JW's Indelible Elevations

Medellín

jared_waks — Thu, 10 Nov 2016 14:10:00 GMT

Below is the blog article I wrote for Ivy Hostel about my experience in Medellín in exchange for a free night at the hostel. Because it's meant to marketing, it's a little less raw and, well, it's marketing, but still accurate If you want to know about my three weeks there.

Paisas are some of the most welcoming people in the world. It isn't unusual for the person giving you an empanada, driving you in their taxi, or simply standing next to you on the metro to ask, "Where are you from?" and then enthusiastically proclaim, "Welcome to my country! Bienvenidos!" This enthusiasm for inclusion and for kindness and conversation amongst strangers made my two week intensive Spanish study program in Medellín more productive as well as enjoyable.

I spent two weeks at the EAFit University, down the street from Ivy Hostel, studying level four Spanish. I had a long way to go to regain the Spanish speaking abilities of my youth that I had since lost. I was in Ecuador prior to visiting Colombia and no one there spoke a word of English, so I decided it would be worthwhile for the rest of my travels through South America to brush up. In Medellín most people can speak at least some English. And they are happy to. They don't do it begrudgingly. They'll gladly ask, "Where are you from?" and reiterate, "Welcome to my country!" However, try telling a Paisa in Spanish that you are currently studying Español at their University -- they get so excited! They will congratulate you, "Spanish is very difficult!" After speaking with you a little bit, they will praise you, "You speak Spanish very well! Very well!" They will say these two things that you know are not really true, but they will mean it. They are genuinely so excited that you are taking an interest in their language and their culture, when you simply don't have to. It's an attitude that the whole word would benefit from by adopting but which, from what I've seen, is uniquely common and pronounced in Medellín.

My classes at EAFit were fantastic! EAFit is a real University, so I was on campus with Colombians studying all subject matters. I had access to the sporting facilities, the dining options, studying amenities and much more. Moreover, the Spanish language program actively updated their Facebook page and sent out emails letting all of us know the cultural activities, language exchanges and on campus events that were available to us to enrich our Colombian experience and improve our Spanish.

My favorite activity that I found through the EAFit Facebook group was a concert in the plaza behind the Modern Art Museum: La Travesía del Alma. Described as "a fusion of ancestral sounds," this performance combined all sorts of instruments -- didgeridoo, electric guitar, drums, xylophone, bass, and more -- with as much as five part melodic (lyric-less) vocal harmonies. It combines Afro rhythms with rock melody and sound while interweaving various ethnic vocal and instrumental traditions. It was a sight to see, and also to not see. The museum staff handed everyone eye masks to be worn as desired throughout the show in order to hear the symphony free from visual distraction. It was definitely a unique auditory experience.

After two weeks, exhausted from days of study and nights of culture seeking and socializing, I left my final exam on Friday. I did very well in my class, but wondered if I'd really gotten better at Spanish. It's all fine and dandy to learn new tenses and accumulate more vocabulary, but could I actually better interact with locals? I wasn't sure; but I'd done all I could. With no more obligations, I signed up for the activity I'd been dying to do since my arrival in Medellín: paragliding. On Saturday morning I headed way up into the hills to take flight, held aloft only by the resistance of air on a strip of fabric. Because I have absolutely no experience paragliding, or any kind of gliding for that matter, I did a tandem flight, with a local pilot sitting behind me and really doing the work while I put my arms out like wings and pretended I was a bird. To my surprise, and absolute delight, my pilot knew almost no English. We exchanged greetings in Spanish and we took off. With every gust of wind we elevated and more of Medellín appeared, peaking out from beyond hill crests and buildings. My pilot pointed out Parque Arví, El Centro Commercial, and other places I'd been. I told him about my experiences at each of them. As I watched the city unfold beneath me, it was like a new home. I had spent a total of three weeks here, and I knew that this was now a place I will always come back to, a place to which I feel uniquely connected. My pilot pointed out other areas to which I haven't been and told me about the amazing things I can see and do there. I fully intend to.

In Medellín I discovered a people, a language, and a place, inextricable from one another, that I absolutely adore. Hasta proxima vez (until next time) ...

Quilotoa Loop: Off the Gringo Path

jared_waks — Tue, 27 Sep 2016 13:31:00 GMT

"Can I really do this?" That was the question I had to ask myself. It was Tuesday. I'd just barely recovered from food poisoning (not even 100%), was south in Baños and needed to be north in Quito for my flight to Colombia on Sunday. "Can I do the Quilotoa Loop?" I asked myself again. It's an extensive four day journey: a night in Latacunga (3 hours from Banos) to adjust to the altitude, then a three day intensive trek through the Andes Mountains up to the crater lake of a dormant volcano, followed by another night in Latacunga. I didn't have four/five nights; it's too risky to be traveling back from Latacunga on Sunday with a flight to catch. "Can I do it in three nights?" I decided the answer was "Yes."

I woke up at 7am on Wednesday, ate a shit ton of yogurt (had to replenish those probiotics), bought a bunch of trail food from the grocery store, and caught the 8:30 bus to Latacunga. I arrived at 11:30, took a taxi to the Tiana Hostel where I dropped off my luggage and left with just a daypack. I asked the hostel for directions for the loop, like I was supposed to, and they gave me a completely useless map, not the actual directions. I needed to start the loop asap, so I didn't look at what they'd given me and I hailed a cab back to the station.

