peru: part two of two - - and the ultimate finale to trip.

(pretty sure this is a mighty long one, so i apologize in advance. just see it as the season finale, the hour-long).

so on the boat to the floating islands, paul, my fellow canadian, and i pretty much bonded due to joint hilarity over the insane old american guy that kept talking to us. in explanation of him, i can do no justice to his hilarity and insanity, so i shall not even attempt. anyway, the islands are continuously built of layer upon layer of totora reeds, so they float. from what i remember, about 300 people are living on the lot of them. and they're not on the map, since they can't always be found in the same place. and they were built to escape the incas. and that's all i know. they're pretty intriguing, but so touristy it made me a little sick. "compra, compra, amiga" (buy, buy, friend) was a common phrase and i would just smile and shake my head "no thanks", while i died inside a little. i hate watching people get degraded to this through tourism. apparently the people of these islands are nearly completely dependent on it now. o, how genuine. they were selling loads of crafts and i asked what the things meant and that got me nowhere.

"what does this mean?"
"eagle."
"yes, clearly, but what does it mmeeaannn? what does it represent?"
"it's a representation of a bird. of an eagle"
"yes, but... nevermind..."

so perhaps there was absolutely no significance to these supposed symbols. in which case, i'm even more saddened. their boats were pretty cool though- enormous and bulbous and funny-looking, made of reeds, appearing like straw warrior boats. rowed awkwardly by two struggling little girls in bright, puffy skirts.

paul and i later wandered the markets and ate random things. he would call set-menus by their amounts, so it became a code. there were the uno-cincuentas (1.50s= ~fifty cents) and dos-cincuentas (2.50s= ~eighty-five cents), etc... which became kindof funny in sentences like "i've had a little too many dos-cincuentas in me lately, i even went as far as to eat an uno-cincuenta, but that was pushing it. i'm ready to splurge, maybe get some diez (10) in me." it made me laugh.

then off to cuzco. i took the day bus because i was getting bored so i was happy to waste a day, plus people had told me that the ride from puno to cuzco was lovely and it was worth seven hours of daylight in order to see it. they lied. on the bus, i was placed beside a german i had met months earlier in argentina. random. so with her two cute english friends, we shacked up together and went to sup in style that eve, and later hit up a cute, intimate bar with live music called km0. cuzco is beautiful in the day, but triplefold charming in the night, with old colonial buildings romantically lit with old-school streetlamps, cobblestone streets that ascend (and therefore also descend) at ridiculous angles. beautiful, enormous, perfectly lit fountains, and gigantic plazas.

i loved the owners of the hostel. so over the next two weeks, with my in-and-out visits to cuzco while exploring the surrounding area, i continuously returned to the hostel whose name i cannot pronounce, despite zero social life beyond speaking with the sweet family that ran the place. one time, i walked in and it smelled like chocolate. i inquired and she told me she was making hot chocolate with cinnamon. two minutes later, there was a knock at my door and she had brought me a cup. it sounds stupid, but i was so touched. random act of kindness. delicious kindness.

the van that was to deliver me to the bus for the machu picchu trek was an hour late. which would not have bothered me had i not grudgingly awoken at 5:30am to be ready on time. the bus ride to the trailhead was a gooorgeous sight of winding roads on foggy mountains. i was sitting beside paolo, the hilarious and kinda dumb brazilian. he took a million photos of fog. this guy wears his hat half off his head, his backpack with one strap on, the other at his elbow, has a dopey, lopsided grin on his face half his life, is always bluntly yelling everything and giggling foolishly and walking like a bear... and on top of that, has the brazilian accent. which is ridiculous. this guy is hilarious.

so the bus stops, we get out and we bike for a few hours in pouring rain. it was scary and beautiful and very, very muddy. people's bikes broke multiple times. just adds to the adventure, right?... that eve, our big group had some beers and ate a good meal and attempted to slowly share the single shower, one by one. our clothes were still drenched in the morning. so comfy and appealing. our group was funny, full of the argentinians and the brazilian who needed to translate through me to the polish and the russians and the maltese. random and interesting assortment- i rarely meet any of those nationalities while travelling, save argentinians. i loved my group.

next day and a half was jungle trekking, though not as exotic as it sounds, especially while one third of time was spent walking on a road. but it was beautiful, and we even got a taste of the famous "inca trail". overrated. we had to cross two rivers without bridges, therefore taking little baskets strapped to wires via pulleys. that was pretty exciting. slightly terrifying due to the lack of reinforcement (i.e. only ONE wire, and no emergency option). we also went to a hot springs place, which was far less natural than expected, but actually kinda high-class, which felt good, i'm not going to lie. the last three hours of "trekking" was along railroad tracks which were unanimously voted as incredibly annoying. you get into this trance, trying to reach each oddly spaced bar of the track... you pay no attention to your surroundings and you get so frustrated with the spacing! why can't they be even?!

anyway. then we arrived in aguas calientes, the town at which one bases themself for machu picchu. very, very touristy. which was to be expected. but i must say, i found it actually a little charming.

i kindof expected machu picchu to shock me a little more, i think. yes, it was beautiful. but like everything hyped up, there is little chance of it actually meeting the high expectations that are then formed around it. but to concentrate on its beauty instead of its let-down...
the mountains were lovely- shooting straight from the ground, appropriately bullet-shaped. machu picchu was built there to escape the spanish, they believe, since it is entirely surrounded by high mountains. the rocks of the ruins were so smooth and perfect, oftentimes having been shaped to fit every curve of adjoining stone, which is amazing considering the size of them (up to 3m at times). it almost looked fake in its perfection. there was only one major spot that was "imperfect", with stones that had been manipulated over time. the bright green grass contrasted lovely with light and dark grey rock. lovely repetition of buildings and windows and terraced fields and triangular, roofless home-tops. we came at a perfect time too. we left our rooms at 4:30am to hike up for the 6am opening, and from the time we arrived to about 8, the sun slowly made it over the mountains, constantly changing the light and shadows for a few hours. streaming through, breaking up the organic landscape all linear-like. it was gorgeous, tranquil, pure. casting long shadows over smooth, sun-touched bricks. and llamas. lots n lots of appropriately placed llamas. it was fun taking artsy photos.

i never know what to believe regarding things "they say". how do they know?! i would be interested to know of their methods. how did they know the inca's plans? (p.s. technically it's the quechuas, the Inca was the king of the quechuas... but no one actually says that, so i'm not about to start). why they built it there? how they made things?? all entirely speculation, it seems.

bart and i climbed huaynupicchu, that mountain directly behind the main ruins in all the photos. there are ruins at the top of huaynu, as well. on the way up, you can view the stunning gorge below. at the top, we had a silly and fun photo shoot of ourselves. the ruins look so different from huaynu. much more rigid and boring and less complex and, well, ugly. at the top of the spot where one might take a good photo of machu picchu, on the opposite side of said ugly photo spot, i fell, exhausted, in the grass, and took a nap. after which, i ended my machu picchu experience.

back in cuzco, i investigated festivals. i prepared for the senor de q'ollority festival in some mountains somewhat far away. in the meantime, i saw some really great art randomly at a local art museum. i also went to the plethora of veg restaurants around town, many frequented by only locals. one time, this guy sat with me. he told me i had pretty eyes, said something about canadians flying, then left laughing for a half hour with his friends. then an old man came in with a down syndrome teenager and the man yelled a blunt hello at me then proceeded to stare equally bluntly, commenting in impossibly fast spanish every so often. then his teen started talking to me, equally incomprehensibly, blowing me kisses and doing some gang-like, "shortie you ma gurl" hand motions between me and his heart. it was all terribly confusing and entertaining, and the waitress was rolling her eyes in the corner.

for the senor de q'ollority festivites, i had to first take a bus to four hours away, then walk a few hours at vveeery high altitude (4800m), unacclimatized, up a mountain to reach the grounds. at first no one smiled at me, just gawked or gave a growl of a stare. then as i chatted with three peruvians, i got hellos and smiles and "how you doin"s. i don't remember what it was exactly, but at one point i felt so happy that i could explode. i believe it had something to do with laughing with someone i didn't think i'd laugh with. the lady i was chatting with gave me coca leaves which helped immensely with my "i feel like i'm gonna vomit and i can barely move" feeling (altitude sickness). there was a band that i would pass, and they would pass me, and we would continue in this manner. at one point, i passed and a band member yelled "oh no! cameron diaz, igualito, nada mas." ("oh no, exactly like cameron diaz, no more discussion"), which made me laugh and smile real hard, and shake my head in disaccord. the scenery could barely be more gorgeous, especially topped off with amazing, colourful local dress.

so this was a pilgrimage, everyone walking some kilometres, bands from every village too (how do the brass and woodwinds breathe?! i'm so impressed!!), bands stopping at each costumed cross and playing, and an enormous celebration at the end, in a "village" of just a church! the "village" is used just once every year. amazing.

i met oscar on the way, from puno. we set up camp side-by-side as a "pablito" hit on me, telling me he'd join me in my tent later that night and not allowing his friend to shake my hand. they're kindof like clowns. dirty clowns that should stay far away from children. in the festivities was soooo much dancing! oh, synchronization!! troupe after troupe. loved the costumes and smoky snow-cap background. if you left your hat on when the troupe was bowing and praying to the cross, the pablitos could hit you! they sell whips of all sizes, so anyone can whip you for any fairly reasonable reason. i didn't believe oscar until i saw them doing it. there's even a dance when the furry-pants, creepy-moustache-masked pablitos bounce around and whip each other while everyone watches, then a beardface with a hat and a hairy costume man break them up, they hook their arms round the other's neck, dance forward, then back, and it repeats with another two. it is so bizarre. and oscar didn't help enlighten the situation. he explained everything in useless, circular logic. i received no better an explanation than the floating island man regarding the eagle.

