Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist.

While I'm going about about steak and wine and pizza and dancing on the beach, Danny is writing sentences like: "On the contrary, one becomes peaceful in all his ways, and able to pursue goals out of genuine generosity, kindness, love, and compassion, rather than out of some subconscious ulterior motive to feel good/better." and Alana begins one post: "I don't know how to describe what I saw tonight.  We walked around the city at night to meet some street kids. These little children come in from the villages around Kathmandu and live on the street. They collect rags for money and beg as well. 1 in 10 of them has AIDS. They form gangs to survive, and are often beaten or raped by the older members. All of these kids are addicted to sniffing glue."

As it turns out, I'm not the only person who's decided to postpone finding a job in order to travel (and write a blog) instead.  Two of my best friends from back home (and original road trip buddies) have set out on their own journeys that seem more than a little bit different from my experience.  As I'm living it up in South America, Danny is sitting still for ten hours a day in Indian Ashrams and Alana is setting aside months to aid poor communities in Nepal.  Danny, in his quest for inner and outer peace, has titled his blog the Hebrew acronym for "Thank God for Being Good" while Alana, hoping to rediscover her world through volunteering, writes about "Waking Up in Nepal." 

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist. 

As I began getting depressed over this, I picked up my friend's copy of the book Eat Pray Love. Author Liz Gilbert goes on her own world travels, winding down from her overstressed New York City life by seeking pure pleasure in Italy, peace in India, and a fusion of the two (love) in Indonesia.  I couldn't help comparing our three experiences to hers. Danny's Ashram is spot on.  Nepal and Indonesia aren't too different, especially considering the amount of focus Alana and Liz put on helping poor children (and who knows, maybe Alana has found a passionate Brazilian hunk of her own).  And, in my case, Liz and I both love eating and learning Spanish and Italian, which are basically the same language anyway.  I took comfort in thinking that my part, the pursuit of pleasure, was just as valid as the other two.

Being honest with myself, though, I had to admit that the comparison does not stand.  If I told any of my roommates that I needed to learn how to be comfortable with pleasure and relaxation, they'd laugh to my face.  Most still believe that I never worked or studied my entire last year of university.  For that matter, Danny is the last one of my friends who needs help finding inner peace and Alana has been a paragon of love, care, and compassion for as long as I've known her.  It's like Kobe taking a season off to learn how to play basketball or Hugh Heffner going on sabbatical to practice his seduction skills.  Bullshit.

So where does that leave me?  Am I in the wrong place?  Should I be cultivating inner peace or developing compassion instead of watching Colombian beauty queens march by in parades?  Is this experience of pleasure and adventure a waste of time or an expression of living life to its fullest?

Been nearly two weeks now since I started writing this post and I still don't have any answers.  I think I'll just have to leave the questions standing for now.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

In the meantime, I'll be taking a hiatus from backpacking.  For the next month at least, I'll be hanging out in NY and Philly to catch up with y'all before departing on what will like be a much longer trip next time.  The plan is to get a job to really experience living in a different country as a normal person.  Let's see if you can guess where.

I guess this is the end then.  Thanks for following; I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  As much fun as it's been to make new friends every day, the transitory nature of those relationships has made me really appreciate the old friends and family who've stuck with me in spirit despite having their own very busy lives thousands of miles away. 

Finally, may I add that some of my craziest times on the trip have been the last few weeks in Colombia.  For those stories, you'll have to ask me in person.  Excited to see you soon,

con mucho amor,
Nico

Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires

Proud, beautiful, and hopped up on maté, the porteños of Buenos Aires take the already ridiculous Argentinian late nights to an absurd extreme. Restaurants don't open till 10PM and stay empty until midnight or 1AM. The clubs start up at 2,3, or 4 and more often than not see the next day's light.

We never made it to breakfast in Buenos Aires.

Our days weren't entirely wasted though. We did see the wild and crazy futból fans of River Plate, check out tango birthplace La Boca, peruse the posh cemetery and hippie market of Recoleta and gaucho market of Mataderos, stroll through Soho wannabe Palermo, and eat the best pizza (Ugi's!!) South America has to offer. Had it at least half a dozen times.

