Potosi, the highest city in the world

Well, after being informed that it would be an additional $800 to fly out of Buenos Aires to home, I decided to do a quick cross- country journey to Lima, because flights from Argentina to Lima were about the same. From Mendoza I went north 19 hours to Salta, where I spent the better part of a day enjoying the balmy, sunny weather which was a welcome change from all the cold I had experienced and was about to return to with my trip through Bolivia. So from Salta I headed yet north again to the boarder town of La Quiaca, where I arrived at 6 am, caught a taxi to the boarder and walked across, through customs and down the main street to find the train station. Upon arriving at the train station I was informed, by a note posted on the station door, that all trian tickets were sold out yesterday. That stunk. For anyone who has or hasn't traveled through Bolivia, you should know that the roads are atrocious, you are lucky if they are paved, but sometimes the dirt roads are better than the paved ones so.... nevertheless train travel is the preferable form of transportation to cover long distances. Back to the bus station I trekked, and bought a ticket for whatever was generally far away and leaving soon, which turned out to be Potosi. A lame breakfast of stale bread and coffee with chunks of powedered cream in the bottom, and I walked around, trying to get some blood flowing after so many hours on buses, and in anticipation of the 8 hours to come. I bought some orange juice and a much needed roll of toilet paper, remembering I was back in Bolivia and there was a severe lack of public sanitation. Back to the bus station ans who should I see, but my friend Michael and another american Jay, whom I had met briefly in Buenos Aires. They were also planning on taking the train, and upon my informing them that the train was unavailable, they bought the last two tickets to Potosi and joined me on my northern route.

9 hours of bumpy, hot dust ridden roads later, seated among some of the most unbathed persons I had yet to encounter, we all arrived in Potosi, the worlds highest city at 4070 meters, roughly 12,100 feet. Also the home to the world's oldest mine, Cerro Rico some 450 years old. I good stopping place I decided, since I had come from 2 days of bus rides and had at least that many ahead. So Jay, Michael and I caught a cab to Koala Den Hostal, thanks to Michael's guidebook aka the bible, and soon found ourselves in a warm, cozy hostel filled with brightly painted walls and friendly faces. Our other roommate was a girl from Sweeden, whose name I have since forgotton, and she guided us to a chinese restaurant, which for me was a welcome change from the usual Bolivian cuisine. Afterward we went back to the bus station and bought our tickets, mine for an 8pm bus the next day to La Paz, where I hoped to catch a flight or another bus to Lima. As for my day in Potosi, I planned on taking the mine tour and frequenting the "miners market" where it is legal to buy a "completo" which is nitroglycerin, green play-dough like dynamite (someone help me with the name here), a blasting cap and a 90 second fuse. Anyone from age 3 to age 103 can buy these and for us americans they cost us a mere $2. All to just "blow shit up" as the guys were so fond of saying.

Back to the hostel, finished watching the already started Motorcycle Diaries, and off to bed. Up at 7:15 for the mining tour and just in time to catch some breakfast, included, some nice bread, juice, coffee or tea and scrambled eggs. Not too bad. Into the minibus with the rest of the group, which turned out to be 22 or so people, and off we went to the unknown world of mining. First we were outfitted in these ever so attractive high rubber boots, taurplin-type pants and jacket, complete with yellow helmet which would later hold a headlamp. We were all looking pretty spiffy, and much like painters, since the clothes were splashed with a plethra of different colors of dirt, ore and such. Back into the minibus and to the refining factory where we learned a bit about the process of refining the ore to produce shipping-quality minerals. Where we went they were refining zinc and silver in a maze of water floatation separaters that separated the ore from the other elements to produce the purest form possible (under Bolivian standards and conditions). Back in the minibus again and off to the mine to spend 2.5 hours underground, led only by our guides and our headlamps.

A world of its own down there, and not one I am super fond of at that. Its dark, dusty and often chlostrophobic. This mine is being worked by a myriad of different "groups" which could be classified as mini-unions. But there are no regulations, no rules, and no safety codes. The heirchy among the groups is what rules, and disputes are usually settled by dynamite wars, where a few limbs are lost, then all is settled. The average life expectancy for a miner is 32 years due to the toxic levels of dust, unpumped air and long days of work. We walked among criss-crossing tunnels, some with rails for carts carrying kilo upon kilo of raw ore. There are no elevators, no main tunnels, just a mish mash of tunnels some sections outfitted with mechanical cranks bringing ore up from the lower levels, some walked some 47 times a day by men carrying 50+ kilos of ore on their backs, ascending each level. Some men worked in groups, some all alone, some dug blasting holes in the rock by hand, those belonging to larger groups dug with machines. One large group had just aquired an electric cart that could pull 3 ore-filled carts at a time, while the others were still using the manual method of riding on the carts, using the hand or foot brakes, just like the movies.

