Viaje del Sueño / Dream Trip

A View of Quito

2010-09-03T10:00:00.000-04:00

Karla and may be back in the United States, but we still have plenty to write about our five month sojourn in South America. Meanwhile, while collect our thoughts and review all of the photos we've taken, I wanted to post these views of Quito. We took these photos from the Yaku Museo del Agua (that's the water museum), up on the lower slopes of the volcano Pichincha.

Quito - El Panicello from Yaku Museo del Agua

Quito - City, with View of Basílica del Voto Nacional,
Seen from Yaku Museo del Agua

Quito - City as Seen from Yaku Museo del Agua #2

Quito - City as Seen from Yaku Museo del Agua #3

Quito - Graveyard on the Hillside of Pichincha, Next to El Placer,
as Seen from the Yaku Museo del Agua

Quito - City as Seen from Yaku Museo del Agua #5
(Tunnel Through the Mountainside)

Quito - City as Seen from Yaku Museo del Agua #6

Quito - Rainbow in the Distance

Baltimore Daydreaming

2010-09-01T19:20:00.000-04:00

Being back in Baltimore - it's like a strange daydream. Driving down 83, walking along the Avenue in Hampden, sitting on the back porch at our friend's house listening to the crickets... It's like we almost never left, or we've returned at the point we initially embarked, except that we've crossed over into a strange, slightly altered version of this city and American life.

Being back has its perks. You never know what you're going to miss when you travel until you get there, and travelling reminds you of what's important in your non-travelling life. Family and friends, most obviously - just being able to go out to chat over coffee, or make a phone call that doesn't have to cross continents. City streets that you're familiar with. Tap water that you can drink with impunity. No roosters cock-a-doodle-doing at all kinds of nighttime hours. Availability of cream cheese, jalapeños, hot sauce, tofu, fake meat products, hearty bread...

View of Quito - as seen from the Yaku Museo del Agua

At the same time, there are so many wonderful people you meet, so many beautiful things you see, so many ideas you're exposed to, cultures that you learn, from travelling. Being back in Baltimore is, in this regard, odd. I don't have to try to think and speak in Spanish anymore. I can't look out the window and see 20,000-foot high volcanoes soaring into the clouds along the Andes. All the birds around here are familiar - no frigate birds, no parrots. And there are no sun-soaked, wrinkled Quechua wandering around still wearing traditional garb (felt hats, layered skirts for the women...) that was forced upon them some 500 years ago during the Spanish conquest. Not to mention the fruit - so many kinds of fresh fruit, at such a low price, ranging from the standard bananas and mangoes to the marvelous achotillo and granadilla and an overabundance of avocados.

It seems impossible that three days ago we were wandering around Quito, through the vendors at El Ejido park, along the streets of the Mariscal, up the hillside to the Yaku Museo del Agua... Now it's Lake Montebello, the inner harbor, the Waverly Farmers Market, rowhouses...

After a dream dissolves into life.

2010-08-30T19:07:00.004-04:00

After we slid and huddled into the taxi leaving Quito very early this morning, I looked out the window to take in the end of this journey. A sudden heartache and emotional swell passed through me as I realized that I would have to come back and see more, experience more and that is never enough. There are so many places to see. So many places that I want to dream of, sense, and let enter through the left open windows of my center.

Thoughts of all the things we didn't do tried to ruin the moment for me but I would turn to my husband, my friend, and the other traveler who helped keep me whole, grounded, and he would remind me of all we have experienced and that we can return if we really want to again.

I thought of the future in Baltimore and the people I love so much and that made me antsy for it all now. I thought of the hunger I would always feel if I didn't live. I thought of all the things that we would miss and the things I looked forward to. It all added up to the fact that I am super freaking lucky. And I did it. I made a dream happen.

I thought about the volcanos I didn't see because they were covered in mist and fog and cloud. And for our final departure I was blessed with a bird's eye view of three peaks bursting from the earth to the sky. All it took was an early, early morning and a beautiful sunrise rolling up and over the earth and across the equator for us to see three feirce custodians of the past, present, and future. The mouths of Pachamama; a kiss of fire that could still spurt its intensity regardless of how the people below regard their fortune.

Those volcanos stood like brothers and sisters dreaming of what they will become and I witnessed my own dream dissolve in the wake of their majestic calm.

One Day in the Jungle

2010-08-27T11:50:00.002-04:00

A monkey watching us at the
refuge out of Puyo.

Before leaving Baños, Karla and I decided to take a day trip to the nearby jungle, the western edge of the massive Amazon. Of course, one day is hardly enough time to get know the jungle - just enough to give you a taste without being eaten alive by mosquitos or falling over a waterfall in a leaky canoe! As I quipped to Karla, we were on the "Welcome to the Jungle Now Get Out" tour...

Still, we wanted to see the jungle before we left, and since we hadn't been able to get anything bigger assembled (nor really had the motivation for a longer jungle experience after nearly five months of travel), we decided to arrange a day trip to one of the local agencies in Baños. We weren't under any illusions - you can't go too far into the jungle in one day, and we'd be seeing areas that were right next to human habitations, so the odds of seeing, say, a giant anaconda were slim to none. Nevertheless, we were not disappointed.

Karla on the rope swing flying out over
the jungle canopy, with the the Río Pastaza
and the Río Puyo in the background.

Being led by a trilingual native Kichiwa guide... Seeing and interacting with monkeys at a refuge... Floating in a leaky canoe down a river that's a tributary to the Pastaza river that flows into the Amazon river... Hiking in secondary and primary jungle... Swimming under a waterfall... Eating local fish baked in plant leaves (which Karla astutely identified as tasting like canned tuna)... Having faces painted by achiote... Flying out over the canopy on a rope swing... Learning about some of the plants in the jungle and their uses... Eating ants (which don't taste like much of anything)...

Visit our Puyo - Amazon Jungle set on flickr to view the pictures and videos.

New Ecuador Photos and Videos Posted!

2010-08-25T00:14:00.001-04:00

As Karla and I wile away our days here in Baños de Agua Santa, we've been able to take advantage of the persistent wireless connection at our hostel to upload the backlog of photos and videos (more or less). In chronological order, here they are...

Complete Galapagos Highlights

These photos and videos consist of what we consider to be the pictorial and video highlights from our nine days in the Galapagos Islands, chronicling the 5 days we spent aboard the Galaven II tourist class yacht visiting various islands, the 2 days on land in Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz Island, and our last 2 days on land in Puerto Baquerizo Moreno on San Cristóbal Island.

View Galapagos Highlights Photos and Videos »

Guayaquil Reprise

We flew back from the Galapagos to Guayaquil and spent a couple of days recovering and planning out next move. During this time, we visited Urdessa Norte, where Karla's family lived before she was born, and where her brother purportedly swam in the creek we've pictured (we can only assume it was just as polluted back in the mid-70s...).

View Guayaquil Photos »

To the Beach: Bahía de Caráquez and Canoa

From Guayaquil, we headed up the coast to Manabí province, spending a couple of days in the seeming ghost town of Bahía de Caráquez before crossing the river and catching a bus to Canoa, a laid back beach party surfer town on the edge of the transition between tropical dry and tropical rain forest.

View Bahía de Caráquez and Canoa Photos »

To the Farm: Río Muchacho Organic Farm

In Canoa, we arranged a five day tour of the Río Muchacho Organic Farm, located several miles inland and northeast, still in that transition zone between the climates. The farm is a working model of sustainable organic agriculture and permaculture in the Ecuadorian tropics, hoping to educate locals in the benefits of farming sustainable, local crops without the use of pesticides. The farm also functions as an experiment for ideas in permaculture, featuring dry composting toilets that turn human waste into compost, a bio-digester that transforms pig manure into methane gas and liquid and dry fertilizers, and many other interesting ideas. While at the farm, we also delved into the local community and culture, making traditional food, roasting chocolate beans, riding horses, seeing howler monkeys...

View Río Muchacho Organic Farm Photos and Vidoes »

Back to Quito

After our visit to the farm, we decided to head back to Quito, spurred on because we couldn't find a room for the weekend in Canoa due to everything being booked up for the school holidays. Back in Quito, we spent several days relaxing and getting to the know the city again, and spent a day hanging out back at Itchimbia park, where we were lucky enough to catch an exposition of Ecuadorian artists.

View New and Old Quito Photos »

Baños de Agua Santa

Finally, we decided to head south/southeast to Baños de Agua Santa, a three-and-a-half hour bus ride from Quito, and a town nestled in a valley carved out by volcanoes and the Pastaza river. Thermal baths, massage therapy, hiking, decent food, and a small town... We decided to stick around for a while and have a vacation from our adventure, relaxing and spending time exploring and writing. We've hiked several trails and glimpses the still-active Tungurahua volcano through cloud cover, went the hot thermal baths, and even had relaxing deep-tissue massages (thanks Anna). We've also spent time just hanging out and writing.

View Baños de Agua Santa Photos and Vidoes »

Spying on a Volcano

2010-08-19T13:30:00.007-04:00

La Casa del Arbol

Since we last posted anything, we have been at a farm, the beach, a city, and now the town of baths. Baños de Agua Santa is three and 1/2 hours south of Quito and it is surrounded on all sides by mountains.

Yesterday we climbed to the top of one those very steep and green monsters. We were going to see the Volcano Tungurahua. We had a very filling and tasty breakest of fruit, yogurt and granola, and huevos fritos... and rolls. Perfect power food.

Anyway we started from the trailhead and basically walked straight up for about 3 hours till we were at the mirador de Volcán. It unfortunately was covered by clouds but it was still an amazing climb and a satisfying hike. And it wasn't over yet.

We kept going up till we got to the supposed La Casa del Arbol. The tree house is something that we heard about from another traveler when we were at the Rio Muchacho Organic Farm. And when we were given a touristy and not too specific map of the trails around Baños, we saw that it was on the map, so we were pretty sure it existed. We also saw a structure from the mirador off in the distance that looked like it could be the tree house.

Nonetheless, we decided to follow a trail that looked under-used and then climb yet another steep hill. We were not disappointed. It came out to Via Principal and shortly after following that a little ways up we saw a sign, two signs in fact - both of which were for trails that lead to the tree house and an even closer view of the volcano.

The clouds, however, did not disperse any more when we arrived there. But we ate our lunch in the tree house and it was a great little hike. There were hawks, an outhouse, and a swing that made the trip also worth it besides the tree house itself. Normally swings are fun in their own right but this one made me feel like I was jumping off the mountain and over to the other ridge that was the base of the volcano. We have videos and pictures but of course it won't be able to imitate the effect. And after we did all that - swing, use the toilet, and eat our lunch - we got a short glimpse of the top of the volcano further up. Some of the white stuff that could be snow was visible for a tenth of a second, and then another glimpse that was even smaller. It was just a peek but it was all the clouds were willing to give us.

After we had our fill of sitting in the grass and esperando (it means both waiting and hoping) to see more of the active volcano, we began our descent. We decided to go to the Café del Cielo, a place we passed on the way to the mirador. It was a good respite and place to have "tea time" even though I drank cold water and Brian had coffee. We did both have two delicious desserts: a blackberry crepe and a slice of lemon cake. It was too hot for tea though... for me.

Today Brian and I are finally getting massages (thanks Anna) and a facial (just me though because that is too girly for him). We earned it.

Pictures of our farm experience(and possibly some blogging) will be coming as well as other pictures of everything else we have done since then. It is just slow.
And we are going to try to get up early to see that pesky volcano before the clouds roll in. Wish us luck on that (the getting up early part).

Galapagos Pictures - Highlights - #1

2010-08-07T19:14:00.000-04:00

Male frigate bird in a Palo Santo tree
on North Seymour Island.

It turns out that the Surf Shak here in Canoa has super-fast Internet, so I was able to upload to flickr the highlights from our first couple of days in the Galapagos Islands! To view them, go to our "Galapagos Highlights" flickr set, which details the best shots from the islands of North Seymour, Rabida, and Santiago (at Puerto Egas).

Canoa Beach Culture

2010-08-06T12:22:00.010-04:00

Brian called this The Beach at the End of the World and we wrote a poem together that he began with that as the first line. This does have the feel of being at the edge of the planet. Actually, I am pretty sure this town was planned by ex-pats, surfers, and locals wanting to cash in. Besides the tiny mosquitos who have the power to wreak havoc on your sanity, it is a perfect little place to get away away... but not too far because otherwise I would not be able to post this blog (there is Internet but no ATM in Canoa).

I am in a restaurant/bar called Surf Shack owned by an ex-pat US citizen from Colorado. He was also fooled into thinking that on the equator it would be hot and sunny, but six months out of the year there are many cloud covered days where the sun is a hazy light in the sky. The rest of the year it rains and then there is sun and then it rains. That is the rainy season.

Yesterday we had some rare sun and the Pacific ocean was warm. Today is the norm (overcast). There are places with books to exchange and surf boards to rent. And because of the ex-pat population there is hot sauce (and crushed red pepper for your pizza) and French press of "real damn coffee". In a few days we will be going to Río Muchacho Organic Farm for four days to learn about organic farming and will hopefully see monkeys!! Brian and I are on a quest to see monkeys (in their natural habitats).

Then it will be Quito. Away from the beach. It is a hard life... four months of travel deserve a week of relaxation at the beach. It ain't the Caribbean though. It is Ecuador and that means nothing will be what you expected. And that is a good thing for me.

