South from Cusco
I left Cusco after being there for too long. Cusco is one of those places that everyone says you have to visit. I guess you have to go to Cusco because it's the gateway to Machu Picchu. It's a place that the tourists and travelers all visit but people talk about it like the place itself is something special. It's good in that lots of people are there to have a good time but besides the party and its proximity to archeological sites, it's kind of crappy. Everyone wants to rip you off and/or sell you something and lots and lots of fake culture. More about fake culture when I talk about Arequipa and Southern Peru. Anyway, I stayed too long. Had a good time but it was good to get out. On to Puno, Lake Titicaca, Arequipa, and Bolivia.
Puno
I took the train from Cusco to Puno, about a ten hour trip. We went through some cool villages and natural areas of the Andes, although the Andes are not particularly beautiful. They can be impressive but not necessarily beautiful. Part of the reason I have not been that impressed with the mountains themselves is that I am spoiled. California has the Sierras and the Siskiyous and places like Yosemite, the North Coast, and Big Sur. Plus I have spent so much time in the Rockies, Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and other places in the Western United States. We have so much and so many people in the world have never seen mountains like we have. The Andes are relatively dry and the rivers in the populated areas are so polluted, it's hard to be impressed. Traveling always makes me realize how incredible California is. The rural villages were interesting but very desolate. Some were downright bleak. I passed through probably the bleakest place I have ever seen, a town called Juliaca. The entire town is a giant street market and a huge garbage dump. Dry, windy, cold, dirty, crowded, not close to anything. It ain't San Francisco or San Diego, that's for sure. I've lived in paradise most of my life.
I arrived in Puno just after dark and got off the train just in time to catch someone walking off with my backpack. They give you a luggage ticket and then throw the bags on the train platform in a pile and nobody watches. Obviously the local luggage thieves know the system and stand there and kind of randomly grab a bag and walk off. When you see someone carrying your bag, it takes a second to register. Mine is pretty distinct so I realized what was happening in time to walk up to the guy, punch him in the back of the head and grab my bag while telling him in Spanish he was a piece of shit thief. Gringo 1 Peruvian thief 0. I had a $7 a night hostel picked out near the train station which turned out to be the coldest, darkest place I have stayed so far. At least they had Wi-Fi. It's amazing, you have these luxurious places where the Internet doesn't work and you have places with no heat and barely any light with super fast Wi-Fi. Go figure. It was probably 25 degrees inside my jail-cell-like room but at least I could do some research for my fantasy football team. I was in puno for the "Great cultural experience" that are the Uros floating islands. The quotation marks are there because the Uros are one of many "cultural experiences" in Peru that seem to exist mostly, if not entirely, for tourists with cameras. And money. The Uros Islands are islands constructed out of reeds by the indigenous population around Lake Titicaca. They measure maybe 50x50 and are where the Uros people "live." The Uros people also make their living fishing on boats that they also "construct out of reeds." Understand that for so many people, their trip is all about taking pictures of things, real and imagined. It's kind of like getting off of a plane in a bunch of countries, going through customs to get your passport stamped, and getting back on the plane. They never go to a city and just walk around on their own, maybe wander into a bar or cafe and talk to some locals or just go sit in the park and watch what's going on. EVERYTHING is a photo op. To the point that it's annoying. And everyone now is apparently Ansel Adams and has to get THE shot. Sorry but I'm walking through your picture. The Uros Islands are made for these people. Literally. I mentioned fake culture earlier. The Uros, as far as I can tell, is mostly a fabrication of a culture that once existed. Germans and French with $3000 digital SLR cameras love this stuff. The islands are pretty cool and the people do build them. I took a boat out to one of the islands with about 30 people (one of 50 boats going to various islands that day). The first sign of trouble when we arrived was the craft market set up like everywhere else you go in Peru. Hats, necklaces, carved figurines, etc. It reminded me that this is Peru and everything is a sales opportunity. While the Germans and French walked around taking 100s of photos (I took three), I went to talk to a little girl. First, I asked her if she lived there. Confirming my suspicions, she said no. At least she didn't sleep there. Right. Then we started talking about the boats and she asked me if I wanted to know a secret. Well, yes. She took me behind the huts and showed me how they really built the boats. Under a tarp were hundred of plastic water bottles used for the hulls. They didn't tell me that in the brochure. Then, for a charge, some people could ride on one of the "reed" boats. About half the people piled on and the natives serenaded them with "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean" as they floated away. Appalling. Fake culture at its finest and lots of photos for the Euros with their expensive cameras. We went on to some other regular island on the lake (after our boat caught on fire once) and saw other people pretending to live like they did several hundred years ago. I was over it by then. Back to my cold and dark room in Puno for the night before leaving for Arequipa.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
How to get a bridge named after you in Bolivia
I have skipped over the last part of Peru and need to backtrack but this travel business is a lot of work and I´ve been busy. Anyway...
How to get a bridge named after you in Bolivia
It´s called "Crackhead Bridge." It´s named after a guy. Apparently a crackhead. It´s about a 50 meter (yes, I´m metric now) drop into a rocky crevasse. If you miss the bridge anyway. The bridge is on what is known as "The World´s Most Dangerous Road." It´s the old road built between Bolivia and Peru/Chile. There is a sheer cliff to one side that drops hundreds of feet in places. The last year it was still the only route over the mountains (2006), 100 people died in one bus crash over the side. The new highway is falling apart because they didn´t put in any drainage and they will be back to using this road again at some point but that´s another story. Now they run mountain bike tours down the road. You need to pay attention. You need to be sober. There are a lot of drugs in Bolivia and La Paz is a party town. Apparently this dude thought it would be a good idea to smoke crack all night and then continue smoking crack on his four hour downhill ride. Unfortunately for him, his timing, vision, and judgement were slighlty impaired from all the rock he had been smoking. He missed the bridge and fell 150 feet onto the rocks and broke both legs, both collar bones, several ribs, and many teeth. Then he had the pleasure of lying there for two or three hours waiting to be pulled out. As an added bonus, he had the good fortune of being treated in a fine Bolivian medical facility by a veteranarian/dentist/doctor/tow truck driver. But he did have a bridge named after him. Now we have Crackhead Bridge. Let that be a lesson to all of you crackheads out there. I am hoping that after my trip to Argentina they rename Iguazu Falls "LSD Trip Falls" or "Naked American on Mushrooms Falls" or something. Stay tuned.
