The Non-Negotiable Necessities of Travel

It’s that time of the year again – PACKING TIME. At the end of January, I’ll be hopping to Chicago for a few days before my friend Kelli and I head to India for a real life, legit Hindu wedding. (GET READY FOR UPDATES, PEOPLE!)

Preparations for this trip are a little different than normal. 

First of all, I don’t have to cart along every single possession I own. I can leave the bulk of my belongings behind in Cusco, with my lovely partner who will watch over them while silently cursing me for leaving him to jet off to the Taj Mahal.

Secondly, almost as if to add insult to injury, I’m hijacking my partner’s brand new backpack. Why? Because it’s nicer than mine. And it’s smaller. And it looks better. And because we are slowly dissolving the boundaries of what is HIS and what is MINE. (No, seriously. I noticed today that I was wearing his zip-up jacket, and he was wearing MY new sweater. Couple, much??)

As I set to work moving things into their new home today, I stumbled upon a few objects that MUST be in my backpack at all times. These are non-negotiable backpack dwellers, the veritable mayor of Possessions Village. In fact, if I’m caught without these things, I might as well NOT TRAVEL.

Every traveler has these items. And for me, they’re as follows:

Copies of my passport, driver’s license, birth certificate, and itinerary. Now, before you get worried about someone conveniently stumbling upon these items and stealing my identity, hang on. None of these are notarized, so they wouldn’t serve as legal documents if someone were to actually try to PASS as me. Furthermore, these copies are on hand in the event that my PURSE gets stolen in transit. So that way, if I suddenly find myself in a bus station or airport with a freshly missing purse/wallet, I can at least utilize these documents to PROVE that I am who I am as I attempt to sort out the mess, board the flight, or otherwise try to convince a mean-looking official that things are fine and I’m not a criminal.

A shrimp from Nashville, TN. I picked this beaded shrimp up at the Nashville Museum of Art back in 2006 or thereabouts. It lived on my keychain then for approximately five years. The shrimp was then relegated to living on my bookcase in Ohio, but some sort of sorcery occurred between 2011 and 2013, because then I found it during a trip to visit my mother in Tennessee in the summer of 2013. She found it, mailed it to me, and now it comes with me everywhere. Not only has it been a fixture in my everyday belongings (key chain) since 2006, now it holds even more importance, since my boyfriend’s nickname is Camaron (Shrimp). I’ve been carrying Camaron with me for years, without knowing a real life Shrimp was waiting for me! (Did I manifest that without knowing?)

Beaded shrimp doesn't look much like my boyfriend

shrimp, but the meaning is there. 

A rosary from Mexico City, Mexico. In 2008, during a trip through Mexico City, I went to visit the Basilica of Guadalupe, one of the most important religious sites in the city. After visiting the grounds, I passed through the market nearby which was bursting with all sorts of religious relics and Catholic-themed souvenirs. I picked up a small, knotted rosary, which pays homage to my own Catholic roots, and the fact that we can all use a religious symbol on hand, especially when situations get tough. 

Knotty rosary from Mexico City

Emergency items: flashlight, sewing kit, first aid kit, and a hand mirror. If these things aren’t in my backpack, I’ll feel weird on the inside. I haven't used most of these objects, but we all know the minute they AREN’T in my backpack is the second they’ll come in handy. I recommend always having these basic items on hand. Unexpected backpack rips can be trip-stoppers: this happened to me on my way to the airport in October 2014 – horrible long-term tear that came loose at the last second and made my backpack vulnerable to theft and even more damage with luggage handlers. I fixed that baby in 15 minutes flat. Maybe that’s also why I’m taking my boyfriend’s backpack this time; flashlights for unexpected power outages, or rummaging through luggage on dark buses/hostels; and hand mirrors for looking at yourself for the first time in two days after that horrendous journey on bus from southern Chile to northern Argentina.

Each trip has its own special packing list, but these items come with me no matter where I go, no matter the trip.

What things do you guys take with you? Any special amulets or good luck charms? Any bizarre packing must-haves? 

5 Things I Didn't Know About High-Altitude Living

A little over two months into Cusco, I can say with certainty that life at 11,200 feet comes with its own set of peculiarities. This isn’t the highest up we’ve ever been – Jorge and I had the pleasure of visiting Potosi, Bolivia once, the highest inhabited city in the world at 13,400 feet. But that was just for a couple days, and we were happy to get out of there and to lower climes. Here are some of the biggest lessons I’ve learned at 11,000 feet:

1.) Cooking is a different experience. Have you guys ever noticed the separate cooking instructions for high-altitude locations on every box of pasta in history? I used to, and never thought much of it. I remember inquiring about this – why would the instructions differ at a higher elevation? – and was provided with the accurate scientific response that I have long since forgotten. (Doesn’t it all just boil down to ATOMS?) I conveniently forgot about this as Jorge and I settled into Cusco. The first several occasions we cooked pasta or rice, we spent an inordinate amount of time checking and re-checking the food. Why was it still so HARD? Hasn’t it been 7-9 minutes? Really it’s been almost 15 minutes…How can it not be ready yet? Oh yeah. HIGH-ALTITUDE.

