La estamos pasando bien, gracias. Como estan ustedes?;que se diviertan en su proximo viaje; los extrañamos mucho. Besos.Esperamos que vuelvan pronto a SAN RAFAEL.

hi!

Glad to see 'Lucky' made it into the photo album.
Hope you two are doing well. From the pic's-looks like an amazing trip.

Michael

Pro,

Did you find the green bag at Iguazu? Or see the kid with the bread box on his head? And isn't it more incredible the second time around?

Hi--MATT&NAT Glad to see you're having a wonderful time exploring the Southern Hemisphere acquiring volumes of adventure and long lasting memories. Can,t wait to hear about your trip to Patagonia. Ever since I saw that special on channel 2 (a long slow 1200 mile train ride down the Patagonia Savanha ) I haven,t been the same. I know your trip will be filled with adventurious acedotes. Bye for now and remeber--there,s nothing like a good steak dinner to top -off your trip.

Friday, February 17th -- San Rafael, Argentina . . . "Karma"

The recipe for any "Around the World" adventure calls for
1/4 cup of courage, equal parts spirit, luck & lunacy, a stick of patience and 2 heaping tablespoons of superlatives, for taste. Mix well, cover and simmer for one year -- add tolerance as needed to avoid sticking.

Of all the ingredients, we´ve certainly acquired a taste for superlatives -- defined as the highest, fastest, longest, deepest -- the thought of each adds pace and depth to my heart and soul. Countless globetrekers spend years conquering the world´s best-- the tallest this, the most dangerous that -- risking all for the risk itself, for the natural high -- or, in many cases, merely for the story. Clearly, we are not exempt in this strategy, as our itineraries reflect a "best of" tapestry of ancient, natural and modern wonders.

Still, however, the most important ingredient in travel is the unexpected, those completely random moments that define a journey. That is the magic of travel -- and we received a large dose of it early last week.

That day began like most others, 5 hours of Spanish classes in town, a bottle of vino with lunch and finally, the dreaded ride home with our host and friend, Santiago. You see, Santiago is without question the worst driver in the western hemisphere. And, to add insult to potential injury -- his car, an off-white-grey-rust-colored classic (aka. 1971 Dodge s***box), was last road-worthy when he took driving lessons from Bo & Luke Duke in the early 80s. So, after 30 minutes of white-knuckle hell -- after surviving yet another game of "guess that animal" through the rusty holes in the floor -- we finally turned onto our quiet, tree-lined street -- a dozen horses grazing against a serene backdrop of green pastures, vineyards and the Andes -- one too many horses that is.

Apparently, one horse belonged to the nearest neighbor --who just so happens to live more than a mile down the road. That innocent, lazy stroll in search of greener pastures turned out to be a mistake -- a big mistake! Immediately, Santiago floored the gas -- the struggling engine screaming for relief, smoke bellowed from beneath the hood -- once again, our knuckles white, our jaws in our laps. In true "gaucho" fashion, he chased that poor horse from one side of the road to the other, at more than 40 miles per hour, toward the neighbor´s house. From the passenger seat I could see his eyes -- normally black and serene, now stricken with fear, straining to escape the smoke-belching monster less than a nose away. He was literally inches away from death -- and while Santiago revelled in his machismo, I nearly lost my lunch.

Later that week, while entertaining a number of amigos with ample servings of meat and cabalgatas (horse-back rides), the strange forces of Karma took revenge.
One of his own horses, likely a distant cousin of Seabiscuit down the road, kicked Santiago just above the ankle -- shattering his shin. So now, and for the next 4 months, Seabiscuit is free to mock his tormentor from just outside the bedroom window. Is revenge sweet or what? M & N

hola, ¿cómo la estan pasando? espero que bien. pronto nos vemos, suerte.los estamos extrañando mucho espero que vuelvan pronto a San Rafael. EDU Y DANI BYE BYE

Hola

I'm thrilled you are living your dream! Matt, you always had an inquistive mind, sounds like you have met your match with Nat. Your stories are adventures in themselves and thank you for taking us along.
Nat, what a wonderful experience to meet your relatives, and converse, despite the language barrier. That would have been right up my ally.

