Churin

Yikes, I'm not good at updating this in a timely manner! In my post about the accident about a week ago, I said I was going to talk about our weekend getaway in Churin.  This is an extremely popular destination for Limeños, especially those who don't have big wallets. It's located in the northeast corner of Lima province, about 7 hours away from the city. The draw is the abundance of natural hot springs in the area, which are said to have healing properties. It's also nice to get away from the noise and pollution of Lima.

There are a number of hot springs, but the most famous are the Huancahuasi baths, an additional hour and a half outside Churin. These were definitely worth the drive! There are two large pools and a few smaller, individual rooms. All the pools have the temperature posted. We stayed in the 30 degree pool for most of the time. We ventured into a 34 degree pool, but I could only stand it for about 5 minutes and when I got out, my legs were bright red! We left very relaxed, but also freezing. While waiting for the taxi, it started raining. Apparently, it's winter in the mountains and we were not prepared with just our t-shirts. We also visited one hot spring in town, but were less impressed. It wasn't as well kept up, and the coolest pool they had was a whopping 36 degrees, which we didn't know before we paid. We spent most of the time trying to cool the water down and dipping our toes in. Well, Jorge did better than me - I was the wimp.

The next day, we took a colectivo to the provincial capital of Oyón, about 45 minutes away. Jorge had seen in his guidebook that there were a number of lakes and forests that were worth a visit. Because this is not the high season, however, there were no tours and we would have to find a driver willing to take us around. Luckily, we shared the taxi with two older ladies who had the same idea, and we rented the car for the day. We went to some beautiful mountain glacial lakes and saw a lot of sheep on the way. All the locals had dogs to herd the sheep, and for some reason all the dogs would run at the car, biting the tires and barking. I was nervous that we would hit one, but fortunately we didn't.

The roads were in terrible condition and we had plenty of tense moments, but when we arrived at the Laguna Surasaca we were greeted with this sight:

We went down to the shore to take pictures and wash our hands. It was so peaceful and truly isolated; I bet fewer than twenty people make it here in a year.

After visiting the laguna, we had one more place to visit: a protected forest of queñuales, a tree native to Peru. After getting lost more than once and asking a number of locals, we were climbing up a narrow dirt mountain road (it seems like that's the only type of road there is around Churin) until we reached a sign saying "Private: Property of Oazuna Mine" and a big dump truck. Two rough-looking men approached the car and told us we had to get a special permit to pass. Confused, we asked them if the woods were further up the road. They said that yes, they were, but the road was owned by the mine and therefore closed to the public. They looked pretty serious and one guy had a gun, so we turned around, disappointed, and went back to Oyón. I don't know for sure, but I have a feeling that mine was up to something fishy. There are a lot of coal mines in the area, but the air of secrecy and the covered truck we saw make me think that there was something else going on.

Back in Churin, we packed and got ready to rejoin civilization in Lima. Lots of people say they enjoy the provincias and escaping the noise and fast pace of Lima, and I get that. However, I realized that I am a city girl through and through: I like hot water on demand, toilets that flush, fresh produce at reasonable prices, and paved roads. That last one is pretty important. Although I enjoyed the trip, I wasn't thrilled, and with what happened on the bus, I can say with some assurance that we'll be thinking about a trip somewhere flat, with paved roads. I can hear the beach calling...

The One Where the Bus Tips Over

In my next post, I'll write about the nice weekend I spent in Churin and the things I saw there, but this post is about what happened on the way back. You're probably friends with me on Facebook, you've probably seen the pictures, but here's the full story of what happened. As my brother said, if you didn't blog it, it didn't happen, so here it is.

Our bus left at 11 from Churin, and from the start it was evident that the driver liked to drive fast. Churin is situated between three mountain ranges, which means that it has all of the winding roads with precipitous drops into steep gorges that you'd expect. It also has no guard rails and isn't paved. Needless to say, Jorge and I were pretty tense. We drove for about an hour through the mountains, slowly descending, until we reached a flat stretch. Our bus tipped over about 20 meters after we had passed the last drop-off.

In this post, I wrote about that awful, impossibly long moment when the bus started to tip. Well, the moment isn't any shorter the second time, and this time the bus did tip over. The moment you realize what's happening goes on for an eternity; the crash happens in no time at all. I remember Andrea Bocelli had come up on the iPod's shuffle, and I had closed my eyes to pretend we weren't actually going down those roads at that speed. I had time to look at Jorge with alarm, and then I was flying through the air. I don't remember landing, but Jorge says he caught my hand in mid-air and helped me land standing up. I just remember a lot of dust, and how comical it was to see Jorge suspended in mid-air. We had both put on our seat belts, but mine must have broken. I think we were the only two people in the entire bus of 50 or so who had used their seat belt.

Someone had opened the emergency hatch in the roof, and I clambered out through that. My shoes had gotten knocked off in the crash, and we were in some kind of corn field. Jorge made sure I was alright and then helped other people get out. Eventually, someone started throwing all the small items out of the bus, and I was reunited with my shoes. Also safe: both pairs of headphones, four tubs of dulce de leche, Jorge's iPhone (although he had to "remind" the guy who was "guarding it for safekeeping" to give it back), and a bottle of beer. Yes, a bottle of beer. Another passenger had an entire crate of wine that survived unscathed!

Some of the passengers were not so lucky. It was an awful scene outside the bus: ladies screaming, a grown man crying, a score of people bleeding from the head or the face. Soon, a Jeep stopped and took the handful of injured people to the nearest town because the ambulance would take a while to arrive. There was no cell service; I can't imagine what it would have been like if this had happened at night.

After everyone calmed down, I started thinking about what our next move was. How were all these people going to get out of here? And why did we forget to pack water today of all days? Just then, about 15 minutes after the accident, another bus pulled up. It actually left Churin at the same time, but the driver had decided not to risk the lives of all the passengers and drive at a safe speed. Luckily, there were some empty seats on the bus and we climbed on. We went on our way, grateful for the quick rescue.

