It's really happening, folks.

It was a pretty standard lazy day off. I slept in, did laundry, caught up on So You Think You Can Dance and Dexter, Sarah got home from work early and took a nap. And then...

We made the ultimate first step towards our Latin American Adventure. Sarah made me push the button. And then we screamed. And our hearts pounded. And Captain Kirk's face kept flashing up for an entire minute that felt like ten as we waited for the confirmation screen. And our hearts still pounded. And my blackberry popsicle melted. And then the other foot landed and we screamed some more.

And then we went down the street for a congratulatory dinner of french toast at our favorite local diner.

At this point in my un-financially-stable life, that was a HUGE step.

Tomorrow: we buy our packs.

Love as always, Laura

What the hell are we doing and why?

Dear reader,

Now that you know a little more about our lovely selves, allow me to let you in on the Plan.

Our journey will take 6 months. We will be backpacking, in other words carrying as little as is possible to survive. We will be staying in hostels. Taking buses. Perhaps even hitchhiking. We start in Cancun because it is remarkably inexpensive to fly there, and work our way down to South America, making a counter-clockwise loop. Around the continent. We will visit beaches, volcanoes, ancient burial grounds, temples, museums, restaurants, markets, witch-doctors, rain forests, and more. We set out October 21st, 2009.

So many people don't travel because it is "expensive". Yes, it certainly can be. And it doesn't have to be. Sarah and I will be traveling on $20 a day. Take your lives into your hands. It is possible to see the world, if that is what is important to you. This is our plan. We are going to demonstrate the possible, and write about it as we go. We are both writers, and I am also a photographer. As technology permits you'll see our experiences as you read them.

Sarah and I are a very entertaining couple. We constantly make friends, conversation, and jokes. People around us tend to smile at the conversations they overhear on the subway. Stay with us. We will take you on our adventure and share our triumphs and pitfalls.

We have been preparing for a couple of months. Researching where to go, what to see, how we get there, what we need there. We are steadily storing up our inventory of pocket knives, flexible bowls, moisture-wicking clothing, safety pins, and books.

What do you know about traveling in Central and South America? We need all the advice we can get.

Love as always, Laura

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Laura Sorensen

Introductions are always slightly awkward, right? Here I am, extolling my many virtues. I think for a lot of people an introduction is "How can I get these people to like me in 5 sentences or less?" Well, I happen to think I am pretty fabulous, though not without my faults, which give some spice to life.

I was born in Wimbledon, England. There we go, already traveling from the womb. My American family lived in England for a few years, and I have always dreamed of claiming my citizenship in the UK so I could go live in that land of green, rolling hills, cliffsides, theatre, ghosts, fairytales, moss, rain, imagination, and ancient history. I am an actor, and after having lived in London for 6 months during college, I consider London the best theatre city in the world. I would love to return to the land of my birth and live there. But I won't yet.

After moving around a bit during my formative years, my family ended up in upstate New York. In the spring and summer it is Edenic, though winter is something of a bitch. I also grew up Mormon, the discussion thereof could comprise an entire book. I'm sure if you keep reading you'll hear more. Suffice it to say, by the age of 24, about a year ago, I was no longer Mormon, and exploring life with an entirely new outlook. It was a second adolescence. Leaving this church (which I retain much respect for, though am critical of) has been one of the best things I have ever done for myself. And introducing yourself to a world where the truth as it was taught to you is not actually the truth, at age 24, is profoundly and thrillingly overwhelming.

After achieving a BFA in Acting at Brigham Young University, and living a stifling year at home saving money, I made it to Manhattan. A city where every human emotion is wrung out through each frenetic day and restless night. I love this city. Anything is possible, though hardly ever easy. And you meet an amazingly diverse crew everywhere you go. I live in the heart of Washington Heights, and travel to Soho every day, so I constantly see two ends of a spectrum. This keeps life in perspective, and interesting.

I moved to NYC because I am an actor, and obviously this city of dreams is one of two places actors gravitate to in the States. But my day job is as a Makeup Artist/Skincare Expert/Educational Trainer for Seph0ra. I consult and teach all day long, my actorly skills come in quite handy, and I am scrimping and saving for the day Sarah and I head out of the country, packs on back, books in hand, adventure in heart.

