Freelance Work Published in South American Living

Prior to my summer travels, the editor of South America Living approached me to see if I would be interested in doing some freelance work for her while I was in Chile. The job would entail collecting information on the places I visited, as well as taking photos in order to create travel guides for the website. Excited for my first paid freelance offer, I gladly accepted and completed the job, collecting information and taking photos while I was in Valparaíso and Viña del Mar, Chile.

Today, the website ran the city travel guides based on my freelance work!

Check out the guides here:

Valparaíso

Viña del Mar

The Debit Card Debacle

It all started the day my debit card stopped working.

Standing in the locked ATM chamber, I swiped my card through the machine with increasing frustration. I looked over my shoulder and smiled sheepishly at the people forming a line behind me just outside the chamber.

Crap, I thought, just work already.

But every time I swiped the card, the infernal machine would taunt me in Spanish, telling me to try again. After a few more failed attempts, I said to hell with it, put my busted ATM card back in my wallet, and shamefully left the chamber.

Banco de Bogotá 

The next day I went to Banco de Bogotá to get a replacement card. Waiting in line to be helped, I ran through my mind all the things I would need to say in Spanish to communicate my problem—this would surely stretch my Spanish abilities to their limits.

Much to my delight, I was able to tell the bank teller my problem and she passed me on to a banking specialist to take care of my replacement card. After filling out some paperwork, they said I was good to go and I headed out the door to try my new card at the ATM.

Sliding the card, I was happy to see the machine read it without a problem, but when I entered my PIN, it said I had inputted the wrong one. After trying and failing with the PIN a few more times, the machine told me my card was now blocked.

Flustered, I returned to the banking specialist, who told me she had forgotten to give me the new PIN to my replacement card—I had wrongly assumed the PIN would be the same as was with my old card.

Now in possession of the new PIN, I tried it with the replacement card, but to no avail—it was still blocked. Since I figured the card would unblock within a day or two, I let it be for the time being.

A few days later, I went to the ATM at the mall where I work out to see if the card was working. After sliding the card and inputting the PIN, sure enough, the screen said: “blocked.”

Annoyed, I shoved the card in my pocket and headed to the gym to blow off steam. After my workout sitting on the bus returning home, I felt in my pocket and realized that my card was gone—it must have fallen out when I changed at the gym. Since the card was already blocked, I didn’t worry that whoever found it would be able to steal money, but dreaded having to return to Banco de Bogotá to try to explain in Spanish what had happened.

In the United States when you lose a debit card, all you need to do is call your bank to have a replacement card mailed to your house—I figured it would be a similar process in Colombia.

But I should have known better—nothing is ever simple in Colombia.

When I returned to Banco de Bogotá, I found myself sitting face-to-face with the same banking specialist as before. I figured it would be the same process as the last time I asked for a replacement card—fill out some paperwork and get a new card on the spot; however, after doing so, the lady gave me a piece of paper showing that my card was blocked and told me to have a good day, as if we were done.

Confused, I loitered for a moment then asked what I was supposed to do. Although I did not understand every word that came out of her mouth, I thought I heard her say something about registering that the card was lost with the police online. Doubting that I had understood her clearly, I returned a few days later with my friend Lynn, who is more or less bilingual. Lynn confirmed that I had heard the woman correctly—I had to register the debit card lost with the police before the bank could issue me a new one.

I didn’t bother to ask why.

When I finally managed to locate the place on the police website where I could report a lost card and filled out the online form, the site rejected the information and did not let me print what I needed to show the bank to get a new card. With the website apparently suffering from technical difficulties, I improvised and printed the screen before submitting the information, hoping that would be good enough.

The next day, I returned yet again to Banco de Bogotá and the same old banking lady looked at me with what I could have sworn was disdain. With a forced smile, she asked if I had the form and I showed her what I had printed out, watching with hopeful eyes as she examined it. Much to my relief, she deemed the form acceptable and went about the process of issuing me a new card.

Finally, she gave me the new card and accompanying PIN and I went to try my luck at the ATM. This time when I swiped the card and entered the PIN, the machine decided to give me my money.

