In Mexico, I am 70% a man.

In Mexico, I am 70% a man. Buying street tacos, it’s “¿qué quiere, amigo?” Playing dominos in the Casa de Amigos, it’s “te toca, joven.” Walking along a strip of restaurants, it’s “caballero, te muestro la carta con platitos muy sabrosos.” The number of times I’ve been referred to as male in the past week…

{25.1.15} On Travel and Time in Bolivia (part 1/2)

Before going, I thought of Bolivia in very vague terms. I had some images in my head of Lake Titicaca and shepherds spinning wool thread in the ‘80s from my mother’s travels. I knew they had just reelected their first president that, instead of being a member of the white oligarchy, is an indigenous man…

{3.8.14} How I flew 10 hours to come home

Just a minute ago Maria Alicia, my host mom, looked over at me and said “it feels like you’ve always been here”. I had been thinking the same, actually since 48 hours in. I almost can’t believe that I haven’t always sat on the couch like I am now wearing my traditional chilean rainbow pants…