Wet Feet

2010-07-28T11:02:00.007-04:00

It was a wet landing which means we plant our feet in the water off the dingy and walk up the beach to put our shoes on sandy feet. Our guide gathered us to talk of the things we would see on this island and answer questions. My attention wavered and my feet itched... for two reasons. We walked on designated paths on the island of Santiago. It was the afternoon and somewhat cloudy with no chance of rain. Only sea breezes and a landscape that was created a million or two years ago. However it was once for a brief time also a place where people took up residence and made salt for the sailors. But in order to preserve the place the salt mining production was discontinued. On this island we saw the marine iguanas and sea lions lounging. The lava rocks made the ideal place to rest as well as creating a unique environment that told the tale of how this land was formed. We walked to the grottos. A place where water carved it's place with time. Aqua-marine waters filled large holes and made lava rock bridges. As we observed the sea lions grunt, snort, and slide into the water; being playful on the edges we saw a serendiptious site. Orca whales close to where the sea lions played, hoping for a meal. We only caught a fin on camera but we saw them arc in and out of the water and away. They realized the sea lions were not going to venture far out now. We again saw them off in the distance. Earlier that day we had snorkeled and saw sea turtles and such a superb variety of fish. So this was the perfect day. A child-like wonder returned to us.

Other pictures of this amazing day and the fin picture I speak of will be up on our flickr account as soon as we are able to do so.

In Puerto Ayora, Santa Cruz Island, Galapagos, Waiting

2010-07-27T11:39:00.000-04:00

Blue footed boobies feeding juvenile.

Sitting in the lobby of Hotel España, in Puerto Ayora, on Santa Cruz Island, in the Galapagos, in Ecuador, on the equator... 9:18 AM Galapagos time... It's raining. Disembarked from the boat earlier this morning. Feeling land-sick after five days/four nights at sea. Why does the Earth wobble to and fro? Trying to upload the backlog of pictures on the free WiFi in the lobby. Impossible to describe the experience. It went by in a flash, and at the same time I don't want to sleep on a boat for a long, long time to come. Staying on the islands (Santa Cruz and then San Cristóbal) for the next four days before returning to Guayaquil. Have thousands of pictures to wade through, catalog, and upload. Never need to go to the zoo again. Snorkeling with sea lions and penguins, marine iguanas, a white tipped shark, numerous tropical fishes, sea turtles. Witnessed blue footed boobies nesting and feeding young. Wandered through multitudes of island-evolved iguanas. Avoided being puked on by a frigate bird. Fur seals. Swallowtail gulls. Felt soft spines of giant cactus that had no predators to eat it. Volcanos. Lava tubes. Incredible landscapes and seascapes. Virtually unspoiled beauty. Impossible to describe. Rambling thoughts. Need to catalog thoughts. Process. Rinse. Repeat.

Goodbye Argentina, Part 2: Mendoza

2010-07-22T19:53:00.000-04:00

NOTE: Before arriving back in Ecuador, Karla and I spent the last week and a half visiting several regions of Argentina, leaving Buenos Aires behind and following an almost-square pattern. We took a bus north to Iguazú, then flew west to Salta, and finally headed south on another bus to Mendoza. This is the second of two parts describing our journey.

Mendoza

We spent the last three days of our time in Argentina in Mendoza, the capital of the powerhouse wine-producing region of the same name. During our stay, we took a half-day tour of two wineries and an olive oil plant, a full day tour of the high Andes region and the Río Mendoza, spent a few nights out on the town, and stayed at Hostel Lagares, definitely a downgrade from the Hotel Orquideas but still a nice hostel with good mattresses and incredibly friendly and knowledgeable staff. Our tours and lodging were booked ahead of time by Say Hueque Travel Agency, and it turns out sometimes that it's nice to have things arranged for you, especially when there's somebody standing at the bus station to ferry you to the hostal after your 18-hour overnight bus ride from Salta to Mendoza.

Our afternoon visit to the two wineries and the olive oil plant, situated in nearby Maipú, were quite educational, and also tasty.

The first winery visited was called Lopez, and it had a fairly large processing facility within the town limits of Maipú. The grapes are delivered from their fields within the region, and processed in large metal drums. Some of the red wines are then aged in French oak barrels, while whites are aged in a huge vats. We tasted two of their wines in their wine cellar, a sparkling white and a red, which were decent, but nothing too exciting, in our opinion. However, it was nice to hear that they use an all-natural process - the yeast on the skins from the grapes are the only things that go into the fermentation process - and that the left-over mash is returned to the field to fertilize the grape vines.

Next we toured a small olive oil plant, a welcome change from the winery, where we learned the ancient (and fairly simple, it turns out) art of creating cold-pressed extra-virgin olive oil, Essentially the olives (they use three different varieties to create their blends) are crushed (pits and all) by a giant stone mill into a paste, which is loaded onto mesh trays, the trays are stacked, and then pressed by a hyrdaulic press, squeezing out the oil and water, which is collected and kept in a series of vats as the oil natuarally separates from the water. All of this is temperature controlled to keep the acidity down, The final product, after weeks of sitting in the vats, is some tasty olive oil, which we were able to sample on pieces of bread along with sun-dried tomatoes and raisins. The left-overs of the process, the mash of olives, is then sold off to various other parties that will chemically extra the remaining oils, use the products to create cosmetics, or simply return it to the field as fertilizer.

The second winery we visited was Don Arturo, a small, family run bodega that produces high end Malbecs, Cabernet Sauvignons, Merlots, Syrahs that are both aged in bottle and aged in French oak casks, depending upon the level of the wine. They also produce a few varietals of white, and sell the wine only in their showroom, which keeps prices down. We loved their lower-end Cabernet Sauvignon (aged for a few months in French oak) and Malbec (only aged in the bottle), and were lucky enough to be able to sample their higher-end Cabernet Sauvignon (aged much longer in French oak) in the showroom when one of the family members came in provided us with a special tasting. It was so good that we spent 50 pesos (roughly US$13) for a bottle, and contemplated splurging on their super high-end limited edition celebration wines (a Malbec and a Cabernet Sauvignon). The wine is good enough, in my opinion, that it could probably fetch US$50 to US$100 if it were sold in the United states. We didn't get the chance to try to their celebration wines, sadly, although we were seriusly considering paying the money to ship a case back to the United States.

We also spent a full day touring (mostly in the tour van) the Andes to the west of Mendoza, following along the route that connects Argentina to Chile, and driving all the way to the frontier. We made several stops along the way - to the artifical lake that was created when they damned up the Mendoza river (the water of which is used for irrigating the wine region and also all of the trees in the city of Mendoza via a complex system of canals), stopped in the town of Uspallata for a coffee and a pastry called a tortita mendocina (it was arond Uspallata that the movie Seven Years in Tibet was actually filmed), then proceeded up toward the pass, following the Mendoza river and passing along glacial formations with the Andes all around us. Finally, we drove to the very checkpoint that separates Chile from Argentina, then turned back to have lunch and some free time at a nearby restaurant and snow park. It was freezing cold. It was snowing. A strong wind was blowing. We thought we had prepared well enough, but we were also freezing cold. After lunch, we ended up spending most of the time in the tour van. But it was also incredibly beautiful - the Andes, as we have now seen them from both sides and travelled among them in Ecuador, Peru, Chile, and Argentina, are incredibly majestic, powerful forces of nature jutting up at the collision of two tectonic plates.

Despite all of this touring around the region, were also able to spend some time in Mendoza itself, exploring the area around Plaza Independencia and the various smaller plazas, and along Avenida Villanueva, which is where a bunch of restaurants and clubs are. The city, dead during the afternoon when stores close and everyone takes a lunch break or siesta, comes to life at night, with both locals and tourists taking to the streets to wander around, shop, hang out in the park, play soccer, buy crafts, and socialize. We were amazed at the number of people out, in the cold weather in winter, and can only imagine how happening it must get during the warmer summer months.

Our last night in Mendoza, and Argentina, we spent wandering through Plaza Independencia, with its glowing Christmas-light wire sculpture of Inti the sun god smiling down while hands shake in a message of friendship welcoming people, taking pictures, watching the fountain, before heading over Plaza España and the restuarant La Tasca for one of the best meals we've had in Argentina.

A Spanish-based tapas restaurant with red painted walls hung with paintings from local artsists along with prints from a least one famous South American (that was either Guayasamín or a knock-off on the wall [see our previous entry about visiting Guayasamín's Capilla del Hombre in Quito, Ecuador]), the items on the menu fit perfectly, with a definite South American flare over what would be considered traditinoal Spanish tapas. Karla and I shared everything for dinner, which consisted of spiced olives, vegetables au gratin (mostly various squashes, carrots, and tomatoes), mussels in a saffron sauce, shrimp and clam kebab, and abadejo (a white, ocean-dwelling fish imported from Chile) in a green sauce. And, of course, we drank our bottle of Don Arturo Cabernet Sauvignon, a perfect compliment to the strength of the olives and vegetables, alhtough we could have done with a white for the fish. Nevertheless, this did not diminish the fact that everything tasted incredible - every single course, well (and correctly) herbed and spiced (remember that Argentinians don't generally like spicy food), and cooked perfectly (clams that melted in your mouth, white fish that was flaky yet moist, baked vegetables that still held their form...). We finished the meal with a lemon mousse and a small cup of honey grappa. A perfect last dinner in Argentina.

Goodbye Argentina, Part 1: Iguazú and Salta

2010-07-21T22:15:00.003-04:00

Last Days in Buenos Aires

2010-07-15T11:11:00.000-04:00

On Tuesday, Karla and I arrived in Puerto Iguazú after a 16 hour, overnight bus trip, leaving our month stay in Buenos Aires behind. Although we're happy to be traveling again, exploring new places, we'll miss Argentina's capital, and we had a great last few days leading up to our Monday departure. Here's a quick recap of the highlights.

Tuesday 7/6

We visited the Japanese Gardens, which is up near the Botanical Gardens and the Zoo. A small but pretty place, it's worth an hour visit.

In the evening, we had our first and only tango lesson with a group called Parakultural. We're not sure how we waited until our last week to go for a tango lesson, but it happened. We learned the basic step and liked it, and plan to continue learning this dance once we get back to Baltimore.

After our tango lesson, we headed to Bar de Roberto in Almagro, to check it out. Our friends D & J, who visited Buenos Aires for their honeymoon, liked the place and recommended it to us. It was a strange and cool little neighborhood bar full of characters, although there were, sadly, no old men singing lost love songs when we were there.

Wednesday 7/7
We headed into the Barrio Norte/Recoleta neighborhood to visit Gran Bar Danzon, a restaurant/night spot recommended by our guidebook. It was a cool, hip, upstairs bar/restaurant that served some tasty sushi and some decent ceviche. We also had an order of risotto and, of course, a few drinks, including a quite good martini. On the way back, we gave our left over risotto to a homeless family.

Thursday 7/8
Thursday, we finally stayed awake long enough to head out to a night club (night clubs in Buenos Aires don't routinely get going until after midnight). We visited the Niceto Club, to their regular Thursday night party called Club 69. It was a crazy dance party with dressed up go-go/carnival dancers/performers that went around instigating the crowd.

Friday 7/9
Finally, one of the great meals of our stay in Buenos Aires! We participated in a closed-door dinner at Casa SaltShaker. There were nine guests in total, eight of which turned out to be from the States, and one who was Argentinian. We ate a five course tasting menu with paired wines, created and prepared by chef Dan Perlman and hosted by Henry Tapia, which was excellent . Each course with its wine pairing was fabulous, but my favorite was the mollusc soup paired with a glass of Lurton "Vuelà" Sauvignon Blanc. The conversation and company was also excellent. I had, in fact, intended to write a whole entry on this experience, but time got away from me... Perhaps I'll circle back to when this dinner has engraved itself more into my memories as a fabulous Friday night in Buenos Aires, and then I'll expound upon it larger than life...

Saturday 7/10

After starting the day by a no-show from the group that was supposed to be giving a bike tour around Buenos Aires, we found our wat to the Costanera Sur Ecological Reserve and rented bicycles on our own. We peddled around the beautiful park, which grew up on top of a former landfill when volunteer plants and trees from the delta took over, seeing some great views of the Río de la Plata and also of the Puerto Madero skyscrapers in the distance.

Sunday 7/11
The World Cup! We originally planned to go to this Dutch bar in the Las Cañitas neighborhood to see what kind of festivities they were planning during the game, but once we got there, the streets were overflowing with people in Orange. We ended up at a restaurant down the street (I can't remember the name) where we had lunch (which was the best pizza I've had in Buenos Aires) and watched most of the match as Spain and the Netherlands clashed. Karla was rooting for Spain, and I was rooting for the Netherlands (mostly because I wanted Paul the prophesizing octopus to be proven wrong), but Spain was triumphant in overtime.

Monday 7/12
And on this day, we took care of some loose ends in Buenos Aires, gave back the apartment, and got on the overnight long-distance bus to Puerto Iguazú.

Three Weeks in Buenos Aires

2010-07-05T12:49:00.000-04:00

Week One: Arrival

If you hadn't figured it out from the title, we have been in Buenos Aires, Argentina, for the past three weeks. We arrived here on Sunday, June 13th, taking the direct ferry boat (Buquebus) from Montevideo, Uruguay, across (and up) the Río de la Plata to Buenos Aires, Argentina. The boat landed at the docks in the Retiro neighborhood, which also happens to be where one of the major train stations is located and is near the heart of the city. We caught a cab to Palermo, the neighborhood we're staying in, and spent the night at a fancy boutique hotel as a treat. The next day, we took possession of the apartment that we've rented for a month. We're staying only a few blocks from the subway, here in Palermo, on the edge of Palermo Hollywood, which it turns out (unsurprising by its name) has a bunch of fancy restaurants and clothings stores in it. There's actually a news studio nearby, and a couple of nices parks.

We then spent the week getting ourselves accustomed to the area, and also to Karla's favorite neighborhood, San Telmo, which we visited to check out the South American Explorer's clubhouse and to participate in their free weekly Spanish lessons. Karla also signed up for a four-day Spanish course that met for three hours each day in different parts of the city. We spent some time acclimating to Argentinian Spanish (Spanish is hard enough, but every time we visit a new country, or a new region, we have to wrap our heads around regional variations, including grammatical constructs and tenses they failed to explain in school) and the new timetable (people don't have dinner until after 9 pm, and nobody goes out to clubs, which are open through dawn, until at least 1 am).

