Let me take you to Rio Rio, chillin' like a gazebo gazebo by Aaron

Wanted: Drivers needed to operate large slow semi trucks.  No experience necessary.  Actually we prefer you have no experience.  Must have eye sight better than 5,000/20 but we prefer it is no better than 800/20.  No arms or legs required.  IQ must be better than 12 and no better than 19.  Must be able to drive between Sao Paulo and Rio De Janiero without crashing over 33% of the time.

This is flyer that can be seen throughout all of southern Brazil on almost every street corner.  Well, technically I don‘t know any “Portuguese” (I’m still not convinced Portuguese is not just Spanish with a weird accent) so I can’t be totally sure that this flyer exist.  But from what I witnessed on the highway between Sao Paulo and Rio, one has to assume that this flyer exists.  During our 6 hour commute we came upon 6 crashes, most of which involved incompetent semi drivers.  To be fair, however, there had been a rain which can make driving difficult and Brazil gets very little rain so the drivers probably aren’t used to it.

We arrived in Rio the night of the 13th wary but excited at what the city had to offer.  Several people, including a missionary that very day, had warned us to be very careful in Rio because in their words: “Every single person there wants to steal your money and then kidnap you because it’s Thursday and that’s what they do on Thursday.”  As we checked into our hostel we quickly got the feeling that where we were staying was really not dangerous at all.  The worker at the hostel, a man from Grand Rapids, assured us that as long as we weren’t completely wasted at 5 a.m. we probably wouldn’t have any problem.  We decided that it wouldn’t be to hard to avoid that situation.  Excited to see the beach, we took the 30 minute walk down to Copacabana beach for some amazing Brazilian juice and just sitting on the beach.  Seriously, though, compared to Brazilian juice, all other juice tastes like bark and sweaty bicycle shorts.  That night we slept in what I think was described as the 3rd hell in Dante’s Inferno.  It was incredibly hot.  Also, one of our roommates seemed to have a really bad stomachache and headache that I’m guessing he got from eating too much ice cream because there is no possible way that a young German man visiting Rio would ever go out and party way too hard in a club.

The morning of the 14th we decided that we would prefer that another night was not spent in that hostel.  So the entire morning we drove around other parts of downtown looking for a single parking space so we could inquire in some other hostels.  They were all full.  Defeated we returned to the original street but instead decided to try the hostel two buildings down.  We were able to get a room to ourselves with air conditioning, which meant less partied out Germans in our room.  That afternoon, since the sun wasn’t shining, we decided to visit Sugar Loaf instead of the beach.  Sugar Loaf is the large shark fin-like mountain that rises up right beside the ocean in the iconic pictures of Rio.  There are two cable cars that take you to the top.  Wanting to spend as little money as possible, we hiked up to the first stop of the cable cars and then only paid for one ride.  Our depression surviving grandparents would have swelled with pride at our frugality.  It was an incredible experience from the top of Sugar Loaf.  Panoramic views of the city engulfed our every sense.  Actually, it only engulfed our sense of sight but it was still pretty cool.  After the cable car ride down where two people fell out the window and died, we headed back to the hostel to gear up for a night in the Centro (downtown).  It was great because we all knew that Andrew had one more night with us before he left.  Two blocks away from the hostel Andrew stopped.  “Oh shoot!  I think I leave tomorrow.”  Troubled, we headed back to the hostel to check online…and he had to leave the next day.  If I had a dollar for every time Andrew thought he was leaving an international city the day after he actually was, I would have about $7.  Because I think it’s happened in Syndey, Wellington, Tokyo, Calgary, Rome, Alexandria, and Minis Tirith.  Somewhat shocked, we realized it was his last night with us which meant we had to celebrate.  The evening was spent eating out, getting juice, and chilling on the beach.

Since Andrew didn’t leave until the evening, we had time to do some cool stuff in Rio with him during the day.  The first thing we did was visit Christ the Redeemer.  This is the giant statue of Jesus with his arms spread wide, overlooking the city.  It is impressive to see from sea level because the mountain is so steep on all sides and the statue of Jesus is just perched on top.  We raged up the mountain with a taxi service to get to the base.  There we witnessed the statue with throngs of people varying from the far east to Scotland.  Once again, it was a great view of the city and a great experience but there were so many people I think I may have ended up wearing someone else‘s shirt.  After raging down the mountain we headed off for the beach.  The waves at Copacabana were quite an experience.  They came in with great force and went out with almost as much.  We got thrown by the waves while standing only in waist deep water because it was dangerous to go further out.  The sun had finally come out and we had an outstanding afternoon there, eating mangos and swimming.  Sadly, we had to leave the beach so Andrew would get to his plane on time.  We dropped him off, shed some tears, threw some hissy fits, went through the five stages of grief, and then left.

