Tuesday, July 31, 2012
A return of a different sort
In truth the final days of my trip in South America were fairly non eventful. Their was saying goodbye to B, going to a banjo performance, and watching movies in Lima. I had tearful goodbyes with my laundry ladies, and generally felt like I had been so blessed on this trip.
Within no time, I was back at Lima International Airport waiting for my one o’clock am flight back to Canada. While it was hard to say goodbye to Peru and to my travels, I was more excited about heading home. Seeing the faces I love so much and hugging them all. I think truly there is no greater adventure, than returning home after a long period of time.
I can say that this trip changed me. In some small ways and in others more profound. Perhaps I haven’t even realized all the incredible ways that this trip has enriched my life. All I know is that I come home surer of myself than I ever was. Ready to take on life's challenges in a different way. And with a new perspective. I have seen poverty, I have seen kindness, I have seen nature in ways I never thought possible. I have been incredibly lucky.
From the moment my plane touched down, I both yelled for joy and wept. It was such a feeling to know I survived the past nine months and even more to know that I was about to share that time with my family and friends. Even if I may have weirded out my fellow passengers, it never felt so good to be home. To be back where I was brought up.
It has been 12 days since I got home. I have seen my family and most of my friends by this point. I have seen the ways in which Canada has changed and the ways in which it is still the same.
I still don’t know how my life goes from here. I don’t know what other adventures my future holds. I just know that I have learned some great lessons about life and especially what I want out of it. All I can say to you is that life is too short for you to be ridiculous. Stop telling yourself the reasons you can’t live your life the way you want it. Stop letting yourself prevent yourself from trying. Go do something that scares you, because you will soon find out that it isn’t so scary after all. And who knows, you might actually grow from the whole experience.
So travel. See the world. Just do something.
Memories from the Amazon
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| Feeding a freshwater manatee |
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| River life in Nauta, Peru |
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| Fruit from the Amazon. It was delicious, albeit sticky. |
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| Injured porcupine. We think it was paralyzed after falling from a tree. Poor thing. |
Welcome to the Jungle
Iquitos is not the most glorious looking city. It has an edgy, dirty-ness to it. And I have never been stared at, whistled at, or whispered to in my life. In short, this is a mans world. But the reason I am here is it is often the jumping off point for jungle treks into the Amazon. And thus that is why I was here.
I had booked my flight about the first week I arrived in Peru and finally decided on a company to take me into the Amazon. Aptly named, Amazon Explorer. And while my trip could easily be called “Amazon Lite” it was exactly what I needed. They were some of the three most interesting days of my life.
We departed from Iquitos for the next city, Nauta to catch our boat to Pacaya Samiria Reserve. With me on this trip would be the following characters M & S, a couple of Iranian heritage who now lived in America; our Coordinator, B, who watched over us like we were toddlers; Frank, our 17 year old boat driver; and Herman, our local guide who showed us a wide range of animals. Never did I think in the span of three days I would see Howler Monkeys (again), river dolphins (pink and grey), a three-toed sloth, a caiman (alligator), frogs, dogs, and more.
My first night, I slept on a tree platform which hovered over the Rio Pucate. Literally being eaten away by termites as I slept. Perhaps the best thing about the entire experience was having to climb my way up to the platform. While Herman is nimble, I will admit my skinny jeans were a detriment to my climbing ability. Herman had to climb up the ladder to provide me an extra boost at one point. It was probably the single most terrifying thing I have done on this entire trip. Falling down would have resulted in me hitting another tree, the boat, Herman, and landing in the water. Some serious business.
But all in all, it was also the single greatest moment on my trip. Being able to sleep outside in a tree house IN THE FREAKING AMAZON was one of the highlights of my life. Listening to the jungle’s lullaby was sheer magic. I was so grateful to share my experience with B. I have never met a woman so inspiring to me. In every way, shape and form, I respected her. Her commitment to living a different sort of life. Her stories of her other tours in Africa and in the Amazon here in Peru. And even her strength of character and integrity, blew me out of the water. She was definitely the reason I had such a fantastic trip. Both with her dedication to providing us an incredible experience as well as being such an incredible person.
The next day was our real day in the “jungle” itself. We made our way down the river to find a camping spot that was now recently “dry”, since the river subsided. We attempted to fish for pirana, while the camp was set up. But Herman was the only successful one in catching a fish, and that was just our bait fish. It is still impressive to think of him looking at that murky brown water for the slight signs that would signal to him that a fish was underneath the surface before launching his harpoon in the fishes direction. And when he pulled back the harpoon, stuck inside was a little fish flapping for life.
That night we had our long jungle trek, through mud and thick jungle. I sincerely have no idea how people unaccustomed to the jungle would find their way. It is not only that the mud is oppressive, but that the trees are so close and the vines are all around. I was incredibly grateful to have Herman leading the way. The only sad part about this particular jungle trek was seeing a porcupine which we suspect had fallen from a tree (where porcupines live down in the Amazon). This particular animal had fallen out of a tree, and we think broke its back. When we came to inspect him closer, you could see that only the frount part of his body would raise the quills in its defense. The rest laid dormant, along with the hind legs.
Their was some disagreement between B and Herman on what to do. Should we leave it or put it out of its misery. In the end, we left it. But not all of us were happy with that decision. The truth was, the animal was suffering. And you could see it in its eyes. Strange though. You could get so close as to touch its hind legs and nose. Something I guarantee no wild animal would ever let you do otherwise. And I never thought I would once again be in a position where I had to watch an animal die due to falling out of a tree.
Later on that same trip, we found ourselves navigating a “river” of mud on a make-shift bridge. Which looked more like something Indiana Jones would have to do, if the river was really small and was edited due to the sheer mediocrity of badassery. But we finished off, right, like something out of Steve Irwin’s program.
We walked to this lake just as the sun was setting. Herman asked us if we wanted to wait until dark in hopes of seeing and catching an alligator. We said yes. While we waited S taught us the proper way to do a cross fit squat. This is in fact the proper way to pass 30-45 minutes.
While Herman used his alligator call, we all waited with bated breath. And finally he waved for us to come closer and at this point we were able to see the red eyes peering out from a floating log. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. But later, as we were making our way back to camp, Herman said he would “be right back” he went alligator hunting once more.
This time he was lucky. Walking back to us, he held a 1.3 meter nearly adult alligator. With his hands closing the mouth firmly, Herman was walking towards us with this alligators belly first. It was such a crazy thing to see. It looked more like a tiled bathroom floor. And before we could get a better look, B decided to tickle the animal. The ensuing squirming meant that Herman lost his grip. WIthin miliseconds a scream was issued and all of us jumped back. Herman tried to stop the thing from returning to the water, and it attempted to fight back by biting his foot. Luckily Herman’s boots took the brunt of the force, but still. It was an incredible 30 seconds.
Back at the camp, I had just enough time to freak out over a small cricket jumping around in my mosquito net before falling into a blissful sleep.
The next morning, we paddled our way down the river and attempted to spot some monkeys, to which we were stunningly successful. It was just so magical to paddle down the river and listen to the Howlers in the distance, or to see the capuchins running away from the sound of our arrival. Even seeing the three-toed sloth eating in the tree was about the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed.
Before no time we were saying goodbye to Herman and his wife. Taking final photos of us in Buenos Aires and climbing onto the boat to take us back to civilization.
If you ever get the chance to see the jungle, do not hesitate. It is some of the most spectacular scenery in the world.
I had booked my flight about the first week I arrived in Peru and finally decided on a company to take me into the Amazon. Aptly named, Amazon Explorer. And while my trip could easily be called “Amazon Lite” it was exactly what I needed. They were some of the three most interesting days of my life.
We departed from Iquitos for the next city, Nauta to catch our boat to Pacaya Samiria Reserve. With me on this trip would be the following characters M & S, a couple of Iranian heritage who now lived in America; our Coordinator, B, who watched over us like we were toddlers; Frank, our 17 year old boat driver; and Herman, our local guide who showed us a wide range of animals. Never did I think in the span of three days I would see Howler Monkeys (again), river dolphins (pink and grey), a three-toed sloth, a caiman (alligator), frogs, dogs, and more.
My first night, I slept on a tree platform which hovered over the Rio Pucate. Literally being eaten away by termites as I slept. Perhaps the best thing about the entire experience was having to climb my way up to the platform. While Herman is nimble, I will admit my skinny jeans were a detriment to my climbing ability. Herman had to climb up the ladder to provide me an extra boost at one point. It was probably the single most terrifying thing I have done on this entire trip. Falling down would have resulted in me hitting another tree, the boat, Herman, and landing in the water. Some serious business.
But all in all, it was also the single greatest moment on my trip. Being able to sleep outside in a tree house IN THE FREAKING AMAZON was one of the highlights of my life. Listening to the jungle’s lullaby was sheer magic. I was so grateful to share my experience with B. I have never met a woman so inspiring to me. In every way, shape and form, I respected her. Her commitment to living a different sort of life. Her stories of her other tours in Africa and in the Amazon here in Peru. And even her strength of character and integrity, blew me out of the water. She was definitely the reason I had such a fantastic trip. Both with her dedication to providing us an incredible experience as well as being such an incredible person.
The next day was our real day in the “jungle” itself. We made our way down the river to find a camping spot that was now recently “dry”, since the river subsided. We attempted to fish for pirana, while the camp was set up. But Herman was the only successful one in catching a fish, and that was just our bait fish. It is still impressive to think of him looking at that murky brown water for the slight signs that would signal to him that a fish was underneath the surface before launching his harpoon in the fishes direction. And when he pulled back the harpoon, stuck inside was a little fish flapping for life.
That night we had our long jungle trek, through mud and thick jungle. I sincerely have no idea how people unaccustomed to the jungle would find their way. It is not only that the mud is oppressive, but that the trees are so close and the vines are all around. I was incredibly grateful to have Herman leading the way. The only sad part about this particular jungle trek was seeing a porcupine which we suspect had fallen from a tree (where porcupines live down in the Amazon). This particular animal had fallen out of a tree, and we think broke its back. When we came to inspect him closer, you could see that only the frount part of his body would raise the quills in its defense. The rest laid dormant, along with the hind legs.
Their was some disagreement between B and Herman on what to do. Should we leave it or put it out of its misery. In the end, we left it. But not all of us were happy with that decision. The truth was, the animal was suffering. And you could see it in its eyes. Strange though. You could get so close as to touch its hind legs and nose. Something I guarantee no wild animal would ever let you do otherwise. And I never thought I would once again be in a position where I had to watch an animal die due to falling out of a tree.
Later on that same trip, we found ourselves navigating a “river” of mud on a make-shift bridge. Which looked more like something Indiana Jones would have to do, if the river was really small and was edited due to the sheer mediocrity of badassery. But we finished off, right, like something out of Steve Irwin’s program.
We walked to this lake just as the sun was setting. Herman asked us if we wanted to wait until dark in hopes of seeing and catching an alligator. We said yes. While we waited S taught us the proper way to do a cross fit squat. This is in fact the proper way to pass 30-45 minutes.
While Herman used his alligator call, we all waited with bated breath. And finally he waved for us to come closer and at this point we were able to see the red eyes peering out from a floating log. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. But later, as we were making our way back to camp, Herman said he would “be right back” he went alligator hunting once more.
This time he was lucky. Walking back to us, he held a 1.3 meter nearly adult alligator. With his hands closing the mouth firmly, Herman was walking towards us with this alligators belly first. It was such a crazy thing to see. It looked more like a tiled bathroom floor. And before we could get a better look, B decided to tickle the animal. The ensuing squirming meant that Herman lost his grip. WIthin miliseconds a scream was issued and all of us jumped back. Herman tried to stop the thing from returning to the water, and it attempted to fight back by biting his foot. Luckily Herman’s boots took the brunt of the force, but still. It was an incredible 30 seconds.