See that arrow? It means something.

2.) Hangovers reach a new level of raunchy. There must be some scientific explanation for this – dehydration occurs faster where there’s less oxygen because red blood cells need 1.5% of something and up here there’s only 0.1% and then oh yeah, MAGIC. Whatever the reason, I’m ashamed to admit that I once had a hangover once until 4PM after 3 (THREE) glasses of wine throughout the course of a very laid back—and LENGTHY--evening with friends. And it’s not because I’m almost thirty (even if it was strictly due to my age, it would still be an EMBARASSMENT). Be careful folks. Alcohol up here takes a different toll on the body. And you know why? It’s because of HIGH ALTITUDE.

3.) Moving around is more difficult. If your body is one of those randomly selected organisms that will be sensitive to high-altitude issues, surprise! Most things will suck. Unfortunately this has nothing to do with physical fitness, it’s just pure luck (or unluckiness). Visiting Potosi was by far the WORST – I got out of breath just brushing my teeth. In Cusco it’s not nearly as bad, especially since we’ve had ample time to acclimate, but a few aspects still stick out. If you’ll all remember, I used to live in Valparaiso which had comically steep streets that seemed, oftentimes, like a joke. Who would actually build a city so vertical, a city where most neighborhoods relied on ascensores just to get their groceries home? Well, Cusco has its fair share of inclines and hills, but it’s got nothing on Valpo. Which makes me feel particularly bad when I find myself out of breath here in Cusco after traversing a very minimal incline. And yes, that incline would be the equivalent of walking downhill in Valpo, but here? Steals your breath a little. Makes you feel pretty ridiculous until you remember OH YEAH…HIGH ALTITUDE.

4.) Thunderstorms aren’t just thunderstorms anymore. They are a full-body experience that gets you right into the middle of the storm cell, WITH NO FORGIVENESS. Plus, being this high up, you get the added benefit of strange snow-hail storms. In the middle of summer. Because it’s HIGH ALTITUDE!

5.) It’s pretty much always cold. I’ll go more into my geographic/weather pattern duncery in another post, but this high up, the extremes are more extreme. If the sun does come out in the middle of the day (which doesn’t always happen, not even in ‘summer’), it will be very hot, and you WILL get burnt. But then at night, you will need five blankets and a pair of alpaca booties and MAYBE THEN the only frozen item on your body will be your nose. For god’s sake, the alpacas here wear goggles and sometimes actual CLOTHING. That’s gotta tell you something…something like HIGH ALTITUDE!

Hey, Mr. Alpaca...can we borrow some of that fluff?

Maybe for some traditional hats and sweaters?

There have been some other strange things going on around here too, though I can’t be sure if they’re related to the elevation or not. Either way, it seems safe to blame it on the altitude. 

Is your boyfriend shedding chest hair at an unprecedented rate? Probably the altitude.  Does your tap water come out feeling like the literal refuse of a glacier? Might be the high altitude. Are people eating oven-roasted hamsters as a delicacy? Could also be the altitude. Are you suffering from painfully glorious mountain views nearly every moment of the day? The altitude may very well be the culprit. Have you recently scaled a mountain to reach a city that ancient people thought was a great idea to stick all the way up there? Now that one is DEFINITELY the altitude!

(Editor's Note: I began writing this post when the sun was out in full force and I thought I might be able to take a trip to the market in my tank top, to get a little tanning in. It is now snow-hailing, and some of it is coming through our skylights, where it sits melting on our floor. A little message from the gods. High Altitude!)

A Non-Traditional Christmas in the Sacred Valley

Jorge and I are situated this year, both physically and financially, in such a way that going home to spend the holidays with either family was pretty much impossible.

But friends, family and food constitute the holidays, right? In light of the fact that we are new to Cusco, are still partially digesting the Thanksgiving explosion less than a month ago, and love to travel, we decided to have a non-traditional celebration in...you guessed it...MACHU PICCHU.

Due to Jorge's work schedule, we booked a two-day tour. This option meant leaving Cusco at 8AM, driving for about six hours through perilous mountain roads, stopping once to pee, and then finally arriving at the hydroelectric dam -- the last stop on the road toward the base city of Aguascalientes.

