Yes, yes...I know...you are mad that you cannot leave your usual two cents

Sorry about this folks! Now that I´ve changed the language on Blogger from Spanish to English (::sigh of relief::), I´m pretty sure that all settings for comments are OK. I don´t know why, but Blogger won´t let me show comments for the last post. :( Hmmmm...

Anyhoo, feel free to leave your comments here, then! In the meantime, I´m going home. I´m tired because I hiked 3 hours to see a volcano lake yesterday. Seriously. Pictures promised when my legs hurt less.

Uh...lo siento, no puedo hablar bien en español

First of all, apologies to everyone who commented on my last couple of postings! I had inadvertently changed my Blogger preferences to "Approve all comments" and so had a large backlog of your comments to approve! And here I thought you just had nothing to say. You like me...you really like me! Thanks to Julie for the heads up.

Aaaaah, sweet Guatemalan livin´...sort of. Yes! I arrived on Wednesday, after a red eye flight from LAX to Guatemala City and a 4-hour bus ride climbing into the highlands of Guatemala. It´s has been quite nice so far! Like I said, I´m now pretty oblivious to culture shock of any kind (well, besides the occasional Guatemalaneco calling out "Chinita!" when I pass by..."Si, yo se"). Does that make me truly worldly, or merely ambivalent to everything in the world? No se.

Quetzaltenango: First Impressions
I am currently in Quetzaltenango, which most people call "Xela" (shortened form of "Xelaju", the Indian name...I think the language is Kiche?). Despite being the second biggest city in Guatemala, it´s still quite quaint. In fact, it reminds me an awful lot of Accra, except no open sewers (whew) and no animals in the streets. I´m happy to report that the roosters also crow, appropriately, in the morning, too. THANK GOD. It´s actually a very effective alarm clock!

I´ve been taking walks around the city and have discovered the existence of a McDonalds in the town center. Aah, good to know it´s there...just in case. My teacher (wait for it...wait for it...) also informed me that there is a Burger King and Gap in town. Oooooookay. It´s always pretty amusing for me to find all the different American influences that abound in the world. But I guess I should´ve seen it coming - the first song I heard on Guatemalan radio was Beyonce´s "Check On It."

During my walks, I try not to get hit by cars. As in most non-Western countries, lanes and pedestrian´s right of way do not exist. That´s OK...I just hope I don´t die (a couple of close calls already!).

During the day, the weather rocks. It´s usually 60s and 70s (Fahrenheit, of course), sunny, and pretty breezy - the pleasant coolness during the day is due to Xela´s location in the highlands (mountains, yo!). Unfortunately, this also means that nights are teeth-shatteringly cold, with temperatures around freezing and NO CENTRAL HEATING in houses that are constructed of concrete block. Needless to say, I learned on my first night that it´s quite necessary to wear my hoody, my fleece jacket, my gloves, and scarf to bed...under the three blankets which are more like heavy carpets.

Guatemalan Moolah
T´is the Quetzal, named after a bird, apparently! It exchanges at a rate of US$1=Q$8. Sweet for los Americanos! Nothing really weird about it, ya know...ah, the Q$1 is available in coins! Y´all know how much I love that!

Food & Drink
Tortillas, tortillas, tortillas. They´re quite tasty, because they are usually crazy fresh and made of natural ground corn and not crappy flour. I actually haven´t eaten much (OK, any) meat yet, but maybe that´s good, eh? I noticed that the vegetable selection is sadly lacking. Boo. Except beans...well, those really aren´t really a veggie so much as protein, huh? Anyhoo, I´ll have to get my vitamin fix elsewhere other than my vitamin supplements - I saw some street vendors in front of my school with some tasty looking watermelon slices. Yum. I´ve also been eating some super tasty, super pure honey (from the mountains!). Sweeeet...literally!

Drinks! Don´t drink the water! Only spring water for privileged foreigners like me! Guatemala is a big coffee producer, but the best beans are exported so the crappy beans are left behind. It doesn´t taste so bad. I will explore further. My host mom makes me tea boiled from fresh mint, fresh chamomile, and cinnamon. That´s pretty cool.

I have not yet experienced the "stomach troubles" that plague most newcomers, but, watch...since I wrote that, I´ll be pulling out my Imodium like crazy tonight! Fingers crossed...

