buenas tardes boys and ghouls...

after a 3 month hiatus due to not so accesable internet access i now feel ready to resume periodically spewing my thoughts and reflections into a box for all to see.

as i left mama roja with a(nother) bug in my foot and a heaviness in my heart the last image reflected on my eyeballs as we drove out the gate was rambo, the furry, toothless love of my life sitting with ears pricked watching us go. it was a sad goodbye, but more than anything i feel incredibly greatful for all the good times and learning i had there and for the fact that i will never have to spend another night in that damned canadian tent.

instead i will spend the next 10 days sitting on a cushion in complete silence at a vipassna meditation retreat an hour outside of buenos aires. i thought it would be a good transition and i hear the food is great, so for now i leave you with the sacred sound of the universe...

oohhhmm.

mama roja.

after picking up a new, oregonean, travel partner, her sack of veggies and her mandolin and blowing throgh mendoza and cordoba like we had a fire raging under our cooshie cama-class seats, the dust settled and we found ourselves in the sleepy town of obera in the misiones provence.

... and whooie! its a whole other ball game up here. misiones makes its home in the northeast, stumpy finger-shaped, sub-tropical corner of argentina. its painted all in reds and pinks and greens and all a flury with butterflies, tarantulas, venemous snakes, misquitos, no-see-ems, and a schmorgusborg of other bugs im pretty sure are extra terrestrials.

and the internet people are kicking me out so for more information see:

http://mamaroja.blogspot.com

truckin´.

san pedro de atacama is a toursit trap, with a side of roasted chicken, served up in a hellish dust bowl that gets sand in hard to reaches places youd didnt even know you had theyre so hard to reach. so, impressive as the suspiciously martian landscape is, the place´s unfriendliness to the debitcardless left both chris and i happy to to admire it from the window of a bus on our way the hell out of there.

now armed once again with the company of an old santa cruz friend (and one equally neglegent with wallet sized pieces of plastic) i hit the road with my pack on my back and my thumb in the air, but only for about 5 minutes until a sweet middle aged couple picked us up and drove us 700 km south to the charming beach town of la serena. i would have like to have stayed, but poor chistopher is not so lucky as to have the luxury of a one way ticket. and so, after a stroll to the beach and a rough night of poor man´s pisco sours, it was back to thumbin´it.

this time we maybe waited a whole of twenty minutes and were starting to get antsy when a mac truck pulled over and ushered us aboard. for the next 8 odd hours with christian the crazy chilean camionero there was hardly ever a dull moment between sing alongs to his eclectic music selection, which spanned from evanescence to ac/dc to the backstreet boys (and back again), jokes that im pretty sure were all bad even through his thick chilean accent, and pit stops for dulce de leche smuthered sweets and horse jerky. when we fianally parted ways with dear christian in valparaiso, we trudged like a couple of somnambulists to the cheapest hospedaje we could find and hardly even noticed the hole in the floor and cigarette burns inthe sheets before falling asleep with all of our clothes on.

buuuut, janky hotel aside, valpo is a neat little port town with a kind of san fransisco feeling, what with the fog and hills packed with colorful houses, and i may even venture to say that it one ups sf in the trolly department because homies got elevators, yo! theyre cool rickity old things from the turn of the century that carry passengers (aka tourists thesedays) up and down the steepest slpoes. once again, we would have liked to have stayed, but we had things to do and cheaper lands to get to and we were gone again within a matter of days.

buenos aires: round 2

view of the full moon from my borrowed tent at salta municipal campsite.

nacho and me.

view of downtown buenos aires from the ecological reserve.

scrabble night at the hostal.

oh man, what a month. so it all started out with a week on kevin´s floor, half a block from the widest street the world (i counted 20 lanes, but ive never been good at math) complete with pricey vegan food, spanish school, greenhorn 18 year old americans, and the works.

then, kevin got the flu, so i got the heck out of there and into a hostel in a quieter area of town. and, seeing how its winter down here, my hostel mates were all of 7, 4 of whom were employees. so it made for a nice, querky, family like feeling, plus i got a whole loft to myself, sweet! im not quite sure where those two weeks went, but i think i may have lost them between seeing jessica (the quiet librarian of the group) jump up on a bar and rip off her top to ¨i love rock and roll,¨ fighting with brenden (the reincarnated hemmnigway, but nicer, probably) over countless games of scrabble, taco teusdays at a chipotle copy-cat, run by a ¨buddy¨of andy (the sox fan from boston who also happens to speak italian, portugese, and a bit of spanish which he charmingly blends with english swear words), not to mention countless batches of homemade empanadas. oh and the 2 kids who run the place like to invite all their friends and friends bands over for house parties every so often. so with all that it was rather easy to loose track of things; like time... and my debit card.

yep i was all ready to check out and catch a bus north when, whoopsie daisies... wheres my debit card?? and since the combined iq of the fine people who opperate the phone bank at wells fargo comes somewhere close to that of a choripan (which are delicious as far a sausage sandwiches go, but none too bright), i found myself stuck in buenos aires for a week with no more cash, which meant goodbye hostel and hello nacho.

