To rest my legs and give myself a chance to recover from my ice walking adventure I went on a 10 mile hike. Instead of going to the middle of the park where Perito Moreno is this excursion took me south along an old dirt road, Route 15, that runs past the Estancias.

The glaciers we were going to see had regressed over the past millennia and the hike gave me a chance to see how they changed the landscape.

We first crossed a lake and headed toward a small forest and series of hills. After scaling the hills, which were fairly steep, the forest let us out at another small lake. We crossed that in little dinghies.

The lake had been at the mouth of a wide river. Now completely dry, we walked along the river bed towards the glacier. The glacier had carved the river out of the mountains and left behind a lot of rocks. Many of the smaller rocks had fossils embedded in them.

Between the dried river bed, looming mountains, and glaciers the area looked like an alien planet out of Star Wars.

We ate lunch on the shore of a frozen lake in front of the Dickson Glacier before hiking back out.

My second day in El Calafate I went and saw the main attraction.

Perito Moreno is the most famous glacier in Argentina; not because it is the largest but it is definitely photogenic. Named for the explore who claimed it for Argentina during a particular border dispute with Chile it is at the western end of the purposefully named Lago Argentino. It is a stable glacier, which means that it is not growing but it continues to sustain itself.

My excursion first took us to balconies that have been built into the cliffs on the other side of the lake. They offer great views and photo ops of the glacier. The morning was clear and it was very easy to see and hear when bits of ice fell off the glacier into the lake.

We then crossed the lake in a boat and hiked up the mountain that runs parallel to the glacier. Once we reached the level next to the middle plane of the glacier we put on crampons and walked out onto the ice.

The guides walked us around and explained different fractures in the ice and what causes them. The topography of the glacier changes wildly from area to area and some of that is caused by changes in the ground underneath.

For instance, about half way across the glacier towards the Chilean side sharp peaks have formed that make it difficult to cross. The part we walked on was a relatively level plain.

Different cracks in the ice yield different results: some fill with water more quickly than others, some have waterfalls and rivers running through them until the caverns below fill up.

The guide told us that the crevices with water were safer to be around than the ones without, because at least if one of us were to fall in the water we wouldn’t plunge down 20-40 meters and break a leg. We’d fall into a pool of arctic water and be easier to fish out.

What amazed me most was how many shades of blue existed within each crevice. Naturally, the deeper the crevice the deeper the blue.

We made it roughly to the middle of the glacier before stopping for lunch. After a few more hours on the ice we walked back to begin our hike down the mountain.

In a matter of minutes we went through snow, rain, and sweltering heat. On the boat ride back we were greeted with tumblers of whiskey and ice from the glacier. Needless to say no one was awake for the bus ride back.

El Calafate, Santa Cruz, Argentina: Flying into El Calafate kind of looks like you are landing on the moon. The landscape has very dramatic mountains but is completely brown and desert-like.

Driving into the “city” the landscape changes drastically. It’s still not green, but there is vegetation closer to the lake, including Calafate plants, naturally.

A place dedicated to outdoor sports – the sky is the limit.

My first day I went zip-lining. The course of five lines was set up at Estancia Alice over a gully between two hills. The first run was truly terrifying, but about half way through I realized that I was not going to plunge to my death and I started to relax. By the third run I even tried to flip over and ride across upside down.

In the valley between the hills were some very cranky cows and an eagle circled us overhead. Off in the distance I could see the peaks of Torres del Paine.

In the afternoon I went to another estancia, Estancia 25 del Mayo, to see some of the plants and animals indigenous to Patagonia. The local flora includes Calafate plants with their bittersweet berries and a particularly nasty looking cactus that has been nicknamed colchón de suegra (“mother-in-law’s mattress”).

In addition to cows, sheep and horses the farm also had rheas and wild guanacos, the species of llama unique to Patagonia. There were three condors circling over head and bones picked clean showed evidence of pumas.

The farm served dinner: lamb stew (they take their lamb seriously in Patagonia) and Patagonian Malbec.

Every area has its own microclimate and the weather and vegetation can change dramatically within a matter of kilometers. It’s stunningly beautiful and unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been.

