Happy Valentine's Day!

Sprink Pinkles, originally uploaded by Kitty LaRoux.

I don't care if Hallmark did invent this holiday to sell more cards. I hope Valentine's Day is just one of many this year that are filled with chocolate, kisses, and pink sprinkles.

I love you guys.

Is That An Exclamation Point In Your Pocket?

Preface: Upon our departure from Waterloo last Fall, I left my trusty MacBook in the capable hands of my best friend's husband, Gregoire. Since the recent series of unfortunate events dictated that we would no longer be roaming the wilds of South America for the next three months and would instead be safely ensconced in some apartment or other in Buenos Aires, I decided I would be able to use my computer after all, and asked my mom to bring it with her to Argentina. I emailed Gregoire to tell him the news, and the following is his response.

To: Gillian
From: Gregoire
Subject: Confession

Gillian, how are you? How are things? Good. Good. Say, I've got something for you to consider. Take a moment and ask yourself, honestly, how attached are you to the numbers 1 and 2 (and while considering this, throw in the ! and @ signs also for consideration)?

When you take the time to really think about it, aren't these some of the most overrated numerals and symbols at our disposal. Wouldn't you agree that we'd be better off without them. That difficult choices would be made easy, that life would be simpler if you no longer had to rely on these alpha-numeric crutches? Why start way back at 1 or 2 when there's the option of starting at 3. 1 and 2 are static and slow. With 3 you're warmed up and already on your way. Is there ever a need for the exclamation point? Must we raise our voices, be it in anger or joy? Are we not adults? Can we not discuss things calmly and rationally? Can we not celebrate with a certain amount of restraint? (And let's be honest, doesn't the @ symbol remind you of an asshole?)

Great. Then you'll be happy to hear that I spilt beer on your laptop and the bastardly 1 and 2 keys no longer work! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. :-(, :-(, :-(. (I've resorted to emoticons--I'm seriously sorry.)

I had planned on replacing the keyboard before your return (the rest of it is working fine) but now that your Mom is taking the computer with her there won't be time. (I called the shop here, but they don't stock replacement parts and have to order them in.) If you want to order a new keyboard from Apple, I'll send you my card #. If your macbook is like my ibook, they're easy to replace. Again, I'm sorry.

In other unrelated news, I saw the doc on Friday and everything is going to plan. I can walk (although with minimal flexion in my knee -- imagine Frankenstein had a baby with a zombie) and I've already started physiotherapy. I swear on my mother's birthday (which is Tuesday) that my next post will not be related to my orthopaedic challenges.

Like Riding A Bike

Everyone's fine. My family and friends are all, to the best of my knowledge, safe and healthy. I wake up every morning beside the most gentle and kind human being I've ever met. My mom flew all the way to Buenos Aires (Richie!) to help me wash my hair and get dressed and ultimately help me preserve a tiny bit of dignity in front of the aforementioned gentle and kind human being (to whom I would still like to appear even remotely attractive). We're staying in a beautiful apartment that belongs to another kind and generous human being, and for the most part, I'm comfortable and pain-free and grateful that this is a known, temporary setback and in six months, give or take, everything will be back to normal.

And still, over the past two weeks, I have felt an overwhelming sense of loss.

At first it was just the loss of the rest of our planned travels. We were on our way to Brazil, to sit on the beach and work on a farm and travel down the Amazon River and, of course, taste myriad new and exotic fruits. But let's face it: After the experiences we've had in the past 10 months, it's hard to feel deprived of these things for very long.

There is, however, a more personal loss. Six years ago I went into surgery with a partially-torn ACL and a bucket-handle tear in the meniscus. I came out of surgery with a reconstructed ACL and a repaired meniscus, which meant that eventually, after a lot of blood, sweat, and yes, tears, in rehab, my knee was even better than it had been before the operation. Apparently so was my ambition, as within a year of surgery I completed an Olympic-distance triathlon and have since run three marathons.

Last week I went into the OR with a ruptured ACL and a bucket-handle tear in the meniscus. I was wheeled out with a reconstructed ACL, but this time the meniscus couldn't be repaired, and part of it was removed. I'm not sure how much, exactly - a third? A half? And really, people walk around all the time with no meniscus at all, so why the fuss?

