Punch Buggy!

We knew when we went to Cuba that we would see 1950's American cars. They are in every tourist photo of Havana there are classic American cars, often waxed and polished so it could double as a mirror.

In Peru we were surprised to see the cars of our youth, namely VW Bugs. We spent much of our trip whispering PUNCH BUGGY to each other. It brought back memories of playing with my sisters on car rides long and short. To a time before I met Don. By the time we met in 1989 there were not that many slug bugs or punch buggies on the road. 

It has been so long since we played I don't remember the details of the scoring system. I think each car was a point. Orange ones were worth five points? Vans worth more. Orange vans worth the most?

I should have taken more pictures. Some were polished like the Chevys in Havana. Others were beaten up, clearly used as everyday cars.

Fabric, Stories, and Memories at The William Trent House

"The fabric of our lives," began historical re-enactor Leslie Bramett's brief talk about how we went from owning two outfits comprising of five items of clothing, to having closets and dressers overflowing with more items of clothing than we can count. Bramett's talk, "The Stories Fabrics Tell: an Illustrated History" was the keynote presentation in the greater "Fabric, Stories, and Memories" exhibition that opens next weekend at the 1719 William Trent House.

Bramett wore a Colonial-era dress she hand stitched, and brought three other dresses she made--all pink, all using different types of fabrics and styles to illustrate the points she made in her power presentation.

"The fabric of our lives" evokes the 1980s television commercial encouraging people to turn away from polyester and return to cotton. She said since she started wearing cotton for work, that when she wears synthetic materials they just don't feel right. 

Her presentation was neatly organized into four categories:

1) Functional

2) Status

3) Political

4) Artifact

Functional: in the 1600s clothes served a function. Everyone, even the most wealthy, had two outfits that they wore every day. One for work, and the other (if lucky) to wear to church on Sundays.

Status: Around the 18th century, fabric became tied to the economy. Cotton and linen were exported from the New World and sent to Britain to be turned into cloth, which was then sold to people in the New World. At the same time, people were traveling to other parts of the world and seeing what others were wearing.

Fabric became a status symbol. Rather than having plain fabric, printed material began to exist. The lower classes still wore solid colors (often in linen), the middle class citizens wore patterned cotton cloth, but the wealthy wanted something different. They wore silk fabric with patterns. After all in those days of slavery, labor was cheap so to show your wealth, you had to wear better fabric. This extended to your bedding, drapes, table cloths, and all fabric you needed.

Political: Laws were made to dictate what Black people could wear. Louisiana's Tignon Law of 1786 said women of color must cover their hair to suppress their beauty. South Carolina's 1735 Slave Code law specified that Blacks could only wear "Negro cloth," which was not as fine as what their owners wore. This law was ignored by the slaveholders who chose what their property would wear. She compared it to posted speed limit signs versus how we drive in New Jersey, some might obey but most don't.

Another interesting rabbit hole was that during the Revolutionary War era there were boycotts on buying fabric from Britain. Instead people spun their own fabric and made their own clothes as part of the Homespun Movement. Think of it as the original Buy in America movement started by women.

Artifacts: this was the most fascinating part of Bramett's discussion. She pointed out that very little fabric actually exists from the Colonial era, so how do historians like herself know so much about them? There are three ways: runaway ads, wills, and foundling homes. Each a little more distressing than the previous.

Runaway ads described not just the physical characteristics of the runaway slaves, but their attire, often in great detail. Remember, people did not have a lot of clothing in that time period.

Wills. Fabric was so valuable that everyone who had a will listed it in their wills. For the William Trent House they listed linens at a modern day value of $312. Linens were passed down to the the next generation. One man in the audience said he remembers helping his grandmother create quilts for each of the people in her family so they would have something from her when she passed.

Foundling homes. This was the most distressing way to learn about fabric patterns, but crucial to seeing actual pieces of fabric from bygone times. When a woman left her baby at a foundling home, she left the child with a piece of fabric from her dress and kept a piece. This was used to identify which child was hers. Though only 166 children were claimed out of the thousands left, in the age before fingerprint identification, this was crucial for identification. The Foundling Museum in the United Kingdom (formerly the Foundling Home) had an exhibit on children claimed. Somehow Bramett got through this portion of her talk without choking up, something she said she has been working on. This exhibit provided a "wealth of knowledge of fabrics of ordinary women." 

