Tilcara

This small pueblo has proven too intoxicating to escape. We almost didn´t stop here at all. We almost headed straight to the Bolivian border from Jujuy. But we did stop here, and the days started drifting by. It´s easy when there´s so many simple pleasures and explorations to fill them up from sunrise to sunset. And in this colorful valley, the rise and fall of the sun seem to last for hours each day, the tall mountains hiding that big ball of fire though still allowing enough light to dance a thousand different colors on the rocks and in the sky. The middle of the day is hot, though not unbearably so, and best spent lounging in the shade with conversation, maté, writing, and juggling. Our Spanish is damn-near conversational at this point and our maté etiquette is almost at Porteño standards. Leo (our Basque juggling friend) is a great juggler and has taught us lots of great new tricks. He learned the round-a-bout in less than an hour and likes Lebn´s slack-line so much, he´s going to Jujuy to buy one.
We´ve spent a great portion of our time here with him as he is currently living here to be close to his mother, and a porteña (a native of Buenos Aires) theater/opera student named Carla. The four of us have explored areas all around town and there are a great many to explore. Walking through the quiet town is satisfying enough, though the natural beauty that engulfs it is all within walking distance. A narrow, steep canyon called El Garganta del Diabolo, a colorful cemetery with and incredible view of the valley, and a small, lazy lagoon with ducks I´ve never seen before and the occasional local riding by on horseback. Last night we ascended a nearby mountain to watch the sunset and get our most spectacular view of the town and the valley so far. There´s an old fort, a virtually unconquerable habitation of the indigenous peoples that have populated this area for thousands of years, just outside of town called Pucara, that seems to be the main tourist draw, though I wonder if most tourists know its best viewed from above. With the dimming light, and a slight mist, the whole valley almost seemed like a mirage, but from our vantage, we could here dogs conversing in all parts of the quiet little town, adding the slightest hint of realism to our dreamy position.
All of these wonderful things aside though, I think that today is the day we leave this town. Lebn went on a little spirit quest last night, into the wild with nothing more than a sleeping bag and a pocket knife, and, assuming he hasn´t been eaten by Pumas, when he returns, we pack up and head to the bus station to gain passage to Bolivia. We´re told that Bolivia has a very similar vibe to Tilcara, but its cheaper, which makes us wonder if, once we´re there, we´ll ever be able to leave. Things are slowing down the closer we get to the center of this great continent, and I´m feeling pretty comfortable with that. It´s easy to see how people end up travelling down here for years. But fear not loved ones, we´re slow, but we´re steady, and we long to see you all again. But it might make things a little easier if you´d just get your sweet asses down here to join us. We love you all.

MORE PHOTOS!!!

There are a few more photos posted at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lebnjay
Enjoy!

PEANUT BUTTER -exclamation point-

The package has arrived, and not only did it include the debit card, but letters from loved ones, Kevlar for torch making, and... PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY. This sentence would ordinarily be followed by a long string of exclamation points, however the keyboard I´m working with seems to have a dead key or seven, so you´ll just have to take my word that we are very, very, very, very, excited to have these wonderful, splendiforous things in our possession and incredibly grateful for the lovely ladies that made it all possible: sister, Dream, and Becketsy. We love you all. We´ve lived on peanut butter over the past few days and we feel really, really good about it. And I cannot neglect to mention the sweet, delicious, accompanying goodness that is homemade jam. Thank you Dream.
And with the arrival of the package came a swift departure from Mendoza though, I must admit, it came with a bit of remorse. It´s amazing how quickly you can become a regular in a place. We made a handful of good friends that it was difficult to say goodbye to, and really just began to scratch the surface of the circus scene.
We ended up spending most of our last days in town with a Chilean juggler named Willy and his lovely lady - a Mendocina - Valentina. We juggled a lot, cooked incredible meals, and shared beers and pizzas at gas stations, just like the locals. Gas stations, believe it or not, are the major hang-outs in Argentina. You can get food, coffee or beer and watch Fútbol all day long. We also went to a silks workshop at an abandoned train station that was pretty amazing. Pictures to be posted soon. The trains have stopped running in many parts of Argentina, and at least four of them that we´ve heard about, have been converted into cultural centers that seem to focus on circus. The workshop had four sets of silks hanging - they cost about thirty dollars a set down here -, had about fifteen ladies in attendance - the only fella was the instructor, lucky dawg -, and it was totally free. And I guess they happen all the time. It was a beautiful sight to behold. It was all becoming quite comfortable in Mendoza and we were getting a healthy dose of Spanish practice after Sam´s departure, but after three weeks, it was time to go. And off to Jujuy we went.
We were only there for a day, wherein we met a juggler that Willy had told us to find, juggled in a construction sight in the middle of a road, and had my guitar stolen - the details of which are too painful for me to go into at great length.
We are now in a lovely little town called Tilcara, an artist colony in a high desert. It´s beautiful and so nice to be in a small town after so many cities. The streets are dirt or cobble-stoned, the people are friendly, and the colors are plentiful, the surrounding mountains changing hue with every passing hour. Sunrise and sunset are the most breathtaking. Purples, oranges, greens and reds. We went on a great little hike this morning and discovered even more beauty along a small river with deep canyons speckled with saguaros. Pictures to be posted soon.
And we´ve been spending time with some great people to boot. A Spanish juggler named Leo and a lovely porteña named Carla. We´re already here a day longer than expected. But Bolivia is well within our sights, and I expect that the next entry in this little blog will come from within its borders. No way to be certain though.

