Fortunately, Angela has decided to share some of her wisdom with the rest of us slackers. Here are her tips for any traveler who wants to see the world with their little one along for the ride. (And yes, she manages to make it all look easy. She has a sickening knack for that sort of thing.)

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Hear ye, hear ye, all brave parents venturing into the great unknown with offspring in tow! I’ve been there and back … and lived to tell the tale. Here are the convictions I brought home as souvenirs. If you’re a fellow jet-set mom or dad, I humbly offer them up to you.

Let us remain strong in our conviction to give our children the experience, education, and memories that only travel can bring.

Live long and travel! (That’s for you, Geraldine.)

We’re as exhausted as she is. We're just better at not admitting it.

 -

1. Recognize that travel doesn’t necessarily mean “relaxing” any more.
   Long gone are the days when we could go out for a late dinner and drinks, sleep in until noon, sightsee, and do it all over again. Now we have people relying on us—people with minute-by-minute needs. That doesn’t mean, however, that we can’t still carve out relaxing moments.
   

   Sunset cocktail, anyone?

   -

   For instance, each evening at 5:00pm, my daughter and I would have a “sunset cocktail hour.” I’d pour her a sippy cup of milk (and me a glass of wine), and we’d lounge on the deck, enjoying the view together. What started out as a way to keep her sated before dinner while I took a breather became one of my favorite memories of the trip.

   You simply need to get creative. Relaxation is still possible, even if it’s no longer prevalent.

   

   My villa-mate shares a rare restful moment with her 3 month old.

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2. Ignore the naysayers.
   My husband and I were committed to taking our daughter to St. John, a pilgrimage of sorts. It would require two 5-hour flights each way. That was out of our hands. Our first flight was a red-eye. That was out of our hands. We simply hoped beyond hope that our 18-month-old would be tired enough to sleep. Unfortunately, that was out of our hands, too.
   

   She is the one who will not be tamed ...

   -
   As soon as we sat down on that first flight (our daughter was happy and quiet at this point, mind you), the person one up and over in 26E—a petite, black-haired witch of a woman—repeatedly peeked from beneath her sleep mask to give us the stink-eye. Let me tell you: That doesn’t do much to calm your nerves when you’re already edgy about your toddler’s upcoming 12+ hours of travel.

   

   This isn't what her mask said. But it should've been.

   -
   Two hours later, when our child was screaming bloody murder, wouldn’t you know it: 26E leans over and starts offering suggestions of what we should do. Then I jumped over my husband, ripped off her mask, and crammed it into her pursed, thoughtless little mouth.

   Okay, I only did that in my head. But the lesson is: There will always be naysayers. People who balk at the idea of you taking a trip at all. People who grumble on the airplane. People who roll their eyes at the restaurant. Ignore them all. Or smile. Or shove something down their throat. But whatever you do, don’t let them deter you.

3. You can do more than you think you can.
   It was the last day of our trip, and I found myself swimming with a car seat in the ocean. Yes, you heard me right. See?
   

   When I envisioned a family trip, this was definitely not a part of it.

   -
   Our daughter had puked on the winding road to the remote beach. We pulled over, and my husband’s trigger-happy gag reflex threatened to double our troubles. I sat, horrified, staring at my daughter for a few frozen seconds, during which I formed a plan. The coup de grace of this plan? A half-mile hike to and from the ocean for a morning car seat swim. Half an hour later, we were having fun in the sun—and a good laugh. The only evidence of our challenge was a car seat drying out on the beach, much to the hilarious astonishment of passersby.

   When it comes to traveling with a newborn, infant, toddler, child, teenager, or any combination of the above: you CAN do it. We saw a couple 5- and 7-year-old boys and 2-year-old twins. Those poor parents were outnumbered 2-to-1! And guess what? They were STILL having fun. You’d be amazed what you can do when it’s required and what can turn out to be fun (or at the very least funny, if only in retrospect).

4. Cheer each other on.
   Leaving the beach after the car seat incident, a darling older woman placed a hand on my elbow (contrary to Geraldine’s Florida encounter, this is still a kind gesture). Then she looked me in the eyes, and said, “You’re doing great.” I needed that. And when a kind stranger goes out of their way to tell you that, you believe it.
   

   You don't need to be this ecstatic about it. Just a little pat and "good job" will do.

   -

   Similarly, on the first plane home, even after sitting next to our crying, over-tired baby for hours, our seatmate assured me, “You guys are doing a great job.”

   Wow. So much relief, power, and confidence transferred through such simple words. Going forward, I’m going do this for other parents, too. The effect has much more potential for positive results than the sleep mask glares of Miss 26E.

   Remember to cheer on your spouse, too. Just knowing someone is in the same boat and sees and appreciates all you’re doing can make a huge difference on your outlook.

5. Be flexible.
   

   Our (almost criminally) adorable travel-mates.

   -
   We rented a house with two other sets of parents, friends of ours, each with 3-month-old babies. In case you don’t have kids and don’t know this (or have them and have forgotten), infants and toddlers are on completely different schedules. Infants sleep and eat every two hours or so, and all they require for a bed is two arms. Toddlers, however, are conscious of certain expected times for food and sleep. They’re also far less likely to doze contentedly while a parade of cruise-ship-bound snorkelers flap past your beach tent.

   

   Miracle upon miracle, Szaba sleeps! Baby Faris shows his support.

   -
   Granted, we did our best to make our daughter comfortable, but we weren’t willing to sacrifice rare vacation experiences to get her back home in her Pack ‘n’ Play at 11:00am. By being flexible and sticking with our group of friends on beach days, my husband and I could take turns, one watching her while the other checked out a bale of sea turtles with a snorkeling buddy, for instance.

6. Recognize that flexibility has consequences.
   As good as a child may be, there will be moments when all this flexibility catches up with them: a meltdown at a late dinner, a “Get this sand off of me!” tantrum on the beach, you get the picture.
   

   Moments before Szaba’s fancy restaurant meltdown. Notice the look of parental survival mode creeping over my husband’s face.

