Garifuna Inspiration and the End of A Year-Long Journey

Far in the distance is a line separating a purple and orange sky. I'm watching a rainy, dreary day turn into a calm, beautiful evening in Santo Domingo from an apartment window. The sun is setting on my year of thoughts, a year colored with such a huge range of experiences and emotions it makes it difficult to leave behind. I am keenly aware that, like college, this has been a defined, unique period of my life, which I will look back on with countless fond memories. As I prepare for my flight tomorrow, I'm becoming a bit nostalgic already. Even though it's definitely time to head home for me, I know part of me wants to keep going, keep exploring and asking questions and meeting new, interesting people forever. But I'm ready for the next phase and having this extended time away for self-reflection will be helpful in my next steps.

So my time in Belize came and went rather abruptly. Unfortunately it was raining most of the time, just like today, because Hurricane Ida is running all over the Gulf of Mexico. So I had a little less time to walk around, explore and take pictures. My visit to Dangriga was interesting. Dangriga is considered the heart of Garifuna culture, and one of the main points of entry for those Afro-Caribbean immigrants in the early 19th century. They're such an interesting people. I spent most of my time chasing the most famous Garifuna artist in the country, but it just wasn't meant to be. I also spent time in long conversations on the quiet, desolate streets of the small town. This one guy recapped his entire football career in Belize for me. He wasn't humble, which made it entertaining. The summary is that he spoke to me for an hour and basically said, "I'm the sh*t, I'm the sh*t, I'm the sh*t" over and over again until he said bye. He was a nice old man though. In Dangriga, people speak English, Spanish, Creole, Chinese, Garifuna and the list goes on. It's pretty crazy. Everything is relaxed to infinity though, so I did some good napping...

Oh well...I did get to go to the Garifuna museum, which was only two big rooms, but had tons of awesome information, pictures, artifacts, poems, etc. The Garifuna are fascinating. They have such pride because they were never officially slaves and established their own communities on the Atlantic coasts of Belize, Honduras and Nicaragua while fiercely fighting colonial forces for centuries. Some major foods and crops include yams, sweet potato and cocoa. They also eat tons of seafood because of their proximity to the sea. They have different religions, the major of which is Dugu, which like Candomble in Brazil involves trance, music, drums, dancing, and spirit possession. They have countless festivals, many of which include masquerade men doing traditional dances. They have tons of music, the most popular called punta, with famous artists Andy Palacio and Paul Nabor. Punta is really cool! It's slow, elegant music with lots of guitar and drums and vocals. Soothing type of music. There's the more modern version of this called punta rock, which reminds me of Pagode in Salvador. It's faster and the kind of music meant to make you move your hips, but the beat is a little oppressive after a while. It's kind of like reggaeton in that sense, EVERY punta rock song has the same beat. It was funny, in Dangriga I went to lunch and asked the guy behind the counter if he could play some punta for me. He looked a bit taken aback but said ok. Before I knew it, he brought out all this DJ equipment, hooked it all up, put DJ headphones on, and went crazy mixing songs, bobbing his head and ignoring other customers that came in. I created a monster lol. It was entertaining to hear all that music for the next 2 hours - I had nothing better to do. Anyway, back to the museum...beyond the really precise recounting of Garifuna history, I really enjoyed the poems and proverbs they had featured on the walls. It's all really spiritual and meaningful, centered on community and cultural survival. Those people are deep! It was a great trip to the museum.

After resting up, I headed back to Belize City where everyone was talking about Shyne, just back in Belize after like 9 years in prison following that shooting at the NYC club with Diddy and J.Lo (of course, as always, Diddy owes him a ton of money and got away from any blame). It seemed like everyone I met in Belize City had shot someone, been to prison, and then got deported. In my head I was thinking, "why is everyone telling me this right after I say hello?" It must've been some desire to establish that they were not someone to be messed with. It wasn't that cool though. I was staying on the southside of Belize City, which is the rougher side. I wonder if it would've been the same had I stayed on the north side, because it didn't look too different (Belize is quite poor and economically underdeveloped). In all, Belize was charming at times, but a bit disappointing. I'm sure if I went to the supposedly amazing beaches and did the snorkeling, diving, and all that stuff it's known for, and if I had seen some live Garifuna music performances, I'd have a different sense. But I'm tired and ready to go home. So I'm here in Santo Domingo, prepping for the flight tomorrow, and wrapping up whats been a ten-month adventure and thinking of what I'm going home to.

The world always seems to be falling to pieces. At the present moment, its wars, broken health care systems, unemployment, economic inequality, violence, genocide, brutal dictators and regimes, swine flu, climate change, gang rapes, diseases, racism, and the list goes on...What this trip has reinforced for me is that there is as much to be inspired by in the world, as much to behold for its magnificence, as there is to deplore and denounce. This trip has sustained the ideal of the world with which I arrived on my first day of college. That same ideal everyone complains is beaten out of young minds by years of pessimism and being made to feel small and insignificant. It's the ideal that hard work, good ideas, and active participation can produce real changes. Whether it was young activists in Brazilian favelas, or festejo dancing children in Peru, or a seasoned professor with a vision in Panama, or cumbia troupes in Colombia, people were making a difference in their communities all over Latin America, through culture, through music, through politics and indeed saving lives at the same time. This made an impact on me. Furthermore, those moments where I felt like I was dreaming because the moment was so overwhelming, because I couldn't believe how blessed I was to be seeing such blue waters or such vast mountain ranges, will be stored in that compartment of my mind that I'll reach to whenever I need hope. I've met so many amazing people on this trip, and have tons of new friends throughout the world and great memories. As it comes to an end, I'm filled with gratitude, and excitement for what comes next...

Here is a fitting Garifuna proverb to drop as I leave...
Luagu lidise wéibugu wasandirei lihürü wanügü
It is as we proceed on our journey that we feel the weight of our burden

Don't Go Chasin' Waterfalls and the Arrival in Belize

Near death experiences are not fun. Yet I had another one, my second of the year, and just as I had decided to have a calm last few weeks before my flight back to Newark. Maybe it's a sign that I need to take a break from traveling?

I had a fun weekend though with a good group of people in Jarabacoa, a small town in Dominican Republic about 4 hours from Santo Domingo. It's known for its water sports and beautiful nature, and it didn't disappoint. The six of us stayed in this real cool resort, with a beautiful river running through the grounds, a swimming pool, restaurant, almost anything you could think of. It was super cheap though because we all split the price. We rode around town on motorcycles, taking in the amazing mountain views and scenery. It was real peaceful. We then visited one of the big waterfall attractions of the town, renown for being the setting of scenes from Jurassic Park. We walked for about twenty minutes until we reached the amazing fall, landing in a small pool of freshwater. We all quickly ran in with excitement, even though it was ice cold. It was pretty cool at first, but soon the currents became stronger and took control, pulling us in different directions. Before I knew it, I was being pulled into the waterfall, unable to do anything to stop it. Then came some of the scariest 30-45 seconds of my year away, as I was caught in the center of the waterfall, hoping the currents would push me back out immediately after pulling me in. Eventually I was able to stand again and gasp for air, but man, for a minute I really thought, what a terrible ending to the year this could be...As I caught my breath back on the beach, I watched helplessly as Kamila was screaming and Mike was fruitlessly trying to help her swim against the current and back to shore. A serene, fun hike to a cool waterfall, turned into a bout with death within minutes. Safe to say I will not go near a waterfall again anytime soon.

We celebrated life that on Halloween eve night to the fullest though. We had these AMAZING platano sandwich snacks called patacones, which were so good I'm still dreaming about them. Then we went to a club where people had some ridiculous costumes - someone was dressed like Michael Jackson, another like a trashbag. We danced to the salsa, bachata and merengue until pretty late and then retired to the hotel. The next day the rest of the group went white water rafting as I took a break from water. We had a fun Halloween night in Santo Domingo, hopping from party to party (the dancing to reggaeton at some of these places was quite crazy). I spent most of my time in conversations with people about not really achieving much in DR and elusively looking for some of the Afro-influences I know are there. Luckily, I'll be back for a day or two at the end of the week so we'll see what happens...

Now, I'm in Dangriga, Belize, a small, quiet and quaint town at the heart of Garifuna culture, the Afro-Caribbean people with roots here from over 200 years ago. They have a such an interesting culture and I'm looking forward to exploring in the days ahead. My two days in Belize City were uneventful - people in Belize are incredibly laid-back, everyone is just chillin to the nth degree. I walked around the city, which felt more like a small town, and I did visit the House of Culture to learn about Belize history. Belize in general is on a smaller scale than other countries, understandably so with only 300,000 people. Reminiscent of Panama, it is incredibly diverse, with Mayans, Europeans, Asians, Garifuna, mestizos, etc., with the major difference being that this formerly British colony sees itself as distinct form the rest of Central America. There's outright animosity at times with Guatemala, and with the rest of the countries, language (English) and culture make Beliceans feel apart from their neighbors. It definitely carries more of a Caribbean feel to the place, with Bob Marley everywhere and people speaking Creole. I actually really love it though, and I've already seen another idea of the Latin American world expressed, and it's even more diversified than I thought!

