Burlington, Vermont
Here are some thoughts on places I went or heard rave reviews about. One thing to remember is to look in the guide book to see if there are any sort of holidays or celebrations in towns along your route, with all of the dieties in Hinduism your bound to run into at least one. Also, the following information is based on a trip from Mumbai to New Delhi. If you are looking to head south, well, thats another bit of advice.
Mt. Abu- It is the highest mountian in India with the exception of the Himalayas. It is more of a domestic tourism destination then anything. Heaps of newlyweds, using paddle boats in a very small lake. The hike up Mt. Abu is nice but I think you have the option to drive.
Udaipur- The "city of lakes." When I was there in '01 they were in the midst of a 10 year drought. So, some of the allure was gone. A fairly large city, has beautiful old part of town, small cobble stone streets, great veggie market, two old palaces, and a nice hike to a place that over looks the entire city, perfect for sunrise. Also just outside of town there is a huge Huanuman temple, lots of wild monkeys. Monday is the best day to visit because, that is the day where all of the men from town go out, drink bong lassi, play tabla, sing, and bath in the nearby lake.
Jaiselmer- A beautiful, brown town in the middle of the Thar desert. From here you have the option to spend a few days in the desert on safari. A must. It is the most isolated you can be in Rajasthan.
Jodhpor- I think this is the white city.
Pushkar- Home of the Pushkar Camel Fair, the biggest camel fair in the world. This happens in November/December. A place I would skip except if it was that time of year. I imagine it is full of worn out hippies waiting for the next big party.
Jaipur- The pink city. A bustling metropolis of 3 million. The capital of Rajasthan. The old city is beautiful and jam packed (like much of India.) On MG Road one can find a great lassi at a place called LassiWalla. It is hard to miss because there are two shops right next to each other. Here drink your lassi from a clay cup and then throw it in the road when your through. Also, you can watch the latest Bollywood film at the Raj Mundur (sp?), the largest movie theater in on the sub-continent. It holds about 3,500.
Agra- Home of the Taj Mahal. A must if you're in the New Delhi area. Go early and stay as long as you can. It is worth all the hype.
Fatepur Sikri- Just south of Agra. A huge red stone fort built by the Moguls and then abandoned. In very good condition.
New Delhi- A good place to stay. Well planned, good shopping at end of trip, don't spend too many days here.
Delhi- The most insane place I have ever been. If you want to feel the billion people who live in India go here. It is unconcievable. Bodies upon bodies. Its also home to the biggest mosque in India. It is called, Jama Masjid.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Stateside
Essex, Vermont
I arrived safetly in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave on March 5. Since being home I've visited Grandparents in dirty Jers, walked with friends all over Brooklyn, drank Guiness in Boston on St. Patrick's day, and go lost in the woods in Vinalhaven. Its all been nice. There wasn't any sort of culture shock. Just an overwhelming sense of happiness/contentness with my travels and my choice to return.
I am at home living where the ratio of animals to humans is very off. I am the assistant JV lacrosse coach at my high school. Which ultimately means I work with teens everyday. I also work out and watch a lot of movies. Today I watched 13 Going on 30. I liked it. Mindy Williams reccommended it and I'm sure I know why. The dance scenes. Phenom.
I arrived safetly in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave on March 5. Since being home I've visited Grandparents in dirty Jers, walked with friends all over Brooklyn, drank Guiness in Boston on St. Patrick's day, and go lost in the woods in Vinalhaven. Its all been nice. There wasn't any sort of culture shock. Just an overwhelming sense of happiness/contentness with my travels and my choice to return.
I am at home living where the ratio of animals to humans is very off. I am the assistant JV lacrosse coach at my high school. Which ultimately means I work with teens everyday. I also work out and watch a lot of movies. Today I watched 13 Going on 30. I liked it. Mindy Williams reccommended it and I'm sure I know why. The dance scenes. Phenom.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Nazca Lines, Peru`s 2nd Most Visited Tourist Attraction
Nazca, Peru
The only reason to visit Nazca is to the see the Nazca Lines. To describe them is sort of tough. Pictures really are clutch here. To see the Nazca Lines one must fly. The Nazca lines are huge geometric shapes, animals, birds, fish, and people, somehow etched into the harsh desert. This particular desert was the ideal place because the wind patterns are so bizarre, that any sort of mark on the sand will stay for thousands of years. A mark could be a footprint, a tiretrack, or a huge geometric shape. There is much controversy surrounding these lines. The origin of them is unclear. As a result many scientists, archeologists and crazies come to Nazca to check them out and hypothesize. The following is a list of theories.
- Aliens. The ancient civilization was communitcating with aliens. And these lines are proof that life exists in other places then earth.
- The Nazca civilization (pre-Inca) formed the lines in an attempt to communicate with the water gods during a tragic 40 year drought. This sort of makes sense but does not account for all of the shapes, like the monkey or the man.
- Astrology. An ancient civilization (perhaps the Nazcan) created these huge shapes and animals in coordinaiton of/with the stars. Or something.
So, I signed up for a 35 minute flight to see the lines, from above, the only way. Thats why they were discovered so late. And as a result the Pan American Highway runs through the lizard. Now, seeing the lines was cool. They are bizzare and huge and really do look like what they're called, monkey, hummingbird, lizard, astronaunt, etc. But, the best part was the plane ride. In the plane was myself, two Germans, and the pilot. I got shotgun. The plane was barely wider then my shoulders and the pilots. Our shoulders were actually touching. If he needed help flying, I was there, all the controls right in front of me. Totally awesome. I got the view out the windshield and to my right. The ride was like a carnival ride. Small plane = Big turbulance. It was wild swooping about above the desert. And part of the contract includes a garantee for each side to fly by the lines which added even more swoops and dives.
After the plane ride and seeing the Lines I was breathless. Completely overwhelmed. Generally, when I see something I have a bit more of an understanding of it even if its only, "I´ve seen it, I know it exisits." Seeing the Nazca Lines did not help to make me understand or believe them. They just fascinated me. Another thing to leave alone and look at. See and appreciate the beauty and respect the mystery.
The only reason to visit Nazca is to the see the Nazca Lines. To describe them is sort of tough. Pictures really are clutch here. To see the Nazca Lines one must fly. The Nazca lines are huge geometric shapes, animals, birds, fish, and people, somehow etched into the harsh desert. This particular desert was the ideal place because the wind patterns are so bizarre, that any sort of mark on the sand will stay for thousands of years. A mark could be a footprint, a tiretrack, or a huge geometric shape. There is much controversy surrounding these lines. The origin of them is unclear. As a result many scientists, archeologists and crazies come to Nazca to check them out and hypothesize. The following is a list of theories.