The Sophistificationizing of Juggles, and Other Stories

This entry was supposed to come a week ago, but I was cut off the Internet while nearing the dramatic conclusion, it was lost, and I haven´t had the heart to go it again until now. I apologize (mostly to my Mother – I´m alive!) for its tardiness.
Needless to say, the lost entry was full of danger, intrigue, romance and high-class debauchery. We, feeling our most touristy to date, threw our spendthiftiness to the wind and rented some bicycles for a whistle-stop through wine country. We toured the vineyards and bodegas, sampling the finest vintages, and dined at the classiest joint in town. We ate rabbit, enjoyed a toilet paper stocked bathroom (proof positive that this joint had class), and resisted the temptation to scavenge the leftovers on nearby tables. True sophistication.
We decided to splurge as a last gas for the Tres Gringo Circo. Sam has left our merry trio for the greener pastures of Brasil and meditation work partying. He will be missed. Almost as much as his camp stove. I kid. Lebn´s already rigged up a new stove with two empty beer cans (emptied by yours truly), a 25 centavo coin (earned at a semáforo), and pure alcohol (blessed by a Mapuche chieftan), so we will miss Sam much more than his stove. And we very much hope to meet up again somewhere down the road.
Lebn and I remain in Mendoza for the time being, though we´re itching to get up to Bolivia as soon as we possibly can. We can´t leave until the “package” arrives though. I´d like to think that putting it quotation marks makes it more mysterious and interesting, but I don´t think I´m fooling anyone. We´re just waiting for a debit card. Mendoza isn´t the worst place in the world to kill some time though. Its full of splendid plazas, outdoor cafes, and wide and lovely, tree-lined streets. The trees are all watered by a series a small, open canals that run along both sides of every street, a system set up by the indigenous people that once inhabited the area. It´s a real marvel, but a bit treacherous for careless drunks or inattentive tourists. We´ve dropped a lot of clubs in them, but never ourselves. Knock on wood.
There´s also proving to be more of a circus scene here than we first imagined. Over the weekend, the main plaza is full of incredibly professional clown acts some of whom have been working together in Mendoza (and travelling occasionally) for years. It really shows too. The performers are all well-rounded and versatile and the shows are all impeccably polished. But we´ve also been hanging out with some kids who are putting it together like we are. We heard about a guy who was doing shows with juggling and silks that he hangs from a tree, that wanted to meet us. Turns out he´s another Chilean named Willy, though much younger than our compadre in Valparaíso. His shows are full of great tricks, but lacks the polish that comes with experience. He´s introduced us to some other circus folks in town that get together for workshops a lot, though they generally seem to happen before we´re all up and ready. But if we have to wait for the “package” near as long as I fear we will, we´ll have plenty more chances.
One other funny store comes to mind. We met three California girls who are studying in Santiago, but were weekending in Mendoza, who travelled across the mountains with the same bus driver that brought us across. We discovered this random fact when they starting relating a story to us that he had related to them about 3 crazy gringos that, when trapped on the pass due to inclimate weather, slept outside on the concrete, instead of the warmth and comfort of the van, and they didn´t even complain about it. We further confirmed the drivers identity when discussing his taste in music and his hairstyle. Night at the Roxbury techno, and a buzz cut except for one curly lock that sprouts slightly off-center from the the back of his head at the neckline. They´re already telling stories about us, the folk songs come next.