Y leaned over and pointed at my pile of uneaten french fries, ignoring the pile of ends that I had discarded (I eat french fries like they are shrimp). I couldn't help but notice that she still had a bunch of french fries on her plate, in fact more than half of her original portion was still there, still waiting to make the ultimate sacrifice, the leap down her throat. Guardedly I told her that I thought I was done with them so she quickly scooped them up and put them on her plate.
Looking more carefully I noticed that while she had appeared to finish eating she still had a piece of chicken left. "OK, what gives? Why do you want my fries?". She looked me in the eye, and gesturing to the street outside the KFC, she explained that they were for the poor kids we passed when we walked in. I couldn't help but notice a twinge of "duh" to her statement, like this is something I shouldn't have even asked about.
This was a generous act. It was a good act. A decision of such warmth and selflessness that I should have applauded her right there before walking up to the counter to buy more food, for the kids outside. But I didn't. I found the whole exercise incredulous, wondering why in the world she would want to do something like that. I had spent the past few months purposely ignoring the homeless, the hungry, the sick so that eventually they were as much a part of the cityscape as buildings or churches. I had gone out of my way, to avoid getting ripped off or encouraging a life of begging, to be a bad Christian, a bad human.
Of course there was no reason for me to react this way. I was done with the food and it was destined for the garbage. But still it was MY food, I bought it with my own money and had every right to dispose of it the way I felt it should be. The garbage was just as good as my stomach. If they were hungry they should go out and get a job like..... blah blah. It is funny when theory doesn't mesh with reality.
I think my real discomfort stemmed from my own embarrassment rather than some ingrained sense of ownership. In my desire to be culturally sensitive I had gone out of my way to make excuses and became unable to draw a distinction between a cultural difference and abject poverty. By acknowledging their plight I was doing them a disservice because what if their hunger was a momentary problem and those rags they called clothes were a mere costume? How could I tell? My french fries, the droppings from my table, would be an affront to their dignity. Their situation was temporary and how dare I assume otherwise. How would I respond, save face, when they rejected this offer?
By the time we finally finished our discussion and left the KFC with the bag of food the street kids had dispersed. We looked around the parking lot but only found middle class shoppers returning to their cars, their bags of newly purchased clothing or canned food held tight in each hand. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief but Y looked a bit upset by not finding the kids. She took one last glance around and began to head towards the nearest garbage can.
"Wait"
I grabbed her hand before she could dispose of the food and told her of a homeless man I had spotted a few times, over the past few days, in the same spot. Judging by the belongs he had spread out in the shadows I figured he would still be there. It was on our way home. Perhaps he would want this. I didn't explain that both times he looked drunk and possibly belligerent. We left the parking lot and with leftovers in hand went in search of the homeless man.
Much to my dismay he was there when we arrived at his spot. I began to make excuses. "Look, he is nesting next to a large BBQ restaurant, surely they feed him" or "See, he is sleeping, surely we can't disturb him." Y listened to my pleas and finally decided that we would be better off just leaving the dish next to the sleeping man and avoiding a disturbance. I agreed and stood back to watch as she went up and made the drop. Except she didn't. She made me do it.
He was tucked in a corner, the shadow providing his shelter, and laying on a cardboard box. I could see that while he was wearing multiple layers most of them were riddled with holes. With the wind and the coming rain I couldn't help but be thankful that I would be spending that night in a house, drawing warmth from Y. I approached him tentatively, ready to leap backwards if he erupted into a flow of hostile obscenities. I had no way of explaining my presence other than to hold out the food and smile. With each step I took closer to him he never stirred, never made an effort to acknowledge me. I left the food about a foot away from him and returned to Y.
The next day he, and the food container, was gone. I will never know what happened to it, if he ate it or one of the many stray dogs got to it first. I will never know what his thoughts were upon waking, if he wondered about it, or where it came from. In the end I realize that doesn't matter. Years from now I will remember the gesture, my own rebellions against it, and how Y, in her good nature, spurred me on.