It was quite an eye opening experience, i can't wait to post the pictures, they reveal even more. I will be ever grateful for any job that I have, because it is not in a mine. When we finally reached fresh air and sunshine again, the real fun was to be had. Our guides made bombs for us out of our purchased "completos" and we all took turns posing with the bombs for pictures. Then our guides ran off with the bombs, placed them in the middle of a field and we all waited, posed with cameras and video to capture the demolition. I think my picture will be of the sky, because when the dynamite exploded, even at 50 meters, a shock was felt and I jolted back, picturing the sky, i'm sure of it. Back to the hostel we went, showering the sulfur smell off along with the layers of grey dust that had accumulated all over our person. I packed my things and prepared to go, so i could spend the rest of the evening enjoying the company of friends and some good food.

Lazy days in the wine country

Two days ago I arrived in Mendoza, in the hazy morning light with multiple persons filling my hands with hotel/hostel fliers as soon as I disembarked from the bus. I politely declined in my sleeplessly hazed state of mind, and then more forcefully as they became more persistant. I collected my pack and joined my friend Michael inside the bus station. He went off to check something and I vigilantly stood guard over our things, as a few people came over and pointed behind me saying "You shouldn´t stand with your backpack exposed." A classic trick, as you turn around to see what is there, another person comes up and swipes what is sitting in front of you. I politely smirked a "Thanks" and anjusted my grip and position, slipping one of the pack straps around my leg and shoving myself securly up against the wall.

Once Michael returned we collected our things once again and caught a taxi to the highly reccommended HI-affiliated Campo Base Hostal. It was obvious from the guy passed out on the entry sofa that there had been some sort of crazy party there the night before, that had continued into the morning. We were led to a room up stairs, with a door that slid into the wall and where the bunk beds were about 1 foot away from that sliding door. The bedclothes were suspiciously damp and as we attempted to take a morning nap after our 19 hour bus ride. A worthless attempt, we gave up after an hour or so, and headed out to see what there was to see in Mendoza. After a rather unsatisfying breakfast, we found a nice contemporary art museum in the main square, with a refreshingly absent entrace fee. It was quite nice, with lots of original work, and I couldn´t help but think of Dani, and wish that she was there with me, since she would surely appreciate it far more that I. Through the park and down the street following the map we had been given by the hostel, where we discovered that Mendoza had a large park situated within the city limits, complete with a zoo, several fútbol fields, a rowing club, a fitness club, miles and miles of walking/running trails, a BMX track and the site of 1978 World Cup. We made our way to the zoo and were pleasantly surprised by the super cheap entrance fee and large variety of animals, complete with deranged polar bear in far-from-arctic conditions, lazy lions, tigers and bears, rhino, hippoo, a billion species of crazed monkeys, and of course, llamas. It was a good way to spend the day, and it felt good to get out and walk after weeks of relative inactivity, rich food and abundant drink.

Along the way we found another reccommended hostal and immediatly made a reservation for the next night. Then returned to the not-so-wonderful Campo Base. There we consulted "the book" once again for a good spot for dinner, found some cheap pizza and returned once again to the hostel for several rounds of cards, some beer and then a plan to head out after a bit. Around 1:15 am, still a bit early by Argenitinian time, we headed out and found fabulous ice cream, or helado. The richest ever and full of fantastic flavors. After that treat we once again resumed our search for a watering hole and found an "Irish Pub", of which there is one in almost every town in South America, surprisingly enough. We watched clips from the third place match between Germany and Portugal, incredulous at the score, since we were both going for Portugal for the third place. Around 3 we decided to call it a night, and began the short walk back to the hostal. We were stopped by the sight of McDonalds, welcoming us in the wee morning ours with crisp fries, generic cheeseburgers and glass bottles of World Cup collectors edition Coca-Cola (there you go Phil!). Bad food never tasted better, and I comforted myself with the thought that Argentina has the best beef in the world, and surely some of that has to trickle into the fast food stock. Perhaps not. I hastily brushed my teeth and squirmed, once again, between suspiciously damp bedclothes.

