Sì, estoy viajando...solita! ¿Y a ti que te importa?

I´ve been waiting to use that phrase for awhile now...¨Y a ti que te importa?¨ It means basically, ¨What´s it to you?¨ I can´t count how many times I´ve heard this word clouded in surprise...¨Solita?¨ Single? Yes, I´m single. I´ve been single for I don´t know how long now. Why is it that we´re in the 21st century and people still seem shocked when I say that I´m traveling by myself? I actually enjoy traveling by myself. I can make my own rules, go where I want to go, stay where and when I want to stay, I can...well, I´m now sounding like I´m a street pup. Anyway, I live by my own rules.

So when I´m tired of a place or like something especially well; I can decide to move on down along the road or I can decide to stay. Today, I decided to move on along the road. I´m heading to Puerto Natales tonight on a bus. I have enjoyed my time in Punta Arenas though. I went to see the penguins this morning. And I visited the Alice in Wonderland type cemetary here while it was open. I shared the rest of my bottle of Chardonnay with some women sitting next to me at lunch. I helped a guy from Colorado ask about his hat that he had left at the restaurant four days before. I´ve had a busy day.

The penguins first, and probably because the rest of the stories really aren´t that interesting. We took off at 8:00 and after mysteriously meeting up with my trip-mates we headed on to Otway Sound to see the penguins. It reminded me of my almost kidnapping story in Arequipa. Some taxi-driver showed up and asked them if they were going to see the penguins. They said yes, so off they went, in the wrong taxi. I´m still not sure how in the heck we found them...I thought about asking but knew I wouldn´t get a straight answer so I left it alone. Miraculously we caught up to the taxi on the side of the road out in the middle of nowhere. Seriously...I didn´t fall off the turnip truck last night. Anyway, the five of us, including the driver and the guide took off to the penguin place after an odd start.

The penguins were incredibly cute and had to be incredibly cold as the wind was blowing probably 30 miles and hour or better. At times it would be raining, then it would turn to snow. It is an absolutely beautiful place but cold. The strange thing is that it really isn´t all THAT cold. It´s windy but I just had on a thick pair of pants and my windbreaker jacket with a fleece pullover under it and the only things that were uncomfortably cold were my fingers (I had forgotten my gloves...very smart Holmes!). There are around 10,000 penguins at the location we visited compared to 150,000 some odd at the other spot.

They were all cute though and very into their daily activities. There were some digging holes, some waddling around (semi-lost looking), some hanging out at the beach looking at the frigid water, some in the frigid water taking a bath and playing with their rubber duckies (okay, I didn´t really see any but I´m sure they have bath toys). They looked cold though. There was one bigger penguin talking a lot and when he did, everyone seemed to listen and head that way. It was kind of like a preacher with all his disciples....very cute. Apparently his sermon wasn´t that good because it didn´t take long for the crowd to disburse. I think he might have been trying to convince them to enter the frigid water. They didn´t fall off the turnip truck last night either.

I would give you more interesting facts about penguins but I don´t think you really care. I took some video but of course I don´t have the correct cable out of the 20 that I brought with me so you´ll have to wait for the trip recap sometime next year. It´s amazing I have two backpacks, one big one and one small one and in total I´m probably carrying close to 20 kilos. I don´t really even have that much stuff with me. I think it´s my hiking boots. Too bad I can´t ditch them somewhere to lighten the load. Something tells me I´m gonna need them on down the road though. But in all that stuff that I´m carting around I don´t have the right cable...figures.

Anyway, I´m gonna go try to find some lunch then catch my bus. Up next...Torres del Paine. Not sure how long I´ll be able to stay there. Hopefully at least a couple of days. Merry Christmas all!

What´d you do with the pit?...I hid it.

In the past week, or two weeks perhaps, more funny things have happened that I can count on my little fingers. Since I last wrote to you from Valparaíso, I´ve been to Viña del Mar (which is right outside of Valparaíso, another beach community), I went to Mendoza, met the Sarfatis back in Santiago for a few days, and am now about to leave Puerto Montt for penguins in Punta Arena.

Fortunately, I´m not as jaded as I was the last time I wrote. I´m doing much better now. And am ready to tell you about some of fun and not-so-life threatening adventures. After leaving Valparaíso last Monday, I found a bus headed to Mendoza, Argentina. Their motto? ¨Tierra de sol y vino¨...Land of sun and wine. I figured you´d like that one. I certainly did.

I found a pretty cool hostel called Break Point where I met some really neat people...Joe (the plumber) from Virginia, Victoria (from Sweden...and yes, she had blonde hair and blue eyes), and Youandi and Meryn (from Holland). Joe and I ended up taking a somewhat dangerous bike and wine tour. Everyone always says never to drink and drive but I´ve never heard anything about drinking and biking. It really should be added to the list. After the third stop I was feeling pretty good.

The first stop was a chocolateria, which was where I thought I was going to get some treats. And I did, it just happened to be chocolate liquor, which was about 19% alcohol. I thought I was going to be able to blow flames! It´s a good thing I didn´t try their 80 proof absinthe made from I don´t remember what. That would have laid me out on the floor right there. Needless to say, I was ready for the probably 10 mile bike ride to the winery at the end of the road after that. It was a beautiful day, there was a light breeze, the sun was shining, a few clouds in an all blue sky. I was enjoying life...until the trucks started whizzing by at light speed.

It said the in the book that it was a beautiful ride, except for one thing...the busy road, with no shoulder. Now, on my bike at home, which I haven´t ridden in probably three years, we´re friends but we´re not one. My bike has no problem throwing me at any moment. Okay, maybe it´s not my bike, maybe it´s me but still, the end result is the same, I end up on the ground. I didn´t have any crashes on my one-speeder fortunately. I could have used another gear going up those little hills however. It was amusing though and I did really love the ride when the traffic slowed a little and I could thoroughly enjoy the Cottonwood tree lined road.

As for the wine (with the exception of the chocolate stuff), it was incredible. We technically only drank at two bogedas (wineries) but between the two, had between five and six glasses of wine each. I´ve decided that if you pay for your tasting, you get a full glass, not just the traditional sip. I know they put those little spitton thingys there for a reason. My friend Cary used to call throwing out alcohol ¨alcohol abuse¨ so in order not to be an abuser of alcohol, I drank all of mine, except for the last glass which Joe helped me out on. I told him if he wanted to bike back with me, he´d have to help.

Besides having tons of vinyards in Mendoza for grapes such as Malbec (the most popular in the region), they also have Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Bonarda, among others. They also produce a considerable amount of olive oil. (I´m a fan of the trees, which when in the sunlight have leaves that look like they´re made of silver.) Mendoza is located in the desert and is a great place to grow wine. Apparently, the Malbec grape came from France where it wasn´t growing very well and because of the sunny and dry conditions, it thrived here. I went to five bogedas in total ranging from 70,000 bottles a year to 30,000,000. That´s a lot of wine. I learned how they make it (I didn´t realize that they also age wine in bottles as well as in barrels), how to tell if it´s good or not when you swirl it in the glass, and of course, it didn´t take me too long to figure out how to drink it. Patagonia is another popular region for a different type of wine so you can only imagine how much fun I´m going to have this week. :o)

After my wine country tours, I took a bus back to Santiago, which got stuck at the border for over three hours, which meant I was late for meeting the Sarfatis. I could only imagine how freaked out they were when they got there and couldn´t find me and couldn´t call me because my cell phone was dead. While I was trying to find a phone to call them, I ended up running right into them...literally. Apparently, they had gotten hung up in the airport with filling out their paperwork. We got them settled into their hotel and after eating breakfast I headed to my hotel to get settled back in for a few days.

We originally had plans to meet up at 1:00 that afternoon and finally about 4:30 they wandered into the lobby of my hotel...horror story in hand. After countless wrong turns in a taxi, wandering the streets of Santiago on foot, and asking countless strangers and policemen for assistance, they finally found my hotel. Fortunately, we were at least able to giggle about it a little. We then took off to visit the largest church in Santiago, see the local market, and have dinner. The next day we planned to meet at 9:30 am outside the Palace to watch the changing of the guard.

The changing of the guard was...well, not happenin´. How is it that you can travel thousands of miles to see something and then it doesn´t happen? So, we took a picture in front of the palace and headed off for the famous outdoor market. I´ll have to admit, it was pretty impressive, full with fresh fruits and vegetables, all kinds of meats, including pigs´ hearts, anything that you would ever want to buy and some things you wouldn´t care to. I also found some herbs on the street that were for a variety of illnesses, one even said it cured impotence. Interesting.