Off we go to on our extremely economical and totally

disorganized tour to Machu Picchu!

The tour company made mention of the fact that on the road to the hydroelectric dam, sometimes there are landslides. And sometimes, the roads have to close. And other times, people, you know, sorta die.

Okay. We thought about this for a while. These tour companies don't want dead tourists because it would mean the death of their business, so we knew at least that this route has heavy traffic, albeit it being slightly dangerous. The only other way to get to our destination would be spend a couple hundred extra dollars to go by train. The Sacred Valley region is entering the rainy season, which puts these high-altitude mountain roads at a higher risk of landslides. Being that the rainy season is JUST starting, it's not as dangerous as January or February, when these tours sometimes stop altogether.

So, being that it's still being offered, we probably won't die, I reasoned. And if we want to go the economical route, there is literally only one road connecting the Sacred Valley with the Machu Picchu area.

One.

In fact, this road starts in the valley area of Cusco -- very dry air, pretty high altitude, lots of regular forests and agriculture. You go up, up, up for hours -- at the tippy top, when we were most definitely traversing a cloud, I saw a sign that said we were at 4,300 meters. More than 14,000 feet. We were told by the driver that we would not be stopping at any part of this part of the mountain road, due to the altitude and potentiality for getting sick. Way up there, I felt the headache kick in, as well as drowsiness.

Once we crossed the tree line descending on the other side of the sierra, I noticed things looked a little different. Way more lush, much greener and...HUMID. The jungle side of the mountains had begun, and the further along we went, the more I felt like I'd suddenly transported to Costa Rica or somewhere similar. I loved it.

This winding mountain road was completely rife with danger, and I am being quite serious. It seemed to be really just a one-and-a-half lane highway, and we passed several areas where fallen rocks had blocked off one half of the road. Furthermore, the engineers were really working against nature, as the mountain had several outlets of (natural) GUSHING water that sometimes was diverted below the road, but oftentimes, just cascaded over top of the pavement. I honestly thought a few times that the gushing water would carry us away off the cliff.

Spoiler alert: it didn't. BUT IT WAS STILL SCARY!

During the final leg of our journey, right before we got to the dam, we encountered an interesting skirmish. When rounding a tight bend, our driver nearly crashed into an coming truck that had violated the rules of mountain road driving. The offending driver had approached the curve in the center of the road and hadn't swung out wide, as you must do. So, we almost crashed head on. Our driver was understandably upset, so he called out to him something to the effect of "Hey, obey the rules, or we're all gonna be in trouble here!"

Well, the other driver didn't like being called out. Maybe it had to do with the 13 people piled in the back of his truck overhearing his honor being questioned. At any rate, Other Driver stopped the truck, and got out.

The Rules of Road Rage told me this was a very bad sign.

Other Driver then he came up to our driver's window. They began a heated conversation that involved a lot of "you think I don't know what I'm doing?" I overheard them make an actual plan to meet later to physically fight about this.

And then someone punched someone. I'm not sure who it was, but our driver began fist-fighting with this man through the window. It was so ridiculous I laughed, but it didn't stop. Luckily, people who are better at these situations stepped in to handle it -- namely Jorge and two other guys on the bus, who began trying to intervene to get these men to calm down. Finally, our driver put up the window and we drove away like nothing had happened.

We arrived to the hydroelectric dam around 3:00 PM, where the road officially ends. From the dam, there's only two ways to arrive to Aguascalientes (the base city to Machu Picchu): WALKING or the TRAIN.

We ate a quick lunch (included in our tour payment) after a brief scuffle with the tour guides who greeted us at the dam. Our names had been mysteriously lost from the list, and they had to make a series of languorous phone calls, accompanied by vigorous receipt-demonstrating on our end, before we were led to the restaurant.

After eating, our trek to Aguascalientes began. The trail follows the train tracks to Aguascalientes, so all the paying customers can look at us vagabonds hoofing it along the side. It takes two full hours, walking at a moderate pace. The trek was gorgeous, and the only real difficulty was that, at times, one had to walk close to the tracks, and therefore over unstable rocks which slows progress. We caught a random Jungle Rainbow along the way.

Random Jungle Rainbow Alert!

Two hours of hiking is perhaps tiring but not the end of the world. Though I definitely stressed a muscle behind my right knee from all the unsure rock balancing; nothing major. I was certainly ready to sit down once we got to Aguascalientes, though! We met a different guide in the main plaza, who then took us to our hostel and gave us instructions for where to meet for dinner.

