Obnoxious guide: Coco

This morning I woke up at 4 am to see the sun rise while hiking Machu Piccu and Waynapiccu (an adjacent mountain).

After the majority of hiking we got a tour of Machu Piccu from our guide, Jorge or Coco.

Coco spoke awful english and the tour would have taken half the time if he had spoken in Spanish...and I may have even listened.

"KHe-low. Ai em yor guy-d, HOR-HEY" (Hello I am your guide Jorge)
Butt yoo ken kull mee KOko (but you can call me coco)

Coco means coconut in spanish, but in some latinamerican countries it can also mean a virgin.

At this point I was just not sure what to call my guide...my options were limited:
1. Coconut
2. Virgin
3. Whore, hey

And his jokes sucked

obnoxious backpacker profile: cusco styles

Cusco loves gringos and gringos love cusco. It could be because of Machu Piccu, it could be because of the cheap massages, or it could be because of how lucky you can get in a youth hostel.

I am here celebrating December 25th (it just aint christmas) with a fellow intern. We picked a hostel with some of our Columbian friends who we met on our tour to Machu Piccu. They were mega down to earth and really wicked. They also helped us find a hostel here in Cusco. I think we may also be switching hostels tommorrow :)

Sex in the bathroom:
Chantel told me she walked in on two guys having sex in the bathroom.
"It was kind of awkward."
"Well..are they done? I want to take a shower"
"Uh...i guess...i think they left. I think they are scared of more people walking in on them."
"Cool...i´m showering then..."

Coke in the bathroom:
As I finished my shower, I here two dudes panting. Uh-oh...more sex in the bathroom. One guy left the hostel and I heard him snorting. When I got out of the shower I peaked at what was going on.

"Just flaring my nostrels"

I pretended not to speak english and walked away.

So I cant say that i always flare my nostrils for fun, but i also cant say that i do coke for fun...i can, however, say that i have blown my nose before, but never as ferociously as that.
¡Imagínate!
I am 23 years old and have never ever...flared my nostrils? Maybe it is an experience i am missing out on?

Seriously...just flaring your nostrils?

The only family I want to live with is my own

In Otavalo, I rent a room from an old couple. They are always around the house because they own a store on the first floor. Their son, who is in his 30s is always at the house.

When I first rented the apartment, I still had not met the old couple and was discussing all the when-to-pay-rent and what-is-included stuff with the son. After arranging everything he said, “Great! Welcome! You are now a part of the family.”

Aww…that is sweet. “Cool, thanks!”

“Seriously. You are now la hermanita (the little sister).”
“Haha, cool. Well I am already a little sister, so that is a role I play pretty well.”

We had a little chuckle. And I never chuckled again…

I decided I did not want to be a little sister for a 30-year old Ecuadorian. I did not share a childhood with you. I don’t share parents with you. I don’t share a last name with you. And you eat my eggs!

Some familial background
This family likes to have all the new-age gizmos. If you ask me…they are an
Ecuadorian family pretending they live in the United States (as three of their children do live there). How you ask…

1. They have every kitchen appliance under the sun (CuisineArt, KitchenMaid, Juice Maker, and every other unnecessary item), And they only know how to use the stove and a toaster oven.
2. They have Splenda. If you have been reading the White Food series of the blog, you know that Ecuador is land of sucrose…not sweeteners. (Please note that they just HAVE it…they don´t actually USE it. It is just for show)
3. Peanut Butter. Ecuador is also not land of peanut butter either. (also just for show)
4. Maple Syrup. Also…
5. They have North American vitamins.
6. They don’t clean up after themselves.
7. The son prefers the name Jefferson, when his real name is Santiago.

I also get the impression that all of the kids in the family (now adults) made an active attempt to escape to the United States. 3 out of 4 of the kids are married to gringos and now live in the US. The youngest married an Ecuadorian, and together they tried but failed to immigrate to the US. Trying to get out of Ecuador much?

I shouldn’t really talk though….my family is Iranian, and we pretty much all live in North America (except for my aunt who lives in England). What is different about my family though…is that they don’t annoy me. So I don’t judge them 

Annoying story #1
The family also has many appliances which they do not use, maybe because they do not know how or because they are just useless. While a DVD player can be very useful (for activities such as playing DVDs), two DVDs tend not to be more useful than one. I, on the other hand, was confused enough by the abundance of remotes that I wasn’t even paying attention to the multiple DVD players. After 15 minutes of confusion, I finally asked Jefferson how to work the DVD player. He came over and showed me how to use the older of the two DVD players. I guess I naturally figured that they would use the newer of the DVD players and didn’t realize that it was not connected to the TV.

He started laughing and I gave him an awkward chuckle.

He kept laughing. I looked at him with a puzzled look.

He kept laughing. I did not understand why.

He kept laughing. It wasn’t funny anymore.

He kept laughing. It wasn’t even funny in the first place.

He kept laughing. I still did not get it.

He kept laughing. Okay, okay. I know how to use the DVD player. You can go now.

