| India is an exceptionally beepy place |
[Aug. 14th, 2008|12:06 am] |
India is an exceptionally beepy place. All the roads in Chennai are packed full of vehicles zooming about in seemingly well organized chaos, tooting for time to time From what I can tell there are four types of motor vehicles: motorcycle, three wheeled moto taxis, and full sized busses. The larger two appear to have had their normal horns removed and replaced with little beepy horns. I believe this was done purposefully.
Automotive horns, or at least as we know them in the States, are auditory behemoths that are meant to make a statement about how important whatever it is you are honking about, accuse someone of being an idiot, to show surprise, or just to be a jack-ass. Big horns only piss the world off with the noise they make, and irritate the horn using driver more by reinforcing angry with angry sounds… in s sort of negative feed-back of automobile angst .
But little beepy horns are different. They just say ‘Hey!’ in a rather meek voice to the cars around you, much in the way that birds chirp at one another in a flock to coordinate movement. The result is a mass of motorcycle swarming around cars swarming around buses, all beeping excitedly in a simple one word language. Planning to pass a car? ‘Beeeep!’ Get cut off? ‘Beep!’ Someone straying to close to your vehicle? ’Beep!’ Traffic stopped? ‘Beep beep beep! And because the horns are non-conformational, no one seems to get the least bit upset about it.
Of course, this all seems grand for an outsider’s perspective. The reality is that road accident are one of the major causes of deaths in young men. And in India, where the bulk of traffic (is many cities) is two wheeled and motorized, the toll is particularly high. And the sign I saw earlier today which states “Driving fast thrills but kills” convinces me to check my sped about as much as the anti-tobacco add “Smoking is for Adults” convinces teenagers to wait until they are 18. |
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| Ants Like Me |
[Aug. 10th, 2008|11:10 am] |
Where as mosquitoes here have a casual disregard for me, the ants seem to find me irresistible.
We arrived at lovely guesthouse in Vellore late. My boss and I ate a quick dinner that was laid out for us and headed our separate ways to sleep. While brushing my teeth and casually inspecting my bed, I noticed a tiny insect… an India Ant I was latter told, trekking across the vast world that was my pillow. I brushed her aside, only to discover another. Interested, I moved the pillow and found a few more milling about, to which I turned over the entire pillow and found a score of the tiny creatures walking this way and that. I quickly finished brushing my teeth, and provided to remove the sheets. More of the little buggers where beneath the covers, but the mass of the critters where around the pillow, seemingly enthralled by it.
Luckily, the room had two beds (I assume for just this sort of happenings), which I inspected thoroughly and only found one ant. They seemed to be less interested in this bed, and this pillow, so I deemed it habitable. After dispatching the creature, I made myself comfortable and prepared to sleep.
Now, my internal clock had been off since arriving. The day before I went to bed a 2 am after watching a parade of delightful movie (one being a kung-fu movie about amazons). I was set to wake up at 10am and explore the streets of Chennai, but instead woke up at 3:30 PM to a call from the driver who was taking me to Vellore… I had slept 13 hours and managed to miss our 3 PM meeting time. The poor man had been parked outside since 2:30… I had apparently I slept through his first call to my room and ringing my doorbell. Therefore, tonight I decided to set my internal clock straight by working till midnight and going to bed, while setting several alarms to wake myself.
The nights in the guesthouse were lovely. Birds and crickets chirped outside the window, and geckos slithered about the ceiling. I settled down for a nice rest, but the jet lag would not let me sleep. I lay in bed restlessly, scratching a small itch here, and itch there. After 4 hours of restlessly laying in bed, the itches began to accumulate, and it dawned on me that something was wrong. At first, I equated it with the half dozen mosquito bites I had accumulated in the last two days, but decided to investigate my room for mosquitoes, just to be safe. I could find none, but did find many very small black and brown pebbles stuck to my skin. After much squinting, these turned out to be the tiny heads of ants. Next to me, the adjacent bed had accumulated five times the number of ants during my hours of tossing a turning as were there before.
There was no malice in their action, which brings me some comfort. Apparently some of the ants were exploring the room, had wandered on to my bed, where they were rolled over during my tossing and turning. My scratching had removed all but there strong little mandibles. Their bites were not enough to hurt, just to cause slow growing itchy red lumps.
So, at 5 am, I removed the blankets, pillows, and covers from both beds, and spent the next 2 hours waiting for my alarm to go off; staring at the ceiling fan as the world around me slowly got lighter and my insect bites grew larger and itchier. Covered in a rash or red bug bites, and with less sleep than before, I embarked on my first day of work in India. |
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| Whats in a dream |
[Aug. 9th, 2008|09:16 am] |
Last night I had a dream that I stabled notes to my knee caps because I did not want to for what was written on them, and today Ace of Base’s hit song ‘All that she wants’ was playing on a loop in the lobby of the fancy hotel in Lucknow during checking in.
Coincidence? Very Doubtful. But what does it mean?
…
Now, I’ve been watching the opening march to the Olympics for a while now. It is quite mesmerizing. All that is happening is each country’s officials or athletes are marching by, and that is it. Sadly, not one country’s group is dressed like pirates. There is always 2012 I suppose.
But it has taught me one thing: the African Continent has style. From Swaziland to Tunisia their outfits are the most colorful and the most unique, sporting a variety of clothing from robes, to military outfits, to altered suits, to combinations of everything above. The continent has my kudos.
And, judging by the crowd’s reaction when a nation enters, the four most popular countries (in order of cheer exuberance) are China, Australia, North Korea, and Germany. |
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| A bit about mosquitos |
[Aug. 8th, 2008|06:15 pm] |
I am generally dissatisfied with the mosquitoes here. It is not the numbers that bothers me, in comparison to the intolerable swarms I’ve encountered else were, even in my home state, India has been fairly mosquito free. However, the ones I have encountered are big, lumbering, and exceptionally apathetic.
Mind you, I hate all blood-sucking insects, and I reserve a special hatred for mosquitoes. I have spent many sleepless nights around the campfire defending myself from their relentless assaults, and many more dodging their attacks while transversing forests and jungles. But I am forced to respect them to some extent.
They are undeniable marvels of miniscule biological engineering, mini machines designed by eons of evolution to track blooded creatures. Small, sleek, and efficient, with tiny sensors honed to detect the carbon dioxide we exhale and oils that evaporate off our skin. They are, until I met these mosquitoes, truly tenacious and stubborn; qualities that I rather admire. If we could only convince the little insects to inject us with vaccines, HIV medication, or cancer curing drugs while they steal a sip of blood (instead of the plagues of man-kind) the world would sing their praises and gladly give up a drop or two to keep their order thriving.
