When my German friend Lisa told me about Cusco, she told me that "the people are all very cute, they are very tiny." She did not warn me about all the crazy dogs. (Oh NO, another DOG blogpost!)
But before I jump into dog stories, I will mention that Justine and I went down to Puno to pick up Justine´s friend Ali. Ali met an Australian named Marty on the bus and now the four of us are all travelling together, splitting a two-person hotel room.
The dogs start here: Because I wake up hours earlier than the rest of my companions, I set out for a day on my own yesterday to explore Cusco. I was walking to a place where someone had told me I might be able to encounter Rock Climbing when a ferocious puma jumped out at me from a doorway. Oh wait, this huge, snarling, muscular creature is not a puma, but a pit bull. Now, from having seen a few dog fights in this country, I have learned to discern the dog-noises a dog makes when it wants to say "I´m mean, keep away from me" from the heathen-noises a dog makes when it is about to lunge, bite, tear skin, and terminate. This particular pit bull was making the guardian-of-death variety of noises, and as such I figured I should probably get a rock to throw (and normally I throw just to scare, but this time I was thinking I might have to aim a little better). And so about half a second after it jumped out of the doorway, I stepped back and my eyes frantically began the search for a rock, of which there were none. About a half second after that, the pit bull lunged at me, teeth bared. With dog-fending reflexes I did not know I possessed, I whipped the dog with my sweater (which I had thankfully just taken off a minute ago) and made a deep guttural sound that I also did not know I possessed. Maybe the zipper thwacked the dog on the nose because it retreated into its doorway and left me alone after that, but it was the scariest dog encounter I had ever had up to that point in my life. Little did I know that an even scarier one was soon to follow.
Instead of going Rock Climbing, I ended up doing Vinyasa Yoga. After Yoga, I thought I might do some Aerial Fabric. And so, I asked the first person I encountered on the street if he might know of a place I can do Aerial Fabric. And by golly, he had a friend who did! But the friend didn´t answer the phone. So instead the man and I had lunch together, he told me about how I can improve the efficiency of my walking, and we went up to the Temple of the Moon. Night caught us and we walked back from the Temple of the Moon along a dark road. Suddenly, three very large, very angry dogs started barking at us and slowly closing in. We quickly searched the ground for rocks, and grabbed as many of the biggest ones we could (most the size of baseballs). I keep my water bottle in a water-bottle carrier that goes around my shoulder. In this case, I detached it from my shoulder and used my waterbottle as a sort of mace or chain or nunchuck. Meanwhile, more dogs closed in. We walked along the side of the road for a good 5 minutes like this, navigating what must have been two dozen vicious stray dogs that were hunting us. Every time a dog would lunge at us (which happened several times), my companian would throw a rock and I would swing my waterbottle in heavy circles. He advised me to keep my backpack just on one shoulder, so if a dog goes in for the bite, the last defense is to drop the backpack in front of where he is biting so he bites the backpack instead. I am currently very thankful for my waterbottle for making such an awesome weapon, because I suck at throwing rocks. Also, I am now an expert dog-fighter. Expert.
(The next day, we walked through a sort of alpaca field and he handed me a stick. "Why are you handing me this stick?" "I don´t know if there are dogs here, but if they are, they are farm dogs. Farm dogs don´t respond to rocks." "What if they´re rottweilers?" "Let´s hope there are no rottweilers.")
So if you come visit Cusco (which, by the way, is nowhere near as cool as Huaraz, by any measure), beware of dogs.
-A
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Huaraz Condensed
The past few days (weeks?) have had so much going on that I would have to write pages and pages for each experience to do them proper justice. But... who would sit in front of a computer doing that when they´ve got Cuzco at their doorstep? As such, I have given up on doing proper justice and have now become an annotated lister.
The annotated list goes as follows.
1. Hatun Machai take 1: On impulse (i.e. I woke up at 6am and decided Today I Must Climb) I went to a place called Hatun Machai and fell in love instantly with the rock forest. I climbed a lot and decided I want to move to Huaraz for at least a few months.
2. Santa Cruz: While Justine was photographing the culture, I went and walked through the mountains on the Santa Cruz trek. I did not bring neosporin, which was a big mistake because it meant I could not help the man who lived in the mountains and had a badly infected hand from getting it mangled in machinery (it had swollen to no more than 5 times the size of his other hand). Instead I gave him all my remaining ibuprofin -- 4 pills. I later rebuilt my karma by helping a woman find her lost sheep. Then, I randomly ran into the same French people that we had camped with several weeks ago in Mancora (distance: 2 days busride). I camped with them on the trek. The Santa Cruz trek is a 4 day trek but I did it in 3 to be back for Justine´s birthday. The trip involved a lot of burros (although I did not have a burro)... I will later write a story about all the burros. I swam with iceburgs in a freezing alpine lake.
3. Justine´s Birthday: We went to a performance of some artists that Justine met earlier and then we went out dancing with them. Dancing with dancers is the best type of dancing. Also, we ate cake.
4. Vallunaraju: A big snowy mountain. Our new record is something over 5,700 meters! 2 day trip. At the summit, the colors of the sky are very different because the atmosphere is different. We were supposed to reach the summit at sunrise but because all of our watches magically stopped working in the night (what!?), we woke up late (2am instead of 12am) and got there around 7am. Of all the groups that set out for the summit that day, we were the only group that made it. Go us! And thank you to our gentle guide Rolando (aka "Mono" (translation: monkey)) for teaching us how to walk in those big mountaineering boots and how to put on crampons. Oh, and for guiding us to the summit.
5. Hatun Machai take 2: We went to Hatun Machai again because it was so amazing the first time. We were supposed to stay there Wednesday night and Thursday day, get back to Huaraz Thurs evening and take a bus to Lima Thursday night. Well, we had such an amazing time that we had a friend change our bus tickets and we didn´t take the bus to Lima until last night (Monday night). That friend was also supposed to email my family for me to let them know that I am out of contact with the world, but safe. I suspect that email might not have gone through (I blame it on all the vowels in our last name). One of our new friends has aerial fabrics and so we set them up from a climbing route and I did fabric. Justine climbed her first climbing route. I got on a 5.13!!! (but I didnt finish it). There was a bouldering competition... people came all the way from Lima to compete (Lima is far away). I won second place in the female category. I was basically climbing for 4 days straight and now the holes in my fingers also have holes in them. Tying my shoes hurts.
6. Huaraz to Cuzco: Before getting on a bus to Lima last night, we made the last minute decision to buy roundtrip plane tickets between Cuzco and Lima because we want to take full advantage of our few remaining days (we have what like 16 days left... not enough!!!) and because bus travel is fairly exhausting. Thus, we got off our bus in Lima, took a taxi to the airport, got on our plane, and are now happily in Cuzco.
Ciao!!
Ani
The annotated list goes as follows.
1. Hatun Machai take 1: On impulse (i.e. I woke up at 6am and decided Today I Must Climb) I went to a place called Hatun Machai and fell in love instantly with the rock forest. I climbed a lot and decided I want to move to Huaraz for at least a few months.
2. Santa Cruz: While Justine was photographing the culture, I went and walked through the mountains on the Santa Cruz trek. I did not bring neosporin, which was a big mistake because it meant I could not help the man who lived in the mountains and had a badly infected hand from getting it mangled in machinery (it had swollen to no more than 5 times the size of his other hand). Instead I gave him all my remaining ibuprofin -- 4 pills. I later rebuilt my karma by helping a woman find her lost sheep. Then, I randomly ran into the same French people that we had camped with several weeks ago in Mancora (distance: 2 days busride). I camped with them on the trek. The Santa Cruz trek is a 4 day trek but I did it in 3 to be back for Justine´s birthday. The trip involved a lot of burros (although I did not have a burro)... I will later write a story about all the burros. I swam with iceburgs in a freezing alpine lake.
3. Justine´s Birthday: We went to a performance of some artists that Justine met earlier and then we went out dancing with them. Dancing with dancers is the best type of dancing. Also, we ate cake.
4. Vallunaraju: A big snowy mountain. Our new record is something over 5,700 meters! 2 day trip. At the summit, the colors of the sky are very different because the atmosphere is different. We were supposed to reach the summit at sunrise but because all of our watches magically stopped working in the night (what!?), we woke up late (2am instead of 12am) and got there around 7am. Of all the groups that set out for the summit that day, we were the only group that made it. Go us! And thank you to our gentle guide Rolando (aka "Mono" (translation: monkey)) for teaching us how to walk in those big mountaineering boots and how to put on crampons. Oh, and for guiding us to the summit.
5. Hatun Machai take 2: We went to Hatun Machai again because it was so amazing the first time. We were supposed to stay there Wednesday night and Thursday day, get back to Huaraz Thurs evening and take a bus to Lima Thursday night. Well, we had such an amazing time that we had a friend change our bus tickets and we didn´t take the bus to Lima until last night (Monday night). That friend was also supposed to email my family for me to let them know that I am out of contact with the world, but safe. I suspect that email might not have gone through (I blame it on all the vowels in our last name). One of our new friends has aerial fabrics and so we set them up from a climbing route and I did fabric. Justine climbed her first climbing route. I got on a 5.13!!! (but I didnt finish it). There was a bouldering competition... people came all the way from Lima to compete (Lima is far away). I won second place in the female category. I was basically climbing for 4 days straight and now the holes in my fingers also have holes in them. Tying my shoes hurts.
6. Huaraz to Cuzco: Before getting on a bus to Lima last night, we made the last minute decision to buy roundtrip plane tickets between Cuzco and Lima because we want to take full advantage of our few remaining days (we have what like 16 days left... not enough!!!) and because bus travel is fairly exhausting. Thus, we got off our bus in Lima, took a taxi to the airport, got on our plane, and are now happily in Cuzco.
Ciao!!
Ani
Monday, August 16, 2010
Journal snippet
All right, here's a little something from Friday the 13th:
Wowza a lot to digest.
Literally, right now my stomach is incredibly full of yummy quinoa thai-curry plus mango-yogurt jugo. 38 soles yikes! But it's for my salud. I'm a skeleton right now, I must weigh (well, before this meal) about 115 or 110 pounds. I haven't been this thin since I started high school. NOT COOL. My butt bruises on the toilet seat, and my bones stick out from my cheeks and my hip joints are popping as I walk. But now that I'm not leaking out of both ends and I've got my apetite back, I can get some healthy meat on my frame. Ah but what I really meant by digestion is the processing of the whirlwind of smiles and colors and guts and fruits on my walk in the lower market area of Huaraz this morning and afternoon. That's right, I got out of the hotel on my own (Ana had gone on a short climbing excursion)without a deadline or schedule before 10am. This is an embarassing victory because it reveals my struggles with languishing away the mornings ¨getting ready,¨ but it is a victory nonetheless. I am, gradually, gaining more dexterity at managing my life. I took 4 rolls of pictures to document and guide my exploration of the morning market, but I think if I push a little some words will go a long way in developing the experience.
