Descent

A 6 am wake-up taxi and 5 hour bus ride out of Arequipa, I headed into the Cañon del Colca. It's the second deepest canyon in Perú, in the town of Cabanaconde. The people of the town are either Cabanan or Conden, not sure I spelled that correctly, and the women distinguish their cultures with different hats. If you're Cabana, you're hat flips up in the back. If you're Conden, it's bent in the front. In the past, you couldn't inter-marry between the two, Montagues and Capulets. Now it's common and accepted. The pampa, the land just before the descent into the canyon, isn't owned by anyone. It's public property, so the people of the town let their animals roam free. Goats, sheep, vicuñas, llamas, alpaca. In the pampa too, bees live in the ground. They enter and exit the earth through tiny holes covered in dust. Every step, I worried I was going to crush one.

The descent into the canyon took 5 hours--my knees almost buckling every step of the last hour. I felt old. Our group was five, me, 2 French, an Israeli and a Brit. I practically assaulted Rinat with all my questions. She is Israeli & Jewish by birth but doesn't believe in God. We talked at length about the climate in Israel. The country is apparently divided according to background or heritage, whether Eurpoean or Arabian. If the family came from Europe, there are apparently advantages. People of non-European descent even changed their names up until recently in order to have a better lot in life. Rinat mentioned that there are jokes about everyone, at least the cultures and countries that are well-represented, Polish or Morrocans, for example. For her, of all places, Israel should be a place where any can live free of ridicule. A country designated as a safe haven, for Jews in specific, to live without persecution, I think she finds it sad that racism exists there. I made the comment that it exists everywhere. Sad, but maybe it's human nature.

Traveling and the discussions had while doing so are helping me to see how much different life is compared to the impressions we get in the news. Israel doesn't have a single ally on any border. They have peace with Egypt and Jordan, but were there trouble with another country, those two might choose not to side with Israel. She said that they do live in insecurity, the US their closest ally. But at the same time, in such an environment, you still have to live, work, love, enjoy life. And while Israel seems at greater and more frequent risk, it made me think about New York. The increases and changes in levels of security, the tension that exists in the threat of terrorism, but you still hop on the subway and go to work, just the same. And to think that in the UK police walk around with billy clubs instead of assault rifles.

Arequipa

I made it to Arequipa this morning at 8 am and have been scoping out the city. Arequipa is bigger than Nasca and much more touristy. The locals are relaxed and helpful, as opposed to those who yank at your sleeves and bags. The Plaza de Armas, typically the main plaza of any town or city in Perú, is grand and lovely here. The main cathedral extends an entire city block of the plaza, the only one in Perú that large and on the main square. The city walls are built of white, volcanic rock that glistens in the sun. Arequipa is known as the white city for that reason.

I just got back from the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a convent dating back to 1579. The convent and the city of Arequipa have been destroyed by earthquakes time and again. The city is surrounded by three volcanoes that have also caused collapses of entire parts of the city. The convent and the city are riddled with evidence of rebuilding. False staircases in the convent lead nowhere. There is something more alive, intense, magical about living near active volcanoes. It's as though you can feel the energy, the heat, brewing beneath the earth.

The convent was founded by a widow who took on the responsibility of the second daughters of wealthy Spanish families. The first daughter was married off, as was the first son. The second daughter, however, went to a convent; the second son's fate, the priesthood. One of the men in my group joked that he would have preferred to be second, male or female. I'm guessing he's married.

Once an under-study of the convent, daughters were only allowed to speak to their families from behind a thatched wall, 3 to 4 feet from their visitors. After a 1-4 year novice period, the daughter would be asked a series of 3 questions to confirm that she wanted to be a nun. If she didn't really feel like being a nun, she could leave the convent at that point, only to the shame of her family. How's that for options? Nuns and their servants (slaves, really) lived in the convent until the 1870s when the pope sent over a new mother superior to do a little house cleaning. Most of the 400 some-odd nuns left the convent under the new mother's rule. By her orders as well, slaves were freed, many of whom stayed on as nuns, and dowries were no longer accepted, only those women with serious callings to the church admitted to the convent. In the 1970s it was opened up for tourism, after a hundred years of silence and solitude.

While, the nuns live in a more modernized environment now, with washing machines, and telephones, the convent still has its own morgue, cemetery and laundry dating back to the 18th century. The oldest part is from the 16th century, a chapel.

Chinos, khakis, gays???

Small towns make me nervous. And Nazca's a small town. I'm more on my toes in small towns. It's just backassward...or is it? This morning, walking up to breakfast, I met the agent who sold me my ticket last night. And like the sky the morning after a big storm, I too feel clear, crisp & cloudless, thank goodness. She asked if I were better but her smile confirmed that she already knew the answer. I'm sure she would have thought I was just loony otherwise. She shared relleno with me, sausage mixed with rice in the skin. A touch spicy but quite nice. As was the woman who shared it with me, bless her heart. Big cities, no problem, but in small towns where everyone talks to everyone, you can be found or found out in no time!