We had roughly an hour and a half before we needed to meet at dinner, 8 PM. So Jorge and I headed to the famous HOT SPRINGS (which the city is named after -- "Hot Waters") where we rested our weary hiker bones in the medicinal waters for about a half hour.

At dinner, the guide explained to us how the next day would go. We could either take a bus at 6AM to arrive at the Machu gates by 6:30 AM, or we could wake up at 4 AM to begin a roughly 2 hour hike of pure vertical steps.

We chose the hike, for a variety of reasons. One was the sheer experience of it -- what better way to experience the Picchu than trekking up the mountain like the ancient Incans? Another was physical prowess, as most of my readers know I like to challenge myself in specific ways just to know that I can DO it. And, lastly, there's the money aspect. Though the bus wasn't expensive by any means -- a measly $10 -- it's extra things like that that add up.

So we got our butts out of bed at 4 AM, and started the hike to Macchu Pichu. 

Sunrise occurred around 5:30 AM, once we were past the front gates where they checked our passports. The first leg of the walk to get to the control gate was easy -- just getting out of the city. But once we crossed the entrance -- across a huge bridge with the angry river roaring beneath -- the STAIRS began.

I kid you not, I was out of breath after the equivalent of two flights. I paused. I continued. Then I paused again, after a shorter distance. And then, I began something I like to call "The Tour of Desperation."

I don't know how many steps there were in all, but let's be clear on one thing: I've climbed the Steps of Repentance on Mount Sinai, and I repented harder climbing to Machu Picchu. I began my Tour of Desperation once I realized that I had a full hour and a half of climbing these freaking steep stone steps ahead of me, and after only ten minutes I was ready to lay down.

The Tour of Desperation included highlights such as: the particular corner where I sat down for the first time and thought, "Well, damn, it can't be that high."; the variety of instances where plenty of athletic and probably bionic people breezed past us, barely panting; the particular stretch of steps where I began imagining all the other places I'd like to be instead of those stairs, including Hawaii, followed by vivid imaginations of receiving a lei upon arrival; the dense corner of vegetation where I considered the possibility that I wouldn't actually make it to the top; the time I reached the road designed for the buses and I thought the trek was over, only to be followed by four more excruciating flights of damnable stairs; and, lastly, the time I heard voices above us on the path and my innards leapt with joy, only to realize we hadn't reached the end, and the path would probably never end, and it was all a giant trap concocted by the ancient Incans to capture healthy humans from the future to use as sacrifices in the past.

A shot of Jorge climbing the stairs. The blur might 

suggest he was moving very fast, but trust me, he wasn't. 

We did finally make it to the top, only to begin a multiple hour tour of the complex. We found our tour guide and, after a quick snack, we began to meander through the ancient city. 

The place was incredible. I forget entirely about the fact that I might have to amputate a thigh from overuse and instead, got completely lost in the guide's explanations of the environs. They estimate the city was built in the 1400's, and was one of multiple cities in the region commissioned by the then-leader of the Incans. It was primarily a religious center, and also had plenty of astronomical observation centers. One thing I especially liked was the naturally-irrigating agricultural steps, shown below.

They grew things like corn on the different levels.

Our tour lasted about two hours then we had a few hours to wander around and take ample photos. We climbed up to the highest point of Machu, took plenty of selfies, visited with some alpacas, and basically enjoyed the insane views from the mountaintop city. We could see the river down below that marked our starting point -- we think we climbed about a mile upward, all told. 

Taking some shots around 7 AM, before the morning fog had cleared.

Behold the majesty of the lost Incan city! They call it 'lost' because it

wasn't discovered until the early 1900's -- meaning the Spanish

conquistadores completely overlooked this gem. And thankfully so!

See that river down there? That's where we started.

Just enjoying the MAGICAL JUNGLE VIEWS.

Mister Machu. The Incans were most likely freaks, based on the manner of 

city construction. I'm sure they were 90% thigh, at least. Our guide mentioned

that the next Incan city over is roughly 120 km away -- a hike that for us nowadays

would take 3 or 4 days, but for the Incans, took a matter of hours.

Money shot!

When there's animals nearby, Jorge must meet them.

Merry Christmas from the tippy top point of Machu Picchu!

We all know what happens next, right? We have to get OFF the mountain. Thank GOD for physics -- what goes up must come down. To be fair, we could have taken the bus, but again, chose not to. Besides, going down is always easier than going up. Though our knees were a little worse for the wear afterward, the 2 hour trek up became a 1 hour trek down. Practically a walk in the (extremely humid and steep) park.

