For the Love of Life

Template for Opinion

2008-11-29T22:54:00.002-05:00

I want to talk about blogs, and I suppose writing in general. I recently had to sit down and ask myself what I was writing for, and who I was writing for. For the most part, writing for the blogosphere has been a nice little activity when I felt like publicly posting my opinion and certain factoids that I've felt should be in wider knowledge, however, I've never spent a particularly significant amount of time reading other people's blogs, seeing else is out there amongst the host of cyberspace. So I concluded, that, more than writing myself, that I should spent more time reading, and find the people and things that I want to write about. Perhaps I may find some kind of breakthrough and change the way I think about writing, and perhaps start taking it more seriously.

So hello out there, look for me thumbing rides on the information highway...

2008-10-26T12:00:00.000-04:00

Testing search engines:

Kimberly Fehr

Sunshine Girl

2008-06-25T23:05:00.002-04:00

She's on the verge of being a mother, 8 months in on what will be a new path for the rest of her path, raising a child. In the same way that we all get hyped up making for a vacation to some exotic corner of the world, my friend Damaya is getting read for the end of vacations for, in my reckoning, AT LEAST the next 12 years.

I met her, as I tend to meet most of the enduring people in life, at a global issues event. In this case, it was Summerland's Fair Trade fair, to which I'd been invited to go to buy, celebrate and operate a table for Amnesty International. My first impression of her was of one of a game of tag, when it is not clear how one is supposed to transfer being "it" to another person. Colourful and blending in with the hippie/alternative lifestyle/saving the world types around her, I thought I'd found her in her element. I don't recall much of that day, I seem to recall playing catch with her with someone's juggling balls...

A couple of years go by. I run into her sometimes, always like "I remember you, you're Ben's friend," or some other equally dead end way of opening up to someone, where you're not entirely sure where to go next. I guess at some point we got past the simple recognition phase, and actually got to know her. What I found was an artist, in the sense that she was entirely honest about portraying what she thought about things in odd shapes and colours, and how hard it is to hold down a job when you're only options are for work that you can't mentally get your head around. At some point, I actually tuned in to what was going on in her life, about the time she went off on the home-grown Canadian Katimavik exchange, and started following her blog.
It seems a long time ago that happened, I kept running into her as I joined the local music scene, open mics and spoken word performances. I reckon that life has moved quickly since then, having found her now, fiancee, Stephen, and with a baby on the way, things seem to get more exciting daily, especially with her nightly requests to play Scrabulous, a game on Facebook with me.

I like my friend Damaya.

My Life is a Job Search

2008-06-03T10:57:00.004-04:00

So, I'm looking for my 6th job. More jobs that I've had in the last month that I've had in the previous 5 years of being in the workforce. Somehow, I'm humbled. I've been lucky, too luck perhaps, in the jobs I've been given so far in life. It would seem that Ottawa has decided that I must pay my dues. Well, I'll get started then.

It's raining again today, such is weather in the capital, which is oppressively hot some days, and quite cool the next. Supposedly the proportion of sun to rain will increase as summer rolls on, but it's not as bad as Vancouver. It's been a difficult process, but I think I'm finally happy to living here. I guess, what with the new city, and still processing my half a year on the road, I got into a kind of emotional traffic jam, and I needed to wait for it to clear up. So, I still am unemployed, and still get lost occasionally, but I'm happy. And that's the most important thing really, isn't it?

I've got a great thing to look forward to, the Amnesty International Canada (English-speaking Branch) Annual General Meeting. Now, while that is a long to say, and it doesn't sound terribly exciting, it's a chance for me to reunite with my various compadres and counterparts throughout the country, party, and discuss human rights. In other words, it's something of nirvana for me. It lets me know that there are other people out there still fighting for what's good in life, unhindered by 9-5 schedules, income taxes, morning commutes and cleaning the house. The highlight of my year. Which is good, because we're currently doing a Taste for Justice campaign here in Ottawa, which means that participating restaurants, for the next 2 weeks, support and campaign for human rights to the people that come to their establishments. However, here was me putting up posters yesterday, and decided to go check out some of the restaurants, and I find that many of them have no material or information. Hell, one of them didn't even know they were running the campaign. Thank god for me right?

Days in the Capital

2008-05-05T19:04:00.000-04:00

So I've been living in Ottawa a week now. It started off a little rocky, a kind of culture shock over took me; it's quite startling how different life is here to back in BC. First off, everything is bilingual (which has helped expand my french vocabulary), right down to the threat of $125 fine for being on the transitway, which I was caught walking along by the transit police. I honestly had no idea, after they told me off to get off, no fine thankfullly, there was the sign further up the way that told me so. Not really sure why you're not allowed there, it's basically the road that only the city's buses are allowed to use, someone told me it's because some people throw themselves in front buses, but that doesn't seem right, as a suicidal person isn't likely to worry about a fine. The other form of mass transit in the city comes from the O-Train, a rather ineffective rail line that goes from the area near where I live to an area west of the downtown. The only good use I have for it is to get to Carleton.

I live in a house with two engineering students, Gear and Tubby, names which they apparently aquired through the engineering program, a rite of passage of sorts. The house itself is located in the South Keys, a supposedly dodgy part of the city (not seen anything yet, just graffiti under the bridges). It's already quite green, a nice change from when I left BC, which still had snow, not sure what things are like out there now.

It goes without saying that the government has a big presence here. Government buildings can be identified by a Canadian flag flying over them, and, (with the exception of parliament) very ugly architecture. Not exactly inspiring seeing the facets of our democracy going about their business in concrete bunkers. Waiting for a protest, which I'm assured are plentiful.

The end of this week has seen things get better, went to a poetry slam Saturday night. Hearing other poets never fails to inspire me. It was incredible the words that were coming out of their mouths. I liked the girl that had incorporated Jeff Buckley's Hallelujah into her poem.

Turning Leaves

2008-04-17T14:48:00.000-04:00

If you would attain to what you are not yet, you must always be displeased by what you are. For where you are pleased with yourself there you have remained. Keep adding, keep walking, keep advancing.

~Saint Augustine

You know that feeling when the number of things you have to do hits a critical point, and you suddenly are unable to accomplish anything. I'd guess that it's a pretty familiar feeling, having seen piles of dishes in the many kitchens I've been in and an at least equal number of blogs with angsty entries about how impossible their life outlooks appear. It's a defining characteristic of humanity to never quite live up to our potential, this being made mathematically impossible, as the number of your accomplishments grow, so do your possibilities of future goals. But why do only a few of us manage to anything really worthwhile, meaning that so many of us have yearning and regret when possibilities slide out of reach because of inaction or inattentivenness. How many of us wish we had different jobs, more time to spend with our families, taken better care of their bones and a host of other seemingly avoidable problems that we encounter. We seem to have sacrficed our happiness and well-being on goals that others have said are worth pursuing. I guess what concerns me is how few of us really take responsibility for who we are as people. We remove responsibilty by making assumptions about ourselves, about our limitations and capabalitiesl, deciding arbitrarily (there's no way I can apply myself enough to deal with this, or, how can I pay attention, or I don't have the time, patience or money. Most of the most memorable people in recorded history are those that have taken actual responsibility, Gandhi, Nelson Mandela and Jesus Christ, to name a few. People that ultimately preached that we should think for ourselves, who we praised and glorified as wonderful people, but never once took to how their messages are applicable to each and every one of us. Maybe there's some evolutionary flaw that decides that only a few would ever be able to do that, which basically means that there will always need to be leaders and followers and will mean that communism can never work. Not until the majority of people start to think and decide for themselves. But, the world still goes on, and if one is going to accept himself as he is, he must also accept the reality he lives in.

Canadian Living

2008-04-14T14:56:00.001-04:00

Being back in Canada, after half a year in Latin America, would definitely rank up as one of the more difficult experiences in my life. It makes the acculturation when I first started my travels seem so short and easy to deal with. Most of us have already been bombarded with how stressful and busy our lives are and how unhealthy that probably is. Well, for me, it's far worse than most can imagine. We're basically killing ourselves with our guidelines, standards, expectations, achievements, success, schedules, processes, instantaneous, deadlined, institunionalized, "healthy", low-cholestrol, trans-fat free lifestyles. And with that, I'm sure many people are going to discredit this, after all, it's hard to be critical of ourselves, which is basically what travel forces us to do if we undertake it with any kind of seriousness. We all have problems, we all make mistakes, but they're always so much easier to notice in other people than in ourselves. It seems to me too that this is largely because we fail to accept our problems as a part of our realities.

The Great Ordeals

2008-02-21T16:54:00.000-05:00

Day 167

Last 16 days, I think I've come to terms with coming home, but really, half a year away from home, who knows how it will go.

So, where am I? Ah, last Thursday. Valentine's Day. Was my shopping day, having no romantic engagements to attend to. I decided, after having been through 2 panama hats, that I was going to invest in a good one, that actually fit. So, I visit the hat shop of Alberto Pullo. Now Alberto, is probably the most famous and oldest, at the ripe age of 80, hatter in Cuenca. I walk into his shop, and he comes out and greets the strange foreigner in his shop. He has definitely been here a long time, his hands He has apparently, in his age, lost his voice, and is now largely dependent on hand signals to communicate, when I ask if he is Alberto he gives me a big hug like we're old friends. All over the walls are hats of various people who have brought them in for refurbishment. He takes me upstairs, where there are piles and piles of new hats for sale, some cheaper, the most costing $100 (which could fetch $800 in North America) and of varying qualities of weave, the superfines being so densely woven no light passes through them. I tell him about how my hat will need to be big, I have a large head, a reality I've been dealing with since I was 12. He gives me the first hat, it's actually too big. He gives me the next size done, perfect. He gets me to sign my name in a book that has names of people from around the world who've bought his hats. I thank him and walk out of his store with my new hat. It should be noted that the term "panama" is actually a misnomer, in Spanish they're called "sombereros de paja toquilla" or Montecristi's, named after the town where the reeds to used to make the hats comes from. Coming back to my hotel, Barney is walking down the street selling heart-shaped balloons. I buy more batteries and film as well. That evening, I'm feeling buoyant, and eat pizza. The place I choose was fairly empty, just one couple making out in the corner, and there's a football game on TV. Good times, this time I didn't spill beer everywhere, and just plain happy to be where I am.

Friday. I left Cuenca, aiming for the town of Guaranda, 8 hours northwest. I was doomed however, not to reach there that day. As we rolled toward Riobamba, we made it some hour and half short when the bus broke down. This was compounded by the fact that now that we were stopped there, in the middle of nowhere, the luggage bay doors wouldn't open, causing distress to most of the passengers. I'm quite happy, however, as my bag was riding on my lap for this trip, and I watch with amusement while they work on the bus. Hours pass however, and it was getting late, so I got out and waited for the next bus. I also gleaned introduction to a pair of Belgians, the other foreigners on the bus. They've only been here for a few weeks, not used to the normal engine failure of Ecuadorian buses. Just before the next bus drives by, they manage to crack the luggage bays, and everyone gets on to the new bus, wet, and tired, and me, still amused. We arrive late in Riobamba, no way I'm getting to Guaranda. This second bus was terminating at Quito, so it dropped us off at a random intersection in Riobamba, an hour, walking distance, from the town center. The Belgians, Antonio and Louis (don't ask me for their Belgian spellings) and I get on a city bus and manage to get to the town center, and find this beautiful hostal down a quiet side street for the night. Having made it through our bus journey, we go out and eat Mexican and talk about cultural differences, a generally normal topic for me these days. The next morning, I end up, due to a misunderstanding with the hostal owner, who drove us all to the Baños bus terminal, where the Belgians were going, walking all the way across the city center to get a bus to Guaranda. The ride up, despite being told it was beautiful, was rainy and cloudy, so I didn't see anything brilliant on that one. Arriving in Guaranda, I ask the guy at the terminal for directions and set off for the hostal. Setup there, I thought I was the only one there, I go look for lunch. I'm so busy looking for a restaurant, I nearly get run over by a pickup coming down one of the steep streets. In a rather un-Ecuadorian way, the driver yells at me; a pair of boys on the street corner laugh. This particular event solifies a rather poor first impression of Guaranda. It becomes evident that not much happens here, even though it is market day. I wander through the market. One woman comments how silly I look with my new hat, not sure why, I thought it looks fine, thank you very much. As well, there's a fair/circus thing on the edge of town, big ferris wheel and merry-go-rounds. Not much else. Feeling rather out of place in this town. I go back to the hostal, to find that there are, actually 2 other foreigners in this town. Valerie and Kristin, American. They're staying here for a month, helping the local doctor (they're both final year med students, doing practical stuff). They agree, there isn't much in this town. They do know a good cafe though, and I spend the afternoon drinking hot chocolate, and talking about medicine and generally taking fascination with their expertise. We also have dinner at a restaurant where quite a sizable birthday is in progress (excellent garlic prawns too). We leave, I wish the birthday man best wishes as we head out the door. So, maybe Guaranda isn't as bad as I thought.

Sunday. Guaranda, to blemish it further, really does shut down on Sundays. NOTHING is open. With the town lacking any kind of attraction, I walk up to a monument of an indian chief overlooking the town. There was a woman trying to herd cows down the road, with little success, as the cows seemed to be very stubborn. I decided, looking down on the town, that being there wasn't what I should be doing, and walked back down, bought some chocolate from the local woman's cooperative (delicious, but she had a hard time making change for me) packed up and caught a bus to Ambato. Ambato, as I learned quickly, is a murderous place to change buses. The bus drops me off at a random intersection, and I have to get a cab to the terminal. Wanting to go to Patate, east of Ambato, I find that because it's inside the same province as Ambato, I have to get to another terminal, pissed off at Ambato transit, I buy a hot dog from the stall out in front of the terminal and get another cab to the other terminal. The bus ride to Patate was brilliant, long green valleys lined with small village stretching before the Andes, with Tungaruhua, still belching smoke, in the distance. I arrive in Patate, and am immediately pointed in every which direction for a place to stay. I walk around the same blocks several times before finding a guy that knew a guy that had keys to a few rooms in an unused nite club where I could stay. Relieved at finally finding a place to sleep, I have kebabs from a lady selling them on the street corner, some of my favourite food around here. It's been a good day.

Monday, having enjoyed my night in Patate, I have breakfast at a place where the woman seemed extremely anxious that I got what I wanted. Unfortunately, I then had to go back to Ambato to get anywhere else. Back in Ambato, another random intersection. This time, in a sad twist of fate, I caught a bus, that said it was going to the terminal. Somehow, I missed whatever terminal this was, and ended up at the end of the bus' route, near the highway leading north. The conductor keeps asking me where I'm staying, clearly not understanding that I'm lost. I walk out to the highway, and after finding a good spot, flag a bus north, aiming for Latacunga. However, I must have fallen asleep when we passed the town, and the conductor couldn't remember where I wanted to go, and I wound up in Quito. I had lunch and got another bus back to the south. This conductor was much sharper, and made sure I got off. I then got another bus to the little town of Zumbahua, one more time. I arrived long after dark, and was hounded by people asking if I wanted to go to Quilotoa, which I'd planned to go to the next day. I went back the hotel I stayed at last time, found that there was no one manning the front desk, and made the ultimately frustrating choice of asking at the store next door. The guy there, evidently thinking me the ignorant gringo, lied between his teeth, telling me everywhere in Zumbahua was full, but, conveniently enough, he could take me in his truck to Quilotoa, for more double the going rate. I decided that swearing at him wouldn't help things. I walked up the street to the next hotel, finding that only one of it's many rooms was occupied, and settled down against the cold of Zumbahua. What a nightmare of a day, but the worst was yet to come...

