That's all, folks

Now that I'm home, that will be the end of this blog. I could continue writing about my daily life in Mill Hall, but I think I would get bored writing it, let alone reading it.

I honestly thought no one would still be reading after week 3, so thank you to those of you who are still with me. Also thanks to everyone for your thoughts, prayers, letters, postcards, care packages, email, and happy mail that got me through one incredible experience.

I'm still uploading photos from the end of my travels. I'll also be tweaking some of my previous photos, now that I have that kind of technology.

Muchas gracias and haste luege.

South America: In Retrospect

I'm not quite sure how to sum up the last 9 months in one post, but I'm going to try. I know I'll think of other things to add long after I publish this post. But where to begin?

9 months and 6 countries. My passport is very nearly full. Only one page left. There are not many things more satisfying than a customs official searching through your passport, looking for a blank space to place his mark. But I collected so much more than stamps in a passport.

I learned more in these last 9 months than I ever have. I learned that some vegetables are not all bad, but that guinea pig definitely is. I learned alpaca burgers are one delicious meat, and that Argentines and Uruguayans know beef better than anyone else. I kind of learned the difference between ser and estar, but I never did figure out when to use por and para. I just pick one. I learned the real reason why you use "much" and not "many" and vice versa, as well as when to use the present perfect instead of the simple past tense. I learned how to salsa, but only kind of how to tango. And much, much more.

I also met more people this year than any previous years. I met some funny people, I met boring people, I met people I wish I hadn't, I met people I couldn't have lived without, I met people I forgot about the next day, I met people I won't ever forget.

People have been asking me what my favorite place I visited was, and I don't know how on earth I'm supposed to pick one. Of the countries I visited, I am and always will be the most loyal to Peru; it was my home for 6 months. One of these countries, Bolivia, is sadly on the brink of Civil War. The Peace Corps has gone so far as to evacuate all their workers. Lucky I got there when I did. Instead of picking one favorite, why don't I make a "best of" and "worst of" list. It's what everyone else does at the end of the year, so I'll do it for the end of my trip.

Best experience: teaching
Best flag: Cusco
Worst accent: Chile, I can't understand a word anyone said.
Best food: Argentina, no contest.
Worst meal: Cuy, no contest.
Best Amazing Race moment: Random Peruvian woman racing Peter and I to the bank.
Worst roommate: Templeton
Best Hike: The Inca Trail, obviously.
Best Island: Easter
Worst Name: Um, Hitler anyone?
Best Natural Wonder: This is a tough call. How do you choose between the Amazon, Lake Titicaca, and Iguazu Falls? I think I have to give it to Iguazu in a nail-biter, if only for the rainbows.
Best Moment Involving a Piece of Fruit: Feeding a banana to a monkey in the Amazon.
Worst Moment Involving a Piece of Fruit: Laying a banana peel out on the beach of Easter Island as a diversion for the flies. That was kinda gross.
Best weekend trip: Mindo, in Ecuador
Worst bus ride: Tres Cruces back to Cusco. Thought for sure I would lose my lunch.
Best dance: Salsa.
Best city: Buenos Aires

Since I've been home, I've had a few adjustments to make. I wouldn't think I would ever have to adjust to the ability to throw toilet paper in the toilet, and yet, that's been one of the hardest things to remember. It's also a bizarre thing to hear English conversations happening around me, as well as speaking English to waiters or store clerks. I have to stop myself from kissing people on the cheek when I see them so as not to seem alien. Shaking hands seems so stuffy.

What are the chances that I will go abroad for an extended period of time again? Very, very good.

The long, long, long journey home

I arrived at the airport on Thursday morning just after 4am, having not been to bed yet. I can honestly say that was a day I was not at all looking forward to. Not because I didn't want to go, but because of how long it was going to take to get there. On Tuesday night, I had had a dream where Holli showed up in Buenos Aires to give me my birthday gift- a copy of Stephenie Meyers' Breaking Dawn, which I have been dying to get my hands on- so that I would have something awesome to read while I sat and sat and sat on airplanes and airports and more airplanes and airports. Sadly, this did not happen in real life. Instead, I found a copy of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on the book exchange shelf in the hostel. I know I've already read it twice, but it's big and fat and downright entertaining.

When I arrived in Lima, I was happy to discover that my Spanish had improved just by changing location. I had a 50 sole note in my wallet, so I headed to a gift shop to use it up. I had no problems communicating with the store clerk, who kept adding up my purchases and telling me what else I could get with my leftover soles. He even told me my Spanish was very good and asked had I been in Peru long? Ha. You have no idea.

Then I flew to San Jose, Costa Rica, where I waited an excruciating 6 hours. Actually, I was thinking that it didn't seem so bad, until I got to those last 2 hours. Then I wasn't really sure if I could take it anymore. But Harry got me through, and I boarded the plane without losing my head.

I got extremely lucky on my last flight. I was the only one in my row of three seats, so as soon as I ate my meal, I stretched out across all three seats and actually managed to get some sleep.

The plane landed on time at 2:30am. True to reputation, everyone in the New York airport was rude to me. I didn't want to be there at 3am either, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Things improved drastically when I got to Alison's apartment. She had an air mattress all ready for me.

I spent Friday in Manhattan. My first stop was Serendipity's for a Frozen Hot Chocolate. The most amusing part of my day was when the woman at the table next to me asked the bus boy "Isn't this supposed to be hot?" The bus boy looked at her as if she had three heads and just walked away. She kept asking this question to her friend/sister/traveling partner, who was wearing a matching pink jogging suit, so I decided to speak up. I asked her if she had ordered the hot chocolate or the frozen hot chocolate, and she replied that she had ordered the frozen variety.
"Right," I said, "It's frozen."
"But why do they call it a hot chocolate? This is just a milkshake."
"No, there's no ice cream in it. It's a hot chocolate with ice."
"Well, I don't understand why it's called a hot chocolate."
"Have you ever heard of an iced coffee? It's like that, only way better."
"Oh."

Then the waiter appeared. "Isn't this supposed to be hot?," she asked him. Like talking to a wall.

Around 6:00, my parents showed up, and we went to dinner at a German restaurant in Brooklyn with Sajan and Alison. We finally arrived in Mill Hall just after midnight. After sleeping on bad mattresses with bad pillows and buses for 9 months, my bed felt amazing. I'm pretty sure it's the Most Comfortable Bed in the World.

The Finale

Like I said, Wednesday was my last day in South America, and my birthday, which meant I called the shots. First off, Maribeth and I headed to the Latin American Museum of Art, since it was a free day. We had stopped in on Monday, but didn't feel like paying 15 pesos ($5) to tour, which turned out to be a really good decision. First of all, the museum didn't have all that much in it. Second, what was there was mostly modern art, a genre that neither of us care for. As Maribeth says, art should be something that not everybody can do. I can paint a canvas solid red if I wanted to, but why would I? This exhibit was particularly bad. The artist seemed to be a sugar addict who can't clean up after himself. In one corner was a pile of lollipops. Genius. An entire room was devoted to pieces of candy lying on the floor in a rectangle shape. We both managed to take pictures (which I swear I'll get around to putting up) before a man came over and told us that pictures were strictly forbidden. I'm pretty sure the whole thing is one big joke.

Afterwards, we went to a much more interesting museum devoted to Eva Peron. Everything I knew about Evita prior to this I learned from Madonna, so it was good to get a bit more background information. Then, of course, I had to go back and eat The World's Greatest Pizza for the third time during my stay.

In the evening, Maribeth and I went out for a steak dinner, courtesy of Maribeth as a birthday gift, accompanied by a few people from our hostel. We split a steak, since they serve you practically half a cow, but boy was it tasty. Following dinner, I finally got to go to my tango show. The show was fantastic. The dancers make everything look so easy, but after taking a few lessons, I know just how hard it is. The show also included more traditional song and dance. Towards the end, the stage darkened, and a spotlight went up over a balcony off to the side. On the balcony, a woman who looked and sounded an awful lot like Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle, began belting out a rousing rendition of "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" in Spanish. Pure camp. It was great. Maribeth kept hitting me, due to the fact that I couldn't stop giggling. When we got back to the hostel, Fredrick from Sweden made everyone sing Happy Birthday to me, in Spanish. I don't like being sung to. It's really just awkward for everyone involved, but I survived.

