Archive - South America
The Compleat Works
ON THE OVERNIGHT
3AM. Can't sleep. I've thrown up twice already. Motion sickness from the erratic bus ride. It's a rough road full of curves and switchbacks through the mountains. It feels as though we're tossing about in the high seas; constant pitching from side to side. We're on the overnight bus from Cuzco to Lima. Twenty-two hours. Plenty of time to think and reflect on our time here in Peru.
We're heading home to where our journey began. It'll be our third time in the capital city and most likely our last. We leave for Europe tomorrow evening and both of us seem ready for a change. Six weeks in Peru. Where did the time go? Two weeks volunteering around Lima; two more backpacking through the Amazon Basin and Inca Trail. The rest...I guess it was all in transit, like tonight. Find a hotel. Arrange a tour. Hurry up and wait. Acclimatize to the altitude then recover from illness. Time. It's always ticking. And we have little control over it.
We'll spend the next twenty-four hours preparing to leave and saying goodbye to our new friends and
family. There's Pastor Katharine, a missionary from Canada, whom was instrumental in coordinating our volunteering; and Alvaro, el hermano de mi tia Aleyda, whom welcomed 3 virtual strangers into his home on short notice; our host families and church friends in Collique and Marques; the kids from daycare; the elders from bible study. All the angels among us whom lent a hand, came to our aide, or guided us through this journey. We leave them behind, but take their memories along. Like Miguel, a young boy at La Luz Divina, whom drew a replica of my tatoo on his own arm because he wanted to be like Mike. Or Rosita, the old woman whom brought Lynne to tears after receiving a gift of warmth for the night. And Francisco and Pedro, two brothers from the jungle, whom showed us the value
of simple entertainment. Also Karen and Celso, two children with special needs that reminded us of the
work yet to be done. We can't forget Beto's wisdom; Ishmael's sparkle; Marlena's cooking; Ian's touch;
Gloria's heart...oh, so many! Because of them, we have been changed. Laughed a lot. Cried a little. Grown. They've opended our hearts; opened our minds; opened our eyes. And for that, we are forever grateful.
Cuidate Peru.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
10/19/03
A GROUP EFFORT
Update From Mike
Inca Trail. Day Four. 3:45 AM. We're walking down a very steep part of the trail in total darkness. It's slippery in sections and clouds have covered the moonlight so the going is slow. My flashlight is dim; it's running out of battery. Lynne's torch has already burnt out and we have no spare batteries. But all is not lost for we are marching to Machu Pichu with new friends and this entire expedition has been a group effort.
There are ten of us in all; backpackers from around the world. Two are Dutch; two Malaysian; one Brazilian; an Austrian; and a German. Plus Cedric, who can best be described simply as European. With two official nationalities and over half a dozen different residences, he's a hard man to pin down. Lynne and I are the Americans and round out the group of internationqa travelers.
Lynne has been ailing for more than a day now. She has taken ill with a stomach virus and is fighting cramps with every step. Dehydrated and fatigued, she carries on slowly and silently. Though she has been bringing up the rear for most of the trek, she keeps her feelings of disappointment inside. I know she is hurting. But she has not been abandoned. Everyone has pitched in to help because everyone can empathize with her situation. Being sick far from home is bad enough, but being sick while hiking in high altitude mountains for 4 days and 3 nights is not something any of us would want to experience.
Ronald carries two packs so his wife, Roos, can shoulder Lynne's. Cedric offers medications and his travelmate, Hannes, has given a bottle of Gatorade. Food, water, walking sticks. Everyone has offered something. Joseph and Vijay take turns walking and talking with her. Too vigourous to walk her pace, Leo still checks in at every rest stop. All ask how she is feeling. All are genuine...about a great many things.
The comaraderie continues at tea times and meal times. We share snacks and stories, meals and memories. I am reminded that this is a group of politically-minded people, concerned with the state of the world and their place in it. Opinions are freely stated, then debated. Ideas shared and compaired. The discussions grow lively, then die off quietly. And everyone walks away a little wiser about the other persons' world and of the interplay between our nations. By sharing a bit of ourselves and exposing our vulnurabilities to the group, we allow a connection to be made. And through this connection we start to understand our differences rather than fear them. Maybe that's why everyone is helping to care for Lynne and why this trek has seemed like a group effort from the beginning.
Joseph has just given me some extra batteries from his pack. My torch shines much brighter now; it makes negotiating the jagged and steep steps much easier. Lynne has been managing by the illumination of Janigera's head light from behind her. It is extremely bright and allows both safe passage in the dark. It will be dawn in a few hours and by mid-morning all will share in the delight of seeing Machu Pichu from the Sun Gate for the first time. It will be a glorious moment because everyone will have perservered. But until then, we'll keep walking slowly together in the dark and get by with a little help from our friends.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
Elements of Backpacking
Day 2 of the Inca Trail
Oct. 17, 2003
Update from Lynne
As Mike and I first started dating and were talking about our interests, we both mentioned that we enjoyed backpacking. Later in conversation, we discovered that our definitions of backpacking were different. Mike has backpacked throught the busy streets of Japan, stayed in hostels in China, and traced the Mayan route throughout Central America. I have worn my Pack to hike the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming, to explore Glacier Park during my summer in Montana, and to canoe/portage the Boundary Waters of Minnesota.