Tuesday. The sun is shining, I get a truck out to Quilotoa. Laguna Quilotoa, an akaline lake of water caught in this crater of a collapsed volcano, is truly stunning (check photo gallery in a couple of weeks). Take photos, my driver points me to the path that will take me around the crater on the way to Chugchilan, my desired destination that day. So off I go, it's up and down, I pass a group of foreigners on a day trip, with a little girl following them asking for candy. Now, the trouble begins. My first mistake, that I only realized in hindsight, was that I dropped out of the crater rim too early. I follow this path on a maze of pathes heading down into the valley where there are farmsteads everywhere and the hills are the classic patchwork. I'm ecstatic, because I'm out in the middle of nowhere, wandering toward a destination I can see at the far end of the valley. It doesn't take me long to realize I'm not on the right track, but I'm happily getting lost, blazing my own way and what have you, so I carry on. I meet these 2 little boys, Luis and Javiar, who try to persuade me I need a guide, that it will be easier. At that point though, I'm not interested in easier, I'm having too much fun at this. I haul on down the hillside, the boys follow, in a rather creepy fashion, the way shoeshine boys or pickpockets might act. I loose them, and get down to the river at the bottom of the valley, having got stinging nettled and quite dirty on the way down. Knowing that the main road is up the hill, I begin up the other side of the valley. I see Luis watching me on the other side. He knew where I was going. I eventually made it up the road, and started happily walking down it. Unbeknownst to me, this was not actually the road I wanted, which had forked away further back. It starts to drizzle slightly. Not a problem, on with the coat keep at it. This is when things began to deteriorate. First, the dogs. It seemed like every dog from every farm in the area was running up and snarling at me, and after being bitten by the little dog in Las Tunas, this made me very stressed very quickly, getting paranoid about a pack of dogs hurting. I run into a young girl who enlightens me to the fact I'm not on the right road, and puts me down a path in the right direction. God knows where I would've ended up if I'd kept going. I'm really stressed now, having been walking with pack for a couple of hours now and been through too many encounters with the dogs. The path led down into the next valley. I meet a man sitting on a rock at the side of the path, resting. I join him, and he points me further on the right path. I meet some more dogs, these however, are tied up, and are much less grief-inducing. I walk on by the beautiful countryside, largely ignorant of it's beauty, being tired and stressed. I come down this new path some more, and come across a group of little children in bright red school uniforms, who wave at me as I come down the hill, but run away from the strange foreigner when I get down them. At a distance, they point toward the road, the right road. Finally, I'm on the road to Chugchilan. Now the rain starts. It isn't bad at first, but as I'm going up this road, it gets steadily worse, no more dogs though. I break a lot, trying to find somewhere out of the rain, without luck. Now, having been walking for 5 hours, which was actually the estimated hiking time, I'm tired, and very very wet. Up switchbacks, constantly looking back, listening, hoping for the bus I know that is due to come up there anytime now. Nothing. I suddenly arrive at a fork in the road, and have no idea which way to go. Look for the bus again, still nothing. I look up in that moment, and see, nailed halfway up a tree, a sign for a hostal in Chugchilan, pointing me to the right. I'm so relieved and am renergized, climb some more, and there, before me, is a sign "Bienvenidos a Chugchilan" Welcome to Chugchilan. There's a little boy there asking if I need guide, I ignore him, and sit under a roof eave and catch my breath.

I'm exhausted, extraordinarily wet, but I made it, in the estimated time, despite not following the correct path. I walk down to the Hostal Cloud Forest, whose signs guided me, and get a room and begin the process of drying off. I find that I'm not the only one to have made the journey from Quilotoa to Chugchilan. There is a guy from Idaho, and an Austrian, who had made the hike, on the correct path, no less, (I never learned there names, not sure they knew each others either) and joined them drying out our clothes around the wood stove in the common room. The Austrian has been living in Colombia, studying architecture, and is doing some travelling. The Idaho man is on vacation climbing mountians, and works for the forest service, so I find a common subject of climate and the pine beetle. Dinner was nice and hot, and vegetarian, no less. I go to sleep, quite happy to have made it through what I now consider to be one of my greatest challenges on this trip.

Yesterday morning. I legs are numb with stiffness, but they give me a big breakfast and I, with the other 2, catch the daily milk truck, to Sigchos, where we would connect with buses going back to Latacunga. The question for this truck ride, how many people can you fit in the back of an Ecuadorian pickup truck. The Answer: 25, not accounting for the large barrel of milk and the backpacks of 3 foreigners. Needless to say, it was cramped, to put it mildly, there was one man that hung off the tailgate for almost the entire journey. However, we made it to Sigchos, where the sun was shining, we lie on the plaza, drying some more, the Idaho man drinks a beer, that we find out is actually the last beer in the entire village, not being able to find any more in half a dozen different stores and restaurants. We get the bus, that's supposed to take us to Latacunga, but we find, with the rains from the day before, that there are numerous earth falls, and we come to one that has covered the entire road, taking several trees down the hillside with it. However, the other buses that are trying to get to Sigchos are on the other side, and we transfer without hassle. Finally, after riding a couple of hours back sitting next to a little kid that seemed to have whooping cough, we arrive back in Latacunga. I've had quite enough of this part of Ecuador, and take the next bus to Quito.

So now I'm back, closing that chapter of this trip. I'll be based in Quito for the next 2 weeks, not including the Galapagos trip. I arrived back, and engaged in a long argument with a taxi driver of the fare to a hotel in the Old Town. Despite assuring me that he knew where it was, he hadn't a flipping clue where I was talking about. I asked for the Hotel San Fransisco de Quito, on Sucre. The bloody taxi driver takes me to Plaza San Fransisco, to a hotel on the corner there, apparently absorbing only 2 words of my directions. He also has no change, so I get a 50 cent reduction to my fare, having failed to take me where I want to go. I find the San Fran, but it's full, surprising for a Wednesday night, and find a different hotel.

So we come to today. I decided, being open to everything once, to use a guide, the same guide I'd met on Plaza Grande months before, out of sheer running into him, to go see a couple of churches in the Old Town. The churches are lovely, but the guy was only moderately helpful, and I felt like he was rushing me through them, and in the end found him quite useless. I paid him and as it has been raining heavily all day, I came here to finish this update.

Day 159 - It's close to the end

2008-02-13T20:00:00.000-05:00

I'm back in Cuenca again, it was a good place for contemplation and revelation, and seems to still be that way. I notice too how different I feel being here (which could be the reason I'm feeling low lately, back to the familiar), a little bit calmer, more relaxed, a little more Zen, and a little safer in my own skin than last time, on Friday I'm going to head off into the wild reaches of the Andes and muck around out there until I come back to Quito, currently thought to be the 21st. Now, for this week's news:

Last Tuesday: So, after having finished up last week's update, there I am walking down the street, and lo, it's Maria! (if you're not entirely with the story, she's one of the German girls I met in Quito before I left in October) She's down here with her sister soaking sunshine, I say hi, catch up a little. It's really hot out, so they go back to their air-conditioned hostel, and I buy an ice cream and get a truck back to Las Tunas. It's good to see a familiar face again. I spend the afternoon repairing Rosa's guitar, which had a missing D string. Couldn't get it in tune though, as the string kept stretching. I went down to the beach at sunset, one last long walk, it occurred to me how long it might be until I once again walk along these shores again. Closure always seems to be hard, and good-byes, which I gave out in great abundance the next morning, I actually felt really sad, a rare thing for me on this trip. I hope it won't be too long before I come back to little Las Tunas. Edison senior drove me to Lopez where I got a bus to Manta. That chapter in this trip is now at a close, and yes, it is hard.

Manta. Still as ugly and uninspiring as it was the first time I came here. I discovered, after asking around, I couldn't get a direct bus to Bahîa de Caraquez, my chosen destination, and had to go to Portoviejo. The terminal there was mildly interesting, a man selling bird callers and fake noses with those paper birthday horns as a moustache, and a guy who begged water off me in exchange for pointing me to the bus to Bahia.

I loved Bahia. It is VERY mellow in vibe, and almost unsettlingly peaceful, this is the town where the richest wigs in Ecuador have their summer homes, maybe that has something to do with it. The Bahia Hotel, where I stayed, had an odd, ship-like feel (probably the old floorboards and the ubiquitous white and blue paint), and rather bad water supply problems, but otherwise nice. I wander around until the sun goes down, soaking the vibe, and the tall, chalk-white high-rises along the waterfront. It's just a really mellow place. I have Mexican for dinner, and falling asleep to the sound of waves in the docks across the street.

Thursday. I had cebollche, this really popular, soup, made of chicken, for breakfast. Wasn't half bad either. Overlooking Bahia is this big, cross-shaped tower, I guess because they didn't want another statue of the Virgin Mary, which I hiked up to. The whole area looks beautiful, as the river Chone, runs down to the ocean.
I take the ferry boat across the river to San Vicente. There was a little boy on the dock there that kept smiling creepily at me. The denizens of San Vicente would further unsettle me, with a guy coming up to me while I'm having lunch and trying to read my journal, not knowing any English at all. I got a bus to Pedernales, further up the coast. I ended up in the very front seat next to the driver for this ride, which would prove to be eventful, watching us drive along at warp speed, dodging potholes and the other vehicles on the road. I asked him how often they repair the road and fill in the holes. He didn't seem to understand the question. I took that as a sign. I notice the bus conductor, sitting beside me, is shaking a carton of what looks like milk. I ask about it and he gives me some. It's actually yogurt, a very sweet vanilla. So there I am, sitting up front eating yogurt with the bus driver and the conductor (not so sure the driver should've been while driving). The throw their plastic cups out the window, I refrain.

We arrive in Pedernales, a town of bars and hardware stores. I don't think I saw any other foreigners while I was there. I take a walk along the beach, watching the people playing around in the surf, gets me started about thinking about how everyone is different, how even the attitudes of the people living here at so much different from my own, even from people living in other towns along the coast. Everyone is the same, but also alienably different from each other. I stop and watch a bunch of men gambling at cards. There was one guy that always seemed so lucky. I have dinner at what might be the best pizzeria in the country, I watched him make the whole thing from scratch (okay he'd made the dough beforehand. There's a soccer game on TV, which has drawn a little group of men at the door. Intent as I was on the game, I knock my beer all over the counter. Dumb gringo!

Friday. I catch the bus bright and early (8 am) to Quito, and arrive in the late afternoon. I tried to get a cab, but the only taxista there was uncooperative, wouldn't listen to me bargain the fare, and seemed to not be able to care less if someone wanted to give him work. So I walked to the Plaza San Blas, found a hostel, the Belmont, with a massive portrait of a topless woman on the 2nd floor, other than that it was a pretty dull place. After setting up, I take the Trole to the Mariscal to visit Luis. Luis hasn't changed much. Still short and excitable. A new cafe has gone in across the street, Luis is very fond of the female servers who work there. The Spanish school I went to has relocated 3 blocks. That evening, after Luis' closes up, we go to the cafe across the street for a beer for him and me, in exchange Luis gives me a ride back to the Old Town. It's so odd being back in Quito, it's interesting seeing how things have changed in the time since I've been gone. First night in a while without mosquitoes.

Saturday. I get up late, and on the recommendation of the hostel owner, have lunch at a cafe on the Plaza Grande. Kinda expensive, but it was GOOD ceviche. I people-watch, write a little, and shoo away shoeshine boys for the afternoon. There was a party that night, so I cleaned up and went back to Luis' office, of course the unofficial meeting spot of most parties. We got a call after I got there, we were celebrating Emma and Carly (the 2 brits) going to Colombia on Monday, to bring beer to someone's apartment, where everyone was supposed to converge on. Luis had no cash, and I needed to visit the bank anyway, so I went out and got the money, come back, and Luis has discovered he has lots of money in his desk. We're about to leave, when, lo, a birthday party comes in. Nearly 2 dozen Brits invade the office, celebrating one of the guys' (it was mostly girls) 19th birthday. They also brought an amazing quantity of Zhumir and other hard booze. I'm a little shocked, not really excepting this, and Luis' said it showed on my face. This carries on for a few hours, until the Brits are sufficiently boozed up to go out dancing. We then left with our beer supply for the other party, also with a girl from the cafe across the street, whom Luis cajoled into coming. It was really good to see the old gang again, albeit in an inebriated state. A few of us go out, including Sara, from Guelph, a new addition to the group (well, since I've been gone) dancing. I'm dog tired, having already taken on 2 parties that evening, Sara looks much the same. Luis takes me home, but I manage to forget my bag in his van. Took me until Monday to get it back, in the mean time I would be sin umbrella. I sleep well that night.

Sunday, I get up late, the hot water doesn't work, so my shower was very quick that morning. I set off exploring the Old Town, it must've have been a cycling day (there is a well-established Critical Mass group in Quito), there are bikes everywhere and they've cordoned off some of the streets. There are 3 women doing a musical play on the Plaza Grande that day, and a very amusing mime, who imitates anyone that gets close to him. More on him later. The Plaza Grande is an awesome place to watch Quito in action, all the people, always something going on, it's almost like the whole city revolves around that place. At the Centro Cultural Metropolitano, there's an exhibition of the this year's top press photos, which immediately fires me up with photographic zest, and I spend the afternoon going around. Coming out again, the mime had drawn a considerable crowd, he was playing baseball. I was impressed and dropped some money in his hat when he came around at the end. He asked me where I was from. When I told him, he got the crowd to applaud for Canada, a "very cool place." I went up to the Plaza San Fransico, sit on a bench and end up talking with a woman next me. She was from Cuenca; we talk for a little while. She leaves, I go down to Olmedo, to Emma and Carly's apartment, I hadn't seen Emma the night before (she went to a different party), so I wanted to wish her good luck. I find Emma, on the floor, badly hung over, and trying to pack her bag, Carly less so. 3 Canadians also now occupy the apartment, all from Ontario. We talk and eat chocolate. They go out for one last night on Quito, I'm feeling good, so I go to the Mariscal and treat myself with pizza. Got a little lost on my way back, the Trole goes more in a circle, rather than a line. The hostel owner didn't quite recognize me, said it was the long hair.

Monday morning I decided that today was the day... that I was going to get a tattoo. I went down and had lunch with Luis, who notably, does not like pizza or shawarmas. I then printed the image I wanted, and set off for the tattoo parlour, which I'd checked out back in October, and trusted their professionalism. Sat around while they copied the image down, I gave it approval, and we began. We started off a little rocky, as I sat down, the guy shows me the needles, so I know they are clean and new, but it took me a while to understand that's what he was trying to tell me. That cleared up, he begin. I have it done on my right shoulder. He cleans the area, then imprints the image down, then loads the tattoo needler, which looks like a medieval torture weapon, and gets started. It doesn't hurt much, basically exactly what it is, having a needle stuck in you. He traces the outline first, then uses a wide needle to fill in the spaces. And... we're done. He cleans it up, puts vaseline on it, and wraps it in saran wrap. The excess ink is leaking off, I'm told to go home in a couple of hours and clean it. No scatching, swimming or sunlight. I head back to the office to show it to Luis. It leaks badly, have I have to clean my arm a few times, as well it's soaked into my shirt, I got it out later, not sure if the marks will entirely go though. Went back to the hostel, cleaned it up and went out and had shrimp for dinner. That night was a little uncomfortable, as it was very tender, and I couldn't apply pressure to it without it aching. On my right shoulder, is now imprinted the image of the Amnesty International candle, and I'm very happy with it.

Tuesday, my bus day. Packed up, and moved out, destination Cuenca. I learned from the hostel man that there was only 1 direct bus to Cuenca, and it didn't leave until 6 pm. I got a little lost getting to the bus terminal, surprising, as I haven't had problems before. I wound up at the city bus point, where all the city buses come to along their route, and I'd ended up on the wrong side of the river from the Cumanda terminal. I ended up hiking down into the ravine, where the city sewage outlet was. I had to climb up onto a concrete bridge across the river. On the other side, there was a steel gate, and on approaching it, a German shepherd came out of the shadows growling. The gate was padlocked though, thankfully. I could hear human voices further back in the darkness, and set off up the hill, in case I might get in trouble being down there, I mean, what business does a gringo have above a sewage outlet? Wonder where that tunnel goes to though. At the top of the hill, I conveniently found a gate-door in the fence, stepped through, and walked to the terminal. I caught a bus to Ambato first, then connected there to Riobamba, then found a bus to Cuenca. Waiting for the bus there, I watched a man stuff chickens into plastic crates that didn't look big enough to house chickens, but stuff them in he did, that can't be good for the chickens. The bus ride to Cuenca was long, 6 hours, and was rather agitating, as the driver kept stopping, bringing complaints from the other passengers. As well, I found I needed to visit the bathroom quite badly. I watched, I can't say horror, as it was more amusing. The woman across the aisle, change the diaper of her little girl, then leave the rolled up diaper on the seat when she left. Then a man got on, and proceeded to sit on said shitty diaper, then discover he was sitting on the shitty diaper. We got into Cuenca, I got a cab to a hotel, and quickly fell asleep.

This morning, I left the hotel, it was overpriced for what it gave. I found a new one, and had lunch at my favourite of Cuencan culinary institutions, the Cafe Austria. Wandered a little this afternoon, and have finally finished this long update.

Parties and a Hitchiker - Day 151

2008-02-06T19:23:00.000-05:00

Down to my last month of my trip. Feels kinda funny saying that, I've made it through 5 months of travelling around down here. I am feeling too, about ready to come home. I got what I came for, what I came for is not actually clear, but I got it anyway. It's all good.

This has been a week for party and celebrations, big, small, drunk, sober, wild and more subdued. Catching up with last Wednesday. I got back to Las Tunas in just as Antonio's graduation ceremony was getting underway, He's just graduated from Grade 2, and Miriam is thrilled. There was a sizable crowd there for the ceremony, I thought I was one other foreigner in the group. I sat, watched, and took photos. Some of the older children made short speeches, impressive for 12-year-olds. It is customary at the end to eat and too toast with champagne, which was handed out in small plastic shot cups. This however, as I learned very quickly, was Ecuadorian made wine, which, true to what my Lonely Planet guide noted, should not be experimented with, it was perhaps the most vile liquid I've ever had to drink. Rinsed the taste out with water.