At first I was pretty nervous because people here have not been eager to be photographed and often tell me no when I ask if I can take their picture. As I walked down the sidewalk, I kept up a friendly internal banter about my ¨right¨ as a photographer to photograph whatever is in the public eye regardless of perople's explicit wishes to not be photographed. Despite the consensus in my photo classes, it is very clear to me that I am not entitled to anyone's image, especially not here since they have no reason to live under our laissez-faire media rules. That said, I felt like I might be able to convince people with a smile that the camera I'm wielding is an instrument and not a weapon. A local woman Sandy who we'd shared a crazy cab ride with encouraged me to keep trying to connect with the traditionally dressed women I found so fascinating even though they didn't seem naturally inclined to be very open. Her certainty that their reluctance to be photographed came from shyness and not coldness or a resentment of an invasion of their privacy urged me on even past a couple of failed overly-polite requests. I kept going feeling that if I was open enough about taking pictures then I could capture the beautiful public scenes without offending anyone. I took pictures straightforwardly, obviously putting the camera to my face, pointing down the sidewalk, focusing and setting the aperture and shutter speed in movements that have become delightfully instinctual, making sure that no one in the frame was freaking out, and then click. This was much more effective (and felt a hell of a lot better) than taking furtive pictures hoping the subjects wouldn't notice or than being too cautious and getting turned down. This way, if people really didn't want to be in the picture they had an opportunity to let me know (or jump out of the way), but mostly people just went about what they were doing, which is exactly what a photographer wants. I ended up finding people woh didn't mind having their photos taken and some who even liked it. One woman called to me from behind the row of plucked hanging chickens I was focusing on and invited me into the back room where two young men were killing, boiling, and pounding chickens on the table. Chicken goo ranging from watery liquid to feathers to entrails sloshed on the floor and I stepped around the thick river headed toward the drain to get a better angle (and maybe enough light) for the pictures. We'll see.
Actually the first opening I felt in the public of the Andean marketplace happened when I was sitting on the sidewalk reloading film. A young girl about 11 years old approached me while her mom was buying veggies from one of the many wrinkled old ladies selling on the street. The girl touched the feather in my hair and asked where I was from. Or maybe first my name. I'm glad she asked my name, it means she saw a person and not just a foreigner when she looked at me. Hers was Leslie. Anyway, her momma and also the elderly lady selling teh fruits and veggies came to see about the gringa and we talked about hats. My green felt fadora that I got in Quito and nearly daily express my adoration for (especially since a traditional Ecuadorian lady helped me put my feather in correctly) and the granny's tall, gray, ribboned hat both cost 30 soles we discovered after some quick math on Leslie's part. I'm surprised actually that she knew the 3:1 soles to dollar ratio off the top of her head. After she and her momma said adios, ciao gringa, the old woman sat down in her tiny red plastic chair and I let the two cats who stretched and preened in the sun between us give permission on her behalf for me to take photos. I left them a present of a flower with two little feathers tucked in among the petals as thanks.
...
I'll end the quotation from my journal there. I wrote that seated outside a restaurant having feasted on thai curry over quinoa. After returning to the hotel room for a half hour of quiet with the Isabel Allende book I'm reading, I again mustered my energy to break out of the comfort of the room. I spent the evening light walking up winding streets and paths until I found myself on top of a hill overlooking the city as the sunset colors bounced off of snow-topped mountains on all sides. In the twilight hours a group of kids congregated to play with spinning tops on the steps of the small chapel at the top of the hill and I joined them in translating words between quechua, spanish, and english and laughing at the sounds of their friends' names said with an american accent. I sang some songs with them as the moon sliver came up over the mountain, but realized almost all of the songs I know are sad, with the centerpiece being La Llorona. So I pulled on the depths of my musical knowledge and came up with ¨Chickity china, the chinese chicken, you have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin´...¨ That one went over pretty well until they asked for a translation. Anyway, at 6:55 they all split, running to get home before 7 so they wouldn't get in trouble with their mothers. I headed back toward the main plaza to make arrangements to meet up with Ana for rock climbing in the morning.
I won't get into the lentil-cooking-at-high-altitudes disaster that entailed the following afternoon, but I did finally get to try my hand at boulder scaling yesterday and despite my emaciated muscles I had a really great time pushing myself to reach for each next grasp, knowing that Ana and the crashpad were below to catch me when I couldn't go any further.
All in all, I'm on the recovery and am excited about the new ways in which I'm growing too :) A little shocked to discover that there's only a month left to this trip, but I'm beginning to get the point that you can't drag your feet against time.
Con mucho amor,
Justine
Wowza a lot to digest.
Literally, right now my stomach is incredibly full of yummy quinoa thai-curry plus mango-yogurt jugo. 38 soles yikes! But it's for my salud. I'm a skeleton right now, I must weigh (well, before this meal) about 115 or 110 pounds. I haven't been this thin since I started high school. NOT COOL. My butt bruises on the toilet seat, and my bones stick out from my cheeks and my hip joints are popping as I walk. But now that I'm not leaking out of both ends and I've got my apetite back, I can get some healthy meat on my frame. Ah but what I really meant by digestion is the processing of the whirlwind of smiles and colors and guts and fruits on my walk in the lower market area of Huaraz this morning and afternoon. That's right, I got out of the hotel on my own (Ana had gone on a short climbing excursion)without a deadline or schedule before 10am. This is an embarassing victory because it reveals my struggles with languishing away the mornings ¨getting ready,¨ but it is a victory nonetheless. I am, gradually, gaining more dexterity at managing my life. I took 4 rolls of pictures to document and guide my exploration of the morning market, but I think if I push a little some words will go a long way in developing the experience.
At first I was pretty nervous because people here have not been eager to be photographed and often tell me no when I ask if I can take their picture. As I walked down the sidewalk, I kept up a friendly internal banter about my ¨right¨ as a photographer to photograph whatever is in the public eye regardless of perople's explicit wishes to not be photographed. Despite the consensus in my photo classes, it is very clear to me that I am not entitled to anyone's image, especially not here since they have no reason to live under our laissez-faire media rules. That said, I felt like I might be able to convince people with a smile that the camera I'm wielding is an instrument and not a weapon. A local woman Sandy who we'd shared a crazy cab ride with encouraged me to keep trying to connect with the traditionally dressed women I found so fascinating even though they didn't seem naturally inclined to be very open. Her certainty that their reluctance to be photographed came from shyness and not coldness or a resentment of an invasion of their privacy urged me on even past a couple of failed overly-polite requests. I kept going feeling that if I was open enough about taking pictures then I could capture the beautiful public scenes without offending anyone. I took pictures straightforwardly, obviously putting the camera to my face, pointing down the sidewalk, focusing and setting the aperture and shutter speed in movements that have become delightfully instinctual, making sure that no one in the frame was freaking out, and then click. This was much more effective (and felt a hell of a lot better) than taking furtive pictures hoping the subjects wouldn't notice or than being too cautious and getting turned down. This way, if people really didn't want to be in the picture they had an opportunity to let me know (or jump out of the way), but mostly people just went about what they were doing, which is exactly what a photographer wants. I ended up finding people woh didn't mind having their photos taken and some who even liked it. One woman called to me from behind the row of plucked hanging chickens I was focusing on and invited me into the back room where two young men were killing, boiling, and pounding chickens on the table. Chicken goo ranging from watery liquid to feathers to entrails sloshed on the floor and I stepped around the thick river headed toward the drain to get a better angle (and maybe enough light) for the pictures. We'll see.
Actually the first opening I felt in the public of the Andean marketplace happened when I was sitting on the sidewalk reloading film. A young girl about 11 years old approached me while her mom was buying veggies from one of the many wrinkled old ladies selling on the street. The girl touched the feather in my hair and asked where I was from. Or maybe first my name. I'm glad she asked my name, it means she saw a person and not just a foreigner when she looked at me. Hers was Leslie. Anyway, her momma and also the elderly lady selling teh fruits and veggies came to see about the gringa and we talked about hats. My green felt fadora that I got in Quito and nearly daily express my adoration for (especially since a traditional Ecuadorian lady helped me put my feather in correctly) and the granny's tall, gray, ribboned hat both cost 30 soles we discovered after some quick math on Leslie's part. I'm surprised actually that she knew the 3:1 soles to dollar ratio off the top of her head. After she and her momma said adios, ciao gringa, the old woman sat down in her tiny red plastic chair and I let the two cats who stretched and preened in the sun between us give permission on her behalf for me to take photos. I left them a present of a flower with two little feathers tucked in among the petals as thanks.
...
I'll end the quotation from my journal there. I wrote that seated outside a restaurant having feasted on thai curry over quinoa. After returning to the hotel room for a half hour of quiet with the Isabel Allende book I'm reading, I again mustered my energy to break out of the comfort of the room. I spent the evening light walking up winding streets and paths until I found myself on top of a hill overlooking the city as the sunset colors bounced off of snow-topped mountains on all sides. In the twilight hours a group of kids congregated to play with spinning tops on the steps of the small chapel at the top of the hill and I joined them in translating words between quechua, spanish, and english and laughing at the sounds of their friends' names said with an american accent. I sang some songs with them as the moon sliver came up over the mountain, but realized almost all of the songs I know are sad, with the centerpiece being La Llorona. So I pulled on the depths of my musical knowledge and came up with ¨Chickity china, the chinese chicken, you have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin´...¨ That one went over pretty well until they asked for a translation. Anyway, at 6:55 they all split, running to get home before 7 so they wouldn't get in trouble with their mothers. I headed back toward the main plaza to make arrangements to meet up with Ana for rock climbing in the morning.
I won't get into the lentil-cooking-at-high-altitudes disaster that entailed the following afternoon, but I did finally get to try my hand at boulder scaling yesterday and despite my emaciated muscles I had a really great time pushing myself to reach for each next grasp, knowing that Ana and the crashpad were below to catch me when I couldn't go any further.
All in all, I'm on the recovery and am excited about the new ways in which I'm growing too :) A little shocked to discover that there's only a month left to this trip, but I'm beginning to get the point that you can't drag your feet against time.
Con mucho amor,
Justine
Lost in Translation
This blog post is devoted to small miscommunications and misunderstandings. Most of them have nothing to do with actual language barriers.
At a restaurant in Huaraz:
-I would like to order a yogurt with honey and cinammon.
-We don´t have that.
-Do you have yogurt?
-Yes.
-Do you have honey?
-Yes.
-Do you have cinnammon?
-Yes.
-I would like to order a yogurt with honey and cinammon.
-Ok, what size?
----
At the Hare Krishna place a while ago:
Him: Did you bring your monk garb?
Us: What?
Him: Did you bring your monk garb?
Us: Bring WHAT?
Him: Your MONK GARB.
Us: No, no we did not bring our monk garb.
----
After a really easy sport climb in Hatun Machay:
Me: What was that route rated?
Brazilian guy: 6a
Me: Oh, what does that mean in the other system, like 5.6, 5.7?
Brazilian guy: (spits out his tea, says to his friend) She just called that route a 4! (Then, to me). 6a is like 5.10.
Me: Oh, oops.
----
A story our new British friend Tom told me.
"In England no one is named Randy. I was in Las Vegas once getting a haircut. The barber introduced himself. He said "I´m Randy." I replied, "Oh, is that so? I´m not.""
p.s. Thanks Tom for letting me climb with you guys!
----
During a particularly bad collective taxi drive from Chavin to Huaraz, we felt that our taxi driver was going much too fast but we did not say anything at first because we thought we would just be imposing our gringa ideals about driving. Thankfully, the two local women in the car also thought we were going too fast and they spoke up first. During the rest of the two hour drive, we kept having to remind the driver to slow down, and by the end we were all basically in an argument with him, especially because he nearly crashed us into a bus. When we got out of the car and it was time to pay, we did not want to pay him the full cost because we did not feel he deserved it.
Me: Here is 35 soles for the two of us. We are not paying the rest because you scared us too much.
Him: You need to give me 10 soles more.
Me: No, we are only giving you 35 so you learn to respect your passengers.
We left before he had opportunity to regain his senses from the shock of being told what´s what by a girl. Justine later ran into one of the other women from the taxi ride. The woman told her that the taxi driver had a few things to say after we left.
At a restaurant in Huaraz:
-I would like to order a yogurt with honey and cinammon.
-We don´t have that.
-Do you have yogurt?
-Yes.
-Do you have honey?
-Yes.
-Do you have cinnammon?
-Yes.
-I would like to order a yogurt with honey and cinammon.
-Ok, what size?
----
At the Hare Krishna place a while ago:
Him: Did you bring your monk garb?
Us: What?
Him: Did you bring your monk garb?
Us: Bring WHAT?
Him: Your MONK GARB.
