Wandering Abroad

I have been living in Lima for almost two months now and there have only been two sunny days during that entire time. The climate here is overcast nearly everyday, without fail. Although, people tell me now that it’s October, and winter here is over, that is all about to change. This week I was unwilling to test my patience any longer, and decided to get away from Lima and go find the sun myself.

Besides my search for clear skies, I also had an even more important reason to leave Lima for a few days. It was Bobby’s final week here in South America and I wanted to take one last trip with him before he returned to the States. Our friend Suzy was also visiting for the week, so we wanted to cover as much of Peru as possible. Our destinations of choice… Ica, Huacachina, and Nasca.

We boarded a bus Tuesday afternoon and made our way south down the coast to Ica. From there we spent no time in the city. Instead we jumped in a cab and went straight to Huacachina to find a hostel to spend the night. Huacachina is a tiny oasis town situated in the middle of massive sand dunes. The sole purpose to visit the town is to go sandboarding and off-roading through the desert in a dune buggy. That night we booked our sandboarding trip for sunset the following day.

The next morning we had an entire day to fill and not much to choose from in the way of activities. Rather than choosing the tempting option of sitting poolside all day in the desert sun, I opted for a slightly more ambitious morning activity. While Bobby and Susie explored the town and spent some time on their own, I decided it might be fun to climb to the top of the tallest dune surrounding the town in order to get the amazing view that the summit was sure to offer. I knew it would not be easy, but I never expected it to be as difficult as it was.

After a grueling 45 minute climb in the penetrating sun, I finally reached the top of the dune and enjoyed the fruits of my labor. The view was spectacular. To one side I could see all of Ica, to the other was miles and miles of open desert as far as I could see. Two other travelers had made the same decision to climb the dunes that morning. All three of us sat there for an hour or so, sharing stories of our past travels and future plans, and just admired the surreal landscape.

At 4pm that afternoon I rejoined Bobby and Susie and we hopped in our dune buggy for an exciting trip into the desert. We sped for about twenty minutes through the sandy hills until we stopped for our first attempt at sandboarding… a practice round if you will. To call my attempts to sandboard a failure would be giving myself way too much credit. I think the term utter disaster might be a more fitting description for my efforts. I changed my approach for the second set of dunes. To describe those results simply would not do the situation justice. Bobby has some pretty compelling video of the experience, so as soon as I get it from him I will post it for you all to enjoy a good laugh at the expense of my pain. The bruises have healed, and all is well now.

The next morning we negotiated a price with a cab driver to take us directly to the airport in Nasca in order fly over the famous Nasca Lines. They are essentially massive drawings in the sand that are only visible from a plane flying overhead. They are famous because there is much controversy about how the lines were created (one theory involves the existence of aliens, the other is that these intricate patterns were formed naturally). Quite frankly, I don’t see why it isn’t simply accepted that a man created them. Either way, they were cool to see. However, the best part of the experience was boarding a six-seater, single engine plane for thirty minutes to weave our way through the skies, in order to get the best views of the fourteen most famous patterns. After that returned to downtown Nasca, booked our bus ticket back to Lima, and enjoyed some lunch and a few cocktails to ensure a comfortable trip back to Peru’s capital city.

Overall, I think it was a fitting ending to an incredible two and a half months spent traveling the continent with one of my best friends. Susie returned to New York on Saturday, and Bobby followed suit on Sunday. We definitely had some great times, as well as some rough times, but we always had each others’ backs, and we always found a way to make the best of any situation (well most situations… that’s a lie, some situations). Regardless, we met a lot of amazing people, we saw tons of amazing places, we had enough fun to last a lifetime, partied often enough that it is a miracle that our livers are still functioning, and got ourselves in and out of enough sketchy situations to give all of our relatives heart attacks twice over. Put simply, it was a complete success, and I wish I could do it all over again.

