Benchmark

So it is here in Cusco, the city with too much to do and enough history for several provinces, the city Walter, “described as the nerd you didn’t know was a freak” remarking on his shock when discovering it was a the party capital of Peru, and not just place people stay before going to Machu Picchu that, I reach this point. The longest amount of time I have spent outside of the States. However, Cusco is a long way from Dominican Republic and my twelve year old self is a distant memory.

When I began to travel I made a decision to try and live as openly as possible, and so far, I believe my behavior has been in keeping with that decision. I have been honest with complete strangers, people who I may never see again. In a way it is liberating. I have also been as honest as possible with this blog. The last post I put up I would have never told my mother. She is, as I’m sure you all can relate, already overprotective and telling her would only result in a worry and never ending pleas to return home immediately. The next day after that bus trip from hell, Walter tried warning me not to tell my mother about it. I found it funny that he thought I needed warning, as we both agreed it would be a terrible idea. However, I am fairly certain my mother reads my blog so if and when she does read that post I will have to deal with her reaction.

But now I have hit a proverbial crossroads. There are certain aspects of my past and present I have kept hidden. It would seem I have a decision to make. Should I be completely honest or remain quite. For that matter, what constitutes being private and not closed off? Though my secrets were not the driving force for my trip they made this somewhat of an escape, a chance to get away and clear my head with no reminders of a not too distant past. But, this is easier said than done. Shame, disappointment, fear of the loss of self-reliance, the list goes on. It is hard to let go and hope everything will be ok that people will understand, still accept you, and forgive.

South American Driving 101 1/25

Well we hit our first bit of bad luck. The concept of time held by most South Americans, coupled with their driving ability, is a frustrating phenomenon. While in Ecuador and Peru, I have noticed a general lack of concern or indifference when it comes to work, appointments, or any concept of time, many people I have met work when they want and get to where they are going when it suits them. Wayne (refer to post, They will have to kill me before I die) explained when setting a meeting with one of the Ecuadorian workers, for the same day, he had to specify it be that very same day, and could not just say, “Lets meet at five.”

            Walter´s family exhibited the same behavior. They keep flexible work hours and vacation when they choose and Peru is similar case. Pariwana, the hostel where we stayed in Lima, scheduled activities for the guests which, ironically like clockwork, started 45 minutes later then originally planned. Also I have already remarked in the previous post how care free people were in Huacachina. The waiters moved at their own pace and even Alizia, a person whom I have befriended more than any other on this trip, owned a restaurant and hung out with us in the back while customers in the front waited for menus.

            Now, this lifestyle normally would not bother me. I have been accused of being easy going more than once and I admire the stress reduced lifestyle, often found in warmer climates, that contrasts the high paced lifestyle often found in American cities. However, what I find puzzling is the way in which people drive and how it completely contradicts the way they live. Many people drive like they are in a hurry, a state they only seem to be in when they are behind the wheel. I have seen many reckless drivers in Peru and Ecuador. Walter’s uncle is a perfect example. He drives well above the speed limit, 40 km on average, cuts people off, accelerates on turns, and passes cars even if they are going the same speed. Furthermore we were staying in the Andes, so most of the instances in which cars were passed involved blind turns 10 feet from a cliff. His driving, I must admit, made me want to punch him in the face from the back seat. But, once again, I let it go.

            However, when we are on a bus crossing the Andes and it looses control to the point where the driver has to crash the bus into the side of the mountain to avoid going over a cliff, I reserve the right to be upset. It is night, its snowing, the turns are about as sharp as they can be and the bus river felt the need to go so fast the stewardess warns you to slow down several times. I wonder if the driver's home has been checked for asbestos.

            Once I felt the bus loose traction I froze. Walter, with a clear view of the window, turns to me and can only bring himself to say, “O shit.” In that moment, even with no concept of where we were on the road, I could tell this was not an "O shit" I forgot my keys or an "O shit" I dropped my phone. This was an "O shit," we are going to die. It is immediately after this the driver, doing the smartest thing he has ever done, crashes into the mountain.