Unfortunately, that evening, I was doomed to have to drink some more of the stuff, this time for Robertson's grad ceremony (elementary school graduation, Grade 7). Right before it I was bitten by a little terrier-esque dog on my way to Fernando's house (no blood, but boy did that little dog piss me off), and have a vendetta with it now. I was official family photographer, but for the ceremony, they'd hung incandescent bulbs from every available ceiling space, which blurred my digital camera, and I only got a couple of clear photos. Then the dreaded wine, however, someone, perhaps thinking a foreigner would come, had put out a bottle of good quality Dewar scotch, which was much more enjoyable, I taught Aurelio how to mix it with Pepsi, of which there was also a good supply. Dinner and cake were eaten, then the music started. I'm already tired from all the celebrating that day, and the sound system they had was horrendous, and made my ears numb, so I left a little early after dancing a bit. Overall though, it was a brilliant day. I went to sleep full, happy, and without the taste of the bad champagne.

Thursday. There were no parties (I assume people need time to recover from each one), and it was cloudy and dreary out, so I went to Lopez, and achieved one of my big to-do's, and hitchiked to town. I was to go in and pick up some nails for Miriam (for the cabaña construction); she'd been busy around the house all day and didn't have time to go herself. So I caught a lift in the back of a pickup to Lopez. Surprisingly, the dirver didn't ask for money, usual for most South American lift-giving. I found the "ferreteria" or hardware store where I was sent to get the nails. The guy at the counter Ignacio, who also happens to be the husband of Rosa, one of my other Las Tunas friends, was helpful, and gave me a door knob as well, he told me Miriam needed it. I had lunch down on the beach (some of the hottest hot sauce I've ever tried, and caught a water tanker truck back to Las Tunas. Even more surprising, he didn't ask for money either. I just got to Lopez and back without paying. I tried surfing in the afternoon, it seems I've forgotten what I learned in Hawaii, although Fernando tried to teach me. All in all, this was my hitchiking day, and I accomplished one of the big things on my list for this trip. Awesome.

Friday, another day, another party. Fernando's grad ceremony. This is the big one, he's done Grade 12, and finished school. In the morning, I went with Edisons 1 and 2, Robertson and Ellsa to the river south at Ayampe. Ellsa did laundry, and Ed Senior washed his truck in the river, despite a sign on the other side of the river that explicitly forbid washing vehicles in the river. I ask Ed about this, he says it's fine on THIS side of the river. I ask if the police would share this sentiment if they saw him at it. Ed says he'll have the police deport me if I test the theory. We go up to Lopez after the cleaning for the grad ceremony. Apparently, the ceremony doesn't start for another hour, and I suddenly find that everyone's left me sitting on the sidewalk, and not knowing where to go, I go down to the beach and have a beer. I come back to find that everyone has gone back to Las Tunas to get ready for the party that evening, and that I basically missed the ceremony. Craaaaap! Everyone turns up again in the evening, and I'm requisitioned to move a large quantity of beer out of the house into a giant bucket out front. We go back into the school area for the party, I'm regalled by a an amazingly drunk man, who I was told was the school principal, who asks me repeatedly the same questions, each time more slurred than the last. He seemed convinced I was German, and knocks his beer into mine in an attempted cheers, but does so so hardhe pours my beer all over the gentleman sitting on my other side. I take his beer away from him, in the interests of public safety. Our group is sitting at the back of the several hundred people there for the ceremony, I can barely see the dance area up front. The dancing begins, but I'm not there for very long, because Antonio is really tired and they decide it's time to take him home. We drive back to L.T. the night is clear and starry as I fall asleep that night. Beautiful day.

Saturday was quiet, much like Thursday, and the electricity is out, so I go rock-hunting on the beach. David and Fernando give me a long surfing lesson in the afternoon; I think I'm finally getting the hang of this now. Sat and watched the other surfers on the beach as the sun went down, it's one of those times that makes me feel like I really am living in Paradise. I get into a sand and mud fight with David, this being the first day of Carnaval here, various fights would break out amongst the local populace over the next few days. I managed to lock myself out of my room, climb over the wall into my room, and unlock the door, and restore the chairs and buckets I'd moved around to achieve this right before Aurelio came in the door. No harm done, right? Fernando's mom was sick that day, they tell me she picked something up from the river, but assure me it isn't dengue. David keeps asking when I think I'll come back to Las Tunas, I kind of avoid the question, as I have no idea, and don't want to damage his hope with that it might be many years before I can come back. Things will be okay right? Life goes on...

Sunday. It's raining hard again today, and the electricty's back on, so I go to Lopez to upload photos (FYI I'm on Flickr now, search for Andres Paz). I don't leave until late, and have to hitch home, which costs me a whopping $3. Guess that's karma for you, but Miriam had made delicious calamari ceviche for dinner, so it balanced out in the end. Yesterday, I had issues with my fly net in the night, and ended up getting bitten lots during the night, as a result woke up very grumpy and sleep-deprived. Ugh! Had a woman up the road do my laundry (I still don't know how they make that squeaky sound with the soap). Lay in a hammock most of the afternoon. Had a couple of beers with Aurelio on the beach in the evening, where he asked me about the relative costs of a bottle of beer and what age people get married at in Canada. I reckoned that people tend to marry older in more developed countries because they have longer lives and having kids isn't so pressing. One of those good ol' discussions about living in a foreign land.

This brings us today. Electricity was out this morning, but came back on, so I was able to write this update.

Back to the Beginning

2008-01-31T11:38:00.000-05:00

Day 145

I am back in Ecuador, back in Las Tunas, with my friends, on the coast. It still rains a lot, but there's sunshine in the late afternoon, and it's WARM! Anyway, I'm going to be here to celebrate Carnaval, which begins on the 1st, and promises to be a great party.

Going back to... last Wednesday. Back in Lima, still don't like the city. Good hostel though, talked with a lot people, including a Taiwanese woman, first of her nationality for this trip, and a family of Argentines, who were quite fond of Lima and said that Central Lima, to the north of the city, had some nice spots. Memo: Come back to Lima some day and find something good about it. Got a bus out to Guayaquil, what would turn out to be a whopping 30 hour bus ride. This was, however, my first cama-class bus for this trip, meaning that the seats go way back so you can sleep comfortably, and they give you good food to eat. Bus rides, after the dozens I've taken, are good times to contemplate reality, philosophy, and other things that can truly be appreciated as miles of highway whiz by your window. Hmmmm... it's good to be back where I started, the full circle metaphor is all over it. Fellow passengers on this bus ride included a family of Australians, who were living in Lima, a pair of French hippies, and a family of Californians who were travelling the world by boat with their 4 year old girl, but had docked in Lima and were going to visit the Galapagos Islands (you can't bring private boats to the islands without a license) who drank beer up near the front of the bus for most of the trip. I woke up the next morning, still on the bus, feeling the icky, sticky feeling that heralded my return to the coastal area of Ecuador. I had issues at the border, I needed to get a photocopy of my entrance stamp from my first time in the country, no clear why, as they gave me another 90 days in the country, even though I asked for only 60. Got into Guayaquil at around 11 at night, had to take a cab into the centre of town, I met my first honest taxista, he opened with $3, the standard rate. Found a hostel right in the middle of town, good, except for the several flights of stairs to reach my room. Next morning, I found that rain is now constant in Guayaquil, and that the stall just off the central square, make the best fruit shakes. Cab back out to the terminal, this time, a bus to Riobamba, in central Ecuador. The new terminal is now open, so for all of you that remember the old one, the new one is larger, across the street, and it more like a large mall than a bus terminal. The ride up to Riobamba is beautiful, passing through forests, small towns, and banana plantations. Arriving in Riobamba, I spot the hotel of my choice, called the Hotel Canada. It's not clear why it is called this, but it had me sold, and it was in good shape. One thing else about Riobamba, is the clear presence of an erupting volcano a few hundred km away. Tunghuragua (sp.) has been smoking since August 06, and it puts a lot of ash into the air, as I found out, and was a factor into my early departure from there, some people in the town wear masks over they're faces to keep the ash out. But, it was all good, for the time I was there. That evening there was a street party in progress ·"Riobamba sin alcohol", which appeared to be the city's attempt at getting youth to have good clean fun. Lots of musicians and such. Next day, went out exploring the city, but had to stop early, as the sickness in my digestive tract was getting a little out of hand. I'm fine now. The fruit juices that they sell in the market are made using ice from the glacier on nearby Volcan Chimborazo (extinct), and taste delcious. That evening, I bought a train ticket on the tourist train for the next morning. Got up early the next morning and went down. The train is in great condition, but the ride, as I found out, was a little disappointing. The highlight is it's journey down the "Nariz del Diablo", the Devil's Nose, which is this steep mountain face that the train gets down by going back and forth into sidings, it wasn't nearly as steep as the name would make you imagine, the train did derail however, and they spent an hour getting it back on the tracks. Most disappointingly though, it is advertised that you can ride on the roof of the train, which they didn't allow, for reasons unclear, but since the early days of the train, they've puts safety rails and yellow plastic chairs on the top of the train, so it seems I didn't miss anything. Got back, disillusioned, but you have to take a bus for a large part of the trip back, much more interesting, with a Japanese kid that thought I'd stolen his seat; he didn't understand that Ecuadorians fill their buses beyond seating capacity. Got back in one piece though. I left Riobamba the next day, and, not wanting to go north to Ambato, equidistant with the volcano, I backtracked to Guayaquil and took a bus to Jipijapa, on the coast. Arrived late at night, in the pouring rain, and found one of the best hotels I've ever been in, with clean tile flooring and a shower with proper hot water. Yesterday morning, still raining, and took a bus to Puerto Lopez, and onto Las Tunas. Arrived in the late afternoon, and there was Antonio, leaving his friend's house. Once again, I'm living in Las Tunas, this time, however, it's much warmer and quite a bit drier than last time. Much better. Today was... interesting. Edison (the senior), had asked if I thought Ecuadorian women were pretty. I'd said yes, being the standard answer when someone asks you, but this was somehow construed incorrectly. He was giving me a lift to here to use the internet, but he decided to detour... to a brothel. I wasn't expecting this, and he said something about a beer, the sign at the front said night club, and it was on the edge of town, it began to sink in when I saw the young women sitting around in bikinis, and was clarified when Edison told me they only cost $5. Okay. I burst out laughing when I realized where I was, and we left after doing my best to explain to Edison that I wasn't one to patronize an establishment like this one. I was laughing most of the way out, the misinterpretation was too much for me. He dropped me off here, and I'm leaving for the graduation ceremony at Antonio's school.

Notes from the Lonely Traveller

2008-01-21T13:22:00.000-05:00

The world is a strange place.

It's full of a mass of anomalies, oddities and absurdities that it uses to keep us on our toes. We're never ever going to be sure what tomorrow brings, and even then, today might end with us understanding even less than when we got up that morning. For instance, Peru, unlike all the other nations it shares the continent with, doesn't generally have central bus terminals, with a couple of exceptions, Cusco being one of them. Another being that, in the city of Copacabana, Bolivia, there is an incredible concentration of Toblerone being sold in the markets and stores. Things like that, while bringing forth perhaps less-than-positive emotions about efficiency and neo-liberal globalisation, are what make stepping out the front door of one's home worth all the risks of harm or, heaven forbid, long-lasting change. They begin to teach you the roots of truth, of how things really are, rather than simply support the facts and statistics you find in books and media. They begin to enlighten you to different sides of things that you can't see on the one face of the TV. It also begins to teach truths about yourself, sometimes with painful clarity, shattering, not so much preconceptions of the world, but preconceptions you've made about yourself, which in turn adjust your viewpoint of everything around you. It is for that, that causes the greater amount of grief, ecstasy, confusion and profundity of travelling, the things that will last long after you settle back into our otherwise sedentary existence. Things will affect you, bash you over the head, that you will never have prepared for, that will sit with you long after the pleasure of a beautiful vista or a wild party have faded. It is for that reason that perhaps, makes packaged tourism one of the strangest things of all. Where one goes out the front door, with someone hold their hand the whole while, taking them out to see the things they think they want to see, protecting them from the possibility that something might happen that hadn't already been mathematically synchronized with the fantasy of the tourist. Like some idea of a corporate sex life: nothing but pleasure, in which your partner gets their orgasm from your credit card and neither of you got anything fulfilling about it because you only got between the sheets of the itinerary and the legal disclaimer. And maybe that's all some people want. It should be a relief to everyone else though, that foreplay can still be great without a schedule or guide, finding things out for ourselves, and never assuming that things are only as interesting as what you read in the brochure. Yes, the world is a strange place, and will continue to be so, providing us with truth, that, if we are lucky, will lead us all to exciting, interesting and fulfilling lives.

Day 129

2008-01-15T10:05:00.000-05:00

I know it has been ages since I've written. And now without further dallying, I shall bring you up to date on my current ecapades.

So, to decide where to bring you up to date, my arrival in Bolivia seems to be a good spot, Friday. I arrived at La Quiaca, Argentina, on the frontier, to find that, yes, the border was open (it has been opening and closing spontaneously with general strikes lately, they're drafting a new constitution right now). The border was straight forward enough, took a taxi to the crossing, line up, get my stamp out of Argentina, walk over the bridge, get it stamped on the other.

Welcome to Bolivia!

Now on the Bolivian side, Villazon, I change my money into bolivianos, and march to the bus station, and try to get a direct bus to La Paz. The bus was full, so I got a bus to Oruro, 3 hours south of La Paz. That was when I emailed you during the wait for my bus, I got some empanadas and some Oreo's and sat on the curb munching happily until my bus showed up. I managed to get the busses mixed up, as the bus to La Paz had arrived at the same time, and it wasnt until the ticket boy saw me that I was set straight.

Onto the bus, which was getting back to South American standards; Argentine buses are much more upscale. it was good though, and efficient. The trip was good, the driver roared the whole way to Oruro, there was an immensely fat woman behind me that kept groaning and farting. Arriving in Oruro, which had the appearance of a barren wasteland. It's quite a large city, so there must have been something there, but nothing I saw. Got an early bus to La Paz, which was uneventful, there was an old woman sitting next me eating empanadas. We arrived in La Paz winding down into the vast city of red. It appears that all the buildings are made of brick, with aluminum roofs.

The bus terminal was a big, modern thing, not what I was expecting of the capital of South America's poorest nation. After wandering around the terminal, looking at all the companies, I got a ticket to Copacabana. With that, I got some lunch, beans and rice, yes, back in the South America I was so accustomed to. When the time came around, had to get a ticket to board the bus, for using the terminal, which cost 2 bolivianos, or about 25 cents. The bus was, notably, full of foreigners, all evidently coming to see the fabled Lake Titicaca. The bus climbed up out of La Paz, and it took about 3 hours to get to Tiquina, where they stopped, had everyone get off the bus, so they could load it on a barge to get it across the lake, all of us had to buy another ticket to get a different boat over. On the other side, they checked our passports and we pile back onto the bus, and on we roll, arriving at Copacabana at sunset. Its getting cold, so I head off in search of a place to stay, of which there are hundreds in this resort town. Somehow, despite appearances, I found that everywhere was full, and began to panic a little as I went from place to place been told "No hay camas" There are no beds. After an hour of going around, I found this one place, which had a room for 3, and was charging me 150 bolivianos ($21 dollars, extraordinarily high for Bolivia, because he knew I had no else to go. I told him it would be easy, as I there were many other backpackers wandering around town like me. The room was on the very top floor, the shower had no hot water, but I had a place to stay. So I went out in search of people to share my room with. After wandering around for a little, I met this Swedish fellow, Richard, who readily agreed to take one of the beds. Now relieved, we went out to find a 3rd person. This proved more difficult, as it appeared that all the single travellers had disappeared, leaving couples, and larger groups, who we found were unwilling to split up. We advertised up and town the main street. Found no one, and sat down on and had dinner, watching the street. There was a girl that passed by, but she shied away from the 50 bolivianos. We told her if she couldn-t find anything, we-d be having dinner for a while. She never came back. Richard and I checked prices for the boat to the Isla del Sol for the next day, the big island on Lake Titicaca, and went back to the room, only 2. Slept well that night, and woke early. Its always cold here. Packed up and left the overpriced hostel, grabbed breakfast (thankfully, they eat real breakfast in Bolivia) and I found a new hostel, its more like a hotel, that was only going to charge me 40 bolivianos ($7, still high for Bolivia, but it clean and better kept). Heading out, we bought tickets to the island, but Richard was only doing the half day, so he took a different boat, I never saw him again. The boat is PAINFULLY slow, and it took nearly 3 and half hours to reach the island. On the way, I came to know a pair of Americans and a pair of Brits, who were travelling together, and listened them complain about the entry visa (Americans must pay $100 US, in US dollars, at the border) and this Argentine, Jorge, who was on vacation with his family, and, of all things, wrote rap music.

