The Adjustment

First, it's the little things. The bigness of the little things for example, like the distance required to go anywhere, the ginormity of supermarkets, the large quantities of everything on their shelves, or the sprawling black sea of a parking lot outside, temporarily housing its typically over-sized American vehicles. Things such as the divine gift of a hot shower (still hasn't gotten old), service at restaurants, lots of waste, American brusqueness, flushing toilets, and public restrooms. Shaking hands, for me, feels like an effort to push someone away to a safe, controllable distance; I miss hugs, I miss kisses, and I miss contact. Then there is the order of things, like the freeway with its slow-paced, well-behaved drivers driving in its well-defined lanes, or smooth sidewalks with color coded curbs, the people walking when it says walk, stopping when it says stop.

Even the fact that a designated lane for pedestrians exists, equipped with with coordinated signs, is a peculiar concept. While you cross 4 lanes of traffic to get to the other side of the street, you wonder at the rules to that peculiar, slow-motion game of chicken the people play between the two thick, white lines as soon as the red hand turns into a green man. They can't just simply be crossing the street, no, because that would require them to always walk to one end of the block rather than taking the easier and more direct route that you have elected. Besides, the cars of this country seem to have an odd aversion to humans being in the street; they all just kind of come to a stop.

People are an incredibly array of colors, but the amount of whiteness strikes you, perhaps slightly more so than the blackness, but the serious reduction of brownness is probably the most conspicuous. That probably depends on what U.S. city you showed up in, however, or in what neighborhood you were making your rounds. Wherever you are, however, you can be assured to be lost in the crowd, no longer a curious anomaly. That is, at least, when you ditch the excess baggage or the judgmental eyes don't catch your shabby traveler threads.

Unconcerned with their color, English comes roaring out of every mouth. The syllables engulf whatever environment you find yourself in. Contrary to desire, the sound breaches your hearing, and without even the slightest amount of effort, the words penetrate your understanding. Whereas before the chatter was simply in the background, only intelligible by active choice, now side conversations barrage your senses. The noise, to borrow a term from a friend, is deafening. Inversely, the silence of the now nonexistent Spanish in your life feels debilitating.

You get a sense of what it must be like to come to America for the first time from an "undeveloped nation" (read: not as developed as America...in some ways), especially when you fly on a Virgin America flight. You are bombarded from the get-go. Your flight is from LAX, so the amount of people and spiffy airport terminals takes you aback. The check-in set up is like nothing you have ever seen before, almost like you should be ordering a drink at a downtown bar instead of getting your seat assignment. Then it is off to cue in the always joyful, never tedious process of airport security. When you board the plane, the hiply dressed attendant (no tacky skirts and bandanna tie things) takes your boarding pass, and you go down the ramp and into a plane whose interior is lit by black lights. That's right. Black lights. You find your seat, and notice it is equipped, like all the others, with a video screen. An entertaining movie comes on as you taxi from the gate, explaining the safety features of the aircraft, and even manages to infuse a little humor into it. Well played. THEN, you learn it isn't just a movie screen. It is a touch-pad screen, where you can order drinks, movies, or TV shows. Don't feel like spending money? Ok, put on some of your favorite music to the headphone jack on your seat, play some games, or chat with another person on the plane. Impressed? Yeah you are. And you didn't come from the old school buses resurrected as latin america's "chicken busses," which only came with uncomfortable seats, lots of people, maybe a sound system blasting rancheros or reggaeton, and of course, chickens. Bu-cawwww!!!!

