Bebir Cair Levantar.

Festa!

July is winter in Brazil, and with winter comes winter vacation.  In a boon for wealthy, bored, or undersexed Carioca (Rio de Janeiro inhabitants) or Paulista (Sao Paulo inhabitants) teenagers, Forma Tourismo — a yellow-clad, party-oriented tourist agency — has created huge package tours to the coast of Bahia.  In particular, these tours stop in Porto Seguro (PS) – much our surprise when we arrived in PS a couple weeks ago to find thousands of underage, scantily-clad, caiparinha-sucking, baby faces looking for a beach, some music, and some of that good old-fashioned Bahian Axé.

Deb and I came to PS from Ilheus, where we had run to from the gray, rainy skies of Salvador.  Ilheus was nice enough, with a couple decent beaches and the former home of Brazilian writer Jorge Amado.  But PS was much more to our liking, despite (or perhaps because of?) the squeaking of thousands of teens.

Picture if you will:  At 11pm we get in line.  The line is at least a kilometer long, and it loads us on to a ferry.  The ferry is filled with already drunken teens, and it slowly dawns on us that we are the only ones around to have broken the two decade mark besides the ´chaperones´, which are really just older men (someone´s dad, no doubt) who have a kind eye for young flesh.  The ferry unloads us onto Ilha dos Aquarios, an island purpose-built to be a multi-stage party venue complete with dozens of huge aquariums littered around the island, filled with a paltry display of fish and a couple cool-looking and oft-harassed sharks.  The tapping on the glass and the bass from the music alone must be slowly killing this lot of fish, or at least driving them nuts.

Teens rule!

As we scope this island party scene, we take note of at least five stages playing different kinds of music, at least that many bars sporting signs saying ´no drinks for those under 18´ while doling out a sea of drinks to exactly that demographic, and no less than 5,000 attendees.  The main stage, where we spent much of our time, was at first graced by dancers, both male and female, both wearing nothing but spandex strips leaving nothing to the imagination, and both girating on stage in choreographed dances to the latest hip hop or axé music that the DJ produced.  The crowd somehow knew most of these dances as well, and the whole scene often took the appearance of one large line-dancing party, except replace the cowboy hats with clear bra-straps and the boots with high heels.

The dancers were soon replaced by this awesome singer with a throaty voice who sang hits like ´Bebir Cair Levantar´ (Drink, Fall Down, and Get Up Again for our Portuguese-challenged), which basically became our theme song for our time in Porto Seguro.  When the sun rose, however, the fun ended, and the music stopped, and Deb and I — more slowly than normal — realized that we ought to catch one of those ferries back to the mainland before we got caught in an ongoing teenybopper party without end.

Ilha dos Aquarios

As it turned out, we stayed four days or so in Porto Seguro, and besides it´s younster flair, it was actually quite a pleasant beach paradise.  We rented a motorbike and cruised north and south along the coast, in search of the perfect sand, the clearest water, the finest curved cove, and found many to our liking.  We watched the moon (not to mention the sun) rise over the ocean, not a frequent sight for two west-coasters like ourselves.  We ate acarajé and bobo de camarao and moqueca until we were sick of amazing tasting Bahian food (which actually never happened).  When we didn´t know what to do next, we swam, then tanned, then swam again, then ate, then tanned, then read, then drank, fell down, and got up again…and did the same thing all over again.

Oh, and Deb also got bitten by a rabid dog. 

Just kidding.  It wasn´t a dog.

Flu!

Marcana Stadium

Now I know this is getting all out of order, but trust me, it is better this way. Instead of writing about what happened two or three weeks ago hundreds of miles away in another country, I’m going to write about what happened yesterday. Then later I’ll write about those other things that happened earlier. Maybe.

Last night Deb and I went to a soccer match in Rio de Janeiro. (For those of you not interested in soccer, I recommend skipping this post.) The match was between Vasco de Gama and Fluminese, two Rio-based teams with a healthy rivalry. It took place at Marcana, the most important soccer stadium in Brazil — home of Pele’s 1000th goal, home of Ronaldo’s footprints in cement, and future home of the 2014 World Cup final. In the 1950s, Marcana was home to the largest soccer crowd ever witnessed, when Brazil lost to Uruguay in front of over 200,000 screaming and later disappointed fans.

