These manequins are just a few of the most bizarre and creepy manequins I`ve encountered. I`ll try to keep posting them as I find them.
I think this one looks like what a Child Molesting Soccer Coach would look like if you could see his soul.
Friday, March 31, 2006
pucalpa manequin 2
sign near boy..."magic shirt`s that turn kids into demon-manequins Only 3 dollars!!"
Ayacucho manaquin 1
was it the same tragic accident that took her eye and her hand?? we`ll never know, she`s mute.
Amazon Mass Transit: Henry II
Getting to and away from Iquitos Peru is no cakewalk. Unless you want to die of malaria, starvation or loss of blood due to mosquitos while trying to machete your way through the 100`s of miles of surrounding Amazon Jungle, there are only two modes of exit; River or Airplane. There are no roads in or out. For a shoestring traveler like myself, 2 options become 1 option at the prospect of spending a weeks budget on a 2 hour flight. In a cruel trick of communist-like elimination of choice, there are only 2 companies that travel up river from Iquitos every few days. Which means that if you want to be picky and wait for the "better" (because it`s relative really) boat, you may have to wait for up to a week...and that`s how you end up on the Henry II.
Actually, the Henry Boats are rumored to be the better of the two options; which by the end of this blog, if I`ve done my job, will inspire the most deeply sincere feeling of pity and sorrow for those who embark from Puerto Masusa rather than Puerto Henry. A promotional pamphlet for Henry II (or Hank Deux, as I affectionately dubbed him just now), might read like this:
Henry II is a 3 story cruize liner with a pool and rock climbing wall on the top level, ballroom, bar/discoteque and all-you-can-eat buffet on the second, and comfortable, private rooms with beds and daily cleaned sheets on the lower. A landmark of environmentally conscious construct combined with maximum luxury, Henry II measures an impressive 40 meters in length and 6 meters in width. The wrought iron roof and floors are excellent for retaining the sweltering amazon heat crucial to turning the boat into a luxurious sauna from 9:30 to 3:30 daily...mandatory. H2 is trimmed with specially reinforced welded rebar, strong enough to resist the weight of innumerable hammocks, and even the most corpulent suicide victims. 5 environmentally friendly bathrooms (using river water and used-TP wastebaskets to retain harmful odors that could polute the Amazon) combine both shitter and shower functions in a 2.5 by 4.5 foot space...for your convenience. The servile staff of the H2, in a symbolic effort to protect you from malnutrition while aboard the vessel, will serve breakfast lunch and dinner from 3 top of the line 20 gallon kettles. (dishes and utensils not included). The owners and operators of the Henry II are so confident in it`s ability to accomodate people, and so anxious for your patronage that they`ve recently announced the exciting news...Henry II has NO MAXIMUM OCCUPANCY!!! ALL ABOARD!!.
I got aboard early (because experience has taught me to get to places early) and hung up my newly bought hammock, which turned out to be way to small. A Colombian girl heading to Argentina, and who would be the only other non-peruvian traveler aboard the H2, set up next to me. An energetic young chef`s assistant set up next to me on the other side and together we defended our territory and kept a keen eye on our bags because everyone we talked to said that there were theives aboard these boats. The boat filled with people, but the space per person was well distributed and reasonable...like Arizona Real Estate. After about 5 hours of intense waiting and anxiously watching our bags the Bad News spread like cancer through the boat. "not enough cargo" "leave tomorrow"...evil rumors. Sorry to our hundred-something passangers, the Henry II won`t be going anywhere today. False Alarm.
I came back the next day only to find my dreams of Arizona, 1/2 acre plots of land with water rights shattered by a New York City scramble for 600 square foot apartments. My little daily journal entry from Day 1 reads: When space began to run our, people start hanging hammocks where there`s not really space for a hammock. There`s a frantic feeling. The boat is FULL. There must be a plethora of health codes that the Henry II is flaunting at any given moment....My hammock is too small, I won`t sleep much. Food is shit, served by 2 jotos. I should clarify though, the food wasn´t really excrement, it just tasted like it. On second thought, considering the conditions it was prepared and served in, the fecal content may have been high enough to classify it as literal shit, rather than food. "Thank you Fecal Vision!!" We were so piled up, a family of 4 with a 2 year old occupied the floor near and beneath our hammocks. At one time I counted 170 hammocks with an average of 3 people per hammock when you account for babies, children, double sleepers, floor dwellers, etc. Not a cubic foot below 5 feet went unoccpied.
