of rock and their whole mining city and operation was covered by a spring that gushed out. With this he demonstrated a story of how nature is greater than man. He told me all about the indigenous people that inhabited this land before the conquistadors and their god, Pachamama. Pachamama is everything, the water, the land, the trees, the sky, the animals, the people, he explained. They were very intelligent people that kept their calender with the cycles of the moon every 28 days and knew the ways of the seas and the natural world. The people used to live in harmony with pachamama and when the conquistadors came, they heard a great boom in the sky, an exploding cannon, and thought that it was a sound from the God, and for that the beleived that the conquest was the will of the God.

After a good long discusion at the edge of this lake, we went back through the trees, found the scooter in tact, back through the slum, and to the city. I was only on a day trip to Colonia, so I had to catch a boat back to Buenos Aires, but it was a wonderful experience and I will never forget the people I met that day.

Friday after checking out of the hostal, Robert and I met the same group of people from the dinner on Wednesday at the Buenos Aires Zoo. It was huge and had a great variety of animals from every continent in large, artistically tasteful exhibits with statues intermingaling along the paths. That made for a wonderful afternoon before we huried back to the hostal to pick up our luggage, make dinner, and hop on the bus that brought me to this lovely city, Puerto Iguazu.