tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15922766120946416812024-02-22T01:55:54.853-08:00Peregrine Deviation: adventures elsewhereseeking an alternative to standard adulthood through adventure. <br> <b>peregrine:</b> per⋅e⋅grine [per-i-grin] –adjective 1. foreign; alien; coming from abroad. 2. wandering, traveling, or migrating. <br>
<b>deviation:</b> de⋅vi⋅a⋅tion [dee-vee-ey-shuhn] –noun 1. the act of deviating. 2. departure from a standard or norm.Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-38752720698249882402011-04-24T07:59:00.000-07:002011-04-24T09:41:40.401-07:00Books, Figures, and Munny's Hall of FameMade it back to Jackson on the morning of April 20th. Looking out the window, my thought was, "It sure is green around here." I've been at 810 recuperating and managing to catch up with a few old friends who either live here or happened to be in town. The plan is to head north tomorrow - pick up Jonah in Philly on Friday and head to Providence, where we'll spend a couple of weeks rehearsing before our shows start. We have shows in Portland, Cambridge, Providence, Brooklyn, Philly and DC (we'll be updating our website soon with the tour schedule, in the meantime you can check out our <a href="http://www.facebook.com/munnyandthecameraman?sk=app_178091127385">facebook page</a>). From DC we'll come through Raleigh, Asheville, Nashville, Birmingham and on to Jackson. So stay tuned for a full schedule!<div><br /></div><div>As my last post I thought I'd share some figures from my trip, my booklist, and offer a last time shoutout to my Hall of Fame, a.k.a. people I may owe my first born.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Figures</b></div><div>You've probably wondered how I've managed to pull off this trip. And while my folks have occasionally pitched in (like paying for the safari and time with them in Africa, or donating some frequent flyer miles for a free flight), it's been otherwise self-financed. Anyone who has seen me, or my "Adventure Book," knows that I've become a meticulous record keeper during this trip and I can basically tell you what I've spent every penny on. So, with that in mind, here are the figures:</div><div><ul><li><b>$18,252.78</b> - cost of a 13 month peregrine deviation. This figure is basically what I spent on 13 months of around-the-world travel in pretty fantastic places. </li><li><b>$1,404.06 per month</b> - I have many friends in DC who spend this just on rent, but I spent it on adventure instead. Turns out, traveling the world is cheaper than living in DC. </li><li>Southeast Asia trip per diem (non-inclusive of flight): <b>$27.44</b></li><li>East Coast roadtrip USA per diem (inclusive of gas): <b>$20.28</b></li><li>West Coast roadtrip USA per diem (inclusive of gas): <b>$44.72</b></li><li>South America per diem (non-inclusive of flight or Machu Picchu trek): <b>$32.02</b></li><li>Africa per diem (non-inclusive of flight or Kilimanjaro trek): <b>$36.30</b></li><li>Machu Pichu trek:<b> $540.00</b></li><li>Kilimanjaro trek: <b>$1,556.58</b></li><li>Cheapest night on the road: <b>$1.62</b> for a shared room in Pakbeng, Laos</li><li>Most expensive night on the road: <b>$27.00 </b>for a shared chalet on the beach in Zanzibar</li></ul><div>What is not included in these per diem costs are my flights, both car and health insurance, and money spent on recording an album. All of those costs are, however, reflected in the overall figure of $18,252.78. Captain Safety jokes that I should be put in charge of the federal budget since I seem to be so good a number crunching and living frugally.</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xftYvwcPNc_LU4gjMoIfCi02IRZtrE_xy-gT0JBt23y2NaNQjI2jHbojxqE98oJj4TpaDjbdMKhkrBsHgxnQlRxRElVSjMGx6z9Gj0jhKC6pY5AOGGrSv6RcIuIV5bm_XKvjzwCAXDLo/s1600/dollar.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xftYvwcPNc_LU4gjMoIfCi02IRZtrE_xy-gT0JBt23y2NaNQjI2jHbojxqE98oJj4TpaDjbdMKhkrBsHgxnQlRxRElVSjMGx6z9Gj0jhKC6pY5AOGGrSv6RcIuIV5bm_XKvjzwCAXDLo/s400/dollar.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599188502362448482" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><b>Booklist</b></div><div>At times the books chosen were deliberate, but every now and again the Kindle broke or the second-hand bookstore only had a few options. Here's the list in full:</div><div><ol><li><i>Girl With the Dragon Tattoo</i> - Steig Larsson</li><li><i>Girl Who Played With Fire</i> - Steig Larsson</li><li><i>Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest</i> - Steig Larsson</li><li><i>Their Eyes Were Watching God</i> - Zora Neale Hurston</li><li><i>Bangkok Haunts</i> - John Burdett</li><li><i>God Save the Sweet Potato Queens</i> - Jill Connor Browne</li><li><i>Tess of </i><i>D'Ubervilles</i> - Thomas Hardy</li><li><i>Resistance</i> - Anita Shreve</li><li><i>Savage Detectives</i> - Robert Balano</li><li><i>White Teeth</i> - Zadie Smith</li><li><i>Water For Elephants</i> - Sara Gruen</li><li><i>The Scarlet Letter</i> - Nathaniel Hawthorne</li><li><i>Out Stealing Horses</i> - Per Petterson</li><li><i>Rising Tide</i> - John Barry</li><li><i>In the Woods</i> - Tana French</li><li><i>The Wilderness Warrior: Theodore Roosevelt and the Crusade for America</i> - Douglas Brinkley</li><li><i>Encounters of the </i><i>Archdruid</i> - John McPhee</li><li><i>Cutting for Stone</i> - Abraham Verghese</li><li><i>Buy-</i><i>ology</i><i> </i>- Martin Lindstrom</li><li><i>Corelli's</i><i> Mandolin</i> - Louis de Bernieres</li><li><i>The Corrections </i>- Jonathan Franzen</li><li><i>Even Cowgirls Get the Blues</i> - Tom Robbins</li><li><i>Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight</i> - Alexandra Fuller</li><li><i>Into Thin Air</i> - Jon Krakauer</li><li><i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland </i>- Lewis Carroll</li><li><i>Snow Falling on Cedars</i> - David Gutterson</li><li><i>The God of Small Things</i> - Arundhati Roy</li><li><i>The Fear: The Last Days of Robert Mugabe</i> - Peter Goodwin</li><li><i>1491 </i>- Charles Mann</li><li><i>The Temple of My Familiar</i> - Alice Walker</li><li><i>The </i><i>Betrayal</i><i> of Africa</i> - Gerald Caplan</li><li><i>Dark Star Safari</i> - Paul Theroux</li><li><i>Dead Aid</i> - Dambisa Moyo</li><li><i>The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind</i> - William Kamkwamba & Bryan Mealer</li></ol></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Hall of Fame</b></div><div>After this past year I am forever indebted to many of you - travel companions, owners of couches, givers of food, offerers of a free ride somewhere. If you fed, housed, transported, or accompanied me any time in the past year you are entitled to a "free stay at my place" card, you just have to wait until I actually get a place somewhere. </div><div><br /></div><div>In order of appearance, though, are the heavy-hitters, those my adventure would be entirely different without. A deep-felt thank you to:</div><div>Mary Ann Scott, Sarah Schwarz, Big, Shelley Katsh & Mark Gabry, Robert & Barbara Munford, Captain Safety & Pops, Nicole Melas, Hannah Wadsworth, Freeland Church, Mary Jo & George Johnston, Jaimi Norden, Lauren Plettner, Liddell Shannon, Anya Kaplan-Seem, Jon Hampton, Lucy Whidden, Joan Sullivan-Owomoyela, Sister, Scooter Walsh, and Laura Kergosien.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope one day I can return the favor to you and to the universe. I am humbled and incredibly grateful for all the generosity, warmth, and laughter I've been privy to this past year. To quote Alice Walker,</div><div><br /></div><div><b>I thank the Universe for my participation in existence. It is a pleasure to have always been present.</b></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsQEDe1LoXPDd-hPatovgr8eOXdaOJ3ZayTXVd5hGNlunEf6L5ronJFAvMTAAqdfp5dEC59UwLkuUeQKI7jT4x_zbR_ucal6FTAR9YlSSMbGIGhCgh0pOsF4AxGT6DupvdWNu4PIX0VW_/s1600/Kilimanjaro+43.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDsQEDe1LoXPDd-hPatovgr8eOXdaOJ3ZayTXVd5hGNlunEf6L5ronJFAvMTAAqdfp5dEC59UwLkuUeQKI7jT4x_zbR_ucal6FTAR9YlSSMbGIGhCgh0pOsF4AxGT6DupvdWNu4PIX0VW_/s400/Kilimanjaro+43.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599187707006388066" /></a>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-79394604117995965162011-04-19T01:36:00.002-07:002011-04-19T02:23:33.300-07:00Dirty Money and Southern (African) HospitalityMy last stop before returning to Johannesburg was the often newsworthy and politically volatile country of Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe, known as Rhodesia until the end of the civil war in 1980, is still run by one Robert Gabriel Mugabe, one of Africa's most notorious "Big Men." Since the toppling of Big Men in north and west Africa seems to be a trend of late, Captain Safety was a bit nervous about this foray of mine. But I was assured by native Zimbabweans and some of Sister's friends that as long as I kept my mouth shut I probably wouldn't end up in a Zimbabwean prison somewhere. So I ditched my copy of <i>Fear: The Last Days of Robert Mugabe</i>, made plans with Sister's friends living in Mutoko, and read a somewhat worthless chapter on Zim in <i>The Lonely Planet</i> before crossing the Mozambique - Zimbabwe border on April 6th.<div><br /></div><div>Zim was, by far, my favorite African country I visited, perhaps my favorite country in the last 13 months. It has stunning scenery, gracious people, and it was the backdrop for my final reflections on this last year + of peregrination. </div><div><br /></div><div>I started of in Harare, the capital, with some of Sister's Princeton friends who are starting an NGO focused on treating bilharzia, a waterborne parasite that can cause serious organ damage. Laura, Sister's Princeton roommate and fellow Mississippian, took me to the African bush for a few days to see the Methodist mission and community where they carry out most of their work. We returned to Harare a few days later, I bid the team adieu, and sojourned south to the Great Zimbabwe ruins before turning west to the city of Bulawayo and Matopos National Park. </div><div><br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismss0zgo_VgjIbLsWqMW8NOcHdgebUBebVwTogbnTBRrbQWHxDeyN8VsftYHjIDzKhiY38cUklQ1yQtPVNki3Vna1AqbF-ferz3Ji1RTt8K8lrw_yMTgAmIJRaoCW2swXB3NLDmhSffAa/s1600/P4133487.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismss0zgo_VgjIbLsWqMW8NOcHdgebUBebVwTogbnTBRrbQWHxDeyN8VsftYHjIDzKhiY38cUklQ1yQtPVNki3Vna1AqbF-ferz3Ji1RTt8K8lrw_yMTgAmIJRaoCW2swXB3NLDmhSffAa/s400/P4133487.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597217901873332770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Bilharzia can be found in freshwater sources all over Africa</div><div><ul><li>Ever wonder where old, dirty American money goes when Americans think it is too foul to be of actual use? Zimbabwe. Don't ask me how, exactly, it gets there (a fascinating journey, to be sure), but it does. A few years ago Zim's own dollar suffered so much inflation as to be completely useless--the 10 trillion (yes, with a T) dollar note was worth about $1 US. To fix the inflation problem they just switched over to the US dollar and let us control the inflation for them. The result is that the entire economy runs on old, gross US currency.</li><li>Turns out that even countries who don't use their own currency don't really like the penny either. Instead of using US change, anything less than $1 US is quote in South African rand (about 7R = $1USD). This makes going to the grocery store a somewhat hilarious adventure. Upon my first purchase of wine, bread, and peanut butter the register read $10.18. I handed the clerk a $10 bill, a dime, and one South African rand. He turned his nose up at the dime and insisted on 2R for the change. I started to argue that 2R is actually worth closer to $.30, but soon recognized this would be a futile argument. </li><li>What I learned the next day was that the easy way around the confusion was to just round up your purchase with lollipops, gum, or a box of TicTacs. For example, for a $10.18 purchase you just hand the clerk $11 and ask for a handful of lollipops. This reminded me of going to the bank as a kid and the teller would give you a free sucker. This kind of arrangement quickly changed my attitude about shopping, although I am sure much to dentists' lament.</li><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJ531zXWgA9lmEhgrACWN6t4ggme4NsRl1KV_LrqxW99UJ48VOeYLGz6suJJN0iUsQU-_skiTqkaRmLjBBjl28wMZn9tonwCkTki2LBEbDfoc6GWU1OWdJP1TXGBQFo4XUG7WLL3q9RSs/s1600/P4063393.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFJ531zXWgA9lmEhgrACWN6t4ggme4NsRl1KV_LrqxW99UJ48VOeYLGz6suJJN0iUsQU-_skiTqkaRmLjBBjl28wMZn9tonwCkTki2LBEbDfoc6GWU1OWdJP1TXGBQFo4XUG7WLL3q9RSs/s400/P4063393.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597217899886951842" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Day trip to a site outside of Harare with cave paintings and a great view</div></ul><ul><br /><li>Some estimate that up to 25% of the population are informants for ZANU PF, Mugabe's ruling party. This figure means that extreme caution should be exercised with anyone who wants to talk politics with you. My friends in Mutoko even practice such caution with their 15 year old neighbor who complains about being a poor farmer and wanting political change. It's hard not to encourage the kid to fight for real democracy, but doing so jeopardizes their work as well as their life not in jail.</li><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixDoBHUuauGW6yUoQjlcVkMCEFo-P3eIUTuKjexBnaz_f7g870QPXGQ4jQ7Gm2VDP5nCQq86Y0Ko47GQqrp7I-aU4RxU9zD8fQAJN3LYc4jY25YIHst9TeI0iQksD0N_cjLnNalMJftR8d/s1600/P4083449.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixDoBHUuauGW6yUoQjlcVkMCEFo-P3eIUTuKjexBnaz_f7g870QPXGQ4jQ7Gm2VDP5nCQq86Y0Ko47GQqrp7I-aU4RxU9zD8fQAJN3LYc4jY25YIHst9TeI0iQksD0N_cjLnNalMJftR8d/s400/P4083449.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597217891094764738" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Fishing near the Mission outside of Mutoko</div></ul><ul><br /><li>I hitched my way to and through Matopos National Park, a gorgeous park with rock outcroppings and the final resting place of Rhodes, the man who lent Rhodesia his name, endowed the Rhodes Scholarship program, and founded the de Beers Diamond Mining Company. The park is stunning and if it's location was in the US, would be as popular as Yosemite. Instead, it was nearly vacant. I was the only camper in the entire park for the two days I was there. Others came for an afternoon or spent a night in one of the lodges, but Elbert (my tent) and I were alone in the campgrounds. I enjoyed the solitude, but couldn't shake a strong sense of isolation.</li><li>One afternoon I hitched a ride with a group of older white Zimbabweans, who promptly insisted I join them for their afternoon braii (cookout). I hardly met a Zimbabwean, white or black, who didn't invite me to a meal or give me their number in case I ran into any trouble. "Please tell people how nice Zimbabwe is," was a frequent refrain, as if I alone could bring back tourists. People I met were incredibly gracious, which made hitchhiking a rather pleasant endeavor and the source of some engaging conversations.</li><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlxydjK0MaRL0Aw1reSHjlU_QjyJ8Fk76D9E1wyRvR1vuk0we30JmDXRlKLnuSJG-LV7FJ-jWPuLhYNEOo7EwR3wKqgmFWH7DTnuaYk8EJjNTQwKdo2ckTLqzfalOGlmmr-ORH_g2Tx6S/s1600/P4133504.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlxydjK0MaRL0Aw1reSHjlU_QjyJ8Fk76D9E1wyRvR1vuk0we30JmDXRlKLnuSJG-LV7FJ-jWPuLhYNEOo7EwR3wKqgmFWH7DTnuaYk8EJjNTQwKdo2ckTLqzfalOGlmmr-ORH_g2Tx6S/s400/P4133504.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597217882144263218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Elbert (my tent) pitched in Matopos</div></ul><ul><br /><li>The older gent in this particular party told me a story of how his bank account one day had a figure with 27 zeros behind it ("and that was after the government lopped off 3 zeros to try and 'solve inflation'!"), and the next day the bank account had nothing. Not one cent. No one knew where the money went, no one cared. People, white and black, referred to this time as "when things got bad," but would often follow these stories up with, "when things get better..." Stunning optimism and resolve, if you ask me.<br /></li></ul><div>All-in-all, I found Zim fascinating to travel through and not once did I feel threatened or unsafe. I loved feeling like the lone tourist, and reveled in the conversations with curious locals (One gent: "How is it that I find a lone lady in the Zimbabwean bush!? Where, pray tell, are you from and how did you get here?" He then proceeded to take a picture of me and my tent, as if we were as rare as the elusive white rhino, "No one's going to believe this!"). </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Sadly, I am in Johannesburg now, due to make my final return flight tonight. I won't stop for long, though my grand peregrination is over. I'll make my way north to start rehearsing for the Munny & the Cameraman tour (Maine, Boston, NYC, Philly, and DC are all already on the docket), which, with any luck, should carry me through July. The next step from there is still uncertain, but it will come, it always does.</div><div><br /></div><div>This is my final entry from abroad, but I'll make a final post on figures and my booklist for anyone interested. It's impossible to accurately sum up the last 395 days, so instead I'll leave you with a quote from <i>Alice's Adventures in Wonderland</i>, which I read somewhere along the shores of Lake Malawi:</div><div><br /></div><div><b>" 'I could tell you of my adventures--beginning from this morning,' said Alice a little timidly: ' but it is no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.' " </b></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdj7HpzZgqWBhbMLThOJ8mT2BNAbMcDko1ijjTXJuICiPgLm3melHDTUBVLuhayzUHPB4PEFVg6poDMtKsoKKiJ_46eAvotM9N1tV6cBSsbcD9afBoaSc064t1aEfBQcfIKvSydB6PBSOm/s1600/P4143540.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdj7HpzZgqWBhbMLThOJ8mT2BNAbMcDko1ijjTXJuICiPgLm3melHDTUBVLuhayzUHPB4PEFVg6poDMtKsoKKiJ_46eAvotM9N1tV6cBSsbcD9afBoaSc064t1aEfBQcfIKvSydB6PBSOm/s400/P4143540.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597217884694726946" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset from Pomongwe Summit in Matopos National Park</div><div><br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-56623286833916746962011-04-17T00:52:00.000-07:002011-04-17T00:53:27.594-07:00Speaking Spanish in Africa<span style="font-style: italic;">I am currently in an internet cafe in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe but for simplicity's sake this entry will concern my trip from Cape Town up into Mozambique. Internet has been shoddy and scarce along the way so apologies to anyone who has been on pins and needles waiting for my next report. </span><br /><br />My journey into Mozambique from Cape Town took about a week, with stopovers in Port Elizabeth and Durban, the latter being far preferable. I took the Baz Bus, a hop-on/hop-off bus that takes backpackers all over the country. I bought the express ticket, which was far cheaper, so I didn't do much hopping on and off. It's a good idea but for my purpose I probably should have just taken the regular long-distance bus. From Durban I traveled to Maputo (capital of Mozambique) via Swaziland, which was beautiful to ride through. I spent one day in Maputo doing some errands (exchanging money, buying groceries, getting a photocopy of my passport notarized, etc.) before taking the bus up to Inharrime to meet a college friend currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) there. I spent a few days with her in Inharrime and then tagged along with a big get-together of PCVs at a beach not too far away. After the weekend I said goodbye and hitched my way north via Vilankulos to Chimoio and from there I crossed into the Eastern Highlands of Zimbabwe.