Also got bed bugs. That sucked. And we made a toga party in the hostel. That was fun. And rocked a tango lesson before attending the glamorous reincarnation of Buenos Aires' dancing heyday in the 40's, a stylish show called (coincidentally) Tango Porteño.

Can't really think of anything clever to say. Probably because as I'm writing this I'm half asleep; the last two nights we've been dancing on the sand in Uruguay's international beach resort Punta del Este until 5:30AM (at which point we took an hour driving tour of the area with a local doctor) and then 7AM (stayed up for sunrise on the beach with a Dutch friend we met in BA).  We also had absurdly huge steaks in Montevideo.

Oooh funny story about the older women drug smugglers. Remind me to type that up. Or maybe you'll have to ask me in person. Ha.

Apparently in Colombia, restaurants close at 9PM. Gonna be a tough adjustment.

Off now to see Diego in Montevideo and Max in Buenos Aires and then Bógota here I come. Get ready.

Didn't end up seeing Diego or Max.  Did run into El Luco though.  Before catching you up to the good times in Colombia I'm gonna write a thoughtful post with complete sentences.  I've actually had to revert to a normal schedule for a few days because of the scuba  lessons.  So check back soon for Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world.

Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba

Shout out to new follower: loyal cousin Eitan. And though I don't think hers went through, Becca also said she signed up so she gets a benefit-of-the-doubt shout out. That one really rolls of the tongue. Now I know that at least two people are still reading :) But I digress...

Boasting one of the liveliest downtowns in South America, Córdoba buzzes with hundreds of thousands of university students who give Argentina's second city a legendary club scene.

Somehow we didn't end up going clubbing in Córdoba. In fact, though we loved the city, we actually had our best moments in two outlying towns: Villa General Belgrano and Alta Gracia.

First was Belgrano, the site of Argentina's very own Oktoberfest. Loaded up with a majestic beer stein that holds more than a liter, I watched tango, salsa, ballet and more drinking artesanal beers with German sounding names brewed just miles away. One, though, had somehow hijacked the most beloved American beer name of our time - Homer Simpson's Duff beer. I just wish Moe had been there serving us (though the Argentinians who had licensed the name for exclusive use down here were nice enough).

There we also experienced a moment that epitomized one of the fun (or sad) realities of traveling in South America: realizing that almost everyone you meet is on the same Gringo Trail as you are. Fun because it helps make good friends but sad because you're just not as unique as you thought you were. There we were in a small village several hours outside Córdoba sitting at a picnic table with Irish, Israeli, Dutch, and British backpackers. Two remembered us from a tour of the Potosi silver mines we had taken together weeks earlier. Two more wore buddies we had made riding around the Uyuni salt flats, also up in Bolivia. Two more Binny recognized from our hostel in Mendoza. And the last had been on a tour of the university with us that morning. All gringos. And, of course, the Jewish world was even smaller; I found out later that night that one of the Israelis had been on the Bronfman summer program with one of my FunHouse housemates. Think that called for one of many "Saluds!"

Alta Gracia, besides housing a historic Jesuit estancia, was also the childhood home of this blog's namesake: revolutionary leader Ernesto 'Che' Gueverra. I figured that I at least owed it to Che to check out his museum, so off we went. There I learned not only about Che the Cuban guerrilla leader but also about Ernesto, the father who in his final letter to his children urged them to be the best revolutionaries they could be and even about Ernestito, the little boy with asthma whose love for motorcycles led to one of the most memorable journey's of the modern era, inspiring many (including hopefully me) to take their own motorcycle trips to truly experience and understand new lands and people. Che's compassionate poem for the poorly treated Potosi (and Chilean) silver miners we had visited touched me even as his devotion to guerrilla tactics scared me. His last letter to soulmate Fidel Castro was in equal parts sweet, surreal, and awkwardly over-honest. And who but Che would smoke cigars while sitting in a tree in the Congo reading a novel and waiting for an ambush?

Even as I disagree with many of his tactics, I can't help but be inspired by how Che followed his heart to new countries, positions, and goals without fear or hesitation. In that, at least, I hope I can take on the Che.

Having some trouble getting Córdoba pics up so for now check out these sweet photos from overpowering Iguazu Falls and then check back soon for Beni's last stand in Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires.

