Last night Andrew and I went to an interesting restaurant/bar, after we'd already stuffed our faces full at a different restaurant for about $3 apiece. The interesting bar was called "Macondo", after the name of the town from Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude. It was decorated to evoke the spirit of the book and was a delight.
At any rate, having already eaten, we were of a mind to have a drink and settled on wine, the thinking being that we didn't want to mess with liquor our first night in the high elevation. We ordered a Peruvian wine, Tacama Gran Tinto, but when the waiter came back he was holding a Concha y Toro, a Chilean wine that I've had before.
"That's from Chile; the wine we ordered is from Peru."
"This is from Peru." (The bottle says Chile, which Andrew pointed out to him.)
He sheepishly came back moments later with the correct bottle of wine. He didn't get a very good tip.
There are hasslers everywhere here, the most fierce of whom are the pretty local girls the various restaurants employ to herd us in. None of them accept "no", or its variants in any language. We have found the best method is to speak gibberish and continue walking without making eye contact.
I'm not officially a soldier anymore as of today. (Sorta, I'm on the lists for recall if need be, but I'm not getting a paycheck anymore.) Time to dive into the coca leaf tea.
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The Showers of Damocles? At all the hostels we've stayed at so far, I have to hit the breaker switch next to the shower once I've turned on the water. The breaker then runs electricity through covered wires to the showerhead, which heats the water to a point above freezing but below bearable. The copper wiring is exposed as it connects to the showerhead. Showers thus far have been short and prefaced, taken, and concluded with prayers.
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This morning it seemed time for a break. Andrew and I are getting along fine but I require solitude sporadically. I wandered around the city, walking a part of the Avenida del Sol before heading up. I continue to be winded by the altitude, but I made my way up the cobblestone streets until I'd passed all the ghetto homes and came to the tree line. I looked out on the city. Terracotta- tiled roofs, more orange than red, splayed out before me. I easily made out the various churches and plazas that I'd been walking among. I continued to climb to the ridgeline and then walked along it, past shepherds and sheep to the large statue of Jesus, arms spread wide, who keeps watch on the city.
The plan was to read there, but even six hundred feet above the city there were peddlers. One came over to talk to me. I made the mistake of being cordial. He knew just enough English to confuse me by switching between that and his native tongue. He gave an impromptu history lession. He carried a map, so I knew that he was just trying to show his worth as a guide. Without being rude, I tried to make it apparent that I just wanted to be left alone.
I should have been rude. Eventually, I gave up and made my way over to another peak, where there's a twenty foot cross. He began to follow, but finally accepted that he wasn't going to get my business. Nonetheless it was obvious he wanted money for bombarding me with unasked for, partially understood, and barely believed information. I gave him a 5 soles coin ($1.50) and he scoffed.
I left him and got to the other hilltop where I could finally enjoy my peace. Up there I heard the din of cars (mostly taxis and, if not taxis, then old VW Beetles...they\'re everywhere in Peru and Equador) scooting through the streets, a vendor with a bullhorn somewhere in the maze below, and the joyful yells of children at play.
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Andrew and I are off in a few minutes to the travel agency, where we will meet our guide and our fellow travellers. We head out at 5am tomorrow for our five days (four nights) on the trail that will take us to Macchu Picchu in time for sunrise on the morning of the 21st, the solstice. We are not taking the standard Inca Trail, since that is loaded with tourists, but are taking a bit longer route that is marked more by natural scenery than by ruins. At any rate, it is the centerpiece of the trip, and the part that we have most looked forward to. This of course means that y'all will be spared these blasted emails for some days, though I wouldn't be surprised if some hermit's hut had an internet cafe in a corner.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Fun With a Con Artist: June 15th, 2005
Andrew and I have done a remarkably good job of keeping out of the jaws of con artists so far, or perhaps we´ve been extraordinarily lucky that a couple of obvious marks like ourselves hadn´t been pegged yet. Either way, we got our first taste of that sort of thing yesterday.
After we´d taken the motorboat ride (in the rain) from Santa Cruz to San Cristobal, flown to Guayaquil, and then flown into Lima, we were tired and ready to get to the hostel. We politely waved at the two hundred plus people who were waiting on friends, family, or clients outside of the customs area and after drawing more of this crazy money from the ATM we set out to find a taxi.
There in the airport a cabbie was getting his shoes polished, but he jumped up mid-job to get us. We told him where we wanted to go and he produced a laminated card showing that district for $25. As we´d gotten taxi rides from that area for not $25, but 25 soles (their money; approximately $8), I asked "¿Soles o Dollares?". I didn´t hear his answer so I said, "25 soles?" He said yes and off we went.
We were winding our way along the various terrifying roads as he tried to bolster my confidence talking about the great service that his taxi company provided and that we knew it was secure because he had good identification. In fact, he mentioned (this conversation is going on mostly in Spanish, of which mine is poor, though certainly better than his English) that a gringo had gotten in what he thought was a taxi the other day only to be taken to some alley, robbed, and shot. I agreed that I wouldn´t like to be killed. We also talked about how high the price of gas was. Then he started saying something about how for the airport, or for the government, in order not to pay some tax when he went back I needed to fill out a basic form, to show that he could gain readmittance without having to pay the toll into the airport parking lot (at least, this was what I understood, though I was having a hard time of it).
