They've Got Me Speaking Portuguese, I Really Think So

Un-fricking-believeable

Today is my first day in Brazil. Its not as though traveling about 10 minutes by bus has ever, or really should ever cause any dramatic difference in life. Yet, crossing the border from Argentina into Brazil provides some pretty stark contrasts. Aside from the obvious language barrier I've already tried to overcome (I am really going to miss speaking Spanish. I like to think I was starting to get good...), the weather feels hotter, the people more relaxed, and there is a whole lot less smoking going on. Plus, they have Pizza Hut.

So what is it that I did with my last days in Argentina you ask? I went to Iguazu Falls, what is probably the most incredible set--almost an unimaginable number--of waterfalls in the world. It did a spectacular job of making me feel like a little kid the entire time.



Tomorrow, I'll go back. Only this time, it will be from the from-what-I've-heard-its-less-impressive-than-the-Argentinean-side Brazilian side of Iguazu Falls.

I don't know if I will have time to post again on the entire adventure before I head off to Campo Grande and the Brazilian Pantanal, but I'll try. Oh, and check out the butterfly pictures on my Flickr account--just insane.

I'll See Your Good Airs and Raise You an Iguazu Falls

The Obilisco--Buenos Aires' signature landmark


The last couple of days have been absolutely insane. Despite not having done anything in the prior three weeks of being here, I was determined to cram as much as I could into my final four or so days: a tango show, drinking mate (a tea beverage...), drinking wine, eating more steak, watching the Boca Juniors play a soccer game at Bonbonera, checking out the horse races, going to a concert (again), wandering around Palermo (its like the equivalent of Belltown in Seattle) one last time, visiting Recoleta cemetery, and so much more. Just as is the case with any major metropolis, there is too much to do here. Did I get all of the above accomplished? No, not by a longshot, but here is what I did do...


On Saturday morning I woke up a little earlier than usual to meet my buddy Ryan at the airport. I told him I'd be there a little after his scheduled arrival, and thanks to South American efficiency, I was about an hour and a half early (it takes sooooo long to get your luggage in Buenos Aires--I can't even imagine what customs would be like). After a few interesting events we finally got out into the open airs, snagged a cab and headed downtown to grab some empanadas and do a whole lot of nothing. Rest, of course, was necessary, as we had a huge steak dinner ahead of us. I would say that the normal consists of salad, a huge steak weighing something like a pound, a piece of chorizo sausage, some mashed potatoes, beer or maybe wine, and of course water. After dinner, you snag some ice cream with the other porteños and then you call it a night... after a couple of drinks at any fine and busy establishment.


A Steak Meal at Desnivel

Sunday is always much more mild here--with the exception of a few things. Sundays always start with one of the cities markets, usually San Telmo. I've been about three times now, and you can always find something absolutely amazing there. Though, I never buy anything. The market itself really only takes about 45 minutes to stroll through, but there are always street performers, tango shows, old gramophones (I want one so bad. There is this one in Husky colors that is calling my name), old school Barbie polaroid cameras, and even older school antique cameras from the 1890s. Ryan and I wandered around, ran into my buddy Ben from New Zealand, took pictures and pondered what to do for the afternoon.


Feria Artesenal de San Telmo

Sundays also typically feature all of the futbol games you could ever desire. I was lucky enough to wait it out and go to see a Boca Juniors game at La Bonbonera, or the Chocolate Box--their stadium in La Boca. The Boca Juniors team is widely regarded at the most historic not only in Argentina but also in all of South America. The neighborhood of La Boca turns completely blue and yellow on weekends. I was able to snag some tickets and see the Boca Juniors take on and destroy the Argentino Juniors... We went to the stadium on a standard school bus, because I booked through a tour company--which also happened to be one of the cheaper ones. They were pretty bad. The bus ride took forever, because the driver tried to drive through, instead of around, the San Telmo Street Fair, which left only 10 minutes to eat the worse pizza of my life. I then got to game and found out that the whole group of us had to smash into the bleacher seating like cattle, as opposed to having assigned seats like we were told we would have. After the awful pizza and probably not enough water, I felt a little woosy and thought I was going to hurl. I got out of the crowd, obtained some much needed fresh air and thought about why in the hell I didn't just buy my own ticket and get my own transport to the game instead of paying some ridiculous price for it. The game started though, and all was quickly forgotten... The stadium was unbelieveable. I can safely say that I have never ever experienced something so electrifying as La Bonbonera on gameday. And, as was expected, the Boca Juniors put on a show scoring four goals in a route of their opponents...