The show ended at 11:30, which meant I had 4 hours until it was time to leave for the airport. I certainly wasn't going to bother with sleep, since I would be so paranoid about oversleeping that I would never actually fall asleep, so Maribeth, Marc from Wales, and I played several rounds of UNO before heading to a pub for a late night snack. When we returned, it was time for me to finish packing up all my stuff.

Birthday Madness

This is it. My last day in South America. It´s also my birthday. I think it´s appropriate that my last day here is my birthday. 25 was a really, really good year for me. Best ever.

I can´t believe it´s over, but I know it´s time. The other day I took a picture of myself in front of the Casa Rosada, and when I looked at it, I couldn´t believe how tired I looked.

But first, there is fun to be had. I´m so glad Maribeth was able to meet up with me here in BA. We´ve had a super fun and exciting past couple of days- year, really. She´s been busy telling everyone else here at the hostel that it´s my birthday, so I think we´ll have some good company tonight. The next 48 hours will be crazy. Here´s the rundown.

• Museums, since Wednesday is free admission day
• Shopping
• Steak dinner
• Tango show
• Staying awake until it´s time to go to the airport, which will be around 3:30 in the morning- an early evening in this town
• Flying from Buenos Aires to Lima
• Flying from Lima to San Jose, Costa Rica
• Spending a whopping 6 hours in San Jose
• Flying from San Jose to JFK in New York
• Arriving in NYC at 2:30am
• Taking a taxi to Alison´s apartment in Brooklyn, where she has so wonderfully agreed to let me crash. Thanks bunches, and to Sajan too.
• Killing time in NYC- not too hard to do
• Driving back to Mill Hall Friday night
  

Whew. I think I´m too old for this.

A Night at the Opera

There was no need to worry about dressing appropriately for the opera. It was certainly not a black tie event. First of all, the show started at 6pm, practically a matinee, especially in this town where dinner isn´t until 10pm, and the nightclubs don´t get going until 2am.

We sat practically in the rafters, but that didn´t really matter. The show was in French. I was surprised to see that they had Spanish subtitles on a screen above the stage. I found them a bit distracting, so I pretty much ignored them. The gist of the show was that Agamemmnon- the daughter of Oedipus if I remember correctly from my Biblical and Classical Literature class in college- was very, very sad because her whole family was dead. Unbeknownst to her, she had a brother in jail. Just as she was about to execute her brother, she realized he was her brother and they hugged. Everyone lived happily ever after. Or something like that. When it was all over, there was the world´s longest curtain call. It was as if they didn´t really know how to do a curtain call, all looking at one another for when they should bow, and pulling people out of the wings. But despite the finale awkwardness, it was a delightful evening at the opera.

Like a Chameleon

While in Peru, I stood out as a gringa. Everyone knew that I wasn´t a local. In Chile, I blended in a lot more. In Argentina, everyone assumes I´m a local. I look more like a local than the locals do. All I need is a cigarette in one hand and a mate in the other, and I´m set. How do I know this? Because everyone asks me for directions. At least once a day, sometimes more. The other day, I was asked for directions twice in 20 minutes while waiting to meet someone. While waiting for Maribeth to change money on Saturday, a woman walked up to me and asked, ¿Vives aca? Do you live here? You´d think walking around with a pale blond English girl would give it away that I am not, in fact, a local, but even with Maribeth around, I´m still being asked for directions. And they go straight for me, while ignoring her. I usually just give them a blank look and say No se.

In other observations, Argentinians smoke more than you can possibly imagine. They also really really like their sweets. I can´t find a decent grocery store, but there are entire stores full of sweets all over the place. Argentina has the highest rate of eating disorders- or so I´ve heard- in the world, I guess because it´s all sugar and smoking.

Reunited

Good news: my second and third tango lessons were much more successful than the first. I´m almost ready to start dancing in the street for donations in a hat.

Yesterday morning, Maribeth arrived for a reunion of girls who prefer i´s to y´s. Quite nice to have a friend again, although without Ashley we´re not quite complete. We went into the city center yesterday to look into tickets at the Teatro Colón, a very famous theater here in BA. When we got there, however, we found out that the theater is closed for renovations for the next two years. This has been a disturbing trend in my travels. I was also unable to tour the Casa Rosada- presidential residence- due to renovations as well. I guess I´ll just have to come back in a few years. We stopped at another theater to look at what was happening there. There appeared to be an opera performance tonight, so we bought tickets in the nose bleed section. When we got back to the hostel, we googled it, and found out that it is indeed an opera. Iphigénie en Tauride, a french opera based on a Greek tragedy. I´m predicting everyone will end up dead in the end. I´m hoping we´re not expected to wear anything fancy. I had an image of arriving in my only skirt and hiking boots. Jeans will have to do.

This morning we wandered around San Telmo, the neighborhood I´m calling home during my stay. There is a huge antiques market on Sundays, so we walked around, admiring all the old telephones, cameras, gramophones, etc. and watching street tango performances. Then we hoofed it down to the La Boca neighborhood, a very colorful- literally- barrio south of San Telmo. All the buildings are brightly painted, and artists sell their creations on the street. It´s a very fun and cheerful neighborhood. Unfortunately, the areas beyond the beaten path are very dangerous.

And now, it´s off to the opera...

Deliciousness

Normally, while traveling, I don´t pay much attention to food. I forget about it really, as I´m too busy to sit down and have a meal, then I just cook myself some pasta or something in the hostel kitchen to save money. In Buenos Aires, it´s hard to forget about the food. It´s an attraction on it´s own. The steaks, the pizza, the ice cream... it´s all good. So instead of fighting it, I´m just going to enjoy it. I have 6 days left. I´m officially on vacation. They may have to roll me onto the airplane, but who cares? Argentina is no place for calorie counting.

T-A-N-G-O

Last night I went to my first tango lesson. I´m pretty terrible. I say this with the comfort of knowing that when I started with salsa, I was also pretty terrible. But the tango is not salsa.

I pretty much have to be de-programmed from salsa. The instructor kept telling me to stop moving my hips, and everytime I was at a salsa lesson, they kept telling me to move my hips more. I´m not quite sure how it´s possible to keep your mid-section straight, chin up, but to relax your shoulders. I was a bit tense. But I am very, very determined, and therefore, giving it another go tonight.

What's new, Buenos Aires?

Due to popular demand (from my mother) I decided I better update this thing. I'm getting lazy in the last days. The pictures, on the other hand, may just have to wait until I get back.

I've finally made it to Buenos Aires. My last stop. Starting in Quito and ending in Buenos Aires is not too shabby. I arrived yesterday via boat from Colonia, Uruguay. Colonia was built as a Portuguese smuggling port in the 17th century, and it's full of cobblestone streets and cute old buildings. Luckily, I had a much nicer day in Colonia than I had had in Montevideo.

After arriving in BA, I decided to stroll around the center of the city to get a feel for it. I like it. A lot. My hostel is named after Carlos Gardel, the inventor of the tango, and it has a very tango decor. (What is a tango decor? you ask. I don't know, it just is.) During my walk around the city, I grabbed a slice of pizza for lunch. It was, believe it or not, the Best Pizza I've Ever Had. And I have eaten a lot of pizza in my day. Definitely more than the average human being. It's going to be hard to avoid eating that pizza every day I'm here.

While I was walking back to my hostel that evening, I noticed a group of people gathering around something. When I got closer, I realized they were watching dancers. My first tango show! At first, they just seemed to be posing with tourists for photos. Finally, they got around to actually dancing. Now I'm hooked. I must learn how to do that in a week. Later, a police officer growled at me. That was a first.

Today I toured the Recoleta neighborhood. Recoleta is the Beverly Hills or the Upper East Side of BA. It's also where they bury dead people. So naturally my first stop was the Recoleta Cemetery. It's not so much a cemetery, but a small city. It would be very easy to get lost in there, as well as spend hours and hours just taking pictures of all the fancy tombs. I opted not to buy a map, but instead followed the crowd of people in order to find Eva Peron. Sure enough, the largest group of people was standing in front of her grave. I paid my respects to Evita, snapped a few pictures, and wandered around the necropolis for awhile, until I kept asking myself Have I seen this one yet? Didn't I already take a picture of this one? And moved on.

On Saturday, one of my other halves (wait, if there are two others, does that make it a third? I was always bad at fractions) in Cusco, Maribeth, will be arriving. v. v. excited for the reunion.