However, these mosquitoes do no hold any of the few qualities I respect. They are on the portly side, so much so that they squish a bit when you smack them, even before they have had a meal. But it is their casual disregard for humanity I did like the most. While sitting in the airport in Deli, I was passed by no fewer than 70 mosquitoes, all which were casually journeying on one direction or another, none of who even seemed distracted by an exhausted, sweaty traveler who was momentarily too weak to defend himself. A few winded mosquitoes paused on the chairs and tables around me to rest before continuing off in another direction, much like a large man stopping to pant after walking up a flight of stairs in the summer. Perhaps the sheer number of people mean they are already gorged, or that the flame-retardants which soaked their way from the airliner seats into your skin during flights act as a repellent. Whatever the reason, I took the opportunity to swat as many of the little buggers a possible while silently cursing the rest of humanity for not being nearly as to the task of mosquito eradication. After all, if everyone else was as dedicated a mosquito smacker as I, they world would be a much less itchy place.
Since this, I have come to loath another type of mosquito, a sub-species that seems to live exclusively off of blood extracted directly from toes. Now granted that India is a society that largely wears long skirts or long pants and saddles, so a disproportionate amount of mosquito bites are bound to be aimed at the feet compared to shorts/skits wearing societies. This does not account, however, for the fact that every damn bite I have gotten took place on a toe. The only explanation that seem reasonable to me is that these animals are filled with a strange malice toward the species that they are dependent on, and express this by biting them on a place that is particularly sensitive, swells in the heat, and becomes a bit tender after days of walking.
I hate them, and hope they choke to death on my foot-blood.
But my experience with the mosquitoes has, so far, been nothing compared with my run in with the ants. |
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| Regarding general disappointment with the state of a Central European airport |
[Aug. 3rd, 2008|12:22 am] |
I am sitting in the Vienna airport, and the lack of order, efficiency, and aesthetic appeal is astounding.
I suppose I had high hopes. Austria was, after all, the center of a grand empire that harbored a dynastic family that very nearly conquered Europe. To me, it serves to reason that the main airport in the country should be a testament to their glorious past. Is a tile mosaic commemorating the siege of Vienna, the decisive battle that stopped the Ottoman expansion into Europe, too much to ask? Or perhaps I some sort of Baroque or early renascence mock-classical era architecture, intertwining effortlessly with the efficiency one comes to expect from a Germanic people. All I wanted was past grandeur naturally transferred into a clean, well-organized, efficient air port, standing to a testament to all the forward thinking stereotypes portrayed by Liberals in the States. Boy howdy was I wrong.
I love security checkpoints in airports. It gives you a chance to stop and examine the people around you, glance at people’s passports, and, if you are lucky, station yourself behind an X-ray machines a to see what is inside people luggage. (Consequentially, you’d be surprised on how many people have hair dryers in their packs – thank you very much gender equality). And once you are past the security check, you are free to rush to your gate or meander about in the duty free shops to eye useless crap and the people who take duty free useless crap seriously. I could see my self leaving the world of academia and happily settling down in to a quiet position as an airport X-ray operator, content in scanning packages, watching people impatiently stand in lines, looking at passports, and wandering off on breaks to ogle the cigars in the tobacco shop – happy for the rest of my natural life (which would likely be significantly shortened due to the exposure to radiation).
But I digress.
This airport does not have the standard two security point system (one international one national). Oh no. Or even the less common entrance scan and terminal scan. It has a security point at about every gate. Every gate. Within the little area I am sitting is 10 gates, 10 X-ray machines, and a lot of workers standing about doing nothing. The inefficiency of it kills me after blowing through the mechanical works that is the Dulles security system. Lets no even consider the excess radiation admitted by, what I assume are inferiorly shielded long wavelength scanning equipment.
20% of the gates are crammed with people lining up to get pumped through the system, but 80% of the security gates are empty. The bored employees whose gate do not have a flight at this time are milling about, walking in and out of the security points with armloads of Red Bull and assorted carbonated beverages, causing the metal detectors to happily beep with every pass as a constant reminder to the lack security and ridiculous system setup.
I’d say it is character rating is on par with the national airport in San Jose… maybe. If there were a drinking fountain or two, places to sit for the crowds waiting for their flight in 5 hours, internet (even that pay per minute coffee house shit I loath buying), or a power outlet to recharge my computer, I would find it tolerable. The only real gem in the airport in the glass cube designated for smoking. Which, oddly enough, is located next to the café where I am now situated which is full of smokers choosing not to take part in this glass-cube-smoking scheme. Not that I blame them; I find the cube rather scary, and if I where in their perdicement I would rather share my carbon monoxide than be locked away with it in an oversize aquarium.
I suppose my expectations we misplaced. After all the Austro-Hungarian empire came to a close with the finale of World War I, and really the Hapsburgs’ bid for European domination ended in the 16th century. Both of which occurred well before the commercialization of air flight, let alone the construction of this airport. So , sadly, as my $8 café latte (damn you GWB for destroying the exchange rate and dooming caffeine deprived travels to) is near empty, and my computer’s battery is bottoming out, I am forced to leave my comfortable café stall and return to my silent vigil sitting on the abandoned table near my gate thaw my plane will depart from in 4 hours. Hopefully I will find Delhi’s airport more in tune with my discerning taste |
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| Cali Trip Part 1 |
[Feb. 4th, 2008|08:42 pm] |
Well, I’m back in school after 6 moths in Peru and a month bumming around California. Its nice to be back workin’ and schoolin’ again, after the trip I’m all traveled out for a while. I’d formally like to thank Tony, Megan, Ari, The Parents, Matt, Kyle, Ari, Josh, and John for giving me a place to crash on the trip.
More or less the trip started with me arriving in San Francisco and waiting at Meghan’s place (I finally got to REALLY meet her girlfriend… I approve) for Anjie to arrive. She did, at 1 am, and I went to pick her up at the airport. After driving around for an 10 minutes trying to find her, I discovered that I was at the wrong air for, SFO instead of OAK. 30 minute later Anjie and I were headed back to Meghan’s apartment to sleep. Not a very good start to things, but at least the next morning we got a lovely walk along the beach.