Steak and wine - Nico and Beni do Salta and Mendoza

Argentina at last.  After four months of stumbling through developing countries whose roads weren't complete without a ditch every few steps and idea of hygiene was - well, let's not go into that - I had finally reached the promised land.

The change in atmosphere was immediate.  The border crossing was simple, clear, and efficient and we were waved through with a smile and a joke.  The taxi refused to take all five of us at once; apparently, we were now in a country with actual rules and safety measures.  Sort of inconvenient.

Our first stop was Salta where we sat down to the first of many steaks and bottles of wine at amazing value.  "Isn't that a little bit unhealthy?" "I'm assuming that the red wine will balance out all the cholesterol from the steaks.  Pretty sure it works that way."  Couple days later we rented a car and began a road trip down through ancient rock formations - including a gaping hole in the ground known as the Devil's Throat and a giant toad - towards the northern wine district of Cafayete for tastings galore.  Next day we passed through beautiful Cachi and thousands of cacti, stopping briefly to witness dozens of majestic Andean condors lift off and glide up through the adjacent mountains.



We downgraded transportation for our Mendoza wine tour, opting to go with the recommended Bikes and Wine company.  Expecting dirt country roads leading from one vineyard to the next, we were shocked to find ourselves tipsily navigating through cars and trucks on a bumpy asphalt road drunk not only from wine but also absinthe, schnaaps, licquor, gourmet chocolate, and jam.  And then back at the launching area we fought on a giant inflatable castle, complete (of course) with more wine.  "Not sure if this was entirely authentic experience."  "Fun though."  "Wonder what the Disney Wine Tour would have entailed?" 



After checkin out the local artisans, makin dinner, and hittin up the park, we walked the wide streets of Mendoza one last time before our east.  Check back soon for Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba.

Note: Shout out to new Canadian friends Jenn and Jeremy! They have a family mountain. Also note that you can now become a follower of the blog. Do it!

Agent Salt - Nico and Beni do Uyuni

From the jungle we journeyed south to Bolivia's most famous natural landscape - the Salt Flats of Uyuni - via the silver mining town Potosi. Dressed up head to toe in miner gear, we tasted the miners' 196 proof liquor before descending down four levels into a still-active mine. To get the full experience, we helped a few out with their shovelling and offered some coca leaves to the devil-god Tio, a macho stone figure with a huge penis and slot for cigarettes in its mouth who punishes the miners if Bolivian women enter his abode. Then we exploded some dynamite.

Soon we arrived in Uyuni and began a tour of the flats in a sweet Lexus jeep with new English and Irish friends Becky, El Luco, and Niamh. We rode through three days of incredible landscapes ranging from cacti-filled desert islands to green, red, and pink (from the thousands of flamingoes) lakes to 5000 meter high views of multicolored rolling hills and valleys. Most stunning were the flats themselves, plains of white salt extending as far as the eye could see and allowing for pictures that boggle the eye with their perspective. Beni and I also took a few with our new mascot, the (singing) dog of the La Paz Strongest (the oddly named local futbol team). We generally wear our Strongest wristbands to match.

Though I've continued to practice Spanish, Beni and I find ourselves often learning new English dialects as well. For instance, "your man" in Ireland could not refer to your buddy but could be a serial killer. Or the dude at the Hertz office. We're often not sure which one. "Piss" probably takes the prize for versatility. If I jest to an Irishman, "Your economy sucks because your biggest bank is about to be nationalized [we found this out before the news because Niamh works at the bank]," then I am 'taking the piss out of him.' Alternatively, if I sarcastically follow with, "Don't worry, I'm sure taxes won't have to rise to impossible rates," then I am 'ripping the piss out of him.' If we decided to get drunk to forget about the problem, we 'go on the piss' and I can expect him to 'get pissed' because many Irishmen and women are 'pissheads,' but I hope he doesn't get 'angry pissed' and begin throwing Guinness bottles around the pub. But if I have to urinate? According to Niamh, "Eewww, I would never say ´take a piss.' That's just disgusting."

