Adventure?

Today was what Tyler and noelle referred to as an " adventure." I used the term "fucking nightmare" instead. But you say tomato, I say tomato I guess.

Let's see...where to start...oh I know, lets start with everyone in the entire city of disgusting Corumba, Brazil having no idea how the hell to cross the border. Now, I would get it if we were in say, denver trying to figure out how to cross into Tijuana. But going from Corumba to Bolivia is the equivalent of crossing from El paso into mexico. Its really the ONLY reason people come to this godforsaken place, but i guess they all just wander around until they find Bolivia.

10:30 am: The so-called "helpful" woman at the sketchiest hostel on the planet says, yes, just go to the border, get your stamp and then buy your train ticket to Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Easy enough. So we went to the border, and what do you know? There's a long line, and we find out that we have to get a Brazilian exit stamp first. Ok, so we walk back to Brazil. Long line there too. Oh, did i mention that my dumbass thought it would be a good idea to wait to get our Bolivian visas until we got here? I should officially be committed to an institution. Anyhow, we decide to go back to the hostel, get our bags, come back to get stamps and visas, buy our train tickets before it sells out, and wait til it leaves at 6. Thinking back now about the fact that we thought that would actually happen, I laugh a little. No, I take that back. I laugh really, really hard.

We get in a taxi to go get our bags, and the taxi driver says that it would be easiest to go the Bolivian consulate in Brazil to get the visas, because there is no line. Perfect, things are working out here. We get bags, head to the consulate. Here's what I want to know- why don't Americans get to take 2 hour breaks for lunch? Because everyone else on the planet does. So of course the consulate had closed until 2 to take a nap or eat or get drunk or go do something completely counterproductive. At this point, I was sort of frustrated, but still looking at this whole thing as a cultural experience. However, the fact that I hadn't eaten more than some friggin bread with mystery meat on it for breakfast did not help my mood in the least. (I mean, seriously, at least the other hostels gave us some crusty looking watermelon.) Oh, and it's about 40 degrees Celsius at this point, so we are all sweating profusely and smell like the raccoons that my neighbor used to feed when I was a kid.

We got our visa documents together, found some decent gas station empanadas, unsuccessfully tried to use an ATM, and waited. The people who worked at the consulate showed up at 2. Apparently, the consulate himself gets to take a 2 1/2 hour nap for lunch. More waiting. My hopes of making the nice train with ac and hot food were dwindling. Consulate arrives, and the secretary takes him our passports. After waiting for another half hour while he probably copied all our personal info to steal our identities, he asked us to come into his weird garage office. Before reading the rest of this paragraph, please keep in mind that Bolivia is closely aligned with Venezuela, and I'm sure you know about the Venezuelan/US relationship. First the man asks, "do you speak English"? When i responded yes, he said in Spanish, "ok then I will speak Spanish". Weird. Good thing i have that one covered too. Then he proceeded to flip through every single page in my passport, asking about several of the places I had travelled. He was particularly interested in and confused about my travels to Chile. Weird. He then asked what I did, who I worked for, and why I am going to Bolivia. I decided to leave out the part about how I work for a government agency. He then turned to Tyler, who speaks no Spanish, and asks him the same questions. Except he adds a question, and asks "quieres matar nuestros morales?" Or, "do you want to kill Morales (the Bolivian president)"? Straight face, no joking, really weird. WTF. Tyler didn't understand, so I asked him to repeat the question and then translated. Tyler looked at me like I was insane and then responded appropriately, with surprise and a little fear. "Welcome to Bolivia," responds the consulate, and shakes our hands. What is that? Is that normal? Do we ask The French if they are going to kill Obama when they try to visit the US?