<br /><ul><li>You have to love countries that sometimes don't even take their own currency. In South Africa there is a large amount of fake 200 Rand notes circulating so many shops won't take them. Too bad for me, since that's what the ATM often gives you. (I won't even start about Zim, I'll save that for the next entry.)</li><li>Just when I thought I've seen all the different variations of strange public transit, I was (almost literally) thrown into a chapa (minibus) in Moz that was definitely at capacity. Since there were no seats (not even an inch of seat for my more-than-inch-wide ass) I was instructed by the conductor to just stand, basically between this poor woman's legs on the second row. And obviously "standing" isn't much of an option for someone 5'10 so I crouched. This ended up paying off, though, because after 30 minutes of it I got to snag the front seat for the rest of the 3 hour journey.</li><li>In Moz they speak Portuguese, which I equate to "just about Spanish" so I just kept pretending they were speaking Spanish. I would just jabber away in Spanish and they'd just kind of look at me funny, but understood most of what I was saying. Problem is my reverse translation skills aren't that strong. This led to rather awkward conversations where I misled people into thinking I was Zimbabwean, or married, or volunteering in the area. Whoops.</li><li>The meticais, the Moz currency, seems to be fairly volatile. I traded at 32 Mtc = $1USD, but the PCVs told me it has been at 45 Mtc = $1USD when they had first arrived 18 months ago! The other funny thing is that I guess a few years ago inflation got so bad they just lopped off 3 zeros from the end of the numbers. You'll still find a few of the old Mtc in circulation - a coin that reads 5000 Mtc is actually worth only 5 Mtc. (Note: Zimbabwe also tried this trick but when you're lopping off 3 zeros from digits that have 32 zeros, it doesn't quite have the same effect. Again, more on this next entry).<br /></li><li>Scooter, my Bowdoin friend, lives on a Catholic mission outside of Inharrime and teaches at the school there. The girls at the orphanage called me "Mana Munny" (Sister Munny), but also "Mana Bieber" and kept asking if I was his sister since I too was a musician. How these kids even know about Justin Bieber is beyond me...</li><li>I know Captain Safety was nervous when she heard I'd been hitchhiking my way through some of these African countries. But almost any PCV or long-term volunteer will tell you that hitching is almost always safer than riding in a chapa or open-backed truck (the only "public transit" available). In a hitch you might actually get<span style="font-style: italic;"> inside</span> the car and have a seatbelt. Plus, for a budget traveler like myself I often got a hitch for free (sometimes they'll charge you what you'd pay in a chapa, but still, you're often far more comfortable in a hitch than in a chapa). And company in a hitch is almost always more engaging than company in a chapa. Hitchhiking has actually been one of the highlights of my adventure here and has been the source of many engaging and interesting conversations (save for the guy who only spoke Portuguese for a 5 hour journey - that one was a little awkward).<br /></li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbInfUhaypnPDr2DoavwMPFhyphenhyphenl68nR9I-_xAQyRZKK8q6tBaVZbBgzGD5n4oqflFA9n5GT8pxDWf3OAnNImABc8YqAhBmrJ4x9cKeepTcOpwXf0wmBlz566B0llDpEn6rfd4yWqCaLhwll/s1600/P4013334.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbInfUhaypnPDr2DoavwMPFhyphenhyphenl68nR9I-_xAQyRZKK8q6tBaVZbBgzGD5n4oqflFA9n5GT8pxDWf3OAnNImABc8YqAhBmrJ4x9cKeepTcOpwXf0wmBlz566B0llDpEn6rfd4yWqCaLhwll/s400/P4013334.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596448549479588962" border="0" /></a>Toenails in the sand<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNz8znoHy365cGzOD3bGmUqVUnipE1TsQnDtn8kQnBeVe8G3b6lp6gATAoYUiWcN2rEYwNV8Dd6diwLYrXEWOtzuDCe-gU_CyVwQB0FBKHwZcSfl9QbRLvqTOIPf0HHkyQgVLQ4OH3mKKl/s1600/P3303296.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNz8znoHy365cGzOD3bGmUqVUnipE1TsQnDtn8kQnBeVe8G3b6lp6gATAoYUiWcN2rEYwNV8Dd6diwLYrXEWOtzuDCe-gU_CyVwQB0FBKHwZcSfl9QbRLvqTOIPf0HHkyQgVLQ4OH3mKKl/s400/P3303296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596448544878432018" border="0" /></a>Two of the girls at Laura Vicuna Mission outside of Inharrime. Margarite,<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pHpoUXkwSmOPGnZEPhPM5toRtEr4IiIfzXSFVnJZny3Uy4-9qwJNG7hBdr-wlGJhAArvUmfrr-LBI9LwsbYPL8jVywCeTGVXaCJfviouM1a52yA43dmjb71X74fy1iKBDN3Nk1XGZubH/s1600/P4013322.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pHpoUXkwSmOPGnZEPhPM5toRtEr4IiIfzXSFVnJZny3Uy4-9qwJNG7hBdr-wlGJhAArvUmfrr-LBI9LwsbYPL8jVywCeTGVXaCJfviouM1a52yA43dmjb71X74fy1iKBDN3Nk1XGZubH/s400/P4013322.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596448539552590978" border="0" /></a>Walking down the beach with the dogs of the owners. Don't worry, these were friendly dogs and they weren't chasing me<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBQRUkicFkVncx15cZ43YZYca7YWozwcyjyCjMpFIUghvKK6w8s8cGhM4E9ckKDkHL1za-HcgC39qrpwCuy6ZdaYpOowTWgpt5b3L_VUq7tQ3q0w6YoZeJ1w_hCG9iFaff6OgX-nygR-M/s1600/P4023362.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBQRUkicFkVncx15cZ43YZYca7YWozwcyjyCjMpFIUghvKK6w8s8cGhM4E9ckKDkHL1za-HcgC39qrpwCuy6ZdaYpOowTWgpt5b3L_VUq7tQ3q0w6YoZeJ1w_hCG9iFaff6OgX-nygR-M/s400/P4023362.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596448536803294130" border="0" /></a>Sunset over Tsene Lagoa, a saltwater lake just inland from the Indian Ocean<br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-88040195685292570412011-03-21T05:42:00.000-07:002011-03-23T01:24:27.821-07:00Munford Family's African VacationThe Munford Family has, over the years, taken big trips together. There was the mid-1990's road trip from Mississippi to Gettysburg to track down where our ancestor fell victim to a Yankee soldier's bullet. (Instead of a soundtrack of music, we spent most of the multiple day journey listening to our parents read aloud Civil War letters recovered from my grandmother's attic. This is where I think my love of music came from...in the form of my Walkman.) There was also a trip out West to Charlie's graduation from Deep Springs and our folks thought 120 degree Death Valley would be the perfect destination for teenage daughters -"It's like the beach, except way hotter and no ocean. " More recently there was Scotland in 2006, when my family came to see me at the end of my semester abroad there. We were all considerably more patient post-adolescents but maturity and restraint was tested when the rental car for the 5 of us (plus suitcases and my guitar) turned out to be a close cousin of the clown car. I enjoy drawing comparisons between my family's vacations and the classic American vacation cinematic series known as <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">National Lampoon's Vacation</span> (and sequels <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">European Vacation</span>, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Christmas Vacation</span>, and <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Vegas Vacation</span>).<br /><br />Africa, as it turns out, is no exception for the Munfords-come-Griswolds. The family met up in Livingstone, Zambia to see how Sister's been managing there for the last 7 months. (She is half-way through a little over a year of working for African Impact, coordinating their voluntourism effort in the area.) We spent a few days in Livingstone before crossing the confluence of the Zambezi and Chobe Rivers to Botswana and then jetting down to Cape Town for a week. All events below are true, although they are true according to me. If someone disagrees, it wouldn't be the first time we have different versions of our family vacations...<br />-----<br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">March 7th</span> - <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">March 10th: Livingstone, Zambia<br /></span>Mom and Pops stepped off the plane in unmistakable safari gear, but against our predictions and to our delight, they weren't wearing matching his and hers safari outfits. <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Phew.</span> Charlie, on vacation from graduate school, seemed pretty stoked to be in Africa ("Back in Africa after 40,000 years!!") and kept asking us (Sister and me) about the various legumes and grasses that make up African bush. Not really our specialty, it turns out. While Sister was working one morning we visit Victoria Falls, which is near peak because it's the rainy season. This means over a million cubic feet of water pour over the falls every second. There's so much water that it sprays the entire canyon area with droplets. Knowing this still didn't stop Mom from asking, "Is it raining?" Sister took us on project tours and a hike into the gorge, where the Zambezi is hardly the calm, but swift current of the upper Zam - it's more like foaming white death. She also treated us to a braii (African bbq) at her favorite lookout into the gorge.<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxOLOdRpKmFJmOv7-alN_2AqIxOu08HsqNWi1NPyPx5Glcv6243YP25yymG1mAkfiN7AVgay1kOkWAvvXOtNg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYlMHsflil_081dFqrTB-dzIb5dYI9Uma2m85CqvmRntVsWZfDOXIb8edtnxkItsLTX0QIgYUhpcMKvZx0hBLYGOqDfmL__2FWmVoaKsdnUvTVqeL45EeM5H6FdZWkm0JTWLTRfama4Ww/s1600/P3072994.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586522310308449634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYlMHsflil_081dFqrTB-dzIb5dYI9Uma2m85CqvmRntVsWZfDOXIb8edtnxkItsLTX0QIgYUhpcMKvZx0hBLYGOqDfmL__2FWmVoaKsdnUvTVqeL45EeM5H6FdZWkm0JTWLTRfama4Ww/s400/P3072994.JPG" /></a>Rainbow over Victoria Falls from the Zambian side. You could barely see the Falls because of the spray.<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyXJBZ77g8ByXcMikYHCpSD48ebXLxILTM4s7nKFzyS9Aq7Q__6QJd4YKUxL5uJP7eT44f6Zjv2Auy_q3-cHkLE7Pq2gmSOvyTy2j7BIbQYvnK8eGMHMGhnebHBTzmcdCxfexNmSgacMF/s1600/P3073076.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586522320471756338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOyXJBZ77g8ByXcMikYHCpSD48ebXLxILTM4s7nKFzyS9Aq7Q__6QJd4YKUxL5uJP7eT44f6Zjv2Auy_q3-cHkLE7Pq2gmSOvyTy2j7BIbQYvnK8eGMHMGhnebHBTzmcdCxfexNmSgacMF/s400/P3073076.JPG" /></a>Sunset on the Zambezi from our booze-cruise on the Lady Livingstone<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTG0MeCc-GyGfVkojQCm4-jQ35Wey3FBRIhtdCW47yqAEjiHcQbwORfvRFGG0G2yHdpbXQsCakkVOm7zYGOvxSTjlVylh-td0iqDnjedZqgwXm-kkC1kgfzTyGVKXvqnGaWpAbFNXKC_a/s1600/P3073033.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586535654919092562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglTG0MeCc-GyGfVkojQCm4-jQ35Wey3FBRIhtdCW47yqAEjiHcQbwORfvRFGG0G2yHdpbXQsCakkVOm7zYGOvxSTjlVylh-td0iqDnjedZqgwXm-kkC1kgfzTyGVKXvqnGaWpAbFNXKC_a/s400/P3073033.JPG" /></a>Sister takes us on a project tour in Nakatindi Village<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzviwAbbL-JdbsombEiUo-ZVQmwlOED1IfuJVockUZBzNuqlP58vXlP3S8I0VQVaf4bGdiC8tUtjuKAB1yNWNbR5BMCiZrskXma2rRIDbDop890cW9XDmLUnlroFDIpjrmSPQLCRT9WkMe/s1600/P3083082.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586535645929765634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzviwAbbL-JdbsombEiUo-ZVQmwlOED1IfuJVockUZBzNuqlP58vXlP3S8I0VQVaf4bGdiC8tUtjuKAB1yNWNbR5BMCiZrskXma2rRIDbDop890cW9XDmLUnlroFDIpjrmSPQLCRT9WkMe/s400/P3083082.JPG" /></a>A hike into the gorge one afternoon<br /></div><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">March 11th - 13th: Muchenje Lodge outside of Chobe National Park, Botswana</span><br />We all head to a pretty amazing safari lodge on the bluffs overlooking the Chobe River, Muchenje Lodge. Upon arrival drink orders are taken. Turns out all food, booze, and game drives are included in that price we've already paid. Pre-paid beer, delicious food, and stalking wild animals while someone else drives? Yes, I think this is heaven. We went on several drives over the few days and managed to see literally hundreds of elephants (Chobe claims to have over 120,000 of them in and around the unfenced park) and giraffes, which turn out to be Ginnie Munford's favorite animal. When the rest of us feign surprise at this revelation, she retorts: "I can't believe y'all didn't know that! I always took you to the giraffes first when we'd go to the Jackson Zoo." I quickly respond, "Mom, that's because they were in the first cage when you walked in the gates." Still, the giraffes seem to please her so we stop for a long time to watch them. We all quickly discover that Mom is a little too excited about her new super zoom camera and photographing duties are handed over to me, in large part to censor how often we stop for photos. Charlie seems to be most animated by the warthogs: "Just imagine slappin' a number on one of those guys and runnin' him in a greyhound race." Huh? Pops is into the kudus and for the remainder of our time in Africa he searches for a wooden kudu to put in his office. We also saw sabel, impala, water buffalo, lilac breasted something, water bucks, hippo, crocodile, zebra, and (on two separate occasions) a lone lioness. Despite a small desire to shove Charlie out near the lioness sighting, we all managed to avoid any wildlife (or sibling) attacks.<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ze4qz7RqMp96Ia_5h39BIHb1H8mw6CBqq7evrr1_o5s2k-9yV-v06maZolILqTqNVzYH5Op4USNk80h-4t4UJbU6N_zVkpbEBA5VwF_nqaXsIFyBzmDnUclZpEuIQO9GbIixboJELGh9/s1600/P3113137.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586522332727545410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ze4qz7RqMp96Ia_5h39BIHb1H8mw6CBqq7evrr1_o5s2k-9yV-v06maZolILqTqNVzYH5Op4USNk80h-4t4UJbU6N_zVkpbEBA5VwF_nqaXsIFyBzmDnUclZpEuIQO9GbIixboJELGh9/s400/P3113137.JPG" /></a>This lioness came fewer than 10 feet from our vehicle, but didn't seem the least bit phased.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWpxwvirQdZYOTzZRafso2eW3orPyRUxyICsBwGRpaTw_di5uVXD9iZ-7jx_B01hQ5TrMdiESG5I8I56tOV3ZwEe88JDGtPLNf_pgzlB_kUylJzRr_yC3mw_jcG0-CmOSQ9_N4tehDXJj/s1600/P3103126.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586535650150030210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWpxwvirQdZYOTzZRafso2eW3orPyRUxyICsBwGRpaTw_di5uVXD9iZ-7jx_B01hQ5TrMdiESG5I8I56tOV3ZwEe88JDGtPLNf_pgzlB_kUylJzRr_yC3mw_jcG0-CmOSQ9_N4tehDXJj/s400/P3103126.JPG" /></a>Elephants playing in the Chobe River. The other side of the river is Namibia.<br /><br /></div><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">March 14th - 21st: Cape Town, South Africa<br /></span>Some sort of sheep emergency prompts Charlie to change his ticket so as to forgo his few days in Cape Town (he's got a flock of sheep in Connecticut with him at graduate school). Now Sister and I are evenly matched against our parents. When we get to Cape Town it's a bit of a shock for all of us, but especially Sister, who has been living in Africa since last summer. Cape Town is very first-world: the power doesn't go out, beer comes out of a tap in the pub, and the streets are actually paved. Sister just about has a heart-attack when we go into the grocery store and immediately stocks up on all sorts of goods she can't get in Livingstone, like couscous and good cheese. Over the course of the week we hike up Table Mountain, visit Robben Island (where Mandela served 18 of his 27 years of imprisonment), take a tour out into wine country, drive down to the Cape of Good Hope, and visit a few museums. <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb4HSnofkPHAmr9LTrLR-urUXgi3i_xVhG_QfBhYalMG-F64AM9YyAYPGkmp_rgchFfuuomfnTtOV8A8n1NauQbd85KIo0T-sZ-ZUtqAxRUWlzOanvqyCzuyVxot-ro9raJZhPqrBr5RO/s1600/P3143173.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586522330385234066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGb4HSnofkPHAmr9LTrLR-urUXgi3i_xVhG_QfBhYalMG-F64AM9YyAYPGkmp_rgchFfuuomfnTtOV8A8n1NauQbd85KIo0T-sZ-ZUtqAxRUWlzOanvqyCzuyVxot-ro9raJZhPqrBr5RO/s400/P3143173.JPG" /></a>Hiking up the side of Table Mountain, which overlooks Cape Town<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcyyoTvG7P3y31K7vGcg1GydTJd3d9qXbA-GpOokMYCkvqSuINT9EO9QCtWph9f_JAOT2jMwVJ4Qzsalhn63-_g1ARDDT9er7HenaNdF5-b_0FW4fH-M76_ACftFsh9zuabFSKnKu_8Iw/s1600/P3183239.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586522323633680242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibcyyoTvG7P3y31K7vGcg1GydTJd3d9qXbA-GpOokMYCkvqSuINT9EO9QCtWph9f_JAOT2jMwVJ4Qzsalhn63-_g1ARDDT9er7HenaNdF5-b_0FW4fH-M76_ACftFsh9zuabFSKnKu_8Iw/s400/P3183239.JPG" /></a>Took a drive out to the Cape of Good Hope<br /></div><br />All-in-all, from stalking lions stalking impala to keeping our mouths shut when Sister stalled the rental car half-a-dozen times, the Munford's African Vacation was pretty stellar. Of course, somethings haven't changed much since that Gettysburg car trip: we still are fully capable of carrying on 3 conversations at once (if you do the math, that means that at least one of us is talking to ourself); headphone therapy still very much works; sometimes you (or they) just need a nap; and at the end of it we are both grateful to our family we love, but somewhat pleased to be fully capable of traveling on without them.<br /><br />From here it's up the coast to Durban before crossing over to Mozambique and into Zimbabwe. Just under a month to go...Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-64444657752307273572011-03-02T01:28:00.000-08:002011-03-02T01:45:09.943-08:00Money, Obama, and GadgetsA few more musings from the African continent. I head into Zambia tomorrow and will work my way down to Livingstone, where Sister is currently living and working. My folks and Brother come to the continent on Monday. Yes, the Griswolds take Africa. The next blog is sure to be a doosey. <br /><br /><ul><li>If Obama ever gets depressed about his approval rating in the US, he should just schedule a state visit to an African country. They love him over here. I've seen t-shirts, hats, bags, and even bubble-gum with his face plastered on them. <br /></li><li>ATMs give you money in denominations of $5 equivalent bills. I get around $200 out at a time, since that usually lasts me a week or so. This means it spits out 40 notes and I feel like a millionaire walking around with all that dough. I can't wait to get to Zimbabwe and get a billion dollar note...