Hey everyone. Much appologies for my recent hiaetus from writing. I have now created another blog (www.savideotourist.wordpress.com) that will be devoted to posts about videos from South America (that I or friends have taken). This blog will remain focused on texts and annecdotes.

Future satire to come, stay posted...

Why you should never go paragliding when there isn't wind, despite what the guides may tell you (crafty bastardos). Our group, and especially my friend, learned a valuable lesson that day. This is a few hours from Bariloche in Argentina.

Note: Nobody was harmed by this crash. Perhaps a few egos, some hopes and ambitions, and a parachute.

I've taken a temporary hiaetus from Lima and have embarked on a familiar journey around the southern cities of Peru for a couple weeks.

It's the exact same loop I did 4 months ago (a bit eerie to be back to all the same spots), except with a non-touristy twist this time. It's all "work" related (I use " since it's really a volunteering gig, ie: no pay) so I'm going around visiting various projects by Ashoka fellows in Peru in remote villages and "pueblos." It's an incredible experience learning and experiencing these projects up close that I normally would never even hear about. And don't worry, I'll highlight all the good stuff here along the way. All you need to know now is that I could use a cup of real coffee soon...NON instant please.

If you have a Peru map handy...here's my current route:
Lima - Ica - Arequipa (currently here now) - Ayaviri - Cusco - Lima.

Future trips of this similar nature:
Huancayo (highlands)
Tambopato (jungle)
Puerto Maldonado (also jungle)

There's no beaten path where this vagabond is heading...at least I haven't seen one yet.

I wish monkeys were involved, they make every experience exponentially greater. This is a video of a zipline in Ecuador at an ecological reserve project called Tucanopy in the Cloud Forest (they're always accepting volunteers...just saying...)

These kids are freaking adorable. This is in Ecuador from the school, El Mundo Feliz, where the group volunteered.

This is quite possibly the coolest concert I've ever been to. It's called "La Bomba del Tiempo" and goes on every Monday night in Buenos Aires, Argentina. If you're ever there, I HIGHLY, HIGHLY recommend making it there - it's quite the experience.
Here's a taste of it...



Here's a clip of the finale rock out session. It was intense and the crowd was going nuts!

Comments are back online for those interested in sharing their thoughts...

This video is taken while on a bus trip from the northern beaches down to Lima, Peru.  The trip should take 18 hours however about 11 hours into it I drowsily woke up to this scene.  We were eventually stuck in this 'middle of nowhere' spot for 9 hours (!!). This is just a few of the ridiculousness that went on. Eventually a road was built in the sand made of rocks and trash (from a trash truck that happened to be stuck).

Note: How close our bus is to the crash site. Scary...  

As I wrote below, my recent return to the US was quite the shock for which I was apparently not entirely prepared mentally.  Well it also managed to get me in some funny situations of "cultural differences."

As I said earlier, I came overly prepared to my flight and ended up having some left over food I had intended on eating on the plane.  Of this was a mandarine from Peru.  I've been coming into US customs since I was 4 years old so this process is not new for me.  If you've never flown into the US, it's usually a very daunting experience meant to make you feel as if you've done something wrong and they'll catch you -even though you haven't.  There are officers circling around giving the meanest "stink eye" looks to everyone that could seemingly have anything on their person (those damned dogs will get you, watch out!).  Well, usually there's a spot where you can last minute throw away any fruit or objects that you "mistakenly" brought over.

When I got into customs I remembered I still had that mandarine on me (big "NO NO" for the US customs) and I looked for a trash can for about 10 min, circling around the whole baggage claim area.  I wasn't getting the friendliest looks so I just went ahead through customs.  The man, without a hint of emotion in his voice, asked me if I had anything  to declare and I responded my usual "no" and then nonchalantly said "oh, but I have this mandarine that I'm trying to throw away, any idea where I can do that?"  All of a sudden his eyes lit up as if I had just told him his first born daughter was knocked up and responded with "a mandarine!? Oh, well step over this way!" and pointed me to the "other" line.  For those that don't know, this is the line you desperately pray you don't have to go into; it's the one filled with customs officers prying their latex covered hands into foreigners' bags, imposing the inquisition upon their every object they've attempted to bring to our holy country, and judging them every step of the way.  I've never actually experienced this line, but I've heard horror stories of being stuck there for hours, fined for thousands of dollars, and many many tears being shed.