With crisp Colombian pesos in hand, I headed straight for the bar.

Kids, don’t ever lose your debit card in Colombia. It’s a pain in the culo.

Summer Travels Part 2: Perusing Peru

Cusco

Cusco, Peru

As I sat in the back of the old  taxi-jalopy careening down the bedraggled streets of Cusco, I felt oddly at home. After a week of riding Chile’s pothole-less roads, it was refreshing to return to something resembling Bogotá’s familiar bedlam.

I looked out the window to take in the city. Built in a bowl surrounded by long, barren hills, the former capital of the Inca Empire held an uncanny resemblance to Reno, Nevada.

Conversing with the driver, I learned that I had arrived on the eve of Inti Raymi, the city’s most important festival dating back to the heyday of the Inca Empire. As we neared the city’s historic district and the streets grew more and more crowded, I also learned that I had arrived during one of the busiest weekends of the year for Cusco.

Papas

After checking in and dropping my stuff at the hostel, I ventured out into the crowds to reconnoiter the area. As I approached the Plaza de Armas, Cusco’s main square, the concentration of human beings became so dense that I could barely move forward. Thanks to my vertical superiority, I was able to see over most of the crowd at what was going on in the plaza—was some kind of procession made up of groups of indigenous people decked out in traditional dress and carrying large golden idols.

To escape the tourist hordes, I slipped into a small restaurant to try some Cusqueño cuisine. I ordered a dish of Andean potatoes with guacamole and white tartar sauce. Although potatoes can today be found all over the world, potatoes originated in the Peruvian Andes. In fact, the Spanish world for potatoes, papas, is actually a Quechua word (the dominant language of the Incas).

After downing the potatoes, I went to office of the travel agency that was organizing my Inca Trail hike and met with my guide, Socrates, who gave me the low down about what to expect during the four-day hike.

Fiesta time

That night, I planned on laying low and going to bed early, so I could wake up early to check out Cusco’s sites. Tomorrow was Friday and since I was leaving for my hike on Saturday, I wanted to make the most of the one full day I had in the city.

But of course, I didn’t lay low, nor did I go to bed early.

Back at the hostel, a group of people were in the bar drinking and, naturally, I joined them. The bartender, a fiery Italian whose name escapes me, marshaled the guys in the bar into playing flip cup.

For those of you who don’t know what flip cup is, click here.

The flip cup match was truly an international affair—there were representatives from Britain, Canada, France, Israel, Argentina, Italy and of course, yours truly from the US of A. Although I had initially planned on playing only a few rounds, those soon turned into several and I eventually found myself in an international wolf pack headed for the nearest discoteca.

Plaza de Armas, Cusco

The discoteca, called Mama Africa, was filled to the brim with gringos and, much to my chagrin, only played gringo music. When I asked the DJ if he could play some salsa, he said that he was only allowed to play the kind of music he was already playing. Regardless, I still had a lot of fun at the discoteca and surprised some Peruvian girls (and myself) with my ability to successfully converse with them in Spanish. Most of the gringos there spoke only English and it was a rarity for them to find one who could speak Spanish. Needless to say, it was a good time for all.

The next day, I woke up just before noon and feeling like a million bucks. It seemed that the Incan gods, either out of favor or pity, had spared me punishment from my previous night’s excesses.

So I headed out to explore the city.

Overlooking Cusco

When I entered the Plaza de Armas, I was surprised to find it relatively empty. After walking around the plaza and admiring the abounding impressive architecture, I headed uphill in search of the ruins called Saqsaywaman. The running joke in Cusco is to call the ruins “sexy woman” since the Quechua name sounds like it.

As I progressed up Cusco’s steep avenues towards Saqsaywaman, I realized why the Plaza de Armas had been so vacant—everyone was at the ruins. When I finally arrived at Saqsaywaman, there were thousands of people milling about, some sitting in large grandstands and others perched on a high hill overlooking the ruins. After weaseling my way through the crowd, I managed to find a good spot to watch the Inti Raymi ceremony.

