Wonderful friends,
I hope you are all doing well, and for the great majority of you who are in the northern hemisphere, I hope you are enjoying the beginning of spring.
Finca Guayacuyacu
Some hours after writing my last email, I embarked on a journey to Finca Guayacuyacu with Chloe, my long time couchsurfing host in Quito. Guayacuyacu is a small sustainable farm in a remote area in the jungle near the coast. It's run by two gringos who met on Peace Corps in Colombia and moved to Ecuador after about 15 years living in Colombia. They have been running the farm in Ecuador for almost 25 years. Farm may not actually be the most appropriate descriptor. They run a business as seed breeders. Ecuador's climate, especially the jungle climate, allows for almost any tropical plant to grow. They grow over 500 different kinds of plants, many of them edible fruit that I have never heard of, and sell the seeds all around the world, and especially all around tropical Latin America. they take in volunteers from anywhere from a week to several months, and we knew about he farm because a previous couchsurfer of Chloe's was volunteering there.
The journey there was not easy. We left the morning that Carnival weekend vacation began, meaning the lines to get out of Quito were absurdly long. After waiting at a bus station for four hours, we finally succeeded in getting on a bus toward Pedro Vicente, The somewhat larger town closest to the farm. At Pedro Vicente I had a nearly disastrous experience. We were a little bit confused about where to get off, and so were rushing to get off the bus. As a result, the minute we stepped off, the bus started driving down the road. I reached down to pick up my backpack and to my horror discovered it was not next to me and instead on the bus. I handed Chloe my sweatshirt and water bottle, and began running as fast as I possibly could after the bus, yelling at the top of my lungs for the bus to stop. Luckily, the street sloped down a little bit so I could run a little faster, and we were at the very beginning of town so the bus was stopping every block and driving slowly in between. Also, when I was about a block from catching up to the bus, a pickup truck stopped for me to jump on and we caught up. It took me about two hours to catch my breath after that.
With all the delays in Quito, we missed the last bus out of Pedro Vicente, so Chloe and I spent the night there, which was actually kind of nice because it gave us the opportunity to experience a Carnival Parade in a small town, and see everyone spraying foam at each other, throwing water balloons, and just in general being silly.
Once we got to the farm, things were very relaxing. We were occasionally given tasks like eating fruit to get the seeds out (my personal favorite), or going to pick nettle. But most of the time we were relaxing in hammocks, swimming at this crazy swirling swimming hole, hiking around the jungle, and eating some of the richest, most delicious, most nutritious, freshest vegetarian food I've ever head. A good portion of the food came straight out of the ground that day, and everything was cooked in this awesome outdoor kitchen/living room under the main living quarters. It was a beautiful and relaxing experience away from electronic civilization and connected to nature. A good break before my many hours on the bus and plunge into Santiago.
Traveling South
My descent to Santiago was long, very very long, and full of hiccups and surprises, just as expected. To start off, I had to leave a day later than I had originally planned because the bus by Guyacuyacu never showed up and I had to catch one the next morning.
Getting through Quito was easy, I caught a bus in the evening and woke up at the border int he morning. There was one weird point about an hour before arriving where I was the only passenger on the bus (which is always weird in Ecuador) and the bus didn't want to keep going for just one person, so they contacted another bus with the same company that was nearby, and I had to switch buses on the highway. The Ecuador Peru border between Huaquillas and Tumbes was a whole different story though. Unlike most borders where you have immigration out and in within and easy walking distance of each other, the immigration offices are each about 3 km form the actual border. I joined up with a Canadian traveler in a taxi from immigration in Ecuador to the border, and again in another taxi in Peru. the taxi in Peru was a little frustrating though. After taking us to the check point they kept driving us toward the town of Tumbes, without telling us that trip would cost an additional $20 (to the $2 we had agreed to). It was annoying because I kept asking the taxi driver what was going on, and he kept telling me not to worry about it. Granted we would have had to get to Tumbes anyway, but we probably could have taken a cheap bus instead of the taxi. Anyway, after about ten minutes of yelling and demanding he let me out of the car, I talked him down a few dollars and decided to just accept being bested. It was not the first time that day.
