¡Super Bien!

Monkey Hut Mishaps, the Sequel

2008-06-21T20:10:00.006-04:00

Nicaragua - August 2006:
After several days of suffering through an oppressive heat wave with no water or electricity, Catherine and Jocelyn finally find reprieve.

The deep blue waters of the volcanic Laguna de Apoyo are the perfect therapy for body and soul. The girls enjoy countless hours floating on tubes and reveling in peace. Intermissions are spent sipping beers on hammocks before pursuing afternoons of kayaking or sailing.

Their spacious room at the Monkey Hut provides the ideal resting spot for their vacation getaway. Finally, after a week of travel they feel detached from the hassles of home. No phones, no email, no worries.

To celebrate, Catherine and Jocelyn decide to treat themselves to a meal at the local lakeside restaurant. They walk down the road about ten minutes from the Monkey Hut and sit down for an abundant feast of Nicaragua's best - rice, beans and meat.

Fully satisfied, they pay and hurry home to slumber's call.

The girls wake up with the birds in hopes of catching the early bus to their next destination. A review of belongings reveals a missing wallet. The peace of the previous two days immediately becomes hurried panic.

"Where the hell is Catherine's wallet?!?!"

They frantically search the room, the hostel, the road, the restaurant, and yet no wallet shows up. With little money and no contact with the outside world they hurry to the nearest town in hopes of canceling Catherine's card before any damage is done.

Luckily, their speed in the early hour proves beneficial and the only damage is canceled cards for Catherine. They use Jocelyn's cards and enjoy the last few days of vacation before heading to the normalcy of home.

Nicaragua - June 2008:
Eight months of travel and finally Catherine and Jocelyn decide to revisit a destination. Originally, Nicaragua was to be skipped altogether but, nostalgic about the Laguna de Apoyo's serenity, they decide a revisit is worthwhile.

Overtaken by excitement they grab a cab to the Laguna and are not disappointed. Even before checking into their room they don swimwear and bake in the morning sun while floating aimlessly on tubes. Perfect. Just as they remembered it. The rest of the day is spent lounging on the grounds enjoying the lush surroundings. A long kayak across the Laguna allows for a beautiful sunset view before a late evening storm cools the night.

The girls wash up and go to work on whipping up a meal. Unfortunately, the day's peace is interrupted by the party intentions of the ill focused receptionist. She and a group of friends proceed to drink lots of alcohol and listen to ridiculously loud music while the rest of the guests try to prepare and eat dinner in the sole communal space.

Catherine and Jocelyn's happiness is not to be altered. They make due with the irresponsible revelers and after a few hands of rummy they are off to the solitude of a quiet room. A perfect day for the girls albeit an unnerving sense of recklessness from some of the other guests.

Catherine must have sensed it strongly because all night she struggles to sleep. The first drops of light are welcome reprieve from her tossing and turning. She "awakes" at around 5am and quickly wakes Jocelyn up for a glimpse at the sunrise. Reluctant to shake her slumber, Jocelyn complies with Catherine's wishes and soon they are headed to the lake's edge. As they descend the stairs of the deck Jocelyn notices a "backpacker" Catherine had met the previous night. He and his buddy had slept on the deck and now he too is awake. The recognition is quick and Jocelyn soon catches up with Catherine.

The morning light is soothing although the sun's emergence lacks the spectacular. The girls giggle and joke with each other and soon sleep calls again. They head back to their room and to their surprise their door is locked. Immediately Jocelyn notices the missing "backpackers" that had slept on the deck the night before. Something is not right. Before the sunrise they had left the door unlocked feeling quite safe in the communal style setting.

The girls try to find the receptionist to open the door but in the early hour of 6am she is still in bed nursing the countless drinks of the previous evening. With each passing minute and the continual disappearance of the "backpackers" Jocelyn senses an urgency to get into the room. After several failed attempts they finally find a spare key behind the reception desk.

Once in the room they find two missing credit cards, $200 missing in cash and a missing brand new iPod that they bought just two weeks earlier. Panic and mayhem set in. Catherine promptly and unabashedly wakes up the receptionist with demands for assistance.

Unfortunately the peace of the Laguna is achieved with no phones and no internet. The girls pack up their gear and within twenty minutes are back in Granada, the closest civilized outpost. By the time internet and phone connections are set up it is already 7:30am, over two hours since the robbery. The credit card companies confirm the worst. The "backpackers" diligently charged over $800 at gas stations and supermarkets.

The girls are completely dejected. Many times during the ordeal wishes of going home are uttered. Plans of visiting organic chocolate farms are quickly discarded. The girls decide that Nicaragua is certainly not a friendly host and by the following day they are getting picked up in San Salvador by Victoria.

Nothing like family to make things better.

Top Models are Back!

2008-06-16T13:55:00.009-04:00

If Bogota was not prepared for the NYC divas then Bocas del Toro could not even compete for their attention. Carl and Efrain decided to try their luck again and joined us for a beach getaway the first week of June in the Panama archipelago of Bocas del Toro. Unfortunately for them Bocas was a bit overrun with gringos with a spring break mentality and peace was hard to find unless one was willing to pay a lot of money.

And since no one wants to visit Latin America to spend a lot of money we passed most of our time at small beaches or at our beach house. Oh yeah, the beach house. Be careful what you reserve over the internet. Our "beach side" house "near a village" was actually smack in the middle of a collection of local homes in a very poor area. The house was very beautiful but the tiny "beach" in front was very dumpy. Literally used by the locals as a dump. Being in a beautiful house amidst such extreme poverty was very difficult for all of us to cope with. Some people may like to marvel in their privilege by seeing the hierarchy firsthand, but others of us actually feel morally responsible for the world's disparities. There is one thing staying at a $10 hostel for the night and knowing that it is still luxury for most locals but staying at an overpriced beach house for a week with locals literally walking by all day is a totally different experience.

The house put a damper on the festivities and even worse was Carl's fever of over 103F for over three days. At first we gave him some Tylenol and hydration salts but after a few days and a peak of 104F we feared the worst - dengue or malaria. In the middle of the afternoon instead of sipping pina coladas on the beach we called our water taxi and zipped to the local hospital. We were dropped off in front of a dilapidated building and made it to the hospital after walking over mounds of debris. At the hospital we were sent away until the next morning because the laboratory was closed for day. Luckily, test results came back negative and the only thing lost was beach time. And, Blackberry time for Efrain.

We're bringing Papi back

2008-06-13T17:08:00.022-04:00

Crew of Papillon - Mike, Eric, Ally, Captain Tom, Catherine and Jocelyn

For months we have anticipated the sail from Cartagena to Panama. Beautiful Caribbean islands and crazy deceptive captains. We seriously did not know what to expect. In Cartagena we thought we would be savy and visit the local marina to scope out the "backpacker" boats. We left the marina totally sketched out by sleazy Colombian captains and even more horror stories of deception.

Luckily, at our hostel we met American brothers Mike and Eric who teamed up with us to find a decent boat. We hit it off with the brothers and decided that they would be great protection in case of any problems. Our second night in Cartagena we met Tom, Captain of the Papillon. The stereotypical German, Tom was blunt and abrasive. Immediately I knew we found our guy. I forked over our deposit as soon as he informed us that he did not drink and frowned upon drinking while we sailed.

We explored Cartagena for two days enjoying real heat and a terrifically restored old town. Not to mention our most favorite food establishment in Latin America - Crepes & Waffles. Since our first ice cream cone in Bogota we have become obsessed groupies. In each large city that we visit we immediately scope out the local Crepes & Waffles and overindulge. We figured Cartagena would hold the distinction of our last South American city and our last Crepes & Waffles.

Many calories later, on Wednesday morning, with all our gear, we headed to the marina to meet Tom, see our sailboat for the first time and bid adieu to South America. We really had no idea what to expect from the Papillon except that at a mere 31 feet it would certainly be a tight squeeze for six people and gear. We boarded the Papillon and I am sure we all had apprehension about the basic and cramped quarters that would be our shared home for five days. Nothing about the Papillon gleamed of luxury.

As we had hoped our crew bonded immediately and the company became more important than the physical space. We not only shared our sail with brothers Mike and Eric, and Captain Tom, but also with Ally, a British woman who has lived in Africa most of her life. She was intelligent, progressive and absolutely warm. As soon as we boarded stories started flowing and before long there was nothing around except laughter and the open seas. As our tiny vessel floated in the Caribbean we were overwhelmed by the peace that surrounded us. The sun's intensity waned as it prepared for its evening departure. With it came a spectacle of colors and light. The only thing more beautiful was the moon rising that surprised us on the other side of the dark sky. We went to sleep in our tight beds feeling completely satisfied.

We awoke very early the next morning to yet another gorgeous sky illuminated by the morning sun. By mid afternoon we had jumped in the water and reveled in its warmth and clarity. A day spent chatting, lounging and relaxing was only made better by our evening visitors, a pod of dolphins.

We went to bed the second night like kids awaiting presents on Christmas morning. The third day would mark our arrival to the San Blas Islands. The prevailing reason why this sail was a must for us was the visit to San Blas. The archipelago is a protected autonomous zone of Panama dedicated to the preservation of the environment and of the indigenous Kuna people who inhabit the islands. The islands were not a disappointment. Isolated white sand beaches with crystal clear waters and complete peace. There is absolutely no infrastructure on the islands, therefore, other than sand and palm trees, you may only see one or two Kuna and not much else.

We were ecstatic to get off the sailboat and enjoy the pristine beach of the small island we called home for our third night. The island was so small one could walk around it in less than ten minutes. We played in the water for hours, enjoyed a lovely dinner on the beach sharing more stories and then camped out for the night.

The trip was a definite highlight of our year of travel. Not only did we experience spectacular scenery and serenity we also got to share it with a great group of people. We shocked Tom's East Berlin sensibilities but that was just an added treat. I cannot believe that I almost convinced Catherine that flying would be better.

Check out the rest of the pictures from our sail at:
http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/5176253_7vKJv#313648508_7sa3q

Sir Edmund Hillary Started Small Too

2008-05-20T21:28:00.005-04:00

Once again, it was my "determined" goal to climb a snow covered peak during our trip. For months Catherine skillfully distracted my desire, but finally, billing it as our last Ecuadorian adventure, she conceded. Although my initial wish was to climb Ecuador's 3rd highest peak, Cotopaxi at 6000m, I conceded, and we decided instead on the beginner peak of Carihuairazo at 5100m.

We responsibly prepared with several high altitude hikes including a hike from 4000m up to 5000m at the base of Chimborazo, at 6310m, Ecuador's highest peak. Excited and overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the peak, I walked briskly and unfocused, and within thirty minutes I was spent. Every ten steps I had to stop to catch my breath. I got an intense stomachache and headache and thought, "Shit, I'm not going to make it today and certainly not up that peak tomorrow." Catherine, calm and determined, encouraged me to drink water and slow my pace. Luckily, two hours into the hike we spotted the first refuge at 4800m. A sense of relief coupled with my hydration solution found me re-energized and capably fit to ascend to the first refuge, and then quickly up to the second refuge at 5000m. The towering white peak framed perfectly by the piercing blue skies gleamed brightly under a coat of snow like a blanket gingerly placed over a resting body.

We left Chimborazo feeling completely prepared for our Carihuairazo attempt. Of course, we still had adventure to contend with.

The following morning's hike to base camp was preceded by a stressful two hours working to push our pick up truck out of a mud ditch. "Work" out of the way, we hiked to our barren destination and hurried to set up camp while a steady freezing rain impeded swift progress. Muddy, wet and extremely cold, we got in our tent at 2pm for our afternoon siesta while it was still "warm" out.

Dinner was quick and by 6pm we bundled ourselves in everything we brought in the feeble hope of staying warm. Two pairs of thick wool socks. Long underwear, hiking pants and snow pants. T-shirt, long sleeved shirt and outer shell. Balaclava, wool hat and hood. Wool gloves and mountaineering mittens. Me. All stuffed in a sleeping bag and still, very cold. At 4600m the cold and the altitude joyfully join forces to scare off sleep. Although our official wake up call was at 4:30am, my last toss and turn occurred at 2am. I then waited for our 5:30am summit attempt.

We left the tent and it was completely dark, snowing and absolutely freezing. Our guide fed us and we were swiftly off. Catherine quickly got in her groove working crampons and ice ax to near perfection. True to form, my mountaineering boots were a tad oversized and I soon felt heel pain that prevented me from finding my own groove. As the sun rose over the volcano I struggled with the conditions. Knowing that the summit was not too far up I trudged on keeping in step with our guide and Catherine. For sure, the climb was more challenging than I had anticipated. The harsh conditions and the cumbersome gear made for a difficult climb. After three hours, we made it to the summit. Although exhilarated to meet our goal, within minutes we were ready to descend dreaming of a warm shower and warm bed.

The ascent fell into that category of activities we loved accomplishing but would not really consider repeating. Take me to the beach!

Check out the pics:
http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4925310_hDu8S#294274049_mqQky

RSVP 2010

2008-05-20T20:47:00.007-04:00

Our very wet and cold arrival to the Quilotoa Crater Lake.

A better day for our hike to the Black Sheep Inn in Chugchilan.
Quilotoa Crater Lake

Lounging at the Black Sheep Inn

Finally, responsible tourism. No wonder it was also the most we have paid for accommodations in eight months. The Black Sheep Inn, owned by Americans Andy and Michelle, is in Chugchilan. That means it is in the middle of nowhere. We hiked four hours to get there and five hours to get out.

Andy and Michelle have been in Chugchilan for fifteen years developing a true ecolodge supporting sustainability through permaculture design. They have cabanas made of adobe and recycled materials, fully composting toilets for all guests, a net zero waste production, community education projects and countless other measures supporting their vision of environmentally sound tourism.

Of course, being at such an innovative place we met one of the most progressive and chill groups of people in all our travels - Canadian Annie and her Venezuelan husband Rodney traveling for a month in Ecuador with there super cute nine month old Lucia, Australian park ranger and cartographer Joel whose humbling sweetness soothed us all, and Americans Natasha and Jesse who live in a converted school bus and canvas tent on a sustainable commune in Southern California.

We lounged on the vast grounds for two days enjoying captivating and intellectual company. We often meet intriguing people but this group felt perfect for our surroundings. In a few years we hope to invite you to a gathering of the minds at our own lodge tucked deep in the forest of Colombia so brush up on your reading.

