tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-368214052024-02-18T21:02:55.244-05:00Wandering CoCoA chronicle of the journeys of my dreams through 15 countries and 4 continents...Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.comBlogger68125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-45781394156582038272009-09-18T19:27:00.003-04:002009-09-18T19:42:14.392-04:00Yikes! (A Sidenote)It has been many, many months since my last post. My trip continued on, unbounded, into the wilds of Asia. My blogging did not. This is my apology for being a total slacker, for abandoning my blogging responsibilities, for doing all these fantastic things in wondrous Asian places and not writing about it here at all. Mostly I've disappointed myself, but hey, I'm throwing this apology out to the world at large anyway. <br /><br />Suddenly, the inevitable has happened: 6 months have passed, I'm back in the States, the trip is over. >sigh< I am compelled to write about everything that went down in the Far East and do some serious catching up. So I will. My stories & photos will appear here, much belated, but true to form. Dates will not match up, inevitably things will be left out, but this blog will be an accurate representation of ALL my travels, damnit. So stay tuned.<br /><br />I would, however, like to take a quick moment to blame China. There are scores of excellent, inexpensive, high-speed internet cafes littered around China that, aside from the haze of stale cigarette smoke that hangs in the air, have only one flaw: they block access to thousands and thousands of websites. My blog is one of them. (Why?!?) The Great Firewall of China is no myth, and is a very efficient system for censoring boatloads of useful & unbiased information from its billion citizens. I could access Facebook in China for exactly one week of the seven I spent there. In any case, I was robbed of time to update this blog because I quite literally couldn't even get near it. Damn you, China.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-8590808150947328042009-06-12T03:14:00.007-04:002009-06-12T03:43:31.989-04:00No No No No No... NO!Immediately upon our arrival in Cambodia, we were confronted with what would become one of the many themes of the next 2 months: how to say "NO," over and over and over again. This is, of course, thanks to the plentiful touts & other characters, endlessly offering up whatever possible item or service you just might fork over some cash for. <br /><br />It began, in a bad way, in Poipet. After getting our passports stamped, we found ourselves surrounded by a varitable sh*tstorm of touts. All were wearing suits (madness in this heat!), wielding "official badges" (ha!), and offering insanely overpriced transport (do I LOOK like a moron, or are YOU just one?). After the whole thermometer incident, I'd had it. I looked at Tim with utter despair, at one point covering my ears with my hands and shaking my head. I couldn't do much but walk away. Tim handled things well, laughing at people and joking around, but eventually the only thing either of us wanted to do was walk away. So we did. Amazingly, one tout followed us a half kilometer down the road, first on foot, then on a motorbike, then in a taxi! Fool. By that point, we were resolved not to spend one thin dime with those bastards. Graciously, an honest taxi driver came by and took us on to Battambang for the RIGHT price, we left that little mongrel in our dust, and in a speedy two hours, we were far from Poipet in lovely Battambang.<br /><br />I purposely came to Battambang to experience a "real" Cambodian city, and it was a good call. We didn't do anything all too exciting in our time there (being burned out on the whole journey), but had a nice time strolling around its streets and getting a real, and much better, feel for Cambodia. What we found were delightful people, full of smiles & cheer & grace, who were nothing but friendly and helpful. Sure, we had to say "no" plenty of times, but it wasn't so bad.<br /><br />The real "no" game began in Siem Reap. I knew it was coming, Siem Reap being a huge tourist town, and it wasn't even quite as bad as I'm imagined. But more or less every few feet, you had to say no to some tuk-tuk driver, massage parlor lady, or kid selling postcards. I wouldn't have minded so much, except that these people began to come up to our tables, while we were eating, offering us random crap as we chewed away. My "nos" became a tad more firm at these times. Eventually, we did have to say "yes" to a tuk-tuk driver, when it was finally time to go see the legendary Angkor Wat.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-79712620028721052982009-06-12T02:36:00.012-04:002009-09-25T01:32:26.772-04:00Journey Into CambodiaAfter leaving Vang Vieng, we had our eyes on the prize: Cambodia. But we were way up in Northern Laos. Originally, we thought about heading into Cambodia via Southern Laos, bussing it all the way to Siem Reap. Then we started looking at maps, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvY5lY80HQbRLlJvBEq_RyQFIKEhUIOwLT5Q-Hrzm2hQgMA2QXCL0-EWyvvfeNM99a4zd8CXeG8ns8-u0JblxNOjnQFzTSeZpNihh7nJDpL2Whnxta87pIsuGC5yhRvHZxKp5/s1600-h/thai.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvY5lY80HQbRLlJvBEq_RyQFIKEhUIOwLT5Q-Hrzm2hQgMA2QXCL0-EWyvvfeNM99a4zd8CXeG8ns8-u0JblxNOjnQFzTSeZpNihh7nJDpL2Whnxta87pIsuGC5yhRvHZxKp5/s200/thai.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385273560169254914" /></a>and realizing the actual distance required to travel this route, and it wasn't looking good. Plus, knowing full well the realities of bus travel in Laos -- meaning that a few hundred kilometers that should take mere hours take over half a day, if you're lucky -- we just weren't feeling it. But flying was a financial non-option. The Thailand trains were calling our name. <br /><br />So back to Thailand we went. We skipped over Vientiane, not wanting to waste any time rambling about in a random city (with <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6PC3Hd69PS5psAE97svBSbRotlp9ztbmJaqtDAtWhpSedk0RRcWK3Qszae7yXQ2l4lUi2aDUxEzr1OQRNXZpVcfOzM6X_zWoS54dSlmMiOZIsgFj4pLDo66r2ms8WUsPuWJ2/s1600-h/nong+khai.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs6PC3Hd69PS5psAE97svBSbRotlp9ztbmJaqtDAtWhpSedk0RRcWK3Qszae7yXQ2l4lUi2aDUxEzr1OQRNXZpVcfOzM6X_zWoS54dSlmMiOZIsgFj4pLDo66r2ms8WUsPuWJ2/s200/nong+khai.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385272016744556226" /></a>no climbing in sight). We spent an entire day sitting on several different buses to make it from Vang Vieng to Vientiane, then from there over and across the Thai border. I knew we'd only be spending a couple quick days there, but as always, it was a tremendous delight to be back in Thailand. Within seconds of crossing the border, I could smell the fish sauce frying with garlic, chili, and sweetness wafting through the air -- the distinctly Thai aroma -- and my empty belly was rumbling away. We killed the next 24 hours in Nong Khai, eating our way around the city, until it was time to catch the train.<br /><br />Out of sheer excess and a hefty dose of curiosity, we opted for the first class cabin on the train. It was certainly a first for me <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1zcwWYjPBRjOkQlOd8cDbjSzQZgMWUf40k3c5I8ndavCTNioC_JBV_fC1O1Wu_w4shCS1G9WI481gpIYwtMb1Z8fO2IxkBdJHVcHt1RcUlw5ScIzn42uHJmiIU4R67RoIVSW/s1600-h/train.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ1zcwWYjPBRjOkQlOd8cDbjSzQZgMWUf40k3c5I8ndavCTNioC_JBV_fC1O1Wu_w4shCS1G9WI481gpIYwtMb1Z8fO2IxkBdJHVcHt1RcUlw5ScIzn42uHJmiIU4R67RoIVSW/s200/train.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385272179245910098" /></a>(First Class?! Usually an unheard of travel term!), and my, what fun it was. We had a whole air-conditioned cabin to ourselves, a plush little room with loads of space and even free bottled water. Fortunately I remembered to bring a couple beers along so we could celebrate properly.<br /><br />Early the next morning, we arrived in Bangkok. The Hualamphong station always amazes me ... for a huge train station in the middle of a huge city, you'd think it would be a crazy nightmare, but really it's a chill place and not entirely all too bad to spend a few hours in. We decided to keep the train a-movin' (literally) and bought an onward ticket to the Cambodian border. After feasting on Thai food one last time at a street vendor's stall in the sweaty mid-day heat, off we went.<br /><br />The second train was decidedly worse. In fact, it was pretty awful. A 6 hour ride on hard plastic seats, crammed in with loads of other people, no A/C, and some serious train-chug-a-luggin' noise. My main mode of distraction came in the form of an ancient, pug-faced old man sitting in front of me, who between bouts of staring absent-mindedly at his hands & drinking from a Pepsi can rolling around on the floor, would whip out a comb and try to smooth down the few grey hairs left on his head that, inevitably, would get whipped around by the wind every time he put the thing down. <br /><br />The next morning, it was time for the border. We had heard loads of nightmare stories about this particular border, Poipet, and fortunately had the insight to read up on all the scams at wikitravel.org beforehand. We made it through the tuk-tuk driver who tried to take us to a travel agent to get our visas beforehand (scam!), the guy at the Thai border who tried to get us to buy a visa beforehand (scam!), the guys on the Cambodian side trying to get us to buy a visa beforehand (scam!), the "official" border agent saying he must charge us a 100 baht fee to process our visas (scam!), and almost thought we'd made it scot-free. Then came the "Health Quarantine." We filled out a bullshit form, no problem, and then they wanted to take our temperatures... big problem. We thought it was a clear scam (suspisciously high temperature leads to bribe), but what was worse, we didn't want that disgusting, unclean ear thermometer anywhere near us. We bitched to high hell for about 15 minutes, yelling at people, wondering why the Cambodians weren't being tested but we were, refusing to acknowledge these so-called doctors' explanations, until finally a border "official" told Tim that if he wouldn't have his temperature taken then they'd have to go "have a talk" in a private room. Well, that did it. We cringed at the ear thermometer, but that was that. Naturally, we whippped out the hand sanitizer immediately (for the soiled ear), but before we knew it we were stamped into Cambodia.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-19822633142375442752009-05-31T07:05:00.014-04:002009-05-31T08:05:25.278-04:00Same Same But Different, Part II (Lao Lao)The last month has been some of the most rapidito traveling I've done in a long time. I've managed to bus my way through 4 different countries in the last 4 weeks, seeing & doing incredible things along the way (well... naturally). Anyway, that's my excuse for not keeping up very well with this here blog. But here I am trying. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUA7WCAOEaGDGf-BUM2K57D_E1PMikM-KU4zmxmyutVRV5_DPo7muo6taUPU9adNm_lMtmNdKfT9HCTRZmfd6OQw6pYGzAO5i4rK_qQVX_HzxrJQ6f30kmCDoQ3UwQfi0wPr7E/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUA7WCAOEaGDGf-BUM2K57D_E1PMikM-KU4zmxmyutVRV5_DPo7muo6taUPU9adNm_lMtmNdKfT9HCTRZmfd6OQw6pYGzAO5i4rK_qQVX_HzxrJQ6f30kmCDoQ3UwQfi0wPr7E/s200/sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341951291446205234" /></a>Accept my apologies, get over it, and let's get to it.<br /><br />So after the inevitable departure from Ton Sai, I spent a quick week in Northern Thailand, revisiting the lovely city of Chiang Mai and the very fun rock climbing crag located nearby. Mostly we spent the week climbing, but it wouldn't be a visit to Chiang Mai without meeting up with old friends & hitting up the bars a little bit. I was sad to see that Chiang Mai's infamous "Rasta Bar" area has changed <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5jlFqiiPhoXXvyDfw0iGoRp_RtN3GP9eyh6hQz9H8ShOR50WI7_ZRV-V-rCLC4OgNCiAUc80NEQpTDyiE1vifkrEe1E7ooFAnhhyphenhyphen7Aofj5csF04PVB3WeIlyHilRr5hHaRoX/s1600-h/bucket.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp5jlFqiiPhoXXvyDfw0iGoRp_RtN3GP9eyh6hQz9H8ShOR50WI7_ZRV-V-rCLC4OgNCiAUc80NEQpTDyiE1vifkrEe1E7ooFAnhhyphenhyphen7Aofj5csF04PVB3WeIlyHilRr5hHaRoX/s200/bucket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341951365750129618" /></a>tremendously, no longer a bustling area of some three dozen bars, but a much more toned-down area of two dozen semi-okay bars at best. Sure, I found some nice spots to grab some overpriced buckets and even catch some tunes, but it surely wasn't the same rockin' reggae scene it once was.<br /><br />Suddenly, the 30 day limit for Thailand was up again, and it was time for Laos. This time around, I did almost the same loop as 2007 but totally in reverse: Houay Xai - Luang Prabang - Vang Vieng - Vientiane. Starting in the border town of Houay Xai was an interesting choice, mostly because it presented only 2 options for the inevitably long journey to Luang Prabang. The first option was a two-day journey on a slow boat down the Mekong, which seemed to us overly touristy, overly expensive, and overly long. We opted for the bus, which was supposed to take only 8 (ha!) hours, but took in fact TWELVE. And so began our Series Of Bad Calls. Bad Calls #2-4 were having to stay in not one, not two, but FOUR different guesthouses in LP because it was so damn hot, we couldn't afford air-con (sigh), and just kept <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwaXG2mHN_flF8YgnpvOo9GI_1Yco5auRrC4VCDvTv9cnoPOQqztOtpG9MrBoQv-mQOQhdbUAE54Ev8V9SrII2yCPFQCBn1iodevGS95eYZtFRN8ALolVmOmH3J6fpAu_iPDM/s1600-h/falls.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwaXG2mHN_flF8YgnpvOo9GI_1Yco5auRrC4VCDvTv9cnoPOQqztOtpG9MrBoQv-mQOQhdbUAE54Ev8V9SrII2yCPFQCBn1iodevGS95eYZtFRN8ALolVmOmH3J6fpAu_iPDM/s200/falls.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341953413718798546" /></a>choosing the losers. Then of course, we sealed off our Bad Calls with ol' #5, which was choosing to ignore every travel agent that told us there was no local bus to Vang Vieng, going to the bus station ourselves, and then paying the exact same amount for an 8 hour ride in a total clunker that we would have spent to be in an air conditioned minivan. But it wasn't a total bust, because I finally got the see the Kuangsi waterfall, which was absolutely incredible. We spent the day swimming in its epic terraced pools and cooling off better than any stupid overpriced Luang Prabang A/C possibly could have.<br /><br />Vang Vieng was instantly pretty awesome. Sadly, the actual town of VV is still the same death trap of identical touristy restaurants with zombied-out kids watching <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuoi3MIeTu6CcngvVrOc2n_xwN7Sau8Ge1izAgSj3EDkfsPrFjVDJprvEFqbbZ-UeMEwwGoT0AdCI7-fZlOsr6CGqDKR0tY_NaGoxq4_ZzbiQ6D_gPQnAwJkhb1-RyHGof76z/s1600-h/meclimb.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuoi3MIeTu6CcngvVrOc2n_xwN7Sau8Ge1izAgSj3EDkfsPrFjVDJprvEFqbbZ-UeMEwwGoT0AdCI7-fZlOsr6CGqDKR0tY_NaGoxq4_ZzbiQ6D_gPQnAwJkhb1-RyHGof76z/s200/meclimb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341956524340108098" /></a>reruns of "Friends" played 24 hours a day on maximum volume. If anything, it's just bigger & more mind-numbing than 2 years ago. But that, clearly, is not why I returned to Vang Vieng (though I'd really been dying to catch up on all my early 90s Friends drama). It's for the shockingly gorgeous scenery all around, the lovely lazy river lifestyle, and the rock climbing. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkfY6En1KN9Wy1ucEGedhm0NnYezSW7unsscoEPsC3NuXLsgeThnoG6Qt10fa36oaBkGTa5xcPnRXKqP2bVpwnq-jo8vIAr-CB12yaq5Z7MObaU3vbE12dQBR4EVwU9JjcMSW/s1600-h/timclimb.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkfY6En1KN9Wy1ucEGedhm0NnYezSW7unsscoEPsC3NuXLsgeThnoG6Qt10fa36oaBkGTa5xcPnRXKqP2bVpwnq-jo8vIAr-CB12yaq5Z7MObaU3vbE12dQBR4EVwU9JjcMSW/s200/timclimb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341956730778723042" /></a>Not surprisingly, this time around I did loads more climbing than before. In fact, it was 100% the focus of our time in VV, which shouldn't come as a shock to anyone who has paid any attention to my life in the last year. In 07, I'd only been to one of VV's crags. Little did I know that there are handfuls of crags all around! We spent every day except 2 <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_zVfNghuwT4IXvQjqPerc11NONFPGM0JF0E4b5vNKTJIBV75pjsTyeQahtv5CqURqjD65ZzYL6UG0mYb21xdENnl8DzFe8_LXUcB1v3th1gzWMjJNhppIWZliobFTHUfg1vk/s1600-h/sethclimb.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_zVfNghuwT4IXvQjqPerc11NONFPGM0JF0E4b5vNKTJIBV75pjsTyeQahtv5CqURqjD65ZzYL6UG0mYb21xdENnl8DzFe8_LXUcB1v3th1gzWMjJNhppIWZliobFTHUfg1vk/s200/sethclimb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341956521444907890" /></a>climbing, and explored 4 different crags (one of them we even came back to again). The climbing was really fantastic, and it felt good to get back on the rock after the withdrawal of leaving Thailand. In reality, it'd only been a week, but it felt like forever! We even had the good fortune to meet up with Seth -- our stalagtite-dominating friend from Ton Sai (see previous post) -- and all climb together for a few days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8Xx17YhX5uetZHYDLuC7V9YIboci7dQ7oY51FlpSQOcQOk4ouqhM9rOpfl6hIT3y0TV1pSoKBlJ6D19m9imUjZCLhl2UfmmO3KnrxT3xd3hp0xcjTgm-NIGEoT1EES0P5BEz/s1600-h/lastcrag.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR8Xx17YhX5uetZHYDLuC7V9YIboci7dQ7oY51FlpSQOcQOk4ouqhM9rOpfl6hIT3y0TV1pSoKBlJ6D19m9imUjZCLhl2UfmmO3KnrxT3xd3hp0xcjTgm-NIGEoT1EES0P5BEz/s200/lastcrag.