Morning at Cafe Artigiano

Holding a small coffee in hand. The place was packed. I stood at the by the side of the seating area scanning and rescanning for a possible spot.

A guy was sitting by himself at a 4 person table. Sure he can spare a seat... I didn't bother asking as he already cleared the table, realizing he was using the only table with spare seats. Sitting down, I began reading "Watching the English". The book was smart. It detailed all the English behaviours. I got to the part where she was explaining the class systems: upper, upper middle, middle middle, lower middle and the working class. Funny, as it truly was, I laughed and smiled silently, trying not to appear as a freak. We shared a silent quiet space. It was peaceful.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I take this seat?" a professor looking man tapped me and ask to take the seat across me.

I replied, of course.

He sat down with a little pastry bag, quietly eating it. Then he brought out a stack of paper with weird symbols and began to mark them with a red pen. Continuing the quiet equilibrium, all three of us did whatever we were there to do.

Professor gazed in space for a bit then continue to bring out another booklet. This time, it was mandarin learning book. Curiously, I peek at the mandarin characters, trying to figure out whether it's traditional or simple... 95% of the time, it's simple characters, its sad, 7000 years of history is deteriorating, taking a step backwards. Couldn't figure it out though.

"Now you have the cafe all to yourself" an elder elegant lady passed by my table. She wore fury jacket and a very warm looking scarf with a punk handbag.

Not realizing that everyone left, "oh wow... I guess"

"Foubourg's macarons are deviiiiiiiiiine."
"There are so many youngsters who rather sit here for hours than being at home."
"I like to come out, it's nice to be out"
"I'm here everyday, except on Wednesdays when I work."
"If it rains on Sunday, I won't come, otherwise I'll stay here for a little longer."

This reminds me of the day we all walked in Cartegena rain.

Maurice and the art escape

Maurice, my conscious dorm mate. He’s skinny, dark, curly short hair, carries a guitar and always wears crazy colour pants. He’s a law student teaching English and hopes to work in San Paolo while studying music. He’s Italian German Brazilian mix, which, ironically, makes him look Indian exotic.

The museum was empty, obviously not the main tourist spot. The place is a little oasis in this crazy town. The staffs turn on the lights and we began the private tour. The house was Victorian with spinning staircases and massive chandeliers. It housed 3 stories of pure local Bolivian artworks in multiple art forms and styles. Oil, portrait, impression, collage, metal, steel, sketch, acrylic. I was surprised.The talents, the insights, the suburban lifestyles, the revolution, the heroes, the dreams. It showed us the different faces of Bolivia and the love Bolivians have for their home.

As we walked out, the noise resumes. We found a corner coffee shop to sit and stare out the window. We observed the pedestrians while the empty café’s staffs were observed us. 

Unfortunately, at the time of this, I was going through a put-away-the-camera phase. No photos.

La Paz and local tips

The city is 4000m above sea level. Imagine yourself living on the highest peak of the Rockies mountains. Imagine a city skyline with snowy mountains in the background. La Paz, Our Lady of Peace, one of the highest altitude cities in the entire world. The city is in a ditch, the rich and financial district at the bottom, the poor and poorer situate higher up the hills. At night, the concentrated house lights and street lamps sparkle half way up the sky. The sad part, the city is dirty, heavily polluted and often dangerous thus they have securities and polices everywhere in the business zone.

Slow, slow, slow. The locals walk so SLOW. Geezus, I was so annoyed with their slowness but it’s actually their intelligence. Almost everyone arriving have altitude sickness. Some people have headaches, some lose appetite, some struggles on bed for 4 straight days. One thing to definitely avoid here is running. Walk slowly, even if you’re walking on flat ground. If you move too fast, you’ll quickly run out of breath. There was once I ascended fast up the steps and within 10 seconds, less than half a block, I was panting hard with a spinning head.

Drinking wise, one must drink slow. I find myself easily tipsy with one drink. Reason one, the altitude makes you easily drunk, something to do with the pressure difference. Reason two, the bartenders are generous, none of those non-sense watered down drinks. They honestly and sincerely want to get you drunk. Drink slow, my dear, drink slow.

Orange ladies

Walking in La Paz on a Sunday, nothing is open, except the stalls on the street. As I was heading back to hostel, bored, Maurice, one of my dorm mates walked out and invited me to accompany him to the modern art museum. We came across an orange stall, which Maurice stop to buy a glass. The lady was in her 30s (probably). She had a cart full of oranges, a simple squeezer, lots of plastic cups and a small plastic garbage bag. A cup for 3 pesos. Quickly, swiftly, she’s done it 500 times a day, squeezing the juice out to a plastic jar then pouring it to the thin plastic cups. Maurice drank it all at once then the lady offered another half glass.