As our relationship grew, so did our interest in travelling the world together. During the planning stages of this worldwide trip, we both brought our backpacking experience to the table. Mike brought his experience with arranging transportation/lodging and an extensive knowledge base of geography and history to answer the "where" question. I brought my experience with gear (lightweight, quick drying fabrics, quality footwear) and a familiarity with church ministries to help answer the "why" question.
As Mike and I are trekking around the world, we continue to combine our previous backpacking experiences to make this a team effort. For the first month, Mike has been in the lead as we traverse the cities, jungles, and roads of Peru. He has been instrumental in arranging local travel and providing insight into this lifestyle. These aspects have been very new to me and I am learning quickly (baptism by fire!) The first part of this trip has been a learning experience for Mike as we have combined volunteer experience with travel, stayed in one place for longer periods of time, and gotten to know locals rather than other travellers.
As we hike up the Inca Trail yesterday to find a beautiful vista of the Andes Mountain Range, we again pooled our experiences. Coming to a clearing and seeing the snowcapped mountains and hearing the ripple of a stream, all with a pack on my back, made me feel so at home. This was my element! I hadn't realized how much I had missed it over the past couple of years. Mike, too, had been longing to put his pack back on after two years. This was evident earlier in the day as I watched him sharing travel stories, world politics, and jokes with the other travellers while waiting for a tardy van. It was fun to watch Mike light up in his element!
As we sat around the lunch table with our group after a long, rigorous day of hiking, new definitions of backpacking were being formed for each of us. Mike was feeling aching muscles and frustration with the rough terrain. He was also feeling the satisfaction from carrying his pack up a steep trail and being rewarded with magnificent mountain views. I was feeling naiive about world politics and not having any world travel stories to share. I was also feeling energized by the conversation around me and by learning firsthand about people and places throughout the world.
As we continue to forge the trails and cities to come, our definitions of backpacking are changing and it looks like for the first time we are both in our element.
10-17-03
AN AMAZING RACE
Update from Mike
Inca Trail. Day two. 2:30 pm. Sometimes they pass us like we're standing still; other times they huff and puff along side us. Either way, they'll beat us to the top. Half our size they carry twice the weight. Tents, pots, pans, food. They bring it all on their backs. Things used to be worse we're told. Before the regulations, it was common for them to carry upwards of 50 kilos (110 lbs). Now they are limited to twenty-five which still makes my load seem ridiculously light. Yet, I struggle.
Step after step I labor to breathe. Too many direct assaults up the steep steps takes my wind away. My feet ache; my quads quiver. I have to stop every 20 steps or so just to slow my breathing rate. I check my pulse every few minutes. If it's too high I sit down and rest for a while. My body feels like it's sprinting around a track, yet I'm hardly moving at all. It's the altitude that creates these problems. We've been walking nearly five hours now, all of it uphill. And it's getting colder as we climb into thin air. Already I've been forced to trade my short-sleeved T-shirt for a turtleneck and tuque. By the time I reach the first pass I'll have to add a sweater and jacket. I can see the top of Warmiwa�ascu now which means we're nearing 4200m (13,780 ft). It's the highest elevation I�ve ever climbed.
Cheering begins to trickle down the mountainside as other climbers encourage us to push on. I'll need the shower of appreciatation in order to finish. I feel like crawling just to give my legs a break. Through the whisps of clouds blowing over the U-shaped pass I can see a few members of our tour group that have already finished, but the porters are nowhere to be found. Most likely they've already started down the hour-long descent. By the time we reach camp, they will have our tents up and hot food waiting. An amazing race of people these descendants of the ancient Inca. Quiet and subserviant, they labor long and hard to bring tourists along this trail every week. Though we pay handsomely for the adventure of the Inca Trail, they will see little of the money. Most winds up in the governments coffers as Machu Pichu is Peru's vaca gorda or cash cow. But these people are the reason we even walk this trail. Because within their presence, we feel the ghosts of an empire past. Watching them gives us a semblance of what the ancient cultures of the Andes may have been like before the Spanish conquistadors destroyed it all.
But much like ghosts, these modern-day indigenos people are elusive. There were seven porters, a cook, and a guide with our group when we left camp this morning. All have disappeared now, leaving us alone to follow in their footsteps and wonder about them in the wind.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
10-11-03
TO CUZCO
Update from Mike
My head aches. It feels like my brain is swollen. My fingers feel a bit numb too which makes it hard to hold the pen. We took a couple of aspirin about an hour ago but they seem to have had little effect. We're trying to drink fluids but feel more sleepy than thirsty. We left Arequipa around 9 am heading for Cuzco by day's end. We're on a local long distance bus which means it was cheap, S/.25 ($7.14 US) per person. We chose this bus because we wanted to travel by day; all the others go through the night. And after our miserable experience on the overnight bus from Lima, we decided to a change in scenery might be nice. The views are breathtaking. First desert mountains that reminded me of southeastern New Mexico; then high plains that resembled what I saw in Inner Mongolia 3 years ago. I can only imagine what Machu Pichu will look like when we finally reach our destination.