Back at the camp, I had just enough time to freak out over a small cricket jumping around in my mosquito net before falling into a blissful sleep.
The next morning, we paddled our way down the river and attempted to spot some monkeys, to which we were stunningly successful. It was just so magical to paddle down the river and listen to the Howlers in the distance, or to see the capuchins running away from the sound of our arrival. Even seeing the three-toed sloth eating in the tree was about the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed.
Before no time we were saying goodbye to Herman and his wife. Taking final photos of us in Buenos Aires and climbing onto the boat to take us back to civilization.
If you ever get the chance to see the jungle, do not hesitate. It is some of the most spectacular scenery in the world.
Circus acts and Indian food
My arrival back in Lima was rather uneventful, though it was a fun few days. First I had to wait in some extremely impressive lines to go through customs. But at least this time I had a friend to talk to. A woman who stayed at Camping Minihoa with me. And she being the more organized of the two of us, she had a taxi waiting for her as well as a reservation lined up at the next hostel. Unlike me who had a name of a guy and thoughts to return to the same hostel as last time (Flying Dog).
Instead I opted to share taxi costs and just ended up going to where she was going. This turned out to be one of the best things to do. While far from my cinema and my laundry ladies, it was in a beautiful part of Miraflores and the hostel staff was absolutely incredible. By far, I think it is my favourite hostel on this entire trip.
My original room was supposed to be with these four Indian guys, but at nearly midnight one of the guys was snoring so badly it sounded like his lungs were flapping. I decided to ask if their was another room available, which it turned out their sort of was and sort of wasn’t. The staff room had an extra bed apparently, so that is where I would go. Perhaps the funniest part, other than admiring the loudness of the snoring, was when the receptionist said to me “don’t be Canadian nice, you can sleep in the staff room if you want.” Apparently, Canadians, we have a reputation.
The next morning I found myself hauling all my laundry to the same laundry and dry cleaning shop I went to last time. With my infamous backpack.
Otherwise, I did what I have always seemingly done in Lima. I watched movies. I ate food. And I even read a little.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Island of Giant Heads
This past week I have been fortunate enough to make it to what is often stated as the most isolated island in the world. With it’s nearest neighbors a 5-6 hour flight away, you find Easter Island. Somewhere between Chile and Tahiti. And it is so magical I doubt my words will be sufficient to explain. For those who have been to Machu Picchu, the whole island has that sort of feel. It has an engery, a magic. And you can feel it anywhere and everywhere.
It seemed to get off to a rocky start when I found myself waiting in line behind all my fellow passengers to make it to the two immigration officers. In what felt like hours, I found myself leaving the airport with a ticket to the two national parks, a stamp in my passport, my bags scanned, and a flower necklace around my neck waiting with my fellow campers.
I stayed at Camping Minihoa, which as the name implies, was a camping joint. For about $11 a night, the cheapest I might add on the Island, you could sleep in a rented tent with a stunning view of the sunset everyday and wifi. I thought it was a pretty sweet deal. And while their are lots of things to see and do on Easter Island, I was really exhausted. My whirlwind trip to Bolivia and back to Ollantaytambo left me tired and weary. So I slept. In fact, my very first day their all I did was sleep. I passed out in my sleeping bag (also rented) and didn’t awake until nearly noon. I walked about for a bit, found the supermarket and returned for round two. I think I slept for about 15 hours.
Over the next few days I would pass the time watching the surfers in the harbour while contemplating life, going to see some historical sites around the island, and doing not much of anything too. I learnt about how the King of the island was choosen; this involved a three month training period, a 1400m swim (not a typo), climbing a cliff, waiting for a specific type of bird to lay an egg and swim back to the mainland again with the egg intact. Each tribe had one representative and the first person back would be the king.
The historical sites though are truly incredible. And while what you see is reconstructed (the tribes pulled them down after a king had a premonition that prompted him to tear them down), it still has significance. And the best part, for me was taking the tour with Kathy. A local who really cared about the preservation of the sites and the moai heads. She would spend her time telling us the significance of some rocks formed like boats (which were in fact former homes) and picking up cigarette butts from other people.
In talking to her about the significance and importance of the sites, I could just see the pride the Rapa Nui had of their culture and history. It was such a beautiful thing to see. And every local felt that way. It was evident when they spoke in Rapa Nui to each other. It was evident when they greeted each other. It was really beautiful. In places like Peru where often the most important sites of their history are relatively impossible for the poor to visit that wasn’t the case for the Rapa Nui. Their are many places where the people can go for free, and obviously they don’t pay as much as us tourists.
More importantly, I felt like they really wanted to share their culture with you, the foreigner. They wanted to see and appreciate their heritage. They wanted you to witness the mystery and be as confounded and marvel at it as they had. And it was really inclusive. It was open and friendly. It was evident from the lady, Raquel, who sold me my tomatoes and apples (which were freaking expensive, though gigantic), to the random people I met on the street.
And most importantly, I felt so safe. In every regard. Not that I was really on edge anywhere on this trip, nor has anything bad happened. But the peace and friendliness of the locals was so genuine that you couldn’t help but feel safe. And in my case, helpful. On Saturday I went to use the ATM and forgot to take my card with me when I left. And what happened? Someone brought it to the bank. No problems with the card, and I was able to walk back to the bank say I left my card and after presenting my passport I had it returned to me. But the best thing of all was I felt no fear. On this island, somehow their is a certain code of conduct and it was just so comforting.
And the worst thing that happened to me on the entire trip was that same fateful Saturday I left my debit card, I also was witness to the power of the wind from the North. I have never experienced a storm quite like it. The wind flapping my tent like it was a doll. The waves sounding more like cannon blasts against the waves than the same beautiful waves I watched just hours before. By the middle of the night, somewhere around four in the morning, my tent had had enough. And it collapsed.
Which really meant that I had two feet of space to pack up my wet belongings, put on some leggings, and get myself to the computer building. The comfy red couch was to be my bed for the remainder of the night. And I was left with the impression that packing up all your crap at such an early hour while slightly damp was a rather hilarious way to start your day.
While I only spent seven days in Easter Island, they were incredibly rewarding. I was able to spend some time focusing on something even greater. My return home.
After eight months, I know that I have changed. I know that my ideas about the world and how I fit in them have only been amplified and improved. And while I may have had a momentary feeling of dread that perhaps I had changed too much and that things back home might be more scary than I think, I realized something. No matter what happens, I’ll deal with it.
And after eight months, I know that I have been able to look after myself and that that won’t change when I go back home. Instead I’ll just be around my friends and family again, sharing the new and improved Madison. Should be interesting....
It seemed to get off to a rocky start when I found myself waiting in line behind all my fellow passengers to make it to the two immigration officers. In what felt like hours, I found myself leaving the airport with a ticket to the two national parks, a stamp in my passport, my bags scanned, and a flower necklace around my neck waiting with my fellow campers.
I stayed at Camping Minihoa, which as the name implies, was a camping joint. For about $11 a night, the cheapest I might add on the Island, you could sleep in a rented tent with a stunning view of the sunset everyday and wifi. I thought it was a pretty sweet deal. And while their are lots of things to see and do on Easter Island, I was really exhausted. My whirlwind trip to Bolivia and back to Ollantaytambo left me tired and weary. So I slept. In fact, my very first day their all I did was sleep. I passed out in my sleeping bag (also rented) and didn’t awake until nearly noon. I walked about for a bit, found the supermarket and returned for round two. I think I slept for about 15 hours.
Over the next few days I would pass the time watching the surfers in the harbour while contemplating life, going to see some historical sites around the island, and doing not much of anything too. I learnt about how the King of the island was choosen; this involved a three month training period, a 1400m swim (not a typo), climbing a cliff, waiting for a specific type of bird to lay an egg and swim back to the mainland again with the egg intact. Each tribe had one representative and the first person back would be the king.
The historical sites though are truly incredible. And while what you see is reconstructed (the tribes pulled them down after a king had a premonition that prompted him to tear them down), it still has significance. And the best part, for me was taking the tour with Kathy. A local who really cared about the preservation of the sites and the moai heads. She would spend her time telling us the significance of some rocks formed like boats (which were in fact former homes) and picking up cigarette butts from other people.
In talking to her about the significance and importance of the sites, I could just see the pride the Rapa Nui had of their culture and history. It was such a beautiful thing to see. And every local felt that way. It was evident when they spoke in Rapa Nui to each other. It was evident when they greeted each other. It was really beautiful. In places like Peru where often the most important sites of their history are relatively impossible for the poor to visit that wasn’t the case for the Rapa Nui. Their are many places where the people can go for free, and obviously they don’t pay as much as us tourists.
More importantly, I felt like they really wanted to share their culture with you, the foreigner. They wanted to see and appreciate their heritage. They wanted you to witness the mystery and be as confounded and marvel at it as they had. And it was really inclusive. It was open and friendly. It was evident from the lady, Raquel, who sold me my tomatoes and apples (which were freaking expensive, though gigantic), to the random people I met on the street.
And most importantly, I felt so safe. In every regard. Not that I was really on edge anywhere on this trip, nor has anything bad happened. But the peace and friendliness of the locals was so genuine that you couldn’t help but feel safe. And in my case, helpful. On Saturday I went to use the ATM and forgot to take my card with me when I left. And what happened? Someone brought it to the bank. No problems with the card, and I was able to walk back to the bank say I left my card and after presenting my passport I had it returned to me. But the best thing of all was I felt no fear. On this island, somehow their is a certain code of conduct and it was just so comforting.
And the worst thing that happened to me on the entire trip was that same fateful Saturday I left my debit card, I also was witness to the power of the wind from the North. I have never experienced a storm quite like it. The wind flapping my tent like it was a doll. The waves sounding more like cannon blasts against the waves than the same beautiful waves I watched just hours before. By the middle of the night, somewhere around four in the morning, my tent had had enough. And it collapsed.
Which really meant that I had two feet of space to pack up my wet belongings, put on some leggings, and get myself to the computer building. The comfy red couch was to be my bed for the remainder of the night. And I was left with the impression that packing up all your crap at such an early hour while slightly damp was a rather hilarious way to start your day.
While I only spent seven days in Easter Island, they were incredibly rewarding. I was able to spend some time focusing on something even greater. My return home.
After eight months, I know that I have changed. I know that my ideas about the world and how I fit in them have only been amplified and improved. And while I may have had a momentary feeling of dread that perhaps I had changed too much and that things back home might be more scary than I think, I realized something. No matter what happens, I’ll deal with it.
And after eight months, I know that I have been able to look after myself and that that won’t change when I go back home. Instead I’ll just be around my friends and family again, sharing the new and improved Madison. Should be interesting....
Dubbed movies...are interesting
With an 8 hour lay over in Lima and not a whole bunch else going for me, I decided to go head to the closest cinema and watch a movie. I have no idea what movies are out (or available in Peru), but I figured it would at least be an interesting adventure.
And I was correct. Thanks to some helpful women at the airport, I was given the name of a near by “mall plaza” and thus a way to pass my 8 hour lay over. I put my luggage under the sleepy eye of the luggage security guard and off I was. I had a sweet taxi driver who apparently works in the city while his family continue to live in the countryside. He told me he only sees them a few times a year. It was fairly sad to hear. So I told him the next time in town, we’ll go to a movie.
