Well folks, we're finally home. If anyone is still reading our blog, thank you! Thank you so much for traveling and exploring with us. It always put a smile on our faces to know that people besides our parents were reading along.
It was definitely a mix of emotions to come home. How can it already be over? And yet it feels like eons ago when we were in Thailand with still-full bottles of bug spray and twitching with excitement to start our journey together. It was an extraordinary journey that was equal parts Inspiring and Grounding. We have never felt more fortunate to have what we have. And it has only made us want to travel more. When we arrive in San Francisco, it was warm and sunny, a great welcome home. We are trying to set our lives up again and settle into the next chapter. It is great to see friends and family again, to sleep in our own bed and be able to cook again.
And now for the tasty icing:
We are officially 10 weeks pregnant today. We couldn't have hoped for a better outcome and are so excited to share this news with you. We found out when we were in Panama and it's been fun trying to wrap our heads around this news. We can't be happier.
So, this will be our last entry. Thanks again for tuning in!
Much love and big hugs,
Los Tres Chamorros.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Last but not least, Panama
We are being spoiled to death by Michael's family who live here: his aunt Rocio and uncle Alonso and his cousin Gabriel and his wife Carla. (Many of you may remember meeting Alonso and Gabriel at our wedding.) Michael's parents arrived in Panama the same day Lynn and we arrived from Brasil. We'd expected to be lazing around all day, gradually transfusing nomadic bliss into re-entry anxiety. But the Fernandezes had a packed schedule awaiting us. In the first two weeks we attended the baptism of Gabriel and Carla's new baby boy Felipe; we visited a dormant volcano and its surrounding towns Chiriqui and Boquete, close to the border of Costa Rica, where the landscape turns to idyllic countryside and where coffee, banana and sugar cane plantations claim the densely green slopes. (This is also where we met a dog with a badly set leg, making her look like she was always pointing at something.)
We spent a weekend at the Fernandez' beach house in Portobelo on the Carribean side of Panama, a deliciously relaxing retreat where we divided our time poolside,
exploring nearby islands by boat, or lying in hammocks, reading and eating. We visited the Panama Canal twice, once dining at the restaurant right on the Miraflores Lock, an excellent view of the flurry of activity that passes through 24 hours a day. Next, Gabriel took us to Bocas del Toro,
a group of islands in the Carribean side. We stayed in a lovely Pousada built above the water, saw dolphins and raced our boat with a needlefish. The boys surfed and we all got eaten alive by invisible gnats. Between us, Michael and I have at least 100 bites on our bodies. We look like we're recovering from the chicken pox.
The last couple days we have been working our way along the coast on a surf trip. Gabriel is showing Michael all the good surf spots. As I write this, I am distracted and mesmerized by the activity around me. The groundskeepers going about their morning tasks of raking leaves, watering the various tropical plants and trees on the property, peeling bananas for the emus and other exotic birds that live here and roam freely at La Playita Resort. There are four wild macaws here, at the moment snacking on toast and fruit and floor crumbs. Being extremely territorial birds, they have remained here even though this lovely beach resort was erected in their home. Perhaps it's the free food or the frequently refilled birdbaths, or perhaps they do realize what an incredible place they have.
Three of the macaws are troublemakers, noisy hooligans flying the way 16 year olds drive, terrorizing light bulbs and chewing away at the palapa roofs.
The 4th macaw, as if apologetic for his three buddies, is calm and friendly - once flying up to within a foot of Gabriel and just gazing at him in his hammock. Other residents of La Playita resort include a couple of emus, peacocks, a turkey, some handsome looking chickens, a cat, 3 dogs and a handful of rowdy howler monkeys. There are only 4 rooms here, tastefully decorated cabanas that share this 15 acre lot (my acre estimation skills are crap, let's just say it's really big) with a massive house in the middle that belongs to the owner. Just steps away is a private stretch of beach with a gentle tide. There is no shortage of hammocks or places to hang out and enjoy the breeze. Around the point is where the boys have been surfing. The cook here is Cuban and has turned out some delicious fare. The fish is caught mere hours before it is served and the flavors are unmistakably Cuban, down to the lemon marinated grilled onions. Last night, we whiled away the hours on hammocks on the beach under a velvet sky luminous with constellations, the generous breeze giving our hammocks that extra push. We can't believe that in two days, we will be home in San Francisco.