My entry from Day 2 says: This boat stops at every tiny river settlement, people get off and on, but it always seems like more people get on than off. A Smiley 7th Day Adventist preached apostate doctrine to some other guy, and then treated us ALL to an unsolicited barrage of evangelist "I love you Jesus" songs. I love hymns...but I hate that EFY junk. The hours passed slowly and languidly like the jungle sliding past outside the window. The Heat was unbearable. Makes me wonder if the Henry II wasn`t originally designed as a gigantic baker`s oven, then on second thought they added a few windows and an engine to make a boat instead. The people hanging in hammocks are definitely reminiscent of giant hunks of meat on a rotiesserie, with the sun heating the metal roof and slowly roasting the flesh, while the juices ooze...quarter turn, quarter turn, quarter turn. Unconfortable, as an adjective, doesn`t do justice to these conditions.
Imagine a family vacation, 5 days of driving without the threat of "stopping this damn car right now" or "leaving you on the side of the road" to discipline the kids. No pit stops, no hotels at night...find a space in the car and hold on tight. Now imagine that of the 4 kids, one is a kleptomaniac, necesating an incesant and nerve wracking vigil. Multiply that vacation by 30 something families and put them all together in a common space, fit for only 10 families. I consider myself a patient and longsuffering person, but my journal entry from Day 3 illustrates the zenith of my desperation: Help!! Feel like I`ve slipped into one of Dante`s level`s of Hell, or perhaps the transport vessel from one level to another. Today was a rough day aboard the Henry II. Some repulsively odiferous Mystery Shit appeared RIGHT by our hammocks, and the only people to act were me and some self-righteous "God is watching my good deads" preacher lady. What a show she made, practically yelling, announcing her sainthood. New people came aboard and crowded us. An annoyingly terse chola with two equally annoying little boys, a 10 month old baby, another in the oven, a chicken, a box of chicks, a dog, etc. etc. etc. That lady`s voice, as she yelled constantly at her sons, was like sandpaper on an exposed nerve...perhaps my last nerve. Desperation!!! Anxiety!!! There are 4 babies under 2 years old within a 10 food radius, and another 50 within earshot...the next one to scream I`m throwing out a window.
I`ve never punched babies, like my friend Robert Pollak, but I came close to throwing down with a few of the screamers aboard Henry II.
Of course, it wasn`t all bad. There were breif moments of respite when one could go upstairs and get some fresh air. In an attempt to fill the hours, I was able to read a bit, write some and learned some new worthless games that would be a smash hit at any LDS singles family home evening. Day 4 was much better than it`s predecessors, and I actually felt like I might have been growing accustomed to my small space and the random whiffs of nose-hair melting odors. Could it be that the Henry II was growing on me??? Nope. I think I was just learning the art of "turning off the comfort switch" which Peruvians seem to have mastered. These people are impervious to discomfort. They enjoy comfort when they can, but in it`s absence they bear the most extenuating conditions with a certain apathy that would make even the most stoic of stoics green with envy. In Day 4 "we stopped at Cotamampa and a German guy with his daughter tried to come aboard. The pathetic look of desperation on his face was kindof sad. He was awkwardly looking for space, where there wasn`t any. They didn`t come aboard, decided to wait for the next boat."
I also came to learn the sad stories of some of the people aboard with me. The family on the floor beneath us were headed to Pucalpa, but en route had been notified that their house had burned to the ground in their absence. Nothing left but ashes. Brutal Homecoming. Franscisco, who had been sleeping and sitting on the same 4 feet of wooden bench for 4 days, told me about his adolescent encounter with the Shining Path. He had been involved at the age of 14 in Peruvian terrorism, and had escaped only by fleeing through the jungle in a weeks-long survival trek. He was returning to his home after traveling weeks for a job interview as a teacher, only to be denied.
All in all, it was a rough ride aboard Henry II from Iquitos to Pucalpa. But a special feeling of comraderie developed between those who weathered that passage together, probably from being literally piled upon one another 24 hours a day. Would I recommend the Hank Deux to a fellow traveler? If you`re poor. If not, don`t be a fool, take the plane. I was trying to remember the day the H2 left me at the port in Pucalpa, but my memories lack the image of Henry the Second in that port. Then I realized it was because upon reaching the ground, I never looked back.
