Uruguay: A Genuine First Impression

Life is full of first impressions—meeting some one for the first time, visiting a new place, fresh culinary experiences—but it’s become harder and harder to encounter a genuine first impression while traveling. Uruguay was just that. Never before had I talked to a friend or acquaintance who had been there, watched a travel special about the small country, or even seen an article in Natty Geo. I had absolutely no idea about what to expect.


Plaza Indepencia


We stepped out of the airport, 20 km away from the capitol, Montevideo, into the heat and only heard one “Taxi?” After a quick, “No, gracias” there was no further pursuit. As anyone who's been to a heavily touristed area can relate, being hounded by relentless local vendors and hawkers is a constant annoyance. This was the first of many experiences that confirmed Uruguay’s location off the beaten path. However, that’s not to say that it was an undeveloped path.


Statue of Artigas in Plaza Indepencia



Mausoleo de Artigas



Montevideo's streets are filled with motorcycles. In Colonia del Sacramento, motorcycles and scooters outnumbered cars ten-to-one.


During the bus ride into Montevideo, residential barrios, some resembling middle class neighborhoods in California or Florida, gave way to a wall of towering buildings. Arterial Avenida 9 de Julio led us to Plaza de Indepencia, where we saw the first of many statues of Jose Gervasio Artigas, “the father of Uruguayan independence.” Descending steps on either side of the statue lead to his underground mausoleum. After a brief rest in the cool tomb, we ascended to visit one of Montevideo’s largest attractions, El Ciudad Vieja (the Old City).


Abandoned Building In the Old City



El Ciudad Vieja



El Ciudad Vieja



El Ciudad Vieja



Taranco Palace Gardens


The Old City is a largely poor barrio on the south side of Montevideo. Although a section near Plaza Indepencia has been gentrified, containing many bars, restaurants, and nightclubs, most of the neighborhood is in disrepair. Crumbling buildings have been bricked shut (presumably to keep out squatters) and young, shirtless children and tourist police are the only keepers of the street. Despite all this, the Old City contains some of the most beautiful architecture in Montevideo with baroque facades and tall wooden doors. We even stumbled upon the beautifully preserved Taranco Palace, built by a French architect in the early 20th century for the Taranco brothers, immigrant merchants who found their fortune in the Americas. After wandering the streets for a few hours, we drifted down to the corniche. Here we discovered what keeps Montevideo’s artist class busy—the graffiti.


Hendrix



Zoot Suit Riot (killing Yoshi while the girl with the bleeding eyes watches in terror?) Photo by Melissa Meyer



Uncertainty, Photo by Melissa Meyer



VISUALKEI



Knuckle Dragger, Photo by Melissa Meyer


We eventually uncovered the reason for Montevideo's urban art scene. Unemployment in Uruguay is around 8% of the 3 ½ million people (over a million of whom live in Montevideo). The country’s traditional industry, agriculture, on which they rely for most of their exports, has been waning in the recent years. Perhaps in an attempt to transcend this industry many young professionals are turning to technologies. Our couchsurfing.com hosts, who were Venezuelan and Uruguayan, both work for an airline reservation call center in Montevideo. According to Wikipedia, Uruguay has become the first exporter of computer software in Latin America. These new industries may be catching speed, but not all of Uruguay’s youth are running to catch up. There exists a substantial demographic of left-wing youth who express their radical desires through graffiti and release their pent-up angst across concrete canvases throughout the city. One of the most surprising sights on first arriving to Montevideo was the graffiti sprayed across the columns of a city government building. Apparently Uruguay’s democratically-elected leftist government is the most liberal grantor of freedom of expression in Latin America. So much that vandalism goes unchecked. When discussing the wall-side paintings, however, it’s hard not to make an argument in favor of the urban art.


We Are 138, Photo by Melissa Meyer



Savanna



The Aliens Who Gave Birth To Human Civilization and Religions. Do the Uruguayans know something that we don't? (Note the pyramid and all-seeing eye at bottom right.) Photo by Melissa Meyer


After a wonderful night with our hosts, tasting the regional fare and chatting about local culture, we headed off to Punta del Este, unarguably the largest tourist attraction in Uruguay.