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341957446089315234" /></a>On our last day, we went back to a huge piece of beautiful limestone that we'd seen from the bus on the way into town. We found out that it had been recently bolted and was climbable, and decided to go for it. It was probably the most jungley crag I've ever seen -- the whole wall was covered in spider webs, the ground was covered in sketchy rocks & brush, swarms of butterflies surrounded us, lizards scattered around, and we even got snuck up on by a local machete-wielding dude who hung out and watched while he inspected our rock shoes. But it was pretty rad, the routes were beautiful, and it was definitely a new experience for me!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-67569224376884179472009-05-21T00:37:00.011-04:002009-05-21T01:04:08.538-04:00Go DeepMost of my days during my 3 weeks in Ton Sai went something like this: <br />- Wake up when it gets too unbearably hot to sleep any longer (usually about 9am, a good 2 to 3 hours after the power got shut off).<br />- Have breakfast of delicious banana pancakes at Green Valley Resort while swatting away mozzies.<br />Get climbing gear together, refill the water bottles, scope out a morning route. <br />Climb.<br />- Break for lunch and the way-too-intense-for-climbing mid-day heat. Generally this meant eating phenomenally delicious pad thai at Kruie Thai restaurant right on the beach for 70 Baht ($2). <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4I1pSzC0Id3HV_HcTs2jPywDiBgI2aCz7ORl701y2ob2ASqAvMnxwno2PiNyjHoB6AXDGWqlPDzk3VhKfJjjRZhfMSa6NYarx_-SzwbpS-L-nF_uxIKYXPtkd3vMMIjdpive/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha4I1pSzC0Id3HV_HcTs2jPywDiBgI2aCz7ORl701y2ob2ASqAvMnxwno2PiNyjHoB6AXDGWqlPDzk3VhKfJjjRZhfMSa6NYarx_-SzwbpS-L-nF_uxIKYXPtkd3vMMIjdpive/s200/sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338138465364559826" /></a>- Spend the afternoon lounging on the beach, in the shade, perhaps quickly jumping on the slackline.<br />- Choose a new wall, and climb until it gets dark.<br />- Have beer at sunset.<br />- Return to bungalow of questionable integrity, take a cold (only option) shower to get rid of a phenomenal amount of grime, and head out for grub Thai dinner.<br />- Depending on the cash flow situation and plans for tomorrow, either go out for beers or chill and go to bed earlyish.<br />- Wake and repeat.<br /><br />While most days more or less followed this tremendously enjoyable schedule, we <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifidCVdVNateUXTey6P6LkchUzbwz3zL_Lbs7CHGJpPA3F3HcbzoAvTIYJD5Vqk_mZfhhvHOQDUleWbnp1isLeZNz98Nbdv8hceMzQBJ5y8X4gJxwJ80NDc7RzbdzkdpoM-Elm/s1600-h/dws2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifidCVdVNateUXTey6P6LkchUzbwz3zL_Lbs7CHGJpPA3F3HcbzoAvTIYJD5Vqk_mZfhhvHOQDUleWbnp1isLeZNz98Nbdv8hceMzQBJ5y8X4gJxwJ80NDc7RzbdzkdpoM-Elm/s200/dws2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338138102389797250" /></a>diverted from the itinerary a few times. Unquestionable, one of the biggest highlights among these diversions was going Deep Water Soloing (DWS). DWS is where you hire a longtail boat for the day, and spend the day going out to funky-shaped islands, climbing the rock, and when finished, jumping directly into the water. Deep Water = a safe depth in which to jump off the rock into the warm turquoise Andaman Sea. Soloing = climbing, with only shoes on and nothing else, no ropes, no protection, following whatever lines you find suitable. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBIaKKWcdpd2jRxj6ytZ0QtJRsYKDIppjW7iSo7dqO8DtBppMvgzVraxWQvW6epP5tFarjeVTfbfpn6ffsz9mSDeRF3kg6ieQJd5TnL1frDiGwyvalyOezDS2MBa2GOrbze8FC/s1600-h/the+crew.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBIaKKWcdpd2jRxj6ytZ0QtJRsYKDIppjW7iSo7dqO8DtBppMvgzVraxWQvW6epP5tFarjeVTfbfpn6ffsz9mSDeRF3kg6ieQJd5TnL1frDiGwyvalyOezDS2MBa2GOrbze8FC/s200/the+crew.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338135489414691346" /></a>We had the good fortune to round up a fantastic group of hyper-enthusiastic North Americans, stoked on climbing & socializing & ready to make the absolute most of the day. Everyone climbed their hearts out all day long, while the rest of the crew not on the rock watched from the boat, cheering like a bunch of drunken high school kids in the 4th quarter of a tied <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWbQI_oURDVRCpbrNvMv43qYYPcCQoBm4Uq_5Xjr2g7lyHBB-6JCcRzusAESXFLTPG61jD6kdkAZvS5AO4C29VlCgPZAztyCfzc3aUaP6I3Bbrm5NnnTdRCtML3jvq6BJ54fl/s1600-h/snorkel.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWbQI_oURDVRCpbrNvMv43qYYPcCQoBm4Uq_5Xjr2g7lyHBB-6JCcRzusAESXFLTPG61jD6kdkAZvS5AO4C29VlCgPZAztyCfzc3aUaP6I3Bbrm5NnnTdRCtML3jvq6BJ54fl/s200/snorkel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338135631468296050" /></a>game where the home team's about to push on to the championships.<br /><br />Naturally, climbing wasn't the ONLY thing on the menu; there was plenty of drinking involved. We brought a nice stash of beers & flasks of Sangsom (Thai "whiskey"), <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhrFgI9qn2W1wBi9qw6CM6U1a8CtQgCvZqmSkCjUXeFSTpC7AvtkCj-Rw_RFb3F6juGRp41O_WW2J5eUUdqk2aZ4JH0_3TVeJvm5yRhJpCmFDW2yGm5wobkVPzsd95yg0wkpd/s1600-h/beer+island.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhrFgI9qn2W1wBi9qw6CM6U1a8CtQgCvZqmSkCjUXeFSTpC7AvtkCj-Rw_RFb3F6juGRp41O_WW2J5eUUdqk2aZ4JH0_3TVeJvm5yRhJpCmFDW2yGm5wobkVPzsd95yg0wkpd/s200/beer+island.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338136036866142642" /></a>and then took a break on the aptly-named Beer Island to suck down some cans of Chang and grub on some overpriced but still delicious food.<br /><br />Inevitably, the climbing -- for the competitive & slightly intoxicated boys on the boat -- became a (how shall I say?) kind of "stick"-measuring competition for <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjII1fp8ZCfOOgbDF-KVezm2iVHcqb7LKQt-mXkIdtiv4tyegsH_SJu5fcv7irLwScIRWIWqvDdpLuA3dXZ5pEAl4IG9qtqGh_QmFoCwZhlV-jd40hwtvbLk-foKeL8IhmqK23W/s1600-h/stalag.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjII1fp8ZCfOOgbDF-KVezm2iVHcqb7LKQt-mXkIdtiv4tyegsH_SJu5fcv7irLwScIRWIWqvDdpLuA3dXZ5pEAl4IG9qtqGh_QmFoCwZhlV-jd40hwtvbLk-foKeL8IhmqK23W/s200/stalag.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338137702618069090" /></a>attainable height. A certain stalagtite, hanging a good 60 feet above the water, was selected as the goal, with each dude climbing higher and higher. "Well, I touched it, you touch it with TWO hands!" "OK, I touched it with TWO hands, you have to jump ONTO it!" Eventually, the stalagtite was not just touched but climbed onto and even higher up!! Seth, the grand champion, ended up about 90 feet off the water and jumped all the way down. Unfrickinreal.<br /><br />It was a superb day. And timed just a few days before we sadly had to depart, it was a tasty icing to spread over the top of the delightful little cake that was our 3 weeks in Ton Sai.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-15647000905598170592009-05-20T02:16:00.011-04:002009-05-20T03:23:47.350-04:00Same Same But Different<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WXntsflZpuPItv-dFw79zTwv13hIuW2mIpmtHviTrVWb6bwc47ypObeQAufsSiTp95ObHDbQ9s1Z1GWO_qrkOZS5UGMvyMOOPJop81I5Ex3Lei_dkOPURV0n-x92WgX3dZ6-/s1600-h/sunset+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7WXntsflZpuPItv-dFw79zTwv13hIuW2mIpmtHviTrVWb6bwc47ypObeQAufsSiTp95ObHDbQ9s1Z1GWO_qrkOZS5UGMvyMOOPJop81I5Ex3Lei_dkOPURV0n-x92WgX3dZ6-/s200/sunset+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337801974232174962" /></a>After wrapping up a quick hop & skip through China, it was back on to my familiar, beloved, delicious, and beautiful Thailand. This was my fifth trip into Thailand in the last 3 years... proof enough of my true feelings for the place. I started doing the math and realized that, in fact, Thailand is second only to the U.S. in places where I've spent most of my time. It's now even lapped Spain, where I studied abroad for 4 months way back in '04. <br /><br />It's hard to describe the feeling I get each time I return to Thailand. Knowing exactly what's going on, how to get around, how to bargain, where to sleep, what <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJREhyzJeOarMYf7zoauaBVn0egDCJxf4nuhPnjSyGL87nzvxu2ekEZ0AV4V3nFF1Ccj3QevobXFTVb6GKIoNndrk5cUppfW7_AA9eIq8KlcejXqGt9hwDmMmObmEDaoGnqAj_/s1600-h/phra+nang.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJREhyzJeOarMYf7zoauaBVn0egDCJxf4nuhPnjSyGL87nzvxu2ekEZ0AV4V3nFF1Ccj3QevobXFTVb6GKIoNndrk5cUppfW7_AA9eIq8KlcejXqGt9hwDmMmObmEDaoGnqAj_/s200/phra+nang.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337802672723676274" /></a>combination of delicious delights will make up my meals for the day... those are all lovely, comforting things to feel in any country upon return. But Thailand's got something different. It's the smiling people, the epic sunsets, the smell of fish sauce + garlic + chilis, it's the Tom Yum Kung and Som Tam and Pad Thai Tofu, the rainbow colored tuk-tuks hauled by the remnants of an old hog, bargaining in my broken Thai that always ends with laughter and a wide grin, the giant blow-up photos of His Majesty the King taking photographs from 20+ years ago proudly displayed in the middle of traffic ... what can I say? This Is Thailand. I love it here. And I can't help but keep coming back.<br /><br />Of my 4 weeks in Thailand this time around, 3 were spent down south in old familiar Ton Sai & Railay, and 1 was spent up north in Chiang Mai en route to Laos. It's <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxupMXyNTL62VxyRcN9ekvk2WRF5QLLyvGs__ZkY8Ur_QSKpzebtGegLd__-gBy1eMYUheWW-M7akkmXU2Z0TNF7cMK3N51Si9rtrP9GYz15RbLIyoor3SlcDJJ2zQH-WF0CL/s1600-h/tonsai.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxupMXyNTL62VxyRcN9ekvk2WRF5QLLyvGs__ZkY8Ur_QSKpzebtGegLd__-gBy1eMYUheWW-M7akkmXU2Z0TNF7cMK3N51Si9rtrP9GYz15RbLIyoor3SlcDJJ2zQH-WF0CL/s200/tonsai.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337800388684337666" /></a>become sort of inevitable at this point that upon my arrival in Thailand, I will proceed immediately to Krabi Airport, hitch a ride to Ao Nang, hop on a longtail boat, and get my ass to Ton Sai beach as quickly as possible. If you happen to have ever read my blog in the past, you can understand why. Ton Sai is dear to my heart, a gem of a place, and home to some of the world's most epic rock climbing. The whole place is nothing but huge limestone cliffs, soft sand, turquoise water, and nightly beach parties. <br /><br />Mostly things were the same as before, but certainly not everything. As the Thai saying goes: same same but different. Prices are higher (a natural but nevertheless frutrating inevitability), April was surprisingly crowded, many restaurants that <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawca7JTnPmi9hVVy4XcPGyZVNIJImi3xY7QIyRUp8CApzxPLfC7QNlshVmpt-ubTRxuOzhM-IQY_KyBZS0NAwaALRb38u3sD4sSwuQo3Ns2z1KOCe8rt0UvHtLbs53WTJyoVe/s1600-h/ton+sai+road.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawca7JTnPmi9hVVy4XcPGyZVNIJImi3xY7QIyRUp8CApzxPLfC7QNlshVmpt-ubTRxuOzhM-IQY_KyBZS0NAwaALRb38u3sD4sSwuQo3Ns2z1KOCe8rt0UvHtLbs53WTJyoVe/s200/ton+sai+road.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337802086995121442" /></a>used to be phenomenal have now altered their best dishes to watered-down tourist-friendly and less-tasty versions, the funky little bamboo bars have both sprouted up by the handful and been taken over by larger resorts... the usual kinds of things. But the rock is still epic, the monkeys run free, Ton Sai "road" is still a potholed mess of a dirt path, Dream Valley has the same exact p.o.s. overpriced bungalow for rent, the heat beats down like there ain't no tomorrow, and life is good with a capital muthafunkin' G. It's been interesting to watch Ton Sai evolve over the last 3 years, at a pace that at times truly frightens me. I guess I just feel lucky to be checking it out now.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-49232548241070197782009-05-09T03:39:00.005-04:002009-05-09T04:03:17.395-04:00China: WTF?China is a country of very extreme contrasts. In any given moment, in any given place, you can experience the strange dualities that seem to define much of China. The beautiful alongside the disgusting, zen among the chaos, balance within incongruencies, harmony not too far from the barely tolerable. Normally, during my travels I will keep my famous "best & worst" lists for each country I visit in the back of my journal. But in China, thanks to these strange extremes and all the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmFVsSAPQLUb7AHOIdlVSNL5QloB5QteyWP-wCZcL4j855ZaVrNmzc8FplnHg8olTXm0oPradYYwZHqKPMUu22W_DwtWgmxh51UKkBIV5Qol16ZCyCy-P9EbAJuMiNIbNW8hE/s1600-h/old+man+sign.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmFVsSAPQLUb7AHOIdlVSNL5QloB5QteyWP-wCZcL4j855ZaVrNmzc8FplnHg8olTXm0oPradYYwZHqKPMUu22W_DwtWgmxh51UKkBIV5Qol16ZCyCy-P9EbAJuMiNIbNW8hE/s200/old+man+sign.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333731059661954354" /></a>oddities in between, best & worst just didn't seem to fit. Thus, my "China: What the F*ck?" list was born.<br /><br />Generally, when I saw something fitting for this list, the dialogue would go something like this:<br />Courtney: "What the F*CK is that about?"<br />Erica: "Yup, that's China for ya."<br /><br />Here are a few excerpts from CHINA: WTF?<br />- man painting a wall blue, in the middle of the day, wearing a suit<br />- man gutting a fish for a restaurant on the concrete floor on an alleyway<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0gK9wSUPZ7z0Eu0IcMISs2jpIiw9tCYgp5FQ5XYFYKaEYzgfmcu90MFJkGGcXzcFPDPQDN33yCP1yTqle90xcNX1MJVsXtG2usrM5eoMNSE4D5aLFok-WhkI0_QK5XqIcYtv/s1600-h/no+driving.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp0gK9wSUPZ7z0Eu0IcMISs2jpIiw9tCYgp5FQ5XYFYKaEYzgfmcu90MFJkGGcXzcFPDPQDN33yCP1yTqle90xcNX1MJVsXtG2usrM5eoMNSE4D5aLFok-WhkI0_QK5XqIcYtv/s200/no+driving.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333730772873118178" /></a>- taxi drivers refusing to drive us once they knew our destination (this happened probably 6 times)<br />- "no cars" sign posted on a small, quaint footpath in the middle of the park<br />- complete lack of internet cafes due to government censorship of the internet<br />- strip malls built in sacred spots (ie Jing'an Temple)<br />- "Take Me Home Country Roads", sung Chinese ballad-style, blaring out of speakers at the Hangzhou train station<br />- woman holding a bouquet of not flowers, but stuffed teddy bears<br />- getting cut in line every single time<br />- the lead-poisoned milk scandal & subsequent execution of the farmer who started it<br />- taxis cutting off cop cars, while speeding<br />- enormous popularity of Haagen Daaz chains<br />- vendors pushing carts through insanely crowded train cars, over & over again<br />- people blowing snot rockets into their hands<br />- is it really so hard to smile?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcZADly6oqefkc7h6hWGYseegzGfWKraAaU8QpI9zLv6FgtigpUaL9hsX5DB2pnmX6Q7ZJc73Ag_AL3gfnS5g__vqtDkKWfUidq_4vxudHteihjUQnZSRPnBkvMKKaMT_HaFT/s1600-h/bike.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcZADly6oqefkc7h6hWGYseegzGfWKraAaU8QpI9zLv6FgtigpUaL9hsX5DB2pnmX6Q7ZJc73Ag_AL3gfnS5g__vqtDkKWfUidq_4vxudHteihjUQnZSRPnBkvMKKaMT_HaFT/s200/bike.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333731576076105378" /></a>- men gardening bushes to clear the path, then parking their bikes full of clippings in the middle of the sidewalk, thus totally blocking the path<br />- 70% of adult males smoking 30% of the world's cigarettes<br />- speciality on the dim sum menu: "aerobics frog"<br />- children "fishing" for tadpoles at the dirty lake in the park and collecting them in water bottles<br />- guards at the park telling people to stay off the grass, then tossing garbage directly into the lake<br />- Lays potato chips in fruit flavors (blueberry, lychee, lime)<br />- stop lights with only red & green arrows, each pointing in 3 different directionsCourtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-77231344329974893302009-05-05T02:59:00.012-04:002009-05-09T03:39:36.888-04:00Asia: Round IIIOn March 31st, I arrived at the International Terminal of LAX for the umpteenth time. I had wrapped up my life in Utah, spent a couple weeks preparing for my travels in LA, and even managed to squeeze in a quick trip to Nor Cal to visit friends & family. It had been far too long since I'd hopped on an international <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkLDjQLPnDFJplCRvEwUjTgJHD2bhIsT9t-_ksRuRCKq3TSms_q_fBWw1CccMYWQ5ALlk5ouYWfDr0Sx-8j4QzcTZ0dS1JnXKuC3nqz6R1_lprOjXVzY8o6eDLvHFSVI1CPYi/s1600-h/shanghai.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfkLDjQLPnDFJplCRvEwUjTgJHD2bhIsT9t-_ksRuRCKq3TSms_q_fBWw1CccMYWQ5ALlk5ouYWfDr0Sx-8j4QzcTZ0dS1JnXKuC3nqz6R1_lprOjXVzY8o6eDLvHFSVI1CPYi/s200/shanghai.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333723262200095218" /></a>flight, and I was very ready to go.<br /><br />I arrived in Shanghai, via a quick layover in Seoul, well-rested and with few hassles to report (thanks for that Ambien, Mom!). Erica met me at the airport, we got on the airport bus, and were at her apartment in central Shanghai in no time. On the way there, with our crazy bus driver weaving through lanes and honking at everything that moved, we passed by a construction site where a handful of Chinese men in hard hats and flip flops were welding a piece of steel about 6 inches from the road, wearing no eye protection whatsoever, at 9 o'clock at night. There was no doubt about it: I was definitely back in Asia. <br /><br />I spent the next week mostly in Shanghai, with a few days of checking out nearby <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sGdrsBOmWvU9Xj2Ct5y6ZCg1E1DWLSnVgFoLq64H2Rhp8RXv1YqTfrfIQrzkHuq92PTgdXc0V1nFTmuQAjGQZnAH4EunvTBzkZHAdPBhM7_syhgvF1qkUz3GTjplsuWIgR2N/s1600-h/bikes.