Thankfully, the good things shine bright. It easy to forget that abroad; where the open wounds of a country wreak with our presence; where destitution jumps off the inanimate page of a dictionary and personifies itself in a living person, in a human being; where all our sins as a nation stare you back in the face, ugly and painful and undeniable. Their memory hasn't died since you crossed back into the land of the Stars and Stripes, but our other side, our better side, gently reintroduces itself through others. The values and ideals you were taught to cherish with pride because it was your country who stood for them, it was your country that protected them, don't seem so distant anymore. Through the lives of friends - their stories, their efforts, and their love - you regain what you thought was lost or perhaps hadn't even existed at all in the first place; hope is renewed with every story of those going out to be intstruments of peace, who love in defiance of despair, and who refuse to sit by and do nothing while others suffer. Where the bitter taste of shame once led you to condemn, it now slowly fades, yielding slowly with time to understanding. Perhaps most valuable is the ability to more readily recognize this change in yourself, helping you to refuse to give into the aspects of your culture that seek to pull you back to what you were, and to strive more earnestly to be the change you wish to see. You realize that it is near-sighted ignorance, and not callous indifference, that leads to inaction; the former perhaps reprimandable, the latter most certainly condemnable. Absolution and exhortation, rather than accusation, lead to forgiveness and inspire change, and because you can see better how and why things are, you are now empowered to shape what they will become.

Slowly you come to terms with it all, but you still find yourself staring at things too much. Scenarios, situations, people, conversations. Nothing is unfamiliar; you know the rules, social or otherwise, because you have lived them. Yet you feel as if you don't belong...like you have been removed and are now viewing the situation from afar. Until you get caught watching, and awkwardness yanks you harshly back into reality.

When and where does it all end? I don't know. I am still caught by surprise at random instances, but I am slowly adjusting. In some ways, my assimilation has simply followed a natural course of time, but in other ways I find myself resisting. All the little things can go, but in many ways, I hope to affect my culture rather than be effected. There are just some things I don't want to lose, others that I don't want to go back to, because it is in those areas that I feel I have been bettered. I guess in many ways I am still changing as I process my long trip and now have a medium of comparison.

I am happy to be back amongst family and friends, but I also feel myself missing my friends made the world over. There are parts of the world I still carry with me in my heart, and I will always feel a little torn between them, because I can never be in all of them at once. I guess one solution would be to go on another epic journey...but I guess for now it would be more practical, at least on my end of the bargain, for you all to come on over to my place for a potluck you ain't never seen before. Brazilians, you're in charge of arroz e feijão and Guaraná, Paraguayans the chorizos, Argentinians bring the asado, Chileans bring the wine. Bolivia you got the llama, Peru all your potatoes, and I expect some of that street food from Colombia. Nicaraguans are in charge of the gallo pinto, los Guanacos (El Salvador) better hook us up with some pupusas, Guatemaltecos with some beans and tortillas, while the mole, enchiladas, and guacamole will be supplied authentically Mexican, and the Yanquis are in charge of planning: big park, lots of space, a typically American setting. Light the firecrackers, bust out the music, clear out the dance floor, and you better be ready to go all night long. Grab your party hats y'all, we're going to have ourselves a fiesta. At least, that is how I envision it while lost in my nostalgia...

Christmas Surprise Videos

For those reading the note on facebook, the video is uploaded onto my page. The video is better quality there, so if you or someone you know has facebook, I would view it there.

Hay una versión del video en español abajo, y está en facebook, si vos lo tenés, con mas cualidad.

The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Part 2)

Dedicated to my cousin Sean.  Sorry it took so long buddy.

I (Never) Saw the Sign
Standing on the State's side of the World's Most Crossed Border, I found myself thoroughly disappointed. Where in the heck was the sign welcoming me to the USA? Maybe I just missed the thing, but I never saw one anywhere. EVERY other border I crossed had a sign. I was so looking forward to that picture. 

Narrator (Deep voice, English accent, probably drinking brandy and smoking a pipe): "The weathered traveler, weary from his seemingly endless adventures in lands foreign, facing daring situations fraught with danger, seasoned by the many exotic spices of the travel life - like jasmine - now takes his last footsteps on foreign soil as he nears his last and final border.  You can nearly feel his excitement, his anticipation, the tingly little feeling in the tippy tops of his finger.  Just a few more steps now, across he goes, and just imagine the joy he feels staring up at that sign welcoming back into his home country, a place he has not been in nearly a year and a half..." 