But then came our return hike to the hydroelectric dam, where our return bus would be waiting for us. Two more hours walking after a full day of climbing, sweating, and desperate thoughts? Sure. Why not. I couldn't feel my legs anymore anyway. 

We got to the dam around 2 PM, ate a quick lunch, and then went to the pick-up area for the return trip to Cusco. A lot of people milled around, and I overheard a heated conversation between a  tourist and a guide nearby. 

Turns out, the disorganization of the tour company had reached another peak. I had mentioned to Jorge at one point of our trip that I didn't really trust that this company was looking out for us. It seemed like in order for things to get done, we had to be exceptionally on our toes. Making sure we had receipts ready and knowing what came next ahead of time.

And this was the case here. When we arrived, we were told there were no spots for us on the return bus. We reminded the guide that we had paid, showed the receipt, demanded that we be provided with this service. He suggested we just buy our spots on the bus to Cusco AGAIN, which was laughable, considering we had proof of already paying this. He ignored us for a bit, made some phone calls, was approached by other angry tourists. I felt bad for the guy -- I know it wasn't his fault, but rather the whole company's approach was just poor, and he was the guy on the front lines receiving the brunt of it. 

After a tense half hour, another bus did arrive, and we were allowed to board. Most of the other tourists in limbo were also able to board -- some had been waiting (and been ignored) for over three hours. 

Our return drive didn't include any fist-fights (unfortunately?), but it DID include an active landslide. Helloooo, rainy season! We watched as rocks tumbled from the mountainside and onto the road, some continuing off the cliff. They weren't boulder by any means, but one of those to the side of the van would definitely break a window -- and possibly a head. Our driver waited tensely until the frequency of the landslide slowed.

And then he freaking gunned it.

We made it through alive, some of us actively trying to avoid peeing our pants (me). Another several hours later, we made it back safely, and dead tired, to Cusco.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS to everyone!!


Need Some Travel Gear? Try Backpack Travel Store!

Ancient Cures, Modern Teas: Cinchona Bark

First of all, Merry Christmas to you all! I hope everyone is having a warm, snuggly day with family and/or friends and/or laying in a food coma on the couch and/or flinging around all sorts of exciting gifts!! At the time of this posting, Jorge and I are CLIMBING MACCHU PICCHU -- but more to come on that in the coming days, of course. This is surely one of the most alternative Christmases I've had so far!

I'm writing more about the interesting native plants of the Peruvian Amazon Rain Forest area this week. Like I mentioned in my last post, there is a huge variety of interesting and USEFUL native herbs here, and they're used for everything from ovarian cysts to digestive disorders to cancer.

Last week, Jorge brought home something strange from the market. It looked like this:

Cinchona.

If you're thinking "wow, this looks a lot like mossy tree bark", you're totally right. This is Cinchona, also known as Peruvian tree bark. It was sold exactly as this -- a harvested fragment of tree bark about a foot long, sticky to the touch and fragrant like the rain forest. 

Jorge had been instructed at the market to "take a small piece" and make a tea with it. It helps with infections and digestion, he was told. Decent enough properties to warrant a splurge purchase, in my book.

So he came back from the market with bags of vegetables, handfuls of herbs and a hunk of bark. Imagine my surprise as he slowly unloaded his backpack. Only in Peru, I suppose!

The tree bark sat around for about a week, forgotten. And then, this morning, I woke up wanting something warm. Rainy season has begun in Cusco, and I've been feeling especially cold recently. Since I'm still on a no-coffee whirl, I thought I'd make a cup of tea to warm my hands for the morning. 

And then I remembered the tree bark.

I brought it out carefully, sniffing it, poking it, wondering what exactly constituted "a small piece". I know herbal remedies often carry a hefty "warning" label, so I wanted to investigate before I gambled on 'a small piece' only to find myself later in a near overdose state.

Off to google, then! 

Lots of interesting benefits and properties came up about cinchona. Here's just a little rundown:

• promotes digestion (gosh, what herb DOESN'T?)
• eases muscle cramps
• kills bacteria and fungi
• relieves pain
• helps with hemorrhoids and varicose veins 
• regulates heartbeat
• and...perhaps the most important benefit of cinchona...IT CURES MALARIA!

That's right. Cinchona contains quinine, which is the active ingredient of malaria medication. One of the most important discoveries in the rain forest, it's been used since TIME ETERNAL to cure malaria. When the Europeans arrived in the 1600's, they found out about this usage and began to export this 'wonder cure' back to their homeland. 

As you can see above, the uses for this bark extend way beyond curing malaria, and that's not even half of the ways it's been utilized throughout the centuries. 

Read more about Peruvian Tree Bark here and here. 