Mendoza, Argentina: I love Mendoza. It’s got a great climate and lovely tree lined streets. The central plaza, Plaza Independencia, is surrounded by four satellite plazas that orbit it diagonally.

Plaza España, a few blocks away to the south east, has marvelous tiling on its fountain and benches. It’s a beautiful place to walk around.

I have also eaten my way through the city with a varied menu of hamburgers, bife de chorizo, jamón y queso, more beef, and then chivito (kid goat) that is typical to Mendoza. The Argentines really do amazing things with meat.

Before leaving New York for Buenos Aires I talked to a girl who had studied abroad in Argentina, and about half way through our conversation she announced she was a vegetarian. I have no idea what she ordered in restaurants: it’s not a big salad place.

As many people had recommended it I went white water rafting in the Mendoza River. Another first for me, I went with a group up to Potrerillos, which is 70 km to the west of the city in the foothills of the mountains.

The trip through the rapids was about 12 km long and they were classified as level 3. Since the river comes down from the Andes the water is best described as brisk and refreshing. The rapids were exhilarating. One boat did hit a rock and whiped out. My boat made it through unscathed, it just had seven very wet people whose smiling faces were covered in muddy water.

Although the typical tour of Mendoza includes wine tasting bike tours in Maipu and Lujan de Cuyo I opted out for a variety of reasons.

First off, I’ve had nothing but bad “table wine” Malbec all my life. Table wine, as they call it, comes from Maipu. It is the everyday stuff that you may know as that horrible syrupy Malbec you find all over the United States. It makes me think fondly of Cote du Rhone, which is no small feat. I was on the hunt for good Malbec.

Second off, riding a bike in 90 degree heat with humidity while drinking sounds like my idea of hell. Next time I come it will be early spring and I will totally be ready to ride a bike.

So I took off with a guide for Valle de Uco. 70 km to the south of the city, the valley is stunning and the Andes loom up in front of you. The valley is south of the Andean foothills: the mountains are 5000 meters high as opposed to the 3-4000 meter foothills visible from Mendoza.

The first vineyard I visited was Salentien in Tupungato, which is owned by a Dutch car magnate. Yes, you read that right, and it should come as no surprise given The Netherlands’ long tradition of vinification. The family also owns a winery in California.

The bodega’s complex is quite elaborate and includes a museum that displays works by Argentine and Dutch artists. The wine is pretty good too.

I tasted three wines at the bodega. Salentien produces a Sauvignon Blanc that is quite good. Given that the climate is completely wrong, their Pinot Noir is also pretty good — although its a little thin. The last wine was a full bodied Merlot, which they don’t produce a lot of it because there isn’t a large market for Merlot in Argentina. That’s too bad, because it was excellent.

The second vineyard is in the Tunuyán section of Valle de Uco. Clos de los Siete is a project started by Michel Rolland. He bought the land and brought in six other investors. Within the complex there are five separate fincas. I visited Cuvelier Los Andes, whose owners also run Château Le Crock and Château Léoville Poyferré in France.

Cuvelier Los Andes is much less glitzy than Salentien and their focus is clearly on wine and not art. It looks a little like a Spanish monastery. I tried 4 wines, only one of which they produced. The first two came from two other producers within the seven. A lovely rosé made by L’Argentin de Malartic and what is probably the best Malbec I’ve ever had produced by DiamAndes.

The third wine was a Cabernet Sauvignon made by Cuvelier. And due to my American palate it was my favorite wine. The fourth wine was made with a blend of grapes from all five fincas called Clos de Los Siete produced by Michel Rolland himself.

The last vineyard is operated by Spaniards in San Juan. It was built by the same architect who designed Salentien and had the same flash and style. My guide did admit that we were really visiting the vineyard because of the restaurant, which is operated by the owner’s wife. The food was incredible and really out shone the wine.

The restaurant is built overlooking an artificial lake that reflects the Andes. It looks like Umbria with mountains, and for the first time in my life I could imagine having a destination wedding. Just as long as I could bring in wine from Clos de Los Siete of course.

Las Cataratas de Iguazú, Misiones, Argentina: Having never seen Niagara Falls, I wasn’t prepared for a real waterfall, but Las Cataratas de Iguazú (Iguazú Falls — Iguazú means big water in Guarani) are truly staggering: staggeringly beautiful, awesome, and terrifying.