He kept laughing. EFff…I mean, you always laugh at the little sister but this wasn’t even funny.

Annoying story #2
They eat my eggs!

Annoying story #3
I was leaving the house today and the father said “KHELLOO” (that is hello in an awful Spanish accent). He caught me by surprise. He thought this was funny.

He kept laughing. Awkward chuckle.

He kept laughing. Fuck this. I know where his son gets it now.

I left the house, closing the door with a big slam, as he almost fell to the floor laughing…seriously! I left before I was morally obliged to help.

Annoying story #4
They ate my cream cheese and I only found out as I was making the cream cheese icing of my carrot cake.

Annoying story #5
They keep the tacky Christmas music playing all day and all night.

Annoying story #6
They talk to their grown children as if they are talking to 5 year olds…for about an hour. Imagine having your parents talk to you in a baby voice for an hour! I mean, I know that you will always be their son or daughter, but this was too much. Goo-goo-ga-ga

What is particularly interesting about living with a family in another country is that you often learn how to embrace and understand the different culture. I haven’t gotten that feeling; however, I have recently bonded a lot with their maid, Martita. Every morning at breakfast we comment on how weird the family is. Every morning we walk around the house and laugh at the filth they left the night before: they leave soggy bread on the dining table and left over dinner all over the counters. My friends even visited one weekend and said “Wow! You weren’t kidding. They are pretty gross.”

After our morning parade around the house, we begin with the real cultural exchange.

“Try some carrot cake! It is very typical of North America.”
“Ooo…thank you. You have never tried Guava!! Here, have some.”

“WOAH! Did you just chop the head off that chicken!? In the sink.”
“Of course. I do it all the time. Like this…”

Then the family comes in and I continue calling them “Usted” and calling Martita “Tú.” I give her a little wink and I head off to work.

Annoying story #7
Every morning after breakfast they ask where I am going. Every morning I go to work.

¡Bobos!

algunas personas hacen huevadas = some ppl are do effed up shtuff...

Martha wrote in her blog “That was so dangerous. I am never doing that again.” I don’t know why she originally thought it would be a good idea to drive a four-wheeler on the highway, but I also don’t know why she thought it would be a good idea to do it again.

Driving four-wheelers on the highway is fun.  And it is easy.

To turn on: turn the key and press a button
To turn on the light: Turn the key again
To accelerate: Press a button
To break: there are multiple different ways…and I know them all.
Easy 

I was driving, and Martha was in the back. We both wore helmets, of course. We aren’t idiots!

“maryam, we are going through a tunnel. Turn on the light.”
“Yah yah.” I turned the key seconds before we entered the tunnel and I looked down and the light wasn’t on.
“Turn on the light, maryam!”
“I turned it on.” I started panicking because there was no light in the tunnel. “What’s going on?”
“Maryam!! You are slowing down!! Go Go Go!! The tunnel isn’t too big, you can see the light. So accelerate at least!!”
“I am trying. It’s not accelerating.”

The four-wheeler slowed down to a stop. I tried to fiddle with all of the buttons and the keys but I couldn’t see anything in the tunnel.

HONK! HONK!

“A BUS!!” Martha and I jumped off the four-wheeler. “Maryam, I’ll get the bus to stop. Move the four-wheeler to the side.”

Realistically, moving it to the side would not have saved it because the tunnel was only wide enough for a bus and the profile of two 22-year-old bimbos.

“Its not moving!” I yelled.

HONK HONK!!

“EFF! Don’t honk!! We know you are there.” I yelled partly to myself, partly to Martha, and partly to the bus driver who couldn’t even here me or the sarcasm in my tone. I continued to fiddle with all of the buttons and the key, not understanding how a tunnel could get so dark.

I took off my sunglasses  and continued to fiddle around with all of the buttons.

Martha successfully got the bus to slow down and a sixteen year old jumped off and started to push the four-wheeler.

As he pushed, Martha pounced on the four-wheeler. “Maryam, get on the back! I am driving.” With the combination of the sixteen-year old pushing the four-wheeler and Martha’s knowledge of how to drive the four-wheeler, we got moving. The bus trailed behind us in the tunnel and passed us once we got out.

“Maryam! That’s why I said I was never gonna do this ever again.”
“Why? You got stuck in a tunnel last time?”
“NO! Because I know you are an idiot and would turn the four-wheeler OFF as opposed to turning the light ON!”

…that didn’t really answer my question.

We continued driving our four-wheeler on the highway and passed a go-cart driving in the opposite direction.

“Hey Martha, have you ever driven a go-cart?”
“I am never gonna do this again!”

“Cierto….”

mentirosas

I have two friends, Chantel and Martha, who make up a lot of stories. So…this blog is not about me, but it is hilarious.

When I asked them why they did this, they explained that they did this usually to get creepy men off of their case. When they were with someone that they thought would be fun, then they would not lie. But once it got out of hand (for them, but again…i thought the story was hilarious).