Before I buckle down to my dream of earning a Masters degree in Acting and pursuing a life of living art, I need to venture out into the world some more. I am a steady traveler; previously I have explored France, Kenya, England, Ireland, Scotland, Italy, parts of Canada, and the United States. Latin America is next on the list because A) it is a cheap place to travel B) it is entirely foreign to me C) Sarah is fluent in Spanish and D) it contains such diversity of culture, adventure, spirit, and history. Travel gives a person an extra dimension that is unattainable by any other avenue. When I meet someone well-traveled, I meet someone knowledgeable, interesting, open, wise. Exploring a third-world country opens the eyes of an American. We have so many luxuries that visiting a country closer to the ground gives us not only a perspective on our blessings, but also what we are missing out on. Living a "simpler" life can give a clarity, an appreciation that we miss in our modern world of bells and whistles.

So what do I expect from this grand adventure? I expect to come back a different person. I expect to learn. To learn to an exponential degree. I expect to practice self-sufficiency, and to live without modern convenience. I expect to see great sights. I expect to meet so many people. I expect epiphanies. I expect mistakes and mishaps. I expect frustration. I expect laughter, tears, songs, stories, sun, friendship, and spirituality.

I hatched this idea and introduced it to my roommate, my best friend, Sarah. And she latched on and ran with it. We promised each other on the second day that we wouldn't back out. This trip wouldn't be possible for me without her. And it wouldn't be possible for her without me. We will love and hate each other through this experience, I am sure. But our friendship, if it hasn't already, will be cemented as life-long. She is a wild card. Spontaneous, funny, unpredictable, smart, and makes friends with absolutely anyone and everyone. I am slightly more down to earth, though I think we both fall into the dramatic category. We balance each other out, and will be a fantastic pair to take on the world together.

Read on, and share our adventures with us.

Love as always, Laura

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Sarah Wolstein

Laura says I need to introduce myself to the general public. Well let me start by saying I absolutely loathe the photo above. I'd much rather meet you laughing. Because that's me - I'm always laughing. But, okay. Let me introduce myself in a few hundred words, yes?

I was born and raised in the suburbs of New York; Westchester, to be exact. I've got four parents, three brothers, two homes, and, of course, myself (in a pear tree). No, no, let me take this seriously. It's just that I feel kind of like an ass, rambling on about myself. How about this: rather than sing my own praise, I'm going to instead tell you of my struggles. Of the atheist in the foxhole.

I've led a bit of a nomadic life. I grew up with my father and brothers after my parents divorced, and have been bouncing around since the age of 13 or so. First to rehabilitation boarding school, then home, then friends' houses, then college, then another college, and another, and another. Right now I'm in Manhattan, just working and waiting to leave on this trip. You might say I'm a bit stir-crazy. I get anxious if I'm in one place for too long. Anyway, as a result of this lifestyle, I've developed the ability to, as my mother would say, 'charm the birds out of the trees.' Yes, once I hit that switch, there's not much you can do. You'll like me. Not to worry, though - the switch is off at the moment; for now, I'm giving you me sans affectation. (Oooh, she knows big words, too.) Where was I? Ah, charm. So I've little problem meeting new people or making new friends.

This brings up an important point: I am a living, breathing paradox. While my transient lifestyle has made me an expert at adapting to almost any environment, my nature is attention-drawing. For example: I am just as comfortable in the intellectually-challenging arena of an educational institution as I am walking the streets of ninety-eight-percent-Dominican Washington Heights. I am equally content discussing Hobbes versus Locke as Don Omar versus Tito El Bambino. I am as opinionated about the Gestalt approach as I am about Manny Pacquiao's technique. Call me a hybrid, call me contradictory, call me illogical. Many do.

