Back in the USSA

I didn't have a chance to write about all the things Renee and I saw in Peru. There were so many cool things! I will try to go back and write a miniseries about those things, but at the moment it doesn't feel right. It makes more sense to me to write about what has been going on since I got back.
We flew back to the States on June 5th. After a nearly sleepless night at our posh hostel in la plaza de San Martin (the drivers blew their horns all night, plus anxiety about traveling), we took a cab to the airport at about 8:30 am. The driver had an English music mix on, and I wish I knew the names/artists that played, and that I'd written the lyrics down. Anyway, all of the songs were about having a great time and having to say goodbye. Lower lips quivered in the back seat. Hysterical laugh bursts ensued. We were sad to be going.
We were supposed to get in at 11 pm, but ended up missing our connection because of Spirit airlines and their bullshit scheduling. Who gives people on an international flight one hour to get through customs and security and to their next flight? In addition to that stupidity, their computer system had gone down. We waited at customs for two hours and made it up to the check in, where gobs of people stood in a big crowd complaining while a Spirit airlines employee yelled out passengers' names without a microphone to give them their boarding passes. It was ugly. Uglier things happened, too, like when I wasn't allowed to pass two women with tiny dogs in the security line, even though I asked them nicely and their flight was in two hours and mine had probably left half an hour ago. I hope they had a terrible flight. Anyway, long story short, we slept on the airport floor and flew from Ft. Lauderdale to New York to Myrtle Beach the next morning. Stupid.
I spent the few days back at my parents' house, hanging out and eating really good Mexican food. Shout out to El Camino Real on the corner of Spring Garden and Market Street in Greensboro. Que rico! Then on Sunday I went back to Asheville and reunited with my sweet boyfriend, who had cleaned the house and everything. We went to Cumberland Island off the southern coast of Georgia for the next weekend, an island with a maritime forest filled with live oaks, palms, lizards, armadillos, deer, and feral horses. Only 120 people are allowed on the island at a time, and you can camp under the canopy, hike (we tried to do this, but it was so hot and muggy that it was a miserable task, and we didn't make it to far), explore the ruins of Nathanael Greene's (shoutout Greensboro!) house there and the old Carnegie mansion, look at the wildlife, and swim/play on the beach. It was very relaxing. You should go.
I'm writing in the Pack Place library in Asheville (reminiscent of my days in Peru in internet cafes, but bigger and with less computer viruses). I find it easier to write away from home. There's more to come, but I have to get back to my car before a parking ticket finds its way to my windshield. Oh, American life.

Some Photos-See Captions

Ollantaytambo

Courtyard of my house in Ollantaytambo

Swimming pool. Note Veronica (glacier) in distance.

They were just waiting there outside my door.

Machu Picchu

Peruvian Dog and Pups

Salt Flats

Lago Titicaca

They thought we were famous. We were famous.