To see a few more pictures from my trip on Henry II, click http://www.flickr.com/photos/82872306@N00/sets/72057594095380177/
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Overnight Bus Phenomenon
Since the great majority of people in South America don`t own a vehicle buses are the main mode of transport. There are buses to any part of any country that can be reached by land. Their quality is varied from the antique schoolbus repainted in patriotic colors, to the tourist double decker bed-seat that serves meals with little cups of cola. Despite their sundry makeup, there are phenomenon that appear regularly on the Overnight Buses:
The Snore: Deep and Loud, the kind that`s constantly threatening to blast the adnoids into the back of the throat of the snorer and choke him into consciousness. The Snore on the overnight bus isn`t steady and rythmic like it`s prostrate relatives. The bumps, dips and curves of the road create a melody with crescendos, key changes and anthemic choruses. The Snore makes it`s home exclusively in the gullets of the Deepest Sleepers; those who lay unshaken by bus stops, turned on lights, river crossings, police shakedowns, screaming babies and guerrilla attacks....until it`s their stop, then some magical force (perhaps The Snore itself) gives them the awakening kiss, telling them that their dozing has come to an end. Fresh and well slept, the Deepest Sleepers and the latent Snore are a vile team that deprive all around them of what they so effortlessly enjoy.
The Crowder: This guy once heard of a thing called personal space, but he was too busy making other people uncomfortable to find out what it meant. Sitting next to this space invader is a constant battle for centimeters of arm chair and leg space terriroty, until you realize that the struggle is futile. The Crowder´s war machine is apparently equipped with armor against any and all uncomfortable touching...he feels nothing. (Side Note: The Crowder tends to be overweight, middle aged and male, and is absolutely never an attractive woman)
The "Made for Latin American Overnight Bus" Movie: There`s Made for DVD, there`s Made for TV, there`s Made for Jennifer Lopez to act in, and then there`s this. I once had a friend that would rate a movie by watching the preview and asserting at which stage of movie-life she would see it in. "I`ll see that one in the dollar theatre", "Rent the DVD", etc. From Opening Day on down through waiting for it to come to TV on TNT, her system seemed complete until I witnessed the monstrosity of the Made for Overnight Bus Movie. A movie that could only be shown to a group of people who`s only chance of escape is to throw themselves out the window of a moving bus.
Always an action flick, but without the budget to explode much more than a shack and one old car, all MOBMs have but one plot: one, semi-attractive guy with character flaws, sortof a bad boy if you will, but a heart of gold and stolid old fashion convictions about right and wrong fights single handedly (of course the moral support of "the people" and "the girl") against a corrupt gang of some sort. The actors are always horrible, and also unknown unless their names are Van Damme or Norriss... then they`re just horrible. Roundhouse kick to your head.
In one Van Damme MOBM I saw, he and his drunken Indian Vietnam Vet buddy have special connections with the coyotes in the desert, and actually howl like coyotes to signal each other while taking down the two rival groups of desert rowdies that stole his motorcycle and left him for dead. This wasn`t a comedy, but I had to laugh out loud several times during Van Damme-coyote montages. I know what you`re thinking...but you CAN`T not watch. Morbid curiosity or old fashion masochism, I don`t know, but the MOBM is engrossing.
(It`s only fair for me to mention that on one bus ride, I did see Gladiator in English with Spanish Subtitles. So it`s either one extreme or the other.)
oh yeah...Coyote Moon got 4 stars on IMDB....that means it was bad, even for a Van Damme Movie.
The Dead iPod: Nothing can give you the redass quite as violently as when your One True Travel Buddy to The End (your iPod) gives you the flashing battery. If it flashed a hand with the middle finger flipping you off, it`d be less painful. Your last and sometimes only defense against The Snore and the sound of the ill-timed motor without a muffler is your favorite playlist. Hold back the tears, shift your weight to keep your extremities from falling to sleep, and wait for morning.