I'll never run another marathon. In fact, I probably won't do much running at all. There are all sorts of medical reasons why it isn't a great idea to run, especially on pavement, after a partial meniscectomy, and I'm kind of hoping these knees will be around for a while. So there's short-term loss, like right now I can't walk or even get out of bed by myself, which sucks. But then there's the running thing, an activity with which I fell in love just a few years ago, after hating on sports for 30 years. For me, that's the real loss. As I look at the pictures taken during the 2007 NYC Marathon, one of my most favourite days of all time, I am filled with gratitude to have had that amazing experience, and at the same time, so very sad to have lost that potential.

I start physiotherapy on Friday, the exciting and sometimes gruelling rehabilitation period during which I will relearn to walk, run (slowly, and on a treadmill), balance, and climb stairs. Before I know it I'll be riding a bike (as a friend of mine says, cycling is like running with even tighter clothes and cooler gear), and of course I'm already planning my first century ride in 2011, because you know, that's how I roll.

In the meantime I'm reminding myself, as one of my best friends reminded me just the other day, that just as she had to after her ACL reconstruction, I need to "let myself grieve for the things I lost (including the potential things I lost in the future)." And OK, I'm also daydreaming about the shapeliness of my future cycling legs.

Surgery Recap

Final Score

New ACL: 1
Meniscus: -1/3*

Highlights

Dr. Metallica Bourdain has great beside manner. He also smells good, which is probably more than can be said for either James Hetfield or Mr. Bourdain.

There was no dulce de leche to be had! What a travesty.

All that kissing that goes on here in Argentina? Even happens in the OR! Like, all the assistants and the anaesthesiologist greeted me with a kiss before they knocked me out.

Epidurals are where it's at.

I had surgery in a hospital run by monks! Yesterday before the operation a very adorable (and small) priest came into my room and said a little prayer. Today we saw many small and adorable nuns roaming the halls, wearing all-white habits with a big red cross on the front. Of course I was not-so-secretly hoping that they would break into song (I've only seen "The Sound of Music" about 200 times). It didn't happen, so I thought I'd get them started with a few lyrics.

Knee Surgery Songs for the Sisters of Clínica San Camila in Buenos Aires

How Do Fix a Tear in the Meniscus?
(to the tune of "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?")

How do you fix a tear in the meniscus?
How do you reconstruct an ACL?
How do you get a girl who's very active
to relax for a while
so that she can heal
and walk?

ACL
(to the tune of "Edelweiss")

ACL
ACL
You were torn so we fixed you

Made anew
With a screw
And a graft from patella

New ligament won't you stabilize
Stabilize
Forever

ACL
ACL
You were torn so we fixed you

* I am actually in possession of the removed meniscus. I know, gross! But the good doctor seemed excited to give it to us, in its little vial of fluid (grosser!). Do you think I could sell it on etsy? I mean, technically I made it, right?

Oh, Hello, Doctor

I admit it: On the weekend I was having a hard time seeing anything resembling a bright side. I sort of intellectually knew one was there, but after a week and a half of not walking, not to mention the dignity one loses every time she utters the words, "Can you please help me put on my underwear?" - well, you get the idea. Anyway, on Saturday night I pulled myself together enough to go to one of the two bars in Buenos Aires showing NFL football, hoisted my leg up on an extra chair, and drank a few half-pints of beer (pacing!). At some point I started talking to an American guy sitting at the table next to us. I learned that his Argentine friend, also at the table, had had ACL reconstruction six months before, and had a surgeon he really liked. Score!

The next day I Googled said surgeon and found an email address for him. I wrote him a note explaining my situation and asking how I could best schedule an appointment with him. Amazingly, he replied that evening to tell me he could meet me at 5 p.m. on Monday. I wrote back to ask him if he speaks English, because while our mad Spanish skillz enable us to telephone-order pizza, we're not quite at the level of discussing soft tissue repair. Happily, he does.

We went to meet the good doctor this afternoon. He looks like Anthony Bourdain, and on Friday night he's going to see Metallica! I think I have a crush. He showed us some informative-yet-slightly-nauseating diagrams of how the surgery will go, and on Thursday he's going to fix my knee. I'll spend the night in the hospital (fingers crossed for dulce de leche-flavoured Jell-O), and on Friday my mom's coming! Hooray!

I don't think we'll make it to the Metallica show, though. Next time.

I'm Not Fluent in Spanish, But...

According to Google Translate, ruptura en asa de balde means "bucket-handle tear," which also means "bad news knee surgery times." Of course that's just from the letter that was helpfully included with the MRI images; maybe the doctor will have a different interpretation?