For now, I’m officially on my own. A continent full of possibilities, and I have only myself to worry about. I will definitely miss having a close friend to share the excitement with, but I also am excited for the challenge and the possibilities that lie ahead for me. I have a lot more people to meet, many more places to see, and I will do my best to cut down on the amount of sketchy situations (although this is South America and some are inevitable).

Since arriving in Lima, I have temporarily put my travel mentality on hold. I’ve settled into a comfortable apartment, taken Spanish lessons four times a week, and my hours reading have far outnumbered my hours partying. This has limited the amount of information that I have to report in my blog, so that explains the recent hiatus. Last weekend, however, was jam-packed, and finally gave me something worthwhile to write about.

On Friday, Bobby’s uncle Mike arrived from the states. They both left for Cuzco on Tuesday, so the weekend was the only opportunity for Mike to get a feel for Lima. First thing Saturday morning we got up, grabbed some breakfast, and hailed a cab to central Lima.

Central Lima is where most of Lima’s historical sites are located. It is a densely packed area of the city that is flooded with magnificent churches, beautiful plazas decorated with statues and fountains, and crowds of people everywhere. For the morning, and most of the afternoon, we wandered the streets, stopping to visit the churches and take the occasional photo. At around three, we were ready to call it quits as tourists for the day. We had some lunch, two courses and a drink for under $3 each. Then, we headed back to Miraflores for a siesta before the party at my house that night.

One of my housemates Lolo, who had been in Lima for over six months, had to return home to France this week. So, as a tribute to her final weekend in South America, we had a huge bon voyage party. The party kicked off around 9:30pm, and the music did not stop until about 6am. The party was very multicultural. Leading the head count were Peruvians, French, and Colombians respectively. The music was primarily Latin American, which gave me the opportunity to practice my salsa skills, or lack thereof. I managed to slip a few American songs in the mix, but the crowd did not respond very favorably to my choices.

I had my first Peruvian cooking lesson in the kitchen. I joined a few of the Colombian girls to help prepare a few pitchers of Pisco Sour for the party. The process turned out to be a lot more work than it was worth. My job in the process was to squeeze the juice out of about fifty limes. This grunt work, which was about twenty minutes of squeezing, only produced enough juice to make three pitchers worth of the cocktail. The drink went quickly, and everyone seemed to enjoy it, so I would consider it a success.

The next morning, or should I say afternoon, I didn’t feel as successful. Had it been any other Sunday I might have decided to lay around all day, reading and watching movies in order to combat my hangover. However, this was not an average Sunday. This particular Sunday happened to be a day of celebration. An annual festival had been planned for that day, but had become even more important because it was combined with the Peruvian Independence Day parade which had been postponed in late July. This festival carried the significance and magnitude of the 4th of July in the US.

People from all over Lima lined the streets for miles throughout Miraflores to watch the parade that was scheduled to begin at 3pm. I was there at 2:30 to grab some food and scope out a good spot to witness the event from. The epicenter of the entire celebration was two blocks from my house. The streets were mobbed.

After watching some of the parade pass by, I decided to see how long the parade route really was. I walked for about an hour through crowds of people, at times unable to move forward or backward on my own. I was like a fish fighting his way upstream, but it added to the excitement of the festivities. I eventually reached a point where I could not go any further, and I could still see floats and dancers lining the streets in three different directions, waiting for their chance to impress the crowds as they danced their way through the city. It was the longest parade procession I have ever witnessed. It lasted from 3pm until a little past 7pm.

After the parade ended, there was a small lull in the activities, for about an hour, until it was dark enough for the grand finale. The crowds patiently awaited the pyrotechnics that were about to fill the entire sky, illuminating the city center. The firework display was incredible. There were three launch areas, set about five blocks away from one another. To add to the spectacle, there were towers strategically placed around the park that spit fire in a blaze of sparks at random times throughout the firework display. It was all set to an interesting mix of music that ranged from reggae tone to classical opera. It was a fitting ending to a very exciting day in which everyone seemed to enjoy.

