The go-with-the-flow trip that just kept flowing

As a Fulbright grantee, I'm kind of expected to get involved and engage with the community in which I live. Now, is this mandatory? No. Does Fulbright check in with me or the community or Sol, my referente, to see how I am getting involved? Nope. Does Fulbright ask for a log of community related activities I've taken part in to ensure that the person they are funding is actively working to participate in any type of cultural exchange? Also no. However, with that being said, they must have screened our applications very, very well because I would be filled with immense guilt if I did not try to engage with my community. I was given the privilege to live here, so the very least I can do is find ways to give back to my community. And, selfishly, I would be incredibly bored if I didn't find ways to entertain myself. And, even more selfishly, I want to practice my Spanish and make friends.

All of these thoughts led me to participate in my very first beach clean in Puerto Madryn! I first found the "advertisement" (I don't really think it was an ad, but I don't have another word for it) while putting my Instagram stalking to use. Many activities here in Argentina are spread through word of mouth and Instagram. I had found this profile after a market/fair I went to with my friend Yani on the weekend. Yani was nice enough to come with me to this small fair with local food and clothes and other vendors. The target audience for this fair was, as Yani put it, for people like me, aka hippies. After walking through the fair and learning that a handpoke tattoo from this one artist was only $10 (!!!!), I stalked the Instagram profiles of the businesses that were there and followed every one that appeared to share announcements for different activities and events I might enjoy.

In the following days, one of these accounts just happened to post about a beach clean up. After stalking every single account that shared this one post on their story and after debating whether or not it was really worth the trip because the gym can just be so tempting sometimes, I decided to suck it up and go. I was so nervous. I was nervous I wouldn't be able to find the meeting spot of the group. I was nervous I would be early. I was nervous I would be the only one to show up. I was nervous that I'd forget how to speak Spanish. I was nervous that they would think it was silly that a traveler would want to help clean the beach. I was nervous that I was wearing the wrong clothes. But I went anyway.

As I approached the meeting spot, I was so beyond grateful to see two others walking to the meeting spot with a large empty plastic bottle. I knew I was in the right place (plastic bottles are used to clean up the cigarette butts). I joined the small group of 4 people on the stairs and sat quietly, waiting for someone to ask me my name and, inevitably, where I'm from. To my surprise (and relief), no one did. After waiting a few more minutes for others to arrive, I was offered gloves, and we set out to pick up trash. It was that easy.

Was I still so nervous that I didn't speak a single word until the very end when I joined a few in drinking mate? Yes. But...big but...It was a lot of fun. Probably about 15 people joined in at some point during the clean up. What was super cool about this group was that they were all young. We were just a bunch of young people cleaning the beach. It was lovely. Like how cool is it that young people want to engage in activities like cleaning the beach?!

I'm sure many of you are laughing at how silly it was to be so nervous, but meeting new people is hard and scary, especially when there is a language barrier. Of course these people were nice, though. We exchanged Instagrams, and one of those girls even invited me to an even yesterday!

Here's the group:

After this beach cleanup, I felt like an expert when Meg and I cleaned the beach in Camarones, one of my first actual trips here!

About a week and half prior to my trip, Meg invited me to go down to Camarones and hangout during my Easter break. Meg is also a Fulbright grantee, but she is a researcher and lives in Camarones and Comodoro. Camarones is directly south of Puerto Madryn and is about a 3.5 hour car drive. She works with an NGO there who was putting on some activities for the long weekend!

I had initially planned on going to Bariloche during this break, but my planning had stalled, so I decided to take Meg up on the offer. She told her people that I was interested in coming and set out on finding me a ride. With that, I relinquished all my control. I did not make any plans other than mark my calendar. I think I may have googled Camarones to see how far away it was. That's it. This may seem totally wild, and it was totally wild, but I decided that I'd go with the flow and embrace the "vamos viendo" lifestyle for this adventure.

Not to generalize, but, plans in Argentina often happen at the last minute, so as the day of travel (Thursday) approached, I awaited the message from Meg regarding who was to drive me to Camarones. Having not heard anything by Wednesday night, Meg and I began looking at bus options as a plan B. I a bus from Puerto Madryn to a town called Garayalde, which is an hour from Camarones, would be a good option if the ride fell through. I figured I could just taxi to Camarones...easy enough, right?