Professor Bernal and the Deficit in Santo Domingo

My last days in Panama were spent with friends. Losing my opportunity to visit Colon, the country's second largest city with the highest percentage of black Panamanians, I felt a little discouraged. As had happened in Esmeraldas, Ecuador and Buenaventura, Colombia, I couldn't find the time or the way to make it to parts of the Afro-Latin world undoubtedly rich with cultural expression, but rife with poverty and violence. People warned me about each place, about how dangerous it was and how it wasn't worth it to go. While I wanted to go regardless, I did want to have an objective or a contact, rather than just dropping myself there with no plans. Unfortunately this always took a longer time than I had in country - to establish the contacts to plan a productive trip to some pretty rough cities. Anyway, I had a good time hanging with some new friends, which involved a bizarre late night trip to the casino until 6am. The casinos are open 24 hours and they don't draw the cream of the crop at 4am. Apparently, there were plenty of Colombian hookers looking for clients. And there were plenty of people running around with no teeth making some ridiculous statements. As we got our late-night pleasure food, it was quite a show.

Two days before I left for Dominican Republic though, I had a great dinner conversation with Professor Miguel Bernal. The law professor was a good man, devoted to human rights and development in Panama. His history spoke for itself. I found him after a quick Google search, and read about his continued periods being thrown in jail by the repressive military government, the many attempts made on his life and his eventual exile. A former mayoral candidate of Panama City, he still teaches today and has a daily radio show where he talks about contemporary politics. Many people acknowledged him as they passed our table, and a few came to chat. Within a short 45 minute conversation, he had given me many leads for my questions regarding Afro-Latin culture. Our conversation was interesting though. He spoke about how the basic rights of people are being compromised in various sectors, especially education. He rightfully connected education with freedom and opportunity and employment, both nationally and internationally. He thought that was the major front to fight on. But he spoke about the political legacy of the military regime in Panama, and while he believed things were better, he still believed people weren't as involved as they should be in the political process. He lamented the lack of private ingenuity (not one Panama-owned magazine being produced) and collective mobilization (with only 9 million people in the country, why is it so difficult to find common ground). One thing he drove home for me though as I pressed him on culture and politics, is how diffuse and diverse Panama's cultural history has been. They've seen the arrival of African slaves and the influence of Amerindian groups, and the immigration of Europeans, Asians, West Indians, Americans, and South Americans, creating an identity that is as worldly as any you can find. While that has created a sense of equanimity among Panamanian people (outside of the judicial system and police brutality among people who are darker-skinned), it has perhaps also engendered some complacency.

Professor Bernal gave me tons to think about, as I compared Panama with the other countries I have visited to this point. I arrived in Santo Domingo to a very different vibe, distinctly Caribbean and overly touristy - to be expected. While Santo Domingo has been fine, it's felt a bit congested at times (the streets are generally smaller) and there's an annoying obsession with Christopher Columbus. Since I was little I have questioned why this man is so celebrated, why the pope would visit his tomb here in DR. I wonder if we need an actual number of the Native Americans he slaughtered. Oh well, it didn't make sense in 2nd grade and it doesn't make sense now. But I have tried to come to terms with Dominican history, especially the racism that came with the brutal regime of Trujillo, and its impact on current prospects for exploring Afro-Dominican culture (rather than going to ANOTHER Columbus landmark, museum or statue). I'm still probing here, asking cab drivers and new friends, but noone seems to really know or be interested in Afro-Dominican history. This is fascinating because the nearby countries of Cuba and Puerto Rico have more openly documented and celebrated African cultural influences.

Other than a merengue/bachata show in the Plaza de Espana and museum trips, I've used my week in DR so far to recharge. The nightly, drunken party outside the grocery store outside my hotel was entertaining as well though. I only watched, didn't participate. It was tempting...I am excited about seeing the Garifuna in Belize in a few days, and even more excited to head home in a little over one week (especially since the NBA season started yesterday, but mostly to reacquaint with friends and wear DIFFERENT CLOTHING). Until then, I'll enjoy other parts of the DR with old college friends and hope to stumble upon something interesting in the days ahead...

San Blas Paradise

My visit to the beautiful San Blas islands were by far the highlight of my trip. Last Monday I awoke at 5am to take the 2 hour journey to the dock on the Atlantic coast. Some other travelers and I were greeted by a crocodile creeping in the water, silently stalking the boat...I immediately thought to myself - "What in the world did I get myself into?" Crocodiles and spiders are my worst enemies. Anyway, I got on the small motorboat and we made the 45 minute journey to Franklin island. As we pulled up to the island, one word came to mind immediately "paradise." The waters were a rich color of blue and the sky was clear with strips of clouds. The beach was clean and big, and the island was lined with large palm trees, hammocks everywhere, a volleyball net, and a series of thatch-roofed huts (which were like our hotel rooms, the beds were remarkably comfortable and despite others' complaints of cockroaches and crabs, I slept really without any problems).

San Blas is composed of over 300 islands, and mainly the Kuna people live their, an indigenous Amerindian group who has apparently fought fiercely for continued ownership of their land and the onset of tourism on their own terms. Families run the islands where travelers are able to stay. The Franklin family was very pleasant and the patriarch was awesome. It was really familial, as he learned almost everyone's names. Most of the men are quite short, and they played makeshift basketball everyday. Of course one pointed at me and said Shaquille O'neal. I think more than anything it has become quite clear that in Latin America, if I ever want to travel again and tell everyone that I'm a star player for the New York Knicks, I will be believed quite easily. The women were ALWAYS dressed in their colorful attire, a tight body wrap dress, and large anklets, as well as multiple piercings. I loved it, and wondered if it was cultural for the women to wear the outfits all the time or simply in case tourists wanted to take a picture with them (which cost $1...we came to find out that everything cost $1).

The days were spent mostly lounging in hammocks and reading, listening to relaxing music, playing volleyball, swimming and laying on the beach. It was so wonderful to be isolated like that. I met some great people as well. Along with Carl from the UK, I met two Dutch guys, and we played board game after board game and tons of card games. The island was primarily Israelis, a group I've learned that travels more than most since people leave after their 3 yr plus stint in the national army. Every night they had the rum and cokes out, and got very rowdy. It was definitely entertaining. Lights went out every night at 10pm, so other than flashlights, fires and candelight, the island was completely dark. This meant we went to bed quite early and woke up early as well. I came to enjoy this routine.

One of the days we took a trip to another nearby island called Isla Perro. It was funny because as we wondered why it was called Dog Island, there were the cutest two dogs barking like maniacs as pulled up to shore. It was a pretty secluded island, only about 6 guests were there compared to the 30 or so on Franklin. Isla Perro was ridiculously gorgeous though, just amazing. I snorkeled over this ship wreck near the shore which was awesome. All of it was pretty breathtaking. I extended my trip a day or two to have a bit more fun and relaxation - unfortunately this cost me a day trip to Colon because I returned too late in the week. But it was quite worth it because San Blas was definitely the highlight of my time in Panama. Needless to say, I didn't do as much cultural exploration as I had hoped to do, but it was a great recharge for the home stretch of my trip. I returned to Panama City realizing I had only 3 weeks left of my trip.

Bocas del Toro

Bocas del Toro is a fascinating cluster of islands on the northern Caribbean side of Panama. After about a week in Panama City, I went with my traveling buddy Trinh on what turned out to be an epic overnight bus trip across the country, filled with funny stories, upset stomachs, crammed local transportation, and insane driving. I spoke to a local electrician on the bus for a long time about life in Panama and what I had been studying. Although I was struggling to keep my eyes open, the man shared a lot with me about issues of employment, land rights, education, etc. in the country. He had very keen perspectives. We arrived at Almirante in the wee hours of the morning, where we took a taxi-boat to Isla Colon, the main island of Bocas del Toro. The network of islands is cool and you take taxi boats all the time. After free pancakes and a long nap, Trinh and I walked around the sleepy, subdued town, comprised of about 5 blocks in each direction. The island was not particularly pretty or impressive in any way, just incredibly laid back. What impressed me the most was the absolute clash of cultures in Bocas. The population is mostly black, or Afro-Caribbean, coming mostly from Jamaica but other islands as well. I encountered the influence when I first heard people speaking Patua and other local dialects other than Spanish and English. Apparently, Bocas has a completely different feel than other parts of the country.

While this reality made me somewhat hopeful for cultural immersion in a very distinct part of Panamanian society, I was met with a tourist black hole. I had great fun in Bocas with the happy hours, power hours, ladies' nights (I had friends pass me free drinks of course), and constant partying every night. One party was really good actually, with this Australian guy blowing fire and these people jumping on a trampoline. However, that lifestyle got old very quickly and I felt bothered by the "cater completely to gringos" mentality that swallows the creativity and aspirations of the locals. I understand tourism, but Bocas made me think, why would I travel all this way to just party with travelers? The closest thing we got to cultural exposure was the night we followed some locals to a small, hole-in-the-wall club blasting reggaeton. The star of the night was a woman who said it was her birthday (apparently she said this everyday), and proceeded to ask for everyone's drinks. People told me she was a mother of a wonderful boy and she was trying desperately to break a crack addiction. Unfortunately, when that's as close as you get to a place, you know the tourists have taken over.

