Posts
Hi all,
Yes, I know we're home. But I thought I'd plug my new WWOOF review forum everywhere I can find a chance!
go to http://wwoof.yuku.com to post your experiences--good and bad--regarding wwoofing. I'm looking for help to get this off the ground, so if you care to help me publicize it, please let me know!
Best,
Sam
7.13.2009
6.09.2009
THANK YOU SAM AND ALLY (The Carol Edition)
This is a post by Carol, my stepmother. Although it is being posted just hours before we come home, it is NEVER too late to reminisce about the amazing time we had with her and my father in Quito.
See you soon, and enjoy:
It has taken me this long to write about my experience with Sam and Ally in Quito, Ecuador because, even though I’m a writer, there aren’t enough letters in the alphabet to describe it. What do I mention first? The beautiful people who are always willing to offer assistance to tourists? The scenery? The city? The writer in me wants to say that Quito is a city than nestles in the mountain tops. But in all actuality, it sprawls. A city of a million and a half people couldn’t “nestle” anywhere. But in spite of its lofty altitude, 9,000 feet, mountain peaks rise above it in all directions. The food? I write a cooking column so I really got off on the food. But it was the experience of being with Sam and Ally that inspired me the most.
See you soon, and enjoy:
It has taken me this long to write about my experience with Sam and Ally in Quito, Ecuador because, even though I’m a writer, there aren’t enough letters in the alphabet to describe it. What do I mention first? The beautiful people who are always willing to offer assistance to tourists? The scenery? The city? The writer in me wants to say that Quito is a city than nestles in the mountain tops. But in all actuality, it sprawls. A city of a million and a half people couldn’t “nestle” anywhere. But in spite of its lofty altitude, 9,000 feet, mountain peaks rise above it in all directions. The food? I write a cooking column so I really got off on the food. But it was the experience of being with Sam and Ally that inspired me the most.
The first page of my scrapbook says, “Eventually you learn that there is no destination to arrive at once and for all, it’s the journey “. I’d like to add to that “and who is traveling beside you”.
The first thing I noticed was the change in Sam—how much he has grown and matured. He has become a man. I know some of the transformation came about because of the hardships he’s endured along the way—lessons that he wouldn’t have learned in a lifetime without this trip or without Ally.
Of all of my experiences, and I enjoyed every one of them, the one I treasure most is getting to know Ally. She is such an inspiration to me. Not only does she have the imagination to dream big things, she has the courage and strength of character to make them happen. In another life, she would have been Amelia Earhart. She knows the importance of living each moment to the fullest and wringing everything it has to offer out of it. In this life, I wouldn’t be surprised if she announced she was moving to Mars to raise pygmy goats. That girl will accomplish anything she sets her mind to. Her amazing sense of humor and ability to have fun in any situation will help her to breeze through life. She knows things that people I know have not learned in sixty years of living, which puts her way ahead of the game. Nothing, (stolen passports, missed flights, hours of traveling on dusty roads in un-air conditioned buses, bot fly larvae under her skin) gets her down.
A grateful heart is a happy heart and Ally has learned to be grateful for the smallest blessings. She doesn’t just embrace life; she tackles it.
I’m so proud of Sam and Ally for taking the time to do something that most of us just sit around and dream about. I’m also a little jealous that I didn’t have the courage to do what they have done when I was their age. Being in Quito with them has shown me that there is a lot of world out there that I haven’t seen yet and it won’t get seen if I sit home in a rocking chair. So thank you, guys, for showing us around, interpreting for us, and teaching us it is never to late to go explore. We’ve made memories that will be tucked away in our hearts forever.
This is a rough translation of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s quote, but thanks to Sam and Ally, also, for teaching us that “to find adventure, you have to get off the beaten path and make one for others to follow.”
6.03.2009
THANK YOU SAM AND ALLY!
This is a post by Woody Gimbel (Sam's dad) regarding his visit with his wife Carol to Quito, Ecuador. We all had an amazing time.
This is a bit tardy, I know, but the Inca Roads blog would be incomplete without a record of the incredible time Carol and I had in Ecuador, thanks to Sam and Ally.
We arrived at the Quito airport late in the evening, May 7. We were jaded and just a bit confused as we went through the various stages of security. We looked up, and there were Sam and Ally, our translators and guides, watching out for us as we left the baggage claim area. It was a joyous reunion. We had not been together since late January. Lots of hugs.
This is a bit tardy, I know, but the Inca Roads blog would be incomplete without a record of the incredible time Carol and I had in Ecuador, thanks to Sam and Ally.
We arrived at the Quito airport late in the evening, May 7. We were jaded and just a bit confused as we went through the various stages of security. We looked up, and there were Sam and Ally, our translators and guides, watching out for us as we left the baggage claim area. It was a joyous reunion. We had not been together since late January. Lots of hugs.
TAXIS: We sat back and observed Sam and Ally negotiating with the taxi driver, and were amazed at the nuances and intricacies of this endeavor. Throughout our time in Quito they continued to negotiate deals, refusing a cab if the fare were out of line! Even a dollar out of line! At times I was ready to pay the dollar, just to get going, but it was always worth the wait. One more comment on cab drivers in Quito: Based on our anecdotal sampling, it appears that there are two categories of drivers. Those who use the meters, and those who don’t. Those two break down into ethical, and unethical. The unethical meter users circle the block, meander around as they approach the destination, in order to increase the fare. The non-meter users require negotiation in advance. They will honor their agreement if you have exacct change. If not, “no cambio” is their position, and they expect to keep the change. The worst cabbies get out of their cabs with a pugilist stance, and say things in Spanish you wouldn’t want to translate for your mother.
FIRST EVENING: We loved the “Hotel Los Alpes” where we stayed. Once again, Sam and Ally had checked it out for us. We stayed up way too late catching up, exchanging gifts, and just soaking up the excitement of our reunion in Quito. Sam and Ally had a suite, with kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms, and lots of well crafted wood work. Our third floor room also had two bedrooms, lots of storage, and lots of windows for viewing the neighborhood architecture, and in the distance the taller mountains surrounding Quito, including the morning plumes of a nearby volcano.
MARKET: We had a wonderful breakfast at our hotel, took our time, drank café con leche, made with Nestle’s instant coffee, and as much fresh juice as we wanted. This fortified us for our trip to La Mariscal Handicraft Market, where the selection of textiles and jewelry was overwhelming. Carol would have spent our week’s budget in the first hour, but Sam and Ally came to the rescue, teaching us the steps to making a good deal.
The merchants expect to bargain, and are surprised and disappointed when tourists don’t. Accordingly, their first price is just the beginning of the fun. One shows interest, then asks “Cuanto cuesta?” Now the merchant states the first price. Turista says something like “demasiado” which I think is “too much.” The merchant comes down, say from $12 to $10. Sam and Ally were never satisfied completely unless they bargained down to about 50-60% of the starting price. Carol usually couldn’t wait that long, and we had to talk her out of giving tips!
EATING: It seems like we ate all the time, but we actually lost weight while we were there. Never saw one overweight person in Quito! The food was wonderful, but we wouldn’t have had a clue without Sam and Ally to explain and advise. The indigenous fare breakfasts outside our hotel were about $1.40 for a generous meal. Lunches were not much higher, maybe $2.50 for soup (consommé), salad, vegetable, entrée, and rolls.
Dinners were equally reasonable. Some of our favorites were empanadas, fried plantains, cebiche. Cebiche is a method of preparing fish/seafood for eating, without cooking it with heat. Lime juice is squeezed on, say, Chilean Sea Bass or Conch, and after a time it’s “cooked” and delicious. We’ve missed cebiche since we returned, and have settled for herring in wine sauce.
HANGING OUT: Most of all, Carol and I enjoyed hanging out with Sam and Ally.
Starting with the long discussions over breakfast, throught out the day, and into the evening hours. We went on daily treks, to the Plaza and through a cathedral, and encountered the bathroom nazi who extracted a toll for responding to calls of nature. Not all were willing to pay the toll, sparking the latest international incident. Sam, shave your beard, dye your hair, and you’ll elude the bathroom police!
We went to the Mitdad del Mundo, which is supposed to mark the equator, where even the coriolis effect is confused. Fun, but way too touristy.
We went to the top of a mountain via tram, and it was incredible. The oxygen was so thin that some entrepreneurial genius sold oxygen at the top, in four flavors!
We went to Quito’s botanical gardens, and were enjoying the incredible Ecuador’s incredible diversity of plant life, when something totally unexpected happened: I ran into an old friend from college. Chuck Davis was sitting in the part, reading, and struck up a conversation with my wife who was taking pictures of the koi. Chuck looked good for our age, and we spent hours sitting and talking, catching up. He liked Sam and Ally, but then again, he was only around them for a short time! Chuck married an Ecuadorean woman, lives in Quito, and is trying to persuade Carol and me to invest in a home there.
We’re giving it serious thought.
DAY OF GOOD BYE; We had hoped to visit the HCJB short wave, world wide broadcast facility, but alas, they’re in the process of relocating their towers to make way for the new airport, so they were not open to visitors. We had hoped to see the rain forest, and the cloud forest, and even the Galapogos, but we didn’t. That makes a great case for a return visit, and a longer stay. We’re going to brush up on Espanol, and will be using Rosetta Stone’s programs. But we’ll still need our translators and guides, Sam and Ally, or we’ll be lost! We topped off our last evening by going to a somewhat expensive restaurant, and enjoying cebiche and a wide variety of seafood. Wonderful meal, great company.
THE TRIP HOME: Sam and Ally rode with us to the Airport and saw us off. We were sad to be leaving them. We even considered coming back to join them on their Machu Picchu trek. More hugs. Reflect on the Market: Remember, the market was a great experience, lots of gifts to take back home. But if you go to Quito, don’t be surprised if your suitcase full of fabric items you bought at La Mariscal excites the drug-sniffing dog at security. Happened to us: we were stopped from boarding because the shawls and shirts and tablecloths and other things had absorbed so much marijuana smoke in the market that the dog could detect it. We were led through the labyrinthine bowels of the airport. Of course we were allowed to board when the security officer saw the fabrics. They just smiled knowingly. They were apparently accustomed to this. We will never forget out time with Sam and Ally. We’re ready for a reprise.
6.02.2009
Thank you, Mom and Dad...
...for the good genes.
We did it. 4 days total, 3.5 of which were spent hiking 45 kilometers along the Camino Inka, or Inca Trail. We went from 8990ft above sea level at the end of the first day to over 13100ft by noon on the second. That's around 4000 vertical feet in just three hours, and at that altitude, your lungs start to disobey your body. Towards the entrance of the pass from which we descended we were stopping every 10 feet to catch our breath as we pushed onwards. At the end of the trail our legs were screaming, and we had 4 days of sweat, sunblock, and dirt caked all over our body. But we did it, and it was 100% worth it.
This is the part where I have to thank my dad, the marathon runner, and my mom, also a frequenter of the track, for the genes they passed on to me. Thanks to genetics, and absolutely no thanks to 4 months of riding buses, eating cheap food, and drinking exotic alcohol, I had the honor of being the FIRST tourist from the Inca Trail into Machu Picchu the morning of our arrival. We literally ran for an hour and change through the Incan jungle at 4:00 in the morning along cliffs and up original stone stairs to arrive at IntiPunku, the Sun Gate, just minutes before the hordes arriving by buses below started to pour into the ancient city. Thanks to mom and dad, I didn't stop once. Thanks to mom and dad, the bag on my back wasn't tossed idly aside. And finally, thanks to mom and dad, I have tons of great photos to show for it!
So not to toot my own horn, but the trek was an incredible affirmation of what it means to be human. Hiking through unmitigated wilderness with nothing but the sound of streams in the cloud forest, the wind in the upper highlands, and the birds of the jungle to distract you from the immense enormity of the universe above, below, and around you. By the time you've hiked an hour you can feel the presence of Pachamama (the Incan name for mother earth) that resides in this land. From the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Victoria and Salkantay to the sacred waters of the Urubamba river over 5,000 meters below, this territory exudes the harmony with nature most of us profess is essential for the well-being of our planet. By the end of the trip, even though my body would have protested, I did not want to leave the trail. After four days free of TV, computers, ready-on-hand food, water, and shelter, you start to realize that it's actually HEALTHY to be a little uncomfortable, to be alone with yourself, and you begin to detox. Seeing houses, hotels, and restaurants in the nearby city of Aguas Calientes (crappy little town) is a shock to your system after being amongst the spirits of Apus, the Andean mountains.
Perhaps just as impressive was the nature of the tour itself. We were the ONLY two people assigned to our tour guide, an amazing man named Rosel whose first language is Quechua, the language of the Incas, and who believes entirely in the mystical nature of the mountain terrain. He became our friend quickly and provided us with help, encouragement, and advice throughout the entire experience. Even more amazing were the other three trekkers who ate with us, all of whom were over 60. There was Claire, a Belgian who spoke very little english, Guy, another resident of Belgium who at age 67 carried more than us, ate less than we did, never took breaks for tired legs, and by the third day had so much excess energy that he was able to visit an additional, optional archaeological site that we were simply too tired to see. He was accompanied by the no less impressive Eberhardt, an older German engineer whose dry wit and willingness to accept any challenge astounded and slightly confused us. These three were not young of body, but certainly still young at heart. We could not have asked for better company.
So, here we are in Cusco again, waiting for our bus to Arequipa. We come home in a week, people, and we can't wait. The experience on the trail was other-worldly, eye-opening, and inspiring. I know Ally has some things she wants to say about it, but I'll let her tell you in her own words. After that experience, however, we feel we should just be transported via some sort of device directly to New York so that we can enjoy all of your company again. Maybe its hard to look backwards and still look towards the future, but I think at this stage, we're managing it.
To all of you who have followed us on this journey, thank you. Your support has been paramount in our effort to process and verbalize our experience. Thank you, and we cannot wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
We did it. 4 days total, 3.5 of which were spent hiking 45 kilometers along the Camino Inka, or Inca Trail. We went from 8990ft above sea level at the end of the first day to over 13100ft by noon on the second. That's around 4000 vertical feet in just three hours, and at that altitude, your lungs start to disobey your body. Towards the entrance of the pass from which we descended we were stopping every 10 feet to catch our breath as we pushed onwards. At the end of the trail our legs were screaming, and we had 4 days of sweat, sunblock, and dirt caked all over our body. But we did it, and it was 100% worth it.
This is the part where I have to thank my dad, the marathon runner, and my mom, also a frequenter of the track, for the genes they passed on to me. Thanks to genetics, and absolutely no thanks to 4 months of riding buses, eating cheap food, and drinking exotic alcohol, I had the honor of being the FIRST tourist from the Inca Trail into Machu Picchu the morning of our arrival. We literally ran for an hour and change through the Incan jungle at 4:00 in the morning along cliffs and up original stone stairs to arrive at IntiPunku, the Sun Gate, just minutes before the hordes arriving by buses below started to pour into the ancient city. Thanks to mom and dad, I didn't stop once. Thanks to mom and dad, the bag on my back wasn't tossed idly aside. And finally, thanks to mom and dad, I have tons of great photos to show for it!
