30 November 2014

On A Boat

8 January 2014

At this point, I feel as though I'm just bragging. But I promise I'm just telling you the events as they happened.

Our plan for the second Wednesday of 2014 was to leave our beautiful beach to see other beautiful beaches that were in the area. You may recall from my trip to New Zealand that going from pretty beach to pretty beach is Angie's modus operandi. On this particular day, she had my full support.

See me?
Ready to set sail!
To summarize, we were here, and we decided to leave.
Our shipmates.


If you're sick of pretty pictures now, I advise you to stop here and await the next post. Words can't describe what I'm about to show you. However there are words to describe what you may feel after seeing the pictures. They include "jealousy" and "longing."







We didn't just wander the waters. The boat made three stops - all at pristine beaches. When I first imagined those pristine beaches, they had piers on them. You know, for the tour boats to dock. I imagined wrong. As we arrived at each beach, the boat would stop a couple hundred feet away. The captain would cut the engine and the passengers would jump into the water to begin swimming to shore. It's a strategy that would never fly in the United States. People just jumped off the side of the boat. Some used pools noodles, none used life jackets. As a non swimmer, it was a nightmare. The only way to explore the beach was to swim to the beach. I could not swim to any beaches and therefore did not explore any beaches. Instead, I got to spend some quality time with The Camera.

The only people on that beach came off our boat.
Proud moment: I spotted Ang from the boat. I centered her. I waited for other people to walk away.
Magic.



The second destination.
A man jumped off the boat to tie us to a rock...
Because that's his job.
Then the dude did what I call "a dude thing."




Because dudes.
Copycats.

Totally unconscious.



And voila! That was our day. As the boat made it's way to our beach, we were assaulted by strong, violent waves. Initially, they were refreshing and comical. Then came a few moments when we were pushed up out of our seats and we wondered if either we or our things could have been swept overboard. After that, it was a matter of keeping the goods dry and our bodies planted. Actively sitting turned out to be the most exhausting thing I'd do that day.

Back on the island, we showered, ate and met up with our favorite Argentines to finally drink a bottle of wine Ang had been carrying since Buenos Aires. It was outside the Che Logarto Ihla Grande that Ang tried to explain hostels to me.
"Oh! They have kitchen?"
"Yes, they have kitchens."
"So they're like communes?"
"No..."
I'm going to go ahead and say that hostels are communes. And though I'm good friends with a person who sings their praises, I admit I do not get it. Personally, I'd rather wait to take a trip than to stay somewhere where my room might be given away or where I'll be in a camp-style bunk with a dozen other people. I see the hotel as part of the vacation. The ability to go to the room and nap - in addition to the ability to keep my room key with me and come and go as I please - help put my mind at ease and contribute to the vacation mentality. I equate hostels with stress and I'm not sure (for me) it's worth the discounted price of admission. Still, our new friends stayed at Che Logarto and we might not have met them had they not booked space there. So obviously hostels have their worth.