The next morning dawned quickly, with a rushed check-out and brisk morning walk to Winca´s, our new hostel, complete with a decent breakfast, clean rooms and mansion style bathrooms. We made a trek to the bus depot to find what was available for departure, me 14 hours east to Buenos Aires, Michael 19 hours north to Salta after discovering the pass to Chile was closed indefinetly and so all options to Santiago were out of the question. The sun was out, but the wind chilled as we walked back, stopped by the market and then hung out at the hostel as we waited for the World Cup to begin.

ITALY!!!!!! We were all so glad that France didn´t win and were even more elated to find an Italian among us who generously filled our glasses with champagne to toast the victory. We signed an Argentinian flag comemorating the World Cup this year and stating our sentiments about the battle to the end, depending on where you were from. The day was a lazy one, and after dinner we all watched a movie that lulled us to sleep and off to bed.

With my bus not departing until 7:30 tonight Michael and I decided to find something to do to prevent us from sitting around watching movies all day. The choice was paragliding, and without a thought or question of what it would actually entail we signed up and paid for our 2:30pm activity. In the meantime I discovered that there was a Delta airlines office in Mendoza, but it was closed for the customary 12-4pm lunch "hour", so hopefully we would return from paragliding in time for me to run down and have a check.

Two-thirty came around and our paragliding leader, German(that was his name, he was Argentinian so pronounce it with a Spanish pronunciation), came round to collect us, inquiring if we had jackets as he looked at our t-shirts. We collected our jackets and hopped in a car, wondering what we were really doing, after we realized that we had both assumed we would be towed behind a boat, but there was a distinct shortage of water in the vicinity. We were first taken to the landing field where we got into a truck with two other Argentinian guys and began our climb up the sharp mountains that jutted from the smooth valley floor. Up to 1600 meters we went to a flat area populated by other guides and tourists like ourselves, and then we truly realized that we would be running off the steep incline with a parglide picking us up from the ground. After waiting for the wind for awhile and having German repeat many times that I need to keep running, not sit down until he tells me, we were off, the gravel faded away and despite German´s insistance that I should keep running, my feet were already a good 2 feet off the ground and soon we were sitting in tandem in our makeshift harness seats with a stellar view of the mountain, valley and town below spread out before us. I began snapping away with my camera, but with no real hope of capturing the fullness of the experinece. Just 10 minutes later we were preparing to land, making tight circles in the wind and me preparing to run as soon as we hit dirt. It was an amazing experience, and only at the end I found that there they also have a school where you can become a certified paragliding instructor. I made a mental note on my list of things to do when I return to Argentina.

Back to Mendoza, and in time to check at the Delta office, where I found, despite all my optimistic persistance that it would cost me no less than $842 to fly from Buenos Aires rather than Lima, a good deal more than I had paid for my original round-trip ticket! So I resolved to return to Lima, despite all my dissappointment. The guy at the Delta office checked all the airlines for flights to Lima, and the price to bus it there was less than half. A phone call from the hostel, then another trip to the bus office to change my ticket from Buenos Aires to anywhere north. All the buses were already full, so I got a ticket to Salta for the night, resolving again just to stay one more night in Mendoza and kill one more day while waiting for the bus(again!). I watched my hotel friends depart for Salta, and said words of hope to see them there perhaps. Then walked to the supermarket and bought some food to live on and a chocolate bar to console my sorrow at leaving Argentina, and the rapidly approaching reality of being homeward bound.

Using a guidebook I planned a rough route through Argentina, into Chile and then to Peru, with a few highlighted stops along the way to make the journey a bit more meaningful and a little less body and soul-draining. There are some fabulous things that I would have never seen had this not occurred. So while I am still a bit down about the direction of my trip, and the finality of my time here, I am excited to see what this last week will hold and the little touches it will add to my farewell.

Heading North to Mendoza

Well, today I leave my lovely mountain/lake town of Bariloche and head north to spend the weekend in Mendoza, the Napa County of Argentina, producing 70% of the nation's wine. Should be a good time, some relaxation and some milder weather. After a few days I have to return to Buenos Aires and see if I can't get my ticket sorted out for my immenent return home. Thats about all for now, I can't say the idea of a 19 hour bus ride has ever inspired anyone very much.

