due south

Hey everybody in New York City and surrounding areas:

Watch Brick by Brick: A Civil Rights Story TONIGHT on channel Thirteen / WNET at 9 pm. It’s FABULOUS, as is the man that made it.

-Sarah

P.S. Congrats Dad!

Remember when we took a night bus from Tulum to Palenque, in Mexico? I do. It was glorious. Movies, fully reclining seats, and a solid 8 hours without a stop. We were so chipper the next day that we toured Palenque and two different waterfalls. Those were the days.

Today, however, after 12-hours of riding buses from hell, my eyes are sticky, my mouth is dry, and I feel like I’m about to die. And this is all after coffee. Remember all that talk about this being one long vacation? I don’t anymore. Every two hours, we passed a police check point. Five hours into the journey — 2:30 am — we crossed the Ecuador/Peru border and were forced to drag ourselves on foot across a mosquito-ridden bridge and have our passports stamped at three different little offices. Why three? There are only two countries involved. I guess we can’t complain too much though, because this was the only border we’ve crossed that didn’t ask us to pay a fee for the privilege of crossing an imagined divide between two imagined communities. Close All Borders! End All Occupations! Smash the State! Damn the Man! man.

That said, we’re safe and sound in Peru, Chiclayo to be exact. We’ve decided to drown our sorrows and our sticky eyes in a big screen movie this afternoon. We’ll let you know how it is if we don’t fall asleep in the middle.

-Las Dos

Cathedral and Cross

Originally uploaded by mebrown06.

Come to Vilcabamba for a day, and stay for three. (Or, like the aforementioned Canadian, come for a week, stay for over a month, and relentlessly judge people). We’ve played our hearts out these past few days: life-sized chess, ping pong, pool, swimming pool games like “handstands” and “swim-through-my-legs” and “guess-what-I’m-saying-underwater.” It’s been great. We’re gearing up for a nightbus to Piura, Peru, leaving at 10:30. We hope to make it to Chiclayo tomorrow morning.

In the meantime, you can click on the picture to view recently uploaded photos. Unfortunately, we’ve run into quite a lot of camera trouble lately: 1) the screen of the new camera we bought for our trip cracked and rendered the camera nearly useless 2) the old camera we brought as a backup is very persnickety. Currently, the new memory chip that we bought to replace the 16 MB chip is not allowing us to put pictures up online. We can take photos just fine and see the photos on the camera, but for some reason when we use our USB camera chip plug in thing, we can’t put the photos onto the computer. Anybody have any advice? I’m thinking that the photos are stored on the chip and there must be a way to get them off, but have no idea what that way might be. All this to say, there are about 200 odd pictures that we can see and you can’t. Ha.

No really, all advice appreciated. We wouldn’t want these pictures to be resigned to a horrible limbo in which they exist only on a 2×4 inch screen. They need to have the chance to live a full, happy life.

-Megan (with help from Sarah)

Although we have both learned a lot about Central and South America, about history, about ecology, about politics, about cultures… we may have learned more about white travellers from “developed” countries. There’s a lot of them about.

And mostly they’re nice and chatty and interesting and fun. But sometimes they’re everything that they’re expected to be: judgemental, snobby, pampered, entitled, and smelling of patchouli. Today we met a Canadian. He wore a braid down his back and a peasant shirt tucked in to linen pants. He had stayed in the (GORGEOUS) hotel that we’re staying in now (in Vilcabamba, Ecuador) for about a month. And he had very strong opinions. Mostly about Carnaval (which he has yet to experience), and Peru (which he has yet to visit).

Carnaval in a “Third World” country, you see, is not the same as Carnaval in a “Normal” country: they drink cane liquor here, and throw water balloons at tourists (“Which could break your arm! Or knock out two teeth! And it’s just fun to them!”). At this point, we were both aching to blurt out: “it’s Carnaval man, it’s a party, loosen up!” But it definitely wasn’t the first time we’d come across this type of attitude. Generally, even if they’ve worked hard at home to save up the money for their travels, white travellers (ourselves included) are on a big long vacation/party and are using up a lot of disposable income. Yet, according to many of them, the people in the countries they’re visiting shouldn’t be “wasting” their money on a party. Especially if, during this party, they don’t welcome said rich, white travellers with open arms, thanking them profusing for deigning to visit their country. You don`t know how many times we’ve heard people going on about how local folks only make $90 a month and yet still spend money on beer. I mean, if I only made $90 a month I’d want a beer from time to time. Jeez!