In Colombia, they call kids chinos. We use that word for khakis. Apparently, khaki is slang for gay in certain parts of England. Anyway, here chino is anyone from an Asian/Oriental background. Or a Spanish person with smaller eyes. There are signs posted here to vote for Chino but I think he's Japanese. I asked the concierge at the hotel where I could buy patches for my jeans; both pairs are wearing thin. She directed me to the china in the market. Hmm. The houses in the desert here are made of what looks like braided straw. Next to the airport yesterday and on the bus ride to Nazca, I got a close up. They are 3 rooms, if you're lucky, 2 of which have roofs above them, the last room more of a patio. All of straw, or reeds, somehow full of smiling faces. And today cruising through the streets and markets of Nazca, I crossed the river. It's dry, full of garbage, small fires and dogs. It's a blessing that whole lines thing. Just a quick note: the sign in front of the riverbed reads, ¨Please do not urinate.¨

A quick recap. One week ago, I was in Lima, Perú. Two weeks ago, I was in Vilcabamba, Ecuador. Three weeks ago, Bogotá, Colombia. Whew. And I miss Ginger enough to make me cry. She's adorable and I miss her. It's almost enough too to make me do something drastic.

Exposure

I made it to Nazca today and went up in a 4-seater prop plane (4 seats including the pilot's) to view the Nazca lines. The plane buffeted by the afternoon winds, it was a good thing I didn't eat lunch. I'm actually kind of off food lately. It just seems an afterthought. The Nazca lines are a mystery. There were discovered in the 20s by the first group of explorers to fly over the Perúvian desert and no one knows why they are there. The lines form pictures, a parrot, an astronaut, hands (pictured), a tree, and yet no one knows who put them there, where they've come from. The lines are formed in the sand, the top layer of rocks removed to expose the underlying brighter sand. I think it's aliens trying to communicate with us.

In Huacachina, and Lima a little too, I felt stuck. As though I couldn´t get my tush in gear. The days I planned to leave dragged on in both places. It was only a day per spot but I don't like wanting to leave a place and having to hang around. I know. All in all, what do I have to worry about? It's just the feeling of being stuck, delayed. Again I'm just a girl accustomed to living in NYC, moving and shaking, where you can get anything pretty much anytime. I guess I'm still not so good at relaxing, taking it easy. Three months of vacation and I'm still a spaz...

So I'm stuck in Nazca too (AAAHHHHH!!!!) and just threw a fit in a tourist agency trying to secure a ticket on to Arequipa. I wanted to take an overnight bus tonight but now have to stay in Nazca overnight, won't get to Arequipa until Sunday morning. I think I've had some stress, well, something building since Lima and, it broke free tonight when I couldn´t get the heck out of Nazca. Sometimes a girl's just gotta cry. Oh dear. I feel so bad for the people who worked in the agency. They handled it quite well. It was a quiet storm. I didn't throw anything, yell, even hardly speak, just tears. What a wreck.

Into the dunes

I climbed into the dunes today too for a little sandboarding. I'm not sure dunes is the sufficient word. They're in between hills & mountains of sand. Course, I took a shower first and made sure to moisturize. Brilliant, Anne, brilliant. Nothing like it in the world. Cruising down mountains with nothing but wind (and a ton of sand) in your hair. I think I'm turning in to a bit of an adrenaline junky.

There are a lot nice people here in Huacachina too. Cesar (the hot one), Charlie,
Pablo. Charlie's the bartender at the hotel. He thinks it's dangerous for a girl to be traveling alone in South America. He did specify that there have to be good points and bad points. I asked him to make me a list to verify whether correct. He made me a strawberry shake with some kind of liquor in it. Delightful. It made me think of my Dad. He's always loved strawberry shakes!

I wonder what it must be like to live in Israel. To be Israeli. Living on land given unto you, or simply returned to you, depending on the argument. Not that anything is that simple. There are a lot of Israelis here and they seem to keep to themselves. Maybe it's me. It just seems like the country and people are always undergoing a struggle, a fight. I wonder if the entire world seems like a potential enemy.

You'd like Huacachina.

Whoever you are. It's chill and loose. Israelis, Germans, Peruvians, I think the whole world is represented here. Huacachina has a beach vibe in the desert and everybody's cool. I'm shy here and I like it. Nobody's really talking to me, nor am I with them. Except for the bartenders. I always feel more comfortable at the bar. I guess that's probably a bad thing...oh well, it's my style. Nobody tips here...what a shame. Cypress Hill's on the radio this morning and it's not even 10 am. Nice.