My digs
I´m staying with a host family, headed by Bertilla. Her daughters (Bianca and Lupita) and granddaughter (Joselina) live with her, as well as two pretty cute dogs (CiCi and Mohita). I have a small room, nothing fancy. Functional. Aaah, one thing "special"...Guatemalan toilets, although modern and wonderfully Western-style, can´t handle paper being flushed into the septic system. I try with all my might not to throw my toilet paper into the bowl, with a few mistakes here and there, leaving me to fish it out. EEEEEEW.

My school
I have 5 hours of one-on-one instruction each day at Sakribal Spanish School. It´s really great for learning a lot in a short time! Do you know how many irregular verbs I know now?!?! Anyhoo, my teacher this week is Julio. We chatted about how there are American shows on Guatemalan TV. Julio´s faves are Las Chicas Gilmore (that´s right! Gilmore Girls!) and Smallville, although he seems partial to Two and a Half Men. Cultural imperialism at its best!!!

Temporarily marooned in Los Angeles

Well, you were expecting me a blog from Guatemala, right? Well, guess what? I'm stuck in Los Angeles. Tip: never underestimate the strength of head winds in flight, which can delay a flight by MORE THAN 90 MINUTES if you're flying to California. Sweet Jesus. I arrived in LAX last night at 12:00 midnight, and I missed my connecting flight to Guatemala. All flights are booked until Tuesday at 11:00 PM. I'm marooned in LA (Hell-A) until then.

But, like I said, it could be worse. Because I was nice to the customer service agent(and because I'm Premier frequent flyer, bee-atch!), I've got some nice accommodations for the time being. Seriously, some lady who also missed her flight was MEAN, and the service agents were like, "Um, no...we can't do anything for you. Sorry." Hee! United is footing the bill at the sweeeeeeeet Omni Hotel (4 stars, suckas!) until then. Plus food and transportation vouchers.

In any case, I'm taking this little incident as a sign from God. It's one of three messages, I think:

(1) "You should really visit your friends in L.A.? Why do you keep saying you'll visit them and not? This should also teach you a thing or two!" (I did hang out with the ever elusive Kenny, who is doing well and wasting away à la true Hollywood starlet even with the nearly-daily consumption of delicious pastries)

(2) "Um, I don't think you should go to Guatemala."

(3) "OK, you should go to Guatemala...but you're gonna miss creature comforts like the New York Times, bath robes, bathrooms bigger than your bedroom at home, and king-size beds that could fit four or five of you. I just want to rub that in a little bit before you leave."

More from Guatemala when I actually get there!

Here we go, yo; My first poll

I'm off again...and not a moment too soon. Today, the heat in my beloved car (Barry!) broke, just as the freakishly spring-like weather is starting to make a turn into cold and windy territory. Additionally, my mom has begun encouraging me to "go online and find a boyfriend." Sometimes you just know when it's time to leave.

I will be flying to Guatemala City on Sunday (via Los Angeles), whereupon arrival I shall be whisked off to 4-hour bus ride into the mountains and to the city of Quetzaltenango (a.k.a. Xela). Currently, my return is scheduled for May 16 - that's a whole three months to learn some Spanish talkin' and catch a nice disease or two. Let's see how long I last. In any case, I'm bummed that I'll miss out on the rest of the Olympics! BOO. Oh, how many heartstrings-tugging fluff pieces will I miss? Boo!

On a quasi-related (but not really) note, I have cut my hair in anticipation of the trip and extended stay because, based on past experience, there's nothing more difficult than trying to ask for a good haircut in a foreign language. However, during my haircut, I couldn't help but think: "I should really just shave my head!" I'm serious. No, really! Hear me out. I mean, in the spirit of, "I'm going to do all the crazy shit I can while it's still socially acceptable!", it's something that I've been considering over the past few weeks. Yes, it's admittedly a bit more drastic than when Jo cut off and sold her hair in Little Women. I think my hair is my best physical attribute, but I don't do crap with it because I'm usually too lazy. Maybe losing it all will make me appreciate it more, as well as allow me to re-examine ideas of beauty and vanity. Anyhoo, it's not about being "cool" or anything (although, yes, I know I'm a poser), it's just something I'm contemplating. And I won't be Bic-ing it - just a buzz cut. What do you think? (---> direct your eyes over to the poll, friends --->)