At any rate, as we were getting to our area, he pulled into a gas station. I was a bit uncomfortable because I didn´t like the idea of sitting there in Lima at night, but then he wanted me to give him money for gas. I told him I wasn´t paying money for gas. That was when he explained that the gas meter (which I had pointed out was nearly full) wasn´t accurate and that the money from the gas would come out of the price for the trip. I went to hand him the 25 soles and that´s when he scoffed and said "dollars!"
Suffice it to say I very sternly said no. He pulled out his little laminate again and showed how the trip wasn´t even $25 but more like $50, because of the ten dollar per person tax (what I hadn´t understood before) and some other company tax. I was struggling to explain to him that regardless of what the paper said, before we had gotten in the car, he had agreed to soles.
He got very upset, to the point that I was concerned that he would try to get physical. In his broken English he howled, "Gas is mas que 25 soles! That like 8 dollars! I been drive hour!" I apologized to him but held firm that he had said soles. He made some suggestion that he was going to drive us back to the airport, which, since I was so worked up, was fine with me; I wasn´t about to get jobbed like that. I was concentrating so hard, trying to figure out what to say, that apparently I missed out on some grade-A whining. Andrew kept hearing him say, "You got taxes in April; I got taxes now!"
Though things were tense they were not scary. That is, until he yanked the wheel over, stopped the car on the side of the road, got out of the car and bolted into some building. There we were in the middle of Lima with no idea where we were and a pissed off cabby had just rushed in some building for what could have been a sinister purpose. I jumped up out of the car and ran to the back of the car to get my k-bar out of my bag. The back latch was locked so I tried to get into it from the back door (it was a hatchback). Andrew didn´t like the idea of me getting the knife at all, thinking that all it would do was escalate the problem; he very well could have been right, but I didn´t like the situation at all.
At that moment the cabbie came out with a reasonably well dressed younger man. I stopped messing with the bag because I didn´t want them to see me going for a knife, but I told Andrew to get it while I went around to fight/argue/who-knew with them. Fortunately, the cabbie had stopped at a hostel that he knew of where people spoke English and he´d grabbed a porter to translate. Pfew.
The cabbie explained himself to the porter, who told me what I already knew. I told him what I already told the cabbie. The porter looked like he sympathized with the two gringos getting taken for the proverbial ride. All I knew was that I sure as hell wasn´t backing down. Perhaps thats in my genes. I still remember the time when I was seven and saw my father do a modified Sumo match with a gondoleer that tried a similar ruse in Venice. At any rate, I was seeing red.
Fortunately for all involved, that was when Andrew rolled down the window. "Compromise! We´ll give you five dollars more." The cabbie continued to whine; he hated the idea. I wasn´t about to back down when I knew I was right; I hated the idea. Andrew continued, to the cabbie, "Look, take the 25 soles and the $5. We´re already almost here," and to me, "dude, what are you doing? At the end of the day it´s five dollars." I started seeing his point, though I wasn´t happy about it.
The cabbie agreed and we got to our hostel eventually. I didn´t end up having exact change so I had to give the "#$!#$ 30 soles plus the five. Once we got up in the room, Andrew had a nice discussion with me about the necessity of pulling my head out of my fourth point of contact since it hadn´t even occurred to me to bargain with the guy.
After we´d gone out for supper and a beer or two (at a tacky Peruvian Texan bar, where two lithe waitresses wearing the bar uniform of ultra-tight jeans, rolled up loosely buttoned blouses, and cowboy hats did an impromptu booty shaking dance session for the awed patrons), we´d finally gotten to a point where getting jobbed was mildly amusing. Oh, and we came to the agreement that Lima sucks.
We are now in Cusco. The Elevation (11,000ft) is kicking my butt. We head off for the Inca Trail and Macchu Picchu in two days.
One thing that I forgot to mention about the trip so far has been that our favorite entertainment so far have been the taxi rides (exluding the aformentioned example) in the big cities, since there are no lanes and seat belts, and the makeshift road rollercoaster that the locals used on Santa Cruz in the Galapagos. Basically, they´d welded a cartoon dog´s head over the chassis of a truck and then tacked on four to five trailers with benches, which also were done up to look like cartoon dogs. We saw this thing careening over the streets while we were eating supper one night so after we´d finished drinking it seemed like the perfect thing to do. We were right. To make it exciting, the driver would whip the thing all over the roads, regardless of lanes or even sidewalks it seemed.
After we´d taken the motorboat ride (in the rain) from Santa Cruz to San Cristobal, flown to Guayaquil, and then flown into Lima, we were tired and ready to get to the hostel. We politely waved at the two hundred plus people who were waiting on friends, family, or clients outside of the customs area and after drawing more of this crazy money from the ATM we set out to find a taxi.
There in the airport a cabbie was getting his shoes polished, but he jumped up mid-job to get us. We told him where we wanted to go and he produced a laminated card showing that district for $25. As we´d gotten taxi rides from that area for not $25, but 25 soles (their money; approximately $8), I asked "¿Soles o Dollares?". I didn´t hear his answer so I said, "25 soles?" He said yes and off we went.
We were winding our way along the various terrifying roads as he tried to bolster my confidence talking about the great service that his taxi company provided and that we knew it was secure because he had good identification. In fact, he mentioned (this conversation is going on mostly in Spanish, of which mine is poor, though certainly better than his English) that a gringo had gotten in what he thought was a taxi the other day only to be taken to some alley, robbed, and shot. I agreed that I wouldn´t like to be killed. We also talked about how high the price of gas was. Then he started saying something about how for the airport, or for the government, in order not to pay some tax when he went back I needed to fill out a basic form, to show that he could gain readmittance without having to pay the toll into the airport parking lot (at least, this was what I understood, though I was having a hard time of it).