- Aliens. The ancient civilization was communitcating with aliens. And these lines are proof that life exists in other places then earth.
- The Nazca civilization (pre-Inca) formed the lines in an attempt to communicate with the water gods during a tragic 40 year drought. This sort of makes sense but does not account for all of the shapes, like the monkey or the man.
- Astrology. An ancient civilization (perhaps the Nazcan) created these huge shapes and animals in coordinaiton of/with the stars. Or something.
So, I signed up for a 35 minute flight to see the lines, from above, the only way. Thats why they were discovered so late. And as a result the Pan American Highway runs through the lizard. Now, seeing the lines was cool. They are bizzare and huge and really do look like what they're called, monkey, hummingbird, lizard, astronaunt, etc. But, the best part was the plane ride. In the plane was myself, two Germans, and the pilot. I got shotgun. The plane was barely wider then my shoulders and the pilots. Our shoulders were actually touching. If he needed help flying, I was there, all the controls right in front of me. Totally awesome. I got the view out the windshield and to my right. The ride was like a carnival ride. Small plane = Big turbulance. It was wild swooping about above the desert. And part of the contract includes a garantee for each side to fly by the lines which added even more swoops and dives.
After the plane ride and seeing the Lines I was breathless. Completely overwhelmed. Generally, when I see something I have a bit more of an understanding of it even if its only, "I´ve seen it, I know it exisits." Seeing the Nazca Lines did not help to make me understand or believe them. They just fascinated me. Another thing to leave alone and look at. See and appreciate the beauty and respect the mystery.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Futbol
Lima, Peru
I was given the opportunity to play futbol with a few of Maggie Mcconnell´s colleagues and her boyfriend. I was told it was pickup and very casual. I was bit nervous, out of shape, the only girl, not having played much soccer since the fall of ´99, etc. I decided to go anyway. When I got their, the man who rented the pitch, said, "This might be a bit dangerous, you could get hurt." When he said this I did think, oh shit, maybe this will be rough, but as the men rolled in, I knew that would not be the case. The men were like a typical men´s league crew, all shapes and sizes, and ages. I knew I had faced much tougher physical competition in the NESCAC, even though it was women. Looking at the group of men, I knew I would be fine. He also asked me how long I had played soccer for. I replyed 13 years. He said, "Wow, thats a really long time."
The pitch was a cement slab, about the size of a basketball court. The goals were small and the walls were close. So it was sort of like indoor but you could not play off the wall. I was set. My lack of fitness would not create an embarrassing situation. And as it turned out, I was a bit more fit then some of the men. Its funny, one time, Colin Aitken attempted to explain to me the difference between Latin American and European soccer, which I sort of understood. It really hit home while playing with these men. They moved the up the field with phenom individual footwork using the pass sparingly. This is not to say these men were ballhogs just that was how everyone played. Since these men were out of shape it was less beautiful and more like, a bunch of teenage boys playing basketball, fooling around, doing crazy moves that don´t work, but when they do they are sick. These men played like that. Attempting crazy moves, not working that much, and when they did it was unbelievable. These men were having a really great time (as was I) and unlike watching folks in the US play, no one ever got pissed when he messed up. This was made even more apparent by the prescense of one American guy. A recent Prinction grad. He was the only one out there that would get pissed when he messed up. Everyone else, whether they were winning or losing, scoring or being beat, maintained the same attitude. It was great to see all these men playing and enjoying it all, the good and the bad, because they love futbol.
At first they didn´t pass to me at all. Sort of played around me. I steadily proved myself, by either taking the ball from someone or recovering loose balls. The defining momment of the game was when the goalie punted me the ball (I was the only one open.) It was high. The obvious trap was the chest, although I could have done a less gracious thigh trap. I choose the chest, obvi. It was like out of sitcom about teens (Freaks and Geeks or The Wonder Years) time stopped, everyone stared at the ball and me and my chest, I sensed the importance of the moment and trapped the ball beautifully. And with that had proven myself. They started to say my name, looked to me, and even mustered a few, "Buenos." It was great. The best part was when it was all over. The end was anti-climatic, the lights were shut off, there was no high-fives, nothing. But, as I was leaving, the guy who rented out the place and question my skills and toughness invited me back to play again.
I was given the opportunity to play futbol with a few of Maggie Mcconnell´s colleagues and her boyfriend. I was told it was pickup and very casual. I was bit nervous, out of shape, the only girl, not having played much soccer since the fall of ´99, etc. I decided to go anyway. When I got their, the man who rented the pitch, said, "This might be a bit dangerous, you could get hurt." When he said this I did think, oh shit, maybe this will be rough, but as the men rolled in, I knew that would not be the case. The men were like a typical men´s league crew, all shapes and sizes, and ages. I knew I had faced much tougher physical competition in the NESCAC, even though it was women. Looking at the group of men, I knew I would be fine. He also asked me how long I had played soccer for. I replyed 13 years. He said, "Wow, thats a really long time."
The pitch was a cement slab, about the size of a basketball court. The goals were small and the walls were close. So it was sort of like indoor but you could not play off the wall. I was set. My lack of fitness would not create an embarrassing situation. And as it turned out, I was a bit more fit then some of the men. Its funny, one time, Colin Aitken attempted to explain to me the difference between Latin American and European soccer, which I sort of understood. It really hit home while playing with these men. They moved the up the field with phenom individual footwork using the pass sparingly. This is not to say these men were ballhogs just that was how everyone played. Since these men were out of shape it was less beautiful and more like, a bunch of teenage boys playing basketball, fooling around, doing crazy moves that don´t work, but when they do they are sick. These men played like that. Attempting crazy moves, not working that much, and when they did it was unbelievable. These men were having a really great time (as was I) and unlike watching folks in the US play, no one ever got pissed when he messed up. This was made even more apparent by the prescense of one American guy. A recent Prinction grad. He was the only one out there that would get pissed when he messed up. Everyone else, whether they were winning or losing, scoring or being beat, maintained the same attitude. It was great to see all these men playing and enjoying it all, the good and the bad, because they love futbol.