I was pretty worried that I wouldn't be able to get ahold of my friends Maria and Agustín again before I left Buenos Aires. Fortunately, they emailed me back and told me to come find them at the Konex. No big deal, except that I really wanted to go check out the horse races in Argentina... I let it go, adjusted the ol plans, and set out towards Recoleta Cemetery.

The cemetery is almost set out in a gridlike fashion, with almost--or maybe more than--a thousand graves of Argentina's elite. You can walk around for hours scoping the incredibly gaudí statues and artwork that adorn each of the graves...


Eva Peron's grave at Cementario Recoleta

Later on, we busted a move back to the hostel and got ready to go right back out again for yet another drum and bass concert... I met up with Agustín and Maria, their friends, and a couple of other people I have met through my adventures and felt really great about being able to introduce one of my friends from home to somebody who doesn't speak with a British accent. The concert ended after about a percussion filled hour, and we fought through the crowd to find somewhere to eat. Only, we didn't and ended up at some party instead. That pretty much sums up life in Buenos Aires...


Back at the Konex again...

On Tuesday, well, I collapsed. I got rid of all grand designs for things to do and went to see American Gangster instead, before going to an Asado--traditional Argentine BBQ--at Agustín's house. We drank wine, ate Cow Gland, blood sausage, more chorizo, and philosophised over the differences in classic rock during the 60s and 70s. It was a great final night in Buenos Aires, and a great reminder of the fact that we do really have friends from all over the world, even if we don't know it yet. All you have to do is find them, which can happen in the most random of places.

As a side note: It has been awesome to see someone from home. I think it has helped me think about the ways that I have changed and the ways in which I will never change... Moreso, it's just been great to see one of my close friends adjust to all of these new things. Maybe its because it provides me with perspective on how I adjusted at the beginning. Then again, maybe not.

I didn't get to see the slow trot horse races featured on Anthony Bourdain, or even go to a commercialized big-time tango show production. Still, my time here has been amazing, and I've never been one to be about checklists (actually that isn't true, but people will and should always come first). As far as vacations go, I think I'm ready to take off for the next destination: Puerto Iguazu.

The Rising Sun

I can't claim to have seen it since I have been here in Buenos Aires. Maybe its the large steak dinners that I eat almost every night that are causing me to sleep so late, or maybe its the fact that I just don't eat until 9 or 10PM every day. Though, conventional wisdom would probably suggest its the fact that I stay up four to six hours after both.

Over the last two and a half weeks, the city has seriously grown on me. It is gorgeous (So gorgeous that you forgive the place for having dog droppings everywhere--I do mean everywhere too), full of history, and a vibrance unknown to any of the cities I have visited so far. I can't figure out if it is the overconsumption of bad-but-freshly brewed coffee, the constant consumption of dulce de leche, or unbelieveable amount of chain smoking (Does that even keep people up?). No matter, as the city is always hopping--day or night. But... I will tell you more when I have a chance to post some pictures...

The Flip of a Coin

So tonight is cooler than most have been since my arrival in Buenos Aires--now about 10 days removed. The clouds are sparse and the breeze is flickering through whatever vegetation that happens to be available. Its nice, especially in comparison to the blistering heat and humidity of the day time, and my shared habitation. Speaking of which, it has now been two months since I have seen a private room... I'm not really sure what that means with regards to my character, or patience, but I do think that its wearing slightly thin on me.

For the last 10 days, I have done nothing, with the exception of trying to lead a normal life. I've worked out, gone to the same coffee shop everyday, I've read books (I'm trying to understand why in the hell any high school student would be forced to read "The Grapes of Wrath," as only now do I begin to understand the story), I've window shopped, and I've gone out on the town with my hodge podge motley crew of English and Argentinian friends. I've planned and planned for the impending months ahead--actually only researched, trying my damndest to soul search and figure out what's next...

THE COIN FLIP

I met up with my buddy Matt at his swank abode and sat by the pool BSing about travel, what to do, and where to go. For the last few months this intense battle has been waged between going to Africa, or going to Asia... I was descriptively mulling my options over aloud to Matt, talking about both possibilities, and even thinking about whether I should come back through the North of South America and into Central America--thereby continuing to learn Spanish. Inevitably, I did what all born-to-be-Politicians do--the diplomatic thing--and flipped a coin. I had Matt call it. He did, and we eventually figured out that there is no heads on an Argentinian 25 centavo piece. After a brief clarification of what was what, I flipped again, and Africa had won the toss. This, was exactly how I figured out that I didn't really want to go to Africa anymore...