There really isn´t a whole lot to do in Santiago besides museums so we opted for the pool. When I got there, Helen and Peter both told me they had gotten scolded for having food at the pool (pastries, strawberries, and apricots) so Helen had moved the food up to a shaded area above the pool. Dr. Sarfatis was having fun while swimming and Helen and I were playing the part of Greek Goddesses. It wasn´t long and Peter said, ¨Helen, throw me an apricot.¨ So, she dropped one down to him. After awhile she said, ¨What´d you do with the pit?¨ And he, in his funny Greek accent answered, ¨I hid it.¨ I couldn´t help but laugh as it sounded like something a 5 year old would do...if you´re not smiling, then you had to be there.

That night, we decided to meet for dinner. I couldn´t get a reservation for the restaurant my uncle´s friend had recommended so the hotel the Sarfatis were staying at suggested one. When he called for a reservation they said they didn´t think it was possible, then, okay, sure, table for 4 at 8:15. My friend, Anton, whom I met in Cusco, had come to Santiago for the day in route to Mendoza, so I invited him to join us for dinner. It´s amazing what you need a reservation for these days. Apparently in Santiago, you need a reservation for a buffet. You can´t imagine the looks of surprise on our faces when the waiter said there wasn´t a menu, only a buffet. We went ahead and ate there. There is a reason the guidebook says the food in Chile isn´t all that much. A Chilean told me the other day he though it was similar to American food...and he didn´t mean that as a compliment.

Anton had to catch a 10:30 bus to Mendoza so he left a little earlier than we did. So when I got to my room and saw his bag and jacket still sitting there I was a little surprised. I thought maybe the desk people wouldn´t let him up. So I went to check. No, he hadn´t been there. That´s strange. So I went back up to my room to wait. About 5 minutes later there was a knock on my door and a frantic Anton was standing in front of me. Just in case the bus was late (which is frequent here) we took off for the station, via the Metro. When we got there, nada. The Metro was closed and we already knew a taxi was out of the question since a football game had just finished...the streets were crazy. So much for trying that one. All I could offer as a consolation was good company and a bed for the night. So, we stayed up talking about great 80´s bands the rest of the night. I got an email from him yesterday and he had made it to Mendoza and was getting ready to leave for a wine tour.

Puerto Montt is another port town. Thankfully I haven´t had the same luck as in Valparaíso. I went hiking Volcano Osorno yesterday. Even though I was the only one on the tour, I still had a good time and I´ll have to say that my guide was really good at taking my picture. It was incredibly cloudy though so I wasn´t able to see the crater. It was a little rainy out but generally a good day. I got some amazing photos of the lake though when the sun started to come out from behind the clouds. Today, I´m heading for Punta Arena for probably the next day or two, then I´ll be off to Puerto Natales. I´m not sure if I´ll make it down to Tierra del Fuego or not. I might head north to El Calafate in Argentina. The book says that if you´ve seen Torres del Paine and The Perito Moreno Glacier then you´re not going to see anything except more of the same.

Valparaiso...Not the City for Me

Well, I made it on a bus today to the coastal city of Valparaiso. Although it maybe charming when the sun is out, I´m thinking that this isn´t the place for me. I did happen to find a very cute bed and breakfast, that is half price if you pay in pesos as opposed to dollars. Go figure.

It has a wonderful view and my cute little room with a bathroom across the hall reminds me of my room at my parents´house with angled walls. My room, unlike this one, doesn´t overlook the bay which is pretty spectacular. I was writing in my journal before lunch, while I was thinking that I was kind of diggin´this place, talking about how great everything was and of course, it doesn´t take much to change your mind, which is exactly what happened with me.

I´m actually on my way back from Pablo Neruda´s house, the famous poet. Now that was something spectacular in and of itself as well. He had delusions of being a sailor given the decor of his house but apparently didn´t really care for the sea. He accomplished a variety of things during his lifetime, a Senator, a Communist, an artist and designer, a collector of odd art (hot air balloon plates), and of course a Nobel Prize winning poet.

It was on my way back from his house that I decided that this wasn´t the place for me. I waited for a bit outside the museum to see if a cab would pass and when none did, I thought, well, at least it´s not uphill. So I took off on foot. Of course, Chile is like Peru and they are definitely not in short supply of street dogs either so as I was walking I was watching them sleep, wander around sniffing for food, or playing together, when the road for cars I was walking on suddenly ended and became a pedestrian street. This wasn´t a problem until I rounded the corner to see 5 guys all dress in black, hanging out. Not where I wanted to be. So I quickly sort of ducked down and went up the way I came thinking, ¨I´ll find another way down.¨

I´m sure the guy who was standing on his balcony when I walked by the first time thought I was a nut when I came walking back up the street. I took another pedestrian road (as that was my only choice) and started to say a prayer, ¨Please don´t let this be the same...Great! There they are. This is not good.¨ I said, ¨Hello. What´s up?¨They said hello as well. You always hear about people saying the hair was standing straight up on their spine. Well, I didn´t stop to ask them if they could see it but when one guy touched my shoulder when I passed and made a not-so-nice comment, it was all I could do to keep walking at the same pace until I rounded the corner where I can promise you I certainly picked up the pace (and I´m not talking salsa here folks).

Besides the time when I might have been kidnapped in Arequipa, this is the first time I have felt threatened or at least had a really bad feeling. I´m alive though and very thankful that I don´t have anything other than a close call to type about. Tomorrow morning after breakfast I´m going to catch the train to Viña del Mar where hopefully it will be little more my style. Maybe it´s because I was expecting a little more based off of what I read in my book but I´m a little disappointed with this city. The nice thing is, is that I can call my own shots and when I´m done, I can be done. And I´m done, except for stopping at the store I saw as I left my hotel to buy a bottle of wine which I plan on drinking while I read poems this evening.

Crossing the Border at Midnight

I had originally planned to cross the border this morning but last night when I arrived in Tacna, one of the southern most cities in Peru, I ran into two ladies who were headed that way so I jumped in the taxi with them. Yes, this is how you actually travel in South America...it´s called collectivo. Basically, you find some people who are going the same way you are and you pitch in to pay for the taxi.

Crossing the border was much easier than I expected. Especially with my visa that I´m pretty sure had expired two days prior. The man didn´t say anything to me about it. He only asked when I planned to return to Peru. My answer...January. So, that was it. They checked my luggage for illegal substances and I am now free to venture around Chile.

The ladies I was with found me a hotel which was very nice of them since my guide book doesn´t have a single page about Arica. I got up this morning and after walking for over an hour, finally found an ATM so I could get some Chilean Pesos. After that, I was able to pay for a taxi to head to El Centro to find a travel agency. I now have in my possession a plane ticket to Santiago. Once I get there I have NO, count ém NO plans. I´ll either head to Buenos Aires, Mendoza, or Tierra del Fuego, basically Patagonia, and the southernmost tip of Chile. It just depends on what I feel like.

So far, I´m liking Chile. I´m not quite sure what to think of a plane ticket that costs just over $100,000 pesos. And it´s pretty odd when a bottle of water costs you $400 pesos. Basically it´s the same as 300 soles for the plane ticket and 50 centavos for the water. It sure does sound scary though. I´ve wandered the streets for awhile, found a local fish market...so cool! And of course, found an internet place where for less than 25 cents I can play on the internet for an hour. Speaking of, my time´s almost up and I need to find some lunch.

If you´re counting...11 days until Christmas! Chau!

A Few Reflections & Lessons Learned From Life So Far in Perú

It’s hard, really hard to believe that today I’ve actually been living here for three months. In that time I’ve done a lot of things, other than what the typical traveler does. For all intensive purposes I really haven’t traveled all that much. Two trips in three months while living in a foreign country isn’t much, at least it seems that way right now. As I was taking my last walk home from school yesterday afternoon, I was reminiscing about my time here. I’ve had some really fun moments, some really stupid ones, a few sad ones, and of course, the out-of-this-world incredibly funny ones.