The Confessor: "What are your beliefs about incest?" It seems that when people find out that you have some sort of moral anchor (being the member of the LDS church in my case) all confessions and awkwardly personal stories become fair game. On an overnighter from Trujillo Peru tu Tumbes at the Ecuadorian border, I met Mario Tello, who`s name I won`t change primarily because he`s not innocent and therefore deserves no protection. Mario blew me away with the question about incest. He`s from Iquitos in the Amazon region. Upon moving to Lima, out of all the 12 million people to meet and start fornicating with, he hooks up with his half sister. Apparently unbeknownst to him, his new mistress (b/c yes, he has an union libre wife back in Iquitos) was the result of an adventure his father had had many years prior. Mario came to find out about his incestuous predicament a few years later, when he went with his father to "meet" his long lost half sister, and found that he already "knew" her, in the biblical sense. Their reunion as brother and sister sparked their passion again; and with full knowledge of their kinship. I`ve come to realize that the catholic confession booth isn`t solely for the anonymity of the sinner, but to avoid the awkwardness evoked by the scandalous admissions. Maybe they should install them on buses.
These Buses are crazy and fun, and a microcosm of South America. My list is just the tip of the iceberg...many remain unrepresented. The Transporter, the Chatter, etc. If you`ve ever been on a crazy bus anywhere, leave a comment and share your experience.
The Snore: Deep and Loud, the kind that`s constantly threatening to blast the adnoids into the back of the throat of the snorer and choke him into consciousness. The Snore on the overnight bus isn`t steady and rythmic like it`s prostrate relatives. The bumps, dips and curves of the road create a melody with crescendos, key changes and anthemic choruses. The Snore makes it`s home exclusively in the gullets of the Deepest Sleepers; those who lay unshaken by bus stops, turned on lights, river crossings, police shakedowns, screaming babies and guerrilla attacks....until it`s their stop, then some magical force (perhaps The Snore itself) gives them the awakening kiss, telling them that their dozing has come to an end. Fresh and well slept, the Deepest Sleepers and the latent Snore are a vile team that deprive all around them of what they so effortlessly enjoy.
The Crowder: This guy once heard of a thing called personal space, but he was too busy making other people uncomfortable to find out what it meant. Sitting next to this space invader is a constant battle for centimeters of arm chair and leg space terriroty, until you realize that the struggle is futile. The Crowder´s war machine is apparently equipped with armor against any and all uncomfortable touching...he feels nothing. (Side Note: The Crowder tends to be overweight, middle aged and male, and is absolutely never an attractive woman)
The "Made for Latin American Overnight Bus" Movie: There`s Made for DVD, there`s Made for TV, there`s Made for Jennifer Lopez to act in, and then there`s this. I once had a friend that would rate a movie by watching the preview and asserting at which stage of movie-life she would see it in. "I`ll see that one in the dollar theatre", "Rent the DVD", etc. From Opening Day on down through waiting for it to come to TV on TNT, her system seemed complete until I witnessed the monstrosity of the Made for Overnight Bus Movie. A movie that could only be shown to a group of people who`s only chance of escape is to throw themselves out the window of a moving bus.
Always an action flick, but without the budget to explode much more than a shack and one old car, all MOBMs have but one plot: one, semi-attractive guy with character flaws, sortof a bad boy if you will, but a heart of gold and stolid old fashion convictions about right and wrong fights single handedly (of course the moral support of "the people" and "the girl") against a corrupt gang of some sort. The actors are always horrible, and also unknown unless their names are Van Damme or Norriss... then they`re just horrible. Roundhouse kick to your head.
In one Van Damme MOBM I saw, he and his drunken Indian Vietnam Vet buddy have special connections with the coyotes in the desert, and actually howl like coyotes to signal each other while taking down the two rival groups of desert rowdies that stole his motorcycle and left him for dead. This wasn`t a comedy, but I had to laugh out loud several times during Van Damme-coyote montages. I know what you`re thinking...but you CAN`T not watch. Morbid curiosity or old fashion masochism, I don`t know, but the MOBM is engrossing.
(It`s only fair for me to mention that on one bus ride, I did see Gladiator in English with Spanish Subtitles. So it`s either one extreme or the other.)
oh yeah...Coyote Moon got 4 stars on IMDB....that means it was bad, even for a Van Damme Movie.
The Dead iPod: Nothing can give you the redass quite as violently as when your One True Travel Buddy to The End (your iPod) gives you the flashing battery. If it flashed a hand with the middle finger flipping you off, it`d be less painful. Your last and sometimes only defense against The Snore and the sound of the ill-timed motor without a muffler is your favorite playlist. Hold back the tears, shift your weight to keep your extremities from falling to sleep, and wait for morning.