So not to toot my own horn, but the trek was an incredible affirmation of what it means to be human. Hiking through unmitigated wilderness with nothing but the sound of streams in the cloud forest, the wind in the upper highlands, and the birds of the jungle to distract you from the immense enormity of the universe above, below, and around you. By the time you've hiked an hour you can feel the presence of Pachamama (the Incan name for mother earth) that resides in this land. From the snow-capped peaks of Mt. Victoria and Salkantay to the sacred waters of the Urubamba river over 5,000 meters below, this territory exudes the harmony with nature most of us profess is essential for the well-being of our planet. By the end of the trip, even though my body would have protested, I did not want to leave the trail. After four days free of TV, computers, ready-on-hand food, water, and shelter, you start to realize that it's actually HEALTHY to be a little uncomfortable, to be alone with yourself, and you begin to detox. Seeing houses, hotels, and restaurants in the nearby city of Aguas Calientes (crappy little town) is a shock to your system after being amongst the spirits of Apus, the Andean mountains.
Perhaps just as impressive was the nature of the tour itself. We were the ONLY two people assigned to our tour guide, an amazing man named Rosel whose first language is Quechua, the language of the Incas, and who believes entirely in the mystical nature of the mountain terrain. He became our friend quickly and provided us with help, encouragement, and advice throughout the entire experience. Even more amazing were the other three trekkers who ate with us, all of whom were over 60. There was Claire, a Belgian who spoke very little english, Guy, another resident of Belgium who at age 67 carried more than us, ate less than we did, never took breaks for tired legs, and by the third day had so much excess energy that he was able to visit an additional, optional archaeological site that we were simply too tired to see. He was accompanied by the no less impressive Eberhardt, an older German engineer whose dry wit and willingness to accept any challenge astounded and slightly confused us. These three were not young of body, but certainly still young at heart. We could not have asked for better company.
So, here we are in Cusco again, waiting for our bus to Arequipa. We come home in a week, people, and we can't wait. The experience on the trail was other-worldly, eye-opening, and inspiring. I know Ally has some things she wants to say about it, but I'll let her tell you in her own words. After that experience, however, we feel we should just be transported via some sort of device directly to New York so that we can enjoy all of your company again. Maybe its hard to look backwards and still look towards the future, but I think at this stage, we're managing it.
To all of you who have followed us on this journey, thank you. Your support has been paramount in our effort to process and verbalize our experience. Thank you, and we cannot wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
5.19.2009
Peru! Finally!
Well, we made it. We made our final border crossing, and we're now safely and happily stationed in a small, cheap hostel in Nazca, Peru. The truth is, coming over the border felt a lot like we were coming home. We started in Lima in January, and arriving back at the same hostel in the Miraflores district felt comforting and almost brought me to tears after the long, uncomfortable, at times scary trip through Ecuador.
And that's just the thing. Your first experiences make such an impact on the way you view things from then on. For us, we encountered genuine hospitality, friendliness, and a spirit of community in Peru that we have yet to find elsewhere. People here are unassuming, humble, and recognize that people are people, no more and no less, no matter how rich, white, or foreign. Tourists are treated like anyone else, and while that could be frustrating to some, we enjoy blending in, even if it is just in a superficial way.
Leaving Ecuador, we were worried that the rest of our bus experiences would be slow, fraught with safety concerns and staffed by rude, insensitive, penny-pinching drivers and money-takers. We were bemoaning the long (like 80 hours in all!!!) trip down south to Cusco, concerned about the number of taxis we'd have to take, the number of restaurants we would be taken advantage by, and so forth. In short, we were on guard. Waking up on the bus as it pulled into Piura, a little nothing-town stopover between Ecuador and Lima, we realized immediately that things were different, and completely as we remembered them; the taxi driver inquired about our travels, laughed with us, and charged a reasonable rate. Our soft-spoken hostel owner allowed us to change rooms, gave us directions to the center, and commisserated the lack of a computer in his establishment. Sitting down to a vegetarian meal at a local cafe, it hit us. We really have been all over the continent, and we really do feel like we have a place down here if and when we can find a way to come back. Peru is absolutely amazing, and we continually rediscover ourselves and our passion for travel while we're here.
That being said, we're ready to come home. We've seen three seasons here in a variety of climates, checked some big things off our life lists, met hundreds of amazing people from all over the world, many of whom we will be staying in contact with, and discovered places we'd like to live in the future, if only for a time. Even more importantly, we've learned to adapt to what life throws at us. Not every moment has been perfect, not by far. But by and large, the heart of the travel experience lies in the ability to feel the frustration of a bad experience, be it a long unairconditioned bus ride or the death threat of a crazy argentinian hippie, and realize that life is beautiful, enormously varied, and always teaching us new things, whether we are enjoying the lessons or not. No, we haven't suddenly become Stoics, and we are looking forward to the creature comforts of the States, but I think that it helps to rememberthat if the world were different, we would all survive and find ways to be happy. That, my friends, is an encouraging thought, especially in light of our long and so far fruitless job search (ANY TIPS???)
And with that I will leave you for now, perhaps until we get to Cusco. Stay tuned for a post by my dad (Woody) reporting on his visit to Quito! We enjoyed it greatly, but I'll let him talk about it first.
Love you all,
Sam
P.S. photos being uploaded as we speak!
And that's just the thing. Your first experiences make such an impact on the way you view things from then on. For us, we encountered genuine hospitality, friendliness, and a spirit of community in Peru that we have yet to find elsewhere. People here are unassuming, humble, and recognize that people are people, no more and no less, no matter how rich, white, or foreign. Tourists are treated like anyone else, and while that could be frustrating to some, we enjoy blending in, even if it is just in a superficial way.
Leaving Ecuador, we were worried that the rest of our bus experiences would be slow, fraught with safety concerns and staffed by rude, insensitive, penny-pinching drivers and money-takers. We were bemoaning the long (like 80 hours in all!!!) trip down south to Cusco, concerned about the number of taxis we'd have to take, the number of restaurants we would be taken advantage by, and so forth. In short, we were on guard. Waking up on the bus as it pulled into Piura, a little nothing-town stopover between Ecuador and Lima, we realized immediately that things were different, and completely as we remembered them; the taxi driver inquired about our travels, laughed with us, and charged a reasonable rate. Our soft-spoken hostel owner allowed us to change rooms, gave us directions to the center, and commisserated the lack of a computer in his establishment. Sitting down to a vegetarian meal at a local cafe, it hit us. We really have been all over the continent, and we really do feel like we have a place down here if and when we can find a way to come back. Peru is absolutely amazing, and we continually rediscover ourselves and our passion for travel while we're here.
That being said, we're ready to come home. We've seen three seasons here in a variety of climates, checked some big things off our life lists, met hundreds of amazing people from all over the world, many of whom we will be staying in contact with, and discovered places we'd like to live in the future, if only for a time. Even more importantly, we've learned to adapt to what life throws at us. Not every moment has been perfect, not by far. But by and large, the heart of the travel experience lies in the ability to feel the frustration of a bad experience, be it a long unairconditioned bus ride or the death threat of a crazy argentinian hippie, and realize that life is beautiful, enormously varied, and always teaching us new things, whether we are enjoying the lessons or not. No, we haven't suddenly become Stoics, and we are looking forward to the creature comforts of the States, but I think that it helps to rememberthat if the world were different, we would all survive and find ways to be happy. That, my friends, is an encouraging thought, especially in light of our long and so far fruitless job search (ANY TIPS???)
And with that I will leave you for now, perhaps until we get to Cusco. Stay tuned for a post by my dad (Woody) reporting on his visit to Quito! We enjoyed it greatly, but I'll let him talk about it first.
Love you all,
Sam
P.S. photos being uploaded as we speak!
5.10.2009
Mother's Day
Quito. May 10th.
Today is mother's day, and we haven't forgotten. Both Ally and myself have called our respective mothers and contacted our grandmothers to show our appreciation on this special day (although we do try to show our appreciation every day, of course). But what about the true meaning of Mother's day? It was created in the last 100 or so years in order to provide a formal avenue of supporting and giving thanks to mothers everywhere, but I firmly believe that the spirit is one of recognizing community and those in your life who are always there for you. So of course, that includes you all.
You have followed our path for around 4 months now, curiously or nervously checking the blog to see where we are or make sure we're safe. We've received emails from many of you, comments from even more of you, and good vibes from all of you, all of which let us know we are loved by you. That feeling is immensely uplifting and powerful, and we want to thank all of you for the support you have shown...We truly would not be the same without you.
Travel can be so isolating without a lifeline or a reminder of home, and this blog and the responses we get to our writing have provided that. I can sense the loneliness I would have felt if our posts had gone uncommented or if we had not created this blog in the first place, and I am grateful therefore that every one of you is exactly as you are: supportive, interested, and caring. Again, thank you all for the kind words.
We love you, and we'll see you soon.
Sam
Today is mother's day, and we haven't forgotten. Both Ally and myself have called our respective mothers and contacted our grandmothers to show our appreciation on this special day (although we do try to show our appreciation every day, of course). But what about the true meaning of Mother's day? It was created in the last 100 or so years in order to provide a formal avenue of supporting and giving thanks to mothers everywhere, but I firmly believe that the spirit is one of recognizing community and those in your life who are always there for you. So of course, that includes you all.
You have followed our path for around 4 months now, curiously or nervously checking the blog to see where we are or make sure we're safe. We've received emails from many of you, comments from even more of you, and good vibes from all of you, all of which let us know we are loved by you. That feeling is immensely uplifting and powerful, and we want to thank all of you for the support you have shown...We truly would not be the same without you.
Travel can be so isolating without a lifeline or a reminder of home, and this blog and the responses we get to our writing have provided that. I can sense the loneliness I would have felt if our posts had gone uncommented or if we had not created this blog in the first place, and I am grateful therefore that every one of you is exactly as you are: supportive, interested, and caring. Again, thank you all for the kind words.
We love you, and we'll see you soon.
Sam
5.02.2009
Baños...sucks.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador...and it feels like it needs cleaning.
Which is not to say that the town is particularly dirty, nor is it crime-ridden, culturally repulsive, or frustrating in any particular Ecuadorian or South American way. The problem is, well, us.
And by us, I don't mean Ally and I. We didn't cause this, that's for sure. This situation was created by years and years of corrupting, greed-oozing tourism from the United States, Europe, and actually lots of places in Latin America. The result: a town almost entirely made up of restaurants run by ex-patriates from Europe (very few Americans living here, for some reason) and tour agencies whose entire grasp of the English language is "hello friends, would you like to rent a bike?" Not that there's anything inherently wrong with wanting to make a living if you're a local, but very few of the people running these agencies or restaurants have much more to do with Ecuador than the "100% Ecuador" signs they post or the candid, machismo-drenched photos of white, college-aged girls squatting to pee in the jungle that they find endearing enough to put in the windows of their businesses.
We're tired of the hostels, only one of which has a kitchen (there are at least 30 in the town). We're tired of being charged extra for EVERY little thing. $3 a person for breakfast that should be included. $2 a person to watch a movie in our hostel (no one ever does). $3 every time our cooking supplies get thrown out because we keep them in the kitchen only to find out that we are not allowed. $4 per person for pizza so thin you could see through it at times. $1.50 added tax to said pizza, making this the only city in South America to add any sort of tax to anything. $1 + 1 book at a book exchange full of used books discarded by travelers.
Bullshit.
This reeks of the sort of capitalist, western-whitewashing that we witnessed in San Pedro de Atacama, where all hostels were price-fixed and bargaining was rendered impossible by the fact that there were fewer beds than people in the town. There, we could camp out. Here, we must bide our time in our room that quickly fills with the acrid odor of sulfur every time the toilet is flushed and is thrown into disarray every time the cleaning staff raucously begin their daily chores (5 people for a 30-bed hostel... no wonder they charge for breakfast).
And here's the kicker: the place is gorgeous. Surrounded by beautiful green volcanic peaks, one of which is slightly active and smokes charmingly in the distance, this is as close as you get to paradise, and if you're still not convinced, walk to the 40-odd meter waterfall that dusts the city with mist. After all, it's only a 5-minute walk to the hot springs warmed by geothermal currents which reside just downstream from the falls, and it only costs $1 to get in. You couldn't even pay for lunch-tax with that.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador, about which Lonely Planet and shallow, drunk study-abroad bimbos alike rave, ready and eager to get back to Quito where the food is cheap ($3 indian food to die for), the people don't expect you to spend your perceived millions on their rent-a-wreck bikes, and the air is thin enough that the smell of sulfur dissipates before it reaches your nose.
Whew. glad I got that off my chest.
Love you all,
Sam
Which is not to say that the town is particularly dirty, nor is it crime-ridden, culturally repulsive, or frustrating in any particular Ecuadorian or South American way. The problem is, well, us.
And by us, I don't mean Ally and I. We didn't cause this, that's for sure. This situation was created by years and years of corrupting, greed-oozing tourism from the United States, Europe, and actually lots of places in Latin America. The result: a town almost entirely made up of restaurants run by ex-patriates from Europe (very few Americans living here, for some reason) and tour agencies whose entire grasp of the English language is "hello friends, would you like to rent a bike?" Not that there's anything inherently wrong with wanting to make a living if you're a local, but very few of the people running these agencies or restaurants have much more to do with Ecuador than the "100% Ecuador" signs they post or the candid, machismo-drenched photos of white, college-aged girls squatting to pee in the jungle that they find endearing enough to put in the windows of their businesses.
We're tired of the hostels, only one of which has a kitchen (there are at least 30 in the town). We're tired of being charged extra for EVERY little thing. $3 a person for breakfast that should be included. $2 a person to watch a movie in our hostel (no one ever does). $3 every time our cooking supplies get thrown out because we keep them in the kitchen only to find out that we are not allowed. $4 per person for pizza so thin you could see through it at times. $1.50 added tax to said pizza, making this the only city in South America to add any sort of tax to anything. $1 + 1 book at a book exchange full of used books discarded by travelers.
Bullshit.
This reeks of the sort of capitalist, western-whitewashing that we witnessed in San Pedro de Atacama, where all hostels were price-fixed and bargaining was rendered impossible by the fact that there were fewer beds than people in the town. There, we could camp out. Here, we must bide our time in our room that quickly fills with the acrid odor of sulfur every time the toilet is flushed and is thrown into disarray every time the cleaning staff raucously begin their daily chores (5 people for a 30-bed hostel... no wonder they charge for breakfast).
And here's the kicker: the place is gorgeous. Surrounded by beautiful green volcanic peaks, one of which is slightly active and smokes charmingly in the distance, this is as close as you get to paradise, and if you're still not convinced, walk to the 40-odd meter waterfall that dusts the city with mist. After all, it's only a 5-minute walk to the hot springs warmed by geothermal currents which reside just downstream from the falls, and it only costs $1 to get in. You couldn't even pay for lunch-tax with that.
So here we are, in the toilet of Ecuador, about which Lonely Planet and shallow, drunk study-abroad bimbos alike rave, ready and eager to get back to Quito where the food is cheap ($3 indian food to die for), the people don't expect you to spend your perceived millions on their rent-a-wreck bikes, and the air is thin enough that the smell of sulfur dissipates before it reaches your nose.
Whew. glad I got that off my chest.
Love you all,
Sam
4.24.2009
Oh right, we have a blog!
Well folks, we apologize for our long radio silence. We've been moving fast and haven't had a whole lot of time to do much other than sit on buses for hour after hour...such is life!
Since we talked to you last, we've successfully made it from Santiago to Bogotá via plane--which we were inevitably comparing to the bus services we've had thus far (it took the cake, by far: BLANKETS?? WE CAN CHOOSE THE MOVIE?? BATHROOM WITH RUNNING WATER????). We spent 8 days in Bogotá, most of which was enjoyed (very, very much) in the company of Bob Barlow, visiting lots of fun coffee houses and museums.