A few other pros and cons to contemplate:

Pros
(1) Little/no extra time needed for hair care
(2) Perfect (lack-of-)hairdo in time for the sweltering summer
(3) One more step towards gender equality in my demented little mind
(4) Hair can be donated to Locks of Love
(5) An opportunity to experiment with hairstyles at different lengths as it grows out
(6) Freaking my parents out by planting seeds in their mind that I might be a lesbian

Cons
(1) Less time spent on hair may be moot, since more effort must be applied to looking more feminine so that I am not mistaken for a boy
(2) My head is really big and my face quite round, so lack of hair might leave me looking more like a melon; I have also not considered how dorky a bald head might look with my glasses (Bunsen?)
(3) Adrogyny will confuse people of both sexes à la Pat; I may also end up looking like my brother, which will also prove confusing
(4) Accusations of being a poser (especially when V for Vendetta is released, starring a buzz-cut Natalie Portman)
(5) Awkward and ugly "fro" stage as hair grows from buzz-cut stage
(6) Freaking my parents out by planting seeds in their mind that I might be a lesbian

Ah, well, something to think about anyway. Blogging promised as soon as I get settled. I'll see you all soon!

Amsterdam: Land o’ Canals, Bikes, Pancakes, Wacky Tobaccky, and my former employer

I think local Amsterdamites/Amsterdamians/Amsterdammers were wondering why I was taking pictures around a bank building. Whatever…my former employer owns you!

A short quiz for you:

The Dutch are:

a) a remarkably progressive-thinking but average-looking people with extremely admirable language skills
b) endowed with an unusually high dreadlocks per capita ratio
c) boring
d) all of the above…?

The Dutchies’ use of bikes is truly admirable.

It’s always difficult to get a sense of a foreign country’s culture when you are there for so little time, but the quiz above is an indication of some things that I picked up during my three days there. Actually, I really enjoyed Amsterdam. It’s very calm and lovely, with terrific architecture (narrow housefronts with gabled roofs! How I love gables!), the canals, and a very chill atmosphere. And, oh, how I admire the efficient use of bikes! Yeah, some may call it “boring” (and, apparently, the Dutch are stereotyped as being such), but, like I’ve said before, I’m a pretty dull person, so I don’t mind in the least bit.

Even in the land of the boring, pickpockets abound.

Most of Liss and my activities during our stay there consisted of visiting museums, walking around town, shopping (I got some really cool pants!) and eating. And, oh yeah, making fun of the Dutch language. Winkel is Dutch for “store”! Hee! In any case, the Van Gogh Museum is as delightful as it is remarkable– it’s arranged chronologically, so you can see the progression of Van Gogh’s painting style from beginning to end. And, by the way, Van Gogh is pronounced "Fahn Gock", thank you very much!

The Anne Frank House is, as expected, a pretty moving place. The rooms are empty now, but in Anne’s old room, you can still see the pictures and magazine photos that she pasted on the walls to brighten the place up during her stay there.

The Rijksmuseum is the Dutch equivalent of the Louvre, but it’s under some heavy construction/renovations right now, so the collection is limited. It's still very impressive. Oh, the Rembrandts! :) The Rijksmuseum contains a lot of artifacts that detail the glory of Dutch history, which, not to sound pejorative or condescending, makes one kind of sad to think that they were so awesome in history (think 1600s, awesome naval power, “Hudson Bay Company” Dutch!) and are now, well, just Dutch. Wow, I'm really mean. Anyhoo, I have a funny feeling that the Smithsonian is going to make tourists feel the same way about the United States in the future!

The only thing that did make me vaguely happy in the Red Light District.

And…ah, the Red Light District. Liss and I ventured into the neighborhood, which is expectedly seedy and where we seemed to be the only girls walking on the streets. Hmmm. Amsterdam’s Red Light District is definitely a tourist attraction, but – now that I’ve been there – I don’t see how any tourist could actually go there and feel good about it. I mean, I’m glad that I saw it, but I also found it extremely depressing. Basically, the girls (I guess I can write “prostitutes” if I want to be more technical about it) stand in small rooms with large windows framed by red fluorescent lights (thus the “red lights”), waiting for someone to find them attractive enough to hire them. SIGH. It’s sad and makes you kind of hate mankind. Liss felt the same way, and we decided to leave fairly quickly. We did, however, get into a good discussion about how we felt about the legalization of prostitution, why women choose such a path, etc. It definitely makes you think about stuff!