Oh, yeah! I've come up with a new name for myself. I used to be Anita la Gatita (in English, Anne the kitten), now I'm the Minx. Like it? Not that this photo reflects it all that well, but the moms asked to see my face...we'll see if I live up to the name in New York. I can't decide if South America is cool or just behind the times. By say 5 years. But then again, I don't think I'd have noticed it if I hadn't lived in NYC. There are monkeys in the garden; I never saw that in New York. Does this sometimes sound like a dream? It sure does to me living it. Not sure what to do about it so I just keep traveling, keeping my eyes open so I don't miss anything. Sometimes I feel like a spectator in my own life.

Today I skipped over to Vista Alegre, a Peruvian vineyard in Ica. We walked the vineyard & tasted a selection of 4 wines: a Cabernet Sauvignon Malbec blend, Borgoña semi seco, Cachina--an 8-10 day fermented sweetie, and a Pisco, which is like fire. Pisco's a brandy that this region is known for. The vineyard mostly makes sweet, young wines because that's what sells in Peru. They've started exporting to the US and Canada but it's still in the infancy stages. No one here can believe I speak Spanish. What's that about? I'm almost insulted.

Miss incognito...

Ok, people. I've officially joined the Lonely Planet Guide Book traveling circuit, or one could say circus. I see the same people somehow, walking the same streets as me. Just bumped into 2 people I met in Vilcabamba and 1 from Lima, not like NYC where I'm always incognito. It's nice being incognito and I'm doing my best to keep a low profile here, but my cover just gets blown some days! Well, I declare! I'm sitting lagoon-side in Huacachina. It's an oasis, surrounded by mountains of sand, and in the oasis a lagoon, palms, reeds, a small beach. The hostal in Huacachina serves marijuana instead of a dinner mint, sort of a thanks for your patronage. How do you like that?!? Oh my god, Peru is crazy.

When I close my eyes, my life flashes in front of me in images of the past. Whether delighted, devastated, distraught, whatever it may be, it has an image. Those that I've had lately: kissing my first boyfriend--he had braces but I didn't, teardrops falling into a pool of blood that was my grandmother's, watching people I love in love and being so happy that I cried. I want to share what is sacred to me. Not that my life is better than anyone else's, my opinions, experiences cooler, wilder, it's just that that which is sacred should be shared.

One month left, if I don't extend the trip, that is. I've lost 2 different hoop earrings, a beige tanktop & almost all of my inhibitions and insecurities. YES! This life is a gift. It's unreal. I worried a bit today about my life, what I'm going to do for work, wishing somebody'd save me from having to do it! And then I sat on a bus watching person after person enter & then exit, realizing I was probably the richest person on the bus and free to do anything in life. Friends of mine are unhappy living paycheck to paycheck, but have lovely homes, gracious families, good genes. And it makes me wonder what in the hell any of us is justified to complain about. So no more complaints, agreed?

Fast friends

Lima turned into a blur of parties. Rupert, Marcelo & MiguelAngelo, peas in a pod indeed. Escaping an old tarot card reader in Barranco who wanted to give me babies (eww, men say the most ridiculous things sometimes), I sat at a balcony table next to those 3. I love meeting carefree, enthusiastic people who at least for the moment haven't a care in the world. I really like Peru. And I think it likes me. It's gonna be hard to forget the last few days. Yesterday I thought I was going insane, rightfully so, I didn't get to sleep until that afternoon. And after spending 2 days with a fun, energetic, crazy bunch, I'm back to kickin' it solo.

I'll probably be remembering funny shit about those 2 days for a while. No, no jail time or incidents with the police. I'm not as crazy as most of you think. Good craziness. Still, I can't help feeling a little bit sad in this moment. Having such fun with people makes it harder to go back to traveling alone. And when alone sometimes it's hard to be reminded of the wonderful people you know with whom you'd love to be traveling right now. Honestly, I've teared up 3 times today. Sometimes I feel desperate & in need of affection, but then when I have it, I'm not sure it's enough. Is anything ever enough for me? Oh! And I'm a schmuck. I didn't call my friend Freddy's mom in Lima.

Checkin' out Lima

Last night, I found a NYC-style pizza joint and nestled in at the bar. My favorite. The pizza was fair for New York standards, but awesome for South America. The bartender & I became friends. She's only 17, shh, don't tell! You have to be at least 18 here. And the bar in a restaurant doesn't get many patrons like in the States.

After dinner, I cruised through the park back to the hostel. The bar has a balcony with a few chairs. I gazed at the stairs and watched people. A family of 4 picked through the garbage. A mom & her 3 sons, they were alternating gathering recyclables and begging for spare change from passers-by. The middle son the most successful, his older brother demanded a share. The middle one refused and whined to the mom, who made him a share. The smallest one, not old enough to talk, waddled up to people in a nearby cafe and ran as they came close to him. I think he wanted to play more than work.

Today I visited the main post office in Lima. There was a huge celebration and parade through the center of the city. A celebration of all of Peru, every province and most towns seemed to be represented. There were groups in leaves and skins, intricate weavings of dresses and elaborate hats. It was almost like Carnaval, only more police and no sprays. I had to cut through the parade to get to the post office. The main post office is more of an open air market with internet cafes, restaurants and vendors. You can buy stamps and mail stuff, sure, but you can also have lunch, get an ice cream, check email. After the post office, I walked south to the Museo de Arte. There is also is a tremendous park including an Ampitheatre, the Botanical Gardens and several striking buildings.