            And thus began, without a doubt, one of the worst days of my life. I can spend pages describing the hellish trip that led to me writing this from my bed because I feel like terribly sick; however I will keep it brief. We are able to talk are way on to a different bus from a different company. It was full so a portion of this 16 hour ride, I would say roughly a quarter, was spent sitting in between the aisles (keep in mind we drove 5 hours before the crash and were stranded for 3 more). Not the most comfortable of positions, as you could imagine. Also it is apparent that this new bus has been hit by a strain of the Ebola virus because almost everyone is vomiting (I was being facetious, on the off chance that was not apparent).

            So in conclusion,

1.      Fuck buses.

2.      Fuck reckless drivers. The next time I am in a car and dude drives like an asshole he gets one warning, that’s it.

3.      Fuck dudes who are 40 lbs over weight, wear leather jackets, have greasy hair, Yes I was in line first and if you don’t mind I am asking about my luggage that’s on a tilted bus on the side of a mountain. O and the douchebag convention is in the other terminal

4.      Fuck administrators in the academic department at Loyola. I am in Peru if you haven’t received my grades ask my professor. And way to not return emails

      Fuck the sign outside my room. Apparently the hostel wants to inform me that my room has “microcirculation,” whatever the hell that is, that allows for better sleep. Umm no the room is just cold as hell and you don’t have any heat 

5.    

Never Never land 1/23

Huacachina. It’s a small area in the Peruvian desert. It consists of an oasis and a handful of restaurants and hostels surrounding it. Originally, we had planned to take a 20+ hour bus ride from Lima to Cusco. However, after talking to some people who had been there, we decided that the activities such as sand surfing would be interesting, and having a break in between Lima and Cusco wasn’t a bad idea either.

            We arrived at night and it gave us an eerie feeling, but, then again, very few places don’t give you that feeling at night. It seems like some what of a ghost town there are some Peruvians and a noticeable amount of tourists but the amount doesn’t strike you as it would another tourist spot, for instance Cusco. I would gain a better understanding of what gave Huacachina this aura the next day.

            I woke up, sunlight gleaming in my face, towards the window. The combination of my eyes being shut for hours and the sun shining directly in my face, made it harder for my view to come into focus, and when it did I still thought my eyes needed adjusting. Behind the buildings across the lagoon I could see a huge light brown wall towering over everything. I did not know what to make of it until I realized, it was sand. I looked from several windows just to make sure I was seeing what I thought I saw.

            Once outside I did a complete 360 degree turn and realized we were surrounded by an enormous wall of sand. It was one of the craziest things I have ever seen. Only one road led in or out of Huacachina. It is beautiful, untouched. Cab drivers on the outskirts of the road, waiting to harass those who leave paradise, are the only reminder of the polluted and chaotic streets that lay beyond the sand.

            The longer I stay here the more I am amazed by this place. The people that visit, both local and tourist alike, easily number in the hundreds but it seems as if I could count them easily. As my time draws to a close here a part of me is happy to be leaving. I feel like Peter Pan in Never Never Land. Not a care in the world and, if I stay long enough, I will forget there is anything outside of the oasis. This is the oddest and most interesting place I have been to thus far.

Lima is Lima 1/21

There isn´t much to stay about Lima. We stayed there for two days on the recommendation of most of the people we met at the hostel we checked in to. I did three things in Lima; spend time partying at the hostel, site seeing, and went to a Guns N’ Roses cover band performance. Now I am not much of a rock fan but listening to a Peruvian, who doesn’t speak English, sing in perfect English and actually sound like Axel Rose, crazy.

I think Lima is when it sunk in that I was in South America, even simple things like going to the supermarket seemed weird, but in a good way. I would just think to myself what the hell am I do buying something at a supermarket in Peru? I was just in awe of not only being outside of the United States, but Lima is the first large Latin American city I had ever been to. It was awe inspiring to see such a beautiful city with some diversity not in the United States. That reaction comes from my naivety, my lack of actually being other places. This is being remedied as I write.

