@Jule: Merci für die Grüße, auch an Luzie!

Der Himmel ist dunkel eingefärbt, Wolken jagen über die Stadt, und Wind fegt böenartig durch die Strassen. Immer wieder wirbelt er Schmutz, Staub und Müll auf. Und dann setzt der Regen ein. Kein normaler Regen. Dicke, fette Tropfen. Aquacero würde man in Ecuador sagen. Und dann folgen Donner, Grollen und Blitze. Lautes Knallen, unbeschreiblich nah, irgendein Turm hier in der Nähe scheint ein mehrfaches Opfer dieses Gewitters zu sein. Aber ich, sitz im Trockenen, habe meinen ersten Tag in D.F. absolviert und bin voller neuer Eindrücke. Das Wetter war den ganzen Tag wunderbar, über der Stadt hängt nun mal ein Dunstglocke, daran muss man sich gewöhnen und die Lutf ist dick und schwer. Aber dennoch schaut immer wieder die Sonne durch und sorgt für angenehm warme Temperaturen. Um die 25 Grad sind es am Tage, bis der abendliche Aquacero hereinbricht. Dann kühlt auch die Luft ab. Es herrscht Regenzeit in Mexico, und so lang sich das Wetter an den Ablauf tagsüber Sonne, Abends Gewitter und Regen hält, soll mich das nicht stören.

Gegen Mittag hatte ich mich mit der Metro auf ins Centro gemacht. 2 Peso kostet das Boleto für den Trip, keine 40 Eurocent. Das Sistema del Transporte Público de D.F. ist okay, die Bahnen fahren häufig, die Stationen sind sauber, es herrscht Gedrängel. Das erwarte ich aber auch nicht anders, in einer Stadt, in der mehr als 10 Millionen Menschen leben.

Am Zócalo, das ist die Plaza de Armas, also der Hauptplatz im Centro erblickte ich das Licht nach einer halbstündigen U-Bahn-Fahrt und stand direkt vor der Cathedral und zu meiner Rechten der Palacio Nacional. Ich hatte nichts vor. Wollte heute nichts besuchen. Nur laufen. Immer der Nase nach. Schauen, wohin mich meine Füße tragen, einfach erstmal nur die Stadt in mich aufnehmen. Gucken, staunen, genießen, wundern, riechen, Nase rümpfen, lächeln und wieder: Gucken. Museums- und Kirchenbesuche können noch ein wenig warten, denn zunächst eimal möchte ich ein wenig Orientierung bekommen. Auf jeden Fall schlich ich so bis sechs durch das Zentrum, bestieg den Torre Latino, um einen Eindruck von der Größe dieser Stadt zu bekommen und fuhr am Abend wieder in mein Viertel - die Barranca del Muerto - die Todesschlucht.

!!!

Schlaglichter des Tages:

Das U-Bahn-System ist durchsichtig. Der Weg von Bernhards Wohnung zur nächsten Metro einfach zu finden. Ein Boleto schnell gekauft. 2 Peso - wer fährt da noch Taxi. Drinnen verkaufen Kinder Kaugummi, und junge Männer mit umgehängten Juke-Boxen CDs. Zu meinem Erstaunen kauft sogar eine Passagierin eine CD für 10 Peso.

Zócalo ist beeindruckend. Die Kathedrale gigantisch. Ein wunderbarer kolonialer Stil prägt die Gebäude rund um den Platz. Eine Mexiko-Flagge weht in der Mitte. So groß, wie die Grundfläche meiner Wohnung in Bonn.

Es gibt ein Viertel, in dem ist ein Hochzeitsausstatter neben dem Anderen. Hier wird scheinbar noch viel geheiratet. Oder die Leute tragen auch so mal gern ein Hochzeitskleid.

Konfusion. Ein etwas heruntergekommen aussehender Mann wältzt sich neben einem Truck in einer Seitenstrasse. Bei näherem Hinsehen sehe ich, dass er im Liegen uriniert.

Ein anderes Viertel bietet massenweise Möbel an. Ein Geschäft neben dem anderen. Strassenzügeweise. Schöne, hölzerne Möbel, rustikal. IKEA? No nesecitamos!

Der Verkehr schiebt und wälzt sich Lawinenartig durch die engen Strassen. Scheinbar ohne Regeln. Immer wieder ein Schlupfloch, dass man mutig nutzen muss, möchte man die Strasse queren. Und schon hat man den nächsten Käfer am Schienbein. Nix wie weiter.

Als ich Tacos esse, werde ich von der Familie der Besitzer des "Restaurants" interessiert beäugt. Wie isst so ein Ausländer unsere Tacos? Sie sind lecker. Rindfleisch, Bohnen, eine Art Guacamole und Aji gekrönt mit einem Spritzer Limone. Ich roll sie zusammen, schau zu ihnen, sie lächeln. Mach ich was falsch? Wohl nicht, mein Bernhard später.

Vom Torre Latino wird mir das gesamte Ausmaß dieser Metropole bewusst. Bis zum Horizont - Stadt. Gebäude. Strassen. Am Ende versinkt alles im Nebeldunst. Ahh - es gibt auch Berge. Ein Ende ist in eine Richtung also auch in Sicht.

Alameda ist ein entspannter Park. Hier flätzt man auf der Wiese. Ruht, genießt, küsst, trinkt und isst Mais. Immer wieder Mais. Gegrillt. An einem Stand klatscht ein kleiner Junge voller Vorfreude in die Hände, als ihm der Verkäufer seinen Maiskolben präpariert. Als Papa ihn endlich in die Hand bekommt, ist das Glück für den Kleinen kaum mehr zu fassen.

Ich möchte eine Sonnenbrille kaufen. UV 400 - 15 Peso (kein Euro). Ähm. Haha. Keine passt. Ich verschiebe den Plan.

Beim Optiker kosten Kontaktlinsen so viel, wie in Deutschland. Und sie müssten meine auch bestellen. Werd ich wohl in Puebla machen.