Next was Tupiza, where we silenced a (nearly empty) karaoke bar with a Spanish rendition of Hotel California on our first night; the next day we followed in the horse prints of Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid's last stand near the southern border of Bolivia with our own cowboy hats and leather riding crops. Sensing my love of galloping, the leader gave me Speedy Gonzalez to ride and we took off at every opportunity. Andeley! Andeley! My knee only went up another horse's butt once.

Check back soon for Steak and Wine - Nico and Beni do Salta and Mendoza.

Welcome (back) to the jungle - Nico and Beni do Madidi

Following some time in La Paz learning about the coca plant and watching tourists attempt to bribe their way into cocaine-riddled San Pedro Prison, Beni and I spent a couple of tranquil days in beautiful Sorata. Then it was back (bearing an herbal gift from our friendly hostel owner) to La Paz and north on a different road which joined at times the Most Dangerous Road in the World; that got us to Coroico and then Rurrenbaque, jumping-off point for trips into the rainforest of Madidi National Park.



What our location lacked in animal life it more than made up for in plants; the rainforest stocks more medication than we ever imagined. "Are there any plants that don't treat embarrassing medical conditions?" At the time, Beni's question was fair - we'd only seen a natural substitute for Viagra and a bark that fought hemorrhoids up to that point. We then discovered some more normal ones including leaves rubbed together to ease up sinusitis and wood rubbed on skin to drive away mosquitos.

The jungle knows its share of fun too - we tripped over "magic" mushrooms (unfortunately too dry for use) growing out of a log on our path and harvested leaves from the huara shrub known in Peruvian slang as marihuara. Unlike the mushrooms, these needed to be dried before use. More odd was the reverse-Viagra plant which was uniquely useful, according to our guide, "in case you want to get into the pants of your friend´s girlfriend."

But the biggest surprise was yet to come. According to our guide, the cure for (or at least prevention of) cancer has already been found(!) and lies in the wood of thin branches also notable for the huge amount of clean water stored inside that we drank simply cutting a piece off and angling it downwards. Sure as hell filled up my bottle with that water.



Also notable from the trip were my extremely ungraceful attempted sideways running dismount from the Tarzan swing and the French guy who wouldn't stop smoking yet still had the energy to climb up every giant tree we save (and the Tarzan swing). He also went swimming wearing only underwear and a funny hat.

Truth be told, in my case George of the Jungle swing is probably more appropriate.

Check back soon for Agent Salt - Nico and Beni do Uyuni.

Wavin' Flag - Nico does Sucre

Just days after I arrived in Sucre the whole city stopped to celebrate the Fiesta de Patrias, Bolivia's equivalent of July 4th. Since Sucre is the capital (and site of Bolivia's initial declaration of independence), every school, including my very own Fox Language School, was required to march in the parade.

Upon meeting up to march, however, Fox had a special surprise for me and the four other foreign students who had come to march with the local kids - huge-ass regional and international flags present to symbolize Fox's international focus. A few minutes later I was marching proudly through the streets of Sucre waving the Stars and Stripes in front of their Independence Plaza (25 de Mayo) and own version of a Liberty Bell. Felt pretty damn patriotic (and brotherly; we are, after all, cousins in liberation and democracy).

Though I had expected booing given the US's poor relationship with Bolivia, I received far more cheers than jeers. I learned later that Sucreans hate Bolivia´s president Evo Morales almost as much as Evo Morales hates the US. For them, the enemy of their enemy must be a friend. To quote my Spanish teacher after I commented on his president, "El Presidente, no mi presidente - The President, not my president."

In front of me, Kate was half-heartedly carrying the Australian flag, nearly considered treason for a Kiwi like herself. Just imagine a gun-toting Texan being told to carry the Mexican flag and you'll get the idea.

Admittedly, I could not take full credit for the crowd's cheers. On my left marched my Scottish buddy Neale carrying a regional Bolivian flag. His appeal, however, lay not in his flag but rather in his clothing - a revealing kilt straight from the motherland.

I post this after finally leaving Sucre, my home for a month of Spanish lessons, Bolivian cooking, drinking, playing (WallyBall, Rackuet, Poker, Ping Pong, Pool, Foosball), dancing, hiking, flirting with Bolivian girls, and movies with popcorn covered in chili powder. Good times.

Today I meet up with big brother Binny and begin more adventures on the road.