Check out our pics of the Black Sheep and our hike on the Quilotoa Loop:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4925203_jvgDj#294266219_28stK

I Spoke Too Soon

2008-05-19T19:27:00.003-04:00

Sure. After 8 months of travel a horrible day is bound to arise but must it be so bad. Today has been the first day that I have wished to be home. (Even that prospect is depressing since I don't actually have a home.)

Yesterday afternoon we excitedly arrived to Guaranda, happy to be off the beaten path. We checked into our hostel and quickly made it to the town's eccentric and artsy cafe where we enjoyed yummy hot chocolate and games. We returned to the hostel and warmed up while reading our books. A while later I went looking for our iPod to enjoy some tunes before sleep. Surprisingly the iPod was not in my pack. I thought I left it at our previous hostel and immediately called to inquire. I was told to call back in the morning when the regular staff was on duty. I tried to stay positive but could not manage to fall asleep. The iPod is expensive but more importantly it drowns out noise on buses and in hostel rooms. While at home an iPod is just another electronic device, here it greatly contributes to our mental well being.

I awoke early and phoned the previous hostel only to be informed that no iPod was found in our vacated room. We then thought that maybe the staff at our current hostel may have snatched it the previous afternoon while we were gone. When we checked in the owner did warn us that some foreigners just a few days earlier had made accusations of stolen shoes. So instead of leaving our big packs at the hostel and traveling with just a our small daypacks, we left Guaranda fully loaded and quite dejected as we headed to the even smaller village of Salinas. We hoped that the infamous cheese and chocolate of the village would cheer us up.

Salinas was very wet and very cold. Since we arrived the afternoon before May Day, most of the community co-ops on our tour of the town were closed. Instead we walked in the freezing rain looking in through windows as our guide propositioned us with unwelcome overtures. We arrived at noon, by 1:30pm our tour was over, and by 2pm we knew we would be on the 4pm bus back to Guaranda. No amount of chocolate or cheese could make Salinas appealing. The previous day they euthanized their stray dogs and had not collected the bodies off the streets. Around each corner lay dead dogs. For lunch we had unrecognizable meat that Catherine swore was dog meat. I had no proof to dispute her assertions.

As I was feeling sorry for myself trekking back to the bus stop with my heavy and wet pack, a truck sped by and dumped mud all over me. We barely caught the last bus out of town which also happened to be the super local bus. That means packed to capacity with loopy loops (folks chewing the coca leaves) and their countless rice sacks. Within 20 minutes my bladder felt close to explosion. 20 minutes later I maneuvered my way over people and sacks and told the driver I had to pee. Shortly after the bus stopped to get gear off the top and I ran to the side of the road, apologized to the driver for my indiscretion, and squatted for relief...which didn't actually come. Performance anxiety! I got on the bus and shortly after had to beg the driver again to stop and let me get off. Painful.

We made it back to Guaranda and immediately realized our Lonely Planet Ecuador was gone. Lost, forgotten, stolen. Who knows. It was the breaking point. Catherine hopped in a cab headed in one direction and I hopped in a different cab in another direction.

Tonight I sleep alone and with a fever. Yeah, I got sick today!

Starring Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn

2008-05-19T19:12:00.005-04:00

Baños is likely the most touristy place we have visited in Ecuador. Hotels and travel agencies share countless blocks in the small town. Take any step outside and you are hounded with propositions for ATV rentals, bike rentals, hikes and even promised volcanic eruptions.

Baños is famous for thermal baths found in and around town. Given their lack of luster they should consider a new name for the town. You can actually only enjoy the baths at dawn on weekdays when the crowds are still in bed. At 5am we pool hopped from one Cocoon group to another in avoidance of two persistent hirsute hippies.

The soaking served its purpose after our 60km bike ride from Baños to the jungle town of Puyo. We encountered dozens of waterfalls en route and after about 20km lost all the other tourists who avoided the uphill climbs. Catherine once again proved her adept capacity for high altitude bike climbing. Although no formidable competition I did manage to keep my bum on the bike on hill after hill.

I suppose my self imposed ban on drinking finally paid off.

Check out the teeth on the guinea pig bbq lunch.

Pics of Baños: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4924891_5wtAx#294242028_Wk26G
Pics of Zamora and Parque Podocarpus: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4925151_v7JF2#294262037_BYVB5

Newton's Satisfaction

2008-04-27T12:59:00.009-04:00

That little black dot in the middle of the picture is Catherine as she contemplates our upcoming ridge walk.

Vilcabamba is the type of place that solidifies our appreciation of the past eight months. I have had a silly grin on my face for the past five days and as I anticipate our morning departure I cannot help but revel in the delight over our pleasurable indulgences.

Having the freedom to travel a year has allowed us to organically enjoy places and people. Unlike the normal one to two week vacation that is highly orchestrated or basically routine, we are lucky enough to happen upon places that would not ordinarily make the cut on a short vacation. Places where the holistic experience is balanced perfectly. The truth is, even without the constraints of time, finding such equilibrium is difficult.

Here in Vilcabamba we have challenged our bodies to astounding hiking along narrow ridges and panoramic peaks. Catherine, my secret hero, overcame her fear of heights and with courage and patience walked along ridges devouring the exhilarating views. We pampered our bodies with meditative massages and yummy food. Each evening we lay in our hammock immersed in reading as the sun baked our bodies before excusing itself behind the mountains. Music and wine and naps and peace.

I arrived with an injured knee and Catherine with an upset stomach. We leave feeling completely revitalized as we head north and the days on our one year dwindle away.

Check out more pics at:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4924992_zgExz#294249553_S724a

Longing for My Bike

2008-04-27T12:27:00.004-04:00

I know we have previously bored you with countless stories of buses and bus rides:

The Worst (and The Dirtiest): Machala to Tulcan, Ecuador - 16 hours
The Longest: Ipiales to Bogota, Colombia - 22 hours
The Worst Breakdown: Santa Marta, Colombia to Maracaibo, Venezuela - who knows how long
The Most Crowded: Sucre to Los Frailes, Bolivia (tied for the Most Crowded was EVERY other bus in Bolivia)
Most Ridiculous (tie): Quito to Cuenca, Ecuador - we departed at 10pm for a 10 hour ride and the bus attendant collected tickets at midnight. Loja to Riobamba, Ecuador - we departed at 9:30pm for a 10 hour ride and the bus attendant handed out snacks at 3am!
Most Dangerous: Torotoro to Cochabamba, Bolivia - Kamikaze driver that was likely legally blind and would speed up at turns. We seriously almost flew over a cliff causing the five of us in the van to demand that he stop.

Honestly, buses are the ONE thing that we have not adjusted to. We absolutely loathe buses and the painful rides that leave our bodies aching for days and try our patience to the brink of breakdown. With accommodations and food we have options and control. If a place looks like a dump we leave. If the menu serves the same white rice and cheap cut of beef we leave.

Bus companies though surreptitiously lure you in.

"Does the bus have a toilet?"
"Si, claro que si."

"Is the bus direct?"
"Si, claro que si."

"Is the bus 1st class?"
"Si, claro que si."

The ticket sellers are ALL evil liars. We have stopped asking questions and instead make sure to do a thorough walk on inspection before purchasing tickets (sadly, this is not always possible). This guarantees a clean bus and a decent seat, but that is about it. Nothing can save you from the smelly passengers sure to keep their windows tightly shut or the frequent breakdowns. Let's say all of these things miraculously fall into place, nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you for the dismally dangerous road conditions coupled with the perilous race car speeding called driving.

In Ecuador we are lucky because bus rides are "short," five to eight hours max. We are horribly unlucky because the buses are horrendous! From Cuenca to Vilcabamba we took a six hour day bus that managed to encompass all the worst - breakdown, stench, cramped, terrible road conditions, blocked bathroom. You name it, we experienced it.

Fortunately, the peace and beauty of Vilcabamba helped us forget the pain within moments of arrival. Our lovely cabana overlooks a lush mountain scape and our hotel spoils us with massage service, hammocks, a pool, great food and ideal tranquility.

Not even the prospect of the return bus can spoil this.

Saving the World, One Wolunteer at a Time

2008-04-02T19:30:00.013-04:00

Tomorrow we leave the "comforts" of Quito. Catherine managed to convince me to volunteer one month to help protect a cloud forest reserve in Mindo, a town two hours west of Quito. We will volunteer with Milton, an Ecuadorian activist from Mindo that has worked locally for over 20 years. Back in the 80s he organized the community to fight logging companies and they won the right to preserve 20,000 hectares of primary cloud forest in the surrounding area. We do not know our specific assignments but we know they are currently building an information center, clearing hiking trails, cataloging birds (Mindo is Ecuador's birdwatching capital) and building a sustainable eco-village.

What we also just found out is that we will be without electricity during our stay at BioMindo. I was totally game on sharing a tree hut with other volunteers, using a composting outhouse and living in the boonies - but NO electricity?!?! When they told us to bring lanterns I thought it was to illuminate the path to the outhouse, not to illuminate our "room". I know Catherine is secretly rejoicing at our now justifiable 8pm bedtime.

* * *

Rustic is something backpackers talk about. It is something they think they know. Until this evening we were those backpackers.

BioMindo IS rustic.

Barbara, BioMindo's German co-founder, walked us up to our tree hut room and suggested that we settle in quickly before it got "too" dark. It was only 6pm and already night had fallen. Although the darkness obscured our vision, we did see the space which we would occupy for the next four weeks - the thatched roof top floor of a basically built bamboo structure. It looked more like an open air tepee than a room that would protect us from the multitude of creatures lurking about and the persistent precipitation of the rainiest month of rainy season. We graciously unloaded our bags and quickly descended hoping for better.

We found Barbara eagerly awaiting us for a brief tour of the village. Composting toilet. Actually a trash bin with a seat attached. After each waste deposit one scoops in some wood chips. Once full, the bin is emptied and replaced by a new one. The waste is composted. Shower. Cold water. Barely any cover. The cooking area. Well, since there is no electricity then there is also no refrigerator. Barbara explained that our meals - breakfast, lunch, and dinner - would mainly consist of white rice and veggies.

We were also welcomed by little insects that put mosquitoes to shame. These little nondiscriminatory suckers bite you everywhere (toes, fingers, face) and leave a bloody bump that is immediately painful. A day or so later the bumps get even bigger and the itching unbearable. The itching persists for days. Anti-DEET Catherine endured much discomfort.

Luckily we really liked Barbara and Milton, co-founders of BioMindo. Over dinner they talked to us about their vision of a sustainable eco-village that would be used as a learning model for locals interested in living with minimum impact on the earth. With the conservation of the cloud forest, locals used the tourism industry as a viable economic alternative to the logging they had previously used as a means of subsistence. Unfortunately, people quickly saw the very profitable merits of tourism. Mindo went from having two hotels in 1987 to more than eighty hotels with construction still occurring in every direction. The unregulated surge was expectantly void of education in responsible and sustainable ventures to protect the local culture and biodiversity.

BioMindo's goal is to reverse that trend.

* * *

Day 3 here at 7pm and we are in bed after another long yet peaceful day. We wake when the sun rises and the birds compete with song. We go to bed when night falls and the critters begin their night time lullabies. Work has mostly consisted of us jumping in and doing our part no matter how inadequate we are with saws and hammers and other manly tools...hehehe. I seriously do not know how much strain I have put into cutting bamboo with the flimsiest saw ever. Yesterday I thatched my first roof and tomorrow more of the same. Catherine built a shelf for firewood and together we made a basket for timber. Today we hiked along an old trail that next week we will help clear and get ready for hikers. If it needs to get done, we do it. Or at least try.

We have already gotten used to the white rice, cold showers, no electricity and room without walls. It has actually been extremely relaxing and refreshing being here.

* * *

Now we have to leave Mindo.

Last night while on a booze run with Jimmy, a fellow volunteer, I twisted my bad ankle and fell. The immediate pain occurred in my ankle but soon after the hurt subsided and I was fine to walk back and enjoy a celebratory dinner and drinks with everyone. Unfortunately, within the hour I felt a throbbing pain in my right knee. By the time I went to bed I could hardly walk. Sleep was impossible as I dealt with the constant pain made worse by any minor movement.

This morning instead of going with the others to the cloud forest I stayed in bed immobile. I have been here all day. Only dire desires for the toilet have given me reason to endure the pain and move out of bed.

The situation is quite demoralizing. This intense pain leads me to believe that I hurt my knee very badly. The possibility that this trip may be cut short is even more agonizing than the knee.

* * *

Today I visited a curandera. She looked at my knee and with a few swift moves popped it into "place". Through my grimaces of pain she deeply massaged my knee. Every time my meditation failed and I complained of pain she continued her rubbing telling me she was working it out.

I have no idea what she did but the pain has slightly subsided and my range of motion has improved dramatically. I left the hut practically carried to the truck and returned walking on my own. Maybe the trick was in the strange purple reddish liquid she applied to my knee with a feather before I left.

At least now I will be able to endure a bus ride to Quito to get "real" medical attention.

* * *

$200 and many desperate phone calls later, my very competent Johns Hopkins educated orthopedist confirmed NO major damage. I practically fell over myself getting home to share the news with Catherine. I had prepared myself for the worse but luckily with rest and physical therapy I will recover in a few weeks. RELIEF!

* * *

By the time we left Mindo we were actually sad to leave the peace we enjoyed for several weeks. The stability of staying in one place and not having to pack and move on every few days was also quite refreshing. Even the German couple we cursed at first for cramping our space turned out to be super chill. Dreadlocked Biggie could not stand getting dirty and her photographer boyfriend Marko was a dedicated hoot. One evening he spent hours trying to photograph frogs but returned covered in bug bites and with only one frog shot. We liked them.

We very quickly adjusted to life at the eco-village. 8pm bedtime was rejuvenating. 6am wakeup...well, one cannot complain after ten solid hours of sleep each night. Barbara proved to be an extremely creative cook. Super Babs is seriously BioMindo's superhero - she can do it all. The cold showers were exactly what our bodies needed after long days of work in the sun. The composting toilet actually makes a lot of sense. It is super clean and odor free and most importantly extremely friendly to the environment. No electricity just meant that no one ever forgot to shut the lights off.

