And you may find yourself...

Still hiking...

2007-05-30T11:50:00.000-05:00

So I've been a bit delinquent with my blog the past couple weeks. On the days when I am not hiking, I've settled into a lazy routine in Leon, which consists of eating a lot of mangos, drinking beer, and laying in the hammock. I'm also taking spanish classes and salsa classes although both skills are progressing slowly.

Generally I hike about four days a week; a mix of two day and one day hikes. To make things easier for the guides, we specialize in specific hikes. I am one of the Telica experts, although I also do some of the Cerro Negro hikes. I've done Telica six times in five weeks, so it is starting to be less exciting each time I go up, although a lot depends on the group of people that you are leading. May marks the beginning of the rainy season, which makes the hikes and camping so much more interesting, because half the time across the past two weeks we have been walking and/or sleeping in torrential downpours.

Tuesday and yesterday I led my most difficult group yet. We had six clients and the other guide, Willeke, is new and has only done Telica once before, so I was the lead guide. We got off to a good start, met at the office at 6:15am and on the trail by 8:30. We managed to hike for about an hour and a half before the downpour started. Now no one likes hiking in the rain, but if you sign up for a hike in Nicaragua during the rainy season, you should be prepared to be a bit wet and uncomfortable. And not complain everytime we stop. To be honest, there is nothing that your guide can do about the weather, and quite frankly she doesn't care how wet your shoes are or how much your bag is chafing your shoulders.

With continous complaints, we hiked across farm fields and through jungle-like vegetation for about an hour, and then we started hearing the distant rumbling of thunder. We still had an hour of hiking left, up the steepest part, the actual volcano, and I really wanted to set up camp before the actual thunderstorm started. Half of the group was slowing down, so I grabbed two of the guys that were in better shape and split up the group; three of us would go ahead and set up the camp and the rest would continue at their own pace. I gave each of the guys a tent, emphasized the fact that we had to move as quickly as possible, and then we basically started running up the mountain. After about 10 minutes of this running, my head is pounding, my legs are shaking, and my chest feels like its about to explode, but I am too embarassed to ask the guys for a break, considering the speech that I had just given them. I make it another five minutes before I ¨need to tie my shoes¨ and then another 15 minutes before I ¨need to fix my tent¨giving me a couple opportunities to catch my breath. We make it to the top, set up camp, and then eat lunch in the rain once the rest of the group arrives.

The rain finally stops for a little bit, giving us time to climb to the top of the crater, admire the view, and take some pictures with a little sun. It's always funny to see how people react to the sight of the crater and the view into the bottom of the crater. Some people are in awe, some people complain that it doesn't look more like what they see on tv (I had one girl that said that she was disappointed that it didn't look more like a cartoon she had seen). Every time I lead any guys to the top, upon peering down the 150m into the crater, they immediately start picking up rocks and throwing them in, trying to hear them splash, trying to aim for the small lava lake that is in the center of the 700m crater. Women have no such impulse; it must be a Y chromosome thing. Usually there is a large cloud of sulfur smoke fuming from the crater; we usually have to hang around at the top for about 20-40 minutes to wait for a break in the smoke enough to see the bottom or the other side of the crater.

Anyways, this particular group were not in awe of the crater, and I was personally offended by the fact that they were insulting my volcano. I finally got fed up and lead them back down to the campsite, where it immediately started to pour down raining again. Instead of trying to entertain them, I basically told everyone to go in their tent and go to bed. It was 4:30pm.

I fell asleep almost immediately, and was completely dazed and disoriented when I was woken up by a voice a couple hours later. ¨Umm, you guys, there's water in our tent. Is anyone else getting wet? We're soaked. We'd like to go back down the mountain.¨ It was dark outside and I had no idea what time it was, I looked at my watch, which read 7pm. Jesus, 11 more hours of this before we head back down the mountain.

I did a quick assessment of their tent, which was now filled with about 3 inches of water, and then told them to split up and each join one of the other three person tents. We slept uncomfortably for the rest of the night, squished in two wet tents, with people waking me up every 3-4 hours asking if I was sure that we couldn't walk back down the mountain now, in the middle of the night, in the dark, in the pouring rain. Finally, at 4am when they woke me up for the fourth time, I rolled out of my puddle and told them to start packing up camp. I didn't care if they all slid down the mountain in the mud, I couldn't stay up there any longer.

We start heading back down, but one of the women is pretty shaky and sore from the day before, so I volunteer to carry her pack in addition to my own for the steep part. We're all slipping and sliding, stopping and starting because of the rain and mud. One of the guys starts complaining that we are moving to slowly; I don't even respond to this, only turning and glaring at him until he shuts up. Once we make it within 40 minutes of the end of the hike, when the buses home are in plain view, everyone who had been complaining continously for the past 22 hours, starts saying things like, ¨I'm glad I did that hike¨ or ¨That wasn't that bad¨.

Needless to say, I didn't get a tip.

Hike Volcanoes, Help Streetkids

2007-05-22T08:43:00.000-05:00

About a week ago I had the opportunity to travel out to one of the rural schools near Leon to deliver some books and toys that we had gathered to donate. The school had approached Quetzaltrekkers after learning about our work in Leon and asked if there was any way we could donate some books and school supplies. As a small, relatively poor school 40 minutes from the city, they had few resources for materials for the students.

Quetzaltrekkers worked with the local library to gather donations, and we scheduled a day to visit the school to deliver the donations. We also brought a pinata and snacks to have a small fiesta for the kids.

When we arrived, the kids attacked the books. I have never seen children so excited to read. The students, ranging from 5-15 years old, immediately split up in small groups or pairs according to reading level and fought over the books. Some groups had one child or a teacher reading out loud, some children worked in pairs to understand the words, and other children sat by themselves to read the stories.

Even the teenage boys appreciated the books, sitting in the corner quietly to read through books that should have been way below their grade level. I was impressed at how much they wanted to read and to learn, but also saddened by the fact that they had not had more opportunities in their education.

After an hour of story time, we brought out the pinata and candy. Now, everytime I have had a pinata at a party, we blindfold the person, spin them around, and they gingerly try to just make contact with the pinata. Usually we end up having to tear the pinata apart by hand because everyone gets bored with the ineffective taps to the pinata. Even at a recent party with a bunch of friends in their mid twenties, it took four or five of us to even make a dent in the pinata. Well these kids put us to shame. I have never seen such ruthless violence from five year olds. The kids tore up three consecutive pinatas with only one or two blows each. And when the candy fell, there was a small riot to gather all of the pieces. It was amazingly entertaining to watch.

No Longer in the Amateurs

2007-05-08T18:13:00.000-05:00

I successfully led my first hike today. We always have two guides go on each trip, a lead guide who knows the route and a second guide, who generally is still learning a bit. Up until now I have been the second guide for all of my hikes; however with today's hike I have vaulted into the ranks of the pros. Four people went up to Cerro Negro for the day hike, and four people came back down; consider it a success. There were a couple moments when I was a bit unsure of the route, but I pulled the whole, ¨I need to stop for a minute and tie my shoelaces, while I really try to remember where the hell we are going routine¨and everything was fine. And it turns out that one of the guys on the trip works in technology consulting in DC as well, so we spent the whole walk back talking about requirements gathering and the labor market in Eastern Europe.

The Big Guy

2007-05-02T21:02:00.000-05:00

Tang is becoming a big part of my life right now. So much so that the word itself is becoming a verb. As in, ¨Have you tanged yet today?¨. Basically the high sugar content in the Tang powder makes it a life-saver at points on the hike when you are overheated, exhausted, and completely saturated with water...pour a packet of Tang into your water bottle for quick energy. On many of our hikes you are drinking 3 liters of water in a four or five hour period and almost instantaneously sweating it out. Tanging is the only option. We guides feel so passionately about this topic, that we have had several debates on the timing and pacing of tanging- do start early with a steady flow or try to wait until after lunch when you really need it. I tend to be a two tang type of girl...I usually need a hit after lunch and then save the second half of my pack for the hike home on the second day.

Yesterday I got back from a two day hike up Momotombo, our most challenging volcano hike. The giant, perfectly formed cone of Momotombo rises above Lake Managua; the crater is so perfectly formed that the silhouette is used as a national symbol on everything from patriotic artwork to matchboxes. The volcano last errupted in 1905, however its most famous erruption is a 17th century explosion that destroyed the original city of Leon, which used to lie at the base of its slopes.

The hike is a slow but steady ascent; a five hour hike to the campsite and then another hour if you want to climb to the top of the crater. It's physically demanding, but the most challenging part is that it is a bit of an obstacle course; there are several patches along the hike where you have to scramble up rocks or balance yourself on a steep slope of moving volcanic gravel. We had three clients on the trip and three guides, Adaee, who knew the route, and Vincent and me, who were first timers.

The main attraction for the hike is the beautiful views of the lake and the nearby baby volcano island, Momotombito, which is known as the little brother volcano.

Once we reached the campsite and set up camp, we have the option of climbing up to the actual crater of the volcano. It's a steep hike, with unsteady footing on softball-sized volcanic rocks and gravel, which tends to shift and slide under your feet. On the way up you are bent over, using your hands to grasp (hopefully) stable rocks and steady yourself. You have the option of wearing gloves so that the sharp volcanic rocks don't slice into your hands. On the way down you are basically sliding in a snowboarding motion, with the unfortunate difference that instead of falling onto soft snow, you are falling on rocks that could cut glass. I made the climb to the top okay, but on the way down I had trouble getting good footholds and was moving really slowly. Unfortunately, it's a bit of a mental game, because if you can convince yourself to move faster its actually easier and you are less likely to fall. At that point in the day my legs were exhausted and I had already taken several falls, so I was very tentative in my steps, and basically falling every ten feet as I made my way down the hill. It's generally not good guide protocol to be trailing your customers down the mountain, not to mention that the third guide, who had stayed behind at the campsite, later told me that he could hear my shouts of a couple choice obscenities as I fell. Note to self: Work on my guiding professionalism.

Learning the Hikes: Cerro Negro

2007-04-26T18:25:00.000-05:00

Before I'm able to lead hikes for Quetzaltrekkers, I have to do each volcano hike twice to learn the route. So far, since I've returned to Leon, I've done two volcanoes: Tilica, the same one that Jenny and I did in January, and Cerro Negro, one of the easier one-day hikes. Cerro Negro is the youngest volcano in Central America, born in 1850; its last eruption was in 1999. It's one of the more heavily trafficked volcanoes because the sandy gravel that covers the slopes of the volcano apparently is good for volcano boarding (imagine snowboarding down a volcano) and a nearby hostel (aka evil competitor) offers daily trips.

