el fin

       

      “Nothing in this word is too wonderful to be true.”-Michael Faraday

 

senora urubamba

From the Amazon to the Andes, sunburns to ice capped tents, robberies to endless hospitality, these six months have been anything but mundane and just as I struggled to begin, I struggle to bring my Peruvian Adventure to an end. So many sights, sounds and smells that were initially foreign (sometimes repulsive) to me are now “normal” some even comforting, like the continuous play list of huayno music and the hard working, leathered women who smell of sour milk and smoked meat and greet me with ‘ola, mama’ through smiles of gold teeth. Some things will never be comforting: the life-threatening buses that never arrive on time, the smell of raw meat in the open markets that has been hanging for days and the sight of both adults and children alike sleeping and urinating in the streets. And, while I have come to finally explain many of these things, many more will remain mysteries: the languages that have lasted centuries, the ruins (past and present) that I have walked through and those that have yet to be discovered and still, the slow, complacent lifestyle that is mixed with endless, back bending hard work.

our first day of biology

I have no doubt that the remaining days will continue to pass quickly, never failing to teach me something new or to reveal subtle beauty that I have, at times, taken for granted and I’m sure that when I return in three weeks I will have even more experiences to share. However, I have to end my story with Tikapata school and the thirty-five incredibly smart, accepting and beautiful students who have helped me to appreciate life’s sense of humor, a bit dry at times, sometimes inappropriate, but lately extremely quick and imperceptible. If asked six months ago, “what do you want to do when you grow up?”, education would have been scraped from the bottom of my well of answers, yet, as the last two weeks have passed, life has drawn me closer and closer to the “E” word. My first day of school began last week and mimicked the past five months, passing both quickly and unbelievably slowly; I arrived “home” with a huge smile on my face and my very first full-blown migraine, if I have never voiced my appreciation for teachers, I am doing so now. With the stress and headaches, however, comes a sense of satisfaction that can be explained with both selfishness and wonder. The selfish satisfaction comes from the hugs that I get each morning and the constant questions of “how do you say your name in English?”, “what do you do in the U.S.?”, “what is it like at your home, do you have a rainforest too?”, and one of my favorites, “what is that thing [nose ring] in your nose?” The wonder stems from watching the kids (3-12 years old) doing yoga, growing their own gardens, learning English, math and music and all treating each other like family. They help in the small, adobe kitchen, tie each other’s shoes, sweep the classroom floors before going home and aren’t phased as the school mascots (dogs), Flora and Paco, run through class. Like any school, Tikapata is not perfect, it is lacking in biology and history and the atmosphere may be a bit casual (kids running barefoot and shirtless through the creek), but I believe that the natural surroundings expose them to more wildlife than could be taught in the classroom, most of their history is scattered throughout the mountains overlooking the school and hey, kids should be kids…and perhaps we adults should too.

cesar

My time here in Peru, especially with the students of both Tikapata and Isuyama, has been extremely humbling. There have been times that I’ve taken myself too seriously, planning every detail to the minute and translated word. However, once I’m surrounded by kids who look at me with curiosity and respect and yet have vocabularies that put mine to shame and who know more than I, a “biologist”, about the local flora and fauna, I quickly forget about plans and high self-expectations. Here is where life’s humor comes into play, I had to come to Peru to learn this obvious lesson, but perhaps I simply needed to take a step away from the norm and out of my repetitious schedule to recall what it’s like to be a kid again, to take a deep breath, relax and to appreciate every experience as if it were my first (or maybe my last). Yes, Peru offers many things that the states do not, I’ve been to the Amazon, hiked the Andes and have visited Machu Picchu twice, but the States offer many things that I cannot find here, including all of my friends and family. It will be difficult to leave this amazing country, but I can’t wait to go home with a newfound curiosity to explore everything that I’ve overlooked and a fresh outlook to remind me that nothing in this world is too wonderful to be true.

History of Huayno: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Huay%C3%B1o

More about Tikapata: http://ecotikapata.blogspot.com/

 

 

adios puerto maldonado

Last week marked the abrupt and unexpected end to my adventures in Puerto Maldonado.  After meeting another interesting and enthusiastic group of visitors and holding another successful educatioinal program, it was difficult to leave CECCOT, even more difficult to leave new friends (Rosemary, Wendy, Ruth, Kenny, Eder, Luis and Noe) and old (Lee).  However, I’ve always been told to take every opportunity that comes my way, advice that has taught me much about and taken me many places in life, so when the opportunity arose to work with the aforementioned school in Urubamba, well, I couldn’t pass it up.  I hope to learn from Javier and his incredible group of volunteers and teachers in order to apply their methods in Puerto where they are needed. 

I am confident that the efforts that we have put forth toward CECCOT will not be lost and I look forward to returning in the future to see the potential changes and growth of such a small, yet noble, organization.  While looking back through photos of my arrival, I could not believe the drastic changes that have occured in the past, rapidly passing months, none of which would have been possible without such an incredible group of people.  Gracias to all of my new friends and psuedo family, I miss you already and can’t wait to see you again…I’m crossing my fingers that it’s sooner rather than later.

before

after

round two

This has been a week of seconds; a second group of visitors, a second educational program and constant seconds of food miraculously created by Teressa on a propane-powered camp stove. 

With four days to recover before the arrival of our seven guests, Ursula, Lee and I decided to do a bit of “fixing up” around CECCOT.  Motivated by the near blinding of little Jason, the garden fence was first on our list, followed by refinishing the floors in the commons area and transplanting native plants from the forest to recycled pots around the cabins.  I mentioned months ago that I may eventually understand the slow lifestyle here, I still do not, but I am gradually developing a sense for the volunteers’ initial lackadaisical pace and commitment to our project.  The explanation seems obvious, most people are driven by instant gratification and self confidence, the progress of our project has given the volunteers (and me) both and has resulted in the growth of the garden, self competence, trust and friendships.  With that said, Ursula, Lee, Kenny, Ruth, Luis, Noe and I were able to complete our entire list in one day, this incredible motivation also led to our second successful educational program, a puppet  theater for kids and six happy bird banders from the states. 

