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.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
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.
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