As we move higher into the Andes we gain elevation by the hour. We began the day in Arequipa at 2325m (7628 ft) and are nearing Juliaca at 3822m (12, 539 ft). The road is bumpy and our bus rumbles and shakes with every jolt. The armrest for the seat in front of me keeps falling down on my knee. The woman occupying the seat is oblivious to this nusciance but Lynne laughs whenever she sees it happen. We stop every so often at little towns or tiendas to let some passengers off and take others on. Because of this, we've been privy to 3 traveling salesmen so far. They board the bus, stand up front, and began rattling on about their product for about 15-20 minutes. Then they pass out some samples for everyone to see up close and talk a little more. After this they usually come around to collect the money. If you don't want to purchase the product you simply hand it back when he comes to your seat. One poor chap instinctively tried to hand us a pamphlet on learning English fast and easy. After realizing we could probably write a bigger book on the subject, he laughed and smiled at us. It's mild entertainment. Much like playing Bingo on the luxury buses.
Six more hours I'm told, mas o menos. We've already been on the road for five. I guess it's not going to be an 8 hour ride like the ticket agent said. Typical. Oh well, we're committed no matter how long it takes. At least we're on our way to Cuzco. And with time, maybe my headache will go away.
10-8-03
REUNITED
Update From Mike
We arrived back in Lima about 3 pm, a little late due to flight delays out of Iquitos. We were worried that the tardiness would foul up our plans to meet with Shaun. But it didn't. He was there waiting with a big smile and open arms as soon as we stepped out of the terminal. He'd spent most of the day trying to meet us at the airport, an adventure he would share later. But first there was a lot of catching up to do. It has been nearly a month since we shared those first days in Lima together getting our feet dirty in the city centre. Since then he traveled south to Pisco, Nasca, and Arequipa before heading to Lago Titicaca and Machu Pichu. We stayed in Lima for 2 weeks volunteering before heading north to Iquitos for our adventure in the Amazon jungle. Our crossing has come about by chance as neither of us was scheduled to be here on this date. Shaun is doing South America on a shoestring and had intended to be in La Paz by now. But do to unexpected political turmoil in Boliva he was forced to turn around. We stayed in Iquitos a few days longer than planned. After all, not all gringos get invited to dance salsa and meringue at the hottest discotec in town. It would seem a rare and wonderful opportunity to reunite has come our way.
So whether by fate or coincidence, we are all back here in central Lima today. Our time will be short though, as all of us are looking to leave in the next day or two. It's the nature of the beast we call backpacking. We want to head south now to Cuzco, the gateway to Machu Pichu; Shaun is looking north towards Ecuador. But for the next 24 hours, we will laugh and share and reminisce like family. And nothing exemplifies that more than an airport reunion.
10-5-03
JUST LIKE MOM
Update From Mike
It felt like we were refugees, all bunched together in a small wooden motor boat. It was raining pretty hard. You couldn't even see the other side of the river. I don't know how the driver could see where to go. Antonio, one of our tour guides, sat perched at the bow drenched from the hard rain. He gestured back to the driver indicating any necessary course changes. Another passenger was continuously bailing out the boat just to keep us afloat. There were small leaks everywhere. The rest of us, about 13 in all, sat huddled together under a blue pastic tarp we held tightly overhead. The river was rough and the waves kept surging over the sides of the boat. My left leg was soaked from repeated swells on the port side. Lynne sat in the center feeling guilty about having such a dry seat and trying to assuage the fears of fellow passengers. The woman seated next to her seemed scared. She clung tightly to her baby. And when the boat rocked abruptly she began praying aloud in Spanish. In that instant, she reminded me of my mother.
Mom hates the water. Always has. Whenever we visited the ocean she only went in up to her waist. Whenever we swam in the river back home she always stayed on the shore, watching us gambol and play. She never learned to swim properly when she was young, so has feared drowning ever since. Perhaps this limitation was the reason she wanted us to learn. My sisters and I are all great swimmers and have no fear of the water. We're like fish. Point us toward a source of water and we'll run straight for it. Whether river, lake, or ocean, we love to swim in it. It comes natural to us. After all, we grew up in a little river town. But not mom. She feels uncomfortable in the water. Even more so in a small boat. Unexpected rocking spooks her; dark clouds worry her; high winds panic her. And with good reason.
It's no fun being caught in a rain storm when you're on a boat. There's no where to run; no where to hide. You're totally exposed to the elements and at the mercy of the storm that has engulfed you. You feel helpless. Hopeless. Desparate. Many try to bargan with God. Others just begin to pray. The woman seated next to us has. Just like mom did.
We were out on the river for the day. Water skiing, tubing, swimming off shore. Our typical summer Sunday routine. Mom saw the storm clouds developing from her usual station on the beach. She tried to warn us but we were all having too much fun to notice. By the time the rains came, we were bouncing through choppy white-capped water heading south in an attempt to outrun the storm. When this failed, we turned tail and headed north towards safety in the marina bay. Through it all, mom sat on the floor in the center of the boat. She was wearing two life preserver vests around her neck and praying out loud. The rosary I think. This time it was me perched at the bow trying to help dad navigate through the down pour. When we finally docked the boat, mom swore she'd never step foot in it again. But she did.
For nearly an hour our small vessel hugged the shore, slowly making it's way down the Rio Ucayali, one of nearly a thousand tributaries that feed into the Rio Amazonas. Eventually, we reached our destination, the isolated town of Jenaro Herrera. The rains finally let up as we all filed out of the motor boat a little wet and weary but without major damage. As we climbed the hill leading to the main road in town, I saw the woman who'd been praying aproach her husband. In my mind, I thought she might be swearing off another boat trip or rebuking the father of her children for putting them in harms way. But more likely, she was simply breathing a sigh of relief and thanking God that it was all over. Just like mom.