all eyes on rand

My first impression of the banding group was that they could not have been more different from the group of UW students.  All six were professionals of various fields (fish and wildlife, education, law, medicine) here for adventurous birding in the tropics and an opportunity to learn more about bird banding from Daniel Froelich, another friend of Ursula and a talented ornithologist.  I now admit that my first impression could not have been more wrong, the majority of the group was as, if not more, enthusiastic about their surroundings than the UWers; they were like kids trekking through the forest in hopes of spotting birds, bugs, plants,etc.  My favorite four included Amy, the only woman and the youngest of the group, Amy was the most vocally enthusiastic of the six and often announced her discoveries with “holy s***, look at that one!” Amy became quick friends with Mike, a witty ex-teacher who now works in wildlife conservation, I became fond of Mike for both his intelligence and his humor, “Horned Screamer,” he announced while looking through Birds of Peru,  “I used to date her in college.”  Mike and Howard, a very quiet, intelligent and talented bird bander, were inseparable.  I didn’t have the opportunity to talk with ‘Howie’, but I liked his gentle demeanor and quick smile.  I did have the opportunity the talk with Rand, an ex-lawyer originally from Louisiana.  I was immediately charmed by Rand’s southern drawl, infectious laugh and interest in everything from conservation education and ornithology to sculpture.  I was not the only one charmed by Rand, he was a favorite among the volunteers and his quick English lessons of “how…are…you?  I…am…great!” earned the attention of our other rambunctious visitors, who came and went in a three hour, action-packed whirlwind.

team younger

Sunday is meant to be “a day of rest”, this particular Sunday laughed in the face of that title.  The nineteen kids that arrived were family, friends and friends of family to Rosemary, Kenny, Ruth, Luis and Noe,  We divided the group into team young, ages 9-12, and team younger, ages 5-8, before taking them through stations modeled from the UW design, the only major differences; a shorter length of time, lack of injuries, more art, birds and fewer “adults”. Overconfident from the residual success of the first project, we were a bit unprepared, inexplicably however, things seemed to fall into place or, in one memorable case, I fell into its place.

keko

While introducing the insect station to team younger, I realized that the spider specimen (most likely collected by Azmera), helpful in illustrating the differences between insects and, well, spiders, had mysteriously disappeared, “fine,” I thought “I’ll just draw a picture.”  As I sat down to draw and explain that insects have six legs and spiders have eight, I just missed, by the grace of the spider gods, sitting on eight legs of a tarantula.  I remained calm so not to scare the kids…okay I was in shock, by both the tarantula and the boldness of team younger, eager to touch our live and incredibly obedient assistant as they counted its hairy legs.  The tarantula was not our only live specimen of the day, thanks to Daniel, Ursula and the rest of the group, the kids were able to watch as birds were weighed, measured, banded and then released.  It was so gratifying to see the kids’ faces light up in curiosity and amazement, hear their questions about the birds, and watch Keko and Victoria (sisters in the group) confidently assist Ursula in releasing a flycatcher.  I didn’t want to pull them away from such a unique opportunity, I cannot think of a better way to develop an appreciation for wildlife conservation than to experience the wildlife so up-close and personal. 

mini Aurellio

The remainder of the day is a blur of spinach and sweet pepper planting, fig tree drawing (take a peak at The Fig File), and water cycling.  I vividly remember, however, being called a hippy by the oldest attendant as I asked team young to give their seeds good energy and I will never forget our special guest’s answer to the “what did you learn today” question.  Some answered, “don’t contaminate the river” or “collect compost,” but little Jefferson was most excited that he had learned “how to play futbol,” I guess the day was such a blur that I had completely missed the soccer station.  Don’t worry, the message of the day was not wasted on Jefferson, as he left CECCOT with his complementary gift of cucumber and lettuce seeds, he was all smiles and anxious to get home and plant them with his saintly, taxi-driving dad, Aurellio.

 

 

my thoughts exactly, Josje

return to surreality

I’m back in Puerto after nearly two months and have quickly shed my tourist clothing, pace and mentality for my worn and grimy wardrobe and a new outlook on my surroundings that now seem completely familiar and peculiarly comforting. Never would I have predicted that Puerto Maldonado would feel like a temporary home, yet when I arrived three weeks ago to find how much had changed in such a brief time, my response was one of possession, one that I would have toward changes in Nebraska or Seattle…this lead to an “epiphany“ of sorts. My explanation for this pseudo attachment, or the only one that I could conjure up, is that the changes that I have noticed here remind me that small changes back home, passing slowly and maybe unnoticeably to friends and family, are going to be blatant and foreign to me when I get back. So, my request is this; an update or two from home, I know you can do it…just a few words, a sentence if you feel so inclined to cushion the “new news” shock of moves, new jobs, marriages, pregnancies (congrats Autumn), births, losses (may Cosmo rest in kitty heaven), how much Abby and Andrea have grown, the list goes and goes and goes.

pepinito

Now, back to the business of CECCOT. Lee and I returned three weeks ago to a flourishing garden of ready-to-harvest lettuce, flowering cucumbers and towering tomatoes, the trusty crew of volunteers had taken great care of our seedlings. We have already feasted on four meals of fresh lettuce and cucumber and the tomatoes are teasing us with bunches of green fruits. Our garden has provided us not only with food, but also an educational tool that, after much anticipation, has been used to teach the possibilities and importance of growing our own food, composting, keeping water clean and having a healthy diet. With the help of the garden and the dedication of Luis, Noe and Kenny and ten temporary additions: James, Ana, Will, Renee, Rony, Emer, Sophie, Vik, Azmera and Corinne, we successfully held a four hour field trip with the kids of Isuyama through the forest, river and garden of CECCOT with only two injuries*, zero fatalities and nearly constant attention from both kids and adults.

The ten additions were part of a group of twenty University of Washington students lead (chauffeured) by Ursula, Tim and Ilene, a funky, worldly professor from UW, on an exploration seminar through Peru.  Lee and I had met the group in Cuzco and accompanied them for a few days of their expedition through Chinchero, Ollantaytambo, Incan salt mines and an unforgettable day in Urubamba where lies a school dedicated to hands-on education of kids from all corners of the world and all social classes. The school was started by Javier, a childhood friend of Ursula’s who gave up a high paying position in Lima to start the school out of his home in Urubamba. Like CECCOT on a larger scale, Javier uses agriculture as a tool to get kids in the dirt and thinking about the importance of self sufficiency, science and the environment. I was blown away by the students who, among the ages of seven to twelve, were designing their own experiments and landscaping, learning several languages, music, and art, were completely down to earth (figuratively and literally) and interested in everything. I was taken on a tour by a ten year old, Spanish speaking Italian guide, Luna, who taught me more about plants in a thirty minute tour than I could have learned in thirty pages of Plants of Peru. This experience was incredibly inspiring and yet relatively disheartening as, two weeks later, I sat with the students of Isuyama elementary and observed the strikingly different teaching methods, environments and overall atmospheres between the two schools.