Despite all this, Bocas was still a great time. We visited Dolphin Bay and watched beautiful dolphins leap from the water, I went snorkeling for the first time, and we visited an awesome, deserted beach called Zapatillas. I resigned to the fact that I wouldn't be introduced to the black experience here regardless of the number of black people I had met. So I enjoyed the cuisine, tropical drinks, lazy afternoons and competitions with Trinh regarding who could stay in bed sleeping the longest (Trinh always outlasted me). We met this newlywed Israeli couple on their honeymoon in Zapatillas. They were really nice and offered to drive me back to Panama City in the car they rented. We had a cool little road trip home, with a stop at McDonald's of course. And I listened to some Israeli pop music on the way. While Bocas is certainly a nice little holiday, I was a bit relieved to return to normalcy.

La Ciudad de Panama y La Historia Afro-Antilleano

I arrived in Panama City about 3 weeks ago, ready for a new adventure after a long month in Colombia. I left late and in a hurry from Colombia, so arrived in Panama with no US dollars, causing me to scour the airport for someone to loan me $5 to pay an annoying tourist entrance fee. I finally was able to borrow the money and get passed customs. My taxi ride was quite interesting. A young black man picked me up, and he spoke like he was from New York City. There was literally no trace of an accent, except with a few words. We went back and forth about Plaxico Burress and Michael Vick and NFL football in general, as we drove on the highway along the water passed impressive skyscrapers and bright lights. The guidebook says Panama City reminds people of Miami, and I really was confused about the level of development I saw. I got a healthy wake up call though as we drove passed some more sober neighborhoods, devoid of the glitz of the oceanside glamor.

Since the taxi driver seemed like quite an educated black Panamanian, I of course launched into a series of questions about racial identity and Afro- influenced culture in Panama. I was surprised that he responded with a very defensive rant about how race and racism does not exist in Panama, how it never matters the color of skin or where you come from because everyone is so mixed and embraces everyone, how the idea of difference basically does not exist. I am always surprised when people attack the idea of difference, as if it inherently threatens equality. People can have different sensibilities, understand the world through unique cultural lenses, and still respect others and live among them in a spirit of openness and peace and understanding. His dismissal of all of my questions shed a new light on the unique challenge I have come to recognize in Panama - the way people have handled their history of racism and cultural diversity has been to deny completely its impact on the present day. Now I'm still young, but I'm experienced to know that in a place like Panama its highly unlikely that they've reached the status of a racial utopia.

My first days in the city were uneventful. I switched hostels form El Cangrejo, a working class neighborhood, to Casco Viejo, the colonial city center. Casco Viejo is quite run down in some parts, with squatters living in centuries-old buildings, and in other parts, like the plazas and the area around the presidential palace, is developed, touristy, and almost ritzy. The contrast is startling. My second night I met my friend Diego from Colombia, who had missed his flight to his wedding in Turkey. I felt so bad for him that I dedicated two days to trying to take his mind off his angry/upset bride to be and the confused families waiting for him hundreds of miles away. We played basketball, ping pong, watched movies in the hostel theatre (shout out to Luna's Castle with their movie theatre - baller!), and generally did nothing of consequence. I'm happy to know he finally made his way to Turkey and is now with his wife. When Diego left, I immediately assembled a new crew - this girl Holly from Canada, this girl Trinh from the UK, and this guy Mike from Australia. There were some others, but we pretty much stayed attached during our time in the city. Weekend nights out on Calle Uruguay and Zona Viva, with tons of bars and clubs, was both fun and expensive (one night this Australian guy came with us, got incredibly drunk, we lost him, and it turned out he got mugged - not smart on his part). To be honest, being in Panama City kind of made me want to be back home, since I wasn't getting a huge sense of cultural difference. Of course there were some, watching families play craps and card games while blasting reggaeton and bachata outside my window. But the number of sports bars, McDonalds, etc. (even a Hooters) wasn't too exciting.

The two highlights of my time in Panama City though were my trips to the Panama Canal and the Museo Afro-Antilleano (that is the museum for the history of African people from the Spanish-speaking Caribbean). The canal was quite interesting. With millions of dollars spent a day, ships make their was from the Pacific to Atlantic Ocean through a slow but efficient process of rising water levels and opening flood gates. The process wasn't exhilirating, but it was cool to see something I remember learning so much about in grade school American history. The three-floor museum was also fascinating as well as the movie. The most interesting part of the canal was the incredible diversity of people who worked on the project, side by side, in the early 1900s - including Jamaicans, Chinese, Europeans, and local Indian groups. The pictures were quite cool. Of course this multiracial panorama was met with the reality of segregation brought by the American government between black and white workers. This made sense after I learned of a former president denied the chance to run for reelection by the US gov't because of he was Afro-Panamanian. The US certainly did impose its accepted ideas of racial segregation on Panama, and there is some resentment among people here toward American racial imperialism - the idea that America's understanding of race being forced upon other nations.

Yet the misdeeds of the Americans should not give Panamanians a pass from dealing with their own history of racial hatred. The Museo Afro-Antilleano was small, in a dodgy part of town. This is because the gov't doesn't subsidize museums, so they depend completely on private donations. Though it was small it was extremely informative. The exhibits marked the times when immigrants from the Caribbean flooded into Panama during the canal building, as well as traditional dress, music instruments, etc. The lady that walked me through the museum was quite interesting as well. Describing her ancestry as "Afro-colonial," as in the wave of African slaves that came to Panama mostly from the area known as Congo today, she shared some oral history of the tragedy her forebears suffered. Working as slaves in gold mines, young women were routinely raped, slaves were killed and hung in public squares, families were sold and torn apart. As time moved on and Afro-Caribbeans moved in, there were tensions between "afro-colonial" and "afro-caribbean" communities, as they often dissociated themselves from one another culturally and engaged in violence. This history, prior to American intervention, is what complete denialists in Panama City must answer to. This history is not taught in schools (despite a law passed in 2000 for schools to include Afro- related history in the curriculum), and people generally don't know the pain endured by those first slaves. The fact that my guide defended her family's oral history and argued against putting her ancestors' struggles to paper was fascinating.

Clearly, just the term "Afro-Panamanian," unlike other countries' Afro groups, carries another degree of complexity, with such high levels of racial mixing, and waves of distinct "black" people immigrating to the country. The definition of Afro-Panamanian remains unclear and varied to me, thus the culture remains even more unclear. Unfortunately the kind of cultural and musical displays I have found in other countries has been hard to find here after trips through the country to Bocas del Toro, San Blas Islands, and stops in small towns like Almirante and David along the way. I will recap those trips as well. But in the meantime, I'm hoping a day trip to Colon, a city which housed some of the palenques (runaway slave communities), will bring some much-needed exposure to Afro-Panamanian culture before I leave for Dominican Republic in three days.

Colombian Immersion and Diversion

I spent the past two weeks basically retracing my steps in Colombia. I stopped in Santa Marta, another city close to Cartagena, for a few days and met two British girls who I traveled with for the next few days. It was cool to have some travel buddies for a little while, and it turned out to be worth it because there's not much to do at all in Santa Marta. The beachfront is quite nice, except for the beach part. We did spend a day at a beach about 15 minutes away which wasn't amazing but was quite nice. The crazy group of gringos we had assembled had a lot of fun that day. We also did good amount of dancing at a local bar. The first night we went wasn't that amazing because the DJ kept scream/singing over the reggae/funk tunes. The next night was great though - a mix of salsa, reggaeton, pop and hip hop (and a little Michael Jackson set). I also met an interesting guy, a soldier who had just left Iraq, and we had long talks about the politics of the war, his brushes with death, his hopes for the future, philosophy, the existence of heaven and hell. He was my age, but confronted with the question of whether the people he had to kill would lead him to miss salvation.

My two friends and I agreed though that while Santa Marta is charming, it can become a black hole, which I define as a place time starts passing really quickly while you basically are not productive at all. In terms of cultural exposure, there was very little of it. Unlike the cumbia blasting through the centro in Cartagena, Santa Marta was pretty quiet. The highlight of my time in Santa Marta was actually a really great burrito; after months without my Qdoba and Mexican food, it was a refreshing respite.

From Santa Marta, we tried to visit Parque Tayrona, but were rebuffed by an intense rainstorm. We immediately had to turn back. We did get to Taganga though, a small beach town with some AMAZING juice smoothies. I had an excessive 5 a day (banana and oreo, strawberry mango, and local fruits like lulo and zapote - all delicious). Taganga was also interesting. Many signs were in Hebrew because of the high number of Jewish tourists. We met a pleasant group of guys and one girl from Israel who had rented out an apartment. As we passed around some Cuba Libres, my friend and I noticed that there was a drug binge going on - bongs, cocaine, acid. We made our way out after we noticed, but it was crazy. We went to a roof-top bar that was really fun, with a nice view of the city. There was also basically a weed beach we traveled to where we looked around and everyone was blazed. We were confused at why the smell was so strong, until a man explained it to us. (One thing that has been somewhat unpleasant is the tourism of cocaine. Apparently in Colombia its cheaper and good quality, so you'll meet some good people to hang with, but they're always buying it and doing it, and the fact that it's illegal and tourists have been thrown in jail creates an anxiety when you go out with a group who suddenly switches all their focus to trying to buy some; Colombia has so much more to offer!).

