I should´ve bought a watch in Buenos Aires. I was probably aware of what time it was around 10% of the time. I think BA is very similar to New York City. Wynn has lived in NYC for years, and is naturally contrarian, so he disagrees somewhat. I don´t think my body was ready for five straight days of arriving home after the sun rose.
Wynn and I were both given counterfeit money at different times. I was informed that mine was "muy muy falso" and part of the ink had even appeared to bleed all over the rest of the bill. And the watermark that is supposed to be a drawing of a politican looked like a drawing from an uncoordinated 4th grader.
We ate a steak restaurant and I ordered "steak wrapped in bacon." The steak was one of the biggest pieces of meat I´ve ever seen, and the bacon was a veritable sheet, wrapped around the giant piece of steak. Wynn got a giant piece of steak wrapped around a large piece of ham, with cheese and peppers in the middle. We were unaware that the side dishes were plentiful. We took part in a two-for-one special on bottles of wine, but you had to take one of them to go. The rest of the night and morning was spent handing the bottle to employees at clubs and seeing how funny it was that two shabbily dressed gringos were toting around wine. We left it at a club and forgot about it. I think that was the club where a group of girls wanted to practice their English, which mainly consisted of the phrase "I love you." As I type this, I realize that it was not anywhere near as cool as it sounds.
With our gracious hosts in Buenos Aires, we ended up watching Free Willy one night with their son. We debated about whether or not "Will You Be There" was at the end of this movie, or the sequel. Thank goodness it was this one. That song has definitely become the most beloved song of this trip, if not my life.
Last night back in Lima, looking for a place to hang out late after dinner, we were directed to a club near our hostel. We were told it was one of the only places in Lima that was open at this hour. We were not told, however, that the place was mostly populated by Peruvian prostitutes. We sat at the bar with some of Wynn´s friends who happened to be in town from a trek to Macchu Picchu. The whole thing was pretty weird, until Wynn talked the DJ into playing...... "Will You Be There." The prostitutes cleared the floor and Wynn and our friends showed them all that South Americans aren´t the only people obsessed with 80s/90s power ballads.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Good Movies In Peru
While I was strolling the streets of Lima this afternoon, I came upon a nice-looking electronics store. I went inside to see how much an HD television costs in Peru.
I found a gigantic HD screen in a full home theater setup in the middle of the store. I thought I recognized the crowd on the screen as a concert film I had recently seen, but couldn´t place. Then, as dozens of children came walking on stage wearing Indian/Middle Eastern-ish garb, I knew what it was. Sitting there watching Will You Be There live from Bucharest was amazing not only because it´s amazing, but because over the past couple weeks, it had been viewed in my apartment probably nine times. By many different groups of people, from my skeptical roommate, to me by myself, to a group of about 12 people who crammed into my apartment after the party on the eve of Sam and Sahar´s wedding. And before that, Sam and I had discussed all its merits at his bachelor party. Which are many.
Needless to say, I pumped up the volume as much as was reasonable, and nodded my head alongside the middle-aged Peruvian woman and her daughter. That song kills every time. Although it killed me much more than it killed them.
My traveling buddy over the last few days, Eric, departed today. It got me thinking about how if I was in a random city in the US, even by myself, I would´ve talked to Eric upon meeting him and probably had a decent five minute chat with him. Yet meeting him in Huacachina, Peru, makes it completely reasonable for us to say, ¨"Hey let´s spend the next week traveling around South America together, sleeping in hotels, sharing taxis, eating meals together, and taking walks on the beach." In the US, we probably would´ve felt weird sharing a cab.
During the bus ride to Lima yesterday, the excitable bus attendant had the unenviable (or maybe enviable) job of picking which DVDs to show. He picked Transporter 3 which was less than awesome. Although it was fun to exclaim things in Spanish like ¨"No es posible!!" when Jason Statham drives his car off a bridge into a moving train, then gets out and starts shooting bad guys.