We have received a tidal wave of hospitality here and can only hope to reciprocate when it is our turn to receive them or anyone else as guests in our own home. It has definitely eased the re-entry process to spend quality time with family right before diving nose first back into reality.
If anyone is still reading our blog at this point, thank you for traveling with us. Please check back one last time for a final wrap up after we get home.
For photos of Panama, go here: http://flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594588847669/
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Carnaval
We finally arrive in Brasil on February 15, a good two weeks later than originally planned and unfortunately missed out on all of Bahia. We'd rented an apartment in Ipanema, just two blocks from the beach. This is where Mike's sister, Lynn, joins us for the last leg of our trip. We are starved for company and extremely excited to have a fellow traveler.
Our first order of business is to head to the beach. By the time we get it together and arrive at around 11am, the beach is already packed. A sea of humanity under a canopy of beach umbrellas going in either direction, west towards Leblon where a massive mountain of solid rock rises from the land, and east towards Copacobana. The sand is like nothing we've ever seen. Clean and fine and light like silicone, it's like Utah snow but without the chill, the exact color of leftover ice in the bottom of a frozen capuccino. With over 7000km of coastline and almost half of the country being surrounded by the world's most gorgeous beaches, these guys certainly have this beach thing down to a science. You can be at the beach all day and never need anything. Rent a chair for $1, buy an umbrella and for as long as the sun is up, you can sustain yourself on the endless supply of food and drink available from the many vendors cruising the coastline. Cold drinks, empanadas, corn, grilled prawns (always looked and smelled so good but we weren't sure it was smart to eat them), sandwiches, grilled sausages, grilled cheese, ice cream. Every twenty feet, there would be a stand set up with a guy selling beers and ice cold coconuts.
Get a coconut for about a dollar and he'll hack the top off, you stick a straw in and drink the refreshing clear coconut water. When you're done, you bring the coco back to him and he'll hack it in half, chip off a piece of husk which you then use as a scoop to scrape off the delicate fruit inside. Everyone walks around the streets in their bathing suits and Havaianas flip flops, the national footwear of Brasil. Havaianas are sold everywhere and anywhere. I liked this place best of all.
A very common sight is men on the streets or walking out of their hotels, sometimes quite far from the beach, in their speedos and nothing else, sometimes a T-shirt but no shorts, no shoes. Classic. Well, when in Rome....(Mike bought a speedo...his legs got pink.)
Our usual spot was near the corn guy. He would spend the morning shucking his bags of corn, then he'd throw a bunch of corn into boiling hot water and walk around the beach with his cart. One of these sets you back $1.50. Corn guy picks a perfectly cooked ear out of the water and rolls it around in a tupperware of salt water. Then he places it inside of a husk that he's saved from earlier and with another piece of husk spreads melted butter over the top. Dreamy.
We did expect basso nova to be piped into the entire city, like in that scene in Shrek. We actually had a difficult time finding impromptu live music, let alone basso nova.
Arriving in a new country with a whole new language that we don't speak is like learning to walk all over again. Being unable to communicate is one of the most frustrating and isolating things. The Brasilianas are exceptionally warm and friendly and we would have loved nothing more than to launch into a conversation with people but English is rare. However poor their English is though, it's still much better than our Portuguese.
Food. The Churrascaria is the Brasilian temple of meat. Like the Argentinian Parilla, a churrascaria is an all you can eat affair. We recommend an all day fast before visiting one and an enema for dessert. Diners are given cards that are green on one side (meaning, "yes, please slice me off another hunk o' dat") and red on the other (meaning, "beat it, meat man"). Servers come around the tables with swords of chicken, sausage, lamb, pork, and all cuts of beef, slicing off their meaty offerings onto your never empty plate, then challenging you to have more even though your card is clearly positioned on the red side.