I received my certificate/diploma yesterday from CEICA, the Spanish school that I’ve been attending…220 hours. That’s a lot of Spanish for someone who is technically on “vacation”. Heck! That’s a lot of Spanish for someone not on vacation. In 220 hours, I’ve learned all 16 verb tenses, I’ve learned countless phrases, an incredible number of words including adjectives, adverbs, verbs, nouns, pronouns, etc., I’ve learned tongue twisters designed to help people like me trill r’s (which I can most definitely do now), and I’ve learned how to properly construct complicated and not so complicated sentences. I can write in Spanish, I can listen to someone speak Spanish and generally understand everything that they’re saying, and best of all, I can speak Spanish. I can speak Spanish so well that for the past two and half months I haven’t really needed to use English at all, except to discover a new word or phrase, clarify something in school, or explain to someone in English what someone just said in Spanish. How cool is that!?!

So, what else have I been thinking about besides all my Spanish? Well, I’ve definitely run the gauntlet here as far as minor health problems (most of which I won’t write about…you’re welcome). I’ve learned a few things about taking the bus, local city buses and long distance buses; I’ve learned some tips for public bathrooms, and several other things that fortunately didn’t cost me my life.

Well, because I’m all into education and learning from someone else’s life or as some might say, mistakes, here are some specifics on the things I’ve learned thus far. Hopefully, my learning experiences in the near future as I travel around the rest of South America will also turn out to be things I can laugh about as they’re happening or shortly thereafter.

· My first lesson: Street dog have coodies. My little friend Guizi, who is absolutely adorable and sweet, is also the one who I’m pretty sure, is to blame for the hives I’ve had the past 1.5 months. I read up on it and it is possible for dogs to have bed bugs (which is the nice name for these nasty little creatures that I know I’m allergic to) and although you can never be positive about these things, it’s pretty likely that he’s the origin for my itching, which leads me to my second lesson learned. (Oh! Before I forget, a Guizi update: The little guy is doing incredibly well, he loves his family and they love him. He hasn’t had any accidents in the house…ever. Everyone is impressed with him…another perfect match!)

· Lesson #2: It’s possible to get a medical license from the Goodwill. This might sound a little strange but I’m pretty sure not all doctors here went to medical school. This of course is a bit of a generalization since I’ve only had experiences with two doctors and being a doctor’s daughter I understand that it is a little difficult to diagnose the origin of a strange rash that is sometimes there and sometimes not. But the last thing I want to hear is something I already know. “You have a very strong allergic reaction.” Well, duh. Thank you. How much do I owe? The first doctor I went to gave me some medicine that we commonly use in the States on cows and horses and is designed to kill parasites. Apparently, I’m not a parasite, as I’m still living and I’m sure if I did have any, it killed ‘em dead. It’s taken awhile but I finally don’t itch all the time although I do end up with red splotches from time to time. I can say one thing. A doctor’s appointment is cheap here. An office visit is between 50 and 70 soles which translates to $15 to $21 American. But doesn’t the saying go…you get what you pay for???

· Lesson #3 (is actually three-in-one): The bathroom. Part #1: Always bring your own toilet paper. Part #2: If using your own toilet paper, or someone else’s, if you have a friend, always put it in the trash can. I can say from experience it only takes about 5 weeks to really get the hang of that. Part #3: If you can’t see markings on the bathroom door (i.e. a picture of a little girl, the words: damas, chicas, hombres, men, women, etc.) it’s probably best to wait to see which door someone else picks, and I speak from experience when I say this. While hiking the Inca trail we stopped for lunch at a common area. There was a bathroom there, which I went in search of, after our lunch. When I arrived, I looked and looked and couldn’t see any identifying markings, although I did notice that there were two entrances. Finally, I peeked in one, thinking surely someone will be in there, and no one. So, I thought, it’s probably one of those unisex bathrooms, I’m on the Inca trail where generally people use the “eco-toilet” so I picked a door and went in. When I came out, there couldn’t have been more boys in the bathroom. I just kept my head down and walked as fast as I could towards the door. As always in these cases, there is always someone there to point out your error and for me, it was a Canadian, who followed me out of the bathroom while loudly proclaiming “You DO know you were in the BOY’s bathroom, right???” Ugh. Yes. Thank you.

· Lesson #4: Always double, triple, quadruple check the time of your departure. Now, at this point you might be thinking I’m talking about reconfirming the time of the departure for changes with the airline, as it’s common for them to change departure times with little or no notice. But alas! I’m simply talking about looking at the departure time on your ticket. It’s also helpful to really know military time here. (i.e. 20:00 is 8:00 pm, 22:00 is 10:00 pm, that sort of thing.) When I purchased my bus ticket for Cusco (my Machu Picchu trip two weeks ago) the lady at the counter told me not once but three times I needed to be at the terminal by diez, which is 10:00 for a diez y media bus, which is 10:30. She even said it once by writing it again on my ticket. What I failed to notice is that she wrote 20:00 which is most definitely NOT 10:00 pm. After an interrogation session about the departure time of my bus from Juana, I finally decided to go search for my ticket to prove to her I was right about the departure time. Oh no…20:00…there’s 24 hours in a day…so 20 can’t mean 10:00, oh holy heck! It’s 8:00. I’ve missed my freaking bus! Fortunately, while everyone else was panicking, I was able to laugh hysterically as it was my own stupidity for not looking at the ticket before 8:35 the night it was scheduled to leave. By the way, bus tickets are non-refundable but fortunately are cheap. My solution to the problem? I bought a rather cheap plane ticket the next morning to Cusco and arrived only a few hours before I was originally supposed to get there.

· Lesson #5: Use Facebook. If you’re not already using it and you’re thinking of traveling, forget Myspace. I may have met a few people who don’t use Facebook but I haven’t met any who use Myspace. It’s a great way to keep up with people you’ve met and who more than likely you’ll see again along your travels. I saw yesterday that a guy I ended up traveling with to Puno and Lake Titicaca took a picture with a girl from my Inca Trail group in La Paz, Bolivia. How wild is that?!? If you’re completely repulsed by online tools for keeping up with your new friends. Then at least make sure you get their email address…these are people who live in prospective places to visit in the future after all…plus, incredible people!

· Lesson #6: Always stay within sight of at least one member of your group…at least you’ll end up lost together. If you read my Inca Trail blog post then you already know that I got lost on the Inca Trail, which I’m sure most of you (including me) thought was impossible since generally speaking there’s only one way in and one way out. I know…leave it to me. If it can happen, it will. I can say that if you are lost, sometimes it’s helpful NOT to know that you’re lost. You’ll enjoy it more. So, just try to remain oblivious. Hopefully you’ll be in a group of people who like you and actually notice that you’re missing. And if you’re really nice, then they’ll send someone looking for you. Brent is my hero! I probably would have made it to Machu Picchu a day early if it hadn’t been for him.

· Lesson #7: Always buy souvenirs. Not I’m not talking about the chincy souvenirs like cheap little key chains (there are some nice ones out there) or well, there are a whole host of basically nasty things to choose from. My favorite things to buy in Perú? Of course, Baby Alpaca. I’ve definitely bought more than my fair share of this stuff, which here is incredibly cheap, authentic, and ooooohhh so soft, which include frazadas (blankets) and chalinas (scarves). I also happened to pick up a casaca (jacket), a chompa (sweater), and the most gorgeous abrigo (winter coat) you’ve ever seen in your life. I’ve also purchased several chullos (stocking caps), fundas de almohadas (pillow cases), and cuadros (paintings). While I have purchased several things for my family and friends who are making this trip possible for me, I also have purchased lots of things for my house so that when I am back home (wherever that may be) I will always remember this place, and the other places I’ve been. (I learned that trick from my Aunt Susan. It’s like being every place she’s been when you enter her house…it’s an amazing, peaceful, and energizing feeling that overcomes me every time. I love it.)

· Lesson #8: ALWAYS get a massage, at least one, while you’re here. I love massages but I hardly ever spring for one. Why? I guess because life gets a little too busy or maybe I’m a little too cheap. Every time I get one I always think, “Why don’t I do this more often?” Especially here. I got my first massage here probably three weeks ago. I had been incredibly sick for what seemed like an eternity, my head was killing me, and I needed to try something a little different. Renato had mentioned a massage and it sounded like a good idea to me. So, we took the bus to a little blue building. And yes, they had someone free. For the next hour, I enjoyed the most amazing, least expensive massage I’ve ever had in my life. What does a good massage cost in Perú? In Arequipa it’s 15 soles which translates to $5. Incredible! After Machu Picchu I treated myself to a massage in Cusco, not one but two…count ‘em 2 hours, complete with hot stones, for 30 soles…$10 bucks. Not that’s what Robert would call an entertainment value! Surely now you understand what I’m talkin’ about Holmes.