But I was beginning to think the attendant had made a misstep when he started to show Big Stan, one of the latest Rob Schneider comedic vehicles. That I had never heard of. "I wonder how the parents on this bus feel" was the only thing I could think of when the first scene involved Rob Schneider trying to sell a condo to an elderly woman by convincing her that "The area is bad, but that means that there are many black men there, who will all want to give you their big black ---" The Peruvian parents made it past that, and all the way to the 15-minute mark when Rob Schneider convinced his wife to use a dildo on him to prepare him for life in prison. That got an immediate trip to the back from a nice Peruvian man who was not pleased with the attendant´s taste in cinema.
I found a gigantic HD screen in a full home theater setup in the middle of the store. I thought I recognized the crowd on the screen as a concert film I had recently seen, but couldn´t place. Then, as dozens of children came walking on stage wearing Indian/Middle Eastern-ish garb, I knew what it was. Sitting there watching Will You Be There live from Bucharest was amazing not only because it´s amazing, but because over the past couple weeks, it had been viewed in my apartment probably nine times. By many different groups of people, from my skeptical roommate, to me by myself, to a group of about 12 people who crammed into my apartment after the party on the eve of Sam and Sahar´s wedding. And before that, Sam and I had discussed all its merits at his bachelor party. Which are many.
Needless to say, I pumped up the volume as much as was reasonable, and nodded my head alongside the middle-aged Peruvian woman and her daughter. That song kills every time. Although it killed me much more than it killed them.
My traveling buddy over the last few days, Eric, departed today. It got me thinking about how if I was in a random city in the US, even by myself, I would´ve talked to Eric upon meeting him and probably had a decent five minute chat with him. Yet meeting him in Huacachina, Peru, makes it completely reasonable for us to say, ¨"Hey let´s spend the next week traveling around South America together, sleeping in hotels, sharing taxis, eating meals together, and taking walks on the beach." In the US, we probably would´ve felt weird sharing a cab.
During the bus ride to Lima yesterday, the excitable bus attendant had the unenviable (or maybe enviable) job of picking which DVDs to show. He picked Transporter 3 which was less than awesome. Although it was fun to exclaim things in Spanish like ¨"No es posible!!" when Jason Statham drives his car off a bridge into a moving train, then gets out and starts shooting bad guys.
But I was beginning to think the attendant had made a misstep when he started to show Big Stan, one of the latest Rob Schneider comedic vehicles. That I had never heard of. "I wonder how the parents on this bus feel" was the only thing I could think of when the first scene involved Rob Schneider trying to sell a condo to an elderly woman by convincing her that "The area is bad, but that means that there are many black men there, who will all want to give you their big black ---" The Peruvian parents made it past that, and all the way to the 15-minute mark when Rob Schneider convinced his wife to use a dildo on him to prepare him for life in prison. That got an immediate trip to the back from a nice Peruvian man who was not pleased with the attendant´s taste in cinema.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Viva Peru
I am in Lake Huacachina, Peru. I wish I had time on the computer to upload pictures, because it´s a tiny little village that surrounds a lagoon, with giant sand dunes all around. The main activity in Huacachina is to take a snowboard and ¨sandboard¨ down the dunes. I am still cleaning sand out of my ears, nose, and other places less mentionable.
I ran into a guy at the hostel here who graduated from UVA a couple years after I did. He is in the internet cafe with me right now and just got upset because the stock that he owns in his former employer has gone down. That seems to be a theme here, as almost all of the Americans I´ve met in Peru have been recently laid off from their jobs. Or have quit.
I spent four days in Lunahuana at the orphanage where Wynn works. The kids were awesome. Much of the time spent with them consisted of me trying to figure out how exactly they were making fun of me. One of the best experiences was washing my clothes by hand. I thought I was performing admirably, until three of the girls volunteered to help me as they laughed. Wynn translated for me: "Poor Ricardo, he doesn´t even know how to wash his clothes." When they asked me how I washed my clothes at home, I sputtered out some combination of "Not like this" and "I don´t." That was probably one of the least embarrassing statements I made in Spanish while visiting there.