She noted that while the ordinary people were boycotting British (including Irish and Indian) goods, George Washington and the wealthy class were not. They still wanted to keep up appearances among their friends. Way not to show leadership, George.

It was a fun talk. They introduction included extending an invitation to others who want to give presentations. They are always looking for guest speakers, often academics have to give talks as part of their requirements. 

Next up is a talk by Robert Selig called: German Soldier in America: Georg Daniel Flohr, Regiment Royal Deux Points on March 15 at 2 pm. Same place. 

Countries Visited

Because this comes up in conversation every so often, thought I would create an official list of countries I have been to so far. Since crossing the International Date Line I've wanted to cross the equator (open for suggestions). I'd also like to go to Africa.

(Written in 2017, updated 2023 and 2026)

1. Canada
2. Iceland
3. England
4. France
5. Belgium
6. Luxembourg
7. Switzerland
8. East Germany (visited while separated)
9. West Germany (visited while separated)
10. Germany (visited post reunification)
11. Holland/Netherlands
12. Portugal
13. Italy
14. Vatican City
15. Japan
16. Cuba
17. Mexico
18. Denmark
19. Estonia
20. Russia
21. Sweden
22. Finland
23. Israel
24. Palestine (from Jerusalem into Bethlehem)
25. Spain 
26. New Zealand
27. Australia
28. Norway
29. Peru

Peru Adventures

Three days ago we came home from visiting Peru. Over the next couple of weeks, I'll be adding stories, adventures, and pictures. They will appear on the dates when the stories took place. 

I came home a bit beat from the trip and am processing why. After all, Peru is the same time zone. It was a relatively quick trip (we were only away eight days). The travel company took care of the nitty gritty details, leaving me to only worry about filling free time and finding lunch and dinner each day. An added bonus, the weather is turning warmer in New Jersey making the snow melt faster than it did with the January snow -- we actually saw our lawn for the first time in a couple of months. 

As I write about what we saw, and what I learned, I hope to uncover the answer to why I am beat, and figure out how not to repeat that feeling on a future trip. Thank goodness I have the time to digest the trip and not just move forward with the next experience.

Bear with me as I dive into the adventures.

Pun intended ;)

 

Peru: Altitude Sickness and other questions

Since coming home, the top question I've been asked was how did we fare with altitude sickness, followed by did we try guinea pig?

I'll answer the second question first: no. I would have been willing to try it, but after hearing from Greg (@Go.With.Greg) that his was served with the face prominent, I lost all interest. I was only interested in trying a taste, anyway, but his description kept me from ordering it.

The first question is longer to answer. As soon as we landed in Cusco I had a terrible headache. I get headaches more frequently than Don and can usually identify them. Not enough sleep. Dehydrated. Hungry. Snow or rain storm about to hit. This was none of the above. After confirming symptoms with Google, I took two Tylenols (which I packed), had some bottled water, and slept for 12 hours. I woke up with a headache in the middle of the night. Took more Tylenol. Woke up feeling much better. For me, that was the worst of it. We were sleeping in Urubamba that night, which at 9,700 feet above sea level was about 1,500 feet closer to sea level than the Cusco airport. The next day we were going to Machu Picchu, "only" 8,000 feet. I repeated Tylenol and water over the next couple of days as both seemed to help.

Don was fine in Cusco and at Machu Picchu, but a few hours after arriving in Cusco (11,200 feet) he was feeling gastrointestinally ill. He tried to press on, but the only thing that helped was sleeping in the hotel room. Someone from a group about to leave Cusco gave him the rest of her supply of Soroche pills. Yes, I know, don't take drugs from strangers. Back at Dulles Airport a Peruvian woman swore by Diamox, which you can get from any pharmacy in Lima, and we did not.

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda.

We drank coca and muna teas every time they were offered. I chewed a coca leaf I found on a counter at the Cusco airport when Greg was changing money. Honestly I don't know if any of that helped.

Don may have consumed something he should not have.

People kept offering suggestions that were working for them (patches, masking tape on pressure points, coca candy, etc.). For me another day to rest would have helped. For Don, returning to sea level was the only cure. 