Once again I found it really difficult to be in a mall, but at the same time I really enjoyed myself. I laughed when I saw young couples on their first dates. I watched the man in frount of me watching the movie promos on the television in the food court. And a big thanks to Natalie, a worker at Subway, who was just so funny and charming. She asked me about if learning Spanish was hard. I told her that it wasn’t so bad, and that English was harder.
She told me the problem was not hearing it spoken often enough. Then I told her my example from Nicaragua where Pablo said that everyone calls “strike” “stri-kay” because that is how you would say it with Spanish pronunciation, rather than “stri-k” with a hard k. She just laughed.
I ended up going to see Mirror Mirror with Julia Roberts, for a lack of other titles that looked promising. Or maybe I really wanted to see a light-hearted movie about a woman so desperate to keep her good looks that she would kill a young woman in her prime. Hard to say. Who doesn’t love a good attempted murder movie every once in a while?
While waiting for the movie to start, I had to admit I felt slightly out of place. And possibly like some sort of freak. The mothers and kids would stare at me with a kind of intensity reserved for zoo animals. Then they would decide against sitting next to me. I felt like I was really smelly or something. But eventually a woman and young child decided to risk it. They sat next to me.
And while the woman went to go get popcorn the little girl was staring at me. So I said hola. This then somehow turned into showing each other different hand tricks. She showed me that some people are capable of making an M with the lines in the palm of their hands. I showed her that I had double jointed thumbs. Then she showed me she could isolate her final joint in her index finger so it looked funny, a trick I could do too. It was one of those really funny moments where I am glad that kids don’t need to talk to someone to be entertained.
Eventually she did try to talk to me, and had such a high pitched voice I couldn’t understand her. It was a very abrupt end to our conversing and entertainment. So I had to entertain myself with the remains of my popcorn until the movie started. Which it turned out was dubbed not subtitled. So I spent a good portion of the movie trying to grasp what was going on. I am fairly certain I got the gist of it anyway.
Somehow it was so perfect. It was just what I needed. An escape from an airport and experience the “real world”. While many of you may not think of a mall as the best place to do this, but somehow it was what I needed. To see young teens on their dates. To see old couples walking around holding their partners hand. And the portly fellow watching the movie promotions on the television in the food court.
Interacting with locals and feeling less like a foreigner, was great. Even if the little kids stared at me.
I ended up taking a taxi back to the airport with a sweet taxi driver who told me to take care of myself. We talked about the fact their are good and bad people in this world and that you could never be sure who was who. But by far my favourite thing about him was that he had an Elvis figurine hanging from his rear view mirror.
Then before I knew it, or in reality another four hours later, I was on my flight to Easter Island.
And I was correct. Thanks to some helpful women at the airport, I was given the name of a near by “mall plaza” and thus a way to pass my 8 hour lay over. I put my luggage under the sleepy eye of the luggage security guard and off I was. I had a sweet taxi driver who apparently works in the city while his family continue to live in the countryside. He told me he only sees them a few times a year. It was fairly sad to hear. So I told him the next time in town, we’ll go to a movie.
Once again I found it really difficult to be in a mall, but at the same time I really enjoyed myself. I laughed when I saw young couples on their first dates. I watched the man in frount of me watching the movie promos on the television in the food court. And a big thanks to Natalie, a worker at Subway, who was just so funny and charming. She asked me about if learning Spanish was hard. I told her that it wasn’t so bad, and that English was harder.
She told me the problem was not hearing it spoken often enough. Then I told her my example from Nicaragua where Pablo said that everyone calls “strike” “stri-kay” because that is how you would say it with Spanish pronunciation, rather than “stri-k” with a hard k. She just laughed.
I ended up going to see Mirror Mirror with Julia Roberts, for a lack of other titles that looked promising. Or maybe I really wanted to see a light-hearted movie about a woman so desperate to keep her good looks that she would kill a young woman in her prime. Hard to say. Who doesn’t love a good attempted murder movie every once in a while?
While waiting for the movie to start, I had to admit I felt slightly out of place. And possibly like some sort of freak. The mothers and kids would stare at me with a kind of intensity reserved for zoo animals. Then they would decide against sitting next to me. I felt like I was really smelly or something. But eventually a woman and young child decided to risk it. They sat next to me.
And while the woman went to go get popcorn the little girl was staring at me. So I said hola. This then somehow turned into showing each other different hand tricks. She showed me that some people are capable of making an M with the lines in the palm of their hands. I showed her that I had double jointed thumbs. Then she showed me she could isolate her final joint in her index finger so it looked funny, a trick I could do too. It was one of those really funny moments where I am glad that kids don’t need to talk to someone to be entertained.
Eventually she did try to talk to me, and had such a high pitched voice I couldn’t understand her. It was a very abrupt end to our conversing and entertainment. So I had to entertain myself with the remains of my popcorn until the movie started. Which it turned out was dubbed not subtitled. So I spent a good portion of the movie trying to grasp what was going on. I am fairly certain I got the gist of it anyway.
Somehow it was so perfect. It was just what I needed. An escape from an airport and experience the “real world”. While many of you may not think of a mall as the best place to do this, but somehow it was what I needed. To see young teens on their dates. To see old couples walking around holding their partners hand. And the portly fellow watching the movie promotions on the television in the food court.
Interacting with locals and feeling less like a foreigner, was great. Even if the little kids stared at me.
I ended up taking a taxi back to the airport with a sweet taxi driver who told me to take care of myself. We talked about the fact their are good and bad people in this world and that you could never be sure who was who. But by far my favourite thing about him was that he had an Elvis figurine hanging from his rear view mirror.
Then before I knew it, or in reality another four hours later, I was on my flight to Easter Island.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Flight from Cuzco to Lima
At some point in your life you need to fly between Cusco and Lima. Seeing the ancient heart of the Incan empire disappear behind a mountain. Amazed when the isolated pueblos pop into view with one windy road leading to it, the metal roofs glinting in the afternoon sun. Watching the geography change and witnessing how the ancient glaciers formed the flat valleys where a good portion of humans live, growing in the fertile soil. And watching it all change.
Seeing the pueblos get farther and farther between until it is what appears pristine and untouched nature. With nothing more than the isolated lagoons left by melted ice long ago. Yet, as soon as the stewardess tells us that the descent has begun, witnessing the arrival of signs of human life again. Factory farms, mines, and houses upon houses. What used to be empty land, with nothing more than shadows to see, you now see some of the worst parts of humans. Mines many kilometres across and deep. Seeing hundreds of factory farm barns nestled in the valleys formed by ancient glaciers. I was back to the modern world. Or at least the Peruvian equivalent.
Last days in Peru
When I made the decision to return to Cusco and see my old haunts just one more time, I don’t think I could have realized just how perfect of a choice that was. I have spent the last few days in Ollantaytambo just one more time and it was worth all the effort.
I think what keeps surprising me on this trip is just how wonderful the people are I have met. Not only those who I have worked with at My Small Help or Casita Girasol, but the incredible Peruvians. Those who I have met have inspired me to no end. They have helped me realize what I couldn’t see before. That I am so lucky.
This trip has been such a blessing so far. I have learnt so much about the world around me, about people, and about myself particularly. When I returned to Ollanta, it sort of felt like I was returning home. I found myself seated next to a blast from the past. I found myself sitting next to a man who works in the oil and gas industry here in Peru. A local man living in Lima with his wife and two kids, all heading to Machu Picchu for the first time.
I found his entrance into my trip to be entirely incredible. After all this time traveling I have yet to really encounter someone working in Oil in Gas, especially down here. We talked about the industry here and about his work. I talked about the rules and regulations in Canada. And found myself intensely curious about the industry here. What zones where they producing? Where? What companies?
Perhaps part of my interest is just that I know a lot about oil and gas. More than your average bear. But I think that is probably where the line is drawn. I have to admit I am more interested in other things now, other different aspects of our society. But I am still surprised that a part of me was so curious and I would be lying if some of that interest wasn’t to check up on those companies and see what’s really going on.
The funniest part of the last few days is a growing confidence that I am somehow on the right track. That my life is just going to work out just fine. And that feeling was confirmed as soon as I saw Caroline. She was the person I was closest too during my time in Ollanta and I have to admit saying goodbye to her today was harder than I thought. I will miss the time she ate my quinoa soup, the time I showed her my goofy walk, the time we went to the club and danced the night away. I will miss a lot of things.
The strange thought I had as I left Ollanta, for real this time, is that I get to take all that goodness with me. Every single experience, laugh, and lesson will come with me. While it may be too early to talk about how amazing this trip has been, I still feel it is worth admitting. This trip has been more than I could ever imagine. My spiritual guru, Colleen, was right when she said I would be utterly changed by this experience.
What I can say is that I have met some incredible women on this trip. I will continue to be inspired by their persistence, kindness, sense of humour, and selflessness. I only hope that they remember to take care of themselves too.
Today when I left Caroline at the Urubamba bus terminal, I couldn’t help but feel just how much love I have found on this trip. The friends I made in Ollantaytambo will be ones I attempt to keep alive, no matter our distance. During the windy trip up the mountain to Cusco, I couldn’t help but shed a tear for the sadness I felt. But in no time I had a moment of realizing that it was ok to be sad and to miss these wonderful people. I can take this experience with me no matter where I go, and frankly I will always have the memories.
So to all you ladies who I met in Ollanta, I thank you. I thank you for an experience that while short was profound. I will miss dancing to my music while cooking dinner. I will miss the banana pancakes at Cafe Heart. And most importantly of all, I will miss you all.
Cuidate!
I think what keeps surprising me on this trip is just how wonderful the people are I have met. Not only those who I have worked with at My Small Help or Casita Girasol, but the incredible Peruvians. Those who I have met have inspired me to no end. They have helped me realize what I couldn’t see before. That I am so lucky.
This trip has been such a blessing so far. I have learnt so much about the world around me, about people, and about myself particularly. When I returned to Ollanta, it sort of felt like I was returning home. I found myself seated next to a blast from the past. I found myself sitting next to a man who works in the oil and gas industry here in Peru. A local man living in Lima with his wife and two kids, all heading to Machu Picchu for the first time.
I found his entrance into my trip to be entirely incredible. After all this time traveling I have yet to really encounter someone working in Oil in Gas, especially down here. We talked about the industry here and about his work. I talked about the rules and regulations in Canada. And found myself intensely curious about the industry here. What zones where they producing? Where? What companies?
Perhaps part of my interest is just that I know a lot about oil and gas. More than your average bear. But I think that is probably where the line is drawn. I have to admit I am more interested in other things now, other different aspects of our society. But I am still surprised that a part of me was so curious and I would be lying if some of that interest wasn’t to check up on those companies and see what’s really going on.
The funniest part of the last few days is a growing confidence that I am somehow on the right track. That my life is just going to work out just fine. And that feeling was confirmed as soon as I saw Caroline. She was the person I was closest too during my time in Ollanta and I have to admit saying goodbye to her today was harder than I thought. I will miss the time she ate my quinoa soup, the time I showed her my goofy walk, the time we went to the club and danced the night away. I will miss a lot of things.
The strange thought I had as I left Ollanta, for real this time, is that I get to take all that goodness with me. Every single experience, laugh, and lesson will come with me. While it may be too early to talk about how amazing this trip has been, I still feel it is worth admitting. This trip has been more than I could ever imagine. My spiritual guru, Colleen, was right when she said I would be utterly changed by this experience.
What I can say is that I have met some incredible women on this trip. I will continue to be inspired by their persistence, kindness, sense of humour, and selflessness. I only hope that they remember to take care of themselves too.
