Shadow Politics (or, the gospel according to Britta)

Everyone has a darker side, whether we want to or not. This “shadow side” of human nature, described by the psychologist Carl Jung, emerges most prominently when we ignore it. While our human nature under comfortable conditions is loving, communal, and accepting, the shadow can emerge when we are vulnerable- when we are stressed but cannot identify the source of our stress. A shadow has emerged in many Americans today. The success of Donald Trump as a viable presidential candidate has fueled the shadow in many of us, with brazen sexist, racist, poverty-ignorant, and socially-ignorant propaganda. 

Why has this happened? Why are so many Americans ignoring the emergence of the shadow? It’s an anomaly that I will call “shadow politics”. This may have already been coined by someone else, but I haven’t found it on the internet yet. The shadow has emerged due to strained and difficult life circumstances- low wages, lack of access to services, our needs not being met, rising civil unrest. Furthermore, it has come about because over the past 50 years we have lost what it feels like to participate in government. 

We live in a reported democracy, but we are unable to make our voices heard by anyone in power. The current political system is anything but democratic. Our own laws have made it possible for the wealthy to be in power regardless of their knowledge, background, or values, and everyone else is left feeling that they have no voice. Because they don’t. We also live stressed lives; we are unable to critically think because we don’t have time and we’re too tired. 

So what happens? The shadow emerges. Everyone has those days when you haven’t gotten enough sleep, you’re on the verge of a cold, and everything sets you off. You aren’t as kind as you could be on those days. You end up screaming at someone when you don’t mean to, and you’re “at the end of your rope” by the end of the day. What happens if you start to feel like this everyday? You become anxious, depressed, and more vulnerable to the shadow’s comments and ideas. 

When our shadow is reflected in the ideology of a person in power (ex. Donald Trump), it fuels the shadow’s fire. It suddenly becomes okay that we have these racist, sexist, ignorant thoughts, because “that person does too”. Where is our human moral compass at this point? I don’t practice any religion, but because most people do I’ll say this: all world religions are based on love and acceptance. Why? Because then we don’t run ourselves into the ground. 

For example, in the true spirit of irony, Bernie Sanders speaks to improving the social and economic conditions that fuel the shadows of Americans, while simultaneously being slammed by the shadow side of these citizens. He is attempting to reverse the exact condition that is fueling his opponent’s campaign. Regardless of our political or religious affiliation, at our core we all believe that we deserve the best. And the best isn’t ignoring our neighbor and gathering wealth in seclusion. We know that the best means our ability to live fulfilled lives, in community, making lasting relationships and helping others when they are in need.  

Though I mention political candidates, this writing is not intended to sell any one political candidate, or push any political agenda. This writing is intended to critically assess our human condition. But…what can we do about shadow politics during this time in our country? I’m ending with some suggestions, but I also acknowledge that I have a very difficult time with some of them. I’m human too, and sometimes it is really hard to sit in discomfort. It’s a lot easier to jump to the black or white, than to swim around in the grey-ness of it all! Ultimately though, we are all human, and we all want to grow and strive to be better than we are.

1. Accept that there is a shadow side in each of us. Identify the areas in our lives where our dark side emerges: perhaps while driving, at the grocery store, etc. Where do we become the most judgemental and unkind, unaccepting? 
2. Challenge ourselves to notice when the shadow emerges, and counteract the rush to judgement. Being mindful of our thoughts and their true source can help us to better manage our reactions. 
3. Listen- truly listen with undistracted, open ears- to those friends and family members whose ideologies differ from our own. Ask questions. Be open to their freedom of expression. Listen for their shadows and their morals. 
4. Continue to have conversation. Even when it’s hard, or painful, and especially when it makes us uncomfortable. Speak to our shadows, and be vulnerable with others. We’re not perfect, and acknowledging that their are parts of ourselves that we don’t like fosters acceptance in ourselves and others.

Trekking wrap-up: Annapurna Base Camp

It has been a few days. We are now into the second part of our journey back to Whitefish, after a week in Chicago, we are in Kansas City for a week to visit our new nephew (!) and family. But, I will continue the ABC saga as if time has not passed! However, a slight mishap with our computer has rendered it unusable for the time being, and I will not be able to attach photos until a later date. Be patient.

~I didn't end up photographing the stars that night at Annapurna Base Camp, as it was impossible without a tripod, but I did take the time to gawk open-mouthed at the moonless sky as I took my midnight trip to the toilet. It was amazing. The faint outline of peaks was black against a spattered black sky of stars, more crystal clear than any night sky I have ever seen. After all, there wasn't much atmosphere between us and the solar system. We woke up the next morning at around 6 o'clock, though we had been mildly awake for an hour and a half already, awoken by seemingly all of South Korea outside our window getting ready for sunrise. Ben and I were kind of over that whole deal after the Poon Hill experience, and realized that if we didn't extract ourselves from our popsicle beds until 6am, we wouldn't be missing anything.

By the time we emerged from our room, South Korea was already eating their breakfast and getting on their way, which we later found out was everyone else at Base Camp's plan as well. As we woke our tired and altitude-weary bodies, we walked about 100 yards from Base Camp and realized that no one else even bothered to venture further than their "photo spot" outside of their guest house. Even more, no one else of the roughly 100 people staying at Base Camp stayed later than 7:30am. Ridiculous. Ben and I made our way, slow step by slow step, towards the highest point we could see that was not snow. We took turns questioning our motives, as every 10-20 steps we found ourselves gasping for breath, and as we approached the halfway point we stopped.

It was at this halfway point that we decided to create a little video. Perhaps not a "little" video, it may be the world's most epic balsa glider flight caught on tape. And by tape I mean digital video. My dad sent us to Nepal with a box of balsa airplanes for the kids at Harka, and as there were only 9 boys and 11 planes, we had to keep two (distributing the remainder at random would incite rebellion amongst the children). So we brought them to the Annapurna Base Camp/ Sanctuary, nestled at around 14,500ft, and decided to throw them off a cliff. Best idea ever. Ben had to do some repair work before the launch, as they had gotten a little smashed in our 6 days of trekking, but we nicknamed them 'The Nepali Rascal' and 'Gary I', and we threw them in honor of my dad's 64th birthday. They soared like no one has ever seen a balsa glider soar before.

After the flights, we continued up to the glacier lookout, where we spotted some grouse scuttling across the snow. We tried to identify them with locals that day, to no avail, as we were unclear as to whether no one had seen it before, or they just didn't know the English word for them. We then sat at the cusp of a cliff, overlooking a glacier, in full view of the entire Sanctuary for about an hour. It may have been less, it may have been more, but when you are in complete awe of your surroundings- enamored with crashing avalanches, crumbing glaciers, and unknown wildlife- you tend to lose track of time. The view was impossible to describe, but I will try to depict in pictures (uhh, later).

We returned to Base Camp later that morning, albeit only about 9:30, to a completely deserted guest house. Everyone had left hours earlier, and as it was still nice weather, we continued to enjoy our time in the quiet. After all, it's not every day you're at the Annapurna Sanctuary, right? We trekked back down to Macchapucchare Base Camp late that morning, only hiking for about an hour (and boy, did we take our time), ate some lunch, took a fabulous nap, and enjoyed good company.