First flight

I could live in Lima. I haven't seen the rough parts granted but I quite like what I have seen. Miraflores is a rich part of town. I almost feel like it's too nice for my traveling bum style! I'm having ceviche for lunch (can't seem to tire of it) and the woman at the next table asked me if I needed help with the menú. Very friendly in Lima, in Perú in general. We chatted. She was with her hsband & they gave me their numbers here in case I get lost, they said. He works for Citibank. She's an architect. Lovely people. I'm no Bohemian but I'm not a professional either. What am I? Where do I fit? And does my identity have to be my job? Can I be a professional traveler? ¨So, what do you do for a living?¨ he asked. I responded, ¨I travel.¨ Yeah, that's the ticket!

The busser just passed me his number, Gerardo. Perúvian men are quite attractive. Ecuadorian men, ok. Colombian men, yes. But Perúvian men, uh oh. A girl could find herself in a heap of trouble...at least in Lima!

Today I went paragliding at sunset. Lima is set on the cliffs of the Pacific, a park lining the edges of the city with a view down the cliffs to the sea. I leapt off the mountain into the sun and let the wind take me. Exhilirating. I wasn't alone. Marco Mercado was my pilot & he's great. I was a little scared at first but then relaxed. I was flying. Free. I looked down at a bird soaring. I've never watched a bird fly from above looking down at its body and colors. The bird took a sharp dive down to the ground too. It was so wild to see the angles from that view. Amazing.

Lima, the bean or the city, I love it!

The overnight bus ride was easy. Only 8 hours. HA. I scoff at 8 hours. They played a movie, I passed out and then woke to the sunrise. The busses are double deckers & smooth. The first floor is first class, the seats reclining into a full bed; the second floor seats recline too, more than sufficient for me. Perúvians apparently don't like the first 2 seats on the bus, the ones with the panoramic view. Ellen says that they're scared. I guess in the event of a head-on collision, you see it coming and are thrown through any of a variety of windows. At any rate, the first 4 seats were unoccupied on our bus, so Miss Aussie crashed on one side, me on the other. Score!

Lima traffic is supposed to be horrendous. I think that's why busses leave at night to arrive in the city prior to rush hour. My cab driver from the bus terminal was really nice. I had to get change for a 50 so I snuck in an ATM which only dispensed 50s. Shucks! So I asked a cop on the street for help. He flagged a money changer & worked it out for me. He was really nice too. I'm staying in a dorm hostel situation again. Flying Dog Backbackers in Miraflores. The girls in my dorm have made a wreck of the room. Curling irons, shoes, books, half-eaten foods, good god, girls are messes! I locked everything I own in a locker so it doesn't get drawn into the tornado of Dorm 4.

I caught the bus into the center of Lima to explore. Plaza San Martin. I'm going to have a Pisco Sour in this famous hotel...don't recall the name. I walked to the Plaza de Armas and got accosted by a group of twenty-somethings. Daniel, Lisset, Jaquie and Christian, they interviewed me for their English class. The topics ranged from cheating and American culture to McDonaldization and our individual hopes and dreams. I had never heard of McDonaldization. Is that new? They mentioned that Americans (it's apparently ok to call us that in Perú) aren't always open to answering their questions. I bet they were sorry they stopped me. I'm such a wallflower. Lisset's tape ran out before we finished our interview. So like any good student, she took notes on the highlights. It was a great afternoon of exchange.

After bidding them adieu, I went to el Convento de San Francisco. It's a monastery, library and catacombs. They have books written in the original Fransican monks hands. The library was astonishing. Segmented rays of sun shone through the dust and musk. Two spiral staircases led to the second floor, walls floor to ceiling of books. Under the church, there are bones of Franciscans, of benefactors, skulls, femurs, tibias, only the thicker bones remain. There is still a Fransiscan monk population in Lima. We could hear them playing soccer in the recreation area of the monastery. They eat in meals silence. While typing this, a girl, probably 20, tried to sell me candy and put the bag right in front of the computer screen. She blocked the view of the screen to distract me and almost made off with my camera. Not so fast, honey.

I saw Lima's Chinatown too. It's the same as NYC just smaller. And a lot fewer Chinese people. I ordered a drink from a vendor on the street. I'm still not sure what it was. There were 2 consistencies, one like water, the other like raw egg, maybe sort of like algae. And it was dark but clear and warm. She poured elixirs from three bottles in the cup then a ladelful of something else from a cauldron. It tasted awful so I'm guessing it was healthy. I closed out the tour of town at the Municipalidad. Lima is lovely, at least the parts I've seen. Taking the bus here is fun too. You hop in a van headed down a specific street but the streets change names every few blocks. I tried to follow the route we took back to Miraflores from the center but could't find any of the streets on the map! I just ask whoever is collecting money to advise me on when to hop off. Works just fine.