At first they didn´t pass to me at all. Sort of played around me. I steadily proved myself, by either taking the ball from someone or recovering loose balls. The defining momment of the game was when the goalie punted me the ball (I was the only one open.) It was high. The obvious trap was the chest, although I could have done a less gracious thigh trap. I choose the chest, obvi. It was like out of sitcom about teens (Freaks and Geeks or The Wonder Years) time stopped, everyone stared at the ball and me and my chest, I sensed the importance of the moment and trapped the ball beautifully. And with that had proven myself. They started to say my name, looked to me, and even mustered a few, "Buenos." It was great. The best part was when it was all over. The end was anti-climatic, the lights were shut off, there was no high-fives, nothing. But, as I was leaving, the guy who rented out the place and question my skills and toughness invited me back to play again.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Bus Travel
There is a great range of bus companies here in Peru. The first and best is Cruz del Sol. It is like no other bus. The seats fully recline, and put the rider almost horizontal, making sleep very easy. And the cabin is climate controlled. There are meals served, not that good, but at least some food that is not Peruvian style junk food, think American junk food but lower in quality. It is like the company is pretending it is an airline.
Then there is what I would call a mid-tier companies. These are the types that have offices and ticketing, and lines, and promise bathrooms and movies. These have a wide range comfort and tend to be full of false promises. Often, there is no air condition, when the person in front of you reclines, your knees get nailed, the bathroom is out of order, and the overhead light seems to be more on then off during the night. And there is no air condition so the windows must be opened for fresh air which is a dream/nightmare. Dream because the air is is no longer stagnant. Nightmare because often the air is full of smoke from other vehicles.
And then there is another kind of company, they seem sort of like the "mid-tier" but are really much more feral (lack of a better word.) These companies have ticket counters and names and seem very legitimate but are not. Sarah Erlinder and I rode one the other day and when the man was counting the numbers and checking if everyone was in their proper seats, he said, "Two foreigners, check." This was in spanish but Serli gave the translation. On the same ride, which was eight hours over a mountain range, we saw how average (and by that I mean, rural, poor) Peruvians travel. The bus ride was insane. The road through the mountains was dirt with no shoulder, and no guard rails to stop the bus from tumbling down very steep cliffs. The cliffs that lead to very deep gullies down below. I had to close my eyes and tell myself, the driver is a proffessional, he does this everyday, heaps of Peruvians take this ride everyday, I`m never going to die, etc etc. These pep-talks sort of worked except they were interupted by frequents stops letting folks on and off in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, the grabbing of me by passengers who had to stand and were holding on to me for leverage, crying babies, bags of live chicks who couldn`t stop squeeking, and the constant yelling of the doorman, "Huaraz, Huaraz."
And the last type of bus we experienced was the combi. I would call this a party bus. They are always jam-packed, have a man hanging out a window yelling the route, and seem to be covered in decorations (unclear why, but a lot of them have to do with Jesus.) They are smaller then an 18 passenger van and bigger then a mini-van. These buses are all over, Lima, Cusco, Iquitos, everywhere. One time, earlier in the trip, Ben Boudreaux and I attempted to take one in Lima following strick instructions from homestay Grandma. What happend was we took what seemed like white, used school bus, in the wrong direction and ended up at the Navy head quarters north of Lima. Yesterday, Sarah and I took one of these little party buses. We ended up cutting our trek a few days short and needed to catch a bus back to town. We were sitting, wet, dirty, and cold waiting for the bus. A few donkeys with wood tied to their backs walked by, there were some loose chickens running about, a stray dog with a terrible underbite, and some men working on some building project across the street. All of this with the beautiful snowcapped Andes in the background. Then a party bus rolls up. It is completely full and by that I mean over capacity by maybe ten bodies. They stop throw or packs on the roof and show us our seats. By looking at our seats I would have thought maybe two nine year olds could fit there. Nope, room for two 23 year olds. Sarah entered first. And then I crammed in. I thought the door was going to shut on my leg, it didn´t because somehow between me and the door fit another man. Sarah was the unlucky one. She had three other legs between her legs. That is two of one woman and one of another man. We are talking full strattle here. And she had a small white dog practically on her lap, it left a lot of gross dog hair on her brown pants. I only had one man`s leg between mine but unfortunitly had to share lap space with him. He liked to smile. I got a window seat. I guess we should have been happy because we didn`t have to sit on the roof with the luggage. Sarah counted twenty bodies. Somehow we made it, unharmed and cramped.
Then there is what I would call a mid-tier companies. These are the types that have offices and ticketing, and lines, and promise bathrooms and movies. These have a wide range comfort and tend to be full of false promises. Often, there is no air condition, when the person in front of you reclines, your knees get nailed, the bathroom is out of order, and the overhead light seems to be more on then off during the night. And there is no air condition so the windows must be opened for fresh air which is a dream/nightmare. Dream because the air is is no longer stagnant. Nightmare because often the air is full of smoke from other vehicles.
And then there is another kind of company, they seem sort of like the "mid-tier" but are really much more feral (lack of a better word.) These companies have ticket counters and names and seem very legitimate but are not. Sarah Erlinder and I rode one the other day and when the man was counting the numbers and checking if everyone was in their proper seats, he said, "Two foreigners, check." This was in spanish but Serli gave the translation. On the same ride, which was eight hours over a mountain range, we saw how average (and by that I mean, rural, poor) Peruvians travel. The bus ride was insane. The road through the mountains was dirt with no shoulder, and no guard rails to stop the bus from tumbling down very steep cliffs. The cliffs that lead to very deep gullies down below. I had to close my eyes and tell myself, the driver is a proffessional, he does this everyday, heaps of Peruvians take this ride everyday, I`m never going to die, etc etc. These pep-talks sort of worked except they were interupted by frequents stops letting folks on and off in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, the grabbing of me by passengers who had to stand and were holding on to me for leverage, crying babies, bags of live chicks who couldn`t stop squeeking, and the constant yelling of the doorman, "Huaraz, Huaraz."