Needless to say I was not excited.  I slowly meandered through the line doing the "customs walk of shame" as vivid images came to my head of my bag being torn apart as I'm in tears, being scolded for bringing certain articles that unbeknownst to me are illegal to bring from Peru ("but they're just ceramic coasters...oh, you don't need to smash them like that...come on man!"), and a wedding gift I brought wrapped getting smashed and torn to pieces.  I get to the check spot and the guy asks me what I have to declare and I tell him about the mandarine I'm trying to throw away.  He responds "oh, a mandarine" (apparently I'm missing something here...), he then grabs it from my hand, holds it up above his head, yells "MANDARINE, WE HAVE A MANDARINE" - at that moment I wished I could bury my head indefinitely into my shoulders. Some other official came and grabbed it and went to some computer.  I was left awkwardly standing there.  I asked the guy if I could just throw it away and he told me "nope, you have to declare a mandarine."  Apparently there USED TO BE trash cans where you could toss last minute fruit and produce, but NOT ANYMORE (lucky me).  Now everything has to be declared.  I stood there frantically envisioning me never being allowed to travel because of some red flag on my passport marking me as a "mandarine smuggler."  I would soon work the black market selling smuggled peruvian mandarines at insanely high prices, purchasing muscle, and creating a mafia-like monopoly of the mandarine business.  My thoughts were interrupted as he gave me my passport back and said I was all good, except he'd have to hold on to the mandarine.  I smiled, made a smart ass, sarcastic joke, and went on my merry way.

I have no idea what he hammered away on that computer or what my "passport permanent record" now reads.  I do know one thing for sure:  I am never taking a mandarine international again.

Recently I returned to CA from being a good 4.5 months in South America.  I had an intense case of reverse culture shock as soon as I stepped on that plane.

My parents managed to get me on Business Class with their miles and let me tell you, after getting used to busing it around everything, it felt like I stepped into a 10 star luxury resort (my new star system of course).  Of course I had no idea what I was getting myself into and packed a backpack full of snacks (fruit, a chicken salad, nuts, cliff bars, etc, etc) as if I were embarking in a 20 hour bus ride with nothing to eat but the occassional vendors that would wander onto the bus.   This was obviously unnecessary since I arrived at the airport with access to the VIP lounge (that offered unlimited appetizers and refreshments - obviously I pounded a few fantas...obviously.) and then basically anything I wanted once I passed that magnificent curtain that beholds the promise land.  I actually remember the exact moment I realized I "wasn't in Kansas anymore" and I was foolishly over prepared.  It was when the flight attendant (I had 4 waiting on me!) asked me if I wanted "a chicken sandwich or squash soup for my snack" (snack!?) and then handed me a giant card to fill out my breakfast options (options!?) that notably consisted of french press coffee, fresh fruit, yogurt, whole wheat bread (sweet jesus!), and how I wanted my eggs (NOT "if" but "how!!").  This was all, of course, after she had just brought my introductory champagne - I could definitely get used to this.

Appologies to all, but a recent last minute trip back to California for a wedding and what not for a couple of weeks has rendered my postings nonexistent.  New posts up soon, I promise.

This has definitely taken some getting used to for me. 

Sometimes when you get a check at a restaurant in Latin America the waiter (waitress) will just tell you the total or give you a blank bill with a figure (see below).


And after more than 4 months here and my many trips to South America, I still have no idea if/when tip is included - it still boggles my mind.  These "informative" checks are by no means helping me solve this mystery any time soon...

I'm a bit out of creativity for writing stories so I'm going to be a bit cheesy and post this poem that a friend introduced me that fits too perfectly...

Facing West From California's Shores

Facing west, from California's shores,
Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, towards the house of maternity, the
land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western Sea—the circle almost circled;
For, starting westward from Hindustan, from the vales of Kashmere,
From Asia—from the north—from the God, the sage, and the hero,
From the south—from the flowery peninsulas, and the spice islands;
Long having wander'd since—round the earth having wander'd,
Now I face home again—very pleas'd and joyous;
(But where is what I started for, so long ago?
And why is it yet unfound?)

- Walt Whitman

--I second that, all of it.



The westbound shores I got to face this last weekend in Mancora, Peru (don't worry, I have a few tales from that trip):

Ha, I love this. So we were at my favorite bar in Quito, Finn McCool's - every now and then you have to find yourself in an Irish pub, it's like being home. Well, we got to talking to some Irish or English guy and he told us that we HAD to go to Bolivia. He really didn't give us much details except for the fact that it's cheap and it's the "Fíng wild west of South America, man!" He repeated that about 5 times to us.