"Patriotism is Egotism En Masse", Photo by Melissa Meyer



"No More State Terror"



"I'm a Marxist of the Groucho Trend" (Irony is not lost on the Montevideans), photo by Melissa Meyer


If Montevideo is the bastion of young, middle-class professionals and blue-collar urbanites, Punta del Este houses the country’s upper class and wealthy expatriates. The coast here is lined with ocean-side resorts, what would be multi-million dollar condos in the United States or Europe (I couldn’t get in touch with my real-estate agent to confirm the actual prices), and fancy restaurants catering to beach-bound tourists. There’s not much else to say other than the place was filled with Argentineans away for the weekend, and strolling the shadowed, narrow, wind-swept, tree-lined streets at night set off my pirate meter. If not now, this dark, defendable point with it’s sheltered bay was in the past a pirate paradise.


Bikini Beach @ Punta del Este, Photo by Melissa Meyer

Since our daily budget doubled after arriving in Punta del Este, we decided to cut the visit short and took a 7-hour bus ride across Uruguay’s southern coast to Colonia del Sacramento, a Portuguese-built smuggler’s den across the Rio de la Plata from Buenos Aires.


Iglesia Matriz, Built Circa 1680


Calle de los Suspiros

Originally, we were only going to spend an hour in Colonia in transit to Buenos Aires. Most guidebooks suggest no more than a few hours as a side trip from the Argentinian capitol. On the way out of Montevideo our bus broke down for an hour causing us to miss the last ferry to BA. Lucky for us we were forced to spend the night and hence discovered the entrancing tranquility and beauty of Colonia’s quiet, cobblestone streets and archaeological gems.


Calle de los Suspiros


San Francisco Xavier

Colonia del Sacramento was founded in 1680 by Portuguese to smuggle goods across the estuary into Spanish-controlled Buenos Aires. In the 1760s Spain captured the port thus curtailing the “illegal” activities, but Colonia retained its unique foundations. Today one can visit some of the oldest buildings still standing in Uruguay. The Iglesia Matriz (“Main Church”) was building in 1680 and has withstood several partial destructions. The building’s resilience was due in large part to the policies of an early governor who insisted that it be built with masonry. Another old foundation is the Convento de San Francisco, built between 1683 and 1704. Today, the wide stone walls encircle a modern lighthouse. The Calle de los Suspiros (“Alley of Sighs”) is a perfect example of Colonia’s charm. The cobblestone street leading to the water’s edge was built with a V-shaped central drainage. This was (and still is in some parts of the world) the preferred method of drainage when an underground sewer system doesn’t exist to be utilized with crowned streets and gutters. Wandering under the willows on Colonia’s tranquil streets once again set off my pirate-meter. Arguably this was once a pirate stronghold as they smuggled goods across the Rio de la Plata into Argentina. The next day I had to drag myself onto the ferry and leave Colonia. We were heading from paradise into the mouth of a leviathan, the crowded, pollution-filled streets of Buenos Aires, Argentina.


Antique Art in Colonia's Streets


Colonia del Sacramento Vibe

I didn’t know what to expect in Uruguay and I was delightfully surprised with what I discovered. From Montevideo’s painted barrios, across Punta del Este’s umbrella-studded beaches, and through Colonia’s outlaw past, Uruguay was a constant delight. It comes as a surprise that more haven’t discovered this lightly trodden path between Brazil and Argentina. Many claim that Uruguay is developing its tourism industry to entice more travelers into her borders. After visiting it’s clear that anyone traveling the region would be sorely remiss to skip over this diamond in the rough.

p.s. I hope to have more pics up on Picasa soon. Internet has been kind of spotty.

Vegan Will Chapter 2: Reservoir Cogs

The last 72 hours have been a blur. We traveled up to the 24-hour course on Friday afternoon to set up camp. Since 24-hour town fills up fast, we had driven up on Thursday night to throw up a few tents. A member of my teammate’s wife’s team had volunteered to spend the night to ensure our claim was honored. By the time we arrived again on Friday, town was bustling.