But wait! Five minutes down the road, we heard an ominous scraping sound. The bus stopped and everyone got off to see what the matter was. After waiting around five minutes, Jorge and I still didn't know if it was serious or if it was going to take a while to fix, so we got off and milled around with everyone else. Then, out of nowhere, a big white van drove up. It was empty and had about 15 seats. We decided to go in the van to Sayan, the nearest town. From there, we took a shared taxi to Huacho, 2 hours away on the coast. We met an Australian girl in the taxi, and she accompanied us all the way back to Lima. From Huacho we took another bus to Lima. Of course, Lima is really big, and the terminal wasn't even close to the apartment, so we took the Metropolitano bus to a nearby neighborhood and then finally, a taxi. During the whole trip, it was surreal to think that we had been upside down in a bus, 5 hours away, and no one around us knew. 7 vehicles and 11 hours after leaving Churin, we got home exhausted and immediately jumped into the shower. Then we discovered to our delight that we had two cold cans of beer in the fridge (and of course the miraculously unbroken bottle, but that was pretty warm by then).

The next day, I could barely lift my head from my pillow I was so sore. Apparently, your body reacts to a crash by tensing up all your muscles. I felt like I had gone too hard at the gym, then had a martial arts expert kick my ass. The irony is that Jorge and I went to Churin to relax in the hot springs, and we both left thinking we were going to keep that feeling all the way to Lima.

So, what's the takeaway from an experience like this? Unfortunately, I didn't learn any big life lessons. I don't live every moment like it's my last. Yesterday, I had a long to-do list and I sat around and wasted hours on the internet, and I'll probably do it again. I guess I'll wear my seatbelt more faithfully, for a time at least. I'll avoid winding mountain roads and not-so-reputable local bus companies. I told myself I'd put together a first aid kit to bring with me when I travel; I don't know if I'll get around to it. The only thing that I know for sure is that I really love my boyfriend. For the first few moments after the accident, before I knew he was ok, there was a heaviness in my chest that only lifted when I saw that he was fine. When I play the possibilities in my head of what could have happened, the outcome that gives me a nauseous feeling in my stomach is not that I'm not ok, but that he's not. I know that there is no one I would rather have at my side through this whole experience, and I guess I'm lucky to have realized that.

Voting Day: Peru's Political Circus

Today is election day in Peru, and in Lima that means that all of the almost 9 million residents will drag themselves to their polling place to fulfill their civic duty. Elections in Peru are compulsory, and those who can't or don't vote are slapped with a fine of S/. 74, or around $25. Though the amount of the fine is trivial, waiting in line to pay it at the Banco de la Nacion is punishment enough.

People wait in line at the Banco de la Nacion

What are the people voting for today? A handful of city councilmen who will serve for less than 4 months, when a new election will be held. Many ballots today will be left blank or purposely spoiled with drawings - the only way for Peruvians to express their contempt of the political system here while avoiding a fine. However, if more than two thirds of the votes are left blank or spoiled, the election results will be voided and new elections held – a strong disincentive for many voters, as no one wants to repeat this process.

The election will cost the city around S/.100 million ($40 million) – that's S/. 4.5 million soles per councilman, or over S/. 1 million per councilman per month served. This in a country that has a GINI coefficient of almost 50, making Peru more unequal than Mali, Pakistan, Russia, and Burkina Faso, to name a few.

In addition, the Peruvian transit system is not set up to handle all the extra traffic, which means huge traffic jams, packed buses, and a sea of miserable people who would rather be anywhere else on what for many is their one day off in the week.

To add insult to injury, in order to ensure "fair" elections, Peru has a ley seca, or "dry law," meaning alcoholic drinks cannot be sold to the public from 48 hours prior to election day until noon of the day after. While I understand the intent of the law, I believe that 48 hours is excessive, and I don't understand why people can't buy a beer after voting. Sheesh, at least give them that!

Translation: With the candidates we've got, you need liquid courage to go vote

Peruvian elections are a joke anyway, and this one is no exception. Peru has a long and well-documented history of political scandals, nepotism, corruption, and trying to buy votes with public works (whose contracts often go to companies owned by friends or family of the politicians) and passing out free food to the poor (these donations abruptly cease after elections are over). The Peruvian people have no faith in their politicians or political system, and why should they? In the last presidential election, the daughter of Alberto Fujimori, the ex-president currently serving 25 years in prison for human rights violations, was only narrowly defeated by current president Ollanta Humala. Another ex-president, Alan Garcia was re-elected for a second term despite a disastrous first term marked by extreme inflation (leading to the national currency being replaced twice), soaring poverty, and human rights violations. Every week, a new scandal surfaces. In addition, congressmen earn around S/. 17,000 (over $6k) every month, aside from other income garnished from pet projects or outright corruption. Compare this to the minimum wage of S/.750 ($250).

Is there hope for Peru? I don't know, but as long as the status quo is maintained, I wouldn't hold my breath.

Psychoanalyzed: Job Interviews in Peru

Recently, I had a job interview to teach English to children at an elementary school here in Lima. The job has a lot of attractive benefits, such as a work visa and health insurance (and probably a livable wage), but the downside is that I would be teaching 30 kids. In every class. For 6-8 hours a day, 5 days a week. That's a lot of children, for a lot of hours of the week.

 

At least there would be muffins

Regardless of what happens with the job, the interview process has been quite an interesting experience. The actual job interview was fairly standard, and thankfully in English. However, for most jobs in Peru, you will also need to be interviewed by a psychologist, and you will feel like you're taking a trip back in time.