Inti Raymi

There were several indigenous people dressed up in traditional Incan attire, some as soldiers and others as Incan priests and nobility. The guy who was supposed to be the Incan leader held his arms up in reverence to the sun and chanted in Quechua what I assumed were praises to Inti, their sun god and chief deity. Every now and then, someone would sound over the loudspeakers thanking the corporate sponsors for making the event possible.

After watching the ceremony for a while, I decided to check out the view from the hill. Along the way, I stepped on a pamphlet for Inti Raymi that had the event's principal sponsor printed on it—NEXTEL.

Leave it to a fledgling phone company owned by AT&T to uphold ancient Inca traditions.

How magical

I watched the rest of the ceremony from the crowded hilltop, then headed back down the hill to Cusco.

At one point, I saw a trio of indigenous women wearing traditional dress and leading some llamas. When I raised my camera for a quick shot, one of the women noticed me and said, “un foto?”

I said, “Si, un foto por favor!”

The women posed with their llamas and I snapped the photo. Then one of the women stuck out her hand and gave me a fish-eyed look.

Crap, I thought when I realized I had just gotten gring-owned.

This picture cost me about $7 USD

I searched through my wallet to find some soles (the Peruvian currency) to give them. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any small coins, so I ended up handing them $5 soles each (about $2 USD).

Still astonished that I had just been photographically mugged by a couple of grandmothers and their llamas, I continued down the hill and returned to my hostel.

It was time to get ready for the Inca Trail.

The Inca Trail

On the road to the Inca Trail

The van arrived at my hostel at 6 a.m. and Socrates came in to fetch me. Although it was early, my excitement for the upcoming trek overshadowed my drowsiness and I followed him to the van with an unmistakable spring in my step.

I slipped off my travel pack, ducked into the van and met four of my fellow hikers. They were all from Germany and had been touring Peru with a larger German tour group.

I was particularly surprised to meet Dr. Raimer Muller, a retired history professor in his late sixties; hiking the Inca Trail was said to be a physically arduous task and I was impressed by his determination. Little did I know that later he would leave me in the dust huffing and puffing the thin Andean air.

After picking up Scott, a backpacker from Australia, we headed towards the Inca Trail staging area called Kilometer 82.

My Inca Trail group

We left Cusco and over the next three hours, passed through the painfully beautiful Peruvian countryside. The towering peaks of the Andes stood like resting giants in the distance and a large glacier capped one of the mountains near the horizon.

Stopping to eat a quick breakfast at the old Incan fortress-city of Ollantaytambo, we continued down a windy path and eventually arrived at Kilometer 82.

At Kilometer 82, we passed through an entry checkpoint and commenced our trek. The seven of us followed the Urubamba River through the Sacred Valley, Socrates occasionally stopping us to tell us about the plant and animal life we encountered.

One of the most interesting things we saw were these small bugs that live on the leaves of a large green plant. When smashed, the bugs leave a red coloring that the Incas used as a dye. When mixed with other substances, like lime, the Incas could create any color they wished.

In front of Patallaqta

After a few hours of hiking, we arrived at the first set of significant Inca ruins, called Patallaqta. The ancient site aroused my inner history nerd and I eagerly absorbed Socrates’ explanation of the site.  

Continuing down the trail, we had a ridiculously gourmet lunch (the first of many ridiculously gourmet meals throughout the trek) then finished the last leg of the trail to reach our camp site.

That night before going to bed, I stood outside watching the stars, which glistened like so many jewels in the night sky. Getting lost in the stars is one of my favorite pastimes, but one that I don’t get to do often enough. I was thrilled to see the Southern Cross for the first time.

The next morning, we arose just before sunrise and returned to the trail. Socrates warned us that today would be the most physically challenging day, as we would be hiking 1,000 meters uphill. Also, it would be freezing.

Resting near Dead Woman Pass

Well, he was right on both counts.

As I pushed up a seemingly endless incline, I fought to keep my breath and had to stop several times along the way to regain it. I could only stop for short period of time, however, as the pervasive cold prodded me to continue.

