Peru

This is my first trip to Latin America that has not been off the beaten path.  I mean who goes to Paraguay or Panama?  (Yep I’m trying to cross all the “P” Latin American destinations before tackling anything else.)

Anyway, I’ll be honest the last week or so before we flew off to Lima was more than a little stressful. Just too many things to take care of before being away for a whole 2 weeks.  I was not really looking forward to being unable to communicate very effectively, trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B, being an obvious foreigner, staying out of dangerous situations, and worrying about what I can and cannot eat and drink, sleeping or trying to sleep in uncomfortable beds in loud hostels.  Put it this way, my first trip to South America was to Paraguay where I definitely suffered huuuge culture shock, and I feel like I’m pretty open-minded.  And as for the Panama trip with my friend Kat last December, I felt like every day was an adventure in trying to get to our next stop.  Which by being the only Gringos around was confusing and exhausting.  Not that I would trade either experience for anything (especially in hindsight!), I just was kind of wanting something less mentally exhausting.  I write this section of my blog on Day 3 in Peru and it’s been a different experience. Everywhere we’ve been (Cusco, Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu) has been cleaner, seemingly safer, and definitely reliant on tourism (which is probably why). I don’t think this is necessarily a good or bad thing; just different.

 

My fellow travelers (Monika, Coy, Lan, Ian, Becky) and I met up at the Lima airport and flew off to Cusco together. Wow flying over the Andes in a puddle jumper was exciting and a little scary. Barely below us were the most jagged and steep cliffs I’d ever seen.  I’m pretty sure I could see some small villages in the valleys of the mountains.

 

Cusco is at 3326m and this altitude is no joke. I’ll admit it may have partially been nerves, but I felt out of breath upon stepping off the plane.  Climbing one flight of stairs at our hotel had me feeling like I’d just run a set of suicide lines at practice. Whew… And man did I feel loopy.  To remedy altitude sickness, a popular drink is coca mate, an herbal tea that you cannot get in the US (more on this later). You can get this tea in loose leaf form really anywhere in the Cusco/Machu Picchu/Lake Titicaca region.  Needless to say, conversation at dinner was pretty nonexistent, as it was tough to put more than three coherent sentences together.

But back to Cusco… This is the oldest continuously inhabited city in all of South America.  The center of the city (where we stayed and where all the tourist stuff is) is surrounded by massive Inca-built walls.  The streets are all cobble-stoned and super narrow. Really fun to explore.  In it’s heyday it was the foremost city of the Inca empire. Now it relies very heavily on international tourism. Which is probably why it seemed so much nicer and cleaner than say Panama City.  On our second go-around in Cusco we stayed at Casa de la Gringa in the San Blas neighborhood. (this is another hostel I highly recommend; very zen-like and with eclectic decor).  San Blas is a super artsy and charming neighborhood. Has a very Euro feel; kind of looks like how I’d imagine Spain to be.

The famous 12-Sided Stone, dating back to Incan times.  This was found in the side of an old alleyway in the city and is an example of the simple yet extraordinary mortarless masonry skills of the Incas.

 

   

           

1. Plaza de Armas in Cusco.  Rainbow flag represents Inca territory, not what it does for the rest of the world (and natives are none too pleased with the confusions).

3. Three Peruvian ladies dressed in local indigenous attire.

4. San Blas neighborhood

5. Woman selling oranges at the local market

 

After spending the better part of two days exploring Cusco, we took an all-night bus ride to Puno, a town outside of Lake Titicaca.  Went on an all day boat tour of the lake…rather, a fraction of it.  Lake Titicaca is huge!  About a half hour ride from shore are the Islas de los Uros, which are man-made floating islands made strictly of reeds. The Uros, a group of indigenous people live out there. Our guide told us that they rely on hunting and fishing for food and used to make trips out to the bay from the main land to do so.  Once they realized they could create floating islands from the reed plants, well why bother going back and forth.  Lonely Planet writes that the Uros moved out onto the floating islands to avoid the more violent indigenous tribes in the area.  I’m sure the truth lies somewhere in between.  Anyway, not only are the islands made of reed, but so is everything else. Huts, boats, etc; and with intricate designs. While the people on the island we visited rely heavily on tourists visiting and buying their handmade goods, there are some floating islands that never see foreigners and just do their own thing to survive. Very fascinating.

     

Uros

To give you an idea of the sheer magnitude of Lake Titicaca, our second stop was an island 2.5 hours away, but probably about an eighth of the way to the opposite shore. Learned about the Quechua (descendants of the Inca) who live on Isla de Tequile (see above map).  And had an amazing lunch right on the edge of a hill over looking the lake, which really looked like the Pacific Ocean.  Incredible views. I think today was my favorite day so far.

     

1. View of Lake Titicaca from Tequile.

2. Tequile

3. Lan, Becky and I on the boat ride back to Puno.

 

Machu Picchu

Not too too much to say on Machu Picchu, but what Peru travel blog would be complete without touching on this World Wonder.  It is pretty incredible to see the remains of an entire community so high up in the side of a mountain.  And so amazing that the architecture was so strong as to still be standing and in good shape hundreds of years after the fact.  (As always, click on thumbnails to enlarge)

           

 

 

Miscellaneous observations

Will someone explain to me the lack of toilet seats on toilets.  For every toilet that had a seat, I’d have to hover over 4 without one.  It’s like toilet seats are endangered species.  I feel like I just spent the last two weeks training for ski racing and now have quads of steel.  Bring on winter.

 Okay this isn’t really what the toilets looked like (this was actually in the Monasterio de Santa Catalina in Arequipa).   But I practically feel like that is what I was using for two weeks.