On Thursday morning, Meg called me to inform me that people from the circus in Puerto Madryn were able to drive me to Camarones. This was perfect because, to be honest, I did not want to figure out the bus situation. About an hour later, Meg informed me that the circus people were, in fact, not going and could not bring me to Camarones. Bye, plan A! She also informed me that Garayalde is essentially no more than a gas station in the middle of nowhere and that taxis aren't just hanging around to drive people getting off the bus. Bye bye, plan B! Now at this point, most people would begin to panic. I happen to be most people, so I did start to panic. Was I going to have to stay in Madryn and "waste" my long weekend? Why hadn't I just planned my Bariloche trip?

Meg's contact told her that my best bet was the mysterious ñandu, a bus that leaves from Trelew (a city an hour away from Madryn) at 8am every Friday and Tuesday. Thus began my search for the ñandu. For those curious, the ñandu is not on the website that gives major bus schedules across the country. The ñandu also does not have a website of its own where you can check the schedule and purchase tickets. The ñandu has a Facebook site that does not have a working phone number and that has not been properly updated since 2017. The ñandu was still my best bet and really only opportunity to get to Camarones.

After reading comment after comment on old Facebook posts about the lack of communication methods, I crossed my fingers and sent a message through Facebook messenger, hoping to the bus gods that the ñandu still existed.

Here is my botched attempt at communicating with the mysterious ñandu:

To be completely transparent, I squealed when they answered me. That is, until the all knowing Leia (my ETA mentor) reminded me that Friday was a holiday and that, while the buses may be functioning, the ticket stands may not be open. While trying to reset and reengage with my go-with-the-flow mentality, I messaged the account again to ask if I could buy a ticket the day of...Spoiler Alert: there was no response. SO I had to find transportation to get to Trelew before 8 just hoping that maybe I could make it on this bus that supposedly exists. I can assure you I was prepared to bribe the bus driver...

Now to find transportation to Trelew, I WhatsApped a knew "friend," Omar, who had driven Amanda to the airport. I copied Sol's initial message word for word to sound as Argentine as possible so as not to be completely overcharged. Granted, I could've taken a regular taxi or bus, but being picked up at my apartment just seemed easier at 6:30am.

Omar responded to let me know that this trip would cost $1000 pesos. I was suuuuuper wary and immediately thought he did not understand me considering Amanda's 20 minute trip to the airport was $1800 pesos, so I panic texted Sol:

As you can see, she laughed and told me that I was being silly. Of course he understood me.

So I trusted her and I trusted Mr. Omar.

I woke up Friday morning with a text from Omar letting me know that he had misread my text and wanted to clarify that if I was, in fact, going to the bus station in Trelew and not Puerto Madryn, it would be $6000 pesos. (I told you so, Sol.) Being 30 minutes before I had to leave and having just woken up, I confirmed the trip. That folx, is the story of how I got overcharged to be driven to a bus station at which I had no idea whether or not I'd be able to buy a ticket for the bus I needed to take.

The flow was really flowing at this point.

At the bus station, I just about cried at the site of the light on in the ñandu ticket counter. The woman even somehow recognized me from my Facebook messages from the day before.

I arrived in Camarones about 2 hours earlier than anticipated. Many people had told me that the town was small. I, ignorantly, thought, "Well, yeah so is Iowa City lol." LOL. There were like two paved roads and no cell service.

Meg had told me to meet her on the "main beach." Turns out, the bus doesn't just drop you on the "main beach" but at the bus station. So, with my backpack and small suitcase in hand and no phone service whatsoever, I started my walk "para allá," the very clear, informative directions given to me by the woman working at the bus station.

My walk "para allá":

After navigating the walk "para allá" that happened to have several forks in the road, I eventually landed on what looked like the "main beach." Here, I realized that I had about two hours to waste until what I imagined would be when Meg would arrive.

With no service, I had no way to let her know that I had made it, but just when I started to panic (going with the flow can be a little hard sometimes), a girl sat down with a notebook behind me. After some serious debating, I decided to walk up to her with my bags in hand...I imagine I looked a bit wild and desperate at this point...and I told her that I had just arrived and was meeting a friend but didn't have service. I asked if I could maybe, please, please, please call my friend from her phone but I totally understood if not but I just wanted to ask please. The flow was still working for me because she agreed. However, after fumbling with her phone for several minutes with no luck, she led me in the direction of a restaurant that, she assured me, had wifi. On our walk, we chatted and she asked me questions like where I was from and how old I was. I told her I was from the US but am living in Puerto Madryn and am 24. She told me she was 12.

