February 8 - Sunday Funday

Some of my more consistent readers may remember my post from just under a year ago about my favorite day of the week: Sunday Funday.

Nothing has changed.  I still goosebump with excitement whenever someone brings it up... or when I bring it up... Okay, usually it's me bringing it up.

Sunday Funday is legendary.

Well, today I celebrated Sunday Funday - Arequipa style.

We arrived in the second largest city in Peru yesterday morning.

We found a place to stay, showered, dropped our bags, and went out to explore the city center.

Quite honestly, it proved to be like most other city centers we'd seen.  Cathedrals, churches, plazas, open air markets, etc.

Considering it is the rainy season in Peru right now, we have been surprisingly lucky.

But yesterday?

It poured. Buckets.

On the plus side, it was national Pisco Sour Day (the national drink of Peru), so there were some deals that we were able to take advantage of as we stepped into various restaurants and bars to get out of the torrential downpour.

Pisco Sours aside, this morning we woke up really wanting to do something different.

We had heard about some viewpoints on the outskirts of the city that were within walking distance, so we decided to give it a shot.

True to most of our experiences thus far, something that seemed less than complicated ended up taking quite a long time.

We asked about 37 different people for directions and each of these 37 people seemed to tell us different things.  

Finally, we reached the look-out (we're still not even sure if it was the right one) and the fog and the clouds hung so low in the sky that all we could really see were several hundred feet of farmland as opposed to "El Misti," the extremely active volcano near the city.

We were okay with it though.  It had been nice to go for a hike.

As we began our descent back into the city, it started misting and, afraid that a downpour was inevitable, we ducked into a restaurant along the side of the road.

It was quite rowdy inside and it became clear very early on that this was not a "tourist spot."  The small room was full of locals - eating, drinking and being merry.

Oh and they were all casually hammered at 3:00pm on a Sunday... My kind of people.

So we sat in the corner and sipped on cheap Peruvian beers, deliberating as to whether to get food here.

Suddenly, the cheerful old owner of the restaurant (at least, we assumed that was his role) brought another beer over to the table.  My sister tried to explain that we hadn't ordered another and he cut her short, telling her that it was a gift from the red-haired woman at the next table over.

We divvied it up between our three glasses and made a gesture of thanks towards the woman, she warmly gestured back.  

No sooner had we finished this second beer, than the owner came over with another "gift" from the woman.

At this point my sister decided that, if we were going to stay and drink, we should at least have a little sustenance.  So, she and Amanda went over to ask the women in the very exposed kitchen about the different menu items and, in the meantime, be very directly engaged in a conversation with an extremely drunk man that, undoubtedly, had some connection to the rest of the merriment going on in the small eatery.

While they were gone, the mysterious red-haired woman that had given the beer gifts (my favorite kind of gift, I might add) came over to talk to me.

The conversation was, for me, slightly uncomfortable, but to an outsider, probably hilarious.

Due to her level of extreme inebriation and my less than mediocre Spanish skills, there was very little communication going on. 

However, there was a lot of face-holding (her hands, my face) and head kissing (her lips, my head).

Amanda kept locking eyes with me from the kitchen and laughing, but I felt that the least I could do was let her stroke my cheeks and plant wet ones on my forehead.  I mean... she'd given me beer, right?

Eventually, Maggie and Amanda returned with food.  We were very unclear as to what most of it was, but we gobbled it down anyway.

Just as we were leaving, we were once again accosted by a group of drunk men who continued  to gift us with beer as they discussed their work in the mines nearby.  Apparently, Sunday was their only day off.  It seemed to be tradition: bring their families to the restaurant, eat and drink until nightfall, get up and go to work again, repeat.  Every week.  I'd say they deserved a drink... or twenty.

Finally, amid loud goodbyes from all of the local patrons, we were able to make our exit and return to the city center.

We had to take a few deep breaths after the slightly overwhelming experience, but we were all able to acknowledge how memorable it would be.  

You see, as tourists, it is easy to get sucked into the same cycle:

Go to a city.

See everything in the guide book.

Go to a market.

Eat some food.

You get the idea.

It is the unique experiences -- like getting day drunk with a bunch of local, middle-aged Peruvians -- that will truly stick with you.

Long live Sunday Funday.

February 5 - Lima

I didn't think I was going to like Lima.

Before I came, a friend literally told me: "Skip it. Lima sucks.  You're just going to get mugged or raped."