 

If there was one thing I saw on several Peruvian souvenirs, second only to pictures of llamas and cute ski hats (chullos), it was the phrase “Coca is Not a Drug.”  Our Lake Titicaca tour guide explained to us that while outside of the Andean culture, the word “coca” has illegal connotations, the coca plant actually has several medicinal uses.  The chemical composition of coca leaves is more complete and rich in calories, proteins, fats, carbohydrates, fibre, ash, minerals (calcium, phosphorous, iron, potassium, magnesium, sodium, ascorbic acid, etc.) and vitamins A, C and E than other food plants.  Traditionally coca is used as a stimulant to overcome fatigue, hunger, and thirst.  It is also considered to be particularly effective against altitude sickness, which I can vouch for.  Based on past experiences hiking and snowboarding in Colorado (which is like half elevation of Lake Titicaca, Cusco, Machu Picchu), I was more than a little nervous about how the altitude would affect me.  But save for sucking wind climbing a single flight of stairs, I was totally fine and I think that had a lot to do with the coca leaf tea I had daily with my breakfast.  Anyway, according to wikipedia, indigenous use of coca has also been reported as a treatment for malaria, ulcers, asthma, to improve digestion, to guard against bowel laxity, as an aphrodisiac, and credited with improving longevity. Modern studies have supported a number of these medical applications.  And several elder Quechua men can read the leaves.  In short, coca is a pretty amazing plant; and the list of alternative uses (ie besides ingesting in the form of a narcotic substance) reminded me of the various uses for hemp.  Interesting stuff.

One thing I noticed in pretty much every town (except Lima) was that most houses tended to look half-built, with re-bar sticking up.  I never figured out why that was.  Maybe it’s an ongoing process that you never really finish?  Kind of like how I always talk about organizing my bookshelf and it only ever gets half done.

   

Scenes from Puno.  Also note the glass “barbed wire” which we saw in quite a few towns.

If you are into outdoor adventures, head to Arequipa.  (Arequipa is a beautiful and old city, known as the “white city” for it’s grand colonial buildings, built from light-colored volcanic rock called ‘sillar’.)  Lots of hiking and climbing on nearby mountains.  Rafting a mere 20 minutes outside of the city, which we took advantage of.  A little different than any rafting I’ve done in the states. The river (Rio Chile) was really shallow and so so rocky and narrow.  At one point, our guide, a young hippie guy from Chile, told us we could NOT fall out on a particular set of rapids basically because it was so rocky and shallow. Talk about pressure. I did fall in at one point; first time in five rafting trips. Which wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be; though I did get a little nervous when I got pinned between the boat and the rock wall of the canyon. It was all good; those life jackets are pretty strong. 

Really I just wanted an excuse to include this picture of Lan’s face (back, right).  PLEASE click to enlarge.

 

Misellaneous Pictures

El Monastario de Santa Catalina in Arequipa.  Occupying a whole city block and surrounded by high walls, this huge convent is practically a city within a city.  Founded in 1580 by a wealthy Spanish widow who chose her nuns from the richest Spanish families.  The nuns generally lived it up in the style they had always been accustomed to.  After about three centuries of these hedonistic goings-on (Lonely Planet’s words not mine), a strict Dominican nun arrived to straighten things out.  From this point, the vast majority of the 450 people who once lived here never ventured outside of the convent’s “imposing high walls and the convent was shrouded in mystery until it finally opened to the public in 1970.”  

       

 

Fried Cuy aka Fried Guinea Pig.  A Peruvian delicacy.

   

 

Engrish is Funny!  Picture #3: What the f is “pousy”? 

     

More Peru pictures can be found here.

Seattle – A love affair still flickering?

Oh Seattle how you toy with my heart.  You let me down more than once when I loved you so:

Beckie and I on our way to Top Pot for the 87th time.

TIME NO. 1    Last winter I had so many plans to explore your different eclectic neighborhoods like Capitol Hill, Ballard, West Seattle, etc.  Drink your amazing microbrews and catch up with long lost friends.  Go snowboarding a couple of times.  Basically take advantage of all the wonderful things you have to offer.  But instead mother nature dumps what has to be the worst snowstorm ever in your existence.  And you are so ill-prepared with your environmentally conscious but civically irresponsible sanding (no salt!), lack of plows, and befuddling bus snow schedule/routes that I am instead isolated from anything further than walking distance from the View Ridge neighborhood. 

Instead of hitting the Comet Tavern or Fiddler Inn, I have to settle for a daily diet of coffee and donuts at Top Pot, the one NOT STARBUCKS coffee shop within walking distance.  Rather than run around the Sand Point Golf Course with it’s amazing views of the Cascade mountain range and Lake Washington, I can only run on the treadmill in the basement (which by the end of the 2 weeks I feel like I have the knees of a 65 year old arthritic woman) while watching Winter Storm Watch 08 news coverage.  The only friend I am able to spend any sort of time with is my old buddy Beckie who also is snowbound in the neighborhood for holidays.  Our days consist meeting up for a quick walk to Top Pot or nearby University Village with her older brother, where we try to fill each other in on any sort of neighborhood gossip our mothers have passed along (which really is nothing more juicy than landscaping projects or who got a new pet kitty).  Because my parents still do not believe in cable TV, I also get a lot of reading done; this is the one highlight from Christmas 08.  Definitely no trips to the mountain to snowboard.

 

TIME NO. 2   I come home in August to go to a childhood friend’s wedding.  All summer, my parents and all other

What I THOUGHT I was getting myself into...

Seattleites alternate between gushing and complaining about the amazing and hot summer mother nature is bestowed upon you.  June in NY was abysmal.  The wettest on record.  I am beyond excited to be in your presence in August, as this is usually the nicest month of the year and there is nothing like Seattle on a gorgeous sunny day.  But you fail me AGAIN.  The 5 days I am in town you are so dreary that my daily runs and grande coffees do nothing to combat my glazed over eyes and lethargy.  I can do nothing to stay awake and alert and am just a mound of matter, taking up space.