As soon as the coin landed on the numbers side (numbers and buildings), I kind of felt my stomach sink. I'm not entirely sure why, but I just knew that I didn't want to go. I had been in contact with an NGO in Africa about stopping by and trying to learn something for a month or so, but after having a long discussion with one of their reps, I was able to see that I wouldn't be of help in the long run, and I'm not sure how much I would take away from it myself... It reminded me of this discussion that I had with Ty--a guy on my Inca Trail trek--about how 10 weeks isn't going to be too incredibly powerful for any of the parties involved, unless of course, everything works out perfectly. Plus, though the resolution of conflict in Kenya seems to be impending... knock on wood... you just never know. It's a place that I really wanted to go too, which probably contributed to my desire to head elsewhere.

So where do I go next? I'm pretty sure its East.

SAN TELMO

I've been spending the last few days hustling back and forth between San Telmo--the Tango area of Buenos Aires--and Palermo--the rich and affluent area of BA. Most of this has been the result of having friends in different places, etc, but also because I'm restless. In the last week I've gone to the same steakhouse about 30 times (no joke). Its super cheap, the food is unbelieveable, and there is this guy who serves you there that looks like a distant relative of Andre the Giant. I jetted over to the Antiques market in Plaza Dorrego on Sunday--another thing that San Telmo is known for--and checked out all of the antique record players, as pictured below.

An old-school record player at the San Telmo Antique Market...

Sometime between then and now, I got drug out to one of the coolest concerts I've been to--a drum and bass night at Konex, an industrial ampitheatre featuring tons of weird sculptures. Mostly everybody was Porteño and a hippy. I dug it.


The Konex, site of a bass and drum concert...

A NOTE TO YOU...

A couple of days ago I found out that an aquaintance of mine, and a best friend of many of my friends, passed away. The guy was bright, ambitious, and a hell of a lot of fun--it only took me about 5 minutes to find out when I met him. I hate that its happened, and I hate that I can't be there for my friends--in a proximity sense. Maybe I couldn't have been anyway, but either way, it has helped in showing me how important this life really is. We all have things that we want to do in life, and we all have things that we think we have to do in life. Fact is, most of the people reading this don't even like there jobs, or aren't happy with their current state. Life really can end at any single moment, so change what you don't like and start turning over rocks to find what you do. Don't wait for time to pass. Instead, anticipate the moments to come, and take advantage of the opportunities you have. There are some people that don't ever get them, for one reason or another.

I can't be there, but I am here. You aren't here, but you are there. We are lucky to know that much.

Rest in Peace Fred.

Ch-Ch-Changes

As I sat and admired the Perito Moreno Glacier, I started to feel tired and worn out, as I secretly have been for the last few weeks. It doesn't seem to matter where I am or what magnificent thing I am seeing for the first time -- my mind wanders to the webbing of my fingers and the brown freckles that now occupy the once vacant spaces, the scar in the middle of my right hand left by a fence that needed hopping on a day I was late for 8th grade choir practice (I had a solo, what can I say?), or the multitude of friends that time has forced in a different direction than my own. I no longer feel homesick, but instead nostalgia accompanies my instinct to do something more substantive--or at least feels substantive.

In front of this giant ice cube, I sit and feel time pass over me as I wonder where in the hell it has gone. Its not even that you take time for granted, its just that it doesn't stop--at least for long, as it can at times when you are alone. I think that my urge to finally write something about it was brought about while I slid my feed over the wooden planks that make up the trails to the park, and my shoulders brushed along the trees. The combination of the planks and pine trees reminded me of one of the last times that I saw my Dad in reasonably good health. On the flipside, it could have been the girls from Missouri with their Nalgene bottles that had sorority logos placed in neon puffy paint on them... Both seem to have significance. Of course, in very very different ways.

I've wondered if I should be spending more of my silence--these moments--reflecting on the present, but I can't help but look at the past. I do honestly believe that I am better for thinking about all of the moments that have defined my character: tragedies, triumphs, loves, heartbreaks, moments, phases, transitions, and adjustments. Already in 3 months, I can map out my life chronilogically by all of the aforementioned -- the moments of impact where I walked away having learned something that I didn't know before. I can only wonder where I will be in another six...