And if this stuff isn't already in your local health food store, ask for it! Though they might want to ask for the more easily-transportable powder form. I'm not too sure they'll be able to receive the literal hunk of bark I showed above!

The bounty of the rain forest is simply ASTOUNDING to me. The sheer variety of medicinal plants is both awe-inspiring and a huge relief. Mother Nature provides for us in so many ways, and I'm sure there are even more discoveries to be made about what else is out there to help heal us.

---

If you're interested, you can find cinchona here in powder form (and not the sticky, mossy, piece of literal jungle bark in your kitchen, like SOME of us have!).

Ancient Cures, Modern Teas: Herbs in Peru

It's no secret that Peru is full of shamans, particularly in the Amazonian regions. People who have, for centuries if not thousands of years, guarded ancient secrets about the medicinal plants springing from this ultra-fertile land of healing.

Whether or not you believe in the healing power of shamans, there's a lot of information out there about the effects of these native plants.

Peruvian plants constitute a huge portion of the 'natural healing' market. And a quick browse through the dry tea section at ANY supermarket in Cusco offers a staggering array of options. Cat's claw, Hercampuri, Manayupa, Horse's Tail, Hierba Luisa, even the famous coca (the plant that cocaine is derived from).

Coca tea. But don't let the association scare you. Coca

tea has awesome benefits, even if it tastes exactly like grass.

That's just scratching the surface.

I became interested in Peruvian herbals when I was at the market one day and thought, Hm, let's try a new tea. As I scanned each option and read the packaging about their intended uses, my jaw dropped lower and lower to the ground.

These teas help digestion. Altitude sickness (HELPFUL in these parts!). Urinary problems. Cysts. Kidney stones. Prostate function. And sometimes, they're touted to cure CANCER.

Impressive.

I started to buy these teas. To see what they were like mostly; not for any overarching prostate or cancer problems, don't worry. I figured that in this land of exquisite bio-diversity and ancient healing practices involving so many plants, I have to give these teas a whirl. Exportation of plant life from Peru is a little iffy sometimes, so who knows when I might have this chance again?

I went home with a pleasing variety of teas. Some were loose leaf; others in tea bags. Throughout the past few weeks, I've been trying these on occasion. Sometimes in conjunction with actual needs -- like maybe my digestion could use a sprucing up -- but most times just to replace my beloved coffee, which I have given up for a period of time.

Ahh, Peruvian teas! You harbinger of healing! You ancient window of wisdom! I drank them eagerly.

But the taste? Let me give you the executive summary: MOST TASTE LIKE ASS.

Manayupa is the one that has been the LEAST offensive to me so far. The package of my loose-leaf Manayupa herbs says, "Plant of the Andean Peruvians. Its name comes from the Quechua vocabulary "ranamanayupana" which means something like, 'the qualities are so numerous that man cannot count them'."

I drink this one a lot. It's great. It is helping me in ways that man cannot even count.

Hierba Luisa is also great. It's used, as most teas are, for digestive issues, but this herb also helps bad breath, and to control insomnia and stress.

And according to this picture, scrubbing your teeth with

the leaves helps prevent cavities. The benefits never stop.

[Photo credit: www.jorgevaleranatura.com]

I'll admit that my problem revolves around memory. I'll fill a cup to steep, get involved in something else, and remember a half hour later that I had made a tea. (God, who DOESN'T have this problem?!) Everyone knows that over-steeping leads to bitterness. But with most regular teas, over-steeping isn't a deal breaker.

Well, over-steeping Peruvian teas is a BIG no-no I've come to find out. I just had some over-steeped Agracejo with Alcachofa, which is used for upset stomachs, liver inflammation and gallbladder problems. It's also helpful for detoxing (which is why I thought to buy it), and the tea contains various vitamins, proteins, and minerals. SCORE!

I made the mistake of taking an enormous gulp of my then-tepid Agracejo tea. PANIC! It tasted awful, but I forced it down anyway. I didn't recover for a full ten minutes from that first try. And I did try to remind myself of all those vitamins, minerals and proteins I was ingesting. Somehow, it didn't help.

Hercampuri has to be my least favorite of all the teas I've had. I came to it when I was in need of a digestive reset after a particular weirdness in the ol' intestines. My digestion WAS reset -- but at the cost of extremely bitter and earthy tea. And that time, it WASN'T because I over-steeped.

Hercampuri. You're so beautiful, and such

a bitch to drink. [Photo: www.lamolina.net]

Peruvians are very proud of their natural medicines and long lineage of plant knowledge. I would be too, if I had such a cultural heritage. I've met plenty of Peruvians who refuse medication, and rely on herbs to cure any variety of illness and ailment.