Marcana stadium

For those of you who’ve never been to a Brazilian soccer game, or have only tasted the paltry palate of MLS games, the crowd takes some explaining. On the north end of the stadium were gathered Fluminese’s supporters, who we also happened to be supporting, while on the south side huddled the dark masses of Vasco’s black-clad fanatics. Each had a cohort of hardcore fans, with several 15-foot flags waving back and forth, constant jumping, game-long chanting and singing, sparklers, flares, and the inevitable face-painted, bare-chested, drunk brutes looking to start fights. Compare this to the seated, calm, and proper crowds at any American sporting event and you see why Brazilian soccer games are so exciting.

People had advised us against getting the standing-room-only tickets because they were too dangerous, so instead we………got the standing-room-only tickets. (What do you want? They were cheaper. And say what you want, Brazil is f*#king expensive. I feel like my trust fund is almost gone. Wait a minute…) We sat 10 rows from the field right at the midfield line…best seats in the house.

Much to our chagrin, Vasco far outplays Fluminese in the first half, though only manages to score one goal before the break. After they score again in the second half, we think our chances are over. Raucous fans at the south end are jumping over seats to high five each other and throw V-shaped middle fingers at our side. Vasco’s fan cohort unravels a 300 foot flag that spreads over the entire upper section. We’re sunk.

But wait, Fluminese’s striker, Washington, invigorated by the second goal, quickly marches the field and returns the favor within a minute! At 2-1, the game comes to life with 30 minutes left. After a couple close chances, Vasco spreads the difference to 3-1, and again we feel defeated. But Fluminese apparently thrives on being behind. When Washington goes down in the box a few minutes later, the tricolors (Fluminese) are awarded a penalty, which Washinton handily slots home (3-2). Now the Flu fans are on their feet. We are dancing and shouting in something approximating Portuguese, hugging nearby Flu fans, and screaming at every near chance that Flu gets. With just 5 minutes to go, Washington again creates a great opportunity and assists for Flu’s third goal, tying the game at 3-3. The game ends there, and we couldn’t have hoped for a better match to watch in the world’s soccer capital.

Above the clouds

Mt. Condoriri

Having skipped the opportunity to trek in the area around Machu Picchu, Deb and I were even more psyched to trek in the Bolivian Cordillera Real (Royal Range). Running from La Paz — where Illimani towers over the city like Rainer over Seattle (except much bigger at 21,201 ft) — past Lake Titicaca where the snow caps are reflected in the lakes azure waters, the Cordillera Real offers awesome hiking for the well-acclimitized.

 

As in Peru, we opted to do the hike on our own. We chose a unique route that wasn´t covered by any of the trekking agencies and were rewarded with absolutely no crowds on the trail and unspolit wilderness. We hiked in from Tuni to the Mt. Condoriri Base Camp, which was the only time we ran into any other hikers until four days later when we hit the Choro Trail, which we hiked up the ´wrong way´ to La Cumbre, where we caught a ride back to La Paz. Along the way, we passed over our highest point ever at 5016 m (16,457 ft) at the Col de Agura Negra. We also passed a ton of lakes, high meadows, llamas & alpacas, misty valleys, and a couple of small backcountry villages.

 

Cool speckled llama

The hiking was tough — up to 4800 m and then down to 3600 m, then back up to 4600 m, and so on. All told we crossed over 5 passes, all over 4600 m, and there was a deep valley before each one. Highlights included: getting lost in the mist near the top of one of the passes, forcing me to climb a bit with a 40 lb backpack; the quesadillas; one night where our 15 degree sleeping bags weren´t warm enough for the cold, which ended up freezing the entire tent so that in the morning it kept it´s shape and wouldn´t bend; discovering that no matter how high we got, llamas were always (always!) higher.

 

Choro trail -- old Inca Road

The end of the trail tracked up the Choro Trail, a centuries old Inca Road that leads over the high mountains down into the jungle. We took this finely rock-paved road up and over the final pass and met a kindly trio at the top, who unexpectedly gave us a ride back to La Paz scrunched into their VW bug, all the while chatting away about everything from dromelids to politics. When we got back to the city, they seemed more than eager to give us a tour around La Paz, and we got some fantastic shots of the valley of La Paz from the rim above.