Us: No, no we did not bring our monk garb.
----
After a really easy sport climb in Hatun Machay:
Me: What was that route rated?
Brazilian guy: 6a
Me: Oh, what does that mean in the other system, like 5.6, 5.7?
Brazilian guy: (spits out his tea, says to his friend) She just called that route a 4! (Then, to me). 6a is like 5.10.
Me: Oh, oops.
----
A story our new British friend Tom told me.
"In England no one is named Randy. I was in Las Vegas once getting a haircut. The barber introduced himself. He said "I´m Randy." I replied, "Oh, is that so? I´m not.""
p.s. Thanks Tom for letting me climb with you guys!
----
During a particularly bad collective taxi drive from Chavin to Huaraz, we felt that our taxi driver was going much too fast but we did not say anything at first because we thought we would just be imposing our gringa ideals about driving. Thankfully, the two local women in the car also thought we were going too fast and they spoke up first. During the rest of the two hour drive, we kept having to remind the driver to slow down, and by the end we were all basically in an argument with him, especially because he nearly crashed us into a bus. When we got out of the car and it was time to pay, we did not want to pay him the full cost because we did not feel he deserved it.
Me: Here is 35 soles for the two of us. We are not paying the rest because you scared us too much.
Him: You need to give me 10 soles more.
Me: No, we are only giving you 35 so you learn to respect your passengers.
We left before he had opportunity to regain his senses from the shock of being told what´s what by a girl. Justine later ran into one of the other women from the taxi ride. The woman told her that the taxi driver had a few things to say after we left.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
does anyone remember those small squishy plastic cylinders filled with gel and little stars or marine creatures that you could slide on and off of your fingers and were fun just because they slipped around untrollably? was that just my family? well that's what my entire abdomen has been reduced to. ana covered pretty well our experiment with hiking with altitude sickness and while we are much recovered from that point, i'm a little afraid of the noises my insides make. still, we had a really nice time in huaraz after our graceful retreat off the mountain and are excited to get back there in a couple of days, after we get cured tomorrow by a woman rubbing us with live guinea pigs. i say it in a ridiculous way, but actually it's a tradition that stretches back ages--i'll find out how long tomorrow ;)--so i'm going to suspend my own incredulity as much as possible and see what sorts of wisdom may have slipped through the cracks of spanish conquest.
mostly i wanted to share a quick story about the trip back to chavin last night:
after lounging in yuppee goodness in the california cafe, we hopped in a shared taxi and prepared ourselves for the terror of latin american driving. we sat four in a row in the back seat and luckily the guys next to us were really nice, keeping the taxi driver in line and encouraging him to drive slowly and take the pot-holes easy (avoiding them is not an option, the road is like a hunk of swiss cheese). he kept saying, "we want them to take away good memories of peru" and taught us some words in quechua, the language the inca left in their wake. with minimal clutching of my seat and bracing against the car frame, i spent the carride singing and looking out the window deep into the milky way.
getting sick is no fun, but the gifts of adventuring sure make it seem worth it.
much love to all of you,
Justine
mostly i wanted to share a quick story about the trip back to chavin last night:
after lounging in yuppee goodness in the california cafe, we hopped in a shared taxi and prepared ourselves for the terror of latin american driving. we sat four in a row in the back seat and luckily the guys next to us were really nice, keeping the taxi driver in line and encouraging him to drive slowly and take the pot-holes easy (avoiding them is not an option, the road is like a hunk of swiss cheese). he kept saying, "we want them to take away good memories of peru" and taught us some words in quechua, the language the inca left in their wake. with minimal clutching of my seat and bracing against the car frame, i spent the carride singing and looking out the window deep into the milky way.
getting sick is no fun, but the gifts of adventuring sure make it seem worth it.
much love to all of you,
Justine
El Sorroche
Lying in bed at the Hotel Inca in Chavin, my thoughts slowly coagulated to alert me of the truth: don´t open your eyes or you´ll puke. Justine and I were both afflicted with the notorious sorroche--altitude sickness. We did not understand why, because Chavin is at 3200 meters and we spent more than a week in Quito which is at 3000 meters and we hiked up to 5000 meters when we visited Cotopaxi... why oh why do we feel sick here in Chavin? Surely, it is the curse of the disturbed graves at Chavin de Huantar, ancient pre-Inca ceremonial site...surely the spirits are angry. In that moment of nausea and delirium, I did not have the mental capacity to think about homesickness, or things that I missed, but if I had, I would have missed: hot water, cooking my own food, potable water, clean bathrooms, central heating, people who can give directions, toilets that flush, salad.
Flash forward several days to where Justine and I are sitting across from each other at the California Cafe in Huaraz, cradling our hot cups of fancy loose leaf tea prepared in mini french presses and flipping through National Geographics as we await the arrival of our yuppie vegetarian food. The California Cafe is half-cafe, half-library with good literature, most of which is in English. Next to the National Geographics there are climbing magazines. On the walls, autographed pictures of musicians I´ve never heard of (but would probably like, of course) are interspersed with climbing posters of places I will surely someday climb (when I climb 5.13c, of course). When I go to the bathroom, not only is it clean, and not only does the toilet flush, but there is soap! and hot water! and paper towels! We spend several hours in the California Cafe reading books, reading magazines, sipping soup, sipping tea, listening to Radiohead, listening to our stomachs´ feeble attempts at digestion.
In between lying sick in bed and portaling into creature comforts at the California Cafe, we decided it would be an excellent idea to join our new group of friends on a two-day 35km backpacking trip that starts in Huaraz, crosses a pass of about 5000 meters elevation, and finally drops down into Chavin. Chavin is where our advisor Prof. John Rick works, and our new friends are his vivacious young Stanford students that he brought along to help him excavate (he´s an archeologist). Therefore, the day after lying so sick in bed that opening our eyes was a mortal effort, we took a van to Huaraz with our new friends. The next day, we loaded up our packs with rented gear and trail mix and put our feet to the dirt. We hiked strong, keeping up fine despite the fact that we had only eaten one (small) meal in the past two and a half days. I marveled at my body´s ability to recover and gazed in awe at the jagged, snow capped mountains we were walking between. I felt like I was in search for a new favorite place, and maybe, just maybe I would find it on this weekend hike. The rocks on the path had surely started working their abrasive ways on my feet, but at this point I did not notice because I was floating and everything was perfect--
--then we ate lunch. Lunch was delicious, but soon after my stomach started aching, then it started stabbing, and then it felt like I had puppies growing inside of me and they were kicking and biting. And then it felt like I had an olympic gymnastics team inside me, and they were practicing very, very hard. Meanwhile, Justine´s stomach started hurting too. In our personal levels of pain, we trudged along, step by weary step, until we reached our campsite for the night. Our fun new friends made presumably tasty food on the camp stove, but we were cloistered in our tent ready for sleep to numb the pain long before food was ready. We wouldn´t have wanted any anyway.
The next morning, our stomachs were slightly better--for me, it was back to puppies. Anyway, we decided that puppies in our stomachs was no way to go about hiking, and since we were still closer to Huaraz than to Chavin, and since the second leg of the hike was supposed to be the steeper one, we decided to let our friends continue on and we would return (downhill!) to Huaraz at our own stomach-dictated pace. We got back to Huaraz that evening, had dinner, slept for 14 hours, woke up, looked for a place to eat brunch, and that´s how we found ourselves at the California Cafe, sipping on tea and reading National Geographic, while we awaited the arrival of our yuppie vegetarian food.
---
A shorter re-telling of the same story: Blast! After a month and a half of absolutely perfect health, we finally got sick! Fail!
(Now, we are back in Chavin, still not fully recovered, but with enough energy to be awake at this hour --8:30pm-- and interviewing some people for our research. We will go back up to Huaraz in a few days and we will rent a bouldering pad from Andean Sky Expeditions and go bouldering!!!!!)
Later, I will tell stories of cursed towns, guinea pigs, and bones. But for now, bastante.
Con mucho cariño,
Anita
Flash forward several days to where Justine and I are sitting across from each other at the California Cafe in Huaraz, cradling our hot cups of fancy loose leaf tea prepared in mini french presses and flipping through National Geographics as we await the arrival of our yuppie vegetarian food. The California Cafe is half-cafe, half-library with good literature, most of which is in English. Next to the National Geographics there are climbing magazines. On the walls, autographed pictures of musicians I´ve never heard of (but would probably like, of course) are interspersed with climbing posters of places I will surely someday climb (when I climb 5.13c, of course). When I go to the bathroom, not only is it clean, and not only does the toilet flush, but there is soap! and hot water! and paper towels! We spend several hours in the California Cafe reading books, reading magazines, sipping soup, sipping tea, listening to Radiohead, listening to our stomachs´ feeble attempts at digestion.
In between lying sick in bed and portaling into creature comforts at the California Cafe, we decided it would be an excellent idea to join our new group of friends on a two-day 35km backpacking trip that starts in Huaraz, crosses a pass of about 5000 meters elevation, and finally drops down into Chavin. Chavin is where our advisor Prof. John Rick works, and our new friends are his vivacious young Stanford students that he brought along to help him excavate (he´s an archeologist). Therefore, the day after lying so sick in bed that opening our eyes was a mortal effort, we took a van to Huaraz with our new friends. The next day, we loaded up our packs with rented gear and trail mix and put our feet to the dirt. We hiked strong, keeping up fine despite the fact that we had only eaten one (small) meal in the past two and a half days. I marveled at my body´s ability to recover and gazed in awe at the jagged, snow capped mountains we were walking between. I felt like I was in search for a new favorite place, and maybe, just maybe I would find it on this weekend hike. The rocks on the path had surely started working their abrasive ways on my feet, but at this point I did not notice because I was floating and everything was perfect--
--then we ate lunch. Lunch was delicious, but soon after my stomach started aching, then it started stabbing, and then it felt like I had puppies growing inside of me and they were kicking and biting. And then it felt like I had an olympic gymnastics team inside me, and they were practicing very, very hard. Meanwhile, Justine´s stomach started hurting too. In our personal levels of pain, we trudged along, step by weary step, until we reached our campsite for the night. Our fun new friends made presumably tasty food on the camp stove, but we were cloistered in our tent ready for sleep to numb the pain long before food was ready. We wouldn´t have wanted any anyway.
The next morning, our stomachs were slightly better--for me, it was back to puppies. Anyway, we decided that puppies in our stomachs was no way to go about hiking, and since we were still closer to Huaraz than to Chavin, and since the second leg of the hike was supposed to be the steeper one, we decided to let our friends continue on and we would return (downhill!) to Huaraz at our own stomach-dictated pace. We got back to Huaraz that evening, had dinner, slept for 14 hours, woke up, looked for a place to eat brunch, and that´s how we found ourselves at the California Cafe, sipping on tea and reading National Geographic, while we awaited the arrival of our yuppie vegetarian food.
---
A shorter re-telling of the same story: Blast! After a month and a half of absolutely perfect health, we finally got sick! Fail!
(Now, we are back in Chavin, still not fully recovered, but with enough energy to be awake at this hour --8:30pm-- and interviewing some people for our research. We will go back up to Huaraz in a few days and we will rent a bouldering pad from Andean Sky Expeditions and go bouldering!!!!!)
Later, I will tell stories of cursed towns, guinea pigs, and bones. But for now, bastante.
