BER Pays Off

So I'm sitting here, in the VIP club of Lima International Airport, thinking about this arduous, challenging, and yet totally amazing trip, realizing that none of this would have been possible if pieces hadn't fallen in exactly the right (and seemingly wrong) places. It all boils down to taking a risk. Perhaps the spark that started it all was deciding to apply for my internship in Paris. Like dominoes, the pieces have fallen into place ever since then. I took the chance. It sucked, it was hard, and it was amazing all at once. The same thing has happpened ever since. Changing the course of my life by taking the BER job sucked at times, it was very hard, and it's amazing where it has taken me.

I feel like I'm opening a new chapter of my life coming home this time. School orientation starts on Monday. Ready or not, here I come. I did not expect to be a pharmacist. I did not expect that I would want to travel the world. I did not expect that I would be in love. But what one does not expect makes everything worthwhile. I did not expect that this would be the hardest three weeks I've had in a long time, yet I stood alone atop a mountain at a wonder of the world. I did not expect to have broken conversations in half english, half spanish with so many people, yet we got our points across. I did not expect to have so much to return home to, and yet have so much I was leaving behind.

Peru has broken me and built me up. My adventures were not expected, but were probably what was needed most. Life seems to do that to you.

So Here's the Rub...

Traveling is exhausting. Adventure and cultural traveling is even more exhausting than your usual beach or camping vacation. Traveling in a language you don't even have a basic grasp of is headache-inducing. Traveling at altitude is exhausting. Traveling while sick is inherantly exhausting, and completely emotionally draining. Throwing all of yourself into a magical day at a place you never imagined you'd visit is thrilling, if not entirely exhausting.

I got up this morning, bright and early to go to the Isla Traquille. I asked for directions to the port from the hostel owner, and while he had been so helpful the night before, he lit into me about how crazy I was for trying to go without a tour, expecially since my spanish is SO horrible. Even after yesterday spent entirely on a bus driving from Cusco to Puno resting up from the dramatic efforts I made at Machu Picchu, I clearly had not recovered from my sickness and exhaustion. So someone calling me crazy, telling me how stupid I was, how much of an awful American who speaks no spanish I was... hitting at all of the things I feel like could be very, very true... I finally lost it. I ended up sleeping most of the day to stop from sobbing, reading a bit, and finally dragged my butt out of bed and made my way to a VERY gringo restaurant where I had an amazing eggplant parmasana style sandwich and chocolate caliente.

Luckily, it didn't start raining until I got back. It's hailing and dumping rain right now, thunder and lightning echoing in the distance. It¡s the first rain I've seen since I got to Peru, and damn it feels like home. The smell of it hitting the warm pavement, the sound of it on the plastic roof over the courtyard, the sparkling underneath the streetlamps. It feels like a little piece of Seattle.

So tomorrow I won't ask for directions. I know how to get to the port. I know how to ask for a ticket to the Isla Uros. I know how to manage my time, how to get food, how to get to the bus station, how to get through the last 4 days I have in Peru. I know that I can do this, as I have been doing it, even completely debilitated by 4 kinds of sickness. The well had simply run dry today, but maybe through a little food, a little chocolate, a little more sleep, and a little rain reminding me of home, there will be something there for me to pull from tomorrow.

The Great Machu Picchu Orange Juice Disaster of 2011

So somehow I managed to not only get my ticket only three days in advance to Machu Picchu, but I was able to buy the pass up the smaller mountain, Wayna Picchu at the same time. This is the mountain you see at the end of the ruins in all the postcard photographs, and they only let 400 people up a day. My pass was for 7am, which made for an early morning.

Up at 4:30am after not being able to fall asleep for hours the night before, groggily stuffing my limbs into my decided outfit (after all, these photos will live forever...), I stumbled my way out of the hostel and down the block to queue for the 5:30 bus. I toted along some breakfast: yogurt, cookies, and a big tetrapack of orange juice. I drank the yogurt (it's all drinkable down here) and cracked my way into the OJ on the ride up, in the hopes of some easy sugars to jumpstart my body.