Psychoanalysis is still the name of the game down here, and in most interviews you will be asked to draw a picture, answer some questions on a psychometric test, and/or be given the Rorschach ink blot test. I was asked to draw a picture of a woman and write a story about her, then to repeat the process with a man. I have no idea what this is supposed to measure or if there is a right way to take the test. The only thing I know is that everyone, literally every person I asked, told me to draw the floor or the ground. Apparently, if your person isn't standing on something, he or she is unbalanced or has no security or some other nonsense.

 Kandinsky print featuring bacon

Then, my jaw dropped when the psychologist pulled out the Rorschach test. Are we living in 1960? Anyway, I was asked the classic questions: describe what you see, then what part of the ink blot you saw it in. Finally I was asked to choose my favorite and least favorite image and explain why. By the way, the psychologist didn't speak English, so this was as much a test of my Spanish as of my psyche.

Two dancing bears high-fiving in front of a sunset, obviously

I don't even have the slightest idea if I passed or not. While it was an amusing experience, it pains me to think that qualified, well-balanced applicants are routinely eliminated from consideration for good jobs based on a semi-scientific theory that was dreamed up by a 19th century coke addict and which has been pretty roundly discredited in the U.S. I don't know if I passed, but I'm not going to beat myself up if I didn't. I'm pretty sure I'm fine, despite what Herrs Frued and Rorschach might have to say about the matter.

Getting Friendly with the Police on Moving Day

Whew! It's been a busy few weeks down here. I finally found a quieter place to live, and I don't have to share it with anyone! My own bathroom, my own kitchen, my own things. No more coming home and finding 5-day old dirty dishes with a swarm of flies around them... ick. I'm finally settling in and arranging things to my taste little by little. Today the plumber is here to change the ancient electric showerhead and install a new sink, and later today Jorge and I are going to buy a bed frame for my luxurious new mattress. The walls are a cheerful yellow and there's a really big closet. Step by step, it's taking shape.

However, getting to this point wasn't without its problems. The move, like all moves, was exhausting and difficult, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. Unfortunately, in this country neither is being stopped by police and forced to pay a bribe.

In Lima, whenever you move, you have to go to the police station and get a moving permit. You have to write out a list of everything you are going to move with, down to the smallest items. Supposedly, this is to prove that your things belong to you and to prevent robbers being able to steal all your stuff and move it in a moving van. However, in reality, few people file this permit because it involves waiting in a long line and paying a not insignificant amount of money. Most people decide instead to risk moving with the permit.

If you are stopped en route and don't have the permit, technically you can be asked to take a trip to the police station and show your receipts for every one of your things to prove ownership. The police don't want to take the trouble, and neither do the people moving. This means bribes.

The driver of the moving van pulled an illegal left-hand turn about 10 blocks from the new place. Big mistake - I turned around just in time to see a patrol car radio his friends, and sure enough, a few blocks later we were stopped. The police asked to see our moving permit, which we didn't have, and then made the customary threats about taking us to the station and going through our things one by one. The cop who came up to the truck seemed particularly interested in the laptops that we had in the front seat, which didn't sit well with me. Then he said maybe we could talk about it and began asking questions about our financial situation to determine how much he could squeeze out of us. During the whole process I played dumb, pretending I didn't understand Spanish. Meanwhile, Jorge kept repeating that we didn't have any cash on us, we were in a difficult financial situation, we had spent our cash on gas for the moving van, etc. I was smart enough to keep my 100-sole bills well hidden. Eventually we paid the guy 30 soles, and the driver paid another 10. That amounts to only about fifteen bucks U.S., but considering that the police did almost no real work to earn that money and get to keep it tax-free, you can see why the corruption is so widespread here.

Peruvian Times: The Cost of Corruption in Peru

Despite this incident, the rest of the process went smoothly and I'm pretty happy with the apartment. If I do move again though, I'll be ready.

Mistura

Limeños will shake their head at Lima's many problems, but they are extremely proud of their food. This is in large part justified, as Peru has a wealth of delicious traditional food for which Peruvian cuisine has garnered international attention in the past five to ten years. However, this pride can be somewhat extreme at times. If you mention a bad dish you had at a restaurant or point out the fact that fried pork and french fries are a tad unhealthy, most Limeños will rush to defend their country's cuisine. When Morrisey canceled his tour because he got very ill from eating at a restaurant in Lima, everybody was up in arms despite the fact that he never said a single word against the food. 

 Alongside food, there were also parades and dancing from the various regions of Peru

Nonetheless, the best Lima has to offer is most certainly its food, and for the past three years Lima has held a week-long festival called Mistura in celebration of Peruvian cuisine. Well-known restaurants from various regions of Peru as well as from Lima are invited. This year, the festival was divided into twelve different “worlds,” such as The North Coast, Seafood, Jungle, and of course, La Taberna (drinks). 

The people came in droves, although that might have been because we went on the last day. The line to get in was enormous, and it took us an hour and a half just to reach the entrance. Once in, there were people everywhere, and finding a table was difficult. Many families camped out at the tables, hoarding chairs and guarding spaces while the other members got in line for food. Some people were reminiscent of dogs guarding their territory: you could almost hear the growls if you eyed their tables.

The line for the entrance 

Since there is an entrance fee of $10, the point is to get there early and spend all day walking around and eating as much as possible. Each dish cost either $3 or $5 depending on the size of the portion, and all of them were delicious. The highlights were a peanut soup from Amaz (Amazonian cuisine) and two traditional Lima dishes, seco de res from Kamcha and ají de gallina from El Rincón Que No Conoces. The first is beef slowly stewed in herbs until tender, and the other is a creamy sauce with shredded chicken. We also had fusion sushi rolls, steamed fish with coconut rice, and clams in tangy lime sauce. Of course, I also really enjoyed the pisco sours. Jorge and I had two each and our friends had three each. 