So here is Lima in a few bullet points

·       Beautiful architecture- Lima’s architecture, while being European inspired, still maintains a Latin American style with its bright colors, a theme I have seen in several other Latina American countries

·       Cute police women- if you have a thing for women in uniform, specifically police uniforms, then hit up Lima. I wonder if the police academy recruits by looks on purpose

·       Terrible air quality- the streets are constantly filled with cars that, I can only speculate, are not as regulated and are pumping out leaded gas. After a day in the central Lima I couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know how people live in the areas where it is really bad. The government should invest in a car factory that makes hybrids then give tax breaks to those who by them. O and the world´s largest air filter

·       Bring exact change- apparently no store, restaurant, or any establishment where money exchanges hands in Lima, or Peru for that matter, has change even if it’s a few soles. It’s worse outside of Lima.

·       Manikins that no one wants- apparently Lima, and Peru in general, is the Manikin reject capital of the world. I have never seen creepier Manikins. A part of me wishes I took a picture of everyone I saw but that’s way too many pictures. They will haunt my nightmares for years to come.

They will have to kill me before I die 1/20

             One of the things I looked forward to on this trip was the interesting people I would meet and I would have to say the first one was Wayne. While in Ecuador we stayed in a province called El Oro, which literally translated means gold. The people in this part of Ecuador have been mining gold for centuries.

            Now Walter’s family asked us if we wanted to go see the mine. I thought to myself, why not? It will probably be interesting and we have one more day before we head for Peru and embark on a 20 hour bus ride to Lima. So, since they asked if we would like to go you, would think that they had access to it or, at least, new someone there. Think again. We get there and Walter’s uncle is convinced because we speak English, and the men who run the mine can speak English, that we can convince them to give us a tour. I don’t know what to make of it. However, this story is about Wayne.

           Now, Wayne is an Australian gold miner and one of the men overseeing the excavation of gold in El Oro. One look at Wayne and you get the impression that he is a tuff son of a gun with a vulgar, yet funny, sense of humor. Weighing around 210, by my estimation, he isn’t a muscular man per sé but one gets the impression that he has been in a few bar fights in his day and, even in his 66^th year, you still wouldn’t want to be on his bad side. A carelessly buttoned shirt and a wide open safety vest reveal the slightest portions of two large tattoos on his chest, rounding out the tuff guy look. The afternoon would prove that, at heart, he is still the same teenaged, hardnosed and adventurous Aussie that first got those tattoos.

           When he arrives at the mine we introduce ourselves and immediately strike up a conversation. His most interesting takes are on Islam and Ecuador. He believes Islam is a beautiful religion but has no sympathy for terrorists. He said, in his accent that seemed to make everything just a bit funnier, “I don’t even know why you would want 72 virgins they don’t know how to f*ck and they bleed all ova ya. I would much rather a slut who can f*ck.”

            When asked if he liked Ecuador he replied,

         “O I love it. One of the most beautiful countries I have ever been to, and cheap too. I can go out for lunch, with a 20 in my pocket, go have me a root at the whore house, some beers and food and still have change left in my pocket.” (Root, we confused for a prostitute, we were later told, by another Australian, is slang for sex).

            Although he seems crude there is more to Wayne then meets the eye. Although he didn’t have to, he was more than happy to give us a tour of the gold mine. The further in the mine I went the more I learned about him. The father of two young men who, worked with his father in the outback and, later, became successful in the mining industry. The man who went into retirement but could not bear the stagnate and mundane lifestyle so he took the position in Ecuador and decided he would never again fully stop doing what he loved. He summed up his life view by quoting Monte Python´s Yellow Beard, “You will have to kill me before I die.”

            Whether it is Wayne, a tough man, 66 years young, who doesn’t know what it is to slow down, Life (yes, that’s his real name) a man who got his computer science degree so he could work from the road, a better name has never been chosen for a person, or Danni a beautiful half white, quarter black and Indian girl, from Australia by way of Zimbabwe, who is traveling between college and her masters program, or Jeremy, a former marine who now works privately in Iraq and travels four months out of the year, or Leslie a retired Brit who, even at his age, stays at hostels with people less than half his age and seizes to be amazed at what can bring people together. All of them, I believe, have Wayne´s mentality, in that, they won´t let their lives pass them by.