Once at Machu Picchu, I had an hour to take photos before the Wayanapicchu hike time started. Walking up a flight of stairs felt good and yet put me completely out of breath. I had acclimated finally to the altitude, but there is still very little oxygen up here. But the ruins are breathtaking too... It's more the setting than the actual structures, although they are extremely impressive. The Inca were clearly incredibly talented engineers.

After a few photos, I became nervous about finding my way to the hike starting point, and wandered over in the general direction. I got there early, but my entire mantra for the few days prior was to take it easy and not exhaust myself so that I could have energy for this day, and so I hung out at the gate for a bit, only a group of Japanese tourists ahead of me in line. When they started letting people in, I was number 7 through the gate.

God hiking felt good, and I quickly passed the group ahead of me. I could feel how much weaker my legs were than before this trip, but I pushed them to keep going. Wayna Picchu is basically a crazy staircase up the face of a cliff, and dammit it felt amazing as the view behind me developed and as I got closer to the lingering clouds clinging to the mountaintops.

Then I realized that I was alone. I couldn't hear anyone... Not a single footstep behind me. I reveled in that, at a wonder of the world, I was alone. Then it hit me that I could be the first to the top. Competitive Adrian hasn't been doing so well with this feebleness, and so that side of me took over.

It was about a switchback after this decision to power up the mountain, that I felt an odd drip on the back of my leg. I opened my little day pack to find a disaster--the orange juice container was slowly leaking from somewhere. My Spanish phrasebook was drenched as was my notepad that I'd been using as a journal. The liquid was sticky and sweet, covering the bottom of my bag, and seeping through to infiltrate my vest and shirt, not to mention my pants. I readjusted everything, but didn't ditch the OJ... Considering the mess already, it couldn't get that much worse. I tied a plastic bag around it and kept going, cursing the lost time and wondering how the heck no one had caught up to me yet.

Now I had to make time. The exhilaration of exercise combined with the ever-more staggering beauty unfolding around me, and possibly the lack of oxygen in my brain, was thrilling. A rest--no footsteps. A sign--25 minutes to the top, and so I would check my watch... 10 minutes, no one. 15, still alone but slowing down a lot. The cold that I had been trying to ignore threw me a coughing fit, so I had to stop and pull a cough drop from my bag, more time wasted!

As I was coming to the first real overlook, and becoming concerned that I had gone the wrong way, I heard voices. I pushed through the tiredness, took pictures on the sly and on the run, and scrambled through caves and tight places (you can't be fat, or wear a moderately sized backpack and fit through some of these nooks and crannies). I put some more distance between me and the voices. Then I could see the top. Breathing deep, I just put one foot ahead of the other. One more cave, and different voices behind me. Up the ladder, hand-breathe-foot-breathe, and I emerged into the sky.

The reason Machu Picchu is so worth it is simply the setting. You couldn't get more beautiful. I sat at the summit of Wayna Picchu as a young perfectly in shape couple came up the ladder, clearly disappointed that I, half sick, covered in sweat, orange juice, and about 12 layers of dirt, yet completely glowing from the exertion, had beaten them. I didn't give up my post as more people came up, I watched as the sun and wind blew the wisps of clouds around the thumb-like mountains, as the rivers churned and babbled so far below, as the ruins lay out before me like a promise.

Pictures were taken, and as the summit became crowded, I slipped back down the ladder, and found a place to just sit and watch the world. I sat there, drinking the entire remaining contents of my orange juice, pulling the entire contents of my bag out and literally pouring the leaked juice from my bag. Luckily, I had toilet paper to mop up the mess. Everything about me was filthy. I had scrambled up this cliff with everything I had, and it wasn't even 8am. I have never been so completely content, so completely at peace, so completely happy. At least not anytime in the last two weeks.

More to come later.