"who are those guys representing?"
"pablitos"
"who are they?"
"they protect the mountains"
"why?"
"because they're pablitos".
... fair enough.

no one ever looked that happy when they were dancing unless something funny, even if morbidly funny, occured- not those dancing, not those watching. they floated a small, hot-air-balloon-like thing into the night sky with a huge candle inside and it ended up catching fire and making a fiery, quickly accelerating descent to the ground, atop someone's stuff, which then caught fire. everyone was laughing hysterically. monsters. (myself included). (actually, i'm pretty sure the owner of the stuff included, too).

within the ceremonies is this thing where you can buy mini houses and cars and money bills and diplomas and then give it to the church, with a prayer that you will have the thing you sacrificed, though life-size. they say if you have faith in god, it will materialize. i say: displaced faith. if it was rather faith in their ability to achieve said things, maybe then it would happen, too. religion can be an intriguing, silly, magical thing- people need to put faith in other things, rather than themselves. do what i takes, i guess. (and i know there's more to faith and religion, just... in this case, that's what i have to say...).

at one point, we tried to cross a line of dancers because there was no other way to get across. i passed first and i got my headache back because i was holding my breath and super stressed in the crossing. everyone pushed and shoved and yelled and some guy ripped my hat off. violent! at least i didn't get whipped.

my head was pounding up there and i felt incredibly light-headed. i made it til 6:50pm then had to go to bed. not that that helped- worst sleep eeevveer. sleeping bag wet, feet bare and freezing (i awoke to frost on the ground and i WAS, in fact, sleeping beside snow caps), head pounding (though thank goodness not the shrieking of the potosi headache). i was groaning, tossing and turning the whole night through.

luckily it took only two hours, as opposed to three and a half, to get back down the mountains the next morning. the locals were dressed so brightly, i loved it. they have these crazy, inexplicable, huge, flat, adorned hats and ENORMOUS skirts. think fifties poodle skirts, doublefold. at the end of the walk, i met hilarious manuel, and after four minutes chatting, he offered me a ride to cuzco with his friends. i was fasting incase i was seeing a shaman the next day, so i sat and talked while the three of them ate lunch in town. manuel told me i was going to go back and tell my friends how nice peruvians are- while i sit and drink water, they allow me to watch them eat, to see how peruvians eat, how kind. he was so funny. he also said that the indigenous ladies wear thirty layers of skirt (i don't doubt it, they're enormous) in order to restrict their waists, like a corset. the only one that enjoys this though is the one who sees them naked, since the thirty layers make them appear huge. on the drive back, there were a million village folk begging on the side of the road, since apparently some people throw bread and oranges from bus windows for them. manuel started yelling about how village folk are all sex machines, they beg all day and "work" all night, and this (the kids on the road) is what they produce.

in the cuzco area of peru, they often dress a few little kids up all cute and traditional and give them small puppies or goats to hold, and they walk around asking for money. had you seen this randomly in a village, it would be the cutest thing in the world, but as it is, i think it is one of the more manipulative things i've seen as a money-grab. it is so incredibly fake. plus child labour. not that child labour is abnormal in latinamerica.

back in cuzco, i tried to enjoy the corpus cristi celebrations. they were quite colourful, but also very christian and very slow and very rigid and i therefore became very bored. in a restaurant, some guy sat with me that i didn't particularly want to sit with me, and then a drunk fell through the front window of the resto, which was followed by a public beating by the police. i also got a very slow, three dollar pedicure and then admired my toenails all day.

i visited pisac, in the sacred valley. it was a magnificent area of rivers and soft green mountains. at pisac, there are thousands of impossibly straight terraced fields lining the mountaintop- very beautiful. they look like someone just dragged a comb across the steep mountainface. i couldn't find the trail to reach the top and was feeling extremely lazy and didn't want to pay the entrance fee for the ruin, so i just looked at the work from below. off to ayacucho that evening.

twenty three hours later, i arrived and met hugo, the hostel owner who developed a huge crush on me. the next day, i visited a forest of puyas de raimondi (trees) near titancayocc. these are adorable little trees that develop miraculously after a certain altitude and reminded me of pompoms on fat sticks. they looks tiny from far away, but up close were actually quite tall and very fat. they made me happy because they were so cute and dr.seussy. whether the squished, back-breaking 4-hour journey was worth it is still under debate...

plus, at the beginning of the trip i got incredibly pissed- i finally snapped. this lady "recruited" me for her bus after i asked her three times if she was the next bus to leave. she confirmed thrice, and so i boarded the glorified minivan. since i didn't plan on staying in that town for the eve and the bus ride was so long and everyone had given me wrong directions to the bus station, so i was already very late and i needed to be back by night, i was very frustrated when the bus next to us asked if anyone wanted to join the one that was leaving first. (i didn't make it into that group in the end). i got all frustrated with latinamerica, since this isn't the first time for this to happen, but it's the first time that i actually cared. for one, we left an HOUR after the lady told me we were leaving "right now, right now, don't worry". secondly, why don't they make a fucking schedule- or at least an order- for the fuckin buses so that when one fills, it can LEAVE and another can fill?!? MUCH more effective and less fighting and less bad feelings than this stupid fight for passengers. the passengers that arrive first, leave first. makes perfect sense. bah. i missed the order in my life and i was in an overly fragile mood. back at my hostel that night, i drank some beers with the hostel owner and his hilarious friend and strangely sexual, but harmless because senile, dad and then missed the open hours of all restaurants serving anything remotely vegetarian.

my plan the next day was to eat the local vegetarian food i had heard about (i was very excited about this), quickly hit quinua, then wari, and be off to ica that evening. after acquiring a bus ticket, on the way to eat, an older man in cowboy hat and boots and flamboyant top sent me an english hello. ohhh boy, not again. i was slightly rude- said hello and walked quickly past as he asked me questions. i answered the fundamentals (the questions i've been asked a million times in the past year) with my back to him as i continued to the restaurant. i thought that would be the end of it.

ten minutes later, after i had ordered my japchi lunch, cowboy man (name is shanty) and his daughter came up and sat with me. o god. i still gave him half a cold shoulder because i was simply sick of latin men and their stupid games. we did end up discussing spiritual hallucinogenics of all sorts, though, and by the end of the lunch he convinced me to allow him and his daughter to join me on my day voyage to quinua and wari. the japchi was delicious.

on the way to the bus, i decided that i wanted to try san pedro, the hallucinogenic cactus made famous in mexico. so we just went to his house and did it, and chilled. they had this open-air, compound-like house that was sooo neat. shanty was growing cacti (some that make you feel funny) and fuschia vines, beautiful art and posters everywhere, all in a beautiful courtyard, it was a gorgeous spot. right before we did it, i got all worried that we wouldn't be back in time for my bus to ica, and i'd be all high and hallucinating there were eagles on all my transportation, so we decided to nix the quinua and wari trip. mama quilla, his daughter, wasn't happy about this; she really wanted to ride the ponies.

the san pedro ended up having next to no effect on me. shanty was feeling it, but all i felt was ever-so-slightly loopy when i walked (that i'm not entirely convinced wasn't just my head making it up), despite upping the administration three times. shanty was shocked that nothing was happening to me- this had never happened before. i thought that my body was fighting it, he thought that it just wasn't the drug for me, or that i wasn't from his culture, so maybe i couldn't identify the effects, and my dad thinks my mind is rejecting it, rejecting anything that isn't the truth, then played with my ego by telling me that gurus don't get any effects from hallucinogenics either, because they don't want to be removed from reality. so whatever the reason... there were no effects on me. i was pretty excited about having some spiritual experience, but i guess it wasn't meant to be.

so shanty and i discussed pachamama (mother earth) and he told me all about the connections they make: earth is woman, sun is man, earth cannot live without sun, earth needs sun to give life to her seeds (woman needs man to life to her seeds). it was all very interesting, and went more in depth than that. then he brought out the line "that's why men need to be on top- because the earth is below the sun", and that's when the connections may have went a little too far.

shanty had actually had mama quilla with a british lady seven years earlier, and had lived in england and new zealand for a very long time, as well as having visited many other countries, so we had extensive talks on the differences between south american culture and "western" culture as a whole. it was nice to meet someone that had experienced both the cultures so thoroughly. he seemed very torn on which he liked more, as if he had to decide which was "better", while i kept insisting that they're just different, neither being above the other. neither is right or wrong.

we ended up going to a festival up the hill. i wasn't intending on drinking at all, but then all these local ladies kept making me drink beer and shots (it's pretty rude not to accept), so then... i drank. they're funny in this lil village (and possibly all of peru, i don't know if this is normal for all)- they pour the beer into one glass and one person DOWNS the whole glass in the fastest chug i have ever seen, no one actually enjoying the beer, but rather getting it over with as quickly as possible, and then they pass the glass to the next person. i cannot drink beer quickly, the bubbles burn my throat and hurt and it's all incredibly unpleasant, so the cycle slowed to a snail's pace whenever it reached my turn. i was a complete spectacle in this little place- everyone stared and laughed and pointed, whistled, hollered, and it got to me a little more than any other time, so i didn't want to draw even more attention by dancing. this got me in trouble, as i was unknowingly asked by the mayor to dance, and in not doing so, i apparently insulted the whole village. oops. but as people became nicer and more welcoming (possibly due to becoming drunker), i loosened up and danced and talked more.

and then the drunks commenced. one after the other, approaching me as if in single file, myself straight-out rejecting each one, though some continued to persist. that was entertaining. there was a ring of pretty sober guys at my side that would always protect me from the really persistent ones. i would just give them a look and they'd open up the circle and form a bubble around me. i felt the love. it was fun, everyone was really nice, and the drunks were harmless, though more aggressive than salasaca.

then came the bullfights. they were terrible. unlike a normal, still terrible, bullfight, in this village the bull is let loose and whoever wants to enter the "ring" (an open field- we are separated from bull by a raised surface that it can easily ascend by the slope on the left side) may do so. not a fair fight whatsoever since the humans had all the control by having the bull roped by the horns and they'd pull it away from the people if it got too close. they would taunt it, throw things at it. the bull would get caught in the rope, wrapping itself multiple times and eventually tripping and falling- once, one fell down a hill. it made me so upset, i was nearly in tears. some times it even went so far that locals disapproved- that's when you know it's really inhumane! luckily, two bulls speared some stupid drunks, so i felt better that at least they got back at them a little. there were also three times when the bulls got up into the stands (they found the slope on the left) and all hell broke loose, and it oftentimes escaped from the grips of the rope-holders and went running off down the road. that's the only time i cheered.

so on the third time the bulls got into the crowd, shanty demanded that we leave. it finally felt unsafe for him. i gave his daughter a piggyback home and this SEVEN year old felt like air compared to my backpack. i ran with her and it felt like she wasn't even there. shanty was amazed while telling me that mama quilla was in fact twenty-five kilos. we went to a quaint pub and shanty commented on the attention i received from all the men at the festival. i told him that that's why i ignored him when he first talked to me that morning- i get that attention all the time; if i acknowledged it all, i'd go insane. it felt good to finally explain to a guy why i'm such a bitch now.

we finally ventured back to their "compound" and i was feeling good, having fun, and laughing like mad with mama quilla, so i agreed to have shanty change my bus ticket to the next night. while he went off to change it, i tried to fly mama quilla on my feet and we always toppled over in hysterics. i told her i smelled bad and so she tried to smell my armpits. at first i wouldn't let her, but then i gave up the fight and told her on the count of three i'd lift my arm, and we did that about five times, ending, inevitably, in laughing until we cried. it was all so funny and ridiculous. then we made some drawings and i taught her to draw what she actually saw instead of what she thought she saw (like two eyes on a side profile of a face, like kids normally do). she still made the white-as-snow virgin's face pink, but conditioning takes awhile to undo. i slept in the bare spare bedroom on the floor with a ridiculously comfy duvet.

the next morn, after shanty went to work and mama went to school, i went to quinua and wari, the previous day's actual plans. both spots were unbelievably peaceful and the villagers were sooo friendly- i was never alone. quinua wasn't incredibly interesting, and it appeared to be entirely deserted, but i went to some war memorial thing on a hill and got a lovely view of the surrounding area. the highlight was probably the bus ride to wari, in which i was questioned by about seven incredibly sweet locals. we laughed and laughed, i enjoyed it. the elderly woman sitting beside me just rested her hand on my leg... for some reason, it didn't feel weird at all, it actually made me feel really... accepted. all warm n fuzzy inside.

wari is some sort of ruin (clearly the history behind these things means nothing to me) surrounded by the most cacti i have ever seen in one place. i LOVED it, it was gorgeous! i used to really dislike cacti because i associated them with those cheesy mini-cacti that really bother me for some reason, but now i love love love them. i stole a few cactus fruit and obviously stabbed myself with all the spines, despite my best efforts. there were tons of trails so i just walked and walked, having no idea where it was leading me. and it was, in fact, leading me nowhere. what a gorgeous field of cacti, though. the people on the bus from wari to ayacucho were really friendly, too. so if you take into account all the people i met in the ayacucho area, i would have to say that they're probably the most open and friendly that i experienced in all of peru, and that says a lot, since peruvians are very open and friendly in general. on this last bus, they told me to sit in the back- i was so skinny, i could fit through! they called me skinny. i was shocked and loved them immediately. i was off to huacachina that night.