Check back soon for Welcome (back) to the jungle - Nico and Binny do Rurrenbaque.

Downward dog in the desert - Nico, Alejandro, and Michael do Huacachina

Mike and I bused back down from Lima to the world famous Nazca Lines, a collection of shapes and pictures etched in the desert by the ancient Nazca people ranging from 50-500 meters in length.  As we sat in our four-seater plane munching on some cookies and admiring the pictures whizzing by below, Mike had a tremendous insight into one of the most famous figures, a primitive outline of an astronaut seemingly waving towards space (a basis for the theory that the shapes were made by aliens) - "He's not waving, he's just holding his hand out to ask for an Oreo!"  Mystery solved.

We were soon reunited with Jesse and the next morning Alejandro as well in the desert oasis of Huacachina, a small natural pond tucked away in rolling sand dunes that stretch for miles on all sides.  We set off in the afternoon for the region's main attraction - a wild buggy ride up and down the dunes with breaks for sand-boarding mixed in.  Daring to take most of the hills standing up instead of lying on my stomach, I felt pretty bad-ass at first for someone who never snowboarded before.  And then the little Japanese boy sped by me.

Along with us for the ride was Canadian girl named Hue.  A yoga aficionado, Hue believed that the dunes, sunset, and yoga poses would make for a great combination.  I'll let the pictures (one of which features me screwing up the downward dog position) speak for themselves.

And then a tearful goodbye, and suddenly all my homeboys were gone and I began to adventure alone.

But not for long.  The next day I happened to sit next to an Israeli named Shachar on a bus, and it was Hebrew for the next few days on the Isla del Sol and in La Paz (also reuniting with Salkantay-buddies Oded, Stav, and Shaked and meeting new friends Yogev and Liron).

Check back soon for Wavin' Flag - Nico does Sucre

Asch kalt - Nico and Alejandro do Lake Titicaca

Though its main draw (for many) remains its difficult-to-believe name, Lake Titicaca is also famous for its high elevation and array of islands (floating and other) filled with remnants of Incan and pre-Incan cultures.  Taking a tour of some of these islands, we were hosted for a night by a native family along with fellow travelers Matthias and Diana from Germany/Poland. 

After climbing an island hilltop to watch the sun set, we ate dinner and prepared for the coming fiesta in the suddenly freezing night. Matthias pulled out a flask he had been carrying with Polish schnaaps straight from the motherland.

As Matthias was explaining that the schnaaps would warm us up from the bitter cold, Alé hoisted the flask. Wanting to toast in the language of our comrades, I asked, "How do you say it in German?" "Asch kalt." So Alé and I shouted "Asch kalt" and took sips.

Matthias and Diana started rolling on the floor laughing. "What did we do wrong?" "Asch kalt isn't what you say when you toast; we thought you were asking how to say 'Really cold' (literally: Ass-cold)."

Still, it made a good toast and we've been saluting "Asch kalt" ever since due to the frigid temperatures of high elevation Peruvian winter nights. Also, Polish schnaaps is great.

Dancing at the fiesta turned out to be the Peruvian version of a hora. As I was laughing about this the next day with a Jewish girl I'd just met, three other Jews overheard and concurred. Turned into a little Jew party on Taquile island (to the confusion of Lindsay, a nice Christian girl from Michigan who was also standing with us). Never know when the opportunity for Jewish geography will strike.

Soon we were back in Arequipa where we attempted to barbecue a guinea pig on the roof of our hostel. Then it was off to Lima with Michael for Shabbat. Check back soon for Downward dog in the desert - Nico, Alejandro, and Michael do Huacachina.

Things that no one ever, ever needs - Nico does Arequipa

After a two day adventure in the world´s deepest canyon (Colca) with Noam and Eliana featuring majestic condors and a couple beers in the hot springs, I had a few days to relax in Arequipa before more excitement.


Strolling around the beautiful White City, my business training began buzzing in the back of my head as I absorbed the socio-economic life of ordinary Peruvians.

The scenes brought to mind a classic quote from The Office when Oscar is advising Michael Scott (Steve Carell) how to think about his finances. "Okay, the green bar is what you spend every month on stuff you need, like a car and a house...The red bar is what you spend on non-essentials, like magazines, entertainment, things like that...The scary black bar is what you spend on things that no one ever, ever needs, like multiple magic sets, professional bass fishing equipment..."

