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.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Over the hills and far away
Today I finally decided to leave the comfort of the property and head into the mountains. Without a real plan in mind, I sort of just wandered off into the bush. Well originally I had hoped to follow the Inca channel built directly behind our property to somewhere interesting. But then it cut out.
So being me, I decide to pick a path winding up which looks like only locals know about. Which ultimately led me to some beautiful areas, but also those overgrown with plants. I felt both like a explorer and an idiot in equal measure. I was the only person around, but was stumbling in the undergrowth like an oaf. I would have been quite the sight to see. If anyone had. Although I did run into a cow once.
Eventually I stumbled upon this tiny little town with some of the most picturesque homes and fences. There was something serenely sweet about the village. Except that a lot of the fences had spiky cacti and broken bottles to deter unwanted visitors. But I’m not sure how well thought out this plan of defense is when you consider that often there are crumbling sections. Usually near a door as well. Safe.
But most of all, I loved that feeling of being somewhere unpretentious. These houses weren’t so beautiful because they were trying to impress anyone. They just were the homes. And with the stunning back drop of Sacred Valley.
I met a man on the road with a donkey who told me I should go check out the lagoon. He gave me directions and perhaps that is a trip for another day. But it will be a must.
After two and a half hours of wandering and I finally made it back to Casita Girasol, with some amount of relief. Having no plan in mind also meant having no idea how to get back down to the property. I managed to stumble upon a path that led to somewhere familiar and ultimately back. I found the nearest chair and just sat down. Absorbing all the smells, all the flowers, all the thorny bushes, and the mountains.
Then I went in and made some tea.
So being me, I decide to pick a path winding up which looks like only locals know about. Which ultimately led me to some beautiful areas, but also those overgrown with plants. I felt both like a explorer and an idiot in equal measure. I was the only person around, but was stumbling in the undergrowth like an oaf. I would have been quite the sight to see. If anyone had. Although I did run into a cow once.
Eventually I stumbled upon this tiny little town with some of the most picturesque homes and fences. There was something serenely sweet about the village. Except that a lot of the fences had spiky cacti and broken bottles to deter unwanted visitors. But I’m not sure how well thought out this plan of defense is when you consider that often there are crumbling sections. Usually near a door as well. Safe.
But most of all, I loved that feeling of being somewhere unpretentious. These houses weren’t so beautiful because they were trying to impress anyone. They just were the homes. And with the stunning back drop of Sacred Valley.
I met a man on the road with a donkey who told me I should go check out the lagoon. He gave me directions and perhaps that is a trip for another day. But it will be a must.
After two and a half hours of wandering and I finally made it back to Casita Girasol, with some amount of relief. Having no plan in mind also meant having no idea how to get back down to the property. I managed to stumble upon a path that led to somewhere familiar and ultimately back. I found the nearest chair and just sat down. Absorbing all the smells, all the flowers, all the thorny bushes, and the mountains.
Then I went in and made some tea.
Casita Girasol
Monday mornings are never my favourite, but in my case it meant leaving Cuzco and heading into the campo. And while a part of me felt there was more to Cuzco to see, I know that I will have to head back that direction on my way to Bolivia. So there I was, sitting on a bus surrounded by tourists heading up to Saqsaywaman, and Pisac. I sat next to two different grandmother age women. The first was friendly and pleasant. The other had a lazy eye who gave me dirty looks and smelled like a butcher shop.
My arrival in Calca was met by some confusion. I didn’t have the name of the place I was going. Only the two men I knew to work there and a phone number. Being in a city that not many foreigners go to visit, I thought just by asking for them by name would be sufficient. And it sort of was. In the end though, I felt more comfortable calling than continuing to ask people for Michael or Mateo. A tuk tuk driver took me to Hukie (no idea on spelling) and somehow managed to end up at the farm. Thanks to some helpful locals, who turned out to be employees on the farm too.
My first impression was a good one. Not only is the setting in the valley surrounded by the Andes, within the Sacred Valley itself, but it is truly a charming place. There are two houses, one for the owner and farm manager and the other for us volunteers. But the most impressive part of this place are the plants. Not only the flowers, like the nine metre sunflowers, but the vegetables too.
Kale, collard greens, romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, artichokes, squash, bok choy, carrots, radishes, and beets are all grown here. This farm also follows Permaculture principles. And basically I’m in heaven. The host, Michael, has just started hosting WWOOFers and I have felt incredibly welcome here. The volunteer house has its own kitchen, a room for guys and a separate one for girls (bathrooms too), seating area, and a telescope. The view outside is of the garden, the surrounding corn and quinoa crops, and the beautiful mountains.
While it is certainly cool here and there are spiders in my room, I am really content to be here. I feel really inspired by this place. And the soil is that perfect near black brown, that is coveted by gardeners everywhere. And the growth here is incredible. The garden appears to be several years old, rather than the actual five months.
And while my day starts off with picking up another animals excrement once again, this time it is dogs and not pigs. But other than that, it is all gardening/farming bliss. Harvesting the cherry tomatoes from the vine, weeding the squash beds, and just generally getting into the gardening groove. I really love the potential here too, the fact that it is producing so much for such a small plot of land. And perhaps the coolest thing was seeing the quinoa plant! I am a fan of the ancient grain, and to see it growing is simply shocking and wonderful. I am a fan of the purple variety growing next to the property.
