"Eat the Nasty Shiz!!" It came like a ghost-voice from the past. Was it Chad Crosby yelling it?? Or had I heard all my friends say it so many times in their respective Chad Crosby voices that I`d come to attribute the heinous command to him? Either way, that`s what was echoing in my ears as I prodded and contemplated THE nasty shiz...Chuño (choo-n-yo).
My good friend Tom, who`s an expert on all things Bolivian, had insisted that I try chuño. According to him, eating chuño puts you into an elite group and creates a special bond with fellow chuño consumers; like being blood brothers, but cullinary. I felt like the kid who contemplates his buddies bloody hand and hesitates, knowing it`s a foolish commitment he`s made. Damn Tom and his powers of persuasion.
My first clues that the chuño would live up to it`s infamous reputation were the responses I got from the Bolivians I asked about it. It wasn`t easy to find, so I had various chances to see the reactions of the people as I asked for the mystery food. Despite it being a relatively easy word to pronounce, most people did a double-take and asked if I had really asked what they they were asking if I had really asked. So I would ask again. "¿Sirven Chuño?". Then their face would show bewilderment, as if to ask "How does this clearly non-bolivian guy know what chuño is? and more importantly, Why the hell is he asking to eat it?" When I would clarify and drive the point home, "Yes, I want to eat chuño", their faces would usually get a sort of devious "well, you asked for it" look, and they would laughingly point me in the direction of another place where I might be able to find chuño. Apparently, no gringos ever eat chuño, because they don`t have it in any restaurants that could possible serve tourists.
I finally found the chuño in the 5th place I checked. It was in the dirtiest, cheapest little food stand in the public market. Fitting. My request had caused quite a stir, and a small crowd of entertained Bolivians watched attentively as I recieved my plate of fried chicken, shredded lettuce (that`s salad) and Chuño. I realized what Tom had meant when I`d asked if chuño was potatoes...he`d replied "well, it WAS potatoes". In my search I`d found out that the food was indeed once potatoes, but through a process of dehydration and repeated treatment the chuño was reborn as Potato`s Devil Spawn. The Bolivian peasants make the food by taking the small potatoes common to the altiplano and stomping barefoot on them. They lay them out on the grass during the day and let the sun dry them, and at night the small potatoes freeze. As they thaw in the sun, the peasants stomp them again, and set them again to dry. This process is repeated until the little guys are black as night and dry as sand. This way they can be preserved for very long periods of time, and then soaked and cooked to be given to the first gringo loco enough to actually ask to eat them.
As I started to chew my first bite of chuño, I noted the faint resemblance to potato...but only in texture. My chuño was a little cold, and it felt like maybe I was eating an inadequately cooked old potato that had been in the fridge for several months. The flavor took a moment to soak into my virgin tastebuds, but when it did, I began to wonder if a stray llama hadn`t wandered past and crapped these black balls of disgustingness onto my plate. Then the smell wafted back into my throat and nasal passages. I had the sudden sensation of a mini Bolivian peasant stomping in the back of my mouth. Dirty peasant foot, smearing around on my tonsils and tounge. Luckily, these smells and flavors were gone as quickly as they came. With enough salt I was able to eat all the chuño I was given, and I suppose with some very strong salsa or ranch dressing, one might come to enjoy chuño...in a very self-abusive, simply-eating-to-survive sort of way. Thanks Tom!!!This blog inspired by Steve Don`t Eat It!!! which is hilarious.
Friday, April 28, 2006
La Paz: Chuño
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Salar de Uyuni Tour
Click on Photo to see Salar Photo Set. (I suggest starting from 228,000 Words and reading the blogs chronologically) |
From Tupiza, I rode to Uyuni standing up on a bus FULL of Israelis (side note, one Israeli, great. a few Israeli`s still fun. a dozen Israeli`s...unbearable. The problem is, they don`t travel, they migrate in giant packs. another, entire blog should be dedicated to this topic).
I set up a three day tour, with plans to hop off half way through the third day, close to the border of Chile and cross over to Antofogasta. I rode with a cool Spaniard guy, a super nice Irish couple and three crazy Slovakian girls. Our "guide" didn`t like to talk, our cook had a crazy giggle and our Jeep "El Rayo Veloz" <> (dubbed sarcastically) had to be fixed every time we stopped. 15 minutes into the ride, we broke a spring. It was a blast. Santos (our guide) had only 3 cassette tapes, with about 8 songs each. One was a Worst Hits of the 80`s Mix, the others were "Nacional"...horrid Bolivian Music. It became the big joke with every other car we`d meet, we would try to get them to trade tapes.