At any rate, as we were getting to our area, he pulled into a gas station. I was a bit uncomfortable because I didn´t like the idea of sitting there in Lima at night, but then he wanted me to give him money for gas. I told him I wasn´t paying money for gas. That was when he explained that the gas meter (which I had pointed out was nearly full) wasn´t accurate and that the money from the gas would come out of the price for the trip. I went to hand him the 25 soles and that´s when he scoffed and said "dollars!"
Suffice it to say I very sternly said no. He pulled out his little laminate again and showed how the trip wasn´t even $25 but more like $50, because of the ten dollar per person tax (what I hadn´t understood before) and some other company tax. I was struggling to explain to him that regardless of what the paper said, before we had gotten in the car, he had agreed to soles.
He got very upset, to the point that I was concerned that he would try to get physical. In his broken English he howled, "Gas is mas que 25 soles! That like 8 dollars! I been drive hour!" I apologized to him but held firm that he had said soles. He made some suggestion that he was going to drive us back to the airport, which, since I was so worked up, was fine with me; I wasn´t about to get jobbed like that. I was concentrating so hard, trying to figure out what to say, that apparently I missed out on some grade-A whining. Andrew kept hearing him say, "You got taxes in April; I got taxes now!"
Though things were tense they were not scary. That is, until he yanked the wheel over, stopped the car on the side of the road, got out of the car and bolted into some building. There we were in the middle of Lima with no idea where we were and a pissed off cabby had just rushed in some building for what could have been a sinister purpose. I jumped up out of the car and ran to the back of the car to get my k-bar out of my bag. The back latch was locked so I tried to get into it from the back door (it was a hatchback). Andrew didn´t like the idea of me getting the knife at all, thinking that all it would do was escalate the problem; he very well could have been right, but I didn´t like the situation at all.
At that moment the cabbie came out with a reasonably well dressed younger man. I stopped messing with the bag because I didn´t want them to see me going for a knife, but I told Andrew to get it while I went around to fight/argue/who-knew with them. Fortunately, the cabbie had stopped at a hostel that he knew of where people spoke English and he´d grabbed a porter to translate. Pfew.
The cabbie explained himself to the porter, who told me what I already knew. I told him what I already told the cabbie. The porter looked like he sympathized with the two gringos getting taken for the proverbial ride. All I knew was that I sure as hell wasn´t backing down. Perhaps thats in my genes. I still remember the time when I was seven and saw my father do a modified Sumo match with a gondoleer that tried a similar ruse in Venice. At any rate, I was seeing red.
Fortunately for all involved, that was when Andrew rolled down the window. "Compromise! We´ll give you five dollars more." The cabbie continued to whine; he hated the idea. I wasn´t about to back down when I knew I was right; I hated the idea. Andrew continued, to the cabbie, "Look, take the 25 soles and the $5. We´re already almost here," and to me, "dude, what are you doing? At the end of the day it´s five dollars." I started seeing his point, though I wasn´t happy about it.
The cabbie agreed and we got to our hostel eventually. I didn´t end up having exact change so I had to give the "#$!#$ 30 soles plus the five. Once we got up in the room, Andrew had a nice discussion with me about the necessity of pulling my head out of my fourth point of contact since it hadn´t even occurred to me to bargain with the guy.
After we´d gone out for supper and a beer or two (at a tacky Peruvian Texan bar, where two lithe waitresses wearing the bar uniform of ultra-tight jeans, rolled up loosely buttoned blouses, and cowboy hats did an impromptu booty shaking dance session for the awed patrons), we´d finally gotten to a point where getting jobbed was mildly amusing. Oh, and we came to the agreement that Lima sucks.
We are now in Cusco. The Elevation (11,000ft) is kicking my butt. We head off for the Inca Trail and Macchu Picchu in two days.
One thing that I forgot to mention about the trip so far has been that our favorite entertainment so far have been the taxi rides (exluding the aformentioned example) in the big cities, since there are no lanes and seat belts, and the makeshift road rollercoaster that the locals used on Santa Cruz in the Galapagos. Basically, they´d welded a cartoon dog´s head over the chassis of a truck and then tacked on four to five trailers with benches, which also were done up to look like cartoon dogs. We saw this thing careening over the streets while we were eating supper one night so after we´d finished drinking it seemed like the perfect thing to do. We were right. To make it exciting, the driver would whip the thing all over the roads, regardless of lanes or even sidewalks it seemed.
Monday, June 13, 2005
More Annoying Travel Stuff: June 13th, 2005
Andrew and I are currently on the island of Santa Cruz, having taken a three hour motorboat ride, on open water of course, here from Isla San Cristobal yesterday. We woke up at a goodly time this morning, went to buy our tickets back to San Cristobal (where we fly out tomorrow), and then went looking for bicycles to rent, as the guidebook we're using said that biking was a good way to get to all the things we wanted to see here. Unfortunately, we couldn´t find bikes for rent. There was one lady that was willing to rent us bikes with flat tires for a dollar each hour we used them (for what?), but we surprisingly decided against that great offer. Instead, we set off on foot from the coastal town of Puerta Ayora to Bella Vista, where we were under the impression that we could find a guide that would take us around to the various scenic delights here on the island; we did not take the guide book.