From Taganga, I said my goodbyes to my travel buddies Erin and Anna, and took my bus back to Cartagena for my flight the next morning. I would basically be re-tracing my steps. I met a great guy from Argentina and a nice New Zealand/Croatia couple who I had a long conversation with into the night. The next day I made my way back to Medellin to reunite with Diana and people at the Casa del Rosa. They're pretty much like a family. I love them! So helpful and nice. I then took my bus back to Cali where my flight would leave to Panama. In Cali, I got a better feel of the city. It's interesting how you can look a few blocks away but have a different view of a place. I took more salsa classes and look forward to continue my salsa calena at some point! I met some more good people. Unfortunately though, the weekend I had come back to Cali was the same weekend as the election, and rules were in place against drinking or selling alcohol, thus most places were closed. I didn't have my last Colombian rumba but I had a good time. I also had hoped to visit the Pacific coast, near Buenaventura and some of the small times with strong African influence. However, there were so many obstacles and differing views of where to go and how to get there, that I ultimately decided against it since my flight was so close. Like Esmeraldas in Ecuador, I felt like I missed the chance to become acquainted with Afro-Colombian music and cultural tradition because of lack of infrastructure and the reputation these place have of being quite dangerous. Yet I just see it as an excuse to return one day to see it. And the point of this year isn't to have an academic experience, but to have time to understand and reflect on Afro-Latin culture. The many possibilities to see Afro-Latin communities makes me content with what I have seen - in other words, because there's so much to see, I feel like there's no way I would be able to see an elusive "everything," if that makes any sense.

I arrived in Panama completely aware that I had entered a completely different world. Although Panama used to be part of Colombia, the differences were immediately stark, as I went back and forth with my cab driver about Plaxico Burress, Michael Vick, the Cowboys and the Jets in English, as we drove along the water with the back drop of modern skyscrapers lit up in the night - a scene many people rightly see as reminiscent of Miami. I'm in Panama now, still needing to explore the city after the crazy rainstorm today, already missing the charm and vastness of Colombia. I have about a month to go, and I'm more reflective in these last weeks, reading and writing, and thinking of what lays ahead while trying to remain immersed in my Latin American adventure. I'm hoping the distinct, fascinating culture of black/Afro-Panamanians will sweep me away from a wintery arrival at Newark airport that awaits me in a little over a month.

Sept. 11

It was difficult to understand the magnitude of the moment that morning 8 years ago. During a normal day of high school, caught in the doldrums of a repetitive daily schedule, word started spreading that the World Trade Center had been bombed. Students crowded around television sets in the cafeteria and we soon understood that it had been a plane crashing into the first tower, and the United States was under attack. Noone will forget the horror of that day, the helplessness felt by an entire nation. Many have discussed the post-9/11 era in America in terms of seemingly perpetual wars against extremists, in terms of nation-building and the spread of democracy, and in terms of a post-modernist sensibility of loneliness gone wild with the added loss of invincibility. I can't say I have personally felt that my world changed because of 9/11 or that living in my country feels significantly different. Certainly, having elected Barack Obama following George W. Bush in the post-9/11 political universe, it's difficult to talk about a new set of social priorities or a novel, hardened worldview brought about by that now famous act of violence by Al Qaeda.

However, what 9/11 has presented is the opportunity not only for our nation to resolve to live up to its core values, but for people to resolve to live up to their individual core values. While wandering through the old town of Cartagena looking for a place to eat dinner with friends, a Colombian asked me if today (now yesterday) is a day of remembrance in my country. I had no idea what he meant at first, but he pressed on, asking if the 11th of Sept. has significance. As I had a moment to hit myself in the head, and put on my U.S. hat instead of world traveler hat for a minute, I remembered the courage of thousands on that day - those who fought back, who saved lives...They are an inspiration. This traveling experience is valuable because as I think of all that I have seen just in Cartagena - the woman the other day offering her body for money to feed her children, the young man whose reply to being asked what he did in the past week was that he sold cocaine and weed, all the people struggling in this city and feeling hopeless - I'm reminded of all the structural changes that need to occur, but also the inspiration that people need to live up to their core values. One reason black people here, and other Afro-Latin Americans throughout this continent, disproportionately struggle with poverty, unemployment, hunger, and ill health, is because they lack those models or events upon which to build a sense of self-worth.

9/11 is tragic to think about, but I'm so proud that I live in a country where differences and divisions can be put aside to display a basic moral, human character in the most important of moments. If some of these black Colombians knew the story of the palenques (escaped slave communities) or Afro-Colombian politicians who laid the foundation for the national character of all Colombians, if these facets of history were in fact something the nation actively celebrated, I can't help but wonder if some of these people in Cartagena would be inspired enough to change their life trajectory...

Mi Color and the Beauty of Cartagena

I feel like Diddy when I walk Cartagena's streets. Since pretty much everyone here is black, I get shoutouts once every 10 minutes. What is funny is that people call out to me and say "Mi color!" - a clear reference to the fact that our skin color is the same. It's kind of become my nickname in this city. After only two days, there have been countless hilarious encounters. Like the guy who called out, "Hey mi color, we gots beautiful p*ssy here man." The very sad, desperate exploitation of women in this instance is only matched by the hilarious absurdity of such a comment being yelled in my direction on my first few hours in the city. I've been offered all kinds of crazy things besides women, some things I've never even heard of. I try to look for the humor in all of it though.

The most egregious instance came last night as I walked with two guys I had met in the hostel through the main square. I heard, "Yo whatsup m*thaf*cka! Hey my n*gga! Over here pahtnah!! Why you no respond man?" In my head I said to myself "keep walking, keep walking," until I realized he had gotten up to follow us. I knew a crazy conversation would ensue. This man had lived in New Jersey before, in Plainfield to be exact, where his family owned a restaurant. He told me a free meal waited for me back in NJ if I told them I spoke to their cousin, the short guy with the gold teeth. He went on and on for about 20 minutes about his stint in a Texas prison , and how his sentence was reduced from 6 to 3 years, after which he was deported back to Colombia. He told me he had three kids in the US and they all spoke Spanish and were quite smart. After twenty minutes of non-stop chatter, we told him about the friend we were supposed to meet (who of course didn't exist). It was hilarious to see him bothering a group of three Americans an hour later on the street, yelling to me asking if I knew them. The only other thing that matched this insanity was when this old lady passing by us on the street grabbed the balls of my friend from Ireland , and then cat-called him afterward. My mouth dropped. Good ol' sexual assault on the street. For some reason, all of this, despite how inappropriate it is, has just made me laugh.

People are generally extremely nice here in Cartagena even if they refuse to leave me alone or attempt numerous times to lead me to whorehouses. In a tourist area like this one, it's all business for them. Women are commodities, and everything is an opportunity for money-making. Despite these issues though, the pleasantness of the spirit of Cartagena's people matches the real wonder of Cartagena's layout and architecture. The old city is surrounded by magnificent walls and towers. Inside are winding, narrow streets and airy plazas, with horse-drawn carriages on every road. The romanticism of the place hits you immediately, with the lovers on the corners and the artistic brilliance in old statues and modern art. The square outside of the old city is magnificent as well, with fountains, colonial buildings and the vast Caribbean waters. Walking through Cartagena is like walking through a dream to be honest. The only thing is that it's a very hot dream. The weather is scorching and each day we all pray for a breeze, which surprisingly never comes despite the proximity of the water. The humidity is astounding. For this reason, I haven't been out for too long during the day, since I would most definitely sweat my clothes off (I sweat like Shaq!). I plan to venture out today though to take some daytime pictures. The weekend should also bring some more options as well. Like in Medellin and Cali, Cartagena is also a pretty chill city, with most people staying inside during the week, leaving empty streets late at night and very few places open.

I knew I would immediately like the city though when, on my first night, I wandered into a plaza where this dance troupe called Grupo Candela Vivo was playing some amazing cumbia music, very popular African influenced rhythm here in Colombia. I met some of them afterward - they were young, interesting, and quite talented. They also danced to folklorica music, which I saw the following evening. They're practicing every evening in the square for upcoming shows. This kind of spontaneous cultural exposition, free music and art coming from true musicians and artists, reminds me of Salvador in Brazil, which I am still hopelessly in love with. After a day exploring outside Cartagena, passing small islands and swimming at Playa Blanca, I hope I can see some more live music and performances this weekend and learn more about this romantic city. I'm sure the random shoutouts will continue...

Juanchito, Chango, and Salsa Caleña

You'd have to be heartless not to smile as a little kid sings ABC by the Jackson 5. I'm waiting in the airport after a very chill weekend in Medellin, being serenaded by a hyper Colombian boy who apparently is a Michael Jackson fan and future musical sensation in the making, and whose parents look completely disinterested. I didn't plan on stopping in Medellin, but so many people suggested that I do, so I decided to make the trip. It's an interesting city - quite beautiful, surrounded by mountains, with plenty of nightlife and a modern, pristine subway system. Most evenings I hung out in the Zona Rosa area, a neighborhood with countless bars, clubs, and restaurants with people I met in the hostel and who I had met in Cali. The highlight of going out at night was stopping by this bar playing funk music - a ton of James Brown. It was great. The crowd was quite mixed with some wild clothing and hair styles on display.