That is, like, so deep.

Speaking of illicit activities, no visit in Amsterdam would be complete without some discussion of the infamous “coffeeshops.” Ahem. As opposed to a café, where just drinks and food are served, coffeeshops, in addition to having drinks and occasionally internet, also sell weed and maybe ‘shrooms. By the way, to clear it up, that stuff isn’t technically legal in the Netherlands – merely tolerated by the authorities (way to rain on your parade, eh?). The coffeeshops get a special license for the government to “tolerate” their sale of stuff. Hmm. Anyhoo, it should be noted that walking in front of certain coffeeshops (especially those targeted at tourists or those with a huge Rastafarian flag in front) and taking a big whiff should be sufficient for some!

Okay, I’m gonna stop here on the subject because my mom reads this blog occasionally, as do my siblings (Hi, mom, bro, and sis!). Erm…um…hey, look at this pretty picture of a canal!! Isn’t it so pretty and totally unrelated to the previous topic?!?

Dude…whoa, that canal water is so totally…wavy!

Liss and I experienced some Amsterdam nightlife, too. Well, actually, we tried to experience some nightlife. Apparently the Dutch don’t really go out…at least not on weekdays…but this is understandable, I suppose. We hit up the Paradiso, which I was pretty psyched about since it’s a pretty famous rock club where a lot of the bands I like end up playing when they are in Amsterdam. It’s a converted church (I love any sacreligious, really)!


During the daytime, when we couldn’t tell what the heck was going on and where we could enter, I snuck around the loading dock to spy inside…

Where are the hipster bands?!?

We had an oookay time…too bad we didn’t get to experience it on a weekend! There was a cheap 5 Euro show, and we watched a band with a girl lead singer who clearly wanted to be Gwen Stefani (sorry, toots...good try, though) plus a Spanish folk-pop trio (BTW, it was observed, though the music playing in various venues throughout Amsterdam, that the Dutch really enjoy Jack Johnson and Norah Jones). Mostly, though, Liss and I entertained ourselves by studying the mating ritual of two Dutch youths, and the various foreign hoochie mamas who tried to intervene by wooing the dude away with their pulsating hips and constant hair flipping. Oh, and there were also quite a few dread-locked Dutch guys dressed up in skirts and dresses moshing. Very entertaining!

This is better than potatoes!

Surprisingly enough, the food in Amsterdam was pretty great! Of course, we didn’t go the traditional Dutch meat-and-potatoes route (which probably would have made us change our minds). Instead, we stuck with savoury Dutch pancakes (soooo goooood) and Indonesian food (again, proof that colonialism was admirable in the fact that it at least helped improve the crappy cuisine of the motherland). Above is Liss and me attacking our Indonesian rijstaffel (rice table) meal, which is basically a whole bunch of little plates of Indonesian food plus rice. Yum. Actually, we had better Indonesian fare later, but it was just pretty neat that we got so much food in one sitting.

Liss in Vondelpark, Amsterdam’s equivalent of, say, New York’s Central Park.

All in all, it was a nice trip! Ah, Amsterdam, I need to come back so that you can prove to me that you’re more exciting than what a cold winter day promises. On the way home, I also realized a couple of things stemming from my travels:

(1) The upgrade to “Premier” frequent flyer status is both blessing and curse. On one hand, you get sweet seating towards the front of the plane (which can often be roomier than coach…not that it matters for someone who is 5’3), better service, and (so Xiao tells me) better chances of flying standby. On the other hand, being Premier thrusts you into the blurry transitional seating between First/Business Class elegance and Economy chumpiness. On my connecting flight between Amsterdam and Frankfurt, I had to watch the First/Business class dine on their lobster (seriously!), asparagus and pâté while sipping wine from proper wine glasses. SIGH. Oh, yeah? Well, my pickle and butter sandwich on stale bread and plastic cup of orange juice was pretty good, too!! :)

(2) I’ve been flying Lufthansa too much when I can predict the dinner and snack menus (dinner: lasagna or beef/chicken and rice, some sort of cheesecake thing for dessert; snack: veggie pizza or ham panini)

(3) You meet some pretty interesting characters on planes! This time, I chatted with a middle-aged Chinese man who grew up in Spain. He’s an acupuncturist in Barcelona and just so happens to speak perfect Mandarin and, obviously, Spanish…and German…and English…and French. SIGH again. Monolingual Americans are just not as cool.