Bogotá is such a city of extremes: the clouds roll over the cerros to the east, bringing in torrential rains every day, usually after whole days of sunshine and beautiful breezes. The police presence is intense in La Candelaria, the neighborhood in which most of the colonial buildings are located, but almost nonexistent in the rest of the city. Poverty runs rampant, and yet there is a tailor who creates bulletproof designer clothing for the upper-crust citizens of this huge city in the clouds. The tamales are extremely cheap, and the coffee is extremely good--the first time we've been able to say that in South America.
And then off to another extreme: Cali. That is to say, extremely boring and extremely unsafe. We stayed for three days at an extremely uninteresting hostel with extremely loud individuals who seemed extremely...materialistic? blasé? Not sure what to say...
Cali was followed by Popayan, a cute little colonial town nestled in the mountains. Gorgeous, relaxing, and ultimately a 3-day stay doing not much other than watching movies and eating great Mexican food (random, but important).
And now we're in Ecuador! Quito, to be exact, in a reconaissance mission preceding the arrival of my father and his wife on the 7th of May. In the next couple weeks we're going to visit the cloud forest, the Amazon, volcanoes, and sleep in hammocks. I could not be happier.
Nor could I be happier about This. I think I've found what I want to do, at least in this next chapter of my life. This year: apply. Next two years: learn, make contacts, and figure out what I want to do with my degree. Immediately after graduating: start a business, bringing green energy to the masses, write a book about it, and invent new technologies.
...perhaps lofty goals, perhaps not. Either way, new dreams to add to my collection, and ones that put a smile on my face.
We only have 7 weeks until we come back to the States, and while I am definitely enjoying the trip as much as (if not more than) when it began, I am excited to come home! Can't wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
Since we talked to you last, we've successfully made it from Santiago to Bogotá via plane--which we were inevitably comparing to the bus services we've had thus far (it took the cake, by far: BLANKETS?? WE CAN CHOOSE THE MOVIE?? BATHROOM WITH RUNNING WATER????). We spent 8 days in Bogotá, most of which was enjoyed (very, very much) in the company of Bob Barlow, visiting lots of fun coffee houses and museums.
Bogotá is such a city of extremes: the clouds roll over the cerros to the east, bringing in torrential rains every day, usually after whole days of sunshine and beautiful breezes. The police presence is intense in La Candelaria, the neighborhood in which most of the colonial buildings are located, but almost nonexistent in the rest of the city. Poverty runs rampant, and yet there is a tailor who creates bulletproof designer clothing for the upper-crust citizens of this huge city in the clouds. The tamales are extremely cheap, and the coffee is extremely good--the first time we've been able to say that in South America.
And then off to another extreme: Cali. That is to say, extremely boring and extremely unsafe. We stayed for three days at an extremely uninteresting hostel with extremely loud individuals who seemed extremely...materialistic? blasé? Not sure what to say...
Cali was followed by Popayan, a cute little colonial town nestled in the mountains. Gorgeous, relaxing, and ultimately a 3-day stay doing not much other than watching movies and eating great Mexican food (random, but important).
And now we're in Ecuador! Quito, to be exact, in a reconaissance mission preceding the arrival of my father and his wife on the 7th of May. In the next couple weeks we're going to visit the cloud forest, the Amazon, volcanoes, and sleep in hammocks. I could not be happier.
Nor could I be happier about This. I think I've found what I want to do, at least in this next chapter of my life. This year: apply. Next two years: learn, make contacts, and figure out what I want to do with my degree. Immediately after graduating: start a business, bringing green energy to the masses, write a book about it, and invent new technologies.
...perhaps lofty goals, perhaps not. Either way, new dreams to add to my collection, and ones that put a smile on my face.
We only have 7 weeks until we come back to the States, and while I am definitely enjoying the trip as much as (if not more than) when it began, I am excited to come home! Can't wait to see you all!
Love,
Sam
4.17.2009
The Bob Report, Part II
(Bob here, back in the U.S.A., with one last entry. Again, muchas gracias to Sam and Ally for everything. I had a great time in Bogota, thanks mainly to their generosity, their grasp of Spanish, their love of Rummy 500, their appreciation for all that is strange and wonderful, and their understanding that everything in the universe is somehow connected to "Curb Your Enthusiasm.")
Funny things go through your head when your camera gets stolen. First, as in any loss, there's a bit of denial: Fourteen hours after it went missing, I looked for my camera in bags I'd already searched quite thoroughly earlier in the day. The next morning, I still harbored at least some sense that it might turn up. But this would have been impossible: My camera was stolen from the unzipped pocket of my jacket, somewhere between La Candelaria and El Centro, sometime just before or after noon on Tuesday.
I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing: What idiot walks around Bogota with his jacket pocket unzipped? We ask a good question. Making matters worse is that as a faithful reader of this blog, I know better. At least Ally and Sam were three months into their journey when they lost their stuff; it took me only three days to get ripped off.
Of course, afterward, I was quite vigilant, in the same way that people observe the speed limit religiously for at least a few hours after being ticketed for speeding. I became an owl, swiveling my head nearly 360 degrees with every step, my eyes peeled for any hint of suspicious activity. To foil would-be robbers, I began to think like a robber. I noticed people whose fat wallets bulged in their back pockets. I thought, hey, I could be a thief if I wanted to. It might even be karmically justifiable. I mean, come on, Bogota got my camera – now it's my turn.
This lasted for a few minutes, followed by a philosophical shift: No, Bogota owed me nothing. It had already given me a lot. And now, it had taken my camera. Fine. We're even, Bogota.
* * *
On Tuesday night, six travelers sat sipping tea in the kitchen of the Anandamayi Hostel. Warmed by the fragrant wood-fired stove, we shared stories of our experiences on the road. Everybody else was younger than me, and everybody else was in the middle of a much longer journey than mine, ranging from five to 12 months in contrast to my six days. One thing we all had in common: We had all been robbed at some point during our travels, often in ways that seemed to defy the laws of physics. (I felt stupid for not having noticed a hand in my jacket pocket, until someone told of valuable items disappearing from the deepest recesses of a backpack while she was wearing it.)
These things happen. They're not fun. But – and this is the important thing – they're not deal-breakers. Not one of the tea drinkers at the hostel had any inclination to cut their journeys short. As a group, they had dealt with deadly spiders, vicious monkeys, poisonous snakes and crocodile-infested waters. They had battled every type of gastric distress known to man or woman. They had hosted human botfly larvae. They had shivered in cold hostels and sweated in hot tents. And still, they pressed on. Still they sat on sweltering buses for 30 hours. Still they scaled scaled one language barrier after another. Still they argued with crooked cabbies. Still they traveled to places their home countries warned them not to go.
With a limited number of international travel miles under my belt, I do not kid myself that I am one of them. But for the first time in my life, I would consider following in their footsteps.
* * *
So, what happens when your camera is stolen on the streets of Bogota? You become more careful. You mourn for the pictures you lost. Then you go get some coffee and you continue to marvel at the strange, beautiful, ugly, safe, dangerous, boring, exciting, unbelievably rich world we live in.
Love and yerba mate,
Bob
Funny things go through your head when your camera gets stolen. First, as in any loss, there's a bit of denial: Fourteen hours after it went missing, I looked for my camera in bags I'd already searched quite thoroughly earlier in the day. The next morning, I still harbored at least some sense that it might turn up. But this would have been impossible: My camera was stolen from the unzipped pocket of my jacket, somewhere between La Candelaria and El Centro, sometime just before or after noon on Tuesday.
I know what you're thinking, because I'm thinking the same thing: What idiot walks around Bogota with his jacket pocket unzipped? We ask a good question. Making matters worse is that as a faithful reader of this blog, I know better. At least Ally and Sam were three months into their journey when they lost their stuff; it took me only three days to get ripped off.
Of course, afterward, I was quite vigilant, in the same way that people observe the speed limit religiously for at least a few hours after being ticketed for speeding. I became an owl, swiveling my head nearly 360 degrees with every step, my eyes peeled for any hint of suspicious activity. To foil would-be robbers, I began to think like a robber. I noticed people whose fat wallets bulged in their back pockets. I thought, hey, I could be a thief if I wanted to. It might even be karmically justifiable. I mean, come on, Bogota got my camera – now it's my turn.
This lasted for a few minutes, followed by a philosophical shift: No, Bogota owed me nothing. It had already given me a lot. And now, it had taken my camera. Fine. We're even, Bogota.
* * *
On Tuesday night, six travelers sat sipping tea in the kitchen of the Anandamayi Hostel. Warmed by the fragrant wood-fired stove, we shared stories of our experiences on the road. Everybody else was younger than me, and everybody else was in the middle of a much longer journey than mine, ranging from five to 12 months in contrast to my six days. One thing we all had in common: We had all been robbed at some point during our travels, often in ways that seemed to defy the laws of physics. (I felt stupid for not having noticed a hand in my jacket pocket, until someone told of valuable items disappearing from the deepest recesses of a backpack while she was wearing it.)
These things happen. They're not fun. But – and this is the important thing – they're not deal-breakers. Not one of the tea drinkers at the hostel had any inclination to cut their journeys short. As a group, they had dealt with deadly spiders, vicious monkeys, poisonous snakes and crocodile-infested waters. They had battled every type of gastric distress known to man or woman. They had hosted human botfly larvae. They had shivered in cold hostels and sweated in hot tents. And still, they pressed on. Still they sat on sweltering buses for 30 hours. Still they scaled scaled one language barrier after another. Still they argued with crooked cabbies. Still they traveled to places their home countries warned them not to go.
With a limited number of international travel miles under my belt, I do not kid myself that I am one of them. But for the first time in my life, I would consider following in their footsteps.
* * *
So, what happens when your camera is stolen on the streets of Bogota? You become more careful. You mourn for the pictures you lost. Then you go get some coffee and you continue to marvel at the strange, beautiful, ugly, safe, dangerous, boring, exciting, unbelievably rich world we live in.
Love and yerba mate,
Bob
4.13.2009
The Bob Report from Bogota
(Bob here, reporting from Bogota. Muchas gracias to Ally and Sam for allowing me some space on the blog.)
Here in La Candelaria, it´s all steep hills and cobblestone streets and plaster-covered buildings from Bogota´s colonial past. Above us loom blue-green mountains, reaching almost vertically to the clouds.
The air is brisk this morning. (We´re close to the Equator, but also close to the sky.) We walk toward El Centro, Bogota´s bustling commercial section, stopping to share breakfast along the way -- a piping hot tamale of corn meal, chicken, bacon and chickpeas; sweet hot soup with cheese; a cup of hot chocolate; limonade.
On foot again, we pass through the Plaza Bolivar, crowded with booths selling religious items on this day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, families strolling, and laughing children chasing pigeons.
In El Centro, we find a little bit of everything: street vendors loudly hawking mollasses flavored marshmallows, cell phone minutes and sparkling trinkets; costumed street performers who stand like statues until someone drops a coin into their box, at which point they come to startling life; a barefoot man who walks on a mound of broken glass bottles (and then, as if this is not good enough, jumps up and down on the shards); and more police officers and soldiers than you can shake a Spanish phrasebook at.
* * *
What I know so far about Bogota is this:
I like its thin air. I like its friendly people. No hay muchas turistas -- I like that.
I like the street sounds. I like that I have not had a bite of food I did not love in the three days I´ve been here.
I like the way the mist swirls around the mountain tops. I like the brand names I´ve never seen before. I like the hostel I´m staying in with Ally and Sam, and the people who come and go here.
I like drinking tea and listening to the rain. I like our room in this 400-year-old building, which has not one but two courtyards filled with flowering plants. I like the way the cops and soldiers, all boys and girls in their early 20s, will smile at you.
There are a lot of things about Bogota I do not know. I know I have seen only the tip of the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg. But so far, I like what I see.
* * *
And now, just a few words about Sam and Ally. They´re great, healthy, full of smiles and still infectiously happy about their ongoing journey. They´re ideal sightseeing companions and excellent co-chefs -- and they´re a big part of what I love so much about Bogota!
Best wishes to all the cool readers of this blog, and thanks, again, to Ally and Sam for sharing their bandwidth.
Love,
Bob
Here in La Candelaria, it´s all steep hills and cobblestone streets and plaster-covered buildings from Bogota´s colonial past. Above us loom blue-green mountains, reaching almost vertically to the clouds.
The air is brisk this morning. (We´re close to the Equator, but also close to the sky.) We walk toward El Centro, Bogota´s bustling commercial section, stopping to share breakfast along the way -- a piping hot tamale of corn meal, chicken, bacon and chickpeas; sweet hot soup with cheese; a cup of hot chocolate; limonade.
On foot again, we pass through the Plaza Bolivar, crowded with booths selling religious items on this day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, families strolling, and laughing children chasing pigeons.
In El Centro, we find a little bit of everything: street vendors loudly hawking mollasses flavored marshmallows, cell phone minutes and sparkling trinkets; costumed street performers who stand like statues until someone drops a coin into their box, at which point they come to startling life; a barefoot man who walks on a mound of broken glass bottles (and then, as if this is not good enough, jumps up and down on the shards); and more police officers and soldiers than you can shake a Spanish phrasebook at.
* * *
What I know so far about Bogota is this:
I like its thin air. I like its friendly people. No hay muchas turistas -- I like that.
I like the street sounds. I like that I have not had a bite of food I did not love in the three days I´ve been here.
I like the way the mist swirls around the mountain tops. I like the brand names I´ve never seen before. I like the hostel I´m staying in with Ally and Sam, and the people who come and go here.
I like drinking tea and listening to the rain. I like our room in this 400-year-old building, which has not one but two courtyards filled with flowering plants. I like the way the cops and soldiers, all boys and girls in their early 20s, will smile at you.
There are a lot of things about Bogota I do not know. I know I have seen only the tip of the tip of the tip of the tip of the iceberg. But so far, I like what I see.
* * *
And now, just a few words about Sam and Ally. They´re great, healthy, full of smiles and still infectiously happy about their ongoing journey. They´re ideal sightseeing companions and excellent co-chefs -- and they´re a big part of what I love so much about Bogota!
Best wishes to all the cool readers of this blog, and thanks, again, to Ally and Sam for sharing their bandwidth.
Love,
Bob
4.06.2009
Losing Things (my mind?)
So here we are. In Buenos Aires. Again. Hmm... how did we get here? Trust me, I'll get to it.
But first, let's talk about travel. Inevitably, somewhere on the road, you will lose something. Maybe it will amount to nothing, like the 3 toothbrushes I've forgotten in various places in 3 different countries, or perhaps it's worth a little more, like the $30 quick-dry towel (i highly recommend these!) that we left on a bus in Puerto Iguazu. Watching Ally chase after the bus while I watched the stuff was heart-wrenching, and the steadily graying towel we borrowed from a hotel is not much of a replacement.
The point is, it WILL happen. The sheer amount of stuff you bring with you actually stirs the most basic stuff of the universe and creates a new Murphy's Law: As soon as you need something, you will find out you've left it in the last city you were in. So far, the total has been relatively low (knock on EVERY piece of wood I can find). We still have the essentials, although I'm down half a pair of pants (don't ask), we have both lost or broken sunglasses, we no longer have our bag o' soap and shampoo, and I'm pretty sure having ants eat half our tent counts as losing it.
It occurs to me though that this steady loss must be dealt with in a constructive manner, in large part because it occurs mentally as well. We've lost our innocence and our bright-eyed outlook on the world of travel; sometimes, the road can be too long. Sometimes, you just want to be in a comfortable place, in a familiar bed, with familiar food. And sometimes you don't realize how much that all means to you until you've been traveling for awhile. Perhaps this is a passing phase of the trip, but it leaves us both with less energy and almost constantly slightly enervated at the thought of visiting so many more cities. The novelty we felt at every moment of the trip has definitely left us to visit with other, fresher travelers, which simply means we yearn to stay for a long time in just one place, preferrably Buenos Aires.