Staying warm and dry in Montevideo

Weather-wise, Uruguay has been downright miserable. On Friday, I planned to explore Montevideo. It was cold, gray, and sometimes rainy. The kind of day that makes you want to sit inside with a good book on a cozy sofa, but when you´re living in hostels, this isn´t really an option. Besides, how often is one in Uruguay?

On my venture around the city, I stopped in more shops than usual, just to get out of the cold. Or the rain, if that´s what it was doing at the time. Montevideo is a beatiful city, even with a gray background. The architecture makes it look like a stand-in for Gotham City. I wandered in and out of museums and shops and beautiful buildings that seemed to come straight from Europe, including the Theatro Solis, the city´s main theater, and poked around until someone told me to get lost (which no one ever did), so I opened a door and found myself in the theater equivalent of a luxury box. Very fancy theater, could be straight out of Vienna. I found a cafe with some tasty hot chocolate to warm myself up, then spent the evening at the hostel, chatting with the other guests on the rooftop bar, where I learned they were even forecasting SNOW for the next day. This is a very, very unusual cold snap for this region of the world. That´s like predicting snow in Georgia in late March.

It did not, however, snow on Saturday, it just rained a very cold rain all day. I went with a new German friend to Punte del Este, which is THE beach resort in Uruguay in the summer. No, it´s not summer, but we wanted to go anyway. Somehow, she managed to get us a 20% discount on our bus tickets, even though she only asked for 10%. Too bad I can´t keep her around a bit longer. As soon as we got off the bus, we saw the Los Dedos sculpture in the sand. (My picture didn´t turn out that well. No blue sky.) I realized that just two weeks ago, I was dipping my toes in the Pacific, and now here I was, looking out at the Atlantic. My multiple layers of clothing told me that dipping my toes in at this juncture might actually cause them to fall off.

This morning, the sun was actually kinda-sorta out, and it wasn´t as cold as the previous two days, so I went for a walk to take pictures of some things I hadn´t bothered to take pictures of before. When I arrived at the Plaza Independencia, there was a section of the street blocked off. First, I noticed a group of people wrapped in blankets. Then lights. Then cameras. Then a street sign indicating 42nd St. Then a... NYC taxi? In Montevideo? The people in blankets were actors, (dressed for warmer NY weather, I suppose) and they had attempted to make this corner of Montevideo a stand in for New York City. For a movie, for tv, for a Uruguayan telenovella, I have no idea. I stood around and watched for a bit, but not much was happening. I got excited when the actors started shedding their blankets, and a woman pulled out a bullhorn, but then something held them up, and the blankets went on again, and I got bored. The women all wore high heels, the men business suits and overcoats, and they found a few people to make it racially diverse. I kept thinking maybe they would point to me and say "You! American! We need you in this shot!," but I was apparently not meant for Uruguayan stardom. Maybe next time.

Summer to winter in one day

What a difference 24 hours makes. Within one day´s time, I went from needing a cold drink and some air conditioning, to needing hot chocolate and a warm blanket. Let´s back up...

On Tuesday, I went back to the park in Iguazu. There was a short hiking trail I hadn´t had time to do on Sunday, so I set out on that. I got to the park early, and was the first one on the trail. The trail ended at another "hidden" waterfall and pool. Thought about stripping down for a swim, but that was about the time someone else showed up, and I´m too much of a prude American for that. (And we really are prudes, you know.)

Afterwards, I took a boat across about 50 yards of rapidly moving water to an island in front of the falls. It was very, very hot. I got a nice shower from the mist of the falls, which felt good temporarily, but it only made things hotter once I was out of the mist.

When I had seen everything there was to see in the park, I went back to town and hopped a bus to San Ignacio. (See previous post.) I stayed in San Ignacio for the night, then hopped a bus to Posadas, where I could catch a bus to Concordia, where I could cross the border into Uruguay and catch a bus to Montevideo. Whew.

In Posadas, I had about 3 hours to kill before my bus left at 5pm. I decided to go into town and get lunch. According to Lonely Planet, I needed bus 21, so I got on bus 21. Only bus 21 didn´t go into town. It went in the opposite direction. I sat on the bus for the full loop. Luckily, it was a short route. I´m sure the bus driver thought I was an idiot, but he must be kind to idiots, because he gave me a ticket to catch another, more appropriate bus. Which I didn´t end up using, as time was ticking.

I found a paradilla across from the bus terminal. It was so hot, all I wanted was some ice cold water, but I knew that would take a miracle. I ordered a water sin gas, and the menu of the day without really knowing what it was (My, how I´ve changed!). The waiter was obviously some sort of angel, because he brought me a bottle straight from the refrigerator, along with a glass full of ice. I thanked him profusely, then ordered another. The menu del dia turned out to be a salad- with lettuce and everything!- bread, and a load of some sort of really good beef. He even offered me more beef when I had finished, but there was no way I could eat anymore. It was a good thing I ate so much, though, because I left my bag 'o food in a bathroom of the bus terminal. I´m getting sloppy in these final days...

My bus arrived in Concordia, Argentina at 1am. I couldn´t get a bus into Uruguay until 7am, so I took a taxi across the border. My taxi driver, Carlos, was super chatty. He showed me his collection of coins from all over the world. Not places he´s ever been, but from people he has driven in his cab. I didn´t have any American money on me, but I did contribute a few Chilean pesos and Peruvian soles to his collection. He actually offered me Argentine pesos in exchange, but seeing as how I had given him about 62 cents, I didn´t really think it was necessary.

I crossed the border without problems, but the bag inspection was by far the most thorough I´ve been through. The guy actually went through everything with a flashlight, taking everything out, looking through my shoes, my book, my journal, and all the pockets. This did not make me happy, since packing my bag is an exact science, and I didn´t feel like doing it again in the cold of 2am.

The first bus from Salto to Montevideo was at 6:30am, so I spent 4 hours in the middle of the night in a freezing bus station in a hard, plastic chair. It was all very glamorous, I tell you. When my bus finally arrived in Montevideo (an hour and a half late), I was starving, so I headed to the Mercado del Puerto, where they served me half a cow. (and a salad) It was definitely The Best Steak I´ve Ever Had. And that´s not because I was so hungry, it was just that good.

Here in Uruguay, it´s still winter. I went from shorts and a tank top (and hiking boots, I looked like such a backpacker!) to my jacket, scarf, and hat. But at least I don´t look like such a tourist, right?

Lonely Planet vs. Rick

I´ve been meaning to write this post for some time, but then I keep doing things to actually write about.

For this trip, I´m traveling with the aid of Lonely Planet´s South America on a Shoestring. Normally, I would be using Rick Steves, but Rick sticks to Europe, so that´s not really a possibility.
I can´t say enough good things about Rick. Holli and I have had some really really good trips thanks to Rick. He tells you exactly where to go and what to see, and even includes possible itineraries so you know what to see and when. With the exception of our dad of course, we say that he´s the only man that´s never let us down (ahem). He´s that good.

Lonely Planet, on the other hand, is no Rick. Lonely Planet has let me down several times. Take today, for example. I´m in San Ignacio, Argentina. The main attraction here are the ruins from an old Jesuit settlement. According to Lonely Planet, there are "several bizarre museums" as you enter the complex. With several museums to tour and the city worth of ruins, I assumed it would take half a day, maybe more. There were not several bizarre museums, there was one normal, very informative museum, and therefore, the whole thing took an hour and a half. It was still an interesting place to visit, and a good way to break up my trip to Uruguay, but still annoying.

The biggest problem is that Lonely Planet casts their nets a bit too wide. They publish guides for every place on the planet. Since Rick stays in Europe, everything´s more carefully researched and more recently published. My problem with Lonely Planet is also that everything´s out of date. I have the most recent book, but it´s several years old already. In Santiago, I was wandering around, looking for an English bookstore mentioned in LP. I heard two men speaking English at a cafe table, so I asked them if they knew of it. They told me it no longer existed. Turns out, one guy had spent that whole morning looking for it, while the other, who had been living there for awhile, said he tried to find it a whole year ago and couldn´t. Good thing I ran into them. It saved me a lot of Lonely Planet-induced frustration.

I miss Rick...

Poor Niagara

I feel sorry for Niagara Falls. They don´t stand a chance next to their South American counterpart, Iguazu. Iguazu makes Niagra look a bit like a leaky faucet.