Thing that Arequipa needs: A store for party supplies.
A non-essential: A store devoted entirely to selling piñatas (called a piñateria).
No one ever, ever needs: Eight piñaterias on the same block as our hostel.

Thing that Arequipa needs: Somebody selling water in the park.
A non-essential: People stepping onto city buses to sell candy bars and nuts.
No one ever, ever needs: Old people sitting on benches with scales on the ground in front of them. To my great delight, I witnessed a man pay to use one of these.

Thing that Arequipa needs: A Claro store for buying cellphones and calling plans.
A non-essential: Several Claro stores scattered around the city.
No one ever, ever needs: Two dozen Claro stores in the couple blocks surrounding the Plaza de Armas along with a Claro parade featuring a marching band and guys doing flips. Claro´s sole main competitor has few to zero stores in this area.

And don´t get me started on the sunglasses stores.  Somehow they have yet to realize that Peruvians just don't wear sunglasses.  Ever.


Check back soon for Asch kalt - Nico and Alejandro do Lake Titicaca.

In the path of the Incas - Nico and Alejandro do Machu Picchu

[Update: For those who care, I´ve added slideshows to most of the recent posts. I´ll try to get the older pictures uploaded as well.]
After a few days acclimating in the Incan capital of Cuzco while bargaining for Alpaca goods (including unbelievably soft giant matching rugs Alé and I bought) and eating fresh peas at the local market (they also had an entire aisle for potatoes), Alé and I set off on the Salkantay trail.  An alternative to the famous Inca trail, the Salkantay takes hardy souls up past 4650m to the Incan holy mountain Abu Salkantay before dropping down through the jungle and meeting up with the traditional trail en route to Machu Picchu.

From Salkantay

Highlights included being woken up in our frozen tent at 5AM with steaming cups of Coca tea, slide tackling Peruvians in an impromptu futbol match one afternoon (as the sole American for most of the game, I was nearly a liability to my own team), and quizzing the Icelandic girls in our group about former world´s strongest man Magnus ver Magnuson.
 One of the girls was herself quite strong as I found out to my detriment when she, a physical therapist, forcefully prodded several parts of my upper leg to demonstrate that one of my muscles there is "short."  She said that if I continue the exercise she taught me, it will not hurt so much next time.  Nothing like a buff therapist named Scylla [Silla] to intimidate you to follow an exercise routine.

Eli and I also had a great time with the dozen or so Israeli´s on the trip, making kiddush Friday evening (filmed by the Icelandic anthropology student for research), playing Wisk into the wee hours of the night, and learning Israeli army slang from our new friends Itai and Maya.  Those two taught us an incredible game called ¨"Sababa bakol" [Great in everything].   One person questions the group, "Would you date someone if s/he was great in everything, but this or that flaw?"  Their first example - "Sababa bakol, aval rokedet k´mo Eli [Great in everything, but dances like Eli]."  It´s basically an interactive version of Seinfeld (think man-hands, close-talker, etc.)  And you find some very interesting differences of opinion.

From Machu Picchu

After a glorious Teaneck reunion in the Lost City of the Incas with Noam, Michael, and Eliana, Alé and I climbed the adjacent mountain of Huayna Picchu for an aerial view of the city.  Stunning.


Then it was back to Cuzco and one horseback ride to the Incan ruins of SaqsayHuaman (also known as Sexy Woman) later, Noam, Eliana, and I set off to Arequipa, the White City of Peru.  Check back soon for Things no one ever, ever needs - Nico does Arequipa.

Taking on the Peruvian mafia - Nico, Alejandro, Jose, and Roz do Trujillo

[Inspired by Eli introducing himself as Alejandro, Jesse and I chose our own Spanish names.  Nico has been a big hit.]

Known as the Spring Capital of Peru, the northern city of Trujillo is famous for its pre-Incan ruins of Chan Chan and the Temples of Sun and Moon.

We visited those.  Kinda cool.  Jesse took some pictures.


