Peru; Paracas, Nasca

Paracas

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We flew back to Lima, and the next morning we were on a bus to Paracas, a small coastal town on the way to Nasca. Nancy had been waiting to see Nazca for thirty years. That stretch of Peru from Lima to Nasca is right on the Pacific Ocean, but despite being next to one of the largest bodies of water in the entire world, the area is a desert. Arriving at our hotel we were greeted by our Peruvian, amazingly good, English speaking guide, who explained what this part of the journey had in store for us. We were given 20 minutes to get situated, and 45 minutes to shop before our next tour was to begin. Forty-five minutes for shopping for my shop-a-holic family is like swinging raw meat in front of a hungry lion and then taking it away before he has a chance to sink his razer-like teeth in it. Decisions are made slowly and deliberately, and the process of finding the perfect item at the best deal takes time for those of us who savor every flavor for as long as possible. We walked into the market area, and never made it past the first shop, whose jewelry was beautiful, unique and inexpensive. After being forcibly removed from the premises, we began our private tour of the National Reserve by having lunch by the seafront, surrounded by pelicans, Peruvian folk singers, and sea lions. Ceviche, a typical, and savory dish of fish cooked in lime juice, was our appetizer, followed by shark. We then split into two separate cars and made our way through the magnificent sand dunes. I don't think I ever realized before this trip, how millions and trillions of sand granules piled together, could create such outstanding beauty. I wasn't the only one who found these piles of sand irresistibly delectable; Lisa and Jon kept exclaiming how this was their favorite day because of how surprising it was to be astounded by these amazing mountains of sand, and bordered by the stunningly blue ocean. The color contrast alone was enough to throw ones visual senses into overdrive. Needless to say, picture taking became an Olympic sport, and it seemed we were all competing to see who could take the most pictures. We had a disappointing moment at the end, when the flamingos failed to show up at their designated meeting place at the designated time, but we didn't shed too many tears over it.

The following day began with the smelliest boat ride I have ever been on. Our destination, the famous Ballistas Islands. Their famous not only for their wildlife of penguins, sea lions, dolphins, and various species of birds, but also for it's valuable guano, or bird poop! You wouldn't believe the enormous bird population that chooses this island as it's favorite bathroom stop. Note the picture of Kyle with his life jacket being used not as a precautionary floating device, but a makeshift bird poo helmet.

Stepping into the boat gave one the feeling of exiting Peru and entering the country of France. If I didn't know that those two countries did not border each other, let alone cannot be found on the same continent, I might have actually believed the change in countries occurred in this city of Paracas. You might wonder, why I found myself confused as to what country I was in. It was due to the amount of French invading the airwaves as we scurried to our seats on the left side of the boat. The musical notes of the French language glided gracefully through the air, past our noses and skimmed the waters surface before surrendering to the depths of the ocean. The words with their musical yet harsh sounds were almost palpable, creating a forcefield around our motorboat. But alas, the smell of bird poop defeated the French bubble at it's very molecular infrastructure propelling the bonjours, j'taimes, and ouis out to sea with the pelicans.

After the viewing the jumping dolphins, sea lions fighting and lazily lounging, and dodging stink bombs, we headed out of our little beloved beach town of Paracas to Hual... We ate a delicious, but more cautious lunch, considering some of us, Lisa, had gotten sick, from an unknown source. Our goal for the day: cover our entire bodies from head to toe in sand. Of course we didn't know it was our goal until we had already achieved it. After laughing at our our sole-toothed, bad, but high-spirited magician who entertained us as we ate, we headed out to the sand dunes. Sand boarding was the name of the game for the day, but before we could get good and dirty in the sand, we had to find the highest dunes. This meant a dune buggy ride at speeds of 60 miles per hour or more. Similar in feel and speed to a roller coaster, the youngens screamed with delight while the queens screamed for a merciful end. A constant verbal battle began aimed at the badgered and confused driver, who by the way only spoke spanish, to both slow down and speed up at the same time. I was torn between slowing down and speeding up myself because I loved the speed and the exhilaration of traveling at mach 3 down the hills of sand, but the bumpiness of the ride concerned me because of my mother's ailing back. Arriving at our first hill, I was overcome with laughter at the crazed look of the queens, and was almost surprised that they didn't kiss the sand as they climbed out of machine that seemed to endangered their lives. Sand boarding was simple, lay with your stomach on the board, keep your mouth closed and let gravity do the rest. The first trip, I was a bit intimidated and found myself using my feet as brakes for almost the entire length of the ride. After a couple of trips however, I worked up the nerve to save the brakes for the end. Lisa was only able to ride once because her stomach was bothering her. And Jonathan and Kyle both attempted the standing position, finding themselves face first in sand after only a few seconds.

Nasca

Arriving to our hotel in Nasca, we attempted to rid ourselves of the castaway sand from our adventures in the dunes, but even after showering, sand was found stored in secret compartments, such as the creases in the ears, for the next couple of days. Our hotel was beautiful, but we were almost to exhausted to enjoy it. We dined in the hotel, after a walk around the shanty town of Nasca, and went straight to bed. Our flight over the mysterious Nasca lines was early in the morning. The massive figures carved into the cracked desert earth are only visible by air, which is one of the many mysteries as to why these earth drawings were created in the first place. The most popular theory now, besides that aliens are responsible, is that they are a grid system pointing to water. What do people in the desert want most? Water is the answer. The drawings are the main attraction, but there are lines as well all of over the desert floor. It is thought that the lines were the grid system while the drawings were an attempt to please the gods. Which would explain why, they would make drawings that can only be enjoyed by air.

After our flight, we headed to the cemetery 30 minutes outside of Nasca. When I had read about this cemetery, I had imagined grave tombs, which would only be mildly interesting to me, and flat out boring to Lisa and Jonathan. But instead of grave tombs we found preserved skeletons, dressed in the clothes they were buried in, placed in the fetal position, and surrounded by their valuables. Of course before the Peruvian government decided to make it a national site with protections, grave robbers had already visited and stolen almost everything with value. Besides the robbing, they also confused what bodies and/or skulls belonged in what tomb. Of course the most important members of the community had the most belongings, but they were also ....

The part of the day, that I looked forward to the most, was the seven hour bus ride from Nasca to Lima to stay in our favorite noisy hotel. Sometimes sarcasm is difficult to hear on paper, so I am just going to freely admit my sarcastic intention now. We were lucky enough to have reclining chairs with leg rests, one meal, and three movies, so I really shouldn't complain too much. But it is difficult not to go stark raving mad after riding on a bus for that amount of time.

JUL28:












more photos at

http://utexas.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2311564&l=84462&id=7908592


JUL28:

Peru; Cusco and Machu Picchu

Cusco

JUL28:

The following morning, we found ourselves on another airplane headed towards our last destination as a family, Cusco. We were warned of the dangers of altitude sickness beforehand, and therefore took preventative pills prescribed from our doctors back in the States. The pills however made our entire bodies tingly and didn't actually seem to prevent the effects from the ungodly lack of oxygen in the air. How people function with less than half the oxygen we are accustomed to, is a mystery to me. My poor mother was hit first and hardest, and fell to the comforts of her bed almost immediately. We were all given coca tea, to alleviate the effects, and we were told by our cousin Kelly not to walk too much. However, we were all feeling the crunch of time, since we only had one day in Cusco, one day for the Sacred Valley and one day for Machu Pichu, we couldn't possibly spend our one and only day in the adorable town of Cusco horizontal. We attempted napping, which in actuality was not too difficult of a task considering the speed of our traveling,and arose, ready for shopping. We did not venture far, and walked little, heeding the advice of our wise cousin. Bargaining or trickery soared to a new high after I refused to buy a painting for $10 from a young boy sitting on the church steps. He then offered two for the price of one, followed by three paintings for $1, until he was finally offering me 6 paintings for $1. I didn't buy from him, because something about that offer, hmmmm I wonder what, made me suspicious. We attempted and succeeded in our own bargaining feats that day, and went home very proud of our improving skills. My mom however, who had projectile vomited her coca tea, was not so excited to hear of our achievements or view our fun souvenirs.

