I don't' know many 23 years old that would sign up for a week long road trip with their parents, but I also don't know many parents who consist of a beautiful duo of artistic insanity and overall skepticism with a mustache and a fiery redhead ready to work her always present inner-entrepreneur and show dance floors whose boss.
We set off Friday afternoon, a bit of a slow start after I had to get some work appropriate shoes.(Shoes never being my strongest point). And faja had a donut craving, closer to that of a pregnant woman than anything your average 70 year old man has.
But anyways, the drive was going pretty smooth outside of the bumper to bumper traffic we reached in Chicago in the boomboom of rush hour. This caused mama J to go a lil kray, but I reminded her its all about the journey and focused on extending an aura of tranquility. Before long we were channeling The Partridge Family and singing songs far too embarrassing for me to mention here.
Just as I thought we couldn't get any cornier (but loving it all the same), Faja warned us that he brought along his 38 special in case anyone fucks with us. Thanks for keeping it real real Dad.
We arrived in Memphis at 11:11 (make a wish) and the first person I saw upon entering the south was missing his front tooth. Thank you universe for making the world so perfectly comical.
The next morning we stopped at a Waffle House, none of us ordering waffles, but feeling semi-authentically southern none the less, before heading to Graceland.
I was expecting Graceland to be quite the trip and almost wishing the three of us had some LSD to make it all the more colorful, but it fell somewhat of short of my expectations--at least in the realm of crazy Elvis fanatics.
Growing up, Elvis has always had a decently large presence in the Huebner family. Faja grew up with the King and even received fake sideburns from his sister because he couldn't grow his own. Was he pre-pubescent at the time? Nope, mid-30s.
The love for Elvis was passed through my dad to my brother Adam who has the TCB lightning bolt tattoo ("Taking Care of Business" to any newbs out there)and wore a baby blue tuxedo to his wedding held at a cabin chosen because "Elvis would like it".
If this is my family, there must be some REAL Elvis freaks out there then, I thought. Unfortunately, one woman dressed in a full gold lame' suit was the only fix I got of the crazies, but it was enough to satisfy.
Mr. Presley knew what was up in his decorating abilities. His house was pretty baller, although I think he probably spent more on his two airplanes. It was super 70's- green shag carpeting on the floor AND ceiling kind of 70s. I was in heaven.
Although I might have gotten an over-dose of Elvis in my early youth, there's absolutely something to be said about the level of originality, authenticity and spirit this man who came to be known as The King possessed.
Clearly, an alien-life form brought to us Earthly beings; providing us with new levels of rock n' roll, sassy hips and velvet everythings.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
What happens in Vegas....what happens in vegas??
We drive through the desert highways millions of miles below one of the most beautiful star-filled skies I've ever seen. We stare silently out our windows, our eyes heaven-sent, time and space a far memory of another reality, fingers crossed for an alien hitchhiker on the side of the road.
As we start to see Vegas, I'm surprised to see even more lights on land than up above and can't help but lose a sense of connection to the Earth but focus on embracing the world of slot machines, hookers and degenerate gamblers.
We check into Monte Carlo and make our way along the strip in search of food not outrageously out of our budgets. I buy a $10 grilled cheese and make the economical decision to pass on the $12 whiskey my body craves.
The next morning I decide to wander the strip on my own and jump in and out of art galleries, shops and kiosks, mostly just incredibly over-stimulated. This city is an abyss of distractions for the Attention Deficit Disordered mind, my eyes constantly darting from lights to cleavage to bum to slot machine to lights.
I head back to the hotel after purchasing a sixer of Pacifico, feeling like my soul has been slightly raped by the city of sin, even during the daylight hours. Jack and I head down to the slots that he hit up solo until 7 a.m. the night before.
He teaches me the ways of the slots and I soon find myself loving sticking my dollar bills in the slot, only to watch some numbers move around on the screen, telling me it's slowly taking my money, and repeat the process. Maybe it was the free double Jack & Cokes that make me feel a false sense of accomplishment.
While Jack and I are being trained in the way of the degenerate gambler, Ben and Mark are at the Chicken Ranch to film. A trashier version of the infamous Bunny Ranch, the Chicken Ranch is full of STD-free hookers at your disposal. Because if you're going to lose any sense of pride, at least you know you wont go home with the clap.
That night I met Mama J out for dinner at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for margs and a plate of nachos 3 times bigger than our heads. While she's in town to sell wind chimes at a trade show, she serves also as a beacon of motherly wisdom for me and I leave her refreshed as ever to enter the testosterone posse that is our crew.
Mark's friend Tommy lives in the area and meets up with us at Monte Carlo. I'm grateful for his knowledge of cheap drink dispensaries on the strip and we head out. I get a little too drunk a little too fast and find myself going into my own world on the dance floor, a place I love to visit when it presents itself to me.
Rather than heading to the wedding chapel, we get some Vietnamese food at Pho King Long (ha). While an Asian chick is puking in the bathroom, the boys share more disturbing stories of true and false life events, attempting to make me lose my appetite. Or mind. I eat on regardless.
The next morning my Kung Pao Shrimp is a sassy little bitch and I spend a good part of the morning taking shots of PeptoBismol, hoping I don't poop myself.
We drive for a 19 hour straight journey into Oklahoma; our only stop being in Alberquerque, NM where we encounter a gay bar, multiple bums and crackheads, and one very good looking hooker.
A disheveled older woman wearing a midriff-baring T-shirt and baggy pants wants to ask Ben the meaning of life but we hightail it out of there, still hungry but content to know we are alive and disease-free.
As we start to see Vegas, I'm surprised to see even more lights on land than up above and can't help but lose a sense of connection to the Earth but focus on embracing the world of slot machines, hookers and degenerate gamblers.
We check into Monte Carlo and make our way along the strip in search of food not outrageously out of our budgets. I buy a $10 grilled cheese and make the economical decision to pass on the $12 whiskey my body craves.
The next morning I decide to wander the strip on my own and jump in and out of art galleries, shops and kiosks, mostly just incredibly over-stimulated. This city is an abyss of distractions for the Attention Deficit Disordered mind, my eyes constantly darting from lights to cleavage to bum to slot machine to lights.
I head back to the hotel after purchasing a sixer of Pacifico, feeling like my soul has been slightly raped by the city of sin, even during the daylight hours. Jack and I head down to the slots that he hit up solo until 7 a.m. the night before.
He teaches me the ways of the slots and I soon find myself loving sticking my dollar bills in the slot, only to watch some numbers move around on the screen, telling me it's slowly taking my money, and repeat the process. Maybe it was the free double Jack & Cokes that make me feel a false sense of accomplishment.
While Jack and I are being trained in the way of the degenerate gambler, Ben and Mark are at the Chicken Ranch to film. A trashier version of the infamous Bunny Ranch, the Chicken Ranch is full of STD-free hookers at your disposal. Because if you're going to lose any sense of pride, at least you know you wont go home with the clap.
That night I met Mama J out for dinner at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville for margs and a plate of nachos 3 times bigger than our heads. While she's in town to sell wind chimes at a trade show, she serves also as a beacon of motherly wisdom for me and I leave her refreshed as ever to enter the testosterone posse that is our crew.
Mark's friend Tommy lives in the area and meets up with us at Monte Carlo. I'm grateful for his knowledge of cheap drink dispensaries on the strip and we head out. I get a little too drunk a little too fast and find myself going into my own world on the dance floor, a place I love to visit when it presents itself to me.
Rather than heading to the wedding chapel, we get some Vietnamese food at Pho King Long (ha). While an Asian chick is puking in the bathroom, the boys share more disturbing stories of true and false life events, attempting to make me lose my appetite. Or mind. I eat on regardless.
The next morning my Kung Pao Shrimp is a sassy little bitch and I spend a good part of the morning taking shots of PeptoBismol, hoping I don't poop myself.
We drive for a 19 hour straight journey into Oklahoma; our only stop being in Alberquerque, NM where we encounter a gay bar, multiple bums and crackheads, and one very good looking hooker.
A disheveled older woman wearing a midriff-baring T-shirt and baggy pants wants to ask Ben the meaning of life but we hightail it out of there, still hungry but content to know we are alive and disease-free.
the spirit of the mask comes alive in the form of dance in the Vortex
Arriving in Sedona, one of the vortex's on this planet, the energy of the place is unmistakable as we are surrounded by Mama Nature at her finest amongst giant red-toned rock formations. Due to the immense energy and spirituality of the place, Sedona attracts all types of energy healers, clairvoyants, shamans and universally in-tune people. Here are some good folk, albeit they're mostly all over 50.
We take a drive up to a higher elevation where we rent a helicopter for 20 minutes to shoot some aerial shots.
With only one extra seat Jack selflessly makes the sacrifice to let me go up, knowing how much it means to me. (Love you Jacky)
The helicopter allows us to see what no other land or air vehicle could as we hover among the rock formations and dive between canyons. We circle high above Mark down below losing his mind through dance, wearing the mask and blasting Judas Preist's Leather Rebel from a boombox.
Then we shoot some land footage of Mark half naked in his skivvies with the machete in hand, singing to the spirit of the mask on a rock. We all become one with the cacti as we pick their friendly reminders of their existence in the form of prickers out of our hands and feet, but we leave the scene with a sense of pride and fulfillment at the art that was just created and I'm grateful to be a part of it.
We wanted to get a family photo of our auras for the mantel, but that was a wrap and Vegas was hollering.
We take a drive up to a higher elevation where we rent a helicopter for 20 minutes to shoot some aerial shots.
With only one extra seat Jack selflessly makes the sacrifice to let me go up, knowing how much it means to me. (Love you Jacky)
The helicopter allows us to see what no other land or air vehicle could as we hover among the rock formations and dive between canyons. We circle high above Mark down below losing his mind through dance, wearing the mask and blasting Judas Preist's Leather Rebel from a boombox.
Then we shoot some land footage of Mark half naked in his skivvies with the machete in hand, singing to the spirit of the mask on a rock. We all become one with the cacti as we pick their friendly reminders of their existence in the form of prickers out of our hands and feet, but we leave the scene with a sense of pride and fulfillment at the art that was just created and I'm grateful to be a part of it.
We wanted to get a family photo of our auras for the mantel, but that was a wrap and Vegas was hollering.
the land of love
It's the night before our westward adventure of finding and creating magic when Ben and I are full of a healthy amount of wine and creep our way into my basement in search of Faja's mask collection. Each mask has its own spirit and the chosen ones instantly speak to us. We celebrate with more wine and look forward to the journey ahead.
The next day, the three amigos board a train to Chicago; Jack listening to hip hop in his new fur-lined hoodie, Ben devising a plan to steal the bulletproof vests of the train security and me requesting and receiving a dose of bubbles from Martin the drink cart man.
In Chicago, a white rental Yukon SUV picks us up and I meet Mark, the lyricist and madman behind Everything Under. We put our bags in the trunk along with the top of the line rental camera gear and Mark tells us about a time he was high on ketamine when his mom sent him some boxes with enough packaging puffys to fill the room as he did snow angels amongst them.
Solid first impression of Mark the "wild card" if you ask me. I would soon come to realize most of Mark's stories begin with "This one time when I ate acid.." and so on.
He speaks in pure visuals with a mind flow like I've never quite experienced. Even the music he makes is a visual happening as he will say things like "make this more red" while in the studio. "Make this yellow like the eye of an alligator."
And I dib you permatripping.
With our roadie crew formed, we journey westward, listening to Mark's insanities and attempting to pass out in the back of the Yukon with raging industrial metal playing into the wee hours.
I awake delirious to a gorgeous yellow sky and soon enough we arrive in our first destination, Loveland, CO. The land of love.
We stop by Gramma Becky's for some stuffed peppers and then Boongey and his little bitty pick up Jack and I to take us to his new home up in the mountains.
I am stunned that such beauty even exists, much less that two of my best friends from high school live amongst it.
We sip our beers and sit out back on the porch, reminiscing about the olden golden days and talking about things like the effects of DMT, modern childbirth practices, and suggest the incorporation of yoga in prisons; all while getting burnt by that big, beautiful Colorado Sun and overlooking a lake and only more mountains.
After a quick 'find-my-mind' nap, Boongey and I head to a Walmart parking lot to drink vino and shots of jaeger while waiting for Regs. The long lost Regs.
He pulls up with golden locks in his silver minivan with traveling companion/dog and fedora, full of fantastic energy per usual and we trek it to Denver for the Sound Tribe after show.
The people of Colorado are of a friendly breed like I've never experienced before. On the street there is no vibe of unfamiliarity as everyone openly talks to one another. It's a beautiful thing.
Regs tries to get us in to the show for free by bribing drogas and calling the doormen "Jersey" but this backfires horribly and we almost don't get in at all. We separate and individually persevere.