Finally, on Sunday (a week after first arriving) we managed to stay up late enough to go a night spot. We found way to a big hole-in-the-wall place called Salón Pueyrredón, only a few blocks from our apartment. Dark red lighting, a bar along one wall, secondary rooms (one big one with an empty stage, another with tables and a balcony where everyone was smoking), and 80s music set the tone. In fact, the place was reminiscent of Club Charles or the Depot in Baltimore (which of course is a reference only our Baltimore friends are going to understand). We had a good time hanging out there, drinking a few rounds of Cuba Libres, and Karla dancing. Of course, we needed all of Monday to recover...

Week Two: Suzanne

Tuesday, our friend Suzanne arrived from the States for a week long visit. We met her at Ezeiza (also known as Ministro Pistrarini International Airtport) to help her transition into this Spanish-speaking country. That night, the three of us, along with some members from the South American Explorers club, went out to dinner to watch a tango show. It was a pretty cool experience, although at first we weren't sure it was really going to happen as after we arrived at the restaurant the power cut out several times - some kind of neighborhood rolling blackout. However, it seems the place had an emergency backup of some sort, and energy was soon restored. The show was quite interesting and beautiful to watch, and followed what appeared to be a traditional progression for tango shows, rooting the tango in danger, violence, and eroticism, visiting several time periods in chronological order with changes of costume and music, progressing through several storylines that seemed to involve mobsters, jealous lovers, an occasional fight, and even an appearance by the authorities to arrest the participants, and finally culminating in the 21st century. The show also involved audience participation, and several members of our table were pulled up to dance during these parts.

For the next few days after we proceeded to show her around to different neighborhoods, including a visit to the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires (MALBA), and to eat out at different restaurants, including a tasty (and relatively expensive) sushi dinner at Dashi in Palermo Hollywood.

During this period, an emergency developed with my GMAIL account - it was hacked by Nigerians and they sent out an email scam asking people to wire money to a friend of mine in England who somehow needed money. As if I'd actually ask people for money for a random friend, and not even name the friend. However, the hackers did a pretty good job attemting to disguise the forgery of their email, going so far as to having read some of my previous emails (they referenced Karla and myself being in Buenos Aires) and using my signature line. Fortunately, I have some extremely savvy friends who notified me via facebook of the account compromise, and I reclaimed my account in short order. Still frustrating, though, and a good way to ruin a man's morning. I'm just glad that this happened while we were staying put, in a place where we have dedicated Internet. It would have been much more of a mess trying to fix the problem while actually en route to some other destination, forced to use a public terminal and pay by the minute...

Unfortunately, a few days later, and after a large quantity of grilled meat (Karla, suzanne, and I met up with Argentinian acquaintances of Suzanne's in the vicinity of Puerto Madero and went to a parilla called Sigue la Vaca [Follow the Cow]), both Karla and I contracted some kind of Buenos Aires flu. Apparently it wasn't one of the normal strains, or otherwise our flu vaccinations we had just before embarking on our trip were sham. That, sadly, knocked us out of commission for three or four days. During that same time the United States was knocked out of the World Cup.

Week Three: Recovery

Suzanne left the following Tuesday. Two days later, mostly recovered, we attended the grand re-opening party for Buenos Aires clubhouse for the South American Explorers club, in the San Telmo area. It was a pretty good party, with a diverse cross section of ex-patriot members, non-members, and locals who live in or are traveling through the Buenos Aires area. And we won one of the door prizes - a trip to Puerto Iguazú - something we'd been planning anyway! It couldn't have worked out better for us.

Since we were both hungry, we left the party just a little early and headed over to Krakow Bar, purportedly a Polish (or Polish-themed) place. We ordered pierogis, and, true to the South American interpretation of everything, they were an odd fascimile of the real thing, almost more like giant raviolis. I guess the tomato sauce reinforced that idea. But they did have pretty tasty beer, with even a local Pale Ale on top.

Then Saturday we headed over to our mutual Argentinian friends apartment to watch the World Cup quarter-finals match against Germany. It did not go well, what with Argentina losing by four points in a shutout. Too bad - both for Argentina - and for us, because we were hoping maybe they'd go all the way to the World Cup and we'd be here to see the city go crazy. Instead, after the match, the World Cup ceased to exist. At least, that's how our friends reacted. "What's the World Cup? What's this sport called Futbol? We're following tennis here." Oh well. I'm sure there'll still be plenty of Argentinians tuning in next Sunday, especially if Germany makes it past the semi-finals, if only in the hopes of watching the German team go down in flames.

And then Sunday, yesterday, was the 4th of July. It's weird being in another country during one of your nation's holidays. I am not a nationalist by any means, but I do consider myself patriot, and do enjoy some of the freedoms the United States has to offer. I suppose I was waxing nostalgic, or perhaps just missing friends and barbecue. At any rate, I was definitely homesick. In fact, Karla and I had planned to find this American ex-pat sports bar in the Recoleta neighborhood to see if any festivities were going on, but after an afternoon wandering the crafts fair near the cemetery, we wore ourselves out, and ended up at a nice tea shop instead, sipping fancy teas, and then gonig grocery shopping. So much for fireworks and American hurrah. Once we got back home, I did try to tune in to the White House broadcast of the Washington, D.C., celebration, but it kept conking out after streaming for 5 seconds. We ended up capping our evening by watching Morgan Freeman save his niece from crazy serial killers in the good-bad movie Kiss the Girls. What could be more American than that?

***

Three weeks in Buenos Aires so far, with one week left - then we depart for other parts of Argentina and beyond. There are still two months left in this journey, more or less, and many adventures ahead.

Food I Remember

2010-07-04T17:34:00.004-04:00

Today we had a nice stroll through Recoleta, an upscale neighborhood in Buenos Aires. They have a big outdoor crafts market every weekend. Though it is winter here it was one of those unseasonably warm days that we sometimes get. It felt like fall and spring at the same time.

Brian and I went to make sure this place we made reservations at (Casa SaltShaker), did exist and/or that we knew how to get there. On our way we found a cute little tea place. I needed it. I didn't have anything exotic... just some good Indian Chai. That is exotic here.

A while back my friend Allison asked me to write a bit more about the food we have been trying... I had some homemade spicy chicken wings made by new friends that I met through our mutual friend Suzanne. She knew them before she came down here to visit us. Very nice people who have great taste in music, candy, ice cream, and chicken wings.

But that is not exactly what Allison wanted to know... I think it was more along the lines of some regional foods that we've tried. Even though I know I have had lots of good food, I don't remember details. Except for the ceviche we had in Punta del Este, Uruguay. That is the most memorable. Brian and I still nostalgically think back on it. We had ceviche in Peru where it is supposed to be the best, and very different from that found in Ecuador, as well as other countries. What made this so memorable was the ginger... I think. It was served on a bed of arugula and other leafy greens with an accompaniment of mango. But the fish... I don't remember the name... was a white fish native to the ocean surrounding Punta Del Este. It was marinated in lime, which is standard, but also....ginger. I have a thing for ginger. We had this at a restaurant called Lo de Charlie.

Other meals are memorable more for the atmosphere, companionship, and presentation than for the actual food. Partly because alcohol was consumed. Map was a great restaurant experience in Cusco, Peru. The design and decor was unique. The pisco sours were really good and I know the food was good but trying to remember would be like trying to remember a dream from months ago. I do remember the dessert. It was a chocolate truffle with each truffle set on the plate so artistically that it was too pretty to eat. But I did. In order to get to one truffle I had to break apart this shot glass made of sugar. I suppose I could have just bit in to the shot glass but that probably would have not been so graceful and we were in a fancy restaurant. This excursion from the typical set menu or cheap dinner options we tried on this trip was not too pricey once converting soles to US dollars. And even though I don't remember the details it was a good night out and worth it.

I am sure I will have more to say on food. This upcoming Friday we are going to a closed door restaurant. If you want to know more about that, go to the Casa Saltshaker website.

Pictures - Chile and Uruguay

2010-06-20T19:26:00.000-04:00

Time seems to both fly by incredibly fast and simultaneously stand still when you're traveling. Karla and I have been in Buenos Aires just over a week now, and it's as if we've been here forever and also as if we've just arrived. We've reached the halfway point of our journey, and have transitioned from packing our bags every few days to move to the next place into our temporary urban apartment life in Palermo.

Argentina is the third country we've been in in as many weeks, so it's nice to stop traveling and concentrate one place. That said, since we've been traveling so much up until now, we've been remiss in uploading the photos that help chronicle our adventures of Chile and Uruguay. Fortunately, I've managed to get our backlog onto our flickr feed last night.

Without further ado, here are links to our photo sets for the various places we visited in Chile and Uruguay, along with our Buenos Aires photos so far.

Santiago de Chile:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624124206569/

Valparaiso, Viña del Mar, and Isla Negra:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624252206104/

Montevideo:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624312304994/

Punta del Este and Casapueblo:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624312294164/

Buenos Aires:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624312986154/

Parallel Universe

2010-06-10T11:39:00.003-04:00

Right now we are on a bus heading towards Punta del Este from Montevideo, Uruguay. The bus happens to have WiFi. Amazing! This is more modern then the USA. Or maybe there is WiFi on buses now in the US... things change so fast. If not then Los Estados Unidos needs to get with the times.

Anyway... the Uruguay countryside is not much different than driving through New Jersey to get to the beach. All the signs are in Spanish and some in English like some crazy parallel universe which is what it is like here on the other side of the globe. And it is winter here. Okay so this might only amaze a fifth grader.

I have a theory about why the infrastructure is more modern in the more southern cities of South America. I think it has to do with the weather.

In countries like Ecuador and Peru, it is okay to live in a hut when the weather doesn't drop below 70 degrees. It is a week theory I admit. I really don't know why there is more infrastructure here. But it is a mystery I plan on solving while here. Perhaps this is a less exploited section or maybe it is all the Europeans that emigrated here later on and weren't about to live in a country with crumbling or half constructed buildings.

There are less indigenous people or people of mixed race here. The European gene is most prominent in most of the residents of Montevideo anyway. I don't know if that has anything to do with it but most likely it affects... something.

Then there is the fact that Uruguay is small and reportedly the least corrupt or crime ridden of the countries in South America... but if that plays a part then the United States would be full of people living in tents and buildings should be crumbling and boarded up... and, oh, that is happening.

Well, I am unsure of how this is all connected... if it is connected. I know there are a lot more factors.

Three things I miss about the USA.... in order of importance:

family and friends
food without ham in it (and other food items...like hot sauce and jalapenos)
a bigger wardrobe

Pictures - Inca Trail, Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca

2010-06-02T10:55:00.000-04:00

We've been able to clear some of our backlog of pictures! Thanks to the good Internet connectivity here at the Hotel Vegas in Santiago de Chile, we've been able to upload some 300+ shots that myself, Karla, and our friend William took on our trips together along the Inca Trail and to Machu Picchu, and to Puno and Lake Titicaca, visiting the islands of Uros and Taquile.

Inca Trail + Machu Picchu Pictures:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624184364684/

Puno + Lake Titicaca Pictures:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/33430670@N05/sets/72157624185810386/

Santiago, Chile - Culture Shock and Music in the Streets

2010-06-01T18:56:00.001-04:00

Santiago, Chile - Our LAN flight from Lima, Peru, touched down at Aeropuerto Arturo Merino Benítez, outside of Santiago de Chile, at approximately 1 AM this morning. It was perhaps one of the smoothest landings I've ever had flying, which was a precursor to the efficiency by which we paid our reciprocity fee ($131 each to enter the country and receive a tourist visa good for the lifetime of our passports), had our passports checked by immigration (where Karla, who was born in Ecuador - which is stated on her passport - was briefly hassled for not knowing any Spanish), and passed through customs (I thought they might confiscate my tea and garlic salt, since they have strict agricultural protections, but they were looking for fresh vegetables, cheese, and meats). All in all, it took only a half hour between disembarking the plane and finding ourselves in a taxi en route to our hotel, Hotel Vegas in the barrio Paris-Londres just south of the city center.

After sleeping in late, we explored the downtown area, and immediately were struck with a sort of culture shock. Santiago, Chile, is nothing like any of the cities we've hitherto visited in Ecuador and Peru. Nothing at all. No incessant car honking and alarms going off, no trash riddle streets, very little graffiti and even less in the way of wild dogs, and a lot more colonial architecture, just to begin. In fact, it feels more like being in Europe than in South America. If I didn't know better, the language being a dead giveaway, I'd think we were possibly in a strange part of Paris, or New York City. It was a strange change, having just flown in from Peru, and even more, having spent most of the last two weeks in rural settings.

We walked the streets, visited a small clothing boutique (where Karla picked up a really cute skirt and I bought an awesome high-end t-shirt), wandered through one of the parks that lines the northern end of the city center, and then headed south. We found ourselves at the Plaza de Armas (the central square) where a group of musicians and dancers where performing. It appeared to be some sort of traditional dances, although we couldn't be certain, and we were handed a news flier being distributed by the performers. This at 2 PM on a Tuesday. Our culture shock began to subside, overtaken by the magical wonder of this city.

We realized we were getting hungry, and set off to the find lunch. After a couple of abortive attempts to find restaurants listed in our guidebook, we stumbled across The Clinic Bar, and went inside. To be precise, we actually went to their back patio and bar. Karla ended up ordering the menu del dia, which consisted of a tasty tomato soup, main course of stuffed chicken with couscous, and a desert of chocolate flan, and I order raviolis aji de gallo, which is to say raviolis stuffed with shredded ~~cock~~ male chicken in a cream sauce spiced with the aji pepper. It was quite delicious, and the ambiance of the place was great too - a water fountain, a little altar with the Virgin Mary and some animals, a statue missing a head covered in melted wax from candles that must have been lit at night, and a laid back people-watching experience. Our bill, however, came to 10,900 Chilean pesos.