Our evening was a flash of colors, Peruvian song, dance, with rich and flavorful food. We treated ourselves to an evening of Peruvian culture and a fantastic full buffet complete with Alpaca meat and genie pig with claws and all. We walked ten to fifteen minutes home because it seemed too short of a ride for the hassle of a taxi, but that mistake, cost Nancy a peaceful evenings rest, and awarded her the joys of altitude sickness. The following morning we dressed and were out the door for our tour of the Sacred Valley. We were told to meet our van in front of the main Cathedral. Out of character, we arrived early and sat waiting on the steps of the church in the beautiful town square. After a few minutes of waiting however, the policia informed us that we were waiting in the wrong location because all of the tours left from the next street over. We lazily stood up and meandered over to where we had been directed. There were several buses lined on this street, but no church. Walking was still an effort in the oxygen deprived air, so Kyle I volunteered to walk further down the street to the smaller church, to see if that was where we were supposed to be. On our way, we ran into a business man opening shop. He kindly offered to call the number on the receipt to find out the true location of our meeting point. After a few minutes, he informed us that our number didn't connect with who we needed to speak with, and the people he had spoken with, were imbeciles. Glancing at my watch I began to panic. We thanked the man, and ran as quickly as we could to find the family. The family was sitting on the steps of a building in front of the buses deciding whether to buy gloves from a walking vendor. I, however, was in panic mode, because we were already late to this appointment that we had arrived early for. I ran back to the place we had been told to wait originally, after looking around frantically, heard the voice of an angel. In actuality, it was just a regular man's voice calling out in a thick Spanish accent,“Sanders Family,” but the words, being shouted, outside of a church and was my holy grail for the day, I nearly cried with happiness. I had been in a frenzied state of agitation, that we would miss our tour to the Sacred Valley and by the grace of God and by the help of an angel/Peruvian man, we were not left to wander the streets of Cusco. We hopped in the van, and drove in search of our lost family.

The tour was from 9am to 5pm covering several small towns, Inca ruins, demonstrations on how Peruvian hand-crafts were made, breath-taking scenery, and of course, shopping! Our guide of this particular tour, was my least favorite because of the dullness that seemed to resound in the vibrations of his vocal chords. He lacked the enthusiasm for teaching about his ancestors that many of the other guides had demonstrated. Our first stop was two-fold, picture taking and shopping. Our second stop was a hike to the Inca ruins. The queens stayed in the market area, fearing any exertion would cause the evil sickness of the mountains to re-emerge. And, in fact, what looked like a simple hike took the energy and oxygen that I would imagine running a marathon would take. Even Lisa, the energizer bunny, who never runs out of energy or breath, was winded by this deceivingly difficult feat. After our buffet lunch, we headed to the Pisac market, which is one of the largest and most famous of the Peruvian markets and given 15 minutes to shop if we wanted to hike and see the Inca ruins. My desire to view the ruins was overruled by my desire to shop. Shopping in this fantastic market for only fifteen minutes would be equivalent to Mission Impossible, however unlike Tom Cruise, I would not be successful. There is an electric current that is stimulated when that perfect find is discovered and the best price possible is decided upon. I love the thrill of it all, the searching, digging, bargaining and buying. A good deal is always so satisfying. However, my poor mother didn't have the heart for the bargaining. She wanted to give the vendors what she thought they deserved, even though she could buy fewer things with this method. I tried to explain, by bargaining and saving money, we were able to spread out the wealth throughout all of Peru, but unless Kyle and I were there, she wouldn't or couldn't bargain. So we shopped, and we shopped some more until we almost hit our breaking point of “shopped-out,” but alas, you can't keep our family down long.

Machu Picchu

The following morning we boarded a train to Machu Picchu Pueblo. The cute little town is like a holding pen for tourists waiting to discover the wonder and mystery of one of the seven wonders of the world. We walked around town, ate, and rested for our day the following morning. At four thirty the following morning a knock was sounded on our door. Mistaking the hotel staff for my mom, I yelled “Thank you” in my sweetest morning voice possible, which is probably as nice as a lions roar. After we had dressed and made our way down to breakfast, Lisa informed us that not only had she made the same mistake, but had also used her sweetest morning voice to acknowledge the annoyingness of being woken at such an ungodly hour. Before the sun had woken up, we were walking to the bus depot to stand in line with hundreds of other tourists from all over the world. It was like a world convention, except without translators, intercommunication or cooperation. The bus ride was magnificent, yet terrifying. There was only room for one bus on the staggering mountain road at a time, there for if two buses were trying to pass each other, one would have to stop and back up (on the narrow mountain road thousands of miles high) to a spot that would allow for two buses.

Walking into the gates, of Machu Picchu, the air of grandeur floats in the wisps of clouds concealing the entire structure from view, keeping it's secrets hidden from the human eye. For many people Machu Picchu is the sole reason for coming to Peru. What is so special about Machu Picchu, you might ask? It is important to note, that although it is considered to be one of the seven wonders of the world now, to the Inca culture, it was no more important than any of their other Inca sites. What makes Machu Picchu special to the world now, is it's awe-inspiring location and the amazing preservation of this spectacular archaeological site. Surrounded by lush green mountains, what could be considered a pile of rocks to some, is a magical and mysterious door into an ancient and advanced culture. Llamas wondered the premises as we gazed upon gray rocks structures, that at one time were purposeful building. We sat and gazed, trying to imagine what it once looked like, hundreds of years ago. The sun lazily rose from it's bed of mountains, and sent rays of gold to illuminate this already stunning site. After we were done staring, we walked through the site, along side the llamas, to learn more about it's history. When our tour was over, we left the gates to use the restroom because there were no restrooms within the gates. The queens stayed outside, but were still able to enjoy the view from afar, while Jonathan, Lisa, Kyle and I hiked to the Sun Gate. A smaller, yet higher archaeological site, with a fantastic view of Machu Picchu. We returned tired, satisfied and ready to return home.

The train ride back into Cusco was longer than the ride into Machu Picchu Pueblo even though it covered the same distance. We were therefore entertained by a strange clown/mime with a stuffed animal llama, followed by an impromptu fashion show by the train staff. We decided that maybe being a train attendant was a foot in the door to a career in modeling. Our last night together was anti-climatic seeing as the queens were too tired to go out to dinner and retreated to their beds while Kyle, Lisa and I went to dinner. Jonathan after our day at Machu Picchu was attacked by traveler's sickness and also took to bed. I mention this dinner, not because the food was fantastic, or the conversation original, because honestly we were all ready for bed, but because it was a good example of a constant issue we ran into throughout our journey of Peru. After we ate, we received the check for 30 soles. We gave the waiter a 50 soles, and were curtly informed that they couldn't change a bill that high, so late in the evening. This was very confusing for me because, I would think that at the end of the day, a business would have more change. We didn't have any other bills, so they grudgingly accepted it. A minute later, we see one of the workers storming out of the restaurant obviously off to find someone who could provide change.

When it was time for us to leave in the morning, we were tired, exhausted and sad to say goodbye to our family. It had been a crazy adventure, full of mishaps, and general insanity, but without those elements, this story, and our trip would have much less interesting. I love my family and genuinely enjoy spending time with them and I will always cherish our trip to Peru. But unlike our family, Kyle and I were not finished with our journey....

Cusco

The following morning, we found ourselves on another airplane headed towards our last destination as a family, Cusco. We were warned of the dangers of altitude sickness beforehand, and therefore took preventative pills prescribed from our doctors back in the States. The pills however made our entire bodies tingly and didn't actually seem to prevent the effects from the ungodly lack of oxygen in the air. How people function with less than half the oxygen we are accustomed to, is a mystery to me. My poor mother was hit first and hardest, and fell to the comforts of her bed almost immediately. We were all given coca tea, to alleviate the effects, and we were told by our cousin Kelly not to walk too much. However, we were all feeling the crunch of time, since we only had one day in Cusco, one day for the Sacred Valley and one day for Machu Pichu, we couldn't possibly spend our one and only day in the adorable town of Cusco horizontal. We attempted napping, which in actuality was not too difficult of a task considering the speed of our traveling,and arose, ready for shopping. We did not venture far, and walked little, heeding the advice of our wise cousin. Bargaining or trickery soared to a new high after I refused to buy a painting for $10 from a young boy sitting on the church steps. He then offered two for the price of one, followed by three paintings for $1, until he was finally offering me 6 paintings for $1. I didn't buy from him, because something about that offer, hmmmm I wonder what, made me suspicious. We attempted and succeeded in our own bargaining feats that day, and went home very proud of our improving skills. My mom however, who had projectile vomited her coca tea, was not so excited to hear of our achievements or view our fun souvenirs.

