I mean that quite literally. I was unprepared for the outlet situation being different in Chile than in Peru, and literally all of my electronics died: my phones - Peruvian and international, my laptop - no work for me! and my camera - no pictures for you...
Not the weekend I had planned.
Border hopping turned out to be quite simple: pay a combi driver to drive you to the border, walk you across it, and there you are! As with any border crossing, there's some paperwork involved, a bit of security, a few stamps, and you're in . It was, however, quite possibly the quickest and simplest I've ever done - airports seem to make everything complicated - who knew?
Crossing into Chile at night made for some spectacular night light views, but unfortunately, my camera, even when it has a charged battery, takes terrible pictures at night. So after a few attempts, I gave up and just sat back to see what I could see. Arica is fairly small, about 80,000, and sits about 20km from the border, although it's built right on the beach, it's also situated in the middle of the Atacama desert - the driest desert in the world, but no big deal... It's summer there now, mild at night but hot and dry during the day. Upon arrival I had to simple exchange my soles for pesos, find a taxi to my hostel, and try to feel like I knew what the heck I was doing in Chile.
As per usual, the hostel staff was friendly and helpful, giving me maps, WiFi password, key, and free breakfast - only the most important of gifts.
Saturday morning I set out, on the back of a motorcycle, to explore the city. (Some questions that start out with "Do you want..." are panic inducing, forcing me to question my priorities in life, my morals, or even my interests.but this one, "Do you want a ride? I'm going into town now on my motorcycle..." only prompted me to ask myself what kind of good luck I had stumbled into! It was glorious.)
First I just wandered around a bit, exploring the pedestrian street in the center of town, and then winding my way back through a maze of one-way streets to the base of Arica Morro. It's a short climb up to a cliff that overlooks the city and the beaches, and included at the top are various museums and monuments. I sat for a long time watching the waves, the cars, the people, and the clouds. It was sunny and windy up at the top, and I felt like going anywhere would be a sin against my luck of the day.
When I finally descended, I bought a hot dog and commenced my wandering walk along the beach and back through town, and after 7 hours, at least as many kms, a terrible sunburn, and some yummy street food, ended up back at my hostel, tired, hot, and (for the moment) happy.
I had a nice plan to blog a bit, take some pictures, eat, shower, talk to my family, and guess how many of those things I did?? Two - the two that required no electronics...
Overall it was a relaxing day, but I knew that I had to either buy a converter (I tried, everything was closed since it was Sunday...) or get back to the civilized land of normal outlets. So Sunday morning it was pack up and snack up, then try my luck at Chilean public transport, border hop right back to the place I came from, and somewhere along the way decided where I wanted to go next.
As I sat in the car making my way back toward Tacna, the Peruvian border town, I couldn't help but muse a bit over the similarities and the differences between Chile and Peru. Though I barely made it over the border, some differences were marked - Chile's economy is clearly superior; Chile has less history and more modernity; Chileans are more guarded but also more open at the same time (read, they'll talk AT you, but if you actually try to talk TO them, they're not too interested); Chilean food is...ok - I'm spoiled, Peruvian food is widely regarded as the best in South America, with good reason; and finally, Chile has bread, real, honest-to-goodness bread! I don't even like bread very much, but the stuff they try to pass off as bread here in Peru, well.... It makes me die a little inside.
So my curiosity is certainly piqued. In what ways are the rest of the countries here different? Similar? Looks like I'll just have to travel some more to find out...
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Day 6: On the Road Again
Arequipa was lovely, but as Friday dawned warm and sunny, I knew it was time for me to be moving on.
Buying a bus ticket to Tacna, from where I would cross the border into Chile, went without a hitch. All 5 of us got on the bus, and we got on our way only fifteen minutes late.
As the white brick buildings and tanned faces of Arequipa faded into desert sand I couldn't help but feel the freedom that always comes with starting off to a new place. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of the experience. I was more than ready for some new places and some new faces. I couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between the lush valley surrounding the riverbed and the arid mountains that rose on all side - my first trip across a desert was just beginning! 
As we wound our way around mountain bases and zig-zagged our way up their sandy sides, my mind wandered off to a place I haven't been in a while, summed up in this song lyric: "Don't be scared to walk alone - don't be scared to like it! There's no time that you must be home, so sleep where darkness falls."
These simple words have always expressed perfectly the freedom I feel wandering the world on my own. I like my own company! And even though things haven't exactly been easy recently, I felt hugely relieved to realize that once again I felt like myself - the independent, inquisitive person I like being.
I talked to new people, tried new food, and crossed the border into a new country - all the while feeling exhilarated instead of intimidated! Ah...it's good to feel like myself again...!
The desert has a stark and ferocious beauty all its own. Every few minutes I tried to capture the wild and desolate feeling the mountains gave me, or the empty wholeness the sky offered, but in vain. Tiny little pictures would never be able to capture the freedom, lonesomeness, and breathless excitement of that 6-hour bus ride. So I gave up taking pictures, opened my window, and just sat back to soak it all in.
And before I knew it, I was in Chile.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Colca Canyon: to the Very Bottom - and Back (Kind of)
The Colca Canyon near Arequipa, Peru is the second deepest canyon in the world. Whether it's trekking to the bottom and back up, touring the rim, or chasing condors, people come from all over the world to experience its grandeur.
My plan was to do the 2-day trek. I really had no idea what that would involve, and specifically had no idea what it would mean to me. But I just figured, "Hey, I like hiking, and I could use some alone time out in nature - why not?!"
I had no idea that the two days I spent exploring this giant crack in the world would be some of the hardest of my life.
I had no idea that in these two days I would come to a deeper understanding of pain than I'd ever even imagined
I had no idea that those two days would draw lines in my mind between the concepts of power and strength, control, weakness and asking for help, autonomy and humanity.
We left early Tuesday morning - breakfast was small and I'd slept barely 3 hours the night before. But I started out hopeful.
As we neared the trail head I decided that I would spend the trek down exploring the reasons for my pain - what exactly it was that had so profoundly affected me.
At first I seemed to make no headway at all.
But then things started coming together... I knew it pertained to the loss of control and feeling completely powerless over the things taking place in my life. But why did this hurt so much?
As we descended further and further into the canyon, the painful realizations seemed to come thick and fast: when someone takes something from you that you would never willingly give, or does something to you that you would never willingly choose, they effectively say that your wishes, your desires, your choices, mean nothing. You, as a person, are worth nothing at all.
It's like someone looked you in the eyes and said, "You are not human. You are stripped of your personality, your heart, your character, your mind, your will, your soul, your individuality - in short, you are stripped of your humanity."
And recovering from that is truly daunting because you truly feel as if that was true!
It's not true, of course. I know that. But something this traumatic has affected every part of me, and although I know I still have all of those components of myself, they are all somehow different. And this is another large portion of the pain - feeling like you don't even know yourself anymore.
As the hike continued, these thoughts flooded my brain and my heart. The sun beat down on me and I began to wonder what my next step could possibly be. It wasn't a difficult question. My knees were aching and nearly all my mental strength was being put toward taking another physical step.
When I finally reached the bottom I sat down and my mind and heart felt completely empty. I indeed, felt exactly like the canyon into which I had just descended.
As we began a small descent up the other side toward the place we would finally eat, the hard truth set in: I was in no physical shape to be able to complete the trek. Almost four weeks of intense stress and all my energy going toward remaining mentally and emotionally strong had left my body in the worst shape it's been in in years. I had nothing left to give.
The guide was helpful and the others in my group were kind. In time I recovered enough to make it to lunch and felt a bit better for the food and the shade.
But the hike wasn't over for the day.
The next three hours we climbed, descended, climbed, walked, and then climbed some more.
I can safely say that I have never felt so weak before in my life. So many times I thought to myself, "I can't do this..." And even now I have no idea where I found the physical strength to continue putting one foot in front of the other.
But even more than that, feeling like I simply could not complete the trek triggered again all of the emotions that I had just attempted to sort thru earlier in the day. The physical powerlessness, the lack of control over my own body, the feeling that resistance was utterly useless all triggered the feelings of intense worthlessness I'd just o recently identified as the source of so much pain.
I somehow kept walking even when I felt like I couldn't - because I knew that staying where I was was simply not an option.
The guide was kind, waited for me, treated me like a normal human being - albeit an obviously unprepared one. I couldn't help but notice and intensely appreciate his humanity in the face of what I felt was my own lack of it.