The group for the trip consisted of two clients, two girls from England, and three guides, two of us who had never done the volcano before. To avoid the heat we met at 4:30am for a quick breakfast and then catch the bus. After a 45 min bus ride we were dropped off in the middle of farmland to begin the hike. For the first hour we walked on relatively flat ground through and around some of the peanut fields. The vegetation gradually got more scarce, then suddenly we found ourselves walking on the black gravel which was the remnants of the last couple eruptions. The black sand of the volcano creates a striking contrast with the surrounding farmland and sandy hills. Occasionally a bright green tree or bush appeared within the barren landscape.

We began circling the circumference of the volcano to find the path for the ascent. Even once we started climbing, the slope was gentle. The only difficulty was the fact that we were walking on piles of sand and gravel, which have a tendency to sink and slide.

After about a 20 minute uphill walk we were at the at the edge of the first crater. I don't yet understand the science of the types of volcanos, but the way that Cerro Negro has formed allows us to climb up and into all of the various craters that have errupted. There aren't any magma or bubbling lava flows, although there is a lot of sulfur gas steaming from the ground to provide that exotic ¨hey I'm in a volcano¨ look for the pictures. The yellow and white spots are the sulfur deposits.

View from the top of the crater

To get down, basically we run down one of the sides of the volcano. I was apprehensive at first, because its really steep and I thought it would kill my knees, but it turned out to be a lot of fun. The sand and gravel is so deep that your feet sink into the ground, reducing the impact and limiting your speed. I felt a bit of a loss of gravity, almost like running on the moon (which is also a lot of fun).

After getting to the bottom and emptying the rocks from our shoes, we had a quick lunch and began the hike back to catch the bus. Home by 2pm, with plenty of time for an afternoon siesta.

5 Ways to Beat the Heat in Leon

2007-04-24T19:32:00.000-05:00

It is 97 degrees here. Hot. So hot that you are tired by mid-morning. So hot that you are in a full sweat after walking two blocks. It's oppressive, inescapable and exhausting. We really don't have that much to do during non hiking days, but regardless, it's necessary to drink several cups of coffee because the heat saps so much energy that we can't even muster up the enthusiasm for the basics. Aka, getting out of bed.

Below are the several of the best ways I've discovered to stay cool in Leon:

1) Go to the grocery store and hang out in the refrigerated section
2) Go to the Bank and wait in line to needlessly change dollars to cordobas or cordobas to dollars
3) Go to the Payless shoe store and try on shoes; this is the only brand name shop in town, and the only one I've found with A-C
4) Take a cold shower, wait 30 minutes and repeat
5) Drink a cold beer, happy hour begins at 9am when the temperature approaches 100 degrees

Happy Birthday Jim!

2007-04-23T21:19:00.000-05:00

All About Jenny

2007-04-20T17:56:00.000-05:00

Since I seem to have inherited all of the exhibitionist genes in the family and I have spent the last 4 months writing about myself, I thought I would take a break and highlight Jenny for a day. For those family and friends that are curious about her job and daily life in Cochabamba, here are some pix.

Jenny and her fellow teachers at the local bar, La Kantuta, for their regular Friday night staff meeting.

Jenny's house; she and her roommate share the top floor, usually without running water.

Jenny's neighborhood

The private school where Jenny teaches is called Titos Place. She teaches various levels of math and science to 7th to 12th graders; almost the entire school day is conducted in English.

Jenny's homeroom class, the eighth graders.

Who knew that Moe had a Bolivian franchise?

Return of the Chicken Bus

2007-04-19T17:11:00.000-05:00

Let me explain the hell that is a Central American border crossing. Immediately upon exiting the bus, you are surrounded by people hounding you- do you want a taxi, do you need to change money, can they help guide you through the border process. Generally the majority of these people are trying to rip you off; overcharging you for a short taxi ride, guilting you into giving them a ridiculous tip, confusing you into a horrible exchange rate, or just a blatent pickpocketing attempt. It's chaos. It's also horrendously hot and you have to walk across the border on foot carrying all of your stuff, or risk being ripped off by the aforementioned taxis (which are actually just bicycles with wagons attached to the front). The immigration offices are not well marked, you have no idea where to go and the immigration officials are not above getting in on the scam- imposing additional taxes or last-minute fees at their whim.

I had the pleasure of two border crossings in one day in order to get from El Salvador, through Honduras, and into Nicaragua. As expected, when I arrived at the first border the money-changers and taxi drivers swarmed around me; insisting that I needed a taxi and offering to exchange my bills. They continued to pester me even after I refused help, insisting that it was too far and too hot- I really needed a taxi. When I asked how far it actually was, I was skeptical of the answers, which varied from 1km to several miles. Sure enough, as soon as I turned the corner I could see the end of the border, no more than 150m down the road. Most of them gave up when I started walking, but a couple guys trailed along with me, keeping pace on their bikes. Sometimes a particularly persistant driver will bike or walk alongside you and keep up a consistent chatter of conversation; pointing out things where things are and answering any questions you may seem to have. Then when you say thank you and get ready to leave, they pester you into giving them a tip for all of their assistance, sometimes getting quite angry if you refuse- its all an act, but very stressful. I generally avoid making eye contact and continously repeat, ¨No, gracias¨ until they get the point. With all the chaos, I went through the immigration process on the El Salvadorian side without really paying attention to what was going on. After the 10 minute walk into Honduras I couldn't figure out where to go for the Honduras processing. When I asked several people for directions, they said that everything was done on the El Salvador side and that I was done. I was skeptical, pretty sure that I had entered Honduras illegally, however I was too hot and tired to walk back across the border and check.

When I got to the second border crossing it was even worse. Before I had even gotten out of the van, a dozen people were reaching through the windows to get my attention, yelling out ¨amiga¨, and thrusting wads of currency in my face. One guy grabbed my backpack from the van before I could get to it and had it all settled in his taxi, ready to go. I took my bag back from him and refused all help. I had been through this border before with Jenny and knew how it worked, plus I had been ripped off by one of the bike-taxi drivers and didn't feel like dealing with it again. At the immigration window a sign was posted announcing that I would have to pay $7 to enter Nicaragua, but then the woman behind the counter charged an additional $3 for me to leave Honduras. Honestly, three dollars is not that big of the deal, however its just the fact that the rip off is so obvious...let's at least put some effort into it and put up a new sign.

After dealing with immigration, I realized that I did need a bike taxi to avoid a 30 minute walk to the nearby bus station. I allowed one of the drivers to usher me to his bike, only after we agreed upon a set fee for his services. Pretty much as soon as we started moving he began asking me for some extra cordobas on top of the fee. After a little more chit chat, I realized that he was the exact same driver that had ripped me off in January, and he recognized me too. I guess its a small world of border bike taxis in Nicaragua. Luckily the entire experience was much less stressful because I knew what to expect. It's almost a charade; they trailed along next to me half-heartedly repeating their offers, as if magically on the 15th try, I would suddenly realize that, yes, that was exactly what I was looking for.

I made it through both borders and settled into the last chicken bus for the three hour ride to Leon. The converted school buses and mini vans in Central America are much worse than even the dodgiest charter buses in South America. I had just made myself mildly comfortable, when a drunk guy six rows in front of me leaned out of the window and puked into the wind. Of course all the windows on our side were open, and I was splattered with beer-tinged vomit. Yeah- welcome back to Nicaragua.

A Fun Week...

2007-04-14T10:25:00.000-05:00

Sunday Morning: 7 hour bus from Cochabamba to La Paz

Sunday Night: 12-15 hour bus from La Paz to Cuzco

Monday Morning: arrive in Cuzco, last minute souvenir shopping

Monday Night: spend the night in Cuzco (Law and Order night)

Tuesday Morning: Fly to Lima

Tuesday Afternoon: Fly to San Salvador, El Salvador

Wednesday: 12 hour bus to Managua, Nicaragua

Thursday: arrive in Managua, 2 hour bus to Leon

Back to Nicaragua

2007-04-13T11:22:00.000-05:00

In case you missed the mildly manic and overly sarcastic tone of some of my recent posts, I've hit a bit of a wall with traveling. I have come to several realizations about my personal travel style, most importantly is that I can't handle more than about a month of continous solo travel. The last couple weeks in Peru were pretty rough for me, too many hours on buses, too many cities, and I started to get lonely. I had originally wanted to spend a couple weeks exploring Bolivia and before going to a volunteer position in Santa Cruz, but with my lack of travel motivation and the flooding in Santa Cruz, I had to make a change of plans.

So I decided that I need to spend my last two months in one place. On Sunday I am heading back to Cuzco and catching a couple flights to Leon, Nicaragua, where I will be volunteering with Quetzaltrekkers ( http://www.quetzaltrekkers.com/nichome.html), a non-profit trekking organization, for the next two months. Jenny and I did a hike with them in January and I was really impressed with the hikes and the overall business model. Basically they offer several different volcano treks in the area and all of their profits go towards Las Tias, an organization dedicated to helping street children. I will be leading treks, helping build out their recruiting and marketing strategies, and occasionally working with the children. I'm really excited about the opportunity to learn more about non-profits in developing countries, practice my spanish, and spend enough time in one place to get a better understanding the culture. Nicaragua is an especially interesting country given recent political changes. And Leon is a really cute town; I can't wait to return to a tropical climate and the beach.

So the only question left is, who's coming to visit?

A Trip Down the World's Dangerous Road

2007-04-12T14:20:00.000-05:00

Instead of returning to Cochabamba with Jenny, I decided to stop in La Paz for a couple of days and see the sights. Specifically, I wanted to sign up for a mountain biking trip down the World's Most Dangerous Road. The six hour trip runs 60km from the mountains near La Paz at 4700 meters, to the jungle in Coroico at 1100m, a 3600m descent including about 40km along the WMDR.

The World's Most Dangerous Road is an official title given based on the number of annual vehicular fatalities. The unpaved road twists through the mountains on narrow cliffs; there are no guardrails between the road and the steep drop into the jungle below. The danger is emphasized by the numerous crosses and flags that line the road in memorial to crash victims. In the past couple years the Bolivian government opened an alternate road that is much safer, however the WMDR is still used by locals, tourists, and when the new road is blocked by landslides.

I signed up for the trip with Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking; they provided the guide, the bike, a bus ride there and back, and basic safety gear. I elected not to upgrade to the deluxe package, which included a full suspension bike for a more comfy ride and a vinyl suit to add extra protection from the wind, rain, and wipeouts. I figured that if I plunged off a cliff, the vinyl suit probably wouldn't be that helpful and I really didn't want to spend the extra money. Several people in my group mistook my cheapness for mountain biking prowess, assuming that I would only take the more difficult bike if I was an experienced rider. I quickly dispelled that rumor by wearing my helmet backwards for the first 15 minute segment of the trip.

