Two bulls in a china shop

Okay, so we're back in Canada, Toronto to be exact. For me, it feels a lot like home, but it isn't quite home. I feel like I have three other homes to visit before I feel completely whole again: Seattle, Missouri and New York City. You'll notice that Missouri is a state, whereas the others are cities. I have many spots in Missouri that I'll have to visit.

I was just writing a little note to my dear friend, Jordis, in NYC. She asked me how I was feeling about our upcoming return to Canada. Sitting here on the coast of Ecuador, gazing at the ocean, it's hard to fully imagine landing at the Toronto airport and feeling that first blast of cool air. It's much easier to imagine those first hugs with dear friends and family, as that's what I've been craving the most.

Here I am in Mancora, Peru, a month into the five-country, South American wrap-up whirlwind. And, guess what? I've been beach cabana bound for the last five days. You see, I have what you might call "extreme sunburn-related side effects." I have to stay out of the sun for at least a few more days, and even after dark, I'm in no real shape to present myself to the public.

It has been almost three weeks since we left Buenos Aires and it has been a whirlwind. Every day trying to figure out how to balance work obligations vs. the urge to spend every minute of our days learning about our surroundings. Finally, in Lima, Peru, we've found a little oasis and are enjoying a few days of downtime.

We made the break with Buenos Aires on January 29th. We left by bus, friends waving in the distance as we pulled away. The buses in South America can be pretty comfortable, if you choose the right company, and we poured ourselves into the fourteen hour trip to Asuncion, Paraguay, just enjoying some quiet hours and feeling free of the "stuff" that we'd managed to accumulate over the last twelve months.

The stuff was easy to be free of, thanks to the Herculean efforts of the friends who agreed to carry it back to Canada for us. Now we have two small bags each -- one carry-on sized "wheelie" bag, one small backpack -- and no place to call home for the next six-to-eight weeks. The feeling is liberating: not much stuff, a rough travel plan, and very little else to think about.

It wasn't easy to leave our community in Buenos Aires, however. The friends we'd spent the last twelve months with and the people that we'd see each week in the various shops and cafes around San Telmo: it's amazing how quickly you can feel a sense of community in a new place, and how much those interactions are Buenos Aires to us. Needless to say, we're already planning how to get back there.

Paraguay deserves more than a mention, but that's all I have time for today. It's a quirky and lovely place. Much more than people make it out to be. For all of the admonishment -- "Why would you visit Paraguay?" -- it was worth every minute. From the ever-present tereré (yerbe mate prepared with ice-cold water), to the unique relationship with "touristas," to the surreal juxtaposition of old and new, Paraguay was a peek into a very unique part of South America. My only recommendation to other travelers is to visit in a cooler season, as forty degrees in the shade does make it hard to feel energetic to explore.

Our next stop was Bolivia, and it was a short stop unfortunately. Our one obligation being to our work commitments, we decided that an overland trip from Paraguay to La Paz would be challenging logistically. Thus, we flew from Asuncion, Paraguay to Santa Cruz, Bolivia and then on to La Paz the same day. We had an unexpected layover in Santa Cruz (long story) and arrived in El Alto, Bolivia late that night. Thus began my five-day fight with "acute mountain sickness," as we'd effectively started our trip at 43 meters above sea level and finished at 4,150 meters (one of the highest airports in the world).

La Paz is a magical place, and one that we'll visit again, no doubt. However, after five days of the worst hangover in my life (all without a drop of alcohol!), it was time to head for lower ground. After trying every possible remedy, and on the advice of our good friend "Dr. James" (one could not wish for a better doctor-friend; his patience with our late-night e-mails offered more relief than any remedy), we decided to cancel our next week's plans in Bolivia and head for the Pacific ocean in search of relief.

Six days later and I'm feeling much better and slowly catching up on work.

Lima, Peru is a mixed bag. Our first impression -- as I suspect many people experience -- is that Lima might be one of the noisiest cities in the world. Many of the streets lack traffic lights or stop signs and, instead, the drivers use their horns to indicate their intention to not stop at intersections. This also makes it incredibly tricky to cross the street as a pedestrian. Noise and life-threatening traffic aside, Lima has many redeeming qualities: the people, the ocean, the food. There's no doubt that the people in Peru are some of the most immediately friendly that we've met. The city also sits on the Pacific ocean, which is breath-taking to take in. And the food here in Lima has been the icing on the cake: the amazing ceviches, the endless fruit juices, and the incredibly-abundant and sweet-smelling street foods (and the kitsch-y little outdoor lunch-counter that we've become addicted to).

We're off to Paracas shortly, in search of a less noisy version of Peru. If I can't have mountains, I guess I'll have to settle for the Pacific coast...

One of the first things I do when I arrive in a new country, city or town is to head over to the nearest farmers' market or grocery store and investigate the local wares.  As you'll recall from previous posts, in Buenos Aires, I was initially amazed at the extremely high ratio of cookies to other products in the stores.  There were aisles and aisles of packaged cookies.  It's a shame I'm not into packaged cookies, or it would have been heaven.  When we arrived to Asuncion, Paraguay on Saturday, we headed out to the nearest shop to pick up a few things.  I stood in awe at the variety of yogurt available.  Further investigation revealed what I suspected - most of the dairy products come from the Mennonite dairy cooperatives in the Chaco Region of Paraguay. 