</li><li>There are hundreds of different languages in each of the countries I'm visiting. However, there is one word that seems to be used in all of them: MZUNGU, it's Swahili for "white person." The plural is WZUNGUS.</li><li>In Malawi, there is such a lack of a tourism infrastructure that I have yet to find a place to buy a single picture postcard. There are handmade ones you can buy in the markets, but good luck finding what we'd consider a normal picture postcard. Sorry, folks. You're not getting a card from this country.</li><li>In 1994, with the stepping down of Dr. Banda, Malawi's "President for Life," the official dress code for the country was eliminated. Thank gooodness, because I really don't think I would have fared well in a country where women can't wear trousers. Of course, I still dress conservatively so as not to offend. And I won't be looking for love while in this particular African nation - an "unnatural offence" carries a sentence of 14 years in prison. No thanks.</li><li>I've done a fair amount of travel in the last year and I've been seriously helped with a few techonological devices that weren't even invented 10 years ago. With me I carry an iPod (enourmously useful for buses that play obnoxious music or falling asleep in noisy dorm rooms), a digital camera (15 years ago it would have been near impossible to share photos of my adventures while still adventuring halfway around the world), an iPhone (the leisure of being able to download new podcasts when I reach wifi spots is pretty fantastic), and a Kindle (carrying a few ounces worth of 20 books). Of course, with each gadget comes a risk of getting it stolen, lost, or damaged. I am sad to report that my Kindle (the second one, since the first one died in Thailand) ceased to function properly this morning. So while it has been nice so far, I'm now without access to several e-Books I purchased for this trip. Good thing the 3rd world still believes in second hand books. I stocked up on 4 new reads for a little under $8. Phew.<br /></li></ul>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-71237687696909810982011-02-27T23:29:00.000-08:002011-02-28T00:18:59.164-08:00The Long Way to Lilongwe<span style="font-style: italic;">All events depicted below are true and have honestly happened to me while traveling in Malawi over the last 6 days. In order to make a more engaging narrative, however, I've taken liberty with the timeline and combined entertaining parts of several bus rides into one day's journey.<br /></span><br />It is 8:30 a.m. I've already eaten a few slices of bread for breakfast, taken my doxy (for malaria), had a cup of coffee, checked out of my last hostel, and headed out for the next day's journey. I am carrying my large 60L pack on my back, with my smaller day pack on my front. I reach the bus depot around 8:45. They call it a "depot" because "station" would imply there is some sort of building. There isn't much for a station in any of these towns, just a designated dirt lot where vans, taxis, and buses congregate. A friendly Malawian man greets me as "My friend!" and he undoubtedly has a friend who is going my way. I arrange a 45-km ride in his friend's shared taxi for 400 kwacha ($2.70). The friend drives a mid-size Toyota SUV, the kind that normally fits a family of 5 fairly comfortably. We have at least 10 people and 1 chicken in this car. The chicken is in the lap of the woman next to me, and is surprisingly subdued for the journey.<br /><br />Every 10 - 20 km there is a police roadblock. It's not entirely clear what they are looking for, but my backpack apparently looks suspicious. They inquire to the driver and all he says in response is "mzungu" (white person). This apparently suffices for an explaination and we're let through the gates without hassle. About 20 minutes into our hour-long journey, the car coasts to a stop. It appears something is wrong with the battery, so the driver flags down another car and pulls out some "jumper cables." These "jumper cables" don't have clamps on them, nor do they look to hold much voltage, and it's no surprise (to me at least) when the cables fail to deliver enough assistance. So the driver jumps in the helping vehicle to go buy a new battery. Sensing this might be a long wait, I pull my luggage out of the car and wait for a passing minibus to flag down.<br /><br />A van pulls up within 10 minutes of waiting and I've arranged the remainder of the journey for only 200 kwacha ($1.35). I give the guy my bag to throw in the back and I crawl in. These minibuses are slightly smaller than a normal 12-passenger van and fit anywhere between 16 and 20 people in them. I cram into the back seat, along with 3 other people (including one man with two chickens in a bag. These chickens are not so subdued.) The van smells strongly of fish and body odor. One-fifth of this country is Lake Malawi and someone is clearly bringing their catch to market.<br /><br />We arrive in the first town after about 2 hours or so. As soon as I step out at the bus depot, I am in a sea of touts all trying to get me to go with their friend. Without much effort, I'm thrown into one of the other minibuses bound for my next stop. I arrange the 60-km ride for 450 kwacha ($3) and ask if the driver knows the turn off for Kasito Lodge. He does and I asked to be dropped there. Considering the haste in which I was thrown into this minibus, there is a considerable lack of hurry to actually leave. I sit in the minibus at the depot for 2 hours until the vehicle is sufficiently full to leave. I eat a few slices of white bread and buy a Coke for lunch. When it comes time to leave, both the driver and the money-taker (the guy who sits by the door) hop out of the van, start pushing (ala Little Miss Sunshine), the driver hops back in while the vehicle is still in motion and revs up the engine. We're off.<br /><br />Again, I am sitting in the back and from here I can keep an eye on my luggage in the boot. The rear hatch doesn't actually close, and there's a two-inch gap of air between the hatch and the car. But a frayed looking rope seems to be doing the trick of keeping everything bound in well enough. About fifteen minutes into the ride, it begins to rain. Good thing this minibus has working windshield wipers. Oh wait, I forgot we were in Malawi. The good news is that I'm getting a nice steady stream of rain from the open rear hatch to cool me off. After 2 hours, the bus pulls over at the sign for Kasito Lodge and lets me out.<br /><br />Turns out both Kasito Lodge and the neighboring lodge recommended by The Lonely Planet are closed. No signs saying why, but they both appear empty and no one answers the locked door. Back out to the road.<br /><br />It's 4:30 by this point and I'm sitting on my bags on the side of a road running along Viphya Plateau. I can see a distant thunderstorm moving my way. It'll get dark in two hours. Hmm.<br /><br />I wait about 20 minutes before a flatbed truck pulls over and the driver asks in very good English where I'm headed. I ask him the same. He says he's going as far as Lilongwe and I'm welcome to a lift, free of charge. Only catch is I have to sit in the back of the truck among several bags of charcoal. No problem, I say. I don't want to be on this lonely stretch of road when night falls. I hop on and we take off. As we pass small villages, people on bicylces and children playing in the roads all turn to look at the mzungu riding in the back of this truck, smile, and wave. I spot a sticker on the windshield reading "This Car Fueled By the Blood of Jesus." I think I have just met a real life good Samaritan.<br /><br />Around nightfall, the nice man pulls over to rearrange some things in the cab of his truck. He points ahead and says "It's raining ahead. Get in the truck and you'll stay dry." So for the remainder of the 3.5 hour ride I'm inside the cab. My new friend, Tregia, speaks pretty good English and rants for a while about how he can't get a tourism visa for the US. But he never asks me for money and refuses it when I offer. He even takes me directly to the hostel where I've decided I want to stay in Lilongwe. When I asked him why he picked me up he just says, "You looked stranded. You can be on that road for hours until a bus pass. Maybe 11 or midnight you not arrive in Lilongwe."<br /><br />And that, is a solid dose of traveling in Malawi. Often it's the getting there that's the biggest adventure. I'm headed to a small town outside of Lilongwe for a couple of nights and then back here to catch a bus to Lusaka and then on to Livingstone.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWmjNHu4py_1Hb_6H5Gs_c7FJkQf05RN1325YnmXq6gcTmMt1P3bpGAluKBdFAxH9F6OnAN3_wysSu281Xr-ZNPVkKGQ8jzz4q8VAuuj1ybddHwfexX4DGO_HLVvnsOQ3txXARk5kFU2CQ/s1600/P2242944.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWmjNHu4py_1Hb_6H5Gs_c7FJkQf05RN1325YnmXq6gcTmMt1P3bpGAluKBdFAxH9F6OnAN3_wysSu281Xr-ZNPVkKGQ8jzz4q8VAuuj1ybddHwfexX4DGO_HLVvnsOQ3txXARk5kFU2CQ/s400/P2242944.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578650331926561378" border="0" /></a>Dugout canoes on Lake Malawi<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxF4t7BfD-zsnOjdDu5NNlFyXYImoZsD4DBLjNSIrK5duzSepxdojfMmfOgzGYJTFLdPK2ap0MX0wCG9rdZ-CClC4iAhL8WowLCdOEDk0fRvN3sz5kmopl982730yMLV-KvT83fSjMzaZ/s1600/P2262956.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxF4t7BfD-zsnOjdDu5NNlFyXYImoZsD4DBLjNSIrK5duzSepxdojfMmfOgzGYJTFLdPK2ap0MX0wCG9rdZ-CClC4iAhL8WowLCdOEDk0fRvN3sz5kmopl982730yMLV-KvT83fSjMzaZ/s400/P2262956.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578650327303300530" border="0" /></a><br />These minibuses fit between 16 and 20 people in them<br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-52972743211242272402011-02-24T02:52:00.000-08:002011-02-24T03:09:59.281-08:00Fried Chicken at 14,000 ftI am standing under a small patch of shade on a hot dusty two-lane road waiting to flag down a van going south. There aren't any vehicles in sight, just people walking and riding at least two-to-a-bike. There's unmistakeably African music pumping out of one of the concrete buildings on my left. There are some guys under a bamboo structure grilling meat on a stick, and kids are all running to and from the school around the corner. No doubt about it, I'm finally in Africa. Malawi, to be precise, which seems only to have one main road running north to south. It's easy enough to find a ride because anyone who owns a car here is running a taxi service...or at least that's what it seems like.<br /><br />5 days in Dar Es Salaam and Zanzibar, 9 days around and on Kilimanjaro, 2 days on the road south into Malawi. It's been a wild trip already and I've got weeks to come. I've already taken a dip in the Indian Ocean, watched sunrise from over 19,000 feet above sea level, and spent over 35 hours on various buses. In keeping with my usual format, there are some musings of the Kilimanjaro expedition and subsequent adventures below.<br /><br /><ul><li>The Lion King is actually useful research before coming to East Africa. People honestly say "Hakuna Matata" (no worries) and "rafiki" is Swahili for "friend."</li><li>Our Kili trip employed 35 porters, cooks, and guides for 10 hikers. We could hardly believe it took that many, but after our first meal of epic proportions we understood a little better. Especially on day 3 when we lunched at 4300 meters above sea level and they fed us fried chicken. It wasn't the best fried chicken I've ever had, but it was still fried chicken...at 14,000 feet above sea level.<br /></li><li>Our hiking group eventually used the law of averages to get any sort of understanding on what we were doing/where we were going/how long it'd take to get there. We had two guides, each with a different answer each time you'd ask. English isn't their first language and you can tell.</li><li>We went on a pretty basic trip - luxurious for backpacker standards but cheaper than many other outfits. At first we wondered what that extra $1,000 got you, and then we realized at the second campsite that it gets you your own group outhouse instead of sharing with all the other hikers and porters. Nice I suppose, but really a grand for an outhouse??</li><li>I am sure that all the trekking companies summit Kili at sunrise so you don't know what you're getting yourself into as you walk up. Coming down in the daylight it seemed far steeper than I remembered staggering up in the dark...</li><li>Everyone knows the word "yes" but not necessarily the words in your question. I have learned it best to not ask yes/no questions because you'll get an answer, but not necessarily the truthful one.</li></ul>I'm in Malawi for another 10 days and then over to Zambia to meet the rest of the Munfords in Livingstone, where Sister is working. What a life...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM1wOmtvMuTichE4d7CvkBsUuj3ifFTmKHJhPIxImt3P7zEB6hnLbYN08pIREMR_UVvXvU0a6oyFD2PqS8nSnUVxxtp4VsgNfLw688py8DOEh3rLiFQHUzBj5MlqIHBy1HzJ5lUFF0ZKG/s1600/P2112776.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM1wOmtvMuTichE4d7CvkBsUuj3ifFTmKHJhPIxImt3P7zEB6hnLbYN08pIREMR_UVvXvU0a6oyFD2PqS8nSnUVxxtp4VsgNfLw688py8DOEh3rLiFQHUzBj5MlqIHBy1HzJ5lUFF0ZKG/s400/P2112776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577208316872307906" border="0" /></a>Sunset on Zanzibar<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIFq-_uFCgxnTeBKMiA66sMhVhd60ALr7-Z1YE0Y5P8Mk1N0wnxOBuFnLlp2do1JjXd70WkEvNVWuhpnbxCpwL97xHKKOkeycQP2zCVfoiN31HhPSUPzOPvY3iSzZ4GRNdgzhaeZOk8-u/s1600/P2152858.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGIFq-_uFCgxnTeBKMiA66sMhVhd60ALr7-Z1YE0Y5P8Mk1N0wnxOBuFnLlp2do1JjXd70WkEvNVWuhpnbxCpwL97xHKKOkeycQP2zCVfoiN31HhPSUPzOPvY3iSzZ4GRNdgzhaeZOk8-u/s400/P2152858.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577208312850901714" border="0" /></a><br />Sunset at Shira Cave Campground elev. 3,800 meters above sea level<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2V4YdSEB8vwmacs8y8qTaxRSa6U46GnRm98Ps2R37no44HmBl_XOJ8opbt2eAj84Olhnif7BwHpT_wUO9meD8LLwkt2yBabciOLcyg_U7AvStJxRPZWo5YvnvIIaip4-vGKeVni547KB/s1600/P2182889.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif2V4YdSEB8vwmacs8y8qTaxRSa6U46GnRm98Ps2R37no44HmBl_XOJ8opbt2eAj84Olhnif7BwHpT_wUO9meD8LLwkt2yBabciOLcyg_U7AvStJxRPZWo5YvnvIIaip4-vGKeVni547KB/s400/P2182889.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577208312591213202" border="0" /></a>Sunrise hits Kili at camp on day 5<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQzEYpcW0jH1h1zZak6lP9QgelNkjm2ubaeCGQJJ70RuAIg_0RFn8-mmTooIKyU3gdtWitLhKyAcYdHHyGHcYIw9Qoza4bccAtgDdOUiOzfVLYi7Qklf5Al4PuPOmjIAlygxIVTEWG6OL/s1600/P2192908.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQzEYpcW0jH1h1zZak6lP9QgelNkjm2ubaeCGQJJ70RuAIg_0RFn8-mmTooIKyU3gdtWitLhKyAcYdHHyGHcYIw9Qoza4bccAtgDdOUiOzfVLYi7Qklf5Al4PuPOmjIAlygxIVTEWG6OL/s400/P2192908.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577208310192728466" border="0" /></a>Sister and Me at the top of Kilimanjaro!<br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-46972495248894356642011-02-11T00:42:00.000-08:002011-02-11T01:00:49.509-08:00Jambo from Zanzibar, a small island off the coast of Tanzania!<div><br /></div><div>Well, here I am - on the last leg of my world tour, on the continent I've been most curious about. I flew into Jozi (Johannesburg) last Monday, spent a day without my luggage, and then flew up to Dar Es Salaam. My luggage just barely made it from ATL in time for my DAR flight, but alas, it did. Though it may come as no surprise, it is warm here - like <i>really</i> warm. Not quite northeast Thailand warm, but something akin to southern Vietnam warm. So I've busted out the sunscreen and shades and welcomed a real summer back into my life. I'm on Zanzibar for the big East African music festival, Sauti za Busara (Sounds of Wisdom, in KiSwahili). I'll return mainland on Sunday, meet up with Sister, and then we head to Moshi on Monday to start hiking Kilimanjaro on Tuesday. And with any luck, we should summit on the 19th, which I am sure you haven't forgotten, is my 26th birthday. Initial insights and musings below:</div><div><ul><li>People in Tanzania speak Swahili, not English. I keep having to stop myself from attempting to speak Spanish. It seems to be my "go-to" language when I feel like people aren't understanding me. I'm pretty sure the people who don't speak English, don't speak Spanish either. So it's back to my days in Southeast Asia, where you speak really slow grammatically incorrect English and just keep smiling - surely they'll figure out what I am saying eventually.</li><li>Who knew that Africa would be the place I felt like I fit in? Okay, okay, my skin color may be a bit more fair than most but in general I'm the right height and normally proportioned. After months of being that ridiculously tall, skinny kid walking around, I actually feel less conspicuous in Africa than I ever did in South America or Southeast Asia. Plus, there are white Africans, so it's not immediately obvious that I'm American.</li><li>Dance is equally as important to a performance as music. Every band we've seen has a few people whose job is primarily to just dance. And holy moly, these girls put Shakira to shame - those hips don't lie, they don't lie at all.</li><li>This is my first time traveling in a Muslim country. The biggest drawback that I have found thus far, is that on a really hot day, when you'd like to get a cold beer and relax on your veranda it's nearly impossible to find a shop that actually sells beer. There are bars and restaurants that sell alcohol, but it is rarely found in the local shops because many of the local people don't drink it. Second biggest drawback is the very loud calls to prayer at 5 am. In the afternoon it's quite lovely to hear, but not so much in the wee hours of the morning.</li></ul><div>Next time you hear from me, I'll be down off the mountain. </div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-27334650714720474092011-01-18T15:46:00.000-08:002011-01-18T16:07:21.140-08:00Final Impressions from South AmericaThis will be my last blog post from South America. It's been twelve weeks and (to quote a fellow travel partner) two scoops of fun. I made it back to Bolivia for a little over a week and then did the big schlep back to Lima (30 hours by bus). Sadly, for some reason when I plug in my camera pictures past New Years don't show up, but check out facebook in a few days and I should have added them. My last thoughts on this pretty spectacular leg of the adventure:<br /><ul><li>For countries that are remarkably inefficient, local people certainly are impatient. Surely no one expects the bus to leave on time, but that doesn't stop people from jumping in front of you in lines once the doors open, and it certainly doesn't keep them from stomping their feet and banging the windows when a stop takes too long.</li><li>Based on my interactions of late, all of Argentina is on summer vacation in Peru. All of Brazil is in Bolivia.</li><li>Also, for a place that regularly crams people into small spaces, they aren't really fans of having to squish beside me. Now, I am 5´10" and have recently been weighed in at 135 pounds with my hiking boots on, so other than my legs I don't take up much space. But if that didn't keep two Andean women in Bolivia getting into a cat fight about having to share a 3-seat bench with me on one bus ride. Here's an idea: shed one of your 18 petticoats and put at least one of your three massive bags of stuff on the roof rack. I don't think I can slim down much more without having serious health risks...