But most importantly, I love being about to sit outside in the afternoons with a big mug of local tea and play some guitar.
I can describe my mood in one word: bliss.
My arrival in Calca was met by some confusion. I didn’t have the name of the place I was going. Only the two men I knew to work there and a phone number. Being in a city that not many foreigners go to visit, I thought just by asking for them by name would be sufficient. And it sort of was. In the end though, I felt more comfortable calling than continuing to ask people for Michael or Mateo. A tuk tuk driver took me to Hukie (no idea on spelling) and somehow managed to end up at the farm. Thanks to some helpful locals, who turned out to be employees on the farm too.
My first impression was a good one. Not only is the setting in the valley surrounded by the Andes, within the Sacred Valley itself, but it is truly a charming place. There are two houses, one for the owner and farm manager and the other for us volunteers. But the most impressive part of this place are the plants. Not only the flowers, like the nine metre sunflowers, but the vegetables too.
Kale, collard greens, romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, artichokes, squash, bok choy, carrots, radishes, and beets are all grown here. This farm also follows Permaculture principles. And basically I’m in heaven. The host, Michael, has just started hosting WWOOFers and I have felt incredibly welcome here. The volunteer house has its own kitchen, a room for guys and a separate one for girls (bathrooms too), seating area, and a telescope. The view outside is of the garden, the surrounding corn and quinoa crops, and the beautiful mountains.
While it is certainly cool here and there are spiders in my room, I am really content to be here. I feel really inspired by this place. And the soil is that perfect near black brown, that is coveted by gardeners everywhere. And the growth here is incredible. The garden appears to be several years old, rather than the actual five months.
And while my day starts off with picking up another animals excrement once again, this time it is dogs and not pigs. But other than that, it is all gardening/farming bliss. Harvesting the cherry tomatoes from the vine, weeding the squash beds, and just generally getting into the gardening groove. I really love the potential here too, the fact that it is producing so much for such a small plot of land. And perhaps the coolest thing was seeing the quinoa plant! I am a fan of the ancient grain, and to see it growing is simply shocking and wonderful. I am a fan of the purple variety growing next to the property.
But most importantly, I love being about to sit outside in the afternoons with a big mug of local tea and play some guitar.
I can describe my mood in one word: bliss.
Catedrals, Caesar y Cuzco
I spent Easter weekend in Cuzco. After an adventurous attempt to reach the city, I had finally made it. And for the most part, I entertained myself during the weekend by being boring again. Eating at some of the best restaurants I have been too since I left home and visited San Francisco.
The first meal started with roasted vegetables with potatoes, at a Cafe just off of Plaza Armes. I shared this meal with a Finnish woman who just arrived from a 30 hour trip from La Paz. We talked about our lives, with a sort of openness I love about certain travelers. We talked about what made us decide to travel, our anxieties about going home, and how much traveling has changed us. It was a great way to start my time in Cuzco.
The next day I wandered around the city in search of a bank and vegan friendly restaurants. And I was NOT disappointed. My first stop was a juice bar with one litre of orange and pineapple juice. My next culinary experience was at Muse Too. If you go to Cuzco you need to eat at one of Muse’s two locations. I had an avocado salad, thai curry with peanut sauce, and a brownie, all for 15 Soles (about $6).
That evening I went to the first Muse location. I think I became a bit obsessed with this restaurant. This time I had the lentil burger and sat reading The Beauty Myth while the staff members debated about which music to play. The Peruvian wanted to listen to Coldplay, the Brit wanted to listen to some Latin tunes. In the end I had a great conversation with them about living and working in Peru and I couldn’t have been more delighted with the evening. I also had mango juice, vegetable sushi, and more goodness. I was in heaven.
The next day I headed to the San Pedro market, which was probably one of the most tourist oriented markets I have ever seen. Someone called it a “third world market”, and while the prices were still much lower, this was no Latin American market for the locals. This is the place where tourists staying in the heart of Cuzco could go and buy faux alpaca sweaters, flowers, spices, fruits, meat, and souvenirs. My favourite part about the entire market where these two kids who were having a full on balloon hitting fight in the middle of a busy intersection. I just laughed and looked up at the closest vender who was also staring at the kids with a giant smile on their face.
The great thing to me about Cuzco is that you can see more of the indigenous spirit. You see women walking around with two braids for their long black hair. Dressed in traditional and colourful garb with beautiful colours and embroidery. However they are the ones in the “market” and streets selling you anything from necklaces to cigarettes. But the cutest are the women and young indigenous women who carry baby alpacas with them. And while nearly everyone wants a photo with these cuddly animals and their colourful owners, I couldn’t help but think it was a very good niche business.
That afternoon, I went on a city tour with a guy from my hostel. While the sights themselves were incredible, the tour itself was a waste. I wish I had done it on my own, rather than pay for some man to tell me something I already knew. However, the Cathedral, Saqsaywaman and other Incan archeological sites were impressive. The Cathedral itself I had seen the night before all light up for a evening service. The sound of the priests singing was beautiful. During the day, I did at least get to hear about the indigenous symbols which were included in the design by the local artists.
Our trip to the ruins was more fruitful. It was really incredible to be able to climb over and around these “ruins” from times gone by. Being able to look down the valley and see the sea of red clay tiled roofs and off to my left, Jesus Christ. The statute that is. We were shuttled around to a few other of Incan archeological sites before heading back to the hostel. I did end up getting a photo of an older woman and her three alpacas, which was totally worth it.