They also had some salsa in the back so I had the opportunity to practice what I had learned in the two classes I took back in Cali. They definitely helped! Salsa in Cali is different than anywhere in the world so it was cool to learn that specific style. Anyway, like Cali, Medellin is a more relaxed city, although there was definitely a bit more hustle and bustle. I finally made it to a futbol game, Colombia v. Ecuador, which was amazing. I actually thought I was Colombian for like 3 hours. It was such a familial, fraternal atmosphere - everyone making friends with those around them, offering each other snacks and drinks they had bought, as well as tons of marijuana (which was not allowed but I was surrounded by weed clouds). The score was 0-0 for awhile actually, but towards the end of the second half, Colombia scored twice! When they scored each goal, it was if each person in the stands won an all-expense paid trip to Bermuda. There was such emotional intensity and personal investment that was contagious, to the point where I was hugging complete strangers. It was a great game though!

My time in Cali overall turned out not to be anything too special. The city is a bit too quiet and laid back for me, to the point where during the week I had nothing to do (you know thats the case when you take multiple trips to the mall, although mall was real nice). Clubs were surprisingly expensive so going out too much wasn't an option. When I did go out, it was often in large groups of people from the hostel, all of whom were cool, but made the situation inevitably complicated, as each person had a different idea of what to do. What saved my opinion of Cali though is the richness of the salsa music and the ridiculously talented dancers that I saw. On Sunday night, a group of us, a mix of salsa teachers, gringos, etc., went to Chango, this famous salsa club, that draws some of the best dancers in the city, in Juanchito, which is kind of like the Harlem of Cali (uptown, predominantly black...). We entered the club and I was floored. The place was one of the coolest places I've ever seen. It had a 50's style, with low ceilings and two large circular rooms, with a dance floor in each one surrounded by curved couches and a bar in the middle. There were flashing, colorful signs all over, complementing the dim lighting and red lights.

As we sat down, I immediately noticed that some masters were in the building. This tall black man with a black hat tipped over one eye and a tall tanned woman with long curly hair and a flowy red dress were burning through the dance floor. Their feet were moving so fast, they were completely synchronized, and perfectly on the beat. Such a spectacle to watch, so much so that I was actually nervous to dance at first. I sat out the first few until a girl asked me to dance, and I assumed she was Colombian (she was actually from Spain). This fear gave me 2 left feet and I danced awkwardly as I wondered why she wasn't helping me out or telling me what to do. I laughed for awhile when I figured this out. Over time I got more comfortable and our group was out there dancing to every song. I fell so much in love with salsa that night as we stayed until 4am, as all the impressive dancers didn't seem to tire at all. The salsa teachers we rolled with were really cool too - they were young, like early 20s, and extremely talented, friendly and confident. One of the teachers was a black girl named Yamile from far south in Cali (my friend Nick from NY and I visited her house and met her family, as well as her ADORABLE niece who was my best friend for about 6 hours). She explained so much to me about salsa, about Afro-Colombian influences in the Pacific. And no matter the style of music, she could do it at a really impressive level. This is why I was mad excited when she told me how good of a dancer I was when reggaeton came on. Four years of grimy college parties with hip hop and reggaeton improves skills I guess. But despite maybe too many rum and Cokes, I had an unforgettable time and might try to go again when I go back to Cali for my flight out to Panama!

Goodbye Cold, Hello Cali

I had a really pleasant time in Peru, but to be honest, the chilly weather was a nuisance. When I arrived in Colombia the day before yesterday, in the city of Cali, the warm weather hit me and brought an immediate smile to my face. I still have to go out and explore thoroughly, but I have loved what I've seen so far. The feel here is similar to Brazil, in that the people I've met are extremely nice and passionate about laughter and enjoying their lives. I had an incredible smoothie yesterday with strawberries, mango, banana, and papaya (I actually was almost brought to tears because it tasted so good) and on top of that, the lady told me I had a beautiful smile and didn't charge me extra. I also bought some great Colombian music - some Afro-Colombian music which is so lively - and some compilation CDs. The guy played the CDs in the store as some of the people in the hostel and I, as well as some locals, danced a bit. There's this great mall right near where I'm living as well. I'm usually not a fan of malls, but this one was awesome. Parts of it were outdoors and they had a bunch of bars filled with people. Just great...

Above all, I really like how diverse this place is - Colombians really don't have a "look" here, so people are really interested in where I'm coming from. And people smile! They give welcoming looks, rather than judgmental ones, and they help you when they realize you don't speak Spanish fluently. Other than having been offered cocaine in front of the Blockbuster and at a restaurant - Colombia is the cocaine capital of the world obviously (and Cali is the capital of salsa and breast implants) - the sun is shining, my laundry is done, and I am finally rockin some shorts and polos.

Pisco, Paracas, Chincha, Ica, Nazca - A Tour of the South

I just finished a topsy-turvy tour of some towns in the south of Peru that was charming at times, and at others somewhat disturbing. The charming definitely outweighed the disturbing though. What I ended spending a lot of time doing was arguing that I was owed free breakfast. Now, the right to breakfast has felt like my small personal battle as I read in the news at home about the battle over the right to quality healthcare (another passion of mine). Even though breakfast is always just some bread, butter, jam, tea and coffee, when you're owed something, you're owed something. So it's been the principle of the matter rather than me actually looking forward to some amazing meal with croissants, scrambled eggs, bacon, etc. That's what you would think I was fighting for. Needless to say, I won every time, triumphantly eating my buttered bread and happilly gulping town my tea.

Despite the war for breakfast, there are some amazing highlights of my trip as I await the bus back to Lima for a night before moving on to Colombia tomorrow. The trip started with a stop in Pisco, a small town with a bustling center plaza and a really young crowd of revelers. I was surprised by the disastrous effects still apparent from the crazy earthquake in 2007. Roads were still torn up, buildings still crumbled. The government needs to put a move on it! Upon my arrival I met this kid Nilton, a black Peruvian from Pisco who started a tour business (like everyone seems to have) with a group of friends. He spoke really good English, and invited me to come by his office later to chill. After riding around town in these motortaxis or tumbis or whatever they're called (they're basically minicars with the three wheels that fit into the smallest spaces, beep constantly, and go quite fast - it felt like I was in a video game), I had a nice meal and walked through a huge, bustling market. I then went out to see some more ancient ruins at Tambo Colorado. They were cool of course, but after Machu Picchu, nothing can really compare at all. That evening I met up with Nilton and another friend of his at their office, and I spoke with them for hours about the richness of Afro-Peruvian culture, as well as the challenges of being black in Peru - not only facing racism from other groups, but a heightened level of self-loathing within their community. It was an interesting discussion, and we agreed that most black Peruvians stand against marrying other black Peruvians in order to "purify" themselves as he put it, because they didn't know their history. They didn't know about the AfroPeruvians who fought in independence wars and who successfully started their own businesses, slaves who negotiated their freedom and freedmen who started communities. This lost history, and the absence of a unified political movement, means that black Peruvians face a lot of problems. We agreed to keep in touch and keep sharing info, as he thought of starting an organization based on empowerment and education for his community.

After learning so much in Pisco, I moved on to Paracas where I saw the Islas Ballestas, these amazing islands comparable to Galapagos, with awesome, diverse species of birds, and dolphins, and funny sea lions. I also went to the Park Reserve and spent the day with a wonderful group of people from Spain and other parts of Peru. We had a great time together taking in some amazing views, walking along the beach, and watching the sun from clifftops. We also had some baller ceviche for lunch. There was noone else in Paracas that night but a small group of German tourists, so I stayed in the hostel and read for the night. The next day I moved to Chincha, which I was most excited about because of the landmarks dedicated to black history and the large Afro-Peruvian population in El Carmen. A largely agricultural town, with large strips of uncultivated land, I immediately met some old black women interested in where I was coming from. As I sat down to a traditional breakfast, which was incredibly tasty and restored my faith in the meal I had been battling for, we listened to some Mariachi outside and looked at even more construction being done to the main plaza. That was a major theme of the tour - construction. Chincha was really colorful though, both the buildings and the people. And I found it funny that some people actually thought I was from there...

Saddened by being turned away from Hacienda San Jose, an old slave plantation turned restaurant, resort and cultural center, due to the effects of the earthquake, I was happy to visit this famous chef, Mamaine, famous throughout the country, who cooked up some carapulcra and sopa seca for me - delicious. Carapulcra is like a tomato based sauce with meat and crushed peanuts, while sopa seca is like pasta with small bits of beef. She told me to consider her my new "tia." She had a wonderful family, all invested in the business, and some kids from the house next door came out to dance some festejo for me and play the cajon, congas, etc. The girls danced festejo (lot of hip movements) and the boys danced zapatero (tap dancing basically). I had fun dancing with them and taking some video. As I antipicated, El Carmen was just delightful. My stay in the Chincha center was uneventful and I had to turn to down offers to go to the whore houses a bit too many times (people kept offering, my gosh). I also ate this chicken that I had to say small prayer before bed that would not come back to haunt me...the chicken was suspect...