Seattle, after this trip I realized I must break up with you.  When I moved to the tri-state area six years ago I figured that we would maintain a long-distance relationship, then be together again in the near future.  But since then, things have changed.  We have grown in different directions and are no longer right for each other.  New York makes me happy in ways you have not in a very long time.  You are so beautiful and there is no place I’d rather be than with you when the sun is shining.  I love your proximity to outdoor sports and that you are annually awarded Most Literary City.  But your incessant rain drizzle and constant overcast dreariness beat me down.  Moreover, the Seattle Freeze freaks me out. 

...not this.

And where is everyone?!  You’re too damn quiet and empty.  New York may have more extreme season and temperature swings, but at least the sun peaks out more than once every two months and a couple inches of snow still means business as usual.  Furthermore, there is no “NY Freeze.”  People may be more abrupt, but that means no passive-aggressiveness; much easier to figure out where someone stands. With that said, I would still like to maintain a friendship, if you are willing.

…

Well Seattle, I’ll have to admit.  I was not too excited to grace you with my presence this holiday season.  Still feeling vulnerable from our last two in-person meetings.  However you seemed to be on your best behavior and showed an effort in trying to make things work:

The Olympics

- AMAZING weather.  So clear, crisp and sunny.  Staring at the snow-covered Olympics while I walked the 3 miles to my aunt and uncle’s house in Greenlake Christmas morning, or glancing at the Cascades on my daily morning run through the golf course, I cannot believe I grew up in such a beautiful part of the country.

-FANTASTIC food.  Dinners at Bastille in Ballard (French) and Hudson’s (gastropub with an extensive local and import beer list) in Roosevelt/Lake City were the most satisfying meals I’ve had in a loooong time.  I feel like I’ve seen numerous foodie shows on the Food Network and Travel Channel about Culinary Seattle and you did not disappoint.  Such fresh, eclectic combinations of ingredients.  Oh I am already looking forward to where I will eat when I next visit you.

-Running outside!  I NEVER run outside in NY; it’s either too hot, too cold, or just plain ugly and crowded.  Instead it’s wake up too early and fight for an elliptical machine.  And wow, upon getting back into my NY routine, I realize how much harder running hills outside for 25ish mins is compared to 30 mins on the elliptical.

-Snowboarding!  One day at rainy but snow covered Crystal Mt and one day at icy but beautiful Stevens Pass was two more great days than I got all of last year.

-ALL of my Christmas shopping done in 3 hours flat!  And it was so painless!  No elbowing pushy people, standing in crazy long lines that wind out the door.  Northgate mall was almost eerily quiet.  So easy.

-I even made a day trip to Portland and was reminded of how much I love it.  A lot like Brooklyn, without the overbearing Manhattan in the near distance.

Seattle, while we have made amends, I still don’t know if I can ever totally trust you.  Yes, I love your food and your local beers and coffees, and the friends and family in the area, but how do I know you will not revert back to your old ways?  And regardless, my heart is now with New York.  I cannot turn my back on a city that has given me so much: a great group of friends, plenty of sports leagues to occupy my free time, a job I enjoy going to every day, the ability to comfortably not own a car,  However, you have earned back my respect.  And just know this, deep down I will always love you.  Who knows, maybe instead of someday moving to Brooklyn when I’ve had enough of cramped Manhattan apartments I still will be back with you?  Or nearby Portland?

Panamania! Pt I: Panama City

When I started telling people my friend Kat and I were going to travel around Panama for a week, the second comment, after “How cool!”  was “Why the hell Panama?!”  Well…
1. It’s not too far away (5 hour direct flight).  And is a small enough country to (hopefully) be able to see everything in a short span of time. 
2. It’s WARM.  90 degree days in December!
3.  It’s CHEAP.  Like $9/night for a hostel bed and $1 beer cheap.
4.  They use the US dollar as currency, so no messing around with foreign exchange.
5.  Same time zone as NY.  Easy!
6.  And if you need a few more…

 

…This blog is broken up into 3 parts: Panama City, Boquete, and Bocas del Toro.  Below is Part 1.

   

 

Day 1: Panama City

The first full day in Panama and Panama City, we stay at Hospedaje Casco Viejo, in, oddly enough, the Casco Viejo neighborhood.  This a very old neighborhood (the oldest in Panama City?) and has been described as old Havana, which I would agree with.  Tight, narrow brick covered streets with shoulder to shoulder buildings right up at the sidewalk’s edge.  Definitely a New Orleans influence too.  I need to read up on more history but I’m guessing it’s because the French settled here and in Louisiana?  The current state of Casco Viejo pretty much defines gentrification.  There are certain streets on the outskirts of the neighborhood that you just don’t walk down.   Soooo many people, no matter what corner you turn down.  Even in the safer areas of Casco Viejo, boarded up houses sit adjacent to very upscale restaurants or apartments, which are across the street from corner markets.  The contrast is way more extreme than any other neighborhood I have ever visited.  Carin and Miguel (Carin grew up and is besties with my good friend Susan; Miguel is her husband) mention that it is suuuper expensive to buy in the neighborhood.  Like $1/2 Million for a veeeery modest fixer-upper (read: something that has to be totally gutted and redone).  Really?!  I am still going through culture shock and am still astonished.  But it should also be noted that there are some really nice (like the nicest I’ve ever seen) apartment buildings AND the president’s mansion is in Casco Viejo.  And after seeing other parts of Panama CIty it seems to be the only neighborhood with any sort of uniqueness; many others could have been Anytown, USA.  No joke we’ve driven past two or three Bennigans, the same dining establishment I ate at in rural Pennsylvania not 4 days prior; and of course several McDonald’s.

             

(Click on images to enlarge)

1. – 7. Casco Viejo

8.  Kat’s very unappetizing ham & egg breakfast at Cafe Coca Cola.  We leave wondering why this place was written up in Lonely Planet.