Our real adventure in Trujillo, however, was saved for the night. After meeting a couple local girls from the university during lunch and conversing with them in our broken Spanish, we were invited to hang out with them later and given their address near the university. With nothing else to do that night, we decided to check it out and took a bus to the university after dinner. I stopped a nice-looking man to ask for directions and handed him the paper with the address.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. In Spanish, he told us (we think) that despite being only a few blocks from the university, that area was extremely dangerous. To colorfully illustrate his point, he stuck his hand into our pockets as a sign of what would happen to our money; memories of West Philadelphia and Spanish Harlem danced flitted through our heads. Now quite curious albeit unnerved, we thanked him and pondered our next move.

A second opinion was certainly in order. We next asked a passing policeman. "Your money: gone. And if you don´t have any, boom boom!"  Upping the ante, he said that while firing a mock gun at us and indicating slitted throats.

Alejandro then remarked, "You know, I read online before coming that it is common in Trujillo for uncommonly attractive girls to befriend tourists in order to lead them into dangerous situations."  "Why didn´t you mention this earlier?"  "They weren´t uncommonly attractive."

We decided to pass and went to a pool hall instead for a couple of hopefully safe games. But the guns just kept coming; only seconds after setting up the triangle at our table, a gaggle of old men came over and once again I had a gun-shaped hand pointed at my chest. "Bang! Bang! Mafia!"

We moved to the next table. Later on, the same man came over and made a similar motion, this time seemingly offering us drinks instead of bullets. We passed anyway.

I´m initially writing this as we celebrate July 4 in Lima after a couple of glorious days in the mountains of Huaraz. Check back soon for In the path of the Incas - Nico and Alejandro do Machu Picchu.

La fiesta - Nech and Jesse do the Quilotoa Loop

Traveling as we are with little Spanish skills and even fewer plans, sometimes we just have to hope that excitement falls into our laps.

En route to the beautiful crater lake inside Volcano Quilotoa, we stopped for a night in Zumbahua, a small village nestled into the picturesque Andean countryside. As we were checking into our hostel, the owner mentioned something about a fiesta that night. Sweet. We happenned to arrive on the final day of a weeklong festival for Corpus Christie complete with bullfighting, a dozen-man band, and even foosball tables for the kids. Receiving many suspicious looks as two of maybe four foreigners in the village, I decided it was time to act, "We have to start drinking with the old men. They´ll be into it." Sure enough, as soon as we caught the eyes of a few old drunk guys toasting with some unnamed alcohol, they called us over and practically forced us to drink with them. "Salud!"

After a brief foosball match with a few of the kids, we ended up in a small circle with a few local men and I tried practicing my Spanish with one who claimed to be studying Milton (in English) despite being only able to say "Please" and "Excuse me" (to his credit, though, he was able to repeat those phrases many times).

I realized quickly that drunk people may not be the best Spanish partners - I don´t think even they understood what they were saying half the time. Jesse, fortunately, was able to communicate more effectively with a different man through the use of gestures. Unfortunately, however, the man´s gestures indicated that he was trying to proposition Jesse (or get him to hire a prostitute - gestures only go so far). Or maybe he was just another Milton fan and trying to mime Paradise Lost. Either way we decided it was time to hit the dance floor taking up half the main square.

As I´m writing this, I´m chilling on a beautiful beach in Mancora, Peru. Last night the guys dressed in bikinis and dresses for "Ladies Night." Who knew dancing on the bar was so fun?

Check back soon for Taking on the Peruvian mafia - Nech, Eli, Jesse, and Roz do Trujillo.

How fast can piranhas eat a chicken - Nech and Jesse do the rainforest

Completing our week in Quito with an ascent to 5000m high glaciers of Volcano Cotopaxi, we then traveled to Lago Agria and bused and canoed five more hours into the northern part of the Ecuadorian rainforest known as Cuyabeno (the Cuyabeno River eventually flows into the Amazon) for a five day expedition. Almost as interesting as the animals we spotted - everything from pink dolphins, caiman crocodiles, anacondas, and seven species of monkeys to toucans, parakeets, and giant praying mantises - were the people we travelled with.

Jesse swears that our guide (with a little bit of blue makeup) would have fit right in with Avatar's Návi. We also realized midway through that the jolly old Canadian couple from British Columbia were only so jolly because of the three liters of vodka streaming steadily out of their camelpak.