The Salt Flats were truly amazing. I wish I could go back and stay like a week just taking crazy pictures.
San Vicente
 |
"Here Death`s Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid"...what I really love about that sign is that they decided to make Deaths possesive. It takes the grammatical incorrectness to another level of confusingness...if confusingness is even a word. Click the picture to see the whole set.
I`m a huge fan of the movie with Robert Redford and Paul Newman. Maybe it`s nostalgic, because I remember watching it with my dad when I was younger, and he would point out the places..."that`s monument valley, by where we broke down that one time", "that`s up near Redondo in New Mexico, where I broke down with a load of logs once", etc.
So I was determined to make it to San Vicente. It`s the tiny mining town where Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid bit the bullet at the hand of the Bolivian Army. I arrived on an overnight bus to Tupiza at about 3:30 a.m. While I waited a few cold hours, I talked to a few locals about how to get to San Vicente. One truck goes at 3 in the afternoon and would leave me there in the middle of the freezing night, with not a single hotel or even a hostal within 100 miles. A return truck came back through on Wednesday, and it was Monday...I had to get to Uyuni, arrange a 3 day tour of the Salar, cross the border and get to Antofogasta by Saturday to see my cousin`s band`s first gig. So, I was forced to pay for a one day jeep tour.
As day broke in Tupiza, I realized that Butch and Sundance couldn`t have picked a more fitting place to come for their final hurah. It looked and felt just like their old stomping grounds in Arizona or New Mexico. I felt like I was in a mini Sedona, without all the crystal-power hippies and where a decent hotel costs 2 dollars instead of 50. I walked about a block and wandered into an open Mormon chapel, used the bathroom, sat through an early morning seminary class and ate some breakfast. Gracias Hermano.
I arranged my tour with a couple of Canadian guys. Our jeep driver was about 4 foot 6 inches. He told us the amazing story of how he was an orphan from an indigenous community in the middle of the altiplano. By a crazy twist of fate, he found his way to Cochabamba (the Bolivian Amazon Basin), and within a few years became one of the premiere cocaine producers in the region. By the time he was 16, guys in a white linen suits and and panama hats traveled in private jets to commission him to make a LOT of cocaine. Unfortunately, he also became one of the regions premiere consumers of cocaine as well. But then he found religion and a good evangelical priest helped him clean up. Wow.
San Vicente is in the middle of nowhere on the Bolivian Altiplano...not pretty. I can`t blame the director of the movie for shooting that final scene somewhere in Mexico.
La Paz:
click pic to see LaPaz Photo Set  |
From Copacabana, we headed to LaPaz. I liked LaPaz. It`s a big city, with two parts...the nicer, older part is down in a valley while the newer slums are up on the surrounding plateau...on the edge of the altiplano.
I was there on Easter weekend, so I have some pictures of the religious procession that`s customary on Good Friday. It`s a little unsettling to see the religious types in their pseudo KKK outfits, followed by the band playing some very depressing, dark marching music. I also got to see Evo Morales, the President of Bolivia, and the first Indigenous president of any South American country...he`s pretty chummy with Chavez.
Some of the other pictures from LaPaz are of Chuño, a typical food that Tom told me to eat, which I will never forgive him for. A blog for that later. Also, there are some pictures from a place called the witches market...where they sell black magic stuff and offerings for PachaMama (mother earth). For some reason, witches love dried up animals or animal parts. Here in bolivia, it`s dried up Llama fetuses that you see the most...I guess witchcraft takes on a local flavor like anything else.
LaPaz´s zoning committee must have OCD. It`s funny, almost ridiculous really, but it`s such an organized chaos that it`s hard to believe. There`s one block for selling light fixtures...and on that block there could be as many as 30 stores selling the exact same light fixtures. Another block is for selling soap, another for pants, another for juice, and so on and so on. All the same product, nobody attempting to distinguish themselves from the others. It was eerie at times. I guess I just missed the old American Entrepreneurial spirit of making a unique, better product in order to put your competitor in the dirt.
La Paz was cool though, very cool.