The coolest thing about Mindo was the sublime nature. The place was simply spectacular. Over 500 species of birds. You may not realize what that means but after just one hour of birdwatching I spotted an exhilarating diversity of birds in all colors and sizes. I loved it so much I even awoke at dawn one morning and sat on a stool checking out birds for hours. And the insects were just something out of this world. Nathan would have been in bug heaven checking out the array of colors and sizes.

Mindo was exactly what we had been looking for. Like spoiled Americans we did complain but like seasoned travelers we appreciated the experience.

Check out our pics at:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4619936_Lc8nt#272884123_v8WzY

Too Lazy for Quito

2008-04-01T17:31:00.003-04:00

We have finally made it to Ecuador. Tons to say but pictures will surely tell the tale.

Pics of:

Quito - http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4572031_vULJ6#269480221_fwfHz

Otavalo - http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4572409_ekmCj#269495165_LXeDt

Mojanda - http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4572745_7TDy3#269512103_z2Fuo

Good Friday - http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4572931_P89ce#269521621_iZ6Uh

Cuenca - http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4721924_RRfhX#279544305_rfD77

Los Mojados

2008-02-26T18:44:00.018-05:00

We met our excited guide Daniel on Wednesday afternoon and within minutes his charm and knowledge convinced us that we were totally game for a Thursday 6am departure to Parque Ucumari and an intense eight hour uphill hike from 1850m to our campsite at La Laguna de Otun at 4000m in Parque Nacional Los Nevados. After two relaxed months in Colombia we were psyched to gather our gear and venture out into nature. Little did we know that the goddess had different plans for us.

By 8am when we commenced our hike from La Cedral the rain had already started to trickle. GoreTex, ponchos, fast drying synthetic fibers, SmartWool - we were two well prepared hikers intent on staying dry. Within the hour we were two soaked hikers with very expensive gear. The previous day when Daniel explained that we would walk along a river basin, a cuenca, I assumed we would walk along side it not actually through it. As the rain pounded us we had to make our way up the rocky river basin as ankle deep water gushed down. Breaks in the water only meant we had to deal with slippery rocks protruding from the ground and messy mud banks.

For over an hour I gingerly stepped from one slightly emerged rock to another diligently determined to avoid wetting my feet. Catherine and Daniel trekked 20m in front of me and I attributed their speed to their longer strides and lean fit frames. I lumbered on until Catherine turned around to wait for me and noticed my deliberate steps.

"Are your shoes still dry?" with an intended hint of disdain.

I proudly responded, "Yes, indeed they are."

"You must be kidding me! We do not have time for dry feet! Pick up the pace!"

Within minutes I reluctantly dipped my feet in the gushing stream of cold water. Soon after mud. My pace improved but my morale was never quite the same.

After two hours of walking we reached a river too high to cross on foot. A week´s worth of persistent rain swelled the river and mightily washed away the footbridge. Luckily, Daniel´s friend Ana was with us on horseback and we were able to cross the river one at a time on the poor horse. After our river crossing and with the rain still pounding us, Daniel suggested that the conditions were not in our favor and that we should consider options because he did not think that we would make it to the laguna. It was already 10:30am and he anticipated another eight to nine hours of uphill hiking at our precarious pace. He suggested that we stay at the Pastora which we had just reached and he would hike up to the laguna to meet up with Ana who was on horseback.

Insistent on making it, Catherine firmly instructed me to pick up the pace and she practically started sprinting up the cuenca. She suspected that Daniel wanted to ditch us to have a romantic rendezvous with Ana at the laguna. I was not happy about a change of plans either, but I seriously doubted that he was conjuring sexy ideas for a night at 4 Celsius at 4000m. Nonetheless, I found myself feebly explaining to Daniel that we would hike on and then foolishly trying to keep Catherine's alpha pace uphill.

"Come on Joc, faster!"

Unfortunately, within 30 minutes I knew that I would not make it to the laguna. I was beat and we still had 8 hours to go. Uphill. Wet. Cold.

"Pick up the pace!"

As Catherine scolded my slowness I reticently refrained knowing that she too would succumb to fatigue and the elements. Catherine is a kick ass hiker in tremendous shape but the conditions were totally demoralizing.

"Joc, I think we'll have to admit that we won't get to the laguna."

"Really? You're probably right," I innocently countered.

Luckily, Daniel suggested his most promising idea: we would hike another 5 hours uphill to a finca owned by local farmers he knew, stay the night, and in the morning we would get up at 5am and hike the final 2 hours uphill to the laguna. All on board, we trekked on.

Those 5 hours kicked our ass. The last 800m alone took us 30 minutes as we labored through steep and slippery mounds of mud. Each step uphill exposed us to the chilly cold of higher elevation. I am surprised I did not break down in tears of defeat because my body ached immensely. I lost circulation in my hands and when we finally made it to the finca, Botero would have appreciated the pudgy red stubs on my hands.

Laura and Juan Camilo, 5 year old twin ambassadors of the finca family greeted us with huge smiles and curious delight. We quickly peeled off the soaked gear and layered on every other piece of clothing we packed. Immediately we were graciously offered aguapanela (a hot water drink flavored with a type of molasses), homemade cheese (which they made on the farm each day and sold at the market in town), coffee, and much desire seating next to the stove that doubles as the family heater.

Amidst the poverty and simplicity of the finca, the family's warmth and love towards one another was obvious. We shared stories about the US, Colombia, life in the city, life on a farm. In keeping with finca routine we were all in bed by 7pm.

Sans discussion, we all clearly understood that there would be no 5am walk to the laguna.

We awoke to gorgeous blue skies that revealed beautifully lush green mountains around us.

The debut was short lived. After a joyful morning of kid games with Juan Camilo and Laura, we started our 10am return hike in down pour mightier than the previous day. Our pained bodies did not make it down until 5pm. The only true motivation was the warm shower and warm bed awaiting us in the hotel.

Unfortunate for us, rainy season has arrived.

More pictures at -

Medellin: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4412998_i5GWw#259253579

Parque Ucumari: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4413116_frWpA#259258407

Salento: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4417463_ybYrc#259543902

El Mercado de Silvia: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4417589_MK5Uq#259550410

What is the root out of here?

2008-02-15T13:55:00.013-05:00

Again, we invaded the Rees family. A month after our initial departure we showed up with a pack of dirty clothes and major tooth problems.

In mid December when we first arrived in Bogota, Catherine visited a dentist that filled a cavity that had caused her persistent pain for weeks. Unfortunately, two months later the pain had returned with even more intensity. Efrain and Carl left early Friday morning on 2/8 and hence started our week long affair with Drs. Gamboa and Vera. On Friday afternoon they both confirmed that a root canal was needed and one was scheduled for Monday afternoon.

Our possible one night at Liz and Matt´s quickly became a minimum of four nights.

On Monday afternoon, Dr. Vera started the root canal with a clamp, a clockwork orange mouth opening contraption, and a dental dam. All officially necessary equipment. I was allowed to sit through the procedure that after an hour went painfully awry. Catherine had an unexpected shooting pain in her head and a stressed out Dr. Vera postponed the rest of the procedure until Wednesday.

Now, at least six nights.

Tuesday we took a dental break and wondered if dentists had worked on the wrong molar. Wednesday we returned for a smooth end to the root canal after "confirmation" that they had in fact worked on the correct molar. Wednesday night while having an chunk of one of my molars fell off. The dental fun was not to be monopolized by Catherine.

Seven nights.

Thursday, Dr. Gamboa sealed up Catherine´s root canal and fixed my newly discovered cavity. Lots of time but less than $300 later our dental problems were gone. Within 24 hours we finally bid farewell to the Rees family and Bogota.

Unfortunately, molar pain for a certain patient continues and we anticipate that in fact the wrong molar was treated to a root canal.

Top Models Hit Colombia

2008-02-09T17:27:00.009-05:00

Giddy up.

Group shot.

Chango!

Spelunking.

Top Model Carl.

El Paseo del Angel.

Parque 93.

Villa de Leyva.

The Village Boys.

Bogota was not prepared for two old-soul NYC queens. Catherine and I were hardly prepared.

We found a sweet deal for accommodations - a modern apartment with ample space and amenities within walking distance to La Candelaria and shops. Satisfied? It took prodding to admit satisfaction.

The boys arrived, freshened up, and off we were. Karaoke at Brokeback Mountain found us in a shady gay neighborhood and with singing setups we were unaccustomed to. We (well, actually Carl) managed a rendition of "Like a Bird" that quickly cleared the bar.

We visited some other late night establishments that proved victorious over our simpleton East Coast sensibilities. Naughty "dancers" and even naughtier Colombians of the fluid persuasion sent us home in the wee hours yearning for domesticity.

We climbed a "mountain" on Sunday with throngs of Colombians making it up to church service at Montserrat. We were enthused about a Sunday evening outing (since we crashed by 8pm on Saturday) but Bogota´s throngs of youthful revelers apparently rest with the lord. Proud products of globalization, we watched the Super Bowl while downing beers and burgers. Carl was unamused.

Villa de Leyva found the boys rappelling into caves, getting their shoes dirty with a little spelunking, climbing trees, riding horses (in fabulous clothing choices), and swimming chango in piercing blue waters. Efrain I knew had it in him, but Carl surprised us. We still don´t know if it was the Monty emerging or a desire to take the best photo.

We are now ready for the next visitors.

Check out more pictures at: http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4331846_vMCLY#254083037

"Sing along with the common people."

2008-01-24T11:42:00.001-05:00

It´s 9am in Merida, Venezuela and we have finally had a warm shower and are in bed for a decent sleep. More importantly, after more than a month of peaceful and easy travel in Colombia adventure has found us again in Venezuela.

A backpacker fact is that although one has some discretion over decisions that are good versus decisions that are bad, one mostly hopes for decisions that are lucky. Being armed with "information", "knowledge", or even "caution" rarely gets you to where you think you are going.

We awoke early Saturday morning knowing some "facts":
- We needed some US dollars for our foray into Venezuela. The official bank rate in Venezuela is 2,150 Bolivares to the dollar but the prevalent black market rate is 4,500 Bolivares to the dollar. Given the instability brought on by Chavez´s new Bolivarian socialism the day to day economy in Venezuela is a joke. Prices and exchange rates are arbitrarily set with little relativity. Actually a totally new currency was introduced January 1, 2008.
- We would take a four hour bus to Macao, mentioned in the Lying Planet as a "lawless" border town where travelers are advised not to stray away from the bus terminal.
- After Macao we would then take a two and half hour taxi across the border to Maracaibo.
- Finally a seven hour night bus to Merida.
With total luck we knew we would be in for a long journey.

Our 10:30am bus left right on time and we were happy that our cheapie fare got us a ride on a super comfy air conditioned bus cama (sleeper seats). We were in Macao by 2:30pm as promised. Lucky.

The Macao terminal was a dusty dump in the middle of a desolate trash ridden field on the highway. We met a woman and man who offered to share a taxi with us but after the man left us waiting for 15 minutes to make phone calls "caution" kicked in.

"Is he making phone calls to arrange for a ´robbery´ of our taxi?"
"Is he up to something shady because he knows we are Americans and likely traveling with US dollars?"

We quickly decided to ditch them. We searched for our own taxi but after being quoted varying exorbitant fares and fearing a ride alone with a sleazy driver we ditched that idea too. We instead decided on the "safest" and cheapest option - a beat up collectivo stuffed with more than 30 people (with seats for less than 20). Catherine got a "regular" seat (think small school bus seat) in the back and again I got the lovely seat up front with no legroom usually reserved for the driver´s assistant. (All buses and collectivos have an assistant. When you board the bus you do not hand the driver your ticket. Instead, halfway through the ride the assistant crams his way through the bus/collectivo collecting tickets or selling tickets. He is also in charge of picking up random riders that wait on the side of the road for a ride).

No AC in the scorching afternoon heat, no space for our bodies, no order, and no luck. We were then joined by the two large and loud female owners of the enterprise that we soon found out was more than a border crossing collectivo.

Problems arose immediately. We stalled before leaving the terminal and within 500m of the terminal we stopped twice to get oil for the collectivo.

In her characteristic feistiness Catherine asked our driver, "Quantas mas paradas vamos a tener?"

Her sarcasm and Spanish skills riled up the locals with laughter and concurring sentiments. Our 2:30pm departure became more like a 3:15pm departure and our supposed two and a half hour trip was reclassified as a four hour trip. By the time we reached the border crossing at Paraguachon just 5km away from the terminal we had stopped several times and were keen to our collectivo´s terrible oil leak.

The border crossing from Colombia to Venezuela was like wandering from the shops on Walnut Street to the shops at Chestnut Street. Strangely only four of us got off the collectivo for the slowly straightforward document formalities. We walked on the dusty dirt patch of a highway from one country to the other sharing the road with rusted banana boat Lincolns from the 70s and tons of trash. The dust was so thick that we could hardly see or breathe.

Back on the collectivo after leaving the border we were stopped every 500m for immigration checks. Venezuelan officers would board the bus, ask for identification, get a wad of cash and slick words from our two large and loud owners, and we would be off again. We were obviously smuggling people across the border and possibly contraband or drugs. Even more obvious was the overt petty corruption found in Venezuela.

After two hours on the collectivo we had traveled what would normally take thirty minutes. We grabbed our gear and ditched our friendly fellow riders and sleazy owners. We hopped in a cab and were in Maracaibo within an hour.

Another backpacker truth is that no matter how tight our budget is and no matter how much we want to "live like common people" we can always call on the privilege of Uncle Sam.

Beach Culture IS Culture

2008-01-24T11:33:00.000-05:00

Finally we found our beach paradise.

The bus dropped us off at the Parque Nacional Tayrona and as soon as we started our hike towards the beach we knew we were in for a treat. The dense jungle formed a warm canopy that filled our path with a choir of birds and the rustling of reptiles and critters. No longer were we overwhelmed with the odious smells and prolific trash of Santa Marta and Taganga (two major beach disappointments).

We rented a tent and set up camp in a lush field of tropical trees just feet from the beach. We enjoyed the peaceful tranquility of a coastline free of commerce and people. Instead huge sea boulders dotted the various bays of the park backdropped by jungle. We walked from black sandy beaches to white sandy beaches to colorful grainy beaches. We had breakfast on the beach followed by late morning naps, early afternoon reading, and frequent dips in the water.

Our four days there were certainly not enough. We plan on spending more time at the park when we return to the Colombian coast before our sail to Panama. Anyone want to join us?