10-4-03
EVERYTHING UPSIDE DOWN: REFLECTIONS ON FALL IN THE JUNGLE
Update from Mike
Instead of the fall season, we are experiencing spring.
Instead of cool autumnal breezes, we feel only hot humid air.
Instead of snuggling close under a blanket, we are sweating it out inside mosquito nets.
Instead of taking a shower every morning, we are bathing once in the river this week.
Instead of donning a sweater to beat the chill, we are coating ourselves with DEET and sunscreen.
Instead of drinking cold water from the tap, we are taking it from quartered tree limbs.
Instead of shopping at HyVee for bargains, we are chopping down food from palm trees.
Instead of hunting pheasants early in the morning, we are stalking tapiers.
Instead of watching the World Series at night, we are watching the sunset.
Instead of listening to the drums and bugles of marching bands, we are hearing the croaks of frogs and chirps of birds.
Instead of driving cars home from work, we are paddling canoes upriver to camp.
Instead of helping small children learn to play games, they are helping us.
Instead of watching the premiere of SURVIVOR, we are living it.
10-2-03
WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE
Update from Mike
It's 1:30 AM. I've just been awoken by 3 men. Our ship has stopped. We must be at some kind of port along the river. They want to know our destination. I reach into my pocket and pull out the brochure from our travel company, The Real Adventure. I point to where I think we're getting off and say, Aqu�. Here. They scribble something down on a clipboard, then ask another question. It's difficult to hear them over the loud hum of the boat engines so I point to our guides asleep 5 hammocks down and indicate we are with them. They disappear in an instant and I am left rocking silently in the air. It reminds me that things can change very abruptly here in the jungle. In fact, they always seem to.
It was like this when we first arrived in the Amazon basin. Lynne's backpack rolled slowly through the baggage claim. It was the last piece of luggage put on the treadmill, which left us virtually alone in the small terminal at Iquitos International Airport. We would be easy prey for the vultures that awaited outside. We hadn't even stepped outside the terminal when the swarm of taxi drivers hit us. With everyone shouting at once it was impossible to hear a fare from anyone. I tried to select a driver but everytime I nodded yes to one another would push in closer and steer us toward his moto-taxi. Unbeknownst to us, there were 2 young women in the crowd whom were sent to escort us into town. Personal friends of one of the Luthern pastors we met in Lima, they were equipped with our names and time of arrival. Unfortunately, when they tried to get our attention everyone else heard our names. Soon the entire mob began yelling MIKE. MIKE. MIKE. A sound reminiscent of a flock of seagulls when repeated sternly by a mob. Eventually, our new friends made their way through and rescued us into the safety of a moto-taxi bound for the city centre.
Abrupt change. It seems to be the way of the jungle. Lizards cling motionlessly to trees for hours, then disappear as if they were never even there. Thunderclouds roll in and out interrupting long periods of sunshine with short but fierce down pours of rain. Life here has it's own rhythm; it's own time.
We are traveling down the Amazon river on a slow ferry through the night. It's part of our 6-day adventure tour through the jungle, though this is not our first boat tonight, nor will it be our last. We boarded around 5 o'clock, arriving early to secure a good hammock spot on the top deck. We layed around for nearly 2 hours making small talk in Spanish with our guides and watching other ferries come and go. Around 7:30 pm one of our guides informed us that this ferry was not leaving tonight and we would have to find another. Quickly. With no more information than that we tore down our hammocks and moved all our gear off the large passenger ferry and onto a small motor boat waiting on the aft side of a neighboring barge. But before racing off into the night, we first had to stop and refuel. By the looks of our guides, I had a feeling we were being Shanghi'ed into paying for more fuel and oil than was necessary. Before nights end, we would also be charged double for passage to the ferry down river, no doubt because we are a tour group and in dire need of reaching our morning destination on time.
So there we were, victims of abrupt change once again. For 45 minutes we navigated the Amazon at high speed in the dark of night. Two young men sat perched at the bow looking for dangerous objects floating in our path. Another man operated a bright spotlight from the rear, illuminating the water ahead with periodic bursts of light. Ten seconds on. Three seconds off. More time on when we were closer to the shoreline. Less when we weren't. There's something very exhilerating about traveling in a speed boat at night. Sort of like downhill skiing. Frightening and fun at the same time. As we approached the vessel we'd been chasing through the night, I wondered how this escapade would end. Would we shore up somewhere to make the transfer of cargo and passengers or would we stop and drift in the middle of the river to make the exchange? Surely we wouldn't do it on the fly. Silly me. I forgot. Everything happens abruptly here.
But don't worry. It was a slow-moving ferry.
10-5-03
From a boat somewhere in the Amazon River Basin
UPDATE FROM LYNNE
They hurt. They hurt bad. Right now the ones on my right elbow have center stage. A little while ago, the 89 little red bumps on my left knee consumed all of my attention. Oh wait, now my right foot is screaming at me to scratch it.
The morning after our only night camping in the thick of the jungle, my skin was itchy and I could feel bumps through my pant legs. As we gathered for our mid-morning breakfast, I raised my pant leg to have a look. Mike and the guides gasped as they looked at my legs. "I've already had chickenpox" I thought, "so what could they be?" The guides talked with each other in Spanish and diagnosed me with an allergy to mosquitoes. I looked around at everyone else. They didn't show any evidence of these annoying creatures eating them. The guides handed me a lemon and suggested that I go back to my tent and rub the lemon on my bites. It is supposed to help alleviate the pain. So off to my tent I went. I still can't figure out how rubbing acid on these little wounds is supposed to feel good!