Our evening was a flash of colors, Peruvian song, dance, with rich and flavorful food. We treated ourselves to an evening of Peruvian culture and a fantastic full buffet complete with Alpaca meat and genie pig with claws and all. We walked ten to fifteen minutes home because it seemed too short of a ride for the hassle of a taxi, but that mistake, cost Nancy a peaceful evenings rest, and awarded her the joys of altitude sickness. The following morning we dressed and were out the door for our tour of the Sacred Valley. We were told to meet our van in front of the main Cathedral. Out of character, we arrived early and sat waiting on the steps of the church in the beautiful town square. After a few minutes of waiting however, the policia informed us that we were waiting in the wrong location because all of the tours left from the next street over. We lazily stood up and meandered over to where we had been directed. There were several buses lined on this street, but no church. Walking was still an effort in the oxygen deprived air, so Kyle I volunteered to walk further down the street to the smaller church, to see if that was where we were supposed to be. On our way, we ran into a business man opening shop. He kindly offered to call the number on the receipt to find out the true location of our meeting point. After a few minutes, he informed us that our number didn't connect with who we needed to speak with, and the people he had spoken with, were imbeciles. Glancing at my watch I began to panic. We thanked the man, and ran as quickly as we could to find the family. The family was sitting on the steps of a building in front of the buses deciding whether to buy gloves from a walking vendor. I, however, was in panic mode, because we were already late to this appointment that we had arrived early for. I ran back to the place we had been told to wait originally, after looking around frantically, heard the voice of an angel. In actuality, it was just a regular man's voice calling out in a thick Spanish accent,“Sanders Family,” but the words, being shouted, outside of a church and was my holy grail for the day, I nearly cried with happiness. I had been in a frenzied state of agitation, that we would miss our tour to the Sacred Valley and by the grace of God and by the help of an angel/Peruvian man, we were not left to wander the streets of Cusco. We hopped in the van, and drove in search of our lost family.

The tour was from 9am to 5pm covering several small towns, Inca ruins, demonstrations on how Peruvian hand-crafts were made, breath-taking scenery, and of course, shopping! Our guide of this particular tour, was my least favorite because of the dullness that seemed to resound in the vibrations of his vocal chords. He lacked the enthusiasm for teaching about his ancestors that many of the other guides had demonstrated. Our first stop was two-fold, picture taking and shopping. Our second stop was a hike to the Inca ruins. The queens stayed in the market area, fearing any exertion would cause the evil sickness of the mountains to re-emerge. And, in fact, what looked like a simple hike took the energy and oxygen that I would imagine running a marathon would take. Even Lisa, the energizer bunny, who never runs out of energy or breath, was winded by this deceivingly difficult feat. After our buffet lunch, we headed to the Pisac market, which is one of the largest and most famous of the Peruvian markets and given 15 minutes to shop if we wanted to hike and see the Inca ruins. My desire to view the ruins was overruled by my desire to shop. Shopping in this fantastic market for only fifteen minutes would be equivalent to Mission Impossible, however unlike Tom Cruise, I would not be successful. There is an electric current that is stimulated when that perfect find is discovered and the best price possible is decided upon. I love the thrill of it all, the searching, digging, bargaining and buying. A good deal is always so satisfying. However, my poor mother didn't have the heart for the bargaining. She wanted to give the vendors what she thought they deserved, even though she could buy fewer things with this method. I tried to explain, by bargaining and saving money, we were able to spread out the wealth throughout all of Peru, but unless Kyle and I were there, she wouldn't or couldn't bargain. So we shopped, and we shopped some more until we almost hit our breaking point of “shopped-out,” but alas, you can't keep our family down long.

Machu Picchu

The following morning we boarded a train to Machu Picchu Pueblo. The cute little town is like a holding pen for tourists waiting to discover the wonder and mystery of one of the seven wonders of the world. We walked around town, ate, and rested for our day the following morning. At four thirty the following morning a knock was sounded on our door. Mistaking the hotel staff for my mom, I yelled “Thank you” in my sweetest morning voice possible, which is probably as nice as a lions roar. After we had dressed and made our way down to breakfast, Lisa informed us that not only had she made the same mistake, but had also used her sweetest morning voice to acknowledge the annoyingness of being woken at such an ungodly hour. Before the sun had woken up, we were walking to the bus depot to stand in line with hundreds of other tourists from all over the world. It was like a world convention, except without translators, intercommunication or cooperation. The bus ride was magnificent, yet terrifying. There was only room for one bus on the staggering mountain road at a time, there for if two buses were trying to pass each other, one would have to stop and back up (on the narrow mountain road thousands of miles high) to a spot that would allow for two buses.

Walking into the gates, of Machu Picchu, the air of grandeur floats in the wisps of clouds concealing the entire structure from view, keeping it's secrets hidden from the human eye. For many people Machu Picchu is the sole reason for coming to Peru. What is so special about Machu Picchu, you might ask? It is important to note, that although it is considered to be one of the seven wonders of the world now, to the Inca culture, it was no more important than any of their other Inca sites. What makes Machu Picchu special to the world now, is it's awe-inspiring location and the amazing preservation of this spectacular archaeological site. Surrounded by lush green mountains, what could be considered a pile of rocks to some, is a magical and mysterious door into an ancient and advanced culture. Llamas wondered the premises as we gazed upon gray rocks structures, that at one time were purposeful building. We sat and gazed, trying to imagine what it once looked like, hundreds of years ago. The sun lazily rose from it's bed of mountains, and sent rays of gold to illuminate this already stunning site. After we were done staring, we walked through the site, along side the llamas, to learn more about it's history. When our tour was over, we left the gates to use the restroom because there were no restrooms within the gates. The queens stayed outside, but were still able to enjoy the view from afar, while Jonathan, Lisa, Kyle and I hiked to the Sun Gate. A smaller, yet higher archaeological site, with a fantastic view of Machu Picchu. We returned tired, satisfied and ready to return home.

The train ride back into Cusco was longer than the ride into Machu Picchu Pueblo even though it covered the same distance. We were therefore entertained by a strange clown/mime with a stuffed animal llama, followed by an impromptu fashion show by the train staff. We decided that maybe being a train attendant was a foot in the door to a career in modeling. Our last night together was anti-climatic seeing as the queens were too tired to go out to dinner and retreated to their beds while Kyle, Lisa and I went to dinner. Jonathan after our day at Machu Picchu was attacked by traveler's sickness and also took to bed. I mention this dinner, not because the food was fantastic, or the conversation original, because honestly we were all ready for bed, but because it was a good example of a constant issue we ran into throughout our journey of Peru. After we ate, we received the check for 30 soles. We gave the waiter a 50 soles, and were curtly informed that they couldn't change a bill that high, so late in the evening. This was very confusing for me because, I would think that at the end of the day, a business would have more change. We didn't have any other bills, so they grudgingly accepted it. A minute later, we see one of the workers storming out of the restaurant obviously off to find someone who could provide change.