no, no, im not talking about the deliciously cheesy mexican ourdeurve (? no clue.), but a wonderful new argentine friend who opened up his floor to me in a little artists flat in palermo, hollywood (there is also a palermo, soho. so tacky). and after going on tours of the areas best grafiti murals, drinking beer out of gigantic plastic cups at la bomba del tiempo (the biggest and coolest percussion show ever), ¨helping¨him with the lighting design at a local club (really he just let me push some buttons in time with the music for a while), playing darts in his kitchen, watching a silent movie in the national library, and teaching him the beauty of american delicacies such as home made steak tacos, and chocolate chip cookies, being stuck in buenos aires really wasnt all that bad.

and that brings us to salta. i decided that debit cards are over rated and im not about to let little problems, hiccups rather, like not having any money keep me from traveling. so i bought a bus ticket with my credit card and arrived just in time to not get the last seat on the only bus leaving for san pedro de atacma for the next 4 days. no problem. i showed up at the municipal campsite, tentless, and one of the women there took pity on me and lent me her tent, which she actually rode her bicycle to her house to go get for me. and thats pretty much all there is to tell. around salta is lovely, but the city itself is kindof, eh. and with no money ive been doing alot of reading and much needed napping, a bit of hiking and chatting with my fellow argentine campers. tomorrow ill once again be in the company of a branch of the santa cruz crew, but not till i make it through one more uncomfortable night in a bus terminal. man, whatd id do for a crossword.

¡che!

after returning to the farm for a few weeks to get my fix of fresh air, rambuncious children and manual labor i felt ready for the city again. so on information id recieved from a drunken frenchman, who had talked to a dreadlocked spaniard, who heard from a belgian farmer that manu chao was playing a free concert in rosario to celebrate the 80th birthday of che guevara i packed up my backpack, said my goodbyes and headed east with two other voluntarias.

we arrived early in the morning and were met by a tall, lanky kid with dark sunglasses and a swagger. this is julian. we stayed on his floor for the next 4 nights (or was it 5?) along with one of his friends who had gotten down on his luck, a danish guy and another californian. its called couch surfing ladies and gentlemen and its goshdarned fabulous. every day lasted around 20 hours every one of them different. one night we drank champagne on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the city and then danced till dawn at an 80s disco, the next closed down the house at the best folk music show ive ever seen, we cheered from the front row as one of our new housemates sang-screamed-growled into the microphone at a local heavy metal venue, and froze our buns off at a free rock concert on the river... and no, manu chao wasnt in the line up. just goes to show you should never trust information offered by a drunken frenchman who heard it from a dreadlocked spaniard, etc, etc. the both of whom by the way we bumped into at the folk show and joined for various other outtings the rest of the week. but it wasnt all youth crazed debauchery. i met some of the most wonderful people on my trip to date and i have to admit, i left them with a bit of a heavy heart (not to mention eyelids), but such is the life of a traveler. i think it was kahil gibran who said something like, when the wings of love enfold you, yeild to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. ok, so its a little dramatic, but whats life without a bit of drama, eh?

and now here i am back in buenos aires being insessantly rained on and feeling extreemly thankful for the shelter of the grand palace turned office building where my spanish classes are held as i am locked out of kevins apartment till 4. oh! and goodness me its nearly 4. so as my tummy organs are gumbling noisily i think ill go find the boy and begin our daily adventure of locating vegan eateries in the land of meat and meat.

chao for now.

men to the doza

its snowing!!! well kindof... it hasnt stuck to the ground or anything but there is definetly white stuff coming down from the sky every now and again and the temperature has dropped a good 25 degrees since last week so it sure feels exciting (in that i-cant-feel-my-extremities sort of way).

well as of today i have been in what used to be the sunny city of mendoza for 23 sunrises, most of which ive actually seen because my spanish classes start so ungodly early. but besides the fact that it makes it impossible to get more than 5 hours of sleep, spanish school has proved to be one of my better travel ideas ... ive befriended many friendly gringos and english learning locals, developed a love-hate relationship with the subjunctive tense, and been accepted into a lovely argentine family with a pitbull named vorki who has fallen in lust with my calf. and to make matters better mendoza itself is a beautiful city. every street is lined with huge, shady (oak?) trees. the only downside to this is the drastically increased possibilty of being shat on by a pigeon, a fate ive only narrowly escaped. the sidewalks are made of coblestone and tile and are kept impecably clean by fussy old women who actually scrub them with soapy water every morning and arent afraid to spray or sweep a foot or two if they happen to get in the way. the best part though is the park and the fact that it has a big lake complete with an island and takes up a good third of the city.

so thats mendoza. i leave this weekend to see what snow is like when your diggin ditches on a farm. something i really never wanted to find out, but it looks like im a gonna. id better get to my spot on the couch so i can join the others in rooting for Boca... apparently theyre in the semifinals of the southamerican cup. apparently its like a big deal or something. i hope they wont be able to tell that when comes to soccer... shh... im really quite apathetic. oops, sorry, futbol.