As if this weren't enough, there is a full blown buffet of various salads, rice dishes, soups, smoked meats, cured meats, seafood, even sushi. Just when you're pretty much full just looking at this obscene display of carnage, a waiter will casually ask you if you'd like to order some side dishes for the table as if it were the most natural thing to do. Side dishes to accompany the ten other sides you just piled on your plate. Gag.
We came to Brasil just in time for its most anticipated and celebrated holiday, Carnaval. It lasts 4 days starting the Saturday before Ash Wednesday. Masses flock to Rio and Bahia for the country's best parties and celebrations. "Blocos" or street parties take place in different neighborhoods on each of the 4 days. For example, the famous bloco, Bando do Ipanema, a
mostly drag affair, takes place on the main street that parallels Ipanema Beach. Trucks carrying large booming speakers roll slowly down the strip as hundreds of tan and sun burned Carnaval revellers mill through the closed off street, among vendors selling beers, hot dogs, meat skewers, cheesy bread, popcorn, tapioca cakes, corn, necklaces, sarongs, hats and sunglasses. (Are you noticing a trend? You'll never starve here.)
We bought tickets to the Sambodromo where every year, 12 of the best samba schools in Rio participate in the most extravagant parade of the year, competing for the prized Grand Championship. This takes place on 2 nights with 7 schools performing on each night. Each night can last up to 12 hours, but few people ever stay the entire time. It takes about an hour for each school, which comprises of hundreds of performers and dancers all wearing the most elaborate costumes and dancing among gigantic floats, to make it from one end of the Sambodromo to the other. People in the stands sing and dance along to the songs. The mass of humanity present is unbelievable. We got to the Sambodromo at 11:30 and left at 5 in the morning, before the parade was over. If it weren't for the strong police presence that night, walking to and from the Sambodromo might have been a bit more trying. The Sambodromo springs to life just this once each year for Carnaval and the rest of the year it lies dormant, a sleeping giant among some of of the cities many favelas or slums. Rio's favelas are a very visible reminder of Brasil's gaping economic divide. Too numerous to ignore and not as swept under the rug as those in Buenos Aires, they are the reason for the torrent of travel advisories we received from friends and travel sites before getting there. However, being hardened city people, it was not a problem for us in the least.
One of the highlights of Rio was spending time with Val's Brazilian friend Andre and his family. Incredibly hospitable and wonderful hosts, Andre invited us to a feijoada lunch to celebrate his mother in law's birthday. Feijoada is a very traditional Brasilian stew of pork ribs and sausage cooked in black beans. The salty, smokey, rich flavor is delicious with a side of chard and rice. We also sampled Calso de Feijoada - a smokier, sausagier, mini, drinkable version of the big Feijoada, served in a shotglass- rich and lip smacking good. We washed down our meal with Caipirinhas, the national cocktail, available almost everywhere - a concoction of crushed limes, sugar and cane alcohol called cachaca (ka-sha-sa).
After our feijoada feast, Andre took us to Maracana Stadium to see a Brasilian futbol match between two rivals, Fluminense and Vasco. Maracana, which packs in around 100,000 fans into its stands was only about a third full that day, probably because Carnaval had already started. Regardless, it was a privelegded experience and with 8 goals scored, it was an exciting game.
On our last day in Rio, we had lunch in Santa Theresa, a colorful and lively neighborhood set on the top of a hill. We had a leisurely lunch and browsed the little shops on the hill, walking past remnants of last night's street party and the beginnings of new ones. We walked past a group of people spontaneously dancing and playing music outside of a restaurant.
What a fun bunch of people. We also visited the famous Pao de Acucar, or Sugarloaf Mountain where we took two sets of cable cars up to the peak for a breathtaking 360 degree view of Rio, including Corcovado, with Rio's unmistakable symbol, the statue of Cristo Redentor.