The walk to Bella Vista was in between three to four miles, though all uphill, and along the way we took our time exploring the lava tunnels, which were just off the road, that the island is known for. We had a good time spelunking and taking macho pictures. We got back on the road, got to Bella Vista (though we saw no good view, which is what the name implies in Spanish), and were disturbed to find that we could not find any guides. Well, that´s not quite true. A fat Equadorian wearing a wife-beater t-shirt led us to believe he could get us a guide to take us up to the national park to see the sights for $25. While that might seem like peanuts, we´ve grown accustomed to not paying more than a few dollars for anything, thus it would not do. We took a peak at our free map, ascertained that the next town, Santa Rosa, which wasn´t far at all from a number of areas of interest, was about six or seven miles away. Off we trudged, again all uphill.
Suffice it to say that we were smoked by the time that we got to Santa Rosa and after buying and drinking a few bottles of water there, we made up our minds to finish off what we´d started and walk to Los Gemelos. I was whupped at that point, but Andrew resolutely led the way keeping me at his fast pace for shame of falling back. At any rate, after a few more miles of uphill, we saw tourists sitting along the side of the road, asked them, and were pleased to discover that we had reached Los Gemelos. What we weren´t particularly pleased about was that we´d forgotten what the guidebook had told us that Los Gemelos were where the earth had caved in on vacant lava chambers. Thus, we walked thirteen miles uphill to see to two blinkity-blankity big holes in the ground. We did our best to extend our time up there, to peruse the holes from several angles, but we were both tired, sweaty, sunburned, and annoyed at that point. We started the easy part of the trip, the thirteen miles downhill.
Fortunately, we went no more than a few hundred yards when a trio of Galapagosian teens offered to give us a ride back to Puerta Ayora for $3. We´d read not to hitch-hike, but we figured that two guys weren´t going to rob us with a girl in the car. Luckily, we guessed right. It was more than a bit annoying to watch the four hours that we walked fly by in less than fifteen minutes, but we were very happy to be back. We´re taking a siesta for our day´s efforts.
Other various observations/anecdotes from the trip, as a whole, so far:
1. The internet is ubiquitous. There are shops in every town we've been to, even way out here, six hundred miles into the Pacific Ocean.
2. We´ve been pleasantly welcomed into the Gringo traveling community, having spent our first days here in the Galapagos talking and hanging out with Brid (pronounced Breed), an female Irish electrical engineer; Kevin, a Scot traveling with his Tasmanian girlfriend Kate, and...well, I forget the other guy´s name, but he´s an American working with the Peace Corps here in the Galapagos. Brid gave us the rundown of what we can expect for the rest of our trip, in particular the Inca Trail, Machu Pichu, and Cuzco.
3. Guayaquil was interesting. It´s the largest city in Equador and most of it is simply barrio (ghetto). We stayed in a hotel that cost us $8.70 for the night, though we did get a cold water shower (Dear Lord, that was cold!) included in that price. There´s a renovated riverwalk there which we walked up and down stopping at the various eateries and drinking beer. Some poor Equadorian dropped her ring into the river, so I leaned over the ledge and tried to fish it out, but to no avail. Unfortunately, my attempt at chivalry went unrewarded as the cute mamacita was with her boyfriend (who sure as heck wasn´t going to get his sleeve wet fishing for some cheap ring). The highlight of our day in the city was definitely when we decided (a few beers in) to have a beer on the pirate ship that was moored to the river walk. We had to pay a $4 cover, but we thought it was so tacky that we had to do it. We got led by a flourescent uniformed Pirate to our seats near the bar (on the deck above the captain´s quarters) and were thrilled when we discovered that our $4 wasn´t a cover charge, but, in fact, paid for the one hour trip we ended up taking. If you´re ever in Guayaquil with an hour and four dollars to spend, there are worse ways to do so.4. Even though you have to pay exhorbitant plane fares to get to the Galapagos, the Galapagosian government charges you a $100 (apiece) tourism tax. Alright, other than all of that, that´s pretty much it. Tomorrow, we have a three hour motorboat ride back to San Cristobal, an hour and a half flight to Guayaquil, and then a two hour flight to Lima. Yay!
The walk to Bella Vista was in between three to four miles, though all uphill, and along the way we took our time exploring the lava tunnels, which were just off the road, that the island is known for. We had a good time spelunking and taking macho pictures. We got back on the road, got to Bella Vista (though we saw no good view, which is what the name implies in Spanish), and were disturbed to find that we could not find any guides. Well, that´s not quite true. A fat Equadorian wearing a wife-beater t-shirt led us to believe he could get us a guide to take us up to the national park to see the sights for $25. While that might seem like peanuts, we´ve grown accustomed to not paying more than a few dollars for anything, thus it would not do. We took a peak at our free map, ascertained that the next town, Santa Rosa, which wasn´t far at all from a number of areas of interest, was about six or seven miles away. Off we trudged, again all uphill.
Suffice it to say that we were smoked by the time that we got to Santa Rosa and after buying and drinking a few bottles of water there, we made up our minds to finish off what we´d started and walk to Los Gemelos. I was whupped at that point, but Andrew resolutely led the way keeping me at his fast pace for shame of falling back. At any rate, after a few more miles of uphill, we saw tourists sitting along the side of the road, asked them, and were pleased to discover that we had reached Los Gemelos. What we weren´t particularly pleased about was that we´d forgotten what the guidebook had told us that Los Gemelos were where the earth had caved in on vacant lava chambers. Thus, we walked thirteen miles uphill to see to two blinkity-blankity big holes in the ground. We did our best to extend our time up there, to peruse the holes from several angles, but we were both tired, sweaty, sunburned, and annoyed at that point. We started the easy part of the trip, the thirteen miles downhill.