The remainder of the trek went much as that day did (though we did hike about 5-6 hours each day), and we took about 3 more days to get back to Pokhara. We retraced our steps for the first and most of the second day, and with each step breathing got a bit easier. Though our toes would often feel numb, and our feet like clubs from going downhill, we met two friendly Albertan guys on the second day that made the final days quite fun. We also dipped our weary bodies in the Jhinu Hot Spring, a fantastic rock pool beside the Modi Khola that was unexpectedly nice, and induced the most relaxed sleep of the entire Nepal trip! We spent the night near the hot spring, eating all too much food, and, with the Albertans, decided we were done with this whole "hiking" thing, and were ready to get back to Pokhara and have a nice shower. Luckily, there were two ways back: one that took two days, one that took one. We chose the latter. The last day was a beast, a full day in sweltering heat with little shade, but we were glad we hadn't chosen the staircase-ridden alternate route that took two days. We eventually emerged at Naya Pul, sweaty and exhausted, thrilled to get into a taxi to town. The end of our epic trek was celebrated that night by Ben, myself, and the Albertans over a delicious Indian meal in Pokhara- where we toasted the Himalayas, and the fact that we were offered more menu options than "mix pizza" and "tuna spaghetti". Always be thankful for the little things.

Fast forward: Trek Day 6

As I am already back in the US, I have gotten a bit lax with my blogging. Thus, I'm going to skip day 5 and go straight to day 6: Deurali to Annapurna Base Camp

I must begin this entry with a simple fact: when traveling, I instantly judge anyone with an American accent. Usually, my judgement is proven wrong within the first conversation. However, we sat next to some Alaskans at lunch today, and based on their conversation with a pair of Swiss men, I wanted to punch them in the face. They were a couple, younger than us, the girl still in school and the guy a fisherman. The statement that made me never want to talk to them- "I got food poisoning in Pokhara, maybe from some mutton moms I ate, or maybe that steak I had. I had the steak because, I figured there are a lot of cows around, there must be good steak." In addition to noting that there was nothing to do in Pokhara, claiming that Americans get an average of 5 weeks of vacation a year, and other such comments, I deemed them guidebookless and completely ignorant. They also mentioned no less than three times that they were "competitive people" and had made it to ABC in less than 48 hours (which is quite stupid, and not admirable).

Lame folks aside, today was a grand day in the form of scenery, but definitely my most difficult day yet. At about 11pm last night a mouse discovered that Ben had left his bag of masala peanuts out. Originally thinking Ben was getting a late night snack, I quickly realized that the relentless mouse had discovered our stash. Even after putting away the peanuts, the mouse continued to search the room, digging through pockets and skittering across our beds. I slept with my jacket wrapped around my head and my body wrapped tightly in my blanket, so as to make the least contact possible with Mr. Mouse. The tumultuous night made us the latest risers at our lodge, and when we began that morning, my body didn't want to move. At all. My breakfast was weighing me down, every step seemed to take 1,000x the normal effort, and I hardly paid attention to the scenery I focused on my own body so much.

Luckily, after about an hour and a half, we reached Macchapucchare Base Camp (MBC), I downed a Snickers, and felt a million times better. Perhaps the blood sugar was just a little low! The valleys around MBC were amazing, as only pictures and memories can tell:

After MBC, the dense forests had completely cleared and turned to alpine tundra. We followed a river up, up, up- marveling at small royal bluebirds as they flitted around the banks (still have no idea what they were...). It turned cold quickly in the cloud cover, and we frequently sought shelter behindlarge boulders that lined the path. The valley got slightly wider, and we tried to spot that sheep, but to no avail. Every so often Macchapucchare would appear (the "Fishtail" mountain), unfathomably high behind the curtain of clouds. Though we have had glimpses of the surrounding peaks throughout the afternoon, we will not be able to see the full panorama until morning. I hope to photograph the stars and the moon on the peaks tonight, if I am not too cold to get out of my bed! There is quite a long path along the glacier basin that we hope to tackle tomorrow, winding its way to about 14,500/15,000 ft. 

Oops! Posted too early. Trek part 3

Trek day 4: Tadapani to Sinua

Today was a long day, but it felt great. We were the first to our destination- Sinua- further proving that we keep a pretty decent pace. We bid adieu to Guru, our hilarious porters, and the Russians this morning from the Grand View Guest House, which indeed had a grand view of Annapurna South as we left. We then headed down to our first bridge of the day (down about 2,400 ft, on a staircase), then up to Chommrong (up about 1,500 feet, more stairs), then down again (600ft, stairs) then up again (1,500 ft, mostly stairs). In Chommrong we stopped for lunch at a place recommended for their chocolate cake and "California-style burritos', of which we had neither. We questioned the legitimacy of the restaurant when we walked in and the owner was sleeping on a bench. Sadly, the vivacious wife of the owner did not show up until we'd eaten two plates of fried noodles, and convinced us that the chocolate cake and burrito were worth a stop on our way down from ABC- they were recommended in Lonely Planet and Time Magazine! She also noted that she didn't know what a California-style burrito was, " I've never been to California!" she said, but it was well-liked. I made a promise to stop on our way back, I will not pass up chocolate cake twice!

Besides the ascent/decent being quite hard on the knees, our morning was quite eventful. After crossing our first big suspension bridge of the day we walked right into a 300-odd sheep herd, that continued to ascend the trail with us. I felt like I was in the Red Line/Blue Line Washington tunnel at rush hour, except the business men were horn-toting mountain sheep. Like in the tunnel, don't look anyone in the eye and just keep moving. We then came to the small village of Tilche, where we passed a school and found ourselves on the trail of a 2-year-old with a Smurfs backpack and the biggest plumbers crack I've seen in a while. It was adorable.

 note: sheep 

 

note: chocolate cake and burrito location

Though the day was quite long (6 hours) it felt good, and my knee stopped it's mysterious popping from yesterday. One thing is for sure though- I have never seen more stairs in my life.

ABC trek part 2

Day 3: Ghorepani to Poon Hill for sunrise, and then on to Tadapani

Today began at an excruciating 3:12 am, when we were awoken by the Russians. We were to meet for our hike up Poon Hill at 4, and our alarm was set for, naturally, 3:50. It's not like we had to look pretty. Evidently the group needed a lot more time to primp than us! We arrived at Poon HIll about 40 minutes before sunrise, as we were all movin' real fast this morning, and then anxiously awaited the mountains to alight and our butts to stop freezing. The sunrise was nice over Dhaulagiri (3rd tallest mountain in the world), but we saw equally awesome views later as we began our ascent to Tadapani.

After coming off Poon Hill in the morning we packed up, ate breakfast in the awesome dining hall at the Sunny Lodge (which held handsome panorama views while we sipped masala tea and milk coffee) and got sick and tired of waiting for the Russians, who were evidently waiting until Poon Hill cleared out and then meditated on top for an hour. We left the group and didn't see them again until Tadapani, when two ladies arrived on horseback, very butt-sore.

The trail began with a climb of over 1,000 feet to a pass covered in blooming rhododendrons- white, red, fuschia, pink- absolutely beautiful. The trail was up and down, up and down, quite reminiscent of Everest Base Camp trail. Unlike EBC, however, there are no villages anywhere- only rainforest. The valleys are very narrow and nearly all sheer cliffs, making villages impossible. We walked by a stream nearly the entire day, in tight valleys interspersed with rhododendron forests, oaks, ferns and waterfalls that ended in beckoning plunge pools. 

 

We arrived in Tadapani around lunch time and promptly shared a plate of fries (home cut and fried, no frozen french fries here!) and a refreshing Everest beer. When we awoke from a fantastic nap, the Russians had finally arrived- 4 hours after us! A little soggy from rain, they had made it. 

