Jungle Fever, or Of Jungle and Illness

We are now in the heart of darkness, Honduras. The jungle here is vivacious, dense, green, and sopping wet. Some outdoorsmen are "mountain men," but my terrain of choice is the jungle. I relish the warmth, commotion, and diversity of life to be found there.

At the jungle lodge here, we've twice rafted and once junge trekked. The rafting was billed as Class IV-V, which I was excited for never having rafted Class V's before, but it was a bit disappointing. In terms of what I like to know about a river, the class ratings of difficulty are a crude metric: somewhat ambiguous (dependent upon water levels and assigned by river guides, not an intl organization) and invalid (a nice rapid, if it has a log at the bottom under which someone could get caught and drown, could go from a Class III to a Class IV). Unfortunately water level was low, the guides had assigned generous classes, and much of the classification was for technical danger, not huge waves.

That having been said, it was Josh's first time, and it was still a rolling good adventure. My grandfather, a Second Lieutenant in WWII, pulled the same man out of the water twice during the war. And I had to do the same thing that day for the Honduran-born, British chap, Jamie, who was also in (and often out of) our boat. See the pictures at the bottom for the 2-meter drop we took. Our landing was less than a perfect 10.

For weeks, I have been congested. But in Copan and here in the jungles near La Ceiba, I've had fever and a vicious sore throat. Josh also suffers from a runaway nose; we sound our trumpets early and often. Fortunately, in our last day here, we appear to have turned a corner, which is crucial for our scuba-diving prospects in Roatan, our next destination. Finally, this will surely be the last entry for at least a week, as internet on Roatan is per Satellite only, so slow and expensive. Cheers.

Machu Picchu

The pictures don´t lie, Machu Picchu was spectacular. The dark green, jungle-covered mountains surronding the sites were magnificent in their own right. The site was not discovered until 1911 when Hiram Bingham, an American anthropologist, met the one indigenous family who lived on the mountaintop. The family still used the Incan terraces to farm, and the family´s son, Pablito, provided Bingham with the very first tour of Machu Picchu, as our tourguide, Jaime, proudly informed us.

We decided not trek the Inca trail, figuring that Machu Picchu was the true attraction and there were plenty of other places to hike at a much lower cost. Between the cab, train, and bus that we had to take at tourist prices, it was still plenty expensive. But can one really go to Peru without seeing Machu Picchu? I think not.

A group of four of us went: Josh and three Germans (Olaf, Peter, and myself), who we had met at Loki Hostel. Josh and I have been thrilled by the diversity of characters that we have come across in our travels. Many have more adventure in their pinkie then I will have in my entire life, and I would consider myself to be moderately adventurous amongst the crowd that I associate with in the US. Josh and I would do very well playing ¨Never have I ever¨ in the Loki Hostels, but staying there for too long would certainly make us go down quicker in the States. In the picture, the four of us ¨gather energy¨ from the astrological device the Incas fashioned to divine signals from the heavens.

Recovering my Broken Spanish

Lest you think I be all party, no study (though I don´t think that anyone who knows me well holds that opinion) this entry shall chronicle my attempts to recover my broken Spanish and activities in Cuzco.

First, last week I had four hours of Spanish instruction each day. My school was called Proyekto Peru, and they were great people and instructors. When I first arrived in Peru, even correctly recalling the articles (yo, tu, usted, el/ella, nosotros, ustedes) was a struggle, as I kept confusing them with the Chinese (wo, ni, nin, ta, nimen, tamen). Yet it has come back quickly. I have studied virtually all the grammar in Spanish at one point or another, but rarely use anything past the present, present perfect, or preterite in everyday speech, so it was a most needed refresher! And apparently, according to my Spanish teachers, all the locals call Loki the loco hostel. Fortunately, the teachers themselves became quite loco on our "mandatory Friday study night," which was held at local bars.

