Traveling in a Bucket.

This is overdue, but before it becomes OVER-overdue, let me comment and update a bit about my last couple of weeks of travel. (That's so sad to say- even looking at the sentence makes me melancholy).

Taganga was to Colombia as El Tunco was to El Salvador. Diving was to 26-year old Sam as Surfing was to 24-year old Sam. So then, all-night parties at Sensations is to _____ as totally off-her-face Sam is to 1,600 COP beers at Casa Felipe. Ya dig? If you do, you must have scored a lot higher on the SATs than I did.

I expected Taganga to be a hole. And it was. A hole-lotta-fun. (Har. Being at home has made me an idiot). There were too many tourists, there were no cheap places to eat, and I was there just, ... way... WAY too long. My friend Rob once commented, after I boldly claimed that I'd be leaving that night, "Yeah, yeah, Sam... I'll see you tomorrow morning". -sighs- To be fair, I didn't see him until the following NIGHT. I probably could have stayed longer if I hadn't gotten into a massive fight with the Bayview Hostel manager. I'm not sure what makes me such a pugnacious person after 21 months on the road. Maybe it's just my inherent spunk, or maybe it's that 270,000 COP went missing out of Ishrat's money belt WHILE it was locked in the hostel safe. I'm not sure what happened, but I was with her all day, so I know she wasn't making shit up. Perhaps leaving the keys to the hostel safe laying about all day seems to be a perfectly responsible way to ensure the security of the patron's belongings, but somehow, it didn't work. Anyway, a couple mornings afterwards, I served as a translator for Ish and the local police. A few hours later, I became the translator between Ish, the local police, and the hostel manager.

I won't go into too much detail about what happened next, but I WILL mention that the hostel manager threatened to have me deported for helping to translate her side of the story to the police. FOOSBALL TABLE BE DAMNED!! I'm never recommending that hostel again! HEED MY WARNINGS: BAYVIEW HOSTEL IN TAGANGA IS A PIT.

OK, anyway. What else? Oh, yes... DIVING! I'm not sure why I signed up for my PADI. Maybe it's because I desired to learn something new before the termination of my trip, maybe it's because my friend Melissa once commented that you could "travel every city in every country in every part of the world... but you'd still only have seen one THIRD of it!", and maybe it's just because I was tired of being left out of conversations. Whatever the case, I fell absolutely in love. Diving isn't extreme, per se. I wouldn't even call it a sport. It's... something else. Something awesome. Anyway, I finished my PADI open water with this guy- Stephane, my happy French instructor. Then, I went for my very first night dive with Deanna and Jayme--- very "S.A.S", as Jayme would say. I felt like I should have been walking in slow motion to the boat. We all looked very cool in our wetsuits and gear, zipping off into the night- "Dive! Dive! Dive!"

Shit, this is going to be a long post.

Anyway, I FINALLY managed to peel myself away after just, way... WAY too long. It's a shame that Taganga sucked up so much of my time- I would have liked to have saved more for Guajira, my next (last) Colombian adventure. I'm not sure what to say about it except that it is the first place in a long time that I felt was one of the LAST places that was truly unspoilt. Of course, with tourism exploding in Colombia the way that it has been, it won't stay that way for long. I met a funny Irishman named Sean on my way from Uribia to Cabo de la Vela, then met up with Michel, a Spaniard who greased the wheels into Punta Gallinas for us. While I adored Sean, I think I might just make a note about Michel here. There aren't many people that bring their zeal for life into everything that they do, and treat everyone they meet with the kind of enthusiasm and curiosity that befits a "true" (if it's not lame to use that word) world traveler. Michel was one of those people. To be fair, he'd only been on the road for 3 weeks or something, so he wasn't burnt out yet, but I admired the passion with which he did everything-- something that I lost around the time that I left the monkey farm in Ecuador. He also gave very nice foot rubs and seemed to have a nose for tienditas that sold chocolate on the near uninhabited northern tip of Punta Gallinas. The man was a god-send.