Unfortunately, the sun wasn't on our side and all our pictures turned out a tad backlit. :(
Our time in Rio was short and before we knew it, we were on a flight to Sao Paolo to spend one night before catching our flight to Panama. We only had time in Sao Paolo to do some last minute shopping (The shopping in Brasil is the best we've come across in all of our 6 months, not to mention the glut of bikini stores. Val went ga-ga and bought 3 new bikinis.) pool time/welcome
drinks and a fab dinner at Famiglia Mancini, one of three Mancini restaurants that monopolize an entire street. Incidentally, SP has the largest Italian and Japanese populations outside of Italy and Japan, so that kind of food is not only abundant but very authentic.
Next and last stop, Panama.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Buenos Aires
Slowly sautee some fresh Inca over low heat. Gradually incorporate a few generous handfuls of Spain, a pinch of Jesuit and stir, smashing the Inca with a fork until it has evaporated. Whisk in a cup of Genoa and simmer on low heat. Encorporate a cupful of Paris, add a couple sprigs of London Docklands, season with a pinch of Upper West Side, then garnish with freshly grated Williamsburg to taste, and serve.
This city is nothing short of incredible. The people are super friendly. We have been here almost a week and admittedly, we haven't yet gotten past our infatuation phase. You know, when you can't take your eyes off someone and it doesn't matter where you are as long as you're with them.
We rented a little studio apartment in the very cool neighborhood of Palermo Viejo. It has a murphy bed (that you pull out of the wall) in the living room, a small balcony, a tiny kitchen and internet access. Perfect. Right next door is a Cantonese restaurant and about 10 blocks away is a hive of local designer shops, bars and restaurants. We've been taking it easy, staying out late, sleeping in, familiarizing oursleves with the hood, and even cooking some meals in. As I've mentioned before, any semblance of home on the trip is highly important to us.
We were supposed to make a trip back down south to see the glaciers but decided to bag it for our pretend porteño lifestyles here.
Early this week, we checked out the famous Recoleta Cemetary where many of considerable stature are buried. Several thousand mausoleums crowd the arteries of pathways that spread through the grounds of the cemetary, holding the remains of the city's elite, military heroes, politicians, and the highlight, Evita Peron and her entire family. Dusty plastic flowers, crucifixes, cobwebs, forgotten coffins and cold marble sarcophagi mute and frozen in time behind cloudy glass doors, sometimes broken, sometimes ajar, probably victim to attempted grave robbings. You can sometimes see the bones inside of a coffin because the lid had been tampered with. This surreal city of the dead is so mesmerizing, marble angels and crucifixes rise motionless above the skyline of the cemetary until abruptly interrupted by the view of an advertising billboard or apartment building outside of its walls.
Walking away from the cemetary towards the shopping district of Recoleta, it feels like you're strolling down Park Avenue in New York. High rise apartment buildings boast Parisian architecture, wide open boulevards are flanked by leafy sidewalks. There is a decidedly higher concentration of well dressed Porteños and also of tourists. The shopping streets are way too crowded for us and we immediately jump a cab back to our neighborhood for lunch.
Palermo Viejo is divided into sub-neighborhoods: Palermo Soho (where we are, filled with local Argentinian designer shops, all incredibly well designed, hip restaurants, great bars, and home to writer Jorge Luis Borges. Across the train tracks is Palermo Hollywood, named so because of the many film and TV production studios there. Hollywood has fewer shops but has just as many great restaurants. It feels like the Lower East Side here, cobblestone streets, cosy little neighborhood joints. There is also Palermo Queens but we haven't figured out where that is yet.
Food-wise, there is definitely a more ethnic selection of restaurants: Japanese, Vietnamese, Chinese, Indian, Korean, Thai. The other day we even found a Singaporean dish at one restaurant. Definitely a welcome break from the parilla party.