Possibly the most interesting person, however, was a well-traveled Ecuadorian around our age named Mauricio. Though not all of his ideas came to fruition (like dressing up in war paint and raiding neighboring lodges), there was one instance when he could not be deterred. After having only a little luck on our piranha fishing expedition, Mauricio wanted to up the ante - see how fast the piranhas would devour a whole chicken. So, when we visited an indigenous village the next day, Mauricio bought a chicken and then (with some difficulty) killed it a few minutes before we set out for our sunset swim in the lagoon.

Arriving at the piranha fishing spot, we all sat on the edge of our seats, poised for a scene normally reserved for National Geographic. Mauricio lifted the chicken, put a hook throught it, and flung it into the water. The reaction was immediate - but not by the piranhas. Instead of sinking a few feet to the depth of the piranhas, the chicken floated on the water next to the boat and we all rocked with laughter. Mauricio's further efforts (including spilling the guts out and repeatedly poking the chicken with a stick to drive it deeper) didn't help. Eventually we had to give up and dove into the water for our swim.

But not until we'd sailed to the other side of the lagoon; just because the piranhas didn't eat the chicken, that didn't mean they wouldn't eat us.

I'm initially writing this from the popular adventure town of Banos; today we hiked up to see an active volcano smoking and pouring out lava. Next up is the tranquil Vilcabamba, whose miracle water enables its residents to regular live past 100 years of age.


Check back soon for La fiesta - Nech and Jesse do the Quilotoa Loop.

My very own Ocarina of Time - Nech and Jesse do Quito

With a week to spare before our jungle expedition was set to depart, Jesse and I had time to explore Quito and its surroundings. Our visit to parts of Quito´s old town was blocked, however, by hundreds of police surrounding the Grand Plaza. Though we were able to catch a glimpse of "El Presidente," we never spotted the real reason for the police - a fellow American by the name of Hillary (such a copycat following us to Ecuador).

But that wasn´t the only run-in we had with the diplomatic corps. After a Friday night bat mitzvah of the daughter of the local DEA agent (with the the US and Israeli ambassadors in attendance), we had dinner with two local families including the former Finance Minister. Thanks Danny for that hookup.
I got pretty excited during dinner when they mentioned we might see gorillas in Lago Agria, our jumping off point to the rainforest. A little confused, they then clarified, "No no no, not the kind of gorillas with fur - the kind of guerrillas with machine guns." Oh.

Following a visit to Mitad del Mundo - the zero latitude center of the world - Jesse and I followed a wizened tour guide on a hike up to the rim of Pululahua Crater, an active volcano with a small farming community living inside. After describing the ancient ceremonies he partakes in (at the equinoxes and solstices of course) complete with pschychedlic berries and spirits of the dead, he pulled out his ocarina to whistle his thanks to the gods.



Barely able to contain my excitement over this unexpected real-life enactment of the classic Zelda game, I told Jesse, "I have to get one of those." Unfortunately for Jesse, I actually got two several days later in Ecuador´s famous Otavalo market. I have faith that someday I will figure out how to play them properly. Until then, they´re my revenge for his snoring.

Check back soon for How fast can piranhas eat a chicken - Nech and Jesse do the rainforest

Taking on the Che - Nech does South America

Done with college, I have now set off on an adventure that will hopefully take me all over the world to majestic peaks and pristine beaches, vibrant cities and tranquil villages. My only plans before leaving consisted of a one-way ticket to Ecuador´s capital city of Quito, one of the highest cities in the world. With a stunning coastline in the west, the mountain villages and volcanoes of the Andes cutting through the center, and the Amazon rainforest pulsating life in the east, Ecuador promises to start my expedition off on the right foot. Joining me for my first two months is fellow Fun House alumnus Jesse Wenger.

With limited computer time at all stops, I won´t be overwhelming you with dozens of posts every month. I will, however, try to share a couple of fun stories and particularly exciting adventures each week. The first post is above. Also feel free to check out my old posts from Asia or to subscribe with the link on the left side of the page to be notified of future posts.

I´d love for you to comment on the posts or e-mail me, or just to travel with me in spirit.

As they say here, "Hasta la victoria siempre."

Miss you all,
Nech