Arriving on the island, we bought entry tickets to the island, and I went around with the 4, with a guide leading us around and telling us about the major sites, many of them pre-incan. There was a lot of walking involved, which apparently the 4 didnt like, and went back early. I stayed on, and walked the long road, from the north of the island to the south. Met a Argentine woman along the way, talked about how cool it was to be out here, I didnt learn her name, but I found out she had 2 sons around my age, and how theyd probably love to be out here doing this. All along the road, we were swarmed by groups of little children, asking for candy. Apprently, many tourists carry sweets to give to the local children, thus this rather nasty habit. After many ups and downs, we made it to the south of the island just in time to get the boat home. Another long boat trip back, in which I was entertained by these excitable Brazilian girls, who appeared to be quite rich, by their appearance, taking pictures of everything and dancing to music on their cell phones. Many people were getting antsy, as they wanted to get back in time to catch buses to La Paz or Puno. We got back eventually, and beelined to my new hostal, where I had a nice hot shower, and cleaned up, then went out in search of dinner. Got flagged by an advertising man on the street, and, being in the mood for pizza, took his offer. The place was nice, and the pizza delicous, but there was an Argentine woman singing there that night, serenading everyone as we ate. Finished there, and walked out the door, and there, on the street, were Saul and Antonio, the Spaniard and Brazilian who I had met in Buenos Aires nearly a month ago. After an energetic meeting, we talked about where we'd been, and how we were doing. They went on to a party, and I, tired from the long hike on the Isla, went back to my hostal, and fell blissfully asleep.

This brings us to today, I've been out buying, selling and repairing my things, some of which are quite worn at this point in my trip.

The Tag

2007-12-28T10:52:00.000-05:00

Gary has tagged me to tell 8 random facts about myself. In turn, I need to tag others. Very well Gary, and Seraphine, I accept the challenge and give you 8 random facts about myself.

1. I have only ever one bone in my body break. My skull. I suffered a skull fracture from falling from a galloping horse that had spooked. It is reckoned that the helmet I was wearing saved me from fatally serious damage.

2. Since I was the tender age of 6, I've had every teacher that taught me English tell me I have a special gift for writing. I blame all 12 of them (not including any substitute teachers that might have said something) as the reason I keep a blog, and that I write poetry.

3. Carrying on about poetry. I only started writing in my current favourite genre (I write performance Spoken Word, also known as Slam) when I met a guy called Ben at a Red Cross Youth Conference, who introduced me to the genre. I have been writing and performing ever since.

4. I was born in Vancouver. At 2 I lived in Masset, on the Queen Charlotte Islands, from age 3 to age 8, I lived in Terrace, in northern BC, from age 8 until present, I have lived in Penticton, in the Okanagan Valley.

5. I became clincally depressed at age 14. Recovery from this lowest point in my life, started when a good friend cajolled me into coming to my first Amnesty International meeting. Everything else is history.

6. In my human rights work, I enjoy doing work that involves helping minority groups. I find this amusing as the only minority status I can claim is that I'm left-handed.

7. My favourite tea is made by the Metropolitan Tea Company, based in Toronto, and is called Royal Bengal Tiger.

8. On my trip around South America, I have been carrying around, in the interest of good photography, a Zenit-E. It is built in Russia, but, because it is at least 26 years old, the casing reads "Made in USSR." It was given to me by my dad, and wieghs a ton, giving credence to a statement made by a Russian friend just before I left "The only thing a Russian camera is good for is bludgeoning people."

Now, my tags (however, due to my lack of blog networking, I only list 3):

Dayleigh at Silly Ninjas
Matt at Some Fine Website
Damaya at The Ramblings

The rules, should you decide to accept them:
1 - Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
2 - People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules.
3 - At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names (I only did five, will that bring harm to me?)
4 - Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Let the games begin.

Day 102 - Back at it

2007-12-19T19:08:00.000-05:00

So, a lot of time has passed since I've written. To save the obviously exhaustive entry required to account for the time, I will bring you back with my arrival in El Bolson, where I am now. It's a hippie enclave, of sorts, with not so much hippies as alternative-lifestyle folks. For the map, I am in south, central, western Argentina, haha, basically on the northern edge of Patagonia. It looks like somewhere in southeast BC, with the huge, rocky snow capped peaks of the Andes to the West, and hills and valleys to the East. It's green, and for once, it's cool, whereas everywhere else has been uncomfortably hot.

So I arrived in El Bolson from Bariloche, home of Argentina's chocolate makers, and a total tourist trap, so I decided to get out after 2 days. Got a ticket and sat in the bus terminal eating a sandwich, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, life was good. Bus ride was quiet and uneventful, there were a group of Israelis, who felt it necessary to jostle for position to have their bags loaded into the luggage bays, not something you do in Argentina, where the vibe tends to be a little more mellow. Woke up halfway through the bus trip and wondered where I was. Arrived in El Bolson, had the kid unloading the luggage ask me for money, not kosher. Without map or any idea how to get to the hostel where I was booked, I bought an ice cream and sat in the main plaza and waited for the city bus. Sitting there, I met Silvia, a German woman, who, by coincidence of a low number of hostels in El Bolson, was waiting to get to the same hostel. She's come from the south, heading the direction I've come from. We determined that there are several public buses in El Bolson, but only one goes around the town itself. Got on and the driver was kind of enough to stop at the end of the hostel driveway. El Pueblito, is basically a big property involving the main wooden building, sheds and other utilities for the projects of the 3 men that run it, and gardens of rocks and trees. Got shown around by Baltazar, Argentine hippie character. It being a lazy Monday afternoon, sat out on the porch with a good book, and later ended up chatting with Fernando, a psychiatrist from Cordoba, and sharing mate with him. Over dinner, met a couple from Toronto, who'd been out on bike trek all day, Paul kept complaining how much his ass hurt. Things wound down early, around 1 am. This morning got up and sat around listening to all the strories of hikes and trips everywhere. I went out on a hike with Silvia to find some waterfalls late this morning. Everything started out well, but I guess, we took a wrong turn, and we ended up on this dodgy path, I had the ground give out under me, and we got thorns in our hands and arms. Eventually, we managed to get out and found a different path, which did in the end take us to the waterfall. Went back to town and had a cold beer in the afternoon sun! Yep, so life is good.

Merry Christmas!

Wine, Dine and Wild Parties

2007-12-05T10:43:00.000-05:00

So, I'm in Córdoba, I've really been enjoying it. There is an increasingly nagging notion though that I'm running out of time, and there is still so much I want to see and do. For the time being, my next stop is going to be the capital, Buenos Aires, and then blaze south toward the end of the world.

So, backpeddling to Friday, my winery day. Double checking which bus I was supposed to catch and armed with a wine map, off I go. I have grief with the bus meter, as the system is designed for using electronic cards, and I was trying to pay with change. Had a bloke on the bus donate 40 cents from his card to cover the change I couldn't make. Getting off the bus, I have a bunch of young boys crowd around me asking about bike rentals. After having spent so much time on buses the previous work, I decide, despite the extra time involved, I'd rather walk. So off I go, and the first winery I visit, whose name escapes me now, I came to the front door, and rang the bell, as the sign said, and waited about 10 minutes, and several more bell rings, before giving up and heading across the road, to Tempus Alba. The place has a nice peaceful vibe, I gues I came on a non-tour day, as there are only a handful of other visitors. The front door squeals extremely loudly as I open it. The man that greets me first asks if I'd rather he spoke english or spanish, something I'm still getting used to here in Argentina, where every man and his dog seems to be bilingual. This place is very small, carrying only 7 wines, all reds. It's cool to walk through the facilities and think about the amazing amount of work and commitment needed to get a winery off the ground. I pick 3 of the wines for tasting (I liked the Syrah best), so there I was in a big leather armchair, looking out over the vineyard, enjoying good wine. Yep, life is awesome.

Leaving the winery, I find that I spent a lot more time there than I thought I would, already it's the early afternoon and I'm not going to be able to make it down the road to the next winery in good time. Why the hell did I not get a bike? Tried to flag a bus back to Mendoza, it would seem that Argentine bus drivers require a lot of persuasion to stop. Feeling frustrated, I bought an ice cream from a corner store and walk back up the town of Maipu, where I'd gotten off. It ended up taking forever, I missed another bus by about 2 minutes, and ended up walking about 10 km to an intersection where I manged to get a bus home. At least my legs were feeling comfortable again.

Getting back to the hostel, feeling tired from my day of walking, I go straight to bed. I decide that it would be good to move on, as I'm beginning to feel down, a kind of second culture shock seems to be setting in, adapting to life in Argentina, which is much different from Ecuador or Peru. Slept in late, finally finished the kilo of cherries I had, they really were very delicious. I had lunch at this cool all-you-can-eat vegetarian buffet, a very tasty anomaly here, where steak and beef are the mainstays of the Argentine diet. Feeling very full, I stop at El Reinese, my favourite ice cream shop,then spent the afternoon wandering through and buying little gifts in the artists' markets in the various city squares. Got lost on the way back, somehow managing to end up going in the exact opposite direction of my hostel. It was time to leave Mendoza.

Next day, packed up and caught a bus to San Luis, a nice stopover between Mendoza and Rosario, where I'd planned to head next. Arriving in San Luis, it took them forever to get my bag out, the packers seemed to have made it as difficult as possible to get it out, then, notably without a map, tried to find somewhere to spend the night. I kept on wandering finding nothing, notably the youth hostel that I'd been told was somewherearound the city center. I asked a guy on the street for help with directions, he just sat there and said no. I tried to flag a cab, but, for reasons unclear, he drove off before I even said anything about where I'd like to go. Feeling rather discouraged, I end up back near the bus station and end up at this rather run down place, which charges me 30 pesos ($10, quite high) for a room with 1 more bed than I needed, both of which were has hard as bricks, no window, or toilet seat. There was a child down the hall wailing something awful, and a dog barking outside. Fall asleep, hoping tomorrow be better.

Monday was better. Woke up to sunshine and the smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door. Packed up and went next door to get breakfast. My back was aching from the bed the previous night, but generally, I'm feeling good. Got a bus here, to Cordoba, as all the buses to Rosario didn't leave until 11 that evening. Leaving the Andes behind, returning to dead flat horizons of the Argentine pampas. The landscape has an extremely fresh and green appearance, with fields and the occasional fruit orchard. It's end of November, it's hot out, with bright sun and not a cloud in the sky. Life is good.

Cordoba is a pretty dope city. The second-largest in Argentina, and a resolutely university city (it bears the nickname "El Docta", The Scholar). Getting off the bus, I have lunch in the shopping mall style bus terminal and try to decipher the map I was given in Mendoza. I walk a dozen blocks in the blazing heat to the hostel. Setting myself up in the dorm, I spend the rest of the day working on the Westworld article. Feeling particularly lavish, what with the last few days being rather shitty, I have a big bowl of ravioli for dinner and finish it with this enormous milkshake. Coming back from my evening of good eating, I run into a bunch of people that I'd met in Mendoza, who'd apparently also arrived that day, and the party was just getting started. Tom and Andrew, both Aussies. Tais (no idea of the spelling), Clemont and Julian, all French, Raul, a Spaniard, and an Argentine and a Portugeuse bloke, both of whose names currently elude me. A massive amount of red wine was procured, some 10 bottles, by the Portugeuse fellow, as well as massive amount of steak, and fair bit of bread and salad to round things out. Up on the hostel rooftop terrace, Portugal, who is already quite drunk, operates the barbecue. Tais is trying to teach the Andrew how to tango, I'm playing the guitar and listening to the conversations about the pros and cons of different nationalities, this being such a diverse group. Over the course of the evening, i learned how to open a bottle of wine with a knife and 2 forks and basic French words. Feeling extremely tired, I managed to roll off to bed at around 4 in the morning.

Wake up yesterday and I head off late in the morning with Tais, Clemont and Julian, hereafter collectively refered to as the French, to Villa Nydia, the childhood house of Che Guevara. We buy bread and cheese and have lunch on the steps of the terminal waiting for the bus to Alta Gracia, the area of the Villa. The museum there is really cool, and houses El Poderosa, the motorcycle used by Che and Alberto on their first trip across South America (remember the Motorcycle Diaries). We go and check out the renvoted church of Alta Gracia before heading back to Cordoba. Very pretty. We make friends with an Australian couple on the way back, and they come with us to the buffet dinner we had at this massive tenedor in Cordoba. We pass this huge palace on the way there with a fountains with coloured lights, making it look like a water rainbow. The tenedor, was truly massive, with literally yards of food. I was particularly fond of the different kinds of salad and the chocolate pudding. Talked with the Australians about how Argentines don't appear to sleep. Coming back, we spend a few hours sitting around and chatting, the Aussies went back to their hotel, then headed out to a club a few blocks down the street. It was pretty fun, but halfway through, my nose decided to spontaneously bleed, which put a little damper on my festivities. Got back, tired, and a little bloodied. This morning I got up really late, unsurprisingly, and have to wait until 4:30 for the laundry place to open so I can get the blood taken off my T-shirt.

So this has been a week of ups and downs. There has been laughing and there has been crying. Overall though, it's been good.

Finally made to Argentina, long bus rides and endless desert

2007-11-22T20:43:00.000-05:00

I finally, after a rather gruelling week of bus schedules and large capital cities, made it to Argentina. I'm now in Mendoza, which is in the central eastern area, about 6 hours east of Santiago, in Chile. This place a rather startling resemblance to the Okanagan, it's dry, desert-like, hot and they grow a lot of wine around here. I bought a kilo of cherries in the main market today, so as I delight my taste buds with them, I shall recount the time since my last update.

Back last Thursday, which now feels like a millennium ago, there I was sitting there in the bus station with my ticket to Chiclayo, and came to understand by the growing crowd in the room that the bus in fact was going all the way to Lima. What with being stuck in the Peruvian boondocks and all, I found this opportunity too much to resist, and changed my ticket to take me all the way to the capital. The lesson that has been learned is, if you want to get across Peru quickly, don't use remote border crossings. Duh!

At 6:30 the next morning, with the sun now fully up, I pulled back the curtain to see the vast miles of sand that is the Peruvian coastal desert, which basically constitutes all of Peru's coast. For the first several hours of the trip, the desert had clumps of small bushes, interrupted with irrigated areas where people lived in mud-brick houses. Then the villages disappeared, along with any sign of life, and it just settled out to 360 degrees of barren wasteland. At around 4, we arrived in Lima. As I quickly discovered, the bus station for the company I was traveling under (Peru doesn't have central bus terminals, unlike every other country on the continent) wasn't actually in Lima proper, but out in the middle of one of the impoverished suburbs north of the center, and was forced to pay for a taxi with a rather uncompromising middle-aged bloke at the wheel, who seemed to regard me as a hassle. Before we pulled away from the station, the taxista locked all the doors and rolled up the windows, he said it was for a little security. Okay, I was not going to be in Lima for very long. First, I went to the bus station of a company that ran buses to Santiago, and discovered if I wanted, I'd have to wait 3 days for the next one. Abandoning this plan, and the first taxista because he'd decided he didn't want to take me anywhere else, I got in a new taxi to the more upscale district of Miraflores. Being in Lima proper now, the next one didn't bother with security, saying it was really 'tranquilo' in this part of the city, he did insist I wear a seatbelt though, the first South American to do so. Now, Lima, by this point, had made a horrific impression on me. The 6-lane freeway to Miraflores was lined with massive billboards advertising everything from American cable networks to Scotiabank, the first that I'd seen of any of these multinationals since arrival on the continent. Getting off on a street corner that would have looked upscale in Vancouver or Seattle, I came to a hostel that beared the english name of "The Flying Dog." This is the heart of gringo territory, the doorman spoke English, with considerable added profanity, but at least prefered to talk to me in Spanish. Going out to look for dinner, I was shocked and disappointed to discover that nowhere in the vicinity was there a restaurant that sold local food, EVERYTHING was imported, brought in from somewhere else for the benefit of vast numbers of gringos that visit the city. I SAW A STARBUCKS! I ended up settling for Middle Eastern food, the only foreign cuisine I've found that is done well down here. Finally back in the modern world, but despising where I was.

Packing up the next morning, it being Saturday, (my bag seems to getting steadily smaller each time I repack it) I got a ticket to Tacna, on the Chilean border, at for 6 that evening, another 20 hour ride, but at that point, I was so disgusted with this Peru I was seeing, and the time it had taken me to get there, that I didn't really care. Overnight I went to Tacna, the woman sitting in front was immensely fat, wore a massive amount of makeup and wore a choking amount of perfume. Fortunately, she slept for most of the journey. Regularly, we'd see piles of old pavement by the roadside and the occasional work crew, the region appears to have recovered quickly from the earthquake. After the endless emptiness, we drop suddenly into a dusty bowl that holds the city of Tacna. Possessing no more merits than being large and plopped in the middle of the desert, got help from the tourist office and rode in an ancient Oldsmobile that passed as regular transportation across the plain to Arica, in Chile. Having no problems with Chilean immigration, I arrive in Arica, which is basically a small port city, and by sheer dumb luck and timing I arrived at the terminal 5 minutes before a bus to Santiago was due to leave.