I'd like to also write some about Laura, Franz, and the funny Uribian family we met on our way back, but there's just no space.

Instead, I'll post a video of myself in a bucket.

That was near Los Filuos, about half an hour away from the Colombian-Venezuelan border.

VENEZUELA

To be honest, I was afraid of Venezuela. It was going to be the last country of my trip, and I could just imagine the gifts and keepsakes I'd amassed getting stolen from my hotel room, or by local police while checking my bag for "drogas", or getting into some argument while exchanging money on the black market and ending up in prison, or getting shot in the face for being American, or getting shot in the face for being loud and pushy, or getting shot in the face just because I'm so afraid of getting shot in the face. I don't know. Generally, when being told not to go somewhere by other people, I roll my eyes, drum my fingers, and mutter "yeah, I know" until they stop talking, then I resume thinking and being happy. Venezuela was the exception. I was told, repeatedly, but a multitude of hardy travelers, locals, Colombians, and even Venezuelans: "DON'T GO THERE". It made an impression.

I don't know if it's because of my fear and low expectations, or if it's because that's just how it is, but Venezuela was, far and away, one of the BEST countries I've ever been to. Yeah, yeah, I know, I was only there for a week. In one week, though, I managed to reawaken to the pleasures of traveling, really connect with the local people (there were no other travelers), and to be truly touched by the grace, generosity, and unlimited kindness offered by the Venezolanos. If they'd been any shorter, I would swear they were Burmese.

This may be the only sentence of its kind in existence, but I'm just going to say, "Venezuela blew Colombia out of the water". I'm going back. Period.

Let me just note one particular experience here. I came to Venezuela straight from Punta Gallinas. This is not an easy trip- it includes a 2 1/2 hour boat ride at 4am, followed by 4 hours in the back of a pickup over a road that looks like this. Then another bus to 4 Vías, then another to Maicao, then the border, then another 4 hour bus down to Maracaibo, where I spent the night in a profusely air-conditioned bus station waiting room, sitting upright with my bag on my lap. This is all in incredibly flooded territory. I might as well have swam to Maracaibo, that's how wet it was. Here's another picture just to prove that I'm not full of shit. I didn't PLAN to do it in one day, it just kind of happened that way. Upon arrival in Maracaibo, on the outskirts of the city, on some darkened street, I was told by a passerby that local transport had stopped. This was devastating. I didn't have many bolívares, didn't have any idea where I was, didn't have any muscles (or even cool rough-'hood sounding slang) with which to defend myself, and DID have all of my possessions and loads of US dollars on me. Not ideal. I started to freak. I hadn't slept a proper night in a long time, and had eaten a lot of low-quality chocolate sloshed back with a Venezuelan "Inca-Kola" equivalent. I lost my head and started muttering and wandering in circles.

The passerby which had delivered the dark information waited around to help me hail a taxi to a part of town close to the bus station where I might find a cheap (prostitude-filled) hotel for the night. He must have felt really bad for me, because, leaning into the cab, he whispered something to the driver, helped me in, and then stuffed a wad of notes into the driver's outstretched palm before walking briskly away. I was well taken care of for the (long) ride into the center of town, and would have been driven from hotel to hotel until I found a suitable room if I hadn't decided to stay in the terminal and catch the first bus out in the morning. I never even got the opportunity to properly thank him.

So, pair that with the natural beauty of Andícora, the laid-back (and yet still very lively) vibe of Coro, and the yummy strawberries and cream in Colonia Tovar, and you've got the week I spent in Venezuela. The last couple days were spent in a mad rush to make it to the airport in time, and the last few hours were spent sleeping in the airport when I made it much too early for my flight. Venezuela~ Oh, Venezuela. I loved you.

Anyway, it was flight after flight after (delayed) flight, and I found myself in Junaid's car, zipping across the 280 to my parents' San Ramonian abode.