Over the weekend we did a bike tour of the city. This is the perfect way to see the city because a) we have a strong dislike for tour buses big and small, b) we get some exercise and 3) it's the genuine article. We saw so many other parts of the city and learned some really interested factoids like:
* The Boca Juniors (they decided on their colors, blue and yellow by the colors on the first ship that passes through the harbor) Stadium is located in La Boca. All you futbol fans know that their archrivals are River and their team colors are red and white. There happens to be Coca Cola banners all over the stadium (this is a Coke drinking country if I ever saw one) and they said absolutely no way to the classic red and white colors of Coke and all their banners display the classic Coke logo in black and white. This is serious stuff. (For you East Bay people, Boca are the equivalent of the Raiders and River are the 9-ers.)
* The Tango originated in the dingy harbor neighborhood of La Boca, it was a nostalgic and sad dance that the immigrants created to dance away their sorrows, so to speak. It was originally a dance between two men, in competition for a lady waiting in the wings (the men from Italy came to these shores alone, without their wives or family). Tango was not readily accepted among the upper class here as it was always considered an immigrant artform. At least not until the Tango was popularized in Paris that the Porteños jumped to say that it originated on their shores.
We also took a mate break during our ride, another educational experience. We have been doing it ALL WRONG. This mate tasted great, unlike ours. We're back to being hooked except we need new equipment. Our gourd, though cool looking, may be mouldy, but we can't tell bec mould is also the color of mate. Either way, we have agreed that buying a new mate vessel is probably more hygenic.
Having said all this, the most sobering part of our tour was finding out about the 9 million or so people who live on the outskirts of this perfect European city. Shoved to the other side of the tracks and swept under the rug are slums called villas (vee-zhas) housing thousands of familes who live below the poverty line. There is simply no hint of this when one flies into Buenos Aires for a one week visit, kept busy dining and drinking at top restaurants for a steal, watching 'tango for export' as some call it, toting armfulls of shopping bags from designer shops . The poor here are invisible. But if you look closely you will begin to see it, young shirtless men called Cartoneros, cardboard collectors, who go through the city's trash for all the recyclables and sell it by the kilo for pittance. These young cartoneros singlehandedly pull carts the size SUVs, fully loaded. A full load might get you 30 pesos (or U$10) which is enough to feed an entire family for maybe a day. Ghosts walking within the shadow of night.
Ok, so we find an ugly spot on our shiny new crush. It adds an important dimension to the whole but it doesn't change the fact that we still love it. Much more to explore in the next few days...check back.
For photos of Buenos Aires so far, go to:
http://flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594508422110/
The Thing About Empanadas
The thing about empanadas is they are the perfect food. A convenient carrying case made of love infused dough and shaped into tasty pockets containing anything from ham and cheese to minced beef and onions. Not only are they tasty as hell, they are extremely portable. We happened upon La Casa de las Empanadas in San Martin de los Andes and bought an embarrassing number of those suckers. We had the brilliant idea to place an order for some empanadas for our drive back to Mendoza but the store wouldn´t be open early enough before our planned departure. Amazingly, the sweet empanada man offered to deliver them to our hotel by 9 the next morning.
With a tray of 5 chicken and 5 spicy beef empanadas, we braved the 14 hour drive back to Mendoza on a steady empanada drip, eating about one every few hours without stopping except for gas and bathroom breaks.
(Extra kudos to the warrior behind the wheel!)
With a tray of 5 chicken and 5 spicy beef empanadas, we braved the 14 hour drive back to Mendoza on a steady empanada drip, eating about one every few hours without stopping except for gas and bathroom breaks.
(Extra kudos to the warrior behind the wheel!)
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Patagonia
It probably wasn't the smartest thing to agree to a midnight BBQ the night before our big drive south but we couldn't resist Amber and Alejo's invite to an impromtu asado with some of their friends. We didn't get to bed until around 3. With cows and pigs arguing in our stomachs making for a difficult morning, we managed to leave Mendoza at around noon. Our goal, Bariloche, is around 1500km south, somewhere near the 41st parallel, waaay south. By 8pm, we only made it as far as Malargüe, not even a third of the way. The next day, we bombed all the way down to Bariloche, a good 12+ hour drive, part of it through tough dirt roads, which really slowed us down.