My bites are the "talk of the town." Whether with the family at our jungle home or on the small boat earlier today, everyone stares at my freakish array of dots and comments on them. They say I must have "sangre dolce (sweet blood)" or that it is all part of the jungle adventure.
Maybe I'll become a legend in these parts. "Gringa con sangre dolce." Maybe these bumps are part of my souvenir of the Amazon. In time the bites will fade (hopefully), but the memories of this wonderful wilderness will not (for sure).
9-29-03
LLORA
Update from Lynne
The contrasts continue...Last Sunday we left our new found friends in Collique. We were sad to leave as we had formed strong bonds with our host families, teachers, and of course the children. We were also apprehensive about where we would go next. We had gotten into a routine in our home for a week. As Mike says...the dynamics are always changing. It was time to move on. so, we snapped photos with our two families and exchanged hugs and well wishes. It was especially hard to leave Betho, Matilde, and their son Ishmael. The are wonderfully kind hearted people with a spark in their eyes. We got into Pastor Katherine's car and drove an hour to our new home in Marquez.
When we arrived in Marquez, we were introduced to our new host family. Our new family was very welcoming and conversational. Their home was a definite contrast to Cathy's home in Collique. This 2 story home had a full roof, cement floors, and was very well kept. We could tell by the home, clothes, washing machine, and electronic toys that this family was of a little higher economic class. After settling in a bit, we headed across the street to Luz Divina Church. The church service was lively with guitars, drums, and clapping accompanying the songs of praise. The congregation here was more varied in age than in Collique. Here, there were toddlers, teenagers, adults, and elderly members. Their enthusiasm was contagious. After the service we were introduced to six people that would be our hosts for the week.
Amid the contrasts, on Monday the awkwardness of figuring out how we fit in and can help out returned. As the week continued we became more comfortable and set up developmental screenings for the kids. We approximated the standardized tests we are used to, using the materials in the cupboard of the after school program. Most of the children were right on the mark. Simple suggestions were given to the teachers to benefit all of the kids.
On Wed. we led games for the older kids. It felt like 4-H camp in Spanish! When we were playing a game of tag I was tagged out and escorted to the out bench. I rubbed my eyes and let out a dramatic, fake cry. the kids loved it. So, they asked for it over and over. They kept saying "Llora, llora" (cry, cry) and when Mike or I would put on a less than Oscar worthy act of a cry, they would giggle and laugh.
That evening, Mike and I led games and exercises for a group of elderly adults. It was great to hear the laughter as the elderly hands grasped a make-shift parachute (bedsheet) and bounced balls around like popcorn. Usually hunched backs straightened to alertness to keep the ball in play. Pastor Benjamin instinctively used his head to bounce a stray ball back into play. Soccer runs deep here!
As we were gathering our supplies together to leave, one of the women with a hunch in her back, Rosita, pointed to my light blue bedsheet and said something in Spanish. Her Spanish was rapid and because of her stooped posture her words were hard to make out. All I caught was "cold, not at my house" and gestures toward the sheet. I picked up the folded sheet and leaned over to hand it to her. As I did this I was a little unsure about what she was requesting and about giving up the only bedding I had packed. She held the sheet in her aging hands a moment and said "Gracias, gracias." She then started crying along with her words of thanks. The tears came to my eyes and all of my uncertainty was washed away. I looked over at Mike through my tears to see his eyes swelling with tears as well.
"Llora, llora"...this time it came unprompted and from the heart, in the same place we were standing a few hours earlier with a group of children around us.
9-29-03
SINGLED OUT
Update from Mike
Have you ever been singled out? Noticed apart from the crowd? Felt bigger than the event you've come to see? We have. Twice yesterday we drew crowds of attention. Both times it was groups of school children. Celebrity...it's wonderful yet awkward. They stare at us in droves. Some approach close and touch the hair on my arms; others keep their distance but watch closely to see what their brave counterparts will do next. Most want to hear us speak some English. �Como se dice manzana en ingles? Apple. �Perro en ingles? Dog. �Sandalia en ingles? Uh...Lynne?!
They love our hair and our eyes and our clothes. We are constantly asked what the time is, not because they need to know but because our watches light up and go "beep." And if ever I bring out my camera, they go berzerk! Un foto de mi, Miguel, un foto por favor!
We attended a school parade yesterday afternoon and a talent show in the evening. It was some kind of anniversary for the colegio (secondary school) but it reminded me more of a homecoming celebration minus the football game. There were even marching bands representing the different colegios from the area. But here there is no separtaion between church and state. And with over 90% of the population in Peru Roman Catholic that meant carting a huge statue of the Virgin Mary through the streets of Marques for over 2 hours. On every street there were elaborate murials of painted flower petals and sawdust decorating the ground. The parade procession would approach slowly, stop to dance around and cheer, then walk directly through the center of the design weaving the statue from side to side trampling all over the murial until there was nothing left.
The strange thing was, we were a bigger draw than the parade itself. Maybe they do this festival every year. Maybe we're the first greengos they've see up close in their tiny town. Or maybe they really do think we are Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts. Nah!