A girl can hope. Futilely, maybe, but still.

P.S. I just told a new Irish friend the news over chat, and she says she's going to get me "locked" tonight. I don't know what that means in regular English, but I suspect I'll be even less able to walk tomorrow.

Tengo dos tornillos de titanio en la rodilla derecha.

Trip updates are much more boring when they're about busted knees.

When we arrived at the hospital for the MRI on Saturday morning, we were informed that the machine was broken, and that it had been for 10 days. Clever readers will note that this means the machine was also broken two days previously, when I made the appointment in the first place.

Anyway. We went to another hospital and made another appointment and I successfully had the test on Monday morning. The results will be available Thursday evening and I hope to see a doctor or three on Friday to figure out my options. In the meantime my diet consists of things I can carry in a bag while using crutches (yogurt, apples, granola bars), and hobbies include checking Facebook status updates, learning Spanish words for knee anatomy (menisco! ligamento cruzado anterior!), and thanking Ken for bringing me the ice pack.

* "I have two titanium screws in my right knee," a potentially important Spanish phrase when you're about to be put into a giant magnetic tube.

Back to the Future

Welcome to 2010! I was initially disappointed that this year started off sans jet packs or The Chip, you know, the one implanted in our brains that will grant us instant access to the interwebs using only cerebral prowess, but then I went to see Avatar in 3D and holy-effing-crap am I ever on that bandwagon. I hope the future involves a lot more theatres full of Buddy Holly clones, because wow, 3D movie technology has come a long way since House of Wax.

And it seems that in 2010 I am fated to experience a bit of déjà vu as well. Back in 2003 I stepped on a branch - a harmless little branch! - and wretched my right knee, tearing the meniscus. Within two weeks of the injury I had surgery and started a rather gruelling regimen of physical therapy that lasted around four months. Have you figured out where this is going, yet?

On Wednesday afternoon I twisted my left knee. I'm in a brace and walking with crutches and the MRI is scheduled for Saturday. Of course this time isn't exactly the same as last time: There were no branches involved. Oh, and this time I get to do it all in Spanish.

On the bright side:

1. We're not on a mountain in Bolivia.
2. We have amazing friends here in Buenos Aires who have already been beyond helpful ("crutches" in Spanish is muletas, in case you were wondering).
3. Three words: Ice cream delivery.

I'm trying to make this not suck, but when three more months of travel, not to mention marathon #4, were on my list for 2010, let's face it: this is the pits.

New Year's Eve

I don't like New Year's Eve.

It's weird, because I love holidays, in general. I love colour themes and food themes and dressing up and presents and desserts, and New Year's Eve has all of these, if you apply yourself. I also love unbridled optimism, which is New Year's Eve all the way. Not to mention gratitude. And resolutions! I pride myself on these things!

But New Year's Eve? No thanks.

I admit I'm into the food themes. I can't argue with pork for luck and fatty wallets (not to mention that pork is delicious, in any form) and black-eyed peas, symbolizing coins for wealth. And colours, yes! But gold or silver for New Year's, maybe kind of? And black and white? It does have a certain cache, but it isn't universal like Halloween's black and orange, or Chrismas's red and green, and I just can't fully commit. Optimism is awesome, for real, but can't you make that resolution on November 15 just as well as you can on January 1?

Scrooge much? I know. Maybe it's the expectations; that you're secretly hoping that your party will turn into a Bacardi ad. Also that your arms should look fabulous in that shimmery tank top, even after all that Christmas morning bacon.

I'm way grateful for everything that happened in 2009. I've been unemployed - by choice! - for most of the year. I've made amazing new friends, and, mostly thanks to Facebook, reconnected with people I haven't seen in 10 years or more. I lived in Buenos Aires. I learned to speak Spanish, más o menos. I opened a restaurant. I tasted 40 new fruits! I trekked to Machu Picchu, had my passport stolen - and replaced! - in Bolivia, and spent the Winter Solstice in the southernmost city in the world. Gratitude, anyone? And yes, here I am in Buenos Aires on New Year's Eve, celebrating with a wonderful human being (with whom I plan to spend many a New Year's Eve!) and two sweet sweet kitties (who aren't Memphis, but are still lovely).

OK. Maybe gratitude trumps, because I have a lot for which be thankful, and after writing this post, maybe even a newfound affinity for December 31. Happy New Year, friends, and may your 2010 be that much better than your 2009. xoxo

Slam, Fight, Bright Light

Feeling pretty psyched.