Whenever I went hiking with Y I was impressed by her uncanny ability to spot stick bugs. You know, the thin insects that look like sticks and hide themselves amongst tall grasses etc. She spotted the one in this picture quite casually as we were walking by at a brisk rate.
Can you spot it? (this was outside of Otavalo, Ecuador)
Bounding off the plane, into the welcoming embrace of America, I quickly discarded my Spanish, elementary though it was, leaving it at the foot of the flight attendant who said "Hasta Luego" before I left my plane. For the first time in months I find myself at a linguistic advantage. I can speak in full sentences, expressing thoughts as they are meant to be, without having to filter them through the few words I know, like a 4 year old who has lost his first picture dictionary.
But it's not that easy. I am finding it incredibly hard to speak to people, in the service industry, in English. Sitting in some Miami airport sports bar I go to ask for the bill and stop myself before I say "La Cuenta". I then have to take some time to recalculate my request, translating it back in my head. It barely takes a moment, and I doubt if the pause was visible, but for me it was a tremendous delay, a gulf that the flight home forgot to pass over.
Back home I am in a pizza joint pointing and grunting at what I want. All the while thinking to myself, what am I doing? This is repeated later at 7-11 as I express my shock at the prices, thinking that they are charging me a gringo tax, expecting the cashier to offer me some kind of discount. Again I use facial clues, as if my mouth had become locked and frozen, relying on non verbal communication, like I just crawled out of a cave.
This will all pass, I know. It will take a bit of time. I post it here as a humorous aside, as a reminder to me that things are not easily compartmentalized, that I can't quickly switch from THEN to NOW, like nothing happened.
When you, as an American citizen, enter the US from abroad you need to declare the value of any items you are bringing back with you. Typically these are souvenirs and so long as they aren't worth more than 1000 dollars you have problem, you can pass duty free. Still, when I looked at my form the other day I thought carefully about the amount that I wrote down and so I mentally reviewed my backpack to consider all the souvenirs and mementos I was bringing back with me. And I came up with 36 dollars. 36 dollars worth of souvenirs for a 5+ month trip. I was afraid that the customs agent, thinking what a ridiculously small amount this is, wouldn't believe me but he barely glanced at the form or me.
My souvenirs: 9 CDs 6 DVDs a belt (mine original one, which was about 8 yrs old, had to be retired) a memory card to replace the one that was stolen a 20oz bottle of coke (I am going to do a taste test between it and american Coke)
And that is it. Talk about being a light (and cheap) traveler!
While it is hard to avoid a good beat in South America, this song has come to represent my entire trip to me. It's rhythm and beats just perfectly encapsulate what it means to be bouncing along through the Andes on a bus.
(bomba chuchaqui)
On a deeper level I will always remember hearing this song performed live during carnival and dancing next to Y.
ETA: The bathroom in my house is pretty small so the garbage can sits right next to the toilet bowl. I just had to physically stop myself from dropping used TP into it. When I got up to flush I looked down in horror at the floating TP and felt very embarrassed... but then I realized where I was.
What began as a 7 week trip but turned into a 5 1/2 month, live changing, adventure has come to an end.
I am home.
The past 162 days have been spent in 54* cities, towns and villages. I spent countless hours on buses, logging more miles than I can even contemplate, boarded 13 flights when I couldn't stand the buses anymore, took boats when possible and even took a few trains (even though some of them went nowhere) along the way.
My days in those places were filled with adventure, excitement, wonder and in some cases simple relaxation. My experiences along the way have given birth to such memories that years from now, whenever I am feeling nostalgic or have a rapt audience, will still manage to remind me of something new, of something forgotten, of some crazy happening on the road.
I have gained friends from around the world. I have found close friends in places where I least expected to. I have laughed with strangers and smiled and waved at children on the side of the road. I have seen how different cultures, different societies live their lives. I have been blessed.
And, finally, I have left a trail of stench deep enough that bloodhounds could follow me home.
Man, what a great time this has been!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I hope you have enjoyed reading about my adventures almost as much I have enjoyed living them!
PS, It's friggin cold in NY!!