When I got to town yesterday, I decided to head over to the Falls around noon, which proved to be a good move. You can spend a lot of time at that park. For some reason, something about the park reminded me a bit of Disney World. Maybe it was taking the shuttle from town, and then taking a small train to get around (because it´s that big), or all the families and strollers and the expensive food. Either way, that really didn´t diminish what I was seeing at all.

The first thing I did was take the train to the far end of the park. From there, I walked along a series of catwalks over the Rio Iguazu to the viewing point of The Devil´s Throat. I was pretty stunned at the sheer volume of water. It wasn´t even possible to see the bottom, due to all the mist being sprayed up by the falls, which also got me pretty wet. No wonder they were selling ponchos all over the place.

Afterwards I hiked two other trails to see more falls. I got really really wet in one spot, and saw lots and lots of rainbows. And thus took lots and lots of pictures.

This morning, I decided to do a little adventuring. I hiked, I climbed rocks, I zip-lined across the canopy, I climbed a squirmy rope ladder, I zip-lined across the canopy again, then repelled back down the rocks. It was pretty cool. To get back to town, we took a boat down the river. From the river, we entered the waters of both Brazil and Paraguay. If you´re wondering why I´m not going to the Brazilian side to see the falls from there, it´s because of all the stupid and very expensive visa regulations. Same thing with Paraguay, although not nearly as expensive as Brazil, I´d rather spend extra time here and in Buenos Aires. But I guess I can say I´ve been in them, just haven´t actually set foot in them. I don´t think that makes much sense.

Welcome to Argentina, Enjoy the Beef

Last week, I left Chile for Argentina. (And in case you´re wondering, yes, the soundtrack from Evita has been running on continuous loop in my head.) On Wednesday, I took a bus from Santiago to Mendoza. In order to do this, I had to cross a serious mountain range. The border itself was high up in the mountains. There was several feet of snow, and it was freezing. We had to wait for a few buses to go through in front of us, and all I had to eat all morning was a dry cheese sandwich they gave us on the bus. I went into a sandwich shop and ordered a burger. Eating burgers in Peru was like a Where´s the Beef? commercial. All bread with a thin, tiny beef patty. That´s why I was so shocked when they handed me my burger here. It was easily as big as my head, with at least 3 huge beef patties. There may have been more, but I lost count. It was as if they were saying, "Welcome to Argentina, here´s all the beef you´ve been missing in the last 8 months."

In Mendoza, I didn´t do much, but I took the time to get a few things organized, like when and how I´m coming home. (September 18th) I went to the bus station to figure out how to get to Puerto Iguazu, which is where I sit right now. The bus trip was 36 hours and cost well over $100. Instead of doing it all in one shot, I made a brilliant move. I took an overnight bus halfway, to a town called Santa Fe. In Santa Fe, I got off the bus, bought my bus ticket for another overnight trip to Iguazu, stored my bags, ate lunch, and walked around town. It was a nice town to walk around in, lots of shops, and a path along the river. At 5:30, I got back on the bus. Only this was a nice bus, like traveling first class. I might never go back. Why was splitting it up so brilliant? Obviously I didn´t have to spend 36 straight hours on a bus. However, it was also much cheaper. I managed to save about $40. And somehow, even with the 6 hour break, I only arrived an hour after the 36 hour marathon would have. Sometimes, it´s like I actually know what I´m doing.

But after 2 straight nights on a bus, I´m ready for a bed.

Easter Island: Days 4&5

As a reward for two of the best travelling days possibly ever, we went to the beach on Monday. The beach is on the opposite side of the island, but a crazy taxi driver took us there and back. He insisted on showing us a photo of the sunset, and next to the sun was a spot, or as he liked to call it, a UFO. I think he needed to clean his camera lens.



The beach was not your average beach. It had nice white sand and blue, clear water, but also maoi and wild horses roaming around. I even saw one of the horses walk to the shoreline and drink from the water. Saltwater. Huh. Very pleasent day on the beach, even if I only dipped my toes in. Everyone else said the water was "nice" but water temperature is subjective, and I am a cold water weenie, a trait I picked up from my mother.



On Tuesday morning, it was time for me to go home. Well, not home, but back to the mainland. Peter was staying for a bit longer, although what he will be doing, I have no idea. We saw the whole island, it's not very big.



At the airport, I had my first casualty. I stopped at the snack bar for a fresh passion fruit juice, and it wasn't until I was on the plane that I realized I had left my sweatshirt on my chair. It was a thrift store purchase, so the net loss is about $3, but I loved that sweatshirt. It reminded me of Rainbow Brite.

Easter Island: Day 3

Sunday morning, we had to figure out how to get around. The feet weren´t cutting it, and the sightseeing agenda for that day didn´t really allow it. A car would have been great, but we didn´t have that luxury. Peter suggested we go out Saturday night, and I find myself a man to drive me and "my brother" around the island. I didn´t really appreciate the suggestion that I pimp myself out to enhance his sightseeing pleasure. Besides, I didn´t think it would work out so well, what with my dirty clothes (I really need to find a lavanderia), unwashed hair, and something crusty developing under my nose. I suggested he find a lady friend, but he pointed out that women in South America don´t have cars. This is true.

So, we rented bikes. First thing on Sunday morning, everything was closed, so we followed the music, until we got to church. The service was in the Rapa Nui language and included some cool, very un-church like music. After awhile, we headed back to the bike shop, which had since opened.

The ride out was fairly easy. There wasn´t much uphill and the wind was at our backs. We stopped at several sites on the way to Rano Raraku, mostly with fallen maoi, victims of warfare. The wind was intense, and it rained off and on, but was nice by the time we got to Rano Raraku.

Rano Raraku is the quarry where the maoi were built. There are hundreds of unfinished maoi, most of which are just the heads, just waiting to be finished or moved. Some are still in the ground, never having been chipped out. It begs the questions: why did they suddenly stop making them? Why did they destroy them? What were they doing with them in the first place? Fascinating stuff. At Rano Raraku, you can walk right up to the giant maoi heads- but don´t touch!- so we took lots and lots of pictures before heading down to Ahu Tongariki, a site of 15 maoi all lined up.

The ride home was a lot more difficult than I expected. We cut across the middle of the island, which I swear went straight uphill for several miles. Not only that, but we were riding into intense wind. Impossible to get any kind of momentum going. My legs weren´t working anymore, so I had to push the bike.

Obviously the highlight of Easter Island is the maoi and all the mysteries surrounding them, but the island itself isn´t too bad. Volcanic craters, impressive coastline, and wild horses roaming around everywhere. Very cool place.

Easter Island: Day 2

Saturday. Best travel day in a long time. Started off the day by hiking to Rano Kau, a crater lake south of the city. On the way, we acquired a family of dogs, including a little puppy only a few weeks old. Everytime we stopped, the puppy stopped. When we started up again, so did she. Peter suggested she was after the peanut butter and banana sandwich in my backpack, so I named the dog Skippy. (Back story: I intended to get jelly at the supermarket to go with my peanut butter, but the only supermarket in town didn´t have jelly. Only three aisles, and one of them was all wine. So I went with bananas instead, which the German thought was disgusting. I made him try it later, and he admitted it was quite delicious. Victory!)

When we arrived at Rano Kau, the scene was impressive. On the other side of the crater was the Orongo ceremonial site, from which you could see a small island out in the ocean. Male members of the birdman cult would swim out to the island (above, left), and the first one to retrieve an egg was declared the Birdman. The distance doesn´t look too far, but it was incredibely windy, and the sea was really rough. When we went to the park rangers office to pay our entrance, the ranger addressed the papa dog by name. We asked if he knew the dogs. He said the papa dog walks up there 2 or 3 times a day with tourists. Then he told us we had to take the dogs back down, otherwise the rangers have to drive them back to town at the end of the day. This was a problem with Skippy, whose little legs were just too tired from the long climb up. So, I put her in my backpack. It was just adorable, I tell you.

After reuniting Skippy with his 8 brothers and sisters, we kept walking. We hoofed it out of the other side of town for more maoi and more ruins. It proved to be a very long walk. Energy we had, but feet we didn´t. We were both having issues with feet, but Peter told me an old German proverb about shared pain being half the pain. I didn´t really feel in any less pain after that.

Eventually we found the village we were looking for next to the skeleton of a dead horse. Another 20 minutes down the road, we found the 7 maoi we were looking for (above, right), although we didn´t see them right away. How we missed 7 huge stone men on the side of the road, I have no idea. Must have been that tired.