We then find out that they wont accept cash from us and that the banks are all closed so we have to come back tomorrow. Jesus H Christ. We talked our way through that one, after about another hour. Apparently, US citizens are the ONLY people in the world required to get a Bolivian visa, so no one at the consulate even knew how the hell to handle us. It's now 4pm. I'm way past enjoying this "cultural experience" at this point. Now comes the point where even Tyler started to flip out...after making us go wander around Corumba once already to make copies of THEIR visa forms (because they only had ONE), they made us go BACK to the freaking copy place to make more copies of the visas they just gave us. In the consulate office, they had 2 printers and 2 fax machines. So where's the damn copier?! The lady who runs the copy business out of her shack apartment must be doing sexual favors for the consulate, because there is no way she would stay in business without them. Oh and I got yelled at for accidentally writing on the original. It wasn't notorized or anything-it was a piece of paper with a smudged Bolivian seal printed on it! We had already made her another copy! But oh no, I ruined her original.

Get to the border, get stamps, change Brazilian Reals for Bolivian bolivianos through the random pregnant lady on the street, head to train station. Oh, i forgot to mention that at the Bolivian border, they made us go across the street to some random office and make copies of our passports and visas. Hop in a cab with a toothless driver and head to the train station in Quijarro, Bolivia. Train is sold out and of course there is not another one until tomorrow. There was absolutely no way in hell I was about to even consider staying the night ANYWHERE in that town.

Fortunately, we are all grad students and had already come up with plan B. To the bus station. We are all past frustration at this point, and are wiling to do anything to get out of this place.

To describe the bus station in words would not do it justice. I'll let the picture describe that one (which was taken with a disposable camera for fear of digital one getting snatched instantly). Regardless, there are open seats on a bus, it has air conditioning, it's cheap, and it has TVs. Done. So we wait some more...Noelle and I run into some Europeans we met in Bonito who somehow manage to be more lost and confused than we are, and Tyler chats with a Brazilian med student friend that we met at the consulate. Things are going better.

Well, we just got on the bus. And this Scottish guy sits down next to Tyler and says that he hopes we haven't seen him on the news, because...wait for it...he has been all over the news for child molestation. He and his Filipino wife and daughter are currently running from the law. No big deal.

We just sat in the bus outside of the police station while they made that guy and his family get off for questioning. He must have paid the cops off, cause they let him back on the bus. So that's where I am at this very moment. Watching Fast 5 in Spanish while trying not to fall asleep so the Scottish pedafile doesn't come kill me. Call it what you want, but this ain't no adventure.

Corumba sucks

Hello from The Bolivian/Brazilian border! I thought I would send an update on my travels! I am currently in week 3 of traveling, with 1 more left to go. I landed in Sao Paulo after thanksgiving, headed to rio for 6 days, then to Ihla Grande (an unbelievable place off the coast of brazil), back to rio for a day, then to bonito, Brazil via Campo Grande. I have walked through the slums of Sao Paulo, learned to samba with some children from the favelas, climbed an 40meter rock face overlooking rio, gotten seriously sunburned climbing that rock face, snorkeled in the most secluded lagoons in the world, drank cachaca with the Godfather of Cachaca, swam beneath beautiful waterfalls, and repelled 70 meters into the Abismo Anhumas (a 15 million year old cave full of cristal clear water and breathtaking limestone formations). Those are just a few of the highlights so far. Right now, though, i am sitting in what might be the grossest hostel ive ever been in my life in the biggest shitball town in brazil. All part of the adventure, right? Tomorrow, we will take an overnight train through the Pantanal wetlands on our journey toSucre, Bolivia, where we hope to visit the Salar de Uyuni. We may not make it due to weather setbacks, but if we don't, we will head to La Paz and Lake Titicaca instead. So don't worry, I won't be sitting around twiddling my thumbs :)