i had already been to huacachina, but since i simply partook in a series of drunken nights, i never actually did what you're supposed to do there- sandboarding. so i returned. the hostel that took me on the trip allowed me to stay at their pool all day, which was lovely. i made friends with a parrot. i saw the "senor del desierto", julio cesar, that i met the last time. the sandboarding was great fun! you go in dune buggies and that's rather thrilling. the buggy would approach what we thought was our "stop" on the top of a mountain, then cross the point and DROP down the side of the nearly vertical dune face. it was terrifying in a fun, theme park kindof way. being in the middle of the desert was so gorgeous and serene, undulating waves of sand everywhere you look. most people, including myself, were really bad sandboarders, which led to loads of laughter. the most fun was going down on your stomach, which was out of control and scared the shit out of me and i ended up crashing at the end and entertaining sand in every possible crevice. good times. we saw the sun set in the coolest descent of the sun that i have ever seen- it was just hazy enough that the neon pink sun could be seen as a perfect circle slowly ducking behind the far-away mountains, no distortion and you could look straight at it. gorgeous.

then to lima. met a nice canadian with whom i shopped for the day and envied for her flight the next day. for months now, i would get this flutter in my heart everytime i saw a plane, yearning for my flight to come as quickly as possible, dreaming of that exciting airport feeling. then i was off to huaraz, a freezing but insanely gorgeous mountain town north of lima.

i was recommended a cheap hostel and it ended up being really homely and fantastic. the staff were superbly friendly. one french guy that lived in the hostel ran trekking tours and he gave me tons of information about the santa cruz trek i wanted to do. no one was joining me, so i did it alone, as usual. he rented me a tent and gave me his map and gloves and stuff for free. very sweet of him. i bought food, packed, and left the next morning.

i had an interesting time that morning, attempting to arrive at cashapampa, the trailhead. for one, i told the guy to wake me up at the hostel, and he didn't, but magically my alarm actually woke me up for the first time in months. then, the guys at the bus stop told me that the bus that appeared to be mine was not mine. they lied and i had to catch the next one. then, my new bus driver HIT a schoolgirl on the street! we had to wait at the hospital while she got checked out. then, an old lady on the next bus sat beside me. she was missing an eye, with watery blood dripping from the socket and an inch of crusty blood on the side of her nose. i just felt sorry for her, while the kid sitting across from her blatantly stared with mouth-agape, wide-eyed horror. then, the taxi to cashapampa had three in the front, four in the back, and i heard a noise in the very rear- turned to find a lady and her child in with the luggage. then that taxi got held up because a transport truck couldn't move past one part of a road. so they built a stick "bridge" over the side of the river and everyone passed over. i was impressed. and then i finally arrived. far past my arrival time, but had an interesting time nonetheless.

i had a really rough time at the beginning of the trek. i wasn't really into it. by this point in my trip, i really just wanted to chill on a beach and do nothing, but i had heard such good things about trekking near huaraz that i knew i couldn't leave peru without seeing it. but i was essentially forcing myself and that's never fun. so it was a lazy hike. but somehow i still ended up being way ahead of schedule, despite all the delays in arriving at the trailhead, and so i passed the campsite everyone stays at and ended up in a field with two horses, all alone. but it was very peaceful. the first day's hike, from cashapampa to the third camp, was far from spectacular, except the tiny sneak peak i got of some hazy snow caps in the distance.

next day i hiked to taullipampa, including a detour to the lake hidden in a ring of mountain. it was really lovely. day two was quite lovely, and the snow on the mountains behind the lake was so white that it nearly blended in with the sky. if majestic blankets exist, it looked like a majestic blanket covered the top. i was a better hiker that day. the taullipampa camp has a gorgeous view of this beautiful mountain- the best camp i had on that trek.

the next day was a long day, accidentally arriving at the final camp- vaqueria- a day early. involved a gruelling ascent to the punta union pass at 4750m, then a long descent through gorgeous scenery. the ascent was really lovely, though fairly tough. the descent was hard on my knees, but some really lovely and different areas, and i passed through a few villages full of children wanting candy. there were trees along the way that were unlike any tree i have ever seen- they appeared to be covered in small swatches of crepe paper. so delicate and bizarre. at one point, i sat down for a rest and when i went to get up, i placed my hand directly in a mound of dog shit. i was so grossed out and i looked up to see a lady watching me. we laughed so hard and then walked and talked together, which felt nice.

i just kept walking and walking and eventually found myself at the end point. so, absolutely exhausted after ten hours of hiking, i set up tent on a trail. while doing so, a local approached me to offer me a room. i told her i might as well use my tent since i was paying for the rental, but i would buy breakfast from her the next morning. she helped me set up my tent near the road instead- cushy grass and muucchh more room, and returned back to her house. that was very sweet of her. she told me that this "village" was actually only about three to four families strong. that night was the first night that we did not receive rain, and the only night that i slept well. hilariously, the frenchman had told me that if i was REALLY unlucky, i would get one night of rain. not one did two of three nights rain, but i even got hail once. guess i was really outta luck. but i did finish a normally five-day hike in just three. that felt pretty good. many people say that huaraz mountains are the best in south america, but if the santa cruz trek is much of an indication of the area, i would surely have to beg to differ. while huaraz mountains may be the more impressive, in size and majesty, patagonian mountains are by far the most intriguing and interesting that i have ever seen.

in the morning i awoke to bright sunshine spilling over the mountains, illuminating bits and pieces of backing mountains. i turned to where i heard a brother and sister arguing and saw this gorgeous sight of shadowed mountain on which a brightly dressed indigenous girl was standing with her brightly dressed donkey, and a brilliant, glowing mountain behind her... i wish my camera was better because i took a really terrible picture, but it was one of the more gorgeous things i've seen on the entire trip.

i ate breakfast with the lady from the night before and we talked about books and how i was to trick the park entrance guys. before i left for the trek, my french roommate rima had warned me that if i didn't pretend that i was italian, i would have to pay an extra 70 soles or so to get out of the park. i am incapable of lying, so for the whole trek i would fret every eve about how the hell i was going to pull this off. i was so worried, but i didn't want to pay the ridiculously inflated exit fee, either.

i ended up taking the bus just to laguna 69. the descent down the mountain right before laguna 69 was STUNNING. unfortunately, that photo of the girl and her donkey was my last photo on the dear hp, because it then died. so i have no photos of the stunning descent, but oh my was it breathtaking. at laguna 69, i was so lazy that i just hiked for about an hour and then put down a blanket and collapsed in the sunny field. mmm. then i hiked back along the road, waiting for a ride. i was picked up by an empty "tourist bus". i blurted out my exit problem and the guy told me to just pretend to be asleep in the back and he'd get me through the exit without paying. well that was easy. after the park exit, i went up front with him and we chatted the whole way back. GORGEOUS ride and i asked the driver if this was normal for him, does he not find it particularly stunning. he agreed. i couldn't believe it. we tried to meet up for drinks that night, but we must've missed each other.

so rima and i got some beers and shared them round the hostel. we ended up chatting with portugese ricardo. hilariously, we all spoke spanish, which was not the first language of any of us. rima has the biggest camera i have EVER seen, and she wants to do a photo project/book on travellers she is fascinated with, so she requested a photo shoot with me. i begrudgingly consented and we ended up laughing hysterically by doing this peek-a-boo thing involved my feet and..... okay, hard to explain, but it was really funny and if that ever ends up in a book i'll laugh until i cry and cry and cry.

the next day i revelled in movie-watching and admired the mountains surrounding huaraz, took it easy. that night, i took the bus to lima with ricardo. he told me that he really didn't feel like doing anything in that city, and i told him that he was sure going to the right place- he won't be disappointed. there's nothing to do anyway, so even if he WANTED to do anything, he'd simply be outta luck. he couldn't be in a more perfect place. i disliked lima just as much the third time as i did the first and second. so i tried to go to "asia", a beach that had been recommended to me by many people. upon arrival, i found the place to be like a ghost town, i have never seen anything like it. incredibly touristy and developed, yet enttiiirely void of anything human. it was insane. apparently this wasn't the right time to hit the beach. plus it was super cloudy and gross. so i returned to lima. waste of time.

i randomly met ricardo again in lima. in fact, he was in my dorm room. so we spent the day together, roaming markets and peruvian chinatown and eating strange, squash-like, pasty fruits. we also randomly ended up at a fantastic exhibit on shamanisn, and some other art exhibits. what a lovely day.

then when ricardo left, polish eric took his place. we had such good fun- he was absolutely insane and super friendly and flamboyant and chatty and pure. i really enjoyed his company, we had many vegetarian meals together, and he was very entertaining.

i was sitting in lima in my final hours, awaiting my flight, when the city FINALLY got sunny, and WHAT a difference it made! i watched turtles trying to hump on the patio, and bite me. slowly. they were so intriguing. they looked like they'd been crying, wet cheeks, the both of them. i thought one was hurt. they took turns trying to mount each other. who's the male?? are they both males? can turtles mount on land? they just kept slipping off each other- slick shells repelling. that can't be right. i watched the turtles far too long.

and then... i got on my plane. the glorious expectation was fulfilled. i was experiencing serious GI issues and that ride was one of the most painful and uncomfortable eight hours of my LIFE... but at least i arrived home. i was in so much pain that i could barely eat, so i even wasted the plane food. i, shayla garland, wasted food- this is serious. that made me feel even worse. the family men in my life brought me a bouquet of flowers, which was lovely, we laughed for days, my mom made her famous and amazing macaroni and cheese. all so heavenly. i've never missed home so much and it was so good to be back. a lot of people told me that after a long trip, they're happy for a few days when they get home, then they get really depressed and want to be out travelling again. i guess this trip was really satisfying, and painfully long, because it has been two months and i'm still not itching to leave.

it feels good to be home. i'm so happy to have seen so many of you and it feels like nothing has changed, in a good way. thanks to those of you who have kept up through all of this- you don't know how much i appreciate your comments and just being able to share this with others. i realize it took a ridiculous sum of time and effort to keep up with the lengthy blogs, but i hope you enjoyed it at least a lil.

muucchh love,
shay.

and now, for the last random additions of this trip:

- i found that most spanish people don't even say "you're welcome", but when they do, it's generally "de nada". then, once in awhile, one might say the one i REALLY love: "por nada".
" thank you".
"oh, for nothing". i love it. so kind n genuine. always made me smile.

- shanty said that he thinks peruvians' brains are too small- they need to think bigger. this sounds like a terrible thing to say, but from what i have experienced, i may have to agree, to a degree. it's just that, through all of latinamerica, i had found it so hard to talk with them for a long period because there's nothing to relate to, to talk about, to expand on. they just don't think the same. most of my discussions are shallow, unless i meet the odd person who has a large, open mind, or has travelled. sure, you can find a million of the small-minded people at home, too, but i think, MAYBE, it's overrepresented down south. or, since i'm never in one place very long, maybe it's just because i haven't gotten into deep conversations with many people. that's why i never made this rude assumption earlier, but after hearing shanty say it, i considered that maybe i was right. MAYBE.