We headed up to Sonora for Xmas. Anjie held up very well to meeting The Family, and The Family were very well behaved. Except for one incidence involving a statue and a mask, for which my mother should be ashamed of. And Josh for egging her on. As always, it was good to see The Extended Family, and unlike the Mother, they were all super nice to Anjie. I had a blast, and so did Anjie… here she is decorating The Parents Xmas tree and next to the snow cat we constructed.
After Xmas was over, The Parents, Anjie, and I headed down to San Francisco where Matt was kind enough to set us up with cut rate rooms in the lovely San Remo hotel in North Beach. We wandered about the city with The Parents, museum a bit, and spent the evenings playing Spite-and-Malice. But the highlight for me, happened when we ran across the Happy Happy Happy man in China town.
A real turtle on a fake turtle
Anjie makes some new friends
Matt hard at work
We had planned to spend a few days with Kyle and Ryan in Santa Cruz, but Kyle had an unexpected emergency, so Anjie and I had to change our plans rather quickly. Luck was on out side, Matt gave us another night at his hotel and I managed to find us a sot in a hostel beneath a lighthouse on the coast. We spent the next two days exploring my old stomping grounds: the coast between San Francisco and Santa Cruz. We wandered on the beaches and in forests, and I re-introduced Anjie to salamanders and banana slugs.
Our light house hostel
Anjie and her first impression of a newt
The graffiti on the bathroom wall a good ol’ Pergalessi’s
Sunset over Capatola... it is tough to see, but Anjie is chasing birds.
On the 1st I dropped Anjie of early in the morning at SFO for her trip back to China. After that the trip got a little weird… |
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| Christ I love Cali |
[Dec. 20th, 2007|03:33 pm] |
Well, I’m back in the US after 6 months. First impression… well… there is Elvis impersonator directly across for me. Need I say more? Maybe a little more. They had the cutest little beagle sniffing bags for drugs. It was just plain lovable with shinny little eyes and waggley little tail. I think the idea with the cute little dope smeller was to dazzle felons with pure unbridled snuggle adorableness. So that if they are caught, they would not dare put up a fight inform of such a precious little creature.
My love for the Bay Area has been knocked into high gear after only12 hours back. The air is clean, the cities are full of trees, and there a mix of every type of people wandering about happily interacting with each other. I always liked the Bay, but seeing it again after being in Peru and Baltimore, it just seems like a paradise.
All in all, I’d say I gave Peru a good go. I took a total of 6 trips outside of Lima, covering the coast the mountains and the jungle… in fact according to William the only part I really missed was the far north beaches and forests by the Ecuadorian boarder. I suppose I need to start chronicling these, but until that time, I’ve put together a map sketching out where I visited.
And I just got a part time job with the HiB initiative until I graduate.
http://www.hibaction.org/ |
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| Amazon Part 3 – Piranhas are tastey |
[Dec. 15th, 2007|10:29 am] |
Now, I’m done several type of fishing in my life, and they all take at least a bit of skill. Piranha fishing is the exception. A fishing pole for piranha fishing is nothing more than a stick, a string, and a hook. It turned out to be simple: put a little bit of chicken on a hook, toss it in the water, and jerk the pole before the fish steel the meat. And they steal it fast, the meat is gone in about 5 seconds if just left in the water. Our guide took us out side a local fishing camp to catch piranhas. The locals toss the remains of their catfish and pike into the rivers, so piranha love to hang out by the camps and act as natural garbage disposals. Anjie seems to have way with carnivorous fish, catching 5 piranhas in total… more than the rest of us combined. They were by no means terrifying animas, as the picture below attests, but I still would not like them nibbling on me. No one minded that she caught all the fish since she shared them at dinner.
A fair time of the trip was simply traveling up and down the river to spots were we would hike or look for birds. I think I enjoyed bobbing along the river an observing the weird twisted trees and water plants more than anything (except the frogs of course).
Viewing the beauty of nature was punctuated with threatening to push Anjie into the river.
The there were the sunsets over the river…
At night, Anjie and I spent most of out time playing dominos with a set of complex rules we made up. Anjie claimed that she was naturally superior at dominos because she is Chinese, but her theory was laid to rest after three nights of getting her ass whooped. Here is Anjie fretting over her inferiority at dominos
And here is the moon light though the trees.
The final day we went off to swim in the Amazon. Despite the brown water, camions, piranhas, and warnings about electric eels I was super excited… besides, when is the next time I would get the chance? I was surprised to find that I was the only person willing to swim. Undeterred by the fear of the others I dove right in. My plan was to try to convince Anjie with verbal wizardry to join me. I assumed it would take quite a bit… but she pleasantly surprised me by jumping in with no convincing on my part. With Anjie as a brave example, the rest of out group hesitantly got in and we al had a dandy time.
Latter that day we said good by to our new friends and headed back to civilization. The entire way back we were chased by a storm, which made me think the jungle was sad and trying to stop us from leaving. I was sad too.
Saying goodbye
The storm chasing us back to Iquitos
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| Amazon Part 2 |
[Dec. 11th, 2007|12:18 am] |
Birds were every where night and day. Chirping, squawking, catching fish, and just kind of hanging out. None of them seemed to care a tiny bit about people being around. The notable exception was the Horned Screamer, which would fly off in flocks the instant it saw us. Interesting fact: the name ‘horned screamer’ comes from tow facts, it has two feathery horns and makes a screaming sound. The birds preferred to stay close to the river where there is an ample supply of bugs and fish, which made spotting them easy and mosquito free.
Here is Anjie’s favorite bird, which she dubbed an ‘Anjie Bird’ because she claims it bore a resemblance to her. I don’t see it.
Mammals were a bit harder to spot. They had a tendency to be deep in the dark forest high in trees, making them hard to see and near impossible to photograph. But we managed to see a fair number of different types of adorable monkeys and sloths. The sloths were the best, since they wore to sluggish to get away. My favorite here is the sloth.. we watched it for about 10 minute while it… very… slowly… scratched… its… head.
We almost missed these bats who where just hanging out on a tree next to the river during the day. They are harder to see in real life, I had to turn up the contrast to get the little bastards to stand out.
The toughest to spot were the dolphins, but we managed to see both the grey and the pink types. Getting a picture was even harder, a hump was the best I could get out of 30 shots.
