Very naughty blogger Taj Mahal rambles

Very, very bad blogger am I, letting all this time slip away with no entries.

After making friends with Vicky the rickshaw driver in Jaipur, Jillian and I headed to Agra.

Agra is a horrible city. I feel bad writing that since it must be someone’s home, but, from a traveler’s perspective, there is just not much to recommend it. It’s not very small and it’s not very large. It’s not very interesting looking and there isn’t much to do, other than to visit the Taj Mahal. The Taj Mahal itself, however, is incredible. Built as a gesture of love from a man (who was in a position to take a lot of money from the government) to his first wife, it is basically a large temple. It houses the bodies of the man who built it, his first wife and a couple of his other wives, though his other wives are buried closer to the entrance in parts of the Taj that aren’t as attractive as the part you always see in pictures.

The Taj Mahal costs about Rs. 30 ($.75 USD) or so for Indian nationals to visit, and Rs. 750 for foreigners. Ouch! That’s $18.75 USD. Pretty hard on a backpacking budget. But it is beautiful. They say the white marble glows different colors throughout the day, depending on how the sunlight changes. We were there for a couple of hours before sunset, but didn’t really get to see that effect, because the sun was covered by many clouds.

The Taj Mahal is made of marble and has details made from semi-precious stone throughout it. It took 17 years to build. The man who had it built had it started while the wife he was building it for was still alive, which seems a little creepy to me, but maybe I’m missing the point.

As an Indian friend wrote to me, “Youll must have been really amazed by the taj mahal that what most people come to India to see. you knw there is a saying ‘If you come to India you have to viagra(via-agra), to see the biggest erection of a male to the female.’ “

So that is one way of looking at it. India seems to be in love with plays on words. (On the roads everywhere is written – ‘Speed thrills but kills.’) It seems that the poetry of it is more important than the actual communication. Which I kind of like. Art in everyday life makes things just a little bit nicer.

One interesting thing about the Taj Mahal was that Jillian and I were instant celebrities. On a fairly regular basis in whatever town we are in in India, people will occasionally snap a photograph of us, but the Taj was ridiculous. I would say about 20 different individuals and / or groups of people came over to take our picture within the space of about an hour and a half.

At first it was funny and entertaining and, I’ll admit, I felt a little special. People were putting babies in our laps like we were politicians and using their cell phone cameras to capture the moment. Men, women, children, entire families. We made it a bit of a game and would engage in a bit of banter with our ‘fans.’ Then one guy came over, dragging about 3 Indian girls behind him. They stayed back a ways while he took about 5 pictures. He said to us, “You’re so beautiful. You’re so beautiful. I don’t like Indian women,” which just really pissed me off, for many reasons.

One frustrating thing about India is the preoccupation with being pale. There is a sense here that being dark is bad. They sell skin bleaching creams everywhere, and all the people in ads and most of the celebrities are very fair skinned – many to the point of looking basically European. Here, pale = attractive, which just makes me sad. Most Indian people are not at all pale and I hate to think that they are all looking at ads and Indian celebrities and comparing themselves to those images, thinking they are inadequate. I, for one, am captivated by dark black-brown eyes in particular, and the variation of natural coloring of human beings in general. I’ve seen so many breathtakingly beautiful dark-skinned men, women and children on the street in India. They should be in the ads, but they never are.

As a very pale person myself, I’m always wishing I weren’t. I’m tanning on the beach here and, at home, I used to use sunless tanning lotion. I guess it’s kind of the same thing as an Indian person using a bleaching cream, and maybe I should learn to love my skin the way it is naturally before I go telling other people they should love their skin the way it is naturally, but it just seems worse to want to go from dark to light, what with being trained to feel guilt over white people’s habit of colonizing and exploiting people who are usually darker skinned than they are.

In any case, I was annoyed that this man was dismissing all of the women in his country, just like that, especially since he had 3 of them just a few feet away, and I thought that, if he was going to say it to me, he should be prepared to say it in front of them. So I called them over and said, “You know what this man just said to us?”

Turns out they were his sisters. I hope he got in trouble for that little comment.

Anyway, eventually, all the photography began to get invasive. The guy with the sisters wanted to take video and started getting a little too excited while he gushed over us and we had to stop being as friendly, and actually had to physically move away from the crowds.

I still don’t understand this preoccupation with Jillian and I in particular, though – it’s the Taj Mahal. It’s a huge tourist destination. There were white first-worlders everywhere, but none of them was getting the attention we were.

I’m still working on getting pictures up. It’s been a challenge in India, because the internet is just not reliable and just not fast, so uploading pictures can prove to be nearly impossible.

More shortly!

 

Highs and lows

There is no place like India.