In der U-Bahn sitzen mir zwei alte Mexicanerinnen gegenüber. Die eine häkelt mit beeindruckendes Präzision an einem weißem Kinderkleid. Das Kleid hängt aus einem schwarzen Plastikbeutel. Der Faden kommt ebenso aus der Tüte. Sie hat Ruhe, trotz Gedrängel. An ihrer Seite sitzt ein kleines Mädchen. Indigener Typ, die Augen müde. Sie trägt schwarze Lederschühchen und darin blaue Socken. Immer wieder schläft sie an der Schulter der alten ein. Neben mir wird ein Mann nervös. Erschlägt mit der Faust mehrfach gegen die Haltestange. Kurz darauf beruhigt er sich wieder.

Wieder in Barranca del Muerto verlaufe ich mich ein bißchen. Habe die falsche Richtung eingeschlagen. Nach einem halben Kilometer bemerke ich mein Mißgeschick. Zurück an der Metro kommt die Orientierung wieder. Auf dem Weg nach Hause kaufe ich eine Cerveza Indio und ein paar Chips.

Beides genieße ich, während ich den Tag hier für's Blog und für mich selbst passieren lasse.

Bernhard und Paola sind Klettern. Sie kommen später wieder. Und morgen - ja was wird morgen? Es wird viel passieren.

I went back to work somehow after Bogotá. I wasn't ready and I didn't get much done. Dennis arrived Thursday. I had Charo meet him at the airport and take him to my apartment. I had Charo line up an English-speaking friend and we went out for some food and a drink. Dennis and I were really tired so we called it an early night. When I got back to the apartment, the entire second floor was underwater - about five inches. My roommate's dad made a minor repair to the toilet which apparently came undone while we were out. Now the second floor was a lake. Dennis had the insane, divine luck to have put his suitcase and all his things on top of my bed where they stayed completely dry. We slept on the couches downstairs. Friday, I called into work and told them I couldn't come in because of the lake in my room. They knew a gringo was in town and obviously didn't believe me. I didn't care; I really did have to get this water out of the apartment. Dennis and I spent all morning sweeping the water out the front door.

Dennis got a good tour of Arequipa. I showed him Plaza de Armas, Plaza España, Plaza las Americas, el Mirador de Sachaca, etc. Charo planned on coming with us every night Dennis was in town. However, during one of her five or six phone calls on Friday, she told me "Llamame si me quieres ver." Call me if you want to see me. Oh hell no. So I didn't call her all weekend. Partly because I wanted to get crazy with Dennis and getting crazy with your girlfriend there isn't possible. Partly because I needed to set a precedent that she won't be talking to me like that. I had already agreed to hang out with her every night so talking like that was completely unnecessary. We went to Deja Vu (the main brichera hot spot) Friday night. I got a hot German chick's phone number who was living in Arequipa. Dennis made out with a British chick and then got cock-blocked by my roommate.

Saturday, I had lined up a big lunch with Dennis and my coworkers. We almost slept in for it. We met them in the nick of time and started drinking again, still drunk from the night before. We had ceviche at a nice outdoor restaurant in the city. My roommate and our new Dutch roommate joined us, which was nice for Dennis because there was a lot of English-speaking. We laughed for the whole meal before coming back to the apartment for naps. Then we went to La Tradición, a traditional Latin music dance club and must-see for visiting gringos. At first, six or seven of us got a table outside and starting pounding anisados and beers. At one point, Dennis indicated that somebody was standing behind me. I turned around to see a nicely-dressed, middle-aged Peruvian waiting for his turn to talk. He moved to my side and started talking in English about his country. Then he started to talk about my country and his country. He was so drunk I had no idea what we was talking about. At some point, he started to take a rude tone and maybe even pointed his finger at me. I stood up and yelled "Get the fuck away from me!" Beto and his brother got in between and the guy went away. The guy was so drunk he would have gotten knocked out in less than one second. Inside, he came up to me two more times but lots of people were always in between us. Security eventually kicked him out. My blood was boiling and I thought there was no chance I was going to have a good time. However, the Latin passion for dance must have conquered my desire for revenge as I ended up dancing the night away. We knew a lot of girls there and met even more. Dennis and I danced until it was time to go to Deja Vu. At Deja Vu, I got some Peruvian chick's phone number and Dennis made out with my new Dutch roommate. In the taxi to my apartment, Dennis was horribly and tragically cock-blocked by my roommate so we just went to bed. My roommate cock-blocked him two nights out of two (2/2 = 100%). Sunday we just walked around the city and had some food. We said goodbye and he left for Cusco and Machu Picchu.

I just can't believe the things Dennis said about Peru and Latin America. I just can't believe he isn't also in love as much as I am with everything - the women, the food, the culture, the music. As far as the women, he said he prefers gringas - white girls. He said he would prefer an overweight white girl over an average looking Latina. As far as food, HE DIDN'T LIKE CEVICHE! At Saturday lunch, he gave me his whole plate after picking out the sweet potatoes. How can any person not like ceviche? As far as culture, he said he wasn't a big fan of the warmth. He didn't like shaking every guy's hand and kissing every girl to greet them. He said it's a waste of time. What a cold gringo! At one point, he said he doesn't understand how the hell I can live here. He said it's so run-down and there are so many poor people. And I told him I don't understand how he can't be in love. This is the life for me, but I guess it's not for everyone.

God's Punishment

Sunday night, I came down with some serious diarrhea. From Sunday until I went to work on Tuesday, I went to the bathroom 22 times (I counted). The majority of those were in the middle of Sunday night and all day long Monday. I didn't go to work Monday and the coworkers assumed I was hung over. I went in Tuesday but my boss sent me home at lunch because I looked like shit. My asshole was so raw that it hurt to stand up, sit down, sit up, and sometimes it hurt to just lie there. I stopped eating food altogether in fear of having to poop it out. I had nothing but juice Monday and Tuesday. I called Charo Monday on her lunch break to tell her how I was. She was a little mad about the weekend but wanted to see me. She came over Monday and Tuesday nights. Both nights, I laid my head in her lap and she pampered my for 2 - 3 hours. It took my mind of the pain. I was able to work Wednesday and even ate some solid food.

