anita

My Travel Writing Scholarship 2011 entry - Journey in an Unknown Culture

anita — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 09:31:02 GMT

Humble Ode to my Beloved Chicken Buses

The current exchange rate is 7.797 Guatemalan Quetzales to 1 US Dollar, putting my 12-Quetzales chicken-bus ride from my home in Comalapa to the bustling Guatemala City at just over $1.50. In the two hours it takes me to get to my destination, I am able to reflect on the multitude of reasons I love this cheap mode of transportation in Guatemala.

For under two dollars I am in for the thrill ride of my life, complete with near-collisions, sharp corners taken at high speeds, loud music, and breathtaking views. I grasp the metal handlebar in front of me and marvel at the landscape as our bus plunges in and out of the low clouds that blanket the lush, green mountains.

For under two dollars I speed by thousands of dilapidated tin homes and see children playing soccer with a rolled up cloth for a ball. Their goals may be comprised of just two tree branches stuck into the ground, but they play with an enthusiasm usually reserved for the final of a World Cup game.

For under two dollars I am given the opportunity to discuss politics with the man next to me, dressed to the hilt in his traditional clothing and a big sun hat. Though not sure which candidate to vote for in the upcoming presidential elections, he wants nothing more than to be able to work his own land and be treated fairly.

For less than two dollars I am able to sit back and from my seat buy peanuts, agua pura (purified bottled water), a toothbrush, or even a lotion sure to cure both malaria and asthma from the many vendors that hop on and off the buses.

For under two dollars I, along with my new seat-mates, squish together more than we thought possible to make room for a fourth person in our seat. Through our concerted effort, we miraculously DO end up all fitting on the lightly padded bus seat, our determined efforts leaving us in fits of laughter.

For less than two dollars I ask the woman next to me about her traje (traditional outfit), and I realize how many stories one's clothing has the capacity of telling about who you are, what region you are from, and beliefs deeply rooted in tradition.

So for less than two dollars, I am able to take part in a completely different culture and for just two hours observe what it means to get from one place to the next for the average Guatemalan. There are tourist shuttles I could take; taxis I could flag down; I even have a cousin in Guatemala City who would drive me to my desired destination if I asked; but I'd have it no other way than jumping enthusiastically into the overstuffed, multicolored chicken buses and sitting back for the adventures I have come to know and grown to love.

Shower Adventures - Living in France

anita — Wed, 2 Mar 2011 23:00:00 GMT

It’s been two months since our return from the U.S. but there has been little noteworthy enough to, as the expression goes, “write home about.” Unremarkable days turn into unremarkable weeks, and two months later, here I am reporting on our current plumbing situation.

Long story short, we found out in mid-January that the material between the tiling in the shower was acting not as a water-repellent, but rather as a sponge, in turn saturating the adjoined wall in shower-water. This wasn’t an immediate concern for us, but the downstairs neighbors didn’t take kindly to the falling paint and the ever-expanding water-stain growing larger and larger on their bedroom ceiling. This was especially so because they had just bought the apartment and furthermore they are expecting a baby in a few months and are hoping to have everything in order by the time the bambino comes along.

Because things in France take an exceedingly long time to get done or for that matter even started, we spent the following 6 weeks waiting for the plumber to come properly diagnose and start fixing the problem. We continued to use the shower, craftily taping up an additional shower curtain to all sides of the shower-wall, along with leaving the door open to keep the humidity to a low, limiting shower-time, when possible, to five minutes.

Yesterday, finally, the plumbers who were to take the tiles off came and removed tiles from two of the three 2x6 foot walls, the third wall of tiles to be removed at some undetermined time in the future. They had cancelled the previous day and were unable to complete the job because they ran out of time. Based on their work-rate from day 1, I estimate they have about 20 more minutes of work remaining, in my opinion the least they could complete after all this waiting. With a dehumidifier sitting atop broken and discarded tile on the shower floor, and the water-pipes disconnected, no stretch of the creative imagination can get around the fact that we can no longer, in any sort of way, use our shower for showering purposes.

Now this leaves us in a less-than-convenient situation. Though Julien has few qualms about showering at work, and I can technically shower at my gym, I’m struggling with returning to those days at the dorm where taking a shower required special attire, namely in flip-flops and a towel, and jumping into a public/shared shower, cringing at the sight of whatever unseemly thing was left by the previous occupant. But even the dorm-showers were only about 30 steps from my room (we lived right next to the bathrooms), i.e. 30 steps to all the comforts of privacy, warmth, and my limited wardrobe. It’s about a 20-minute walk from the gym to the apartment, and though 40°F might seem like pretty mild winter temperatures, I don’t foresee enjoying the walk home post-shower, wet hair chilling in the breezes, and thinking about how little I actually like to shower.

This does have the possibility of being really positive, as a highly-motivated person who is really into showering everyday might see this as “If I’m going to shower every day, I’ll have to go to the gym everyday; and while I’m there, I might as well workout…” resulting in getting the most out of their gym membership and making it to the gym everyday. A less-motivated person who does not have the same ideals about showering every day, thinks about all this and comes to the conclusion that this is all a lot of hullabaloo just for a shower, and decides that 3 days isn’t so long to go without showering. I fear I’ll fall into the latter category, especially after a debilitating cold has left me house-bound for the last week.

Now as many of you know, this is not my first encounter with less-than-ideal showering situations. While I was living in Guatemala in 2006, we had an outdoor shower, and the water tank above the shower was heated by solar power meaning there were specific and limited peak times during the day when you could expect comfortable showering temperatures, neither freezing cold nor scalding hot. New Zealand adventurer Amelia and I discovered the full cleansing abilities of baby wipes and their miraculous ability to extend that time between showers. I look back not unfavorably to that experience, filing it under “adventures” in the annals of my memory. I’m trying to put a similar adventure-spin on this circumstance, but the interminably overcast weather has reflectably (is that a word?) clouded my mood and attitude. I’ve become the pessimistic one, responding unfavorably to the plumber’s broad and ever-extending estimate of 3 weeks…3 months…up to a year? for the wall to properly dry before they can install new tiling; asking why…why have the landlords not taken a more active role in getting their apartment fixed and finding some sort of alternative for us?; and the one who sits writing about it all instead of working out and taking a well-deserved shower in those gym-showers.

In the meantime, in a move uncharacteristic for these winter months, I suppose I better dig out my flip-flops, pack my duffel bag, and head out on what has now become the one hour “adventure” to hit the showers.

My slow and sometimes not-so-sure trip from Peru to Quito, Ecuador

anita — Wed, 25 Aug 2010 11:30:00 GMT

Ecuador is beautiful! I don’t know what sort of great geographical difference there is, but it seems greener and cleaner than Peru; and the Andes….toujours impressionant (always impressive).

* * *

We are approaching hour-12 of this bus ride. I got into Loja at 6pm and immediately searched for buses and everything was full full full. The prospect of another terminal-night was less-than-pleasing, and I desperately searched for other options. I ended up taking a bus to Cuenca that, if over 25 people needed to go to Quito, it would continue onto Quito. We hit the 25-people-mark, the news to which I responded with a “yoo hoo!”, and we were on our way.

…well not quite. After the police got on to make sure there weren’t extra people in the aisle, we stopped to pick up extra people who packed into the aisle. There was a young mom and a young dad with three kids, and the mom quickly took up the gracious offer from a random man sitting down to hold her baby. Soon after, the oldest child, perhaps 4 years old, started vomiting, and the smell of fries and salchicha filled the air. I turned in the direction of the old man sitting next to me though he, I suppose much like myself, was no breath of fresh air, and I sat back. Just 12 hours.

The ride to Cuenca was four hours which was fairly calm as a few people got off leaving just 3 or 4 standing in what was left of aisle space. Everyone else took to sleeping in the aisle, including the two older kids (baby now sleeping on the random guy). I woke up at one point and saw a guy who, I thought at the time, was the bus driver, running back with his recent purchase of 2 bottles of beer. Great. In the end, he was just the helper-guy, in which case I hope he drank both and wasn’t “cheers”ing with the bus driver.