24-Hour Town


My teammate, Andy, scored tickets to the dedication dinner. Each year 24 Hours In the Old Pueblo is dedicated to a mountain bike rider who has proved him or herself extraordinary in some way. This year the recipient was Dave Wiens, six-time winner of the grueling Leadville Trail 100 Race Across the Sky. Posters distributed along the tables described how Wiens took first place this year, with Lance Armstrong finishing 1 minute and 56 seconds behind. In the cycling world, this was a huge feat since Armstrong is often touted as the world’s best. Headlines proclaimed, "David (Wiens) Slays Goliath". After Wiens was introduced, he spoke of the Leadville 100 and answered questions about how it is to be so awesome. After the dinner we headed back to camp, sat around the chiminea, then drifted off to dream of the race ahead.


Andy and Laura With Dave Wiens ("When Dave's not crushing cyclist hall of famers he's enjoying the smooth, refreshing taste of Dr. Pepper.")



Andy and Carlos Sitting Around the Chiminea


Saturday morning was spent making final preparations and cramming as many carbs down my gullet as physically possible. I was to take the first lap, which meant that I would participate in the “layman’s start”—a half-mile run to the official start line, at which point you grab your bike and go. In this way a smooth start to the race is more likely than the alternative, attempting to funnel 500 riders onto single track at once. The first lap was one of the most difficult for me since I was riding a single speed. When I encountered the area known as the “7 bitches”—a series of steep, roller-coaster-like hills—I had to negotiate several downed riders who either misjudged the grade or were “bitch slapped” into submission. After this point the pack thinned out and the riding became easier.


Chaotic Layman's Start


At several points during the first half of the course my single gear was too small for my rate of travel, meaning that I was spinning without actually propelling myself forward. During later laps I found this to be a blessing since it forced me to rest, whereas on a bike with several gears one tends to always shift to a gear where he or she is exerting effort.

Once the first lap was down the 24-hour dance began. Andy and I decided to alternate as many laps as possible before rest was needed. We completed 4.5 rounds before sunset and we’re feeling great. For those of you who don’t know how a 24-hour race works, it’s pretty similar to other relay races. There is a team baton (a small wooden dowel) that is carried by the active rider. Once he or she completes a lap, the baton is handed to a time judge then either handed back to the rider (if he or she is continuing for another lap), to a teammate if one is present, or held by the judge until it is picked up by the next rider. All lap times are recorded from the time the baton leaves the previous rider’s hand to the time it is returned to the time judge. A team’s lap times must add up to over 24 hours in order to be considered for placement. For example, I decided to rest between our 7th and 8th lap. Since Andy wasn’t going out, I handed the baton to the time judge at 11:03 PM. Somewhere around 2:15 AM I went back and took the baton for another lap, returning at 3:50 AM. Even though I only took an hour and 35 minutes to complete the lap, my lap time was recorded as 4 hours, 47 minutes since the last lap was completed at 11:03 PM. Whoever completes the most amount of laps in the least amount of time over 24 hours wins the race. What a blast.

Having never participated in such an event, I didn’t know what I would experience. While you’re actually on the trail it seems monotonous and long (especially in the middle of the cold desert night), but looking back I can pick out interesting minutia. During one night lap, possibly my 3rd (arguably my 10th) I heard a cow bellowing in the distance. Ordinarily this wouldn’t seem that strange. Maybe the cow is lost? Maybe coyotes are chasing the cow? Who knows? But at 2 o’clock in the morning, derrière sore from scores of bumpy miles ridden, all alone in the middle of the desert, it was a odd thing to hear. At a few points during the night, I just pulled off the trail and watched the lights dance across the Arizona plain, cacti and rock dimly lit by a half moon. On a sad note, small desert mice are apparently attracted to bicycle headlights. I didn’t hit any myself but their attraction was evidenced by dozens of squashed mice corpses along the trail. Yet, the human side was not without casualties. On every lap I passed at least one person pulled off to the side plucking cholla or cactus spines out of his or her body. As it was described at the pre-race meeting (and a fact to which I can attest) cholla are like little hell raiser balls. You can’t touch them to pull them off because they’ll just stick to your hand. The trick is to get something in between your skin and the ball and quickly rip away from your body. This action is usually accompanies by a Velcro-like sound and wincing of the victim. Rule number 1: Don’t touch the cholla.