I found it ironic that the first time I got sick in Peru was when Dennis was here. I have been eating at some of the cheapest restaurants in the city, throwing caution to the wind on a regular basis. Then Dennis comes in town and refuses to eat anywhere like that (with good reason). So I only ate at the nicest places in town all weekend, and that is when I get sick. It's like my stomach was used to all the shitholes and couldn't handle well-prepared food. No, in retrospect, I think it was the insane amount of alcohol I ingested. (I didn't really detail how much anisado we drank at Tradi). I came out of the weekend with the goal to lay low, not drink much, calm down, and be a better boyfriend to Charo.

NOTE: If you would like to view my gallery of photos click here

Departure

It involved months of planning and countless trips to REI, but the time had finally come to embark on my 11 day tour of Peru. After a quick bite to eat and a pit-stop at the local Starbucks, Paul and I were on our way to Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). We arrived mid-morning with Passports in hand and made our way through the endless maze of metal detectors and ATA officials. Aside from being given a boarding pass for "Jean Claude" instead of Daniel Sanchez—an issue which was quickly resolved—the check-in process was relatively painless. We exchanged some USD for Nuevo Soles and by the time I knew it we were lifting off the tarmac, commencing our 8-hour and 6-minute journey to Lima, Peru.

Upon arrival,  our cab driver gave us the "first-timer" tour and quickly corrected our rusty Spanish as we made our way through the deserted, misty streets of Lima to the Miraflores district where we checked in to the Faraona Hotel. Tonight would probably be the last good night's rest we would be receiving for the next 11 days and it marked the beginning of our adventures. Paul and I reflected on the day's travel, made ourselves at home and went to bed.

Day 1: 6-3-08: A Day In Miraflores

Today we woke up and decided we would get to know Miraflores on foot. We had some breakfast at the hotel and then proceeded to explore the surrounding area, visiting various small shops, bookstores and vista points as we made our way west along Av. Larco towards the Pacific Ocean. Everywhere I turned there was a sea of people and vehicles moving at a tremendous pace. At times I would dodge the traffic and make my way to a peaceful corner where I was allowed the uninterrupted opportunity to snap a few photos and soak in the view.

After a few hours of getting acquainted with the coast, we made our way inland towards the main square and JFK park (I thought it was interesting that Lima, Peru had a park named after a President of the United States) where we came across what I could only describe as "restaurant row" back home. Everywhere we turned we had hosts fighting for our attention and the opportunity to serve us. All this time I was hoping that we were not the obvious tourists, but apparently we were. Geez, maybe it was the camera bag strewn across my shoulder, or perhaps the English we were speaking when we should have been practicing our Spanish. Anyhow, we are tourists and we naturally gravitated towards a tourist magnet. We sat down at La Glorietta, had some Ceviché (for which Lima is known for), local pizza and the opportunity to try a couple of the local beers: Cristal and Cusqueña.

Later in the evening we met Thadeik, our G.A.P. tour leader, and the other 13 people we would be spending the next 11 days touring Peru with. We had a quick briefing, took care of the necessary paperwork and made our way to El Parquetit, a small restaurant in central Miraflores, where we wrapped up the night with an excellent welcome dinner (some of the best seafood dishes I ever had) complete with complimentary Pisco Sours—the cocktail of choice for Peruvians. It was a great opportunity to learn more about our new-found friends from all over the globe and a perfect start to our tour.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 2: 6-4-08: Depart To Puerto Malonado

We departed the hotel early in the morning and made our way to the airport where we caught a flight over the Andes Mountains to Puerto Maldonado which is located on the east side of Peru in the Madre de Dios region (Amazon Basin along the Brazilian and Bolivian borders). Upon landing, we were taken by van to a small G.A.P office where we minimized the amount of luggage we would be taking with us in to the jungle and had the opportunity to lather on some sunscreen and insect repellent in liberal doses. We had another brief van ride to the Tambopata River where we boarded a motorized canoe for a leisurely 45-minute ride complete with lunch, followed by a 3-kilometer hike to Sandoval Lake where we boarded another canoe for a 2-hour journey and photo-op to Sandoval Lake Lodge.

As we arrived at the lodge we were greeted with a delicious, fresh juice drink that could not have come at a better time. We were given a quick briefing and the opportunity to relax as the lodge keeper handed out room assignments. We took a short siesta and then had some drinks at the bar where we eagerly waited to depart on a (partially intoxicated) night hike through the jungle before dinner.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 3: 6-5-08: Amazon Adventures

At 5 a.m. we received the wake-up call (a guide knocking on our door) for our sunrise canoe tour around Sandoval Lake. As I stepped outside the ever-changing weather patterns of the rain forest became very apparent. The fog was thick and blanketed the lake with an eerie but mystical aura. Dew accumulated on the canopies and water drops could be heard dripping to the underlying flora. Visibility in the forest was no more than a few meters. It was a bit chilly, but the air was refreshing. The only sounds to be heard were the birds chirping and rustling through the trees, the oar of our canoe penetrating the water and the occasional shutter of one of our cameras. In the days leading up to our arrival, the region had experienced an odd weather phenomenon in the Amazon known to the locals as friasos—an extreme cold front that results in bone chilling temperatures. But to our surprise, the weather shifted and warming temperatures persuaded the wildlife to awaken from their brief hiatus due to the cold and come out in droves. Our guide informed us that we should be in for some treats—and boy did we find one (or two).

No more than 20 minutes into our journey we spotted a giant Black Caiman that must have been 3-4 meters in length. We slowly made our approach under dead silence and were blessed with the opportunity to come extremely close before it slowly and calmly swam away. Truly remarkable. We then spotted another much smaller Caiman but this one was a little shy and dodged our attempts to get a closer look. It swam away and quickly submerged itself.

The fog had begun dissipating by the time we made our way back to the lodge and we embarked on a 2-hour hike through the jungle where there were species by the thousands of flora and fauna. Occasionally we would spot a Capuchin or Howler monkey and I would scramble to get a good shot—I wasn't so lucky.