Con mucho cariño,
Anita
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Hueca, Huaca, Huaraz
so i've realized that my natural inclination is not toward blogging, but my mama has objected to my hiatus, so here's what i've got for now:
we've been traveling at a really quick pace since we left quito, staying 2 nights or less in each place. it's been chaotic but really fun. now we're in huaraz (mountain city), and we'll be between huaraz and chavin (small town 2 hours from huaraz where we'll meet up with Stanford professor/archeologist John Rick) for the next... month maybe. this place feels good, very good vibes. clean air, people selling fruit and veggies on the street, and CRAZY tall hats with wide rims and colorful patterned shawls. I'm going to take a million pictures--luckily i found some cheap film in Trujillo, which is a cool but strangely cursed town.... we were only there for one day but we had quite an adventure. first we met this strange girl who seemed really really out of it and was supposedly going to help us find a restaurant but ended up just taking us around the same blocks over and over, and when we were talking to her about the ruins Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol, I accidentally said Hueca and she stopped and said, "hueca? are you talking about me because i can't find a place to eat?" and explained that hueca meant someone who has a hole in their head and so their thoughts just escape right out. after she said that, ana and i could not stop thinking of her that way. there was something very odd about her. after ana and i got back from the huaca de la luna (ruins of the ceremonial place of the moche civilization where they used to perform human sacrifices--we think this might have something to do with the curse) we started feeling like we couldn't get a hold of our thoughts and that we were turning into huecas. luckily we chugged some water and snapped out of it in time to plunge into the marketplace. we bought some latin american poetry, tools to work with metal wire for our new artisan careers... doesn't really matter what we bought, it was just really exciting to be in the midst of so many people. it felt like we had broken through the tourist bubble. anyway, another night bus later and we've arrived in Huaraz and i'll leave it at that for now because we're going to go enjoy our new city :)
Much love, and i'll try to write more.
we've been traveling at a really quick pace since we left quito, staying 2 nights or less in each place. it's been chaotic but really fun. now we're in huaraz (mountain city), and we'll be between huaraz and chavin (small town 2 hours from huaraz where we'll meet up with Stanford professor/archeologist John Rick) for the next... month maybe. this place feels good, very good vibes. clean air, people selling fruit and veggies on the street, and CRAZY tall hats with wide rims and colorful patterned shawls. I'm going to take a million pictures--luckily i found some cheap film in Trujillo, which is a cool but strangely cursed town.... we were only there for one day but we had quite an adventure. first we met this strange girl who seemed really really out of it and was supposedly going to help us find a restaurant but ended up just taking us around the same blocks over and over, and when we were talking to her about the ruins Huaca de la Luna and Huaca del Sol, I accidentally said Hueca and she stopped and said, "hueca? are you talking about me because i can't find a place to eat?" and explained that hueca meant someone who has a hole in their head and so their thoughts just escape right out. after she said that, ana and i could not stop thinking of her that way. there was something very odd about her. after ana and i got back from the huaca de la luna (ruins of the ceremonial place of the moche civilization where they used to perform human sacrifices--we think this might have something to do with the curse) we started feeling like we couldn't get a hold of our thoughts and that we were turning into huecas. luckily we chugged some water and snapped out of it in time to plunge into the marketplace. we bought some latin american poetry, tools to work with metal wire for our new artisan careers... doesn't really matter what we bought, it was just really exciting to be in the midst of so many people. it felt like we had broken through the tourist bubble. anyway, another night bus later and we've arrived in Huaraz and i'll leave it at that for now because we're going to go enjoy our new city :)
Much love, and i'll try to write more.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
News from your Feathered Friends
The past few days have been spent on the beach in Mancora: collecting shells, swimming in the ocean at night, learning to juggle, and drumming around the bonfire with our new traveling artisan friends. We now have feathers in our hair and are happy to begin our new life of jewelery making, performance art, and sleeping on the sand. Forget the rest of the world, we have what we want right here next to the ocean!
But actually, because we do want to keep on moving on, and because we are on a mission, and because I need to go find some rocks to climb, we did move on. We are now in Trujillo, where we plan to check out some archeological sites before taking our night bus to Huaraz. (YAY! HUARAZ! HUARAZ HAS ROCKS!). Huaraz is near Chavin de Huantar, where we will meet up with our beloved Prof. Rick, who is our advisor for this journey. Back in Peru now, we have to get ourselves back in research mindset. Yes, research.
Keep us updated about your lives on the home front!
Anita
But actually, because we do want to keep on moving on, and because we are on a mission, and because I need to go find some rocks to climb, we did move on. We are now in Trujillo, where we plan to check out some archeological sites before taking our night bus to Huaraz. (YAY! HUARAZ! HUARAZ HAS ROCKS!). Huaraz is near Chavin de Huantar, where we will meet up with our beloved Prof. Rick, who is our advisor for this journey. Back in Peru now, we have to get ourselves back in research mindset. Yes, research.
Keep us updated about your lives on the home front!
Anita
Friday, July 30, 2010
Lesson learned
Do not stay the night at a Hare Krishna center or you will find beetles in your socks.
(we are safely in Baños, had a nice day of mountain biking and swimming with waterfalls, about to go further south on a bus to get back to Peru.)
-anita
(we are safely in Baños, had a nice day of mountain biking and swimming with waterfalls, about to go further south on a bus to get back to Peru.)
-anita
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Gettin´ high
On Monday, we got higher than ever before. And I mean really, really high. We hiked up the hikable portion of Cotopaxi (wikipedia says: Cotopaxi is a stratovolcano in the Andes Mountains, located about 28 km (17 mi) south of Quito, Ecuador, South America.[4] It is the second highest summit in the country, reaching a height of 5,897 m (19,347 ft)). We reached where the glacier starts, which is at 5,000 m, or 16,400 feet. From there, if you want to continue, you have to go at 2am when the ice is more frozen and you have less of a chance of falling into a crevasse. You also need crampons and ice axes. Eh... next time, Cotopaxi, next time. (I must say, I am tired of getting almost to the top of things.)
But often, the journey is more interesting than the destination, and although the destination was pretty beautiful, the story is more interestng for the journey in this case.
After several hours on a bus from northern Quito, the bus dropped us off on the side of the road and pointed to a little station: our next step for getting to Cotopaxi. From the rural area with a little hut and several pick-up trucks, we asked ourselves "shouldn´t we be able to see the mountain?" Thankfully, we weren´t actually deceived, and the mountain was just obscured by clouds.
We asked the man running the station how much it costs to go the last leg of the trip to Cotopaxi. He tells us $30 per person for the roundtrip car ride. Then we´d have to pa $10 each for national park entrance, and also we would have to pay a guide to take us. Ok, we immediately called him out on his bullshit, especially because it was onluy 35km more by car. We waited around, decididing what to do. The man smirked at us, probably knowing we didn´t have other options.
Tangent: we decided that we are not from the United States because we don´t like being charged 5 times more than necessary for everything. But since Justine doesn´t speak Romanian, we decided to be from South Africa. And so, we spent the next few minutes trying to remember everything we could about Sasha´s mom.
When the man who tried to rip us off finally asked us where we were from, he immediately lit up when we said South Africa (remember: World Cup was in South Africa. We´re in Latin America. Latin America is crazy about the World Cup). I think he would´ve agreed to take us to Cotopaxi for a lower price. Thankfully, just when we were about to try to negotiate with him to take us there for $10 each, a truck full of respectable looking young men drove through and they agreed to let us sit in the back of their truck, mostly because they were so delighted to have two South African gringitas gracing their travels. We bumped and rattled our way through the next 35km.
Along the way (7km into the drive) we had to go through the park entrance, where nationals pay $2 and foreigners pay $10. Okay, whatever, we´ll pay $10, it´s a national park. But when I went to pay our fee, the people at the park entrance said that foreigners are not allowed in without a guide, and that we would need to hire a guide. He said it´s a law in the Ecuadorian constitution that foreigners can´t come in without a guide because they´ll get lost, and then their home countries will get mad at Ecuador for letting them get lost. I didn´t bother asking how much guides cost, but set about: 1. arguing with him, saying that if it´s a rule, then it should be posted somewhere, that he´s making it up just to rip us off, and that if he can´t produce a written copy of the constitution saying just that, I have no reason to believe him. Then, 2. Pleading with him, saying we´d come all the way from South Africa, and we really just wanted to go up Cotopaxi but we didn´t have enough money with us to pay for a guide, and please please please, all the way from South Africa. Finally, he agreed that the Ecuadorian men who were driving us (he did not realize that all but one of them were actually Columbian) could be our "guides". He took the real Ecuadorian´s driver´s license and informed him that he couldn´t get it back unless he produced two safe gringitas exiting the park at the end of the day. Then he asked, "how was the World Cup?" and I winked and said "fantastic."
Thank you to Sasha and family, for being South African.
Of course, as soon as we got to the Cotopaxi parking lot, we felt guilty for lying and told our friendly drivers-turned-mountain-guides that we are not actually South African. They were understandably disappointed, but we are still gringitas, even if not South African, so they did not turn against us.
Because the guy wouldn´t get his driver license back if they didn´t keep us intact, they informed us we couldn´t leave their sight. Together, the five of us (would have been six, but one stayed in the car because of an injured leg) navigated the thin atmosphere, huffing and puffing our way up the final 700 meters to where the glaciar starts. I raced one of them and won.
[Someday soon, I will upload photos, but it doesn´t seem to connect onto this computer. Also, recommendations for how many megapixels I should be taking my photos at? Is 3 enough?]
We rode back in the truck as the sun was setting, feeling elated/euphoric/ecstatic from exercise, beautiful scenery, and low oxygen.
So... who is coming to Patagonia with me sometime soon to summit tall mountains?
Also: today we head to Baños, where a volcano is currently erupting. Then, to the Devil´s nose, then we head further south back to Perú.
Yours,
Anita
But often, the journey is more interesting than the destination, and although the destination was pretty beautiful, the story is more interestng for the journey in this case.
After several hours on a bus from northern Quito, the bus dropped us off on the side of the road and pointed to a little station: our next step for getting to Cotopaxi. From the rural area with a little hut and several pick-up trucks, we asked ourselves "shouldn´t we be able to see the mountain?" Thankfully, we weren´t actually deceived, and the mountain was just obscured by clouds.
We asked the man running the station how much it costs to go the last leg of the trip to Cotopaxi. He tells us $30 per person for the roundtrip car ride. Then we´d have to pa $10 each for national park entrance, and also we would have to pay a guide to take us. Ok, we immediately called him out on his bullshit, especially because it was onluy 35km more by car. We waited around, decididing what to do. The man smirked at us, probably knowing we didn´t have other options.
Tangent: we decided that we are not from the United States because we don´t like being charged 5 times more than necessary for everything. But since Justine doesn´t speak Romanian, we decided to be from South Africa. And so, we spent the next few minutes trying to remember everything we could about Sasha´s mom.
When the man who tried to rip us off finally asked us where we were from, he immediately lit up when we said South Africa (remember: World Cup was in South Africa. We´re in Latin America. Latin America is crazy about the World Cup). I think he would´ve agreed to take us to Cotopaxi for a lower price. Thankfully, just when we were about to try to negotiate with him to take us there for $10 each, a truck full of respectable looking young men drove through and they agreed to let us sit in the back of their truck, mostly because they were so delighted to have two South African gringitas gracing their travels. We bumped and rattled our way through the next 35km.
Along the way (7km into the drive) we had to go through the park entrance, where nationals pay $2 and foreigners pay $10. Okay, whatever, we´ll pay $10, it´s a national park. But when I went to pay our fee, the people at the park entrance said that foreigners are not allowed in without a guide, and that we would need to hire a guide. He said it´s a law in the Ecuadorian constitution that foreigners can´t come in without a guide because they´ll get lost, and then their home countries will get mad at Ecuador for letting them get lost. I didn´t bother asking how much guides cost, but set about: 1. arguing with him, saying that if it´s a rule, then it should be posted somewhere, that he´s making it up just to rip us off, and that if he can´t produce a written copy of the constitution saying just that, I have no reason to believe him. Then, 2. Pleading with him, saying we´d come all the way from South Africa, and we really just wanted to go up Cotopaxi but we didn´t have enough money with us to pay for a guide, and please please please, all the way from South Africa. Finally, he agreed that the Ecuadorian men who were driving us (he did not realize that all but one of them were actually Columbian) could be our "guides". He took the real Ecuadorian´s driver´s license and informed him that he couldn´t get it back unless he produced two safe gringitas exiting the park at the end of the day. Then he asked, "how was the World Cup?" and I winked and said "fantastic."