Fortunately, we went no more than a few hundred yards when a trio of Galapagosian teens offered to give us a ride back to Puerta Ayora for $3. We´d read not to hitch-hike, but we figured that two guys weren´t going to rob us with a girl in the car. Luckily, we guessed right. It was more than a bit annoying to watch the four hours that we walked fly by in less than fifteen minutes, but we were very happy to be back. We´re taking a siesta for our day´s efforts.
Other various observations/anecdotes from the trip, as a whole, so far:
1. The internet is ubiquitous. There are shops in every town we've been to, even way out here, six hundred miles into the Pacific Ocean.
2. We´ve been pleasantly welcomed into the Gringo traveling community, having spent our first days here in the Galapagos talking and hanging out with Brid (pronounced Breed), an female Irish electrical engineer; Kevin, a Scot traveling with his Tasmanian girlfriend Kate, and...well, I forget the other guy´s name, but he´s an American working with the Peace Corps here in the Galapagos. Brid gave us the rundown of what we can expect for the rest of our trip, in particular the Inca Trail, Machu Pichu, and Cuzco.
3. Guayaquil was interesting. It´s the largest city in Equador and most of it is simply barrio (ghetto). We stayed in a hotel that cost us $8.70 for the night, though we did get a cold water shower (Dear Lord, that was cold!) included in that price. There´s a renovated riverwalk there which we walked up and down stopping at the various eateries and drinking beer. Some poor Equadorian dropped her ring into the river, so I leaned over the ledge and tried to fish it out, but to no avail. Unfortunately, my attempt at chivalry went unrewarded as the cute mamacita was with her boyfriend (who sure as heck wasn´t going to get his sleeve wet fishing for some cheap ring). The highlight of our day in the city was definitely when we decided (a few beers in) to have a beer on the pirate ship that was moored to the river walk. We had to pay a $4 cover, but we thought it was so tacky that we had to do it. We got led by a flourescent uniformed Pirate to our seats near the bar (on the deck above the captain´s quarters) and were thrilled when we discovered that our $4 wasn´t a cover charge, but, in fact, paid for the one hour trip we ended up taking. If you´re ever in Guayaquil with an hour and four dollars to spend, there are worse ways to do so.4. Even though you have to pay exhorbitant plane fares to get to the Galapagos, the Galapagosian government charges you a $100 (apiece) tourism tax. Alright, other than all of that, that´s pretty much it. Tomorrow, we have a three hour motorboat ride back to San Cristobal, an hour and a half flight to Guayaquil, and then a two hour flight to Lima. Yay!
Sunday, June 12, 2005
The Galapagos: June 12th, 2005
We got to the dive/snorkel shop at the agreed upon time of 7:30am, but they weren´t there. Punctuality isn´t a prerequisite for business here, but the owner of the shop showed up after about fifteen minutes and got us onto the boat that he´d hired after we spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get flippers for me that fit. I wear 15; the biggest size he had was 11. I grimaced and made do.
Our boat driver, Luis, a handsome dark hispanic, spoke not one lick of English, but was very enthusiastic and did his best to give us the lowdown of the highlights along the way to our destination. My embryonic Spanish was strained to understand the majority of his discourse. Nonetheless, he did well enough that I understood most of what he tried to get across. He showed us where Darwin and the Beagle first arrived and came to port there at the island of San Cristobal. The coastline was comprised of black volcanic rocks which were apparently bleached white in certain places. I asked Luis and he confirmed my suspicions: centuries of birdpoo had coated them like paint.
The boat ride was about fifty minutes and we went out to a gargantuan rock formation about a mile off shore. It was 300 meters long and split in two, the sixty foot gap separating the 100 meter peak from an 85meter peak, four-fifths of the way to one end. It was covered in bird offerings as well and the birds were specks circling near the top. But for the break it reminded me of the rock of Gibraltar. Luis slowly puttered around the rock, which I believe he called "sleeping sea-lions" after the many we saw piled on ledges basking in the sun.
Once we´d made our way around, Andrew and I weren´t quite certain what was going to happen next, but we soon figured out we were supposed to start snorkling there in the canal and follow the path around that he´d taken us on.
It was with a minor sense of building trepidation that I put on the flippers and mask and went over the side. My courage had not been helped when I picked out the word "tiburon" from the various creatures Luis said were in the water there. I asked him if it was okay to swim with sharks and he laughed, saying "it's not the Mediterranean!" Having been scarred by Jaws at an early age, I've always been a bit reticent about open water. Nonetheless, in I went.
I couldn't see a thing there in the center of the canal because it was so deep, but as I got near the rock faces the world underneath came into focus. The water was clear, which was startling for me having mostly experienced the Atlantic there on the east coast. Fish, sea anemone, and various small creatures flitted and scrambled along as I swam by. I was careful to keep a three foot minimum distance from the wall, as the barnacles and other organisms growing on the rocks would have torn me to shreds.
After fifteen minutes or so, something moving out away from the rock caught my eye. It was just on the barrier of what I could make out, perhaps 30 feet away. I turned towards it, focused, and got my flimpse of a Galapagos turtle swimming. I pulled up to call Andrew over, and as I waited I watched the turtle lazily swim. Unfortunately, Andrew´s mask was foggy and he couldn´t make it out and the turtle was going out to sea. We headed back to the rock.
We passed the area where the sea lions were swimming and I mimicked their bellow, which did nothing more than cause one bull to lift his head, look at me, and then go right back to sleep, though the bellow had caused Andrew to yank his head out of the water to figure out where the howling sea lion was.