We started off going ridiculously fast down a paved road, weaving our way between gorgeous mountains and cliffs. One guy in our group lost control during this section and went over his handlebars, tearing through his protective gear and leaving a significant amount of skin on the road.

The WMDR contrasted hugely with the paved highway we had been riding on; it was covered in rocks and potholes, with waterfalls falling on the road and frequently shrinking to 10 feet in width- for two way traffic. The road was steep and fast; my hands throbbed and my forearms ached with the strain of clutching my brakes. I began to wish for an uphill stretch just so I could rest my grip. We rode through several small rivers that cascaded over the road. The scenery was jaw dropping, both in beauty and terrifying cliffs, however I spent most of the time concentrating on the stretch of road ten feet in front of me. The mountains and views were some of the most beautiful I have ever scene. Unfortunately, my camera battery died halfway down, so the second picture below is the only one I took, the other two are borrowed from the tour company's website.

By the time we reached the bottom I was exhausted; I had no idea how hard a downhill bike ride could be. We ate dinner at a jungle wildlife refuge while watching the kitchen staff chase the pet monkeys away from the food. Definitely an amazing experience.

Slight travel delays...

2007-04-11T18:20:00.000-05:00

Spring Break 07

2007-04-09T16:41:00.000-05:00

Possible spring break t shirt slogans from Lake Titicaca:

When are we going to eat again?
-immediately following pretty much every meal

Greetings from Puma Shit Lake!
(apparently titi means ¨puma¨, but we don't know what caca means)

Is it possible to get sick of this game?
-Daniel, referring to our marathon Uno tournament

I don't let drunks in my hostel.
-angry Quechua woman

Buenos ding-dong-diddily-dias, señor.
-Jose Flanders

Hiking around Isla del Sol:

Amazing italian dinner at the Palace of Trout

Life in Cochabamaba

2007-04-04T14:05:00.000-05:00

I finally met up with Jenny on Saturday morning and since then we have been hanging out, relaxing and exploring the city. Although Jenny had to work the past couple days, I went with her on Monday to see her school and meet some of her students and fellow teachers. Cochabamba is a relatively large and surprisingly quaint city, with amazing weather. I was thrilled to find a good sushi place downtown, so I have been spending every afternoon sitting outside with an order of sushi and a cerveza reading a book.

Today I ventured down to the market, called La Cancha, which apparently is the largest in South America. I needed a small travel backpack and Jenny asked me to pick up some baking pans for her. I wandered around a maze of streets and vendors for about three hours, never quite knowing where I was. The sections of the market are divided according to what they are selling, so at times I found myself walking through hundreds of stalls selling just lightbulbs or birthday cakes. I was quickly overwhelmed and instead of the requested cookie sheet and bread pan I somehow left the market with a dishrack, a hairbrush, and a Shakira CD. Hmmm.

Since Jenny has a 4 day weekend, we are leaving tonight for Copacabana on Lake Titicaca for some trekking and relaxing. Copacabana is a large pilgrimage site for Easter and thousands of people walk 150km from La Paz to attend a religious ceremony on Friday night. Although we're taking a bus, we will be in one of the street cafes drinking beer on Friday afternoon to greet the pilgrims and show our solidarity.

When Spontaneity Goes Wrong

2007-03-30T20:00:00.000-05:00

I had a bit of a breakdown today. I arrived in La Paz yesterday, and when I woke up at 5am this morning in a dingy, cold hostel to the sounds of cars continuously honking right outside my window I decided that something needed to change. Within two hours I was on a bus to Cochabamba, the city where my sister is living. We weren't planning on meeting until next week, and she was going to come to meet me, but in the spirit of spontaneity I ignored those details. Cochabamba is supposed to have pleasant weather, unlike the continuous rain of the past couple days, and hopefully I could get there in time to meet her for happy hour. Only a slight glitch in the itinerary, not only did she have no idea I was coming, but I didn't know her address or where she is teaching and she doesn't have a phone. Sounds like a plan.

Usually the buses sell the official tickets, with assigned seats, in the bus terminal, then continue to pick up passengers en route in order to make more money. If the bus is relatively empty, its not uncommon for the bus to circle around the city for 30-45 min in hopes of finding additional passengers before beginning the journey. Conversely, if the official seats are full, the driver and staff will find unofficial seats in the aisle or stairwell for extra passengers and pocket the fare.

When I arrived at the terminal, before I realized what was happening, I was herded onto a bus headed to Cochabamba without buying a ticket. This meant that I had to continuously move around as the ticketed passengers trickled on and claimed their seats. Finally the bus was full and I was left standing in the aisle. When I attempted to complain the conductor insisted that I take his seat, right next to the bus driver in the cab of the bus.

The cab was pretty crowded already; apparently each bus driver has his own entourage. There was a guy to collect the tickets and handle the luggage, a guy that handled the passenger list and tolls, and a guy that poured glasses of coca-cola for the driver and kept him entertained with a stream of conversation and jokes. The motley crowd was completed with two passengers that couldn't fit in the bus, myself and a confused little old man who kept asking if we were going to the bus terminal. In the spirit of chivalry and fear of the gringo, I was the only one besides the bus driver that had a real seat; all of the men were perched on various boxes and stools on the floor or standing crowded in the space. At one point we pulled over to pick up more passengers and a guy volunteered to lay down in the luggage space behind the driver because there was no other room available. I almost forgot about him until he emerged from the coffin-like hole four hours later.

We started out the journey with a hearty breakfast of fried pigs feet. The guys passed them around while I nibbled on my soda crackers. The view from the front was amazing as we climbed up and down the mountains and I watched the scenery change. The conversation was flowing; the driver amused himself with a long story about a telephone conversation which required him to keep his right hand at his ear to mimic a phone piece and drive the windy roads with one hand. At more precarious points in the road there were small chapels or shrines meant to bless travelers and prevent accidents. Every time we passed one of these holy sites the driver and all the guys around me would cross themselves and murmur a small prayer for Mary to protect us. I winced as we rounded the hairpin turns on the wrong side of the road and almost yelled at the driver ¨Mary has nothing to do with this; keep your eyes on the road, hands at ten and two!¨. A couple times the driver laughed at my gasps when we got a bit too close to oncoming traffic as we illegally passed the cars in front of us.

I made it to Cochabamba and was unable to connect with my sister despite email stalking and several other stupid ideas. I got a hostel for the night, but feel kind of silly for leaving La Paz so impulsively; there was probably a more efficient itinerary that I ignored. I just needed a break from traveling alone- either not moving around as much or not being alone. Hopefully I can connect with her over the weekend, but regardless the weather here is great.

Hostel Life

2007-03-28T17:19:00.000-05:00

I've been living a pretty spontaneous life; every morning I plan my itinerary for the following day. Should I stay an extra night where I am? Am I up for another 13 hour bus ride? Do I need to buy a bus ticket today? What sights do I want to see? Do I feel like crossing a border?

Because of this spontaneity, I am usually traveling without hostel reservations. This is not a problem because it is low season for tourism in Peru; usually I just pick something that looks good from my Lonely Planet guide and show up, hoping they have a room. Some of the hostels wait at the bus terminal for arriving buses, hoping to entice backpackers by offering low prices. The past couple of weeks I have been trying to save some money, so I have let myself be persuaded to check out these hostels, with mixed results.

For $5 a night, I get my own room, which is nice because for that price many places only offer dorms, with 5-10 other people crowded in bunk beds, snoring and turning on the lights at all hours. However, a single room for five dollars does not include heating. Despite the tropical latitude, the mountains of Peru are cold because of the altitude- in the 40s or 50s at night. In order to fall asleep at night I found myself wearing layers of clothing- almost everything I had with me, including hat, scarf, and gloves. The room also lacked hot water. I can't describe exactly how miserable an ice cold shower is in a 50 degree room. I had to do about 20 jumping jacks just to psyche myself up for the frigid water.

The toilet situation is also a variable. Sometimes the toilet doesn't flush; you have to dump a bucket of water in the bowl in order to manually flush it. Frequently the toilet does not have a seat. One of the hostel owners told me that the cheap plastic toilet seats made in Peru aren't built to handle the comparatively large gringos, so instead of constantly replacing cracked toilet seats, many places choose to offer no toilet seat at all. Which is fun. Toilet paper is almost always BYOTP. The state of my accomadations is particularly amusing to me; six months ago while traveling for work I would not have hesitated to complain if the wireless connection in my hotel room was slow or the selection of fruit in the breakfast buffet was too limited. Bad karma, I guess.

After several weeks of budget accomodation, I decided to splurge for my last couple nights in Peru. For $13 a night I got a hotel room with heat, hot water, a comfy bed, and cable tv. The cable tv was huge because there are several channels in Peru that have 24 hours of repeats of American tv shows. I had a perpetual grin on my face as I watched Law & Order, Cold Case, House, and Without A Trace- even during the gory parts. I don't actually watch any of these shows at home, in fact I frequently lecture my parents about their obsession with them, but it was so nice to watch something familiar, in English, no matter how cheesy.

Exploring Machu Picchu

2007-03-25T10:44:00.000-05:00

I have to confess that I was not actually that excited about going to Machu Picchu. I've been in a bit of a tourist slump for the past couple days, burned out with museums and ruins, sick of buses, and not really in the mood to deal with figuring out how to get there cheaply and lugging around my stuff. Not to mention that the obnoxious tourists and large tour groups that annoyed me in Cuzco would be crowding the ruins. However, I couldn't leave Peru without making the journey, so I headed up to Agua Calientes, the town at the base of Machu Picchu. The town is pretty difficult to get to, accessible only by (a very expensive) train. In order to avoid the regular fee of $100 for the four hour journey, I caught two buses to Ollantaytumbo, the halfway point of the trip, and bought a backpacker class ticket for half the price. They only offer the backpacker prices in the night and early morning, just to make it a little more uncomfortable for everyone trying to catch some sleep in their stiff-backed, crunched-up seats.

The first buses headed for the ruins leave at 5:30 am. I decided to sleep in a bit since my train got in late the night before and didn't get to the ruins until 6:30. I missed the sunrise, but since it is the rainy season here, there wasn't much to see through the dense fog covering the mountains.

The fog started to clear up by about 10am, and then the tour groups started to arrive. From January to April is the off-season, so the amuont of tourists is actually less than usual, believe it or not. At certain points the paths felt like assembly lines.