I moved on to Ica, where I stayed in Huacachina at a posh hotel with a swimming pool, bar and restaurant, and a ton of tourists. Huacachina is known for its huge san dunes, so of course I went riding. Along with a Spanish couple, I went in this dune buggy racing across dunes, being thrown in every direction with our crazy driver. It was pretty much like a rollercoaster ride, but I had a lot of sand in my mouth, eyes, ears, everywhere really. We would make stops on tops of sand dunes and then sand board to the bottom, which was a lot of fun and a little scary (especially after I saw this girl go tumbling after letting go of her board, you def. shouldn't let go of the board though going at that speed). The views of sunset on top of the dunes was just awesome and I had one of those moments where I felt really alive, humbled, and thankful. In Ica, I also visited some of the bodegas to try some wines and piscos (like brandy). They kept pouring me little shots to try and I hadn't eaten so I fought off being tipsy; like 25 of those shots in less than 30 minutes should have an effect I'd think. Ica was nice though, definitely a tourist stop rather than a cultural stop.

I'm in Nazca now, a cool little town I arrived at traveling passed hundreds of san dunes and small hills. It's a nice little town, and I met this filmmaker Rob from Arizona who had made some crazy interesting documentaries on parapalegics in Bangladesh, and something cool in India as well. He had traveled all through Latin America, so it was good to pick his brain over an oddly sweet-tasting pizza dinner. I, of course, visited the famous Nazca lines. We flew over them in a small 5-seater plane that made nervous, queasy, and overjoyed all at the same time. I also visited some sacred crazy gravesites with tons of skulls and bones, hair, and dead baby skeletons. It was early and I was a bit creeped out to pay close attention, but I know it predated the Incas, so it was pretty old. Those are the only things to do in Nazca, although last night reggaeton music was blasting into my room from somewhere. I guess Rob and I missed the party. Oh well, after a nice tour (which had its ups and downs) and this novel of a post, I'm ready to see what Colombia has in store. A lot of people have compared it favorably with Brazil, so I'm excited for some sun, some salsa, and some Afro-Colombian culture. I'm on my way...

Cusco and Machu Picchu

I've never seen a dog get hit by a car before. I had been in Cusco for only a few hours, walking to the main plaza for some dinner with two cool guys from London staying in my hostel, when a crazy driver saw a little dog running across the street and sped up. We all gasped at the same time, and of course at the inappropriate time, I started to laugh. But I laughed because this dog got hit by the tire, got bounced back to the sidewalk like a ping pong ball, and then immediately went running into the street again like gettin hit by a car is nothing. I could picture the dog thinking, "Hit me again! I ain't feel nothin" Or maybe the dog was just really stupid. In either case, the dog made it across the second time. What a Cusco welcome!

We got to the main Plaza de Armas (every city seems to have a Plaza de Armas) and it was really gorgeous. There were huge magnificent churches, a square with a lit fountain surrounded by stores, boutiques, and restaurants. The backdrop were huge mountains with lit houses built into them. Just a beaufitul scene. Off the main square were countless side cobblestone streets with more stores and craftsmen. I would learn a few days later that the initial beauty of this scene is somewhat compromised by the insanity. Tons of people are trying to sell stuff every second, following tourists for minutes, some with ugly paintings or some broke lookin figurines, others trying to shove a massage down your throat. Also, the number of tourists is overwhelming. Like any place, it loses its character because of the countless loud groups or big tours taking up all the street space. I felt most comfortable my second day, overlooking the square from a nice restaurant balcony, away from the craziness. It was even more out of control at night. I went out twice during my week in Cusco and it was literally like vultures to a carcass. Bands of guys would follow the group of people I was with, groping the females and offering free drink tickets, begging us to visit their bar (and there are many bars and clubs, playing a mix you'd hear at any late night NYC spot). Needless to say, this wasn't my favorite part of my little side vacation. Strolling through the town was fun though; it's definitely an interesting place as the former capital of the Inca empire.

Anyway, I met some interesting people at this hostel. A sweet party girl from San Diego and an adventurous guy from Canada were living in the hostel, had just moved down to South America in fact. They had just finished school like me, and apparently needed a change of lifestyle. The two guys from London were cool - one was a rapper (actually a pretty talented one, heard two of his freestyles on MySpace) who violently passed gas an odd amount and the other was a real socially conscious, sensitive dude (I thought he was gonna cry when the dog got hit) who I had a long conversation with about the degradation of hip hop in London. Then there was the guy from Sweden, flying around the world shooting an 8-episode documentary on 80 dates (with women) around the world. Wow...Then there was the kid from UCSD who wants to be involved in international real estate and gave me tips on Colombia (my next destination). Then there was the old teacher from LA I met on the train to Machu Picchu, who I talked politics with as he explained he got married to his partner just before the Prop 8 vote. Then there was the Irish guy on the train back from Machu Picchu who was getting married the following week in Aruba and played in an up-and-coming rock band (he had toured the US before!). The list goes on. It was great to meet different, really interesting gringos. I would've liked to have met some more locals though!

Needless to say, Machu Picchu was the highlight. I didn't do any hiking because, no matter how hard I try, I don't like the outdoors - camping, pitching tents, climbing mountains and all that. So, with all the older, frailer looking people, I sat on the bus and train rides and walked a little trail until the lost city was laid out before me. Settled on a mountain top, this ancient city is just a world marvel. You think of how these civilizations understood astronomy, mathematics, engineering so successfully and it boggles the mind. I'm mad the king was the only one with a toilet though; didn't know having a toilet made someone special, but I guess that was one of the signs in those times. All in all, my Cusco/Machu Picchu week was good fun, and definitely felt like a tourist vacation. Still can't believe that dog though!!

Oita Noma y Peña de Rompe y Raja

I arrived in Cusco safely two days ago. It's a truly beautiful town, surrounded by green hills with small houses built into them. It's like looking at a painting. I'll give a more full account of Cusco so far later though, as I'm preparing for Machu Pichu tomorrow!

Anyway, my last two nights in Lima I went to two different peñas, venues in which they have live performances of all kinds of Peruvian music. After a nice dinner, my friend Eliza and I went to this place called Oita Noma. This place was more like a restaurant/peña, on a smaller scale I think than some of the other more famous ones. The sign was somewhat bothersome - it had these four black cartoon characters with big white lips and big teeth. Apparently, that type of thing is kind of common in Peru, or at least my friend explained that. It's interesting how politically incorrect things like that are in the US, but how here a lack of a political/cultural movement against such images makes it commonplace. The band was great - they played merengue, salsa, and some famous "musica negroide" or black music. The lead singer was pretty insane. I wasn't quite sure if he was a man or a woman at first, but we agreed it was a man, just with big curly hair and a tendency to walk as if he was on a catwalk at all times. He was a good singer though, and was funny. At one point he made my friend Eliza and I come up to the front and follow his dance moves, which included a lot of hip movements. We did well though. An older lady gave us a high five as we went back to our seats!

As the guy was walking around with his mic, he came to our table with lots of questions, including how tall I was, if we were married, etc. He even made the whole place start to chant for Eliza and I to make out. We just awkwardly smiled and waved at everyone - a bizarre moment. Then, this really drunk couple invited Eliza and me to sit at their table and drink with them. They ordered like 14 beers and insisted on all of us clanking glasses about 124 times. We were a bit afraid they might be swingers, or at least that's what I thought. They could've just been really really nice though. I was quite disturbed when the guy offered us a ride home, when he couldn't even look or walk straight. I hope they got home safe; most people drive here like they're drunk anyway so I'm sure they were fine. We met the cajon player, a cool, completely ethnically ambiguous guy. He told me he had learned how to play the cajon when he was like 5 years old. In his Afro-peruvian family, it was simply the norm...

The next night I went on my own to Peña de rompe y raja, where they were having a night of "musica negra." This was a really amazing show. The band was awesome, and this beautiful black woman, the MC, had a great voice and sang some songs the whole crowd knew. Then these dancers came out in these really colorful outfits and did a bunch of traditional afroperuano dances. The best dance was called "El Alcatraz," which involved the female dancer having a handkerchief attached to her belt, right above her butt, and the male dancer trying to light it on fire. The female dancer tried to light the male dancer on fire as well. This happens as they both dance to the beat, one chasing the other, but with everything in rhythm. Just awesome! After this, a three man band came out and sang some random popular songs from tons of different genres - they played the Beach Boys and the Beatles even. They were part comic act as well I guess, because the jokes wouldn't stop. They were good though. Then it hit a weird lull, as the MC took like 30 minutes to wish happy birthday and happy anniversary to everyone in the building individually. After this, the band took a break and everyone flooded the dance floor. Soon balloons were released from the ceiling. I just watched curiously and wrote down some thoughts, prompting a very nice woman to come sit across from me, stare me in the face, and ask me why I was depressed, haha. She was with this huge crew, a high school reunion of sorts, and introduced me to everyone. It's interesting discovering how friendly people are while traveling alone. Pretty much everytime I've gone out by myself to a venue like this, I meet some great people. Anyway, the last act I saw before leaving (because it was almost 4am and it was still going) was this singer called Bartela. This black lady had one of greatest, strongest voices I've heard. She's apparently pretty famous in Peru. I marveled at her as I watched from the balcony with my new friends. Seeing her and the dancers and the band made feel that Afro-Peruvian culture is very much something the whole country is proud of, identifies with, has incorported into a national identity (there's tons of national pride, so many songs had lyrics like "Yo soy Peru"). In such a short time in Lima, I saw such wonderful displays of afroperuano cultural pride, and the thing is, there's just so much more to see...