Taxis
At first I stressed a bit about how to get around town.  Under normal circumstances, I’m too cheap to pay for a cab unless it’s super late and I just want to be in bed asleep, or I’m splitting one with friends in the hood.  But cabs are definitely the easiest way to get around, and so inexpensive in Panama!  And bountiful!  Cabs may be all over NY, but damn does Panama put them to shame.  It is impossible to walk down the street looking halfway foreign and not get a honk, or asked if you need a ride.  Carin, who moved from Vancouver, BC to Panama City says she constantly gets honks, even when walking the dog.  But when you pay $7 for someone to take you to the Miraflores Locks on the Panama Canal, rather than navigate the ”Diablo Rojo” bus system (which has been responsible for 27 deaths in the last year), well it’s hard to argue with that.

     

1. Diablo Rojo  2. & 3. At the Miraflores locks

4. L-R: Rachel, Carin, Miguel, Kat

Nativity Scenes
Roman Catholics make up 77% of the total population.  This is a very religious country.  And as you can guess, Christmas is a big deal.  Already in early December Kat and I see Christmas decorations everywhere.  I’m used to seeing banks and car dealerships, etc. put up a few holiday decorations around this time of year.  Well Panama does it up like none other.  Beyond the occasional Santa Claus or “Ho Ho Ho” sign.  Financial institutions and insurance companies have FULL ON nativity scenes on their front lawns.  Like Candy Cane Lane in Seattle’s Ravenna neighborhood, the major banking center in Panama City becomes THE place to go to see baby Jesus.

   

Panamania! Pt II: Boquete

On Day 3 of Panamania! we get up craaazy early (even by my standards) to catch a 6:30am flight to David, where we will take a shuttle bus to Boquete in the Chiriqui Province (southwestern part of the country).  Boquete is a quiet town of 5000; known for it’s coffee, rich vegetation, friendliness and influx of foreign retirees (in 2004, AARP’s Modern Maturity magazine named Boquete the #4 place in the world to retire).  Hmmm this should be lively.  I’m hoping I’ll at least be able to get a game or two of shuffleboard with the old timeys in.

 

1. Plastic boarding pass!  How very eco-friendly.  2. Chiriqui Province from the plane.

    

3. & 4. Boquete

   

5. That’s for you Dad.  6. Bananas

 

 

7. Hibuscus   8. Cattle drive on the bus ride from David to Almirante

 

 

9. & 10. Scenes from David to Almirante bus ride

 

What they say is true!  Boquete reminds me a lot of inland Kauai: modest charming houses hidden amongst lush colorful plants and trees.  Much different vibe than Panama City.  Very laid back with tons of outdoorsy things to do: rock climbing, rafting, hiking to the highest peak of Panama, soaking in hot springs, and canopy tours.  Unfortunately we have such tight time restraints, we can only take advantage of the canopy tours up in the rain forests.

 

             

Zip-lining in the rain forest outside of Boquete.

 

Hostels

We check into Hostel Refugio del Rio, a ranch style home turned into sleeping accommodations for backpackers.  The difference between our hostel in Boquete and Panama City is like night and day; pretty typical of city vs. rural hostel living.  Kat and I got the LAST room at Hospedaje Casco Viejo in Panama City.  Right off the lobby.  Imagine a bare room with linoleum floor tiles and a single fluorescent light, containing just a bed (no chairs), and a tiny bathroom (no hot water! or soap) with a door that doesn’t quite shut.  Between Lonely Planet’s description of the hostel and Phil, the aforementioned Canadian man’s resounding endorsement of the place, Kat and I are CONVINCED we must have gotten screwed on room selection (which in hindsight was so not the case).  In contrast, Hostel Refugio del Rio in Boquete was quiet (well…except for the roosters at 2am), cleaner, and much more homey.  I mean, we ate dinner outside, right near a creek flowing past our place while I feebly attempted to pick out constellations from Astronomy 110 sophomore year, then watched Napoleon Dynamite dubbed in Spanish in the common room while chatting with fellow travelers.

 

 

Panamania! Pt III: Bocas del Toro

Day 4: Boquete>>David>>Almirante>>Bocas del Toro

Bocas del Toro, an archepelago 32km from the Costa Rican boarder consists of six densely forested islands.  While Bocas is Panama’s main tourist draw, “there’s still a fair measure of authenticity left to the islands.  Low-key development has maintained the charm of small-town Caribbean life, while the absence of mega-hotels has preserved the idyllic beauty of the archipelago” (from Lonely Planet).  Pretty sure I figured out why I was able to enjoy a pristine, unspoiled beach with just a handful of others.  First, here’s how Kat and I got to Bocas:

a. 1hr shuttle bus from Boquete to the David bus station. 

b. 4hr bus ride on a two-lane road through the winding hills to Almirante. 
In my experience (which admittedly is limited to traveling around Panama and Paraguay), bus stations in Latin America are pure chaos.  Thankfully, our shuttle bus driver helped us find the correct bus, which basically means asking around till we find the bus headed towards Bocas.  These buses are not on a set schedule.  You get in one and it leaves as soon as it’s full.  No matter how long that takes.  Fortunately (or unfortunately) for us this takes 10 minutes as we are two of the last to get on, and have to cram in the back row.  But if there is a higher being, he/she was definitely looking down on us, as the only other foreigner wiggles into the seat next to Kat.  Turns out he is a tarantula researcher from Oxford University (who discovered a new species) and is headed to his vacation home in Bocas.  He takes us under his wing and fills us in on how we get to Bocas and what to do/see there and what to watch out for.
Now these bus rides are definitely an experience.  As I kind of mentioned above, the whole trip is on a 2 lane road up and down hills and through the jungles.  And these hills are STEEP.  We FLY down them just so we can build momentum to climb back up, with the intent of conserving gas.  We also veer into the other lane when the road curves left, again to save gas I suppose.  Between being in the oncoming traffic lane and hearing the gears and breaks grind as we tear down the hill, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little nervous.  (Don’t worry Mom it was perfectly safe and we are totally fine.)  Oh also, this 4 hour bus ride set us each back a whole SEVEN DOLLARS.