How to get a bridge named after you in Bolivia
It´s called "Crackhead Bridge." It´s named after a guy. Apparently a crackhead. It´s about a 50 meter (yes, I´m metric now) drop into a rocky crevasse. If you miss the bridge anyway. The bridge is on what is known as "The World´s Most Dangerous Road." It´s the old road built between Bolivia and Peru/Chile. There is a sheer cliff to one side that drops hundreds of feet in places. The last year it was still the only route over the mountains (2006), 100 people died in one bus crash over the side. The new highway is falling apart because they didn´t put in any drainage and they will be back to using this road again at some point but that´s another story. Now they run mountain bike tours down the road. You need to pay attention. You need to be sober. There are a lot of drugs in Bolivia and La Paz is a party town. Apparently this dude thought it would be a good idea to smoke crack all night and then continue smoking crack on his four hour downhill ride. Unfortunately for him, his timing, vision, and judgement were slighlty impaired from all the rock he had been smoking. He missed the bridge and fell 150 feet onto the rocks and broke both legs, both collar bones, several ribs, and many teeth. Then he had the pleasure of lying there for two or three hours waiting to be pulled out. As an added bonus, he had the good fortune of being treated in a fine Bolivian medical facility by a veteranarian/dentist/doctor/tow truck driver. But he did have a bridge named after him. Now we have Crackhead Bridge. Let that be a lesson to all of you crackheads out there. I am hoping that after my trip to Argentina they rename Iguazu Falls "LSD Trip Falls" or "Naked American on Mushrooms Falls" or something. Stay tuned.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Welcome to Peru
Went a little out of order in bringing myself all the way to Arequipa. There was more to Cusco than just horrible people at my hostal.
For one thing, Cusco itself is one of the most over-touristed places I have been. It seems to exist entirely for the tourist industry, anchored by its proximity to Machu Picchu. The number of tour companies is so overwhelming that it is next to impossible to decide which company to use. Some are much better than others but the whole business is so incestuous that they are all related in some way. It may not have more tourists than other places but the tourists are crammed into the center of the city, more or less. Nobody really owns cars so there are seemingly millions of taxis. The taxis are another story altogether. It's one of those places where you cannot walk ten feet without someone trying to sell you a tour, a trinket, a massage (every two feet), a pack of smokes, drugs, a meal, a sweater, a hat with ear flaps, or a photo with a pet llama. Just about everyone, it seems, is trying to rip you off. I think the people are both jaded by the presence of all the tourists and their perceived (and real) money and simply poor. Everyone is fighting over the same dollar or euro and there are just too many of them doing the same thing and selling the same thing with nothing to differentiate one from the other. I will give them a break there. It's tough to make a living, like everywhere I have been. I'm glad I'm not hawking tours all day on the corner or asking 500 people if they want a massage to get one taker. That being said, I still don't like being seen as a walking wallet. But nobody in that town has any interest in knowing anything about you. Everything is a sales opportunity.
A little story about the sales opportunity. Part of it was a great experience, part of it was a royal rip off. I walked up to the ruins just above town my second day in Cusco. It's a pretty good hike up the stairs above San Blas. San Blas is built into the hillside and is made of winding, steep, stone steps. When I got to the top, this guy with a backpack jumped down from the wall and approached me. Of course I thought he wanted to sell me something or perhaps rob me but he asked me if I had a boleto touristico or tourist ticket to get in. I said no and he explained to me that I could get in free after 5:30. I told him that I was just going to climb the hill to the giant Jesus statue (being the big Jesus freak that I am). He blesses me every day. Oh wait, he's dead. Anyway, the guy introduces himself as Armando and walks with me up the trail to see our boy JC. Cool guy, takes some photos of me and asks me if I wanted to go drink Chicha with him. I agreed and walked down this maze of steep dirt trails (the real Cusco) past the shacks and houses and several vicious dogs that we pelted with rocks until we came to a building with a low roof and a door that we had to duck under to walk through. Seated at long tables along the walls were mostly men 50 and older drinking a yellow liquid with both hands from large glasses. We were in a "Chicharia," or Chicha house. Chicha is liquor made by the Incas that is brewed by women who chew corn, spit it into an urn, ferment it, and add water. These men come and drink Chicha every day for three or four hours. I met several of his uncles and his father and cousins and we drank Chicha for several hours. We walked back to town, I fell down the trail (twice) and I thought it was a really cool, very unique experience. Which it was - I have not met anyone (Peruvian or otherwise) who has ever been to a Chicharia. Armando mentioned to me that they had horses and told me he could take me on a tour for 45 soles, which sounded cheap. I said that I would go the next day. Here comes the rip off/sales opportunity. I showed up to ride the next day and the price was 90 soles (I had to rent his horse, from his cousin, who is his neighbor and owns the horse). Oh, ok. Paid it, wondering if they would actually give me my 10 soles change. The horse was good, the equipment was terrible and I couldn't even put my feet in the stirrups, and most of the ride was on the road. The ride was half as long as it was supposed to be, on a different route than promised, and cost twice as much. We ended up going to the school where his girlfriend was the cook and she made us some delicious trout. The best I have ever had. During this time, his cousin stopped by because he worked for a bike tour company and I had mentioned that I was interested in a bike tour and Armando was telling me that I could live in the apartment above his house for free as long as I wanted. We walked back to my hostal as he and his cousin were both trying to steer me into their offers. His cousin visited me several more times in the coming days. Armando offered me the free place to stay a few more times but I knew it was only because I was a potential source of income. I honestly thought the guy had some good intentions but it was really just the first of many experiences that made me think everyone in Peru wanted my money, whether they obtained it honestly or not. I never got my 10 soles change.
