When to Draw the Line (Ecuador)

Ok, I admit it. I have one of those personalities that is drawn to danger. I need constant adrenaline in my life. I get through various ways. At school I used to thrive on finals week, not wanting to study for a test until the very last minute when there was this do-or-die feeling of having to learn everything in a caffeine-fueled night. I know it's not the best way to learn, but hey, it helped with my fix. I love the rush of a deadline in journalism, the craziness of having to put something on air so you are running to the production room with a tape in hand right at the last minute. I love every extreme sport I have ever tried. And I am convinced that I want to work in a conflict zone. I like to think that this is not for the sheer adrenaline but because I see how I could have more impact on helping others in that sense, and I love the clarity that comes with danger. And part of me wants to understand what so much of the world lives with, yet at the same time I am glad that it is incomprehensible to me.

Yes, I do like danger. But I have no death wish and I fully intend on keeping all my limbs and to have no lasting injuries. Being raped is my worst nightmare. And I am afraid of cars. Some of the things that I saw in Africa and in a few other countries I will never put down on paper, some of them bring a shadow of reality to this illusion of danger and will haunt my consciousness forever while others I have repressed so far that they only come back to me in dreams and I know more lurk beneath but I will never go digging for them. So yes, I am drawn to danger and I have my limits.

I would never be as naive as to think that I have experienced danger as those who are unfortunate enough to live in it. And if I was forced to live in such circumstances I am sure my attitude would be entirely different. Yes, I know that the desire for danger, much like boredom and feeling too full are only feelings of luxury, of desires from being brought up in an ideal condition. And I know how incredibly selfish it sounds (and that my desire to go alone to Afghanistan broke up a good relationship) but I am just being honest.

I was struck by a passage I read not too long ago by John le Carre, “In my writing I have sometimes felt an obligation to share the pains I try to report on. Occasionally I have obtained some passing sense of absolution by taking risks and saying to myself afterwards, 'Wow, that was REALLY close' or 'That could have been the end of me.' But the cure doesn't last. In the end I remained a war tourist, an observer, not a participant, never a victim. I always had a valid passport and a return ticket in my rucksack, and a wad of dollars in my money belt. I was only vising. In the scale of human suffering, I did not even qualify for a mention.”

And I have been in some sketchy situations, though nowhere near as bad as they good be. I look back at many, many instances in my travels where I just don't understand how I survived, and I only did because of the kindness of the local people that I met. I am very lucky. But I also try not to be stupid. It is only in retrospect sometimes that I realize how lucky I have been and how close some calls have been too. And I am realizing that “Well, I am sure I went through worse in Africa,” though often true, is not the best way to approach things. South America has some dangers too.

In Quito, it was only me and one guy that had not been robbed in our entire hostel. And one night we were sitting around talking when we heard this popping sound outside.

"That's gunfire." A guy said.

"There is no way that is gunfire, those are fireworks." I replied.

"No, that is gunfire, I have grown up with guns my whole life." he retorted.

"No way, it is too close and we are right downtown and there is way too much of it, what are they shooting 30 people or something?"

Then the guy that works at reception at the hostel crawled into the room on his belly as we were arguing and said, "Can you please get down, that is gunfire and they aren't aiming at us but in a rare case there could be a stray bullet."

Ok.

Also, I have been hearing all these stories lately of people being robbed, my friend in Peru just lost everything. I hesitate to write this down because I don't want to jinx myself. But there is this general climate of danger that I sometimes notice in my life, I did right before leaving for Ethiopia and Sudan when people were being beaten in Kenya by the security guards at the nearby prison. And I got myself all worked up after my friend was beaten nearly to death, there seemed to be this darkness just hanging around. But I took a deep breath and continued on and it was fine, it so far always has been and I hope it continues to be so. I have learned it is important to exercise caution (I will take a taxi just a few blocks because I have a bus that leaves at 4:30am when I wouldn't normally do that), but to not live in fear.