Wish on a star

There is a dove cooing this morning. Not quite the mourning dove but similar. I love nothing more than waking to the sound of mourning doves. I miss them.

Last night we ate fresh, grilled fish by the beach. I had my first Pisco Sour. It's Pisco (liquor made from white grapes), lime juice, egg white and a dash of nutmeg. Yum! Kind of like a margarita, minus the tequila. Much better for Anne!

Later today I'm slated to move on to Lima on an overnight bus. It's 11 hours, I think. So this morning I am sitting in the rooftop café of the hostel, enjoying an espresso--no instant here, what a nice treat--relaxing before the Lima trip. Ellen mentioned that you have to book Machu Picchu months in advance, which, of course, I haven't, so she said I'd probably not be able to do it. That's gonna be a huge bummer. I got the card of a good guide from a Canandian back in Quito & am crossing fingers. Can anyone who reads this wish on a star for me? Please?!?

Over breakfast, we chatted about numbers. She has a thing about birthdays. What a weirdo, right? Wink, wink. She actually has a tattoo of my birthday 8/2 (August 2nd) on her stomach. It's her birth year--scary, I know! I'm hanging out with a kid born in the 80s--and when I saw it, I gasped. ¨You have my birthday tattooed on your stomach!¨ It freaked her out too. Funny. And, of course, over breakfast 2 surfer dudes strolled up to the hostel & 5 minutes later returned in the same direction. One of them had on a jersey. Guess what number was on the back...82, HA! Talking to Ana Maria yesterday, she asked me if I'd still be in Lima on the 8th of May for her daughter's birthday, unfortunately not likely. I write every day, sometimes more sometimes less, but am usually never on the correct day. Later I opened my journal to take down Ana Maria´s information and, of course, I was on day May 8. I mentioned it to Ellen and her boyfriend´s sister´s birthday is May 8th. I love coincidences like that. It makes me feel like I'm exactly where I´m supposed to be.

For lunch we ate ceviche on the beach. It's just hard to order a steak at the beach, no? We talked about Aussie slang...I'm still a little confused. There is a man swimming today in his BVDs. Yes, I just said BVDs! And it's not usually a big deal but they're actually whitie tighties. Oh where is his girlfriend...or boyfriend...probably girlfriend. In Huanchaco the men fish out of boats made of reeds. They are pieced together of overlapping 5 foot-long reeds and look like canoes almost. Actually, they look more like huge elf shoes. And the fishermen don't get int the boats but ride on top of them. You can take a ride on one but end up soaked. And frozen.

We left Huanchaco into Trujillo. In the bus terminal, 2 college girls took our photos with out backpacks at our feet. They said it was for a university project, yeah, right. The tables turned, I told them there was a 5 soles charge. The money here is soles which means suns. So you pay for things with 5 suns, 10 suns, 50 suns. I love it! The bus leaves at 11 pm so we're cruising Trujillo, the Plaza de Armas, their main plaza and the shops around it. We just caught a mime show performed by kids with Down's Syndrome. They were really good! And it was fun watching mime with intermittent explanations in Spanish. There is a national mime festival in June. Bet that's one loud, raucous Lima weekend!

Huanchaco

The road from Piura cuts through the desert, and irrigation systems creep in to turn the sand into green. Northern Perú needs sanitation systems, no, waste management. Well, really it needs serious trash pick-up and a lot of it. At one point, I saw a man and a pack of vultures sifting through the same garbage.

We left Piura for a bus through Chiclayo then on to Trujillo. I met Ana Maria on the bus, a 54 year-old Perúvian woman on the way to surprise her son in Chiclayo. She's then headed to surprise the rest of her family, including her husband whom she believes is cheating on her. You can learn a lot about a person on a bus. I'm not sure why, but women here tend to cry in the conversations I have with them. Maybe it's me...

In the hour break before heading to Trujillo, we ate ceviche for lunch. What good stuff! And no, that isn't a tomato on the top of the ceviche. Regretfully, I salted it and sliced right into it. It's aji. And fiery hot.

The people here have been quite friendly thus far. Cab drivers, ticket sellers, waitresses, people on the street, just about all of them. And on the bus they do something interesting. They film every seat and passenger with a small camcorder. Every time they pass, I smile and wave. The camera men chuckle, recording you and your possessions on film. Security. The only questionable thing that has happened so far, a man took to Ellen after lunch today. He followed us a few blocks. Despite my requests not to bother us, he continued to walk directly behind her and, before he left, kissed her on the shoulder. Unwanted and unsolicited, still she kept her cool. She doesn't speak much Spanish. If she did, there may have been a different result.