Something I struggle with these days is a complete disenchantment with the trajectory my life was on. I was attending Columbia University. Ivy League material only a few months shy of a Bachelor's degree in Psychology. Surely, afterward, I'd have gone on to pursue a graduate degree, and settled into a lucrative nine-to-five. Please do not misunderstand: psychology was a wonderful pursuit. Interesting, illuminating, practical. It's the afterwards that I recoil from. The prospect of waking up and going to a job, which, psychology has taught me, I will inevitably hate, coming home, going to sleep, and doing the same thing the next day. I'm not against routine. I'm against anything inane. You see, I couldn't answer the question, why? Why do it? So I can make money? To buy a house? To support my children? To raise them up? To retire? To have worked my entire life only to wish I'd done things differently? That. That seems so far from a meaningful existence. I think, and I could be wrong here, but I think that we have diverged so far from our basic humanity that we don't even know how to feed our own souls anymore. So I've done what any rational human being would do: I've extricated myself from the system. I've halted the kinesis. Instead I will leave the country in search of a healthier life. So, why are you here? Living vicariously? Well, whatever your thing is, get up and do it. No reason I can and you can't.

Anyway, like I said, I'm off to South America for six months with my best friend Laura. Everyone responds the same way: "oh my gosh, that's amazing! Why?" Why, indeed. Because I believe there is life on Earth, and I'm going to try to find it. Because I need answers to fundamental questions regarding myself and my humanity. Since the life I was born into doesn't suit me, what life will? If people are so very isolated from one another, what will draw us closer together? Is there a place where idealistic people like myself can realize the lives they dream of? Or am I just suffering a post-adolescent existential crisis?

Siempre Buscando,

Sarah

Run Freedom Run

This island has quite a history. There are so many people jam-packed onto it that every crevice is filled with history. Sarah and I ventured into the dark to witness some modern commentary in the form of graffiti. Freedom Tunnel used to be abandoned, and sheltered a shanty town of hundreds of the island's homeless. When trains started coming through again, the homeless were pushed out into the city, and an unintentional art gallery came into being.

The entrance is slightly difficult to find, and once we did we documented our feelings upon venturing into the dark. Sarah was excited, I was excited and a little nervous. Sarah swore she would cut anyone who came near, but I had more confidence in my cell phone than Sarah's knife.

Walking through the dark tunnel, grating in the ceiling allows shafts of light to come through, illuminating walls where countless graffiti artists have come to make their mark.

We found some stunning work, but the most beautiful works of art came after my camera died, perhaps 2/3rds of the way in.

From time to time a train comes blasting through, so I suggest you stay off the tracks.

The first thing we saw entering the tunnel, was a small shrine made up of this stuffed duck, and a book "Expect Nothing; A Zen Guide".

I think abandoned objects and places are fascinating. Everything about this tunnel made me think about and imagine existing in a post-apocalyptic world, and how what people leave behind would describe how we live.

Stay tuned for more adventures from las dos viajeras.

Love as always, Laura

The Freedom Tunnel

So Laura, ever the scavenger for New York City's secrets, discovered something called "The Freedom Tunnel." We spent several hours googling it, with the result of a few photos, and precious little actual information. Here's what we learned: the tunnel was built in the 1930s for the Amtrak, but it quickly became obsolete as the widespread use of automobiles proliferated. It became a shanty town for the homeless; in the early 90s, several hundred lived there. The MTA decided to re-open the tunnel for trains, and all its inhabitants were evicted in 1991. However, in its dormant period, and even since, many graffiti artists have used the walls as their canvases, and legendary artwork is said to reside humbly in the dark tunnel. Perfect. What else could we do but head out to explore it for ourselves?



So this photo shows the path we took. From 125th all the way down to 70th. Two and a half miles. In the dark. We arrive at the entrance on foot, having wandered around the woods for awhile before actually spotting it.

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From here, we were only a few hundred feet from the entrance:

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All ready, the walls are covered in graffiti, and we go overboard snapping photos.

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Poor Laura - trying to smile with the sun in her eyes...

Anyway, we entered the tunnel. Not fifty feet from the entrance, we encounter our first mystery. A stuffed duck stands on a ledge only a few inches from a bright red book titled, “Expect Nothing: A Zen Guide.” Beneath these two strange items, a pair of old Michael Jordan sneakers sit in relative alignment, and several feet to the left, an encyclopedia open to its inventory.

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Laura and I look at each other quizzically. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am: if we’re a few steps in the door and it’s all ready this bizarre, what the hell is this place? We laugh and continue onward. We’re moving slowly, snapping photographs as we go.