When I arrive din Tumbes, I discovered there were no buses going to Chiclayo, and in fact no buses going anywhere. The roads were closes for an indefinite amount of time. I understood there was some strike going on, all though at first I couldn't understand the details. I later gathered that it was the fishermen who had closed the roads because an oil company was going to run tests in the area to sea if there was oil under ocean. These tests would block off access for the fishermen for four months, which is already disastrous for them, the tests themselves coudl cause serious damage to the fish habitat, and if the companies proceeded to drill, it would obviously destroy everything in the area. I later also learned that the road there gets closed all the time for these types of protests. That is oen of the most popular forms of protest in the area, closing down a major highway until the governemnt is forced to handle negotiations. Politically, I was in support of what they were doing and happy to see that they found a way to voice their discontent. Selfishly I was annoyed because it was making my journey south very complicated. I had never dealt with a roadblock like this before, so I didn't know what the procedure was, and several people told me to just go get a hostel, relax, and wait for it to end. As I was searching for a hostel, a man saw me wandering with my huge pack and offered to help me. I agreed. That was not a mistake, however I was confused, and that confusion resulted in making a bunch of stupid mistakes.
The offer was to get someone to drive me to the roadblock, walk with em across the roadblock, and then help me find a bus to Chiclayo. When we got to the roadblock, I didn't have any change for the taxi, so I just paid for the taxi and the bus fare in one go. This was the first mistake, because this guy now had my money before I received what I was suppose to get for it. He did at least keep his word and walk with em along the road block. The way it works is that there are some areas where rumble and small fires are set along the road so no cars can cross, but people can cross easily. There are tons of people walking back and forth, and lots of stalls selling food and drinks. There are a few small motor taxis that lead you between the roadblocks. My friend was tired and took us on a few of these, which I also shouldn't have agreed to because he then tried to get me to pay him for them, but luckily that was easy for me to just refuse. When we finally got to the end, He had me sit down with my stuff while he went to see if the bus that his friend told him about was further down. This was the dumbest move. Never let a stranger who has your money leave your eyesight. Not surprisingly he disappeared soon after. The loss was not great in the greater scheme of expenses, about $30, but I just felt really stupid. Finally I conceded that I was not going to be able to find him, and hoped into a van heading to Manorca, a nearby beach town where I could catch a bus to Chiclayo. The positive part of this story is that I met a couple from Santiago (Maxi is Chilean, Radka is originally from Slovakia but lives in Santiago now) who were really nice and hung out with me until our buses came. I've had a chance to meet them once since getting here, but unfortunately not more because they are both busy with school/work.
Chiclayo was not particularly exciting as a city. There is not that much to see or do there. But I met up with my friend Lou there who I had met while traveling in China, and she showed me most of what there is to see, including the stands for the ice cream business she is running with her friend De. At the end of the day I boarded a bus to Lima, and from there caught the first bus I could to Arequipa, the biggest city in southern Peru. After a total of about 30 hours in buses without many stops I was waiting in Arequipa for a bus to Puno, the city near the border with Bolivia. While waiting I saw a pair of with people dressed very strangely also waiting for a bus. When I got closer I noticed they were speaking German, so naturally I joined in conversation with them and discovered they were also heading to La Paz. Their weird clothing was a costume, part of a tradition for journey handy workers, which is a something handcraft workers are expected to do to fully join certain guilds. I had never seen the costumes before nor heard of the custom, and I didn't completely get it from talking to them, but I found this wikipedia article which more or less explains it and has some pictures http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journeyman_years. I can tell you my friends did not have only five euros when they left on their journey, and were planning on heading back before three years were up, so it seems the regulations were relaxed, but it seemed like a neat trip. It was nice to get to know them because then I had some company and could also find cheaper accommodation in Puno and in La Paz. At the hostel in Puno, I realized that I had lost my camera and my knife on the bus. I went to the bus station the next morning but I didn't find anything. I was pretty upset for a day or two, but I'm trying to stay in a frame of mind where I can learn from these mistakes and let them go.