But we've also lost things that have a direct positive effect on us: we've certainly lost unhealthy weight, and our new svelte selves have more energy and more control over our appetites. We've also parted with a large part of our culutural assumptions, making room for the infinite possibilities we have encountered in each new place we visit. Finally, we've lost many aversions: to bugs, long bus rides, blood sausage (sam only), speaking in languages we don't fully understand. In all, we can look back on our trip, even at this point, and say that our losses have been great gains in many ways.
And most recently, we've lost our passports, credit cards, cash, driver's licenses, and so forth. Yes, we've been robbed. Don't worry, no one was hurt, it was totally non-confrontational and we only found out about it after the fact. Thus, we trucked it back from Mendoza to Buenos Aires to get replacement passports at the embassy (took all of 1.5 hours, kudos, State Dept!) and have a bus back to Santiago tomorrow for our flight to Colombia. Ally promises me that she'll be going into more detail about the situation, but suffice it to say, we haven't lost our love for the Argentinian people.
And we feel like through this blog, we have not lost touch with any of you.
Love you all,
Sam
But first, let's talk about travel. Inevitably, somewhere on the road, you will lose something. Maybe it will amount to nothing, like the 3 toothbrushes I've forgotten in various places in 3 different countries, or perhaps it's worth a little more, like the $30 quick-dry towel (i highly recommend these!) that we left on a bus in Puerto Iguazu. Watching Ally chase after the bus while I watched the stuff was heart-wrenching, and the steadily graying towel we borrowed from a hotel is not much of a replacement.
The point is, it WILL happen. The sheer amount of stuff you bring with you actually stirs the most basic stuff of the universe and creates a new Murphy's Law: As soon as you need something, you will find out you've left it in the last city you were in. So far, the total has been relatively low (knock on EVERY piece of wood I can find). We still have the essentials, although I'm down half a pair of pants (don't ask), we have both lost or broken sunglasses, we no longer have our bag o' soap and shampoo, and I'm pretty sure having ants eat half our tent counts as losing it.
It occurs to me though that this steady loss must be dealt with in a constructive manner, in large part because it occurs mentally as well. We've lost our innocence and our bright-eyed outlook on the world of travel; sometimes, the road can be too long. Sometimes, you just want to be in a comfortable place, in a familiar bed, with familiar food. And sometimes you don't realize how much that all means to you until you've been traveling for awhile. Perhaps this is a passing phase of the trip, but it leaves us both with less energy and almost constantly slightly enervated at the thought of visiting so many more cities. The novelty we felt at every moment of the trip has definitely left us to visit with other, fresher travelers, which simply means we yearn to stay for a long time in just one place, preferrably Buenos Aires.
But we've also lost things that have a direct positive effect on us: we've certainly lost unhealthy weight, and our new svelte selves have more energy and more control over our appetites. We've also parted with a large part of our culutural assumptions, making room for the infinite possibilities we have encountered in each new place we visit. Finally, we've lost many aversions: to bugs, long bus rides, blood sausage (sam only), speaking in languages we don't fully understand. In all, we can look back on our trip, even at this point, and say that our losses have been great gains in many ways.
And most recently, we've lost our passports, credit cards, cash, driver's licenses, and so forth. Yes, we've been robbed. Don't worry, no one was hurt, it was totally non-confrontational and we only found out about it after the fact. Thus, we trucked it back from Mendoza to Buenos Aires to get replacement passports at the embassy (took all of 1.5 hours, kudos, State Dept!) and have a bus back to Santiago tomorrow for our flight to Colombia. Ally promises me that she'll be going into more detail about the situation, but suffice it to say, we haven't lost our love for the Argentinian people.
And we feel like through this blog, we have not lost touch with any of you.
Love you all,
Sam
3.26.2009
Less useful than an airplane's horn
Wow, let's all give Ally a big hand for that absolutely amazing, disgusting retelling of that story. If you haven't read it, it's a must before you continue with this one!
So we're in Bariloche. For those of you not in the know (which included us until very recently) it is a town in northern Patagonia close to the Chilean border. The town is pretty unremarkable except for the artesanal chocolate and beer produced here (we've tried both, I think I like the chocolate better...it's definitely cheaper) but is nestled within a ring of beautiful, snow-capped peaks. Gentle breezes flow off lake Nahuel Huapi (nah-well woppy) and seem to whisper "relax," a request we have been taking very seriously.
Yesterday we reached the halfway point of our trip, and it is definitely more than symbolic. The hurried pace of the last 2.5 months (11 weeks) has started to take its toll, and we're a tuckered out. That's not to say that we will be slowing down much over the coming half, but Ally and I both feel the need to relax when and where we can, and Bariloche is a perfect candidate. We have been waking up every day at almost noon, walking into town, eating lunch, spending hours at the lake's beautiful blue waters napping and soaking up Vitamin D, maybe grabbing some food to cook back in our hostel, and then settling down for a movie on the hostel's DIGITAL CABLE!!! (first we've seen in South America). Otherwise, nothin' doing. But we're ok with that! The show must and will go on, once we're feeling up to it.
To be honest, we're pretty sure that our stint in Buenos Aires is at least partly to blame for our feelings of fatigue. First, some background: Argentinians, and more specifically Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) are night owls. They don't eat dinner until perhaps 10 or 11 at night and parties don't start until 2, which is to say that doors open at 2, people usually start showing up at 3 or later. We were confused about the subway's lack of service at night, but found that it is not unusual for people to stay out partying until the lines open up again at 5:00AM (9:00AM on sundays) the next morning. So, even though we only spent one night out of 10 in this manner, adjusting to late dinners after entire days out seeing the sights left us exhausted and drained.
Perhaps it is a testament to the draw of Buenos Aires that we were able to continue as long as we did. The city feels like New York City, with the vibe changing abruptly from manhattan to brooklyn as you enter the different neighborhoods. We were impressed by the modern vibe and the REAL COFFEE, which we have found nowhere else in South America. The true jewel of Buenos Aires are its people, though, a fact we learned from our incredibly generous hosts.
We stayed with our friend Ariel, who we met traveling in Chile and found incredibly open and humorous in intelligent and very crude (read: Argentinian) ways. He offered his sister's room to us for 9 nights without any thought of payment, something we could not thank him enough for. His mother, Daniela, took time out of her busy schedule to drive us around the city, straying 30 kilometers (divide by 1.6, ye of the mile standard) away from their house to show us the edges of Buenos Aires we wouldn't have seen otherwise. Besides this, she was constantly cooking for us, making sure we had clean clothes and that Ariel was showing us enough of the city. Ariel and his sister were incredibly accomodating as well, allowing us to partake in an Asado, an Argentinian tradition of cooking as much meat as possible and then trying to eat it all.
OK, perhaps it's not that extreme, and it was certainly delicious, as is all beef in Argentina (free range, grass fed!), and prepared on the parilla, a grill-like installation found in most houses. We also enjoyed most of the nightlife in B.A. in the company of Ariel, and we met many people who I think I would certainly consider friends at this point. All in all, we left B.A. wishing we could spend more time there and feeling that when we do return, we will have people who will be excited to see us.
...and that's why we're tired. But we have so much more to do, and I am certainly excited despite the feeling of enervation that leaves us in bed until 12:00 noon every morning regardless of when we fell asleep. Tomorrow we head to El Bolson, a cute little hippie town formed in the 1970s where lots of good beer is made. Then it's off to Mendoza where we will sample some of the world's best wine. Wow, we sound like drunks, don't we?
This is by no means a full update, simply what I could get out in one sitting. As always, stay tuned!
Love,
Sam
So we're in Bariloche. For those of you not in the know (which included us until very recently) it is a town in northern Patagonia close to the Chilean border. The town is pretty unremarkable except for the artesanal chocolate and beer produced here (we've tried both, I think I like the chocolate better...it's definitely cheaper) but is nestled within a ring of beautiful, snow-capped peaks. Gentle breezes flow off lake Nahuel Huapi (nah-well woppy) and seem to whisper "relax," a request we have been taking very seriously.
Yesterday we reached the halfway point of our trip, and it is definitely more than symbolic. The hurried pace of the last 2.5 months (11 weeks) has started to take its toll, and we're a tuckered out. That's not to say that we will be slowing down much over the coming half, but Ally and I both feel the need to relax when and where we can, and Bariloche is a perfect candidate. We have been waking up every day at almost noon, walking into town, eating lunch, spending hours at the lake's beautiful blue waters napping and soaking up Vitamin D, maybe grabbing some food to cook back in our hostel, and then settling down for a movie on the hostel's DIGITAL CABLE!!! (first we've seen in South America). Otherwise, nothin' doing. But we're ok with that! The show must and will go on, once we're feeling up to it.
To be honest, we're pretty sure that our stint in Buenos Aires is at least partly to blame for our feelings of fatigue. First, some background: Argentinians, and more specifically Porteños (people from Buenos Aires) are night owls. They don't eat dinner until perhaps 10 or 11 at night and parties don't start until 2, which is to say that doors open at 2, people usually start showing up at 3 or later. We were confused about the subway's lack of service at night, but found that it is not unusual for people to stay out partying until the lines open up again at 5:00AM (9:00AM on sundays) the next morning. So, even though we only spent one night out of 10 in this manner, adjusting to late dinners after entire days out seeing the sights left us exhausted and drained.
Perhaps it is a testament to the draw of Buenos Aires that we were able to continue as long as we did. The city feels like New York City, with the vibe changing abruptly from manhattan to brooklyn as you enter the different neighborhoods. We were impressed by the modern vibe and the REAL COFFEE, which we have found nowhere else in South America. The true jewel of Buenos Aires are its people, though, a fact we learned from our incredibly generous hosts.
We stayed with our friend Ariel, who we met traveling in Chile and found incredibly open and humorous in intelligent and very crude (read: Argentinian) ways. He offered his sister's room to us for 9 nights without any thought of payment, something we could not thank him enough for. His mother, Daniela, took time out of her busy schedule to drive us around the city, straying 30 kilometers (divide by 1.6, ye of the mile standard) away from their house to show us the edges of Buenos Aires we wouldn't have seen otherwise. Besides this, she was constantly cooking for us, making sure we had clean clothes and that Ariel was showing us enough of the city. Ariel and his sister were incredibly accomodating as well, allowing us to partake in an Asado, an Argentinian tradition of cooking as much meat as possible and then trying to eat it all.
OK, perhaps it's not that extreme, and it was certainly delicious, as is all beef in Argentina (free range, grass fed!), and prepared on the parilla, a grill-like installation found in most houses. We also enjoyed most of the nightlife in B.A. in the company of Ariel, and we met many people who I think I would certainly consider friends at this point. All in all, we left B.A. wishing we could spend more time there and feeling that when we do return, we will have people who will be excited to see us.
...and that's why we're tired. But we have so much more to do, and I am certainly excited despite the feeling of enervation that leaves us in bed until 12:00 noon every morning regardless of when we fell asleep. Tomorrow we head to El Bolson, a cute little hippie town formed in the 1970s where lots of good beer is made. Then it's off to Mendoza where we will sample some of the world's best wine. Wow, we sound like drunks, don't we?
This is by no means a full update, simply what I could get out in one sitting. As always, stay tuned!
Love,
Sam
Grossest. Story. Ever.
WARNING.
I'm going to issue an immediate disclaimer: If you're slightly to extremely squeamish, this may not be the story for you...
While working at the farm in Misiones, I experienced my fair share of discomforts. There were plenty of bug attacks, large and terrifying spiders living between our fly and tent, vain attempts at keeping ourselves clean by bathing in the river, a night of constant waking when I heard a low growl outside our tent and Sam convinced me that it was something in the Jaguar family, etc. By the time we left, I felt as though I had gained quite a bit in the way of strength and acceptance with respect to my relationship with the environment and bugs. Nothing quite prepared me, though, for what I experienced about two weeks later.
I arrived in Buenos Aires, my body dotted with bug bites from the farm. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of the volunter experience, my skin reacted very strongly to certain bug bites, creating a large, irritated pink spot surrounding the bite. This would generally subside within a few days. As a result, I wasn't surprised when I noticed an inflamed spot on my right inner arm, close to the wrist. I wrote it off as a standard bug bite and messed with it in the usual ways, like trying to squeeze out the pus (gross, I know... but just wait). Sam urged me to leave it alone, and as it became larger, he told me that I had probably made it worse with my poking and prodding, but that it was still likely nothing more than a bite.
The day we left Buenos Aires for Bariloche, I felt a stinging on my foot. I ripped off my sock and identified the source of the pain, which was another mosquit0 bite on my ankle bone. I tried not to worry about the fact that my body was becoming rather bumpy in various locations (just the two, though) and proceeded to pack. Now this is where it becomes pretty unsavory... on the bus, Sam noticed that the bite on my arm didn't seem to be healing at all. We inspected the bump and saw the smallest of movements right where I had been bitten. Immediately, I felt my foot sting again and we saw something similar down there. It struck us then and there: HUMAN BOTFLY. A friend of ours at the farm had experienced the same thing, but the owners assured us that it was such an anomaly, and it certainly wasn't the season for this occurrence. Basically, the human botfly (endemic to certain jungle/tropical areas around the world) captures and lays eggs on a mosquito then releases it. When that mosquito bites a person, an egg enters the wound and becomes the botfly larvae: a tiny white worm that lives under the skin for a period until it's strong enough to leave the nest, and it just pops itself out and goes on with its life, without a word of thanks to its poor host. This period takes about 8 weeks, and while it's an incredibly disgusting thought, it's actually not really painful, other than occasional stinging. And if one were to let the botfly do its thing, the worm would eventually exit the body, having secreted antibiotics pretty much assuring that no infection would occur.
The thing is, most people don't really want to wait around for 8 weeks with a worm in the skin. I certainly didn't. So I frantically researched tactics and found a whole online community of people sharing their lovely botfly experiences. It turns out the easiest way to deal with one is to duct tape the wound, thereby asphyxiating the worm within about 24 hours. In order to survive, it needs to breathe through the opening in the skin. In fact, when I noticed some movement on the bus, that's exactly what I was witnessing. As soon as Sam and I arrived in Bariloche, we taped over the two bites and waited... and waited. The next day, we removed the tape from my ankle and, lo and behold, a bit of worm was sticking out. Sam set to squeezing the area (as you're supposed to do), and the entire thing just popped out. GROSS. The wound looked like a tiny black hole. At this point, it's already healed almost completely. The arm was a little more disgusting, as the worm was slightly farther along in its progress. But we still shot it out and I'm finally worm-free... hopefully forever!
This is one of those experience that, had someone prophesized it, I wouldn't have believed that a. it would happen, and b. if it were to happen, I wouldn't freak out. But I haven't freaked out! I mean, when Sam removed the tape, I refused to look until he declared without question that the worms were indeed dead and ready for removal. But I've survived, physically and emotionally intact. Oh, I should add that I named the worms: Mildred and Gertrude, may they rest in peace. I'm linking two photos.
This is one of the dead worms, post-removal, resting on a surgical glove: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1153.jpg
The second is a photo of my arm after the worm was squeezed out. Another warning, pretty disgusting: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1150.jpg
So now all is well! I'm pleased to have retired from hosting parasitic creatures under my skin. But seriously, as appalling and upsetting as all of this may sound, in the end, it was very bearable and made for a pretty amazing story. The most painful part of the entire experience was taking the duct tape off of my skin. Hope I haven't grossed you out too much. I promise to ensure that I'm bug-free when I return to the US! Luckily, I won't be engaging in any more visits (during this trip, at least) to botfly regions.