Pure juice, no ice, no sugar. Simple & delicious, ridiculously cheap at 50 cents each. FRESHLY SQUEEZED. Orange stands became one of my hobbies/obsessions. Whenever I see one, I’ll stop for a glass. The ladies work hard and silent. They don’t talk much, just moving their hands quickly and quietly. I suspect they are from the suburbs, making an income with the oranges they grow. (I may be completely wrong though). At siesta, they are the only people still on the street while everything else shuts down. Sometimes, strangers stopping for a glass make small talk with each other, comments on the weather and sharing a moment of simplicity.

Returning to Vancouver, I miss the spontaneous drinks on the street. Not those canned juice and pops made from massive factories, but in-your-face natural fresh orange juice. 

Surviving La Paz wild rover 1.0

Wild Rover hostel. Where do I start... The people here are crazy. The staff and the backpackers equally.

My 16 person dorm room was huge, the washrooms are clean and the food at the built in bar is legitimate. There is booking agency right inside the hostel, laundry services, security locks, 3 patios and gated entrance with security guard 24-7. Sounds pretty great right?

Most people hang around the bar, around the pool table or the CNN plasma tv. The bar serves alcohol starting 10am to 1am non-stop. Don't worry, the party doesn't stop there, we all relocate to the preplanned club destination.

My dorm room was 10 steps away from the bar and 1 wall apart. We can hear every shot drank, every strike at the pool and to our utmost pleasure, every pop music played. "WILD ROVER!!!!!!!!!" is the tradition before everyone chucks their shot, which is heard throughout the day. Dorm mates (and strangers) go in and out of our unlocked dorm room, shouting, chatting, searching for stuff, singing, and doing private shenanigans. The staff invite themselves in with a bottle of liquor and yells "WHO WANTS A FREE SHOT??" at midnight. No shit.

Stumbling to the bar starving, I ordered a big meaty meal. While waiting, the staffs and I started chatting. It started like this,

"Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks, I'm weak at alcohol."

"This shot is on me." hands over a shot.

After dinner time, the bar turned into a club. Seriously, no joke. The music was blazing, the space was jam packed with people dancing. It was Pimps and Hoes night.

One staff and I went to the hidden costume room. Him dressed up in superwoman outfit and I wore Santa Clause hat and outfit with a big bling bling chain. Damn I was so weak with alcohol (I suspect it's the altitude, La Paz is 4000m)

"You want to play dice???" one staff said.

"Uh, no, thanks."

"Just roll the dice."

"Okay..."

The Dice game. Roll the dice, whoever got the smallest number buys everyone in the game a shot. So this is how I started drinking for free. The highest shots bought ever was around 60. Insane.

Wearing a santa clause outfit, I stumbled back to my bed passed out for 2 hours. The two shots of alcohol was really drank too fast.

When I managed to rejoin the party, the staff boy hoes and girl pimps were dancing on the bar while pouring free shots to everyone. At 1 am sharp, the securities kicked us out of the bar, taxis were lined up at the hostel taking everyone to a club called "traffic". Hop and squeeze, the Frenchie dorm mates, two strangers and I, we all jammed in a small taxi and headed off. With windows down, the breeze coming in, the Bolivian night  scenery passing by, the radio playing Spanish music, laughters and giggles. 

Traffic was surprisingly undoggily modern with led lights, pop music and flashy bar. The dance floor was jammed with our hostel people. Dancing the old moves, being as dorky and stupid we really are. 

Wild rover is a perfect place to meet a load of people. Travelling around Bolivia, it's normal to say...  "hey! I've seen you before.... wild rover?" and "I know that person. You're a wild rover too?". It's possible that wild rovers will be on same tours and long haul buses. It's also highly likely to get along with some and eventually travel together. Conveniences of wild rover. Just remember, while you're there, take care of the liver and remember to get out and see the city a little...

Apparently, one of two hot Asian girls got together with a random guy that night, doing it in our dorm room. Guess what happened the next day? Everyone thought I was her. "Oh! The room was dark so I thought she was you by the hairstyle. She was so loud and rowdy. They made love like no one was in this 16 person dorm room."

Great.

you foolish human beings, drain yourself in alcohol and -I- shall rule this hostel

Bolivia, please let me in!

Taiwanese needs 3 months or more to obtain a Bolivian visa, Allen was thinking of some how slipping through the border by tips posted on a backpacking website contributor. We visited the Bolivian department in Puno to just poke around which then I made sure Canadians will have no problem entering.

We bid our goodbyes. Departing, separating with my 2 week travel buddy. I was so damn scared. Carrying a big backpack, barely know anything anyone says. All I wanted was to arrive in La Paz's hostel safely. 

The bus was late for almost an hour, quickly hopping on the bus, the Romanian couple I waited the bus with finally stopped mentally torturing me with all the travel scary stories. The only comfort, to my relief, was that Bolivia was apparently the safest country to travel in South America (Do I care the authenticity of this statement? No.)