The park has a Disneyland-amusement park quality to it. Park rangers load tourists up into silly little trains that take forever to carry everyone up to the top of the falls. The lines are endless in the heat, but when the train finally reaches the top of the falls, the walk out to La Garganta del Diable (Devil’s Throat) makes the wait worthwhile.

The pathway out to the falls is a little under a kilometer. The river rushes by beneath the walkway, and every creak the passageway makes from the pressure of hundreds of tourist footsteps adds to the excitement.

You can hear the roar of the falling water before you see the cloud of spray rising above the falls.

The pathway ends at a platform situated on the lip of the falls that is probably about 20m by 10m. When you make it to the edge through the throngs of people, you can look straight down into the mist. The noise is incredible; the spray is very dramatic. The whole thing verges on indescribable, but I’m trying.

Off to the right of the platform are the remnants of another on the washed away in the rushing water.

The best vantage point is really from below. After walking around the upper and lower passages, I had a real sense of how big the falls are. I then went on one of the tours offered in the park. Called La Gran Aventura (the great adventure), it began with a tour of the jungle and an overview of the local flora and fauna.

There are fifteen jaguars in the park, and apparently they can swim across the river and the rapids. In addition to the jaguars, there are also a number of pumas. I briefly saw a toucan and a capuchin monkey. And of course the coati are everywhere.

At the end of the drive through the jungle, the tour continued on a catamaran. The boat went up the rapids and circled around the base of the falls several times for excellent picture-taking opportunities. At a certain point we were told to put our cameras into waterproof bags. The captain then drove the boat under a couple of the waterfalls. Each time he got a little bit closer until finally we went completely under one of them.

It is so much fun! First you get hit with the spray, then with a stream, and finally the water is cascading down, and it’s impossible to see anything. By the end everyone is sopping wet and you get a real sense of the power of the falls.

It is also an excellent way to cool down in the sub-tropical heat!

Puerto Iguazú, Misiones, Argentina: When I arrived in Iguazú I was hit by a heat I had not felt since leaving Vietnam. No matter how humid it gets in New York in July, as a born and bred north-easterner I am never prepared for the jungle.

The place is a riot of color: the trees are a vivid, almost shamrock-like, green and the earth is bright red. As a result a lot of the houses are red too.

Since I landed too late to go to the falls, I decided to take a ride on a catamaran to escape the heat.

The boat went out along the rivers that form the Argentine borders between Paraguay and Brazil: the Paraná River, shown here:

and the Iguazú River:

Three obelisks have been erected where the rivers meet to form a triangle. Standing on the Argentine side you can see both the Brazilian and Paraguayan obelisks painted to look like each country’s flag.

The area is called el Hito de las Tres Fronteras.

I was told that Iguazú is just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. In July there are four days that have a hint of frost.

We stayed out to watch the sunset and then returned to port.

The limited parts of Argentina I have seen walk an interesting line between developed and developing country. While Buenos Aires is a cosmopolitan city (maybe a little rough around the edges) Iguazú reminds me of Siem Reap in Cambodia.

And it has the best and worst parts of the third world. On the one had, there are spectacular natural wonders that are practically unrivaled throughout the world. On the other hand indigenous Guarani children come up to your table during dinner to beg or sell carved wooden animals and feral animals roam the streets.

The town seems to come alive at night after the sunsets. It’s by no means cool, but on Sunday nights the town shows movies in a central plaza (Frozen dubbed into Spanish), and young boys hold drum circles in other parks throughout the town.

Some of the drummers are really excellent.

SUNSET IN PUERTO IGUAZÚ

Buenos Aires, Argentina: Buenos Aires is certainly a colorful city. Today as I walked along Calle Rodríguez Peña I saw three men break out into a huge fight.

One man parked his car and was getting out when a very reckless driver nearly hit him. The reckless driver screeched to a halt as if to apologize when the first man came around and attacked him through the open window with an aluminum bottle.

A passing motorcyclist then got off his bike and hit the first man with his heavy metal bike lock. I wasn’t sure if he knew the driver and wanted to help out or if he wanted to blow off steam because it’s so blasted hot.

Whatever the reason, they spilled onto the sidewalk and crashed into a store front. A few brave souls tried to intervene, but needless to say I did a hasty about face and retreated back the way I had come.