At 12:30 I boarded the bus to the town of Sigchos, beginning of the trek (technically the end, but I did the reverse loop, choosing to elevate and eventually culminate at the crater lake). This bus ride was an adventure all in itself. I wanted to listen to some music with Spanish, so I put on the entire Cat Empire "Steal the Light" album (see Music on My Mind for more info). It is highly unusual for a backpacker to be on the bus at this time, as everyone stays in Latacunga and then boards an early bus to give themselves plenty of time for the hike. This was the first instance of the day where I benefited from taking the "non-gringo" route. This public bus is the same, apparently, that all the children of the area use to get home from school. As we passed through towns, children ranging from probably three to thirteen years-old boarded the bus, playing games in the aisles, wrestling in the seats, and staring at the bearded backpacker wearing a bright red jacket. It is truly incredible how independent the children of Ecuador are. I saw a little girl, barely larger than the tiny school backpack she carried, exit the bus alone and walk off around a corner, who knows how far left to tarry home. I saw dogs waiting at a bus stop for two sisters no older than eight to exit the bus, the dogs barking with joy at their arrival and accompanying them up the road. This independence (amongst children as well as dogs) is prevalent throughout Ecaudor, but it's extra astonishing to see it in this vast and largely unpopulated landscape as opposed to the bustling city where everyone seems to look after every else's children and pets (or strays). As I watched in awe the vivacity of these children and the uniqueness of this culture, I felt something at my feet. Being the savvy traveler that I am, my backpack was nestled snug in my lap. I lifted it and peered down through the space between my knees to see a giggling child, being tickled by another who had apparently wrestled him down from the row behind me. When this little boy, no more than five, caught my eyes, he stopped laughing and his big brown eyes looked directly into mine, his face elongated in wonder, his mouth half open in question. The other boy, wondering why his prodding fingers no longer elicited squeals of laughter from his friend, stuck his head under the seat as well, noticed the direction of his friend's gaze and proceeded to turn his own head to stare confusedly at me as well. Once their curiosity had had its fill, they retreated back to the row behind me, ran down the aisle screaming and found another boy with treats. My amusement was boundless, and I continued to enjoy these antics and the occasional blatant stares of children, who would stand right at the edge of my seat, unblinkingly examining my face, all the way to Sigchos.

Upon arrival at Sigchos, the natives pointed me on my way (abajo), a few asked me why I would want to walk all the way to Quilotoa instead of taking a bus or taxi, and I headed off. I opened for the first time the map given to me by Hostel Tiana, to see that it was absolutely no help at all, just a birds eye view of the towns that make up the loop (see image). So, I pulled out my phone, hoping that the Maps.Me app would show me the trail. Voila! It did, no problem here! What I didn't know then was that the route shown was probably the shortest distance but definitely not the one recommended for gringo backpackers. It would lead me down and up tiny crevasses, across rivers, and face-to-face with large territorial dogs. And it would take me on the greatest hike of my life! 4.5 hours completely off the beaten path, not seeing a single other backpacker and only three or four locals. Out of breath, drenched in sweat, adrenaline pumping, I would summit individual hills and turn to see the completely untouched expanses of nature below, above and beyond me; and the thought came to me so clearly: "I did it." I didn't know how much hike I had before me nor the dangers that lay on that path, so I didn't know the irony of such a terminate statement; but I stand by it. I did it. For the first time since arriving in Ecuador the gravity of what I had done seeped in. I was in another hemisphere, completely alone in a kind of nature I had never seen before. Totally out of my element and completely captivated by it. This was and is my journey. Still out of breath and somehow more drenched in sweat, I hiked on. The territorial dogs bared their teeth and barked at me, as if to say, "You don't belong here." I thought, "No, perro. I do. I am. Sí, yo soy aquí."

As beautiful as that sentiment was, those dogs were all next to the path. As I approached the large river to cross, with the only approach being a narrow path, a very large black dog emerged from a house in order to stand in it and stare me down. "Shit!" I thought. "Shit!" I said. I slowly approached him, with my metal water bottle in front of me as my only and necessary weapon, saying out loud, "Ok, dog, you be cool and I'll be cool. I'm just going to slide past you. Just be cool." Unfortunately, the dog did not speak English. Stupid me. He let out a shrieking bark then bared his teeth, snarled and charged at me with full speed, closing the twenty feet between us. I know better than to try to outrun a full grown dog, and was not cocky enough to try the be big and show no fear approach, so I backpedaled as a way of saying, "Ok, I'm not approaching your property, we're cool," but all the while waving my water bottle in front, ready to smack him in the face and give him a desperate kick. He stopped with maybe seven feet to spare. I continued to walk backwards. He continued to bark; his comrades behind barked their support. I retreated far up the hill to the nearest farm where I had seen a person (the only I'd seen in over an hour). I approached her. The dog at her side, slightly bigger than a corgi, charged at me full speed, just as angry and vicious. She called to the dog and it stopped, maybe five feet from me, still snarling. She approached. We haggardly exchanged words in Spanish; essentially, I said, "I need to cross the river to reach Isinlivi, but your dog is attacking me." To which she replied something along the lines of, "Don't be a pussy, he doesn't bite." I convinced her to walk me past him. On the way, she grabbed from a pile a beautifully crafted walking stick and instructed me to wave it at the dogs and they will go away. We approached the giant beast again. With his master in front of me, he did not stir. As he sat there, looking at us, it was hard to imagine that ten minutes ago this creature was a nightmarish rage of teeth and speed. We passed him. As soon as we did, and his master was no longer between us, he once again erupted into fury and leapt towards me (but not AT me) in a cacophony of barking, gnashing teeth and guttural snarles. I waved the stick and he kept at bay. His owner yelled at him, "Tranquilo! Tranquilo!" Her surprise surprised me -- I still thought I was walking the common path. I started to wonder how many gringos this dog had ever seen, and how it could be that his owner was unaware of his dislike of them. That thought haunted me as I continued the final two hours of the hike to Llullu Llama.