Cue photo:  (scratchy record sound) Oh wait.

I guess I will just have to ask you to do the same as I have to do, and just use your imagination.

Coming Full Circle
Arriving in San Diego was not easy. I felt my first travel anxiety in over a year at my total inability and lack of knowledge about how to get things done.  My goal was simple enough, get to the neighborhood where I had friends working, find them, and ask if I could spend the night. What I had were a Church address where they worked, a home and work phone number (no cell), a poorly printed map from map quest and printed in Tijauna, and $15.  The problem, however, was that I didn't know where in the San Diego area the address was located, therefore no idea how to get there, and I hadn't talked to my friends in about a week (remember I was on bus after bus, night after night, and then hitchhiked Baja...not a lot of chances to find internet access to try and make a phone call).

How in the heck do I get where I need to go? Ok, first, call the friends and see if they can tell me.  I got two answering machines and quickly lost $2.50 to the pay-phones, a lot when all you have is $15 to try and find your friends somewhere in San Diego. The poorly printed map soon became the useless map, as no one could recognize the streets on it or what neighborhood it was in.  Internet cafes are pretty much a non-concept here in the States, at least for those with no computers with them, and thus printing searching the address and printing a better map, or trying to make a phone call via internet, were both no goes.  So it was down to the most basic but sometimes most important helper to the traveler, the gut feeling.  I thought I remembered in a conversation a while back that the Church my friends worked at was in Del Mar, a 45 minute drive from the U.S.-Mexico border. So I decided to jump on the trolley, and see what that brought me; sometimes that is all you can do.

Acting on the hunch payed off.  Three stops later I saw a trolley information center so I hopped off and talked to a very nice and under appreciated lady (based on how others treated her courteousness. Courtesy here is rare and nothing compared to Latin America, but this lady was a total exception and awesome!). She got me squared away by locating where I was going on a transit map based on the address I had (it was indeed in the Del Mar area), and gave me a map with all possible bus, trolley, and train routes to where I needed to go. Unfortunately, none passed closer than a few miles from the address I had, but I decided to keep on getting closer and see what that brought me.

I headed back north on the trolley before transfering to the Coaster train that heads all the way to LA. While explaining my situation to a conductor, a local from Del Mar overheard us and offered his cell phone to call. I tried again at my friends home, and, success! At 5:00 on a Friday afternoon, I asked my friends if I could stay over that night, and when their laughter (at their surprise, at my latiness...) subsided, they said yes. 20 minutes later I was in their car, ten more brought me to their home. 

Now here is a good story.  These friends I have been referring to are the very same friends, Leo and Taty, that I stayed with in Brazil. It was them that sent me off from their house in Brazil to start this adventure, and it was them that first welcomed me back to the States a year and a half later. How sweet is that?!?!

The Last Leg

I then began calling everyone I knew, hoping to find a friend, or a friend of a friend (or a friend of a friend of a...), that was heading north for the holidays. Now enter Ryan and Ginger, awesome friends and all around cool people, who upon hearing the surprise I had planned offered me a deal. If they could get in on it, then they would fly me from LA to San Francisco, their treat. Leo and Taty were going to LA the next day to pick up Leo's mom flying in from Brasil, and before I knew it, all the chips were lined up and I was on my way to San Francisco. How blessed I am by my friends!

Ryan and Ginger housed me for the couple days leading up to Christmas, and it was great to catch up and hang out. I also got some good time in with my old roomie, Jose, also living in Bay Area. On Christmas Eve around four o'clock, Ryan, Ginger, and myself headed off toward my grandparents house where my family waited unsuspectingly.  For the rest of the story, I give you my poorly made remake and tribute to the Christmas classic, The Night Before Christmas: 

The Night Before Christmas - The Remix
'Twas two weeks before Christmas, gone a year plus half,
I thought enough is enough, 'tis time to go back.
So I fixed up my backpack, hopped onto a bus,
En route to California, by Christmas or bust.