The next day the sun was out, begging for us to enjoy the beach.  Unfortunately, Sheldon resembled a British officer in the Revolutionary war and was in too much pain to go out.  Hans and I enjoyed some time on the beach while Sheldon recuperated at the hostel.  We all then went to Centro, which was a lot more desolate than I thought it should have been.  We did, however, get to tour a battle ship that Brazil used in WWII.  Yeah, I didn't know they were in the war either.  Supper was eaten near some really cool aqueducts that predated the Romans.  Well that is Romans that were born after the mid 18th century.  A bus was taken to the beach, juice was consumed, and there was one last sit on the beach and watch the waves crashing down.  We headed back to the hostel for one last night’s sleep in Rio.  Thankfully it wasn’t Thursday so nobody kidnapped us.

Hans Captions Photos! By Hans

A typical camping site along Ruta 3 in Argentina. Here, Aaron and I struggle with....something.

Ministering to penguins. What up, Team Antarctica?

A Prideful Penguin. We punished him for his pride by neglecting to rotate this photo. Remember, kids. Pride will turn you sideways. 

A humble, but no Humboldt, penguin. To him are opened the vast victual resources of the sea. Feast! Feast! Feast!

Buenos Aires. Or BA, as the locals so intuitively call it. 

The interior of the municipal cathedral, where we wandered in, and got trapped behind a large group (including a local news crew) making their way through the Stations of the Cross. 

The internet's Next Big Thing.  From Buenos Aires, it's Distrustful Dog!

I go in for another helping, as Sheldon experiences the strange phenomenon of having a full stomach for the first time in a month.

Josh's Final Photo. All of the Argentines pictured were astonished at the callousness with which we abandoned him to face the airport, and his flight alone. The wilderness has wrought a deadly, steely cold in us, I guess. Except possibly for Aaron.

A typical attempt at clear communication between Aaron and Sergio.

Sam and Sarah, our friends from Paraguay. A trio of expressions, none of them presaging good things.

Whatevs, Europe.

A possible blueprint for revitalizing historic downtown Plain City.

Satisfaction. 

When the waitress says you only get to split two plates' worth of salad bar, try to think like Sergio.

Walk On: The Story of the Final Three

A Bad Spot To Go Canoeing.

Kinda cute. Until fifteen of them try to steal your lunch.

The jutting platform at Iguazu, affectionately known to locals as "Mothers at a Wedding"

Aaron, just after performing his critically acclaimed water dance.

Iguazu Falls. And falls, and falls.

Photos work about as well as descriptions: that is to say, they don't.

Devil's Throat.

Is it Brazil, or is it Virginia?!? Hint: It's Brazil.

A cathedral! In Sao Paulo! And we didn't get robbed!

Sao Paulo, from above. Where Grizzley is still searching for an Ikea.

Buildings. 

Dudes. And buildings.

Don't Hate Us 'Cause We're Long-Winded; Hate Us 'Cause We Never Update. By Hans

The day was hot, and our spirits were riding high as the sun when we captained St. Phoenix out of Buenos Aires and back onto the (kind of) open road, just once pausing in an impromptu street party, where eighty-three-thousand lanes of traffic moving in three-hundred and sixty-two degrees of direction all began to honk at the same time, and a truck knocked the turn signal off the passenger side of the front. We were a Josh short, and too low on time to visit Uruguay, but our insurance troubles were resolved, and we were on our way to Iguazu Falls.

Downsized to a quartet, and energized by a week of rest, we decided to drive straight through the night to Iguazu. Even after we were forced to bribe a policemen for an invented offense, we rolled on, resolute, but itching with a helpless rage.

It was still dark when we stopped to sleep beside a police checkpoint just outside Iguazu. And sleep we did. Then in the morning, much like the Assyrians of 2 Kings, we woke to find that we were all dead. Shaking ourselves, we discovered it was only mostly true. So we shook our locked joints, blinked our bleary eyes, and headed into town.