The owner and her companions, who had just come back across the river with some cows, watched me as I crossed the river and trekked on. About five minutes later I heard a howling, and realized it was them, letting me know that I had missed the turn up the mountainside. I waved my thanks, entered the steep canyon, disappearing from them under the canopy of trees. The escalation was incessant. I took many breaks -- about every ten steps. Dogs barked but did not approach. But the sun began to set. At 6:15 I had a beautiful sunset. I stopped to enjoy it only because I needed to break for breath; but enjoy it I did, knowing what it meant. My phone said 30 more minutes. My phone didn't know how maladjusted to the altitude I was. At 6:45 darkness enveloped me. I took out my headlamp. It was barely enough to show the path at my feet. I heard a sound just to my left -- it was a sheep, coming to check me out. It took me a while to even make it out in the darkness, and when I did (it was very creepy looking) I heaved a great sigh of relief for its lack of teeth. The path got steeper, but as I turned a corner I could see it: the lights of the Llullu Llama Hostel. I climbed and climbed, and finally found myself walking past the pet llamas outside the hostel's kitchen. The cooks saw me with my headlamp and crooked their heads in confusion. I entered the hostel and the receptionist greeted me with, "Where are you coming from?" It was confirmed, I had certainly not been on the gringo path. But now in the safety, warmth, and good smells of the hostel at dinner time, I was ever the more glad about that.

The Llullu Llama Hostel is a cozy wooden abode reminiscent of a tiny lodge, and in addition to the llamas out front has a big St. Bernard puppy, named Baloo, out back. I was greeted there, unexpectedly, by friends I had met a week earlier in Quito. After an outstanding communal dinner and lounging by the fireplace drinking wine (tea for me, still too soon after the food poisoning), we headed out back where I cuddled Baloo like crazy -- so happy to see a friendly dog -- while we all looked up at the star filled sky. The comfort, company, and celestial beauty brought the new Dirty Heads song to my mind, "Moon Tower." As you might imagine, I turned-in somewhat early and slept like a baby.

The next two days I hiked with my friends. We arrived at the Quilotoa Laguna, a crater lake of the dormant volcano, to which some locals sing songs to the volcano in hopes of keeping it asleep with lullabyes. We hiked down, up and around the crater, kept the angry dogs away with our sticks, and had an incredible time. The question, "Can I really do this?" had been answered, definitively, such that the question now seemed silly. "Should I have done this?" Still I valid question. But I couldn't be happier that I did.

Music On My Mind

jared_waks — Mon, 12 Sep 2016 19:15:00 GMT

I'll be hyperlinking as often as possible in each blogpost to the songs that were in my head during the experience I'm describing, hopefully helping you have a richer vicarious sensation. However, sometimes I won't have time to hyperlink or those particular experiences won't make it into a blog post, so I'll be doing a summary of my internal soundtrack here.

Who Says: leading up to the trip, because this trip is not what was expected of me, and some people will say it's irresponsible or childish. But, mainly, because of this verse: "Who says I can't be free from all of the things that I used to be? Re-write my history. Who says I can't be free?"

I Got Love For You: this is the main song that was playing in my head on the planes from the US to Ecuador. Andrew Flachner saw Michael Franti in concert, and Franti explained that this song is about his son who took off on a solo adventure like mine. This song is repeatedly in my head, reminding me of all the people I love and will be missing. I got love for you.

Ophelia: really, this song and the whole first half of the new Lumineers album (Sleep on the Floor, Ophelia, The Gun Song, Cleopatra and Angela) has been in my head since it came out, and I'm playing it on most bus rides. However, starting with my trip to The Middle of The World (Mitad Del Mundo) and then again on my way to Mindo, this song is especially in my head because the main bus station where you have to transfer to go north is called Ofelia.

3,000 Miles: on my overnight bus to The Amazon I met a very interesting Ecuadorian (reference blog post "The Amazon and the Earthquake"), and immediately my mind dropped its needle on this record. "Have you seen the world outside? It's turning. And it's yours. We were put here for the learning."