Thank you to Sasha and family, for being South African.
Of course, as soon as we got to the Cotopaxi parking lot, we felt guilty for lying and told our friendly drivers-turned-mountain-guides that we are not actually South African. They were understandably disappointed, but we are still gringitas, even if not South African, so they did not turn against us.
Because the guy wouldn´t get his driver license back if they didn´t keep us intact, they informed us we couldn´t leave their sight. Together, the five of us (would have been six, but one stayed in the car because of an injured leg) navigated the thin atmosphere, huffing and puffing our way up the final 700 meters to where the glaciar starts. I raced one of them and won.
[Someday soon, I will upload photos, but it doesn´t seem to connect onto this computer. Also, recommendations for how many megapixels I should be taking my photos at? Is 3 enough?]
We rode back in the truck as the sun was setting, feeling elated/euphoric/ecstatic from exercise, beautiful scenery, and low oxygen.
So... who is coming to Patagonia with me sometime soon to summit tall mountains?
Also: today we head to Baños, where a volcano is currently erupting. Then, to the Devil´s nose, then we head further south back to Perú.
Yours,
Anita
Saturday, July 24, 2010
On DOGS and mountains
Thank you Manus for taking us to your sweet farm in Checa!
Checa is a small town about 45 minutes out of Quito where Manus's extended family owns land. We saw horses and crops and all those nice things, but what sticks out most to me is the dogs.
We stayed in a cozy little cabin that was guarded by a single-headed descendent of Cerberus (you know, the dog that guards hell). This dog was in a steady state of angry hysteria. It was tied to a tree by a short metal chain, and everytime some person or some animal walked near (you know, within 20 meters), breathed too loud, or made any type of disturbance, it would lunge to the end of its chain, where its neck would get torqued and its wide, wild eyes would open wider, looking like they were ready to pop. During this motion, it would bear its teeth, snarl, bark, and growl, and once the chain asserted its dominance, the dog would jump back and forth within its allowable radius, snarling, barking, and growling some more. It followed this pattern EVERY time its defense mechanism was triggered, which was about every few seconds. I slept with earplugs because of that dog.
We also visited a bigger house belonging to his family that was across the street (and that people actually lived in). That house was also guarded by dogs. These dogs were giant and muscular and looked trained to kill. For us too enter the property, the dogs were put in their cement-and-wire cages, where they barked and threw their mass against the cage, letting us know they mean business. The cages were pretty tall but had no roof. I couldn´t help thinking of the tiger that jumped out of its cage at the SF Zoo. Then, the dogs were let out of their cages to meet us. The three goliath canines ran to us then took turns sniffing each of us to get to know our smell, then ran back to their cages. From then on, they were very calm and nice with us.
While at Checa, Justine and I decided we wanted to hike to the top of the nearby Volcano Puntas, which imposes its presence on the towns below with the staggering pointy pinnacles for which it gets its name. We saw these pinnacles from below and immediately said "we want to go THERE." It soon became clear that we needed a guide to go for several reasons: 1. we didn´t know the way and there isn´t a clearly marked hiking trail - you have to cut through people's pastures to get there. 2. we would need to ask permission to cut through private land - the land there is owned by the wealthy indigenous Don Benjamin who rose from rags to riches; he's a nice guy, but we're white. 3. the land we would cross is full of torros bravos - feryl bulls that can be temperamental, defensive of their territory, and overall crAzy.
So our 21 year old guide Santiago, his cousin Darío and the two of us made our way up the mountain, looking for Andean condors (but not finding any), eating tostadas, and evading the torros bravos. We walked up the virgin black soil, feeling a little like in a fairy tale as we passed by black and white milk cows, solitary horses, and high elevation wild flowers. The fairy tale feeling was frayed a little from all the barbed wire fences we had to cross, but we forded all of those incident free. We managed to avoid or chase away most of the torros bravos we encountered, but we did at some point get in a stand off with a troop of them. Fortunately, they were on the other side of a barbed wire fence and we weren´t worth it to them to prick themseleves on it, even though it was low and deteriorating and any one of them could plow right through it, easily.
When we reached the top of Puntas, the view was impressive and jagged, just like I like my views. I climbed the steep side of a pinnacle but decided that was enough because the rock was not very stable. We left as the wind began to beat snow sideways into our ears.
Despite all the dangers we were warned about on Puntas (the crazy bulls, the weather, getting lost, etc.), at the end of the day I was most frightend by the pesky little "I think I´m so ferocious" dogs that barked at us as we passed by various haciendas. Alas, some things never change, and torros bravos have nothing on pesky little dogs when it comes to triggering my fear instincts. You know me...
Pichincha:
I promised to describe Pichincha (and Justine is sleeping still, so I have time!).
Pichincha is one of the volcanos looking over Quito. It has two peaks, and there is a teleferico (gondola) that takes you most of the way up - up to 4100 meters elevation. We hiked nearly the rest of the way to the Rucu Pichincha peak, which is at 4,698m (15,413 ft), and is the higher of the two peaks. At high elevation, your thoughts leave you and you get this pleasant feeling of dizzy euphoria. Colors look a little brighter and crisper, and breathtaking scenery is even more breath taking... because there´s not very much air up there. I would make an effort to describe what was so spectacular about that landscape, but it seems futile, because words rarely do justice to these sorts of things. What I can say is that I enjoyed the contrast between the peaceful rolling green hills beneath us and the jagged rocky peak above us. The latter was obscured by dark clouds that rolled across it at high speed, only to be shredded to cloudy strips by the sharp outcrop. I´ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the foreboding, so the dreary magnetism of the mountain lured me in.
When we reached the Rucu cone -- the final 20 meters or so of ascent -- the only thing that made sense to me was to get up to the tip top. By now, our hands were freezing and because we hadn´t bought warm clothes yet, I had an extra pair of socks on my hands and a shirt on my head. We climbed up the cone steadily, but that high altitude sensation made even the easiest climb feel taxing. Actually, just standing up straight seemed like an incredible feat of balance. About halfway up that cone, the going got steeper and colder. The "get to the top" feeling in me demanded to keep going, even if alone. But then a cloud rushed in and suddenly we couldn´t see more than 5 meters in front of us. That cloud was an icy cold blast back into reality: if standing up feels difficult, climbing is probably not a good idea, even if it´s like V0- and normally it would be too easy to even bother warming up on...
We descended, and to this moment I feel regret that I didn´t go up that final 8 or so meters, but at the same time I know it was the right decision.
Some random tidbits:
1. On avoiding scams and getting ripped off: My most proud moment of shrewd skepticism was when we bought some organges from a street vendor. The vendor weighed them on a scale, told us we had to pay for 1 kilo, set the scale down, and set out his hand. I looked at the scale, which was now upside down, and demanded to see it. As expected, it was not zero'd, and he was trying to charge us almost double. I called him out on it and set my own price. Ah yes, the sweet feeling of pride. Moments later, we gave an address to a taxi cab, asked how much it cost, and were pissed off when we realized the place was just around the corner and he was charging us as if it were much further away (he did drive in circles around a few blocks first to make it seem further).
2. On my name: I say: Hola mi nombre es Ana. They (they = everyone) pause, then reply: Anita.
3. On amusing ourselves: Justine crochets my dreads while I read aloud from East of Eden. We stay up too late doing this. Cute? Yes, Cute.
Checa is a small town about 45 minutes out of Quito where Manus's extended family owns land. We saw horses and crops and all those nice things, but what sticks out most to me is the dogs.
We stayed in a cozy little cabin that was guarded by a single-headed descendent of Cerberus (you know, the dog that guards hell). This dog was in a steady state of angry hysteria. It was tied to a tree by a short metal chain, and everytime some person or some animal walked near (you know, within 20 meters), breathed too loud, or made any type of disturbance, it would lunge to the end of its chain, where its neck would get torqued and its wide, wild eyes would open wider, looking like they were ready to pop. During this motion, it would bear its teeth, snarl, bark, and growl, and once the chain asserted its dominance, the dog would jump back and forth within its allowable radius, snarling, barking, and growling some more. It followed this pattern EVERY time its defense mechanism was triggered, which was about every few seconds. I slept with earplugs because of that dog.
We also visited a bigger house belonging to his family that was across the street (and that people actually lived in). That house was also guarded by dogs. These dogs were giant and muscular and looked trained to kill. For us too enter the property, the dogs were put in their cement-and-wire cages, where they barked and threw their mass against the cage, letting us know they mean business. The cages were pretty tall but had no roof. I couldn´t help thinking of the tiger that jumped out of its cage at the SF Zoo. Then, the dogs were let out of their cages to meet us. The three goliath canines ran to us then took turns sniffing each of us to get to know our smell, then ran back to their cages. From then on, they were very calm and nice with us.
While at Checa, Justine and I decided we wanted to hike to the top of the nearby Volcano Puntas, which imposes its presence on the towns below with the staggering pointy pinnacles for which it gets its name. We saw these pinnacles from below and immediately said "we want to go THERE." It soon became clear that we needed a guide to go for several reasons: 1. we didn´t know the way and there isn´t a clearly marked hiking trail - you have to cut through people's pastures to get there. 2. we would need to ask permission to cut through private land - the land there is owned by the wealthy indigenous Don Benjamin who rose from rags to riches; he's a nice guy, but we're white. 3. the land we would cross is full of torros bravos - feryl bulls that can be temperamental, defensive of their territory, and overall crAzy.
So our 21 year old guide Santiago, his cousin Darío and the two of us made our way up the mountain, looking for Andean condors (but not finding any), eating tostadas, and evading the torros bravos. We walked up the virgin black soil, feeling a little like in a fairy tale as we passed by black and white milk cows, solitary horses, and high elevation wild flowers. The fairy tale feeling was frayed a little from all the barbed wire fences we had to cross, but we forded all of those incident free. We managed to avoid or chase away most of the torros bravos we encountered, but we did at some point get in a stand off with a troop of them. Fortunately, they were on the other side of a barbed wire fence and we weren´t worth it to them to prick themseleves on it, even though it was low and deteriorating and any one of them could plow right through it, easily.
When we reached the top of Puntas, the view was impressive and jagged, just like I like my views. I climbed the steep side of a pinnacle but decided that was enough because the rock was not very stable. We left as the wind began to beat snow sideways into our ears.
Despite all the dangers we were warned about on Puntas (the crazy bulls, the weather, getting lost, etc.), at the end of the day I was most frightend by the pesky little "I think I´m so ferocious" dogs that barked at us as we passed by various haciendas. Alas, some things never change, and torros bravos have nothing on pesky little dogs when it comes to triggering my fear instincts. You know me...
Pichincha:
I promised to describe Pichincha (and Justine is sleeping still, so I have time!).
Pichincha is one of the volcanos looking over Quito. It has two peaks, and there is a teleferico (gondola) that takes you most of the way up - up to 4100 meters elevation. We hiked nearly the rest of the way to the Rucu Pichincha peak, which is at 4,698m (15,413 ft), and is the higher of the two peaks. At high elevation, your thoughts leave you and you get this pleasant feeling of dizzy euphoria. Colors look a little brighter and crisper, and breathtaking scenery is even more breath taking... because there´s not very much air up there. I would make an effort to describe what was so spectacular about that landscape, but it seems futile, because words rarely do justice to these sorts of things. What I can say is that I enjoyed the contrast between the peaceful rolling green hills beneath us and the jagged rocky peak above us. The latter was obscured by dark clouds that rolled across it at high speed, only to be shredded to cloudy strips by the sharp outcrop. I´ve always had a bit of a soft spot for the foreboding, so the dreary magnetism of the mountain lured me in.