In time we reached our lodgings for the night. It was a beautiful place.
I spent a long time just trying to figure out how exactly I was going to climb the 3000+ meters back out of the canyon. In the end I determined that all I could do was put one foot in front of the other.
And I tried. I climbed up more than I even thought I could, but I was still a good way behind everyone else hiking up that trail that morning.
The option was the "donkey of shame" for those who couldn't, or didn't want to do the hike up, they could pay the additional charge, and ride up. As I contemplated the option I nearly cried. What was wrong with me?? Hadn't I been so strong over the last month? Why couldn't my mind will my legs to do the entire climb? Why couldn't there just be this ONE THING that I could do right?!
Our guide, Rafael, had stopped and was sitting waiting for me.
As I approached he asked me calmly how I was, if I was sick like yesterday, and finally, if I thought I could do the climb.
I knew what my answer would be, but it still took me a minute to get it out...
"Me gustaría pensar que si. Pero...la verdad es que no puedo." (I would like to think that I can, but really, honestly, no - I can't.)
He just smiled slightly and nodded. Let me talk a little more, then offered to arrange the ride for me so I didn't have to explicitly ask. I nodded.
He sat and waited for the donkey with me and we talked. We talked about the last few weeks of my life, we talked about traveling, work, what we'd like to be doing in a year, tourists, and our hobbies. Then my ride arrived and he set off to catch up with the rest of the group.
I spent the ride up thinking about asking for help. Not only is it hard and humbling to admit you need help, but it's difficult to know how to ask for it, who to ask, and most times, it's even difficult to know what to ask for.
The view from the top was incredible, but I was consumed by my own thoughts, emotions, and experiences of the last 24 hours.
I felt exposed, empty, weak, embarrassed, confused, sad, tired, and as always, hurt.
The ride back was a mix of trying to forget the trek, trying to figure out what I should have learned from it, and trying to appear as if I wasn't crumbling inside.
Also we stopped at a few places and I had some nice chats with the other hikers, some nice time alone, and the chance to build a "dream tower" as I've done in countless places all over the world.
Usually I wish "that the adventure never end."
This time I wished to be happy again some day.
And again, I felt that this canyon was a metaphor for myself at the moment. That the only way to heal is to fill the canyon inside of me, but that all the positive moments of the last few days were like throwing a handful of marbles down from the rim and expecting to see a change in the course of the river at the bottom.
And yet, just like I'd had to realize on the afternoon hike the day before - as useless as it feels to try to move on, as hopeless as it seems to throw marbles in a canyon expecting to fill it up, I have no choice. If I stay here I will die.
The last couple hours of the ride back were peppered with conversation, a few short blissful moments of napping, and vacillating back and forth between freezing from the wind coming thru the open window, and getting sunburn from the sun coming through the closed window.
When we finally made it back to the city, I was sore, hungry, and overwhelmingly tired.
I will never, ever forget the kindness, sincerity, and acceptance of that moment.
Day 2: Beauty
Arequipa, La Ciudad Blanca, is beautiful. And sometimes in a beautiful place, beautiful things happen..
The sun is strong - this is a desert region. But it makes for gorgeous afternoons full of light and shadows, smiles and sunburns.
It is a beautiful thing to be given a choice in what happens to you.
These modern houses contrast quite nicely with the colonial mansion in the photo before.
To sit and drink and talk and laugh like life is completely normal - to feel for a couple hours like life will go on, it's reassuring.
And then to watch the sun paint the sky a million shades of amazing, tipping the mountains with brilliant pink, casting long shadows to contrast with the last rays of sunlight...
...I am privileged to be a part of such thoroughly beautiful moments.
And then as the sky turns dark and the conversation turns serious, I can't help but remember how truly great a gift it is to be granted a choice, to have that choice respected, and to be able to go on with life the way the I had wanted.
The peace and calm inside the many many churches all around the city was soothing and pervasive. Even casting a spell on the streets around the buildings... Places of searching and healing, places of history and future, places of love and loss, places that mirrored the ache in my heart while simultaneously soothing it.
And in the last few minutes of sunlight in such beautiful surroundings, I couldn't help but feel, for a moment, that everything will indeed be ok again, some day.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Night 1: Good night, Cusco; Good morning, Arequipa
I've never been happy to leave Cusco before.
But the evening I started off on my current adventure was clear and beautiful, with views that reminded me of why I fell in love with Cusco in the first place. And knowing that the absence would only be for a few weeks at most, I couldn't help but feel that incredible thrill that appears at the beginning of any new experience.
 |
 |
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| We started out with 3 occupants. |
As I watched Cusco's familiar buildings and streets disappear behind me, and faced a whole new world of landscapes, towns, and thoughts, I knew I was in the right place.
After a few hours of beautiful views and fading light, it was two dark to take pictures, or even see anything, and I dozed off. I woke up a few times at one stop or another, and promptly fell back asleep. But some time around 11:30 I woke up, and as we pulled away from the station, I was too
much in awe to go back to sleep....
Have you ever been in an open place on a clear night? Have you ever seen a sky so full of stars that you're not sure where the star ends and the sky starts? I remember growing up on a farm in rural Tennessee, every night I would go lie in the yard and just look at the stars. And watching the stars out of my bus window, I finally understood how my hopes, dreams, and ideals survived the struggles of adolescence: there is something brilliantly thrilling, calming, and endlessly hopeful about a vast expanse of lights so strong that they travel billions of miles to illuminate my small life. And I couldn't help but feel their power, their warmth, and their light.
As I stared open-eyed (and open-mouthed) out of the freezing cold window, my mind began to wander to some of the places I'd not yet been brave enough to enter.
The emotional trauma I'd been through had seemed to pose an insurmountable obstacle. How could I even begin to face the wall of pain that seemed to surround me? I felt that if I even began to acknowledge its existence it would consume me. But as I looked up at the stars - too bright to even say they were shining in darkness - I came to an understanding and acceptance of my own pain that I knew was the first step to conquering Pain Mountain.
In the case of a physical wound, the first few minutes or days, depending on its severity, are spent guarding the wound. Bandages, using body parts not exercised in years, pain medicine, and more bandages are the typical remedies for trauma wounds, and this is normal and natural as the first steps of healing are difficult to detect, and hardly seem to abate the pain. But after some time, the bandages have to come off. Without exposing the wound again, it won't heal.
And so with emotional wounds.
So it's ok to just hurt for some time. Guard my heart with everything I have. But at some point, I have to take an honest look at the wound, expose it to the fresh air, accept its intricacies, and recognize that the healing process has only just begun. It takes courage to face and accept both the immediate trauma and the long-term effects of the kind of pain I'm experiencing. And it takes hope to believe that in the end it will be worth the effort of healing. An honest look at the effects of this situation paints a daunting picture: Pain Mountain won't be vanquished in a day or even a month. Only time will tell how long it will take.
But as a woke up to view that looked like this...
...I realize that there will be beautiful and happy moments along the way. And the view from the top is something that I can't even begin to imagine.
So bring it, Pain Mountain.
Sunday, October 11, 2015
A Healing Quest
Traumatic events can happen at any time, in many ways, and in any place. They come with their own special set of challenges regardless of where, when, and how they happen - but these challenges are also specialized depending on each of those factors, how, when, and where.
In my case, the how was a combination of many factors... My extremely non-violent family, past, and personality; my open and trusting nature; differing cultural perspectives and expectations; a few poorly-timed decisions; and a whole lot of unknown (to me) factors contributed by another human being.
When, well, it's probably nothing like this would have happened to me at any other time in my life. Again, a result of a string of many decisions, by me and by others, that led to an event that no one imagined could come from such innocent and normal choices.
And finally, where... As many have asked, "Would this have happened in the US?" And of course the answer can't be known for sure, but probably not.
Each of these factors is also integral in the recover process.
Being here, so far away from everyone who loves me has both its benefits and its challenges. It gives me the chance to focus on myself, my own healing process, without being weighed down by the pain that those closest to me are also experiencing. But it also means that my local support system is made up of people who have known me for a month or less.
While a traumatic personal emergency is never, ever welcome, I have much to be thankful for in terms of the timing. After graduating college in May, I spent the summer relaxing and, yes, recovering, from 5 of the most stressful years of my life. I'd found peace and power over many of the issues I'd been struggling with years. I felt better, mentally, emotionally, and physically than I had ever before in my life. and although I would never have chosen this path for myself, walking through an incredibly dark time is made slightly easier when the clear and hopeful past is a only a few months behind.