Ushuaia is the world's southernmost city, and at a distance of 1000km, the closest to Antarctica. In other words, the end of the world as we know it. We timed our trip to be here for the solstice, and here we are. We aren't quite far enough away from the equator to experience a midnight sun, but it's now after 10 p.m. and the sky is still light.

And I feel fine.

Ice Ice Baby

Last night we arrived in Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world, where daylight lasts for a disconcertingly long time this time of year. Last night Ken reported spots of brightness in the sky past 1 a.m., and I'm pretty sure sunrise was around 4 this morning.

It's something of a challenge to maintain Monk Mode here in Southern Argentina. Apparently the cost (in pesos) of a hostel dorm room in Argentina is indirectly proportionate to its latitude. And although we haven't slept in the same bed in over two weeks, we have splurged on a few tourist attractions, including a visit to the Perito Moreno Glacier in the Los Glaciares National Park near El Calafate.

Some of you may be shocked to learn that even though I hail from Canada I've never seen a glacier. I know! I had no idea what to expect. I anticipated only that: a) it might be cold, being next to a glacier and all, so I brought an extra sweater; and b) since we'd be gone for around six hours I might get hungry, so I also brought a ham sandwich.

What I did not anticipate was that the glacier would be so cool (pun intended) that I wouldn't even have enough room on my camera for all the pictures I'd want to take. The Perito Moreno Glacier is vast: it's 30km long, and rises 60m above the surface of Lake Argentina. Falling chunks sound like thunder as they break off and when they hit the water. (Apparently this happens with some regularity, as we saw several in the few hours we were there.)

Glaciers. Who knew?

More glacier pics on Flickr. Coming soon: Rainbows, penguins, and overuse of R.E.M. lyrics.

The Bus Diaries

Since we crossed the border into Argentina we've been travelling south along Route 40, with stops in Salta, Mendoza, Bariloche, El Chaltén, and now El Calafate. (Click map, at right, to enlarge.) Along the way we've walked through beautiful parks filled with lakes and wildflowers, and been awed by views of snow-capped mountains. Last night in El Chaltén, after a day of hiking, we dined on delicious Patagonian lamb and marvelled at the daylight that lingered well past 10 p.m.

From here we'll continue south through Rio Gallegos to Ushuaia, Argentina's southernmost city, to celebrate the Winter Solstice. For Christmas and New Year's we'll be in Buenos Aires where we're housesitting (and catsitting!) for three glorious weeks, during which I expect highlights to include unpacking for more than three hours, and cooking.

That is, unless someone wants to buy us a trip to Antarctica for Christmas. We're flexible.

More pics on Flickr.

Adios, Bolivia

Pictures from our last two weeks in Bolivia are on Flickr. We toured a working mine in Potosí (claustrophobic), spent four days driving around salt flats, geysers, and lagoons near Uyuni (surreal), and rode horses through the canyons and valleys around Tupiza (pretty, and painful).

Tomorrow we head to Salta, Argentina, and while I'm not exactly excited about the 24-ish hours we'll spend on buses to get there, I am excited about the delicious steak and wine that await us across the border, and we're both looking forward to reviving the mate habit we developed in Buenos Aires!

Doin' the New Passport Dance

We're back in La Paz, for the third time! This is two times more than we expected (OK, wanted) to be in La Paz, but here we are. We will fetch my passport and enjoy cheap street eats one last time before we bid farewell to Bolivia and make our way to Argentina on Wednesday.

We've been killing time on various tours throughout the country, from which I will post pictures shortly. Also coming soon: A post with highlights from our many bus rides so far. To whet your appetite, here is an anecdote from our 16 hour bus ride last night from Tupiza (a nice little town in the south of Bolivia) to La Paz. As we were just on the outskirts of Tupiza, the bus stopped, apparently requiring some maintenance. We pulled into some sort of maintenance yard and Ken, who had the window seat, gave me the play-by-play as he watched a guy go over to a pile of scrap metal to look for something. Possibly something to fix the bus.

"What do you see now?"

"Apparently the piece of metal was the wrong shape so he went back to the pile to find another one. But he was distracted when his shoe fell off and when he bent over to put it back on I got a nice view of plumbers' butt." Pause. "They're not just hairy on their heads."

Thanks.