Today when I left Caroline at the Urubamba bus terminal, I couldn’t help but feel just how much love I have found on this trip. The friends I made in Ollantaytambo will be ones I attempt to keep alive, no matter our distance. During the windy trip up the mountain to Cusco, I couldn’t help but shed a tear for the sadness I felt. But in no time I had a moment of realizing that it was ok to be sad and to miss these wonderful people. I can take this experience with me no matter where I go, and frankly I will always have the memories.
So to all you ladies who I met in Ollanta, I thank you. I thank you for an experience that while short was profound. I will miss dancing to my music while cooking dinner. I will miss the banana pancakes at Cafe Heart. And most importantly of all, I will miss you all.
Cuidate!
Arequipa and beyond
Sometimes I hate traveling by bus. In fact, if I don’t travel by bus for a very long time I will probably be happy. This is how I found myself on a long distance bus twice within 36 hours. I had been doing a lot of travel by bus lately.
My return into Peru was uneventful as it had been when I entered (although this time I didn’t have a Canadian to talk too). Instead I helped some random guy pay his late fees for staying past his visa and then the bastard didn’t stick around to pay me back. Well I hope he pays it forward, because karma has been nice to him....but this post isn’t about that. Not really.
My trip from Puno had an unexpected surprise, the first time I had the VIP beds in the bus. Typically the buses down here have two floors. The top floor is for us cheap mochileros (backpackers) who need to get from A to B. The bottom floor is supposed to have deluxe beds. With more angle so that it’s just like sleeping in your bed at home...
And while it was nice, it certainly wasn’t super comfortable. Especially when I started getting feverish. But at least I had a funny Israeli guy trying to chat to me in his slightly limited English. He kept saying he was going to go home and practice his English. And I had to admit, it was 1000 times better than my Hebrew. Though he did seem surprised that the only word I knew in Hebrew was ‘shalom’. He said typically people only knew the curse words. Well they are more fun, sometimes!
Eventually though, sleep won out. Or rather as much sleep as you can get when you can’t really rotate or move in your seat comfortably and without effort. Thus another night of rough sleep. I seriously am missing my bed in Canada. While it might not feel as nice as the bed felt after my 36 km walk, it will probably feel similar. Perhaps with more giddy happiness to be with my own germs again.
My new Israeli friend and his three friends decided that we should share a taxi together and head to a hostel called Wild Rover. We managed to fit in that taxi the equivalent of six 70 litre bags, four Israelis, one Canadian, one Peruvian, and one golf bag. I have never been so squished and yet entertained in my life. I felt like I was living out a dream of “how many clowns can you fit in a clown car” joke.
Upon arrival, I got myself a bed and I crawled into it. Exhaustion doing it’s work in no time.
I woke up a few hours later, with no where near enough sleep. But somehow my internal clock was telling me to go and see the sights. Which ended up being a restaurant serving food from Istanbul. Which meant I had the falafel wrap and a salad. It was delicious. It felt like such a strange find considering that I had been talking to my Israeli friend about hummus and Israeli food the night before. I couldn’t help but think what his opinion of my falafel would have been.
I wandered around the town for a bit in search of new pants. My previous pair, although a wonderful blood red, somehow weren’t the greatest travel pants. While they did have pockets (always necessary) they got crumpled too easy and stretched out too much. Hoping to find a second hand store (which proved unsuccessful) I started to realize just how dirty my white t-shirt from Colombia had become. Thus, I somehow ended up shopping for a whole new wardrobe. I returned to the hostel with a lighter wallet, but a new button down shirt, t-shirt, and jeans. All for about $60. Not too shabby.
And sunglasses to boot!
At the same time, I made another realization. I didn’t really want to spend my final days alone in Arequipa. Even though I could have gone to Colca Canyon, supposedly deeper than the Grand Canyon in the US, I opted that I just couldn’t leave Peru without a few more days with the My Small Help crew.
Thus once again the next morning I found myself at a bus station waiting for my bus. I bought a ticket with Flores to get to Cusco. Now I had taken a Flores bus before, and wasn’t exactly blown away. But I figured that I was out of other options. With only a few days left before I needed to be in Lima and a booked flight to get to Lima from Cusco, I decided to take the day trip.
And it was excruciating. WIth a planned departure of 12:30pm, our bus showed up at 12:45. We left the terminal at 1:00pm. We left Arequipa at 1:20pm. Not the best start. And between Arequipa and Cusco we picked up every Peruvian along the way. Including all their baggage. The bonus was that this also included ladies selling food, although nothing that would really suit a vegetarian or vegan. But all the same, the other passengers could tame their hunger.
Although I passed the first ways asleep on the window, I did manage to catch the last bit of one of the weirdest sci-fi movies I have seen. With English actors and a spanish dub. Classic. If I never see an alien pop out of two conjoined men and crab walk, I will be happy. I’m not quite sure the sort of taste in movies the Latin Americans have. I have seen some weird ass movies on buses here. The next one, though not so weird, had to do with the war in the Middle East. Not exactly uplifting.
The next one though, to pass the time (which had definitely dragged on and we were no where near our original time plan of arriving at 10pm in Cusco) was one I had seen before. A movie about several men who escape a concentration camp in Siberia during the Stalin years and walk to India. I spent some time talking to the woman sitting next to me who is a nurse in a city outside of Cusco but her family is from Arequipa. She was just visiting her boys. We talked about the alcoholism here and the violence. It was a lovely chat, but I was too pissed off and exhausted to really keep the conversation going for too long and eventually we passed the time in silence. Watching the film.
When it ended, we were stuck listening to the menu title’s music for about 1 hour. Which by the time we reached yet ANOTHER cities terminal, the whole bus was yelling at the bus driver and crew to change the movie. Which they thankfully did. By this time it was 9:30pm and still 2.5 hours outside of Cusco. Thus in the final moments of this “blissful” trip, we watched Immortals. A movie which is trying to be a Greek Hero story and 300 at the same time. And somehow both succeeding and failing. Though the blood splatters were spectacular.
At nearly 11:40pm we finally arrived in Cusco. I hopped into a cab and was taken to Kokopeli hostel. While I probably could have called Leander and stayed with her in her new apartment, I figured it was probably a tad late. I quickly went to the nearest open restaurant to scarf down some food to deal with the “tiger in my stomach” as they said in Nicaragua and then off to bed.
The next morning I went to see if Leander was home so I could see her, but alas, no luck. I instead had my breakfast at MuseToo in San Blas and enjoyed the tranquility and acoustic Spanish songs. I also apparently attracted the attention of some fellow Canadians who were visiting the city. I was reading Bill Brysons “A Short History of Nearly Everything” and laughed at one of the witty geology jokes (I promise you it was actually funny). Then had to explain to the group all about it. Which clearly means that I laughed and everyone else looked bemused by me.
I returned to the hostel to pay my bill and grab my things before I headed to the terminal for buses to Urubamba. Instead I found a bus that took me all the way to Ollantaytambo. I was on my way to my home away from home once again.
My return into Peru was uneventful as it had been when I entered (although this time I didn’t have a Canadian to talk too). Instead I helped some random guy pay his late fees for staying past his visa and then the bastard didn’t stick around to pay me back. Well I hope he pays it forward, because karma has been nice to him....but this post isn’t about that. Not really.
My trip from Puno had an unexpected surprise, the first time I had the VIP beds in the bus. Typically the buses down here have two floors. The top floor is for us cheap mochileros (backpackers) who need to get from A to B. The bottom floor is supposed to have deluxe beds. With more angle so that it’s just like sleeping in your bed at home...
And while it was nice, it certainly wasn’t super comfortable. Especially when I started getting feverish. But at least I had a funny Israeli guy trying to chat to me in his slightly limited English. He kept saying he was going to go home and practice his English. And I had to admit, it was 1000 times better than my Hebrew. Though he did seem surprised that the only word I knew in Hebrew was ‘shalom’. He said typically people only knew the curse words. Well they are more fun, sometimes!
Eventually though, sleep won out. Or rather as much sleep as you can get when you can’t really rotate or move in your seat comfortably and without effort. Thus another night of rough sleep. I seriously am missing my bed in Canada. While it might not feel as nice as the bed felt after my 36 km walk, it will probably feel similar. Perhaps with more giddy happiness to be with my own germs again.
My new Israeli friend and his three friends decided that we should share a taxi together and head to a hostel called Wild Rover. We managed to fit in that taxi the equivalent of six 70 litre bags, four Israelis, one Canadian, one Peruvian, and one golf bag. I have never been so squished and yet entertained in my life. I felt like I was living out a dream of “how many clowns can you fit in a clown car” joke.
Upon arrival, I got myself a bed and I crawled into it. Exhaustion doing it’s work in no time.
I woke up a few hours later, with no where near enough sleep. But somehow my internal clock was telling me to go and see the sights. Which ended up being a restaurant serving food from Istanbul. Which meant I had the falafel wrap and a salad. It was delicious. It felt like such a strange find considering that I had been talking to my Israeli friend about hummus and Israeli food the night before. I couldn’t help but think what his opinion of my falafel would have been.
I wandered around the town for a bit in search of new pants. My previous pair, although a wonderful blood red, somehow weren’t the greatest travel pants. While they did have pockets (always necessary) they got crumpled too easy and stretched out too much. Hoping to find a second hand store (which proved unsuccessful) I started to realize just how dirty my white t-shirt from Colombia had become. Thus, I somehow ended up shopping for a whole new wardrobe. I returned to the hostel with a lighter wallet, but a new button down shirt, t-shirt, and jeans. All for about $60. Not too shabby.
And sunglasses to boot!
At the same time, I made another realization. I didn’t really want to spend my final days alone in Arequipa. Even though I could have gone to Colca Canyon, supposedly deeper than the Grand Canyon in the US, I opted that I just couldn’t leave Peru without a few more days with the My Small Help crew.
Thus once again the next morning I found myself at a bus station waiting for my bus. I bought a ticket with Flores to get to Cusco. Now I had taken a Flores bus before, and wasn’t exactly blown away. But I figured that I was out of other options. With only a few days left before I needed to be in Lima and a booked flight to get to Lima from Cusco, I decided to take the day trip.
And it was excruciating. WIth a planned departure of 12:30pm, our bus showed up at 12:45. We left the terminal at 1:00pm. We left Arequipa at 1:20pm. Not the best start. And between Arequipa and Cusco we picked up every Peruvian along the way. Including all their baggage. The bonus was that this also included ladies selling food, although nothing that would really suit a vegetarian or vegan. But all the same, the other passengers could tame their hunger.
Although I passed the first ways asleep on the window, I did manage to catch the last bit of one of the weirdest sci-fi movies I have seen. With English actors and a spanish dub. Classic. If I never see an alien pop out of two conjoined men and crab walk, I will be happy. I’m not quite sure the sort of taste in movies the Latin Americans have. I have seen some weird ass movies on buses here. The next one, though not so weird, had to do with the war in the Middle East. Not exactly uplifting.
The next one though, to pass the time (which had definitely dragged on and we were no where near our original time plan of arriving at 10pm in Cusco) was one I had seen before. A movie about several men who escape a concentration camp in Siberia during the Stalin years and walk to India. I spent some time talking to the woman sitting next to me who is a nurse in a city outside of Cusco but her family is from Arequipa. She was just visiting her boys. We talked about the alcoholism here and the violence. It was a lovely chat, but I was too pissed off and exhausted to really keep the conversation going for too long and eventually we passed the time in silence. Watching the film.
When it ended, we were stuck listening to the menu title’s music for about 1 hour. Which by the time we reached yet ANOTHER cities terminal, the whole bus was yelling at the bus driver and crew to change the movie. Which they thankfully did. By this time it was 9:30pm and still 2.5 hours outside of Cusco. Thus in the final moments of this “blissful” trip, we watched Immortals. A movie which is trying to be a Greek Hero story and 300 at the same time. And somehow both succeeding and failing. Though the blood splatters were spectacular.