</li><li>The spanish language, as I have come to know it, is pretty great because they use one word for multiple things that aren't usually related. For example, "que" can mean "what," "than," "to," and probably a number of other things. A less common word like "llama" can mean the animal, flame, or to call someone. This makes vocabulary pretty easy to learn. Unfortunately, some words also sound remarkably alike. For example, "vacuna," which means "vaccine" also sounds like "vicuña," which is a cousin of the llama. Be careful when you walk into a clinic and say "Necessito la vicuña" (I need a little llama cousin) when you mean to say "Necessito la vacuna" (I need the vaccine).</li><li>Like many places around the globe, expect to pay for the bathroom in South America. In some cases, they will even give you a reciept. For those of you familiar with the comedian Mitch Hedburg, this immediately cued: I cannot imagine a possible scenario in which I would need to prove I used the bathroom. Hey man, don't even act like I didn't use the bathroom. I've got a reciept to prove it...</li><li>Catching a bus here is remarkably easy. Just hang out at the bus station, or a corner, and wait for someone to yell your destination. Even in established stations where the counters list the possible destinations, people still feel the need to yell "LaPa-LaPaaaaaz" or "Arequiiiiiiipa, Arequiiiiipa."</li><li>I think I will survive if I never again hear a pan flute cover of an awful song. "The Rose" is bad enough in its original form, let alone in pan flute. These pan flute covers are popular to play on buses anywhere.</li><li>La Paz, Bolivia is built in a canyon, which makes for some pretty spectacular hills. Basically, it is like San Fransisco at 12,000 feet. Yeah, that'll take your breath away for sure.</li><li>I have found that even in cushy seats, 30 hours is destined to make your bum sore (especially if you have a little less padding than you used to).</li><li>I arrived in Lima, the first time in 12 weeks that I have been below 8,000 feet - the oxygen kind of made me nuts. So despite having spent the night on a wobbly bus I went for a 4 mile run just to wear off some of the energy. Nothing like 12 weeks of elevation to get you into outrageous shape. </li></ul>With any luck, I head out tomorrow night. Back to the states to re-pack the bags, see a few folks and then on to Africa - the final frontier for full adventure.Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-62896494393137605092011-01-04T11:33:00.000-08:002011-01-04T11:55:58.136-08:00The Holidays and a Little TiticacaJust 2 weeks to go in the South American portion of the peregrination! The last week or so includes time in Cusco for both Navidad and the New Year (with a few days of Lake Titicaca thrown in between). Both, I have learned, are celebrated with absurd amounts of fireworks. The fireworks have yet to cease entirely, which means I often find myself ducking for cover while trying to walk down the street. I hope to venture back into Bolivia by the end of the week (I hear Evo rescinded his order to raise gas prices 78% and so the people have stopped rioting) for 10 days or so before schlepping back to Lima for my return flight to the States.<div><ul><li>One pretty fabulous Christmas tradition in Cusco involves nativity scenes. On Christmas Eve, they block off traffic and open the main square for a huge market. You can find the usual wool gloves, alpaca scarves, and leather keychains. You can also find, however, an entire section dedicated to DIY nativity scenes. People (mostly women) are selling the wooden frames, little figurines including llamas and wisemen with chollos (wool hats with the earflaps), and any earthen material needed for adequate manger bedding. </li><li>On Christmas Day, there are vendors lined up outside of the church in the main square selling whatever you may need for a DIY Jesus-cradle. This means people are selling the little baskets, little Jesus dolls, and clothes for the little Jesus dolls. During Mass, people put their Jesus cradles on the steps near the altar and get the Jesus cradles blessed. They just love the DIY-Christmas spirit around here!</li><li>After Christmas we headed to Copacabana and Isla del Sol on the Bolivian side of Lake Titicaca. On Isla del Sol you can eat one of two things - trout or pizza. Our favorite place we found was called Las Velas (the candles) and had no electricity. We were wooed by the sign on the path that claimed "Organic pizza made by gourmet chef." When we finally found the restuarant tucked back into the grove of eucalyptus trees, the guy who took our order was wearing a cap with a rather familiar logo - Domino's Pizza. I guess he's trained with the best? (The pizza was actually far better than Domino's.)</li><li>We tried to leave Copacabana for La Paz, but Evo Morales raised gas prices 78% and people were a bit upset. The civil unrest made La Paz impossible to get to, so plan B was to return to Peru. If our bus didn't leave, our plan C was to steal a swan paddle boat and just peddle across Titicaca. It would've been a great escape story...</li></ul></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY9ft0D5HpNKYG7ACIO0lTCr0YFnJtbin6v-4aJSy82_Y-W28bou-k2ZZ2T0wIyB9-mBE9WlLIWR8Ewrlx_VayHSRVNoyJPCzTYzvnorUF3D69biYKm1g1HqA6DxQRlNVRhPJch0BFR1C/s1600/PC312620.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmY9ft0D5HpNKYG7ACIO0lTCr0YFnJtbin6v-4aJSy82_Y-W28bou-k2ZZ2T0wIyB9-mBE9WlLIWR8Ewrlx_VayHSRVNoyJPCzTYzvnorUF3D69biYKm1g1HqA6DxQRlNVRhPJch0BFR1C/s400/PC312620.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558418477100272034" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Celebrating the New Year with Karin and Liddell in the Plaza!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1trezYSoOZCm_QRwvVezlRsYAr0gsYnqCAE362ZtwqUCYVzhpCFT4tO3hvDdfZ9YyWDRtFPdJplOLkrg5AeANa-Xu54SRyoHKXfvrI8rAkcMQElHZuZchQwFlLEkGqAq43WF7xMI1X3Y/s1600/PC272565.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1trezYSoOZCm_QRwvVezlRsYAr0gsYnqCAE362ZtwqUCYVzhpCFT4tO3hvDdfZ9YyWDRtFPdJplOLkrg5AeANa-Xu54SRyoHKXfvrI8rAkcMQElHZuZchQwFlLEkGqAq43WF7xMI1X3Y/s400/PC272565.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558418465095041170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Copacabana, Bolivia from a nearby hillside</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSEkfOepvT-JXu1tjao1VwSEXXjgW57TknjNegqWZEfRurG-vblvwMf7lA6reRIjvVhl25v26x-BzGvo3r38gMnGX3nSFNe8UPscqK_s9i2cIzOVm2KxLtptPpeadBPfKD52vG6RaiuZo/s1600/PC282597.JPG"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSEkfOepvT-JXu1tjao1VwSEXXjgW57TknjNegqWZEfRurG-vblvwMf7lA6reRIjvVhl25v26x-BzGvo3r38gMnGX3nSFNe8UPscqK_s9i2cIzOVm2KxLtptPpeadBPfKD52vG6RaiuZo/s1600/PC282597.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSEkfOepvT-JXu1tjao1VwSEXXjgW57TknjNegqWZEfRurG-vblvwMf7lA6reRIjvVhl25v26x-BzGvo3r38gMnGX3nSFNe8UPscqK_s9i2cIzOVm2KxLtptPpeadBPfKD52vG6RaiuZo/s400/PC282597.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558418469902533298" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset over Lake Titicaca</div><div><br /></div></div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-17069973926642032282010-12-24T06:40:00.000-08:002010-12-24T07:36:09.271-08:00Mamma LetterFor those of you who didn't attend or work at Camp Green Cove, there is a weekly ritual known as the "Mamma Letter." The letter is from the camper's counselor (or Counselor in Training) to the camper's parents to give a weekly update. For this blog entry, my two travel companions (both former Green Cove counselors) wrote a Mamma Letter about the past week, namely our 5-day trek to Machu Picchu via the Salkantay Pass. The letter may or may not have been written on the return train to Cusco, over cervezas bought for us by a very nice middle-aged Argentinian man. Pictures below the letter.<div>----------------------------</div><div>Hola from Peru!</div><div><br /></div><div>Plettner and Liddell here from Middler Nowhere. This has been a very busy week. Munny was out on a 5-day. She has been enjoying hiking, climbing, and eating. She has also been seen looking at horses and llamas, which is closer to the barn than she has been in years. She even reported seeing the ever-elusive Andean Mountain Elk (also known as the common cow).</div><div><br /></div><div>Her 5-day Salkantay trek to Machu Picchu was led by Ernesto, a certified DTL from SAS Travel. Though the first day consisted of light hiking, it did include a major activity (swimming) when the group encountered a surprise hail storm. The second day was more strenuous, climbing to over 15,000 feet at Salkantay Pass. Although the day was 9 hours of hiking, Munny kept a smile on her face due to the coca leaves (nature) that she chewed the entire time. On days 3 & 4 Munny and the group made their way from the snowy rocky terrain to the lush mountainous jungle along the Salkantay River. On the riverbank, she and her friends often stopped for chalk talks on how one might run the mighty Salkantay and Urubamba Rivers. After much discussion it was determined that even the legendary A.Bell wouldn't attempt such a feat. After several long days of trekking, she and her new friends relaxed in the hot springs (swimming) at the foot of Machu Picchu. The trip culminated on the fifth day with a visit to Machu Picchu. Major activities included hiking, climbing (without harnesses or ropes) up Huaynupichu Mountain, and being close to llamas (riding/barn). </div><div><br /></div><div>Munny has done a great job of making new friends, yet keeping the old. She especially got along with two young Aussies, Dave and Kate. By the end of the trip, she and her friends even managed to charm two very tall retired Dutchman who thought they never shut up. Although we do not normally consider eating to be a major activity, the sheer quantity ingested during this trip warrants such a status. Always up for a challenge, Munny and her friends managed to eat more (and drink more tea) than seemed humanly possible. This is in special thanks to Efrain, the cook that accompanied their trip. </div><div><br /></div><div>We are attaching some photos. Hope you enjoy them half as much as she and her friends enjoyed the trip.</div><div><br /></div><div>Until next week,</div><div>Liddell and Plettner</div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzJOg6HnFdYhHL0-068573WLhuRRs6SebfWDCTHjchh0DOddvXP24-zXL-kCsj4XtdWR_HrkS5F6fnXouiGnw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div>Ernesto explains how to chew coca<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHs0YOscr12tdy3XaEA7egH_yc3ucijZK3QST2KcWhHo7u6euY9vkkUY1mu-Y2wtnBmmIjh0qsDRx-jRX7kh5aDPIZvI4COfp2cWoKSMSXpY9CH-_De-jT76r9cBjWWUTtB-ah90xKAEZ/s1600/PC182339.JPG"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHs0YOscr12tdy3XaEA7egH_yc3ucijZK3QST2KcWhHo7u6euY9vkkUY1mu-Y2wtnBmmIjh0qsDRx-jRX7kh5aDPIZvI4COfp2cWoKSMSXpY9CH-_De-jT76r9cBjWWUTtB-ah90xKAEZ/s1600/PC182339.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHs0YOscr12tdy3XaEA7egH_yc3ucijZK3QST2KcWhHo7u6euY9vkkUY1mu-Y2wtnBmmIjh0qsDRx-jRX7kh5aDPIZvI4COfp2cWoKSMSXpY9CH-_De-jT76r9cBjWWUTtB-ah90xKAEZ/s400/PC182339.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554271387561713682" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Green Cove 3 starting off the trek to Machu Picchu</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyaqjeVyJiBXFG5jU_FPk1-Zc8zr13N2g_3wApKM2CLdxgdeIRYvhiAxq_Ghef9SlluaizaMPjs9tEcCzb2z8TDc_yUB7VcX61TH8DyIVnOlgJUzsh2AKQJsMf89ZbddApVkHdYY4Asrdv/s1600/PC192387.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyaqjeVyJiBXFG5jU_FPk1-Zc8zr13N2g_3wApKM2CLdxgdeIRYvhiAxq_Ghef9SlluaizaMPjs9tEcCzb2z8TDc_yUB7VcX61TH8DyIVnOlgJUzsh2AKQJsMf89ZbddApVkHdYY4Asrdv/s400/PC192387.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554271393973555362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">On the hike up to Salkantay Pass</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbz5KEk5p3oktY7e6z2pkcTnuadVG8COa9oHzBGHb3N6UFNr1RwhG_kZCyPPsYbFxDjayGU7nBsFwDGufqQcYoc0voyXQ8qE1GEpSmZjyPWqzXl8HYkK9YxxiN2bdmQlVGb6r5JVkTe-v/s1600/PC222508.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdbz5KEk5p3oktY7e6z2pkcTnuadVG8COa9oHzBGHb3N6UFNr1RwhG_kZCyPPsYbFxDjayGU7nBsFwDGufqQcYoc0voyXQ8qE1GEpSmZjyPWqzXl8HYkK9YxxiN2bdmQlVGb6r5JVkTe-v/s400/PC222508.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554271400581702898" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The mighty Green Cove 3 at Machu Picchu</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ffiWHT3oLoJ0kR2tN6LXqw4E2xVilf6pyAbsJDr2vpT9ACxc3kNgh_JAsN42h-_QK-62u-CrkYUOeCjzGsrO6799XYv2CN2TX12D9kZybLws72jV2pUroBQTCQC44Mm7mpnBuZv4Y6Kh/s1600/PC222517.JPG"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ffiWHT3oLoJ0kR2tN6LXqw4E2xVilf6pyAbsJDr2vpT9ACxc3kNgh_JAsN42h-_QK-62u-CrkYUOeCjzGsrO6799XYv2CN2TX12D9kZybLws72jV2pUroBQTCQC44Mm7mpnBuZv4Y6Kh/s1600/PC222517.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ffiWHT3oLoJ0kR2tN6LXqw4E2xVilf6pyAbsJDr2vpT9ACxc3kNgh_JAsN42h-_QK-62u-CrkYUOeCjzGsrO6799XYv2CN2TX12D9kZybLws72jV2pUroBQTCQC44Mm7mpnBuZv4Y6Kh/s400/PC222517.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554271399208473218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">At the ancient Inca city</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-5735992311064256622010-12-15T06:33:00.000-08:002010-12-15T07:36:41.508-08:00Buses, Boats, and My Two FeetI finished spanish classes in Cusco Dec. 3rd and set off for the road - the official test of how much spanish I've been able to pick up. Considering I am now able to understand when the guy says, "To catch the return boat, you need to go to a different port than the one where we drop you off. It is on the other side of the island. Just ask for directions.", I would call my spanish classes a success. <div><br /></div><div>I left Cusco at 6 am (well actually, I got on a bus at 6 am that pulled out of the parking lot at 6:30, did a lap around the main obelisk in town and promptly returned to the station for another hour before it was full enough to proceed to Arequipa). I met an old camp friend, Plettner, in Arequipa, the second largest city in Peru. From there we've been off on some fine adventures, including Colca Canyon (nearly twice as deep as the Grand Canyon in it's deepest spot), Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca, an island made entirely of reeds, Taquile Island, and then back to Cusco. We're meeting yet another camp friend here on Friday and we all start trekking (via Salkantay for those of you who know anything about trekking in Peru) to Machu Picchu on Sunday. Observations and amusing happenings below (along with pictures). </div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>It is basically summer down here since it's the southern hemisphere. This also means the rainy season, but still it includes warmer temperatures. The Peruvian response to 75 degree days is the sweater vest with a wool coat on top. I would love to see what these people where during their winter season...</li><li>That said, it was actually cold at night in Cabanaconde, the small village perched on the edge of Colca Canyon where we stayed. Our hostel roof was literally a tarp (hey, you can't beat 12 soles/night including breakfast - $4), so we were concerned with being cold in the night. As a result we each had close to 8 wool blankets on our beds. Luckily, this was plenty sufficient, but it did feel as if we slept with a 20 pound weight on top of us. </li><li>Also, if you are looking for an authentic Navidad experience, might I recommend Cabanaconde. Regardless of where you sleep in town, you will certainly wake up feeling lik Mary and Joseph in a barnyard. It seems perfectly normal for people to keep herds of sheep and chickens in their courtyards, ensuring that everyone in town can hear them at 3, 4, 5, and 6 am. </li><li>There are multiple caminos (paths) down the 3,900 feet to the floor of the canyon (this is not it's deepest point, just the point where we were based out of). However, for each "camino" there seem to be two routes - the local and the express. Of course the "local" is for gringos and the "express" is for the locals. The local obviously has switchbacks, whereas the express seems to go straight down (and straight back up). </li><li>By far my favorite recent discovery about Peru is political in nature. Turns out that when a politician is running for office he or she adopts some sort of symbol. This symbol is on all their advertisements and also printed next to their name on the ballot. This is extremely helpful for people who can't read, but can recognize the symbol of their candidate. Now, often these symbols often have absolutely nothing to do with politics. For example, there is the guy whose symbol is a shovel, or the one whose symbol is a loaf of bread in front of a mountain, or three stick figures holding hands, or a llama, or a hat, or<b> my personal favorite</b> a <i>chicken kicking a soccer ball</i>. I mean, you can't really fault the guy - Peruvians do love chicken and soccer, so why not combine them for political advantage?</li></ul><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrqYQLGqyjcR7Vr9CeuXA7Jidstc1KHinFDepayCsqlVptNhX8ckCfgX6IH8UtfR996aYOy4BEejaQuDYEYNGYCE-a3SAXEXXIx4B3GxLMLNZyjztI5OJiVtiIbHg8I8i0_DbVQ5aB5er/s1600/PC092223.JPG"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcRqGfOl9c0G5RT5siMYcbS-H_TMOmOKseVxoEMnO0R-vXJTgxhmx02i5nZJDXFa3zehn-uyU8-89iYP9g_qJ1YqI7uCBLkb2wXjrIu_hMpEcQNgYxh0lssW_BrLQjba89Ueo5yolve21/s1600/PC052136.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcRqGfOl9c0G5RT5siMYcbS-H_TMOmOKseVxoEMnO0R-vXJTgxhmx02i5nZJDXFa3zehn-uyU8-89iYP9g_qJ1YqI7uCBLkb2wXjrIu_hMpEcQNgYxh0lssW_BrLQjba89Ueo5yolve21/s400/PC052136.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550923528989137122" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Market in Arequipa. Anyone else find it somewhat disturbing to have dolls perched on fruit?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8T-WvJC2sMsOnDB1vOSnkftsgcKEZup40BswgR22ATxwyTWKyvnBG6uNf5Zsa02E4nulGtA_Y9_CR9RgkouTUkxXL4egKB-4FwE2xnp28Au15m-FlBgXKHJSefNTaZpOonxdH6c3yGDM/s1600/PC072165.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8T-WvJC2sMsOnDB1vOSnkftsgcKEZup40BswgR22ATxwyTWKyvnBG6uNf5Zsa02E4nulGtA_Y9_CR9RgkouTUkxXL4egKB-4FwE2xnp28Au15m-FlBgXKHJSefNTaZpOonxdH6c3yGDM/s400/PC072165.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550928444021236818" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Plett was delayed in getting to Arequipa so I took a day trip to Mollendo, a beach town. It was plenty warm, but full summer season hasn't started yet so the beach was nearly deserted.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEXqDTMBU1XgArrXl9iLkykMIQ4EOrq-XszNKMC-ekoF3evouXQbpOKwwzkjTzN2m_-4F6_2OxJK3EF8nhecJi-qHB5JlwEsq5a6VdnA9VugQLqX7quEwX53wEsj9tms8EYKnZw0syatL/s1600/PC092201.