The Confessor: "What are your beliefs about incest?" It seems that when people find out that you have some sort of moral anchor (being the member of the LDS church in my case) all confessions and awkwardly personal stories become fair game. On an overnighter from Trujillo Peru tu Tumbes at the Ecuadorian border, I met Mario Tello, who`s name I won`t change primarily because he`s not innocent and therefore deserves no protection. Mario blew me away with the question about incest. He`s from Iquitos in the Amazon region. Upon moving to Lima, out of all the 12 million people to meet and start fornicating with, he hooks up with his half sister. Apparently unbeknownst to him, his new mistress (b/c yes, he has an union libre wife back in Iquitos) was the result of an adventure his father had had many years prior. Mario came to find out about his incestuous predicament a few years later, when he went with his father to "meet" his long lost half sister, and found that he already "knew" her, in the biblical sense. Their reunion as brother and sister sparked their passion again; and with full knowledge of their kinship. I`ve come to realize that the catholic confession booth isn`t solely for the anonymity of the sinner, but to avoid the awkwardness evoked by the scandalous admissions. Maybe they should install them on buses.
These Buses are crazy and fun, and a microcosm of South America. My list is just the tip of the iceberg...many remain unrepresented. The Transporter, the Chatter, etc. If you`ve ever been on a crazy bus anywhere, leave a comment and share your experience.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
hammock boats
I`m headed out of Iquitos today toward Pucalpa, to continue South to Cuzco, Titicaca and Chile. I bought a hammock yesterday and will be riding for five days up the Amazon in the same hanging state as the pupa in the picture...I won`t have wings when I get off the boat and out of my cocoon-of-a-hammock, but after five days of sweaty cramped metamorphosis, I`m sure it will feel like I`m flying. Hopefully, I`ll have a chance to write some good descriptions of my experiences here in the Amazon, which have been incredible.
ps. I accidentally bought a hammock that is a good two feet too short for me...these could be long days.
ps. I accidentally bought a hammock that is a good two feet too short for me...these could be long days.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
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Tuesday, March 07, 2006
The Isle of Gallardo
The vacation is over, back to traveling. For the last week and a half I`ve been living quite high off the proverbial hog. When I came from Huanchaco to Guayaquil to visit my old friends the Gallardo Family, I had planned on staying only a few days...I promise. I arrived on Tuesday and my hosts insisted that I accompany them to their beach house in Salinas for the weekend, which just happened to be Carnaval. Why not? (Salinas is to Ecuador what Cancun is to Mexico). Carnaval in Ecuador is basically a 4 day long water fight (sometimes egg, urine, etc...it gets ugly) with a lot of partying, dancing, beaching and eating interspersed.
So from Wednesday to Friday I woke up late, ate breakfast and lunch served by Mari the Empleada, swam in the Pool, read, ran errands with Mom Gallardo, and didn`t blog.
Funny that I should be an unproductive, lounging moucher while reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Somehow my conscience let me get away with it.
At niht I went out with Alejandra and Uti to Kareoke clubs and mingled with Ecuador`s elite singles. The most affluent playboys, pretty boys, mamma`s boys and vacant party girls; for a week I was a fly on the wall of the Ecuadorian 90210, or worse yet....it`s O.C. As shallow, pampered and eletist as they were, they sure knew how to have a good time.
Kareoke`s where you can`t hear the person with the mic because EVERYONE in the place is singing along at the top of their lungs. Concerts that get kicked off at around 2 a.m. and go until 6, with all the dancing your legs can take (cue the sarcastic remarks from Tom, Jared and Spencer about Joey and latin dancing), lounging by the pool of the Yacht Club, yup the Yatch Club, by day. I remembered why I love Latin America; Latin Americans. They`re just so laid back and fun loving...even the snobs.
Tuesday was the end of Carnaval, Wednesday was to be a day of recovery and Thursday I was headed for the Oriente (Ecuador`s Amazon jungle) for a crossing into Peru and a trip down the Rio Napo to Iquitos, the largest city not attainable over land. BUT, Mom Gallardo suggested a trip to Banos for the weekend. What the hell right??...another couple days of Mari`s cooking and service, poolide lounging and flirting with Alejandra and her friends wasn`t going to kill me. I began to feel like Odysseus who was "waylaid on the Isle of Circe (the enchantress who initially turned his men to swine), and spent a luxurious year enjoying the bounty of the Goddess". I knew I should move on, but couldn`t quite figure out how to do it, or really why I should.