We played an expectedly fun and rousing game of soccer one afternoon. I was lucky enough to be the goalie for most of it, and tried to get the kids to teach me fun things to yell at the opponents. The kids respected the dorky, pale, mosquito-bitten gringo shouting "I AM THE WALL!!!" as the ball zip passed me into the goal. Those guys were not messing around, but I managed to make a couple saves.
And now I think I must go. I don´t think I have any Peruvian coins left, and the signs here (and the grumpy Peruvian man) have repeatedly mentioned that payment must be in coins. Which makes sense, except for the fact that there is only one ATM in the town and it spits out bills in denominations of 20, 50, and 100. And people always ask for small bills. And the ATM is not working currently. If no one ever hears from me again, I am in Lake Huacachina, Peru, and I am trying to work off a debt of 16 American cents.
I ran into a guy at the hostel here who graduated from UVA a couple years after I did. He is in the internet cafe with me right now and just got upset because the stock that he owns in his former employer has gone down. That seems to be a theme here, as almost all of the Americans I´ve met in Peru have been recently laid off from their jobs. Or have quit.
I spent four days in Lunahuana at the orphanage where Wynn works. The kids were awesome. Much of the time spent with them consisted of me trying to figure out how exactly they were making fun of me. One of the best experiences was washing my clothes by hand. I thought I was performing admirably, until three of the girls volunteered to help me as they laughed. Wynn translated for me: "Poor Ricardo, he doesn´t even know how to wash his clothes." When they asked me how I washed my clothes at home, I sputtered out some combination of "Not like this" and "I don´t." That was probably one of the least embarrassing statements I made in Spanish while visiting there.
We played an expectedly fun and rousing game of soccer one afternoon. I was lucky enough to be the goalie for most of it, and tried to get the kids to teach me fun things to yell at the opponents. The kids respected the dorky, pale, mosquito-bitten gringo shouting "I AM THE WALL!!!" as the ball zip passed me into the goal. Those guys were not messing around, but I managed to make a couple saves.
And now I think I must go. I don´t think I have any Peruvian coins left, and the signs here (and the grumpy Peruvian man) have repeatedly mentioned that payment must be in coins. Which makes sense, except for the fact that there is only one ATM in the town and it spits out bills in denominations of 20, 50, and 100. And people always ask for small bills. And the ATM is not working currently. If no one ever hears from me again, I am in Lake Huacachina, Peru, and I am trying to work off a debt of 16 American cents.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
More Quality Encounters
As I was in the Wal-Mart of Sanford, NC, this evening, an elderly woman saw me looking in the candy aisle.
"Honey, all that candy will make you sweet." HUH?? I blurted. "Honey, all that candy will make you sweet." Wow, I had heard her correctly. A conservative estimate of her age was 75.
"Uh, it's actually not for me....but I'm sweet enough anyway." Holy crap, I just kind of flirted with a woman who probably lives in a retirement home.
However, she was only about 25 years older than my last lovely encounter with a woman, which was the day before while driving from Charlottesville to Sanford. I was pumping gas when one of the station employees saw my California license plate.
"Hey baby! You must be lost! You've had a long drive."
"Yeah, it was pretty far," I said, not wanting to explain the logistics of my living situation.
"Baby, do you even know where you are?"
"YOU'RE IN THE JUNGLE, BABY" would've been infinitely cooler than my response, which was "Uhhhhh....near Danville?"
"Baby, you're in Tight Squeeze."
I think the only scenario where "Baby, you're in Tight Squeeze" would be less sexy is in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart (with a septuagenarian).
I was buying the candy for the kids in the orphanage in Peru where Wynn works. I'll be flying there Tuesday, and I needed to make sure this gringo was packed with sweets.
FYI, if you're flying to Peru and your mother is terrified, don't tell her about the picture in the guidebook that shows a man on the street selling fake "TAXI" signs and insurance certificates to people who want to swindle tourists.
"Honey, all that candy will make you sweet." HUH?? I blurted. "Honey, all that candy will make you sweet." Wow, I had heard her correctly. A conservative estimate of her age was 75.