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWEXqDTMBU1XgArrXl9iLkykMIQ4EOrq-XszNKMC-ekoF3evouXQbpOKwwzkjTzN2m_-4F6_2OxJK3EF8nhecJi-qHB5JlwEsq5a6VdnA9VugQLqX7quEwX53wEsj9tms8EYKnZw0syatL/s400/PC092201.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550928447762964162" /></a>Standing at the top of the canyon outside Cabanaconde. That green spot down there is the oasis we hiked to - 3,900 vertical feet down and back in one day's work.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrqYQLGqyjcR7Vr9CeuXA7Jidstc1KHinFDepayCsqlVptNhX8ckCfgX6IH8UtfR996aYOy4BEejaQuDYEYNGYCE-a3SAXEXXIx4B3GxLMLNZyjztI5OJiVtiIbHg8I8i0_DbVQ5aB5er/s1600/PC092223.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrqYQLGqyjcR7Vr9CeuXA7Jidstc1KHinFDepayCsqlVptNhX8ckCfgX6IH8UtfR996aYOy4BEejaQuDYEYNGYCE-a3SAXEXXIx4B3GxLMLNZyjztI5OJiVtiIbHg8I8i0_DbVQ5aB5er/s400/PC092223.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550930461513896914" />T</a>he camino down to the oasis begins in someone's corn field.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrqYQLGqyjcR7Vr9CeuXA7Jidstc1KHinFDepayCsqlVptNhX8ckCfgX6IH8UtfR996aYOy4BEejaQuDYEYNGYCE-a3SAXEXXIx4B3GxLMLNZyjztI5OJiVtiIbHg8I8i0_DbVQ5aB5er/s1600/PC092223.JPG"><br /></a></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvlqbblv4SDnypz_dkif9bk-LdN08CEiPPaPIPd4S9WZyiuc73W3zdrZIiDUirlYD_tD6W-weYKrhUe3BtCYQyPcQpZb72dCrfJ4WP_b00a5BSaHdZPqCf44iWasxOzlNpwahlB48uMy-/s1600/PC102237.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvlqbblv4SDnypz_dkif9bk-LdN08CEiPPaPIPd4S9WZyiuc73W3zdrZIiDUirlYD_tD6W-weYKrhUe3BtCYQyPcQpZb72dCrfJ4WP_b00a5BSaHdZPqCf44iWasxOzlNpwahlB48uMy-/s400/PC102237.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550928461836888930" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The "oasis" at the bottom of the canyon. A great way to spend a couple of hours before schlepping back up to the top.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rus9LQC80Ak-Q5I9wHAeaBfBvk3k7KLeWZPfyCeU0CAeBJWFS-0FY73XRGINedssyR__re2YJwUllRJmIKv266U7y7qQU4DaIoL79JFNgsnCOkj0ApFUI2kbO0rugjOQyWv4jr5ei_gR/s1600/PC102265.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rus9LQC80Ak-Q5I9wHAeaBfBvk3k7KLeWZPfyCeU0CAeBJWFS-0FY73XRGINedssyR__re2YJwUllRJmIKv266U7y7qQU4DaIoL79JFNgsnCOkj0ApFUI2kbO0rugjOQyWv4jr5ei_gR/s400/PC102265.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550928456295928354" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Vote Elmer. Chicken + soccer = gotta be a good guy.</div><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF2ilMHMLT9apOGesbHnlwuRzHU5OrOW-0gialPBCS9Lswr9s4JlGTNL2nDFDOMeSIagxccyqJuU4K_GCNRL7Gp9ckhBmV4BB-iz_6pvaRU9u4OXdhpYwbNr4xC0f-jetqQ7K39O-LII3/s1600/PC142309.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF2ilMHMLT9apOGesbHnlwuRzHU5OrOW-0gialPBCS9Lswr9s4JlGTNL2nDFDOMeSIagxccyqJuU4K_GCNRL7Gp9ckhBmV4BB-iz_6pvaRU9u4OXdhpYwbNr4xC0f-jetqQ7K39O-LII3/s400/PC142309.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550930456048262418" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This guy likes bread. And you should too.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4DS5plXK7mJJvyDOt8HADJ8Trot-ygTeqSebZJsL8LQqfPY50SPECpRkinlJpXaCxjFmX-cpPU7ILn5d56XrVnxP3h2Ng1WBfcZcMSIPUDCq_p43EjdJTCs2LgSQjb0B7rSJENOSHXp7/s1600/PC122272.JPG"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4DS5plXK7mJJvyDOt8HADJ8Trot-ygTeqSebZJsL8LQqfPY50SPECpRkinlJpXaCxjFmX-cpPU7ILn5d56XrVnxP3h2Ng1WBfcZcMSIPUDCq_p43EjdJTCs2LgSQjb0B7rSJENOSHXp7/s1600/PC122272.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4DS5plXK7mJJvyDOt8HADJ8Trot-ygTeqSebZJsL8LQqfPY50SPECpRkinlJpXaCxjFmX-cpPU7ILn5d56XrVnxP3h2Ng1WBfcZcMSIPUDCq_p43EjdJTCs2LgSQjb0B7rSJENOSHXp7/s400/PC122272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550923525957681970" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">A floating island on Lake Titicaca, made entirely of reeds. Please note the solar panel.</div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-19243995709631131902010-12-01T13:54:00.000-08:002010-12-01T14:42:21.384-08:00Photos from Peru<div>Okay, finally found a place that would let me upload these to blogger. Below are a sampling of some of my photos, for those of you who haven't seen them on facebook.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF4ixzpY1OCkjkQaptzFwwF-p32oC0Tzz2vpPGBW452k03boVTreGx_w-dIc7UAC3ngd5IbdKEJ8XlOmxLa9FPuz6sMdJO3ti8-m2s4vq6HVlwEsxiTqFg6dV9q8Uq-M-uxjsMVghrCrT/s1600/PB041970.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrF4ixzpY1OCkjkQaptzFwwF-p32oC0Tzz2vpPGBW452k03boVTreGx_w-dIc7UAC3ngd5IbdKEJ8XlOmxLa9FPuz6sMdJO3ti8-m2s4vq6HVlwEsxiTqFg6dV9q8Uq-M-uxjsMVghrCrT/s400/PB041970.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545838377697224418" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Two of the most common things in Peru - a volkswagon and a church</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A9SUWLqZtdq3mPO8MSQxCoUewtYoYRRzhiz7-oggOxS9ayFz-_iVAMXprXWfQSaibtEzthtdfvOQ8bWEdPm3X8igxlY4Yaa2UQYVvMolz0boBFCKuSXuhuToyI0SHCtov7w3BnRG-6LQ/s1600/PB041973.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0A9SUWLqZtdq3mPO8MSQxCoUewtYoYRRzhiz7-oggOxS9ayFz-_iVAMXprXWfQSaibtEzthtdfvOQ8bWEdPm3X8igxlY4Yaa2UQYVvMolz0boBFCKuSXuhuToyI0SHCtov7w3BnRG-6LQ/s400/PB041973.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545847047143562754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The main square in Andahuyalas where I slept for a few hours in transit from Lima to Cusco</div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUCJvJNp0WhtWHxIykUCtdCOtVcraPXagUy_DpREk5DnyLCp-IsEoXT5A5QCeu7OLXWN7USMJTyHosFVQ9eYNN4pdJe4sXZHaIQmVZaKiesiBFQzb2jmPwkZLVUtqFKPI9jiF5aSiv3bd/s1600/PB041975.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUCJvJNp0WhtWHxIykUCtdCOtVcraPXagUy_DpREk5DnyLCp-IsEoXT5A5QCeu7OLXWN7USMJTyHosFVQ9eYNN4pdJe4sXZHaIQmVZaKiesiBFQzb2jmPwkZLVUtqFKPI9jiF5aSiv3bd/s400/PB041975.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545838366026367570" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Building in Andahuaylas, Peru - a small little town up in the Andes</div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhV9CrQLT7HESnNzYfh9BcZTz_l94Q-2eaQS4GAGoghopr20JLJXu2W6J1-YHLkMF8VWqIaVxS7tow9VbIR-aHZ8s3bl3mVu73cvMhNnN_GdBDWCeNEV7YcCz2IsGDwZE6K2kzKQNIzF3/s1600/PB282064.JPG"></a></div><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhV9CrQLT7HESnNzYfh9BcZTz_l94Q-2eaQS4GAGoghopr20JLJXu2W6J1-YHLkMF8VWqIaVxS7tow9VbIR-aHZ8s3bl3mVu73cvMhNnN_GdBDWCeNEV7YcCz2IsGDwZE6K2kzKQNIzF3/s1600/PB282064.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLhV9CrQLT7HESnNzYfh9BcZTz_l94Q-2eaQS4GAGoghopr20JLJXu2W6J1-YHLkMF8VWqIaVxS7tow9VbIR-aHZ8s3bl3mVu73cvMhNnN_GdBDWCeNEV7YcCz2IsGDwZE6K2kzKQNIzF3/s400/PB282064.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545838372511768210" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Miranda (4) and Minerva (2) playing with blocks at mi casa</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxOIhrXKUXwuXWm3H2x8quWCboU2ErTecOpI0ctKhJ7uyoPuFe0dRN2l-Gd3zBiHOnFAvRs29fnBgsJ4tqB-ch2-_VQNzZqd1j9mZ0nuuU79EEpNOQDC4ezmMt_sFgBBFdGThXaMCuosG/s1600/PB122014.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxOIhrXKUXwuXWm3H2x8quWCboU2ErTecOpI0ctKhJ7uyoPuFe0dRN2l-Gd3zBiHOnFAvRs29fnBgsJ4tqB-ch2-_VQNzZqd1j9mZ0nuuU79EEpNOQDC4ezmMt_sFgBBFdGThXaMCuosG/s400/PB122014.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545844389550755202" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">View from Christo Blanco, above Cusco</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5oz-RViTbEy2TXzA0VP8MuYrNXXbSdwYsVE-aKNFdFON6C7OsFv9zjAozpWIQwlE0ENbbyFH8Z3BKJ5Y4euRZL7lhmu7sUYxMxNB1GY59cu80IYrLPskB2wXJg6-Vx5Qjxf6sMCVjh8P/s1600/PB112002.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_5oz-RViTbEy2TXzA0VP8MuYrNXXbSdwYsVE-aKNFdFON6C7OsFv9zjAozpWIQwlE0ENbbyFH8Z3BKJ5Y4euRZL7lhmu7sUYxMxNB1GY59cu80IYrLPskB2wXJg6-Vx5Qjxf6sMCVjh8P/s400/PB112002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545844380531529298" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The public cemetary in Cusco</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ4sT6WSVvFeJdebHBHIsD_HzgqREtRwCf8hRYH4UH9POCkDEjzTvoOjQ5gUbu20htG-z12niMxDa1IjLp0gLE1QSL120kPCsW-0_HCBEEW-dBkottlNNpBA5h0IyfgP_ZgkDCMNw7rd9/s1600/PB061985.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ4sT6WSVvFeJdebHBHIsD_HzgqREtRwCf8hRYH4UH9POCkDEjzTvoOjQ5gUbu20htG-z12niMxDa1IjLp0gLE1QSL120kPCsW-0_HCBEEW-dBkottlNNpBA5h0IyfgP_ZgkDCMNw7rd9/s400/PB061985.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545844369535570162" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">My pink room, decorated with Jesus</div></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZRnmXwUiAvC8paZ00if4RUuWZSoHT1h_2NA2jGOhLlLHgOa4LWvStVjRI96hyphenhyphenRojKp1Y0HW1eWjld6_WGKOLusjYw4Q2UfX1W8WWRmHGByMbA8KfhMxqbpzrW5_R6F9vmfJm_wTVyLAB/s1600/PB272054.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZRnmXwUiAvC8paZ00if4RUuWZSoHT1h_2NA2jGOhLlLHgOa4LWvStVjRI96hyphenhyphenRojKp1Y0HW1eWjld6_WGKOLusjYw4Q2UfX1W8WWRmHGByMbA8KfhMxqbpzrW5_R6F9vmfJm_wTVyLAB/s400/PB272054.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545847057683292626" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Government land with pre-Inca ruins that locals are allowed to cultivate. Also the home to many many black widow spiders.</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM87a6OsIfHk1Chnb269CiNFXD4LSmkQJ-U3zcor26GmZVUwSFTLrhijD7IDrIXV-PGFf8MyHREE0mlsB4WjGKla9iTJcnnnhFXnubZ9KIcQllZq_gFgadyijj6gPaNf-S3vw39S6SQ7T/s1600/PB132022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHM87a6OsIfHk1Chnb269CiNFXD4LSmkQJ-U3zcor26GmZVUwSFTLrhijD7IDrIXV-PGFf8MyHREE0mlsB4WjGKla9iTJcnnnhFXnubZ9KIcQllZq_gFgadyijj6gPaNf-S3vw39S6SQ7T/s400/PB132022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545847054569005858" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Peruvians love dressing their dogs.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-3676842769915061492010-11-26T12:30:00.000-08:002010-11-26T13:15:24.417-08:00How the Asian Squat Saved My LifeI have been in Peru a month, with a couple more to go. I have one more week of spanish classes before they turn me loose into the wild. I'll be meeting up with a friend in Arequipa in a week and a half and we'll spend some time bumming around before another friend flies in and the three of us take Machu Picchu by storm. Things of late:<br /><br /><ul><li>I have officially graduated from the Karen-to-Rosario spanish. The word "travel-o" has been dutifully replaced by "viajar" and the gesture of me spoonfeeding myself has been replaced with "comer."<br /></li><li>There are two distinct ways in which Mississippians and Peruvians (at least of the Andean persuasion) are akin to each other. First is, of course, their common love of Jesus Christo and the proliferation of crosses anywhere someone might be looking. Second is their tendency to walk excessively slow. In Mississippi, our slow way of doing everything is often chalked up to the heat and humidity. It's pretty dry and mild here, but the elevation demands that people take their time. I believe the tale of the tortoise and the hare might have originated in the Andes - they tend to take it pretty seriously.<br /></li><li>My homestay mother seems just about as concerned about my looks as my actual mother. When I got my fellow student to give my hair a little trim before she left (perhaps the first time in my life I have gone only 6 weeks between haircuts), my host mom exclaimed with a despondent look, "¿Porque, Margaret? ¡Tu no tienes pello!" (For those of you who don't speak spanish: Why, Margaret? You don't have any hair!)<br /></li><li>For those followers of my blog while in Asia, you may remember a comment or two about the "Asian squat." It is, quite simply, a squat in which your feet are planted flat on the ground. I attempted several times in Asia, but my center of gravity was a tad off from most Southeast Asians (directly related to my weighing 150% what they do on average), and I never quite perfected it. It seems it is a stance reserved for children and those of Southeast Asian stature. However, in the last few months I have realized that I am now somewhat capable of the stance (thank you, weight loss) - it also helps if I am on a hill of some sort. And, you'll be pleased to know that this stance - the ability to squat so as to hover one's bum just above the ground - practically saved my life this week. I was volunteering at a project in a poor barrio just outside of town. They have a little mud brick school where they have classes for neighborhood kids for a few hours in the morning. The school is on a hillside and backs up against some government land where they are excavating some pre-Inca ruins. Turns out, you can cultivate this government land as long as you're not in the way of the excavation. So I spent one afternoon this week helping a poor woman in the neighborhood, Señora Modesta, prepare some of the land for planting papas (potatos). It's nearly 12,000 feet up here so each surge of energy is carefully balanced with a rest. I took to the Asian squat for my preferred resting position. As I am squatting there, Mario (the dude in charge of the school project) tells me to make sure I don't sit down in the dirt. "¿Porque?," I ask. "Las arañas", he answers, "the widows." Sure enough, at that very moment I look down and no fewer than a few centimeters below the crotch of my shorts are three, yup three, black widow spiders - one the size of a quarter. Turns out the government lets you cultivate this land for free because working in the land is basically poisonous - black widows are all over the hillsides.<br /></li><li>Señora Modesta is a local woman who lives in a mud-brick house close to the school. The plan is that half of what the school cultivates they'll give to people like Señora Modesta and half they will use in the school. Modesta is a hearty sort - she takes her time with that shovel, but she knows how to use it. At one point in the afternoon we're both working when the silence is broken by a muffled cry. I felt like the narrator in Edgar Alan Poe's "The Man Who Wasn't There" who is shocked when the lumpy bag on the floor begins to talk to him. Turns out, this whole time Señora Modesta has had her baby on her back, carefully wrapped in this colorful cloth she wears around her shoulders. Here I was taking a break every couple of minutes thinking I was doing fine because I rested no more frequently than the local. And all along she's basically been carrying around a 25 pound backpack. Gringa duped again. </li><br /><li>Thursday was, of course, Thanksgiving. Now, Thanksgiving happens to be my favorite holiday (this may or may not be because it is one of the few holidays that merits time off from school but doesn't require going to church). Cusco has a fair amount of tourism so it wasn't hard to sniff out a restaurant serving a traditional turkey dinner. It just so happened to be a British pub. I am sure the owners undertake the Thanksgiving feast to make a little money. It seems rather doubtful they take pause to think that the holiday, in its original incarnation, is to celebrate a bunch of fanatics literally dying to escape the English crown. History aside, the meal was actually pretty close (biggest fault: no cranberry sauce). I made my reservation for one, since I don't have any other American friends. So the restuarant (of course) sat me at their version of the kid's table - a couch, around the corner of the bar, with all the beanbag chairs basically walling me in (usually the bean bag chairs are all around the room, but they brought in extra tables to accomodate these hefty Americans, and therefore put all the beanbag chairs around my little table). It is perhaps the only Thanksgiving dinner I have ever had (and ever hope to have) where the only words I uttered for the entire meal were, "La cuenta, por favor" (t<em>he check, please).</em></li><br /><li>Before my turkey dinner I attempted to watch football. This has never been a big part of my family's Thanksgiving, but there are a few bars in town that advertise NFL so I struck out, with an Austrian in-tow, to spend a little time trying to be as stereotypically American as possible. At the bar where we ended up, the DirectTV package only included one football game, which we had already missed (who wants to watch the Patriots, anyway?). We ended up watching sumo wrestling, drinking Peruvian beer, and talking to the bar's pet parrot. Nothing says "Thanksgiving pre-game" like some fat Japanese dudes duking it out. </li></ul><br /><br /><p></p>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-63139371624945280092010-11-15T17:55:00.000-08:002010-11-15T18:18:02.530-08:00Chicha MoradaBlue cheese and fennel be damned. I found my new least favorite food in the world. Bring on the fried crickets, sauce made from cow excrement, haggis, or cow heart. Just please, please never make me eat chicha morada ever again.<br /><br />I know, I probably deserve it after that last blog entry when I complained all we ever eat is rice and potatos. And I probably especially deserve it since at today's lunch Ragan (the other student at my homestay) and I joked about how appetizing our green spaghetti lunch with some chickenfriedsteak-like meat on top was going to be for dinner. What I would give to have had green spaghetti round II (and no, it wasn't spinach spaghetti - the source of the green remains unknown)!<br /><br />So grandma and grandpa are in town, which makes the house a bit hectic. Ragan and I were joshin' around with las niñas tonight before dinner, having a good ole time. We're called to the table and sit down, expecting the green spaghetti. Instead we are presented with chicha morrado. Don't let the picture below fool you (it's the closest I could find to what dinner looked like). Our bowls were one-half somethingkindoflikericepudding, and one-half purple gelatinous goo that could have been sculpted into and number of 3-dimensional figures. Ragan and I look at our plates, then each other, and then to Leah, host mom, who has just brought out a can of condensed milk to pour on top. When I politely attempted to decline the condensed milk she said, "Oh, but it's good. It adds another flavor!" Call me crazy but I am pretty sure <span style="font-weight: bold;">sweet</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">sweeter</span> are the <span style="font-style: italic;">same</span> flavor. <br /><br />The ricepudding imitation wasn't horrible on its own, but this purple gelatinous goo (made from purple corn) must've been what inspired Robitussin. Ragan and I basically weren't able to look at each other during the meal because we were laughing too hard about this "cultural experience." At one point Ragan actually excused herself from the table so she could pull it together. Little did I know this was the moment of true betrayl. While Ragan was "pulling herself together" in the other room, Leah looks at me and, with the voice only a mother has, says to me, "You must finish, Marr-garr-ette." Head down. One bite at a time. Don't taste. Just swallow. <br /><br />Of course Ragan missed this command, which means she got away with not eating her entire dish. At the end of the meal, while the parents were doting on the kids, Ragan stealthfully stuck her purple gelatin in the trashcan after it refused to go down the drain. Yup, that's right - this "edible specialty" clogs drains. And just imagine how my stomach feels.