I spent the evening eating more great food at Greens Organics Restaurant. Where the staff was hospitable, and I tasted the best dessert of my life. Sorry Grandma, I still love your apple pie, but mango ravioli with apple pie filling is something I will never forget. Though I will never forget your pie either. And once again, I felt lucky to be sharing my evening with another open and friendly traveler. We shared opinions on eating meat, women in the media, and the importance of lists.
Perhaps the strangest thing about my time in Cuzco was meeting a sort of “health food celebrity”. There is a raw restaurant in Cuzco called Prana, where I was able to get my hands on my first green smoothie since I left home. Literally I was beaming with happiness. The only thing to make the experience slightly surreal was sitting next to me. David Wolfe and some friends were enjoying the “raw food” delicacies, while I laughed internally at the absurdity of the situation. But it gets stranger. He also ended up showing up at Greens the same evening.
Now I am aware of who he is, but not an avid follower (sorry to those who are). So for the most part, all I felt was amusement and a feeling that somehow the world is a very funny place.
The first meal started with roasted vegetables with potatoes, at a Cafe just off of Plaza Armes. I shared this meal with a Finnish woman who just arrived from a 30 hour trip from La Paz. We talked about our lives, with a sort of openness I love about certain travelers. We talked about what made us decide to travel, our anxieties about going home, and how much traveling has changed us. It was a great way to start my time in Cuzco.
The next day I wandered around the city in search of a bank and vegan friendly restaurants. And I was NOT disappointed. My first stop was a juice bar with one litre of orange and pineapple juice. My next culinary experience was at Muse Too. If you go to Cuzco you need to eat at one of Muse’s two locations. I had an avocado salad, thai curry with peanut sauce, and a brownie, all for 15 Soles (about $6).
That evening I went to the first Muse location. I think I became a bit obsessed with this restaurant. This time I had the lentil burger and sat reading The Beauty Myth while the staff members debated about which music to play. The Peruvian wanted to listen to Coldplay, the Brit wanted to listen to some Latin tunes. In the end I had a great conversation with them about living and working in Peru and I couldn’t have been more delighted with the evening. I also had mango juice, vegetable sushi, and more goodness. I was in heaven.
The next day I headed to the San Pedro market, which was probably one of the most tourist oriented markets I have ever seen. Someone called it a “third world market”, and while the prices were still much lower, this was no Latin American market for the locals. This is the place where tourists staying in the heart of Cuzco could go and buy faux alpaca sweaters, flowers, spices, fruits, meat, and souvenirs. My favourite part about the entire market where these two kids who were having a full on balloon hitting fight in the middle of a busy intersection. I just laughed and looked up at the closest vender who was also staring at the kids with a giant smile on their face.
The great thing to me about Cuzco is that you can see more of the indigenous spirit. You see women walking around with two braids for their long black hair. Dressed in traditional and colourful garb with beautiful colours and embroidery. However they are the ones in the “market” and streets selling you anything from necklaces to cigarettes. But the cutest are the women and young indigenous women who carry baby alpacas with them. And while nearly everyone wants a photo with these cuddly animals and their colourful owners, I couldn’t help but think it was a very good niche business.
That afternoon, I went on a city tour with a guy from my hostel. While the sights themselves were incredible, the tour itself was a waste. I wish I had done it on my own, rather than pay for some man to tell me something I already knew. However, the Cathedral, Saqsaywaman and other Incan archeological sites were impressive. The Cathedral itself I had seen the night before all light up for a evening service. The sound of the priests singing was beautiful. During the day, I did at least get to hear about the indigenous symbols which were included in the design by the local artists.
Our trip to the ruins was more fruitful. It was really incredible to be able to climb over and around these “ruins” from times gone by. Being able to look down the valley and see the sea of red clay tiled roofs and off to my left, Jesus Christ. The statute that is. We were shuttled around to a few other of Incan archeological sites before heading back to the hostel. I did end up getting a photo of an older woman and her three alpacas, which was totally worth it.
I spent the evening eating more great food at Greens Organics Restaurant. Where the staff was hospitable, and I tasted the best dessert of my life. Sorry Grandma, I still love your apple pie, but mango ravioli with apple pie filling is something I will never forget. Though I will never forget your pie either. And once again, I felt lucky to be sharing my evening with another open and friendly traveler. We shared opinions on eating meat, women in the media, and the importance of lists.
Perhaps the strangest thing about my time in Cuzco was meeting a sort of “health food celebrity”. There is a raw restaurant in Cuzco called Prana, where I was able to get my hands on my first green smoothie since I left home. Literally I was beaming with happiness. The only thing to make the experience slightly surreal was sitting next to me. David Wolfe and some friends were enjoying the “raw food” delicacies, while I laughed internally at the absurdity of the situation. But it gets stranger. He also ended up showing up at Greens the same evening.
Now I am aware of who he is, but not an avid follower (sorry to those who are). So for the most part, all I felt was amusement and a feeling that somehow the world is a very funny place.
Landslides will bring you down...
Early this morning, around 12:40am, I caught my bus for Cuzco, running just a little bit late. I had to wake up the woman who had put her stuff on my seat and heave my possessions and myself into my seat over all her stuff. And so there I sat, in seat 29. My birthdate. But what was to pass was a long night of dozing in and out of consciousness and trying to hold off disrupting those around me with a visit to the washroom. Thank you 7L jug of water (p.s. the Japanese woman from my tour yesterday took a photo of my water jug, which I thought rather hilarious at the time).