(4) Last, but certainly not least important, realization…


The way back home is often as sweet as the voyage away!

I'm a lazy bastard, but blogging resumes at last; PRC takes over the world, beginning with Paris

Paris again. ::Yawn:: Hee. Yes, I'm an ass.

Dude, seriously! Last time I had the great fortune to visit the City of Lights, it was bursting at its metaphorical seams with Japanese tourists. Typical. Expected, even. This time, though, in a true grudge match of "Which Asian Country Are You Gonna Fear Next?", the Motherland wins out! I've never seen so many Mainland Chinese tourists - not restaurant workers...not undocumented immigrants...I'm talking well-to-do and legit tourists here - in a Western country. Really. I have to say, I'm impressed! Although y'all know (perhaps indicated by my use of "y'all" just now) that I just bleed red, white, and blue (or, at the very least, consider myself "American," first and foremost), I couldn't help but feel my shrivelled heart warm a little for my once-countrymen and women! It was the week of Chinese New Year, so I assume that it's a little travelin' treat for the Chinese nouveau-riche. Honestly, it's nice to see China busting out of its shell in such a way that now their wealth can allow them to travel abroad, instead of Westerners merely going to the Mainland and, in true Orientalist fashion, marvelling at the modern conveniences of Beijing and Shanghai ("Wow! McDonalds!"). Of course, this doesn't really address the issues of growing racial stereotypes and resentment, or the troubling problems that the PRC has with its stark socio-economic inequalities...but, if you want to chat about it, please feel free to email me or comment!

Anyhoo, cultural and international socio-political observances aside, here are a few treats for your eyes.


An uneventful and disturbingly empty flight. Yeesh, it felt as if there were more flight attendants than passengers! Still, I was delighted to have my own personal screen TV and a great variety of movies to choose from. I chose Pride and Prejudice and Walk the Line instead of sleeping on an overnight flight (smooth move!). I left the plane with a strange urge to buy a Johnny Cash CD and go on a viewing marathon of the 1995 BBC production (i.e., wet shirted Colin Firth version) of Pride and Prejudice.


When I blogged my 1-2 sentence post from Charles De Gaulle Airport, I was waiting for Liss, whose flight was delayed from Chicago. Of course, my flight was wondrously early. I arrived at 7:00 AM, and Liss was scheduled to appear around 12 noon or so. After hours of listening to my I-Pod, reading Le Monde and Salinger's Nine Stories, and recovering from the carpal tunnel inflicted by that cruel internet kiosk, Liss arrived! Oh, her sweet face was indeed worthy of this triumphant photo!


Sacre Cœur (Sacred Heart) Cathedral in the Montmartre neighborhood of Paris. Here, the French have really mastered the American art of making something look old when it's actually not (the cathedral was finished in the late 1910s). For a geographical-social reference point, Montmartre is where much of Amélie was filmed.


Of course, when faced with a cathedral whose dome is just yearning to be climbed (...with a fee attached to climb it), there's only one thing one can do: climb!!! It was fun as always, and - delightfully - not as dangerous as Notre Dame...although a handrail would've been nice.



Here's Liss capturing yet another photo! We spent a lot of time taking photos of each other taking photos. Actually, after so much time spent traveling alone, I forgot how fun it was to have a travel buddy! Liss certainly proved to be a good one.

So the rest of the Paris trip was pretty low-key and fun. We shopped (winter sales at Printemps! OH BOY!). We also hung out at a bar on Liss's birthday, where Liss discovered Snake Bite (gross), I realized that I could no longer down Guiness like I could in my younger days, and we both realized that French tequila is both expensive and not terribly effective. However, several nice French guys kept us entertained between the drinking disappointments.

Other than that, the only thing more amusing that our excursions around Paris were the passing of nights in our very cute hotel room. Just to note, our room did have 2 twin beds - it's just that tiny European spaces require those beds to be pushed together.

The first night: Holy frosty coldness. Notice Liss's hat and scarf:


The second night: We're getting used to each other...


The third night: I make my move...


The morning after: What happened?!? :)

Between the awkward morning-after silences, we took off to Amsterdam...!