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQToIOH7xbTmWf8WYbfJKbC9Ilb0WGNPAqYflaMhBVHdYIMX57XjQ"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 251px; height: 201px;" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQToIOH7xbTmWf8WYbfJKbC9Ilb0WGNPAqYflaMhBVHdYIMX57XjQ" alt="" border="0" /></a>Chicha Morado<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQToIOH7xbTmWf8WYbfJKbC9Ilb0WGNPAqYflaMhBVHdYIMX57XjQ"><br /><br /><br /></a>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-3595040368315169282010-11-14T11:05:00.000-08:002010-11-14T12:36:00.685-08:00Life at 11,000 ftHola from Cusco, Peru! Cusco is a charming city. It reminds me a fair amount of Edinburgh, what with its cobblestone streets and 16th century architecture. Although, this city has me breaking more often for that extra wind - 11,000 feet and they aren't kidding.<br /><br />I arrived last Saturday at 7 am. My last of the three buses I took was uncomfortable, but despite blowing a tire at 3 am on a one-lane road high in the Andes, we managed to arrive unscathed. My host father, Luis, picked me up at the bus station and brought me back to the apartment I'll be calling home for the next month. The mother, Leah, speaks a bit of English, which has helped tremendously in the first week. The two girls (ages 2 and 4) are terrors, but the upside is that children's television en español is basically at my vocabulary level. I take spanish classes every morning at San Blas Spanish School, right in the San Blas barrio - a cool, bohemian 'hood up on the hill. La escuela is a brisk 10 minute walk uphill every morning. In the afternoons so far I have been exploring, but I'm hoping to start volunteering at Helping Hands (an Omprakash Foundation partner) some time this week.<br /><ul><br /><li>Peru may not have lots of money or any sort of organized public transportation (it's all private minivans <em>combis</em> that will pick you up and take you to what may or may not be your intended destination), but there are three things it has plenty of: churches, stray dogs, and old school VW Beetles. Cambodia has its Toyotas, Peru its Volkswagons.<br /></li><li>Peruvians like their dogs. I will say it's a welcome sight to have dogs on the street rather than the menu (read my Vietnam posts for more on that). Plus, the dogs here are super chilled out - not mangy and barking all the time. The other thing is that pet dogs mingle seemlessly with the strays. I've seen maybe 2 people actually walk dogs on a leash. It seems much more common to just turn your dog out for the day while you're off at work. How would I know that these dogs aren't just strays? Well, unless there is a local charity providing sweaters for stray dogs, it seems these clothed pooches must belong to someone. Yes, Peruvians love dressing their dogs in sweaters</li><br /><li>A word on food and drink: Through my homestay I am given 3 meals a day. <em>Almuerza</em>, or lunch, is the big one. Dinner is literally whatever we had for lunch, just a smaller portion. It's been mostly some sort of meat mixed with rice and potatos. I am totally jonesin' for a little Tabasco, but don't want to offend my hosts. I am looking forward to traveling so I can diversify the culinary experience. <em>Cuy</em>, or guinea pig, is a specialty around these parts and I fully intend on trying it out. <em>Pisco </em>is the favored alcoholic beverage of choice and is key to the infamous pisco sour drink. I have learned that altitude makes a fairly distinct difference in one's ability to properly digest said beverage. Glad I learned that one early on...</li><br /><li>Pretending like you actually speak spanish is fun. In Lima, I jumped in a van with a sign ¨San Christobol¨ in hopes that the van would take me to the top of the hill that overlooks the city (yup, the one with the cross). I hopped in only to realize that this minivan is actually a tour, and they're only speaking in spanish. So I sat there on my stool (Asian style - plastic stool in the aisle), pretending like I understood every word that woman said. When the others laughed, I laughed (mostly at myself for laughing in the first place). When they looked left, I looked left. It's just like ¨follow the leader¨only you have no idea what you're actually following.<br /></li></ul><p>I am still having some trouble uploading photos. If you're on facebook you can find some of them there. Otherwise, you're just going to have to wait. </p><p>Here is a video of a gathering in Lima on All Saints Day, honoring those who died during the country's internal conflict:</p><p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxVCz5v3gQplxqjSGlSMbOeAgUBAvnsCGoHMPDCXCh0CuIKR84X3UkYnl82maPM2Rdsqwfnc1q9UGLSaHGKDg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p></p>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-64605934568560507372010-11-05T10:38:00.000-07:002010-11-05T14:05:08.566-07:00The Last Chance ExpressPlan: Get to Cusco overland from Lima. I have no idea how many kilometers or miles it is, but basically the Andes lie somewhere in the way so the most ¨direct¨looking route is actually something close to 30 hours. I decided to break it up into three different buses, each somewhere between 8 and 12 hours. Plenty of folks just fly from Lima, or take a more roundabout route through other popular tourist towns. However, when the guidebook said, ¨Central Highlands is the place to get off the gringo trail and see authentic Peru at it´s finest,¨I said, ¨Sure.¨ When the guidebook also said, ¨The bus journey is not for the faint of heart¨they weren´t kidding. I am currently only 2/3rds there (day-long layover in Andahuaylas), but there is already enough fodder for a blog post so here it goes. Oh, and sorry no pictures yet. I´m waiting until I get to Cusco and can find a somewhat reliable computer to plug my camera into (as opposed to these magical concrete block structures tucked away in the back of alleyways where I am currently writing you from).<br /><ul><li>I love the ¨Which would you rather¨game, e.g. would you rather have the super power of invisibility or flight? On last night´s bus ride I came up with a new one: Would you rather be able to just be able to extend your legs all the way, or be able to recline your seat for a 9 hour overnight bus ride? I was faced with this predicament and opted for the latter. I´m still not sure which is the better choice.</li><li>When the guidebook says, ¨Some of the roads to Andahuyalas from Ayacucho aren´t paved¨ they actually mean NONE of the roads are paved. The ride felt like 8 hours in one of those Sharper Image chairs on display at the mall gone horribly awry.</li><li>I have learned the armrest is functional in additon to comfortable. My first bus I lost the armrest race and just kept my arm to myself. The second bus, however, had no armrest. If it had, perhaps it would have kept the man next to me from basically sleeping in my lap.</li><li>My first bus was super lush. It had a bathroom, a movie dubbed in spanish, and even a round of Bingo to keep us entertained (I opted out of bingo for fear some one would catch on that I don´t speak spanish). They also showed a bus safety and information video, like airlines do. Of note, the bus is monitored by GPS by ¨central control¨to discourage bandits from trying to hijack the bus. Also, the bathroom is only for urinating. If you must produce something else during the 12 hour ride, please tell the driver and they´ll pull over on the side of the road for you.</li><li>Yes, there has been a history of bus hijacking around here. I guess something about Maoist rebels - but it was mostly in the 80s and 90s. They actually have metal detectors and what not as your getting on. Hello, airport security. Didn´t think I´d find you here.</li><li>The bus company´s nam for last night and tonight´s journey is Expreso Los Chankas, which I am sure translates to something. However, because the driving is so bad you want to shut your eyes the whole time, I´ve translated it to The Last Chance Express. </li><li>I sent a few postcards from Ayacucho, where I was for 2 days. Turns out sending 5 postcards is 50% more expensive than a 8 hour bus ride through the Andes. So, don´t get your hopes up - there won´t be nearly as many postcards sent from this place.</li><li>Luckily for me, the town of Andahuyalas doesn´t sem to have a ¨homeless people sleeping on park benches problem¨because the benches are perfectly long enough for a normal sized human (i.e. me) to stretch out. Since my bus dropped me off at 3:45 am this morning, I wandered into the town square, locked my baggage to the park bench, and promptly fell asleep for a few hours. I woke up to screaming school children and the bells ringing at the church. Hello, Peru. </li></ul><p>Alright, more and photos once I get to Cusco. I spent the extra 5 soles (like $1.80) for the nicer bus tonight with a bano on board. Here´s to hoping.</p>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-37485419195163309662010-11-01T10:18:00.000-07:002010-11-01T10:43:59.579-07:00The South, and then further southI know, I know. It has been over a month since I last blogged. I may or may not have been distracted trying to get ready for the next step - Peru and Bolivia. I also have been busy with music stuff because THE ALBUM FINALLY CAME OUT. If you haven´t already, you can buy it from our website <a href="http://www.munnyandthecameraman.com/">www.munnyandthecameraman.com</a>. <br /><br />I left you last in Jackson Hole, Wyoming where I had two very lovely hostesses. From there I drove back to Denver to chill out for a while, then I flew to Maine for Bowdoin´s homecoming, then back to Denver to retrieve Penelope and the rest of my belongings. I left Denver at some point in mid-October and drove back to Mississippi via a stopover in Kansas City, Missouri. I then went with my folks up to the cabin in North Carolina for a week of R&R before returning to the hospitality state to finish packing and head out for Peru on October 30th. I landed in Peru late on Saturday night and I´ve been kicking it in Lima the last couple of days. From here I´m heading to Ayacucho and then on to Cusco (or at least that is the plan). Below are some musings from the last month or so.<br /><ul><li>Kansas is the worst state to drive across. It is nothing but wheat fields and oil wells. But I did learn from a billboard that Obama is a wanna be Marxist dictator and that Pornography hurts, Jesus saves. </li><li>There is a town in Arkansas that is voting on whether or not to be dry, so all the churches (except the Catholic and Episcopalian ones) have signs out front saying ¨Vote Dry,¨ which I think is rather unfortunate for the guy running for Senate whose name is Boozeman. </li><li>The people in Peru may be short, but we´re not in Vietnam any more, Toto. You can actually cross the street here without ducking behind eldery people. And, get this - they actually stop at traffic lights!</li><li>Lima may be a fog-cloaked city perched on cliffs above the Pacific where you hear mostly spanish and you´re worried about earthquakes, but it´s similarities with San Francisco end about there. The main part of the city is actually flat, the rainbow flags don´t mean what you think they do, and the day after Halloween is far more important than trick-or-treating. </li><li>I think there is a glitch on my transcript from Bowdoin. There is no way I took (and passed) spanish 101. I don´t even know how to say ¨What´s your name?¨ My default is just to add ¨o¨ after the english word. For example, ¨May I have-o a rum & Coke-o, please-o?¨Okay, not really - but I do sound pretty ridiculous. I am signed up for a spanish class for a month in Cusco and I think it´s probably a good idea. Of course, that means I have a week to get from Lima to Cusco overland speaking-o little-o spanish-o. Wish me luck.</li><li>The world is small. I mean, really small. I was hanging out in the lobby of my hostel last night when I hear, ¨Munny?¨It was Rachel Rasby, who used to be my neighbor in DC. Not only are she and her brother staying at my hostel, we slept in the same room my first night and we didn´t even know it. </li></ul><p>Alright, I´ll blog more regularly, I promise. But for now the task is to successfully and safely travel the 30 hours by bus to Cusco this week. I have a feeling this will give me some good writing material...</p>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-29142079761404849022010-09-20T09:07:00.000-07:002010-09-20T09:47:41.462-07:00Yellowstone & Grand Teton National ParksI left Dillon early last week and headed into Yellowstone. And, let's just say that Yellowstone and I didn't get off to a great start. I arrived sometime around noon, which is usually plenty of time to get a lay of the land and find a place to camp. But that didn't happen and I ended up driving an additional 2 hours to the other side of the park to find a campsite in Shoshone National Forest. Not a good way to welcome a wayfaring traveler. I spent a total of 4 days in Yellowstone and then 2 days in the Tetons before making my way down to the other Jackson, where I am currently plugged in at Jackson Hole Roasters.<div><br /></div><div>Okay, so Yellowstone is pretty iconic, so it had to be on my route. But I am not in any rush to return for several reasons: </div><div><ul><li>The whole place smells like rotten eggs, thanks to the crazy geological mystery that are sulphur geysers.</li><li>Traffic is comparable to Boston (not quite like Vietnam, thank god), except composed almost entirely of RVs and oversized SUVs. And this is mid-week after Labor Day. God help you if you go there in July or August.</li><li>A word on RVs: They are all named something. Some are quite pleasant (The Chalet, Sightseer), some almost depressing (Sunsetter), and some prophetic (The Clipper almost ran me off the road while I was biking the other day). </li><li>You can wake up to the sound of male elk bugling, which in theory sounds like it'd be rather nice. However, as a good friend put it, "I don't understand who decided it was 'bugling.' It sounds more like those headless ghost things in that movie about Hobbits and Elves" (she was referencing Lord of the Rings). It's a rather creepy sound and it's hard to believe that is their mating call. But then again, I don't know what Marvin Gaye sounds like to elk...</li><li>Bison in Yellowstone are how I imagine cows are in India - everywhere and always given the right-of-way, which means they constantly cause traffic jams. I never knew I would come to dislike a species of wildlife so quickly. </li></ul>On this entire trip I have been lucky enough to see plenty of wildlife (although, I am sure to Captain Saftey's pleasure, no grizzly bears). The wildlife includes the following: pika on Mount Elbert, a few dozen dolphins off the coast of Santa Monica beach, harbor seals on the northern coast of California, a black bear on Mt. Hood, Roosevelt Elk in the Redwoods, 2 black bear in the Olympics, 2 yellow-bellied marmots in Olympics, mountain goats in Glacier, a mamma and her 2 black bear cubs in Glacier, pronghorn antelope in Montana, bison, elk, mule deer in Yellowstone, a coyote that literally snuggled with my wool hat that I accidentally dropped on the trail in Yellowstone, and two moose along the Cascade Canyon in the Tetons. </div><div><br /></div><div>Despite not getting along well with Yellowstone, I <i>LOVED</i> the Tetons. I camped at Jenny Lake, which is for tents only and as soon as I arrived I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, I was surrounded by my kind of people - the ones who come to the woods to actually be <i>outside</i>. The first day I took an 8 mile hike and a 18ish mile bike ride on a paved trail. The second day I took an 18 mile hike followed by a 8ish mile bike ride. Talk about a marriage of my favorite things...</div><div><br /></div><div>I am, sadly, done with the woods for at least a week. I am in Jackson until Wednesday, when I drive to Denver. From there it's either Maine, North Carolina, or Mississippi. Yes, I know - none of those destinations is remotely close to Colorado, nor to each other. I am buckling down on planning the next international trip, so if you (or someone you know) has info on Central or South America, please let me know!</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekJ5uipgI8hMxSzj3ygpYwLs4gzOnYadqCGHUaJjS6TNTKuahcKvBK-H6odZlE4T9zvu1W3Xz8vez_0RJIkD7QjaveouPIsPFSArSe_PtBq9JNAPIa8gZdRrEXS7xfIyqOpyzIDa_J91w/s1600/P9141940.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekJ5uipgI8hMxSzj3ygpYwLs4gzOnYadqCGHUaJjS6TNTKuahcKvBK-H6odZlE4T9zvu1W3Xz8vez_0RJIkD7QjaveouPIsPFSArSe_PtBq9JNAPIa8gZdRrEXS7xfIyqOpyzIDa_J91w/s400/P9141940.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519034473417021858" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hiked up Mount Washburn in Yellowstone</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4qpcdzkTf5HDezNk1wMZ8XtskK1sRuZaeMHpDOTrWcJcQGYBShvHQuWZaNHjADUndNTabWdk-HflfpmxvvY2feaXYcotkDlYN4TNXMaOYumXWerKRKPH9-9SzxgtxbooKmhiV4PferVTy/s1600/P9151965.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4qpcdzkTf5HDezNk1wMZ8XtskK1sRuZaeMHpDOTrWcJcQGYBShvHQuWZaNHjADUndNTabWdk-HflfpmxvvY2feaXYcotkDlYN4TNXMaOYumXWerKRKPH9-9SzxgtxbooKmhiV4PferVTy/s400/P9151965.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519034482644331362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone from Artist Point</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpib9821EqV2Uu-KHXhRQpQWXOUctJiFS0XiV1DJEJRXizJhfQu2MH0n13-TZJ0Tt81xITsSBgiHLdn95DCTweg44zCbepEk1HAodn9IvjY8NFhqcXX-macll5zufnpLkEYfywPqELGzb/s1600/P9161979.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpib9821EqV2Uu-KHXhRQpQWXOUctJiFS0XiV1DJEJRXizJhfQu2MH0n13-TZJ0Tt81xITsSBgiHLdn95DCTweg44zCbepEk1HAodn9IvjY8NFhqcXX-macll5zufnpLkEYfywPqELGzb/s400/P9161979.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519034491251446098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Typical.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJf4zmL_OccNc5fkoWtAJDYwyGpkjPFgbVZE4N-_gwnK9prodx55ghXN_A0xGOL26YHhUC5Icg0z-oNxBv3VlAOO6ndnlQn0v2dxtM03eWjng-T1O2k3Z_k2Mxg_jKgSy3zAJNg2aa1fsT/s1600/P9161982.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJf4zmL_OccNc5fkoWtAJDYwyGpkjPFgbVZE4N-_gwnK9prodx55ghXN_A0xGOL26YHhUC5Icg0z-oNxBv3VlAOO6ndnlQn0v2dxtM03eWjng-T1O2k3Z_k2Mxg_jKgSy3zAJNg2aa1fsT/s400/P9161982.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519034501081665602" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over Yellowstone Lake. I had to wake up this early to snag camping spots.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuXr4UOBAkoplgJftnVElWYjVvxw9A_mtMIAZAwBuUzVCZmZmwwfA_yRY4SP9uFonzJWNeJfnlmTl09_lsVIweCYUv8RrR-XP82OWDWB5Xp11S7iA7rIc9wOUTWy63JHcAAbxWDv_VBUr/s1600/P9182003.