The observation of Isuyama was part of a project designed by the ten UW students (a pretty cool ten may I add) who chose to work with the community and environmental education rather than plants, animals or insects.  We intended to watch the students for an hour in order to get a feel for their level of education and their understanding of nature and its overall importance before designing an appropriate curriculum. In this one hour I learned more than I had anticipated, more than I could have prepared for. Whether in comparison to Urubamba or not, Isuyama Elementary is dispiriting and when considering that elementary school is the only required level of schooling and Isuyama is the only option for many kids, it is also troubling.  The students range greatly in age, the youngest is six and the oldest twelve, and all are thrown into a single room to learn at the same level. I watched as the youngest struggled to listen to and the oldest struggled to stay challenged by a thirty minute story problem read from an aged and tattered book held together by nothing but humidity. I had the opportunity to talk with a few of the students and inspect their science books, which for the younger students were coloring books of songs and pictures of Tarzan, elephants and kangaroos. Only the twelve year old could tell me that elephants can be found in Africa and not one knew about Australia‘s existence. Geography in general was a mystery to the majority of the students, when asked to point out Puerto Maldonado on a map, we were quickly told that their city can be found in Bolivia. I’m not writing this to point out the faults of Isuyama nor am I writing to darken your mood. I’m writing this to address the problems of educational systems that have been, in the professor’s words, “forgotten by the government” and in my words, by communities, whether they be in Puerto Maldonado, Peru or a small town in the United States and I‘m also writing to share the uplifting experience of CECCOT’s first day with these bright, enthusiastic and exhaustingly energetic kids.

Via Aurellio and two of his taxi-driving sidekicks, the fifteen excited, yet initially shy students arrived on Monday morning to a quick greeting and a game of introductions before tours through the forest, the garden and to the river and games meant to teach and keep them entertained. The UW students set up five beautifully designed stations: forest walk, what plants need, frogs and environment, insects and pollination and the water cycle. The entire day was full of enthusiasm and surprising answers to questions about composting, recycling and the importance of plants, animals and insects…here’s a rundown of the day.

the bat cave

forest walk: The walk through the forest was the first activity and was the perfect way to grab the kids’ attention and teach them the importance of using all of their senses when walking through the jungle.  The group was asked to smell and describe the scents of different leaves, including the leaves of a lemon tree, a total hit that sparked interest in smelling every plant in site, “huele feo, huele rico!” (smells gross, smell good) was echoing through the trees for the first quarter of the hike.  After we had explored scent and gained their trust, we asked the students to cover their eyes and listen to the jungle.  Most followed the rules and shouted, “frogs…cicadas!”, others however, could not bring themselves to give up their most reliable sense, and through cracked fingers my little partner “heard” a butterfly fly overhead.  The climax of the walk was the famous fig tree, a.k.a. “the bat tree”, home to at least two species of bats that have the tendency to freak out many visiting adults, the kids however, fearlessly climbed into the fig´s giant cavern to be part of the bat action.  Fearlessness continued as, without our encouragement, a few of the girls began testing their sense of touch on the spiders within the bat tree´s buttresses-our cue to move on.  

lechuga harvest

garden: Perhaps I’m a bit biased toward the garden, but this was my favorite station. Before we entered to check out the vegetables, I asked the group where vegetables come from and was given a few answers that I expected to hear, “the market” and “my kitchen.”  We walked through the plants and explained what they need: water, sun, compost and insects for both pollination and “caca” for decomposition.  The kids were quick to answer and ask questions about plants and gardening and after a few minutes they were reciting the compost cycle.  We finished by planting basil seeds and harvesting lettuce for lunch, and although the cucumbers and tomoatoes weren’t ready, the kids were able to pick them-from strings (thanks for the idea James, Will and Ana).

 

the bug catcher

insects and pollination/frogs and pollution: The insect station was led by Azmera and Corinne and I must explain the irony before I go on. Upon arrival, Azmera wanted nothing to do with ‘bugs’, I have a vivid and hilarious memory of her falling backward out of her chair as a katydid invited itself to take a seat on her lap. Amazingly, after only one week she had become the “bug catcher” and with her help the kids were able to see several species of insects, including an incredibly beautiful and, judging by its brilliant colors and spines, incredibly dangerous caterpillar (don’t worry, there was a no touch rule). These two stations were full of information, yet with Azmera, Corinne, Rony and Renee’s design, they were also really fun, especially for Tim who seemed more entertained with the leap frog game than most of the kids. After leap frogging, pollinating and singing songs about the parts of insects, to the tune of “head and shoulders, knees and toes”, the kids (and I) were exhausted and hungry.

break: Lunch included fresh lettuce from the garden, cucumbers and tomatoes and although a few kids voiced their hatred for vegetables, they cleaned their plates in minutes and voluntarily put what few scraps were left in the compost bin…I was so proud.

 

el ciclo de aqua

the water cycle: With full bellies and heavy eyelids, we managed to get the group to the river for the finale, the water cycle. By this time, the kids were no longer shy and were quick to hold our hands and talk to us about…a lot, the youngest of the bunch, an unexpected five year old, had grown attached to James, or Mama as she was soon calling him while clinging to his neck. With the group’s remaining bit of attention, Emer and Sophie were able to teach them about the cycle of water and the dangers of polluting the river. I was surprised at the knowledge that the kids had about the importance of Rio Tambopata and their awareness of the dangers of polluting the water that provides jobs, food and of course, a swimming pool for them, their families and their community.

The day was nothing but a success and I hope that the kids’ new and previous awareness continues and eventually leads to positive action and I can only hope that we managed to touch them and teach them at least half as much as they did me. What I’ve seen in the past three weeks are the effects that constant attention and interactions have on children and how important it is to not only find what they’re interested in and keep them interested, but also how important it is to challenge them and keep them challenged. I mentioned the problems of schools losing the interest of governments and communities, but after witnessing what a single person in Urubamba was able to create with his own money and what a few college students were able to do in four hours with a tiny budget, I believe it’s possible to give kids a chance and a push without using the former as an excuse.

human trapezoid

Thanks UWers for all of your help, just a quick inside scoop: we’ve already had another program for more kids, using your design…more to come soon.

 

 

 

 

 

jason and james

*injuries: injuries of the day were inflicted upon Jason, a seven year old and one of my favorite attendants. After harvesting lettuce and planting basil, Jason was excited to move on to another station, so excited that as he ran out of the garden he failed to see a stick (which I had also failed to see when prepping for the group) protruding from the dilapidated palm fence. Either Jason or the fence has incredible aim and the stick managed to meet Jason’s eye. Tough as nails and still excited to move on, Jason held back tears and exited the garden for a much needed snack. Once he was seated and had forgotten about his recent encounter with the fence, Jason proceeded to eat his snack of freshly picked star fruit and brazil nut cookies. While savoring the cookie shaped like a non-native species of bear (Winnie-the-pooh) he was unexpectedly stung by a native species of wasp. Again, Jason held back tears and soon forgot about the pain as he moved on to the next station…insects.

ausangate: wool socks and brakes needed

victor

Contrary to possible belief, I am not only in Cuzco as a tourist.  Yes, I admit that before last week I had accepted the role of super tourist, one who has not only seen most of the ruins in and around Cuzco, but who is also the proud owner of an alpaca sweater adorned with llamas.  However, one of the many reasons for coming to Cuzco was an incredible project put together by Tim Billo, a friend of Ursula’s from UW.  On a trip to Peru last year, Tim was fortunate to meet Victor, a Quecha-speaking  paqo or “shaman” often dressed in ajotas (tire sandals) and his traditional beaded chullo, specific to the Ausangate region.  Upon introduction, Tim learned that Victor’s potato crop had failed, forcing him to buy food from Tinqui, nearly a three hour walk from his family’s home in Maranpaqui.  The goal of the project was to build a greenhouse for Victor’s family which would not only allow them to grow their own food again, but would also allow them to grow a variety of plants that couldn’t otherwise survive at an altitude of 4200 meters.  When I was invited to join this project in April, the word “no” escaped my vocabulary and was replaced with “anticipation” for five months.