Southern Cross: in the Amazon, sitting on our boat during sunset, our guide, Diego, said that once the stars came out we could see Scorpius and The Southern Cross. I got really excited. We saw Scorpius super clearly, but clouds covered the Southern Cross. So I have yet to see it!! "When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you'll understand now why you came this way." Soon... :)

Away We Go: this song entered my head on the way to Mindo, my first solo bus ride. I don't know, I guess I was just thinking, "And away we go..."

Lightly: on my way to Mindo (a two hour bus ride) I listened to the entire new Amos Lee album, which came out just a few days before I left the US. This song jumped out at me: "Well I've Iearned how to travel lightly..."

Scarlet Begonias: while walking around in the Orchid Garden in Mindo, where there were not only orchids but also, you guessed it, scarlet begonias (and lots of other flowers too).

Still Young: wanting to listen to some music with Spanish, I put on the entire Cat Empire "Steal the Light" album on my bus from Latacunga to Sigchos, where I started the Quilotoa Loop. A few of the songs have some Spanish, but "Still Young" definitely spoke to me at this time, because of this lyric that I felt spoke to my journey: "While you're still young, find your heart and find your song."

Moon Tower: during my first night of the Quilotoa Loop, staying at the Llullu Llama Hostel in Isinlivi. This cozy wood hostel is reminiscent of a tiny lodge, and does have both llamas out front and a big St. Bernard puppy, named Baloo, out back. After my crazy (and crazy awesome) day of trekking the unbeaten path and facing down furious dogs, I arrived at Llullu Llama exhausted, starving, unadjusted to the altitude, and extremely relieved to be out of the dark. I was greeted there, unexpectedly, by friends I had met a week earlier in Quito. After an outstanding communal dinner and lounging by the fireplace drinking wine (tea for me, still too soon after the food poisoning), we headed out back where I cuddled Baloo like crazy -- so happy to see a friendly dog -- while we all looked up at the star filled sky. The comfort, company, and celestial beauty brought this new Dirty Heads song to my mind. "Let's go outside and look up at the starlit sky, let's all go for a ride, meet me at the moon tower tonight."

Like a Drum: because I listened to the "Steal the Light" album on the bus to Sigchos, all of the songs were in my head to a certain extent. But this song, mostly in Spanish, became the soundtrack of parts of my hike where the strenuousness of the route as well as the intense altitude made my heart beat like crazy. It then emerged once again in my mind after the loop, back in Latacunga for La Mama Negra Festival. La Mama Negra (the black mother) Festival in Latacunga celebrates the end of summer and is a rowdy parade that starts in the afternoon and goes until around midnight. The costumes, volume, drunken debauchery and gluttonous extravagance draw parallels to a Mardi Gras type citywide party; and the constant beat to which the procession marches kept making me think, "My heart is beating like a drum."

Wish You Were Here: this song was in my head during my time in Guatapé. Guatapé is the most beautiful place I've ever been. It's like a postcard and, before Pink Floyd's song, postcards were the most likely of places to find the phrase "Wish You Were Here." But more than that, I feel like this song speaks to an important aspect of my travels. The lyrics set forth a series of two choice options; however, many of the choices are kind of confusing or simply undesirable either way you go, especially: "Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?" (Appreciating that I'm speaking from a point of privilege), sometimes when none of the apparent options seem appealing, it's easy to forget that there are infinitely more options out there. Traveling through South America for half a year certainly wasn't an evident option for me, but it was there, hiding in the wing, a clear and hugely fulfilling alternative to the war and the cage.

La Bicicleta: definitely the most catchy song I've been hearing, repeatedly, during these travels. Makes locals (and me) go NUTS at the clubs. Gotta love Shakira. Also, doing this song on lyricstraining.com was a hugely beneficial part of my Spanish studies. The song also mentions many places that I've now visited in Colombia, such as Tayrona where I body surfed with a crocodile :)

The World Ain't Slowin' Down: thematic of my trip in general, the song made its way into my head during my joyful trudging through the Caribbean downpour in Tayrona National Park, Colombia. "You got to get gone, you got to get going..." The song insists, because "Hey, the world ain't slowin' down for no one; and it's a carnival calling out to you." It really is, and I'm loving every second of exploring it. Even the seconds that are uncomfortable and maybe even a bit frightening. Such was the complete deluge of rain that broke through the just clear blue sunny sky in northern Columbia as my friend, Mark, and I trekked towards Cabo San Juan, a beach with hammocks where we would spend the night and the following day. I'm talking buckets and buckets of rain, relentless and almost comically thick, hurling straight down through the still hot and sticky Caribbean air. "And I get the sensation of joy and frustration, like being caught by a tropical rain." The line was spot on. When we arrived at Cabo San Juan, the couple in front of us secured the last two hammocks, and we were cast back out into the rain to look for other shelter. Wading through the now more than knee deep water and mud back the way we came, the path completely lost in the flood, we continued to be soaked through every inch of our clothing and bags. We laughed at the unsettling notion that the water was deep enough there could be crocodiles swimming in it and we'd never know -- but there aren't crocodiles in Tayrona, right? Our adventure at the beach the following day, where we inadvertently body surfed alongside a Cayman (crocodile) put our former jubilance into a strange context such that it was now even more funny, because we were alive, but wouldn't be funny if it were to happen again. Tayrona presented us with all sorts of spectacular and welcome surprises -- monkeys all around us, a giant Python slithering under our footpath, and the surfing crocodile -- as well as some frustrating ones -- the "tropical rain" and, in another regard, the fucking surfing crocodile!! All full of joy because all are part of the adventure, and you gotta get gone, you gotta get going.