Baños, or Bathrooms in the parlance of our times, is in the mountains in Central Ecuador. A tag-along on a family vacation, I wish I could say I enjoyed the 5 hr. car ride up through the fog drifted, zero-visibility Andean roads...but decaying infrastructure + thousand foot sheer mountain dropoffs + fog like Jimi`s Haze + crazy mario andretti ecuadorian driving does NOT equal enjoyable ride. Baños has been cool though. The Gallardos are gone since day before yesterday but not before we went on hikes, saw the pailon del Diablo and "bungee" jumped off a bridge.
On my own again, feels both good and bad. I`m going to miss the Isle of Gallardo.
for more pictures check out my flickr account http://www.flickr.com/photos/82872306@N00/
So from Wednesday to Friday I woke up late, ate breakfast and lunch served by Mari the Empleada, swam in the Pool, read, ran errands with Mom Gallardo, and didn`t blog.
Funny that I should be an unproductive, lounging moucher while reading Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Somehow my conscience let me get away with it.
At niht I went out with Alejandra and Uti to Kareoke clubs and mingled with Ecuador`s elite singles. The most affluent playboys, pretty boys, mamma`s boys and vacant party girls; for a week I was a fly on the wall of the Ecuadorian 90210, or worse yet....it`s O.C. As shallow, pampered and eletist as they were, they sure knew how to have a good time.
Kareoke`s where you can`t hear the person with the mic because EVERYONE in the place is singing along at the top of their lungs. Concerts that get kicked off at around 2 a.m. and go until 6, with all the dancing your legs can take (cue the sarcastic remarks from Tom, Jared and Spencer about Joey and latin dancing), lounging by the pool of the Yacht Club, yup the Yatch Club, by day. I remembered why I love Latin America; Latin Americans. They`re just so laid back and fun loving...even the snobs.
Tuesday was the end of Carnaval, Wednesday was to be a day of recovery and Thursday I was headed for the Oriente (Ecuador`s Amazon jungle) for a crossing into Peru and a trip down the Rio Napo to Iquitos, the largest city not attainable over land. BUT, Mom Gallardo suggested a trip to Banos for the weekend. What the hell right??...another couple days of Mari`s cooking and service, poolide lounging and flirting with Alejandra and her friends wasn`t going to kill me. I began to feel like Odysseus who was "waylaid on the Isle of Circe (the enchantress who initially turned his men to swine), and spent a luxurious year enjoying the bounty of the Goddess". I knew I should move on, but couldn`t quite figure out how to do it, or really why I should.
Baños, or Bathrooms in the parlance of our times, is in the mountains in Central Ecuador. A tag-along on a family vacation, I wish I could say I enjoyed the 5 hr. car ride up through the fog drifted, zero-visibility Andean roads...but decaying infrastructure + thousand foot sheer mountain dropoffs + fog like Jimi`s Haze + crazy mario andretti ecuadorian driving does NOT equal enjoyable ride. Baños has been cool though. The Gallardos are gone since day before yesterday but not before we went on hikes, saw the pailon del Diablo and "bungee" jumped off a bridge.
On my own again, feels both good and bad. I`m going to miss the Isle of Gallardo.
for more pictures check out my flickr account http://www.flickr.com/photos/82872306@N00/
Monday, March 06, 2006
Yerry`s Hymn
If I could have stuffed this little gordito into my backpack and taken him around with me for entertainment I would have.
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Quilcayhuanca
Video of the Quilcayhuanca Pass. 5,200 meters...about 15,000 feet. Sailor the Guide and Christian the German played by Sailor the Guide and Christian the German. All rights reserved
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Friday, March 03, 2006
Beached Jerry
From Huaraz in the high Andeas I headed for the coast to make my way up to Guayaquil. An overnight bus put me in Trujillo at around 5:45 in the morning, and I found my way to the main plaza; weekend party animals staggered toward home, a flaming tranny tried to convince me to go "rest" at his house ("baby, you look so tired, I won´t rob you...you can use my shower, take a nap, walk around my place naked"...no, not that last part, but that´s what his eyes said at the height of their creepiness), and a scattering of young guys in what looked like matador uniforms with puffier, even more flamboyant sleeves and shoulder pads began to gather around the central fountain. It was all quite surreal. Turns out they were musicians in what must have been the frustrated Peruvian version of mariachi.