Tim, Ursula and the three UW students brave enough to tackle such a project at such an altitude arrived from sea level only two days before the trek that would end at 5100 meters, perhaps you have already recognized a problem.  The three students included Kiara, James and Sara.  Kiara is an intelligent, dreadlocked free spirit who refers to herself as a “new hippie” and although she is a talker, she is one who actually has interesting things to say.  James, on the other hand, never spoke a complete sentence, but it is obvious that he is a smart, interesting guy who would probably have a lot to say if there was a good reason to say it.  Sara is an eighteen year old college senior who is not only brilliant, but after training in the Marines for two years, is also strong enough to take on your dad, uncle or brother (possibly at the same time).  The final addition to the group was Pamela, a friend of the Valdez family (this speaks for her character) and Ursula’s field assistant the year before me (this also speaks for her character.)  We all grouped the day before departure to exchange altitude pills and advice on how to stay warm during 20°F nights using a tent as a wind block.

paulina, peter and victor

Day 1: Scheduled to leave at 8:00am, we met to make our last solid breakfast and loaded all of our equipment, including four large rolls of heavy duty donated plastic, 9 meters of rebar and 45 meters of PVC piping. The rented van and its driver, Luis, pulled out of the driveway at 9:30.  The fear of putting my life in strangers’ hands as they drive their issued top heavy van/bus over narrow mountainous roads assembled with hairpin turns has become incredibly familiar and on this particular ride I was able to relax and enjoy the scenery of zigzagging canyons cut out by the Urubamba River and the fading tree line of eucalyptus. 

We met Victor and his 23 year old brother-in-law, Aquiles, in the town of Tinqui.  Tinqui is a relatively large town that preaches environmental sustainability and protection to its constant flow of tourist and yet has blocked the flow of its rivers with piles of Inca Kola bottles and the pink, plastic bags used to transport every purchase in Peru.  I was relieved to escape hypocrisy as we reached Victor’s home, surrounded by nothing but an open, yellow plain bordered on all sides by mountain ranges; to my surprise even the door less adobe latrine (hole in the ground) offered a picturesque view.  Victor lives in a one room mud-brick house with his wife Paulina, his son Peter, his daughter Delphine, her child of a few months and their guinea pigs.  The guinea pigs could be heard at night squeaking their plans for escape and could be seen running freely through the house, there’s a sense of irony in dishing a night’s meal as tomorrow’s runs underfoot.  Victor and his family took us in as their own and offered us food, blankets and firewood and constantly thanked us for our construction of what turned out to be a cold frame for seeds whose seedlings would eventually be transplanted to the existing greenhouse. 

The funny thing about many projects in developing countries is that the intention of teaching people something about life often turns into a life lesson for the intended teachers.  Nine months earlier, Victor’s family was given materials for an ingenious greenhouse design of bricks made from local mud and an impassable lightweight plastic, that when put together, created an environment not unlike Puerto Maldonado and produced fruits and vegetables unheard of in the high Andes.  Victor walked us through rows of squash, lettuce, spinach, carrots, parsley, strawberries and even a tiny lemon tree struggling to push its way through the rocky soil.  The meaning of our project was not lost, it will be used and most likely improved by Victor, and it will also be left as a symbol of respect and thanks for his endless hospitality.

Night 1:  Altitude is a fickle thing and depending on its mood, will strike the weakest or strongest hiker; on the first night it struck the strongest.  I woke in the middle of the night (10pm) to ice on my sleeping bag and the sound of Sarah vomiting, both lasted until morning and both revisited each night.  I may have mentioned how tough Sarah is, but she was no match for the relentless combination of altitude sickness, cold and/or flu; she managed to stick with us however, and continued to Azulchocha on the fourth day.

tim and aquiles

 Day 2:  It was announced that day 2 would be a day of rest to prevent any additional chances of altitude sickness.  Despite the rest, altitude took Ursula as its next victim, symptoms of tingling extremities and breathlessness confined her to her tent for the entire day (check out “views from U’s tent”).  With two women out we managed to build the cold frame before being introduced to a weaving co-op of women created by Paulina and a lunch of freshly slaughtered lamb that, for the record, I witnessed but did not eat.         

Night 2: Two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of pants, two shirts and two coats.  

"everybody must get stoned"

Day 3:  After making a unanimous decision to hike only half the original distance on the third day, we finished the cold frame and got off to a late start.  We were soon crossing the rocky terrain past a cemetery, over a knee deep river and through a wild gang of rock throwing school kids who chanted “dame dulce, dame plata” (give me sweets, give me money) as we ducked for cover.  We reached our site, miraculously unscathed, to be met with a hail storm.  The storms near Ausangate were like clockwork; around 2pm each day, we watched from the safe distance of Victor’s home as they formed in minutes and lasted for hours, from Victor’s they were spectacular, from our close-up view on day three…a bit uncomfortable.  Ursula and I escaped our tent an hour later to dip our ice cubed feet in a nearby hot spring where we would meet the first of many related to Victor through his famous father-in-law.  Nazario Turpo was a puqo whose talents reflected those of his equally famous father, these talents and his political passions allowed him to appear around the world, bringing positive attention to his poor community in the highlands.  In 2007, Nazario was killed as his bus driver swerved to miss a roadblock of stones built by campesino protestors.  Victor had been training under his father-in-law for nearly twenty years and he claims that even after that much time he still only knows a fraction of the knowledge that Nazario held.  I can’t speak for Victor’s knowledge, but I can again speak for his kindness, reiterated on the third night as he gave up his blankets to assure that everyone else would be warm.            

