Week Four In Buenos Aires

Today is the four-week mark. I can't believe it's already been a month - and that I only have three more left! Now that I've had some more time to enjoy Buenos Aires I have a few more observations to make on the country, the culture, and of course, the cuisine (although that will have to come in another blog, since we all know how much I usually have to say about food).

General Notes

First let me say that I have been thrilled with my time here so far and every day I have new affirmation that I made the right decision to leave Chile. The people are warm and welcoming, funny and outgoing. The Spanish is easier to understand and fun to listen to. Without giving away too much for the next blog, the food is fantastic and - despite insane levels of inflation recently - still relatively cheap. Public transport is easy to use and vendors sell used books and fresh flowers on the streets, two of my favorite buys. All in all, Buenos Aires has been a trip thus far.

Housing, Revisited

I've spent this first month in a posh neighborhood called Palermo, about a 20 minute metro ride from the heart of downtown, but by no means a suburb: this is very much part of the city, and definitely the dining/going out center of it all. Tomorrow I will move to my new apartment in Congreso, much more central but not quite the culinary center I've been enjoying these past few weeks. I expect to return many times to Palermo, but the new place is happily accessible to everything so it shouldn't be a problem.

I also wanted to mention, as an addendum to the last blog, that I spoke a bit too soon about my sweet new set-up. It turns out that a contract and even a deposit here provide you with almost no legal protection, and the very next day I got a call from the real estate agent telling me the landlady had come to her senses about the price and was asking for more. This was, quite frankly, probably my own fault; in my giddiness I mentioned to the person who showed me the place what a good price it was, not realizing she was a friend of the family. So, instead of $500 she now wanted $600 a month. If I didn't want to pay it, I could come pick up my deposit any time. After making a good case for myself I offered $550, which fortunately she accepted, especially since this apartment could easily go for $800. I am holding my breath until I am actually in the apartment sometime tomorrow.

What's In a Name?

I have noticed an abundance of oddly named stores and restaurants, some stemming from a weak grasp on the English language. Here are a few of my favorites:

*The Crack Café
*Munchi's
*The Fly Lamp - literally a store dedicated to lamps in the shape of flies
*Diego Mother F***er - It wasn't open yet, but it looked like it would be a furniture store
*Te Mataré Ramirez - an artsy/punk restaurant, translated as "I will kill you, Ramirez"
*Beth Bilingual - less a weird name and more a random coincidence; this is the name of a primary school a few blocks from where I've been staying.

Paid Services

Buenos Aires is the city of doing as little for oneself as possible, and I don't really mean that in a bad way. For instance, it's highly common for people - not just rich people - to have maid service once or even more than once a week. Almost all the apartments I looked at offered this service, and I found out a going rate is about $10 for 2-3 hours' worth of cleaning. Insane! I have to admit, I sort of enjoyed the experience, and although the new place doesn't include servicio de limpieza, I may just hire one anyway...

In this same vein, I finally had to give in and send my laundry out, which ended up being an altogether pleasant experience. In other countries they charge you by the kilo, so I expected the 4 peso price to be on the same weight scale. When I went to pick it up a mere 4 hours after dropping it off, I found that, no, it was 4 pesos to wash a whole load, and 4 to dry - thus, all the laundry I could muster cost me approximately $2.50. It was even soft like they had used good soap! So, it makes sense to send it out rather than doing one's own laundry, especially since it isn't normal to have a washer (and certainly not a dryer!) in-home here. There is also an ironing service that I will definitely be taking advantage of. I am a wretched ironer, just ask my Dad.

For Your Consideration

Although I don't get any real sense of racism against Asians here, it is custom to call every Asian person a chino. I've pointed out that there is an abundance of Asian countries and that someone from Vietnam, for instance, looks nothing like someone from China, but I've been waved away by saying, "It's just easier. They don't care." I'm not so sure about that, as I had this conversation in a "Chinese" grocery store run by a family of people obviously not from China since the store owner rolled his eyes while his wife shrugged her shoulders at me, as if to say, what can we do about it?

I think the Chinese bit speaks to the general lack of consideration for others that is common throughout all of South America. In the U.S. there is a sense of anticipation that I think contributes to (at least in Seattle) a high level of consideration for each other. For example, if you see someone looking lost and holding a map, it's not uncommon in the U.S. to offer directions. If you see someone walking your way, it's general practice to move a bit to let the person pass. Not here! Crowded sidewalks are impossible to navegate as no one walks a straight line, and no one lets you pass even if they see you trying. It's much worse in bars and clubs: if someone sees you coming, they seem to actually try to make it HARDER for you to pass, stepping in your way, throwing an elbow, etc. Sometimes it makes me laugh, sometimes it makes me furious. I'm sure I'm hyper aware of this behavior since I come from the world's most polite city, while here it's just a normal way of life. They probably don't even realize they do it.

Seatbelts, Please

As in all South American countries, the driving here is generally terrifying. People accelerate as fast as possible only to slam on their brakes five seconds later when they come to a stoplight or a car they can't swerve around. Busses are no better. Traffic control is more like 24 hour chicken. There are often no stop signs or lights (also common in Peru and Bolivia). Unlike our own uncontrolled intersections, however, there is nothing resembling an even rotation of one car from this lane, one car from the next. Literally, whoever has more pelotas to push through and hope the other peson doesn't run into him is the one who goes first. Often people will honk several times before and during an intersection to warn other cars "coming through!" The system, not surprisingly, doesn't work very well, and traffic accidents are common.

I have noticed something unique to Argentina's driving, which is that it is totally normal to drive without headlights at night, especially taxis. I'm not sure if this is a form of uber-conservation (do headlights really use that much of the battery?) but it definitely seems odd. They will flash their headlights at you if you are, for instance, a pedestrian they are worried might cross into their trajectory, but otherwise seem to rely on the infrequent street lights for illumination.

Craziness on the streets is not limited to driving. In the spirit of paying other people do to things for you, dog-walking is a very common service offered. (In general there are fewer feral dogs here as compared with Chile, but way more pets, which does not mean there is less dog poop on the sidewalk as very few people bother with the plastic baggie routine.) Perhaps in the spirit of saving time, perhaps out of laziness, many dog walkers do not walk so much as roll. I have seen countless such "walkers" holding up to five full-sized dogs' leashes while riding a bike through some of the largest and busiest streets of the city. This, to me, is sheer madness; with ONE dog it would be difficult to manage, but with five dogs who don't know each other and don't care if they pull you off your bike, navegating the streets with crazy drivers on either side is a death wish.

I wasn't kidding about the large streets: Buenos Aires is actually home to the world's widest street, Avenida 9 de Julio (it's very common to name streets after dates and dead people here). It is, I believe, 9 lanes wide with three traffic lights separating one side street from the other, and takes at least two light cycles to walk across it. The world's widest eschuary is here as well, Mar de la Plata.