Yesterday, while walking down the street, an old beggar woman tried to hit me in the face with a sack full of something, unprovoked. Nice.

Today, we found ourselves in the company of a rickshaw driver named Vicky (his father got confused by English names when he visited London) whose rickshaw had purple seats and was tricked out with huge speakers. All day, riding around Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan, and seeing the sights – palaces and a beautiful marble crematorium hundreds of years old – we were serenaded by Vicky’s interpretations of various pop songs and we head bopped to “What is Love” with him at stoplights. Incidentally, this is a good way to confuse and fascinate beggars into forgetting to ask you for money.

Then we had a minor rickshaw-cow accident. The cow ran into us, though. (No worries, no one – even the cow – was hurt.) [By the way, cows curl into little balls on the ground, like cats, when they want to sleep. I never would have thought.]

It’s been so long since I’ve written, I’m not sure that there is any way for me to do justice to the experiences that Jillian and I have been having. India is dirty and it smells like rotting animals and vomit and there are people shitting on the street. But it is vibrantly colorful, historical and soulful in a way that catches you off guard. The people we meet everyday on the street are also, by far, my favorite people from the entire trip up to now. Though every second of the day people are trying to get you to buy things and hiking up their prices when they see you, there is a warmth to them that betrays the genuine underlying kindness of the people as a whole. Getting a big smile and a handshake from an Indian schoolchild is like winning the lottery – it gives you this feeling that goodwill does prevail in the world. It’s cheesy to say, but a genuine smile like people hand out here makes me feel like everything’s okay in the world, we’ll all figure out how to work things out together.

These moments I love. I call them a “Traveler’s High”. When you’re running around a strange country, you do a lot of thinking about the state of the world as a whole and it becomes linked to your own personal experiences. If I have a run-in with somebody or the ridiculousness of the unorganization of a place makes me want to punch someone (my friend Alison calls this “Foreigner’s Rage,” – very common, along with severe cases of bitterness over people from home having forgotten you existed and not returning your emails) or a foreign man treats me with less respect than he would a man, I think, ‘We’ll never get it all together!’ and decide that the world community is doomed. It makes me want to just give up and find the nearest mall to whittle the afternoon away in.

There was one day, in Mysore (which has the most beautiful palace, and a maharaja who still lives there), when Jillian and I went to a temple. Outside, there was a man handing out flowers. He insisted we take one each. We refused, knowing he would expect money afterward. But then he REALLY insisted, so we relented, being a bit wet behind the ears. Inside we went, where there was a priest who accepted our flowers and put red powder bindis on our foreheads, and tied red and yellow cloth bracelets on our wrists.

Then he said, “40 rupees.”

“What?” we both cried. “No! Here, have 5 from each of us.”

“40 rrrruuuuuupeeeees!” he insisted.

But we stood our ground, and were met with muttering in the local language and a steely stare, which made us feel ever-so-slightly not welcome and / or not prayerful in the place of worship where we found ourselves.

So we soon left. Outside, we were met by the flower man.

“10 rupees each!” he barked.

“No!” we said, “You didn’t say before we went in.”

“10 rupees each! That is how much. You give. You give 10, and you give 10.” He pointed at each of us for emphasis.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.” I checked my wallet for coins, and handed the man 3 rupees.

“Tah!” he grunted angrily, and turned on Jillian. “20 rupees!”

“No, too much! And no have!” she said back (you start talking like this here).

“I give change,” the man said, and put his hand out.

Jillian looked at me, and I shrugged. She reluctantly handed over a 100 (worth $2.50 USD). The mean flower man grabbed it and handed her 40 rupees back.

“More!” Jillian said, and the man gave her 10 more.

“More!” Jillian said, and the man gave her 10 more.

“Keep going!” Jillian said, growing tired of the little game, which was, in fact, very tiring. The man handed over 20 more rupees and then turned away.

“Hey!” we shouted, “More! 20 rupees for flowers too much!”

“Bah!” the flower man shouted, and then began to walk the other way, shouting things we could not understand.

Since we were not going to get into a brawl with a man on the street outside a temple, we walked away. But we were P.O.ed.

“Goddammit!” I said, “In a goddamn place of worship, even!”

“Sooo frustrating!” Jillian said. “It’s like this all over Asia! People shoving each other out of the way to pray! People stealing your money! It’s so disheartening!”

We walked down the stairs back toward our waiting rickshaw. The flower man had, in fact, stolen money from us outside of a temple of all places. We are not made of money! We are not ATMs! We do not have signs on us that say, ‘Kick me and then steal from me!’. The PRINCIPLE upset me and the INJUSTICE of it all made my blood boil. They think we are easy targets, just because of the way we look!