I was starting to get overwhelmed and lose motivation, so I decided to hire a tour guide to make sure I didn't miss anything, or end up spending most of the day sitting at the snack bar with a beer. The guides were willing to give me an individual tour in English by myself for $25 or I could join another group for the Spanish tour for 5 soles, which is about $1.60. So I forked over the $1.60 and joined a group of Spanish speakers that were all about my age from Spain, Italy, Brazil and Argentina. Although only one girl spoke fluent English, several people took turns making sure I understood the guide by roughly translating the guide's description and they all were vastly amused by my broken Spanish.

I understood the main points of everything and got to see the highlights of the site. I finished the day with a great hike up to a smaller set of ruins, Waynapicchu, at the top of the taller peak in the picture below.

I ended up enjoying the day, the views, and many of the people I met and hiked with; however the touristy feel of the ruins definitely detracts from the experience. The immense traffic that the mountain receives on a daily basis is causing serious erosion, potentially damaging the stability of the entire site. There was a campaign for vistors to vote for Machu Picchu as one of the Seven New Wonders of the World. I'm not sure if this contest has any real significance, but I hope that Machu Picchu is not among the winners to avoid any further increases of tourism.

Pictures of Cuzco

2007-03-22T14:58:00.000-05:00

Colca Canyon

2007-03-20T17:59:00.000-05:00

After Lima, I continued south into Peru to Arequipa. Arequipa is known as a launching point for tours and treks into Colca Canyon, the second deepest canyon in the world. The deepest canyon, Cotahausi, is only about 100 meters deeper, and is nearby in Peru. Colca Canyon is more than twice as deep as the Grand Canyon, although most tours and treks do not approach the deepest sections. The canyon is also known for an abundance of giant Andean condors.

I was feeling a bit sluggish from sitting on buses and living off of Oreos, so I signed up for a trek from Arequipa; two days hiking and one night camping at the bottom of the canyon. Our tour guide, Pepe, picked us up at 1am so that we could cover the six hour bus ride and start hiking early. The itinerary for day one of the hike was a 3 hour decent into the canyon and then a 4 hour flat hike along the river. The second day was a more grueling 3-4 hours back up the canyon, an climb of 1200 m, to the top at 3200m. So there was some altitude thrown in just to make it a bit more fun.

The scenery was beautiful; when I woke up on the bus to watch the sunrise it reminded me of the scene in the classic movie, The Land Before Time, when Littlefoot and friends finally arrive at the Great Valley. The landscape was surprisingly green, with lots of cactuses and small trees. When we arrived at the starting point for the hike I was a bit terrified to note how far down the decent was to the river, and the Oasis where we would be sleeping. After the first two hours of hiking downhill my legs started shaking and I was thrilled to finally reach the river. My companions on the trip, a couple from Vermont and a British guy, had done some previous treks recently, so they were highly amused at my disgruntled comments about the altitude and the lack of feeling in my legs. To deal with the altitude adjustment, we were constantly fed coca leaf tea and candies; the same coca leaf that is made into cocaine. So I had that going for me.

This is the view from the top; the tiny river that you can barely see in this picture is the bottom.

Day two started off with us oversleeping past the typical 4:30 wake up call, which wouldn´t be a problem except that the last bus back to Arequipa left at 9am, so we would have to significantly pick up the pace in order to make it up the hill in time. Long story short, we did the 3-4 hour hike in 2.5 hours and I almost died on the way up. At several points I considered just stopping and telling the guide to continue on and leave me for the condors. However I made it up to the top without any overly dramatic outbursts and we just barely caught the bus. Two days later, my calves are still killing me and I can barely walk up a flight of stairs.

The Past 5 Days in Numbers

2007-03-16T16:54:00.000-05:00

Number of buses I've taken: 4

Number of nights I've ¨slept¨ on an overnight bus: 3

Number of hours I've spent on buses: 37

Number of showers I've taken: don´t ask

Number of Times I justified Oreos as a Breakfast Food: 3

Number of Times I listened to Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise album: lost track after 10

Number of Hit-and-Run Incidents Involving Livestock: 1 Chicken and 1 Cow, R.I.P.

Fun Facts- Lima, Peru

2007-03-16T16:32:00.000-05:00

In the middle of a busy plaza in Lima, this statue stands at the base of the larger statue of Saint Martin on horseback. Apparently the governor that commissioned the statue asked for a crown of flames to circle her head, however the Spanish word for ¨flame¨ is ¨llama¨, so the confused artist obliged with a small llama sculpted on top of her head.

Indigenous Community

2007-03-09T18:30:00.000-05:00

Today I spent the day touring a nearby indigenous mountain community through a program in Cuenca called Kushi Waira. The program is run by a group of women within the community that wanted to raise money for local community projects; improving their water supply, repairs to the school, building out communal enterprises etc. Basically they have opened up their homes and community to tourists, sharing their customs, culture, and daily life. Ecuador is known for its diversity of indigenous cultures; the country is proud of the variety of native communities that can trace their roots back to the Incas and beyond. I'm fascinated by these different cultures, but sensitive to the fact that I'm only one of thousands of tourists that want to take a picture and learn more, potentially invading their privacy with my curiosity. These women recognize that they can make money off of that curiosity and have set up a simple, but thorough tour of their community. Usually tours like this seem forced or I feel like I am imposing; however our guides went our of their way to welcome us and seemed genuinely happy to show us the progress of their community.

We started off with a quick breakfast which was accompanied by a shot of the local liquor with an herbal tea mixer. I was surprised to be served alcohol since it was barely past 9am, but our host assured us that the herbs would strengthen our health and make us feel better. Ummm, no honey, I think that's buzz off of the pure grain. Throughout the rest of the day, anytime we were sitting down for more than five minutes, someone would bring out a tray of shots and we would try to politely choke them down.

After breakfast we took a horse ride up to their new water reservoir. I have pretty much no interest in civic engineering and water wells, but it was impressive to see how proud the women were of their contribution to this project and how much they emphasized the shared community ownership. The scenery we rode through was beautiful, but the ride was somewhat less than enjoyable because my horse hated me. Most of the time he was just mildly delinquent, dragging along 20 meters behind the group. He would only pick up his pace when he saw a low hanging branch or bush; he would quickly trot over just in time to nail my head with the branch or scrape my legs against the thorns. After the first hour of riding I found several thorns in my forehead and my legs looked like they had been tarred and feathered with pine sap and grass. My guide laughingly called him El Diablo- The Devil.

We had lunch at one of the community houses, where they spread a feast of fish, rice, vegetables, and potatoes directly on a sheet on the floor- no plates. Everyone helped themselves to the piles of food with a wooden spoon and their hands. They food was delicious, and we were joined by about a dozen people from the community that crowded around and dug in. (check out the 2nd picture below)

After lunch we continued on the community tour, stopping out the dairy where they make cheese, a garden of medicinal herbs, and the local church. Nothing overwhelmingly exciting, but it was great to talk to the people and understand some of the details about the festivals, commerce, and customs of the area. We finished the day at another house where they gave us several more shots, entertained us by singing a couple local songs, and went through a cleansing process after the long day of riding and walking. Basically they built a fire with some special plants that had a aromatic smoke and an elderly woman took a combination of flowers and pine branches and brushed them all over our bodies and clothes. Somehow I think this was the cleansing equivalent of rubbing a pine tree air freshener on your neck, but it still smelled nice.

I would love to find an opportunity to volunteer with a similar community-based tourism group. Many organizations that I've seen like Kushi Waira have strong sustainable business models, but could increase their impact with slight improvements in marketing, communication, and internal processes. I'm a total business dork, but it was really interesting to talk to them about their marketing and processes.

umm...wow

2007-03-08T14:42:00.000-05:00

I watched an erupting volcano!!! One exclamation point does not adequately convey how awesome and surreal the last couple of days have been.

I arrived in Baños on Monday. Despite the increased volcanic activity, everything I heard indicated that the town was still a safe destination. Tungurahua, the volcano a couple kilometers from Baños, has been pretty active for the last five years, but mostly just gas and steam eruptions, nothing to disrupt the nearby towns. There have been a couple times when villages were evacuated because of small eruptions, but the activity never really peaked into anything dangerous, and eventually the government had to let the people return to their homes. The activity across the past couple weeks have been more than usual, but not enough to alter the blase attitude of the locals. Although Baños lies on the slope of Tugurahua, the crater is not visible from the town. As volcanoes continue to erupt, they gradually shift in location with the flow of magma and the melting rock, so often volcanic mountains actually have several small crests on their slopes. One of those crests blocks the view of the crater, so the downtown Baños continues to operate, oblivious to the nearby activity.

My big question was what do they mean ¨volcanic activity¨? I've been keeping an eye on the news, which has highlighted the steam and gas clouds, some volcanic dust showers on nearby villages, and some magma flows. But apparently none of this is a big deal. When arrived, I was actually kind of disappointed that there wasn't more excitement in the town. The day after I arrived, they announced that several of the small villages on the slopes of the crater would be evacuated. Still nothing changed in Baños. I went to a yoga class, had some breakfast, and decided to hike up a nearby mountain that supposedly had a better view of the crater so that I could see for myself whether or not anything was going on. At the very least I could get a couple decent pictures of the crater even if nothing was happening. I hiked for about an hour, getting about halfway up the slopes when I heard what sounded like a muffled firework, then another. Without really thinking about it, I looked up and was shocked to actually see the beginning of a mushroom cloud emerging from the top of a mountain that I could just barely see behind the the clouds. Dark gray and compact, it quickly expanded until it filled half of the sky. Dazed from this display, I walked a bit further for no reason, and then abruptly changed my direction and hustled down the mountain to see if anyone was worried about this new eruption. Nope, nothing.

Every time the volcano would erupt, the explosion could be heard from town, but no one knew the extent of the eruption. So basically everytime the volcano erupted the volcano police (they seriously had special officials for this) would get on the loudspeaker and broadcast around town to let everyone know that everything was fine. I don't think the locals really cared, since they have been overwhelmed with false alarms across the past couple of years. The announcements probably would have been reassuring for me...if i had understood the language. My vocabulary is getting better but I still don't know the words for ¨evacuation¨, ¨boiling magma¨, or ¨volcanic ash raining from the sky¨.

Baños was beautiful, with great hiking and thermal springs, but the whole erupting volcano thing made the experience a bit nerve-wracking so I decided to leave a day early. I'm now safely in Cuenca, several hundred miles south of the volcano.

Pictures of Canoa

2007-03-04T18:17:00.000-05:00

Now that I am finally at a place with some decent computers, I´ve uploaded a couple of Canoa pix so that you can see where I´ve been living for the past month...

Amazing sunsets every night. Usually I would get a cerveza after class and watch the sunset from my balcony.

The cliffs at the end of the beach, closer to Canoa.

Downtown Canoa.