And don’t get our Canadian friend started on Peru… “on this side of the border, people are nice; you smile at them and they smile back. On that side of the border, you smile at someone and they punch you.” It is important to note that he has never been to Peru, but since he’s been in the same swanky hotel for a month, he’s heard some things and thought he’d warn us. Oh, yeah, and did you know that native people here and in the jungles of Africa and the Carribbean (no joke) are telepathic? I didn’t. I mean, that’s a lot of people in this world who can read each other’s minds. How have they kept it quiet for so long? Amazing!

Another, off-topic, but related thing that we’ve noticed is that there is a lot of anti-Israeli sentiment amongst travellers. Apparently as soon as goyish Americans leave the country they feel entitled to start spouting off about how universally stingy Israelis are. I know, I know, Israeli is not the same as Jewish… but COME ON… give me a break, since when is it cool to gossip about how everyone of a certain nationality shares one specific negative trait (and we’re not counting Spaniards and their mullets… because mullets are cool), especially when that nationality is closely tied to a historically oppressed religion (that, miraculously, shares the same stereotypes)?

And another thing! (I know, I know, what a rant). When people aren’t asserting that native fill-in-the-blanks are drunk, violent, and hateful towards tourists, they’re saying things like “they live so simply, life is so much slower here.” From what we’ve seen, life for people who actually live here a lot of the time includes dawn ’til dusk work. For example, I don’t know how many times I saw our Guatemalan host-mom Irma literally running from the market to her home to fix us lunch or prepare the empanadas she was going to sell the next day on the street. Also, when would you ever see people running to hop onto a moving public bus in the U.S.? Life is only slower here for travellers because we’re on vacation and we don’t have jobs to get to. When you’ve got nothing to do all day but take a hike and read a book, then yeah, life is gonna seem a little slower.

To be fair, this type of prejudiced thinking is by no means universal. Most people we’ve met realize that the vast majority of Peruvians won’t punch you if you smile at them. But the few that cling to totally out-there beliefs like these tend to drive us both batty. As you may have noticed.

-Las Dos

We got up at the crack of dawn today to catch the one bus Ingapirca. Woo hoo, we thought, our first major Incan ruin! Flat stones that miraculously fit together without morter, the largest South American empire, centralized state economy, conquest and forced labor, fierce resistence to the Spanish… what’s not to like about the Incas?

However, after climbing all over huge ancient Mayan temples that poke their heads out of verdant jungles, Ingapirca was a disappointment. Whereas the Mayan history is one of mysterious abandonments of entire cities and a vibrant continuing culture, the Inca history at Ingapirca is just one of conquest. The Incas conquered the Cañari (who had lived there for thousands and thousands of years), razed their city and used their stones to build their sun temple. Forty years later, the Spanish arrived, conquered the Inca, razed their city, and used their stones to build their church. Hundreds of years later, after countless grave robbings, the city was re-discovered by archaeologists. Not much is left.

We did, however, run into a retired couple from Richland, WA, where I played many a soccer tournament in my youth (and was hopefully unaffected by the mounds of radioactive waste left from the power plant). The man, however, turned up his nose at Seattle, where he grew up, so I don’t like him. Also, a nice retired Canadian couple who chatted with us throughout the entire tour. We may have learned more about their travels than about the site. But, we didn’t mind because the site really wasn’t all that great shakes and the Canadians were funny. It’s always nice to know that, if we play our cards right, we’ll have more travel in us after retirement.

-Megan (with help from Sarah)

We’ve become rather obsessed with Harry Potter. Maybe it makes us feel at home, like comfort food. Maybe we just like escaping from reality. However you slice it, we’re both totally sucked in. Megan’s been reading them in Spanish (she’s almost done with the sixth one) and Sarah in English (she refuses to try the Spanish versions — insists that working hard is not the point of Harry Potter books). I know, I know, it’s totally lame. But what else can you do on 10 hour bus rides?

So imagine our surprise when Megan, trying to uncover financial aid information about the UW, ran across this little gem: a real life, actual invisibility cloak. Proved by math. Math!

I know that invisibility cloaks in Washington State have little to do with our travels, but it was just TOO COOL to skip.

We’re in Riobamba, Ecuador anxiously awaiting our train ride down “the devil’s nose.” A trip during which we get to ride on top of the train. Whooo hoooo!