¡Tango!

On Monday, September 1 - two weeks ago today - I went to the World Tango Competition final event. First of all, that's just cool. Second of all, Argentina is RAD and the event was completely free. Even the snacks they hawked inside the event were reasonably priced! There were 16 couples from Argentina, Columbia and, oddly enough, Japan (tango is apparently big there) who competed for the world championship title, which earned the winning couple a whopping $2,000 plus a 2-month "artistic tour" dancing through Tokyo. The couple I liked the best took 3rd, and the couple I liked second best didn't even place which I think was sort of an upset, especially considering the woman's face when she realized she hadn't won. The couple that did win was definitely good and when they danced their encore "holy crap we're world champions!" dance they blew us away. It's amazing how much better some people can perform when the pressure is off. And, as the judges deliberated we were treated to a short concert by a world-famous tango pianist plus last year's world champion couple.

There were two final events, the one the night before was for more technical tango (I believe) and the one I saw - apparently the bigger event - let the couples be more artistic with the dancing. A few of the couples had really creative dances that told fun stories, including one that wore plastic wigs and even used props (they took 5th place). There was some jeering when not once but twice the wrong music was queued up, proving that Argentine audiences are unforgiving, but they were extremely supportive of the couples whose music was biffed and applauded extra loudly for them when they finally danced last. Overall it was an amazing night and I'm so grateful to have had the chance to go. (Special shout out to my new gringa friend Kirsten who studies here and let me use her ticket since she had class, and her visiting friend Maggie for agreeing to go with me instead!)

Photos, you say? No way.

It's true. I have finally posted pictures online! I've switched from the limiting world of Flickr to Google's superior Picassa. I uploaded 150+ from my vacation and will soon upload more from my time here (though I always forget to take my camera places, something I especially regretted on an epic walk on Friday). I was sad to discover that I had somehow deleted all my pictures from Copacabana, Peru, as well as my trip to Isla del Sol in Lake Titicaca. I had some good ones, but my friend KaLeah took some that I will steal and share with you to get a sense of my time there. Otherwise, enjoy what I've posted: most of them have captions so it's sort of like my blog for visual learners / people with ADD. You can see the pictures here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/elizabethries

More soon! Please send positive thoughts my way tomorrow as I once again lug my luggage across town to my new digs. (Which, contrary to original information, does NOT have internet. I'm hoping the neighbors do.)

¡Tengo Donde Vivir!

This phrase literally translates as "I have where to live." After three long weeks of searching, including extending my original temporary apartment by two weeks (which afforded me a full month to live in the lovely neighborhood of Palermo), I have finally found a great place to live. Here are a few highlights of the search.

First, the temporary housing industry in Buenos Aires is booming. Booming, I tell you! This means there are a ton of places available, which is a double-edged sword that involves a lot of picking through the debris to get to the gems. In three weeks I estimate I looked at over 1,000 properties online, and about a dozen in person. I was chained to my computer. Now, Argentina doesn't operate on the same level of efficiency or urgency, and only about 1 out of every 5 e-mail inquiries I sent recieved responses. I finally figured out that making phone calls was much more effective, and even better yet was going into the actual real estate offices. Luckily Palermo has a high concentration of said offices, so I spent all day yesterday on foot. Although at first I tried to find commission-free housing, I finally decided it might be easier if I were willing to pay a finder's fee, and lo and behold, one day after making this decision I have a place to live. Of course, I JUMPED on the apartment when they showed it to me today. I had previous experiences of informally reserving two different places, only to be told they were no longer available when I arrived to pay the deposit. Like I said, the good stuff goes FAST.

I almost died when I saw this place. I've been looking in the $500 price range but was willing to go up to $600 just to find something by the 16th (when I have to be out of this apartment). Now, most of the apartments I saw were just "meh": each one had its set of flaws, including but not limited to being on the ground floor with no light/lots of street noise, poorly or under furnished, no real kitchen to speak of, a sofabed instead of a normal bed, a crappy neighborhood, etc. There were two that were just plain creepy: cement floors, peeling paint, sagging beds, surely rodents in the walls. I decided I could live with the right roommates and that the social aspect might even be welcome, and I did see one shared space with two really cool (presumably gay?) guys that I would have taken if this apartment hadn't presented itself today. (On a side note, by far the most amusing experience was with a seemingly lonely TMI-sharing [too much information for those not in the know] guy who owned his own apartment and made showing it to me date-like; he arrived 15 minutes late because he went out to buy wine and snacks for us, and then proceeded to talk at me for 3 hours straight like every idea he'd ever had was shockingly original, before I was able to escape. I wrote a story about it, if you're interested let me know and I'll send it along.)

Anyway, the apartment. It started with the cab ride. All this looking has admittedly had the benefit of getting me better acquainted with the city and I'm a pro with the subway, several busses, and getting myself to the right place with a map and minimal wrong turns. Today I was running late so I took the subway as close as I could get and then hopped in a short cab ride (when normally I would have walked, and it turns out it's super close to several subways). As we drove through the neighborhood, I noticed it had a lot of what I was looking for: central, with lots of shops and restaurants around, but also neighborhoody, with plenty of trees that will soon be in bloom. Some places in the center clear out on weekends and aren't necessarily safe at night, but this area (Balvanera near Congreso if you're familiar with the city) is always filled with residents. All in all a good vibe. The building itself has kind of a fun address: Bartolomé Mitre 1943. It's a good number since it's a year after my grandparents were married and I like to think of them as war-corresponding newlyweds that ultimately had a great marriage. Anyway, the building itself is sort of oddly big: the entryway is giant, as are the hallways between the elevators and apartments. No problem by me as I only have one neighbor to the left, next to the kitchen and not the bedroom where I will peacefully sleep 11 floors above the street noise. It doesn't have a balcony which was one concession I made, but it has FANTASTIC views and windows in each room, which is rare. Also, one floor up is a rooftap terraza, so I'm not complaining. It has a full, separate kitchen with ample counter space, a stovetop AND an oven, four things you rarely find together in my price range (often the kitchens are incorporated into studios as closets - imagine me trying to cook in one of those). It also has a dining/living room with a big table and this amazingly comfortable chair that turns into a single bed (hint, hint, would be visitors). The bedroom itself is a good size with a comfortable double bed, and it has a great big closet. I especially love that there is no TV suspended above the bed as is common here, since, well, television is addictive and I'd prefer not to get sucked in (though there is one, with cable, in the living room). All in all, YAY! The price is seriously absurd. I have seen tiny studios on the ground floor with a sofabed and a closet kitchen in the same neighborhood for $600. I did have to pay a comission but I am just going to think of rent as $575 a month and still call it a hell of a deal.