The welcome greeting upon entering the town.

My favorite brand of beer in Ecuador.

Another amazing sunset...the view from my balcony.

My school and home for the month.

Last Day in Canoa...

2007-03-02T15:32:00.000-05:00

I'm leaving Canoa tomorrow; however several recent natural disasters have slightly disrupted my itinerary. My next stop was supposed to be Baños, a small mountain retreat known for its thermal springs, hiking, and cheap massages. However, yesterday I learned that the volcano near Baños has been erupting violently, spewing volcanic ash all over the town. Awesome. I'm not sure of the severity of the eruption, but it looks like there is a possibility that I won't make it there this trip. It also seems as though my plans in Bolivia may need to be adjusted, as large areas of the country are now underwater because of several weeks of heavy rains. Jenny's city, Cochabamba, has not been affected, but I can't yet tell if the route that I need to travel to get to Jenny is flooded. Also, the organization that I was going to volunteer with in Santa Cruz is currently underwater. I guess I could teach swimming lessons instead of English.

I have mixed feelings about leaving Canoa. I've settled myself into a peaceful routine here. In the mornings before my classes I usually spend my time swimming, reading, or studying in my hammock. My afternoon break is a bit longer, so I almost every day I walk into town for a change of scenery. The school/hotel is located on the main road, about a 30 minute walk south of the actual town of Canoa. It's not that there is anything really exciting in Canoa, but I've learned to appreciate the little things that differentiate the days; people watching, playing a game of pool, running small errands. The Internet in town was working and I bought toothpaste-that's a good day...the liquor store had ice cream sandwiches in the freezer-that's a phenomenal day.

Sometimes I wish I had a couple more days to be the ultimate personification of laziness, but I am also starting to feel restless. I've noticed occasional twinges of homesickness, probably because I´ve been in one place for so long with plenty of time to think about all the people and things that I miss. I woke up the other morning with tears in my eyes because I had such a strong craving for Lucky Charms. I´ve considered getting on a plane and flying to the States just so that I could have a Diet Pepsi in the airport and fly back here (yes, they have Pepsi Light here, but its a different recipe and totally not comparable). I miss falling asleep with the confidence of knowing that ants are not crawling throughout my bed. I miss good red wine. I miss air conditioning so much so that I have actually hung out in the air-conditioned cubicle of the atm, although I stopped short of buying a beer to take in with me. And of course I miss people. Several times when I´ve been daydreaming in the hammock watching the sunset, I´ve laughed out loud remembering a conversation or experience with someone from home (several people at my school think I´m crazy because I also inadvertently talk to myself while I´m walking and trying to think in Spanish). Being so far from home really makes me appreciate everyone I care about even more. I can't wait to visit everyone when I get back, laughing and talking over a bottle of wine or a game of pool...although not for a couple months more...

Felices Carnavales!

2007-02-24T10:46:00.000-05:00

Last weekend was Carnavale, which means the internet has been down in Canoa for the past six days, as the phone lines were overwhelmed with the influx of people. It seemed as though most of the population of Ecuador swarmed to the coast for the four day weekend. Our sleepy little town transformed into a Spring Break highlight reel, with 24 hours of drinking and dancing in the streets, giant inflatable liquor bottles on every street corner, and beaches crowded with families, sunbathers, and soccer games. The surge in activity was a huge contrast to the typical slow and dusty days in town; almost too much to handle. Every night the electricity would go out across the town; the crowd would let out a huge cheer and continue to dance, uninterrupted by the darkness as the music ran on generators. Nothing stopped the dancing in the streets, not heavy rain, not darkness; even if the music stopped, people would continue to dance to the car radios. I love how much dancing is ingrained in the culture here.

Aside from the parties, the big tradition for Carnavale is water fights...water balloons, water guns, buckets of water, or the hose. Kids attack unsuspecting people in the streets, and gringos are particularly prized targets. I was victorious in a water balloon fight at our hotel with a five-year-old and a twelve-year-old. Karma got its revenge later that day when a boy dumped a bucket of water all over me as I stepped off the bus. The last day of Carnavale, I was walking along the side of the road when a truck drove by with a bunch of people in the back. One guy with a particularly good arm nailed me with a water balloon from the speeding truck, hitting me right in the neck. I hadn't been paying attention, and keeled over from the impact, which was so painful that, for a couple seconds, I was convinced that someone had thrown a coconut at me. Needless to say, I have a huge bruise on my neck, and I am now strongly opposed to water balloon violence.

Since we had a couple days off from classes around Carnavale, I decided to rent a surfboard for a week. There are only two longboards in Canoa; I had to wait a couple days, but I was finally able to rent the larger one, which probably could have passed for a canoe.The waves and tides here are pretty unpredictable, so it was a bit of a challenge just to figure out when was the right time to surf and how to deal with my massive board in the waves and currents. After a couple hours in the water, I got to a point where I could get to my feet, but I wasn't confident with my stability enough to stand up fully, so wouldn't actually let go of the board. I rode about a half dozen waves in a variation of the downward dog yoga position, before I was comfortable enough to move up to a full crouch. After a week of surfing, I'm still not very good, but it was a lot of fun.

In a masochistic impulse, I made the decision to stay in Canoa for another week to study more. I'm starting to feel more comfortable with my speaking ability and usage of some of the verbs. I'm still frustrated most of the time at the slow pace of my learning, but I'm making some progress at least, and I'll be better prepared for more travel and volunteer work.

Spanish School in Canoa

2007-02-11T11:39:00.000-05:00

I've finished my first week of Spanish school in Canoa. I don't think I've ever pushed myself to learn so much in such a short period of time. In previous attempts to learn French or Spanish, I would quickly become frustrated and lose motivation. Overwhelmed with the extensive grammar rules and endless lists of verbs, I would shut down, adapting my goals until I was satisfied to pick up just enough to get through the class. Obviously this time around I have greater motivation; if I don't learn the language I have several very quiet months ahead of me. After four years of French I could barely order a Whopper in Geneva; after four days of instruction in Spanish I am already up to a basic conversational level.

Although located on the beach and surrounded by hammocks, this school is intense. The school is based out of a family run hotel, the Sundown Inn (also where I'm staying), about a 30 minute walk down the road from Canoa. Every day we have two two hour individual sessions, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. My tutor is Jaime, the 70 yr old patriarch of the family and head of the school. Despite the fact that he doesn't speak any English, he is a good teacher; he speaks very clearly and slowly and explains concepts thoroughly. He started the school after teaching Spanish to the US military for years, so the lessons do have a bit of a boot camp pace. Usually we speed through several pages of grammar in the morning, with additional pages listing new vocabulary and verb conjugations. In the afternoon session we do practice exercises using the concepts and words from the morning. Jaime expects students to memorize everything new in the three hour break we have between sessions, so that we can breeeze through the exercises in the afternoon. By the third day I was overwhelmed with new words swimming in my head, so that I spent more time looking up definitions of words or asking Jaime to pantomime the definitions for me (which he has become very good at doing). I always feel bad because Jaime has such a disappointed look on his face when I can't recall the word for brother-in-law or passion fruit (a lot of the vocab is on the obscure side). During his descriptions I stare at him, concentrating intently in order to piece together the couple of words that I recognize into some sort of explanation to solve my confusion. Often Jaime goes on these long, comletely random tangents, leaving me more confused and about ready to give up. During one session, when I didn't recognize the verb for 'to measure' it took me ten minutes for me to realize that he was explaining the difference between a mile on land and an nautical mile. Another day he outlined his belief that the US was responsible for the rapid spread of AIDS because we had imported African blood for soldiers' tranfusions during the Vietnam war- I have no idea how we got to that subject. Clearly this is useful conversational practice. Halfway through each class, Jaime takes a 5 minute cigarrette break, during which I usually have to put my head down on the table because my head is spinning with all the words that I do not know.

Between all of the studying and classes, we have segments of time to relax and enjoy the beach. Canoa is pretty slow, and our hotel is a bit removed from what little action that there is, so I usually spend my time reading, laying in a hammock staring at the waves, watching the crabs scurrying along the beach, or collecting seashells. Going into town is a major field trip, using the internet is a treat, and every day we block off time to watch the sunset from the hammocks on the balcony. It may not sound strenous, but during the week I feel like my day is packed and the time is flying by.

Happy Birthday Mom!

2007-02-10T11:47:00.000-05:00

Views of Quito

2007-02-01T18:28:00.000-05:00

Quito is a long, narrow city nestled between rows of mountains and volcanos. Although the city is in a valley, it is a high valley in the middle of the Andes, so the Quito's altitude is a little more than 2800m. I had some trouble adjusting to the altitude when I first got here, but Quito's altitude is nothing compared to some of the surrounding volcanos. Several peaks near the city top 5000m, and due to the equatorial bulge (I don't really know what that means) the tallest mountain in Ecuador is also the closest point to the sun on earth.

Most of the tourist attractions in Quito involve some variation of climbing a mountain, hill, or building at different locations to admire the views. During my four days in the capital, I opted to ascend a volcano, statue, and church tower in order to fully appreciate Quito's glory.

1) Volcan Pichincha: A tram ride takes you to the top of one of the peaks of this volcano. You can choose to hang out at 4100m, where the tram drops you off, or hike up an additional 700m to the summit of the volcano. I was content with the views from 4100m.

2) Basilica del Voto Nacional: This cathedral is perched on a high hill in the middle of town. However if that isn't steep enough for you, you can climb to the top of either of the church towers using a series of sketchy ladders, with each step reinforcing Ecuador's lack of personal injury liability laws.

Not sure if you can tell below, but that is a ladder, not stairs. A very long, steep ladder, that is followed by several more long steep ladders. Note how these people are using both hands to grasp onto anything near them.

3) La Virgen de Quito: This massive statue watches over the city from the summit of a centrally located hill. I couldn't find an English speaking guide, so I don't fully understand the significance of the statue, or why many of the large cities in Latin America have similar icons. However, I was obsessed with taking pictures of her exotic image gazing down onto the streets of Quito. You can see her in the distance in one of the pix in the previous post too.

Quito Streets

2007-01-31T19:14:00.000-05:00

Journey to the Middle of the World

2007-01-30T17:35:00.000-05:00

I ventured outside of the city yesterday to see the equator, which runs through Ecuador 22km north of Quito. Quito's bus system is complicated, and I had heard horror stories from fellow travelers in my hostel who ended up an hour outside of the city in the wrong direction. Life while traveling is all about celebrating the small victories, so I was thrilled when my bus dropped me off at the gates of La Mitad del Mundo (The Middle of the World) after less than an hour's journey. La Mitad del Mundo is a Disneyworld-like complex dedicated to the equator, with a monument, several museums, a planetarium, and several dozen craft and souvenir shops and cafes. It's horribly touristy and gaudy, which I guess is necessary to garner interest in a line of red paint. The funny part is that the painted line and the monument, which were mapped out in 1736, are actually in the wrong place. About a dozen years ago, they used GPS to determine the correct location of the equator, about 200 meters east of the former spot. So now they have this huge, garish monument honoring the wrong line.