When it was time for us to leave in the morning, we were tired, exhausted and sad to say goodbye to our family. It had been a crazy adventure, full of mishaps, and general insanity, but without those elements, this story, and our trip would have much less interesting. I love my family and genuinely enjoy spending time with them and I will always cherish our trip to Peru. But unlike our family, Kyle and I were not finished with our journey....

more pics

http://utexas.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2316903&l=d2729&id=7908592

Peru; Lake Titicaca and Colca Canyon

Lake Titicaca
After Cusco we got on a very nice bus with a funny British couple in front of us. The tour was very nice and enjoyable. It was a much nicer way to drive 7 hours. We stopped at several Inca ruins and a church and had a wonderful paid for lunch. We drove through Hulicaca which is a hole in the earth that should not exist and spent the night in a wonderful hotel in Puno. It was cold so we opted for eating in the hotel, which was reasonable and did not require facing the cold. It was kind of a funny ordeal because we got all bundled up, made it downstairs and realized we didn't have to leave if we didn't want to, so we ran back up stairs to take off our under layers!
Lake Titicaca is the highest lake in the world and even a higher altitude than Cusco. The days were warm, but the evenings cold, colder than Cusco. We had our own individual guide, which was kind of weird, I would have rather gone in a group. But he was really informative and spoke English well. He also sometimes had a spittle on the middle of his lip that bothered me, (just thought I would throw that little funny detail in there.) Before we made our 3 and a half our journey to the island from Puno, we stopped on a floating reed island. I am still baffled as to why they exist when there seem to be plenty of land islands completely uninhabited. Why would someone go to all the trouble to make an island out of reeds when there are already perfectly good islands?? Either way, it was amazing to stand on this island constructed of strung together reeds, pulled from the lake. Stepping onto the island, I could feel the reeds squishing underneath my shoes, and jumped just a little to see if I would bounce. The reeds were cushy, but firmly held. After constructing islands out of their main food source, the reeds, they also built houses on top of their floating land mass. I just couldn't believe how these people lived on this flammable moonwalk like islands. Kyle and I sat down to listen to the details of how these islands were constructed, and we were baffled. As I mentioned before, we were the only ones in the tour, and so when our question and answer session was over, the islander set up shop. But we were the only two people to whom the 7 islanders were trying to sell their hand-crafted goods. We had already spent so much money, we hadn't planned on buying anything else, but we decided that we should buy at least one thing to support this unique community. I am afraid we cannot release the information of what we bought because it will be a gift, but it was beautiful.
The actual island that we stayed on however, was not a reed island but a land island and was stunning. The food was fresh from the sea, too bad altitude sickness grabbed control of my stomach! The day we arrived was the beginning of a 10 day dancing festival dedicated to their patron saint. The men and women, dressed in colorful costumes complete with feather hats, jumped around, consumed beer, and chanted. Some of them walked around barefoot, and they all desperately needed to see a dentist. While sitting and watching the spectacle, a little girl under the age of two waddled over to me and decided to try and make a bracelet out of the plastic string she had been mouthing. After tying it around my wrist for a while, and coughing on me, she gave up and left.
The only time I experienced the full miserable effects of altitude sickness was the evening we spent in Lake Titicaca. Lets just say, I don't want to relive that evening. I had taken the medicine for the last couple of days but didn't take it for the evening. I thought I would be acclimated to the altitude after 4 days, but in the middle of the night with the air basically frozen, I crawled out from under my four wool blankets and attempted to put my pants on unsuccessfully, because I had to run outside to throw up over the balcony before I could even cloth myself. Our room was just a room with two single beds and a candle. Toilets were provided, but in rooms the size of boxes outside the bedroom complete with large windows so anyone could look in. They were downstairs and around the corner, an impossible destination for my left over food. Because there was neither electricity or running water, the toilets were not emptied till the morning and were worse than port-a-potties. In the morning instead of being woken by the crowing of a rooster, the baby calf outside our window, started mooing. I got a really cute picture of him, but Kyle didn't find him so cute as an unwanted alarm clock.
Colca Canyon

We made our way back to Puno and the next day headed to Arequipa. I am quite disappointed that we didnt actually see Arequipa, the city. Our bus arrived late in the evening providing enough time for us to dine at an Italian restaurant with a blind accordion player to serenade us. Early the next morning after breakfasting in what seemed like France, once again, we left on our guided tour of Colca Canyon. The group we were with was really interesting. There were four Italians, 3 Belgians, a Bronx high school teacher who was very talkative and funny, and a couple that lived in Princeton New Jersey. Before that couple entered the van, Kyle after discovering the countries we were all from, proclaimed that to complete the coverage of four corners we needed someone from Australia. When the couple entered the car, we immediately asked where they were from and discovered that they lived in New Jersey, however, the husband had grown up in Australia. The four corners of the world had been covered in this small van, we were ecstatic. Obviously, it doesn't take much for us to be entertained.

Our guide began our journey providing excellent information in both Spanish and English however half way to our destination our guides knee that had been injured not to long before the trip, starting acting up. It swelled, causing him so much pain, he couldn't speak, and we had to speed to Colca Canyon as fast as legally possible so that he could find a doctor. Having an allergy to almost all pain medication, we were unable to provide anything but sympathy. However the confusion about what the tour provided and in what order began once we had arrived in Colca Canyon and had left our English speaking guide. Our Spanish driver who was obviously not a guide, but a very good driver,had understood our plans for the rest of day to be very different than what the rest of us had understood. After much negotiation, we ate lunch and headed for a short rest to our individual hotels. We rested, and walked around the area of our seemingly hidden hotel, tucked away in the mountains. The thermal baths were our next stop, and were warm, but very crowded with Peruvians. One of the baths was outside, in the freezing mountain air, but the water made it bearable. Dinner included folklore dancing. I was especially taken with the dance that told the story of two lovers eating an apple and dying, but were revived after they were beaten with a whip by their mourning lover.
The morning began with a drive to see the Andean condors. When we arrived, two Condors had given a great spectacle, but flew off before our arrival. After waiting for forty-five minutes, I feared that we would miss the flight of the spectacular condor, but my fear was not realized. The Andean condors, which are actually vultures, are birds with wing spans as long 10 feet, and are graceful, magnificent creatures. They began their flights low, but soon glided on the air without flapping their wings, and allowed the wind to lift them to outstanding heights. They flew over and around us, and even posed on a rock near us, as if condoning the taking of pictures.

Peru was a magnificent journey and I feel so blessed to have been given the opportunity to explore it.

more pics at

http://utexas.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2311598&l=890fb&id=7908592

Baby Dinosaurio has entered the World

Announcement:
I am pleased to announce Pablo Felipe "Dinosaurio" has graced this world as of Friday July 27th. He was three kilos, which is about 6 lbs, and as hairy as a little monkey. He has lots of nicknames at this point including, monito (little monkey) because of his hairiness, yoda, because of his funny noises, and Dinosaurio because of how he looked in his sonogram. He is a very tranquilo child, who almost never crys, and looks around very seriously all of the time. So far his activity level is limited to sleeping, eating and pooping. Even the way he poops is adorable because of the way he scrunches up his face, and then afterwards makes an "O" face. The family would like to thank everybody for their gifts, they were really overwhelmed and thankful. I am including a couple of pictures and their will be more updates later, when he is a little more interesting!

Peru Trip Play by Play

JUL11: Only Mayne arrives in Lima, because the families flight was delayed over 24 hours

JUL12: LIMA
Shopped, walked around, bargained, and ate fresh fish by the seafront

JUL13: LIMA – IQUITOS
flight to Iquitos at 520AM canceled. Lots of fighting to get another flight. Ran into the rest of the family at the airport. Book a hotle, eat breakfast, explore the city in crazy taxis, visit a church, and China town. Try to sleep over the noise of the highway

JUL14: TAHUAYO
Flight at 1 AM and arrive in Iquitos at 3 AM. 8 AM take a boat to our lodge. Eat lunch, bird watch, hike and hunt for crocodiles

JUL15: TAHUAYO
Lodge activities including the zipline, hiking, laying in hammocks, and eating lots of food

JUL16: TAHUAYO – LIMA
Morning at the a Native village market, and visit a local river school

JUL17: LIMA – PARACAS
Bus to Paracas. Tour of the the National Reserve. Sandunes, pelicans, sealions, and beautiful scenery

JUL18: PARACAS – NASCA
Ballestas Islands with smelly birds, sealions, dolphins, penguins and lots of fun
The Huacachina Lagoon a natural Oasis as well as other archaeological attractions along the way. Our guide is Enrique spoke beautiful English and took us on a dunebuggy which the Queens (Nancy, Mom and Mayne loved!! hee hee! Especially the speed and the bumps) and sandboarding. Lots of sand everywhere.
Arrive in Nasca exhausted but happy

JUL19: NASCA – LIMA
Flight over the Nazca Lines. Amazing! And crazy cemetary with 4,000 year old skeletons

JUL20: LIMA – CUSCO
Flight to Cusco. Altitude does not agree with almost everyone. Shopping, dinner and dance show. Wondeful, and colorful

JUL21: CUSCO
Sacred Valley tour. More shopping in Pisac. Inca ruins, cool stuff

JUL22: MACHU PICCHU – CUSCO
Aguas Calientes, the town right next to Machu Picchu.
Hang out and eat. Too tired to do much

JUL23: CUSCO
Transfer back to Cusco, funny train ride with crazy fashion show

JUL24: CUSCO
Nancy, Lisa, John leave for Texas. Mom leaves for Orphanage. Vanessa and Kyle take tour bus with English guide to Puno. Church, Inca ruins and good food.

