20 December 2011

It´s (Not) Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas, Guzman the Merman, and Other Peruvian Christmas Classics

Faithful readers, in the spirit of the season, it´s time for our first annual Christmas sing-along. Or rather, since this isn´t a live performance and I´m not about to upload any videos of me squeaking my way through ¨Silent Night¨ or ¨Joy to the World¨, it´s time for our first annual Christmas sing-in-your-own-head as you read-along.  Only this isn´t your typical holiday special; it´s Christmas done south of the Equator.

I've talked before about how the inversion of seasons south of the Equator has messed up my psyche, and now that the holiday season is upon us, that claim couldn't be any truer.  While folks back home are bundling up in their warmest scarves and sweaters, I've spent my weekends at country clubs and beaches. While they´re browsing the local nurseries for the perfect pines, I´m growing fond of palm trees.

While the local supermarkets, casinos, and department stores have strung festive garlands over their edifices  and stocked their shelves with bearded, bundled Santas and hot chocolate, I just can´t seem to find the holiday spirit amidst the ocean fog and muggy weather. But perhaps my sentiments would better be demonstrated in musical form:


Guzman the Merman

Guzman the mermaid is a fairy tale they say/He was made of sand but the betchy girls know/how he came to life one day. Oh! Guzman the merman was a jolly happy soul/with one bottle cap and one lime nipple/and all the rum his gills could hold…

It´s (Not) Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

It´s (not) beginning to look a lot like Christmas/Ev´rywhere you go/Take a look at the sand, glistening once again/Beneath the Lima sunset all aglow…

O Palm Tree


O palm tree, o palm tree/ much pleasure doth thou bring me.

Where´s The Snow? Where´s the Snow? Where´s the Snow?
 
Oh the weather outside ´s delightful/but our beach burns are so frightful/To Chincha and back we go/Where´s the snow? Where´s the snow? Where´s the snow?

Mashup Finale: Up on Diego´s Beach House Rooftop/ We´re a Couple of Misfits/Deck the Halls

Up on Diego´s beach house rooftop Jennie paused/Out jumped Josué Córdova/Down to the kitchen for chips and dogs/All for the little ones Christmas joys. Ho, ho, ho! Who wouldn´t go? Ho, ho, ho! Seriously: Who wouldn´t go? Up on the rooftop beer tops went click!/ Down through the gullets of all us misfits.

Ohhhhhhh! We´re a couple of misfits/ we´re a couple of misfits/ What´s the matter with misfits/ That´s where we fit in. We may be different from the rest/Who decides the test/Of what is really best?

Fast away the old year passes/fa la la la la la, la la la la/ Hail the new,ye lads and lasses/ fa la la la la, la la la la./ Sing we joyous all together/ fa la la la la, la la la la/ We rejoice for sunny weather/ fa la la la la, la la la la.

I´ll be home for Christmas. Expect more caroling. And next time, please, stay on pitch.

14 December 2011

Sustainable Tourism: Preserving and Showcasing Peru´s Treasures

Belen market, Iquitos
Allow me to make a few introductions.  First Carlitos, an independent guide who works in Arequipa and Colca Canyon country.  Carlitos is a young, 20-something-year-old Peruvian who´s finishing his studies in tourism while living the life of a full-time guide. Second is Gart, general manager of San Pedro Lodge in the heart of the Amazon. Gart is a Dutchman who moved to Peru 6 years ago and wound up sharing his love for the Amazon by taking over the reins at San Pedro Lodge in April.

While these men´s backgrounds—and the regions where they´ve chosen to work—differ vastly, their thoughts are consumed by a common problem: sustainable tourism in Peru.

I´ll admit that I, like many people, hadn´t given much thought to the concept of ¨tourism¨ before coming to Peru. As a child, most of my family vacations were to other U.S. cities, where the negative impacts of tourism are mostly observed in the form of chain restaurants and brand name stores stamping out competition from local retailers and mom and pop shops. But in a country like Peru—where interest in cultural, historical, and ecotourism is exploding—the subject cannot be ignored. 

During our Colca Canyon trek, I remember that Carlitos mentioned the struggle of balancing the expectations of tourists with the needs of the local citizens of Tapay, Cosnirwa, and Malata. He´s trying to figure out how he can give tourists a ¨local¨ experience without exploiting the natives or making them seem ¨primitive¨ or ¨exotic.¨ And he´s also grappling with the best way to share the capital generated from canyon tourism: is it better to let the locals sell their own products or to give them a cold cut of the money?

Taken on the boat ride back to San Pedro Lodge.
In the Amazon, the implications of tourism are both economic and environmental. Over a glass of camu camu juice, I heard Gart discussing jungle tourism with a man from San Pedro village.  Gart stressed the importance of educating local community members about the dangers of pollution and deforestation, both of which put native plant and animal species at-risk. He also noted that this type of carelessness drives tourists—who come to the jungle looking for an opportunity to ¨commune¨ with nature—away.  Yet locals argue that until they start reaping the benefits of tourism—increased cash flow and employment opportunities—the logging industry is their only viable career path.