The landscape at times looked like Tuscany, at times the Grand Canyon, at times the moon. The vastness here rivals that of Africa, except instead of wildebeest tracing the horizon, still snow capped Andean peaks delineate the border between Argentina and Chile, not bad companions for the long journey.
As we neared Bariloche around dusk, we saw the first of the great lakes, Lago Nahuel Huapi, with Volcan Lanin dominating the horizon. Wow. Wow. And wow. Since it's summer (and peak fishing season) here, accomodations though plenty, were scarce and difficult to find. We rolled into town at around 11pm and after trying over 10 places before finally finding a room...we took it even though it was more than we wanted to pay. (Tiny violins playing) This has been a recurring theme in Argentina if we don't book ahead.
Bariloche is built very much like a ski town, alpine architecture, fondue restaurants, loads of chocolate stores (this is the chocolate capital of Argentina) and apparently in the winter you´ll find St. Bernards with little barrels around their necks. Switzerland South. We imagined this place to be more charming -- obviously it once was but we found it to be overrun by tourists and souvenir shops, thereby somewhat ruined.
However, Bariloche is the jumping off point for all kinds of outdoor activities: hiking, skiing, fly fishing, trekking, mountain biking, camping, climbing, etc. We were there to start our much anticipated drive through the lake district where there are hundreds of glacially formed lakes, majestic mountains and volcanoes. It is wild country down here--- you can drive for miles and miles and there is just nothing and no one but you and your staticky radio and some potato chips. We´re only a stone´s throw from Chile and not far from the southern most point in the world.
We rented some camping equipment: a bottom-of-the-line tent, bright purple sleeping bags (Mike was convinced they were Barbie toy bags, not suitable for the Patagonian wilds), a little camping stove and last but not least we borrowed one funky pot which turned out to be a wonderful cauldron for our heat and serve delicacies. We bought a corkscrew, salami, some non-delicious non-perishables (no ice chest) and lots of wine. Happy as clams we checked out a few campsites before deciding on one right on the banks of Lago Traful. We had lakefront property and a marvelous view of the mountains, what more could we have asked for? We quickly set up our "chill zone" with music, sarongs, the beginning of a three bottle night. :)
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| Makeshift Paella |
Anyway, after a modest dinner, we ease into desert, Malbec and Oreos. Mmm.
Argentinians also have a small mate (mah-tay) habit. Sipping mate is a cultural pastime. Almost everyone has a silver thermos on them (for hot water of a very precise hotbutnotboiling temperature) and something to drink their mate out of, usually a small gourd with a stainless steel straw through which you sip. The gourd is filled almost to the top with Yerba Mate which looks like chunky tea leaves and straw and smells and tastes pretty much like that as well. Hot water is poured in and refilled as many times as desired.
We bought ourselves a gourd, a silver straw and a bag of mate to take on our camping trip. When in Rome. It´s an aquired taste. We´re beginning to call it Nas-tay. Mike says his teeth, now permanently stained purple from the Malbecs are in jeopardy of being further stained by the mate. What color does purple and yellow make?
We found another campsite that had grills at every site. We were so excited we drove like 30 miles to the store to pick up some meat so that we could have our own little parilla. Mate, meat, malbec, and refreshingly ice cold dips in the lake. Ahhh...
After a few days camping, we had to return our gear to head farther north, to the cuter than cute town of San Martin de los Andes. We planned to rent more gear up there and explore more lakes but unfortunately, camping equipment proved harder to find and campsites were not as abundant. Bummer, but we made the best of it by having a lakeside picnic bbq on Lago Huechulafquen. We found an abandoned table and chairs and used it for our meat feast.
It was awkward bbqing our chunk of beef next to grazing cows. But it was delicious.
For photos of Patagonia and the Lake District, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594488703686/
Meat, Malbec and Mullets
We're drunk on beef. Dizzy with pork. Sweating Malbec.