*the final country count: Argentina, Chile, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador (incl galapagos), Colombia, Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Belize and Honduras
I have been walking around San Salvador this afternoon with a stupid grin on my face because today has been just about perfect. As far as traveling days go today has been the tops, everything has gone right.
I awoke at 530 this morning and stumbled out of my hotel to the bus stop for La Entranda. Fortunately this was located about 2 store fronts down from my hotel. I was expecting an over crowded mini bus so was thrilled to see that there was a full size bus going.
Upon arriving in Entrada I told my driver where I wanted to go and he pointed in the direction. I wandered aimlessly until I came to the hotel he mentioned. Realizing that I was standing in a fork in the road, and not sure of the direction, I asked the woman in the hotel where to go. She told me and told me the name of the bus company.
Walking towards the newly found bus stop I was quickly approached by someone who, presumably, worked for a bus company. He asked where I was going and I showed him the piece of paper that I had written the name of the town which I couldnt pronounce. We started walking and he continued to ask where I was going and I finally said San Salvador. He turned me in the other direction and told me to wait as there was a direct bus coming in 15 minutes. Great, sure beats my plan of taking 5 different buses!
The direct bus came and it was a delux bus, good seats, modern interior, not too crowded and ample air conditioning, a bit too cold for my nipples but otherwise pleasant. When we came to the border the two country inspectors came on and checked out my documents. The border guard for EL Salvador was nice enough not to charge me an additional 10 dollars to get in. Then I was able to change my honduras money at a great rate.
We finally pulled into San Salvador at 1pm, about 3 or 4 hours earlier than I planned. From my last time in this city I knew of only one landmark, a bus terminal, and I had to get to it, somehow. I was dismayed when the bus sped whizzed by it. I started mentally calculating the cab fare to get back here as 5 minutes passed. But then, incredibly, the bus turned around and returned to the exact bus terminal I had to go to! It was perfect.
The terminal is located right next to the airport shuttle, which is right next to the hotel I am staying at. I was able to walk to all of it. Brilliant!!
I was pleased to discover that the hotel was still the 12 dollars that my 4 year old LP guide mentions but now that price includes a private bathroom! Which is great as I am pretty dirty. Flipping on the TV I was excited to see that they had all of my favorite channels including CNN so I can watch continuing coverage of Spitzer.
Wandering down to the city center, in search of a restaurant suggested in the LP (this area is terrible for food places) I found the sign but quickly realized that they were now serving discount clothing and not food. Luckily, right next door was a fast food chicken place which I always prefer so I jumped in there for a quick bite. While there I thought that I would have to find a supermarket to get some supplies for the evening ahead. I figured this would be a problem so I was elated when I walked out of the restaurant and noticed a great big supermarket right across the street! They even had my favorite flavor of Gatorade.
Returning to the hotel I stopped along the way to do a little bootleg shopping. I picked up 4 DVDs for 2 dollars: AMerican Gangster, Beowolf, Grindhouse and Sweeney Todd. I also grabbed 5 CDs of styles of music from down there that I have grown to love. Mainly cumbia and reggaeton, great driving music.
Tomorrow I need to walk about 30 feet to get my shuttle to the airport and head home.
Shortly before I left, back in October, I weighed myself. My weight then was 162 but I havent had an opportunity to weigh myself since then. I am looking forward to seeing what my change has been over these past 5 months.
So, the game... guess my weight! Sure it is pure speculation as you really cant see me but I will list some pertinent facts. Just send a comment with your guess and the winner will get... well, they will get public acknowledgement on my journal. I am good with prizes, I know. I realize this would probably be easier with a poll but I dont have access to that option, so the roundabout weigh it is.
in favor of weight loss: my near weekly, gut gripping, bowl painting bouts of diarhea the frequent missed lunches or dinner, through laziness or being stuck on a bus occasional intense hiking the intense sweating I have undergone. that nasty tapeworm*
in favor of weight gain: My pot belly remains I have been sucking down a lot of fast food lately Most of the time I have been pretty inactive I have recently developed quite a taste for beer.. mmm.. beer.