We were hoping to hitch a ride back to town, so whenever I heard a car pull up, I started visibly limping. (People on Easter Island are really that friendly. Anytime we pulled out a map, someone was immediately pulling over to ask us if we needed help.) A tour bus pulled over and told us they had two available seats in the back if we wanted a ride, so we hopped on. We assumed their tour was over and they were headed back to town, but they apparently had one stop to make at a volcano. I thought for sure they were going to charge us after that. I felt like a bit of an intruder listening to the guide, so we hung back. But we did find out that the driver, who was wearing a funny headdress and carrying a fancy big stick, was doing so because they belonged to his great-great-great-great grandfather, a former Rapa Nui king. Cool.

When we got back to town, they tried to drop us off at our hostel, but we assured them the city center was sufficient (needed more groceries anyway) and they would not even hear of accepting money for the ride. Somehow, the people on the island are even friendly than Chileans on the mainland.

Easter Island: Day 1

Way back at the beginning of the month, while still in Lima, I paid a visit to the South American Explorers clubhouse for a little advice. While I was there, I talked to a man who had just returned from Easter Island. I told him my plans to go, and how excited I was. I asked him what he thought of it. His response was "I´ll tell you it was great since you´re so excited." He said all the maoi looked the same. Now, I´m glad I didn´t listen to him, because I know he is an idiot.

I left the hostel early Friday morning with Peter, a German backpacker on the same flight. I´ve never visited a place where people were more interested in the landing as they were on this one. As the plane began it´s descent, everyone craned their necks to see out the window and many grabbed their cameras. I definitely couldn´t see any maoi from the air, but there was an excitment on the plane I don´t think I´ve experienced before.

The German and I left the airport (one gate, only a few flights a week) to go to our hostel. While waiting for our room to be ready, we drank bright pink Kool-Aid prepared by the owner´s shirtless son. Island living.

We walked through town, which is the only town on the island, and not much, and out to the first maoi site. The first glimpse of maoi ranks way up there, and it was only a small taste. First thoughts: I think I´m gonna like it here. After a trip to the local museum to learn about all the theories behind the maoi, I was very excited to explore the rest of the island.

The first day brought me two other great joys: The ability to drink tap water AND flush paper down the toilet. When I first used the bathroom, I noticed the abscence of a bin, and kept thinking, what am I supposed to do with the paper? It was an embarassingly long time before I thought of the possibility of actually flushing it down the toilet. I stood there and watched, waiting for something terrible to happen. When it didn´t, I left the bathroom thinking, I am totally badass.

Tomorrow, I will hopefully be in Mendoza, Argentina, and should be able to upload some pictures. To be continued...

Taking a Mini-Break

Went to a winery today. They let us keep the glass we used for the tasting, but I´m willing to bet mine won´t make it home in one piece.

Tomorrow, I´m flying to EASTER ISLAND. You know, the one with all those huge statues, that no one can figure out. The most remote inhabited island in the world. I´m PUMPED to say the least. This is kind of like Machu Picchu for me. Something I´ve been waiting for for a whole long time. I only hope that, like Machu Picchu, it´s able to live up to my lofty expectations.

Rumor has it that internet access costs an arm and a leg out there. I don´t have an arm and a leg to give, so chances are good that I will spend my time on the world´s most isolated island being, well, isolated. I will, of course, chronicle my trip in great detail (and post thousands of pictures of giant stone heads) upon my return to the mainland. Chao for now!

Country Roads, Take Me Home...

The hostel where I am currently residing in Santiago is a bit cluttered, to put it in polite terms. While rummaging through a pile of magazines, I found a National Geographic from 1994. One of the cover stories was titled "Central Pennsylvania." How odd that I would travel so far, and in Santiago de Chile stumble upon a 14-year old article about my homeland.

The article was written by an Altoona native returning home, and on the second page there were several substatial paragraphs about Lock Haven, along with a photo of a hang glider off Hyner Mountain. In 1994, the levee was just being built, and the town was still divided over it, which is what the author focuses on. He should have assured them not to worry, they could fight over consolidation in a few years. Don´t know what they´re fighting over now.

The mention of Peachy Paterno at the University Creamery at Penn State made my mouth water (but for Coconut Chip, not Peach Paterno, which I´ve never had), not to mention shoefly pie. Not together, obviously, that would be silly.

The other day, for the 857th time, I was asked which part of the US I hail from. And for the 325th time, the persons response to "Pennsylvania" was "Like Dracula?" So in honor of this nearly ancient National Geographic article, here is a list of differences between Pennsylvania and Transylvania.

Pennsylvania Transylvania

Location The United States, Romania, Europe
North America

Cuisine Shoefly pie, Tastykakes, Um, don´t actually know
Utz potato chips

Famous sons/ Will Smith, Michael Dracula
daughters Scott (fictional)

Politicians James Buchanon, Vlad the Impaler
Tom Ridge (Dracula)

Hero Ryan Howard (non-fictional) Jonathan Harker


Famous exports Dunder-Mifflin paper, Gymnasts,
Little League vampires



So there you have it. Very, very different.

Selling out in Santiago

Today, I sold out. Big time. And it felt good.

I arrived in Santiago around 6am. I went to my hostel, I took a nap. I woke up two hours later. I was hungry. I decided to get started with the city, I would go on the self-guided walking tour provided in my Lonely Planet book. (LP is no Rick Steves. More on LP vs. Rick later.) But first, I had to find some food. By the time I got my metro card and got to the center and couldn´t find the mystery cafe recommended by said tour book, it was after 11. I spotted a Burger King. I sold out for the first time today. But man did that Whopper and fries taste good.

A few hours later, I was towards the end of my tour and on my way to the Presidential Palace when I spotted a Dunkin´Donuts. No big deal, except that through the window I could see blueberry muffins. I heart blueberries. A lot. Eat them by the handful and love them in muffins and pancakes. I have been in South America for nearly 8 months and this is the first time I´ve spotted them in any way, shape, or form. Not even in huge produce markets that have everything other fruit known to man. I don´t even know the word in Spanish for blueberry. I had to have one. I started eating the muffin while walking, but that just didn´t feel right, so I sat down on a bench and savored it. It was perfection.

So good ahead and judge me for my shameless exploitation of Western commercialism. I don´t care.

Backing up

Hmmm, now that I´m actually moving, I´m falling behind. Let me back up.

Sunday morning (at least I think it was Sunday morning, I keep losing track of the days) I took a bus from Caldera to La Serena, and I arrived in La Serena mid-afternoon. My first thoughts upon arrival were that I had taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in Europe. The architecture, the streets, the fact that absolutely nothing was open on a Sunday afternoon...

I took a walk around town, but nothing was open and there were no people anywhere. Luckily, my hostel, which was a bit over my nightly budget, was well worth it and worthy of hanging out. I had a room with a king-sized bed- or maybe it just seemed king sized since I´ve been sleeping on beds that can barely pass for twins- cable tv, and hot water. I was able to take my first real shower in, er, I probably shouldn´t say, but I did wash my hair for the first time in 2 weeks. And before you tell me how gross that is, let me tell you that you wouldn´t have been able to notice. It really wasn´t that bad. (But still had sand in it from sandboarding.)

On Monday I was pretty disappointed to discover that the two things I had on my agenda- Japanese gardens and a museum- were closed. Sooooo, I walked around a lot, snapping pictures of the architecture. I wandered into a department store (mostly just to use the bathroom. Which I had to pay for. My bladder is not cut out for this continent.) I walked down to the beach and the lighthouse. I ate a long lunch. In the market square, there was a Menudo-like singing trio performing. I couldn´t stop listening to them, mostly because of their exaggerated passion. They made me laugh. (And they weren´t supposed to.) I first spotted them around noon. When I went back through at six, they were just finishing up. That´s dedication. Best of luck to them.

Close Call

On Friday, I got on the bus headed south to Caldera, a beach town 12 hours away. After my run-in with the bus lady, an apparent follower of Voldemort, I was a bit nervous that I wouldn´t make it out of San Pedro. Mostly because she didn´t actually give me a new ticket, she just wrote the new time and seat number on the old one. I asked if I needed a new one, she said it wasn´t necessary, and I certainly didn´t want to insist on a new one. No need to upset the beast.