· Lesson #9: Buy a good camera and USE it!!! I bought a really nice camera this summer, a Canon PowerShot S5IS. I love it! Occasionally I wish I would have bought a more expensive, manual focus camera but this one is easy for other people to use (other than figuring out how to turn it on) and takes great pictures. Buy lots of memory cards and you’re in business. You can always delete them when you get home. Plus, take multiple pictures of the same view/scene with different settings. You’ll be surprised when you get back home. I’ve had a hard time choosing between the black and white of Machu Picchu and the color version. It’s the same thing but incredibly different looks.

· Lesson #10: NEVER color your hair in a foreign country. This is one of my most recent lessons. When I got here I had what I referred to as an irresponsible hair do, blonde on top and dark on the bottom. This week, I went from a blonde who needed to get her roots touched up to more of a dark redhead, to what I would consider florescent orange, to a cross between a strawberry blonde and a honey color with an orange tint…and now, although I’m not really happy…I’m a brunette. What a disaster! I don’t think I need to clarify this one anymore…the florescent orange speaks for itself I’m quite sure. I’m not laughing yet but I have high hopes for this adventure as well.

· Lesson #11: Always be open to exploration and new things. One of the things I love most about travel is the fact that you can be headed in one direction and then bam! You meet someone or a group of people and then you’re headed off in a different direction for a place that two minutes earlier you didn’t know existed. Nunca digas nunca, which translates into English directly…never say never. Keep your mind open and never be afraid to say “Hello!” (or here, Hola!”) to that stranger who sat down at the table next to you. Now of course, if he or she resembles Jack the Ripper or some other lunatic, I’m definitely not going to suggest you strike up a conversation; you always have to be smart. But if you can get out of your comfort zone just a little, you’ll be incredibly surprised at exactly how easy it is to make new friends. After seeing the pictures of the inside of a prison in La Paz that one of my newest friends took (where you BRIBE your way in) I’m wishing I hadn’t planned to come back to finish my last week of school this week. Of course, I love school but what an adventure! And yes, he did make it out…he’s enjoying amazing wine in Chile now.

· Lesson #12: Get off the beaten path and get to know the people. There are a lot of towns where you’ll run into lots of gringos. Cusco for instance. When you’re doing that and hanging out with tourist all the time you don’t really get to experience the culture. Now I’m not saying that everyone needs to find a local family to live with but find some places that aren’t in your guide book. To do this though, it is really helpful to know a little of the local language and here in Perú, that doesn’t always mean Spanish. It also means Quechua which is the native language of the Andean people. Fortunately, the majority of the people here speak both Quechua and Spanish. I’ve learned a few words in Quechua since I’ve been here but not enough to have a conversation with anyone. The non-beaten path also includes trying some of the local cuisine. I’ve written about trying guinea pig and cow’s hearts which definitely aren’t my new favorite dishes but they definitely are a part of my experience here and they make for interesting stories. My grandma Hetty always used to say “While in Rome, do as the Romans do.” And here, the phrase is “A donde fueras, laz lo que vieras.” Something I definitely and highly recommend.

Fortunately so far, my lessons learned contain las anécdotas…or funny stories that originated from not-so-funny circumstances. Besides my hair being jacked-up, I’ve been able to do more than a little chuckling at my mistakes which is the best thing to do when there’s something that doesn’t go your way. It’s much better than the alternative, and is likely to leave you in much better spirits and without a headache and runny nose.

So, what’s next for me? I’m leaving my computer and a few other things here in Arequipa and I’m taking the 4:00 bus (my ticket most definitely says 16:00) to Tacna which is really close to the Chilean border. I’m not exactly sure what my plans are between now and the 19th, when I’ve promised the Sarfatis I’ll be in Santiago to meet them at the airport for a few days of fun with old friends before they take off on a two week cruise. From there, I’ll either head south to Patagonia or perhaps take a flight up to the Galapagos Islands to meet some friends for Christmas. If I head south, then I’ll more than likely make a big loop counter-clockwise around South America and if I head back north after Santiago, then I’ll make a clockwise loop. It looks like even from the tip of South America it’s incredibly expensive to go to Antarctica so I’ll have to save that place for another adventure. A few places on my list…the beach for surfing, Patagonia, The Galapagos, Iguazú Falls between Argentina and Bolivia, the Amazon, and I haven’t really decided where else.

I’ll definitely try to keep up with my blog although now that I’m traveling it won’t be as easy as writing stories from my apartment with my own computer. But I’m sure it will happen. If you’re on Facebook, I’ve upload much more pictures there than on my blog so if you’re not already my “friend” find me there. That’s all for me this morning. I’ve got to head down for breakfast then start packing up my stuff. I’m looking at my room right now. Gee, I either brought a bunch of stuff with me or have bought a bunch of stuff since I’ve been here. I’m not sure which.

A Little Lost on the Inca Trail

Well, I'm not sure if it's ever happened before and in all actuality it sounds a little strange but I did get lost on the infamous Inca Trail. Well, maybe it's not soooo hard to believe, after all it wasn't discovered until 1911 and even then Hiram Bingham really didn't realize what he'd found.

So now you're probably wondering how I got lost. Well, to tell you the truth, I'm really not sure how it happened and until Brent found me, I didn't realize I was lost. Sure, I knew it had been awhile since I'd seen any of the 15 other people in my group but I was making all kinds of friends on the trail so I didn't feel all that lonely.

Anyway, back to the story...we were on our second day of hiking which just happened to be the toughest day, up and over Dead Woman's Pass. (Maybe someone did get lost before me after all. :o)) We had started walking at 6:30 that morning and had already had one little break and I was told then that the next stop would be in a little over an hour. And, just like any good hiker, I checked my watch, and headed off into the high jungle. At that point, I was thinking, "I've got an hour; then look for the little SAS guy with the flag..." It was a good thought.

At one point, I walked by an area where it looked like most every group had stopped to take a break and I looked around a bit but didn't see a SAS flag and I checked my handy-dandy wristwatch and it said I still had 30 minutes to go, so I continued on up the path. When my hour of walking came and went with no sign of a flag or anyone in my group I though, "Gee, I must be walking really slow today, how did everyone pass me?" So, I continued up the mountain, taking my time to stop and look around and stare in awe of the beautiful scenery, to take pictures, sip some water, and to chat with my fellow hikers. I was having a good day.

It wasn't until I reached the top of Dead Woman's Pass that I started thinking something was wrong. There were people around and I even saw some friendly faces. When you're traveling, you often are on the same tours and since I'd already done a city tour and a Sacred Valley tour I had already made several friends in the Cusco area. At one point, I looked down the path which led down the other side of the mountain and thought, "Maybe I'm not going the right direction but no, there are only two...the way I came from and this way, so this has to be it." But there weren't any people on the trail and from where I was standing; I could see a long, long, long way down the valley.

But still, there weren't any people. 200 hundred tourists walk the Inca trail every day and 300 porters. That's a lot of people on one trail or in my case, the direction in which I was looking...and still, no people. Strange. So, I ended up going back to the very top of the mountain and looking around some more trying to look like I knew what I was doing. But it was really windy and getting cold so I thought, "What the heck! They must have gotten way ahead of me somehow." So, I turned to go down the mountain.

I had only gotten about 20 or 30 feet down one of the steepest parts of the trail when I heard "Katie!!!" And I turned around to see my Australian friend and tent-mate, Brent. I quickly returned to the top and was about to ask him where everyone was when he asked "Where in the heck have you been? I've been practically running up the mountain looking for you!" "Oh! Holy heck!" was the only thing I could think to say. He then radioed back to Carlos and Alvaro to tell them that he had found me. Of course, when everyone else who was chilling at the top heard him say "I found her." That got everyone's attention. (A little like the time when the boy followed me out of the bathroom saying "You DO realize that you were in the BOYS bathroom, right?!?" Yes, thank you...I think I've got it now. --For the record, I didn't see a sign and there wasn't a soul in the bathroom when I went in.)