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuXr4UOBAkoplgJftnVElWYjVvxw9A_mtMIAZAwBuUzVCZmZmwwfA_yRY4SP9uFonzJWNeJfnlmTl09_lsVIweCYUv8RrR-XP82OWDWB5Xp11S7iA7rIc9wOUTWy63JHcAAbxWDv_VBUr/s400/P9182003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519034507349218082" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The Tetons</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcB-m68OlTxW4_AmurZPlQ4bdPjioYLhRrjMezvKj_GtRJ1eVBKP5nvoLx3wG-DppmKC8YoZhc_lr28h6ox5FpisZzuqj0B8evbaAvxMhEBeWfu71hdiG6AxLFjprV-uyNtH6tzNDKDNb/s1600/P9182008.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcB-m68OlTxW4_AmurZPlQ4bdPjioYLhRrjMezvKj_GtRJ1eVBKP5nvoLx3wG-DppmKC8YoZhc_lr28h6ox5FpisZzuqj0B8evbaAvxMhEBeWfu71hdiG6AxLFjprV-uyNtH6tzNDKDNb/s400/P9182008.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519035406121089906" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Biking in the Tetons. My kind of place.</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TuhUiATiqAnfMo3xaip3ECdeb1IK9i6pfRD-YFf3cckEh8uEiKyj45OVtR5_NkVLpB9F7OHRsJA3o9NTJJh2uHAeJiyqT12u7vLlSQdIB01FqXxjZrHXEDS2NdBwa3hwanHoak5_vyzg/s1600/P9192020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TuhUiATiqAnfMo3xaip3ECdeb1IK9i6pfRD-YFf3cckEh8uEiKyj45OVtR5_NkVLpB9F7OHRsJA3o9NTJJh2uHAeJiyqT12u7vLlSQdIB01FqXxjZrHXEDS2NdBwa3hwanHoak5_vyzg/s400/P9192020.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519035416101560498" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Cascade Canyon</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3BrVwFu0FxOCOw-ww920-iSAzDPvGlA6zK6Wt8sa408TwvymoZE7MK7MUDYA29vSelL0CH4J7b8Iv_6GfPhUdpIBdJkkAKXroQMvXhqIKpYtX58u0gk4w4bXg1ob-ypOPLDI2Yf8kwWs/s1600/P9192022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3BrVwFu0FxOCOw-ww920-iSAzDPvGlA6zK6Wt8sa408TwvymoZE7MK7MUDYA29vSelL0CH4J7b8Iv_6GfPhUdpIBdJkkAKXroQMvXhqIKpYtX58u0gk4w4bXg1ob-ypOPLDI2Yf8kwWs/s400/P9192022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519035425828394530" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Lake Solitude</div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-76787393951486485992010-09-13T09:54:00.000-07:002010-09-13T11:23:22.610-07:006 Months In and More To GoThree days ago (September 10th) marked my 6-month anniversary of leaving DC and the old life behind. It is hard to believe it has already been 6 months and there are (hopefully) at least that many left ahead. But so far, I haven't tired of life on the road. I get antsy when I stay in one place for more than 3 nights (which hasn't happened since July something, by the way). Some folks have restless leg syndrome, I appear to have restless adventure syndrome. Life is outrageously good.<div><br /></div><div>I am writing from a small coffee shop in Dillon, Montana, hometown of one fabulous rugger friend from college whose parents are generously hosting me for two nights in between Glacier and Yellowstone/Tetons adventures. As a recap: from Portland I drove to Seattle to pickup another hostage over Labor Day weekend and headed to the Olympic Peninsula for a backpacking trip. After recouping in Seattle for a couple of nights I headed east to Montana. I spent a few nights and days in Glacier hiding from grizzly bears and then worked my way to Dillon in southwest Montana. And, as always, more musings below:</div><div><ul><li>Fog and general grey weather make cities look grungier. It seems to me that the whole "grunge" image of Seattle isn't about the music or people, but entirely created by the cloud that seems to hang over the city. </li><li>Portland, Oregon is a city of my people. Any town that is essentially obsessed with coffee, beer, bicycling, and the great outdoors can win me over as quick as a Yankee walks (that is fast, by the way). In fact, when I was in Portland they were having one of their monthly First Thursdays where we obtained both free beer and free food. Say no more.</li><li>If you ever happen to be driving across the state of Washington, do not be duped by the signs for free coffee at the rest stops. It will make you want to swear off anything called coffee ever again. It makes Waffle House coffee seem like Pete's. I'm still spitting it out.</li><li>For all those who say the stimulus package isn't doing anything, I can personally attest to the fact that there are people employed reconstructing what seems like every road I take. Thank you, President Obama, for slowing down my state traversal.</li><li>After being inundated with warnings from Captain Safety I invested in a bear bell to wear while hiking. So far, I have not been eaten by a bear while solo hiking so I suppose it is working. But it has the unfortunate side-effect of making me feel as if I should always hear a ringing in my ear. Life out of the wilderness seems eerily quiet.</li><li>In Montana, a store must sell three essential items to be called a "general store:" guns, liquor and beach balls. Why this land-locked state loves beach balls in their general stores, I know not, but alas there they are.</li><li>Dear Montana, I think you should meet my cell-provider, AT&T. Clearly, you two are unacquainted...</li><li>"Taking a float down the river" sounds like easy work, right? Well, you've clearly never volunteered to oar while someone is fly fishing off the stern, have you? It was a beautiful day in Montana and my gracious hosts took me out for a Montana experience. It was certainly fun, but oaring a little boat down a river that likes to push you into the rocky banks ain't just a "float."</li></ul><ul><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdbPiP0csnC2IrPEp_kl8RrH9h1OPkxIm32oicAjSFDrnuI1dCYDii8Q_CvyWH9z7xZBDmA4cpWPN-6qOtTKXJr4kkBJB2QYC8a6j-RsJohBBjVBMz2lO4YW8mPOSkJ6WPSz-qZT2Tbm4/s1600/P9041807.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikdbPiP0csnC2IrPEp_kl8RrH9h1OPkxIm32oicAjSFDrnuI1dCYDii8Q_CvyWH9z7xZBDmA4cpWPN-6qOtTKXJr4kkBJB2QYC8a6j-RsJohBBjVBMz2lO4YW8mPOSkJ6WPSz-qZT2Tbm4/s400/P9041807.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516464517652445506" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Camping spot on 3-day backpacking trip in Olympic National Park</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7Qpl5D8bUukQiedorVettNFxtCtSTAlegn9pL0aSak4AcB4qxJTFG5HEsrXmkkMBuMXk370dOvo3ggoxl8lsZzfjJ7ldvF_mcGOIQP_UXIfvKjta8PauIV0bdjoOttfdc78DFVzTlTvR/s1600/P9051840.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio7Qpl5D8bUukQiedorVettNFxtCtSTAlegn9pL0aSak4AcB4qxJTFG5HEsrXmkkMBuMXk370dOvo3ggoxl8lsZzfjJ7ldvF_mcGOIQP_UXIfvKjta8PauIV0bdjoOttfdc78DFVzTlTvR/s400/P9051840.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516464502720346690" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hannah "Sauce" Wadsworth, my second official hostage on our backpacking trip</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYaeZGyr2LJuU-wgWjPB77B6YHte56Hd51YnMk5fJ5paBYBBi9kixGla6S1VM2pQDtVv-umnHH1M1igakmEywo8Rq6AELGEry-cxur6bFPNzasOSVKaArMs4fTGWSJv1I8SI4SF139UKE/s1600/P9091875.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmYaeZGyr2LJuU-wgWjPB77B6YHte56Hd51YnMk5fJ5paBYBBi9kixGla6S1VM2pQDtVv-umnHH1M1igakmEywo8Rq6AELGEry-cxur6bFPNzasOSVKaArMs4fTGWSJv1I8SI4SF139UKE/s400/P9091875.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516461665227977442" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Grinell Glacier</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk344RIkNJ9XD-AW213P0ACCeD3H8uVWU8zzBZtZfxiNNbdvtLByLsRJCv7GPOJ7osY_6XRYA3qNR96O8Mwhkz5dTZgXz_zu8ux0Xiw5hP1mFkVASw57ODuCWrXaSnOg9ohoot-vGWU7yV/s1600/P9101893.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk344RIkNJ9XD-AW213P0ACCeD3H8uVWU8zzBZtZfxiNNbdvtLByLsRJCv7GPOJ7osY_6XRYA3qNR96O8Mwhkz5dTZgXz_zu8ux0Xiw5hP1mFkVASw57ODuCWrXaSnOg9ohoot-vGWU7yV/s400/P9101893.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516461662140289362" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hiking up to Granite Park in Glacier National Park</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wKZuKtKMuJUUskZ0vyPKalK6Eoi1bp1pzaMn4lYhScb149U6r5Gx732iU1y0gjqemW86Y5xofkJ7bSMHo-X1DMKhYKH20nQFjkH4lCTpb5ZZXEUm9zmr8DrTCwyDAuV8cyOYsUihUjE6/s1600/P9101898.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-wKZuKtKMuJUUskZ0vyPKalK6Eoi1bp1pzaMn4lYhScb149U6r5Gx732iU1y0gjqemW86Y5xofkJ7bSMHo-X1DMKhYKH20nQFjkH4lCTpb5ZZXEUm9zmr8DrTCwyDAuV8cyOYsUihUjE6/s400/P9101898.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516461651607247506" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">This photo is real, I promise. Glacier.</div></ul><ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBRHX0E7LMkiNp4O6c4dDPn3QhcBLGidkrzAdoiQCMbSeOnMJ0t1uK0ZuhzMm8NoXLBLJRsoKMqaEu9xV5fO2wXwa9u_ewYDR6q3osWgc_TpbzN48gZhO_d4A4Q53zsNP_iJRTV6aD7oN/s1600/P9101916.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBRHX0E7LMkiNp4O6c4dDPn3QhcBLGidkrzAdoiQCMbSeOnMJ0t1uK0ZuhzMm8NoXLBLJRsoKMqaEu9xV5fO2wXwa9u_ewYDR6q3osWgc_TpbzN48gZhO_d4A4Q53zsNP_iJRTV6aD7oN/s400/P9101916.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516461651077634962" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Morning sky in Glacier from the Many Glacier campground</div></ul><ul><br /><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFRQ7d3Wv1NcMWEvyuJ14K-62soQ0AcL4MJuG5_GKXT9vT62qWY6GOEOx43LDwBxX_GIXzk8duoVmGwJHpYk2qa1nkTttP8-X2JQVWFpoI8Wl-HKTOq0v4tCr5GtCIXC9gde7odgGYsCQ/s400/P9101918.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516461636499625970" /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFRQ7d3Wv1NcMWEvyuJ14K-62soQ0AcL4MJuG5_GKXT9vT62qWY6GOEOx43LDwBxX_GIXzk8duoVmGwJHpYk2qa1nkTttP8-X2JQVWFpoI8Wl-HKTOq0v4tCr5GtCIXC9gde7odgGYsCQ/s1600/P9101918.JPG"></a></ul><ul style="text-align: center;">I may have forgotten to zoom out before I tried the self-shot. Still, it's a pretty park.</ul><ul><br /></ul></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-19253272694032040042010-09-01T09:12:00.000-07:002010-09-01T10:07:38.195-07:00Big Trees and a Word on the WeekendAs far as I can tell, the rumors about the Pacific Northwest are true: there are big trees and there is plenty of fog. <div><br /></div><div>My recent hostage and I left Berkeley a week ago and drove north on 101. We drove to Portland via Redwoods National and State Parks, the Oregon coast, and Mt. Hood National Forest. We're staying with another Bowdoin-ite and are ever-grateful for his offerings of shelter and shower. I plan on being in Portland for a couple of days before jetting up to Seattle to take my next hostage, this one to accompany me into Olympic National Park over the long weekend. A word on showers, weekends, and other musings below:</div><div><ul><li>Okay, okay, I know. I've always known. Redwoods are big trees. I've seen the pictures of people driving their cars through the trunk. I even had the National Geographic centerfold pin-up of that gorgeous Redwood on my wall in my last apartment. But still they are something you have to see in person to really comprehend. The Redwoods are so big, in fact, that they pretty much blocked out my satellite radio for the entire time we were driving through them. Might I recommend creating a mix CD or an iPod playlist before entering into the Redwood Forest via automobile...</li><li>Perhaps it is the long hours in the car that makes me more susceptible to crack up about something, but I find that signs for signs hilarious. In a number of places up Route 101 there will be a sign on the road that will say the following: "Information Sign 1/4 mile." I know we're in a recession and all and we're trying to create jobs for people, but these signs seem a tad excessive. </li><li>Weekends are wretched. I hate them. I know you don't understand because you're likely reading this from your little cubicle in some big office building counting down the hours until Friday releases you into the upcoming long weekend. When I left DC I had a realization that basically my life is now Saturday after Saturday - and what a wonderful feeling that was! But as a camper in national and state parks of late, I have come to loathe Saturday. The problem with Saturday is that everyone else wants to come hang out in the woods, too. This means my choice of campsites becomes limited (or eliminated entirely in some cases), there are obnoxious children riding circles around the parking lots on noise-making bicycles, and inevitably there is more traffic on the road. I would love nothing more than Tuesday to be put on repeat until I am finished with this excursion. </li><li>I have learned along the road that while campfire smoke is, in my opinion, a lovely smell, it only does so much when acting as a perfume to cover up other hiking odor. If my only goal on this trip were to really come to appreciate cleanliness, then I'd consider mission accomplished. This would be in the W-kind-of-way with a banner and all, not the Obama-kind-of-way where it is a rather sophisticated argument about what success really means. No big words here: I appreciate a shower - it is perhaps the greatest achievement of civilization. </li></ul></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieS7GtGljgNawyns9ZO6K5mcS_2z7cTeie170hIN68TKMScmeLpgq7h_Ur_ugl2D4ZVvxi1RsGA6IflvB64KXFNzEduYIBpcUj4nTzdGTgOwt66x3MuEnMiTkqngfa-3loz3BuOhVYeSKW/s1600/P8271702.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieS7GtGljgNawyns9ZO6K5mcS_2z7cTeie170hIN68TKMScmeLpgq7h_Ur_ugl2D4ZVvxi1RsGA6IflvB64KXFNzEduYIBpcUj4nTzdGTgOwt66x3MuEnMiTkqngfa-3loz3BuOhVYeSKW/s400/P8271702.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511990444047586162" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The land of really really big trees</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcGcJpWIydaN5Pct5H9e4eLiXit_Vlci905IdC-T5A9WklkAkSaIuGdMTRSO-KFwfT20ZfXeFyKAz5OCF5Gjj4E9caX4LYyoAzDeNEnDFM9TegzK2E3jwGUbzMdooCl1aTedQIeUr71wt/s1600/P8261669.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcGcJpWIydaN5Pct5H9e4eLiXit_Vlci905IdC-T5A9WklkAkSaIuGdMTRSO-KFwfT20ZfXeFyKAz5OCF5Gjj4E9caX4LYyoAzDeNEnDFM9TegzK2E3jwGUbzMdooCl1aTedQIeUr71wt/s400/P8261669.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511990434233812530" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The Pacific Ocean was a steady companion on my left side from L.A. to Portland</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhA4GzndH3M_RS8K4SbqtxerSqhRdx-R6ESm43ydFeys1q12XVcZiOQ0VZX70IpTME_cXIDJSoXBs2l6Acbh87zl1p5nmEwU-eeKmrHOasNna7sj_VaZk5hmx_G4_Ic5-of0S0kwRa4iZ/s1600/P8271719.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhA4GzndH3M_RS8K4SbqtxerSqhRdx-R6ESm43ydFeys1q12XVcZiOQ0VZX70IpTME_cXIDJSoXBs2l6Acbh87zl1p5nmEwU-eeKmrHOasNna7sj_VaZk5hmx_G4_Ic5-of0S0kwRa4iZ/s400/P8271719.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511990449743375538" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Made it to Oregon</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcyaja0xu-lsvHJH-B1I_YUNk_aY4ibHhF3nRFxJHqOeKnSQkxuLWYLDJjFwDTnixJamhPp-ctJ9ObhVBQkm-nnXo4Gmrjf2r_bE4zDCbOufOyy6QEvnPSzhv11VD2YTMNr7dX6DwGTZz/s1600/P8271725.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcyaja0xu-lsvHJH-B1I_YUNk_aY4ibHhF3nRFxJHqOeKnSQkxuLWYLDJjFwDTnixJamhPp-ctJ9ObhVBQkm-nnXo4Gmrjf2r_bE4zDCbOufOyy6QEvnPSzhv11VD2YTMNr7dX6DwGTZz/s400/P8271725.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511990466502872466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">I knew I would like Oregon when the first place we stopped into had this sign posted by the counter</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hEdjKrzKid7c1t5utnqq-bzM6xRpOLseBG0TM-lFxtUCesoImbAbKAXmkgLpvQVs7_460gseF3gOcvyGYOgmOOkkW_Zm-8bJLPUIl18QUOgWYQ6NulcI1u273QAQ9jer9vpugCVjgscp/s1600/P8281747.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hEdjKrzKid7c1t5utnqq-bzM6xRpOLseBG0TM-lFxtUCesoImbAbKAXmkgLpvQVs7_460gseF3gOcvyGYOgmOOkkW_Zm-8bJLPUIl18QUOgWYQ6NulcI1u273QAQ9jer9vpugCVjgscp/s400/P8281747.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511990459304572402" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset on the Oregon coast</div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-39770782100620343402010-08-25T10:25:00.000-07:002010-08-25T11:09:36.408-07:00One of these things is not like the other: Arches, Zion, L.A.I spent three nights and as many days in the Moab area before heading southwest to Zion National Park. After driving that 5.5 hours through barren, lonely desert I can see why the Mormon pioneers gave it its name. Speaking of naming, I think the Native Americans lost this contest in southern Utah. I know a number of places in the U.S. have reverted back to the native name of a place (Denali, for example) but not southern Utah. In Zion, there are features and hikes such as the Great White Throne, the Altar of Sacrifice, the Court of the Patriarchs (which, in order are Abraham, Isaac and Jacob), Angel's Landing, and the Virgin River. Essentially, it's a religious theme park...<div><br /></div><div>I spent three days and nights in Zion before heading southwest again, this time to Los Angeles. I'm not one who ever had much interest in the home of Hollywood stars, but my motive had less to do with seeing Brangelina and more to do with taking a college friend hostage for the trip up the coast. Mission accomplished, by the way. We're currently stopped in Berkeley so she can gather a few of her things and then we're heading on up to the Oregon coast. And as usual, a few observations about where I've been of late below:</div><div><ul><li>My mother, also known to my friends as Captain Safety, keeps warning me of potential peril in the great outdoors. The latest has been frequent updates on the bandits from Arizona who may or may not be camped out in National Parks. My mom's suggestion for avoiding the bandits is "If you pull into a campsite and there's a dodgy looking couple then just keep on driving." I am sorry Mom, but this is <i>America</i> and these are <i>public</i> campgrounds. If I refused to camp in a campground with a dodgy looking couple, I think I'd never sleep. </li><li>Vegas is creepy. There is nothing on either side except barren, lonely desert. I am sorry, but golf courses don't belong in the desert, and neither does Venice. I am fairly convinced the whole place is just a mirage anyway, and doesn't actually exist. I saw it (or think I did) but I'm pretty sure that was the heat getting to me.</li><li>I think it might be impossible to drive into Los Angeles, emerging from the desert with most of your earthly belongings packed into a car and not feel like your life has suddenly become a movie. I'm not too sure who is playing me in my biopic, but it's a dramatic entrance, I assure you. Windows down, radio up...</li><li>It's also kind of hard not to sightsee in L.A., mostly because everything seems to be famous in one way or the other. I didn't ask my hosts to show me around town, but as we drove to dinner and back it felt like I had signed up for an L.A. tour. Among the sites along our path were Sunset Boulevard, the Hollywood sign, the tallest building west of the Mississippi, and the freeway where O.J. tried to flee. Yeah, a town where even the 6 lane freeway is famous means that sightseeing is hard to avoid. </li></ul><div>Since I can't go much farther west, it's up to the north. Plans are for a week or so of coastal Oregon camping and then up to Seattle to meet a friend for some camping over Labor Day weekend in the Olympic Peninsula. That is if I don't come up with some other brilliant plan between now and then.</div></div><div><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6l8KpSGk4tFS7G9B9Jqxg6Kuly8_Dj2cpVIUtIPeDbI75smgCTAMi1xjQKRXKOz9ppUKWmZlMShia1tUlNg12Esx7DJHgg105-h73XSpRZoDqxfutrvQGuEyCH8qJeG-VpyQURsDDH20/s1600/P8171566.