House of the Singing Wind

First up, I am not living or working on a farm. This WWOOF thing is normally farm work, and indeed there are many farms in the area, and all over the country, that host multitudes of volunteers from all over the world. They usually involve early mornings and heavy labour but lots of fun. In fact, let me pre-empt this post with a resounding approval of WWOOF as an incredible way to experience a country and its people for very little cash. I`d certainly travel like this again, probably even in Canada, it has a welcome genuine-ness that is lacking from some of the conventional tourist sights.

When I was looking for a place to try WWOOFing, my critera were that it be along my travel route (so in the southern half of the country), as Spanish speaking as possible, and in a beautiful location. I emailed two people, Paz and Pastor being the most promising as their entry was only in Spanish and the picture of their house had towering mountains in the background. The choice worked out pretty well in meeting my criteria but it did end up being a bit outside the true WWOOF experience, including missing out on the whole farm aspect and the subsequent killer tan.

Pastor and Paz have three houses. The newest they just finished building in El Bolson, a ten minute walk from the city centre in a nice little neighbourhood where everyone owns a dog and all dogs bark all night (or WWOOF all night rather). Their old house is about a 15 minute drive out of town in an area called Las Golindrinas. Their third house they have yet to build, but it is on the community farmland of which they own a share in a valley called Rio Azul. They make their money from the sale of wind chimes, which they build in assembly line fashion, all by hand, at their workshop next to their house in Las Golindrinas. Canto Vientos (literally ¨singing wind¨) are sold at the El Bolson market, online, and at markets all over Argentina. I do not yet understand how they make enough money off these things, but then again they do make a lot of wind chimes, and they don`t really care for having lots of money. Pastor prides himself on his three houses, and doesn`t plan on selling them. Instead, he opens them up to volunteers and takes us along on his dizzying schedule to live in all three each week.On the days off (previous), we stayed at the El Bolson house, or rather, the small adobe shack for the volunteers. It`s nice, it had a wood stove and lots of room and a little toilet and sink. I think if you´re an avid WWOOFer you get used to strange bedrooms. When Paz and Pastor returned, we were ferried across the 42 parallel to their house in La Golindrinas. There we stayed for most of the week, working on a new garden, working in the Canta Vientos workshop, and just cleaning the house and cooking. On the weekend they normally go to the farm on Rio Azul, but I`ll get to that another time.

So it`s not the real WWOOF deal, but it`s an amazing alternative. This house in La Golindrinas is beautiful, it`s the house of your dreams. From our high point we can see dozens of small green farms below the peaks, dotted with tall, thin trees that look like they`re from a Mediterranean postcard. When you walk down the winding dirt road, often both sides are lined with towering blackberry bushes, and you can't pick them fast enough to satisfy your berry cravings. We buy fresh milk from a farm down the road. They leave a computer here with internet for us. The house is clean, has a washing machine, and often they just leave us alone in it for the night. Forget farm, this place is a resort.

I have really taken to working in the shop, I find it incredibly relaxing. There are a few other workers that come and go over the course of the day, and a myriad of different tasks to do, from cutting tubes or wood to sawing and sanding decorative pieces. It`s not quite in the sun, but there`s music and I really only work for a few hours at a time, taking breaks whenever I like to read under the big peach tree or relax amid the green. And they really like that I work in the shop, I think cause it`s their main money stream and it helps out a bunch. It's all very reminiscent of the fourth year engineering project, minus the crabby old guy telling you to wear safety glasses.

Actually, it´s around this time that I have developed a bit of an addiction to this Argentine treat called an alfajore. They are these cookies, sandwiched around a Argentine spread called Dulce de Leche, and then covered in chocolate and they are unforgettable. This area is known for its chocolate, I have indulged a few times in homemade alfajores at the market. But for the most part I get them at the supermarket and keep them hidden deep in my bag. I limit myself to one a day but have to go about consuming them in secret to avoid giving the rest of my stash away. This is what makes me feel like an addict, standing awkwardly in the attic, checking to make sure no one is watching, and then wolfing down my chocolate treat in thirty seconds of glorious gluttony.

There are few things more disheartening than listening to someone speak and not understanding anything they are saying and not knowing how to explain your mind to them. This frustration is matched only by the joy in having the veil of confusion lifted. You pick out words at first, then sentences, and suddenly it's like the flicking of a switch and the dinner conversation makes sense. This is not to say that the language gap has been closed, I`m still not really competent enough to make phone calls or watch movies which are fairly basic endeavours. But over the first five tumultuous days I`ve developped a certain confidence that I hope will guide me through the rest of the trip. But there are just so many friggin words to learn, even the ones you would disregard as unimportant words can lead to communication difficulty: stone, dice, key. From those example words one might be led to believe I am writing some sort of children's fairy tale.

Indeed the biggest hindrance to my Spanish progression is the other volunteers. If one can generalize the hostelers in Buenos Aires as a bunch of borderline-drunks who make frequent comparisons to their trips to India and who can dance up a storm at any hour of the night, WWOOFers can be generalized as more ¨alterative¨ people who don't mind permanently dirty feet and who really like to eat vegetables. I think I`m the only one who doesn`t have a vested interest in farming or some sort of cool homemade bracelet. Maike is a German school teacher who is quite adept at knitting and making bracelets in her spare time. Ryan is a American kid who I haven´t yet seen wash his hands here and recently completed a one month solo hike. The latest arrival, Caitlin, is from Boston and somehow can make a meal from the most mundane selection of foods. We all get along pretty well and it´s nice to have some friends to share the often odd experiences with. One day we walked into town from the house at Las Golindrinas (one hour along a dirt road), only to find everything closed until 4pm for siesta. Believe it.

The best is Paz`s father, a kooky old guy who lives in a little house off to the side of the property. He picks berries all day and then makes jams which he sells to hostels. He bounds into the house every once in a while to use the phone, waving his hands animatedly and shouting stuff in Spanish or Italian. He keeps trying to tell me something about the St. Lawrence, I don´t really know how to respond except the old smile and nod. Pastor`s mom is equally interesting, she runs a hostel on the dividing line of the 42 parallel, and has one of the coolest names I`ve ever heard: Blanca Rosa.

And I have learned some practical skills. We made jam one night, bottled tomato sauce for their winter supply one afternoon, and tried our hand at homemade bread too. I`ve become pretty adept at cutting onions as well. Maybe I'll be a true WWOOFer some day after all.