Encouraging.

My first thoughts upon reaching the capital city (after a 22 hr overnight bus ride -- woof) were:

"This is not a Peruvian city."

It's another New York. Or DC. Or Chicago.

Subway here - Starbucks there.

You catch my drift?

But it was oddly refreshing.

For example - Will I substitute Pinkberry for a plate of rice and questionable chicken?

Why yes. Yes, I will.

Call me basic white girl, whatever.

I just could not care less.

But, frozen yogurt aside, I had a great time in Lima - I may even go as far as to say it was a highlight of the trip so far.

Upon further contemplation, I think my feelings on our time in the city can be largely attributed to the fact that Lima was one of the first places that we really socialized with anyone other than each other (no offense to Maggie or Amanda, of course, but I'm sure we could all agree that "over-exposure" is a very real thing).

Anyway, if Ecuador won for local population, Lima won for fellow travelers.

Due to stupidly high prices in Miraflores (the high-end neighborhood that we were advised to stay in), we were forced out of the luxury of private rooms and into hostel dorms where we were introduced to the first of the array of characters we were obliged to encounter in Lima.

First, there were the two girls from Saskatchewan - Carly and another, whose name somehow managed to escape us for the duration of our stay.

A funny pair.

The former - a tall, skinny, endearingly dumfounded girl with a mop of fluffy blonde hair on top of her head.

the latter - a shorter, slightly more strapping, blatantly direct compliment to her companion.

The two had been in Peru only a few weeks when they'd left their bags on the beach in Máncora (the same beach we'd just come from), only to have their passports, money, and phones stolen from them while they took a quick dip in the water.

They were staying patiently in Lima awaiting the arrival of their new travel documents.

Then Nancy arrived.

A scatter-brained, shockingly naive, Canadian who loved to talk about grapefruit seed extract, "doobies", and her experiences with Ayahuasca.

On our second night in Lima, she scored "ganja" from a guy on the streets for s/200 - approximately $65.

It was oregano.

Literally.

Oregano.

And a fanfare for our Brazilian counterparts!

I actually cannot write their real names because I have no idea how (I could barely pronounce them).

But here is my rough American translation:

Dani, Marcus, and John.

Three jokesters that we met on our walking tour of the city, taking a break from work to travel Peru together.

We ate lunch and drank beers together as they made fun of our American accents and fruitlessly attempted to teach us Portuguese.

It's such a treat to meet all of these people from all over the world and share a little window of our experience (our life, really) with them.

Cheers to Brazileños, cheers to Canadians, and cheers to oregano.

Safe travels to all.

January 31 - The Beach

The ocean is fucking magical.

And the beach came at such a perfect time in our trip.

It was like a cure for my ailment.  I'm sure it was just a coincidence, but, as soon as I got off of the 9 hour overnight bus in Máncora, I began to feel better.  And within 6 hours of being here, I had weaned myself of my banana, cracker, and gatorade diet and was enjoying mojitos and fresh ceviche as the Pacific tide rolled in.

No matter my frame of mind, the time of day, the time of year, or the place -

I love being at the beach.

I love it.

The ocean is like this unbelievable cosmic energy that (literally) comes at you in waves.

It drowns everything else out.

It is easily the most calming sensation that I have ever experienced.

I can sit in the sand or walk down an empty beach alone for hours, and just think.

We experienced a really incredible moment just now.

I had just eaten a massive piece of cheesecake and we decided to go for a walk on the beach.

The sun was just beginning to set.

As we headed past the crowds to a more secluded area, we turned around to see the sun peaking through a hole in the clouds.

You know scenes in movies or on TV shows where God or Jesus or whoever descends from heaven through the clouds with this heavenly light all around them?

This was that.

Minus any form of deity.

And as soon as I was able to grasp how fucking unbelievably beautiful it was, a flock of birds soared overhead and directly in front of it -- truly picturesque.

Speaking of - I tried to take a picture and simply could not capture the moment, or at least do it any justice at all.

But anyway...

I love the beach.

I love the sand.

I love the smell.

I love it.

And somewhere around now - give or take a day or two - marks the halfway point in my trip.

So, cheers.

To life.

To the beach.

To half done --

And half to go.

Much love - Namaste.

January 30 - Montezuma's Revenge

Montezuma was the emperor of the Aztec Empire in present day Mexico from 1502-1520, when the Spanish Conquistadors invaded the region, resulting in the brutal destruction of this early civilization.