After being told by Carlos to make sure not to blow the next stop (in both Spanish and English), Brent and I headed off down the mountain in search of camp site #17 which was supposed to be an hour and a half hike down to the valley. Needless to say, we arrived much earlier than everyone else...almost two hours earlier. The one good thing about arriving early was that we got dibs on the tent for the night...J3 - not sure what the J stood for but the 3 was definitely for 3rd wheel which is how Brent and I referred to each other as we were the only two without a friend or significant other. By the way, J3 was perfect for us not just because of the name...it also didn't leak. We were blessed with four days of gorgeous sunshine and two nights of very heavy rain. Some of our group members weren't so lucky and all their belongings got soaked. Needless to say, we didn't give out our number and were on the verge of saying that our tent did leak so no one would try to steal it from us. Leakless tents are a hot commodity on rainy nights.

Of course, there is a reason why Machu Picchu is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It's because it really is this amazing, mystical, and spiritual place. The entire journey is that way really, Machu Picchu is just like the icing on the cake. The clouds that morning, just like the other other days, moved in and out mysteriously. It really is a test of patience because if you wait long enough the clouds will disappear leaving you with this spectacular view and just as quickly would hide what you had hiked almost 50 km to see, all in a matter of seconds.

We arrived at the Sun Gate early in the morning after hiking a little over 7 km through a dense rain forest. I know one thing, the people who take those amazing, 'I look like I'm a model' photos in front of Machu Picchu, didn't hike the 7 km to get there that morning. It was absolutely hot and humid and I looked nothing close to pretty. And in fact, no one did, and even worse, everyone stunk. Some worse than others (okay, a LOT worse than others) but I'm sure there wasn't one person who's going to look at that picture and say, "Gee, I was lookin' good that day."

After a three hour tour around Machu Picchu several of us took off for Wayna Picchu, the mountain that you always see in the famous photos. Maybe I should re-phrase that...it's the steep mountain that you always see in the famous photos. It was worth the 40 minute hike to the top though. What a view! On the way up, a guy said that you haven't actually experienced Wayna Picchu until you've been stung by a wasp, to which I though..."Ugh! That doesn't sound like fun at all." When we got to the top, I understood what he meant. There were hundreds of wasps, black ones. Brent and I did stay long enough to take some pictures and eat a Twix. And I'm happy to report that neither of us suffered anything other than sore muscles.

On the way down, we saw a guy who was clinging onto the mountain for dear life, body completely against the side of the mountain, body trembling, while his friends were trying to coax him down by saying "Only three more steps, you're almost there." The thing they forgot to tell him was that that was only to the next terrace. He still had who knows how many steps left to get to the bottom, as he was probably only 10 meters from the top. I have no idea how that guy (or if) he made it down on his own. It was incredibly steep, the entire way, up and down, with a narrow path and even narrower steps. But the view...it was definitely worth the trip.

A gentleman on the train back to Ollaytaytamba asked me if I would do it again. My answer, there are some things that you just shouldn't do again because they were so perfect the first time. And doing it again would probably ruin it. The weather was perfect, the people in my group (all Americans and Australians) were amazing people, the food was incredible, our guides were friendly, knowledgeable, and fun, and as I said, the entire place is absolutely mystical. So, no. I don't need to do it again, it couldn't have been more perfect just the way it was.

Un Caso de Identidad Equivocada

Por tres o cuatro semanas ahora he querido escríbir una historia en español. Ahora, pienso que tengo una historia perfecta para esto. Esta es una historia que mi profesor de baile me contó. Aunque la historia es triste, tambien es un poco chistosa.

Hace diez semanas, empecé a tomar lecciónes de baile. Durante este periodo de tiempo mi profesor y yo nos hemos vuelto buenos amigos. Entonces, la semana pasada cuando me pareció que él estaba un poco triste, yo supe que algo estaba mal. Generalmente, él está muy feliz y muy locuaz pero ese día él estuvo muy silencioso.

Cuando yo le pregunté que le pasaba, me dijo que no podría hablar sobre esto. Entonces, yo supe en ese momento que algo grave había pasado. Despues de la clase, me dijo que en este momento a sus perros, dos perros, los habían hecho dormir. Yo sabía sobre un perro que él había tenido por 12 años y que estuvo muy enfermo y necesitó hacerlo dormir y entendí porque el perro estuvo sufriendo mucho pero ¿por qué el otro perro?

Parece que el otro perro, una perrita, que tiene sólo 5 años, estaba un poco agresiva con las personas y otros perros. Y el dueño de la casa donde Edu, su padre, y su hermano viven les digo a ellos que necesitan hacer algo con este perrita y ella no podría vivir con ellos más. Porque él no tiene mucho tiempo y la perrita estuvo agresiva todos pensaron que fue mejor para ella hacerla dormir tambien. Entonces, durante mi clase de baile a los dos perros los habían hecho dormir y despues de clase, mi profesor, su hermano, y su profesor (un amigo), iban a enterrar los perros. Entonces, pude entender la razón porque él estuvo triste y silencioso.

Esta semana cuando Edu llegó para mi clase de baile él estuvo normal otra vez. Cuando nosotros estuvimos casi listos para la clase, él me dijo que el viernes pasado algo muy chistoso había pasado con sus perros. ¡¿Chistoso!? ¿Qué? Despues, el empezó a contar la historia sobre el entierro de los perros. Me dijo que él fue al consultorio del veterinario despues de clase, él recogió a dos perros, y despues ellos fueron afuera de la cuidad para enterrar los perros. Estoy segura que fue un experiencia muy triste para todos.

El siguiente día su hermano le dijo que él pensó que él vió a su perro. Pero, no es posible porque el perro esta muerto y debajo de la tierra. "¡No! No es nuestro perro. Tú eres loco." Pero su hermano estuvo seguro, entonces los dos fueron al lugar otra vez donde ellos enterraron los perros y ellos cavaron donde enterraron a los perros y "¡No, no es nuestro perro!" Fue un perro diferente pero casi exactamente igual. Entonces despues, ellos tuvieron que volver a enterrar el perro incorrecto. Pienso que no fue muy divertido porque él me dijo que el perro estuvo oliendo muy mal y el perro estuvo muy rigido, porque él había estado afuera en el sol caliente todo el día. ¡Qué feo!

Entonces, él y su hermano regresaron al consultorio del veterinario otra vez para buscar el perro correcto. ¡Y sí, el perro estuvo allí! Entonces, ellos regresaron con el perro correcto al lugar
donde los otros perros estaban, y ellos enterraron el perro correcto. Entonces, ahora hay tres perros enterrados en tumbas sin nombres en un lugar desconocido para mi.

Despues de todo, esta historia es un poco chistosa. No puedo imaginar comó es posible que alguien pudo enterrar el perro incorrecto pero pasa. Ojalá que no vaya a pasar con ninguno de ustedes.

Well, this is my first attempt at writing a story in Spanish. I'm sure that most you have no clue what I just typed, although I'm sure you at least caught a few numbers and other familiar looking words in there somewhere. But for all of you who have been wondering what in the heck I've been doing the last 10 weeks...Well, here's proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks. (Okay, I couldn't resist on the dog thing...sorry!) And yes, I did write this myself, although like any good writer, I asked my teacher to review it for me and impressively, there were only a few mistakes. Yahoo!

So, now for all of you who would like to know what happened...here's the story translated into a familiar language...


A Case of Mistaken Identity

For three or four weeks now, I have wanted to write a story in Spanish. Now, I think I have a story that is perfect for that. It is a story that my dance teach told me. Although the story is a little sad, it is also a little funny.

Ten weeks ago, I started taking dance lessons. During this period of time my teacher and I have become good friends. So, last week when he looked a little sad I knew that something bad had happened. Generally, he is very happy and very talkative but that day he was very quiet.

When I asked him about what had happened he told me that he couldn't talk about it. So, I knew in that moment that something absolutely terrible had happened. After the class, he told me that his dogs, two dogs, were being put to sleep. I knew about a dog he had had for 12 years who was very sick and needed to be put to sleep and I understood why because the dog was suffering. But why the other dog?

It seems that the other dog, a girl dog, (who is only 5 years old) was a little agressive towards people and other dogs. And the owner of the house where Edu, his father, and his brother live told them that they needed to do something with the dog and that it couldn't live there with them anymore. Because he didn't have much time and the dog was agressive everyone thought it best to put her to sleep as well. So, during my dance class both dogs were being put to sleep and after the class, my teacher, his brother, and his teacher (a friend), were going to bury the dogs. So, I could understand the reason why he would be sad and quiet.