I am yet to go to Bolivia, or figure out what that statement means. When I do, I'll be sure to let you all know.

Contrary to what the title suggests, this is not about some girl named "Maria." It is actually the word used in Costa Rica for taxi meters - you know, those things that legitimize the amount you're paying for travel, especially when you have no clue where you're going. Well the country should look into a massive "maria" restoration project because when we were there (about 3 years ago), they were all conveniently "broken."

One town especially was infamous for its "broken marias," Manuel Antonio. Even if the meter was connected and looked perfectly workable, it "would not work" - must be that gringo charm. Sometimes we would get the most absurd explanations and others there would just be the awkward silence. One even pulled a meter from his dash with wires dangling attempting to plug it in until we just told him to drive.

One of my friends who struggled with spanish a bit summed it all up perfectly one day returning from the bars after another broken maria argument (in the best spanish I've ever heard from him and perfectly conjugated): "Todas las marias en esta ciudad están rotas" (All the "marias" in this town are broken).

I've been vacationing up at the beach and haven't posted for a while and will not until Weds the earliest. Cheers all!

Folks, I am deadly serious when I tell you these facts about buses in Argentina. You may not believe me at first, but you'll eventually accept the truth.

Ok, these buses in Argentina have to be some of the greatest inventions I've ever seen. First of all, they're double deckers. Second, they have tv screens with movies. Third, some have seats that recline flat (180 degrees, kids!) with foot rests. As if all of this weren't posh enough for me (mind you it doesn't take much to impress me these days), they have servers with meals (warm ones too!). And now the kicker. Once they get you that steaming hot meal, they bring you wine. Yep. And if you're lucky a post meal cookie AND champagne. AND some of the times it's in real wine glasses and flutes (glass!). That's better service than you get at the IVY! How could this possibly get better you might ask...well it's all for FREE (well, included in your ticket) and refills are encouraged. Definitely makes those 20 - 30 hour rides A LOT more tolerable.

Needless to say, I plan to return to Argentina soon...by bus.

The phrase I despise hearing on a plane in South American. Why? Because at the sound of that seemingly innocent *ding*, utter pandemonium is about to break loose.



There is something about lines, waiting, or exiting through door that enervates people and makes them want to get through as quickly as possible. Well the process of getting off a plane is quite similar. Once that sound hits, every single person bolts off their seat as if there were snakes on that plane (sorry, couldn't help it...) and frantically searches for their bags and belongings. Of course not everything is within arm's length and sometimes people are forced to claw, push,or dive their way through to reach it as if it were their lost, wailing child. After this 5 minutes of mayhem, everyone of course just stands there waiting another 15 while everything is being prepped for our exit, clinging to their belongings like it's the Golden Ticket.

This is where I like to have fun sometimes. Once people start filing out and my turn comes up (I was that guy that patiently sat there reading or smirking during that mess) I usually jump at the opportunity that is my turn. I calmy stand up, block the aisle, slowly grab my belongings from the overhead container (obviously to be careful for any bags that may have shifted during the course of the flight), take my time at putting on my jacket (wouldn't want to catch a chill), check to see that I have everything, and head towards the door. As you can imagine, this evokes some frustration and annoyance. I've gotten the "perdon...perdon...perdon...etc," the (not so) subtle nudges for me to move, and even had a lady attempting to climb over a seat to get around me (no joke. And no, she didn't get around me - by the time she was close, I was done and already walking in front of her, ha!).

Aren't I fun to travel with??

This still gets me everytime.

Colombia, Ecuador, and Peru (no idea the stat on this, but I know it's huge) make up for a giant percentage of the coffee produced. Coffee plants are everywhere in these countries and they boast about how good their coffee is. But, you don't even know how many times I've sat down at a home with family, at a restaurant, or cafe and ordered a cup of café, only to be served a cup of hot water, a spoon, and a jar of Nescafé and sugar (yes, NESCAFE...).

It's sad, majority of coffee from these countries is exported and it's usually the best coffee that gets sent out of the country. What's left a lot of times isn't really that good. But for Christ's sake, it has to be better than NESCAFE!

This instant coffee phenomenon baffles me to this day. I loathe you NESCAFE, I really do.

*It should be noted that Peru has actually been the best at consistently serving good, REAL coffee majority of the time. I threw them in the mix because it has still happened and that instant stuff is everywhere.