   -
   Contrary to what you may feel in that moment—heck, you might be tired, grumpy, and hungry at that point, too—your child isn’t trying to ruin your vacation or make things harder for you. It’s simply their way, as human beings who can’t personally make sure their needs are met, to communicate what their needs are. They have no choice but to depend on us as parents (even to their own annoyance at times). Keeping calm is the best tool in your arsenal. They can sense frustration, and that only makes things worse. Remember: You’re on vacation! Meet their needs as best you can, take a fresh look at the beauty all around you, and carve out some happy time (alone or with your spouse) to regroup and reset.

7. Downgrade your cleanliness standards.
   

   If you knew what was happening in this picture, you wouldn't think it was so cute.

   -
   This one is a hard one for me, I’ll admit. But when your child is writhing on the airplane floor in a sleep-deprived fit and finds—and then, oh god, proceeds to eat—a cookie she dropped hours before, there’s not much you can do but go with it. When your child decides it’s funny to scoop up chlorinated, bug-speckled pool water with her shovel and drink it, it’s already done. Go with it. Sure, it’s gross, and you’d never catch me doing those things, but they’re kids. They’re clueless. They’re resilient. They’ll live. And you’ll save yourself a lot of unnecessary stress by resigning yourself to that fact.

8. Give your electronics a vacation, too.
   

   "Words With Friends" ... over the Intenet ... with friends right beside you.

   -
   Sure, it’s tempting to keep that camera poised for the next scrapbook-worthy moment or to text your Facebook friends each vacation play-by-play. But if these devices are your focus, you’re missing it. If you don’t live in the moment now, when are you going to? Realize, revitalize, relax. Step away from those battery-powered temptresses. Embrace the rarity of this fleeting moment. See the joy on your baby’s face when she’s learning to kick in the pool. Hear the creak of the hammock, rocking in time with the ocean waves. Feel the sun on your skin, igniting old hopes and shedding light on new ideas. Witness what it is to be alive, and be thankful for it all.

   

   All the work was well worth it for a few moments with my baby like this.

   -

9. Congratulate yourself on a job well done. 
   Being a parent can be tough. Traveling can be tough. Put the two together, and you have a daunting challenge. BUT IT’S WORTH IT. I would even argue that it makes you a better parent. So get out there! See the world! Don’t be afraid. You and your child are destined for many amazing, funny, gross, and unexpected things out in this great big world of ours. Life is a pilgrimage, and vacations are some of the most memorable, triumphant moments along the way.-
10. Start planning the next trip.

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Want to learn more about Angela’s trip? Read her full post about tips for visiting St. John on MyCastleHeart.com!

Though really, more often than not, Rand or I will glance at our shocking un-photogenic mugs and say to the other, “You are the only person on the planet who will ever find me attractive.” (Which is perfectly okay, kids. You only need one near-sighted fool to think you’re pretty.)

Given the number of self-portraits I’ve taken, and the limited complete and utter lack of talent I possess for photography, I’ve learned a thing or two. Here’s my list of dos and don’ts for mastering those tricky one-armed self-portrait shots, and making sure that all of your chins are displayed in the best light.

1. Do make all subjects are clearly visible. And that you aren’t, say, covering your long-suffering spouse’s adorable mug with your own ginormous head. Which is made even MORE ginormous by a hat.
   -
   

   This is Rand's "I'm not amused" eye.

   -

2. Do figure out what your best angle is. For me, it’s my left side.
   -
   

   The downside of this is that nearly all our vacation self-portraits are IDENTICAL.

   -
   I repeat, MY LEFT SIDE, and not, say, straight-on, which gives me the distinct impression of looking like one of those troll dolls that were all the rage in middle school.

   

   Fact: under that hood is a poof of neon pink hair.

   -

3. Do make sure everyone in the photo is conscious.
   -
   

   I am going to be in such trouble for this photo. And yet, I have no regrets.

   -

4. Do invite other people into your shot, because with any luck, one of them will look like a pirate.
   -
   

   "Arrrgh!"

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5. Do try to find an interesting background.
   -
   

   I don't know why this photo makes me laugh so much. I think it's how smug I look. "NYAH NYAH NYAH! I have skin and you don't!"

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6. Don’t worry about taking photos at funky angles. Holding your camera high and tilted is a great way to avoid double chins. Which isn’t a problem if you are as stunning as my aunt (grumble, grumble).
   -
   

   She's not a blood relation, so it's not like I can inherit any of those fantastic genes, anyway.

   -

7. Don’t forget to adjust your focus.
   -
   

   Barcelona? I don't remember too much about that trip. THINGS GOT KINDA FUZZY! (Ba-dum-dum!)

   -

8. Don’t pay so much attention to how you look that you crop out something important.
   -
   

   I may not have a double chin but what does that matter when I CUT OFF THE STATUE OF LIBERTY'S ARM?

   -

9. Don’t over-expose yourself (I mean camera-exposure. Though you probably want to avoid having a nip-slip, too). At such a close range, it’s easy to look washed out by the flash.
   -
   -
10. Don’t zoom in too closely.  You’ll scare the children.
    -
    

    Now you know what your goldfish feels like.

    -

So take my advice. Or don’t. Because you know what? It doesn’t matter. Sometimes you’re left with a blurry vacation photo because a dark-haired boy with twinkly eyes just swept you off your feet.

And when you see it, all you can think is, “Man. That’s a great picture.”

I AM THE PUPPET MASTER!

I am always amazed when people ask me for travel advice. I will often turn around to see precisely who they are talking to. Even if it’s in an email addressed to me, I’ll do a quick check over my shoulder just to make sure there isn’t someone better equipped to answer the question waiting there (as though Rick Steves is hiding in my office. Which would be equally horrifying and awesome).

I dispense my advice with some trepidation, reminding myself that these poor, misguided readers are under the impression that I know what I’m doing. And that they literally asked for it. The fools.

In this edition of Ask the Everywhereist, I once again present some of the questions I’ve received in my inbox lately, along with my feeble attempt at answers. Serves them right for thinking I was a reliable source of anything besides spite.

Dear Everywhereist,

Does your husband happen have any cute, single friends whose jobs require them to travel the way he does, and who have subsequently been unable to maintain a stable relationship, despite the fact that they are practically perfect in every way?