Then there were the frogs. I’ve been a sucker for since I was a kid, and the Amazon is a cyclone of frogs. You could hear the chirping in the trees and reeds day and night. Went eh boat pushed through water lilies you could see frogs jumping into the water or onto a safer lily. I spent a large time of the boat trips peering over the edge of the canoe, lunging at every frog I saw. This required a keen eye, since there were just as many grasshoppers and awful looking spiders diving out of the way of the boat that I sure a hell did not want to grab. One of the following is not a frog; see if you can tell which one!
The highlight of the frog catching was when I passed a freshly caught frog to Anjie. It was sealed completely in her hands, but she wanted to get a good look at it. When she opened up her hands a little and put her eye right up to the hole, the frog seized the moment, and jumped directly onto her glasses. Needless to say, Anjie screamed and I laughed, and the frog jumped in the water.
One night, we went night hunting for baby caimans. It was less hunting and more catching, rubbing its scaly little tummy, and releasing it.
The next day came the piranhas…
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| Amazon Part 1 |
[Dec. 8th, 2007|04:14 pm] |
My trip to the Amazon with Anjie was fuck awesome, better in every way than I expected. We arrived in Iquitos, found the agency we were traveling with, and an hour latter we boarded a little speed boat with and Australian (Keith) and an Englishwoman (Emily) headed to our camp 2 /12 hours up the Amazon, then up a little tributary. My first Impression of the Amazon was that it was big. Very very big. It is tough to tell whether you are on a lake or a river since the river is so wide, and the frequent slow bend of the river give the illusion that the river ends a few miles ahead.
The Amazon is flooding this time of the year. It is raining and snowing like mad in the Andes, so the main rivers are rushing with river. So much so that the water in the little tributaries that are fed only by jungle rain were running up hill. So we had the interesting experience of leaving the expanses of the Amazon and going with the current up a little river to our lodge. The water also pushed millions of water lilies from the Amazon up the little river, clogging the rivers in a mat of vegetation. It gave me the distinct feeling that we were boating our way across a lush clearing, rather than a river. Along with the lilies came the occasional piece or garbage from the down stream villages. I kept referring to the errant Coca Cola bottles we would frequently see as ‘bottle fish’. Anjie was not amused the first time I pointed out a bottle fish, let alone the 50th time.
Anjie Paddling though a Sea of Lilies
Them’s all lilies under those roots.
We and out Austro-Anglo companions were all pleasantly surprised with the lodge. I sort dock lead to a series of huts and walkways. Everything was raised 6 feet off the ground to avoid being drowned in the rainy season. The food was fantastic. The one complaint I read about the lodge in online reviews was the food. Apparently they took the criticism to hear because the food was better than the restaurants I frequent in Lima. And a lot of the supplies were purchased from the little fishing communities, so the locals liked the lodge and it helped them out. There was not electricity in the common room of out little huts, but who needs electricity when you have a hammock and the colony of weaver birds to listen to?
Dock
Inside the main lodge
Me and my hammock
Weaverbirds… which are the mocking birds of the Amazon. They squawked and twittered out every bird sound imaginable from sunrise to sunset.
We went for out first nature walk behind the lodge, and in 30 steps we were in primary forest. The trees were very very tall. The guide took us though the basic, pointing out bugs and plants… mostly I think to prepare us for future hikes so were would be past the “what is that ant” sort of questions. It rained heavily the day before, so we were assaulted by mosquitoes. Luckily Anjie and I had Deet to hose ourselves down with, and the pungent odor of the Australian to distract the insects with a keener sense of smell. The deet did not, however, stop what was probably an ant from biting my inner thigh twice and my finger once before I killed the little shit head. I’ve been bitten by lots of people and animals in my day, but this was the worst I had ever felt. The bite hurt for 3 days, which really put the tiny pin prinks of mosquitoes into context.
Walking in the forest, Emily is fending off mosquitoes.
Tall trees
Termite nest at the cross section of 4 trees.
Termites build covered tunnels with their feces and saliva to protect themselves from the constant rain and predators. I envy them.
And that was just the first day…
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| Ah the biased news |
[Dec. 3rd, 2007|12:31 pm] |
I read three news websites religiously: CNN, BBC, and Aljazeera. The three typically have the same facts in the articles, but often the content of the article skew the reader one way or the other. CNN typically skews their stories towards “the U.S.A. new does wrong” bias, BBC skews the news towards “the U.S.A. messes things up sometimes, but let’s ignore the fact that Brittan Is helping them out, ‘cause Brittan is great”, and Aljazeera is usually good at just laying out the facts with no crap attached. However in in-depth analysis of situations BBC does a damn good job of looking at all sides of the field. Aljazeera is much more critical of the West (mostly in a reasonable way, but sometimes unfairly). CNN’s analysis is almost always unenlightening dribble.
What brought this up in my mind was the vote in Venezuela. I have been following news about the Venezuelan constitutional reform vote pretty closely. Over the past few weeks the article shave been getting more and more biased in some news sources, which irritates the hell out of me. I think the whole business was a power grab for Chavez, and I honestly I think he is an egocentric nutball jackass, but I don’t want the news to state this! I expect media outlets to provide me the facts and let me decide who is a wacko and who is not.
Just for fun, here is a list of the headlines for the results of the Venezuelan vote. I have listed the titles in order of bias: unbiased on the top to really fucking biased on the bottom. It is kind of fun to read the spectrum…
Aljazeera “Chavez loses constitution vote”
China Daily “Venezuelan president admits defeat in referendum”
San Francisco Chronically “Big Loss for Hugo Chavez”
BBC “Chavez defeated over reform vote”
Fox News “Chavez Defeated”
CNN “Voters narrowly foil Chavez's plans”
My favorite is the last, which makes me picture Chavez, sitting behind a wrought iron desk in his presidential palace twisting the tips of his oversized moustache and hiding half his face behind his cape while manically laughing as he planned his constitutional reforms, only to be defeated by at the last minute by a heroic 51% of the voters, all of whom where clad in shinning armor made of pure democracy. |
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| Top three reasons I will never root for Peru’s futbol team. |
[Nov. 21st, 2007|12:09 am] |
I had a few simple goals to complete while in Peru. Firstly, I wanted to see Machu Picchu. Done and done with Kelly and John. 2ndly… I wanted to get to the Amazon rain forest. My trip there has been in the planning stages for months, now Anjie and I are flying out there on Thursday. So as good as done.