It was such a new listing they never even took pictures for their website, so I have none to share (plus I plan on doing a little rearranging) but as soon as I'm in - this Tuesday! - I will snap a few and post them here. I also have another blog half-written about my non-housing-search life here, which I will get posted soon, now that I don't have to dedicate myself to searching for housing. Can I get a booyah?

Post-Peru Post

So, rather than revising my original stream of consciousness Peru post, I've decided to add what was missing here. I left a lot out about the Inka trail and Machu Picchu, not because it wasn't incredible but because Robyn and I were on a time crunch and hungry and as we all know, I'm wordy and just couldn't get it all written in time. Robyn added some excellent points in her comment, and I'd like to address those in more depth.

First, I was remiss in not mentioning the bathroom situation on the trek. I may have left it out intentionally since it was still rather close at hand and there were some less than savory memories made on the trail. I will try to be as delicate as possible, suffice to say the facilities were lacking. First of all, during the hike, if you need to go, you just hop off the trail and, well, go. This I have no problem with since it's a pretty standard camping feature and doing #1 in the wild is not that hard. When we arrived at our actual campsites which did technically have toilets, however, I ran into problems. First, the Peruvians dont' believe in toilet bowls: the bathrooms were literally concrete squares surrounded by partial walls that you sort of hovered over. Or at least, I'm assuming that's what one did with them, since not once during the four day trek did I enter any of them; instead, I spent most of my time running past them holding my breath. I'm not sure how many people know this about me, but I am quite senstive to smell and bad smells lead to pretty severe gagging on my part. Robyn can testify that this gagging was actually debilitating and there was not a snowball's chance in hell I'd be able to make use of the "official" bathrooms. We adopted a "leave no woman behind" policy and formed some pretty lasting bonds in a variety of situations and, well, I'll leave it at that. Finally, on the last night at the most modern of all the sites, I got to them early - pre-smell - and there were actual toilet bowls, if not seats. I didn't think it was possible to enjoy teetering on the rim of a toilet so much. I will sum up this section by saying that our impressive stock of baby wipes were indispensible, and I was so grateful to Matt and Robyn for having thought of bringing them. Matt had his own internal issues what with being deathly ill and all, and I want to once again give him a shout out for never once complaining, even as he had to make use of the foul facilities for relief from, ahem, both ends, and THEN wake up and hike at 4 a.m. Truly amazing, and my own bathroom woes were nothing compared to what he must have gone through.

I can't write this post without mentioning at some length the South African girl who had an unnatural hatred for me. She was ultimately just another snobby, socially maladjusted "world traveller" who thought she had my number because I was, after all, just another idiotic, spoiled American, but the absolute highlight of my interactions with this girl revolved around a conversation about Gatorade. The Irish boys and I were all consuming said wonder elixir (for obvious reasons, we were tuckered out and needed a little boost) and Robyn mentioned that it had originally been created by a football coach in Florida. I added that this was why you often see football teams dumping coolers of Gatorade over their coach's heads after a win, to which she replied haughtily, "There are starving children in Africa." The entire group, including her friends, were stunned; eyes downcast and embarrassed for her idiocy. Robyn later commented that she had to catch herself from saying, "You better get back there and feed them then!" I wish I had been so quick on the draw because I would have actually SAID it, but I was too stupefied - it's not like I personally ever dumped gatorade over my football coach's head, after all, and even so, would Gatorade really nourish Africa's youth? I believe my response was, "There are starving children in Peru, too." Not sure what I was trying to get across with that other than there are starving children everywhere.

This was just one in a series of incidents with our precious South African crankypants. Another favorite involved the very tacky subject of tipping. As a group of 17, we had 18 porters, three guides, and a chef working for us. Naturally, four days of being waited on should include gratuity at the end of it, which is pointed out - rightfully so, since some people are idiots - in the trek brochure and on the company's website. The total cost of the trek was $460: if you subtract $80 for the entrance fee to Machu Picchu and another $80 for transportation, that means we each paid a whopping $300 for four days and three nights of camping in one of the most high-demand tourist destinations in the world, eating until we were blue in the face, and having cultural and architectural information provided to us at our every whim (our whims were less frequent than Hilbert's, but still). It really was quite reasonable, and yet the two South Africans, the two Irish boys, the two Brits and the obnoxious Puerto Rican were irate that on top of paying such an exorbitant amount we were also reminded to leave a tip at the end - the nerve! (Note that the recommended tip was, if I remember correctly, about $25 each.) After biting our tongues while listening to an obnoxious conversation about the injustice of it all through our thin tent walls ("They're bascially asking us to shoulder the porter's salaries/I thought this trip was all-inclusive/you get the point" Give me a break), I stepped out and said my short bit, something to the extent of: "If you knowingly go to an expensive restaurant, you don't leave a bad tip because the food was pricey." To which Irish replied, "You can't really compare the situations." And I said, "You're absolutely right, because at the restaurant you'd leave a way higher tip for an hour of service than we're being asked to leave people who spent the last four days waiting on us." Someone shot back that as Americans we're accustomed to tipping, and I said, well, lucky for you half of us are Americans, so you can leave a crappy tip and it'll all even out (I should mention we were expected to pool a 'group' tip, adding to the badness of the situation). They were trying to argue that they were on a budget - as if we weren't - and my last comment was, "If you think this trip is so expensive, why didn't you opt for a cheaper package?" I then walked away, very angry, partly at their absurd attitudes, partly for bringing us down on a trip that we all paid the same amount for and should be able to enjoy without unecessary stress, but also because I knew they'd been having the whole conversation within earshot of our English-speaking guides, who no doubt felt awkward and also underappreciated having heard it. When push came to shove (and after they had all consumed their fare share of rather expensive beers, a fact which did not go unnoticed by all us tip-happy Americans who never said Boo about the obvious notion of tipping for a service well rendered) people did dole out a reasonable amount and we gave the porters an average of 37 soles each, or about $12 - bearing in mind the legally recognized porter tip minimum (a fuzzy concept since it was technically optional to tip) is 35 soles. It's interesting how cultural divides can occur at the most unexpected times, but we were pretty much in U.S.A. and Not-U.S.A. camps on this issue, something which I found interesting (and for the first time in awhile I was proud to be on the American side). This may seem long-winded, but I'm leaving out a whole other complicated money argument regarding single-day porters, which also involved South Africa and me getting into a skirmish.