Night 3:  Victor’s blanket, two pairs of wool socks and a warm water bottle, two pairs of pants, three shirts and two coats.

aunt ausangate

Day 4:  Our early rise was rewarded with various habitats of lakes and marshes and changing landscapes decorated with bright boulders of green and red, concealed stone houses and a constantly growing view of the 6,384 meter Ausangate.  Our fourth and last night was spent along the edge of Azulcocha, home to giant coots, ducks and a newly constructed and completely unanticipated trout farm; my feelings toward this are still torn between an obvious need for food and the eventual destruction of an amazingly diverse lake.  These thoughts subsided after food, rest and the unexpected company of another one of Victor’s relatives.  I regretfully admit that I can’t remember her name, but her face is one that I will never forget; her deep wrinkles and calloused hands added fifteen years to her true age, she appeared to carry seventy years in addition to the heavy bag of hard work that she attempted to sell us before smoking a few cigarettes and ascending over the 5300 meter pass to her home.  After her departure we were soon scrambling to find shelter from the hail and snow, this time lasting until dark.  We huddled in a stone casita capped with a straw roof, warm enough to provide us with a kitchen and a bit of comfort while Victor and Aquiles fished the lake for hours in sandals before again donating blankets for our “survival”.

Night 4:  Two of Victor’s blankets, three pairs of wool socks, another warm water bottle, two pairs of pants, three shirts, two coats and mittens.

pamela, james, me, kiara and ursula

Day 5:  Another late start rushed us past a clear sacred lake, too deep to even imagine the bottom, peat bogs, rare Andean geese, triplet turquoise lakes and more hidden homes guarded with dogs that found Ursula to be a threat (her second of three brushes with death).  With less than an hour to spend at our highest point, I struggled as I had in Machu Picchu to take in all of my surroundings, which included Mt. Salkantay hundreds of kilometers in the distance.  Beneath Ausangate, the highest mountain in the Cordillera Blanca range, I felt incompetent in comparison to the people, like the woman the day before, who regularly cross this pass without hiking boots and North Face jackets and depend on meals of potatoes and farmed fish rather than jars of peanut butter and packages of oatmeal.  Our hike back to camp was quick and we arrived in Pachanta just in time to meet Luis for our death defying ride back to Cusco. In the previous four days we had overcome altitude sickness and cold and believed that once we had climbed into the van our adventures would subside for a few hours…oh, how naïve we can be. 

"what are frenos?"

I don’t know much about driving large vans packed with nine people and pounds of baggage down a winding road, but I now know that rolling a vehicle of this weight down a steep hill in neutral is a horrible idea.  No one knew exactly what was happening as the brakes squealed and the driver steered us toward a dirt embankment and then through a “sharp turn” sign and I don’t believe we knew what had really happened until we had jumped out of the moving van as it rapidly approached a cliff.  Everyone survived, even the driver who managed to stop his cursed van, not without help from his eight adrenaline rushed passengers who held on, heals smoking, until it stopped short of one of the few guardrails known to Peru.  We waited for an hour for our hearts to slow and for the second driver who was equally as terrifying.  A normal response to a fearful passenger’s request to slow down while passing a car with no tail lights…around a curve…in the dark would be to slow down, our driver’s response was like one you would read in a cheesy Steven King novel, he laughed.  By the grace of some unnatural force we pulled into Cusco where we flooded out of the van thankful for a shower, a warm night of rest and our lives.     

About Nazario Turpo: http://sewayoleme.wordpress.com/2007/08/18/nazario-turpo-a-towering-spirit/

a quick thanks

I am almost at the halfway point of my trip, a sad and yet relieving realization.  Another realization that has come to me is the fact that I haven’t thanked anyone for anything and I guess that my three month Peruvian anniversary is a great time to do so.  So, I have been babbling about my travels through and around Cuzco but have failed to mention the incredible hospitality of the Valdez family.  While I’ve know Ursula for three years, I have never met her mother, father or brother who all willingly offered us their home for the past month and didn’t say a thing when I broke their Pyrex baking dish.  Their hospitality does not stop there, as I’m typing this I’m sitting next to a fireplace in their country home in the Sacred Valley which they offered Lee and me for the next three days before we return to Puerto Maldonado.   I also want to say “thanks” to every one of you who actually reads this and those of you who send such supportive messages, it means a lot to know that I have friends and family to come home to, and even though I’m having an amazing time down here I’m anxious to get home and hear what you have been up to.

soup on salkantay and trout in tequile

Mom, I am sorry that I haven’t written anything lately, I’ve been a bit wonder-drunk, a word created between a five day trek to Machu Picchu and boat ride through handmade islands in Lake Titicaca. 

Upon entering Cuzco, a tourist is immediately bombarded with llama paraphernalia, shoeshine and massage offers, cute kids who need change and tour options.  The most popular tours are those to Machu Picchu, by bus, train, bike or trek and after two weeks of wandering aimlessly through Cuzco streets, Lee and I decided to give in and choose one of the four.  Because the few breathless hikes that we had taken around Cuzco just weren’t painful enough, we decided that the five day trek to the famous city was the appropriate option.  After getting a lead from a friend whom we had met a few days before (from India, currently living in Austin, TX and traveling solo in Peru), we ventured into an alleyway agency that will remain nameless, not for their protection but for the simple reason that there was no sign on the door and I never bothered to ask. 

I’m uncertain how to explain the five days that I experienced with a group of seventeen incredible people from three different continents and eight different countries or the weeks that followed.  I’ve always scoffed at the phrase, “words can’t describe it” but I now have to give in and use it.  I could easily use hundreds of words to describe the landscape and climate that changed, not only from day to day but from hour to hour, the personalities of strangers who quickly turned into friends, the strain of hiking 12 hours in a day with blisters the size of half dollars, or the soup and rice that repeated itself every morning, afternoon and night.  I can’t, however, begin to describe the emotions that I felt as I passed over the 4600 meter peak of Salkantay in one morning only to descend 1200 meters into cloud forest that afternoon, how insignificant all of my problems became as I passed the poor communities strewn throughout the harsh mountains and the determined people who populate them, or how difficult it was to hold back tears as I entered Machu Picchu at dawn after following a trail used by people more than 500 years before me.  So, for now, these are emotions that I’ll keep to myself, my own personal memories.  I will, however, share photos and a few highlights from each day…god, it’s hard to choose only a few and now, three weeks later, the details don’t seem very highlighted so please excuse the lack of detail.