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Ever since I got my cast off, my wrist has bothered me a bit.  It's not usually unbearable (note the use of the word 'usually'), but I have shooting pain every few days, especially after playing volleyball or doing any serious exercise.  I've gotten away with popping some Ibuprofen before exercising, and the pain usually subsides.  Since I had never broken a bone before this one, I figured that perhaps, humans aren't really like iguanas, and we don't just grow back perfect new bones.  Well, the other day, I was heading to Walmart to pick up the most recent 3 Wolves Howling at the Moon t-shirt, and somehow I ended up in the so-called "ghetto" of Denver.  By the way, "ghetto" in Denver translates to "East Memphis" where I'm from.  Anyhow, I pulled a U-turn in an attempt to get un-lost.  I don't know if it was the way I twisted my hand around the steering wheel or what, my I swear I thought my hand had detached from the rest of my body.  Seriously, I instantly looked down to make sure it was still there.  I was somewhat disappointed when it was still attached to me, because I would think losing it completely would have hurt less than the pain I felt.  Now I know I can't expect 110% use after breaking something, but I was pretty certain that after almost 18 months, my wrist should NOT feel like someone just stabbed me with a bayonet. 

So I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Awkward again.  Great, this should be friggin fantastic.  I hoped he would tell me I was a weakling, needed some physical therapy and and send me on my way.  WRONG.  As the nurse took me in to get new x-rays, I started having flashbacks of the last time I was there.  The twisting.  The pushing.  The news.  The cast. The tears.  I shuddered.  When the doctor came in, he introduced himself to me.  Thanks, Doc.  You went through a very traumatic experience with me about a year ago and you don't even remember meeting me?  Aren't they supposed to look at the chart before entering the room to avoid being that rude?  Sheesh.

Well, he pulled up the x-rays, and even I could see there was some serious inconsistency in my scaphoid.  You know when you have to use the hole puncher on a stack of paper and it doesn't go through the first time?  And then the 2nd time, you re-punch the hole, but the paper isn't lined up right, so you end up with a hole like looks like an 8?  Well, that's what the inside of my bone looks like.  There's a friggin figure 8 punched into it.  I don't figure skate.  So I have no appreciate for damn figure 8's.  Now as you will recall, the scaphoid is like the worst bone to break in the body besides MAYBE your neck.  It's also apparently difficult to read on an xray, which was the excuse the doctor gave me for taking me out of the cast last year.  I think he was trying to avoid getting sued.  Anyhow, after the cat scan I get next week, which I'm sure will cost me more than this computer, he will be able to determine whether 1) I have a cist growing on the inside of my bone, in which case I need a bone graft and a few weeks of recovery, or 2) my bone never really healed, and I actually DO have to have a pin put in it this time.  Recovery would be around 3-4 months with that one.  F my life.  The doctor literally said, "Start mentally preparing yourself for either scenario.  I don't want you crying in here again like last time."  I thought he didn't remember me, but I think my smart ass sarcasm throughout this encounter jogged his memory a bit.

I used to be afraid of the Mayan 2012 prediction.  I'm actually sort of looking forward to it now.

Nala

I have officially, for the first time in my life, fallen in love with a dog. 

She belongs to Tyler.  But I love her like she is my own!  He got her about 3 months ago from the Colorado Puppy Rescue, an organization who rescues puppies from all over the country and brings them to Denver to find a new, safe home.   After looking at the available dogs online the night before the adoption date, we had both agreed that an ADORABLE black and brown hound mix would be the first choice.  Well, the man who was in front of us in line picked that puppy. We were instantly heartbroken.  When it was our turn to visit with a puppy of our choice, we decided to look at another white, black and brown hound mix.  It was love at first sight, and we realized that not getting our first choice had been a blessing in disguise. She was a maniac.  Jumping and climbing and gnawing and rolling all over both of us.  My initial reaction was, "This is Tyler, but in dog form." 

Pink Nose!

Names...I came up with some truly incredible names, all of which Tyler scoffed at.  Seriously- he came up with like 2 things.  I have about 100 ideas and somehow they were all terrible.  We finally agreed that since he got her on Derby Day,  we would name her in honor of the winning horse.  Well, this could have gone a number of ways.  Her name could have been 'Archarcharch'.  Or 'Mucho Macho Man'. Or better yet, 'Boys of Tosconova'. Luckily, 'Animal Kindgom' won.  And Tyler being Tyler, he loves the Lion King.  Well, Animal Kingdom + Lion King + female= Nala!  Nala also means "gift" in Swahili, so sometimes we tell people that's how she got her name, so they don't judge us for naming the dog after a damn Disney movie.