Pretty big blunder...what do they do about it? Build another exibition next door, of course. Instead of competing with each other, they seem to have a symbiotic relationship; both park staff encourage you to visit both the historical equator as well as the actual equator.

The actual equator is a much smaller series of outdoor exhibits. There is the obligatory painted red line, but the complex is mainly focused on a series of experiments that prove to you, via the absence of centrifigal forces, that you are actually on the equator. We balanced a raw egg on a nail, watched water drain out of a sink, tried to walk in a straight line with our eyes closed, and attempted various feats of strength. I was willing to take their word for it, but it was kind of fun to watch the tours of retired folks attempt the exercises. There was also a series of exhibits which talked about Ecuador's various indiginous cultures, demonstrating how to use a blowgun, the recipe for fermented corn beer, and the process for making a shrunken head, all of which are very useful skills.

Scuba in CR

2007-01-27T19:35:00.000-05:00

Desperate for some more diving before we split up, Jenny and I spent our last day in Costa Rica scuba diving in the Catalina Islands off the Pacific coast. Generally the Pacific is not known for great diving; it´s colder, poorer visibility, and the currents are often too rough to support the ecosystem of a coral reef, so it´s not as colorful. However most Pacific diving locations have a greater chance of seeing large fish- sharks, turtles, rays, etc. I wanted the experience, and was excited at the possiblity to see a shark, so we decided it was worth it.

I'm still a beginner, with moments of panic and flailing, but when I get in a rhythm of drifting and floating, floating and kicking,inhaling and exhaling to adjust my depth, everything becomes calm and dreamlike. The fish don't seem to notice me and carry on with their normal activities. I've stepped through the looking glass while wearing full scuba gear. There is no sense of gravity: I'm flying, and when I look up there is a schol of fish flying above me. Further beyond them, the surface looks deceptively close. At one point during our second dive, I looked above me to see a school of several dozen rays flapping their wings above us, strikingly similar to a school of geese. I decended a to a couple feet above a bright green moray eel nestled between some rocks on the bottom. I´ve seen a couple eels and they seem to be constantly snarling; this guy was very perturbed that I was even looking at him. I followed a camoflagued colored spotted fish that was shaped like a dustbuster for a bit; he pretty much ignored me and searching for his lunch. We floated over a field of starfish, large black and orange lumps scattered across the ocean floor, mixed with more delicate white starfish with a spotted ceramic blue pattern the clung to rocks and coral. Towards the end of the dive, while waiting to ascend, we hovered above a reef for a couple minutes, next to a deep drop into the open ocean. Gilding with the current, I found in the middle of a school of thousands of tiny yellow and black striped fish, all of us drifting back and forth with the strong pendulum of the tides. I wondered what they thought of me.

Jenny and I finished off the day with a splurge meal of seafood at a beachfront restaurant in celebration of our last night together onvacation. The rest of the week will be spent in transit; buses,planes, and crappy hostels. We kept ordering one more drink in an attempt to slightly extend our time in Central America before we begin our seperate adventures in South America.

This guy joined us at the bar for a drink:

And so did this guy:

whirlwind of travel...

2007-01-25T16:59:00.000-05:00

Left Granada...realized while sitting on the bus that I had left my ipod charging at the hostel...raced back frantically to recover it...decided that this was a sign from above that we should delay our travel, hang out at the hostel for another night and watch The Big Lebowski...obviously you're not a golfer...took a cargo boat to Isla de Ometepe, in the middle of Lake Nicaragua...spent way too much time in the entirely unremarkable town of Altagracia due to the limited bus schedule on Sunday...ate dinner at our hostel with salamanders scurrying up the walls beside us...woke several times throughout the night to the incessant sounds of firecrackers exploding and roosters crowing...made a conscious decision to do something productive and rented bikes to circumnavigate the larger volcano on the figure-eight-shaped island...rode through a local baseball game with a large sow positioned in right field...stopped to relax at a beach in Chaco Verde; the first redeeming beach we had seen on the island...continued riding until our hands were blistered and backs sore from pedaling and pushing the bikes up the never-ending rocky hills on the north side of the island...moved over to Moyagalpa to have a few beers and play with Yogi, the black lab namesake of Yogi's Bar...caught the 6:30am ferry for mainland...dealt with every possible hurdle to get to the border and get passage into Costa Rica, all before 9am...found an unusually cheap taxi that would take us to the border, paranoid the whole time that we were going to get robbed or ripped off...wandered for about a mile through the poorly marked stages of the border crossing in order to obtain exit from Nicaragua and entry into Costa Rica...realized at one point in the process that we were walking behind a truck waiting in line for a car wash...waited in line for over an hour in Costa Rica to get our entry stamp...found a bus to Liberia, then one to Tamarindo...turned up my ipod on the bus to drown out the voice of a traveling preacher that hopped on the bus to deliver a sermon during the ride...arrived at the beach. Only five more days of constant travel. I'm looking forward to staying in one place for awhile.

Pix of Isla de Ometepe:

We're in Costa Rica!

2007-01-23T18:04:00.000-05:00

Immediately upon arriving in Tamarindo, Costa Rica, Jenny and I did a chaotic survey of all of the dive, tour, and adventure shops in town, going door to door to find the best packages. So far we have signed up for a dive trip to the Catalina Islands (pretty good chance of seeing sharks or other large fish), an night Turtle Tour to see the leatherback turtles at a nearby refuge nesting, and on a whim (and after two beers on an empty stomach), I signed up for surf lessons tomorrow morning. I'm so excited!

Five Things I Love about Central America

2007-01-19T20:49:00.000-05:00

For me, a lot of the wonder of traveling is in the little details. My pace of life slows enough to enjoy gazing out the window of a bus for hours or spending an afternoon people watching in the town square. Observations of subtle differences in culture or surroundings will get me thinking or make me smile. Years from now, when I try to recall how I spent my days in Central America, the mundane details of my routine and environment will illuminate my memories.

So here are some of the little things that I love about Central America so far...

Breakfast: My morning routine more often than not consists of some variation of the desayuno typico (typical breakfast). The menu staple is a do-it-yourself platter of a couple corn tortillas, some scrambled eggs, beans or refried beans, salsa, and sour cream. You spread the beans on the tortilla, add some eggs and garnish with the salsa and sour cream. I never thought I would be craving beans for breakfast, but I am hooked. I will be bringing this recipe back with me to DC...Rachel Ray look out.

80s music: Central America is where 80s music comes to die. Stuff that has not seen circulation, aside from ridiculing commentary on VH1, is constantly blasted on the buses and in the cafes. In a two hour bus ride last week I heard two Milli Vanilli songs, the Never Ending Story theme song, and the after school special favorite We Don't Have to Take our Clothes Off, all of which are nostalgia-defining 80s classics, though several levels of dignity below even the cheesiest 80s night in the US. However, I will freely admit that I am not above singing along with any of the above classics, and I have embarrassed Jenny several times with impromptu dances to accompany my karaoke.

American Throwbacks: Along the same lines, Central America seems to have inherited a lot of hand-me-downs from the US; clothing, cars, etc. I'm always startled to see a displaced item or logo that I associate with home. One of the ambulances that speed by our bus on the highway had the logo for South Carolina Emergency Services on its side. I saw a woman wearing a worn Virginia is for Lovers tee shirt, identical to the one that I wore in college. A VW Bug sitting in a driveway had a Eat Bertha's Mussels bumper sticker, signifying that the car had spent some time in Baltimore in a previous life. I did a double take when a elderly local man passed by wearing a Michigan football jersey and a matching baseball hat, a perfectly normal outfit in the US, but a bit odd when the guy is riding a mule barefoot through the town square. Another woman sported a hand made fabric painted tee shirt that was created to commemorate Taylor's First Slumber Party. It makes me wonder how these things ended up in here and if the original owners would be surprised to see their new home. I'm keeping my eyes open for my favorite Clifford the Big Red Dog shirt that my sister gave away when I was sixteen. Its got to be around here somewhere.

Roosters: As a charming morning ritual, I have awoken every day hearing the roosters crowing. However, contrary to the typical belief, roosters do not discriminate, they actually crow nonstop throughout the day and night. In fact I don't know if they ever sleep- dawn, dusk, 3am in the morning- they're always crowing. Cities, villages, mountains, the beach; they are everywhere, incessantly crowing to make their presence known. The sound has become so ingrained in the background noise of my day that I was startled to notice it missing when we were camping on the volcano, the only place we've been so far that is not overrun with roosters.

Horns: A lot of the car or bus horns here don't make the typical Beep noise that you would expect, instead they were rewired with a variety of other sounds, so its always entertaining to hear the random symphony of a traffic jam. One of the more common sounds that is used to replace the horn is the soundtrack for a car alarm. I have also heard car horns that sound like wolf whistles, Happy Birthday, and ringing phones. With the variety of noises used the original function of the horn is lost, but it does make the journey more fun.

Update on the itinerary...

2007-01-17T23:38:00.000-05:00

We have finally sat down and planned out what we would like to do in the remaining time we have left. Unfortunately the list of things we would like to do far outweighs the actual time we have left, so I am not sure if this itinerary will have to be abridged at any point in the future, but here goes:

1/17 to 1/20...we are currently in Grenada, Nicaragua, staying at a pretty cool hostel called the Bearded Monkey. Good food, fun courtyard/bar area, and a shrill Canadian girl with a laugh that makes me want to cut off my own ears. If all goes according to plan, we will be here until Friday, exploring the town and visiting nearby Lake Nicaragua for some sun and kayaking.

1/20 to 1/22...visiting Isla de Ometepe, which is an island in the middle of Lake Nicaragua created by volcanic erruption which known for its untouched natural vegetation, most likely we will be hiking and just enjoying the views.

1/22 to 1/26...we are deperately trying to make it to the Corn Islands, which apparently are the premiere dive spot in Nicaragua. Most of the reason that they are so amazing is because they are so difficult to get to and therefore are untouched by tourism. We will need to fly back and forth to the islands to meet our time schedule, so tomorrow we are going to investigate to see if this is possible. Keep your fingers crossed.