This week, when Edu arrived for my dance class, he was is old self again. When we were almost ready to begin, he told me that last Friday, something funny had happened. Funny?!? What??? Then he began to tell me the story of the burial. He told me that after the class he went to the vet's office, picked up the dogs, and they all went outside the city to bury the dogs. I'm sure it was a very said experience for everyone.

The following day, his brother told him that he thought he saw their dog. But, that's not possible because the dog is dead and is under the ground. "No! No, this isn't our dog. You are crazy." But his brother was sure so the two of them went back to the place where they had buried the dogs and they dug up the dog and "No! This isn't our dog!" It was different dog but it looked exactly like their dog. So then, they had to bury the wrong dog again. I'm sure it wasn't very fun as he told me that the dog was really stinky and was very stiff because it had been out in the hot sun all day long. How gross!

So, he and his brother went back to the vet's office to look for the right dog. And yes! The right dog was there. So, they went back to the place where the other dogs were and buried the correct dog. So now there are three dogs buried in unmarked graves in a location unknown to me.

After everything, this story is a little funny. I can't imagine how anyone could bury the wrong dog but it happened. Hopefully this won't ever happen with any of you.

The Story of Guizi Martínez

I don’t actually know the entire story of Guizi myself but the part that I do know I want to share with you. I have a pretty good imagination and can only imagine the things that this little guy has endured during his life. Being a street dog can’t be as glorious as it sounds. Although living life with no rules, getting to get to eat junk food (including chocolate), having no curfew, and being able to pee wherever you want, whenever you want, does sound a little enticing. It’s that other side of the coin that’s not so hot…the cold nights without a soft bed or blanket to help keep you warm, living in constant fear that the person walking towards you might hit or kick you, the fact that there isn’t always a meal on the next corner, and that just crossing the street can be a life-ending experience, those are the things that break my heart for these pups living on the streets in Arequipa and everywhere else in the world.

At first glance, Guizi looks like he’s a puppy, probably 2 years old or so. Even when I was able to first pet him two weeks ago, I still thought he was a young dog. He’s probably a lab mix, mainly black with a few white spots here and there on his chest and paws. When we first met, I was walking to school and he was curled up in a little ball next to a wall. I could tell something was wrong with his leg by the way he was laying but I wasn’t really sure what was wrong until I stopped to put some dog treats on the ground near him. He stumbled getting up and I could tell that his leg was probably broken and there were definitely at least two very large open wounds. A lot of times I only see dogs once or twice but this was not to be with the little black dog.

After school that day, I did as I always do; I grabbed my backpack, hooked up my iPod, and headed out the door for my apartment. As I got closer to the spot where I had seen the little black dog earlier that morning I began scanning the street and the sidewalks. And what do you know?!? There he was! He was on the opposite side of the street in the shade as it was 1:00 in the afternoon and although the nights are cool here (cold for me), during the day it gets hot when you’re not in the shade. So I crossed the street and gave the little black dog the rest of the treats I had on my person. Lala, the little dog who lives in the house beneath my apartment wasn’t too happy about the status of available treats (completely empty handed) and I tried my best to explain to her in Spanish that there was a little black dog on the streets who needed them more than she. I couldn’t tell if either she didn’t understand me or didn’t really care about the little black dog who didn’t have a home.

The next morning I headed out with a new supply of dog treats and hopes that the little black dog would be in the streets again. As I rounded the corner, I found myself once again scanning the street for the little black dog. As I got closer and I didn’t see him my heart sunk a little as I thought maybe something had happened to him and he would never be waiting again for me on the sidewalk. But then, I saw something…was it a plastic bag, it was so small, no, was it? Yes! It is! It’s the little black dog. Yahoo! As I crossed the street he raised his head but this time he didn’t get up, he just looked at me. So, I put half of the treats I had on the sidewalk next to him and quietly left wishing that I had more but knowing that I might see him later and I wanted to make sure that I had some for him for later. That afternoon he wasn’t there and as my heart was once again sinking I was thinking, “Why didn’t I give him all the cookies?” I said a prayer for him asking God to keep him safe.

For weeks I would see the little black dog in the mornings and afternoons, off and on, more on than off and every time I didn’t see him I would pray that he was safe and was just off in some other part of the city as by now we pretty much had a routine. He knew that every day during the week in the mornings and in the afternoons, there was a little blonde-headed girl who didn’t look like anyone else, who would come and give him treats. I can’t even explain how happy I was the day he saw me before I saw him and he started running towards me even with his hurt leg, tail wagging and all. “He knows me! He likes me!” I thought.

By now, you might be wondering how the little black dog got his name. About two weeks after we first met, the first time he stood up and started wagging his tail when he saw me on the street, I knew this little guy was special and he needed a name. So, I started thinking about it, “Do I name him after the military base that’s located on the street where I found him? What is the name of the base anyway? What about the name of the street? Hum…Rodriquez…Oh! I don’t like Rodriquez…reminds me of ARod…I don’t like him. Hum…How about Guizi? It’s short for Rodriguez. I think it’ll work…Guizi it is!” So now you know how my brain works, and of course I gave you the short version. In reality, it was a much longer conversation that I had with myself.

By now, the wounds on Guizi’s left hind leg had healed but he still couldn’t walk on it. It was about that same time I started asking my teacher for help with Spanish words I would need to know to be able to communicate with the veterinarian. At that point, I could have a good conversation with him about a lot of things but I definitely didn’t want the vet to think that I wanted to put the little dog to sleep instead of neutering him. I’m sure Guizi is going to think that stinks but it’s much better than never waking up again! As the weeks passed and I continued to see my little friend, Guizi, on the street I started to devise plans and talk to people.

I’m not in the States anymore where there are groups who can help people find homes for animals. And apparently here, a street dog is the last thing anyone wants. All I heard is that it’s impossible, that I should give up, or even better “Tú eres loca, chica!” There is apparently one group here who helps animals but I don’t think they want any more dogs or cats because their contact information was missing from their website and they didn’t have their number published in the phonebook. With the help of Renato, we asked several vets if they knew of anyone who could care for a little dog, if only for a few months as I was bound and determined that Guizi would not be living on the streets for much longer, even if I had to fly him back home with me. And no, no one knew of anyone who could except for maybe one girl and the guy said that he thought she might have room for one more dog but that he wasn’t certain.

Things really started heating up on Friday (Halloween, of all days) when Renato and I went down to talk to the vet about getting some help for Guizi and the guy said that if we could find him and stay with him then he’d come in his van and pick us up. Great! Guizi wasn’t there that morning and I wasn’t sure he would be there that afternoon but it was worth a shot. So we took off down the street in search of Guizi and what do you know, the little guy was there just like most days and he got up to say “Hello!” And I thought, “Oh! He’s here! Oh! He’s here! Oh! Holy heck, he’s here! Oh…Holy heck! Now what am I going to do? I don’t have a place for a little dog. My host parents are going to kill me if I bring a dog off the streets into their home. It’s a blessing and a curse all at the same time.” I went into a little store and bought a package of hotdogs and then Renato went to call the vet and left me with Guizi and my thoughts.

We got Guizi into the van without any problems. He’s such a chill dog. “What in the heck am I going to do? Oh well! Something will happen,” I told myself. So after a trip to the vet, then to the x-ray place, then back to the vet, which is when Henry (the dad) got involved, we all were ready to go to the house. Did I just say all of us? Yep! Every one of us, including Guizi, went to the house. Once we got there we put him in the back garden hoping that it would take a little while for the boss the house, Juana, to figure out that he was there. I’m pretty sure there’s not a lot that gets by her, she’s pretty sharp.

Renato and I left for another vet’s office in search of temporary housing and at this point I was thinking I was going to have to put Guizi back on the street for the night. While on the bus across town, I prayed that God would send a home for Guizi and that He would send it now, we couldn’t wait, we needed a home tonight. I knew at best that I had maybe a week against unbelievable odds to find this little guy a home. While we were gone, God and Guizi were both working on Juana because she allowed the little guy to stay in the garden for the night. In the morning, she commented on how calm and well-mannered he was. :o)

The next day, Guizi received his first bath in his entire life I’m quite sure. I ended up soaked but not because of Guizi, Renato was enjoying dumping as much water on me as Guizi. Unfortunately he ended up clean and I ended up exactly the opposite. How is that possible? After the bath, we had an 80th birthday lunch to attend for Henry’s dad. It was an incredible lunch and I enjoyed meeting Henry’s parents…very sweet people. After lunch, we left for the house to retrieve Guizi once again and return to the vet. By this time the vet had agreed to keep him for a week. God had given us some time. While we were at the vet, Henry showed up with his parents saying that they wanted to look at Guizi. Seriously!?! Could it be?!? And…They like him! They want him! Holy heck! An answered prayer! Yahoo!!!