Robyn would hate for me to write this whole post without more mention of the hilarious Puerto Rican dude, so here are a few highlights: he was the most egotistical dude I think any of us had ever met. He constantly wanted pictures taken of himself, BY his girlfriend and never once WITH her. In each picture he proudly displayed a Puerto Rico flag patch he wore rubber-banded to the sleeve of his shirt, and less than proudly sucked in his gut, which he was clearly embarrassed about having developed in the last few years. He was also a complete know-it-all, and since their tent was right next to ours the last day we got to listen to him lecture her about a variety of issues on which he was just plain wrong, with her incredulous reaction being (read in a southern accent): "Now, do you KNOW this, or are you just guessing?" (On a side note, his girlfriend Michelle was one of my favorites in the group and I hope I'm as active - and as hot - as she is when I'm 50). All in all our group could have been composed of better, more interesting, less grating people, but it made for good stories and for the most part everyone was fine and got along swimmingly. No lasting friendships made, but it could have been a lot worse.

I don't want to give a negative impression of the trip, because really, it was amazing. Right before we started - as we were repacking our packs, spraying bug spray, and shooing away women trying to sell us hats and walking sticks (we were the only three not to succumb to the ridiculous practice of carrying said walking sticks, and gratefully so) - I got nervous. What had we gotten ourselves into?? But as soon as we started it melted away and I decided to just take it one step at a time. It was a nice practice in patience for me: I went very slowly, and loved taking it all in. We went through a variety of ecosystems, and we spent most of the third day in the jungle, filled with happy insect noises and beautiful flora. During the course of the trail we also passed a ton of other Inka ruins, some of which I think I enjoyed almost as much as Machu Picchu, partly because I could enjoy them ALONE. Which brings us to Machu Picchu itself: what can I say? It's an experience of a lifetime, but one you only really need to have once in that lifetime. It was hard to fully appreciate the magnitude of the site, made even more difficult by the hundreds and even thousands of other people also taking it in. I said it before, but I wish we had been more rested so we could have enjoyed it a bit more. We were more of the "thank heavens its over'"attitude by that point, and although I did appreciate the tour Hilbert gave, I found myself forcing my eyes open during a lot of it. But, yes, it was absolutely beautiful, breathtaking, awe-inspiring, and not easily captured by the camera's lens.

Speaking of, I should mention now that Matt took a ton of pictures, and pretty early on I started neglecting my own camera since I figured whatever he was getting was 10 times better than what I would snap. So, eventually I will get those pictures from him and make them available to all of you, and until then, you'll have to make do with the few I did take. (On a side note, I am happy to report that Matt cunningly talked his delinquent airline into buying him a ticket on a more reputed one, and he made it to the wedding in Brasil in time.)

In the hopes of making you forget all the badness I've just discussed, here's a brief photo tour of our four days on the Inka Trail (note that comments come after each picture, not before).

Here are Hilbert, Matt, and Robyn standing in front of the train to Aguas Calientes, the closest town to Machu Picchu. This is about 5 minutes after we started walking. Don't worry, the train is stopped. The first day was warm but Robyn didn't shed any layers for fear of ruthless bug bites.

These are the first ruins we stopped to discuss - a.k.a. the first time long-winded Hilbert made a few people fall asleep. It's tough to wake up so early, force your body to go up and down hill, and then STOP for an hour to get a cultural lesson. I think the wind kept us up more than Hilbert did.

This is the start of our second day of walking, also the most difficult day. In a few short hours we'll be several thousand feet higher, crossing the tallest peak of the trail.

This is the several hours later I mentioned... as far down as you can see is where we started the day. Yikes. We were lucky it was cloudy; on a hot, sunny day it would have been 100 times worse.


Some ruins from day 2 or possibly day 3... these days sort of blur together.
Day 3 ruins - the Inkas are famous for being able to "bend" rocks and this is a perfect example.

Going downhill was in many ways worse than going up. Our knees were definitely hollering by the time we reached the bottom of each set of stairs (only to go straight back up).

An eerily sea-scape-seeming landscape from day 3 in the jungle. Matt took a lot of flora pictures this day.

These were the ruins near where we stopped on day 3, by far my favorite of the trail mostly because I was able to enjoy them in solitude (after poor Oscar gave a very awkward, borderline painful lecture on them in his nervous, broken English). For a sense of scale, check out the people in the upper righthand corner. This was HUGE. Each individual terrace has a slightly different temperature, and the Inkas grew different crops on each terrace based on those fine-tuned temperatures. They were really smart, ok?

Our faithful porters the last night of the trek. They were so great! Other people were embarrassed when a porter would scurry past them carrying 2-3 times the weight, but they were raised here and they are paid to do it, so I mostly just enjoyed watching them go.

6:00 a.m. and we reach Machu Picchu. Hooray! Can you tell just how badly we need to shower? The shower that night will be, without a doubt, the best shower I've ever taken in my life.
The money shot, as they say, and also the famous image you've all seen before, only this time taken from my own point and click. We were lucky to get a clear day; often it's clouded over and you have to rely on your imagination more than your camera for memories.

More pictures pending - I'm in the process of switching from Flickr (bad) to Picassa (good) and once I get that squared away I'll have all my photos from the past 6 weeks to share. I'm also working on a new Buenos Aires post, so don't go too far!

Buenos Aires, baby!

As I mentioned before, my last few days in Chile were lovely, including a trip to the coast to say goodbye to my favorite artisans, including Gonzalo, a talented painter (Jacob actually bought one of his paintings while visiting):

I also spent the night with my former student Ivan and his fantastic mom, and we went out with Carolina and Eli (Mom stayed home):

And now, after much anticipation, I am finally in Buenos Aires. I arrived last Monday evening and headed for the hostel I had booked just for the night, since the temporary apartment I had rented wasn't available since it was a holiday (they would ultimately lose that reservation, book me another one for 8:30 the next night, and then close down shop with all my luggage locked inside). I unwittingly booked the hostel next to the one where Jacob and I stayed the first time; not as in next door to the building, but literally in the same building, on the same floor, one door over. The dude working (who incidentally owns the hostel) gave me my first taste of the distinctions between Chileans and Argentinians, as he was instantly warm and welcoming, and invited me out for that Thursday night, which was fun - we're going out again this weekend.

I should mention that in Argentina, just because you own a hostel - or any other business - doesn't mean you have any kind of money. Argentina has been suffering economic woes since the collapse in 2001, and it's altogether too common for people to work 12 hours a day and still be completely broke. They are still generous, however, and when I had to stay a second night in the hostel since I couldn't get into the apartment yet again, he gave me all new shower stuff, made my bed while I was washing off my frustrations, and didn't charge me for the night. (Ok, so you're asking, what's the catch with this guy? Well, I'll tell you: he sports the eternally fashionable Latino mullet and seemingly owns only one pair of pants.)

