The End of Travel...?

Provocative title, yes?

Happy New Year, first of all. I got so wrapped up in posting year-in-review lists over at Matador Trips that the milestone came and went uncelebrated here at WayWorded. And I think I'm in the minority; if you're jonesing, here are several quality end-of-years to check out:

What's Around the Corner (Carlo Alcos on Matador Trips)
2009: Year in Review (Collazo Projects)
Closing 2009 (MusicTravelWrite)
Balcony View of 2010 (Geotraveler's Niche)
Doing Canada: Where I'm Going and Where I've Been (Candice Does the World)
Happy New Year! Now Read These Lists. (Eva Holland)

For me, the new decade marks a shift. I spent all of 2009 on the go, exploring the dialects, menus, volunteer opportunities, and cultural idiosyncrasies of southern South America. The experience brought me to some hard truths--the most significant of which is that I'm ready to start putting down roots.

As of next week, I'll be hanging up my suitcases (or more likely throwing them away--they were bought in a Santiago bargain store and are total crap) and scouring the homeland for a place to call home.

So what does this mean for a travel blog? Well, to kill the cliffhanger brought on by the title of this post, I'll say it DOESN'T mean the end of travel! After all, back when I started WayWorded at the intro of 2008 (wow, two years!), I was more-or-less stationary in Portland, Maine. In fact, it was being stationary that gave me the time and motivation to kick off a blog in the first place. It's that kind of creative potential that's driving me homeward.

And, if that's not convincing enough, I just purchased tickets for a 2-week trip to Spain in April. No, the travel is most decidedly not over. It's simply that 2010 will encompass much more.

Can't wait.

Argentina's Arizona

The cathedral, Talampaya. Photo: Aya Padrón

Argentina is like North America upside down. At the bottom you have the glaciers and frozen, inaccessible winters of Alaska and northern Canada. A bit higher, near Esquel, snow caps rocky mountains, their pine-sided slopes reminiscent of Colorado, Wyoming. I've never been up to Salta and Jujuy provinces, but in my mind their stand-in is the Chihuahua Desert of West Texas/northern Mexico.

And last week, on a five-day rental car roadtrip out of Mendoza, I found Arizona. Flat, dusty desert stretches, unexpected ridge passes wound by caminos sinuosos, ancient-cut canyons, colored rock photogenically eroded. So...maybe Arizona+Utah.

The best, of course, lay within protected parks: La Rioja's Parque Nacional Talampaya, and, 80km down the highway in San Juan, Parque Provincial Ischigualasto. I hit both in one day, which, although leaving no time for the more attractive touring options of mountain biking or trekking, did allow me to see the major attractions. Scroll down and you can too.

Between the walls of Talampaya's canyon--the only Pre-Cambrian canyon in the world that...something or other. The tour was in Spanish and geology is complicated.

A view up The Chimney, a vertical concave scoop in the redstone wall that produces some trippy echoes when you yell in it.

Out of the canyon. The right-most formation is "El Monje" (The Monk). In the distance, the outline of a chain of 6,000m+ nevados that predate the Andes by a few hundred million years.

Ischigualasto (more commonly known as Valle de la Luna) was slightly underwhelming (could have been the 100-degree heat). But its contrasts with Talampaya, despite being so close, were fascinating.

"La Cancha de Bochas" (The Bocce Court)

The Valley of the Moon's two most notable features: eroded yellow pillars and the long, low redstone ridge that runs along the eastern border.

*Note: For more, keep your eyes on Matador Trips, where I hope to publish a guide on these two and one other western Argentinean park in the coming weeks.

Call It a Vow

I will climb this peak.


Name: Cerro Aconcagua
Height: 6,962 meters (22,841 feet)--the tallest mountain outside of Asia
Location: Mendoza Province, Argentina, 15 miles from the Chilean border
Location of photo: Parque Provincial Aconcagua
Days till climb: Undetermined...

Getting Stuffed, Giving Thanks

A quick note on this very fine Turkey Day.

In the spirit of bloated bellies, I published a photo essay on Matador Nights about a recent trip to a "meat market" in Montevideo, Uruguay. It is what it sounds like. Check it: A Case of the Meat Sweats in Montevideo.

I'm in Mendoza today. Therefore, I am thankful for good wine. Not just the diverse tastes, toned-down labels, and sleek green bottles, but for the creativity and dedication that go into its production--and the production of all the things we make not because we have to but because we want to.

Last year, I wrote about my thankfulness for travel. Obviously, I'm still feeling strong on that. But right now I'm also thankful that I'll be flying home in 20 days, back to drip coffee, unnecessarily creative vegan food, and a loving crew.

And hopefully to make a home--the other half of travel.

Peace and thanks out to you all.

I Don't Know What I'm Doing

I move out of my Buenos Aires apartment in less than 3 days. Nothing's packed. I'm not even sure if everything will fit in my luggage, despite the new duffel I bought from the arcade on Avenida Santa Fe.

Should I be worried? I don't know.

I've done this so many times it shouldn't require thought. Planning, packing, leaving. I mean, take your pick:

Confessions of a Serial Packer
The Old One-Two
The Cycle
No Regrets
Farewell, Portland
Farewell, Cocha
Another Farewell: Cuzco
Rebirth

You'd think I'd have it figured out.

But I don't. I don't know where all my stuff is. I don't even know what stuff I have. In my mind, there are tiny, dusty possessions hiding in corners, under the couch, in the back of the cabinet that reeks of mothballs. I'll never find them all. Something will be forgotten, left here in this septuagenarian-painted 10th-floor one-bedroom, stuck in some mildewed crack, becoming mildew, until they tear the whole building down and cart away the rubble.

And I'll be somewhere else, a different person living a different life, and I won't even know it's gone.