In fact, all of Peru´s greatest treasures are simultaneously vulnerable to and dependent upon tourism. On the border between Peru and Bolivia, locals who inhabit the islands of Lake Titicaca have notoriously (and repeatedly) been cheated their fair share of tourism capital by the agencies who ferry travelers there, leaving the locals with very few resources to provide their families with food and shelter.

Not just a picture of Machu Picchu´s impressive terraces: notice the string cutting the photo diagonally. It´s there to measure the movement of the stones and the mountain.
Even the country ´s crown jewel, Machu Picchu, is in danger. According to the National Chamber of Tourism, the site will have attracted at least 1 million visitors this year alone. This signifies a giant boom for Peru´s economy, but it also means  the Inca´s most impressive achievement is rapidly eroding and deteorating. Due to poor regulations of the site, UNESCO has, on several occasions, threatened to put the ruin on its list of World Heritage sites in Danger.

With the potential for the Amazon jungle to be included on the list of the New 7 Natural Wonders, it will be interesting to see if—and when—the Peruvian government will start making aggressive changes to the tourism biz to protect the country´s natural and manmade wonders. Unfortunately, with the industry generating over $3 billion in revenue this year, the likelihood of short-term changes looks dismal.

For now, like it so often happens, our hope is not in the hands of the national government, but in individuals like Gart and Carlitos.

05 December 2011

Tales from the Jungle: Ophidiophobia


I stood with an orange-spotted anaconda around my neck, waiting for someone to snap a picture.  Accessorizing with a necklace that could constrict at any moment is not how I pictured spending my last vacation in Peru, and yet, there I was, smiling stupidly.

See, as far back as I can remember I’ve been afraid of snakes.  On a fourth grade field trip, I remember running through the reptile house, shielding my eyes with my palms and looking straight ahead, too afraid to meet the eyes of a boa or a python. The first time I saw someone holding a constrictor on the streets of Key West during a family vacation, I had a similar reaction: run.  My fear of snakes is so ingrained that I can’t even do a Google search for the word “snake”— I’m too afraid of what I may find.

So how did I come to find myself with an anaconda draped around my neck in Iquitos, Peru?  Maybe an accurate way to describe it is peer pressure. All of the other interns here have traveled to Iquitos, leaving my roommate and me listening to second-hand experiences and praises for weeks.

“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” our co-worker, Eric, bragged. “One of the best trips I’ve taken in my life.  You have to go.”

“But what about my fear of snakes?” I asked, imagining the jungle to have a snake dangling on every tree branch, the grass infested with slithering bodies and darting tongues.

¨Didn´t see even one, ¨ Eric countered.  ¨Don´t let that hold you back.¨

Reluctantly I booked my plane ticket and began my mental preparation for a snake-filled adventure. Being a highly anxious person, I always feel my best shot at reducing stress is having a plan for the worst case scenario, no matter how ludicrous that situation may be. So what I imagined in this case is that at one point or another, I´d be bitten by a poisonous snake during a jungle hike or in my slumber at the lodge.  Sounds silly, but I truly believed there was a good chance the lodge manager would have to ferry me to the local clinic after a snake attack.

The other thing I do to prepare myself for a possible snake encounter is to review everything I know about snakes.  This preparatory work is highly annoying to anyone within listening distance, because for weeks on end I blabber on about how snakes can open their mouths 180 degrees and swallow their prey whole; how they can slither, swim, leap and climb with their legless, wingless, finless bodies; how with one swift movement, they command so much power, while I have always been awkward, shy, clumsy, indiscrete. To be a snake, then—so natural, so adaptable—is to be the opposite of me.

My roommate, Maureen, was perhaps the best person I could have traveled with to the jungle. That´s because she also has high anxiety levels and understands all my mumbo-jumbo about needing to mentally prepare myself and have an exit strategy.  This trip forced her to confront her greatest fear, too: flying. So in the weeks leading up to our trip, many of our conversations were held completely in the world of worst case scenarios: What if the plane crashes? What if the plane crashes in the middle of the jungle and we survive, only to find ourselves surrounded by hungry snakes? And, perhaps worst of all: What if there are snakes on the plane, as chronicled in the notoriously terrible Samuel L. Jackson movie of the same name? We tried our best to come up with hypothetical solutions for everything.

During our conversations, I also organized my fear of snakes into perceived threat levels.  The psychological term for this, I later learned, is a ¨fear ladder.¨ My fear ladder is categorized, much like terrorism threats, by color:

•    Highest threats—Black, brown, and dark green snakes. Also: cobras, rattlesnakes, and anything over 3 ft.
•    Mid-range—Brightly colored snakes (even though these tend to be more poisonous than black or green snakes).
•    Lowest threats—Albino snakes. Can´t be sure why, but I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe it´s because I saw Britney Spears hold one at the MTV Video Music Awards and still live on for many more pelvic-thrusting, lip synching years…

Britney paving the way.