Love,
Ally (and the ghosts of Mildred & Gertrude)
I'm going to issue an immediate disclaimer: If you're slightly to extremely squeamish, this may not be the story for you...
While working at the farm in Misiones, I experienced my fair share of discomforts. There were plenty of bug attacks, large and terrifying spiders living between our fly and tent, vain attempts at keeping ourselves clean by bathing in the river, a night of constant waking when I heard a low growl outside our tent and Sam convinced me that it was something in the Jaguar family, etc. By the time we left, I felt as though I had gained quite a bit in the way of strength and acceptance with respect to my relationship with the environment and bugs. Nothing quite prepared me, though, for what I experienced about two weeks later.
I arrived in Buenos Aires, my body dotted with bug bites from the farm. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of the volunter experience, my skin reacted very strongly to certain bug bites, creating a large, irritated pink spot surrounding the bite. This would generally subside within a few days. As a result, I wasn't surprised when I noticed an inflamed spot on my right inner arm, close to the wrist. I wrote it off as a standard bug bite and messed with it in the usual ways, like trying to squeeze out the pus (gross, I know... but just wait). Sam urged me to leave it alone, and as it became larger, he told me that I had probably made it worse with my poking and prodding, but that it was still likely nothing more than a bite.
The day we left Buenos Aires for Bariloche, I felt a stinging on my foot. I ripped off my sock and identified the source of the pain, which was another mosquit0 bite on my ankle bone. I tried not to worry about the fact that my body was becoming rather bumpy in various locations (just the two, though) and proceeded to pack. Now this is where it becomes pretty unsavory... on the bus, Sam noticed that the bite on my arm didn't seem to be healing at all. We inspected the bump and saw the smallest of movements right where I had been bitten. Immediately, I felt my foot sting again and we saw something similar down there. It struck us then and there: HUMAN BOTFLY. A friend of ours at the farm had experienced the same thing, but the owners assured us that it was such an anomaly, and it certainly wasn't the season for this occurrence. Basically, the human botfly (endemic to certain jungle/tropical areas around the world) captures and lays eggs on a mosquito then releases it. When that mosquito bites a person, an egg enters the wound and becomes the botfly larvae: a tiny white worm that lives under the skin for a period until it's strong enough to leave the nest, and it just pops itself out and goes on with its life, without a word of thanks to its poor host. This period takes about 8 weeks, and while it's an incredibly disgusting thought, it's actually not really painful, other than occasional stinging. And if one were to let the botfly do its thing, the worm would eventually exit the body, having secreted antibiotics pretty much assuring that no infection would occur.
The thing is, most people don't really want to wait around for 8 weeks with a worm in the skin. I certainly didn't. So I frantically researched tactics and found a whole online community of people sharing their lovely botfly experiences. It turns out the easiest way to deal with one is to duct tape the wound, thereby asphyxiating the worm within about 24 hours. In order to survive, it needs to breathe through the opening in the skin. In fact, when I noticed some movement on the bus, that's exactly what I was witnessing. As soon as Sam and I arrived in Bariloche, we taped over the two bites and waited... and waited. The next day, we removed the tape from my ankle and, lo and behold, a bit of worm was sticking out. Sam set to squeezing the area (as you're supposed to do), and the entire thing just popped out. GROSS. The wound looked like a tiny black hole. At this point, it's already healed almost completely. The arm was a little more disgusting, as the worm was slightly farther along in its progress. But we still shot it out and I'm finally worm-free... hopefully forever!
This is one of those experience that, had someone prophesized it, I wouldn't have believed that a. it would happen, and b. if it were to happen, I wouldn't freak out. But I haven't freaked out! I mean, when Sam removed the tape, I refused to look until he declared without question that the worms were indeed dead and ready for removal. But I've survived, physically and emotionally intact. Oh, I should add that I named the worms: Mildred and Gertrude, may they rest in peace. I'm linking two photos.
This is one of the dead worms, post-removal, resting on a surgical glove: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1153.jpg
The second is a photo of my arm after the worm was squeezed out. Another warning, pretty disgusting: http://i450.photobucket.com/albums/qq222/inca-roads/10-Patagonia/DSC_1150.jpg
So now all is well! I'm pleased to have retired from hosting parasitic creatures under my skin. But seriously, as appalling and upsetting as all of this may sound, in the end, it was very bearable and made for a pretty amazing story. The most painful part of the entire experience was taking the duct tape off of my skin. Hope I haven't grossed you out too much. I promise to ensure that I'm bug-free when I return to the US! Luckily, I won't be engaging in any more visits (during this trip, at least) to botfly regions.
Love,
Ally (and the ghosts of Mildred & Gertrude)
PHOTOSPHOTOSPHOTOS
Just uploaded a 1-month (maybe more?) backlog of photos. Check 'em out!
...and yes, we're aware some of them are upside downç
Stay tuned for posts from both of us!!!!!
...and yes, we're aware some of them are upside downç
Stay tuned for posts from both of us!!!!!
3.17.2009
Time passes slowly
Wow. It's been awhile. And I promise this will be a long post to make up for the long gap, so bear with me!
Where to start... There's a reason we've waited so long since the last time we posted, and I'm not entirely sure how to explain why. Ok, here goes:
We got kicked off the farm, and we're still not exactly sure how it all happened. Things seemed fine with everyone except Marcelo, the co-owner of the farm and husband to Kim, the woman we had organized everything with. She was kind, open-minded, and into health and improving the farm, and had (until recently, stay tuned) treated us with respect and engaged in good dialogues about our ideas for the farm. Marcelo was the opposite. On the first trip from town he treated us to a tirade about how the United States is awful, there is no hope for the future, and the country should basically be plowed under, its inhabitants--or at least leaders--killed, and so forth and so on...
Sure, everyone has strong opinions, right? So we kept our mouths shut and tried to bring as much positivity to the experience, which was, on the whole, positive. The only difficult moments were Marcelo's periodic rants about government conspiracies, books being incorrect, food being cooked incorrectly, and so forth. And then there were a couple situations in which he threw food we had made into the compost, refused to contribute to communal meals, and kicked out a volunteer (not us, another American) for lying about his age...he said he was 23, he was actually 19...
None of these things really signify a negative relationship, but put together we felt very much the subject of incosiderate behavior and selfishness--Marcelo just doesn't seem to understand that his beliefs are opinions, not fact or natural law.
So anyway, on that fateful Thursday last, Marcelo decided to make Dulce de Leche (delicious milk and sugar condiment that takes 3 hours to cook) on the one stove burner about 15 minutes before we were to make dinner. So I asked, as anyone would, "how long is that going to take?" to which he responded "3 hours". Long story short, I told him I thought he was being insensitive, and he told me to leave the farm. He finally calmed down, apologized for flying off the handle, and restated the fact that it was his house, we would follow his rules, we could make dinner in 3 hours.
So we went and packed up our things. Marcelo charged up the path, handed us our money, and said, "you have 10 minutes to leave, don't say anything else, get out." So we did. But not before:
1. Marcelo threatened to kill me.
2. The other volunteers helped us pack up and walked us 2km to the top of the hill in a sign of solidarity.
So we thought we were rid of this entirely ridiculous situation. I am entirely able to forgive temporary insanity, and I made my peace with the situation. We left the farm and Obera, taking a Cama Total Bus (read: full-service, complete with wine, champagne, and personal televisions) to Buenos Aires, where we're staying at the moment.
B.A. is amazing! We've been enjoying the very New York-y feel and seeing tons of museums and parks and being treated to amazing hospitality in the house of Ariel, a guy we met while traveling in Chile. His mother and sister and friends are so incredibly welcoming, and as a result we've been able to save a ton of money. In his company we've eaten Asado, the ancient Argentinian art of eating a lot of really delicious cow parts, watched lots of Seinfeld (thats how many Argentinians learn English) and gone out for the best pizza outside New York. All in all, it's been great, we're here until Sunday, and we can't even begin to guess what's in store for us each day we wake up.
...Especially as witnessed by the continual reminders we get about the ridiculous situation in Obera. We received an email from Kim, the wife, basically absolving Marcelo of blame for having physically threatened Ally and I and placing the burden on us for having introduced "negative energy" into their home. Somehow by leaving trash behind at our campsite (courtesy of Marcelo's 10 minute deadline, which was SLIGHTLY preoccupying) and discussing suggestions for the farm with other volunteers we had waived our right to feel outraged and upset by Marcelo's actions.
So it's been a mixed bag of amazing experiences in Buenos Aires and nights before bed spent reviewing every action I took while at the farm to try and see if Kim had any reason to say what she did. I feel a mixture of anger, sadness, embarrassment, and frustration, and most of all I just want the situation to be over. I'm ashamed to have been so excited and positive about the experience in the last blog post and to have so misjudged it. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles, huh?
But don't let this put you off trying out WWOOFing, ok? Not all hosts will threaten to kill you, I promise!
...oh, and we'll upload photos as soon as possible, perhaps even tonight! (an empty promise, I know...)
Love you all, and don't worry, we're both safe!
Sam
Where to start... There's a reason we've waited so long since the last time we posted, and I'm not entirely sure how to explain why. Ok, here goes:
We got kicked off the farm, and we're still not exactly sure how it all happened. Things seemed fine with everyone except Marcelo, the co-owner of the farm and husband to Kim, the woman we had organized everything with. She was kind, open-minded, and into health and improving the farm, and had (until recently, stay tuned) treated us with respect and engaged in good dialogues about our ideas for the farm. Marcelo was the opposite. On the first trip from town he treated us to a tirade about how the United States is awful, there is no hope for the future, and the country should basically be plowed under, its inhabitants--or at least leaders--killed, and so forth and so on...
Sure, everyone has strong opinions, right? So we kept our mouths shut and tried to bring as much positivity to the experience, which was, on the whole, positive. The only difficult moments were Marcelo's periodic rants about government conspiracies, books being incorrect, food being cooked incorrectly, and so forth. And then there were a couple situations in which he threw food we had made into the compost, refused to contribute to communal meals, and kicked out a volunteer (not us, another American) for lying about his age...he said he was 23, he was actually 19...
None of these things really signify a negative relationship, but put together we felt very much the subject of incosiderate behavior and selfishness--Marcelo just doesn't seem to understand that his beliefs are opinions, not fact or natural law.
So anyway, on that fateful Thursday last, Marcelo decided to make Dulce de Leche (delicious milk and sugar condiment that takes 3 hours to cook) on the one stove burner about 15 minutes before we were to make dinner. So I asked, as anyone would, "how long is that going to take?" to which he responded "3 hours". Long story short, I told him I thought he was being insensitive, and he told me to leave the farm. He finally calmed down, apologized for flying off the handle, and restated the fact that it was his house, we would follow his rules, we could make dinner in 3 hours.
"But we're putting into the house," said Sam. (we paid 300 pesos, about 100 dollars, to stay for 2 weeks to offset food costs, were doing 3 hours of work a day and making food for everyone--everyone was contributing to the well-being of the farm and of the household)
"GET OUT, LEAVE, HOW DARE YOU, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE," screamed Marcelo, lunging towards Sam. He stood within 5 inches of Sam's face, bellowing at the top of his lungs and gesturing towards the gate. "YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE," he continued. Sam could feel Marcelo's hot breath on his face and realized he had pushed some button, however invisible, to set Marcelo off.
"Ok, Marcelo, Marcelo? Marcelo! Please, calm down, we can talk about this," said Sam, holding his hands up in front of him, palms toward Marcelo, in a gesture meant to calm him down.
Marcelo replied, "LEAVE, before I have a BAD REACTION,"
So we went and packed up our things. Marcelo charged up the path, handed us our money, and said, "you have 10 minutes to leave, don't say anything else, get out." So we did. But not before:
1. Marcelo threatened to kill me.
2. The other volunteers helped us pack up and walked us 2km to the top of the hill in a sign of solidarity.
So we thought we were rid of this entirely ridiculous situation. I am entirely able to forgive temporary insanity, and I made my peace with the situation. We left the farm and Obera, taking a Cama Total Bus (read: full-service, complete with wine, champagne, and personal televisions) to Buenos Aires, where we're staying at the moment.
B.A. is amazing! We've been enjoying the very New York-y feel and seeing tons of museums and parks and being treated to amazing hospitality in the house of Ariel, a guy we met while traveling in Chile. His mother and sister and friends are so incredibly welcoming, and as a result we've been able to save a ton of money. In his company we've eaten Asado, the ancient Argentinian art of eating a lot of really delicious cow parts, watched lots of Seinfeld (thats how many Argentinians learn English) and gone out for the best pizza outside New York. All in all, it's been great, we're here until Sunday, and we can't even begin to guess what's in store for us each day we wake up.
...Especially as witnessed by the continual reminders we get about the ridiculous situation in Obera. We received an email from Kim, the wife, basically absolving Marcelo of blame for having physically threatened Ally and I and placing the burden on us for having introduced "negative energy" into their home. Somehow by leaving trash behind at our campsite (courtesy of Marcelo's 10 minute deadline, which was SLIGHTLY preoccupying) and discussing suggestions for the farm with other volunteers we had waived our right to feel outraged and upset by Marcelo's actions.
So it's been a mixed bag of amazing experiences in Buenos Aires and nights before bed spent reviewing every action I took while at the farm to try and see if Kim had any reason to say what she did. I feel a mixture of anger, sadness, embarrassment, and frustration, and most of all I just want the situation to be over. I'm ashamed to have been so excited and positive about the experience in the last blog post and to have so misjudged it. I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles, huh?
But don't let this put you off trying out WWOOFing, ok? Not all hosts will threaten to kill you, I promise!
...oh, and we'll upload photos as soon as possible, perhaps even tonight! (an empty promise, I know...)
Love you all, and don't worry, we're both safe!
Sam
3.07.2009
Obera
So. We're here, we're working hard, and we're...a lot of things. Here's a list:
1. bug-bitten
2. entirely sick of Dulce de Leche
3. never clean
4. sleeping in tents
5. using dry compost toilets
6. phoneless (possibly for good)
7. covered in fine, red clay (Think Virginia)
8. enjoying ourselves
9. cooking beautiful, healthy vegetarian meals 3 times a day
10. learning a lot about farming and sustainability
11. getting used to the heat
12. learning to love small, skin-burrowing insects
13. realizing there are SO many types of butterflies
14. building stone foundations, chicken houses, yoga shalas, and readying garden beds
15. content, but still excited about Buenos Aires
So things are going well. It's swelteringly hot most of the time, there are few truly comfortable places to sit, and of course no air conditioning (or electricity beyond charging ipods and running a single light). But we are getting used to it and we are enjoying ourselves because this is the way life probably should be, and we know it.
We miss home pretty intensely, I yearn particularly for working in the garden with Mom, blazing trails in the backyard with Dad, building forts with Will and then excluding him because he's my younger brother (just kidding, but that did happen a lot, didn't it? sorry!), and generally using my two hands on a piece of land for the sake of improving it and myself. I also find myself simultaneously missing the easy access to friends I had at school and at home via phone and car. This is possibly the hardest adjustment to make while traveling: you simply have to make do with what you have. Thank goodness I'm traveling with someone I love, because I can see the long road getting very lonely without a companion to share it all with.
Which brings us to a question I never really EVER want to address: what to do when we STOP traveling? I still have no clue. The days stretch on and turn into weeks and it seems like I should be hopping on a plane home any moment, but we've actually only been gone for 8 weeks, with about 12 more to go. So why should I be thinking about what to do after I get home? Maybe its a form of self-torture, because I have just so few ideas. I think maybe traveling forever is the only option...then I may never have to answer it at all!
