The Last Hurrah

I resolved to solidify (or strain) my strongest friendships before departing for Shanghai (more on that later) by spending some quality time together.

First, I went camping with Maya and Jen Okwudili. We encountered a black bear and rattlesnake—Jen will probably never camp with us again. I also learned that my music tastes are “not hip,” because—among other offenses—I fail to understand the brilliance that is Radiohead.

Second, I invited friends up for wine tasting and the alcoholics responded in force. Fifteen of us sampled the fine pinot noir, zinfandel, mustard, and black boar sausage that Healdsburg has to offer. Arista winery was the unanimous favorite. Unfortunately, Nelson was not taken away in a police car this time.

Third, I toured the bay area (Stanford-Berkeley-San Francisco-Emeryville), crashing at friend’s places like a hobo. To Nelson, Jacob, and James—thanks for the couches! It’s exciting to see the next step for my post-college friends: Evan’s TFA classroom, Jacob’s Obama organizing, Ben’s med school dormitory, and James’s concert venue. For example, when I visited Evan -ahh excuse me- Mr. Perkiss, he was feverishly preparing an elaborate college theme for his class of twenty-four 5th graders.

Fourth, I visited Sagari in Houston, America’s 4th largest city. It was my first time in Texas (my first time in the middle region of our country, in fact). I must confess that my expectations were not too high, but they were far exceeded. The cultural offerings were terrific: I visited four museums, all for free (displaying Surrealist, Modern, Contemporary, and Ancient art). Even public transportation was cheap, convenient, and speedy.

But the uniquely Texan experiences were the highlight: BBQ, Rodeo, and, above all, the worship services at Prestonwood Baptist Church. The Sunday service on “Walking with God” at this megachurch (~6000 worshipers) was fascinating. It was a huge production, replete with a ~300 person choir, a small orchestra, and two huge screens. Though contrived at moments, it felt much more powerful than I’d anticipated—some in the audience certainly agreed with me: a number stepped forward to rededicate themselves to Jesus Christ that morning. While I didn’t take that step, it was a window into a world that I never see, and rarely hear of—and then primarily only disparagingly. Thank you Texas!

Finally, I visited the magnificent Chihuly glass-blowing exhibit at the deYoung Museum in SF with my mom and cousin, Ben. I couldn't resist but include a plug and a photo.

Darling it’s better > Down where it's wetter > Take it from me

Roatan, Honduras is all about Scuba diving. Our Scuba certification course cost $250 and lasted four days (and three not-so-crazy nights of completing chapter reviews). Our instructor, Tim, was a cheery chap, and his British accent made his quips 1.5 to 2.5 times more comical. I am now a card-carrying, PADI open-water certified recreational diver. This is a major boost to my sex appeal. Ladies, please— don’t crowd me, form a single file line, you’ll all get a turn.

The underwater life was spectacular. To help us appreciate it, the Lukoff-Harder team acquired an all-star free agent: Katie Freakin’ McLean, the Michael Phelps of Scuba diving partners. Katie, who studies biology at Lakehead University in Ontario, Canada, routinely found and identified fish us amateurs would have overlooked.

We saw lobsters, octupi, Moray eels, shrimp, turtles, and enough colorful Parrotfish to feed a small Japanese village. To my delight, the water was as warm as the kiddie pool, but for more sanitary reasons. Roatan was truly our Isla Bonita, a charming tropical escape. Down here all the fish is happy.

I had my brush with death when we rented mopeds. Hurtling along at up to 60 MPH along pockmarked streets was at once a harrowing and exhilarating experience. If you fell at that speed, the pavement would skin you alive. What Yamaha bike’s lack in safety, they make up for in fuel efficiency: 100 MPG. Of course, if you die, you use less gas too.

While cruising, at moderate speed, out of the island’s one town, Coxen Hole, I noticed a plastic blue ball rolling down a driveway and into my path… mental alarm bells started ringing. Sure enough, a small Honduran boy followed an instant later. I swerved to the right, since he was already far into the street, and narrowly avoided turning us both into road kill.

Finally, to protect my eyes from the many bugs, I had resorted to wearing my Scuba goggles (having lost my sunglasses earlier). This, I regret to inform you, did little for my sex appeal— a Garifuna village was rolling with laughter at my get-up.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, except for Pixar’s absurdly long string of quality movies. Fortunately, Josh and I ended our romantic tryst on an up note: his parental unit put us up in a nice hotel in downtown SF upon our return , which was 45.2 times more luxurious than our “hotel” the previous night in El Poy, Honduras. It was there, while watching the cooking channel, that I learned the three rules of grilling. They are also rules to live by: keep it clean, keep it hot, and keep it lubricated.

CLICK to check out my S. and C. America trip photo album!

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!