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ6l8KpSGk4tFS7G9B9Jqxg6Kuly8_Dj2cpVIUtIPeDbI75smgCTAMi1xjQKRXKOz9ppUKWmZlMShia1tUlNg12Esx7DJHgg105-h73XSpRZoDqxfutrvQGuEyCH8qJeG-VpyQURsDDH20/s400/P8171566.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509408118171548098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset at the Delicate Arch in Arches National Park</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWbAp-MPy8R2_d2q-OGD1VALe1iLa_AbaSPluDlQfldlN6wZjk5mIj88IRa3pwOD0UgVz1ca78e1GIP-QzyoS6NIxnASinkdDxCxWRre1rby_aO-s42E6Ckf_rAsNABh9rHEh0pSK9_76/s1600/P8191598.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdWbAp-MPy8R2_d2q-OGD1VALe1iLa_AbaSPluDlQfldlN6wZjk5mIj88IRa3pwOD0UgVz1ca78e1GIP-QzyoS6NIxnASinkdDxCxWRre1rby_aO-s42E6Ckf_rAsNABh9rHEh0pSK9_76/s400/P8191598.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509408149311273218" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">One of the many religiously themed hikes in Zion National Park</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcxXns0SVLYzRSPcu4-HcJvlTvB89_dFWHMT0CGyeFALoRR2CgXQ7Aa5DJUlr6eS2TsOwwkiMLmuxNlt3ZD-qwGsZQ5EakAoL44qcoUNfsbwBb-5ONB1QtvMm_j7pNHAoyjmz4G93xkE4/s1600/P8181597.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcxXns0SVLYzRSPcu4-HcJvlTvB89_dFWHMT0CGyeFALoRR2CgXQ7Aa5DJUlr6eS2TsOwwkiMLmuxNlt3ZD-qwGsZQ5EakAoL44qcoUNfsbwBb-5ONB1QtvMm_j7pNHAoyjmz4G93xkE4/s400/P8181597.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509409370813035522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Not to be attempted by those with a fear of heights. Sheer drop-offs of 800 feet on one side and 1,200 feet on the other.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFf1Jryvb7zIdP75ovjmQIfdAwR1ImjWiX8M8Uhyphenhyphen3chD3PqfZfQ_zW6DDjw-esc-So1cbJPupEVm9TPSE312mqfe9JyUvpNcbxp6I4Qw4mm2lcHuZqPKJdGKq3_nI5sjgxiMM44984L_En/s1600/P8191609.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFf1Jryvb7zIdP75ovjmQIfdAwR1ImjWiX8M8Uhyphenhyphen3chD3PqfZfQ_zW6DDjw-esc-So1cbJPupEVm9TPSE312mqfe9JyUvpNcbxp6I4Qw4mm2lcHuZqPKJdGKq3_nI5sjgxiMM44984L_En/s400/P8191609.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509408156071158514" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Angel's Landing indeed</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjEj01YLjzvAq_y6cp6sv66eajZq8ral_aLVptIVUon9W8bh8THNe4HD5b13xzz2OBnD9VGJ-gwH_clnjlF_mem2lS5NlFnaN6n7zH0O_00BciBGo7R-9x25AT1kGEcImMpRz4PO9WQ3L4/s1600/P8201621.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjEj01YLjzvAq_y6cp6sv66eajZq8ral_aLVptIVUon9W8bh8THNe4HD5b13xzz2OBnD9VGJ-gwH_clnjlF_mem2lS5NlFnaN6n7zH0O_00BciBGo7R-9x25AT1kGEcImMpRz4PO9WQ3L4/s400/P8201621.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509408138972754066" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hiking the Narrows, which is basically just walking upstream into the canyon for a few miles</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCebwwZtSUPP_1L8WO-LnIb5We7mjwnY58UswdJpbVY_uK-N4RthHWVembHXEVtJ_6b1iFcNGeDwVLfiNdqpr0qee_nZraUUp6pMXXsKcFzu2hHgiqM34rpPGrkvKNJsFZubAUEYhS7o-m/s1600/P8231630.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCebwwZtSUPP_1L8WO-LnIb5We7mjwnY58UswdJpbVY_uK-N4RthHWVembHXEVtJ_6b1iFcNGeDwVLfiNdqpr0qee_nZraUUp6pMXXsKcFzu2hHgiqM34rpPGrkvKNJsFZubAUEYhS7o-m/s400/P8231630.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509409361041426786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Hello, Los Angeles</div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-86748024375732933772010-08-17T10:34:00.001-07:002010-08-23T09:03:58.744-07:00Westward, ho!It's been a while, I know. I've been in the States since mid-May doing a combination of roadtripping, wedding attending, and general merrymaking. I spent May and June in a whirlwind East Coast tour and then July was spent mostly in a basement in Pawtucket, Rhode Island recording an album with my old-time partner in crime, Jonah Sol Gabry. The album is off to a good start and is currently in the mixing/mastering phase. Stay tuned for a release date when you'll be able to purchase one for yourself and hear what I'm talking about.<div><br /></div><div>On August 1st with the Atlantic Ocean in the rear-view, I headed west. The first stop was Jonah's family compound in the Catskills before a mad dash (via Chicago and Omaha) to Colorado. In Colorado I attended a fabulous wedding of an old time camp friend before heading into the "I'm-going-to-go-play-outside" portion of the trip. I hiked to the top of the Rockies (Mt. Elbert, 14,443 feet), swung through Guffey (pop. 26) to see some relatives, and now join you from Moab, Utah (the jumping off point for Arches National Park). In order not to bore you to tears, I'll keep up my old format with just a few nuggets of observation.</div><div><ul><li>Ohio and Indiana are awful to drive across. Not to mention the toll roads cost as much as Boston - DC ($24). Sorry if you hail from one of these states, but other than our friendship I don't see much appeal to your state. Iowa and Nebraska, however surprisingly, weren't all that bad. Iowa actually has rolling hills (with plenty of corn), and Nebraska has at least a dozen trees (which I totally didn't expect). I can now personally attest to the fact that both Iowa and Nebraska do, indeed, exist. I am sure there are some people out there who feel the same way about Mississippi. I assure you, these states all exist.</li><li>Hiking a 14'er (those mtns in Colorado over 14,000 feet) is, in fact, achievable. However, I recommend acclimating to the altitude and plenty of water. Our trail was only 4.5 miles long, but we ascended 4,000 feet in the process - a helluva steep trail if you ask me. Not to be outdone by the dogs and octogenarians also climbing to the top, I kept on schlepping (past the two false summits) to the actual summit for a spectacular view of the Rockies. </li><li>Visiting a National Park in August is like a vacation to France. The scenery might be a little different, but you'll hear more French than English, guaranteed. I guess since they all take off the month of August (more than 2 weeks vacation is such a novel concept, ain't it?) they decide to come sweat it out in the great outdoors. </li><li>Always, always, <i>always</i> stake down your tent. And then put rocks over the stakes. I learned this advice many moons ago but somehow forgot and nearly ended up chasing my tent down the Colorado River one afternoon when the wind decided to pick up a bit. I can assure you the event was a comedy of errors and brought endless entertainment to my camping companion at the time. If you need a chuckle today, please just envision this scenario. It was hilarious. </li><li>You should also check your oil <i>before</i> you leave the oil change place. It took me 100 miles after leaving Lube & Latte in Golden, CO to realize the idiots forgot to put back on the oil cap filler. I realized it only after a quart or so had splashed out of its proper place all over my engine. Luckily, oil cap fillers are standard parts at a CarQuest of AutoZone. That was a close one...</li><li>For those of you who followed the Asia stories - I cannot express the comfort of being normal sized again. No more new yoga positions necessary for the cross-country travel in the US. There are also far fewer random people wanting to take pictures of me. While the paparazzi attention had it's moments, it's good to be inconspicuous again.</li></ul><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfXAQ2QgW-yAzScyMWUaUzLr-jtnlPZkCxi-lPsO7UQ8i-3vzbjnQaBrrnGCk9pDAie-n4Fd_xoPNDqg841XE-Qi3xt1mxSG8LN-o38lSqdnGjdTkUNMyc47if0nJAvhU0l3H32OWPawk/s400/P8051474.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506446114336880434" /></span><div style="text-align: center;">Coffee break at Nebraska rest area. Why pay for Starbucks when you can kick back and brew your own cup of joe?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3yl2yvRKCCUCsWnMkY_jNR_ESAkvoSVgUuqciiw1H5h4xX5Wk81EQlZGsDLz_U3l8XkP64K3KKfrw89o9Tl2tTQyuSEfFzJEx8MIJmSjChAxUyB1_TKdVdaMNGG49b2lx3A0qjSCQZ4J/s1600/P8101495.JPG"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3yl2yvRKCCUCsWnMkY_jNR_ESAkvoSVgUuqciiw1H5h4xX5Wk81EQlZGsDLz_U3l8XkP64K3KKfrw89o9Tl2tTQyuSEfFzJEx8MIJmSjChAxUyB1_TKdVdaMNGG49b2lx3A0qjSCQZ4J/s400/P8101495.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506446125885771522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Summit of Mt. Elbert, the tallest peak in Colorado and the second tallest in the continental US</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj201H631kR0z65073TLfr_Mjg6BUo7wb3RXsfvt8b08uyd0jMTFbN-42AYsDd9_affkmmC6lyUWoLbe1Bv-FIZbDCj6LAOQVV29ODKPSsvLo6Ut8nn1OzpQKtrkre2i_5OUV-VHW5fjlon/s1600/P8141516.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj201H631kR0z65073TLfr_Mjg6BUo7wb3RXsfvt8b08uyd0jMTFbN-42AYsDd9_affkmmC6lyUWoLbe1Bv-FIZbDCj6LAOQVV29ODKPSsvLo6Ut8nn1OzpQKtrkre2i_5OUV-VHW5fjlon/s400/P8141516.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506446134332939970" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sunset from Guffey, CO (pop. 26)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtveFPWg6ocq3zUd2SMNolissyGWiroRXauBvmTq1yYOFSRqPHv9mPavy3Cw8RPPusTc5ZdOwtA0tl046Sosx6yO2EythwLHfNUjYRH5qm2hHvq2RiU3UDcsP00HZt6BuJMUBQshRzzy6d/s1600/P8151530.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtveFPWg6ocq3zUd2SMNolissyGWiroRXauBvmTq1yYOFSRqPHv9mPavy3Cw8RPPusTc5ZdOwtA0tl046Sosx6yO2EythwLHfNUjYRH5qm2hHvq2RiU3UDcsP00HZt6BuJMUBQshRzzy6d/s400/P8151530.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506446140075668402" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Camping spot outside of Moab, UT - before the weather decided to relocate my tent</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdCq5G1FTh9cz86gD9XATAiLJb4uNqM3Sx9N-jvjuF9zh43RKOkztmzKEjNK1IWz2uGBJdvhSjuL9i8W6sHz8o-SCDOatLgCIIKitS9Ok6ja-bws-S_5eDE5ORGwJH-EgyMz1vWTyR_O9/s1600/P8161553.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPdCq5G1FTh9cz86gD9XATAiLJb4uNqM3Sx9N-jvjuF9zh43RKOkztmzKEjNK1IWz2uGBJdvhSjuL9i8W6sHz8o-SCDOatLgCIIKitS9Ok6ja-bws-S_5eDE5ORGwJH-EgyMz1vWTyR_O9/s400/P8161553.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506446151902775474" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Arches National Park - it's basically France.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From here I head to Zion and then over to Yosemite. I basically move when I feel moved to and operate on a totally "what-do-I-feel-like-doing/where-do-I-feel-like-going today" schedule. I'll be in touch if I'm coming through your neck of the woods. God knows I could use a shower right about now...</div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-43150161780682747142010-06-18T07:30:00.000-07:002010-06-18T07:47:25.709-07:00I Do Nothing and I Live in My Car<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-TwNPuA0a1c8hWUuWT1TcXNGfAJSKQruAtI2VinqaZPK0-xMh-kCNh8WC1umV1m96EsXN-j5-jEe-utbhfJ-QoeMVlmgMeFN7h2Uo5UtmN4xSnchZb9ICqv-VzFqnUsIP8Je8YL2lVnj/s1600/P6171441.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 102px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-TwNPuA0a1c8hWUuWT1TcXNGfAJSKQruAtI2VinqaZPK0-xMh-kCNh8WC1umV1m96EsXN-j5-jEe-utbhfJ-QoeMVlmgMeFN7h2Uo5UtmN4xSnchZb9ICqv-VzFqnUsIP8Je8YL2lVnj/s400/P6171441.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484125162770930482" /></a><br />I join you again from the town of Linville, North Carolina - nestled at the foot of Grandfather Mountain in Pisgah National Forest. It's here where I spent summers of my youth and where my parents have recently built a cabin. It's been a swell getaway and conveniently located between the mid-Atlantic and Jackson, Mississippi. There's not too much to report but nonetheless:<div><br /></div><div><ul><li>Attending Sister's graduation and a wedding, I have been forced to socialize with strangers upon my return. I'm all for meeting new people, but I've grown weary of the schmoozer question: So, where do you live and what do you do? My favorite response: I do nothing and I live in my car. To be fair, I really live <i>out </i>of my car, but the imagery of <i>in it</i> is so much better, don't you think? My favorite response so far to my explanation of travels is (completely seriously): So, when you're done traveling, will you go to business or law school?</li><li>The I-95 corridor between Boston and DC is perhaps the only place in America where you can drive 9 hours and never lose NPR. God bless America. </li><li>I love the North Carolina mountains. There's just no way not to. Perhaps it's the nostalgia of my youth, but how can one not enjoy a place where a) you can bike/hike to your heart's content b) boiled peanuts are available at every roadside stand and c) there is no need for neither AC nor heat. Ah, perfection.</li></ul><div>From here it's back to Mississippi for Emily Claire's wedding (I have done my best to rid myself of my Chaco tan and even out my zebra stripes) and then back to Providence to record an album with Jonah. I'll be in Providence until the end of July and then I head west for a 9 week road trip. Let me know if you want to join!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1592276612094641681.post-39534542241456890662010-05-22T09:50:00.000-07:002010-05-22T10:26:52.612-07:00And So It Continues...Arrived stateside after 28 hours of travel on May 12th. For the record, May 12th was the longest day I've seen - over 34 hours long to be exact. I saw the sunrise and sunset twice each on opposite sides of the globe. Luckily, my readjustment to my new time zone (exactly 12 hours behind southeast Asia) was easy enough. After one day of recovery in Jackson I made my way to Orange Beach, Alabama to watch for the oil slick and celebrate the end of Emily Claire's bachelorettehood. This, of course, was completed with a trip to the famous FloraBama bar on the Florida-Alabama state line. I returned to Jackson for a hot second and then drove to Memphis to spend some QT with Meriwether Wofford, who has also decided to end her bachelorettehood this summer. From there I headed north to the hills of Kentucky to visit Marigny & Jon Bostock for a couple of days. Then it was off to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania to pay homage to Groundhog Phil before schlepping up to Boston for some time with those Bowdoin kids who still put up with me. I'll head off to Maine tomorrow, then gradually down to Princeton for Mary Reid's graduation. A few observations/comments about my return to the good ole U.S. of A.:<div><br /></div><div><ul><li>I have been warned that getting married during football season is just downright rude. If you insist on having a fall wedding your friends will be forced (against their will) to miss a game, which undoubtedly will be a very important one. Your marriage will be cursed by the upset souls who forego their cowbell and Crimson on your behalf.</li><li>After spending 2 months of constantly unsucessful hyrdation attempts, I am now cursed with what seems like an insufficiently sized bladder. I haven't shaken the constant water intake but I am no longer sweating 24 hours a day. Here's the equation: Hydration - Asia + roadtrip = A slower trip than originally planned.</li><li>No matter where you are, you can always find a country station and someone talking about Jesus. NPR is only available near cities that a 2nd grader has heard of and New England. </li><li>Everybody seems to claim Abraham Lincoln as their native son. Sure, you knew Illinois was "The Land of Lincoln" but Kentucky is mighty proud he was born there and Indiana lets you know as soon as you cross the Ohio River that it is "Lincoln's boyhood home." Gee, he's a mighty popular guy.</li><li>You know that Asian traffic is bad when you return to Boston and think that traffic is smooth sailing. This is the city I used to HATE driving in because of all those Massholes and the roads that were planned by cows meandering to market. Not any more. It seems calm and even friendly. If anyone is sick and tired of Boston traffic, just take a trip to Vietnam and it will cure you of your animosity. Guaranteed.</li></ul><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyafB8Jl6o1Dfys0GflpQ6r6x-ovI8NAtEbIYTT4-T3kTZnMrbPjd8X_sxfIq1jEMiL4cfO8OBOVf5L3zoQ0SkWtrHo85FGv5kuvjviO3O5YhDqDn_yxsX5v7h57NpfhiAVxxWk1U_7-Go/s1600/P5151206.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyafB8Jl6o1Dfys0GflpQ6r6x-ovI8NAtEbIYTT4-T3kTZnMrbPjd8X_sxfIq1jEMiL4cfO8OBOVf5L3zoQ0SkWtrHo85FGv5kuvjviO3O5YhDqDn_yxsX5v7h57NpfhiAVxxWk1U_7-Go/s400/P5151206.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474145555816081762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Emily Jane, Emily Claire, and Me!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKPnbu3OHwxaDpvn7w9f4KHlzpIMLC-xnmtZ4dqODekxw3Ne3JJ6Zv8bA6Hmp_BdPFwxF2KD5JjT241gEhGr_YiW8EQAhQ_OJTQbqhySXzRfeae6fLpkqHR_3bfC6cLAlFZRUOefPbP7h/s1600/P5181251.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKPnbu3OHwxaDpvn7w9f4KHlzpIMLC-xnmtZ4dqODekxw3Ne3JJ6Zv8bA6Hmp_BdPFwxF2KD5JjT241gEhGr_YiW8EQAhQ_OJTQbqhySXzRfeae6fLpkqHR_3bfC6cLAlFZRUOefPbP7h/s400/P5181251.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474145567440008642" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Munfordville, Kentucky</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8SvEFXt7IY8Y-0wPobf36dHQdoyJoXYPRTHq88i7hSe_HB6mxJkGEAdH2liXgu3N351b6QOqn7hdm6OwNhyphenhyphenONjJQNQg_8mfVQ0fddg_ANKPoqFSqhJaemWk5kFrI8WI6Kxcj8zazHQM5/s1600/P5211284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC8SvEFXt7IY8Y-0wPobf36dHQdoyJoXYPRTHq88i7hSe_HB6mxJkGEAdH2liXgu3N351b6QOqn7hdm6OwNhyphenhyphenONjJQNQg_8mfVQ0fddg_ANKPoqFSqhJaemWk5kFrI8WI6Kxcj8zazHQM5/s400/P5211284.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474145586408572722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Those Boston kids that still put up with me</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArupvtf89tx35w098bxEl6c7JXt-dOOyRpmjPGPF_pctmZ1SAmVCVX3Ka8oimwC5b284MMhGwasRffY3yIb-34MXzRvzPLWU10sKMqZielrBtFBOCPRLjrZJQEO2m6zxgtuh_Q1YvF3T-/s1600/P5201268.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArupvtf89tx35w098bxEl6c7JXt-dOOyRpmjPGPF_pctmZ1SAmVCVX3Ka8oimwC5b284MMhGwasRffY3yIb-34MXzRvzPLWU10sKMqZielrBtFBOCPRLjrZJQEO2m6zxgtuh_Q1YvF3T-/s400/P5201268.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474145570196837762" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Amish Country in Pennsylvania</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zG7-4pLuZ_YfZ3csC6lEMl0HWMipOznwqapWCLF-TjwZkF8ipyVry1Zn5C0Wkon3gf9Bi95bKuCaTIwRAhyphenhyphenjWdlW7MdatnOK1nolEWJGPMuleeMpTRkhpQajURM_X3Dsq1DDE1Dg27LQ/s1600/P5201273.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5zG7-4pLuZ_YfZ3csC6lEMl0HWMipOznwqapWCLF-TjwZkF8ipyVry1Zn5C0Wkon3gf9Bi95bKuCaTIwRAhyphenhyphenjWdlW7MdatnOK1nolEWJGPMuleeMpTRkhpQajURM_X3Dsq1DDE1Dg27LQ/s400/P5201273.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474145579695288050" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Punxsutawney, PA - the weather capital of the world</div><br /><br /></div></div>Munnyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17924519850687513919noreply@blogger.com0