LOATHE.

Here in South America I have developed a couple of aliases mainly because people here, like the US, have a hard time understanding my full name. Instead of the long drawn out mess of spelling in Spanish or pronouncing it over and over and over again, I've created some easier alternatives.

Andres Velasquez: Since it's obviously close to my name, this is my go to. It was developed from me saying my real name, and attempts (and butcherings) to pronounce it by the listeners.

Zaharias Kimball: Haha. Yep, he's out there. Middle name + the street you grew up on ... most of you know what that one is.

So now if any of you want to track me, you know how to continue the search once the trail gets cold for "Andreas."

The following are rules and procedures for haggling in South America drawn from my experiences.

*Note: Much of this is based on my experience in Ecuador, where I believe I have mastered the art there, but doesn’t necessarily always pertain to others in Latin American (ie. those crafty Colombians or damn non-haggling Argentinians!).

(1) NEVER, and I mean NEVER, take the first price given. Take this as an invitation to the ‘game.’ Shoot for some figure around half (depending on how legitimate the establishment looks – and yes, most places including stores haggle) and then let the games begin!

(2) Show absolutely no interest to the object you intend to purchase (no matter how perfect you may think it is). On the contrary, pretend as if it is some nasty, everyday product at Wal-Mart and you could do without it.
If you have someone else shopping with you (or you accompanying someone else), this is a great chance to tag team and boost your haggling chances, most won’t know what hit them (some see you kilometers away). Have your friend (or you, if you’re the spectator) show disdain for the object, a look of ‘over itness,’ and desire to leave real soon.

(3) Throw in some kind of joke or comment to lighten the mood or evoke pity. Some of my favorites: “If I don’t get these (insert warm clothing like gloves) I’ll be sooo cold! Can you have that on your conscience?” or “alpaca makes me feel like a baby again.” Be a bit weary of this though, remember some of the merchants you are dealing with are in much, much worse situations than you could ever be.

(4) Point out some kind of flaw in the object, no matter how minute. Some examples: a minor stain or mark, a loose string, unevenness, flaw in the pattern, one shoelace longer than the other, you’re not in love with the color, you only buy baby alpaca, it’s not quite furry enough, it has 3 llamas on it instead of 4, etc.

(5) Refer vaguely to some other merchant that has it for cheaper. The less details the better.
This is a great point to be “cute” and make a cheesy comment like “but I like your character better” or “your store feels pretty.”

(6) Make a final comment that means “this is it, it’s now or never ma’am/sir.” Here’s one that I use and it works too well (60% of the time it works every time): “come on, $---, so that I (we, he/she) can take it.” Simple, but it works.

(7) This final step is where the battle is won folks! When you’re no where satisfied and have been arguing a while, slowly put the object down, sigh as if you’re sorry for that person, say something along the lines of “I guess I’ll think about it and come around later,” and slowly WALK AWAY. About half the time they’ll stop you after a few steps and you have your price – the war is over, suckers!

(8) Then there’s times when you just have to bite the bullet. I absolutely despise this one. After a while of haggling over a dollar and nothing works, you just have to decide if it’s worth having a tennis racquet bashed on your pride and just buy the damn thing. You may even have to walk away and come back to buy it at the merchant’s price (and there’s no one to clean up that shame-filled mess).

Best of luck to you all.

This occurred on the fourth and final day of the Inca Trail Trek to Machu Picchu:

I’ll give you a little background first: The Inca Trail is an amazing trek but there is one disadvantage: you can’t come into Machu Picchu too early. The reason for this is that you have to pass a government check point that opens at 5:30am and then from there it’s an hour hike (average) to reach the Sun Gate which is at the top of Machu Picchu, and about another 30 minutes to get down to the ruins. It’s an absolutely majestic way to enter the site, but tough if you’re trying to get to Wayna Picchu. Wayna is the mountain on the right of all the standard MP photos and from what I’ve been told, a must climb when you’re there. Well, for WP they only allow 400 people total (200 from 7-10 and 10-1) and people (who spend the night or take the early train) run to fill up the spots as soon as the park opens at 6am usually taking all available tickets by 7-8am. You can begin to see my predicament now.