And finally, I understand that this situation, as terrible and terrifying as it has been, could be much worse. What happened, and how it happened, have hurt me more deeply than I can yet understand -but due to the relatively simple nature of the trauma, recovery has started almost immediately and is of a mostly personal nature - for which I am thankful!
One more significant contribution to the list of things to be thankful for in this situation is the opportunity I have over the next few weeks to travel - exploring southern Peru for the first time. I plan to take this time to be alone, to focus on emotional healing, and to remember what makes me the person that I am regardless of any trauma and pain. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I look forward to chronicling my experiences here - photos of the wonderful places I see, my experiences in the new places I visit, and the lessons I learn about healing along the way. Please join me.
In my case, the how was a combination of many factors... My extremely non-violent family, past, and personality; my open and trusting nature; differing cultural perspectives and expectations; a few poorly-timed decisions; and a whole lot of unknown (to me) factors contributed by another human being.
When, well, it's probably nothing like this would have happened to me at any other time in my life. Again, a result of a string of many decisions, by me and by others, that led to an event that no one imagined could come from such innocent and normal choices.
And finally, where... As many have asked, "Would this have happened in the US?" And of course the answer can't be known for sure, but probably not.
Each of these factors is also integral in the recover process.
Being here, so far away from everyone who loves me has both its benefits and its challenges. It gives me the chance to focus on myself, my own healing process, without being weighed down by the pain that those closest to me are also experiencing. But it also means that my local support system is made up of people who have known me for a month or less.
While a traumatic personal emergency is never, ever welcome, I have much to be thankful for in terms of the timing. After graduating college in May, I spent the summer relaxing and, yes, recovering, from 5 of the most stressful years of my life. I'd found peace and power over many of the issues I'd been struggling with years. I felt better, mentally, emotionally, and physically than I had ever before in my life. and although I would never have chosen this path for myself, walking through an incredibly dark time is made slightly easier when the clear and hopeful past is a only a few months behind.
And finally, I understand that this situation, as terrible and terrifying as it has been, could be much worse. What happened, and how it happened, have hurt me more deeply than I can yet understand -but due to the relatively simple nature of the trauma, recovery has started almost immediately and is of a mostly personal nature - for which I am thankful!
One more significant contribution to the list of things to be thankful for in this situation is the opportunity I have over the next few weeks to travel - exploring southern Peru for the first time. I plan to take this time to be alone, to focus on emotional healing, and to remember what makes me the person that I am regardless of any trauma and pain. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I look forward to chronicling my experiences here - photos of the wonderful places I see, my experiences in the new places I visit, and the lessons I learn about healing along the way. Please join me.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
3 Tips for Surviving Cusco City-Wide Holidays
It is no secret that Cusco loves to celebrate.
Whether it's an ancient Incan festival such as the Inti Raymi in June, a Catholic holy day like the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary in September, or a national holiday such as Independence Day in July, Cusqueños and tourists alike constantly find reasons to be in the streets dancing, playing instruments and singing, selling holiday food, setting off fireworks, consuming spectacular amounts of beer, and taking the day off from their normal work schedule.
While the jubilance is contagious, holidays can cause some unexpected difficulties to tourists and locals alike.
Food:
Not at all surprisingly, the people of Cusco would rather take the holidays off than work in their shops, so if you venture more than a few blocks from the main plaza, you will find more and more closed doors. (And some that make you think they're open only to make a fool out of you when you get closer...)
One solution is to stay in the plaza where the tourist restaurants are open even on holidays. But if you're looking for a cheaper, more authentic option, you;d best take a chance on the street vendors who set up shop within a 2-block radius of the plaza. You can find unique, cheap, and traditional food, but then again, you never know how safe it is... So - eat at your own risk.
Stocking up on bottled water and snacks beforehand is always an option as well. Stands such as the one shown above can be found on nearly every street corner. They are full of every kind of Peruvian snack - sweet and savory. Plus other things like toilet paper, cell-phone recharging, etc. Never a dull day at the stand.
Traffic:
Bumper-to-bumper holiday traffic here is really not *that* much different than normal traffic. But to a highly time-conscious human, (not referring to myself here) the change is noticeable and important.
Here are a few helpful thoughts to keep in mind when braving Cusco holiday traffic: first, everyone else is also late; second, the time schedule here is quite relaxed; and finally, if you're really a stickler for being early, just make sure to leave 15 minutes early.
Sleep:
Those of you who've spent more than a few hours in Cusco know what I'm referring to when I bring up the inexplicable fire crackers that seem to go off at any time of the day or night. You may also be familiar with the random and spontaneous concerts - the ones that seem to go on all night. (Do people not sleep here?)
It's not easy to sleep through these celebrations, and sometimes the best thing you can do is sit back and enjoy the experience. Just remember that life will likely start a few hours later in the morning as no one else slept much more than you did.
Fiesta days in Cusco are colorful, upbeat, cultural experiences, and you certainly wouldn't want to miss out due to a lack of preparation or by stressing the small things. The best option is just to look in tourist guides, or ask around to find the date of the upcoming festivals, buy a few snacks the day before, relax, and soak up the jubilation surrounding you!
While the jubilance is contagious, holidays can cause some unexpected difficulties to tourists and locals alike.
Food:
 |
| Rows of closed doors... |
 |
| Nevermind. |
One solution is to stay in the plaza where the tourist restaurants are open even on holidays. But if you're looking for a cheaper, more authentic option, you;d best take a chance on the street vendors who set up shop within a 2-block radius of the plaza. You can find unique, cheap, and traditional food, but then again, you never know how safe it is... So - eat at your own risk.Stocking up on bottled water and snacks beforehand is always an option as well. Stands such as the one shown above can be found on nearly every street corner. They are full of every kind of Peruvian snack - sweet and savory. Plus other things like toilet paper, cell-phone recharging, etc. Never a dull day at the stand.
Traffic:
Here are a few helpful thoughts to keep in mind when braving Cusco holiday traffic: first, everyone else is also late; second, the time schedule here is quite relaxed; and finally, if you're really a stickler for being early, just make sure to leave 15 minutes early.
Sleep:
Those of you who've spent more than a few hours in Cusco know what I'm referring to when I bring up the inexplicable fire crackers that seem to go off at any time of the day or night. You may also be familiar with the random and spontaneous concerts - the ones that seem to go on all night. (Do people not sleep here?)
It's not easy to sleep through these celebrations, and sometimes the best thing you can do is sit back and enjoy the experience. Just remember that life will likely start a few hours later in the morning as no one else slept much more than you did.
Fiesta days in Cusco are colorful, upbeat, cultural experiences, and you certainly wouldn't want to miss out due to a lack of preparation or by stressing the small things. The best option is just to look in tourist guides, or ask around to find the date of the upcoming festivals, buy a few snacks the day before, relax, and soak up the jubilation surrounding you!
Friday, September 4, 2015
Not Lucky
People came in and out of our office all day today. Stressed people, happy people, curious people, clueless people, and one very broken person.
I remember the feeling well...
You're where you're meant to be, doing what you just know is what you're supposed to be doing, and then out-of-the-blue, comes that text, that email, that call, and the world crashes down around you.
Normally I like to write upbeat, humorous posts; but going out and having adventures, living all the dreams you never thought possible, it comes with a price - at times a high one.
For me it was my Grandpa, and due to issues with my Visa, I watched over Skype from South Korea as my family gathered together to say goodbye to my last grandparent. Skype.
For her it was her grandma, and she gets to go home to be with her family when they lay her to rest, but that hardly makes it easier.
The woman, my age more or less, broken. And my heart could only break along with her in silent sympathy. Oh yes, she put up a brave face, laughed and joked along with the rest of us during dinner, mentioned she was leaving but glossed over the reason why.
I get it. It's hard. There's nothing to say, and no one to say it to. It's like walking through a dense fog, hoping that no one notices that you have no idea where you are going. Doing whatever it takes to feel normal - unbroken, whole.
But them someone mentioned Disney songs, and for the rest of the night she sang. As a small group of us meandered toward the city center, snacked on sweets, wondered at the swan/merman/faun creatures adorning the fountain in the plaza, and slowly made our way back to the school. She kept singing. Every time her voice cracked and she laughed at herself and said she was done, she started again.
And I sang with her.