Sick Puppy

She is truly a rescue dog, as her initial craziness was subdued on day 2 when she started showing signs of serious dehydration, malnutrition, and lethargy.  By the way, if you are ever curious as to whether or not you have contracted Giardia, these are the primary symptoms.  I would consult a doctor immediately.  And if you have contracted Giardia, it means you have either been eating poop or drinking water from the floor of an alley- very gross if you ask me, especially if you are a human.  Anyhow, she did not voluntarily eat or drink water for about 5 days and managed to lose 3lbs in a week, which was more than 1/5 her entire body weight.  Needless to say, we were both very worried, and Tyler became very broke, very quickly. 

Nala at 35+ lbs...still eating poop apparently

After some serious dough and some serious intravenous fluids, she was back in action.  Sometimes we actually wish she would go back to being sick- she sure didn't chew up expensive bras or phone chargers when she was sick.


She was (and still is) adorable.  Her nose was originally half black, half pink, but most of the pink has grown off by now. She loves a stuffed monkey I gave her, hates her food, and really enjoys chasing her tail.  Hopefully she grows out of those last 2. 

A-hole

I think I might qualify as an asshole.  I tend to talk bad about people when they are standing right behind me, shout the f word at petting zoos, and ask fat ladies if it's a boy or a girl.  I mean seriously, I'm not the most...tolerant person in the world.  But ya know what?  Some people don't deserve to be tolerated.  Because they are assholes too.

Girl that just made up a word to beat me at online scrabble- asshole.  Wasted dude breaking beer bottles on the cars outside my apartment building- asshole.  Bouncer that took my fake ID in college- asshole.  Kid that almost scratched my sister's eye out in the 2nd grade- asshole. 
Other bouncer that took my fake ID in college- bigger asshole.  Guy who drove on the shoulder to avoid I-70 ski traffic- asshole with a moving violation.  Hitler- big asshole.  People who say "bomb dot com"- assholes. Security guard in my building who looks like Smithers from the Simpsons- asshole.  People who take the elevator to the 2nd floor- assholes who are probably fat.  Hermaphrodite who stole my purse TWICE from the locker room in 9th grade- asshole.  People who scream "DAD?!" at the guy walking into the strip club- funny assholes.  Bum who stole by bike tires- asshole.  Bum who stole my car tires- ghetto asshole.  People who think they are smarter than you, even though they graduated from the University of Phoenix- assholes.  Nick Cage- asshole. Communist 21 year old kid in my Korbel class who thinks the business students are going to hell- ignorant asshole.

See?  I deserve to be an asshole- everyone else seems to be doing it.

Feel free to add to the list...

Gamorjoba from Georgia

So after 2 days of traveling and a 10 hour time change (1 of will never be regained due to the perfect timing of daylight savings)...we made it to Tbilisi, Georgia, "the city that loves you." we arrived at about 4am local time on Monday morning (which, I'm pretty sure was actually today...).  Being as though I had only been awake for about 10 hours, I wasn't the least bit tired. So, I did what any normal American girl would do at 5 am in a foreign former Soviet nation- I wandered. No not alone, so please don't freak out. I am after all, still alive.  Since my body thought it was lunchtime, our small group set out in search of food. There was literally nothing open...because, at this point, it was still 5:15 in the freaking morning. We did find a convenience store, though, and walked around pointing out funny things and being very culturally INsensitive, while the employees stared at us like we were absolutely insane.  I guess I can understnad their point of view though, because I doubt they often encounter a 5'10" southern american girl, a VERY southern 6'4" american guy with a curly blonde ponytail, a large 1/2 chinese 1/2 hawaain dude with a rather noticable laugh, and the MOST obscure- a Canadian- all at the same time.  We asked them if you could drink alcohol on the street, and they just stared blankly and said, "no", even though I am 100% sure they had no idea what we asked.  We later found out that it is, indeed, legal to drink alcohol on the street.  Starting to feel like I'm back at home on Beale street already. Anyhow, we left the convenience store and eventually stumbled upon a little corner food stand that was still open. How and why they were open at this time on a Monday morning is besides me- we were literally the only people dumb enough to be looking for a full meal that late. Regardless, they were open. We approached the window cautiously.  There was a middle-aged woman sitting in a chair behind the counter, bundled up like a marshmallow with only her eyes showing. She was definitely asleep...until we walked up. She opened her eyes and stared at us for a few seconds without saying a word. Then she said in a very deep voice, "gamorjoba" (Georgian for 'hello'). I'm pretty sure she meant to say "Seriously? What are you doing here? Are you really going to make me get up right now?" Obviously, she didn't say that because she spoke no English, but I'm positive she was thinking it, with perhaps one or two explicatives interjected in there somewhere. My Chinese/Hawaiian friend took charge of ordering. He ordered "one." One what, you ask? Well at that point it was going to be surprise,because there was no way in hell we could have communicated asking for anything else. We were in luck- the stand only sold one thing! Either that or they just gave us the easiest thing to make at 5:45am when it's 20 degrees outside. Anyhow, the "one" was a schawarma wrap thing. Abso-frickin-lately delicious. Except it did have raw, unpeeled veggies in (which we were specifically told NOT to eat), so I'm praying that doesn't catch up with me.