At nearly 11:40pm we finally arrived in Cusco. I hopped into a cab and was taken to Kokopeli hostel. While I probably could have called Leander and stayed with her in her new apartment, I figured it was probably a tad late. I quickly went to the nearest open restaurant to scarf down some food to deal with the “tiger in my stomach” as they said in Nicaragua and then off to bed.
The next morning I went to see if Leander was home so I could see her, but alas, no luck. I instead had my breakfast at MuseToo in San Blas and enjoyed the tranquility and acoustic Spanish songs. I also apparently attracted the attention of some fellow Canadians who were visiting the city. I was reading Bill Brysons “A Short History of Nearly Everything” and laughed at one of the witty geology jokes (I promise you it was actually funny). Then had to explain to the group all about it. Which clearly means that I laughed and everyone else looked bemused by me.
I returned to the hostel to pay my bill and grab my things before I headed to the terminal for buses to Urubamba. Instead I found a bus that took me all the way to Ollantaytambo. I was on my way to my home away from home once again.
Bolivia in 24 hours
Last Tuesday I left Cuzco for Puno, which technically is the big city on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. And it was incredibly UNINSPIRING as a city. Very industrial, very plain, with lots of advertisements. To add insult to injury, the city itself is composed entirely of the red-brown mud bricks that you see in the Sacred Valley. But without the backdrop of the stunning green mountains, it lacks lustre.
So what was a girl to do? Especially when feeling under the weather? I paid $40 US for a night in a very nice hotel. It was the first time I used an elevator in seven and a half months. A notion I remarked upon, to no one in particular. Thus I spent the evening wishing my body would heal and watching episodes of Friends and Two and a Half Men with Spanish subtitles. It was sort of equal parts awful and entertaining.
I realized too late that the ONE place on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca I wanted to see, would require a 4 hour ride. Which I now know is completely false, however at 2:00pm seemed like an impossibility. Especially feeling as awful as I did. So I hunkered down and watched dubbed films in Spanish and tried to relax and feel better. This included finding almonds and pecans, fresh no less, and devouring them. It is the first time I have had a “proper” nut in a very long time.
The next day at an ungodly hour, I was out of my nice double bed and in a taxi heading to the bus terminal. Which I should take some time to describe as some of the weirdest places I have ever seen. They are a mix of panaderias and bus companies. All of which are loud, slightly obnoxious, and over-the-top. I feel like it is the advertising equivalent of “girls gone wild”. In the sense that everyone loses inhibitions and you end up with some very inflated claims and creative shouting. In particular listening to the woman shout for the Arequipa bus in 1.5 hours for 45 minutes was both incredibly, teeth mashingly annoying yet incredible beautiful too. There is just something about how they yell at you.
Strangely the border crossing into Bolivia is a breeze. You don’t pay anything, you just present your passport to some mildly surly security guard and get stamped. Then walk across the border to meet another official to stamp your entrance and there you go. Welcome to Bolivia.
Upon arrival in Copacabana, I needed to search for a bank. Since Peru generally doesn’t use Bolivianos (read, does not), I was in need of local currency. This would turn out to be more of a stressful even then I thought. I headed to five different ATMs located around town. Talked to numerous persons to ask them where another one was located, perhaps one that actually had money. However I was out of luck. Nothing but a very surly guard at a bank telling me I could take money out at 2:40 with a credit card. However I would miss a boat to Isla del Sol (Sun Island) on Lake Titicaca, my eventual destination.
So with my final 200 soles I changed them for 500 Bolivianos. Just enough for me to eat and sleep on the island and book a ticket to La Paz where I hoped their would be a reliable ATM. Somewhere! So with money in hand, and what I thought was no time to spare I raced to the ticket office to purchase a spot on the 1:30pm boat to Isla del Sol. Only then did I discover that Bolivia is in fact an hour ahead of Peru. All I know is that somehow I was magically bumped up to having to wait 10 minutes for a boat.
The boat ride was incredible. I loved watching the green, terraced hills of Bolivia fade into the distance and start seeing some startling snow capped mountains. To add on top of that, the sun gleaming on the deep blue waters was intoxicating. Even though I was stuck between a man with a cough and a man with bad b.o. I was in heaven. When we started going through other islands to reach our destination, I was really grateful that I stuck it out to come here.
After what felt like a very long time, we arrived in Isla del Sol. And while I was not disappointed in terms of beauty, I was in terms of harassment. Apparently tourist dollars are big here. And everyone has a room for you. Even the little children. They run after you shouting “necessita un habitacion? Yo tengo!” While slightly endearing at first, it gets old when they start following you.
Strangely enough, our boat captain, Willie, had rooms available. Which he did advertise on the boat too. When we ran into him in the streets (I was at this point joined by a Korean couple who were also looking for a room), I just felt like perhaps I could check out his rooms. I was pleasantly surprised to find very comfortable accommodations with an incredible view of the crescent shaped moon behind me and the view to Copacabana in frount.
I spent the afternoon just exploring the island. Walking on the beach where all the hippies had tents pitched (probably much cheaper than my 20 Boliviano room), eating quinoa soup at a restaurant, and just generally absorbing my setting. By the time I made it back to my room the sun was setting. And while I may have seen better sunsets, it was definitely a contender.
The rays of the sun were going behind the far side of the crescent-shaped beach. Beams of light where pouring past the mountain peak along with pinks and reds. It was beautiful. On the far horizon you could see the rainbow the setting sun was creating on the water. The net effect? Incredible. The brief walk to find myself on the cliffs of my side, surrounded by what appeared to be some sort of bean plant and wild flowers was equally a gorgeous setting. Though I was scared by three little boys and their harvest, as well as one hidden sheep munching on the foliage.
As I walked back to the “hostel” I met Willie’s wife. Earlier I had seen her starting a fire with her two boys watching and “helping” as only toddlers can. She was apologizing about how the hostel wasn’t quite finished. How there was so much more to do. I told her at least you had very comfortable rooms. She just kept apologizing and talking about how hard it was to get materials to the island (which I don’t doubt). Additionally, we talked a bit about the “bad tourists” who come through.
Lately I have been hearing a lot about these “bad tourists” and I have no idea what that means. Do they steal? Do they destroy the rooms? Do they run away without paying? I have no idea. But this turned into a conversation about how their are bad people everywhere. Yet somehow, I find that they are very rare to meet. Instead, I seem to meet all the people who are, if not perfect, at least helpful. In some regard.
After that, I retired early in order to watch a movie and hopefully relax a bit. Unfortunately the movies I watched were 127 hours and Magnolia. Perhaps a strange combination, but both movies I had never seen before. And I am not ashamed to admit that I did get slightly teary in 127 hours when he (SPOILER) makes it out alive. Somehow when you see stories of complete survival you just have to be so happy for them that they made it out alive. It made me realize too that I should probably slough off the little stuff. Seems slightly embarrassing to make a big deal when someone had to go through what he did.
Magnolia, with Tom Cruise, was sort of a complete crap movie. And although it had moments of brilliance, I just couldn’t stand Tom Cruise acting like a sleeze. Not because he didn’t do a good job, just because I find that the more times you make sexual innuendos, the faster I am to completely disregarding the film as anything other than stupid. Plus, I always find myself staring at Tom Cruises’ teeth and feeling like things just don’t quite align. If you know what I mean.
In any case, it was rather late at night and I didn’t get to bed before 1:00am. Thus my plan to walk up to the ruins was all but shot to shit. I woke up at 9:00am and would have enough time to pack, eat, and not a whole bunch else. So within an hour I found myself at the docks once again buying a ticket back to the mainland. By this time I had come to another conclusion. That perhaps I wasn’t supposed to see Bolivia (or at least more of it) on this trip.
I have been lucky enough to see six countries on this trip, and I still have one more to go. Plus plunging further into Bolivia would take me further and further away from Lima, where my flight to Easter Island departs. Thus I made a decision. That I will have to come back to Bolivia and do it right. See it properly and not rush through it. With that in mind, I opted to go see one more city in the South of Peru that I wanted to visit, but hadn’t had the time before. Arequipa.
Thus, within 24 hours, I would be hearing the sweet, sweet call of “Aray-kee-pa! Aray-kee-pa! Aray-keeeeeeee-pa” one more time.
I was also proud to say that I had a two hour conversation with a Chilean. Success.
So what was a girl to do? Especially when feeling under the weather? I paid $40 US for a night in a very nice hotel. It was the first time I used an elevator in seven and a half months. A notion I remarked upon, to no one in particular. Thus I spent the evening wishing my body would heal and watching episodes of Friends and Two and a Half Men with Spanish subtitles. It was sort of equal parts awful and entertaining.
I realized too late that the ONE place on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca I wanted to see, would require a 4 hour ride. Which I now know is completely false, however at 2:00pm seemed like an impossibility. Especially feeling as awful as I did. So I hunkered down and watched dubbed films in Spanish and tried to relax and feel better. This included finding almonds and pecans, fresh no less, and devouring them. It is the first time I have had a “proper” nut in a very long time.
The next day at an ungodly hour, I was out of my nice double bed and in a taxi heading to the bus terminal. Which I should take some time to describe as some of the weirdest places I have ever seen. They are a mix of panaderias and bus companies. All of which are loud, slightly obnoxious, and over-the-top. I feel like it is the advertising equivalent of “girls gone wild”. In the sense that everyone loses inhibitions and you end up with some very inflated claims and creative shouting. In particular listening to the woman shout for the Arequipa bus in 1.5 hours for 45 minutes was both incredibly, teeth mashingly annoying yet incredible beautiful too. There is just something about how they yell at you.
Strangely the border crossing into Bolivia is a breeze. You don’t pay anything, you just present your passport to some mildly surly security guard and get stamped. Then walk across the border to meet another official to stamp your entrance and there you go. Welcome to Bolivia.
Upon arrival in Copacabana, I needed to search for a bank. Since Peru generally doesn’t use Bolivianos (read, does not), I was in need of local currency. This would turn out to be more of a stressful even then I thought. I headed to five different ATMs located around town. Talked to numerous persons to ask them where another one was located, perhaps one that actually had money. However I was out of luck. Nothing but a very surly guard at a bank telling me I could take money out at 2:40 with a credit card. However I would miss a boat to Isla del Sol (Sun Island) on Lake Titicaca, my eventual destination.
So with my final 200 soles I changed them for 500 Bolivianos. Just enough for me to eat and sleep on the island and book a ticket to La Paz where I hoped their would be a reliable ATM. Somewhere! So with money in hand, and what I thought was no time to spare I raced to the ticket office to purchase a spot on the 1:30pm boat to Isla del Sol. Only then did I discover that Bolivia is in fact an hour ahead of Peru. All I know is that somehow I was magically bumped up to having to wait 10 minutes for a boat.
The boat ride was incredible. I loved watching the green, terraced hills of Bolivia fade into the distance and start seeing some startling snow capped mountains. To add on top of that, the sun gleaming on the deep blue waters was intoxicating. Even though I was stuck between a man with a cough and a man with bad b.o. I was in heaven. When we started going through other islands to reach our destination, I was really grateful that I stuck it out to come here.
After what felt like a very long time, we arrived in Isla del Sol. And while I was not disappointed in terms of beauty, I was in terms of harassment. Apparently tourist dollars are big here. And everyone has a room for you. Even the little children. They run after you shouting “necessita un habitacion? Yo tengo!” While slightly endearing at first, it gets old when they start following you.