Up and Moving

Ever since I got to Cusco, I've been fairly incapacitated. Instead of romping around the party town, I've been huddled in my bed, sleeping off this evil cold. However, last night in a moment of panic and utter frustration with my body's blatent betrayal, and after a helpful calm-down talk with Tom back home (skype is the best thing to come out of the internet revolution, I swear), I finally came to my senses and gave up. There would be no chance that I was going to be able to make any kind of trek to Machu Picchu. Hell, I could hardly walk around Cusco. Machu Picchu was going to be more than enough. So I walked back into my room, and realized that I had to talk to someone. I needed some kind of help. I hated admitting that, even to myself.

My roommate was in the room, and somehow we started talking. Soon enough, we were going out to dinner (juice and soup, exactly what I needed!), and it turned out that she had gone to Machu Picchu the route that I was going to have to resort to--taking the train and staying in the town of Aguas Calientes. Simply talking to her, having her show me the websites (which ultimately wouldn't work, but still...), and hearing her tips for getting the right tickets and buying the bus ticket the night before, and where to catch the bus to get to Ollanta, FINALLY I could figure out the plan that I hadn't expected to have to fall back on. So in the morning, I went down to the computers to reserve my tickets, and couldn't pay for ANYTHING. So I had a mini-jog around town in my messy hair, glasses, flip-flops, half-pajamas and general frustration (these tickets are HIGH demand, and thus very time sensative), to find the train office, then the right bank (third one was a charm, ugh, who has 3 different banks on one corner?!) to pay for my Machu Picchu reservation. Back at the hostel, at least one part of the plan in place, I crashed again for a couple of hours.

When I went down to see about bus tickets and figure out a time frame for the rest of my journey (I definitely want to be back in Lima in time to get the hell out of here), I once again struggled with online purchases, even on the english page! But I figured out a good general schedule to get myself to Puno, and back through Arequipa on my way to Lima by bus. I might even splurge on the fancy lower level for the overnight long bus from Arequipa to Lima! While at the computers, I ran into Sandra again, and we ended up going to lunch together, then to a crazy market and general wanderings around Cusco. So at least I've done a little shopping, a little wandering, and a little sight-seeing. Tomorrow I'll probably do a little walking tour of Cusco in the morning (it's in the LP), then take the bus to Ollantaytambo, the jumping off place for my train the day after. This way, I'll finally get out of this hostel (not that it's not lovely) and get to explore a sleepy town a little. Then it's onwards to MP.

It feels really good to have a plan again. It helps me to focus when my body is rebelling like this. When I know I have to get to a place by a certain time, I don't end up hunkered down in my hostel reading for hours on end. I'm going to have seen everything that I really wanted to see (although, not the treks and not any of the fun stuff up north, but it's only 3 weeks afterall), and I think this thing can turn around. I definitely feel better, and with my hand-woven scarf around my neck, I feel a little more cozy. My friend has moved on to her further adventures, but I have my adventures, and endless people to meet along the way. I miss everyone back home though, and definitely think that next time, I'm going to drag someone along with me.

An Oasis

Today started out beyond early. In most worlds it was still a friday night. It was so early that even though my hostel receptionist had urged me to leave, the bus station was not yet open. Regardless, I got on the bus and headed to Paracas to go to "the poor man's galapagos." The boat out to the Ballestas islands was definitely a little more rocky than your typical float. That plus the stench of the guano that they literally harvest off of the islands made my stomach turn pretty badly. Plus a little extra guilt for my miserable spa-fran-glish, and I was only very determined to enjoy this tour, damn it. There were humbolt pengins and a whole mess of peruvian boobies as well as cormorants, vultures, sea lions, etc... and it was pretty cool, except for the whole putrifying stench thing.