Good Eats and Thoughts of Grandma

Last night I had a little excursion with my friend Eliza, a great lady from Texas who speaks amazing Spanish and seems to be a walking Lonely Planet guide, to get a good dinner with some of the more traditional Peruvian dishes. We started with chicha morada, this tasty sweet drink that comes from strained purple corn - didn't know purple corn existed. Anyway, it was definitely good and we got a whole pitcher of it. Eliza cleverly characterized it as the Peruvian purple kool-aid, haha. We then had an appetizer called papa rellena, which was also very good! It's basically like fried potato filled with beef, onions, peppers and eggs. We had it with some very spicy sauce called salsa criolla, which it's usually served with. Then we moved on to the main course - mine was like a platter with a bunch of different dishes on it. First, carne seca de res, which was heavenly. It's thick beef steak with creamy potatoes, and lots of cilantro. It was just amazing. I also had aji de gallina, which is this thick milk-based stew which chicken served with white rice. This is where grandma comes in!

So since I was little my mom has made what she calls "rice with milk stew." It's definitely my favorite thing of all the delicious food she makes, and for the longest time I just assumed it was Nigerian. But I never had it at Nigerian parties or Nigerian friends' houses. One day I asked my mom where it was from and she told me that my grandma had just made it up. It was something she was just experimenting one day and it tasted really good. So she would make it for my mom and her family, and then she taught my mom and some of the other kids (my aunts) how to make it as well. So it's such a great dish because it definitely feels like a unique part of my family. Anyway, when I tasted it, I dropped my fork and stared at Eliza, which I think creeped her out for like a second. In my head I pictured my grandma and I smiled. Now it's not exactly the same, but the taste and consistency, and having it with white rice, definitely made my taste buds scream the word "home!"

I also had carapulcra, which I wasn't too too crazy about. I think it was like onions, a little beef, cilantro, etc. I don't remember it too much cuz it didn't stick out to me. Anyway, we had a wonderful meal, and Eliza schooled me on the lives of black Peruvians she knew and what she knew about their plce in Peruvian society. I joked a few nights ago with Julian and Daniel that when I see a black Peruvian, it's like an event for me. I get a little excited inside and I just want to ask the person so many questions. But I usually don't do that, I just take note of their existence. Eliza rightfully pointed out that here in Lima, they are mostly out of sight and the people you do see are doing menial work. That might be an improvement from Buenos Aires, where they are virtually non-existent, but still there's a pattern forming here...

Jazz Afroperuano

Saturday night was filled with emotional highs for me. I visited this cool cafe called Jazz Zone in Miraflores where Gabriel Alegria's jazz afroperuano sextet was playing. I read about it online, and was excited to hear what Afro-Peruvian jazz sounded like. I arrived pretty early to buy tickets and saw some great pictures and paintings of jazz greats like Billie Holiday, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Parker in the main hallway. A Miles Davis song was playing, and I knew I was in the right spot. It was interesting though having taken a jazz class in college, learning about the interplay between the birth and evolution of jazz over time with the changing developments in American society. Yet to musicians here, and indeed other places as well, these artists have no nation due to the ways in which jazz music blurs national, racial, and class barriers. The power of black music and performance to achieve this is exactly the focus of my trip. Black music is a language that always communicates an emotion, an experience, a history; it moves in and out of spaces, transforming so much in its path.

I had a brief conversation with a young woman at the ticket table, who was actually the sax player of the group. She saw the book I was carrying - the history of Afro-Latin America - and was excited to discuss some of it. We had a brief conversation about the slave experience in Peru and some of the instrumentation and traditions that grew from it. She seemed really knowledgeable. After a short dinner, I took my seat as the group set up to begin. A really jovial woman sat next to me, and she kept yelling across the room at this older black man. It turned out he was her husband and the cajon player of the group. The cajon is really interesting - it's a distinctly Afro-Peruvian percussion, pretty much a hollow box-shaped wooden instrument placed between the player's legs as he treats it like a drum. It makes booming sounds though; I found it difficult at first to distinguish between the sounds of the cajon and the traditional drum set. Anyway, the woman was really proud of her husband and I got to meet him between sets. He was a very fatherly Afro-Peruvian man, with no doubt a very interesting life.

The sextet had a guitarist (an olive-skinned man named Yuri Juarez who was bald except for a small tuft of hair on the hairline of his forehead - his CD Afroperuano is amazing!), saxophone (the lady had skills!), trumpet (this guy was the "leader" so to speak, his name being gabriel alegria), bass (this interesting guy from somewhere in Africa, I wasn't told the country, with a huge fro and goatee), cajon, and drums (slightly heavier-set guy with glasses). I took countless pictures and videos. They had such a ride variety of songs, including a version of the famous "Summertime" tune, my favorite upbeat song they did. My favorite slow tune was this song called "El Mar" with a great bass solo. It's interesting - the cajon element, and some of the other percussion, is really what makes this type of jazz different, makes it Afro-Peruvian so to speak. The cajon player would periodically shout small phrases or one word like "alegria!" or "vaya!" And the layering of the cajon beat over the drums made it sound really distinctive. The cajon player also had this crazy looking instrument with teeth called a "burro" which turned out to be a monkey's jaw. He ran a stick over the ridges of the teeth, making a pretty cool sound actually. I forgot to ask the name of the last instrument which was also pretty distinct. But the its kind of shaped like a bird house. It's a box that opens on the top, with a big hole in the middle and a strap that goes around the man's neck. He has a thick piece of wood that he bangs on the side while he opens and closes the box. The cajon player played this while dancing, then went into a tap-dancing finale which was great.

The bass player was really interesting to watch too. This man was in another world - the music just took him somewhere. His eyes would be closed and his head slowly swaying back and forth, his facial expressions changing from angry, to euphoric, to intense. This was a funny contrast to the guitar player who looked a bit bored, but you could tell that was just how he played, some people aren't high on emotion but still know how to connect. I was expecting the bass player to be kind of insane from all the devil faces he was making while he was pluckin the bass strings, but he when I met him briefly afterwards and said good job, he was quite soft-spoken.

It was such a great show and I had some nice conversation with people afterward about my trip and other afroperuvian music/artists to check out. I met one woman, a professor at Woodbury College, who teaches intercultural relations or something and speaks nine languages! I tested her out by having her go from Chinese, Japenese, Spanish, English, Portuguese, to French. After all those I was tired of asking. Impressive! We spoke about the importance of cultural understanding in medical care, something that interests me very much. The whole night was just so pleasant and I learned a ton. It was so wonderful to see such a display of afro-peruvian culture come alive.

Lima City Center Tour and Late Night Cruisin'

It's been a great few days in Lima thus far. I've met a bunch of people in a very short time and have learned a lot in these few days. After resting on Wednesday following my exploration of Barranco late into Tuesday, I did a city center tour on Thursday. The city center is interesting - I visited a museum and learned about some ancient civilizations that resided in Peru. Then I went to Plaza de las Armas and the Palacio de Gobierno (the Peruvian White House). This is a cool part of town. There were tourists everywhere, which I hear is a good improvement for Peru. Lastly I visited the Monasterio de San Francisco, a large fascinating church where a group of Franciscans still live. There was this cool library we saw with books dating back centuries. They were all displayed without any sort of glass chambers which made me question the preservation, but I found it is interesting as a history person. There were also catacombs underneath the church which were sort of eerie. I had to duck the entire time as we went through a maze of rooms, where open crypts were filled with dirty bones and skulls. I found that a little creepy seeing some of the teeth still attached to the skulls. Bones were just stacked and lined in rows, representing countless unnamed people who were buried there over the centuries. When we left the church there was a small protest going on, and I stupidly started asking questions as we walked through the protest - one side citizens with signs and bullhorns, the other side police in army gear with guns and shields. I usually am not so oblivious like that, and my guide rightfully scolded me, haha.

My guide drove me around some of the other Lima neighborhoods after that, including San Isidro and Miraflores. San Isidro had a bunch of parks and European architecture. It felt like being transported to a small European village. They represent the legacy of colonialism, and were inhabited by the higher classes of course. Miraflores center has numerous huge Peruvian flags waving, countless cafes, restauarants and bars. A short drive brings one to Larco Mar, where the view of the ocean which leads to a giant cross which is lit at night. Peru is like 80% Catholic or something so that makes sense.

Later that evening I met quite a boisterous crew of Australians and New Zealanders in the hostel. They invited me to dinner which was nice. I also met two Peruvian guys who were friends of their group and took all of us out that night. We again drove into the city center and I was shocked by how desolate it was. For the center of such a huge city, there was basically noone out. There was also lots of trash blowing on the streets. I feel like Lima center has huge potential, and hopefully as it was in the past apparently, it can be revived into an area with interesting nightlife. I shouldn't speak as though that one night represents every weekend or anything so I'm posturing from a point of very little knowledge and experience here. We walked for awhile, passing the big statue of Francisco Pizarro on his horse and some other monuments. We then went to this bar in Miraflores for some pisco sours, and ended up at this club called Help. Inside there was a large flat-bed truck, with kids dancing drunkenly on the back of it, electronic music blaring; the place was pretty full. The majority of people looked pretty young to be honest. I just observed while we were there, mostly because I'm not quite sure how to dance to a slowed down version of "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse.