Once in Trujillo, we headed straight to Huanchaco, a small fishing village about 15 km out of town. The beach! Huanchaco is growing. There are mountains, more cliffs about 1 km from the water and all the hotels, restaurants, houses are built in that space. The cliffs are topped with cacti. I'm guessing that beyond the ridge is desert. The ocean is rough, the waves close together, a continuous three and four waves knocking down the beach. It's as though the waves have been searching for land to strike since Japan maybe, have finally made it and, with that last burst of energy, attack the beach. The ebb of one wave returning to the sea often meets an incoming wave in a crash of water, salt and sand. It's not for swimming. There aren't sunbathers either. It's a tempest of a beach. It's beautiful, angry. We watched the sun set with a beer.

Horror

I'm ready to head into Perú. An Australian girl and an American woman will be on the 1 pm bus today headed for Piura, Perú. It goes through Macará, Ecuador & the bus waits for you to sort out your documents. I'm gonna be on that bus! At the terminal, I tried to take out cash at 2 spots but neither could read my card. Uh, oh. If I have to get a new ATM card, that will sure throw a kink in the plan.

The border crossing into Perú is a breeze. All smiles. And the Peruvian guards were more friendly even than the Ecuadorian ones. Then again, the Australian girl is attractive. Her name is Ellen. We aren't the run-of-the-mill for these parts. As for the American woman, she lives in Hawaii. The man seated in front of her reclined in his chair about an hour into the trip. She screamed, punched the back of his seat and spit in his direction. I thought I was witnessing the tantrum of a child. It's 8 hour trip so reclining is not all that uncommon. She's a debutante, I fear. A 65 year-old debutante traveling South America by bus. Carol is her name. Ellen had to sit next to her. Carol can't believe how stupid the people she's met are. Actually, she could believe it, she said. Ellen couldn't. Apparently, Carol hates children. Ellen worked for Child Protective Services before leaving for this trip. Carol so far finds Perú disgusting. Ellen's boyfriend is Perúvian (his family moved to Australia when he was 8). How ironic of a pairing.

We got to Piura & headed for a hostel. Carol wanted to call for a radio taxi (whatever that means) instead of hailing one from the street. Our cab driver (one who pulled up on the street) recommended a different hostel than the one we'd chosed as well as a shishi hotel. Thank God. Carol took the latter option. Ellen & I stayed at the Hotel California. Neither mirrors on the ceiling nor champagne on ice, but it'd suffice. The owner Orlando was quite friendly and sent us to Romano for dinner. The owner of Romano told me about Virginia Tech & the horror there yesterday. It's my father's alma mater. I applied there for college. It's a good school. What an awful thing. A Perúvian was killed so it's even more a topic of discussion here. Ten school shootings in 10 years. Isn't it time to revisit gun control laws? Ecuador is slated to change it's Constitution. Can't we at least make an amendment or something?

Strike Two

A second strike of stomach trouble, I didn't do anything but watch movies & eat yogurt today. Yogurt with live cultures isn't the easiest thing to communicate, but I found a local spot that makes their own. Hopefully that'll do. I watched Star Wars & Empire Strikes Back on the sofa in the bar. Nothing like a classic...no, not a Vlassic.

I ate Swiss Chard & flat bean soup for dinner. Yums!

Skeeters

This morning I'm a little restless. The 15th of April, I have only a month and 10 days left. I gotta get a move on.

Ecuador is a blend of roughing it but with creature comforts. Vilcabamba has more comforts than creatures, but its fair share of creatures all the same. Mountain mosquitos. I'm not a fan. Usually mosquitos don't take to me. They don't like my flavor thankfully. But in the mountains, they adore my blood. Maybe it's just a novelty--city blood--but their bites linger for days & scar unlike any mosquitos I've encoutered before. No me gusta.

I walked Ginger to town and piddled around the center today. It's not but a few streets so we covered it in about a half hour. Back at the hostel, I caught the end of Temple of Doom. Raiders is better in my opinion. Movies aside, I'm not sure this hostel is worth the dough they charge. I asked that the room be cleaned and they neglected the bathroom altogether. No towels, nothing. It's probably the most I've paid per night since abroad and I'm just not sure it's all it's cracked up to be. Or Vilcabamba for that matter. Hmm. I'm learning that I may be more of a city girl. In Bogotá walking with Lina, she asked me at one point why I was running. I guess I was back in city girl pace. It made me realize how much I like the hustle & bustle.

Si o No

I caught the dawn this morning. The hosteria has views that, well, I just can't believe. Clouds poke in & out of the green peaks. The hills are topped with what look like bansais from a distance. The sun is white bright, the clouds gleaming in the light. Patches of blue sky look like lakes in the clouds. Is this my life? How did I get here? And do I have to leave? The sun rises so quickly into the sky. In the moments that I've been writing, it's moved the length of a finger held a foot away. I'm glad to see the sun.