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You can see the train tracks here, along with the refuse of a once-shanty town. It got dark pretty quickly, and in the right portion of the photograph is a good example of how the entire tunnel is (poorly) lit: by the occasional ventilation grate. Not far in, we spotted our first work of graffiti art.

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Impressive, but only an hors d’oeuvre of things to come.

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We take photos of one another at the same time! We’re dorks like that. Laurita stands in one of the larger oases of light from the grates.

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We’re officially in. See those depressions in the wall to the left? They were absolutely eerie, and full of the indiscriminate collections of whomever had once lived in them. Here’s a photo of one of the depressions:

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Look closely at it. Nope, closer. Closer. What do you see? A can of Raid, a radio, and... a human head? Yes, a human head. After a moment of intense, heart-stopping fear, we discovered that the head had a body attached, and that the entire item was called John. John, it turns out, was friendly, and willing to discuss his life with us. He’d been living here for about fourteen years, preceded by seven years in Central Park. He said he was actually pretty comfortable there, he came and went as he pleased and didn’t answer to anyone. He had a family, but they’d disowned him when he was incarcerated. I asked him if I could buy him lunch, and he said he’d be very grateful if I would, and so I handed him a ten-dollar bill, an entry fee of sorts, and Laura and I pressed onward. Just so you know we’re not making this up, here’s a photo of a more complete John.

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From here, the best way to take you on the journey with us would be through photographs, and so here is a string of them. One thing to bear in mind, though, is that the tunnel is now active. Trains run through there, and they’re surprisingly quiet. Several times we found ourselves scrambling to the side of the tunnel to get out of an oncoming train’s path. They sneak up on you, the fuckers!

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I love how the sun found its way through a tiny hole in the cement and illuminated this little spot. It seemed sacred, somehow, an oasis of sunlight in the otherwise dark and musty underground. I wish there was a little plant growing there.

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Our Laura, standing in a particularly large lighted area, looking up at the grate. Laura is the photographer of the two of us, but I’m damn proud of this photo.

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Another one I’m really proud of - doesn’t it look like Laura is paying homage to the graffiti?

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Someone paying tribute to the 9/11 disaster.

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This is by far my favorite piece of graffiti we saw - “No Mas Odio!” For those of you out there who don’t speak Spanish, it means ‘no more hate.’ What a fantastic message to peek out of this subterranean sanctum.

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Dali clock!

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Another remarkable piece. We’re approximately 2/3 of the way through the tunnel at this point, though we don’t know it. In our research, we couldn’t find the endpoint of the tunnel. We didn’t know whether it went to 100th or 40th. Perhaps now is the time to mention that we went in the afternoon, approximately 3pm, and, around the time these photos were shot, it was beginning to get dark. The sunlight was no longer streaming downward from the grates, but was instead lighting up slanted square and rectangular patches on the walls. We discussed whether we should turn around and head back for the entrance, but reasoned that we must be nearer the other end than the beginning. “Laur,” I said, “if we get caught down here after dark, it’s gonna be bad.” She agreed. We picked up the pace.

Unfortunately, the rest of our adventure will have to be conveyed with words: both our cameras had died. The worst part about it was that all the most spectacular pieces were yet to come. There were 10’ male and female torsos, though someone had since spray-painted a penis onto the male, an amazing rendering of The Unabomber (Ted Kaczynski), more Dali clocks, one artist’s self-portrait with a spray-paint can instead of a head, and many, many others. I thought to myself that these graffiti artists ought to be in art school running circles around everyone else! Then I thought to myself, ‘you bourgeois, let ‘em live.’

Finally, after another 45 minutes of quickened-pace walking, we came upon the end of the tunnel. It opened up into a huge construction site, which actually seemed abandoned. There was plenty of equipment but no people. The tunnel stretched further, but it was newer construction; floodlights everywhere, and the tunnel itself was much narrower. Perhaps another day.

We emerged into the day, sun setting over Riverside Park, and the Hudson lolling past. Covered in soot and grime, we were happy, our curiosity sated - at least until one of us stumbles upon the next scheme.

Siempre Buscando,

Sarah