Everything is fine on the homefront and were having an extremely mild winter. This makes mail delivery so much easier, so no complaints on this end. Hasta luego

Matt and Nat,

Sounds like Santiago took driving lessons from Megan(; if Megan is reading this...I of course mean his amazingly accurate driving capabilities in such bad conditions(: I've often thought some people should be required to wear horse blinders so they have to concentrate on what is in front of them along with a 'no conversating' rule...I don't need eye contact from the driver while he/she is navigating a 180 degree turn around a mountain cliff. Glad to hear Seabiscuit kicked him!

Matt, you should really become a novelist or screen-writer...and Santiago can be your personal driver!

Have a great week.

Michael

Monday, February 6th, San Rafael, Argentina --

"A Weekend With Lucky" . . .

In our relentless efforts to witness, absorb and admire this amazing country, we spent the weekend in Malargue, a tranquil village that serves as base for countless day-treks and adventures and as the last town before Las Lenas, a ski-resort known as the "Vail of Argentina".

Our weekend plans included spelunking in "Cavernas de las Brujas", full-day cabalgatas (long treks on horseback) across the vast pampas to Laguna Llacanelo, a salt-water flat that hosts millions of birds including thousands of pink flamingoes and hunting for fossils in a hidden canyon at the base of a waterfall. Without question, our weekend was amazing and commands a seperate entry in our e-journal -- however, the highlight of our weekend was not in our travels, or the people we met, or the cultures we glimpsed -- it was, in a word, "Lucky".

8:00 AM on Saturday morning, we slowly emerged from yet another wine-induced hangover to hike into town for supplies for our 12-hour horseback/hiking adventure. Imagine the setting: a long dirt road flanked by trees and cabanas, the snow-capped Andes just beyond the treeline, the crisp and refreshing dawn air quickly warming under the relentless morning sun. This was to be a day we´d never forget. Oh, how that rings true now.

Fresh from the shower, fully-dressed and prepared for the day, we walked. Suddenly, we heard a turkey gobble just off the road to our right. Granted, turkeys aren´t exactly rare fauna -- certainly not the wild emu or desert fox we would see later -- but nonetheless, we had to check it out. Gobble-gobble-gobble -- the sounds, while familiar, possessed a sense of urgency, of struggle. The sound was eery -- haunting, actually -- and something inside urged me forward.

The sound was coming from behind a fence -- an 8-foot-high fence topped with barbed-wire. Behind the fence, just beyond our reach but clearly in sight, we saw one of the most horrific sites in our lives. In a small, cement-lined canal of sorts, 5-6 feet deep and filled with the most-vile and stagnant water you could imagine, was a small dog. Its white and brown outline completely underwater -- its snout the only part above the waterline. Who knows how long that dog had struggled -- 30 minutes, 1 hour -- clearly exhausted, he was in the final moments of drowning. The sounds of the wild turkey were actually the unfamiliar echoes of by drowning. That sound makes me shudder, and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Instictively, frantically, we searched for a way inside -- while watching in horror as the dog slipped under the water. Finally, I found a section of fence shorter than the rest and climbed over, ripping a 3 inch gash in my foot on the barbed-wire. I threw off my clothes and lowered myself into the foul, seemingly - recess I now call "hell". I lifted him from under his rib-cage while holding onto the sides of the cement-canal. Poor little perro was clinging to life, his legs limp from the toughest fight of his life. He was -weight, with the animation and density of a holiday ham (sorry, Farmer John). He had another minute, maybe, before he slipped under for the last time. Another minute before he joined the carcasses of many other unlucky animals in that vile trap.

"Lucky" shivered uncontrollably, from equal parts shock and hypothermia. I lifted him over the barbed-wire fence into Natalie´s waiting arms. She ran to the nearest house and found a man -- a dog-lover thank God -- who wrapped him in a blanket and placed him in front of a space heater. Later that day and for the rest of the weekend, "Lucky" rested in that same spot, lucky to be alive. M & N

Thought you ought to know: It was silly hat day at my daughter's school today. She wore the giant sombrero.
Greg

Hey Matt and Nat-

That was a great thing you did saving the dog...Lucky! I half expected you to finish with...Lucky Provost will be joining us on our trip back to the states(; At least you know you have yet one more friend-all be it a dog-that will greet you happily when you return to visit there some day.