Regardless, the experience of being singled out can be very beneficial. Whether glorified or vilified for your differences, if you put yourself into a minority situation sometime, I guarantee you'll learn to see with new eyes.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
9-25-03
A ROOM OF MY OWN
Update from Mike
I'm still sick. The 24-hour bug I caught last Saturday has turned into a week long irritant. I'm accustomed to stomach problems and bowel problems and occasional vommiting and diarrhea. It's expected when you're on the road in foreign lands. Don't drink the water. Eat only peel-able fruit. Avoid uncooked vegatables and questionable meat from the street. All the rules are geared towards keeping your digestive tract free of invaders. But what I've developed can best be described as a good-ole-fashion common cold. Or, more specifically in my case, mild bronchitis. I cough a lot and my voice sounds hoarse. Phlem has overtaken my sinuses. Sometimes it runs; sometimes it doesn't. It hurts to swallow or talk and I have little appetite. In a culture centered on long meals and coversation, my condition is one of torture.
Well, at least being ill has provided me with a room of my own today. It's Thursday morning and everyone is gone doing what they do. Even Lynne left to visit our host mom's school for a few hours. Virginia Wolf once wrote that the reason history had not hitherto produced a female Shakespeare was because women were not allowed a room of their own. A place to write. A quiet place to let the mind open and thoughts flow. Solitude. It's difficult to work in your head when you're susseptible to a constant stream of interruption. The quality of expression declines and the product suffers, as does the experience itself. Thoughts become all chopped up and blended together like some long bizarre dream that makes no sense. Clarity...so elusive sometimes.
It's impossible to be alone here. Literally. We have been assigned escorts from the church and they accompany us at all times. Trips to the market. Walks along the ocean. To and from work or the internet cafe. Everywhere! I'm not quite sure if this is merely overzealous hospitality or necessary for our security. Either way, it has begun to feel like we're under house arrest. The only time we are left alone is when we bed down for the night. And then I start hacking and blowing.
I have work this afternoon. An adult clinic for elderly members of the congregation here in Marques. I have only a few hours to myself and hope to make the most of it. So I pull back the curtain and open a window. Fresh air and natural light can do wonders for the clouded mind. Already the sounds of the city streets pour in. But it is no matter, for I am alone in my room and my head is already crowded with ideas.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
Posted 9-24-03
Reflections from Peru...on my birthday.
Update from Mike
It's my birthday and I awake to loud organ music playing at six o'clock. Usually it's my mother calling to wish me well (a tradition I hope she never stops). But today, it's the church 2 doors down. They're starting their weekly service and will continue at this volume for most of the day. My throat is sore, a foreshadow of things to come. We rise to find no one at home. Evidently our house sister, Yessy (pronouced Jessie), has left for school with her mother already. It's Saturday and school is not normally in session but they are making up for lost days due to a teacher strike some months ago. They won't return until after one o'clock. We have no idea where the father is. We never do. He's not around alot. We make our way to the kitchen. It always looks war-torn. Bread and juice is all we are after. With everyone gone it's a chance to sup light.
After breakfast we hit the road to make a house call. On the way Lynne too confirms she is not feeling well. We met Selso the day before. He is six years old and has what appears to be cerebral palsy. We treat him for two hours focusing mostly on rolling, sitting, feeding and positioning. I try some facilitation techniques that I've learned but feel inadequate with my skills. The family is very appreciative of our efforts.
We head for the internet cafe on the main road and pass a skinny dog hopping on 3 paws. Apparently he lost a battle with another dog. Dog fights are common here. We've come so frequently to this cafe, they've given us discount cards (after five one-hour sessions, the next one is free!). After opening several e-cards and e-mails from home we snap a photo outside the building with a dozen children who been entertained by the graphics of my birthday wishes. "�Feliz compleanos!" they yell. What a special moment. Birthdays are a big deal here. All of them.
We make our way home for almuerzo (lunch). On the way we pass Charro, a young woman in the neighborhood who will celebrate her quinciera tonight. It's a cultural rite of passage that allows young girls to be welcomed into the community as women upon their 15th birthday. She is hard at work preparing the family home for guests but stops to kiss and greet us.
My sore throat has progressed to a general ache. I feel it mostly in my neck which is where I always carry tension. It is nearly 6 o'clock now and we are running late for our next appointment. There is a pastoral ordination that we have been invited to and I have made us late by examining Ishmael's feet
for too long. He is the 19 year old son of our original contacts here in Collique and they have all become very special to us. His parents, Matilide and Betho, were the first locals we met coming here last Sunday. They have
looked after us ever since. Ishmael's feet aren't too bad. He has some blister formation on both great toes and complains of "burning" whenever he walks alot. We offer some moleskin that Lynne has brought along and
reccomend new shoe inserts for his sneakers as the current pair are quite worn out. I want to help more but again feel powerless.
We are off to the ordination in Bre�a, an hour ride by mini-bus. My bowels are beginning to churn and my stomach feels a bit queezy. We arrive at the church with the service already in progress. The pastor about to be ordained is a young Peruvian man who has worked long and hard to arrive at this moment. He weeps as the other pastors all come to him one at a time to offer their thoughts and prayers. It is a beautiful moment but I am unable to enjoy much of it. I feel flush and lethargic now. I think fever has already set in. We mingle a bit at the reception for Pastor Andres then hail a taxi back to Collique with ambitions of celebrating into the night at Charro's Quinci�era. But for me, it is not to be.