See pics of our visit to Parque Nacional Tayrona at: http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4220948#246843804

We´d like to thank Jesus, my Mama, J.Lo, and...

2008-01-11T17:40:00.001-05:00

the Guidis.

Dear Liz, Matt, and Nathan,
Thanks for the wonderful welcome we received in Bogota and your tremendous hospitality in hosting us and everyone else as they arrived. We had everything we wanted and needed - massages, homecooked meals, immaculate room, spacious bathroom, comfy queen bed, perfect holidays, and tons of love from all of you. For months as we dealt with challenging moments while backpacking we simply told ourselves that we had Bogota to look forward to. It certainly exceeded our expectations. We only wish that in the near future (well, once we get ourselves established again) we can offer the same kindness to you.

Dear Victoria,
We love you! Thanks for getting us off our lazy butts and getting us active and exploring. We can´t wait to see you in El Salvador and take you with us for a little backpacking adventures of your own. We´ll be there soon enough.

Dear Maribel,
The only non-Guidi on our list. Seeing you was perfect! Thanks for bringing all of our favorite stuff from the states, especially one of our favorite friends. We had a great time boozing it up Bogota style.

Dear Mom and Henry,
Rock climbing, rafting, dancing, shopping - your energy is totally inspirational and contagious! We were so happy to share the holidays and Joc´s 30th birthday with you. Thanks for treating us to our favorite things from home, dinners, Villa de Leyva, and your presence. Can´t wait to do it again.

Dear Laura, Craig, and Birdie,
We´re psyched you completed the picture. It just wouldn´t have been the same without you. Get geared up and lets plan a sweet summer vacation in Central America.

The Guidi clan holiday reunion in Colombia was perfect. Nothing like luxuries and loved ones to excite two very lucky backpackers.

For a recap of all our holiday adventures check out Liz´s blog at: http://reesfamilybogota.blogspot.com/2008/01/christmas-and-new-years-recap.html

Check out our Colombia pics:

Ciclovia and Cloud Forest - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205711#245844162

Christmas Eve Dinner - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212585#246280751

Joc´s 30th Birthday - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205678#246290785

Rock Climbing in Suesca - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205726#245835259

Simon Bolivar Park - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4205768#245839331

Villa de Leyva - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212746#246291941

Paragliding in San Gil - http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/4212608#246284137

3 Countries, 3 Days, and Too Many Buses

2008-01-11T17:39:00.002-05:00

We left Mancora, Peru bummed to leave our one week beach bum vacation. We were especially unhappy about our upcoming days of bus travel. The only solace was our final destination - Bogota, Colombia. After months of anticipation we would finally see Liz, Matt, and Nathan and enjoy the comforts of a real home and loved ones.

Unfortunately, we had to experience our worst bus ride to get there. Unscathed, we crossed the reputed "most dangerous" border crossing in South America from Peru to Ecuador. We got bus tickets on the recommended Panamericana Bus Company from the southern border city of Machala to the northern border city of Tulcan. After a long day of bus rides and waiting we finally boarded in early evening for our 16 hour bus ride across Ecuador.

Although the fare was equivalent to luxury service buses we were accustomed to, the bus was certainly not the spacious bus-cama we had expected. No comfy sleeper reclining seats, no foot rests, no bathroom, no space, and no AC. We did have a screeching TV sound system that could have made a dog crazy. Even worse were the roaches that joined us on our trip. Stealth by daylight the creepy critters made their ugly debut as we reboarded following our evening dinner stop - they were everywhere. Catherine´s previous unhappiness with the heat, ridiculous volume, and erratic driving was nothing compared to her livid reaction upon seeing the roaches.

I wiped my seat down, told her I loved her, blasted my iPod, and assiduously worked to meditate to a happy place. Catherine covered every part of her body and did her own painstaking mental work.

By the time we got off the gross and uncomfortable bus and walked across the border to Ipiales, Colombia we were totally spent with the situation and each other.

A cab driver tried to overcharge us, angrily locked my pack in his trunk, and Catherine fumed. A herd of kids harassed us as we inquired about a hostel and Catherine fumed. Within minutes she was ready to leave me to my own devices.

A night in Ipiales (together) and a 22 hour journey found us exhausted, disheveled, and excited when Liz and Nathan finally opened their front door in Bogota and welcomed us.

Point Broken

2008-01-11T17:39:00.001-05:00

The sun and heat and peaceful beach life were more enticing than any fear of mugging. We stayed in Mancora for our planned week of chill time. Even though the Panamerican Highway runs right through the few block strip called a city, Mancora had good food and fun to offer. Being there was certainly better than any bus ride out of there.

For a week we awoke early and lounged at the beach for hours enjoying long reads and even longer naps. Surfer watching took up huge chunks of our afternoons. The breaks were full of experienced locals sharing their playground with abled kids and awkward beginners.

Catherine watched diligently determined to sidestep a necessary first lesson (and $15). She took mental notes of the constant visuals provided by instructors to the legion of first time foreigners hoping to catch waves. One morning in bed she startled me as she lept in one quick motion from her belly to her feet.

"That´s how you stand on a board," she claimed.

"So today you´ll finally take a lesson?"

A dismissive grin was her response.

After days of prodding, Catherine finally rented a huge red board and set off with a savings of $10 and sans official lesson. Fear cadenced her slow trot to the water.

Once in the water, her long board overwhelmed her approach to the waves as kids and locals quickly paddled their boards past her. She underestimated the arm strength necessary for the approach and within minutes she was no longer attempting to reach the waves breaking towards the south end but instead she helplessly drifted towards the north end where bathers frolicked in calm waters.

In the distance the only identifier that remained was the huge red board. Close to reaching the shore one final wave bid her farewell. Bikini bottoms flew off and the board jerked her like a big dog walking an old lady. A few gulps of water later she safely emerged with local kids surrounding her asking for a "ride" on her board. Indecent and frustrated she struggled to fend the kids off while pulling up her bottoms.

Twenty minutes after her initial foray into the water my sexy surfer returned without a board or any desire to surf while in Mancora.

Salar de Spectacular

2007-12-18T11:53:00.000-05:00

We loved the Salar de Uyuni in southern Bolivia. It was the perfect adieu to a wonderful country and wonderful 2 months spent exploring its diverse boundaries. In a matter of three days we saw vast salt plains, colorful lagoons in majestic landscapes, desert rock formations, an island of giant cactuses, crater moon geysers, and an endless display of nature. Few words can describe our excitement.

Check out all of our Uyuni pics at http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3910432#226912002

This post is super old. We visited the Salar at the end of November right before crossing the border into Chile.

Menacing Men of Mancora

2007-12-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

Day 1, 11/26
San Pedro, Chile to Arica, Chile
12 hour night bus

Day 2, 11/27
Arrive Arica, Chile
2 hour cab ride across the border to Tacna, Peru
5 hour layover in Tacna
Tacna to Lima
20 hour night bus

Day 3, 11/28
Lima

Day 4, 11/29
Lima to Chiclayo
12 hour night bus

Day 5, 11/30
Chiclayo

Day 6, 12/1
Chiclayo to Piura
3 hour evening bus to Piura

Day 7, 12/2
Piura

Day 8, 12/3
Piura to Mancora
2 hour taxi ride to Mancora

After our taxing week getting from Bolivia to Chile to northern Peru, we decided to stop our backpacking ways, book a week at the beach, and relax. Mancora is Peru´s ONLY decent beach with sun and sand. It´s just a step up from the Jersey Shore but it was a welcome change from wool hats and gloves and 20 hour night buses.

Although the heat was exactly what we wanted, Mancora quickly showed its true colors. Mostly Mancora´s men showed their predatory teeth. We´ve dealt with extremely inappropriate behavior and verbal propositions. The men here have a complete sense of entitlement and show no restraint.

Even worse, last night while talking to a French couple staying at our hostel we found out that they were mugged at gunpoint at 1:30pm while walking on the beach. Strangely enough, I went walking by myself yesterday morning to explore the south end of the beach. I walked south for about an hour, jumped in the ocean for a dip, sat at an isolated spot in the sand, and then walked back. When I was just 10 minutes from our hostel I ran into the French couple, waved hello to them, and then continued to walk to the hostel. Well, just seconds after I passed them three guys who I had noticed sitting nearby walked up to them, showed them a gun, and robbed them of a camera, jewelry, and cash. At 1:30 in the afternoon at a spot very close to the main drag! The Frenchies were quite calm about the whole situation but it freaked us out. Rather than stay until Monday as planned we will leave this weekend. Luckily I was alone because I´m sure if Catherine and I were together we would have been mugged instead. With my dark tan I think I was able to blend in and look Peruvian.

After Mancora, we get to enjoy another week of bus hell. We have to cross from Peru to Ecuador, the entire country of Ecuador, and then to Bogota. It´s only worthwhile because we get to see the lovely Rees family in just a few days!

Bolivian Blue Light Special is Now Over

2007-12-07T15:36:00.000-05:00

Within minutes of crossing the nondescript desert border into Chile we were on a paved road. Neatly painted lines on the road kept our truck on the right hand side and bright signs clearly directed us towards San Pedro de Atacama. We hadn´t experienced that level of advancement since we drove to JFK on the morning of August 29th.

San Pedro didn´t disappoint with its 2nd world offerings. Information was readily available at every juncture and people actually practiced proactive customer service. The first hotel we visited had no vacancy so the owner called another hotel in town and made reservations for us. This being a "service" she volunteered.

Unfortunately, these luxuries came at a price. Chile is expensive! Compared to the blue light special that is Bolivia, Chile was like shopping at Neiman Marcus...well, more like Macy´s. Our cheap hotel was $20, a bottle of water was $2, a sandwich was $5, the internet $2 per hour, and our bus out of town was $30 each. (The bus did have actual leg room, a functioning toilet, air-conditioning, snacks, and an aisle free of bodies and bundles.)

Chile´s cost meant we received our entrance stamp on the 25th and exit stamp on the 27th. Our two days were well worth it. We biked for a day in the very hot and beautiful Valle de la Luna. We saw salt canyons, sand dunes, crater formations, rock formations, and tons of sand. Being on our own, feeling completely safe, enjoying real heat, and the peaceful isolation were absolutely perfect.

We are accepting donations for our return to lovely Chile.

"Thanks, but I´m not looking for a husband."

2007-12-03T11:36:00.000-05:00

Geared up for my visit to the mine with dynamite in hand.

I arrived to Potosi alone. After two and a half months of travel, Catherine and I decided to take real space, lest we drive each other crazy. She stayed an extra day reading and relaxing in Sucre, and I headed to Potosi to visit the mines.

Before embarking on our trip I did not know much about Bolivia, but I knew about Potosi and its famous Cerro Rico. The silver mine deposits made the Spanish rich while the land and the people were grossly exploited. Although silver has long been exhausted, the Cerro Rico still has abundant deposits of tin and zinc. 15,000 miners continue to work in harsh conditions that kill many due to accidents and premature illnesses. The miners are organized in autonomous cooperatives that pay taxes to the federal government for access to the mountain. The government provides no services or regulations to the miners. Each cooperative has from 50 to 500 members. They pay dues to the cooperative to pay for the salary of the cooperative president, to contribute to social security and retirement, and to help with the upkeep of the mine. Miners begin working as young as 14 as trolley pushers and can work until they are alive and healthy. They commonly retire in their late 30s.

I visited the mine with a sweet German couple and the very knowledgeable yet arrogant and machista ex-miner, Julio Cesar. Immediately upon entering the mine I knew that the conditions were not meant for humans. For the first 300m I had to crouch down to half my size and sprint in the wet darkness. The opening was about 1m at its widest with trolley tracks occupying the center. Every thirty seconds or so I had to press my body against the side of the mine so that miners could exit the mines with their trolleys full of minerals and debris. Dust and chemicals hung densely in the air making it extremely difficult to see and nearly impossible to breathe.

The miners wore helmets and rubber boots but regular clothing and no face masks. They chewed coca leaves and even smoked cigarettes during breaks. I was surprised as they laughed and joked and carried on like buddies at the local bar. On the last Friday of the month they even drink all night in the mine giving offerings to el Tio, keeper of the underworld of the mine. Their syncretic practices involving paying respect to el Tio with offerings and prayers. He is said to protect them and bring them luck. He represents the fertile masculine demon of the underworld and his revered counterpart is the fertile feminine goddess of the earth, Pachamama.

Miner taking a break with us

El Tio

We spent over three hours in the mine meeting the miners and working hard to stay out of their way. The all male environment harbored a hypermasculine and sexualized culture that objectified women and demeaned the feminine (including gay men). I was constantly asked my name, age, and relationship status. This attention was garnered while wearing my very non-sexy rubber outfit in a space with dust and chemicals so thick that one could hardly see. After the tour Julio Cesar took us to a small room where five miners sat around a metal tool and celebrated its acquisition. They were to use the tool the following evening to remove moisture from a tunnel they had recently discovered in the mine. The celebration meant heavy drinking of 96% liquor that resembles rubbing alcohol and heaps of coca leaf chewing. We sat with the very drunk and female "friendly" miners for over two hours as they aggressively proposed for me to stay in Bolivia and pick a Bolivian miner for a husband. An interesting experience, but one I was happy to end.

Happy 3 Month Anniversary!

2007-11-30T19:24:00.000-05:00

Catherine and I celebrated our 3 month travel anniversary yesterday in exactly the same place where we started our adventure - Lima, Peru. We were so ecstatic to be back in Lima and to indulge in real luxuries. Upon getting to Lima we went immediately to Vivanda - the Whole Foods of Lima. We got wonderful produce and desserts and wine. All this in a clean space with delicious aromas. We also had the most awesome ceviche ever!

After three months of a completely nonexistent gay social life we immediately found info on a gay bar in Miraflores having its weekly girl night. Woo-hoo! We went on a crazy five hour shopping spree, got done up in our new outfits, and headed out to feel liberated. Luckily BoBo Bar was super close to our hostel and it was not shady at all. Unfortunately, we were two of only four girls there. Ha! There were two straight couples engaged in heavy making out sessions and that´s about it. We had a great time getting drunk and thinking about how much we will enjoy our return to Philly and NYC gay life. The night ended with Catherine badly spraining her ankle running down the steps at McDonald´s. That´s our own story :)

We have since left Lima and our now quickly making our way up the Panamerican Highway to Bogota. Our goal is to make it there by December 15th. We decided today that we are sooooo ready for Bogota and Christmas and family and friends and that we are sooooo done with buses. Rather than backpack and explore northern Peru, tomorrow we head to the beach resort town of Mancora. We´ll ¨vacation¨ there for a few days and then we´ll head to the valley of longevity in Ecuador before making our final bus stretch from Quito to Bogota.