I can't thank you guys enough for your supportive comments (on UFF and Facebook) and your beyond-generous offers to send me replacement items. Seriously, you guys helped put this loss into perspective. The world is full of bags and books and sweaters. I think Caroline put it best when she wrote, "It helps me to think of all of the unexpected things that have walked INTO my life, balancing out all the things that have walked/(been walked!) OUT of it." Word. And while I'm still angry as hell at the fucker who took my backpack, I'm also supremely grateful that neither of us were injured in the process.

Just last weekend I was chatting with Bri, and told her, "I could spend a month in [Bolivia]... it's so interesting." Be careful what you wish for, right? We're back in La Paz and after a couple of visits to the Canadian Embassy we learned that it'll take at least two weeks (and $240! aboo) to get a replacement passport. So... it looks like we'll be in Bolivia a bit longer than we expected. Fortunately we like it here, and it's the most inexpensive country we'll visit on this trip, so we'll just add a city or two to our itinerary.

Did I mention thanks? You guys rock. The most. Unlucky moments notwithstanding, I feel really lucky to have you in my life.

P.S. While I love gifts almost as much as I love getting stuff in the mail (i.e., A LOT), I don't think we'll be anywhere long enough to receive anything, and anyway, I wouldn't count the postal services around these parts for much more than post cards. Thanks for the offers though, so much.

Why I Love Ken: Reason #463

Tonight, after my backpack was stolen and I was lamenting the things I lost, including my passport with its plethora of stamps (including Machu Picchu!) from South America, Ken hugged me and said, "We have a lifetime to collect more stamps."

We had just boarded a bus to take us from Potosi to Uyuni, about a 6-hour journey. The bus was very small (our knees touched the seat in front of us), and as a result I made the unusual (for me) decision to stash my daypack in the rack above our heads. A few minutes (5? 10?) later, I stood up to help someone else squeeze in a bag, and realized my pack was missing. Gone. Here's the thing about buses in Bolivia. When they're not moving they are full of people, travelling or not. People selling empanadas. People singing songs for money. And, apparently, people who board the bus a few minutes before it leaves and then get off said bus with a bag to which they don't rightfully have ownership.

Just after I noticed it was missing, another passenger confirmed that someone had indeed sat beside him for a few minutes, then stood up, grabbed the pack (my pack! my super-comfortable Osprey Talon-22 daypack! in citron!), and left. I grabbed my remaining possession (a water bottle, PET, 2L) and headed onto the chaotic sidewalk, hoping to catch a glimpse of my bag, but of course it was long gone.

The rest of the evening was spent checking into a hostel in Potosi, filing a police report, making weepy phone calls (to credit card companies, and my mom), and downing a couple of litres of beer. Tomorrow we'll head back to La Paz to find the Canadian Embassy so that I can get a replacement passport (...I know).

Regularly scheduled programming will return after I've finished mourning the loss of my favourite Lululemon zippie and a book that I was REALLY into.

Catching Up

Internet access, especially reliable wi-fi, is bound to vary from place to place, especially when by "place" you mean "the cheapest possible accommodation with something resembling a bed." Fortunately the Ireland-France soccer match this afternoon means that we're comfortably ensconced in a Dutch bar in Sucre, Bolivia, with smokin' Internet access. Here are some recent highlights.

1. The Bob Marley Effect
When we were in Brazil a few months ago, people frequently greeted Ken as Bob Marley, shook his hand, and/or offered him something to smoke. Not one of our five days in Cuzco passed without Ken being offered some illegal substance or other ("Smoke? Sniff?"). Several times I've noticed someone taking a stealthy picture of Ken, and twice we've been stopped by someone who'd like his or her photo taken with our favourite Bob Marley doppelgänger.

2. Hostels
As we anticipated, $2.50 per night for our room in Copacabana was too good to be true. After a brief, half-hearted negotiation we paid about $4.25 per night (still a bargain, obviously, for a private room). On the Isla del Sol we paid just under $6 per night for a private room, and here in Sucre we're splurging: $13 per night, and we even have our own bathroom. Generally the hostels are safe, clean, and warm, and even have hot water (although my showering standards are certainly on the decline).

3. Monk Mode
Monk Mode (i.e., a budget) certainly makes things more challenging, but it has its advantages. I'm pretty sure we eat less ("1 Boliviano [15¢] for cheese? Forget it!") and bargaining is more fun when you're willing to walk away from a scarf that with an asking price of $3. (Inevitably you'll get it for $2.) Yesterday we boarded the "Dino Bus" to see some fossilized dinosaur footprints just outside Sucre, and soon learned that the 15 Boliviano (each!) ride didn't include entrance to the Dino Park and its 8 dinosaur replicas (30 Bolivianos! Each!). We took the bus ride anyway and amused ourselves with the dino replicas outside the park while we waited for the rest of the group. How frugal!