 Mango passionfruit pisco sours

Aside from the restaurant stands, there was also a large farmer’s market and a chocolate and coffee expo. The market had traditional and natural foods from all the regions of Peru, ranging from the expected offerings to items like coca liquor, dried goldenberries, and passionfruit jam. The chocolate expo was smaller but full of temptations. I somehow managed to fit in two chocolate macaroons on top of all the food I'd already eaten. 

 Clams from the Ceviche world

Overall, the festival was very enjoyable, but it did have some drawbacks. The hoarding and general lack of tables led to a long and tiring day of walking around, and the dishes were a bit expensive considering the portion sizes. In total, Jorge and I each ended up spending around 100 soles, or $40. In terms of local spending power, that’s a sizable chunk of money, and I thought the entrance fee of 25 soles was excessive. The amount of people led to long lines for just about everything, and the line to get in could have been avoided with better organization and more points of entry. However, we went home stuffed to the gills and very satisfied, and I would definitely go back. Next time though, I'll get a table early!

The Serpost Blues

A little while ago, I finally walked out of the post office with my package in hand after a month-long battle with the pointless bureaucracy of the Peruvian postal service (Serpost). It has been an extremely long and frustrating process, and I will detail each visit, conversation, required document, and frustration below. For some background information, I was staying with my aunt in her house at the time the package was sent. The box had my name and my aunt's name clearly written on the front, but the customs form was in my aunt's name. The box contained clothes, some prescription medicine with prescription included, and a used cellphone.

 The final state of the package when I got it: bruised, stamped, and taped to high heaven.

June 24th: The package is sent through the US Postal Service, addressed to me at my aunt's address. The package had both my name and my aunt's name, but the customs form only had my aunt's name.

June 29th: The package arrives in Peru.

July 12th: A notice arrives at my aunt's house informing me that the package has arrived and giving the address and hours of the Serpost location where it is being held.

July 15th: First visit to Serpost. I go with Jorge during a lunch break, naively thinking I won't need to involve my aunt. At the post office, the security guard is only letting in those people who have packages in their name, so Jorge has to wait outside. The lady at the desk tells me that since the customs form is in my aunt's name, I have to get a notarized letter from her, or she has to come in person.

July 18th: My aunt (whose job as a nurse makes it difficult for her to get away during office hours) visits Serpost to collect the package. After waiting for around an hour, she is handed a stack of papers and told that I need to get permissions from two separate government agencies before they can release the package. No mention of this was made to me during my first visit.

July 24th: Jorge and I use our lunch break to visit the first government agency, the Ministry of Communications and Transportation. I'm not sure why, but I need a permission for bringing in the cell phone. The ministry is in a somewhat sketchy area far from work. All we can do today is collect the form because we need my aunt's signature. Then we go to the Ministry of Health to get permission for the medicine and probiotics in the package. Here, we wait for a half hour, and then are given a form to fill out as well as instructions that I must get a prescription from a Peruvian doctor for any medicine or supplements being brought into the country, even though the American prescription was included in the package.

Later that night, I take a picture of my aunt's identity card so I can print out a copy, and get her to sign the forms to bring back to the agencies.

July 25th: Luckily, I have to see a doctor anyway for a separate issue, so I decide to take care of the prescriptions. I explain my situation and show him an old prescription bottle, and he writes the prescriptions. He shakes his head and makes sympathetic noises about my situation. There's nothing like bureaucracy to pull people together.

Jorge uses his lunch hour to drop off the form at the Ministry of Communications and Transportation and is told that processing will take around five business days (it's Thursday, and this weekend is a long weekend because of Fiestas Patrias).

 All the required documents in one place

July 26th: Jorge bring the documents to the Ministry of Health because I don't have time off of work. After a few tense moments, he is told that everything is in order and the papers will be ready in two or three business days.

July 27th: (Saturday) This is the only day my aunt doesn't work, so we have to go to the notary together to get the letter. Because it's the Saturday of Fiestas Patrias weekend, there are very few notaries open and we are very lucky to find one. We are told that it will be ready on Tuesday around noon.

July 31st: Jorge picks up the letter from the notary because he is passing by the neighborhood. Then, because I can't get off work during business hours, he picks up the form at the Ministry of Health. It's the first day after the long weekend, so it's not ready. He (and everyone else waiting there in the same situation) complains, and after a half hour, a basket is brought out with all the approved and stamped forms.

August 1st: On a premonition, Jorge visits Serpost just to check that all our forms are in order. The person looks at everything and says that it's all ok except for one small detail: the notarized letter is addressed to Serpost, when it should be addressed to Sunat (the branch that deals with customs and regulations). This means that we will have to find another day that my overworked aunt can leave work so we can get another notarized letter.

August 5th: Jorge and I visit the Ministry of Communications and Transportation to pick up the form. This is quick, and we take advantage of our free afternoon to go to a well-known pollería nearby for some fantastic rotisserie chicken.

August 7th: My aunt says that she might be able to take time off today to go to a notary. Then she changes her mind and says that she'll come with us to Serpost just to get the damn thing over with.  She and Jorge meet there at noon, while I plan to join them after I get out of work at 1.  They are there without me for two hours, during which the Serpost agent demands to see the original prescriptions, even though we have the signed and stamped documents from the Ministry of Health. When Jorge asks why, the agent insults him and calls him names. Luckily, Jorge happens to have brought the original prescriptions so problems are avoided. Then after everything is approved, we have to wait for another 45 minutes for them to type up some documents. No kidding - 45 minutes to type a document. After that, finally, we are able to collect the package and go. In all, the Serpost visit took 3 hours.

 Finally!

I understand the need for following protocol. I can even understand asking for a permission to bring in an old cell phone. But what I just can't wrap my head around is the absolute disorganization of information and how incredibly unhelpful most of the Serpost employees were. Why did it take three separate visits for someone to tell me all the requirements? Why couldn't they tell me right away how to address the notarized letter, which permissions I needed, the fact that I needed to bring the original prescriptions, etc.? Either the employees are poorly trained and apathetic, or purposely being unhelpful. In either case, I can say that this has been the most frustrating experience I've ever had with any sort of official agency and I hope that in all my time in Peru I never have to set foot in a Serpost office again.