The climb to the top! ABC, part 1

We just returned from our trek yesterday, with rock-solid calves and a little bit of a peeling nose (on my face), but completely happy and enamored with what we saw and accomplished. Ten days of hiking in the Himalayas will toughen anyone, at times sweaty, at times freezing, at times exhausting, but altogether amazing. We learned that the Incas got nothin' on Nepali stone construction, as we climbed and descended more stone steps than I thought were even physically possible over the course of the trek. Slate staircases scaled all the mountains around us, leading to villages, tea houses, and much of the time, to a single Gurung farm. I've decided to share an assortment of my journaling from the trek, just to give you an idea of what the heck goes on in the mind of someone who only walks, eats, and sleeps for 10 days...

Day 1: Nayapul to Ulleri 5/4/13

Though sweaty, the first few hours of our trek were in the sun, eventually entering a cooler rainforest spotted with large boulders. After a lunch of delicious potato and cheese momos (steamed dumplings) in the quaint, quiet town of Tikkhedunga, we crossed a river and a few amazing waterfalls before we began our ascent to the town of Ulleri. A supposed 3,000-step staircase, Ben and I noted that it must have been an exaggeration, as it was not as bad as everyone made it seem (then again, it's the first day...spritely leg muscles abound). It feels great to be moving again, as our two weeks at Harka were quite sedentary!

Day 2: Ulleri to Ghorepani 5/5/13

We are hiking the first few days of this trek with my friend Guru, a guide, and his accompanying Russian tour group (9 people, 1 English speaker). Let me tell you, the Russians are slowing up. With 4 women over 60, one wearing what appear to be moccasins (the orthopedic kind), I don't think they had any idea what they were in for on this one. Luckily, they are only going to do a 4 day loop of the scenic viewpoint at Poon Hill, NOT the entire trek to Base Camp like us.

Our porters, who really aren't "our" porters as they aren't carrying any of our stuff, are hilarious. The one with aviators is currently playing Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' off his cell, and previously on the trail he played Britney's "Hit me Baby"- to which we all chimed in. I wished I remembered all the dance moves, so as to throw off my pack and bust it out for everyone's enjoyment.

The trail from Ulleri to Nangethani, where we had lunch, was sunny and open for a bit, and then heavily forested in oak and rhododendron, the national flower of Nepal. Though not in bloom, the forest was lush and reminded me very much of our million steps day on the Inca Trail- similarly mossy and dense trees, hanging precipitously over crystal clear streams filled with marble boulders.

After a 2 hour wait at the Hungry Eye Guest House for the Russians, the finally came trickling in. Evidently one of them is ill, as she immediately curled up in her sleeping bag on the guest house floor. Guru let us leave ahead of the group, thank god, as it was about to rain and we didn't want to walk in it if we didn't have to! The sick one ended up taking a horse the remainder of the way, which was good as it did start raining, and was quite steep and difficult at points. Ben and I got to the Sunny GUest House in Ghorepani just in time, and were only rained on for about 20 minutes. A quaint collection of tea houses, upper Ghorepani has a little square, bookshop, internet stand, and curio stores- and potentially a very nice view of Dhaulagiri...we shall see tomorrow when we hike at 4am to Poon Hill for sunrise!

Cooler climes

Finally out of the blistering heat of the flat Nepal south, Ben and I are in Pokhara for the day, getting some last minute supplies before we head out on a 10-day trek to Annapurna Base Camp.

The week after 'My Big Fat Nepali Wedding' went by all too fast, for me at least, and I realized on the bus ride yesterday that I wish there was some way for the Harka kids to be closer or more accessible...because I always want to stay longer! Though our time at Harka flew by, there was a point in each day when I thought that it would never end. With temperatures over 100 degrees, escalating each day above the previous, and humidity indexes of a Midwest August, each day proved to be a test of patience between the hours of  2 and 6pm. Neither Ben nor I had experienced such heat in over two years. The kids were in school most days of the past week, coming home at 4:00 for a climax of crazy-kidness and heat. Most of our time between 9am and 4pm was spent trying to find a comfortable position in which to catch a passing breeze and sweat the least. A rotation of sitting in various shady spots proved to be the best option, but I seem to have formed some butt callouses from the amount of sitting on concrete I managed to accomplish over two weeks.

Whereas Ben was able to read quite a bit, I couldn't focus on a book as much as I would have liked, instead finding a balance between walking around, playing with the kids, dunking my head in water, and reading a magazine article. But in each day there was a point when, despite the constant layer of sweat enveloping my entire epidermis, I was entirely grateful that we were able to come. Albeit short and hot, it was completely worth working a second job for the past two months! Whether it was Suman telling me what crazy contraption he "wants" next (zip line, cutting laser beam, etc.), Srijana and I lounging in the hayloft talking about our futures (and whether or not any of my friends (or myself) will be having a baby soon, that would like her to be an au pair for...takers?), Jamuna crazily jumping all over my body in apparent disregard for the heat index, or Tulie's constant appearance desiring nothing more than some lovin', I feel as though I could never spend too much time with these kids.

On Wednesday, heat rash coupled with exhaustion from sleepless nights (heat and a relentlessly barking orphan home "guard dog") led to a small bout of anger on my part. Luckily Ben passed it off, even though it was mostly directed towards him, as heat-induced. Almost angelically I think, Ariana is staying at Harka for 10 more days, before she heads to Kathmandu and then home. I hope to all the gods in Hinduism that it cools off for her! As we left yesterday, Laxmi thanked us repeatedly for coming, for our donation, and wished us and our families well. We told her that the next time we come, we will be coming in cool weather, and that we will bring with an air conditioner. Evidently air conditioners in Nepal cost around $1,000, which seems ridiculous, but in a constantly fluctuating economy, not entirely unbased. Seeing as we could probably equip the whole home for that much using American-purchased air conditioners, we think that would probably be a fantastic investment. Plus, I've always wanted to be that person traveling internationally with HUGE boxes tied up with ropes from abroad. Plus, then volunteers could come in the summer!

During our time at the home I made some new revelations that were confusing at first, but completely typical of traveling with a language barrier. For one, Sima and Bisal are brother and sister. Apparently I was completely oblivious of this on my previous trip, which was shortly after Bisal had arrived at Harka and didn't really hang out with Sima all that much. Also, I don't think anyone told me. Either way, they are now very much attached, being 15 and 14 years old, respectively. They walk around with their sideways trucker hats and cell phones blaring Nepali and American pop music, bossing the little kids around (as Sima always has). Especially hilarious was a morning when all the younger children got ready for school and stood in two lines while Sima dictated from a bench various commands in Nepali ("touch your toes!" "do 25 jumping jacks!"). And, like typical teenagers, do only minimal chores and like to sulk away by themselves for most of the day (though Bisal is still very much social and constantly asking questions). Sima still has the contagious giggle that she always has, and when we were looking through a Shutterfly book I made for the kids using pictures from my past two trips, I commented on my favorite picture of her as a 9-year-old. "I love this because you look like a little Chinese sumo wrestler!" to which she responded, "No Miss, I look Korean." Oh yeah, I forgot that Nepalis hate the Chinese.

Another revelation, brought to my attention during our hour-lunch with Samurai, was that Jamuna and Ganga are not, in fact, twins. This is confusing to me, as their names are the typical names for twins (two holy rivers), and when they were young, they simply called them the Nepali word for "twin" (jumli, I think). Apparently they are about a year apart, and their real names are Laxmi (Ganga) and Rosni (Jamuna). Hmpf. Ya learn something new every time. Jamuna and Ganga are simply nicknames, that have stuck for good. I only realized this when looking at a new poster that was up on the wall, featuring a photo of each child at Harka with their name in Nepali script. Before traveling I attempted to learn the Nepali alphabet, and practiced sounding out words as often as I could. I realized that Jamuna and Ganga's names were not Jamuna and Ganga on the poster, as Manessa walked up and noticed my confused face. "What, Miss?" she asked, and we proceeded to clear things up. That place never ceases to amaze me.