"Montezuma's Revenge" (also knows as the "Gringo Gallop" or the "Aztec two-step"), in layman's terms, refers to traveller's diarrhea.  I.e. Montezuma's form of repayment for what invaders did to his empire.

I am in a bus station about to leave Cuenca.

And I am... sick.

Not sure how it started, probably something I ate or drank along the way.

Most importantly, it's here, and it does not appear to be going anywhere.

It started two days ago and has only gotten worse.

Before I came to Ecuador, I had heard that Cuenca was amazing and I was so excited to finally be here and see what all the hype was about.

However, it's rather hard to enjoy a new city when you're, shall we say, "struck with the urge" every 45 minutes and have to scramble around to find a bathroom.

And that whole "not all foreign bathrooms have toilet paper available, so carry some with you" memo that I gave you guys?

I should remember to listen to my own advice.

Let's leave it at that, shall we?

All I really want to do is lie in bed and watch Netflix on my phone, but instead we're taking a 9 hour overnight bus across the border and into Peru.

So I've been popping probiotic tablets and chugging gatorade in the hopes of kicking whatever stomach bacteria I have obtained, but it doesn't seem to be helping much.

Update: Just got on the bus and the sign on the bathroom door says "solo orinar."

Translation: only for urinating.

Fantastic.

Not to mention we're sitting right next to aforementioned bathroom with smells very strongly of stale piss.

So this should be interesting.

But anyway, onwards to Peru (as long as I don't die of dysentery along the way)!

Touche, Montezuma.

Tou-fucking-che.

January 28 - People

What was it that Blanche DuBois said?

Something about the kindness of strangers?

Well maybe Ecuador was the place for her.

But it didn't start off so well --

5 hour bus ride with no bathroom, followed by a cab driver who over-charged us by about $15, and the onset of what must have been exhaustion induced illness.

After asking around, we found a reasonably priced hostel in the historical center of the Quito.

And the owner was so nice.

I didn't think much of it, but then we went for dinner and we were met with the same level of kindness from the employees at the restaurant, specifically, the little old man who served us our food and referred to us as his "amores".

Feeling lousy, I retired to our room at the hostel and promptly fell asleep while Maggie and Amanda took a stroll through the city.

Disoriented in this foreign space, they found themselves a bit lost.

Upon asking a policeman for directions, he declared that it was too dangerous for them to be walking around by themselves after dark, took them back to the police stations, and gave them a ride to our hostel.

And who could forget the baker in Latacunga that called around on his personal phone to find us accommodations in a safer part of town at 10:00 at night.

Or the countless hostel employees that checked on bus schedules for us and instructed us in our travels.

Or the local businesses that never failed to give us directions, whether we acted as patrons or not.

"Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers."

That's what Blanche said.

It's easy to put your blind trust in strangers when you're in a foreign country where you don't speak the language well.

And thank goodness for the kindness of the Ecuadorians.

January 26 - Ayahuasca

Puyo is a small Ecuadorian town several kilometers from the Amazonian jungle.

We arrived late, cranky, and exhausted.  We promptly found the nearest hostel, took note of its dingy state, said "fuck it", and booked a room anyway.

After nervously making a few black mold and bed bug jokes, we all fell asleep to prepare for our early jungle tour the next morning.

*     *     *

Our tour guide, Carlos, appeared to be the sole owner and operator of Hayawaska Tours.  Though  we were, perhaps, slightly skeptical at the outset, he proved to be just the man for the job.

With Maggie as our translator, we followed Carlos deep into the jungle.

Along the way, we tasted exotic plants, ate fish and yuca smoked in massive leaves, swam in sacred waterfalls, rubbed clay on our faces, visted an indigenous community, and learned about the many secrets and wonders of the jungle; or, as Carlos liked to refer to it, "el supermercado" ("the supermarket").

One of our final stops was a long, weathered flight of stairs dug into a hillside that led to a deck of sorts, looking out over an Amazonian tributary and the surrounding jungle.

As we sat in hammocks taking in the breathtaking view, Maggie asked about his inspiration for the name of his company, Hayawaska Tours, and whether it was related to the medicinal plant, Ayahuasca.

Ayahuasca is a plant used by shamans in rituals in order to purge its consumers of evil and send them on a spiritual journey.