Well, I was adamant about making it up to WP and my guide advised me how it would be done and that once we got past the check point I would have to run as much as I could. Even though I was exhausted from three prior days of hiking and carrying my giant backpack, I took on the challenge and got myself pumped. The doors opened and I was off! Only problem was that the path was narrow and after 5 minutes of booking it, I got stuck behind other groups that were walking. Everyone was in a hurry to get to the site and all of a sudden manners and compassion for others got thrown out the window (mob Disneyland mentality) – nobody would let me through! Finally I ran past a few, and then got stuck again. I had the idea to pretend I was a porter to get past people, but no one would have bought it since they all separated from our trail the night before.
I was getting anxious and the guy in front of me looked back and then graciously let me through. Then he told his wife in front of me that a “guide” was coming through and to let me through.
I bite my tongue and run past her. Mind you that I have on an alpaca Peruvian beanie, a tourist walking stick, and a big backpacker pack on my back. In his defense it was still dark so I was hard to identify - just a sweaty brown man running by...
Well the person in front of her was a pain and blocked me like no other with body and walking stick. After a good 5 minutes I hear the wife in a whiney voice ask him how he knew I was a guide (I’m still directly in front of her). He responds some smart ass comment like “the frogs told me.”
It’s starting to be twilight and I can’t get past the person in front of me. She then asks in my direction, (in gringa Spanish), “excuse me, are you a guide?”
In perfect Spanish and without turning around I respond, “Of course.”
She seemed somewhat pleased by this and gave me an, “Oh, OK”
About 10 more minutes went by and I still couldn’t get past this persistent roadblock in front of me. It’s starting to get lighter out.
I hear some huffing and puffing behind me. I then hear that nagging, high pitched voice, (in gringa Spanish), “so, are you going to pass anyone else…??”
I don’t understand why people really care so much sometimes. Aren’t there lines for the cafeteria or a handball game being cut into that she should be policing?
Of course, I don’t miss the opportunity and loudly respond, “Yes, of course. Once I am given the opportunity to go through, I will catch up to my group.” (subtle, eh?)
I jumped at the opportunity provided by my exponentially growing annoyance with my surroundings, that comment, and the still semi-darkness outside and loudly said, “perdon!” (excuse me) and jumped past the person in front of me.
I then literally ran past that group of people yelling the words “perdon” and “guia” (guide).
After similar trickery to get past more groups of these people, some subtle hints to let me through (banging my stick on the ground directly behind someone and loud coughs), and much running, sweating, and climbing like a monkey I victoriously and ruthlessly made it to WP at 7am with 25 spots left.



My victorious entrance into Machu Picchu. The mountain on the right is Wayna Picchu.


Me victoriously atop Wayna Picchu. Worth it all.

Don’t get me wrong, Colombia is a beautiful and majestic country with several amazing aspects. There are just some things there that are so backwards in logic and make no sense to me. One of these is their bus system. This is from last year in Colombia.

First off, let me premise this with a few things: all buses in Colombia are negotiable – no matter how legitimate the company looks; once you enter a bus station, representatives from the companies spot you, immediately talk to you, and try to get you to their company. Now it’s all fun and games until you have to catch a bus at 6am or 8am. I’m not much for mornings, as many of you know, and especially not very friendly before my coffee (also known as “Pre-coffee Andreas”). So you can just imagine me that early in the morning, coffee less, disoriented, and being mauled by bus companies.

I believe we were in Cartagena and on our way to Medellin. At this point a friend and I had been 4 weeks in Ecuador and 2+ weeks in Colombia, so we were a bit sick of the antics – we just wanted the first bus back. Well, we were unable to get a straight answer from which bus was leaving (they’re always leaving “right now”). We manage to narrow it down to two guys and one was about to leave, and the other was leaving in 10 minutes (we’ll call them “Now” and “Later”). This scene then turned to ridiculousness. They both start haggling down – “Now” saying a price then “Later” lowering that and so on. This goes on for a good amount of time until they’re at about the same price (“as low as they can go”). We figure this is the end of the debacle and it’s up to us to decide now. Never make an assumption in South America. “Now” leaves for a second and comes back with 2 Gatorade bottles to sweeten the deal. We ponder it a bit. Then “Later” leaves and comes back with two Gatorade bottles and chips. We ask “Now” if he has a counter offer and he refuses to play the game anymore. So, of course, we award “Later” with the privilege of taking us after his hard effort and lack of pride. Never thought I would get bribed to ride a bus … only in Colombia.

An oldie, but a classic:
Most of you have heard about these already, but it’s still awesome to retell. We’ve seen some ridiculous shirts, signs, etc in South America but these two are my favorites.