To walk the streets during the celebration and see the smiles on all of the Peruvian faces was amazing. The opportunity to witness the sheer pride they all have for their country and the camaraderie that everyone shared on that day was a unique experience that I will never forget. Viviendo en Peru…

Clearly it has been a while since my last entry. I have my reasons, none of which are important. Sometimes it is just the way of the road. Rather than bore you with a mound of details that simply weren’t worth dedicating full entries to, I will give you a quick overview of where I have been since my last correspondence.

From Puerto Lopez we went south to Montanita. This was a very lively surf town, with a great party scene. I did little partying, and no surfing. Most of my time was spent lounging in a hammock at our beach front hostel, listening to the waves crash up against the shoreline. We spent a few of the days spending time with a couple of local travellers on vacation from Quito. We played cards, shared stories, enjoyed some cocktails at night, and simply relaxed. At night the waves drowned out all other sound, and I slept peacefully with out a care in the world.

A three hour bus ride took us to Guayaquil next. We spent only three nights there. We met up with Dave, a friend we made back in Puerto Lopez, and some of his friends that lived in Guayaquil, Scott and Nicole. They were great hosts, inviting us to their home and taking us out to the best spots in town each night we were there. Quite frankly, there was not much to do in Guayaquil, but fun is measured by the company you keep. I was in great company, and had an awesome time there.

My time in Ecuador ended there. Next stop, Peru. Eight hours stood between Guayaquil and Mancora. The bus trip was very comfortable, and went off without a hitch. We arrived in Mancora at 3am, put our things in a hostel that would have been condemned in the US, and joined the party that was raging on the beach. This was a sign of things to come over the following two weeks.

The next morning we moved into the Loki del Mar. This hostel can be described as nothing less than a backpacker’s paradise. The main building looks like it belongs along a quiet beach in the Mediterranean. The structure is clean white stucco (or at least it appears to be), with curved balconies that give it the feel of a stream of perfect waves. The balconies overlook lounge chairs surrounding an odd-shaped pool that fits like no other would. Directly next to the pool is the bar, surrounded by a large open area, some tables, and a ping pong table. It is such a perfect set-up that my description really can’t do it justice. The best part of it all, it is sunny every day, without fail.

I won’t lie; this hostel is there for the sole purpose of partying and surfing. Since I have yet to learn the latter, you can guess what my time consisted of in Mancora. On Wednesday and Saturday nights they have theme parties that people get in full costume to enjoy. Fortunately, for me, I don’t think there are many pictures, but time will tell.

Many afternoons and nights were spent at that bar. To some that may seem counterproductive to travel, but quite honestly, in a place like Mancora, nights at the bar are the essence of travel. I met amazing people from all over the world. No one judged. There were no cliques. It was just one seamless group of friends with the common goal of sharing stories from the road, and having fun. Many nights ended on the beach for sunrise to watch the birds plummet into the ocean for their morning meal, and the surfers trying to catch some good early morning waves.

As amazing a place as the Loki Mancora was, at the advanced age of 23, my body can only take so much these days. So, after a twelve day stint in paradise, I made the decision to move south to Lima. Bobby decided that his time was not quite up however. He stayed up north to work behind the bar for a couple of extra weeks. He seemed to really love the place and I’m positive he is enjoying his time.

Eighteen hours later I found myself in Lima, Miraflores to be precise. I spent four nights in a hostel in the best part of the city, and today I moved into an apartment just a few blocks away. It is a house designed for students spending extended time in the city to study. Most of them speak limited English so it will help me greatly with my progression in Spanish. I also start formal classes this week. As my Spanish comprehension gets better, so will my experience in Latin America. The greater my language skills become, the more interaction I will be able to have with locals, and inevitably the more genuine my travel experiences will become.

I’m off now to go mingle with my new housemates. Don’t worry, I will have a new blog update very soon. Bye for now…

My latest stop on the travel trail took me to Puerto Lopez, Ecuador. I went there in search of a sleepy beach town and that is exactly what I found. A place where most people would go to spend a vacation, after five days of drinking, dancing, and roasting in the sun, I feel like I need a vacation from being there.