That's been my game plan here, too. Luckily I haven't had any real ailments to cure, but when the time comes, I feel confident that the ancient wisdom of the Andean Peruvians will help guide me to wellness. And in the meantime, my gallbladder/kidneys/ovaries/intestines/liver/blood are going to mighty well taken care of.

How to Host a Thanksgiving Abroad Without an Oven

It might be almost halfway through December, but gosh dangit, here's my update about our Thanksgiving in Cusco! If you remember our "Gracias Dando" celebrations from the year before, you'll know that it was an exercise in creative cooking, limited space maneuvering and extremely imbalanced plate-to-guest ratios. 

Well, our Thanksgiving in Cusco was a whole new type of holiday creativity. Here are some of the biggest differences:

Instead of a big HOUSE this year, we have a smartly decorated SHOEBOX.

Instead of a "healthy amount of plates and utensils", we have exactly 2 of EVERYTHING.

Instead of a base-line equipped kitchen with an OVEN, we have a CAMPER STOVE.

And instead of multiple casserole dishes with which to cook those ultra-important Thanksgiving dishes.....we had NONE.

So, how does one accomplish a Thanksgiving with this foundation? Let me provide a handy guide to creating an Ex-Pat Thanksgiving with the sparsest of resources.

Step One: Meet your neighbors, who are delightful ladies working at a local non-profit. Find out they have an oven during a night sharing a bottle of wine. Also find out they have no refrigerator, a resource that we do indeed have. Propose idea for a 'little Thanksgiving celebration' and, in effect, an exchange of necessary resources.

The lovely Lucy showing off her beautiful oven.

Step Two: Purchase all the necessary ingredients for the 7 dishes you alone want to create. Make several desperate trips to various markets. No matter what, you won't be able to find mushrooms, sour cream, or heavy whipping cream each time you go. Begin googling for workarounds. 

Step Three: Find the turkey. The main and largest supermarket doesn't have it, so you have to turn to the black market. Send your boyfriend at 7AM one morning to the bad side of Cusco to pick up a frozen bird from a wholesale place. Let him take it to work with him all day. He'll name it Cloticio.

Step Four: Realize that baking must begin the night before if anything is going to be consumed the next day, since the amount of baked dishes is astronomical, and the amount of oven space and dishes is next to nothing. Bake apple pie. Don't eat it.

Pre-apple pie.

Post-apple pie.

Step Five: Thanksgiving morning. Allow boyfriend to prep the turkey however he wants, because as an ex-vegetarian you have no idea what traditions surround the readying of the turkey. Assume he'll do fine because he's Argentinian and, well, meat is his specialty. Take the turkey to a "24 Hour Oven" across the street, where a comically hard-to-understand old lady tends a wood oven where she gladly receives Cloticio to cook for three hours.

Jorge and the prepped Cloticio.

Step Six: Resume baking and cooking the remaining dishes: corn casserole, green bean casserole, stuffing, mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, chocolate chip cookies. As friends arrive, make everyone taste the ridiculously tasty mushroom soup. Don't share the recipe. Move scalding hot casserole from dish into skillet so that dish can be re-used for another baking purpose. 

My famous green bean casserole!

Lucy and Kate's glazed veggies

Step Seven: Remaining visitors arrive, and they help by moving dinner table to the outside patio. Wine is opened. All of the Thanksgiving guests are first-timers (i.e. non-Americans), so the pressure is on. This shit better be good. Neighbors have also contributed delicious foods, native to their own lands. Bring food to table, which completely consumes and overflows off of the picnic table.

Step Eight: GIVE THANKS AND EAT!

Happy Ex-Pat GraciasDando Friendsgiving 2014!

Hope everyone's Thanksgivings were a rousing success, full of family, fun and love...and that you all had slightly more casserole dishes than we did.

Ex-Pat Re-Cap

Happy Thanksgiving, America! In preparation for my own ex-pat Thanksgiving here in Cusco, I began thinking about holidays spent on the road, and then I began to think about all the different quirky lessons I've learned along the way too. Here's a rundown of some lessons I’ve learned throughout the years abroad.