I went out with a group of people I didn't know, paid an outrageous amount of money for a drink I didn't even want, and sang like a crazed tourist.
But why?
She doesn't know me, I don't think she even knew my name. She has no idea that I know her story all too well. She will never know any of that, and tomorrow, on her flight home, she won't remember me.
No, traveling isn't easy.
Nights like this when I can't sleep because I'm wishing that my dreams didn't have to be so far apart, times when people you love pass and you're not there to be a part of the support and closure, moments when you reach out to someone you don't know and give them a piece of your heart without them ever knowing.
And why?
All for a dream - that chance to feel for a fleeting instant that it's all worth it.
So no, I'm not lucky.
Traveling is my dream, but achieving it doesn't make me lucky - it fulfills me while it's scarring me, it gives me life while it's breaking my heart.
I remember the feeling well...
You're where you're meant to be, doing what you just know is what you're supposed to be doing, and then out-of-the-blue, comes that text, that email, that call, and the world crashes down around you.
Normally I like to write upbeat, humorous posts; but going out and having adventures, living all the dreams you never thought possible, it comes with a price - at times a high one.
For me it was my Grandpa, and due to issues with my Visa, I watched over Skype from South Korea as my family gathered together to say goodbye to my last grandparent. Skype.
For her it was her grandma, and she gets to go home to be with her family when they lay her to rest, but that hardly makes it easier.
The woman, my age more or less, broken. And my heart could only break along with her in silent sympathy. Oh yes, she put up a brave face, laughed and joked along with the rest of us during dinner, mentioned she was leaving but glossed over the reason why.
I get it. It's hard. There's nothing to say, and no one to say it to. It's like walking through a dense fog, hoping that no one notices that you have no idea where you are going. Doing whatever it takes to feel normal - unbroken, whole.
But them someone mentioned Disney songs, and for the rest of the night she sang. As a small group of us meandered toward the city center, snacked on sweets, wondered at the swan/merman/faun creatures adorning the fountain in the plaza, and slowly made our way back to the school. She kept singing. Every time her voice cracked and she laughed at herself and said she was done, she started again.
And I sang with her.
I went out with a group of people I didn't know, paid an outrageous amount of money for a drink I didn't even want, and sang like a crazed tourist.
But why?
She doesn't know me, I don't think she even knew my name. She has no idea that I know her story all too well. She will never know any of that, and tomorrow, on her flight home, she won't remember me.
No, traveling isn't easy.
Nights like this when I can't sleep because I'm wishing that my dreams didn't have to be so far apart, times when people you love pass and you're not there to be a part of the support and closure, moments when you reach out to someone you don't know and give them a piece of your heart without them ever knowing.
And why?
All for a dream - that chance to feel for a fleeting instant that it's all worth it.
So no, I'm not lucky.
Traveling is my dream, but achieving it doesn't make me lucky - it fulfills me while it's scarring me, it gives me life while it's breaking my heart.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Warning: Flexibility an Imperative
It started at 5:00am, Wednesday morning - the most eventful week of my life, that is.
27.5 hours later I arrived at my friend's apartment in Lima. Many kilometers and Spanish conversations later, at 5:30pm Tuesday afternoon, I boarded the bus for Cusco. After 24 hours of Peruvian road-tripping, I finally made it to my final destination - Amauta Spanish School. And now, after a nice meal of water, tuna, crackers, and an orange, 12 hours of sleep, and a long hot shower, I'm finally sitting down to try to record the events of the last 170 hours.
-- Wednesday, August 26 --
***Waking up at 5:00am really isn't a big deal, especially when the prospect of the day is going to bed in 18 hours in a different city, a different country, a different continent.
***Everything went smoothly: the flight to Washington DC where I met a nice old Jewish man heading to Florida for a reunion of a life-long group of friends. It was for a funeral, but in his words it was only one of the group that he loved to hate, so he wasn't too perturbed. (Dad, he said to send his greetings to you.)
***Another quick flight to Ft. Lauderdale, nothing out of the ordinary until we landed, then due to lightning strikes near the runway, we sat on the tarmac, with countless other planes, for over an hour.
***I heard many life lessons from the Dominican lady next to me. She talked about her children, her struggle learning English, her family back in the Republic, her new retired life in Florida, and many other topics. But what she really wanted me to hear was this: Sometimes, even when we love someone, we must not only let them go there own way, but also close the door in our hearts.
***We finally made it into the airport, where, for some reason or another, I sat/stood for 8 hours, until finally boarding the flight for Lima - originally scheduled for 5:36 - at 11:00.
***Inside the Ft. Lauderdale airport, I walked to the gate I'd originally been assigned to, and was surprised to see so many white, English-speaking people at the gate for Lima, Peru. It wasn't until 45 minutes later when they announced that the gate for the flight to Boston had been changed from F6 to F4 that I understood. It happened again when my gate changed and all the people sitting in that waiting area were very black. Turns out they were headed to Jamaica. In the end, it was me, 4 other white people, and a whole lot of Peruvians, who boarded for flight 1825.
***$20 food voucher for the inconvenience of waiting for endless hours? I'll take it.
***Have you ever seen an adult literally dragged kicking and screaming? Well I have, thank you Ft. Lauderdale Hollywood International Airport.
-- Thursday, August 27 --
***I think I slept for about half an hour somewhere over Cuba, but neck and shoulder problems prohibited any real rest.
***As we landed the crew announced that we would all be receiving $250 in travel credit, so that was a small highlight.
***We finally landed at 3:11am. It took about 15 to get through customs and baggage claim - see, there is a plus to travelling at night.
***My friend had planned to pick me up at the airport, but as my flgiht was delayed later and later, we cancelled that plan. I, however, had no idea what the new plan was.
***Money exchange kiosks aren't open at 4:00am.
***Neither are the kiosks to renew the service on your local phone.
***Fortunately I met a sincerely helpful taxi driver who directed me toward an outlet where I could charge my US phone, and a Starbucks where I could get some WiFi.
***While charging my phone I met an old man waiting for his flight to the jungle to visit his daughter who is a dentist. He bought me coffee; that was nice.
***I finally got ahold of my friend, and she called a taxi for me. At 7:00, after 25 hours in various airports, I was finally on my way to the real world again.
***It was rush hour, and the route was a new one for my driver, so it took 90 minutes to reach our destination, but it was well worth it!
***Hazel had stayed with my Uncle and Aunt in New Jersey for several months while studying English, and I'd also been in contact with her through email and Facebook for several months. Meeting in person was just as wonderful as we thought it would be. You know when you meet someone, and you can't even imagine pausing to eat because you feel you've known them your whole life and you need to catch up on everything? Sleep wasn't even in the question. (And believe me, this girl LOVES her sleep and food!) It was magical.
***Many hours of conversation, a quick tour of the neighborhood - Pueblo Libre, Free Town, so named because it was where Simon Bolivar resided, a few stops to buy food, exchange dollars for soles, and buy service for my phone, and a nice relaxing shower constituted most of Thursday.
***To finish off the day, I got to meet an incredible woman who'd put Hazel in contact with my family, and inadvertently introduced her to me as well. Sitting there with those two, Hazel and Olga, I couldn't help but wonder at the great fortune I seem to meet with at every turn.
-- Friday, August 28 --
***I awoke at about 5:00am to the sound of taxi horns. After 40 hours without sleep, I'd hoped to spend a few more than 6 sleeping, but the excitement of being once again in a place I've grown to love so much, made sleep a bit difficult.
***Fresh fruit and hot tea - the breakfast of champions.
***A bit of English practice with Hazel and her brother, a bit of political discussion regarding social practice and climate change, and talk of all the wonders the day would hold.
***As I'd mentioned that familiarizing myself a bit with the public transit system of Lima, it was suggested that said brother, Jorge, would accompany me by bus to the tip of the peninsula on which Lima is built.
***Incredibly beautiful ocean views, the Naval Museum, a quick stop for water, and conversation ranging from careers to history, significant other and the nature of love to the usefulness of knowing Spanish made the many kilometers we covered by bus and on foot fly by.
***Homemade "Chifa" - Peruvian Chinese food - because Hazel knew I'd studied in Korea and enjoy Asian food.
***My friend texted me and asks if we can meet at 9:00pm that night. Is that normal here? Normally I make plans for 6:00 or 7:00, but apparently 9:00 on a Friday is how we do things here.