It's a 8 hour bus journey, taking the road along Lake Titicaca straight to La Paz, Bolivia's financial capital. We arrived at Desaguadero, the border town to Bolivia. Instructed to get an exit stamp then walk across the bridge to enter Bolivia's border office. The Bolivian border is heavily armed with police forces... Being happy and exited, I'm almost there, almost at safety. Turning my passport to the photo page, I handed it to the police to get an entry paper to fill out. 

"..... you are Taiwanese, where is your passport?"

"No, I'm Canadian." flipping to the cover of the passport.

"No, no, no. You are Taiwanese, you are born in Taiwan."

The Romanian couples came to my rescue, using their limited Spanish to translate

"She is born in Taiwan, but a Canadian citizen (pointing to the part that states CANADIENNE)"

"No, no, no! (finger pointing at me) I will hand your passport to my superior, we need to check if you are on the list of Canadians who can come in."

"WHAT?" I was terrified.

This town is not safe. It's well known for not being safe. If I was to get dropped off here to head back to Puno... The back of my head started planning out all the different scenarios so I can react to whatever is to come. 

Waiting around in the office for more than half an hour, while everybody is already on their way back to the bus, the back of my head start to get numb and anxious.

The bus attendee asked me "How much money do you have?"

"$20 dollars" That's all I had in the pocket of my jeans. For some reason, I didn't tell him truly how much money I had.

The officer waived me in the office full of police officers, he handed me my passport with serious look,

"Impossible. No."

The nightmare, the worst possible outcome, has presented itself. HOLY SHIT. Tears circling my eyes, I looked at him with sadness and helplessness because I knew, I KNEW it was not a problem for me to enter because the Bolivian embassy said so just yesterday. Why? WHY???

Then he suddenly smiled and said "Welcome to Bolivia" and handed me an entry paper to fill out. (you were joking with me???)

"Gracias, gracias, gracias." I hugged the officer, and everyone in the office laughed. 

They must knew, they all knew. It must not be the first time this happened. They can read the difference between Canadian and Taiwanese. Why did they make it difficult?

The Romanians simply said "They wanted bribe, wanted to make some money off of you." 

Fuck you Bolivian border police. Pick your victims wisely, why would you pick on a backpacker, a tshirt & jean girl with no make up and accessories? If you're going to operate this dirty business, do it efficiently!

Guess what? I was picked on again when a police officer entered the bus to check on everyone again. 

"Taiwan! You are Taiwanese, where is the visa?"

Tired and mentally weak to go through it again, "This is a CANADIAN passport (point) and I am CANADIAN (point)."

"Oh, really?" 

Taquile island, put the hat on!

Traditional textile work on Taquile Island

Everyone on Taquile island has a hat that symbolized them in the community. The single men wore half white half pattern hat. The married wear full pattern hats. Authority men have the pattern hats plus ear covers. Women wear black cloth over their head, the married ones have small ponpons and the single women have big ponpons. In example of Celso and Juana, they wear half white hats and big ponpons and they are not married but common laws.

I wasn't able to see the interactions of the island's residences to fully observe the community. They live under such simple yet efficient rules (no lie, steal and laziness). Their lives are simple. Then I wonder, with all the influences from the land, what are they feeling and going through? Are there conflicts? Living on this island rarely in contact with the outer world then suddenly exposed to a complete different lifestyle, what kind of feelings, thoughts and emotions do they have? I hope the effects are positive and it helps them to live better and happier. 

Taquile Island, homestay family

Homestay and their baby sheep

Celso Huatta, Juana Machaca and their kid Wilfredo who is 6. They live in Comunidad Quinuapata on the island and are our homestay family. Celso works with his brother to build houses on the island. Juana takes care of the family and their livestocks and makes textile works. They have a kid Wilfredo who goes to school just down the road every day. They are young and energetic yet quiet and peaceful.

Provided by Allen

Celso sits down with us at the dinner table waiting for dinner, talking about their hat culture, his family, the plants and the livestocks. He asks of our stories and families. When we could not understand each other, he picks up the thin English learning book on the floor. Flipping through it quickly, he searches for the word that would help him communicate with us. Together, we draw on paper, use numbers and physical actions to make sense of each other. Their life is simple, as it seems, though the tourists are slowly changing the life of this island. There are, though still rare, mobile phones, generators, television and even internet. The young people of the island leave for bigger cities in hopes for prosperity.

Wilfredo and I played soccer in the cold evening in the garden. He seems to be very familiar with the darkness and the cold air, it does't bother him at all. Yelling, shouting and laughing while passing the ball to each other. Allen stands by the side setting up his camera for the starry night to come. I tickled Wilfredo when I catch him and taught him turtle origami while we waited for dinner. He is an amazing child, eyes of the future.

Provided by Allen

The entire family sat down and had the meal together. Wildfredo fell deep asleep in his father warms without finishing his meal. They bid their good nights early. Allen and I went to the garden to see the infamous night sky. The sky is clear as ever, the stars are magical. My horoscope, scorpion, was clearly visible, the curve of stars lined up shining down on us, twisting its tails over the nigh sky.