My final goal was to see a futbol game, and honest to god on, not the bullshit soccer we have back home. I mean, who loves futbol more than South Americans? No one, as far as I know. Last weekend an opportunity dropped in my lap. My friendly French housemate told me about the Peru vs. Brazil elimination for the 2010 world cup and a friend emailed me prices, and locations near my appartment to pick them up. It was meant to be.
I sauntered down to Metro (kinds like a fancy Peruvian Safeway + Longs) to buy the tickets for me an 4 friends, and was happy to fine a rather short, orderly line. There were 45 people in front of me, which is really not that many people. Except in Peru. After 5 minutes in the line it became cruelly obvious that this was going to be a long, painful, process.
I read an influenza article for my epidemiology of infectious diseases class 3 times. I watched a man sweep the dust out of the cracks in the side walk. I became intimate with the games on my cell phone. I stared at the gloom, and for the first time was happy that the dark angry clouds that hover over Lima never rain when they are dark and angry. I watched a family of 6 (daughter, son, father, mother, aunt, uncle) each buy 6 tickets and proceed to scalp a few. I saw maid wait in line for their employers while they went for a jog. I watched the man sweep cracks in the sidewalk, which had mysteriously refilled with dust. I watched numerous people with less fortitude than I give up and walk away from the line.
Three hours latter I had my tickets. That is an average of 4 minutes per person. What makes this particularly amazing that they had a computer system, two people manning the stupid ticket booth, and automated printing system. And the people were working continually for the entire time. I’m still confused on how the time disappeared.
Sunday was the big day. We arrived in the stadium in a festive mood, and Danny and I placed a fair bet on the game. 10 to 1 odds. If Peru won, Danny would get 80 soles (the price of the ticket, actually). If Brazil won, I get 8 soles. After a bit of confusion discovered that to get to our seats we had to go through the east gate, which happened to be at the end of a line ¼ of a mile long. From out side the stadium we could hear the game begin. Then things started to go bad. Angry, angry, angry Peruvians families were walking way from the stadium explaining that the East gates were shut and they were not letting anyone in. The long line turned into a storm surge of 500 people rushing at the gates with futbol driven furry. Police on horse back charged to reinforce their besieged brothers at he gate and to try to calm the irate mob. By chance, I over heard a man tell his friend that the west gate was still open. Hearing this, we ran out asses off to get to it, as reinforcement riot police marched past us to try to quell the angry mob of families.
We found the west gates still open, and joined a small group of people (20 or so) trying to talk our way though the gate. The details of what had happen slowly began to become clear. Apparently some A LOT of counterfeit tickets had been sold, but only for the East stadium seat. The staff had closed the East because it was already full beyond capacity with people. 15 police (I counted) showed up to try to convince us to leave, just as I heard yelling from behind. Another group of police had shut the outer gate (which was toped with razor wire). Apparently the mob we had snuck away from a few minutes earlier had caught up to us, and the police had wisely decided to shut them out than deal with a stampede of pissed Peruvians. But that left us trapped - a huge locked gate behind us, and a few cops and ticket takers in front of us.
Our Friendly Riot Police
Me, enjoying the situation immensely
The mood changed quickly. A ‘we got em!’ feeling came of me and my new found comrades… they couldn’t let us out with out letting the mob in! Besides, it was clear to the cops that the fifteen of us (our numbers had dwindled a bit) were not going to leave (why should we? At least I could hear the game), were not going to get violet (no excuse to drag us away), and that the administration was not going to come down to deal with the situation. After a few more minutes, they gave in and our little band triumphantly entered the stadium., just as half time started.
Daniel and Jason, getting cheering for our adopted country
Me and Gwen
We sat down in a line in the stairs. The police and fire fighters were not happy about it. However, none of them wanted to spend the game arguing with us, so they decided to leave us alone. The rest of the game was great. Brazil was obviously better, faster, stronger, and had already made a goal before we were through the gate. But Peru was filled with a crazy desperation and managed to make a goal and hold the Brazilians back… which was enough to make everyone happy as shit.
Flares after Peru’s goal
It was a tie game in the end, so Daniel and my bet broke even. My 3 hour time in the line came to nothing, since we ended up in a stair way, and we discovered riot police are manageable with a little staying power. And everyone had a lovely day. Anjie arrives tomorrow! This is where I am taking her… http://www.muyuna.com/ |
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| I like the graffit |
[Nov. 6th, 2007|09:14 pm] |
Every day, my life is made slightly happier by the graffiti that angsty teenagers deface the walls surrounding my apartment with. I took a walk the other day (sunny day, a rarity here) to chronically the best street art.
My favorite, by far, is the one below. I’m not sure what “kokuh” means, but it brightens my day when I walk past it. I have an on going debate in my head about if it is a bean, or a flea, a pickle, or maybe a prickly pear. What ever it is, it has cowboy boots. And that makes it OK.
My second favorite follows. I’d like to think that the words “Grandpa monster” refers to the idea that Dracula was the first fiend to catch a mass audience. The original 1931 movie, although a bit campy by today’s standards, launched the horror genera of cinema. The popularity, and financial success, of the movie gave birth the other classic mosters of the golden age of cinema, Frankenstein, The Mummy, The Wolf Man, The Invisible Man, and, latter, the Abbot an Costello movies in which the comedian meet these monster. These, in turn, have inspired generations of horror, suspense, and slasher movies to this very day, in essence making Dracula the grandfather of monsters. However, since the graffiti was probably painted by a rich, bored Peruvian teenager, my analysis of the situation may be slightly off base.
Still, there us an additional random assortment of bunnies, skulls, and fat stick figures.
Finally, this is my new snowman. I (won/stole?) him at a party. I’m looking for a good name for him, maybe ‘Hacksaw’.
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| Kelly John Peru Trip |
[Oct. 23rd, 2007|03:19 pm] |
John and Kelly arrived two Wednesdays ago. I gave them a brief tour of where I live, because there is very little to see in Lima, and flew off to Cusco. Kelly found us a hell of a hostel nestled in the hills, and we settled on in. The view was fantastic.
Altitude sickness kicked. We were exhausted from walking up one flight of stairs, and remedied the illness with tons of coca tea. Kelly and I took the opportunity to try to balance spoons on out noses. The altitude as was against us, and we failed.
Cusco is absolutely gorgeous at night. We laid back and ate in a balcony restaurant and watched people walk by and enjoyed the free pisco sours.