Big Gigantic plays with Alex B from Pnuma Trio, V joins the party, and I am all smiles in an ocean of ecstasy vibrations and movements, the saxophone leading my way.
We go back to V's apartment in downtown Denver and watch the most beautiful sunrise on her balcony before passing out on the futon.
The next morning, we evacuate Loveland just as the forest fires are spreading and heading towards Benji and Phil's home and make it down the mountain, our hearts heavy for the people who lost their homes and the earth that lost its trees.
On our drive through the majestic mountains, Ben, Jack and I sprawl out in the back seat, feet outstretched and quietly observe our surroundings, smiles spread across our faces in pure bliss. We smoke a spliff and listen to the psychedelic genius of Terrence McKenna as we curve in and out along the mountain side.
We stop in Vail to eat, Jack and I buy a couple jugs of Mississippi Mud black and tans, and Ben and Mark buy a machete for $19.99. Best $20 spent all trip.
It's here that I see the third black person during my 2 days in Colorado and I take a swig from the love jug in accordance to the rules of the drinking game I decided upon at arrival in whitefolkland, CO.
The next day, the three amigos board a train to Chicago; Jack listening to hip hop in his new fur-lined hoodie, Ben devising a plan to steal the bulletproof vests of the train security and me requesting and receiving a dose of bubbles from Martin the drink cart man.
In Chicago, a white rental Yukon SUV picks us up and I meet Mark, the lyricist and madman behind Everything Under. We put our bags in the trunk along with the top of the line rental camera gear and Mark tells us about a time he was high on ketamine when his mom sent him some boxes with enough packaging puffys to fill the room as he did snow angels amongst them.
Solid first impression of Mark the "wild card" if you ask me. I would soon come to realize most of Mark's stories begin with "This one time when I ate acid.." and so on.
He speaks in pure visuals with a mind flow like I've never quite experienced. Even the music he makes is a visual happening as he will say things like "make this more red" while in the studio. "Make this yellow like the eye of an alligator."
And I dib you permatripping.
With our roadie crew formed, we journey westward, listening to Mark's insanities and attempting to pass out in the back of the Yukon with raging industrial metal playing into the wee hours.
I awake delirious to a gorgeous yellow sky and soon enough we arrive in our first destination, Loveland, CO. The land of love.
We stop by Gramma Becky's for some stuffed peppers and then Boongey and his little bitty pick up Jack and I to take us to his new home up in the mountains.
I am stunned that such beauty even exists, much less that two of my best friends from high school live amongst it.
We sip our beers and sit out back on the porch, reminiscing about the olden golden days and talking about things like the effects of DMT, modern childbirth practices, and suggest the incorporation of yoga in prisons; all while getting burnt by that big, beautiful Colorado Sun and overlooking a lake and only more mountains.
After a quick 'find-my-mind' nap, Boongey and I head to a Walmart parking lot to drink vino and shots of jaeger while waiting for Regs. The long lost Regs.
He pulls up with golden locks in his silver minivan with traveling companion/dog and fedora, full of fantastic energy per usual and we trek it to Denver for the Sound Tribe after show.
The people of Colorado are of a friendly breed like I've never experienced before. On the street there is no vibe of unfamiliarity as everyone openly talks to one another. It's a beautiful thing.
Regs tries to get us in to the show for free by bribing drogas and calling the doormen "Jersey" but this backfires horribly and we almost don't get in at all. We separate and individually persevere.
Big Gigantic plays with Alex B from Pnuma Trio, V joins the party, and I am all smiles in an ocean of ecstasy vibrations and movements, the saxophone leading my way.
We go back to V's apartment in downtown Denver and watch the most beautiful sunrise on her balcony before passing out on the futon.
The next morning, we evacuate Loveland just as the forest fires are spreading and heading towards Benji and Phil's home and make it down the mountain, our hearts heavy for the people who lost their homes and the earth that lost its trees.
On our drive through the majestic mountains, Ben, Jack and I sprawl out in the back seat, feet outstretched and quietly observe our surroundings, smiles spread across our faces in pure bliss. We smoke a spliff and listen to the psychedelic genius of Terrence McKenna as we curve in and out along the mountain side.
We stop in Vail to eat, Jack and I buy a couple jugs of Mississippi Mud black and tans, and Ben and Mark buy a machete for $19.99. Best $20 spent all trip.
It's here that I see the third black person during my 2 days in Colorado and I take a swig from the love jug in accordance to the rules of the drinking game I decided upon at arrival in whitefolkland, CO.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
the insanity that is Buenos Aires
For Martins last night in South America, the Boomtang crew headed to Thelanious Bar for some live jazz music. Martin was planning on renting a suit for the occasion, but some things don't always go as planned.
The EcoYoga Park reunion folk were maybe a little too excited for the laid back crowd at the jazz joint and we got very aggressively shhh-ed at one point, but enjoyed ourselves thoroughly none the less.
Later, we headed back to the Baits Hostel where I found myself shaving the chest of some local musician as I figured he had too much hair for his own good.
The next night I wanted to take it easy so Katherine and I went back to Thelonious for "just ONE drink". That one drink turned into dancing on top of the bar until 8 o'clock in the morning.
B.A. was making me lose my mind-so Laura and I decided to head back to EcoYoga Park for another week to find some peace of mind.
We met some more wonderful souls and had some good down time but then headed back to BA for our last 10 days in Argentina.
These last 10 days were a whirlwind of mate sessions in the park, walking around Palermo wanting to buy everything in sight, watching tango in Recoletta, trying to find good vegetarian food in a city that prides itself on meat, and falling in love at least 50 times a day.
We stayed at the Baits hostel in Palermo Viejo, which in my opinion, just may be the greatest hostel in the world. Melvin from California managed it and was the most lovable man-always calling us "sweetie" or "babe", telling me how to get to the ATM and sharing his Sarracha hot sauce. The common area of the hostel had beanbags and a bar. Nuff said.
Laura and I stayed in a dorm room with Aunty Nee Nee and Katherine (both loves of my life from Round 1 EcoYoga Park), a man from Haiti who spoke neither English nor Spanish(no clue how that worked out...)and Julian. Ohhh Julian.
The most adorable little Colombian photographer. He'd wake up with his hair a crazy black tangled mess upon his head, make some fresh squeezed OJ and have a cigarette for breakfast. His street English was better than mine and he always had something sassy to say and shoes you envied.
He's a super talented photographer and is currently working on a new project for a gallery in BA of about 15 different people's facial expressions. Aunty Nee Nee, Katherine and I all did individual photo shoots with him which was really cool. I of course had basically one expression as I couldn't help myself from breaking out in nervous laughter, but the photos turned out pretty nice. All the love and best of luck to you Julian.
I tried to chill out on too much of the late-night night life scene this time around and having such a great group of people from all over the world in the hostel made it nice just to chill there with a couple beers and some good conversation.
We did make it out a couple times though, most memorably probably when we went to Club 69.
The Baits hostel crew headed to the club around 2 AM (the only appropriate time to go to a club in BA) and danced around in waves of house music while colorful transvestites danced on stage next to break dancers. I fell in love with a Brazilian man who asked me to be his wife and we planned our wedding. I think it nearly would have happened if I didn't meet up with the rest of the Baits crew and was released from the mild trance these Brazilian men so infamously can put you in.
With Laura out on the coast with Sarah and Andy for the weekend, I took a day all to myself to walk around this vibrant, pulsing city for hours, popping in and out of stores that caught my eye and making my merrily way to the modern art museum.
On the walk back, I stumbled upon a falafel place (!!!) and officially had one of the best days ever, feeling alive with my new sense of confidence in a city so far away from home and the comfort bubble that comes with that.
The EcoYoga Park reunion folk were maybe a little too excited for the laid back crowd at the jazz joint and we got very aggressively shhh-ed at one point, but enjoyed ourselves thoroughly none the less.
Later, we headed back to the Baits Hostel where I found myself shaving the chest of some local musician as I figured he had too much hair for his own good.
The next night I wanted to take it easy so Katherine and I went back to Thelonious for "just ONE drink". That one drink turned into dancing on top of the bar until 8 o'clock in the morning.
B.A. was making me lose my mind-so Laura and I decided to head back to EcoYoga Park for another week to find some peace of mind.
We met some more wonderful souls and had some good down time but then headed back to BA for our last 10 days in Argentina.
These last 10 days were a whirlwind of mate sessions in the park, walking around Palermo wanting to buy everything in sight, watching tango in Recoletta, trying to find good vegetarian food in a city that prides itself on meat, and falling in love at least 50 times a day.
We stayed at the Baits hostel in Palermo Viejo, which in my opinion, just may be the greatest hostel in the world. Melvin from California managed it and was the most lovable man-always calling us "sweetie" or "babe", telling me how to get to the ATM and sharing his Sarracha hot sauce. The common area of the hostel had beanbags and a bar. Nuff said.
Laura and I stayed in a dorm room with Aunty Nee Nee and Katherine (both loves of my life from Round 1 EcoYoga Park), a man from Haiti who spoke neither English nor Spanish(no clue how that worked out...)and Julian. Ohhh Julian.
The most adorable little Colombian photographer. He'd wake up with his hair a crazy black tangled mess upon his head, make some fresh squeezed OJ and have a cigarette for breakfast. His street English was better than mine and he always had something sassy to say and shoes you envied.
He's a super talented photographer and is currently working on a new project for a gallery in BA of about 15 different people's facial expressions. Aunty Nee Nee, Katherine and I all did individual photo shoots with him which was really cool. I of course had basically one expression as I couldn't help myself from breaking out in nervous laughter, but the photos turned out pretty nice. All the love and best of luck to you Julian.
I tried to chill out on too much of the late-night night life scene this time around and having such a great group of people from all over the world in the hostel made it nice just to chill there with a couple beers and some good conversation.
We did make it out a couple times though, most memorably probably when we went to Club 69.
The Baits hostel crew headed to the club around 2 AM (the only appropriate time to go to a club in BA) and danced around in waves of house music while colorful transvestites danced on stage next to break dancers. I fell in love with a Brazilian man who asked me to be his wife and we planned our wedding. I think it nearly would have happened if I didn't meet up with the rest of the Baits crew and was released from the mild trance these Brazilian men so infamously can put you in.
With Laura out on the coast with Sarah and Andy for the weekend, I took a day all to myself to walk around this vibrant, pulsing city for hours, popping in and out of stores that caught my eye and making my merrily way to the modern art museum.
On the walk back, I stumbled upon a falafel place (!!!) and officially had one of the best days ever, feeling alive with my new sense of confidence in a city so far away from home and the comfort bubble that comes with that.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
waterfalls and rainbows and moonbeams oh my
When Martin told us he was leaving for Iguazu Falls after the Bicential celebrations in Buenos Aires, Laura and I figured why not join? We love us some Martin and that pesky little flesh-eating bacteria in his arm needed some chaperones.
That, and we realized the three of us should never seperate after losing each other for nearly a full day in the madness that was the Centro of Buenos Aires where all of Argentina, if not all of South America, came together in one giant clusterf@ck of humans and torrential downpour. We were so lost Martino forgot his identity at one point.
Yes, we needed to escape the madness and see the epic beauty and natural wonder of Iguazu Falls in Northern Argentina.
The 20 hour bus ride was made bareable with movie and dinner accompanied
with some vino. Not to mention some Cambodian Valium.. Made real bareable.
We checked into the MarcoPolo Suites and decided to have an easy night so we could get to the Falls bright and early, before all the tourists pack in.
Laura followed this plan accordingly. Martin and I, on the other hand, played some pool and kept the beers flowing a bit too much. The morning trek was a little bit of a struggle for us.
However, insane beauty of nature apparently works as a wonderful hangover cure. The day was a bit overcast but the awesomeness of the waterfalls were enough to be stunned. Explaining the obsurdity of the power of the dozens and dozens of waterfalls is quite difficult so I will try and post some pictures. Although those don't really do it justice either.
At the biggest fall appropriately named Devil's Throat, there was an immense amount of water falling into a deep deep abyss and one orb-shaped rainbow resting on the edge of falls. It was absolutely surreal.
That night for dinner we went back to the same restaurant we went the night before where they served us THE best sauce our mouths have ever tasted. After trying and failing to get the house recipe to this elusive sauce none of us could distinguish, Martin used his charm to finally pull it out of the house chef. My God this sauce was crazy good. We almost decided to stop our pursuit of the Boomtang Revolution solely to devote our lives to making The Sauce and spreading its love throughout the land. I'm still considering this.
We started to make our way back to the hostel when we heard Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" blaring live from a nearby bar and knew exactly where the Universe wanted us to be...