***Our little group, Hazel, Jorge, and myself left the house again around 5:00pm to wander around Lima's city center, "La ciudad de los Reyes." It was quaint and artistic. We saw live mannequins, street musicians, a very few tourists, the pub where the president and congress always go for breakfast on their first day in office, and probably the longest line of people I've ever seen waiting to place flowers on a shrine and request a miracle at the Cathedral.
***"Arroz con Leche" is Peru's version of rice pudding and I could eat it several times a day, every day.
***Then it was 8:30, time for me to go out on my own to find my friend in a distant district of Lima.
***2 buses, 2 helpful (and nosy) caballeros, and over an hour later, I finally arrived in the Plaza in Barranco where we'd planned to meet. For the first time ever, he arrived somewhere before I did.
***A text from Hazel, "It's going to be both expensive and dangerous for you to come back here, so if you can stay with your friend for that night, that would be good." Well I wasn't expecting, planning, or even wanting to do that, I didn't want to get lost, be robbed, or die, so flexibility it was.
***It was so very nice to spend a few hours dancing with my favorite dance partner ever, drinking just enough to remember how to dance, and laughing like we only had a few hours to live.
-- Saturday, August 29 --
***Then talking for hours and hours before finally falling asleep at about 3:00am.
***The honking horns didn't wake me until 7:00, so I was thankful.
***San Miguel is a part of Lima where there are too many people, and none of them white. Plenty to buy, but no money to buy it with. Plenty to see, and for me, not enough time to see it.
***But we saw plenty before we finally decided to part ways in the mid-afternoon.
***A very quick goodbye and all-of-a-sudden, I was on the bus.
***I know the drill, get on bus, give the guy some change, he'll give you a ticket, and then it's sit and see who gets on next. But for me, this time, it was different. The coin I gave him was 5 soles, my last coin which had been given to me buy a vendor of public phone service. He took it, felt it, and handed it back, "It's fake." It took me several minutes and a few bus stops to comprehend my situation. I was alone, without any money, somewhere in Lima. The guy was nice, but he couldn't just let me ride for free. So I got off.
***Nothing, not even the public phone booth, would take my coin. Apparently I was the only one fooled by it.
***So I called my friend and told him that unless he was already in a life-and-death situation, he needed to come help me.
***Half an hour later, with a funny little grin on his face he showed up with that hug that says "Of all the things that could've happened to you, this? But it's ok, I'm here now." We had to laugh.
***By that time it was too late to meet back up with Hazel for dinner, so we had a few more hours wandering the city, talking, making fun of each other, and trying not to lose each other in the crowd that is San Miguel on a Saturday night.
***The acoustics in the little cafe where we had some tea made my voice sound amazing, and he listened as I sang him some of my favorite tunes, including Whitney Houston, Marc Anthony, the Eagles, Kelly Clarkson, and Whitney again at his request.
***It's not every day you meet friends who make you feel like a star while simultaneously feeling like they embody home. They're worth traveling the globe to visit.
***This time my coin was just fine and I was safely on the bus across the city, back to Pueblo Libre. As often happens, someone got on trying to sell something. He was telling stories about the history of Miraflores and Lima, and collecting money for something related. I gathered most of what he was saying, but after 3 long days of speaking Spanish and 2 very short nights, I was zoning out completely. He walked down the rows asking for donations, got to mine, hesitated, and kept walking. Hmm.
***I wasn't too concerned about finding my way from the bus stop to Hazel's apartment, I'd been on and off the bus a few times already.
***But my adventures of the day were not over. I found the right stop. But by some trick of mind - probably mostly a trick of lack of sleep - I made a simple and important mistake. I thought we'd come from the east, but we'd come from the west. So the side of the street that I was thinking was the north side, where I would fine the landmarks I'd need, was actually the south side where everything was unfamiliar. Fortunately I speak Spanish, and I've spent an unrealistic amount of my life being lost, so after an hour wandering up and down trying to not look vulnerable, I finally discovered my error, and 10 minutes later I was safe.
***Thankfully I'm used to being lost and tired, so I enjoyed the humour in the situation.
-- Sunday, August 30 --
***I finally slept a bit later, because I wasn't near a window and honking horns.
***A trip to the gym. You know how long it's been since I've been to a gym? I actually think that was a first. 3 hours of Afro-Peruvian dancing, jogging, walking, cycling, ab-exercises, and relaxing in the sauna later, I felt amazing. Still not sore, and not sure what that means.
***Lunch with Hazel's sister, who was impressed by my Spanish, and my ability to dance (haha!), and the 11-year-old niece who is learning English, but a little too embarrassed to use it with me.
***Lovely trip to the mall. And that's not something you'll hear me saying very often. But it always amuses me to go places that are the same from country to country, as malls are. The same, but oh so very different.
***Sunday night consisted of talking, for hours, about the many topics that interest both Hazel and myself. We spoke of our pasts, our families, our theories of life and death, our hopes for the future, our fears and failures, our struggles and strengths, and any other topic that came up.
***Finally had the chance to talk for a few minutes with the home people including my "chico." He is always so sweet, patient, understanding, and supportive as a run around the globe doing my things. I am so lucky.
-- Monday, August 31 --
***I finally got to hear Hazel using English as we Skyped with my Uncle and Aunt for a couple hours. In many ways it was so strange - like several different worlds colliding, but in a pleasant and comfortable way.
***Discussion of teaching and learning English as a second language followed - quite interesting to me at the moment as a work on become a certified ESL teacher. Sometimes the students are the best teachers.
***Packing all my clothes, books, and accessories for 4 months into an impossibly small amount of baggage is always a fun challenge, and I always win.
***We decided, that as a parting gift to ourselves, we would go to another discrict in Lima - San Isidra - for Hazel's favorite Asian food. Hanzo is Japanese-Peruvian fusion food, and although that sounds suspicious, it was wonderful!
***The server was attentive and pleasant, which is unusual here, so I wonder if he was trained differently, or a bit enamored and creepy. Things I'll never know.
***It was late when we finally got home, and a glance at the clock assured us that the only thing we had time to think about was getting to the bus station.
***I'm not sure how many lanes the roads in Lima have, or how I could determine that. If I ever could see the lines painted there, it wouldn't help me anyway as the "lanes" are always changing. Sometimes I believe myself to be on an 8-lane highway that takes up the space of one of our 2-lane highways in the US. Crazy doesn't begin to describe it. But I thought I'd seen the worst of it as taxi drivers are always in a hurry - right? Wrong. Our taxi driver knew we were in a hurry, and somehow became even more aggressive than any I'd seen to date. There are no words to describe it.
***But we arrived on time.
***Hazel ran in to start the process of buying the ticket (this company doesn't do online reservations) as I unloaded my stuff. I started in to the wrong door, but the helpful people behind my quickly and laughingly corrected me. I must have been a funny sight!
***I made it with about 30 seconds to spare and within 5 minutes of leaving my taxi I was seated on the bus.
***I was extremely excited to take a road trip across Peru, and expectantly looked out my window, only to fine that mine, the front window, was frosted to (in my opinion) an unnecessary degree.
***Determined to not let this get me down, I looked for the positives...
-- Tuesday, September 1 --
***The radio that the drivers were listening to could usually be heard from my seat - a mix of Latin American pop, salsa, and north American 80s. Not bad.
***I could have been the person wretching the entire drive.
***I would have been too cold to sleep even a little if it hadn't been for the kindly lady next to me spreading her blanket over my legs unsolicited. I was very thankful as the only way I managed to survive the trip without getting carsick was dozing as much as possible.
***The windows on the other side of the bus were clear and allowed me to see some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever encountered. Enough beauty was revealed as the sun came up to make the long, cold, uncomfortable night totally worth it.
***We finally stopped around 8:00am for restrooms and breakfast, but I wasn't about to eat anything.
***After that stop time seemed to stand still. I dozed, watched the movies they were playing on and off, tried to look out my window, dozed some more, and listened to the people chatting around me.