During our first full day in Puerto Lopez we decided to take a day trip to Isla de la Plata. Considered by some to be a “poor man’s” version of the Galapagos Islands, Isla de la Plata (the Silver Island), is roughly 40km off the coast of Puerto Lopez. The best part of all, between the months of July and October, that stretch of ocean is some of the most densely whale populated waters in the entire world. Right from the start of the trip I knew we made the right decision.

About twenty minutes into the boat ride we pulled up within twenty feet of a pod of humpback whales playing along the surface of the water. We were on a boat with a capacity of about 25 people, so these whales were easily three or four times the size of our vessel. We sat and watched in awe as the whales went about their business, at times seeming to show off for the onlookers. At one point, the whales went directly beneath the boat and popped up right on the other side, as if they were making it known that they were still in total control and we were a guest in their home. It was quite a sight to witness at such a close proximity.

Upon our arrival at the Island, we were given two hike options depending on what type of animals we wanted to see. We chose the slightly more difficult hike on the north side of the island. This option promised a path laden with Boobys (Blue-footed and Nazca), along with a myriad of other birds, as well as the potential to witness sea lions and more whales playing by the shore along the backside of the island. Although the whales did not pan out, and we only saw one sea lion, there was definitely an excess of Boobys.

Along the entire path there were Blue-Footed Boobys in every direction. We could walk up within inches of the birds, sometimes even with their babies nearby, and they would not even flinch. It was very satisfying to get so close to the local animals and have them greet us with such acceptance.

On the way home from the island we stopped for lunch and a quick swim. We were able to snorkel around a small reef that was inhabited by a large variety of tropical fish, none of which I know the name of. Nonetheless, they were very colorful and made for a very enjoyable dip in the Pacific after a long day of hiking in the equatorial sun.

On the way back from the island we went full speed ahead in a race against the oncoming darkness. Along the way we motored past whales in the distance, on all sides of us, leaping from the water and splashing down with great force. Their grace at such a massive size was a majestic sight. Our arrival back on the shore of Puerto Lopez marked the end of my educational experience during my time there. However, it did not mark the end of my fun.

Each of the next three days followed a pretty similar outline: up around 10ish to spend the day lounging in the hot sun listening to Bob Marley, Michael Jackson, and the local salsa tunes, walking the length of the three mile stretch of beach, swimming, and enjoying the occasional caipirinha (local drink made from sugar cane alcohol and limes) while relaxing in a hammock; back to the room around 5 to shower and change; reconvene at our resident bar for the week, the Blue Dolphin, for a few pre-dinner cervezas; dinner around sunset; finally, enjoying the local cocktails and the occasional failed attempt at salsa dancing at night. The next morning we were up and right back at it again. Well, every morning except Saturday that is.

We had big plans with a group of people to head an hour down the coast to a surf town called Montanita, which is where I am writing this blog from now. Unfortunately, I am a full day late for the epic Saturday night party scene that Montanita is rumored to have. The reason we were unable to move on is because, during the late hours of Friday night into the early morning hours of Saturday, I fought my first bout of extreme sickness on my trip. Sparing you the intensely disgusting details, I was basically on the floor of the bathroom or the shower over the course of five hours, trying to fight back spasms of sickness, while approaching the extreme discomfort of total dehydration. I think I will definitely need to be more weary of my food choice, as well as my use of the local water in the future, because that was a part of travel that I do not want to experience again anytime soon.

All seems to be well now. I have had a day and a half to recover and was finally able to enjoy a solid meal again tonight. I will probably spend a few days here in Monatanita, depending on the weather, then head further down the coast to Guayaquil. It is possible that I may be in Peru as early as next week. Although, plans could change at the drop of a hat while traveling, so I will just have to wait and see.

A staple of South American travel is the long distance bus. Anywhere you want to go, there is always a bus waiting to take you. Some may be cleaner, or safer, or cooler than others, but they all get the job done. Unfortunately, for people the size of me and Bobby, they are all destined to be uncomfortable.