- i have seen this more times in the past year than i care to count: a wall containing nothing. surrounding a field of grass with no animals, just dirt and a large rock, etc. i'm sure it once had a purpose, or is temporarily on hold, but everytime i saw it, it made me laugh and maybe cock my head in wonder.

- i now agree that distance can do wonders for a relationship. distance can, as it does in its more literal form, put things in perspective. whether it's worth the obscene and agonizing pain of leaving your lover is still being debated, along with the "were the trees worth 8 hours of bumpy ride?" issue.

- thank goodness for digital cameras. can you imagine how much 5079 photos would have costed to develop? and that's not including the fotos that were deleted off the camera. jesus, maria y jose.
p.s. photos up at themillman.com/shayla-g

- i have never heard myself called "gringita" (lil gringo) more times on my trip than i did in peru.

- canadian men never get the hint that you want them. latin men take all things ANTI- and NON-hint, and either dispose of them, or completely modify to create MEGA-hint. so in the end, all men drive me insane.

- two weeks before the end of my trip, i realized that i did feel different than when i began. though this is a somewhat useless realization, since i had no idea in which way i felt different, i just knew that i did.

- a point that came up time and time again with travellers- they want to go home because they miss their bed. my response was always that i could last longer than average away from home because i hated my bed.
(though now, strangely, i've come to kinda like it.)

- llamas are the funniest, strangest animal. they're my new favourite because they make me laugh just looking at them. they're awkward and they're proud and they just don't care. plus one almost knocked an unknowing, photographing tourist right off machu picchu, so llama wins.

- "they speak portugese in portugal?!"- some girl i overheard in a chinese resto in cuzco. i had to try so hard not to laugh.

- i don't know if i said this before, but inca kola makes me laugh. it tastes like bubble gum. it is so funny. and soooo popular.

- in some ways, i don't think i have the formula for a very good traveller. i have absolutely ZERO attention span for history or politics, both of which help you better understand a people. i sometimes wish i could give a care. but in not being interested in that, i find myself more... personal. i want to meet singular people and try to make my ideas about them from those encounters alone. and i enjoy the more basic, human, inherent things, like how they communicate, and feel, and live, instead of getting complicated with politics and where they all came from. instead of learning so much, i tend to just... watch. witness. take it in without judgement. which oftentimes seems kindof silly and pointless... i think mmaayybe, in the end, i'm just learning in an unconscious way. building up examples of people and situations and...
i don't really know what i'm talking about.

- back in canada, i had the culture shock. strangely, i never get it when going to a new country, and always get it when returning to my home country. i had to adjust from the way things had been the past year, to the way it is now. like that hot water just COMES, constantly, consistently, and without electrocution. i don't have to wear flipflops in the shower. i can even have a BATH if i want (and i did)! there's toilet paper in all bathrooms, and i don't have to pay to use them. and not only is the t.p. free of charge, but it feels like angels sweetly kissing my bottom (i kid you not). i had to adjust to things being familiarly canadian. knowing where things are. things being available. wearing a seatbelt. cars being turned off at gas stations. people waiting for me to cross the road. streetside trashcans instead of the streetside full of trash and cans. i don't have to light the stove. i do have to tip. paying the same in tip as i would pay for an entire meal. things aren't constantly changing daily. polite people. knowing what day of the week it is. hell, knowing what month i'm in. being able to put hot things in the fridge without said action causing all loss of fridge cold. pretentious people. different keyboard. being around people that know me. not being seen as rich. not being asked where i'm from, what i do, how old i am, if i'm married, what my name is, and if i'd like to go out tonight. not being stared at by every man i pass. not being able to barter. not speaking spanish. being able to explain complicated things and know that the person i'm talking to more than likely understands me, rather than pretends to understand me.

and air conditioning. you never realize how ridiculous air conditioning is until you've lived without it for so long, and then re-experience it. the harsh change from hot and gross muggy to freeeezing cold is such a shock to the system, but we're so accustomed to it that we barely notice anymore. kinda ridiculous.

anyway. i think that's all i have to say. nothing mindblowing. there is more, i know it, but it hasn't surfaced yet, so i feel it's going to hide below the surface of my conscious for awhile. so with that, i bid you adieu.

now you have a good day.

bolivia: part two of two.

so on our bolivian train, i sat beside one of the engineers. it was a hilariously rocky train and so i asked him if the back and forthy action was normal, intentional. he responded something like "why yes, it will put you to sleep!". ha! i told him that by the baby-carriage principle, yes, we should be put to sleep... but this principle employed at high speed is actually rather violent. and i did not sleep. that´s okay. that did mean that i had to keep myself busy. so i just drank a lot of water. midway through the night, i had to pee and my gentle poking at my neighbour was not stirring him, so with my greatest acrobatic skills, i actually jumped over him (with rather full bladder, remember- that takes true talent) and felt really proud of myself, bowing and smiling to my unconscious audience.

in santa cruz, everyone gave me wrong directions, repeatedly, to the bus to samaipata. this got really frustrating and i felt really helpless. in the end, i discovered that it´s not even a bus, but a collective taxi. for the first few hours, when the taxi was full, no one spoke, then when everyone got out of the back, myself and the driver chatted and it was really fun. nice guy. told me to go to the "caves" (quotation marks explained momentarily), told me where the bars are, we discussed music and our countries, and he dropped me at a nice, cheap hostel with rooftop terrace.

i dropped my backpack in my room and headed downstairs, asking the first person i saw if he´d had lunch yet- nope- vamos to la vaca loca (hilariously, a restaurant named the mad cow). we then climbed to the lookout mountain behind the town. we were incredibly slow and pathetically lazy and collapsed in the grass at the top, instead of enjoying the view. i convinced him to take a few photos because the shadows looked nice on the hills and, after all, we´d climbed all this way. he was german and very conservative and far too mature for his age. i think i kindof frightened him.

i went to the internet and a dog sat on my feet. and then some kid lost his marble under my desk. kid went to fetch marble. so at one point, sitting at my computer desk in bolivia, i had a dog warming my feet, a kid on his knees at my side, lifting dog`s tail, looking for marble. it made me laugh.

back at hostel, i met israelis omar and tamir on the rooftop as we watched from above as kids shot red lasers into dogs eyes, making them go crazy. cruel. we all ate together for dinner and there was a large group of bolivian girls behind us that were hot for omar and i had to translate all the flirting, which was pretty funny. i wanted to go to karaoke so bad, but no one else was feeling it, so we went out to one of the bars the taxi driver told me about. there, myself and israelis laughed til we cried (israelis were quite conservative too, but they both enjoyed laughing, while german appeared too scared to do so) and got slightly tipsy on beer and bad bolivian wine that wasn´t as bad as german said it would be. this won´t sound funny, but we laughed repeatedly over saying "acheeky-MON-key" like this english lady omar knew, and whenever we saw each other after that, we would say that and be out of breath laughing. it´s retarded, i know. but you have to hear it. and not be expecting something funny. ah, and my new name to him is shushu.

when we left, i decided i was going to karaoke, with or without company. and i received the latter. so i ran off to karaoke and when i went inside and it was packed to the point of no sitting room and this chica was singing a really terrible, slow, romantic, no-fun spanish song... i returned to the hostel. but really, this town was SO super tiny and SURPRISINGLY hopping! i was impressed.

next day, i went sola to "las cuevas", (the caves). which are not actually caves at all, but waterfalls (thus explaining previous quotation marks). the "caves" are in a lovely setting, and therefore, gorgeous, despite the lack of waterflow due to recent landslides ruining all.. everything. the surrounding mountains look like your average stone-grey rocks, but as if they were fleshy and had been sliced with a knife, appearing to peel open, revealing their terra cotta insides. the lush, uniform green brightens up the situation and contrasts wonderfully and lively with the dusty red-orange and grey.

on the way back, i walked about twelve beautiful kilometers before a fancy SUV picked me up. fanciness of SUV surprised me. bolivia is the poorest country of south america, so enormous, expensive sports utility vehicles aren't the most common. he was a rich bolivian, and i later found out that santa cruz is full of them. santa cruz, or the east side of bolivia in general, wants autonomy from the west because it`s very rich and has mucho petroleo. there was actually a referendum while i was there. they lost. so rich bolivian with name starting with h= i shall call him achay (the sound for pronunciation of h in spanish)= told me at the end of the drive that to compensate him, i would buy the first beer, and he would buy the second. although a beer was more expensive than the bus back from the "caves", i agreed, it sounded like fun. i had no idea until we got out of the car that he spoke english. and perfect, strangely texan, english, too. i didn`t believe that he had never lived in an english country. he was interesting to speak to. he was strangely removed from indigenous bolivia, the way most in the east feel. about five enormous (double canadian size) beers later and i`m a chat-chat-chatter and i slyly try to get him a lit birthday cake, unsuccessfully, because i had since found out that it was his birthday. myself and achay have moved because the resto shut down, we`re drinking more beers at new resto with mike and mark, whom i had met five months earlier. achay leaves, gives me his number and makes what may have been an inappropriate comment (we discussed this, inconclusively).

i convince boys to come to park with myself and israelis next day. while walking down street, see israelis with two frenchies (well, the both speak french, but one is from belgium). they have recruited them, so now we are too many people for one car. but they have new idea- TOUR! i`m entirely confused on the subject, but we pay twenty dollars to take a tour through surrounding parque nacional amboro the next day. the owner and guide is a crazy german who spikes my tea with nice lemon liquer. like, he was really friggin crazy. so our nice big group ate fancy that night, then grabbed some beers and vodka from the convenience store. we sat atop the roof and played drinking games and the boys got wasted to the point of scribbling "fuckface wins!!" with permanent marker on mike`s legs and taking pictures of him with ladie`s underwear on his passed-out face. i went to bed far before them- i started at two p.m., remember- but at six a.m., mike came in asking if he could sleep in the spare bed in my room since he was at another hostel. he was very confused in the morning. but they were a fun group.

surprisingly, everyone felt pretty okay in the morning. we bought amazing french goodies from local bakery and hit the road with crazy german. the road was pretty rough. multiple times we were at such an angle that i was pretty sure we were going to tip over. the forest, at a certain altitude, was full of beautiful fern palms and heavy, hanging mosses. we even swung from jungle vines! it was lovely.

israelis and i got the night bus to sucre. at first, i had an old man sitting in MY seat (i`ve come to very much prefer the window seat on the bus because you can lean against something, even if it`s numbingly cold) who asked me if my book was pretty. (?) i thought how looonngg this bus ride is going to feel. and then he left and i stole back my seat, hoping he wouldn`t motice, but he never returned. in his place were not one, but TWO people- a man and his too-old-to-not-be-paying-for-own-seat son. the long trip consisted of the youth essentially ATOP me the entire trip, and not much in the way of sleep involved.

in sucre, we did it israeli-style (as admitted by my company)- you first look at every hostel you can find for the best price, then settle, nine times out of ten, on the first one you check out. i didn`t mind though, since i`m even cheaper than the average israeli. we ate breakfast then boarded the DINOMOBILE!!- the clawed vehicle that transports those willing to the dinopark. the dinopark is complete with lifesize replications, suspected dinosaur sounds, and the main attraction- a real far away wall with dinosaur prints on it, discovered by the cement company. we had to just trust them on that because the sun had not yet hit the wall, making shadows minimal, contrast non-existent, and thus we were just staring at a giant, mud-coloured wall of earth. that eve, i went to a really lovely bolivian dance show while the boys went to the pub. i was really impressed by the show; it was surprisingly professional and well-done. a common thing i`ve noticed with traditional dancing in these countries is that they rarely smile. they don`t look like they`re having much fun. two exceptions include the pre-carnaval in oruro, and... this^ show in sucre.