…Then a little monkey with a face like a Baldwin brother ran past.

“Monkey,” I said (I seem to have the need to say it like this – ! – whenever I see one), but reluctantly, with the edge of anger still in my voice.

…Then we passed a baby goat, looking at us out of the corner of his eye while he munched on a poster for a Bollywood movie called Jodha Akbaar. I felt my anger soften, ever-so-slightly. He was just so cute.

…Then 2 Indian teenage girls wearing bright saris passed us going in the other direction. They flashed their teeth in big grins and one waved energetically.

“Hello,” we said, returning their greeting, just barely letting little smiles escape at first. The second girl took up waving also. Before I knew it, I had a full smile going.

‘Well, fuck,’ I thought, watching my anger disappear completely.

And that’s how it happens. India gets to you before you even realize it.

WE ARE FAMOUS NOW

Before we ever got to Mumbai (Bombay), we knew we wanted to be in a Bollywood movie. We’d heard it’s quite easy. They are always looking for “European” people to be extras in the background. Having began regaled with stories of bottomless cups of chai and ‘amazing’ Indian food while you wait around the set and have your hair and makeup done, we were fully prepared to sacrifice a day of sightseeing to take part in the experience.

As such, our first day in Mumbai, our first order of business was to find a phone to contact a casting director. Jillian was saying the words, “We need a phone then,” when a man walked up and handed us his business card, which said, ‘Cute Look Casting,’ on it.

“Hello!” he said. “Bollywood, yes? You know?”

Yes.

“How would you like to be in this production? Is a song scene. We need European people for the background. You get chai while you wait, you done by 8 o’clock. Yes?”

There was some back and forth, but in the end, we agreed to do it and promised to meet the man at McDonald’s at 3 o’clock.

ASIDE: In India, McDonald’s clearly does not serve beef burgers. Instead, they sell veggie burgers, chicken burgers and filet o’ fish. The veggie burger is not bad…

We, along with other “Europeans”, were taken to the set in a taxi, with a PA chaperone. The set was a very large, old, abandoned factory. There were a lot of people walking around wearing sunglasses and we spent some time wondering which ones might possibly be famous.

The Perfectly-Attired Wardrobe Lady came in and looked us all up and down.

“Okay,” she said, “Let’s see your changes of clothes.”

We all stared at her.

“Changes of clothes! You have them, no?”

Negative. We were not told about this.

The wardrobe lady’s eyes grew wide as she re-inspected us.

She whipped around suddenly and shouted in Hindi to two or three assistants, who started making frantic phone calls.

“You can go home, yes? Get something strappy, colorful for top. Get skirts, do your hair, come back? We need you to look attractive.” She waited expectantly for our responses.

“We’re backpackers,” a Slovenian girl said, “They pulled us off the street like this. This is what we have.”

The wardrobe lady looked a bit panicked. “You must have something else. That!” she said, pointing to the Slovenian girl’s shirt, “You would not wear that to a party. What do you wear to parties? Not that. And not a skirt that long [ankle-length].” She turned to Jillian and jumped backward. “No!”

[FLASHBACK to breakfast that very morning, where Jillian looks down at her t-shirt which has printed on it, INDIA! FAMOUS FOR THE TAJ MAHAL, ELEPHANTS, SPIRITUALITY, VARIETY... AND ME! and says, "I can't believe no one has said anything about my t-shirt!"]

“This will not do, no!” the wardrobe lady snaps. In the same instant she turns to me and my “Indian-style” cotton top. “You two,” she said, “need to be sorted out.”

…Time on the set dragged on. We met a nice Israeli couple, drank a lot of chai, started asking for food and watched the other “Europeans” leave, one by one, while the CHEESIEST boy band you have ever seen in your life filmed shots for their music video in the background. There were motorcycles and fake graffiti backgrounds, there were fake gold dollar signs hung around necks, there were pure-white outfits against pure white backgrounds with spray-painted doves, curtains waving in the man-made breeze, and a man throwing terrified live doves straight at The Talent.

In short, there was a lot to make sarcastic comments about. We have some great video for You Tube also, if ever we find an internet cafe that can handle our cameras.

“Well,” we said, “Whoever they are, this must be their first video. It’s soooo cheesy!” And they kept messing up.

As it turns out, they were F4 [star symbol], the winners of last year’s, “Indian Idol.”

And this is not their first video.

We waited around until 10:00 when we were told to wash our faces (we refused, but did apply more makeup) and shake our hair out of our ponytail holders. (So much for hair and makeup.) Our outfits would “have to do,” we were told by the assistant director, and then commanded to stand in line with the 15 Indian teenage girls who were also going to be in the video.