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8sGdrsBOmWvU9Xj2Ct5y6ZCg1E1DWLSnVgFoLq64H2Rhp8RXv1YqTfrfIQrzkHuq92PTgdXc0V1nFTmuQAjGQZnAH4EunvTBzkZHAdPBhM7_syhgvF1qkUz3GTjplsuWIgR2N/s200/bikes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333723758101294322" /></a>Hangzhou thrown in. Shanghai is a big, Asian metropolis with plenty of the modern mixed in with the ancient. The traffic seemed absolutely dead-set on running me over, the subways were clean but jam-packed, bicyclists pedaled down the most crowded of streets alongside motorbikes & taxis, charming alleyways abounding with charm and stories of laundry drying in the breeze would pop out of random urban blocks, people of all ages practiced Tai Chi around every corner... it was the China I had been expecting. <br /><br />Hangzhou was a breath of fresh air -- literally and figuratively -- with its <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnvvysjIYVdCv_OA1CcKwcOzIzLgTSktHvPsyZFDO2nObwka-PaS_0GJNY9Tm5Xf87PGTCyULiZ4JvP9MoUsg-XvRtsmyPYW0-obpwZldW2KOAeAAeAZdonplWCoxW-Ya6WE6/s1600-h/silhouette.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnvvysjIYVdCv_OA1CcKwcOzIzLgTSktHvPsyZFDO2nObwka-PaS_0GJNY9Tm5Xf87PGTCyULiZ4JvP9MoUsg-XvRtsmyPYW0-obpwZldW2KOAeAAeAZdonplWCoxW-Ya6WE6/s200/silhouette.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333723267839053762" /></a>beautiful silver lake and multi-tiered pagodas popping out of the mysterious mist that perpetually lingers in the air. I wandered around the shores of its lake and finally felt like I had discovered the other, more zen-like side of China. Whereas Shanghai was the modern, crazy China I had expected, Hangzhou was the more etherial, ancient China I had dreamed of.<br /><br />From the first hour, China presented many challenges to me. The language barrier was absolutely huge -- in no place I have traveled to before has English been so absent. The basic Chinese I struggled to learn was essentially useless, given that I couldn't understand anyone's responses and, frankly, was probably pronouncing everything wrong anyway. An ever bigger challenge was the food issue. I have been <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdt96r8O_QXJkDq_oEj7hQop2WvYl9nAnGIF0tdXtDzwPBhEPgTa-b4zkSjuEHz6eEONpBMwhjoi_0aX5PJWbSMEXC2pFNXY0UcRDpmiqP6LSkZW7E5D0KxgAW2HVSxKLY7ua/s1600-h/food.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdt96r8O_QXJkDq_oEj7hQop2WvYl9nAnGIF0tdXtDzwPBhEPgTa-b4zkSjuEHz6eEONpBMwhjoi_0aX5PJWbSMEXC2pFNXY0UcRDpmiqP6LSkZW7E5D0KxgAW2HVSxKLY7ua/s200/food.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333724472190572818" /></a>a vegetarian for 5 years now, though I'll dabble in fish if & when it sounds good. China seemingly is unaware of what vegetarian food is, and even when I would try desperately to order tofu or vegetables dishes, they would inevitably arrive with chunks of pork floating around in them. (I will say, however, that on my last day in Shanghai I discovered a restaurant with a 100% vegetarian and MSG-free menu that was divine!!) Initially, I had a radical itinerary planned, but once my jet lag kicked in, and the reality of my Chinese travel challenges set in, I opted to take it easy, abandon my grand plans, and shift my pace down to a much more leisurely one. <br /><br />It was -- as it always is -- a good call. I became familiar with Shanghai and got to discover many of its beautiful parks. On a Sunday, I went to the "kite-flying park" and spent hours walking around as old men played chess in secluded leafy <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIYHGrCDsmZtG7pL4w1WQ23xSXU7ZvbRWE2tu7E_sNJqi5H2wDFxJRZaDqglFiDspRHysMEKrI_lCEBFV0MKcd3e_PhDfc3wYddliAbhPGziFq47Vt2njmFw67dH8cwD-8v4Ib/s1600-h/chess.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIYHGrCDsmZtG7pL4w1WQ23xSXU7ZvbRWE2tu7E_sNJqi5H2wDFxJRZaDqglFiDspRHysMEKrI_lCEBFV0MKcd3e_PhDfc3wYddliAbhPGziFq47Vt2njmFw67dH8cwD-8v4Ib/s200/chess.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333725058598222178" /></a>corners, Tai Chi masters taught classes to the public, and traditional Chinese music ensembles got together to play music & sing songs. That same day, I also got to have not one but TWO exceptionally delicious meals with Erica's family, who were also visiting from the States. <br /><br />This first trip to China was only a short one; essentially, an extended layover to check things out & visit Erica as I made my way on down to Southeast Asia. But I'm headed back after my rounds in the South are done, with even grander plans for traveling through southeastern China, Tibet, and Beijing.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-49879239188244138612009-05-05T02:19:00.010-04:002009-05-05T02:58:45.455-04:00Another Adventure BornBy the end of March of 2009, I'd spent more than 10 months living & working in the US, the longest continuous amount of time I'd spent stateside since 2005. I had <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VrtMGVzW9Prl28ypQruwae9FbrZpsZ8N22Q_dBQHuH7VHV9koiR_hWyyhMx5snHBHBR_tq95A3b6QYPSHfzgOtBKQ_UTI1P2lpT2ajtuePltXWpqQUGz1D_GX-BCEqGFsQwR/s1600-h/st+pattys.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6VrtMGVzW9Prl28ypQruwae9FbrZpsZ8N22Q_dBQHuH7VHV9koiR_hWyyhMx5snHBHBR_tq95A3b6QYPSHfzgOtBKQ_UTI1P2lpT2ajtuePltXWpqQUGz1D_GX-BCEqGFsQwR/s200/st+pattys.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332228319625502370" /></a>unexpectedly landed in Utah after returning from South America in June of '08, and due to a combination of great people & great times, ended up staying far longer than I had initially imagined. It was a good run -- a 6-month-long production job with the Sundance Film Festival, quality time spent with new friends & fun family, many hours of late night Rock Band sessions, dozens of days of snowboarding the Utah pow pow for free, a boatload of adventures rock climbing at <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmL3W1w4t9ze6vG-xI0DQJy2Vy1k45rIpGwNHZcYS6GRF4G1OoCnj6Vgi4CyJzGyJRreiF9hz27jXJXXoQqK15QYq4q2vCe5mLs-6gyLZlhJypKU-aH0Qoz6qvVlInU_50J5SV/s1600-h/huge.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmL3W1w4t9ze6vG-xI0DQJy2Vy1k45rIpGwNHZcYS6GRF4G1OoCnj6Vgi4CyJzGyJRreiF9hz27jXJXXoQqK15QYq4q2vCe5mLs-6gyLZlhJypKU-aH0Qoz6qvVlInU_50J5SV/s200/huge.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332228488848923874" /></a>classic crags in the States, and a decent share of boisterous nights at the bars. But, eventually, I grew tired of Utah's absurd liquor laws, "private club" membership fees at every bar, oblivious & horrible drivers, the snail's pace at which life crawls by, and was itching for international adventure. <br /><br />To those that know me, it should come as no surprise that I chose to return to Asia. I've spent quite a chunk of time exploring Southeast Asia, and from my very first time here it's had a special place in my heart. I've been ready to come back since I <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LwRdEVadzqyhCIozjW7MgRBZD86Iv79a3fP0l656Q17Jojcdk1g8N1YrTdCIgx6Lb3QbPt16Wv9NsnR_aMsm9Qn7TpIXrKeYUlvdO-uMsKVBKFypbiO_8QaosIzMoYq7jo4e/s1600-h/cli.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LwRdEVadzqyhCIozjW7MgRBZD86Iv79a3fP0l656Q17Jojcdk1g8N1YrTdCIgx6Lb3QbPt16Wv9NsnR_aMsm9Qn7TpIXrKeYUlvdO-uMsKVBKFypbiO_8QaosIzMoYq7jo4e/s200/cli.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332230586022535682" /></a>last left (in November '07), so I guess it was due time for my return trip. Originally, I was thinking only of Southeast Asia, as my climbing partner (& then some) Tim had long since planned a climbing adventure in these parts. The idea of returning to SE Asia as a better & stronger climber was beyond tempting. When I found out my college friend Erica was living in Shanghai, I expanded the picture to include China. Then when I started researching China (oh what would I do without the color photographs in Lonely Planet??!!?), I decided I may as well include Tibet since I was already going to be all the way over here!<br /><br />Thus, my 2009 Asian travel itinerary/sketch/plan/idea was born. That being said, there is not the slightest hint of doubt in my mind that it will change. But here's the plan:<br />China > Thailand > Laos > Cambodia > Vietnam > Tibet > ChinaCourtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-70319672222515941672008-07-17T23:16:00.017-04:002008-07-18T00:42:44.259-04:00Machu Picchu: The Final Frontier<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzG9N1YgyaT7d2FIW5hNpNQgYvJepywmcSwmpOPC3bHs8NfI7M2UPZF6mmY7-jKdc_qAQY8Dg0cxE4t98LwMfykgOemmMcoJQH3NqDapxToSBtq3VjsZQVC8G-h0BGOH0XgVFg/s1600-h/fog.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzG9N1YgyaT7d2FIW5hNpNQgYvJepywmcSwmpOPC3bHs8NfI7M2UPZF6mmY7-jKdc_qAQY8Dg0cxE4t98LwMfykgOemmMcoJQH3NqDapxToSBtq3VjsZQVC8G-h0BGOH0XgVFg/s200/fog.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224192468548075218" /></a>After Desi left Peru, I could really hear the tick-tock of my travel clock running out. I had two weeks to go. I also had a dilemma: what to do with those two weeks. Being more or less completely broke, a little low on energy, and really sick of the touristy hell Southern Peru can sometimes be, I was debating whether or not to even go to Machu Picchu. I had heard a variety of things about it, ranging from the divine to the disastrous. My travel partner, the lovely Biggi from Germany, was in the same boat. We discussed our options and eventually decided to go for it, together, taking our time, and just doing whatever felt right. The goal would not be Machu Picchu itself but rather the journey to & from. Indeed.<br /><br />First off, you have to understand that there are literally only three ways to get to Aguas Calientes, the tiny town that sits at the bottom of Machu Picchu. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqm7fFRq1-5SRVYEyBK32qlV3jh47-EXkN7sTCOAKQBIWHsM__qIj0rTzwEB828q9JkbaFcW4nGsfdfSfuAxlRBRYqL-H08ZhZIcBsWfSvpXj6V0402Haz4C-fwv5eSiTLSB2O/s1600-h/tracks.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqm7fFRq1-5SRVYEyBK32qlV3jh47-EXkN7sTCOAKQBIWHsM__qIj0rTzwEB828q9JkbaFcW4nGsfdfSfuAxlRBRYqL-H08ZhZIcBsWfSvpXj6V0402Haz4C-fwv5eSiTLSB2O/s200/tracks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224198773767477698" /></a>1) Do what everyone else does: take the train round-trip from Cusco on a one-day tourist trap excursion that will cost anywhere from $75 to $300. <br />2) Take a guided trek through the mountains -- ruling out the Inca Trail because it's always booked up months and months in advance -- which will last about 3 days and cost $300-500. <br />3) Go the completely hairball and roundabout back way, taking overcrowded buses and shared taxis through tiny pueblitos until you reach a hydroelectric plant, at which point you & your stuff walk for 2 1/2 hours down the railroad tracks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjC09tI82gocJA-E8KowZ3oqHGSIidbwaBYmx5qi0q_BSedbDSOrPBqy3B4t_ACpEITzVJc44pkDV7JL3rKU09RUyp3l3lYMJ2orliF9H6qBtpGQMyjYXY19wEfd-uOcQd10_B/s1600-h/me+%26+biggi.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjC09tI82gocJA-E8KowZ3oqHGSIidbwaBYmx5qi0q_BSedbDSOrPBqy3B4t_ACpEITzVJc44pkDV7JL3rKU09RUyp3l3lYMJ2orliF9H6qBtpGQMyjYXY19wEfd-uOcQd10_B/s200/me+%26+biggi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224199758731399458" /></a>Take a wild guess which one we chose. <br /><br />It took 9 1/2 hours of travel in 2 days to get there, but cost only $11 and the journey was actually quite fun, thanks in no small part to my superfabulous travel chica.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZztgIoy_yACwv-Z0ZhtkAmDB08LpAaDiBSR48KItSm52ZzfKXc7SEOScBbhsWsZOal1SMtMKJH3fkeJHjfg0GUlXK87wUDvHxvdOLw6Ntww37nPQIyz95MmXrzEQET-QCOPz/s1600-h/me.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZztgIoy_yACwv-Z0ZhtkAmDB08LpAaDiBSR48KItSm52ZzfKXc7SEOScBbhsWsZOal1SMtMKJH3fkeJHjfg0GUlXK87wUDvHxvdOLw6Ntww37nPQIyz95MmXrzEQET-QCOPz/s200/me.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224201456596680466" /></a>After a rest day of listening to loads of reggae in our room and drinking beers with locals, the big day arrived. We woke up at 5am to catch the very first bus up to Machu Picchu. We reluctantly paid the outrageous entrance fee ($42!!!) and made our way to a cozy spot high atop the site, where everyone takes that classic Machu Picchu photo... as did I. There we sat and watched the sun rise. I topped it off with a headstand. I could instantly feel the magic of the place, and laughed at myself for ever having doubted it. Looking around at the surrounding mountains and epic valley in which it sits, it is extremely clear why they chose this particular hilltop to become a site of divine worship. It is a supremely sacred spot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJWPGS_BkDIbrtL8c2aImXjvEehqYK1d8Cr6DPzPw4iI-YzOGPujUNi7mJ7K4Kep5mmYDVmgC1ejcKF6V7x3TTLK1Ew1dckSH6CH6IGXmebrbVcZEJGruGi1alVNoHLSYH9S5/s1600-h/on+top.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJWPGS_BkDIbrtL8c2aImXjvEehqYK1d8Cr6DPzPw4iI-YzOGPujUNi7mJ7K4Kep5mmYDVmgC1ejcKF6V7x3TTLK1Ew1dckSH6CH6IGXmebrbVcZEJGruGi1alVNoHLSYH9S5/s200/on+top.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224203236069219954" /></a>We wandered through the site for a while, in complete awe at the sheer size of the place and the tangible sense of mystery that lingers in the air. But exploring was momentarily put aside as we got in line to climb the big peak that overlooks the whole thing, Wayna Picchu. They only let 500 people per day climb the mountain, and we definitely wanted to be two of them. It was a steep 45-minute climb, but was easily the highlight of my day. After reaching the summit, we found a nice spot on a sunny rock and busted out the delicious picnic we'd brought with us as we gazed down upon the splendor below. (Yet another bonus of being an experienced traveler: you always pack plenty of delicious grub.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFHfc9L9NPp7ssTOjAzzxh6OpaWTLIxXJ6PLJQFzWc10iNyKPKjgkIQY2XB0koJwnu_wzOB6OWRjj2D5ETgEIjUzzbqKT3Du6hpQss9rfKkvvk5SU_n44HaoCyBCVBF5sreiP/s1600-h/chilling.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFHfc9L9NPp7ssTOjAzzxh6OpaWTLIxXJ6PLJQFzWc10iNyKPKjgkIQY2XB0koJwnu_wzOB6OWRjj2D5ETgEIjUzzbqKT3Du6hpQss9rfKkvvk5SU_n44HaoCyBCVBF5sreiP/s200/chilling.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224203811771642994" /></a>On the way back down, I struck up a conversation with a lovely kiwi lady named Angie. Within moments of reaching the ground, we met up with her buddies, kicked off our shoes, had a session, and spent the next couple hours lounging in the grass staring at the phenomenal beauty that surrounded us.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP71rnzpF245J4voefxTO1ACbiDzU0x0lCXQfynKyVAhJLb3snr3cTjLHL5h6da-WfX_tBPZwXTipv8LEJ0C0m7UPVcAFpXKPYAcDkahmZ_PiUN-c9vsn8a-VGZ1EFcoLeXyNn/s1600-h/walls+peak.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP71rnzpF245J4voefxTO1ACbiDzU0x0lCXQfynKyVAhJLb3snr3cTjLHL5h6da-WfX_tBPZwXTipv8LEJ0C0m7UPVcAFpXKPYAcDkahmZ_PiUN-c9vsn8a-VGZ1EFcoLeXyNn/s200/walls+peak.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224205322295120818" /></a>Eventually Biggi & I did more walking around, and our general amazement just continued to grow. I didn't realize how extremely huge the site would be, and we spent several giggly hours wandering past 10 foot high Inca walls into alleys and neighborhoods, discovering carvings & statues & even water fountains along the way. The whole thing is just so <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3L9lqZImLWoP8xWFoLQmU82wfPrWXstHSrlp1CLfv7-Shu6tFn9e103UhGYglLMjjI0hHmJYQnoJolvFXXb_nELgH0Jg10VUYgyzumueVUu-_SungV2d54plwjU87IStsHqC/s1600-h/magic.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3L9lqZImLWoP8xWFoLQmU82wfPrWXstHSrlp1CLfv7-Shu6tFn9e103UhGYglLMjjI0hHmJYQnoJolvFXXb_nELgH0Jg10VUYgyzumueVUu-_SungV2d54plwjU87IStsHqC/s200/magic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5224209777108585282" /></a>fantastically magical, sacred, and awe-inspiring all at once ... it's hard to even describe. <br /><br />Truth be told, it was a bit like Inca Disneyland with the expensive entry, lines of people, tour groups, and the cheesy statues & crappy overpriced restaurants in Aguas Calientes. But so what?! It was a totally freaking awesome experience that I wouldn't trade for anything. <br /><br />Guess I can say that about just about everything, everywhere, and everyone that graced my life for the last 18 months. I am endlessly grateful, overwhelmed, and overflowing with joy that I DID IT. And it ruled.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-25265822835709145052008-06-23T01:33:00.003-04:002008-06-23T01:33:36.628-04:00Muchas Chelas!The actual trip from Lake Titicaca to Cusco was a bit of a nightmare. It was another <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzOEgOIzigwjFNSI_kffCf8wTf6ngnCsOlxmnwRgugM4z6zoBltWrirTOMD1izyQowFlxald4woZFhw10N-lHBJZwyiqKZ237O9ZNs-GtiX2SZE_pTq4nNpkrr5AYvfc1k_rk/s1600-h/laugh.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRzOEgOIzigwjFNSI_kffCf8wTf6ngnCsOlxmnwRgugM4z6zoBltWrirTOMD1izyQowFlxald4woZFhw10N-lHBJZwyiqKZ237O9ZNs-GtiX2SZE_pTq4nNpkrr5AYvfc1k_rk/s200/laugh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214931199498682514" /></a>one of those classic Third World bus journeys, where the aisles are so crowded that some stranger's ass is shoved in your face, the police hop onboard and start searching around for suspicious cargo (which they find), you take a pee break during the raid and end up running down the highway with your pants down thinking the bus is leaving without you, then once back onboard you'd bet the farm that you could run faster than the bus was chugging along. Aaaaaaah, South America. Not really anything new for me, but a whole new world for <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8T50PZyMAup6bxMOnZE7oL8dpw9NT0qn88mP2FQgONP5eIcUf98Efvij0r3Fr3nr1TtBirSUjuuvwne5xR2FB8bmmxzMTWK5Vcb7twSKRH2EREnBi6_O0A3Sxu3krCBOCTFR/s1600-h/cusco+hostel.