next, ma boys went to the salar while i went to potosi, a mining town. it was lovely at night, the mining mountain (cerro rico) having its silhouette detailed with what looked like a string of christmas lights (i`m sure it`s something much more useful than that). potosi is at very high altitude- at 4060m, the world's highest city- so i had SERIOUS soroche (altitude sickness) that night in the form of a screaming, piercing headache that did not subside for the entirety of the night, ensuring i received exactly no sleep. i was in tears, begging my head to please ssshhhhhhh- it felt terrible.

painkillers and aspirin did absolutely nothing, but in the mines the next day, coca leaves cured me! miracle!! this is why the coca leaf is so important- it is extremely effective in curing not just the headache symptoms of altitude sickness, but many others, as well. so on my tour of the mines, i met angelica, an ecuadorian who has lived in the states as well, and thus has perfect spanish and english. she was a lovely, smiley, sweet, amicable woman with whom i had a lovely time. we were both very happy to discover that the tour provided us with boots and miners` gear and hardhats with lights. they didn`t blow anything up with dynamite like i had hoped. geared up, feeling like posers, fools, but most of all tourists to the extreme, we, along with other tourist groups, strolled through the miners` market looking for gifts to give them. flavoured sodium bicarbonate (helps effectiveness of coca leaf-chewing), coca leaves, pop, dynamite and fuse. we chose coca and pop because our guide, a former miner, told us it was the most important. he said they get really dehydrated and i suggested maybe water was better then, and he ignored me.

we entered and no matter WHAT the guide says, that place is NOT ventilated. at times it was beyond suffocating. many things that the guide said appeared like post-hoc excuses. like that miners` wives aren`t allowed in the mines. they say that it`s because the miners are in the earth, in pachamama (mother earth), and she`ll get jealous if the wives come in too. i think they just say that because they don`t want women in the mines. also, they need to drink the purest liquor in order to find the purest minerals and to purify their lungs. buuulllll- you just wanna get drunker quicker, you fools, and sorry to tell you, 98% liquor is only going to add to the deterioration of your body, not the cleansing of it.

tio (uncle) is their god because tio is the devil and they must worship him because they`re working the underworld. the sculpture of tio always has an enormous penis and when angelica and i got our photos taken with it, i suggested we touch it, an idea that was greeted by my two spanish companions with shocked laughter, but we did it. oh, i`m so outrageous. the guide openly admitted he was an alcoholic while pouring a little offering on the tio sculpture and then drinking himself. the guide told us that the miners work here because it`s great money, and they only work short-term, generally, because it`s so incredibly bad for your health. it`s interesting because he said that they do not know how to spend their money properly in bolivia- they only think short-term, so they blow it all on useless junk, or drink more. so in reality, it`s just this terrible cycle where, due to mining, people are dying from both terrible respiratory diseases and dangerous work environments, and their lives aren`t even getting any better. sad. and this isn`t the first time i`ve heard of the "bolivians only think short-term/don`t know how to spend their money" deal- in samaipata, someone gave the example that a taxi driver only wants his lunch that day, he doesn`t think of the harm to his vehicle, so he`ll drive you on a terrible path that cracks his muffler and kills his engine as long as he gets the fare. he doesn`t think what the ride will cost him in maintenance, in the long-run.

we saw two men drilling into the top of a tunnel, mud sludge spilling into their exposed faces, incredibly loud. eleven-year olds work the mines. while we were there, they let off five sticks of dynamite somewhere deep in the mine which radiated through the mountain and you could feel it more in your bones than in your ears. creepy. one group of miners told the guide to get out of here... and leave the chicas. eek.

after the tour, we went to a vegetarian restaurant and chatted. i hugged her, told her she was one of my favourites, and walked home in sockless boots, (my miners boots had holes in them and my socks were soaked), which felt absolutely terrible. but it beat walking bolivian markets barefoot.

then to tupiza on the night bus. arrived at stupid time- 3am- i should never have taken the night bus. it is the middle of a desert-like area, so the night is beyond freezing. shaking, numb, i retrieved as many warm articles from my backpack as possible and waited for the hostels to open up. one guy did find me sitting on the streetside and tried to find me a hostel, but there was no room in one, and the other was too pricey, so i chose the bone-chilling cement sidewalk instead. three hours later, one did open up and a bitter old woman invited me in. a $3 bed has never felt so beautiful. the shower electrocuted me. thrice. oh well.

since all the tours had already begun by the time i woke up 6 hours later, i decided to wander and try to find all these valleys of crazy rocks that everyone speaks of. the maps were terribly simplified and... well, just terribly terrible, so i ended up completely off course, but in a very peaceful and nearly completely deserted area with some quite cool rock forms. so all ended well. on the way there, i thought there would be a fantastic foto if i climbed this mound of rocks. i ended up sortof dangling from a precipice, lost my open umbrella to the wind, and having an old car in a dried-up riverbed honking to ask me if i was alright. but i got the shot.

next day, i did a horseback tour with a fifteen-year old. i couldn't believe he was my guide. and he looked even younger- twelve would be pushing it. but at least he could control a horse. i, on the other hand, believe that horses can sense power. and when they know they have it. and when they know their rider does not want it. and then they take advantage of it. i had NO control. it got to the point that mister 15 had to trade horses with me because mine was dragging me through excruciatingly painful bushes of the spiny sort. and then the new one started acting up. so clearly, i was the problem. i don't know how to have control over animals, and i don't particularly want to know how... so why am i on a horseback tour? i felt terrible, as i do everytime i ride an animal's vertebrae.

nevertheless, we continued and eventually finished the long and beautiful tour of the area. it reminded me of northern argentina in its striped and multicoloured hills and canyons, and insane and unbelievable boudlers of all shapes and sizes, all accompanied by random cacti. really beautiful and textured. we had a giggle in "valley of the machos", which is filled with long, slender, phallic rocks topped with angled, oval-shaped ones. in other words, valley of the penises.

then i was off to uyuni by train. hilariously, every single person that got off the train was an obvious tourist. and about half of us went to the same hostel. i roomed with a nice swiss girl named alexa- we got along straight away and booked our salar de uyuni (salt flats) tour for the next morn. she did a student exchange in bracebridge, ontario, where my grandparents live! what are the chances? a senile, insane old lady unjustly convicted us of bread, cheese, and juice theft the next morning.

the salt flats were pretty insane. just as far as the eye can see, a field of flat white. when the mountains get involved, it looks quite lunar. the texture of the flats are neat too, since they form this perfectly uniform, cracked-looking appearance, like ancient painted furniture... i loved it. apparently at parts the salt can be about ten metres thick, and it's regenerative, and it comes out of the soil because of water or something. this supplies all the salt of bolivia, and likely beyond.

isla de los pesces (island of the fish) is... so bizarre! picture the miles upon miles of flat white... a few random mountains in the distance... then slowly approaching an "island" in the white... made of CORAL... and covered thickly in thousands of cacti. it was so random and unexpected and made for gorgeous photos.

the rest of the tour was in a desert of sorts. i'm not sure what to call it. but it was extremely unreal and very soft, as if all the lakes and rocks and mountains were directly from a hazy dream in chalk pastel. very soothing, and probably dull if seen only from photos, but in person they are very impactful. i loved it. i couldn't help but commenting, more times than necessary, on how insanely beautiful it was. i have never seen anything like it. there are even random flamingos.

we also visited laguna colorada, an enormous red lake rimmed with beautiful, volcanic-looking (but not) mountains, and containing an obscene amount of flamingos. it is red because of a bacteria that grows in the lake. also, the super smelly geysers were very cool- the first time i had ever seen a geyser. crazy steam shooting at high velocity straight from the earth, loud and continuous. the more tranquil ones were neat too- a maze of smooth, but divided, surfaces... the earth's pores, creating a mysterious dry-ice-looking atmosphere of sulfurous gases. very cool.

we also visited hot springs veeery early in the morning, which was a delightful experience. the mist was rising from the pools of the lake and springs as the sun rises and plays off all steam, giving everything such depth. it looked way less cool later in the day, when we circled back on our way out. at the springs, we were at 5100m (remember, altitude sickness can start at 2500m), and we had slept at 4715 the night prior. unfortunately, half our group was not feeling so hot, two of them having spent the night vomiting, so only alexa and i enjoyed the springs... but what can you do? i was even glad to have had altitude sickness back in potosi, just so that i didn't have to deal with it then.

arbol de piedra (tree of rock), another highlight of the area, made you feel like you were placed directly into a freaky, surreal, dali painting. this enormous, pot-marked, triangular prism-like rock was balanced on its tip, randomly in the middle of the desert, surrounded by some more normal relatives. some people climbed the delicate rock to get their photo taken while i ranted in spanish about how humans are going to destroy everything.

at the end of the three days, the last point of interest was an abandoned train "cemetary", full of classic, rusted old trains. it was so random, it made me laugh. no one else laughed. they all were suffering from either diarrhea, vomiting, headaches, or a combination of the three. i almost felt guilty about feeling good. but what a magical area, all in all.

then off to la paz again. it was a pretty cold and pretty bumpy ride, but not as bad as everyone says it is. la paz is set inside a ring of mountains, so you descend from a mountain into a valley of sorts. before we descended, i was shocked to see the mountains beyond the city limits looking so white that i mistook them for puffy clouds. they were absolutely gorgeous and enormous. i liked la paz considerably more this time around (i had visited about three months earlier).

this time, i was able to visit the coca museum. it was incredibly fascinating and well done- i was so intrigued that i even sat down and took notes. it talked all about how the coca leaf is such a symbol of the andean identity and how the US actually got the growing of the leaf banned entirely for awhile, just because they made the leaf into a drug problem. i got so mad at the states. the states are 5% of the population and 50% of all cocaine use. bolivia's been using coca for over 4500 years without a problem, it's the foreigners that made it a problem. coca means so much to indigenous ecuador, peru and bolivia- it's used in ceremonies, to connect people, to help altitude sickness and to nourish, etc. it also talked about how the spaniards used the indigenous bolivians as slaves and the coca leaf was actually made mandatory in their work because it improved their performance so much, and it was the only "food" they were allowed all day, and they had to purchase it- 12% of their salary, and it was taxed because the government knew they couldn't live without it. i have even experienced the power of coca, not only in the chewing of it aiding my screaming headache, but in sharing it with locals, feeling the bond that forms when you offer them coca leaves. it is so important to them, it brings people together.

anyway, in la paz, i also went to a lookout and kept running into things, like metal cones and small children on bikes... i blame the altitude. i came out very bruised. then i randomly stumbled upon a temporary local photo exhibit, which was nice- some really good work. i had a wacky, spiritual, scottish sex-ed teacher as a roommate and we got along FAMOUSLY and instantly, i really liked her. she would say things like "my soul is just crying out for a room with a view, you know?"... and i would know. she also often sensed and described people in terms of energies, which was really interesting. i had put up a poster begging for company on a 3-day trek from la cumbre to coroico, but i got no bites. i was hiking this trail in place of biking the extremely touristy and insanely overpriced "most dangerous road in the world", which is in the same area anyway. i wanted to be with people because the travel guide said it was pretty sketchy since some trails passed through illegal coca planations and quite a few people have been molested. but... when i find no company, i go solo, as evidenced by this trip as a whole.