 

The route is in this map.  To view other photos, go here.

The hottest spot north of Havana

poor llama

As you may have already noticed, this post is not for the faint of heart.

It is testiment to the rush of the past few weeks that only now, as Deb and I get ready to leave Bolivia, am I finally getting around to writing my first Bolivia post.  We crossed over to Bolivia via Lake Titicaca, the world´s highest navigable lake at 12,530 feet (3820 m) above sea level.  The lake is huge, much bigger than Tahoe, and I could not see across it going the long way.  It´s waters are clear and it is overlooked by the beautiful Cordillera Real snow-capped mountain range, which has a few peaks over 6000 m (about 20,000 feet).

The lake straddles the border of Peru and Bolivia, though we spent only a night on the Peru side, in Puno.  It was in Copacabana, on the Bolivian side, that we had much more fun.

A bit of history first, though, as many of you may have Barry Manilow´s lilting lyrics winding their stealthy way through your head.  This Copacabana, the one in Bolivia, was the first.  It took its name from the eponymous Virgin figure that was carved and placed in a church here and soon became a major pilgramage sight throughout Bolivia and the rest of Latin America.  It was after this famous virgin that the beach in Brazil got its name, and that the NYC club got its fame.  Who could have guessed that good old Barry would one day pick it up and put it into one of his dastardly catchy tunes?  Such are the rivers of history — but our boat trip ends there.

When we first got to Copa (for short), I began to puke.  We had come for the winter solstice festivals we had heard so much about, but upon coming to town, we were told they had already occurred.  This was not why I puked (some food no doubt), but it didn´t help.  After a day of feeling crappy, Deb and I wandered about town, and eventually wandered outside of town to this ruins site mentioned in our guide book.

The site — Intinkala — was honestly not that exciting, really just a rock carved with a couple offering tables and a winding channel, down which the ancients ostensibly poored llama blood following sacrifices.  A small kid who opportunistically asked for an entrance fee told us about this rock, and then let slip that they´d be sacrificing a llama soon if we stuck around.  Thinking we misheard (our Spanish is admittedly not perfect), we asked for clarification.   And sure enough, he repeated that within the half hour they would be sacrificing a llama.

Not wanting to miss such an opportunity, we stuck around.  And low and behold, here came some more people, some with Inca flags (startingly similar to gay pride flags, complete with rainbow squares), some with beer, some with coca leaves, and yes — one with a white llama in tow.  The llama, by the way, seemed blissfully unaware of his fate, and sat by the fence for what was to be his unspectacular last supper of dried weeds.  By the time all were gathered, there was about 50 folks gathered around these 3 Aymara elders (priests, perhaps, but i don´t pretend to know what title they hold or of what the ceremony exactly consisted…all was conducted in Aymara).  The ceremony was conducted a day late because they couldn´t find a llama from someone on the day before, so my sickness ended up helping us. 

I won´t go into the details of the ceremony, but in consisted in the main of offerings to Pachamama (the mother earth goddess), as well as hopes and blessings for the new year for all gathered as well as the town as a whole.  All the offerings, much of which included coca leaves, wine, herbs, and small sugar molds of different shapes (luck, money, new car, new house, good business, etc), were tossed onto a large fire, which apparently helped all the offerings and wishes come true.

Then came the final act.  You can see it all on Youtube here, though it was hard to get a good angle once the llama´s throat was cut, as everyone pressed around to try to get cupfulls or handfulls of blood so that they coiuld throw them on the sarcred rock or on the fire.  Once they cut its throat, one gentleman cut open the llama´s belly and reached up inside it´s still-warm inner cavity.  Much to my suprise, he pulled out the llama´s heart.  And the heart — like something out of Indiana Jones — was still beating steadily.  There is another video of this here, and the beating heart was then put on the fire, where it scorched black and still went on beating for several moments. 

After all this was done, the llama was buried, though we half expected it to be eaten.  Purified with much cerveza and coca leaves, the llama went back to the earth as a final offering to Pachamama.  All told, it was quite an event.

PS. Sorry the videos are sideways.  Good exercise.