Fiestas Patrias (Independence Day Celebrations)

You think July 4th is a big deal? Think again. Here in Peru, the whole month of July is devoted to patriotism and independence celebrations, with things ramping up toward July 28th, their independence day. Here in Peru, they take patriotism to a whole new level.

 Selling flags at an intersection

The most visible sign is the flags. The roofs of Lima are bedecked with flags, and temporary islands pop up in busy intersections to sell flags and stands. Street vendors move between cars during red lights selling flag pins, flag ribbons, small flags, big flags. Every district tries to out-flag and out-patriot the others, with billboards and posters in festive red and white carrying sanitized patriotic statements with the district mayor's name scrawled below. The flag fever is so complete here that in some districts, you can face a fine for not putting up a flag.

Flag display in the roundabout in Miraflores

There have been events scattered throughout the month, but the main event happens over the long weekend. (Because independence day falls on a Sunday, Monday is a national holiday.) There are showcases of dances from different regions of Peru, music, parades, pop-up bazaars, and TV extravaganzas. The president gives his State of the Union address on July 28th, and police and the military march in a parade. I have to say that it's probably the most impressive marching I've ever seen: legs straight out to ninety degrees, for all three miles of the parade. Everywhere Peruvians can be seen stuffing themselves with picarones, Peru's answer to Tiny Tim mini donuts.

The line for picarones in the Parque de la Amistad

And then there are the parties. Peruvians love any excuse for a party, and there is none better than Fiestas Patrias. Unfortunately, I was on antibiotics all weekend so I was not able to join in the fun, even in a reasonable and restrained manner. This made me a bit grumpy, and I found myself resenting the obnoxiously loud party at the neighbors'. I found myself reminiscing about the very sound-proof insulation in the U.S. as the music kept going until well past 4 AM at full volume.

Of course, that's not to say that all Peruvians go crazy and have wild parties. Plenty of families go to the park, throw some things on the grill, and are in bed by 10 o'clock. Now if only I lived next to those people...

Doctor's Visit

 For the past two weeks or so, my stomach has been really strange: a range of symptoms that come and go at random, becoming really bad and then suddenly clear up as if nothing were wrong. I tried all the normal remedies: over-the-counter meds, mint and ginger tea, and bland food, but my stomach was having none of it. The roller coaster of recovering and feeling bad all over again combined with two weeks of flavorless food has been pretty maddening, so finally I decided it was time to visit the doctor.

Clinics here in Peru are all walk-in and are extremely affordable. Health insurance doesn't enter the picture unless you have to be hospitalized. I went to an affordable but very reputable clinic, the Hospital de la Solidaridad, which despite the name is a clinic and not a hospital. 

The waiting area for the fourth floor clinics at the Hospital de la Solidaridad

Upon entering, I had to first stop at the information desk and tell them which specialty I wanted to see. Then the attendant gave me a slip with 'gastro' written on it and directed me to the caja to pay 9 soles (about $3.50) for the consultation. Then we walked up four flights of narrow stairs to reach the gastroenterology area. We were told to come back in two hours, as the doctor would not be arriving until then. 

When we came back at around 5, the common waiting room on the fourth floor was considerably emptier. The psychology, ophthalmology, and lung clinics are on the same floor, and I assume their doctors were in attendance while we were waiting. 

A tired patient waits for his turn in the now-empty waiting room

Finally, we were called in to the room. The doctor asked the routine questions, felt around my stomach, ordered tests, and prescribed medicine in record time. I was in and out in under five minutes. Jorge came with me for support and in case I didn't know a term, but my Spanish was up to the task. Diagnosis: most likely parasites, go down to the lab, and take these meds in the meantime to feel better.

The next stop was back to the caja on the first floor to pay for the tests. A total of three tests came to 20 soles, or around $8. I went to the lab (a closed-off cubicle right next to the street entrance) to ask about the details and get any supplies. Finally, to the attached pharmacy to pick up the medicine for another 20 soles. All in all, the entire visit cost me a little over $20. Of course, there are 'fancier' clinics that have fewer patients, a fresh coat of paint on the walls, and a less grim overall look, but these cost much more.

I can't say I'd fancy the thought of having to undergo any serious procedure here, but I think the clinic system works really well. This same visit in the US without health insurance would be astronomically expensive and out of the reach of most Americans. The downside is that doctors do not make much money here. In fact, there is a strike happening right now (in the middle of an H1N1 epidemic) to address the fact.

Overall, Peru for the win. Minus the fact that I probably got parasites from eating something down here.

Life in Lima Pt. 1: Life as an Outsider

I'm at a party with Jorge and a group of his friends, all Peruvians. I'm mostly following the conversation, at around 80%, when I work up the courage to throw in a comment. Everyone laughs, and I have no idea why what I just said is funny. I don't know if I'm turning red or even more pale, but I can feel the temperature in my cheeks changing and I stare at my glass. Unfortunately, this is not an isolated occurrence.

Living in a foreign country is hard. Everyone has heard of culture shock, maybe even has a friend living abroad who has recounted his or her moments of misery. However, somehow I thought that since I speak Spanish pretty well I was immune from this phenomenon. I don't know if everyone who goes abroad also secretly thinks this or if I am alone in this.

When I stepped onto the plane six months ago with my one-way ticket to South America, I was nervous, not sure what to expect, but mostly overwhelmed with excitement for the adventures that would follow. I would be seeing great sights, meeting new people, and trying exotic foods, all while improving my Spanish. I went backpacking for over five months, from the tip of Patagonia to the jungles of Ecuador, and it was incredible. That's not to say that I didn't have moments of homesickness, but in every new place was a hostel full of instant friends in the form of like-minded travelers ready to chat over coffee, get blitzed on cheap beer, and drop their half-formed plans in order to travel with you for the next week.

