off the radar (i hope)

Ooh, stolen pictures. I <3 google.



Arequipa, at the foot of a volcano. Second biggest city in Lima, home of conservative movements.



Santa Catalina Monastery in Arequipa: secluded Spanish looking for redemption in conquered territory... (my interpretation)



Arica! Driest city on earth? Contested battle spot between Bolivia, Peru, and Chile? Place of surfing.



Valpo! Pablo Neruda, how I love you and your birth town.

a thousand five hundred thirty one and a half miles from lima

Al fin, Valparaiso!

This past week has been a whirlwind of hostels, bus rides, and beautiful cities I will probably never see again. My camera was stolen in Lima by a small child who is excellent at distraction techniques, and for the first time I was very regretful that I did not have a camera because I have seen some of the most beautiful landscapes of my life this week. I will try to find some pictures online to steal for this blog, to keep everyone entertained.

Last Friday, I took an overnight bus from Lima to Arequipa, the second biggest city in Peru. I saw the Santa Catalina monastery there, whose bright colors and orange trees were both pleasant and strange--to think that the Spanish ordered this city to be built on a newly "conquered" territory, and to imagine that these nuns and monks would wind their way to this new world to live in seclusion, makes me believe that the beauty of these monasteries comes also from a need to physically manifest tranquility that perhaps was a myth in reality.

From Arequipa, which does not sit in vain at the foot of a volcano (from a quote), I took a 7-hr bus to Tacna, and then a 2-hr collectivo across the border to Arica, most of which time was spent going through emigration and immigration customs. Arica is supposedly the driest city on earth, which would not explain the two large fountains in the city center, and sits at the base of El Murro, a large cliff with a military museum perched on top of it. You have a beautiful view of the red and white plaza filled with palm trees (plus the seemingly wasteful fountains) from the top.

Arica to San Pedro de Atacama was another overnight bus journey, though this one included a very fun 4 in the morning stop at a police checkpoint where a man in a yellow vest poked at my clothes with a stick. San Pedro de Atacama, a town of dirt roads, hostels, and tour companies willing to take you as far as Bolivia to see what the earth has to offer, is in the midst of some of the most gorgeous scenery I have ever seen in my life. A fellow solo traveler and I took an afternoon mountain biking ride, which took us through narrow gaps between incredible rock formations and beautiful sand dunes. I also splurged and got a tour to the Salar de Atacama, the biggest salt basin in Chile, which was breathtaking. Such blue, blue water, with these barely pink flamingoes grazing among white salt rocks casting shadows into shadows, all against a background of active volcanoes and volcanic rock formations colored orange and red by the sunset and a clear, clear sky. Absolutely incredible. The tour guide told me he would send me pictures so hopefully I will have some up soon.

Finally, I boarded a bus bound for Valparaiso, where I met very generous people AND Britain and Meg, roommates from New York! (Roommate rendezvous count has increased to 3, with one in the coming and another possible!) Valparaiso is magnificent. The city is spread over rolling hills and spills down into the port by the sea. The views at night are like nothing else and everything is bright and colorful. I think I would like to spend some time here, but I am also anxious to find a farm.

Traveling solo (sola) here has been an experience as well. While I was a bit anxious about it, there were absolutely no problems at all; in fact, I feel like people were more willing to help me out when they found out I was on my own. There is a surprising number of other solo or couple travelers who are spending up to a year traveling South America or the world, and I feel like I've stumbled onto this whole new culture where people ask each other¨"so how long have you been on the road" or "where is the cheapest place to do laundry in this town". There are some ridiculous people in this world, and I'm starting to realize that if you put your mind to it, anything really is possible (motorbiking across the world? climbing active volcanoes? giving up a banking career for endless travel? why of course!). Who knows where this adventure will take me next.

ciao, lima

Today, I had lunch in the Paseo de la Solidaridad,a few blocks from my hostel (not the Red Psycho Llama; I moved to one that was just down the street, half the price--20 soles, or around $7, for one night!--and much more social on Tuesday). I wondered what solidarity they were referring to, and what this paseo was doing in the middle of ritzy Miraflores. I haven't even begun to figure out the idiosyncrasies of this city.

This is my last day in busy busy Lima; tonight I board a (luxury?) bus to Arequipa, the White City that I'm hoping resembles--at least a little!--Gondor from Lord of the Rings. I might have to find a white horse to ride into the city on.