Bariloche, Argentina

I'm no longer playing catch-up, but I have rather settled into this semi-quiet mountain town. I am in the lake district of Argentina, which is much like upstate New York, with kilometers and kilometers of lakes, large and small, interconnected by waterways, creeks, rivers and streams. Bariloche is situated on the edge of the largest lakes in the district, with several islands floating inconspicuously in the middlish part. Around the lake and from behind the town, sharp snow-capped(although not as snow-capped as they should be) peaks rise to form dramatic horizons that harness the sunrise and release the sunset.

Argentina and Chile have been much more European in their food, architecture and the appearance of the people. Bariloche is fantastic, I have become quite enchanted with this town, the people and the way of life here. You might understand why to a greater extent if I tell you that the ski resort of Cathedral, with over 32 lifts, and unlimited area to ski, a huge terrain park a proper half-pipe and more backcountry that looks much like some Alaskan footage I've seen than one could wish for. The lift passes are only $30 a day, cheaper if you plan on boarding for consecutive days, and there are several shops where one can rent never-been-used demo boards, boots, bindings from several major snowboarding manufacturers. Its a dream. Apart from that the lake lapps at the foot of the town and the national park stands by only 5 kilometers away with recreation unlimited. I sit on the northern edge of the mysteriously renouned land of Patigonia, with all its wonder and harsh winter conditions, coupled with the beauty of summer that creates a landscape that is quite unimaginable in the fullness of winter. I hope to see it for myself in December.

Bariloche carries all the charm of any mountain resort town. A grid-based town layout on the edge of Lake Nahuel Huapi has a quaint villiage square and streets lined with restaurants, nationally renouned chocolate shops, tourist venues with shirts sporting "Bariloche" in about 500 different fonts and colors, overpriced skiing outfitters and restaurants catering to most budgets and tastes. Away from the downtown area the streets fade into residential districts filled with families, hostels and hotels, quiet corner stores and lazy internet cafes. Buses run reguarly, taking you anywhere you want to go, including the nearby mountain, which is 22 kilometers away, for a mere $3.10 pesos, or $1 American dollar.

It has been a good place to rest, to enjoy and to make friends. The snow, due to lack of precipitation, has not been amazing, and only half the mountain has been open. Nevertheless, half the mountain holds the equivalent amount of terrain that my hometown Mt. Shasta holds. To give an idea, a run from the top of the mountain to the very base would probobly take you between 30 and 40 mintues, depending on whether you were going for speed or enjoying yourself as you went. Can you tell that I'm in love with this place? Unfortunatly my time is winding to an end and I must soon depart from Bariloche and head toward Buenos Aires once again, and homeward from there. I wish that I had a digital camera so that I could share the beauty and awe-inspiring scenery I have encountered here, and throughout my journey, with everyone.

Playing Catch-Up from Bariloche, Argentina

Okay I am just going to tell you that the Salt Flats Tour was incredible, but after three days of freezing nights and cramped days looking at rock formations, lagunas, volcanic mud pits and hot springs; with the main focus being on an excess of rock formations, one gets a little tired, a little sick and a little ready to be done. Even better yet when you are 15 kilometers from the end, you reach a roadblock, manned by mine workers protesting the nationalizing of Bolivian mines, and the sun goes down, and the temperature drops to about 27 degrees Fareinheit, or -3 degrees Celsius and you are waiting in a cramped jeep for another two hours waiting for another vehicle to meet you on the other side of the roadblock. Then you are really ready to just get on the trian and head back to civilization, or La Paz. But better yet when you reach Uyuni, and find that not only was that road blocked, but all others leading in and out of town are blocked as well, the train has been stopped, the temperature is still dropping and the best food you can find is at a cantina. Then what do you do? You do what any money touting foreigner would do, get 4 people together, hire the only jeep left in town for $200, and conduct a blockade run in an old jeep, driven by an old man and his companion, down a sketchy road that requiered four-wheel drive and a little more, under the cover of darkeness and ever-plummeting temperatures. We passed 4 busses that had been stopped by the roadblockers, with gringos, and Bolivians and God knows who else, whom, in the middle of the night had exited the busses and begun to burn the brush on the side of the road to keep warm. We finally arrived in Ororu at 8 the next morning, after leaving at 11 the night before, a 9 hour journey that usually takes 5 by car.