JUL25: LAKE TITIKAKA
Uros and Taquile Excursion. Crazy thing about the floating islands. Big question is why do they make handmade Islands when there are perfectly good uninhabited islands. Dancing festival. Altitude did not agree with me

JUL26: LAKE TITIKAKA
Morning hike to see more ruins. Back to Puno where Kyle and I lounged around our comfy hotel and watched TV. Oh how wonderful not to do anything for half a day!

JUL27: PUNO – AREQUIPA
Bus to Arequipa, boring and long. Played eye spy! Ate dinner at an Italian restraunt and ordered pizza and sangria while listening to a blind accordian player play Italian music.

JUL28: COLCA CANYON
Tour to Colca Canyon, and Canyon that is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon in places. Was beautiful, but now we have to visit the Grand Canyon to compare. Our tour guide had an old injury in the middle of the tour causing our tour to be shortened. He was in so much pain, he was on the verge of tears. He couldn't move. Hot springs, which is always fun. Dinner show with funny peruvian dances where lovers pretend to die.

JUL29: COLCA CANYON
Beautiful and graceful Andian Condors. They have can have wing spans of 10 feet. Crazy!
JUL30: AREQUIPA – LIMA- SantiagoTravel Travel Travel. From 8 AM to 3 AM!! All the hostels in Santiago were full, evidently skiing is popular now, and had to go searching at 1:30 am for a hostel for the two of us. Really fun!

Why We Love Our Host Family!!!

The first night we arrived in our home-to-be was such a wonderful affair. Our Spanish was incredibly limited; we were in a foreign country being placed into some stranger's home, and we were welcomed like kings. We talked for hours, only able to understand and speak minimal spanish, but they were so incredibly patient with us. Not only were they kind and patient, but also comical and silly. Their sense of humor right from the start, reminded us of our own. From our first encounter with these wonderful people, we could tell that we were where we're intended to be.

Camila is this wonderful light in the big blue house on the corner. She is a short (for American standards but still taller than me), very pregnant, silly, angel who shoots rays of happiness everywhere she turns. Walking with her in town, we are always bound to run into someone she knows. People are drawn to her, want to be near her energy, and to be touched by her goodness. The first day she picked us up from the prov, she was dressed in a very fashionable, sleek outfit with black slacks, black high heeled boots, and a long green pea coat with over sized buttons which added a sense of creativity. Her blond hair is not God given, but because her skin is light, complimented with green blue eyes, it looks almost natural. Her beautiful laugh, releases easily without timidity, and is cheerful and contagious. She loves to tell stories which make us laugh so hard our stomachs hurt. Her stories are emotive, colorful and are chock-full of funny faces, hand motions and gestures to help clarify empty Spanish words to the gringos. Every time, Camila says the word, “enojado” for example, she places her finger in between her eyebrows and
presses down to show the emotion “anger.”By now, we understand that word without the action, but she continues to explain anger in this manner. Several of her stories include her sister in San Fernando, Vicky, who is the youngest of three sisters and is the craziest. She didn't like school, was a terrible student, had too much energy and too many rules to break to be held down by the words of teachers or parents. She was such a bad student that because she continuously flunked her classes, she would change schools so that she wouldn't have to repeat the grade. (Another flaw to add to the Chilean school system.) Vicky, during college, had three boyfriends at the same time, who by some twist of fate found out about each other, and all came to confront her about it at the same time. Vicky came down the stairs to see all three of her boyfriends standing in her doorstep, demanding that she pick one of them. Without blinking an eye, she broke up with all three because the situation was all too complicated and she didn't want to deal with it. She walked back upstairs to her room, and called her fourth boyfriend to come pick her up!

After Camila is done with one of her stories, she laughs to herself, and continues on with the next story. With Camila, awkward moments vanish, because she always finds a way to fill the space with her presence. Sometimes she will call Kyle from another room, just for the chance to say his name. Kyle is an unique name in Chile, and a very difficult one to pronounce and because of this, Camila almost makes his name into a game she plays with herself. It also makes everyone laugh.

Jorge is a complicated yet simple addition to this family. Jorge, Camila's husband, is the Fiscal de Publico here in Pichi, which is the equivalent to a district attorney. He has a reputation as the lawyer with the iron fist. One of the first things we learned about our family upon arrival, was that Jorge was prosecuting the Mayor of Pichilemu. He was corrupt, a unique quality in a
politician, and taking money from anywhere he could, and pocketing it. Half of the town loved the Mayor because of the kickbacks, and rewards they received and half of the town supported the trial and the incarceration of their elected public official. The trial lasted several days, and was broad casted over the radio for all of the province to hear. It was exciting hearing Jorge's voice on the radio, and bragging to anyone who would listen, that the voice from the little black box was our host father. The trial ended on a Saturday, and the verdict was to be read the following Monday. We sat next to Camila, inside our living room, listening intently to the Judge presiding over the case, who had been in our house for dinner a couple of weeks before. The
verdict, which I missed because of my incredible understanding of Spanish, was guilty! His voice on the radio was cold, and hard, nothing like the Jorge we knew. Camila confirmed our suspicions, that Jorge has dual personalities, his lawyer personality and his home personality. Jorge loves his job, and is always excited to talk about cases that he is working on, including
showing pictures of murder victims. It is wonderful hearing him talk about his work, because he is passionate about what he does and I think he really believes in justice and the system. But when Jorge comes home and he sheds his work personality, child Jorge emerges from the ashes. Besides the fact that he is so excited by food, and while grocery shopping, will jump up and down begging Camila to make lasagna or hot dogs, he also exerts his childlike behaviors in other ways. For instance, he is never hungry in the evening unless the meal includes hot dogs or

hamburgers. He has a motorcycle, dresses up in his motorcycle outfit, and makes excuses for outings just so that he can ride his favorite toy. His laugh, is that of a little boy; he laughs often, and at his own jokes, looking around to see if anyone else found it funny. He loves to joking, to the point where sometimes we don't know what is a joke and what isn't. For instance, one time, Jorge mentioned that he was going to go to Argentina, but I called him a fibber and continued
on my way. On a different occasion, it was mentioned that they would be gone for about a week, which wasn't abnormal since they both had been leaving quite often for work and the baby. When they returned they explained that they had been in Argentina. It was such a shock, I couldn't figure out what had happened. When Jorge had said he was going to Argentina, I assumed he was joking, because so much of what he says is false; like how he said we were going to cook cat for dinner, and that someone in Pichilemu had been decapitated. More than just words fall through the cracks in different countries, and words aren't enough to understand.