The island was very very VERY cold. 4000m above altitude, with only a fleece jacket and merino cardigan. I went to bed, burying myself in 10cm thick worth of wool blankets.

Breakfast, Mana tea and perfected made pancakes.

The next day, we woke up to a lovely meal. Drinking Mana, the herbal tea Celso picked, and two pancakes sprinkled with sugar. I wrote my daily journal while Allen poked around, taking photos and cleaning up. He slowly came to me and said "Juana was crying in the kitchen." We don't know why she cried, what was bothering her or what happened. We'll never know.

Taquile Island on Lake Titicaca

Taquile island is a secluded community with an unique culture, 3 hours boat ride off the coast of Puno in Lake Titicaca. The island is populated by around 2000 Taquileños. They live by community collectivism and simply by 3 rules "do not steal, do not lie and do not be lazy." They have their own hierarchy and education system. Being a self sufficient community, they farm and fish. Women and men can live together and have kids without getting married. After 2-3 years, they can decide whether to get married, and once they do, they are not allowed to divorce (unless you want to get kicked off the island, forever). They most known for their art of textile which is proclaimed in 2005 by UNESCO as Heritage of Humanity. Oh, right, there's almost completely no electricity, obviously not a mass sum of hot water available either.

 

The island got only one school for kids of all age. They young girls wear red flare dresses and the older girls wear dark blue ones. The boys wear white tops and black pants with long knit textile hats that symbolize them as not married. On this island, everyone knows everyone. No homes or properties needs to be locked up. You get lost on the island, just tell anyone the homestay family's names and they will know exactly who you are talking about.

 

The island consist of little stone cobble roads. There's no cars, there are no roads large enough for cars. The island is hilly that there are no motorcycles either, not even bicycles. Everyone's on foot, it goes with their "do not be lazy" ideal.

The Inca ruin on top of the island and it is 4000m above the altitude. Here you can see the island 360 degrees and the water and lands miles miles beyond. Standing here, it felt like you're completely cut off from the rest of the world. It quiets the mind, the wind blows gently, the grass swaying, the stones unmoved.

We are the lottery winning children. 我們是中樂透的孩子.

If you can read this post,
you belong to the world's 20% luckiest children

By luckiest, I mean effin' luckiest.
The lottery winning lucky children.

When you are reading this post at your comfort,

Ghana children are forced to work in mines for 72 hours straight
African children die because of aids passed down from parents
Amazonian children are forced to retrieve fishing nets in dangerous waters
Indian children are sold to brothels by their parents
Columbian children have no other choice but to join drug trade
Bolivian children leave school to work and support their family
Peruvian children share a bowl of rice with their parents everyday
Syrian children are abducted to fight in war, most are sure to die

How many children are in slavery, mistreated by their "owners"?
How many children do not have any record of their existence?

Do you clearly understand just exactly how lucky you are?

You are unbelievably outrageously lucky.


如果你可以讀這篇文章
你是屬於地球上20%的幸運孩子

最幸運的孩子
中了人生樂透的孩子

你舒適安全得讀這篇文章同時．．．

你知道嗎？加納的孩子被迫在礦山中工作72小時
你知道嗎？非洲的孩子因愛滋病而早早離開世界
你知道嗎？亞馬遜的孩子被迫跳進危險的河裡撈網
你知道嗎？印度的孩子被父母親賣給了妓院
你知道嗎？哥倫比亞的孩子別無選擇加入毒品交易
你知道嗎？玻利維亞的孩子需要棄學在外工作
你知道嗎？祕魯的孩子與父母親三餐同吃一碗飯
你知道嗎？敘利亞中東的孩子被綁架逼迫參與必死無疑的戰爭

有多少孩子被視為奴隸被主人凌虐
有多少孩子完全沒有身分證明

你，清楚的，明確的，知道你有多麼幸運嗎？

你幸運指數爆表．

It's sad, floating island.

The people who live on the floating islands use to live on land, but their ancestors move onto Lake Titicaca to avoid the Inca invasion. They successfully utilized the local water growing plants roots to provide a base for their self made floating islands then use the top of the plants to provide bedding for comfort. They have to constantly replace the leaves and roots to avoid rotting and sinking. They have straw houses, simple straw boats for everyday use and double decker straw boats for guests. Each island has a "president" who is in charge of the survival of the island. The presidents get together to decide on important matters. Now, they are not able to return to land due to lack of financial resources. The rumour is that some of them do live on land but work on the islands to provide an income through tourism. 

Prior to my visit, lots of people have told me that it was not a good experience. One said "they just want to extract more money from you". I can understand the support they need however it seems as though its gone a bit far. They have all the female members make mini straw boats and hand crafts to sell to visitors. The elders would perform grain grinding, which would cost for taking photos. The kids were instructed to take photos with the tourists then ask for money or run around the island to sell postcards. They offer you to see their homes, wear their traditional clothes, and ride the guest straw boat all for additional prices...