Shortly after that, as we were turning beyond where the rock wall would block the sun, a hammerhead shark, perhaps five to six feet long, slid by fifteen or twenty feet below me. My heart raced and I surfaced to tell Andrew. He nonchalantly said we should keep going, so I swallowed my fear and kept swimming. I did keep my arms pinned to my body so it wouldn´t get an arm if it bit me.
We´d gone perhaps twenty more feet when I saw a fleet of hammerheads (6-8) down just at my limit of vision. That was it. I told Andrew, gave the thumbs up to Luis (who´d been following us in the boat), and skidaddled back to the boat. I was not happy. We got back in the boat and I explained to Luis about the sharks. He laughed and said it was no reason to worry.
We sped along from there to a cove where Luis told us the baby sea lions swam. Again, he drove us along our swimming route, showing us the sea lions and the black iguanas, which matched the color of the rocks exactly, and thus making them very hard to see, as they sat perfectly still facing the sun as though in prayer.
When Andrew and I got back into the water, I wasn't nearly as perturbed as the water was only about fifteen feet deep and I could see well. We meandered along for a time and then the sea lions came to play. At first the babies, three to four feet long, darted around us, coming directly at us before bolting away. Soon the parents came by, doing much the same as the babies, though at a much slower pace. There were eight to twelve sea lions between and around us as we languidly swam/drifted, going about us in a fashion that brought to mind images of biplanes dogfighting.
Finally, they lost interest in us and wandered off somewhere. Our other big glimpses were a manta ray and a flittering school of tropical fish. We got back in the boat and Luis took us back to San Cristobal. We were happy and felt we got our money´s worth.
Our boat driver, Luis, a handsome dark hispanic, spoke not one lick of English, but was very enthusiastic and did his best to give us the lowdown of the highlights along the way to our destination. My embryonic Spanish was strained to understand the majority of his discourse. Nonetheless, he did well enough that I understood most of what he tried to get across. He showed us where Darwin and the Beagle first arrived and came to port there at the island of San Cristobal. The coastline was comprised of black volcanic rocks which were apparently bleached white in certain places. I asked Luis and he confirmed my suspicions: centuries of birdpoo had coated them like paint.
The boat ride was about fifty minutes and we went out to a gargantuan rock formation about a mile off shore. It was 300 meters long and split in two, the sixty foot gap separating the 100 meter peak from an 85meter peak, four-fifths of the way to one end. It was covered in bird offerings as well and the birds were specks circling near the top. But for the break it reminded me of the rock of Gibraltar. Luis slowly puttered around the rock, which I believe he called "sleeping sea-lions" after the many we saw piled on ledges basking in the sun.
Once we´d made our way around, Andrew and I weren´t quite certain what was going to happen next, but we soon figured out we were supposed to start snorkling there in the canal and follow the path around that he´d taken us on.
It was with a minor sense of building trepidation that I put on the flippers and mask and went over the side. My courage had not been helped when I picked out the word "tiburon" from the various creatures Luis said were in the water there. I asked him if it was okay to swim with sharks and he laughed, saying "it's not the Mediterranean!" Having been scarred by Jaws at an early age, I've always been a bit reticent about open water. Nonetheless, in I went.
I couldn't see a thing there in the center of the canal because it was so deep, but as I got near the rock faces the world underneath came into focus. The water was clear, which was startling for me having mostly experienced the Atlantic there on the east coast. Fish, sea anemone, and various small creatures flitted and scrambled along as I swam by. I was careful to keep a three foot minimum distance from the wall, as the barnacles and other organisms growing on the rocks would have torn me to shreds.
After fifteen minutes or so, something moving out away from the rock caught my eye. It was just on the barrier of what I could make out, perhaps 30 feet away. I turned towards it, focused, and got my flimpse of a Galapagos turtle swimming. I pulled up to call Andrew over, and as I waited I watched the turtle lazily swim. Unfortunately, Andrew´s mask was foggy and he couldn´t make it out and the turtle was going out to sea. We headed back to the rock.
We passed the area where the sea lions were swimming and I mimicked their bellow, which did nothing more than cause one bull to lift his head, look at me, and then go right back to sleep, though the bellow had caused Andrew to yank his head out of the water to figure out where the howling sea lion was.
Shortly after that, as we were turning beyond where the rock wall would block the sun, a hammerhead shark, perhaps five to six feet long, slid by fifteen or twenty feet below me. My heart raced and I surfaced to tell Andrew. He nonchalantly said we should keep going, so I swallowed my fear and kept swimming. I did keep my arms pinned to my body so it wouldn´t get an arm if it bit me.
We´d gone perhaps twenty more feet when I saw a fleet of hammerheads (6-8) down just at my limit of vision. That was it. I told Andrew, gave the thumbs up to Luis (who´d been following us in the boat), and skidaddled back to the boat. I was not happy. We got back in the boat and I explained to Luis about the sharks. He laughed and said it was no reason to worry.
We sped along from there to a cove where Luis told us the baby sea lions swam. Again, he drove us along our swimming route, showing us the sea lions and the black iguanas, which matched the color of the rocks exactly, and thus making them very hard to see, as they sat perfectly still facing the sun as though in prayer.
When Andrew and I got back into the water, I wasn't nearly as perturbed as the water was only about fifteen feet deep and I could see well. We meandered along for a time and then the sea lions came to play. At first the babies, three to four feet long, darted around us, coming directly at us before bolting away. Soon the parents came by, doing much the same as the babies, though at a much slower pace. There were eight to twelve sea lions between and around us as we languidly swam/drifted, going about us in a fashion that brought to mind images of biplanes dogfighting.