Not your run-of-the-mill Machu Picchu post

I´ll try to make this as exciting as possible.  Lord knows every time someone showed me their photos of Machu Picchu (MP) I had trouble supressing sleep, much less a yawn.  The fact is, if you haven´t been, then it looks just like all the other postcards you´ve seen.  In fact, the inevitability you feel when traveling in Peru — the feeling that you MUST see MP no matter what — grated on us like a Celine Dion song on repeat.

But in the end, you gotta go.  So we did.  We were about 9 months too late to sign up for the Inca Trail, the 4 day trek that takes the same road the Incas took to MP.  Instead, we spent a good week or so exploring the other cities and ruins in the Sacred Valley, and then took the train to Aguas Calientes (the MP base town). 

On our designated MP day, we arose at 4:30, purchased the overpriced entry ticket, and hiked in half darkness up the wicked switchbacks to MP.  The morning was misty as all hell, but it was that magical sort of mist you expect when you go to see the Inca´s most impressive ruin, perched magically on top of a magical jungly mountain, magically overlooking the river that snakes a full 270 degrees around it.  All magic aside, though, it was magical.  We climbed up Huayna Picchu, the mountain overlooking MP that you see in the background of all the postcards, and the mist burned off as we sat on the very top, looking down on MP and the glorious ridges and mountain surrounding it.  As folks annoying told us, and as I am annoying relating to you: you gotta see it.

But enough of that.  Scope the few paltry photos I´ve uploaded if you´re interested.  Otherwise, I am glad to be done with that particularly touristy portion of our trip.  It was beautiful and worthwhile, and I admit to have enjoyed a taste of “mexican food” at the tourist restaurants in Aguas Calientes, but come on folks, the Aguas weren´t that Calientes, and I could get get five days accommodation for the price I paid for that plate of Chilaquiles, which, among other strange edibles, prominently featured a crepe, but no eggs.  Good night.

Letter to Cruz Del Sur

(Cruz del Sur is the largest bus provider in Peru.  They run popular routes between all the major cities and tourist destinations.  They are recommended by all the guide books, not to mention people you meet on the road.  Deb and I took about 4 or 5 Cruz del Sur buses during our time in Peru.  Now that we´re leaving, we wanted to write them a letter…for lack of a suggestion box.)

To Whom It May Concern At Cruz Del Sur:

As the most touted bus operator in Peru, I´d like to congratulate you on your reputation.  I don´t know who you had to pay off to get in all those guide books, but congratulations, it was money well spent.  Not that all of it is undeserved.  You certainly had some comfortable buses with good seats and I can commend you on your drivers, who never passed on blind curves and with whom I felt absolutely safe.

Yet because my girlfriend and I took a number of your buses during our time in Peru, I thought you would appreciate some constructive feedback.  As such, the following is a list of suggestions for improving your bus rides.