We arrived in Mendoza during the afternoon siesta (almost everything closes)and found the town cosy cosy cosy. This is somewhere we could prop our feet up for a bit. Mendoza is Argentina´s wine region, producing every varietal but most famous for its delicious Malbec. We came here first so that we could meet up with our friends Amber and Alejo who happened to still be around from celebrating the last tier of their wedding trifecta. We are in love with the leafy shady sidewalks, the ice cream parlors on almost every street corner, the abundance of wine and of course the ubiquitous "parillas" (restaurants serving mainly grilled meats, but to order the "parilla" is like ordering the entire farm; they bring you a piece of every kind of meat until you tell them to stop.)
It is summer here in the Southern hemisphere. The days are hot, 3-4 pm being the hottest. The sun considers setting at around 9:30pm and because the days are really long, we don´t eat lunch until about 2 or 3 or 4 and dinner until at least 10 or 11 or 12. When it cools down in the evening, a subtle breeze kicks up, signaling the exact and most perfect time for a bottle of wine while we discuss how we can live here forever.
Argentina feels like Europe. 97% of Argentians claim European descent (mainly Italian and Spanish). This country gave the world Tango, Evita Peron, Jorge Luis Borges, Patagonia and some of the world best wine and meat. Lucky.
No, we´re so lucky to be here.
In Mendoza, we wined and dined at a fraction of the price of home, we biked to some wineries in wine country, met lots of new friends and got to spend time with Amber and Alejo, especially cool because Alejo is from Mendoza.
After a relaxing week in Mendoza, we rented a car to drive south where we planned to spend the next 10 days exploring the Lakes Region and Patagonia.
Oh yeah, mullets are a plenty. Shocking.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Feliz Año Nuevo!
On January 2, 2007, we left Montañita for Guayaquil where we´d hoped to somehow find a bus across the Peruvian border. We were looking forward to see Peru - Damon and Joss whom we´d met in Montañita had given us some great recommendations for places to go besides of course Machu Picchu. Lonely Planet-less for more than a month already, we were feeling quite lost and were burning a lot of time trying to do our own research online. It was impossible to find any Lonely Planets in South America, let alone one in English.
Anyway, armed with only enough information to get us to our next destination (Mancorra, a coastal town in Peru), we bought 2 tickets back to Guayaquil on the 5am bus. We bought these tickets at 4:45 am and were the last people they sold tickets to that morning. Luckeee. Then we found out that the bus was full and we would have to go in a mini van for the 3 hour ride. This would have been perfectly fine had it not been for the fact that they sold more tickets than there was room for. It was a creative exercise in trying to find the least painful way to survive the 3 hour ride without developing a blood clot or pulling a muscle.
The Terrestre bus station in Guayaquil is a beastly experience especially if you speak 2 week old Spanish. Over 60 different bus companies from which to buy tickets on a day when just about everyone is trying to get home from wherever they spent New Years´. Traveling by bus is the most economical and most popular mode of travel in South America. There are really comfortable options if you pay a little more; you can get a large comfy seat that reclines all the way flat, there are bathrooms on board as well as food service and waiters. This was the sort of cushy bus that we had planned on taking from Ecuador to Peru. Until we found out that it would take 60 hours to get from Guayaquil to Cusco. And besides the bus was full.
Silly us, thinking that we could do Peru in one and a half weeks.
On a trip like this, it is best not to fight against where the winds want to steer you and so, after struggling with whether or not to change our plans, we decided that we would be better off skipping Peru and adding the one and a half weeks to Argentina instead. We were so disappointed but plan to come back to Peru better equipped, and with a smarter plan. We walked from the bus station to the airport and booked ourselves on the first flight out to Mendoza, Argentina, scheduled to depart in a good 13 hours.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Hippy Holidays in Montañita
Monteñita is a tiny town on the Ecuadorian coast with a hippy vibe and Ecuador´s premier surf break, which Mike says isn´t saying much. Its one main street is packed with hostels, bars, restaurants, hemp jewelry and dreamcatchers for sale, dreadlocks and stray dogs. The aforementioned hippy vibe is more like a wanna-be hippy vibe, like nouveau hippies who read the manual on how to be a hippy:
1)First and most importantly, dread your hair, even if you are white or balding or out of shape or all of the above. If you don´t have enough hair, get extensions.