Raimer, of course, made his merry way up the mountain, breathing as calmly as if he were taking a stroll down San Francisco’s Ocean Beach. Freaking Germans.

The most difficult part of the day came when I approached the summit, known as Dead Woman Pass, named as such because the hills appear to make the shape of a woman laying down. To help get me through, I put on my headphones and blasted some serious Inca Trail pump-up jams.

Finally, I made it to the top of Dead Woman Pass. With my lungs and leg muscles on fire, I feared they would soon need to rename it Dead Gringo Pass, but luckily, Inti allowed me to remain among the living.

That night as we sat at our campsite sipping rum Socrates had picked up for us, Raimer, ever the scholar, asked me, “Do you know what Shakespeare said about alcohol?”

“No,” I replied.

“Alcohol awakens the desire, but takes away the performance,” he said.

I nearly vomited rum from laughing so hard.

In Sayacmarca

The next morning, just as the sun began to rise over the distant mountains, we broke camp and headed up yet another steep hill. We stopped at an interesting ruin Socrates said was likely a resting house for the Inca Army. Located in a seemingly inaccessible area, the structure was a classic example of the Inca’s engineering prowess.

A few hours later, we arrived at Sayacmarca, by far the most impressive ruin we had yet encountered. It was a large settlement resting on a large hill overlooking a forested valley that had housed Inca nobility. Socrates explained that the Incas used an intricate gravity-based system to bring water from nearby highland springs to the town.

As we neared the jungle, the mountains began sprouting trees and more and more insects came out to play.

After passing and learning about several other breathtaking Inca ruins, we arrived at our final campsite.

Tomorrow, we would finally arrive at Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu

First glimpse of Machu Picchu

The sky was just beginning to show signs of the impending sunrise as I made my way along the stone path, using my flashlight as a guide through the darkness. The trail passed by steep cliffs and a misstep would send an unlucky hiker to a rather uncomfortable landing.

I reached the Sun Gate just as the sun began to rise. Passing through, I found myself in a different world. The craggy peaks stood amongst the clouds and my heart fluttered when I saw the tip of the famous Wayna Picchu, which I knew overlooked the ancient city I had hiked for four days to reach.

Somewhere beneath the clouds were the ruins of Machu Picchu.

After reuniting with the group, together we headed down the path towards Machu Picchu. Finally, the clouds dispersed and I got my first glance of the Lost City of the Incas.

The group at Machu Picchu!

There are a few times in everyone’s life when they experience a moment of absolute clarity; when the earth seems to stop spinning, time ceases to tock and a single thought enters the mind—this is what it means to be alive.

That is how I felt when I first laid eyes on Machu Picchu.

We entered the city from above and after stowing away our day packs, Socrates gave us a tour of the city. I marveled at the sheer size of the place, at the intricate stonework and the audacity the Incas had had to build a city in such an inaccessible area.

After Socrates finished the tour, we had some time to wander the ruins on our own and Scott and I walked over to a grassy area where several llamas loitered. Although the rules clearly stated "no eating in Machu Picchu", we noticed an American girl eating a sandwich on the grass near where the llamas grazed. Sure enough, one of the llamas noticed the food and came over to investigate. The girl screamed and threw a piece of her sandwich at the llamas to make it go away.

Don't feed the llamas!

Needless to say, her actions had quite the opposite of the intended effect.

Now, a veritable herd of llamas migrated over to the beleaguered girl in hopes of scoring a free meal.

The girl ran away, and the llamas chased her.

After laughing at the silly girl’s expense, we left the llama area to explore the rest of the city. We entered the agricultural district; multiple levels of terraces that the Incas used to cultivate the foodstuffs needed to support Machu Picchu’s inhabitants.

Classic

Climbing the stone stairs next to the terraces, we made our way to the highest point in Machu Picchu to take the classic postcard picture of the ancient city. When we got there, I felt another shudder of amazement that I was actually standing where I was standing.

After a few hours perusing Machu Picchu, we met up with the rest of our group and took a bus down to Aguas Calientes, where we boarded a train to take us back to Cusco.