After a serious of bumpy buses we arrived in La Paz, where we had to walk through a ginat parade to arrive at the center of town. I accompanied Ana and Tillman (my German friends) a little bit, but since they seemed only interested in visiting the tourist market I wandered about a bit by myself as well. I'd say the best find in Bolivia was this giant empanda with a heavy mass of melted cheese which has been one of the amazing gastronomic experiences while traveling. Another cool thing was that right next to our hostel, a large group of physically handicapped folks were protesting, and actually occupying a few city streets for their protest. I made it a point to walk through the occupation every time I could and it always seemed like it was growing. the police seemed at a bit of a loss for what to do. Beating up people in wheel chairs would look really bad. I can't say I ever got the full picture of what they were protesting, but after listening to one conversation the impression I got was that the governemnt recently invested a lot of money on programs for a certain type of disability (mental disability? not sure) and they wanted the government to invest equally in programs to help out with other forms of disability. I just enjoyed being in the midst of protest once again.
After a pretty unpleasant night where I more or less slept outside in temperatures nearing 30 degrees and with altitude sickness setting in, I left my hostel in La Paz at 4:30 in the morning to catch a bus that was leaving at 6 am for Arica, a city at the northernmost part of Chile. The border between Bolivia and Chile is at about 4000m, and when entering Chile, involves a fairly absurd amount of customs checks, during which I was feeling weak and ill from the altitude. But by the time we descended into Arica I was feeling better.
That is until I arrived in Arica and discovered all of the buses to Santiago had been sold out for the day, and there were none for the next morning either. It turns out I had picked what might be the worst time of the year to try to get to Santiago by bus. I was trying to arrive in the last days of February (I eventually got there March 1st), which is exactly the end of summer vacation for everyone, and since half the country lives in Santiago, everyone is trying to get back to Santiago at this time. Luckily I managed to find a bus to Antofagasta, the biggest city between Arica and Santiago, which has way more buses to Santiago and therefore was suppose to have something when I got there.
I arrived in Antofagasta at 7am. Only three of 10-15 bus companies had opened their offices, and all of their buses to Santiago that day were sold out. I ran into a university couple from Santiago who I had met on my way from La Paz to Arica who were in the same situation I was. they had some connections who were going to try to help them get a ride with a trucker or something, but we kept having to wait more and more. I was worried all of the buses for the next morning were also going to sell out, but I decided to keep waiting. When the last office opened around 11, I went over and found out they had two seats for Santiago for 1030 that night. I quickly bought one, which unfortunately left my friends out of luck. they kept checking with different offices though, and in the evening they found a bus that had a few seats open up for 11 at night, so they also got out that night. As a result I spent 15 hours in the Antofagasta bus station, which was not that interesting or exciting in itself, but Eduardo and Camila were great company and we had a pretty good day over all.
The next day in the late afternoon I finally arrived in Santiago where my wonderful friend Allie picked me up and took me to her place. After about 105 hours in buses, vans, and taxis (covering a distance over roughly 3700 miles (about 6000 km)I had arrived.