Welcome to Chile!

It was the first bus I've been on that left on time. Again, by chance, I was sitting next to a Bolivian gentleman, from La Paz, the only other foreigner on the bus. Over the course of the trip, I found this was his 5th trip to Chile, where he has relatives, he was diabetic and was interested to know his meds had been invented by a Canadian. His snoring had the quality of sounding like the sucking sound made through a straw when you drain the cup. What made this bus trip really outstanding though, was sunset and sunrise. Sunset, the sun had arms of gold that were painting the plains and hills around the area (it still was desert) in all the shades of brown and dark reds. Despite being given a pillow and blanket to sleep, I can't mostly becayse of the regular interruptions of provincial border checks, which the Chileans have to prevent duty-free and animal or plant products from getting into the country. Sunrise, over the Atacama Desert; the horizon became white, like God was cleaning the canvas to begin the new day. Then up rises a line of red, which turns violet as it rises into the sky, followed by bands of deeper and deeper golden yellow, fanning outward, illuminating the driest desert on earth. the colours blossomed out along the horizon, a sunlight symphony warming up to begin the movements of the day, and a line of small clouds, left like a set of stairs by yesterday for the morning to climb up on, each step turning hot pink until finally, the sun flashes up. Then, the world I was in changed.

The sudden presence of modern car dealerships and green grass boulevards. Gone now is the economic inequality and general disarray and chaos seen in Ecuador and Peru, I have arrived at the developed end of the continent. Arriving in Santiago, at around 7 in the evening, with my total long-distance bus ride time now at around 70 hours, and my butt thus aching from the inactivity, was very much a "We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto" moment. Santiago is a modern metropolis, it even has it's own subway. Cleaning up again, still sick and cramped from the bus, I managed to find a place for dinner that served massive empanadas. Feeling full and sociable, went back to the hostel tried to sleep.

My nasal passages had become completely clogged with mucus, I had a scorching fever, dizzying headache, and a sore throat. It was an uncomfortable night. Got up the next morning and found I couldn't stand up straight without my head spinning. With my sickness and resolve that I'd managed to finally arrive in Santiago, I went out for a look around the city. Santiago is beautiful, is a bit smoggy, a sort of hybrid of Vancouver and London. If only it wasn't so expensive, costs here had caught with what things cost back home, doing murder to my budget. Going to the international bus terminal, I found this very flamboyant ticket vender and got a ticket to Mendoza. Finally happy that I was getting to the destination I'd been aiming for for last week, I celebrated with a big bowl of ice cream while I waited for the bus. The ride to Mendoza was pretty cool. 6 hours only, a nice change. Going up over the Andes, they've gotten much taller since Ecuador, with tracts of snow here and there, even though it is the middle of summer here. Driving up through a series of avalanche bunkers, we arrived at the complex that housed customs.

Yay! I made it to Argentina!

Coming down out of the mountains, tidy green farms and forests line the landscape, giving it the appearance of the European countryside. And really, it's a deliberate imitation. Argentina is white dominant, with almost everyone and everything that goes on it's borders examples of habits imported from Europe. It feels very odd now, as it is now difficult to distinguish between a foreigner and a local before they speak. And even then, many Argentines appear to speak fluent English. I've essentially left South America, as what is here is far more like Europe than anything to be found elsewhere on the continent. The cars are all French and German built, although I've seen several Chevy pickups. The classy boutiques and franchise stores have reasserted each other. Argentines appear to live on meat, pizza and pasta and the idea that Argentina is in disrepair from economic collapse is not visible here in Mendoza, although other have told me that other parts of the country are looking a little more run down. Mendoza, in fact, bears an uncanny resemblance to Kelowna, it's large, well-kept, the climate is hot and dry, and they grow a LOT of wine grapes and other fruit here. In summary, this part of the continent is almost the antithesis of what people think of when they consider South America. Argentina is simply... fabulous.

Arriving at the bus terminal in Mendoza, I'm immediately crowded by a group of men vouching for me to come stay in the hotels they are advertising for. Losing them I attempt to find the direction of the hostel that I would like, and find a voucher in the terminal, Pablo, who gave me a free ride to the hostel. As well, there was a Japanese girl there, the first Asian foreigner I've met, and unusual to see anyone Japanese travelling alone, and in South America. Getting a bed at the hostel, I got directions to the nearest pharmacy and had a difficult discussion, not knowing illness-related Spanish words, with the woman there. Eventually she figured out what I wanted, gave me some pills, which I verified to make sure I was being given the right meds. The hostel has a much more eclectic group of travellers ,many many Brits, an Israeli, and several Germans, amongst others. There was a BBQ party that evening, and went around meeting everyone including a 60 year old called Tom, from California, who apparently is running away from home because he's afraid he's going to die soon and Pete, from Manchester, who knew John, the over-the-top Irishman I'd met in Quito. The BBQ itself was rather disappointing, with nowhere near enough food to go around, but lots of beer.

Woke up the next morning, feeling less sick, filled myself with medication, and went for breakfast. Breakfast is not a big thing in Argentina. In fact, the daily pattern in general is odd. No one gets up before 9 am, and breakfast is basically bread and coffee, most stores open at 10, then everything closes at 1 for siesta, and a generous lunch, and they reopen at 4, in time for afternoon maté, then close at 8. No one eats before 9 pm, many restaurants don't open before, and dinner is a long, social affair, ending around midnight, at which point everyone goes out drinking and partying until very late. Still haven't figured out when they sleep, except for siesta.

Yesterday was needed to understand this warped living pattern. Lunch was a considerable amount of pizza and just watching the city go about it's business, it's a university city, with students everywhere, followed by nice long siesta. Last night was a pizza party, and I discovered you can't actually buy beer in small bottles apparently, only large ones in excess of 1.5 L seem to be sold. The party was much better than the first one, and I was out dancing until late last night. Met Kaylee, from Calgary, the 4th Canadian I've met so far. This brings us to today, I went and got information on winery tours, as I'd like to see some of the wineries around here, and compare them to what's back in the Okanagan. The highlight of my day though, was easily the Central Market. There are no ifs or buts about it, these people know what's good in life. The market was an array of wine, olive oil and olives, chocolate cheese, fresh meats, herbs and spices, and fresh fruit and vegetables. I'm definitely going to have to start cooking my own food, screw the nice restaurants. Got roped into lunch by a waiter scouting the square down the street, and listened the collection of street musicians serenade the patrons of the cafés while I had lunch. Met my first Argentine beggar though, a little child. Overall though, it's been a fabulous day in a fabulous city in a fabulous country!

Day 61 and 69, this is long...

2007-11-17T10:56:00.000-05:00

So I've made it through my first 2 months here. Yay! Has been good so
far, I expect it will continue as such.

So I'm in Cuenca. It is AMAZING here! The whole city still has all
its colonial architecture, but it feels very classy and
sophisticated. There are very modern stores selling things that I
didn't even see in Quito. It's generally cool everyday, with rain
showers around 1-4 in the afternoon. Interestingly, there are much
fewer beggars here than in any other city I've been to so far, but
the ones that are here tend to congregate around the doors of the
many churches in the city. Altogether though, this place has a very
high-end vibe, and I've been living a bit jet setter while I've been
here.

So, going back to last Thursday, it had become apparent, talking to
the visitors from other cities that were congregating for the party
the next evening, it being the Dia del Muerte, that I was living in a
singular cloudy, wet, mudhole, while most of the rest of the coast
was in sunshine. Decided to leave soon. My walk on the beach that
morning that the beach there seems to be "the" place for sea turtles
to come and die. Didn't really too a terrible amount that day, helped
Miriam and Fernando move muddy strips of bamboo in the pouring rain.
After dinner, I went with Aurelio to his father's house, where a
bunch of guys, Aurelio's nephew, a friend and one fellow who was
quite drunk, were all drinking rum. Listened to them talk, in fast
Spanish, about car accidents and the weather. The drunk kept asking
if I liked the rum, as I'd had a little taste of it.

My Spanish must be getting better, I can pretend I don't understand.

Friday. After dinner, for reasons unclear, David and Fernando decided
to go surfing in the freezing ocean. Very entertaining to watch them
try. We went down after to their grandfather's house, where the party
was getting started. There was dancing all night long, but I found I
got really tired after the first few hours, so I came home early.

Saturday being wholly uneventful, everyone was recovering from the
party, I move to Sunday. I spent the morning saying goodbye, although
I am coming back, when it's sunny again. Packed up, Miriam made
ceviche, a fish and veggie speciality from this part of the world,
for lunch. On to the bus to La Libertad, where I changed to another
bus to Guayaquil. Uncomfortably, I was standing for a large part for
the journey on the first bus, my head kept hitting the roof. The
buses here are built for shorter Ecuadorians. The sun finally made
it's appearance, after a week long hiatus on my trip, as we rolled
south along the Santa Elena peninsula. Then the high end vacation
homes of Ecuador's rich began to appear; this is the resort end of
the coast, despite the land around looking like the Alberta badlands.
Arriving in La Libertad, I found, after asking for directions 3
times, a bus to Guayaquil. The highway in was the most modern road
I've seen here yet, a well-maintained 4 lane highway. My pack was
jammed in my lap because the girl in front had her seat back. The bus
terminal in Guayaquil is massive, modern, and, as well as most of the
northern suburb area I went through, very clean. It wasn't
oppressively hot like it was the last time I was there, at least not
in the evening. I took a cab to the Dreamkapture Hostel, in the
Alborada neighbourhood. The place was fabulous, with a small pool,
couches, clean tile floors, and a soft bed. Very higher-end, not
surprising, as it's owned by a Canadian woman. I slept really well,
and when I woke up, I didn't feel sticky, my clothes were all dry and
had a good breakfast. Life can be so good to you sometimes. They have
a collection of tropical birds and what look like three marmosets in
one of the cages.

So packing up and heading back to Guayaquil's enormous bus terminal,I
proceeded to navigate through the throngs of people heading to all
kinds of places and got on a bus to here, Cuenca, via Parque Nacional
Cajas. Out we rolled, last as usual onto the Panamericana. The man
sitting next to me appeared to be carrying some unknown animal, it
sounded, and later smelled, like a puppy, but he had it in a bag, and
quite honestly, I didn't really want to know. It made regular
squealing sounds throughout the journey. We passed through a small
town which had the distinct feature of every building having at least
3 TV stick aerials on top of it. I suppose the reception must be
appalling there. Heading south, here be banana country. Plantations
crowded the roadsides and stretched off into the horizon. This is the
part of Ecuador where the bananas that we buy in the supermarkets
back home come from. This is also the area of some of the gravest
human rights abuses in Ecuador, involving underage children working
on the plantations, often for the powerful American multinationals
that control the world banana trade (Dole, Del Monte and Chiquita).
Out we rose out of plantations, back up into the cloud forest. When
we finally got out of the clouds, it was unbelievable. The Andes here
are rocky, much like some mountain ranges in BC, rather than the
forested look from the northern highlands, the valley is this
pastorial setting with long grassy fields with little creeks running
through them and little homesteads, all colonial style, some quite
expensive looking, dotting the hills. I'm going to try and go out
there for one day, either this week or later on, I'm almost certainly
coming back here.

Now Cuenca, besides being extraordinarily beautiful, with large
colonial-era buildings with clay tile roofs (check my gallery
www.andres-paz.deviantart.com ), cobbled streets, with men and women
walking around wearing suits and generally dressed very well, sitting
on park benches in the plazas reading the daily paper, little
children in school uniforms everywhere; this could be some city in
Europe. It was raining when I arrived, so I took a cab to the Hostel
El Monarca. It is extremely colourful, in bright oranges and greens,
with paintings of half-naked women on the walls, tye dye ceiling
hangins and extremely creaky floorboards. Bed is the saggiest I've
slept on so far. Had dinner in one of the city's numerous cafes,
hell, the entire city seems to compromise shoe stores, women's
fashion boutiques, cafes, and internet places. I walked through the
streets after, all the churches and plazas are lit up at night, gives
it a very noble feel. Some in the middle of the night, I woke up to
what I imagined sounded like a small monkey playing with flip-flop
sandals. Whatever it was went down the hall and it got quiet again.
The next day, I went out and wandered through the streets, selling
just about everything under the sun, lots of jewelry and cooking
utensils though. Visited El Calderon, the city's central, iconic
cathedral (gallery, the one of the distinctive blue domes). Bought a
newspaper (I favour El Comercio, it's like Ecuador's Globe and Mail),
I've decided while I'm here, living expensively, that I'd work at my
Spanish reading skills, and went to the Cafe Austria. On the way
down, I got caught in a crowd of people, a man was having a heart
attack on the floor of a movie shop, and the ambulance and paramedics
were everywhere. Watched him get helped into the ambulance and driven
away. It's interesting how events like that always draw a crowd very
very quickly. Now, the Austria. This is, by far, the best cafe I've
found in the city, and I'm going there for lunch everyday, reading
the paper, watching the city go about it's business, and having the
best damn coffee I've found yet, it's supplied by the Illy Coffee
Company, one of the largest and most prestigous Italian companies in
the business. It has a very Euro setup, with classical music in the
background and lots of pastries and cheesecake. In general, for my
time here, it's been a much different way of life than anywhere I've
been so far, much more higher class, and generally contrasting a lot
of what I've seen in Ecuador so far. It's interesting to wonder how
Cuenca ended up so different from the rest of the country, even Quito.

I came back to my hostel after an afternoon of exploring, and
managed, for the second time on this trip, to lock myself out of my
room. Went and had dinner while I waited for the hostel owner to come
back, he'd gone out somewhere earlier in the day. The El Moliendo
cafe is run by a Colombian bloke, Miguel, who is extremely friendly
and seems to like to chat with the many foreigners that come in, this
place is highly recommended in almost all of the major guidebooks. I
met a woman from Holland, Teresa, who was staying here for one night
on her way south, she's heading to Peru, where I will be following
her, probably in a couple of weeks. I bought an umbrella on my way
home, the rain here doesn't really justify a coat. Arriving back at
the hostel, the owner and I proceeded to try every key he had to open
my door. It appears, that he has a spare key for every lock in the
entire place EXCEPT for the door to my room. Feeling rather pissed
off, with myself and the owner, I took another room, and we'd deal
with the door this morning. Waking up the this morning, I found the
owner trying to jimmy the catch on the interior window to the room. I
went down for breakfast, and he'd managed to open it with some steel
wire when I went back up. I had to crawl through the window down onto
the bedside table to get back in, with the key sitting on the bed.
This is actually cracking me up now, writing about it, and knowing
me, it will probably happen again before this trip is over. Once
again with access to my things, I did some research and checked
travel warnings for Peru, I hope to be down there in about 2 weeks or
less. Apparently, due to the Shining Path rebel group, there is a
heavy warning against travel to a whole whack of places throughout
Peru, so it looks like I won't be spending that much time there, with
many places considered too dangerous to travel at this time. Went and
checked the exchange rates for the Nuevo Sol, Peru's currency, (3
soles=$1US), I also saw that the Cdn. has reached $1.10 against the
greenback. That's freaking awesome, and makes my travel here a bit
cheaper! After lunch, I went out looking for a new blank journal, as,
with the entries and poetry I've been writing, the one I have is
running out of pages. Spent 2 hours looking, without success. Lots of
datebooks though. Since I've been feeling particularly spoiled today,
I went to place called El Fornance, and had pizza and ice cream. In
the middle of my dinner, a protest march, anti-xenophobia, came down
the street. They were a bunch of young people, all of them with signs
and posters expressing tolerance and acceptance, (check gallery, my
camera was a little tempramental). This was a truly brilliant way to
end my day, and right now, honestly, I feel great! Went for walk down
by the river, watching couples kissing on the bridges and everyone
going home from work.

Day 69

Soooooooo, things, as they tend to do, have not worked the way I hoped they would. I'm in in the town of Chachopoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru, still 2 or 3 days travel from Arequipa. I have to wait 8 hours for the road to the coast to open, so I figured, seeing as my budget is already skyrocketing, I'd do my emails.

So allow to fill you in on how I ended up in this predicament.

So going back to Thursday. Thursday is Cuenca's market day, although the market is not tourist orientated (aka polyester, poultry and papaya), but it was nice to go around and see the comings and goings of the people. In the paper, I found that the road I took from Las Tunas to Guayaquil has been blockaded by protestors, apparently feeling a little neglected in the face of government reforms. Friday, the newspaper reported that the Peruvian Congress ratified a free trade agreement with the USA (ironically, the Spanish acronym for it is TLC). So, although I haven't seen anything in the 2 days I've been in Peru so far, there is general unrest amongst the people right now. Feeling pampered, peaceful and ready to move on, I got things together to leave the next day.