Trujillo was dirty. As it got light I looked for a bus station to see about a ticket out. Someone said I should go to Huanchaco because of the nice beaches, so when a busted up, ancient VW bus (Kombi, typcical public transport) came by with a kid yelling "Huanchaco, Huanchaco!!" I got right on. Huanchaco is about .75 hour outside trujillo.
En route to Huanchaco, the thought hit me that it was Sunday, and this little town must have a set of hard working mormon Elders and a small chapel. As I got of the bus in a totally randomly chosen spot, I spotted a sharp looking guy pulling along a fat little boy, both in clean white shirts and ties. Mormons. Or J.W.´s who like to copy us in most areas besides sound doctrine. I suspected, and followed; and my suspicions were confirmed when they were joined by a few ladies in Sunday dress carrying indicative green hynmals. I struck up conversation and ended up going to church with them. It was a nostalgic 3 hours of tone-deaf acapela singing, apostate doctrine being thrown around in the small home turned meeting house. Awesome. Of course, they invited me over to their house for lunch afterward and of course I accepted.
The Familia Juarez. An awesome family of 7 kids, the youngest of which is the chubby 4 year old in the picture.
Converts of only 4 years, they still spoke nostalgically of "their missionaries" and Jorge the 16 year old choir director asked all sorts of questions about Utah and Temple Square. Jerry, the funniest little fat kid I´ll ever meet. (He wasn´t funny just because he was fat, he would have been quite a clown otherwise, but it sure added to his comedic charm.) "Amigo, draw me a picture of Tarzan! Amigo, did you abandon your family?" I have an awesome video of him singing Put your Shoulder to the Wheel, but I can´t seem to get CastPost to work...Spencer, a little help.
Anyways, they treated me like a guest that had been invited and expected rather than someone who had randomly wandered in off the street with a backpack and a sunburn. I ended up staying a couple of days in Huanchaco with the Juarezs. Good people. But, as the saying goes in Spanish, "el muerto a los 3 dias apesta", so I headed north toward Guayaquil.
Trujillo was dirty. As it got light I looked for a bus station to see about a ticket out. Someone said I should go to Huanchaco because of the nice beaches, so when a busted up, ancient VW bus (Kombi, typcical public transport) came by with a kid yelling "Huanchaco, Huanchaco!!" I got right on. Huanchaco is about .75 hour outside trujillo.
En route to Huanchaco, the thought hit me that it was Sunday, and this little town must have a set of hard working mormon Elders and a small chapel. As I got of the bus in a totally randomly chosen spot, I spotted a sharp looking guy pulling along a fat little boy, both in clean white shirts and ties. Mormons. Or J.W.´s who like to copy us in most areas besides sound doctrine. I suspected, and followed; and my suspicions were confirmed when they were joined by a few ladies in Sunday dress carrying indicative green hynmals. I struck up conversation and ended up going to church with them. It was a nostalgic 3 hours of tone-deaf acapela singing, apostate doctrine being thrown around in the small home turned meeting house. Awesome. Of course, they invited me over to their house for lunch afterward and of course I accepted.
The Familia Juarez. An awesome family of 7 kids, the youngest of which is the chubby 4 year old in the picture.
Converts of only 4 years, they still spoke nostalgically of "their missionaries" and Jorge the 16 year old choir director asked all sorts of questions about Utah and Temple Square. Jerry, the funniest little fat kid I´ll ever meet. (He wasn´t funny just because he was fat, he would have been quite a clown otherwise, but it sure added to his comedic charm.) "Amigo, draw me a picture of Tarzan! Amigo, did you abandon your family?" I have an awesome video of him singing Put your Shoulder to the Wheel, but I can´t seem to get CastPost to work...Spencer, a little help.
Anyways, they treated me like a guest that had been invited and expected rather than someone who had randomly wandered in off the street with a backpack and a sunburn. I ended up staying a couple of days in Huanchaco with the Juarezs. Good people. But, as the saying goes in Spanish, "el muerto a los 3 dias apesta", so I headed north toward Guayaquil.
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