in the crazy hunt for my bus to villa fatima, i saw this young kid who chewed his gum really obnoxiously and suspiciously (seriously!) and looked at me. then, i finally found my bus, far from where i had seen him, and he gets on my bus a few moments later. i give dirty look. then he gets off at my stop, keeps looking over at me, i give more, very dirty looks. then he gets on my bus to la cumbre. i'm freaking out by this point, shallow breathing and pissed and paranoid, in my head rehearsing the bitch-out i'll give him if he gets off- i won't even LET him get off, then freaking out when i wonder if they will let him get off, should i make him walk in front of me or behind? or with?! he's gonna get me no matter what, connivivng son of a bitch. i worked myself up to a ridiculous degree; i was already at REALLY high altitude, not receiving sufficient oxygen (in fact, that could explain my behavious in general.... i always blame the altitude), and now i'm practically hyperventilating. then the micro driver starts chatting with me, real nice, and i get off at my stop, the top of a deserted mountain with a giant rio-like christ, alone. just me and my enormous sigh of relief. c'mon, that was too coincidental- he was after me. i'm still sure of it. he just became too conspicuous to get off on that mountaintop and lost his balls, i know it.

so i hiked n hiked. i ascended the apacheta chucura pass at 4860m. it was lovely, with bright blue lakes on barren-earth mountains, snow-caps in the distance. simple. there was a sign that frustrated me and wasted much time- right before a fork in the road, on the left side, an arrow pointed BETWEEN the two roads. is this a joke? it could be interpreted to mean either road, how retarded. i studied footprints (no information provided), and changed my mind numerous times, but finally got on the right track. once at the pass (the part where you cross the mountaintop), i rested and enjoyed the view and shared coca with a youngster coming up the opposite way.

this was originally an inca trail and it's amazing how built up the path can be with rocks at times in order to level out the trail. i enjoyed the pastures and the winding, ropey river below. also, although i'm NEVER into ruins, it was neat to sit in the overgrown, topless ancient inca resting stop and think "wow... they rested here too". it was all even more beautiful once the late-afternoon glow and shadow hit. very peaceful, but more importantly- not so touristed. then i arrived at the first deserted village and the weather changed immediately to thick cloud. i essentially just descended into cloud. not as pleasant, but it gave an interesting and eerie aura to everything. misty layers of donkey are always better than not-misty layers of ass.

i settled in on what i thought was the first-day sleep spot. i later found out i was wrong and had to rush for two more hours to make it in daylight. my feet were dying. it wasn't even a hard hike, but just BEING in my boots was unbearable. t'was a shame because the room i had set up was in the home of some very nice villagers. at the next village (okay, three huts), an old quechua lady who spoke no spanish motioned for me to stay with her. i then met an argentinian named flor, and later her two friends sebastian and eva: my new hiking partners. sebastian had a thick, translucent white poncho covering his bed. i stared at it forever, trying to figure out what it was. finally, letting loose my laugh associated with the fact that it appeared to be a giant condom, i asked what it was. sebastian held it up to him, the poncho hood billowing over his crotch, pointed to his girlfriend and said "we like to be REALLY careful- i am SUPER fertile." from thereon in, everytime i saw the thing i laughed until i could no longer breathe.

i ended up sleeping on a bed in the lady's kitchen. so in the morning she smoked me out with the unventilated fire she made on the floor. not only was there no chimney, but not even any windows- it was suffocating, and she was entirely accustomed to it. when i left her that morning, i handed her the money owed and she began yelling and i couldn't tell by her twisted face if she was pissed, but the yelling appeared to be negative. this left me feeling crappy. i have no idea why she was yelling, plus i thought about how the sweet smiling look she gave me when she wanted my business was the last smile she gave me. i don't like her very much, i decided.

the second day's hike was more jungly, wet, enclosed. eva and bastian were cute with their bird-watching and harmless disagreements over colours and shapes of birds seen while referring to bird-watching manual. we stayed with marlena that night, an absolute sweetheart. bastian noted what good energy she had (argentinians are alllways more aware of energies of a person, i have found) and how, even though this night we were sleeping in a pile of hay under only a roof, this night was still better because of our hostess. she was sweet and pure and genuine. and there were kittens! the tiniest little kitties you ever did see. they filled me with great joy. we were in the middle of NOWHERE and we asked marlena how her cat became impregnated and she said it must've been the pumas. also, the spot was maarrvelous- a perfect blend of tropical meets mountain. banana trees, tree tomatoes, lime trees against an enormous gaping valley and soft green mountains rising. the bathroom is a squat over a deep hole, accompanied by a beautiful and insanely peaceful view- the clouds slowly rolling in, filling the cracks and corners of the valley, then the middle, layering the mountains. i could have stared at it forever.

there was a canadian Q&A that night, while sleeping in the hay. they asked me to sing canadian songs and tell me canadian things and explain canadian food... they could not understand how we could have such little identity. i'm convinced our identity is in our lack thereof. we're a nation of immigrants, diverse, multicultural, it makes things interesting. and when it came to politics... "she's a complete disaster", flor noted, which i thought was hilarious and summed me up just perfectly.

next morn, off to casa sandillani, home of japanese immigrant tamiji hanamura. gorgeous spot, surprisingly developed- even glass on the windows! windows at all. shockingly, even beds with mattresses, too. how the HELL they got that there, i will never know. but i bet it involves donkeys. lots of donkeys. tamiji was a friendly, crazy, wrinkly, hunched, fast-talking mixture of spanish and japanese. he was funny and i didn't understand a thing he said. we signed in at his guest book and heard about his journeys (well, what they could make out of it), then continued to chairo. i left my group behind and enjoyed solo hiking for awhile. truck ride from chairo to coroico.

then, not knowing it was a forty minute uphill hike away, we decided on hostel sol y luna. it is one of the prettiest hostels i have ever been at- amazing view of the valley, two pools, meditation house, beautiful cabins, library, restaurant with great food, trails, tranquil, quiet, flowers, clean. $3.50. have i mentioned how much i love bolivia? i got insanely lazy here and while everyone hiked to apparently mediocre waterfalls, i dipped in freezing pools and discovered the warm, entirely windowed meditation house and did the logical thing- enter... and fall asleep in the sun. almost meditation. close enough, really. it felt wonderful.

i was invited to a fireside bbq at one of the cabins. it was really lovely. probably my favourite part was that it was like being at a canadian fireside bbq, except NO BUGS! (only huge, scary, wolverine-like dogs that approach you, ominously cracking branches, out of the forest... scared the shit out of us). you never realize how many bugs we have in comparison to the rest of the world until you realize how little the rest of the world has. that was a stupid sentence. it was a really great girls' night.

the next day, after a delicious quinua and veggie dish, flor and i were off to la paz again. BEAUTIFUL ride on the return, winding along the tips of lush mountains, plunging valley below. we saw a bus that had gone off the road, metres below, on its side, firemen pulling people and things up ropes, news teams. it was intense.

then to copacabana. flor and i split up for what was supposed to be temporarily, but when you're travelling, oftentimes a quick split means a forever split because it's nearly impossible to find each other, to coordinate, again. your life is just too unpredictable. i do not like trying to meet up with people. plans are not part of my plan. the drive to copacabana, a small town on the coast of the beautiful lake titicaca, was gorgeous. i discussed the country with my bolivian bus buddy. he kept complaining about bolivia, and since i knew nothing about the politics and the state of the country really, i just told him what someone more knowledgeable had told me: that bolivia is the most progressive country in south america right now. i think he was at least a little happy to hear that from a foreigner. i have no idea if it's true.

at one point on the ride, there was the vibrant blue waters of titicaca backed by mustard hills, then backed by majestic and stunning white snow-capped mountains, backed by a textured near-stormy sky, all bright but dark. unbelievable. in awe, i was.

off the bus, simon approached me and offered a $2 room. deal. real sweet man, that simon. while walking to the shore, i inadvertently followed a group of three. i tried to slow down to make it appear more like i wasn't following. kristof later told me that had i sped up just a little, he would have spoken to me. i told him that i had slowed down for aforementioned reason, and we had a little giggle because it's so funny that we both were so conscious of this happening. anyway, at the coast i slowed down to take it all in and i therefore lost them.

ten minutes later, while telling a beckoning waiter that the tacos were too expensive- why are they so expensive??- the same group of three passed me and roxy asked me if i was travelling solo, then invited me to join them! what a pleasant surprise, how nice! so i joined the aussie/south africa mix. gay kristof and i skipped along the road belting the 70s-80s songs spewing from roadside restos and we perused the entire main street looking for the best eats. we, of course, settled on the first one we checked out. later, three others entered and right before their bottoms hit the seats, kris invites them to join us too- why, there's no use in us sitting separate. those south africans are the most friendly, open people i have ever encountered, i was so impressed by all this. so that went from a solo night out to sitting with seven people from all parts of the globe, and a german joined a half hour later. awesome. a wonderful union.

when i returned to the hostel, the front door was not only locked, but not... available. there was an enormous metal pull-down in its place. so i just banged.. and banged... and finally simon opened up. i felt bad. i was only out til eleven.

in the morn, roxy, kris and i ventured to the closest mainland point to the isla del sol (where the mayans thought the sun was born or something... or maybe the incans... good lord, my history is terrible). it was a gorgeous four hour walk. really friendly locals. at one point, an old man slowly hobbled towards me, grabbed my right hand with two of his, and nodded his head with a cute smile. it was so touching to feel so... randomly appreciated? maybe i'll do it to someone someday. i might have to be really old and crinkly for it to work, though. we met two australians on the walk and when we stopped at the peninsula, i found out she was a footcare specialist and she tied my shoes differently so that it removed the pressure from the sides of my insanely wide feet. thank god i ran into her. it helped so much, i am forever in her debt.

on the way back, we walked about an hour and then picked up a ride from a broken-down old truck. the back, where we were, was built of wood. a long time ago. completely falling apart and terrifying. but in its horror, we found excitement. there were a few boards missing from the floor, and the whole rear contraption moved with every bump in the road. no suspension, so multiple times we could be found flying metres in the air (okay, feet), and the whole of the trip was spent bent-kneed, grabbing the wobbly sides for dear life. a good workout. and this is the sort of ride that deserves a tip in bolivia. love it.

we travelled to puno, peru that eve. we stayed at probably the nicest hotel i've stayed at my entire trip (save the expensive one in san diego because i was dying and penniless and the hostels wouldn't take me cuz i had no ID and the mexican receptionist took pity on me). clean, comfortable double bed for single person, tv with english movies, table and chair, real amount of space, private bathroom with shower, big window, $5.

kristof and i wanted to go dancing, so we went for money and a lil liquor. on the way, we passed a really fancy, beautiful, and artsy hotel. on the return trip, kris convinced me (since he doesn't speak spanish) to pretend we were a rich couple looking for a room. so that i did. in my smelly, torn clothes. being foreign has its advantages. it was one of the coolest hotels i have ever seen, mostly because of how classy but artsy it was. tempting, but still was preposterous asking $40 for a double when just down the street you can get it for 5. the bellboy was nice, telling us where to go out that night. the lady at the corner shop was nice too, helpfully telling us which were the cheapest liquors and what we could mix with it. the next morning i told her we drank the whole bottle and she laughed and said she understood why i was now buying 2.5 litres of water.

that night was a REALLY fun night. we danced and danced, changed clubs multiple times. everyone was really tame in the clubs, while we were wild and flamboyant. i can't count the number of times kris said during and after that night how much fun he had. and i felt the same. the night ended with a potato, because i don't eat barbecued cow heart.

sadly, my friends left for lima the next day. i found a new canadian friend on the boat to the floating islands, though. which i shall discuss in the coming, final update(s?). i've been bad even starting peru, but the friends carried over countries, so i did the same.

stay tuned... we're almost finished!
much love,
shay.

raaandom:

- i love when i meet genuine locals, since lots of them just want your money or look down on you or just make you feel bad... it's so nice to meet kind people that are just interested in you as a person instead of you as a tourist or foreigner, instead of negatively concentrating on your differences, they either celebrate or ignore them, either way embracing you.