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy8T50PZyMAup6bxMOnZE7oL8dpw9NT0qn88mP2FQgONP5eIcUf98Efvij0r3Fr3nr1TtBirSUjuuvwne5xR2FB8bmmxzMTWK5Vcb7twSKRH2EREnBi6_O0A3Sxu3krCBOCTFR/s200/cusco+hostel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214930906656602050" /></a>Desi. Nevertheless, we made it, many hours after our tickets promised.<br /><br />After our first night in town, spent frantically searching for food at midnight and feeling uncomfortable in our cattle-call of a hostel, things started picking up for the better, and quick. We found our new home in Hospedaje Inka, a converted old farmhouse on top of a hill in the charming little artsy neighborhood of San Blas. The view down to Cusco below was reason enough to make the big breathless hike all the way up to the joint, but combined with free breakfast, amazing hospitality, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEszSZEwu6OsJyZI83bfRqaFjoqqmkhjAbNWFu28A6fHGlEA5fJrPLUM1ArkxUXMwgpRq-uRYMzQBXmL8Zr_f2kWOOcN4qpB218EEH9xPjJG9spFFL7MDvnbNZ4JzG-Kd1ciUK/s1600-h/3+of+us.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEszSZEwu6OsJyZI83bfRqaFjoqqmkhjAbNWFu28A6fHGlEA5fJrPLUM1ArkxUXMwgpRq-uRYMzQBXmL8Zr_f2kWOOcN4qpB218EEH9xPjJG9spFFL7MDvnbNZ4JzG-Kd1ciUK/s200/3+of+us.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214936079758567938" /></a>peace & quiet, and the fantastic roster of other travelers also staying there, it instantly ranked as one of the best hostels I've ever shacked up at.<br /><br />Within minutes we met Biggi, a German girl traveling solo through South America. Free-spirited, easy going, and tons of fun, Biggi would become our partner in crime for the next week, and my travel partner & kindred spirit for my final three weeks in Peru.<br /><br />Desi & I had some mighty big plans when we got to Cusco, but things didn't exactly play out quite as we'd imagined. Machu Picchu was high on the list for her, as it is for most visitors to Peru, and all those who go to Cusco. Somehow, we'd mixed things up in our heads a little bit and hadn't realized that the ONLY way to get there would <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxYUVe_alryw2HWLQ1ekry_F5lhWl3kdwBerQa2tznv3nHY6wQ1uEPtkG__YT0y5HCURzZDreZ2BGBK0u6nQh8fU4pib-7U_riZ5L8-8W8d4Iad2-3v1ATWLOMSP-saN49ft3/s1600-h/arequipenas.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWxYUVe_alryw2HWLQ1ekry_F5lhWl3kdwBerQa2tznv3nHY6wQ1uEPtkG__YT0y5HCURzZDreZ2BGBK0u6nQh8fU4pib-7U_riZ5L8-8W8d4Iad2-3v1ATWLOMSP-saN49ft3/s200/arequipenas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214937594325905426" /></a>cost either hundreds of dollars or many days' worth of time. Sadly, Desi didn't have the time to spare, and by the time we figured all that out, it was too late to get it together. But in true Desi fashion, she just shrugged, laughed, and was over it.<br /><br />Fortunately, over the course of several days in Cusco we'd discovered something else that would more than adequately bide the time: Chelas!! That's Peruvian slang for BEER. <br /><br />Now, Desi & I are no slouches when it comes to the fine art of late-night alcoholic escapades, but partying in Cusco took things to a whole new level. Cusco boasts a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVmC4osF9wq-ijue7BNo3JoSHHVAdgZTv5Qb-ExksFbCCdD4fMkN4JtZNHa2cLDD8jSKkuIY4QrFOTuHoOeZ_fQ4ZH9Fb95SzmUoLjmenBTA7fZi6FUk1IQ5THz8wr44w3rEU/s1600-h/bar.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTVmC4osF9wq-ijue7BNo3JoSHHVAdgZTv5Qb-ExksFbCCdD4fMkN4JtZNHa2cLDD8jSKkuIY4QrFOTuHoOeZ_fQ4ZH9Fb95SzmUoLjmenBTA7fZi6FUk1IQ5THz8wr44w3rEU/s200/bar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214941344417151730" /></a>thriving international nightlife where every single night of the week you can find spectacular live bands playing for free and hip bars throwing huge dance parties. Those Chelas are each over a liter in volume, and they hand them out for around $3 a pop at the bar. Add to this an eclectic group of travelers from around the world and the ever-present friendly locals (who will inevitably stay out later than you, every time) ... and you've got yourself one hell of a party.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHOQqNZgMKX2o78yY5GLSNwUuj8KsJDs3Tb-cQSPRcIWvE8XjZOePmzV-9QKmsEFC7_fTchklEq6WAKJP6P7mLQI7t7gqeIQsZTkyzN1Zg2KQkuOfr97v9q0yQFbizjx1p53d/s1600-h/sunrise.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOHOQqNZgMKX2o78yY5GLSNwUuj8KsJDs3Tb-cQSPRcIWvE8XjZOePmzV-9QKmsEFC7_fTchklEq6WAKJP6P7mLQI7t7gqeIQsZTkyzN1Zg2KQkuOfr97v9q0yQFbizjx1p53d/s200/sunrise.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214942180468999074" /></a>My favorite night? The one where we started out with happy hour at Ukuku's, jumped back over to Siete Angelitos for some live reggae, then ran back across town to Ukuku's, where we spent so many hours shaking it down to the DJ's manic shuffle of salsa & American pop songs that we failed to notice the time ... until the bartender Cesar finally pulled us outside onto the balcony at 5:30am to prove that yes indeed, the sun was up. And the party was still going.<br /><br />Man, there's nothing quite like having one of your favorite people in the world come meet you in one of the greatest countries in the world, where in one of the coolest cities in the world you finish off your 9 straight days of fun, laughter & antics with an endless stream of libations & celebrations.<br /><br />Des: it was so awesome. Can't wait to do it again.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS787u-0GOHgXC6cHJbS7rKvYbzXs7IhoA42uQsd_WY64-3POrPT8EDKHTZwfaVotoagTdAfm5ixW-TEeWN8dcoSVY7VvhadPqjuP3lo1pT_XzLNLJBYyfiEgvDm2h3hj8pEm/s1600-h/sunrisecolors.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKS787u-0GOHgXC6cHJbS7rKvYbzXs7IhoA42uQsd_WY64-3POrPT8EDKHTZwfaVotoagTdAfm5ixW-TEeWN8dcoSVY7VvhadPqjuP3lo1pT_XzLNLJBYyfiEgvDm2h3hj8pEm/s200/sunrisecolors.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214942732231510690" /></a>Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-41477218326924955342008-05-25T15:23:00.010-04:002008-05-25T15:44:50.119-04:00The Surreal World<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTK85TvlMdWI2d04IAsQ6x7UY8_D0nu0ygVPYf9Ntfh4CupVsexBTOfXNO5VyAf_UWj3Ns9YAO0w4I5VhiURKqupUz_eD-5lYBBc54Y2siW5Se0oirvOD7_5-Ed1OjUgtSFPIK/s1600-h/lake.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTK85TvlMdWI2d04IAsQ6x7UY8_D0nu0ygVPYf9Ntfh4CupVsexBTOfXNO5VyAf_UWj3Ns9YAO0w4I5VhiURKqupUz_eD-5lYBBc54Y2siW5Se0oirvOD7_5-Ed1OjUgtSFPIK/s200/lake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204398410447535154" /></a>Next stop on our saucy Southern Peru trail was Lake Titicaca (and yes, that is in fact its real name). The lake sits way up at 3,812m (12,507 ft) and aside from being the largest lake in South America, is also the highest navigable lake in the world. The lake is teeming with islands where indigenous people still live mostly traditional lives, but the main attraction is a group of 42 "floating" islands. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ufz28DKgvXH2J-dLmRWrH-En5CdWQd4Abk63Ct3RhGKCtx-uJxYUuVqA7urE9qq8MyD671DtlyNhaktInXbGgk8oRcvzyTsmgciq0NjIEA6snUlWnUtTQvFSBio9_sskdd6d/s1600-h/homes.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ufz28DKgvXH2J-dLmRWrH-En5CdWQd4Abk63Ct3RhGKCtx-uJxYUuVqA7urE9qq8MyD671DtlyNhaktInXbGgk8oRcvzyTsmgciq0NjIEA6snUlWnUtTQvFSBio9_sskdd6d/s200/homes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204400167089159234" /></a>Called the Uros islands for the people who live there, these islands are a very surreal sight to see. In attempting to escape from the wrath of the Incas, the Uros created islands to inhabit by hand using only totora plants (reeds), which grow readily in the lake. The <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4lSVDmuo0vb_lo8vBOS_8cHZI1pyMOJris8eVvEvdo_qhC8m1DEwxKn2q8T4mrPuP43n25QFDT3u3Y6fQkop3yqIOcBSa_toyfLtqKgxbHkuw4L1-OAxRbuw-0CsXVpBMPyA/s1600-h/ground.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4lSVDmuo0vb_lo8vBOS_8cHZI1pyMOJris8eVvEvdo_qhC8m1DEwxKn2q8T4mrPuP43n25QFDT3u3Y6fQkop3yqIOcBSa_toyfLtqKgxbHkuw4L1-OAxRbuw-0CsXVpBMPyA/s200/ground.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204401249420917842" /></a>islands are anywhere from 3 to 5 meters deep, and every last thing on them is made of these reeds. The ground, the homes, the boats, benches, observation towers, and of course plenty of kitchy tourist souvenirs. Truth be told, these islands are a bit of a tourist trap, but it was spectacular to witness nonetheless. Walking around on the islands feels a bit like tramping on a waterbed, and you have to keep an eye out for the occasional <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXoORax-LheECxn21PPMQUVti_xcf5_8UugbrHz5JrmxosjJIpYutF7CHDZnENfWUt2PqdTPyuZUkW0NnenL8ks_NywfhCa-CzW5eJZ154Zq5TG0o9i6TSDwzMerpBZCN0Y0U/s1600-h/boat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXoORax-LheECxn21PPMQUVti_xcf5_8UugbrHz5JrmxosjJIpYutF7CHDZnENfWUt2PqdTPyuZUkW0NnenL8ks_NywfhCa-CzW5eJZ154Zq5TG0o9i6TSDwzMerpBZCN0Y0U/s200/boat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204402507846335586" /></a>sinkhole. Obviously, Desi and I avoided the souvenir stands and restaurants like the plague, and instead sat in the sunshine on the shores of the islands contemplating how something so spectacularly surreal could be possible.<br /><br />Naturally, we also went out to the bars the night before. Lured by free drink coupons, we ended up in a random bar getting happy hour specials on Pisco Sours long after happy hour ended. What was originally some decent music with a few people <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoABoWKDW3nahREuOLvKdSPAWxB1rzaiab-QbF_4O54pWus5-2ok_we3Pmo53E5RPYXVbJGWPMrbMeWWYCLM7fng3iqpN4Xxd6nad4kBEf7hPbwvWeaEItgreMim8ABpJSsvJY/s1600-h/piscos.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoABoWKDW3nahREuOLvKdSPAWxB1rzaiab-QbF_4O54pWus5-2ok_we3Pmo53E5RPYXVbJGWPMrbMeWWYCLM7fng3iqpN4Xxd6nad4kBEf7hPbwvWeaEItgreMim8ABpJSsvJY/s200/piscos.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204402782724242546" /></a>swaying around turned into a huge bumpin' dance party with a bunch of college buddies from Georgia. We were reminded of many a fun college night with our fun college homies, many years ago ... <br /><br />Our original plan was to go further out into the lake and do an overnight homestay with an indigenous family, but unfortunately Desi was battling with a nasty bout of altitude sickness (the town of Puno resides at a hefty 3800m). So, in true travel form, we spontaneously completely changed our plans and headed out on the next bus to Cusco.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-55339971301973056082008-05-25T14:14:00.012-04:002008-05-25T15:16:52.911-04:00Sauced Down South<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfELxHu0flRIhi0wcZFFbnFgC5-h0sndDAB1PT_BY_ojiw_SPb_8CFS_4fmd89k9-HZDaOmG29j7sdFbIS68cSJfBa6DE4ux2mE8xgg8hCx0sozmXixPbZEuikNWWUSxR_mnjS/s1600-h/bar.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfELxHu0flRIhi0wcZFFbnFgC5-h0sndDAB1PT_BY_ojiw_SPb_8CFS_4fmd89k9-HZDaOmG29j7sdFbIS68cSJfBa6DE4ux2mE8xgg8hCx0sozmXixPbZEuikNWWUSxR_mnjS/s200/bar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204387084618775522" /></a>I had fully been planning on avoiding Lima altogether, but nevertheless found myself there briefly a couple weeks ago. But no matter... I had a special agenda: to pick up my friend Desiree from the airport! Desi is one of my best friends from my UC Davis days, and somewhere around mid April, needing desperately to get off her Island (aka NYC), she suddenly decided to come visit me in Peru. Desi is the kind of person that I have tons of fun with when we're doing nothing at all, and we've always dreamed and talked about how ridiculously awesome it would be to travel together. I couldn't have been more excited. <br /><br />Before we even put her bags in the room at the hostel, we stopped for a beer at the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFUaBGZLpkwJsGPbIxYj5FSUBl0T71wnXJibrg46VxbmtaLbRtFsgQXKNDurTxBkDP7psXf_l1BkOFCExd6-5mMwLifw9clt7Y2WHb0AaoAYf_jNqnRxoFjLnSLlVrmx11MTO/s1600-h/lima.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhFUaBGZLpkwJsGPbIxYj5FSUBl0T71wnXJibrg46VxbmtaLbRtFsgQXKNDurTxBkDP7psXf_l1BkOFCExd6-5mMwLifw9clt7Y2WHb0AaoAYf_jNqnRxoFjLnSLlVrmx11MTO/s200/lima.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204387831943085042" /></a>bar. This was a particularly appropriate kick-off to our journey, since the next 9 days together would involve quite a bit of happy hours, bar-hopping, beer sampling, general silliness, and nonstop laughter. Naturally, we went out that night in Lima and were lucky to find a cool little reggae bar nearby. The next day we walked around a bit, but were highly disappointed at how closely parts of Lima resemble Southern California, what with the ginormous shopping malls, ritzy cliffside apartment buildings, and McDonald's, KFC, even a Tony Roma's. We didn't stay long.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XZe5Yb1Gv2ruU9kZWoBRP8IllJz_42P4ReFqnx51ATLDu5Xq1x59bykqnKgby76pnlbEsDILY8X1lTsb7dJq6IxTar_J8LnVlOwVbaMCNJ-RAQFNb1hbsXhHQ1EJD-iH12MQ/s1600-h/aqpmountain.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0XZe5Yb1Gv2ruU9kZWoBRP8IllJz_42P4ReFqnx51ATLDu5Xq1x59bykqnKgby76pnlbEsDILY8X1lTsb7dJq6IxTar_J8LnVlOwVbaMCNJ-RAQFNb1hbsXhHQ1EJD-iH12MQ/s200/aqpmountain.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204391611514305538" /></a>After a short flight, with 2 free Cusqueña beers onboard, we happily arrived in Arequipa. Known as the White City, Arequipa is a dazzling gem of a town, especially at night. We found a fantastically cozy little hostel right in the center of town, and got to business straight away. Luckily we'd arrived on a Friday night, so the bars were going off in a big way. We took advantage of the abudance of drink specials going on, and Desi & I tried our first Pisco Sours, the national drink of Peru. We were also pleased to discover that every region of Peru <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrgdKsueMN3wBFvS9Kbdq-_CtDCsfGtjMU-JWJFKR1PSyilsp4VpL6DURtECzqS1HK1ItqlAipLbQqux0UFd1FMS0TyoyxGkwDBgrDXZEt1DBkmWBsn_-yeeDngksXvya464W/s1600-h/whitedoor.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzrgdKsueMN3wBFvS9Kbdq-_CtDCsfGtjMU-JWJFKR1PSyilsp4VpL6DURtECzqS1HK1ItqlAipLbQqux0UFd1FMS0TyoyxGkwDBgrDXZEt1DBkmWBsn_-yeeDngksXvya464W/s200/whitedoor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204392019536198674" /></a>seems to have its own variety of beer; here, we were tossing back nice, grande Arequipeñas.<br /><br />The next day we explored a little neighborhood called Yanahuara. It reminded me a lot of southern Spain, which isn't all too surprising considering the Spaniards <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNuAPeLp3637cWa10sQ0NcTgAQSuwdDvV3M1fckTm6c9r4XUOYf1EjBjm7VqQMIVvBqGafW5vzrylcmyVD-cWEzqqiBoU3YBYWdcpul_JG54gWGL4RkvuNRK-v0isOf5aeruK/s1600-h/ceviche.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNuAPeLp3637cWa10sQ0NcTgAQSuwdDvV3M1fckTm6c9r4XUOYf1EjBjm7VqQMIVvBqGafW5vzrylcmyVD-cWEzqqiBoU3YBYWdcpul_JG54gWGL4RkvuNRK-v0isOf5aeruK/s200/ceviche.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204394544976968738" /></a>themselves are responsible for the architecture around here. It was a lovely, peaceful stroll away from the tour groups and touts in the city center. But the best part came afterward ... ceviche! We stopped into this tiny cevichería and almost thought we´d been completely jipped, when all of a sudden two plates of the most incredible ceviche arrived. It was Desi's first ceviche ever, but it was also the best one I've ever had. And it cost us about $2 each.<br /><br />Clearly, we were off to a good start.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-56478569387461097482008-05-08T20:09:00.010-04:002008-05-08T20:32:01.989-04:00Back in the Harness AgainOnce I was safely back down from the mountains, the agenda was clear: time to go climbing. Though I climbed briefly in Quito (Ecuador) on a fake rock wall, I <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W7U0SBSKFLBJOAy33fv1z15fCl_gWbHau0VEtK5THuqoHdNkj4cPkXzjfz3numr3fRn8K7aONfnMohrpITmaUMue5_95hFuIpqnQq6r4T7rfXe591-TKe3om4z-w3IoFCuji/s1600-h/jo.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8W7U0SBSKFLBJOAy33fv1z15fCl_gWbHau0VEtK5THuqoHdNkj4cPkXzjfz3numr3fRn8K7aONfnMohrpITmaUMue5_95hFuIpqnQq6r4T7rfXe591-TKe3om4z-w3IoFCuji/s200/jo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198165240077095778" /></a>hadn´t been on real rock since November, and hadn´t done any outdoor climbing thus far in South America... Ridiculous! I had about a week left in Huaraz to see what I could pull together.<br /><br />I had been searching hard for other climbers for a few days, but nothing was turning up. Finally, when I had just about given up hope, I found not one but two awesome <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFintEsxbBbVB-IsJpOcJ3ZBI2fLL3BfYiE7SZT89iV5-7YYEHX4tYENWM4jCnjdvLhwOgt-7UqMGo8TJfoiE-A6wrMfc4pp1vcWn1P-aa-sjrkh-jfzeD1Gc7NpPhlabYI94/s1600-h/tom.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFintEsxbBbVB-IsJpOcJ3ZBI2fLL3BfYiE7SZT89iV5-7YYEHX4tYENWM4jCnjdvLhwOgt-7UqMGo8TJfoiE-A6wrMfc4pp1vcWn1P-aa-sjrkh-jfzeD1Gc7NpPhlabYI94/s200/tom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198165871437288306" /></a>partners. I overhead Jo, from Britain, talking about cilmbing over breakfast, and though she had other plans to go trekking, she changed them rapidly as soon as I pitched the climbing plan. She couldn´t have been a nicer or more pleasant person to spend a few days with, not to mention a great and supportive climber. Tom is a climbing guide from Colorado, who I´d heard about and had been searching for for days. I finally found him when I wandered into a dorm room and saw an enormous Black Diamond backpack and climbing gear spilled all over the room. He only had a couple days left in Peru but was up for a last minute change of plan to head for the rock. Like Jo, he was an easygoing, super fun person, and needless to say an excellent climber. Go team.