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.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
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.
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