By bus, boat, thumb, plane, however I might,
Three thousand miles I went, in only 9 nights.
In the season of giving, my friends did shine bright,
And on the door step I was, on Christmas Eve night.

A phone call to the father, a little chit chat,
Can you give mom a message, and hurry at that?
Can she come get the door, and do as she's told,
Standing in front of the house, your son is quite cold.

Your kidding, your joking, that can't be right,
You are only in Baja, not here tonight!
Of course I'm not joking, come see for yourself,
Ding dong goes the doorbell! I rang it myself.

Shouts of surprise, and with the pounding of feet,
Come tearful smiling faces, quite eager to greet,
A lost vagabond son, recently arrived,
Fresh from the road, and adventures he's survived.

So all turned out well, much to everyone's delight,
We all quite enjoyed, this year's Christmas suprise,
Little remains to be told, but one last thing will I write,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.

The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Interlude)

La Vuelta a la Madre Patria (Return to the Mother Land)

3 tourist visas, 17 countries, 30 different border crossings, and 52 passport stamps. (1)

Three oceans, two continents, one sea, and an isthmus.

Two birthdays, two Thanksgivings, one Christmas, and a presidential election.

One year, 5 months, and 17 days.

20 hours logged in planes, 10 hours in trains, 25 hours in boats, and 775 hours in busses (2).

Thousands of miles, hundreds of friends, nine inches of hair, and countless memories.

A once in a lifetime opportunity.

Overland from Brazil down to the End of the World and back up to the United States. Planned, traveled, realized.

Epic.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Footnotes:

(1) – For those stuck on the math, I hopped the border into Paraguay from Brazil and back covertly (read illegally), and for Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala, you only get one entry and one exit stamp.

(2) – While ridiculously large (equivalent to 32 days), this number is also slightly deceiving. I only included major bus trips, mainly those trips where I found myself sleeping in a different spot at the end of the trip. Thus this value does NOT include any inner city bus travel, a lot of return day trips, no taxi hours, and none of the time I spent sitting waiting in terminals, on highways, or wherever while inbetween busses. So while it is a MASSIVE number, the actual time spent getting from point A to point B would be much, much larger. The 775 hours is really just part of the story. Nonetheless, I think 775 hours is still pretty impressive.

The Long Road to a Christmas Surprise (Part 1)

Prologue
On July 2nd, 2007 I set off on what I thought would be a 5 month (snicker) adventure. Two months later, I had decided to head back home from Brazil...overland. One year, 5 months, and 14 days later, I decided in the south of Mexico that I did not want to spend another Christmas away from family. I had not seen their faces in nearly a year and a half, not even in a photograph. It was time to go back. And so started the long road home to a Christmas surprise.

To the Coast, Across the Sea
My task was not easy. I had roughly 3000 miles to cover in about a week and a half, combined with some visits to two more cities in Mexico. Leaving Oaxaca on Thursday night (Dec. 11), two buses during the night got me to Cuernavaca early Friday morning on the 12th. After a full day in Cuerna exploring, another overnight bus got me to Guanajuato on the 13th. There I rested, explored, and chilled out until the 15th, a Monday. That afternoon, I made my way to Guadalajara, and then took an overnight bus to Mazatlan on the Pacific coast. That same day, the 16th, I was on the overnight ferry for cargo to La Paz, located in the south of Baja California and on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. The good thing about the cargo ferry was that it cost $80 instead of the $120 passenger ferry, which only left the port the following day; the bad thing about it was that it cost $80, and I had busted my piggy bank a long while back. I had already resolved to hitchhike through Baja, so that fare just made me more determined to do so, and so I made my way from the port to the northern outskirts of La Paz. It took me half the day, but by noon on the 17th, I was ready to start hitch-hiking my way north.