A word about money in Chile. The official monetary unit is the Chilean peso (CLP). I'm not entirely sure of the history of the peso here - was there some kind of hyper-inflation at some point? - but a single Chilean peso is, well, pretty much worthless. The cheapest items cost hundreds of pesos. In fact, $1 US buys you about 533 CLP, so that means 1 CLP is worth roughly 19/100 of a US penny. But, as I was saying, the goods and services cost in the hundreds to thousands of pesos. Our lunch - 10,900 CLP - which is $20.45. So we're carrying around 100 peso coins and 1, 2, 5, and 10 thousand peso notes. The numbers are so large, but they aren't worth much, so it throws the mind for a loop when trying to understand the value of things compared to US prices. It seems to me that the Chilean peso needs to undergo a 100 to 1 reverse "stock" split, so to speak, to bring the values back in line with any sense of reality. Or they just need to drop three zeros and call them MEGA-pesos. I guess everyone who lives here is used to it, though.

At any rate, after our late lunch, we wandered a block away and discovered The Clinic Bar store, which, oddly, sold items very similar to our own Atomic Books back in Baltimore. That is to say, it sold kitchy hipster merchandise, such as custom labeled The Clinic Bar lighters and cocktail stir rods, along with an odd assortment of books, magazines, zines, movies, and clothing. Nothing stood out as a rare find, so we exited the establishment and made our way to Cerro Santa Lucia, a big hill that was originally a giant rock sticking up in the city but was since terraformed in the late 1800s, dirt being added, trees and flowers being planted, and two buildings being constructed upon it, one a fortress on the very top. Now the place is a beautiful public park with various types of gardens and the two historic structures to walk around and through, although parts of the fort and some of the paths were closed due to damage, presumably from the earthquake earlier this year. It was a beautiful place to explore as the sun sank lower on the horizon, wandering among the trees with their leaves changing to autumn hues, and the chill of the evening starting to seep in.

Now we are back our hotel again. I'm typing on the second floor landing, where I'm able to get WiFi reception, and Karla is resting up. Earlier a band of six musicians, faces covered in that white paint that usually is reserved for mimes, marched by below us in the streets playing music on pipes and drums. We hung out the window and Karla tossed down a 100 CLP coin to thank them. Tonight we plan to visit some of the incredible bars and clubs, hoping to catch some live music or find a chill spot for a cocktail, or otherwise discover some incredible nook in this rich and diverse city.

Too many adventures and not enough time to write.

2010-05-30T11:35:00.010-04:00

It has been awhile since we wrote anything extensive expressing the many adventures of our trip. But that is because we were too busy living and enjoying the adventures. As it should be. But I do apoligize for those who are living vicariously through us. Hope it wasn't too painful a wait.

When we arrived in Cusco, we returned to high altitude. It was not as difficult to adjust the second time around. We arrive by plane and got dropped off at the bottom of the hill by a taxi in the middle of the afternoon. The Loki hostel was large and filled with young travelers mainly. People for whom it is normal to spend 6 months to a year traveling around South America or the whole world. I met an American who was a bit suprised that other Americans were traveling for as long as we are. A couple days later our friend Will joined us. The altitude affected him hard for one day and then he was running up stairs.

A couple days after Will's arrival we left for the Inca trail bound for Machu Picchu. By the way if you pronounce it the way most tourist do it means "old penis". Pikchu--with an accent on the first syllable is how it should be pronounced. This is Quechua, the language of the Incas. All our porters mainly spoke Quechua. Because we were camping I was expecting simple no frills meals but we got gourmet...mainly typical peruvian dishes. And a lot of it. The second day we made it over pass that was almost 14,000 ft. and did it under the time that our guide expected. The last day we had to get up at 4am so we could watch the sun rise to shine down on Machu Picchu. It was worth it.

I realized that next time though I need more sleep if I want to really appreciate everything about the magnificent site. It was a great place to explore but because of all the many tourist it was difficult to find a quiet place to take it all in.

After we got back to Cuzco, we stayed at a different place. Then the next night we had to move because that hotel was booked for Saturday evening. On Sunday we took a bus to Puno...eight hours and the most disgusting bathroom ever. One night in Puno and then the next day we got up at 5:30ish to be ready for our van to take us to the boat. The boat ride would take us to islands in Lake Titicaca...the only reason to go to Puno. And it was way worth it. The first inlands were the reed islands made of the tortora grass that grows in the shallow parts of the lake. The people had to anchor their islands and change the whole structure every year. And if a group of young adults wanted to have their own island away from the elders they could just make one and scuttle off. Sounds great, right?

The next island was Taquile where we stayed overnight with a family. No cars on this inland and no dogs. Now the car thing makes sense. No real need for a car on this island. They had boats to go across to the nearby island of Amantani though. Dogs didn't live on the island because there was no crime and every one including the animals has to pull his own wait. I gathered that dogs are only considered guards for house and not companions. There was plenty of sheep for that. Dogs are not needed so they don't live there. Apparently cats were useful for catching mice and other rodents so they could be members of the Taquile community.

Our guide, who was also the man of the house that we stayed at took us to the beach the first day and the next day, to the highest point where the Pachamama temple was. It was simple and beautiful. There we could see 360 degrees of the lake, the snow covered mountains in Boliva, and the other islands.

After returning to Puno for a night and another 8 hr bus ride to Cuzco we got our stuff back that we had stored at the South America explorers clubhouse. I called my mom and did some email. A couple days later Will left us to go back to the states and we went to Pisac. So here I sit cradled by the warmth and kindness of the mountains in the sunny lounge are of Paz y Luz inn.

More pictures will be forth coming but internet is still not enough to upload them all at the moment.

Quick Update - Cusco, Machu Picchu, Puno, Lake Titicaca

2010-05-22T11:06:00.000-04:00

A quick update to let you know that we are still alive and kicking...

We´ve been pretty busy, and out of the range of the Internet, and we have a lot of pictures to upload, but just now, we don´t really have time to fill in all the details. Our friend William arrived last Saturday, and after a couple of days in Cusco, we departed on Monday morning to begin trekking the classic Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. After three days of hiking through gorgeous high altitude Andean landscapes, past Inca ruins, and scaling three passes (the first of which was at almost 14,000 feet), we saw our first glimpse of Machu Picchu on the fourth day from the sun gate as the sun crested the mountains and briefly burned off the clouds. It was an incredible sight.

We returned to Cusco late last night after exploring Machu Picchu. Our return was on Peru Rail, but the train service hasn´t been restored all the way to Cusco yet, so we all transfered onto buses after an hour and spent another three brutal hours zooming through the Sacred Valley and through the mountains until making it back last night.

Today, we recover from the trek, shuffle some things around, and prepare to leave for tomorrow´s adventure to Puno and Lake Titicaca. Odds are we won´t be able to update the blog or upload any pictures until after that time, so stay tuned for a barrage of images and words.

One tenth epic journey...

2010-05-13T18:59:00.004-04:00

After years of planning, the day has arrived. We are in Cusco. Much of this journey has been tentative and uncertain until a few weeks or months before. The beginning and end and some of the intermediate were planned out... and tickets were bought and dreams and fantasties abounded. But regardless... it never is quite as perfect as you plan in your head. And since I have only been here for a few hours, I can't say if it causes all the wild dreams to disingreate or not. I know we have a beautiful view of the mountains from our room. I know that as we sat in the backseat of our taxi we got a glimpse of how the Spaniards intruded their architecture on top of Inca ruins. Dark fell as we cleaned up and since our hostel has a cozy bar with many travelers, we were feeling it unnecessary to leave at the moment.

The altitude is not bad but it has made us lacking in motivation for now. Exploring will commence tomorrow. 5 days till we start on our trek to Machu Picchu.

On Saturday morning our good friend William will be joining us. I love Brian''s companionship but it will be good to have a third party to talk to and joke with... and who also loves good food and the outdoors.

Well worn paths

2010-05-11T08:01:00.005-04:00

Yesterday we did a bit of exploring outside of the cozy little town of Huanchaco to see some ruins of the Chimu culture. The site was called Chan Chan, which is thought to have been built around 850 A.D., and lasted until the Incas took over. It seems the Incas got their comeuppance when the Spanish came. But the Incas were not as destructive to the architecture. Chan Chan is remarkably well preserved and/or restored. I could get a bit of the feel of being one of the 30,000 to 60,000 citizens that lived there, attending one of the ceremonies or just going about my daily routine.

Some say it is too restored and not authentically portrayed according to the effects of time and weather. I am not an archaeologist nor am I interested in the detailed science that goes into trying to figure out all the dating of things. I am curious about the people and especially the women. What was daily life like? Were women just seen as part of the property? Did they have a job, a duty? This culture definitely intrigued me. It is still being excavated and theorized about. It was only recently uncovered in the 1800s which is a short amount of time by archaeological standards. Much to do still.

After the ruins we sat on the beach. It was such a nice, relaxing day, which doesn't even truly express it.

We then found that one of the first people I met in our travels (in Cuenca, Ecuador) was also staying here. A very friendly and easy going girl from Holland. She had just arrived the day before and told me about other people she met along the way that were also in Huanchaco and staying at the same hostel. We had a great time sitting on the rooftop of our hostel, drinking wine and playing a new card game called Yani. We learned the game from a British woman also traveling in a similar direction as us and our friend from Holland.

It seems that this is a mecca for travelers. It is a well worn spot along the Gringo Trail, from what I've read. I understand why. A beach and an ancient city. You can soak up sun and culture at an easy pace.

For the full set of our pictures from Chan Chan, and a video of Brian explaining the "Sala de 24 Hornacinas", visit the part of our flickr feed tagged "chanchan". You can also view our pictures of Huanchaco.

Time Warp

2010-05-08T19:53:00.002-04:00

Moving from one country to another in a short time span has definitely caused a time warp. On Tuesday we were in Vilcabamba, Ecuador; on Wednesday- Piura, Peru; Thursday- Chiclayo, Peru; and now we are in Huanchaco, Peru. This is the most traveling we've done in a short time. This Monday we will be taking an overnight bus to Lima.

We have read that Lima is big, overwhelming, not a good introduction to Peruvian culture, but we will be checking it out for a short time anyway. And of course we have to see for ourselves.

This will have to be a short entry because it is dinner time and I can't spend all my time on the computer, people!

All kidding aside ... check out our pictures that were taken in the last couple of weeks. These pictures span the town of Cuenca - with an interesting bar with lots of macabre decor - to Parque Nacional Cajas to Loja and Vilcabamba, Ecuador, and then some of north coast Peru (Chiclayo).

Hope you enjoy, and mom---Happy Mother's Day. Don't worry ... I will call you soon. Miss you all. More to come....

Radio Silence / Peru

2010-05-06T20:25:00.000-04:00

A quick update for the moment - sorry for the radio silence. We have been traveling to places where we didn't have very good (or any Internet). Leaving Loja, we went south an hour to the town of Vilcabamba, in the so-called valley of longevity, where we spent four nights at the wonderful Rumi-Wilco eco-lodge, in a pole house (think rustic cabin on stilts) next to the river. We did some hiking, some wandering around the town, some hanging out in hammocks, some cooking, and even went on a six hour horseback ride that entered el Parque Nacional Podocarpus.

After Vilcabamba, we returned briefly to Loja (basically to spend the night), then caught the 7 am bus to Piura, Peru, last night. We met several other International travelers en route, including a couple from Australia, a woman from the States (who grew up near where Karla grew up and happens to be moving to Baltimore in the fall to go to nursing school), and a woman from China.

The border crossing was a bit interesting. The bus stopped at the border, which happened to be a river, and we all dismounted, only to be left to our devices to figure out exactly which offices we were supposed to go to get our exit and entry stamps. Collectively, we figured it out, though, obtaining our exit stamps from Ecuador, then crossing the bridge by foot to get our passports stamped for entry into Peru and to be given our short-term tourist visas. After this, we had to cross the street and report to the Peruvian National Police, who scrutinized our passports and the tourist visas (already approved by another Peruvian official - I don't really understand this protocol), who stamped the back of our visas. Then we walked back out onto the road and got back into the bus.

We arrived in Piura, Peru, a few hours later, and spent a few additional hours with the couple from Australia. They left our company after dinner for Chiclayo and parts beyond. Anyway, after spending the night in Piura, Karla and I thought we'd head to Trujillo today, but discovered that the only direct bus leaving left in the middle of the night. We decided we'd head to Chiclayo instead (buses left every hour), where we are now, halfway between Piura and Trujillo. Buses depart Chiclayo to Trujillo every hour.

Anyway, so, we're in Peru, which operates at a different, much fast, more intense pace than laid-back Ecuador. We'll be making our way down the coast over the next several days, until we arrive in Lima, then fly to Cusco next Thursday. Hopefully we can get some more information up between now and then, and even possibly upload some of our backlog of pictures.

No Expectations

2010-04-29T09:54:00.005-04:00

We are now in Loja which sounded much cooler in the guidebook. I have learned not to put too much stock in the guidebook. In fact I have realized that the best thing to do is not to have any expectations at all for a place. That is a difficult thing for me but I am learning.

While in Cuenca, still our favorite town so far, I picked up this book at the hostel called The Gringo Trail by Mark Mann. It is an account of this British guy's travels in South America. It started off funny and he was going to places that we are going or have been. His adventures were more crazy than mine, though. I recommend it but I would suggest reading after or during a trip here unless you are not one of those people prone to expecting too much.

There is a character in the book who may be a real life person but for me she is simply a fun character. She is great at not having any expectations. However, she is also clueless and is a bit of a burden for the narrator and author who is doing all the planning and being somewhat sensible. I am more like her though(except I plan too much) and Brian is more like the narrator. A couple of times I almost walked into a hole in the sidewalk because I was looking around at everything and I was not paying attention to my surroundings. Thankfully Brian was there.