Rodrigo is another interesting character in our family. He is not actually a part of the family, but we call him our almost host brother, because he lives in the house for weeks at a time. He is a good friend of Camila, from law school. She is a lawyer as well. As a law student in his last semester, he evidently has a lot of free time, and chooses to spend it at our house. The
relationship between Camila and Rodrigo is that of best friends; while the relationship between Rodrigo and Jorge is that of brothers, wrestling, riding their motorcycle, and constantly making fun of each other. Rodrigo came into our lives one day during Semana Santa as were sitting down to eat Easter dinner with Jorge's family, after riding three hours on his bike from Santiago. His hands were shaking so that he couldn't hold his full glass without spilling the content. I thought this characteristic was from nervousness, or possibly the long drive, but we were to find out later, that is Rodrigo. He claims it is genetics and says his entire family shakes. He is timid, a couple a years older than Kyle and I, but with boy like features. In groups he hardly speaks, but will talk freely after he feels more comfortable. His personality is sometimes hard to read, but it only takes a glance in his eyes to know that his soul is warm and welcoming.

Jorge and Camila are also pregnant with their first child. Jorge is in love with their child to be, dubbed Dinosaurio, because of his appearance in the sonagram. As fetuses, babies look like creatures from the beyond, and Dinosaurio is no different. Even after they had decided on the name Pablo, he is still referred to as Dinosaurio. Another reason for this nickname is because of his voracious appetite for food, and his propensity for moving and kicking his mother, especially during the night.

Arriving here in our beautiful mansion of house, especially for Chile, we knew that we had something special, but it was even more clear after the coincidences that were left as buried treasure for us to discover. Our first discovery was the name of the neighborhood, Villa San Antonio. The name of our beloved city in Texas was the first thing we noticed as we turned onto the street heading towards our new home. After meeting Rodrigo, we quickly unburied the second coincidence, we shared the same birthday. And as if the first two weren't enough, we hit gold with our third discovery; their exquisite and lovely dog. Not only did we love her right off that bat, but her name is very special, Canela. Kyle's childhood dog, and amazing pet Cinnamon just recently passed into doggy heaven. Cinnamon was beautiful, loving, faithful, a talented jumper and was very special to Kyle and his family. We didn't make the connection of Canela's name right away, but when realized that Canela means cinnamon in Spanish, we knew we were where we were supposed to be.

It must be hard for our family to know what words they should try and explain and what words we already have driven into our memories. But they are always patient with us, without under estimating or under appreciating our intelligence. They talk and treat us like adults, but at the same time mother us. When Kyle was sick, Camila made kyle lunch in bed and made him lemon tea with honey. The time we spend with our host family is delightful and we couldn't be more pleased with this wonderful quirky pair.

Pieces of Spanish

Arriving in Chile, and being surrounded by words that hold no meaning, was more than a little overwhelming. My brain hurt by the end of the day from attempting to grab hold of one or two recognizable words in an entire conversation. The difference between then and now is that when I arrived I could speak in complete simple sentences, but understand next to nothing. Now, after 2 and a half months, I can string more simple sentences together to make (an almost) paragraph and understand close to 50 percent of conversation, if spoken slowly and with lots of body language. Things are starting to fall into place, and Spanish is beginning to make more sense to me, but I find myself, everyday, in situations where I have no idea what has been said or what I have agreed to after using my standard reply of “si!” I like to listen to native speakers, discussing, to remind myself that this is real, not a fake language like pig latin. People all over the world use these words to make themselves understood. And I want that; I want to be understood. But I don't just want to be understood, I want to use that thing we call Spanish.

Spanish is a mysterious, romantic, and beautiful language that twirls me around, blows kisses in my direction, but refuses to let me come closer than arms length. Spanish is like a distant lover leaving pieces of itself hidden all over Chile. Spanish is everywhere and at the same time nowhere. He wants me to find him, I think, but he teases and taunts me with his intangible clues. I find a piece of my mysterious lover in the sound of my alarm in the morning, and another in one of the many puddles of mud on my way to school. And yet I catch another as it is falling from the sky with the rain, and I can faintly see the trace of one lost to the green flame dancing the tango with the more popular orange flames in the chimenia. I gather all of my pieces together and hold them close to me for fear that I might lose them, which I do from time to time. I take them to my room and set about to make my puzzle pieces into a complete picture. Although Spanish has left me treasures of itself, he has failed to leave instructions or an example of what my puzzle should resemble as an end result.

Discovering my hidden treasures, and playing with how they fit into the jigsaw is a rather enjoyable game some of the time. But like a game that has gone on too long, or a distant lover who never lets his guard down, I tire, and just want to know the answer already. I want to know Spanish. I don't want to know him, like I know the many cities I traveled within when traveling around Europe staying only long enough to see the tourist attractions. I want to know Spanish like a traveler who sees what is meant to be seen, the outside of the shell, but also as a native, who knows where the after hours bar is in the seemingly deserted building, that requires a secret knock and a long , overcomplicated handshake.

Spanish occasionally reveals himself enough to dance with me. One hand below my shoulder bone and one hand gently holding mine. Our stature is gentle but stiff. I am twirling around the room, or shall I say, being twirled around the room, and I have to close my eyes because the world is spinning out of control. My eyes dart painfully around for something to focus on, but I can find nothing. He is a graceful and talented dancer, but I don't know the steps, and I feel so embarrassed. Why is it that everyone around me seems to know this dance, and I can't figure out what to do with my feet. I am going to fall. I know I am going to fall. I am afraid and embarrassed. Will everyone laugh at me when they hear me speak? How much more of this until I can go home, crawl into bed and never come out? No one speaks Spanish under my covers. I am safe there.

Learning Spanish has been a much slower process than I imagined. My standard saying, when someone asks how my Spanish is coming along is, “un poco a poco.” Somedays, it is hard to get out of bed, I am so tired of attempting this language. It is not that I am afraid of making mistakes, because that is a daily reality, but rather that I am exhausted from thinking so hard and drained from this overwhelming feeling of stupidity and my daily reminder of my inability to communicate effectively. I know it is a learning process, and I am aware that it takes time and effort, but constantly making mistakes, and not being able to express ones thoughts or ideas, takes a tole on a person's self-esteem. No wonder babies cry all the time, they just want to be understood.

There are days, when speaking, and understanding comes exceedingly easy, and I find myself soaring through the clouds, along with those felicitous souls newly in love. But it doesn't last. I always fall. It is inevitable. Like a substance induced high, I come crashing down, without a parachute, with bits of cloud remains embedded in my hair. My lungs feel constrained from the rapid change in altitude and my body is covered in bruises to remind me of how much work I have left to do. I am waiting for the time that my trip to the clouds lasts more than a day, maybe even more than a week. I am waiting for the day, that I will grow wings, and fly with the others who have accomplished their dream. And then I will really be in Heaven!

Random pictures

Looking out my bedroom Window!

Looking out my bedroom window is always a new adventure. I love to walk up to my window, push the curtains aside and stare. Stare at the unknown, and the incomprehensible. The shacks, I mean houses, here in Chile are pitiful by American standards. They are thrown together without thought to the future. Unlike Italy, these buildings and houses are not built with love and care, but with haste and thoughtlessness. The centers of almost all towns in Chile, have dilapidated buildings, crying with neglect. I understand there is a lack of money, but building houses that are made to fall in the face of a storm will not prove helpful in times of need. Even the beautiful house we live in, doesn't seem made to last. In the entire house, there is only one built in closet. The closet we use is poorly built and is actually more of a wardrobe. I don't believe I have seen one garage since moving here to Chile, 2 months ago, and storage space is non existent. Kitchens, if the house comes with one, don't have a pantry, and many of the dishes are stored in the oven. The dishwasher is not built in, and is in the form of a woman. Dishwashers, the machines, are rare, and a luxury. Gas is bought from a truck and heats the water and the general cooking devices such as the stove and the oven. However if the gas runs out, which it does often, your shower turns from hot to cold within the blink of an eye. Cold showers really make the day start off fantastically.