Between our games of Twister (too funny), throwing balsa and paper airplanes in the field, reading books (all children can now read in English), having dance parties, painting nails and doing hair we had the pleasure of laughing at, and with Domre, the newest addition to Harka. He arrived after we had been there for a few days, and Laxmi said he was to be a "worker, and then go to school". The boy is a gangly teenager of undefinable age, possibly 16, but in class 9. Like most American teenagers, he's always got his headphones in, but unlike most American teenagers I know, he is also constantly dancing and singing along at full volume. He is extremely awkward and has no sense of personal space, but I originally attributed that to his never having been around white people (figured he just wanted to see what we were "up to" in our personal bubbles"). Though he annoyed me a touch during his first few days (when washing my clothes in the shower room, he squeezed himself in to take a fully-clothed shower, thus completely soaking me in the process), he grew on me. I think he started to grow on me when I realized he was just a really goofy guy, and even Nepalis found him extremely entertaining. Out in the field with the kids playing one day, Domre had finished his work tilling, and proceeded to dance and sing, eyes closed, across three fields while the kids giggled their faces off. During Hare Krishna one night (nightly singing/prayer/meditation time), Domre got especially into singing, overpowering all the young children in decibel-level, and Manessa gave me a look as she pointed to Domre that said, "What's with this guy?!" and burst out laughing.

And that, my friends, is one of the reasons I love this country so much. Beneath a seemingly peaceful, quiet countenance, Nepalis have a very similar sense of humor to our own. If they are comfortable with you, they will laugh all night about ridiculous things. They will also be the loudest, shrewdest people you've ever met, but will laugh at the end. Listening to Laxmi talk on the phone makes me wonder why any guidebook would ever refer to Nepalis as "quiet", as it usually sounds like she is irate with the person on the other line, scolding them for years of bad behavior. After hanging up, she'll turn to me and say, "That was my friend, she is going to help make roti tomorrow night!", referring to a jovial conversation. It's why I love the kids so much too, as they are completely hands-on, all-out nearly all the time.

There are certain times though, early in the morning or late at night, when everything at the orphan home moves at a slower pace. Yesterday morning we were to leave at 10 o'clock, and after we'd had our morning tea I sat down with Ashish, Suman, Tulie, and Jamuna and read and entire Amelia Bedilia -like chapter book. None of the aforementioned moved, each one's head popping through a crevice of my body so as to see the pictures. If it had been 4 o'clock in the afternoon, this would not be the case, each one running amok wielding some sort of toy in each hand, screaming, "Miss LOOK!!", but mornings are much more sedate. As the kids got ready for school and we hugged each one goodbye, promising to come back in a couple of years, and that we would not forget them (but not committing to any purchases of "500 hot wheels cars" or "100 light sabers"), I found Tulie in her room sniffling and missing her school pants. She had been wearing them minutes before, and had seemingly taken them off in retaliation to our departure. I picked her up and hugged her and told her we would be back when she is in class 5 (which makes me sniffle), and that I loved her. Because I do. Just an hour before I was popping a squat in the toilet, when Tules came in to talk to me through the cement wall. She asked how long I would be in the toilet, as she wanted to play some more before we left. It reminded me of my first time here, when, as Becca and I were leaving, we couldn't find Tulie anywhere. Only 2 years old at the time, she was in the toilet, taking care of herself. I said goodbye to her through the squatter door. Though I love all the kids, something about that little monkey face gets me every time. Her little dimple and presence 10 feet from my side at all times makes me happy, and even if another kid is asking incessantly for me to buy him/her chocolates, Tulie will be there to set them straight. That's what friends are for.

Marry or Tang?

The past week has been a roller coaster of craziness. The children continue to be on holiday, and with wedding planning, general thirteen-children-mayhem, humid, hot weather and dramatic downpours- it feels like we've been here ages, but in the best way possible! This being my third trip to visit the kids, there was no 'hesitancy' period where they held back, no shy, timid nature, no couple of days of 'testing' me to see if I was the same Britta Miss that they knew. Nope. Their rambunctious selves remembered me completely and we jumped right back into trusting friendship. From the minute Ben and I arrived, we have had nothing but sweaty fun (ending in exhaustion) every single day.

A normal morning with the kids, when they're not on holiday

As we approached the Harka gate a week ago, dripping with sweat after our one mile walk from the Coca Cola Factory where the bus from Kathmandu dropped us off, I spotted Ashish near the chicken coop. "Namaste Ashish," I said quietly as I put my hands together in the traditional greeting. He looked up as he responded with hesitancy at my American accent, "Namaste...[pause...questioning look...spark of recognition] Britta Miss!" before he shot through the yard and the back, screaming to all the others that we had arrived. I love surprising people, and later found out that Laxmi and the kids weren't expecting us until Friday. We arrived on Wednesday afternoon- what a great surprise! Ariana, a young American volunteer, has been at Harka for the past two months and she also looked more than happy to see additional volunteers arriving.

Sujan flies a homemade kite in the field behind Harka

Having another volunteer around is great because it allows each of us to focus our time on small groups of children. Instead of one person fielding the fire of thirteen children, the three of us have been able to  more effectively manage our energy. It was also great to have Ariana around for our 'traditional' Nepali wedding last week, as she was able to capture the whole she-bang on camera! The event was completely planned by Laxmi, as she considers herself my Nepali ama (mother). During our first trip to Nepal, she told both Rebecca and I that if we were ever to get married, we HAD to come to Nepal to have a Nepali wedding as well. Though at the time neither of us was even in a relationship, we laughed and promised we would. Well, four years later and who would have thought that we would both get married and then return to Nepal? Becca's wedding was about a year before ours, so I was able to get a grasp on how serious Laxmi was.

Well, she was serious. The day turned our to be a huge success, which I base solely on the facts that we had a great time, and Laxmi has reiterated how "very very hap-py" the day made her approximately 7 million times since. The day was quite a steambath, reaching into the low 100s.

Sima holds my sari (and makes fun of me, per usual) (Photo: Ariana)

 During the three pre-wedding hours I was restricted to the girls' airless room, as my future groom was not to see me until I was in full wedding attire. In the room I dressed in my wedding sari and had a local 'beauty parlor lady' do my makeup, henna, and hair. Though I almost passed out twice, I sent the girls out to get me water, chocolate, and a piece of paper to make myself a fan, and I managed to save myself from a trip to the hospital. After all my preparation, I realized two things: I love all the girls and how much effort they put into this, and I am not made to wear the color red. My Scandinavian skin screams in sunburned glory when I wear red, and I was wearing a red sari, necklace, headpiece, lipstick, and bindi.

Me and 'beauty parlor lady' (Photo: Ariana)

I managed to sneak a peek at the proceedings a few times before the ceremony began (which I was immediately scolded for, but I couldn't help myself!) and caught Laxmi wearing a towel on her head while she did puja (prayer-like acts showing reverence to different gods) with the guru.

Laxmi performs puja. 

The day before, some of the children had spent almost two hours creating a sort of poop-platform surrounded by gathered branches. They used cow dung to create a rectangular platform, and used the branches as 'trees' around the perimeter. Then, the day of our wedding, the Hindu guru arrived early in the morning and began to create an intricate mandala of colored powders on the platform, which I was fascinated by. It was beautiful.

