Posts
(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
4.13.2009
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.
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