Second, Josh and I visited the Incan ruins at Sacsayhuaman, overlooking Cuzco. Sacsayhuaman/Cuzco was the capital of the Incan empire (1438 to 1533) and home to some of my all-time favorite Incans, among them Maco Capac, Sapa Inca Pachacuti, Tupac Inca, Huayna Capac, and Atahualpa. When Pizzaro came to veni, vidi, vici, the Incas retreated from there to Machu Picchu and Vilcabamba. Thanks to the Spanish, Josh and I were able to sit in the Incan throne without risk of death.

No thanks to the Spanish and their Cathedrals in Cuzco, much of Sacsayhuaman was looted for its stones. Yet the stonework that remains is astounding. The Incans used methods similar to those of the Egyptians (logs underneath, expendable labor) to transport huge stones across large distances, and then create walls imbedded with the shapes of their triad of sacred animals: the condor (air world), puma (earth world), and serpent (under world). The Incans also built elaborate tunnels called chincanas, which linked the Incan empire together. Unfortunately, a few daft tourists went and died in the chincanas, so they are now closed to the public. Josh says: Incan people small, echo good (from where the Incan emperor spoke to his plebians), and that the shapes in the rocks don't really exist (all just a fabricated tourist scam).

Finally, if you would appreciate a postcard from Central America, let me know via email and send me your address!

The Travel Fraternity

Loki Hostel is a co-ed travel fraternity. Once I decided against a homestay (time was too short), Josh and I decided to go whole hog in terms of a social hostel and came here upon the following reviews:

• ¨Don´t come here if you are a recovering alcoholic. Otherwise, definitely come here. Superb.¨
• ¨For the love of God, this place is frickin' crazy. 1st night we wuz there we saw some New Zealand guy who looked like Prefontaine climb the rafters and everyone saw his little weiner, very disturbing. He then put ketchup and mustard all over himself, thinking that he was a hot dog. Needless to say, the message is simple, don't smoke crack. And don't be from New Zealand.¨
• http://www.hostelworld.com/hosteldetails.php/LOKIBackpackerHostel-Cusco-11829/reviews/?page=1&Show=comments&HostelNumber=11829&SwapTo=5&Order=

English is the modus operandi, but German and French are also well-represented. It´s been great to toggle between English, German, and Spanish in the evenings at the dinners and bar (both in-house at Loki). Signs say that no alcohol is to be consumed before 1pm, but that is not observed, least of all by the bartender. As expected, everyone is uber-social.

On Tuesday night was Loki´s 3rd anniversary bash. The theme was Twisted Prom, which translated into lots of crossdressing. My four hours of Spanish lessons the next morning starting at 9am, were dificil.

At least a hearty breakfast is always available the morning after (served 6am-1pm). For $3 you can get a large pancake with fruit and a banana smoothie (yum!), and Cuzco is one of the most expensive locations in South America.

Finally, I ran into Nithya Rajagopalan here, SIW and Stanford ´08 compatriot. Small world.

Cuzco, Peru

The nightmarish bus ride did have one silver lining: Alfonso Medina, the stout, amiable man who sat next to me for 24 hours, followed in David´s footsteps and gave me a warm, generous introduction to his country.

Alfonso, a mechanic in Lima, was in Cuzco for the weekend to visit his girlfriend. I, playing the part of the eager, awed, and slightly naive tourist, became his second charge. From the bus station, he took a safe taxi with me to my hostel. That same evening we met up and went to the non-tourist section of Cuzco for a rock concert. Mars de Copa, I must say, is a pretty baller rock band.

The next morning, we headed to the main plaza in San Sebastian, a neighboring town, to catch the Sunday market and try traditional Cusqueña dishes at Restaurante El Juglar. My wake-up was a cup of Ceviche de Criadillas, raw bull´s testicles with lime and corn nuts. My main dish was cuy, guinea pig with arroz and papas amarillas. I was the lone tourist.

It was a terrific opportunity experience the real Peru and to recover my Espanglish. Ah, the kindness of strangers.