I can feel msyelf start to ramble, so I think I'll sign off. We come into town on Saturdays, so that will be the next time I'll have to use the internet... Until then,
Love you all,
Sam
1. bug-bitten
2. entirely sick of Dulce de Leche
3. never clean
4. sleeping in tents
5. using dry compost toilets
6. phoneless (possibly for good)
7. covered in fine, red clay (Think Virginia)
8. enjoying ourselves
9. cooking beautiful, healthy vegetarian meals 3 times a day
10. learning a lot about farming and sustainability
11. getting used to the heat
12. learning to love small, skin-burrowing insects
13. realizing there are SO many types of butterflies
14. building stone foundations, chicken houses, yoga shalas, and readying garden beds
15. content, but still excited about Buenos Aires
So things are going well. It's swelteringly hot most of the time, there are few truly comfortable places to sit, and of course no air conditioning (or electricity beyond charging ipods and running a single light). But we are getting used to it and we are enjoying ourselves because this is the way life probably should be, and we know it.
We miss home pretty intensely, I yearn particularly for working in the garden with Mom, blazing trails in the backyard with Dad, building forts with Will and then excluding him because he's my younger brother (just kidding, but that did happen a lot, didn't it? sorry!), and generally using my two hands on a piece of land for the sake of improving it and myself. I also find myself simultaneously missing the easy access to friends I had at school and at home via phone and car. This is possibly the hardest adjustment to make while traveling: you simply have to make do with what you have. Thank goodness I'm traveling with someone I love, because I can see the long road getting very lonely without a companion to share it all with.
Which brings us to a question I never really EVER want to address: what to do when we STOP traveling? I still have no clue. The days stretch on and turn into weeks and it seems like I should be hopping on a plane home any moment, but we've actually only been gone for 8 weeks, with about 12 more to go. So why should I be thinking about what to do after I get home? Maybe its a form of self-torture, because I have just so few ideas. I think maybe traveling forever is the only option...then I may never have to answer it at all!
I can feel msyelf start to ramble, so I think I'll sign off. We come into town on Saturdays, so that will be the next time I'll have to use the internet... Until then,
Love you all,
Sam
3.02.2009
i'm posting, i promise!
Well I'm finally getting around to blogging... not that there has been a dearth of topics to write about, rather a dearth of time & motivation. Here were are, in an Argentinian town called Obera. This is probably the least touristy place we've visited; we' re only using it as a point from which to access the farm where we'll be living and voluteering for about two weeks. After volunteering in Arequipa (which I miss dreadfully), we traveled through northern Chile for a week, which didn't leave a particularly warm and glowing impression on me. It was certainly interesting to explore a new place, but I would much rather have been in Peru or Argentina. The first shock in Chile was how expensive food and hostels were in relation to Peru. We bought a very nice (although somewhat small) and reasonably priced tent in Iquique which, within a few nights, paid for itself. We spent more time camping than staying in hostels in Chile.
The second town we visited was San Pedro de Atacama. If anyone is considering stopping by, I strongly urge you to reconsider. It is a place completely and utterly devoted to tourism/ripping people off. Sam and I would have stayed for only one night if not for the fact that departure buses fill up immediately. We hit up the bus station within hours of arriving and the earliest we were able to leave was three days later. Even stranger than having to wait days for a bus, there are only two usable ATMs in the entire town and often neither one of them contains cash. Furthermore, the bus companies only accept cash payment in Chilean pesos. Sam and I were lucky that we came with plenty of money, but a friend we met there didn't fare so well. She was very desperate to leave San Pedro but didn't have the requisite cash and, for days, the ATMs were empty. She finally lucked out when other friends lent her the money, without which she might have been stuck there for weeks (which isn't unheard of). At first, I wondered how a tourist town could possibly thrive without a constant stream of cash for the tourists. Then it struck me in a slightly conspiracy theory-esque way... in San Pedro, the only restaurants and hotels that accept credit cards are the most expensive. If unable to procure Chilean money and stuck in that miserable town, one's only option is to spring for the ritzy, credit-card accepting accommodations, which in turns brings more money to the town. Additionally, if you can't come up with the cash to snag a bus, you're stuck paying those high prices until you can find an escape route. The only positive experience in San Pedro was spending time with two Argentinians we had met earlier in Chile. They were also very economically oriented and we ended up cooking amazing dinners with them every night. One day, we went cave-exploring with them outside of town and enjoyed a moonlight walk back.
Once we entered Argentina, we spent a few nights in Salta, a city in which I wish I could spend more time. We took an incredible stair hike up a mountain, where a beautiful view and a delicious stout were waiting for us. We befriended a delightful Brit named Debs -- she accompanied us on the hike, out to dinner, and later to a museum. I'm keeping a list of the people we hope to visit after this trip, and it's starting to seem as though we'll have each of the Western European countries covered by the end.
After Salta, we had an uneventful two days in Resistencia. The town was fairly uninteresting so we decided to see Friday the 13th in a lovely air-conditioned movie theater. It reminded me of Florida... movies and air-conditioning. After, we traveled to Puerto Iguazú and experienced the breathtakingly glorious Igauzú Falls (we'll post pictures as soon as possible... in the meantime, definitely check it out on google images). We met a large group of Israelis at our hostel and spent a few hours chatting with them. They didn't seem too keen on Obama. Talking politics with Israelis can be difficult.
I'm running out of time here so I'll wrap it up. In a few hours, we're meeting Marcello and Kim and traveling to their farm where we'll become acquainted with the whole family (the farm animals, insects, plants, possibly other volunteers). I'm very excited. I think it's just the thing to take the edge off of the homesickness I've been feeling since yesterday. Sam & I aren't sure when we'll next have Internet access, but it'll be no later than two weeks from now.
Hope everyone's enjoying the snow up north! To be honest, I would love a few non-tropical minutes right about now...
Love,
Ally
The second town we visited was San Pedro de Atacama. If anyone is considering stopping by, I strongly urge you to reconsider. It is a place completely and utterly devoted to tourism/ripping people off. Sam and I would have stayed for only one night if not for the fact that departure buses fill up immediately. We hit up the bus station within hours of arriving and the earliest we were able to leave was three days later. Even stranger than having to wait days for a bus, there are only two usable ATMs in the entire town and often neither one of them contains cash. Furthermore, the bus companies only accept cash payment in Chilean pesos. Sam and I were lucky that we came with plenty of money, but a friend we met there didn't fare so well. She was very desperate to leave San Pedro but didn't have the requisite cash and, for days, the ATMs were empty. She finally lucked out when other friends lent her the money, without which she might have been stuck there for weeks (which isn't unheard of). At first, I wondered how a tourist town could possibly thrive without a constant stream of cash for the tourists. Then it struck me in a slightly conspiracy theory-esque way... in San Pedro, the only restaurants and hotels that accept credit cards are the most expensive. If unable to procure Chilean money and stuck in that miserable town, one's only option is to spring for the ritzy, credit-card accepting accommodations, which in turns brings more money to the town. Additionally, if you can't come up with the cash to snag a bus, you're stuck paying those high prices until you can find an escape route. The only positive experience in San Pedro was spending time with two Argentinians we had met earlier in Chile. They were also very economically oriented and we ended up cooking amazing dinners with them every night. One day, we went cave-exploring with them outside of town and enjoyed a moonlight walk back.
Once we entered Argentina, we spent a few nights in Salta, a city in which I wish I could spend more time. We took an incredible stair hike up a mountain, where a beautiful view and a delicious stout were waiting for us. We befriended a delightful Brit named Debs -- she accompanied us on the hike, out to dinner, and later to a museum. I'm keeping a list of the people we hope to visit after this trip, and it's starting to seem as though we'll have each of the Western European countries covered by the end.
After Salta, we had an uneventful two days in Resistencia. The town was fairly uninteresting so we decided to see Friday the 13th in a lovely air-conditioned movie theater. It reminded me of Florida... movies and air-conditioning. After, we traveled to Puerto Iguazú and experienced the breathtakingly glorious Igauzú Falls (we'll post pictures as soon as possible... in the meantime, definitely check it out on google images). We met a large group of Israelis at our hostel and spent a few hours chatting with them. They didn't seem too keen on Obama. Talking politics with Israelis can be difficult.
I'm running out of time here so I'll wrap it up. In a few hours, we're meeting Marcello and Kim and traveling to their farm where we'll become acquainted with the whole family (the farm animals, insects, plants, possibly other volunteers). I'm very excited. I think it's just the thing to take the edge off of the homesickness I've been feeling since yesterday. Sam & I aren't sure when we'll next have Internet access, but it'll be no later than two weeks from now.
Hope everyone's enjoying the snow up north! To be honest, I would love a few non-tropical minutes right about now...
Love,
Ally
2.23.2009
Argentina
Ok. We're here. Salta, Argentina. What a great place! We hiked to the top of a hill above the city and are otherwise having a good time. We are SO glad to be out of Chile. I promised Ally this would be brief because she really wants to write a longer post. So anyway, we're in Argentina, going to Resistencia tomorrow, and OUR PHONE DOES NOT WORK HERE. Sorry if you've tried to call, we'll post our new number when we get it.
love you all,
Sam
love you all,
Sam
2.18.2009
chile
i have like 5 minutes left at the internet cafe so i can't be bothered to use punctuationorevenspaces.we'reokandinIquique.loveyouall.
2.15.2009
Leaving Arequipa
Well, this is it. We leave for Tacna on the southern border of Peru in about an hour. Tonight we'll probably stay in Tacna simply because we don't want to cross the border into Chile in the middle of the night. From there we'll go to Arica, a smallish beach town for a night, and then to Iquique for a few days. We're basically using Chile to get into Argentina without paying the $135 reciprocity tax to get into Bolivia (its a little more direct to go through Bolivia), but I am still excited to see new places in a new country.
It is sad to be leaving Peru. We had a lot of great experiences here, and even though we'll be back in May, I wish we had more time to devote to this amazing country. But since there's no sense in bemoaning a very positive experience, I think we'll go enjoy one last meal in Arequipa before heading to the bus station.
Los amo,
Sam
It is sad to be leaving Peru. We had a lot of great experiences here, and even though we'll be back in May, I wish we had more time to devote to this amazing country. But since there's no sense in bemoaning a very positive experience, I think we'll go enjoy one last meal in Arequipa before heading to the bus station.
Los amo,
Sam
2.09.2009
A typical day:
7:00-wake up
7:15-actually wake up
7:45-meet other volunteers and get on the bus
9:00-School starts at Intiwawa
11:00-20 minute break
12:30-walk back to the bus
1:00-hungrily find lunch, generally falafel or salad or grilled chicken $4
2:00-rest
4:00-walk around the city, sit in the Plaza, visit shops or museums
6:00-dinner, usually cheap fixed-price menus or pizza $4
7:30-actually pay for hostel $7/person
9:00-get a couple beers, dessert, visit other Intiwawa people $5 max
Total: $20 per day
This is truly a great place to live.
7:15-actually wake up
7:45-meet other volunteers and get on the bus
9:00-School starts at Intiwawa
11:00-20 minute break
12:30-walk back to the bus
1:00-hungrily find lunch, generally falafel or salad or grilled chicken $4
2:00-rest
4:00-walk around the city, sit in the Plaza, visit shops or museums
6:00-dinner, usually cheap fixed-price menus or pizza $4
7:30-actually pay for hostel $7/person
9:00-get a couple beers, dessert, visit other Intiwawa people $5 max
Total: $20 per day
This is truly a great place to live.
2.08.2009
2.06.2009
Coolest. Encounter. Ever.
I've just returned from a delicious lunch at Cafe Fez, a Middle Eastern retaurant with $2 falafel sandwiches (the quality of which is on par with the falafel I used to eat in Tel Aviv... and that's high praise). We sat next to a fellow English-speaker who also frequents what's become our favorite place to grab a bite. As I generally do, I struck up conversation and discovered that he, Simon, is from the UK (Bristol). He mentioned that he's going to see Radiohead perform in Buenos Aires in March. My ears immediately perked up as Radiohead is one of my favorite bands of all time AND we're going to be in Argentina during that time. 15 or 20 minutes into a fascinating discussion about music festivals and American/British/Peruvian culture, Simon revealed that his brother is the BAND MANAGER FOR RADIOHEAD. This is one of many incredibly serendipitous encounters I feel as though I've experienced since I've begun traveling. But I mean, seriously, I ended up eating falafel in Peru next to the brother of the manager of my favorite band?? Thank you, Universe! Even better, Simon humored us by enumerating the various personality traits of each of the band members, with whom he's been friends for quite some time. Except for Thom, who's apparently a jerk (which I pretty much expected). Simon began one anecdote with, "Back when I was still speaking with Thom..." To top things off, he said that if we have trouble snagging tickets to the BA show in March, he'll try to help us out, which means that we might be sittin' pretty in the VIP section of a Radiohead show!
Life's been pretty sweet in general. This volunteer experience (INTIWAWA) has been incredibly fulfilling and enjoyable. The kids are so sweet. Every morning begins with the volunteers being swarmed by children, each of whom greet every volunteer with a kiss on the cheek. It takes a while, but it's adorable. Every class day ends the exact same way. Last night, Sam & I went out to a discoteque with the volunteers -- my body is still aching from the hours of dancing, and Sam hasn't quite recovered from the huge buckets (literally) of cocktails we bought. Each mixed drink came with about a dozen straws and one person would hold it for a few minutes while twelve others suckled. Quite an experience. On Monday, we're beginning Spanish lessons with a private tutor ($3/hour each for the two of us) and on Tuesday, we're checking out Capoeira dance lessons with a few other volunteers. According to Wikipedia, Capoeira is "an Afro-Brazilian art form that makes a ritual of movements from martial arts, games, and dance."
I've recently had a mini-revelation regarding the next few years. As of this very moment, this is how I'd like my life trajectory to manifest (all subject to change):
-Work at a non-profit in New York for a year while continuing to learn Spanish
-Spend 6 months in Peru volunteering with INTIWAWA (teaching English)
-Peace Corps (ideally in Latin America)
-NYC Teaching Fellows (an intensive summer program that provides a teaching certification and then subsidizes an education masters, with the requirement that I teach in NYC for some period of time)
After that, no idea! For now, I'm going to enjoy the afternoon rain in Arequipa and practice my Spanish.
Love,
Ally
Life's been pretty sweet in general. This volunteer experience (INTIWAWA) has been incredibly fulfilling and enjoyable. The kids are so sweet. Every morning begins with the volunteers being swarmed by children, each of whom greet every volunteer with a kiss on the cheek. It takes a while, but it's adorable. Every class day ends the exact same way. Last night, Sam & I went out to a discoteque with the volunteers -- my body is still aching from the hours of dancing, and Sam hasn't quite recovered from the huge buckets (literally) of cocktails we bought. Each mixed drink came with about a dozen straws and one person would hold it for a few minutes while twelve others suckled. Quite an experience. On Monday, we're beginning Spanish lessons with a private tutor ($3/hour each for the two of us) and on Tuesday, we're checking out Capoeira dance lessons with a few other volunteers. According to Wikipedia, Capoeira is "an Afro-Brazilian art form that makes a ritual of movements from martial arts, games, and dance."