Living in a foreign country is different. Backpackers occupy a sort of hedonistic limbo, traipsing from country to country in the absence of the responsibilities of everyday life. In contrast, when you live somewhere, the excitement of the new and exotic is tempered by the same responsibilities and stresses that exist in the US: searching for an apartment, finding a job, paying bills. And all of this happens in a foreign language. In addition, there may be  annoyances that are completely new. In Lima, this takes the form of horrible traffic, loud and insistent horn-honking, and lack of organized public transportation.

But tedium and traffic are tolerable. The real problems come from the sense of being a perpetual outsider, culturally and linguistically. I speak very good Spanish, but classroom Spanish and real-world Spanish are different. Negotiating a hostel room or navigating the nightmarish Lima transportation system are no problem. Following a conversation between good friends, often in a loud bar, is another thing entirely. Jorge, bless his heart, assures me that when I don't understand something, I can just ask him. But what can I do when there's so much I don't understand? It's frustrating to be unable to participate in conversations. Without the tools to communicate, you become less vibrant a person, unable to contribute.

Even apart from the language, there is an entire realm of cultural knowledge that I'm not in on. Viral videos, that TV commercial from the 90s... these are the fodder for jokes and reminiscing. From politics to stupid reality shows to popular entertainers, there are a ton of cultural references that I did not grow up with, and therefore don't understand. All this is almost enough to make one retreat permanently to the comfort of the expat community, or to simply turn right around and go home.

Now, lest you think that living abroad is always depressing and I am having a terrible time of it here, it's not and I'm not. I'll talk about all the great things going on here in a future post, so please don't feel sorry for me. Ok, maybe just a little.

Home Sweet Home?

On Friday morning, at the end of a long ride in the night bus from Huaraz, I opened my sleep-sticky eyes and looked out the window. Tall, nondescript, concrete buildings; aging cars spewing exhaust; the angry sound of horns even at this hour of the morning... Yep, I was in Lima alright. But why was it so gray? I looked at my watch. Definitely after sunrise. Then I realized that this was the famous garua, or heavy gray mist that covers the city for over half the year. With a grumpy sigh, I put my sleep mask back over my eyes to block out the sight.

After two months of traveling through lush jungles and snow-capped mountains, the sight of Lima is singularly disappointing. Nobody can say that it is a beautiful city, and tourists seldom spend more than a couple days here. And yet, upon seeing it, I felt a peace settle over me. Here, there is a comfortable bed that I will sleep in for more than two nights, and a family that welcomed me into their home. Here, I don't have to repack my bag every morning, and I won't have to wear wrinkled clothing every day. Here, I have friends to be crazy with or to relax with, who will show me all the places that make Lima worthwhile. For the moment, Lima is home, and it feels good to be home after traveling for so long.

Danger on the Mountain

Cotopaxi: while not the highest volcano in Ecuador, it's certainly the most picturesque, with its frosty white cap and perfect cone. It's certainly the most visited - Cotopaxi National Park receives more visits annually than any other park in Ecuador except the Galápagos. And despite the name, there are actually two other significant mountains and one other volcano inside the park.

 Volcán Cotopaxi

Since I'm not motivated or fit enough to scale the entire mountain, we opted for the shorter, hour and a half hike up to the refuge from 4,500 meters. We drove into the park at 8 in the morning on an uncharacteristically clear winter day. We could see all the mountains and volcanoes in the surrounding area, including the twin Ilinizas to the west and an erupting Tungurahua to the south, a plume of grey rising from its tip. The dramatic Rumiñahui looked like the jaws of some prehistoric creature, mouth gaping in an eternal roar. It made a striking contrast to the perfect Cotopaxi.

Rumiñahui

The ground at the base of the park was covered in a strange lichen that resembled snow, and the field was littered with huge boulders that had been spit out of the volcano eons past. After we exercised our lungs and acclimatized a bit to the altitude, we continued in the car to 4,500 meters. From there, we took a long series of switchbacks up the next 350 meters to the refuge. I was definitely feeling the altitude and the slope, but we walked very slowly and all made it up in pretty good shape.

Strange lichen and large boulders

From there, we hiked the last 150 meters to the glacier and the 5,000 meter mark. The way up was clear, and we admired the stunning landscape and clear views the weather afforded us. However, within 15 minutes, threatening clouds came over the mountain and it began to hail. Cracks of thunder could be heard, and our hair began standing on end. Brian received a minor jolt of electricity to the head which knocked his hat clean off. At this point, our normally easy-going guide began shouting at us to get down the mountain and to turn off any electronics. Lightning flashed in the distance, and an eerie hum sounded all around. I realized that there was so much static electricity in the air that it was buzzing audibly. We ran as fast as we safely could down to the refuge, where we gratefully had a coffee inside. Other groups were pacing restlessly or peering dubiously at the sky through the windows. Ours was the only group to reach the glacier that day. 

The beginning of the storm

Brian on the glacier

After the fury had abated a bit, we decided to descend the last bit to the waiting car below. The sky was chucking it down by the bucketful, and the hail was large enough to hurt. We ran down to the car and bolted inside. 

When we got back to Latacunga, it was raining heavily, so we ducked into a seafood joint and enjoyed some beers. Many beers actually, for having survived the day.

Our excellent guide, Chasky

It's a Zoo: The Animal Market in Saquisili

Finishing our journey around the Quilotoa Loop, our last stop was the famous Thursday morning market in the little town of Saquisili. There's a produce market and a textiles market, but these were similar to markets everywhere in South America. However, the animal market was like nothing I'd ever seen. It was almost enough to make me go back to being vegetarian.

We set out from Chugchilan at the yawn-inducing hour of 6 am. The sun was just coming up, and the views were fantastic.