Lima has taken some getting used to; my NYC street crossing instincts are actually more harmful than helpful since cars here just don't care at all about pedestrians. This is worlds away from Pine Ridge, and I'm starting to realize that while I enjoy the convenience and the closeness and the forced camaraderie of large cities, I don't think I could ever really be happy living amongst 10 million other people in one imagined community (Benedict Anderson!). Space matters. Lima is gray and a little grimy, though I'm staying in the nicer part so there's lots of cool buildings and apartments around--plus the beautiful Pacific, which is surprisingly clean here, even in the city.

I've spent the last couple of days with Joanna, a suitemate from the past (we can begin the suitemate rendezvous count at one, so far), who was doing research on the reception of the HPV vaccine in the outskirts of Lima. We've had four hour lunches, many walks, some pisco sours, some salsa-dancing, and lots of coffee. I'm eternally grateful for her Spanish language skills, and slowly working on mine--last night I met Isabelle from France, who is staying in the same hostel as I am. Our conversation was a mixture of Spanish, French, and English, which was incredibly confusing and wonderful. Now I just have to find some Chinese travelers, which may be a little more difficult.

I'm ready to move on, and see what the conversative hub (or so I hear) of Peru has to offer--glorification of colonization? We shall see.

red psycho llama

My body has gone through so many different states in the past week,´I´m losing all sense of place (not to mention the ubiquity of things like Papa John´s and McDonald´s, of which I saw at least 3 each on my way from the airport to the hostel). But I am most definitely now in Lima, Peru, staying at the Red Psycho Llama hostel in Miraflores. I slept through the first flight, took a 2 1/2 hr nap in Fort Lauderdale, FL (I think people thought I was crazy), and was restless on the last leg of the journey. I can´t believe I made it. I can´t believe I now have to stretch my mind and figure out this language thing and an entirely new continent.

Apparently, I can never sleep enough. It´s time to crash again.

in the places you go, you'll see the places where you're from

...or so says modest mouse. My returning culture shock does not agree. I am home! If very briefly--I leave tomorrow at 10:05 a.m., for a serious continental shift. First stop: Lima, Peru.

Being home after ten weeks in South Dakota, I'm noticing different things--like how well manicured everything is, how all the grass on the side of the road is mowed, the roads are kept up, and neighborhoods are fenced in with these stylish and expensive iron contraptions that Re-Member volunteers would have serious problems with. My hands automatically move to the side of the steering wheel when I want to put the car in park, and I couldn't figure out how to turn off the windshield wipers because it wasn't a 15-passenger van. The humidity feels deadly. I miss open space and no traffic and slow evenings.

The last few weeks were packed--what with getting our vans stuck on dirt/mud roads (twice) and me taking off for a weekend in the hills to attend a wedding. When I say "in the hills," I mean literally: they didn't rent a space or anything, they just choose a spot overlooking the lake and said their vows while the guests sat on rocks and a bluegrass band played to the side. It was gorgeous.

One thing I will not miss, though will no doubt encounter again and again, is the blatant prejudice that came out from our volunteers. I heard from one volunteer that "these natives" just needed to clean out their houses and burn "all that shit" in there. This is one of the tamer examples.

The danger in bringing primarily white volunteers from off the rez into Pine Ridge to do work projects is that it reinforces these binaries. Not only are the Lakota people "these people" who don't look the same, but they live in a demarcated zone with specific grievances, histories, and issues. While it's important to understand the unique problems of a reservation, I think it's too easy to extrapolate that uniqueness to one-sided essentialization. What I wish people would understand is that this is a window not into the soul of Pine Ridge, as Tom says in Wisdom of the Elders, but a window into the darker soul of white culture. This is product of your inheritance. This is the consequence of centuries of genocidal arrogance AND of awfully misguided benevolence. And that's not just limited to white culture--these are the characteristics of an extended interaction, which by definition involves other peoples. There are ways the perpetrator and victim have blended, shifted, and taken from each other. What I wish we would investigate, together, is how we now stand, not as separate and static peoples, but as a tragic community of the powerful and the powerless.

I suppose I will keep musing about Pine Ridge over the next few months, though I have an entirely new continent of colonization to explore. Wish me luck.

the crooked path of the conscious

I'm entering my ninth week at Re-Member and on Pine Ridge. My momentum has significantly slowed down.