It's sad and upsetting to see a unique culture badly commercialized. It would be much more interesting to observe the reality but it was too focused on tourism that the experience turned insincere. When the tourism exhaust and the reputation, their lives will become difficult and the unique culture will be further damaged. Besides feeling pity and sad, I watched floating island cat scheme around. 

Encounters at Puno

Puno, town situated by the world's highest altitude navigable lake, Lake Titicaca. The cute name and the humour sounding lake goes well together in my mind. The town doesn't have much, most travellers just come here to visit lake Titicaca.

The four person team, Gloria, David, Allen and I, after settling down at Inca's Rest (apparently the best Puno's got to offer...), we ventured out to the main drag and found the Rocketer bar on Grau street near Lima pedestrian road. This place is a backpackers hang out spot as we were immediately welcomed with "ah there's another one of us" look. The wall is full of visitor's messages, the chairs and walls were decorated with local tapestry, the lights were dim and candles were lit here and there. We took off our shoes to settle at a corner pillow area, surrounded by pillows and cushions and centred around a low table, we quickly got a pitcher of whatever the bartender suggested then started playing Jenga. 

My gosh, this is what Jenga turns to when you got aerodynamic and civil engineers at the table. First is all "let's play it the original way", then it's "Let's twist the stack a little bit!" or "Let's zigzag the stack right and left!" It then escalates to, "What if we use 3 vertical columns on the bottom to hold the rest up?" Then they decided that twisting and 3 column should be combined. Jenga never got so intense with 2 glasses of whatever alcohol the local bar punks put in that jar. 

Preston was another traveller I met at the Inca's Rest, he works for Disney cruises and playlands. He taught English online during travels, worked at the Wild Rover hostel in Arequipa and was on his way to Cusco's Wild Rover (I'll tell you how crazy that place is afterwards) We were the only people awake at 10pm so we drank beer while switching through the Spanish channels to find something we can understand  He was complaining about his dorm mate being sick and haven't gone off bed for two days and I was complaining how damn cold it is 3800m altitude. Puno gets reaaaalllly freaking cold at night, we wrapped ourselves with two layers of blanket and lay on the couches drinking beer. I was so cold that I didn't even bother unwrapping before climbing back to bed to put yet another layer of blanket...

Allen and I found another small place for drinks the last night there. Then we realized the 4 German guys sitting across us were the same group at the pizza restaurant previously. The two group awkwardly said hi to each other, as usually when you meet travellers more than once or twice, it's customary to provide a comrad "Hey". Then, Gangnam style blasted through. The Germans and us simultaneously gave each other looks of "WTF?" Then the bartenders saw then enthusiastically replied "GANGNAM STYLE!!!" WOW. Ladies and gents, we are really not that far off the map yet.

side note: the photos are not edited. the colours are real, including the ridiculous blue sky.

Lazy afternoon drinking tea with Preston and Allen by Plaza de Arms.

Bus ride to Puno

Buying bus tickets. Easiest way is to purchase from hostel's offers, cheaper way is to purchase it at the bus station (which you can bargain). Pick reputable bus companies, ask which company the hostel is working with then go straight to that bus's office. The buses are double decker, on top the semi-cama, the half inclined seats, and at the bottom, full-cama, more expensive fully inclined seats. Semi-coma is definitely enough for a comfortable 8 hour journey. The bus company will ask that you arrive half an hour early to swap tickets, pay departure tax, and check in luggage.

Early at 6am, we got up to hop on a taxi to Cusco's bus station across town for 8am bus. Swapping the purchasing receipt for an actual bus ticket then paying the the station tax, we went out to the bay where the semi-coma buses were parked. After watching our backpacks tagged and put in the bus, we hopped on to our seats, of course, armed with water, chocolate, apples, oranges, and dried mangos and figs. The bus was full of tourists chattering with each other. The seat was big and comfy though definitely a bit old and dirty, but who cares, the bus ticket was less than 20 dollars for an 8 hour journey.

Out of the busy city, into the suburbs and rural lands. Being a nature person, I was quite stoked on the promising landscape. Journeying along the infamous PeruRail track, through high altitude Andes, passing farmlands, small establishments and gorgeous mountainous landscapes. The nature's massive yellow carpet covering the fields, soft hills and rocky mountains. The playful clouds making creative shadows on mountainsides. The natives and the travellers briefly catching each other's eyes and observing each other. Being confined on the bus, there's nothing to do but to observe Peru's beauty with fellow travellers. It was my first long haul bus rides ever and it was surprisingly enjoyable.

The Frenchie siblings

Gloria and David were staying at Cuscos Pariwana hostel. We met at the hostel's bar the night before heading out to Puno. Sitting at the same table by each other, we asked each other's name and such, the usual.