The band was great, playing more hits by The Police and others I can't remember right now thanks to the whisky bottle Laura thought would be a good idea to order for the table.
I danced with an old man (shocker), and we made our way to the only place still going after the band stopped. It was your typical night club playing typical inst inst beats, but the three of us were the only ones dancing. We danced on regardless until the whisky caught up to us and we treked it back to the hostel.
The next morning was a lot sunnier and we were excited to get back to the falls and go rainbow hunting. The view this day was absolutley mindblowing. It felt as if we were inside a dream in this canyon of greenery and waterfalls and neon birds and rainbows breaking through the blue, blue sky, and all that was missing were mermaids and a couple unicorns.
We made our way down the rocks to the waters edge, a couple hundred feet from the waterfalls and had some maté and meditated, inspired by the wisdom of the falls. By the time we came back down to earth, the sun had set and the park had completely emptied out. The train was no longer running so we made our way back to the park's front entrace walking along the railroad tracks, lit only by the light of the full moon.
Luck was on our side as we happened to be at the falls during the full moon, the only time they offer night tours. Before the tour, we went to the delicious buffet-style dinner offered at the park. This buffet blew Old Country Buffet out of the water-my goodness. I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life. Martin suggested we go "Roman Style", but I decided just to walk it off instead.
The falls at night were absolutely breathtaking as well. The power and energy of the Devil's Throat fall is unlike anything I've experienced before. WHOLE lotta water right there. I continue to be amazed by mama nature's creations on this trip, this absolutely being one of them.
We then took the bus back to Buenos Aires to meet up with some other EcoYoga Park lovers and celebrate Martin's last night in South America after his 9 month journey...
Lemme go wiiiild
I got the boomtang in my soul
Lemme go wiiiild
That, and we realized the three of us should never seperate after losing each other for nearly a full day in the madness that was the Centro of Buenos Aires where all of Argentina, if not all of South America, came together in one giant clusterf@ck of humans and torrential downpour. We were so lost Martino forgot his identity at one point.
Yes, we needed to escape the madness and see the epic beauty and natural wonder of Iguazu Falls in Northern Argentina.
The 20 hour bus ride was made bareable with movie and dinner accompanied
with some vino. Not to mention some Cambodian Valium.. Made real bareable.
We checked into the MarcoPolo Suites and decided to have an easy night so we could get to the Falls bright and early, before all the tourists pack in.
Laura followed this plan accordingly. Martin and I, on the other hand, played some pool and kept the beers flowing a bit too much. The morning trek was a little bit of a struggle for us.
However, insane beauty of nature apparently works as a wonderful hangover cure. The day was a bit overcast but the awesomeness of the waterfalls were enough to be stunned. Explaining the obsurdity of the power of the dozens and dozens of waterfalls is quite difficult so I will try and post some pictures. Although those don't really do it justice either.
At the biggest fall appropriately named Devil's Throat, there was an immense amount of water falling into a deep deep abyss and one orb-shaped rainbow resting on the edge of falls. It was absolutely surreal.
That night for dinner we went back to the same restaurant we went the night before where they served us THE best sauce our mouths have ever tasted. After trying and failing to get the house recipe to this elusive sauce none of us could distinguish, Martin used his charm to finally pull it out of the house chef. My God this sauce was crazy good. We almost decided to stop our pursuit of the Boomtang Revolution solely to devote our lives to making The Sauce and spreading its love throughout the land. I'm still considering this.
We started to make our way back to the hostel when we heard Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" blaring live from a nearby bar and knew exactly where the Universe wanted us to be...
The band was great, playing more hits by The Police and others I can't remember right now thanks to the whisky bottle Laura thought would be a good idea to order for the table.
I danced with an old man (shocker), and we made our way to the only place still going after the band stopped. It was your typical night club playing typical inst inst beats, but the three of us were the only ones dancing. We danced on regardless until the whisky caught up to us and we treked it back to the hostel.
The next morning was a lot sunnier and we were excited to get back to the falls and go rainbow hunting. The view this day was absolutley mindblowing. It felt as if we were inside a dream in this canyon of greenery and waterfalls and neon birds and rainbows breaking through the blue, blue sky, and all that was missing were mermaids and a couple unicorns.
We made our way down the rocks to the waters edge, a couple hundred feet from the waterfalls and had some maté and meditated, inspired by the wisdom of the falls. By the time we came back down to earth, the sun had set and the park had completely emptied out. The train was no longer running so we made our way back to the park's front entrace walking along the railroad tracks, lit only by the light of the full moon.
Luck was on our side as we happened to be at the falls during the full moon, the only time they offer night tours. Before the tour, we went to the delicious buffet-style dinner offered at the park. This buffet blew Old Country Buffet out of the water-my goodness. I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life. Martin suggested we go "Roman Style", but I decided just to walk it off instead.
The falls at night were absolutely breathtaking as well. The power and energy of the Devil's Throat fall is unlike anything I've experienced before. WHOLE lotta water right there. I continue to be amazed by mama nature's creations on this trip, this absolutely being one of them.
We then took the bus back to Buenos Aires to meet up with some other EcoYoga Park lovers and celebrate Martin's last night in South America after his 9 month journey...
Lemme go wiiiild
I got the boomtang in my soul
Lemme go wiiiild
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
hare krishna is for lovers
When Laura and I decided our next location was going to be the EcoYoga Park, just outside of Buenos Aires, we looked forward to a couple weeks of meditation, yoga and healthy eating. Little did we know that it was run by strict Hare Krishnas. Or that we would meet some of the most wonderful, crazy characters I had yet to know...
We were greeted warmly by the director, Thakur, a skinny, joyful man with high energy and big teeth. He was always a gracious host, serving us second and third helpings of squash every night in the dinningroom drapped in orange cloths and spotted black with flies.
The Park has a garden filled with vegetables and herbs that contributes to about 80% of the park's delicious vegetarian cooking. We do a lot of weeding and harvesting (both for our kitchen and to sell in town), preparing seedbeds and watering plants. Our jefe Maria is a sassy little 5 foot nothin Bolivian who loves the drama. You barely notice the hole in her mouth where teeth used to be with her vibrant smile and hearty laugh, too big to come out of such a little thing.
I also got a chance to work outside the garden on a mosaic border for a beautiful white dome-shaped temple placed in the middle of the park. This trulli looks like something you would need a magic carpet to get to and serves as our yoga and meditation shelter.
My most memorable day of work however, would be working on the sustainable adobe hut. The outside needed its final layer of -nothing other than- cow dung. Yup, whole lotta poop. Splattering feces on walls seemed like something people do only in insane asylyms, but I was eager to lend a hand.
Luciano, one of the newest members to the Hare Krishna community (and the sexiest), used his bare hands to mix the poopers. (I was still attracted)
At only 18 years old and totally untouchable, all the girls couldn't help but want to touch him.
The Hare Krishnas are totally celebate though. Celebatism as well as vegetarianism, mediation, and chanting are the main focuses of their religion. They don't use garlic or onion in the kitcken because it apparently stimulates the pleasure chakras. and when I spilled something in my room and tried to grab the kitchen mop, one of the Madres told me I couldnt bring that mop into the bedrooms because it has 'different energies'. The men have completely shaved heads, except for a little tuft of pony-tail sticking out of the back of their head and wear safron saris and the women, or the 'madres' wear long, beautiful braids and dress in white saris.
At first I didn't understand the religion because it seems to try and avoid earthly pleasures at every expense (the men even sleep on the floor rather than a bed). I couldnt understand because as far as I am concerned, I am trying to seek out as much pleasure in this life as possible.
However, after witnessing a big festival where a guru from Germany and 200 Hare Krishnas came from all over Argentina to celebrate a wedding and a nameing ceremony, I began to see the joy their religion gives them. They receive their pleasures purely from within and the energy of their God, Krishna. It is a lifestyle that is too strict for me, but I have taken a lot away from them.
For instance, I have decided to become vegetarian. And it was hard at first because meat is effing delcious. Are you kidding me? I love my burgers. But I just started to meditate on all the reasons why I'm doing it before deciding what to eat and its only gotten easier. My body feels alive and full of energy and my concious is a little clearer with mama nature. I'll spare ya'll the rant though. Just don't talk about McChickens or I might start to tweak...
With all this spirituality goin on, we were still able to find us some craziness with the wonderful group of volunteers gathered. First of all there was Renee, a fiesty bald black woman who serves as a never ending form of entertainment. She is full of self-declared "crazy", and we all agree. I have literally peed my pants and shed tears listening to her stories and contagious laughter. Aunty Nee Nee, as we call her out of pure love, serves as quite the contradiction as she is a professional psychotherapist and newly atuned Reiki master on a spiritual journey that started in India; yet also shares maybe a little too much about her sexual deviant episodes and general "freaky-deaky-ness". Ying and mothalovin Yang, right there.
Her classic, " I don't trust myself with a gun- I'm too crazy!!" managed to work with just about anything and we continuously entered such things as "I dont trust myself with a horse/towel/ slave- I'm too crazy!!"
Jonathon, an ex-Cali frat boy we called JT Boomtang, served as her partner in crime, always pointing out just how crazy what she just said was. Half Jewish, half Mexican, all beard, he was a wonderful combination of soul and sexual energy, providing us with some hilarious original songs such as "sexual yoga" and an ode to the most beautiful of the madres at the Park, Govinda. He shed his astronomy knowledge on me, teaching me about Stardust Valley and the Solar Plexius. (Damn my gullibility)
An English bloke from England, George, and his girlfriend Suzanne, are also lovely people. George served as head of the sing-a-longs at our late night 'dark house' parties where we snuck in vino a couple times after the Hare Krishnas went to bed. He was probably the most hilarious man I have ever met with a genius wit- turning every situation hilarious with his constant, insane mind flow. Infamous for his drunken night of quoting "You're so fucking beautiful you don't even know it" repeatedly while trying to make out with everyone, I have a special place in my heart for George. Suzanne is his polar opposite, and probalby his sanity, and the sweetest thing you'd ever meet. With giant feet, she is my sole mate.
Then there was Martin. Bless him. Also from England, Martin was the most chilled out person I've ever met. Dude has taken his fair share of drogas and is basically perma-stoned, with a voice just above a whisper in a monotone voice, occassionaly busting out a good-hearted "BOOMTANG!" to express the joy that resides permanantely in his soul. He always wants to "take it to the next level" and "fly high above the mountains".
Poor guy has a flesh-eating bacteria in his right arm that he refers to lovingly as 'the Beast' and views it as the closest he will get to experiencing a child growing in his womb. He is the gentlest soul I have ever met and I would love to be able to transport myself to a couch with him and his two cats, jermimah and tiddlewinks, whenever I feel a moment of distress.
Then there was Katherine, my soul sister, from England. At only 20 years old, girlfriend is such a wise soul and source of inspiration, helping me to cleanse the body of impurities through fasting, resparking my desire to learn the guitar, how to crochet and to embrace the individualism of my off-tune singing voice.
I am so thankful for each and everyone of these people and the forming of this strange family. They have forever left a mark on my life and I can only hope that our paths will cross again one day.
During the Boomtang Revolution of course.
We were greeted warmly by the director, Thakur, a skinny, joyful man with high energy and big teeth. He was always a gracious host, serving us second and third helpings of squash every night in the dinningroom drapped in orange cloths and spotted black with flies.
The Park has a garden filled with vegetables and herbs that contributes to about 80% of the park's delicious vegetarian cooking. We do a lot of weeding and harvesting (both for our kitchen and to sell in town), preparing seedbeds and watering plants. Our jefe Maria is a sassy little 5 foot nothin Bolivian who loves the drama. You barely notice the hole in her mouth where teeth used to be with her vibrant smile and hearty laugh, too big to come out of such a little thing.
I also got a chance to work outside the garden on a mosaic border for a beautiful white dome-shaped temple placed in the middle of the park. This trulli looks like something you would need a magic carpet to get to and serves as our yoga and meditation shelter.
My most memorable day of work however, would be working on the sustainable adobe hut. The outside needed its final layer of -nothing other than- cow dung. Yup, whole lotta poop. Splattering feces on walls seemed like something people do only in insane asylyms, but I was eager to lend a hand.
Luciano, one of the newest members to the Hare Krishna community (and the sexiest), used his bare hands to mix the poopers. (I was still attracted)
At only 18 years old and totally untouchable, all the girls couldn't help but want to touch him.
The Hare Krishnas are totally celebate though. Celebatism as well as vegetarianism, mediation, and chanting are the main focuses of their religion. They don't use garlic or onion in the kitcken because it apparently stimulates the pleasure chakras. and when I spilled something in my room and tried to grab the kitchen mop, one of the Madres told me I couldnt bring that mop into the bedrooms because it has 'different energies'. The men have completely shaved heads, except for a little tuft of pony-tail sticking out of the back of their head and wear safron saris and the women, or the 'madres' wear long, beautiful braids and dress in white saris.