I'd like to do a wrap-up blog here about my trip as a whole, but I just don't think it'll fit. Plus, I'm riding tomorrow. God, I'm so stoked to get back to the snow.

Colombia... Colombia! Oh... Colombia!

I left San Gil after 8 days or so of Tejo-playing, karaoke-singing, and general shenanigan-making with a fun little group of Poms, Irish, Welsh, and an Israeli or two. Most of my time there was taken up by waiting for the river to be raftable. Incessant rainfall ruins all plans! Happily, I was holed up in one of the best hostels I've stayed in all trip. Amazing how much a servicable oven can brighten my day... I hadn't BAKED anything in well over a year. Well... not baked... well, you know.

Cartagena was... nuts. I decided to skip on the celebrated Medellin in favor of being in Cartagena for the Independence Day festivals. Marvelous decision for my long-term plans. Terrible decision for my wallet and liver. This is Joel after less than an hour on the streets. Tut Tut. We partied HARD from Thursday through Saturday. Somehow Caz, Lee and I found ourselves dancing in the rain, covered head to toe in foam while a large group of Colombians clapped their hands in unison and chanted "Hey- Hey- Hey!" As much as I was determined to dislike Cartagena (just because EVERYONE raves about how great it is), it actually lived up to all the hype. Gorgeous colonial buildings, incredible historical significance, a sweet party scene, and 5,000 COP menu del dìas. I'm in heaven! It also helps to be with people you like, and this crew--- this one right here, was the first I'd had since my beloved Swedes that knew how to get down. Special tribute to Kathryn and Simon for partying from 7pm until their flight to Leticia at 6am- straight. You do travelling an honor by being out here, you two. You really do.

I pissed off to Tolú and Coveñas for a few days to detox and see a bit of the less travelled Caribbean coast, and was well rewarded with sunshine, pristine beaches, and a slushie man who was hell bent on learning 1-10 in English in exchange for bottomless slushies. However, as much as I loved the slushie and the man, in a mere couple days, I was back to Cartagena, back into the company of Rob and Richie, and back on the road to beautiful Taganga, an (extremely touristy, though) lovely little travel gem to the east of Santa Marta. Here we met up with Caz once more and went out for a few messy nights at the beachfront Sensations. Can't say we did much else. From there, it was on to Parque Tayrona (excellent) and then Palomino (excellent, though windy). Holy shit, I'm flying through this post. NOT much to say about any of those places except that they were beautiful and fun and I ate lots and lots of VERY cheap seafood. In Palomino, Jayme and I came across a fishing boat just in from the ocean. Spying a bottom filled with freshly caught shrimp, we asked if we could make a purchase. The shrimp wasn't for sale (some crap about having to bring it in to the owners of the boat), but the fishermen offered us a bag containing 4 rock lobsters. 15,000 COP. 7 USD. We bought. We ate. We passed out. The next day had me hobbling into town and returning with half a kilo of fresh prawns and 3 fish. That, along with some empanadas, cereal, fruit, yoghurt, pasta, tomatoes, garlic, onions, a 5 litre bag of water, lime, and some other odds and ends cost us 7 USD a piece. Also, in exchange for being a lazy git and laying in a hammock while I walked into town with a punctured foot ALONE to bring back food, Jayme took on all the responsibilities of cooking. Red Snapper wrapped in banana leaf... garlic shrimp pasta... oh good lord. It was also here that I learned how to scale a fish. Look at me scale!

Anyway, I'm back in Taganga now, getting my PADI certification and enjoying the sunshine before parting ways with my UK-born company. I think I'll do a separate post about diving, because it's the first thing I've come across in well over a year that I've completely fallen in love with... it really shouldn't be smashed in with anything else. Strange how I've saved it for the second-to-last country on this trip, when I could have done it in the second-to-first. Anyway, I'll get on with that in the next.

money money money money!!!!