I felt really ill though all evening. Like my stomach was doing backflips. And this didn’t help, because the road to Cuzco is through the mountains and the road zig zag through them. By this morning, I was spending half of my time staring out the window and breathing just to get through the nausea. Once we were about 1.5 hours outside of Cuzco, our bus stopped.
There had been a landslide across the road. So we all piled out to take an inventory of the damage. I’m writing this from the bus, still waiting to cross the road. It took nearly 4 hours but we finally have a rough ramp that has enabled smaller vehicles go across as the locals and other travelers stand outside the bus onlooking and generally being in the way.
During these four hours we had to pass the time somehow. At first, it was through conversation. After all a digger had arrived and was making some headway. We talked about our lives back home, our travels, and even other travelers we’ve met along the way. Then after about 1.5 hours passed, two of us decided to walk around the landslide, by the river to see what was going on on that side. As we debated going around, we noticed two bodies though on the ground.
We asked a fellow onlooker and he said they were two drunk men who fell into the river. Which looked to have Class IV rapids and gigantic rocks. Not the sort of river I’d want to go for a swim in, if you know what I mean. The first one was placed in the grey blanket covering the two of them and taken around the other side. The other was being smacked by some helpful women trying to rouse him out of his boozy unconsciousness. He finally came around, to which I felt a huge relief. Although it was textbook “don’t do this in case of emergency” action. They heaved him up, waved his limp arm around, and slapped his face. None of this “pinching his shoulders and shouting” and not moving the spine incase he had a head injury. But he appeared to have survived. He was moving and breathing.
After our departure to the other side, I seriously questioned leaving with all my bags like a number of other travelers. Apparently there was a town two hours away by foot, about the same time roughly it would have taken to wait for the ramp to be created. I opted to wait. I didn’t like the idea of leaving behind transportation that at least had food and water. I also don’t have more than 5 soles to my name. Dollars, yes. Soles, no.
In the end, the girls from Huacachina and I played Shithead on the side of the road. This is a card game that I picked up in Guatemala. We even borrowed one of the “tables” from the bus to use for a clean surface. We garnered a lot of attention playing cards on the sdie of the road, but frankly boredom was a worse fate. Alexander, a Peruvian, decided to join us. Or rather I should say, he spent a great deal of time trying to chat us up. Talking about how he played poker. And eventually he asked to join our game. He did.
Finally, at nearly 6:00pm, I am writing to say that we are easing ourself onto the other side of the road. FINALLY! We all cheered our appreciation. Especially after some tense moments when our bus was stranded beside two GIANT boulders. Just about ready to depart once more after a check that all the wheels were functional. Only 1.5 hours away from Cuzco. I hope that this is the end of my drama today.
Now at 6:28pm, I find myself heading towards Cuzco. Finally. What a Good Friday this has been...
I felt really ill though all evening. Like my stomach was doing backflips. And this didn’t help, because the road to Cuzco is through the mountains and the road zig zag through them. By this morning, I was spending half of my time staring out the window and breathing just to get through the nausea. Once we were about 1.5 hours outside of Cuzco, our bus stopped.
There had been a landslide across the road. So we all piled out to take an inventory of the damage. I’m writing this from the bus, still waiting to cross the road. It took nearly 4 hours but we finally have a rough ramp that has enabled smaller vehicles go across as the locals and other travelers stand outside the bus onlooking and generally being in the way.
During these four hours we had to pass the time somehow. At first, it was through conversation. After all a digger had arrived and was making some headway. We talked about our lives back home, our travels, and even other travelers we’ve met along the way. Then after about 1.5 hours passed, two of us decided to walk around the landslide, by the river to see what was going on on that side. As we debated going around, we noticed two bodies though on the ground.
We asked a fellow onlooker and he said they were two drunk men who fell into the river. Which looked to have Class IV rapids and gigantic rocks. Not the sort of river I’d want to go for a swim in, if you know what I mean. The first one was placed in the grey blanket covering the two of them and taken around the other side. The other was being smacked by some helpful women trying to rouse him out of his boozy unconsciousness. He finally came around, to which I felt a huge relief. Although it was textbook “don’t do this in case of emergency” action. They heaved him up, waved his limp arm around, and slapped his face. None of this “pinching his shoulders and shouting” and not moving the spine incase he had a head injury. But he appeared to have survived. He was moving and breathing.
After our departure to the other side, I seriously questioned leaving with all my bags like a number of other travelers. Apparently there was a town two hours away by foot, about the same time roughly it would have taken to wait for the ramp to be created. I opted to wait. I didn’t like the idea of leaving behind transportation that at least had food and water. I also don’t have more than 5 soles to my name. Dollars, yes. Soles, no.
In the end, the girls from Huacachina and I played Shithead on the side of the road. This is a card game that I picked up in Guatemala. We even borrowed one of the “tables” from the bus to use for a clean surface. We garnered a lot of attention playing cards on the sdie of the road, but frankly boredom was a worse fate. Alexander, a Peruvian, decided to join us. Or rather I should say, he spent a great deal of time trying to chat us up. Talking about how he played poker. And eventually he asked to join our game. He did.
