By the Time I Get to Otavalo

By the time most of you read this, I will be off to the land of cuys, volcanoes and the pan flute. Just when I was starting to get a few Catalan words down, now it will get all muddled up with Quechua, or more accurately Kichwa in this part of the Andes. Perhaps if I'd not fallen asleep when my exes forced me to watch those boring Star Wars (or is it Star Trek) movies, I could have picked up some Huttesse which is supposedly based on Quechua and Aymara.

Have I eaten cuy before? Yes, and the old standby of "sort of like chicken" doesn't apply here. It tastes like greasy, disgusting rodent meat. So even if it is the year of the rat, I will make every effort to avoid it.

Actually, the trip will be focusing on the impact of toxic agri-chemicals, reproductive health, global warming, water harvesting and the Humanist movement. Since I never write about work here (and it's about as far removed from ascots, doorknobs, Weimar culture, and the Criterion Collection as one can get. If anyone is interested, I'd be happy to share details by email.

Oh, and I'll be on the outlook for vicunas for Bryce.