We got to Cuenca and dropped off the few Cuenca-bound passengers and continued on in decreasing temperatures. Hat pulled down to my nose, scarf over my nose, blanket over all of me, and wearing all my warm clothing, I was a lump of trying-to-get-warm-ness. At about 4:30am the guy next to me had to get off the bus so I had to shift a bit out of my comfy-cozy position and I realized just.how.cold.it.was!

At about 5am we, without explanation, were made to move to another bus, which was newer, comfier, bigger, cleaner, and much colder. I resumed my previous position, appearing little more than a respiring red blanket.

By 8:30am we arrived in Quito.

Sat night, Huaraz – Trujillo: 10 ½ hours

Sun night, Trujillo – Piura: 6 ½ hours

Sunday, Piura – Loja: 8 ½ hours

Sunday night, Loja – Cuenca: 4 hours

Monday early morning, Cuenca – Quito: 8 ½ hours

Of the 60 hours: 38 hours en bus

9 hours in terminals

13 hours in Trujillo

About $48 for all busses

Que viaje.

Writings from the bus station, hotel for the night

anita — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 16:30:00 GMT

Time: 3am

Place: Piura, Peru

Why: good question…

I arrived in Trujillo at 7:30 this morning and, wanting to assure my trip to Tumbes, I bought a ticket straight away. Happy with ticket in hand, I was taken back to Movil Tours by Freddy (my taxi driver and ending up being my chauffeur for the day) where we waited for the next bus from Huaraz carrying potential tourists who would want to tour with us to Huaca del Sol/Luna and all the different sites in Chan Chan, the mud/adobe village. After a bit of waiting around, we were summoned to a hostel where there was a Japanese-Brazilian woman who wanted to go to El Brujo, a site from over 5000 years ago, but also about an hour out of Trujillo.

After a lot of back-and-forth, I was agreeable and said that we could go to El Brujo, and then Iliana could be on her way by the afternoon to her next destination, and I could continue onto Chan Chan on my own.

El Brujo had a pretty nice museum featuring, at the end, la Señora Cao, a woman of 20-25 years old who ruled there at about 300/400 BC. The mummy itself was in great shape (you could still see the tattoos on her arm) though she was displayed a little far away for viewing pleasure.

Iliana and I then headed outside to the most excavated mound (the peeps would bury the temple once one government died along with the governor & co and then would build on top of it, literally ruling on the grounds of their ancestors) which was pretty ok to see, but a little lacking on the things we could actually see. Iliana said Huaca de la Luna had been more impressive with its brilliant color, but we have to remind ourselves, 5000+ years old!

At the very least, the trip gave me the opportunity to chat with a fellow traveler, get tips, give tips (she’ll be going to Ecuador in a few days).

[mmmm…I fell asleep for 2 hours across 3 chairs. Great way to pass the time. It’s now 5:30 and I don’t know where the rooster is, but he’s definitely announcing the morning…hahaha…I see him sitting on one of the chairs. I guess that’s one way to bring your alarm clock.]

I then went to Chan Chan, the largest adobe-mud-brick city of its time and the oldest existing one in the world. It was ok, but 1) I was hungry, 2) I was tired, 3) I was convinced that many parts were false, that they have been more recently carved… So it was an ok adventure, but I was relieved to escape Freddy and go internetting awhile.

It was while I was internetting that I started reading more about Tumbes boarder-crossing and how it’s pretty shady, and that it’s better to cross at Mancorá. There was some confusion on my part because I was confusing “Macará” (Peru) for “Mancorá” (Ecuador), but I got a ticket 10 minutes before the 8pm bus was supposed to leave for Piura…

…and that would be how I ended up in a bus terminal in Piura at 2:30am.

It’s now 6:47 in the morning and I’m waiting until 7:30 to taxi to Transportes Loja which is apparently in a busy, pickpocket-ridden area. I called yesterday to reserve a ticket (Piura to Loja, Ecuador) and they just took my first name, so I do hope there is a seat for me. From Loja I should be able to find a bus to Quito, but lord only know how long that ride will be. “Lord” or maybe even my guidebook…

* * *

I got to the Transportes Loja station to buy my “reserved” ticket. I think the guy thinks I’m a little overboard because at the time I bought the ticket today, I think I was the first. I asked if I needed to reserve a ticket Loja à Qiuto, and he just looked at me like “really? No.” He also said it was 12 hours from Loja to Quito. Que barbaridad.

I am relieved to be getting to Ecuador. My 8-hour bus ride for today cost $10.

* * *

Boarder crossing! Yay! The Ecuador stamp does have a bit of artistic flair lacking, but they were very kind in using pages in the back of my passport that I had though were useless, so that was nice.

Even more rad, though, is seeing Ecuador stamp “August 23, 2007” and then flipping back a few pages, Ecuador stamp “August 23, 2010”

* * *

The bus driver doesn’t appear to have the same will to live as I do – I guess when we arrive in Loja on time/early I’ll be thankful for his hasty driving…?

Overnight bussing from Huaraz, Peru to Quito, Ecuador

anita — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 21:00:00 GMT

Last night I had quite a headache from the car ride to Huascarán, and I was delighted to find Fleur and Kuwait at the hotel, ready to chat, sympathize, and eat. We went to a local restaurant where chicken and fries were the “in” thing, and we again chatted about our respective days.

Today I leave Huaraz at 9:10pm to get to Trujillo Sunday morning; immediately upon arrival I’m going to be on the hunt for a bus from Trujillo to Tumbes to hopefully arrive in Tumbes Monday morning, and then I need to cross into Ecuador and get to the place that can get me an overnight bus to Quito. All things going according to plan, I’ll get to Quito Tuesday morning. Fingers crossed.

Saturday: Huaraz

Saturday night: travel to Trujillo

Sunday: Trujillo

Sunday night: travel to Tumbes

Monday: Tumbes, cross boarder; get to Loja/Guayaquil/Cuenca?

Monday night: bus to Quito

Tuesday: Quito! …fingies crossed

This adds up to, if things go “well”, overnighting in bus for the next three nights, which is great savings. I took a super thorough shower in anticipation of all this bussing and night-traveling.

Today I’m taking a short tour to the neighboring town of Monterray. I mostly took the tour since it is so short (4 hours) which will give me internetting time today before catching my bus. I’m the only one going, so apparently we’ll be going by taxi with a guide. All for s/40.

* * *

30 minutes until go-time! (which according to urban dictionary is a gang term?)

I’m about to embark on the long journey of Huaraz to Trujillo (8 hours), Trujilllo to Tumbes (11 hours), Tumbes to Quito (12 hours), and if all goes well I’ll be in Quito by Tuesday. Right now I’m just praying I get the Trujillo à Tumbes bus for tomorrow night because then I am “home” free in Ecuador.

I read some rather shady things about boarder-crossing – right down to the taxi drivers! But I’m trying to turn any fear into thankfulness that I have been “pre-warned” and I’ll definitely be more on my toes. Most blogs seem to have been written around 2007, so perhaps things have improved. But still on my toes. Eyes wide open.

The tour through the company Lulo was no good, but it ended up being ok because I ended up using the “tour” more as a glorified taxi service, more-or-less station-hopping to make sure I could not indeed buy tickets from Trujillo to Tumbes from here. After lunch I got online and 4 soles later I was on my way to Movil Tours, where I am right now. I’ve heard many good things about this company, so I hope to get a good night’s sleep and see where tomorrow takes me!

20 Aug

anita — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 18:40:00 GMT

No space in the bus for Trujillo tonight means I’ll be leaving tomorrow night. We’re off to Huascarán!