Finally, at nearly 6:00pm, I am writing to say that we are easing ourself onto the other side of the road. FINALLY! We all cheered our appreciation. Especially after some tense moments when our bus was stranded beside two GIANT boulders. Just about ready to depart once more after a check that all the wheels were functional. Only 1.5 hours away from Cuzco. I hope that this is the end of my drama today.
Now at 6:28pm, I find myself heading towards Cuzco. Finally. What a Good Friday this has been...
Ancient lines and skulls
One of the girls who joined me on my sandboarding adventure was also headed to Nazca this morning. So we opted that we might as well go together. Having spent most of the previous evening chatting about life, during our bus ride we shared a comfortable silence instead.
Within minutes of arrival we found ourselves a fairly reputable company with which to take our flight. And off we went to the airport, which consisted of about 12 Cessna airplanes. Thus, tiny. I will admit that I was happy to have some company this time around. It was nice to have someone to joke around with. Like how my companion accidently kept, what I dubbed”, her sandwich knife and how ridiculous it would be to make sandwiches during the flight.
As with most inside jokes, you probably had to be there or experience the day itself to really understand. I could characterize our entire day as being a huge waiting game. And having slightly less sleep than desired, this lead to fits of giggles. Especially when our travel agent started telling us how beautiful we were and holding our hands. Just the sort of awkward behaviour you don’t want to encourage.
The flight itself was a mildly nauseating 30 minutes, where the co-pilot is telling you what shapes to look for below. The monkey, the whale, the dog, the condor, the hummingbird, the astronaut, and more. These lines were clearly visible from our height, but I’m not sure my camera was up to the task of taking these photos. Nevertheless the sights from the air were incredible. The dry arid desert below us and the burgandy hills rising from the earth.
Also fascinating was seeing how the Nazca lines had been taken over by some forces of mother nature. While the desert may be arid, you could see what appeared to be creeks and streams roaming through the plain. Sometimes right through some of the Nazca’s geometric lines and triangles.
One interesting discovery of the day was Dr. TV. Peru’s answer to Dr. Oz. If you don’t know who Dr. Oz is, clearly you have not be indoctrinated by daytime tv or have a television. But the kitchen staff and us two travelers were disgusted to see what fat looked like that had attached itself to your liver. And found out what kind of awesome fruits we should be eating. When commercial breaks were on, we were able to read the graffiti left by previous patrons left on the white washed walls.
Considering that our continuing travels were not until later that evening, we opted to try to visit the Chachilla Cemetery. Which I will say was probably cooler than the Nazca lines. Mostly because it felt so close you could touch it. And for the most part, it was really facsinating to see these desert mummies with rastafarian hairstyles. Apparently the length of your hair back in their day indicated status. And these people had some seriously long hair (and unlike some other mummies, apparently their hair didn’t grow past death).
To me the most interesting part was hearing about how grave robbers used to come drunk so as to protect themselves from any enchantments on the tombs. Then they would locate the tombs and throw the bodies out. Thus the bodies on display have been replaced. But they have uncovered some left in their original state. The mummies are found with all their organs in a ceramic jar, sitting in a fetal position. Their ligaments are part of the organs removed and this allows them to sit in the fetal position for millennia.
The hardest to see where the infant and children mummies. The adults somehow look like they had a full life, as demonstrated by the colourful fabric and long hair. I suppose no matter how you slice it though, even ancient deaths, it is always harder to see a child dead.
But perhaps my favourite parts about the entire trip were the silly side conversations. About how we would freak out if one of the mummies on display moved. Or how the man at the ticket agent miscounted my money and instead of being awkward it was somehow intensely funny. Especially when I just moved the coins around once again to “demonstrate” that I had given the correct sum.
The other weird part of our tour was that we went to two other museums. One to demonstrate the ancient technique of pottery building out of local clay. This one was mildly interesting because the man showing us how was indescribably wonderful and translated his speech into English, German, Spanish, and Japanese. All of this from his wheelchair. My particular favourites from his museum was when he showed us how to shine the pottery using a black obsidian stone and human oil...from his own nose. The other was getting an up close look at some of the pottery. Including a woman during childbirth.
The last museum was a complete joke. It was in some man’s housing complex with a giant wall. He told us about the mining operations around Nazca and told us how they produced gold from this area. He totally ignored a question from our group, and he also at the end tried to sell us some of his jewelery. The highlight for me was the Japanese woman taking photos of the dogs playing behind us and when our “guide” was explaining how they melted the gold at 1,200 degrees Celsius but proceeded to make steam and explosion noises like any five-year old boy.
In the end, I was rather grateful when we ended up hanging out for the rest of the evening. Eating dinner, resting by a very nice hotels pool, and eventually watching some break dancers in the parque. They brought along their boombox and attitude. With hipster toque’s to match. We watched them challenge each other and fall on their backsides. We watched as a three-year old girl danced along to the music as well. Somehow the entire thing just seemed to ridiculously strange, and thus somehow perfect.
Just after my new friend left to take her bus to Arequipa, I stayed behind just in time to see a group of 10 Peruvian teens head to the parque with two guitars, two drums, and lyrics. They sat and serenaded the parks visitors while I slinked away to wait at the bus station. I didn’t need to hear “La Bamba” again.
At the station I was reunited with my guitar and backpack, which I left there for safe keeping. I had a wonderful conversation with the manager, who looked after my guitar all afternoon. He asked me about my trip, where I was headed, where I had been, what I did back home, what sports I liked, and more. Listening to him talk about basketball though made me miss home, thanks sister. So as we talked about Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan, I was reminded again just how incredibly strange and wonderful life can be.