Then, after the second bus to Ica, and a quick taxi to Huacachina, I'm literally in an oasis. As in, there are palm trees, a lagoon, and it's surrounded by mountainous sand dunes that I'm scheduled to dune buggy up and sandboard down tomorrow. It's so touristy here, that english is the common language more than spanish. I found a hostel mainly by the niceness of the girl who worked the front desk (at least she wasn't some sleezy dude trying to sell me an extra tour), and a good vibe. This is a party town though, so there might be some pisco sours and dancing as this is a Saturday night. Safety is the priority though, so I'll be careful nonetheless.

The good news is that things are looking up. no matter the pressure I put on myself to speak better spanish, I'm managing fine. Tomorrow will be sandboarding and the overnight bus to Arequipa, the city I'm most excited for. Should be exciting!!

Solo Female Traveler.

It’s a phrase that scares people. Hell, it terrifies me when they’re so scared for me. I’ve done solo travel before--three months in Paris, traveling through Italy on a tour, traipsing across the USA and Canada for work--and it’s been tough, but never impossible. The scariest part is stepping onto the plane, and just trusting yourself enough, that even though there are a million things out there to scare you: pickpockets, scam artists, noisy hostel-mates... you will make it through in one piece.

This time it’s a little harder. Peru is not exactly the same as Europe. A couple of “Learn Spanish in 7 Days!” books is not exactly the same as 4 years of high school french. The looks on peoples’ faces when they find out where I’m going alone this time isn’t exactly as confidence-inducing as when the answer was Paris. The poverty level is much more striking in South America than in most of the places I’ve traveled. And I’m coming off the flux of helping a friend get married, moving into a new apartment, and preparing for graduate school.

But when the going gets tough, I usually end up on the lucky side of things. When deciding where to use up frequent flier miles to get to this summer, Lima came up requiring so few miles that I ended up with a first class ticket. When I dreaded going off alone once again, I had suggestions given to me of ways and means to get where I was going and meet people along the way. I always manage to come out ahead somehow--in Europe, in the US, and in NZ. The lucky star seems to hang overhead still, and (knock on something wood for me, will ya?) hopefully it will continue into the heights of the Andes and the depths of the Amazon.

Oh, and I want to carry on my luggage. The packing post will be very interesting...

In-N-Out, or Furthering the Fast Food Agenda

What does one do when a 7pm flight gets delayed even further? Go to the airport at 4pm like normal? No. Not in Phoenix.

In the vein of my Chick-Fil-A epiphany, I made a bee-line straight for In-N-Out burger in Tempe by the ASU campus (thanks to MJC's awesome directions :)). Definitely still just fast food, but the fries alone made it worth it. The freshness was definitely a startling discovery... especially watching someone make fries from POTATOES. Who would have thunk it? Really, it was more fun to be able to say I finally ate at In-N-Out than anything else, but it made me giddy all the same.

Then I was off to Popagano park to wander around. I found out the Botanical Gardens were there, and headed over only to find that they were closed early for a luminaria display tonight... that started at 5:30, exactly when I needed to be dropping off my rental car. I glanced through the gates though, and was sad I had to miss it. The cashier directed me to walk up to Hole in the Wall trail, and so I did. I watched most of the sunset from this glorious rock formation, before heading back to the airport.

It's days like this, when I've ditched my presenter (even if they're a great one) and have some time to myself that make me so happy and remind me why I have this job.

Re-routing and Overloading My Way Through Chicago

Instead of flying on a painfully long flight home on Friday night from Burlington, VT I had planned on an easy direct to Chicago to spend the weekend with Krista and CJ. Oh, if only that had been what had actually happened.

The two days out on the road before this weekend were pretty good. Sadly, I gave up my free day on Veterans Day up to fly trans-con to Manchester, NH. In Manchester, I sat in on a seminar for the first time. I was out with Ken Vieth, who is an amazing artist and art teacher. Unfortunately I was really not feeling creative for whatever reason and what I created that day during the hands on part of the seminar was disappointing. It was a great project though, and I intend to attempt the art on my own time at some point this coming week. We had a great talk on the drive to Burlington, VT as we drove towards a sparklingly beautiful sunset. He was the kind of guy who’s had amazing life experiences that he’s willing to talk about at length, but he also is a question asker and was interested in what stories I had to share as well. I really appreciated talking about my own issues with figuring out what my life’s passions are and what direction to go in after this BER year.