I did eventually make it into my third choice apartment, a sweet one bedroom in a fun neighborhood called Palermo. It's not in the center but it is close to the subway, and it's surrounded by restaurants and shops, parks and museums. Here's a shot of just a fraction of the sprawling green area near the apartment:

I love how old school things are here, especially my keys; I feel like I live in a 17th century English mansion. What I don't love is the thoroughly Latino tradition of doors that lock from the INSIDE. Not only is it terribly inconvenient, but a total fire hazard as well. So far no one has been able to give me a suitable answer about why this is. Some of the unsuitable responses have included "So you say goodbye at the door and not in your apartment" and "Because the buildings are old." Right...

I'm now looking at more permanent options (I'll only be in this apartment until September 2), including one just a few blocks from here and a few others in the center. I am also, for the first time in years, considering living with a roommate, both for the economy of it and the social horizons it could potentially open. All of the furnished options here seem to come included with cable TV, an addictive curse. E! entertainment channel will be the death of me yet. Unfortunately I have had a cold since arriving, so watching TV has been easy to justify.

On Saturday I went out with my friend Paula who I met in Valparaíso but who lives and works here in BA (she is Argentinian). She showed me how to party all night, something this city is famous for - often a night won't start until 3 a.m. and won't end until noon the next day. Not exactly my type of night (I prefer to start at 10 and finish no later than 2) but, when in Rome! I got home at 8 a.m., a respectable first-timer's arrival, but it only exacerbated the cold into what I am secretly terrified is mono... fun times. Luckily there is no treatment for mono so I don't have to feel guilty about not investigating the Argentine health care system.

When I can pull myself out of bed I have been doing a lot of walking. This city is nice and flat and walkable, despite it being absolutely HUGE - about 14 million people call BA home. There are endless nooks to discover and I keep reminding myself not to be overwhelmed by finding all of them since I have four months to do so. I am considering getting a bike. I've also been sampling the distinct cuisines here, especially empanadas, and although I was convinced no empanada could satisfy me like in Chile, I have not been disappointed by what I've found. The sheer variety gives Argentina an edge, and they are small enough that it's perfectly acceptable to order and eat several at once. So far the best one has been eggplant, but spicy chicken was also fantastic, and one with ground beef and raisins would have been up there if it had been fully heated (a sadly common issue in South America).

August is apparently Tango month here, and there is the World Cup of Tango this week, which sold out ages ago so if I want to see it I'll have to watch on TV like the rest of the plebes. (Not that I could have afforded a ticket; after a month's vacation I am flat broke.) Argentina's fashion week was also going on a few blocks from here, which I didn't check out after one person told me it "hardly had any clothes." Not sure what kind of a fashion week that is, but as professionals I'm sure they knew what they were doing (?).

They say the "season" starts in September, referring to when the nice weather starts to kick in. Average monthly temperatures in September are 66 degrees, but apparently there are some outlier days that everyone looks forward to. I certainly am one of those people and can't wait to bust out my summer dresses (and shoes!). Speaking of, a few people have asked to see pictures of my newly svelte self, so here I am in a ridiculous and awesome dress I bought from a former student's sister's shop (she makes all the clothes):

It's still too cold to wear, and it may never be appropriate to sport in Seattle, but here in a quasi-fashion capital of the world it will definitely be donned once the sun comes out (provided I keep the kilos off... so far mono is helping).

I want to go back to Chile for just a moment if I may. We all know the rage that has been The Office, spreading from the UK to the US with equal popularity in both countries. Well, the show is now bilingual, as Chile has adopted it in all its same-plotline glory. They are calling it, I kid you not, La Ofis. I have been watching it on its blog and I think it's the perfect way to stay in touch with Chile, the country I lived in and disliked for nearly five months but feel a strange attachment to nevertheless. The rift between Chile and Argentina (well, Chile and all other South American countries, really) is quite obvious, and people are constantly telling me I 'talk like a Chilean' (and not in a good way). Here, instead of calling us gringos, they call us Yankees, only their unique accent makes it sound like 'junkies' which always makes me laugh. Yep, all us junkies are just crazy about Argentina! I have my first Expat Community event tomorrow to watch the Democratic National Convention speeches, and presumably drink. Hopefully it is a cool group of people, but I'm going to try to befriend as many Argentinians as I can. I need to kick this nasty Chilean accent, after all.

On a final note, this was linked from one of my new favorite Web sites, www.passiveaggressivenotes.com, and it just cracks me up:

I hope it made you laugh too! If this or anything else in the blog amused you, leave a girl a comment. Sarah P and I were discussing how comments really motivate us to keep the blog going, hint hint.

p.s. I know I've routinely failed to post new pictures to Flickr, and I will only continue to disappoint in that department today. Soon, I swear.

Arequipa, Peru to Santiago, Chile

My last days in Peru were uneventful. I spent them in the country’s second largest city, Arequipa, which still felt relatively small. They call it the white city since many of the buildings are made out of a white volcanic stone. Overall a very lovely place. Why is it that, though, every city in every Spanish-speaking country has a Plaza de Armas?

I neglected to arrange accommodations in advance and when my very long (and cold – there was no heat and at one point in the mountains the windows had literally frozen over) bus from Cusco finally arrived at 1 am, a kind taxi driver took me to no fewer than 9 places before we found an available room. I’m not sure how I managed to miscalculate my time so badly, but I realized the next day that I actually would spend 4 nights in Arequipa, not 2. Money still being an issue, I quickly searched for an answer, which I found in the form of a casino. I charged chips to my credit card, played on a very strange automated roulette table with frantic gamblers (one of whom would place his bet, then race to drop coins into the three closest slot machines), and then cashed the chips that I hadn’t lost in. I ended up with a few extra coins that I dropped in slots on my way out and ended up winning about $10 more. I neglected to mention in an earlier post that Matt also made the seemingly difficult yet surprisingly easy mistake of leaving his bankcard in an ATM in Cusco the day before we left for the Inka trail. The lucky beneficiary went straight to a casino, irony not lost on me.

Other than gambling, I watched a lot of TV in Arequipa. I think I was somewhat depressed after having travel companions for 2 weeks and then suddenly being on my own again. Also, I like to have a home base and travel for short periods of time, so being gone for a month (with the same three outfits) was starting to wear on me. I was and still am frustrated that the Olympics are not widely shown here, I assume because there just aren't that many South American athletes competing. Normally I love the Olympics and I was desperate to see trampoline as an Olympic sport! I did catch some synchronized diving which was fun.