I didn't realize before, that houses could come without kitchens. Next door, I see our neighbor tending his outside fire, as he does everyday. I never realized until recently that the reason for his outside fire, is not for warmth, or entertainment, but for cooking. How could a house be built without a kitchen? What happens when it rains, how does he eat? Pichilemu is cold and unpleasant in the winter and to be outdoors, enduring nature is unthinkable for a spoiled American brat like me. In order to eat a hot meal, he has to start a fire, outside, against the wind and elements. I am cold enough inside buildings, since heaters are almost non-existent here in the sixth region. Houses also don't have fire places but these iron box chimineas that are used in place. Unfortunately, only the room they are located in stays warm, while the rest of the house, or building remains as cold or colder than the outside. Pichilemu is not much colder than San Antonio, but imagine never being able to feel fully warm and protected by the outside cold. San Antonio might actually be miserable in the winter without the car heater or the house and building heaters. My bones have a permanent cold gripping at their core, and it's impossible to defrost.

We ran into a woman Camila knows at the market, where all of the town congregates to buy their produce, used shoes, cheap jewelry, and gossip about the scandals rocking Pichilemu for the week. Camila's friend invited us over for “onces”, the snack that they have in place of dinner, that evening. She recognized me as the American English teacher, and informed me that her daughter was one of my students and was always talking about Tia Vanessa. I was apprehensive about the situation. I didn't want to lie if she was one of my dreadful students who came to school only to play and harass the other students and teachers, making the learning process near impossible. I don't like to lie, and I certainly didn't want to lie to this nice woman inviting us into her house, if her child was one of those born to cause me pain, but luckily my fibbing skills weren't necessary. Her daughter is in my last class on Friday afternoon at Divino Maestro, when the only English my students bother to listen for is “You may leave.” This class is horrid, and feeds on my energy like leeches sucking blood out of it's host. They sit looking out the window, holding their backpacks for the entire 45 minutes of class ready to bolt when the bell rings. Or in the case of last week, the children cornered me fifteen minutes before the bell, begging and pleading to be let out early. That's right, fifteen minutes early. Not two, not five minutes, but fifteen. I held the fort for 11, blocking the door, while they surrounded me like a pride of lions moving in for a slow kill. All twenty-five students encircled me, so close I could smell their hair, body oder and breath. Eleven minutes, I stood there blocking my students from leaving, yelling at them to sit down and finish their work, and repeating that they couldn't leave, but it all fell on deaf ears. They were done for the day, and sitting and behaving was out of question. I had already written down almost half of the classes names to be placed on the behavior needs improvement list, so I was out of threats. I gave in after eleven minutes. I wanted to leave as much as they did, and to breath fresh oxygen. My personal bubble needed tending. The poking and pulling and prodding had ripped gaping holes in not only my bubble, but also my good mood and positive energy. All of this is to say that Sylvia, the daughter of the woman who invited us over, is in this class and is the best and my favorite student.

We arrived at the house, on Chilean time and were welcomed by the entire family. Sylvia made my head swell with pride when the first words our of her mouth were, “Hello, how are you?” Many of my students say “hello”, but very few venture out to speak anymore English than that one word. For the first time, I realized that even though my classes were difficult teaching environments, some of the students are learning and want to learn. She was thrilled to have all three of the Americans (Bethany, the other volunteer came with us) in her house, and was very affectionate the entire night. Hugging me, petting my hair, and trying to converse with me, even when I was involved in another conversation. She was actually excited to have her teacher over for dinner. However, the reason I am telling you this long, bloated story, which is obviously not staying on the main road, is to bring us to the point of their very interesting house. It consisted of an extremely small living room, two bedrooms each containing two people; the two sisters in one room, and the parents in the other, and a bathroom. The house was tiny and quaint and lacking in a dining room and a kitchen. However, dinner wasn't in the house, but in an outside, dirt-floored, over sized tool shed. This very rugged, yet actually cozy room served as their kitchen and dining room. In the middle was a fire and to the left was a long wooden table which might have been made out of the same tree that built the kitchen. Four of us squeezed into a bench facing the family, as we ate our avocado, tomatoes, potatoes and tea over good conversation and wonderful company. Oh yeah, almost forgot. There was a tarantula in the bedroom.

The noon “bell” rings as I stare into the hillside of trees and run down shacks that pass for houses. The bell sounds at noon in every town in all of Chile and each time, it grips my heart with panic. The sound is less like a bell, actually not bell at all, but the noise one would hear as a warning for a bomb raid or a tornado alert. At noon, every day, the siren fills the town people's ears, not with lovely chimes or musical notes from an instrument, but with a terrifying noise, that I not only associate with a warning siren but also a horror movie I saw a while back called Silent Hill. The noise was made to alert the town of the darkness that would soon take over. The only shelter from the evil that oozed out of the walls, and the creatures that rose from the dead, was a church, which in the end proved to have more evil within it's walls that the outside darkness. These are the thoughts that run through my head when I hear our courtesy noon alarm.

After staring into the heart of the Chile countryside for an unmeasurable length of time, my eyes finally focus on a dog roaming around in the next yard. There are many dogs near and around us, but this particular one causes my nerves to boogie like they had Saturday night fever. The music floating through the night air, every evening, is that of the communication of dogs. Barking, howling and growling, come together to create a symphony to compete with Mozart, except without instruments, a Capella style. The particular dog I mentioned before, is the star of the symphony and has the voice of a dying demon being pulled into hell. Her voice fills the night air with such unbearable noise, that any creature with the ability to hear, scatters to the farthest reaches of the country. The dog probably doesn't even have fleas for the awful noises she makes. Honestly the first time I heard her bark, I thought the poor dog was fighting it's last fight and miserably loosing but after enduring her grating voice everyday, I have come to realize the truth. Her bark always sounds like a dying creature. No one bothers to tell the dogs to stop their music making. It's just an accepted part of living in the country. And did I mention that she, the demon dog, has had puppies, and has given the gift of her beautiful voice to her offspring. So now, not only to we hear the song of the Demon dog, we are also graced with the melody of the little minion perroitos.

Dogs live outside in South America. End of story. Dogs, if they have an owner, are not pets but accessories to the house or the yard. Because they live outside and in the countryside, they all of fleas, even our brand new puppies. Canela, our beautiful chocolate lab who was knocked up by an unknown boyfriend, had her puppies several weeks past. Twelve little black, confused and unhappy puppies were born in a dirt hole outside in the front yard. All twelve survived the first two weeks, but because of normal, but sad realities, we now only have ten. It is fortunate at least that we have a little doggie house for our puppies, and I am surprised and pleased we didn't loose more to the cold. The very day they were born fleas from the countryside found a new home on our precious little puppies. It's sad, but impossible to help.

And there are even more dogs still that roam the streets of Chile without an owner, unwanted and uncared for. Another dog that causes me pain, but rather in my heart than my ears is one that makes his home in the center of town along with the majority of the other strays. He no longer resembles a dog, but a zombie creature back from the dead to torment the living. His mange causes this skeleton like animal to have only patches of hair to protect him from the cold wind. I can't look at him without almost crying, and the other night, he followed us for an uncomfortable length of time on our walk home. It is normal to be followed by dogs wanting attention and food, but this non-dog, zombie creature gives us the willies. The majority of strays in town, don't cause problems. They lay around, wait for food, chase cars and practice making puppy dog eyes for weak-willed humans. The other day, we watched two dogs take post on either side of the street for a fun game of “try and attack the cars”. Every time a car drove by, which was not to their liking, they would run at it from either side, nipping at the tires and barking as if the car were their long-time adversary. The drivers of the cars seem un-phased by the commotion and continued to drive as normal, despite being surrounded by barking, stray dogs. I want to give these poor, attention-deprived dogs love and care that they long for, but I can't because of the possible diseases they might carry. These abandoned and sad creatures therefore are doomed to forever roam the street without human affection.

Looking out my window is like looking into a microcosm of Chile and my emotions about living in this foreign country. The breath-taking countryside consumes my heart with a sense of peace and tranquility. The rolling hills that stretch before my eyes are scattered with dilapidated houses poking out between the trees. The deceivingly calm ocean to my right reaches out towards the sky wanting to touch it's sister, but never quite making contact. Confusing to the human eye, the blends of the blues make it difficult to detect the dividing line, but we sense that they are separate. I can't help but smile at my conflicting emotions surrounding this country. I love the beauty of it's nature and of it's people, but there are permanent flaws in this picture that cry out for help. There are days that this country makes me joyful beyond belief and there are days when all I want is to be home, surrounded with things that are familiar. I am like the ocean reaching out to the sky for something. I am not sure what emotion I should feel or will feel if I touch my mysterious goal. My waters, depending on the wind on the particular day, are either turbulent with fear or calm and content. Chile is beautiful but with flaws. My window gives me a perfect view into the confusing Chilean soul, but helps me reflect on my own as well.

