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.