Signed,

Just Curious

Dear Curious,

He does, in fact, have a lovely friend who, for reasons I can’t discuss here, has been preoccupied with something for the last five to ten years which kept him behind bars unable to date. But he is now free and rather eager to meet a gal who shares his hobbies, which include ski masks, grand theft auto (not the video game), and aggravated assault (allegedly). Unfortunately, he cannot legally leave the state of Washington.

Actually, nevermind. I’m not introducing you two, since I’m pretty sure that would make me an accomplice.

Sincerely,

The Everywhereist

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Dear Everywhereist,

1) I haven’t seen you comment on the fad(?) of cupcake lollipops.  Icing mixed with cake crumbs, then dipped.  You can find recipes online.  

2) Have you checked out “My Drunk Kitchen” on YouTube? Might be good for a Friday link.

Sincerely,

Dylan McKay

Dear Dylan,

1. Any recipe that begins with the destroying a perfectly good cake is a bad recipe. When you do that, YOU ARE MESSING WITH THE FRAGILE FABRIC OF OUR UNIVERSE. Cake and frosting live in harmony. Mixing the two is like crossing the streams. Never cross the streams, Dylan. Never.

2. Have I checked it out? I LIVE IT, Dylan. Every night. And twice on Thursdays (I never could get the hang of Thursdays).

Sincerely,

The Everywhereist

P.S. – The years have been kind.

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Dear Everywhereist,

I hope to become a blogger too one day, but I can’t figure out how to make a living from it. Are you able to generate any income from your blog? 

Sincerely,

Starry-eyed Humanities Major

Dear Younger Iteration of the Everywhereist,

Unless you can derive sustenance from hate mail, blogging won’t even feed you. Instead, it will become a source of never-ending torment. You’ll spend hours trying to decipher comments from people YOU WILL NEVER MEET. You may cry when a total stranger criticizes your grammar. You’ll lose sleep. You may lose your friends. You’ll certainly lose a good portion of your sanity. And yet, you’ll keep going back to it again and again. It’s not unlike meth in that respect, though slightly less harsh on the teeth.

Sincerely,

Everywhereist

—————

Hi BLOG OWNER.

I have been reading your blog, INSERT BLOG NAME and would love to write a guest post for your site. Of course, it would be mutually beneficial. You would get free content and all I would ask for is several links to my offshore gambling site. I can have the post to you by the end of the week. Please let me know what you think.

Sincerely,

Monte

Dear Monte,

DIE. DIE. DIE.

Sincerely,

The Everywhereist

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Legal Disclaimer: The “Ask the Everywhereist” column is for amusement purposes only. The owner of this site assumes no responsibility if you take any of her advice seriously. She would actually advise you not to. Also, she really does caution you against cake balls, because she’s fairly certain eating one will cause a rift in the space-time continuum. Your first bite will be on earth, present day. Your second bite will not occur, because you will have been transformed into a 50-year-old math equation. 

Once, when we were in downtown Seattle, a middle-aged couple stopped Rand and me and asked where they could find a liquor store (at 2pm on a Saturday. I suppose they were putting the magic back in their relationship). I gave them very specific directions that, had the couple followed them to the letter, would have led them not only the wrong way down a one-way street, but nowhere near a liquor store. Rand looked on, in awe – he would later tell me that I spoke to the couple with such confidence that, against his better judgement, he didn’t question it.

I have no idea what became of that couple. Odds are, they probably gave up, headed home, and promptly divorced. But some small part of me is convinced that they are circling those blocks down which I sent them, doomed to spend an eternity yelling to each other, “It must be here. She said it was here. And she sounded so confident.”

The lesson is a simple one: asking me for advice is a terrible idea and it will ruin your marriage if not your life. And yet, on a nearly-daily basis, some poor misguided soul sends me an email, asking me what they should do in x country, and where they should stay. My response is usually, “HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW? GO ASK THE INTERNET.”

And then I realize with no small measure of horror, some people have already done that and ended up on my site. To them, I am the internet. I am filled with curse words and rude comments and things you weren’t looking for.

And on very rare occasions, just like the internet, I have an answer. Like when blog-reader and certified chicken hawk wrangler (I totally made one of those up) Janine mentioned that she was going to be traveling to Peru. Janine sent me a message on Facebook (because she “liked” the Everywhereist fan page. Hint-hint) and I was quick to reply with some actual useful information, which I’ve shared below. Hopefully, I’ll was slightly more helpful to Janine than I was to that poor couple looking for liquor. Funny thing, too, because god knows they needed a drink after what I put them through.

1. Instead of a visa, you will get an “Andean Migration Card” – a little white slip of paper that will be handed to you, rather nonchalantly, at the airport. Like your virginity, no one will impress upon you the importance of it until it is lost. That slip of paper is as important as a visa – you will need it when you check into hotels and when you leave the country. So don’t get drunk and hand it over to the next guy who comes along.
2. The sun in Peru is intense, even when it is cloudy. Be sure to wear sunscreen. We all got scorched in Machu Picchu, but that might be because we’re pasty Seattlites. Ever lift up a rock and see the bugs underneath writhe around in a panic? That’s us on a sunny day.
   -
   

   We expose ourselves to melanoma while enjoying the scenery.

   -

3. Watch your bag. Hold it on your lap in restaurants, and not, say, over the back of a chair. Even though Peru is relatively safe, it’s still a good idea to this. Fortunately, my bag weighs roughly the same as a medium-sized anvil, so I would love to see someone try and take it, then throw out their back in the process.
4. Nearly every place accepts either soles or U.S. dollars. So don’t panic if you only have American currency – it’s actually worth something in Peru (and no where else. Seriously. Stupid euro.)
5. If you go to Machu Picchu, you must bring your passport to get in (having dragged it all that way, you can also get a novelty passport stamp from Machu Picchu. I did this, but kind of regretted it – the stamp is about the size of a child’s foot and takes up valuable real-estate)
6. If you are desperate for food, there are a few chains in Peru that are great – one is Pardo’s chicken, which is surprisingly authentic and yummy, and the other is Bembo’s, which is less fantastic but not bad in a pinch. We had dinner at the former, and dessert at the former and the latter (What? This is me we’re talking about).
   -
   

   Dessert at Bembo's. I was very happy. Rand was very dorky.