 Lima

Plaza de Armas, Lima

The day after Machu Picchu, I said goodbye to Cusco and headed to the airport to catch a plane to Lima. While in line to board the plane, I befriended a woman from Lima named Yasmin who said she would love to show me around the town.

While sitting on the plane and reading 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Colombia's most famous author), a woman sitting across the aisle from me noticed and (in Spanish) made a comment about how she loved the book. When I told her that I was reading it because I was living in Bogotá, she responded with excitement that she was from Bogotá. Her two little girls sat next to me and her husband sat next to her and I talked to them about my experiences in Colombia. Afterward, we exchanged contact information and she said they would love to have me over when I got back to Bogotá.

My life is random, what can I say?

Pisco Sours with Yasmin!

The day after arriving in Lima, I met up with Yasmin and she took me to the centro area to play tourist. We went to the Plaza de Armas and I saw the Presidential Palace and some cool churches. We also visited an art history museum that had all kinds of pre-Columbian art.

When I told Yasmin that I wanted to eat some authentic Peruvian food, she took me to a restaurant and I had ceviche, along with several other types of delicious Peruvian comida. For dessert, we went to a place that sold Peruvian churros, which taste kind of like doughnuts, except way more greasy and awesome. Finally, we went to a bar/café and I had my first pisco sour, Peru’s famous cocktail.

The Peruvian Coast

The following day, I walked down to the beach to check out the Peruvian coastline. This time of year, there was a permanent canopy of fog hovering over the city and it wasn’t warm enough to get wet, but I had a good time reading down by the water.

The next day I would be leaving Peru and South America to meet up with my family in Costa Rica.

One more adventure lay ahead.

Good News/Bad News

Chile

I’ve got some good news and bad news.

First, the good news.

This Friday I will be taking a break from saving the world to spend a few weeks exploring it.

I’ll kick off my three-week gringo trek in and around Santiago, Chile. I’m still not 100% sure what’s gonna go down there, but I’ve had thoughts about checking out Valparaíso and Viña del Mar. Besides that, I am looking into going snow skiing (it’s winter there) and I couldn’t call myself a true Californian if I didn’t partake in some Chilean wine tasting while I’m there.

Peru

After a week in Chile, I will head to Cusco, Peru where I will spend a few days before embarking on a 4-day hike along the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. If there’s one thing I love more than camping, it’s historical landmarks, so it will be great to combine the two. After Machu Picchu, I will fly to Lima, Peru for a few days. Word on the street is the food in Lima is the best in Latin America, so I will probably spend most of my time gorging myself on whatever it is Limans eat… hopefully it’s not too sour.

When I’m through with Peru, I will fly to San José, Costa Rica. Random, I know. But I have a good reason. Since I won’t be going home at all this year, I suggested that my family come down here to see me. So we decided on Costa Rica.

Speaking of going to Costa Rica, random chance averted certain disaster with my travel plans. Months ago, when I planned this trip, I looked online to check the vaccination requirements for each country. The page for Costa Rica said the only required vaccination was for yellow fever, but not if you were from the United States. I took this to mean that I didn’t need it.

Costa Rica

Yesterday, I was talking with a Colombian friend and she happened to bring up a story about someone she knew who tried to enter Costa Rica, but was denied entry because he didn’t have the yellow fever shot. Later, I went home and looked at the vaccination requirements for Costa Rica again and, lo and behold, saw that you need the yellow fever vaccination if you are coming from Colombia or Peru.

Luckily, today I was able go to a local Red Cross and get the vaccination promptly taken care of. Before you say anything, I know that Colombian clinics offer the yellow fever shot for free, but I didn’t wanted to deal with impossible lines, so I paid the lousy $50,000 pesos ($25 USD) for the shot.

At any rate, after a week in Costa Rica doing an assortment of touristy gringo things, I will head back to Bogotá, and the regular grind.

As for the bad news, this mainly falls on you—you are going to have find some other way to procrastinate at work for the next three weeks.

Something tells me you’ll live.

Pre-Departure: Crazy is as Crazy Does

Me, The Tall Gringo, and my dog, Gerico

 As you can see, I am pretty much as gringo as they come.