And I think that so much of fear is self-induced. I traveled Central America a few years ago and it was fine (albeit for a couple horrific experiences in El Salvador that I won't mention but that was some of the closest calls I have had, but ONLY in that country, oh, and a sort of knife incident in Nicaragua/Honduras border but that turned out totally fine and it was nothing but a threat). So other than those few isolated incidents, I felt completely safe, and only just in the last few months learned that Central America is considered far more dangerous than South America! I am glad that I didn't know that at the time because I think that can influence an experience so much.

Adding to this climate of fear is the fact that I am about to enter Colombia, not because I am afraid but because other people make it sound like I should be afraid. First of all, Colombia has an undue bad reputation. It is just as safe for travelers as any other country in South America. And every single person that I have met that has been there has said that is their favorite country. That being said, the South is where the FARC and guerrillas are the most active and there have been problems recently, like this week. So there is this one stretch of road from Ipiales at the border to Cali that I am worried about because trucks were torched yesterday. Most of the people I have met have flown over this part of road. BUT, what can you do? Where do you draw that line?

The stories that float around hostels don't help. Impossible to decipher between travel-lore and truth, because each person I meet swears it happened to a friend, on any route with travelers there are bound to be the same recycled stories.

So I will only repeat the ones that I have been told that have happened first hand to people that I trust. In the last two months, one friend was the only gringo on a bus in Southern Colombia that was robbed. Everyone on the bus had their money stolen. The gringo had his I-pod around his neck and all his money on him, but the paramilitary or whomever it was that robbed them all didn't take a single thing from him. He told him to get back on the bus because this does not involve him.

Farther up north, a group of tourists, including a guy that I met, were on a tour in a mini-van. They got pulled over by men with machine guns and it seemed like the company had not paid off the right people in this instance. The driver and the tour guide were both shot and the bodies thrown in the back with the tourists who were then driven to the nearest police station and delivered unharmed. Horrific, yes. Sad and screwed up, definitely. But the point is, Colombia, though it may not be safe everywhere for Colombians which is absolutely tragic, seems to be safe for foreigners. And to be fair, I think these are very rare instances and I do think that Colombia will be VERY safe.

And despite these cases, everyone else that I met absolutely loved Colombia and had nothing bad to say about it and had no trouble.

Colombia is the country that I have most looked forward to on my trip and I am ready to go. So with a bit of apprehension about this road in the south, I bought my bus ticket yesterday. I told people in my hostel afterwards and they all said that I shouldn't go because now buses in Cali are being attacked because of some political turmoil. The few people I met that came from Colombia flew over this southern part. But after careful scouring of the newspapers and travel alerts I found no information about this. So who do you believe?

My point of all of this is, where do you draw the line in travel? Like I said, I have taken plenty of risks and always been OK. Has it been luck or have things just been over-hyped? Yes, I travel to exciting countries because they are exciting. This isn't a summer in Europe type of trip. That isn't my style at this point in my life. So when do you hold your breath and go, and when do you believe the hype? 99% of the time, things work out just fine. And the hint of danger adds to the appeal But only the hint, not the reality.

So I am going for it because I do think the danger is over-rated and I am almost positive that it will be fine. But it is a strange climate to make decisions in. And, because I am just a little bit superstitious, I am writing this blog before I leave tomorrow morning, but I am not posting it until I arrive safely in Medellin!

Machu Picchu (Peru)

After the “World's Most Dangerous Road” in Bolivia, I found that mountain biking not only helps quench my need for speed but my constant desire for adrenaline too. So it only made sense so sign up for more of it. It would have been amazing to hike the original Inca trail to Machu Picchu, but it is very expensive and you have to book way in advance to to it. The alternative trek involves a day of mountain biking and two days of trekking so that was just perfect for me.

Sometimes the group you are with can make all the difference and we lucked out and got a great group for our trek. Our first day of mountain biking we descended from the freezing mountains above tree line down into the tropics of the valley. I hadn't expected it to be so tropical but all the lush vegetation was really beautiful. We stayed in a small hostel in the tiny village of Santa Maria. People stayed up late drinking and playing cards, just like I am sure the real Incas used to do.