Two hours later, we pulled into Saquisili. The first sight that greeted us was an impressive cloud of dust and a large gathering of people and animals milling around; it looked like an early morning rodeo. As we drove into the market, we saw a farmer being pulled along by his cow, running to keep up with the mooing animal's frantic bid for freedom. Finally, a truck blocked the path and the cow pulled up short, and the farmer was able to regain control and lead it into the market.

Bound sheep waiting to be loaded onto a truck

After we got out of the car, we could see that the animals had been divided into different lots: pigs in one corner, sheep and goats in another, cows in the back. The smell was impressive, but the sounds were truly remarkable. Words simply cannot describe the chaos of noise that reached my ears: terrified animals mooing and bleating, farmers bargaining in rapid Spanish and Kichwa, a man extolling the benefits of whatever snake oil he was selling. Above all, and impossible to block out, was the terrible squealing of the pigs.

You might be a vegetarian after hearing these squeals

Piglets were being shoved into sacks. Babies and adults alike were being vaccinated on the spot. Bound pigs were pushed, pulled, or thrown onto truck beds after being sold, and others were simply picked up by a hind leg and carried that way. Not surprisingly, the pigs didn't take kindly to this treatment and let out shrill, pathetic squeals that sounded like they belonged in a slaughterhouse. The locals, being accustomed, didn't react at all.

These were the least unhappy pigs at the market

I know that this is much more natural than superfarms and mega-slaughterhouses, but I can tell you that I didn't eat pork for lunch that day.

Things You Shouldn't Tell Your Mother

There are things in life that you shouldn't tell your mother. Travel in South America can be hairy enough, but these past few days I went above and beyond. 

We're in Latacunga, Ecuador, and we decided to do the famous but rustic Quilotoa Loop. We caught a bus without a hitch, but then, 5 minutes away from town, there was a hitch: construction crews were widening the only road through the mountains and we wouldn't be able to pass for a few hours. Since town was only five minutes away, we decided to take the scenic route and walk around the construction.

We startled some sheep on the way down

It started as a reasonable walk down through some fields. Then, there was a well-constructed bridge to cross the river, so we figured there must be a path that continued around the bend. Not so! This is what we encountered:

At this point, we had walked to far and were too stubborn to turn back. We had seen small children coming back from school skirting the roadblock, so really, how hard could it be?

This is actually the easy part. Plus, we had cheerleaders

Well, really really difficult. And pretty dangerous too. (Looking back, I have no idea what we would have done if I had twisted my ankle or, God forbid, broken anything.) It started out alright, with clumps of grass to put our feet on and a clear route ahead of us. But then, there was a patch with only loose gravel and dirt that went all the way down to the freezing river below. If you start sliding on that... Well, that's exactly what I was trying not to think about as I bounded across it in 2 steps before landing safely on the other side. From there, it was still a mental and physical struggle. We were only about halfway up, and big piles of rocks and other gravelly parts awaited. At this point, we had gained an audience of concerned (or possibly amused) construction workers who were cheering us on from the top. Luckily, once we had reached the rocks, the going was easier, with footholds and handholds aplenty. Finally, we reached the top, shaken and exhausted, but in one piece. From there, an enterprising man with a truck shuttled us up to Quilotoa.

The (cold) view of the laguna

Quilotoa was a surprisingly small and disorganized town for how popular it is with tourists. But, our hostel was cozy and warm, sort of. The next morning, we descended to the laguna and relaxed a bit before hiking back up. It would have been a difficult hike under any circumstances, but at 4,000 meters it was agonizing.

That afternoon, we caught another ride in a pickup truck to the next town of Chugchilán, 7 miles away. The dirt road was bumpy and a bit hair-raising, but the views were spectacular. In order to see better, and to protect our backsides from the jolting, we opted to stand for the whole thing. 

Stunning views and sheer drops make for an interesting ride

We arrived, and after a bit of confrontation (the French couple riding with us didn't want to pay the agreed-upon price), we settled in to a relaxing day of hammocks and beer and mountains. No more climbing for at least a few more days!

Into the Jungle, Part II

After leaving Lago Agrio, we rode in another bus for 3 hours until we reached the end of the road, where was a small house. We ate lunch while the Italians in our group were filming and photographing the children who lived there as if they were animals in a zoo. The amount of equipment they had with them was astounding, and one lady filmed the whole trip from start to finish. I think she was so busy filming that she forgot to actually see our surroundings. Then we continued in a long canoe-like boat for another 2 and a half hours. As you can see from the photo, it was a very wet ride.

Finally, we arrived at the lodge. While built in the local rustic style, it had hammocks, individual rooms, comfy mattresses, hot water for tea and hot chocolate... we weren't exactly roughing it. The weather was perfectly pleasant and there weren't many mosquitos on the river or in the lodge, only during the jungle walks. All the discomforts that the word "jungle" brings to mind simply didn't exist.

The first night, we went on a night walk to see the insects. There were grasshoppers, walking sticks, katydids, and all manner of very impressive and large bugs. Of course, each new discovery was heralded by the probing faces of the Italians' cameras and the continuous flashing as they snapped picture after picture. It was quite a comical sight, the paparazzi jostling for position to photograph a tiny insect.

Over the trip we saw macaws, toucans, dolphins, and five different types of monkeys! The one in the picture, Liana, used to be a pet but was rescued by the organization and now lives in the reserve. Monkeys are still hunted by the local people, both to eat and to be sold as pets.

Liana, eating her third banana and not slowing down 

While the days were filled with sightseeing and swimming in the river (a bit nerve-wracking for the men because of the dreaded penis fish that will swim up the urethra), it was the nights that were really enchanting. After dinner, we would play cards with the guides, exchange dirty vocabulary, and throw back a beer or two. Our guide, Jacob (ha-KOHB) gave me a henna tattoo of an iguana on my arm. One night, there was a concert, with the guides playing traditional music on an old, warped guitar with a water jug for a drum. Another night, someone bought a bottle of rum and we all sat around in the candlelight, joking and drinking. One by one people drifted off to their cabins, but I stayed up with Jacob and another guide until late, discussing Ecuadorian politics and jungle life while sipping punta, the jungle hooch made from sugar cane.