While waiting, we did something we do almost everyday. We ate lunch. It was a nice restaurant with white tablecloths and dessert spoons and waiters wearing white vests (although our lunches, which included bread, soup, entree, dessert, and juice cost us $1.70 each). It was also one of the funniest lunches either of us have had in a long time. Why? Because of the menu. Someone had translated it into English so that under each Spanish food item lay an English translation. Here are some of the best dishes they offered (word for word):

– Crema de Hongos (It Cremates of Mushrooms)

– Crema de Espàrragos (It Cremates of Asparaguses)

– Pechuguita a la Plancha (Breast to the Iron)

– Costillas a la BBQ (Ribs to the BBQ)

– Las Menestras (The Pottages)

– Costillas de Res a la Parnilla con Guarnicones (Head Ribs to the Grill with Gears)

– Cerdo en Salsa de Vino y Ciruelas Pasa (Pig in Sauce of Wine and Plum Happens)

– El Chuletero: Duo de Chuleta de Cerdo y Res (Duet of Pig Chops and Head)

– Lengua con Salsa Parreillera (Fillets of Language with Sauce of Garlic, Oregano, and Other Spices)

At first we thought, uh oh, someone made a translation mistake, but then we realized that language really had been filleted… and spat up on the menu.

-Las Dos

Today we hiked up a mountain. It was a much nicer experience than the rest of the hiking that we’ve done on this trip… in Ecuador they seem to have discovered the glories of the switchback. Hooray! We made it up to the mirador that looks out over the city (upon which stood the obligatory cross) and then decided to continue up the mountain to a small town that supposedly lay at the top. Along the way we were able to catch great views of an active volcano covered in ash (but we stupidly had taken our memory card out of our camera before the hike and so had no way to document the view. oh sad).

Reaching the teensy town of Runtun, we sat on the side of the road to eat our lunch of crackers, avocado, and queso fresco (cheese). While packing up what was left of our lunch, a man, who seemed to be somewhere between forty and fifty, approached us, whipped out some fresh herbs from his pocket and invited us back to his house for some tea. We accepted. His name turned out to be Manuelo and his house was only a few feet away. It consisted of a small room with a bed, a stove, a small end table, a bench, and a chair. We took the bench. He picked more fresh herbs (called cedrón, we later learned) and lit the stove. Soon, he had offered us heaping portions of meat, potatoes, rice, bananas, and bread. We tried to decline the food, since we’d just eaten, but he was having none of it. So we ate.

We spoke of his wife and two kids, who lived at the bottom of the mountain in Baños, the family cow business, and the reawakening of the Tungurahua volcano in 1999. The entire town of Baños, over 16 thousand people, was evacuated, He had had to sell all four of his grown cows for cutrate prices. Since most people’s livelihood is tied to the land, even three months away from their homes, animals, and farms meant tremendous economic loss. Manuelo said there was a lot of crying and a lot of merchants taking advantage of people who had to sell their belongings. We were a little frightened to hear that in the past five months there’s been a lot of rumbling and ash spewing. Lovely.

About halfway through our lunch with Manuelo, he walked over to his stove, drawing our attention to the only wall adornment (aside from the obligatory angel calendar) in his house: a mask of, get this, Richard Nixon. He took it off the wall, put it on, gave the double handed peace sign, and said “Yo no soy un ladron!” (I bet you can guess what that means). We had a good laugh. Turns out he owned it for holidays like Carnival and New Years. He agreed with us that both Nixon and Bush were locos. Good man.

After responding to all of his encouragements to “eat, eat!” we were so stuffed we started to doubt if we could make it back down the mountain. So we gave him some money for his troubles and said our goodbyes. Goodbye Manuelo… good luck with your cows.

-Las Dos

We spent the last few days traipsing around Ecuadorian mountains. It was, however, somewhat difficult to traipse since we had to wear so many clothes. Who knew it gets so cold 4000 meters above sea level? Leaving Quito, we headed for Latacunga where it rained all day, but we didn’t mind because we got a hotel room with a TV for the first time in months and months and watched the second Harry Potter movie in Spanish. From there, we bused it to Zambahua, planning to take in a Saturday market and bus around what our travel guidebook called the “Quilotoa Loop.” We soon realized that this “loop” may or may not be the creation of Lonely Planet in tandem with hostels in Chugchilán (a town halfway around the loop). I mean, how can a loop exist apart from the context of some weird travellers’ discourse? However, whether or not this “loop” was “socially (re)constructed” or not, it was constructed for a reason (you know, like gender and race). And unlike gender and race and all other socially constructed spectral entities, the Quilotoa loop is gorgeous, so neither of us can see a downside to its existence. If we had more time, we would spend several more days traipsing around the constructed terrain, but alas we’re beginning to realize that our trip is over in less than two months (unless we change the date of our ticket home).