Jillian and I were in separate lines, but both were pulled to the front as the (only) token white girls of the video. The boys came out – the oldest cannot be more than 21 – in their best “cool while being mobbed by girls” outfits and we filmed the same 25 seconds over and over again.

When Jillian and I were told which ones to do what to, we had to ask the girls next to us, “Which one is Abhishek?” “Which one is Suhit?” and The Talent overheard us and everyone got a big laugh out of it.

This may not be their first video, but they are still a bit green. After take one, the little guy handed me back my flowers and said, “Thank you,” half-bowing, and the director shouted, “Suhit! Stop blushing!”

This is how it goes: The boys walk away from a car (whose license plate says F4 [star symbol] on it) through the center of us girls, who are going craaaaazy with excitement. The girl to my right gets an autograph from the cute one. Jillian gets a hug from the one named Abhi. I give the tiny 12-year-old-looking one a bundle of flowers and he bows. They pause at the end and sing while gesturing widely with their hands, with us teenyboppers still going wild in the background.

The video should be out in India in about a month. Hopefully they keep the shots with us in them in, and we can get it onto You Tube so everyone at home can see!

Well, there is much more, but Vicky the Party Rickshaw Conductor is waiting for us. We are going to Pizza Hut for dinner…

 

Pause for a poem

Haiku for South America

Though it is quite gross

holding used TP in hand

I love South ´Mer-ca

—We are in Buenos Aires – ‘the Paris of the South’ – home to the sultry tango, the odd verb conjugation of “vos” and the oddly distracted Latin man who manages to get out a comment on your looks as you pass, but only in a half-hearted way as he keeps one eye on his Backberry, because he is some sort of important negocios guy with other things to attend to on the street besides calling you a beautiful doll and asking when angels started falling from heaven.

We are fortunate enough to be staying in the apartment of an English friend of Jillian’s from her travels in Australia and have basically had the place to ourselves the entire time. Bs As is an amazing city – comfortable, beautiful and modern, complete with impressive monuments, wide, shady lanes, a Tiffany’s, pilates studios, vegetarian restaurants with fresh fruit smoothies and home delivery of even a small cup of coffee from the closest café.

 Among the coolest things that I have seen on the trip thus far are the 2 famous cemeteries of the city – Recoleta, which contains the remains of Evita Perón, and another one whose name escapes me at the moment, which has the LARGEST collection of sepulchres I have ever seen in my life. The sheer amount of money that has quite obviously been poured into these places is impressive. Apparently, Recoleta in particular is quite exclusive and you must have, in addition to an obscene amount of money with which to build a two-story family monument, a famous and impressive last name to “get in”. The carvings on these family monuments are absolutely breathtaking. Of the type of art that inspires poetry.

Bad attempts at Spanish poetry, in my case.

 We did manage to tear ourselves away from the real bathroom, air conditioning and pool at the apartment building long enough to tour around and see the usual spate of monuments, parks and cool outdoor markets (and a tango show tonight), but I won’t bore you with the details as this has mostly been a welcome respite from our transient lifestyle. Here we have a shower with water pressure and endless hot water, a kitchen and a Blockbuster membership card which lead to one super-indulgent girls’ Sex and the City marathon night, flavored only the least bit backpackerish by the fact that our Scottish friend joined us and had us doing Scottish jigs in between episodes and glasses of red wine (purchased right at Blockbuster! Who is the creative genius that started that?).

We leave for Brazil in a few hours, to be – no doubt – overwhelmed by pre-Carnaval hysteria that is gearing up over there. Then we are off to London for a short 3-day layover on our way to India which, thus far, gets the prize for prettiest visa and nicest embassy representative. Sadly, our stay in South America has nearly come to an end and, as such, I am taking a moment to reflect.

Top 5 Complaints About S. America

1. Toilets – you cannot flush the TP and must collect it in your hand if the trash can has been placed too far away. Also, there is NEVER toilet paper, even in restaurants, and you must always carry, and people seem to be really pissed when you ask to use their bathrooms if you aren’t a paying customer…. I am aware it is about to get a lot worse in Asia, however.

2. Latin men’s lack of respect for women. We have previously addressed this issue.

3. No one ever has change. EVER. It’s like pulling teeth to get someone to accept the equivalent of a 20-dollar bill, even when you are trying to spend 8 or 9 or even 11 dollars’ worth of it. EVEN IN PLACES LIKE HOTELS AND RESTAURANTS, which are, assuredly, expecting a lot of foreign clientele whom are getting their money from ATMs, which, of course, only spit out the quivalent of twenties. The maddening part: If it is constantly a problem, why does no one ever think to go to the bank for change to have on hand? VERY, VERY frustrating.