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7. Haggle like crazy. Really, you shouldn’t be paying more than a few dollars American for hats or scarves, depending on the quality. There are lots of little artisan markets in Peru – you might want to walk around a couple and see the different prices and compare (in one place, scarves were 10 soles before we even started negotiating – in another they were 20 for the exact same scarf. Guess how much I paid for mine? That’s right! 25 soles.)
8. Carry tissues with you, and hand sanitizer or wet wipes, if you can get some. A lot of more rural places don’t have t.p., and don’t have running water or soap to wash your hands. Oh, and did I mention lots of meals are communal? So … yeah.
9. In many villages, bakeries are denoted by these hanging baskets. Obviously, this is the most important thing you will need to know when traveling in Peru.
   -
   

   They also had a bunch of guinea pigs in a pen.

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10. Usually your hotel can help set up a tour for you if you want to see stuff in neighboring towns. This is usually incredibly affordable. We spent a day traveling to Moray and Pisac from Cuzco, and they served us a snack and gave us an elaborate tour for $30 U.S. a person. The market at Pisac was absolutely amazing and I highly recommend it.
    -
    

    Rand with Nicolas, our totally awesome tour guide who spoke English, Spanish, Quechuan, and Japanese.

    -

    So there you go – proof that I’m not entirely worthless when it comes to giving advice. Unless it involves finding liquor stores in my hometown. Then you’re on your own.

Flying out of Cuzco, back to Lima.

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With the exception of my thighs and derriere, I am not what you would call a hearty girl (though those two parts of me could survive drought, famine, pestilence, and probably a nuclear war. Everything, really, save for another season of skinny jeans). But excluding my well-developed lower region, I’m kind of wimpy. My arms aren’t particularly strong, I have a small waist, I’m prone to migraines and colds, and I’m constantly suffering from motion sickness (just the sheer number of other illness-related posts I was able to link to in that last sentence should convince you of my alleged frailty).

Naturally, I was more than a little nervous about traveling to Cuzco. At an elevation of 11,000 feet, altitude sickness is almost a given. When we first arrived at the airport, there was a rather graphic poster warning visitors of this fact. It featured a larger-than-life image of a tourist vomiting on his own feet. Sadly, I did not take a photo, but here is my artistic rendering of it:

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I can't remember the warning they had in Spanish, so I just put "BEWARE THE TREES."

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I am pleased to say that no one in our party took it upon themselves to recreate the scene above. We did have to deal with a good measure of light-headedness and nausea, and here’s how we did it:

We gave ourselves plenty of time to acclimate to the altitude. We arrived into Cuzco on a sunny afternoon, and had that entire evening and the whole next day to get used to the elevation before we headed to Machu Picchu (which is at a far lower elevation). We took our time and didn’t rush things. When we first stepped off the plane, we felt okay – a bit short of breath, and a bit light-headed, but okay. After a little while, dizziness set in, along with racing heartbeats, and for a few of us, nausea followed. After three or four hours in Cuzco, Rand was feeling like this:

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My poor sick man.

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But after a solid night’s sleep he was feeling fine and eating cheese-filled empanadas he bought off some random dude in the village of Pisac:
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I love Tom's face in this pic. It just screams, "BEWARE THE TREES." Fortunately, Rand was fine.

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So when all else fails? Don’t hesitate to nap, or at least lie down.

For those of you who wish to stay conscious, one of the best ways to combat altitude sickness is coca tea (or mate de coca, as it is known in Peru). The stuff  is amazing. This is an odd thing for me to say, given that I’m so paranoid about narcotics that I no longer take Sudafed now that you need two forms of I.D. and a blood sample to buy it in my home state of Washington (better than Oregon, which requires you to have a prescription from a doctor and a copy of your original high school transcript, as well as letters from three of your neighbors stating that you are not, in fact, a meth addict, and that you just have a cold).
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I thought someone from the DEA was going to tackle me just for taking a sip.

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But coca leaves aren’t cooked up in some sketchy backwoods meth lab. They grow directly from the ground, and they’ve been consumed in Peru for ages to combat fatigue and altitude sickness. Nearly every hotel you go to will offer you a complimentary cup or three, and it’s on the menu at restaurants all over town. The taste is grassy and herbaceous, not unlike a green tea. I didn’t even notice any buzz from drinking several cups – it was literally milder than a glass of coca-cola, which I found amusing.

If you aren’t a tea drinker, there are also coca toffees, which I found delightful but a bit gritty (incidentally, this is exactly how I felt about Jack Palance). Though I now crave these candies fortnightly, I don’t really think that’s because they’re addictive – I think it’s because I just really like sweets. I’m pretty sure these are a big reason why I fared so darn well in Cuzco. Sick as though I usually am, I was fine.
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They were an incredibly dark brownish-green. Incidentally, after munching through two-packs, so was my pooh.

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(One word of warning: if you do partake in either the tea or the candy, you might fail a drug test in the weeks following. Yes, I’m serious.)

One thing we all noticed when we got to Cuzco, which may not have been directly related to the altitude, was that our stomachs were feeling a little off. As one person put it, “things were flowing a little more freely than usual.” Okay, fine – it was me. I said that. In reference to my BOWELS. It wasn’t severe – no one was really sick or in gastrointestinal pain or anything like that. We were just using the bathroom a lot and wondering exactly what to do with our toilet paper in the aftermath. The solution to that, as well as to altitude sickness in general? Chug plenty of water.

We found that having a full stomach also helped (if you are light-headed already, adding low-blood sugar to the mix is a bad idea). As usual, I choose to battle all feelings of nausea or illness with pastries. Our hotel definitely aided in this fight:

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Me, to Rand: "Send for my things back home. I am never leaving."

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If pastries aren’t your thing (they are certainly mine – VIVA THE BUTT!) then you can also try munching on these little dried corn snacks that are all over Peru. They tasted kind of like dry, bland Fritos (I’m totally not selling these, am I? I can’t believe I used to be a copywriter). I was the only one who really dug them. Rand thought they tasted like dust, but then again, so do Saltines, and look how well those work.
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They're like rustic corn nuts.