<br /><br />I had heard about the climbing area, called Jatun Machay ("big cave" in Quechua... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedDn6I-OxXeSYOiy00lJf2K4BoFyxGuKkzdHHTR9EOY1fkqTC2pGptE3Q5DY4dDRzaBzoBR7iiutXdDzzYuLATjH82hr3CyRKpOwf7WRPadhnbH3QKChZ79qnR5wB4prR6AA9/s1600-h/refugio.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedDn6I-OxXeSYOiy00lJf2K4BoFyxGuKkzdHHTR9EOY1fkqTC2pGptE3Q5DY4dDRzaBzoBR7iiutXdDzzYuLATjH82hr3CyRKpOwf7WRPadhnbH3QKChZ79qnR5wB4prR6AA9/s200/refugio.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198166335293756290" /></a>what caves??), from a helpful German tour guide in Huaraz. I saw pictures of the place and was immediately sold. It has a very space-age, surreal quality to it: it´s located at an altitude of about 4100m, and the funky-looking rocks themselves seem to sprout out of nowhere. There´s a great refuge there, built and run by an incredibly friendly Argentinian man named Andrés, with a huge communal kitchen and a cozy fireplace around which I spent every evening.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0JR3EyEqIT2388lMcMElyGkiw1aUUR5pr7ON_qETqM4E-YYQUpyhhhobOPpZ6HCTWykLMxBAhlkO9Ip21Vx99khUbJElHtlJ8yUNmRvvH4n07gQ1y_nwnA0u9Rvs2PNvMfRx/s1600-h/silhouette.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha0JR3EyEqIT2388lMcMElyGkiw1aUUR5pr7ON_qETqM4E-YYQUpyhhhobOPpZ6HCTWykLMxBAhlkO9Ip21Vx99khUbJElHtlJ8yUNmRvvH4n07gQ1y_nwnA0u9Rvs2PNvMfRx/s200/silhouette.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198166876459635602" /></a>The rock itself is a unique mix of granite and something else (no one could quite tell me what), that is found only in the Cordillera Blanca here in Peru. It wasn´t the friendliest of rocks -- my hands are recovering from a mix of cuts, scrapes, shreds, and general abuse: a sure sign of a few great days of climbing. But it was great fun to climb on. I had to build up my confidence a bit since it had been a while, but by the third day I was leading some really fun routes. (yup, that´s me on the rock in that photo, looking a lot more hardcore than I really am)<br /><br />Despite my aching arms, bruised legs, and cut-up hands, it was a fantastic climbing <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYKcjfLzkXqX8wwBMdK0QqXGjtjChBWhy6V9aVQE3BOhNEMNeB2Q5dtvyHjJrpHLGKOlp52te-S9ltW-wdV-cqyCFtgu-pDPnzvM050wWFnStV2Z20rpfCnc57EPAdwITFBXw/s1600-h/sunset.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxYKcjfLzkXqX8wwBMdK0QqXGjtjChBWhy6V9aVQE3BOhNEMNeB2Q5dtvyHjJrpHLGKOlp52te-S9ltW-wdV-cqyCFtgu-pDPnzvM050wWFnStV2Z20rpfCnc57EPAdwITFBXw/s200/sunset.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198168010331001762" /></a>adventure. Even getting there via cramped minibuses and shared taxis was fun. Most importantly, I finally got on some rock in South America, in an area that is mostly unknown and absolutely spectacular. And after pumping out on crazy cracks and thin faces, we were rewarded with technicolor sunsets and sparkling starry nights. What more could I possibly ask for?!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-91971349802197240622008-05-07T18:59:00.012-04:002008-05-07T19:33:16.788-04:00High on Life (and Altitude)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibb6mISt0iEB0hGdYLzqXflrLIFJmAgLZ9nogG7q8QA_Ib2qtHX1miudVzPLewLz2o-HednGtJFj9AwUPJVmErhAVlHd-cKnftv0BTwP14mPGFJ4LRlWJ-0iRz6W8FvxtXsa4Q/s1600-h/may7+072.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibb6mISt0iEB0hGdYLzqXflrLIFJmAgLZ9nogG7q8QA_Ib2qtHX1miudVzPLewLz2o-HednGtJFj9AwUPJVmErhAVlHd-cKnftv0BTwP14mPGFJ4LRlWJ-0iRz6W8FvxtXsa4Q/s200/may7+072.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197775669363479266" /></a> Huaraz was my top Peruvian destination before I even got here, and I set aside two weeks to explore the surrounding area. As a city, it´s not much to look at, but it wasn´t the city I came for; it was the mountains. The Cordillera Blanca (White Mountains) are an epic range of snow-capped peaks that are the second highest mountain range in the world <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLY1jmImYIpf-xbVZz0o_O4S13Y5Hbfm65af0Fmx6MSOS_hujJCy6j0S538xkTa6LAKv61Mt59Gb4ku1CAAH7TL3wj4lxTx4MpEh1FH4TF5sVTQxVdQa-O3epMGwGdUfIB35AX/s1600-h/huaraz.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLY1jmImYIpf-xbVZz0o_O4S13Y5Hbfm65af0Fmx6MSOS_hujJCy6j0S538xkTa6LAKv61Mt59Gb4ku1CAAH7TL3wj4lxTx4MpEh1FH4TF5sVTQxVdQa-O3epMGwGdUfIB35AX/s200/huaraz.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197775944241386226" /></a>next to the Himalayas. Huaraz sits in a valley in the middle of it all, and is surrounded by huge, looming peaks as far as the eye can see. I arrived my first morning to find the sunrise painting so many peaks orange and pink that I couldn´t even count them, and I knew immediately this was going to be an amazing stop.<br /><br />It didn´t take long to meet the right people and get a trek together. Within two <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq3Kmq0mXwASMRoGpkv25QHPQDJJeqv33grZnfLK5CJi5z846u2TDgqenXOj25yw1f48DNHm0Wfx2rn75s0D1oNj4Ay9ziZRr1JgrZL2QElEY3gS7_q7U84lZFyNGO3ZzDApo/s1600-h/groupo.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwq3Kmq0mXwASMRoGpkv25QHPQDJJeqv33grZnfLK5CJi5z846u2TDgqenXOj25yw1f48DNHm0Wfx2rn75s0D1oNj4Ay9ziZRr1JgrZL2QElEY3gS7_q7U84lZFyNGO3ZzDApo/s200/groupo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197776755990205186" /></a>days of my arrival, I´d met 4 other people that were up for exploring the mountains, and we were off. Altogether, we were 2 Americans, 1 Irishman, 1 Brit, and 1 Norweigan. Since our plan was to go up one valley and down another, we opted out of hiring a guide and doing the trek with an agency, and instead carried all our own gear & food for the 4-day journey.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gOhNMz5W-pUjUfTBWeua9Xtt6L3nhNxYw1D_qeU-sBqPm06qrIHIo7m8ZertFc4kBnOG6XQAE6vFw3_MzR7MX9MMY_irHCT4YAfgotDxJV5-q3q-2Rj5TI8IWJg96Y0r6GkB/s1600-h/valley.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gOhNMz5W-pUjUfTBWeua9Xtt6L3nhNxYw1D_qeU-sBqPm06qrIHIo7m8ZertFc4kBnOG6XQAE6vFw3_MzR7MX9MMY_irHCT4YAfgotDxJV5-q3q-2Rj5TI8IWJg96Y0r6GkB/s200/valley.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197777640753468178" /></a>Day one we mosied up Valley Quilcayhuanca, an absolutely textbook glacial valley that just got better with every step. On either side of the steep valley walls, you could see some serious snow-capped peaks peeking out, and at the very end of the valley was an enormous snow-covered mountain with a massive glacier creeping down its center. The weather was pleasant, and the sun made for a bluebird day. The going was slow but steady, with plenty of curious, horn-clad cows blocking the trail and bright purple wildflowers to admire. <br /><br />We had a lovely evening where we cooked a delicious pasta & soup dinner, and sat around a small campfire enjoying the peace and quiet. The night, however, was not <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrXLCFzSYFnEQbmG8gvRlSjp74bFcRbvmfgO6GW2lblNmKPxjUT_40P4WQTDG12bYiVls133i8FW24hNtSLqKPqfEqPe215nM-OTeWAjYd5JIj6vrEttgyLO9uJ91B7l4gmGq/s1600-h/peaks.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrXLCFzSYFnEQbmG8gvRlSjp74bFcRbvmfgO6GW2lblNmKPxjUT_40P4WQTDG12bYiVls133i8FW24hNtSLqKPqfEqPe215nM-OTeWAjYd5JIj6vrEttgyLO9uJ91B7l4gmGq/s200/peaks.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197778675840586530" /></a>so lovely. It started seriously raining when we went to bed, and didn´t let up until about 2am. There were 3 of us sharing what should have been a 2-man tent, and a tent that would have been better suited for the desert and not the mountains. The rain came in, in a big way. I woke up in the middle of the night to find pools of water inside of my sleeping bag, and my feet and legs were so cold that I couldn´t fall back asleep. The tent itself seemed to be collapsing, and it wasn´t long before my 2 other tentmates found themselves in the same position.<br /><br />Come morning (at long last), it was time for some changes. The other American <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgew3LJbTCimov4j18Su3XMxiTC3EooZgfkJkcJrvJpX6cYXD9F4oWuACFsh777zu2XLxhCI6Q4jYUzABaB0ZxbesIIca8QqKWm9u82DuO_SxOpmW90FhtLoxMItDVLZ3bvtQeG/s1600-h/sheep.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgew3LJbTCimov4j18Su3XMxiTC3EooZgfkJkcJrvJpX6cYXD9F4oWuACFsh777zu2XLxhCI6Q4jYUzABaB0ZxbesIIca8QqKWm9u82DuO_SxOpmW90FhtLoxMItDVLZ3bvtQeG/s200/sheep.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197780342287897394" /></a>chica, Carisa, had suffered from a nasty bout of altitude sickness the day before, and not feeling 100% better was hesitant to go on and UPwards. The two of us decided we would head back and change our plans a bit, and leave the rest of the trek to the remaining threesome.<br /><br />As it turned out, Carisa & I had an amazing time. We spent the night at a cozy mountain lodge called The Way Inn, taking utmost advantage of their adobe sauna and <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfyQpinxojPeenCn5UTwjN1i47ECyq8lpTnEpNFx5o4JovukNeSD9VgkMEhk29hgUqU3kNTlz_VeAGj1XXoh9mv_O7hpxype3IEzJgVoonXEa5DUkEahUvTfhEKHS6rWxDqtB/s1600-h/glacier.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfyQpinxojPeenCn5UTwjN1i47ECyq8lpTnEpNFx5o4JovukNeSD9VgkMEhk29hgUqU3kNTlz_VeAGj1XXoh9mv_O7hpxype3IEzJgVoonXEa5DUkEahUvTfhEKHS6rWxDqtB/s200/glacier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197781892771091266" /></a>duvet-clad beds. The next day, we went on a 30 kilometer round-trip hike up and down Valley Cojup, the one we would have been in on the trek anyway. The end goal of the hike was Laguna Pachacocha (4560m), a lake that sits at the bottom of the incredibe glacier we´d been staring at all day long. It is hard to describe the feeling of hiking up a valley towards an epic mountain glacier all <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxjVs1QDK3xPYxFjUNTcWll_lqIEdHZ3y5bfRHrgwXb-K7p3OEx0WbIe80IOS_BGLvJpEOrC17gYJqbDf9eZyz5O3lRR9_R0JCPPlQ2UGAEpXBXUJ6PtKPEf5hS5oRxHCPFOe/s1600-h/lake.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxjVs1QDK3xPYxFjUNTcWll_lqIEdHZ3y5bfRHrgwXb-K7p3OEx0WbIe80IOS_BGLvJpEOrC17gYJqbDf9eZyz5O3lRR9_R0JCPPlQ2UGAEpXBXUJ6PtKPEf5hS5oRxHCPFOe/s200/lake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197782081749652306" /></a>day, but it sure is a good one. The lake was quite literally breathtaking. Even though the sky was completely full of clouds (in fact, it started snowing the moment we arrived), the lake was radiating a pure, crystal blue. Far off in the distance, I could even see an iceberg floating in the middle of it. It was a long day, and the hike completely kicked our asses, but in the best possible way.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-61415329169407915472008-05-03T12:41:00.008-04:002008-05-03T17:53:53.156-04:00Exploring the North<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0y0m1QD_6e5P3WiWB2gCsKgqdk-bAkyhN1MAAiYsCRWFLgcdLSsefXbrfl-j_FCAUD87pzjqW46d5xy_0TR-O1O8-5swNj_1dEozAbAeSedEn0_aO8Zzp7Rn7gCnxYrewHb5/s1600-h/gateway.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0y0m1QD_6e5P3WiWB2gCsKgqdk-bAkyhN1MAAiYsCRWFLgcdLSsefXbrfl-j_FCAUD87pzjqW46d5xy_0TR-O1O8-5swNj_1dEozAbAeSedEn0_aO8Zzp7Rn7gCnxYrewHb5/s200/gateway.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196195432479621602" /></a><br />Once safely in Peru, I spent a few days in Chachapoyas, more than happy to not be sitting on some form of transportation all day long. But Northern Peru has more than just great vibes and a lack of tourists to enjoy; one of the main attractions are scores of ruins that are rarely visited. The biggest set of ruins is an amazing pre-Incan fortress high atop a mountain called Kuelap. It was an amazing place that really blew me away. After entering the narrow passageway through the immense <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YDdaMBY3nIe8MbTn7RRkdiZp70D3DcTFHHSF1VtDgfuvZJyom9aKimlKjNgTGYkptSXwuk6Zw_vMXSakcb8BkbPI7QTH6-LWAJjG_NbytX5MQmtxlIz6o7JkmiuS1JJ1Coet/s1600-h/hut.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YDdaMBY3nIe8MbTn7RRkdiZp70D3DcTFHHSF1VtDgfuvZJyom9aKimlKjNgTGYkptSXwuk6Zw_vMXSakcb8BkbPI7QTH6-LWAJjG_NbytX5MQmtxlIz6o7JkmiuS1JJ1Coet/s200/hut.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196195599983346178" /></a>fortress walls, I could see ruins of the round houses everywhere. They have discovered 420 such houses, so far, and an archeologist working on the site reconstructed one house to represent what the village might once have looked like. One of my favorite things at Kuelap was what first appeared to be a pile of rocks, but in fact was an ancient compass designating north, south, east, and west. In addition to admiring <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0OP9Ad65k812QkQ8F7rmsr7aD1Ql7TnvE7Z8srZnPYqOEzgEeXejCZ7yKamcsynRp10RQ3L1Ftl_lh1Xn8yALOphp6Iw9O30-supmSE18S4WbohismH1TPcKsOVUWXj7rtD3/s1600-h/carving.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ0OP9Ad65k812QkQ8F7rmsr7aD1Ql7TnvE7Z8srZnPYqOEzgEeXejCZ7yKamcsynRp10RQ3L1Ftl_lh1Xn8yALOphp6Iw9O30-supmSE18S4WbohismH1TPcKsOVUWXj7rtD3/s200/carving.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196195436774588914" /></a><br />the ruins, I was really loving the dense vegetation of trees, vines, and orchids that covered the stones, and really added to the whole mysterious aura of the place. Quite an experience for my first set of South American ruins.<br /><br />One of the best things about traveling by myself -- and there are many -- is being <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7A16tzrQIxCmE2G38T8-E6IFpINXqVRIgKIJET0DSLkGOL2y-zxhwyxhDpCKUsRRNPnjFx1O1r4c7mjKJQeNeaTRk8lTYTfiRdaNMJHtKE1D9Kvg1iarLFqAN144ZaBoH14fK/s1600-h/trujillo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7A16tzrQIxCmE2G38T8-E6IFpINXqVRIgKIJET0DSLkGOL2y-zxhwyxhDpCKUsRRNPnjFx1O1r4c7mjKJQeNeaTRk8lTYTfiRdaNMJHtKE1D9Kvg1iarLFqAN144ZaBoH14fK/s200/trujillo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196196940013142546" /></a>able to change my plans spontaneously, whenever I feel like it. Originally I´d planned on going through the mountains on another multi-day hairball journey to get to Cajamarca, but after looking at maps and a calendar, I changed my mind. I hopped on a night bus, and made it all the way down to the coastal city of Trujillo by morning. Done.<br /><br />Trujillo wasn´t very exciting, despite some colorful buildings and very colonial <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yTKm7BaBkwbaYUiAHJgVHVbVBdYP6oMC4Bc3u4RfuWBjVJBmBoO9EQh5T_PqXlITPXCHodciGxeJT3osQkhefOBFtcugeBi-I8_XjbqlEV1F5ULLZywJn2yWJXuLFMOixzj9/s1600-h/chanchan.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_yTKm7BaBkwbaYUiAHJgVHVbVBdYP6oMC4Bc3u4RfuWBjVJBmBoO9EQh5T_PqXlITPXCHodciGxeJT3osQkhefOBFtcugeBi-I8_XjbqlEV1F5ULLZywJn2yWJXuLFMOixzj9/s200/chanchan.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196197992280130098" /></a>architecture. But nearby was another set of interesting pre-Incan ruins called Chan Chan that I set out to explore. Originally I planned on doing it completely on my own, but was met outside the ruins by a guide named Moses, and mostly just wanting an excuse to think in nothing but Spanish for an hour, hired him for $4. Chan Chan used to be a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOXqm8OajMkJ1TLzC0x8UPPSWZ2yyrzLkdYc6yUY8Uso8lrqfESicUY_aXvMJDRaYm8eOwnpMZxfJi7ggODJV2md-fM5LBVWBsjqOT9NlXCyPR2Y2QPQxCy8hk7N-R-GU519J/s1600-h/otters.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOXqm8OajMkJ1TLzC0x8UPPSWZ2yyrzLkdYc6yUY8Uso8lrqfESicUY_aXvMJDRaYm8eOwnpMZxfJi7ggODJV2md-fM5LBVWBsjqOT9NlXCyPR2Y2QPQxCy8hk7N-R-GU519J/s200/otters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196196944308109858" /></a>completely adobe city, the largest one ever known to the world. In fact, they estimate that some 60,000 people used to live there! Much of it is understandably eroded, but the main palace is still pretty much in tact. Most interesting to me were places for their worship of the sun and the moon, including huge pools of water that they´d collected via underground passageways. It was a strange place, to tell the truth -- something about seeing nothing but neutral, sepia tones in all directions. But fun to imagine what it might have been like hundreds of years ago.<br /><br />After the ruins, I jumped on a minibus for 5 minutes and found myself back at the Pacific Ocean for the first time in 3 months. The little village of Huanchaco was a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpHCR8b5H25YffoXP7JfiHXZherAfKGboApe5egeUuYRfCKvVXZJKxk02gnErfRW5RCdziH8J3V2WIXKxw_2RTzKcY7pnNreeiStD934XPq7oYGQflHqYJnR9G7Lf4ALoYQzD/s1600-h/boats.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGpHCR8b5H25YffoXP7JfiHXZherAfKGboApe5egeUuYRfCKvVXZJKxk02gnErfRW5RCdziH8J3V2WIXKxw_2RTzKcY7pnNreeiStD934XPq7oYGQflHqYJnR9G7Lf4ALoYQzD/s200/boats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5196199594302931522" /></a><br />nice little mid-afternoon stopover, and I spent a couple hours eating a huge plate of ceviche, and admiring the collection of totora (reed) boats strewn along the shore.