- to me, there's something oddly comforting to me about the smell of horse maneure. i think it's because it reminds me of the farm.. a safe space of my childhood... i don't know why cow shit doesn't have the same effect.

- "i don't like animals. i prefer plants."- flor.

- there was a scottish girl who was at the cabin fireside bbq and there was seemingly nothing negative about that girl. just purity, just blissful innocence. it was the definition of buena onda (good energy), really: complete absence of negative energy.

- on the salar de uyuni tour, at that insanely high altitude, was one of the few times in my life that i've not felt hungry! at all, really! what a strange and wonderful feeling! p.s. it's apparently the cleanest place on earth because it's all salt. a tourist told me that, so don't quote me.

- there was a lady on the bus to la paz that made me realize something. she was indigenous, and normally, at least personally i have found, they are quite rude and very unaware. i don't know if it's on purpose, towards me, but i have studied them with others, and while it may be more pronounced towards foreigners, they kindof do it towards everyone. this is a HUGE generalization, by the way. and hard to describe. but manners appear to mean nada, and they will rest their kid on you, step on your feet or smack you with their handwoven slings bags, sorries are never said. it's cultural, i'm sure, but it drives me a little mad. i didn't realize how much i noticed it until this indigenous lady who sat beside me apologized for her child touching me in the slightest, making an effort to keep her off me, smiling at me, really looking at me and seeing me as a real person. i can't say how much i appreciate that consciousness. makes such a difference.

- so many people DIED in bolivia! tourists, too! two cars crashed on the salt flats- eight people in each, gasoline on roof exploded, everyone fried. another car of eight lost tire on "the most dangerous road" and took both themselves and a biker off and fell the hundreds of metres to their death, not one week before another biker took himself off without any help. jesus christ.

- in la paz, you can visit the san pedro prison. organize it with an inmate, they give you a tour. inside the jail, there is apparently a coke factory, cafes, restaurants, you get a free line of coke and can smoke and buy weed and other drugs. the inmates can pay to bring in their families to live with them, there's tv, everything. they run the show. i so fully disagree with paying two hundred bolivianos to enter and support these people's running of an institution that is supposed to be running them. as much as it intrigues me, i would never support that out of principle. makes me sick.
i'll just read the book, "marching powder", instead. hopefully proceeds don't go to inmates, too.

- "bolivia" sounds like it belongs in eastern europe with all the other "-ia"s.

brazil: part one and only.

so i got my brazilian visa in two hours, even though normally it takes a week in buenos aires and you need proof that you´re leaving brazil within the month and you´re supposed to have at least six months valid on your passport. skipped all that junk by getting it at the puerto iguazu border to the country. woo!

i entered brazil in need of a cash machine, and found seven in the grocery store near the terminal. without even looking up or asking for help or anything, a brazilian woman noticed that my credit card wasn´t working at ANY of the seven stations. she then proceeded to aid me in pushing each card in, translate error messages to spanish, and when we both knew i was out of luck, her and her friend took pity on me and not asked, but demanded , they drive me into town to a bank that would work! it was so very kind!! they took such initiative, the little angels! after the bank, they even drove me to the bus stop for the falls! i hugged the driver and would have hugged the other had she been out of the car. what a random act of kindness, what a good first impression of brazil, i hope i can pass on the favor.

THEN, while waiting for the bus, i asked a girl which bus i should get on, then i asked if they give change or do i need exact. she asked me what i had- i had a five reais bill- and then she gave me a bus ticket she had! i was so touched by it all. and she didn´t have to at all! i later found out you could give upwards of twenty reais and they would give you change. how unnecessarily sweet.

so that was all dandy and heart-warming, but really i should have never gone to the falls at foz do iguacu. i was sure i had seen all i wanted to see and that the brazilian side could not possibly be better than the argentinian (the same iquazu falls), but others´ opinions got the best of me and i visited anyway. everyone says it´s worthwhile to see the "overview" on the brazilian side, but i would have to disagree, personally. they had some fancier stuff than argentina, like a nice double-decker bus and an elevator and a watchtower, but they were just over-compensating for the lack of good falls. the entrance fee is preposterous and it´s nothing special once you´ve seen the falls from the other side. and that´s all i have to say.

i was off to florianopolis that night. i have no idea what it means in portugese but in spanish it might be a blend of flowers and metropolis, which is a strange, unnatural blend. it never sat well with me. and the actual experience didn´t sit much better. it rained and was cloudy for the three days i was there. mega disappointment- after icebergs and cities, i was sooo looking forward to sun and surf and chill. but i got almost no sun, very little surf, and far too much useless, bad-weather chilling. i just waited and waited for the sun. can´t win it all, i guess.

while waiting for the sun, i made some lame attempts to do stuff. visited beach and just... looked at it (too cold to swim). bought coconut yogurt. someone else ate it when i put it in the fridge. looked at a lake. climbed some sand dunes. bought a sarong thinking it would entice the sun to come out and make me sit on beach on said sarong.
the highlight was hiking to a lovely, secluded beach surrounded by mountains and getting about 1.5 hours of sun while there. something to get excited about. lotsa jellyfish on the sand scared me.

strangely, my hostel was filled with argentinians- not only those staying there, but all those working there, as well! i almost didn´t believe i was in brazil. strange. they actually kindof really excluded me, which is very rare for argentinians. while i was cooking, they did this techno rap thing with their voices and a guitar that was realy fucking hilarious, though. possibly the highlight of my day.

then off to ilha grande (pronounced grahn-jay, portugese is so funny). the bus was an hour late and so i missed the cheap ferry by ten minutes. not impressed. so i spent double or so getting a ferry over in which the captain hit on me hard and taught me some portugese under a perfect night sky. i continued to try to read ´the idiot´. in brazil, i just had to attempt to numb myself from the pain of spending so much money. it is reeeaaaaalllly expensive. it also explains my short, two.five-week stay. it´s also enormous (8/9 the size of the states), so i figured i will just return and finish up brazil when i have real money.

so in ilha grande i had just about the same luck in weather as florianopolis. but at least i had good company. every night was filled with good fun, every day was filled with hammocks and food, awaiting the precious sol. it´s a real shame because it´s supposed to have really beautiful beaches, but when it´s gross and cloudy the last thing you want to invest in is a trip to the beach. so three more wasted brazilian days. i later heard that the weather cleared the day after i left, of course. roi told me on that island that there´s a hebrew saying: if you eat alone, you die alone. it looks like i´m in trouble. the hostel had a dvd player, but just one movie, so we watched the incredibly gruesome and unbearably stupid "shottas" about five times, by default. TERRIBLE.


so a week in brazil and i have not fully enjoyed one beach. time to hit the city: worst. day. ever.

it started by missing the ferry by about 1.5 minutes, so the whole thing turned around for me, and then i find out it´s the expensive ferry i don´t want to take anyway, but i take it because i feel bad that it´s turning around for me.
then i went to the town that´s closer to rio de janeiro, but it´s the one that doesn´t have local transit to the city. so it costs me a ridiculous sum for a minibus with a bunch of tourists.

then everyone else gets dropped off at their respective areas, but since i didn´t have the actual address of mine, only the area, the guy won´t drop me anywhere near it, so he randomly drops me off the highway and i have to take a really expensive taxi to santa teresa. it´s a sunday, and this area is not extremely popular, so everything is closed, including the internet i was depending on in order to find the hostel address. so i wander the rainy, barren streets looking for someone to ask about the hostel. finally i find someone fixing a telephone pole. i ask him if he, by chance, has a telephone book. he mutters something in portugese, gestures wildly and disappears inside the house. (by the way, native spanish and portugese speakers can understand portugese and spanish, respectively, because it´s similar enough, but i found it nearly impossible to understand portugese, though luckily they could generally understand my spanish enough, so at least i could get MY point across.) he comes out with a woman, not a telephone book. she can speak spanish. hallelujah!i can understand someone! i ask her for the telephone book or if she´s heard of the hostel. i felt like an idiot because the hostel was called "the best hostel in rio", but my friend recommended it to me. she hasn´t heard of it, it´s not in the phone book, and says there´s nothing in that area under $20. i´m depressed. she tells me internet opens at 3. i´m happy. she offers me a room in the dirty apartment below for $20. i couldn´t understand a thing the homeowner was saying, but she seemed sweet. the room was filthy. i wait around in the rain and go to internet. find hostel. i´m happy it exists. nice lady (licia- the one who speaks spanish) finds the address in book (it´s in lapa, not santa teresa) and then actually stands with me in the pouring rain and waits for the old-school trolley thing to pass by and tells the driver where to drop me off. that was really sweet of her- brazilians are really nice and helpful people, wouldn´t you agree?

the trolley-thing drops me off at the right spot, but gives me the wrong directions for where i´m to walk. there are no street signs, so i have no idea. after awhile i think i´m on wrong path and old lady who thinks i´m german (EVERYONE thinks i´m german!!) directs me back to where i was dropped, and down a different street. *sigh*. still raining. i go back and after getting lost again because a street that is on the map is not actually a street, but a set of STAIRS, i FINALLY find the hostel!

i find it and i enter to somewhat strange stares. hmmm. the owner, a nice english lady, gives me an awkward smile and delivers the news: this is actually no longer a hostel but more like a volunteer refuge. you´ve GOT to be kidding me. got to be. i laugh. a sad, pathetic, tired laugh. it´s all you can do. that or suicide. she says she´s in the middle of a meeting, but she´ll talk to me when she gets out- "sit, watch the movie, leave your backpack at reception". i assume she´s at least going to let me stay one night, sleep off this hellish day. i mean, it´s still a place to stay for random people. why not? it´s 5pm, so i have an hour to catch the two free sunday art museums (quite expensive when not sunday). i run up to the one. you just won´t believe it... it´s closed. shocking. i figure i can make it to the other one in time. it´s not where it is on the map, of course, so i waste time wandering, confused, and asking security guards for directions. aaaand... it´s closed. and the security guard told me this is a really dangerous area on sundays, i shouldn´t be walking alone. so i saunter back to the "hostel", paranoid of getting robbed, defeated and soaking. on the way, i check out sambavilla hostel because i know i´ll be kicked out after the night. it smells, but it´s nice.