So I've been thinking recently about different travellers' attitudes towards giving local children money/candy/toys. Everyone seems to have different opinions on this, although very few other travellers seem to feel as strongly as I do about the issue, and generally never raise it as a topic of discussion when they see it happen before their eyes.

Yesterday, I was walking with a group of three Irish and one English as we negotiated a scenic little hike from Barichara to Guane when we happened upon some local children. After some friendly kid-type chatter, we continued on. A few steps beyond, however, one of the girls turned around and ran back to the kids to give them a packet of chocolate cookies to share. The walk continued in silence for a step or two before another girl began a discussion that went something like this--

Girl A- Don't you think it's a bad idea to give things to children?
Girl B- Why?
Girl A- Because it entirely shifts the traveler/local relationship. You teach them that foreigners are good for THINGS, not for experiences or friendship.
B- I don't think that they relate the two.
A- I think they do. India used to be like Colombia once.
B- You can't compare India and Colombia.
A- Why not?
B- Because the two are completely different.
A- What's so different? We're talking about underdeveloped country and underdeveloped country. India was once undertraveled, and the children there were once just happy getting attention from strange looking people.
B- Well I don't give a fuck. Sometimes it's just nice to be nice.

Just a hint. Girl A was me.

We walked in silence for a bit longer (and indeed, most of the rest of the walk) until we got into town. From there, we hopped into a taxi which started another "discussion" (more like loaded argument) about what it was like to travel on a small budget and what it was like not to.

I had a very hard time getting along with this girl.

Anyway, I've been gone for a bit now, and some of my general travel mantras have become as good as cement. However, the very purpose of travel is to see things from a different perspective and to try to understand people, if not entirely agree with the things that they do... so read on and if you've got a good argument, lemme know.

While I was in Burma, I met an American schoolteacher who had brought an entire suitcase filled with crayons and coloring books and pencils to give to the children of the country. I was dumbfounded. In a country where the people ask nothing but respect and courtesy (and some of the time, not even that!) from their foreign guests, she was introducing materialism. For kids who would've been happy shaking our hands or playing with our hair, the idea that people that look different would and SHOULD (after a traveler or two more follows suit) give material gifts has suddenly become standard. She only had one packet of crayons with her at one particular stop, and after giving it to one child and instructing her to share (the kid bolted down the street in no time), we were pestered non stop for close to 15 minutes by the ones that HADN'T gotten anything, when prior to that, all they had wanted was to practice their English.

Dude.

When you go to an underdeveloped country, you are rich. You are rich in money, you are rich in experiences, and more than anything, you are rich in opportunity. There's no denying that. Any person with half a soul would and should feel at least a twinge of desire to "spread the wealth" so to speak. The easiest way that this is done is taking money out of your pocket and dropping it into the hands of the less privileged... which is what most travelers (including a host of those whom I love and respect... whom are equally if not more well travelled than I am... and whom, arguably, have more compassion than I do) decide to do.

My feeling is as follows. Yes, you are rich. You are extremely rich, and the majority of the people I've met travelling are rich in the most precious commodity that any of us have--- freedom of time. That being said- instead of dropping money, why not drop a week or two at the local school teaching English? People are so willing to leave behind presents of money or THINGS, but almost always stoutly unwilling to give up any of their own personal freedom. Moreover, if they do choose to give money, they never give it to the school, hospital, or soup kitchen, who could use it most wisely to help the most people... they always give it directly to the beggars.

I'm not going to say this is selfish, because it's not... but handing money to the indigent of a country instead of even taking a moment to consider how far it could stretch in the hands of the people who are actively devoting their lives to eliminating the PROBLEM is downright stupid. It's buying forgiveness, and buying the pleasure of seeing them made happy. Maybe giving those few pesos to a school won't earn you the grin of a cute little kid... but it'll buy pens and notebooks for 5 kids instead. Maybe it's not glamorous to be digging around in horseshit on some organic farm (when you could be out doing something far less feces-related instead), but every bulb you plant and every cow you milk is saving the farmer hours of backbreaking labor by himself so he could be a better father to his kids, while simultaneously pushing the country further away from genetically modified crops (lessening their dependence on the US based companies that make them).