Stay Human: one of Michael Franti's favorite metaphors, that he invokes in multiple songs, is the image of plants growing up through cracks in the sidewalks. To me it's a symbol of resilience, of the persistence of nature (both Mother Nature and Human Nature) over destruction and perversion, and of the indelible hope that (somewhat ironically) nests itself in the promise of impermanence. In Medellín, adjacent to the metro stop, is a GIANT, gorgeous tree that has BURST through the sidewalk, ripping apart and throwing into disarray immense concrete slabs. In Medellín the metro is a HUGE symbol of progress/industry/modernism, which is very important to the former murder capitol of the world that is now not only very safe but thriving in various industries, including boasting some of the best surgeons in the world. Human progress is good, but lest we forget the balance and let human progress ebb into human greed, being at the expense of other humans or to the detriment of our planet, this beautiful tree burst out from the ground to remind us of our place, demanding respect. Michael Franti does not invoke this metaphor in the song Stay Human, but that's the song the tree made me think of, because it offers many metaphors and criticisms along the same lines, including "every flower's got a right to be bloomin." A lot of the lines in this song gel with many other aspects of my travel. The chorus of the song is, "All the freaky people make the beauty of the world." And traveling is all about meeting people who are different, who challenge our ideas about everything, and thereby challenge us to grow and be better. I saw this tree back when I thought a Trump presidency was impossible, but accepting that a Trump defeat wouldn't heal the divide in our country and around the world. The friction between the wealthy and the poor, the races, the sexes, the religions, the university educated and the community educated, the old and the young, fans of one sports team versus another, and all the other fabricated (bullshit) lines we draw that grow into hatred filled tectonic plates, inviting a disastrous grinding as the two sides continue to move in opposite directions; all of this lives on. Especially now WITH a Trump presidency. But all we can do, like the song says, is appreciate everyone, promote peace and tolerance, even better promote Love, and simply "Stay Human." Be resilient, like the tree growing up through the sidewalk. Refuse to let hatred in the world breed hatred in us. Fight fire with water. Fight ignorance with enlightenment. Heal divides by refusing to be relegated to a side. The more they cut you down and put seemingly unbreakable barriers, concrete barriers on top of you, grow, Grow, GROW! And help those around you to grow, who may be buried so much deeper. Stay Human.

Good To Be Alive Today: this song starts, "It's a long road...", a line apart from all the other lyrics, separate from any verse or chorus. That is what we have to remember right now, as we suffer the set-back that is a Trump presidency. The song proceeds to chronicle an impressive list of really fucked up stuff going on in the world today, things that we shouldn't ignore and we should continue to fight against. But the song is also hopeful, with the main goal being that, eventually, every person can wake up and say, "It's good to be alive today." But bringing us back to the fact that it's a long road, Franti asks, "What if this song was #1, would it mean that love had won?" Michael Franti has put multiple songs at the #1 spot in iTunes, songs that also carry the message of love and include political undertones and even overtones. So what does that mean? It means the youth believe in that future goal, but believing is only half the battle, and it's going to be a long road. But the song ends, repeating, "One day, one day ... One day, one day, everyone will say, 'It's good to be alive today." One day.

Hey Mami: this one being stuck in my head is kinda funny ... It's basically just because saying "Mami" and "Papi" in Latin America is so common. Every time I hear it, I hear this song.

Coat for a Pillow: the song's actual meaning has no bearing on my experience, but it was still stuck in my head during the 4 day and 3 night Salkantay trek to Machu Pichu, during which I used my coat for a pillow each night. A pillow was not one of the amenities provided. Those amenities numbered two: a permanent tent structure and an inserted sleeping mat. The song remained in my head as I continued to take night buses through Peru and Chile. The song ends with a repeated refrain, "Sleep now, sleep on the plane. Sleep now, sleep on the train." It doesn't mention a bus, but close enough.

Recognize Me: I remember always listening to this song in the past and feeling that I didn't quite understand it. I understood exactly what it was saying; it's not full of metaphor or obtuse language; it's pretty straightforward. But I couldn't grasp the concept of the kind of transformation John was implying he'd been through such that people who knew him might not recognize him. I think I get it more now. To me, it's less an expression of worry that his loved ones will no longer recognize him, but more that a return home means facing the person he used to be in the eyes of those people. I like to think that I've grown, that I've cast aside certain negativities and biases that some people could say used to be part of how people viewed me. Some people might argue they were part of what made me "Me." I would disagree. I think those things were never a part of Me, but were acquired baggage and inadvertently worn protective armor and masks. I don't want to sport those things any more, and I don't want to be the old version of Me. I'm worried people will try to fit me -- like with worn, familiar and comfortable jeans -- back into my preconceived notions, fears and tendencies, because change is hard for everyone, especially when it happens all at once (as people have not been along for my metamorphosis, although metamorphosis may not be the right word since I believe it's more of a return to a purer state). "I hope when I'm going home, they're gonna recognize me."