end of day 1

day1: half way

Day 1:   We were bused from Cusco at 5:00am in a large, top heavy bus and through its dusty windows and my heavy eyelids I watched the sun rise over the mountains that I would cross the next day.  The bus stopped three hours later in Mollepata, where we were greeted by a smiling woman who had prepared for us a breakfast of bread, jam, tea and juice.  It wasn’t until after we had eaten everything that she announced the complimentary breakfast wasn’t entirely complimentary, “seven soles, or ten if you had eggs.”  Over our stale bread I met our guides, Victor and Oscar; Badge and Noz from England; Kinga from Poland; Cat from Peru; Lo from Spain; Christophe and Julian from France; Robert from Mexico; Jamie from Utah; Alessandro from Italy and three antisocial Germans who may or may not have names.  We began our trek at 9am surrounded by lush vegetation and sun and finished a little after 5:30pm in a rocky campsite between Huamantay and Salkantay, both covered in glaciers that reflected the waning full moon so brightly that the two mountains seemed to be lit from within.  The night was so cold that Lee, Robert, Jamie and I, all dressed in at least four layers, forced ourselves into a two man tent for warmth (I was still cold, my first night of no sleep).

day 2: first break

day 2: salkantay

Day 2:   We left camp behind us as we ascended 500 meters in a little over an hour via seven switchbacks.  I admit that during this hour I thought that I would die and just when I stopped to catch my breath before my lungs exploded I looked down the mountain to see Oscar, our second guide, running straight up the mountain with no need for switchbacks, I cut my breath break short and made a pact with myself not to complain.  This was not the only indication that Oscar is superhuman; as a sacrifice to Pachamama (mother earth), many local people carry stones from a distant location to the 4600 meter pass just below Salkantay.  A true sacrifice is no less than ten pounds and some of the group, including myself, chose stones of this minimum weight as a sign of respect.  Again, as I thought my lungs would explode, Oscar passed me carrying a stone just shy of boulder status on his shoulder.  His respect for the mountain is chilling, as is

day 2: victor

day2: offering

Victor’s, who included us in a traditional offering to Pachamama and a coca leaf ceremony; this ceremony was a true reflection of how much his rich culture means to him and it made me appreciate him and the people of this area even more for holding on to such beautiful traditions.  After shedding a few tears, I was soon shedding layers.  We left Salkantay at midday to descend past huge boulders, haphazardly abandoned by glaciers, before dropping into the warm jungle of Colpapampa where we would spend our second night.  While dinner was predictable, conversations held between twelve people around a table for six were not, and I didn’t crawl into my tent until hours after we had finished our soup and rice.   

Day 3:  An easy five hours of hiking through humid jungle lead us to another top heavy bus waiting to take us to La Playa for a lunch of, well, you can probably guess.  Like chickens on a Guatemalen bus, a few of us (the Germans did not partake) piled on the roof to play limbo with oncoming tree branches.  While this mode of transportation was scenic, it was also a bit dangerous; I was branded by Julian’s cigarette as it took cover from the same limb that nearly pulled Victor from the bus.  After the adventurous ride and lunch we were bused to Santa Teresa, a small town rebuilt after a flood took everything in its path ten years before, including the elderly who refused to leave their homes.  In spite of the sad history, Santa Teresa is a cheerful town and home to impressive natural hot springs which we visited before a huge meal prepared by our traveling chefs, a few Cusquenas and a dance around a bon fire…all much deserved after 27 hours of hiking.       

Day 4:  “These days have flown by and yet it seems like I’ve been gone for weeks, I realized this morning that through all the breathtaking beauty and breathtaking hiking I have completely forgotten the true reason for this trek-tomorrow I’ll see Machu Picchu.”  After writing this it was impossible to forget about the true reason for the previous three days and the next two as mountain Machu Picchu gradually revealed herself throughout the next eight hours.  The hiking on day 4 was difficult, we were all exhausted and the “trail” for the latter half of the day was an uneven, rocky railroad track that demanded attention with every step and discouraged any temptation to look up.  We finally reached Aguas Calientes (located at the base of Machu Picchu) around 6pm, took much needed cold showers and ate our last meal as a group before collapsing into warm beds.

day 5: machu picchu

day 5: kinga, christophe, julian, noz, lee, alex, badge, me

Day 5:  The sound of an alarm at 3:45am is always skull piercing, but it was especially painful on the fifth day as I woke with sore feet and sleep deprivation to get an early start on one of the most strenuous hikes of the trek.  As we began our last hike in complete silence, led only by flashlight, I soon forgot about my aches and pains and focused on what was at the end of the steep, two hour trek.  When we finally reached the top, I was soaked from sweat but relieved to be ahead of the thousands of tourists who would visit the ruins in this one day.  The majority of the thousands wake at a reasonable hour and catch a bus that takes them directly to the gate; we, however, were racing to be part of the first 400 people allowed to climb the guardian of the city, Huayna Picchu. 

day 5: bird's eye view

Three hundred and sixty meters above Machu Picchu, Huayna Picchu is thought to have been an astrological observatory or a lookout point, it is also believed that priests resided on this mountain and from the top of their world they would signal the dawning of a new day.  Whatever the reason for this mountain or the structures that it supports, the view of from it is heart-stopping (so is the hike) and my only thoughts as I climbed the steep stone steps were, “how in the hell did they construct this?” and “how and the hell am I going to get down?”   

I made it down (very slowly) to take one more walk through Machu Picchu, which is honestly indescribable.  I stood in the middle of this incredible city, overwhelmed by its mystery, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not take it all in.  I wandered for four hours through temples, homes, burial grounds, terraces and sundials and believe I would need several days more to truly see everything that was abruptly left behind as the Incas fled from their unavoidable end.  We abruptly left it behind as well, as we boarded a bus, then a train, then another bus, followed by a taxi before eventually falling into bed to wake the next day wondering if I had truly experienced the past five days.

Moray

Tiobamba church

Compared to the trek, Cuzco seemed like a buzz of unnecessary noise and activity and after three days we decided to visit Moray, another mysterious Incan creation.  Moray is a group of three gigantic, circular terraces, supposedly used as an agricultural experiment; each terrace provided a different microclimate which allowed farmers to develop hundreds of different maize and potato strains.  After experiencing this gorgeous site with Noz, Badge and Alex, we all unexpectedly stumbled into an invitation to have lunch of fresh trout, rice and potatoes with three locals from Moras before watching the sunset from a colonial church set above the Sacred Valley.  Now addicted to travel, we decided to hop on a bus to Puno early the next morning.  Being fresh travel addicts, however, we made the mistake of hopping on a tour bus. 