Now for what I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear about, logistics and statistics. Andy and I completed 12 laps (6 laps each) in 24 hours, 18 minutes and 33 seconds, finishing 25th out of 63. According to the race officials, each lap is 16 miles. That’s 192 miles between the two of us. My bike’s odometer read 99.455 miles, which means that either my odometer is off or the track is a little longer than 16 miles. To fuel this suffer-fest I consumed the following (to the best of my recollection): 3 Clif Bars (750 cal), 2 Primal Strips (200 cal), 1 Backpacker Pantry – Louisiana Red Beans and Rice (600 cal), 1 pita + (salmonella-free?) peanut butter (400 cal), 1 slice of bread (100 cal), 3 bananas (315 cal), 7 GU energy gels (700 cal), 2 handfuls of peanut butter-filled pretzels (100 cal), 2 Hammer Heed recovery drinks (200 cal), 1 bottle of CytoMax recovery drink (100 cal), 1 Hammer raw nutrition bar (230 cal), half bag of tortilla chips (300 cal), 2 packs of oatmeal (200 cal), and half of a Rockstar Juiced energy drink (100 cal). I’m not sure how many calories I burned, but it had to have been more than the roughly 4300 calories that I consumed because by the end of my 6th lap I was running on fumes. As I started the lap I was debating a 7th, but towards the end when I ate the last GU and felt no energy spurt I knew my legs were toast. Perhaps next year, with more training, I’ll get some more laps.


Eating Louisiana Red Beans and Rice In My Recovery Cocoon



Andy Heading Out For His Last Lap



Andy Crossing the Finish Line With Our 12th Lap


Even with all the calories consumed, I was famished by the time we returned to Tucson on Sunday afternoon. At my behest we stopped at Ruby Tuesday’s for a vegan double-murder burger (I think they call it a Colossal Burger, but it comes with a giant steak knife stuck through it). If you haven’t tried Ruby Tuesday’s veggie patty, go… now. It’s the best chain-restaurant veggie burger that I’ve ever tasted and the patty probably weighs a quarter-pound.


Famished. The Murder Burger Didn't Stand A Chance


A full night’s rest later and a day full of running last minute errands before we depart for South America and I’m still exhausted. My legs feel like someone ripped my muscles off the bone, pureed the meat, mixed it with cement, then stuffed the mixture back under my skin. Trust me, it’s a good feeling. For all you hearty souls, I recommend a 24-hour race in the Arizona desert if you ever get the chance. If you do, all I can say is dodge the poor little mice, eat your fruits and veggies, and DON’T TOUCH THE CHOLLA!

Back In Action

After a several month hiatus, during which I sacrificed precious travel time to get a job and make some money, I'm back on the metaphorical road. After a few weeks in Utah spent packing for South America, competing in a bouldering comp (14th place... there are some good climbers in Utah), and floating through waste deep powder, I've made my way down to Tucson to train for 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo, a 24-hour mountain bike race in the high desert near Oracle, AZ.

I've only logged 17 training miles this week, and before that I hadn't ridden trail since July/August 2008 when I participated in a race series at Solitude Resort in Utah. We're hoping to get in a longer ride today and a few practice laps on the course before race day this Saturday. Andy Meyer and I are riding as a duo team. Our decided goal is 12 laps, but given decent track conditions--i.e. if precipitation doesn't turn the course into a mud fest--we'll hopefully complete more. Last year the team "Shake and Bake" took first place in the duo category with 19 laps (finishing 14 minutes ahead of the team contesting for first). One lap is 16 miles, making 19 laps 304 miles on single track in 24 hours. Although we haven't trained nearly enough to compete for the podium, we're going to give it our all.

I'll post results and pics after the race. In the meantime, I'm reposting the first in what will be a longer series of posts titled "Vegan Will". The main purpose of these stories is simple, to illustrate the health benefits (and more importantly lack of detriment) of a plant-based diet through my semi-athletic exploits. 24 Hours in the Old Pueblo will be next in the series, tentatively followed by several ascents of high peaks in Ecuador.