For one thing, Cusco itself is one of the most over-touristed places I have been. It seems to exist entirely for the tourist industry, anchored by its proximity to Machu Picchu. The number of tour companies is so overwhelming that it is next to impossible to decide which company to use. Some are much better than others but the whole business is so incestuous that they are all related in some way. It may not have more tourists than other places but the tourists are crammed into the center of the city, more or less. Nobody really owns cars so there are seemingly millions of taxis. The taxis are another story altogether. It's one of those places where you cannot walk ten feet without someone trying to sell you a tour, a trinket, a massage (every two feet), a pack of smokes, drugs, a meal, a sweater, a hat with ear flaps, or a photo with a pet llama. Just about everyone, it seems, is trying to rip you off. I think the people are both jaded by the presence of all the tourists and their perceived (and real) money and simply poor. Everyone is fighting over the same dollar or euro and there are just too many of them doing the same thing and selling the same thing with nothing to differentiate one from the other. I will give them a break there. It's tough to make a living, like everywhere I have been. I'm glad I'm not hawking tours all day on the corner or asking 500 people if they want a massage to get one taker. That being said, I still don't like being seen as a walking wallet. But nobody in that town has any interest in knowing anything about you. Everything is a sales opportunity.
A little story about the sales opportunity. Part of it was a great experience, part of it was a royal rip off. I walked up to the ruins just above town my second day in Cusco. It's a pretty good hike up the stairs above San Blas. San Blas is built into the hillside and is made of winding, steep, stone steps. When I got to the top, this guy with a backpack jumped down from the wall and approached me. Of course I thought he wanted to sell me something or perhaps rob me but he asked me if I had a boleto touristico or tourist ticket to get in. I said no and he explained to me that I could get in free after 5:30. I told him that I was just going to climb the hill to the giant Jesus statue (being the big Jesus freak that I am). He blesses me every day. Oh wait, he's dead. Anyway, the guy introduces himself as Armando and walks with me up the trail to see our boy JC. Cool guy, takes some photos of me and asks me if I wanted to go drink Chicha with him. I agreed and walked down this maze of steep dirt trails (the real Cusco) past the shacks and houses and several vicious dogs that we pelted with rocks until we came to a building with a low roof and a door that we had to duck under to walk through. Seated at long tables along the walls were mostly men 50 and older drinking a yellow liquid with both hands from large glasses. We were in a "Chicharia," or Chicha house. Chicha is liquor made by the Incas that is brewed by women who chew corn, spit it into an urn, ferment it, and add water. These men come and drink Chicha every day for three or four hours. I met several of his uncles and his father and cousins and we drank Chicha for several hours. We walked back to town, I fell down the trail (twice) and I thought it was a really cool, very unique experience. Which it was - I have not met anyone (Peruvian or otherwise) who has ever been to a Chicharia. Armando mentioned to me that they had horses and told me he could take me on a tour for 45 soles, which sounded cheap. I said that I would go the next day. Here comes the rip off/sales opportunity. I showed up to ride the next day and the price was 90 soles (I had to rent his horse, from his cousin, who is his neighbor and owns the horse). Oh, ok. Paid it, wondering if they would actually give me my 10 soles change. The horse was good, the equipment was terrible and I couldn't even put my feet in the stirrups, and most of the ride was on the road. The ride was half as long as it was supposed to be, on a different route than promised, and cost twice as much. We ended up going to the school where his girlfriend was the cook and she made us some delicious trout. The best I have ever had. During this time, his cousin stopped by because he worked for a bike tour company and I had mentioned that I was interested in a bike tour and Armando was telling me that I could live in the apartment above his house for free as long as I wanted. We walked back to my hostal as he and his cousin were both trying to steer me into their offers. His cousin visited me several more times in the coming days. Armando offered me the free place to stay a few more times but I knew it was only because I was a potential source of income. I honestly thought the guy had some good intentions but it was really just the first of many experiences that made me think everyone in Peru wanted my money, whether they obtained it honestly or not. I never got my 10 soles change.
Trying to get caught up on Peru and need to keep posting in parts. It´s part laziness, part disorganization, part sketchy internet access, part being sick twice, and part just being busy traveling and doing what goes along with that.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Peru, finally (Part 1)
Machu Picchu, blah, blah, blah
I need to post this in parts or I will never get it done.
I arrived in Peru on July 13th and spent the night in the Lima airport drinking beer to get me through the night. I was behind this guy from Oregon at the ATM when he left his Visa/ATM card in the machine (one of my biggest fears). He had no money, no plane ticket, and no clue what he was going to do. He said he was checking his balance and just spaced out. I saw him walk away and tried to grab his card but it was too late. I gave him 60 Soles ($20) and wished him luck.
The flight from Lima to Cusco was pretty amazing. The views I mean. Sunrise over the Andes was spectacular. I sat next to a couple of really cool people from Medellin, Colombia. They own a restaurant and invited me to come to Medellin. They said they would make it easy for me if I was worried about anything (why would anyone be worried about going to Colombia?).
Got into Cusco at 7 AM and was picked up by a super cool girl who worked at my hostel. Turns out she would be one of only two who were super cool there. The rest were borderline nasty. One girl who worked the front desk faked being nice and one couldn't even muster fake niceness. She was horrendous. Bitch. The rest of them ranged from weird to ice cold. The rooms were nice and the showers were awesome (something you learn to appreciate and ask about as you travel). They were so good that I let people I met who were staying in less desirable places use my shower. It's funny now how many people I have talked to who have used or let others use their showers. It's very common out on the road. However, the people who work in the place one stays make a huge difference. I was not impressed. I eventually moved after I met some people but I can't do the full time backpacker/hostel scene. Too old for that. I have to do more of a hybrid thing. Maybe I will do a hostel (even a dorm) for a couple of days and spend $8 or $9 on a room but then I need to go hide out somewhere and get some privacy (and perhaps a better shower and/or internet connection). I did all of the above in Cusco.