Your Neighbors Will Always Be There. ‘Getting to know the neighbors’ – whether by name or simply by listening to their habits through your walls – is always part and parcel of living in a new place. And in my travels, I’ve experienced a lot of neighbors: docile, grandmother Luz in Puerto Varas, whose days were a well-oiled machine (and don't you dare try to sit in her spot at lunch); fun ex-pat Paul in Valparaiso who lived above our house and never complained about the heinous amounts of noise we made during asados, wine clubs, parties and more; the innocuous roommates in Lima who I almost never saw but could always hear them urinating; the boy who lives somewhere in the downstairs vicinity of my current apartment complex and shouts, constantly and repetitiously; and our landlord who lives next to us, and every time she comes home and opens her door, it sounds like she’s breaking into our apartment, because the sound buffer is that non-existent. Daily, chest-tightening panic for a second until we realize Oh, it's just Ada coming home, not a strange person trying to insert a key into our front door.

Looking down the line at the various apartments in our complex. 

Classic American recipes, especially around Thanksgiving and Christmas times, can mostly be reproduced abroad. Sometimes tweaks are needed, other times not. And sometimes you just have to be hyper-vigilant around an oven with no indicator of whether it's scorching or lightly caressing your baked good. But it always comes out delicious. And the journey to attempting to recreate it is an adventure all its own, from hunting down specific ingredients that might not necessarily be local, to acquiring the proper cookware, to obtaining a stove if you don’t currently have one (cough cough, CUSCO). There's pretty much always a way, if one is determined enough and uses enough holiday whiles. 

Holidays without family aren’t bad, just different. Prior to moving abroad, one of the aspects that made me recoil was the idea of missing holidays -- and potentially a lot of them. I’ll admit, the first Christmas away from home was very strange and a little sad, though tempered by the fact that I had Leslie and Amanda with me, and we spent it in an American-style guest house. My second Christmas abroad was totally unique to the first one abroad, and to every Christmas spent prior. What I’ve realized is that it’s about creating that energy of the holiday, no matter where you are. And it CAN be done, and usually very successfully. Especially if you involve Christmas cut-out cookies with various incarnations of inappropriate shapes. Though, as I’m nearing my third year without family on all major holidays except for July 4^th, I’m VERY ready to get home next year and spend some holiday time with my BLOOD. There’s something inexplicably fulfilling about spending Thanksgiving in the crisp November fall time, and the Christmas bustle amidst the snow-covered Ohio backdrop.

Peru wins in the Pisco battle. Sorry, Chile.

Though I am living in tourist destinations, I cannot be like the tourists. Even though I desperately want to schedule all manner of buses and flights to surrounding environs to hit the spots along the tourist trail, I cannot. I am a slow traveler, and this means that I must squelch the urges to dine out frequently, visit tons of bars with the gringo gang, or hit up that last-minute tour to wherever. My budget is not a backpacking one, or rather, one who has saved for a long time to be able to splurge for a short time. I have a regular person’s budget, as I am a regular person who just happens to live abroad. And other people I meet on the road sometimes forget this. Simply being in the same country as tourism seems to imply to some that I am living an action-packed, dollar-fueled adventure. I am not. In fact, I have several jobs and am working most of the time. Most of my friends and family couldn't just up and take a trip across the USA tomorrow, and neither could I. I have to plan my trips and movement just like everybody else.

Living in a colonial city is really inspiring, pretty much all the time. Sometimes to where I can’t stand it.

San Blas neighborhood (Cusco) at night.

Technology makes the distance WAY more bearable. As in, I sometimes don’t even notice the sheer thousands of miles between me and my loved ones, because we manage to stay in such frequent contact. It’s similar to living in a different city in the same state. Minus the random Sunday meet-ups (because THAT would still involve a day's worth of travel across hemispheres and international frontiers). 

Creative workarounds make the difference. It helps that my boyfriend is a master of coaxing use out of random, disparate household objects. It means we don’t have to fret if we don’t have something, and has allowed me to expand my problem-solving skills in general. Notable examples: constructing a dustpan out of a wine bottle and cardboard. Figuring out how to re-heat food without a microwave, or warm tortillas without…whatever you might normally use to warm tortillas. Unplugging a hopelessly stopped sink with an incense stick (didn’t have to call the plumber on that one!). Using a sewing needle to make a hook to attach to thread to rescue a pair of boxers that had fallen to the patio a story below our window. In lieu of a potato masher, using the rough bottom of a drinking glass. And the more recent controversial coffee-making method utilizing leggings. And on, and on.

I speak like an Argentinian now. During my most recent visit to the USA (September-October), I remember recording a message to send to Jorge via Whatsapp. For some reason, I listened to it after I had sent it, something I don't normally do, and was horrified by the blatant and excessive Argentinian accent. Yet, when I had recorded the message, I certainly hadn't remembered talking like that. Could it be that almost two years with an Argentinian has finally, and irreversibly, tainted my Spanish? It must be -- because the other day, I used the word vos with Jorge, something I swore to never do. OOPS!