back at "the best hostel in rio", the owner cheerfully tells me i cannot stay there, so sorry. i tell her that´s okay- if she had allowed me to stay, that would have meant that something went right that day, and that would simply be out of suite. it´s not like i was expecting anything to ensue properly by this point. i told her a tack had attacked (ha) the bottom of my shoe, but that i liked it because it makes me happy hearing the click click click. i even did a little tap dance for her. the absolute HILITE of my day was having a tack stuck to the bottom of my sandal. it later fell out, to my disappointment. i must say, considering the ridiculous day, i was still in surprisingly high spirits. felt good. i kindof felt that lazy, drunk "i just don´t care anymore" feeling.

so i went to aforementioned sambavilla and showered and felt much cleaner and drier and got along with people. my favorites of the night were cassandra, the insane canadian (who actually repeatedly told me she liked me because i made her look sane) who works at the hostel with an impressive and inspiring lot of self-confidence, and shay (pronounced shy) from israel, and jack and john from england ("all we need is a jim to be three great liquors", but i heard "all we need is a gym to be three great lickers"... oops). ate some nice dinner and then a brazilian folk band came to the bar (reception is a bar) and we watched dancers. two were phenomenal and shay and i stared in awe, and then they both asked us to dance! we told them we couldn´t possibly, oh no. then we did. turns out the chica is a dance teacher, so shay got free lessons. then they made us dance together and we were pathetic. but it was fun, anyway. lovely end to an abnormally piece-of-shit day.

the weather finally got better in rio! it didn´t rain my second day, and it was actually SUNNY the next day, and beyond! i was in rio for nine days, so, as with buenos aires, it´s all just a non-successive blur of days and nights, so i shall proceed in random order.

i took the trolley through santa teresa again, this time without my enormous backpack and with camera in hand. i was there as sun was just near-setting and it was quite lovely and peaceful. santa teresa is a more upper-class neighbourhood filled with beautiful, old, but modest, homes perched on mountainsides. also, at times you could have taken a photo of roadside gardens and thought you were in the jungle- oftentimes you´re surrounded on all sides by lush, exotic vegetation. i loved it. there is also a lot of amaaazing street art throughout lapa and santa teresa, and especially where the two areas meet. i would just walk the streets and take photos of the art and gaze in awe. it was lovely being surrounded by such creativity. also, apparently one of snoop dogg´s videos is filmed at these stairs in lapa. from what i remember, they have taken 15 years to do and they are still in the works. a local artist finds and oftentimes paints old ceramic tiles and has made these amazing, beautiful stairs- spectacular.

then, christ the redeemer- that enormous, minimalist, actually-quite-ugly christ that´s perched atop a mountain in rio that overlooks the whole of the city. i cannot BELIEVE that it´s a wonder of the world. that´s retarded. i should note, though, that while up-close the christ is nothing special, you always get a little excited when you have a view of it when you´re in the city- from far away it´s a little spectacular. so the christ itself was completely unimpressive for me, but the view- OH, the view! rio is by far the most beautiful city i have seen from above. it looks like a jungle scene if you just squint your eyes. hazy layers of mountains in the distance, beautiful sugarloaf mountains and windy coastline in the foreground, with a bay and a lake in the mix. i loved it. i went with shay, who couldn´t believe how i could possibly be so happy all the time. (as mentioned many blogs before, it´s generally my company that creates me- i think his under-energy and non-judgemental nature brought out my over-energy and real self).

i also went to the beach. a lot. everytime i went to, or even thought, of ipanema, mumbled words to bossanova "girl from ipanema" insisted on spewing from my mouth. i generally rotated between copacabana and ipanema. copa is dirtier and less classy and pretty, but more modest, with manageable waves. ipanema´s beach stole my swimsuit a few times (INTENSE waves) and its supposed mass of beautiful people must´ve been hiding everytime i made a visit. "where the hunnies at?" was a common question. i didn´t see that many beautiful people. it´s funny too because there are areas dedicated to different groups, if you really know what you´re doing- the gay area, the family area, the volleyball area, etc.

OH the juices in brazil! brazil has an amazing amount of exotic, rare fruit that i am pretty positive you cannot find anywhere else. and with fruit comes juice. chirimoya, acerola, acai, even cashew fruit! it was such a beautiful thing.

not such a beautiful thing was being robbed. again. fifth time. how could i POSSIBLY be such a target?! joakim tells me dogs don´t bite, i get bitten by a dog. dreadlocked bartender tells me no one gets robbed in lapa, i get robbed. lesson: don´t listen to people, people don´t know what they´re talking about. not that i really believed either one of them, but perhaps my guard was slightly lowered. testing irony. it´s kindof funny too, because i knew rio was dangerous, so as i was walking to the saara market, i was thinking about it. i had purposely left my camera and credit card and IDs at hostel and stuffed half my money in my bra. i thought to myself "really, the only thing i would get really upset about losing is my guatemalan bag..." and literally a few minutes later, i had one guy grab my shoulders from behind and another come round front and spit portugese at me. i understood enough to know what they wanted. and in rio, they WILL use force if necessary, so i wasn´t about to fight back. so i whimpered if i could just take my memory card- he was nice enough to agree to that. then he reached into my bag, grabbed my wallet, and my SPOON (oh no, my spoon!), and ran off with his sidekick. and i was right beside a stalled fuckin highway too, and no one helped me or said anything. that is the only time it has ever been face-to-face, and thus personal. and it didn´t feel good. i was shaking for a good hour afterwards. and i stole the spoon in mexico, so i spose i deserved that. at least i still have my guatemalan bag. i love that bag.

there is such an enormous division between the rich and the poor in rio- i have never seen a wider gap. this obviously creates problems. it´s one of the only places on this trip i´ve ever felt to be dangerous.

from what i understand, favela lords allow a certain amount of crime, and when it gets out of control, they... deal with it. think "city of god" (amazing portugese movie about rio´s favela´s (ridiculously poor outskirt neighbourhoods that often thrive in drugs and arms)). in lapa, which is not a favela, but one of the more sketchy neighbourhoods of central rio- especially near the lapa arches, which were separated from my hostel by a barely-used single lane and two bordering sidewalks, it was said one night that a favela lord was coming and someone was getting shot because there had been too much crime lately. there was an excitement in the air, an anticipation. it´s sick. but i liked that i was in a more real rio that had i stayed in ipanema or the like.

also, every thursday to saturday (and to a lesser degree every other day of the week) there are the famous lapa street parties, and my hostel was RIGHT in the thick of it- it was great. drink upstairs, move to the bar downstairs, then step outside and there´s an enormous crowd at the doorstep. party central. and the crowd staying at the hostel were great too, everyone got along lovely. we would play "hi jack" which is this ridiculous card/drinking game that i was very bad at and it became a large joke. down the street there was a stand of pastels (pronounced pash-tow, like you´re four years old) that inevitably became known to us as "pockets". six ingredients of your choice, surrounding by thin pastry and deep-dried before your eyes. deeeelicious. favourite nighttime activity: going for pockets.

there were a few nights when this amaaaazing, huge drum band class played at the bar around the corner. they made me incredibly happy- amazing beats and rhythms. love love loved it. we also had one night at a different club around the corner where they, compleeetely out of place, played really fantastic and random english music. from the beatles to sean paul, i was loving life- we were dancing MACHINES!

to leave was very sad. in nine days i became quite close to quite a few folks. but it had to be done (especially because paying $10 a night is NOT acceptable!). at the bus station, i met two guys who were waiting for their bus, as well. (duh). they had just come from the airport. from the states. they had just been deported! for marijuana posession. they had nothing but the shirts on their backs. it was a very interesting chat. they were really nice guys. one worked at starbucks. hm.

i went to bonito next, a town that translates to "lovely". straight-forward enough. bonito was slighty disappointing for cheap little me, though. i didn´t realize that all the things i had went there to do were so insanely expensive, along with food and lodging, as well.

so i rented a bike and made my way to the balneario municipal. bonito is known for its obscenely clear river waters. the balneario was just a local access area for one of those rivers. my oh my, was it spectacular. the river was quite narrow, maybe a few metres, and it was surrounded by lush, jungly flora. furthermore, not only was the water always within the beautiful variation between lime green and deep teal, while always clear as glass, but it was PACKED with fish. i rented a snorkel and goggles and sat on the platform at the river´s edge and deathly feared jumping into the mass of fish that, contrary to normal fish behaviour, came TOWARDS you instead of being scared of you. i thought maybe if i looked into the water with the goggles while still sitting on the platform, that that would ease me into it. no, that made it much, much worse. finally, after much anxiety and fear and deliberation, i splashed the water about frantically, to move them away, then quickly lowered a few steps and awkwardly flung myself in. as i thought would happen, i had a few initial seconds of intense fear as the fish seemed closer to me than they actually were (goggle-action), plus they kindof had piranha mouths, and then i was fine. i swam upstream and they all followed me- i was the spawning queen for a few moments. it was terrifying to look back and watch piranha-mouths all coming at you. then i´d stop at a wider part of the river and they´d circle me, go downstream, play like this for awhile. i loved it, and since it was a weekday i had the entire river almost to myself. just lovely. very peaceful. i drank a young coconut, then cycled back. on the way, i bought some beets. in rio i had recently been informed that you do not need to cook beets in order to eat them. my life is a lie! i thought they were like other roots, needed to be cooked! my mother always sliced and cooked them with some delicious saucy concoction! i had no idea! i loooovvvee beets, so i have since bought many beets and made shaved beets and carrots and pasta salad that makes me very happy and healthy. i had a nice social night with my beet salad and awoke early the next morning to make it to the bolivian border in time to buy a train ticket. that morning, at 6am, was sooo incredibly peaceful. still and quiet and lovely morning light. a toucan flock flew over my head and it was all very unreal.

i was sick of spending so much money in brazil, so i was quite excited for bolivia. i ended up joinging forces with a very shallow and immature, but funny, german, and an old, gay bolivian. interesting. we got a taxi to the train station and it was completely full. there was the slightest chance that we could wait and three spots would happen to open up. right. so we waited lots of horas... and wuddaya know? three spots fall gracefully into our posession. while waiting, the german commented numerous times on how ugly bolivians are. i think the place we were at did not have a proper representation of bolivians. i have found that they actually have quite an art to their faces. they can be quite beauitful.

but oh no! i have started bolivia! it needs to wait, i must hold myself back. and for now, leave you with random additions. now i´m only two countries behind, woohoo!
much love, shay.

- brazilian portugese sounds like... many things. when i was at iguazu falls in argentina, there were three people speaking behind me and i was playing the "guess that accent!" game with myself. i could not pinpoint it and the sound of that language actually made me laugh, it sounded really ridiculous. i turned around and asked them where they were from, having no clue. brazil. i was then terrified to enter because i certainly didn´t understand a thing they had been saying.
the portugese sounds like a retarded person speaking spanish. what jamaicans do to english, they do to spanish. it sounds like a strange mix of russian, french, german, with just a hint of español. it´s the funniest, strangest-sounding language i have ever heard, it makes me laugh. they do sound like they´re singing with their intonations, which is lovely. p.s. brazilian portugese is extremely different from portugal portugese, by the way.

- there are these things called tocidas in brazil that i was obsessed with. they were like tiny pita puffs. except that they were fried, not baked. it´s unfortunate. i want pita puffs mmm. i wonder if they still exist.

- i never got to see the brazilian martial art dance, capoeira. the only even remote evidence i saw of it were two homeless people in front of our hostel doing what i think may have been the dance. no idea. but that was the general consensus.