Kusi, Mirian, Dead Chicken, Victorious Anna

Quechua Lady Weavers

Totally En Amor En Lima

Kusi and Valery

Dan, Me, Machu Picchu

Maras-Inka Terraces

Frightening Quechua Dolls

Awkward Jumping Scene on Sand Dunes

Chicken Soup for the Peruvian Soul

To celebrate the last weekend in Peru, Renee and I went out in Miraflores. We started the night with a glass of Gato, a Chilean boxed wine, chased with Mankekes, Peruvian snack cake delites. Delish. Classy. This was followed by a papa rellena (mashed potatoes stuffed with beef and whatever else and deep fried) and soup that tasted like the ocean. Meh. We went to a really touristy street and found a bar that had a liter of beer for 10 soles (about $4). Sat down there and were almost immediately joined by some Peruvian dudes who wanted to flirt. They zoned in and talked to us separately. Renee´s guy looked like a chipmunk hobbit. Peruvian guys are always trying to get us to kiss them. What a pain. But they were nice and were starting an NGO, so we chatted. They bought us caiparhinas and got us to go to a discotheque, where we danced way too close and then ditched them for each other and danced way too close. Then we escaped and walked like show ponies back to the hostel, high stepping it so we wouldn´t trip. We haven´t been drinking much, and were really hungover the next day. Took a taxi to Lima and felt seasick like I was on a boat to the Ballestas Islands and smelling guano. The ride was only 15 minutes long, but it felt like an eternity and I clutched my yellow plastic grocery back like it was the only thing keeping me alive. When we got to our hostel in Lima central, we collapsed on the beds. But we were starving, and had to go eat something. Somehow, the worst restaurant in the area pulled us in . We ended up with greasy, tough chicken, rice, and lukewarm sweet potatoes. I also got the house soup, which was chicken and really tasty. It took the edge off the nausea until I dipped my spoon really deep and came out with...a chicken foot. No, really. A whole foot was in my bowl. I almost spewed. After that shock, I took shallow spoonfulls of broth. Occasionally I had to hold back a gag when a broken off chicken toe showed up in my spoon.
Goddammnit, Peru. How I have loved and hated you. How often you have mystified, inspired, and disgusted me.
This is my last day here. Today was devoted to eating the best Peruvian things: churros (long donuts with sugar on the outside and caramelly goo on the inside), big sweet popcorn, mazamora (goo dessert made from the purple corn served with arroz con leche), lomo saltado (stir fried beef, tomatoes, onion, ginger, and french fries), etc etc etc. It´s going to be shocking and sad in some ways to return to normal life. But I think that this trip has reopened my eyes to the possibilities and excitement that life holds.

The Seediest Hostel in Lima

We´ve had mostly good luck with finding good hostels in Peru. After about a week of dorm living, we decided we´re too old for it (sharing a room with seven other people, getting woken up when they drag their drunk asses into the bunk bed above you, smelling everyone´s breath and stinky socks) and since then have been getting private rooms. It´s only $5-$10 more and worth it. Paying $20 for 2 people for a night isn´t bad. Except when you go to the Hostal de Las Arcas in Lima.
Renee´s travel book, The Rough Guide to Peru recommended it. It was described as a ¨gay friendly¨hostel with beautiful tiling, common areas, and breakfast included. Apparently though, ¨gay friendly¨means sex friendly and seedy as hell. We got into Lima after the sun went down, so we took a taxi to this hostel and decided we´d just take it for one night and if it was bad we´d switch the next day. We knew it could be bad when it was next to a lot of compounded cars. But the police station was right there, so maybe it was safe? We went in and two little girls were playing at the desk. We asked if they had a room available and they said no and giggled. One of them went and got the 20 year-old guy with a front tooth missing and an earnest, crooked smile who worked there. He said they did have a room, and took us to see it. The house was cool. Really high ceilings, mustard yellow accents, giant doors, and beautiful tiling with green, blue and yellow flowers. Then there were other, less cool things: a stuffed vulture hanging from the ceiling in the reception, dark crooked staircases, sectional sofas draped in leopard blankets, a broken stained glass skylight with feather-strewn wire under it, suspiciously filthy walls, a mounted bull head lurking in the corner just as you emerged from the stairway...
No one else was staying there. The doors to the rooms hung wide open, and we could see the beds with their acrylic fleece blankets with smiling pastel flowers all over them. Creepy. The first room we saw was ok, but then I noticed that the shower was missing it´s hot water knob. The next room had both knobs, but after reception guy left we checked the sheets, and someone had had sex all over them. We had committed to the place, so we just got the sheets changed. We went to reception and signed in, noting that no one had stayed there for over a week, and the last people to stay were a couple of Germans who were in the same room as us. We went out, walked past the dusty homocide scene vehicle parked outside, and bought some water and popcorn. The streets reeked of human piss. The hostel across the street had a sign advertising that they rented rooms by the hour. We decided not to stay out. We went back to the room and put on pajamas that covered our entire bodies, plus hoods and socks, and gingerly climbed into bed. Then we noticed the beeping of three or four different smoke alarms with dying batteries and the horror movie buzz of the flourescent lights. This went on all night. Luckily we were tired and had earplugs.
The next morning we got up and went out for breakfast (no, it wasn´t included) and went into the historical center of Lima. We found a really nice hostel and checked in there that afternoon.