Within minutes of arrival we found ourselves a fairly reputable company with which to take our flight. And off we went to the airport, which consisted of about 12 Cessna airplanes. Thus, tiny. I will admit that I was happy to have some company this time around. It was nice to have someone to joke around with. Like how my companion accidently kept, what I dubbed”, her sandwich knife and how ridiculous it would be to make sandwiches during the flight.
As with most inside jokes, you probably had to be there or experience the day itself to really understand. I could characterize our entire day as being a huge waiting game. And having slightly less sleep than desired, this lead to fits of giggles. Especially when our travel agent started telling us how beautiful we were and holding our hands. Just the sort of awkward behaviour you don’t want to encourage.
The flight itself was a mildly nauseating 30 minutes, where the co-pilot is telling you what shapes to look for below. The monkey, the whale, the dog, the condor, the hummingbird, the astronaut, and more. These lines were clearly visible from our height, but I’m not sure my camera was up to the task of taking these photos. Nevertheless the sights from the air were incredible. The dry arid desert below us and the burgandy hills rising from the earth.
Also fascinating was seeing how the Nazca lines had been taken over by some forces of mother nature. While the desert may be arid, you could see what appeared to be creeks and streams roaming through the plain. Sometimes right through some of the Nazca’s geometric lines and triangles.
One interesting discovery of the day was Dr. TV. Peru’s answer to Dr. Oz. If you don’t know who Dr. Oz is, clearly you have not be indoctrinated by daytime tv or have a television. But the kitchen staff and us two travelers were disgusted to see what fat looked like that had attached itself to your liver. And found out what kind of awesome fruits we should be eating. When commercial breaks were on, we were able to read the graffiti left by previous patrons left on the white washed walls.
Considering that our continuing travels were not until later that evening, we opted to try to visit the Chachilla Cemetery. Which I will say was probably cooler than the Nazca lines. Mostly because it felt so close you could touch it. And for the most part, it was really facsinating to see these desert mummies with rastafarian hairstyles. Apparently the length of your hair back in their day indicated status. And these people had some seriously long hair (and unlike some other mummies, apparently their hair didn’t grow past death).
To me the most interesting part was hearing about how grave robbers used to come drunk so as to protect themselves from any enchantments on the tombs. Then they would locate the tombs and throw the bodies out. Thus the bodies on display have been replaced. But they have uncovered some left in their original state. The mummies are found with all their organs in a ceramic jar, sitting in a fetal position. Their ligaments are part of the organs removed and this allows them to sit in the fetal position for millennia.
The hardest to see where the infant and children mummies. The adults somehow look like they had a full life, as demonstrated by the colourful fabric and long hair. I suppose no matter how you slice it though, even ancient deaths, it is always harder to see a child dead.
But perhaps my favourite parts about the entire trip were the silly side conversations. About how we would freak out if one of the mummies on display moved. Or how the man at the ticket agent miscounted my money and instead of being awkward it was somehow intensely funny. Especially when I just moved the coins around once again to “demonstrate” that I had given the correct sum.
The other weird part of our tour was that we went to two other museums. One to demonstrate the ancient technique of pottery building out of local clay. This one was mildly interesting because the man showing us how was indescribably wonderful and translated his speech into English, German, Spanish, and Japanese. All of this from his wheelchair. My particular favourites from his museum was when he showed us how to shine the pottery using a black obsidian stone and human oil...from his own nose. The other was getting an up close look at some of the pottery. Including a woman during childbirth.
The last museum was a complete joke. It was in some man’s housing complex with a giant wall. He told us about the mining operations around Nazca and told us how they produced gold from this area. He totally ignored a question from our group, and he also at the end tried to sell us some of his jewelery. The highlight for me was the Japanese woman taking photos of the dogs playing behind us and when our “guide” was explaining how they melted the gold at 1,200 degrees Celsius but proceeded to make steam and explosion noises like any five-year old boy.
In the end, I was rather grateful when we ended up hanging out for the rest of the evening. Eating dinner, resting by a very nice hotels pool, and eventually watching some break dancers in the parque. They brought along their boombox and attitude. With hipster toque’s to match. We watched them challenge each other and fall on their backsides. We watched as a three-year old girl danced along to the music as well. Somehow the entire thing just seemed to ridiculously strange, and thus somehow perfect.
Just after my new friend left to take her bus to Arequipa, I stayed behind just in time to see a group of 10 Peruvian teens head to the parque with two guitars, two drums, and lyrics. They sat and serenaded the parks visitors while I slinked away to wait at the bus station. I didn’t need to hear “La Bamba” again.
At the station I was reunited with my guitar and backpack, which I left there for safe keeping. I had a wonderful conversation with the manager, who looked after my guitar all afternoon. He asked me about my trip, where I was headed, where I had been, what I did back home, what sports I liked, and more. Listening to him talk about basketball though made me miss home, thanks sister. So as we talked about Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan, I was reminded again just how incredibly strange and wonderful life can be.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Oasis and wax
After doing nothing for the past five days I finally was able to leave Lima in search of adventure. Which was for me to be found in a city called Huacachina (Wah-kah-cheena), where not only is this touristy town an oasis, they trust you to go out on the dunes.