Typical Scenes from Andean Life
 |
Click on the picture to see some photos that show what normal life is like here in the Andean region. I realized that if I got home and only had beautiful pictures of countryside, awesome lookouts and tourist attractions...that wouldn`t be a very realistic representation of anything. So I started taking pictures of everyday stuff...which is tough because people don`t always like having their picture taken. Sometimes you have to be sneaky.
Lake Titicaca Area
Click on the Photo to see the Whole Titicaca Set.
|
From Cuzco, I headed south with Clemencia to Puno. Puno is on the shores of the highest navegable lake in the world...the lake that every giggly kid learns the name of early and never forgets. Titicaca. Many of the photos in the Andean Everyday Life Set were taken by Clemencia on that bus trip.
Puno was a non-descript, dirty city with no real redeeming value other than being on the shore of Titicaca. From there, I took a tour of the Uros Islands and Taquile Island. The Uros are floating islands made from reeds. It`s quite incredible. The Uros people live on these tiny man-made floating habitats...almost like human lilipads. Everything, including their boats, are made from tightly woven reeds. When I asked why they don`t put some sort of sealant on their reed boats so they last more than a year, they told me that wouldn`t be in line with tradition...late adapters; could be a while before wireless internet finds the Uros people. The amazing thing is that when they have a disagreement, instead of fighting, they litterally cut the island in half, pull up anchor and resettle 50 yards away. 7th Day Adventists over there, Catholics over here, Mormons...where`s the mormons?? Over the water, off limits for missionaries I guess.
From there we went to visit the Island of Taquile. This place was pretty cool, if you like tourist traps. The Island was actually very pretty and the the stone pathways and climate made it seem like you were in the Italian countryside...or at least how I imagine the italian countryside to be. The men in this town are always walking around knitting caps. The white caps are for single guys and the multicolored one means he`s off limits. In one picture, I`m with an old dude and a japanese girl. Don Pedro and I were joking around having a good time...Clemencia took a picture and he charged her 50 cents! haha. The archway lookout points on the way down were very cool as well.
From Puno, we headed to Copacabana...where music and passion are always the fashion. Actually, Barry Manilow would have been bored of this Copacabana even before Lola and Tony`s tragedy occurred. It`s a very small place, with a pretty church, some artisans, good trout and daily tours of the Island of the Sun. We went on a half day tour, which was a mistake, because the Island was very cool. We should have stayed the night out there and seen the sunrise, but cheapness prevailed and we spent the evening walking around Copacabana, going back and forth between the two bars in town, trying to decide which was less dead. The Island of the Sun is where the Aymara and Quechua people believe that the Sun was Born. That`s just silly. I`m all for respecting old legends, etc....they`re even interesting sometimes. But while here, I came to the realization that most of them are just silly...the Sun was born out of Lake Titicaca??? come on people.
Lake Titicaca itself is very pretty. It`s a very beautiful color and seems quite clean...if it weren`t garunteed to cause hypothermia, I would have liked to swim in it.
228,000 Words
| If a picture is truly worth a thousand words, then yesterday I loaded approximately 228,000 words worth of pictures onto my flickr account. I hadn`t posted any photos since Cuzco and Machupichu, so there was a plethora fotos to choose from. I`ve organized them, for your viewing convenience, into different Sets. When I talked to my dad the other day, he complained that all my blogs are about getting around, and never really describe what I was getting around to. I tried to pull the old cliche about life being a journey and not a destination, but I don`t think he bought it. So, in the following blogs, I will give a brief description of the places I`ve been in the order I visited them, as well as a link to the photos. Enjoy. |
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Fear Factor Peru: Molina Express
There are certain things to be feared in life. Bears, Prostate Cancer, Sudden Public Incontinence. Call me unmanly or faithless, but I think Death is also one of those things. All faith or knowledge of a glorious afterlife aside, the actual process of dying is scary. Not what comes afterward, what preceeds. Whatever event or occurrance caused your hum-drum daily routine of being alive from one minute to the next to have a sudden attack of spontaneity. A fatal bus ride for example.