Soniya and Suman decorate the altar area. 

The guru begins to clean up the altar post-ceremony. 

About an hour after Laxmi began her prayers with the guru, Ben and I were ushered from our separate rooms and we were finally able to see each other 'for the first time'. I use quotes here because if I was a true Nepali bride (of an arranged marriage), I would only have met Ben once in my life, and I would have had no say in his choice to marry me. I am thoroughly grateful for my privilege to choose who I married, but I have also had many serious discussions with Nepali and Bangladeshi friends who have very happy arranged marriages. Though cultures are different, it doesn't mean that one is right and one is wrong.


During the ceremony, which lasted only about 45 minutes, we (not in this order): puja puja-ed an array of dishes of fruit, noodles, and rice in the center of our intricately drawn altar area, which involved blessing each item with a mixture of red powder and rice; walked slowly in circles around the altar; I ran as Ben chased me in circles (which I took literally, and received an uproar of laughter in return, as I was only supposed to pretend to run); tied a knot of fabric around rupees and offerings; more puja puja; exchanged grass necklaces (which I was instructed to keep until I die); exchanged rings (except we forgot to get one for Ben); and then a long white fabric was draped over my eyes for an indeterminately long period of time when I had no idea what was going on. Evidently there was some confusion as Ben determined how he was supposed to drag red colored powder onto the part in my hair, a traditional tikka mark that I was instructed to wear on my head until I died as well.

Ben and I literally "tie the knot" (photo: Ariana)

And then came the dancing. Oh, the dancing! When discussing the wedding prior to the big day, the kids all seemed really excited for the dancing part. But when the day came and our yard was filled with strangers, they became wallflowers. Shyness in full force, Ben and I were left to dance alone to the awesome Nepali band. The band was one of our favorite parts of the wedding, a group of six musicians-- one equipped with a horn that looked like a huge elephant trunk, and made an elephant sound.

The elephant trunk horn

Over the course of my three trips to Nepal, I have come to understand one critical aspect of culture: if there is one thing Nepalis love more than dancing, it is watching foreigners dance. So we did, for hours. I could only take so much, with the heat and humidity seeping into my layers of cotton sari, and after a while I gave Ben the "you think this is the last one?" look after every song. It usually wasn't, but two hours later Laxmi called a taxi so that we could spend the night in Chitwan National Park. She insisted we go, as it is bad luck to stay at your mother's house the night of your wedding, and she's a firm believer in luck.  As we bid adieu to the village of Nauranga, residents threw coins, grasses, and rice around the car, wishing us luck on our wedding night.

Ben and Laxmi dance pre-ceremony

Though we have been at Harka for couple of weeks, Ben is still getting used to both being around kids 24/7 and sitting around because it's too hot to do anything for eight hours of every day. It's not in either of our natures to sit around and not be involved, but I have the precious experience of knowing that just being present and playing with the kids is positive. Slowly but surely (or maybe only because I love being here so much) Ben is becoming comfortable in this loud, chaotic, no-boundaries family-- a far cry from our cabin in the woods where we spent the last five months.

Twister is an international hit! 

Harka Round #3

Just as kooky and crazy as the last time I was here, those kiddos at the orphan home never cease to amaze me! Though they are bigger (older, not necessarily any taller) and can speak better English than ever before, they are still the same little munchkins that Becca and I met 5 years ago. The baby Tulie is now in class 4, and at 7 years old can carry a complete conversation in English while climbing all over my body and probably doing my hair 12 different ways, while little pudge-face Sima is no longer pudge-faced, but 15 years old, sometimes dresses like a rapper (oversized ball cap and low slung jeans) and listens to Nepali pop music constantly. Ahhh, what is the world coming to? Times change, but not too much.

We arrived almost a week ago, and have spent nearly every minute just hanging with the kids, flying kites in the field, painting with watercolors, and playing Jenga (but the crappy Target version, which, you should note, is worth spending more money on the real version). It was pretty darn hot the first few days that we were here, but yesterday it rained nearly all day, cooling off the skies yesterday and today. Hopefully the temperature lasts through tomorrow, as that is the big NEPALI WEDDING day.

Yep, Laxmi has taken me to the market three times already to go 'shopping', which I am all for, albeit the scooter ride itself. We've picked up our outfits, decorations, and some food already, and are headed back today for more.Riding a scooter in Nepal is nothing short of a horrifying experience every time, unless of course, you are blind. With functioning vision, however, you will see that truck honking and rapidly approaching from the rear as you head into an already overcrowded alley way, and thus also see your impending death by smooshing. Despite the sometimes anxiety-ridden ride,  I do enjoy my chats with Laxmi at the stores while we wait, the 25 minutes it takes to haggle with every single shop owner for a reasonable price (just think of what it would be like to haggle with the Gap cashier, the Safeway cashier, and the waiter at Chili's...yep, nothing would ever get done), and the fact that sometimes Laxmi leaves me sitting on her scooter for 15 minutes, only to come back and give me a chocolate and tell me it will just be a little longer. I think I may actually be one of her American children. This, of course, is all leading to tomorrow...the big day. We have no idea what is going to go on except for "drumming man" "lot of food" "wedding cake" and "beauty parlor girls". Should be a hoot!

I will definitely write more about the kids and what happens tomorrow when we are on our "honeymoon" to Chitwan on Wednesday .... until next time.

We're off! En route through the Middle East

My parents dropped Ben and I off at the airport last night, gave quick hugs and said we'd see them again in a month. It felt like we'd only been in Chicago a few minutes because, well, we had.

On Wednesday we had breakfast with friends in Whitefish before hitting the road to Portland, camping en route in the Umatilla National Forest, poaching a "seasonal" camping spot in a narrow, lush valley beside the Umatilla River in eastern Oregon. The valley came out of nowhere, a crack in an otherwise Iowa-like landscape that transported us to another climate in under 20 minutes. After accidentally tossing the shrimp we brought with for dinner into the river (blonde moment), I crafted spaghetti in an IPA+butter sauce with bits of deer stick as we sipped our remaining before heading into the tent for bed. We woke early the next morning and headed to Portland, where we'd leave our car at the R&R household for the next month and a half, while we travel and Russell and Rachel have their first baby! Friday we flew to Chicago, spent a night and day with the family, and headed out on a Qatar Airways red eye to Doha.

And here we are. I've been here before, in Doha, under probably equally stressful circumstances, but at a totally different time in my life. My first time at the Doha Airport was 5 years ago, when I met Rebecca en route to our Nepal journey. We had never met the kids at Harka, had never really traveled to such a place, were both fairly fresh out of college and had been thinking about our trip for months. Now, 5 years later, I get to bring Ben to meet the kids I can never stop talking about, just finished my winter job on Tuesday, and have only been thinking about this trip for about a month. I haven't really even thought about it until a couple of weeks ago when I realized- holy crap! We're traveling again!

The apparent ease I feel with traveling to Nepal from being there twice already is probably good and bad, good in that there is nothing to be nervous about (fyi, for all you scaredy-cats out there, Nepal was just put in "good standing" on the State Department website after being on the warning list for nearly 15 years), bad in that I didn't even look at the visa requirements until three hours before our flight yesterday, when I realized we each needed to have 2 official passport photos with us. Thank the good lord Shiva Walgreens is only three blocks from my parents' house.