1/26...after we return from the islands we will need to book it to Panama so that Jenny can catch a flight to Bolivia and get to Cochabamba to kick off her teachng semester at the beginning of February. Luckily there has been some social and political discontent in the region and her classes will not start until the 12th, which will give her plenty of time to get acclimated to the area and the job. However this time frame will force us to take a 20 hour sleeper bus through Costa Rica and most of Panama. I have not yet figured out if I can hang around Panama City for a couple days before heading down to Ecuador or if I need to hurry up to get to Canoa by February 4th, when my Spanish classes start.

Anyone that has been reading especially closely will notice that there are no contractions in this post. This is because I am typing on one of the most jacked up keyboards in all of Central America, where if you hit the apostophe button a division sign will appear, and semicolon will give you a three.

Volcano Treking: Tilica

2007-01-16T17:44:00.000-05:00

Our main reason for visiting Leon was to do a trek with this really cool organization called Quetzaltrekkers. Jenny had come across their other office in Guatemala and done a trek with them outside of Xela, and was really impressed with their mission and accomplishments. The organization is run entirely by volunteers and it donates almost all of its proceeds to a local non- profit group aimed at improving the lives of street children.

Jenny & I selected the Tilaca trek- a climb and overnight stay to the top of one of the half dozen volcanoes surrounding Leon, most of which are still active. We met at the Quetzaltrekkers office at 6:15 to have breakfast and pack our bags with the necessary gear, clothing, and food. The group for our trek consisted of our guide, Nigel, a girl from Holland, and a couple from Germany.

A local bus took us to the beginning of the trail. We would need to walk for an hour on a slight incline to get around one volcano, before getting to the base of Tilica and beginning the steeper ascent. At the base of the first volcano there were a number of boiling mud pools, which were the last active part of that dying volcano. It was impressive to be that close to volcanic activity, as the mud bubbled and steamed sulfurous gas, although the pools were constantly changing location, and you had to be cautious where you stepped to avoid the soft spots where the ground could give way and boil your sneakers.

The hike began innocently enough, walking up a slight incline on an oxen trail that farmers used to transport their crops. It seemed as though the current crop season was beans, as I followed a trail of red kidney beans scattered in the dust. Although the hike itself was not yet strenuous, the temperature was beginning to climb to the local high of about 95 degrees, and the 30lb pack was beginning to feel heavier and heavier. By the time we reached the base of Tilica, I was covered in sweat and a thin layer of volcanic ash. Most of the dirt on the trails was in fact a dark volcanic ash, which billowed and swirled around our footprints, sticking to our sweat until we looked like coal miners (think Zoolander). As we climbed up Tilica, the slope of the hike changed dramatically, getting steeper and rockier and my legs began to burn. The underbrush on the sides of the trail got thicker and we were attacked by various thorny and thistlely plants. I, being allergic to everything green, began to sneeze and sniffle, and my arms started swelling and itching where they had been touched by the offending vegetation. At one point our guide advised us not to scratch anything that itched, and the reaction would disappear after a couple of minutes. I, of course, had been scratching vigorously for the past 20 minutes and was covered in hot, red welts.

By the time we neared the top, I was keeping pace with a rhythmic chant of obscenities directed towards mother nature. All of those curses were forgotten (or most of them at least), once we reached the peak and the crater sat in front of us.

We built camp in an old crater adjoining the active crater, which was covered in thick green grass that could compete with any suburban yard.

After setting up our tents we continued the last dozen meters to the bottom edge of the crater. I can´t describe how intimidating it was to look down 130 meters into the crater. Amidst the dust and gases we could almost make out the muddy bubbling of the lava at the bottom. Moments when the wind died down, I could hear the echos of the lava hissing and spitting below. We hiked up again after sunset to look at the orange and black glow of the lava, which was only visible in the darkness.

Please note that when taking the photo below I had to approach the lip of the crater on one knee to avoid the vertigo of staring into my own boiling death. Yep, it was pretty awesome.

A Lazy Day in Leon...

2007-01-14T20:28:00.000-05:00

Since today is Sunday and all the museums I wanted to check out are closed, I spent the day wandering around the city, reading, and taking pictures. Here are some snapshots of Leon, Nicaragua.

Cathedral de la Asuncion, the largest cathedral in Central America:

Typical street scene, with colonial architecture and vibrant colors:

Another church: (you may start to sense a theme)

The local fire station: (the ambulances were kept in the same lot)

The facade of this gorgeous golden church literally glowed at sunset:

Another reason that Pepsi rules...

2007-01-12T19:33:00.000-05:00

We got up early this morning to catch a bus to the cloudforest outside of Teguicigulpa. It's about 20km away, but it was a ninety minute drive because it was almost entirely up hill, with steep dirt roads and sharp turns. The majority of buses in Central America that I´ve seen so far are 'chicken buses'. I have no idea where the name came from,but basically they are converted school buses that have been imported from the US, most still displaying the lettering on the outside announcing which county they used to serve, and the signs inside that remind us to use our inside voice while talking. Eventually we made it to La Tigra, the cloudforest, and hiked around for about 3 hours around the various trails. A cloud forest is basically a rainforest at a higher altitude, so it is colder and with different types of vegetation and animals. Although we were working up a pretty good sweat on the hike, I was comfortable in my turtleneck sweater and pants. The area is high humidity and high elevation so pretty much during the entire walk we were hiking through a cloud. The trees and plants were lush and beautiful, however there was an overlay of a horror movie setting because of the shadows and fog. The only wildlife we saw was (large) rabbit sized rodent called a agoutis. Not cute.

About halfway through the hike, we paused to eat the picnic lunch. In addition to the gourmet granola and tortillas leftover from hostel cooking, Jenny bought some cream cheese to spread on the tortillas. Hoping to imitate a bagel, we each ate couple of tortilla, cream cheese, and granola wraps. We were wincing a bit at the unusual taste before we realized that what we thought was cream cheese was really sour cream and what we were eating was actually one of the nastiest combinations of food known to man. So we split a pack of cookies and hiked down to the base of the park.

We had hiked a lot faster than we had anticipated, so we were done a full two hours before the bus would return to pick us up. After deciding to walk a bit down the mountain to find a differnt bus, we did not make it more than 100 meters before a Pepsi delivery truck pulled over and asked us if we needed a ride. We climbed in and accompanied them on their delivery route, which consisted of some complicated process of dropping off empty glass bottles and full plastic bottles of Pepsi and 7up. Although I couldn`t figure the logic, I was happy to be sitting down. The truck was completely open, with four guys clinging to the back, ready to jump off and make the exchanges at each stop. One of the guys was armed with a shot gun, because, of course, you wouldn`t make Pepsi delivery in the middle of a cloudforest without an armed guard. Jenny and I were almost oblivious to the delivery route, because we were too busy petting and playing with a tiny black puppy that was riding inthe cab (can this get more surreal?). Anyways, the Pepsi driver dropped us off a couple miles from town, so walked for another hour or so to get dinner. All together, I think we walked/hiked about 12 miles today.Tomorrow we are on the bus all day, heading into Nicaragua. Our first stop is Leon, where we'll do some hiking and camping, if my legs ever recover from today.

A scene from the cloud forest:

Views as we were (endlessly) walking down the mountain:

Another fun city name: Teguicigulpa

2007-01-11T18:40:00.000-05:00

Jenny and I are in Teguicigulpa, the capital of Honduras, for a few days doing errands and getting ready to head into Nicaragua. Today we just got some random stuff done (laundry, banking, etc) and tomorrow we are going to a cloud forest, which is like a rain forest, but at a higher elevation, so its colder.

As in the US, most of the bigger citites in Latin America are more dangerous. Tegus (nickname) is divided into two areas by a river, one side is more middle class and safer, and the other side is where we, as budget-minded backpackers, are staying. We have been taking cabs at night to get back and forth from where we are staying and the central part of town, but it is about a 30 minute walk during the daytime. We started off on the walk this morning so we could get some breakfast, and we had just crossed the river into the nicer district, when this guy came up to Jenny and grabbed her Discman from her, leaving just the torn ends of her earbuds dangling in her hands. We watched him run down the hill looking back up at us every couple steps to see if we were chasing him. We were so shocked by the blatent daylight theft that we didn´t have time to react; we probably could have grabbed him or gotten the attention of the dozens of police in the area carrying shotguns or machetes.

So we added 'buy a new discman' to our list of errands for the day and continued on. I needed to buy a new pair of sneakers for our treks, having left mine in the hotel in Copan. Recognizing that I sometimes have a hard time finding shoes that fit in the US, I was concerned that it would be a challenge in a country where most of the population is half my size. We went into a shoe store after breakfast, and I immediately gave up on the women's sizing and headed towards the men's wall. Most of the US brands were conterfeit and looked as though they had been glued together on the street twenty minutes before. I considered getting a pair of L.A. Gear sneakers just for the 80s nostalgia, but finally selected a unfamilair brand called GUK and motioned to the sales person that I wanted to try it on. The size they had on display was a men´s nine, and the sales guy refused to believe that I wanted the next larger size. Did I understand that this was a men's size? yes. Did I know what my size is in the US? yes. By this time several other sales people were observing us and finally he motioned for me to lift up my sandal so he could compare the sole of the two shoes. We all had a good laugh when he realized that I did in fact need a size ten in men's shoes. I am now the proud owner of a pair of GUK running shoes; I hope the glue has had time to dry.The view from our hostel in Tegus:

My new shoes:

Where the Wild Things Really Are...

2007-01-11T18:37:00.000-05:00

I've gotten in the habit of walking head down, scanning the street for any of the various animals, crustaceans, or reptiles that populate the island. Being in a tropical climate, you quickly get used to sharing your surroundings with exotic species, however Utila´s wildlife continues to amaze me. A couple examples:

-First off, the island is infested with stray cats and dogs. After the first day or so we began to recognize some of the regulars in our neighborhood and they became more familiar with us. Several mornings, when I left the house, a dog would latch on and trail behind me as I explored or did errands, reinforcing my daydreams of being home. As most of the bars and restaurants are open air, it was common to have to leap over a mutt sprawled in the middle of a crowded bar. At one of my favorite bars, the Jade Seahorse, which is completely outdoors, I lifted my hand off my lap to take a sip of beer, then abruptly straightened and yelped when a cat jumped over my shoulder and settled into my lap. Sidenote: The Jade Seahorse (also know as Treetanic is perhaps the coolest bar I´ve ever been to, check out the pix below).

- Utila is also home to a large number of reptiles: lizards, snakes and iguanas. I spent one of my free afternoons exploring the Iguana Station, a research and education facility for endangered wildlife, where I was able to solidify my paranoia of all of the things I might find in our apartment. One of our suite mates had woken up with a three inch cockroach on his chest the night before and immediately switched hotels. Jenny and I assumed he was overreacting, however when I looked at some of the local cockroaches they had on display I could kind of see his perspective. Luckily the only thing that we came across was a foot long iguana that lived on our front porch. If we were inadvertently too quiet as we climbed the stairs we would startle it our of its sunbathing and it would run away.