This particular episode of excitement aside, I have thoroughly enjoyed my time in Buenos Aires while all of my friends in the northeast shiver in the snow.

My visit to the city has been short, so perhaps it is stereotypically touristy.

El Teatro Colón lives up to its reputation as stunningly beautiful. My favorite part is the stain glass ceiling in the entrance hall.

The tour guide went into some detail about the recent restoration and proudly assured the group that the acoustics in the auditorium are still perfect.

The sound travels throughout the theater at 1.5 seconds and most performances have a full house, if not completely sold out.

Unfortunately the opera is on summer vacation so I was unable to test her statement.

When asked about how the restoration was funded the guide was vehemently clear that the theater is owned by city of Buenos Aires and not the national government and the money was raised by the city and several wealthy families. I’ll leave you to interpret her insistence as you will.

The Recoleta cemetery was quite lovely as well. All cultures have their ways of handling the dead, and the Argentines are not to be outdone.

The tombs range from garish and gaudy temples to understated and sweet memorials. Many former presidents are buried there, and of course Eva Perón is as well. After her body was recovered she was buried in her brother’s mausoleum, which is surprisingly simple:

I also had a parilla (pronounced pah-ri-jsha for those of you who did not learn Spanish in Argentina). A plate piled high with various cuts of steak and sausage: a cuisine after my own heart.

More pictures of the amazing Recoleta Cemetery:

Buenos Aires, Argentina: I have never been comfortable breaking the law. At some point during my childhood that was thoroughly beaten out of me. Full confession: I’ve never even brought drugs. Okay sure, I’ve been known to drive faster than the posted speed limit (alright, a lot faster); but really I’m a pretty honest citizen.

When I first heard about the blue dollar before coming to Argentina I was pretty skeptical. The more I learned it seemed like an excellent way to get ripped off.

I was instructed by an American, who had spent a semester studying abroad in Buenos Aires, to hold the bills up to the light to make sure I wasn’t being given fake money in exchange for my dollars. I asked how I was supposed to be able to tell the difference but didn’t really get an answer.

Yesterday I went to Calle Florida, which is one of the main pedestrian-only shopping streets, and went searching for one of the hawkers screeching “Cambio? Cambio?” I liked the looks of.

I found my guy standing near the corner of Av. Corrientes practically next to a government propaganda poster: “Carlos Castagneto con Cristina Trabjando por la Provincial.” He took me off the street and to an office in a nearby mall.

It seems to generally accepted that there are 12 Argentine pesos to the dollar, but if you bring higher denominations of bills typically you can get a higher rate. Based on what I had been told, I believe he gave me a good deal. At the very least I didn’t feel ripped off.

What I found so strange is that this underground market is quasi-sanctioned. Everyone from the immigration officer at the airport to a taxi driver asked me if I knew about the blue dollar. Ordinary Argentines keep their money in dollars, so they don’t lose their savings, and buy back pesos as needed.

Even in the darkest days of 2008 and 2009 it would have been hard to imagine Americans out selling euros and pounds for dollars on Canal Street.

I am back in Delhi, and these polluted, clogged streets have never smelled so good nor seemed so cosmopolitan.

Four days in Varanasi was a lot. Now, while the city is an absolutely fascinating place, it is emotionally taxing and hard to navigate. Varanasi is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities — it was founded around 13-12 B.C., according to legend, by Shiva. So naturally the entire city revolves around death. It is the holiest of the 7 holy cities in Hinduism and therefore it is a big pilgrimage site. And devout Hindus go there to die.

The old city, where I stayed, is filled with winding narrow streets that lead to the river. Streets may be a generous term, alleyways is perhaps more accurate. I believe someone around 5’10” could lie down and probably touch both walls on either side in most of them.

The river is lined with ghats, stairs that lead down into the water, of which there about 100. (Ghats are different from temples, of which there are also many).

There are hospices along the river banks where the sick wait for death. Then they are burned at the two burning ghats, the most famous of the two is called Manikarnika, and their ashes are dumped in the river.