"Uh, it's actually not for me....but I'm sweet enough anyway." Holy crap, I just kind of flirted with a woman who probably lives in a retirement home.
However, she was only about 25 years older than my last lovely encounter with a woman, which was the day before while driving from Charlottesville to Sanford. I was pumping gas when one of the station employees saw my California license plate.
"Hey baby! You must be lost! You've had a long drive."
"Yeah, it was pretty far," I said, not wanting to explain the logistics of my living situation.
"Baby, do you even know where you are?"
"YOU'RE IN THE JUNGLE, BABY" would've been infinitely cooler than my response, which was "Uhhhhh....near Danville?"
"Baby, you're in Tight Squeeze."
I think the only scenario where "Baby, you're in Tight Squeeze" would be less sexy is in the candy aisle at Wal-Mart (with a septuagenarian).
I was buying the candy for the kids in the orphanage in Peru where Wynn works. I'll be flying there Tuesday, and I needed to make sure this gringo was packed with sweets.
FYI, if you're flying to Peru and your mother is terrified, don't tell her about the picture in the guidebook that shows a man on the street selling fake "TAXI" signs and insurance certificates to people who want to swindle tourists.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Joe C
At karaoke a few weeks ago, someone asked me who Joe Cocker was, and why he was cool. I tried to show him a Joe Cocker impersonation.
All I should have said was, "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RnjWLVyMps"
All I should have said was, "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RnjWLVyMps"
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Just Gentlemen Down By The River
Last weekend was our friend Sam's bachelor party weekend. It involved eating and drinking in nice establishments all around the District of Columbia. It also involved driving out to a high-tech driving range in northern VA where we had purchased an all-you-can-eat and all-balls-you-can-hit package. It was exciting for the first 7 minutes until one member of our group suffered a severe knee injury. Then it was really exciting.
It's a sad moment in life when you realize that you're of the age where you will go to the driving range with friends, and one of them could potentially sustain a very bad knee injury and have to go to the hospital.
It's also somewhat sad when you realize that a group of 10 hungover guys at a driving range is THE WORST group to be amongst when you suffer a bad-to-severe lower body injury. I think Mark would've received more sympathy from Federal prisoners.
"Mark, how's your leg?"
"Well, as you can see, the swelling is --"
"Oh my shot? Cool!"
Mark was a trooper. But the injury caused him to miss out on karaoke that night. The highlights of that outing included everything the Bachelor sang (he can sing) and our friend Danny Lee performing "Purple Rain" by Prince. I don't think anyone has "done" karaoke until they've seen an overweight Asian man sing the hell out of an '80s Prince super-ballad. Without even looking at the words.
During the weekend we also discussed various muggings and crimes in DC that have been experienced by our friends living there. They keep trying to convince me that DC is unsafe. I believe it, but I guess it's hard for that to sink in based on my most recent encounter with the homeless people of Charlottesville. Last week, I was jogging along the river when two guys stopped smoking what they were smoking to ask me which one of them had a better body. "Excuse me?" I yelped while removing my headphones and continuing to jog in place. Ready to make a hasty exit.
"I'm sayin' man, which one of us ya know, has a better body? Looks better? Who you think works out more??"
Both men were shirtless, overweight, and smoking what appeared to be crack. Not the kind of body contest I usually want to judge.
"Uhh.....he's got some bigger --" Do I say "guns" ? Do I actually deem one the winner??? "Uhh....he looks like he maybe works out a bit more." I pointed to the one on the left, the one who had been quiet until this time, when he pumped his fist in celebration. As I turned around and tried to make a quick getaway, the other guy wasn't done. "But wait....I mean, I work out too."
"Yeah," I said. "It's close."
The winner wasn't done either. "You have a blessed day, man!!!"
I ran the rest of my loop and thought for a while about whether or not to take a different route home. I wasn't necessarily afraid of anything except the awkwardness of having to talk to homeless men about their muscle tone. Screw it, I thought. I have nothing to fear.