Although we miss all of you...we just do not want to end our adventure. In just three months we have experienced so many new things. It´s just incredible. Every morning I awake with a huge smile on my face knowing that we´re super lucky and that there is still so much more to live! I do hope some of you come to visit to share this with us.

My apologies for the blog. We´ve been moving super fast in the past few weeks so I´m terribly behind on posts but I plan on updating you with stories on Potosi, the Salar de Uyuni, and Chile in the next few days. I did have a chance to upload all our pictures so check them out.

Samaipata and Parque Nacional Amboro - ttp://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909186#226832048

Parque Nacional Torotoro -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909261#226839077

Sucre -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909236#226833574

Cordillera de las Frailes -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909390#226841921

Mercado de Tarabuco -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909403#226843106

Potosi y Las Minas -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3909426#226844923

Salar de Uyuni -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3910432#226912002

Valle de la Luna, Chile -
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3910496#226912552

A Little Help From My Ivy League Friend

2007-11-25T15:18:00.000-05:00

After being quoted an exorbitant $200 per person to visit rural communities in the Cordillera de las Frailes, we decided to go out on our own. Six weeks in Bolivia gave us the confidence to pack our bags with the bare essentials, hop on the local bus, and secretly hope that we would be OK.

The most difficult thing in Bolivia is getting accurate information. This is due to various reasons: things change constantly, locals have no real sense of what goes on around them, locals are terribly wary of tourists, or locals could care less about tourists. To gather information one has to poll at least five people in the hopes that maybe two will give a similar response or will point in a similar direction. Catherine frequently alludes to the "rational" response. I have found that to be mostly nonexistent. For example, if it is a rational choice to catch a bus at the bus terminal, my six weeks of "experience" tells me that the bus departs from some random corner at the opposite end of town. Unfortunately, the Lying Planet does not help.

For our adventure I felt quite confident because all the people I polled gave me the same information about our local bus and its departure time and location. Our first collectivo out of the center of Sucre took us too far past the bus stop but we quickly hopped off, hopped on another, and were at the stop in no time. We arrived an hour early and the bus was already bursting at the seams. I walked on first and immediately I whiffed the strong smell of coca leaves and sweat. The people were campesinos heading to their very remote homes in the mountains. Their faces were dark with sun and grit. They looked up towards us, their timid nature never actually allowing for eye contact, and I smiled gleefully knowing that we may not get seats. The aisle was packed with bags, babies, and bodies. Standing for two hours on a very unsteady bus on a dirt road would be horribly uncomfortable and unsafe. We got off and I went looking for the driver in hopes of getting some special tourist treatment. I spoke to maybe five supposed drivers who were all quite intent on overcharging me and providing me no help. I finally found the bus attendant and he secured us two very decent seats. Catherine sat with the locals in the back and I shared the front cab with the driver, a cholita, a pedagogical researcher, and the bus attendant.
Yes, a pedagogical researcher. I met Elvis while waiting to board the bus. He was on assignment in the region to assess the progress of student learning in the very remote towns in the Cordillera. He was taking the bus three hours to Potolo, the last stop, and then walking for five hours to his central post. Remote. Kids walk up to five hours to get to school and another five hours to return home. Based on his assessments he makes recommendations to the Bolivian government to receive more resources and implement new programs to improve learning. He also works closely with the families in the community aiming to change cultural attitudes about the importance of education.

Elvis and the rest of my front cab companions were very entertaining and sort of helpful with information on our stop. We got off at Chaunaca with two local women who were also doing the three hour walk to Maragua. They nervously giggled wondering what we were doing in the middle of nowhere all on our own. After twenty minutes of walking we came to a river that was too high to pass. We waited like the locals and soon we hopped in the back of a truck and crossed the river. The workers and the women laughed when we jumped off the truck and declined the ride to Maragua opting to walk instead. We like to pretend to be the common people.

The walk to Maragua was easy and pleasant. The horrible mist and rain of the morning totally cleared and the beautiful mountain scenery kept us company. We made it to Maragua by early afternoon and immediately started our search for Don Basileo, resident in charge of the community based cabanas available for tourists. We had read that back in 2001 the rural communities of the Frailes decided to proactively embrace tourism. With the help of a government agency they learned about the tourism industry and constructed the cabanas using traditional building methods and materials. We were very excited about directly supporting local initiatives towards economic autonomy. Since Don Basileo was the only resident in town with a phone his house was easy to spot because it a had a huge telephone sign outside. He proved to be elusive. No one answered his door, the lady across the dirt path told me she didn't know a Don Basileo, and further down the path at the school I was told he was out in the fields and we would have to wait.

While sitting on Don Basileo's front stoop the school kids were dismissed and they found great delight in our presence. They giggled, snickered, and pointed. Some would muster up the courage to respond to our hellos while most nervously ran past. A few kids hung around Don Basileo's house until finally they overcame their fear and ventured inside the house. "Hola, esta Don Basileo?" The little girl answered, "No, mi papa esta in Sucre. Regresa el domingo." Shit, it was Thursday and it was already 4pm. Her true precocious nature quickly emerged and she volunteered that Don Roberto down the path was in charge of the cabanas while her dad was gone. "Gracias!" Off I went to find the even more elusive Don Roberto. Everything in Maragua was on the same dirt path that was about three blocks long, yet up and down I walked looking for Don Roberto's house. I asked locals for help finding Don Roberto, but children responded with requests for candy and adults with offers to sell their textiles.

Almost two hours after arriving in Maragua I found the toothless coca leaf chewing Don Roberto and the keys to the cabanas. In his Quechua Spanish hybrid he set us up and explained that we would have dinner prepared by a local woman. No electricity, no water, and no firewood didn't matter because we were finally in from the cold and had a comfy bed to crash on.

The following morning Don Roberto started us off on our day long hike to Potolo, the next small village on the community based tourist circuit. For four hours we climbed one steep hill after the other. By the time we made it to the dinosaur tracks we were quite pooped. Roberto lead us to the "well defined" trail to Potolo and in his pseudo-Spanish pointed out the village in the distance. We paid him and parted ways.

Thirty minutes into our solo hike we foolishly decided to walk off the road and take a "shortcut". Very soon after we found ourselves smack in the middle of mountains and ravines. Dark grey clouds hovered above us and the loud roar of thunder accompanied intense winds that made it difficult to even hear each other. Panic set in, a small argument ensued, and we realized we were totally lost. The village that had been so easily distinguishable just thirty minutes earlier was now possibly one of two villages we could spot far away past many more mountains and ravines. We struggled up steep mountains and practically slid down precarious loose dirt ravines. We were both incredibly scared. We were lucky that it was still early in the afternoon but we knew the looming storm would be dangerous given the terrain. We continued up and down for over an hour when Catherine noticed a red truck in the horizon - the road! We decided to hike down to the dried up riverbed guessing that it would eventually lead us to the road. Luckily we were right and within 45 minutes we could see the road and the first sighting of a person since leaving Don Roberto. Excitedly I approached the boy on the riverbank loading his donkeys with goods. He saw me coming and nervously tried to walk away. "Hola! Estes el camino a Potolo?" He shyly turned to face me with his Harvard sweatshirt and answered, "Si." The most prestigious bastion of American education advertised right there in the middle of nowhere on a twelve year boy loading his donkey.

Within thirty minutes and after seven tough hours of hiking we finally made it to Potolo, the supposed more "advanced" of the local villages. I looked for the Professor in charge of the cabanas and of course found that he was in Sucre. Some random cholita was instructed to take me to Lenora, the second in command. Lenora turned out to be a very childish twenty-five year who giggled and snickered and told me the cabanas were fully occupied.

Occupied? We were the only two crazy tourists in the dirt patch doubling as a town. I told her I wanted to see the cabanas and when we arrived she half explained that engineers were occupying the rooms and that there was only one available room in a cabana that we would have to share. She also told me that the kitchen was locked and that no one had the key. For this great service she wanted to charge the same price we paid the previous night. "Hell no!" I offered her half the price and she flatly refused. I told her I would sleep in the church and she told me the priest was in Sucre. I told her I would sleep in the school and she told me it was closed until Monday. I walked the dirt patch of a town thinking bad thoughts of hurting Lenora. I finally had the idea to suggest that we would only need to occupy one bed therefore "justifying" half the price. Finally, an agreement. We went to sleep after a lovely meal of crackers and water.
The next morning we quickly booked it out of Potolo. We were very lucky to get seats on the bus. For three hours I talked to a very friendly old man a curious ten year old. They were fascinated with the war in Iraq, the "reality" of American movies, and the riches of the US. At one point the old man half jokingly offered to sell me his baby nephew.

We were very happy to return to Sucre, check into our very comfortable hotel room, wash off three days of soot, and appreciate our luxuries. We decided to put hiking on hold for a while.

We Love Previas, We Love Cochabamba

2007-11-14T19:13:00.000-05:00

Our trip to Parque Nacional Torotoro almost didn´t happen.

We arrived to Cochabamba happy to leave the heat and blandness of Santa Cruz. It was 6am and we left the bus station on what has become our normal trajectory upon arrival to a new city - get from the bus station to the plaza, walk with 30lb+ backpacks searching for adequate housing (we usually walk to at least three different places), secure a room, find a cheap lavanderia, eat, and explore. At 6am with 30lb packs and nowhere to go Cochabamba was quite dumpy. At 10am, freshly showered and with checklist complete, Cochabamba quickly became our favorite city.

The city was vibrant with its very own peaceful culture. It was certainly not overrun by backpackers or other tourists therefore people were not pushy or shady. It had a perfect combination of cholitas, students, street vendors, and professionals. The market near our hostel had beautiful produce and an endless of array of treats. The weather was absolutely perfect. Warm and sunny during the day and breezy during the evenings. We found a real movie theater, healthy food, and plenty of wide streets to do people watching. We were very excite about Cochabamba.

We were also excited that we had planned our arrival perfectly in order to get the one weekly collectivo to Torotoro. Unfortunately, the evening before our departure I got a killer fever and intense body aches. By midnight I knew I wouldn´t be able to make the 4am wake up call for the 6am departure. We were totally bummed. We didn´t have time to wait another week for the collectivo and Torotoro had been a must see for us. The following morning, while I sulked in bed feeling sick and sorry for myself, Catherine went to a local travel agency and in her much improved Spanish she booked us a three day tour to Torotoro. By the next morning I was no longer sick and a beautiful white Previa picked us up for our adventure. We were off!

Torotoro certainly was not a disappointment but certainly not without its challenges. On our way there, our trustful Previa had to "off-road" past mounds of rocks and dirt that were piled practically in the middle of the road. Evo´s assistance to rural communities has been very evident during our travels and in Torotoro there was work on improving the quality of the road. Good for the future, bad for us. We had to get out of the Previa, move big rocks out of the way, push the Previa, and then repeat at the next mound. I can´t believe the Previa didn´t die on us.

The mounds in the middle of the road:

The trusty Previa working hard:

We eventually made it Umaljanta, an underground river in a cave. Catherine and a Belgian tour mate Leen, hungout outside of the cave due to their claustrophobia, and I ventured in with our enthusiastic guides Felix and Eddie and three other travelers, Stefan, Hans, and Ana. The cave was spectacular. We rappelled down ropes, crawled through tiny spaces, got wet, saw stalagmites and stalactites, and totally bonded. Loved it!

Small spelunking spaces:
The following day we saw tons of dinosaur footprints. It was crazy to see real evidence of dinosaurs out in nature. It is one thing seeing dinosaur bones in a fancy museum or detailed illustrations in a book, but to see real live prints. We were very impressed. We then trekked to a huge canyon in the mountain range and found a lush waterfall at the bottom of the canyon were we splashed and bathed. Our trip with Felix and Eddie was a totally different experience than with pain in the bum Martin. They were knowledgeable, respectful, involved, and enthusiastic. In the evening we saw a completely dark night sky full of thousands of twinkling stars sharing the stage with intense lightning storms in the horizon. Beautiful.

Huge footprints could be seen all around Torotoro:

Our trip was almost totally perfect other than for the kamikaze driving of our Previa chauffeur. On the way home we actually almost drove right off the cliff. Most drivers here are crazy, but this one had no sense of shifting gears or of rounding curves. It didn´t help that he also probably couldn´t see very well. We all got out, yelled at him, and crossed our fingers that we would make it back alive. Luckily, the Previa prevailed.
Happy Turkey Day!!

Thank Goodness for Canadians

2007-11-08T20:13:00.000-05:00

Enjoying Parque Nacional Amboro

"First class?"

Getting to Santa Cruz was the culmination of our longest and most difficult bus rides to date.

After our vacation in Coroico we took a 15 hour night bus to Rurrenabaque. The ride was on a very narrow dirt road with mountains to one side and sheer drops to the other. Thankfully the full moon provided welcome light for the treacherous route. Quite often the bus would stop, assess the situation, slowly maneuver its way back, and let another vehicle squeeze by. This was done to the loud chorus of agitated locals screaming at the driver to hurry up claiming that there was ample space for our bus. This made it difficult to get any real sleep. Luckily the bus provided ample leg room (it surely pays to be short in Latin America) and the road was not as bad as we had anticipated.

A few days later we bused it from Rurrenabaque to Trinidad. Another 12 hours, another dirt road. We bought our bus tickets and were told to be at the bus stop by 10pm because our bus was to depart between 10 and 10:30pm. In the dark we trekked to with our packs to the stop and we waited. And waited. And waited. Our bus arrived at 1:30am. By the time we departed at 2:10am we were absolutely exhausted. Unfortunately the next 6 hours were the worst stretch of road we have experienced. That meant no sleep and taking care of a belly sick Catherine. At our 6am stop, while others enjoyed tea and empanadas, I had Immodium for breakfast and Catherine had a barf. The next 8 hours were decent by Bolivian bus standards. The road conditions improved slightly and we only had the locals to deal with. A woman sat quite close to us that was not only loud and obnoxious but too overweight to allow for space for her three year old to share a seat with her. The poor kid sat on a duffle bag in the aisle for the entire 12 hours. I think he slept sitting up.