Upon arriving to La Paz all I wanted to do was sleep and be warm again. Two sleepless nights of sub-freezing temperatures do something horrible to you, where the only things that make you feel better are your bed, hot showers, hot cups of tea and steaming bowls of soup. I procrasinated in La Paz, soaking up the civilization, and running a sub-temperature, trying to warm up and recouperate from a simple 3 day tour. After 4 days of procrastination I decided to head to Chile, to try and snowboard. Little did I know that a flying-in entry fee on all Americans would cost me $100. A heavy dent in a backpackers budget.

Chile greeted me with all the civilization and comforts of home, standard freeways, hot and cold water tap, sanitary systems capable of flushing toilet paper, heated rooms and warm cushy beds. I soaked it in, and properly got sick. I guess my body finally broke down knowing I was in a comfortable warm environment. Nevertheless I went snowboarding, which wasn't that good, wasted too much money, as Chile is the most expensive country in South America, and promptly evaded Chile for Argentina.

20 hours by bus later, and chance encounters with more Americans than I had seen in all of Peru and Bolivia, I arrived in Buenos Aires, a shining star among South American cities. I met up with Dhiresh and Andrew, whom I had met in La Paz prior to the Salt Flat Tour. We had fabulous food, did a bit of shopping and planned to evacuate the city the next day and head south to a quiant ski town of Bariloche, another 20 hours by bus. I was glad to leave Buenos Aires, though I didn't get to shop as much as I wanted, the notorious pary scene there would have wrecked me, just as it had all those who had gone before me. There, clubs don't open until midnight at the earliest and then carry on until 7, 8, 9 in the morning. I enjoyed the steak, the shopping and the city, which was modeled after Paris in its plan. Then I promptly hopped on a bus to Bariloche with Dhiresh and Andrew, slept the night away and arrived in Bariloche at 11 the next morning.

Bariloche is fabulous, quiet nestled on the edge of a lake, with snow-capped peaks rising behind to provide some of the best skiing and snowboarding in the country, not to mention, marginally cheaper than Chile. So here I am in Bariloche, a town renouned for beef, chocolate and skiing, three of my favorite things. I hit the slopes on our second day, with snowboard and boots that had never been used, edges still sharp, base untouched and full of pop. While Dhiresh took skiing lessons Andew and I took off to explore the mountain. There hadn't been fresh snow in a few days, but the day was warm, with a little rain, the snow softened up quickly, and although was a little sticky, made for an excellent day of boarding. I decided to wait for new snow before committing myself to the slopes again, and have spent the days meeting people at the hostel, having fabulous dinners, sleeping in and staying up late. Some good rest and relaxation. Though the weather hasn't improved, in fact it has been raining hard and steadily for two days striaght, the drum of rain on the roof is nice, and unless you have to go out, it casts a hazy feeling over everyone, making for mellow days watching the World Cup games, and movie after movie in the common room. So here I am, and loving it.

A long way away

Well I am in Argentina, after a brief stint in the super-expensive Chile. Snowboarding opportunities have consumed me and I am having a great time, which creates a bit of apathy toward keeping up to date, but that is soon to change!!!

Stay tuned for the latest adventures of the ever-moving south american traveler!!!

