catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away
never let it fade away; never let it fade awaaaayyyy!

what exactly DID happen to ming and travis?

we tried to camp and travis got hurt by a drunk guy who threw a bottle at him. it was really scary and in the middle of the night. he was bleeding everywhere and we had to walk back to "town" in the dark and fog. then we found out that no one has a car or a phone and we were just hanging around on this family´s floor in the middle of the night with travis bleeding everywhere, and he also threw up. he was also really cold we think 1) because he wasn't wearing pants and 2) because he was going into shock...we think. anyway, the family was very nice to us. eventually one of them got a hold of their friends who has a car and they came from chachapoyas (we were in huancas; be careful there, yo) to pick us up. he took us to the emergency room and travis got some stitches on his forehead.

we´re going to go home asap. miss you homies, and we´ll keep you posted. also, keep us posted. and please be safe.

love yall,

ming and travy

hello everyone,

travis and i got attacked last night, but we´re okay. it turns out that after we went to the police, they were really helpful with not only trying to retrieve our things, but also finding the guy. and it also turns out that they both found the guy who did it AND retrieved all of our things.

they basically just ended up driving us around all day, asking us questions about what happened, what things we were missing, etc. the family that helped us when we went running through the night looking for help went back up to where our stuff was later that day and got most of it. our backpacks and a lot of things inside them had already been stolen. we had told the family earlier that if they go get our things for us we would give them all of our cash...and they did, and we did. it was about 350 soles, and we feel good about it because they were super nice and super poor, and also travis puked on their floor and stained a lot of their clothes with his blood, etc. they slept at least two adults to a bed and two of the three beds also had children sleeping in them, and they were all in one room. travis was lying on the floor bleeding, and i was leaning over him kind of crying, trying to keep pressure on his wound while we waited for the car to come. anyway, the police drove us up to the place where our stuff had been, but all that we found there was a puddle of travis´s blood, some drops of blood, and a rock. we assume that the rock was what the guy hit travis with. on our way down, some guy stopped us with a plastic bag that had one of my socks in it and travis´s hat, and he said that he had seen a man coming down from there, and he showed the police the man´s footprint. he also told the police where the man lives. we went to the man´s house, and neither of us could identify him because neither of us had seen him (it was pitch black), but we agreed that his voice could have been the same. the police drove back to the place with the footprint in the mud and compared it to his, and i suppose they decided it was similar enough because they took him around with us the rest of the day (in the same pickup truck with travis, mingy, bad guy, and policeman squished in the backseat). we also stopped at the house of the family that helped us and we got the things that we had left and gave the family the money we promised them. we went back to the police station (after the police stopped at the church for something to eat) and at one point after we'd returned to the station, they sent the suspect in our room, and he was crying, so we don´t know what they did to him, and we felt a little sorry for him.

the police later decided to return to Huancas, and i went with them; travis stayed with our things. i went with the police to search the house of the suspect, and for a long time we couldn´t find anything. and then i found one of my socks on his bed. after that, the police dumped out all of his bags, etc, and we checked every nook and cranny. and it turns out that he hid something in every nook and cranny. my shoes, our razors, he even put the dread comb in a little piece of dusty pottery! we (the police and i) eventually found everything that we were missing except for a cover to travis´s sleeping pad and his journal. after i discovered more of our things (besides the sock), one of the police officers slapped the guy really hard in the back of the head. it scared me.

other things also happened, but these were probably the most important parts.

love,

mingy

important things that also happened:
the bad guy tried to escape at one point. he was climbing up his roof, and was planning on going down the other side of the house and running away, but then the mayor was all "hey! is he trying to escape? go tell the police." (oh yeah, we also stopped to pick up the mayor), and then one of the mayor's minions ran off to fetch the police (who were inside the guy's house looking for our stuff), and the police ran out and caught the guy on the other side of the house. also, the mayor helped me look for my stuff, and he was all "heeeey, calm down. it's okay. i'm the mayor." and then i was like "okay." and also, after we retrieved all of the stuff, the police were all "let's go eat lunch!" but in my head, i said, "no. let's go back to travis. and then let's travis and i get out of peru asap." but we went to lunch, and it was apparently a whole town gathering/feast. and when i walked into the church (where all of the social events are), everyone stared at me. and some little girl came up to me and asked me if i was scared, and i told her "yes". and then she held my hand and walked with me to the dining area.

travis actually has two cuts. it turns out that the guy threw two things at him one being the rock we saw and another (travis thinks) being a whiskey bottle. we only noticed the big one that took at least 10 stitches. his scar is in the shape of a C. we also just found out that travis has a "sinus fracture", whatever that means.

Collegian Column #4

I have to wonder if it was the chicha that made me sick. Boiled for a whole day on logs hewn from the algarrobo tree, chicha is a sort of homemade corn beer, appearing a wan yellow with flecks of char; smelling like faintly curdled soda; tasting like wood smoke, pie cherries and grits.

The chicha tasted good as I swallowed it, but in my throat I felt a sapping, a strange and foreboding prickle, as if I had swallowed water with a little sand mixed in, or alum. By that night my insides had begun to mash and twist; of course, I have no proof at all that the chicha was the culprit, and it’s not like I was all that sick anyway. Yet the thought persists, accompanied by visions of happy Peruvians drinking the stuff by the barrel, to no ill effect.

There’s a whole host of things like this, that my Pacific Northwestern body and mind are simply unprepared for, from insect bites that swell alarmingly to the brutal, wheezing exhaustion that sets in at high altitudes. However, these are temporary and private hurdles for the most part.

The more accomplished Spanish-speakers with me have mentioned a frequent and frustrating phenomenon, similar to those described above, but worse, in that it takes place exclusively in the presence of those who’ve learned Spanish natively, and speak it fluently. Though on average, in my observation, Americans are almost always more precise than other foreign travelers in attempting to pronounce Spanish correctly, the fact remains that, simply, we don’t talk right. This we knew already, and could have guessed without having to experience it firsthand. It’s damning corollary, though, is that we can never know how we sound to the people we’re speaking to—our own accent is invisible to us.

Wishing to speak like a natural-born Peruvian is a somewhat selfish and inessential desire, of course. Nevertheless it would greatly reduce the barrier, partially self-constructed and partially not, between “us” and “them.” For now though, and probably forever, it remains like calling out into a dark cave, hearing no echo in return, and finally knowing that the cave, the depth, the distance, is unfathomable.

In Trujillo, we ate at a Chinese restaurant. In the corner sat a man accompanied by two or three instrument cases, who was the spitting image of Captain Hook, with long waved hair, a tightly-cropped mustache, even vaguely pirate-like clothing; no eye-patch, however. As we were getting up to leave, he approached us, telling us he played the flute and insisting, to our dismay, that we stay and listen.

He began with a snippet of “El Cóndor Pasa,” a Peruvian standard based on Andean folk music yet recognized worldwide thanks to a 1960s cover by Simon & Garfunkel. It’s a beautiful song, and he played well, but we decided we’d better leave before we became entrapped permanently. As we approached the door, he called out to us, “For you, amigos!” launching enthusiastically into a rendition of “Oh! Susanna” that followed us until we rounded the next corner outside.

Of course, though we might wish, we won’t ever know exactly what “El Cóndor Pasa” means to Hook, or to the many other street musicians who’ve played it for us; thus it was somewhat comforting to realize that he’ll never know what “Oh! Susanna” means to us either.