So, Saturday morning, packed up and rolled out on the 5 hour bus ride to Loja, the last big city before the border in the Andes. In the station, I chatted with a Swedish woman, bound for Quito. She was in Ecuador doing her thesis on migration, and had been conducting interviews here in Cuenca, she told me the reason Cuenca is wealthier is because a large concentration of families here have relatives working abroad. Now we know. Out on the bus, we gained a lot of elevation and very briefly, for the first time since arrival, saw snow. The man sitting beside me kept craning to look out the window, despite it being foggy for much of the trip, with not much to see. He got off, and a few stops later another man sits down next to me. It became quickly evident taht this one had been in the rum, and asked me several times where I was heading, even after I told him the first time. He was difficult to understand; he kept slurring his words. Sometime after he fell asleep, his head lolling all the way out into the aisle. Arriving in Loja, drunk man asks if we have actually arrived, with half the bus already getting off. A few other foreigners who'd been on the bus asked if I wanted to get in a shared taxi to Vilcabamba, but it being late, and the rate being $5, I declined, and took a cab downtown to a hotel. We drove by a wedding on the city bridge on the way there, the taxista slowed down, not sure if it was out of respect or simply to gawk at the beautiful bride. All in all, I great way to start out a new leg of the trip.

Sunday. The place where I went to breakfast made these large, fabulously decorated cakes, they looked so good it was hard to believe that people could bear to eat them. Listened to a group of three American girls talk about their dissatisfaction with Ecuadorian food and restaurant service. Why did you bother leaving home? Went around on a brief wander of Loja. I sat through almost all of a church mass at the rather pretty Church of San Sebastien. The process is, more or less, like the way it's done back home, maybe a little less orderly though. Hiked up to a statue of the Virgen de Loja, with a beautiful view of the town and the mountains (check gallery in a few days). It looks like the city has carpeted the hills and valley, but is about as busy as the forest around it. Packing up again, I went to catch the bus to Vilcabamba. On the way, I helped a very old, slow moving indigenous man across the street, mostly to make sure a car didn't shmuck him and to get him onto the sidewalk. Arriving at the terminal, a bloke called Pepito, looked to be in his mid 50s, came up to me and insisted to show me where to buy a ticket to Vilcabamba. This seemed a little suspicious, as the terminal is very small, he seemed a little over-eager, but he spoke English, which I think was why he approached me, so he could test his language skills on me. He kept telling me that my Spanish was really good, despite the fact that I couldn't have said more than 15 basic words to him. Saying goodbye to Pepito, I got on the mini-bus to Vilcabamba. The driver, evidently, had a fetish for classic, Western rock, and a very limited selection of music, which meant I was listening to Van Halen and Pink Floyd, over and over for the hour and half to Vilcabamba. The geography here is surprisingly like B.C. with large, forested, mountains that look so neat as plate tectonics have folded the land up and rivers carve designs down the sides. Quite beautiful, and it made me think about how beautiful the area where I live in Canada is.

Arriving in Vilcabamba, there was a mountain bike show in progress, whereby a group of bikers went off a couple of jumps and went down stairs, nothing particularly spectacular. Setting up in a rather hostel with a really nice room, I went out looking for dinner. I found this one place, Natural Yogurt. A pair of men were sitting out on the patio, and one, Royo, immediately greeted me and made room at the table. The other's name was Alonzo. Over dinner, I talk with them; Alonzo is an English teacher at the local school, having learned from all the foreigners that come to this little town. Interesting note, the slang term for a young person is a 'pollo', lit. chicken. Royo works at a horse riding establishment in town. Met another bloke, Isaac, from California, who has been here for 6 weeks teaching English at the school with Alonzo. I like that I finally can have an intelligent conversation with a local, in Spanish without stumbling too much over the words.

Monday, I woke up to brilliant sunshine coming over the mountains, with the clouds rolling back off the mountains, leaving golden landscape painted in blue and green. Had breakfast watching the valley wake up, the relaxing vibe here is so strong, like Mindo. On a quest to find a place that did laundry, I discovered, that in the year since the publication of my guidebook, one hostal, and one lavanderia have gone out of business, haven't found that before. Took a hike up the road to a restaurant out of town for lunch, taking postcard-worthy photos of the valley, and the huge mansions of expatriates that have moved here, no doubt because of it's beauty. A woman I met on the road tried to get me to buy some local natural medicines, which I declined, it being mostly plants for sicknesses I didn't have. Arriving at the restaurant, I learn that it is only open for breakfast and dinner, not lunch. Coming back to town for lunch, it was at this point that I would make the fateful desicion to go to Peru the next day, via the crossing at Zumba. More on that in a minute. Went to the place in town I'd been assured exchanged for Peruvian Nuevo Soles, the Peruvian currency, they didn't have any, told me to check the following morning. So, Tuesday morning. Packing up, I went to find the next bus to Zumba. Going to 3 different offices, I am told the next one is at 3:30. Checked with the store, still no soles, but was told there was another bus to Zumba at 10:30. As it turned out, the bus at 10:30 was coming FROM Zumba, cleared that up and waiting until 12 for a bus out.

Here is where the fun begins.

The road from Vilcabamba to Zumba is unpaved. Bumpy. The road also has, literally, no straight sections, it's all switchbacks and curves. Swaying. Add in the fact there's a lunatic driver at the wheel and a cliff drop off the right side of the road. Very unnerving. Winding our way along, we pass through a collection of villages and hamlets, with no evident economic activity, in probably one of the most remote areas of Ecuador. Often it would just be 3 or 4 homes perched on the side of the mountains. 5 hours this went on for. The glances from the other passengers suggest that while it isn't surprising to see a gringo out here, it doesn't occur very often. Finally, we arrive in Zumba. Zumba is not actually on the border, but simply the point of no return before the border. The rain is coming down, and I've got this guy who will take me to the border for $20. Had lunch and waited until 5:30 for a ranchera, an open sided truck, to come back to take me out, $1.75. They told me it was an hour and a half to the border at La Balsa. It was 2. So off we go in the truck, the brilliant tropical green wilderness rolling by. Passing more odd little villages, we're now racing a large thunderstorm across the valley, with the truck roaring along and the valley, now dark, illuminated every so often by sheet lightning. The storm caught up with us at the military checkpoint, my 1st military checkpoint. Determining I was a foreigner (the young soldier lisped the word, extranjero, which made him difficult to understand), I had to write my name in a little book. It would appear, that the only foreigners that venture out there are all either French, or Canadian. Go figure. Going on, now with rain coming in at the side of the truck once in a while, I was slightly damp when we arrived at La Balsa, on the border. It was around 7:30pm. With no real idea of where I was or where to go next, I get my exit stamp from the official and cross the bridge there.

Welcome to Peru!

This side looks exactly like the other, expect the Peruvians had a few ducks and small pigs running around. Trying to get to San Ignacio, the next town of signifance into Peru, I find this rather stubborn taxista who was going to charge me $20 to San Ignacio, this was reasonable, due to the 2.5 hours there, and the time of night, and with no actual other transportation, I end up having to take it, after chewing him a bit for the high cost. The road was absolutly appalling, no one has evidently checked on it in years, but the driver, with experience, managed to navigate it. Over the course of the trip, we nearly hit dozens of donkeys, pigs and dogs. The Peruvians, as I have found out, love their donkeys, and can be found everywhere, employed in many different ways. We arrived in San Ignacio, the man takes me to a hotel and being exhausted, fall straight to sleep. This closes the truly grueling leg of the travel from Ecuador to Peru.

Yesterday. Was woken up by some bastard in the street bleating away on a bicycle horn. Still without any clear idea where I am, I decided to try and get to Cajamarca. Went to change to soles, found that the greenback is losing ground against the sol, and lose about a dollar in the transcation as a result. Finding a rather odd breakfast of rice and potatoes, I get on a minibus for Jaen, the next major town in from the border. Rolling along in the bus, the geography and climate has changed a lot. It is much warmer here, the Andes are now much rockier, the middle cordillera region now, from the tropical Ecuadorian section. There is a large, muddy, torrent of a river on the left side of the road, and now, instead of banana plantations, there are kilometers of rice fields. Dodging the occasional herd of cows being herded along the road, which, was really a long road of potholes, interuppted by a patch of old tarmac. Then quite abruptly, several things changed. Tarmac, smooth and without potholes appeared beneath the wheels of the bus, and road signs appeared, telling the distances to towns, the name of the road (5N Cajamarca Highway), signs that say "respect the rules of the road" in Spanish, and speed limit signs (which the driver was doing double the speed of). The highway was in far better condition than most of the roads I'd been on in Ecuador. The valley began to widen out, so the Andes disappeared, replaced with huge bluffs of bright red clay, and the rice fields interuppted with the occasional patch of papaya trees. For most of the trip, the guy sitting next to me kept fiddling with a small radio, trying to get something, without success.

Then the back tire blew out.

The tire, which I saw was balder than Patrick Stewart's head, basically blew because the pavement had burned a hole through the rubber. Stand around watching the driver, quite quickly, change the tire. On we go, dodging more livestock, and overtaking with bare feet between us and oncoming traffic. Arriving in Jaen, I take a mototaxi, one of the 3-wheeled, open-air, motorized trikes to another station and get on another minibus to Bagua Grande, where I could get transport to here, Chachapoyas. I must have dozed off a few times on this bus, I seemed to keep falling into the shopping bag of the woman next to me. At last we get to Bagua Grande, another mototaxi, and with no buses at this time of day, a shared taxi to Chachapoyas. This is the memorable part of the journey, the part that made it all worth it. We arrive at the provincial checkpoint from Cajamarca province to Amazonas. The land suddenly took on a surreal, breathtaking quality. It was sunset, so massive soaring peaks that had risen up were inlaid in gold light, clothed in bright shades of amazonian green. The river running alongside the road isn't as muddy as the last one, and is flowing in the opposite direction. The hills have circlets of cloud with these massive walls of banded rock and huge cliffs. The place shrieks, mystic, forgotten land. The driver senses my interest and points out a waterfall and various interesting point along the route. What strikes me is that only a handful of people that visit Peru see this, with almost all foreigners going from Lima to Cuzco to Machu Pichu, and see nothing else in this country. There are road signs that pop up every so often with an environmental bent, things like, "Water is life, don't pollute it", "Garbage has its place" and "Deforestation prohibited". The evening is cool in this rainforest area. We come to a road stop, they were doing survery work, and we had to wait an hour and a half for them to finish. I talked with the driver, who was probably one of the most friendly and helpful people I've met in the whole time I've been in South America, and told me about beautiful ruins and other things to see in this area that doesn't see that many tourists. I'm definitely coming back one day to check this part of Peru out. Overall, as well, I've found that the Peruvians I've come into contact with, are very friendly, tolerant people. They are the people though, that call me gringo, a term which I only heard once in Ecuador. The sun goes down, and we finally get moving under the moon and stars at 7:15. The next section of the road was unpaved, which meant for most of the way to here, we were choking on the dust of the cars in front of us. Then we encounter the convoy of vehicles coming from the other end of the closed section of the road. Pulling into the cliff side, we watch as monolithic, overnight buses from Lima, various freight trucks, and a few cars go by. Going along, at some point we got back onto paved road and arrived here in Chachapoyas, which was very alive and busy, even late at night. It got up early this morning too. Found a good hotel, with ice-cold showers.

This brings us up to now. I found that getting to Cajamarca is extremely difficult to do from here, despite the direct road, so I have a ticket on the 6 pm bus to Chiclayo, on the coast. They have the road closed until this evening, which is why the bus doesn't leave until that late. I tried to persuade the ticket man that his competion was selling tickets for less than 30 soles ($10US, more or less), he came up with some excuse why that didn't matter. Changed the rest of my allocated moeny to soles, as apparently the greenback has lost even more ground. I should be in Arequipa, where I want to be, by Sunday. Met a few other foreigners here, having the same travel difficulties I am. All travel seems to be related to Lima, literally, all roads lead to Lima.

This has been a wild week, and I can't say it's been boring.

Day 54, late post

2007-11-06T19:14:00.000-05:00

So, I´m in Puerto Lopez now, this is the south coast, so distances are now judged from Guayaquil, which is about 6 or 7 hours south of here. I´m staying with the family that hosted me the last time I was here, in Las Tunas, about an hour south of here.

Going back to last Thursday, I managed to get locked out after finishing my last update, despite being promised that the door would be left open, this worried me at the time, because Cherie was stark raving drunk because it was full moon, and she might have passed out and I'd be out on the street for the night. Anyway, she did eventually hear my pounding, I nearly put a hole in the door. There are no, ifs or buts about it, Cherie is still living like its 1972. She's from California, and apparently visited Ecuador back in the 70s and moved back here 4 years ago. Notably, Sasha stayed in her room the whole time the full moon celebration was occurring, listening to punk rock. Drug use is a way of life in the place, with a HUGE pile of empty wine cartons on the upstairs veranda, and the ubiquitous smell, and I later found, presence of weed. There is a woodstock-themed garbage bin out back. Cherie seemed pretty sober the next morning, and I'd gotten used to the constant chatter of the birds in the cages. After breakfast, I went out looking for a nearby magical tree, El Lechero, but somehow lost my way and ended up going to Parque Condor, a raptor rehabilitation center above Otavalo. There are photos of some of the birds on my gallery, the King vulture and Andean condor were easily the most bizarre. The road up was really beautiful, being able to see Otavalo on one side, and the huge Lago San Pablo on the other, with the Andes covered in low cloud. There were groups of people out working in the surrounding fields, I find something familiar in the smell of freshly turned dirt. I helped a woman push a wheelbarrow full of cement. I think she found it highly amusing that I, a padfoot gringo, was pushing a heavy wheelbarrow. Leaving Parque Condor, I spotted El Lechero on the hill coming back down the road and hiked up. The tree is very old and knobbly, all by itself on the top of this hill, and, according to the locals, it imparts magical healing powers. So I got my little bit of magic and walked home through a farmer's field. It felt really good to be out and about, I'm not as fond of Otavalo now that I've been in it for a little while.

Got lost on the way back, found Mi Otavalito, a local restaurant the Colorado girls had recommended. The food was the best Ecuadorian food I've ever had, and it came at the huge cost of $6. It being Friday, this was yet another excuse for Cherie, this time with friends, to drink and be merry. Sat with Sasha and talked about life, the universe and all that good stuff.

Woke up the next morning to find I'd picked up a really good sunburn from my romp the day before, it hurt like hell, in fact, as of today, day 52, it's stopped hurting and the skin has flaked off. Feeling stupid that I'd left my hat in Quito (I'd accidently left it on the kitchen table at Ivan's) I put aloe on it and went and bought a new hat in the market, it being Saturday, the big market day in Quito. The streets were all jammed full of vendors selling just about everything under the sun. The man I bought the hat from was so happy, because I was his lucky first sale of the day. Spent the afternoon contemplating where to go next, as I had decided I was decaying in the creature comforts of Otavalo. I went and sat in on a church service in the evening, its easy to figure out what's going on, but I understood almost nothing that the priest was saying. Coming back, I found the 2 girls from Maine in the Casa de Frutas having dinner, and drank mojuitos and played cards and backgammon all evening with them. I found with I get very talkative with the very sugary mojuitos. Over all, Otavalo is a nice city, but it's a little too commercial, and conservative, for my liking. It's nothing more than a commerce city, so I shall be back later to do my shopping.

So, the day before I'd gone and checked the travel warnings of the Canadian Embassy in Quito, and apparently the whole area north of Ibarra, except for, surprisingly, the border city of Tulcan, has a heavy warning against travel in the area. So, this being first first major independent trip, and traveling alone, I opted to miss the north coast, and took a bus back to Quito and tried to find one to the coastal village of Pedernales, where I'd decided to pick up the route. No luck. Next, tried for Bahia, the next major town south, still no luck. I managed to find, with the help from other ticket vendors, a bus to Manta, at 3 pm. at 3:30, I pulled out of the station in a rather posh (very clean, spacious, soft, reclining seats) bus, that was supposed to take 7 hours to Manta. It took 10. For his credit, the man at the wheel was an excellent driver, that would overtake convoys of 3 or more tractor trailers coming down the steep winding road to Santo Domingo, with the added bonus of low visibility due to cloud coming off the mountains. It was already dark by the time we reach Santo Domingo, about a third of the way to Manta. Several times, people got off and on, and on we'd go off into the darkness, on paved and gravel roads. Around the time we arrived in Portoviejo, still an hour from Manta, I was getting really tired of sitting on the bus. Almost everyone else had gotten off at previous stops, with their potted plants, large boxes and wailing infants, and I was feeling unpleasant, tired, and hot and sticky, because I was back in coastal Ecuador, where that is the general norm. At around 1 or 2 in the morning, we arrived. Went to the recommended hotel across the street. They wanted to charge me $12. Went to the one next door, The Puerto Azul, $6. For 6, it was incredibly nice, and spent the night with the fan going full blast. What a hell of a bus trip!