After a much needed siesta, our group embarked on a sunset tour of Lake Sandoval—one of my favorite parts of our jungle stay. Being a Southern California native I have seen my fair share of spectacular sunsets, but never before had I seen a sunset as spectacular as the one I experienced in the Amazon. As the sun set the sounds of wildlife were abundant. Birds and bats flew overhead, crickets chirped, mosquito's swarmed by the millions and Squirrel Monkeys scoured the palm trees for a place to spend the night. The sky went from blue to yellow, from yellow to orange, and from orange to a dark purple and navy—finally settling on a dark star-filled sky with a moon hovering high above. Truly an unforgettable experience.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 4: 6-6-08: Welcome To Cusco

We said our goodbyes to the friendly and helpful staff at the Sandoval Lake Lodge and caught our flight to Cusco (3,310m +/-) where Paul and I would be spending the next day and a half acclimating to the altitude in preparation for our Lares trek. Upon touching down in Cusco all of the billboards advertising oxygen served as a good reminder that we were now at 3,310 meters—a far cry from sea level an hour prior. The air was thin, cool and dry. My breathing became shallow and I felt a slight "wooziness" come over me.

We checked-in to our hotel where we were greeted with cups of Coca tea. I had my fair share and proceeded to join the group for a short orientation of Cusco and lunch. As we roamed the steep and narrow streets of the city, it was obvious that we were all struggling with the altitude. I'm not an athlete by any means, but back home this would be a walk in the park. By the time we decided to sit down for lunch the nausea had kicked into overdrive and my appetite was non-existent. I could only cross my fingers and hope that this would be the extent of my altitude sickness.

I took it easy the rest of the evening, ate lightly, popped a few Ibuprofen, drank plenty of water, and went to bed.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 5: 6-7-08: Tour Of Cusco

Today I woke up feeling much better. Still not 100%, but definitely better than yesterday. No headache and no nausea—that's all I could ask for. We ate breakfast and then we we were off on an in-depth tour of Cusco. We made a stop at Qorikancha before paying Cristo Blanco a visit and making our way to Saqsaywaman, Tambomachay and Q'enqo. In the early afternoon we all had lunch at a wonderful restaurant that overlooked la Plaza de Armas and then split our ways. Paul and I decided this would be a great time to catch up on some much needed rest and begin preparations for our trek that commenced the following morning.

As evening came, Thad took us to "La Vicuñita," a manufacturer of exclusive Alpaca and Vicuña clothing and accessories where we stocked up on gifts for others and treats for ourselves. We received a brief lesson on how to differentiate between authentic Alpaca products and the knock-offs that could be found at your local tourist shop or street vendor. We then made our way to the Witches Garden—a posh restaurant, bar and lounge tucked away in a small narrow alley off la Plaza de Armas—where we would be celebrating Paul's thirtieth birthday (yup, the lucky guy gets to celebrate in Peru). Ross's birthday was the day prior so it was a belated birthday for him as well.

The entire time we were in Peru, Paul and I swore up and down that we would remain on our best behavior and refrain from much alcohol to ensure we went into our trek at 100%. Well, needless to say, that didn't last. With caution out the window and complete disregard for the event that was to take place the next morning—the start of a 45 kilometer trek through the Andes Mountains—we proceeded to eat and drink the night away. There's something about good food, good drinks, a great atmosphere, and the good company of your new friends that makes you just live in the moment—and that we did.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 6: 6-8-08: Lares Trek Begins

We were picked up at 6 a.m. by Mary Lou, our group leader on the Lares trek, and made our way to Ollantaytambo where we picked up additional members of our group, food and walking sticks for our trek (I would highly recommend investing in a real pair of walking sticks instead of buying the broom sticks here). It was obvious that this town was heavily dependant on tourist dollars. Everywhere we turned someone was trying to sell us something, including ponchos—an item Paul quickly picked up after realizing he had forgotten his jacket in Cusco. We then made our way to Calca, the capital of the Sacred Valley, where we spent half an hour roaming the local markets and picked up the food we would need on our trek. In addition, we also picked up dozens of oranges and pieces of bread that we would later handout to the local families along our way.

We left Calca and began our journey by bus to Kiswarani where we would meet our local crew of Alpacas, Llamas, Herders, and Horseman that would accompany us on our trek. The road was narrow and full of hairpin turns. Our driver wasted little time as he barreled down the road at tremendous velocity—instilling a bit of fear amongst us passengers whom were reassured he was a great driver. We came across a collision that occurred moments prior and we lost a great deal of time while we waited for it to be cleared. Soon enough we were on our way and arrived in Kiswarani about two hours later.

Once our final preparations were complete we began our climb to the Kiswarani pass (4,400m +/). It was obvious that the rarefied air was having a dramatic affect on our performance. As we gained altitude it became difficult to breath and we found ourselves taking extended breaks while we caught our breathe. It was imperative that we focused on our breathing, but the incredible vistas made it very easy to become distracted. After a few hours of hiking we reached the Kiswarani pass where we took in the view and ate lunch.

As the sun set during our descent, the temperature quickly plummeted to the freezing levels. We scrambled to reach Kunkani (3,850m +/-) before nightfall where we would set up camp in the local village. It was below freezing at this point.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 7: 6-9-08: Ipsayqocha Pass

Today we woke up early in the morning and prepared ourselves for what was to be the most gruelling and challenging part of our trek. Three members of our group dropped out and had to revert down the mountain. The rest of us hiked nearly 5 hours before reaching the highest point on our trek, the Ipsayqocha pass (4,800m +/-). By this point altitude sickness and fatigue was affecting all of us at various levels of intensity, but excitement prevailed and we spent half an hour at the summit celebrating and congratulating one another.

The weather quickly shifted and the temperature once again began to plummet as the sun set. We hurried down the mountain before the frigid temperatures got the best of us. At times I found myself meandering along the trail all by my lonesome in some of the most amazing scenery I had ever experienced. As we all descended at our own pace it was crucial to keep an eye on one another to ensure not getting lost. At times I struggled to find the way down, but the experience was quite invigorating and the adrenaline led the way.