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-71800509123493108442008-04-21T13:28:00.011-04:002008-04-21T14:39:37.805-04:00One, Two, Cha Cha Cha<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://render-2.snapfish.com/render2/is=Yup6aQQ%7C%3Dup6RKKt%3Axxr%3D0-qpDofRt7Pf7mrPfrj7t%3DzrRfDUX%3AeQaQxg%3Dr%3F87KR6xqpxQQlQx0nJxQanxv8uOc5xQQQGaGeJnolooqpfVtB%3F*KUp7BHSHqqy7XH6gX0QPn0%7CRup6JGQ%7C/of=50,480,270"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://render-2.snapfish.com/render2/is=Yup6aQQ%7C%3Dup6RKKt%3Axxr%3D0-qpDofRt7Pf7mrPfrj7t%3DzrRfDUX%3AeQaQxg%3Dr%3F87KR6xqpxQQlQx0nJxQanxv8uOc5xQQQGaGeJnolooqpfVtB%3F*KUp7BHSHqqy7XH6gX0QPn0%7CRup6JGQ%7C/of=50,480,270" border="0" alt="" /></a>After over 1,000km and way too many delays in buses, I needed a quick break before I continued my journey south. I stopped to spend my last few Ecuadorian days in Vilcabamba, a beautiful little town nestled into the Valley of Longevity that´s famous for its supreme mellowness. It was the perfect rest stop. Although I debated indulging myself with a massage or a horseback ride through the mountains, in the end I decided to save my money and instead spent my days hiking and seriously chilling. <br /><br />It would have been easy to get stuck in this peaceful haven of good vibes and the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsjOViJKt8EQDttgSm7frv7cMmqYCN27tTmPGNQPurjRz7i54ZnbmEjo_cQ_w_b7g7OJeKI3S6wYL2K9vzOjw0grYc1_F1uwqeqrOUpLZ8ZZjRqVVbeQXCB_SoY_QZ5fmdeNv/s1600-h/rainbow.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsjOViJKt8EQDttgSm7frv7cMmqYCN27tTmPGNQPurjRz7i54ZnbmEjo_cQ_w_b7g7OJeKI3S6wYL2K9vzOjw0grYc1_F1uwqeqrOUpLZ8ZZjRqVVbeQXCB_SoY_QZ5fmdeNv/s200/rainbow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191757913142765074" /></a>easygoing lifestyle, but I was anxious to get to Peru. My last afternoon in Vilcabamba, I looked out over the valley to find a beautiful rainbow. I took it as a sign that my journey to Peru the next day was going to be a good one. I was right.<br /><br />Feeling ambitious and confident, I opted to take the rural La Balsa border crossing from Ecuador to Peru that foreigners rarely go for. I was slightly hesitant at first, finding myself trapped in that cycle of negative thought that can make almost anything seem like a bad idea. Not wanting to submit myself to that kind of thought process -- and trusting my gut instincts -- I went for it. It was one of the best journeys I´ve had so far.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBjB1MmwP1yZxWkdXxvgcbgYfevXMc2q0RkharCSfiTU3lmLCO1eXwhdlRuARhrSJ-kkoUWmyC2nPRLjTRDZrbmPycBLnWUSF5xS6eKKv0-xacbff_XOkFZUP8TbIHoJ43dFo/s1600-h/carol+journal.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBjB1MmwP1yZxWkdXxvgcbgYfevXMc2q0RkharCSfiTU3lmLCO1eXwhdlRuARhrSJ-kkoUWmyC2nPRLjTRDZrbmPycBLnWUSF5xS6eKKv0-xacbff_XOkFZUP8TbIHoJ43dFo/s200/carol+journal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191759519460533794" /></a>I started out with a 6am bus ride through foggy mountains that descended into incredible hills covered in jungle foliage with tiny villages emerging out of the dense vegetation. I arrived in the small town of Zumba, where I killed a couple hours sitting at a table at the bus <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBlI-vYq_hccLHYS64limqe2xEE_qrsCAd7iiXfB71WfTPx0jSABMteGR7h4nD7g2tS_wZxrLC6RSF1kd45uoEvVxiIxG1V5mk66uglfSjTpXr0KUW0SIO9I8qDNqSuwilV5h/s1600-h/carol.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTBlI-vYq_hccLHYS64limqe2xEE_qrsCAd7iiXfB71WfTPx0jSABMteGR7h4nD7g2tS_wZxrLC6RSF1kd45uoEvVxiIxG1V5mk66uglfSjTpXr0KUW0SIO9I8qDNqSuwilV5h/s200/carol.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191760223835170354" /></a><br />terminal at a local family´s very basic restaurant. They asked me plenty of questions about my traveling, including of course the normal inquiries as to my age, my marital status, and why in the world I am traveling by myself. Mostly I spent my time with 8-year-old Carol, who after drawing several beautiful pictures in my journal decided to try on both of my backpacks. Could she be a future world traveler? I hope so.<br /><br />I was excited to discover that my next form of transport was the "ranchera," open-air rows of benches mounted on the flatbed of a heavy-duty truck (you can see it in the <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlf754ob5anG3hqs7ow6a3lOomiglkwrJqQTw3YJlmwiyEvFaKWvOcWWcNenFDZtp2Xh-JU-I7lum6yZl7_FZSwYMXVNkumbm5_GA3dxO7UQ7W7IUgXYDB0YaAGGNS1ypoIg2/s1600-h/rachera.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlf754ob5anG3hqs7ow6a3lOomiglkwrJqQTw3YJlmwiyEvFaKWvOcWWcNenFDZtp2Xh-JU-I7lum6yZl7_FZSwYMXVNkumbm5_GA3dxO7UQ7W7IUgXYDB0YaAGGNS1ypoIg2/s200/rachera.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191761340526667330" /></a>background of the first photo of Carol). It felt like an adventure ride at an amusement park, and was equally as fun as riding around in huge Land Rovers in the Masai Mara in Kenya. We bumped along for 2 hours, stopping twice to deal with some serious mud that stood in our way. I wasn´t nervous at all though... by this point, I´ve seen the crappiest of vehicles make it through the worst of situations, so I knew this huge beast of a truck wasn´t going to be a problem. Naturally, there were guys carrying several chickens seated behind me, a few people sleeping (which seems to defy the laws of existence), and an old guy with his dogs practically sitting on my backpack (which I was grateful for because at least it meant my bag wouldn´t go flying out of the truck).<br /><br />The scenery was absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful, enhanced further by the perfect <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckPqAEhsjQ6c6vZLLviHvy8E_qCORxZ-BtBgS8_86alQn-ckVu4tWbDG5ridH0S90A3HsjLWezH5ZgPiQj-pnBlSmOWZYsNim_LBr5cIhCBGLfsi1Zo2wnXfEMl_dKTYSFMWS/s1600-h/view.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckPqAEhsjQ6c6vZLLviHvy8E_qCORxZ-BtBgS8_86alQn-ckVu4tWbDG5ridH0S90A3HsjLWezH5ZgPiQj-pnBlSmOWZYsNim_LBr5cIhCBGLfsi1Zo2wnXfEMl_dKTYSFMWS/s200/view.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191763307621688914" /></a>weather and the excitement of the ride. We made it to the rushing river that marks the Ecuador-Peru La Balsa border and seeing nothing of importance on the Ecuador side, I walked over the bridge into Peru. A few minutes later I had it pointed out to me that I had neglected to get my exit stamp from Ecuador, so back across the bridge I went. I entered the police office and found 3 immigration officers in shorts and flip-flops engaged in a riotous card game. I interrupted the game to have my passport stamped by one of the "officers," but the other two were impatient and kept prodding him to make a move all the while. It was an easy ordeal, and I promised to return soon to Ecuador on my way out... they said they´d be waiting for me. <br /><br />Back over in Peru, my immigration officer was a mullet-clad, jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing young man, who was listening to salsa so loud that I had to shout at him to be heard. I filled out a piece of paper, got a stamp, and then he invited me to drink a beer with him while I waited for my shared taxi to depart. I would have done it, too, but my ride was ready to go as soon as I was, so I bid the border farewell and kept on moving.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNr4DQXKy3tCLA7ph72sXmwqB-EdV3ZJcqkVnQ1qmLlnl5ITUURyJIbCg-AjN19V4243ywRvVFz3KL95Y5tbjzpy8-a9gVXNu_b7xHHGiYd-MxoMddjvOToc989fZ4JUkW1H9/s1600-h/taxi.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLNr4DQXKy3tCLA7ph72sXmwqB-EdV3ZJcqkVnQ1qmLlnl5ITUURyJIbCg-AjN19V4243ywRvVFz3KL95Y5tbjzpy8-a9gVXNu_b7xHHGiYd-MxoMddjvOToc989fZ4JUkW1H9/s200/taxi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191766898214348386" /></a>My shared taxi was an old, white, Toyota station wagon with a cracked windshield and a friendly driver who sang along to sappy Peruvian love songs. I was joined by the two guys from the ranchera and their squawking chickens, as well as a couple bottles of pure cane alcohol they´d brewed up at home which they spent the whole ride drinking. We slowly traveled along a particularly crappy road, but somehow made it to San Ignacio right after sunset, where I took a cold but divine shower and crashed out early.<br /><br />Day two of the journey involved a bit more coordination and stamina. I took a <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sRG1uN1oB5YCp_BhRb9qRe9I59cxlAj8a0YdxKHQZ4zjyisP-28fknlzwdDIwCMei5DXq5qcgdWPnb3WHx8BTL-yOOSHFSMAMAeKJ-J-cS9mtf3MK3_DwMy3vzr9i3MEZSBK/s1600-h/chacha.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sRG1uN1oB5YCp_BhRb9qRe9I59cxlAj8a0YdxKHQZ4zjyisP-28fknlzwdDIwCMei5DXq5qcgdWPnb3WHx8BTL-yOOSHFSMAMAeKJ-J-cS9mtf3MK3_DwMy3vzr9i3MEZSBK/s200/chacha.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5191767851697088114" /></a><br />minibus to Jáen (where the inevitable chicken rode right next to me), another minibus to Bagua Grande, and finally another piece of shit shared taxi all the way to Chachapoyas (or simply "Chacha") -- with rides in crappy Asia-esque motorbike taxis across town shoved in between, since there don´t appear to be many central bus terminals here in northern Peru. <br /><br />The journey was totally nutty and at times completely illogical, but tons of fun. Truthfully, it was easier than I expected; the biggest challenge arose from possessing enough stamina, patience, and good faith to make it through the day. The scenery was some of the best and most diverse that I´ve seen, particularly in such a short time span. And there came a certain secret pleasure from knowing that I was the only gringo around for miles...Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-58051043634172210902008-04-17T18:10:00.005-04:002008-04-18T16:28:17.644-04:00Bumping Along the Quilotoa LoopAfter departing Cotacachi, Lauren and I decided to go for one more adventure together. We´d been planning on checking out the Quilotoa Loop about 6 weeks before, but were deterred by a series of landslides and a string of changed plans. This particular area of Ecuador was a must-see because of its challenging accessibility, tiny and unspoiled indigenous villages, and mindblowing scenery. It did not let us down.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs49WjYxg0_9VyVA8Tyq_MAqMxTX_qkQ7ccaqVPjdK-mnn0AlTCFsuZkwqgcRmNhcEPSFYnguex7PrPjMViQ7nK08zQ-ikexYVkgnYwCysXcwJjFqm7AXU-VHWoYd8ou-EFHtU/s1600-h/zumbahua.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs49WjYxg0_9VyVA8Tyq_MAqMxTX_qkQ7ccaqVPjdK-mnn0AlTCFsuZkwqgcRmNhcEPSFYnguex7PrPjMViQ7nK08zQ-ikexYVkgnYwCysXcwJjFqm7AXU-VHWoYd8ou-EFHtU/s200/zumbahua.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190340458535428658" /></a>We started out early one morning and took buses as far as we could physically stand it. We ended up in the tiny, endlessly charming village of Zumbahua, a good deal into The Loop. Our timing couldn´t have been better, because we´d arrived in time to check out its <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEk9wYKuHxOG3lX9ArnxbEHHx6GQM3uFHABi7F7k1VC4Nwv6Tbps_himNdqOSmSGAa3IXpZ8aHsHDjs5qbYxNljGv3aO6jzoso7h4sT6qoPRanKwmulMrx6lBjhcRbJmcNc_0S/s1600-h/yarn.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEk9wYKuHxOG3lX9ArnxbEHHx6GQM3uFHABi7F7k1VC4Nwv6Tbps_himNdqOSmSGAa3IXpZ8aHsHDjs5qbYxNljGv3aO6jzoso7h4sT6qoPRanKwmulMrx6lBjhcRbJmcNc_0S/s200/yarn.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190340617449218642" /></a>famous Saturday morning market. Indigenous folks from all around flock to Zumbahua for this weekly ritual, and often haul their variety of goods in on the most popular form of local <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vjlL7MaXr5wnzRtks8qvCcPyoCE9gamRJDPStGCd8-NOH9lXfilmieNBt9QsqmLdqdDOC_TFOAXK5GSGHqGkqY8nym0zmEST5wPo-gRyTIhK8aql4qhioTo9XEjR8Rvzf7wd/s1600-h/llama.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vjlL7MaXr5wnzRtks8qvCcPyoCE9gamRJDPStGCd8-NOH9lXfilmieNBt9QsqmLdqdDOC_TFOAXK5GSGHqGkqY8nym0zmEST5wPo-gRyTIhK8aql4qhioTo9XEjR8Rvzf7wd/s200/llama.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190340467125363266" /></a>transport: llamas. We browsed the market for a couple hours, checking out the good on offer: stands of colorful yarns and clothing, bright and fresh produce, stalls of traditional indigenous shawls and skirts, and even squealing animals waiting in line to be slaughtered and sold right there on the spot. <br /><br />To arrive in our next and far more remote destination, we hopped on a local bus. We sat on the bus and waited for over an hour, as the passengers crammed themselves into <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpr2YN6nLKVBam80ewmgAkR0vMV2qYaiJkApxfYr9J2YVhru6lgb5D482hyV69Gzh7xH9HHei4sy9DUm_81vdzyLhfFTnvN4Lc05Gswcv5GnKj60B26sL91mealyaZivUFRXj/s1600-h/bus.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpr2YN6nLKVBam80ewmgAkR0vMV2qYaiJkApxfYr9J2YVhru6lgb5D482hyV69Gzh7xH9HHei4sy9DUm_81vdzyLhfFTnvN4Lc05Gswcv5GnKj60B26sL91mealyaZivUFRXj/s200/bus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190341145730196066" /></a>it. By the time the bus took off, it had turned into a foul-smelling mess of people and goods: clearly a baby had made a mess of a diaper or two, sacks of potatos and onions and fish were reeking up the air, I had two barely-alive chickens on top of my feet, and to top it off someone had spilled a particulary disgusting batch of homemade booze all over the floor. After an hour and a half bumping along the most nail-biting road I´ve experienced in Ecuador yet, we made it to Chugchilán.<br /><br />The next day, we realized that the road we´d traveled in on the day before was no <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5c3MD9RnTqfdTqdS3retn-vcGU6wb0pjooXIp7MeR_sKBqAemW92ady_Z9AP01Rqtj_e2SCv_XtqQlkpDWol1yVPuTz_L_3EbXL4MPPcImAJS6UioqPj796rm7-Agfq5sNk_/s1600-h/flat.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX5c3MD9RnTqfdTqdS3retn-vcGU6wb0pjooXIp7MeR_sKBqAemW92ady_Z9AP01Rqtj_e2SCv_XtqQlkpDWol1yVPuTz_L_3EbXL4MPPcImAJS6UioqPj796rm7-Agfq5sNk_/s200/flat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190341334708757122" /></a>longer accessible due to heavy overnight rain. Fearing the worst (ie, getting stuck in the Loop and Lauren missing her flight home), we decided to proceed onwards ´round the loop in the same direction. This was the most "exciting" bus ride yet. About an hour in, we hit a major landslide and got stuck in the mud. Instantaneously, a few guys jumped out and began to dig us out with shovels. It worked. Then 20 minutes later, a woman started screaming "stop!" because the entire back of the bus -- where I was seated -- began filling with smoke. The cause of the white smoke pouring out of the ceiling was determined to be an "electrical malfunction," which after some apparent "disconnecting" classified us ready to be on our way. I was skeptical, but the problem never resurfaced. An hour later, we got a flat tire! At this point, I just had to laugh. The tire was fixed incredibly quickly and, miraculously, we made it out of the Loop to our final destination without any more problems.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBXEfyJklk123HitnXD9hW7Uj0CYEXuyZ3buNgnBBJgWGfoAez4RhXI2tbiGXqhKRpsvHLdTlDi8EXVL1AVyOYMoFUPc1y0m4kTHBkrDFhc10HJbXGQLiUOiq51mgRiAFpuOx/s1600-h/view.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoBXEfyJklk123HitnXD9hW7Uj0CYEXuyZ3buNgnBBJgWGfoAez4RhXI2tbiGXqhKRpsvHLdTlDi8EXVL1AVyOYMoFUPc1y0m4kTHBkrDFhc10HJbXGQLiUOiq51mgRiAFpuOx/s200/view.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190341261694313074" /></a><br />Crazy as the bus rides were, truthfully it was all part of the journey. And nothing could beat the views.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-38144815726486910122008-04-17T18:05:00.002-04:002008-04-18T15:46:34.259-04:00The EndFor my last couple weeks of volunteering, I was unexpectedly joined by Lauren. I´d <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimN8KMG1enQRlFDSHtdkCJEAXsVE0D_AdowUE_QnPiT404C0lyOb0Y64rDw42x437vSDeF-mwe_ZfFkeVrmThOLO6dv8mtMMPvQoDI9htAgGLdWy6S2kyVveSBJQ04Cw4Ft-Pv/s1600-h/teach.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimN8KMG1enQRlFDSHtdkCJEAXsVE0D_AdowUE_QnPiT404C0lyOb0Y64rDw42x437vSDeF-mwe_ZfFkeVrmThOLO6dv8mtMMPvQoDI9htAgGLdWy6S2kyVveSBJQ04Cw4Ft-Pv/s200/teach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190339852945039874" /></a>been dabbling in a variety of projects in the area, as usual, but when Lauren showed up I thought it would be best to use her experience teaching English as a second language however we could. We traveled about an hour together to a nearby elementary school, where we taught English to 4 different classes in 4 hours. It was a whilrwild experience. Some classrooms even had two different age groups together, because there just isn´t enough space or enough teachers to take care of everyone. We left feeling exhausted and overworked, but definitely had some fun -- especially teaching "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" to giggling groups of young´uns. Aside from the teaching gig, I continued to work at Runa Tupari translating new website material from Spanish to English and selling tours, and helped my family do some gardening and planting at home.<br /><br />After 4 1/2 weeks that absolutely flew by, it was time to say goodbye. For my last <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9roFljUoHLJ1YXVCYRGIhQtq6kIwnmGCOH9m8tCqFgD08xRW3A0hTILOnH1hpAqLsobphTvWwKdrMJ921BsQUY-NDBCuWZGNoC8poR-sQbR6QSVDCITWdptQbLXDRA4yA_fU/s1600-h/cake.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9roFljUoHLJ1YXVCYRGIhQtq6kIwnmGCOH9m8tCqFgD08xRW3A0hTILOnH1hpAqLsobphTvWwKdrMJ921BsQUY-NDBCuWZGNoC8poR-sQbR6QSVDCITWdptQbLXDRA4yA_fU/s200/cake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190339956024254994" /></a>night, I decided to buy a couple of little presents. The first was a purple potato peeler for Maria; one day while cooking lunch together she mentioned not having one and needing to buy one (as I was struggling like an idiot to peel the potatoes with a dull knife). The second was a large, delicious chocolate cake from my favorite cafe in Otavalo, where <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lzqAQwzr1153cj5wWSiRpf_6qOJsabwNNO7tsahHWyFuzINJcnITxyyt7S67mcLwUjKT0eHkyVOUFt1kc35sXeVQdVi4lvR9rQ3b2Y86BF-9TlnI9Lup2vdRa3MfuO4apXCF/s1600-h/chicas.