Hmm, apparently I'm not as middle-of-the-road as I thought; Thoughts on Dutchies pending; Olympics may steal away my already limited attention span

Although I generally believe that political labels don't apply to a freak like me, in a recent discussion, I told Liss that I could probably either be a conservative Democrat or liberal Republican. Maybe I should rethink this...

I am: 24% Republican.

"You're probably one of those people who still thinks that getting a blowjob is not an impeachable offense."

Are You A Republican?

True, I don't think that a blowjob is an impeachable offense! Thanks to Connie, who posted the same on her delightful blog.

I'm working on a new post for the Amsterdam leg of the trip, if all this crazy Winter Olympics coverage doesn't hypnotize me. Snowboarding! Figure skating! Emotional montages set to pop music! CURLING! I'm joking about the curling part...although my dorkiness about the Olympics is not feigned. Ask me about the Olympic Ladies' Figure Skating Champions since 1948...I really can name them all!

OMG, I can't believe I just revealed that.

Anyhoo, don't worry - there are way too many spiffy pictures that I must post! So keep cool, my babies!

Paris is the same as ever, just colder; Liss is just older

Salut, tous! The title really says it all - Liss and I have been hitting up the sites, but we're concentrating on eating and shopping. Paris is as enjoyable as ever, albeit extremely cold (it's in the 20s and 30s here...why didn't I just stay in New Jersey, where it's apparently 50-60 degrees, as mom reports to me?!?). We have made some trips to sites where I've already been and also to a few new ones: Montmarte, Latin Quarter, Chinatown (where my horrible Chinese and French-speaking abilities collide!!!). Meanwhile, I'm keeping amused by watching French waiters hit on Liss ("You should come back and visit me...I will be very glad," says one Frenchie to her).

Liss celebrated her birthday yesterday. I spent Friday being nice to her; now that "her" day is over, I've begun just making fun of her for what she really is: old! Woweee, 25 years old! Several of my good (no, GREAT) friends are hitting the quarter-of-a-century mark this year, but their birthdays are before mine, so I'm going to enjoy making fun of people before they make fun of me. Julie and Xiao, you're next!!! Hee hee!

Heading to Amsterdam tomorrow on the delightful Thalys train - first though, Liss and I must enjoy our nightly crepe from the street vendor (bananas and Nutella for Liss, maybe just the sugar and butter variety for me tonight). I'll try my very best to blog from Amsterdam, too...if I'm not too stoned. Kidding, kidding!!!

This internet kiosk at Charles De Gaulle Airport is giving me carpal tunnel

Ahoy, mateys! Currently in Paris waiting for Liss to arrive. Her flight was changed at the last minute...she's arriving at 12 PM! I arrived at 7:00 AM. OY.

Blast from the Past! Taste of Ghana, Part Deux

I'm leaving in a few hours for another jaunt (Paris and Amsterdam - how bourgeois!), but, first, let's turn back the clock a little bit...

Was I onto something when I first wrote this? Obviously, the NYTimes should give me a position on the staff, pronto! This article is far superior to my piece-of-crap writing, though.

Mmmmm, kelewele.

A Taste of Ghana
By LYDIA POLGREEN, New York Times

ACCRA, Ghana

PEOPLE travel to Africa for history and for scenery but never the food. I don't get it.

I have found that Africa, with thousands of languages and cultures, each with its own cuisine, always rewards an adventurous eater.

Maybe the problem most travelers have is that finding good African food isn't always easy. Tourists are usually advised to stick to the hotel buffet. While a few countries, especially French-speaking ones like Ivory Coast and Togo, have developed an indigenous take on restaurant culture, many Africans prefer to eat at home. Barring that, they'd rather grab a bite on the fly. Even as a correspondent based in Africa, I am not always lucky enough to snag an invitation to eat at someone's house, so my main source of authentic African food is on the street.

And few countries reward the sidewalk chowhound as well as Ghana. From rough-hewn sheds, women sell sharp wedges of starchy yam, perfectly fried in splendorously saturated palm oil and slathered with a fiery sauce of pulverized Scotch bonnet peppers and garlic. From stainless steel bowls perched atop their heads, women dish out hearty bowls of perfectly spiced stew and rice, endlessly customizable with a plethora of condiments, from crunchy vegetables to a hard-boiled egg.