Last weekend, as I was driving home (back to Re-Member) from Pine Ridge, I looked out the window and saw the street corner of the one big four-way intersection in town, where the post office/employment office/Billy Mays community center sits. It looked just like a street corner. The street light was on and gave it the muted yellow look that street lights tend to cast. It hit me then that this was just a normal street corner. We talk a lot about being "on the rez" and how the things we experience are emblematic of living on the rez--example: when we heard that the tire on the van we were driving may or may not fall off while we were on the road, the two staff members who were with me and I just shrugged. That's how life goes on the rez. But this is the status quo for a lot of people. I think, also, that if I were to live here, I'd have to live here, not live in an idea of Pine Ridge or what it should be.

This is an odd thought, but I think part of why I feel comfortable here is that the inconsistencies of our national rhetoric and overarching narrative are physically apparent here. In NYC, there is poverty on the streets and in the buildings, but there are tons of non-profits and public announcements and also nice places that do a very good job of screening out everything and everyone that may make someone feel uncomfortable. Here, though, I'm aware of power politics everywhere. The Subway is owned by the BIA Superintendent (who has the means and the clout to get a loan and start a business?). The tribal government office sits next to the BIA office. The gas station has a steady clientele buying cigarettes and fried food, while the produce aisle in the overpriced supermarket (the only one on the rez) is usually deserted. People approach us in parking lots when we drive Re-Member vehicles, asking us whether we can fix their trailer or their house or their plumbing. The roads instantly improve when you leave the rez. Hitchhikers on the roads come in all shapes and sizes. Marginalization is almost palpable in the air.

I know I want to devote my time and energy to public service in some form, but the delegation of aid is difficult to bear. Someone called the office the other day with a work request; part of the ceiling had caved in, they had rattlesnakes climbing up a deteriorating outhouse and were afraid for their toddlers, and needed new siding for their trailer. I had to tell her that I didn't know when we would be able to come out, and that we may not even be able to come out until the next season, which starts in March 2010. It was a position of power that I felt incredibly uncomfortable occupying.

People talk about how satisfying it is to be able to meet the family that they've just built something for--like meeting the kid in a wheelchair who now has a wheelchair ramp to go in and out of his house on, which you built. I understand that to a certain extent, but I have to be honest and say that while I feel a little bit of the satisfaction that comes with completing a project well, meeting the family and inviting them to lunch still feels invasive and uncomfortable. I don't know if it's because I become painfully aware of my privilege, or because I don't want others to have to publicly recognize their poverty or need... I just know that my ultimate goal will always be working to make interactions like these unnecessary. I guess the trick is figuring out how to make the most of them while they are necessary.

I don't know if any of that made sense. The days are starting to drag a little, now that the end is in sight. I have a whole new continent to explore. I will miss the sky and the storms and the constant socializing here, though.

you only live once (the strokes)

I'm considering changing my Re-Member-given name, Chen Chasing Bear, to Chen Chasing Mammoth, given my recent trip (with 14 family week kids) to the Hot Springs Mammoth Site. Check it out:



That is almost a full mammoth skeleton. !!! Can you imagine? That was, seventy thousand years ago or so, a living, breathing, heaving, HUGE animal. It got caught in a small, warm lake, which happened to preserve over 70 skeletons (not all this complete). The things you find!

Of family week, I'll just say that I survived, and I've decided I only like kids 6 and under or over 15. Not sure what I'll do with my kids, if I have any, during those nine years.

Last Saturday, Re-Member participated in the annual Oglala Lakota Nation Parade. The staff, with our spiffy matching t-shirts, threw candy and toilet paper from our makeshift float, featuring a (non-functioning) outhouse, one of our many spectacular products.



Pine Ridge at its finest! I'm proud to say that I escaped from Re-Member every day of the powwow and circled that arbor quite a few times. Unfortunately I managed to forget my camera every time. Alas, I'll just have to come back someday.



So, I'm pondering:



about place. I've always felt caught between places, and never really let myself settle, mentally, in a place. This is a place where history has refused to die, and which people have pondered for generations. They were selling t-shirts with images of Sitting Bull and Red Cloud on them at the powwow. Your history, or at least the romanticized and martyrized version of it, is lurking at every corner. It seems odd to be living in a building with transitory volunteers who spend six days on the reservation, while meeting people who can trace their ancestry to a certain hill that is only a few miles away. My sense of time is becoming warped, and it makes this place feel heavier, laden with something that has already happened and something expected to happen at the same time.

My body is also attuning itself to this schedule. Time is approaching 10:30; I can tell because I can feel my limbs start drooping. I think it's time for some sleep.