Vaga en Peru

       Eighteen days of traveling have passed, and I am now eighteen days from flying home. Just realized that when I sat down to write. I´m in Nazca right now, an oasis that feels pretty much like every smallish city I´ve been in Peru so far, but sunnier. Am writing from an internet cafe that costs one nuevo sol (33 American cents) for an hour. Shakira is staring at me open-mouthed in a white bikini from a poster on the wall. Everyone else in this cafe is a twelve to sixteen-year-old boy playing video games.
        Saying goodbye to Ollantaytambo was emotional, but I was ready to go. That day there was a fiesta celebrating the anniversary of San Isidro, the neighboorhood my family lived in. That helped to take the edge off. The day before, I went with Mirian to her mother´s house, where she traded a chicken for a cuy. Her mother -who she calls ¨La Reina, The Queen,¨ without a hint of sarcasm- squatted on the floor in her long skirt for ten or fifteen minutes, feeding the cuy alfalfa while they chirp/squealed, then snatched a white and brown chubby one out of the group, while the others ran for cover. I carried it home in a nylon flour sack. This was her contribution to the feast for the next day.The festival consisted of huge plates of food, chicha, beer, dancing children (they´re always demanding that children dance in this country), and whimsical contests for adults (potato-peeling race, race that involved pushing large round squashes from one end of the court to another, race that involved blindfolded feeding of masa mora from one adult to another, sack race that made me wonder if any of the women here wear bras). I sat with Renee and Susan in the stadium and watched while a cold wind blew and a light rain fell. Valeri and Cusi sat by my sides, hugging me and then forgetting to be sad and running off to play every now and then. It was time to leave, so the whole family walked me to the house and we got my things. Mirian and Ebert made speeches about how I´ll always be part of their family and held in their hearts forever, so of course I cried. They are beautiful. Then we hugged and Mirian walked me and Renee to the square and got us a taxi to Cusco.
        Since then, I have been a lot of places and seen many things. Too many to write about in detail right now. So here´s a synopsis:
       Quillabamba, a ¨cloud forest¨that borders the jungle nearish to Macchu Picchu. Spent some time at a waterfall in someone´s backyard with seven different tiers and basins, ate fruit, felt what it´s like to be in a place where Renee and I were the only outsiders to be seen. A few children pointed at us in the market. Everyone was very helpful and friendly, and even approached us on the street to ask where we were going and if we needed a taxi. Two thumbs up.
      Cusco, again. I love Cusco and would choose to live there out of all the places I´ve seen so far. The buildings are big, beautiful stone colonial structures with arches and carved, wooden balconies. The gritty real-life side is mixed in with the more glamorous and touristy. The market is about 4 blocks from the Plaza de Armas, and we went there every day to buy fruit or eat a cheap, tasty meal. The mountains watch you from afar.
      Puno, the town that sits on the edge of Lake Titicaca, which locals pronounce ¨Titichaachaa¨ with a more throaty sounding c. I prefer this... Puno is run-down and graffitied, but the lake is a giant, blue, rippling mirror that could make anywhere appealing. We took a boat one day into the lake and visited the floating islands, which are human made out of reeds that grow in the lake. The people created the islands when the Incas took over, in an attempt to escape. They´re made of dirt from the bottom of the lake covered in eight or nine feet of reeds. All of their houses and boats are made of the reeds, too, and they all have to be replaced every three months or they´ll rot. Talk about ephemerality. Beautiful.
     Arequipa, which feels like Europe. It was really strange to arrive there after the semi-ruggedness we´ve been experiencing. The buildings are large and made of white volcanic rock. They have many arches but aren´t decorated otherwise. A highlight of Arequipa was visiting the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, a convent built in the mid-1500´s. It´s enormous (takes up 3 city blocks!) and contains beautiful paintings from the Cusqueñean school, plus much of the original furniture and tools used by the nuns. Another highlight was going to the museum that houses Juanita, the mummy of an Incan girl sacrificed in the mid-1400s to appease the gods and help to stop the earthquakes going on at that time. She and other child sacrifices like her were discovered in the mid 1990´s. Since they had been frozen solid, the bodies are in very good condition, as are the textiles and ceramics that were found with them. So the museums and history there were very interesting, plus we got a taste of the modern life, including fast food and Starbucks (almost didn´t admit that, but it had to be told).