The next day we hiked for about 9 hours. We mostly followed the river. It was very steep going at times but there was also a ridiculous amount of resting involved. Lets just say it tested my patience, which hiking in a group usually does. One other guy and I who also wanted to keep going ahead amused ourselves by actually being authentic Incas and making use of the coca leaves that you can get along the way.

Coca leaves are actually really awesome. I am almost positive they are the same thing as Mira which is chewed in Africa. A lot of the mine workers in Bolivia chew them and porters in Peru. If you chew them they help you with digestion, awareness, energy, has lots of vitamins and help you not get hungry or thirsty or tired.

The only problem is they taste awful. You take this black activator stuff and put it in a handful of leaves, ball it up and stuff it in your mouth as I would imagine people do with chewing tobacco. Then you just try to keep some saliva in there and chew every so often. It makes your cheek go numb but the nasty taste of grass persists. But it saved me, especially as water is expensive and hard to come by on the trek.

The second day did afford us some stunning views. At times were were walking along a very steep path with a huge cliff drop off just below us. After the long hike we ended the day at these natural hot springs and then a moonlight walk to the city of Santa Teresa. This time our crew entertained ourselves by playing this game, “Mafia” which is sort of a role-playing game that I think I played when I was 12. We played this for about 6 hours and had one of the most fun nights ever. Like I said, it is all about who you are with. We had sort of this cozy sleepover atmosphere as all our beds were jammed into the room so close that you had to crawl over them to get out of the room, there was no floorspace.

By the third day I was exhausted from such little sleep. The walking was a bit more ghetto as it was along a dirt road for the first half of the day then along the train tracks the next. Once again, my friend and I amused ourselves by walking along the train tracks the whole time practicing our balance which at least slowed us down. And finally we arrived in our launch point for Machu Picchu: Agua Calientas. Agua Calientas is a very strange city as it is basically only built for tourism. It is sort of a cross between a ski town and a river town.

But the anticipation was palpable. It was in a stunning location of this huge canyon surrounded by green mountains ripped through by a roaring river. And just behind the tallest mountain, Machu Picchu lay waiting. I felt like I used to feel on Christmas Eve when I was a kid, waiting for morning to come. I felt like how I felt this year waiting for election results. All my life I have dreamed of going to Machu Picchu and now to know that it was just behind that mountain was this dizzying feeling of expectation and excitement. We had a nice dinner and went to bed by 11.

A 4 am wake-up call had us tromping up the mountain in the dark. Luckily this time there was no group effort so my friend and I were free to go ahead. We hauled up the hill as quickly as possible, passing people along the way and not stopping once. It may have been the hardest hike I have ever done, it was nothing but stair after stair. At one point I thought I couldn't breathe. It is pretty disgusting how out of shape I get traveling! But it was spectacular to be climbing up with mountain as the stars were dying to the light, you could barely see, but you could tell there was mist intermingling with the high peaks, and as the sunshine won over the night, you could see clouds floating in swirls among the mountains. We were some of the first people up there which made all the difference.

Instead of going right to get my ticket for Wynapichu, the mountain everyone wants to climb but they only give out limited tickets every day, I ducked up some of the stairs and watched the ruins unfold. The mist shrouded the buildings in clouds, but I knew more was there and more mountains lay beneath. Llamas grazed on the terraces and there was quiet all around so that I could almost imagine when the Incas were there. I have never seen anything like it.

It reminded me of surfing. So, ok, I had been obsessed with surfing for years before I got to try it. I dreamed about it and lusted after it so much that I thought it could never possibly be as good as I had built it up in my head to be. But, it turned out that I loved it even more than I ever dreamed that I could. It was sort of like this with Machu Picchu. I hate crowds and touristy things, but this didn't even matter compared to the majesty of the ruins themselves. And it does look EXACTLY like it does in photos, which instead of making things a bit disappointing, it actually makes them better.