These were both spotted on our jungle trip in Ecuador this last time. On the bus we saw this 10 year old chubby girl wearing this pink shirt. She was eating an ice cream and in her own little world. The shirt had sparkly writing and you wouldn’t have thought anything of it until you read it. We take a closer look and the shirt reads: “Kiss Me: Before My Boyfriend Gets Back”

While eating lunch in Misahuallí, Ecuador by the town center we were escaping the heat, relaxing, and people watching. My friend points out this girl (at most 14-15) wearing this black shirt and tells me to read it. This shirt reads: “I Get Shit Faced Drunk”

Stay classy Ecuador.

I found Fidel! He was in a poetry festival in Medellin, Colombia and I couldn't help but snipe.

I realized my posts sound a bit negative towards South Americans and I apologize. In an effort for equality, I will try to include more dumb, gringo traveler stories like this one:

While in Ecuador a friend and I took a 3 night trip to the Jungle just east of Quito. After some interesting bus rides and some unexpected plan changes, we ended up in a small jungle village right on the river called Misahuallí. The attraction of this town is the monkeys that run around in the plaza in the center. Seeing those little guys running around, playing, and jumping on trees was just too cute. Well it’s all fun and games until a gringo makes a mistake.

I noticed this gringo couple (who had been playing with the monkeys are hour earlier) walking through the square both holding fruit they had just purchased. The monkeys are obviously curious, so some come up all playful and innocent to “say hi.” The man decides it’s a good idea to feed one of the monkeys some fruit. WRONG. Once he does this, another monkey jumps onto the woman’s arms (she is hugging a bunch of fruit) and knocks it all to the ground. The monkeys start going ape shit. The couple gathers their remaining fruit and start to try to leave the plaza. They are literally walking backwards shooing these monkeys away - that have gone from playful to mean. They are jumping on the guy and going nuts. One even got a rock and was pounding it against the metal bench. The couple finally got away unharmed, but damn folks take my warning, do NOT feed the jungle monkeys.

I soon learned these monkeys were not so “cute and friendly” as I had originally thought. In my hour of sitting at the plaza I also witnessed them steal a bag of chips from a little girl (and made her cry), taunt and tease a dog, and steal a sprite bottle from a tourist.

One of the monkeys:

This happened a few weeks ago while I was in Santiago, Chile for a few days:
One night my friend took me to the opening of an independent film festival that he was a part of. We showed up around 8:30 (the time the movie and event were scheduled to start) and, of course, everything is running behind. We figured there would be drinks and appetizers served while waiting, but instead they only had red bull girls passing out endless supplies of red bull to everyone. Now, I want you to picture this: a room of about 100-200 Indy type Chileans all pounding red bulls (Everyone had on average two red bulls). Everyone is getting antsy and amped up standing there waiting in a room that’s packed with the doors to the theatre on one side.
After an hour there, the doors finally open up and holy sh*t, I then realized how awful an idea it was to hand out red bull in this situation. Everyone rushed to the door in a stampede form, with no remorse for others. I honestly felt like I was in San Fermín and the bulls were rounding the corner to maul us (something I’ve always died to do). We finally got in and seated, only to realize that they have about 50 more people than seats. This goes very well with the hyped up, red bull crazy eyed Chileans and they have discussions for another 20 minutes. Finally everyone just sits in the aisles and the place is literally packed. I just sat back, laughed, and prayed that there wasn’t going to be any kind of natural disaster or fire…just try and picture that scene…

Here’s an idea of what it felt like: (I guess I could mark Pamplona off my “To See List”)

Haha, I absolutely love this one:
So the other day I went jogging and was on this touristy quaint street in a very touristy neighborhood in Lima. As I'm approaching this middle aged couple, I notice the man kind of hold his wife closer and then visibly see her clutch her purse closer to her body and then move it to the other side of her (away from me). I just can't help but chuckle. As I pass them, I hear words of English so I decided to inform them,
"Just so you know, I'm from California."
They both turned around with a perplexed look as I continue to jog away laughing. They couldn't help but chuckle a bit as well.
They honestly thought I was going to mug or snatch her purse. I guess I have blended a little too well to the culture here...