Alice's Champagne Palace: "Sometimes you gotta go to the end of the earth just to turn yourself around." It's a song about a bar in Homer, Alaska, but damn does it speak to my experience in Chilean Patagonia. Torres Del Paine (Chilean Patagonia) is just about at the jumping off point to Antarctica. The actual jump off point is Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina, a brief bus ride south. ThIs place is referred to as "The End of the World" and oftentimes the phrase is used to describe Puerto Natales (Chilean Patagonia Basecamp, where I stayed) and Torres Del Paine as well. The idea of the song quote is that a physical journey to a remote end of the earth is sometimes required in order to find the inner quietude needed to undergo a big and essential recalibration of your life perspective. After my 8 days hiking the wilderness of Patagonia, and attaining just such a transformation, I couldn't agree more.

Spirit: because this is what I call the "love every moment, every frustration, every surprise and enjoyment" mentality that I obtained in Patagonia: The Spirit. And I intend to keep it. And if I had one wish I would give it to every person in the world. And this song reminds me of it and played in my head throughout my eight day trek.

Nico On the Night Train: another one that is thematically unrelated but contextually invoked. At Campamento Paso, night four of the Patagonia circuit, I met a group of medical students from Santiago who were super cool. My favorite of them is named Nico. This song has been in my head ever since.

The Amazon and The Earthquake: Cheating Death

jared_waks — Sat, 10 Sep 2016 18:52:00 GMT

I know what you're thinking: "Jared cut to the point, did you wake up with a tarantula on your face at some point during your Amazon trip? Did it sneak in there during the night, or did you both drink too many Cuba Libres and make regretful decisions?" To you I say, "No spoilers ... Read on."

We left off the night before the Amazon, packing up and heading to the night bus. Shane and Luke had a private bus but I did not. I met a German couple in our hostel, Jojana and Emanuel, and we took the pubic bus together. But first, I ran out quickly to dinner with two new arrivals, Frenchmen on business. It was pouring rain and Sunday, so very little was open, but we finally found a nice little kitchen for more chicken and rice. During dinner, there was a 4.8 earthquake near the center of Quito. By California standards, it was nothing and it didn't phase me. The locals ran out of there like the food had come to life, armed itself and started declared vengeance for the pollo race. One man stopped for just a second to look at me and gesture to follow, yelling something that I believe loosely translates to, "Run you stupid gringo!"

Unlike California, the buildings of Ecuador are NOT constructed to withstand earthquakes, and an earthquake not so long ago desecrated a good amount of Quito and killed many people. This night, no buildings crumbled, no people died, and my cenar (dinner) did not go cold.

At 11:45pm I took my seat on the night bus to Lago Agrio, the meeting point for our Amazon tour. An Ecuadorian sat next to me and we started talking, at first in Spanish and then, to my surprise he spoke English. Turns out, he is a mechanical engineer currently applying to a program at Ohio State University. His name is Augusto, and he was incredibly interesting. We spoke about the earthquake, since he is actually one of the engineers working to bring Quito to the structural earthquake safety standards set by the US. As mentioned, according to him, they have a LONG way to go. Augusto was very excited to learn I was from Los Angeles, and asked if I had ever been to the Whisky-A-Go-Go. Turns out The Doors are his favorite band! So, obviously, we talked music for a while. At 1am, we figured it advisable to get some rest.

At 6:30am, we arrived in Lago Agrio. Jojana, Emanuel and I walked to the meeting point, a little cafe at the Mario Hostel, where I immediately fell asleep on a bench.

We had breakfast and met Marcel (Switzerland), who was on a different Amazon tour (they all meet at the same place and time). Now that I am back in Quito (spoiler!) he and I are at the same hostel and hang out. The bus to Cuyabeno National Park, with our tour guide, Diego, picked up up at 9:30. It was a two hour drive to Cuyabeno, during whichI again slept.

We had lunch at the park, then boarded our canoe for our 4 day Amazon tour. We were in the Amazon, but not on the Amazon River; we were on the Cuyabeno river. This was actually great, because the Cuyabeno river is more narrow, so we were able to see more animals from the boat, and the water there has a very high acidity so mosquitos don't like it there. There has never been a reported case of Malaria from Cuyabeno. We spend about 3 hours cruising down the river to our abode at Dolphin Lodge. Touring the Amazon is like riding the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland, except way less expensive (4 days all inclusive for $300), and half of the passengers on the boat are spiders. Seriously, it' she hop-on-hop-off tour for water spiders, who literally jump onto the boat, crawl around a little, then walk to the edge and leads back into the river.

We saw six out of the nine species of monkeys, and at one point were at a clearing where the monkeys were crossing, the largest, The Wooly Monkeys, carrying there babies, and the second smallest, The Squirrel Monkeys, following behind. It was like watching a scene from the Jungle Book! We also saw a Macaw couple very close before they flew away. We saw lots of Orropendula, named for their gold (orro) tails and the shape of their nests, elongated like a pendulum. They make really cool noises. I call them DJ Orropendula.