Thumbin' Baja
The strategy for hitchhiking in Latin America is a bit different than the typical stand on the road with your thumb out approach. Sometimes that works, depending on the country you are in, but usually not. A better method is to find your way to a gas station on the outskirts of town and on the highway you wish to travel down. That can be a hard task, as these are usually far from where you are and not usually on any bus routes, so normally you end up walking...a lot. Once at the station, you just start asking people for rides, recruiting the service guys if you can (there are no self service gas stations in Latin America), and mainly you focus on truck drivers. Uncharacteristically easy, I found a ride with the first person I asked, a truck driver on his way to Ensenada, only hour and a half south of Tijuana. Within 5 minutes of arriving at the station, I was on my way once again.

Off we went, cruising along in Alfredo's big rig as I watched the desert and ocean scenery fade away into dusk. We drove on into the night, stopping to sleep at 2 am on the 17th for a nap. Curled up on the front seat, uncomfortable and cold, my backpack propped on the floor to create a makeshift pillow, I couldn't help but smile at my situation. Some would call this crazy, dangerous, and not at all worth the effort. But there I was, shivering through a cold night in the Mexican desert, uncomfortably curled up on the front seat of a big rig trying stubbornly to sleep, yet completely content with my situation. It was the ultimate end to my travels, and I felt I was ending my adventure in the perfect way. I had utilized every possible avenue to get back home overland (bus, boat, and thumb), was ahead of schedule, totally roughing it, and loving every minute of it.

We "overslept" into the brisk, early morning of the 18th, and by 7:00 am Alfredo and I started up the truck and were off again. After more beautiful scenery, we arrived late in the afternoon in the very touristy and Americanized town of Ensenada around 2 pm. I could feel my proximity to the Empire by the overwhelming amount of oversized chain stores with their oversized signs advertising their overextended, imposing American enterprises. Alfredo delivered his load of scrap metal to his client, but it had to be unloaded by hand, which they ended up doing through much of that night. Not having eaten all day, Alfredo and I walked through the back streets of Ensenada to grab some grub.

Lasts
Not wanting to spend money on a hotel, and hoping on a chance that Alfredo's next call would be to Tijuana, I spent the night again in his truck, making a more elaborate but only slightly more comfortable bed out of the two front seats of his cab, my backpack acting as the filler to the space inbetween the seats. Unfortunately it didn't work out that Alfredo could take me to TJ, so after a light breakfast of tacos, we parted ways. As I headed to the bus stop on the 19th of December, I realized that every act I was going through would be my last in Mexico, and my last in a foreign country on this trip. If that doesn't freak you out a bit, I don't know what does, but you can't fight inevitability. One last hour-and-a-half bus brought me to TJ, where I performed some last minute errands (which did not include a visit to one of a plethora of titty bars), and then headed off for one last border. I got one last exit stamp, stood in one last long line, and stepped over into one last country, my country, for the first time in a year and a half.

To be continued...

Cuernavaca & Guanajuato

Cuernavaca Photos (4)
Guanajuato Photos (24)

After Oaxaca I made my way up to the region around Mexico City. The early morning hours found me in Puebla after a fitful night of sleep on the bus from Oaxaca, and before the early morning hours were even finished, I was on another bus to Cuernavaca. The purpose of the visit was to scout the town for my Bro, who is thinking about studying abroad either in Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I arrived at about 8:00, and spent the day exploring the downtown area, the university campus, and meandering around everywhere inbetween. It was pretty cool city of good size, and seemed to offer plenty to do for the crowds of young people milling around. All the students and residents I talked to seemed to enjoy Cuernavaca very much.

Cuernavaca was a cool city with a definite presence of young people. I was only able to spend a day there wandering around the downtown area, the university, etc., and enjoyed the Friday evening street food scene while doing a bit of people watching. Definitely a cool place and I was glad I ended up going there, because if not for the Bro, I would have passed over it.
