My second day in Cusco I was sitting in the Irish Pub and the most beautiful Peruvian girl sits down next to me. Joanna Vasquez from Lima. I won't go into details but I will say that she "showed me around" Cusco for the next five days during which I didn't go to bed before 5 AM. At the end of all that, having no sleep and being at 11000 feet, I had a respiratory infection. I remember hearing this guy at the hostel cough every morning when I first woke up thinking "that dude's got tuburculosis or something." Then I noticed so many other people coughing. I called it "the Cusco cough." Then I got it. Joanna went back to Lima and I was unable to breathe or sleep for the next four days and didn't recover until I arrived here, in Arequipa. Cusco and Puno were both coooold and very high (Puno is at 12000 feet). I came down here to 6000 feet and nice weather and instantly felt better. I had no energy for weeks, even though I was outside hiking etc. Met some good people in Cusco, including Joanna's friends, Gretal and Christina as well as Peter from Denmark, Ursula and Gabriella from Brazil, Roos (Rose) from the Netherlands, and the Ica crew (Sebastien, Santiago, and Alex). A couple of good expats too - mainly Richard Nisbett who I shared many beers and good stories with at the pub. Roos and Ursula were especially good finds. Good people.
I need to post this in parts or I will never get it done.
I arrived in Peru on July 13th and spent the night in the Lima airport drinking beer to get me through the night. I was behind this guy from Oregon at the ATM when he left his Visa/ATM card in the machine (one of my biggest fears). He had no money, no plane ticket, and no clue what he was going to do. He said he was checking his balance and just spaced out. I saw him walk away and tried to grab his card but it was too late. I gave him 60 Soles ($20) and wished him luck.
The flight from Lima to Cusco was pretty amazing. The views I mean. Sunrise over the Andes was spectacular. I sat next to a couple of really cool people from Medellin, Colombia. They own a restaurant and invited me to come to Medellin. They said they would make it easy for me if I was worried about anything (why would anyone be worried about going to Colombia?).
Got into Cusco at 7 AM and was picked up by a super cool girl who worked at my hostel. Turns out she would be one of only two who were super cool there. The rest were borderline nasty. One girl who worked the front desk faked being nice and one couldn't even muster fake niceness. She was horrendous. Bitch. The rest of them ranged from weird to ice cold. The rooms were nice and the showers were awesome (something you learn to appreciate and ask about as you travel). They were so good that I let people I met who were staying in less desirable places use my shower. It's funny now how many people I have talked to who have used or let others use their showers. It's very common out on the road. However, the people who work in the place one stays make a huge difference. I was not impressed. I eventually moved after I met some people but I can't do the full time backpacker/hostel scene. Too old for that. I have to do more of a hybrid thing. Maybe I will do a hostel (even a dorm) for a couple of days and spend $8 or $9 on a room but then I need to go hide out somewhere and get some privacy (and perhaps a better shower and/or internet connection). I did all of the above in Cusco.
My second day in Cusco I was sitting in the Irish Pub and the most beautiful Peruvian girl sits down next to me. Joanna Vasquez from Lima. I won't go into details but I will say that she "showed me around" Cusco for the next five days during which I didn't go to bed before 5 AM. At the end of all that, having no sleep and being at 11000 feet, I had a respiratory infection. I remember hearing this guy at the hostel cough every morning when I first woke up thinking "that dude's got tuburculosis or something." Then I noticed so many other people coughing. I called it "the Cusco cough." Then I got it. Joanna went back to Lima and I was unable to breathe or sleep for the next four days and didn't recover until I arrived here, in Arequipa. Cusco and Puno were both coooold and very high (Puno is at 12000 feet). I came down here to 6000 feet and nice weather and instantly felt better. I had no energy for weeks, even though I was outside hiking etc. Met some good people in Cusco, including Joanna's friends, Gretal and Christina as well as Peter from Denmark, Ursula and Gabriella from Brazil, Roos (Rose) from the Netherlands, and the Ica crew (Sebastien, Santiago, and Alex). A couple of good expats too - mainly Richard Nisbett who I shared many beers and good stories with at the pub. Roos and Ursula were especially good finds. Good people.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Puebla (Adios Mexico)
End of Mexico
I took a trip to Puebla on my way to Mexico City. I need to finish Mexico so I can start on some Peru action.
Puebla was a fairly unremarkable place but I made it interesting. After a few self-imposed glitches, I was finally able to extract myself from Oaxaca. I got to Puebla in the morning and checked into my crappy overpriced hotel room. I need to go to Tripadvisor and straighten them out. I just kind of walked around town like I always do when I get to new place and ended up in what looked like the friendliest place for a beer (also like I always do). I was watching the Mexico vs El Salvador soccer game and I made the mistake of offering the extremely drunk guy next to me my peanuts because I didn’t want them. That, of course, made us best friends. He starts slurring to me in Spanish and poking me about every 20 seconds. I just want to watch the game. He wants to talk politics in barely understandable Spanish. Then of course I’m too good for him because I’m a pinche Gringo when in reality I just can’t understand a word he is saying. I am obviously getting annoyed and a couple of locals pick up on it and step and tell the guy to beat it (very cool of them). The waiter chases him down because he didn't pay and he comes back in and tells the manager that I am paying his bill. I deny that of course and the dude starts throwing glasses on the ground. Five minutes later the cops come in and drag him out. The bar pays my bill and I end up going out with the two local guys who helped me out and they invite me to a baseball game for the local team the next day which was a blast.