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9lzqAQwzr1153cj5wWSiRpf_6qOJsabwNNO7tsahHWyFuzINJcnITxyyt7S67mcLwUjKT0eHkyVOUFt1kc35sXeVQdVi4lvR9rQ3b2Y86BF-9TlnI9Lup2vdRa3MfuO4apXCF/s200/chicas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5190340067693404706" /></a>I would begin every day with a slice of cake and (real!) coffee for $1. Not surprisingly, little Sayani was extremely excited and quite literally couldn´t keep her hands off of it. We all had a great last night together, taking tons of photos and even looking through old family photos. It was a bittersweet goodbye -- it felt like the right time to be moving on, but the experience had been so great that I was a little sad too.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-11236469942271487822008-04-14T18:53:00.008-04:002008-04-14T19:40:34.694-04:00Reaping the Benefits<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon1u83vkJcRHPOhpnknmk5ZHSCifNj-C3xNoDMOm85erwBdaddG1S_OE8OSx8GDXThT40a0GFFjVQ3KQ19p1lGg-GN-DCdZ-Tv8i4ezd0mFmxp-SoJAlzhvXb96RtNPhKNfVa/s1600-h/snow.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjon1u83vkJcRHPOhpnknmk5ZHSCifNj-C3xNoDMOm85erwBdaddG1S_OE8OSx8GDXThT40a0GFFjVQ3KQ19p1lGg-GN-DCdZ-Tv8i4ezd0mFmxp-SoJAlzhvXb96RtNPhKNfVa/s200/snow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189249983518843378" /></a>One the many projects I was involved with during my volunteering period was UNORCAC`s community-based tourism operator, Runa Tupari (www.runatupari.com). They are based out of the city of Otavalo, and have on offer a bunch of tours throughout the local area that include activities like hiking, mountain climbing, and visiting indigenous communities. As the dedicated and hard-working volunteer that I was, I was able to take part in a bunch of these tours free of charge.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvgXqRxb4AmEC1XWkoT6ClUHk7yrMep7RC14weuIhyphenhyphenWOvpKlZKCaa66zEehFKSqNYQeEKnLrVqxnNd7FXyeTMSf7T-r7dNxNlthAIZky9vBFzN8gkSRdwxiofbPnZZMBaN3Xe/s1600-h/mojanda.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDvgXqRxb4AmEC1XWkoT6ClUHk7yrMep7RC14weuIhyphenhyphenWOvpKlZKCaa66zEehFKSqNYQeEKnLrVqxnNd7FXyeTMSf7T-r7dNxNlthAIZky9vBFzN8gkSRdwxiofbPnZZMBaN3Xe/s200/mojanda.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189242643419734450" /></a>The first outing I went on was a four-hour hike up to the summit of Fuya-Fuya (4265m; 14,075ft). It was steep going in steadily increasing fog and rain, but tons of fun. I couldn´t get enough of the amazing flora and fauna <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPTbGiLJ4hIpx-sUtxyurd8kNy9BbOCkwDjbIXVlHAmB9RcFz3_tiu_V1IxbsD7w2tYUwrMbSmoz8MqXP3HhISx3S_9NB7cVeI-iP5SZ5hRWXF9sob-jjpJWVfdpeB6b1IFlC/s1600-h/flores.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPTbGiLJ4hIpx-sUtxyurd8kNy9BbOCkwDjbIXVlHAmB9RcFz3_tiu_V1IxbsD7w2tYUwrMbSmoz8MqXP3HhISx3S_9NB7cVeI-iP5SZ5hRWXF9sob-jjpJWVfdpeB6b1IFlC/s200/flores.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189240053554454898" /></a>of the páramo (Andean highlands), and snapped loads of picturs of the amazing things growing underfoot. We even saw an Andean fox (though I didn´t have time to snap his photo). All the while the amazing Mojanda Lakes were below us, so really any which way I turned I was treated to something beautiful. <br /><br />Feeling exceedingly confident and enthusiastic, two days later I decided to go for a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0sF4L03qKBe5st8a7eyN8kl_YK4Tqj3RzVDfZPPoOOdl6_2c3JPic78LF9_iXl7TqO3NnZD_g-v53893e18kkZIXurBh0svoiU9WNsSATMiicHw4Cu9lw6NdQUeivSpxmgps/s1600-h/meview.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0sF4L03qKBe5st8a7eyN8kl_YK4Tqj3RzVDfZPPoOOdl6_2c3JPic78LF9_iXl7TqO3NnZD_g-v53893e18kkZIXurBh0svoiU9WNsSATMiicHw4Cu9lw6NdQUeivSpxmgps/s200/meview.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189240457281380754" /></a>much bigger mountain: Volcano Cotacachi. We started the trek at 5am, and for the first few hours were treated to an exceptionally good view of the area. Sure, there were still some clouds around, but shockingly no rain! It was 5 hours of straight uphill hiking, not exactly an easy chore with my legs still aching from the other climb 48 hours before. Whoops. But no matter, I still made it. We hiked up to where the snow began -- about 4800m (15,800ft) -- but since we didn´t have <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTa33zajhdI9hSwykZwl2cvvkmr6-8UN9MVdVpTGbmmCkzGztP7EVMHzEProy71aywhge6Xpw9AgEDW5tf7z6j1PmE5pByhA7pd-HKkb6ZrKNMXRI4NIW8W_gjbwmHNDSPbA6/s1600-h/llamas.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTa33zajhdI9hSwykZwl2cvvkmr6-8UN9MVdVpTGbmmCkzGztP7EVMHzEProy71aywhge6Xpw9AgEDW5tf7z6j1PmE5pByhA7pd-HKkb6ZrKNMXRI4NIW8W_gjbwmHNDSPbA6/s200/llamas.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189240057849422210" /></a>proper gear that´s where we had to stop. On the way up and down, we saw 6 different llamas chilling on the high mountain slopes, all of whom stopped to check us out with that particular curious stare so unique to llamas. It was a classic South Ameriacn moment.<br /><br />Later that same week, I accompanied a Danish couple on the indigenous community <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQTaCR28mxD72IFZfWfrMeYpl_haVEB-ZSQxYpIDhiuNzv-clhzw77A9iHdFc0XhNwCXZj94N6moqd1WOqPv6zsF3cn2wAWYmKKkanhuVNdDcZt0Hs7vTbEFZRxUtbSgKS-Ed/s1600-h/weave.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQTaCR28mxD72IFZfWfrMeYpl_haVEB-ZSQxYpIDhiuNzv-clhzw77A9iHdFc0XhNwCXZj94N6moqd1WOqPv6zsF3cn2wAWYmKKkanhuVNdDcZt0Hs7vTbEFZRxUtbSgKS-Ed/s200/weave.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189248106618134994" /></a>tour, acting as translator. The tour goes to three different villages in the area, each one specializing in a certain indigenous crafts. We watched a woman using a stone to pound together pieces of reeds to make mats (a full day´s work for $3); a demonstration and performance with traditional Andean instruments; and a weaver and his wife who process and create wool masterpieces in a tradition that <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0pPXwDsEX83JXOgEF54RCIoDF91dyfU8lLO3Pg0ZjBXsRowiPaSxeXuChTxxKuzkfAOygRJmyLTrmd7Ru7Eyo6vjv2DfaOEXdED71ERHn6dxWiTE8LiKsGGadNTne7uvrtXH/s1600-h/weavemama.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0pPXwDsEX83JXOgEF54RCIoDF91dyfU8lLO3Pg0ZjBXsRowiPaSxeXuChTxxKuzkfAOygRJmyLTrmd7Ru7Eyo6vjv2DfaOEXdED71ERHn6dxWiTE8LiKsGGadNTne7uvrtXH/s200/weavemama.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189248703618589154" /></a>hardly anyone uses anymore. Fascinating as they all were, I couldn´t get over the cuteness of the weaving couple. I mean, have you ever seen anything cuter than this old weaving mama?Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-12098232819553551052008-03-29T14:04:00.008-04:002008-03-29T14:59:03.788-04:00Holy Fiesta<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN429UnFEKiW7VN3mgVl_qs4XoHk8K0uw2OCupbF4bbMKH2hEN9DTtANZo50_zb7seHBuG3UfSLfCqFOCRfZurph1808lqA4E5AAv7mblxnRIab76KHJ-L9UxDq4lucXBhprxH/s1600-h/church.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN429UnFEKiW7VN3mgVl_qs4XoHk8K0uw2OCupbF4bbMKH2hEN9DTtANZo50_zb7seHBuG3UfSLfCqFOCRfZurph1808lqA4E5AAv7mblxnRIab76KHJ-L9UxDq4lucXBhprxH/s200/church.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183228161476612242" /></a> Last Saturday, my two favorite little Ecuadorians were baptized. Sayani (3) and Apauki (5) received their holy cleansing in a tediously long nighttime ceremony in the central church of Cotacachi along with another two dozen tiny people from surrounding communities, half of whom were, not surprisingly, asleep for the whole thing. But this was hardly the main event.<br /><br />Immediately following the ceremony was one big-ass party. About 100 people came: family, friends, friends of friends, community members, their children, even a few random dogs. The celebration kicked off at 11pm, when a DJ arrived with three enormous speakers and began pumping out ear-poppingly loud cumbia. (Sidenote: <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72MYEgEpuVGRdBLhJyjyzJ231MFii1Nyx63TIuktsPGjwlj-_mBpE509LysXkdZkCSlgNcHQmV_dbsN22oHRgyhtKs6jkCxKCTRGXc8xUK5UZYrFfANFZg15RTN9Io4oWRuSy/s1600-h/anita.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72MYEgEpuVGRdBLhJyjyzJ231MFii1Nyx63TIuktsPGjwlj-_mBpE509LysXkdZkCSlgNcHQmV_dbsN22oHRgyhtKs6jkCxKCTRGXc8xUK5UZYrFfANFZg15RTN9Io4oWRuSy/s200/anita.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183234483668471970" /></a>Cumbia, though originally a musical form from Columbia, has infiltrated Ecuador to become something of a national musical phenomenon. To paraphrase Lonely Planet, it does indeed sound like a "three-legged horse" trotting along to a Latin blend of rhythm, bass, horns, and words. More often than not it´s all produced on a single electric keyboard. Cumbia is everywhere, from restaurants to bus rides to grocery stores, and at times is sped up to such a frenzied tempo that it becomes "psycho cumbia.") Food was of course the first order of business, and each person was served up some soup and various plates, all of which naturally included the poor dead creatures mentioned in my last post. Interestingly, the guinea pig (cuy) was cut into pieces and served directly into people´s bare hands, along with a whole potato. People were pretty stoked on the cuy. It was about this time that the alcohol began to surface.<br /><br />Drinking in Ecuador is a very communal affair. It goes something like this: someone walks around with a bottle of alcohol. There are three choices, and three choices ONLY of what to consume. Pilsener, the national beer; agurdiente, homemade sugar <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zO4CkZb9iHhoCK7tXylamx_OXshVhKghAdb_aNoSWpSWmB9iJUOX-aS6dWZvi5hYLNDvZZ5vwF02dmMgdmMxP2QC5tnRhwyP1lBx4-57b23p-L30si84bnhDOUou0rJsR_u9/s1600-h/shots.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7zO4CkZb9iHhoCK7tXylamx_OXshVhKghAdb_aNoSWpSWmB9iJUOX-aS6dWZvi5hYLNDvZZ5vwF02dmMgdmMxP2QC5tnRhwyP1lBx4-57b23p-L30si84bnhDOUou0rJsR_u9/s200/shots.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183235961137221810" /></a>cane alcohol; or box "wine," this absolutely repugnant sugary crap artifically flavored with chemicals and in the resulting neon color it becomes, bears an eerily odd resemblance to nuclear waste (I tried my best to stay away from it). The bottle beholder walks around the party with a small plastic shotglass. When you are approached (and everyone is), you accept the shot gleefully and select another person with whom you make serious eye contact and dedicate the toast to. This person is thusly deemed the next recipient of the shot. He, then, follows suit by consuming the booze and selecting the next drinker. This process resolves around and around and around until, inevitably, it rolls right around back to YOU. Naturally, everyone gets real wasted real fast.<br /><br />I retired around 4am, but the party did not. In fact, the cumbia continued at <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAcv2eI89sfPbuhvWyG_kPMUBk6OZP3rvOcJU6hniiL5cOEyYZj9Ni_H6U9DiRbi2_YffZyG7MLAk0jDcq2TmZhUEHn4ruvyaOPtbaziCh74nPiPNDqFHhrXUAahXu5JmSO0V/s1600-h/maria.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiAcv2eI89sfPbuhvWyG_kPMUBk6OZP3rvOcJU6hniiL5cOEyYZj9Ni_H6U9DiRbi2_YffZyG7MLAk0jDcq2TmZhUEHn4ruvyaOPtbaziCh74nPiPNDqFHhrXUAahXu5JmSO0V/s200/maria.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183237460080808146" /></a>headache-inducing volumes until 10am! The DJs went home, but my family continued to play music music through their own speakers. When I finally emerged from my room around 2pm, haggard and not very well rested, there was a crew of about 5 guys who were still going. They hadn´t slept, were still drinking, and would in fact continue to do until the following night! I don´t know how they do it.<br /><br />The best part of the night, for me, was the dancing. Although I got very, very tired of endlessly hearing cumbia -- especially with some of the same popular tunes repeated over and over again -- I was rewarded with a break from it, when they played <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdY7q-7fmbiGo8efbdDYGwIjeCh6JVP1-7izY4_lCLpP63z0GW_-niHAJP9NVV0oX3EefLd60SnpAzRHOkzaN4ahnMrcB3SFUAuL9aIja8tHnNIQ2bRfPfB5wG2tcggJE6t9M_/s1600-h/dance.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdY7q-7fmbiGo8efbdDYGwIjeCh6JVP1-7izY4_lCLpP63z0GW_-niHAJP9NVV0oX3EefLd60SnpAzRHOkzaN4ahnMrcB3SFUAuL9aIja8tHnNIQ2bRfPfB5wG2tcggJE6t9M_/s200/dance.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183240058536022242" /></a>selections of indigenous highland music I had never heard before. Everyone got into two large circles, and essentially shuffled around in time to the rapidly changing tempo of the music until someone decided to shout "VUELTA!" and it was time to turn around and shuffle in the other direction. And in case you´re wondering, out of all the dozens of slaughtered animals, by the end of the night only the head of one of the pigs remainded. Great success!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-40834031841424705562008-03-22T13:30:00.009-04:002008-03-22T13:58:54.835-04:00Dead Meat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLXGwajOAT6achxJr6H14cPZ1vUpx98ZK_tmKfYfI00aZj9D2keGtq9U8xo9Ob2EZ3_M7By2bggpwWv2oM8R9uswX6BAFK03yNL3IDDLzm0WCkwg_09jnbgRHMCrfbOl3fPBHW/s1600-h/pig+strung.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLXGwajOAT6achxJr6H14cPZ1vUpx98ZK_tmKfYfI00aZj9D2keGtq9U8xo9Ob2EZ3_M7By2bggpwWv2oM8R9uswX6BAFK03yNL3IDDLzm0WCkwg_09jnbgRHMCrfbOl3fPBHW/s200/pig+strung.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180621554414604370" /></a> This weekend is cause for huge celebration: the baptism of both Sayani and Apauki, the two youngest children in my family. Preparations have been underway all week long, the majority of which involve an abundance of dead animals. In these parts, there is no butcher or deli, no convenient little shop where you can buy your neat packages of pre-sliced meat. No, sir. Around here, dinner amounts to the slaughter of that cute little creature that´s been running around in front of the house all week, and the long, complicated process invovled to turn it into food. Never have I been happier to be a vegetarian.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNXpL2pCXCVC50GtFj75cgQHbnDU10Z-JG-XpyZFShtDQf6nqNJ3a4ov0hZcUVAfJKvJjQKgBtMiz8yoMZV5RVGJ995TY9Ozm9FN9fxmCVcRMn2AbLuR5N2lM5_bK-MLcO8eR/s1600-h/pig.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwNXpL2pCXCVC50GtFj75cgQHbnDU10Z-JG-XpyZFShtDQf6nqNJ3a4ov0hZcUVAfJKvJjQKgBtMiz8yoMZV5RVGJ995TY9Ozm9FN9fxmCVcRMn2AbLuR5N2lM5_bK-MLcO8eR/s200/pig.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180621515759898690" /></a>I returned home from volunteering on Thursday to find the entire family out by the stream, gathered around a pig that had just been slaughtered a few hours before. They had its intestines in their hands, and were slowly and patiently moving along the, ahem, debris trapped inside. Yummy. Nearby was a huge cooking pot filled with blood and various organs. They made sure to point out the other pig chowing down a few feet away, who was doomed for the same fate the very next day. In true Ecuadorian fashion, later on the pig was strung up in the middle of the house, right next to kitchen. It has remained there for the last two days, draining blood and getting stuff full of herbs and whatnot to prepare for the grand all-day roasting.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFy8YkfAAv6DmKk04ZRm9sv0Ffq0tr4bpyHwzvBLQW5mURFq9KNUS9KpfNpUcPpEOT2fiUzbd4267072B0IuUBf4tIBcWBm0Daux7KgC8UD5zlwHOmN1gyGwnFIO70nJ6CLX9/s1600-h/cuy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHFy8YkfAAv6DmKk04ZRm9sv0Ffq0tr4bpyHwzvBLQW5mURFq9KNUS9KpfNpUcPpEOT2fiUzbd4267072B0IuUBf4tIBcWBm0Daux7KgC8UD5zlwHOmN1gyGwnFIO70nJ6CLX9/s200/cuy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180624268833935458" /></a>The next animals in line after the pigs were the guinea pigs. That´s right, those cute little fuzzy creatures you had as a pet when you were a kid. They are called ´cuy´ (for the sound they make), and are an Ecuadorian delicacy. I knew this one was coming, but was thoroughly shocked to see a pot full of sixteen of these little guys, throats slit and skinned, looking like scary little rodents. Just doesn´t seem right, but that´s the way the coookie crumbles around here. They get roasted whole, and according to some friends of mine who´ve tried them, they´re actually almost as gross as they sound. I will say, there was some comedy involved when I walked into the kitchen with my camera: Maria and her sister-in-law went to great lengths setting up this shot, arranging the guinea pigs to face the camera as best as possible, laughing heartily all the while.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJUBSGkk0LuUXDaPWufuDsR_O8zHynNh5DtS3h6XEE8QR4DPI9ekc9vl2i0yUKm7qRusG5_86Kmk4-HI9ab4rW6-zNh4aO-9PfwcjKesFQVSma-yUeqymC2x7x0LjFw0ro_68/s1600-h/cook.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJUBSGkk0LuUXDaPWufuDsR_O8zHynNh5DtS3h6XEE8QR4DPI9ekc9vl2i0yUKm7qRusG5_86Kmk4-HI9ab4rW6-zNh4aO-9PfwcjKesFQVSma-yUeqymC2x7x0LjFw0ro_68/s200/cook.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180625565914058866" /></a>Next up were 20-something chickens, and a dozen rabbits. Yesterday from morning ´til night, my casa became a slaughterhouse. <br /><br />In all fairness, there have been plenty of other preparations for this giant fiesta. For example, I went to the market with María to buy lace for the new blouse she´s <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy4T4o474O_g-15cCpHsvdpfnkDysv4uqw3ZoOk0au6iMW7UyHyA-mefM9aQmutWre7P4kEZiUGF5EPGZWihEkvMxw-Jg6Y-Tiu1Ox-a_nF2vPb_ZUMzQcnRgBX-0dpA4JXD-/s1600-h/lace.