I’ve heard about them and seen them in movies, but the torture of a tour bus is unimaginable until it is experienced firsthand.  Not only were we forced to stop in tourist traps along the way, but we were also forced to listen to the microphoned guide at the front of the bus as he pointed out the landmarks and wildlife to the left and to the right through windows that wouldn´t open, this relentless commentary lasted until our arrival in Puno ten hours later.

totora boat

kite flying on tequile

Puno itself is just another chaotic, dirty city freckled with hostels and tourist restaurants, but the bordering Lake Titicaca is surreal.  With Alex as company we took a boat driven by a strong female captain and her three year old first mate to Isla Tequile, where we would spend the night with a local family.  Before reaching Tequile, the captain took us to the floating Uros Islands which have been constructed by their inhabitants using totora a reed that is also used to build their homes, boats and the furniture for their solar powered TV’s.  Further from shore, Lake Titicaca resembles the ocean, aside from the distant mountains of Bolivia there is no end in sight.  As we docked, we were quickly adopted by Pablo, a short chubby man of about 50 who has traveled the world as a musician and invites strangers into his home just as strangers have done for him.  Pablo walked us up the 500 steps to the top of the island and then to his home where he introduced us to his beautiful wife Victoria, his daughters and his granddaughter Cindia.  Lunch was prepared by Pablo’s cousin, again no menu, simply trout and rice.  With full stomachs we explored the quiet island, which still hangs on to its history-no electricity and traditional dress.  Women wear black skirts and wide embroidered belts, if they are single they wear red shawls draped over their heads, men wear white shirts, black vests and pants with similar belts and long hats knitted so tightly that they are used to carry water.  Married men wear completely red hats, while single men advertise their availability with red and white.      

lee and alex at sunset

Because Tequile has no electricity, the stars are incredible and even though the cold pierced through my two coats and three shirts like tissue paper, I couldn’t bring myself to seek shelter.  I was faced with the same problem the next morning after finding a quiet, sandy beach along the turquoise lake; although the sun was slowly baking me like a thanksgiving turkey, I couldn’t pry myself from the view of the mountains and on the boat ride back to Puno I started to feel the consequences.  With blistered faces, Lee and I caught a local bus back to Cuzco.  The local buses replace their tour guides with evangelical Noni salesmen, women selling stinking bags of meat and illegal contraband smugglers who halt travel while being searched by police, definitely more exciting than “if you look to your left, you will see a flock of flamingos.”

Although it was an important lesson, avoiding tour buses is not the only thing that I’ve learned in the past three weeks.  I’ve come to the conclusion that all of the choices that I’m offered from day to day: what to wear, what to drink, what to eat, would not be important if my day to day life was focused on more important things: survival, my family’s happiness or the simple beauty of learning from new people or places.  The people that I passed on the way to Macchu Picchu, the locals of Maras who joined us for lunch and Pablo’s family are examples of people who aren’t presented with many choices, they work each day to grow enough food for the season, make enough money to send their kids to school or to simply meet people that remind them of their past memories.  So, while I laugh about repetitious meals of soup, rice and trout, I also wonder, do I really need a constantly changing menu of options if I have one of constantly changing challenges and experiences?

peruvian adventure

“Updates on a Peruvian adventure” was a premature title, my true Peruvian adventure did not begin until I boarded a bus that would miraculously transport me from Puerto Maldonado to Cuzco in one piece. 

bumpy entry

The morning after meeting with Eder, Ruth and Kenny about CECCOT and being reassured that our seedlings would be in good hands, I woke with excitement about a new journey mixed with hesitation to leave the project behind for an entire month.  My hesitation was not caused by any doubt that “the crew” could handle the project; it was simply caused by my attachment to it…and maybe to them as well.  We received hugs and blessings from Rose, her mom and her eight year old cousin, who was close to tears as we threw our belongings on the top of Aurellio’s bright yellow moto taxi and headed toward the so-called bus station.  

Aurellio is a cab driver and may be the first cab driver to be referred to as a saint.  Aurellio is always dressed in a t-shirt bearing a motor oil logo which is neatly tucked into shorts that come to just below his knees and just above his brown bowling shoes.  His dark eyes that peak out from beneath his jet black hair are so kind that they almost bring tears to mine; he is soft spoken and always refers to me as Senorita Ashley.  Señor Aurellio has become CECCOT’s personal driver because he is reliable, never overcharges and is quick to help with anything, like patiently driving us from bus to bus to assure that we chose the safest company among several.  Once we had chosen a bus, Aurellio wrote down our number so that he could make sure we arrived safely and left us with the bus station attendant.  Upon first inspection, the woman working the station appeared rough, someone not to be messed with (this could have been her thin, aggressive eyebrows that had been sketched on in a rush).  But, as she looked at me and smiled before ordering the men to carry my bags, the intimidation turned to admiration and I knew I was in good hands.  The bus itself looked just as rough with its dusty, blue paint and worn seats upholstered with what looked like bowling alley carpet that made my eyes cross if I looked at it too long.  The bus started on the first attempt, however, and by 2pm we were leaving Puerto behind us.     

streets of cuzco

The road to Cuzco leaves much to be desired and at times I thought the driver had veered from it to test his off roading abilities.  I now believe that these abilities were tested before he was given the job to intentionally drive through rivers and over narrow roads that cling to the edges of rocky cliffs.  The bumpy ride took me back to my childhood and the nights of checking cows with Dad in his old truck rattling though fields of potholes that would launch me into flight for a brief, thrilling moment.  Now, 18 years later, I smiled as I listened to the two little girls behind me giggling with each unpredictable take off.  Once I got used to the bumps, I was quickly hypnotized by the red landscape painted with thick jungle and the occasional announcement from the cliffs that Robby, Luis and Javier had been here before me.  I began wondering what future archeologists, hundreds of years from now, would make of these brave explorers.  This thought was abruptly interrupted by the bus breaking down and now my only thought was “how am I going to carry my pack to the nearest town two hours down this mountain road?”  Forty-five minutes later, after using rocks for his tools, the off roading bus driver had fixed the problem and we were soon crossing another river.  The last 10 hours of the trip are fuzzy, I vaguely remember First Blood dubbed over in Spanish, a quick bathroom break in a tiny pueblo and hypothermia (tip: when traveling from a hot to a cold climate, pack warm clothes.)  Cuzco welcomed us at 6 a.m. with fresh, crisp air and a newly risen sun and I soon found myself in a nearby hostel under four heavy blankets, fighting cold and curiosity for a few hours of sleep.   I won the fight and seven hours later stepped out of the hostel to discover busy stone streets bordered by incredible Spanish architecture supported by Incan ingenuity and guarded by mountains that have witnessed years of history.  It only took a moment to realize that the bumpy, sleepless 16 hour “adventure” had been well worth it

gate to cuzco*

*For censorship this entry has been renamed “gate to cusco” rather than “gate to hell.”

This is finals week for the volunteers which leaves Lee and I to our own devices.  Being the dedicated coordinator that I am, I have decided to work one more week before taking a “vacation” to Cuzco and being the dedicated volunteer that he is, Lee has agreed to stay with me.  The plan: meet with Isuyama teacher to discuss curriculum, build two gates for the garden, construct the welcome sign near CECCOT’s entrance and transplant the tomatoes and more cucumbers. 

Wednesday: Fresh from relaxation and ready to work, I headed directly to the nearest carpenteria to buy wood before packing up for a long weekend at CECCOT.