The next day I gave John and Kelly a brief tour of Cusco. The lack of oxygen kept us wandering a cruelly slow rate. John and I stopped for a picture with a new friend... the terrifying male manikin that dominates the store fronts of Peru. Then I took them to a local market to try one of my favorite fruit, which they hated, and to see where the tasty food we had been eating originated from.
We bought a couple of bottles of wine and sat back to watch the sunset, chat with Europeans, and play a lot of Shithead. We met a friendly couple, and the girl of the couple was from Andorra. ANDORA! That dinky little country of 80,000 people between France and Spain. What is the likely hood? Equally unlikely, an Oregonian staying at the hostel works with good old Anthony in Bend. What a small fucking world full of Andorrans and Bendonians
We arrived in Aguas Calientes, at the base of Machu Pichu, after a long train ride. I am not quite sure what I was expecting of Aguas Calientes, maybe a little jungle town out of the ways of the world. What we found was a town with more restaurants and shops than people. The median age of the people there was probably 40… but about 50% of the people were 60+ year old white tourists and 40% where Peruvian school kids on a holiday to there most famous national park. What can you expect for a $200 price tag (for gringos, more like $40 for the Peruvian kids) for entrance travel and room? By the time this picture was taken my tummy was turning knots, a prelude of the fun to come.
For two days I was feeling boated and gassy. After dinner I barfed. A very satisfying vomit, and I hoped that would be the end of the subject of sickness. But no! What ever microbe I got (I have my theories about the identity) I was in for a hell of a night. I spend the entire night shitting hot liquid while simultaneously vomiting into the bathtub. Good thing they were next to each other. John and Kelly left for Machu Pichu at 5 am. I could not feel my arms at this time, and elected to continue vomiting for the next 3 hours rather than see the splendor of a New Wonder of the World. But I would be damned if I missed it all together! I finally managed to crawl to the bus stop at noon, and explored the mountain top 100 feet at a time, crawling in to shady patches behind rocks to fight stomach cramps and hot flashes of sweat.
I ran into John and Kelly. Kelly, the persistent trooper that she is, was having some (less severe) tummy troubles of her own, but managed to cowboy through the day. I am being eaten alive by sand flies in this picture.
On the way back I made a friend. According to John this cat found our room in the middle of the night, and spent hours watching me sleep through the window.
The next day we bussed to Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca. I was getting over my sickness still, Kelly had a cold and tummy troubles, and John was coming down with both, so we crashed almost instantly. The next day we charted a local boat to Tequile in the middle of the lake. Josh, I sang that Animaniacs song for you. Here is our boat caption.
On the way we stopped by islands made of reeds. According to the shop keep I spoke with, the reeds mats making up the islands are 2 meters thick, while the Lake at this point is 6 meters deep.
Then off to Tequil!
Well it was a long trip. Tourist boats past us constantly and soon we followed the cue of the local passengers and settled back to sleep the trip through.
Taquile was nothing to special, but the views were fantastic and the sunset was amazing.
We found a cozy room in a boarding house, which was my favorite room of the trip. It may very well have been the same house that Hadas stayed; I’ll have to ask her. The bathrooms were particularly interesting. There were not showers or hot water, but I was so stinky by this time I had given up on the idea of being clean. There is no running water on the island, so all water is either pumped or carried out of the lake. The bathrooms had porcelain sinks and toilets, but to flush one had to walk out side to fill up a bucket with lake water from a barrel and dump it down the toilet. The sinks worked on the same principle. Anyways, the host woman made fucking fantastic pamqueques (which is a pancake made with bananas or something).
Left the next day for Arequipa, arriving at 1am. Hugo and Michelle were kind enough to give us a place to crash in Gringo House 2, and to wait up for us. The next day explored Arequipa, which turns out to be the best city I have been to in Peru. The city is bustling and friendly, less polluted than Cusco, and generally less segregated than Lima. I could probably live there for an extended period of time and be very happy. I took John to the square to case pidgins
Latter, we made friends with the pidgins, with the help of 10 packets of pidgin food from the pidgin lady.
We walked down a road to find several men constructing a complex art thing out of sawdust on the stones. John and I discussed the art, and came to the conclusion that they must be planning on burning the sawdust to make an imprint on the stones. We got super excited and watched them build it for an hour before we realize that our idea was, in fact, really stupid. John and I convinced our self that Kelly was mocking us, since it was her job to stop us from latching on to stupid ideas. It turns out Kelly was just as misguided as us, and thought burning the art was reasonable. Anyway, they never burned it, but it did look cool.
We went back to the apartment and enjoyed yet another great sunset.
Looks like mount fuji.
We went off the next day to Colca canyon as a part of a tour group (our first real tour!). Tours suck. Don’t do them. The schedule was drive, stop, picture op, buy stuff, get on bus, repeat. I prefer the confusion and wander of the other trips wee took. Any ways, along the way we paid a few soles for photo ops with llamas.
Kelly loves Llamas
Sean loves Llamas
The canyon was indeed big, but the Grand Canyon is way more impressive. Every few minutes a condor would swoop along the canyon side, but to our disappointment did not make off with any of the many children where were running about. Feel the power of the canyon.
We ended out stay in Arequipa with a good by party for Hugo and Mark, who were heading off to work in Bolivia. We found the best ever cock-rock cover band playing in the Frog Bar. Out Peruvian drinking partners were not nearly as excite d as we were, as we stomped out feet and screamed along with the AD/DC’s classic rock ballad ‘You Shook Me all Night Long’. The next day we flew back to Lima, and celebrated the ending of our trip with expensive Cuban cigars (best I ever had) and cheep, cheep beer. I took care of a $20, 3 year old debt I had to Kelly and Kelly too care of a 3 year old debt of buying me a beer. John and I got freaky with a pole, then Kelly and John emulated the terrible statue in Parque de Amor.
All in all a hell of a trip, and I can’t wait until Ari and Alissa move to Europe so we can have an eastern hemisphere trip. Now, all I have to do is visit the jungle and I will have seen all of Peru! Can’t wait for Anjie to come and explore it with me. |
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| 10-10 Peruvian Oddities |
[Oct. 10th, 2007|02:06 am] |
Have you ever had a moment that is so surreal that you get confused, forget where you are, and struggle to regain your bearings? When something so odd and out of place happens that you swoon, almost collapsing? Peru is full of them.