Strangely enough, our boat captain, Willie, had rooms available. Which he did advertise on the boat too. When we ran into him in the streets (I was at this point joined by a Korean couple who were also looking for a room), I just felt like perhaps I could check out his rooms. I was pleasantly surprised to find very comfortable accommodations with an incredible view of the crescent shaped moon behind me and the view to Copacabana in frount.
I spent the afternoon just exploring the island. Walking on the beach where all the hippies had tents pitched (probably much cheaper than my 20 Boliviano room), eating quinoa soup at a restaurant, and just generally absorbing my setting. By the time I made it back to my room the sun was setting. And while I may have seen better sunsets, it was definitely a contender.
The rays of the sun were going behind the far side of the crescent-shaped beach. Beams of light where pouring past the mountain peak along with pinks and reds. It was beautiful. On the far horizon you could see the rainbow the setting sun was creating on the water. The net effect? Incredible. The brief walk to find myself on the cliffs of my side, surrounded by what appeared to be some sort of bean plant and wild flowers was equally a gorgeous setting. Though I was scared by three little boys and their harvest, as well as one hidden sheep munching on the foliage.
As I walked back to the “hostel” I met Willie’s wife. Earlier I had seen her starting a fire with her two boys watching and “helping” as only toddlers can. She was apologizing about how the hostel wasn’t quite finished. How there was so much more to do. I told her at least you had very comfortable rooms. She just kept apologizing and talking about how hard it was to get materials to the island (which I don’t doubt). Additionally, we talked a bit about the “bad tourists” who come through.
Lately I have been hearing a lot about these “bad tourists” and I have no idea what that means. Do they steal? Do they destroy the rooms? Do they run away without paying? I have no idea. But this turned into a conversation about how their are bad people everywhere. Yet somehow, I find that they are very rare to meet. Instead, I seem to meet all the people who are, if not perfect, at least helpful. In some regard.
After that, I retired early in order to watch a movie and hopefully relax a bit. Unfortunately the movies I watched were 127 hours and Magnolia. Perhaps a strange combination, but both movies I had never seen before. And I am not ashamed to admit that I did get slightly teary in 127 hours when he (SPOILER) makes it out alive. Somehow when you see stories of complete survival you just have to be so happy for them that they made it out alive. It made me realize too that I should probably slough off the little stuff. Seems slightly embarrassing to make a big deal when someone had to go through what he did.
Magnolia, with Tom Cruise, was sort of a complete crap movie. And although it had moments of brilliance, I just couldn’t stand Tom Cruise acting like a sleeze. Not because he didn’t do a good job, just because I find that the more times you make sexual innuendos, the faster I am to completely disregarding the film as anything other than stupid. Plus, I always find myself staring at Tom Cruises’ teeth and feeling like things just don’t quite align. If you know what I mean.
In any case, it was rather late at night and I didn’t get to bed before 1:00am. Thus my plan to walk up to the ruins was all but shot to shit. I woke up at 9:00am and would have enough time to pack, eat, and not a whole bunch else. So within an hour I found myself at the docks once again buying a ticket back to the mainland. By this time I had come to another conclusion. That perhaps I wasn’t supposed to see Bolivia (or at least more of it) on this trip.
I have been lucky enough to see six countries on this trip, and I still have one more to go. Plus plunging further into Bolivia would take me further and further away from Lima, where my flight to Easter Island departs. Thus I made a decision. That I will have to come back to Bolivia and do it right. See it properly and not rush through it. With that in mind, I opted to go see one more city in the South of Peru that I wanted to visit, but hadn’t had the time before. Arequipa.
Thus, within 24 hours, I would be hearing the sweet, sweet call of “Aray-kee-pa! Aray-kee-pa! Aray-keeeeeeee-pa” one more time.
I was also proud to say that I had a two hour conversation with a Chilean. Success.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
You could be a part time model
This meant that I found myself dawning the clothes and trying to figure out how to use the self-timer feature on Leander’s camera. Somehow I figured it out. And I am pretty damn proud of that.
You can see more of my photos under My Small Help's Facebook page.
Reflections from a school bus
This past week I have been fortunate to help out My Small Help with two projects. The one I want to talk about today is the school bus project. My Small Help provides a number of special needs kids the chance to go to school. They provide a bus to take these kids from their homes to the school. I was there to make sure we picked up every kid and that they arrived safely to school.
This could mean opening the door, helping the kids get to their seats, cleaning spittle off a chin, making funny faces, talking in broken Spanish, and teaching them the grease lightening dance. But each of these kids has completely touched my heart. I admire what they do every single day. They get up. They try. It’s more than some people I see back home, and here there are more complications.
For example, there is a 19 year old who spent most of her life ignored by her family and without being able to walk, had never seen more than her own house. But with a wheelchair now and a bus, she is able to go to school for the first time. In fact she’s almost done her first grade. But what really impresses me is just what her day must be like. To get herself ready for school must take her ages. And she always looks so well put together. Clean clothes, washed and dried hair with barrettes, and even a hint of makeup.
But to be honest, I see the same thing with all the other kids to varying degrees and on each face a smile. With nothing more than eye contact and a Buenas Dias, you get a radiant smile from each kid. I have really enjoyed connecting to each kid. Dancing to the latin pop on the radio or from a cellphone, or cuddling with this one little girl who with her beautiful green eyes flirts between waking and dreaming.
Each day I felt really grateful (even if only for a short period of time) to take these kids to school. Mostly because it was so rewarding to see these kids interact. Even with all the discrimination and difficulties, these kids still get together and act like every other kid. Smiling, laughing, running, playing, and joking. Watching four kids kick up some dust on the playground was as beautiful a sight as I can remember seeing.
And while my contribution to their lives was small, I feel like it was just so incredible to be a part of it. If you want more information you can check out www.mysmallhelp.org and help with your own small contribution to make a big difference.
This could mean opening the door, helping the kids get to their seats, cleaning spittle off a chin, making funny faces, talking in broken Spanish, and teaching them the grease lightening dance. But each of these kids has completely touched my heart. I admire what they do every single day. They get up. They try. It’s more than some people I see back home, and here there are more complications.
For example, there is a 19 year old who spent most of her life ignored by her family and without being able to walk, had never seen more than her own house. But with a wheelchair now and a bus, she is able to go to school for the first time. In fact she’s almost done her first grade. But what really impresses me is just what her day must be like. To get herself ready for school must take her ages. And she always looks so well put together. Clean clothes, washed and dried hair with barrettes, and even a hint of makeup.
But to be honest, I see the same thing with all the other kids to varying degrees and on each face a smile. With nothing more than eye contact and a Buenas Dias, you get a radiant smile from each kid. I have really enjoyed connecting to each kid. Dancing to the latin pop on the radio or from a cellphone, or cuddling with this one little girl who with her beautiful green eyes flirts between waking and dreaming.
Each day I felt really grateful (even if only for a short period of time) to take these kids to school. Mostly because it was so rewarding to see these kids interact. Even with all the discrimination and difficulties, these kids still get together and act like every other kid. Smiling, laughing, running, playing, and joking. Watching four kids kick up some dust on the playground was as beautiful a sight as I can remember seeing.
And while my contribution to their lives was small, I feel like it was just so incredible to be a part of it. If you want more information you can check out www.mysmallhelp.org and help with your own small contribution to make a big difference.
Friday, May 4, 2012
My Machu Picchu adventure
Otherwise, I spent most of my time tourist watching. I was lucky to be with some very entertaining people straining to get a photo of the raging river below and the cloud tipped mountains. Each turn in the tracks led to a new frenzy of shifting, jostling, and clicking of photos. In a way, it was perhaps a good thing I was on the “wrong side” of the train. (For those wanting to take the train to Agua Calientes, sit on the LEFT side of the train if possible.)
In a way it was a nice reminder, to stop trying to take photos and just enjoy the view. In particular the changing vegetation. Apparently (as I discovered later from a security guard at the football field), this area near Machu Picchu is much milder. The vegetation started to take on a Nicaraguan hint. I recognized plants that grew in the tropics and found myself utterly surprised. I even enjoyed seeing the rare house that we passed along the way.
When we finally pulled into the station I felt invigorated. In part because I could hear the rush of the river below and the humidity again on my skin. I picked up my bag and off I went in search of my hostel, Super Tramp. Luckily, the security guard knew the place (I only had a card with the name on it) and told me to walk derecho, derecha, y izquierda. Should be easy to find, right?
Well strangely enough it was. I only had to ask an additional two people and found out that the guard really was right. I did need to go straight until the end of the market, walk 4 blocks to the right, and head 1 block to the left. And I was really impressed with the hostel. In part because they actually had decent prices (S./28 per night) and down quilts. Oh, and pancake breakfasts ready for you at 4:30am when you were getting ready to hike up to Machu Picchu.
Interestingly enough, my first night there I met a fellow traveler, Rita. And best of all, we shared a mutual desire to see the archeological site the next day as well as possibly walk from Agua Calientes to Kilometer 82 (the closest town to get to Ollantaytambo). While these things may seem crazy, especially when the walk between Agua Calientes and Km 82 was estimated to be between five hours and 11, I was still committed. In part because I love the idea of human power and in part because you see so much more.
Rather than breezing by on a train or a bus, you can feel the difference as you walk. The changes in smells, humidity, and sunlight are more powerful. However, the early mornings are killers.
For two days straight my alarm rang at 4:00am. I would begrudgingly throw my warm quilt off my body and put my feet on the cool concrete. I packed my bag the night before for Machu Picchu, and so I was ready to go. But at the same time, the bed was calling. In the end, I figured the rewards of walking to the site as well as spending all day there, were worth more than the few hours of sleep I would be catching up on.
Thus, at 5:45am we left the hostel and headed to the site. Along the way learning more and more about each other, especially our many similarities. After all, we did bond over watching Monsters Inc. it should have been a sign for good things ahead. We powered up the stairs to Machu Picchu and finally arrived just around 7:00am. Our delay had more to do with the guard at the base checking for people trying to sneak into the site without paying.
I without my passport caused a slight problem (though my vaccine report seemed to clear my name) and Rita’s lack of “payment confirmation” on her paper. But in the end, we made it through and were able to photograph our ascent to the site. Even watching the sun pop over the mountains. Such a magical thing. Perhaps the funniest part was seeing the steam literally roll off my body. As if I was some hot cup of tea cooling in the morning damp.
In the end, we arrived and managed to capture some of the typical tourist shots of us standing victorious with the ruins in the background. Our first decision was to head to the Sun Gate or Inti Punka to see the view from there. Within 30 minutes we were sitting at what we thought was the site and enjoying a banana in victory. We sat there and watched other tourists join us, as well as a porter carrying a bag that looked like it weighed the same amount as he himself. He too had steam pouring off his body, but I feel that he had a bit more of a right. So I offered him one of my bananas. He clearly deserved something to keep his body from functioning.
After our adventure to the Sun Gate, Rita and I parted ways. She went to visit Huanya Picchu and I to explore more of the ruins. My first task was to reclaim my bag. I had been told it was “too big” and thus I had to pay S./3 to store it. When I saw other people with bags as large as mine in the ruins, I felt the injustice and sought to rectify the situation. What ended up happening? I met an Aussie who had such a fear of heights that she couldn’t even go into the site. She was so affected by the steep mountains and sheer drop offs.
So I spent about an hour talking to her and trying to remind her that she now had a “funny travel story” about Machu Picchu. After all, arriving to the site only to have to sit at the exit, is sort of tragic at the time...but in a couple weeks she’ll be telling all her friends about how ridiculous the whole thing was. We talked about our respective trips as well, she introduced me to something interesting. Vegemite.