When we reached the Rucu cone -- the final 20 meters or so of ascent -- the only thing that made sense to me was to get up to the tip top. By now, our hands were freezing and because we hadn´t bought warm clothes yet, I had an extra pair of socks on my hands and a shirt on my head. We climbed up the cone steadily, but that high altitude sensation made even the easiest climb feel taxing. Actually, just standing up straight seemed like an incredible feat of balance. About halfway up that cone, the going got steeper and colder. The "get to the top" feeling in me demanded to keep going, even if alone. But then a cloud rushed in and suddenly we couldn´t see more than 5 meters in front of us. That cloud was an icy cold blast back into reality: if standing up feels difficult, climbing is probably not a good idea, even if it´s like V0- and normally it would be too easy to even bother warming up on...
We descended, and to this moment I feel regret that I didn´t go up that final 8 or so meters, but at the same time I know it was the right decision.
Some random tidbits:
1. On avoiding scams and getting ripped off: My most proud moment of shrewd skepticism was when we bought some organges from a street vendor. The vendor weighed them on a scale, told us we had to pay for 1 kilo, set the scale down, and set out his hand. I looked at the scale, which was now upside down, and demanded to see it. As expected, it was not zero'd, and he was trying to charge us almost double. I called him out on it and set my own price. Ah yes, the sweet feeling of pride. Moments later, we gave an address to a taxi cab, asked how much it cost, and were pissed off when we realized the place was just around the corner and he was charging us as if it were much further away (he did drive in circles around a few blocks first to make it seem further).
2. On my name: I say: Hola mi nombre es Ana. They (they = everyone) pause, then reply: Anita.
3. On amusing ourselves: Justine crochets my dreads while I read aloud from East of Eden. We stay up too late doing this. Cute? Yes, Cute.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
15,370 feet
Hola from Quito, Ecuador!
Th city of Quito sits at about the altitude of the highest Sierra Nevada Mountains. And it is cradled by mountains that go about 5,000 feet higher. Ana and I climbed (walked, strolled) up Pichincha yesterday, to reach a height of 15,370 feet. The peak was within sight, and would have been an easy climb for Ana if we weren't high on altitude. We were lucid enough to know our limits, and settled on a nice scramble up to a ledge, and then a cloud swallowed us--we've got pictures of us flanked in white to prove it. The hike was absolutely beautiful. We agreed that the rational parts of us don't really understand why it's so great to hike up a big mound of dirt and rock and grasses, but luckily we aren't overly rational people. As we walked, those square little thoughts that cycle round and round dissipated into the clear, light air. We were pretty sure we could feel that the atmosphere was weighing on us less. Enormous clouds rolled overhead and filled the valley down below, glowing with light. Weird vegetation reflected the challenges of mountain life, and every once in a while black and white marbled birds would cut past us with a chirp. The icing of the view was Quito glistening like a jeweled blanket laid down in the creases between mountains. As much as I love cities, I love them even more seen in the context of the landscape that nourishes them.
We descended with the sun, getting back to the teleférico (snowless-ski-lift) as the last light drained from the sky. A taxi ride and dinner out with friends reintegrated us into the city, and now I'm writing from the comfort of our host Galito's home whose family has been wonderful to us and even has a little pug dog whose snorts are surprisingly adorable. All in all, feeling good--both adventurous and comfortable at the same time.
Much love to all of you at home!
Th city of Quito sits at about the altitude of the highest Sierra Nevada Mountains. And it is cradled by mountains that go about 5,000 feet higher. Ana and I climbed (walked, strolled) up Pichincha yesterday, to reach a height of 15,370 feet. The peak was within sight, and would have been an easy climb for Ana if we weren't high on altitude. We were lucid enough to know our limits, and settled on a nice scramble up to a ledge, and then a cloud swallowed us--we've got pictures of us flanked in white to prove it. The hike was absolutely beautiful. We agreed that the rational parts of us don't really understand why it's so great to hike up a big mound of dirt and rock and grasses, but luckily we aren't overly rational people. As we walked, those square little thoughts that cycle round and round dissipated into the clear, light air. We were pretty sure we could feel that the atmosphere was weighing on us less. Enormous clouds rolled overhead and filled the valley down below, glowing with light. Weird vegetation reflected the challenges of mountain life, and every once in a while black and white marbled birds would cut past us with a chirp. The icing of the view was Quito glistening like a jeweled blanket laid down in the creases between mountains. As much as I love cities, I love them even more seen in the context of the landscape that nourishes them.
We descended with the sun, getting back to the teleférico (snowless-ski-lift) as the last light drained from the sky. A taxi ride and dinner out with friends reintegrated us into the city, and now I'm writing from the comfort of our host Galito's home whose family has been wonderful to us and even has a little pug dog whose snorts are surprisingly adorable. All in all, feeling good--both adventurous and comfortable at the same time.
Much love to all of you at home!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Surfing, Buses, and Quito
To all who were terrified by the fact that we have been traveling many days in Latin America by bus, rest assured we made it across jungles, mountains, deserts, and country borders with no thievery, accidents, or moments of sheer terror. (Thank you very much to Grabol, a tranquilizing anti carsickness medicine for saving us from the last of those).
We spent several hours walking up the many stairs of the Guayaquil Malecon (boardwalk). Then we went to Montañtina where we learned to surf. I personally liked it so much that I almost told the rest of the crew (at this point, we are with Manus and his friend Andres) that they can do the rest of Ecuador without me, I{ll just stay and surf! But plan #2 is that I can always just move back to Montanita at some other point in life and make my living off of teaching aerial circus by night and surfing the waves by day. Yes.
This morning we woke up 3:30am to catch a couple buses and just got into Quito something like 18 hours later. We are about to go celebrate the birthday of one of Manuss friends, so happy birthday to him, and cheers to all of you all at home.
P.S. anyone who has our Peruvian phone number - it doesnt work while were in Ecuador.
-ana
We spent several hours walking up the many stairs of the Guayaquil Malecon (boardwalk). Then we went to Montañtina where we learned to surf. I personally liked it so much that I almost told the rest of the crew (at this point, we are with Manus and his friend Andres) that they can do the rest of Ecuador without me, I{ll just stay and surf! But plan #2 is that I can always just move back to Montanita at some other point in life and make my living off of teaching aerial circus by night and surfing the waves by day. Yes.
This morning we woke up 3:30am to catch a couple buses and just got into Quito something like 18 hours later. We are about to go celebrate the birthday of one of Manuss friends, so happy birthday to him, and cheers to all of you all at home.
P.S. anyone who has our Peruvian phone number - it doesnt work while were in Ecuador.
-ana
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
vamos a ecuador!
On our way to Ecuador...
1. Bus to chiclayo (today)
2. bus to piura (tomorrow)
3. bus to guayaquil (tomorrow night) (meet with manus)
4. bus to montanita (next day)
lots of bus. that´s why we call it the bus-ride diaries. too bad we dont have a motorcycle, then we could be like che.
p.s. yesterday martin took us for a motorcycle ride to buy juanes! (juanes = food wrapped in a leaf, good for travelling)
got to goooooo!!!
-ANA
1. Bus to chiclayo (today)
2. bus to piura (tomorrow)
3. bus to guayaquil (tomorrow night) (meet with manus)
4. bus to montanita (next day)
lots of bus. that´s why we call it the bus-ride diaries. too bad we dont have a motorcycle, then we could be like che.
p.s. yesterday martin took us for a motorcycle ride to buy juanes! (juanes = food wrapped in a leaf, good for travelling)
got to goooooo!!!
-ANA
Thursday, July 8, 2010
La Medicina Tradicional
A bit on Amazonian healing:
As Ana said, the foundation of health here seems to be the ability to clean out the body, and the majority of the plants pointed out to us on our wet 12-hour rainforest hike are good for La Purga. One of the more powerful plants, Ayahuasca, grows as a crazily twisted vine that winds around and around itself, squeezing into layered pretzels and gripping trees with long tendrils until it sucks them dry.
(Side note: they keep playing the same song OVER AND OVER in this internet cafe!!!AAHHHHHH!!!!!)
Ayahuasca treatment purges both corporally and spiritually. Mixed with another plant called Chacuruna, it brings on intense visualizations and the natives here report seeing twisting serpents (not a surprise after seeing the vine), visualizing past traumatic events they had blocked out, and connecting with their ancestors. The treatment is a way of cleaning out one's fears, facing what is buried inside in order to learn from it and move on. In an informal conference at El Centro, held in French (my understanding was guesswork--although Manus' French lessons helped out, I leaned on Ana's translation skills), the curandero of El Centro talked about the importance of healing oneself, and espoused the belief that if someone cannot do the healing necessary within herself, then all the doctors in the world could not save her. Jacque raised a lot of questions within me about what illness means and the connection between emotional/spiritual struggles with physical health. It's not a stretch for me to see that they're related--for one, I feel like I inherited my dad's aching right knee after his death--but I'm not sure it works in a clear-cut cause and effect relationship. Most likely these factors go back and forth... I'm conscious of an ache in my knee and miss my father, I think of my father and tense my knee... I am far from coming to a conclusion about the nature of illness and its relationship to the rest of human experience; this is in fact the beginning of "la investigación" that Ana and I have embarked on. It's an exciting prospect to come to a better understanding of what is inside oneself and how that can accumulate and take effect. To imagine spiritual inheritance stretching back through the generations adds a depth that would be difficult to address in a regular check-up in the Dr.'s office, but I think that there's some truth in the passage of unspoken history on to each new life.
Time seemed especially tangible as Ana and I stood in a small clearing in the Amazon last week at Winston's curandero retreat near Llucanayacu. The stars here are not the ones I've known my whole life. This side of the ecuator receives the light of a different set of stars, and these stars have been sending their energy here for billions of years, looking over the rainforest and watching it grow. And, as we all learn in school, the light that was reaching us that night has traveled so far that the stars we see might not actually be there any more, might have extinguished billions of years ago. We rely on an idea of a fixed reality to go about our lives, but as Frederique, our new French anthropologist friend points out, reality is fixed within the context of its time and place. In one reality Ana and I stood beneath ancient stars while giant fireflies flitted their momentary lights. In another, stars are born and die, black holes tug on the fabric of spacetime, and a man meets his ancestor face to face. It is important to maintain a grasp on one's current reality, but not to hold on to it so tightly as to forget the variety. We're trying to keep this in mind as we learn from the people we meet what they see as true and real.
Much love to all of you!
As Ana said, the foundation of health here seems to be the ability to clean out the body, and the majority of the plants pointed out to us on our wet 12-hour rainforest hike are good for La Purga. One of the more powerful plants, Ayahuasca, grows as a crazily twisted vine that winds around and around itself, squeezing into layered pretzels and gripping trees with long tendrils until it sucks them dry.
(Side note: they keep playing the same song OVER AND OVER in this internet cafe!!!AAHHHHHH!!!!!)
Ayahuasca treatment purges both corporally and spiritually. Mixed with another plant called Chacuruna, it brings on intense visualizations and the natives here report seeing twisting serpents (not a surprise after seeing the vine), visualizing past traumatic events they had blocked out, and connecting with their ancestors. The treatment is a way of cleaning out one's fears, facing what is buried inside in order to learn from it and move on. In an informal conference at El Centro, held in French (my understanding was guesswork--although Manus' French lessons helped out, I leaned on Ana's translation skills), the curandero of El Centro talked about the importance of healing oneself, and espoused the belief that if someone cannot do the healing necessary within herself, then all the doctors in the world could not save her. Jacque raised a lot of questions within me about what illness means and the connection between emotional/spiritual struggles with physical health. It's not a stretch for me to see that they're related--for one, I feel like I inherited my dad's aching right knee after his death--but I'm not sure it works in a clear-cut cause and effect relationship. Most likely these factors go back and forth... I'm conscious of an ache in my knee and miss my father, I think of my father and tense my knee... I am far from coming to a conclusion about the nature of illness and its relationship to the rest of human experience; this is in fact the beginning of "la investigación" that Ana and I have embarked on. It's an exciting prospect to come to a better understanding of what is inside oneself and how that can accumulate and take effect. To imagine spiritual inheritance stretching back through the generations adds a depth that would be difficult to address in a regular check-up in the Dr.'s office, but I think that there's some truth in the passage of unspoken history on to each new life.
