LLWorldTour

With the proliferation of the internet and WiFi, I have found myself sending a lot less postcards then on former trips. But when you’re on a ‘round the world’ tour like me, you will inevitably have to send some packages home from various countries. I’ve been fortunate to have a few friends visit me while I travel and not only of course is it great to see them, I also benefit by being able to shove some crap into their bag that I no longer need—like some memorabilia I’ve collected or the hiking boots I haven’t worn since the rainforests of South America or the magic walking stick from New Zealand or the conical Asian hat I got in Vietnam. This way they can cart it home for me and I save a ton on postage and mostly am saved from the stress I would suffer by worrying if my precious package would ever make it safely to the shores of ‘Amerika.’ When I could not pawn things off to friends, every few months I’d put a little care package together to send home. I’ve learned that the post offices around the world are as varied as the toilets. And some are just as stinky.

Monteverde, Costa Rica—This was a tiny post office up in the cloud forest with one window and one man. No muss no fuss. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Galapagos Islands—In the middle of an empty beach on an island only inhabited by animals three hours from mainland Ecuador is a ‘post office.’ Well, it’s actually just a wood barrel with a door cut out, but it may actually work better than some real postal systems that I have come across. Here’s the deal: You write a postcard to someone you know (or perhaps a stranger if you are feeling friendly) who lives anywhere in the world. You address it and sign it, but you DON’T put a stamp on it. You leave it there in the barrel. Then you look through the other postcards that have been left in there and take one that is supposed to be ‘sent’ to your country…or a country where you are headed. Once you get to that country you can either hand deliver it if you are near the address or just buy local postage and just send it off. It’s a postal system by the people, for the people. Sounds perfect, but, by the way, has anyone ever received my postcards from here??

Melbourne, Australia—Fairly similar to going to the post office in the US: fill out some forms, pay way too much money, stamp it with some official looking seals and away it goes—all the way around the world and up into another hemisphere. Too efficiently boring to give me anything interesting to write about.

Hong Kong—Here I remember playing ‘musical windows;’ the first window guy said to go to another window across the room. At the second window, they weighed my package and addressed it. Then I had to return to the first window with some kind of receipt which I gave window guy #1. Here I had to pay and he stamped it. Then I returned to finished package the second guy. Got it?

Hanoi, Vietnam—I think I could have sat in this tiny post office (similar to a small bar with some round stools at the windows) all day and never have been served. They certainly didn’t ask me if I needed help and when someone local came in she would literally just shove in front of me at the window and be helped before I was even acknowledged. Before I ‘went postal,’ I finally pushed my way in and was handed, I kid you not, about five different convoluted forms to fill out—each one just about the same as the last. My current address, the recipients address, the address of my second cousin once removed, several lists of what the contents of the box where, the value of each item in Vietnamese Dong, the total weight, etc. I was given two different total costs by two different people. I was not feeling confident about this one and thought I would never see my Vietnamese trinkets and souvenirs ever again…but alas it arrived weeks later intact and unharmed.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam—One of the prettiest post offices, it was in a grand old building and kind of looked like an old fashioned train terminal. I had been told ahead of time by fellow travelers that I did not need to scavenge for a box prior to my arrival here. The young man that helped me here was great—he found me a box behind the counter, we put everything in it exactly how I wanted it and he spent the next ten minutes taping it up so good—that the whole box was covered in blue tape and you could not see one speck of brown from the original box color. I filled out one form and paid in cash (only). I noticed that the ‘form process’ was much simpler than in Hanoi—kind of strange considering it is the same country, no? In the end, I made a possibly detrimental decision and chose to save money by sending it ‘sea mail’ as opposed to the modern method of ‘air mail.’ I pictured my sad little package all wet and moldy with crabs and seaweed clinging to it on the decks of some old pirate ship. Four months later it arrived in the US and apparently had no sea creatures in it. Amazing.

Istanbul, Turkey—This was a doozey. There were only five windows at this post office and yet none of them wanted my package. They actually ushered me through the ‘employees only’ door and behind the glass partition that usually must separate postal worker and postal user. I had brought my package unsealed to show its contents. Not only did they not care one iota of what was inside, they did not have me fill out one form at all. No, actually there was one form—it was practically the size of a postage stamp and had three lines on it—one for the sender’s name, one for the recipient’s name, and on the final line they scribbled the word ‘Amerika.’ Doesn’t seem like enough info for an important international parcel, does it? I already did not have a very confident feeling. After finding out my package was going to ‘Amerika’ the postman told me, like nearly every other foreigner I’ve met, ‘America? George Bush bad man.’ I agree, but it gets tiring after a while being a spokesperson for our entire nation and carrying the weight of the American government’s often bad decisions on my shoulders. Plus, at this point, I just wanted to mail my package, not be a diplomat. I actually forced the two Turkish postal workers that were helping me to just take a gander of what was inside my box, just out of habit. Then they haphazardly taped the box shut, took it away, and told me the price as if we were finished.