Every night, lying in bed or in the hammock, I would listen to the jungle concert and stare up at the stars. Out here, there was no rush. One could simply enjoy the sounds of the night insects, breathe deeply, and feel the stresses of life slipping away.

Our jungle family

The sun was hot and high in the sky when we set out for the last time in the boat. The giant trees along the banks and the birds dipping around the branches seemed even more beautiful now that we were leaving. Further up the river, trucks and barges and oil refineries began to appear, and the magic was over. It was time to return.

Into the Jungle, Part I

In the book "Abroad," the author laments the death of "travel" on the order of Ernest Hemingway and Robert Byron, which has been replaced by tourism. Perhaps nowhere is this more observable than South America, where hordes of gringos are shuttled to this place and that, and hundreds of thousands of people earn their living from this industry.

When Brian and I decided to go to the depths of the primary rainforest in Ecuador, it seemed a good way to escape from this, however briefly. However, as rugged as it may sound, it's still tourism through and through: meals and drinking water provided, bilingual guide, cabins with comfortable mattresses, tight itinerary.

The first leg of our journey was a night bus from Quito to the oil town of Lago Agrio, 7 hours away. The bus left at 11 P.M. and we promptly set about finding a comfortable position to attempt some sleep. About an hour away from Quito, I was drowsing when there was a scraping noise and a BOOM! The bus began tilting, tilting... People were shouting, shaken from their sleep, and for a single impossibly long moment, we were perfectly balanced, suspended between two eventualities. I had enough time to think, This is it, this is where it all ends. And then we shifted the other way, all wheels landing firmly back on the ground. Everyone was awake now, staring straight ahead, and the bus rolled on in shocked silence.

After that incident, we soberly continued on our way, but now there was an odd sound coming from under the bus. We pulled over, and all the men filed off the bus to have a look and offer their opinions (and also to urinate). Brian went over to talk to one of the men.

Brian: "Is it the transmission? Transmission no bueno?"
Man: "Transmission, yes."
B: "Fuck."
M: "Yes, fuck. A fuck and a shit!"

At that point, it was midnight and we were off the road somewhere an hour from Quito, and it was pitch black all around. Somehow the only thing I could think about was whether we would get our money back if we didn't make it to Lago Agrio by morning. Luckily, it turned out to be only the exhaust pipe dragging (probably shaken loose by our earlier acrobatics). After it was fixed, we once again continued toward the jungle.

Sometime around dawn, after a night of restless sleep, we pulled into the ugly frontier town of Lago Agrio. Although not much to look at, it was a beautiful sight for us.

Lago Agrio

Although today we will return to being tourists, last night on that bus there were no tourists, only travelers. It's not an experience that I would wish on others, but I feel that at least I have had a little adventure, a story to tell. Of course, I hope the rest of our trip goes more smoothly. Part II to come in a few days when we are out of the jungle.

The Real Machu Picchu

It's practically obligatory for tourists in Peru to see Machu Picchu, and with good reason. The view of it from above is breathtaking; the stonework and engineering is incredible; and the imposing mountain of Huayna Picchu presides over this Inca citadel like a majestic guardian. Machu Picchu truly deserves to be named a "wonder of the world."

 And yet, the view today is not the one seen by Hiram Bingham when a few local farmers brought him up to the ruins. (And no, he did not "discover" Machu Picchu; it was familiar to many Peruvians for at least decades before he stepped foot there.) There are ropes delineating a path which must be followed at all times; if you step outside the boundary, one of the ubiquitous guards will blow his whistle and shepherd you back to the path. On the backside of the ruins, you can see the hydroelectric plant which provides power to the town of Aguas Calientes, the base for exploring the ruins. Ladders and other tools used for repairs can be seen among the buildings. Most of all, however, are the tourists swarming over every surface, 3,000 per day in the high season. People talk about the energy of the place, the tranquility and connection they feel to the original inhabitants. As I watched the tourists crawling over the temples and terraces, with their cameras around their necks and hats emblazoned with "Machu Picchu" (which were probably made in China), I couldn't help but feel as if I were in a zoo.

Of course, I fully realize that I was one of those tourists with the camara around my neck (although I would never wear one of those hats). It's a place worth seeing, and many people want to see it. I offer no solutions, only my observations. Now, onto specific details!

It's possible to climb the mountains of Machu Picchu and Huayna Picchu; however, this costs extra, must be reserved in advance, and is not for the faint of heart. Instead, Brian and I opted for the climb to Inti Punku, the Sun Gate, which is the entrance from the Inca Trail. It was no picnic, but worth the climb. The view is great, it's very relaxing, and not too many tourists bother to climb all the way up. Of course, while relaxing, I had the horrible realization that I had left my purse somewhere along the trail. Brian gallantly retraced our steps to about halfway down, recovered the purse, and hiked back up. Phew. 

The view from Inti Punku

After that, we visited the Inca Bridge, another less-traveled route. While it wasn't terribly impressive, it was a nice respite from the tourist hordes, and offered a view of the backside of the mountain, including the hydroelectric plant. 

After spending all day there, we were exhausted. I don't know how the people arriving from the Inca trail have any energy to hike up all the steps there are after 4 days of walking. Machu Picchu is actually lower than Cusco, though at around 3,000 meters, it's still a struggle.

Overall, I would say that Machu Picchu is still quite impressive despite being one of the prime tourist attractions in the world. If you go, don't expect tranquility and photos devoid of other people. Oh, and expect to pay a lot of money; this certainly put a dent in our budget!