Burlington is on my list of favorite places in the country. I got him to join me out for dinner on Church Street, a fun pedestrian area of town that also has a Ben & Jerry’s store (pumpkin cheesecake ice cream anyone?!) and we wandered a bit just enjoying the college atmosphere and New England architecture. After the seminar the next day, we had a while before our flights so we went down and parked downtown and walked to Lake Champlain, which was staggeringly beautiful with mist and late-afternoon sunlight streaming across it. After one more scoop of Ben & Jerry’s we headed off to the airport, where we were greeted by the most glaringly awful flashing screens I’ve seen in a while.

Turned out, there was the remnants of a hurricane sitting over all of the major east coast hub airports. Ken’s flight to Newark was outright cancelled while my connection flight through Philly was delayed 6 hours. By working my PM magic and working with a brilliant US Airways ticket counter agent (she is getting a commendation letter from me, she was THAT great in the crisis!). Ken and I both flew on a US Air flight to LGA, I got him a car to get to Newark while I changed terminals and got on an American Airlines flight to Chicago, arriving barely half an hour late. Considering the situation was pretty shitty overall, the feeling I got after managing the whole thing seamlessly was amazing. This job has really given me skills that are real world applicable. If anyone wants to know exactly what to say to a ticket counter agent in this kind of situation, call me. :) Also, I was capable of getting my presenter from one airport to another, while getting myself from one terminal of a huge airport to the other terminal, through the correct security line, and still have a front of the plane aisle seat.

When I got on my American flight to ORD, I was pretty excited to actually be making it to my destination, but definitely planning on downing a glass of wine. When my seatmate sat down next to me though, I realized the universe was making it up to me for the previous stress of my day. The cut,e 24 year old NYC equities trader next to me who has family in Seattle was not only fun to talk to, but also all about proving himself to the older, better traveled, attractive female on his right. After he started name dropping celebrities I knew I was about to get my drinks paid for. And that is another thing this job has taught me: let them pay, even if they make fun of you for knitting. That way I get to keep my per-diem for exciting hotel stays in places like Nashville and Miami.

When I arrived in Chicago, Krista and CJ came and picked me up for a chill weekend in Chicago. I’ve already done all of the touristy stuff, so I just wanted to see their new neighborhood and maybe go thrifting. And did we! CJ is the most amazing chef ever... she whipped me up a salad to make up for the fact that I’d barely had time for a luna bar for dinner and then the next morning, after a trip to the most amazing ukrainian deli/grocery store, we had a scramble/fry that was potentially the best thing I’ve had in weeks (excepting my mom’s squash soup... *hint hint*). She also figured out the proper name of the coffee drink I wanted--a coranado or a wet macchiato... damn it I wan to be back in a place that understands “flat white.” Krista took me for a terrifying yet exhilarating scooter ride around the neighborhood and showed me her super-secrect favorite gift shop which was definitely worthy of being favorited.

Then we went to the thrift store. I am not allowed to disclose the actual location of this amazing treasure trove (as if I could find it myself if I tried), but Oh Damn. Thank god I threw a space bag in my suitcase to crunch down some of the amazingness I purchased. I got an extra pair of black flats (Nine West and brand new), a knock-off yet adorable Prada bag (which I call affectionately Frada), tons of sweaters and tops, and an American Apparel skirt, nevermind the already squished contents of my suitcase. We had a blast, and then to top it off, we went to possibly the world’s largest whole foods to grab dinner and to gawk at the rich Lincoln Center folks. People actually get glasses of wine and drink as they shop. How yuppie-fabulous can you get?