According to locals, 300 bodies are burned a day, and the fires burn all night. The only bodies that are not burned are those of holy men and pregnant women. They are wrapped and tied down with rocks and thrown in the river. I also learned that it takes about 300 kg of wood to burn a body completely. There are stacks of wood all around the Manikarnika Ghat, and all of the surrounding buildings have turned black from all the smoke.

The dead bodies are handled by outcasts, who prep the bodies and burn those who do not have  any family. They also go out to retrieve people who have died in their houses or in surrounding villages. It’s a strange sight to see a corpse wrapped in an orange cloth strapped to the top of an auto-rickshaw.

Cars and tuk-tuks are not allowed in the old city, because the streets are too narrow. So people carry the bodies down to the river. There is a shop that makes delicious lassis on the route they take. If you sit there long enough finishing your lassi, you will see 5 or 6 bodies go by.

However, about 100 yards away from both of these burning ghats, pilgrims and the poor go down to the river every morning at sunrise and bathe in the river. The pilgrims do it to cleanse their souls, and the locals do it because it’s probably their best option. Kids swim in the river and use it as their playground.

Of course, let’s not forget that cows are considered holy In Hinduism. Although they walk around freely in every Indian city, Varanasi is particularly overrun with cows. In addition to the female cows, there are bulls, dogs, goats, and water buffalo. Most days we caught glimpses of monkeys, too.

In the winding narrow streets you can run into one cow at any turn or an entire herd of cattle. The animals are not very well taken care of and just hang out in the streets. So not only are there a lot of sick people in Varanasi, there are also a lot of sick cows. The dogs are covered with fleas and often look like they are about to keel over. I’ll leave it to your imagination to fill in the details about what coats the streets.

Sanitation is not big in a lot of the third world, but between the garbage, dirty water and sick animals loosing their bowels all over the place, walking around is a real adventure. Compound this with the fact that it was 95 degrees Fahrenheit by 11 am and 100-104 by 1 pm. We tried not to think too much about where the water in the shower at our hotel was coming from.

Every night at 6:30 p.m. there is a festival at the Dashashwamedh Ghat, which was quite near our hotel. This was fun to watch: 5 Brahmin priests perform the aarti ritual in a highly choreographed ceremony. It feels a bit like a circus, but they put on a good show for the pilgrims.

A lot of the other tourists in Varanasi were Indians. Even normal Indians think it’s a bizarre place and something of a spectacle.

I took a walk to the southernmost ghat along the river and passed the smaller burning ghat, where I came across a Brahmin funeral. Women are not allowed to attend funerals; they have to watch from above, because of several sexist reasons. However, one of the principle reasons is that if someone cries at a funeral, the soul of the dead will not be set free… it will stay attached to its family members. So typically the oldest son performs the funeral rites and then lights the pyre on fire.

The ritual was fascinating; the priest recited several passages, the son circled the body with water from the river and then he laid flowers on the body, etc. He kept it together very well, but as he walked past us he wiped away a tear, which was actually very nice because I was beginning to get depressed by how commercial and impersonal the death industry is in Varanasi.

I took two boat rides on the river that were very peaceful and pretty. I took one on my first morning to watch the sunrise rituals and another a few days later in the evening to see the northern ghats, which are further away and hard to walk to from where I was staying.

Varanasi is not only important to Hindus, it is also important to Buddhists. I took a trip out to Sarnath, about 11 km from Varanasi, which is where the Buddha gave his sermon on dharma and the sangha, his following, formed.

There are a couple of Buddhist temples and a Buddhist university where  the Dalai Lama speaks  once a year.

Not to be outdone, the Muslims are also well represented in Varanasi. Aurangzeb, the last great Mughal emperor (who deposed his father Shah Jahan, the man who built the Taj Mahal), tried to conquer Varanasi and built a very pretty mosque at the top of one of the ghats. We were assured that there is no religious tension in Varanasi, the 4 police officers stationed outside the main Hindu temple 24/7 notwithstanding.

Traffic in Varanasi was abysmal, as opposed to Delhi and Jaipur, which is just extremely unpleasant. This is partly because the primary is going on and Modi seems to be doing well in Uttar Pradesh East – a heavily Hindu area. Security was really ramped up and I’ve also noticed more police in Delhi this go around.

All that aside, it was a great place to visit and an excellent place to learn  more about Hinduism.