So here we are, on the road again, currently posted up in Doha for 10 excruciatingly long hours staring at Middle Eastern men who stare back blank faced (really hope that if I become a foreign service officer, it is not in the Middle East), women with beautiful eyes and equally beautiful Coach purses, and screaming children with heavy sideburns. We both slept tumultuously on the flight over, as the plane held the greatest proportion of children and infants I have experienced on any flight, ever. In fact, at one point I woke up from a dream in which I was at an amusement park racing go-karts with three 5-year-olds, probably incited by the yelping child to my right and my recent completion of the Cirque du Soleil movie.

Luckily, I was just forwarded two videos of the kids at Harka from Anthony, a friend who was just there for 3 months with the kids. The videos were of the quirky girls and boys dancing to Michael Jackson, and it reminded me that some children are just hilarious, and not as annoying as children that have just endured a trans-Atlantic flight. I can't wait to see those kooks in a couple of days, even if it is going to be 1879243 degrees outside!

Stay tuned for more in the coming weeks!

Playing with others

Ben and I are driving across Wyoming, the night sky already glittering at 5:30 in what would normally be labeled ‘afternoon’. Though it is not snowing, the daze of grey skies and an unending, khaki landscape is a far cry from the blooming Chilean springtime we called home for the past month. Being on the road seems like a bit of a blessing though, able to stretch our legs at will and go at the beat of our own drum…slightly. The journey home is not complete yet; 6 plane rides in the past week brought us to Kansas City last night, where we packed up Forest (our blue Subaru, for those of you who haven’t met) and headed west this morning, in order to arrive in Montana tomorrow, have a quick sleep, and open the mountain on Saturday. Crazy? Maybe. Willing to make use of every vacation day? Absolutely.

 

I stopped blogging so long ago, I don’t even know where to begin. When in doubt, begin at the end.

 

In elementary school, we were graded, literally, on our interactions with others. In high school and college, the dreaded ‘group project’ forced us to compile papers and presentations with our peers, seemingly selected at random, but somehow never involving people we actually trusted had a brain in their head. Meant to encourage acceptance, teach life-long cooperation and negotiation skills, and prepare us for a life in the ‘real world’ where things aren’t always going to go according to our specific plans- working with a group as an adult is sometimes fun, often trying, and always good for a laugh and some stories afterward. Let’s face it, every other one dreads working as a group, except those slackers out to do less because they someone else will do more.

 

The night before beginning our hike on the Inca Trail, we had a ‘briefing’ session at our hotel. Unclear as to what exactly we needed to be briefed about, we were met at 7:00pm by a small Peruvian man who, immediately upon meeting us, stated that he was not our guide. He actually had no idea who our guide was. Whoever it was would pick us up at 5:30 the next morning, he assured. In order to hike the Inca Trail, you must have a guide, meaning you must book through a tour agency. Completely against Ben and my natures, going with a group, especially on a hike, sounded like the perfect way to commit annoyance-induced homicide.

 

Perhaps our fear stemmed from working with tour groups throughout the greater part of the year at our hotel jobs, or perhaps it stems from our independent traveling nature. Either way, we were on a tour now and we’d have to deal. But we had one question for our non-tour-guide, “Can we hike at our own speed each day?” Completely mortified that we would have to walk at the speed of our slowest link, this was a crucial element of the $600 hike. He assured us that we would be able to carry our own pace, while waiting to meet the group at the designated rest areas.

 

We awoke the next morning, groggy but excited, and headed out to pick up the remaining 17 in our group. The tour ended up being massive, with 19 hikers, 2 guides, and 20 porters. We hardly paid attention to those getting on the bus around the city of Cuzco, or the porters who leapt onto the bus from a hillside about an hour outside of Cuzco. As we ate breakfast and got on the trail, however, we slowly realized that we had a really young group- everyone in their 20s and early 30s, save for an Indian couple from San Francisco who were scarcely older than that.

 

Thrilled that we would be with an active group, I started chatting with a gal from Toronto. “So, have you ever done anything like this before?” I prodded. “Actually, no. I’ve never done anything like this. I mean, I walk my dog around the park sometimes,” she responded with a chuckle. That being said, we had an amazing group. Ben and I took turns leading the pack with a Norwegian couple and an Israeli couple, the Norwegian couple usually a half mile ahead of us because they, evidently, weren’t as into the scenery as myself and my new camera.

 

Though our guide, Raul, insisted we walk as a group, he could never keep up with any of us and consequently gave up telling us what to do. We couldn’t get lost, as there was only one trail, and there was no way in hell any of us was going to linger near him, as he proved to be thoroughly annoying. By day we puffed up thousands of Andean feet, the second day to the notorious ‘Dead Woman’s Pass’ at over 14,000 feet. The Incas were known for their excellent craftsmanship in the working of stone, and the passage to Dead Woman’s Pass was just one ridiculously long and steep stone staircase. Winding through dense rainforest, skirting desert-like hills and hanging above Inca temples and terraces, the trail itself was ever-changing and amazing. By night we collapsed in tents set up by our porters, and ate massive amounts of food prepared by our camp chef.

 

The bonus about being on a group tour is that everything is included. Three overstuffed square meals were provided for us by our chef and porters every day, who constructed a beautifully ornate spread involving multiple courses. They never all fit on the table all at once. Often a completely unexpected course would appear after we thought we had finished; at breakfast on our third day, a fully-frosted sheet cake materialized after we had finished our bread, jam and pancakes. Nibbling bits of moist banana cake at a table with a tablecloth, I thought, Hm, this must be why the Inca Trail was so expensive. Ah well, better eat another piece of cake!

 

Copious amounts of coca were also part of our all-inclusive trek to Maccu Piccu, which we chewed, drank, and sucked on as though it were going out of style. In a way, I believe it was a go-to for our guides when they encountered resistance or slow hikers. Feeling the altitude? Just chew some coca, you’ll be fine. Can’t relax? Have some coca tea. Not energetic today? Coca candy. Haven’t gone to the bathroom in a few? Coca. Want to feel like an Inca? Coca.

 

As I said before, our group turned out to be fantastic- a bunch of liberal-minded and interesting young travelers from around the world with which we shared stories and good humor. We loved them. Couldn’t have asked for a better group. Our guide, on the other hand, was horrible. Our tour actually had two guides, Raul and Jose Luis, but Jose Luis was the ‘Spanish’ guide, exclusively for 6 Argentinians who were sharing our campsites, porters, and food. However, it was Jose Luis who actually had excellent English and knowledge of the Incas, not Raul. Raul repeated the same ten-or-so facts about the Incas (‘facts’ used very loosely here), every time asking us if we knew what he meant (which we didn’t), and repeatedly addressed the group as ‘Senores’ (really, we weren’t). Thus, nearly all spoken interludes headed by Raul went something like this: “Hola Senores, Senores attention please, Senores. Here we have an Inca outpost, you know what I mean? An outpost. You know what I mean? The outpost was used by the runners. The runners, you know what I mean? The runners, Senores.” We usually did not know what he meant, but were fearful of more conversation if we objected. So we didn’t. I am definitely buying some books about the Incas from Amazon when I get home.

 

The final day of hiking on the Inca Trail is very minimal, only about an hour and a half, followed by a comprehensive tour of Macchu Picchu with your guide. When booking the trail, Ben and I jumped on the opportunity to also purchase permits to climb Huyana Picchu, the peak overlooking Macchu Picchu. This meant we had to be fast in our last day of hiking, so as not to miss our entrance time of 7:30am. Ridiculously enough, all hikers are to wake at 3:30am on their final morning, only to wait in line until 5:30 at the next permit outpost. We waited, and then forged through the masses (of course, our group was one of the last in line at the permit outpost), turning our bodies up a notch and, admittedly,racing to The Sun Gate. We were able to witness a cloud-free sunrise on Macchu Picchu before we made the final summit to Huyana Picchu, where we spent a glorious hour crawling and climbing over the nearly vertical ruins of the Inca temple.