After descending for a few hours I arrived at the campsite (4,400m +/-) where I was greeted with hot tea and majestic views of the valley. This would be our last night camping and we celebrated with dinner, a campfire and an excellent rum/tea cocktail that was prepared by our porters (thanks Cathy and James for the rum). Needles to say, once the rum settled in our stomachs the campfire conversations went south and we soon forgot we were sitting outside in below freezing temperatures. I slept quite well this night.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 8: 6-10-08: Final Descent

Morning quickly came and we awoke eagerly anticipating our last leg of the trek. We ate some breakfast, packed up our belongings and off we were to Patacancha (3,200m +/-) where we would find our bus and the three missing members of our group.

As we descended through the various micro-climates into the lush Urubamba valley, I realized just how different every hour had been. From the rocky peaks, woodlands and high puna (grasslands), we covered some serious ground.

Stinky, dirty and tired, I gave a farewell speech (in Spanish) to thank our porters and presented them with a little something for all of their troubles. We boarded our bus to Ollantaytambo where we caught a train to Aguas Calientes approximately two hours away.

We arrived in Aguas Calientes and checked-in to our hotel. Paul and I flipped a coin to determine who would be first into the shower—I won. Finally, a hot shower, a warm bed and electricity. I scrambled to take my clothes off and just as I was getting into the shower, the power went out. I sat there for a minute in disbelief and then awkwardly put on my dirty clothes and found myself stumbling around our foreign hotel room. I opened our curtains and peaked outside only to realize the entire city was blanketed in darkness. I can only assume that mother nature was trying to wean us back in to the comforts of home. Luckily, Paul and I still had our headlamps and I proceeded to take a cold shower under the crystal blue L.E.D. lights.

In the evening, a few members of our group met for dinner at Inka Wasi, a terrific restaurant that was lit entirely by candle light. It was a very intimate atmosphere that was a direct result of not having electricity. A band played Andean music and the drinks kept coming all night long. We closed down the restaurant and made our way to another watering hole under the light of our headlamps.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 9: 6-11-08: Machu Picchu

Finally, the moment we had all been waiting for. Our long awaited destination of Machu Picchu.

We boarded a bus in Aguas Calientes and made our way up a series of switch-backs along the Hiram Bingham Highway. The anticipation was unbearable and the anxiety levels were high as the surrounding area slowly became visible under the rising sunlight. We arrived to the entrance, checked in our bags and scrambled through the line.

There it was in all its glory! Mist, fog, and ruins. Fresh purified air of the Andes mountains and the lush landscape of the Urubamba Valley and river below. One of the 7 wonders of the world stood before me and the view was absolutely stunning. No picture or video could compare to being there in person. It was everything I could have imagined and more. It sent a chill down my spine and my camera shutter went crazy.

We took a tour of the site and then spent a few hours exploring on our own (I'll let the pictures do the talking). Paul and I explored the ruins and then decided to take a walk up to Intipunko—the infamous Sun Gate. It was one hour and a half round trip, but well worth the view. Absolutely stunning.

In the evening we caught a train to Aguas Calientes and then a bus back to Cusco where we somehow mustard up the energy to go out. We had a couple of farewell drinks with our new friend Kelly, as she would be departing early the following morning. We then made our way to la Plaza de Armas where we tried to locate our trekking group and say our final farewells. Unfortunately, we did not find them and after a dozen-or-so offers to buy Cocaine from random men on the street, we felt it was time for a good night's rest.

To view photos of this day click here

Day 10: 6-12-08: Cusco To Lima

This morning we slept-in and had a late breakfast. We said our final goodbyes and roamed Cusco for a couple of hours collecting our final batch of souvenirs. We settled in a German Cafe for lunch where we watched the tail-end of the Germany vs Croatia soccer match with our friends Jan and Tina. We said our goodbyes and caught our flight back to Lima.

We spent the afternoon taking it easy in Lima. We relaxed at a cafe where we had some lunch and reflected on the days prior. In the evening we decided that we would go out with a bang a visited "This Old Pub" in restaurant row. I can't tell you how many mugs of Cusqueñas we threw back, but I know it was a lot and and they were all well deserved. We then made our way around town on a mission to find the best slice of chocolate cake—we weren't so lucky. Oh well, Cheers!

To view photos of this day click here

Day 11: 6-13-08: Last Day In Lima

Today we spent the day catching up on a few sites we missed during our first tour of Lima. We visited Huaca Pucllana in the morning by foot and had the worst tour ever! The archaeological site was stunning, but we could not hear nor understand our very unenthusiastic guide.

In the afternoon we took a cab down to central Lima where we took a tour of the Franciscan Monastery and Museum. It was a fascinating building covered with thousands of pigeons complete with catacombs and ornate architecture straight out of a Tim Burton movie—one of my highlights in Lima.

We spent time in Plaza Mayor where we saw the changing of the guard and visited the Basilica Cathedral of Lima where you can find the remains of Spanish conquistador Francisco Pizarro. We roamed the streets and found a nice place to eat dinner before heading back to our hotel where we gathered our belongings and made our way to the airport. Farewell Peru!

To view photos of this day click here

Final Words

Anthony Bourdain said it best during his visit to Machu Picchu:

“A writer friend of mine wrote that the older he gets, the more he travels, the less he knows. I understand what he meant now. It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it. How many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn. Maybe, that’s enlightenment enough—to know there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, such as it is, for me, means realizing how small I am. And unwise. And how far I have left to go.”

— Anthony Bourdain

These two days have just been about officially exploring the capital. As in, in an official manner. Yesterday we took a tour of el centro, or "the center". Main attraction is the Plaza de Armas, where you can find la Catedral de Lima, el Palacio Arzobispal, el Palacio de Gobierno, la Municipalidad Provincial de Lima, y el Correo. Por desgracia my camera ran out of batteries before we hit the most beautiful places, so I didn't get photos of the gothic cathedrals, the pigeons, y todo de eso. I guess this just gives me a chance to go back. Lunch in Lima's Chinatown (barely saw any Chinese, to my surprise), and had some terrible chifa (very Kong-like).