Getting up the next morning, I decided, seeing as I was only a little ways from there, to go to visit my friends in Las Tunas (subnote: Las Tunas translates as The Prickly Pears). Breakfast, and a glass of cold orange juice from the man by the bus station, I went south to Montecristi, home, supposedly, of the best panama hats on earth. A little note about some of the stores I've passed. They good and eat whole pigs here, and going along on the bus, you pass these stores with these HUGE pink pig bodies, suspended by their back hooves from the ceiling, with the bodies stretching from all the fat, so you have these very elongated, whole pigs dangling from the ceiling out in front of some stores, and it just looks revolting! Montecristi, with its enormous white church, and hat and weaving makers, seems a little depressed. It looks like it used to be wealthier but has slumped lately. All of the sidewalks are wheel chair accessible. After poking around, I went back to the main road and caught a bus to here, Puerto Lopez. At the town of Jipijapa, my friend David, who I'd met in the villages from my last visit, got on the bus, coming back from school in Portoviejo (he's studying athletics, with swimming and running), but I didn't realize it was him until we got off the bus at PL. It turns out this week is a break week for students in Ecuador, after exams. The ride down was interesting, with forest giving way to dry brushland until Parque Nacional Machalilla, where it goes back to forest again. This is not the coast I remember from last year. I have arrived, for better or worse, during the coast's 2 month long rainy season. It's overcast, cool, all the streets are extremely muddy, and it rains or mists, constantly. It's more like a misty haven, rather than any kind of paradise. At PL, David and I took the bus to Las Tunas. We went to the house of Rosa first, out she came, with little Emily, who is now 1 year and 3 months. took one look at me and greeted me by the association I'd pickedd from last time "Coca-cola", then out comes from Fernando, "Loco!" A big pulava ensued, while we went around and said hello to everyone. Found Aurelio and Antonio, my host father and brother, working on the site of the cabins they've built on the beach front, the first one is finished, and they're working on the second one I came to Miriam's house, my old host mom, and she has put me in her guest room for the time being. All the time everyone is asking me about how everything is, friends, family, do I have a girlfriend, when and where am I going to school, when are the others from my first trip here going to come back and visit, etc. After dinner I go around some more and say hi to more people, at Elsa's house. Much to my surprise, they have a good picture of Wesley, on album, something I find difficult to get most of the time. I figured I will stay for the week, as the kids are here from school, and head out south after. They keep telling me tath I'm so much skinnier, taller and with shorter hair than my last visit, I don't think I've changed that much. I was exhausted by this point, having been doing the bus thing, and now having to explain the same thing, in Spanish, at least 6 times.

I woke up yesterday morning, feeling characterstically icky, because of the 100% humidity here. I went out after breakfast with my host brother Antonio, who is now 7, collecting shells and skipping stones in the surf. I played pool with the local boys in the afternoon and played cards. I spent yesterday afternoon walking along the beach and after my walk, I went for a run along the other part of the beach with David and Fernando, it felt good to blow off energy. I slept very well last night.

This morning, it being All Hallows Eve, is special here. It isn't a big commercial fest like in Canada, its a prepartion for All Souls Day, tomorrow, which is a memorial day for the dead. I walked along the beach this morning, something that I think I will get into the habit of while I'm here. There was a group of frigate birds eating what was left of a sea turtle carcass. For you Mrs. R, there is a LOT of garbage that has washed up on the beach. If the group thats supposed to come in March has any time at all, maybe even just a few hours of picking up the huge piles of garbage would go a long way to changing the atmosphere of the beach. There is a large fishing boat shipwreck, the San Eduardo II, a way down the beach. Coming back, I went up to the cemetery, where Fernando, David, and a man they call Zorro, were painting white wash on the tombs of Fernando's father and grandfather. I had a nice long conversation about the dead in the family, the problems of language barriers and the nature of traveling. Interesting story here, Fernando's father passed away in 97, heart failure, before his grandfather, who died in 2000. There are 2 other tombs related to the family, both still births, one of a brother of Fernando, another a brother of Antonio. There were other families in the cemetery tending to the tombs of their dead family as well. Went up and had cake with some of the others and played blackjack and got letters for my friends back home. Elsa wrote a good letter, in easily translatable Spanish, to Kalina, which I translated and emailed to her earlier this afternoon. David, Fernando and I went up here, to PL, to do emails. They got me to send english translations of messages to Ali and Kalina, who they'd both been fond of while they were staying here. Fernando was funny, because he ran out of things to say, he was the one sending something to Kalina, blushed, and left.

Life, good stuff...

Wandering to the waterfalls, days spent in hammock, threw up all over the side of the bus

2007-10-25T13:50:00.000-04:00

I'm in Otavalo right now, (this is the third time now, and the first time I´ll be spending more than a day here) about 2 hours north of Quito.

So I´m now at Day 48, I think overall I'm doing well.

So, going back to last Wednesday, that evening there was a football game on TV, Brazil vs. Ecuador. The importance that Ecuadorians place on football games, especially one with their national teams playing the world's top team, approaches the kind of energy involved in the Carnaval in Rio. We went to a bar in the Mariscal with a large screen TV. Very quickly, the place was absolutely packed. Then the game began. The energy in that little bar, whenever the ball went close to either end of the field, was incredible. When the score got to 3-0 Brazil, some people got up and left. At 4-0 there was an upset roar. At 5-0, the people got the bartender to shut the TV off. It was quiet appalling actually, as the Brazilians pulled off some insanely lucky goals, and the Ecuadorians missed some really easy ones. In summary, football is a religious-scale spectator sport, that is very cool to both watch and participate in.

Saturday, with my classes finished the day before, I packed up everything and went to the bus station for a bus to Mindo, but found out that the next one didn't leave until 3:45 that afternoon. I ended up, instead, going to a BBQ at my friend Ivan's house, and elected to go to Mindo the next day. Ivan, as it developed, lives a long way from the Metro part of Quito, and it took over an hour going around snaking bypasses and freeways to get there. After the whole group of us arrived, we went out on our trip to get things for the BBQ. The meat market was truly disgusting, with all the bits of dead animals hanging everywhere, and the smell is nauseating. The BBQ, in summary, was fabulous, with this rather old coal barbeque, cooking chicken and hot dogs. After the food, out come the guitars, and we listen to the Ecuadorian guys play various classic songs while Ivan's dad built a fire in the middle of the backyard out of bits of construction materials. Almost everyone left at 10, the rest of us went to the local karaoke bar, which basically entailed Ivan and the Ecuadorians, boozed up, singing along to all the songs (in perfect tune and rhythm), and a bartender who obviously thought that white people (there were 3 of us at this point), equated to profit potential, and kept hassling Isaak to buy more beer. The boys were singing at the top of their lungs all the way home too. In all it was a great party to finish my time in Quito, and will leave me with good memories of the otherwise, overcrowded, overpolluted city.

Sunday, got up early, Ivan's mom gave me a cup of hot blueberry juice. Took a bus back to the Metro, stopped for a breakfast of fruit at this really cool restaurant, the Fruteria Montserrate, and sat in the bus station for 3.5 hours waiting for the bus to Mindo. The road to Mindo is really, very beautiful, with the road, rolling through lush, coastal cloud forest. However, I was feeling shitty from a lack of sleep, food and the bus going top speed around crazy, winding corners. I got to Mindo, which is 2.5 hours NW of Quito. It was really beautiful there, very quiet. My time there was to be a relaxation period to start off this new leg in my trip. There were a group of clowns/entertainers in the central parka doing juggling and other tricks for a crowd of little school kids. I found the hostal, recommended by Luis, La Casa de Cecilia. Cecilia, is a very friendly, middle-aged woman, and judging from the setup (outdoor kitchen with tile flooring), has done really well for herself here. Went out to find dinner, when I came back there were 2 girls from Colorado that had moved into the dorm. Sarah, 22, and Betsy, 32, who apparently came here because they didn´t know what they wanted to do with themselves. Woke up the next morning, it was very nice to wake up to the sounds of birds and running water rather than the morning rush hour traffic. Mindo is technically in the coastal region of Ecuador, so the humidity is high here, and there are a decent number of mosquitoes (thank god for antimalarials). The girls and I went out on a hike after breakfast, going out past small farms and hostels. We spotted a large black snake (somewhere around 5 to 6 feet long) in the grass off the road, so there are large serpents around here. We found this fabulous little restaurant for dinner, Caskesu, which opened in May, housing a B&B in small Suessian-like buildings. Good chili. Tuesday, we went back for breakfast, and talked a lot with Susan, the American woman who owns the place with her Ecuadorian husband. She apparently was a Peace Corp. volunteer working in Ecuador, and is a trained nurse, that felt the need to get out of that line of work before she got too old, and so came back to Ecuador and opened the place with her husband, and got the father of her godchildren to build it. As well, with the town with a bank, and her credit card machines, she is the de facto Bank of Mindo. She served the best coffee I´ve had since I arrived in Ecuador. We bought tickets from her to ride a cable tram for a hike to a group of 7 waterfalls near Mindo. So we hiked up to the tram, called a tarabita, and rode it across the valley, and hiked north to the largest of the falls, Cascada Reina. There was a group of students from an environmental club arriving the tram when we got back. We hiked south down to the other 6 waterfalls, but it started to rain, so we decided to head back early. Met a pair of girls from Maine, and a couple from Vancouver, all of whose names escape me, on the way back up. The students were going across the tram first, but with all 7 of us foreigners, and about 2 dozen of the students left, the tram operator decided the cables were getting too hot, and told us we´d have to hike back across the valley, in the rain, to the other side. So off we trudged, one of the boys in the student group, who spoke near-perfect, and rather formal, English, talked with us the way back. Apparently, he learned his english from music, loves Christina Aguilera, and wanted to grow up to be an environmental lawyer. I also had a wasp sting me on the neck, which left me with swelling and an ache for the rest of the day. Because of the tram failure, we got a free truck ride back to Mindo. All in all, this was a great start to this new leg of trip, feeling very relaxed now after 6 weeks in Quito.

Yesterday, the Colorado girls left at the crack of dawn to catch the early bus back to Quito. I spent the morning doing sewing and other maintenance on my things. It was around this time that the sickness began to set in, with a headache and upset stomach, but I didn't think it was bad at the time. I tried to do my email in Mindo, but the connection there was painfully slow and I couldn't send anything, so I aimed to get the 2 pm bus out of Mindo. I proceeded to run around packing and washing my clothes. I didn't know you had to hook up the gas to the dryer, all my clothes were slightly damp as I put them in my pack. I made the bus with 5 minutes to spare. On the bus ride back up, it became evident that was I actually quite sick. Because of my time in Mindo, I'd come down with acclimatization sickness that you get from your body adapting to the equatorial coastal climate. Got to Quito, the girls from Maine elected to spend the night in Quito, and the Vancouver couple had a wedding to go to on the Galapagos. I flagged a cab to the bus station, and took the bus here, to Otavalo, as I wasn't entertained with spending a night in Quito. The movie they showed on the bus was The Green Mile, and the old man sitting next to me talked to about how the imprisonment style and treatment of criminals in the movie used to be common in Ecuador until fairly recently. He also told me how buses like the one we were on, at that time of day (around 6:30 pm), when things got quiet, were the most likely times for hold ups and robberies. About an hour from Otavalo, the sickness got to me, and I threw up, mostly over the side of the bus as we hurtled along the highway, as I´d had enough presence of mind to open the window in time. The old man gave me a plastic bag and a few napkins to clean up the mess. Feeling light-headed and exhausted, I got off at Otavalo. I had no idea where in Otavalo I was, so I got a cab to take me to a good, cheap hostel. Went this one, Casa de Corea, not surprisingly run by Koreans. They charged me $5, but I had to unpack half my bag to get the money, and when I gave her a 10, she said she needed my passport and we had to go down the street to another place to get change. I found out that my shampoo ahd leaked in my bag, all over one pair of pants and my alarm clock, which still seems to be ticking, and smells like orange now. It was all getting too much by this point. Managed to get up to my room, which was clean, but run-down, with chips out of the walls and bathroom fixtures. it smelled heavily of cigarettes, and had a very modern Daewoo TV. The bed was the hardest I've ever slept on, but felt good in the state I was in. Tried my best to clean the vomit off everything and hang my other clothes, still damp, to dry. The coffee I had in my bag leaked all over my white T-shirt. Somehow, in the end, I managed to get everything together, and slept like the dead. I guess the lesson from this is trying to find getting from Mindo to Otavalo, with laundry, in one day.

This morning, I took a damage report. aside from wet clothes, and a shampooed clock, everything was more or less fine. Leaving the horrible hostel, I found a place for breakfast, Casa de Frutas. The place gives the air of being a hippie commune, with dozens of potted plants taking up most of the space in the building and courtyard, cages full of small colourful birds, the Beatles and Bob Marley playing in the background, tie dye cloth hangings over all the door frames, collections of masks, and various other bits of artwork, hammocks and dream catchers. Anyway, I had this great breakfast of eggs and fruit, and the owner, a woman called Sheree, asked if I wanted a place to stay, as the one room she has to rent was vacated earlier this morning The room was nice, with bamboo mats and posters of Che Guevara, so I took it. This is fabulous as far as I'm concerned, and makes a lovely change from last night.

Signing off,

Andrew

Stories from the Mosaic City

2007-10-18T16:21:00.000-04:00

Hey Everyone

So I´m at Day 40. Six more days, and it will be the longest I´ve ever been away from home.

This Saturday, I´m also done my time in Quito. 6 weeks has gone by fairly quickly. I feel like I´ve been here for longer though. Not sure yet where I´m going to go yet, but I will be writing my next update from a different city.

Wednesday, I went out looking for the post office, as I have a number of gifts, and things that I won´t need on this trip, to send back. I couldn´t find it anywhere! I then got caught in the afternoon downpour, went down to Luis´ office (yes, it is a regular hangout for many of us) and discovered another branch of the post office is only 2 blocks up the street. Dumb!

Baked more bread on Thursday (I´ve gotten rather good at it, especially in absence of any kind of measuring utensils). Incidentally, my teacher that week, Blanca, was extremely pregnant, and was supposed to have a cesarian yesterday, but the baby decided to come out on Monday. I haven´t seen her, but apparently both mom and child are fine. I played scrabble with her on Thursday.

Friday was a holiday, so everything last weekend ground to a total halt. Many of my friends went down a big, popular beach on the coast. Emma and Carly (the Brits) left for a week long trip to the Amazon, haven´t heard anything from them since. Saturday, I went with Leo and Susan up on my second trip to Otavalo. Leo and Susan, after spending few of weeks with them, are just really cool. The two of them have been to all kinds of places around the world, they were in Afghanistan when the Soviets were invading in the ´70s. Anyway, that day, I bought myself a travel hat, yes, it is a panama. That day too, we were walking through the main plaza when a wedding was pouring out of one of the churches, very pretty it was.

On Monday, first day of my last week of classes (new teacher, Lucia, big on pronunciation). I went for a walk in the Parque Metropolitiano, which is the huge forested area in the middle of the city, and it´s a block behind my house. It´s beautiful, and surprisingly quiet, and all the trees are eucalyptus, the seeds of which, we´re smuggled in from Australia by one of Ecuador´s early presidents, about 120 years ago. I´d planned to go visit the Guayasamin Museum, a contemporary art musuem that Susan had recommended. I wandered through a field with cows and was chased by 3 large, and very loud, dogs. I found a small decrepit building at the top of a hill, which was love notes scratched onto almost all of the space on it´s walls. Coming down the hill, I came to a beautiful house, in bright yellow, in the middle of the woods, with no steel gates or bars on it´s windows like homes in the rest of the city, with a neat little garden growing down the hill from it. I came out of the Parque, in Bellavista, the city´s high-class neighbourhood. The homes there are expensive, even by Canadian standards. There was a little girl on the sidewalk further down leading a tiny white terrier with a piece of chicken tied to the end of a string. I found the Museum, but found out it closes at 5. It was 5:30.

Yesterday, I took a walk to El Guapulo, Quito´s "bohemian" barrio. I got lost, inevitably, raced a huge rain storm down through the streets, lost the race, and hunkered down, soaked to the bone, on the doorstep of a closed cafe, El Guapulo Arte. The man who ran the cafe, called Amaru, let me in when he found me out there, and gave me this hot fruit cider drink that was mixed with some kind of liqueur. So here I sat on the balcony patio, with a hot drink, watching the storm rage. The thunder was actually so loud my ears were ringing a little. After the storm, and thanking Amaru for allowing me to dry and warm, I got home in time to make dinner for everyone in my apartment.

Still surviving...

Went off to a remote village, had the bus break down, it doesn´t stop raining

2007-10-09T18:12:00.000-04:00

Day 32

It´s been raining for 13 straight hours now, and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Today is the memorial day for the death of Che Guevara, who rivals Jesus here as a respected figure in society, there are celebrations across the country, including one here in Quito, held on the city´s university campus. The big one apparently though is in Guayaquil.