Now I am in the Pittiest of Burghs, about to meet an old friend for dinner before starting a week out with one of my favorite presenters from last year. It makes up for the fact that I’m headed to Akron and Detroit this week as well.

You Are My Lucky Star…

My mother constantly says I live under a lucky star, and I have to say I agree. When my cab driver picked me up in Long Island to drive us to LGA airport, I left a solid 2 hours to allow for traffic. We made it the 60 miles in about 65 minutes. Before you think anything, just know that we also left our hotel at 5pm. The driver was in as much shock as I was, probably even more!

Sometimes I am stunned at how lucky I am, but maybe I just recognize it more often. There’s plenty of unlucky things that have happened already: my flight was canceled yesterday, my tortillia soup in San Antonio was disgusting, there have been multiple issues with my faxes for work, my projector bulb died, and let’s face it… I haven’t gotten a presenter who liked to go out of the hotel. But for all those things that are bad (the flight and the bulb being by far the worst), it’s always worked out. I got put on a better flight than I was booked for yesterday. My projector problem was fixed in less than five minutes. And actually, for all the bad food and exhausted presenters, I’ve still gotten out and gone into more cities in the last few weeks than I’ve ever managed before in a similar string of time. I even maximized time in Seattle by running off to Leavenworth with some friends to eat brats and take fall photos.

Rochester was a fun city to be in actually. There was beautiful old architecture and lots of newspaper buildings and statues around town. I wandered during lunch and then picked up a sandwich at a shop on my way back to the hotel. Then today in Ronkonkama (Long Island) I met up with another PM and we found lunch in a little part of town called Sayville, which was adorable looking and had AMAZING pizza. This is the kind of life I lead now. Sometimes I just want to explode with happiness and amazement. This is an almost daily experience. How did I get here again?

I really am a lucky girl. I can hardly believe it sometimes. But the more I believe it the luckier I get. I really think it’s half grace, half attitude—half blessing, half my own openness and efforts—never all my own credit, but partly my fault. Or maybe I just like to think so.

Packing

Part of me agonizes about moving home. It feels like I'm just giving up on being independent. I realize how much money I can save, how much more Zoe snuggles I'll be able to get, and how much commuting I will cut out... but it's so sad to end the Wedgwood Era. Writing the Craigslist add for the apartment made me realize how great this place was, and how much I'm going to miss it and it's "Easy walking distance to grocery store, bank, post office, library, restaurants, and yoga studio!"

BL's decision to leave made everything so much more real. It suddenly didn't make sense to have an apartment empty all but maybe 6-10 nights a month, at even the cheapest rent in town. Plus, who would pick up the mail? Would we turn off the heat only to have to come home to a freezing apartment and inefficiently warm up the apartment for a day? I didn't want to not be KN's roommate, but coming home to a completely empty apartment week after week suddenly seemed hard to fathom.

Moving back in with the Parents is not really ideal in my "growing up" theory, but ideal in practice. The kitchen will be stocked (by me and my parents, I'm not getting nor expecting a free lunch) with things that I can cook--in particular, fresh items (milk, cheese, vegetables) that I could not eat in the day that I would be home for. The laundry machines are in the house, and while I don't expect Mommy to do my laundry, I can throw in a load and leave... coming back a few hours later to change it--something impossible when you're using a shared laundry facility in an apartment complex. I'll be 15 minutes from the airport, and not so far from friends that I won't be able to see them when I come home. Plus, I'll have ideal storage space for my raspberry wine as it rests.

So I've packed up my books and my blue glass into liquor store boxes and have agreed to share a u-haul with BL for the big stuff (Daddy and his SUV just won't tote the full sized bed like the pickup could). So now I just get to wait for a few days before Load #1 heads south. Piece by piece, I'll dismantle the room I've grown to love, and probably have to paint it back to the icky white it started out. I'll move to the room I'd left behind, and probably have to reshuffle quite a bit to make it function like I need it to: As a big welcome home hug.