-On our first night out, I was started when we saw a large crab sauntering in front of us on the street. At first I thought he was just confused and looking for the beach, or maybe a refugee from someone`s dinner, however we quickly realized that the crabs actually live in small holes in the mud ditches lining the streets. They ranged in size from a couple inches to almost a foot in clawspan (Jenny laughed at me when I asked her to estimate the crab`s wingspan and encouraged me to include that in the blog). The first crab we saw was being harassed by a couple drunk tourists and I rolled my eyes at their immaturity and disrespect for nature. A couple nights later, on a late night walk home from the bars, I was laughing hysterically while Jenny mirrored the movements of a crab she had pinned against the wall as she danced back and forth laterally in an MC Hammer style. The crabs are nocturnal, so they must be accustomed to this type of behavior, and I`m sure the locals are entertained.

-And for my last wildlife vignette...the Jade Seahorse has a bit of a Swiss Family Robinson feel to it with tree swings, seashell mosaics suspension bridges leading to the bar, and a variety of creatively decorated nooks surrounded by trees. I was having a drink with a guy under one of the seashell arches, when, using one of my more infallible pick up moves, I started shrieking and pointing at him frantically. He followed me as I fled the alcove and explained that I had potentially just saved his life from the tarantula that was two inches from climbing on his shoulder. I later learned that all the tarantulas on the island are not poisonous, but not before I was able to get free drinks for the night in reward for my heroics.

I <3 Utila

2007-01-11T18:32:00.000-05:00

*this post is slightly delayed, the day after we got on the island the government shut down the internet indefinitely because they found that the provider was corrupt. we left the island yesterday and we´re spending some time in Tegucigalpa now.

After the ruins in Copan, we spent a week on the island of Utila, one of the Bay Islands off the northern coast of Honduras. All three of the islands are know for their Caribbean flavor and amazing scuba diving, but Utila is more of a backpackers haven, with cheaper prices and more of a night life. The islands are populated by the descendants of slaves in the British Caribbean colonies that were exiled to the Bay Islands after a failed slave rebellion. As a result the dominant language on the island is English, and the culture and people are very different than the Hispanic or Mayan communities on the mainland.

I immediately fell in love with the island`s relaxed bohemian feel and the tight knit community of divers. After a day or so I knew a large percentage of the backpackers on the island and had endless conversations with interesting, eccentric or amusing people from all over the world, all of whom were passionate about scuba diving.

Jenny and I both signed up for 4 day certification courses; I got the basic open water certification and Jenny moved on to the advanced diving class since she had gotten her basic before she left for the trip. We had both been diving before in Thailand, but we were only there for a day and only had time for a brief overview of diving and a somewhat panicky guided dive with an instructor by our side. This time around I felt like I had more control and I was able to relax and really enjoy the experience. I saw tons of beautiful fish and coral, a couple of rays, and a huge green moray eel. The most amazing experience is just hovering over a reef with a school of dozens of silvery angelfish swarming around you. It´s all very relaxing and zen; and yes, I found Nemo. Each night as I was falling asleep, I continue to have the feeling or rising or descending underwater, kind of like the wave-like equilibrium set after a day playing in the surf. I can´t wait to dive again in Panama. If I don't return from this trip in six months, it will be because I stopped in Utila on my way home and became a dive instructor, but don´t worry, I`ll give you guys all discounts.

This is my role model...

2007-01-06T09:04:00.000-05:00

Me: Lonely Planet says that they Bay Islands are high risk for malaria

Jenny: So?

Me: So, do you think I should take some anti-malaria pills?

Jenny: Why would you want to do that?

Me: Um, to not get malaria?

Jenny: (rolling her eyes and taking a drag off her cigarette) Stop being so neurotic; those pills are bad for you.

Me: Worse than malaria?

Jenny: They give you the same medicine to prevent malaria as what you take to treat it. The medicine has a lot of negative side effects. Why take it unless you have to?

Me: I would think there is intrinsic value in not getting malaria. Do you think I´ll be okay if I just wear bug spray?

Jenny: That stuff is bad for you too.

Me: Mosquitos are worse at dawn and dusk right? Maybe if I´m just careful in the mornings and evenings.

Jenny: If you´re going to whine about it just take the damned pills.

*I elected not to take the malaria pills, mainly because they are hard to find and more effective if I had started two weeks ago. Apparently the mosquitos in Utila are not detered by 20% DEET, and my legs are covered in bites. I´ll keep you updated on any signs of fever, chills, vomiting or seizures.

On the bus...

2007-01-05T14:40:00.000-05:00

I arrived in Guatemala City on Monday, New Year's Day. After a succinct reunion with Jenny at the bus station, we immediately hopped on a but to go to Chiquimula, which not only is an amazingly fun word to say, but it is also a halfway stopping point between Guatemala City and Copan, our first destination. We celebrated the new year with dinner at Pollo Campero, which is the Guatemalan equivalent of KFC.

The next day we took a series of progressively smaller buses to get us to the border with Honduras, until when we were arrived, we were basically riding in an oversized VW van. Each bus is staffed by a driver and what I´ll call a conductor. The conductor´s job is basically is to take money, take luggage, and coordinate where people should sit. The smallest bus we took could probably fit about 9-10 people according to reasonable standards. Our bus breezed right by that limit, stopping to pick up three, then two, then six more people en route until finally we topped off at 19 adults and six children stuffed into the van´s four rows. Every time we would pull over to pick up more people the conductor would climb into the van, briefly stare at the current seating and, with a couple quick orders, rearrange everyone so that additional passengers could fit in; the ultimate game of Tetris. He usually left Jenny and I alone because of our slow reaction to the Spanish and because, as the two largest people in the van, we served as the foundation for his design. However at one point he directed me to sit down on the five inches of seat that was free between two people in the back. Since the woman on the right had a baby on her lap, this forced me to half sit on the lap of the guy on my left. I could see the fear in his eyes as sat down; I clearly had about 8 inches and 50lbs on him. I managed to balance at a 45 degree angle for about 30 min so not to crush his right leg.

Most of the buses don´t have any room for luggage, so we put our packs on the roof, along with the various groceries, recycling materials, and bags of our fellow passengers. Each time the bus slowed to pick up more passengers, the conductor would climb up onto the roof to load new parcels. Since we usually traveled with the door of the van open, he would usually be climbing onto the roof before we stopped moving and would take his time descending as we picked up speed. At one point we were going about 50 miles per hour and he was still lying on the roof with one foot dangling down in some sort of Lethal Weapon-car chase scene type of move.

I´ve come to realize that the endless hours spent in buses, vans, or trains are often more enjoyable than the destination, offering a chance to see the countryside and observe unique nuances of the culture and people. At least that´s what I keep telling myself, since we will be meandering across the 850 miles between Guatemala City and Panama City on bus across the next three weeks.

My Itinerary

2006-12-30T09:32:00.000-05:00

For someone who always has “to do” lists segmented by day, week, and weekend, I’m in a bit of an unusual situation. I have no idea what I will be doing for the next month; and I really mean no idea, as in- I don’t know what country I will be in this time next week.

Whenever I travel with my sister I usually tag along for part of her larger journey. I meet her halfway into her trip, once she has already mastered the language, figured out the tricks and tips for safe/cheap travel, and planned out the itinerary. With my Type A personality friends are always shocked to learn how easily I allow Jenny to herd me around, but I actually enjoy it; I have acknowledged the fact that I don’t like planning logistics and figuring out details, and I tend to stress when plans fall through.

Anyways, over the past couple weeks a lot of people have asked about my itinerary for the trip; I can sketch out the breakdown of the big segments of the trip (e.g. I know what country I will be during the month of February) but aside from the rough milestones I’m kind of winging it. And I’m completely cool with that.

When I first asked my sister what we were doing, her response was, “meet me in Honduras in January” when I asked her to clarify, she added, “early January”. I finally pinned her down on some of the details, which are as follows:

December 31- I leave DC on a miserably inconvenient flight that I booked, purely based on gumption and principles, with the frequent flier miles that I accrued in my last six months of work. I fly from DC to Boston, Boston to Atlanta, then after an overnight layover in Atlanta (on New Year’s Eve) I fly to Guatemala City. I will be traveling for 27 hours for what should be a five hour flight, solely to prove that the frequent flyer programs will not screw me out of my free trip with their blackout dates and bullshit standby promises.

Jan 1- I arrive in Guatemala City and immediately hop on a series of buses that will take me across the border into Honduras to meet my sister in Copan, which apparently is a world-famous site for Mayan ruins.

From here time lines get kind of sketchy…

First week of Jan- I successfully locate my sister amidst the ruins, we spend a couple of days exploring and then head to Utila, which is one of the bay islands, to do some scuba diving. Utila known for its whale shark population among divers and for an extensive network of caves that reportedly contain pirates’ treasure (I’m all over it).

Second week in Jan- We head down into Nicaragua where the only thing we have on the itinerary is to do a couple of treks with this non-profit guide company that Jenny found in Guatemala. It seems like a pretty cool organization (http://www.quetzaltrekkers.com/); they staff volunteers to lead treks and use that money to fund projects to support the local community. Pretty cool business model. I know Jenny wants to do the beach trek, hiking through swamps and on the beach for the day and then camping on the beach with the leatherback turtles. I also put in my vote for one of the volcano treks, where we would climb up to the top of a volcano crater to admire the view and check out the glowing lava.

Third week in Jan- We cross into Panama. There is a jazz festival in Panama City around this time that we are hoping to catch. I’m hoping to spend some time exploring the rainforest and some of the ecological attractions.

Jenny and I will split up as we fly out of Panama City; she’s going to Bolivia for a teaching position in an international school, and I am going to Ecuador to a Spanish school on the beach in Canoa. In between studies, I can lie on the beach, learn to surf, play beach volleyball, and lie on the beach. (http://www.ecuadorbeach.com/)

After four or five weeks studying I will meander down to Peru, Bolivia or Chile to do some volunteer work for two to three months. I haven’t figured out where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing, because it largely depends on my progress with Spanish. Placement options vary anywhere between beginner Spanish levels, where you are limited to working on projects focused around plants or infants, to intermediate/advanced Spanish speakers, who can run microfinance projects or do consulting for small business in local villages. I would be fine with pretty much any placement, although I may need to disclose that every plant that has been in my apartment in the past year has died a slow, painful death. I may not be the best person to be in charge of saving the rainforest.