And the last type of bus we experienced was the combi. I would call this a party bus. They are always jam-packed, have a man hanging out a window yelling the route, and seem to be covered in decorations (unclear why, but a lot of them have to do with Jesus.) They are smaller then an 18 passenger van and bigger then a mini-van. These buses are all over, Lima, Cusco, Iquitos, everywhere. One time, earlier in the trip, Ben Boudreaux and I attempted to take one in Lima following strick instructions from homestay Grandma. What happend was we took what seemed like white, used school bus, in the wrong direction and ended up at the Navy head quarters north of Lima. Yesterday, Sarah and I took one of these little party buses. We ended up cutting our trek a few days short and needed to catch a bus back to town. We were sitting, wet, dirty, and cold waiting for the bus. A few donkeys with wood tied to their backs walked by, there were some loose chickens running about, a stray dog with a terrible underbite, and some men working on some building project across the street. All of this with the beautiful snowcapped Andes in the background. Then a party bus rolls up. It is completely full and by that I mean over capacity by maybe ten bodies. They stop throw or packs on the roof and show us our seats. By looking at our seats I would have thought maybe two nine year olds could fit there. Nope, room for two 23 year olds. Sarah entered first. And then I crammed in. I thought the door was going to shut on my leg, it didn´t because somehow between me and the door fit another man. Sarah was the unlucky one. She had three other legs between her legs. That is two of one woman and one of another man. We are talking full strattle here. And she had a small white dog practically on her lap, it left a lot of gross dog hair on her brown pants. I only had one man`s leg between mine but unfortunitly had to share lap space with him. He liked to smile. I got a window seat. I guess we should have been happy because we didn`t have to sit on the roof with the luggage. Sarah counted twenty bodies. Somehow we made it, unharmed and cramped.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Beach Resorts
Mancora, Peru
Sarah Erlinder and I arrived in Mancora after about 18 hours of quality bus time. Its a long way to Northern Peru from Lima. Mancora proved to be a beach town like all others. It sits on the Pan American Highway just south of Ecuador. It is like all beach towns. A bit dirty, lots of folks selling gross kinis and cheap jewlery, the people here have a lot of tats, and everywhere people are either bright red or very dark.
We rolled in and found this sort of gross place right on the beach. (I think I am starting to demand a higher level of cleanliness.) It was alright and very cheap. The next morning we woke up and took a nice beach walk. As we went further away from town and the PanAmerican Highway there were these resorts. Nice pools, right on the ocean, people relaxing and drinking tropical drinks. In short a dream. I had to pee so we walked up to use the bathroom and inquired about the price. Only $25 a night. What. So with the greenback behind us we checked into one of these resorts and spent the remainder of our time there. It was sort of weird because neither of our guide books talked about these places. There were no gringos in sight. The people there were mostly wealthy Peruvians on holiday.
It was a great choice. We spent the days by the pool with the ocean 20 feet away, sipping mango daquaris, and reading. And night under the covers because of the AC. But I did get a bit sunburned.
Sarah Erlinder and I arrived in Mancora after about 18 hours of quality bus time. Its a long way to Northern Peru from Lima. Mancora proved to be a beach town like all others. It sits on the Pan American Highway just south of Ecuador. It is like all beach towns. A bit dirty, lots of folks selling gross kinis and cheap jewlery, the people here have a lot of tats, and everywhere people are either bright red or very dark.
We rolled in and found this sort of gross place right on the beach. (I think I am starting to demand a higher level of cleanliness.) It was alright and very cheap. The next morning we woke up and took a nice beach walk. As we went further away from town and the PanAmerican Highway there were these resorts. Nice pools, right on the ocean, people relaxing and drinking tropical drinks. In short a dream. I had to pee so we walked up to use the bathroom and inquired about the price. Only $25 a night. What. So with the greenback behind us we checked into one of these resorts and spent the remainder of our time there. It was sort of weird because neither of our guide books talked about these places. There were no gringos in sight. The people there were mostly wealthy Peruvians on holiday.
It was a great choice. We spent the days by the pool with the ocean 20 feet away, sipping mango daquaris, and reading. And night under the covers because of the AC. But I did get a bit sunburned.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Jungle Part II
The following is a list of things I learned about, tried out, or did while in the Jungle.
Jungle Walk- Follow man with large machette through mud, vines, swarms of mosqitos to the canoe he is carving out of a huge fallen tree.
Jungle Bug Repellent- Find termite nest, cut it open with machette, put bare hand on hole, wait till hand is covered in termites, take hand away from nest, rubs hands together (killing the termites), rub termite carcasses over exposed skin.
Cure for Cancer/Hang-over Helper- Find special vine, cut open with machette, drink water like substance from within.
Alligator Watching- Go out in boat at night, use very large flashlights, one of which is hooked up to a car battery, flash them around edges of river, when you see a pair of red eyes, keep flashlight on it (it is an alligator, the light temporarily blinds it), drive the boat slowly up to it, then lie down on bow of boat, hold hand over edge, and when hand is just above the neck of the beast grab it, bring it aboard boat, have nervous gringa´s hold it.
Jungle Fire- A few medium sized wet logs, a small coke bottle of gasoline, a large piece of plastic.
Swimming with Pink Dolphines in Amazon- (On the lobster boat I saw dolphins about once a week.) These dolphins were incredible. Pink. Not kind of, not sort of, but pink. And there were grey ones and pink and grey ones. The swimming was not too good. The Amazon was pretty muddy and filled with many, many scary things so it was just walking waist deep, near the pink dolphins. Amazing.
Jungle Walk- Follow man with large machette through mud, vines, swarms of mosqitos to the canoe he is carving out of a huge fallen tree.
Jungle Bug Repellent- Find termite nest, cut it open with machette, put bare hand on hole, wait till hand is covered in termites, take hand away from nest, rubs hands together (killing the termites), rub termite carcasses over exposed skin.
Cure for Cancer/Hang-over Helper- Find special vine, cut open with machette, drink water like substance from within.
Alligator Watching- Go out in boat at night, use very large flashlights, one of which is hooked up to a car battery, flash them around edges of river, when you see a pair of red eyes, keep flashlight on it (it is an alligator, the light temporarily blinds it), drive the boat slowly up to it, then lie down on bow of boat, hold hand over edge, and when hand is just above the neck of the beast grab it, bring it aboard boat, have nervous gringa´s hold it.
Jungle Fire- A few medium sized wet logs, a small coke bottle of gasoline, a large piece of plastic.
Swimming with Pink Dolphines in Amazon- (On the lobster boat I saw dolphins about once a week.) These dolphins were incredible. Pink. Not kind of, not sort of, but pink. And there were grey ones and pink and grey ones. The swimming was not too good. The Amazon was pretty muddy and filled with many, many scary things so it was just walking waist deep, near the pink dolphins. Amazing.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Jungle Part I
Amazon Rainforest, Peru
I guess the first time I heard about the jungle was in the fourth grade during a Save the Rainforest unit. It was there where my interest (although, hidden somewhere deep inside), was first awakened. This dream was lived. And after five days in the Amazon Jungle, I have had enough, enough sun, enough bug bites, enough Jungle adventure. So here I sit in Lima, in an air conditioned Internet cafe, recovering.