“What about the address??” I exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, address, address.” The two men said in unison. Then they proceeded to slap on some plain white stickers onto the top of the box where I was to write in the address.

No official stickers. No official cards. The postage meter machine apparently had a maximum of nine lire per sticker so now he had to slap about five different meter stickers all over the top of my box wherever they would fit. Lastly he licked an ‘airmail’ stamp and a “Turkey” sticker and slapped them on as well. By the end of this unofficial process I just about decided I would certainly never see this package or any of its contents again. When the nervous security-crazed U.S. Customs Department sees this crazy looking, hand scrawled box coming from 99% Muslim Turkey…they will probably just blow it up on site.

In actuality, all of my packages traveled half way around the world and have arrived safely. BUT ironically, the postcards I sent out from the most efficient, anal city in the world, Singapore, never made it. Makes you wonder. Maybe Turkey is on to something.

Here are some general tips for you if you decide to send packages from abroad:

1. Bring your passport.
2. Bring cash and lots of it. Many post offices in other parts of the world do not accept credit cards.
3. Bring your package unsealed. Oftentimes for Customs purposes, they will need to look inside (excluding Istanbul) to see what kind of contraband you are actually sending, so be prepared to explain your ‘apocalypse now’ shot glass from Vietnam or the ‘opium pipe’ you picked up for decorative purposes in Phnom Penh. Also be aware that many post offices can provide you with a box and tape it up for you.
4. Bring your patience, sense of humor, and comfortable shoes.
5. Before you go, make a list of what you are sending. This will make it easier to fill out all the forms and keep them all consistent rather than you repeatedly shuffling around the contents of your package (like most guys I know tend to do).
6. Of course, wrap everything breakable very carefully. And then you will inevitably unwrap it and wrap it again after you show it to the postal worker.
7. Don’t mail anything from Singapore.

After almost exactly two months after the day I left Chicago for my ‘round the world excursion, I am leaving my new beloved home of South America and jetting across the Pacific to New Zealand and Australia. South America was never high on my list of places to go, but now I am so glad I’ve discovered this amazingly diverse place. From hot equatorial days in the lava world of the Galapagos to chilly, wet nights high up in the Andes of Chile, to the cosmopolitan beats of Buenos Aires, I’ve become enamored with all things Latin American—especially the language. I’ve amazed myself at my new Spanish vocabulary and will miss the conversations I’ve had with taxi drivers, real estate agents, and even policemen. I have never known or spoken more of a second language until now. Not even after four years of honors Spanish in high school was I able to converse and understand as much as I do now. Sadly, my time for Spanish is over until I reach Spain so many miles and months away. It’s amazing how all of central and South America, and now practically half of North America, speaks Spanish, but the rest of the world, besides Spain, speaks none.

Hasta la vuelta America Sur.

Ecuador has the highest population density of any other South American country and an estimated 70% live below the poverty line. This tiny country also has some of the most diverse geography around—there are jungley rainforests, the majestic Andes mountains, and the coastal lowlands and the flora and fauna rich Galapagos Islands. Ecologists call it a ‘megadiversity hot spot’ for it’s more than 20, 000 plant species. In comparison all of North America only has 17,000 plant species. There are also 1500 species of birds and 300 different mammals.

The sad news is Ecuador has one of the highest deforestation rates in Latin America. High up in the Andes, poor villagers have burnt large tracts of forest for farming and ranching. Over 90% of the tropical forests between the Andes and the coast have been cleared for banana plantations and other farms.

Endangered species in the Galápagos Islands include the dark-rumped petrel, black petrel, African ass, two species of turtle (green sea and hawksbill), and the Galápagos giant tortoise and 11 of its subspecies. A subspecies of Galápagos giant tortoise is extinct, and another may be.