At first I didn't understand the religion because it seems to try and avoid earthly pleasures at every expense (the men even sleep on the floor rather than a bed). I couldnt understand because as far as I am concerned, I am trying to seek out as much pleasure in this life as possible.
However, after witnessing a big festival where a guru from Germany and 200 Hare Krishnas came from all over Argentina to celebrate a wedding and a nameing ceremony, I began to see the joy their religion gives them. They receive their pleasures purely from within and the energy of their God, Krishna. It is a lifestyle that is too strict for me, but I have taken a lot away from them.
For instance, I have decided to become vegetarian. And it was hard at first because meat is effing delcious. Are you kidding me? I love my burgers. But I just started to meditate on all the reasons why I'm doing it before deciding what to eat and its only gotten easier. My body feels alive and full of energy and my concious is a little clearer with mama nature. I'll spare ya'll the rant though. Just don't talk about McChickens or I might start to tweak...
With all this spirituality goin on, we were still able to find us some craziness with the wonderful group of volunteers gathered. First of all there was Renee, a fiesty bald black woman who serves as a never ending form of entertainment. She is full of self-declared "crazy", and we all agree. I have literally peed my pants and shed tears listening to her stories and contagious laughter. Aunty Nee Nee, as we call her out of pure love, serves as quite the contradiction as she is a professional psychotherapist and newly atuned Reiki master on a spiritual journey that started in India; yet also shares maybe a little too much about her sexual deviant episodes and general "freaky-deaky-ness". Ying and mothalovin Yang, right there.
Her classic, " I don't trust myself with a gun- I'm too crazy!!" managed to work with just about anything and we continuously entered such things as "I dont trust myself with a horse/towel/ slave- I'm too crazy!!"
Jonathon, an ex-Cali frat boy we called JT Boomtang, served as her partner in crime, always pointing out just how crazy what she just said was. Half Jewish, half Mexican, all beard, he was a wonderful combination of soul and sexual energy, providing us with some hilarious original songs such as "sexual yoga" and an ode to the most beautiful of the madres at the Park, Govinda. He shed his astronomy knowledge on me, teaching me about Stardust Valley and the Solar Plexius. (Damn my gullibility)
An English bloke from England, George, and his girlfriend Suzanne, are also lovely people. George served as head of the sing-a-longs at our late night 'dark house' parties where we snuck in vino a couple times after the Hare Krishnas went to bed. He was probably the most hilarious man I have ever met with a genius wit- turning every situation hilarious with his constant, insane mind flow. Infamous for his drunken night of quoting "You're so fucking beautiful you don't even know it" repeatedly while trying to make out with everyone, I have a special place in my heart for George. Suzanne is his polar opposite, and probalby his sanity, and the sweetest thing you'd ever meet. With giant feet, she is my sole mate.
Then there was Martin. Bless him. Also from England, Martin was the most chilled out person I've ever met. Dude has taken his fair share of drogas and is basically perma-stoned, with a voice just above a whisper in a monotone voice, occassionaly busting out a good-hearted "BOOMTANG!" to express the joy that resides permanantely in his soul. He always wants to "take it to the next level" and "fly high above the mountains".
Poor guy has a flesh-eating bacteria in his right arm that he refers to lovingly as 'the Beast' and views it as the closest he will get to experiencing a child growing in his womb. He is the gentlest soul I have ever met and I would love to be able to transport myself to a couch with him and his two cats, jermimah and tiddlewinks, whenever I feel a moment of distress.
Then there was Katherine, my soul sister, from England. At only 20 years old, girlfriend is such a wise soul and source of inspiration, helping me to cleanse the body of impurities through fasting, resparking my desire to learn the guitar, how to crochet and to embrace the individualism of my off-tune singing voice.
I am so thankful for each and everyone of these people and the forming of this strange family. They have forever left a mark on my life and I can only hope that our paths will cross again one day.
During the Boomtang Revolution of course.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Living as a retired Argentine
Laura and I arrived in Mendoza, Argetina last Thursday, excited to have our first WWOOF(World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms)experience.
Our bus dropped us off on the side of the highway and we asked around until we found the home of Harmando y Teresea, the world's cutest 70 year-olds.
A german shepherd and boxer greeted us warmly at the front gate, along with a couple emus. Good vibes already.
Teresea is about 5'2", decked out in a cardigan and glasses, and speaks in the softest, sweetest little voice you've ever heard as she shuffels around the kitchen making lunch.
Then there is Harmando who is loud and boisterous, reminding me of an Italian with his "buon giorno!" greetings in the morning and a kiss on our cheeks. His face is full of deep creviced wrinkles from years of expression. Mostly laughter I imagine.
Where much of the conversation is focused on politics and social issues, these two still know how to have a good laugh, often tearing up at the table.
Harmando is an incredibly intelligent man who still finds poop funny- a very respected quality in my book.
They have a nice-sized farm where they grow raspberries, tomatoes, oregano, figs, walnuts, pomegranates, garlic, olives and lots and lots of grapes for making Malbec vino, famous in this region.
One of the first questions Harmando asked me, after finding out my name and what I studied, was when I drink wine.
"Whenever you drink wine", I replied.
Little did I know that meant with every meal except breakfast.
Another WWOOFer from Austria, Maria, was with us for our first week here. With short bright red hair she constantly wears a smile and a rasta-colored sweater given to her by her Argentine boyfriend Coco. At the age of 26, she has been WWOOFing for 10 years, hitch-hiking around Europe every summer.
This girl is badass in her braided pigtails.
At first arrival, the constant spanish was pretty frustrating for me as Maria and Harmando would talk for hours on the latest politics and I had no idea what was going on. It was hard not being able to contribute like I wanted to. I found myself washing a lot of dishes to try and compensate.
However, it has gotten a lot easier with time and Laura (god bless Laura) has been a wonderful translator and I've come to really enjoy our time here. These people are so eager to share knowledge. Harmando will put on his glasses and pull out a letter written to Obama or an article in National Geographic or even the encyclopedia to further explain the deaths of thousands of workers planning an uprising.
"If we knew all the crises of the world, the problems occuring everywhere, then we'd be so much more likey to fight for social justice," says Laura.
It's true. This knowledge is empowering.
I sit journaling, looking past rows and rows of grape vines to white-capped jagged mountains and feel at peace. I am lost in time here and can't help but feel inspired. Inspired to learn and grow and touch and see and feel all that I can, forever.
Entering the homes and lives of these people is unlike anything I've experienced before. Sure, we help them with some tasks around the house- gather some firewood, help make wine and cure olives, preserve vegetables, or make humitas and empanadas- but the real reason we are here is for the exchange of cultures. Of stories and of lives.
"El mejor vino es vino compartido," says Harmando. The best wine is wine shared with others, and we all toast to the food and the company.
We havent't seen much of Mendoza except for a few excursions into the city. We tried to take a bus last Saturday but after it flew past us on the highway, we decided to hitchhike, inspired by Maria (if she can live to tell about it...)
A trucker named Juan Carlo picked us up after only a minute of sticking my thumb out. He was on his way to San Juan with a truckfull of soybeans.
Shortly after boarding his semi, he showed us his hand-carved knife for carne asada.
"...or how he kills helpless hitchhikers" I whispered under my breath to Laura.
Juan Carlo turned out to be a wonderful man and dropped us off a couple blocks from the bus stop in Mendoza.
We spent the rest of the day walking across the city to its biggest park, stopping along the way for a delicious 3 course meal, some ice cream and coffee, and to be sexually harrassed by a creeper on his bicycle. No joke. Now maybe the jeggings play a part, but this nasty man on his bike slowed down just long enough to grab the booty and whisper something in my ear.
I began instantly shouting obscenities at him as he pedaled down the sidewalk. People from across the street began gawking at this crazy gringa shouting, but I only wished I was able to scream them in Spanish.
It helped having Laura with me as she found it utterly hiarlious and made me realize this creep was just creepin, nothin more. We strolled the rest of the way to the park, hands covering my behind and eyeing men suspiciously.
Our bus dropped us off on the side of the highway and we asked around until we found the home of Harmando y Teresea, the world's cutest 70 year-olds.
A german shepherd and boxer greeted us warmly at the front gate, along with a couple emus. Good vibes already.
Teresea is about 5'2", decked out in a cardigan and glasses, and speaks in the softest, sweetest little voice you've ever heard as she shuffels around the kitchen making lunch.
Then there is Harmando who is loud and boisterous, reminding me of an Italian with his "buon giorno!" greetings in the morning and a kiss on our cheeks. His face is full of deep creviced wrinkles from years of expression. Mostly laughter I imagine.
Where much of the conversation is focused on politics and social issues, these two still know how to have a good laugh, often tearing up at the table.
Harmando is an incredibly intelligent man who still finds poop funny- a very respected quality in my book.
They have a nice-sized farm where they grow raspberries, tomatoes, oregano, figs, walnuts, pomegranates, garlic, olives and lots and lots of grapes for making Malbec vino, famous in this region.
One of the first questions Harmando asked me, after finding out my name and what I studied, was when I drink wine.
"Whenever you drink wine", I replied.
Little did I know that meant with every meal except breakfast.
Another WWOOFer from Austria, Maria, was with us for our first week here. With short bright red hair she constantly wears a smile and a rasta-colored sweater given to her by her Argentine boyfriend Coco. At the age of 26, she has been WWOOFing for 10 years, hitch-hiking around Europe every summer.
This girl is badass in her braided pigtails.
At first arrival, the constant spanish was pretty frustrating for me as Maria and Harmando would talk for hours on the latest politics and I had no idea what was going on. It was hard not being able to contribute like I wanted to. I found myself washing a lot of dishes to try and compensate.
However, it has gotten a lot easier with time and Laura (god bless Laura) has been a wonderful translator and I've come to really enjoy our time here. These people are so eager to share knowledge. Harmando will put on his glasses and pull out a letter written to Obama or an article in National Geographic or even the encyclopedia to further explain the deaths of thousands of workers planning an uprising.
"If we knew all the crises of the world, the problems occuring everywhere, then we'd be so much more likey to fight for social justice," says Laura.
It's true. This knowledge is empowering.
I sit journaling, looking past rows and rows of grape vines to white-capped jagged mountains and feel at peace. I am lost in time here and can't help but feel inspired. Inspired to learn and grow and touch and see and feel all that I can, forever.
Entering the homes and lives of these people is unlike anything I've experienced before. Sure, we help them with some tasks around the house- gather some firewood, help make wine and cure olives, preserve vegetables, or make humitas and empanadas- but the real reason we are here is for the exchange of cultures. Of stories and of lives.
"El mejor vino es vino compartido," says Harmando. The best wine is wine shared with others, and we all toast to the food and the company.
We havent't seen much of Mendoza except for a few excursions into the city. We tried to take a bus last Saturday but after it flew past us on the highway, we decided to hitchhike, inspired by Maria (if she can live to tell about it...)
A trucker named Juan Carlo picked us up after only a minute of sticking my thumb out. He was on his way to San Juan with a truckfull of soybeans.
Shortly after boarding his semi, he showed us his hand-carved knife for carne asada.
"...or how he kills helpless hitchhikers" I whispered under my breath to Laura.
Juan Carlo turned out to be a wonderful man and dropped us off a couple blocks from the bus stop in Mendoza.
We spent the rest of the day walking across the city to its biggest park, stopping along the way for a delicious 3 course meal, some ice cream and coffee, and to be sexually harrassed by a creeper on his bicycle. No joke. Now maybe the jeggings play a part, but this nasty man on his bike slowed down just long enough to grab the booty and whisper something in my ear.
I began instantly shouting obscenities at him as he pedaled down the sidewalk. People from across the street began gawking at this crazy gringa shouting, but I only wished I was able to scream them in Spanish.
It helped having Laura with me as she found it utterly hiarlious and made me realize this creep was just creepin, nothin more. We strolled the rest of the way to the park, hands covering my behind and eyeing men suspiciously.
No mas choncho
Saturday evening I walked into a hospital room to see Laura passed out covered in blankets on a janky bed with an IV stuck in her arm. Tears began instantly running down my cheeks and only stopped after she assured me she was feeling much better.
Remember those pig insides we ate? Or the half-raw burger later that afternoon that maybe I forgot to mention? Both likey suspects for the cause of Laura's case of salmonella.
Sarah and I sat in the hospital with her chatting and doing cross-word puzzles until the last drops of the IV entered her now hydrated body.