The next day was my last day so I decided to go to Popocatepetl. I hopped a bus to Cholula so I could find a collectivo to the general vicinity of Popo. Collectivos are vans that drive along and pick people up and drop them off as they go. Needless to say, you pick up and drop off a lot of interesting people carrying interesting items in the Mexican countryside. Being the only Gringo on a collectivo also makes you a bit of an oddity. The people are curious but polite enough to ask you what the hell you are doing. But if you speak to them they open up with a million questions. The cool thing about the collectivo is that the driver and passengers all work together to make sure everyone gets their stuff strapped to the roof or squeezed into the vehicle itself. People just spontaneously get out and help when the vehicle stops. There were pigs, lumber, sacks of seeds, bikes, plumbing supplies, a businessman in a suit, and many campesinos with farming tools.
I was dropped off in some little village that was allegedly close to the base of the volcano. I couldn't tell if the volcano was actually there because of the clouds but I started walking up a dirt road that some kids pointed me to. I walked up a path and eventually reached a trout farm where I met a teenage Mexican boy who explained to me that it was going to be at least a day's hike to the cone of the volcano. Nobody was home but he offered me food and water if I wanted to make the hike. I decided to head back to the main road which was a 30-40 minute walk. When I got to the road, I thought I would walk up a bit just to get some more exercise knowing that I couldn't even make it up to the restaurant/campground that was 20 km farther up the road. After walking for about 15 minutes, this guy comes flying around the corner in a beat up Nissan pickup with a camper shell and slams on his brakes. He motions towards the back to the truck and I figured, what the hell. So I hopped in the back of the truck and he continues FLYING up the mountain. I have video. This guy was going flat out and sliding around corners and tossing me around the back of the truck. The whole time I was thinking about how I hadn't considered how I was getting down, knowing I had to catch a bus to Mexico City the next day. He dropped me off at the campground and told me he would be going back down in two hours if I needed a ride. Relieved, I found a lady making food by the side of the road and ordered some thing that I couldn't name if you asked me. It was this blue corn tortilla stuffed with cheese, beans, and peppers and cooked over wood. Incredible. I ordered a second. I walked up to a little campground where the guy who gave me the ride was working on the stoves in the restaurant. I hiked around for a while and looked at some really bad Mexican development in a beautiful place. It started to rain so I walked down toward the campground and a bunch of people were sitting in this cabana and they started giving me (good natured) shit. "Hey Gringo, you're a long way from home. What are you doing? Where are you going? Come have some tequila." In Spanish of course. So I went into the cabana and the woman who seemed to be the ring leader told me to pour myself a drink. And then pour "tia China" a drink. And then pour "Tia Gueta" a drink. And this went on until I poured everyone a drink. They were full of questions about me and my life and we burned through two bottles of Sauza and then the dude who gave me a ride was ready to leave.
The guy invited me to ride up front for the ride down. His name was Santiago and his son, Miguel, was with him. He drove at the same speed (or faster) down the windy road and we just kind of talked about our lives and whatever. He just laughed when I talked about being divorced. He has three ex-wives and "we will never understand women" seems to translate in any language. We were driving past these trees and I was asking him what they were. He kept saying "nuez." I knew what nuez was and should have recognized the trees since I went to school in Chico and since my neighbor used to get drunk and blow them off a tree when I was a kid but I couldn't get it. We pulled over and picked a few green ones and Miguel started peeling them with his pocket knife. He extracted some of it and gave it to me and I said "oh, it's a fucking walnut!" And Santiago tried for the next 20 minutes to pronounce "walnut."
He dropped me off in the village and told me where to catch a collectivo back to Cholula and off I went with the most agro/angry collectivo driver I have ever seen. I was lucky to survive. Got on the wrong bus in Cholula and ended up who knows where. By the grace of some very nice woman, I finally got back to Puebla three hours later (it's 30 minutes from Cholula). Went to a bar/restaurant to have some food and a couple beers and met two very nice girls from Guadalajara. Hung out with them for a couple hours and was leaving and realized my Mexican cell phone was missing. I knew who took it and walked up to the guy, reached into his pocket, took it, called him a puto, and left. The guy who worked there chased me down and apologized, telling me that not everyone in his country was a thief. I told him that I knew that. He was very embarrassed.
I left for Peru the next day. I was sick with a respiratory infection for five days in Peru and also got distracted by a few people (well one in particular) but I am getting caught up now. I will update Peru next.
I took a trip to Puebla on my way to Mexico City. I need to finish Mexico so I can start on some Peru action.
Puebla was a fairly unremarkable place but I made it interesting. After a few self-imposed glitches, I was finally able to extract myself from Oaxaca. I got to Puebla in the morning and checked into my crappy overpriced hotel room. I need to go to Tripadvisor and straighten them out. I just kind of walked around town like I always do when I get to new place and ended up in what looked like the friendliest place for a beer (also like I always do). I was watching the Mexico vs El Salvador soccer game and I made the mistake of offering the extremely drunk guy next to me my peanuts because I didn’t want them. That, of course, made us best friends. He starts slurring to me in Spanish and poking me about every 20 seconds. I just want to watch the game. He wants to talk politics in barely understandable Spanish. Then of course I’m too good for him because I’m a pinche Gringo when in reality I just can’t understand a word he is saying. I am obviously getting annoyed and a couple of locals pick up on it and step and tell the guy to beat it (very cool of them). The waiter chases him down because he didn't pay and he comes back in and tells the manager that I am paying his bill. I deny that of course and the dude starts throwing glasses on the ground. Five minutes later the cops come in and drag him out. The bar pays my bill and I end up going out with the two local guys who helped me out and they invite me to a baseball game for the local team the next day which was a blast.