If nothing else, I will return from this trip with a heightened appreciation for my life, my friends, and my family. Though I've always known it, I think for the time being I've stopped taking how fortunate I already have been for granted. Even through the toughest times of my life, I've been lucky. In fact, through some amalgamation of influences, I've escaped them all not only unscathed, but wiser. I can only hope that my mom will agree.

Alright, Who Broke the Fitz Roy?

The Adventurous Route 40

I suppose the route from Bariloche to El Chaltén is supposed to be adventurous because a young Che Gueverra travelled it a long time ago in hopes of curing leprosy, but today is a much different story. Its dry, desolate, and to be quite honest, boring as hell. Though I suppose it depends on your company (a best friend) and mode of transportation (a motorcycle)... I wasn't with either, have not (yet) developed a passion for curing leprosy (is it cured?), nor am I riding a sweet third-hand motorcycle. In fact, I took an overpriced bus instead of hitchhiking, got lumped in with a bunch of other tourists, and am struggling (the good kind of struggle) to find out what I have a passion for.

Other tourists are really starting to wear on my nerves. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I know that my tourist brethren are probably the people who refuse to speak Spanish and maybe make Argentinians so bitter. I, despite what I hope for, am still a tourist. The more that I think of it, the more that I realize that I too am really annoyed whenever a bunch of tourists come to my neck of the woods... Anyway, the point is that I need to change something for the next part of my trip, or I will go insane.

Anyway, the trip lasts forever--about 2 days total--and there is nothing to see until the final hour when you begin to approach the Fitz Roy Range--where the picture from my last entry was taken. I guess that I shouldn't sell it too short either, since you do get to see hurds of Vacuña, imagine a llama with the grace and size of a deer, as well as flocks of ostriches running alongside the road. Its quite amazing, especially since you only see it once withing about 30 hours of driving...

I finally arrived in El Chaltén, which is soret of like heaven on earth, but with more expensive meals and less to do--unless you really like to hike. It was late at night, and I was really tired from sitting so long, if you can empathize. After I got off of the bus I found out athat the stupid tourist agency booked me in a hostel different from the wone that they had promised (I'm not really so lame that i have to book through an agency... none of the hostels in Chaltén will take resrevations over the phone too far in advance, nor will they take them online--I suppose because it costs four dollars an hour for them too... HA!. This hostel was alright, but its the principal of the thing. The constant lying down down here in the tourism business is killing me, and has led me to the conclusion that tourism is a slimey, gross industry. This, as it probably should, has caused me to ponder why we don't have a Minister of Tourism in the good ol US of A. It was a place to sleep though, and I made it through the night, waking up ready to explore all 5 blocks of the town and do a little hiking amongst the breathtaking Fitz Roy Range.


El Chaltén from afar...

The beautiful thing about constant daylight is that you can waste almost a whole day, then realize you still have about 10 hours left. At somewhere around 2PM, I took off for the Laguna Torre and the spires--which I think are what make the range spectacular. When I got to the lagoon, I just sat there in awe. The sky was perfectly clear, the water crystal blue, and a glacier seemed to connect the two with the jagged spires. Life was pretty good then. I just sat there, contemplating things, until boredom and curiosity took hold.


Seriously though, who broke it?

I got up, and unbeknowngst to me, extended my hike... In other words, I zigged when I should have zagged, and headed towards Cerro Fitz Roy. About six hours after I departed, I arrived at Laguna de Los Tres. The skies were cloudy, the wind was chilling, and the sun falling. Still, it was incredible. Though, despite its unquestionable beauty, the Fitz Roy will never be able to compare to the solitary charm of Mount Rainier.



I returned to the other hostel I had found that morning--the cheapest and nicest place in El Chaltén, Hostel Glacier Marconi--at about 10:30PM. The sun had reappeared, and was shining as bright as ever. I passed out, only to wake up the next day, sore, and wondering if embarking on such an extensive hike on the day after my two day bus ride was the best idea. I don't really know, nor do I care.

I left the next morning for El Calafate, and the Perito Moreno Glacier, which I will set sights on this afternoon...

A Remedy for Sour Grapes

In southern Patagonia the sun does not sleep, which has meant, for the time being, that I do not either. Dealig with a sun up and a clock that reads midnight is probably the hardest adjust ment that I have had to make so far. Of course, it has been made no easier by the 6 foot long bunks that torment me while I sleep--or don't for that matter. However, despite my sleeping ailments I have just had more time to effectivbely explore Patagonia with the utmost fascination. My journey started a few days ago, in the town of San Carlos de Bariloche--the chocolate capital of South America, and the first snowy destination on my intinerary.