* * *

Observations on driving: I think the driver makes every effort to drive on the left side of the road. This effort seems reasonable when there is a pothole on the right side, though less reasonable when there is roadwork that stretches across the entire road; and all reason goes out the window when a pothole on the right is avoided by hitting one on the left. And all the while making me carsick.

Post bus-scribbles - unwinding

anita — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 22:48:00 GMT

So the previous writings were things we learned on our way to Chavín. The ride itself was a bit long, the ruins were nice, but not as cool as Tikal (in Guate), and the ride back was pretty intensely long. When I got back, I knocked on Fleur and Kuwait’s door, and they very congenially invited me into their room, we chatted about our days, and then we went out and grabbed dinner (and they helped me purse-shop) and now we’re back at the hotel, full and tired. They are incredibly nice and have definitely enhanced my stay here in Huaraz.

Tomorrow I’m off to the National Park of Huascarán, and upon returning, I’ll head out to Trujillo on the overnight bus.

On that note, at 10:48, I will retire to get ready for a big day/night…

Bus scribbles

anita — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 18:35:00 GMT

[from the bus-trip]

-travelling Peru is not for those who get carsick

-started at 3100m; climbing to 4600m

-“Chavín” maybe comes from “Chaupín” which meant “center of everything”

-Incas tried to conquest Chavíñeros to no avail (1460s) – by force

-ended up marrying Chavín peeps into Inca civilization in 1500 … clever

-1533, Spanish came and PAF!

-not quite clear where Chavín peeps came from; much older than Myans, Incans, Egyptians

-Cordillera Blanca and Cordillera Negra run parallel. Last president wanted to rename Cordillera Negra à Cordillera Dorada because of gold taht’s there. Peeps said NO! Cordillera Blanca is said to have white cold, i.e. pure water from the mountain peaks which will be the gold of the future what with global changes

-lots of abandoned copper/silver/gold mines; mostly Canadian and Peruvian

-“cocha” means “laguna”…like Cuicocha in Ecuador!
-Chavín peeps hyper-intelligent astronomers. Believed in 3 “pachas” or worlds; essentially underworld, Earth, and Sky represented by Anaconda, Puma, and a type of Eagle. This belief manifests itself in many figurines of a god with head of a feline, claws of an eagle, and scales of the serpent/anaconda

-sill mystery on how they got stones so smooth to fit so perfectly for structures; like Machu Picchu but much much older.

Staying sane on 8 hour + bus rides

anita — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 23:00:00 GMT

Writings while on my bus ride:

My 9:30am bus has left at 10:11am, so right on schedule =) Oh Latin America… (the movie playing on the bus just subtitled the exclamation “swish!” as “cambio!”)

I’m still scratching the sand out of my ears from my sand dune-ing adventures yesterday. I, along with a Czech couple, went along for a crazy ride in a dune buggy; the ride itself was a combination of free-falling and breaking and we slid down the dunes before zipping right up the next sand dune. Between these roller-coaster-esque streaks, we stopped at the tops of dunes and, waxed-snowboard in hand, sled, stomach down, face forward, down first a 30-foot dune, then an about 50-foot dune, then an 80-ish-foot dune! [It must be noted that these are my own estimations, and, as height-estimation is not my forte, these approximations should be taken with a grain of salt or...ahem...perhaps sand? Either way, they were very tall dunes.] Sandboarding proved both exhilarating & painful at the same time if you didn’t brake at all and brakes=dragging feet. Perhaps the most breathtaking though was watching the golden/red sun set over the sandy landscape.

I caught the last Cruz del Sur bus from Ica to Lima and stayed a few hours in a hostel in Lima (the bus station wouldn’t allow me to stay the 6 hours in the terminal at night) that a young Peruvian I had sat next to on the bus helped me find. Cristian is a pretty well-to-do Peruvian and was all about taxiing to the hostel, but this morning I figured out how to get back to the bus station for only 1 sol (remember, 2.8 soles to the dollar), my transportation a combination of buseta and a pair of working legs.

Currently I’m in the bus, on an 8-hour trip from Lima to Huaraz. And we’re back to desert-country outside. It is, quite honestly, a vast wasteland out here. We’re driving into the clouds, and my recent bathroom break, complete with an open window, tells me it’s cold outside. I hope my hostel is toasty…

* * *

1000s of meters up in the Andes and I’m groovin’ to American Boy. Is that bad? …no… it’s just staying sane…

* * *

Car lights at dusk seems to be optional. Or maybe not; maybe they are just permanently off. –Never Give Up on the Good Times, Spice Girls = For the Win!

* * *

(The previous part of this entry was written while I was riding the bus. Now I'm cozy in my hostel...)

What. a. day!

It started off at about 6:50am, 25 minutes before I had set my first alarm. Eventually anxiety that my hotel wake-up call would forget to wake me up crept in, and I got up in the cold. My wake-up call never did come, but I was out the door by 7:45am all the same. Determined not to spend too much money by getting a taxi-ride back to Cruz del Sur (the bus company), I asked around and gathered I had to take the #28 mini-bus to the main avenue, Javier Prado, and from there…well directions got a little vague, but it was a start!

^{An example of the mini-bus/hollowed-out-van/busetas}

So I got on a #28 buseta that was zipping by, explained to the helper lady what needed to go down, and for 1 sol (about 35 cents) I got to Avenida Javier Prado. Great. I started searching out a taxi, knowing that from wherever I was, it was a straight shot to the bus station.

The first available taxi I found said he’d take me for 8 soles, and when he didn’t agree to my bargain of 5 soles, I told him to forget it, and I continued looking for a taxi. My search was futile (it was busy taxi-time!) and after 5 minutes of failed taxi-flaggings, I asked a street vendor just how far the Cruz del Sur bus station was.

“You see that Interbank?” he asked, pointing to a fairly large building in the distance.

[squint] “…ya?”

“It is right in front of that..right right in front. You get in front of the Interbank, and you are at Cruz del Sur.”

I asked how long it would take to walk there, “5, 10 mintes?” He thought it over ever-so-briefly. “ya…ya, about that.”

[One thing I’ve learned about Peruvians is that they tell you what they think you want to hear. If you ask how much something will cost, always estimate it will cost more. (I'm talking about things with a fixed cost such as bus tickets or hostel prices.) Always estimate things happening later or taking longer as well. But with a smile =)]

I indeed arrived at Cruz del Sur, albeit a 25-minute walk later. I had to ask 3 more people on the way to keep me on track, but I got to my destination with an hour spare…

…or an hour and 45 minutes, as it turned out, since we didn’t leave until 10:15. On top of it, Lima traffic was craaaazy and it took about 2 hours just to get out of the city.

Admittedly the ride got off to an ominous start. The vast-wasteland/sand/dune-scape was very much present for the first hour after leaving Lima. The bus got very cold and the complementary pillows and blankets were much appreciated. It only got cooler as we headed up, up into the clouds. This was not boding well for my stay at an even higher elevation, and I distracted myself by watching a “feel good” movie (playing on the bus), followed by a less interesting movie, followed by an even less-interesting movie…movies played non-stop the entire 8 hours 20 minutes on the bus, and this decline in movie quality continued the rest of the ride, so by the 4th movie I stuck my iPod earphones in and watched the changing landscape go by.

BUT! Back to the trip. In a beautiful moment, the heavy cloud-cover that perpetually hangs over Lima was replaced by clear, blue skies, sun, and warmth! And many photo-ops were had as we climbed the twisted highway up the Andes. The rest of the ride was beautiful despite the racket of the movies, mountains making way to snow-capped mountains, leading to babbling brooks and tiny villages. It was all quite picturesque.

^{^{Note the blue skies and beautiful landscape! Ya!}}

We finally arrived in Huaraz in the darkness of nightfall (6:30pm), and I recovered the one wine bottle that had been taken from me (but just one of the bottles, not both had been temporarily taken away) and I was a little bewildered about where I needed to go next.