I stayed at a HI Hostel (HI Desert Nights) for the first time since San Francisco. It was a decent enough place, with some fine vegetarian options for food. The first night though, I ended up sleeping through. Literally falling asleep on my bed at 4:00pm and not waking up until 9pm. Good start. So I watched documentaries and happily fell back asleep.
The next day I headed to the dunes through my hostel for 35 soles. After volcano boarding, I felt like this could either be just as cool or better. I am happy to report it is just as cool. I know it’s strange to spend money to have someone ship you down a giant sand dune, but in all fairness it was a lot of fun. They put you in these open air dune buggies to get you to the dunes. And the driver has a little too much fun taking you down some roller coaster esque dunes.
When you arrive at the tip of the dune and look down, the steepness is lost on you because it all blurs into one giant slide. And most of the time looked nearly vertical. But sooner or later you find your board waxed and you are getting ready to go headfirst down a dune. And the best part? The silence.
When you go down you are so afraid of sand flying up into your mouth you are silently screaming on the inside. So as you hear someone go down, all you catch is the dull hum of the sand flying in the air. All you hear is the sand and wind you are generating whip up behind you. At the bottom you find yourself cheering that you made it, and look at the prize. The hill you just flew down.
Now that it’s time to state it. I was always the furthest. I am going to take special pride in that.
After our three attempts, which became more and more steep as we went, our driver decided to take us to the setting sun. We flew to the west and the ten of us stood and watched as the sun left the building.
The strangest thing to me about Huacachina is how the town ends in a pile of sand. Literally as you walk from one end to the other, the town disappears into the sand. As if it is reclaiming what it felt to be rightfully theirs. And I for one am just glad they didn’t claim me.
I stayed at a HI Hostel (HI Desert Nights) for the first time since San Francisco. It was a decent enough place, with some fine vegetarian options for food. The first night though, I ended up sleeping through. Literally falling asleep on my bed at 4:00pm and not waking up until 9pm. Good start. So I watched documentaries and happily fell back asleep.
The next day I headed to the dunes through my hostel for 35 soles. After volcano boarding, I felt like this could either be just as cool or better. I am happy to report it is just as cool. I know it’s strange to spend money to have someone ship you down a giant sand dune, but in all fairness it was a lot of fun. They put you in these open air dune buggies to get you to the dunes. And the driver has a little too much fun taking you down some roller coaster esque dunes.
When you arrive at the tip of the dune and look down, the steepness is lost on you because it all blurs into one giant slide. And most of the time looked nearly vertical. But sooner or later you find your board waxed and you are getting ready to go headfirst down a dune. And the best part? The silence.
When you go down you are so afraid of sand flying up into your mouth you are silently screaming on the inside. So as you hear someone go down, all you catch is the dull hum of the sand flying in the air. All you hear is the sand and wind you are generating whip up behind you. At the bottom you find yourself cheering that you made it, and look at the prize. The hill you just flew down.
Now that it’s time to state it. I was always the furthest. I am going to take special pride in that.
After our three attempts, which became more and more steep as we went, our driver decided to take us to the setting sun. We flew to the west and the ten of us stood and watched as the sun left the building.
The strangest thing to me about Huacachina is how the town ends in a pile of sand. Literally as you walk from one end to the other, the town disappears into the sand. As if it is reclaiming what it felt to be rightfully theirs. And I for one am just glad they didn’t claim me.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Up on the mountain
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| Garden view while waiting for the cable car |
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| View of Bogota |
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| View from Monserrate...and of course you see Jesus. |
Life in Lima
For some reason I continue to spend ridiculous amounts of time in capital cities. Not because they are super awesome, I especially haven’t been impressed with Lima. No, ladies and gents, it is due to nothing better than indecision. What to do, when, for how long. And now that I have a formulated plan, I can tell you all the wonders of Lima.
First off, my time here did not get off to a great start. The airport and drive were great, mostly thanks to my taxi driver who was telling me a bit about the history and layout of Lima. We talked about oceans and where I’d been, and talked about how people typically lived in the same area their whole life (unless they moved to the big city for a job).
After that it all fell apart. I went to a hostel, and in hindsight new I probably should have left when they told me they may have a bed for me. I just needed to wait an hour. And if I had been more fully awake, I’m sure I would have done what any sane person would do and go seek out other options. Instead I hit up the pub next door and got some grub.
When I returned, I was told that I could sleep in the bar tonight and that tomorrow I would definitely have a room. I was confident that considering how tired I was, sleeping in the bar would be no issue. And I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I passed out at 8:30pm, like the party animal on 0 hours of sleep would be. But at 10:30 I was woken up to the sound of a pulsing bass. Thanks. To add insult to injury some drunk people decided I looked to peaceful (or possibly dead) and shook my shoulder. Words could not describe how much I wanted to rip their faces off for disturbing my slumber. While it was probably out of concern (or agitation that I was taking up TWO WHOLE SPACES of sitting space), I still wish they had left me alone. And turned down the music.
The music continued to 2am. After this, six people decided to keep me company by talking about how Hipsters in Melbourne are “fucking annoying”. I assure you, all their thoughts were similar gems and they kept them coming until 5am. My favourite part was when the “Melbourne hipster hater” started personifying me. He was saying things like “Oh shit, it’s 5am. If I were that girl I’d be like ‘go to bed’, ahahahahaha”.
But it wasn’t over yet. I had to listen to a Australian-Danish couple make out and talk about how cute they were.