If, at first glance, my blue eyes, brown hair and pale skin don’t give it away, the second I open my mouth, you will soon learn that my conversational Spanish is about as good as George W. Bush's English.

I haven’t even been to Latin America before. Not even Mexico.

I am going to the one on the right

So when I tell people, “Colombia. Yeah, I’m going there,” they assume I’m talking about grad school.

But then I shake my head and say, “No, I’m going Colombia… the country.”

At first, they might say, “That’s cool! What a great experience that will be.”

But then the thought registers; cocaine and Shakira and guerillas, oh my!

Right about then, they look at me like I’m crazy. Not so much about the Shakira part, but definitely the other two things.

Maybe they’re right to look at me that way.

Things I am leaving behind

After all, I did sacrifice an impending promotion at a perfectly good “real world” job in order to leave behind everything I know and love to devote a year of my life making next to nothing helping disadvantaged populations in South America.

So, if I know that what I’m doing is crazy, why am I still doing it?

Well, I’ll tell you.

All my life, I’ve walked the practical path. I had a more or less cookie-cutter childhood, went to college, graduated in four years and found a “real” job. People told me I should be proud of how well I had done for myself, and I was, but nonetheless found myself in want of something more. I knew I could never be satisfied with doing well solely for myself; I also needed to find a way to do well for others. I needed to break away from the safe harbor and do something truly significant.

And then I found WorldTeach.

WorldTeach has placements all over the world. Duh

I first learned about WorldTeach from a friend of a friend who had participated in one of the organization’s programs in Southeast Asia. Intrigued, I did some of my own research and learned that WorldTeach is a non-profit, non-governmental organization founded by a group of Harvard students in 1986 in response to the need for educational assistance in developing countries. WorldTeach partners with local governments and non-profits to bring English-speaking volunteers into developing areas to work with underprivileged populations.

Due to the abundance of sketchy teach-abroad programs littering the Internet, I was at first wary, but the organization’s Harvard affiliation and a timely endorsement by my favorite New York Times columnist (and personal hero), Nicholas Kristof, reassured me it was legit.   

I knew I wanted to teach somewhere in Latin America because it would allow me to not only improve my Spanish speaking skills (a good career move), but also to discover a previously unexplored (but often joked about) piece of my Latin American heritage.

Numbers don't lie

Believe it or not, my grandmother was from Nicaragua, making me 25% Nicaraguan. Although she passed away a few years ago, I like to think she would be proud of me for what I am about to do and I am dedicating this trip to her memory.

But the question remains—why Colombia?

WorldTeach offers placements in only a few Latin American countries. Among these are Costa Rica, Chile, Ecuador and Colombia (and most recently, Panama). I did a bit of research looking into each of these countries and found myself inexorably drawn to Colombia.  Although Colombia was considered to be less safe than the other countries, it appeared to be the place where my efforts would have the greatest positive impact.

Colombia stands at a crossroads. After years of improving its security situation, the country can either continue down the path to peace and prosperity or fall back into the darkness it has worked so hard to escape. Ultimately, Colombia’s fate will be decided by its willingness and ability to invest in its most valuable resource—its people.

A WorldTeach classroom in Colombia

In the United States, there is a direct correlation between education and prosperity and the same is true in Colombia. As a volunteer educator, I will work to improve educational opportunities for disadvantaged Colombians and help them to build better lives. It will be a chance to do something good, something real—something truly significant.

I don’t mean to let on that it’s going to be easy; working in a developing country never is. I will face unforeseen challenges every day and success is anything but assured. I would also be lying if I said I am not a little nervous; this is hands-down the scariest, riskiest thing I have ever done.

Not Superman, but ready for the challenge

But there can be no courage without fear and no real reward without risk.

I have always talked about wanting to make the world a better place; this is my chance. No more talk; now is the time to act. If not now, then when? If not me, then who?

I’m not Superman. I’m not faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. I certainly can’t single-handedly save the world, much less a country as complex as Colombia.

But I'll be damned if I don't try.