 

When we returned to meet the group below (no one had Huyana Picchu permits but us) we were exhausted, sweaty, and exhilarated. Our group, on the other hand, looked as though they were ready to strangle Raul.

 

Stay tuned for the next quip on 'playing with others'...about Chile!

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

You know what I mean?

Today, we are exhausted. Ben and I sat for over an hour this afternoon in Cuzco´s Plaza de Armas, staring at a fountain. We then went to ¨the world´s highest Irish pub¨ -at 11,000 feet- and watched the entire Manchester vs Arsenal soccer game. We just came off the Inca Trail, four days of waking early, walking up millions of stairs, and relishing in the company of good people, physical activity, and beautiful scenery. It was fantastic.

Between Arequipa and the Inca Trail, we stayed in the city of Puno (also known as the ´folklore capital´of Peru) for three nights, of which one was spent on the island of Amantani, about three slow-boat-to-china hours out in Lake Titicaca. Only three minutes into our taxi ride from the bus station in Puno, we realized that we were going nowhere. The only information I had obtained before coming to Puno was that the city was known for its festivals, and you would be hard off to be there on a day when there wasn´t a festival going on. Stalemated in our taxi, and only about 5 blocks from the hotel we were to stay at, we realized that the thousands of ornately costumed Puno-ians were not letting up their festivities in the street anytime soon. So, we passed along a couple of soles to our cab driver, grabbed our bags, and headed onto the street. Full of color, a repetitious mantra of music, and costumes of what we assumed to be reflections of folkloric characters filled block upon block of Puno. Being as it was nearly impossible to make our way to our hotel, we set down our bags and, entranced, watched the next hour of parade. We came back later to see more, and then even later to see the pinnacle of dancing in the Plaza de Armas. We even left to take a cruise on Lake Titicaca, and the festivities were still in full force when we returned 2 days later!

The typical touristy thing to do in Puno is take a trip to the islands on Lake Titicaca. We decided to take the regular trip, and then spend the night on the island of Amantani with a local family. Our hotel owner was quite helpful and assured us that it would be cheap, our boat would be fast, and we would have a great time. Nevr one to completely believe things in developing coutnries, we knew it would be fun enough just to be on the lake and see the islands. We left early in the morning and made our first stop at the ´floating´islands of Uros. While historically interesting- the islands are indeed ´floating´built upon a strategic arrangements of reeds and roots- the islands themselves no longer house actual inhabitants, but instead an array of overpriced knick knacks and overly dressed ´traditional´Urosians. It was like a floating section of Epcot Center at Disney World.

A little disappointed in the first section of our journey, we ventured onwards into Lake Titicaca with a great group of internationals on our little putting boat. We watched as every other group of tourists sped past us, and realized that we, again, were on the cheapest trip. Luckily for us, the cheapest trips always have the best compatriots, and we chatted away the three hours to the island of Amantani. We arrived to the beautiful island, where most inhabitants still live as they did hundreds of years ago. We stayed with a local family at their farm, in a comfortable room decked out in Minnie Mouse comforters and ridiculous Peru tourism posters. The members of the community rotate tourists each night, so that each family gets a share of the meager stipend that we paid, and each family only gets tourists once every couple of months. It seemed like a good system from our end, as then the money was evenly distributed. We were able to hike up to the top of the island that night, a beautiful 360 view of Lake Titicaca, with our whole group. Needless to say, Ben and I were at the front of the pack, the altitude of about 12,000 ft only minimally affecting us! It felt great to get out and hike, and the journey upwards was a great confidence booster for the upcoming Inca Trail, which caps at about 14,000 feet.

A group of 6 of us stayed at the same homestead (there were about 20 people total), but ours happened to be the most language-inept of the group. With Ben and I speaking minimal Spanish, we attempted to communicate with some snotty French girls (who also spoke minimal Spanish, and little English) and a couple from Lima who only spoke Spanish. There was a lot of repetition to get conversations going, and altogether our meals were a little tedious. Also of note was the final dinner at the house- a miracuous mix of three starches! We have had issues in Peru with the constant double-starch meals (usually a meat plus potatoes and rice) but this meal was...drumroll...rice, potatoes, AND macaroni (with a thin tomato sauce) though kind of tasty, we dreaded the next 24 hours, when our intestines would surely curl up and die.

Our intestines didn´t die, thank the lord, and we traveled back to Puno the next day to see the end of the weekend long festival (of what, we are unclear), to which we realized that Punoians just love life and love a party! The next day we headed northward to Cuzco, where we´d quickly be scooped away on our trek on the Inca Trail. More on that to come!

Oops!

Well, I got real close to completing that post without error, but alas, nothing is perfect. I believe I was about to mention the amazing digs we reserved via airbnb.com- a website I have tried to use before while traveling, but never worked out. Out room was in the open-air apartment of Gaby and Gawain, a beautiful and extremely quiet second floor apartment equipped with a roof clad in wicker and 360 views of the city and mountains. Not only was it cheaper than a hotel, it felt so homey that Ben and I found ourselves sleeping in, taking daily afternoon naps, and eating dinner on the rooftop. And now my hand is falling asleep, so I must retire for the evening. More on Puno in a few days!

Nasca, Arequipa, y Puno

This is something new for me. I am going to attempt to type a post via my iPod touch. Mostly stemming from my current laziness, I have decided to curl up on the deep foam mattress of our 'matimonial' bed at the Hostal Uros in Puno, Peru and see what comes of my fingers on this tiny keypad. As a fervent anti-supporter of a lot of modern technologies, there is something luxurious about being able to type with my pajamas on. After all, nearly every other blog post in my history had been from a shady international Internet cafe, where some I am either surrounded by teenagers on role playing games or creeps on porn sites (that being said, I've never actually seen anyone on a porn site, but in both Asia and Africa, the Internet cafes tended to consist of small, curtained cubicles...leaving intentions up to question).

We have continued on the aptly named 'Gringo Trail' into the heart of southern Peru this past week. It's not a trail as much as a path through Peru that all the white tourists seem to follow, as it covers the most ground and delves into all the famous sights. From Lima to Paracas to Nazca, which was a sweltering town (the town of the horrible sunburn, which only today has abated and is starting to peel) . Nazca was a desert oasis of little interest save for the famous Nazca lines, and a couple other Inca and pre-Inca leftovers. As the only way to see the famous lines is from the sky, we took an early morning flight on our second day. The flight itself was a tour-de-force in a 4 seat Cessna, total flight time being about 30 minutes, we banked circles around each of the 20 or so lines and characters. If you do the math, that equals about a minute a circle; remember to keep your eyes on the horizon, it keeps you partially sane.

A 500+ year old Inca cemetery was just outside of town, so we visited one afternoon with our friendly guide, and marveled at the fact that, though completely exposed to the elements, the 20-odd mummies in the area were almost completely the same as when they had been found, less some gold jewelry stolen by grave robbers. The air is so horridly dry in the area, that the mummies haven't changed a bit during their post-mortems! Fantastic, if you ask me. However, even more fascinating to me was our two consequent side trips. Usually I'm kind of against tour guides stringing you along to their friends' establishments post-tour, as it usually ends awkwardly with a lot if refusals to buy trinkets. Our guide, on the other hand, wanted to show us both the processes of gold mining in the area, and how traditional Inca pottery was made. Being into the arts and culture aspect of anything, I was all for it. The former gold miner turned out to be a hilarious old man who sang whilst demonstrating gold mining in miniature. He made Mr. Rogers land of make believe look like a side show. While he provided a good laugh, the woman who showed us how to make traditional pottery was just extremely sweet. Her studio, which appeared to be the entire backside if her house, reminded me of any other artists'studio, complete with a little old man in the corner painting a n Inca mask. The process was equally fascinating, as the colors are extracted from minerals, painted on the green ware, and then buffed to a shine with a polished stone. The piece is then fired, and the colors remain glossy.