Vegan Will Chapter 1: Mt. Washington

Mt. Washington, NH is known nation-wide for its inclement weather. The mountain holds one of the world's highest recorded land wind-speeds with a gust of 231 mph in April of 1934. The Mt. Washington Observatory, a private non-profit organization, has been monitoring the weather atop this behemoth of the East Coast since its inception in 1932. Scores of people, from the avid adventurist to the casual day-hiker, attempt the summit each winter; not everyone makes it up.

One such failed attempt occurred February of 2006. A group comprised of four experienced rock climbing adventurists was turned back at Lion Head, a sheltered staging area for the final summit push, when a 60 mph gust picked up their guide and slammed him against the rocks. Although forced to retreat dismayed, two of them returned February of 2007 to confront the weathered crag once more.


Just Below Lion Head


It all started for me when a friend from last year's attempt mentioned that he was going to organize another trip. Having never mountaineered, and having always wanted to, I expressed a passionate desire for such a venture. After a fourth climber was recruited, we had a full party and logistics were planned--guide secured, plane tickets reserved, gear bought/checked, and research of the infamous weather. As President's Day weekend approached I became giddy with school-boyish excitement, dancing around like a harlequin of the king's court.

Standing at 6288', Mt. Washington pales in comparison to other peaks of fame. Yet, it's a popular training peak for longer, more technical ascents such as Mt. Hood, OR - 11249' (which has received recent national recognition for being a dasher of hopes); Denali, AK - 20320'; and peaks in Africa, South Asia, and Europe. Likewise, Mt. Washington only boasts a 4000' vertical, far less than the aforementioned colossi. If not for the barrage of weather complications one may encounter, this peak would just be another dainty jaunt.


Preparing Gear On the Eve of the Ascent


We started out on the morning of 17 February at Pinkham's Notch visitor's center. An unspoken pessimism ran rank within the group, two of its members having retreated the previous year and the remaining two (now out of a group of five, since a friend from upstate New York was added at the last moment) had researched the mountain's variable moods. I tried to retain a positive attitude; we were prepared, determined, and led by professionals from EMS Climbing School who had scaled the Mt. countless times.


The Trail Begins At the Pinkham's Notch Visitor's Center


After preparing our ice axes and crampons, and donning our cold weather gear in the center's basement, we were ready to depart. After 10 minutes on the trail I had to stop and shed layers to avoid sweating (Lesson #1 - Snowboarding coats are ill-suited for mountaineering pursuits. A breatheable shell [not Goretex] is much preferred].) We trudged up Tukerman's Ravine trail until coming to the Lion Head fork. Here, we left the cat track for an already trodden path through knee-deep powder. Ten to fifteen minutes later we reached the foot of the ascent to Lion Head. Before us was a steep, rock and ice laden slope, out of which we fashioned a stairway using our crampons and ice axes. Unbeknown to us, we were in for a human traffic jam perpetrated by high snowfall the night before.


Our Winter Route Up Mt. Washington


We slowly climbed the 50 degree slope deliberately placing our crampons and using our axes for stability. One slip and we could plummet through the tree line causing severe injury. A third of the way to the tree line we were stopped by a wall of people, who had already been waiting for several minutes. Those minutes turned into a quarter hour, then 30 minutes, 45, etc. Irritation and frustration was obvious as people shouted to the head of the line, "Get a move on" or "C'mon we haven't got all day." They were expressing a common thought within the encumbered mass, that we must reach the summit before 2:00PM in order to safely descend. Any variation in the time-sensitive schedules could spell defeat for a multitude of adventurists who had flown several hundred, even thousands of miles just to make this ascent. As this was the first day in at least two weeks that the weather had slightly abated and a weather system was expected the following day, it was necessary to summit or return home disappointed. We were faced with just such a dilemma after finally reaching tree line, where the trail opened up.