I did end up taking a city tour which I really enjoyed. I met a nice Canadian fellow who was leaving that very night. During the day we had discussed eating cuy, or guinea pig, a local specialty. We both confessed that we wanted to try it but were afraid to do it alone. We ended up going straight from the tour to a restaurant and split one. I mostly wanted to try it for Matt’s sake since he was too sick to try it for himself. Even though there was almost no meat on the poor creature, I’m glad we split one: they serve it deep fried and WHOLE, and all I could think about was its tiny eyelashes and claws. Ripping off one of its legs to gnaw on it was a, ahem, gnarly experience, one I feel no need to repeat.

Otherwise, I ate a lot of good food. The most popular local dish is rocotos rellenos, or stuffed bell peppers. There is a huge indoor market where I ate lunch and drank smoothies every day. I also tried the Peruvian version of Bolivia's salteñas, which were nowhere near as juicy but still pretty satisfying. (On a side note, I guess I didn't eat as much as I thought I did, because when I came back everyone commented on how much weight I had lost. I have always had very even bodily distribution of weight gain and loss so I don't notice a lot of the time, but I found a scale at a friend's house and weighed myself for the first time since February. I have somehow lost 25 pounds since then. I think a w00t is in order.) Here is the market:

I ultimately decided to fly from Arequipa to Arica, where I then flew to Santiago. I was able to get a really cheap ticket and figured it was worth not spending another 10 hours on the bus. Once I got to Arica I thought I had 3 hours before my next flight left so I settled in to wait (I was glad the Olympics were on and watched a weight lifter drop 300+ pounds on himself) but all of a sudden I heard an announcement for my flight. I had totally forgotten that Peru is an hour behind Chile! I was happy to board the plane earlier than expected and the second half of the trip went just as smoothly as the first.

Ironically, once I got back to Chile my internet access spiraled downward. My friend Carol was nice enough, yet again, to let me stay with her, this time in the middle of one of her roommates moving out, which ended up being an ordeal since it seems all of the furniture in the apartment was his, including all the furniture in Carol’s room… With him also went the internet account, and when you are staying in city suburbia there aren’t many open wireless connections or internet cafes. It ultimately didn't matter much, proving yet again that technology is not as necessary as we like to think, and I had a lot of fun in my four days back, including a trip to the coast to hang out with some of my ex-students, two of whom are planning a trip to visit me in Argentina. It poured rain for 36 hours but the sun came out to let me say goodbye to Valparaíso and Viña del Mar. I thought I might get nostalgic… but no. I am mostly sad to leave my friends here in Chile, but not the country itself. Last night Carol, Renée, Megan and I caught a semi-abstract play based on short stories by a famous (now dead) Chilean author named (Roberto?) Bolaños, Renée's favorite. It was random but fun, and an appropriate way to bid adieu to the country.

I am currently sitting in the Santiago airport waiting for my flight on Brazil’s discount airline, GOL, to take off in an hour. Even though I had more than twice the allowed weight, it only cost me $25. In order to gain access to the internet I had to pull up a chair at, of all places, Ruby Tuesday’s. I don’t think I have ever been in one in the U.S., and Carol cooked an amazing Persian meal for lunch from which I still feel stuffed, but I ordered tea and a piece of apple pie… the things we do for internet access.

I am still planning on updating my past posts with more details and pictures, so stay tuned! Of course, I will also fill you in on my hopefully exciting new life in Buenos Aires.

Inka Trail and Leaving Cusco

I am sitting at the free computer in our four star hotel in Cusco, Peru. When we got back from the Inka trail, which I will describe presently, we decided there was no way in hell we were returning to our original (loud, hot-water-free, run-down) hostal and sprung for a luxury suite that I bargained down to $100 a night. We just handed in the key and are sad to say goodbye to our home for the past three days, where we have veritably lazed around watching cable TV and, as of yesterday and this morning, the Olympics. Perks include a delicious breakfast, a free book exchange, complimentary hot beverages 24 hours a day, and free airport and bus terminal transfers. Robyn and I will be taking advantage of both the former and the latter today, as she prepares to head back to the states and I gear up for an 11 hour bus ride to Arequipa to round out my vacation before another 10 hour bus ride (2 hours at the border) to Arica, Chile, where I will fly back to Santiago. Matt also took advantage of this service yesterday morning, but unfortunately this has been the trip of "Matt can't catch a break" and his flight to Lima was delayed due to fog, causing him to miss his flight to Sao Paulo, potentially causing him to miss the wedding he was going to today. We have yet to hear the final results of his disastrous travel day...

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. Last I wrote we were off for the Inka trail, a four-day trek ending at Machu Picchu, one of the seven NEW wonders of the world (hence its increased popularity of late). The night before we left we had a group meeting with all 17 of us in the group as well as our three tour guides, Hilbert, Oscar, and Mauro. There were two other 30-something couples who we noticed right away because one of the husbands was wearing UW gear - they are all from Washington state. We would find out during the course of the trip that all he OWNS seems to be UW gear. Others in the group were a south African couple, the dude being cool and the girl, for some reason, having a personal vendetta against American Me; two loud but funny Irish blokes; two American girls in graduate school (the youngest in the group at 24); a cockney-speaking British girl with her mysteriously smelly South African boyfriend; and a woman from Tennessee (the oldest in the group at about 50) with her never-stopped-complaining-or-sucking-in-his-gut-for-pictures Puerto Rican boyfriend, both of whom were nurses. We also had a doctor in the group, the non-UW wearing husband of the two Washington couples (the wives were sisters). All in all we felt very medically prepared, which ended up coming in handy later on.

Our lead guide, Hilbert, seemed a bit abrasive during the meeting, but our secondary guide, Oscar, hardly said a word. This ended up being because he wasn't very comfortable speaking English, and other than Puerto Rico I was the only Spanish-speaker in the group. The few words Oscar did say, however, are forever ingrained in our minds: every morning, when they woke us up anywhere between 3:30 and 5:00 a.m., Oscar would make the rounds saying in his deep voice (he was really tall and looked not unlike Benicio del Toro), "Goood mooooorning, hellooooo, goood moooorning, cohhhca teeeea." Yes, they served us tea in our tents at the ungodly hours they woke us up, and then proceeded to stuff us full of an amazing breakfast of quinoa oatmeal, pancakes, toast and hot drinks. In fact, ALL the food was amazing. You would not believe the quality OR the quantity of what we were served, three times a day. My favorite was our first lunch, which consisted of fried potatoes, stuffed avocadoes, sliced tomatoes and cucumbers plus an antipasto plate with cheese and olives, stir-fried beef, stir-fried vegetables, and rice. The most ridiculous part of all was that they GARNISHED these dishes! We had 20 porters carrying all of our camp gear from one stop to the next, who would set up our personal tents and our food tent, wait on us during meals, clean up after us and do the dishes, then break it all down and carry it on to the next stop, and here they were worrying about garnishes?? We were blown away. All of us except, of course, poor Matt, who became sick on the first day and hardly ate a thing. He quickly deteriorated until our trusty group doctor, on the end of day three (that is, the night before they woke us up at 3:30 to hike the rest 0f the way to Machu Picchu itself) gave him a round of antibiotics to clear it up. Luckily he was feeling well enough the next day to enjoy himself and take plenty of pictures of the site, and even at his worst moments he never once complained. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