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRy4T4o474O_g-15cCpHsvdpfnkDysv4uqw3ZoOk0au6iMW7UyHyA-mefM9aQmutWre7P4kEZiUGF5EPGZWihEkvMxw-Jg6Y-Tiu1Ox-a_nF2vPb_ZUMzQcnRgBX-0dpA4JXD-/s200/lace.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180626077015167106" /></a>making for Sayani. And there have been dozens of relatives around the house to help with some construction, clean-up, and all kinds of cooking that doesn´t involve slicing the throats of innocent little animals. But for some reason, that action has sure seemed to stick out.<br /><br />Truth be told, I´ve been kind of fascinated by the whole process. Of course, I have less than no desire to eat any of these creatures. But I mean, if you´re gonna eat meat, this is the way to do it. Raise the animal right in your backyard, slaughter it yourself, put in all the legwork it takes to deal with the carcass, and then eat every last thing except the head and bones. I´ve been a source of much comedy this week, what with my crazy questions and facial expressions which have ranged from shock to horror to astonishment. The best of all was when Apauki ran into dinner one night squealing and wearing the pig´s toenails on his own fingers. I couldn´t hide my expression of horrific disgust, but it quickly turned into nothing but pure smiles as everyone in the room burst into laughter (mostly at my reaction) for the next couple of minutes. Ahhh, life in the campo.<br /><br />Alternate titles for this post included:<br />A Vegetarian in Carnewonderland<br />Lessons in Death<br />Adventures in Slaughter<br />Waste Not, Starve Not<br />Your Cute Furry Pet = Dinner!Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-73903339444197163152008-03-21T18:16:00.009-04:002008-03-22T13:29:49.081-04:00Mi Familia Indígena<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_Gu6ymfPMxladnoSUVfQEi_hDETX_gQxAxYvJyXbunAKYby4Pgt9BKQ-E-sVpzib5BDa5guzK9XHJ-rmvo015xSIWPWL0JoH42mWMd7PWyWZr1CksubOa_zUYpjIHzit5vif/s1600-h/fam.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_Gu6ymfPMxladnoSUVfQEi_hDETX_gQxAxYvJyXbunAKYby4Pgt9BKQ-E-sVpzib5BDa5guzK9XHJ-rmvo015xSIWPWL0JoH42mWMd7PWyWZr1CksubOa_zUYpjIHzit5vif/s200/fam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180324836598960066" /></a> This is my family. They are a group of tremendously lovely, warmhearted, indigenous Ecuadorians with whom I am currently living out in the lush countryside of Cotacachi. We eat at least 2 meals a day together, always chatting and laughing in Spanish about me, Cotacachi, Ecuador, and the world. To them, I am Cocito: the affectionate, familiarized modification of my Third-World moniker, Coco.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaJX9W6lFi4Lq2nfvl22Gou_azPNlsaf_D2_nYpuJ-MeJ3Qxfdd_lx7wMgaId62P3SC-MKec5Of-N1EiA-bV6izOghA0VBBtw0ODeInXWvF0Eb9odJt4mXTQ7IXbb1NYL07QE/s1600-h/pedro.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJaJX9W6lFi4Lq2nfvl22Gou_azPNlsaf_D2_nYpuJ-MeJ3Qxfdd_lx7wMgaId62P3SC-MKec5Of-N1EiA-bV6izOghA0VBBtw0ODeInXWvF0Eb9odJt4mXTQ7IXbb1NYL07QE/s200/pedro.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180612225745637346" /></a>This is Pedro, father and husband. He used to be the president of Santa Bárbara, the community of some 250 people where they live. Nowadays he spends his days working on various construction and development projects around the area, always returning home for dinner around 6pm with a huge smile on his face. Like everyone else I´ve met in the village, he is always anxious to know how I´m doing, and how I feel about the community and Ecuador in general. My response is always the same: I love it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOpzbIxwYLDm3nfWt_pk7TIc4CH-uAqlgSUSeZ4Aq-thKSepUm202SV6-AK8lmB-5imsvQuF_TyiRqHLxDMqn2KX-j1ykujLd0A2W9QdHa2Hjj1Efc_UChjdYsKpaaCaNxaLE/s1600-h/maria.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIOpzbIxwYLDm3nfWt_pk7TIc4CH-uAqlgSUSeZ4Aq-thKSepUm202SV6-AK8lmB-5imsvQuF_TyiRqHLxDMqn2KX-j1ykujLd0A2W9QdHa2Hjj1Efc_UChjdYsKpaaCaNxaLE/s200/maria.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180612938710208514" /></a> Then there´s María. She had her first child at 18 and married at 20. Now at only 38, she has five children and is the true head of the household. She instantly took me on as yet another daughter, and is a constant fountain of generosity and compassion. She´s always calm and responsive to my daily barrage of questions, ranging from cultural traditions to soup recipes to words I can´t seem to remember in Spanish. She´s spent her whole life here, but told me she secretly wishes she´d gotten to spend some more time on her own before settling into married family life. No kidding.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGeNpLqaNcF0UGWb0GTpSPMnffVQN636cGMyPjEq6lrep60kMV9T9JbYM0yEP2hLtkdgZo2KR2neELJraH_xs3n0gyadqHCdq8BjhyphenhyphenxChSOv7WOG0gNMyWq0s_PHDeIW_9Nbf/s1600-h/sisters.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGeNpLqaNcF0UGWb0GTpSPMnffVQN636cGMyPjEq6lrep60kMV9T9JbYM0yEP2hLtkdgZo2KR2neELJraH_xs3n0gyadqHCdq8BjhyphenhyphenxChSOv7WOG0gNMyWq0s_PHDeIW_9Nbf/s200/sisters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180612230040604658" /></a>The three older daughters are Anita (20), Alicia (17), and Apacha (14). Here I am with them, dressed in traditional indigenous garments at the request, and to the delight of, my family for this week´s Semana Santa (Holy Week) celebrations. (The only other non-sister is the one to the left of me... by the way notice how I´m the tallest person in the photo, that´s a new one for me!) They are all beautiful and look stunningly alike. Anita is currently living in Quito and going to college, but the other two help with every last activity around the house. They wash the clothes, clean, cook meals, attend to the animals, and watch the little ones when María is attending to other issues. I don´t think I know another teenager anywhere who would be capable of half of the things these girls do on a daily basis.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDZ2TJL5hJGJLu7fq-IzWwcAXRmNtQeq6h5vv3MI8IDIL3qHFzW1eEY2b6zFTyFEXmnxOdrGFhZ-Y4Bt317OHhXwbL99D0O3qmHM66_7qct_vo09woMcQAfVPNXe9JXEBBTcr/s1600-h/sayani.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDZ2TJL5hJGJLu7fq-IzWwcAXRmNtQeq6h5vv3MI8IDIL3qHFzW1eEY2b6zFTyFEXmnxOdrGFhZ-Y4Bt317OHhXwbL99D0O3qmHM66_7qct_vo09woMcQAfVPNXe9JXEBBTcr/s200/sayani.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180617946642075666" /></a>Then there´s the little ones: Apauki (5) and Sayani (3). A constant source of joy and amusement. They are also best friends with each other, with is pretty much the cutest thing to <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjFtKkWD1wePz7F2fQLGhbc-crQEBtuHdGYUw6FA5E4Jq1wbU_WGEj0RZWt6z3arT5MglbNwHO11iSwYFGzmI1tOZAe3NuApv0m6arM5ly8uKA4o88bTeN0YAsQb6lxHNpah-/s1600-h/apauki.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvjFtKkWD1wePz7F2fQLGhbc-crQEBtuHdGYUw6FA5E4Jq1wbU_WGEj0RZWt6z3arT5MglbNwHO11iSwYFGzmI1tOZAe3NuApv0m6arM5ly8uKA4o88bTeN0YAsQb6lxHNpah-/s200/apauki.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180618071196127266" /></a>watch. They spend their days doing kid stuff: getting filthy, chasing chickens, kicking soccer balls, running around, loving life. They are always glad to see me when I return from wherever, greeting me with hugs and jumping and sleeve-tugging, and it always makes my day.<br /><br />And finally, there´s Grandma. Or, at least I think that´s what she is. I can´t quite figure out where this lovely old lady fits in, but I´m pretty sure she was introduced as someone´s mama. But she´s always hanging around and I´m relatively sure she lives in the tiny shack on the property. She always gives me <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjRhIvtJRrhPIWi1-4ApKP9j6PuH2ccQvCV9PUfxwctWilm3cFMw5H4jJ3yPKN9OVDbPqCIJhQuO7mI8UIGP1C_1Sy9VeNHpYIRCMyIWGwW99_4kTskg7jn3xjQIL_fsAVAxC/s1600-h/grandma.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjRhIvtJRrhPIWi1-4ApKP9j6PuH2ccQvCV9PUfxwctWilm3cFMw5H4jJ3yPKN9OVDbPqCIJhQuO7mI8UIGP1C_1Sy9VeNHpYIRCMyIWGwW99_4kTskg7jn3xjQIL_fsAVAxC/s200/grandma.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5180618367548870706" /></a>the biggest smile I´ve ever seen whenever I walk by, and chats away to me in Quichua even though I hardly speak a word. And though she has large cataracts in both eyes, she giggled like a little kid when I showed her this photo of herself.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-37025333958602795012008-03-19T09:47:00.013-04:002008-03-19T10:37:05.414-04:00Life in the CampoLast week, I finally packed up and headed out of Quito to begin volunteering. After <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPtmZDBbjjJBlB05Lk8p6RBcfI71VIBgRi_A2D364OImJf4yskwskuKP5BbP52s9vt5B-jQXnZqkQNiIvOAzwjHB5Ip9kLKjyLOB6gIjYZkM4H3wmvshLkC6FHKUFrXK4Hfs1/s1600-h/yuguarcocha.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXPtmZDBbjjJBlB05Lk8p6RBcfI71VIBgRi_A2D364OImJf4yskwskuKP5BbP52s9vt5B-jQXnZqkQNiIvOAzwjHB5Ip9kLKjyLOB6gIjYZkM4H3wmvshLkC6FHKUFrXK4Hfs1/s200/yuguarcocha.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179453933354618706" /></a>quite some time of researching and nearing moments of hair-pulling, I finally found the perfect opportunity for myself. I am working with an organization called UNORCAC(http://unorcac.nativeweb.org/who.html), which stands for Union of Peasant and Indigenous Organizations of Cotacachi Canton. They are committed to improving the quality of life for indigenous Ecuadorians, as well as preserving and maintaining the rich cultural heritage of the region, through a variety of development projects. The region of Cotacachi itself is stunningly beautiful, with enormous volcanoes towering all around, magical crater lakes to be discovered in my free time, and dozens of indigenous communities scattered around the lush green mountain hillsides.<br /><br />My first day, instead of going to work, I was invited to attend a traditional <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6qM60_xElWbl3WbkD6pW4Q32vHQHommx6A_SKvqMcOyYHh29uokXo4ApzX_oLJF8snnIfSl32MYxPq-A4NA7z4rt_S6pjsX_79uY6XqpnnmEp38-yaHe2VjgVn2B_1ptPoVF/s1600-h/cooking.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6qM60_xElWbl3WbkD6pW4Q32vHQHommx6A_SKvqMcOyYHh29uokXo4ApzX_oLJF8snnIfSl32MYxPq-A4NA7z4rt_S6pjsX_79uY6XqpnnmEp38-yaHe2VjgVn2B_1ptPoVF/s200/cooking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179454371441282914" /></a>cooking workshop. About a dozen indigenous women from surrounding communities were invited to attend, and to learn more about their own traditions. The end result was both to share traditional cooking methods, and to produce a cookbook. It was a fascinating experience, which mostly involved creating various fascinating things with quinua -- croquettes, tortillas, empanadas, llapingachos, soup... you name it. Though my status as a vegetarian prohibited me from sampling a few of the dishes (and also, as ever, amazed all the locals -- why would anyone ever not want to eat meat?!?), I gorged myself on the rest of the food while everyone else ate their lunches full of carne, and it was delicious.<br /><br />The next couple days I spent at the guardería, a day care center/preschool a stone´s throw from my casa for local children ages 2 to 5. Although it was fun to play <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbHfHu7YQgwco7uC4tOSj210usXkyTkkAG7XZe852lkv8xjwG3CXN3R3Q7qrMH14VZr940XT_poJrx85Tyz4C7TlX8g6XdhyphenhyphenhD3Bl95zogKd-Wh_Wdi_CbXhVukpqRWJLov_O/s1600-h/kids.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUbHfHu7YQgwco7uC4tOSj210usXkyTkkAG7XZe852lkv8xjwG3CXN3R3Q7qrMH14VZr940XT_poJrx85Tyz4C7TlX8g6XdhyphenhyphenhD3Bl95zogKd-Wh_Wdi_CbXhVukpqRWJLov_O/s200/kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179455707176111986" /></a>around with the children, it presented a bit of a dilemma. It was completely disorganized and chaotic, with the day spent letting the kids run around and play however and wherever they wished, without the slightest shred of discipline or routine. There were no group activities, and nothing resembling basic childhood education. As someone who was a lot of experience with small children -- and regards them as incredibly able, intelligent, incredible tiny people -- it was disturbing and intensely sad to watch these little ones miss out on the chance to <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhEEQpdbDuqKH6EUu1cgjyEJBQB_IVcrZJoZdzQZRzGUAnaU0fwT06EsZ5xTNW6ub8cttgsp0RXurpKSzvkseOM31anWcYEYBQd1B2UFoZDwYPJ8XiB9ASRC39j2JZsGpIkMG/s1600-h/kids2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXhEEQpdbDuqKH6EUu1cgjyEJBQB_IVcrZJoZdzQZRzGUAnaU0fwT06EsZ5xTNW6ub8cttgsp0RXurpKSzvkseOM31anWcYEYBQd1B2UFoZDwYPJ8XiB9ASRC39j2JZsGpIkMG/s200/kids2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179458855387139970" /></a>expand and enrich their young minds. However, being well aware of the large cultural gap between my life and theirs, and bearing in mind the fact that my ideas of cultural and educational "norms" are somewhat irrelevant to a culture that is not my own, I was careful not to place judgment or critique on the women running the guardería ... instead, I have noted many things as "suggestions", and am being encouraged by my volunteer coordinators to discuss these issues. So we shall see what I can do to help out there.<br /><br />In the meantime, I´m trying my hand at a variety of other projects. It´s also Semana Santa (Holy Week) which means that there is no school, and people are <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6edM9ISE7cK3Y9EsCwUGPgpDZq5ZtxPl3Dfsz8Vslg4vNwaCqe0TMVbJovlGLxdpCKnmraKAKgwFez56kN-KPtDwwEFm_qtJa_3Lz2DheGJ0DvJCrMxTbOK1D618cuMsc5nrm/s1600-h/procession.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6edM9ISE7cK3Y9EsCwUGPgpDZq5ZtxPl3Dfsz8Vslg4vNwaCqe0TMVbJovlGLxdpCKnmraKAKgwFez56kN-KPtDwwEFm_qtJa_3Lz2DheGJ0DvJCrMxTbOK1D618cuMsc5nrm/s200/procession.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179459551171841954" /></a>celebrating every day and night the crucification and resurrection of Jesus. Or something. I am familiar with Semana Santa traditions from when I lived in Spain, but things are different here. They carry their saints on platforms around the city and eventually to the church, but fortunately, the saints here in Cotacachi are not life-sized, and are not the gory, bleeding, crying, disturbingly graphic ones so revered in Spain. It´s also a fully campo (countryside) affair. I attended the first of the processions, where people -- mostly indigenous -- from surrounding <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhansXWqRwtWInBpCXRyMlFNRPEwghKwdTCtIdIZsH2_iHOhAgvMzf9bOQaX6uhuBg09JTNoY4F3A8s4oW0D3U0Otgc54HrJvZ6e4djjnslNJHTK7Em87Y955FNazYiFSYwwwjf/s1600-h/lady.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhansXWqRwtWInBpCXRyMlFNRPEwghKwdTCtIdIZsH2_iHOhAgvMzf9bOQaX6uhuBg09JTNoY4F3A8s4oW0D3U0Otgc54HrJvZ6e4djjnslNJHTK7Em87Y955FNazYiFSYwwwjf/s200/lady.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179459061545570194" /></a>communities brought bundled offerings of plants, corn, herbs, and other crops grown in their own fields. A pickup truck followed alongside the procession, blasting over a loudspeaker the songs being sung inside the cab by a woman playing guitar, while hundreds of people casually marched along, talking amongst themselves and munching on ice cream and toasted corn. Yet again, a breath of fresh air that Spain´s traditions didn´t fully ensue here: that scary men dressed in KKK outfits waving torches and playing scary music to a completely silent audience were nowhere to be found.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36821405.post-18055550665451242792008-03-10T12:56:00.005-04:002008-03-10T13:48:33.394-04:00Bailando la SalsaWhen Friday rolled around, it was time to party. Lauren & Ari came back to Quito, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_24pyTx9od7CQLqGCoVpQmxXqAuySAmYsI7tBIHwv4B9QZwucyu8vLZNmLWzyC7vAhvNuiNb4iUb8V9ceE0Ff0mZisEcOZNSmlh0Z-Mg1yJxqfu7-PLaXQTphMLdJpl3IrEpy/s1600-h/edison.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_24pyTx9od7CQLqGCoVpQmxXqAuySAmYsI7tBIHwv4B9QZwucyu8vLZNmLWzyC7vAhvNuiNb4iUb8V9ceE0Ff0mZisEcOZNSmlh0Z-Mg1yJxqfu7-PLaXQTphMLdJpl3IrEpy/s200/edison.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176166681350377250" /></a>and after a full week of researching volunteer projects and trying to get things in my life together (both here and back in California), I was ready to let loose -- especially since everything had so nicely and conveniently come together on Friday afternoon. My Ecuadorian friends had good reason for celebration too, since it was Edison´s birthday. After a couple of warm-up beers at a restaurant, the choice was clear: off to Seseribó for some salsa dancing!<br /><br />Seseribó is a salsateco right in the center of Quito. Unlike many other salsa venues in town, it is dedicated to ONLY playing salsa, and is frequented nightly by <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBad_6kl2BnpQEVafM16xowDAQOYrvqfh1DILTrhdEwRzCTIHWn7bN74yuGu7mkAuyj1SmVZpiy99g-5i2Hddn6bNg3CbHu3jSGDZjqAIpzcKxNDjmz9waqwxZnMaT0-oE8W3/s1600-h/laurenari.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjBad_6kl2BnpQEVafM16xowDAQOYrvqfh1DILTrhdEwRzCTIHWn7bN74yuGu7mkAuyj1SmVZpiy99g-5i2Hddn6bNg3CbHu3jSGDZjqAIpzcKxNDjmz9waqwxZnMaT0-oE8W3/s200/laurenari.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176167093667237682" /></a>the best salsa dancers in Ecuador. I mean, these folks know how to do salsa right. I could easily spend a whole evening gazing only at their feet... This was my second, and hopefully not my last, visit to Seseribó. All night long until 3am, we were treated to salsa pura y salsa vieja: classic and pure salsa, straight from the Caribbean and mostly from the golden salsa decades of long ago. Super divertido.Courtneyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10713616881623638637noreply@blogger.com0