P.S. More pics from Peru and Bolivia are on Flickr.

Fruit of the Day: Tumbo

While most of our food shopping so far has been done at outdoor markets, we did stop in at one supermarket in La Paz. That's where we picked up the tumbo. It's small and oval, a lovely pale yellow, and very subtly fuzzy.

I cut a tumbo open length-wise to discover a very pretty orange, passionfruit-like cluster of seeds and pulp. (Turns out another name for tumbo is banana passionfruit - how appropriate!) I tasted the fruit as I would passionfruit: by eating the pulp around the seeds. At first I wasn't a fan. The taste is mild but a bit chalky, and certainly not as juicy as I'd expected. A few more seeds in, though, and the tumbo was starting to win me over. I've since seen tumbos stacked up at juice stands and I'm curious to try them blended and strained and maybe mixed with a little sugar (or pineapple juice).
UFF Fruit Rating:

Tasting Notes: La Paz, Bolivia

First, a map! The pins indicate where we've been so far: Lima and Cuzco (both in Peru), and Copacabana and La Paz, Bolivia. Click to enlarge.

Yay Geography!

We've been in La Paz for three days and as usual, our favourite part of the city is the food, especially the street food. On our first morning we passed a woman selling fruit salad: chunks of papaya and banana piled into small plastic cups. I bought one for a single Boliviano, or a whopping 15¢. (It turns out banana is especially delicious when it's marinated in papaya juice.) Fifteen cents will also buy an ice cream cone (with a scoop each of grape and banana or vanilla and coconut, and drizzled with chocolate sauce), a good-sized hunk of banana bread, a slice of the sweetest watermelon ever, or a cinnamon popsicle. Or you could use that same 15¢ to buy a couple of oh-so-fresh donuts, made by a woman sitting on the sidewalk with a pot of hot oil, a bag of dough, and a shaker of powdered sugar.

We've also enjoyed fresly-squeezed grapefruit juice (45¢), salteñas and tucumanas (delicious empanada-like pastries originally from the Salta and Tucuman regions of Argentina, respectively) for about 30¢ apiece, and this afternoon we ate a tasty pork sandwich replete with carrots, tomatoes, and spicy pepper sauce. It ran us 3 Bolivianos--the equivalent of 45¢.

Our favourite breakfast is at the Lanza Market, where a dozen or so women each have small stands, each with a table about the size of a diner booth tucked in behind it. Any of these women will make you a mean fried-egg sandwich with avocado, garnished with slices of ripe tomato and fresh white cheese on a crusty French roll. Two of these with a couple of cups of café con leche can be had for just over $2.

Tonight we splurged on dinner at our Irish-run hostel, and ordered up some very non-Bolivian bangers and mash. The huge (and very delicious) plate set us back $4, and it was worth every Boliviano.

Layered Dresses and Bowler Hats

Yesterday around lunchtime we arrived in Copacabana, Bolivia (not to be confused with Copacabana, the beach in Rio, or Copacabana, the club in NY). It's a small town at a high altitude (3841m) in a peninsula on Lake Titicaca (go ahead and giggle; I still do every time I say the name). Lake Titicaca (hee) is gorgeous, and tomorrow we're going to hike 17km to a place called Yampupata, from where we'll take a boat to the Isla del Sol, and maybe stay a night there. My browser capabilities are currently limited, but you can find a map here if you're so inclined.

Our accomodations here are by far our cheapest yet--we reserved 2 nights, online, for $5 (for both of us!). We expect there'll be some haggling over the price when we check out tomorrow, which is kind of a tricky situation: Even if it cost twice as much it would still be a bargain for us, and at the same time we don't want to be taken advantage of as gringos.

The food here is delicious and cheap. For breakfast today we had coffee, bread, and freshly-fried donuts (bañuelos) with syrup for about $1.50. Lunch was grilled lake trout with french fries and rice and ran us under $3. (We later splurged on a brownie with ice cream that cost as much as the trout!) Most of the women here don't come up much past our waists. They all wear layered dresses and bowler hats, and the majority have a baby slung on their backs.

More updates when we get to La Paz; as one might expect, $1.25 per night doesn't include wi-fi.