Of course, when I arrived to the jungle, I was happily surprised to have no immediate reptile encounters. In fact, the encounter didn´t come until we visited the local zoo.  Remembering my fourth grade experience, I knew the dreaded moment was most likely upon us.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Maureen asked our tour guide, Gino, if we´d be seeing any snakes during our visit, explaining my fear to him.  This was a grave mistake, as Gino not only answered in the affirmative, but used the opportunity to tell a series of stories about encounters he and every person he´d ever met had had with snakes. One involved his hand swelling up for two weeks after being bitten (in turn legitimizing my own fear of a poisonous snake bite), while in another story, he chronicled the tragic story of a hunter being swallowed alive. 

These were like ghost stories to me, and my fear grew with every tale; as I rounded each corner, I expected to find snakes slithering at my feet. Or, even worse, dropping suddenly from the branches above.  My face became flushed from the heat and the fear. I tried my best to stay behind Gino and Maureen in the event of a snake encounter, but not so far behind that a snake could slither out of nowhere and come biting at my heels. 

Just when I thought I couldn´t take the suspense any longer, the climactic moment came:  ¨There the man is standing, waiting to take your picture with the snake, ¨ Gino said calmly.

¨Can´t we just take a different route? ¨ Maureen asked, noticing how my body had stiffened.

¨No, we have to walk this way to see the other animals, ¨ Gino explained.

¨That´s okay, ¨ I tried to gulp down my fear. ¨Let´s just walk past it and move on.¨  

¨But it´s not going to hurt you, ¨ Gino insisted.

I shook my head.

He laughed. ¨You´re the first American I meet who’s afraid.  Strange.¨

¨Really?  Because I know lots of people who are afraid of them, ¨ I retorted. ¨Maybe they just don´t come to the jungle.¨ What I really meant to say is, Maybe they´re not stupid enough to come to the jungle.

Gino laughed again, walking towards the snake.  He plopped down next to it on the bench, where it was coiled, liberated from its owner, allowed to slither freely.

The anaconda did not move.

¨See? ¨Gino pressured.  He began to pet the snake´s sculpted body.

The snake´s owner hustled over, excited to reign in the sale. He was old, tanned, and wearing a tank top and beach shorts. ¨¿Una foto?¨ He encouraged. ¨Tres soles. Varias posturas.¨ Varias poses. As if I even wanted one.

¨Tiene miedo,¨ Gino offered, pointing to me in my cowardice.

The old man, determined not to lose the sale, hurried to pull out a book of pictures, which he believed would assure me of the snake´s good track record. There were bikini-clad girls wearing it, grown men making kissy-faces at it, even a girl who looked no older than 8 wearing the oversized constrictor on her petite frame.

Gino pointed at the last photo.  ¨See? Even the little girl´s not afraid.¨

Do you kind of want to hold it?¨ Maureen broke in, the only reasonable voice of the bunch. She understood my mixed fascination and fear, noticing how my eyes were transfixed on the anaconda´s every movement.

¨Yes,¨ I admitted. ¨But I think there´s a 50% chance I will flip out.¨

¨Want me to hold it with you?¨ She offered.

I nodded. ¨As long as you hold the head.¨ It was a ridiculous request, but I knew it would make me feel better.

With our consent, I watched as the toothless man eagerly draped the black bodied, orange-spotted beast over Maureen´s shoulders, still holding onto its head.  Then he offered the head to me.

I bristled again, my heart rate quickening. This wasn´t how the arrangement was supposed to work.  Maureen was supposed to hold the head and me, the less scary lower half. Normally I am somewhat timid in expressing my desires, but in this case, which I neurotically considered one of life and death (despite countering photo evidence), I abandoned all reservations.

¨La cabeza para ella, ¨ I insisted, pointing to Maureen.

The man nodded in acknowledgement, motioning me to the other end of the snake, which he lifted onto my neck and shoulders. He put the tail in my right fist and the head in Maureen´s left.
At least it had orange spots, only a medium threat...

I expected the snake to start coiling, but it did not move.  I realized it had probably been heavily sedated to interact with tourists, and that I was just perpetuating its torture by giving the toothless man my business. For the first time in my life, I felt something close to compassion for a snake.

But it was too late now. The anaconda was on me.

The sensation was so surreal that I can´t accurately describe it. For all the anxiety, all the mental preparation, all the hype, the snake-holding itself does not hold a prominent place in my memory. Because Maureen and I were sharing the burden, the anaconda´s weight was not overwhelming.  And because the jungle beast was sleepy and inactive, there was no movement to recall.

The snake hung limp and lifeless over our sweating bodies, like a large prop. Only an occasional flick of the tongue indicated its true vitality. 

¨Chicas valientes,¨ Gino said, nodding approvingly after the photos had been taken and the snake had been removed from our shoulders.  ¨Let´s go.¨

But I knew it wasn´t as simple as that. Just because I´d held a drugged anaconda once did not mean I would forever be cured of my fear. I had been somewhat prepared for this encounter; the greatest fear comes from surprise ones.

Still, it was a step forward, so I kept walking.