1. Have a suggestion box.
2. Don´t steal Deb´s iPod.  It´s just bad business.  Yeah, you know who you are.  Asshole in Ica with the phony security guard.
3. Enough with the awful Russian-inspired music CD that you play over and over again like there was no other CD that could possibly go into the player.  That shit is awful.  It makes riding the bus like a bad theme park ride that you can´t get off.  In Russia.
4. Leave on time.  I know — a novel suggestion.  It just seems like when you post departure times AND you post that your agency is “always on time,” that should mean something.  And yes, I´m talking to you again Ica asshole.
5. Ok, the bathrooms.  I get it.  They are only urinals.  And I – unlike many of the gringos on your buses – can read the sign that says, “solo urinario.”  And when you say at the beginning, in Spanish, don´t poo in the bathrooms, I hear you.  I don´t poo.  But those other gringos…they go in there, and they just poo their brains out.  They poo all over those urinarios.  Because they don´t know what an urinario is.  And that English sign you have in the bathroom?  The one that says, “Only Urinario”?  That doesn´t make ANY sense in English!  You´re trying to tell me that the largest bus operator in Peru can´t get a decent English translation?  “Only Pee!” you fools!!!  “No Poop!”  “Please no shitting in here!”  Any of these works fine.  But “only urinario” is gonna leave you with, well, exactly what you have: a bus that smells like filthy gringo poop all 14 hours to Cusco.
6. Learn how to use the DVD player.  Then teach the stewardesses.  I would particularly recommend going over the “next” and “previous” buttons.  The “menu” button also may come in handy for those times when you turn off and restart the bus, thereby interrupting the movie, and leaving the stewardesses apparently at a loss as to how to go pick a certain chapter.  And please, no Portuguese movies.  Spanish movies, yes.  English movies, yes.  Your clientele is probably 99% Spanish or English speaking…so no Portuguese movies.  The whole bus is sitting there thinking, “Who in god´s name understands this?  Why am I here?  And what is that strange Russian melody stuck in my head?  Some reggaeton, please!  Anything!  And what´s that smell!?!”
7. The Bingo game.  Ok, this part is cool.  Neat idea: the winner of the Bingo game gets a free return passage.  Hey, I even won once.  Yeah, that was neat.  A winner.  Big winner.  Chicken dinner.  No wait.  What did I win?  A useless return ticket to the place I just came from.  And then, when I very reasonably asked to swap it for a CHEAPER ride to a different city, I was met with incompetent and somewhat rude helplessness.  I don´t mean to be the complaining tourist here (though that is clearly the admittedly obnoxious role I have taken in this particular post), but come on, let´s talk business sense.  You´ll give me a free $30 ticket but not swap it for a free $10 ticket?   Also, I´m pretty sure with Bingo you only have to get a row, not the full card.  Details, I know, but important to the old folks, ya know?
8. What´s with the scorching hot metal grates by your feet in the front of the bus?  I nearly melted my shoes on those things.  Have you ever heard of the Starbucks lawsuit, homies?  You better fix that or put, “Will burn the soles right off your feet in ten seconds” on those grates unless you want trouble.
9. Don´t steal Deb´s iPod.  Did I mention that?  We know it was you, Ica.  And we know your security guard lackey was covering for you.
10. I think lists are better with ten´s, don´t you?  Nine makes such a sad list.  So in that case, let me add the final point that your buses are way too expensive.  Halve the price and you need not change a thing.  But keep your prices as they are, and please see #1-9.

Gracias, and thanks for the good times.

Sincerely,

Evan White and Deb Karasek

 

Que Rico!

For those of your concerned with our daily caloric intake, I submit this sample day of food from our trip.  Specifically, this was from 6/14.  Keep in mind the amounts are for two people.

Breakfast at the bus station in Arequipa ($3)

• One fried egg and piece of bread each
• Banana milkshake
• Orange juice
• Two cups of tea

Lunch at a cevicheria in Arequipa where we could watch the Eurocup game ($10)

• Two bowls of a thin-brothed fishy soup (complementary)
• One plate of grilled corn kernels (also complementary, like bread with a meal)
• One ceviche mixto (w/ mussels, clams, prawns, octopus, fish, seaweed, sweet potato, onions, lime, milk)
• One sudado cojinova (a tomato-based soup with a whole fish in it, plus some potatoes and other goodies)

Snack Time around Arequipa

• Leche asado – a flan-like custard with a burned top like creme brulee ($1)
• A bottle of Pasos de Tango, an Argentinian wine that was a bit fruity ($6)
• 2 peanut butter Oreos (I didnt know these existed!?) (15 cents)

Dinner at the Plaza de Armas ($6)

• One soltero de queso (a salad consisting of queso fresco, tomatoes, onions, favas, corn, olives, and parsley)
• One palta a la reyna (a half avocado stuffed with potato salad
• One ocupa de Arequipa (a local specialist involving potatoes covered in a spicy yellow cream sauce made from orange peppers)
• One rocoto relleno (another local Arequipan dish which is a stuffed peppers with ground beef, cheese, potatoes, and scrambled eggs)
• Two free pisco sours (Perus national drink)

Dessert ($.75)

• One tartalteo de sauco (a tartlet made from a local berry)

Buen provecho!

Burners Without Borders

While we were in Huaraz, we ran into a very pleasant couple from Seattle by the name of Brian and Kim.  Brian and Kim had, likewise, just run into another couple.  Said other couple were two of the leading members of a group called Burners Without Borders.

Started after the tragedy of Hurricane Katrina, Burners Without Borders(BWB) was begun by a group of Burning Man participants who felt they wanted to do something given the clear lack of federal and state reconstruction efforts.  (Burning Man, by the way, is a big week-long art/techno party that takes place every year in the Nevada Desert…Burners, as they are called, will no doubt despise such a description, but if you want to know more, go here or here for more legit descriptions.)