Well, a guy named Elvis (stellar names, aren’t they ?) completely saved me, whisking me and a couple (girl, French; guy, originally from Kuwait, 25 years in Spain, now English citizenship) to a pretty nice hotel that offered us ½ price for having come with Cruz del Sur. Then Elvis set up my two trips for the next two days, took me to both bus companies that will have the overnight bus to Trujillo (next city), and went so far as to ask if I’d dance with him tonight! I declined since we were going to eat (Fleur, Kuwait, and I), but imagine dancing with Elvis!

[I saw a dead cat on the way to dinner :/]

It was interesting because this couple I met is at the very very beginning (they arrived in Lima on Monday night) of a 3-month adventure, and they were keen on grabbing dinner tomorrow, but I can imagine by the end of their trip I will be but a faint fragment in their memory. "Remember that first night in Huaraz when we were super-exhausted…and we got dinner with that American who startled us with seeing the dead cat in the road?…I wonder how her travels continued…" =)

I better get to sleep. 8am wake-up for breakfast, and then tour time!

Wine-dunes

anita — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 16:00:00 GMT

I left the airport by taxi which took me to a stop where an...essentially hollowed out van with "Chosico" written on the front stopped, with promise from my taxi driver that they would take me to my destination, the ruins of Puruchuco. I asked the driver of the hollowed-out-van how long it would take to get there, and he said about twenty more minutes. Forty minutes later, I arrived at a dirt road off of the highway, walked 10 minutes to the entrance of the ruins only to find out...CLOSED!...on Mondays, but open the rest of the week. I walked back to the highway area and ended up chatting with a travel agent (Ruben) for most of the morning, talking about my potential travel plans, so all was not lost. Ruben told me that because Huaraz (where I'm headed in two days) is situated at such a high altitude, many people get altitude sickness right in the bus and get headaches, start vomiting O.O (<<that's the look I gave him), but he claimed I'd be all right because it's just people who never leave their house that get sick...I hope I don't get sick on the bus... I was starving by noon what with all the conversation and lack of breakfast, and one of the guys accompanied me across the scarily large and busy highway and to the supermarket where I got such necessities as pretzels, water, fruit, and chocolate wafers.

[The cook-lady at my hostel I'm at is wearing a garbage bag as an apron. She's very nice. #McGiver cook]

I then made the spur-of-the moment decision to leave Lima and I headed south to Ica. I fell asleep for all of two hours, and when I awoke, we were in desert-country. Sand dunes rose to towering heights just next to the highway as the bus continued on quite smoothly. Scattered among the desolate landscape were not only homes but sometimes even fields of crops growing!

We arrived in Ica an hour later than scheduled (the ride was from 3pm-8pm), and I got a taxi to the nearby town of Huacachina and finally arrived at the Hostal Roche where I laid my backpack down and grabbed some drinks out back. I chatted with some Peruvians (the bar-guy and his friend) until a girl from Holland and another Peruvian joined us, and I chatted with the girl for quite some time about her Guatemala adventures. After playing a few rounds of cards with the Peruvians (Reinar and Cuki??), I went to bed, tired and content.

Today, then, I had a s/6 (6 soles; the exchange rate is about 2.8 soles = 1 dollar) breakfast at the hostel, served by the nicest lady, sporting her garbage-bag apron. I had a fried egg, bread with jam & butter, fruit, and coffee in the company of a kitten, three parrots, AND two French guys! Both were from Paris and spoke somewhat limited Spanish, so we spoke in French most of the time. They were really nice, but are heading south to the Nazca Lines whereas I'll be heading north next, so they said maybe we'd see each other in Paree.

^{The view of some of the dunes from my hostel room.}

^{I was told that the hostel has hot water todo el tiempo, and, though this claim is slightly exaggerated (there is, at best, temperate water, but the surrounding air is cold and I had to catch my breath every time I went under the water), I showered seeing as I'll be heading to a high, i.e. cold, city tomorrow. I had to be out of my room by noon, so I headed outside to take in the beautiful dunes that are on either side of the hostel. I grabbed a taxi to go into Ica to find out more about bus prices/schedules (I still have no idea how I'm getting back to Lima tomorrow morning...) and my taxi-driver (Martin) talked me into taking a couple bodega-tours, so here I am, back at my hostel, all wine-tasted up and awaiting my dune-buggy/sand-boarding tour (at 4pm).
I've been feeling pretty safe and really outgoing, chatting with everybody who's around and asking advice from everybody about must-sees, which always leaves me more confused with the conflicting opinions. Everyone I come into contact with praises my Spanish, and I do feel pretty at ease chatting, discussing, bargaining, etc in Spanish. The people who speak no Spanish and sometimes very limited English are the ones I am most impressed with, and I admire their bravery and endurance in traveling throughout a country in which they can't communicate.
^{Hostal Roche - this is where I was writing this journal entry. You know, with pen and paper :)}
I'm going to get going on this sandboarding adventure; I'm not quite sure what I've gotten myself into, but it sounds as if it is a combination of a thrill-ride in the dune-buggy, and an adventure sliding down the dunes on the snowboards, finishing off with a maravilla of a sunset over the dunes.
I'm excited =)}

Photos: Peru/Ecuador viaje

anita — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 09:05:00 GMT

Off to Peru!

anita — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 04:33:00 GMT

Arrived!

...even if quite groggily. I zipped right through customs, took some money out, and at the inexplicably simple push-of-a-green-button, I was released!...to the hoards of taxi drivers. I'm waiting in the airport until dawn, however, before I head out on an adventure/find a hotel. I asked several people when it would amanecer (to become dawn), and answers greatly varied between an hour and a half (6am) to "in the next 5 minutes is should start to get clear outside". 8am was another guestimate, so I guess I'll just have to see for myself!

Family visit!

anita — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 18:50:00 GMT

As seems my habit, it has been quite a while since I have updated my blog, but I am plagued with bouts of "uninspiration" interrupted by crazy amounts of activity, leaving my blog to the wayside. Perhaps inspired by the final arrival of a few sunny days in Bourges, I take the time now to recount the last two months.

And so I begin...

After les amis, (simply "the friends", the four who came to visit a few weeks Dec-Jan)left, January continued on fairly calmly, if not boringly. Though the winters of France are not as cold temperature-wise as Wisconsin is, the humid cold is not only more bone-chilling, but also makes for an interminably cloudy atmosphere. Five weeks of work were rewarded with two weeks of vacation mid-February, and thanks to this welcomed vacation, February flew by. Week one of the vacation I spent 1/2 preparing lessons for future classes, 1/2 lounging and lazying about in Montrouge. My week of relaxation prepared me for the arrival of my mom and my aunt Carmen on Febuary 12, and Julien and I met the two sisters at Charles de Gaulle airport early that Friday morning.

Our adventure started with running from Terminal 2 to the train station in CDG to catch the TGV to the west coast of France to Nantes. The TGV (Train a Grand Vitesse)literally "the high-speed train", clips away at about 175 mph, so within two hours we had crossed the country and met up with Gloria, my aunt who lives in France.

^{Julien, me, my cousin Elisa, and my aunts Gloria and Carmen - 12 february - Nantes}

From there started a flurry of Spanish conversation, and we spent the weekend with the family, catching up, traveling in the near-Nantes area, picnic-ing on the beach (the first sun I had seen in months!), and general rabble-rousing.

^{Me, Carmen, and my mom in front of the city hall in Fouras. Ready to picnic on the beach! - 16 february}

^{Las hermanas in La Rochelle - 16 february}

^{My cousin Ana and her boyfriend Arnaud serving the aperitif - 16 february - Mouilleron-le-Captif}

^{Family around the computie :) - 16 february - Mouilleron-le-Captif}

Wednesday morning my mom, Carmen, Gloria and I headed out on an adventure do see some castles, the famous "Chateaux de la Loire", the "Castles of the Loire". The Loire is the river that runs through France, and there is a stretch of old castles that runs along the river, thus making up the chateaux de la Loire.