Without a down girl, the next couple days weren't very exciting. Sarah, Andy and I (three's company too...) went to Cajas, the National Park near Cuenca which was like taking a trip through some bizarre fairytale.
"I could just live here and be a forest nymph forever", Sarah said. I agreed.
I continue to be amazed by the variety of topography Ecuador offers...from lush greenery to volcanoes to mountains to beautiful beaches to the rainforest, and now these strangely beautiful trees with orange and gray bark bending every which way and the countless other types of 'Brother's Grimm-type' plants surrounding a crystal-clear lake.
That night, we just watched a movie and hoped Laura would be better for our flight to Argentina...
Remember those pig insides we ate? Or the half-raw burger later that afternoon that maybe I forgot to mention? Both likey suspects for the cause of Laura's case of salmonella.
Sarah and I sat in the hospital with her chatting and doing cross-word puzzles until the last drops of the IV entered her now hydrated body.
Without a down girl, the next couple days weren't very exciting. Sarah, Andy and I (three's company too...) went to Cajas, the National Park near Cuenca which was like taking a trip through some bizarre fairytale.
"I could just live here and be a forest nymph forever", Sarah said. I agreed.
I continue to be amazed by the variety of topography Ecuador offers...from lush greenery to volcanoes to mountains to beautiful beaches to the rainforest, and now these strangely beautiful trees with orange and gray bark bending every which way and the countless other types of 'Brother's Grimm-type' plants surrounding a crystal-clear lake.
That night, we just watched a movie and hoped Laura would be better for our flight to Argentina...
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
salsa di gringa
The pain of missing Bahia madly was lessened when arriving in the artsy town of Cuenca. This town pulses with live energy and creativity up and down its cobble-stoned streets. With galleries and artsy types and dirty hippies and live music and markets full of hand-made goods and textiles and sweaters and on and on and on, I'm in love at first sight. I want only more time in this beautiful city with rivers running through it and mountains surrounding it.
Wednesday Laura and I headed to Cafe Ecualypto, where ladies drink free all night according to Lonely Planet. We sat down and ordered some hummus, seeing the sign proclaiming, "3 FREE DRINKS!....for $4" I think that's "3 drinks...for not much money". but welcome to Ecuador. Whatever, we enjoyed our discounted-because-of-our-gender drinks and headed over to Cuenca's Wednesday night salsa hotspot, La Mesa.
An eclectic crowd of both locals and gringos were packed into this sweaty hole-in-the-wall salsa club. long hair and piercings and odors and plaid and beanies, oh my.
Laura and I grabbed a tiny corner table and sipped our beers, waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, Rafael, a local artist, sat down to join us and wanted to dance.
He embraced my salsa di gringa on the dance floor and I've never been twirled and spun so much.
Laura and I walked back afterward with some guys from our hostel. Kicking it on the hostel's rooftop, he German hopped the tin roof over to the next hostel, the Argentinian smoked his foot-long pipe and passed around Frosted Flakes, and the American talked about his shwarma cravings. sounds about right.
Friday morning Rafael picked us up at our hostel to go check out some local galleries and museums- or so we thought. He told us his architect buddy was waiting in his car to take us to a nearby pueblo where he had built a house. Ok, por que no?
We drove about 45 minutes away in the back of a tiny egg of a car to see the most beautiful house I've seen in Ecuador. Complete with every flower and plant imaginable and a backyard pool and hot tub. Apparently the owner's father works in the States. Go figure.
We then headed into town looking for some cuy ( better known to us as guinea pig, and one of Ecuadorian's specialties).
They must have been fresh out of the furry-faced rodent but we passed by a row of 5 full-size pigs just sprawled out and baked to a crisp.
A woman broke off a piece of its crispy skin and handed us some. Mmm.
Actually, I nearly gagged but Laura loved it and we ordered three plates. Freshy fresh, right out the gut.
Safely back in Cuenca, trying not to think about what we just did to our insides, Laura and I bummed around, popping in and out of shops that caught our eyes until sunset where we got a $2.50 box of wine and sat by the river.
Bad location choice. First Laura sat on what we are pretty sure was human urine, then a crack-head approached us, and when we were trying to leave this hell-hole we saw 4 or 5 giant river rats.
Now, my fear of mice has improved a bit- it used to be something fierce. Fierce like the crazy phobic people on Jerry Springer who go into full blown seizures over buttons and shit. But seeing these giant rats, capable of eating stray dogs-I'm sure- just scurrying along the river's path, plotting my death, I went into full panic-mode. I lost all ability to speak and just ran ran ran up far away to safety.
"That's where people go to die," Laura said out of breath running behind me.
Once I regained my cool we met up with Rafael and he took us to an art exhibit in town. It was like entering another world as everyone was dressed sleekly in black with their 'I'm so fricken artsy' glasses and shoes that go tap tap.
Laura, Andy and I were pretty out of place as Andy wore an inside out Hollister T, I was in jeggings and a multi-colored scarf and Laura had a half-full box of vino tucked away in her giant bag.
Laura's near blindness worked in her favor, ,however, as she sported some pretty trendy glasses- offsetting her $2 rainbow flip-flops.
The artist, Tomas Ochoa, was voted one of Europe's top 100 artists and displayed work on Ecuadorian gold miners exploited by Americans. Little awkward for us.
At one point in the film the interviewer asked the 100 year-old retired miner if he was ever interested in any of the American women.
"Absolutely not" he responded as Laura and I shared uncomfortable giggles and corrected our postures in a room full of Latinos.
No more jeggings for me.
Wednesday Laura and I headed to Cafe Ecualypto, where ladies drink free all night according to Lonely Planet. We sat down and ordered some hummus, seeing the sign proclaiming, "3 FREE DRINKS!....for $4" I think that's "3 drinks...for not much money". but welcome to Ecuador. Whatever, we enjoyed our discounted-because-of-our-gender drinks and headed over to Cuenca's Wednesday night salsa hotspot, La Mesa.
An eclectic crowd of both locals and gringos were packed into this sweaty hole-in-the-wall salsa club. long hair and piercings and odors and plaid and beanies, oh my.
Laura and I grabbed a tiny corner table and sipped our beers, waiting for the inevitable. Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, Rafael, a local artist, sat down to join us and wanted to dance.
He embraced my salsa di gringa on the dance floor and I've never been twirled and spun so much.
Laura and I walked back afterward with some guys from our hostel. Kicking it on the hostel's rooftop, he German hopped the tin roof over to the next hostel, the Argentinian smoked his foot-long pipe and passed around Frosted Flakes, and the American talked about his shwarma cravings. sounds about right.
Friday morning Rafael picked us up at our hostel to go check out some local galleries and museums- or so we thought. He told us his architect buddy was waiting in his car to take us to a nearby pueblo where he had built a house. Ok, por que no?
We drove about 45 minutes away in the back of a tiny egg of a car to see the most beautiful house I've seen in Ecuador. Complete with every flower and plant imaginable and a backyard pool and hot tub. Apparently the owner's father works in the States. Go figure.
We then headed into town looking for some cuy ( better known to us as guinea pig, and one of Ecuadorian's specialties).
They must have been fresh out of the furry-faced rodent but we passed by a row of 5 full-size pigs just sprawled out and baked to a crisp.
A woman broke off a piece of its crispy skin and handed us some. Mmm.
Actually, I nearly gagged but Laura loved it and we ordered three plates. Freshy fresh, right out the gut.
Safely back in Cuenca, trying not to think about what we just did to our insides, Laura and I bummed around, popping in and out of shops that caught our eyes until sunset where we got a $2.50 box of wine and sat by the river.
Bad location choice. First Laura sat on what we are pretty sure was human urine, then a crack-head approached us, and when we were trying to leave this hell-hole we saw 4 or 5 giant river rats.
Now, my fear of mice has improved a bit- it used to be something fierce. Fierce like the crazy phobic people on Jerry Springer who go into full blown seizures over buttons and shit. But seeing these giant rats, capable of eating stray dogs-I'm sure- just scurrying along the river's path, plotting my death, I went into full panic-mode. I lost all ability to speak and just ran ran ran up far away to safety.
"That's where people go to die," Laura said out of breath running behind me.
Once I regained my cool we met up with Rafael and he took us to an art exhibit in town. It was like entering another world as everyone was dressed sleekly in black with their 'I'm so fricken artsy' glasses and shoes that go tap tap.
Laura, Andy and I were pretty out of place as Andy wore an inside out Hollister T, I was in jeggings and a multi-colored scarf and Laura had a half-full box of vino tucked away in her giant bag.
Laura's near blindness worked in her favor, ,however, as she sported some pretty trendy glasses- offsetting her $2 rainbow flip-flops.
The artist, Tomas Ochoa, was voted one of Europe's top 100 artists and displayed work on Ecuadorian gold miners exploited by Americans. Little awkward for us.
At one point in the film the interviewer asked the 100 year-old retired miner if he was ever interested in any of the American women.
"Absolutely not" he responded as Laura and I shared uncomfortable giggles and corrected our postures in a room full of Latinos.
No more jeggings for me.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
hasta la bye bye Bahia
My last week in Bahia I made every attempt to soak up every drop of sunshine, eat pork sandwiches sometimes twice in one day, order a daily banana, coco or raspberry batido, smile at every surfer on the beach, share a Pilsener or two with Peter Mero, the world's greatest bartender, and follow that bliss.
The work this week was a bit more lax than usual. maybe even more sing-a-longs than the average workday- and definitely more hammock breaks. Laura and I cooked our last communal dinner of encocado camarones, trying to replicate our meal from Puerto Lopez. We had no idea the amount of work that went into that dish. First of all, who knew how hard it was to open a dried coconut? It took Clay with his giant machete and then Laura with a huge hammer to break it into pieces, followed by shaving the second outside layer and passing it to me to grade it down into shavings. This process alone took two hours and involved blood, sweat, and nearly tears. Months of reforestation and work with a machete- all in preperation for our last meal.
Then the rest of the Planet Drummers came back from their nightly sunset spotting and were recruited to help us de-poop our shrimps. All in all we didnt end up eating until about 10 p.m., but man, it was worth it. I wouldn't even call it a meal so much as a life experience.
Laura and I also made sure we tried some surfing in this last week. Surfing is always something I've wanted to do, and now that I've tried it (and failed pretty miserably) I am kind of tempted to make it a lifelong hoby aka always live near an ocean. Though the times I got up only lasted a few fleeting moments, that brief feeling of riding- literally balancing on the tremendous energy of a wave- was unreal. That, and every dude that surfs is pretty sexy in my book.
We spent our last weekend in this town we've grown to love so much. Saturday was a joint celebration for Laura's 24th birthday and our farewell. We rented out a restaurant of one of Orlando's friends and had some kabobs, bruschetta, sangria and tres leche bday cake. It was pretty intimate with just the Planet Drummers, about 12 of us in all. Toasts were said, games were played (a spongebob piñata made an apperance), and sangria was drank.
After, we headed to a Pink Panther Pool Party that our friend Jose was bartending at. Laura and I even went out and bought horribly tacky bright shiny pink skirts for 3 bucks which we turned into some fabulous pink dresses. We looked like two shiny bubblegum cupcakes from the 80s ready to boogie.
We got to the party around 1 a.m. and were for sure the rowdiest bunch there- jumping into the pool and ordering drinks like it was going out of style.
Just as I was dripping wet ordering my second cocktail, this big-boobed blond Canadian cougar karate chopped my arm and yelled "NO MAS!" Aparently this headcase was the hostess and no likey the other gringos crashing her party.
She stopped the music and insisted only the Planet Drummers leave.
I've been to my share of parties but never has this happened to me before.
(Unless you count in 4th grade when Nell Curtis sent me and Jenny Zarilla home because she wasn't getting enough attention.)
Anyways, about half the party ended up joining us and we all made our way to Peter Mero's Bar (" where everybody knows your name...") and partied on the beach until 7 a.m.
Our last day Monday I spent the majority of the day fighting back tears. Bahia is a beautiful city with beautiful people. I don't think I've ever felt so embraced in my life. Our hosts Clay and Margarita were wonderful. Clay with his laid-back surfer attitude who would respond to Sol's crying with "What's up, man?". Margarita who was your classic curvy Latina but a total goof-troop. Clay tols us if you don't know what she's saying, its probably sexual. And Sol, that nakey lil chonchito-found playing with needles or wrenches and peeing on the floor- I hope our paths cross in 20 years and I can buy him a beer.
It felt good to live substainably and communally with such wonderful souls while making the world a better place one tree at a time.
Amore y paz Bahia, amore y paz.