First and foremost, when a tourist heads to the jungle, she has a few options. To do it alone. Basically, having a lot of water, gasoline, a hammock, thick leather skin, and balls. Just casually drifting from one poverty-ridden community to the next, learning about the Jungle from real people, etc, etc. Bullshit/impossible if you ask me. The next option is to get a pass into this national park, the largest in Peru, I forget its name, but it is the beggining of the Amazon, it is the space in the V that the two rivers that create the Amazon form. So you pretty much take a 18 hour barge ride up the river, meet up with some Cocoma Indians, put your life in their hands, follow them around through an unihabited (by people, that is) Jungle, walk, canoe, hike, and really live there for a set number of days. And the last is to go to a Jungle Lodge. A lodge set in the Jungle that has nice mosquito-free cabins, places to shower, and activities with guides throughout the day.
We did not choose the first option. Obvi. We decided that doing it alone was insane and frankly I cannot believe that Let´s Go even reccommends it. I mean a bunch of Harvard kids doing it themselves. And the second option, with the Indians was also ruled out. Initially, because that having a trust in them with our lives in the Jungle based on the heritage/color of skin was racist and not to trust them for the same reason was also racist. Also, because the group was to be made up of Sarah Erlinder and I. You know two gringas heading into the Jungle for a few days of fun... Next thing you know, two Americans lost, etc, etc. So, we chose the Jungle Lodge option. It was a bit out of our price range, but we felt comfortable and safe, and that was what was most important. Not having a terrifying éxperience.´ One of the more mature choices I think I´ve made as a traveller.
The Jungle Lodge proved to be a good choice. It was a long five days but filled with the sort of stuff that comes from movies or you hear about. I don´t think I know one person who has been to the Amazon. The Jungle really pushed my limits as an outdoors woman. I felt very uncomfortable. Physically, bug-bitten, dirty, sunburned. And with my common sense. I realized that if there was a situation. I would not know how to help myself or Sarah or the guide. It was all just so foreign. The magnitude was incredible.
I guess the first time I heard about the jungle was in the fourth grade during a Save the Rainforest unit. It was there where my interest (although, hidden somewhere deep inside), was first awakened. This dream was lived. And after five days in the Amazon Jungle, I have had enough, enough sun, enough bug bites, enough Jungle adventure. So here I sit in Lima, in an air conditioned Internet cafe, recovering.
First and foremost, when a tourist heads to the jungle, she has a few options. To do it alone. Basically, having a lot of water, gasoline, a hammock, thick leather skin, and balls. Just casually drifting from one poverty-ridden community to the next, learning about the Jungle from real people, etc, etc. Bullshit/impossible if you ask me. The next option is to get a pass into this national park, the largest in Peru, I forget its name, but it is the beggining of the Amazon, it is the space in the V that the two rivers that create the Amazon form. So you pretty much take a 18 hour barge ride up the river, meet up with some Cocoma Indians, put your life in their hands, follow them around through an unihabited (by people, that is) Jungle, walk, canoe, hike, and really live there for a set number of days. And the last is to go to a Jungle Lodge. A lodge set in the Jungle that has nice mosquito-free cabins, places to shower, and activities with guides throughout the day.
We did not choose the first option. Obvi. We decided that doing it alone was insane and frankly I cannot believe that Let´s Go even reccommends it. I mean a bunch of Harvard kids doing it themselves. And the second option, with the Indians was also ruled out. Initially, because that having a trust in them with our lives in the Jungle based on the heritage/color of skin was racist and not to trust them for the same reason was also racist. Also, because the group was to be made up of Sarah Erlinder and I. You know two gringas heading into the Jungle for a few days of fun... Next thing you know, two Americans lost, etc, etc. So, we chose the Jungle Lodge option. It was a bit out of our price range, but we felt comfortable and safe, and that was what was most important. Not having a terrifying éxperience.´ One of the more mature choices I think I´ve made as a traveller.
The Jungle Lodge proved to be a good choice. It was a long five days but filled with the sort of stuff that comes from movies or you hear about. I don´t think I know one person who has been to the Amazon. The Jungle really pushed my limits as an outdoors woman. I felt very uncomfortable. Physically, bug-bitten, dirty, sunburned. And with my common sense. I realized that if there was a situation. I would not know how to help myself or Sarah or the guide. It was all just so foreign. The magnitude was incredible.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Personal Upkeep
A. The Full Body Massage. Cusco, Peru
For some reason, everytime I am somewhere where the greenback is very strong, I am compelled to get a full body massage. India ´01- absolutly terrible, uncomfortable, and some sweat from the masseuse fell on me. Gross. Fiji ´04- on the beach, very sandy and sunburned, she insited on cracking my back and she put heaps of oil in my hair. Gross.
Peru ´05. I did it again. For a mere $15 I signed up for an hour long, full body massage. Again, good idea, but I think a massage is really worth the $60 or so dollars you would pay for one in the US. These discounted ones in developing nations are not worth it. I was completely covered, head to toe, in scented oil/ foreign lube. And at one point I thought she was attempting to give me a Brazilian wax. Luckily, it was just nervousness on my part, the woman had no intention of it. We just had a good laugh.
It was the best developing nations massage I´ve had. But, LBH, I ened up so greasy I could barely hold a pen in my last espanol class. And I had to have a cold shower that night before bed to get all of the grease off me.
B. Proffessional Haircut. Lima, Peru.
Myself, and new companion/translator, Sarah Erlinder, decided to get our haircut. There is a plethora of Saloons here in Lima that all look empty. We headed to the middle-class neighborhood of Jesus Maria for our trim. Selected a saloon, based on emptyness and proximity to wear the cab left us. A nice small place, two women/stylists, lots of mirrors, spanish soaps on the TV, and a small man doing construction. Perfect. Sarah, the translator, inquired about price s./ 7, and then we looked through the books of haircuts (circa ´96). We decided that we would get the same haircut, with the exception of the bangs (which Sarah had and I didn´t want.)
There is something about being far from home, far from loved ones that allows some one like me (a person, whose last proffessional cut was in ´96) free to experiement with her hair. We decided upon a "Rachel," like from Friends in the late 90´s. Sarah went first, upon the insistance of the stylist, and had a beautiful haircut. When the woman was finished she asked if she wanted it styled, of course. The styling was a very thorough brush and drying. Resulting in a cross between the woman stepping off the bus in the Pantene commerical and the done up lion from the wizard of Oz. Absolutly amazing.