^{Saumur - 17 february}

^{Example of the troglodytiques, the houses, churches, castles that are built into the rock - 17 february}

^{Azay-le-Rideau - 17 february}

^{The castle in Amboise that we passed as we hurried to a restaurant to escape the cold - 17 february}

^{This was the four of us for one night in Chenonceau :D - 18 february}

We had guided tours, took lots of pictures, drank hot drinks to warm up, and had a good time, sprinkled with the outbursts of laughter from my mom and Gloria and Carmen about...anything sisterly. Sisters will be sisters, apparently, and to this day they continue poking and prodding at one another, saying just the right thing to get under the others' skin, but always with good intention and accompanied by much laughter.

^{Path leading up to the castle in Chenonceau. B-E-A-UTiful! (the three sisters are up ahead :D) - 18 february}

^{Castle in Chenonceau. It seems as though there is always restoration going on somewhere... - 18 february}

^{The labyrinth to leave the castle in Chenonceau. It was rather amusing since at 5'3" I am by far the tallest of us four, and we had to really figure out how to get out of this maze without seeing! - 18 february}

Our Loire adventures led us to Bourges; we spent all of 3 hours in Bourges in which time we stopped by my apartment, grabbed lunch with Loreto and her friend, and did a whirlwind tour of my little city, before grabbing coffee with Julien's parents and aunt and uncle who were in Bourges for the day. By 5:30 we headed back up to Paris, arriving at about 9:30 due to a slight navigation mishap. We ate at Julien's apartment after which las hermanas, "the sisters", retired to their nearby hotel. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were filled with the usual Paris tourings, the sights and sounds of Paris being soaked in once again, for a certain sister 50 years after having lived here :) Ahhh nostalgia!

Monday February 22, las hermanas headed back to the Americas from Charles de Gaulle, and not a moment too soon! Not that their departure was a welcomed relief, rather CDG airport employees went on strike the following day, canceling 25% of their flights for the rest of the week in addition to Paris's other airport, Orly, canceling 50% of its flights. Ooooh France..

Tuesday I started back up with classes and it has been two weeks now working. Only 4 more weeks until the next 2-week vacation... :D

I'm going to leave my blog at this for now, though I'm sure, I hope (though I can't say I promise!) I will be returning very soon. I have to get ready to babysit, a side-job I have every-so-often to make a little money, but I will work on getting more detailed photos on facebook and out to you all!

I hope everybody is staying warm, staying safe, and staying in good humor :)

annemary

Holidays

anita — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 23:00:00 GMT

It's been a while, but here goes...

The Christmas holidays zipped by. I escaped Bourges on the 17th (December), hours before a mild snow brought much of France to a screeching halt; this made especially apparent when Loreto made her own sojourn to Paris the next day, and was hours delayed getting in due to the gust of cold air and light flurry-like weather. The three of us went to Versailles on Saturday, and by Sunday Loreto was on the move, continuing on to Switzerland to spend the holidays with family (that she had never met, but family all the same!). Julien and I were left, then, to tranquilly walk through the Christmas markets on the Champs Elysees and at the "Denfense" (the business district) for the rest of the week, in preparation for upcoming holidays.

On the 23rd we received spectacular news that Julien's sister, her husband, and their just three-month-old baby, would be making it to France for Christmas after all, a plan that was well in place for months before bureaucratic humdrum had put a damper on it. Julien's parents drove to Charles de Gaulle airport at 3am Christmas morning and brought back the new family in time for Julien and my 10am wake-up. The holiday, then, was filled with much joy and crying (the crying due to the baby), and we sat down to a typical multi-course French Christmas meal at Julien's aunt-and-uncle's house (which is just behind Julien's parent's house..the distance of about two backyards away). Having completed this two-hour rendez-vous called "eating," and stuffed with good food, good wine, and good cheer, we opened the presents spread across two tables (strangely enough there isn't so much the custom of putting presents under the tree). I had gifted Julien a ukulele, he had given me a guitarlele (it's a small guitar) leaving us quite amused with the similarity in our gift ideas. Nightfall upon us, we were all of a sudden back to eating soup and different cutlery before heading out, making the 45-second drive back to Julien's house. The next day was a repeat eating-wise as the parents of Julien's sister's husband were coming to meet the baby and have lunch, so Christmas Round Two was had on the 26th. The other grandparents, then, took the travelers back to their house that evening, leaving the house strangely quiet after all the bustle of the previous day.

By the 28th, Julien and I headed back to Montrouge in anticipation of the arrival of four of my friends from Madison (Terri, Shawn Au, Rio, and Abby-girl). On the 29th Julien and I arrived at the airport and were pleasantly shocked to find each of them had brought just one fairly small backpack for their two-week stay. Just a quick overview of what we did: we walked through most of the touristy areas in Paris, spent a day at the Louvre, Eiffel Tower for New Year's (a pickpocket's haven), Montmatre, up Sacre Coeur, more touristy walking around, and before we knew it, Monday was upon us and the friends were off to London for the week and I to Bourges.

Tuesday I made my way back up to Montrouge after class (as I have Wednesdays free) and Julien and I wanted to organize the house a bit, spend some time together...with the idea that I would drive back to Bourges early Thursday morning. Thursday morning we got the car, got gas, I dropped Julien back off at his apartment, and I started off, back to Bourges. It started to snow but I thought "I'm from Wisconsin, this will be no problem."

Wrong.

Though I still maintain that the French are generally weak in the driving department when it comes to snow, I feel slightly more sympathetic having now been faced with what it means for drivers when it snows in France. Traffic on the interstate, usually 110kph, was at a 20kph crawl, and I was among them, not daring to go any faster through the snow that was building up on the roads. "Salage en cours" ("Salting in process") blinked out from all sorts of billboards, but these salt trucks were definitely not passing by my interstate..and where is the plow? Realizing I wouldn't be in Bourges in time and finding out the school buses had been canceled in Bourges anyway, I made my way back to Montrouge in the continually falling snow. I will just say that it was quite an adventure to get back; I had to pass a semi that had just spun out in front of me ("spinning out" at slow speeds at least), getting off the interstate on barely visible exits, the whole deal, with not a plow in sight. I returned to Julien's apartment, having traveled all of 30km in 2 hours, but also with a new-found sympathy for the winter drivers in France.

The weekend returned, as did the friends, a little more touring and then they were off, back to the States. It was good time and great to have a little bit of home come to visit.

Now that the winter holidays have passed, I'm back to the grind, as they say, helping my students navigate through the confusing avenues of what makes up a short story. This week we've been working on horror/paranormal short stories, as that seems to at least capture their interest. As we read through a story, I write the words up on the board that my students say they don't understand and then we try to figure out how to translate either a)by me acting the verb out, b) me explaining the word or phrase, finding a synonym, etc or even c) finding the French word. It has been quite a game of charades as I act out a whole variety of verbs, my role as teacher having shifted slightly to "theater comic". One may find me crouching next to tables to explain "He caught the edge of the hole in his hands..." or you may perhaps catch me sitting on the floor before jumping up and dashing off, all in an attempt to explain "scrambled". I've had quite a time explaining the difference between "make out the figure in the darkness" and simply "making out"; or explaining the verb "scramble" and then try and think about why we call them "scrambled eggs" (they aren't trying to get anywhere quickly, are they?); or defining the term "pitch black" as "very black", but "remember! 'pitch' by itself does not mean 'very'!" But we have fun and we have a nice exchange of learning French and English words alike :)

Peace,

annemary

Fête de la vie

anita — Tue, 8 Dec 2009 00:11:00 GMT

This last weekend I took a whirlwind trip to Lyon for the Fête des lumières, the annual light-spectacular that takes France’s second-largest city by storm with thousands upon thousands of visitors filling up hotels in the greater 20km area. Rooted in the celebration of the Virgin Mary (December 8), the tradition has turned into a fantastic display of light and color projected against historic buildings, dramatic music accompanying the strange series of whimsical images.

