Communism had fallen, but no one told the bakeries. It was the early, hopeful years of Yeltsin (before he devolved into a bloated drunk) and the news agencies were reporting that Russia was flowering, backed by B-roll footage of the first McDonalds near Red Square. I was 21, my first passport stiff in my money... Continue Reading →
Cue the Llamas: The Inca Trail
The Inca Trail is not for wimps. Forty-four kilometers long -- that’s a marathon -- it begins at 8650 feet, climbs over two 13,000-foot-plus passes and arrives four days later in Machu Picchu. And those Incas didn’t do switchbacks. No, those bad-ass mo-fos saw a cliff face and said, “You know what sounds fun? Let’s build... Continue Reading →
The Quest for Culinary Diversity: Island, City, Mountains
The food in Santa Marta is delicious: fresh, accessible, flavorful. But it's also a bit monotonous, an endless parade of fried fish, grilled chicken, patacon [plantain pancake] and arroz con coco [coconut rice, which locals in their charming, final-syllable-swallowing accent call arro-co-co]. Of course the universe of fruits is vast, with mangoes, papayas, avocados, lulos, guanabana, guayaba and coconuts,... Continue Reading →
Perspective is Everything: Ciudad Perdida, Colombia’s Machu Picchu
There is plenty of time to reflect during a 26-mile hike in the jungle. About life and love and why I believed that a five-day trek to Ciudad Perdida (the Lost City) would be fun. Because it wasn’t. It was a lot of other things, of course. Magical. And torturous. Stunning. Profoundly uncomfortable. Challenging. Tedious.... Continue Reading →
Cartagena and the Road Through Barranquilla
Cartagena is a strange stew -- one part Rodeo Drive, one part the seedier section of New Orleans, and one part quasi-third-world nation. The juxtaposition is startling. Painfully picturesque, but smelling vaguely of urine and sweat. Toothless men push sloshing handcarts of dodgy limeade past gorgeous arrays of high-end handicrafts gleaming behind spotless plate glass... Continue Reading →
Minca: In Which We Give the Grandparents the Ride of Their Lives
There are, to American eyes, five seats in Cero’s Land Cruiser: a driver’s seat, a passenger seat and a bench seat for three in the back comprised of ripped leather, wayward springs and rusty exposed bolts. This being Colombia, however, nine of us squeezed into his vehicle to tour the mountains above Santa Marta, one... Continue Reading →
On Hammocks and Bohemian Street Cred: Tayrona National Park
Sleeping in a hammock on a beach has a certain romantic charm, in concept. It sounds adventurous and bohemian and edgy, the kind of line that will start stories when I’m eighty: “We were staying in hammocks on this beach in Colombia’s Tayrona National Park…” That charm wears off a bit when you climb in... Continue Reading →
Peak Experiences: Climbing glaciers at the equator
It started to snow during the first kilometer, which is not what you’d expect, hiking in Colombia. It wasn’t a soft, New Hampshire, get-out-the-cross-country-skis snow, but a Rhode Island coastal snow, halfway between snow and sleet, that uniquely snot-like texture that sticks to and soaks through everything. Which is unfortunate since we were wearing 90%... Continue Reading →
A Lesson in Letting Go, plus a 7th grader’s perspective on Colombia
Last night, we had what is becoming a quintessentially Colombian lesson in letting go: of plans, of control, of the idea that we are masters of our own destiny. It went like this: At 6pm, we went to Conversation Club at our language school, where we practice speaking painfully slowly, clearly and correctly... Continue Reading →
On Homesickness and Holsteins
Yesterday, someone asked if I was homesick and I was surprised to realize that I’m not. Not yet, anyway, or not in the way I have been on past trips, yearning for my normal, or at the very least, the familiar. Like when I spent a summer in Russia and day 5 found me in... Continue Reading →
La Finca de Viannay, or In Which We Make a Series of Dubious Decisions
Last weekend, at the finca [farm] of our Spanish teacher’s mother deep in the Zona Cafeteria where all the coffee made famous by Juan Valdez is grown, the soundtrack in my head was Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime. You know, the part where they sing, And you may find yourself living in a shotgun... Continue Reading →
Portrait of Our First Week, or In Which Eric is Hit By a Car
Every morning, after some form of eggs (because eggs are plentiful, healthy and I can cook them with the meager selection of tools available in my rental kitchen) and tropical fruit (to remind us all why we’re here), we walk a kilometer and a half from our apartment to Ana’s apartment, where we leave our... Continue Reading →
The World's Okayest Mom 