We wait until about eleven o'clock before walking over to Charro's house. In the meantime, Lynne has tried to phone her parents in St. Paul. She reaches only the answering machine. A disappointment. She has been trying to use her calling card for days now and this was the first time the call got through.
Our invitation said to come at 10 pm and music has been playing for hours but no one is there yet. Apparently nothing happens until midnight. At twelve o'clock she makes her appearance. A gown fit for a ball. She looks so
beautiful. Such a contrast to see Cinderella standing in a gutted shack. Her father escorts her in, makes a speech, and begins the first dance. All the men present take their turn dancing with the newest woman in their
community. I am asked to participate. The formal presentation takes about an hour in all. I can stand no more. I make my exit quickly and quietly whispering to Matilde, "Estoy enfermo, mucho enfermo."
My pace quickens as I head up the hill to where we are staying. It feels as though I may soon lose control at both ends of the digestive tract. I hear someone approaching quickly from the rear. I turn to look and see Lynne
charging towards me. She has come to tend to me and will nurse me through the night. She is so self-less. As we continue up the hill together, I glance at my watch. It reads 1:12 am. It is no longer my birthday. And I am
very sick.
From Goats Do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
9-20-03
Hola from Lima, Peru!
Update from Lynne
We just completed our first week of volunteering with a church here in Collique. The week went by quickly once we got into the groove of our new jobs and community. Things turned around on Tuesday for me as I felt we were able to offer some help and not be another mouth to feed. At first, I was trying to be very objective about whether we were contributing. My measure changed to a more subjective one. I was no longer concerned whether I was able to do a given amount of therapy sessions or wash so many dishes. Rather, I decided to take in all of the hugs, smiles, and words of Gracias for helping with homework or teaching an English word. At the same time they were making a difference in my life. Without knowing it they were teaching me about love, learning, and an appreciation for the moments in life. And of course, they taught me to appreciate dance and soccer! I admire the fancy footwork needed for both.
Our friends at the church daycare have been so welcoming and have embraced us as a part of their community. As a result, we have had a busy social calendar! September seems to be a big birthday month in this little world as in my circle at home. The daughter of one of our host families had her 9th birthday party on Thursday. What a fiesta! Her whole class from school and friends from the church were there. They had a room set up with a boom box, colored lights, and a disco ball. They had fun dancing and eating all of the fun treats (potato chips, animal crackers, candy, popcorn). They served a purple fruit drink made from a type of purple corn. They boil it and it turns into purple corn syrup. They also had an appetizer and a full meal that came out to the guests in stages. Some things are the same everywhere- the mother did not get to see much of the party because she was busy with the food and making sure things were running smoothly. The large cake with a number 9 candle was presented next. The kids gathered around the birthday girl and sang Happy Birthday in English first and then in Spanish as in their custom. It was so cute to hear how slowly they sang the English 'Hoppy Bearthday' as the words are difficult for them.
Yesterday we had another fiesta. The adults and children at the church pooled their money to buy a cake for Mike. (His birthday is today!) This time 'Miquel' got to be in the center with the sweet voices singing Happy Birthday and Feliz Cumpleanos. A birthday to remember, no doubt.
The celebrations continue as we go to an ordination for a new pastor for the Lutheran Church in Peru. After that, we are going to a Quinci�era birthday party for a young woman from the church. A girl's fifteenth birthday has significance here as a right of passage as her family presents her to the community as a young woman rather than a girl. I'll let you know what it's like. All we know is that it doesn't start until 10 PM and will go late into the early morning and that there will be lots of dancing!
What I know for sure...It is this moment that counts. Each moment is the true measure for all of us. Now that's a reason for a fiesta!
Love,
Lynne and Mike
(or as the kids call us Lin and Miquel)
Update from Mike
9-17-03
NI�OS SON NI�OS
Children are Children. No matter where they live. Whether in Lima or Lyman, they're exactly the same. That's why we flock to them. In a world full of change, they are the constant. Runny noses. Dirty faces. Mud on their clothes. They tease each other and defend each other. They fight. They play. They are children.
Here at the Congregaci�n Luturana Emanuel Iglesiah they gaze up to us with those beautiful brown eyes and say, "�Que es tu nombre?" What is your name? Which is usually followed by a request to play something. Anything. Futbol (soccer), line tag, an hour of Connect Four. Most attend school for part of the day then come here for supervision. It's somewhat like a daycare for the younger kids and an after-school program for the older ones. They have to pay to attend. A nominal fee of one sol and fifty c�ntimos (roughly 43 cents) per day. Not bad, considering they receive a noon meal, snacks, and assistance with their homework. Though like most kids I know, they'll try anything to get out of doing it.
We conducted some impromptu motor screenings on the kids today. It's the first real therapy we've been able to do in 3 days here. Most of our time has been spent just playing with them, trying to lead playground games or help with basic math skills. This morning we created an around-the-world math game out of some old flash cards for addition and multiplication. They loved it! Most kids thrive on competition. These ni�os are no different. Let them win and you'll hear about it all afternoon. Keep the game close and they'll never even know they're learning something.
The screenings revealed little we didn't already know. Most of the kids are fine. The few that lag behind have obvious delays in their development. I don't know if anything will change from our intervention but we're going to try. We're planning a gross motor group for the morning and afternoon sessions tomorrow. Basic upper body strength and endurance training. With futbol a cultural obsession, it's the arms that seem neglected. We'll try to see the most severe cases individually, to give them the special attention they need.