David, using his limited English, "I'm travelling with my sister. She is travelling the world, I am visiting her."

David is French, a real Parisian, studying phd in aerodynamic engineering. Shy and constantly commenting on the coldness. Ditching his first teaching class, he takes a small break to meet his elder sister up at Peru to travel together for couple weeks.

Gloria, a project manager in London, decided to quit her job to travel the world. One side of her hair is shaved and the other kept to the a bit longer. Skinny, energetic, outgoing and opinionated. Eventually the leader of the four person formation.

They were also travelling on the same bus to Puno the next day, so I introduced Allen to them. Our seats on the bus were in front of theirs.

"Where did you find that???"

Biting on a big piece of dry mango I replied, "Uh.. San Pedro market."

"My brother LOVES them. He keeps looking for them but just couldn't find it."

David looked like he needed them so I passed the bag, "Here, have some."

With his French accent, "No, no, I can't take your food."

Annoyed, "Let's swap, hand over your chocolate."

And so the deal was completed.

They decided to ditch their hotel reservation to come along with us to our Puno hostel. We hung out together till they head back to Cusco, Allen to Arequipa, and me to La Paz.

Photo provided by Allen

Peruvian Cuisine

The photos will tell you so I'm going to shut up.

Traditional cuisine. Fried chicken, potato fried and rice.

Potato fried, sliced sausages, egg, onion, tomato, lettuce on rice.
San Pedro, Cusco.

fat corn cob, fried marinated pork, banana cake wrapped in corn leaves,
potato, white cheese slice, uncooked onion with spice sauce. Locals love this.

I always get too excited and forget to take photo before digging in...
half time photo.

Más o menos Pisco Sour

Low and behold, the Peruvian national drink, Pisco Sour.

It was invented in 1920s by an American bartender, Morris, at Morris' bar in Lima. It's a cocktail drink with a slight twist. Major components are Pisco and Sour. Pisco is a yellowish brandy produced from grape in the wine regions of Peru. Sour is the combination of lime, water, sweetener, egg white and angostura. It tastes tangy, frothy and a punch of alcohol. As a newbie on cocktails, the egg white froth was a weird component but it's for sure nice to have something sour after a big meal. My view on this is skewed as the one I tried was más o menos (so-so) but I've heard people loving it as well.

Nevermind that, what you really need to know is beer please, "Cerveza por favor".

In hostels we sleep

Sharyl, a dear friend of mine, said today, "I always wonder how you stay alive on backpacking trips..." This post is dedicated to those who haven't been to a hostel.

Hostels are large guest house living spaces that you share with strangers. It's got reception, dorm rooms, shared bathrooms, internet, kitchen and chill out spaces. Some establishments have more services such as bar, food services, travel information, tour booking agency and laundry services. Prices and room type varies widely but there are female only dorms dedicated for more privacy and less men existence. Dorm rooms are usually bunk beds with lockers provided (lower bunk is better). Groceries in the kitchen must always be labelled and of course, clean up after yourself. Some showers will have automatic stopper so you got to keep pressing the water button. To access the hostel, there's either an entry code or securities to check your wristband. I think the key is learning to share and respect each other.

Never mind the limited privacy, I love hostels for the chances to meet fellow travellers. People in hostels are easy going and friendly, it's hard not to make friends.Conversations start with a simple "Hey, I'm Jenny" "What's your plan today?" or at night, "Where's the party at?". It's also a great place to share information and experiences. I love when people say "We found this amazing bakery down the road.... " or "Go with this travel agency, I just went with them, they got really good guides and they treat the animals well" or "This bus company sucks, go with the other one!" Obviously there are bound to be awkward times when you witness shenanigans, overhear weird conversations, see people naked, drunk, crying, mentally breakdown, sick and etc. But hey, everyone's human.

Pariwana Cusco, a colonial style hostel with extensive services and
a security guard so tall and built that he could easily break someone's neck. 

Pariwana's massive courtyard with beanbags, sofas, and table tennis.
I enjoyed absorbing the sunshine on the beanbags with a mate in hand.

Shuffling in Quebec city

Driving on icy road today and suddenly Party Rock Anthem comes on the radio. The song brings me back to the night in Quebec city a little over a year ago.

Travelling solo for a week in Quebec. The hostel I stayed at was a little bit cold and unsocial, luckily I met 3 sociable American boys. They were buddies in high school, one works in government, second works in Hollywood graphics, and the last one I forget. They invited me to share their taco dinner, of course, how can I reject to food? This is how it starts...

We proceeded to obtain alcohol in the nearby shop which the staff who saw the team said "it's you guys again...". One insisted that we needed 54 canes of beer while the rest of us were trying our hardest to convince him that it meant everyone of us got to drink a dozen, which is waaaaayyyy too much. He won against all of us.