This is probably the most backwards logic I've run into so far and fits quite appropriately for Colombia:
While in Medellin, Colombia recently I was staying with my mom who was part of a big poetry festival there. Well, we were staying at a nice hotel in the center and I was trying to find out things to do and see in the city. I asked the front desk and they told me a ton of things to see, one of which was the beautiful and stunning 'Parque de Luces' (Park of Lights). They told me it was amazing, but since it's day I should wait until night to see it, otherwise it's not worth seeing. Ok, I thanked them, we did some touristy thing during the day (Botanical Garden I believe) and then relaxed until night. 8:00 at night rolls in, we get ready, and head down to talk to the front desk about good places to eat by the Parque de Luces and how to get there.
They tell me since it's Sunday, everything's probably closed that they know of (a fact I already know isn't true) and it isn't safe to go around at night (also untrue) and that we should just eat in the hotel (which we were sick of after 3 days).
I ignore this and ask him about the park and he tells me it's unsafe at night and not to go. I pause, take a deep breath, and although I know better than to deal with South American logic, I press the matter further.
I ask, in Spanish, "so then when is a 'safe' time to go to the park?"
The answer was, of course, "during the day."
Deep breath.
My response, "wait. So earlier I was told the park is only worth seeing at night, right?"
"Right."
"And yet, now, you're telling me it's too dangerous to go at night?"
"Right."
Breath Andreas, breath.
"So then when can I go to the park to see it???"
"You should just eat at the restaurant here."
I should've just slapped him right there.
Turns out one of our friends had a flight in a few hours and we didn't have time to deal with nonsense. So we ended up not going and I never saw the damn park.

The two famous words that come from Latin America - some already know - that sum up this culture´s perspective when it comes to directions: "para alla" (pronouced 'para aya' - which roughly translates to 'over there'). If you have ever been in a Latin American country than you probably already know where I'm going with this. Whenever you get directions here, you're most likely in for a treat. For some reason the concept of details and priciseness is thrown out the window when it comes to time or distance here. When getting directions I've often found that a "few," "couple," or even an exact number like "3" blocks "para alla" can easily turn into at least 10-15 blocks in that general direction, and usually consist of a complex series of turns on various streets. The best part is if you ask someone a few blocks later, they'll give you a whole different direction for "para alla" and lead you in a set of infruriating circles. Two words that indeed make me cringe upon utterance: para alla.

This happened to me today at lunch in Lima, Peru:
I was sitting enjoy menu of the day (a great deal at $2.50 US! I love this country sometimes) at a table that was closest to the sidewalk in a little casual local restaurant. Some guy comes up to my table and asks to sit there and my response was an emphatic "no." His reaction is what had me going - he looked confused and shocked at my response and repeated a couple of times in case I didn't understand. He then spent the next 5 minutes trying to explain that he wanted to sit at the table and if the seat was taken. Being that I'm fluent in Spanish and understood everything he was saying (even his hand motions and attempt at broken English), my response was still obviously "no." He finally wandered back to the sidewalk all confused and explained it all to his family that were a few feet away apparently. I'm not exactly sure what the hell happened and they sure didn´t look like beggars. I can only assume they went to the restaurant next door as he wandered back as forth outside. In his defense the restaurant was packed (although I wasn´t the only one sitting alone with vacant seats), but it was definitely an odd request. Who knows, maybe I was at his lucky table or he liked the way my food looked.

I found myself in an amusing situation recently as I was leaving a hotel in Medellin, Colombia. I was looking over the standard tiny shampoos, toiletries, shoe shiner, etc. that they provide for you and realized that the only thing I wanted to take from that hotel was the toilet paper. After traveling around in Ecuador and Peru where for some ungodly reason they have a paper fetish and refuse to provide toilet paper in most bathrooms and give you an inch in diameter sized napkin. Well, despite what most would have done and I grabbed what would most be useful to me. What on earth has become of me??

I devised an ingenius (or at least what I believe to be) system for ordering food the way you want it in South America. Down here, unless you like everything covered in mayonaise or some kind of sauce, majority of the time you'll get it that way regardless - the one that especially comes to mind is the 'sin - con' situation in Cordoba, Argentina (where after about 5 times of me saying ¨sin mayonesa¨ (without) and the waitress' unrelenting response of ¨¿con?¨ (with)). I have now started to tell people that what ever I do NOT want on my food that I am allergic to it and it will make me violently ill or if I want it on the side I tell them I am slightly allergic and to put it on the side because I can´t have too much of it. Seriously, this trick works like a charm. I have never seen this continent so efficient as when the fear of killing you is put upon them.