2)Learn to juggle. Practice it whenever you can. Then juggle for tips.
3)Learn to fire dance. Do it for tips.
4)You don't need shoes.
5)Learn to make hemp jewelry. Make jewelry all day long and sell it to tourists.
We rolled into town without accomodations two days before Christmas. It made us a little nervous but we were very lucky to find a room at Charo´s Hostel which was where we wanted to stay in the first place. We were looking forward to tucking into one place and staying through the holidays. It was super clean and safe and off the overly crowded and noisy main street. Best part of all was the immediate and abundant hot water - a luxury we´d been deprived of for quite a while. Charo and her husband were great. Mr. Charo (we never knew his name but Mr. Charo seemed appropriate) was a one man hospitality squad, great to talk to especially during his afternoon beer and cigarette break on his favorite hammock.
The crowd continued to grow exponentially as we neared New Year´s Eve. Little Monteñita was bursting at the seams with every daily batch of backpackers and city folk from the nearby town of Guayaquil. Within a day, we started recognizing and renaming all the people in the neighborhood: Chicken Man - from whom we bought countless $2.50 chicken dinners to the point of embarrasment, Poeta - the late night drink cart bartender, Ronaldo - our favorite beach bartender, Town Drunk #1 - who spent all of Christmas Eve and Christmas day dancing with a bottle of whisky or passed out in a heap of roadside rubble, Town Drunk #2 - a sketchy American who tried to scam every newcomer by telling them his wallet got stolen and can they spare some change, Angry Italian - the personality deficient owner and chef of the Italian restaurant we frequented called El Zociedad. The best steaks but the slowest dinner you will ever have.
Mike surfed every day and we spent a lot of time on the beach. With the absence of Christmas decorations, carols, friends and family, a heaping dinner and cold weather, Christmas didn´t feel much like Christmas. It sort of came and went feeling like any other day. The day after Christmas, Mike had his T-shirt, flip flops and cap stolen from the beach while he was in the water. That really put a damper on the day. :(
Our first night at El Zociedad, we ordered a bottle of wine and played cards to while away the evening. We met a lovely group of people at the next table and ended up dining with them the next night (at the same place) and having a great time. Joss and Peter who live in Boulder, Joss´ brother Damon who lives and works in Ecuador and their lovely mom Suzanne, a professor at MIT. It was so great to have people other than ourselves to talk to. We really enjoyed their company and were sad when they left town. Los Dos Chamorros were alone again with their lazy daily routine of sleeping a lot, Chicken Man, beach, Chicken Man, internet, surf, Chicken Man.
In the days leading up to 2007, the locals start to celebrate the new year by celebrating the end of the old year. Home made paper mache mannequins begin to make an appearance outside every establishment in town. This is aan annual tradition where bubblegum-pink-skinned mannequins are made to resemble people they don't like, usually politicians or famous people (there were a lot of Bart Simpsons, we didn´t quite understand the significance of that). They are kicked around and burned at midnight leaving their charred remains all over town.
The kids in town dress up like banditos, wearing homemade cardboard masks held in place and framed by the neck of a T-shirt tied tightly around their heads. They walk around town for a whole week before new years, asking for money. They too represent the old year and by giving them money, you bid farewell to the old year and everything bad that was in it, making way for the new year.
At around eleven on New Years' Eve, we made our rounds to Poeta's drink cart, then to Ronaldo's beach bar, then at the stroke of midnight, about 50 people with surfboards started running into the pitch black ocean to a screaming crowd. Fireworks were going off everywhere in town and on the beach to the battling sounds of reggae, techno and reggaeton. The clubs were full of people partying til dawn. Los Dos Chamorros rocked it til 3, wooh, crazy.
To see photos of Montañita, go to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31967627@N00/sets/72157594475793598/
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