... y mas fotos (el bolson

yeah, it looks impressive but for the past ten minutes id been carrying him on my back.

magical el bolson.

julie the giant bubble headed american and irie agustin trying to compensate.

so. the adventure...

after an extended stay in rio grande the viejeros found there thumbs itching for action once again. the north beckoned. on the outside of town winds whipped off the ocean pumeling them with a wind chill that was surely below freezing. it was a sunday and no trucks were coming and, as they had gotten off to the usual late start, after only a few hours the sun began to sink low in the sky, and the sky began to spit drizzle down upon them and they soon decided to retreat back to the comfort of the hostel for one more night rather than brave the elements on the side of the highway. the following morning they began afresh, but once again the chilling wind quickly stifled their spirits and they began taking turns seeking shelter in a nearby weigh station. then just as they were about to give up, throw in the towel, submit to the man and buy some bus tickets brooks flagged down a rickety, old, tarp-ceiled cargo truck driven by an eccentric man named hugo. two joined hugo as he chained smoked and fixed mates and searched for various things under and behind his seat and tried to hit the sheep that were bold (or dumb) enough to cross the path of our wild ride. the others huddled in the back amid rocks and packs and mud that splashed up from the road, but with the couple blankets hugo loaned them and the rest of a bottle of whiskey it didnt proove to be all that unpleasant. they reached the boarder crossing back into argentina after dark and in the immigration line dear hugo found his new friends a ride with a couple of truckers who could get them all the way to el bolson by morning. but of course, as in all great adventures, there was a catch. these were not just any truckers... they were meat packing big rig truckers who only had room for vagabond travelers in the refigerated (though, thankfully, empty) meat trailor and as they had a schedule to keep would not stop till el bolson, not for food not for bathroom not for nothin. well, hell. they had sleeping bags and one night in a mobile meat refrigerator would kill them so they hurridly grabbed their packs and bid adeu to dear hugo and clammered into the icy blackness of the big rig. but then, another catch... due to unseasonably high winds the journey lasted 48 hours instead of 12 and with no money and no more food the viejeros past the time reading by head lamp light and playing some cards, and smiling for pictures the truckers took to proove to their friends and family that they really did stash a group of crazy gingos in their truck for two days, but mostly just lying on thier backs in their sleeping bags slipping between sleeping and daying dreaming the dark, until finally their heard the clunk of the hatch being unlocked and as greyish sunlight flooded their shrunken pupils they heard three beautiful words...el bolson, chicos!

fotos

brooks and patch enjoying the lovely moutain view from agustins house in el bolson.
first and failed attempt of hitching to el bolson
one our last moments together in the back of hugos truck. we miss you sancho panza, you wandering mouse, you...wherever you may be.
at home in the meat fridge of a big rig.
our benevolent meat packing captors with three kids whove never been happier to be standing out in the rain.

no writting yet this picture uploading bit took up far to much of the sunshine today. ok fine, just a line, though. the four musketeers are now relaxing in the lovely hippy town of el bolson after surviving their most interesting adventure so far. stay tuned...

fire and ice

family, friends, countymen...

ah so much to tell of from the end of the world... ¿where oh where shall i begin? well, after brooks and robin met up with patch and i at our little haven of a campsite by the lake we let grow our senses for adventure a few more days and then started south to the end of the world also know as ushuaia, the last main city in the tierre del fuego (for those of you who dont habla español, that means the land of fire, which makes it a rather extreem souding place no matter how you look at it). normally this journey would take a full day and a half on a long friggin busride, but that of course would be the easy way, so we opted for the road less traveled (note: the thing about roads less traveled is that there is usually a reason for them being less traveled). from bariloche we took a 14 hour bus ride to comodoro riviera (or something to that effect) which was made easier for robin patch and myself by two liter boxes of wine, but unfortunatly for brooks he got a touch of a stomach thing and spent most of the night empying the contents of his bowels. surprisingy, after all that, he was still able to bless our arrival at the bus terminal with a hearty and violent bout of vomiting into a nearby trashcan... ive never felt like such a homeless person before in my entire life. anywho we had to kill the whole day in camiando riviwhatever and then caught the nightbus out to rio gallegos, but when we got there at 8 in the mañana we discovered that no buses to ushuaia left until 8 the following morning. so this time instead of paying to store our heavy packs and discover next to nothing we decided to just wait er out in the terminal. 24 hours, several of the most anal retentive cleaning ladies, many a croassword and card game, one game of scrabble and a terrible nights sleep later we finally found ourselves on the last ten hour leg of our trip to the southernmost tip of the americas.
tired and smelly we splurged on a hostel (with actual beds!) out of our buget range but run by wonderful wonderful fellow human beings who cooked a delicious asado (argentine bbq that is the most heavenly thing on earth... forget what youve heard about cleanliness, because i certainly have). but after two nights of that our pockets were aching for mother nature so we headed out for a trek through the woods and betwixt the mountains. it took us 4 nights instead of one, rained and winded most of the time (thank goodness wed bought those matching brightly colored panchos), and i think i may have lost my big toenail somewhere along the way, but in between all that we encountered some of the most beautiful landscape i have ever seen: glaciers amidst teal blue lakes amidst jagged peaks amidst redorangeyellow changing leaves, did i mention the glaciers? yeah, glaciers. needless to say, i am feeling very much like a mountain woman these days. maybe its because i have BO. i cant remember ever having BO. but let me tell ya, 5 days on the trail and robin and i smelt almost as bad and patch and brooks 30 minutes out of the showers, and thats bad.
but anyway we are smelly and greasy but safe and sound as is sancho panza (thats patch´s mouse weve been traveling with, have i mentioned that ive been traveling with a mouse? well i have. and if i may say so, its really the best way to travel. makes border crossing way more exciting too). but yes, my point was safe and sound and now heading northward. dont know where to exactly yet, but north. so, you all should feel my presence inching closer presently.