Our layover in Trinidad was for several hours and we were very lucky to secure a really nice hotel room with private bath and cable TV for just 10 bolivianos ($1.25). We showered, slept, watched TV, and then left Trinidad as quickly as we had arrived. Oh, the luxury of a fully paved road and a short 10 hour night bus to Santa Cruz.

"Autonomia Si"

Santa Cruz is Bolivia´s largest and wealthiest city. It differs so much from the rest of the country that it recently voted for political autonomy. Throughout the city you see white people driving around in expensive SUVs with pro-Santa Cruz stickers, signs, and flags. We found Santa Cruz to be a bore. We were actually looking forward to the upscale offerings of the city but they were hidden far from the center in securely gated communities. We quickly headed to Samaipata, a small town three hours west of Santa Cruz.

Yummy ice cream in the Plaza in Samaipata

"Howdy!"

Samaipata seemed to be what we wanted. A very small village with a flower and art filled plaza, healthy organic food, and a local population not overridden by poverty. We stumbled upon a peach festival in the plaza and had breakfast at an organic farm where your food is picked after you place your order. Unfortunately, after about a day disturbing signs began to appear. While walking, I saw a black Hummer pass by the plaza. Sunny skies allowed us to see the huge and tacky haciendas built by weekender Crucenos. Even worse, we discovered the largest contingent of expat Americans we have met to date. It seems that a bunch of super booney Texans with heavy twangs have recently relocated to Samaipata in hopes of making it big. We were lucky enough to meet Bill and Denise, proprietors of La Casa Blanca, yes, The White House. They chain smoked, drank cheap beer, and trashed Bolivians - I suppose that helped them feel right at home.

"It was the best of times, it was the worse of times."

From Samaipata we ventured on a two day hike into Parque Nacional Amboro to see an enchanted fern cloud forest with our Dutch guide Martin and his Canadian friends Carol and Peter.

Martin, Carol, and Peter

Thank goodness that Carol and Peter were absolutely wonderful progressive country hippies from British Columbia because Martin was a real prick. During the first few hours of the hike I had to work very hard to convince Catherine not to rip him up. Albeit, he totally deserved it, I didn´t want to deal with an unpleasant two days in the middle of the woods.

Watch out Martin...She´s got a weapon and she will use it.

For over two hours our "well accomplished" guide complained that his pack was too heavy. He even considered giving some of his load to Catherine. He trashed the local guide that was with us saying that he was "full of bullshit." Mind you, the local guide and his family actually live inside of the park. He told us a bunch of "facts" that we later Googled and found to be completed incorrect. He didn´t bring enough water, complained about spiders, was upset that his pots weren´t washed properly after dinner, and was just a total idiot.

Luckily the wonderful company of Carol and Peter and the beauty of the forest made the hiking marvelous. We totally bonded with the Canadians talking politics, history, culture, gay rights, and travel. They´re actually traveling through Latin America on a motorcycle. Five years ago they traveled around the world on the motorcycle. We can wait to take them up on their offer to visit British Columbia and ski and hangout in the countryside. The fern forest was like a fairy tale forest. The first day was a bit wet and cold and we got to experience a lush and verdant ground cover under a tall canopy. Beautiful wild flowers, funky mushrooms, colorful lichens surrounded us and the abundant ferns. I half expected to spot knomes frolicking through the forest. Overall, Martin was defeated.

Crazy hair and an awesome time with the ferns

A Sighting

Is that Liz, Matt, and Nathan in Bolivia???

No Pampering in Las Pampas

2007-11-01T13:04:00.000-04:00

Day 1:

It started with trying to get a cash advance from the lone bank in Rurre after a day when everything was closed. I had 30 minutes to maneuver the irate locals and the system, hoping to get money for our tour. Fast feet, begging, and a hefty bank fee got me the money and we were ready for departure.

The 3 hour ride in a Land Cruiser through lush jungle and savanna was beautiful but very bumpy. Even Catherine couldn't nap. She tried valiantly but the road conditions were conducive to looking out the window and hanging onto your butt cheeks.

Lunch was a cheap cut of deep fried beef, milanesa de carne they call it. I devoured my beans and rice and continued my newly found carnivorous selectivity. I just can´t bring myself to eating red meat here...although I don´t think I could eat deep fried beef anywhere. To my surprise, Catherine ate her milanesa de carne but was grossed out by her beans. Luckily, neither of use was sick the next day.

After lunch our group hopped on a small wooden boat and enjoyed 3 hours of heat, mosquitoes, heat, and mosquitoes. We also spotted colorful birds, turtles, alligators, and pink dolphins. Even though tour groups come through daily, the wildlife is extremely abundant. However, mosquitoes do win the prize as the most prolific inhabitants of the pampas.

Day 2:

Torrential downpour. We woke up, dressed, ate, and waited. The rainy season has arrived. After an hour the rain slowed and we ventured out with our galoshes and rain jackets in search of anacondas.

The 1st hour was a blast. We got wet and dirty and felt like kids playing in the rain. The pampas were vast and verdant green. Below us was water up to our knees and lots of mud. Luckily the sun hid behind the clouds and not able to spoil our fun.

By the 2nd hour our futile search for anacondas got really old. By the point we were drenched and puddles of water and mud sat at the bottom of our boots. Swarms of mosquitoes hovered all around. I´ve actually never seen predatory mosquitoes like these that set up camp on people. Marc, a French guy we had met a few days earlier, walked in front of me and had used no repellent. His face, neck, and ears were covered with mosquitoes and a rotating colony of about 50 to 100 hungout on his back working hard to penetrate his rain jacket. They wanted blood and they had us outnumbered.

We ended up walking for over 3 hours. Yeah, we saw an anaconda. I think it was planted there by the guides. Catherine found the whole spectacle inhumane and ridiculous. We were happy to return to camp and find refuge in our mosquito nets.

Day 3:

Startled, I awoke in the middle of the night. Immediately the itching began and I noticed a new collection of mosquito bites all over my lower bum and lower back. A mosquito got into my net and took advantage of my heat-fighting pajama outfit of panties and a t-shirt. Not good. I got my head lamp and tried in vain to find the culprit in my small twin bed. I resealed my mosquito net and tried to sleep again. The victorious mosquito tormented me for at least another hour. I finally had to leave my mosquito net and search for my backpack which contained my deet, anti-itch cream and pants. The 5am wake up call was painful

After lunch Catherine and others geared up for swimming with pink dolphins. That meant washing off all mosquito repellent and jumping in waters full of piranhas and alligators. Catherine braved the mosquitoes but decided against meeting the dolphins up close.

On our boat ride back we decided against spending two more days on a jungle tour. We also decided against our anticipated two week cargo boat ride down the Rio Mamore in the jungle. Mosquitoes, heat, and "rustic" accommodations helped us decide to leave the jungle and head directly to Santa Cruz, the largest city in Bolivia.

Check out pics from Las Pampas: http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3786346/1/218317549#P-1-9

Sabbath in Amazonia

2007-11-01T12:48:00.000-04:00

Rurre is closed.

I walked around in the oppressive midday sun and the streets resembled that of a ghost town. Tin roofed wooden shacks shared blocks with one room brick homes while a few pedestrians comingled with motobike riders. Doors were kept slightly open in hopes of letting in the nearly nonexistent river breeze but most inhabitants of this small town stayed inside today.

"Hola, tienen agua?"

"No. Paro."

I made up that Rurrenabaque is like that everyday. Life is slowed to a near standstill while the sun beats down on this jungle town. Each day a few brave the heat and trudge to a friend´s house for a midday novela or they visit a neighbor to share fish and rice. Some swing on hammocks in their backyards or gingerly pick thru a child´s mane looking for jungle bugs. Most cannot be seen until the sun bids adieu.

"Hola, sirven amuerzo?"

"No. Paro."

In the morning we saw about 20 protesters walking the streets of Rurre. How they managed to shut the town down is quite inexplicable. Supposedly they were protesting new legislation Evo Morales recently proposed to increase taxes to generate revenue for social security for the elderly. Rurre is obviously not keen on the new social order. Rurre is also obviously not keen on working a full day.

Things were not quite back to normal by the evening hours but at least restaurants were open and bottled water was no longer a luxury. After a lovely day spent snacking on cookies and lounging in hammocks we were finally able to eat a meal and see some life in Rurre.

Mostly we saw Israelis.

Rurrenabaque is like little Jerusalem. There are tons of young Israelis who recently completed military service. During our travels to Peru and Bolivia we have met many military veterans but Rurre is definitely the capital. Anyone having problems on JDate should try a weekend trip to Rurre.

Alpha Cat Comes Out to Play

2007-11-01T12:47:00.002-04:00

It came as no surprise that leaving La Paz was not as easy as we had hoped. Sure, a 6 hour mountain bike descent from 4700m to 1200m on the "World´s Most Dangerous Road" sounds intimidating, but after two months of travel I was undaunted by the beaten path. Wise Catherine felt otherwise.

When we arrived to La Cumbre at 9am we were met by Huayna Potosi, an imposing 6000m peak, and chilling cold. We bundled up, got our gear, and received the mandatory five minute tutorial on mountain bike safety and technique. We were obviously ready for our adventure.

We took off and immediately the wind and speed were exhilarating. Snow capped mountains surrounded us from above and sheer drops looked up at us. The asphalt road gave us enough bike stability to truly enjoy the speed.

The euphoria was not permanent. After whizzing downhill for over an hour our guide informed us of a "little" uphill climb we were to encounter before our switch to the gravel road. Up to that point I rode in the middle of the pack and given her fear of heights Catherine stayed in the back.

We took off and very quickly the uphill climb commenced. As I moved further and further towards the back of the pack I saw Catherine pass me and very quickly peddle pass all the others. I knew I wouldn´t see Alpha Cat for a long time...I just didn´t realize how long that would be. As Catherine was kicking major bum, my bum was being majorly kicked. Uphill biking at 3000m on a heavy mountain bike was certainly not what I had signed up for at office of "Gravity Assisted Mountain Biking." I peddled and I puffed for as long as I could. And that was quite long. I thought I had overcome the biggest challenge of the uphill and just as I rounded the corner I saw that it continued for a few more kilometers. I was not going to make it. Caesar, the assistant guide, rode next to me and I informed him that I would have to be "the" lazy American and take the bus to meet our group at the next rest stop. As Caesar and the driver loaded my bike on the bus, I barfed on the side of the mountain.

Catherine overcame all but two other riders and I had to take the bus. I certainly want Alpha Cat on my team.

We got on the gravel and I was TERRIFIED. I couldn´t control my bike and we were going soooooo fast on a road that was maybe 2m wide with a mountain on one side and a cliff on the other. I just did not expect to be so scared. For about over an hour of riding down the gravel I had countless moments where I thought I would hurl to my death. Anything in the path could have brought on imminent death. A small pebble, a hole, a bird. I had just as many thoughts of Catherine having an accident and I just could not get past my fear. It was totally horrific.

For the last hours of our ride, Catherine and I agreed to stay in the back of the pack, take it slow, take photos, enjoy the beautiful scenery, and stay alive. It was absolutely wonderful. Catherine was wonderful. She dealt with her own fears while supporting me and getting me back to a good place. The bike ride was certainly not her idea, but we enjoyed the last two hours of our ride. Do it again? Nope. Next time, we follow Catherine´s advice and hike.

We spent the next night enjoying monkeys, birds, nature, and the very welcome heat at an animal reserve. From there we headed to our first real vacation spot, the small town of Coroico. We´ve had an amazing time during our trip but sometimes it feels like work trying to find information, get a hotel, find a place to wash clothes, and all the other little things that we don´t have to deal with at home.

In Coroico we awoke to the songs of birds and the smells of nature. Trees and flowers surrounded us and we were totally secluded atop a hill in the jungle. We had planned to stay in Coroico for a day and do some hiking to waterfalls and coca plantations. Instead we stayed for three days and did nothing but read, sleep, and lounge. It was absolutely perfect and exactly what we needed after five hectic days in La Paz.

Pics from La Paz:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3754485#215975556

Pics from our bike ride to Coroico:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3754527#218309281

Pics from our vacation in Coroico:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3786257#218311461

Pics from the animal reserve, La Senda Verde:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3786323#218314519

Ride on Girlies

2007-10-19T18:13:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow morning we finally leave La Paz.

We will ride mountain bikes down the world's most dangerous road from 4700m to 1200m in just a few hours. That means that we go from the mountains of the Cordillera Real to the jungle in las Yungas.

We're both happy to get to our next destination even if we will likely not have a place to stay. Our next village, Coroico, is having a huge party for the next few days and hotels have been booked solid for weeks. We may have to share a bed with a local or sleep in the plaza with drunks. Catherine seems to think that we are in for an adventure. I'm a bit more skeptical but of course I follow her lead.

Some Peace in La Paz

2007-10-15T15:32:00.002-04:00

Approaching La Paz we weren't disappointed with the views of the city and its surroundings. La Paz is actually shaped like a huge bowl. El Alto, a sprawling "city" of 650,000 regarded as the Aymara capital of the world, is the rim of the bowl, and the city center, with a population of 900,000, is at the bottom of the bowl. Hugging the bowl are 6000m peaks that loom over the city. On the bus you approach from El Alto and after rounding a few corners you see into the bowl's bottom - winding streets, highrises clinging to cliffs and an endless array of buildings. The initial views of the city were spectacular.

I plastered my face to the bus window and I felt that I didn't have enough time to take in the spectacle. I didn't want the fresh images to fade. Things happen so quickly here that I find it essential to stop mental time and attempt to truly capture moments. A few days later and already subsequent images, smells, sounds, and experiences quickly transplant "old" ones.

La Paz has been a wonderful city to explore. Not even a million people make up the city center and yet the city bustles with life from early morning to late night. Tonight I walked home at 11pm and was quite surprised to see market hawkers still selling their products, young lovers embracing in the small plaza and full collectivos transporting people to and fro.

Here we've had the oppurtunity to enjoy ''luxuries'' only big citites can offer. We found whole grain wheat bread and brie and have indulged in ''fancy'' lunches all week. We also found yummy apple pie and apple cider and feasted on our own little fall treat on the steps of a bougi highrise. We went to the movies and escaped from the hurried streets for two hours. The movie was American, it sucked, and we laughed at its absurdities. When the movie ended we each had the fleeting thought that we would leave the theater and walk to our apartment...in Philadelphia. Bittersweetly we laughed knowing we would spill onto the streets of La Paz heading to yet another temporary abode.