Time seemed especially tangible as Ana and I stood in a small clearing in the Amazon last week at Winston's curandero retreat near Llucanayacu. The stars here are not the ones I've known my whole life. This side of the ecuator receives the light of a different set of stars, and these stars have been sending their energy here for billions of years, looking over the rainforest and watching it grow. And, as we all learn in school, the light that was reaching us that night has traveled so far that the stars we see might not actually be there any more, might have extinguished billions of years ago. We rely on an idea of a fixed reality to go about our lives, but as Frederique, our new French anthropologist friend points out, reality is fixed within the context of its time and place. In one reality Ana and I stood beneath ancient stars while giant fireflies flitted their momentary lights. In another, stars are born and die, black holes tug on the fabric of spacetime, and a man meets his ancestor face to face. It is important to maintain a grasp on one's current reality, but not to hold on to it so tightly as to forget the variety. We're trying to keep this in mind as we learn from the people we meet what they see as true and real.
Much love to all of you!
Lions, Witches, and...
Even though we´ve had a stable home to come back to, a decent amount of downtime, and the locutorio (internet) is half a block away, Justine and I are already slacking on blog-writing. Much has happened in the past week, but I won´t try for chronology because I don´t think that matters to much to the casual reader anyway.
---
El Arbol de Brujo (The Witch Tree): If you are angry at someone, you take their underwear and you cut a hole in this tree. Then you put the underwear in the hole and put back the piece of tree you cut out. The tree will heal up with the underwear in it, and then the person will fill up with water until they explode. Our scrutinizing, practical, scientific rainforest guide Jose tells us that it sounds crazy, but he knows its true because he´s seen it with his own eyes.
---
One 5 o clock morning we got into a mototaxi, then got into a car, and drove into the night to a place we couldn´t find on a map, and therefore knew nothing about. As the sun came up, we became aware of our surroundings-- we were on a one-lane dirt road carving through fog up some rainforested mountains. To our right there was a big river. Our driver was good, and managed the sharp turns with ease.
It was maybe 6:30 now, and people were milling around. We saw people carrying water on their heads, and others carrying these sort of backpack-buckets of things, but the strap attached to their foreheads, not their shoulders. We saw a man carrying a pig´s head -- lord of the flies. Later, we saw the rest of the body. We finally felt in a world very different from our own.
The car arrived in Chasuta and we got on a boat with some other people and some chickens to get to Llucanayacu, half hour a way on the river. We were dropped off at Llucanayacu and we walked up a muddy river bed until we found the actual path. We balanced on a flexing plank to cross a small gorge, then followed the rooster cries until we got to downtown (a few houses in a square formation). We asked a man where El Centro Situlli was. He looked like he had just gotten back from a hunt. Me: Let´s ask that man where El Centro Situlli is. Justine: The one holding a shotgun? He was friendly and had his children lead us there. So we followed a 10 year old, an 8 year old, and a 5 year old through several twists and turns and hopscotched across a river until we finally arrived at our destination at 8 in the morning. The kids, sort of skeptical, said: We will only arrive once you pay us. Of course we would pay them!
At El Centro Situlli, we were meeting with Winston the Curandero (gringo name, but local Peruvian). We spoke to him a lot and learned a lot, but here, I diverge--
We´ve been having trouble processing the information we´ve been gathering. This time, I don´t mean processing in terms of ANOVA and Chi-squared. Rather, we´ve been asking people a lot of questions and receiving a lot of intriguing answers, but always we are left distilling the sincerity from the contradictions, and then trying to pluck out our own western biases and preconceptions. For example, Winston-- we liked a lot of what he said and he seemed a very sincere, warm-hearted man, but it was hard to get over his oddly-placed Catholicism. He said that when people from Spain come to see him, he charges extra because he is vengeful against the Spanish conquistadors that massacred his ancestors. But then he is a devout Catholic, swallowing up the very religion of his enemies. He saw Jesus while on Ayahuasca and believes that Catholicism was real before the Spaniards were...
---
We saw LIONS! Lots of lions! We were taking a mototaxi (a taxi, on a motorcycle) to somewhere when we stopped at what would be a red light... if they had stop lights (It is a mystery to me how drivers here know how to follow the flow and unofficial rules of traffic -- I think they speak a language of honks and glares that I will never learn). At this "red light," we found ourselves a foot away from a truck carrying a big cage with lots and lots of real live lions. The cage was narrow enough to keep their paws on their side, but my hands are small, and I know I could have stuck them in the lion´s den.
---
Back around Tarapoto, we spent 12 hours hiking around the rainforest with a personal guide, Jose, who is a walking encyclopedia. He knew three names for every plant, but knew little about the adaptation processes that made them be the way they were, about their ecosystem interactions, or about herbivory (Rodolfo Dirzo would have been disappointed). Sometimes we took trails, often not. It rained most of the time and we were a lot heavier when we got out of the forest because of all the mud on our shoes. In all, an exciting day.
Most of the medicinal plants our guide Jose showed us were used for purging. That seems to be the basis of Amazonian medicine: the purge. It cleanses out your body by making you shit and vomit (somehow, the opposite vision of "health" than the one we see in the USA...). I can´t help thinking: If I swallow something that is poisonous to me, that my body doesn´t want, then I think my reaction would be to purge it out. Still, I am trying to set my skepticism aside and be open-minded.
---
My birthday was celebrated in the home of our wonderful hosts, Sylvia and Martin. They bought me a cake and sang happy birthday and it was all a merry time. Sylvia tells us that she tells all of her friends at work that she has two new daughters. We will miss them the most when we leave here.
---
Until next time,
Ana
---
El Arbol de Brujo (The Witch Tree): If you are angry at someone, you take their underwear and you cut a hole in this tree. Then you put the underwear in the hole and put back the piece of tree you cut out. The tree will heal up with the underwear in it, and then the person will fill up with water until they explode. Our scrutinizing, practical, scientific rainforest guide Jose tells us that it sounds crazy, but he knows its true because he´s seen it with his own eyes.
---
One 5 o clock morning we got into a mototaxi, then got into a car, and drove into the night to a place we couldn´t find on a map, and therefore knew nothing about. As the sun came up, we became aware of our surroundings-- we were on a one-lane dirt road carving through fog up some rainforested mountains. To our right there was a big river. Our driver was good, and managed the sharp turns with ease.
It was maybe 6:30 now, and people were milling around. We saw people carrying water on their heads, and others carrying these sort of backpack-buckets of things, but the strap attached to their foreheads, not their shoulders. We saw a man carrying a pig´s head -- lord of the flies. Later, we saw the rest of the body. We finally felt in a world very different from our own.
The car arrived in Chasuta and we got on a boat with some other people and some chickens to get to Llucanayacu, half hour a way on the river. We were dropped off at Llucanayacu and we walked up a muddy river bed until we found the actual path. We balanced on a flexing plank to cross a small gorge, then followed the rooster cries until we got to downtown (a few houses in a square formation). We asked a man where El Centro Situlli was. He looked like he had just gotten back from a hunt. Me: Let´s ask that man where El Centro Situlli is. Justine: The one holding a shotgun? He was friendly and had his children lead us there. So we followed a 10 year old, an 8 year old, and a 5 year old through several twists and turns and hopscotched across a river until we finally arrived at our destination at 8 in the morning. The kids, sort of skeptical, said: We will only arrive once you pay us. Of course we would pay them!
At El Centro Situlli, we were meeting with Winston the Curandero (gringo name, but local Peruvian). We spoke to him a lot and learned a lot, but here, I diverge--
We´ve been having trouble processing the information we´ve been gathering. This time, I don´t mean processing in terms of ANOVA and Chi-squared. Rather, we´ve been asking people a lot of questions and receiving a lot of intriguing answers, but always we are left distilling the sincerity from the contradictions, and then trying to pluck out our own western biases and preconceptions. For example, Winston-- we liked a lot of what he said and he seemed a very sincere, warm-hearted man, but it was hard to get over his oddly-placed Catholicism. He said that when people from Spain come to see him, he charges extra because he is vengeful against the Spanish conquistadors that massacred his ancestors. But then he is a devout Catholic, swallowing up the very religion of his enemies. He saw Jesus while on Ayahuasca and believes that Catholicism was real before the Spaniards were...
---
We saw LIONS! Lots of lions! We were taking a mototaxi (a taxi, on a motorcycle) to somewhere when we stopped at what would be a red light... if they had stop lights (It is a mystery to me how drivers here know how to follow the flow and unofficial rules of traffic -- I think they speak a language of honks and glares that I will never learn). At this "red light," we found ourselves a foot away from a truck carrying a big cage with lots and lots of real live lions. The cage was narrow enough to keep their paws on their side, but my hands are small, and I know I could have stuck them in the lion´s den.
---
Back around Tarapoto, we spent 12 hours hiking around the rainforest with a personal guide, Jose, who is a walking encyclopedia. He knew three names for every plant, but knew little about the adaptation processes that made them be the way they were, about their ecosystem interactions, or about herbivory (Rodolfo Dirzo would have been disappointed). Sometimes we took trails, often not. It rained most of the time and we were a lot heavier when we got out of the forest because of all the mud on our shoes. In all, an exciting day.
Most of the medicinal plants our guide Jose showed us were used for purging. That seems to be the basis of Amazonian medicine: the purge. It cleanses out your body by making you shit and vomit (somehow, the opposite vision of "health" than the one we see in the USA...). I can´t help thinking: If I swallow something that is poisonous to me, that my body doesn´t want, then I think my reaction would be to purge it out. Still, I am trying to set my skepticism aside and be open-minded.
---
My birthday was celebrated in the home of our wonderful hosts, Sylvia and Martin. They bought me a cake and sang happy birthday and it was all a merry time. Sylvia tells us that she tells all of her friends at work that she has two new daughters. We will miss them the most when we leave here.
---
Until next time,
Ana
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Has it really only been four days?
Entering Peru, I thought SWEET, FOREIGN COUNTRY. I was surprised to find that it does not actually seem so foreign to me - the parts of Lima that we saw were actually a lot like Bucharest (my home town in Ro), and maybe even slightly cleaner, and where we are now (Tarapoto, jungle town) reminds me of my grandma´s street - humid, kind of crumbling, but quaint. The biggest difference here (in Tarapoto) is the MOTOCICLETAS. There are SO MANY MOTOCICLETAS! (Pictures coming soon... if I ever figure out how to use the internet).
But maybe to begin at the beginning? My general impression of Lima was that it was covered in grey. I don´t want to say¨"blanketed" by grey because that sounds too... comfortable. More accurately, it was suffocated by grey clouds of pollution and humidity. The city is all mildew... a nice recipe of the city´s dead shedded skin and its skunky sweat.
But to be fair, we had a lot of fun in Lima. We enjoyed the Peruvian cuisine, checked out the catacombes, chilled in the Ayahuasca Bar (one of the world´s top 25 bars, but NOT a place with actual ayahuasca, just fyi), and went dancing in a salsa club. We couch surfed, so we got a full-force introduction to la vida limeña. Maybe it´s unfair to feel like we´ve gotten to know it in such a short time... but we feel that way regardless.