I know there are a million arguments to the contrary. For people who don't have TIME, as well... the ones who still have jobs or who are on a short holiday... I can't possibly reproach them for helping out in the way that seems most direct. But for long-termers, the ones that go for 5, 7, 20 months without even considering volunteer work, and who pay off their guilt by giving money and sweets instead (and usually posing for a photo shortly after)--- I really can't understand. I don't understand at all.

Anyway, I'm expecting to get it for this post, as it's a loaded issue, and I hope someone that can come up with good enough arguments to move me, because that short-sighted cunt from yesterday certainly couldn't.

According to the date, this post is overdue.. but in actuality, it hasn't even been a month since my last post. Silly time-stamps--- date-posting is for kids.

I don't want to go too far into detail about Canoa and all the hijinx there, but I WILL tell you this--

1- Anybody who thinks that just because they're born in a town, they're automatically allowed to treat people however they want is delusional and small. Not today, you won't... and not while I'm here. Maybe you have more friends here, but I have no criminal history and can get to the border by sunrise. You really wanna push things?

2- Surfing is really something I think I can fall in love with. While pretty much NONE of it resembles what I do on the mountain (for example, I can't remember the last time the mountain pantsed me), there's really nothing better than going out and getting proper bludgeoned by the elements.

3- Apparently inviting people to come party with you is the exact same thing as saying "I'll put out". Did I miss something? After having a long, sit-down conversation with an eager-beaver about how I was NOT going to have sex with him, although he was welcome to sleep at my place, I thought I had finally reached an understanding,... until an unnamed Dutch aquaintance barged in, drank all my water, and then remarked "Don't worry... whatever she says- she's real easy. -hic!- REAL easy". Thanks a lot, bro.

So, Oscar, Josie, and myself left Canoa about a week ago. We braved the busride to Quito (7hrs), then another to the border (5hrs), and Oscar went on to Bogota (24hrs) while myself and an Ozzie made our way to Popayán (8hrs). To our surprise, EVERYTHING was full. Walking around at 2 in the morning after 20 hours of transit (which started with a hangover) is no fun. A cheeky policeman whom we asked for shelter offered me a place in his bed, and I damn near accepted. Do what you want... just don't wake me up.

In an effort to escape the hoards- Rob and I made our way to Buenaventura, a disgusting little port town on the Pacific Coast- then on to Juanchaco and Ladrilleros, an island out at sea reached only by a panic-filled, thoroughly vomit-inducing boat ride manned by this guy. Hahah. That's a real sea captain if I've ever seen one! Arriving battered, soaked, and suddenly aware that I didn't bring enough money for more than a couple days--- we checked into the first hostel that offered hammocks, only to realize that it was a horrible, horrible mistake. The room itself wasn't too bad. Rob's bed was okay, although mine resembled something out of the movie "Roots". It was the kitchen, and the owner himself. Since neither of us has much money, it was important that we could cook all the food we had brought with us from Buenaventura. Showing us the impressive kitchen, the owner claimed that we could cook whatever it was that we brought, and more. So much more.

We later came to find that the grease-filled pots may have come in all shapes and sizes... but there wasn't a single pan to be found. Plates, but no forks or spoons. THREE stoves, but no gas! We ended up trying to cook everything in the most assaulted rice cooker I've ever laid eyes on. I will not be held responsible for what came out of that thing! The owner also set up tours to go see the whales off the coast. Unfortunately, he neglected to tell anyone that the price was actually 25,000 instead of 20,000... and as well as neglecting to tell me that he would lock me into the hostel while he took everyone else out to see them! I ended up jumping onto a shivering huddle of neighborhood children that had interlocked their arms red-rover style. A diet of rice and beans really doesn't prepare you for 115 pounds of flesh heaved out of an upstairs balcony.