4. Airport exit tax. I get it. We use your TP – if there -, your porter services, there is wear and tear on the building and someone has to pay for the janitorial services. WHY, like in other places, IS THIS TAX NOT ADDED ONTO THE PRICE OF YOUR PLANE TICKET, so that we don’t all have to line up like jackasses, as if we didn’t have enough lines at the airport already, and so you don’t have to pay people to take our money for it?

5. No good foreign food. IMPOSSIBLE to find spicy food. Many restuarants don’t even have a salsa picante. If you feel like having Thai, or Chinese, or a burger, or a pizza that actually has a detectable amount of sauce on it or breakfast that involves anything chewable, fugghedaboutit. You will starve while you search.

Best 5 Things About S. America

1. All the female presidents – when, oh when, will we get to claim to be that progressive? (Though perhaps better that it not be this election, given the option.)

2. The people – smiley, always up for a party, usually very complimentary of your Spanish, they are easy to make friends with and among the continent’s richest assets. They often seem excited that you have come so far to see their country. (Though, in Chile, they kept asking us, “Why? Why did you come HERE?”)

3. The language – I don’t know what it is, but I love Spanish. It’s been really interesting to see the small (and sometimes not so-) ways in which Latin American Spanish varies country by country. Spanish is lyrical and easy to rhyme with – a writer’s dream come true. Jillian loves the word papelito. I’m parcial to ajustar.

4. The variety of landscapes. Deserts, rain forest, beaches with searing white sand, towering mountains, glaciers, volcanoes, the other-worldliness of the Galápagos.

5. The Incan Trail and Macchu Picchu. Absolutely not to be missed.

As we will only be in Brazil and London for short amounts of time and then will be holed up in an ashram in southern India doing yoga and meditation all day for a few weeks, it may be a bit of time before I write again.

Signing off from Buenos Aires with many besos,

 

Isla de Pascua – Easter Island (contains fun prison story)

I’m becoming like one of Pavlov’s dogs, because every time that I hear the word “airplane,” I think free meal! free movie! free music! This is the kind of thing that is exciting when you live out of a backpack and only own 7 pairs of underwear.

We had quite a surprising gnocchi on the way to Easter Island…

Island life is aesthetically pleasing, if somewhat slow. And EXPENSIVE. We did our grocery shopping in Santiago before getting on the plane, so we arrived with I don’t know how many pounds of groceries on our backs (I couldn’t even lift my backpack by myself to get it on!) and arrived ready to spend as little money as possible.

The island was formed by 3 neighboring volcanoes, but it is really small. There is only one town – Hanga Roa – then the giant heads and then… free-wandering livestock. We had heard before we went that people tend to spend not longer than 3 or so days there. We were there a full week, but I actually think that that was a good amount of time. It’s the perfect amount of time if you are up for exploring the island on foot, and taking your time.

There are tens of caves along the coastline that are good for exploring, beautiful hikes up to the tops of the volcanoes and, if you get really bored, you can walk home from the island’s 2 beaches, which are 18 kilometers from town. Here is what I learned, though. Even if you are bored, you might want to take a taxi or something back to town because of THE BULLS THAT RUN FREE. I don’t need to ever do the running of the bulls after being grunted at by the biggest car-sized bull I have ever seen in my life.

I was walking with 3 stray dogs who seemed to think I was headed somewhere interesting and all 3 of those little traitors cowered behind me, while I cowered behind what looked like a climbable tree and thought about how I wasn’t ready to die. The bull stomped and took a few steps, but then seemed to think I wasn’t worth the effort and kind of wandered off.

I accepted the very next ride offered to me. (On the island everyone hitchhikes everywhere. Even if you don’t want a ride, people are always trying to offer you one. Qué amable!)

We spent many happy afternoons reading (we are both obsessed with our current books – Sophie’s Choice and Mollie Peer or the Adventures of the Moosepath League) on the beach in town (there is one… but it’s 6 feet long and always filled with local naked babies and strays taking a leak), hiking around and exploring all the different moai sights (moai are the giant statues).

We did fork over the cash for a paid tour of the moai, which we (or I) begrudgingly opened my wallet for so that we could get a little more information, to put everything in context. I also spent one cozy rainy afternoon at the local library researching the island. Yeah, it goes a bit slower in Spanish, but it still went.

So, then, we were wondering where the best place to buy crafts was and we were told… the prison. Of course.

You know what I love about Easter Island? How they let you wander around the prison.

You walk over near the areaa of the prison and ask directions. A guy from the agricultural control told us where to go. Then you just walk in the gate because the gate REMAINS OPEN. There are 3 prisoners. Two of them are robbers and one of them is a murderer… but it was ‘just’ a crime of passion, as it was explained to us. In other words, they aren’t worried about him killing tourists buying crafts… with the CHAINSAW that they give them to build things. Literally, they have a chainsaw. See the pics!