Also sad is the fact that man brought many non-native plants and animals to the Galapagos and these now all have had adverse effects on the indigenous flora and fauna. And now thousands of pigs, goats, and other animals are being eradicated to save the ones that were there in the first place. Kind of sad how humans messed it originally and now they have to pick the one animal species that is more important than another. Countless pig carcasses are just left to rot (instead of feeding the hungry) as there are no roads to be able to cart them off and the construction of roads would in turn harm the fragile landscape…

Ecuador’s natural attractions could lead to increased tourism, benefiting the economy. However, environmental problems, including further endangerment of native plants and animals, could be exacerbated without careful management of the areas attractive to tourists. Just something to think about…

Today I hiked higher than I ever have in my life. I went on a day trip (I was gone for 14 hours so I think they should actually call it a day and a half trip) to Cotopaxi, which is often considered the world’s highest active volcano—at 19,400 feet. To get there we boarded a small rickety tourist train in which the best seats were actually on the roof. We climbed atop this one-car machine, sat on wood planks attached to the roof, and literally drove down the tracks—it was an old converted bus! The air was crisp and the sky was clear as we headed into the green valley with towering snow-peaked Cotopaxi in the distance.

We arrived near the base of the volcano, drove up a rocky, steep road and then did a one hour hike up switchback paths of steep lava-rock terrain that turned to mist and snow. It was freezing and the altitude (we hiked to about 16,000 feet) was pretty tough for me considering I had just arrived a day earlier from sea level in the Galapagos Islands–probably not the smartest move on my part. So, I was huffing and puffing like an old wheezy smoker up the side of this crazy volcano and it dawned on me: why does anyone think climbing mountains is fun? I certainly discovered that I’d much rather view the beautiful mountain from its base. I would just about say I was miserable with frozen toes and fingers and the only thing that kept me going was knowing we were climbing to a refuge where we would eat lunch. The fact that I hadn’t eaten anything all day wasn’t helping my fragile state either.

We reached the refuge where other climbers crash awaiting their 1AM (yes AM!) departure for the summit. Here we scarfed down a lunch of guacamole, turkey, chips, cheese, tuna, and Oreos. Real healthy sustenance.

Afterwards our guide led us over to a glacier. It was a huge hunk of craggy ice clinging to the side of the mountain. It was impressive, but I was ready to descend into a more breathable air range. We made our decent down a much steeper path of crushed soft lava rock on which we practically jogged down. From the bottom of the trail we thawed a bit and then jumped on some over-used mountain bikes and careened down the bumpy, pot-holey mountain dirt road to the bottom. This was my favorite part except for the crap bikes they had—my brakes were so hard to press and my hands were so frozen that I thought my right hand would forever be stuck in a ‘claw’ grip. Luckily at the base, my hands and toes thawed and the clouds cleared so we could catch a two-minute glimpse of the Cotopaxi peak at sunset. It was stunning—pink and orange clouds slowly cleared away to reveal her snowy peak. Who needs to be at the top where all you see is clouds and fog—seems like the bottom is the place to be! Not a bad ending to a somewhat miserable yet adventurous day–if you don’t count the bumpy two hour bus ride back to Quito.

Hey all! First I want to thank everyone for their great feedback, comments, well-wishes, and love! My trip has been great so far and complimenting it nicely is the connection I have with all of you back “home.”

I have started to contact travel mags, local newpapers, local websites, and the like, in hopes of getting some of my articles/essays/blogs published. I would eventually LOVE to put a book together of my blog and get it published. If anyone out there has any contacts, friends, confidants, neighbors, paperboys that are somehow in the publishing industry (magazines or books) I would be forever grateful to be connected to them. I would love to publicize this site and get a buzz going. All suggestions/contacts welcome! Muchas gracias mi amigos!

LL

I’m a bit nauseous so I’m not sure how this will come out (pun intended). I’m on a yacht cruising through the Pacific waters to our next island here in the Galapagos. The “Estrella del Mar” (star of the sea) sleeps 16 passengers plus a crew of about 7. The boat is much nicer than I imagined—ultra shiny wood floors throughout, a lounge with white leather couches, and a lovely dining room. The rooms are small, but have comfy beds. The three course meals are amazing, plus everyday after returning from an excursion we are greeted by tuxedo-clad Herman, the waiter and all around manager of the boat, with plates of snacks like pizza or chicken wings. I just don’t think I will be met with food and tasty snacks again on my trip.

On our sea vessel it’s another stew of folks from all over the globe: a cute young couple from Ireland, some loud overbearing Poles from Canada, two older lesbian lovers from France, and others from the Canary Islands of Spain, Japan, Brazil, England, Switzerland, and me, the sole Americano. Uh-oh, I feel another reality show coming on. It’s Survivor: Galapagos Islands. Who will be voted off next and forced to swim ashore?