Happily, we managed to catch some waves (the entire purpose of the trip) early the following morning, and Rob rode some in before getting horrendously sunburnt. Arian people should always remember to load up on the 'screen. The burn looked freaking horrible, and he flinched every time I poked at it. If a hardened country boy from rural Tasmania says it hurts... it probably hurts a lot. Anyway, he ventured out to go find some aloe vera that afternoon, but somehow came back with a bottle of liquid laxative instead. I'm not sure what happened.

Paseo de Los Monos.

I find it irritating that if I manage to get my hands on a computer that has functional Skype, then it won´t read my camera. If it has Skype and the camera works, then there´s something wrong with Flickr. Christ. Anyway, I´ve spent the better part of the last hour clicking on ¨acciones¨ in Flickr in the attempt to update my photos. It didn´t work. NOT MY FAULT!

Anyway, fuck that. I´ll just tell you what I´ve been doing for the last week.

In an attempt to re-live my days at Yassi, I went in search of some volunteer work in the Ecuadorian jungle, and came upon a little town called Puyo with a monkey rescue center in need of help. Kind of. I think they mostly take on volunteers to make sure that there are other moving objects around for the monkeys to bite and poo on. I´m not sure what to say about this except that this is one of the best things I´ve ever done traveling. I´m not sure if it knocks Yassi out of the water... but it really makes me reevaluate my time there. No cages, hardly--- more contact, more kisses, and unfortunately, more poop. I´ve been crapped on so many times in the past week that when I awoke this morning in my hostel in Baños, I was alarmed that I wasn´t immediately welcomed into my waking state by the stench of shit.

I spent about a week constructing a giant cage, preparing food, and fending off a crazed capuchin that made ripping out my ACL his number one priority in life. He managed to get a pretty good chunk out of my right leg before I punched him with a piece of corn right on the eye. Beating things up with corn is not a good idea. First they will bite you. Then they will eat the corn. It´s very lose-lose.

Ecuador has been pretty good so far. It´s not the kind of place that makes me go ¨oh my god, I wish I was dead because my brain can´t handle all this awesomeness¨.... but it´s a good medium between Peru and Colombia. There are also decent movies playing on the buses here. The Spanish version of Jaden Smith´s ¨Karate Kid¨? An excellent way to pass the 2 hour ride from Baños to Puyo. All three times that I did it. I also got to do some kick-ass Level 3 rafting yesterday for about 10 bucks. Not bad.

One thing that DOES suck is the complete lack of competency of the bus companies here. Christ, even Peru was better. So... I was planning to leave Baños on Sunday night... never mind how hung over I was from Saturday... to make sure I could get to Montañita with time to spare before my birthday. I bought a ticket for 30 minutes past ten at night. I arrive at thirty past ten and proceed to wait for something like an hour and a half for a bus that apparently took off on time. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SOUTH AMERICAN HISTORY. The bus company refused to transfer my ticket to the next day, so I bought yet another ticket, deciding to swallow my irritation, because... after all, I should have been early. The following day, Nadine and I head down to the station half an hour early so as not to miss the bus (again). Upon our arrival at a bit before ten, we get accosted by a man who starts shouting at us to ¨Sube! Sube! Sube!¨our bus so it could take off half an hour early. I wasn´t even fully in before the driver started plowing down the road at a vomit-inducing speed. Nevertheless, Nadine and I tucked ourselves into our seats, snuggled up with some pashminas and jackets, and fell asleep.