We're kind of stuck here. We want to head north to the heat of the jungle but each evening we realize that we have yet to plan our departure. I don't know what is keeping us put. Maybe it's the double bed we managed to secure at our hostel or it's the organic chocolate we found. The city is poor, rundown and chaotic but I have found immense richness and possibility here. I'm trying to decide if it's my favorite place we have visited.

More importantly - GO BOLIVIA!

We attended our first Latin American futbol match yesterday afternoon and we had a BLAST! Bolivia tied Colombia 0-0 in the World Cup qualifier match. We got tickets for only 50 bolivianos...that's less than $7.

I was also able to finally upload pics of our visit to Lago Titicaca. Check out our picture site to see the many new galleries I created.

"Caramelos!"

2007-10-14T12:18:00.001-04:00

It is now my turn to be the patient and Catherine's turn to play doctor.

I awoke yesterday morning with persistent runs, a burnt face and a rash over my eyes resembling the flesh eating plague. For six weeks I have been totally healthy. Suddenly I'm bombarded with as many ailments as a 3rd world country. It didn't help that at 5am when I awoke to go to the bathroom I discovered we had run out of toilet paper - a pleasant pink hue here in Bolivia. I "luckily" found some of Catherine's dirty snot tissues. We also have no moisturizer for my burnt face. Everything here is loaded with perfumes and chemicals. For relief I've had to spread lip balm all over my face. As for the flesh eating plague, well, if it doesn't go away, I love you all.

Cusco - Puno - Islas Flotantes - Isla Amantani - Isla Taquile - Puno - Yungayo (Bolivian border) - Copacabana - Isla del Sol - Copacabana - La Paz

Today we head to La Paz after a very busy and beautiful week exploring Lake Titicaca. We were pleasantly surprised at the magnitude, diversity and beauty of the lake. I half expected it to be a dumping ground of sludge and brown waters for both Peru and Bolivia. Instead the lake's crystal blue and turquoise waters shimmer in the intense sunlight at 4000m (the highest lake in the world). Adding to the color spectacle are the vivid colors of the clothing worn by the men and women of the various islands. The bright pinks, greens, yellows and reds all sit on the bright blues of the water and sky. 6000m mountain peaks on the horizon add to the visual show. On many occasions we found ourselves whiling away hours just observing the scenery and the people.

Isla del Sol in Bolivia was the definite highlight of our discovery of Lake Titicaca. Though the island is extremely peaceful, we encountered much activity during our stay. We met a large group of young Bolivianos studying to be in the tourism industry. They were very enthusiastic about their studies and we spent hours talking about culture, travel and language. Meeting them was absolutely great. The following day on our hike to the northern part of the island we took a break from the sun's harshness by resting on a secluded beach. While Catherine napped a group of about ten Boliviano kids no older than five descended upon us demanding, "Caramelos!" Although I kindly told them I had no caramelos and that I wouldn't give them any candy they encircled us and pressed on with their demands for caramelos. The leader of the Bolivian Lord of the Flies, with beady little eyes and rotten front teeth spotted a package of crackers in my day pack. He reached for them and insisted, "Give them to me. I want them!" I sternly told him not to touch my bag and to get away from us. Catherine awoke and noticed all of the kids around us. I explained their demands for caramelos and that started what has become the one woman brigade to save the teeth of Bolivia's sugar-addicted children. In her beginner Spanish she scolded all of them on their demands for candy. "Caramelos son muy malos! Son muy malos para tu dientes!" We got up and left. The Lord of the Flies ran to the other side of the beach, took off their clothes, and jumped in the lake. Latin Piggy hasn't been heard from since.

We have worked on a thorough speech to give the children. Every kid we have met since then requesting caramelos has been met with very active resistance on Catherine's part.

I'll update pics when we get to La Paz.

Happy 30th Birthday to Efrain!! We love you!!

Inca Warrior Girls March On

2007-10-05T12:50:00.001-04:00

Machu Picchu

We made it!

The past week has been a whirlwind. It's really crazy how quickly the days pass here because a week ago we were on the Inca trail full of anxiety and exhilaration and a few hours ago we crossed the border into Bolivia.

On October 1st we embarked on our 4 day trek to Machu Picchu. We were both apprehensive about the intensity of the trek and the amount of money we paid for the "experience." 48 hours before the trek when we were to pay for our trip in crisp American bills we even considered forfeiting our $300 deposit. Nonetheless, we paid, we went on a practice hike the day before, and on October 1st we awoke at 5am for our 5:30am pick up.

The hike was intense and amazing. Catherine and I totally kicked butt. On day 2, the toughest day of hiking with an ascent from 3000m to 4200m and then back down to 3800m, Catherine and I were no. 2 and no. 3 up to Dead Woman's pass at 4200m. Alone I probably would have stopped every 10 steps but Catherine set an awesome pace for the two of us and she was a wonderful cheerleader. It felt so great to make it to the top and feel the intensity of the sun and the wind as we rested before embarking on the 400m descent to our coldest night of camp.

Day 3 was the most beautiful day of hiking with a misty jungle terrain and various Inca sites. It also brought a twisted ankle and lost glasses for Catherine; and for both of us the Gringo killer, a hot shower at camp and cold beers. I bolted down the Gringo killer - steep descending steps known to deter many a hiker - determined to be the first girl to the hot shower. I teamed up with a speedy Swiss hiker and the two of us literally ran to camp. It was totally worth it to wash 3 days dirt accumulation off of my body. A $2 shower never felt so great. The beer afterwards was even better. Catherine made it to camp shortly after without glasses and with a slight limp. She was rewarded with chocolate and a cold beer upon her arrival.

We awoke at 3:45am on Day 4 and made another mad dash to Machu Picchu. By the time we got there we were all so exhausted that even the excitement of Machu Picchu couldn't stop most of the group from napping instead of climbing up Waynu Picchu. All of the coca tea must have made me delusional because I headed up Waynu Picchu with two funny Brits from our trekking group. The uphill slog was worth it because the views from Waynu Picchu were absolutely spectacular. It was total bliss the entire morning. The trek was extremely challenging and the view of Machu Picchu was absolutely beautiful.

After Waynu Picchu I found Catherine and we enjoyed a nap together on one of the terraces of the site. A perfect siesta for a perfect day.

My hour is up. Check out our pics at http://juicycat.smugmug.com

We also visited the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca - amazing :)

One Month and Two Machetes

2007-09-29T14:02:00.002-04:00

Ollantaytambo

Pisac

One month full of highs and lows.

Just one month ago we boarded a plane at JFK. Now we're dealing with unexpected cold in Cusco.

We visited the Sacred Valley this past week and had our first nonsacred experience. While in Ollantaytambo we got info on a "cool" independent hike we could do to remote ruins far from the throngs of tourists. We needed the trekking practice so we headed out. Lucho, our host at the hostal, walked us to the trailhead and gave us very "thorough" directions for the trail.

Of course, about 5 minutes into our hike, we were lost. We found some locals who gave us different directions and we headed out again looking for a bridge. After an hour we got to a bridge and saw an old guy walking towards us. We figured we'd ask him for confirmation on the trail to the ruins. I asked him which way and he told me to go over the bridge and along a very narrow path. The narrow path didn't look right but I turned around and proceeded to walk towards the bridge. I assumed Catherine was walking alongside. I turned around again and saw the old man standing next to Catherine. They were about 15 feet away from me and I saw him grab her chest. Catherine totally froze and I screamed at him to get away from her. I walked towards him and the old creep came towards me with an outstretched arm ready to touch me too. I yelled at him not to touch me and I swatted at him with my water bottle.

We were spooked and proceeded to quickly walk towards the path he had pointed out. He walked along the middle path and when he was about 20 feet away from us he picked up a machete and started walking towards us again.

"Run!"

We ran back to the path we had come from and were totally scared and angry and confused. We were about 1.5 hours away from Ollantaytambo and didn't know what to do. After a little while we noticed that the old man with the machete was with another old man and they walked the other way. Somehow, we decided to proceed.

We finally made it to the ruins. We walked up to the top of the hill, entered an access gate and saw another old man with a machete inside. "What the fuck!" He walked towards us and requested a donation. We told him we were just looking around, we stayed for maybe 30 seconds and zoomed out. We were terrified. At this point we were 3 hours away from Ollantaytambo and already we had encountered two old men with machetes.

We live to celebrate our one month!

Pics of our visit to Pisac:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3559853#201757931

Pics of our visit to Ollantaytambo:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3559685#201744600

She's back!

2007-09-24T12:14:00.001-04:00

Pre-recovery:

Post-recovery:

We visited Dr. Karen and she found that Catherine had a gastrointestinal bacteria and congestion in her lungs. She prescribed an antibiotic and the diarrhea is gone. She's still dealing with a very runny nose but the situation is MUCH better. She's hydrating herself, taking her medication and trying to acclimatize to the altitude.

Although I was quite apprehensive, our experience with the local doctor was awesome. She was very knowledgeable about Catherine's colitis (which can be severely aggravated with antibiotics) and was very thorough on both occasions that we visited. All of it was only $15 - two visits and medication.

Catherine's illness had one very positive side effect - she suggested an "expensive" meal in Cusco. After our Lame Lucy $60 lunch we've gone super cheap with our dining which is likely how Catherine got sick in the first place. After a scolding in Lima, I'm now totally trained in the cheapy meals, therefore I was quite surprised when she told me she wanted to go to a nice restaurant. We had an awesome meal! Of course!

Hopefully, tomorrow we can head out to the Sacred Valley and do some hiking in preparation for our Inca trail hike next week. We'll return to Cusco on Friday and rest for our October 1st departure to Machu Picchu.

See pics of our visit to the Qorikancha Ruinas in Cusco, Peru:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3556501#201506240

Adios Arequipa

2007-09-24T11:54:00.001-04:00

We've sort of decided to come up with a list of things to remind us of cities we have visited. Although we have yet to agree what goes on the list, here is a prelim for Arequipa:

- pollution, pollution and even more pollution
- 12,000 taxi cabs
- pedestrians do NOT have the right of way
- super clean streets cleaned by a troop of women who wear red outfits, including red scarfs to cover their faces
- "El Menu" for $2 (and even sometimes less than $1) that includes the typical caldo blanco (white broth with a bone and some variation of veggies), a main dish (usually rice or potatoes) and dessert
- employees of cell phone companies that wear bright colored vests and walk around renting cell phones for single calls
- Home Sweet Home - very sporadic hot water, the same breakfast of bread, crepes, and eggs for two weeks and our first buddies Liseth and Moises
- morning walk to Spanish class
- Marie, the 60 year old Irish backpacker who had been traveling for over 5 years and who introduced us to "The Lying Planet"
- the intense sun
- El Monestario de Santa Catalina
- monopolized blocks
- crowded Plaza de Armas, especially on Sundays
- locals who love the nasty pigeons that hangout in the plaza - they feed them, take photos with them and call them doves

We've only been out of Arequipa for a few days and already my memory has failed me.

In Cusco, Still Crappy

2007-09-21T18:41:00.001-04:00

We're in Cusco, the tourist capital of Peru. We arrived this morning at 6:30am after an uneventful night bus trip. Uneventful in Peru is very pleasant and safe.

First thoughts on Cusco - cold, very touristy, "fancy" and rife with beautiful Inca terracing throughout the city. Everywhere you see locals parading around in traditional garb waiting for tips for photos. Where Arequipenos were quite lively and unassuming, Cusquenos are very present and aggressive. I'm sure the next few days will give me a better appreciation for the town vibe. I can't wait to further explore the Inca terracing and the ruins that are within walking distance of downtown.

Unfortunately, Catherine is still very sick. Her illness started on Monday when we arrived in Chivay. There she had a head cold and some minor chest pains. By Wednesday when we returned to Arequipa she had pretty bad ear pain from the sudden change in altitude we experienced on the bus ride from Chivay to Arequipa. Wednesday night we went out to dinner and afterwards started severe diarrhea and stomach pains. All of Thursday she rested but still the pain was persistant. She took some loperamide on Thursday evening and had a good bus ride to Cusco. She felt much better this morning and we enjoyed a very bougi breakfast in Cusco. (I thought of Ivan and Maribel :) Unfortunately, the diarrhea has returned. Although the cold, chest pains and ear pain have been gone for days she is still feeling quite ill. Tomorrow we enjoy our first visit to a South American hospital/doctor. I don't know what's worse - being sick or having to visit the doctor here. Catherine will report tomorrow.

Please think happy and loving thoughts for Catherine. It really sucks that she's not well. She's been a total trooper throughout the ordeal. I'll keep you posted.

A missing knife, an Irish girl in Uggs and a sick Catherine

2007-09-19T19:12:00.003-04:00

Catherine did the smart thing and slept all of Friday night. I did the silly thing and went out with our Arequipeno friends, Moises and Liseth. They kept me out way too late and I consumed way too many beers.

On Saturday morning we had a 5am wake up call and a 6am local bus to Cabanaconde. I suppose the excitement of the hike and the few hours of sleep on the bus were sufficient because I was able to keep up with Catherine. After a bumpy ride and a billion stops along the way, we arrived to the very small village of Cabanaconde. We enjoyed our first taste of alpaca and we ventured into the Colca Canyon.

We anticipated an easy 4 hour hike down into the canyon. Catherine's fear of heights kicked in when we traversed very narrow trail parts and encountered sheer drops into the canyon. Many blisters and toe problems later we finally arrived to our destination, San Juan de Chuccho. San Juan de Chuccho is a little village in the bottom of the canyon that consists mostly of a few hostals that double as restaurants. We met our hosts Carmen and Gaby and they showed us to our very rustic but comfy digs. We waited for the evening's set meal, ate what they gave us and by 8pm we had crashed for the night.

On Sunday morning we had a visit from either the bad Peruano gods or Jan, the German hipster we met the night before. Before heading out to our next stop of Sangelle I had to wrap my very blistered toes. While sitting on the bed next to the open door, I used our Swiss Army knife to cut some medical tape for my right toe. I threw the knife on the bed behind me as I then moved onto preparing my left toe. I later reached for the knife but it was no longer on the bed. We continued packing and getting ready thinking that the knife would show up. We looked all through the hut and no knife. We then totally unpacked everything again and still no knife. We searched for 30 more minutes and no knife. It totally disappeared. We left without it hoping that it would show up in our pack somehow. Unfortunately, we still have no knife. Either it disappeared or someone took it. We like to think that Jan was some crazy klepto who totally got off on taking our knife.