***I'm not sure if it felt like 2 hours or twenty, but at 5:00pm, we finally arrived in Cusco.
***That trip cost me approximately $22.
***Finding a taxi was easy, traffic here in Cusco suddenly seems tame and the rides so cheap.
***My taxi driver somehow knew that this wasn't my first time in Cusco, but I was too tired to inquire how he knew.
***It was nice to see an old friend upon my arrival at the school.
***How can it have been 9 months since I was here last? It seems like it's just been a few weeks.
***I went out to change some money and get a quick dinner - water, tuna, crackers, and an orange fit the bill. As I sat finishing my dinner on a bench in the plaza, as often happens, I was approached by a chico trying to sell paintings. Well, actually, that's not exactly what happened. My cracker wrapper decided to blow away as he was about 10 feet away, so he picked it up for me, and then asked if I was interested in looking at his paintings. I told him I'd love to look, but I wasn't going to buy anything. He didn't seem too concerned with that, and we sat and talked for a while. Sometimes, if you just stop and smile at someone, you get a really creepy next few mintues, but this time it was a happy ending. You just never know when you'll meet someone new and lovely.
***I'd hoped to meet up with another friend for dinner, but he was busy, so we made plans to go out when I'd had a chance to sleep and rest some.
***Bed at 8:30 was wonderful.
***And the WiFi here is good enough to talk on the phone, send pictures and messages, and feel not quite so far away from my loved ones.
-- Wednesday, September 2 --
***And now here it is, I've written and talked the morning away, and it's lunch time. I can't wait. I'll go out with Marco later, and tomorrow at 8:30 start my internship.
27.5 hours later I arrived at my friend's apartment in Lima. Many kilometers and Spanish conversations later, at 5:30pm Tuesday afternoon, I boarded the bus for Cusco. After 24 hours of Peruvian road-tripping, I finally made it to my final destination - Amauta Spanish School. And now, after a nice meal of water, tuna, crackers, and an orange, 12 hours of sleep, and a long hot shower, I'm finally sitting down to try to record the events of the last 170 hours.
-- Wednesday, August 26 --
***Waking up at 5:00am really isn't a big deal, especially when the prospect of the day is going to bed in 18 hours in a different city, a different country, a different continent.
***Everything went smoothly: the flight to Washington DC where I met a nice old Jewish man heading to Florida for a reunion of a life-long group of friends. It was for a funeral, but in his words it was only one of the group that he loved to hate, so he wasn't too perturbed. (Dad, he said to send his greetings to you.)
***Another quick flight to Ft. Lauderdale, nothing out of the ordinary until we landed, then due to lightning strikes near the runway, we sat on the tarmac, with countless other planes, for over an hour.
***I heard many life lessons from the Dominican lady next to me. She talked about her children, her struggle learning English, her family back in the Republic, her new retired life in Florida, and many other topics. But what she really wanted me to hear was this: Sometimes, even when we love someone, we must not only let them go there own way, but also close the door in our hearts.
***We finally made it into the airport, where, for some reason or another, I sat/stood for 8 hours, until finally boarding the flight for Lima - originally scheduled for 5:36 - at 11:00.
***Inside the Ft. Lauderdale airport, I walked to the gate I'd originally been assigned to, and was surprised to see so many white, English-speaking people at the gate for Lima, Peru. It wasn't until 45 minutes later when they announced that the gate for the flight to Boston had been changed from F6 to F4 that I understood. It happened again when my gate changed and all the people sitting in that waiting area were very black. Turns out they were headed to Jamaica. In the end, it was me, 4 other white people, and a whole lot of Peruvians, who boarded for flight 1825.
***$20 food voucher for the inconvenience of waiting for endless hours? I'll take it.
***Have you ever seen an adult literally dragged kicking and screaming? Well I have, thank you Ft. Lauderdale Hollywood International Airport.
-- Thursday, August 27 --
***I think I slept for about half an hour somewhere over Cuba, but neck and shoulder problems prohibited any real rest.
***As we landed the crew announced that we would all be receiving $250 in travel credit, so that was a small highlight.
***We finally landed at 3:11am. It took about 15 to get through customs and baggage claim - see, there is a plus to travelling at night.
***My friend had planned to pick me up at the airport, but as my flgiht was delayed later and later, we cancelled that plan. I, however, had no idea what the new plan was.
***Money exchange kiosks aren't open at 4:00am.
***Neither are the kiosks to renew the service on your local phone.
***Fortunately I met a sincerely helpful taxi driver who directed me toward an outlet where I could charge my US phone, and a Starbucks where I could get some WiFi.
***While charging my phone I met an old man waiting for his flight to the jungle to visit his daughter who is a dentist. He bought me coffee; that was nice.
***I finally got ahold of my friend, and she called a taxi for me. At 7:00, after 25 hours in various airports, I was finally on my way to the real world again.
***It was rush hour, and the route was a new one for my driver, so it took 90 minutes to reach our destination, but it was well worth it!
***Hazel had stayed with my Uncle and Aunt in New Jersey for several months while studying English, and I'd also been in contact with her through email and Facebook for several months. Meeting in person was just as wonderful as we thought it would be. You know when you meet someone, and you can't even imagine pausing to eat because you feel you've known them your whole life and you need to catch up on everything? Sleep wasn't even in the question. (And believe me, this girl LOVES her sleep and food!) It was magical.
***Many hours of conversation, a quick tour of the neighborhood - Pueblo Libre, Free Town, so named because it was where Simon Bolivar resided, a few stops to buy food, exchange dollars for soles, and buy service for my phone, and a nice relaxing shower constituted most of Thursday.
***To finish off the day, I got to meet an incredible woman who'd put Hazel in contact with my family, and inadvertently introduced her to me as well. Sitting there with those two, Hazel and Olga, I couldn't help but wonder at the great fortune I seem to meet with at every turn.
-- Friday, August 28 --
***I awoke at about 5:00am to the sound of taxi horns. After 40 hours without sleep, I'd hoped to spend a few more than 6 sleeping, but the excitement of being once again in a place I've grown to love so much, made sleep a bit difficult.
***Fresh fruit and hot tea - the breakfast of champions.
***A bit of English practice with Hazel and her brother, a bit of political discussion regarding social practice and climate change, and talk of all the wonders the day would hold.
***As I'd mentioned that familiarizing myself a bit with the public transit system of Lima, it was suggested that said brother, Jorge, would accompany me by bus to the tip of the peninsula on which Lima is built.
***Incredibly beautiful ocean views, the Naval Museum, a quick stop for water, and conversation ranging from careers to history, significant other and the nature of love to the usefulness of knowing Spanish made the many kilometers we covered by bus and on foot fly by.
***Homemade "Chifa" - Peruvian Chinese food - because Hazel knew I'd studied in Korea and enjoy Asian food.
***My friend texted me and asks if we can meet at 9:00pm that night. Is that normal here? Normally I make plans for 6:00 or 7:00, but apparently 9:00 on a Friday is how we do things here.
***Our little group, Hazel, Jorge, and myself left the house again around 5:00pm to wander around Lima's city center, "La ciudad de los Reyes." It was quaint and artistic. We saw live mannequins, street musicians, a very few tourists, the pub where the president and congress always go for breakfast on their first day in office, and probably the longest line of people I've ever seen waiting to place flowers on a shrine and request a miracle at the Cathedral.
***"Arroz con Leche" is Peru's version of rice pudding and I could eat it several times a day, every day.
***Then it was 8:30, time for me to go out on my own to find my friend in a distant district of Lima.
***2 buses, 2 helpful (and nosy) caballeros, and over an hour later, I finally arrived in the Plaza in Barranco where we'd planned to meet. For the first time ever, he arrived somewhere before I did.
***A text from Hazel, "It's going to be both expensive and dangerous for you to come back here, so if you can stay with your friend for that night, that would be good." Well I wasn't expecting, planning, or even wanting to do that, I didn't want to get lost, be robbed, or die, so flexibility it was.
***It was so very nice to spend a few hours dancing with my favorite dance partner ever, drinking just enough to remember how to dance, and laughing like we only had a few hours to live.
-- Saturday, August 29 --
***Then talking for hours and hours before finally falling asleep at about 3:00am.
***The honking horns didn't wake me until 7:00, so I was thankful.
***San Miguel is a part of Lima where there are too many people, and none of them white. Plenty to buy, but no money to buy it with. Plenty to see, and for me, not enough time to see it.
***But we saw plenty before we finally decided to part ways in the mid-afternoon.
***A very quick goodbye and all-of-a-sudden, I was on the bus.
***I know the drill, get on bus, give the guy some change, he'll give you a ticket, and then it's sit and see who gets on next. But for me, this time, it was different. The coin I gave him was 5 soles, my last coin which had been given to me buy a vendor of public phone service. He took it, felt it, and handed it back, "It's fake." It took me several minutes and a few bus stops to comprehend my situation. I was alone, without any money, somewhere in Lima. The guy was nice, but he couldn't just let me ride for free. So I got off.