The night was so cold so we chilled the beers and energy drinks simply by lining them by the window. We drank while playing to the king's game in the dorm room (badasses because that wasn't allowed). The other game was watching mv for Party Rock Anthem and drink whenever the robot appears and Beauty & the Beast's Be Our Guest and drink whenever the quote "be our guest" is sung.  One of the boys fancies boys so by 1am we all decided to hook him up by heading out in the crazy snow to the gay club "Le Drague". On the way, we conducted a snow ball war while sliding on the icy road.

It was KARAOKE night at Le Drague. Being the only English speaking group, 2 good looking straight, 1 gay and 1 Asian girl, we were aliens. One said, "WE are going to REPRESENT". Sure thing we did, standing at the front of the stage, singing louder than the people up on the stage (horrendously off tune), hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder. The worst group of drunk tourists. Fortunately, the gay Quebecois community quite appreciate the foreigners' entertainment. The young Quebecois joined our terrible dance routine, dragged the boys up the stage and attempted to lay hands on one of the straights which we counter offered our eligible man.

There was a "Gentlemen only" mezzanine, which I manage to slip in, passing the big bull dog looking security. Up the stairs, there's statues of black men in a circle with a bath tub in the middle. Apparently, men do their business behind these statues and it all gathers in the bath tub. The hand sink water comes out from a S&M male statue sitting crossed legged, blind folded and possibly biting on a ball. The bull dog security rushed me down before I could completely take in the... unique setting. Here I was thinking Quebecois are conservative... how naive.

3 AM, we headed out, failing to find the next club, we walked down the snowy road in a line singing and dancing to the party rock anthem. Someone yelled "everyday I'm shuffling" and we all replied "duh-duh duh- duh- duh. duh. duh." Shuffling-shuffling oh shuffling. Making it all the way back to hostel in -20 Celsius.

I want your lovin' and I want it right now.

One must learn in Peru: loco taxi

Taxi

A universal word. There are some bad taxi drivers and organizations taking advantages of foreigners, especially the non Spanish speaking ones. It's recommended to get shops and hostels to call for a radio taxi. Always, always tell them the destination and settle a price before getting on. If you got belongings going in the trunk, watch it load before getting on. Place bags on the ground in between your legs in case someone grabs it off guard. They might try to rip you off so one must learn numbers in Spanish. Generally, going anywhere in the city is around 5 solus. 

On my first taxi ride, I commented on the traffic chaos and the driver replied with a nonchalant smile then said "Si, si, mucho rápido, mucho loco pero mucho seguro." translated meaning "Yes, yes, very fast, very crazy but very safe." I agree on all of them because three weeks time in Peru, I did not see one single car accident.

I always thought Asians are pretty crazy drivers but apparently, there's worse. Asia has traffic police and speed cameras as oppose to Peru. The traffic is a gong show. They zig zag, tag each other, rarely stop for pedestrians, and speed up and slow down similar to roller coasters and in addition, the cars feel as it'll collapse any second. To top it off, seat belts are not an option because they don't work anyway. The drivers are real polite as well, they honk as a greeting "Oh hello, how are you, now GTFO".

At Cusco Plaza de Armas tempted to cross the street.

One must learn in Peru: baño & ducha

Coming from a place of comfort and convenience, Peru has got plenty to get use to. Here's some things I had to learn...

Baño
Washroom. There ain't always gonna be flushing toilet, sink, soap, toilet paper, sometimes not even lights or a door that locks. In fact, most of the time (and you are lucky to find one), just expect a toilet. They will always tell you to not flush toilet paper down, its something to do with their tiny drainage system and this rule pretty much applies all over South America. Oh, yes of course my dear, you pay for using it.

Ducha de caliente
Hot shower. The nights are chilly at 2500m altitude thus you will definitely need hot showers. Of course, expect the water temperature to be temperamental, going from hot to warm to cold then extremely burning hot again in a 10 minute time frame. You'll hear people screaming "aahhhhooowwwww" in the showers, trust me, it's not a shenanigan. The trick is to just turn the control 1/3 way and wait patiently for the hot water. Turning the control all the way to get the hottest water does not work here, you'll end up waiting for hours. Some accommodations will have a time frame for hot showers, after that, the generator is turned off and you'll get to enjoy fresh ice cold mineral water straight from the mountain.

On that note, caliente is use to describe hot objects, calor is use to express the feeling of warmth. If one messed up and said I feel "caliente"... it means I feel "horny".

the lovely hostel reminding us to behave...

Peruvian tentempié & postre

Tentempié and postre means snack and dessert respectively. Being a big foodie, I'm constantly hungry and hunting for snacks and desserts. I'm the kind that sleep in 16 person dorm to spend more money on munchies. Thankfully, the Peruvians got amazing cuisine. Ceviche, churros, and mazamorra arroz zambito are my favourites.