In town, Aaron and Andrew spent five minutes convincing the Tourist Information office that what we wanted to see was that unremarkable waterfall, not the eternal shining glory of their village. Finally, giving us up to see whatever we wanted, even if it was something stupid like one of the largest, most beautiful waterfalls in the world, they gave us directions, and off we went.

At first, Iguazu Falls is the sort of vista where one’s mind denies one’s eyes; one catches a glimpse of miles-wide walls of water, hears a roar, and then even begins to see detail, but comprehension and proper awe-stricken contemplation remain untouched. This was my experience until we reached the furthest point of the lower trail, a platform stretching to what feels like ten feet away from the waterfall. In reality, it’s more like fifty or a hundred but standing there, absolutely drenched by spray, deafened by the noise, and overwhelmed by the brutal power, one can’t help but get plugged in. Later, after eating lunch in a picnic area absolutely overrun with Coaties--weird, raccoon/possum rodents--we rode a (free! Of all things!) train to the trailhead of the catwalks that lead across the river to the mouth of The Devil’s Throat, a horseshoe shaped chasm the grandeur of which defies all description. Let me describe it for you: nearest the final walking platform, a tiny terrace above the cliff creates a violent torrent that vanishes into thick mist. Further away, the water rolls off the side of tall cliffs, and drops uninterrupted down. Power, serenity and rage mix, and hypnotize.

Following our day at Iguazu, we crossed into Brazil (with surprising ease), and spent the night near the border. The next morning, we drove to the city of Curitiba, through rolling farmland and forest, tinted a more vivid green than I think has e‘re been glimpsed in the US. The experience would’ve been serene, if not for Brazil’s well-paved, two-lane highway system, the traversing of which involves a great deal of passing semis with St. Phoenix’s feeble muscles rattling, as we pray fervently that the oncoming traffic isn’t as close as it looks. That morning, in particular, I had a ten-feet-from-death-before-and-behind experience that reminded me so vividly of my time in Nepal that my hands were trembling for nearly an hour.

We spent an evening in Curitiba, which is a beautiful city full of small curiosities and scenic neighborhoods. We were also told about at least one museum which was the largest of its kind in Brazil, and it might be. We didn‘t see it; one evening, one morning, and we were on the road again to Sao Paulo.

The drive to Sao Paulo was much like the drive to Curitiba: wild traffic, sudden cataclysmic rainstorms, but was also characterized by what we now know are two common elements of  Brazilian traffic: endless traffic jams, and frequent slow-downs caused by accidents. More often than not, the accidents involve a single vehicle, mostly cargo trucks of various denominations, flipped, flopped, spun, smashed or otherwise knocked out of commission.

Stepping daintily around said disasters, we reached the city of Sao Paulo. I don’t know what your experience is, but all of my perceptions of Sao Paulo came mostly from popular press and literature, and depicted a grim city--20,000,000 people of lawless, brutal ghetto.

This much is true: Sao Paulo is a city. A gigantic, business-minded city that carries itself with the same self-confidence as New York. But it has quiet neighborhoods, and we stayed in one such neighborhood, in the home of Delton and Fernie Hochstedler, who--alas!--are in the north on furlough. Though morning their absence, we rejoiced to make the acquaintance of their house-sitter Gavin, a South African construction-engineer-turned-missionary.

Our first day, we went shopping, and in the afternoon stopped by the boys’ home where Delton and Gavin work, and got a brief tour of their beautiful facility, heard about their passion for the street children of Sao Paulo, and played soccer with the boys. On our second day in the city, we explored the central region of the city with Tim and Becky Anderson, cool west-coast Americans who spend their days in the streets of Sao Paulo building relationships with the children. On our way to meet Tim and Becky, we attempted an ill-advised lane-change, and a passing automobile (he to whom the lane belonged) with a deft swipe of the side panel of his car blinded us in the Other Turn Signal. That is, the one not destroyed in Buenos Aires. Fearing the worst, we followed him to a parking lot where after a good deal of apologizing, and gesticulation, he asked for $75. We gave him $75. He left. We left. And St. Phoenix bore the scars.