Que Sera Sera 1/11

I never thought I would experience so much so quickly but I feel as though, with an entire continent to traverse, I have to be ready for anything. I admit the trip did not start off the way I had hoped. While anticipating this trip, something I did often to escape the daily grind of school and viewing everything as something I had to endure until I left, I often thought of hostels, of constantly being on the road going from big city to small town alike taking in both natural and built wonders and meeting other young travelers. However it would be sometime before reality caught up with fantasy.

The trip began visiting Walter´s family in southern Ecuador. The plan was to spend time in the Andes traveling the mountains and hiking to some Incan ruins that were recently discovered. Visiting the ruins definitely met my standards of seeing Ecuador and the history it held, and staying with Walter´s family would make the transition from the living comfortably in New York to living out of a backpack a little easier. However, I quickly became dispassionate about my time in Ecuador. Most of our time was spent eating with his family and conversating. Now this is not to say Walt´s family was not interesting. Conversation was always lively, and his uncle, Manolo, is hilarious.  He acts like a big kid and doesn’t take much seriously. He reminds me of my uncles. But, where was the adventure, the excitement, the trading of stories with other fellow travelers. With each passing day I became disappointed.

It was not until our trip to Paccha, where we would begin our hike to the Incan ruins that I realized that it was only a matter of time before things would get better. Walter´s grandfather came by to pick us up and stay with him in Paccha. He pulled up in a pickup truck and we three instantly agreed we would ride in the back as we drove higher and higher into the mountains. As we drove my disappointment began to fade as I looked out at the mountains in the distance. The view was absolutely amazing. This is what I wanted to see. I wanted to get away from cities and buildings I had seen every day and see what else there was besides repetitiveness of daily life. I wanted to see the new and the untouched. I will not even describe what I saw or the arduous hike that led to the Incan ruins I will post the pictures and video and hope they do them a modicum of justice. I wish the camera could truly capture what my eyes see but I will leave you with this. The universe will behave as it should but I know now not to work against it. Act accordingly and adapt. Over these next four months I will see the worst of times but it is those times that lead to the great ones.

APS

All of the Moments 11/19

S/O to the Catalyst’s Insert Cliché Metaphor and Maryann’s Despite Everything, I Believe peope are Really good at heart. Didn’t give you guys props last time. That’s what happens when you don’t proof read.

As I wait at the airport to board my plane to embark on the smartest and craziest thing I have ever done, it occurs to me that I will be doing a lot of waiting on my trip. Hours have already been consumed in the days leading up to this trip by waiting. Doctor´s office, passport agency, ticket confirmations etc.

            It has occurred to me that I have done little to be productive during the times I wait, trapped in my own boredom. Most of the time I either day dream, listen to music, or write. The first is unproductive for obvious reasons but most importantly because it takes me out of the moment and does not allow me to truly enjoy it, whether I am in a doctor´s office or surfing on a beach. This will be the hardest to overcome as I will be spending more hours than I can count on a bus getting from place to place. The second I will not be doing much of, save for the occasional street performers and night clubs. I will not be using my I pod as detachment from technology is a condition I have set for myself while traveling.

            I have come to believe that the time I spend waiting is just as important as the time I spend swimming, zip lining, or learning. It is those moments I wait I can choose to be productive. Reflecting on the people I meet and everything I experience is important. The reflection on the past and planning of the future all while attempting to stay in the moment will be a difficult balance as I make my way from  experience to experience. The small, single, beds I await tomorrow in being the only constant but sights, sounds, and people constantly in flux.

            How I grow as a person will be the most important aspect of my trip from, forgettable beds and bus trips to memorable actions and people. While I wait I can decide whether I will allow myself to be governed by past mistakes and limited experiences or I can take the opportunity to change and dictate where things go from this moment on.