The next day was my last day so I decided to go to Popocatepetl. I hopped a bus to Cholula so I could find a collectivo to the general vicinity of Popo. Collectivos are vans that drive along and pick people up and drop them off as they go. Needless to say, you pick up and drop off a lot of interesting people carrying interesting items in the Mexican countryside. Being the only Gringo on a collectivo also makes you a bit of an oddity. The people are curious but polite enough to ask you what the hell you are doing. But if you speak to them they open up with a million questions. The cool thing about the collectivo is that the driver and passengers all work together to make sure everyone gets their stuff strapped to the roof or squeezed into the vehicle itself. People just spontaneously get out and help when the vehicle stops. There were pigs, lumber, sacks of seeds, bikes, plumbing supplies, a businessman in a suit, and many campesinos with farming tools.
I was dropped off in some little village that was allegedly close to the base of the volcano. I couldn't tell if the volcano was actually there because of the clouds but I started walking up a dirt road that some kids pointed me to. I walked up a path and eventually reached a trout farm where I met a teenage Mexican boy who explained to me that it was going to be at least a day's hike to the cone of the volcano. Nobody was home but he offered me food and water if I wanted to make the hike. I decided to head back to the main road which was a 30-40 minute walk. When I got to the road, I thought I would walk up a bit just to get some more exercise knowing that I couldn't even make it up to the restaurant/campground that was 20 km farther up the road. After walking for about 15 minutes, this guy comes flying around the corner in a beat up Nissan pickup with a camper shell and slams on his brakes. He motions towards the back to the truck and I figured, what the hell. So I hopped in the back of the truck and he continues FLYING up the mountain. I have video. This guy was going flat out and sliding around corners and tossing me around the back of the truck. The whole time I was thinking about how I hadn't considered how I was getting down, knowing I had to catch a bus to Mexico City the next day. He dropped me off at the campground and told me he would be going back down in two hours if I needed a ride. Relieved, I found a lady making food by the side of the road and ordered some thing that I couldn't name if you asked me. It was this blue corn tortilla stuffed with cheese, beans, and peppers and cooked over wood. Incredible. I ordered a second. I walked up to a little campground where the guy who gave me the ride was working on the stoves in the restaurant. I hiked around for a while and looked at some really bad Mexican development in a beautiful place. It started to rain so I walked down toward the campground and a bunch of people were sitting in this cabana and they started giving me (good natured) shit. "Hey Gringo, you're a long way from home. What are you doing? Where are you going? Come have some tequila." In Spanish of course. So I went into the cabana and the woman who seemed to be the ring leader told me to pour myself a drink. And then pour "tia China" a drink. And then pour "Tia Gueta" a drink. And this went on until I poured everyone a drink. They were full of questions about me and my life and we burned through two bottles of Sauza and then the dude who gave me a ride was ready to leave.
The guy invited me to ride up front for the ride down. His name was Santiago and his son, Miguel, was with him. He drove at the same speed (or faster) down the windy road and we just kind of talked about our lives and whatever. He just laughed when I talked about being divorced. He has three ex-wives and "we will never understand women" seems to translate in any language. We were driving past these trees and I was asking him what they were. He kept saying "nuez." I knew what nuez was and should have recognized the trees since I went to school in Chico and since my neighbor used to get drunk and blow them off a tree when I was a kid but I couldn't get it. We pulled over and picked a few green ones and Miguel started peeling them with his pocket knife. He extracted some of it and gave it to me and I said "oh, it's a fucking walnut!" And Santiago tried for the next 20 minutes to pronounce "walnut."
He dropped me off in the village and told me where to catch a collectivo back to Cholula and off I went with the most agro/angry collectivo driver I have ever seen. I was lucky to survive. Got on the wrong bus in Cholula and ended up who knows where. By the grace of some very nice woman, I finally got back to Puebla three hours later (it's 30 minutes from Cholula). Went to a bar/restaurant to have some food and a couple beers and met two very nice girls from Guadalajara. Hung out with them for a couple hours and was leaving and realized my Mexican cell phone was missing. I knew who took it and walked up to the guy, reached into his pocket, took it, called him a puto, and left. The guy who worked there chased me down and apologized, telling me that not everyone in his country was a thief. I told him that I knew that. He was very embarrassed.
I left for Peru the next day. I was sick with a respiratory infection for five days in Peru and also got distracted by a few people (well one in particular) but I am getting caught up now. I will update Peru next.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Stay Classy Oaxaca
3-2-1....and that's a wrap.
Adios Oaxaca
Or hasta luego more like it. I will return. I mean, I have to. Too many people expect to see me back here.
Adios Oaxaca
Or hasta luego more like it. I will return. I mean, I have to. Too many people expect to see me back here.
But I had to extract myself. I had a going away party because I needed one more night of staying up until 5 or 6. Matt from Australia and I ended up at the Tlayuda stand at 5:30 AM posing as a gay couple from San Francisco which was pretty funny for the other patrons. The amazing thing was that there were ten people there at 5:30 AM on a Tuesday. I was supposed to leave on Wednesday but I forgot my passport and my credit card at the place I was staying and had to go back and get it so I missed my bus.
I need to thank the following people for my time in Oaxaca: Paco uno, Paco dos, Paco tres, Carlos, Carlos, and Carlos, Oscar, Keni, Pinky, Fernando, Lalo, Flor, Alberto, Miguel, Gloria, Lily, Veronica, Jessica, Christy, Mayumi, Dale, Rebecca, Matt, Martin, Neil, Sandra, Jovani, and especially my good friend Heidy who was so generous with her time.
I had a good run and maybe stayed two or three weeks longer than I should have. I was kind of lost once Cafe Borgo closed because it was the center of my social life. Pretty much 80% of everyone I knew in Oaxaca was directly or indirectly through Borgo. The new Borgo is now open for business and I anxiously await reports from the front lines.