I had never tried this mysterious substance before. Mostly due to a lack of familial or friendly ties who were addicted to the stuff. I was highly entertained when she pulled out two travel sized packs (similar to the jam and peanut butter packets in diners) in a ziploc bag. All because she didn’t want me to enjoy my bread plain. And I have to admit...I liked it.
Sure it is some weird yeast thing, and according to the package “the leading source of vitamin b”, it was perfect. Sort of the kind of tang you get from soy sauce and the sort of punch that comes with HP sauce. Either way, it satiated my hunger. Even if the guard snapped at me that I could only eat “outside” of the site.
After I parted ways with her, I ended up encountering an odd sight. Originally as I walked to the entrance, I saw some workers cutting down a plant that looked suspiciously like Galangal. A spice that I had encountered in Nicaragua, which consumed nearly 2-3 weeks of my life at Totoco. The digging, cleaning, drying, and grinding of the spice was a full time job. And when it was finally completed, it was sure a victorious moment.
So on my way back, I asked a worker about the plant. He confirmed all my suspicions by telling me that it was “similar to ginger”. He asked me some questions about it (and it’s uses) and then we parted ways. But an American tourist overheard and asked me if I knew anything about the Inca trail. I was so perplexed by the question, I asked why he asked. Turns out he had been at the site since 6:30am in order to meet his daughter who had done the trail, but he hadn’t seen her yet.
Somehow, we ended up talking for two hours about life, politics in Canada and the US, travel, and so much more. In fact, I probably don’t remember all that much except that apparently China is a great country to go see and that the FLQ during the 1970s in Canada were scary mofo’s.
What I can tell you about these encounters, is that they made me really content. Probably because there is something really magical about cutting through the bullshit when meeting people when traveling. Sure you ask about “how long are you traveling for?” and “where have you been?” but after that, something magical happens. You forget about social boundaries and talk about things you normally wouldn’t.
Like recent epiphanies had about how much your parents love you (as in my case), or about how proud you are of your daughter for her accomplishments in life. Or about how you got stuck in your hotel bathroom for an hour and a half. And while I could have spent more time enjoying the ruins, to be honest with you I’m glad I didn’t. I really loved the conversations I had with these folks. And while I may not know there name, they forever will be a part of my experience at Machu Picchu. A good part.
Once I finally parted ways with the man in search of his daughter, I headed to ACTUALLY see the ruins. After all, I had come all this way. But really what I wanted, was solitude. And I found a little piece of shade to fix a cut on my toe, meditate, and take a nap. It must have been quite a surprise for the other tourists who wandered into my area to see a pair of legs sticking out from this half wall, but I can tell you that it felt so wonderful to fall asleep in such a place. I really wish I could remember my dream.
After my power nap, I finally felt ready to continue on my exploration. Which meant I followed a lot of guides and hoards of tourists seeing the sights. It was nice though to get some context for what I was seeing. The guide explaining the sun dial on top of one of the temples. Or about where lambs were sacrificed. But perhaps my favourite part had little to do with the sights, and everything to do with llamas.
For some reason, there is a pack of llamas who have decided to call this important archeological site, home. But what was particularly entertaining about the entire thing was not that they were there (although funny looking with their giant doe eyes). No, it was watching a llama nearly knock over a tourist as it ran down some ancient steps. The tourist in question was sitting on a terrace over looking the valley below. A steep fall if something would have gone awry. Fortunately, she realized this llama was intent on getting to some grass on her other side and moved out of the way. I was standing 20 feet away, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation.
She told me, later, that until that incident, she had been siting in quiet reflection (alone) for a few hours. And based on the view, I couldn’t blame her. You could see all the action on your right of tourists heading to Huayna Picchu, but you were separated from it. It was just the sort of spot I was looking for. I found myself a stone step, to rest my weary body and just absorb some vitamin D and relax. It was a great time for quiet contemplation.
But in the end, it was time to move on again. I wandered to visit some more of the site and ended up finding myself surrounded by llamas. As I walked down a narrow pathway, the llamas decided that they wanted to join me. I snapped the above photo of the moment.
Not too long after that, I found Rita again. She was sitting on a grassy knoll talking to an employee of Machu Picchu. We talked about how Henry Bingham was not quite the angel he appeared, seeing as he never talked about the gold and silver found onsite. He taught us the significance of the Inca Cross and how it related to the living and the dead. And the animals that corresponded with the different levels of life. It was all so fascinating.
He taught us a little bit about the history and the important parts of the site. He told us about how each day the site is different. Both in terms of weather and energy. He told us about times when people snuck into the site to perform “rituals”, which he said really looked like they fell asleep for two hours. He told us about the llamas being named after the first person to see them after they entered this world. Which I’ll admit is sort of an interesting idea. Provided your name isn’t something like Stu Pidaz.
He was also kind enough to tell us that if we stayed until 5:10pm, we could snap a photo of Machu Picchu without tourists. And so we did just that. Along with numerous photos of the changing light as the sun set behind a distant mountain. I also managed to replicate the lonely planet’s photo of a llama in frount of Huanya Picchu. Not so difficult if they are munching on the grass around you and enticed by the banana at your side.
Upon leaving the site, both Rita and I felt a sense of gratitude and delight. We had climbed, crawled, and wandered the site. We had snapped many photos and seen many things. I had met some wonderful people and shared great conversations. I thought of these things and more as I walked back (or rather awkwardly ran down) the mountain again. As we went, we took pictures of the same mountains, flowers, and views as ten hours before, but this time with the colours of the setting sun. It was spectacular.
We arrived back in Agua Calientes, with a mighty hunger. Which was satiated, in part, at the local Central Mercado. We downed one litre of juice and ran into our guide (David) at one of the nearby stalls. We thanked him again for the information and before long we were off again. This time in search of choclo for our post Machu Picchu dinner.
We finally made it back to our hostel around 7:00pm and made ourselves some choclo and pasta. Not the most eloquent meal, but enough to satisfy our hunger before calling it a night. We chatted a bit with the staff who were preparing jam for the next morning, made out of a fruit I know as a goose berry but is known locally as aquacumaya. Which was delicious. Rita and I sat down to enjoy our feast along with ginger tea while watching Imaginarium of Dr Parnasus.
Our next day was going to be an early start too. Another 4:00am wake up.
Heading down the railway tracks
The last few days have felt like a week. I arrived from Calca to Ollantaytambo last Wednesday. I spent one night to recuperate my strength after my bout of Tourista, and then stayed an extra day because I really liked it here. It all started off well enough meeting Juan Domingo, a local man from Ollantaytambo, with whom I was sandwiched between him and his mother on the collectivo. We talked about where I have been, the Calca project I was working at, and what I was doing in Ollantaytambo.
I must have been so happy to chat to a lovely local man that I forgot all about my guitar, sitting atop the collectivo. While it is for sure a sad loss, in the end I suppose worse things could have gone missing. All I really regret is losing my tuner. It was a great tuner. The guitar...well it was pretty but sounded terrible!
When I arrived, it was mid afternoon. I wanted nothing more than to go get some good food. Which is exactly what I did. The added bonus was that Sara, a girl I had volunteered with at Casita Girasol, was sitting there! Words cannot describe my delight at seeing a friendly, familiar face in such a foreign place. We caught up about life at Casita, how Michael & Mateo were doing, and about our lives in general. She told me about her work here in Ollantaytambo and how it was not quite what she thought, and we talked about family.
I felt really honored to talk to her about family and friends back home. For me, the closer I get to my return date, the more excited I get. Not just to hug all those I love most, but just being somewhere that 22 years of life have been so familiar. At the same time, what I struggle with is returning home different. I know that this trip has changed me in many ways. The things I have seen and experienced have completely changed my opinion on “the small stuff”. And in many ways I think we all worry about returning home and feeling the expectation to fall into the same roles and patterns as before. And I’m not sure that I’m ok with that.
The other thing I learned from our talk is that we both have the same feeling on working somewhere. What I have noticed on my side is that the more time you can commit to a project, the more you can get out of it. The deeper the relationships, the more impressive and complete the work, and the more rewarding. That is what I found in Nicaragua. And in many ways I really wish I had the time to do this here in Peru, but the truth is I still have more to see. And Peru will still be here if & when it is right to return.
We shared stories of our trip and at the end of our conversation, I felt really content with the world that I had run into Sara again. It felt so right to randomly run into her, especially just before she left for a four day trip to learn more about the women weavers for her NGO project. These chance meetings are happening more and more, and are making for such a more rewarding trip.
In my hostel, I met another interesting girl. And while we probably exchanged names, I do not recall it anymore. But equally, I’m less certain it matters. We went for dinner together and shared an engaging conversation about environmental degradation, gender equality, life in Latin America, perceptions on the world around us, vegetarianism/veganism, and more. It was just really wonderful to talk to someone with whom shared similar opinions as me, yet challenged some of my thoughts as well.
Tomorrow though, I head to Aguas Calientes. The jump-off point for Machu Picchu. No big deal.
I must have been so happy to chat to a lovely local man that I forgot all about my guitar, sitting atop the collectivo. While it is for sure a sad loss, in the end I suppose worse things could have gone missing. All I really regret is losing my tuner. It was a great tuner. The guitar...well it was pretty but sounded terrible!
When I arrived, it was mid afternoon. I wanted nothing more than to go get some good food. Which is exactly what I did. The added bonus was that Sara, a girl I had volunteered with at Casita Girasol, was sitting there! Words cannot describe my delight at seeing a friendly, familiar face in such a foreign place. We caught up about life at Casita, how Michael & Mateo were doing, and about our lives in general. She told me about her work here in Ollantaytambo and how it was not quite what she thought, and we talked about family.
I felt really honored to talk to her about family and friends back home. For me, the closer I get to my return date, the more excited I get. Not just to hug all those I love most, but just being somewhere that 22 years of life have been so familiar. At the same time, what I struggle with is returning home different. I know that this trip has changed me in many ways. The things I have seen and experienced have completely changed my opinion on “the small stuff”. And in many ways I think we all worry about returning home and feeling the expectation to fall into the same roles and patterns as before. And I’m not sure that I’m ok with that.
The other thing I learned from our talk is that we both have the same feeling on working somewhere. What I have noticed on my side is that the more time you can commit to a project, the more you can get out of it. The deeper the relationships, the more impressive and complete the work, and the more rewarding. That is what I found in Nicaragua. And in many ways I really wish I had the time to do this here in Peru, but the truth is I still have more to see. And Peru will still be here if & when it is right to return.
We shared stories of our trip and at the end of our conversation, I felt really content with the world that I had run into Sara again. It felt so right to randomly run into her, especially just before she left for a four day trip to learn more about the women weavers for her NGO project. These chance meetings are happening more and more, and are making for such a more rewarding trip.
In my hostel, I met another interesting girl. And while we probably exchanged names, I do not recall it anymore. But equally, I’m less certain it matters. We went for dinner together and shared an engaging conversation about environmental degradation, gender equality, life in Latin America, perceptions on the world around us, vegetarianism/veganism, and more. It was just really wonderful to talk to someone with whom shared similar opinions as me, yet challenged some of my thoughts as well.
Tomorrow though, I head to Aguas Calientes. The jump-off point for Machu Picchu. No big deal.
The day I went to the Lagoon
And I saw it was good. Definitely worth the nearly 12 hours it took to get there and back...I wish I was kidding when I wrote that.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Ignorance is not bliss.