Essentially -- from what I've heard -- you drink it as a tea, barf for awhile, and then proceed to have a crazy, spiritual, trippy, experience with yourself.

Carlos confirmed for us that this was, indeed, the inspiration for the name of his company.

When he was younger, he participated in an Ayahuasca ceremony with a shaman and had a vision of himself starting the company...... spoiler alert.

In addition to this vision he'd had several more that had come to fruition later in his life.

I was particularly taken with one of these stories --

During his experience with Ayahuasca, Carlos had had a vision of an anaconda.

Fairly soon after this experience, Carlos joined a branch of the military.

One afternoon, while patrolling part of the jungle, he found himself lost.

He approached a river and began to wade through it, holding his gun high over his head.

Suddenly, 10 feet away from him, on the opposite bank, he saw an anaconda.

In his culture, the anaconda symbolizes disorientation and confusion.  Essentially, it is an evil spirit that misleads those in its path - how very serpentine.

Not knowing what else to do, he shot the snake, killing it instantly.

In doing so, he also killed the misguiding spirits surrounding him and was able to find his way back out of the jungle.

The end.

Just let it resonate.

January 22- Shit Shamlessly

For those of you that hoped the title of this post was misleading... I apologize.

It's not.

I am, in fact, here to talk about poop.

Many of you have proably heard that travelling can often lead to constipation (yes, I went there).  I have always found this to be true.

The 9 hour bus ride from Medellin to Cali did not prove this theory wrong.  So, when I had the sudden urge to... well... you know... at Luz's godmother's house -- where we were staying for the night -- I picked it up and ran with it, only to discover (in the nick of time, I might add) that her toilet didn't flush.

"I'll just wait," I thought to myself.

But waiting proved to be a bad idea.

Every time I sat on a toilet after this instance, it was to no avail.

And let me tell you, a 12 hour busride from Cali to the border town of Ipiales (or probably any 12 hour busride, for that matter) is not conducive to relieving aforementioned constipation.

Needless to say, when I got off the bus in Ipiales at 7:00AM, I felt like shit.

...or lack thereof.

So we walked around a bit and sat and had a coffee.

As we were packing up to head into Ecuador, I declared that I was going to try my luck in the bathroom one more time.

Success!

I felt so relieved.

Then I realized there was no toilet paper.

At a loss... I just sat there.

I edited a few photos on my phone, hoping against hope that Maggie and Amanda would notice my absence.

Then, to my despair, a knock came on the door.

"One second!" I called frantically, kicking myself for stupidly using English.

"Katie?" A voice replied.  "It's Amanda."

Silence.

"...do you need some toilet paper?"

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, YES! THANK YOU!"

I nearly screamed with relief.

So that was that.

The moral of the story?

When you gotta go -- GO!

And try not to forget that some countries do not grace you with the luxury of toilet paper.

January 21 - Cali

In Cali we stayed with a former landlord of Maggie's and his wife.

Fred is a slightly eccentric middle-aged man from Kansas City, MO - transported everywhere by, quite possibly, the only motorized wheelchair in Colombia.  Fred is the kind of guy who has no filter. On a walk through Cali on our second day, a police siren rang out nearby.  He looked at me very intently from his wheelchair and said unabashedly, "Hear that? That's the national bird of Colombia."

Eleven years ago, he married Luz, a native Colombian (and one of the sweetest and kindest women I've ever had the pleaure of meeting), after they met online while the two of them were living in Arizona.

From the moment they met - that was it.

I am such a sucker for a good love story, and watching theirs happening before me was almost too much for my little heart to handle.

The way they interacted, the way they looked at each other, their gentle terms of endearment, not to mention they were two of the kindest and most generous people that I've ever experienced.

They have travelled everywhere together.

From Medellin to Cali to Kansas City to Spain.

They were returning to the latter soon after our departure as they had just obtained their resident visa there.

Fred mused over after dinner cervezas that before he died he wanted to attach himself to Luz with a rope tied around each of their wrists and do ecstacy together in Ibiza.

Quite the image.

During the same conversation, he fixed us with a penetrating stare and said:

"Marry your best friend.  Make sure to marry your best friend, because if you don't, it's going to be long -- and it's going to be brutal."

Duly noted, Fred, duly noted.

January 19 - El Comienzo

Picture me, standing on a sunlit balcony, a light breeze blowing, my hair fluttering, looking out at the beautiful, hazy Colombian mountains from the city of Medellin.

Got that image in your head?