Roughly an hour later, we´re told to ¨Baja! Baja!¨... since our bus is apparently dumping us on another bus headed the same direction, as OUR bus company couldn´t be buggered to actually TAKE us where they were supposed to. Happily, this bus is marvelously empty, and Nadine takes three seats while I take two, and for almost 3 hours, she dozes peacefully, burritoed in her sleeping bag while I shiver and mutter as much profanity as can escape my frost-covered lips. When I finally manage to get to sleep (emptying my purse and using it as a potato-sack-like device to cover my legs), we´re awoken AGAIN and told to get the fuck down, as THIS bus is apparently experiencing technical difficulties. Our final bus is the closest thing I can compare to an outhouse on wheels. I´m too tired by this point to protest, and I manage to fall asleep in the lap of the teenage girl seated next to me.

An hour after that, we´re then told to get down so we can submit ourselves to the police check. Getting frisked by jackasses with batons was the least-crappy part of this trip.

Then we arrived in Guayaquil.

Fuck, this post is taking me entirely too long. Let me just sum up my birthday so that this doesn´t end up being a freakin´novella. My birthday was excellent. I partied. Very... very hard. Unfortunately, this alleged partying didn´t involve Quito Fest, and didn´t involve other English-speakers. While Argentinians are impossible to understand by day... by night, nobody gives a fuck and it all comes down to how many shots you can take. A silly civil uprising delayed my plans to spend my big day on a bus (with visions of whales swimming in my head), and I didn´t get to Quito until Saturday morning... just in time to find out that Quito Fest was cancelled. I wont´go into too much detail... but I decided to just get obliterated and it ended up being a pretty decent alternative. I suppose that´s all.

Fuck I need to update this blog more frequently because now it doesn´t make any sense at all. Oh, but I should boast that the ¨Cambodia¨and ¨Myanmar¨tabs up top have been updated.... erm... half a year late. Oops!

Oh, by the way--- I know there´s like, no photos on this post, but I haven´t uploaded them yet. I´ll get around to it!

I'm on my last day here in Peru, and although I feel like I should be updating updating updating about what's been going on... it's all been going off without a hitch. Not too story-worthy, I'm afraid.

Since I left Huaraz (and I do miss it and think of it often--- Benji, Davíd, Leo!!! Donde están??) I've been far snugglier and much more tan than I've been since leaving Indonesia. I spent something like 8 days in Huanchaco... a place I had planned to scorn for its cemented spot on the gringo trail... but somehow-- I'm not sure HOW... I ended up loving it. DAMMIT HUANCHACO! I was only supposed to spend 2 days in you--- and somehow I ended up blowing all my time eating yummy food and joking with my Peruvian students. I took some more Spanish classes there with a guy named Manuel (REALLY good course- people need to tell me if they're headed to Peru- I'll hook you up) who was also doing English classes for Peruvians who wanted to work for Carnival or Royal Caribbean. Guess how much they get paid to work 12 hours a day (normal- 14 hours a day when they have inspection), 7 days a week, not a day off, for 8 months?

500 bucks a month. Pre-tax.

There´s something heartbreaking about that. If you really like your students, which is pretty much guaranteed if you met this bunch... it'd kill you to drill them on interview questions whose answers are pre-created with the intent of making these kids seem like they are willing to endure just about anything for the piddling amount they'd receive. Cruise lines don't take people who complain.

YEAH, I KNOW I KNOW. It's a lot of money in Peru. I get it. But look at this. The average cruise to South America from LA averages 1,019 bucks. That's the starting point, like... if you're sleeping in the lowest deck, just the basics. One person. The average galley sla-... ahem... I mean STEWARD (the word ¨slave¨keeps just falling out of my mouth when I use that phrase) gets roughly $1.34 bucks an hour for busting his ass. That´s pre-tax.

The worst thing is that the kids are scrambling all over themselves to get these jobs. Oh, and they have to PAY to even take the interview exam ($20 USD--- more than a week´s wages for most of them). This is simply because there IS no other work. I'm going to get heat for getting all riled about this, but I'm riled. RILED I SAY!