Though Nazca had some cool aspects, as did Paracas and Lima, I didn't really love anything here until we got to Arequipa. It was in this city, glittering with buildings of volcanic stone, perched at about 7,000 ft, in the shadows of 5 volcanoes (only 3 are active!) that I thought, "Okay, this is awesome" for the first time. Sorry desert Peru, you are just too vast for my comprehension. I had no idea there was that much sand, and I've been to Africa. Arequipa was a lush oasis, where we strolled the streets by day, popping in and out of museums, and by night we cooked up delicious fresh foods purchased at the market. We were lucky enough to get a great room through 

Ceviche and Ancient Mummies

Remembering what a sunburn feels like is not the most comforting memory in the world. Though it brings back thoughts of beaches and vacations past, it also brings back the instensely horrible feeling of sunset chills (simultaneously freezing and scalding) and a reminder that you do have nerve endings on every square centimeter of your body. ¡Yo es idiota! I did, in fact, give myself the worst sunburn I have had in years today when I fell asleep in the sun, wearing only a bikini and staring into the shimmering pool-reflection of a crystal blue sky. However, to that I attest that 1) I was wearing only a bikini for the first time in over a year, 2) I was sitting by a pool, and 3) there was a crystal blue sky above. Take that, Alaska! Spending the summer freezing my butt off, wearing layers- LAYERS- of clothing every single day of this past "summer", and having the sun shine on my face a maximum of 8 days the entire 5-month period, I willingly accept the curse of my poolside choice. I guess I could have applied sunscreen. And not fallen asleep.

Our first week in Peru has consisted of eating accented by sleep, with a dash of touring. We started in Lima, where we spent a couple of days sleeping more than being awake. The past month (or more?) has been a rush of driving, organizing, seeing friends, and then- OH!- getting married. We were exhausted. I think I took 4 naps during our first two days in Peru. This, of course, was only aided by the fact that I over-ate, some of the first bites of deliciousness on our journey. Every single meal thus far in Peru has been delicious. My Spanish is improving from nothing to minimal, but I continue to randomly pick something off of each menu I am handed.

I have always determined that this is the best way to order in a country you are unfamiliar with, and in turn you learn a new word! I mean, the worst thing that could happen would be to get some ghastly organ on your plate, and even then, you would be none the wiser and eat it anyway! From chicken to seafood, ceviche to chupa, A-MAZ-ING. Perhaps my favorite dish thus far (besides ceviche which is simply the best way to enjoy fish or seafood, if you ask me) has been "chupa de langostinos". Neither Ben nor I had any idea what chupa was, so I went for it (or langostinos for that matter). It was not in our wholly Spain-Spanish language book. Well, it turns out that chupa is a soup involving everything you could possibly imagine. The one I received was a thick broth, perhaps a puree of sweet potato and spicy pepper (it was orangeish) and it´s contents were not limited to: shrimp/crawfish, mozzarella, peas, potatoes, 1/2 cob of white corn, carrots, egg (like in egg drop soup), and peppers. I am probably missing something here, but don´t ask me what. It was spicy, vegetably, and like moving to a different room at a discotec with every bite. At one point I remember saying something like, "I think I just got a piece of mozarella...wait, I think it was GOAT mozzarella!"

And so it has been with most meals, though offerings have changed quite a bit as we have traveled down the coast. We started in Lima and then bussed it down to Paracas, a small town on the coast where we toured the Islas Ballestas, a series of islands that produces something like 1 million tons of guano every year. Yes, there are some poor souls that go to this island twice yearly to "harvest" said guano for use as fertilizer. Talk about a dirty job, Dirty Jobs guy. Nonetheless, we were not allowed off the boat, and instead spent our time gawking at seals, penguins, seabirds and narrowly escaping "guano rain" (actually Ben was fortunate enough to not escape the rain...hehe). The town itself was rather small, so we roamed the streets and ....er...ate more in our spare time. It was here that I had my first Pisco Sour, the national beverage, which was to my taste buds a fantastic margarita. In fact, the drink is something like grape brandy, lime juice, sugar, and egg whites, but margarita with a foamy top it was to me!

Denali!

The only day I have had to explore the park so far.... at least it was the awesomest!

Denali photos from the sky

The Great One

Sometimes it is hard, even for me, to comprehend my life. All this moving around, changing residences, changing jobs, and traveling was hard for those closest to me for a long time. Even now it's probably hard for my parents sometimes, but my friends have gotten used to it (it seems) and others just shrug it off. While I like to think that it has kept me active and excited about life, even I find it difficult sometimes to be in constant motion, and it often takes a toll on me physically. After being in Denali about a week, I came down with a head cold, which is really not that awful. However, when starting a new job and trying to make an impression, staring into space and speaking with a voice like a 70-year-old throat cancer survivor feels a little awful. No matter what I did, I couldn't kick it. I tried to sleep a lot, but I'd just get angry when I slept.

So today, we went for a hike. I was a bit wary at first, thinking my stamina with this cold wouldn't be the best, but I went anyway. A bluebird day in Denali is rare, and the chance of seeing Denali itself is even more rare. It's been on and off rain-snow-hail-sleet-sun here for the past week, in an unseasonably cold spring (so say the locals), and there was no way I wasn't going to spend some time in the sun today. So after lunch, Ben, our new friend Mike and I headed out to the park to cruise up the road and find a place to walk in. Denali NP is huge- twice the size of Glacier in area, 2 million square miles- but is very open. There are miles-wide floodplains creating valleys between the mountains, obviously remnants of massive glaciers. There are still massive glaciers all around Denali itself, and even some of the "lesser" mountains, which are still all over 14,000 ft. Take that, Montana.

Even more incredible is the accessibility of hiking in and around Denali. Because it is the arctic tundra, there are little to no trees. There are some, but avoiding clusters of trees is fairly easy. We parked on the side of the road, a bit past the 12-mile mark, which happens to be the normal turn-around point for personal vehicles during the normal season. Mike has worked in the area for years, and pointed out a footpath that skirted up into the brush and quickly emerged into a ridge walk. Within an hour we were on the ridge, albeit rather out-of-shape for ourselves, squinting into the distance at a cloud-free Denali. We figured we were at about 80 miles from the massive mountain, and it's summit about 16,000 above our heads. It is huge. Though the peaks around it are tall, none of them compares to Denali itself.

 Denali/ Mt McKinley

moose on the loose!

Getting out in the air, letting my nose run a little bit, feeling the sun and wind chap my cheeks was a nice reminder of the beauty in these ridiculous places we choose to inhabit. This summer I hope to write quite a bit in this blog, as I would like to practice my writing and bounce ideas off of the soundboard that is the world wide web. Maybe getting my ideas out in the open will challenge me once and for all to start this book that has been festering in my mind for the past couple of years. Either way, I will provide photos of our escapades in Denali, and maybe a story or two about our time here, but facing the facts about our summer: it will be short and it will be busy. Total immersion in the workplace needs to end somewhere, and hopefully writing here can be my escape.