Before my ride aboard Hank Deux, I used to associate hammocks with sunny summer afternoons. Grammie`s back yard. A few of you, like me, probably remember a particularly "swinging" hammock on the well kept lawn in front of Christy Platt`s house. That`s all changed since the Henry II oddessy. Likewise, my gossamer childhood bus memories of Grizzly Adams lunchboxes, Josie the happy candy-giving bus driver and safe yellow transportation have been knelt down and shot from behind into a common grave by a truly fear inspiring assasin. The Molina Express. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Obviously, for me fear is a factor. I`ve always felt like the crowd pleaser Fear Factor (albeit a guilty pleasure) was missing the boat. Is it really scary to move rats from a bucket to a scale with your mouth, eat an elk penis or bob for brains in a vat of cow`s blood? They could rename the show Gag Factor. "Congratulations Sharon, you clearly have...(pause for added drama)...NO Gag Factor!!". Even when they do manage to pander to people`s fears (usually heights) there`s so many safety precautions that there`s no real fear involved. Unless you have a phobia of $1,000 harnesses and pretested lifesaving rope combined with 10 foot free falls. Come on guys, sign some waivers, lose the ropes, recruit some desperate hobos and make those people fear for their lives. If, by some fortuitous NBC fluke, I was given creative control of Fear Factor I would take it international. Farm it out. The real fear lies abroad. My first outsourced fear-job would be to the Molina Express Bus from Huancayo to Ayacucho Peru.
As the bus leaves Huancayo, Joe Rogan informs the contestant that his only task is to sit in the window seat above the back right tire. The only rule is that he must look out the window and down during the whole trip. No grabbing yellow flags or walking on top of the bus, just sitting and watching. Sounds easy right?? Until the mountains close in and suddenly the bus is on a 800 foot ledge, maneuvering a switchback that hangs the back right tire over said ledge, sending little rocks tumbling downward. Like a mini preview.
From personal experience, I know that the Molina Express would be a great Fear Factor. Of course a 13 hour bus ride would require a lot of dramatic overediting, but that`s what the guys at F.F. are used to. My adventure on the Bus of Death lacked an annoying taunting Joe Rogan and sadly also lacked a cash prize at the end, but there was no lack of fear. The fright began when I sat down and the nice lady next to me explained that 2 days prior, a bus from the same company had slid off a ledge and roled over twice before barely catching itself on the last flat, just before a nice 50 meter plunge into the river below. 6 Dead, many injured. This is the point where Joe Rogan yells in your ear "SIX DEATHS!!...12 HOURS OF PRECARIOUS SWITCHBACKS TO GO!!". But there`s more...the crashed bus didn`t only belong to the same bus company as the one we were riding, but was following the exact same route!! This is when Joe starts talking to the other contestants about whether or not I`ll make it through.
For me, this was when I started calculating odds. If a Molina Bus chrashed and burned 2 days earlier, the odds were low of it happening again....right??? Unless...Unless Molina consistantly hires incompetent drivers. It`s an ugly game your mind plays at this stage in the show. A survivor from the crashed bus was sitting nearby. I congratulated him on his bravery for taking the same bus 2 days later, and secretely hoped he didn`t have some sort of bad-bus mojo going on. The level of tension on the bus took a cattle-prod to the ass when the bus we were on, passed the wreckage of the bus we would have been on if we had left our previous destination 2 days earlier. 48 hours less in Iquitos, Guayaquil or Huaraz. Curtains.
I normally would have admired the river at the bottom of the canyon for it`s powerful churning chocolatey color. It looked like the Colorado in those rafting pictures. But from above the back right tire of the Molina Express I could only see Chocolatey Demise. Like the fate of Augustus Gloop, but without the suction pipe salvation or the Umpa Lumpas to pull me out. A Homicidal Willie Wonka River on Steriods. I really thought I might die, several times.
Aside from being cut into the side of a treacherous ledge, the road was in what we`ll call off-season condition. This road was lower maintenance than even the best girlfriend could ever hope to be. On two different occasions, all the passangers had to get off the bus because the road was so bad, our added weight would have sent the bus toppling over and down the ravine. The brave driver inched across, escape routes racing through his mind. On one such "everyone off" occasion we had to shovel dirt from a recent landslide to level out the road to a passable grade. The Peruvians were amazed that an American could shovel dirt. "Muy bien Gringo!! Chambeaste!!". A lady told me that once she was stuck like that for 2 days while the men fixed the road. Improv Road Crew.