"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede into the plain until you see their specs dispersing? It's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
-Jack Kerouac
The work this week was a bit more lax than usual. maybe even more sing-a-longs than the average workday- and definitely more hammock breaks. Laura and I cooked our last communal dinner of encocado camarones, trying to replicate our meal from Puerto Lopez. We had no idea the amount of work that went into that dish. First of all, who knew how hard it was to open a dried coconut? It took Clay with his giant machete and then Laura with a huge hammer to break it into pieces, followed by shaving the second outside layer and passing it to me to grade it down into shavings. This process alone took two hours and involved blood, sweat, and nearly tears. Months of reforestation and work with a machete- all in preperation for our last meal.
Then the rest of the Planet Drummers came back from their nightly sunset spotting and were recruited to help us de-poop our shrimps. All in all we didnt end up eating until about 10 p.m., but man, it was worth it. I wouldn't even call it a meal so much as a life experience.
Laura and I also made sure we tried some surfing in this last week. Surfing is always something I've wanted to do, and now that I've tried it (and failed pretty miserably) I am kind of tempted to make it a lifelong hoby aka always live near an ocean. Though the times I got up only lasted a few fleeting moments, that brief feeling of riding- literally balancing on the tremendous energy of a wave- was unreal. That, and every dude that surfs is pretty sexy in my book.
We spent our last weekend in this town we've grown to love so much. Saturday was a joint celebration for Laura's 24th birthday and our farewell. We rented out a restaurant of one of Orlando's friends and had some kabobs, bruschetta, sangria and tres leche bday cake. It was pretty intimate with just the Planet Drummers, about 12 of us in all. Toasts were said, games were played (a spongebob piñata made an apperance), and sangria was drank.
After, we headed to a Pink Panther Pool Party that our friend Jose was bartending at. Laura and I even went out and bought horribly tacky bright shiny pink skirts for 3 bucks which we turned into some fabulous pink dresses. We looked like two shiny bubblegum cupcakes from the 80s ready to boogie.
We got to the party around 1 a.m. and were for sure the rowdiest bunch there- jumping into the pool and ordering drinks like it was going out of style.
Just as I was dripping wet ordering my second cocktail, this big-boobed blond Canadian cougar karate chopped my arm and yelled "NO MAS!" Aparently this headcase was the hostess and no likey the other gringos crashing her party.
She stopped the music and insisted only the Planet Drummers leave.
I've been to my share of parties but never has this happened to me before.
(Unless you count in 4th grade when Nell Curtis sent me and Jenny Zarilla home because she wasn't getting enough attention.)
Anyways, about half the party ended up joining us and we all made our way to Peter Mero's Bar (" where everybody knows your name...") and partied on the beach until 7 a.m.
Our last day Monday I spent the majority of the day fighting back tears. Bahia is a beautiful city with beautiful people. I don't think I've ever felt so embraced in my life. Our hosts Clay and Margarita were wonderful. Clay with his laid-back surfer attitude who would respond to Sol's crying with "What's up, man?". Margarita who was your classic curvy Latina but a total goof-troop. Clay tols us if you don't know what she's saying, its probably sexual. And Sol, that nakey lil chonchito-found playing with needles or wrenches and peeing on the floor- I hope our paths cross in 20 years and I can buy him a beer.
It felt good to live substainably and communally with such wonderful souls while making the world a better place one tree at a time.
Amore y paz Bahia, amore y paz.
"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede into the plain until you see their specs dispersing? It's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's goodbye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."
-Jack Kerouac
Friday, April 23, 2010
Poor Man's Galapagos>swamp creatures
Obviously a big attraction here in Ecuador is the Galapogos Islands, but when you're fresh out of college and managed to save some money for this trip only after working a month or two at a rowdy South Milwaukee sports bar, you take the Poor Man's Galapogos route.
We headed to Puerto Lopez for this reason. The morning before our tour started we made our way bright and early to the shore to see the fishermen bring in their morning catch. Dozens of fragate birds circled the sky and swooped just above our heads- the ballsiest ones diving right down into the buckets. It was a scene right out of "birds" and it was terrifyingly fantastic.
The trip to Isla de Plata was about an hour boat ride with our capitan and about 10 other travelers. The hike around the island took about 4 hours and was beauitful. We saw 4 different types of bird species, including the fragates (my favorite) and the blue footed boobies. haha, boobies. We also got insanely close to the nesting grounds of the Nasca bird whom apparently only chooses one baby bird to feed and keep alive, letting the others die. Sad. Reeeally glad this wasn't the case with Kali and I...
After the hike we got back on the boat and did some near-by snorkeling. Although there weren't many fish, the experience was totally surreal. All other noises from the above sea world were lost and I felt part of this underwater world as I swam along side schools of fish.
After the tour we enjoyed some Pilseners in the beach hammocks and watched the sunset behind the fishing boats. Our friends Ramon y Alfraño from Bahia surprised us by showing up in their Canadian friend´s pick-up truck. This meant we had a posse of 35-55 year-old men to party with for the evening. Love me some old men.
Alfraño is such a character and probably one of the coolest people I've ever met. He's probably like 55 years old, totally bald, drives this classically cool old red car all around town and smokes about 18 joints a day. No joke. He tip-toes the lines of sanity at times, but I feel if he was only about 30 years younger, he'd be my soul mate.
We went to this cool outdoor beach-side restaurant for dinner where Laura and I split a delicious dish of enscado camarones (coconut shrimp) and Alfraño kept the vino flowing.
We joined some kiddos's soccer game quickly on the street before heading to the beach for the night. There, we finished off the box of wine as we realized Ecuadorian, Canadian or American, we were all thankful for the same things in our lives- namely, the people we love.
Sunday morning we headed early to Aqua Blacas. Here, we took a brief tour of their small museum where the guide told us about the concha shells that were once used for currency before gold was introduced; and the potent hallucinogenic drug ayahuaska from the San Pedro cactus. (another one of Alfraño's interests)
Then we made our way to the sulfer pool where we proceeded to cover every inch of our body in a thick mud before jumping into the smelliest pool of pure sulfer water.
"Why are we in this stupid rotten-egg smelly pool?", Laura asked immediately after entering.
Apparently it has healing properties and makes the skin silky smooth. I don't think the normally chatty Sarah spoke a word while bathing in it as she was dangerously close to vomiting.
The smell was repulsive, but turning into strange tribal/amphibian lochness creatures was pretty great.
On the way back to Bahia we made a quick stop at Playa de Frailes which honeslty looked like a bubble out of somebody's dream. This beach was breath-takingly beautiful. Our modern day technology of photography fails miserably in its efforts to capture it. The 7 of us stared silently in amazement. The waves were like nothing I've ever seen as the steepness of the beach caused a rip-tide clapping affect on the waves, making them double or triple in size.
The rest of our 3 hour ride back to Bahia, Andy, Sam and I were the lucky ones to ride in the back of the truck. I've gotten quite used to riding in the backs of trucks actually. I don't hate it.
We headed to Puerto Lopez for this reason. The morning before our tour started we made our way bright and early to the shore to see the fishermen bring in their morning catch. Dozens of fragate birds circled the sky and swooped just above our heads- the ballsiest ones diving right down into the buckets. It was a scene right out of "birds" and it was terrifyingly fantastic.
The trip to Isla de Plata was about an hour boat ride with our capitan and about 10 other travelers. The hike around the island took about 4 hours and was beauitful. We saw 4 different types of bird species, including the fragates (my favorite) and the blue footed boobies. haha, boobies. We also got insanely close to the nesting grounds of the Nasca bird whom apparently only chooses one baby bird to feed and keep alive, letting the others die. Sad. Reeeally glad this wasn't the case with Kali and I...
After the hike we got back on the boat and did some near-by snorkeling. Although there weren't many fish, the experience was totally surreal. All other noises from the above sea world were lost and I felt part of this underwater world as I swam along side schools of fish.
After the tour we enjoyed some Pilseners in the beach hammocks and watched the sunset behind the fishing boats. Our friends Ramon y Alfraño from Bahia surprised us by showing up in their Canadian friend´s pick-up truck. This meant we had a posse of 35-55 year-old men to party with for the evening. Love me some old men.
Alfraño is such a character and probably one of the coolest people I've ever met. He's probably like 55 years old, totally bald, drives this classically cool old red car all around town and smokes about 18 joints a day. No joke. He tip-toes the lines of sanity at times, but I feel if he was only about 30 years younger, he'd be my soul mate.
We went to this cool outdoor beach-side restaurant for dinner where Laura and I split a delicious dish of enscado camarones (coconut shrimp) and Alfraño kept the vino flowing.
We joined some kiddos's soccer game quickly on the street before heading to the beach for the night. There, we finished off the box of wine as we realized Ecuadorian, Canadian or American, we were all thankful for the same things in our lives- namely, the people we love.
Sunday morning we headed early to Aqua Blacas. Here, we took a brief tour of their small museum where the guide told us about the concha shells that were once used for currency before gold was introduced; and the potent hallucinogenic drug ayahuaska from the San Pedro cactus. (another one of Alfraño's interests)
Then we made our way to the sulfer pool where we proceeded to cover every inch of our body in a thick mud before jumping into the smelliest pool of pure sulfer water.
"Why are we in this stupid rotten-egg smelly pool?", Laura asked immediately after entering.
Apparently it has healing properties and makes the skin silky smooth. I don't think the normally chatty Sarah spoke a word while bathing in it as she was dangerously close to vomiting.
The smell was repulsive, but turning into strange tribal/amphibian lochness creatures was pretty great.
On the way back to Bahia we made a quick stop at Playa de Frailes which honeslty looked like a bubble out of somebody's dream. This beach was breath-takingly beautiful. Our modern day technology of photography fails miserably in its efforts to capture it. The 7 of us stared silently in amazement. The waves were like nothing I've ever seen as the steepness of the beach caused a rip-tide clapping affect on the waves, making them double or triple in size.
The rest of our 3 hour ride back to Bahia, Andy, Sam and I were the lucky ones to ride in the back of the truck. I've gotten quite used to riding in the backs of trucks actually. I don't hate it.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
COCO LOCO
I thought this dude who worked at the internet place hated me but my constant need to get my facebook fix just landed me a lil cherry-flavored candy. i will use this moment to confess my sins and never talk foul about his oddly shaped Ecua-fro ever again.
anywayysss...a couple weeks ago leading up to Easter was "semana santa"- the Roman Catholic holy week. To me, this seemed to mean the people from the mountains headed to the coast to get drunk and ride around on a giant light-up caterpillar for 8 bucks a person.
We escaped the madness Friday night to Punta Gorda where Ramon (one of the branches of the Planet Drum family) has a little house high up on a hill above a secluded beach. The house is just a one-roomed log cabin on stilts with a couple bunkbeds and a basin for recycled rain water that he built himself. Crafty guy. The house served as a great point for Sarah's new hobby as bird watcher, I'm sure. (Sidenote: She continues in her previous passion of hand-dancing)
Ramon's friend Jose was in town from Prauge and joined the other Planet Drummers for the weekend. He reminded Andy of Benicio del Toro's character in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", aka the crazed Latino always hopped up on something and as I observed Jose in his boxer briefs refilling a coconut with caña, screaming "COCO LOCO!" and demanding more rolling papers, I saw Andy's point.
During the day we hunted for oysters, prying them off rocks and busting them open with hammers and big iron sticks. At one point I grabbed a shoe and dove face-first into the sand to trap an unlucky panicked crab. I watched Jose jam a stick into the lil crabby's belly and the yellowish-brown goo run out. I decided he couldn't go to waste and ate him raw after squeezing some lime on him.
It was not the most delicious thing I've eaten in Ecuador.
Night fell and out popped billions of stars I didn't even know existed. We built ourselves a bonfire on the beach and had some wonderful sing-a-longs. The older English couple, Jane and Simon, brought some gems to the table, but I prefer Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee" not sung like it was a classic English proverb sung in a choir. Glory Glory Hallejuela on the other hand has never sounded better.
These new volunteers are hilariously English. There we were in the middle of no where and they are looking for brush to build a fire so they can have their tea at tea time. No bloody crumpets though. Bollocks.
Back in Bahia Saturday night there was a concert near the beach where the Planet Drummers served as some type of bizarre gringo freak show as we all got down real hard with our lanky white folk dances amongst the suave salsa and meregue. We busted out some classics like the soul train and some limbo though. Not the biggest hits however. All in all, it was a good six hours of dancing...capped off with hands down the best hamburger I've had in my life. Yea yea I've had Kopps & Solly's in Milwaukee and Matt's in Minne.
The hamberguesa man's name is Guaña and he pulls up next to a playground in his burger-bicylce cart to serve the intoxicated citizens of Bahia the greatest drunchie of their lives. There is a legit facebook fan club for him and his delcious late-night treats.