Finally, they lost interest in us and wandered off somewhere. Our other big glimpses were a manta ray and a flittering school of tropical fish. We got back in the boat and Luis took us back to San Cristobal. We were happy and felt we got our money´s worth.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Now In Equador: June 10th, 2005
Well, I´m alive for the time being, and in another country to boot. Tomorrow Andrew and I fly from Guayaquil (Southern Equador) out to the Galapagos. The highlights of the trip so far:
Day 1:
1. On the way to the airport in DC, Andrew notices that the itinerary has us flying into LaGuardia but then flying to Peru out of JFK. Minor Panic ensues.
2. The ticket counter in DC tells us that we don´t have electronic tickets and that they´re going to charge us an extra hundred dollars for a lost ticket application. I ask to speak to the manager, who then tells us that we have to buy whole new tickets at the current rate (twice as much as the lost tickets). Major Panic ensues. The ticket counter man talks to sales and works out so that we only have to pay for the 100 dollars. We gleefully do so. Afterward Andrew posits that the manager just did a standard ploy of scaring us so badly that we were happy to get screwed over only by 100 dollars (I´ll be having a nice chat with the airlines when I get back).
3. We drink a pint of beer by the gate.
4. We drink (I guzzle) a beer on the plane (gratis...the first thing to go our way on the trip).
5. Getting off the plane in NY I panic when I can´t find my passport. Andrew is already down an escalator when I stop to search myself. He begins to come up steps when I find it and yell out, ¨Stay Down!!!!¨, which, it turns out, is NOT the thing to yell in an airport in NY. The woman next to me turns bleach white and gasps. I realize what I just did and apologize and then hot-foot it out of the airport.
6. We pay some guy $45 to get us from LaGuardia to JFK lickety split.
7. We drink two beers in the lobby of JFK, then go through security, where we, along with all the other caucasians on the flight are rigorously searched. By the gate, we drink another beer.
8. Lan Chile turns out to be the best airline that we think we´ve ever flown on. We were no doubt influenced by the pretty stewardesses and the fact that we were on the emergency exit aisle (more leg room).
9. Touch down in Chile. I discover that my duct tape, hatchet, and pocket knife were stolen (Semper paratis). My K-Bar was not stolen.
10. The drive through Lima to the hostel was amusing and terrifying. Lima reminded me of Iraq (well, that and the other third world countries I´ve been to) in that there was trash everywhere and all the cars from the 70s are flying all over the roads, which didn´t really have lanes. I had a seatbelt. Andrew didn´t. I asked the taxi driver when the sun comes out. He told me that it doesn´t come out during the winter in Lima. I´d forgotten that it was winter there since it was 66 degrees. The locals are bundled up.
11. After getting the room square and setting out to explore the city, we are immediately accosted by urchins who polish our boots. We laugh at the fact that we´re being swindled. The polishers try to extort money from us, which we´re happy to comply with since the exchange rate there is ridiculously in favor of the dollar. Eventually I tell them ¨No!!!¨and they skidaddle, thrilled that they bilked $5 from us.
12. Mostly drinking for the remainder of the night plus a cheap meal.
Day 1:
1. On the way to the airport in DC, Andrew notices that the itinerary has us flying into LaGuardia but then flying to Peru out of JFK. Minor Panic ensues.
2. The ticket counter in DC tells us that we don´t have electronic tickets and that they´re going to charge us an extra hundred dollars for a lost ticket application. I ask to speak to the manager, who then tells us that we have to buy whole new tickets at the current rate (twice as much as the lost tickets). Major Panic ensues. The ticket counter man talks to sales and works out so that we only have to pay for the 100 dollars. We gleefully do so. Afterward Andrew posits that the manager just did a standard ploy of scaring us so badly that we were happy to get screwed over only by 100 dollars (I´ll be having a nice chat with the airlines when I get back).
3. We drink a pint of beer by the gate.
4. We drink (I guzzle) a beer on the plane (gratis...the first thing to go our way on the trip).
5. Getting off the plane in NY I panic when I can´t find my passport. Andrew is already down an escalator when I stop to search myself. He begins to come up steps when I find it and yell out, ¨Stay Down!!!!¨, which, it turns out, is NOT the thing to yell in an airport in NY. The woman next to me turns bleach white and gasps. I realize what I just did and apologize and then hot-foot it out of the airport.
6. We pay some guy $45 to get us from LaGuardia to JFK lickety split.
7. We drink two beers in the lobby of JFK, then go through security, where we, along with all the other caucasians on the flight are rigorously searched. By the gate, we drink another beer.
8. Lan Chile turns out to be the best airline that we think we´ve ever flown on. We were no doubt influenced by the pretty stewardesses and the fact that we were on the emergency exit aisle (more leg room).
9. Touch down in Chile. I discover that my duct tape, hatchet, and pocket knife were stolen (Semper paratis). My K-Bar was not stolen.
10. The drive through Lima to the hostel was amusing and terrifying. Lima reminded me of Iraq (well, that and the other third world countries I´ve been to) in that there was trash everywhere and all the cars from the 70s are flying all over the roads, which didn´t really have lanes. I had a seatbelt. Andrew didn´t. I asked the taxi driver when the sun comes out. He told me that it doesn´t come out during the winter in Lima. I´d forgotten that it was winter there since it was 66 degrees. The locals are bundled up.