It was weird. But cool as well. Here you can see the same building at different points during this particular 7-minute show.

Because of the lack of hotels available Saturday night (the first night of the 4-day festival), we (Julien, Loreto, Victor, Ingrid, and I) thought it might be a worthy challenge to stay up the night partying with the alleged-fellow-all-night-partiers that made up the festival. By 1:30, however, everybody had cleared out, and above all, it was cold, so at 2am we started the multi-hour drive back to Bourges, leaving the car to rest at almost 7am exactly. Somehow Julien and I managed to drive the whole trip (our companions snoozing away in the back!) and felt no shame sleeping the rainy morning away.

***

Life has been, as my ever-cheerful Chilean roommate describes, very “tranquila” ("tranquil" for those who may not have caught that). It could be the early night-fall or the crappy weather, or it could be the general society, but the nightlife of even Bourges (a city of 70,000+) has a bit to be desired. By 7pm, the streets are empty, and everybody is shut up in their houses, doors locked, shutters closed...silence. I’ve at least now found my own hole-in-the-wall to call home, a place where I can snuggle up to my humming computer to chat with friends online and look at pictures, read articles online, etc; the best of evenings I spend conversing with my roommates in my ever-improving Spanish, casually reaching for the bottle of wine while eyeing the baguette and cheese that are within reach…

I mean we’re in France, right? :)

A plus,

annemary

Les vacances!

anita — Wed, 4 Nov 2009 01:51:00 GMT

It’s so funny to me that I attempt to write about what I do in a way that would interest my audience enough that they would want to read about I'm up to. Sure I’m in France, but apart from the continual and lazy threat of strikes and the feasibility of getting a fresh baguette, it would be as though I were to keep a blog in the US. That said, here is what I’ve been up to on my vacation...

(This is the view of the Rue St. Antoine in Paris from my seat in Meo 7, the cafe I'm writing from right now.)

As I mentioned before, my first two weeks of hard work were rewarded with two weeks vacation, and I’ve taken the opportunity to sweat my….ahem…butt off. Kelsey told me about a Bikram Yoga studio in Paris where, for 30 Euro, you have unlimited access to the yoga classes for 10 straight days. With 5 or 6 classes offered a day in two different studios, both in the heart of Paris, this was a phenomenal deal, and it’s exactly how I’ve been spending my vacation. For those not in the yoga loop, Bikram yoga is a yoga that is done at high temperatures, just 26 poses done twice, over the course of 90 minutes, and the goal is to improve your general health, and, in doing yoga in the intense heat, increase limberness and flexibility. The Bikram studio I go to (the website if you are interested in seeing pictures and getting more info: http://www.bikramyogaparis.com/) practices in a room heated to 42*C (which I was shocked to see when I converted it that it’s 108*F!), and the temperature only rises in the small studio completely full with 30 or so yogis. Sweat already drips down your arms and legs during the beginning pose, an intense breathing pose, and by the end of the class you have become a human dishrag, completely soaked in your own sweat, no part of your body or clothing spared of your own perspiration…or for us girls, our “glowing”.

It’s pretty intense, but this is also why you do the yoga not just on a yoga mat, but on a towel on a yoga mat. I was impressed with the amount of sweat that can come out of each of my pores, and I usually drink an entire 1.5L bottle of water sans problem by the end of class, and finish off another 1.5L bottle in the following hours. The yogis who practice are of all shapes, sizes, and ages, so it’s not at all an intimidating environment, especially since there seems to be a consistent flow of beginners, such as myself, doing the 10-day trial. On the other hand, to actually do the yoga class regularly, it’s expensive, and I laugh to myself thinking about how I am doing yoga amongst the Parisian elite. The yoga is cool-ish, but I don’t know that I would continue doing it, even at a reasonable price; for now it provides me with an activity to occupy me daily, keeps me out of trouble :), and, if nothing else, makes me warm and cozy for a couple of hours in a country that has seemingly forgone regularly using central heating.

Other than yoga, my vacation has been pretty relaxing. The first weekend we took a 4-hour road trip to the center/east of France to the city of Le Creusot for the 25^th birthday of one of Julien’s friends from school. This last weekend we headed east again, again 4 hours (this time by train!), to Belfort, France, where another one of Julien’s friends lives. We arrived Friday evening, feasted on Raclette (a typical French meal that is essentially just melting Raclette cheese and then eating it with potatoes and slices of different meats) for dinner with friends, and the next day a group of 9 of us headed just across the boarder to Germany’s famed Europa-Park, a theme park split into 15 distinct regions, mostly named after European countries. It was a fun time, though slightly disorienting being in a country where I recognized nothing of what was being announced/written. It was Halloween weekend which coincided with the last weekend the park was open, and consequently the park was overflowing with visitors. We had to park in what was essentially an open field just outside the camping area, but leave it to the Germans, we were directed in such a way that our cars were VERY neatly organized even in the open field. I had what I believe to be a requisite beer while in Germany, but our day-trip was short, and by Saturday evening we were back in France.

----

France observations:

I think similar to how New York City sometimes being referred to as the “The City that Never Sleeps,” Paris could take on the nickname “The City that Snoozes on Mondays.” It is impressive how no less than 40% of shops, cafés, businesses (banks even!), exhibits, galleries, etc are just closed on Mondays. Yesterday, upon finding my “Meo 7” café (the phenomenal one with wireless, plugs, etc) closed, I tell you (though slightly ashamedly) I headed straight to a Starbucks that I knew of, and sure enough, it was open :) Paris, however, is a great improvement from smaller cities in France; Bourges, for example, is completely dead on Mondays, making an open boulangerie (bakery/bread shop) a challenge to find. And Mondays off for these places comes after Saturdays of closing early, and Sundays closing by noon or 1pm. As my friend Shawn asked when I was telling him about this “what if you need to buy something at the grocery store at 3pm on a Sunday?” Tant pis (too bad)…or I guess bonne chance (good luck) finding a place that is open.

As many of you know, last weekend was Halloween, and as such I ran to the department store down the street from Julien’s apartment just hours before we were to depart for Belfort, hoping to find a simple costume, a mask, even just some face paint for the weekend’s festivities. In looking for an impromptu Halloween disguise at Monoprix, I was highly disappointed to find only two princess costumes alongside a Spiderman costume…all ordinarily being viable options except that they were sized at “4 ans” (4 years old). With no Thanksgiving decorations filling up sales’ racks (ok…forgivable) and no hype surrounding Halloween (less forgivable), the French have forged right onto Christmas and New Years by mid-October, little “2010” headbands already lining the walls. What?!

And espresso in France :) ..always comes in cute little cups, always comes with the accompanying cute espresso stirrers and sugar cubes, and always comes with a treat of some sort, a cookie, a chocolate, a sucker. The only thing these coffee shops are missing is iced coffee, another specialty unique to Starbucks.

…though along with the rapid disappearance of pleasantly-cool, fall temperatures, I think my relentless query of “Est-ce que vous avez café glacé?” (Do you have iced coffee?) will also soon fade away.

France...take 2

anita — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 23:34:00 GMT

I emerge from the darkness almost two months after arriving in France…most literally emerging from the growing pile of documents that clearly depict the way France bureacracy runs. No less than 5 copies of everything is made, and it seems as though the conclusion of one aspect of paperwork is only paving the way for various other “necessities”. I need my Immigration papers to be sent in to get the appointment for my medical visit so that I can then get my social security number so that I can get my health insurance stuff squared away but in order to send in my immigration papers, I need to have an address of residence (also necessary to open a bank account) and send in a bill of some sort (“but I’ve only been here a week!” “oh, well a social security number will work” “but I don't have a social security number! That’s precisely what I’m trying to get” “oh well, tant pis (oh well)”)…it has been quite a time filling out all the papers to get paid, to get matriculated (which will give me some sort of ssn, but not the ssn…if I understand correctly) and by the end of the day, I stash all my papers in my big WI folder. Case closed.