That evening we went to the lagoon to watch the sunset and to swim. Diego told us to jump in but everybody hesitated. After all, this lagoon does have piranha, anaconda, Cayman, and numerous other extremely deadly animals inhabiting it. Since I had been getting poked fun at for my dislike of spiders -- I kept my cool ... I guess depends on your definition of cool ... I never screamed -- I had a chip on my shoulder; so, without hesitation, I jumped in first. It was a great swim and a beautiful sunset.

After sunset, we slowly cruised back to the lodge while looking for Cayman. Cayman are like little crocodiles. It is pronounced like "hymen," which is why they are often referred to as The Virgin Crocodile (by me and I think me alone). We found one pretty big boy, 2.5 meters long. Some people on the boat couldn't see him (it's dark and we're shining headlamps on him), so Diego started poking him with an oar to show them where to look. After ignoring Diego for like seven paddle strokes, the Cayman was like, "Fuck this, I'm not pledging this fraternity," and did that classic crocodile whiplash and dive maneuver, startling everyone on the boat nearly overboard.

The next day we hiked to an indigenous village where they hosted us for lunch and we got to meet the Shaman. The Shaman spoke all about his various medicinal duties and how he performs Ayahuasca ceremonies. The Shaman was kind of awesome. He walked into the tent, introduced himself to everyone and sat down next to me, very quickly and devoid of pretentions. He saw that I could speak Spanish (probably overestimated my abilities by a lot) and so spoke mostly directly at me. Diego would interpret for the group afterwards. I felt bad for everyone who didn't speak Spanish, because Diego's generalized interpretations didn't do the stories justice. The Shaman went into detail about his first Ayahuasca trips, and about how his cousin couldn't hang. My favorite story was when he talked about the marriage counseling he does. A man came to him to find out why his wife had run away. So he and Shaman did Ayahuasca. While they were tripping the Shaman asked him, "Have you been sleeping with other women?" To which the man replied, "Well, yes." Which led the Shaman to conclude, "Maybe that's why your wife has run away?" Seems like a logical conclusion, but one that simply could not have been reached without the help of a seriously strong hallucinogenic episode, right?

That night we did the dreaded night trek. If the day tour is Disney's Jungle Cruise then the Night Trek is the Haunted Mansion; except that it's absolutely nothing like the Haunted Mansion, it's freakin' terrifying at everything you see will kill you if you touch it. We saw tarantulas, some kind of banana spider that is like the third deadliest spider in the world, a bunch of frogs which are all poisonous, and more. The least deadly thing we saw was a python hanging from a tree like a noose (which was really cool). Not withstanding, it was pretty awesome and fun, even if all my muscles were clenched in fight or flight (mainly flight) the entire time. The number one rule of the jungle: always walk behind and exactly behind the guide. Lest you want to walk face first into your doom.

The next day we did our day trek, looking at plants and insects and birds. The highlight was being able to climb and swing on the hanging palm fronds and other dangling branches and weeds. Let's just say, I went full Tarzan.

So many other cool things that I don't have the time to write about and you don't have the time to read about. Unfortunately, I'm so far unable to upload anything from my 360Fly camera (I guess the Internet just isn't good enough). I was hoping to hyperlink throughout this blog to videos of the river dolphins, climbing trees, sunset cruising in the lagoon, and more. Sorry!! I survived The Amazon and not once did I wake up with a spider in my bed. I made it back to Quito, moved to a party hostel, and I'm heading to Mindo (The Cloud Forest) tomorrow. More to come!

Quito: The First Week

jared_waks — Fri, 9 Sep 2016 18:30:00 GMT

It's been one week and a day since I arrived in Quito, Ecuador for the very first day of my South American adventures. It has been awesome. So far I've covered the Old Town (Historic City) and New Town (Plaza Foch), met tons of cool and interesting travelers from around the world as well as local Ecuadorians.

I'll start by speaking directly to all of you who laughed at me for cram studying Spanish ahead of time, saying that people speak English everywhere: you could not have been more wrong. Almost everyone in Ecuador, and I am in the capital, does not speak a word of English. If they do, it's just that -- a word or two. I was super happy to have a functional and even slightly conversational proficiency in the language from the second the hostel's airport transfer driver picked me up from the airport and started yammering away in Español. We chatted the whole 40 minute drive to Colonial House Hostel in the heart of The Historic City Centre. Upon arrival at Midnight last Wednesday, 8/31, I met my two dorm room mates, freshly home from the bar. Sarah is also from Los Angeles and Allen is from Scotland. Sarah was actually taking Spanish lessons here in Quito, which is something I am definitely considering doing in the near future, probably in Colombia. She is brand new to Spanish, and I was actually able to help her with some of her homework. Her class was just her and one other student, and they had a running faux feud to be the teacher's favorite. The other student told her he was writing their teacher a thank you poem. When Sarah learned that I am a writer, she enlisted my help to write a poem to top her classmate's. A love poem. I think we nailed it. Over the top, yet somehow still kinda good. I'll try to get a copy and link to it.