Like one of the characters in The Gringo Trail, we are headed to Vilcabamba tomorrow. We are going for the nature, though. I doubt I will be looking for a psychodelic cactus and boiling it down for eight hours. It sounds like too much work. I just want to see alot of the rare birds that are endemic to Parque National Podocarpus. This park is named after Ecuador's only native conifer, according to our guidebook (Lonely Planet). However the guidebook also says that we will not be seeing much of these trees or any mammals as they have been cut down by loggers and the animals have been hunted to near extinction. Yeah, Civilization!!!

Well, we will see some lovely birds and contemplate our role on this planet. And feel close to nature and not see it as a resource to exploit. Just some travelers who have no expectations.

***

Note from Brian: We have managed to upload a bunch of pictures and two videos from our backlog, thanks to the almost fast Internet at the hotel we're staying at. In chronological order, they are:

* A video of white water inner tubing and a video of the cable car across a canyon in the cloud forest in Mindo.

* Pictures from La Ciénega and Volcán Cotopaxi, the highest active volcano in Ecuador (and second tallest peak in Ecuador).

* Pictures from Riobamba.

* Pictures from Guayaquil and a short video of the iguanas in Parque Simon Bolivar.

Hopefully we can get our pictures of Cuenca and even Loja up this evening!

Three Days in Cuenca

2010-04-26T16:07:00.001-04:00

As soon as the booming party music died down, and the screeching laughter of the drunken club girls faded into the distance, I thought I'd be able to drift off to sleep. I could feel the heavy weight of weariness pulling me down, slipping into a comfortable, steady breathing rhythm... when suddenly, the clanging ringing of heavy bells jarred me awake. It was Sunday morning, some ungodly hour, and already the church on the corner was calling people to mass. I tried to block out the off-key, dissonance of the bells, and thought I might be fading back into that sweet oblivion when air raid sirens suddenly jolted me back into the present. Karla mumbled something about World War III starting, and, confused, I pondered the idea, but it seemed preposterous that anyone would be bombing Cuenca, Ecuador, high in the Andes, at 7 AM on a Sunday morning. Perhaps it was some sort of a drill, I thought, as a I tried to flip on the light in the bathroom and discovered that there was no electricity. Or perhaps it meant that the power was out. An hour later, after more church bells and air raid sirens, the power was back. Welcome to the heart of Cuenca on a lazy Sunday morning.

Earlier... it was Friday, and the afternoon had just started. We were on the express bus from Guayaqul to Cuenca, which passed through the beautiful Cajas National Park, and rolling along at a smooth, steady pace when suddenly a grinding, chugging sound came from underneath the middle of the bus. The driver kicked it into neutral and we coasted to the side of the road. Parked, the bus idling, he and his second got out and peered under the bus. Then the banging started at the driver, presumably, began hammering away at whatever was causing the problem. Soon, many of the passengers disembarked to sit on the side of the road and watch the goings on.

Karla and I, not knowing anything about diesel bus mechanics, decided to remain on the bus, but, looking out the window, I could see two old Andean men poking at some pieces of hot broken metal on the ground. These were presumably chunks of whatever mechanism had come undone and caused our current state of affairs. The two men appeared to be in a deep conversation with each other as to the merits of the broken parts and whether the bus driver could possibly pull off some kind of MacGyver-esque repair job.

We have a broken trans axle, I contemplated, although it might as well have just been a cross beam of some sort. There's no way he's going to fix it. We're going to have to hitch a ride with the next truck that comes on by.

More banging from under the bus, and then the driver or his helper killed the engine. Even more banging ensued, perhaps a half hour of hammering in all. Then everyone boarded back onto the bus. The driver and his helper got back on board. Some lady in the back prayed the rosary (or perhaps she was just cursing to herself about the delay). We all held our breaths. The driver started the ignition. The diesel engine roared into life. Now the moment of judgment. He put it into gear... the bus lurched forward... we were back on the road, accelerating... he shifted into a jolting second, coming up to speed, into third... Everything seemed to be holding together. We were on our way.

An hour and a half later, we rolled into Cuenca, excited, nervous, cooled off (in the last six hours we'd ascending from tropical Guayaquil's 100 foot elevation, 90+ F, 97% humid, oppressive weather up to a nice, chilly Andean 8000+ foot 55 degrees), and relishing our first views of this beautiful town. In the distance, we could see the city center, with its Spanish colonial-era facade, beautiful churches, and cobbled streets.

We took a taxi from the Terminal Terrestre (main bus station) into that very center, to El Cafecito, a hostel attached to a coffee shop and bar, where we were staying. We were two blocks from one of the main streets, Calle Larga (which runs along and above the Río Tomebamba, cutting the city into two halves, with the University of Cuenca on its southern banks and the historic old city on the northern banks), three blocks from Parque Caldéron (lined with the town hall, one of the historic colonial churches, and many other beautiful old buildings), and about ten or so blocks from some of the only preserved ruins of Tomebamba, the original Incan (and pre-Incan) city that had resided here before the Spaniards conquered and what is now Cuenca was founded on top of those very ruins (most of the stonework being re-purposed by the Spanish to build their own structures).

Cuenca - a beautiful city. A clean city. Trash wasn't littering the streets, graffiti wasn't scrawled across every wall... The colonial-era architecture that our guidebook had promised really existed... A beautiful city. A city with the feeling more of a proud, laid back town. We were already in love, after only a few hours, after sitting along the riverbank and breathing in the fresh, clean, high-altitude air.

And then late Friday night the music was turned up to eleven, and the historic old city became the happening scene for the young, hip, party-goers of Cuenca. Dancing all night long. Two doors down from the hostel. Pounding right through the walls. The paper-thin walls. Until 4 AM.

Saturday night, repeat, to Sunday morning, with an extra helping of church bells and air raid sirens.

Despite these odd, middle of the night and early morning quirks, we were still charmed by the city. In fact, I thought, this place reminds me a bit of Santa Barbara, where I'd gone to school in Southern California - probably because of the same Spanish colonial architecture and college town feeling - although the people in Cuenca are by far much less stuck up (or rich) than many of the permanent residents of Santa Barbara. We explored much of the old city, visiting the museum at the Banco National, and the ruins out behind it, ambling along the streets, past craft vendors, through one of the markets with its hanging meats and produce, eating at many different cafes and restaurants, and strolling along the waterfront. Last night, we even saw a movie (El Hombre Lobo / The Wolfman, in English, with Spanish subtitles) at the Multicine, across the river, past the University, which was inside of a small mall and featured stadium seating. The movie wasn't very original, but at least it was entertaining on a Sunday evening.

And then Sunday night we slept, because clubs aren't open on Sunday, and there was no loud music, although the church bells did ring this morning at an odd time. Is there a such thing as Monday morning mass?

At any rate, having decided we like Cuenca so much, we are staying here two extra days from what we'd originally planned. We've left El Cafecito in favor of trying out a new hostel, Posado del Río, just a couple of (hopefully quieter) blocks away. We had breakfast at an Australian-run coffee shop that we discovered yesterday - Kookabura Cafe - and our giant pile of laundry is currently being washed at a nearby lavanderia.

Right now, we are just taking it easy and trying to enjoy not rushing off to the next destination.

Cuenca is my friend

2010-04-24T00:01:00.002-04:00

You might have noticed that we stated that Cuenca was the best city in Ecuador so far. But I think it is also on my top ten of great towns. Town is a better word. The city isn't that big but it has everything a big city has plus all the charm and beauty of a small town as well. It is a university town and a popular place for ex-pats to retire it seems. I will certainly consider it. Pictures will be posted soon but internet connections that can be sustained in our room are an important necessity. Okay, so the internet is not the strongest in Ecuador but if you are someone who can deal with the slow moving tranquility of Ecuadorian culture you will be patient enough for the internet down here.

I am about to finish my drink and head to bed but before I do I want to say that if you want to come to Ecuador plan to spend some time in this town. I am wishing that we had a whole month here but I may be jumping the gun because I have only been here for 9 hours. I will let you know if I still feel the same by Monday.

Raining in Riobamba

2010-04-19T20:16:00.000-04:00

It's raining in Riobamba. Pouring, in fact. I was wondering why there were drains all over the patio at the hostal we're staying at. Now I understand. All this water has to go somewhere, and without those drains, it'd be coming right under our door and into our room.

We arrived yesterday, leaving our idyllic stay at the Hostería la Ciénega in Cotopaxi province and heading south along the Panamericana (that's the main "highway" running north/south along the west coast of South America). We're now in Chimborazo province, named after Volcán Chimborazo, the tallest peak in Ecuador, but no longer an active volcano.

Arriving on a Sunday to any town in Ecaudor seems to be a good way to arrive in the middle of what appears to be complete lethargy. Very little goes on Sundays, especially in smaller towns, and even less (in terms of restaurants) is actually open. Arriving in Riobamba didn't prove to be any different. The town was apparently a bit more astir than usual, as we're approaching their annual independence day festival, the Independence Battle of Tapi, on April 21, and there's a month of festivities leading up to it, and then another couple of weeks of festivities after that.

After finding our hostal, the Hostal Oasis, on the southeast end of town center, and dropping our packs off, we wandered back toward the market we'd circumnavigated on our entrance to the place. It was a local street fair, on par with some of the smaller festival in Baltimore, with food stands, music sponsored by Pilsener (the Ecuadorian beer), some crafts vendors, and some other activities that we couldn't quite discern. We ended up buying some empanadas dulces from one of the vendors, an old Andean woman.

We thought the sign said they would cost 10 cents apiece, but she asked us for 50 cents. I made my case (in Spanish, pointing to the sign), but she said something to the extent that the 10 cent empanadas were the ones they had earlier and they were smaller than the ones we'd asked for. I didn't argue any more and handed over the 50 cents, not sure if this was truly the case or if I'd just been fleeced because I was a gringo.

30 cents isn't a big deal to an American, but down here in Ecuador, it'll buy you:

A local bus ride
A bottle of water
A small eggplant
Two apples (or maybe one large apple)

Anyway, the empanadas were wheaty pancakes filled with some kind of sweet fruit, sort of like raisins but orange. They weren't exactly what we were expecting, based on the typical empanada we've had (of course, that was the kind filled with cheese and fried), but regardless they were quite tasty. We're coming to learn that empanada really just means anything stuffed inside of dough and fried.

After a bit more wandering through the semi-deserted streets, we decided we would probably want to make dinner (as nothing appeared to be open). Our hostal, which is really a gem of a place in an otherwise dusty one-horse town, has facilities for self-catering, including an outdoor gas grill and a bunch of communal pots and pans and plates and silverware and cups. We found one of the supermarkets (think "small grocery store", not super-chain) that our hostess at the hostal had recommended, and after wandering the aisles collected the ingredients for a tasty eggplant and onion pasta dish, complete with a small packet of parmesan cheese and a small bottle of oil flavored with achiote (which, after some debate between Karla and myself, we decided must be a pepper, and not anchovies, which was our second guess - and in fact, both guesses were wrong; achiote [in this context] is in fact annato). Toss in a small bag of bow-tie pastas and a package of grapes (to snack on, not for the stir fry), and our total checkout price was $3.56.

Let's recap:

$0.69 = 1 small bottle of oil flavored with achiote
$0.24 = 1 small (0.27 Kg) eggplant
$0.32 = 1 package (200 g) of pasta
$1.17 = 1 package (0.40 Kg) of green grapes
$0.95 = 1 small package of pre-grated parmesan cheese
$0.19 = 1 purple onion (0.28 kg) @ $0.6738/Kg (or $0.3056/lbs)

Anyway, we took our purchase back to the hostal and, later, around dinner time, cooked up a quite tasty travelers meal. We spent the rest of the evening lounging around our suite - there's a separate dining area with a television in it - reading and watching TV. In fact, we ended up watching Iron Man, in English, with Spanish sub-titles.

Today, we started out with the search for a non-existent café that we'd read about in our guidebook. I'm not sure if it's Ecaudor, or it's the Ecaudorian editors of Lonely Planent, but our guidebook has been off quite a few times on locations and even the existence of the location question. I've historically found the Lonely Planet guidebooks to be extremely reliable - I've used them in all of my travels across Europe, but whatever the case may be, there's something off about the Ecuador version. I imagine it might be a bit of both - some editor error, and the fact that, well, in the two years since the book was published, a lot of things have changed in this country (as well as the rest of the world - we did have a global economic crisis).

That said, we aborted our mission for the missing café and ended up going to a place Karla had noticed us passing earlier. Caffeinated and full, we continued our exploration of Riobamba. The city was bustling with more activity, a lot of it apparently related to the festivities, but that wasn't really saying much. We found our way to one of the big parks, primarily set up for kids (one thing about the parks here - there are some awesome things for kids to play on, probably some structures that in fact would not be legal in the States with our litigation-happy culture), and hung out there for a while. Then we visited the bus station to see if we could buy tickets a day in advance to Guayaquil (where we're headed tomorrow), but it turns out they just told us to come back tomorrow morning. Apparently "in advance" for the bus lines means a few hours in advance.

Next, we started back up the main street and stumbled into a parade! All of the local schools were represented with their marching bands, the kids decked out in various uniforms and holding their instruments in variuos degrees of discomfort. Everyone appeared to be represented, from the art and science acadamy to the relgious schools to the military prep schools. We observed this for a while, taking in this very local and very authentic display of civic pride, until the parade passed us by.

We spent the next few hours back in the park and eating at a Mexican restaurant called El Rey del Burrito, then wandered back to the hostal to relax in the lazy afternoon, both of us quite tired, after 24 hours, of being in Riobamba, a large town in the center of a mostly agricultural region. It's like, of all things, deciding to visit Davis, California - maybe an interesting day trip, but after that, you've probably used up all of the local charm.

Which leads us up to now, with the rain starting to abate, and our stomachs growling.