Then we really wandered. I realized then how much the city of Memphis has impacted my attitudes about walking around at night.  After walking through some neighborhoods, running into some very creepy stray cats, and passing an apartment with a prominent red light in the window (indicating exactly what you think it was indicating), I insisted that we find the main road.  What did I think was going to happen? That a little Georgian man was going to jump out his apartment window and rob me of my 10 Georgian lari with a shotgun? I guess it wasnt totally out of the question. Regardless, I was unnecessarily worried... but my mom has a deadbolt lock on her bedroom door, so I know exactly where my paranoia comes from.  

We returned to the hotel, where after lying awake for about 2 hours, I fell asleep so hard that I missed breakfast and woke up at 1230. Without any time to get food, we made our way to the American embassy.  Nope you still can't take pictures of embassies, and yes, they do made getting in rather difficult. It almost scary.  What if a real war broke out? Are they gonna make me sit outside the gates for half an hour while bombs drop around me? What's that, ma'm? There is a Russian army chasing after you? Well we are going to need to make sure you don't have a camera or cell phone before you can come in.  Oh, and be sure you take your shoes and belt off before walking through the metal detector. 

Georgia is really damn old. I mean really old. Our tour guide kept talking about things that happened in like year 5. Not 2005. 5. Like 5 years after the coming of J Christ. Woah. Old.

Dinner tonight:
A strange eggplant/pomegranate thing, dumplings with meatballs and filled with some sort of soup that inevitably ended up down my sleeve, cheese bread, bean and cheese bread, chunks of cheese, bread filled with cheese and topped with more cheese, oh and straight-up fried and melted cheese on a plate...
Tyler would die of starvation here.


Please note that I realize today is Wednesday, but I haven't had a chance to post to the blog until tonight, so don't even think about making some smart ass comments.

Merhaba from Turkey

Hello from Turkey!

So after 1 cancelled flight, not having a seat on our flight to Istanbul from Chicago, somehow getting a seat, sprinting to the plane, making it on just before the doors closed only to find that someone else had my seat, and finally getting a seat next to a man that smelled like some sort of Turkish patchoulli for 10 hours...I'm done with the first leg of my trip. I'm also pretty sure the only reason i got a seat in the first place was because a cute old lady in a wheelchair showed up extremely late...oh well, ya snooze ya loose, right? Just one 8 hour layover left, and I'll be off to Georgia! Right now I'm sitting on a couch, drinking Turkish coffee and a rather large beer while staring at the oh-so-unique duty free shop.  Guess what? It's exactly the same as every other duty free shop in the world! Who knew?!  Anyhow, I just wanted to check in, say hello, and let everyone know that no, the tsunami in japan did not affect anything in here in Europe, and the conflict in Libya hasn't spread here either...yet