I was next. The woman asked what I wanted. Sarah replied the same. And so, for the first time in nearly a decade I got a stylized haircut. Which has proven to be a bit traumatic, in that I can´t believe I have boarderline bangs. I too got stylized and looked like a bizarre cross between Pantene girl and the Lion. It just looked a bit weirder then Sarah´s because I don´t do my hair. Will I do it now? Probably not. Just put some bobbie pins in it when I tie it back.
For some reason, everytime I am somewhere where the greenback is very strong, I am compelled to get a full body massage. India ´01- absolutly terrible, uncomfortable, and some sweat from the masseuse fell on me. Gross. Fiji ´04- on the beach, very sandy and sunburned, she insited on cracking my back and she put heaps of oil in my hair. Gross.
Peru ´05. I did it again. For a mere $15 I signed up for an hour long, full body massage. Again, good idea, but I think a massage is really worth the $60 or so dollars you would pay for one in the US. These discounted ones in developing nations are not worth it. I was completely covered, head to toe, in scented oil/ foreign lube. And at one point I thought she was attempting to give me a Brazilian wax. Luckily, it was just nervousness on my part, the woman had no intention of it. We just had a good laugh.
It was the best developing nations massage I´ve had. But, LBH, I ened up so greasy I could barely hold a pen in my last espanol class. And I had to have a cold shower that night before bed to get all of the grease off me.
B. Proffessional Haircut. Lima, Peru.
Myself, and new companion/translator, Sarah Erlinder, decided to get our haircut. There is a plethora of Saloons here in Lima that all look empty. We headed to the middle-class neighborhood of Jesus Maria for our trim. Selected a saloon, based on emptyness and proximity to wear the cab left us. A nice small place, two women/stylists, lots of mirrors, spanish soaps on the TV, and a small man doing construction. Perfect. Sarah, the translator, inquired about price s./ 7, and then we looked through the books of haircuts (circa ´96). We decided that we would get the same haircut, with the exception of the bangs (which Sarah had and I didn´t want.)
There is something about being far from home, far from loved ones that allows some one like me (a person, whose last proffessional cut was in ´96) free to experiement with her hair. We decided upon a "Rachel," like from Friends in the late 90´s. Sarah went first, upon the insistance of the stylist, and had a beautiful haircut. When the woman was finished she asked if she wanted it styled, of course. The styling was a very thorough brush and drying. Resulting in a cross between the woman stepping off the bus in the Pantene commerical and the done up lion from the wizard of Oz. Absolutly amazing.
I was next. The woman asked what I wanted. Sarah replied the same. And so, for the first time in nearly a decade I got a stylized haircut. Which has proven to be a bit traumatic, in that I can´t believe I have boarderline bangs. I too got stylized and looked like a bizarre cross between Pantene girl and the Lion. It just looked a bit weirder then Sarah´s because I don´t do my hair. Will I do it now? Probably not. Just put some bobbie pins in it when I tie it back.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
1 v 1 Español
Cusco, Peru
Learn spanish. An ambitious goal, it takes many years to master the language, I give myself four months. I decided after wondering around Peru with essentially no knowledge of the language to take a class. I did a bit of leg work and found this spanish school located in a private residence that only gives one on one lessons. Sick.
For the past four days I´ve been taking spanish for four hours a day. It is a bit tiring. Other then that all I´ve been doing for the past week is walking around and seeing the sights and musems. It is shocking how bad the musems are considering that tourism is Cusco´s biggest moneymaker. I know that its a developing country, but one would think they would have unbelievable Inkin relics or a through explanation of things. All the musems do are show some pottery and a few mummies and put it all in chronological order. And then have local artisans hock their wares by the exit. Anyway.
Languages. I am surprised how much french I remember from Essex High. When ever I don´t know a spanish word somehow the french one comes to mind. This is a bizzare phenomenon. Because there is no way just sitting I could recall any french outside the standard, hello and goodbye. In class, I will say the french word with confidence and an added "o" at the end. Patty (the teacher), then starts to giggle and accuses me of speaking french. She then says the spanish word and I repeat it back. Its pretty basic and fun, but an effective way to learn the language. Above all else, I am gaining confidence speaking in a spanish accent.
Patty might be my only friend in this city, as all the ones from the Inka Trail have left. It really is a relationship based on laughter, which happens most of the time. Its really nice that her english is not too good so for the most part we are conversing in spanish. Occasionally, I start to yawn and then she brings me cafe con leche. And of course the coffee is instant.
The cultural differences that come up are crazy and I feel like a young traveler again. It is easy to remember that there are multiple definitions of all things in the US (thank you Wesleyan.) But, I forgot how many things have completely different definitions, and take on entirely different meanings in other parts of the world. Patty couldn´t get over that my brother was a "housewife." But, I guess I can´t either. Also, she placed a great importance on color of skin. ummm...
Learn spanish. An ambitious goal, it takes many years to master the language, I give myself four months. I decided after wondering around Peru with essentially no knowledge of the language to take a class. I did a bit of leg work and found this spanish school located in a private residence that only gives one on one lessons. Sick.
For the past four days I´ve been taking spanish for four hours a day. It is a bit tiring. Other then that all I´ve been doing for the past week is walking around and seeing the sights and musems. It is shocking how bad the musems are considering that tourism is Cusco´s biggest moneymaker. I know that its a developing country, but one would think they would have unbelievable Inkin relics or a through explanation of things. All the musems do are show some pottery and a few mummies and put it all in chronological order. And then have local artisans hock their wares by the exit. Anyway.
Languages. I am surprised how much french I remember from Essex High. When ever I don´t know a spanish word somehow the french one comes to mind. This is a bizzare phenomenon. Because there is no way just sitting I could recall any french outside the standard, hello and goodbye. In class, I will say the french word with confidence and an added "o" at the end. Patty (the teacher), then starts to giggle and accuses me of speaking french. She then says the spanish word and I repeat it back. Its pretty basic and fun, but an effective way to learn the language. Above all else, I am gaining confidence speaking in a spanish accent.
Patty might be my only friend in this city, as all the ones from the Inka Trail have left. It really is a relationship based on laughter, which happens most of the time. Its really nice that her english is not too good so for the most part we are conversing in spanish. Occasionally, I start to yawn and then she brings me cafe con leche. And of course the coffee is instant.