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Oh, and one last thing to be wary of while hanging out in higher elevations: it takes far less to get drunk, or even tipsy. If you do choose to drink, know that your tolerance will be half to a quarter of what it usually is, and follow it up with plenty of water. Also, you might want to make sure that no one around you is sober and wielding a camera. Otherwise, this might happen:

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I love the look on the face of the woman in the background of this picture.

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Of course, that’s just the risk you take when you travel, particularly to places in high altitudes. On the plus side? The view usually makes it all worth it:

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So heed my advice. Stay hydrated, get plenty of rest, and have some hearty, carb-filled meals. And beware the trees, of course. 

The city of Lima: plenty of cabs, plenty of chances to haggle.

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Haggling is an art form, and my mother is Picasso. Analyze her technique too closely, and it will fall apart, but stand back far enough, and a masterpiece emerges. I’ve seen her haggle in retail stores. RETAIL STORES. With success. She will take an item up to the cashier and note that a thread is coming loose – would they mind giving her a discount? Or she’ll point out a popped button, a fraying hem (all things which she can fix in a matter of moments) and ask for a ludicrous percentage off.

AND SHE WILL GET IT.

I thought about her a lot when I was in Peru. Not only is haggling a way of life down there, it’s institutionalized – nothing seems to have a fixed price. Not even the cabs. That’s right: you haggle for cab fares in Peru. None of the vehicles have meters. You simply talk to a driver and negotiate the price before getting in.

For me, this was incredibly nerve-wracking. I didn’t inherit my mother’s knack for seeking out a bargain. I tried once to get a deal on a sweater that was – I kid you not – coming apart at the seams. The cashier offered me 10% off. I stared at her blankly before putting it back on the rack. My mother would have been paid to take it off the store’s hands.

I’m just no good at fighting over money. I hesitate to even point out when I’m overcharged for fear of an embarassing exchange with a store clerk. And besides all of that, my Spanish is not perfect. Not even close. In Italian or English, I’d be fine. But how on earth was I supposed to tell a Peruvian cab driver that I knew he was charging me too much when I could barely speak the language?

Miraculously, I managed to do it. Here are the lessons I learned from my week of hailing and bargaining for cabs in Peru – both in Lima and Cuzco. Hopefully it will come in handy if, like me, you lack my mother’s amazing bargaining skills.

1. Negotiate the fare beforehand. This is the most important thing to know before you hail a cab in Peru: you and the driver agree on a price before you get in. Once you are on your way, you can’t renegotiate – trying to short change your driver after you’ve established a fare is unacceptable. And getting in without setting a price is just a recipe for getting ripped off.
   
2. Don’t be afraid to walk away. If a proposed fare too high, don’t hesitate to say “no” – you are not going to offend the driver (and if you do, really, WHEN are you going to see him again?) During our trip, everyone had piled into a minivan to head back to the hotel. Seeing this, the driver came at me with a ludicrous number. Fortunately, Casey had seen my face, and was willing to drag everyone out of the vehicle at a moment’s notice. Seeing that we were willing to say no, the driver came down on his price – by nearly 50%.
3. Be wary of anyone who approaches you (especially in the airport). Odds are they are going to come at you with a number that is much higher than what you’d get if you just step outside on to the curb.
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   These cabs were lined up outside a museum, just behind a tour bus.

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4. Ask to see the vehicle. This will give you better negotiating power. Rand and I spoke to one driver who wouldn’t take us to the airport for less than 45 soles (about $20). It’s not a bad rate for tourists, but still much heftier than that of his colleagues. But when we saw his car – a pristine vehicle with A/C and leather seats, we figured it was worth the splurge.
5. Watch out for drivers that work for your hotel. Many places will offer to pick you up from the airport as a complimentary service (check ahead if you want to do this – it helps alleviate a lot of stress, particularly when you’ve just landed). But be cautious if you want to travel from your hotel out into the city – the driver, knowing you are out-of-towners, may try to rip you off (ours did, claiming our destination was really far away. Even his colleague looked at him like he was full of shit.) Instead, ask the bell hop to hail you a cab off the street, or better yet, walk a block or two away from your hotel and do it yourself.
6. Move away from tourist destinations before hailing a cab. If you are standing right outside the Larco Museum, odds are you’ll be given a much heftier price than if you stand outside a cafe where all the locals are congregating. Consider wandering a little bit down the block to grab a cab.
7. Tipping isn’t customary. Since you’ve already set a price beforehand, that is all you are expected to pay. Rand couldn’t break the habit of adding a tip, which was sweet, but unnecessary (a few drivers gave him an appreciative slap on the back when he handed them an extra 5 soles – roughly $2)
8. Guard your valuables. Peru felt surprisingly safe – even in the sketchier areas. Still, there’s no need to tempt fate. We’d heard a horror story or two about cab windows being smashed in and bags being snatched (it’s rare, but it does happen). The best way to avoid this is to make yourself a hard target. Wrap your bag strap around your arm, tuck your backpack between your legs, or out of site. And lock your doors.
9. Ask a local. Since we had no frame of reference about how much cabs should have cost, we checked with the locals. They gave us broad tips which proved helpful (a ride from Lima to the airport – which took nearly 40 minutes – was about 40 soles – or $15 US. Any cab from one part of Cuzco to another shouldn’t cost more than 4 or 5 soles – $2 U.S.)
10. Most drivers accept U.S. currency. In fact, most places in Peru accept U.S. dollars – so be sure to clarify what currency you are paying in, and don’t let a driver try to charge you more if you paying in dollars – they won’t have any trouble getting rid of their cash.
11. Don’t be afraid to use your rudimentary Spanish. Cab drivers want to understand you – after all, you’re going to pay them. You’ll be surprised at how far you can get with just a few words. Grab a phrasebook and learn how to say things like, “How much?” and “How long will it take to get there?” Try to commit some numbers to memory, but don’t worry if you can’t – you can always write down some rates and haggle that way.
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    Since no one else on the trip spoke Spanish, they had to put up with me.

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12. Bring a map. Like I said, very few drivers will speak English. A map will help you communicate where you need to go, and give you an idea of how long the journey will be (and consequently, how much it should cost). It will also show that you aren’t totally clueless – something which comes in handy when trying to negotiate a fare.