Our host Carmen walked us to the trailhead on Sunday morning and we were on our way to Sangalle. The hike to Sangelle was extremely pleasant. We crossed a dried up river bed and visited Coshnirua, the first town on the trail. We chatted with a local family who sold drinks to hikers and who told us of an annual canyon marathon that was to be run that day. The marathon began that morning at 7am in Cabanaconde and runners ran down the canyon and up all in one morning. (Mind you, we hiked down for 4 hours on day one, then hiked across for 3 hours on day two and then hiked up 4 hours on day three - they were to do the whole loop in one morning - the winner did the loop in 2hrs and 58mins.) We continued on the lone path through town on our way to the second town on the trail, Malata. There we saw a small and very well kept plaza. We continued on to Sangalle. En route we encountered the marathon runners. The local guys sprinted by us in sandals. It was totally insane. Full out sprint. We also found local men walking to the weekly canyon soccer match. Men brought their mules and things to trade to a soccer field that they layed out on the side of the canyon. Needless to say, it was a very busy day on the trail.

We finally made it to Sangelle and the spent the day relaxing in the pool they had built there. While waiting for the set meal of the evening an interesting character appeared. She emerged from her hut wearing designer jeans, Ugg boots, a sweater with a fur collar and a bright pink hat with ear flaps. Stephanie Parker, from Belfast, turned out to be our first travel partner of our trip. We chatted with her during the evening and found that she too was traveling without a guide and that she was headed up the canyon in the morning. We hooked up with her and on Monday at 6am we embarked on our strenuous 4 hour uphill slog back up to Cabanaconde.

The walk up kicked our butts. We were exhausted and totally sore by the time we got up. Luckily we missed the sun of midday and made it back to Cabanaconde just in time for breakfast at 10am. By 1pm, we were already in our next village of Chivay. In Chivay we went straight for the natural hot springs and pruned up for hours in the pools. We stayed in Chivay for another day exploring the 4 block radius that was the village.

By the time we headed back on Wednesday Catherine had developed a pretty bad cold. We decided to stay in Arequipa one extra night hoping that she would get better.

She's gotten worse. It's Thursday night and our 10 hour bus to Cusco leaves at 8pm. Catherine has been in bed for two days and now has the major runs. Not a good situation. Fingers crossed and prayers to the Inca gods that she has a pleasant ride and that she gets better soon.

See pics of our stay in the Colca Canyon at:
http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3506563#198101550

Chilly Rio Chili

2007-09-13T11:32:00.003-04:00

I finally convinced Catherine to let us spend some money and do something active. 10 days of church and convent exploration had me going quite nutty.

We went on an afternoon rafting trip to el Rio Chili with our guides Lucho, Joseph and Roberto. After a "thorough" 20 minute training we ventured out on the mostly II and III class rapids, with a few IV.

Our first 2m drop and class IV also happened to be my first rafting wipeout. Lucho instructed us to "lean in." Unfortunately, my inability to hear directions and the strength of the river lead to me leaning all the way out of the raft. Luckily I held onto the raft line and after swallowing just a little bit of water, Lucho heaved me back onto the raft. It was a blast! I didn't even feel the very cold water. My second wipeout - yes, there was a second - happened during our second major drop. I thought I had the "lean in" concept, but unfortunately Catherine was a bit zealous and her lean in was actually a "push" Joc out. I didn't have a chance to hold onto the line and I floated quite close to some large rocks. Luckily, guide in training Joseph pulled me in before any major damage. Another highlight :)

However, the prize for the best wipeout of the day belongs to Catherine. Before drop two, Lucho took us to a very calm area in the water and explained that we were to approach our second drop. Catherine announced, "God, I'm glad I didn't fall in because I would be freezing right now." Her excitement tookover and she wiped herself out. No rough waters, no drop, nothing...simply a wipeout! Unfortunately, no photos.

We had a real blast!

Catherine is done with Spanish classes this afternoon and tomorrow we head out to el Canon de Colca. We're super excited to leave city life in Arequipa and finally do some trekking. If you do not hear from us by Wednesday, send helicopters for us.

For more pics of our rafting:

http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3472893#195339781

Sometimes a room change is all that is needed.

2007-09-09T15:18:00.003-04:00

Yesterday afternoon was a homesick afternoon.

After I posted my positive review of our first week in Arequipa, I went upstairs to the little room we've had for a week and I found Catherine still napping. She awoke soon after and expressed that she was feeling quite blah. We composed our list of things we missed. One can notice that many of the things on the list have to do with food. Therefore, we decided that comfort foods would make us feel better. We ventured to El Super, which by the way is not very super - it's about the size of a small CVS. There we found Oreo cookies and a bag of milk. Warm milk comes in boxes and cold milk comes in bags. That made us feel better until we were hungry again. Our "foodie" adventure continued at dinner when we found pizza at San Antonio's pizzeria.

Although food played an important role in our happiness for the day, the real happiness came from our room change and our night out with newly found Peruano friends. We realized that there was another room open at our hostel that had a double bed and windows that opened up to the patio instead of the polluted street. Although Senora Maria was hesitant to give two "friends" a room with a matrimonial bed, I negotiated with her and she agreed to give us the new room. Goodness, what a difference a room can make. The bed is super comfy and we can actually keep the windows open to get fresh air. Catherine has a big smile on her face and no bloody boogies.

The comfy bed came in handy because we strolled in at 4am. Catherine and I napped until 11pm and though we thought we couldn't hang, we headed out to meet Liseth and Moises, two Arequipenos that work at our hostel. They are bilingual and invited us to join them at Las Brujas after I asked them where we should go for drinks. We had an awesome time with the two of them. We talked politics, the environment, music, languages, travel. It was exactly what we needed. I've had an awesome time with Catherine, but I think the two of us needed to really connect with other people as well. It was especially cool connecting with locals. We hope to hang with them again. Even better - we spent only $20 for an evening of bar hopping.

Te estraño...

2007-09-08T20:19:00.001-04:00

- having more than 4 things to wear
- burgers
- Capogiro gelato
- maple syrup
- sleeping in the sun in the park
- walking to the bathroom without having to get dressed
- calling my friends
- being close to family
- tennis
- my bike
- millet muffins
- not worrying that my wallet will be stolen
- the Ritz
- washing machine
- fast internet connection
- my laptop
- Excel
- familiar people
- work at Freire...really
- Philadelphia
- hot showers
- holding hands with my boo
- clean air
- not having to study
- English
- DiBrunos
- yummy cheese
- Whole Foods
- Vivanda

"Yes, I'm brown. No, I don't work here."

2007-09-08T15:52:00.002-04:00

We've been hostel living for just 10 days and I have already been mistaken for the help on three different occasions:

- "Excuse me, can you please open the door," expressed a pleasant British girl as she lugged herself out of our Lima hostel.

- "Do you work here?" a sweet French boy asked as I walked out of the kitchen at our Home Sweet Home.

- The 6 foot tall Scandinavian girl said nothing to me as she walked into our hostel but she did expect me to check her in.

Not only are Catherine and I the only gay individuals, but I also happen to hold the distinction of the only brown backpacker. If only I could revel in my queer woman of color identity here in Peru. Interestingly, Catherine did manage to find a gay Peruano. On her first day of Spanish school, her instructor, Fabricio, outed himself. Supposedly there are gays everywhere, we just don't get to see them.

Our first week in Arequipa started off rocky but it turned out to be absolutely wonderful. I think the turning point occurred on Tuesday when I learned that if you ask for the "menu" at lunch time you get the special of the day for a whopping $2. It includes a salad, soup, main dish, drink and dessert. All that for $2. I also realized that I'm here because I want to be here. On the micro level there are so many things that we do not have control over. We can't keep our windows open because the pollution is unbearable. We can't hold hands because at the very least we'd get harassed. We can't expect hot showers because sometimes, like this morning, the water just stops. However, on the macro level we have complete control. We have a savings account full of money, we have all of the free time we could wish for and we can be anywhere at anytime. If we want to fly to Sapphos and drink cocktails all day...then we can do it!

One more week in Arequipa before we head out to the Canyon de Colca and then onwards to el Altiplano.

Check out pics of our visit to El Monasterio de Santa Catalina:
http://www.juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3441783#193138219

Perspective for Lucky Laura

2007-09-05T12:21:00.001-04:00

Very humble digs at Home Sweet Home in Arequipa:

Our tiny room with two very hard beds.

One of the bathrooms we share with fellow travelers. Toilet paper and pleasant smells are a luxury here.

The tiny kitchen we use. There is one knife, two pots and that's about it.

The Lonely Planet described it as a "huge" breakfast. Yes, it is plentiful, but it is the SAME thing every morning. We still have a week and a half here in Arequipa.

What can one expect for $11 a night for the two of us. Today Catherine woke up at 6:21am in hopes of making it to a hot shower. I got in at 7:30am and had to speed through my cold shower. We also get to wear the same clothes every day. We've been washing our small stash with a Woolite laundry soap bar. Home Sweet Home is certainly not like home.

En Espanol Por Favor

2007-09-03T16:18:00.001-04:00

Catherine tried to impose her American ways on the Arequipenos today. The city is crowded with taxi cabs that do not adhere to many traffic rules. Crossing the street is an extreme sport. She is determined to impose our strict American rules. All streets are clearly marked with "Pare" and she has been quite stern with me to follow her lead and cross the street with the expectation that cars stop. Ivan, can we sue if we were to be maimed by a Peruvian taxi driver?

After a 14 hour bus ride along the jagged coast of Peru we arrived to Arequipa, Peru's 2nd largest city with a population of 730,000 at an altitude of 7,700 ft. Perspective - Lima, Peru's largest city, has a population of 8.2 million people which is equivalent of NYC. Arequipa is small with a compact city center. Catherine begins Spanish classes tomorrow and I work on keeping myself occupied for the next two weeks. Luckily the sun shines strong all day with hot and dry air. A very welcome relief from the cold dampness of Lima.

Arequipa maintains a colonial aesthetic similar to Oaxaca, Antigua, or Granada. Not quite as kept as those other cities, Arequipa suffers from the lack of a fresh coat of paint. The central square certainly stands out with its large cathedral made of sillar - the local stone mined from the volcanoes that surround the city - El Misti, Pichu Pichu and La Chachani. The city is called "The White City" because these white stones were used to make many of the colonial buildings. The Plaza de Armas is spacious, well manicured with flowers and palm trees and especially crowded with people huddled on benches. On Sunday afternoon, we were a bit put off by the scores of young male Arequipenos lurking on the fringes.

Today we ventured to the market and were super excited to enjoy a lunch of tamales for 2 sols. About $.66. This was extremely welcome after our very lavish last lunch in Lima. We experienced a major brain fart and followed Lame Lucy's advice to try a restaurant overlooking the Pacific that served a buffet of traditional Peruano cuisine. We were excited about the prospect because up until that point we had only tried Tex-Mex and supermarket food. The restaurant looked very "fancy" and we expected to pay at least $25 for the meal. Lame Lucy did mark the restaurant as mid-range. We enjoyed the wonderful buffet with samplings from all over the country including ceviche and an array of desserts. After an hour of indulging in the culinary delights of Peru we asked for the check. $67!!!! For lunch in Latin America!!!! Lame Lucy got us again. This week we go super cheap.

Thus far, we have found Peruanos to be not especially friendly but not disturbingly rude. People don't seem to pay too much attention to tourists. We haven't been hounded to buy anything, or "donate" money, or any other annoyance. All of you who have worried for our safety, please take note that we have felt very safe.

Maybe in a few days Catherine will report in Spanish.

Our Arequipa gallery:

http://juicycat.smugmug.com/gallery/3419651#191567163

Lovely Lima and Lame Lucy

2007-09-01T09:11:00.001-04:00

48 hours in Lima and we have experienced a Joc breakdown and a Catherine breakdown.

On day one, I was overcome by a sense of, "Now what?" Catherine consoled me all day and kept the tears at bay. A nap and a visit with Lame Lucy cured me of the "pain".

Who is Lame Lucy you ask? She is a friend of a friend who lives here in Lima. An older woman, a freelance journalist, a Penn alum, an expat – we were very excited about the possibilities. We anticipated a cordial invite to stay at what we presumed would be a fabulous home and at the very least a wonderful meal in Lima, South America's cuisine capital. Instead, we got an obstructed view of the Pacific Ocean from her 7th floor apartment. She informed us that opening the curtains would increase the views of the many surrounding buildings. She "treated" us to tea, store bought cake, a lot of self-indulgent talk, and after just about an hour and a yawn, a very brisk, "I'm sorry ladies but I have to get back to work." We walked out of the door and worked very hard to contain both our disdain and our laughter. No wonder Lame Lucy is still alone.

We are staying in Miraflores, an affluent suburb of Lima rife with bougi restaurants and Peru's home-grown version of Whole Foods, Vivanda. You can find everything at Vivanda. Even though I insisted on bringing a four month supply of tampons, Catherine quickly found plenty at the supermarket. Latin America sure has progressed. Lima is the cuisine capital of the continent but we have enjoyed most of our meals at the supermarket. Seriously, yummy.

Yesterday we left the comforts of our first "home" and ventured to central Lima. We anticipated a hurried Latin American capital city. Two errant combi rides and a long walk to Plaza de Armas left us pleasantly surprised, but very hungry. It was clean and orderly and safe. Unfortunately, it wasn't very easy to navigate streets with no signs and changing names. Although "easily" labeled on the map, we struggled to find el barrio Chino. Then the breakdown. Some context:
The air in Lima, and especially central Lima, is thick with fumes, exhaust and smog. The consistently overcast skies and damp air psychologically perpetuate the problem. Since arriving on Wednesday afternoon, Catherine has "had to" cover her nose and mouth to remain loyal to her green sensibilities. Walking circles around central Lima's busiest blocks congested with old school buses from the 50's did nothing but aggravate her new asthma affliction. In the middle of the block along a major street the Limenos saw a feisty American girl with watery eyes breakdown for a few minutes. "I will not let this beat me. We will find Chinatown and eat as we planned!"

We found Chinatown. We ate. We were happy again.

Tonight we head south to Arequipa. Supposedly it's sunny during the day and super cold at night. We have yet to adjust to the cold.