I was wiped out on our Cusco hikes as we climbed another 600 feet above sea
level not once, not twice, but three times on three different days, because some people just don't learn. Don was even slower than me on our last hike.

We both felt much better as soon as we landed in Lima. My head stopped feeling clogged. I could remember to say buenos dias, buenos tardes, and buenos noches, instead of bonjour, bon apres midi, and bon soir, or even buena sera as the Italians say. I finally hit my traveling groove!

Peru: Photos of Carts

I've finished writing about our adventures, but I still have some picture left that did not fit into any of the narratives, but still tell the story.

Within a few minutes of walking in Lima we started seeing entrepreneurs. People selling something. Most were waved off with a "no, gracias." Very few pushed beyond that. No one was ever aggressive, just persistent. 

In Lima everything was too new to even think about giving someone money. There were shoe shiners offering to shine my Chacos. For a better pair of shoes, we should have said yes. The roads are very dusty, so our shoes would look better. Plus, everyone feels better being paid for a service rather than being given a hand out.

In Cusco the opportunity to buy something was in carts between the hotel and the cultural center of town, and beyond. As we waited in Cusco for our flight to Lima I brought up the topic of carts to Don, Ruth, and Bill. Ruth and Bill have traveled to Central American countries before and are familiar with tuk tuks (pedicabs) and the cart culture. Besides, it was a topic of conversation.

We listed the following types of carts:

• Prepared foods: cut up fruit, empanadas, churros, corn on the cob, cakes, prepared snacks, ice cream, ham sandwiches, geletin
• Produce: watermelons, avocados, broccoli, coca leaves (helpful with the altitude), small eggs (pigeon? quail?), strawberries
• Toys: metal cast VW bugs, cards
• Shawls, hats, alpaca stuff
• Household goods: cleaners, toilet paper
• Souvenirs
• Cans of soap (for Carnavale)

Here are some pictures:

Day 8: Return to Reality

If you've been following my adventures for awhile, you know I travel more often than many, so I do not make this statement lightly: this was the worst travel experience I have ever had.

The private ride to the airport took nearly twice as long in rush hour as it did in non-rush hour. Our driver, who spoke no English, anticipated that and knew ways around the traffic. We arrived in plenty of time. As we were using carry-ons, we sailed through security and check in. There was enough time to have two cups of tea each at the TGI Fridays, and roam through all the gift shops, while waiting to find out which gate would be ours. 

So far so good.

Our flight was delayed by an hour. 

Uh oh. We only had a 100 minute layover between flights.

Our trip included airfare, so we had no choice in flights. Exoticca chose the cheapest airline possible (to be expected) and for us that was Copa. Others flew Air Canada, and when they tried to complain we had them beat. The seats are small, there are no tvs, limited food (basically take it or leave it), when the seat in front of you reclines it is bumping into your knees, no blankets or pillows. Basically it is akin to flying domestically on Spirit or Frontier. 

We managed.

Don had the window. I had the middle. The Peruvian woman next to me did not speak English. I still did not speak Spanish. Could not even use Google Translate on the flight. She still tried to hold a conversation with me. I suspect she was a nervous flyer as she fidgeted the entire time.

Taken on the way out,
we did not take any pictures as we dashed

All that said, we had thirty minutes from landing to catch our next flight on the other side of the Panama airport. We raced, as did others making the same connection. 

We had to go through US security, confiscating the water bottle we carried from the earlier flight and wanted to drink from before getting on the plane was confiscated. Argh.

The next flight was equally as packed but this time we were the second to last row next to the bathroom. Don was in the middle. I was on the aisle. With turbulence throughout the flight, my seat was jostled the entire time with people heading to and from the bathroom. When we boarded, a young woman was sitting in our seat. Her mistake, she belonged one row back next to her mom.

By the time the drink cart came around hot drinks were off limits due to the ongoing turbulence, and there was no alcohol to be found. I think the options were juice, Coca Cola, and flat water with food being spaghetti. 

We landed at IAD (Washington's Dulles Airport) at 11:30 pm. As we were in the back of the plane, we were one of the last to deplane. That's fine, and to be expected. What was not to be expected was what ensued over the next two hours. 