Climbing the Steep Slope Under Tree Line


As we stopped to don our wind stopping layers in preparation for the biting winds that we'd inevitably encounter, it was obvious that at our current pace we would not reach the summit with adequate time left for the descent. It was here that our group made the decision to split in two; Kirk, Travis (EMS guide) and I would attack the peak commando style while Steve, Sean, Chris, and Steve # 2 (EMS guide) hiked around Lion Head and Alpine Garden, the relatively flat region at the foot of the final rise. Travis was skeptical that we could overcome our lost time but Kirk and I encouraged him to set the required pace and we would follow.


Alpine Garden - Only .9 Miles To Summit


On saying farewell to the second half of our group, Travis initiated a trot toward the peak; Kirk and I followed suit. We stopped briefly at the sign reading "Mt. Washington - 0.9 m", rehydrated and reinvested high spirits. We were now confidant that we could summit. Travis kept a blistering pace up the final slope. He later admitted that he was impressed by our determination and that he hadn't expected us to keep up. I was admittedly at my cardio exertion limit and Kirk, who cycles to work every day, later confessed that he was close to his threshhold. It's this aspect of mountaineering that the most addicted adventurists seek. When your body's ability is maxxed, it's only so long before it starts trying to convince the mind to abate. In this state each move is painstakingly deliberate and the mind is concentrating only on the next step, shutting out outward distractions that would normally occupy a resting thought process. (Disclaimer: Alpine meditation does require discipline, determination and an intimate knowledge of your body's ability. If any of these three are absent then there's a potential for serious bodily harm.) When practiced accordingly, this meditation is incredibly refreshing even though your body is a fiery furnace of activity. Back to the climb...


Pushing Toward the Peak With Alpine Garden and Lion Head In the Background


Half way up the slope, we again stopped to rehydrate and suck down some Clif Shot Bloks with added caffeine. This would give us the needed boost for the last leg of our ascent. While steadily trodding up to the peak, we passed several parties who were having a much more difficult time scaling the rocky path. We later discovered that we completed in 45 min what takes the average group twice as long. With spirits soaring we reached the summit 15 minutes before 2:00 PM. Weather up top, as expected, was a relatively mild 5 degrees F with a 20-25 degree wind chill; winds were 40-50 mph from the SE. Despite this fact, our bodies were generating so much heat that a face mask wasn't required.


On the Summit, Beard Covered In Frozen Perspiration


We made our way to the summit post for pictures. Cameras were passed around and sadly a shot taken on Kirk's camera of all three of us never appeared on the film. (It's easy to make mistakes when confronted with deadly weather conditions.) It was now time to descend. Rehydrating and consuming copious amounts of gorp in the Observatory's shelter, we removed our crampons in preparation for the long slide to the bottom.


Clouds and Snow Blowing Over the Summit



Kirk and I (Our Group's Only Two Vegans) Posing At the Summit Post



Observatory Shelter


The descent was much easier than our challenging attack on the summit. Because we had removed our crampons, we let gravity do most of the work. Kirk, who has never skied, snowboarded, or participated in any activity where sliding is involved, had difficulty maintaining balance. After a few crashes, however, he started to adjust. Sliding and bounding through the rock field, we soon came to an open snow-covered slope. Travis thought this a good opportunity to practice self-arresting, the method by which you stop yourself should you slip and start sliding down the slope. If done improperly (by bringing the pick part of the axe to the chest instead of the adze), it can result in unnecessary wounds. After practicing our self-arrest, we glissaded down the remaining snow pack.


Kirk and Travis Sliding Down the Rocky Slope



Kirk Practicing His Self Arrest



Almost Back Down To Alpine Garden


We slid past Lion Head, past the tree line, and all the way down the staircase where the traffic jam had occurred (using a rope in a few select spots to avoid sliding down the tree-laden slope as aforementioned), nearly denying us the summit.

There's no better feeling than summiting a mount, especially when one overcomes his or her body's desire to quit. This experience, which I'm sharing with those of you who have read this far, has resolidified my resolve to overcome any obstacle thrown in life's path. "Adapt and overcome", a phrase frequently used to express this attitude towards life, is no longer just a string of words but an experience that will always remind me that we are able to accomplish anything if we just concentrate on the short steps. Only once we reach the summit are we able to stare back at the entire picture.