Today it was to the U.S. Embassy, and more speakers. I don't think USAID ever keeps people in the communities. Feeling a lot of cynicism at this point. For instance, in the works is Negroponte's One Laptop per Child program, an interesting idea in theory. Giving little computers equipped with software and internet access to the poor-- why not? Because when you're living on one to two dollars a day, the idea is very outlandish. But better to take action than just philosophize, right? Or better to leave it be, because you want to uphold their culture and respect their community? Little laptops may just be trouble, and a waste of time and money. Major Nicaragua flashback. Why am I here if la vida nicaraguense is perfectly fine the way it is? Philosophical shit. Not the right kind of shit.

According to our afternoon speaker, an overly repetitive, severe, and boring woman, around 40% of Peru's inhabitants live in poverty (defined as living on less than two U.S. dollars a day), and around 17% live in extreme poverty (less than one dollar a day). In some regions virtually everyone lives without electricity and potable water. And I assume there was some sort of slick transition that I zoned out for (lunch was this fantastic buffet, what can you do), but she began talking about Peru's development, and it's a very optimistic picture. Efforts are being made to connect Peru (1) internally, and (2) externally with other South American countries. (1) This will facilitate the development of (oh here's the connection) the aforementioned rural communities, and (2) Peru may be able to turn into a port for imports, which will contribute to the development of the country in general. I think Peru is the up and coming país sudamericana. I had a lot of statistics thrown at me these few days that demonstrate Peru's sad state but give reason for optimism. I think the pessimism probably comes from Peru and the optimism from Lima. The people at the university also seem to have a lot of drive and innovation, though this is probably an isolated occurrence.

Met with my supervisor over some great finger sandwiches today. From what my cynical self could gather, I think the organization was founded by some filthy rich Harvard-educated Peruvian who, while opening hotels here and businesses there, decided to venture into philanthropy and start an organization for disabled children in honor of his disabled brother. I think when it comes to helping Peru as a country he may have missed the mark. Perfectly able and intelligent kids in these poorer districts are having a lovely time receiving absolutely no opportunities because the education system here is so messed up. Huge disparity between public schools and private schools reflecting the gap between the upper (very rich) and lower classes (very poor, and there is pretty much no middle class). Not that it's bad to help the disabled. It's just not what this country needed at this moment, in my uninformed and amateur opinion.

I could be completely wrong and just very antagonistic at this hour. I don't think that's what I meant to say. I'm actually looking forward to starting work Monday. I'm following a very crazy and I'm guessing charismatic intern so I'll probably be a bore. The schools I'll be visiting are located in poorer districts, so I'll finally get to see beyond the Starbucks and Saga Falabellas of Lima, the city where some ridiculous percentage of Peru's wealth is concentrated. One might ask why I want to see these places so much. The reasons are selfish. I'm not here for the poverty zoo, but I want to be changed.

Blogging consumes time in large portions.

I don't feel like doing anything these days.

What do you do with €5.00 for dinner?
Go for tapas.  Try Calle Mateas Gago (spitting distance from the cathedral) or go across the river to Triana.

What about €10.00?
Cerveceria Giralda on Calle Mateas Gago--red peppers stuffed with prawns.
Bar Europa in Plaza de Pan--salmorejo (thicker, creamier version of gazpacho).
Or any of the places on Cano y Cueto, opposite the Jardines de Murillo.

Who has the happiest happy hour?
Seasonal bar Capote, by the river, is the best place for a sundowner. Tucked away next to the Triana Bridge, it has a beach vibe that´s hard to beat and cocktails that will knock your sandals off.

How much is too much to spend on transportation?
Don´t understand the question; horse and carriage hire is about 40 Euros an hour; otherwise there is a pick-up drop-off bike hire system, tram, buses and taxis

What are your top three free thrills?
Monasterio La Cartuja - 14th-century Carthusian monastery, reached by a small bridge over the river offering great views. The monastery gardens are beautiful, with orange trees, lavender and bouganvillea, and the chapel, cloisters and other rooms are wonderful. Formerly used as a tile factory, the tall, cone-shaped chimneys remain, now an icon of the monastery.

Parque Maria Luisa - hidden, leafy corners; mosaic-tiled pools; a waterfall, and tour of Latin American architecture, courtesy of the remaining 1929 Expo pavilions, especially Peru, Guatemala and Colombia.

Stroll along the river from Plaza de Armas bus station to the Muelle de las Delicias, passing bridges, towers and sculptures. Plenty of places to stop for a drink or an ice-cream, while admiring the picture-postcard views of Triana across the river. 

My one big indulgence is…
Small clams called coquinas, cooked with garlic and wine.

If I had all the money in the world, I’d buy…
A gleaming horse-drawn carriage to ride around in like Lady Muck, especially at the Feria.

Photo courtesy FFW

I

El nido habitado por el metro Insurgentes se mueve. Para el conservadurismo político se trata de un baldío cultural; para los mercadólogos es el parque temático de la antiaspiración; para los arquitectos posmodernos es un espacio-basura; para el conservadurismo moral es una isla conquistada por depravados; para los liberales bienpensantes es un zoológico humano; para miles de transeúntes es un mal necesario.

Los antropólogos del asfalto lo señalan como el verdugo de la Zona Rosa. Los delegados preferirían que no existiese. Los emos, punks y gays piensan lo contrario. ¿Pero quién hablaba de los emos hace un mes? La publicidad, el arte del dopaje blando y divertido, no nos los había presentado.

Tal vez sea esta la razón por la cual, en la glorieta de los Insurgentes, no haya modelos luciendo trajes Ermenegildo Zegna ni oxígeno patrocinado por la marca Jean Paul Gaultier. Olvidamos que nos encontramos en una transición espectacular: del control televisivo al descontrol cibernético; del gobierno programado por el duopolio televisivo a la anarquía descargada en internet.