buen onda.

untitled

After four wonderful days in the big beautiful city i was ready for a little bit of country and a familiar face. so i hopped on a nightbus bound for mendoza and 17hours later, after transfering to another bus to get to the small town of tunuyan, i was greeted by patchs open arms and now heavily bearded grinning face. after a 30 min walk to the farm we sat down to a huge meal in honor of nacho (the son of the farm owners) s 5th birthday. twas a bit overwhelming with all the fast talking and greeting and kissing, but in a really heartwarming kind of way. they are such a wonderful family, so passionate and kind. in the morning we we set out to earn our keep and, for a girl from orange county, id say i worked that hoe like nobodys business. after the mornings work was finished, jorge (the man of the farm) led all us volunteers in a yoga lesson after which we had lunch and a siesta and returned to work until nightfall (this time building walls out of mud, water and horse poop). but as good as all this sounds, we were itching to get to wadnering and head south to reach ushuaia (the southernmost city in the world) before summer had retreated too far. so we packed up our stuff and patchs mouse, sancho panza, and once again boarded a bus for the better part of a day. this time i ended up in bariloche in a beautiful campsite 3 kilometers outside of town with a view of the deep blue alpine-esk lake. id like to tell more, but time is so often of the essence for us wadnerers. more on bariloche and our 5 wonderful days there later.
PS please send warmth as i will be reaching very cold temperatures this evening.

the adventure continues...

so winter on the east coast was appropriately wintery and wonderful.
some highlights: 1. visiting wonderland (the last stop on the blue subway line in boston) where there streets werent paved with gumdrops, to my disappointment, but where i did have my first experience with snand ( wierd inbetween substance where the snow meets the sand). 2. walking home from a bar in brooklyn at 3 in the morning in the snow with no socks on. 3. having a song dedicated and sung to me at a comedy club in the lower east side. 4. dancing the night away at a by request dueling piano bar. 5. 4am dance parties on the third story of 98 pleasant street.
i could go on, but then they would cease to be highlights and be just regular old everyday lights. but alas, many good things must come to an end so i have now moved on from the northern hemesphere and am currently enjoying a change of weather and language and pretty much everything else in beautiful buenos aires.
the flight, flights, were unblievably long and exhausting (emotionally, mentally, physically) and when i finally arrived at the airport in my state of pan-exhaustion i made a series of mistakes which ended up making for the most expensive taxi ride i will ever take in my life. unless in the future taxis are made of gold and driven by good looking celebreties. feeling very sad about the state of humanity after being brutally swindled i walked into spring break hostel 2008. i mean i like to party as much as the next guy, but this place is dedicated to helping british people and the products of their colonies party like they could party anywhere else in the world. kinda lame. but there is always beer in the fridge and someone around to talk too, even if they are the bohiem travel snob type with pupils the size of nickles. however, this is not to say that i havent met a few down to earth awesome people too. one british girl in particular is totally my kind of awesome and after a solo tour of the city center on my first full day, which included the pink capitol building, the pedestrian calle florida and the beautiful shaded plaza of san martin (where, by the way, i managed to get bitten 6 times by mesquitos, in the middle of huge cosmopolitan city) the two of us headed out to a tango lesson. we both did rather well if i do say so myself and, after a delicous and cheap 10 o´clock dinner of steak and wine, we returned for the milonga (free dance, of sorts). however it very quickly become obvious that this was not the cool kid milonga, but the over 50 (60?) milonga. it didnt really matter, though, since as we were just beginners we actually had a good old time (pun intended) getting led around the room by all our newly accuired elderly angentine admirers. my favorite partner, though, was a man about half my height dressed in a full suit complete with a fidora hat who was probably the oldest and slowest person ive ever seen. i must have "danced" 5 songs with him. and by "danced" i mean he took hold of my arm and we walked in incredibly slow motion around the peremeter of the dance floor. really, it felt more like i was helping him cross a busy street than anything else. his one move was that every few steps (= few minutes) he would (slowly) rock back on one foot after taking a step. so, in the end, what the night lacked in thrills and eye candy it wholly made up for in amusement.
so long story short... ive found me another wonderful corner of this great big world.

love is an island paradise (inhabited by good looking musicans)

el nido and the surrounding bacuit archipelago are the picture perfect image of an island paradise. tall limestone cliffs blanketed in lush jungle jut out of the ocean all around the little strip of beach at the northern tip of palawan where el nido lies. these tiny chunks of land dot the ocean like terrestrial constellations for as far as the eye can see. it is absolutely mesmorizing... a person could stay for years just discovering all the hidden beaches and lagoons in this tiny, miniscule fraction of the philippines. its no wonder this country holds the world record for longest coastline. but enough gloating...from the boatride experience mentioned in the previous cyber post we befriended a whole gaggle of fellow tourists including 3 canadians, a mexican mathmatician and his british girlfriend and 2 germans (naturlich). its always nice to have a group of friends when you are far from home, and these are quite the interesting bunch of pale-faced adventurers, of which there are many in the sea and sand haven that is palawan island. however, el nido has still managed to retain its charm as a small, layed back beach town, for now at least.