We were herded onto a shuttle bus. The last one of the flight. We had to wait for
the wheelchairs and flight crew before leaving. This took us to a separate building to clear customs. There was no bathroom between the airplane and the shuttle bus. Note to self: next time use the bathroom in the airplane before deplaning since you don't know when you'll see one again.

We have Global Entry. We have been spoiled by it. The Global Entry line was closed. The sole bathrooms between us and the other side of customs was closed. The customs agents lines were also closed. Are you detecting a theme? 

Trust me after a 16 hour day to get to this point, I was not in the mood. 

I asked loudly to go to the bathroom. Not my finest moment. Meanwhile Don, whose bladder is usually the size of a thimble, was waiting on the seemingly endless line making small talk with the people ahead of us. They were regaling him with their friend's experience. The friend who was at the front of the very long line and had the line closed in front of her. The friend who offered to swap seats with her father because he had the row directly behind first class, only to learn they double booked that seat. She was placed a few rows back behind someone vomiting most of the flight because of the turbulence. The person who was directly behind him (and next to her) had her under the seat bag covered in vomit, which the flight attendants did not give her anything to help clean her bag. The smell was overwhelming, turning everyone off of the meal (they still had a choice of meals in their spot). 

The man in the window seat in the row behind us was also having a miserable time. He gave up his exit row seat to accept the offer of a $400 travel voucher to take a later flight. They then realized they had space for him and gave him what he so eloquently called "the bathroom seat" and told him to speak with the flight attendants about compensation. So he paid extra for a seat he did not get. Did not receive his travel voucher. And was seated in the extreme back of the plane. The flight attendants did not speak English, fortunately he spoke Spanish so he tried negotiating with them while we waited for the plane to take off. In the end I heard him making friends with the charming young woman behind me (the one who had originally been in our seat).

It is a miserable flight when the best you can say is you were not seated next to the person vomiting, nor did you pay extra to sit in the far back seat in the plane.

That's a mighty low bar.

The people cleaning the floor outside the bathrooms finally acquiesced and allowed me to use the bathroom. Someone halfway through the line shouted they wanted to go, too, but as they did not seem willing to give up their space in line, they were ignored. The floor was saturated in inches of water. When we finally made it to the other side, they said the area was closed for a three-day cleaning. As was Global Entry. I truly find that hard to believe.

The line finally moves forward. Inch by inch. Around 1 am we make it to the front. I have out our Nexus/Global Entry Cards. The woman at the front apologizes and tries to find us the shortest line. What we did not realize was at the front of that shorter line was a woman getting her Global Entry interview. Oh the irony! After listening to her answer questions for ten more minutes, and have her photo taken, we shift to the faster moving line to our left. Had we mad the move sooner, it would have saved us 15 minutes. By the time we made the move it only cut a minute or two off of the wait. We ended up standing behind people who landed thirty minutes after us.

On the other side of the glass wall we could see our bags being corralled. This added another layer of stress -- would they put our bags away for safe keeping until tomorrow? We were four hours away from home and had no plans to return. Fortunately they were just holding them in a small group instead of letting them continue to circle around and around.

We made it through the line at 1:16 am. Meaning we missed the twice an hour shuttle bus to the hotel where our car was parked by a minute. We lingered. Caught up with our new friends who were sitting next to the vomiter. They were driving to Delaware, about half of our distance. They were waiting for the rest of the group who was in one of the two sets of bathrooms on the other side of customs.

I called the hotel to verify that that the shuttle bus was really coming at 1:45 am. The front desk cheerfully assured me he would be there.

From here our luck began to improve. Though New Jersey had an epic blizzard a few days earlier, Washington, DC only had five inches. There was no show on our car. Even better, the cheerful front desk person let us make cups of tea for the drive home. 

I offered to book a hotel, but Don was ready to go home. Once on our way, he let me sleep part of the way home. I tried to stay awake, but it proved impossible. According to him, we hit no traffic. He first started seeing piles of snow after entering New Jersey (or maybe it was Delaware). 

We pulled into the driveway at 5 am--21 hours after being picked up at our hotel
in Lima. 

Day 7: Peru, Lima

It's a miracle! 

Upon landing in Lima, which is about 80 feet above sea level, both Don and I felt amazing. I chatted non-stop with Mario, the same guide we had when we arrived in Lima the week earlier. Ruth and Bill were quiet in the back seat. Either they were too tired to participate, too far away to hear what we were saying, I was talking too much for others to interrupt, or a combination of the three. All I know is I was feeling much better.