There are quite a few travelers here from around the world that don't speak Spanish and I find myself playing translator quite often which is fun. Most people I meet are very experienced travelers and help me be more efficient with buses, saving money, and other good advice, so it's nice to also provide an essential skill. But more about that later. Let's be somewhat chronological:

My first day, Thursday (9/1), I walked around the city alone. I headed out around 9:30 and walked most of the historic center, then because I couldn't find a walking tour I joined a hop-on-hop-off bus tour. This corroborated my previously held opinion that bus tours are NOT for me. On the bright side, it did get me to the New Town, Plaza Foch, where I hopped off and again explored on my own and found an authentic Ecuadorian almuerzo (lunch). Ecuadorian food is not the best, and it is extremely limited in variety (pretty much rice and chicken all the time), but it is CHEAP! We are talking $2 for lunch, including soup, salad, rice and chicken, juice and tea. Ecuador uses US currency. This is not to say I haven't had some very good food in Ecuador, there just doesn't seem to be (according to everyone else I've met as well) anything to write home about. After lunch I did, reluctantly, hop back on the bus which got me to The Basilica, the tallest church in Quito that towers over the city. For $2, you can walk a bridge over its cathedral ceiling and climb ladders up to its clock towers and spires for unbelievable panoramic views of the city. I did all of this, slightly out of breath since Quito is 2.8km (9k feet) in altitude (the higheat capital city in the world). My favorite part was looking down from the clock tower at the mostly deserted plaza below to see two children playing tag. A girl and a boy. They ran around in almost synchronized step, one neither gaining on nor increasing lead over the other. They ran in long swivels, carving gracefully along the cobblestone in wide turns like a skier down a mountain. It made me smile, widely, and I won't try to explain why because I think that's the beauty of it.

That night I met four people playing cards in the dining room at Colonial House: Shane (Ireland) and Luke (Poland), a couple who have been living in London but are moving to Ireland after these travels (have been traveling for 4 months so far), and Rachel and Alex (Arizona), a couple who left the next day but are back in Quito now. I am hoping to go to Mindo with Rachel and Alex on Sunday; but first I had many adventures with Shane and Luke.

Shane, Luke and I did the walking tour of the historic city the next morning, joined by two girls: Marcela (Manta, Ecuador) and Tanya (Switzerland). The walking tour was great! We saw most of the same things I did during my previous day of walking, but this time with context. We finished around lunch time, at which point Marcela and I took off to explore Pichincha, the highest volcano in Quito. We took the cable car gondola (the TeleforiQo) up and had some amazing views, especially of the rain pouring down over parts of the city. Afterwards, we grabbed Tanya from her nap and went to Plaza Foch to meet up with Diego, a guy I had corresonded with via the Couchsurfing app. He is an interesting guy, and I mean that in every sense of the word.

Diego told me that his grandfather was the previous right-wing Conservative party president of Ecuador who had been deposed from office amidst many corruption allegations but on the grounds of mental incompetence. Demonstrations following his removal from office forced him and his family to flee Ecaudor all together. When the family (Diego's family) returned, all of their property had been seized except for a farm outside of Quito, where Diego and many of his family now live. Meanwhile, the left-wing liberal party came to power in 2007 with the election of Rafael Correa, a social democrat, for president. Rafael is largely considered an extremely popular and effective president, with the tour guide on my bus tour actually making the claim that, "Most Ecuadorians consider him to be the most important person of all time." A pretty extreme claim (gotta love those bus tours) and certainly one that Diego's family would dispute. Regardless, his family persists as a relic of a largely disgraced party, but a proud one that very much intends to regain power.

The girls left for an early morning flight, and Shane and Luke joined us. The four of us had drinks in Plaza Foch in a bar called The Dirty Sanchez. My theory on Plaza Foch is that a handful of South Americans briefly traveled in the US, maybe a little in the EU and AU as well, and then created this tourist oasis of clubs and bars largely based on crude pop culture puns and western innuendo. By the staff attire and the bars decor, you can tell that the owners definitely know what a Dirty Sanchez is, even though Diego, who had been there many times, did not. There is even a club called "Selfie."

The four of us had fun hanging out for a bit, then Luke and Shane went to a club while Diego and I went to La Ronda, the bohemian nightlife street in the Historic City where I wanted to go. La Ronda is the oldest street in Quito, and is now like the Bourbon Street of the area -- far cleaner in all imaginable ways, but also filled with live music, dancing, drinking and culture. Diego and I drank Canelazos, the traditional Quito beverage, on a balcony overlooking the night life and with a view up to the winged virgin on the hill, El Panecillo.

The next day, Shane, Luke and I visited La Mitad Del Sol - the middle of the world, latitude and longitude of 0. The following day, Luke and I found some free Yoga in the city, then Shane joined us for a walk up to El Panecillo, and we readied ourselves for the night bus to the Amazon...

Photos: Ecuador (Country Numero Uno)

jared_waks — Fri, 9 Sep 2016 15:30:00 GMT

Quito, The Amazon, hopefully Quilotoa, Baños, Mindo and Ibarra

Photos: Pre-SA-Trip Extraveganzas

jared_waks — Sat, 27 Aug 2016 13:00:00 GMT

The weeks leading up to my departure for South America