Two Australians were on the bus as well. At one such scary moment, they decided that their lives were worth the 100 km walk to Ayacucho. They wanted off, and I`m sure if there hadn`t been such a language barrier, they would have convinced the driver to leave them there on that ravine ledge. Cue Joe Rogan, "SIX HOURS LEFT AUSSIES!! HANG IN THERE, THE ROAD GETS WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER!!". After some coaxing, they reluctantly got back into the bus, but they were traumatized. When I ran into them again in Cuzco, I found out that instead of taking another backroad bus from Ayacucho to Cuzco, they had added another 2 days and the price of a flight to their trip. In order to avoid another Death Bus experience, they had backtracked to Lima on a nice, paved highway and flown to Cuzco. I`m not kidding, Fear WAS a Factor.
We threw rocks into the deep spots of river crossings and waited for a backhoe to make a washed-out switchback drivable again. A smart Ayacucho local would sell T shirts on the bus: "I Survived Molina Express, Huancayo to Ayachucho -- Rainy Season ´06". Fortunately, we didn`t slide off any ledges, and there were no deaths. It`s not that I didn`t enjoy the Molina Express. It was exciting. It was just a little more adventure than I had bargained for. If they had advertised it as a "4 Wheeling Passanger-Bus Adventure Tour", I probably would have payed a few extra bucks for the kicks. And of course if Joe Rogan had dangled $50,000 in front of my face, I would have done the ride duct-taped to the outter ledge side of the bus, soaked in cow`s blood, while chewing dirty rats for 13 hours. You know how many more bus rides $50,000 will buy...how long you can travel on that kind of cash??? Thank you Joe Rogan.
(for more info on these awesome bus rides, check my buddy Tom`s blog... www.botrash.com )
(check out a few other pictures of the Death Bus ride.)
Powered by Castpost
Before my ride aboard Hank Deux, I used to associate hammocks with sunny summer afternoons. Grammie`s back yard. A few of you, like me, probably remember a particularly "swinging" hammock on the well kept lawn in front of Christy Platt`s house. That`s all changed since the Henry II oddessy. Likewise, my gossamer childhood bus memories of Grizzly Adams lunchboxes, Josie the happy candy-giving bus driver and safe yellow transportation have been knelt down and shot from behind into a common grave by a truly fear inspiring assasin. The Molina Express. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Obviously, for me fear is a factor. I`ve always felt like the crowd pleaser Fear Factor (albeit a guilty pleasure) was missing the boat. Is it really scary to move rats from a bucket to a scale with your mouth, eat an elk penis or bob for brains in a vat of cow`s blood? They could rename the show Gag Factor. "Congratulations Sharon, you clearly have...(pause for added drama)...NO Gag Factor!!". Even when they do manage to pander to people`s fears (usually heights) there`s so many safety precautions that there`s no real fear involved. Unless you have a phobia of $1,000 harnesses and pretested lifesaving rope combined with 10 foot free falls. Come on guys, sign some waivers, lose the ropes, recruit some desperate hobos and make those people fear for their lives. If, by some fortuitous NBC fluke, I was given creative control of Fear Factor I would take it international. Farm it out. The real fear lies abroad. My first outsourced fear-job would be to the Molina Express Bus from Huancayo to Ayacucho Peru.
As the bus leaves Huancayo, Joe Rogan informs the contestant that his only task is to sit in the window seat above the back right tire. The only rule is that he must look out the window and down during the whole trip. No grabbing yellow flags or walking on top of the bus, just sitting and watching. Sounds easy right?? Until the mountains close in and suddenly the bus is on a 800 foot ledge, maneuvering a switchback that hangs the back right tire over said ledge, sending little rocks tumbling downward. Like a mini preview.
From personal experience, I know that the Molina Express would be a great Fear Factor. Of course a 13 hour bus ride would require a lot of dramatic overediting, but that`s what the guys at F.F. are used to. My adventure on the Bus of Death lacked an annoying taunting Joe Rogan and sadly also lacked a cash prize at the end, but there was no lack of fear. The fright began when I sat down and the nice lady next to me explained that 2 days prior, a bus from the same company had slid off a ledge and roled over twice before barely catching itself on the last flat, just before a nice 50 meter plunge into the river below. 6 Dead, many injured. This is the point where Joe Rogan yells in your ear "SIX DEATHS!!...12 HOURS OF PRECARIOUS SWITCHBACKS TO GO!!". But there`s more...the crashed bus didn`t only belong to the same bus company as the one we were riding, but was following the exact same route!! This is when Joe starts talking to the other contestants about whether or not I`ll make it through.