The journey was supposed to take 12 hours, but that didn´t happen. First of all, our bus disappeared for an hour in Antofagasta, for reasons unknown. We were all made to get off the bus, then the bus left and did not return for over an hour. I´m very grateful that it did, as all I had was my messenger bag, but at least that meant I had Lonely Planet and my camera. Money belt with money and passport were, of course, under my clothes.

The bus actually dropped me off in Copiapo, 40 minutes from Caldera. From there, I took yet another bus, which was supposed to leave 5 minutes after I arrived, but 5 minutes became 35 minutes. By the time I arrived in Caldera, it was midnight.

Caldera is a beach resort town, but despite the warm weather year-round, was completely deserted as it is winter. I knew that coming in, but I wanted to go to a beach that wasn´t socked in by cold fog caused by the Humbolt Current. On Saturday morning I packed a beach backpack and headed for the water. The beach was a bit industrial looking, so I took a collectivo to the next beach over in Bahía Inglesa, where the sand was white and the water true blue. The sun was warm, but the breeze chilly. I didn´t actually strip down to my bathing suit, but it was nice to sit on the beach with a book, and explore the rocky coastline down the beach.

For lunch, I went to an empanada joint across the street from the beach. I ordered beef, chicken, and cheese, and took it back to the beach for a picnic. After about 3 bites, I still hadn´t gotten any meat, so I peeked inside. In it was something pink. Pink... pink? Uh-oh. It couldn´t be... shrimp?! It was shrimp! Can you imagine? What if I had taken a bite of the other side first. Oh the horror! I may have learned to eat a few new things this year, but seafood is and will never be, one of them. I went back to the empanada shop. Just after I handed him back my seafood tainted empanada, another man walked in with one missing a bite. Presumably my meat and cheese. Eventually, I got the right one, and all was right with the world. Especially because it was a ridiculously delicious empanada.

One Bad Apple

Just so no one gets the wrong impression of Chile, thanks to a certain bus ticket agent two stops back, let me tell you: she was an extreme exception to the rule here. Every other person I´ve met in over a week in Chile has gone out of their way to be helpful and hospitable. In San Pedro, I was having a hard time finding an available hostel. At one hostel that was over my nightly budget, the woman offered to call a friend of hers who also ran a hostel. The friend actually drove over to pick me up in his van. At that same hostel, the woman there told me to please, stay as long as I liked after I asked to stay an extra night. Then she thanked me when I left.

I arrived at my last stop, Caldera, at midnight. The taxi driver insisted on carrying my heavy bags. The owner of the hostel answered the door in his robe and slippers. He showed me around, despite the late hour, and in the morning, asked if I had slept well. I hadn´t, but it wasn´t his fault. It was more because I had spent 15 hours the previous day sitting on a bus. And the stupid rooster in the yard.

Today, in La Serena, I sat down to a long lunch this afternoon. The man at the table next to me struck up a conversation, and insisted on buying me a coffee. (I opted for hot chocolate.) He told me he likes to meet new people and practice his English, as he travels to the US frequently for business. When I told him where in the States I´m from, he responded with the old line, "Are all the girls in Pennsylvania as pretty as you?" This is a can´t win question. There´s no answer to that. Answering either yes or no gives the appearance of arrogance. Then he told me he was sure he had seen me before in that particular restaurant. I told him that was impossible, as I had never been to that restaurant before, let alone La Serena or even Chile, and he said maybe it was just in his dreams. Ugh. You have no idea how much willpower it took not to roll my eyes at that one.

Anyway, I digress. My point to this whole story is that Chileans are incredibly friendly. So much so that I´m convinced the bus lady comes from somewhere else.

Deserts and Geysers and Frostbite, oh my

Current location: San Pedro de Atacama, a small town in the Atacame Desert, the world´s highest and driest. Wednesday morning, I rented a bike and rode out into the desert. In about 20 minutes, I arrived at some more Incan ruins. I swear one of these days I will be finished with Inca ruins, but apparently that time has not yet arrived.

After about an hour, I hopped back on my bike. It wasn´t an easy ride; it was every so slightly uphill (only noticeable if you´re on a bike), at a high altitude, went through deep sand that was hard to peddle through, and despite being in a desert, crossed a few streams that I hesitantly navigated. It was also very bumpy. I stood up a lot to avoid a bruised bum, but to no avail. I´m very sore.
But the scenery was amazing. I stopped to take pictures, but limited myself because I knew they would all look the same in the end. The ride back was much easier, downhill, and this time I didn´t hesitate, I sped through the streams, spraying water all over myself.

In the afternoon and evening, I went on a sunset tour of the Moon Valley. We had a few stops first, including a viewpoint of Dead Valley (I don´t know if it´s supposed to be Death Valley, but all the guides translate it as Dead Valley, so I´m just going with it), which inspired an "oh, wow" moment upon first glimpse. The sunset was pretty great, turning the mountains red and purple.

I didn´t sleep really at all last night, mostly because I knew I had to be up at 3:30am for a 4am pick-up time for a tour. Plus, for awhile I seemed to be the only person staying at my hostel. I hate that. It makes you wonder what´s wrong with the place. There´s nothing wrong with the place, and the night before, it was practically full. I had 4 roommates, all Australian, one of which was a champion snorer. I heard my neighbors come home a bit later, so I didn´t feel so lonely.

Like I said, I had a 4am pick-up time to tour a geyser park. My hostel is outside of town, so I knew I would either be the first or last picked up. The power was out again (the whole town was without power the first 24 hours I was here. Then it came back, went out again, came back... You get the idea.) so I sat in the dark front room, reading with the aid of my trusty headlamp. Headlamp= best investment I´ve made on this trip. At 4:35, I was beginning to think they had forgotten about me, when the bus finally pulled up. I was the last one on.

The geysers are at 4220 m above sea level. We climbed and climbed on a horrible dirt road. If dozens and dozens of tour buses are climbing this road everyday, don´t you think it would be a good idea to pave it? Just a thought. On the way back, I noticed we weren´t even driving on a road most of the time. Just your basic tour bus off-roading, I guess. The guide had warned everyone about the altitude and even had oxygen on hand. Not for me, of course. I´ve lived in Cusco, climbed the Inca Trail, visited Lake Titicaca. I´m an altitude champ.

However, the cold knocked me flat. I knew it would be cold up there. -10C, in fact. I wore my thermals, along with every other piece of warm clothing I have. But the cold cut right through my thermals. If I´m completely honest, I was too cold to enjoy it. My toes were so cold they hurt, and my sole thoughts were concerned with when I could get back on the bus. I was, however, actually looking forward to a swim in the thermal pool. Even though I was freezing, and the last thing I wanted to do was put on a bathing suit and get wet, I just remembered back to the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, and how cool that was. You could even get into the Lagoon via the changing room, so you didn´t even have to run in order not to freeze. I wasn´t really expecting anything that fancy, but I was at least expecting a changing room, and there definitely wasn´t one. I didn´t feel much like changing into a bathing suit in front of all kinds of people, but I did want to warm my toes up. I took off my boots, socks, warm alpaca wool leg warmers, rolled up my pants and long underwear, and stuck my toes in the warm water. It was just what they needed.

When it was time to go back to the bus, I dried my feet off and reapplied all those layers. When I stood up, I was face-to-face with a bare bottom. Since the bare bottom was in my direct path back (and there was no other way around) I decided to wait for the bare bottom to dress. I can´t imagine a more awkward situation than saying "excuse me" to a bare bottom. Can you?

Oh, Bother

I was just about ready to rave abut how much nicer Chilean buses are than their Peruvian counterparts when I got a slap in the face today.

First of all, Chilean buses are much nicer than their Peruvian counterparts. The amount of leg room is unbelievable. They actually have heat. And provide pillows and blankets! It´s the simple things in life that make all the difference. On top of that, they give you food! On an all-nighter to San Pedro, they handed us a small boxed breakfast with juice. They´re also super concerned about safety, almost to a fault. At 3am on this particular all-nighter, we were made to get off the bus (and I was actually sleeping!) with our bags, so they could inspect them. They did a top notch job too.

Bag inspector (peering into my bag) : ¿Sola ropa?
Me: Si.

And I got back on the bus. Of course, then I couldn´t fall asleep again, and it didn´t help that the man next to me began snoring like a lawn mower. So I accidentally-on-purpose elbowed him while removing my scarf, which stopped it, but only temporarily.

