The House in the Trees

 

If we would have known the truth beforehand, we probably wouldn’t have gone there. A mildly misleading advertising campaign led us to a world we did not expect. The overall experience was not unpleasant. Indeed, it was actually quite interesting. Nevertheless, I still feel a little like I got sucker punched into a surprise. Oh well, what can you do? The universe deals the cards, all we can do is play them. How and why in the name of Buddha, Allah, Shiva and all the rest did we ever end up there?

We were staying in the small city of San Rafael in the Mendoza province of Argentina. It’s a pleasant place with great wine and a smattering of cultural activities. The hostel was good and so was the food but it was not outstanding or spectacular. And darn it, we wanted spectacular, we wanted the best accommodation in the whole damn province. We also wanted to get outside the city into the natural world of growing things for a while. I stumbled across a listing for “The Tree House” on the hostelworld website and I telephoned the place to get more detailed information. The advertisement and write-up describe it as a country getaway for backpackers in the wine growing region near San Rafael. The guy on the phone is from San Francisco and he says it’s a great place to “chill out” among the olive groves. I have visions in my head of a hidden hippie paradise. I’ve stayed in tree houses before and it has always been a delightful experience. At the very least, I’m hoping it’s the kind of place where I can score a little weed.

El Bosque Tallado (the carved forest)

It all begins with a steep mountain and a dense forest. The dirt road winds upward and into it for 14 kilometers from outside of the town of El Bolson until it dead ends at a small parking area.  From there, you have to walk a few more kilometer’s to reach the “exhibit.” Actually, exhibit is a lame word that does not even come close to capturing the total awesomeness of this place.  No doubt, the challenge and difficulty of the journey add to the overall experience.  Yeah okay, it’s not hiking the Inca trail to Macchu Picchu but it’s the same basic principle.  If you have to do something to get there, there is always better. The back drop is Mother Nature on full blast. Some years back, a small forest fire left its mark on a section of this mountainside forest.  A group of a talented artists looked upon the burnt forest and saw opportunity rather than disaster.    They set forth into the forest with chainsaws and carving tools, and let loose. El Bosque Tallado is the result. When Ms. B and I arrive on a sunny February morning, we have this magical place all to ourselves.

 

 

 

A Place for Travelers

The compound is located on the corner of calle Porro and calle Flores. That’s joint and flower street if you need help with the translation. The couple who run the place are like living breathing manifestations of the hippie ideal. They are Argentinian; in their 70s; have been together for 50 years; have a brood of children and grandchildren; and have both traveled throughout much of South America. After many years of wandering, they have now, finally, settled back on the family property and transformed it into a hostel. There are dormitories to stay in and several cabanas. There is an organic garden, a sauna, a big barbecue pit, hammocks and lots of fruit trees. Everything is homemade, hand built, and homegrown. It is, you might say, a perfect little paradise for a guy like me.

Ms. B. and the Black Market

It’s a Buenos Aires black market money exchange. We meet the guy on calle Florida… the pedestrian walkway through the center of the commercial district. There are dozens if not hundreds to choose from. They swarm the streets shouting “cambio” as if they are engaged in a perfectly legal enterprise like selling hotdogs or something. So how do you choose a money changer? We pick one at random who looks honest enough. He quotes us a rate of 11.0 to 1 which is pretty good and he leads us through some buildings to some kind of mini mall. There is a closed door and a secret knock. The door opens and we are shuffled inside. It feels a little dodgy. But there are other people in there doing the same thing; changing money. So it must be okay.

Street hustler man leaves us at the doorway. Money changer man is a whole different dude. He greets us with a firm hand shake and an overly friendly smile. He tells me the rate is 10.5 to 1. “That’s not what he said on the street,” I say.
“That’s the rate I pay here .” He responds.
Oh well, it’s still way better than the 7.2 bank rate so I’m going to do it. I hand over 400 US dollars and wait a minute or so until he hands me a big wad of Argentinian pesos. I look at each bill individually in the light and then hand it to Ms. B. as I count it. The big danger on the black market is counterfeit bills so I’m checking each one for the hidden holograph in the left hand corner. But they all seem real. No fakes here. 3200 pesos of real deal Argentinian money…

Wait a second! Didn’t I give him 400 US dollars? This is only change for 300. Is he trying to rip me off?

My last stop in Paraguay is the city of Encarnacion. Much to my surprise, I happen to arrive on the busiest weekend of the year. Tomorrow is Carnaval and Encarnacion is the epicenter of Carnaval celebrations for the entire region so every room in town is booked, double booked and triple booked. I do manage to find a dorm bed though and it somehow seems appropriate to finish my tour of Paraguay at the biggest party of the year.