The cultural differences that come up are crazy and I feel like a young traveler again. It is easy to remember that there are multiple definitions of all things in the US (thank you Wesleyan.) But, I forgot how many things have completely different definitions, and take on entirely different meanings in other parts of the world. Patty couldn´t get over that my brother was a "housewife." But, I guess I can´t either. Also, she placed a great importance on color of skin. ummm...
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Peru´s Greatest Export: Machu Picchu
Maggie Mcconnell tells me that Peru´s greatest export is tourism. And that Machu Picchu is the most important attraction. Before knowing all this, I knew that I would see it, we all have. It looks just like the pictures (like most things that we see thousands of times in our lives) and like those things (i.e. the Mona Lisa, the Taj Mahal, the Guinness Brewery) it is breath taking.
To see Machu Picchu one has three options, take a bus up to the ruins, do a 1 night/2 day hike, or 3 night/4 day hike. I opted for the 3 night/ four day hike. I had to go through an agency. My group was made up of a guide, a cook, 9 porters, 2 accountants, 2 POMS, 2 Aussies, and a German who had just been in the jungle and looked like he had a terrible case of chicken pox. The guide was a local man who knew english very well and was very proud of his Inka heritage and the Inka legacy. This was nice because it was not just merely a passing of information, the man was emotionally attached which made the information much more interesting.
The hike itself was very hard, one of the hardest I´ve ever done. I don´t know if thats because I had been sitting around since just before Thanksgiving or because of the altitude 12-14,000 feet or because I had a terrible case of LS for the majority of the hike. All of this is unclear. All I know is that I thought for the first time, ¨Wow, maybe my body can´t do this.¨ It was very alarming. I want to belong to a gym when I get home. I do not want to become an NA. I really can´t believe that so many chumps walk the Inka Trail.
There were 9 porters. That is nine men who carried all of the camping gear (we all had the option to have them carry our personal gear, some did, some didn´t, I didn´t, obvi.) And the gear wasn`t like stuff you would picture if you were to go backpacking today it was like we were car camping in the 80´s. These dudes were carrying propane tanks, canvas tents to have dinner under, chairs and tables, eggs, vino, all this excessive and uncessary stuff, it was insane. And to top is all off they just put it in plastic bags or wraped it in large blankets. And the straps they used to attach it to themselves were ropes or coiled blankets. And they only wore shitty sandels or psudeo low-top converse shoes. It was crazy. And they would run up the trail, you should have seen their calves. No water only coco leaves. Totally insane. One of the most impressive things I have seen in a long time.
The Andes are beautiful. Steep, steep mountains, cacti, sort of jungle like, and in the distance snow capped peaks. Nothing around. The weather changes quickly. Sort of endless. Crazy that there are so many ruins nestled into them. It was a place where more people lived 500 years ago then they do today. The guide said that there still is so much to be found/uncovered.
The reason Machu Picchu is so breath taking is because it is set in this space, high in the Andes. It seems impossible that folks could have made this with no modern technology. It is high in the sky. You stand there and look around and just say, ¨How did they do this?¨ The guide tried to explain but the ideas of its creation and how the people lived. I wanted him to answer all my questions, but after a while, I realized that its mystery was its real beauty. And to not know just compounds it so I left it at that. I just sat there and wondered about how it was built and why the people abandoned it.
To see Machu Picchu one has three options, take a bus up to the ruins, do a 1 night/2 day hike, or 3 night/4 day hike. I opted for the 3 night/ four day hike. I had to go through an agency. My group was made up of a guide, a cook, 9 porters, 2 accountants, 2 POMS, 2 Aussies, and a German who had just been in the jungle and looked like he had a terrible case of chicken pox. The guide was a local man who knew english very well and was very proud of his Inka heritage and the Inka legacy. This was nice because it was not just merely a passing of information, the man was emotionally attached which made the information much more interesting.
The hike itself was very hard, one of the hardest I´ve ever done. I don´t know if thats because I had been sitting around since just before Thanksgiving or because of the altitude 12-14,000 feet or because I had a terrible case of LS for the majority of the hike. All of this is unclear. All I know is that I thought for the first time, ¨Wow, maybe my body can´t do this.¨ It was very alarming. I want to belong to a gym when I get home. I do not want to become an NA. I really can´t believe that so many chumps walk the Inka Trail.
There were 9 porters. That is nine men who carried all of the camping gear (we all had the option to have them carry our personal gear, some did, some didn´t, I didn´t, obvi.) And the gear wasn`t like stuff you would picture if you were to go backpacking today it was like we were car camping in the 80´s. These dudes were carrying propane tanks, canvas tents to have dinner under, chairs and tables, eggs, vino, all this excessive and uncessary stuff, it was insane. And to top is all off they just put it in plastic bags or wraped it in large blankets. And the straps they used to attach it to themselves were ropes or coiled blankets. And they only wore shitty sandels or psudeo low-top converse shoes. It was crazy. And they would run up the trail, you should have seen their calves. No water only coco leaves. Totally insane. One of the most impressive things I have seen in a long time.
The Andes are beautiful. Steep, steep mountains, cacti, sort of jungle like, and in the distance snow capped peaks. Nothing around. The weather changes quickly. Sort of endless. Crazy that there are so many ruins nestled into them. It was a place where more people lived 500 years ago then they do today. The guide said that there still is so much to be found/uncovered.
The reason Machu Picchu is so breath taking is because it is set in this space, high in the Andes. It seems impossible that folks could have made this with no modern technology. It is high in the sky. You stand there and look around and just say, ¨How did they do this?¨ The guide tried to explain but the ideas of its creation and how the people lived. I wanted him to answer all my questions, but after a while, I realized that its mystery was its real beauty. And to not know just compounds it so I left it at that. I just sat there and wondered about how it was built and why the people abandoned it.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Cock Fights
Lima, Peru
Our homestay Grandma called and got a cab to take us to a Cock Fighting arena. Its a circular building whose sole purpose is to hold cock fights. You walk in and there is a dirt covered circle (the fighting area) with fencing, thankfully it was not your standard chicken wire but something with much bigger holes. Around two thirds of it were chairs, stadium style and the other third was tables with waitress service, this was also stadium style. Behind all of the seating there was a classic looking bar and a stage where some live Peruvian music was being played. Terrible neon lights lit the arena and there was a light mist falling on the dirt. Persumably to keep the dust down during the fights. Entrance fee was s/15 for men and s/10 for women. I guess its to encourage couples to head to the fights.