      Colca Canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. We went on a three day trek there with a group of eight, plus a guide. Our group consisted of 4 Germans, 2 Argentinians, and Renee and me. We didn´t talk much, though the Germans spoke English and our Spanish is getting better. I was feeling a bit timid and reluctant to have a three-day conversation, especially because once I get past my getting to know you Spanish, it´s hard to know what else to talk about. It was much more difficult, physically, than I´d expected. The first day we left at 3 am and the hike was a 3.5 hours straight downhill in the blaring sun into the valley. We spent the night at a tropical-feeling, but rustic, hotel in the valley. Everyone went to bed at 8. The next day we walked a more flat path, and stopped at a house/museum in a village in the valley, where we tasted the owner´s chicha and saw traditional farming tools and clothing. Then we stayed at another small hotel (both were made up of adobe cabins and the eating areas were open air and made of cane and straw) but this one had a pool, which was nice for about an hour and then the sun hid behind the mountains and it was cold. We woke up at 4:30 the next morning, had coca tea and 4 oreos each, and hiked to the summit in the dark, and then in the cool morning sun. We climbed 1200 meters and it took about 3 hours. Mules and Peruvian men in ajotes -sandals made out of tires- pranced up and down the path like they were running from their house to the mailbox or something, listening to radios and smiling contentedly. We sweated, grunted, and grimaced our way to the top. We ate breakfast at a small restaurant in the nearby pueblo, watching Arequipa-style Huayno music videos in the background. I must buy a Huayno dvd for you all to see. It´s describable, but describing it saps it of the beauty.
       As I said, I´m in Nazca. The sharp edge of the desk is eating lines into my wrists. Shakira is blowing my mind with her hotness. How is she so pretty but so tiny at the same time? I want to put her on a keychain. I just came in from the plaza, where two seventeen-year-old girls asked me questions about the U.S. for a while until I got uncomfortable and had to leave. They were especially interested in how many stories certain buildings have in New York (Twin Towers, Empire State Building, etc) and what the weather´s like. I ended up feeling inadequate for not knowing the answers to their questions. Don´t have a head for facts. But I was happy to talk to them and again impressed by how genuine they and almost all of the Peruvians I´ve met have been. This morning, Renee and I took a private tour to the towers where you can view the Nazca Lines. They´re giant figures etched into the desert floor by people of the Nazca culture between 400 and 650 AD. We saw giant hands, a tree, and a family of adorable people with feathers or maybe antennae or dreadlocks. No one really knows what the lines mean, but I liked what our guide said. He believes that the figures are a type of offering that the priests would design, draw, and walk the perimeters of in religious ceremonies to demonstrate their devotion  to their gods. Whatever they mean, they´re amazing.
     The rest of this trip will follow the Peruvian coast. We go to Ica, the home of many Pisco-making wineries, tomorrow. Then to a national reserve (Paracas), then north to Trujillo and the beaches and more archeological sites around there.

Christian #3

I got to sit next to Christian in the convi yesterday. His sister, looking a little less severe with her hair down and flowing, stood outside the van as it filled, scowling. The sun glinted off her braces. She and Christian were both eating popsicles, and when hers fell off the stick onto the ground she made Christian give her some of his, then made him give her money for another one. I saw her soft side when the driver ordered him to get in the backseat with three giant men. She stuck up for little bro, whiningly insisting, "No, he doesn't want to sit back there. My brother isn't skinny. He can't fit" (he totally could have, but whatever, it was sweet). The van took off and she waved us off. Christian and his tiny friend sat in one seat next to me, and somehow played with a top on the floor, even when there were probably only six inches of space to work with. This was the fullest convi I've been in yet. People were literally spooning, standing up in the area next to the door. Christian used my right thigh as a brace for his top-playing, pressing very firmly against it as if it were a seat cushion or his older sister standing in his way in the hall. I'm sure he knew it was a leg, but he didn't care. "Bajabajabajabaja!" I love that kid.

International Model? Check.

Always the eager model/actress, here I am modeling Awamaki's new knitwear collection on their blog.
http://awablog.tumblr.com/