The first happened when I was at a department store/supermarket called Wongs. It is in San Isidro, the richest part of Lima, which is the richest city in Peru. So this particular Wongs is exceedingly nice. I was scouting for the snack food isle when I heard and odd melody being played on a piano being broadcast throughout the store. I couldn’t quite place the tune, but it was familiar. I was drawn to the source of the music, and rounded a corner to find a pianist in a tux tapping away at a well polished piano. Apparently Wongs is so nice that they have a piano near the center of the, store, right next the fountain and the escalator. Not too odd for a nice store, but something about this particular scenario was all wrong. Then I began to pick out the tune….
Nic…. Nac …. patty…. wak…. give-a-dog-a-bone
Oh god.
Vertigo set in and my head started to spin. The man in the tuxedo chiming away at the keys, surrounded by wealthy Peruvian shoppers, was playing a lounge version of a children’s song. Not that it wasn’t preformed well, but the context of the song was so different from the tape recording I had when I was 4 years old that my skin was crawling. I grasped a shelf to steady myself until the confusion passed. It took a few moments for my neurons to except what I was hearing.
I had a similar experience on a bus. The buses in Lima are a fantastically frantic experience of soot, swerving, and honking. It takes me an hour to get to the Universidad, and at peak daytime hours there is always an assortment of people climbing on and off. All types of vendors jump on boards with snacks and inexpensive goods (you would be surprised how popular the little sewing kits are), beggars tell their elaborate sob stories (but their nice new shoes tell a different one), and performers try their hand at entertainment. Some of the pan handlers are just plain bad, but some are fantastic. I have seen the same group of kids performing on my bus several times, and each time I am astounding by what they can do with a bucket, a tiny guitar, and a tin can.
One day I was riding through Rimac when a young man got on, gave a little “I’m going to sing you a song” speech (in Spanish), and cut straight into “We Are the Champions”. Here it gets hard to explain. It was the lack of annunciation of particular words that struck me first. He wasn’t singing individual words, as one is used to hearing. It was not a Peruvian accent while speaking English. He was not singing words at all, only the sounds.
I strained to hold on to the bar in the bus as my head swam and my brain panted.
Now, I don’t know the entire lyrics to We Are the Champions, but when I sing the words I know, they are distinct. This young man apparently had heard the song so many times that the sounds of Freddie Mercury’s lyrical genius where burnt in his mind. Not too surprising; Peruvians are bonkers for hair metal in general (my kind of people), with Queen being at the top of the list. You can’t go a day with out hearing it. But he was able to sing the sounds perfectly. I still shiver when I think of it. The whole situation left me uneasy, and I did not give him any money as he went around the bus for donations. A fact that I regret to this day.
On top of that the statues continually freak me out. Most are of grumpy old men, and no one seems to know their significance. Other are just plain weird. When I saw this one from afar I could swear it was a monument to wife beating.
To my relief, from a different angle the couple appears to be dancing. But is still bugs me
This one is in the center of “Parque de Amor”… Love Park. If you act me it looks like a paper machete man fondling disproportioned woman. And all of the couples, who range in age from 15 to 60, that visit the park follow the statues example.
John and Kelly are coming tomorrow and it is off to Machu Pichu Fun times! |
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| Baltimore and Back |
[Oct. 2nd, 2007|09:31 pm] |
A few weeks back I went back to the U.S. for an Anjie visit. The first thing that struck me about the U.S. was just how clean and well organized everything is. This is odd, since Baltimore is by no means clean or well-organized in comparison to the rest of the U.S. And I was freaked out by the ethnic diversity. After only living around Peruvians, who are more or less divided by race between rich and poor regions of the city, it was refreshing to visit Hopkins where a there is a good mix of all ethnicities wandering about interacting happily.
It was a fabulously relaxing trip, mostly composted of snuggling, walking about, and coffee shops. Mostly absorbing Anjie-time to get me by until December. The first weekend back, Anjie took me hiking to a lake and water fall.
Within the first five minutes I managed to destroy my ankle pretty badly during a giant leopard frog hunt. It was sitting in the grass a good 100 feet from the lake, just begging to be captured. But it turns out it was a trap! I frantically pursued the bastard frog down a dike, but my foot got sucked into a hole with a nasty sharp rock in it. The evil frog took advantage of my moment of weakness and jumped down a gopher hole. I tried to dig him out, but the burrow was filled with threatening looking spider webs, and I dared not go any farther. Frog 1, Sean 0. My ankle gushed blood for the rest of the day, but that did not stop me from catching one of the frog’s smaller brethren an hour latter, or enjoying the rest hike.
Luckily, I have suckered Anjie into liking me so much that she has to put up with spectacles like this.
It turns out Baltimore had grown on me. I actually missed the stinky crab-obsessed city. Here is my favorite billboard in the town, a testament to the cultural royalty of Baltimore. On the left is the Natty Boh Man , the spokesperson for the worst beer in existence. Natty Boh is cheaper than Pabst, which pretty much forces you to drink it from time to time despite the fact that is more caustic than drain-o. It is, in fact poison. Be warned, oh yea who may visit Baltimore, steer clear of this elixir. On the right is the Utz Girl, who adorns the labels of the cheapest cheese puffs on this earth, and the snack responsible for my orange hands in my favorite crab-hat picture. Some of you may also remember her from brand of the 5 gallon tub I brought to Ian and Nick’s bachelor party.
As a side note, when I left the U.S. in June Anjie and I where on a similar level of English compression, but now she has surpassed me. However, I still have a more commanding use of words like “thing”, “thingy”, “thingamabob”, “thingamajig”, ect.
……….
Tonight I am particularly happy because I found a colony of kittens behind and iron gate next to a cathedral. A little orange one liked me petting and scratching it so much that if followed me half way across the plaza before I shooed it back to its home. |
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| To Drip |
[Sep. 19th, 2007|06:51 pm] |
I am a dripper. Whenever I get a cold, my nose starts pouring mucous. Not sticky mucus mind you. Just clear water. Were as other people get all coughy, fevery, or whatever else, I just drip drip drip. Colds never stop me from going out and about when I need to, because I don’t feel physically ill. The constant sniffes are a hassle, but I’m fine besides that. However, all I can do to stop the constant flow of liquid from my sinuses is to blow my nose constantly. I think this makes me the prefect spreader of colds.
I do my damnedest to wash my hands every time I blow my nose, but the little viral bastards still manage to escape. Every time I got a cold last year it would spread rather quickly to my housemates, especially poor Leeann. They same thing happened with my old lab manager job. I would get sick, and the entire lab would fall like dominos into illness. Sumi caught on to this after we worked together for a year. When I was sick she would flee from me like rat from a burning barn.