Yesterday was fun and chill. I met Julian and his high school friend, both pals of my friend JC from college, and they took me around for some snacks and drinks around Calle de las Pizzas in Miraflores. I had this out of control sandwich - pechuga con BBQ w/ lechuga, tomate y criolla. I haven't had a sandwich that good in years. I will always remember that sandwich, haha. Julian and his friend were great though and we had good conversation about their thoughts about Lima, and what going to school in the city was like. I definitely learned a ton. I'm excited to see some Afro-Peruvian Jazz tonight and plan my trip to Chincha. I still need to visit some penas as well. There's still a bunch to do!

Brazilian Goodbyes, Back to Reality, Ballin in Peru

This has been procrastination gone wild - probably the most egregious display of it seen in awhile. I was supposed to update my blog ages ago, but for many reasons never got around to it. What was comforting though was people checking up on me to see if I was still alive and well, which means people are following my journey. This means a lot to me!

Anyway, my time in Brazil ended quite abruptly, mostly because I wasn't quite ready to say goodbye. Taking capoeira classes, Afro-Brazilian dance classes, and trying to fit in so much before I had to leave meant that I was all over the place and didn't get to leave in a normal fashion. I didn't get to say goodbye to a lot of people, which was unfortunate. I had to settle for emails and facebook messages. But I did get to say bye to my new family and friends in Salvador. My friends Igor, Rodrigo, and Fabio threw me a going away party at Rodrigo's house in Calabar. I had the best time! We danced pagode and samba, ate feijao and carne asado, and drank Skol for hours. It was like a family barbecue basically. Parents, grandparents, cousins, little kids running all over the place, everyone dancing and singing and laughing sets the scene. I was so honored when Fabio and his family gave me a book and a necklace, and when people wished me goodbye. They gave me a chance to give my despedida (farewell speech) and I took the opportunity to tell them how amazing their hearts were, how remarkable I found such genuine human kindness and fellowship.  I was inspired especially by how important friendship is in Salvador - it's no joke. When my friends there would say "amizade por sempre" (friendship forever) or some other suggestion about how I touched their lives, they were speaking from the heart, as people there often do. I learned so much and I wish they knew how they made me feel such a part of their community from the first days when I arrived, not having a clue what was happening.

Another highlight of the Brazilian goodbye was finally seeing the candomble ceremony with Paula and my dear Maria. It was so interesting. We sat in a pretty plain white room. Chairs lined the perimeter of the room, and mostly older women filled the room. After much anticipation, the priests and priestesses came out dancing, everyone dressed in white gowns, shirts and pants. Some people had really elaborate outfits, undoubtedly invoking the presence of the candomble gods - Xango, etc. They processed dancing in a circle for about 45 minutes to continuous drum rhythms. They sweat a whole bunch, and some people were definitely more in a trance-like state than others. Movements were crisp and repetitive. One man, at the same beat would always bend down and kiss the ground (everyone did this at one point). They ranged in age from young 20 somethings to much older, like 70s and 80s. It was so cool, and I got to meet most of them afterward. At that point though, I only had a few hours left in Brazil and still hadn't packed. I almost went for acai, but had to give myself a reality check and go home.

It's a good thing I did because I was completely disorganized. I got to the airport just in time for my flight which was like 3am. I said goodbye to my host mom, one of the greatest women I've met, and my host sisters. Riding on the highway for a final time, I couldn't believe I was leaving. I had grown so comfortable and really felt at home. I was so thankful for the friends I made and all the experiences I had. I will definitely return - Carnaval next year maybe? World Cup 2014? I know I'll have a place to stay!

More to come later about some final thoughts on African culture in Brazil...

I returned home to reality for a few months to take the MCAT and basically get my application together for medical school. I got to see Kuumba in concert and catch up with some friends which was a lot of fun. I also planned the rest of my fellowship year, which I began once again this past Tuesday! Being home and checking in with everyone was cool. I felt really blessed though to have received this opportunity at this point in life. I truly think this time for self-reflection has helped me put my life in perspective and envision my future.

I arrived in Peru very late Monday night/Tues. morning. The drive was really nice as we drove along the curve of the ocean. Lima is quite beautiful at night. After sleeping a lot the next day, I unpacked and got my bearings. They told me it was Independence Day in Peru - July 28 - so most things were closed. I realized that when I took a little walk around Miraflores, the neighborhood where my hostel is located. Most places were closed and it was relatively quiet. I came back, did some reading, and ordered some pizza. While I ate dinner in the dining area, I met some cool kids staying in the hostel. They were all from San Francisco - two were Peruvian and another Pakistani guy Talib was, like me, traveling (he was just on vacation from his bank job though). It was Talib's birthday at midnight so they invited me to go celebrate with them. After watching some crappy Vh1 reality TV (Charm School is a ridiculous show) and being introduced to pisco - the national drink in Peru, tastes like brandy, very tasty! - we headed to Barranco, the artsy district neighboring Miraflores.

I was blown away by the number of people out. First, there are a seemingly unlimited number of bars, clubs and restaurants in the area. Most of them were packed because of the holiday. We went from place to place, and had a blast until about 4am. I tried a pisco sour which was just delicious (I was skeptical at first when told it had eggs white in it). We took in the view of the ocean for awhile from the cobblestone streets.  I also got to hear some traditional Afro-Peruvian music - this song called "El Alcatraz" Juan Carlos explained to me. Apparently men and women usually try to light each other on fire during the dance. I didn't see any lighters out and if someone put a flame near me there would've been a problem. But the music was great. The same thing happened in Brazil now that I think of it -- my first day I went to partying with people I had just met because of a holiday until like sunrise. Definitely a good tradition to keep up!

Today I tried to plan my trip a bit more during my time in Peru. Of course I have to see Machu Pichu, but I'm more excited learning about Afro-Peruvian culture here. Afro-Peruvians make up like 3% of the population here, so it's very different than Brazil. You don't see the influence everywhere, but it definitely is present. There's this place Chincha, south of Lima, I'm very excited to visit soon. And I've been trying to listen to artists like Susana Baca and groups like Peru Negro to hear some cajon and guitar. Tomorrow I plan to take a tour of the city center and then hit up the Jazz Zone for some "jazz afroperuano." I'm so excited to be back on my journeys! I'm trying my best to recall my somewhat lost Spanish and not confuse it with Portuguese. Hopefully I'll make some progress by the time I move on to Colombia in August!

Bale Folclorico

I've been hearing about this show for weeks. It's probably one of the big tourist shows to go to here, seeing as they have a performance nearly every night of the week and it always sells out (a deceptive idea because the the theatre is quite small). But Bale Folclorico is definitely a show that displays the richest aspects of Afro-Brazilian artistic expression - samba, percussion, dance, capoeira, candomble, elaborate and colorful dress. That's why it was worth it, and even though it was short and expensive, I would actually see it again.

There are about 5 different "scenes" or dance routines if you can think of it that way. It opens with a group of drummers, percussionists and two female singers lined up against the back wall, all dressed in attire reminiscent of West African fabrics and style - the women with large head wraps and crisp dresses and the men shirtless with cloth over one shoulder. The women sang very traditional Afro-Brazilian songs throughout, with many Yoruba lyrics, enough to make it difficult to understand. What also made it difficult to understand was the style of singing - there were lots of sustained notes and wails that stretched out words. Yet there was an unmistakable constant, powerful call-and-response between the singers and the drummers/percussionists. The dancers came out dressed as orixas for the first dance, set to a song paying tribute to the different gods. Each took her turn in the center, dancing in a possessed sort of way. The bodies moved smoothly and with resolve to the beat, but this was mixed with a lack of control, wild screams and crashing into others on stage. Each orixa had a different color and the customary wide ballroom gown looking ensemble on, representing the different theme of each orixa.  I tried to remember which was which...

The next scene was a much more choreographed scene in terms of dance, a more traditional samba really. The third scene was the craziest though. This one guy came out with three bowls of fire, one large one on his head and two smaller ones in each hand. He began a slow dance to drumbeat, balancing the fire with his body. Then he began moving very quickly as the beat picked up pace, his eyes occasionally rollin back into his head. He then put the bowls of coal and fire down and stepped on the fire! He not only stepped on it, he stood there and danced on it for 5 seconds each time. He then took out these two sticks and set one end of each on fire. He began his vigorous dance again, only this time he was rubbing the fire on his body!! He continually ran the fiery side of the stick up both arms and down his torso. It hurt to just look at that to be honest. Of course it wasn't done - he swallowed fire too! Repeatedly! I was impressed...The next was another samba, except this time there was a good amount of sword and stick fighting involved - the dancers weren't wearing much clothing for this scene, definitely an effort to claim the popularized, stereotyped way of African dress (men with small cloth to cover only their private parts and the women with short skirts and only their breasts covered).

The last set saw all the dancers come out, with the men doing some crazy crazy acrobatics. They were flipping all over the place, front and backflips. They then did a roda - meaning they formed a circle so people could play capoeira. Again it was amazing. It made my friend David (from Capoeira class) and I feel very inadequate - kinda like stepping onto a basketball court for the first time and taking some shots, then watching Kobe Bryant practice. Anyway, it was an awesome awesome show, and I highly recommend it!