Yesterday, I went to the bus station to buy a ticket to my next destination, Caldera, 12 hours away. Everything seemed to work out perfectly. I bought a ticket for Caldera, leaving San Pedro at 7:30 pm Thursday night, arriving Friday morning. Then this morning, I just happened to glance at the ticket- and realized it was for Wednesday. Uh-oh. I really, really don´t have a spare $34 dollars to spend on a second ticket.

As soon as my geyser tour returned to town, I high-tailed it to the bus station. I explained my situation to a very nice man, who then explained it to the woman who actually sold me the ticket. She took the ticket, told me to wait, then disappeared. When she returned, she asked me where I wanted to go and when. It wasn´t possible to leave tonight, so I said tomorrow would be fine if that was the best I could do. She disappeared again. I assumed she would just change the ticket, but I was shocked when she came back and started yelling at me. At first, I thought it just seemed like she was yelling because Chileans talk even faster than other Spanish speakers I´ve encountered, but she was really letting me have it. I couldn´t understand a word of it, but the guy next to me was giving me the raised eyebrows "what did you do?" look. I tried to explain to her that I couldn´t understand, and could she please so down, but I was getting pretty upset. So she started mocking me. Seriously.

It was pretty clear that I couldn´t deal with her anymore, so I went to look for my helpful guy. He explained (very calmly and politely) that since the date was passed, they couldn´t change the ticket, and that he was very, very sorry. (And he was.) It was one of those days where you just think "I just want to go home," (the same thing could very well happen at home, but there is not the added stress of a language barrier) but it´s nothing a hot shower and some ice cream can´t cure. Unfortunately, a hot shower in South America is nearly impossible, but tomorrow´s another day. It also didn´t help that I had a sleepless night, had to get up at 3:30am, and spent the morning freezing my tail off.

So I asked for another bus station, and left. Only problem was, the only other bus company doesn´t actually leave from San Pedro. It only leaves from Calama, about an hour away, so I would have to buy a ticket there from company #1 anyway. I swallowed my pride and headed back to bus company #1. The place had emptied out, and who was the only one working? That´s right, the evil witch. I calmly asked for a ticket to Caldera for tomorrow. She asked very slowly, and at least three times, where I wanted to go and when. Seriously, what is this woman´s problem? What did I do to deserve this treatment? She asked me for my old ticket. She took it, picked up the phone, then disappeared again. When she returned, she explained that she called someone to ask about an exchange, and for me to wait. Huh. Either she saw how upset she was making me and had a pang of sympathy, or she saw the angry letter I was composing to Tur-Bus in my head (and I was). A minute later, she told me the bus leaves at 8:50 and gave me my seat assignment. So I think, I think, I will be spending 12 hours on a bus tomorrow on my way to Caldera. Fingers crossed!

Chile!

Greetings from Chile! I arrived in Tacna, Peru at about 3am on Sunday morning. I was planning to take a train across the border, but by 4:30, the train station still wasn't open, so I opted for a combi- an official taxi with 4 other passengers. I had absolutely no problems getting out of Peru as they never asked for the paper I was so worried about, and no problems getting in.

From Arica, Chile, I took a 4.5 hour bus ride to Iquique, a sleepy beach resort town in the middle of winter, so it's pretty slow. However, I am staying in easily the best hostel I've been in. Iquique is the place to go paragliding, something about the perfect wind currents, so obviously, I didn't want to miss out on that. I was planning to wait until today, but after I got checked in, I asked the reception desk about it. She made a phone call, then told me I would be picked up, along with two other guests, in 5 minutes. What service.

I was not nervous at all for paragliding. It's actually quite relaxing, like hanging out high above the city. For a good half an hour, I was flying. The best part was right before landing, we flew right by the top windows of a high rise apartment building. Then we went in for a very soft landing on the beach.

While paragliding, I met Kelly and Tim, two friends traveling for a few months. Tim took off before Kelly and I did, and long after we landed, he still hadn't. We were getting a bit jealous at his extra long flight when one of the other pilots told us his pilot wasn't able to get the right current to fly over the city, so they had to land on a huge sand dune behind it. The van had gone to pick him up.

Afterwards, we walked through town, which has a ghost town feel to it. The wide main boulevard is full of beautiful old homes and storefronts from the town's heyday in the 19th century. Kelly commented that it looks like an abandoned Hollywood soundstage, and I agree with her. I'll have to go back and take some pictures today. It will be another overnight bus ride for me tonight!

A few things about Chile: 1. I can't understand their accents. All that work for nothing.
2. There are about 500 Chilean pesos in 1 US dollar. It's very unnerving to have a 10,000 peso note in your hand, and to use coins with triple digits.

Killing Time

I have 2.5 hours before my bus leaves, so I´m sitting here in an internet cafe where they are playing-and I´m not kidding about this- The Best of Michael Bolton. I said I loved you but I lied...

I finished up with Arequipa today, and thus Peru. My first mission this morning was to find a highly recommended bookstore in order to exchange my last read with a new one. I had a big debate over whether or not I wanted to take Jeffrey Eugenides´ Middlesex (which I´ve been meaning to read for sometime, as I am a big fan of The Virgin Suicides) or Sophie Kinsella´s Shopaholic Takes Manhattan. In the end, the Shopaholic won out, for practical reasons: It was smaller and will fit into my bag much easier.

Afterwards, I toured another monastery, this a working one, with nuns sequestered behind the walls. Again, I had a solo tour. English is apparently a dying language. According to my guide, these nuns are quite the singers and bakers. People come to the worship services to hear them sing (from behind a curtain of course) and you can buy their baked goods at the shop.

Following the monastery, I hiked to an outer neighborhood of the city. In this particular neighborhood was a lovely, palm-tree lined Plaza, with a view of the city and the snow-covered mountains beyond. I still don´t get how it´s possible to have palm trees and snow in the same picture, but here in Arequipa, it´s possible. The plaza also had a church, which I very much wanted to go into, but was unable due to multiple weddings. One right after the other. I couldn´t crash either, on account of my traveling clothes, which sadly, can never double for wedding clothes. One of the brides had a very noticeable baby bump. Scandal!

Following a tour of a colonial mansion, I had finished my sightseeing for the day by mid-afternoon. With several hours before my departure, I decided to take in a movie (aren´t cinemas awesome?! And in Peru, seeing a new movie at the cinema only costs $3!) The only movie that wasn´t dubbed in Spanish- and don´t get me started on how much I despise dubbed movies/TV- was Sex and the City. (I will find Mamma Mia somewhere!) I was able to see a low-quality bootlegged version in Cusco, and I was a bit disappointed. There was too much squealing, the clothes were hideous (that was a bird in her hair!), and it was just too long. But on a second viewing, it seemed better. But this could also be because I missed the first 20 minutes, so it didn´t seem so long.

So now I think I´ll just take an evening walk around the Plaza and enjoy my last hours in Peru. See you in Chile!

Peru: In Retrospect

With the exception of 2.5 days spent in Bolivia in May, I´ve spent the last 6+ months in Peru. Tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, I will cross the border into Chile. (I say according to plan, because the last time I left, I needed to sign a paper stating that I was not leaving Peru in order to escape any major debts. No matter how hard I´ve tried, and how many times I´ve googled it, I cannot find this bit of paperwork anywhere, although my former boss at Maximo swears it´s online. E-mails to said former boss were unanswered. However, last time I crossed at a dead-end border crossing. This time, I´ll be getting on a train in an actual town. Therefore, if I do need this bit of paperwork, they can just tell me where to find it, and I will hopefully be able to run to an internet cafe and do just that. Or, if worst comes to worst, these guys can usually be bought off.)

I think my posting the last few weeks has been about down on Peru. I don´t think this accurately reflects my feelings about this country. Yes, it was frustrating at times, and even more so as I approached the end of my six months, as sheer exhaustion set in. However, I wouldn´t trade my time here for anything. I often asked myself why I didn´t choose somewhere warmer, like Venezuala, or somewhere a bit more modern, like Buenos Aires. Living in the tropics would have been a bit too luxurious, and Buenos Aires a bit too much like home. I wanted a truly South American experience, and boy did I get it.