12

Internally screaming, I quickened my pace because there was surely someone watching me, a girl who was clearly a gringa wearing a tie-dye jumpsuit, kidnap and steal the phone of this 12 year old child.

I awkwardly entered the restaurant she led me to with my backpack and suitcase. It was clearly a fish-based restaurant, but I wanted coffee and wifi and a place to pee, so I didn't care. Although the servers probably hated me for buy a singular coffee in a whole fish restaurant, this random restaurant had the trifecta - wifi, toilet paper, and hand soap. Did the bathroom door stay closed? No, but beggars can't be choosers here. There was hand soap AND toilet paper, which is a huge win.

I chugged my coffee like the gringa I am. Even though I was trying to embrace the Argentine go-with-the-flow mindset, I still find ways to stay true to my US roots.

From the restaurant I managed to text Meg who managed to get her contact Maria to pick me up and take us to the festival.

At the festival, Meg and I went snorkeling and helped the kids who were taking part try to do a little scuba diving. I had no idea what I was doing, so I awkwardly just nodded whenever I was given an instruction.

We also ate falafel and met up with another Fulbrighter who does research in Chubut, Olivia, to enjoy the festivities. After changing out of our bathing suits in front of everyone and their brother by "hiding" behind a very small towel, we watched the sunset and listened to music.

Me and Meg:

Me, Meg, and Olivia:

Buñuelos (like fritters) de alga (seaweed):

Probably not vegan if I'll be real, but I was so hungry it was more of a "better not to ask" kind of situation...

Falafel:

The festival and sky and water...like come on how is this so pretty?!

Once we got cold, Olivia and Meg drove us back to the ranch that we would be staying at. This ranch belongs (I think) to the NGO they work with. It is in bumf*** nowhere and took about 30 minutes on gravel roads to get to. If I hadn't been with Meg and Olivia, I would've been prepared to find my death. Fortunately, the Bollywood music Olivia played for us was enough to soothe my soul.

The next day, I realized how freaking picturesque it all was.

This is the trailer I slept in! It was more than a little creepy at night, but I had the BEST sleep ever.

I used lots of blankets:

This was the drive from the ranch.

The next morning, after being rushed to leave by Meg's contact (who ended up leaving after us), Meg and I joined a group of people to clean a beach, which, if you can recall, I'm an expert at.

The beach was absolutely gorgeous. It was hard to look for trash when the view was just...

unreal.

Following the beach cleanup, Meg and I returned to the festival to buy some tomatoes (because, if you can imagine, there were not a lot of vegan options in a small Argentine town)

and watch the cooking class of the chef who was to drive me back to Madryn.

Food from the cooking class that I obviously could not eat:

Like I mentioned previously, getting to and from Camarones is tricky. Well, apparently getting to the magical Garayalde for a bus home on Sunday morning would've been even trickier. That left me with a Tuesday am trip back to Puerto Madryn.

Meg was a little stressed about this. I was going with the flow.

She, however, was the best host and the previous night had casually mentioned to our new friend the chef (who lives in PM) that I was tired after traveling from Puerto Madryn, knowing very well that he and his wife had done the same that very same day. He invited me to drive back with them. While he may have been joking, Meg and I were not. Needless to say, Meg, Olivia, and I stalked him all Saturday afternoon to ensure that I had a seat in his car knowing that his plan was to leave after his cooking class.

Gustavo (the chef) and his wife were incredibly nice for offering me a ride. I am eternally grateful for their kindness. The chef, however, was convinced I did not understand a word of Spanish and, on the ride back, tried to translate everything he asked me into English. To be clear, I just didn't understand a word of Spanish that came out of his mouth. He mumbled and spit out words so quickly that I felt like I missed something he said just by breathing too loudly. While this was off-putting at first and a bit frustrating, I grew to like him because of his concern for the cherry tomatoes in the trunk. He purposefully avoided hills and bumpy roads if there was an alternate route so as to save the tomatoes in the back.

His wife was very nice, though, and translated for me, speaking slower and directly to me.

While driving back, the full moon rose into the sky. At first, I couldn't believe it was actually the moon it was so large.

Here are some terribly blurry pictures that barely look like the moon.

While this is likely the last time I go with the flow for such an extended amount of time (a whole 2 days), the pueblito of Camarones was most definitely worth it.