II

El asombro se asoma cuando uno se percata de que los jóvenes no son prioridad en la agenda de los políticos. Por ejemplo, López Obrador y su Frente Antiguo Populista se encuentra fabricando una entelequia petrolera en defensa de la bandera mexicana mientras que el presidente Calderón intenta salir del laberinto llamado Mouriño. Para los jóvenes, estos debates son previsibles y, por lo tanto, aburridos. Prefieren migrar a nuevos terrenos: los intangibles. Aquellos espacios de desgobierno. Los jóvenes descargan a sus ídolos a través de internet. Los llevan con ellos en su iPod. No pierden tiempo en deliberaciones electorales. Les parece una farsa la competencia electoral entre Encinas y Ortega. En pocas palabras, nunca descargarían en sus iPod discursos políticos.

III

En MySpace se encuentran los 10 requisitos para ser emo: 1. el emo nace, no se hace; 2. vestir con ropa color negro; 3. recurrir a complementos como lentes, tatuajes de estrellas, pulseras y diademas; 4. tenis marca Converse, Tiger, Vans o Victorias; 5. peinado de flequillo cubriendo un ojo; 6. la filosofía son el pesimismo y la nostalgia (el perfil andrógino revela la duda frente a la sociedad; el libro Las vírgenes suicidas de Jeffrey Eugenides y la película con el mismo título, dirigida por Sofia Coppola, son referentes para los emo); 7. no estar gordo; 8. escuchar música de My Chemical Romance, Blink 182 y Evanescence, entre otros (“Ahora te diré lo que he hecho por ti. 50 mil lágrimas he llorado. Gritando, engañando y sangrando por ti. Y aun así tú no me escuchas. Me estoy hundiendo”, se trata de un estribillo de la canción “Fallen” de Evanescence); 9. vivir en casa de los padres hasta una edad avanzada; 10. escribir en internet todas las experiencias.

IV

Alessandro Baricco define con elegancia a los lectores de libros empujados por las modas y no por la sed del conocimiento: “Los bárbaros tienden a leer únicamente los libros cuyas instrucciones de uso se hallan en lugares que no son libros”. Para Baricco los bárbaros son una tribu nacida en la globalización. Aprenden a través de los links (vínculos de información) propuestos por Google. Buscan la experiencia y no el conocimiento.

Es probable que las agendas políticas del futuro se encuentren en las páginas de Google. Las primeras referencias son las importantes. Llegar a la página 10 es prácticamente imposible. Sucede lo mismo con las listas de los libros más vendidos. El Código da Vinci ocupó el primer lugar en ventas durante un periodo considerable a pesar de su pobre nivel literario.

V

Las tribus representan la frontera entre culturas. Para los intolerantes no tendrían que existir ese tipo de fronteras porque la cultura que tendría que prevalecer es la de ellos mismos. Así lo pensaron aquellos que la noche del 7 de marzo en la Plaza de Armas, en la ciudad de Querétaro, decidieron atacar a los emo por la sencilla razón que “denigraban a la imagen de la plaza”. A base de jaloneos, golpes y gritos de repudio, el grupo de intolerantes decidió “limpiar” el baldío cultural.

Los jóvenes que no se han dejado mimetizar por los RBD (grupo musical que representa a la tribu fresa) de Televisa y sucedáneos de TV Azteca acuden a los “baldíos” culturales para refugiarse. Zonas en las que aparentemente la publicidad no tiene señal. Se trata de una apariencia porque el emo también acude a los llamados de las marcas y de las modas. Elementos necesarios para causar un efecto especial hollywoodense. El ornamento de la tristeza forma parte de la estética del emo.

Pero aún existe demasiada ambigüedad en el fenómeno de los emo. En una de las páginas de MySpace que se encarga de promocionar la cultura emo aparece una fotografía de Hitler con un peinado al estilo emo. No hay símbolo que asocie la política y la muerte de manera tan contundente como una fotografía de Hitler. ¿Qué mensaje desean dar los emo, particularmente de esa página de MySpace?

Lo que no es ambiguo es la brecha que se incrementa entre los políticos y los jóvenes; entre la televisión e internet. El monopolio del control cultural presenta un enorme boquete por el que fluye la comunicación entre tribus. Este tema no se encuentra en la agenda política. Y es que, para los analfabetos ciberpolíticos, resulta imposible imaginar el mundo paralelo intangible.

Un mundo cuya característica natural es el desgobierno. La anarquía. La soberbia política se recrea en la dialéctica que sólo puede darse entre ellos. Entre los políticos. Nunca entre las tribus culturales de jóvenes. Sin embargo, los jóvenes ya se aburrieron de los pleitos políticos. Ellos sí se imaginan una batalla entre RBD y emos. ¿Qué harán los políticos para evitarlo?

Fuente: El Universal

Emo kid at Durham Station

Cargado originalmente por Ginger Sarah

 Tras una revuelta en la plaza de armas en el estado de Querétaro, algo fue evidente: Algo está mal. Algo está realmente mal.

¿Que es "emo"? Emo es una abreviación de "emotion" o "emotional", el emo punk rock fue un género de música que surgió a mediados de los 80's y es un género que se destaca por tener letras serias y "emocionales".

El "emo" al igual que otras corrientes musicales como el punk, el metal, gótico, etc. se convirtió en un "estilo de vida". Flecos en hombres y mujeres, mechones de colores rosa o morado en el cabello, pantalones entubados, accesorios femeninos tanto en hombres como mujeres, contorno de los ojos delineados.

Un estilo de vida más, un estilo de vida menos, los "emo" son el resultado de la mezcla de distintos estilos (al igual que muchos otros). ¿Cual es la diferencia? ¿Que es lo que está causando ésta violencia? ¿Que está causando el rechazo y el odio?

Desde mi punto de vista, lo que está causando esta violencia es lo "emo" del movimiento. Lo "emo" nos causa aversión en nuestra sociedad. Lo "emo" nos causa vergüenza y por eso nos molesta.

Ser "emocional" no está bien en nuestra sociedad, el expresar los sentimientos cual son no está "permitido", preferimos el trato frío y sin "emo"-ciones. Los "emo" demuestran en excesividad sus sentimientos para la forma en que nuestra sociedad se ha configurado.