We arrived back at the hotel by 9 pm. Don and I dropped off our bags and started walking towards the Bridge of Sighs. I still couldn't believe we missed it when we were in the Barracuda district earlier in the week.

Our plan was to call a Didi ride share to take us to the bridge, then walk the hour back. Walking both ways did not make sense. No one accepted my bid for a ride, so we started walking. Around the halfway mark I asked Don if he was still interested in Chinese food for dinner. I recognized where we were and that the restaurant we went earlier on the trip was around the corner. He was up for it, actually really excited about eating for the first time in days, so we crossed the street and hoped they were still open.

We still didn't speak Spanish. And they still didn't speak English. I held up two fingers and they guided us to a table in a restaurant that was nearly empty. We took that as a sign we could order dinner. The menu was still in Spanish, but we had picked up a few words, enough with the help of Google Translate to order. Pollo. Carne. Champinon. We ordered two dishes: chicken (pollo) and vegetables with four different types of mushrooms (champinons). Since we had a hamburger for lunch, we skipped the carne. 

We closed the place down at 11. As the lights turned on (great clue), they took our payment and handed us two fortune cookies (in Spanish). We were full, and happy, refreshed enough to continue the rest of the walk to the Bridge of Sighs.

As we got closer, I realized we had been there. The Bridge of Sighs is closed. A little research shows it closed on February 3 for a six month renovation project. Which is how we missed it. After having some ice cream, we followed the crowds to the closed bridge. We then walked down to an area full of street art, and walked back to the hotel. This time we admired the bridge, best as we could, admired the street art again and called a Didi ride share. This time one accepted the job within seconds, and for $3.50 we had a 25-minute ride back to the Miraflores district and our hotel.

Though the mission was not a success, we still had a good time.

So close!

Street art:

One last sleep before we spend a day in airports and airplanes.

Day 7: Peru, Cusco: Killing Time Visiting the Temple of the Moon

Today is the day our group began to separate. Some left at 8 am for a midday flight. There was another group who was to be picked up at 11 am for a 3 pm flight. We are on the schedule to be picked up at 3:30 pm for a 7 pm flight. 

Don woke up feeling a little better, but not that great. We hoped a hike would revive him. 

We were not thinking clearly. We were both beaten by the 11,000 feet altitude, so to hike straight uphill another 600 or so feet was probably not the best use of our day. In hindsight, we should have gone to the Machu Picchu Museum Casa Concha and had a leisurely lunch instead.

Researching the trip, I had read about the Temple of the Moon and thought that would be a nice activity for the morning. Google Maps said it was a 45 minute. Maps have a way of looking flat. Still, we should have known better after our "25-minute" hike to Cristo Blanco that lasted well over an hour and kicked the wind out of my sails.

Pretty views, and places to rest

The flat part before the climbing

The hike itself was winding up streets that were far away from the tourist path. These led to staircases that led to spots with amazing vistas and even more uphill streets. As I waited for Don to catch up (a rarity when we go for walks together as he is usually the one zipping up the trail), I paused to take a picture of two dozing dogs when they woke up and one of them decided to attack my sweater as I tried to take his picture. I never did get my picture, but I did save my sweater. 

Rare to see Don lagging behind me

That's a good sign

The sign led us to cut through a field where someone was receiving a horseback riding lesson. The map kept saying "not much further," or at least the time to destination kept going down.

As we walked through this field we met a couple from Maine. One of the few Americans we encountered on our vacation. Something that was pointed out to me later, but which I did not appreciate in the moment. Peruvians are desperate for tourism, but Americans seem reluctant to go there. I told Peruvians I would encourage my friends to visit. Consider these posts your encouragement.

I was looking for a visitor's center, hopefully one with a free bathroom, interpretive signs, and maybe even a gift shop. As there was no information center, I'm so glad we stopped to talk to the couple. They gave us some advice: walk around the rock formation to the back and go inside the cave. They noticed offerings and could smell incense as if the offering had been made earlier that day. They then suggested we take the Old Incan Trail back to town, that down would be easier than up. We would pass the Temple of the Monkey, which would need our imagination to see. After saying that they were heading back to the main road to hail a ride share.