My last night in Oaxaca was interesting. It was actually uninteresting until the riot started. I walked into this little store and when I walked out these people were running down the street pushing motorcycles over. I started to follow them down the street to see what they were up to and they started smashing out store windows and growing rapidly in numbers. I looked behind me and police in riot gear were moving pretty quickly toward me. The rioters were apparently better armed with projectiles than I thought and started hurling rocks and bottles at the cops and I am trapped in the middle. I looked at the cops and shrug my shoulders with my palms up to say "what do I do?" One of the cops waves me toward him and I scramble his way and he drags me back through the line of cops to safety. I didn´t have an opportunity to get out my camera until I was behind the cops. I took some really bad video from behind the mayhem that includes me running away when the tear gas comes out. It also results in one of my favorite moments of the trip - the flower vendor running beside me yelling "orrale gueto" (run whitey) as his girlfriend runs by giggling.
I can´t get the video to post, I´ve been trying for a couple of days. I will try Flickr/Facebook to see if I have any luck.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Chiapas (Part 3) Comitan
I thought I posted this. Oops.
Comitan is a very nice little town. It is the cleanest city I have ever visited in Mexico. There is not one scrap of trash on the streets. I can't figure it out.
We left the ranch after a few days of relaxing, riding horses, and talking to a bunch of very interesting people. That morning, Cristobal and Flor were going to drive the Jeep into Teopisca for a shopping run. This another one of those "only in Mexico" or maybe even a "always in Mexico" kind of mornings. If you have spent any time in Mexico (especially on any kind of driving trip) you know that it isn't a Mexico trip until you pull a car out of a ditch, repair a car with aluminum foil, or perhaps buy gasoline from someone who lives in a camper shell and makes his pregnant wife siphon the gas (yes, that happened on a Baja trip). Cristobal tried to start the jeep, which had been sitting for a month but it was dead. Fortunately the ranch is up on a hill so we could just push the jeep down and bump start it. The Kernal, Flor, and I all got behind the jeep and started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. Until we go to the bottom of the hill. We couldn't push anymore and Cristobal realized that he had been in reverse the whole time and that the jeep was out of gas. Oops. What to do? The Kernal and Flor decided to walk the ten minutes up the road back the ranch for some reason. I can't remember why. Cristobal, Atman (three or four year old boy) and I stayed at the jeep. Some locals came along and Cristobal asked them if the could catch a ride into town. They said yes and off he went. And left me with someone else's kid. Now that might seem strange to you but remember this is Mexico. People just need to get shit done. They can't worry about following a bunch of rules or regulations. We are a very rule-based society. This British guy I met who is riding his bike to South America told me about being scolded by some random citizen in Orange County because he barely rode across the corner of a sidewalk. This is deep Mexico and we needed gas. The Kernal and Flor come back and there I am picking daiseys with the kid. The Kernal kind of says, "what the fuck?" I just told him that "hey it's Mexico", which of course he understood being a Mexico veteran. He said something to the effect that it was classic that someone would just leave me with the kid without thinking twice. And it would only happen in Mexico. Fortuantely Cristobal found a Gringo with a big truck and jumper cables to bring him back with the gas. He wouldn't have gotten it started without my automotive experise though. So, you're saying, "but you don't have any automotive expertise and are basically a mechanical retard." True. But I did mow a lot of lawns as a kid and I remembered that sometimes I needed to prime the engine to get it started, a concept Cristobal was not familair with. We eventually got the Jeep fired up and the three of them were off to town and the Kernal and I went back up the hill to wait for our taxi.
It's amazing the power of a 100 Peso tip. Our taxi driver made it up the someewhat sketchy dirt road and picked us up within 15 minutes of our agreed time. Then he told us he could take us all the way to Comitan for 200 more Pesos even though he was technically not allowed to do it. Another loophole. Something about picking us up on a dirt road and not the highway which made it ok. Whatever. He took us back to Teopisca to return our bottles and then made 20 more dangerous passes on the way to Comitan.
As I said, Comitan is a very clean little town. But the vibe is so different than Oaxaca or even San Cristobal de las Casas. We defintely had the "animal in a zoo" feeling at times. I mean, people stare at you like they are seeing Bigfoot walk down the street. I think, for one thing, people see lots of Gringos and Europeans in Oaxaca. We simply didn't see any Americans or Euros in Comitan so I think people were thinking "what the hell are you doing here?" At least that was feeling. People are much more closed. But it is also right next to Guatemala and there is a heavy Zapatista (rebel) influence in the area. However, like other similar parts of Mexico, people will totally open up to you once you speak to them, especially if you speak Spanish. The women will not make eye contact but they make more overt gestures (like yelling "papito" from cars). They will also say things like "guapito" (handsome) as they pass you on the street. But they just keep walking/driving. They don't hang around to talk. The men have a more aggressive or angry disposition than a place like Oaxaca. In Oaxaca they are just indifferent. Again, until you talk to them. We definitely got some glares and even some threatening stares in Comitan. But mostly people were just curious. "What the hell are you two Gringos doing here, anyway?"
The highlight of our trip was probably the torta shop and the girl who worked there. I don't think I have ever had a more charismatic person make me a sandwich. She was very plain looking but at the same time extremely attractive. As an added bonus, she let us bring beer into the restaurant because they didn't sell it. I can't explain it, but she just had this thing that pulled us both in. Ane then there were the tortas. If you are ever within 200 miles of Comitan (which you never will be), make the trip into town and go to Tortas Mickey. You will stay an extra day so that you can go back again and have more tortas. On our second day we didn't waste any time and just ordered two. Each.
The one thing that will stick with me the most was the girl that I spoke with from Guatemala. It was another reminder (although they come daily) of how lucky I am. She was 24 and had a four year old son who lived in Guatemala with her parents. She was working in Comitan as a stripper and sharing a very small and dirty apartment with another girl from her country doing the same thing. She simply could not make any money in Guatemala and had to work in some hideous club on the outskirts of town. She kind of dodged the question about whether or not they made her work as a prostitute although it was all in Spanish so I could have missed something. All she wanted was to buy a computer for her son. She said she had 4000 pesos saved which was a fortune to her (about $300). Everyday is a struggle for her and she was such a lovely person. Her story really moved me and I gave her 1000 pesos and made her promise me that it would go toward the computer. All she wants is another thing we all take for granted - an education for her son. She dropped out in 9th grade. She's not proud of that. She called it a loan and said she would pay me back some day. I told her that would be fine.