So as a service to the world, until this cold has run its course I am staying at home. Which is not too hard since I can put off meetings at the Universidad. Anjie is sick too. We started showing symptoms at about the same time, shortly after I got back to Lima, which probably means we were infected at the same time last week while I was in the US. Two lovers separated by 5000 miles, sharing the same illness. I can’t decide if that is romantic or not.
I think it kind of is. |
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| Peru Makes for a Happy Meal |
[Aug. 17th, 2007|10:26 am] |
I think my string of different tummy aches comes from that fact that the food here rocks, making controlling ones self at times when food may be questionably sterile difficult.
The potato technology is years ahead of the US. Whether mashed, diced, fielded, or stewed, Peruvians really know how to make a mouth happy with a potato. Pollo de brasa (rotisserie chicken), ceviche (salt and lemon cooked fish) are huge in Lima, and new fail to impress me. The mountains are know for their alpaca steaks and trout, which on their own are scrumptious, but they manage to add a little extra flavor with herbs and bread crusts that prefects the taste. The sides and soups to meals make eating all the better. I am amazed by the creative use of corn, beans, and rice. I can’t even describe what they do with them, but man it makes a tummy happy. And then they smear it with vinegar-onion sauces and aji (a spicy mix of peppers and herbs). Aji is far superior to any American condiment. I personally put it on rice, potatoes, chicken - pretty much everything I can.
And access to kick ass weird tropical fruit is fantastic, most of who I have no idea what their names are. Chilimoya (which looks like across between an avocado and a artichoke) is my favorite so far, and tastes a bit like creamy strawberry. Other than that I am enjoying the orange-eggshelled-pomoranate-thingies, yellow-tomato-looking-berries, hard-pink-bananaish-fruit, cactus-pears, odd-sugar-potato, and sour-green-whatevers. Light snacks are damn tasty here too. They have these baked banana chips that rock my world, and vendors on every corner sell raw sugar cane to chew on.
However, the super fattening snack food needs some work. Chips are generally flavorless, and I yearn for over spiced American cheese snacks. The best fattening snack I have found so fare are these weird churro balls that have evaporated milk inside of them. And for $0.15 a bag, you can’t beat the price. I frequent the churro wagon near school so often that the churro man recognizes me and gives me the freshest churros out of the bunch.
Also, oddly enough, the Doritos in Peru are better than in America. Who would have guessed |
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| Another Week, Another Parasite / Peru don’t Know Earthquakes |
[Aug. 15th, 2007|09:03 pm] |
This is the 8th or so “Tummy Ache” I have had since arriving in Peru, hopefully I am just working my way through the local intestinal flora. After spending a week in a parasitology lab staring at fecal samples and reading about intestinal bugs, I feel more comfortable with the pains. Really, cryptosporidia need a home too and I am very warm and moist inside. I can’t blame the little buggers for setting up camp in my intestines. I haven’t gotten too sick yet, a fact that I attribute to all of that creek water my brothers and I drank as kids, which we filtered through an abandoned window screen to purify it. Well, it looks like it primed my immune system pretty well against the worse effects of intestinal parasites.
T
There was an earth quake today, and several itty bitty aftershocks. I was out getting cash for utilities to give to my Peruvian Mother when it hit. Everyone ran panicked out of the building next to me. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, since my angry stomach makes me a bit wobbly anyways, and continued my walk. The next building I walked past was similarly emptying, and everyone was yelling and looking up. I stopped to make sure that they were not watching a roof suicide, since I did not want anyone to land on me. Then I felt it. It was good sized I must say, and lasted a minute or two, but it was not worth the frantic yelling and women crying. I guess I’m just jaded towards weenie ass earthquakes since Californians build up an immunity to earthquakes. Anyways, there was no damage to buildings, no fires, nothing. Just panicked Peruvians all over the place. When I got home I found my Peruvian Mother’s dog very worried, so I solaced it. Then I found the damage… the earth quake knocked over my deodorant. So far the news doesn't report much, but the quake was damn strong in the south. At least the strongest part of the quake missed Lima, so 9 million people are safe. Keep your fingers crossed that yhe folks in the south are O.K.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6948888.stm
I was testing a battery sized automatic thermal sensor yesterday that I will use in an experiment in a week or two. I tracked my body temperature by leaving it in my pocket for 12 hours. Apparently I my leg is a constant 25 C during the day, but jumps to the low 30’s when I sleep. However, sometime before I woke up, my leg wiggled its way out of my blankets, and dropped to about 29 C for an hour. Which explains why my leg felt cold when I woke up.
Now you know. |
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| Random Reminiscences of Cusco |
[Aug. 8th, 2007|11:41 pm] |
I really enjoyed my short time in Cusco, and the expensive Spanish program saved my ass. My first two days in the country I could not understand anyone, and they could not understand me (even when I used my little translator to compose an entire, grammatically correct sentence). My accent was just that bad. The school set me off with a good basis of Spanish, and gave me experience with my accent. Now I can understand the general idea of most conversations, and I almost never get blank stares when I speak in Spanish. But today I did get a funny look when I asked for directions to the Coral Office instead of the Post Office. The school was located in a pleasant section of town, overlooking the main square.
Of course, most of the fun was had with friends outside of school. I met a wide rang of Europeans, a few North Americans, and a bunch of Koreans. Here is me and Hadas at Inti Raymi expressing joy after the banana lady saved us for bananalessness.
Diner with the Europeans… I continually made an ass out of myself (as per usual) but was allowed to stay.
Sadie at Siku practice
My Cusco-Peruvian family was fantastic. The mother (Marie) and father (Ariel) are dentists, and had there office a few blocks away from home. The daughter was training to make dental prosthetics (Her outfit is for the summer festival). The son is studying for University entrance exams for a degree in biochemistry, but I am convinced he will be a chemical-dentist of some sort. The gringas on the ends are from the U.S. air force, and stayed only a few days. Holly hell was the Mom a great cook. Ariel was a little weirded out when I discussed cooking with her, since men do not cook here, but I ignored his confused looks and can now make a kick as Peruvian lentil soup. I still need to practice banana pancakes and fried, stuffed potatoes.
They call him Cristo Blanco; he towers over Cusco on a nearby mountain. I call him Giant Jesus, who can only be appeased with the blood of the innocent. I spent a fair amount of time hoping that he would come alive and rampage his way across the city.
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