Beyond the Backyard #1: Why and How South America?

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Elysse Zarek

I figured that at some point in my university career, I'd take the time to travel, and probably in Europe at that. After all, how can I be a journalist when all I've seen is my own backyard? And Europe is safe, it's familiar, my family would feed me...it had all the makings of an easy first-time trip.

Then my boyfriend took a job exchange in Buenos Aires, and we both wondered how we would see each other over the year. The result? I'm not going to Europe after all. That's how I came to decide on Latin America. Back that up with an awesome Latin American literature course back in high school, and a trip is born.

Six months ago when the idea was first planted in my head, it seemed impossibly far away. For months I haunted the local mega-bookstores and devoured the Lonely Planets in the travel section. I took a Spanish course. I combed the internet for ideas, networked with friends and acquaintances, and argued endlessly with my parents. This was going to be the trip of a lifetime.

So here's the plan. I've got just over two months to cover Argentina, Chile, Uruguay, and bits of Brazil. It's a lot of territory, but then again, I like to be ambitious. That said, I still don't quite know where I'm going, what I'm seeing, or how to get there, to the amusement and horror of my family.

Brother: So, have you figured out all the details for your trip yet?

Me: No.


Bro: That can't be too good.

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

Getting the Equipment

Knowing nothing about the fine art of choosing a backpack, I headed off to Mountain Equipment Co-op, one of the largest camping stores in the city, hoping that a friendly salesperson would take pity on me. It seems they're well equipped for complete rookies like me. A friendly guy explained the details of choosing a backpack, and then let me try on a few. Our conversations went like this:

Him: I'm going to put a weight in it so you can see what it feels like. Then you put it on like this, do up this buckle, snap that clasp, and pull those straps. Got it?

Me (after trying it on): Yeowch!!! It's too heavy!! Get it off!!

So after harassing the guy at the camping store for the better part of an hour, I ended up going across the street to Europe Bound and buying a backpack from there. Two hundred-odd bucks later, and I was in business.

Getting Poked


Apparently, I needed shots for South America. On the advice of a friend, I called up the local travel doctor (Yeah! Who knew they existed?) and rattled off the three-and-a-half countries I'm hitting. The receptionist recommended I get Hepatitis B and typhoid. The tab came to $125. Payable in cash only. Turns out the doctor had been to all these places and showed me yellowing photos of his own adventures. Reassuring. He came out alive, so that means I will too, right? He said it was safe.

Shots. In walks the nurse.

Me: So, will these hurt?

Nurse: Maybe. Maybe not. It depends.

Me: Yeowwch!!

Two mildly painful jabs in the arm and a handful of advice, and that was it. They pronounced me ready to travel.

Visas? You mean credit cards?

I lucked out with Argentina and Uruguay. Travelling on a Canadian passport means I don't need visas to either country. Chile is a bit tricky; I hear there's a fee payable in American dollars only when you land at their airports. There's no way of getting around it, because otherwise they'll hold your luggage hostage (which is really just a nice way of telling you that it's not negotiable).

However, the privilege of seeing Brazil comes with a $72 fee and a rather ugly piece of paper slapped onto my passport. So far that's been the easiest and cheapest expense, so I can't complain.

Getting there

I'd booked my flights back in April, so I figured it was out of the way. Pick up my ticket, and off I go. No problema.

Or not.

The Friday evening before I'm supposed to leave, I get a call from an airline representative. This airline, which I'll call Airline X to protect the identity of the damned (but I'll give you a hint; I live in Canada and there's only one national carrier) has stopped flying to Buenos Aires, so my return flight home is cancelled. To make matters worse, they wanted me to pay $75 to rebook on another flight, even though it was their goof in the first place.

Right-o. You've got to be kidding.

To make a long story short, after three hours on the phone with those inane customer service reps, you know, the type that can't find their way out of a paper bag, I finally managed to reschedule my flights, but not without a lot of frustration and a few carefully chosen four-letter words.

Gulp. So that's it. I'm really going.

Whoaa...




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