I’m pleased to say we only got really ripped off once. The hotel driver told us that the destination was far away, and the trip would cost 20 soles ($7 U.S.). I told him that seemed unreasonable but he insisted that it was very, very far and unwalkable. I gave in, and he proceeded to drive us a few blocks away. I was infuriated, and tempted to scream at him (while I’ve forgotten most of the Spanish I’ve ever known, I’ve committed to memory choice words like “thief”, “liar”, and “son of a bitch”. I am slightly concerned as to what this says about my personality) but thought better of it when I realized IT WAS ONLY SEVEN FRIGGIN DOLLARS. That’s the thing to remember about Peru – even when you are ripped off, you’re still getting a pretty good deal.

And hey – it’s waaaay cheaper than the cabs in Bulgaria. But still – next time I go to Peru? I’m taking my mom.

As some of you may have noticed, I don’t really do much research on my travel destinations, except when it comes to cuisine. I left for Peru with a vague understanding of who created Machu Picchu, but I was able to rattle off the local desserts like an expert. This concerns me slightly. I have this fear that, should aliens ever abduct me (and let’s face it: this is a highly probable likelihood) they will ask me all sorts of questions about other parts of my planet. And most of the time, I WILL HAVE NO CLUE WHAT TO SAY right up until the topic of food comes up, at which point I will be some sort of savant. Governmental structure of Peru? No clue. But they have these fantastic dulce de leche sandwich cookies called alfajores (I’ve eaten enough in one sitting to risk diabetic shock). Iceland? I can’t remember anything about my trip there except for that yogurt dessert they kept feeding us. And my usually reply to when anyone mentions the U.K. is to drool and mumble “sticky toffee pudding” with a glazed look in my eye.

Gah. I will be so useless if the aliens are planning some sort of governmental takeover. How embarrassing. And completely likely, as I am sure you will agree.  But fortunately I’m more often asked questions that pertain to travel, and not the domination of the human race. So if you plan on staying earthbound, and make your way to Peru, here’s what you should munch on while you’re there.

1. Alfajores. I first learned about these delightful sandwich cookies on a chilly day, sitting in a restaurant outside of Port Charles, New York. Rich dulce de leche sandwiched between buttery, not-too-sweet shortbread cookies, dusted with powdered sugar. Remember Oreos? Well, you won’t after you have one of these. Heck, you’ll barely remember your own name.
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   See those fingers in the background? Pretty sure I bit them in the frenzy of shoving this thing into my face.

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2. Cuy. Yes, it’s guinea pig. It’s also a very traditional mainstay of Peruvian cuisine. If the idea of munching on one of these cute, furry fellows doesn’t horrify you, I suggest you try it. The meat is sweet, dark, and flavorful. And you can totally freak your friends out with the story.
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   I'm sure this will horrify a lot of you. But it was really, really yummy.

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3. Mate de Coca. The coca plant has some really bad press stateside – yes, it is used to make cocaine. But that requires a lot of leaves (something like 600 kg of the coca plant make 1 kg of cocaine), processed with gasoline and numerous chemicals. In the Peruvian Andes, the leaves are chewed or brewed into a tea. It tastes like a grassy green tea, and no, it won’t give you the shakes or make you feel crazy, but it will help alleviate the nausea of high-altitude sickness.
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   Coca leaves stewing in a pot.

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4. Llama. Alpacas are incredibly important in the Andes – they’re used to the rough terrain, and they produce wool which is used to make clothing and textiles. It’s not nearly as common as cuy or chicken, so my hubby jumped at the chance to order it when he saw it on a menu. The meat is tender and light – I described it as “white meat beef”. He enjoyed it a llot. (GET IT? I AM CLEVER.)
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   Rand's llama entree with some potato croquettes in the foreground.

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5. Lomo Saltado. Peruvian cuisine is like a Benetton ad – a colorful mix of cultures and ethnicities. Lomo saltado (literally, “jumping beef”) is a great example of this. The dish is a Chinese-style stir-fry of vegetables and meats, seasoned with soy sauce and served over fried Peruvian potatoes. My husband craves it fortnightly.
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   Seriously, Rand asks for this all the time, but I don't know how to make it. OUR MARRIAGE IS A SHAM.

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6. Chicha Morada. Note that is distinct from “chicha” – the alcoholic drink made from chewed up, fermented corn. Chica morada is a dark, sweet beverage made from purple maize. It tastes like grape juice, minus the refreshing tartness (so … raisin juice?). While I’m not a huge fan of the stuff, the frozen variant that I had was fun to try.
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   It really was pretty - I just wish it had been a bit more tart.

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7. Anticuchos. While anticuchos can refer to any type of grilled meat on a skewer, you’ll commonly find beef hearts prepared in this way. The meat is rich and velvety. As delicious as they are, you likely won’t eat more than one before feeling your own heart clench.
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   Anticuchos of various meats with a rocoto relleno (stuffed pepper) in the background.

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8. Pisco Sour. Pisco – a grape grappa that originated in Peru – is mixed with lemon, sugar, bitters, and an egg white (which is how any good sour is made). The alcohol goes down alarmingly easy, with very little bite. Combined with the high altitude (which increases the effects of alcohol and the time it takes to feel it), this drink can be very, very dangerous.
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   Photos of us taken AFTER the consumption of said sours have been diplomatically omitted from this post.

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9. Cebiche (or ceviche). This dish is usually served as an appetizer. Fresh raw fish is cut up and tossed with lemon or lime juice – the acid of which “cooks” the fish, and is combined with onions and chili peppers. Peru has a substantial Japanese population, and you can often see modern twists on sushi involving cebiche.
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   And halfway through this post I realize: I am starving.

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10. Picarones. Three words: fried pumpkin donuts. The crispy, golden crust of these fritters is usually softened by dipping them in a caramelized honey sauce. They taste like a fall carnival.
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    I refuse to admit how many of these I ate. It was many.

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11. Pulpo. Octopus (“pulpo” in Spanish) is by no means unique to Peru, but you will see this cephalopod on menus throughout the country, either grilled or occasionally in cebiche. If you are a fan of squid (and really, who isn’t?) this dish is definitely worth trying.
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    Mmm ... tentacle-y.