so in soaking up the wonder of it all we went diving a couple times and saw some more cool stuff, namely lobster, baracuda, trumpetfish, boxfish and jellyfish. one day we rented a motorcyle to check out the surrounding area, which is equally charming and full of the usual rice paddies, carabao, and smiling people. on another, we gathered a group of our newfound tourist friends to hire a boat out to the surrounding islands ("island hopping" as they call it) and it was spec-tac-u-lar and reconfirmed my belief that this really must be the most breathtakingly beautiful place in the entire world. we visited a lagoon filled with water that looked like it it had been airlifted in from a swimming pool, only less chemicaly and more salty. i couldnt even bring myself to snorkel as i was unable take my eyes off everything above the water, so i just swam around feeling very much like a water nymph in a fantasy film. in my exploring i discovered a cave that was the spitting image of the one in the little mermaid where ariel keeps her whos-its and whats-its galore (again with the disney). i of course siezed the opportunity to sing "part of that world" at the top of my lungs, much to the amusement of the germans.

later that evening, as the whole group was moving on to different destinations the next day, we decided to meet for dinner that evening at a place where there is often live music in the way of a group of boys in their early twenties who have a very good garage band of sorts with quite the repitoire, ranging from stevie wonder to niel diamond to oaisis to radiohead to bob marley and some local reggae too. they are really quite the small time rock stars. my dad and i had seen them the previous night at another restaurant and they apparently remembered me because the hand drummer had a drink sent to my table. turns out they are also friends with the dive master we had been with and one of their cousins owned the restaurant so we all hung out until way past closing hours as they fixed coctails and passed around their instruments as the waves crashed outside. the next day i had suddenly become quite the popularity queen. everyone in this town seems to be a friend or relative of one of these boys and now i couldnt go anywhere without hearing someone call, "hello, eleanor!" sometimes even people ive never seen before. did i mention i really like this town??

and since it is just as difficult to leave el nido as it is to get there, we extended our stay to 5 days in paradise instead of 3. or so we thought... on the morning of the sixth day, afters a late night of goodbyes with my new, charming philippino friends i boarded the ferry bound for the island of buswanga with a heavy heart. it was an especially bumpy ride that made the one from sabang seem like a limosine ride and about 3 hours in the boat actually turned around and started heading back to el nido. make that 6 days in paradise. just goes to show that, in the philippines, no plan is final until you set foot in your destination and even then one should be prepared for something to go awry. so then we were going to try to get the ferry out the next day and i said goodbye again to my fan club and the next morning, what do you know?? no ferry. so in a mad rush we got to the bus station and caught a bus back to puerto princesa to ensure wed at least have a good shot at making our flight back home to the states. a seventh day in paradise would have been nice, but there are really only so many times a heart can take such sad goodbyes. so we were finally on our way, or so we thought... that is until the universal unit broke. yes, that is exactly as important and difficult to fix as it sounds. but thats only if you forget how freaking tight philippinos are. 5 guys hopped of and, with winstons resting cooly between their lips, got to sawing off a piece of metal tube to replace the broken part. i mean seriously, who does that? and whats more, who could make that actually work?? well, philippinos can. miraculously, we only waited about 20 minutes and were on the road again... for about an hour, then something else started rattling. so, we slowed to a stop, out hopped the smoking men, down dropped a piece of rope and they just tied up whatever it was that was making the ruckus and we made it all the way to puerto princesa. incredible. at the risk of sounding redundant, i love this country!