Robyn and I opted for a personal porter to carry our stuff, which ended up being the best $100 we ever spent. By the end of day one, with the sun beating down on us (but otherwise a fairly easy day in comparison) people were groaning that they had not made the same wise decision. Day two, of course, was by far the worst of it. We hiked for 10 solid hours and crossed two mountain passes, although the guides were really good about stopping and resting and letting the rest of the group catch up. Matt and Robyn tended to be in the front, but I took my sweet time and held back for a lot of it. It's not that I couldn't have gone faster, but I found it a lot more enjoyable to walk slowly and it had the added advantage of letting me be alone for a lot of the time on the sublime trail; this surprised me, pleasantly, as I had heard it would be overrun with hikers, but we were for the most part on our own during the day. Plus, I was never the very last person as the doctor was a big guy who didn't seem to have prepared himself very well, mentally or physically, for the trip. i have to give him credit, he never complained. (Incidentally, they took the trip after reading about someone else's adventures in Peru in the Seattle Times travel section.)

I should mention here that, at some point during day one, Oscar and subsequently Mauro became oddly infatuated with me. At first it was humorous but it quickly became obnoxious, since I didn't pay so much money to have my guides hitting on me nonstop, and it was also awkward because they weren't very good at hiding it and the rest of the group quickly took notice. Each one of them started the day asking me, about five times, how I had slept. They commented on my mostly black wardrobe (highly convenient for travelling, I pointed out) and told me that such a pretty girl should wear colors. One day I took off my black fleece to reveal a pink t-shirt and Mauro exclaimed, "You are so beautiful, like an orchid!" (Orchids grow on the jungle section of the trail.) Robyn insisted on calling me the orchid for the rest of the trip. They were also occupied with how on earth I did not have a boyfriend, and didn't I want one? By day three, Hilbert had caught on and started playing along and teasing me, I think because it amused him. (Everything amused Hilbert, especially Hilbert; I have never seen a man laugh at his own jokes so much.) They would ask me to walk with them, joke about sacrificing me on an Inka temple, and on night three when there was a bar and Mauro got a bit lit, Robyn and Matt swear they heard him yell, slurred, "Eliiiizaaaabeeeeth!" outside the tents. When the trek was over and we made plans to go out as a group (which we ultimately missed because I wasn't feeling well, though that was more a convenient excuse than anything), Hilbert told me, "You are a very pretty girl, but tomorrow, make yourself more pretty. And take a shower."

Day three was pretty easy, we hiked until 1 and then had the afternoon to enjoy ourselves. When the wake-up call came at 3:30 a.m., after Matt had been awake all night, shivering and sweating and other pleasant things, he was surprisingly pleasant about waking up. We ate a zombie-like breakfast and then hiked a short distance to wait in line to get access to the end of the trail. It was so dark we could still see the stars, and there were quite a few shooting stars while we waited. Of course, once the gate opened, people's true colors came out. There was a frenzy to be the FIRST one there, even though it was an hour away, in the dark and early morning light, over slippery and uneven rocks. One boyfriend was literally dragging his girlfriend behind him and Robyn heard her say "I can't go this fast!" When she passed me, though, and I said, "What's your hurry?" in a pleasant tone, she shot back "I want to BEAT YOU." We were blown away. I mean, thousands of people see Machu Picchu every morning. The sun had already risen so there was no chance of catching the sunrise. What did it really matter being first, that one insignificant day? When I arrived, about 30th, I still felt a great sense of accomplishment having hiked there rather than taking a bus or a train. I had been concerned that after all the build up it would be a let down, but it was such a relief to get there and it was such a priviledge to actually see it that I was thrilled. During the tour itself, however, we were all so exhausted that it was hard to appreciate it to its fullest. We were just... spent. Walking up three stairs made me want to sit down and nap.

When we finally got on the first-class train to take us back to Cusco, however, our serving staff had ideas in mind other than us napping. We were first regaled with a native dance, and then there was an actual, alpaca FASHION show. On the train. It was probably the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen on a train.

We got back, checked ourselves into this fancy hotel, and pretty much did nothing else but sleep and eat and watch TV. I think Robyn has read 5 books. Today we have to part ways and I will be sad to be on my own again. I am already looking forward to seeing my friends again in Santiago.

I realize this post is scattered and I have probably left a lot out that I would like to say, but we have limited time left and we are hungry, so I will come back and edit it again later (and add pictures!)

I hope you are all well. And, please, leave comments so I know what you think!!

Puno to Cusco

Robyn, Matt and I have so far spent a very fun time together. We seem to have similar travel styles and have easily agreed on everything: how to spend a day, where to eat, what type of transportation to take. It's nice to be with familiar people and I am now among one of the card-playing groups I eyed enviously as a solo traveler. We have been playing lots of Rummy and right now Matt is up one game which we are none too pleased about. But, on to vacation specifics.

The first day in Puno was supposed to be spent as a relaxing one for Robyn and Matt to acclimatize. To Matt this meant trudging up about 1,000 stairs and 2,000 feet to get to this giant "condor" statue at the top of a hill, which when we arrived at the top looked more like a turkey vulture. There was also a hill with a giant Puma statue on it, but we only drove past that on the way out of Puno. They love their statutes in Puno and also had a giant Jesus.

That night we ate dinner at a hilarious local hole in the wall. My meal cost 50 cents; they splurged on about 75 cents each. It was as authentic as it gets and we were definitely out of place. The next day we did a 180 and joined an overnight tour of Lake Titicaca with lots of aging Germans, a family of Canadians, and a tour guide named Giovanni who spoke excellent if not mispronounced (and often repeated) English. There were also two Irish people about our age who we did end up befriending, and who I will be meeting up with in Buenos Aires. Anyway, the first stop were these famous reed islands called Uros Islands, which native Aymara people literally hand crafted to escape Spanish colonialism. They were definitely awesome but are now so touristy they are referred to as "floating souvineer stands." Walking around on them was surreal, very spongy and with the threat of falling through at any moment. We were surprised at how fat some of the women were, but I guess there aren't a lot of exercise opportunities on tiny manmade islands. We had the opportunity to take a reed boat ride for a hefty 10 soles; bear in mind the cost of our entire trip, with transportation, food, and lodging, was 60 soles. We passed and instead lounged on the cushy reeds until the motor boat was ready to take us to the same place our cohorts on the reed island went, for free.