So we all left the vet’s office and headed to Guizi’s new home. I was still in shock and I was also praying that Guizi hadn’t been putting on a show this whole time and was really a Cujo dog instead. I could see it clear as day. Guizi hanging around the house, acting innocent and hurt, then all of the sudden he goes into a tirade and attacks someone. After all, you never know what to expect from a dog who’s lived his life in the streets. At a minimum, generally they’re food aggressive, which Guizi is not. He’s just this really relaxed, chilled out dog, who is incredibly sweet. It’s absolutely amazing.

The vet said that he thinks Guizi is probably seven years old. That’s a long time living on the streets. But no more for Guizi! Now he’s got a house of his own, (literally, he’s got his own dog house), proper dog food, and his very own collar. It’s been a long life for this little guy but the tide has finally turned and things are going his way. I saw him yesterday when we took him for one final x-ray. The vet says it will have to heal on its own because of the location of the fracture. Here they say, “poco a poco”, which means little by little. It’s a phrase I know very well as my teacher says it to me all the time. :o)

While we were at the vet’s office, the vet asked for the name of the little black dog. I replied, “Guizi” and Henry said, “Guizi Martínez, after his momma.” So, there it is, Guizi Martínez. Martin isn’t a very Peruvian sounding name but Martínez is; it is also the name of the street where I live, which I think is a little more than a bit ironic.

And so the people I have to thank for helping Guizi find a home? Henry, for driving us around in the crazy traffic to and from the vet, the x-ray place, and everywhere in between and for also thinking that his parents could use a new family member. A special thanks to Juana, for allowing Guizi to stay his first night in a home. The vet for stepping up and saying they would provide a temporary house for him (which I am so thankful we didn’t need). Special thanks to Henry’s parents for opening their hearts and home to keep a little dog off the streets. And a very special thanks to Renato for all his help and translating skills, his help, like the help of one final person was incredibly generous. And finally, I thank God for finding Guizi a home. I didn’t know how it was going to happen but I had faith that He was in control. He brought me into this little dog’s life all the way from Oklahoma. I truly believe that. Some people are put on this earth to help other humans and I know that God put me here to help our four-legged friends. I am so thankful that He heard my prayers and answered them and that He did it with great speed.

So, that’s the story of Guizi. I forgot to tell you it has a fairytale ending. Yahoo!

An Answer to the Trivia Question & Much More...

Well, I've been scouring the streets of Arequipa for the answer to the trivia question from, oh! almost a month ago and this morning I finally got lucky. This one is a tad bit different than I originally described because this one doesn't have pedals...it has a motor. (We're sophistacted now boys and girls!) At first I thought I had hit a goldmine. I thought what I saw was a traveling restaurant but alas! It's a door-to-door pot & pan salesperson. Not as interesting as I first thought but fun all the same.

Since I've been here I haven't gotten too terribly sick. At first I had a sore throat, then a sinus infection, and then, well, you don't really want to know about that one. But now I'm happy to report that I'm doing fine and back to my usual self.

Here, anytime you look the least bit puny everyone says..."es gripe", which to me sounds a little comical but in actuality is just the flu. But people say it ALL the time around here. And their cure for "me duele la garganta" - Spanish for "my throat hurts"? Pisco...which is basically a type of whiskey. It's probably best if you think during the days of prohibition when moonshine was cool. I've never actually tasted moonshine but if it's anything like Pisco I don't care to try it. That stuff makes tequila taste like it's for babies. And where does the best, the smoothest Pisco come from you might ask? Not the store! No! Someone's house...I told you it reminded me of moonshine.

I have now tried Pisco, along with a few other things I don't know if I should mention. Oh, what the heck! My Grandma Hetty always used to say "While in Rome, do as the Romans do." Well, I'm not exactly in Rome but I think the saying holds true for here as well although it's a little different. "A donde fueras, haz lo que vieras." Which means, wherever you are, do whatever you see.

In keeping with that theory, I've tried some of the local cuisine which includes the following: anticucho, cuy, and queso helado. Now, on the surface, none of these things sound really creepy but that's because they're in Spanish. Once you translate them, things change and you now have: a cow's heart, a cute little guinea pig fried and on a platter, and cheese ice cream. I can say I am now a huge fan of one of these three things and I'm sure you can probably guess which one it is...the ice cream. It's to die for. And no, it isn't really made with cheese. It's just the name. It's pretty close to our homemade vanilla ice cream but much richer. Probably a cross between that and gelato and anyone who's been to Italy knows about gelato. Wowzers! The other two items that made it onto my plate (or kabob, I should say), I can probably do without eating again.

I am very happy to report that the very frightened guinea pig that was in the kitchen of one of the oldest restaurants in Arequipa was
still alive after my meal. Although his prospects for a long and happy life seemed rather bleak. There were also some baby ducks in the kitchen in a box that I'm sure will be on a platter some day soon. Ugh! It's not right to see your food before hand, that is unless it's a lobster and I suppose they're just not cute enough for me to feel bad about eating.

In addition to trying some of the local cuisine, I've also gotten about town and gone to several historical sites. One of which was The Santa Catalina Convent, which is apparently a part of the Opus Dei sect. I have proof on my camera and it's a good thing because no one here believed me when I was talking about it. Maybe it was because a couple of weeks ago my Spanish was so bad no one could understand what I was saying but I know what I saw and there is no way I'm joining that church. It was absolutely beautiful though with brightly painted walls and streets that look like they belong in Venice. The convent is over 400 years old and is still a working convent. I decided that the nuns there all had to be very short and very fat because all the doorways were very small and there had to be at least 20 different kitchens in the place. Pretty impressive for a nunnery.

I've also been to Sabandía and Yumina which are some small towns outside of Arequipa where there's a lot of agricuture. After taking a 30 minute bus ride which costed about $0.15, we walked to Molina which is a historic location where they grind corn. We then hiked to Yumina, about a 45 minute walk up and around a rather large hill where we ran across a very friendly little goat, some natural pools, which were very frigid, and a chalk tunnel which we walked through with no flashlights. It was all great fun though, including the bus ride home when I almost bowled over about a dozen people because I wasn't hanging on when the bus took off.

I have also taken a trip to Mundo Alpaca where we got a tour of the facility. I got to make friends with some really cute little alpacas. I was surprised to learn that there are about five different species. One reminded me of an ewok on Star Wars and another got really friendly when he tried to first eat my scarf, then my leg. He was really cute though with long, brown, dreadlock type hair, so I didn't mind so much.

In my spare time I've also taken multiple dance classes and two cooking classes since I've been here. I'm still a terrible dancer but I really have fun with my new moves. So far, I'm not an expert in Salsa, Merengue, or Reggaeton but I sure do like the dances! I've also been doing my far share to tear it up in the kitchen. The first week we learned how to make ceviche, a potato dish, and a purple desert, and this week we made tamales, a dish with a lot of chile peppers, and my favorite, queso helado. That's right! Now I can make my own...so watch out Emeril! I might just start up my own version of a Latin cooking show, Peruvian style of course. I've been trying to figure out what to do next with my life...I think I'm going to need to practice some more. :o)

So, what's next for me? For now, I'm working on making friends with a little puppy who lives on the street. He was hit by a car several weeks ago and slowly but surely we're making friends. I named him Rodrequiz because that's the name of the street where I met him but I call him Guizi for short. He's really sweet. If I could get the upload to work I'd upload a picture of him but apparently I've maxed out for the day, something like that. Anyway, I have Guizi, four more weeks of Spanish class and a trip to Machu Pichu and Lake Titicaca planned for the coming month. Oh! I almost forgot Halloween is tomorrow and here, it's a huge deal so we're all dressing up and hitting the town. I hope all of you have a spooky Halloween as well!

An Adventure at El Cañón del Colca

Two weeks ago I left my cozy little apartment at 4:30 in the morning to venture out into the wilderness for three days with a group of unknown friends. My guide came in a taxi to pick me up and just to make sure everything was okay, my host father, Henry, got up as well. I thought this a little strange and unnecessary because after all, who in their right mind would come for me so early in the morning other than my guide or someone else from the agency? When I returned, I found out why it’s important to double check.