We had a little tour of the place, but were all so exhausted we had to resort back to our trusty coca leaves to keep from falling asleep. Then 2 friends and I decided to sprint up Wynapichu. We made it up in record time, which once again, made all the difference because we found the world's best picnic spot up at the top. Machu Picchu looked so small from above. We played around on the terraces before descending more and more stairs.

While the rest of the group decided to give up, my friend and I pressed on. I had 12 blisters at this point, but you are only at Machu Picchu once, so we hiked up to the Sun Gate which was nice because it was away from the crowds and had an amazing view of the ruins looking so impressive surrounded by these incredible mountains. Honestly it was one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my whole life. The landscape alone is absolutely stunning, add in this ancient Inca village and I don't think it could get any better. I felt so incredibly lucky.

It didn't feel right to take a bus down with everyone else, not after we have been so far, so despite the fact that I was hobbling on blisters and my legs shaking, I forced myself to walk back down to Agua Calientas. Anything else seemed like it would be cheating. And my friend came with me, go Americans for once!

After a very dodgy uncooked meal, we caught a train and then a bus back to Cuszco where there was a sad goodbye to our group as we parted ways. Most travelers get so good at goodbyes because they are such a constant part of our life on the road, but I am definitely not one of them. I always miss people, I think that is endemic in my personality. But what an incredible experience!

Travel Days (Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador)

I was reeling after my luck getting to see Morales speak when I headed into Peru. Time constraints put me into Cuzco on my first day after driving past epic mountains, brown homes and llamas everywhere.

My luck continued because the morning I woke up in Cuzco I heard bands playing and lots of music. I followed the sounds to the Plaza Del Armas, the main square in Cuzco where a huge celebration for the Day of the Crosses was taking place. This involved people dressed up in traditional clothes dancing from probably over 30 different ethnic groups. It was incredible.
They had costumes of these scary white clowns with whips to huge feather headdresses to sparkly dresses to streamer hats to knitted face masks and assaults of color everywhere. It was such a cool introduction into Peru to get to see all this and not in a touristy situation.

Cuzco was nice but a bit touristy for me, so after going to Machu Picchu, I headed on an overnight bus to Lima. It began innocently enough. It was a rough night though. To get to Lima from Cuzco you have to take a very windy bus that goes around and around these hairpin turns. Throughout the course of the night I think over half the bus threw up. Normally that doesn't bother me but the sounds of people retching and the smells in the tight quarters of the bus made me so sick. So you would think that I would be excited to get off a bus in Lima, but Lima is supposedly really dangerous and just a strange city in that there is no central bus terminal. You can't trust any taxis, since anyone can buy official taxi stickers on the street. So I risked it because what else was I going to do and took a taxi to a random international bus terminal. From there I found out that in 10 min I could be on a bus to Ecuador and not have to stay the night in Lima. Momentum builds and I wasn't thinking clearly so I jumped on the bus and out of Lima.

A second overnight and all day bus ride delivered me to Guayaquil, Ecuador. This is the biggest and also the most dangerous city in Ecuador. I arrived at about 5pm. Not wanting to take another taxi (the city is having huge problems with taxi's taking single passengers from ATM to ATM and then killing them in the end) I lucked out though because I had only heard about this later from a fellow traveler. I walked to the bus station and booked another bus at 11pm to Quito. So much for not having anymore travel marathons I thought as I waited in this bizarre combination between a shopping mall and a bus stop.

I bought my bus ticket and asked to store my bag with them. The guy told me that was fine and to come around to the back. He charged me a dollar, which granted isn't that much, but it is comparatively to a 9$ bus ride, but what could I do? I knew he was cheating me, but I really had no choice. Then he grabbed me by my wrists, and this is a big, strong, nasty man, and pulled me up to him and forced me to kiss him. What do you do in that situation? All I could do was push him away as best I could and laugh it off because he has my bag and I didn't want him to do anything to it. I was really feeling the effects of being a woman traveling alone here, arriving in sketchy cities and having to put all my trust in a taxi driver as well as feeling exploited in a situation like this. And granted, it isn't that bad and I have been through a lot worse, but it is just never a good feeling. It was sort of a double-whammy that he both forced me to kiss him and charged me for the bag, it wouldn't have been nearly as bad if he had just done one of the two.

