Bisous

Adventure updates, photos (mostly of food and bicycles), and amusing stories (at least I think so).

24 September 2011

How (not) to apply to grad school from South America, and other misadventures




I wrote a poem some time ago about how much I distrust and dislike our culture’s dependence on technology. Big Brother must have been watching me scribble away from the built-in camera on my Mac. He is now determined to make me pay the karmic price for saying, “What’s ‘tweet’??” and “I hate Facebook.”


So, hear me Microsoft Melusina, Facebook Fiend, P.C. Posidon, “The Cloud.” Mea culpa! Lo siento! Je suis desolee! Entschuldigung! I’m sorry! Please just let my computer survive and connect to the internet long enough to apply to grad school.

You may remember that the last time I took a computer abroad, a two-year-old projectile vomited on it. (For the full account – which I’m sure you want after such a lovely brief description – click here: http://troisbisous.blogspot.com/2009/09/small-preface-au-cas-ou.html). This time wasn’t quite as dramatic. Lauren and I were simply moving to the last shaded corner in the courtyard of our hotel in Mendoza when a loop of my power cord caught on the arm of a lawn chair and jerked my netbook right out of my arms. It thunked the slate patio and continued to work juuuuust long enough for Lauren and I to laugh about what a disaster it would have been if it had broken. Ha. Ha.

Fortunately – the luck in the unluck – not only was the manager of our hostel a computer technician, but his entire family was as well. I sent my Acer off with a random Tio who brought it back to me the next morning with a new 500 GB hard-drive (hello thousands of trip photos, hello). Everything’s dandy except that the entire thing is in Spanish. Windows, spell check, Skype, EVERYTHING. It’s also taken to making mystical Peruvian-esque noises whenever I do something it doesn’t like. But, it works. It’s still a capricious bugger when it comes to Wi-Fi, but it works. I just need to remember to pass everything through Lauren’s computer for spellcheck before submitting grad school applications. Helo, my nme is Briann Carpeter and I am a perfec candidat fore your vary selectiv programm. I’m smrt and I writ pomes.

Other than that rather significant blotch on the radar, Mendoza was ideal. Plenty of sunshine and wine, some of the world’s friendliest people, and an odd cat to distract us when personal statements got too boring.







The courtyard at the hostel in Mendoza.




On our second-to-last day in Mendoza, we went on a vineyard tour. Neither Lauren nor I claim to be a wine connaisseur in any way, so it was amusing when the first guide asked us if we had ever been on a vineyard tour/wine tasting. We smiled, said, “Oh, some.” He said, “Where?” “Hmmm, well, Bordeaux, Southern Germany, Napa, Sonoma, Virginia, New Zealand, Tuscany....” At this point we realized how ridiculous we sounded, so we finished with a sound “Queremos vino...mucho.” Well, said. Well, said.

We got to visit some really lovely vineyards and try some wonderful wines. At the second vineyard – an organic one that does nearly all of the work, including labling, by hand – we also got to try olives and this quince gelee that was unbelievably good. It tasted fruity and floral-sweet and had the texture of something half-way between preserves and fruit leather. You’re supposed to eat it with cheese, but I think I could have chomped down the entire brick allll by itself.









Lauren and I enjoy our first taste of Bonarda.






The charming organic winery.



Vineyards with the hazy Andes in the background.





We (sadly) left Mendoza for Santiago, where we stayed for a day (our one destination was a famous gelatto cafe) before heading south to Puerto Montt. Upon arrival in Puerto Montt we began following some very vague directions to the organic vegetable and goat farm. We got on a packed bus full of Chileans who clearly thought we were getting on the wrong bus. It was the kind of bus that doesn’t stop unless you ask it to. Lauren had to repeat “Kilometre 30, por favor!” about a million times before the bus got it. He dropped us off at Kilometre 30 in front of a small sign that said “Pte. Metri.” We took some happy-giddy pictures of our new home and began to imagine all the exciting scrambles we could have along the coastline.


Our directions told us to “go over the bridge and head up a hill toward some houses.” Which we did. In both directions. Several times. With all of our luggage. Finally we decided to head back down the hillside to La Universidad de los Lagos (I read online that they study fish migration) to ask for directions. A very kind man came out to greet us. He only spoke Spanish. “Somos perditas. Claro.” I said. (We’re lost. Obviously.) “Buscamos una granja.” (We look for a farm.) “La granja de Matias Doggenweiler, un Allemange.” (The farm of Matias Doggenweiler, a Gireman – which is what my made-up word for “German” probably sounded like.) “Sabez?” (You know?)

Miracle upon miracle, he did know. And where was the farm?? Only straight back up the hill we’d just hiked down. So, we made our way back up, found the sign, and traipsed around the property for a good 30 minutes look for...well... a farm, a farmhouse, farmers. Instead we made some nice animal friends and found several run-down greenhouses and storage sheds. The absence of any sort of welcome gave us a weird vibe. We decided to can it. Even if there were nice farmers around the corner, it didn’t seem like a place we’d want to be, especially for three weeks. We spent a couple minutes contemplating stealing the farm cat, decided against it, and hit the road.

We hiked a couple miles back to this little kiosk where we bought a Coke and some potato chips, pulled out our guide book, and re-stratagized. We took what was possibly a school bus back to Puerto Montt where we decided to stay for a day or two to regroup and figure out our next step (and shower.)

So here we sit, in a gorgeous room on the tenth floor overlooking the bay (thank you Mr. Eriks for those Holiday Inn points!!!). The sea gulls swoop incredibly close to our window. We’ve seen not one, not two, but three rainbows since noon. Our ‘clean’ clothes are drying on every available surface. The sun is setting and we’re about to open a bottle of cab. Maybe it’s just one of those times where you have to take an overnight bus, hike up a couple hills, and wander around in the rain before you get to someplace you didn’t expect to go, but can’t imagine having missed.

3 Comments:

Blogger Jeremy Benson said...

ooooh, I am so jealous. that's the last time I'll let myself talk about it, though.

What would you call the sheds/gazebos/pavilions that are in every small (and/or organic) vineyard? Karl had one on his vienyard (ask Lauren). I want one.

7:36 PM  
Blogger Kelly Pepper said...

you guys adventures sound so incredible Brianne! so adventurous and crazy and just so fun! glad to hear you're doing well and surviving :) love you!

8:07 AM  
Blogger Wasp said...

I've decided to live through your adventures since mine ended a few weeks ago :)

I particularly enjoyed this post. It sounds much like my "mishaps" on the trail. "We hiked a couple miles back to this little kiosk where we bought a Coke and some potato chips, pulled out our guide book, and re-stratagized." I spent many days like this (except you can generally quadruple the food amount..at least). I miss the spontenaity and unexpected joys the most!

Happy Travels!
Keely

8:23 AM  

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