Then it was back to Oaxaca.
Comitan is a very nice little town. It is the cleanest city I have ever visited in Mexico. There is not one scrap of trash on the streets. I can't figure it out.
We left the ranch after a few days of relaxing, riding horses, and talking to a bunch of very interesting people. That morning, Cristobal and Flor were going to drive the Jeep into Teopisca for a shopping run. This another one of those "only in Mexico" or maybe even a "always in Mexico" kind of mornings. If you have spent any time in Mexico (especially on any kind of driving trip) you know that it isn't a Mexico trip until you pull a car out of a ditch, repair a car with aluminum foil, or perhaps buy gasoline from someone who lives in a camper shell and makes his pregnant wife siphon the gas (yes, that happened on a Baja trip). Cristobal tried to start the jeep, which had been sitting for a month but it was dead. Fortunately the ranch is up on a hill so we could just push the jeep down and bump start it. The Kernal, Flor, and I all got behind the jeep and started pushing. And pushing. And pushing. Until we go to the bottom of the hill. We couldn't push anymore and Cristobal realized that he had been in reverse the whole time and that the jeep was out of gas. Oops. What to do? The Kernal and Flor decided to walk the ten minutes up the road back the ranch for some reason. I can't remember why. Cristobal, Atman (three or four year old boy) and I stayed at the jeep. Some locals came along and Cristobal asked them if the could catch a ride into town. They said yes and off he went. And left me with someone else's kid. Now that might seem strange to you but remember this is Mexico. People just need to get shit done. They can't worry about following a bunch of rules or regulations. We are a very rule-based society. This British guy I met who is riding his bike to South America told me about being scolded by some random citizen in Orange County because he barely rode across the corner of a sidewalk. This is deep Mexico and we needed gas. The Kernal and Flor come back and there I am picking daiseys with the kid. The Kernal kind of says, "what the fuck?" I just told him that "hey it's Mexico", which of course he understood being a Mexico veteran. He said something to the effect that it was classic that someone would just leave me with the kid without thinking twice. And it would only happen in Mexico. Fortuantely Cristobal found a Gringo with a big truck and jumper cables to bring him back with the gas. He wouldn't have gotten it started without my automotive experise though. So, you're saying, "but you don't have any automotive expertise and are basically a mechanical retard." True. But I did mow a lot of lawns as a kid and I remembered that sometimes I needed to prime the engine to get it started, a concept Cristobal was not familair with. We eventually got the Jeep fired up and the three of them were off to town and the Kernal and I went back up the hill to wait for our taxi.
It's amazing the power of a 100 Peso tip. Our taxi driver made it up the someewhat sketchy dirt road and picked us up within 15 minutes of our agreed time. Then he told us he could take us all the way to Comitan for 200 more Pesos even though he was technically not allowed to do it. Another loophole. Something about picking us up on a dirt road and not the highway which made it ok. Whatever. He took us back to Teopisca to return our bottles and then made 20 more dangerous passes on the way to Comitan.
As I said, Comitan is a very clean little town. But the vibe is so different than Oaxaca or even San Cristobal de las Casas. We defintely had the "animal in a zoo" feeling at times. I mean, people stare at you like they are seeing Bigfoot walk down the street. I think, for one thing, people see lots of Gringos and Europeans in Oaxaca. We simply didn't see any Americans or Euros in Comitan so I think people were thinking "what the hell are you doing here?" At least that was feeling. People are much more closed. But it is also right next to Guatemala and there is a heavy Zapatista (rebel) influence in the area. However, like other similar parts of Mexico, people will totally open up to you once you speak to them, especially if you speak Spanish. The women will not make eye contact but they make more overt gestures (like yelling "papito" from cars). They will also say things like "guapito" (handsome) as they pass you on the street. But they just keep walking/driving. They don't hang around to talk. The men have a more aggressive or angry disposition than a place like Oaxaca. In Oaxaca they are just indifferent. Again, until you talk to them. We definitely got some glares and even some threatening stares in Comitan. But mostly people were just curious. "What the hell are you two Gringos doing here, anyway?"
The highlight of our trip was probably the torta shop and the girl who worked there. I don't think I have ever had a more charismatic person make me a sandwich. She was very plain looking but at the same time extremely attractive. As an added bonus, she let us bring beer into the restaurant because they didn't sell it. I can't explain it, but she just had this thing that pulled us both in. Ane then there were the tortas. If you are ever within 200 miles of Comitan (which you never will be), make the trip into town and go to Tortas Mickey. You will stay an extra day so that you can go back again and have more tortas. On our second day we didn't waste any time and just ordered two. Each.
The one thing that will stick with me the most was the girl that I spoke with from Guatemala. It was another reminder (although they come daily) of how lucky I am. She was 24 and had a four year old son who lived in Guatemala with her parents. She was working in Comitan as a stripper and sharing a very small and dirty apartment with another girl from her country doing the same thing. She simply could not make any money in Guatemala and had to work in some hideous club on the outskirts of town. She kind of dodged the question about whether or not they made her work as a prostitute although it was all in Spanish so I could have missed something. All she wanted was to buy a computer for her son. She said she had 4000 pesos saved which was a fortune to her (about $300). Everyday is a struggle for her and she was such a lovely person. Her story really moved me and I gave her 1000 pesos and made her promise me that it would go toward the computer. All she wants is another thing we all take for granted - an education for her son. She dropped out in 9th grade. She's not proud of that. She called it a loan and said she would pay me back some day. I told her that would be fine.
Then it was back to Oaxaca.
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