***Nothing, not even the public phone booth, would take my coin. Apparently I was the only one fooled by it.
***So I called my friend and told him that unless he was already in a life-and-death situation, he needed to come help me.
***Half an hour later, with a funny little grin on his face he showed up with that hug that says "Of all the things that could've happened to you, this? But it's ok, I'm here now." We had to laugh.
***By that time it was too late to meet back up with Hazel for dinner, so we had a few more hours wandering the city, talking, making fun of each other, and trying not to lose each other in the crowd that is San Miguel on a Saturday night.
***The acoustics in the little cafe where we had some tea made my voice sound amazing, and he listened as I sang him some of my favorite tunes, including Whitney Houston, Marc Anthony, the Eagles, Kelly Clarkson, and Whitney again at his request.
***It's not every day you meet friends who make you feel like a star while simultaneously feeling like they embody home. They're worth traveling the globe to visit.
***This time my coin was just fine and I was safely on the bus across the city, back to Pueblo Libre. As often happens, someone got on trying to sell something. He was telling stories about the history of Miraflores and Lima, and collecting money for something related. I gathered most of what he was saying, but after 3 long days of speaking Spanish and 2 very short nights, I was zoning out completely. He walked down the rows asking for donations, got to mine, hesitated, and kept walking. Hmm.
***I wasn't too concerned about finding my way from the bus stop to Hazel's apartment, I'd been on and off the bus a few times already.
***But my adventures of the day were not over. I found the right stop. But by some trick of mind - probably mostly a trick of lack of sleep - I made a simple and important mistake. I thought we'd come from the east, but we'd come from the west. So the side of the street that I was thinking was the north side, where I would fine the landmarks I'd need, was actually the south side where everything was unfamiliar. Fortunately I speak Spanish, and I've spent an unrealistic amount of my life being lost, so after an hour wandering up and down trying to not look vulnerable, I finally discovered my error, and 10 minutes later I was safe.
***Thankfully I'm used to being lost and tired, so I enjoyed the humour in the situation.
-- Sunday, August 30 --
***I finally slept a bit later, because I wasn't near a window and honking horns.
***A trip to the gym. You know how long it's been since I've been to a gym? I actually think that was a first. 3 hours of Afro-Peruvian dancing, jogging, walking, cycling, ab-exercises, and relaxing in the sauna later, I felt amazing. Still not sore, and not sure what that means.
***Lunch with Hazel's sister, who was impressed by my Spanish, and my ability to dance (haha!), and the 11-year-old niece who is learning English, but a little too embarrassed to use it with me.
***Lovely trip to the mall. And that's not something you'll hear me saying very often. But it always amuses me to go places that are the same from country to country, as malls are. The same, but oh so very different.
***Sunday night consisted of talking, for hours, about the many topics that interest both Hazel and myself. We spoke of our pasts, our families, our theories of life and death, our hopes for the future, our fears and failures, our struggles and strengths, and any other topic that came up.
***Finally had the chance to talk for a few minutes with the home people including my "chico." He is always so sweet, patient, understanding, and supportive as a run around the globe doing my things. I am so lucky.
-- Monday, August 31 --
***I finally got to hear Hazel using English as we Skyped with my Uncle and Aunt for a couple hours. In many ways it was so strange - like several different worlds colliding, but in a pleasant and comfortable way.
***Discussion of teaching and learning English as a second language followed - quite interesting to me at the moment as a work on become a certified ESL teacher. Sometimes the students are the best teachers.
***Packing all my clothes, books, and accessories for 4 months into an impossibly small amount of baggage is always a fun challenge, and I always win.
***We decided, that as a parting gift to ourselves, we would go to another discrict in Lima - San Isidra - for Hazel's favorite Asian food. Hanzo is Japanese-Peruvian fusion food, and although that sounds suspicious, it was wonderful!
***The server was attentive and pleasant, which is unusual here, so I wonder if he was trained differently, or a bit enamored and creepy. Things I'll never know.
***It was late when we finally got home, and a glance at the clock assured us that the only thing we had time to think about was getting to the bus station.
***I'm not sure how many lanes the roads in Lima have, or how I could determine that. If I ever could see the lines painted there, it wouldn't help me anyway as the "lanes" are always changing. Sometimes I believe myself to be on an 8-lane highway that takes up the space of one of our 2-lane highways in the US. Crazy doesn't begin to describe it. But I thought I'd seen the worst of it as taxi drivers are always in a hurry - right? Wrong. Our taxi driver knew we were in a hurry, and somehow became even more aggressive than any I'd seen to date. There are no words to describe it.
***But we arrived on time.
***Hazel ran in to start the process of buying the ticket (this company doesn't do online reservations) as I unloaded my stuff. I started in to the wrong door, but the helpful people behind my quickly and laughingly corrected me. I must have been a funny sight!
***I made it with about 30 seconds to spare and within 5 minutes of leaving my taxi I was seated on the bus.
***I was extremely excited to take a road trip across Peru, and expectantly looked out my window, only to fine that mine, the front window, was frosted to (in my opinion) an unnecessary degree.
***Determined to not let this get me down, I looked for the positives...
-- Tuesday, September 1 --
***The radio that the drivers were listening to could usually be heard from my seat - a mix of Latin American pop, salsa, and north American 80s. Not bad.
***I could have been the person wretching the entire drive.
***I would have been too cold to sleep even a little if it hadn't been for the kindly lady next to me spreading her blanket over my legs unsolicited. I was very thankful as the only way I managed to survive the trip without getting carsick was dozing as much as possible.
***The windows on the other side of the bus were clear and allowed me to see some of the most spectacular scenery I have ever encountered. Enough beauty was revealed as the sun came up to make the long, cold, uncomfortable night totally worth it.
***We finally stopped around 8:00am for restrooms and breakfast, but I wasn't about to eat anything.
***After that stop time seemed to stand still. I dozed, watched the movies they were playing on and off, tried to look out my window, dozed some more, and listened to the people chatting around me.
***I'm not sure if it felt like 2 hours or twenty, but at 5:00pm, we finally arrived in Cusco.
***That trip cost me approximately $22.
***Finding a taxi was easy, traffic here in Cusco suddenly seems tame and the rides so cheap.
***My taxi driver somehow knew that this wasn't my first time in Cusco, but I was too tired to inquire how he knew.
***It was nice to see an old friend upon my arrival at the school.
***How can it have been 9 months since I was here last? It seems like it's just been a few weeks.
***I went out to change some money and get a quick dinner - water, tuna, crackers, and an orange fit the bill. As I sat finishing my dinner on a bench in the plaza, as often happens, I was approached by a chico trying to sell paintings. Well, actually, that's not exactly what happened. My cracker wrapper decided to blow away as he was about 10 feet away, so he picked it up for me, and then asked if I was interested in looking at his paintings. I told him I'd love to look, but I wasn't going to buy anything. He didn't seem too concerned with that, and we sat and talked for a while. Sometimes, if you just stop and smile at someone, you get a really creepy next few mintues, but this time it was a happy ending. You just never know when you'll meet someone new and lovely.
***I'd hoped to meet up with another friend for dinner, but he was busy, so we made plans to go out when I'd had a chance to sleep and rest some.
***Bed at 8:30 was wonderful.
***And the WiFi here is good enough to talk on the phone, send pictures and messages, and feel not quite so far away from my loved ones.
-- Wednesday, September 2 --
***And now here it is, I've written and talked the morning away, and it's lunch time. I can't wait. I'll go out with Marco later, and tomorrow at 8:30 start my internship.
Friday, June 26, 2015
Beach Body
What comes to you mind when you hear that term - "beach body"?
If you're anything like me, and/or you grew up anywhere not near a beach, your mind probably conjures up some image of the "perfect" body: young, skinny, in shape, tan, smooth, hair-free skin, etc.
The difference between this picture, and what I saw in the mirror (soft-and-squishy, blindingly-white, really-doesn't-like-shaving 20-something) always caused me some consternation at the idea of going to the beach. When people would speak longingly of a week at the beach, my mind instantly responded with "Yeah, right - maybe if I lost 30lbs, sun-bathed for a year, trained for a marathon, and was into Brazilian waxing!"