After Tim and Becky were obliged to leave us to attend to other duties, we took a tour up to the observation deck of one of the tallest buildings in Sao Paulo and received a fantastic panorama of the city, receding clusters of high-rises and hills, back to where clouds and smog and sunlight obscured the outline. And we considered this surly bigger-than NYC metropolis, and thought of the tireless men and women--both those we met and the thousands we didn’t, who devote their lives to its spiritual well-being.

Then, after one final evening of discovering that Brazilians make better pizza than tbe Chilean and Argentine abominations that discredit the word but still don‘t quite make actually good pizza, pop, and a movie with Gavin, and a morning of failing in the attempt to go kayaking. We rallied ourselves, packed our bags, and hastened to Rio to deposit Andrew at the airport.

Andrew reflects on coming north

Traveling up to Buenos Aires was our next thing on the list.  Josh was heading out to go back home on the 2nd, and we wanted to have at least a day and a half with him in Buenos Aires.  We left Tierra Del Fuego (Tierra of the Fuego), and started our expedition north.  We bought some bread, jelly, and snacks, and went on our way.

In all honesty, this part of the trip wasn’t necessarily super exciting.  So, I’ll skip a day or two of traveling (just imagine five guys in a red Subaru listening to music and painting our nails and sleeping).  We knew our one stop was to see tons of penguins at Punto Tombo.  Without really realizing the realization of our passing the realty of the real Punto Tumbo, we traveled about an hour north of the penguin paradise.  Once realizing this (by this time, it was too late to see the penguins that day), we decided to travel south again and camp nearby the PP (penguin paradise) on the side of the road so we could get up early the next morning, hit the penguins (with a visit, not the back of our hands), and then get on the road before noon the next morning.

It worked!

The penguins were out in full swing, shouting their calls, sleeping, pooping, marching to the sea, waddling, and other penguiny things.  This was by far the most we’ve ever seen in one place, and the even cooler part was that it was all natural, and you could see all their homes.  Look for pictures later, so if you like penguins, you will think it’s cool.  If you don’t like penguins, cover the upcoming pictures with your hands.

So, after 2 days of camping right beside the road, we decided to travel through the night and get into Buenos Aires.  We had one contact there, a pastor friend, but we didn’t have an e-mail response saying we could stay at his house, so the first night we found a nice hostel with which to nap and eat.  It had a sweet terrace lookout over the city.  After looking around the city, we knew what our supper would be.  Choripan, super pancho, milenesa, and then gelato would be our festy feasty.  How feastastic.

The next day, we saw we had a reply from our pastor friend, so we packed up our bags, and after a couple hours of walking around the city, we started our drive to his house.  Well. . . after quite a bit of confusion with the maps (which ended up making us drive for quite a bit longer), we found ourselves in the neighborhood of Sergio’s house, but. . we couldn’t find it anywhere.  It was not necessarily the best neighborhood to be wandering around late at night in, and after asking a couple people about the house number, we found it!  We were warmly greeted by Sergio’s family and friends, and were given a fantastic meal.  Man, it was nice.  Through broken English and Spanish, we became friends with those around us quite quickly.

On Saturday, for Josh’s last lunch with us, Sergio and his friends helped cook up a massive amount of choripan (think brots, but..goodness gracious, even way better than those.  we are now ruined when it comes inferior meat).  The award goes to Aaron, since he had 5 choripans (again, same size as sizably sized sizzling brots), one steak sandwich thing, and probably 3-4 cups of Coca-Cola.  Then, came the dreadful goodbye.  We drove to the airport, and about 7 other people tagged along to say goodbye to our bucko.  We dropped him off at the airport by 7 (his flight left at 9), and then we told the people with us that we’re ready to go.  Later, we found out that normally they stay around until the last moment, and then hug and hug hug.  For us, it was a “cya later Josh, it’s been tons of fun!  See you back in the states brodawg,” and then we were done.  It’s not that we weren’t sad he was leaving, but I think we are quite less of an emotional band of brothers than the women of Sergio’s family/church.