Pictures from Our Visit to El Monte Sustainable Lodge and Mindo

2010-04-18T10:35:00.001-04:00

We uploaded the pictures from our visit to El Monte Sustainable Lodge and the town of Mindo last night. We still have a few videos we'd like to upload, including one of the Cock-of-the-Rock Lek and one of our inner tube rafting adventure. Hopefully we can get those up tonight.

Meanwhile, feast your eyes on these pictures, including shots of the Cock-of-the-Rock through binoculars and a lot of pretty butterflies from the butterfly gardens!

Go here to our flickr feed, for pictures tagged for Mindo.

Honking

2010-04-16T09:23:00.004-04:00

There are many reasons to honk here in Ecuador. First is the standard get-out-of-my-way honk (which happens even when there is no possible way the people in the car ahead of you could get out of the way) and there is the greeting honk. But honking is also for alerting someone to your presence when going around a corner or through an intersection. Taxis honk also to tell people that they are empty and willing to take you where you wish to go. There are many other reasons to honk but I haven't figured them out yet.

Now that I have educated you on "The Honk" I will now let you know that I am sitting in the cafe/bar of our hostel, L'Auberge Inn. It is better than a Hotel 6 but only because it has more charm and a travel agency on the premises. And it is in Quito and not on the side of the road somewhere.

Last night we got back from our two wonderful evenings in the Cloud Forest. We saw birds and an arboreal Andean porcupine. I didn't get a picture of him. He had smaller quills than the North American type. Our guides were suprised to see him. I guess he is not a regular sight. We will be uploading some pictures in a day or two. We are headed for Cotopaxi National Park today.

On our trip to the Cloud Forest we stayed at the El Monte Sustainable Lodge. In order to get over to the lodge and our cabana we had to cross the river by a terebita, which is a cable car. It was fun watching the river pass under us as I clutched my possesions. Our guide Fernando was great and very helpful and attentive. I felt like we were living in our own secret hideaway where we were treated like royalty, or close enough for us. We are not used to the service we received there. The only thing we did not like was the sand flies that have made us two twitchy foreigners. I am attempting to not scratch right now. It was a small price to pay...

And the tubing down the river which was more like white water rafting with a bunch inner tubes tied together. It was both fun and slightly scary. When I went tubing in West Virginia we had to sign a form and watch a video and the rapids were nothing there - a joke probably to the guys who got us around the rocks and made sure we didn't flip over or fall off. You will see. Fernando recorded a good video for us.

The Cock-of-the-Rock Lek... a walk at 5:15 am to a place where a very unusal bird does a very unique little mating dance. The walk up the hill was beautiful. The cloud mist rested over the green hills. It was worth the earliness. We heard the call of the birds before we saw them. And again there will be pictures and video forthcoming. Uploading that takes time we don't have.

As soon as Brian and I arrived at El Monte we wanted to figure out how to stay there longer. Or move there. It is a paradise for those who can't live without a flushing toilet and a comfortable bed but still love nature. The food they served us was delicious also. Anyone who knows me knows that I look forward to meal time and they gave us much to look forward to.

On our second evening we met a couple from Scotland. They were also on their honeymoon, although for them it was the traditional right after the wedding honeymoon. Another coincidence is that they had just come from where we are going today, Hosteria La Cienega.

I am about to eat breakfast at the inn and then we are off to La Cienega and Cotopaxi.

Quick Recap

2010-04-13T09:16:00.000-04:00

There's not a lot of time to write this post. We're leaving in about an hour to head to El Monte Sustainable Lodge out of Mindo, which is an eco-lodge in the cloud forest, for a couple of days. It's doubtful we'll have any Internet access there, but we'll try to organize our thoughts to post here when we can.

Meanwhile, a quick recap of what we've been doing in the last couple of days:

* We visited the town of Otovalo on Saturday, wandering through their weekly crafts market and eating a tasty blackberry pie at a little pie shop. View pictures here.

* We ate dinner Sunday at NOE, which is a really good sushi restaurant here in Quito. The rolls were large and tasty, and the place had a really cool ambiance.

* We climbed up the hill of Itchimbía, where there's an awesome park with a 360 degree view of Quito as well as a great walk through the park that goes into restored Andean habitat. Here are some pictures we took, a video of Karla talking about getting to the park, and a video of me attempting to explain the Intihuatana area of the park.

* We had dinner in the fog/rain at this cool bar-cafe-pizza shop called Ananké Guápulo last night, in the windy neighborhood on a hill of Guápulo. It was a great place to hang out - we were upstairs in one of their more intimate rooms - and be away from the crazy tourists.

Plants! A Basilica! The Poor Devil! Fruit! La Ronda! Part 2

2010-04-10T22:29:00.000-04:00

Part 2: Friday (April 9, 2010) - our visit to the Friday fruit market here in the neighborhood of La Floresta, and our return to the Old Town to visit la Calle de la Ronda for dinner and people watching.

Achotillo

FRIDAY MORNING: Again in La Floresta, we headed over to the small Friday fruit market. Vendors close off about a block and sell their fruits and vegetables to locals. We were interested in checking it out and possibly acquiring something tasty as well (and, at the request of our friend Cory, to being the "great fruit hunt"). Surprisingly, most of the fruits and vegetables at the market were familiar to us. Blame this on globalization, I suppose, but prickly pear, star fruit, and papayas just don't seem exotic anymore.

However, we did manage to find one fruit we'd never seen before (well, it turns out, we've seen it, just not in its raw form). This strange fruit with its oblong shape and red fuzzy prickles caught our attention, and after some discussion with the Andean woman vending it, we were able to sample it. Breaking the skin in two, you eat the pulp inside, making sure not to eat the stone in the center. The pulp reminded Karla and I of something sweet-tart and gummy, almost like a big chewy grape. The vendor informed us that this fruit was called achotillo. We ended up purchasing a small bag to bring back with us to the hotel. (We also acquired some strawberries, but those aren't really anything to write home about.)

Later, after dining on some this strange and wondrous fruit, I did a little research on-line, and sleuthed my way to the Wikipedia article about the fruit. (I couldn't quite remember the name the woman had told us - hachotiso? achopiso? - so my initial Google search came up empty - I ended up using Google images to find a picture of the fruit and then, based on that image's description, I finally found what I was looking for.) It turns out that achotillo is the fruit from the rambutan tree, which means that it's a kind of lychee fruit!

View our fruit experience on our flickr photostream.

La Calle de la Ronda

FRIDAY EVENING: After a lazy afternoon of napping, we awoke refreshed and ready to head into the Old Town like we'd originally planned for the day before. It was raining, and also there was a mass of traffic heading in the same direction (it's a popular place among travelers and locals), so what should have been a short taxi ride turned into an hour-long expedition. Nevertheless we finally made it to la Ronda!

We had actually walked through here on our second day in Quito, but during the day, and especially since it was Easter Sunday then, most of the shops were closed up. However, this night, the street, which encompasses three blocks on the south edge of Old Town, was alive, despite the drizzle. Quiteños, Ecuadorian tourists, and international visitors meandered the streets, visiting shops and dining in many of the cool little restaurants, listening to music performed by street musicians, and generally having a merry old time.

We wandered for a while, umbrella in hand, until settling on a restaurant at an intersection midway in la Ronda. The friendly waitress helped us with the menu, bringing an additional one in English so that we could determine what type of food we were ordering (it was still hard to figure out exactly what ingredients were involved), and she tried to explain as best she could in Spanish and pantomime the answers to our questions. Still, we had one hit and one miss. The gallina I ordered (yes, second day in a row I broke down and ordered meat) came and was quite tasty - hen with potatoes in some sort of a cheese sauce. The fritada that Karla ordered came and - surprise - it wasn't just the mixed vegetables and fruit we thought it was. It turned out that fritada not only was a mixture of corn kernels (two types - fried and boiled), plantains, and potatoes, but also featured fried pork! Chalk it up to cultural miscommunication.

Karla and I traded meals (she had no qualms about eating hen, but refuses to eat anything from a pig) and I commenced upon a course of crash and burn out of my vegetarianism the likes of which has not been seen since I ordered a beef and gravy sandwich in New Orleans just out of college! And I must admit two things: 1) the pork was damn tasty, especially covered in this spicy condiment the name of which I haven't yet learned and 2) it didn't bother me at all, neither philosophically (I had already decided I would eat meat at some point in this journey as food is one way to understand a culture) nor physically.

After dinner, we wandered back down la Ronda and had hot chocolate and galletas (cookies). Then we decided to head out to the nearby Plaza San Martin to catch a taxi. But before we could quite make it off of la Ronda, we kissed at the same intersection where the restaurant was a mime was entertaining passersby. The mime took the opportunity to make encouraging motions about our show of affection. We laughed and headed out of la Ronda, to the thumbs up of the mime.

Plants! A Basilica! The Poor Devil! Fruit! La Ronda! Part 1

2010-04-10T21:30:00.003-04:00

NOTE: This entry is broken into two parts, the first detailing Thursday (also Karla's birthday) and the second detailing Friday. That should help make what was originally one looooooonnnnnggg entry more palatable for those of you with short attention spans :)

While experiencing Ecuador, it's hard to find time to actually write about it! It's raining right now, though, and we just returned from an all-day trip to Otovalo (more on that in a different post). As we relax, avoid the rain, and collect our thoughts from today, I'll try to recap Thursday and Friday.

Part 1: Thursday (April 8, 2010) - our visit to the botanical gardens, our ascent of the towers of the basilica in the Old Town, and our dinner for Karla's birthday at a restaurant-cum-Jazz bar.

El Jardín Botánico

THURSDAY MORNING: The botanical gardens, located in the park La Carolina, is a nice excursion for a couple of hours in Quito. It's a small botanical garden, as botanical gardens go, from my experiences anyway. I've visited the one in Montreal and also the one in Vancouver, both of which are much grander in scale and ambition. As long as you don't expect it to be on the level of these Canadian masterpieces, though, it is a great experience.

We saw a diverse cross section of the flora of Ecuador, from the high elevation Páramo to the lowland tropics, including a rather nice collection of orchids in two greenhouses. Toward the end of our walk through the garden, we relaxed at a small cafe near a beautiful little pond full of koi. A nice, relaxing way to spend the morning.

View photos from el Jardín Botánico on our flickr photostream.

La Basílica del Voto Nacional

THURSDAY AFTERNOON: This Gothic-style cathedral, built in the 1920s, stands on the northern end of the Old Town. It's an interesting structure, as far as cathedrals go, and sports gargoyles in the form of lizards and birds and other national wildlife, which is one of its cool features. We climbed the stairs up to the second floor, crossed a wooden bridge in what one could only call the attic above the nave, then up a rickety cast-iron ladder (this would not be legal in the United States on account of safety hazards), which led us to an outdoor overlook that gave a panoramic view around the basilica. More rickety stairs led up into the open tower, which provided an even more astounding view around the Old Town. After this, we recrossed the wooden bridge structure and climbed further up into the clock tower, where we could see the inner workings, which, unfortunately, were non-functional when we were there.

Despite all of these interesting features, though, the whole place was run down. The clock tower was broken. There were shattered sections in the stained glass. Trash littered areas of the church. Construction or repairs appeared to be ongoing (as in, going on forever). Graffiti decorate the walls. From seeing the grand cathedrals of France many years ago, including Notre Dame, this early 20th century replication is a bit of a disappointment, if placed within that context. The more time I'm here, though, the more I'm learning that it doesn't do you any good to compare South America to Europe. You need a different context entirely.

View photos from la Basílica del Voto Nacional on our flickr photostream.

El Pobre Diablo

THURSDAY EVENING: We had originally intended to head back to the Old City to visit la Calle de la Ronda for dinner for Karla's birthday, but Karla was feeling a bit under the weather so we decided to stay in La Floresta instead. We had been reading about this restaurant that was also a Jazz club, called el Pobre Diablo, and had even tried to go to it one of the first days we were in town, but it had been closed at that time. We thought we would have dinner and also catch a show, and walked down to the restaurant with that intention.

Dinner was decent, but nothing too exciting - we ordered humitas con queso as an appetizer (which is essentially corn mush steamed inside of a corn husk - think tamale without any filling), and Karla had pasta primavera for her main course, while I ended up breaking down on my vegetarianism (there is only so much fried fish, corn, and beans that a man can eat) and ordered the pollo al diablo, which was a interesting twist on chicken cordon bleu (it failed to live up to its potential, sadly, but it was a valient attempt - ham, capers, and cheese wrapped inside a chicken breast and covered in some kind of white sauce - the chicken and ham were overcooked and chewy). To go with dinner, we also ordered a bottle of Argentinian wine, which was quite tasty. That, and the free appetizer of those toasted corn nuts and white beans that appeared at our table, were the best parts of the meal.

The place does get some bonus points for general ambiance. It featured a spacious dining area in the shape of an L that wrapped on one side a bar, with an additional upstairs dining balcony. The stage nestled into the corner of the L, and was a decent set up for viewing by all tables. The set up of the place reminded us a little of the Woodberry Kitchen back in Baltimore.

Alas, we didn't manage to stick around long enough to catch the show. We were feeling drowsy from the wine and Karla wasn't in general feeling up to sticking it out for a long night. We headed back to the Folklore Hotel and retired early.

Dreams and Genetics

2010-04-08T11:25:00.003-04:00

It was theororized by a few people I spoke to that my dreams would be very vivid upon traveling to the equator and being at such a high altitude. While living in Baltimore I would occasionally have dreams that were either very real or almost linear enough to be a story.

Last night I experienced the latter. It was a dream so details are a bit fuzzy and therefore I will just mention that for one I sang in my dream. None of my friends have heard me sing unless they heard me over the loud music I would play in car to drown myself out. But in the dream I sang with another man the words to a Billy Holiday song. I wasn't great in the dream but I was better than I would have been in real life.