This mindset carried over into many other areas of my life - I didn't like going swimming, or jogging, or really doing anything that might call attention to the fact that my body was anything but "perfect." Even after a long struggle with bulimia, and several years of learning to take care of my body and not be ashamed of it, the thought of going to the beach scared me. Now, no one ever said you have to wear swim suits to the beach, but even the thought of being around other people so amazingly attractive that they enjoyed showing off their bodies, intimidated me beyond words.
These ideas, the picture I had in my head of a perfect body, how far I was from it, and how much I thought I should have it, seemed to be common threads I saw in the people around me. Living in a small college town meant there was little variation - you had your sorority girls, and you had your redneck chicks, and your white trash b******, and then the rest of us. It was ok to be "overweight" - if you liked being stuck in the same town for the rest of your life. It was ok to not be tan - if you were sick, or goth, or just really weird. And it was ok to not shave - if you liked shopping for comfort food in your pajamas at Wal-Mart in the middle of the night. (Incidentally, I really like doing that, but that's a bit beside the point.)
In short, you were either attractive - you had the "perfect beach body" - or you were nothing. Less than nothing, you were white trash. (Because apparently white people are the only people who get to be anything in Cookeville, but that's another story for another day.)
Before coming down to Charleston for the summer, I'd spent a few weekends here, and we'd gone to the beach a few times. But I mostly felt really out-of-place, because I KNEW I didn't have a beach body. And of course, everyone else could see it too.
It wasn't until I'd been here for a few weeks, watched the people around me, and gone to the beach a few more times, that it dawned on me: EVERYONE IN CHARLESTON HAS A BEACH BODY!
How was I to feel about this?!
Where were the distinctions between "people who looked good at the beach" and "people who need to wear one-pieces"?
At first I was a bit baffled, and to be honest, a bit lost. But it only took a short time for me to realize and revel in the freedom this brought. Not only was it acceptable to go to the beach without being "perfect," it was normal - everyone was doing it.
There's an honesty here that I appreciate.
I love that people would rather be comfortable than listen to marketers scream at them that they are "too fat," "too old," "too white," to wear a swim suit, and go to the beach to cool off.
And it carries over into other areas of life. No, people don't wear swim suits to Wal-Mart, but dressing the way you like is far less likely to get you labeled as anything in a place where everyone has to realize that a "perfect beach body" simply doesn't exist.
If you're anything like me, and/or you grew up anywhere not near a beach, your mind probably conjures up some image of the "perfect" body: young, skinny, in shape, tan, smooth, hair-free skin, etc.
The difference between this picture, and what I saw in the mirror (soft-and-squishy, blindingly-white, really-doesn't-like-shaving 20-something) always caused me some consternation at the idea of going to the beach. When people would speak longingly of a week at the beach, my mind instantly responded with "Yeah, right - maybe if I lost 30lbs, sun-bathed for a year, trained for a marathon, and was into Brazilian waxing!"
This mindset carried over into many other areas of my life - I didn't like going swimming, or jogging, or really doing anything that might call attention to the fact that my body was anything but "perfect." Even after a long struggle with bulimia, and several years of learning to take care of my body and not be ashamed of it, the thought of going to the beach scared me. Now, no one ever said you have to wear swim suits to the beach, but even the thought of being around other people so amazingly attractive that they enjoyed showing off their bodies, intimidated me beyond words.
These ideas, the picture I had in my head of a perfect body, how far I was from it, and how much I thought I should have it, seemed to be common threads I saw in the people around me. Living in a small college town meant there was little variation - you had your sorority girls, and you had your redneck chicks, and your white trash b******, and then the rest of us. It was ok to be "overweight" - if you liked being stuck in the same town for the rest of your life. It was ok to not be tan - if you were sick, or goth, or just really weird. And it was ok to not shave - if you liked shopping for comfort food in your pajamas at Wal-Mart in the middle of the night. (Incidentally, I really like doing that, but that's a bit beside the point.)
In short, you were either attractive - you had the "perfect beach body" - or you were nothing. Less than nothing, you were white trash. (Because apparently white people are the only people who get to be anything in Cookeville, but that's another story for another day.)
Before coming down to Charleston for the summer, I'd spent a few weekends here, and we'd gone to the beach a few times. But I mostly felt really out-of-place, because I KNEW I didn't have a beach body. And of course, everyone else could see it too.
It wasn't until I'd been here for a few weeks, watched the people around me, and gone to the beach a few more times, that it dawned on me: EVERYONE IN CHARLESTON HAS A BEACH BODY!
How was I to feel about this?!
Where were the distinctions between "people who looked good at the beach" and "people who need to wear one-pieces"?
At first I was a bit baffled, and to be honest, a bit lost. But it only took a short time for me to realize and revel in the freedom this brought. Not only was it acceptable to go to the beach without being "perfect," it was normal - everyone was doing it.
There's an honesty here that I appreciate.
I love that people would rather be comfortable than listen to marketers scream at them that they are "too fat," "too old," "too white," to wear a swim suit, and go to the beach to cool off.
And it carries over into other areas of life. No, people don't wear swim suits to Wal-Mart, but dressing the way you like is far less likely to get you labeled as anything in a place where everyone has to realize that a "perfect beach body" simply doesn't exist.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
My very first bus ride (in the USA)
...didn't actually happen.
I was all ready to go - I'd had the ticket in hand for several weeks. I was so excited - this trip would start the end of a year-long separation from a very special person. The bus was scheduled to leave Cookeville and head to Knoxville at 8:45pm, so I arrived with about 20 minutes to spare. There was a bus there already, but it was the bus to Nashville, the driver assured me, "The next bus is yours sweetie, it'll be here any minute."
So I waited.
You see, this wasn't just any old bus ride. I've been on bus rides before. Bus rides, train rides, plain rides, even boat rides - but this was the first in the US. I thought I'd give my country a chance before slamming it for having the worst public transit system in the world.
So I waited some more.
9:00. Maybe there was a wreck and they're running late.
9:30. Ok, this is weird, let me try calling someone. Wait, I don't have any internet connection.
9:45. After calling about 5 numbers, I finally got in touch with someone, who told me to call the Nashville station, and gave me a number.
10:00. Nashville operator: "You're saying the bus is over an hour late? Oh well honey, we don't have any tracking system in our buses - you'd have to contact the station it was going to... Here's a number."
10:10. Knoxville station: NOTHING. Not even an answering machine or call waiting.
10:20. Home office again: "Oh that's not the right number, thy this one."
10:30. Knoxville station (maybe?): Still nothing. Well, it was the right station, which was supposed to be manned 24/7, but nothing.
10:45. Home office. Again. "Nothing? Nothing?! So the bus just never showed up and no one is answering any phones?" Yeah, B****, that's what I've been saying for the last 2 hours.
I stopped waiting at that point, and jumped in my car. I woke up to this, so I can't complain too much.
But I'm now more convinced than ever that we have the worst public transit system in the world.
I was all ready to go - I'd had the ticket in hand for several weeks. I was so excited - this trip would start the end of a year-long separation from a very special person. The bus was scheduled to leave Cookeville and head to Knoxville at 8:45pm, so I arrived with about 20 minutes to spare. There was a bus there already, but it was the bus to Nashville, the driver assured me, "The next bus is yours sweetie, it'll be here any minute."
So I waited.
You see, this wasn't just any old bus ride. I've been on bus rides before. Bus rides, train rides, plain rides, even boat rides - but this was the first in the US. I thought I'd give my country a chance before slamming it for having the worst public transit system in the world.
So I waited some more.
9:00. Maybe there was a wreck and they're running late.
9:30. Ok, this is weird, let me try calling someone. Wait, I don't have any internet connection.
9:45. After calling about 5 numbers, I finally got in touch with someone, who told me to call the Nashville station, and gave me a number.
10:00. Nashville operator: "You're saying the bus is over an hour late? Oh well honey, we don't have any tracking system in our buses - you'd have to contact the station it was going to... Here's a number."
10:10. Knoxville station: NOTHING. Not even an answering machine or call waiting.
10:20. Home office again: "Oh that's not the right number, thy this one."
10:30. Knoxville station (maybe?): Still nothing. Well, it was the right station, which was supposed to be manned 24/7, but nothing.
10:45. Home office. Again. "Nothing? Nothing?! So the bus just never showed up and no one is answering any phones?" Yeah, B****, that's what I've been saying for the last 2 hours.
I stopped waiting at that point, and jumped in my car. I woke up to this, so I can't complain too much.
But I'm now more convinced than ever that we have the worst public transit system in the world.
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