After about four days (halfway through the tour I’d bought) I was just about getting used to the rocking sensation of the ocean. When the first group of folks left and the second arrived, I was happy to see a few more young people come aboard. On the other hand, part of me was a bit tired of making small talk with strangers. There’s the typical traveler chat: where we’ve been, where we’re going, how many months we were traveling, what to see, where to go, etc. But then also at the same time, I also started really relaxing, and getting to know the crew. They were a bunch of nice Ecuadorian guys some of whom love to hit on the solo chica traveler.

Pancho was the oldest. He was the chef, a musician, and all around bon vivant. He marveled us with meal after meal of fabulous gourmet fare—beautiful homemade soups, vegetable and meat dishes. My first day on board, I sat right down to a bowl of steaming chicken and rice soup. I slurped up the last drop thinking that was lunch. But, no, it was just the first course. Next came a plate of succulent chicken topped with a savory mushroom sauce, tasty green beans, and a small salad. And after, came a plate of fresh island fruits. And this was just lunch! Dinner was another three-course affair with dishes every night like filet mignon, calamari in a light tomato sauce, stuffed pepper with meat, vegetables, and eggplant cakes. It was all so good. My diet plan of losing weight on this trip was suddenly going by the ‘weigh’ side! The food was way more than I expected. Chef Pancho was a tiny wrinkled man. He spoke no English, but was perhaps the funniest of all the crew—doing little dance jigs here and there and taking bows on cue—a real character—just adorable.

Herman was the all around boat manager, bartender, chamber maid, and waiter. He was tiny and cute and they called him “Nato” which means little nose, which of course, he did not have. He was cute and friendly and always quick to joke when we asked what he was serving that it was ‘filet of pinguino’ or ‘turtle soup!’

The captain, Efran, was guess what? also a small, leathery faced older guy. He was perhaps around forty-five, but looked older due to the constant exposure to the equatorial sun. He let me steer the ship one day which was quite fun. He also led me snorkeling one day and would grab my hand to point out cool sea life. But the problem was he didn’t ever let go. Hmmm. Do I pull it away forcefully and possibly offend the captain of the ship? This made me slightly uncomfortable, but others said he’d done the same with them—of course they were all women, though. But things did get a bit strange one night when I was lying in a lounge chair on the top deck taking in the fresh air so as to not get seasick. He came up and laid next to me and helped me practice my Spanish. But, whereas I was lying on my back gazing at the stars above, he was curled on his side gazing onto my face—more uncomfortable! Eventually I actually fell asleep only to awake to him draping me with a blanket. Finally, he fell asleep and I crept off to my cabin. The next day I casually avoided him and he began to give me the cold shoulder. Apparently he was hurt because the next evening I went ashore into town with another couple from the boat and Javier, our tour guide.

Javier was the ‘naturalista’ guide. The boats all come with different guides of varying degrees of knowledge. I chose this boat, which cost a little (a lot) more because Javier was a “Naturalista III’, which meant he had a biology degree (in his case studied biology for 2 years) and spoke very good English. He was the biggest crew member—about six foot four, with a big build, big round face, and even bigger smile. Every evening he gave us a briefing of the next days activities. The way he over-pronunciated his English made me chuckle.

“Tomorrow we go on a rrrocky trail.” The way he said ‘rocky’ reminded me of Ed Sullivan and how he sounded like he spoke with a mouth full of marbles: “Right here on our stage…”
After each briefing, he would wrap up with “any comment? any question?” and then rang the dinner bell. I became sort of his assistant and he’d flirt with me off and on. It was harmless fun.

One day after an excursion on one of the islands, the crew took a break to play some fútbol (soccer) on a small dirt field just behind the beach. Javier kept bugging me to play. I really wasn’t going to as I’d never even played before (well maybe a few times way back in high school gym class), let alone even knew the rules of the game. Eventually, I and another girl, Sinead, who played on a team in Ireland, couldn’t resist their urging and joined it. It was so much fun! We were only playing on half the field and I realized I was running around a lot more than most of them. Amazingly, I somehow managed to score 3 goals, more than anyone on my team. They all thought I lied about my little soccer experience, but I think maybe the fact that I was playing in my bikini top was a strategic move on my part.

But really the show here was the animals. It was truly amazing. Most of the animals here are indigenous and found nowhere else in the world.  AND there are no predators here so none of the animals are afraid of us (although, looking at our motley bunch, they should be). We stroll by one hundred-year-old tortoises, swim up to sharks and penguins, and even snap photos mere inches from sea lions basking in the sun.