My room has a desk with a window and a view of roses, the parking lot & up into the mountains. I can't recall the last time I sat at a desk. Or the last time I wrote in my own hand at a desk. On the bus, at a meal, in the bathroom--hee, hee, just a joke. I feel scholarly sitting at a desk. The objects around me on the desk: a towel, a padlock, a pair of earrings, the Chilean travel guide, insect repellant--100% DEET, a jar of peanut butter and hair gel.

Today I took a 4 hour horse ride. Well, we paid for 4 hours but got shorted a good bit of the last hour. My horse Arafat preferred to be the lead horse. Maybe it's me, not the horses. I treated the horses to bananas. They eat them whole, including the peel, and it turns into a yellow, gooey mess. And this evening I played ping pong. We didn't keep score. I think the last time I played was when my family lived in the first house. We had a ping pong table in the basement, which I think one of my brothers broke. We moved into the new house when I was 11. Almost 20 years without ping pong. That's just silly.

There was a fire show tonight too. Everyone headed down to the bar for it. All of Ecuador is dry right now. Tomorrow there is a mandatory vote, si or no, to change the constitution. Correa, the new president as of January, wants to take power away from the Congress for himself. Most of the people seem to support the action. Congress is apparently quite corrupt. From what I hear, Correa is sharp. The US has troops stationed here that supposedly spray the land to kill any Ecuadorian cocaine supply. Correa said he'd allow the US troops to continue to occupy that land as long as Ecuador could have a part of Miami Beach. Nice argument. I met Priscila & Veronica at the bar, two Ecuadorian girls who live in Loja. They came to the hostel knowing they'd be able to get a drink. Because the hostel owners are German and aren't allowed to vote, they can serve & drink liquor. The weekend has been declared dry so that all of Ecuador will reflect on tomorrow's vote. An English guy at the hostel laughed at the notion. He said that were they to ban liquor in England prior to an election, there would be rioting, insurrection, perhaps even revolution. Priscila & Veronica have both tried to visit the US but were denied visas, Priscila twice. It's a matter of luck & random selection. People with none of their papers in order get visas. People with everything set get denied. How frustrating.

Vilcabamba

I took a bike from the hostel into town. Hosteria Izhcayluma is 2k from the center of Vilcabamba. It's a downhill ride pretty much. Uh oh. The climb back is gonna hurt. Vilcabamba is tiny. I greet people on the street, some of whom don't acknowledge me. I feel like I could meet the whole town in 3 days, so I'm going to continue to offer salutations.

Sad to say, I spent most of the day in an internet cafe. Just needed to catch up. Here's the view from the cafe. Not bad. The ride back up was indeed a bear. I got caught in the rain and had to walk the last quarter of the way. I named my bike Bessie, the burra. She only has gears on one side so I wasn't exactly Greased Lightnin'. I'll have to make a better selection tomorrow. I'm determined to make the whole 2k climb. If not tomorrow, at least one day. And 2k is nothing, but these are country kilometers. And mountain country to boot!

Ok, people. I've got a dilemna & need some help. A friend bought a dog way back in Montañita. She's part French Poodle and the rest I don't know what. Her name is Ginger & she's adorable. She took to me in Montañita and I'm not sure what to do. So. Do I take her with me to NYC? The option is available, I think. Anyone have any thoughts, advice, comments? Is anyone there?

I had a late lunch at the hosteria. Fantastic! It was baked vegetables topped with cheese. Exotic, I know. I've just missed vegetables so. I played chess for several hours, which added up to 3 games. I'm learning & am slow. But I won 2 of the 3. I like chess. The hosteria is German-owned and run and they have 2 huge dogs. They're chocolate spotted with white. Cafú and Laika. Ginger wants to rally but she's more of a snack for them.

Worth it

I've been on and off buses since 11 pm Monday night. And sometimes the view makes it all worth it. This morning on the way to Cuenca, I caught my first Ecuadorian come-over. I guess it's another thing that's international, although I'm not sure I understand it anywhere in the world. Then again, my father and brother are both bald and quite handsome, if I don't say so myself!

The bus to Cuenca is packed, standing room only and not much at that. There's a little girl on my arm rest to the left and a nun and her purse in my foot space. I asked for a seat in the front just for the extra space, in vain this morning. I considered letting the nun sit and sitting in the floor space, but none of the men offered up his seat. Chivalry is dead. Plus, Semana Santa just ended 5 days ago. How soon we forget.

As much as Spanish colonization may have robbed (as is the case with colonization in any part of the world) a lot of South America of resources and early culture, the ties to heritage and indigenous cultures are still quite evident. It's nice to see such a wide mix of people and all throughout the country. While indigenous people may not have much and seemingly less than they had pre-colonization, at least they aren't separated, like in a reservation. Their land, their country is still theirs. I need to explore more of the US and the "native" population. The only experiences I've had have been in Buffalo, NY, buying cheap cigarettes for friends in the city or hunting for the cheapest gas near the reservation. While in the US the indigenous people may have fought for their land and to be separate, here the names of towns, the history, it's all still relevant, incorporated and celebrated.