Earlier today, walking back from the gym, I asked Mr. P how we should go about saying goodbye to all of the folks we've met in Buenos Aires who are in our daily lives, but not part of our intimate social scene.  My first inclination, of course, is to go around and give everyone a fabulous bottle of vino, a kiss on the cheek, and then throw them off with a great, big American Midwest-style hug!  P pointed out that a "goodbye" and a kiss will probably do.  That led to a discussion of who those people are.  It was clear - they are the people we engage several times a week to procure food.  They are the market vendors we visit week after week, the proprietors of the little family cheese, vino and health food shops in our 'hood and the folks who work in cafes we frequent (and I do mean FREQUENT).  They collectively represent but one of several links in the chain from farm to table.

P and I have been living away from close family and friends for more than a year now.  Though it's been an inspiring year of making new friends and having the opportunity to spend stints of time with visiting friends, at times feelings of loneliness, and even guilt, creep in.  As cheesy as it sounds, one of the tools that has helped me feel at least marginally connected is good ol' Facebook. 

Over the last year, Mr. P and I have spent a lot of time evaluating the true worth of social networking tools, both professionally and personally.  We've both taken a step back from our Twitter obsession, and even stopped updating social network sites that function as virtual stairs to nowhere.  I will admit that I contemplated using the Web 2.0 Suicide Machine on Facebook, but then saw a charming status update from an old high school friend and thought better of it.  Today, however, my finger is back on the trigger.  Why? 

First, a little Melanie background.  I have practiced yoga for more than 11 years consistently in hopes of gaining a semblance of inner peace.  I run several times each week to alleviate nervous energy and anxiety.  I do not need my social networking tools sending little notes to my email inbox to make me feel guilty.  What was the message?  Check this out:  "One of your Facebook friends has just watered your garden flowers because they were almost dead."  Are you freaking kidding me?  I can barely keep up with calls to my mother, let alone, water some virtual garden that I didn't even know I had.  Now, not only am I supposed to feel guilty for killing my flowers, but also embarrassed that some poor friend had to step over my virtual fence, dragging their virtual water hose behind them, to keep my poor, raggedy-ass virtual flowers from dying. 

So, if you are the friend that saved my virtual flowers, I guess I owe you a virtual drink.  I'm pretty sure there is a tool that allows me to send one your way.

When I was a kid I had this fabulous set of cassette tapes to play in my hot pink cassette player.  The tapes were classic fairy tales read by soothing voices.  I could blame these tapes for my current romantic notions of just about everything, but at the time, I adored them.  Three stories really stick out for me:

• Rumpelstiltskin (I mean, come on...who doesn't want a little man to pop by and spin all your straw into gold?)

• Beauty and the Beast (I imagined if I were kind and graceful like Beauty, then some ol' beastly thing would turn into a prince for me.)
• The Princess and the Pea (Here lies the focus of this post.)

Mr. P and I leave at the end of January to travel around several South American countries for a few months.  We're working hard to eradicate debt and live more simply, so our travel will also be simple (meaning no high-dollar adventure excursions or fancy-pants lodging). As a self-proclaimed Princess, I've never been great with the whole "budget travel" thing.  I've traveled the world, but generally I do so after having saved up a few more bucks for my food and lodging than most youngsters would have.  So, friends, now I must admit that I've NEVER stayed in a hostel.  I've spent many-a-night in campgrounds, roadside motels and family-run pensiones, but NEVER the much-revered "youth hostel."

Now back to the fairy tale.  Here is my problem.  At night, when I'm trying to sleep, I am the Princess with the pea.  Wikipedia sums up the story nicely:  "Only a real princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea through such a quantity of bedding."  Yep, that's me. You see, youth hostels are wonderfully cheap, and notoriously noisy.  In fact, two of the hostels I've booked for the up-coming months BOAST about the all-night parties in the hostel bar. Drunk youth whoopin' and hollerin' until dawn through the walls?  Well, friends, that's a whole bag of frozen peas under my mattress.

So, dear readers, I'm asking for your advice.  I am committed to surviving the hostel world with grace and humor.  What are your helpful tips (aside from earplugs or joining in the nightly, drunken revelry) for navigating the hostel world and getting some actual rest? Do you have any favorite spots you'd recommend in Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador or Colombia?

Fresh back from two weeks exploring Patagonia and we're already thinking about the next adventure. Our first stop will be Paraguay, a country with an incredible history that supposedly remains relatively untouched by tourism. 

I'm quite certain that one of the features of Paraguay that keeps the tourists away is the forty-plus-degree (celsius) weather that is not uncommon from December to March. That said, we've already committed to making the trek and now are faced with deciding what to focus our time on. There are a few options...

One option is the Gran Chaco, which -- from what I can tell -- is like the "outback" in Australia: dry, dusty, and full of fast-and-deadly animals. Initially, we were going to spend a few days out there at an Estancia. However, given the relatively sparse supply of Internet in the Chaco, we're doing a little re-thinking to ensure we can meet our work obligations.

The other option is to stick with exploring the Paraguayan capital city of Asuncion. Asuncion is one of the oldest cities in South America and doesn't seem to get much attention from the tourists. In fact, most people ask why we'd want to visit Paraguay at all. What better reason to explore it, is my unspoken response. And, counter to what folks say, it looks like there's quite a bit to see and do in this South American city.

All that said, we don't have more than a few days to explore Paraguay, as we'll need to make our way to La Paz, Bolivia shortly thereafter. So the question is, dear readers, what suggestions do you have for us? 

Should we make time for the Gran Chaco or stick to the ancient city of Asuncion? Or do something else entirely? 

Looking forward to your thoughts.