They convinced two guys that they were from Spanish speaking countries and that they did not know any English. One was American, whose first language was clearly English; and the other was a Mexican who spoke some English but still had a thick Latin accent.

Key events of the night:
1. The American says to Chantel: “You are so lucky. This entire night I have been struggling to speak my second language. This must be so easy for you.”
2. The American and Mexican team up to teach Chantel and Martha some English phrases. The Mexican then says to Chantel, “Hmm…your friend can pronounce things in English much better. You need to work on your accent.”
3. The Mexican says to his American comrade (“knowing” that Chantal and Martha do not understand) “I am really tired. I either want to go to bed…or have sex.”

I met up with them the next day. “Umm, maryam. We don’t really want to go outside.”
“Why? What’s wrong with you guys?”
“We don’t want to see the guys we saw last night!!”

Dieta

Do I have an eating disorder? Am I incredibly large? Or are people just very comfortable with calling you fat?

In Canada, it is pretty taboo to tell someone they need to lose weight. Furthermore, people often do not go out of their way to help you lose weight. In Ecuador, on the other hand, losing weight is a team effort. Who says Ecuadorians are not helpful?

The “vecino”, who takes us to work everyday in the little illegal taxi, is a little overweight. (Vecino means neighbour) Apparently he has lost about 20 pounds in the past two months. What is his secret? Every morning he goes and drinks a jugo (juice). Several times a week everyone will talk about the jugos on the way to or from work. (Really these jugos are a protein-shake/meal replacement)

His apparent success with these jugos has convinced one of the other girls at work, Luz, to join him every morning. Now the jugos were not a topic of conversation several times a week—but everyday there was a discussion about these magical jugos. “maryam, come with me tomorrow and you will see!” The vecino and Luz would say to me every day to work, and again every evening returning home.

Finally, they convinced me.

One day, I met Luz at 9:00 am to go and meet the vecino.

“maryam, did you skip breakfast like I told you?”
“Yes.”
“Good”
“So what are these jugos like, Luz?”
“They are really thick. They are made with papaya and melon.”
“Luz! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“What?”
“I HATE both papaya and melon juice!” Luz began to laugh and by the end of the conversation we had reached our destination.

We entered into a building to which I never used to pay attention. We walked into a room on the first floor. There were seats arranged around the perimeter of the room, except for one wall of the room which had a table with two blenders, two buckets of papaya and melon (vomit), a kettle, and other important utensils which help people lose weight.

I sat down and was handed a large glass of green tea. Luz instructed me to drink the litre-large glass of tea.

I also hate green tea. I gulped it down as if it was a cough syrup—the really crappy kind you gulp down hoping that not a drop will hit your taste buds. I was successful in downing the liquid. My taste buds, however, were not victorious.

I was then given about a large glass, about a litre more or less, of papaya-melon juice…but it tasted even more disgusting than I expected. As I took my first sips, Luz, the vecino, and all of the vecino’s family (weight loss is a family bonding event apparently) turned to me “Te gusta? Te gusta?” With the man who served me the drink still in the room I said con fuerza “NO! Of course not. I hate papaya and melon. I told you before.”

i.e. SURPRISE. This is disgusting.

But knowing that it was all I was going to have for breakfast before work, I finished the jugo. I tried to finish it as quick as I could to get through the horror and pain that was the blended drink I held in my hands.

“Calm down, maryam. Drink it slowly,” said the vecino. I then noticed how I began to feel really woozy. I just drank over a litre of liquid in less than 5 minutes, on an empty stomach. I was not sure if my nausea came from the massive amounts of liquid or the fact that merely the smell of papaya makes me want to vomit.

“¡CHUTA MANGOS! I am already full. I don’t want to finish this.”
“Finish it maryam. It is your breakfast.”

I continued drinking the juice—more slowly but with just as much difficulty.

“It tastes really funny. There is something more than just papaya and melon in this,” looking down at the drink with the face of disgust I had since I first sipped the tea.
“Of course!” said the vecino. The man who made the juices heard me and passed me a jar of powder. “You can read this, it’s in English.”

It was a vanilla protein shake. This was what everyone was drinking? The protein powder was the magic? These were the magical jugos? I was ingesting a jugo of papaya, melon, and vanilla. If I knew what I was getting into, I would never have signed up for this.

I finally got through the awful experience and we left. “So you are going to come back tomorrow, right?” asked both Luz and the vecino. I changed the subject.

That day for lunch, I ate with Luz. The chef gave us our plates and said “It is because of your diet.” Yes, Luz was on a diet, but I didn’t really understand why she included me in the club.

On the way home, the vecino and Luz were talking about the hilarity of my juice adventures. In order to shut them up and convey to them how much I did not want to return for more jugo, I said “If I don’t lose 10 pounds today, I am not going to drink those disgusting juices.”

One of the women turned to me and said “But maryam, being on a diet is not easy.”

“WHAT? I am not on a diet.” The entire car turned to me and said, “You’re not?”

I am no longer just the intern.

I am now the fat intern.