more pictures @ www.flickr.com/ricks_art

i think im in love... palawan has to be the most beautiful place in the entire world. i know, i know... so says the girl of the two week crush, but really... i think its for real this time! after making yet another quick getaway from yet another bustling city we settled into the sleepy seaside village of Sabang where the only accommodations are flushtoiletless, hotwaterless, electricityless (except between the hours of 6pm and 10pm) and, thus, fabulous. the little stilted cottages sit right on the sand of a little hidden cove with the best surf we've seen since our arrival, which we of course immediately bounded into leaving our packs and clothing in two parallel trails along the way. on our first (and only) full day we breakfasted on fried egg and tasty bread (have no idea how to discern it from other bread, but it is, in fact, incredibly tasty) and set out into the jungle to find The Underground River. it is the longest underground river in the world measuring 8km from the place it dips down beneath the land to where it empties into the China Sea. 'tis quite the natural phenomenon and really the only reason sabang finds itself between the covers of a lonely planet at all. actually, even the trail to get there is pretty phenomenal... it weaves from beach to jungle to beach to jungle again and you alternate between gazing up at towering limestone cliffs from teal blue waters to climbing up those towering cliffs and gazing down at the nice clear waters. i tend to prefer to former, but, hey, variety is the spice of life, or so i kept telling myself as i felt rivers of sweat trickling (or rather pouring) down my back. and speaking of rivers... this one was well worth the hike (on foot and otherwise) and incredibly fascinating in that spooky, plunging into the pitch-black unknown kind of way. after getting suited up in neon life vests and bright green helmets, all the tourists must pile into a banca to be slowly rowed into the cave that marks the mouth of the river. ominous looking stalactites and mites jutted out all around us and thousands upon thousands of bats lined the cave's ceiling in their inverted slumbers, so close at times that i could even make out their tiny little faces, which were, in fact, surprisingly adorable. other than the live bats it was actually very much like being on the pirates of the caribbean ride. who would have thought the philippines would be so much like disneyland?
but it only got better from there... the next day we woke before the sun (and electricity) to board a banca (an outrigger canoe that can squishily and splashily hold 14 people, plus the 4 man crew) bound for el nido. although bumpy, wet and long the banca is thus far my favorite means of travel, mainly because you get to be outside all day, not to mention on the water, and thus have a front row showing of the philippine coastline. and you know, an archipelago really doesnt feel like an archipelago until your sitting out in the middle of the ocean watching little chunks of land wizz (ok, not quite wizz) past as you glide (bounce) over glassy to teal to aqua blue back to teal again waters. positively memorizing... i almost could have spent another ten hours on that boat. almost. but, as it were, the sun was beginning to set and all 14 of us were darned glad to catch a glimpse of el nido as we rounded what we'd lovingly dubbed "desperation point."

big fish

welp my first night on the island of palawan was nothing if not an interesting one. it started off in the port city of puerto princesa with just the pops and myself enjoying two much deserved san miguels outside our hotel room after our long voyage from malaybalay (that's one three hour bus ride, one overnight ferry, two plane flights, three taxi rides and two tricycle rides to be exact - but that's another story). seated at the table a few feet away from us was a group of boisterous, big-bellied philippino men, the biggest bellied of whom kept sending glances and friendly nods in my direction. and wouldn't you know it, we had nearly finished our beverages when, as if by some sort of divine intervention, the waiter appeared and palced two fresh cold ones in their stead. as we gazed up at him with faces all adrawn with pleased perplexion he informed us that they were compliments of "Mr. Joey" and nodded in the direction of the biggest belly who grinned broadly and raised his glass and Malboro cigarette to us. he waved us over to their table and who do these men turn out to be but a few of the heavyweights in philippine politics, pun intended. we had in attendace the chief of police, the county auditor, a cargo line owner, and Mr. Joey the deputy mayor of manila, among others. after chatting for the better part of an hour they invited us to dinner at the home of the auditor. now, a homemade dinner with the upper crust of the philippines, that's just not the kind of thing a person can refuse, so we hopped into their escalade-esk vehicle (a far cry from the jeepnies and tricycles to which we've become accustomed) and headed for the outskirts of the city. the auditor and his quiet wife have a lovely home where they raise fighting cocks and banana trees and had prepared a huge spread on their front porch positivly brimming with broad, steaming dishes. there were two huge maya maya fish (i dunno, its delicious), beef stew, fried pork, pickled papaya and naturally lots of rice (and bananas). really nothing all that exciting or out of the ordinary happened, in fact we rather ate and ran, but when you are thousands of miles from your home and every article of clothing you have smells like a stinky foot its quite thrilling to dine with royalty (or close enought to it).

ferries, fotos and filippino families, oh my!

all aboard the inter-island express! after one last day a good diving, but spotty weather we decided to move on from sleezetown, philippines and try our luck further south on the island of mindinao, and this time we traveled by sea. lucky for us in-ferry entertainment is much more interesting than its in-flight counterpart. we were graced with a performance by a live 3-piece band. the group consisted of a middle-aged man with a ponytail on the keyboard/synthesizer and two ladies on vocals clad in blouses with sheer tummies doing passionate renditions of smooth rock karaoke hits. however, amusement quickly gave way to bleeding eardrums and we fled the dining area for our bunks on the lower deck. but alas, the voices and microphone reverberations carried swiftly over the open sea and right onto the philippino-sized mat onto which i was trying to make comfortable my american-sized body (this is no small feat, i assure you). after tossing and turning for several hours i awoke to the sun rising over the open ocean and our island destination approaching on the horizon. as we got close to port a throng of banca's (catamaran canoes) swept toward us. my dad and i stood memorized watching them from the railing, wondering what in the world they could be doing. they came right up to the side of the ship, grown men with small children sitting in the front and they were all yelling something up to us. it wasn't until someone beside us dropped a coin over board and the nearest boy dove into the water to retrieve it that we realized they were begging. once off the boat we boarded a bus bound for the town of malaybalay where my dad lived with his family for 14 years. about three hours, three canyons, one banana plantation later (fun fact: dole and del monte plantation security guards are licensed to kill. where one applies for such a liscence i dont know, but i wasnt too inclined to find out.) we arrived at bethel baptist hospital compound, the establishment my grandparents (with the help of a handful of others) built up from the ground over 50 years ago. immediately upon arrival we were treated as honored guests. a woman named lilet dragged us into every room and office in the hospital to give us a theatrical introduction, complete with full gesticulation, to every nurse, doctor, accountant, receptionist and passerby. never have i ever been hugged and kissed and squeezed and stroked so much. afterward we were shown to the guesthouse where we would be staying, which turned out to be none other than the very house where my family had lived for all those years, a very nice surprise. i slept in the room where my dear aunt susie had taken running leaps onto her bed as the only defense from the torments of her incorrigible brothers. however, this was not until after i walked in on four of the most enormous cockroaches i have ever seen (come to think of it they may in fact have been extraterrestrials) one of which was cozily nestled into the bristles of my toothbrush. i did not scream, i was too shocked and awed. i calmly called for my father who frightened them back into the walls and began brushing my teeth with cockroach saliva, or some other form of excretion i'd prefer not to think about. whatever it was im sure its full of wonderful nutritional value, those extraterrestrials are so advanced.