We left in a standard tourist bus after picking up the remaining trekkers. There were 17 people in the bus in total…four guides and 13 gringos. Gringo, a word I’m sure originated in Mexico, is used here frequently. However, it’s not just used to describe Americans. It’s used to describe anyone with light colored skin. So, regardless of whether you’re American, German, Australian, or English, we’re all gringos. They commonly use another word to describe Americans which I’m not so fond of, Yankee. People from the South can definitely relate to not wanting to be called a Yankee but here, I’m a Yankee.

We arrived at La Cruz del Condor around 9:00 in the morning after what seemed like a dreadfully long bus ride along dusty roads with multiple traffic jams which consisted of cows, sheep, and donkeys in the road. What also made the trip a little more miserable was a certain German girl who at one point was car sick and then once she found a friend also spoke German, became a chatterbox. Not what you want at 5:00 in the morning. However, we all survived to make it to this incredible lookout point where we were able to witness the gigantic Andean Condors soar through the air before taking off to the Colca River below to hunt for food. They are amazing creatures, some with wingspans up to 12 feet. I read somewhere where they are unable to start flying on their own. It is necessary for them to basically fall off a cliff to start flying. They are amazing birds though and I was very fortunate to see several on both my first and last day of my trip.

Colca Canyon is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon and was created by the Colca River. It is nestled in the Andean Mountains and incredibly, the river is the beginning of the Amazon. The river supposedly got its name from the many holes in the cliffs of the canyon where the Indians in Inca and pre-Inca times used to store food and also used these “holes” as tombs for important people. The crazy thing is, is that after being there I’m not sure who would want to carry food, let alone a dead person, up and down those cliffs and something tells me the trail system is a little better today than it was back then.

Anyway, back to the real story…after a nice lunch in Cabanaconde, where I just so happened to forget my very nice, very new, North Face jacket, we, an Australian named Duncan, a German named Thea, our guide, Jhon (and yes, that’s really how he spelled it), and I headed out for the rim of the canyon. From Cabanaconde it was a five hour hike down mostly steep trails to the canyon floor where we stayed the night at Llanuar Lodge. Where, during dinner a loco kitty continued to hop up into my lap until I finally relinquished the fight and allowed it to sleep on my lap for the remained of the evening. We, Duncan, Thea, and I shared an amazing room complete with handmade bamboo and rock walls, gravel flooring, and pillows made of straw, and of course, no electricity. It was a neat place though and boasted of the canyon’s only thermal pools which we all enjoyed before dinner.

The next morning we started our five hour hike across several mountains around 9:00, after a breakfast of pineapple pancakes, served with, but of course, strawberry jelly. Before leaving home I filled my camelbak, which holds 2.5 liters of water and had an extra 2 liters in two other water bottles. Although it gets very cool here at night, especially in the bottom of the canyon, it gets pretty hot during the day and just as we arrived at Paraiso del Palmas, I sucked the last drop of water from my camelbak. This place was comparable to Llanuar Lodge but had several cold, and I mean COLD, water pools. It was afternoon when we arrived and the sun was still out for a few hours so we decided to take advantage of the sunshine and hung around the pool until lunch was ready. Later that night, after dinner, I looked up into the sky to be greeted by what seemed to be a million and a half stars. I could even clearly see the milky way. It was amazing. There aren’t many places in the world where you can see stars without dealing with light pollution. It really does make a huge difference.

That evening, I began to ask Jhon what time we needed to get up in the morning as an English couple had told us that they were leaving at 5 o’clock in the morning and another group was leaving at 4 o’clock. He was acting a little odd so I thought the better question was to ask when we’d be eating breakfast in the morning. When he replied 9:00, I automatically let out a “Yahoo!” thinking that I could sleep in until 8:55. You can only imagine my surprise when, before 5:00 in the morning, I heard a tapping at the door and a voice saying “Katherine, Thea, Duncan…”. I tried to ignore him for a bit but it wasn’t any use, so I put my torch (headlamp) on my head and began to crawl out of my warm bed. Ugh. Why on earth would anyone get up at 5:00 in the morning to do anything? And, did he expect us to hike up the mountain in the dark? So, the joke was on us, breakfast, although it really was at 9:00 in the morning was at the top of the canyon.

Once we were up and about to leave I searched my bag for my last apple bar, as I was sure I had one left. Hiking up a mountain for three hours without any food in my stomach didn’t sound appealing and with the change in altitude from the bottom of the canyon to the top, it really is important to have some source of energy. After several minutes of searching I finally gave up and Thea offered me one of her crackers and Duncan gave me half of a cookie he was eating. I felt like I was living during the Great Depression and getting food rations.

The hike wasn’t too bad, a 1,100 meter ascent in three hours. There were parts that were difficult because of loose gravel and other parts had large, oddly shaped “stepping” stones cut into the side of the mountain. It took three hours to make it to the top, with multiple stops during which I would blow my nose (as I had developed a sinus infection) and take time to look around me as it was much to dangerous to pay attention to anything other than where your next step would be on the trail.

The last exciting part of the hike took place just mere meters from the top when I looked up to see a man and three burros headed my way. It was too late to go to the left (the mountain side) so I moved over as far as I could to the right to allow them room to pass. The man, burro #1, and burro #2 passed without incident but burro #3 apparently had it in for me because I noticed as he walked he continued to get closer and closer to the edge, where I just so happened to be standing. As he passed, I sucked in my stomach but it was no use as there wasn’t enough room for both of us. Of course, burro #3 being on the inside didn’t have need for concern when we collided. It was I who almost saw my life flash before my eyes when my little feet slipped off the trail and down the side of the mountain. Had it not of been for a rather large boulder within arms reach I wouldn’t be sitting here in my apartment sharing this story with you. How ironic it would have been to be just steps from the top and then die. Thankfully, that day, that wasn’t the story of my life.

Another interesting item that the English couple shared with us is that their guide took them to one of the local Peruvian family’s houses where they donned traditional Peruvian clothing and where given pick axes and some other type of tool used to level the ground. When they began, I thought, “Oh! That’s neat; they got to take a picture. Just like at one of those old-time picture places at Six Flags…cool.” But oh no! They actually worked the fields for several hours. By the time they were finished with their story, tears were streaming down my face I was laughing so hard. Just thinking about it now makes me laugh uncontrollably. So, after we ate breakfast, when our guide told us that we were heading to the fields you can only imagine my horror and that I was thinking, “I actually paid for this?”

Duncan, Thea, and I decided that lots of things are lost in translation, especially when my Spanish is better than our guide’s English. We walked for a while through town but then came upon a tourist bus, which we boarded and eventually arrived in a small town near Chivay, to enjoy some more thermal pools. I am pretty sure these pools were much hotter than the others we had enjoyed at Llanuar, which after hiking 20 km should have sounded pretty good but there was one big difference. That day, it was around noon when we got there and the sun was beating down…not the time of day you want to be hanging out in a “hot tub”.

During lunch, we got to witness the power of numbers when we walked out of a restaurant in search of a more economical meal and the owner ran after us and said we could have soup, salad, chicken or alpaca, French fries, and a drink for 12 soles, which equates to about $4.00 American. So, we all went back into the restaurant and were happy that we’d saved $2.00 a piece. On the way back, we napped, exchanged email addresses, and laughed at the two guys from Ireland and Poland, as apparently they had become great friends since meeting each other a few days earlier. I couldn’t resist snapping a picture; they were just too cute together.

So, all in all, my trip was amazing. It did take me two days of walking back and forth from school to feel normal again. (For two days it seemed that just being able to go up and down the stairs at my house without assistance was a major accomplishment.) I did decide that it was critical for me to have my hiking boots for my next excursion so I’ve asked a friend from back home to send them to me. Hopefully they will be here sometime this week.

And, as for my very nice, very new, North Face jacket, it was waiting for me at the restaurant. They were holding it for me. How incredible is that? Oh, and the part about Henry getting up to check to make sure the guy who came to pick me up was legit? Well, it turns out (I discovered upon my return to the house) that a guy came to the house at 3:00 in the morning asking for me. He didn’t have a car or a taxi and my house mother’s sister who answered the door thought it very strange and told the guy to go away. I still don’t have a clue who that guy was because later that evening we all got together to have a drink and I asked the guide if he came to the house earlier in the morning and he said absolutely not. Here, we call that muy extraño.