The colors in the clouds--steel, cotton, spider web, robin's egg, smoke.

The last night before I left Colombia, Edisson asked me what I liked best about Colombia. I was most impressed by the pride Colombians take in all they do. Sure, there are those trying to beat the system who rob or steal, drug addicts, pictures posted of those lost. But everyone I talked to was interested to know the impressions the US has of Colombia, and most contradicted the bad reputation. I guess I was most impressed by the people. They were lovely. What I'm realizing more and more is how important it is to enjoy, to savor this life. Wherever you were born, wherever you live, those moments of frustration, pressure, aggravation, they just aren't worth it.

Hasta luego, Colombia!

I spent last night in Ipiales, Colombia and crossed the border back into Ecuador this morning. I am headed for Quito, then Quito to Loja, Loja to Vilcabamba. It's not cute...about 22 more hours of bus fun. Then Perú. And only a month off from where I thought I'd be!

Off the van to the terminal in Tulcan, the Ecuadorian border town, the guys who work for the bus lines where there ready & willing to rush me off to whatever location. I walked to the center and had my last Colombian meal at the Patio. It was humongous! Beans, rice, arepas, avocado, 3 types of meat, including fried pork fat (which I couldn´t stomach), egg and plantain. Oh and I ordered a beer...oops. Holy mackerel! I almost made it through the whole plate. Guess who'll be sleeping the entire way to Quito?!

The sunset is special tonight. There is a thin line of light between the mountains and the clouds. The sun illuminates the tops of the mountains on the east, the trees aglow.

Didn't sleep a wink to Quito, watched Blood Diamond & A Perfect Storm. In Quito, I missed the last bus to Cuenca. The Flota Imbabura, or as I prefer to call it Imbaburro it's so slow, passed just before midnight & I elected not to hop on. Bad choice. It was the last option. So I'm waiting in the Quito terminal for 3 hours to go to Riobamba. It's midnight now. Then from Riobamba I catch the 7 am to Cuenca, then to Loja then Vilcabamba. Sometimes I really miss direct flights.

Artistic expression

I´m hoping to get my haircut today. It's currently 4 different colors including my natural. I know, that's nothing for me, but it's different when the 4 colors are planned, not the bleached out mess from equatorial sun that I've got lately! Getting my hair cut here makes me a little nervous. I've had some disasters. But it seems like Bogotá is a better place to have it done than some rural part of South America that favors a mullet for chics! It's not that I'm particular about my hair. Ok, fine. I'm particular about my hair. I like it wild & a little crazy. Stripes? Why not?!? I view it as expression. And it ususally works out great...the stylist gets to create and I get to express. I'm hoping this cut will express what I want. We shall see. Another adventure!

So I paid 5,000 pesos to have my hair done. A whopping $2.50, or really a bit less! The stylist did a great job. She cleaned up all the ridiculous odds & ends I'd cut into the last style. For those of you who caught the last creation, I still have a tiny bit of the shaved blond patch left. I gave the stylist a 2,000 pesos tip, which I'm told is fine. Total money spent: about $3.50. Sick!?! In NYC, the bills can run over $200.

I visited friends in different neighborhoods and cruised parts of the city. In the center of Bogota, there is a good bit of art. Whether sculpture, paintings, graffiti. I like it. I went to San Andresito too. It's the label market. Puma, Bebe, Ralph Lauren, they've got it all in San Andresito. After goodbyes to the family and a quick exchange of gifts, that evening I hopped the bus for Cali. Headed south, the trek back into Ecuador and then farther south into Perú has begun. Wish me luck!

On the bus

Cali to Ipiales, I think. I took an overnight bus to Cali and now I'm on a bus to Ipiales, the border town. I´m not sure what day it is.

Happy Easter! I'm wearing pink!

Today I visited the Museo del Oro, the museum of gold. It showcases gold from indigenous pre-Colombian cultures as early 100 AD. There is also an exhibit about shamans. Facinating stuff. They believe that when in heightening states they become birds and can travel to distant places. Not sure about you, but I can dig it!

Apparently, during colonization, Spain pillaged most of Colombia, well most of South America, of most of its resources. So the gold on display is mostly from indigenous cultures who had habits of burying their dead with objects of value.

I also went to the top of the Colpatria, the tallest building in Bogotá. Fifty floors. Bogotá is like the sea, you can't see the end of it! It's the fourth largest city in Latin America, after Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires & Mexico City. It's the largest city I've seen thus far and it's immense. NYC is huge up to the sky. Bogotá sprawls but it's a compact sprawl. There aren't vacancies like in Quito. During the month a February, Bogotá has bullfighting. I got a few pictures of the ring. There is a fairly large movement here (and in Ecuador from what I've seen) against bullfighting. The signs typically claim that torture is neither art nor culture.

I closed out the afternoon visiting Mercados de Pulgas. Hee hee, the direct translation is markets of fleas! They're fun here. New and used items, not just used. But no actual fleas, I hope!