         

Scenes from our David to Almirante bus ride. (Click on photos to enlarge)

c. $1 cab ride about 1km to the Almirante water taxi station.

d. Water taxi from Almirante to Isla Colon ($4), the main island of Bocas del Toro.  Again, we sit and wait until it’s full.  The stereo box crammed next to me and the cabinet in the back of the boat should tell you how tough it is to get to and from Bocas.  Water taxi takes 25-45 minutes, depending.  Fortunately it’s a smooth day.

     

e. Ray, the tarantula scientist points out good restaurants and in the direction of Casa Max, our home for the next 2 nights.
Whew!

     

1. View from our room at Casa Max.  2. Kids playing outside in Bocas.  3. We ate many meals at the Pirate.

First order of business once we get settled is to head for the beach.  My friend Susan, through whom I met Carin and Miguel, recommended biking to Bocas del Drago, a beach 15 km away and on the opposite side of the island.  Given the sweltering and humid heat, not to mention it was already 4pm, we opt for plan B: taking a taxi to Drago.  The way taxis work in Bocas is you negotiate a round trip fare and the time you’d like to be picked up before departing.  The reason you negotiate a round trip fare is that there’s a more than likely chance that not only will you be the only humans present, but there’s not going to be a pay phone or store or anything else either.  And believe it or not, they really DO come back to get you!

 

Drago was not quite what Kat nor I expected.  First of all, it wasn’t really a beach.  Just a few empty hotel-like buildings, on whose grounds we were seemingly trespassing.  No sand.  Looks like I bought that $4 sarong to lay out on for nothing.  This is what was recommended?  Are we sure we are at the right beach?  We walk along the shore a few hundred meters to “Starfish Beach.”  The beach is beautiful (and does have starfish), but also kind of creepy because of how deserted it is.  Kat and I feel like we are on location for LOST.  I half expect to see a smoke monster or Kate and Sawyer to come running out from the jungle.

   

Where is everyone?!  Feeling like I’m on location for LOST.

   

1. Stingray (eeps the same animal that killed the Croc Hunter).

2. Kat and a starfish at Starfish Beach

 

     

More of eerily quiet Drago Beach/Starfish Beach

 

Day 2 in Bocas we take an all-day boat tour of the islands.  For all intents and purposes, the “boat tour” is a couple guys taking tourists out on their motor boats to a few beautiful spots in the archipelago, and providing snorkeling gear.  First stop is Dolphin Bay for some dolphin watching.  We and four other boats circle the single pod (4 or 5 dolphins) like vultures.  Cameras out like we in Hollywood celebrity-hunting.  Dolphins camp out here because of all the jelly fish so you can guess how much swimming we did. In July-August you can see up to 40 or 50 as it is mating season.  So if you are looking for a time to go…

   

Dolphins!

 

Next stop is Coral Cay where we do some snorkeling.  But before diving in, we order lunch at the restaurant, which is very Caribbean that it is on the end of a dock right on the water.  Very cool.  The bathroom is on another adjoining dock.  The snorkeling is kind of meh; I see a few kind of cool fish, but I hear there are definitely better snorkel spots in Panama.

 

1. Our lunchtime restaurant  2. …and adjoining restroom.

 

After lunch (fresh seafood soup!) our group head for Red Frog Beach, DEFINITELY the highlight of the day, if not the week.  Partly because the cold rain (okay it was still 70 degrees out) had finally burned off, and partly because we had finally found a real beach (read: there was sand not houses on stilts) with body surfing waves!  (Only downside was being reminded by the waves that it might be time to invest in a swim suit that does not shift around so easily).

   

1. Red Frog Beach!  2. The beach’s namesake.

 

 

3. So happy not to be in the cold rain.  4. Road between beach and harbor where we docked.

 

I have never before been on a trip where I have met so many people.  Like Phil the helpful Canadian at our hostel in Panama City.  Or Susan from Toronto we met on the zipline tour (I seem to just get along real well with Canadian Susans).  Ray the Scottish tarantula researcher.  Or Billy the 75 year old commercial diver from Texas who took in 2 Caribbean girls and is building them a house.  On our boat tour we made friends with 3 other girls: Dayna from Queens who was traveling with her Costa Rican host family and Tanja and Nadja from southern Germany (Nadja was nearing the end of her 6 month travels through Central America and had buddy Tanja along for the Panamanian leg).  My theory is that in a non-English speaking country whereby the locals do not look like they are from the US or Europe, it’s natural to gravitate towards someone you know you can hold a real conversation with and can relate to.  High school Spanish was years ago and at this point I cannot remember much more than “Habla Ingles?” or “Cuanto cuesta?” and fractured grammatically incorrect phrases like “Hay una habitacion?” or “Bueno!  Gracias!”  Also, who the hell goes to Panama?!  We travelers for sure have that in common.  All I know is on my solo trip to Amsterdam & Belgium, I’d sit at the hostel bar by myself, lonely and no one would talk to me as they were all busy with their travel companions.  But I digress…

 

Day 3 in Bocas

Meet up with Dayna from Queens and Nadja and Tanja from Germany and head to the beach, Playa Bluff, a “secluded wilderness beach that is pounded by intense waves;” with “soft yellow sand and palm-fringed shores that are pristine and well worth the trip” (Lonely Planet).  Dayna is fluent in Spanish so it’s really nice to be off the hook with my clumsy Spanish.  The beach is about a few km along a dirt road.  Because it poured the entire previous night, it’s more like a mud road.  Our taxi slides forwards, backwards, sideways like we are driving on freshly fallen snow.  Taxi driver stops short of Playa Bluff and we have to walk the last 100 km so he does not get stuck.  Easier said than done as it’s really like a road of paste and I keep walking out of my flip-flops.  But the beautiful (and completely empty!) beach is totally worth it.  Off-roading to get to the beach is the best because it means you’ll have the place pretty much to yourselves, unlike the vastly overpopulated NY beaches.