I want to write about something that has been bugging me for a long time. About “how to live”. It is something that is touched upon in the book “Ishmael” by Daniel Quinn. In the book they talk about the fact that there is no “one right way to live”. Civilization versus Aboriginals, Stoney vs. Cree, etc. At the end of the day, we all have certain “laws of nature” by which we are bound. For example, in nature you never see a species (other than man) who goes out of their way to reduce competitors. For example, farmers who kill off fox/wolves/etc. because they attack their sheep/hogs/etc. This is not done in the wild. A lion does not kill all of the hyena because they also eat gazelle. But this is something which humans do. We put our own needs and wants first, at the expense of every other creature on the planet.
And why? For what? What do we really gain out of all this? Security? Not really. Most of us sill struggle to get enough food on the table, if you look at humans as a species. We still have murder, rape, kidnapping and all sorts of other “hideous” parts of society. And again, for what? What are we gaining out of all this. What do we gain by hating other species or races or people as we do? What drives someone to kill another because they want their corrupt leader to keep ruling. What drives people to believe in a cause so much that they would die for it. We are deeply complex creatures.
So complex that we believe we can be Gods. That we can “rule” the natural world. Well I hate to break it to you, we don’t. And I firmly believe that no matter what our scientists find out, man will never be as good at creating and maintaining nature, than nature is itself. Tsunamis and other natural disasters are mighty in their power. And while humans may have missiles, AK 47s and atomic bombs, which are horrifically destructive, somehow we can look at a ‘natural disaster’ and see the beauty as well as the horror. I can’t do that with the atomic bomb. I see no beauty.
I am not sure why humans are so full of hate. I am not sure why we spend so much of our time in fear. I’m not sure why we spend so much of our time worrying about other people’s opinions of ourselves. Why aren’t more people outraged by things like rape and poverty? What are we saying as a collective when people are more willing to hold on to their feuds and hate then they are to creating peaceful solutions. Why do we spend so much more of our time focusing on our differences than on our similarities.
When I look at the state of the world, sometimes I feel depressed. I feel like humanity is such a blight on the world that we should be wiped out. And in many ways, we are doing it to ourselves. Not only through war, but the war on food. With pesticides and chemicals. We are poisoning our environment so badly that I wonder how much longer it will tolerate us.
I don’t want to die because of companies like Monsanto, unilaterally deciding that they should rule the food production. I don’t want to die of thirst because Coca Cola and other companies decided to steal our water and then sell it back to us at 1000 times the price. I want to live in a world where I don’t fear for the lives out generations not yet born.
And while I am an optimist. While I do believe there are people making a difference, trying to change the status quo, many times I wonder what it will take for it to really get started. What sort of catastrophic event needs to take place before we learn. Before we change.
I do believe change is possible. I do believe information is out there to convince us of the truth. I want more people to be inspired to learn about the truth. Not the sort of thing an advertising company comes up with. I want people to watch documentaries. I want people to get fired up. I want people to start looking at the world around them, without the rose coloured glasses.
I want for people to understand that we cannot keep on the way we are living. Especially those of us in the “west”. I want our collective global culture to start taking women seriously. To stop a culture of violence towards women. Since when did being a woman be such a horrible thing. Why are we still paid only $0.71 to every $1 a man earns?
My question is, why are there so many injustices. I know it can’t be just me. I cannot be the only person who looks at the state of the world and wonders how we ended up this way. I cannot be the only person who wants to see a change.
But who has the balls to do something about it. I’m not talking about starting an NGO or having some sort of protest. I mean generally, when will people wake up. When will people open their eyes. When will we, as a collective, be able to take back what is rightfully ours. I’m not just talking about things like our water or our food supply. But when will we take back our minds. When will we give ourselves permission to learn more about sex trafficking, corruption, and environmental degradation. When will we allow ourselves to wake up and take a stand.
I see a lot of fear. People afraid of really saying what they want to say. Do what they want to do. If you hate your job, quit. If you want to travel and see the world, do it. If you want to attack somebody, well you know very well that’s not what I mean. Why did we become so afraid of our own voices. When did we start ignoring that little voice inside that guided us through life. That told us when something wasn’t fair. That told us to walk to the right rather than the left.
Life is a big, messy, beautiful thing. I have so much respect for life and sometimes I wonder if people have lost respect for their lives. Did we forget that we can shape our own lives? Did we forget we can say “fuck off” to the creepy guy at the bar. Why do we allow people to push us down or repress us?
At what point is enough enough. This letter isn’t about being angry. It’s about feeling like I can’t be the only person who wants things to be differently. I just know it. But at the same time, I am sure many of you just feel hopeless and wonder where to begin.
What I will say to you is this. Talk about it. Encourage a conversation. And if all else fails, start with your own life. If you don’t want to encourage something, then make your own small protest. Stop supporting companies who perform atrocities. Stop supporting people who encourage hate. Stop listening to Pastors who tell you homosexuality is a sin and then rape young boys and girls. Start buying products directly from someone who made them. Re-educate yourself on our own history, and look for it in unconventional places.
What I am asking of you is to do your “democratic” duty. Get informed. Not just of the next political leader, but of everything. Watch documentaries, get out there and share your opinions. Don’t be afraid of saying something wrong. I can tell you that sometimes I learn more by being completely wrong, then I do from being right.
So the next time you are bored, go to top documentary films or documentary heaven. Pick a topic of interest, like psychology, food, environment, war, music, etc. and learn more.
Don’t be afraid to learn about what’s wrong with the world. Or how else will we ever find solutions? More importantly, throw “qualifications” out of the window. You have a pair of eyes, right? You have a sense of smell, taste, touch, and hearing. Use them. If something doesn’t smell right, there is probably a reason. When you know something is wrong, you can try to find a solution. If you don’t know a problem exists, you will never seek it out.
I’m here to tell you, things are going wrong. This is not some sort of apocalyptic message, nor is it meant to frighten you (the media has that covered). No. What I am asking is for you to start learning again. Ignorance is not bliss. No one likes to feel left in the dark. No one wants to be excluded. So don’t exclude yourself. Get out there and change your mind about something.
And then most importantly, share it. Teach someone about it. Or at least talk about it.
So what are you waiting for? After all the only thing we can control is ourselves. I am asking you, nicely, to start looking at ways in which you can be part of the solution.
And why? For what? What do we really gain out of all this? Security? Not really. Most of us sill struggle to get enough food on the table, if you look at humans as a species. We still have murder, rape, kidnapping and all sorts of other “hideous” parts of society. And again, for what? What are we gaining out of all this. What do we gain by hating other species or races or people as we do? What drives someone to kill another because they want their corrupt leader to keep ruling. What drives people to believe in a cause so much that they would die for it. We are deeply complex creatures.
So complex that we believe we can be Gods. That we can “rule” the natural world. Well I hate to break it to you, we don’t. And I firmly believe that no matter what our scientists find out, man will never be as good at creating and maintaining nature, than nature is itself. Tsunamis and other natural disasters are mighty in their power. And while humans may have missiles, AK 47s and atomic bombs, which are horrifically destructive, somehow we can look at a ‘natural disaster’ and see the beauty as well as the horror. I can’t do that with the atomic bomb. I see no beauty.
I am not sure why humans are so full of hate. I am not sure why we spend so much of our time in fear. I’m not sure why we spend so much of our time worrying about other people’s opinions of ourselves. Why aren’t more people outraged by things like rape and poverty? What are we saying as a collective when people are more willing to hold on to their feuds and hate then they are to creating peaceful solutions. Why do we spend so much more of our time focusing on our differences than on our similarities.
When I look at the state of the world, sometimes I feel depressed. I feel like humanity is such a blight on the world that we should be wiped out. And in many ways, we are doing it to ourselves. Not only through war, but the war on food. With pesticides and chemicals. We are poisoning our environment so badly that I wonder how much longer it will tolerate us.
I don’t want to die because of companies like Monsanto, unilaterally deciding that they should rule the food production. I don’t want to die of thirst because Coca Cola and other companies decided to steal our water and then sell it back to us at 1000 times the price. I want to live in a world where I don’t fear for the lives out generations not yet born.
And while I am an optimist. While I do believe there are people making a difference, trying to change the status quo, many times I wonder what it will take for it to really get started. What sort of catastrophic event needs to take place before we learn. Before we change.
I do believe change is possible. I do believe information is out there to convince us of the truth. I want more people to be inspired to learn about the truth. Not the sort of thing an advertising company comes up with. I want people to watch documentaries. I want people to get fired up. I want people to start looking at the world around them, without the rose coloured glasses.
I want for people to understand that we cannot keep on the way we are living. Especially those of us in the “west”. I want our collective global culture to start taking women seriously. To stop a culture of violence towards women. Since when did being a woman be such a horrible thing. Why are we still paid only $0.71 to every $1 a man earns?
My question is, why are there so many injustices. I know it can’t be just me. I cannot be the only person who looks at the state of the world and wonders how we ended up this way. I cannot be the only person who wants to see a change.
But who has the balls to do something about it. I’m not talking about starting an NGO or having some sort of protest. I mean generally, when will people wake up. When will people open their eyes. When will we, as a collective, be able to take back what is rightfully ours. I’m not just talking about things like our water or our food supply. But when will we take back our minds. When will we give ourselves permission to learn more about sex trafficking, corruption, and environmental degradation. When will we allow ourselves to wake up and take a stand.
I see a lot of fear. People afraid of really saying what they want to say. Do what they want to do. If you hate your job, quit. If you want to travel and see the world, do it. If you want to attack somebody, well you know very well that’s not what I mean. Why did we become so afraid of our own voices. When did we start ignoring that little voice inside that guided us through life. That told us when something wasn’t fair. That told us to walk to the right rather than the left.
Life is a big, messy, beautiful thing. I have so much respect for life and sometimes I wonder if people have lost respect for their lives. Did we forget that we can shape our own lives? Did we forget we can say “fuck off” to the creepy guy at the bar. Why do we allow people to push us down or repress us?
At what point is enough enough. This letter isn’t about being angry. It’s about feeling like I can’t be the only person who wants things to be differently. I just know it. But at the same time, I am sure many of you just feel hopeless and wonder where to begin.
What I will say to you is this. Talk about it. Encourage a conversation. And if all else fails, start with your own life. If you don’t want to encourage something, then make your own small protest. Stop supporting companies who perform atrocities. Stop supporting people who encourage hate. Stop listening to Pastors who tell you homosexuality is a sin and then rape young boys and girls. Start buying products directly from someone who made them. Re-educate yourself on our own history, and look for it in unconventional places.
What I am asking of you is to do your “democratic” duty. Get informed. Not just of the next political leader, but of everything. Watch documentaries, get out there and share your opinions. Don’t be afraid of saying something wrong. I can tell you that sometimes I learn more by being completely wrong, then I do from being right.
So the next time you are bored, go to top documentary films or documentary heaven. Pick a topic of interest, like psychology, food, environment, war, music, etc. and learn more.
Don’t be afraid to learn about what’s wrong with the world. Or how else will we ever find solutions? More importantly, throw “qualifications” out of the window. You have a pair of eyes, right? You have a sense of smell, taste, touch, and hearing. Use them. If something doesn’t smell right, there is probably a reason. When you know something is wrong, you can try to find a solution. If you don’t know a problem exists, you will never seek it out.
I’m here to tell you, things are going wrong. This is not some sort of apocalyptic message, nor is it meant to frighten you (the media has that covered). No. What I am asking is for you to start learning again. Ignorance is not bliss. No one likes to feel left in the dark. No one wants to be excluded. So don’t exclude yourself. Get out there and change your mind about something.
And then most importantly, share it. Teach someone about it. Or at least talk about it.
So what are you waiting for? After all the only thing we can control is ourselves. I am asking you, nicely, to start looking at ways in which you can be part of the solution.
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