Okay.

Now, picture me, head back, eyes closed, mouth open, sweating uncomfortably, scrunched in a ball, my book open on my chest, fading in and out of sleep while loud Colombian music plays as the bus, that would hardly pass inspection in the US, rattles along, occainsionally dodging other vehicles on the twisting and turning roads.

I'll let you decide which image is more accurate.

*     *     *

I have been in Colombia for 2.5 days.

Medellin is amazing.

Full of fresh fruits, cervezas, homemade empanadas, meeting new people, and catching up with my sister and our travel companion (and childhood friend), Amanda.

We rode the metro cable, overlooking the city, and walked along a path in the mountains, passing through a park and near a river, ultimately reaching a bus stop where we rode a crowded bus an hour back to the heart of Medellin to prepare for a gathering of friends that Maggie had arranged -- our Colombian debut.

*insert flourish where necessary*

The next day I was spoiled by our visit to the Plaza Botero and the Museo del Antioquia, where I was able to see original works by Medellin's own Fernando Botero, famous for his absurdly voluminous figures.

I was particularly lucky that I came to el museo during an exhibition of Colombian and Mexican artists that featured works by Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo.

What. A. Treat.

That evening, Maggie took us to El Poblado (another area of Medellin) to "tomar un cafecito" in what can only be described as a hipster coffee shop, more akin to the ones in Brooklyn than in the rest of Medellin -- cold brew and all.

After a delicious dinner, made by Maggie's boyfriend, Jhonny, it was off to bed for a few short hours before our 5:30AM wake up call to travel to the bus terminal and board a bus to travel 9 hours south to the city of Cali.

Medellin in 48 hours -- WHEW!

Until next time!

Here goes...

Hello.

Pardon me for my brief hiatus.

Remember 6 weeks ago? That huge trip that I was about to leave for? When I was an anxiety-ridden mess and crying about everything?

Well, I'm back.

Of course, it was incredible.

Incredible.

I'm sitting in a cafe in White River Junction, VT, drinking and iced latte, and eating a falafel sandwich.

All for the affordable price of $13.

*winces*

I must say, being back in America is not all bad.

I enjoy the creature comforts.

Being lazy on my couch, eating whatever I want, going to lots of yoga classes, playing with my dog, ...speaking English, etc.

But backpacking through South America sure made me appreciate the comforts of home a hell of a lot more than I did.

All of this being said, I now need to list the things I miss about South America:

Cheap food, fresh fruit, warmth, my sister and Amanda, the daily experiences, my sad attempts at both speaking and understanding Spanish, my lack of cell phone service and constant connection to the internet and social media, part of me even kind of misses the long sweaty, smelly bus rides..... part of me, not all of me.

Just under a week before I flew back to the United States, Amanda, Maggie, and I arrived in Puno, Peru.

Puno is a city on the edge of Lake Titicaca (possibly one of the most tremendously beautiful places I've ever been).  We arrived at the cheapest hostel we could find around 11pm and promptly went to sleep.

Early the next morning, we booked a two day tour of Lake Titicaca which departed shortly after.

At some point that day, Amanda and I found ourselves on the boat that took us to the tour's different stopping points on the vast lake discussing all of the American food that we missed -- namely, Snickers and cheesecake.

I kid you not, the conversation lasted at least an hour... at least.

Miraculously, while hiking to a hilltop temple on one of the islands later that day, a member of one of the local communities was selling American candy bars for the Peruvian equivalent of about $2.50 on the side of the trail.  Amanda and I bought one and split it.

It was as good as we'd imagined.

The craving didn't really subside for the rest of the trip. I think I bought more Snickers in South America than I ever have in the United States. And do you think I've indulged since I've been back?

Not even once.

I guess it's the weird thing about being away from home.  You miss the convenience of things.

You know what I mean?

I only wanted a Snickers because I couldn't have one.

Now that I'm home, minutes away from places where I can buy a candy bar for $1.09, I don't crave one in the slightest.

And this philosophy applies to most things that I longed for during my five weeks away from home.

But the creature comforts are nice... I'll just keep reminding myself of that.

Silver lining or something.

Thinking about all the South American things that I miss -- most of all.... South America -- makes me want to relive the trip, the memories.

So bear with me in this endeavor as I transfer my jumbled memories from the pages of my journal to the computer screen for your reading pleasure.

But, naturally, I must start from the beginning.

Hold that thought ----