But 65 hours later I arrived in Quito where I am now and the thought of getting on another bus makes me want to puke. At the same time, I am the happiest I have ever been and the last few days have been amazing too. I have gotten to practice a lot of my Spanish, meet a lot of nice locals and best of all, I have no plans. I am excited to get to Colombia, but it has been so fun to just show up at a bus station and book the next bus, none of this has been planned and this is my best kind of travel, the fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind. It isn't easy, but it helps me learn to trust in myself. Every time I arrive in a new place I have to make a decision. Do I want to trust a taxi driver? Should I risk it and try to walk? Should I ask someone for a recommendation for a hotel? Do I try to make friends with the other traveler around and see where they are going or if they want to share cab? Should I just get on another bus to another city? Where do I want to go? Should I look for a place in my book or just ask the driver to take me to a cheap hotel? Is it safest to try to sleep at the bus station?

It's not easy but I love it, the sheer freedom of travel. I am enjoying being alone and choosing not to travel with other people and I just feel happy, free and in my element.

La Paz Days (Bolivia)

After recovering from my bout with malaria and my experience on the “World's Most Dangerous Road” I was ready to leave La Paz. Or so I thought. But, anyone who knows me knows that electronics, and especially computers, hate me. It was only a matter of time and my computer broke down from some nasty virus.

So I missed my bus even though I had my ticket and spent the next few days waiting for hours on end for people who never showed up to fix my computer. But I do think I made the best of it. The staff at the hostel all got to know me and I got to participate in a Bolivian birthday party since I was stuck by the front desk for so long. I shoved a guy's face in his cake, a Bolivian tradition.

I met a local guy who was so nice and made every effort to fix my computer, just for free as a friend, but it didn't work out, but still it was the thought that counted. When the tech guy told me he would come at 9:30 am and didn't show up until around 6 (twice) I made friends at the hostel that turned out to be some of the most interesting people that I met my whole trip

And I learned a lot about changing my attitude. I was bummed about losing my pictures, documents, music and most of all my LSAT study stuff, but I feel like it didn't hit me as hard as it would have before I went to Brazil. I sort of adopted an attitude like I see in Colleen, my sometimes travel buddy, who always inspires me, and just rolled with things. Yeah, it was a bummer to lose everything but I either way I lost it, so I realized I could lose it and be upset or lose it and make the best of it and move on, either way I was going to lose it. And in the end, some of it was recovered, I got to spend more time wandering through La Paz which is one of my favorite cities, and I made all sorts of new friends, two of which I traveled to Peru with.

I love La Paz, I really do. The city has a whole street dedicated to wedding cakes. Seriously, who wouldn't love that. Like a lot of South American streets, La Paz is organized into sections. So you have your wedding cake street, your paint street, your tire street, your dentist street. It is pretty amazing. The city is in a huge bowl surrounded by mountains, houses as far as you can see, backed by snowy mountains and craggy rock above tree-line. It is so high up that it is easy to get winded, being the highest capital city in the world at 3,660 m above sea level.

The street vendors in La Paz are exceptional. There is so much fresh fruit juice. One day I went to a street vendor and ordered a fruit salad. What I got was a fruit-salad-extravaganza-orgasm-in-your-mouth. It was this mound of fruit, some recognizable, others not, drizzled in yogurt, honey and sprinkles. I was flabbergasted.

But the best part about my computer breaking was labor day. I got to see, in person, with my own eyes, Evo Morales speak. He was my first president to see in person. Now, there are differing opinions about this. I was really excited to see that so many people were out for Labor Day. Protesting is a national past-time in Bolivia and I thought it was inspiring that so many people were in the streets peacefully protesting and happily celebrating compared to the complacency that you see in the U.S. My friend who I was with took a different view, he thought is was depressing that they continue to protest and there is no real change. Either way, it was colorful with lots of flags, and Morales looked just like he did on TV, waving his arms and speaking passionately.

Bolivia is definitely one of my favorite countries.