Salar de Uyuni, Blurred Horizons

After killing a few hours in Ororu, Emma and I boarded the train to Uyuni at 7pm and headed out across the flat altiplano desert. We settled in to our seats, surrounded by a group of 4 young guys from Holland and another set of 4 from England. Train hosts came through trying to sell us everything from plastic-looking packaged chicken dinners, beer, soda, jell-o with whipped cream, donuts sprinkled with powdered sugar and candy. All we really wanted was a steaming hot cup of tea, due to the ever dropping temperature within the coach car. Movies came on, first Maid in Manhattan complete with english subtitles, then some horrible Robert Redford film. The temperature continued to plummet, not just fall, but dive deeply into the base of the thermometer. Soon the condensation on the INSIDE of the windows was frozen into sheets of ice that obscured a view to the outer world, not that there was much to see anyway. We put all our clothes on that we had with us and opened Emma´s sleeping bag up and draped it around us as we snuggled together to keep warm. We finally arrived at Uyuni at 2:30am, in the freezing cold darkness, claimed our packs and looked around for our pick up. Well, our pick up failed to appear and the rest of the travelers dissappeared slowly into the town square, respective hostels, leaving Emma and I cold and alone, unsure as to what to do, or where to go. We finally gave up on our pick up, and asked a european-looking girl who was waiting for the 4:30am train to the Chilean boarder, if she had a guidebook we might glance at to find a reasonable accommodation. She stared at us incredilously, as if anyone traveling without a guidebook was mad, and silently handed her torn-out section of Bolivia out. We quickly located two close hostels and set out, was ushered into one by a woman, and then found that the only room left was one with a double bed. We scrambled into the room, unpacked our sleeping bags, placed them under the triple layer of woolen blankets and climbed in wearing the full assortment of thermals, gloves, hats, scarves, socks and fleeces. Even so it took at least an hour to be comfortable to fall asleep. We woke suddenly in the morning, worried that we had missed our 10:30 departure time for our tour. It was only 9, so we called the travel agency, packed our things and had some breakfast, in time to join the other four in our 4WD Toyota Land Cruiser along with our guide and driver Carlos and our cook Janet.
All packed in and ready to go we first visited a small settlement outside Uyuni where the salt is processed, first piled in pyramid-like towers to drain the water, then heated on a flat sheet of metal with a fire below to dry it further, then placed in a giant grinder to produce the powder substance that was packaged in 1 kilo bags for the market and for our dinner table. Then onto the "museo" of roughly carved salt statues which we found upon leaving costs 5 Bs. per person, sneaky eh? Back into the jeep and out onto the salt flats which are indiscribable. Streaching 90 km across and 167 km wide, the layer of salt that covers the ground like icy snow stretches as far as the eye can see and obscures the usually clear horizon line with its vastness. A few pictures then onto the Salt Hotel, a hotel composed entirely of salt blocks, the tables, the chairs, the nightstands, the bedstands, everything, but yet again, you had to buy something at the overpriced snack bar in order to take a photo, unless you were really devious and sneaky of course! Back into the jeep and off again across the ever expanding salt road to Isla del Pescado (Island of the Fish), not because it has fish, but because from an aireal view the island is shaped like a fish in the middle of the white sea of salt. The island is composed of petrified coral, PETRIFIED CORAL at some 3800 meters, and dotted with HUGE cacti extending 3-40 meters into the sky. Odd surreal landscape which we hiked, then returned to the jeep and a neatly set salt table for lunch. Because of the neverendingness of the salt flats, its possible to do "trick photos" where it appears as though a miniature of a friend is standing in the palm of your hand. Yeah we´re cool like that, ha!

Back into the jeep yet again for a two hour jaunt across the flats to the southeast shadowed by mountains of more petrified coral, cacti and odd letchin clumps. Through rocky valleys we drove upon leaving the Flats, up dry creekbeds and over rocks which produced a flat tire. With the efforts of our diver and one of our group we were soon on the track again. Our route took us through a valley surrounded by volcanic peaks, one softly smoking/steaming in the distance and stopping us at odd rock formations, no doubt created by hardened lava that was exposed by the raging rivers of the rainy season. We finally arrived at a small settlement, which was to be our stop for the night. Cemented rooms with private half-bathrooms containing fridgid running water. If you wanted a hot shower, you had to go to the communal showers in the other building, where you turned the tap on just enough to power the gas heater so the water could be the hottest possible, and even then, whichever side was absent from the water, was turning shades of cold, which caused a constantly revolving bather.

We weren´t the only group there, and in the communal dining room we were eached served our dinners from our respective cooks, Janet was great, good hot food to warm our bodies and souls as we scooted close together at the table to keep warm. Our group was fantastic from day one, two sweet girls from Denmark; Katarina and Monica, then two guys Menno from Holland and Volmer a Dutch-Austrailian, Emma reperesented the English and I from the States. Carlos our driver was amiable and easy-going, enjoying the music procured from the guy´s MP3 players and Janet was constantly teasing him and the rest of us. That night we played the ever popular traveler´s game of President-Asshole, a revolving game of seats, heiarchy and fun. When the generator powered down at 10 we were snug in our frigid echoing chambers, privy to the foreign conversations of others as their voices echoed off the unfinished cement walls. Small twirling flower fireworks were thrown into the halls and created shock and a revolving rainbow of colors, then everyone settled in to stay warm until morning shone her face.