So going back to Tuesday, I felt better after a good sleep, and my sickness cleared up by Wednesday. I´ve graduated now to reading the newspaper, my periodico of choice is El Comercio, the country´s more left-leaning paper. As of Wednesday, the rainy season has officially begun. This constitutes fairly heavy rain every afternoon here, with the exception of these last 2 days. Also on Wednesday, I managed to lock myself out of my room in the apartment (in typical Andrew-esque fashion), and had Leo spend a good half hour trying to break in, however, because the lock on my door is the only one that was properly assembled, he was unable to do so, and I ended up needing to get the master keys from Cesar. Thursday evening, a group of us went up to my apartment for a tiramisu night. The tiramisu itself was actually really good, after it had been in the freezer for long enough, the process of making it was loads of fun and extraordinarily messy. Good fun though.

Friday, I decided I needed a break from Quito, debated whether to get a ticket, but it started to rain, so I abandoned this idea. So, on Saturday, I got up early went down to the bus terminal, went to Latacunga, about 2 hours south of Quito. A few observations: first, it takes a long time to leave the "suburbs" of Quito, and all there are people living all along the Panamericana, the main highway that runs the length of the continent. About Latacunga, it´s a fairly large, farming town, and due to a HUGE food market selling masses of all kinds of plants and dead animals, it´s pretty smelly too. The land around, however, looks like the Okanagan, very dry and dusty, but with more people and higher mountains. I decided this wasn´t really a good escape and got on a bus for Zumbahua, a small town 2 hours west of Latacunga. A little way up the hills out, the bus picked up a flat and rolled to a mechanic and spent about half an hour replacing the tire. The road up out of the valley is lined with aloe vera the size of Volkswagen´s and small collections of crosses on the switchbacks, where drivers failed to navigate the corners. Soon, we rose out onto the ´paramo´, the high altitude plains. The land is stark grey, very dusty, with patchwork farms all over the hills, which were clouded over as we went along. The conditions that people live under here is also very stark, places that I reckon I would die of hypothermia in if I had to live in them. Some still live in mud and straw huts. The inequality of living conditions here in comparison to the cities is almost surreal, it´s almost hard to believe that people live under these conditions. After about an hour, the llamas began to appear, as did more indigenous people. However, even up there, people had spray painted the rocks along the road with campaign slogans of the recently past election.

When I reached Zumbahua, I didn´t know we had arrived until the driver told me to get off, the whole area was clouded over, and the town is downhill from the main road. Almost immediately after getting off the bus, a boy called Jason, came bouncing out one of the roadside stores and asked if I needed a ride to Laguna Quilotoa, the volcanic crater an hour to the north where most of the tourists head
to. After understanding that I was only here for a night, he took meback to the store and gave me food, then drove me down to a hotel on the town square, called the Condor Matzi. After Jason viciously beat the front door, the owner came out, took one look at me, broke into a huge smile and took me up to a room. The room had no exterior windows, but had a nice warm bed. I sat out on the hotel balcony watching the locals play volleyball in the square, and the local dogs beat each other up. The night there was very cold, due to it´s elevation of about 4000m above sea level.

I slept well that night, despite waking up several times. On Sunday morning, I walked out of the hotel to find that a bunch of woman had set up stalls all along the street, selling breakfast. I sat on the sidewalk and ate my eggs and potato chips, watching the dogs slink around the stalls trying to catch the scraps from the stoves. It was evident that foreigners are very much a rarity here, with almost
everyone looking at me as they walked by. After breakfast, the owner of the hotel told me about the "minga" happening here to put in a new water main along the main road. Minga is a Quechua word, and it´s the word to describe when many people in an area, sometimes as far as 3 days travel away, come together to achieve a communal project. I decided to climb the hill above the town, with a white cross on top, so I asked a man about how to get to the top, and he got his little daughter to be my guide. Her name was Marisa, and she took me up what must have been a llama trail, almost straight up the side of the hill, lined with these sharp cactus plants, that I avoid after catching my pants on one. I am really unacclimatized to 4000m and
had to stop often to catch my breath. We got to thetop after about an hour and half, the view from the top was fabulous. We ate apples and went back down (an easier route).

After packing up, and lunch at Jason´s store, got on the bus back to Latacunga, and then to Quito. Halfway back to Quito though, the bus broke down, some problem with the rear axle. After a long drawn-out fiasco regarding the bus, which involved some people getting on and off the bus 3 or 4 times, we rolled to a gas station where most of the passengers got onto another bus. There were a few of us left, so we had to stand out on the road, in the pouring rain, many of them freezing, as a result, until a pair of police trucks picked us up. We rode in the still pouring rain in the back of the pickups until the next bus terminal, and got on a bus home. Got home, albeit very wet, but generally happy. Yesterday, After classes, tried to do this
email, but the electricity went out, which was extraordinarily frustrating, as I was almost finished.

This brings us to today. With lots of rain, the conditional tense in classes, and playing billiards all afternoon.

Sick, finally clicking in to Spanish, getting tired of Quito

2007-10-01T14:36:00.000-04:00

Day 24

I´m sick.

With evident concentration on my stomach, it was almost certainly something I ate, however, I can´t figure out what it would have been. It isn´t antibiotics-kind of bad yet, but it sure doesn´t feel great.

So, as of this past wednesday, I´m back to doing morning Spanish classes, which made everythng considerably easier to understand. That afternoon, on a whim, I went with Hannah and Anna-Maria (one of the teachers), to La Mitad del Mundo, basically the tourist attraction of the Equatorial line. Ít isn´t worth my time to write about it. There is a big monument there, that actually isn´t on the Equator (420 m off), and that´s about it. My Zenit, which for those of you who unfamiliar with it, is my Soviet-built film SLR camera, was not winding properly, so all I have is a few digital pictures. Went up the museum that is actually on the Equator, but it was deemed too expensive, they´ve jacked up the price since our guidebooks were written. Nice bus ride to and from though. That evening, there was a major soccer game at the Estadio Olympico, the city´s football stadium, which basically meant that with everyone rushing there, and parking wherever they damn well please, I beat the bus home. Barcelona (from Guayaquil) vs. The Dept. of Quito. Apparently, despite assumptions, Quito whooped Barcelona, 4-0, despite Barcelona claiming to be the best team in the country.

With the election to the Constitutional Assembly this week, political campaigning was at it´s height, entire tour buses roam the streets, usually with full brass bands and at least 2 dozen flag wavers each, followed by about 8 more cars covered in campaign posters. For those not watching the Ecuadorian news, and really, with no major outlets in North America tracking it, why would you? The President´s political party, La Partido Patria, won with a whopping 65% of the vote, meaning that there will probably be big changes happening soon.

For thursday, with the ban on alcohol for the weekend, there was a big party, and we all (there were 10 of us) went out dancing. There are some really cool clubs here in Quito, with a mixture of Latin and Western music. Friday, after classes, I decided to do a bit of volunteering and worked on correcting the grammar of my school´s website, which is actually really time-consuming, as not only is it grammatically terrible, and frequently redundant, but also idiomatically awful. Saturday, the plan had been for 3 of us, Dan, Will and I, to go to Cotopaxi, but I found out after searching around, that Dan had left for Baños, and the Will had stayed out too late the night before and couldn´t even get out of bed. So, with nothing planned, I went back to the school and went at the website some more, and spent the afternoon wandering around the city market with Lucy, a girl from Essex, who was down here for a week so she has enough Spanish for when she leaves for the Galapagos. Sunday, I lay about and found time to do some writing, which I´ve found difficult since arriving here.

This brings me today, where I am sick.

Runs with shoeshine boys, tried to volunteer and failed, new folks in my apartment

2007-09-25T18:35:00.000-04:00

Day 18

Okay, so to bring you up to speed, since Thursday. Not much actually happened on Thursday, besides 2 new people in my apartment, Susanna and Leo, an older couple from Seattle, they´re cool, and make the apartment seem a little less quiet. Friday, a bunch of us went to see a concert that had come recommended, with directions, from Luis. After walking for about half an hour in the rain, we found it. The concert, as it developed, was VERY Christian, and as interesting as the folk music and colourful costumes were, we left when we all got hungry, and a man that gave the appearance of being a Bible Belt Evangelist started raving on the stage. Gave in and we got pizza, mine had a face, photo on gallery. On Saturday, nothing much, except managing to leave my money at home when I went grocery shopping. Sunday, I went up to the Old Town, and after getting reasonably lost, found my way to the Plaza de la Independencia, where a stand-up comedian was having an impromptu show, and largely making fun of the foreigners in the crowd, not me though. On the way back home, I ran into 4 shoeshine boys, Jesus, Carlos, Juan and Caliche, 13, 13, 11, and 10 respectively, who ultimately wanted me to buy them dinner, and me not planning on much spending, hadn´t brought any kind of money with me. Yesterday, on a hope, I started volunteering at a daycare a little ways from my house, helping a teacher take care of 3 year olds. This, was pretty cool, and went today too, but have had to dump it because I haven´t got the energy to concentrate in my spanish classes, and as most of you know, it takes a lot of energy to take care of little kids. There was one, Emilio, who reminds me of my little brother, anti-authoritarian, and always getting in trouble because he has decided he´s not going to participate in what´s going on. Other than that, I managed to bake bread at my apartment last night, difficult, having no bread board or with one exception, any baking pans at all.

This brings us to today... they are electing representatives to the new National Assembly, whose job it will be to change the Ecuadorian Constitution, parties are very low key this week as a result, with a distinct lack of alcohol.

The View from my Apartment Window

2007-09-20T16:45:00.000-04:00

From the Apartment2 by ~Andres-Paz on deviant ART

Threatened with a knife on a bus, got lost five times now, still don´t speak any German

2007-09-20T15:32:00.000-04:00

Day 13

So let´s back things up a little, Quito is modern enough that it has it´s own chain of supermarkets, where everything is considerably cheaper than buying from street vendors, so, aside from fruit, water and other drinks, I´m buying my food from the supermarket, which is about 6 blocks from my apartment. Another notable feature of Quito is the ubiquitous presence of English/Irish pubs, notably the one I went to, Irish, called Finn McCool´s, where the various english-speaking nationalities congregate every Tuesday night for a pub quiz. This illuminated as well that I am easily one of the youngest travelers here, the average age seem to be about 20-23. I know I´m here to experience Latin America, but it´s easier on the nerves taking a break once a week.

I´ve gotten lost several times now, the first time was day 5, I ended up several blocks southwest of where I wanted to be. Twice I´ve gotten north and south mixed up and ended up going in the exact wrong direction, and twice I´ve gotten on the wrong bus.

There is a fairly wide selection of nationality in the city. There are of course the Ecuadorians, notably Luis, whose sole occupation in life seems to be to find a pretty foreign girl to have a beer with every night Emma and Carly, who I currently wander around with a lot, are both British (Cornwall and Coventry, respectively), there are a DISGUSTING number of German and Austrian travelers here too, Lisa, Andrew, Catherine and Maxi, and conversations at the moment tend to be a hybrid of English, Spanish, and German, or EspanDeutschlish, which is as awkward as it sounds.

On Saturday, Day 8, I went up to Otavalo, a small town a couple hours north of Quito, thats claim to fame is one of the largest markets on the continent. For those that have seen the daily market in Quito, that is tiny, compared to the market in Otavalo on a Saturday, it occupies the equivalant of about 8 city blocks, and is largely made of arts and crafts, with a lot of food vendors mixed in. I bought a few things, which you MUST haggle for, as the opening price is quite a bit higher than the standard of the market in Quito and elsewhere, I figured it to be about 30%.

Monday, I had my first teacher change, the new one´s name is Pablo, and the first homework I got was to create a composition of my understanding of the Latin American economy, which was dope. Tuesday, I tried to go cash some of my traveler´s cheques. As it developed, the national banks in Ecuador don´t change them anymore, and you have to find a currency-exchange bureau, un casa de cambio, which took me an hour and half to find one that would change them. For future reference, travel with debit only, it saves grief. At this point, I tried to take the bus home, but somehow ended up on a bus to one of the working-class neighbourhoods in the northwest of Quito. Right at the end of the road, the people there live in nothing more than 4 concrete walls with some aluminum thrown over top for a roof. Anyway, about halfway back to the Mariscal on this bus, 3 kids, got on the bus, and one of them sat down beside me, another in front, and the 3rd across the aisle of the bus. I later found their names to be David, Javiar, and I didn´t find out the 3rd´s name He flashed, what I later understood was a steak knife, up his sleeve. This actually scared me for about 30 seconds, before a few things came to light. First, we´re on a city bus, second, David was 8 years old. He obviously thought he should be threatening, except that he didn´t understand the harsh reality of mugging and theft, he is still only a kid, and hadn´t really learned to be heartless. They had taken interest in my watch, but instead, I spent half my trip talking to them. Apparently, they are amongst a number of street children, they told me they weren´t the only ones who have their parents ditch them and move to other places, leaving them to take care of themselves. I got off the bus back in the Mariscal, saying goodbye to my amigos, and spent the evening listening a pop band in the main plaza, with a female lead singer, that was evidently trying to sound pop, but here spanish accent made it sound like, a puppy being trodden on. Yesterday, I discovered a fair trade shop, in the Museo Etnographia, which seems to feature expensive art work, but no almost nothing else, and I was looking for FT coffee and bananas. There was a party/cook out at Emma and Carly´s flat, which is in the old town, in one of the more dodgy neighbourhoods, La Marin, and has a fantastic view of the main cathedral, a stark contrast to my rather upscale flat in the Metro area.

This brings us up to today, I have learned the imperfect tense, "I used to not know it," and I´m dog tired, but supposedly, there are supposed to be more people moving into my apartment today, which should liven things up at my otherwise quiet living conditions.

So far, so good...

You know you´re in Quito when...

2007-09-16T15:03:00.000-04:00

1) The guy selling chocolate bars on the bus tells you a long story about how he has 6 kids and his mother is dying, which is why you should give in to your sugar craving

2) Beer is cheaper than water

3) The airplanes, because the airport is in the middle of the city, are always deafening you as they take off and land

To save time, and effort, photos for now can be found at my gallery:

http://andres-paz.deviantart.com/gallery/

So far, mastered the art of sleeping on the floor of the airport, repaired my Spanish grammar, was half a block away a shooting

2007-09-11T17:31:00.000-04:00

So to go over the first four days of my trip,

I got down to Seattle on the bus, and wound up trying to find a comfortable way of lying on my pack so my spine didn´t hurt too much from the tile floor of Seattle Airport. I ended up passing the time with Jerry, this guy from Georgia, who was going to Alaska to get his dog. That time was mostly spent discussing what is fucked up in America. After 8 hours on the floor, got on the plane to Houston, and from there to Quito. What got me was, when I got my pack off the carousel at Quito, the US folks had hand-searched my pack, and all my things were still there, but there was a pair of rubber boots and a bottle full of travel meds that weren´t mine...

YIKES!

So after the security guy checked them and they turned out to be safe, I feel sorry for some poor bloke who´s down here sin boots, bottle and medications. The pickup service found me, and whisked me off to the hostel, where I spent that night having trouble sleeping, mostly because my internal clock is whacked, not helped by the night club across the street blaring Bob Marley, and the some people in the next room making love.

Now about Quito, really, with the exception of the faster traffic, badly maintained infrastructure, and the ecletic architecture, it´s just like any big city, and I´m finding that I blend in a lot more than I thought I would. The doorman took me up to Equinox school, where I´m taking Spanish, and met my teacher, Juan, who spent the morning helpìng me fix my appalling grammar. My lessons end at 4 pm each day, and on the first day, I met Pia, the manager of the school, who is of all things, Danish, and the school´s director, rather aptly named, Cesar, and went to the school´s apartment to see if it would be suitable. The place is fabulous, I´ll post pictures when I figure out this computer business here. The price is a little high, at $250 US per month. I went back to the hostel to get the rest of my things, took a cab back, but the 'taxista' had problems finding it because it´s at the convergence of 3 roads.

Today has also been most interesting. Up this morning to find the woman upstairs, Rosa, who I share a kitchen with, made breakfast for me. I walked to the school this time, less nerve wracking than the bus, but the air is thick with car exhaust. I found the Canadian Embassy on my way there, easy to find, thankfully. Things got rather more interesting at lunchtime, I´d just left the school looking for somewhere to eat, when I heard the blast from the next street over. I came around, and found a guy on the sidewalk clutching a bullet wound in his left leg, it seems he was the victim of a drive-by shooting, but no one seems to have been a witness. Anyway, before I even realized it, the police showed up and quieted things down, there were around 20-30 people there by this time. In all this, I met an Irishman, Lee, who happened to having lunch just down the street from the shooting. I´m supposed to meet him this evening. The afternoon was spent talking with Juan in Spanish about human rights, politics, and war, which was awesome. Which brings us up to now

Not a bad start to a trip...

Testing, testing, is this turned on?

2007-09-01T03:37:00.000-04:00

I leave: Sept. 8th

Countdown: 7 Days

I will be back on Mar. 9th

Any thoughts?