Otro aspecto que ha causado tanto odio es la femineidad del movimiento. Del movimiento "emo" los más atacados son los hombres debido a que son hombres que muestran una ambigüedad sexual en la forma de vestir o actuar. Está de más explicar que la homosexualidad en nuestra sociedad está mal vista (no por ello está mal). Además el movimiento "emo" ha sido un refugio para los adolescentes homosexuales ya que ahí pueden mostrar con mayor libertad sus sentimientos.

Y aunque Rock, Punk, Metal, Gótico y demás estilos se podrían decir "afines", éstos son los mayores críticos del movimiento "emo", debido a lo excesivamente expresivos que son de sus sentimientos y a discrepancias entre las ideologías.

Al principio de ésta entrada escribí "Algo está realmente mal"... ¿Que está mal? Realmente no lo sé. Nuestra sociedad dejo de ser "emo" y dejó de demostrar sus sentimientos ya hace buen rato, nos volvimos fríos y cualquier muestra de debilidad y de sentimientos expresados nos da miedo lo excluimos y tratamos de destruir.

¿Que te molesta de los "emo"? Tal vez te molesta porque te gustaría vestirte como ellos. Tal vez te molesta que tú quisieras expresar tus sentimientos tan fácilmente como ellos. Tal vez te molesta que tú no puedas mostrar tu lado femenino como ellos. Tal vez te moleste su ambigüedad sexual porque no te atreves a ser como ellos... Tal vez lo que te molesta, es lo que más miedo te da... de ti.

Ser "emo" no está mal, tampoco está bien; simplemente está. Ésta frase se puede repetir casi para cualquier estilo de vida o ideología. Respetemos las ideologías de los demás si queremos ser respetados, lo hemos repetido hasta el cansancio y parece que no lo hemos entendido.

"Let It Be" ya nos cantaba alguien famoso por ahí... La violencia no nos lleva a nada... Puedo no estar de acuerdo con la forma de pensar de mucha gente, pero no por eso voy a ir por ahí golpeando y rechazando a medio mundo.

La Plaza de armas de Piura, con la Pola, la Catedral al lado y el Banco de Crédito más atrás!!!

We walked from the Plaza de Armas down a pedestrian glutted street filled with markets and restaurants to a neighboring plaza.  At one point I turned a corner to see an Incan temple in the middle of the bustling metropolis.  Lima was more beautiful and amazing than I expected, though I was glad to leave its oppressive air pollution and crowds when  I returned to Miraflores that night.

 I spent a few more days walking around in Miraflores.  There was a vast pre-incan ruin about 10 minutes away from the hostel.  It seemed to sprawl out over miles.  We went to a vegetarian restaurant called "Govinda," which is run by the Krishnas.  They seem to have a healthy foothold in the continent.  I watched "La Brujula Dorada" (the golden compass) while sipping Inca Kola. 

I joined an old club called "South American Explorers" that has clubhouses in cities throughout South America.  They helped us gather information about the trip.

Overall, I found Miraflores to be quite enchanting.

Finally, we bought our bus tickets to Cuzco, as we decided that it would be best to go up to Machu Picchu before the rainy season was in full swing.  We left Lima at around 5:30.  It was quite unnerving to see the vast slums on the outskirts of Lima after spending a week in one of the more aristocratic suburbs.  The buildings went from mouldering highrises to unfinished mudbrick complexes, to flimsy one-room shacks thrown up in the coastal desert.  The summer fog only gave me glimpses of islands out in the ocean through the sandy desert hills.

Around midnight we began climbing.  The bus wound around treacherous roads in the barren mountains, southern constellations burnt into me through the window.  I have never seen the milky way so bright.  It was an entirely new sky.

After some fitful sleep, I woke up feeling sick from the altitude and the swaying of the bus.  I took diamode for the altitude and tried to find the horizon to orient myself.  We rode through hours of fog and rain, which seemed to clear suddenly to reveal the Andes.  We began climbing even higher and winding along river beds and through little farms perched on the hillsides.  Each seemed to have its own population of pigs and cows.  I saw old Andean women wearing hats and braids.

Soon I began feeling the strange numb breathlessness again.  When we finally got to Cuzco I was weak and exhausted, but the crooked cobblestone streets began working their charm on me.

We clambered into a hostel, only to discover that night that it was placed directly above a particularly rambunctious discotech.  So it was that I fell asleep to "Mr. Bombastic" my first night in the Andes.

La esquina del ex banco de la Nación alberga a seis hombres que se pasan gran parte del día escribiendo documentos a máquina. Dicen que no son mecanógrafos ni tipeadores, sino redactores. Y de los grandes. El documentos más sencillo que elaboran es un recibo simple o una solicitud; el más complejo un contrato de compra- venta o una minuta; pueden ganar entre 15 y 20 soles diarios o no sacar ni para el alquiler de la casa donde guardan sus mesitas; algunos son educadores a medio tiempo; otros se han formado a punto de teclear la máquina una y otra vez. Pero todos ellos han escrito una historia en la memoria de Trujillo.

Edgar también es docente. Enseña por horas en el Colegio Particular Virgen de la Puerta de Trujillo. En sus ratos libres coge su vieja máquina Remington y enrumba hacia la esquina del ex Banco de la Nación a ganarse unos cuantos soles. Precisamente llego a que me redacte una solicitud dirigida al alcalde César Acuña Peralta para que me done un juego de camisetas para un club ‘x’. Los datos me los invento sobre la marcha.

Raúl aún recuerda el día en que recibió 350 soles de la mano de un señor cuyo nombre no recuerda. Este hombre estaba metido en un lío de tierras y para ganarlo necesitaba una minuta, que Raúl se encargó de redactar. El señor ganó el juicio. Y como recompensa, decidió pagarle esa cuantiosa suma de dinero al autor del manuscrito. Raúl escribió esa historia en su memoria. Sabe que el oficio es gratificante porque le permite ayudar a otras personas. Piensa, en un futuro abrir su propio local donde "se redacte todo tipo de documentos", y pone énfasis en redactar.