So in we walked and checked out what they had there. Jillian bought a lovely present for her parents. Can’t say what it is, though (HI JOAN AND DAVID!). And then we were given multiple free crafts as Christmas presents. Jillian and I each got a ring and a chicken feather necklace and then (and this is my favorite), Jillian got a strawberry made out of volcanic rock. This still confuses us.

I also got a freaking volcano pencil holder. It’s made out of wood that happens to have the shape of the volcano closest to the prison. The guy INSISTED I take it with me. So I got it for free, but now it’s going to cost me 80 dollars to mail it home because it weighs like 5 pounds. The prisoner who gave it to me also insisted that I prove to him that I knew how to put the pencils in their proper place. He didn’t believe that I had seen a pencil holder before or something, I don’t know.

In any case, after listening to a few Berlin songs and posing for pictures, we walked right out of the prison and hitched a ride back to town, where we ran into the agricultural guy who had given us the directions.

“Hello!,” he said. “Do you remember me?” (He was out of his uniform and wearing a t-shirt, at the park.) We said yes and he said, “Great! When do you leave?” and we told him the next day. He put on his most serious face and answered (this is what I love about small towns), “Oh! Well I am also the x-ray machine man at the airport. Now, no fruits, no rocks, no sand, yes? You know? Yes? Okay. See you tomorrow. No fruits!”

I don’t love flying over oceans, but we had that yum gnocchi again on the way back… another successful vacation from our vacation.

 

PICS!!!

I put up the Inca Trail pics, and the Galápagos pics – FINALLY! Look to the right!

 

Costa Rica

If it´s 5:45 am and you are jerked into consciousness by a parrot screeching in Spanish and salsa music, you are probably staying in Costa Rica. If you go out to eat breakfast and you find rice and black beans, then you know for sure you are in Costa Rica…

Our first night in Costa Rica, my “host brother” from an exchange I did there 9 years ago came to San José to meet up with us and show us around (his name is Edgar). We went out that night to a bar with him and one of his friends, who looked just like Harry Potter, where we went to a “Ladies´Night” event which, strangely enough, was a cornered off section of the bar with just ladies. There was free alcohol and everything back there, but that was it. No male dancers or anything… just free alcohol for girls and girls only??? We were confused by this, because it definitely was not a lesie event… eventually I figured that the point was just to get the women liquored up so that everyone could have a good time later.

We were actually having a great time (swear we were not liquored up, though)! We were attempting to dance salsa with Edgar and Harry Potter and were taking some hilarious pictures… until all of a sudden we realized that Jillian´s $600 camera was missing…. totally gone, but we still had everything else – wallets, cash, etc…. It was weird. We have no idea where it went. Maybe we forgot to get it back after we had someone take a picture? We have no idea….

The next day we took the bus to Sarchí, the town where my old host family lives, and, yes, HOME TO THE WORLD´S LARGEST OX CART, which we were taken to see by no less than 3 separate members of the Gutiérrez-Camacho family, who are the nicest, most welcoming people in the world. We were given the master bedroom and Adilia, the mom, took over one of her son´s rooms. We used Sarchí as our base as we took 2 short trips to other parts of Costa Rica. The whole family said that I didn´t look any different than I did 9 years ago… except one said I was taller, which I don´t think is true. Am pretty sure that have not grown since I was 16.

In any case, food in Costa Rica means rice and black beans for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The last time I went I couldn´t look at a black bean for about 4 straight years afterward…. but this time I wasn´t there as long… and I kind of don´t care what I´m eating. Whatever is local, whatever is cheap and easy. It´s freeing, actually, to just pop your multivitamin and then not worry too much if no vegetable ever finds its way onto your plate. Though most days we at least have some lettuce and tomatoes.

Oh, they do eat things with the rice and beans… a cut of meat, usually pork… an empanada… we even had hamburger taco-like things one day for lunch, with lettuce and tomato on top… sooooo yum. The cheese is strange, though. I had forgotten about it. It almost has a tofu consistency. It´s white and basically flavorless. Then they have this other concoction that they like to put on everything. It´s basically like sour cream, but they eat it at breakfast or any time really.

THERE IS A PHOTO ALBUM TO THE RIGHT THERE…. the little white dog is named “Pupi”, pronunciation, “Poopy”. And she is the strangest dog I have ever met in my life. She´s like a doll. You pick her up and she just stays in whatever position you put her in… even if she´s got one leg over her head or something. I finally figured out that she´s probably just trying to butter you up because, once you get comfortable, she starts humping any part of you she can get her paws on. Serious sexaholic.