11. After getting the room square and setting out to explore the city, we are immediately accosted by urchins who polish our boots. We laugh at the fact that we´re being swindled. The polishers try to extort money from us, which we´re happy to comply with since the exchange rate there is ridiculously in favor of the dollar. Eventually I tell them ¨No!!!¨and they skidaddle, thrilled that they bilked $5 from us.
12. Mostly drinking for the remainder of the night plus a cheap meal.
Tuesday, June 7, 2005
Checking In and Checking Out: June 7th, 2005
Well, the last few days/ weeks have been rather hectic and that trend will apparently continue for the foreseeable future. Upon turning 26 two saturdays ago, I drove up to the mountains where I sequestered myself at my pop's place to study for the LSAT. Having very little time, and the cold front that swept through bringing copious rain, meant that I stayed boarded up in the kitchen house, cramming my head full of helpful techniques while I poked and prodded as much heat as I could get out of the old woodburning stove. I got back to Charleston last Saturday and continued my studies, though I did take the time to blow the head off of a copperhead that I accidently ran over in the driveway. Fortunately, Pop, who was with me since we'd just come back from eating Mexican, wasn't aware that was my first confirmed kill or he no doubt would have tried to bathe me in its blood (a standard rite of passage for newly minted deer hunters) and I no doubt would have run screaming, wailing about venom getting in my eyes.
I took the test yesterday at the College of Charleston. I'm feeling cautiously optimistic at this point. Hopefully I do well enough that I can get USC to pony up some dough. I find out near the end of the month what the results are. All that being said, the big news is that I got out of the test and immediately drove the five hundred miles up here to Washington DC, where I am staying until my friend Andrew (we did our Artillery training together in OK) and I fly for Peru tomorrow. Three weeks (til June 30th) in a third world paradise are just what the doctor ordered, I believe, though hopefully he only ordered bouts of binge drinking, cheap travel, beautiful scenery, and friendly locals, and not an uprising of Tupac Amaru or Shining Path, or a ransom kidnapping, or a stabbing, shooting, mugging or even plain old pickpocketing (all of which I bring up solely to torment my beleaguered parents... kisses, mom and dad). At any rate, even with coca production up three hundred percent so far this year, Peru hasn't gotten a travel warning from the State Dept yet, so I think we're in the clear. Besides, if they really want Americans, why would any baddies want to mess with two athletic (looking) young men, when they can just grab a group of spoiled, obnoxious sorority chicks, or an overweight couple in tacky t-shirts walking around with their faces buried in a map? Oh yeah, I'm taking a hatchet and a k-bar (so that you know what did it when I email that I accidently stabbed myself at some point during the trip... me and sharp things aren't friends).
I hope everything is doing well out there in y'all's necks of the woods and hopefully the next time y'all see me it will be in person and not on a hostage videotape being aired on CNN.
I took the test yesterday at the College of Charleston. I'm feeling cautiously optimistic at this point. Hopefully I do well enough that I can get USC to pony up some dough. I find out near the end of the month what the results are. All that being said, the big news is that I got out of the test and immediately drove the five hundred miles up here to Washington DC, where I am staying until my friend Andrew (we did our Artillery training together in OK) and I fly for Peru tomorrow. Three weeks (til June 30th) in a third world paradise are just what the doctor ordered, I believe, though hopefully he only ordered bouts of binge drinking, cheap travel, beautiful scenery, and friendly locals, and not an uprising of Tupac Amaru or Shining Path, or a ransom kidnapping, or a stabbing, shooting, mugging or even plain old pickpocketing (all of which I bring up solely to torment my beleaguered parents... kisses, mom and dad). At any rate, even with coca production up three hundred percent so far this year, Peru hasn't gotten a travel warning from the State Dept yet, so I think we're in the clear. Besides, if they really want Americans, why would any baddies want to mess with two athletic (looking) young men, when they can just grab a group of spoiled, obnoxious sorority chicks, or an overweight couple in tacky t-shirts walking around with their faces buried in a map? Oh yeah, I'm taking a hatchet and a k-bar (so that you know what did it when I email that I accidently stabbed myself at some point during the trip... me and sharp things aren't friends).
I hope everything is doing well out there in y'all's necks of the woods and hopefully the next time y'all see me it will be in person and not on a hostage videotape being aired on CNN.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
I Thought This Was a Vacation
My first week of "unemployment" has been a Dickensian glimpse into what my post-collegiate career would have been like had I not gone into the Army. As my degree in Classical Studies has as much utility in today's world as underwater fire prevention, I would have no doubt had to resort to scrambling for bad jobs. Well, I've had nothing but bad jobs since I've landed on Terra Caroliniana.
I spent two days "visiting" my buddy, Dewey, which turned out to mean that he handed me a paint brush and told me to get to work. Two rooms and a few million brain cells killed by fumes later, I was adroitly booted back to Charleston where today my father had me rake the pasture (yes, pasture, not yard...he's got three horses grazing out there who think there's nothing funnier than to plop a pile onto a freshly raked mound of pine straw as I get the wheel barrow) and then dig an irrigation ditch. I have the rest of the ditch to look forward to tomorrow, along with chain- sawing fallen trees and anything else the bionic old man (two new hips) points for me to do.
They say there's nothing like doing something you don't want to do to help you figure out what you want to do. I don't want to do manual labor. That being said, apparently, I'm very useful with home improvement projects when I go to visit people. If y'all have anything you need done, just make sure to have beer on hand and be prepared to deal with whining.
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