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12. Aji de Gallina. When this dish arrived at our table – consisting of tender chunks of chicken stewed in a rich yellow sauce, absolutely no one could tell us the ingredient list. Apparently it is long and varied (not unlike a mole recipe). The dish takes a while to prepare, too – but the result (a creamy concoction that is cheesy, nutty, and spicy all at once) is worth it.
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13. Rocoto Relleno. The Peruvian take on the stuffed pepper is not kidding around. Forget the sweet bell variety that we’re used to – in Peru, they use a slightly spicy pepper that delivers a bit of a kick. Fillings variety, but it’s usually a mix of ground meats and vegetables.
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14. Chifa. Owing to its large immigrant popultaion, Chinese food (known as “chifa”) is a specialty in Peru. Sadly, we didn’t get to try it, but we did enjoy a number of dishes that had Chinese influences (including the aforementioned Lomo Saltado).
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    So we didn't get chifa, but it's not like we starved.

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15. Lucuma. This peculiar green fruit is not common in the U.S., but the flavor is so prevalent and delicious that in Peru, your ice cream choices will often be chocolate, vanilla, and lucuma. The fruit has a mild, caramel-flavored sweetness to it – try it in ice cream or (like we did) in a cake.
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    Two slices of cake (lucuma and chocolate) and my dorky husband. I've never been happier.

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16. Inca Cola. Created in Peru in the 1930s, this drink is so popular it outsells all other soft drinks in its home country. The color is a quasi fluorescent yellow and the taste is like a less-sweet Mountain Dew. I didn’t really like the stuff (but then again, I’m not a big soda drinker) but a few people in our party were hooked.  
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    I call this color "electric pee."

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Can't we all just be adults here?

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When I left for Peru, I took a small pack of tissues with me. I’d read that in more rural areas, we might not find toilet paper in public bathrooms. This didn’t really phase me: one time in Italy I’d peed in little more than a hole in the ground. A place not offering toilet paper isn’t that big an offense.

While the tissues came in handy, what was far more difficult to get used to, and what I discovered immediately upon arriving in Lima, is that in Peru (and, indeed, in many parts of the world) it’s not customary to toss your toilet paper into the bowl to dispose of it. Instead of flushing it down, you throw it in a trash can that’s conveniently placed next to the bowl. I’ve read a variety of reasons why this might be the case (everything from the drainage pipes being narrower to septic tanks being designed differently, and even one account that it might just all be an Old Wives’ tale) but the bottom (heh) line? You toss your t.p. in the trash. It’s just understood.

The pristine toilet bowl and trash can in our hotel in Lima.

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(Interestingly, this now makes one of the things Philip mentioned in his “Toilets of Japan” post a while back make sense. They were clearly catering to visitors who were accustomed to not flushing their used paper.)

I, unfortunately, had trouble following the rules. Even after I read a sign and comprehended it (in both Spanish and English! Hooray for bilingual bathroom etiquette!) I still kept tossing my paper in the bowl. It’s really a reflex – I did it without thinking (next time you’re in the bathroom, you’ll find the same is true. Tossing paper into the bowl is not something to ruminate over. And if you do decide to get pensive over some soiled Charmin … Sigh. Well, whatever. I’ve found inspiration in weird places, too.)

I figured I’d never get the hang of peeing in Peru. I probably ruined several septic tanks across Lima and Cuzco, and I started to feel guilty about it. A few times I remembered to use the trash can, but that didn’t make things better. I felt … unclean, knowing my paper will still around. I may have gone a little Lady MacBeth while washing my hands a few times as a result.

Seriously – where is a nice hole in the ground when you need it?

I finally did get the hang of things, you’ll be pleased to know. I used an airport bathroom and tossed my toilet paper discretely in the small trash can in my stall. The only problem? I was in Los Angeles.

I’ve loads to tell you about that trip – and heck, I’m not even done telling you about Kansas or my trip to Lake Placid, Florida (please try to contain your excitement). But all of that will have to wait, because presently, I want to take a piece of sandpaper or, failing that, a cheese grater, to my ankle. It’s covered in bug bites attained at Macchu Pichu, and it’s positively killing me. While I’m blessed to not suffer from allergies (unless, say, I shove my face directly into a cat and breathe in deeply, which I’m sure we’ve all done once or thrice), there is one thing I am severely allergic to: mosquito bites. They usually swell up to the size of a quarter, and have literally woken me from a restful sleep with the sting.

I took a photo of my bug-bitten ankle thinking it would be impressive, but instead it looks disappointingly normal, so I now seem like a huge wuss. Behold:

The cropping on this photo is excellent. You can see neither my hairy legs nor my wonky toe. Huzzah!

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But believe me when I tell you that, right up until the second I took this picture, it was covered with red welts from a team of incredibly industrious mosquitoes up in the Peruvian mountains. I had literally 2 inches of leg showing between my the bottom of my cuffed jeans and the top of my ankle socks, and they went for it. Yes, I realize that cropped jeans don’t necessarily look good on someone with my frame (i.e., short, pear-shaped). Perhaps the little jerks that bit me were just fashionistas trying to teach me a lesson.

One particularly brave member of their crew managed to fly up my pant leg, like a insect equivalent of Hiram Bingham, and made it up to my knee before I squashed him with a slap. I hope he finds solace in the insect afterlife knowing that his earthly remains will be a part of my jeans forever, or at least until I wash them.

I felt no small measure of sadness when I returned home and found that these bug bites are indeed the only souvenirs I have from our visit to the Inca ruins. Still, I’m not sad to see them go. If, like me, you can’t deal with mosquito bites (or any bug bite that leaves you itching and stinging), and often find yourself on the road with no drugstore in sight, here are my home remedies and cures for getting a little bit of relief. (And obviously, if you have a more severe reaction than just itching, GO TO THE DOCTOR. Duh.)