The rest of the family is much more normal. My host sister from before, Fany, has since had a little girl, Miriam, who is now 6 years old and is quite the little spitfire. Lots of eye rolls and talking back. Very intelligent and soooooo cute. She was interested in everything Jillian and I were doing and wanted to come with us everywhere. Adorable.

My host brother, Mauricio, was this tiny little thing the last time I was there… he cried when he had to go to the dentist one day… but I am not sure they had Novacane (spelling?) so maybe it wasn´t because of his age. But now he is 20 and he is the sweetest, most conscientious guy. He showed us around the town and brought food home for us to try and showed us a million tiny things, like videos of songs he thought we should see, and explained expressions, like what you say in Costa Rica when someone trips – “Do you want to get their faster?”.

Our first side trip was to a place called La Fortuna. It´s by a volcano named Arenal, and there is rainforest there and hot springs. The hot springs are natural, but they have damed them at this place they are turning into a resort. They were HOT! and there was cold rain sprinkling at the time and them combination felt soooo good!

Our second trip was to a national park that is also a reserve. It´s called Manuel Antonio. There, there are monkeys – we saw two kinds, but after my camera battery died – and these wild raccoons that are soooo brave. These crazy raccoons dig holes in the sand, pull up crabs, and eat them – claws and everything! One little bastard came over, undid my backpack and stole my PB& J (made with Goober… not bad, but the peanut butter is not as good as when you by the PB and the J separately). I had to go hungry all afternoon.

Jillian and I were wandering around all the trails, hanging out on the beach reading, etc., like, “Why did everyone leave? It´s only like 3:00!” … So it turns out that one thing they don´t tell you about the park is that, when the tide comes in, it blocks the exit. We walked out of the park and there was basically a giant, rushing river between us and civilization. We had to strip down to our suits and wade across with our backpacks over our heads. Wish I had a pic of that…

We also took a day trip to my Costa Rican family´s farm, where they have a whole farm full of animals on the side of the mountain. There is a dog named Mr. Rusty and they even grow their own coffee. We stopped and had a cup. Yum! Was good. Sadly, the piggies you see in the pics are shortly going to be eaten… around New Year´s. The fat black-and-white one will shortly be in the tummies of the Costa Ricans in my photo album.

It was really good to see my old host family again. They were all so happy to have us there and told us to come back again soon.  This was probably the last time that we will be staying with a family that we know… it´s off to hostels from now on…

 

Informacion

To the right here, I have links to the 2 photo albums that I have so far. You can also subscribe for email alerts when I update the blog. See if you can outdo Roger with sarcasm in comments left about my posts. Fun!

 

This one is for El Rrrrrrrroyerrrrrrr

I have been chastized for my lack of escritura so I write for you now, amigos.

 I spent two days in Mexico City (el d.f.) with my friend Sofia. I spent the first morning doing law school applications, actually (ewwww) while Sofia went to class. Sofia has this dog named Iman that always tries to eat me when I visit and this time has been no different. Iman, since the last time I visited, finally ate the other dog they have (coincidentally, a weiner dog) so there is nothing to distract her when I try to go to the computer room (you have to go down an outdoor hallway that is junto the garden). Basically, I say a little praryer (not really just in case anyone thinks I have gone religiosa in Mexico) and Speedy Gonzales it every time I need to write an email.

 The second day Sofia skipped class and we went to the zocalo where I have already been many times, but which I always enjoy visiting. The historic center of Mexico City has many beautiful buidings and cool places to shop. People say Mexico City is dangerous, and it is in a lot of parts, but I have never had any problems. Most people don’t even look at me twice since there are always tourists in the center of town. Sofia and I had Nutrisa ice cream (tastes just like Pinkberry, basically) and wandered around a little bit before heading back to the house to eat lunch.

 Lunch in Mexico is eaten at like 2:30 or 3:00 in the afternoon, and it is the main meal. Basically they barely eat breakfast, eat a big lunch and then eat a little something for dinner somewhere between 9:00 and 10:00 at night.

We went to a haunted house and it was really interesting because it was in this part of town called Cuatro Casas, and Sofia said the people were scary there. I don’t know about scary necessarily, but I have never seen so many lesbians couples making out in my entire life! That was a sorpresa, because I thought that gay people were not tolerated that well in Mexico, but, actually, it’s fairly well tolerated in Mexico City. There are actually a lot of transvestites in downtown Mexico City, walking around in heels.