I would like nothing more than to make this man my husband.
anywayysss...a couple weeks ago leading up to Easter was "semana santa"- the Roman Catholic holy week. To me, this seemed to mean the people from the mountains headed to the coast to get drunk and ride around on a giant light-up caterpillar for 8 bucks a person.
We escaped the madness Friday night to Punta Gorda where Ramon (one of the branches of the Planet Drum family) has a little house high up on a hill above a secluded beach. The house is just a one-roomed log cabin on stilts with a couple bunkbeds and a basin for recycled rain water that he built himself. Crafty guy. The house served as a great point for Sarah's new hobby as bird watcher, I'm sure. (Sidenote: She continues in her previous passion of hand-dancing)
Ramon's friend Jose was in town from Prauge and joined the other Planet Drummers for the weekend. He reminded Andy of Benicio del Toro's character in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas", aka the crazed Latino always hopped up on something and as I observed Jose in his boxer briefs refilling a coconut with caña, screaming "COCO LOCO!" and demanding more rolling papers, I saw Andy's point.
During the day we hunted for oysters, prying them off rocks and busting them open with hammers and big iron sticks. At one point I grabbed a shoe and dove face-first into the sand to trap an unlucky panicked crab. I watched Jose jam a stick into the lil crabby's belly and the yellowish-brown goo run out. I decided he couldn't go to waste and ate him raw after squeezing some lime on him.
It was not the most delicious thing I've eaten in Ecuador.
Night fell and out popped billions of stars I didn't even know existed. We built ourselves a bonfire on the beach and had some wonderful sing-a-longs. The older English couple, Jane and Simon, brought some gems to the table, but I prefer Janis Joplin's "Me and Bobby McGee" not sung like it was a classic English proverb sung in a choir. Glory Glory Hallejuela on the other hand has never sounded better.
These new volunteers are hilariously English. There we were in the middle of no where and they are looking for brush to build a fire so they can have their tea at tea time. No bloody crumpets though. Bollocks.
Back in Bahia Saturday night there was a concert near the beach where the Planet Drummers served as some type of bizarre gringo freak show as we all got down real hard with our lanky white folk dances amongst the suave salsa and meregue. We busted out some classics like the soul train and some limbo though. Not the biggest hits however. All in all, it was a good six hours of dancing...capped off with hands down the best hamburger I've had in my life. Yea yea I've had Kopps & Solly's in Milwaukee and Matt's in Minne.
The hamberguesa man's name is Guaña and he pulls up next to a playground in his burger-bicylce cart to serve the intoxicated citizens of Bahia the greatest drunchie of their lives. There is a legit facebook fan club for him and his delcious late-night treats.
I would like nothing more than to make this man my husband.
Monday, March 29, 2010
got scabies?
The term "dirty hippie" gained new meaning for me this weekend when our dreadlocked, festy-junky, raver of a roommate Jen found out a couple of her million bug bites were in fact scabies.
Suz served as translator at the doctor's office and promptly came to tell Laura and I as we were sharing a beer wtih some locals.
"You should live your life alone and sad," said the most insane of the 4 older men before Suz delivered us the news.
Maybe he has a point. Alone and sad, but scabie-free.
Since then we've boiled and washed or bagged and quarentined all of our belongings, covered our beds with a thick plastic and duct tape and fumigated the room.
I lathered, soaked and scrubbed myself only before covering my entire body with a potent cream meant to kill the little buggers (if they were there at all).
So here's to a new sense of appreciation for hygiene. Thank you scabies.
Suz served as translator at the doctor's office and promptly came to tell Laura and I as we were sharing a beer wtih some locals.
"You should live your life alone and sad," said the most insane of the 4 older men before Suz delivered us the news.
Maybe he has a point. Alone and sad, but scabie-free.
Since then we've boiled and washed or bagged and quarentined all of our belongings, covered our beds with a thick plastic and duct tape and fumigated the room.
I lathered, soaked and scrubbed myself only before covering my entire body with a potent cream meant to kill the little buggers (if they were there at all).
So here's to a new sense of appreciation for hygiene. Thank you scabies.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
wookie spotting
We knew just how touristy Canoa was when our menu had ranch dressing listed. Regardless of the fact it tasted like hot-dog water (accodring to ranch expert Sarah Horner), the rest of our Friday night meal was delicious.
Afterwards, however, I have mixed feelings about.
Though the beaches, the hotels, the home-made jewlry, and the people were beautiful- the night life was a little sketchy. As street bars close relatively early, little tiki huts lined up along the beach are open late and blare tencho music as kajillions of latino men watch for the fresh gringa bait. (they say the sharks on land are more dangerous than the sharks in the water..)
While downing beers and pretending not to hate the techno beats, little did we know we had a contender for Mr. Ecuador sitting next to us. We found this out only after Laura smooched this AC Slater/Prince look-alike. Never to be forgotten though. thats for sure.
Sunday came a little too fast and we hopped aboard the roof of a bus overloaded with people, bags, and live chickens. My fear of tumbling overboard to my death was eased by a drunk Ecuadorian man singing and passing around shots of caña. Good man.
Now back in Bahia, its really starting to feel like a home away from home.
On the way to the bus station I'll run into the woman who sells me my morning bananas, or on my way to the beach I'll run into the infamous Peter Mero at Bar Hermanos Mero.
This week I spent a good amount of time hanging out with some kids I met the first week here and realized a friendship was pretty inevitable as they make their living performing fire shows.
My palm reading by Victor told him a horrible accident would happen in my life but I would live through it. Really? A crease in my palm told you that? I could tell you that based on my track record. But I'm also destined to have 2 children.
I'm pretty sure time hasn't even existed this week as the only time I'm concious of it is at 7 a.m. when Manu Chao or The Band wakes us up; or when the sun sets, telling us its time to head back for our communal dinner.
Baby Sol is naked and throwing food everywhere as the rest of us go back for second and third helpings. Mmmm's all around.
"There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other's cooking and say it was good."
Afterwards, however, I have mixed feelings about.
Though the beaches, the hotels, the home-made jewlry, and the people were beautiful- the night life was a little sketchy. As street bars close relatively early, little tiki huts lined up along the beach are open late and blare tencho music as kajillions of latino men watch for the fresh gringa bait. (they say the sharks on land are more dangerous than the sharks in the water..)
While downing beers and pretending not to hate the techno beats, little did we know we had a contender for Mr. Ecuador sitting next to us. We found this out only after Laura smooched this AC Slater/Prince look-alike. Never to be forgotten though. thats for sure.
Sunday came a little too fast and we hopped aboard the roof of a bus overloaded with people, bags, and live chickens. My fear of tumbling overboard to my death was eased by a drunk Ecuadorian man singing and passing around shots of caña. Good man.
Now back in Bahia, its really starting to feel like a home away from home.
On the way to the bus station I'll run into the woman who sells me my morning bananas, or on my way to the beach I'll run into the infamous Peter Mero at Bar Hermanos Mero.
This week I spent a good amount of time hanging out with some kids I met the first week here and realized a friendship was pretty inevitable as they make their living performing fire shows.
My palm reading by Victor told him a horrible accident would happen in my life but I would live through it. Really? A crease in my palm told you that? I could tell you that based on my track record. But I'm also destined to have 2 children.
I'm pretty sure time hasn't even existed this week as the only time I'm concious of it is at 7 a.m. when Manu Chao or The Band wakes us up; or when the sun sets, telling us its time to head back for our communal dinner.
Baby Sol is naked and throwing food everywhere as the rest of us go back for second and third helpings. Mmmm's all around.
"There are things you do because they feel right and they may make no sense and they may make no money and it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other and to eat each other's cooking and say it was good."
Thursday, March 18, 2010
home sweaty home
When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, whisper words of wisdom, let it be, let it be....
I wake up to the sound of music our first morning in Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador and our new home for the next 5 weeks. The Beatles have never sounded so good.
Our host Clay is total surfer dude, complete with a stoner voice and laid back attitude. His wife Margarita and him have the cutest lil babe anyones ever seen named Sol, who is buck naked 80% of the time.
The Planet Drum house holds about 7 volunteers at a time, only 4 of which are filled including us in our first week. The other volunteer, Rebecka is from Sweden and may be the chillest person I have ever met. Based on her, I now know that along with great meatballs and massages, Sweden also has great people. Sadly, Rebecka has moved on in her journey around South America and has left the Planet Drum house, but not before teaching us some tricks of the trade, and having a great farewell send off party that may or may not have involved some wonderful brownies.
Now in my second week in Bahia, I can say I am falling only more in love with this city. It's a pretty small costal town and seems like everyone knows eachother as friends yell across the street to familiar faces.
I have to start reminding myself that just because the best pork sandwhich I've ever eaten only costs 50 cents, or the gooeist of burgers is only a dollar, doesnn't mean I have to buy and eat everything the nearest bike cart is offering.
I've never eaten so good as I've eaten here- both health-wise and taste-wise. I start every morning with a bowl of strawberry yogurt with granola and a freshly picked banana bought that morning from the market around the corner. The market is always bustling with locals and there's an array of every vegetable, fruit, and fish an Ecuadorian could imagine.
After our nutritious breakfast (and a big ole cup of much needed coffee), Orlando, the Planet Drum land manager, picks us up at 8:00 and we bus it out to the location of the day.
We sharpen our machetes (what? never thought i'd say that in a sentence detailing my day..) and start clearing the brush. A lot of trees were planted months ago and are grossly overgrown since the rainy season started.
One day last week I was lucky enough to find Ecuador's most poisonous snake (El "X") at my feet, and Suz has dug up two tarantualas in one afternoon.
The days we actually plant the trees (and not just prepare for them or protect them) are my favorites. Like last week when we went to the small community within Bahia where Orlando lives, Bella Vista. About a dozen children immediately crowded our truck, eager to help. They spent the rest of the day helping us put in the trees and pat down the dirt.
The sun is intense here, especially in the past few days as the rainy season comes to an end. I've never sweated so much in my life. But the workday ends around noon and we drag our tired, sweaty asses back to the Planet Drum house where we load up on veggies and rice and beans and anything else that is so readily available and so ridiculously cheap.
Anyone who knows me, knows I usually have minimal physical activity in my days, so I find myself absolutely ravenous. hah.
My goal each day is to try and find the PorkSandwhich Man. MY GOD. Uw and mangos, so many mangos. And avocados, oh my goodness...
Anyways, after a big lunch, I start to feel more like a human being again and make my way down about 5 blocks or so to the beach.
There lies the Pacific Ocean at a perfect cooling-down temperature for my overheated body to play with.
The waves are big and salty and force laughter from me. Then its time for me to attempt and shed my 'gringo-ness'. This is two-part in that I try and get my bronze on under that sunshine, while also browsing through my Spanish phrase book.
I usually become frustrated at the phrases it offers, such as "Is there a plumber in the area?" (Really?) -and instead try deciefering the Spanish of various under-aged boys licking their lips at us. Ew.
A local archeologist/surf instructor/ beach bum has possibly befriended me- all while trying to sell me surf lessons and his home-made necklaces of course. But he's friendly and full of energy and accepts my Tarzan Spanish, so he's cool by me.
What I fill my afternoons with, what I actually "do" each day , would be hard to say. It mostly just consists of trying to live as a Bahian, and not get too fried by the sun.
One thing I know is when that sun starts to set, we get a front-row seat for the Caida del Sol (fall of the sun)and drink our well-deserved Pilseners.
I wake up to the sound of music our first morning in Bahia de Caraquez, Ecuador and our new home for the next 5 weeks. The Beatles have never sounded so good.
Our host Clay is total surfer dude, complete with a stoner voice and laid back attitude. His wife Margarita and him have the cutest lil babe anyones ever seen named Sol, who is buck naked 80% of the time.
The Planet Drum house holds about 7 volunteers at a time, only 4 of which are filled including us in our first week. The other volunteer, Rebecka is from Sweden and may be the chillest person I have ever met. Based on her, I now know that along with great meatballs and massages, Sweden also has great people. Sadly, Rebecka has moved on in her journey around South America and has left the Planet Drum house, but not before teaching us some tricks of the trade, and having a great farewell send off party that may or may not have involved some wonderful brownies.
Now in my second week in Bahia, I can say I am falling only more in love with this city. It's a pretty small costal town and seems like everyone knows eachother as friends yell across the street to familiar faces.
I have to start reminding myself that just because the best pork sandwhich I've ever eaten only costs 50 cents, or the gooeist of burgers is only a dollar, doesnn't mean I have to buy and eat everything the nearest bike cart is offering.
I've never eaten so good as I've eaten here- both health-wise and taste-wise. I start every morning with a bowl of strawberry yogurt with granola and a freshly picked banana bought that morning from the market around the corner. The market is always bustling with locals and there's an array of every vegetable, fruit, and fish an Ecuadorian could imagine.