Ceviche, pronounced seh-bee-chay, is essentially marinated fish often made into a salad with other accompanying ingredients. It's a popular dish along the coast and lakes. The fish are marinated using citrus stuff most likely lemon or lime then paired with baked sweet potato, slightly charred corn (maize), onions, lettuce and a light citrusy sauce. The dish is full of flavour and healthy plus it provides a bit of starch to keep you rolling. It's yummy because of the freshness. The best ceviches are the ones before noon because they use fish caught in the early morning. yum, yum, and more yum.

As a sucker for sweets, I know churros is definitely not from Peru, but how can anyone resist it when walking in the cold?! The slight savoury fried dough sprinkled with sugar paired with a nice thick hot chocolate dip. Hand me one right now and I'll come around later for another as midnight snack, thank you very much. The trick with these is to pick those stalls frying them in front of you, otherwise you might end up with a cold hard crunch wood stick. And, they should only be at the most 1 solus each. 

Lastly, mazamorra arroz zambito. Allen and I were taking the less beaten path in Cusco one evening which led discovery to a dessert shop filled with locals. Out of curiosity and the welcoming locals, we stepped in and got one of whatever everyone was eating. "You haven't tried this? then you must! Get the combination. Oh, and watch your belongings..." Mazamorra is made with a local maize (which makes it super purplie) and apparently cooked with cinnamon, pineapple and sweet potato. Arroz zambito is essentially rice pudding with raisins, pecans and molasses. The combination of the two makes a warm super gooey yet somehow interesting earthy taste.

provided by Allen Chang

Peruano tentempié and postre, gotta try it once!

Mate mate mate de coca

Mate de coca, coca tea, tea of the Andes.

Coca tea is simple. It's leaves of the coca plants in hot water. Locals drink it so often, it's more than Vancouverites drinking coffee.

What's interesting about these little green innocent looking leaves is that it contains alkaloids, which is the source of making cocaine. But don't worry, the leaves contain a very minimal amount of alkaloids so drinking the tea is okay.

Coca tea is the problem solver in the Andes.You have altitude sickness? Drink coca. You got a little headache? Drink coca. You're cold at night? Drink coca. You feeling a bit tired? Drink coca. You're sleepy so you're backing out a party night? DRINK COCA. You feeling hungover? DRINK MORE COCA!

This is the first thing I learnt arriving at Cusco. Step in the hostel, help yourself to the stash of coca leaves, bucket of sugar and unlimited hot water by the courtyard 24-7. I continued doing this 4-6 times a day, when heading out, coming back, and relaxing in the yard. It's a rough drink with a rough taste, but hey, it's the Andes.

Un momento!

Riding in the taxi on endless dirt roads, there's nothing on both side, just vast land stretching on the horizon and patches of rice paddies, there's 5000m snow cap mountains in far distance of the valley, the sun is providing warmth and the wind is blowing it off.

"STOP!!!!! un momento!" 

I grabbed the camera then opened the door to run towards the sheep, donkey and cows coming our way. It's the most beautiful scene. Majestic. They move slow, placing each step firmly on the ground. They are scared but their masters hurry them off, passing the taxi, continuing the sunset road. 

Out of control, snapping shots one after another. This experience touched me. It touched me more than any of the Inca ruins. It's life. Life in its real simple form. I love this connection with nature, with all forms living on this land and soil.

The shepherd turned as he passes us. Hugging his little sheep in his arms, he turned around and smiled. He stood there smiling at us, allowing us to take a few photos of him and his lovely flock. 

I end blogs this way too much. I'm thankful for this experience. Thank you for letting us meet you, for sharing this beautiful moment and for welcoming us to your land.

an accidental angle

Peruvian fashion

Sketching began to be my hobby on long bus rides. I notice the traditional outfits for women are somewhat similar. It is a mascular culture there women are mainly in charge of keeping the house, cooking, taking care of kids and sometimes sell their hand made assesories to help out in the family.

• Top hat is a must, the ones that look similar to an Englishmen's gentlemen hat in wine red, dark green, dark brown and black.
• Large piece of textile for carrying stuff. Any stuff. Children, clothes, groceries, ANYTHING. The textiles are made with their traditional textile techniques and symbols. 
• It's chilly at night so they usually wear knit sweaters, sometimes simple and sometimes its complex like the textiles.
• They wear folded dresses and knit socks to keep warm, some wear tights underneath as well. These are in solid bold colours.
• Their shoes are not in particular traditional fashion but most of the time are sandals.  
• The women are broader and stronger but they all have black long braided hair.

Peruvians definitely live in less comfortable conditions than us. They look older than us and give birth younger than us. I see women who would look in their late 40's be taking care of youngster the age of 5. At first, I was guessing it could be the grandmother taking care of the kids, but then it was not the case. It shows in their eyes, skin, hands, expressions and the way they walk. We should be thankful for our living standards. It may not be what we dreamed of or aiming for, but its definitely not the worst.