I, however, was on a schedule, so after spending the day there, I was leaving on a bus that night at 10:00. I passed through D.F. (Mexico City) without stopping, but only because I had spent a week and a half there on a previous occasion. The chaotic streets haphazardly strewn across the city provide an endless maze of exploration in a seemingly endless city. I would recommend a visit to any wanting to go and explore, but I felt the chaos was not worth the trouble for only the couple days I could spend there. Instead I continued on to Guanajuato, already on my list of places to visit in Mexico, but also the other town where my Bro could study.

Finally it was Guanajuato, a city which gets rave reviews from travelers, so I was planning on visiting anyway before my Bro said there was a school there. The town is awesome. Colorful buildings of the Colonial era sprawled in a ravine, with winding, narrow little streets to get lost in while you wander and explore. It had a cool atmosphere and I had a great time exploring the place for a couple days. The verdict is still out though on which would be better to study at: Cuernavaca or Guanajuato. I had more fun visiting Guanajuato, but think I would rather spend my time studying in Cuernavaca; living in a place is much different than visiting it. Luckily, the decision isn't mine to make. =D

Oaxaca

Oaxaca Photos (15)
Hierve del Agua Photos (9)
Monte Alban Photos (12)
Mitla Photos (10)

Oaxaca is a gem of a place. I absolutely fell in love with it, and even fate (or just my perpetually forgetful mind) played a hand in making me stay longer. But more on that later.

Santo Domingo, inside and out











L - More doors; R - Christmas time in the Zocalo


First, we should start in on a minor pronunciation lesson. Ditch whatever gringo pronunciation you had in your head (I crashed and burned the first time too, so no worries). In English phonetics it becomes wah-ha-ca. Good. Now let's continue. So what was so great about Oaxaca? Allow me...

Food
Always a wonderful thing, and even better when it is delicious and there is plenty of variety. The Oaxacan cooking is world renowned, and there are countless ways to enjoy it. Shopping the market for fresh cheeses, vegetables, fruits, meats, and the like, there are endless possibilities to supply your homemade Mexican cooking. Don't feel like going to the trouble? Then check out the huge market dedicated just to typical Oaxacan food, or one of the street food stalls that set up around dusk, or splurge on one of the ritzier restraunts on the pleasant Zócalo square or elsewhere on the charming streets of Oaxaca.

One of the Oaxacan specialities are Chapulines, or grasshoppers, fried and seasoned to a wonderful crispy treat. They are a perfect replacement to nuts when enjoying a beer, and go well with Quesidillas, Tacos, etc. Probably every notion you have of them is wrong, as all of us found out, even if some didn't end up liking them. We did the beer and chapulines thing, and I made some chapuline Quesadillas. Here is the photo documentary.




A little cheese, a few chapulines....








Finished product








mmm, mmm, mmm. Delicious!






Hierve del Agua
Meaning boiling water, this is a natural spring, that while bubbly, is anything but boiling. However, it was warm enough out to take a dip in the pools, which are wonderfully situated on a steep hillside with amazing views of the canyon. A calcified set of rock form the Petrified Falls, and the desert landscape full of cacti adds a nice touch.










Pools of Hierve del Agua











R - Petrified Falls





Amazing views






Ruins
There were some cool ruins in the area, which is saying something after coming from Tikal and Palenque. But Monte Alban above the city has amazing views and cool layout. Mitla has some amazing architectural style, even more impressive when you consider it is one of the least restored sights in Mexico. Here are some photos.










L - Main plaza of Mitla; R - Columns in Mitla





Architectural details in Mitla








Mitla Tomb








Ruins and Cathedral (Mitla)








Monte Alban








View from Monte Alban over Oaxaca






People
Adding to the fun was the group I found in the hostel I stayed in. Whether we were wandering the food markets, the sights around Oaxaca, or just chillin in the hostel courtyard, I had a great time with all of them. The night I was to leave, just five minutes before boarding my bus, I realized I had left my passport in a locker back at the hostel. I had trek back at midnight to the hostel and spend another day and night there, but it was a good time once again. Sometimes forgetting stuff can be a good thing.