Fitting that the sun has just come out. It's the first time we've seen blue skies in over a week. And perhaps we too are starting to shine.
From Goats Do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
9-16-03
First they'll steal your bags, then they'll steal your heart.
Update From Mike
We were in Lima 4 days before coming here to Collique, a small subburb of the capital city, (if you can call tiny shacks crammed into barren hills subburbs). The houses here consist mainly of 4 brick walls and little else. All are open to the sky in sections. Most simply have tin sheets to serve as a roof overhead but others are more finished. Floors are usually a mix of concrete, dirt, and tile (depending on the section of the house you are in). Electricity is at a minimum and the water is always cold. There are TVs and radios and phones available, but they take a backseat here. Tiny tiendas (stores) are ubiquitos, as are barking dogs, and honking mini-buses. This is a place with infrastructure, though you may not recognize it. There's only one paved road which leads in and out of town. The rest are muddy dirt paths that wind up and up and up. People live here en masse not because it was voted one of Lima's top ten neighborhoods to live in, but because they have to. There are no more places to live in the city. At least nothing affordable. Nothing better than this. They come here from small pueblos and other cities throughout Peru looking for work and a better way of life. Instead, they find only more poverty. Collique has all the earmarks of a shanty-town but all the heart of a nation.
We came here to work for the iglesia luterana evangelica peruana (Peruvian Evangelical Luthern Church), via a connection Lynne had from her church back home in Sioux Falls. Our first attempt at humanitarian service on this trip. While we are still seen as greengoes, we are no longer just passing through. And with that, everything changes. Our intention was to give. But it feels more like charity is coming to our door. They house us. Feed us. Make sure we are safe at night. We try to pay for the service but they refuse, then invite back again. With so little of their own, how can they support us? Their hospitality has no limits. Upon hearing that my 6 foot frame was too big to fit comfortably on the bed we were given, our house mom went out to a lumber store the next day to buy wood planks to make it longer. Unreal. When we first arrived, I mentioned to our house father that I'd like to buy a sweater because it's much colder here than I expected. Now I'm afraid he'll insist I take the one off his back.
From Goats Do Roam,
Mike and Lynne.
9-15-03
Update from Lynne
We had a great time in Lima getting accostumed to travelling and seeing some interesting sights, meeting people, and eating new foods. At first, we were not all that impressed with Lima, but things got better. On Saturday night, the family at the hostal where we were staying invited us to go to a Peruvian Folklore event. That was fantastic! The costumes and the dancing were beautiful! We could tell the audience members were of a higher social class, this served as a stark contrast to was what we experienced on Sun.
On Sun, we took a cab to a northern part of Lima to begin our volunteer work. We spent the day with a very gracious family and met with members of the church to finalize where we would stay and exactly what work we would do. We are in a very poor and densely populated area. People have settled along the hills because there is nowhere else to go. We can not believe homes can remain standing in the dry dirt. Mike and I are struggling to find words to describe the condition of living. Shanty town is the best description we can come up with at this point. At church last night it was interesting that the prayer requests that the children submitted were for children around the world who had nothing, when to our eyes that is how we would we would see their condition. Speaking of children, they are so sweet, eager to learn, and patient with our limited Spanish skills. The costumary greeting of kissing on the cheek melts my heart when it comes from a 3 year old in tattered clothes with big, brown eyes. Our first day working at the day care went pretty well. We are still trying to figure out how we can be most helpful. In the preschool room, I offered some suggestions for handwriting and games to work on hand strength. Mike led games on the playground. I am sure we were entertainment for all of the neighbors that fill the hillside around the playground.
The contrasts within Lima itself and to the life we are used to in the U.S. have already had a profound effect on how we view our own lives and lifestyles. I am still working to process everything, so I am not sure how it will ultimately affect my outlook. What I know for sure...is that I am thankful for differences in people and places throughout the world and for the people and places in my world at home.
Hope this finds you well in your world as well!
With love,
Lynne and Mike
Also 9-15-03
The Dynamics Always Change
Update From Mike
We said good-bye to Shaun 2 days ago with sadness in our hearts. He left for Pisco and Nazca en route to Cuzco going the way most backpackers go. That's why we all come here isn't it? To see the treasures of the world while we're young. Machu Picchu. The Great Pyramids of Giza. The Great Wall of China. Like the migration patterns of birds, we all flock to the same places. Exotic and remote. That's what we like. Staying no longer than we need to take in the experience, then moving on. We come and we go, following our guidebooks around the globe. Let's be honest. Most of us have a Lonely Planet education of foreign lands.
We stayed 4 nights together, which is more than enough time to get to know someone on the road. Family for a day, or maybe 2 or 3. It's like an accelerated formula for making friends. We desire companionship despite our yearning to be free and independent. Something that reminds us of home. Someone we can relate to or connect with. Canada and the United States? Close enough. Turns out, we are all therapists (PT, OT). He has recently spent time in Haiti volunteering at a hospital. We are here in Lima to do the same for a church in a poor subburb. Small world. Our paths paralleled on many fronts. Occupation. Life experience. Philisophical views. Perhaps we would be great friends if we lived in the same place at the same time. But we don't. We are all travelers. And the dyanamics are always changing.
From Goats Do Roam,
Mike and Lynne