Before leaving Mendoza, I tried my best to remove the sour taste in my mouth of the low calue wine tour and attempted theft by treating myself to a sensory wine tasting at the Grapes of Mendoza--a classy establishment if I do say so myself. In three glasses of wine I think I learned more than I had in my prior years as a server. And, of course, after three glasses of wine and all of that information I was feeling a whole lot better about the place that had initially captured my admiration. Though, three glasses of wine will do that to anyone...

Twenty hours and a sunburn later, I left sunny and hot Mendoza in search of something cooler. 16 hours later, I found it in Bariloche--where it was snowing (a grand punctuation on the temperature change from 40 degrees C to 0 degrees C). I stood outside the bus awaiting my backpack, shivering in my shorts and thong sandals, all the while cursing the jackass that stole my other jacket in Mexico.

I was immediately, as is often the case, captivated by the quaint Swiss-log-cabin-like town set on the stunning Lago Nahuel Huapi. The architecture, roaming St. Bernards with tiny barrels around their necks, little old ladies offering you homemade chocolate, and much much more make you forget about the cold and wind. Plus, there was this awesome view from my hostel:



After some rest and a little kayaking in the freezing cold water the next morning, I decided that I would spend the next day on land, peddling the Chico Circuit--around the lakes in the area. I returned in the evening hopefull that I would be able to find the Seahawks game on TV somewhere, despite the time difference. Unfortuanately there would be no football in Bariloche on that day. Despite an abundance of satellite dishes in the town, nobody had the game. I was left to my solitude, ironically reading the book, One Hundred Years of Solitude.



I eventually went out to scour the town for something quick to eat, but nothing 'affordable' seemed to exist. It was about then that I realized that half of the towns population consisted of tourists and it all made sense. About 15 minutes later I found myself eating a subpar fajita at a faux Mexican restaurant, paying what I probably would have in the states for the same thing. Still, it felt good. Yet, I did feel some remorse, and have since vowed to cook for myself the rest of the way through South America. After all, it would be easy, right? ... Defiitely not, especially when you can't even find olive oil anywhere and don't feel like either wasting a bag of rice or carrying it with you for the duration of your trip. In short, Argentina--despite its steak and wine--is seriously making me yearn for a balanced diet, a kitchen, and the ability to stay in one place for an extended period of time...

But I digress. I left Bariloche, at 5AM some five or so days ago, for the small town oasis of El Chaltén and Fitz Roy... I leave you with this to ponder...

Of Thieves and Wine

This picture pretty much sums up life in Mendoza, Argentina...

After leaving Santiago a little too soon, it seemed like I had arrived at Mendoza a little too late. That's not to say I missed anything at all, but I easily could have. Mendoza is stunning--a tree lined city with wide avenues, wonderful for walking despite the overwhelming humidity and heat. My first impressions of Argentina, as a result of my few days in this city are mixed. The overall landscape is beautiful, the steak has lived up to every expectation, but every once in a while you definitely get the impression that you--a tourist--are not wanted here. It's something that I can understand, but the way that people come off when expressing it is somewhat blunt and without grace. On the other hand, I have encountered many many friendly Argentinians. Its just the few that make you wonder...

I arrived in Mendoza the about five nights ago, at an hour I thought was pretty late--9PM. The sun, however, seemed to disagree. Within four days, I had jumped two time zones and the sun was staying up at a much later hour. In short, my body was a mess from the altitude change, adjustment to time, and constant travel. It, of course, didn't stop me from wasting the night away with a German guy, an Italian guy, and a Dutch guy who spoke seven different languages. We went to dinner, where I would experience my first Parillada and bottle of Argentinian wine (I'll be honest... it wasn't my first, but rather my first here). Feeling a little too good about being in Argentina, I returned to my hostel and passed out in my overwhelmingly hot dorm room.

I woke up the next day as a result of my gungho Euro-buddies rustling around in the room. They told me to get ready, because they were going horseback riding and felt I should tag along. Being a little too weery to argue, I obliged, and off we went into the great outdoors. It was a good experience to ride above the city in the early morning and recall the one or two horseback riding lessons I took when I was a runt back in Nebraska. The day did, however, not come without consequences, as my horse got kicked in the face, bucked up, almost fell over, and almost sent me sailing. Luckily, I was able to ride it out and escape unharmed.