PS I have decided to call off my tally in the scrimage against my tiny tropical nemises. their hits are now well into the thirties and i've managed to snuff out only four of them. what can i say... im a lover, not a fighter.

big country, little island.

battle update... vermin: 24, eleanor: 1
(life is getting mighty itchy)

you know, when you are on a 9 hour bus ride (with the help of a little over the counter Valium - gotta love 3rd world countries) followed by two 2 hour flights just to get to the paradise island of Cebu this sure doesn't feel like a small country. speaking of flying and the related airport baggage claim areas, i sidenote: impatience in the baggage claim area is, indeed, an international affliction. here, too, the people rush forward to form an impenetrable wall around the conveyor belt before it even starts moving and without the foggiest inclination as to whether their bag will come about first or last, or ever for that matter. thus, it becomes impossible for the less pushy of the bunch (ahem... moi) to spot their bag until it has already flown by, back into the never reaches of the airport's belly. come on people, those big ol' hunks of grey matter lumbering over our shoulders aren't just there to give us nicely defined neck muscles. sheesh.

anyway, when we finally did manage to retrieve our luggage and get outside the airport to embrace the sun and sand part of our vaccation we stepped into the middle of a downpour. apparently the dry season isnt quite as dry as we'd hoped. but no matter, it only lasted a few hours and the rain did paint quite a nice picture on the streets of cebu city... school age girls linked at the elbow dashing about in drenched uniforms, small children playing in the water cascading down from the drainpipes, and young boys beside their equally ripped grandfathers leaning shirtless with arms folded beneath store aunings staring vacantly into the streets. cant say i was sad to see it stop the next day, though, and we even had time to get in a snorkel and a dive afterward and, since the good weather held for the most part, one more of each the next day. so far we have seen a sea turtle, a sea snake, clownfish living in a aneneme, lots of yellowstripped fairy basslets (my new favorite fish), a couple dragon fish and plethora of irridescent coral and other fishes. id kindof forgotten how awesome the colors are down where its wetter, under the sea. right up my alley in the color department, really. made me wish i had a hot pink wet suit... i think i am going into spandex withdrawals. the little dive town where we're staying, moalboal, is a bit of a sunburned sleezeball tourist trap. lots of washed up middle aged dude bros picking up on pretty philippino women. it's painful to watch really. however, tonight we did come a across a diamond in the ruff. he's not as hot as aladin, but he is a chubby, red-faced german in his late fifties, which makes him an automatic gem in my book. his name is peter and my dad and i wandered into his restaurant only to wander out again 3 hours later full of homemade sourkraut, wurst, beer and a shot of brandy. he talked and talked about the old country and politics and his life story and made me blush about 20 times with all his flattery. and if that werent enough, he threw in a palm reading for free. peter says "ahh ja, you arrre a verrry strong voman und du vill have maany men try und tie you down, BUT you vill never be caught. oh, ah, vait. ok, you vill have a little bit love. but it vill not last long." great, peter. thanks. anyway, what does he know? i doubt he could even see my palm after the river of beer his philippino girlfriend (of course) had kept flowing past him all night. but, regardless of my disappointing love forecast, it was a very interesting evening. so thank you Peter, you big, sweet, crazy german man, you.

8th Wonder of the World... Check.

First off, it has been brought to my attention that i have misspelled the title of this here internet diary. And to that i say that as this is not the first time i have ever been known to get creative with my spelling, nor will it likely be the last, perhaps we should all just chalk these "mistakes" up as privy to one of my more endearing eccentricities and remember the wise words of Mr. Mark Twain who once said, "I don't give a damn for a man [or woman] who can only spell a word one way." Amen Samuel, amen.

That said...