   

Walking to Playa Bluff.  This beach better be effing worth it.

 

Playa Bluff.  Completely empty.

 

After the beach we fly back to Panama City and leave the following morning for New York.  I decide I want to see if the bad water remedy kit I have hauled all over Paraguay and Panama actually works so I drink some tap water from the sink in our hostel bathroom.  After running back and forth between the bathroom and bed all night, and almost passing out on the plane ride home, I see that it does work.  Glad I brought it.

 

After I get over the initial shock of how cold New York is and finish up  my bout with Panamanian tap water, I reflect on this trip and come up with 2 conclusions:

1. Traveling around Panama is exhausting!  Definitely NOT a vacation, as we were constantly trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B, communicate in a foreign language, etc.  I realize in the not so distant future I need to hit all the more adventurous and more financially feasible regions of the world (ie southeast Asia, Africa, more of Central and South America) and save the more expensive and accomodating (read: Europe) regions for when I’m older, crankier and with a larger bank account.

2. For me, becoming proficient in Spanish is a must.  I feel like I missed out on a lot of conversations because I could only pick out words here and there and did not feel comfortable saying more than a few key words when needed.  I felt like I was completely in my own world with only one other person (Kat) to talk to.  Most people did speak at least a little English, but there is no reason I should not be able to communicate better if I work on this.

Vive le Montreal

Memorial Weekend 2009, I had all sorts of big travel ambitions: 2 weeks in Spain.  1 week in Mexico.  Africa may or may not have been thrown into the mix as well.   

As logistics foiled my ideas (thank you SWINE FLU), I pared down my grandiose plans to a long weekend exploring Montreal with my good friend Monika.  On the agenda was hanging out, relaxing, and eating our way through this foodie city.  But as American Airlines put a wrench in Monika’s weekend, I ended up on my own with a hotel room twice the size of my apartment in NY, and a whole weekend of exploring “Canada’s Cultural Capital” solo.  5 days of scouring travel literature, peppering my Quebecer friend Line with all sorts of cultural and societal questions, and wandering the neighborhoods, here’s some stuff I’ve noticed.  To sum it all up, Montreal really felt like visiting the Love Child of North America and Europe:

That’s Line on the right.

• It really is true that visiting Montreal is like spending time in Europe.  So much so that I had to keep reminding myself that the 1.5 hour flight I took was not to France, but in fact to Canada.  All around me I heard French.  Round little school boys, hip shopkeepers, the shirtless homeless man with a missing tooth and cans of Natty Light in his pockets, damn it sounded like they were all waxing poetic like Shakespeare or Nietzsche.  Kind of like when you hear Shakira sing in Spanish, then later realize that she is singing about talking to a horse. 

Cute French-speaking school kids on a field trip to Montreal’s Old Port.

 

• I thought I had the language thing covered, since Lonely Planet equipped me with many simple phrases.  However, they neglected to include a key explaining HOW TO speak in French; so thanks to my 4 years of high school Spanish, I naturally began speaking in some sort of unintelligible French-Spanish-English combo.  Really, how was I supposed to know that so many French letters are silent?  (Thank you Line for clearing that up!)  Fortunately, after the customary “Bonjour” followed by a “uhhh… Parlez vous anglais?”, the jig was up on my faking French and we could communicate in English.

This is what happens when you order a meal in a language you really don’t understand.  Poutine: french fries doused in gravy and cheese curds.  My arteries wouldn’t let me consume more than half of this.

One thing I think that really lends Montreal to it’s Euro vibe and keeping it from being as inundated with American culture is the language barrier.  Take music.  A few years ago, in 2004 both the NY Times and Spin magazine dubbed Montreal North America’s “Next Big Scene,” due to bands like Arcade Fire, the Stills, Wolf Parade.  I read somewhere that there are tons of really great French speaking (singing?) bands, but haven’t “made it” because their songs are not in English.

 

Bluegrass band performing at Marche Jean-Talon (a huge farmer’s market not unlike Pike Place in Seattle) 

• Bikes are everywhere.  I love it.  But they aren’t the cute upright one-speed bikes with baskets that I saw all over Amsterdam.  More like 10-speed mountain bikes.  And all over the city there were municipal bikes locked up that you can rent for about $1 an hour.  I tried to find out more about them, but they were so new (like a couple weeks old) that no one seemed to know specifics.  I actually saw the same thing when I was in both Washington DC, and Brussels, Belgium last spring.  And there are talks to have the same in NY.  Color me excited.

• Some neighborhoods, namely the Latin Quarter and the Village are how I imagine New York’s East Village, Lower East Side were like a decade or two ago: burgeoning art scene partially due to affordable rent (when I told Line I pay $950/month she thought that was pretty reasonable…until I clarified that was just MY share of the 3 bedroom).  I haven’t lived here long enough to say from experience, but I constantly read about artists and other creatives being priced out of said neighborhoods, killing NY’s cultural scene.   As my mother taught me, you can’t judge a book by it’s cover; however  I defiitely saw more punks, hippies and artists looking types in the 5 days I was in Montreal than the 3 years I’ve lived in Manhattan.

Near the Latin Quarter. 

  Hackey sacking at the Tam Tam drum circle in Parc du Mont-Royal

 

  Chair outside a boutique in Old Montreal

  Mural in the Village.