On a recent reporting trip to Ghana, I sought out some of my old favorites and discovered some new ones. In both cases, to find good street food you have to go where Africans eat on the run: bus stations, markets, busy intersections, construction sites.

"You have to look where people stop and rest a minute," said Eddie Nelson, a Ghanaian businessman and fellow street food devotee I met over a fistful of kelewele, a delicious snack of cubes of ripe plantain tossed in hot pepper, ginger and other spices, then fried until the sugar in the plantain caramelizes along the squared edges.

We were standing on a busy street just after sunset in Osu, a shopping district in Accra, next to Rosemary Nutsungah's kelewele shack. Ms. Nutsungah explained the secret to perfect kelewele.

"You got to have hot oil, that is No. 1," she said. "Then the plantain, it can't be too soft. It will drink the oil and become too oily. Also, you have to have very fresh ginger so it be sweet."

Mr. Nelson nodded approvingly, tossing cubes of plantain into his mouth from the crumpled newspaper in his hand. He then explained to me the finer points of selecting the right street food vendor.

"You have to look at the whole person," he said. "First, is her hair braided in neat rows, or does it go every which way? If it is neat, you are safe."

I put this wisdom to the test the next day on a trip to Kwame Nkrumah Circle, a roundabout at the heart of the city where thousands of minibuses converge, bringing commuters from across the sprawling metropolis.

Even in the chaos of honking horns and swirls of dust, it was evident that the street food business has a clear hierarchy and well-defined gender roles. At the top are the kebab sellers, always male, who sell a relatively high-end product because it contains meat, a prized addition to any meal. Ghanaian kebabs are a particular treat, called kyinkyinga. They are made of small, tender chunks of beef dusted with a spicy rub of peanut flour and hot pepper, dabbed with oil and then grilled over charcoal

Dairy products have similar status — cool bags of frozen yogurt and ice cream are sold exclusively by men.

Women sell any food that requires extensive preparation, usually from a container perched atop their heads. Fried yams, cassava and sweet potato all require slaving over a hot stove and skillful timing to get just right. Selling rice and stew from a basin perched on your cranium means rising early to make the food, carefully wrapping it in layers of plastic bags as a kind of homemade insulation, then carrying it all the way to the bus station and serving it up in banana leaves to hungry commuters.

I tried to follow Mr. Nelson's rules, but after a few minutes I was not looking at hair, because I was distracted by the endless array of food. There were fritters made of plantain just this side of too ripe, mushed up with some hot pepper and then fried. There were balls of fried dough spiced with a bit of nutmeg, crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside. I had to stop after the fried wedges of cassava served with a pepper sauce called shito, made of tiny shrimp ground with hot pepper and oil.

Then there are some sidewalk meals you can't buy at any price. I found one such feast one day in Elmina, a coastal city west of Accra, where the oldest slave fort in the country bristles on a peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean, the portal through which countless Africans were shipped off as chattel to the New World.

Wandering the old fish market as the sun set, I stumbled upon Aba Theresa Mensah, a fish seller who was winding down a long day of hawking octopus, snapper and prawns by making a little dinner for herself and the other market women.

The customary "you are invited," was uttered as I eyed her glowing charcoal stove, and I eagerly plopped down on a simple wooden stool. I spoke only English and she mostly Fante, but we managed. On a stone she ground plum tomatoes and Scotch bonnet peppers, which she stirred into bubbling pot of blood-red palm oil. In went some bits of seafood culled from the catch of the day — a bit of octopus, a couple of plump red snapper fillets, a handful of prawns and, finally, the secret ingredient — a scoop of saltwater from the Atlantic.

"We go chop now," she said with some satisfaction, using the pidgin word for eat. She motioned to a young girl carrying kenkey, fermented gobs of cornmeal wrapped in leaves, a sort of African take on polenta that is the staple starch in this part of Ghana, and purchased a few balls.

She sliced the kenkey onto a plate, then ladled on the juicy bits of fish and octopus swimming in a fragrant bath of spicy stew.

"Chop," she commanded. I dug in, the kenkey sticking to my fingers and the sharp heat of the peppers warming my skin. It is called Fanti Fanti, and it is as simple and delicious a fisherman's stew as anything the Mediterranean has produced.

"It be sweet?" Ms. Mensah asked.

"Yes," I replied. "It be sweet."