Deep breath in through the nose and "ahhh..." That is my sigh of contentedness. I am ever so glad to be out of Manila. Baguio, although it is still a rather large city, is much more pleasnat and approachable than the aforementioned, making the couple days we spent there very much enjoyable, indeed. There is a large park in the town center, a ginormormous "people's market" (think farmers market with more raw meat and fish) and lots more of that wonderful, humidity-bred foliage. The only slightly unpleasant part is that what, as for usual, will likely be a loosing battle with the local vermin has now officially begun. Thus far, the score is insects/aracnids 3, eleanor 0.
From Baguio we took a 6 hour bus ride to Sagada, which is a little town even more up in the mountains en route to the famous rice terraces. It didn't seem like the grueling ride daddy remembered from his childhood, not until about hour four that is. For that is the point at which we passed into the mountain provence, the land where pavement gives way to dirt/mud and what passes for a bigde is, to us westerners, really just a couple planks of wood placed precariously across a cavernous revene. But, cheating death yet again, we made it safely to our guesthouse and traipsed around the town and along narrow little philippino sized paths that wound us through the neighborhood (as far as i could tell there was only one). In the evening i treated myself a "shower." By "shower" i mean that i went into the bathroom (where the toilet is), stripped off my clothes and set to diluting boiling water in a kettle with cold water from the sink into a giant ladle which i then poured onto myself, trying not to get too much on the toilet seat.
The next day i awoke feeling clean from my "shower" and ready to hop on a Jeepney bound for Banaue, home of the most expansive rice terraces. To say that it was bumpy would be and understatement. It was definetly not a ride for the faint of stomach or bottom, and yesterday, to my great misfortune, i was representing the former. Whether it was due to the sip of calamance juice i'd had the day before ( that's philippino limeade more or less, but yummier) or my unsightly habit of biting my fingernails no matter what dangerously unsanitary hand rails or sink knobs they may have touched, my tummy was definetly not pleased with me. I harrnessed all the self motivating thoughts of mind over matter (or in this case stomach contents) i could muster and made it all the way to the hotel bed where i remained in a supine position for the next 16 hours. And, after a brief but effective rendevoux with the toilet around hour 4, i woke up almost as good as new in the morning. Vacine, shmakcine, i say! Foreign infectious diseases are no match for my superior cognative prowess. So, after a modest half-eaten breakfast of oatmeal (i wasn't quite ready to tempt the up-chuck gods with garlic rice and salty fish so soon) i hoped onto a motorcycle behind a 22-year-old rice farmer, with dad in the side thingy, and headed out to behold the magestic and mystifying rice terraces (heavy on the myst.. mist). To try and describe them more would be pointless, for i cannt do them justice. I suppose that's the way it goes with wonders of the world, you've just got to get out and see them yourself.

Greetings from the future.

Yes, that's right folks, i am writing to you from tomorrow and if your tomorrow is anything like my today let me tell you, its gonna be interesting. After defeating all previously held logical perceptions of time and space by catapulting through two whole days in a matter of only 16 hours my dad and i arrived in Manila at the sunless hour of 4am. In spite of the very wee time of day, the second we set foot on Philippine airplane ramp i had the oh so tropical sensation of being slapped in the face with a damp washcloth. I have to admit, there is something somewhat satisfying about gulping in one's air supply instead of merely breathing it. After making it to the missionary guest house where we are staying the night and meeting Nene (the excitable lady of the house whose grin as big as she is tiny) we decided to bypass the whole sleeping bit, which i've come to view as highly overrated anyway... who was it that said, "I'll have plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead?" Anyway, i digress. By 9am we were out on the streets of Manila, which like any other big city in a poor country is, in a word, overwhelming. The thing is, on top of having that general slightly-frazzled-upon-arriving-in-a-new-country feeling, one is then immediately bombarded by the incessant preemptive honking of the taxi drivers, the weight of nearly tangible pollution, accented by the gut-wrenching conglomeration of unpleasant smells that arise from too many people with not enough resources all crammed together in the same forsaken space, one encounter with an impressively/disturbingly insistent and barely pubescent looking Philippino who was tougher to shake than... something very difficult to shake, and a death defying ride in a Jeepney, which (i know this sounds corny) reminded me exactly of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland, but more specifically the sensation that no matter how much that stupid wheel is turned and/or spun the vehicle continues to swerve down a perilous course all its own until somehow, against all odds, the ride ends abruptly, without incident. So think me lily-livered if you will, but after one day in this chaos i am glad i'm gettin' out of the big city and headin' for the sticks (and sand and rice terraces). That said, i'd rather end the first day, no, uberday of my travels on a positive note, so here we go...
Three things i like about Manila:
1) The people. Everyone i've talked to (aside from danny the unshakable) has been extremely polite and friendly and kind and helpful. Philippinos never point and i don't think i've heard a single person yell yet.
2) The greenery. The clammy weather makes it nearly impossible for things not to grow here and encourages large, lush trees and exotic foliage to burst from even the most unlikely spots, filling every possible nook and cranny of an otherwise tin and concrete jungle.
3) Jeepney's. Aforementioned story aside, these things are actually very awesome modes of public transportation. They are old American army Jeeps customized with brightly colored paint and embossed metal decorations and have been stretched (i assume with some sort of magic stretching device) to be able to hold two longways benches seating up to 14 people. Not to mention that they are dirt cheap (20 cents a head), and they are EVERYWHERE, can't miss 'em.

So, now, with my glass once again in its proper half-full state and the sun finally tucked away on ya'll's (?) side of the world, i am going to hit the shower and then the hay, two things i've been putting off all day, while i was dreaming of the bay, and my friends jay and may, with whom i like to play, and make things out of clay...yep, i'd say that about sums it up.