That night we went to Pizza Libre, which was a pizza joint.  I won’t say that Los Estados Unidos has the best pizza anywhere, but. . I will say that.  Los Estados Unidos has the best pizza anywhere.  Despite that, the pizza place we went to did have points for originality.  It was basically a Cici’s Pizza, except people would come to your table and offer you pizza.  The cool thing was that they had tons of kinds.  Corn, french fries, egg, mushroom, spinach, clam, etc.  We each had about 8-10 pieces.  From going from suppers that consisted of some rice, lentils, and cabbage salad, this was a fun transition.  I really am not sure if I have ever eaten more food than I had that day.  We did the math in our heads, and made an imaginary ball of food.  Make your hands into an O, now spread your hands (keeping the O shape intact) about 3.5-4.2 inches or more.  If we mashed all the food we ate that day (which was a ton of meat, which we weren‘t used to), that’s how much.  Gross.  I may have been under the weather the next day, but it wasn’t fair.  Aaron ate a lot more than I did.  Life is unfair, I learned.

Anyways, over the next couple days, we hung out with Sergio and his family, and even met some other Americans who were staying in Paraguay, but needed to renew their visas so they visited Buenos Aires for a few days.  We were given award-winning hospitality by Sergio and his wonderful family.  When we had trouble getting insurance for Brazil (since, apparently, the Subaru Loyale isn’t made/sold/existing in Argentina), he called up his knowledgeable friend, and miraculously got us insurance (without insurance, you can‘t cross borders with the car).  He fed us amazing meals, took our car to a mechanic, shared his house with us, and welcomed us into his church family.  To all of those people who a part of our lives for those days, thank you.   During our stay in Buenos Aires, we left one friend behind, but we gained a lot more friends, too.  Now, we head to Igaucu Falls.  Updaters to come.   Thanks for reading.  And if you didn’t read this, you won’t see me say, “Hey!  You’re mean!!”

We finally put pictures up: by Aaron

 A look over a random camping spot on our way to Torres del Paine.

 It was a bit better then Pastime Park.

 This is Gerald the Ganauco.  He enjoys long walks on the beach and is seeking a female who can carry on his DNA.

 Just your average lookout in the Patagonia.  This is Torres del Paine.

 We met this little guy on a hike.  He´s an Austral Pygmy Owl and only grows to be 5 inches or so.

 Out on the hunt so we could eat that night.

 These are the classic mountains of Torres del Paine that we eventually hiked in and around.

 This is a picture I took in Nebraska.

 Just some random guy.

 Our second camping spot on the W trek at TDP.

 Literally the only nice thing on the first day, because it was constantly raining.

 A heavenly being was descending upon Josh.  Didn´t seem to help much.

 Oneof the views in the valleys of the trek.

 Chance `Grizzley` Carter looked over his fields.  The horses were grazing lazily in the hot July sun.  Grizzley pondered the best use for the day on the ranch.  He knew he should probably mend the east fence before any more cattle got out, but something else was calling to him.  Something over the farthest ridge had been stirring in his soul.  The deep hollow drum beats of the Natives´ nightly ritural had stirred the call even more.  Yes, he knew that he could not keep on living on the ranch without facing what was beyond the ridge.  He bade his wife goodbye.  In his simple speech, he told her he loved her and that she should remarry if he never came back.  Out to the west pen he strolled, he feet and hands tingly with fear and anticipation.  Only one horse could be trusted on such an endevour.  Blazer, all black with a white streak down his nose, was trustworthy enough for such a mission.  Grizzley put the saddle on Blazer, hesitating slightly when his brain reminded him of what he was about to do.  Still, he persisted.  Slowly he started his journey west.  A solitary rider under the great American skies.  Yes, his journey had finally begun.  He was to ride over the west mountain range and buy a table from Ikea.

 The incredibly handsome man gazed into the valley.  Yes, this would all be his some day....ahh never mind.  This is just me looking down an awesome valley.

 Turn your head 90 degrees to the right to enjoy this photo.

  A monster burger to celebrate the end of the hike and Josh´s birthday.

 The actual towers of Paine.

 Tierra del Fuego has a lot of sheep.

 And sometimes they´re on the road.

 Ushuaia likes to remind their residents where everthying in the world is.  Unfortunately, they did not have a sign pointing us in the direction of Carmen San Diego.

 Ushuaia: because you can´t go any farther south.

 This is Grizzley Carter.  No, it´s actually George and he was really nice and we had to take a picture because he looked like he was from West Virginia.

 The harbor of Ushuaia.

 Fun with flashlights and cameras.

Above this picture is a picture depicting the lush forest of Tierra del Fuego.

This picture depicts the feast we made to celebrate being farther south than most people in the world.