Anyway, getting them ready is what I did for about a week. The interviews came and 4 of ours passed. Only 1 got through to the final round--- the others didn´t have the money to pay for the interview.

That's fucking mierda.

OK, fine--- comment away. I know... I know... economic differences, hiring out of country... etc etc etc. I still think it´s bullshit.

Anyway, after that, I went a-racin' up to Máncora, which is where I am now. Almost threw my bag onto a bus bound for Lima (whoops!)... but I managed to make it here alright. Loving it here... particularly loving the dollar plato of ceviche at the mercado... but I'm itching to get north. Ecuador calls!

I'll post photos soon. Particularly of Cambodia til now. Waiting til I settle somewhere long enough to fight with Flickr.

Dogs, dogs dogs...

So, I´ve been in Peru for something like 8 days now, and I´ve only just gotten my sleep schedule oriented... much to the applause of all the other people sharing my dorm with me. Awake before noon? Impossible!

I´m in a place called Huaraz, an excellent little mountain town in the northern center of the country, famous for the numerous treks that go into the Cordillera Blanca and back. It totally reminds me of Cuzco... with it´s winding streets and colonial feel. The only thing I´m missing is a group comprised of 3 Dutch girls, 2 Swiss guys, and a Swede. Oh, how I miss you all! Happily, I´ve managed to fashion another group to ease my woes. 2 French girls, an Austrian, and an Israeli. I suppose they´ll do! (just kidding you guys! You know I love you) Here´s a photo of us at Laguna Churrup- taken from our trek yesterday. Something about scaling a rock face over a raging waterfall sans ropes on a windy and rainy day brings people together. It was about 3 hours up, 2 hours down... slippy and scary at parts... but with algunos perritos to guide us. Man- I love street dogs in Latin America.

To be fair, I haven´t managed to get too much done since I´ve been here. My first day in the city, I received very sorrowful news regarding my dog´s health, which was then followed by even worse news which I suppose you can infer. I guess it´s better that it happened here, in a city where I may not know anyone very well... but at least I´m not back in Mildura! Something about the traveling spirit extracts the very best out of the people who partake in it, and the two French girls and wonderful Peruvians I´ve met have been absolutely golden in helping me keep myself occupied. There is also a hostel bunny that has been filling my days with furriness and fat. At times he wiggles away for fear I´m going to pop him... but generally, he has been something of a painkiller. I´m not sure what else to say except that hearing about the passing of someone who´s considered to be the absolute heart my family had me incapacitated for a few days. Fucking mierda. Te extraño Tani. Te extraño.

In the effort to fill my time and give less space to grief, I´ve also begun language school here, in one of the TWO language schools in the city. Both of them are nosebleed expensive, and the one I picked seems to be completely unprepared to handle actual students. I went for my first lesson the day before yesterday, and paid close to 25 dollars (a fortune in Peru) to be taught that yo is I and tú is you. Ya puedo hablar español, puta! I´m going back for round number 2 today. It´s like sleeping with someone for the first time, and you realize that it´s bad... but you go back again just because you want to be absolutely sure. It´s painful and embarrassing for you both... but you can´t seem to help yourself. -sighs-

After that, I´m on to Trujillo, a town on the northern coast, on my way to Ecuador. I´m a little concerned about what appears to be a staph infection on my leg (thanks a lot, Matt!)... but it wouldn´t be my first brush with odd bacteriums. The thing is- I don´t mind picking up strange and exotic diseases while I´m in strange and exotic countries. My problem is that I got it in Australia.. which is neither strange nor exotic. It´s so clean there! How can this be??

Hmm... other than that- I´m in love with South America in a way that I could never seem to fall in love with any other region. Central America was good, the Indian subcontinent and South East Asia great... but there is just something... I don´t know... sexy ....here. I´m so god damn happy on this continent- it´s going to be tough to go home. I suppose the only thing I´m missing is a certain hazel-eyed Adonis... but that will come. The window will open! Sometime.