We found the rock formation, and the fence saying keep out. We dutifully followed it around to the back. I had flashbacks to walking all around Australia's Uluru, but in browns, greys and greens instead of red. It was also not nearly as large, nor as hot. I suppose the similarities are just that there is a giant rock formation in the middle of nowhere that you can walk all the way around. One that I would understand better with a guide, but there was no guide and internet service was light.

Doing more research since coming home I learned the Temple of the Moon got its name from the crescent moon shaped symbol on it, as well as a snake, puma, and Andean condor (the Inca trilogy). I would have benefited from someone pointing these out to me.

Inside the cave is a finely carved altar. According to what I have read, moonlight reaches this altar through a hole in the top. As it was daylight, and we were warned not to visit at night due to vigilantes, that's why the websites have hours listed. I'll take their word for it. We saw some food offerings, but did not notice the scent of incense we were told to expect. 

Beautiful views of the Andes on the way out

When we were there we only saw one other couple who kindly offered to take our picture, and a man sitting next to a shack. As we walked down, we saw a few other tourists out hiking. I know, it looks like a fake backdrop.

On the way down, I saw a picture of a modern building that we saw, but there were no signs encouraging us to its door, so we assumed it was a private residence. 

We found the Old Inca Trail, a nice wide, grassy path clearly identified by short stone walls on either side. This is my kind of hiking.

A short distance on the path and we noticed people leaving a smaller rock formation. The Temple of the Monkeys. We looked around for a few minutes before continuing back on our path towards the Plaza des Armes.

The hike was going well until we found some new, unexpected friends:

When I first saw them, they were in the middle of the path, reminiscent of the moose in the opening credits of "Northern Exposure." Fortunately they were just crossing to find even tastier grass.

People riding mountain bikes zipped past us, as did a local woman with a small collection of dogs out for their daily dog walking excursion. I was really feeling out of shape, even on the downhill.

Views from our hike downhill. The vistas were more enjoyable on the way down.

Glad we didn't see this sign until we were leaving the
Old Inca Trail

When we reached the San Blas Market I knew where we were. Rather than walking past the Cathedral one last time, we headed towards the hotel and had one last meal at Basilica. We were a little sad Guadeloupe, our favorite server, was off. We had burgers that were too big to eat. The altitude was really messing with our appetites.

To round out our Cusco experience we walked to the shopping mall we had been told about on our first day. It is amazing how shopping malls look so similar. This one had an Adidas, Merrell, and other American sporting good stores. Don was hoping for a LEGO store, but alas the closest one was in a suburb of Lima (too far for our limited time). The bathroom was free, but they kept their toilet paper in the area outside the stalls so you have to plan ahead. There was something depressing about being in a brightly lit shopping mall, so we made our way back to our hotel where we rested for the first time in days.

The rest of our group of six seemed ready to leave Cusco. We all waited quietly, practically in separate corners, as if we all agreed to recharge. There was nothing left to say. People were ready to go home. The other two couples had early morning flights. One was staying at the airport hotel on their own dime because the tour company refused to switch them. The other couple wished they had planned ahead to do that. As our pick up time wasn't until after breakfast, and I still wanted to walk around Lima, we were happy to return to the hotel from our first night. 

Our pick up for the flight was ridiculously early. If we thought of more to do, we could have taken a taxi for less than $10 and made our own plans to return to the airport. It only has a few gates. There is no need to arrive three hours early. We were picked up so early we had a 20-minute wait for check-in to open because the crew was having a staff meeting. 

Don and I had tried contacting Exoticca the day before to see if they could put us on an earlier flight as my Lima wish list was longer than my Cusco one, and Don thought (rightfully so) his altitude issues would disappear as soon as we landed. Exoticca promised to get back to us. Spoiler alert: they did not. Someone in the group recommended only using them if we go through a travel agent first who would serve as our defensive team.

We waited with Ruth and Bill. Other than our ride to the hotel, it was our last chance visiting with them. Kim and George were on the other side of the room waiting area.  Their 26 day journey was almost over. They had been ready to go home since I met them on the train to Machu Picchu. They were ready to just be together.

Don and I were tired, but very ready for the 80 minute flight to Lima.