In jumping to the next, more coherent scene of my dream story, I will tell the abbreviated tale of my roommate. We lived in a Victorian house for which I did not know the address. My roommate was a very troubled girl who had a crush on one of my female friends. She somehow was involved in some tragedy which is a bit disturbing and nonsensical to include. Nonetheless her mother came to my house and I thought they were fighting so I borrowed my roommate's phone and called 911. But I hung up instantly because I realized they were just playing. Her room was extremely messy... more messy than my room ever was when I was a child. Trust me... that is really messy.

A part of the dream that mirrored reality was that I was without a cell phone. I think by now everyone has a cell phone. I haven't missed it... at least not consciously. But in my dream it was annoying and disconcerting that I didn't have one and I worried that my roommate's demise would be the result.

The next scene turns to a large room on the top floor of our Victorian house. Inside that room is a sewing machine and many materials. I may have to fill in the strange fuzzy parts of this dream and make it into a story so I am not going to relay anymore of it here.

But I miss sewing, although I haven't realized it till I dreamed about a large room with many possibilities for creative inspiration. I want in real life to turn all my creative energy towards my writing. Another side in my dream told the tale of my attempt to finish some projects I had abandoned in the past. In the dream, I was on the floor, finally completing an art project that I started awhile ago, while my art teacher, who I think was originally my roommate's mother, was overseeing. She was glad to see that I was putting together the grotesque and messy sculpture from grade school. I showed it to my family and I think it was my brother Alex who commented on it. I think it was a favorable comment. That is vague.

Forgive the randomness of this entry but my dream still lingers and I still have thoughts I want to express.

Did I mention that I don't feel short here? Relatively speaking, I am not short among Ecuadorians. I always thought my shortness had to do with my thyroid deficiency, but it is in fact genetic. I am sure of that now.

I also miss micro-brewed beer, which is next to impossible to get here, at least at the bar. Last night at the Reina Victoria Pub, while playing a quiz game with members of the South American Explorers club, I drank Corona (with a lime of course). I am not fond of the national beer here: Pilsener. I miss Dogfish Head, Lagunitas, Stone IPA. But Corona worked... for now.

The things I miss are so small compared to the insights I keep having. A cliché, but I know it is just the beginning. Brian and I have been planning the rest our trip. At least the parts in between the bigger parts. After the cloud forest we will be staying in or around Parque Nacional Cotopaxi. Then off to Latacunga and Riobamba. After that Guayaquil, Cuenca, Loja, and Vilcabamba. And what we didn't get to this time around, we will see when we come back around at the end of our trip. Hopefully.

La Capilla del Hombre

2010-04-06T23:50:00.002-04:00

After a stressful and confused Monday, during which time both Karla and I were having trouble acclimating to the rhythms and mysteries of this strange, not to mention the change of pace in our lives (no more work, no more daily schedule), we emerged today (Tuesday, April 6) renewed and reinvigorated. It could have been because we spent the late afternoon through evening in our hotel room, reading, listening to music, trying to figure what we were doing here, after all. It could have just been giving ourselves enough time to rest and reset. Regardless, today was an incredibly beautiful and emotionally insightful day.

To start, we walked down the hill from La Floresta into the Mariscal Sucre, to find breakfast (we slept past the free continental breakfast offered by our hotel). we ended up back at the Magic Bean, which is a somewhat trendy juice bar cum coffee shop cum cheap Ecuadorian-international fusion restaurant (attached to a hostal of the same name).

We had eaten here on Saturday (I had an excellent lunch of smoked trout) and, despite its somewhat touristy nature, Karla and I both decided we liked the ambience and the open air nature of the restaurant. Today we ordered coffee and tea, and I (not feeling particularly adventurous for breakfast) request a sesame seed bagel with cream cheese, while Karla ordered the Ecuadorian home fry plate.

The food, as we expected from our previous venture here, was outstanding. When they say cream cheese in Ecuador (at least at the Magic Bean), what they mean is a butter and cream cheese combination whipped with some unidentifable yet tasty herbs. Karla's home fry plate was also an excellent, and extremely satisfying, choice - a plate heaping with potatoes fried with herbs and scrambled with other vegetables and eggs and cheese (nothing like traditional American home fries). While eating (Karla and I shared), I also managed to write a draft of a poem about Quito, which was a welcome surge of creativity in a year that has been hitherto a poetic drought.

After breakfast, we walked over to Avenida 6 de Diciembre to catch the Ecovía northeast into the neighborhood of Bellavista. As we are still getting the feel for the public transportation around here, we ended up getting off the bus two stops too early. Getting our bearings, we realized we were only a few blocks from where we had originally intended to be anyway, so we hiked up the same street, following the bus (receding now into the humid diesel haze), until reaching a side street that went up a steep hill. Did we mention that Quito was built in the valley between several volcanoes, so every neighborhood seems to be on a hill?

We had read that there were buses that could be caught to take us to our destination - la Capilla del Hombre - but we decided (I think I may have forced the issue) to walk. There is something entirely satisfying about trekking up a mountainside to reach your destination, a miniature pilgramage of sorts. So we began our ascent... and although we didn't have too far to go, mileage wise, it was quite an ascent. We needed to stop several times to catch our breath. At one point we found an overlook that stared off and around to the back side of the city, up toward the Hotel de Quito and down into the Guapulo neighborhood. Further up the hill we made it to the Chapel of Man(kind).

La Capilla del Hombre is the culminating vision of the world-renowned Ecuadorian painter and artist Oswaldo Guayasamín. A building dedicated to the suffering of all peoples who have been opressed, repressed, systematically converted or destroyed, and a testament to the hope for a brighter future - the Chapel of Mankind. The works inside span the entirety of Guayasamín's career, covering such topics as the Spanish conquistadores destruction of the native Andean cultures, the slave trade into the new world from Africa, the Spanish civil War, World War II, and the general plight of the native Andean peoples. And yet, despite the testimony and witness to the misery and destruction that humankind has inflicted upon itself for thousands of years, there is an underlying current of hope, that one day all people will overcome and realize that we are united and one.

We took a guided tour that happened to be all in Spanish. I was amazed at how much I understood from our guide (who thankfully talked slow enough for me to be able to keep up) and found myself able to translate most of what he had said (at least the gist) to Karla. Perhaps I'll be able to speak this language after all.

After the tour, we were allowed to wander throughout the chapel and could take pictures sans flash. It was both awesome and humbling to be among these incredible works, which have a unique style that could be roughly identified as cubism meats tribalism (Guayasamín studied with Picasso and several other artists at one point - he also spent years studying the works of Leonardo Da Vinci in order to master the human form). We couldn't help but be moved his paingtings, sculpture, and words, and I found myself tearing up at several pieces, including this short poem written by the artist that and attached to one wall in metal letters:

Yo llore porque
no tenía zapatos
hasta que vi un niño
que no tenía pies

And on the opposite wall, in counterpoint:

Mantengan
encendida una luz
que siempre
voy a volver

Translation (ours, poetically, not literally):

I wept because
I had no shoes
until I saw a boy
who had no feet

Opposite:

Keep
a torch burning
always
I will return

For more photos, visit our Flickr photostream and via by the tag "guayasamín".

Easter Sunday, Part 2

2010-04-05T19:21:00.000-04:00

Hungry after our exploration of the Old City, we decided to walk over a few blocks to the Mercado Central, a multi-story marketplace. As soon as we stepped inside, we were a bit overwhelmed. Stall upon stall of food vendors were situated on both ends, and toward the center people selling fresh fruits and vegetables. We knew we wanted to eat something from one of the stalls, but as soon as we would glance in the direction of one of the vendors, she would start shouting at us to encourage us to purchase our almuerzo from her. (Yes, almost all of the stalls are run by older, grandmotherly-looking Ecaudorian women.)

After attempting to ignore the onslaught of vendors and wading through the signs in Spanish to try to determine what they were selling, we finally settled on something we understood - corvina frita. It seems to be a staple here - fried sea bass - and since it was the only thing we could positively identify, we ordered a plate. We were told to sit at a nearby table in front of the stall, and a small bowl of ceviche de camaron (shrimp ceviche) appeared, along with a bowl of popped corn, toasted corn kernels (the original corn nut?), and yucca chips (at least, I think it was yucca). Apparently, these were supposed to go on top of the ceviche as a condiment, although we didn't realize this until today, and we ate them like a snack. Then a giant plate of the fried sea bass with a heaping serving of rice arrived. All for $2. A cheap, filling Ecuadorian lunch.

Stuffed, we found our way back to our hotel room, where, exhausted, we took a long siesta.

Upon waking and lounging around for a while, we decided to use the kitchen facilities at our hotel to make dinner, rather than going out.

We walked a few blocks down the street to the Supermaxi. Other than having trouble understanding many of the Spanish words due to our lack of vocabulary, it was pretty much like shopping at a supermarket back in the United States. We bought pasta, mushrooms, tomatoes, parmesan cheese, and a bottle of Chilean wine, which we took back to the hotel and cooked up into a tasty Easter Sunday dinner.

Easter Sunday

2010-04-05T11:37:00.001-04:00

Yesterday, Easter Sunday, was our second full day here in Quito. The altitude sickness was starting to wear off, our bags had been delivered to the hotel on Saturday night, and we were generally in a better mood (myself especially). After breakfast at the hotel - they provide a light continental breakfast of cereal, juice, fruit, toast, coffee, and tea - we decided to walk down Madrid (literally, we are almost at the top of the hill that this street ascends in the neighborhood of La Floresta), crossing Avenida 12 de Octubre, then along Mariscal Foch to catch the Ecovía trolley line into the Old Town.

Trolley line is a bit of a misnomer. Tram, maybe? The Ecovía and its two sister lines are essentially double-long buses powered by electric cables from above. They don't have any tracks or rails on which they ride, so a driver ensures that the vehicle stays on course. I guess you could call it a cable car bus, if you wanted to.

At any rate, we rode the line past where we had anticipated getting off (since we couldn't tell which stop we were at, and our guidebook appeared to be slightly out of date) and ended up in an area we weren't quite familiar with (from looking at the map - not that we're familiar with anything). After we realized our mistake, I told Karla that we should probably have gotten off when everyone else did, since they were probably all heading into the Old Town to go to one of the many of the churches for Easter mass.

But all was not lost! It seemed we had arrived at a hub for the bus and tram lines. We crossed the street and sat on a set of long steps going up into one of the many neighborhoods and oriented ourselves on the map, only to realize we were actually only a few blocks away from the far end of the Old City. Following the map and our instincts, we found ourselves exactly where we had intended, amid old buildings, cobblestone streets, bustling crowds of locals and tourists, churches galore, quaint shops - el Centro Histórico. It is hard to describe succinctly in words this section of town. Fortunately, Karla and I have finally gotten our Flickr account set up and you can view photos of the Old City (and other photos from our first day here in Quito), at our photostream or as a slideshow.

Karla is calling me... We are going to explore the city some more. Our Easter Sunday story is to be continued.

Todo Está Mujado

2010-04-04T19:54:00.001-04:00

The adventure continues...

While writing a blog entry and calling the airline to check on our bags it had begun to rain. A torrential downpour that made the streets into creeks. It was about 8:30 and we decided to take a cab to the Mariscal Sucre to eat instead of walking to a place nearby that we had been planning to go. We only had one outfit which we were wearing and no umbrellas since they were in our checked luggage, so we really didn't want to get soaking wet. We did do a little research before starting off to find the restaurant but when we arrived at the destination the place was closed... for good. Guide books can only be so up to date. I suppose we could have called the number but... we didn't.

After walking back and forth, jumping over ponds, we walked into a place that had a name familiar to Brian because of our research in the guide book. Mama Clorinda - it was the epitomy of touristy. All the Ecuadorians were the staff and all the clientele were obviously foreigners like us. Mariscal Sucre is nicknamed “gringolandia.” We were told there was a ten minute wait. Diez minutos. It was still raining so we waited. The Germans at a nearby table had a table for their beer and the part of them that didn't fit at the larger table with their companions. No disrespect intended... just an observation that I thought was amusing. Many people smiled at the two wet foreigners waiting for a table.

Eventually we got a table which we shared with two other guys. It was large enough for six to squeeze in. They sat in the corner. I trapped the poor young Cuban man (they were friendly but not too friendly) in the corner when I sat down. The other man, who was more talkative, sat on Brian's side of the table and was another Canadian.

I am an involuntary eavesdropper. If two people are sitting close to you and one is very loud (and Brian and I were not in a talkative mood), it is hard to ignore the conversations around you. I couldn't understand anyone else. Brian kicked me under the table. I really did try to ignore the conversation. I was taking it all in and getting distracted by many sights, sounds, and smells.

Ordering food was also an adventure. It took them awhile to get to us and then when they did come over they told us they were out of everything we planned on ordering at first. It sounds like we were having a lot of bad luck, but I told myself that this is part of the adventure. We ended up ordering corvina frita (fried sea bass) and a really good soup made out of potato and avocado with cheese. Brian was slightly cranky, which he blamed on the rain and altitude sickness. He was apologetic and I was sympathetic. Está bien.

After returning to our hotel because we both were exhausted by our first day, we waited for our luggage, which arrived at midnight. We went to bed soon after very glad and both wishing that we didn't have to experience that again. It is definitely a buzz kill to arrive someplace without your luggage. If only we could have packed lighter for a five month journey.

Just a Little Information to Tide You Over

2010-04-03T20:24:00.005-04:00

I won't pretend that this is not an overwhelming experience to be here. First of all we don't have our luggage. It should be arriving from Houston on Continental's next flight to Quito. Getting upset wouldn't help. So I am not. I will definitely appreciate having my meager wardrobe back. And toiletries. We bought toothbrush and toothpaste at the farmacia near the hotel. Since everything was behind the counter and I am still shy about my Spanish usage I pointed to the first toothbrush and toothpaste I saw. (By the way don't ask me why I didn't put these in my carry on. We did put extra socks and underwear in our carry on.) The woman behind the counter was very nice - she showed us the cheaper, generic brands, and that is all we needed. She didn't try to milk the Americans.