After our nutritious breakfast (and a big ole cup of much needed coffee), Orlando, the Planet Drum land manager, picks us up at 8:00 and we bus it out to the location of the day.
We sharpen our machetes (what? never thought i'd say that in a sentence detailing my day..) and start clearing the brush. A lot of trees were planted months ago and are grossly overgrown since the rainy season started.
One day last week I was lucky enough to find Ecuador's most poisonous snake (El "X") at my feet, and Suz has dug up two tarantualas in one afternoon.
The days we actually plant the trees (and not just prepare for them or protect them) are my favorites. Like last week when we went to the small community within Bahia where Orlando lives, Bella Vista. About a dozen children immediately crowded our truck, eager to help. They spent the rest of the day helping us put in the trees and pat down the dirt.
The sun is intense here, especially in the past few days as the rainy season comes to an end. I've never sweated so much in my life. But the workday ends around noon and we drag our tired, sweaty asses back to the Planet Drum house where we load up on veggies and rice and beans and anything else that is so readily available and so ridiculously cheap.
Anyone who knows me, knows I usually have minimal physical activity in my days, so I find myself absolutely ravenous. hah.
My goal each day is to try and find the PorkSandwhich Man. MY GOD. Uw and mangos, so many mangos. And avocados, oh my goodness...
Anyways, after a big lunch, I start to feel more like a human being again and make my way down about 5 blocks or so to the beach.
There lies the Pacific Ocean at a perfect cooling-down temperature for my overheated body to play with.
The waves are big and salty and force laughter from me. Then its time for me to attempt and shed my 'gringo-ness'. This is two-part in that I try and get my bronze on under that sunshine, while also browsing through my Spanish phrase book.
I usually become frustrated at the phrases it offers, such as "Is there a plumber in the area?" (Really?) -and instead try deciefering the Spanish of various under-aged boys licking their lips at us. Ew.
A local archeologist/surf instructor/ beach bum has possibly befriended me- all while trying to sell me surf lessons and his home-made necklaces of course. But he's friendly and full of energy and accepts my Tarzan Spanish, so he's cool by me.
What I fill my afternoons with, what I actually "do" each day , would be hard to say. It mostly just consists of trying to live as a Bahian, and not get too fried by the sun.
One thing I know is when that sun starts to set, we get a front-row seat for the Caida del Sol (fall of the sun)and drink our well-deserved Pilseners.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
mama nature never looked so good
on Thursday we took a bus to Baños, about 3 hours from Quito, but a world of difference as far as sights and folk were concerned. The city is the spanish word for baths, named so because of its natural hot springs and waterfalls.
We arrived early, around 11:30 a.m. but evenso I found myself insanely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activities to do in this crazy beautiful city. Where there wasn´t adorable cafes, restaurants, or stores, there were places with information on canyoning, bungee jumping, zip-linging, horseback riding, bike riding, etc. etc.
We grabbed some lunch on the second level balcony Magic 8 cafe and I tried to calm myself as we prioritized which super fun things needed to be done first. We ended up renting some bikes and started biking around the mountains. We came to a waterfall and a giant canyon where a local asked us if we wanted to take a cable car across. Cassie and Suz were pretty much game right away, but it took me a few minutes to get up the nerve to give Laura my fannypack and tell mama and faja I love them. I figured if we died at least we were all in this together and I didn´t want to be in Laura´s position of having to deal with my three friends´s bodies at the bottom of an Ecuadorian canyon.
We biked a bit further until we came to a bridge where some crazy dudes were trying to get us to bungee jump off of it. I´m not trying to die today, but thanks, was all I thought. However, after watching one of them do it, I decided I needed to or I´d regret it. Never have I ever experienced such an insane high. You know when you ride rollercoasters and your stomach drops? Well this was like that but then after your stomach drops, it just completely diasppears and its like you become pure inertia. Once I walked back up to the bridge and stopped shaking, I immediately wanted to go again but refrained in fear of becoming a adrenaline junkie. Best ten bucks I ever spent.
Next was Suz´s turn and as her body flung back towards the bridge where we watched, a simple "This rules" came out of her mouth. classic.
The last stop of our bike trip brought us to El Diablo, or the devil, and the most insanely beautiful waterfall I have ever seen. We were able to climb through some caves inorder to stand behind the rushing water and all screamed at the top of our lungs. Who needs therapy with days like this was all I could think. I don't think I've never felt so present and alive in my life.
For dinner we prepared a meal of beans, rice, stirfry peppers and a whole lotta guacamole on our hostel(Plantas y Blancas)´s rooftop kitchen and seating area. After cashing a couple bottles of wine we made our way to the Leprechaun Bar where there was a giant fire outside and a dancefloor inside. Here we met locals, as well as a good amount of gringos including kiddos from Canada, Australia, Germany, and other parts of Sud America. I experienced my first taste of "machissimo" on the dance floor as Tomas repeatedly told me to "look into his eyes" but I continued mostly with my lanky white girl dancing.
When the bar finally kicked us all out around 4 a.m. we stumbled through the rain to a playground with toys and rides too fun to have in the U.S. with American parents rate of suing. But we weren't in America, and there weren't any parents. so play on.
We arrived early, around 11:30 a.m. but evenso I found myself insanely overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activities to do in this crazy beautiful city. Where there wasn´t adorable cafes, restaurants, or stores, there were places with information on canyoning, bungee jumping, zip-linging, horseback riding, bike riding, etc. etc.
We grabbed some lunch on the second level balcony Magic 8 cafe and I tried to calm myself as we prioritized which super fun things needed to be done first. We ended up renting some bikes and started biking around the mountains. We came to a waterfall and a giant canyon where a local asked us if we wanted to take a cable car across. Cassie and Suz were pretty much game right away, but it took me a few minutes to get up the nerve to give Laura my fannypack and tell mama and faja I love them. I figured if we died at least we were all in this together and I didn´t want to be in Laura´s position of having to deal with my three friends´s bodies at the bottom of an Ecuadorian canyon.
We biked a bit further until we came to a bridge where some crazy dudes were trying to get us to bungee jump off of it. I´m not trying to die today, but thanks, was all I thought. However, after watching one of them do it, I decided I needed to or I´d regret it. Never have I ever experienced such an insane high. You know when you ride rollercoasters and your stomach drops? Well this was like that but then after your stomach drops, it just completely diasppears and its like you become pure inertia. Once I walked back up to the bridge and stopped shaking, I immediately wanted to go again but refrained in fear of becoming a adrenaline junkie. Best ten bucks I ever spent.
Next was Suz´s turn and as her body flung back towards the bridge where we watched, a simple "This rules" came out of her mouth. classic.
The last stop of our bike trip brought us to El Diablo, or the devil, and the most insanely beautiful waterfall I have ever seen. We were able to climb through some caves inorder to stand behind the rushing water and all screamed at the top of our lungs. Who needs therapy with days like this was all I could think. I don't think I've never felt so present and alive in my life.
For dinner we prepared a meal of beans, rice, stirfry peppers and a whole lotta guacamole on our hostel(Plantas y Blancas)´s rooftop kitchen and seating area. After cashing a couple bottles of wine we made our way to the Leprechaun Bar where there was a giant fire outside and a dancefloor inside. Here we met locals, as well as a good amount of gringos including kiddos from Canada, Australia, Germany, and other parts of Sud America. I experienced my first taste of "machissimo" on the dance floor as Tomas repeatedly told me to "look into his eyes" but I continued mostly with my lanky white girl dancing.
When the bar finally kicked us all out around 4 a.m. we stumbled through the rain to a playground with toys and rides too fun to have in the U.S. with American parents rate of suing. But we weren't in America, and there weren't any parents. so play on.
Monday, March 8, 2010
It's all happening...
Aiy yai yaii! Ok so I didn't start the blog as soon as I was hoping for, but we also didn't arrive to our first farm as soon as we had planned on. Laura, Suz and I arrived safely into Quito, Ecuador, cowboy hats in hand, late Monday, March 1st. We made our way to Casa Colonial hostel and first started to feel the elevation differences after huffing and puffing up three flights of stairs.
The next morning I woke up with the biggest grin on my face. I can't believe we've actually made it here.
It's all happening.
We met Cass at Centro de Los Muchachos Trabajadores(CMT) in downtown where she volunteers. Niños were hoola-hoopin and happy. We grabbed lunch at Cafeto and had some delicious sandwiches before making quite the trek up the beautiful basillica. We went to the tiptity top, clibming up on thin little ladders with our sandals and nearly peeing ourselves. The view was beautiful though and well worth the possible year it took of my life in fear-related stress.
Duty called for Cass so she hoped on the metro and the tres amigas headed back to the hostel enjoying our afternoon with some guitar playing (complements of suzie) and some reading. For dinner, Cassie hooked it up with free food at her working boys center and we met the other gringo volunteers.
The next morning we woke up early to go meet Laura's sister Sarah and her boyfriend Andy at Plaza Grande. The tres amigas were having coffee at a cafe when some boys with juggling pins and bicycles called us over from a courtyard across the way. Total crusty punks. Suz was in love. They did some juggling for us and I smiled and laughed but remained mute, except for "lo siento, no hablo espanolo." Sad.
We then hiked up a hill probably, but I'd really like to call it a mountain for effect. This thing was huge! By the time we reached the top, nearly dead, the Basillica we had climbed yesterday looked like child's play. At the top was El Paneciello, a large statue of Mother Mary.
On our way down some school children warned us of robbers and murderers along the path and we almost blew it off until an older woman came running down waving her arms and making a slitting throat movement with her hand across her neck. Wow. Reality check numero uno. We picked a safer way down and were grateful to still have our heads and our cash and treated ourselves to a delicious meal outside Plaza Grande.
Laura and I decided it was time for some pampering so we got a $4 manicure but Suz said "it's not for her". shocker. Instead that crustypunk made a new friend at a local tatoo shop, bonding over gauges. haha, love you suz. Laura on the otherhand was stuck with some lovely handpainted flowers on her pink nails.
That night, 6 amigos including Cass, Sarah and Andy went to Ranchos Grandes down the street from CMT. They were pretty embracing of los gringos and offered us shots of some licorice-tasting vodka and taught us how to play a game similar to corn hole in the states, except they threw at a mound of sand. meh. I told everyone Suz was my girlfriend since ¨novia¨was my favorite new spanish word of the day. I don´t think she hated it.
The next morning I woke up with the biggest grin on my face. I can't believe we've actually made it here.
It's all happening.
We met Cass at Centro de Los Muchachos Trabajadores(CMT) in downtown where she volunteers. Niños were hoola-hoopin and happy. We grabbed lunch at Cafeto and had some delicious sandwiches before making quite the trek up the beautiful basillica. We went to the tiptity top, clibming up on thin little ladders with our sandals and nearly peeing ourselves. The view was beautiful though and well worth the possible year it took of my life in fear-related stress.
Duty called for Cass so she hoped on the metro and the tres amigas headed back to the hostel enjoying our afternoon with some guitar playing (complements of suzie) and some reading. For dinner, Cassie hooked it up with free food at her working boys center and we met the other gringo volunteers.
The next morning we woke up early to go meet Laura's sister Sarah and her boyfriend Andy at Plaza Grande. The tres amigas were having coffee at a cafe when some boys with juggling pins and bicycles called us over from a courtyard across the way. Total crusty punks. Suz was in love. They did some juggling for us and I smiled and laughed but remained mute, except for "lo siento, no hablo espanolo." Sad.
We then hiked up a hill probably, but I'd really like to call it a mountain for effect. This thing was huge! By the time we reached the top, nearly dead, the Basillica we had climbed yesterday looked like child's play. At the top was El Paneciello, a large statue of Mother Mary.
On our way down some school children warned us of robbers and murderers along the path and we almost blew it off until an older woman came running down waving her arms and making a slitting throat movement with her hand across her neck. Wow. Reality check numero uno. We picked a safer way down and were grateful to still have our heads and our cash and treated ourselves to a delicious meal outside Plaza Grande.
Laura and I decided it was time for some pampering so we got a $4 manicure but Suz said "it's not for her". shocker. Instead that crustypunk made a new friend at a local tatoo shop, bonding over gauges. haha, love you suz. Laura on the otherhand was stuck with some lovely handpainted flowers on her pink nails.
That night, 6 amigos including Cass, Sarah and Andy went to Ranchos Grandes down the street from CMT. They were pretty embracing of los gringos and offered us shots of some licorice-tasting vodka and taught us how to play a game similar to corn hole in the states, except they threw at a mound of sand. meh. I told everyone Suz was my girlfriend since ¨novia¨was my favorite new spanish word of the day. I don´t think she hated it.
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