I've recently had a mini-revelation regarding the next few years. As of this very moment, this is how I'd like my life trajectory to manifest (all subject to change):
-Work at a non-profit in New York for a year while continuing to learn Spanish
-Spend 6 months in Peru volunteering with INTIWAWA (teaching English)
-Peace Corps (ideally in Latin America)
-NYC Teaching Fellows (an intensive summer program that provides a teaching certification and then subsidizes an education masters, with the requirement that I teach in NYC for some period of time)
After that, no idea! For now, I'm going to enjoy the afternoon rain in Arequipa and practice my Spanish.
Love,
Ally
2.05.2009
Arequipa
I miss my guitar with the passion of a thousand suns. The impact of music cannot be underestimated considering the mark it makes on our lives every time we pick up an instrument to play. When you hold a guitar or a flute or whatever day after day after day, your hands learn where to go, what to do, how to coax that special sound out of an otherwise inanimate object. My guitar is one of my best friends--I know its ins and outs, its strengths and weaknesses, its voice. A slab of wood with strings cannot produce music, it can only provide an easier way for two hansd ana soul to speak through it.
We are in Arequipa now, sitting at sunset on the Plaza de Armas as twilight transforms the white marble city into a gilded masterpiece of streetlamps and red-tinged light on the horizon. The Arequipeños mill about the Plaza, and every seat of every bench is taken. The city is drenched in a sense of calm, sensible history and pride--there is none of the rushing about of Lima or the frantic hustling of tourists we found so aggravating in Cusco. There is simply a sense of friendly cohabitation with everyone who calls the city home.
Although it is only a few minutes away by bus, the world of San Isidro and Intiwawa (the former is a town outisde Arequipa, the latter the organization with whom we are doing volunteer work to help educate women and children about their rights and end the endemic domestic violence that occurs in San Isidro) is so different and so separate from that of Arequipa. In Arequipa, we are the children, learning and being taken care of by our parents at the hostel and all around town as we inevitably make mistakes in judgment, the language, or simply get sick and need to be taken care of. We stand out as being more helpless than perhaps even the niños peruanos, and the city comes to our aid. At Intiwawa, the roles are entirely different. We, along with 20 other gringos and a smattering of peruanos are repsonsible for over 50 children over the course of 5 hours every morning. They listen to us as we instruct them to behave properly and think in specific ways. We must have all the answers, and even when we do not, we must appear as if we do lest we lose their respect. We teach them English despite their higher skill in Spanish and we require that they brush their teeth as we arrive, frequently with hangovers or without having washed ourselves.
I don't mean to imply that we aren't doing anything to help, only that the description of volunteer work sends the message that help, transferrence of knowledge, betterment of life, etc., only exist on a one-way street. These children teach us more in every moment we share than perhaps we can ever impart on them, and for this I am sad that we only have more or less another week with them.
I find myself worrying frequently about the lack of epiphanies or profound learning experiences that I have had on this journey thus far. I get depressed when I realize how few experiences have hit me just so such that I change my perspective and point my life in a different direction altogether. I waste time and anxiety worrying about these things and yet in the last few paragraphs I have described three very profound realizations that occurred to me only today.
I think perhaps we look in the wrong places for change to enter our lives, and sometimes simply by looking we blind ourselves to the change occuring around us. We live in such a dynamic world and we inhabit such dynamic bodies and souls that it would be a mistake to assume that just because we don't notice the change that none has actually ocurred. Truly, change is the only constant force in the universe: love, life, pain, joy, white sillar marble, all these will fade, increase or decrease with intensity or clarity or desirability. The only thing you can be sure of is that from this moment to the next, in the infinite matrix of information that is our universe, everything will change eventually.
Now. I think I'll go buy a guitar.
We are in Arequipa now, sitting at sunset on the Plaza de Armas as twilight transforms the white marble city into a gilded masterpiece of streetlamps and red-tinged light on the horizon. The Arequipeños mill about the Plaza, and every seat of every bench is taken. The city is drenched in a sense of calm, sensible history and pride--there is none of the rushing about of Lima or the frantic hustling of tourists we found so aggravating in Cusco. There is simply a sense of friendly cohabitation with everyone who calls the city home.
Although it is only a few minutes away by bus, the world of San Isidro and Intiwawa (the former is a town outisde Arequipa, the latter the organization with whom we are doing volunteer work to help educate women and children about their rights and end the endemic domestic violence that occurs in San Isidro) is so different and so separate from that of Arequipa. In Arequipa, we are the children, learning and being taken care of by our parents at the hostel and all around town as we inevitably make mistakes in judgment, the language, or simply get sick and need to be taken care of. We stand out as being more helpless than perhaps even the niños peruanos, and the city comes to our aid. At Intiwawa, the roles are entirely different. We, along with 20 other gringos and a smattering of peruanos are repsonsible for over 50 children over the course of 5 hours every morning. They listen to us as we instruct them to behave properly and think in specific ways. We must have all the answers, and even when we do not, we must appear as if we do lest we lose their respect. We teach them English despite their higher skill in Spanish and we require that they brush their teeth as we arrive, frequently with hangovers or without having washed ourselves.
I don't mean to imply that we aren't doing anything to help, only that the description of volunteer work sends the message that help, transferrence of knowledge, betterment of life, etc., only exist on a one-way street. These children teach us more in every moment we share than perhaps we can ever impart on them, and for this I am sad that we only have more or less another week with them.
I find myself worrying frequently about the lack of epiphanies or profound learning experiences that I have had on this journey thus far. I get depressed when I realize how few experiences have hit me just so such that I change my perspective and point my life in a different direction altogether. I waste time and anxiety worrying about these things and yet in the last few paragraphs I have described three very profound realizations that occurred to me only today.
I think perhaps we look in the wrong places for change to enter our lives, and sometimes simply by looking we blind ourselves to the change occuring around us. We live in such a dynamic world and we inhabit such dynamic bodies and souls that it would be a mistake to assume that just because we don't notice the change that none has actually ocurred. Truly, change is the only constant force in the universe: love, life, pain, joy, white sillar marble, all these will fade, increase or decrease with intensity or clarity or desirability. The only thing you can be sure of is that from this moment to the next, in the infinite matrix of information that is our universe, everything will change eventually.
Now. I think I'll go buy a guitar.
1.30.2009
Good news from the Universe
Just so you know beforehand, we live very simply and close with the land-- living in tents, bathing in the river, dealing with bugs and jungle creatures, and living communally with other volunteers and us. A typical day: we get up early, practice yoga and meditation (optional), start work after breakfast, go till midday, eat a big lunch, then have the afternoon to play in the river, do crafts, nap, personal projects, or whatever you like, then some gardening and watering the evening, and a light dinner before bed. Very simple and relaxed. We like people to be self-motivated and even create their own projects. You´ll see, we have lots of room for creativity, and practicality too!
This is the note we got from our WWOOFing host in Misiones, Argentina (It's right next to Iguazu falls...!!!). We start March 2nd. We end...who knows when. It sounds amazing and like such a wonderful opportunity to get in touch with the land and with ourselves and our inner work ethic and motivation. I know I'm especially excited about getting to know our hosts and the other workers on the farm, most of whom will be other foreigners from across the globe.
In other news, we're nearing the end of our stay on Lago Titicaca in the town of Puno. We just came back from a very ridiculous, if rewarding, trip out on the lake in which we toured the Uros Floating Islands and stayed overnight at the house of an indigenous family on the relatively untouched island of Amantani. The night was freezing and absolutely silent; there are no cars, televisions, or electricity on the island. We were up so high (over 4,000 meters) that the relatively mild hike up to Pachatata (a local holy site) took the wind out of all of us--as did the impromptu soccer game that broke out on the field below. Today we spent a few hours on the island of Taquile, a much more touristy island whose socialist government has decreed that tourist restaurants may only serve fresh grilled trout...seriously.
So why was the experience ridiculous? Mostly because of the obvious exploitation that occurred, both by the locals and implicitly by us, the tourists. Tourism only came to Amantani seven years ago, before which point they subsisted on a barter economy with little to no contact with the mainland. Now, even the host families try to sell you their wares and it is clear that the influence of electricity and oil companies has created a demand for their products that has not existed in the hundreds of years the community has been around. It was truly sad to get to the top of Pachatata with panoramic views of the island and the lake at sunset--the air is so clear and thin--and be assaulted by several small children selling simple bracelets for 1 sol each (around 33 cents). Not having brought my money--and not feeling compelled to buy compulsively--we tried to politely refuse, which elicited a reaction of anger, frustration, or persistence, depending on the child. This dependence on tourist cash for their existence saddens me, because I know that there is no other way for them to fulfill their lives at the moment and the trend is certainly to heed the desires of the outside world, which clearly state a need for an increase in tourism and a decrease in the traditional lifestyle.
The flipside of this is that they peddle their culture for our dollars in ways that make us feel that we are tapping into something genuine, such as the traditional dance they threw for us last night. We were somewhat forced to dress in the traditional garb and then danced with the locals somewhat obligatorily to traditional music. It felt weird not just because of the condoned social appropriation but also because it seemed that the locals were fulfilling some sort of contract that they had verbally signed by saying there would be a dance. There was no genuine interest on their part, and that absolutely affected the experience. I would have to say that besides the fact that we were able to pay our family directly for the service of staying at their house that this was a troubling and problematic tour at best.
We DID meet a lot of great travelers on the way, though, the most notable being the British couple who we shared a family with and whose travels include choosing a camper over a fancy hotel at a friend's wedding.
So. That was this morning. Right now we're back in our 35 sole room in Puno (that's $6 a night per person) waiting to go out to a local bar with some australians we met on the tour. I feel a bit odd being even a little sedentary after all the exercise we just experienced, and it will feel good to get out tonight and then to be on the road again tomorrow to Arequipa. Puno is generally unremarkable and besides the lake experience I cannot say I will have many memories of the place itself--good or bad.
That's it for now, more to come later, as always. Apparently I end all my posts with ¨stay tuned,¨ so don't even bother checking the gorgeous lake photos we will be uploading sometime in the next day or so.
(that was sarcasm. stay tuned.)
1.28.2009
Still Alive
yup. still alive. Ok so perhaps its a bit much to assume that you were worried in the least, especially considering the possible vast amounts of time (read: weeks) we may go without posting in the future. Anyway, We're in Puno, a town on Lake Titicaca. It's gorgeous and the police dance all day. Stay tuned for video proof.
Love you,
Sam
Love you,
Sam
1.23.2009
1.22.2009
Gastrointestinal Tract: who needs it, really?
This has been a trip of extremes so far. The extreme poverty of almost every city contrasted with the extreme beauty and austerity of the Andes and the self-sustaining terraced farms that cover each mountain like cartography. The extreme excitement of waking up every day compared with the extreme exhaustion we experience almost every night (perhaps we should slow down...). The extreme deliciousness of each bite of every dish we try compared with the extreme discomfort we feel almost without fail. Neither Ally nor I are particularly prone to intestinal discomfort, but perhaps as a polite farewell gesture the bug we had in Lima has decided to bite once more, albeit in a very attenuated form. We're taking it easy tonight and tomorrow, holed up in an expensive ($15/person) hotel with a TV in the room for the sake of our sanity (more on that in a bit) and our health.
The Cusco experience has been bizarre, to say the least. This is truly a tourist city, replete with hawkers on every corner and little girls dressed in indigenous garb holding llamas by a leash and asking for 1 sole (about 33 cents) to take a photo with them. We know that this is the way in which the overwhelmingly friendly and competent people here make a living, but it gets very stressful and frustrating at times.
We spent our first full night here with our first South American Couchsurfing host--or should I say, we spent it with the 12 other people he had graciously invited into his small home, we actually only ever saw him for perhaps 10 minutes. The group we met at Wilman's was diverse, interesting, and fun. The accomodations were spare and dirty. No hot water. No bed. No heat. Oh, and at night the temperature gets down to about 40 degrees. Not very much fun. So tonight, after a long day at the Pisac artisan's market (we both bought alpaca wool sweaters, so warm and fuzzy!), we're content to nurse our stomache aches in the comfort of a king-size bed and dubbed American television.
Love you all,
Sam
The Cusco experience has been bizarre, to say the least. This is truly a tourist city, replete with hawkers on every corner and little girls dressed in indigenous garb holding llamas by a leash and asking for 1 sole (about 33 cents) to take a photo with them. We know that this is the way in which the overwhelmingly friendly and competent people here make a living, but it gets very stressful and frustrating at times.
We spent our first full night here with our first South American Couchsurfing host--or should I say, we spent it with the 12 other people he had graciously invited into his small home, we actually only ever saw him for perhaps 10 minutes. The group we met at Wilman's was diverse, interesting, and fun. The accomodations were spare and dirty. No hot water. No bed. No heat. Oh, and at night the temperature gets down to about 40 degrees. Not very much fun. So tonight, after a long day at the Pisac artisan's market (we both bought alpaca wool sweaters, so warm and fuzzy!), we're content to nurse our stomache aches in the comfort of a king-size bed and dubbed American television.
Love you all,
Sam
1.20.2009
Cuzco
Whew.
We departed from Lima on Sunday at 6:00 PM. We got into Cuzco at 1:00 AM on Tuesday. The bus that we thought was going to take 20 hours ended up taking 31 and a different route than advertised. It felt somewhat like one of the upper circles of hell as we wound perilously and seemingly endlessly through the peruvian desert without air conditioning or water other than the small amount we had brought ourselves watching terrible hollywood movies with spanish dubbing while suffering from mild altitude sickness (nausea, shortness of breath, headaches) from climbing from sea level to over 12,000 feet, where we are now.
But we´re here now! Cuzco is an amazingly beautiful city, the Inca capital of the world, and ever so touristy. That element is something we could do without, but we are already having a blast staying with our first couchsurfing host, Wilman, who graciously opens his home up to 8 travelers at a time for free. We met several Americans staying with him and went out to an amazing (and, as always, cheap) vegetarian restaurant barely 3 blocks from the house.
Life is good. Besides the residual shortness of breath, we could not be happier. That despite the probability that we will not be going to Bolivia due to a $130 entrance fee. We´ve just contacted our first WWOOFing host and will probably be doing farm work near Iguazu Falls (do a quick google search) in Argentina. We´re also looking at volunteer opportunities in Pisco and Arequipa, helping with earthquake reconstruction and at women and chilrens shelters, respectively.
More to come later, the brisk Andean night calls!
Love you,
Sam
We departed from Lima on Sunday at 6:00 PM. We got into Cuzco at 1:00 AM on Tuesday. The bus that we thought was going to take 20 hours ended up taking 31 and a different route than advertised. It felt somewhat like one of the upper circles of hell as we wound perilously and seemingly endlessly through the peruvian desert without air conditioning or water other than the small amount we had brought ourselves watching terrible hollywood movies with spanish dubbing while suffering from mild altitude sickness (nausea, shortness of breath, headaches) from climbing from sea level to over 12,000 feet, where we are now.
But we´re here now! Cuzco is an amazingly beautiful city, the Inca capital of the world, and ever so touristy. That element is something we could do without, but we are already having a blast staying with our first couchsurfing host, Wilman, who graciously opens his home up to 8 travelers at a time for free. We met several Americans staying with him and went out to an amazing (and, as always, cheap) vegetarian restaurant barely 3 blocks from the house.
Life is good. Besides the residual shortness of breath, we could not be happier. That despite the probability that we will not be going to Bolivia due to a $130 entrance fee. We´ve just contacted our first WWOOFing host and will probably be doing farm work near Iguazu Falls (do a quick google search) in Argentina. We´re also looking at volunteer opportunities in Pisco and Arequipa, helping with earthquake reconstruction and at women and chilrens shelters, respectively.
More to come later, the brisk Andean night calls!