Yesterday we arrived in Tarapoto, a city of about 100,000 nestled in the trees under the shadow of the volcano San Martin. Oh wait, I lied. San Martin does not cast much shadow and it is really friggin sunny here! And hot! And humid! But beside that pesky little detail (and the peskier little mosquitos), we were instantly enchanted by this place. The house we are staying in, with the lovely couple Sylvia and Martin, is sort of half outdoors half indoors. Sylvia also provides us with food, and the two of them prefer to eat vegetarian. Que lecheras somos! (How lucky we are!) There is a 91 year old neighbor lady who told us she would pray for our future marriages (oh...kay...?) We visited a traditional medicine center that uses ayahuasca to treat drug addicts and also does some research. We will be returning there frequently these next two weeks to interview people for our research. They will also put us in touch with some local curanderos (healers) to speak to. I cannot stress how generous and welcoming everyone here is. We feel relatively safe, though we continue to be careful.
And I should note that, thus far, no stomach illnesses, yayyyy! Thank you, acidophilus.
Besos y abrazos,
Ana
But maybe to begin at the beginning? My general impression of Lima was that it was covered in grey. I don´t want to say¨"blanketed" by grey because that sounds too... comfortable. More accurately, it was suffocated by grey clouds of pollution and humidity. The city is all mildew... a nice recipe of the city´s dead shedded skin and its skunky sweat.
But to be fair, we had a lot of fun in Lima. We enjoyed the Peruvian cuisine, checked out the catacombes, chilled in the Ayahuasca Bar (one of the world´s top 25 bars, but NOT a place with actual ayahuasca, just fyi), and went dancing in a salsa club. We couch surfed, so we got a full-force introduction to la vida limeña. Maybe it´s unfair to feel like we´ve gotten to know it in such a short time... but we feel that way regardless.
Yesterday we arrived in Tarapoto, a city of about 100,000 nestled in the trees under the shadow of the volcano San Martin. Oh wait, I lied. San Martin does not cast much shadow and it is really friggin sunny here! And hot! And humid! But beside that pesky little detail (and the peskier little mosquitos), we were instantly enchanted by this place. The house we are staying in, with the lovely couple Sylvia and Martin, is sort of half outdoors half indoors. Sylvia also provides us with food, and the two of them prefer to eat vegetarian. Que lecheras somos! (How lucky we are!) There is a 91 year old neighbor lady who told us she would pray for our future marriages (oh...kay...?) We visited a traditional medicine center that uses ayahuasca to treat drug addicts and also does some research. We will be returning there frequently these next two weeks to interview people for our research. They will also put us in touch with some local curanderos (healers) to speak to. I cannot stress how generous and welcoming everyone here is. We feel relatively safe, though we continue to be careful.
And I should note that, thus far, no stomach illnesses, yayyyy! Thank you, acidophilus.
Besos y abrazos,
Ana
Bonito Tarapoto
Hello beautiful people I love!
Ana and I survived the slick sidewalks of grey Lima (aka got a great tour of the city with our couchsurfing hosts) and are now sweating in Tarapoto, in the northern part of Peru. Even though we've moved closer to the rainforest, the mosquitos aren't too bad. Although I think I just got a bite on my throat. Damn it. Hopefully I won't collapse into Dengue fever.
Tarapoto is a really interesting city. Actually, it's hard for me to accept that it's a city because it's so directly based on the building blocks of small latin american towns like I saw 5 years ago in Honduras that I keep assuming I'm out in el campo. I think the core simliarity is that the spaces here are less hermetically sealed and defined. People have their homes that they keep free of animals and insects, but they aren't trying to be sterilized capsules. It's hard to distinguish sometimes what's inside and what's outside, you can peer through doorways and see trees, and the hallway to our room transitions from the front door to the backyard seamlessly. Although it departs from the european model, Tarapoto has the bustle of a city. There are tons of people here, in colorful squat adobe buildings or flying by on motorcycles and in carts pulled by said motos. It creates a fun pace on the streets, and I love seeing girls behind the handlebars.
For the two weeks that we're here in Tarapoto, we're boarding with a couple whose son is away studying in Lima. Their names are Martin and Sylvia and they are incredibly sweet. We share meals with them and Sylvia's mother Lydia and it's wonderful to chat with them over lentils, rice, and avocados. I feel strangely like I've gone home to something. El español, the smells of laundry, the roosters... My time is running out at the internet cafe, but I send love to all of you and will write more soon, especially about our budding research on traditional medicine use here.
Besos!
Ana and I survived the slick sidewalks of grey Lima (aka got a great tour of the city with our couchsurfing hosts) and are now sweating in Tarapoto, in the northern part of Peru. Even though we've moved closer to the rainforest, the mosquitos aren't too bad. Although I think I just got a bite on my throat. Damn it. Hopefully I won't collapse into Dengue fever.
Tarapoto is a really interesting city. Actually, it's hard for me to accept that it's a city because it's so directly based on the building blocks of small latin american towns like I saw 5 years ago in Honduras that I keep assuming I'm out in el campo. I think the core simliarity is that the spaces here are less hermetically sealed and defined. People have their homes that they keep free of animals and insects, but they aren't trying to be sterilized capsules. It's hard to distinguish sometimes what's inside and what's outside, you can peer through doorways and see trees, and the hallway to our room transitions from the front door to the backyard seamlessly. Although it departs from the european model, Tarapoto has the bustle of a city. There are tons of people here, in colorful squat adobe buildings or flying by on motorcycles and in carts pulled by said motos. It creates a fun pace on the streets, and I love seeing girls behind the handlebars.
For the two weeks that we're here in Tarapoto, we're boarding with a couple whose son is away studying in Lima. Their names are Martin and Sylvia and they are incredibly sweet. We share meals with them and Sylvia's mother Lydia and it's wonderful to chat with them over lentils, rice, and avocados. I feel strangely like I've gone home to something. El español, the smells of laundry, the roosters... My time is running out at the internet cafe, but I send love to all of you and will write more soon, especially about our budding research on traditional medicine use here.
Besos!
Friday, June 25, 2010
On the precipice
Final preparations for departure... I'm wearing a loaded backpack at the moment to see which bag I should take on this epic adventure. Other than the last little decisions (one mini-tube of toothpaste or two?), Ana and I are ready to go. We fly out tomorrow night!
Our trip is by nature flexible and responsive to opportunities we find along the way, but here's the proposed VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY that got us our funding:
The Bus-Ride Diaries: a medicinal exploration in Perú
In South America, the craft of adventure and exploration is not the sailboat on the rugged ocean but the public bus on the turbulent, even tempestuous dirt roads. It is on these avenues that we propose to explore our interests in ecology (Ana’s forté) and cultural photography (Justine’s), and our mutual passion for human health and wellbeing.
Environment is a key determinant of cultural adaptations. We chose Perú as our sea of exploration because, much like Darwin’s Galapagos islands, it provides a range of natural and cultural diversity. The country can be split into three main biogeographic regions: La Selva (the Amazonian rainforest), La Sierra (the Andean highlands and mountains), and La Costa (the coast). With Peru’s high environmental variability and the altering forces of land use and climate change in mind, we propose to study medicine use at a time when illness regimes are changing along with the climate. Particularly, we are interested in the interface between traditional and modern medicine, and people’s perspectives toward these two systems. This leads us to the following hypotheses:
Hyp 1: Peru’s biogeographic diversity results in adaptive variation in traditional medicinal ethnobotany. Hyp 2: The blend of modern and traditional medicinal practices varies across Peruvian communities in differing biogeographic regions. Hyp 2a: Perspectives toward modern versus traditional medicine are also regionally specific.
Through these hypotheses, we seek to characterize the underlying causes of the predicted diversity in medicine use, and how cultural diversity emerges as a response to differences in plant species richness and geographic space. For example, we expect that the plant biodiversity in tropical areas will lead to greater variety and reliance on traditional medicines than along the dry coast. Geographic space not only conditions biodiversity but also sophisticates cultural patterns of urbanization, land use, and mobility. Along the coast, for example, we expect to see stronger reliance on modern medicine because the coastal populations are less enclosed and largely disjunct from their historic ancestors. Further, we predict that choice of medicine will also depend on factors such as: availibility of alternatives, degree of contact with “Western” world, income and social class differentials, form of subsistence, and rural versus urban settings. We hope our experience will shed light on the interplay of these factors and uncover other factors as well.
We see this journey as a culmination of our respective academic backgrounds and a foray into our possible futures. Peruvian specialist Fernando Cabieses stated that traditional medicine is a “medical system, because it does not involve isolated knowledge about the healing properties of some elements, but forms part of a doctrine of health, illness, and the relationship between humans and nature.” Ana sees the systems approach to medicine as a parallel to that in her Earth Systems major, and believes that it is precisely the last part of Cabieses’ statement—the relationship between humans and nature—that is her niche in this proposed study.
Conversations about medicine create a portal into people’s lives and personal connections to their culture. Medicine links the individual with their societal context, and we will explore this nexus both from the perspective of health professionals and from within people’s homes. Justine sees her background as an Art Studio-Photography major as a lense for cultural investigation that can put into focus cultural aspects otherwise missed by science. By capturing the subject suspended in a moment of time, she can simulateneously pin down a reality and open a pandora’s box for interpretation.
Armed with Ana’s earth science background to understand the ecological context and Justine’s experience in holistic assessment to depict the cultural backdrop, we wish to explore our hypotheses in two ways: (1) observation and participation in medical centers, and (2) interviews with people in the medical field, local people in several key destinations, and anyone we meet along the way. We have arranged a three-week stay with the Takiwasi medical facility where we will work alongside medical staff at its drug rehabilitation center and learn how its researchers study the properties of traditional medicines. Our interviews will focus on what types of medicine people use, how they access them, and what their perspectives are toward traditional and modern medicines, but will also include demographic aspects of people’s backgrounds that may shed light on underlying causes of medicinal preferences. We have identified several organizations and curanderos (herbal healers) to interview, and will ask to see the local curanderos along the way[1]. We intend to approach a wide variety of people so as to decrease accidental bias that may result from the type of people that may be most predisposed or convenient to interview.
Our proposed 12-week journey will take us to four key locations (as detailed in the itinerary) spanning Perú’s different biogeographic regions. We will spend 2-3 weeks at each destination, and allow ourselves ample time to travel between them. We see our pre-set destinations as basecamps for the surrounding areas, which we plan to explore to the extent that it is possible. Rather than scheduling rest days, we give ourselves large time-buffers to accommodate rest as needed—although we specifically plan to indulge in restful discovery at Machu Picchu toward the end of the trip.
We wish to give back to the communities who host us by doing volunteer work within our capacities (we have already arranged to help with patient care and research at Takiwasi). Additionally, we see this cultural exchange as an opportunity to share our skills and education according to people’s interests—be it environmental education, artistic ventures, help with English language…or even circus.
Journal-keeping is somewhere between second-nature and obsessive habit for both of us, and we plan to use this to chronicle our findings, impressions, and adventures along the way. Justine will further document our journey through black and white film photography. Back in the U.S., Justine will display a collection of photographs and Ana will reframe the interviews and journal entries into a creative non-fiction narrative. These complementary visual and literary pieces will integrate our scientific findings with our personal experiences and ultimately, we hope to submit a joint book for publication.
We recognize that this journey has inherent dangers, but we believe that we are mitigating those in several ways: we speak Spanish; we have reliable contacts in each of our key destinations who will serve as allies in our safety net; we have chosen our routes and bus companies to maximize safety; we have considered the potential effects of the El Niño year[1]; and, we are both veteran travelers with highly-evolved instincts for identifying and evading dodgy people and precarious situations.
[1] Because shamanes (spiritual healers) may be involved in dangerous commercial rings, we will not seek them out.
[2] El Niño will most likely come to a close before our trip begins, especially because its onset came late, which typically means it will be relatively small and short. However, we are prepared to change our destinations to safer parts of Perú if the climate deems it necessary.
Thank you to Stanford Anthropology Department's Beagle II Award, both for the money and for the confidence in us and our project. Ditto for our families :)
Hasta pronto...
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