This barren, volcanic group of islands lies directly on the equator about 1000 kilometers west of Ecuador. It was discovered by Peruvian Spaniards around the 1500s, but really hit the spotlight thanks to Charles Darwin. He visited the islands for three weeks in 1853 and what he discovered here eventually led him to write his theory of evolution. There are 13 major islands and many small ones and the whole lot of them is a national park so you must pay $100 cash dinero just to get on. By the way, just a little trivia for ya: The national currency of Ecuador is the US Dollar. That’s right—our greenbacks, with our presidents on them is the official dinero in these parts.

Every day on our 8 day cruise was another adventure. Javier would lead us around a different rocky volcanic island. Most islands are off limits to visitors unless you are escorted by a guide. Most of the islands very dry. It’s almost like a moonscape, but here life abounds. We see hundreds of marine iguanas and lava lizards lying next to crabs and barking sea lions. We also got to snorkel nearly each day which I loved. We swam around rocky outcroppings and the waters teemed with beautiful colored schools of fish, star fish, blowfish, stingrays, and even a few white-tipped sharks.

The final evening was capped off with a song and dance by Pancho (as he ‘played’ the cheese grater!) and a wonderful buffet dinner. I was sad to leave my new friends and home at sea.

Back in Quito—I missed my life of sun and leisure in the Galapagos Islands. I went from amazing three course meals of fresh seafood, meats, and fruits to a dinner of Ritz crackers and Oreos. Nothing was open due to a holiday here and I was stuck raiding the snacks in the hotel lobby. Back to the reality of a budget traveler, I guess.

I’ve been in Quito all about 3 hours and have already made some new amigos. But these aren’t other travelers…oh now, I’m making friends with the locals and some very important ones at that—a priest and two policia!

I landed in Ecuador’s capitol city, Quito, this afternoon. Things are already starting to feel more “Andean” here and less tropical than Costa Rica. For one thing, Quito sits high in an Andean valley at about 9400 feet above sea level. Also the old town part of the city is a Unesco World Cultural Heritage Site and is chock full of original Spanish colonial architecture.

Because I’m booked on a Galapagos Islands boat tour through a local travel agency, I had the luxury of being picked up at the small airport by a driver with my name on a placard. I literally disembarked the plane, went through customs, and retrieved my pack in less than fifteen minutes. Andrea, the cute brunette Ecuadorian travel agent, brought me to my quaint, old world hotel in the heart of Old Quito. I liked it here already. The old town felt very European with pastel stucco buildings and narrow cobblestone streets. I checked into my hotel which is housed in a centuries old mansion with a charming courtyard complete with fountain in the middle. I dropped my bags and headed out to explore the city.

The old town feels like ‘any city Europe.’ There are bustling historic plazas rimmed with churches and museums. I walked up the steps to La Merced, a ‘newer’ church in the city, built in 1742. But it appeared that the church was closed for a special event. I poked my head in and asked if it was ‘abierto?’ An older man in a white robe smiled at me, opened the door and beckoned me inside. Hmmm. It’s got to be safe—it’s a church, right?

He only spoke Spanish, but we spent the next 45 minutes chatting. Apparently, there was some ‘industry’ party happening inside the church’s beautiful courtyard. My new Catholic friend showed me around the whole place. We passed workers preparing the tables and chairs for the party, stacking the champagne flutes, and readying the stage for some live music. My friend was jolly and sweet and had an infectious laugh that rasped out of his throat every few minutes. He introduced me to folks as we passed as if we were old friends. Wow. I felt so special…like I was producing again and getting some kind of behind the scenes tour. I had no idea why he was showing me around, but it was fun. I eventually discovered he just thought I was ‘muy bonita’ and I realized I was the only one around who looks the way I do—blue eyes and light hair. I was a novelty. Eventually, I said I must go and as I headed out he introduced me to Father Escobar who echoed my new friend’s sentiments. This was kinda fun! He walked me to the door and bid me adieu (well actually ‘adios’) as I strode across the square with a new spring in my step and confidence in my head.

I reached the Plaza de San Francisco and saw a couple of the many policia that I’d noticed all throughout the city, nearly on every corner. I spent the next half hour chatting with these guys about the city, where it’s safe, what other towns I should visit, etc. Washington and Jose were really nice guys and fun to chat with. Not only do I love meeting locals, I get to really practice my Spanish at the same time. Tomorrow off to see some boobies (Blue-Footed Boobies! Get your mind out of the gutter!) in the Galapagos Islands.