 Anyway, so we’re at a haunted house with lesbian couples making out on either side of us while we wait in line. The first pat of the haunted house was this thing where they make you wear a bright orange vest with a prisoner number and shove (fake) guns in your face and yell at you. It’s called El Carcel de Muerte or something and they have all these dead bodies in there and when they saw that Sofia and I were holding onto each other, they had her go through a doorway with everyone and kept me behind BY MYSELF, with all these crazy “prisoners” cornering me and stuff.

 In the second part of the haunted house Sofia and I found each other and were able to stick together. This part was more Texas Chainsaw Massacre-ish. There were pretend psychos with body parts all over the places and scary little girls saying “Ayudame!!!!!!”. Sofia got scared and refused to keep going forward so, once again, we got separated from everyone and were stuck in a corner with a bathtub full of blood and these 3 peeps with knives. I finally shoved Sofia through the nearest doorway and out of NOWHERE pops up this Mexican midget with a knife. Sofia SCREAMED and refused to advance so I set aside my manners momentarily and yelled “Patalo!” – Kick it! – and we ran out the exit.

That part was fun!

Anyway, then I had, hands down, the BEST margarita I’d ever had in my life, made all the better by a nice-looking Mexican businessman with whom I was “making eyes”. Guapo! You must go to the El Karisma if you are ever in Mexico City, which you should be.

The next day Jillian arrived, so Sofia’s chauffer took me to the airport to get her. Now, when I say chauffer, you are thinking a little hat and a limousine, but that’s not how it goes at all. This dude – Miguel se llama – runs around all day in a t-shirt, fixing things around the house. Then, if he needs to drive you somewhere, he changes into a collared shirt and you hop into the minivan with him and off you go. In Mexico City, if you aren’t one of the millions of desperately poor people, you probably have a chauffer and a maid. Probably most people reading this blog would have one also, if they lived in Mexico City.

Anyway, there was Jillian, and we were both in our backpacking attire. We basically were twins. Somehow we have bought basically all of the same clothes.

 We hopped on a flight to Merida, which is on the Yucatan Peninsula and is somewhat close to Cancun. My friend Lorena picked us up and we have been hanging out here since. We went to Chichen Itza (Mayan ruins) which was newly voted one of the seven manmade wonders of the world, we went to unas cenotes. You climb down a steep rock staircase holding onto a rope and enter into a cave with a high ceiling and a giant watering hole with crystal blue water. There are bats in the caves and fish in the water (and floating bat poop – hello hookworm and histoplasmosis!).

THE TECHNICAL TERM FOR BAT POOP IS GUANO.

Anyhooter, we went to a little pueblo and went to a couple of clubs and a couple of parties (I totally wore extensions one night) and to the beach. I can tell you exactly where I did not put sunscreen because that is where I am BRIGHT RED. I missed my belly button and now it looks like Rudolph’s nose…

Today we ate lunch at 3:30 with my friend Lorena’s entire family including two aunts and a cousin and I decided that I am going to have a large family and force them all to eat together on Sundays because it was so nice. Here people love getting together with their families, and Jillian has been invited by all my friends and all my friends’ friends to come back whenever she wants (they love her here… she is very enthusiastic about learning Spanish and trying everything). There is nothing like Mexican hospitality. They genuinely like to have you around. It is definitely the more, the merrier.

 Anyway, in case anyone was in doubt I LOVE MEXICO and I LOVE MEXICANS and I do not want to leave!!!!!

I am posting pictures taken thus far on the journey…

NEXT STOP COSTA RICA, where I am going to see the boy who was my novio  for like 2 weeks when I went to Costa Rica when I was 16. I’m a little scared because he used to write me letters that said I was his girlfriend forever… Whatever. I’m sure it will be fine.

Hasta pronto!!!!!!! Besos! KISSIES.

 

The itinerary

10/28/2007 – San Francisco to L.A., L.A. to Mexico City

10/31/2007 – Mexico City to Merida – first leg with JILLY POO

11/04/2007 – Merida back to el d.f. (Mexico City)

11/06/2007 – Mex Cty to San Jose, Costa Rica

… travel over land, visit host family from high school
11/16/2007 – San Jose to Quito, Ecuador

…8-day cruise in the Galapagos Islands

12/05/2007 – Quito to Lima, Peru

12/06/2007 – Lima, Peru to Cuzco, Peru

…hike the Incan Trail to Machu Picchu

01/28/2008 – Sao Paolo, Brasil to London, England

01/29/2008 – London, England to Muscat, Oman

01/30/2008 – Muscat, Oman to Thiruvananthapura, India

…study yoga in an ashram, visit Goa, travel over land up India and into Nepal for trekking

03/26/2008 – Delhi, India to Bangkok, Thailand

…visit Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam and Malaysia

06/22/2008 – Singapore to Jakarta, Indonesia

DATE???? – Jakarta to L.A., Caliiiiiii