Thursday: Eder met us this morning at 7AM, enthusiastic to speak with the teacher and students at Isuyama School about future classes to be held at CECCOT.  We had dedicated the previous week to designing curriculum based on environmental awareness through hands on projects such as planting seeds, writing letters to students in the US about CECCOT’s habitat, and making dyes out of local leaves for art projects.  With the freshly translated curriculum in hand and Lee and Eder at my side, I was excited to present our ideas.  I imagine that my excitement paled in comparison to the students’ when they were told (the day before) that they would have a two week extension on their annual winter vacation. 

“Peru’s government announced that public and private schools would have their winter holidays two weeks earlier than scheduled to help stop the spread of the swine flu,” we were told by the school nurse. 

“Well, I would like to talk to the head teacher, do you have his number or email address?”

“Claro, but his wife might be jealous if I gave it to you.”

That was the abrubt end of the conversation and the beginning of the next project on our list, the gates. 

We walked to CECCOT, had some much needed Nescafe, and started building the first gate around noon.  Our design for the gate was quick and easy; bamboo attached to a basic wood frame with three rows of rope.                

• 1:00 pm: cutting wood
• 3:00pm: still cutting wood
• 4:30pm: still cutting wood, Lee has started a reenactment of Star Wars
• 5:30pm: still cutting wood, Ben Kenobi vs. Darth
• 6:00pm: sun setting, finished cutting wood (for gate #1)

Ravenous from the cutting, we cooked up a concoction of noodles, curry and Waddy’s coconut milk before heating water for a warm shower and crashing under our mosquito nets…I’m sure I dreamt of Harrison Ford chasing me with a saw. 

Friday:  I woke with a fresh perspective and started cutting the wood for gate #2 while Lee tackled the bamboo.  By midday, the frame for gate #1 was finished and as I was starting #2 Lee announced that the mosquito bite on his toe was actually a botfly.  I won’t go into detail about the larva removal, but I have to admit that although it was disgusting, it was also pretty cool.  Lee’s insect bite and sting collection now consists of: mosquito, scorpion, fire ant, bed bugs, and botfly.  With larva removed we got back to the gate.  I’ll make this quick, up to this point we had been in complete denial that the wood we chose was as heavy as it was hard and that there was no way physics would allow the hinges that we bought to hold the gate that we were building (now at around 50+ lbs). 

Saturday: Determined to finish something on the list, we completed gate #1 (now at 60+ lbs), decided it will make a beautiful table top, cleaned up, watered the cucumbers, packed up our bags and headed back to Puerto…Cuzco, here we come.  Needless to say, the intended welcome sign will have to welcome us at another date.  

gate to cuzco

Botfly sites: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_botfly, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/75013/bot-fly

quick guide to puerto maldonado

ride to sandoval

I have to clear up any possible misunderstanding that I am here solely to work.  Keep in mind that I am surrounded by incredibly diverse landscapes, histories and people and there is no way that I am going to pass up the chance to learn about all three.  I mentioned Puerto’s chaos and ugliness and I’m not going to retract what I said, but I will add that surrounding the city is a lush rainforest full of biodiversity and bordering it is a beautiful river which has carried with its currents countless numbers of people and their stories.  Puerto Maldonado is a young city, founded in 1902 simply to explore the primary rainforest.  The rainforest, not the charm, is what brings people to Puerto; Brazil nut collection and logging (unfortunately) create jobs and the beauty and diversity attract the swarms of tourists who wander aimlessly through the streets until their next rainforest expedition begins.  These expeditions range from National Parks and Reserves to bird watching and the several oxbow lakes left abandoned by the Madre de Dios.  One of the better known orphaned waters is Lago Sandoval; coincidentally the owner of Hostel Tambopata offers guided tours of this lake and in a moment of weakness $75/person didn’t seem like a lot of money.  So, Lee and I found ourselves boarding a long, narrow, wooden boat at 5am that would take us down the Madre de Rios toward Lago Sandoval.  Watching the gray haze over the river give way to the incredible purple sunrise and breathing in the fresh air that gradually pushed the exhaust out of my lungs was worth the moment of weakness.  The macaws, 3 meter cayman, swim in the lake, hike through the primary forest, piranha fishing, sunburn and sunset are a blur and I didn’t wake from my tired stupor until we returned to the hostel 14 hours later.  While taking a much needed shower I noticed a window overlooking me and upon further inspection also noticed the eyes on the other side.  My only response was “HEY!” as I swatted at the face with my shampoo bottle.  Turns out this peeper is a physician at a nearby clinic, I hope this isn’t indicative of the healthcare here in Puerto. 

una familia feliz

A well known landmark in Puerto Maldonado is the 30 meter Obelisco near the city center.  After a day’s work at CECCOT, we were invited by Eder, Rosemary and Kenny to watch the sunset from this tower, which offers a view of the expansive city and the surrounding forest.  For only 2 soles ($0.80) I was able to experience the buzzing city, the sunset and fireworks (for the anniversary of Puerto Maldonado) from a new perspective and witness things that I would have missed had I been 30 meters below: a parade, a carnival and Barney walking the streets, I guess he can “love you” in Peru too.

lucho

It is said that curry possesses physical healing properties.  I did my research and it turns out that curry can be used to prevent diabetes, morning sickness, hair loss and premature graying and can be used as a mild laxative.  I have recently experienced the power of curry and while I can’t affirm the physical healing properties, I am now an advocate of its spiritual healing abilities. 

Before leaving for this “adventure”, Lee did an incredible amount of research on Puerto Maldonado.  This research revealed high crime rates, even higher mercury levels in the fish, a zoo that turns into a bar at night and a Thai restaurant.  Because the majority of his research resulted in danger and doom (and sketchy bars), we assumed that the Thai restaurant was just as risky as eating the fish and quickly disregarded it as a dining possibility.  After a month of avocados, crackers and pasta, however, we were desperate for variety, no matter the risk (enter Anaconda Lodge.)  600 meters from the airport, an 8 sole taxi ride from Puerto, lies Anaconda Lodge, owned by the German Swiss, yet Peruvian born Donald, his Thai wife Waddy and their family, Martin (a brown capuchin), Lucho (a baby spider monkey) and Petra (a flirtatious red howler monkey).  Lee and I discovered Waddy’s Thai food after we arrived after hours without reservations only to be greeted warmly by Waddy’s smile, curry, coconut milk and a bottle of wine.  My spirits were immediately lifted and it was a unanimous vote to return for a few days to gorge on Thai food and relaxation.  After three days of healing Thai food and contagious laziness, we decided it was time to get back to work.  We left Anaconda Lodge with hugs from Waddy, a can of curry, a bottle of homemade coconut milk and yet another affirmation of the kindness of strangers.