When I came back to the spot, the loser of the Mr. Strongman contest was there by himself. "Yo!!!" he said. "Hey man," I replied. Then, possibly feeling my oats a bit too strongly, I added, "Where'd your friend go? Is he out pumping iron? You need to catch up." The guy just kind of grunted. And then said something indiscernible. Since my joke was so timely and funny and couldn't have been thought of as anything besides hilarious, I'll take his indifference as a sign of his inability to hear me, or that he was too high to comprehend the comedic gold I had laid at his feet. But I scampered off quickly.
The next day, jogging on the same trail, I ended up passing the same spot around the same time of day. This time, I found myself trying to navigate through a pack of about five 25-35 year old women who were all out on a run together. I looked over, and saw the (now fully clothed) body contest champion with two other friends whom I didn't recognize. I waved. He waved back and yelled, "Hey man!!!" The entire group of ladies wheeled around, shocked that I apparently was close friends with this fellow. I almost said, "He totally has a great body too," but decided to keep jogging silently.
It's a sad moment in life when you realize that you're of the age where you will go to the driving range with friends, and one of them could potentially sustain a very bad knee injury and have to go to the hospital.
It's also somewhat sad when you realize that a group of 10 hungover guys at a driving range is THE WORST group to be amongst when you suffer a bad-to-severe lower body injury. I think Mark would've received more sympathy from Federal prisoners.
"Mark, how's your leg?"
"Well, as you can see, the swelling is --"
"Oh my shot? Cool!"
Mark was a trooper. But the injury caused him to miss out on karaoke that night. The highlights of that outing included everything the Bachelor sang (he can sing) and our friend Danny Lee performing "Purple Rain" by Prince. I don't think anyone has "done" karaoke until they've seen an overweight Asian man sing the hell out of an '80s Prince super-ballad. Without even looking at the words.
During the weekend we also discussed various muggings and crimes in DC that have been experienced by our friends living there. They keep trying to convince me that DC is unsafe. I believe it, but I guess it's hard for that to sink in based on my most recent encounter with the homeless people of Charlottesville. Last week, I was jogging along the river when two guys stopped smoking what they were smoking to ask me which one of them had a better body. "Excuse me?" I yelped while removing my headphones and continuing to jog in place. Ready to make a hasty exit.
"I'm sayin' man, which one of us ya know, has a better body? Looks better? Who you think works out more??"
Both men were shirtless, overweight, and smoking what appeared to be crack. Not the kind of body contest I usually want to judge.
"Uhh.....he's got some bigger --" Do I say "guns" ? Do I actually deem one the winner??? "Uhh....he looks like he maybe works out a bit more." I pointed to the one on the left, the one who had been quiet until this time, when he pumped his fist in celebration. As I turned around and tried to make a quick getaway, the other guy wasn't done. "But wait....I mean, I work out too."
"Yeah," I said. "It's close."
The winner wasn't done either. "You have a blessed day, man!!!"
I ran the rest of my loop and thought for a while about whether or not to take a different route home. I wasn't necessarily afraid of anything except the awkwardness of having to talk to homeless men about their muscle tone. Screw it, I thought. I have nothing to fear.
When I came back to the spot, the loser of the Mr. Strongman contest was there by himself. "Yo!!!" he said. "Hey man," I replied. Then, possibly feeling my oats a bit too strongly, I added, "Where'd your friend go? Is he out pumping iron? You need to catch up." The guy just kind of grunted. And then said something indiscernible. Since my joke was so timely and funny and couldn't have been thought of as anything besides hilarious, I'll take his indifference as a sign of his inability to hear me, or that he was too high to comprehend the comedic gold I had laid at his feet. But I scampered off quickly.
The next day, jogging on the same trail, I ended up passing the same spot around the same time of day. This time, I found myself trying to navigate through a pack of about five 25-35 year old women who were all out on a run together. I looked over, and saw the (now fully clothed) body contest champion with two other friends whom I didn't recognize. I waved. He waved back and yelled, "Hey man!!!" The entire group of ladies wheeled around, shocked that I apparently was close friends with this fellow. I almost said, "He totally has a great body too," but decided to keep jogging silently.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)