Saturday night we had reservations on an overnight bus set to leave Quito at 10:30pm and arrive in Manta at 6:30am. We arrived at the bus station a little after 9pm just to get settled in and make sure there wasn´t any key details lost in translation. We were fine, and probably there earlier then we needed to be. But, I made the best of my time by doing some research and sipping from a water bottle filled with whiskey in an attempt to loosen myself up to for the long road ahead.

The bus arrived on time and we boarded without a hitch. We were pleasantly surprised by the condition of the bus. It was new, clean, had two drop down screens for movies (which in hindsight I wish had not been the case), and even had some resemblance of air conditioning. Even though we had assigned seats, the bus was only half full so we both spread out and made ourselves comfortable in the back of the bus. We were both smiling ear to ear at the prospect of such a comfortable ride. Those smiles soon faded.

As 10:30 came and went, people continued to board the bus. We both bounced from seat to seat as families entered the bus and booted us from our cozy resting spots. But, even as we left the station, we each had our own pair of seats and were sprawled comfortably in an attempt to get some sleep. Let it be noted that before we left the station I specifically asked the driver if the trip was ´´servicio directivo´´ (non-stop). He calmly answered ´´si´´ and gestured me onto the bus.

Before we even left Quito´s city lines we made four more stops. At each stop more people filed onto the bus, slowly impeding on my comfort level. At the final stop, any comfort I had hoped for was lost forever. Two large families boarded the bus and made me move from my seat. I was forced to go to my assigned seat, next to Bobby, and prepare myself for the ride ahead. It was a miserable situation to say the least.

As I did the best to adjust myself in a manner that me and Bobby could coexist without wanting to kill one another, the woman in the seat in front of me attempted to make matters much worse. She tried her hardest to put her seat back into a fully reclined position. The fact that she hit my knees full force on her first attempt probably would have deterred most reasonable people from trying again. Not this woman. Over the course of the next 15min, she tried over and over to recline her seat but my knees fought back in full force. At one point she even had her son help her. She had him push the seat with his arms as she used all of her force pushing back with her legs and back. Still my legs were firmly planted on the ground had nowhere else to go. After our grueling battle, she finally gave up. It was a victory of sorts. However, it also meant I could not stand up for the next 8hrs because then she would have a window of opportunity to recline the seat. I had won the battle but not the war.

If the leg room had been the only problem I probably would not have much to complain about. Unfortunately, that’s only the beginning of this bus´s problems. After the entire bus was loaded, there were about 50 passengers on a bus with a capacity of 40. Children were sprawled across their parents laps (one of which crawled in the aisle and under my seat right near my feet for most of the ride), crying babies were sprinkled throughout the bus, and a small dog just happened to be positioned in the seat directly next to me. The cool air which once filled the bus was now humid, and stale.

Despite all of the problems, I still did my best to get myself in a position where sleep may be a possibility. I probably could have got some sleep, but then the movie started. The feature presentation: Ghost Rider starring Nicholas Cage. For those unfamiliar with the film, it is such a bad movie I would not even force my greatest enemy to endure such cinematic crap. To make matters 100 times worse, the movie was dubbed in Spanish and played at a decibel level that would match that of a Boeing 747 engine. Even with my IPod at full volume, the terrible Spanish voice impersonations echoed over my music. I simply cannot understand why the volume had to be so deafening.

Somehow, in a state of total discomfort, in a smelly, overcrowded, loud, constantly swerving bus, I was able to piece together some sleep over the course of the punishing trip. Upon our arrival in Manta, I was doused in sweat, my ears were ringing, and my knees were raw and bruised. I had never been so happy in my entire life to step off of a bus. We had finally arrived, in one piece, and to top it off our bags hadn´t even been stolen from the undercarriage. It may sound like a disaster, but I´d have to categorize it as a success. We have the first long-distance bus ride under our belts. It will only get easier from here. Pretty doubtful, but at least I can dream.