As you can imagine, I was not impressed. And while I did this to myself, I sincerely wish I hadn’t. But I guess it was a huge lesson. GET A BED. GET SOME SLEEP. Duly noted.
After 3 hours of sleep I was up again. Apparently my body couldn’t get any sleep in this hostel. So I packed up my stuff and headed to Flying Dog Hostel. Conveniently located two minutes away, if traffic was bad. I have set up camp here for the past few days. Mostly catching up on sleep and trying to plot my next steps.
What I can say about Lima is that it is a decent city. But it is a city none the less. My favourite parts are that you can smell the ocean on the eastward winds. The nights are cool so I can wear a sweater (although the first night I slept on a couch in open air and thus was a popsicle). This morning there was a fine mist throughout the area. I even like Parque Kennedy (named after JFK, who visited Lima during his presidency--so says my taxi driver), which I am currently staring at from my hostel window.
The truth is though, I really just love watching people go about their daily lives. And while I almost collide with random Limans every 20 seconds because they stop to talk/think/text/pivot/gawk, it is sort of nice to just observe again. In particular the park really lights up at night. Vendors selling rice, meat pastries, and god knows what else have line ups waiting for the 1 sole goodness. Or the random photography museum set up, made of what appears to be shipping containers. And the resident cats who take solace from the crowds in the shrine of Santa Maria. Or the wedding that took place last night with the retro 1950s-esque car parked outside for the couple.
But in reality, the best part of my time in Lima has been the cinema. I have gone twice in three days. I saw Last Night and This is War. The first being a drama, and the second a rather hilarious (while impractical) comedy. I haven’t gone to a theatre since last summer and I can assure you it was a great treat. Equally delightful is that I have had all my things washed. And I mean all my things. Even my backpack is getting a thorough clean.
Hoping that I can get a clean start here in Peru. As soon as I get my bag back, anyway.
First off, my time here did not get off to a great start. The airport and drive were great, mostly thanks to my taxi driver who was telling me a bit about the history and layout of Lima. We talked about oceans and where I’d been, and talked about how people typically lived in the same area their whole life (unless they moved to the big city for a job).
After that it all fell apart. I went to a hostel, and in hindsight new I probably should have left when they told me they may have a bed for me. I just needed to wait an hour. And if I had been more fully awake, I’m sure I would have done what any sane person would do and go seek out other options. Instead I hit up the pub next door and got some grub.
When I returned, I was told that I could sleep in the bar tonight and that tomorrow I would definitely have a room. I was confident that considering how tired I was, sleeping in the bar would be no issue. And I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I passed out at 8:30pm, like the party animal on 0 hours of sleep would be. But at 10:30 I was woken up to the sound of a pulsing bass. Thanks. To add insult to injury some drunk people decided I looked to peaceful (or possibly dead) and shook my shoulder. Words could not describe how much I wanted to rip their faces off for disturbing my slumber. While it was probably out of concern (or agitation that I was taking up TWO WHOLE SPACES of sitting space), I still wish they had left me alone. And turned down the music.
The music continued to 2am. After this, six people decided to keep me company by talking about how Hipsters in Melbourne are “fucking annoying”. I assure you, all their thoughts were similar gems and they kept them coming until 5am. My favourite part was when the “Melbourne hipster hater” started personifying me. He was saying things like “Oh shit, it’s 5am. If I were that girl I’d be like ‘go to bed’, ahahahahaha”.
But it wasn’t over yet. I had to listen to a Australian-Danish couple make out and talk about how cute they were.
As you can imagine, I was not impressed. And while I did this to myself, I sincerely wish I hadn’t. But I guess it was a huge lesson. GET A BED. GET SOME SLEEP. Duly noted.
After 3 hours of sleep I was up again. Apparently my body couldn’t get any sleep in this hostel. So I packed up my stuff and headed to Flying Dog Hostel. Conveniently located two minutes away, if traffic was bad. I have set up camp here for the past few days. Mostly catching up on sleep and trying to plot my next steps.
What I can say about Lima is that it is a decent city. But it is a city none the less. My favourite parts are that you can smell the ocean on the eastward winds. The nights are cool so I can wear a sweater (although the first night I slept on a couch in open air and thus was a popsicle). This morning there was a fine mist throughout the area. I even like Parque Kennedy (named after JFK, who visited Lima during his presidency--so says my taxi driver), which I am currently staring at from my hostel window.
The truth is though, I really just love watching people go about their daily lives. And while I almost collide with random Limans every 20 seconds because they stop to talk/think/text/pivot/gawk, it is sort of nice to just observe again. In particular the park really lights up at night. Vendors selling rice, meat pastries, and god knows what else have line ups waiting for the 1 sole goodness. Or the random photography museum set up, made of what appears to be shipping containers. And the resident cats who take solace from the crowds in the shrine of Santa Maria. Or the wedding that took place last night with the retro 1950s-esque car parked outside for the couple.
But in reality, the best part of my time in Lima has been the cinema. I have gone twice in three days. I saw Last Night and This is War. The first being a drama, and the second a rather hilarious (while impractical) comedy. I haven’t gone to a theatre since last summer and I can assure you it was a great treat. Equally delightful is that I have had all my things washed. And I mean all my things. Even my backpack is getting a thorough clean.
Hoping that I can get a clean start here in Peru. As soon as I get my bag back, anyway.
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