Apart from creating the lovely Quilotoa Loop, however, our guidebook proved practically useless when attempting to get around the thing. The book warned us that the only way to get around said loop was by getting up at 3 or 4am every morning and catching the only bus to the next town on the circuit. Thus, we felt very hardcore when deciding to attempt the journey. But, as it turns out, there were buses every hour or so all day long… so… there you go. Also, several towns are within walking distance (14 km or so) from each other. If we had known that, we may have attempted a tantalizingly beautiful hike to Chugchilán, leaving our ten books and pounds of coffee behind at the loop’s beginning. (I know, I know, why are we carrying around ten books and two pounds of coffee on our backs? We’re literary coffee snobs I suppose… even after this trip, no one will ever confuse us with real travellers who only need a pair of underwear, duct tape, and a toothpick to get by.) As it turns out, however, we made it to the highlight of the loop, Lake Quilotoa, breathed in some crisp mountain air, wandered around a market where pigs heads were sold, rode almost bareback on two horses up the sides of a volcanic crater, and truly enjoyed ourselves.

Now we’re in Baños, Ecuador, which looks like a small town in the Alps, complete with a Bavarian-looking cathedral and mountains in all directions.

-Las Dos

Quito is a marvelous city: it has great public transportation (a trolley!), walkable streets, a beautifully kept-up colonial district that has managed to remain a center of daily Quiteño life instead of a tourist trap, and hot showers. But, because it’s so great, nothing very bad or very interesting has happened to us here. So, to continue our great blogging tradition in times of lull, here is a random Top Ten list of interesting tidbits that have not made it onto our blog so far:

1) Riding on a bus to La Mitad Del Mundo, we spotted the following block-letter graffiti, in English: “Black People.” Yup, just “Black People,” nothing else. It reminds me of a kid from Wesleyan who wore a shirt with magic marker-writing proclaiming “Eco-Feminism” (yup, just “Eco-Feminism”) just to, as she said, “let people know it’s out there.” Or, perhaps the “Black People” graffiti is in protest to the used-book shop named “Confederate Books” that is a few blocks from our hotel.

2) At La Mitad Del Mundo (the equator), really funny things happen. For one, you can balance a raw egg on the head of a nail. For two, water will drain directly down without swirling to one side or the other. For three, if you do competitions of strength on the equator line and off the equator line, differences in strength will be magnified the farther you are from the precise middle of the world. For four, you weigh less on the equator. How cool is that?

3) On our travels, we have run into approximately ten Spaniards. Based on our rather limited sample, we have made an observation: all Spaniards have mullets, unless they are from Basque Country. If the Spanish people are on the cutting edge of fashion, you can expect to see innumerable fashion mullets in the coming years.

4) We did not get sunburned in Nicaragua, where the sun was scalding and the temperatures averaged 85-90 degrees. We did not get sunburned in Panama, despite similar heat and sun. We did, however, get horribly sunburned at the equator, where it was cloudy and 65 degrees. Megan’s legs still hurt.

5) When Sarah was in Xela, Guatemala (a little late, but bear with me), she ran into a girl she knew in Ithaca but had not seen for 6 years. This girl was dating a Spanish teacher at Sakribal. Small world…

6) The Sarmat Porter that Megan was so excited about had expired on 1/15/2005. It turns out that Ukrainian beer doesn’t have much of a market in Ecuador.

7) The Panama City Airport really sucks. In addition to not having any magazine stores, they took Megan’s swiss army knife, broke our camera, and made us forget that we had brought Snickers with us. It is the worst airport in the world.

8) However, COPA airlines is great! They serve you an actual snack, consisting of a sandwich and chips, and offer you free alcohol.

9) Within the space of two days, both Megan’s and Sarah’s backpack clasp shattered. Megan’s broke on the cab ride with the Peace Corps girl, and Sarah’s broke in the Panama City Airport (worst airport ever). These clasps are the important waist strap clasps that allow you to heft the weight of your bag with your hips instead of your shoulder.

10) We shared a room with a very strange French guy. He arrived at 5 pm, immediately lay down on the top bunk, and did not move. At some point, he smoked a joint, still lying on the top bunk. He said maybe three words then entire night and left the next morning at 10. At least he wasn’t sporting a mullet.

-Megan (with help from Sarah)