Marche Jean-Talon

Tip to effin’ Tip

For some reason, I’ve been wrongly accused of being outdoorsy. If being outdoorsy means walking around in the forest and mountains, not showering for days on end, then no thank you. Now I wear fleece and goretex like any real northwesterner. And I love sleeping in a tent as much as the next person (or maybe more so), but let’s put that tent in the backyard, or 10 feet from the car on a soft patch of grass. And if you get me to the top of a mountain, there better be snow on the ground and a board strapped to my feet. Anyway, when I was still confused (you can blame that on going to a rural hippie school where half the kids were from Montana or Idaho and felt that Seattle was way too fast-paced), I could somewhat easily be talked into going on hikes. I know I’ll get angry rebuttals for saying this, but there are only so many birds hiding in the trees or colorful Indian Paintbrush flowers I can see before I want to get the walk over with already. Even a 3 mile hike is BRUTAL. Kind of like running on a treadmill for 30 mins. But walking around the city? Piece of cake. I could do that all day, simply because there is SO MUCH to look at. Last weekend, I decided to put that theory to work. For the last few years, I’d been wanting to walk the entire length of Manhattan, tip to tip. Mainly for two reason: to prove that it didn’t matter the distance. I could walk anywhere as long as my mind was occupied. And to see the contrasts within Manhattan in the various neighborhoods. So here is a photo essay of my friend Sue Jean and I walking from Tip to effing Tip.

Some stats: Manhattan is 13.7 miles long. From 220th st. in Inwood all the way down to the appropriately named South Street, where the Staten Island Ferry Terminal is located. Because we did not walk in a straight line and meandered throughout Harlem, we estimate the trip was 15 miles long, 8 hours (including lunch and dinner breaks. And lunch at a bar in Morningside Heights takes a hell of a lot longer than pb&j and granola on the side of the trail. Especially when they are showing college football on the HDTVs.)

Yep, that’s the Bronx behind us. We are pretty excited at this point because it’s a beautiful day. And we have no idea what’s instore.

The obligatory graffiti photos. This is in Inwood.

Inwood always up to no good….

Pissed off because I forgot my sack of granola and hiking stick.

Hard to believe this really was in Manhattan (Fort Tryon Park to be exact)

Morris Jumel Mansion in Washington Heights. This is Manhattan’s oldest house and headquarters to General Washington in September and October of 1776. After Washington’s departure, the Mansion played host to a succession of British and Hessian military leaders, served briefly as an inn for weary travelers, and finally returned to its role as country house.

Morris Jumel Mansion’s carriageway, now a row of cute (and I’m sure expensive) apartments.

I wonder if the Sugar Hill Gang wrote rhymes here?!

Hey look- even the wildlife is more diverse in NY! This is a crazy looking black squirrel with red eyes.

Harlem Public School. Once again, yes I really like street art.

W 20th St. 200 blocks into the trip and pretty much where walking 15 miles no longer seemed like a fun way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Sue Jean contemplating whether or not cutting off her feet will make her feel better.

Rachel and Sue Jean’s version of Hell. The never ending journey to the bottom of the seemingly endless Island of Manhattan. My god where the hell is the Staten Island Ferry?! Shouldn’t we have found it oh, like 45 minutes ago?!

Finally! The end! We made it! Sue Jean isn’t really smiling in this photo; she’s actually gritting her teeth in pain from walking 15 miles in flats and flip flops. Side note: the woman who took this photo said she had done the same thing, walking from the UN Building down to Battery Park. Uh NO. Walking from 46th St is NOT the same thing as starting at 220th St, actually.

So did I prove to myself that walking long distances is mental? Did I see a contrast in neighborhoods as we moved further downtown? Yes and yes. 15 miles is an awful long way to walk, no matter where. And somehow we did it. (I definitely spent all of Sunday with my feet up, watching movies and not really wanting to get up to get food.) I did get to see some contrasting neighborhoods. Yes. But no more than I saw wandering all over Brussels last March. I think you could see more so if you were to walk on the east side or throughout Brooklyn (next time ha ha). Until then, I’m going to utilize the subway and friends’ cars more often….

Tennis vs. Baseball: the Showdown

Last Monday I went to my first ever Tennis tournament (unless you count rooting on my friends on the Whitman tennis teams in college, which I don’t think counts since we had to peek at them through the chain-linked fences, not from the cushy stands). Got to see Serena Williams on the women’s side, and Andy Murray on the men’s, in the 4th round of the US Open. And because Arthur Ashe Stadium is across the street from Shea Stadium (where the Mets play), I thought I’d break down attending a tennis match vs. a baseball game.

Category #1 The Crowd
The borough of Queens is one of, if not the most diverse areas in the world. You couldn’t tell that from the crowd at the US Open (Arthur Ashe is located in Flushing, Queens). After spying the 56th pink polo shirt and boat shoes, I realized I was probably rubbing elbows with all of Greenwich and Westport, CT that night. Definitely not the regulars who attend Mets games across the street…Having a quiet crowd is kind of nice. I feel like I’ve had to sit right in front of that really obnoxious guy one too many times at Yankee games. You know, the guy who won’t shut up, even when his team is getting killed. I LOVED that because we were watching tennis, we all had to be as quiet as church mice while they were playing, although it took some getting used to not hearing anything at a sporting event. Funny thing is, I guess the US Open is known for having a low buzz of noise, which I couldn’t hear. Can’t even imagine what Wimbledon must be like. Oh and the best part of the night was that the announcer had to tell the crowd to stop doing the wave. Loved it.

Category #2 The Food/Drinks
If I had been more ready, and equipped with a telephoto lens, I could have taken pictures of people carrying champagne glasses back to their seats (and we were in the nosebleeds!). Also saw many consuming plastic cups with wine. Not gonna lie, I kind of like the idea of drinking wine at a sporting event; it just seems so much classier to sip Chardonnay in a plastic glass than Miller Lite in one of those wax-paper cups.