The Cultural Mix
Life in Santiago has been relatively normal. I was desperate to find some work because my journey south cost a little more than I had expected. Luckily, Allie lives with this amazing woman Coty, who has a pizza and ice cream factory/business. She is very well connected in the food industry in Santiago, and in less than a week she got me a job working at a cafe. My work at the cafe is very basic: I wash and dry dishes, I prepare sandwiches and heat them up, I cut pastries, and put frozen juices in a blender and later pour them into cups. sometimes I get to do something special like put a salad together, but not often. Creativity is more or less limited to the shapes I get to draw with the chocolate sauce when I put out the pastries. Working conditions are also not stellar (though I wouldn't call them bad). The idea of the five minute break is not big here, so I am often on my feet for the whole shift. My official pay is a little over $2 an hour, and I get an additional roughly $2.25 an hour in tips. I've been told that is really high compared to what people generally make in this line of work, but less than $4.50 an hour doesn't seem super high to me, especially when almost nothing I want to buy is cheaper. Food is about the same (fresh bread is probably a little cheaper, and fruits and veggies at certain markets are sometimes a bit cheaper than in the US). Generally I'd say food prices are about the same as in Kalamazoo. I haven't tried to rent here but it sounds like housing prices are also similar to Kalamazoo. And the bus or metro costs a little under $1.50. Despite all of this, I like working at the cafe. I get some free food, which is a nice perk. It's great experience, since it's my first job in food service, and my first real job in a foreign language. I often go long stretches not talking, but having to communicate on occasion with people who don't have as much experience talking to a foreigner is always a good experience. My coworkers vary from nice to annoying (same as pretty much any place). I can't say I've made any friends there, but I have some fun conversations here and there. Also, most of the people working with me either haven't studied at university or are studying gastronomy. There have only been two people who have come through who were studying anything else. That has been interesting because it's a different cut of the population, with accompanying different speech, different perspectives, and different attitudes, than most of the other people I've had a chance to meet and interact with. One interesting thing about working there, and apparently this is normal in cafes around here, is that people come and go on a weekly basis. There are a handful of people who have been working there since before I arrived and are still there, but there are a few spots that change over about every week, which is pretty tiring as far as introductions go. One final thing about the cafe. Most of the workers find my name not worth the energy to learn, so I am affectionately known there as "gringo".
I haven't had joined anything else in a committed way other than my job. I only work 24 hours a week, over four days, so it leaves me with a decent amount of free time. I try to fill that time up hanging out with friends, wandering around the city, or attending events, but I must admit I've spent a much larger proportion of my time lounging around than I have anywhere else. Santiago does have a lot of exciting activism going on, I'm just not plugged into it very well so I don't hear about most of it. I tried to go to a protest against some crazy stuff going on in the south in this area called Aysen but it never happened, and I couldn't go to the big protest the next day. I did attend some fun things like a university environmental group forum, a few movies from a women's film festival, and not so much fun but important and enlightening candle light vigil for a young man who was recently beaten and brutalized by a group of neonazis because he was gay.
One thing that has been very interesting to observe here is the cultural mix between as a Western attitude and mindset and a more stereotypical Latin American behavior. On the one hand, the streets, the buses, the metro, the parks, the building, the supermarkets etc. all remaind me very much of occidental cultured countries I have visited. More so Europe than the US, although that might be more climate related than anything else. But soemthign about the level of cleanliness, the way things are built, the layout, feels very occidental. On the other hand, street vendors of a type much more common in Latin America than Europe, sketchy walking mall corridors with stores over stuffed with merchandise, markets with food rotting and the floor, and elements of that sort keep reminding me that I am definitely not in Europe. Many people talk about the mix in Chile and I've found it to be very accurate so far. It's been kind of fun in many ways. Some of the order from the west that can counter act the fatigue some westerners feel in the much more chaotic nature of much of the rest of Latin America, but still a lot of the life and warmth that people often discuss as one of Latin America's great advantages.
Looking Forward
I have decided to cut Argentina out of my plans. I was worried about the added expense, but more than anything it would require a lot of energy, and mean significantly less time in Santiago. With that out of the way, I am not planning on staying in Santiago until mid-April and then beginning the great journey north. I finally called my Panamanian host family to tell them I am coming (first time we spoke in 3-4 years), and they responded by telling me all the food they are going to cook for me. I have also been accepted for a birthright trip, leaving on August 23rd from Philly, it looks like my plans to go to Kalamzoo, spend the summer in Boston, and then go to Israel are almost certain to happen.