It's like a really bad remake of City Slickers...

I spent the next couple of days lounging about the hostel pool and getting acquainted with life in the city. While wandering about, I figured out that nobody seems to wake up before 8am, there is a midday break that lasts from 1pm to 5pm, and nobody eats until at least 9pm--though 11pm seems to be the preferred time. It reminds me of Barcelona, and much of Spain, but a little more dramatic. I also figured out what I would do with regards to wine--a bike tour of the vineyards in Maípu (the trendy and overwhelmingly touristy thing to do) and a sensory wine tasting in town. It sounds expensive, but seriously, in total, both have maybe cost me $40 total...

So yesterday I spent my day peddling throughout Maípu in order to check out the best of what Mendoza has to offer: grapes. The region is known for producing Malbec, but even better known for producing stellar blends of Cabernet Sauvignon with Malbec, Merlot with Malbec, Syrah with Malbec, and the list goes on and on. In case you're interested, or are going to QFC anytime soon, 2002 was the best year for blends from the Mendoza region. But enough about wines...

The day was hot, and felt like a pretty dumb idea at times. However, in the end, it was probably one of the most eventful and interesting days I have spent on my trip. The story goes like this...

There aren't a lot of options for wine tours that don't cost over a hundred dollars, so I decided to book through this unnamed company with what was probably too little or just plain false information given to me. Nobody would give me bus routes or help me out with getting to Maípu on my own, which may have just been my luck. I resigned myself to a fate, and got picked up yesterday morning. I grouped myself with a Dutch and Norwegian couple who were pretty impressed by my knowledge of Scandinavian political systems (Thanks Professor Ingebritsen)... We peddled and peddled around to different wineries, stopping at La Rural first in order to see South America's largest museum, full of antique wine making tools. It was quite the site, and full of the most informative guides I have encountered so far. They gave us a glass of wine, and we were feeling pretty good. The next couple of vineyards wouldn't end up being so sweet, as we found out that we had to pay for entrance fees that we were told we wouldn't have to pay... A little pissed, we still decided to pay, as we figured that we probably wouldn't have this opportunity for quite a while (even though I live about 10 minutes from some pretty damn fine wineries that I haven't ever been too... though I guess I don't actually live in Washington right now...). We then proceeded to eat an overpriced set lunch at the place recommended to us--I violated my rule and got what I deserved. Actually, lunch was alright. We finished up by visiting the last few wineres and peddling through this unbelievable road, where I took both of the above pictures. Despite having to pay a little extra, we found ourselves having a great time (the wine probably helped). Then, as we are peddling on the way back, I hear this huge crash behind me. Mikhal--the Dutch guy--had been knocked off of his bike by a couple of would-be theives on a moped scooter. They had tried to steal his camera, which he had wrapped around his wrist and was holding it in his hand. They pulled him completely off of his bike, not knowing that the camera was attached around his wrist. This sent them flying as well, and the scooter was almost dismantled after hitting the pavement. About 20 residents ran out of their houses, subdued the drivier of the scooter, and called the cops... The other guy stole one of the girls' bikes and started peddling away. However, about 15 minutes later, this couple pulls up in a truck with the bike, and proceeds to tell us that the older guy in the truck kicked the crap out of the kid who stole the bike... something that I guess isn't that rare in a testosterone driven culture full of machismo. It definitely put a stamp on a day that I wouldn't forget, and reminded me why I am always skeptical of people.

It was, to say the least, an interesting day. I got home safely, and didn't seem to mind that I had to pay a little extra any more. I was, after all, in one piece.

In other news, I missed the College Football National Championship for the first time in my life yesterday. It left me feeling hollow and alone, at least until I went to sleep, woke up, and finally got to a computer to check the score, only to find out that Bo Pelini--new coach of my beloved Nebraska Cornhuskers--led his LSU Tigers to a seemingly easy defeat of OSU.

I leave tomorrow night, and despite the fact that this place has honestly seemed like paradise at times, I'm pretty much ready for a change of scenery. So far, I can seriously say that nothing compares to Seattle. Not even for a second. Despite the fact that many of you will read this while you should probably be doing work, in an office building, in rainy Seattle, you are lucky because of where you are. Of course, that doesn't mean that I'm not as well, despite any percieved dangers.