Although the Billie Jean King Tennis Center is well equipped with many gourmet food options, I still opted for a hot dog with ketchup, which was MUCH BETTER than the shriveled up old wrinkly one I had at Shea two months ago.

Category #3 Designated Hometeam vs. “Hometeam” as an Irrelevant Label
As as displaced Seattle-ite who really cannot stand ARod and dislikes the Yankees in general, it is sooooo nice to be at a sporting event where one can root for whomever and not feel like 99% of the crowd is rooting against them. Like a breath of fresh air!

Go Serena!

Category #4 Amenities
Any American Express card holder can get all sorts of swag at the matches, including a kind of dorky looking, (but so cool to have) radio ear piece, which has a low radio frequency that is simulcast with the TV coverage on USA. Picture a whole stadium of Steve Bartmans. The only free stuff I’ve gotten at Mets games are a plastic cup from the previous season I had to buy a beer to get, and a huge gaudy paperweight replica of Shea Stadium.

Me and the dorky earpiece.

NYC Checklist

I am a west coast girl. Always have been, always will. Since it’s inevitable that someday I will move to San Francisco or Seattle; to never again have to elbow my way through Times Square cursing out the tourists gawking at the tall buildings, haul my 3 weeks’ worth of laundry down the street and through the preppy/fratty Murray Hill-ers clogging the sidewalk as they wait 45 minutes for brunch at Penelope’s, think $6 for a vodka soda is a not a bad deal, and because I’m a dork who loves lists, I’ve started a checklist of things to do before that day arrives. Any suggested additions are welcome…and anyone who loves me enough to read this is of course invited to participate in any of the following (which are in no particular order; and there are links so you know what the hell I’m talking about):

1. Trapeze class on the Hudson River

2. Take a Hip Hop Tour of the city

3. Walk the entire length of Manhattan, tip to tip

4. Join a netball team (because they were short players and training at SUNY-Cortland one summer, my coworker Kaylin, practiced with the national team while she was a student. And she would have participated in the Pan-Am games if she hadn’t had to quit in order to train for basketball. Could this be the sport that finally brings me fame and glory?)

5. Finally attend the US Open (yay!)

6. Take a free class on how to DJ

7. Eat food from the Red Hook, Brooklyn street vendors, supposedly the BEST street food in the city

8. Eat my way through Chinatown in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, the “other other Chinatown”

9. Weekend trip to Montreal (kind of off topic, but I stumbled upon the linked Montreal article when my friend Andrea sent me this on Amsterdam, which ultimately sold me on making the city of bicycles and Stroopwafels my 2008 travel destination)

To Live and Drive in LA

So I just got back from from a trip out to Los Angeles for work…and to see my good friend Susan. A

Me being contemplative

few takeaways…

• People are so much friendlier on the west coast. I’ll admit that even though I currently live in what some consider to be a tough city, I was a little intimidated to be navigating Los Angeles on my own. While going through security before my flight back to NY, the security woman
  

  This is Susan

  informed me that there was liquid in my water bottle. Whoops! Rather than having me get back in line and have to go through the whole procession of taking off my belt, shoes, laptop out of bag, etc again, she sent my water bottle through the x-ray while I waited. How nice! And another anecdote: while packing up my beach stuff to head back to my friend Susan’s apartment to meet up with her, an older man next to me made sure to inform me I had some string hanging off my shorts. Well, it was actually that dumb string that is tied around my bikini bottoms. Then he bid me farewell as I walked off. I’m chalking that up to him hitting on me in his own way, but still….

• Los Angeles is such a car-centric society. Because of this, it takes forever to get anywhere. We Seattleites like to complain about how awful traffic is, but there’s a problem when it takes an hour to go ten miles, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. It finally dawned on me why I saw so many helicopters fly over the beach: I’m sure that’s the only way to can get from one end of the city to the other this decade… Some absent-minded lady took my work-friend Heather’s suitcase home with her, all the way to Irvine, which is 45 minutes south of the airport. Or 60 minutes south of Burbank (where we were), without traffic. And because her daughter was getting married the next day in San Diego, she didn’t have time to bring it back to the airport for Heather to pick up. What should have been a 2 hour excursion to the lady’s home in Irvine took FOUR HOURS. AT 2 IN THE AFTERNOON ON A THURSDAY. Because EVERYONE drives. You can’t get around it. Well, except for my hippie friend Susan who bikes and takes the bus. I remember reading in Fast Food Nation a few years back that many drive-through hamburger joints started in LA: (In-n- Out Burger, Carl’s Jr., etc). Totally reflective of how the city really grew during the automobile age.

That's Heather on the right, so happy because she didn't have to wear the same outfit all week

• Everyone is so active. Susan lives half a block from Venice Beach(!). I’ll bet that 75% of residents in her neighborhood surf, play beach volleyball, or go running on the beach almost daily. And I
  

  On the Manhattan Beach pier. I'm having a hard time with the photo settings, so if you can't read it, it says "Misty May-Treanor & Kerri Walsh, 2005 Manhattan Beach Volleyball Champs"

  couldn’t even tell you how many people I passed on the sidewalk, biking to the beach with surfboard in hand. And there is such a sense of community, at least in Venice. There are definitely the regulars that frequent the local breakfast spots.

  

  Muscle Beach

• Cars are a status symbol. What is the status symbol of New York? Your shoes? Metro card? And along this same line, the ABC/Disney/ESPN office in Burbank has assigned parking spots for all employees. The higher title you hold, the better your parking spot. IE Bob Iger has the prime spot, right next to the door. As you get promoted, your parking spot moves. Of course we visitors had to park way up on the roof. But it’s hard to complain about that when its 80 degrees and sunny, every single day.

At the Santa Monica Farmers' Market

You knew I had to take pictures of any graffiti I saw…

Venice Beach