I arrived in France with a month on my hands, a month I spent wandering in Paris, catching up with fellow UW-Madison Spanish major Kelsey Paul (who is in Paris for the year working as an au pair), visiting family in the west of France, and just hanging out. October came quickly and before I knew it, I was in the classroom with all my students staring up at me with wide eyes; some classes had been encouraged to interrogate me for the hour about who I am, how old I am, would I ever go to the moon (no!) and everything in between…in English of course. So far we’ve just been working on introductory things, so it hasn’t been too challenging. The trick, I’ve found, is to be lively. As I emailed a fellow assistant, “I have two hours of class right now…ok Anne, put on your enthusiastic eyes!” It’s been explained to be no less than 15 times where Chateauxroux is (many students are from this nearby village) and I continually look fascinated by the most mundane subject matter that is brought up (“You have two cats?! Two! Incredible! And what are their names?”) all in the name of getting, and keeping, conversation going. Of course I try not to go overboard, but continual enthusiasm and energy definitely helps.

And I’ve officially become a teacher. I spotted chalk on my shoulder and pants today and I knew I had arrived :)

So the way my teaching is organized is that I work 12 hours a week. I take ½ of an English class (leaving me with anywhere from 8-12 students) while the teacher works with the other ½, and my job is to make the students talk, nay converse, in English.

Easier said than done.

Especially considering I’m working with highschoolers who have somehow gotten the idea that participation is overrated and have categorized it as “not cool.” My youngest classes, the “seconds”, actually talk and attempt to use their English skills more than my more-schooled “terminals”, who only give me blank stares at the most simplistic statements. For example, to one class of particularly uninterested terminals I said “Hello, my name is Anne Reiland and I will be your English Language Assistant. All you have to do is talk…in English. Everybody understand?” and I heard a murmur of “J’avais rien compris” (I’ve understood nothing.) Several attempts later I finally turned to the board:

Me: Language Assistant

You: talk. In English.

They were at least amused by my frankness.

Along with bringing enthusiasm to the classroom, I hope to implant a little bit of inspiration to learn English. I think I’ve successfully pitched studying abroad to the boys of my classes, encouraging them to study in the US where, if all else fails, they can make American girls swarm around them if they play up their French accents. I know how to advertise to my audience :)

We assistants come from all different backgrounds with all different reasons for being here. Of the assistants I know the best; we have Gina, a 20-year-old Londoner who is here to complete an “abroad requisite” for her French Studies in England. In speaking with a few of the English (from England) Assistants, I’ve learned that if you major in a language, you must spend one year abroad going to school or working; Gina opted for working, so voila. There is Monica, 25, fellow United State-ian who loves France, has studied in Paris, and a History and teaching degree later is back in France. Viola is another France-fan, a 23 year-old German assistant, who is giving France another go after having studied in Paris as well. Loreto is a 27 year-old Chilean Biology teacher who is here to improve her French, see how science is taught here (France is apparently top-notch in science/technology) and explore a little bit of this side of the world. Victor is a 25 year-old Mexican lawyer who is here because…why not? Then there is yours truly, 22 year-old (though one student guessed I was 17!) recent UW graduate, Spanish and Latin American Studies major who is now teaching English in France as a means of being close to her French love.

Ultimate goals: improve French, travel a bit in Europe, and survive a French winter. Oh French winter :)

Right now I’m in Paris writing from a café that is a real find. With wireless internet and electricity plugs, it stands out to us foreigners used to the convenience of free wifi (pronounced "weefee" in French). When Kelsey informed me of this little jewel on the Rue Saint Antoine, I immediately took note; “It has wireless? And electricity plugs?! What is the nearest metro? And When is the soonest I can meet you there?!”

So I’m in Paris after two official weeks of working (the first week was for in-class observation, to eyeball the level of the English classes) for a two-week vacation for Toussaints, or All Saints. Oh how the French love their vacation :). This weekend Julien and I will be headed to the far east of France for a birthday party, so that is where my weekend is taking me. Apart from that, I look forward to 2 weeks of relaxation and oh yes, planning lessons.

I’m such a teacher.

A plus!

annemary

Holy Week in Guatemala

anita — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 00:00:00 GMT

I spent last week (Holy Week) observing the processions that are so prominent in Guatemala City the week before Easter. I didn't get to write about it so much, but I have these photos as a sort of photo-journal, with fun & interesting captions...I think :D I suggest going in order, but if you only look at one album, #3 is my favorite.

Enjoy!

Spring Break! [Guatemala]:
(priliminary travel,focuses mainly on the process of making our first "alfombra" (carpet) that we made, the first procession I attended this year)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2359425&l=cc688&id=8628451

Spring Break! [Guatemala] #2:
(Working on our second alfombra, much more detail oriented.)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2359810&l=1f7ec&id=8628451

Spring Break! [Guatemala] #3:
(Photos of our most labor intense and, in my opinion, most beautiful alfombra we made and the procession going through; also Holy Thursday processions)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2360638&l=203a5&id=8628451

Good Friday, Holy Saturday, & our return to the States:
(photos from Good Friday, taking Christ down from the cross, children's processions, couple of photos from the plane)
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2363245&l=df1a3&id=8628451

back in the States! [along with random cultural observations]

anita — Tue, 15 Jan 2008 21:30:00 GMT

It is the evening before classes start, and I realized I had kind of left my emails up in the air regarding my return home from Ecuador. So here are the highlights:

So, picking up from my last email...my last 12 days I spent in Quito, seeing friends for the last time, partying, hanging out with the family, and finally, at about 10pm the night before I was to depart (at 5am the next morning), I started the long process of packing my life from the last four months into my two suitcases. Terrified I would go over my 50-pound-a-suitcase limit, I left about 20 pounds of clothes, shoes, and shampoo bottles behind, becoming very critical in sorting my belongings into two big piles of things that needed to come home and those that were better off staying in Quito. Five o'clock the next morning I said my good-byes to my family, got into the taxi, and arrived at the airport. Apart from: 1) being subjected to a random cocaine search in the Quito airport, 2) having about a four-hour delay getting into O'Hare, due mostly to the crazy blizzard that hit Chicago the 23rd, but also due to slight technical difficulties in my plane because the "speedometer tube" in the plane had gotten plugged full of bugs when it landed, and 3) having to haul my guitar, backpack, and two suitcases onto the Vangalder bus, wearing my warmest articles of clothing (jeans and a sweatshirt), my trip back was pretty uneventful. I arrived in Madison early Christmas Eve, and hours later I was driving Catherine and I to Sparta where we spent the holidays hopping from one Christmas party to the next. Back in Madison since December 27th, I have been lounging, slowly unpacking things back into my apartment, reuniting with friends, and hitting up old haunts (mostly cafes!) that I missed in my four months away.

I've been noticing there are still some distinct traces of Ecuador in some of my behaviors. For example, I still always wear my purse with the little front pocket facing my body and not facing toward the outside, this important in Ecuador to avoid being very easily pick-pocketed. I walk into my apartment, slightly horrified at the facility of getting inside (just one lock and one click to get in!...where are the no-less-than-5 double-locks that should be on each door?!), and even more surprised that nothing at my house in Sparta is locked. Food now requires more salt than I ever remember using while cooking. I'm still hoarding napkins at every chance possible (a habit that comes from being a traveler in countries where toilet paper is really a scarce item in public restrooms) as well as constantly holding myself back from taking just a little extra toilet paper when I see there is an abundance...for next time! Subconsciously I spend my 20-dollar bills first, thinking it necessary to get as much small change as possible for those times the store/cafe/bus just doesn't have change, and I end up with a wallet overstuffed with 1s and 5s as I realize I am back in the United States, land of available small change. Snow is definitely a new aspect to outdoor weather and I've been consistently surprised with how cold it can be outside and equally surprised with how overly-heated buildings are. All this said, life is going back as it was before, with school starting tomorrow probably sealing my life back into Madison normalcy adding in studying and class to the mix of parties and friends....