1. Ice. It never ever occurred to me to apply an ice-pack to a bug bite, but it totally works. Granted, you’ll seem a bit melodramatic, hoisting your poor red limb up onto a table as though you had a real injury, but about 10 minutes of applying an ice pack will give you an hour or more of itch-free relief. It’s glorious.
2. Aspirin. Instead of popping the pills, grind them up into a powder, add a drop of two of water to make a paste, and apply it to your bug bites. Leave it on overnight and wash off in the morning. Aspirin is an anti-inflammatory, and it works even topically (this also is great for big red zits. Apply the paste to red spots at night, and wash off in the morning. Hope no one sees you in the interim).
3. Alcohol. No, no, no. Put that margarita down. That is so NOT what I meant. If you have rubbing alcohol (or any liquid that contains a high content of alcohol, like mouthwash or, hell, vodka) dab a little on the bug-bites. It should relieve the itching and will disinfect the bite (helping to prevent infection).
4. Toothpaste. Just a dab of toothpaste (preferably the cheap, white, pasty kind) can help relieve itching of bites. It has anti-inflammatory properties, and ingredients like baking soda and menthol help to relieve the irritation. And you obviously have toothpaste with you on your trip, RIGHT?
5. Hydrocortisone cream. I take a small tube of hydrocortisone with me wherever I go. Most of the time it never gets used, but when I actually need it, I feel absolutely brilliant for having dragged it with me. It relieves the itch and redness, and works on all manner of skin irritations, allergic reactions, and bites. I’ve also been known to dab it on zits at night to relieve redness.
6.  Pop some Sudafed or Benadryl. It absolutely shocked me that this worked, because I’ve always sucked at biology and don’t understand the human body. But taking an antihistamine pill can relieve itching for hours – it blocks your body’s reaction to the bite, which caused the irritation in the first place. Just half a Benadryl tab worked for me for hours.
7. Salt. Lots of sites suggest making a paste with regular old salt and some water and applying it to bug bites to relieve sting. While I’ve never tried this technique, I suspect it works: as I kid, I remember that going to beach and swimming in the ocean was always a great relief after a group of bugs had dined upon me.

For what to do when someone has a more serious reaction, check out the Mayo Clinic’s first aid guide to insect bites and stings. And as a preventative measure in the future, avoid bananas and perfume (for the record, “Bananas and Perfume” would be a great band name). Bugs are attracted to your skin when you’ve applied perfumes, hair sprays, and gels. Ditto for when you’ve eaten bananas. So try to hold off on doing either. I know. There go my weekend plans, too.

And just remember, as annoying as they are, mosquitoes clearly have an important purpose on this earth.

The strange thing about Portland, we noted, is that there isn’t a lot to do. Well, that’s not entirely true – obviously, there’s good shopping (tax-free! Whoo-hoo!), a rich night life, and a museum or two. But in terms of attactions or notable landmarks to visit (a’la Seattle’s Space Needle or San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge) there aren’t really any. Instead, it seems that the thing to do in Portland is eat.

The food scene in Portland is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The place is rife with restaurants, and the cultural landscape and competition demand that they be good. Like, really good. Like, this-is-the-best-thing-I’ve-ever-had-in-my-mouth-(that’s-what-she-said) good. Like … you get the idea, right?

There’s such a wide spectrum, too. From the food carts that cluster around the city like herds of enormous metal cows (god, I suck at analogies. Especially while jet-lagged) to fancier upscale restaurants serving gourmet popcorn and artisinal cocktails, to everything in between. It can be overwhelming. I asked Jessica for a lunch recommendation, and she advised me to head to Pok Pok. I promptly did so.

It was located on Portland’s east side, an area so counter-culture and cutting edge, it makes downtown Portland seem square by comparison. It’s weird on another level (think Stefon from SNL weird. It’s not unusual to see guys with old-timey mustaches riding Victorian-style bicycles. I accidentally found myself in a vegan shoe shop, ashamed at the massive leather boots I had on, talking to a girl about a nuanced Chinese wish for good luck. I was confused). 

Pok Pok was packed, but I managed to snag a seat at the bar (one of the many advantages of dining solo).

The Pok Pok Special: A half roasted game hen with papaya salad, dipping sauces, and sticky rice. I recommend it.

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On Jessica’s advice, I order a drinking vinegar mixed with club soda. A japanese concoction, drinking vinegars are sweeter and milder than those we’re used to – and they make a tart and addictive drink when mixed with soda water. I chose pomegranate, and could have downed three of them.

Pomegranate drinking vinegar at Pok Pok.

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I left full and happy, with only a  twinge of sadness from the fact that I was full (being full in Portland is the worst thing ever, because it means that you have little room for more food).

Fortunately, Pok Pok is not an anomaly in Portland. There’s always more to eat. Back downtown (where Seattle yuppies like ourselves feel more comfortable) Rand and I popped into Habibi, which we happened to pass by while starving. Here’s one of the nice things about Portland – even the run-of-the-mill places are going to be very, very good. It’s not unusual to find Middle Eastern restaurants like Habibi in our next of the woods – but it’s unusual to find ones that are that good. Even familiar dishes like baba ghanoush and tabouli were escalated to a state of pure yumminess.

Vegetarian mezze platter from Habibi.

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Seeing as how we seemingly could do no wrong eating in Portland, Rand and I pressed our luck and wandered into yet another randomly-selected restaurant. Hillbilly Bento was a tiny hole-in-the-wall serving barbecue. It was a little sketchy looking - which would turn me off had we not been in PDX. There, sketichiness is almost a sure sign that the food will be awesome (after all, they can afford to be sketchy, right?). And it was.

Rand is overwhelmed by the options.

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There is something delightfully wrong about seeing my Jewish husband describe a pork dish as “buttery.” And yet, and yet, and yet … mmmmm. I had just eaten when we found this place, and I had to exert all my willpower to not eat the entirety of Rand’s fried okra. Usually a slimy and alien-seeming vegetable, Hillbilly Bento’s version has a perfect texture: not too mushy with a crisp coating.

Note: European jet-lag has me aching for lunch at 10 am. This post was excruciating to write.

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Just going through my photos from Portland, my stomach starts to rumble (though it might be that European jet-lag has me aching for lunch at 10 am. This post was excruciating to write). Jessica’s observation was a good one – I have few photos of landmarks or things seen, but many photos of restaurants and dishes eaten. That’s the thing about Portland: there might not be that much to see, but there’s plenty to taste.