The altitude sickness is not too bad but still has made us want to take it easy. So today we went to a park in the Mariscal Sucre area of the city. The touristy part that is close to our hotel. We are in La Floresta neighborhood. It is quiet and residential, but in walking distance to some places that we are putting on our list for the next couple of days of places to see and things to do.

The park was a good choice for our first day. There was some beautiful art done by locals and set up on the sidewalk. Trees and texture seem to be a theme. (I also saw a pug and got to pet him.)

We also recognized a girl who was also a victim of left behind luggage. (Hey Bush - there should have been a no luggage left behind law for Texas). The Canadian citizen recognized us as well. She was with her friend (who had flown through Panama but is also Canadian) to start their adventure in the jungle for three weeks. I really hope she gets her luggage back soon too. At least we will be here several days... clean bodies but dirty clothes. I guess I could buy some or do a little wash in our sink. Oh the fun has begun....

Adiós a los Estados Unidos

2010-04-02T08:51:00.001-04:00

In just 3 hours we'll be boarding the plane at BWI and flying to Houston, where we have a layover before turning south to Quito, Ecuador...

In just 12 hours we'll be landing in Quito, Ecuador, just south of the equator, under a sky of foreign constellations and amid the buzz and chatter of a foreign language and the rhythms of a foreign city.

Today is Good Friday, and although I am not a religious man, I can't help but feel heartened by this being embarkation day of our trip. Flying into a 90+% Catholic country, it will be interesting to see what religious festivities are going on.

We'll write more later, once we touch down in the Southern Hemisphere.

13 More Days Till We Leave

2010-03-20T10:29:00.001-04:00

There are 13 more days till I visit my father's homeland, the place of my birth, and one part of me that I need to see for myself. Ecuador means equator. A middle point on the earth. I was born in Guayaquil, which is below the equator, on a gulf in the pacific ocean. My half brothers (who never made me feel like that) were born of a different father and in another country, Venezuela. My oldest brother has shared memories since he was 13 when we left. He remembers Spanish but didn't speak it as we were growing up. Their father is also American born, along with our mother. My father was born an Ecuadorian citizen. I have always been an American; I am not always as proud of that as I would like to be. But that is partly my fault too. Often I have been made to feel like just a nine digit number and a tax payer. But if I let anyone make me feel anyway, it is because I care about them. I don't want to be apathetic. I want to not be bound by my man-made borders. I am a human being from the planet Earth first. A world citizen. I am a woman second. And third I am whatever I want to be in that moment.

I have never written a blog post before. I self-published a zine that was a log of my musings, traveling both in body and spirit, and in my search for my hidden vulnerabilities. I will try to be that honest again. There are ways to talk around truths that may be too raw.

In 13 days I will be visiting a part of my self I've hardly asked questions about. A land I have never seen with old enough eyes to remember. I was one year old when I left and came to live with my grandmother in the only and most magical home that a child could have, a child with one parent and one grandmother and two brothers and many cousins, who never wanted for anything.

In stories where a child has a missing parent, the child ask questions. I must have asked them because I remember the answers. But never the questions. How did the little girl in me ask the questions? How did it come up? Or was a remark made? Most of the information produced unfavorable displays of my father's character. There were things that stuck with me, shaping me, and I never questioned their validity.

My father left when I was three. I have had a dream that I think may be a memory of him but I am seeing it like a movie. I wrote a poem about it... I will try to find that... it is not my best.

My neighbor, who was 2 years older and the only female I looked up to who was my peer -- she remembers my father as a charming man, which for a 5 year old is a man who gives you a stuffed animal for a broken leg. She was disputing whatever it was that I said about him. That memory was the first time my belief about my father as a bad man was doubted. I asked about that or pointed out this statement from my childhood friend and neighbor to my mom and she reinforced the dubious nature of my father. A tale that I was reluctantly given. But I consider now the possibility that my mother wanted to tell me the truth or a truth about a man she did not want me to idealize. I learned to stop asking questions about someone I didn't need to know. Someone who only knew how to use people up.

I would not be one for those people. I see this one fact about me has shaped a character that I don't regret.

I use my imagination to cope with the empty parts or the mistakes I can't change. I have always indulged in my daydreams.

I need more experience to fill in the colors of a thousand more stories, more dream time. I have days of my life that I have lived between two worlds.

I could say I hate my father or that I am mad at my mother for not teaching me Spanish or bringing me back to my home. But it is my responsibility to connect with the parts of me that are missing. No one could do that for me.

My husband supports me and I do appreciate that he values my dream. I have been spoiled, in fact, by him. He has indulged me. I am the baby of my family and he is the oldest of his. He was born an old man and I will always be a kid at heart. He has helped me to grow up and I have helped him to grow down.

Lucky Charms

2010-03-16T20:17:00.000-04:00

I am not a superstitious man. I don't believe in luck - at least, not the four-leaf clover, horseshoe, rabbit's foot kind of luck... I believe that what happens to you is a result of the choices you've previously made in your life and how those choices have interacted the outside influences of the world. This is not to say that random things don't just happen, and that seemingly synchronous events don't occur. It's just to say that... I believe in making my own luck.

Or, as Josh Ritter puts it in his song, "Lawrence, Ks" (off the album Golden Age of Radio), "Some prophecies are self-fulfilling / But I've had to work for all of mine."

Nevertheless, it doesn't hurt to carry around a few lucky charms, just in case. At the least, these items will remind us of the love and support of the friends and family that gave them to us, and (hopefully) bring a smile to our faces when we're down and longing for home.

Babe the Pig

This heroic little pig has been with me since my first trip abroad in 2001. A gift from my best friend Corlei, he's ridden to England, Ireland, France, Spain, and many other European locations. He was on stage with me when my now defunct SoCal punk band, Babelfish42, opened for Cold at the Majestic Ventura Theatre. He's journeyed across the country when I moved to Baltimore. And now he's on board for South America.

Googley-Eyed Monster

Or is it a space alien? All we know is that this little guy traveled through Mongolia with our friends Cory and Sara as they raced for charity as Team Shadowboat from London to Ulaan Baatar, Mongolia, as part of the Mongol Rally of 2007. He may have lost a few eyes along the way, but he guided them across three continents, a bunch of countries, several mountain ranges and several deserts. We're hoping his sixth sense and his green mojo will keep us pointed in the right direction.

Little Compass

And if it doesn't, hopefully this little compass will, also a survivor of the Mongol Rally and a gift from Sara and Cory. It points to magnetic north, and as long as we know which way that is, we should be able to find our way in new countries with unfamiliar geographies and even stranger constellations. As long as the poles don't flip on us, anyway :)

Superstitious or not, I'm sure we'll collect a few more charms along the way, the kind that you place in your pocket or wear around your neck or wrist. The kind that, even if they don't bring real luck, give you a sense of well being, of being in the right place and time, of living in the here and now and knowing that you can make it, after all, in the big wide world.

Life Into Boxes

2010-03-09T20:23:00.004-05:00

It is an odd feeling - sorting through old papers, pulling out the remnants from the far corners of the dresser drawers, digging into the back of the closet, dusting off that misplaced tupperware bin full of car payments and scraps from magazines and newspapers you thought you wanted to keep, packing your life into boxes.

As Karla and I prepare for this trip, we're packing away six plus years (for me, more for her) of Baltimore. I keep discovering fliers from shows that I meant to attend but never did, letters from friends I haven't kept in touch with, and general miscellanea that seems as though it must have belonged to some other person.

I discovered a set of letters and booklets that an ex-girlfriend sent to me right before I moved to Baltimore (she was the reason I ended up here, because she introduced me to Baltimore, and I fell in love... with Baltimore, that is). They were in the bottom drawer of my desk, next to an old accordion folder full of tax documents and car bills from 2004, right next to another folder of abandoned poems and other assorted writings. She'd sent me hand-crafted postcards, letters, even an odd art book. It seemed so - strange to find these among my other things, as if I'd never actually lived that life that produced those reactions in another human being. And yet, it is that exact life that has led me to right now.

Was that me so many years ago, the person who kept this? Is that me in this old fading picture? A journey down memory lane, a teary-eyed whiff of nostalgia... I wonder, after this journey, when Karla and I return to Baltimore, will we feel that very same way when looking back now on this very moment?

Welcome to Our Dream

2010-03-06T12:25:00.002-05:00

Welcome, family, friends, enemies, and strangers, to the Viaje del Sueño blog. As this is the inaugural entry, I suppose we should explain ourselves, and the purpose of our writing here.

(Sipping my coffee and collecting my thoughts...)

My wife, the poet Karla Mancero, and myself, for some time now (ever since we first met, really, in the spring of 2004), have been planning a trip to South America. Karla was born in Guyaquil, Ecuador, but left before any clear recollection of the place could stick itself into her mind. For her, the idea of traveling back there has been a homecoming of sorts - an exploration of the country and also the continent where she herself was entered as new life into this world. I'll let her explain her own motives in more detail on this blog, if and when she chooses.

Myself, I have always loved traveling - blame that on my parents, who always took us on road trips along the West Coast of the United States. Hitherto as an adult, I have wandered many parts of the United States, a few limited areas of Canada, and many European countries. While all those places are beautiful and rugged and interesting and complicated and industrial and/or pristine and/or desolate and/or many other words in their own right, they have all shared in a few key attributes that have made such travels comfortable, namely, key Western cultural values, first-world standards, and a majority of people who know at least some smattering of English to help out a foreigner.

Going to South America seemed like an exciting and novel idea for both of us, straying very far outside of our comfort zones. Developing nations, the Amazon rain forest, the looming Andes, ruins, gold, lost cities, promise, excitement, beauty, a continent still teaming with vibrancy, growth, and combination of the ancient and the modern. (At least, in my own deluded romantic dreams of it.)

As the years progressed and our relationship grew stronger and deeper, Karla and I paid off our debts, stockpiled a bit of money, and got married. All the while, the idea blossomed into something more grand, an adventure, a journey of the classic sort: wander South America, learn something of the languages, absorb the cultures and customs, experience the cuisine, embrace the history... for five months. One months short of half a year. The span of two seasons. And then, one day, we committed to the idea.

Now, our departure date looms: we leave our comfortable, established lives in Baltimore, Maryland, the United States of America, the morning of April 2nd, and fly to Quito, Ecuador. From there, we have plans to visit the cloud forest, wander down the spine of the Andes, visit Guayaquil, and find our way into Peru and down to Lima via the Pacific Coast. From Lima, we'll fly to Cuzco, hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, and then travel on to Lake Titicaca and the floating islands. Then we'll head down to Santiago de Chile. If our loose definition of a "plan" manifests as we've outlined it - always an iffy thing when traveling - that will be in the first weeks of June. At that point, we'll fly across the Andes to the Atlantic Coast, landing in Montevideo, Uruguay, and, after a few days, cross over into Buenos Aires, Argentina, where we plan to stay for a solid month in a short-term studio apartment rental (a base for exploring the city and the countryside). Finally, we'll fly back to Ecuador for the last month, arrange a tour of the Galapagos, and explore the coast in the off-season. We'll return to Baltimore on August 30th.

That, at least, is the one-hundred-thousand foot view. It's a fluid plan, subject to many changes as we learn about new and exciting things to do and places to visit, find out that we like or dislike certain cities or regions, and generally adjust. It is an awesome idea to me (as in, awe-inspiring), and a bit overwhelming when not broken out in parts. I'll be honest, I'm a little bit scared, and a part of me still can't believe I'm actually doing this. Then another part of me chimes in and asks me what else I thought I would ever be doing with my life. (After all, didn't I have a secret plan to keep moving east, always east, so that one day I'd be living in Thailand, perhaps, or Japan, or New Zealand, and even after that, once I'd finally circum-lived the globe, find myself returning to my native California?)

But I digress.

I've never done anything of this magnitude before (unless moving to Baltimore in 2004 with only three duffel bags, no job, and only me ex-girlfriend's studio to crash at counts). So many questions swirl in my mind. Will my Spanish come back to me, and will be I be able to fill in with all of the new words I'll be learning along the way? Will Karla and I be okay at some of the heights we plan to ascend to in Ecuador and in Peru, or will we suffer from altitude sickness? Did we really save enough money or are we going end up pan handling on the streets of Buenos Aires? Will the anti-malaria drugs work or will I have larva floating around in my bloodstream? Will I have ready access to coffee or will I have to learn to enjoy mate as Karla does? How am I going to survive for days or even weeks without access to the Internet (I'm taking a sabbatical from an Internet marketing agency and there's no WiFi in Machu Picchu!)?

Ah, but if we didn't have questions, fears, if we were too confident, what would be the point? What would we learn? How would we learn? A little fear is good, as long as one is confident in their own ability to learn, adapt, and overcome. This is, after all, an adventure, an exploration, a journey, a dream trip, both physically and metaphorically. We will traverse the outer geographies of South America, but also the inner topography of our own minds, hearts, and souls.

And so, if it isn't clear yet, the purpose of this blog is to chronicle our journey, as poets, as writers, as foodies, as explorers, as lovers' of life, culture, history, adversity, and diversity. We invite you to join us on our journey, in body if you can swing it, but, if not, at least through Viaje del Sueño, the writings and pictures and videos we post here, and your responses to them.

When most people are settling into their mid-thirties, establishing careers, building relationships, buying houses, raising families, and generally committing to a traditional, conventional life (don't get us wrong, these are all noble pursuits), Karla and I are going against the grain, putting our comfortable American lives on hold, packing up our house into boxes and placing those boxes into storage, resigning from our jobs (Karla) or taking long sabbaticals (Brian), and embarking on what we hope will be a great adventure. To mash-up Robert Frost with my own words, we are taking the road less traveled, and when the road dead ends, we're going to carve one ourselves into the mountains and into the jungle. I can already hear the cries of the howler monkeys, on the other side of the equator, beckoning for us to finally arrive.