The next stop on our painfully slow, fume-filled tour was lunch on a beach, pickled vegetables that Robyn swears were canned, chicken, bread, and a banana. Yummers. After that it was back on the crawling boat and we finally made it to our final stop that day, Amantani island. When we arrived our host daughter, Gloria, was there to collect all three of us and each group was led to their own house to meet the family and get acquainted with our digs. Ours was possibly the only house without some form of electricity, but what they lacked in light they made up for with... straw mattresses. Matt and Robyn had fairly normal pillows, but mine was literally a parka shoved into a throw pillowcase. At least there were plenty of blankets. The stark room had three single beds, a table with only TWO chairs, and a decoration of a smashed bug with a shoe outline surrounding it. Hilarious. We had to walk up a steep, slanted staircase to get to it, which was impressively done by Gloria and her sister Maxima holding trays of our food. Dinner was potato soup and then potatoes and rice. They love to combine starches. Dessert was a rather delicious tea called muña which was literally just a sprig of the plant brewed in hot water. Apparently it grows on the island.

Before dinner, however, we had the chance to climb to the Sun Temple, stopping on the way to watch locals play tourists in a concrete soccer "stadium." The climb was rough and we were fighting against the sunset, but once we got to the top we were rewarded with beautiful views, made all the more incredible by the many rain clouds and falls in the distance. Of course, after the sun went down they weren't so distant and our walk back was filled with tiny balls of hail. Robyn wrapped herself in my beautiful new hand embroidered shawl, bought on the way down from the temple, a steal at $15. I just got wet.

We played cards by candlelight before finally convincing Gloria to take us to the big "party" they had organized for us. Technically she was supposed to dress us up in native clothing but sufficed with giving Matt a poncho and Robyn a shawl like the one I had bought. We envied Matt's poncho as it was freaking COLD on that island. The stars were beautiful, but the party was lame. We stayed only long enough to giggle at the other tourists dressed in full native garb and to tip the bad young boy pipe band a U.S. dollar. Then we played more cards and went to bed by 11, which was ironically the latest we had stayed up thus far. In the morning we had more muña tea and delicious fried bread before it was off to the boat to make our final stop on the tour: Taquille island.

There was a lot of talk about Twix bars these two days so we bought one at the bottom of our next hike, figuring 9 a.m. was not too early for a candy bar. It was, however, too early for the climb, at least for Robyn and me as we were passed by tourists twice our age without breaking a sweat. We justified it by telling ourselves they had already done Machu Picchu and were therefore used to it, and really, Robyn did have the excuse of not being fully acclimatized. My excuse? I'm going with the Twix.

When we arrived at the main plaza at the top of the climb (really not too bad, the first five minutes are by far the worst) there were tons of locals decked out in neon clothing, playing pipes and dancing to celebrate the festival of San Santiago. They only knew one tune (and one dance) and after 45 minutes of it we were ready to get out of there. Next stop was lunch with a view of the lake. We had quinoa soup, very common here, and fried trout, even more common. We wowed the others with tales of eating street food, clearly something other tourists take seriously when the guide book says Off Limits. I'm not kidding, some of their mouths were hanging open about this daring habit of ours. After lunch we had to walk "540" steps to the bottom to get to the boat, though the Canadian mother insisted she only counted 500... compulsive, much?

The boat ride back to Puno was 3 hours, though it passed faster than we expected. We spent the first hour up top where Robyn regaled us with hilarious stories of her three months at sea, before the captain's wife frantically beckoned us below. The reason? The Peruvian coast guard. Our guide was worriedly counting life jackets, but we escaped without so much as getting pulled over.

Once in Puno we hung out with our new Irish friends and went to possibly the most delicious chicken joint you have ever imagined, called El Rancho. We all ordered a quarter chicken except for Matt who opted for the full half. Good, good times. Sarah and Derry were amazed that such good food existed outside of the tourist places they confessed to frequenting. I think we opened some new horizons that night.

Yesterday morning we left Puno for Cusco. Finding the exact right bus company was a challenge, but we finally settled on Power Express, departing at 10 a.m. with a double decker bus. We secured three of the four frontmost seats on the top level and settled in for what should have been a luxurious 6 hour trip north. Not so. Our first stop was in Juliaca, one hour after leaving. The other half of the bus filled up at this stop, and not with the reasonable smelling tourists that filled the first half. No, the bus quickly smelled like farm, mostly due to the family of four that occupied the two seats directly behind Matt and Robyn (suckers). While in Juliaca we witnessed a culturally disturbing scene: a toddler, perhaps three years old, doing both #1 AND #2 on the street while her mother looked on, bored, holding toilet paper. Once the young girl had finished her shockingly large job, her mother covered it with gravel, walked two steps to an outdoor eatery, and continued to eat her lunch. We were dying. This would only be trumped later in the bus ride when the young boy in the family of four stood in the aisle and PEED INTO A BOTTLE HIS MOTHER WAS HOLDING. I noticed first and quickly advised Robyn not to turn around. She thought they were simply emptying the on-board bathroom. That's right, there was an actual bathroom available for the boy's use, free of charge, and yet... they opted for the bottle.

Otherwise the ride was fairly uneventful, unless you count Matt and I almost getting left behind in some random town because we went inside to use the bathroom. Luckily we had left Robyn behind to stand guard and she forcefully stopped the bus from departing no fewer than three times. Good work, Woodman.

We arrived in Cusco at about 5 p.m. and checked into our hostel who had of course screwed up our reservation (we are in a five bed suite rather than a single and a double, but luckily the other two beds are not occupied. Bear in mind that by "suite" I mean the beds are separated by doors, and not of course that we have hot water). We ate a fancy dinner with our first bottle of wine and the whole shebang cost $62 U.S. This morning I had my first American breakfast in five months; it was literally called "the fatty" and man was it delicious. Then we spent the day running errands, buying stuff for the trek at hand and paying our Inka trail balance which was a whopping $140 each CHEAPER than we had anticipated (score!). We checked out a pretty rad Inka museum that of course the Spanish conquistadores built a cathedral on top of and learned that it took them three months to melt all the gold they pillaged from the site. And they say Americans are bad! We're just the newest offenders in an age of otherwise global responsibility and awareness... too bad we didn't get in on the hayday of screwing other cultures.

That brings us to now, in an internet cafe waiting for Matt to finish downloading his bazillion pictures onto CDs. I have basically stopped taking pictures because there is just no need with him around. Once he finishes we're off to eat, then sleep, then spend tomorrow checking out local ruins. The day after that is the start of our long-anticipated four-day Inka trail hike, and we are pumped. No blog until at least the 8th, but keep us (and our knees) in mind until then as we scale and then descend numerous Inka steps. Machu Picchu, here we come!