Well, after the Katrina effort, in August of 2007, an 8.0 earthquake struck Peru near the town of Pisco.  BWB decided to set up camp down there and has been doing reconstruction projects in Pisco since November 2007.  BWB´s mission is to try and fill in the gaps where int´l aid orgs and governments leave open.  The situation offers a great opportunity for travelers to volunteer for a good cause while also living in a friendly communal living situation with lots of good folks.  You pay only $3 for a bed and 3 meals, and can stay as long as you want.  Although Deb and I only stayed there a couple days, there were many volunteers who came down for weeks or months.  BWB is doing everything from building schools and homes to clearing rubble, which is still considerable many months after the quake.  As any glance at online photos will show you, the streets of Pisco are in shambles, with nearly half of the building collapsed.  Half.  Take a look down your street and imagine half the buildings gone…just gone.

My work consisted of digging a deep hole for a cess pool.  I mostly dug up rocks and dirts, hauled it up in buckets, and transported the dirt and rocks to the far side of a future playground, so as to level the surface.  The work was backbreaking and slow-going but it felt good to help out if only for a brief time.  Deb constructed a temporary schoolhouse made of bamboo.  I would highly recommend this to anyone traveling through Peru or looking for a volunteer opportunity abroad.  We met many friendly people and there´s no doubt that Pisco still needs lots of help.  As I understand it, the BWB will be operating there until August….yes….the next Burn.

The Cordillera Blanca

The Cordillera Blanca is the second highest mountain range in the world, by far the highest in the tropics. If forms part of the Andes in northern Peru and has many peaks topping out over 20,000 feet. Having cut my teeth on the Sierra Nevadas, I am unused to anything over 15,000 feet, but figured it couldn´t be much different once it got that high.

For those of you who know my infatuation with the Sierras — not to mention my penchant for being right, or at least my aversion to the opposite — in this particular comparison, I was wrong. Though my love for the Sierras survives, what we saw on our recent trek was a beast entirely different, in some ways incomparable to the Sierras. Instead of vast granite faces bare of trees, we saw craggy glatiated peaks, wrinkled with their own altitude, jutting out of deep grassy valleys. Instead of a tree line at 12,000 feet, we saw trees and shrubs growing at well over 15,000 feet. Instead of bears and marmots, we saw cows and horses grazing at every elevation we climbed, happily chomping at the grass as if they weren´t aware of the rapidly receding glaciers around them.

There were obvious similarities. The scenery was impossible to capture in photos, try though we might. The nights were cold and the days warm. The rivers and lakes were clear and brilliant blue. And the meals tasted much better than you would expect, even when dinner was a packet of Top Ramen.

We walked our four days with another couple, Steven and Natalie, one British, the other French. The company was much enjoyed and we met many others along the way, including an Australian couple who joined us for the last day or two. At some point, everyone but me got altitude sickness, but luckily we had some pills to deal with that, and it quickly cured the symptoms. The highest pass we hit was at 4750 meters, which is 15,584 feet, a good 1000 feet higher than Mt. Whitney…Deb´s highest.

The trip to the mountains gave Deb and I a chance to drop our visas off at the Brazilian embassy in Lima, where we successfully obtained visas. Now we´re resting at a small beach town just south of Lima called Punta Hermosa, which is neigher Punta, nor Hermosa, really. It is mainly sad, given that it becomes a ghost town during the winter, but our room overlooks the bay and we hear waves crashing at night and it provides the perfect respite for a day or two while we prepare for our weeks ahead.

Here is the map our route.

Ode to Street Dogs

When I say “street dogs”, what image pops into your mind?  Something like this, no doubt, if you´re anything like me.  Having experienced the patchy hair, gaping wounds, and ferocious attitude of street dogs in other parts of the world, I can´t say I was excited about this particular part of my trip any more so than I can say I was psyched to see the bathroom situation down here.  However, unlike the bathroom scenario, South America thus far has me pleasantly surprised.  Besides the odd Andean hairless dog, most of the dogs here are incredibly cute, if not down right adorable.  Most seem to have healthy coats of sometimes luxurious fur.  I´ve seen chow chows that remind me of Mingus, like fluff balls that are Sola lookalikes, and huge dogs that look like Beetoven´s brother.  One of the cutest is pictured to the right.  I almost took him with me.