I can not wait to travel again. :)

So a month after leaving, a final "chao" to Ecuador.

annemary

winding through the Andes

anita — Tue, 11 Dec 2007 11:00:00 GMT

My adventures started at 9:30pm on Wednesday night (I had vacation from school for the rest of the week because of the Fiestas de Quito) and I took the 9 hour overnight bus from Quito to Cuenca. As we passed through different neighborhoods and areas in Quito, you could see the Fiestas de Quito in full swing with lots of music, lights, dancing, and of course drinking. Starting out at a comfortable temperature, I was disturbed from my sleep at 2am due to the cold, temperatures outside hovering around 50 degrees Fahrenheit and proving to be no warmer within the bus ....and I woke up again at 3:00, and again at 4:00, until at 5:30am I curled up as much as possible and watched the sunrise over the Andes. Breathtaking but freezing.

I arrived in Cuenca at 6:30am and realized that Cuenca, at this hour of the morning, is uncomfortably cold as well. I found myself attending church at 7am at the beautiful "New Cathedral" (its real name! Named as such to distinguish it from "Old Cathedral" across the plaza) to keep from freezing, and spent the rest of the day exploring, touring, and shopping. By 7pm I plopped down in my bed at my hostel that had, in my private room, cable tv, a comfy bed, private bathroom (with hot shower!) and breakfast included for the luxurious price of $9...a good find.

Friday, then, I found myself writing, so here is an insight of some of my thoughts:

Friday, 07 december 07 7:30 pm hostel in Vicabamba

This morning I woke up thinking I was going to Loja and then on to Zamora, a town Rough Guide claimed had such beautiful views on the trip there and back that the trip itself made it worth going. Due to curiosity to explore a little more in Cuenca and a late start, I didn't leave Cuenca until 10am, 2 hours past original leaving time. This, coupled with Loja being 2 hours more south than originally thought, I canceled my idea of going to Zamora due to daylight restraints and decided instead to continue to the popular Vilcabamba, an hour south by bus from Loja.

But back to my Cuenca to Loja ride; 5 1/2 hours of disturbed sleep, beautiful landscapes, and lots of sun. The sleep issue and over sunning culminated until by hour 3 I was ready to abandon the bus and just stay in whatever little town I had landed myself. Then my seat partner got on the bus.

New seat partner, at hour 3, was a kindly woman of about 50 years old traveling with her mother to Loja. She asked where I was from, and I said the U.S., and, excited as could be, she started telling me about her nephew in L.A. Apparently he married an Ecuadorian/United State-ian (she was actually born in the U.S. to two Ecuadorian parents so she has dual citizenship) who, after living in the U.S. for the first 14 years of her life, moved with her parents to Ecuador to finish "high school" and university and by the time she finished university, she was dating Seat Lady's nephew, they married, and now live in L.A....in fact, Seat Lady visited her nephew and for a month stayed with him in L.A. ... On and on this lady went for the next two hours. Finally she punctuated her epic story with "You know, the thing that impresses me the most about you is how well you speak Spanish!" and with that she sat back and snoozed for the last stretch. I wasn't about to prod her back awake to ask how she would know seeing as she was the one who had been talking the past couple of hours (maybe it was my convincing head nods!); instead I put my headphones back in and watched the mountain-scape zip past.

I arrived in Loja then, bought my ticket to Vilcabamba, and prepared for my next trip. The Lojanos are so nice; from the ticket people, to the internet café supervisor, to the woman working at Pio Pio (a fastfood chicken place, "pio pio" apparently the noise chickens make) who kindly explained that "salchipapas" was salchicha (holding up a hot dog) and papas (holding up some fries), a concept I hadn't originally understood because of its blatant simplicity. Because my bus never arrived at the exact spot I expected, I missed it and a super nice ex-army-now-bus-station-po

licer helped guarantee me a spot in another bus without paying again. We talked for about a half hour then, poking fun at Quiteños and talking about Ecuador in general. Finally I got on my bus to Vilcabamba, put on my iPod, and sat back to enjoy the hour ride.

Meet Manuel, my seat-pal from Loja to Vilcabamba. A native of Vilcabamba, he has never truly left this town of 3000-4000 people (his general estimate). Looking to be pushing his mid 70s (though very lively), I was surprised when he mentioned he lives with his parents. Now my guide book has mentioned rumor that the mountains of Vilcabamba housed the very old, that Vilcabambans "enjoyed a considerably higher than average life expectancy with a very low incidence of cardiovascular health problems" but quickly dismissed this idea, saying rigorous studies revealed these claims to be "wildly exaggerated". Well, Manuel's dad is 105, and his mom is 98. Alive and well, they enjoy their days with their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren...great great grandchildren. Seeing the shocked expression on my face, he continued to say his grandfather died when he was almost 140, apparently a bit overweight toward the end. Ends up he died when he fell into some sort of hole? (this is from what I could gather from his story) at night? so nobody knew he was in trouble...something about falling so far down he was unable to get out and drowned in the end (a well?). Punto being, it wasn't of old age that he had passed away. I asked Manuel what led to people living so long, and he said (his explanation, my words) that it is a combination of chillness and the right nutrients/vitamins/diet. Once we arrived in Vilcabamba, Manuel helped me et a taxi to Hosteria Izhcayluma from where I am now writing (pencil and paper..old fashioned style!). Tomorrow I'm going on some sort of "almost like a jungle" tour/hike/cloud forest adventure..

Sunday, 09 december 07 5am Cuenca bus station

So yesterday I went on a cloudless day to a cloud forest. I, along with a couple from Germany and our guide, traipsed around (illegally I found out later) through the national park Podocarpus. It wasn't until we were quite far in that our guide tells us that along with 1500 different types of birds, the park is also home to tapirs, sloths, deer, bears, and pumas! Luckily we came across only their tracks on the trail, but it was a great adrenaline rush for the whole hike.

At the end of our hike, we burst through all the vegetation and back onto the gravel highway. It was at this point, only a four hour bus ride to the Peruvian boarder, that I headed back north to begin my +15 hour journey back to Quito.

In Loja I bought a ticket to Zamora (straying slightly from my Quito path to head toward the Orient) to check out the trip-worthy landscape between the two towns. I wasn't able to buy my ticket until 4:30pm, at which point the next bus leaving was at 6:45, so I paid my $2.40 and wandered around until it was time to go. 6:45pm brought not only my departure time but darkness, and by the time the bus left the station it was pitch-black. Though my plan had backfired, I took the ride anyway deciding 1) it was safer than sitting in the bus station or 2) it was cheaper than doing a taxi-hostel-taxi (I was timing long bus rides to be overnight). So it was that I plunged into the tropics shrouded in darkness.

All towns have their particular quirks, and though I only rode the bus into Zamora, switched buses, and rode right back out, I was able to experience the clock of Zamora: a huge lit-up clock that kept time very well, except that it was exactly 27 minutes late. Oh whatta town.

Back in Loja after my 4-hour round-trip, I watched the bus terminal TVs until I boarded the 11:30pm bus to Cuenca, where I am right now freeing and writing at 5:30am.

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From here I basically just headed up to Quito at 7:30am because I was too exhausted and hungry to go running around the ruins at Ingapirca [plus I have to leave SOMEthing new to visit when I come back!], also taking into account I had to be back for a test Monday. I arrived into Quito at about 5:30pm (Sunday) and headed straight to a "chifa" (chinese restaurant) that at orientation they warned us about broken health codes, cockroaches, etc....but it was so delicious and so cheap..

photos: http://wisc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2321286&l=fe7ab&id=8628451

Another weekend, another bunch of adventures. This weekend is my last weekend to roam around anywhere further out of Quito, so we'll see what it brings. 12 days!

chao for now
annemary