Whenever somebody got sick, or we were involved in something that never would have passed safety regulations at home (like being crammed into a combi- basically a van- with 35 other people), we just pulled out the phrase, "Ah, Peru." Like our version of "Manny being Manny," that´s how we made excuses for Peru. Ashley, Maribeth, and I have decided when we have our little reunion on the Great Wall of China, we will laugh so hard at what we did or witnessed in Peru that was considered normal. Like all the random livestock being led on a leash around a major city. Or the fact that I lived with a rat for 2 months. Or the fact that Maribeth showered in freezing cold water for 2 months, or that Ashley and I kept electrocuting ourselves when we would use our respective showers. That I was written an absolutely ridiculous love letter from a student who never spoke to me, but instead used Ashley as the monkey-in-the-middle. (He recently wrote me to thank me for the "inspiration." I don´t think I want to know. His best friend, in the meantime, is infatuated with Ashley.) Or the time Maribeth and I were walking down Gringo Alley to meet Ashley for dinner, and a guy trying to get us to eat at his restaurant, while telling us all our dinner choices, whispered conspiratorially "with a free massage" to go along with those dinner specials. It´s all so charming.

When I got here, six months sounded like forever. I didn´t realize six months could go by so quickly. You know what they say, time flies when you´re having so much fun. And so Peru, I bid you adios. Hasta luego.

The White City

From Nasca, I took the night bus to Arequipa. I decided to be thrifty, and take the economic bus. Note to self: Spring for the luxury bus on overnight trips. The bus was cramped, dirty, and it smelled bad (although I am not one to point fingers, as I pointed out in a previous post about my hygiene going down hill) and there was no bathroom. And the bus ride was 10 hours. Luckily, no disasters occured.

I arrived in Arequipa about 7 this morning. Arequipa is beautiful. I went from the desert, back to the mountains. Arequipa is surrounded by snow-covered mountains, and behind the Plaza de Armas sits El Misti, a snow-covered cone-shaped volcano. Very cool.

First stop was the museum to visit Juanita, the ice princess. Juanita is a perfectly preserved, frozen 12-14 year old Incan girl, who was given as a sacrifice to the gods so that the volcano wouldn´t erupt and kill them all. She was found near the top of the volcano, frozen, but in tact. Despite being several hundred years old, she still has skin, hair, and fingernails. (I have certainly gotten my share of dead bodies in the last two days, eh?) Naturally, pictures of Juanita are strictly verboten. So much so that I couldn´t even find a postcard. Highly unusual. But the tour (which consisted of me, as I was the only English-speaking person around this morning) was very interesting. Juanita is just so... creepy. She actually has ice all around her mid-section, which is how she was found. Also very sorry for the poor girl. That sacrifice didn´t stop the volcano from erupting, or earthquakes from happening. There was one here just a few weeks ago.

After Juanita, I went to the Monasterio Santa Catalina (also one of the 1,000 places to see before you die). It´s huge, a city within the city. Colorful walls, lots of flowers, lots of courtyards. Photographers were going crazy, there was even a model shoot going on. I spent the better part of 2 hours wandering around the maze. Definitely worth the admission fee, that´s for sure. While I was in the monastery, I started talking to a couple of Canadian medical students on their summer vacation. We chatted for awhile, then decided to grab lunch on the Plaza de Armas (even prettier than Cusco´s plaza, I have to admit) followed by ice cream afterwards, before they caught their bus to Puno.

Tomorrow, I will be finishing up with Arequipa, and with it, Peru. Tomorrow night I will take the night bus to Tacna, which is the end of the line for Peru. From there, I´ll cross into Chile. So long, Peru. It´s been a trip!

Boredom in the desert

Whenever you travel, you´re bound to have your share of frustrating days, or even places that frustrate you. Nasca was one such place. I arrived in Nasca around noon on Wednesday. Everything got off to a great start, considering the hostal I wanted to stay in had free transportation from the bus station. I got there and checked in with no problem. Then I was faced with the question of what to do.

Nasca is famous for the Nasca Lines. That´s it. There is nothing to do within the city. It´s more of a town, really, and it consists of hotels, restaurants, and travel agencies. Everything else is out of town. I wanted to find a tour that went to a pre-Incan cemetery just out of town, but no one could tell me if they had a tour or not. They kept saying they might have a tour, but it all depended on whether or not other people wanted to go. I gave up for the day and decided to try that again on Thursday.

The way to see the Lines is by flying over them. I opted not to do this, for a few reasons. The first and biggest reason is that it is expensive, and I am currently unemployed. I´ve also heard very mixed reviews. Some people think they´re amazing, while others are unimpressed. I´ve never been too terribly fascinated with them. If I was able to parachute out of the plane afterwards, then I would have been all over it. Instead, I took a bus 20 minutes out of town and paid 1 sole (about 30 cents) to climb a tower. From there, I could see a few of the formations, most notably the hands and the tree. I snapped a few pictures, I climbed back down. After about a 15 minute wait, I flagged down a bus headed for Nasca, and went back into town. At least now I can say I´ve seen them (they are, after all, on the list of 1,000 places to see before you die). I spent the rest of the afternoon in the museum, which gave information on the pre-Incan culture that built the lines. The highlight was the to scale model of the Lines, which you could view from above on a platform. I feel satisfied.

The next morning, I finally found a tour company that was definitely leading a tour out to the cemetery, which is a good 40-minutes outside of town. The cemetery was full of old, dead, decomposed bodies and bones. The bodies were buried seated in a fetal position (because they believed in the after-life, so they were ready to be born again) and was certainly unlike anything I´ve ever seen. The skeletons were so well-preserved, I assumed they were fakes, but our guide assured us they were all original, and had not been touched. He seemed insulted we had even asked.

When we returned to Nasca, it was only 1:00, and my overnight bus to Arequipa didn´t leave until 7pm. I spent the afternoon at the Nasca Lines Hotel pool (I paid to get in, but with the admission fee came a nice lunch, delivered to me poolside. I´m not used to such service.) and chatting with Ava, from Denmark, who was staying at the same hostal.

In hindsight, I would have come into Nasca, stashed my stuff at the bus station, went out to the tower or the cemetery, then caught a bus that evening to Arequipa. No need to stay a night, but alas, that is traveling. Mistakes will be made. Moving on...

Sand, sand, everywhere

I spent a day yesterday in my urban paradise (I went to the movies! At a movie theater! Saw Batman. v. creepy.), and took off this morning for the desert. By early afternoon, I had arrived in Huacachina, a small oasis in the desert.

It´s exactly what you expect an oasis to look like: Nothing but sand dunes for miles and miles, and then there, out of nowhere, is a lagoon, surrounded by palm trees. The weather is perfect. I was worried for awhile that the misty fog of Lima would follow me all the way out here, but about 20 minutes down the road, we hit blue sky and sunshine. The highlight of Huacachina: dune buggys and sandboarding.

Late this afternoon, I boarded a dune buggy with 7 other people. We were strapped in as if we were in a car seat, and for good reason. The driver drove fast. Really fast. It was like a roller coaster on sand. It was awesome. I was quite annoyed with the girl in the back who kept screaming for the driver to stop and to slow down. I wanted to ask her why she bothered to come. Seriously, she didn´t do much sand boarding either, so I´m not sure what she was doing there.

Anyway, sand boarding is the same concept as snow boarding, only on huge sand dunes. Now, I have never been snow boarding before, but I´m sure if I really wanted to I could be good at it. I was not very good at sand boarding. You know when you go to the beach, how you get sand in various places? Imagine that, only five times as much sand in three times as many places. I´m pretty sure I had half the desert in/on me. I ate sand. I dumped more sand out of my boots than I thought possible. I have sand in my ears, behind my ears, on every inch of skin, in my pants, in my underwear... you get the picture. I spent more time riding down on my bum than I did standing up (and I wasn´t the only one). It was actually when I seemed to be doing the best and had been on my feet for quite awhile that I wiped out the hardest. I have a bit of a welt on the back of my calf where I whacked myself with my board. I´m fine, though, thanks for asking. The last hill was way too steep for my better judgement. Sandboarding is softer than snowboarding, but this would be testing it. I didn´t really want to cut my travels short with a broken apendage, so I rode the board like a sled, but even that built up some scary speeds, so I slowed myself down with my foot, causing sand to go flying into my face. This may not sound like a fun time, but I promise it was.

We rode back to the hostal in the sunset light. There was not a single part of me that was not covered in sand, including my face, which was a sight. Unfortunately, my luxury hostal does not have hot water. I´m pretty sure I´ll be discovering sand in various places for weeks to come. Totally worth it.