Love you,
Sam
1.18.2009
Health
Whew... we've just emerged from a day of incapacitating sickness. We made the ONE mistake everyone warns against while traveling in this region... we drank tap water. Not on purpose, though! Two days ago, we ate a fixed price lunch that included a glass of what I assumed was grape juice (they called it "chicha" -- turns out it's fermented corn milk). After a few sips, it occurred to us that the drink might contain tap water, so we ordered bottled sodas (I chose Inka Cola, and Sam went with the less imaginative Coca Cola). We went about the rest of the day as we normally would, going out that night with a few people who work at the hostel. At around 4 AM, though, I awoke from a very restful sleep to major gastrointestinal discomfort. The rest of the day progressed as you'd imagine. For both of us. We barely had enough energy to move around the hostel, and it wouldn't have been a good idea to stray too far from the bathroom. We basically collapsed in the TV room (we recognize how lucky we were to have gotten sick in such a nice & comfortable hostel) for the entire day. We went to sleep at around 9, after learning that the Nazca plans had been cancelled, which, considering our health, was probably for the best. But the good news: we're feeling great today! Thanks to antibiotics & lots of water... BOTTLED water. We're now in the process of figuring out exactly how to get to Cusco today, as our first choice bus company has no space left until tomorrow. Stay tuned for more...!
Love,
Ally
Love,
Ally
1.16.2009
I have a son we live for 5 years.
Google translator has become a mainstay of our journey. We are constantly emailing wwoofing farms and couchsurfers in spanish--which we can generally create without much help, gracias a dios--and receiving many in return, which inevitably get processed by google's algorithm, generally with hilarious results (see title).
So much has happened serendipitously in the last couple days that I am beginning to wonder if this is a very pleasant dream from which I must inevitably wake. Our friend we met in the airport, Olga, took us out to dinner last night with her friend Richard (they are both lawyers in Lima) and we have a date for sunday at 5:00 AM to drive to Nazca where we will fly above the Nazca Lines, beautiful pre-incan formations the purpose of which are as of yet unknown. I've always been fascinated by the mysterious nature of these gigantic, multi-kilometer drawings in the sand, and I feel like a little kid on his birthday when presented with that special guitar or remote control car or whatever it was that I yearned for silently until my parents divined the target of my desire.
Everything is falling into place, in a sense. The days in Miraflores pass quickly, almost too quickly, and it is hard to believe that we will be leaving Lima on Sunday for Nazca and eventually Cusco, where we will be staying for perhaps a week or more and experiencing our first couchsurfing stay of the trip. We are also hoping to trek to Machu Picchu while in Cusco, but we will be satisfied with a postponement until May if the trail is full, which it generally is.
Today we are set to explore Barranco, one of the oldest parts of Lima, which still sports colonial style houses and architecture and many, many, many nightclubs and bars frequented primarily by locals. We were also alerted to the presence of a used bookstore in Lima Centro which perhaps will consume most of the middle of our day as we search for the best way to hone and develop our spanish (we find that speaking it can get very exhausting and perhaps reading is the solution in the interim, especially in a hostel containing mostly english speakers).
But we must get to it now. Sorry for not posting photos directly to the blog, please follow the photobucket link to see our galleries. More to come later!
Love you All,
Sam
So much has happened serendipitously in the last couple days that I am beginning to wonder if this is a very pleasant dream from which I must inevitably wake. Our friend we met in the airport, Olga, took us out to dinner last night with her friend Richard (they are both lawyers in Lima) and we have a date for sunday at 5:00 AM to drive to Nazca where we will fly above the Nazca Lines, beautiful pre-incan formations the purpose of which are as of yet unknown. I've always been fascinated by the mysterious nature of these gigantic, multi-kilometer drawings in the sand, and I feel like a little kid on his birthday when presented with that special guitar or remote control car or whatever it was that I yearned for silently until my parents divined the target of my desire.
Everything is falling into place, in a sense. The days in Miraflores pass quickly, almost too quickly, and it is hard to believe that we will be leaving Lima on Sunday for Nazca and eventually Cusco, where we will be staying for perhaps a week or more and experiencing our first couchsurfing stay of the trip. We are also hoping to trek to Machu Picchu while in Cusco, but we will be satisfied with a postponement until May if the trail is full, which it generally is.
Today we are set to explore Barranco, one of the oldest parts of Lima, which still sports colonial style houses and architecture and many, many, many nightclubs and bars frequented primarily by locals. We were also alerted to the presence of a used bookstore in Lima Centro which perhaps will consume most of the middle of our day as we search for the best way to hone and develop our spanish (we find that speaking it can get very exhausting and perhaps reading is the solution in the interim, especially in a hostel containing mostly english speakers).
But we must get to it now. Sorry for not posting photos directly to the blog, please follow the photobucket link to see our galleries. More to come later!
Love you All,
Sam
1.14.2009
1.12.2009
It's hostel time
we're in Miraflores. And I think I want to stay here forever. I had something to eat today called ceviche (sayveechay) that is basically sushi-grade fish served raw under a marinade of lime juice and onions with spicy chilis and cilantro. Wow. Possibly the best food I've ever eaten.
Anyway, the internet here in our hostel (with an incredible view of Lima) is very very very very slow, so perhaps I'll hop on tonight to finish uploading the photos once the tubes unclog themselves.
Oh, and guess what. I met 3 brazilians from Habonim Dror (google this if you don't know what it is, I went to camp at a habo camp for 4 years. They offered habo houses to Ally and I when we travel to Brazil. Excellent.
Anyway, the internet here in our hostel (with an incredible view of Lima) is very very very very slow, so perhaps I'll hop on tonight to finish uploading the photos once the tubes unclog themselves.
Oh, and guess what. I met 3 brazilians from Habonim Dror (google this if you don't know what it is, I went to camp at a habo camp for 4 years. They offered habo houses to Ally and I when we travel to Brazil. Excellent.
La Playa
We just got back from the beach, and i´m busy uploading photos right now, which I should be able to post on the blog at some point later today. Feel free to look at them on our photobucket site, though.
We are SO sunburned. Forget the fact that we were only at the beach for like 3 hours, during which time I applied sunblock (spf 30, mom) 3 times to various parts of my body, stayed in the shade when I wasn´t in the water, and generally didn´t notice that I was burned until late yesterday evening, because I´m about as red as a freaking steamed lobster. Besides that, though, the beach was great. The sense of community and the open, breezy feel in Patti and Javier´s beach house lent itself to long hours spent lounging and reading (Ishmael by Daniel Quinn, right now) as well as spending time with their two children and Patti´s father Guillermo and his girlfriend, Betty.
Right now we´re back in Patti and Javiér´s house, and later we´ll be in Miraflores. We´ll post again when we get to our hostel.
Note: the number for our phone is correct, but you have to dial (011) first to call internationally.
We are SO sunburned. Forget the fact that we were only at the beach for like 3 hours, during which time I applied sunblock (spf 30, mom) 3 times to various parts of my body, stayed in the shade when I wasn´t in the water, and generally didn´t notice that I was burned until late yesterday evening, because I´m about as red as a freaking steamed lobster. Besides that, though, the beach was great. The sense of community and the open, breezy feel in Patti and Javier´s beach house lent itself to long hours spent lounging and reading (Ishmael by Daniel Quinn, right now) as well as spending time with their two children and Patti´s father Guillermo and his girlfriend, Betty.
Right now we´re back in Patti and Javiér´s house, and later we´ll be in Miraflores. We´ll post again when we get to our hostel.
Note: the number for our phone is correct, but you have to dial (011) first to call internationally.
1.09.2009
Yay Backpacks!
Tenemos nuestros maletas!!! Finalmente! Me encanta mucho Lima. El conductor taxi, Jorge, nos condujo al aeropuerto y después, al mar (para que celebrar). Él es muy simpático. Bueno, no quiero escribir más en Español porqué estoy muy cansada y necesito hablar en (broken) Español todo el día.
We have our bags!!! Finally! I love Lima. The taxi driver, Jorge, drove us to the airport and after, to the beach (to celebrate). He is very nice. Well, I don´t want to write more in Spanish because I am very tired and I have to speak in (broken) Spanish all day.
I´m incredibly relieved. It definitely feels as though we´re beginning our trip anew. Patti and Javier have been amazingly helpful and accommodating. Without their hospitality and assistance (unlimited phone & Internet access!), I´m not quite sure how we would have gotten ourselves in contact with all of the necessary people. Speaking of which, shoutout to my Mom for being another vital element of this success story -- she got in touch with the woman who finally located our bags!
Sam and I have already encountered so many wonderful & interesting people, and it´s only been about 24 hours. At the Miami airport, we met a woman from Lima who very quickly shared stories of her life and relationships with us. I was struck by how immediately friendly and comfortable she seemed. One of the things I´m most excited about with respect to travel is learning people´s stories, witnessing their interactions, getting a sense of their views and lives. I can´t quite tell if I´m a sociologist or a writer when it comes to my love of humans & their personal histories. Maybe, by the end of this trip, I´ll have more of an answer.
The past 24 hours have been exhausting. It´s definitely time to put on a clean outfit (for the first time in about three days... I think this makes me a bonafide backpacker!), relax, and drift off to sleep thinking about la playa (the beach), where we´ll be tomorrow!
Much Love,
Ally
We have our bags!!! Finally! I love Lima. The taxi driver, Jorge, drove us to the airport and after, to the beach (to celebrate). He is very nice. Well, I don´t want to write more in Spanish because I am very tired and I have to speak in (broken) Spanish all day.
I´m incredibly relieved. It definitely feels as though we´re beginning our trip anew. Patti and Javier have been amazingly helpful and accommodating. Without their hospitality and assistance (unlimited phone & Internet access!), I´m not quite sure how we would have gotten ourselves in contact with all of the necessary people. Speaking of which, shoutout to my Mom for being another vital element of this success story -- she got in touch with the woman who finally located our bags!
Sam and I have already encountered so many wonderful & interesting people, and it´s only been about 24 hours. At the Miami airport, we met a woman from Lima who very quickly shared stories of her life and relationships with us. I was struck by how immediately friendly and comfortable she seemed. One of the things I´m most excited about with respect to travel is learning people´s stories, witnessing their interactions, getting a sense of their views and lives. I can´t quite tell if I´m a sociologist or a writer when it comes to my love of humans & their personal histories. Maybe, by the end of this trip, I´ll have more of an answer.
The past 24 hours have been exhausting. It´s definitely time to put on a clean outfit (for the first time in about three days... I think this makes me a bonafide backpacker!), relax, and drift off to sleep thinking about la playa (the beach), where we´ll be tomorrow!
Much Love,
Ally
wait, what?
...is what we keep asking ourselves as we wade through the bullshit the airline industry has been chucking at us since we started our journey. We ARE in Lima, and we´re safe in Patti and Javiér´s beautiful house in the Magdalena neighborhood (not far from Miraflores, full of hippies, as our taxi driver indicated last night). BUT. We don´t have our luggage. And no one knows where it is. Especially not the airlines whose job it seems to be to staff thousands of employees solely for the purpose of passing the buck (Ally´s edit: the airline employees have an enormous amount of work to do and its not our place to criticize them and sam is insensitive). We´ve been calling in since 11:00 trying to find out ANYTHING, but to no avail. Ally´s mother claims to have found the elusive holy grail of an employee who can actually do something right (Ally´s edit: sam, you´re a jerk). She thinks our bags are at the airport in Lima. Whoa. Crazy. We might be on the same continent as our clothes, camera, and medication for traveler´s diarrhea (which we assume will set in eventually). So, off to the airport we will go once we have some sort of confirmation that they are in fact there.
Oh. important bit of news: we got a cell phone today. The number is (51) 1-985546741. By calling us, it costs us nothing since the GSM network in every other country only charges the caller, not the callee.
So, baggage aside, we´re having a great time. We tasted alpaca today along with beautiful purees of papaya and naranja (orange). We also toured a bakery (paneteria) that is literally 100 feet from the front door and sells huge numbers of gorgeous pastries and ready-made sandwiches costing so little as to encourage unnecessary spending sprees. All in all, peru consists of three streets and a grocery store to us right now, so of course we´re eager to see and do so much more.
first, let´s get our bags.
Oh. important bit of news: we got a cell phone today. The number is (51) 1-985546741. By calling us, it costs us nothing since the GSM network in every other country only charges the caller, not the callee.
So, baggage aside, we´re having a great time. We tasted alpaca today along with beautiful purees of papaya and naranja (orange). We also toured a bakery (paneteria) that is literally 100 feet from the front door and sells huge numbers of gorgeous pastries and ready-made sandwiches costing so little as to encourage unnecessary spending sprees. All in all, peru consists of three streets and a grocery store to us right now, so of course we´re eager to see and do so much more.
first, let´s get our bags.
1.08.2009
oops.
So, we're in Miami.
We fly out at 5:15 today. The airlines...well, let's not get into it, but they aren't on our "good" list right now. More to come when we get to Lima.
Love you all,
Sam
We fly out at 5:15 today. The airlines...well, let's not get into it, but they aren't on our "good" list right now. More to come when we get to Lima.
Love you all,
Sam
1.07.2009
Endogenous Caffeine
It's about 12:45 AM the night before we depart for Lima. I'm all packed. I'm quickly removing all the old photos from my camera so that I'll have the whole 9,000 photo capacity I budgeted for the time up until Buenos Aires, at which point I'll probably buy more memory cards. Ally is sitting next to me on the bed calmly reading the end of a comic we picked up in a comic shop in the West Village yesterday from a cute, balding man of around 45 with a pony tail and glasses whose descriptions of the comics went about one or two sentences too far into the story.
I'm feeling like I can't sit still. Sleep seems like a very distant goal that I might as well group with such things as applying to graduate school or finding a career: I just can't feel tired when something as momentous as this 5-month trip looms on the horizon.
We've contacted two volunteer agencies, one working with underprivileged children in Buenos Aires called Conviven and another that's actually an Eco-Lodge offering discounted rates if we teach english to the community or help maintain their trails and facilities. We've also looked at wwoofing (World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) in Bolivia, Argentina, and Ecuador. All these things keep a person up even when he's dog-tired. Maybe I'll try to go to bed when Ally finishes the comic.
Love you all, see you in 5 months.
1.02.2009
Bienvenidos!
Hola! Este es mi primer... blog post. Estudié español en colegio pero ahora, no recuerdo mucho. Quiero escribir todos mis entradas en inglés y español para qué más tarde, puedo ver los cambios en mi abilidad escribir español. Ahora, estoy muy ocupada porqué hay mucho hacer antes de salir. Inca Roads es una diario de mis experiencias durante los cinco meses en América del Sur. También, "Inca Roads" es una de mis canciónes favoritas (Frank Zappa!). Voy a escribir más cuando llegue a Peru. Gracias por mirar nuestro blog!
Hello! This is my first blog post. I studied Spanish in high school but now, I don't remember much. I want to write all of my entries in English and Spanish so that later, I can see the changes in my Spanish writing. Right now, I am very busy because there is a lot to do before leaving. Inca Roads is a journal of my experiences during the five months in South America. Also, "Inca Roads" is one of my favorite songs (Frank Zappa!). I will write more when I arrive in Peru. Thanks for checking out our blog!
Hello! This is my first blog post. I studied Spanish in high school but now, I don't remember much. I want to write all of my entries in English and Spanish so that later, I can see the changes in my Spanish writing. Right now, I am very busy because there is a lot to do before leaving. Inca Roads is a journal of my experiences during the five months in South America. Also, "Inca Roads" is one of my favorite songs (Frank Zappa!). I will write more when I arrive in Peru. Thanks for checking out our blog!
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