Ben Boudreaux and I entered, we were amoung the first to arrive. We immediatley got beers and sat and speculated on what was about to happen. It turns out we were at the season´s grand finale. The evening was to be filled with a round robin of the finest cocks. Eight cocks that would be whittled down to one. Each of these birds had won matches before/had already killed. It was to be the best of the best. The room starting filling up, mostly groups of men, some obvious couples, and a few families.
The first two cocks came out. They were held by men and covered in satin like fabric, imagine a boxer heading to the ring. The fluffers rubbed the birds and then took off there coverings to show male roosters lacking the typical characteristics of a male chicken. No feathers on head and no gobbler. After this the fluffers brought the cocks together and they sort of pecked each other and then retreated. From here each bird was brought to a corner where another man came on stage and tied a razor to the back of each cock´s left leg (to quicken the fight, I guess.) Then a man came and wiped down each of the razor blades ( for sanitary reasons, I imagine.)
As the fluffers continued to hold the birds, bookies came out and took bets. About fifteen small men wearing vests and shouting and pointing. We decided to make a bet to create a bit of emotional commitment to a bird. Ben decided on the bird he thought looked like a killer. There was not much difference here. He made eye contact with one guy and bet s/5.
We had a bird and the fight began. The fluffers brought the cocks together again to get them fired up and then a third man came in and put a metal sheet on the ground. On each side of the sheet was one cock. The fluffers left the fighting area and the man pulled out the metal sheet and left the arena. The cocks just sort of stood there awhile and the crowd started yelling, "Areeba! Areeba!" Finally, the birds started pecking each other and then there was jumping, and then some feathers flew. Then one of the cocks stopped moving, the crowd started cheering and the cock Ben had bet on had was proclaimed the winner.
The fluffers took the cocks out, both bleeding and one clearly dead. The man who Ben had placed his bet with came over and gave Ben s/38. As it turned out Ben had bet s/50 not s/5. We were victorious but a little sketched out. That was the last bet we made.
We stayed for a few more fights that were pretty much the same except sometimes the cocks just stopped fighting so the fluffers would come in and get them angry again so they would fight some more. It got a bit boring and the crowd got more intense the beer was flowing and the room was filling with smoke. We left after the first semi-final. It was enough cock fighting for one night/one trip/one lifetime.
Our homestay Grandma called and got a cab to take us to a Cock Fighting arena. Its a circular building whose sole purpose is to hold cock fights. You walk in and there is a dirt covered circle (the fighting area) with fencing, thankfully it was not your standard chicken wire but something with much bigger holes. Around two thirds of it were chairs, stadium style and the other third was tables with waitress service, this was also stadium style. Behind all of the seating there was a classic looking bar and a stage where some live Peruvian music was being played. Terrible neon lights lit the arena and there was a light mist falling on the dirt. Persumably to keep the dust down during the fights. Entrance fee was s/15 for men and s/10 for women. I guess its to encourage couples to head to the fights.
Ben Boudreaux and I entered, we were amoung the first to arrive. We immediatley got beers and sat and speculated on what was about to happen. It turns out we were at the season´s grand finale. The evening was to be filled with a round robin of the finest cocks. Eight cocks that would be whittled down to one. Each of these birds had won matches before/had already killed. It was to be the best of the best. The room starting filling up, mostly groups of men, some obvious couples, and a few families.
The first two cocks came out. They were held by men and covered in satin like fabric, imagine a boxer heading to the ring. The fluffers rubbed the birds and then took off there coverings to show male roosters lacking the typical characteristics of a male chicken. No feathers on head and no gobbler. After this the fluffers brought the cocks together and they sort of pecked each other and then retreated. From here each bird was brought to a corner where another man came on stage and tied a razor to the back of each cock´s left leg (to quicken the fight, I guess.) Then a man came and wiped down each of the razor blades ( for sanitary reasons, I imagine.)
As the fluffers continued to hold the birds, bookies came out and took bets. About fifteen small men wearing vests and shouting and pointing. We decided to make a bet to create a bit of emotional commitment to a bird. Ben decided on the bird he thought looked like a killer. There was not much difference here. He made eye contact with one guy and bet s/5.
We had a bird and the fight began. The fluffers brought the cocks together again to get them fired up and then a third man came in and put a metal sheet on the ground. On each side of the sheet was one cock. The fluffers left the fighting area and the man pulled out the metal sheet and left the arena. The cocks just sort of stood there awhile and the crowd started yelling, "Areeba! Areeba!" Finally, the birds started pecking each other and then there was jumping, and then some feathers flew. Then one of the cocks stopped moving, the crowd started cheering and the cock Ben had bet on had was proclaimed the winner.
The fluffers took the cocks out, both bleeding and one clearly dead. The man who Ben had placed his bet with came over and gave Ben s/38. As it turned out Ben had bet s/50 not s/5. We were victorious but a little sketched out. That was the last bet we made.
We stayed for a few more fights that were pretty much the same except sometimes the cocks just stopped fighting so the fluffers would come in and get them angry again so they would fight some more. It got a bit boring and the crowd got more intense the beer was flowing and the room was filling with smoke. We left after the first semi-final. It was enough cock fighting for one night/one trip/one lifetime.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
The First Few Days
I arrived in Lima on Monday night. The airport was standard fare for a developing nation. Sort of wild. There was a stomach high fence at the international terminal which held back families waiting for loved ones. The yelling, merriment, high energy were a bit much after traveling for 20 hours. It really shouldn{t take that long but I had a nice layover in Coasta Rica. Lima is huge and dirty but I{ve been staying in Mira Flores, a upper middleclass subarb on the Pacific. Heaps of tourists pass through here and I feel very safe. Last night I ate cow heart. It was on skewers and very good. It pretty much tasted like steak. Summer is in the air here, all kids are out of school and it is hot and sunny. Very refreshing from the Northeast. I am really feeling my lack of Spanish. I felt it at JFK when everyone in line and the people at the desk all spoke Spanish. I am moving in with this family that Maggie Mcconnell lived with when she first arrived. A homestay of sorts. I have yet to play soccer.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Gearing Up...
So. First entry. Currently in sweet, sweet, Essex, VT. Getting my things together for the trip. Leaving for Peru on the 10th. But first to New Jersey. Its nice to be home its weird that its 40degrees. Very excited. I've been trying to learn Spanish with some of those CDs but I just zone out. Hopefully, I won't zone out like that when I'm down there. Thats what happened in India. A lot of zoning and pretending that people weren't talking to me. I got a D in Hindi, who gets a D when they study abroad. This is holiday and about survival, I'm sure that I'll be fine. I mean I know how to play soccer thats all one really needs down there in Latin America.
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