For me, this was when I started calculating odds. If a Molina Bus chrashed and burned 2 days earlier, the odds were low of it happening again....right??? Unless...Unless Molina consistantly hires incompetent drivers. It`s an ugly game your mind plays at this stage in the show. A survivor from the crashed bus was sitting nearby. I congratulated him on his bravery for taking the same bus 2 days later, and secretely hoped he didn`t have some sort of bad-bus mojo going on. The level of tension on the bus took a cattle-prod to the ass when the bus we were on, passed the wreckage of the bus we would have been on if we had left our previous destination 2 days earlier. 48 hours less in Iquitos, Guayaquil or Huaraz. Curtains.
I normally would have admired the river at the bottom of the canyon for it`s powerful churning chocolatey color. It looked like the Colorado in those rafting pictures. But from above the back right tire of the Molina Express I could only see Chocolatey Demise. Like the fate of Augustus Gloop, but without the suction pipe salvation or the Umpa Lumpas to pull me out. A Homicidal Willie Wonka River on Steriods. I really thought I might die, several times.
Aside from being cut into the side of a treacherous ledge, the road was in what we`ll call off-season condition. This road was lower maintenance than even the best girlfriend could ever hope to be. On two different occasions, all the passangers had to get off the bus because the road was so bad, our added weight would have sent the bus toppling over and down the ravine. The brave driver inched across, escape routes racing through his mind. On one such "everyone off" occasion we had to shovel dirt from a recent landslide to level out the road to a passable grade. The Peruvians were amazed that an American could shovel dirt. "Muy bien Gringo!! Chambeaste!!". A lady told me that once she was stuck like that for 2 days while the men fixed the road. Improv Road Crew.
Two Australians were on the bus as well. At one such scary moment, they decided that their lives were worth the 100 km walk to Ayacucho. They wanted off, and I`m sure if there hadn`t been such a language barrier, they would have convinced the driver to leave them there on that ravine ledge. Cue Joe Rogan, "SIX HOURS LEFT AUSSIES!! HANG IN THERE, THE ROAD GETS WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER!!". After some coaxing, they reluctantly got back into the bus, but they were traumatized. When I ran into them again in Cuzco, I found out that instead of taking another backroad bus from Ayacucho to Cuzco, they had added another 2 days and the price of a flight to their trip. In order to avoid another Death Bus experience, they had backtracked to Lima on a nice, paved highway and flown to Cuzco. I`m not kidding, Fear WAS a Factor.
We threw rocks into the deep spots of river crossings and waited for a backhoe to make a washed-out switchback drivable again. A smart Ayacucho local would sell T shirts on the bus: "I Survived Molina Express, Huancayo to Ayachucho -- Rainy Season ´06". Fortunately, we didn`t slide off any ledges, and there were no deaths. It`s not that I didn`t enjoy the Molina Express. It was exciting. It was just a little more adventure than I had bargained for. If they had advertised it as a "4 Wheeling Passanger-Bus Adventure Tour", I probably would have payed a few extra bucks for the kicks. And of course if Joe Rogan had dangled $50,000 in front of my face, I would have done the ride duct-taped to the outter ledge side of the bus, soaked in cow`s blood, while chewing dirty rats for 13 hours. You know how many more bus rides $50,000 will buy...how long you can travel on that kind of cash??? Thank you Joe Rogan.
(for more info on these awesome bus rides, check my buddy Tom`s blog... www.botrash.com )
(check out a few other pictures of the Death Bus ride.)
Powered by Castpost
Thursday, April 06, 2006
MaPi postcard shot
I met a Swedish packpacker (Clemencia) and we hiked up to MaPi together. Her digital camera broke after 4 shots of the Llamas, so being the gentleman I am, I offered for her to take pictures with my digital since I`ve provided myself the luxury of two cameras. Check out some of the photos she took.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/82872306@N00/sets/72057594100533864/
ps. we`re traveling together to lake Titicaca and into Bolivia...she`s chipper like a swede should be.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/82872306@N00/sets/72057594100533864/
ps. we`re traveling together to lake Titicaca and into Bolivia...she`s chipper like a swede should be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)