Kyle Posts 2 Blogs in One Day!?

The Situation So Far...

When we first arrived in Pichilemu, the town looked much bigger than what I had been expecting. Everyone that we had talked to about our teaching situations had made it sound like it was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Pichilemu is actually not that bad, but for me, in the Rural schools, man where they right. The second day we were here, we spent the better part of it driving out to the 4 schools I was assigned to. Panul, Barrancas, Ciruelos and La Villa. The largest class consists of 18 students, the smallest one being Ciruelos at a whopping 8. The thought that kept running through my mind, as we drove from school to school was, “how the hell am I supposed to get out here.” As of now, I still don't know what they were thinking. Each of the little towns are about 18 kms from Pichilemu and about 5 km from each other. I don't have a car and there is one bus that sometimes goes to 3 of the schools. For Panul and Ciruelos, the professors come to pick me up in the morning and drop me off in the evening. It only took a little over a month for us to figure this system out. It's obviously very complicated >,<>

So as of now, my week is supposed to look something like this. Monday, relax, no school. Tuesday, the professor from Panul picks me up in the morning, I teach the first half of the students for a good 45 minutes before they start to loose interest. We eat lunch and I do the same thing with the other half of the students. At 5, Don Francisco takes me home. Wednesday, I get up at 6:30 so I can eat and get ready to leave the house by 7 so I can make it to the bus stop at 7:30. I then wait for 15 to 45 minutes for the bus to come. Of the past three times I have waited, it has come once. Thursday, Don Carlos from Ciruelos picks me up, I repeat the same process of 45 min teaching, 1hr 15 min of talking to myself, Lunch, repeat, home. Friday, I'm not really sure what I am supposed to be doing but so far it hasn't really mattered, in fact, I have yet to have had a solid week without interruptions. The first week after my new and improved schedule was organized, We had a slough of meetings to go to. The next week, we had to go to San Fernando to clear up the mess with our Identification cards. See Van's blog for the beef on that one. This week, more mess with Identity and now I have a cold! I just don't know when things are finally going to get into some kind of a routine around here. I am starting to think that routines just don't exist in Chile. Nothing seems to function the way it should.

I am becoming more and more tranquilo each day. I am starting to realize that while things don't run as they should around here, no one really expects them to. As long as no one is getting mad at us for the inefficiency of others, why should it bother us so much? In the end, they are the ones that suffer for it. I know that sounds a bit harsh but the truth is, we came here to help. If they don't want it, what will getting all worked up about it do to help the situation? Instead, I think we are all coming to the realization that we just have to take things day by day and hope that, at some point, we will actually teach some kids some English.

Kyle Posts 2 Blogs in One Day!?

The Situation So Far...

When we first arrived in Pichilemu, the town looked much bigger than what I had been expecting. Everyone that we had talked to about our teaching situations had made it sound like it was straight out of Little House on the Prairie. Pichilemu is actually not that bad, but for me, in the Rural schools, man where they right. The second day we were here, we spent the better part of it driving out to the 4 schools I was assigned to. Panul, Barrancas, Ciruelos and La Villa. The largest class consists of 18 students, the smallest one being Ciruelos at a whopping 8. The thought that kept running through my mind, as we drove from school to school was, “how the hell am I supposed to get out here.” As of now, I still don't know what they were thinking. Each of the little towns are about 18 kms from Pichilemu and about 5 km from each other. I don't have a car and there is one bus that sometimes goes to 3 of the schools. For Panul and Ciruelos, the professors come to pick me up in the morning and drop me off in the evening. It only took a little over a month for us to figure this system out. It's obviously very complicated >,<>

So as of now, my week is supposed to look something like this. Monday, relax, no school. Tuesday, the professor from Panul picks me up in the morning, I teach the first half of the students for a good 45 minutes before they start to loose interest. We eat lunch and I do the same thing with the other half of the students. At 5, Don Francisco takes me home. Wednesday, I get up at 6:30 so I can eat and get ready to leave the house by 7 so I can make it to the bus stop at 7:30. I then wait for 15 to 45 minutes for the bus to come. Of the past three times I have waited, it has come once. Thursday, Don Carlos from Ciruelos picks me up, I repeat the same process of 45 min teaching, 1hr 15 min of talking to myself, Lunch, repeat, home. Friday, I'm not really sure what I am supposed to be doing but so far it hasn't really mattered, in fact, I have yet to have had a solid week without interruptions. The first week after my new and improved schedule was organized, We had a slough of meetings to go to. The next week, we had to go to San Fernando to clear up the mess with our Identification cards. See Van's blog for the beef on that one. This week, more mess with Identity and now I have a cold! I just don't know when things are finally going to get into some kind of a routine around here. I am starting to think that routines just don't exist in Chile. Nothing seems to function the way it should.

I am becoming more and more tranquilo each day. I am starting to realize that while things don't run as they should around here, no one really expects them to. As long as no one is getting mad at us for the inefficiency of others, why should it bother us so much? In the end, they are the ones that suffer for it. I know that sounds a bit harsh but the truth is, we came here to help. If they don't want it, what will getting all worked up about it do to help the situation? Instead, I think we are all coming to the realization that we just have to take things day by day and hope that, at some point, we will actually teach some kids some English.

Kyle Finally Posts a Blog!!!

Ciruelos

Ciruelos is undoubtedly my most interesting school. Not my best behaved, but the most interesting.The professor there is Don Carlos Leyton. He is really something else. His father was one of the first students there and later became the professor of the school, then handed down the position to his son. The school itself has been around since I don't know when and it's age is really starting to show. It's a one building school that has been divided into two parts. One half is the classroom and the other half is Don Carlos' office that seconds as a classroom and thirds as the computer lab/tv room. They do have a computer, which is a pretty big step up for them but the tv gets one channel and there is no vcr. There are 4 other buildings on the school grounds. The kitchen, the museum, the bathrooms and another building slightly bigger than a tool shed that I think might be the wood working shop.

The Ciruelos Museum is, by far, the nicest building on the property. It's pretty much a three room house that has been converted. The displays consist of some rather interesting artifacts belonging to the Mapuche culture that once thrived in the region and the Incans as well. Another section is mostly old machines from the turn of the century including a huge old movie projector that still works and a collection of fire arms. Don Carlos has also amounted a very impressive taxidermy collection that I honestly have to say I was a bit concerned about. I appreciate the scientific aspect, but some of the species he has in the collection are very much endangered and a few may even be extinct. I know that Don Carlos is not capable of driving a species to extinction himself but I am afraid that he may impart the human superiority mentality necessary to amount such a collection on to the students. The is a mind set that, I am afraid is far too common here in Chile. Animals just aren't thought of the same way here as they are in the States. Animal protection is a new thing here and I don't think it's caught on in the country yet. The crowning glory of the Museum's collection is a huge, eight foot tall Leather back turtle that according to Don Carlos was caught just off of Punto de Lobos about 5 years ago.

The students have been pretty great so far. Most of them are very interested in learning English and all eight of them really enjoy having a new face around to talk to and play with. As far as school is concerned though, we are all kind of at ground zero. Basics are still a struggle. Numbers, letters, how are you, what's your name, etc. The way it goes now is, I spend 4 hours a day with the older kids and 4 hours with the younger ones, split up by recess, lunch and snack time. This is a really easy schedule for me to work with, but it's not very conducive to them actually learning. They loose interest fast and when they aren't paying attention, there's really no point for me to keep talking.

Last time I went out was a very interesting day. I have learned to be much more laid back about things around here and as such, I wasn't just itching to get them back in the classroom. So, when I saw Don Carlos going into the forest with a couple of students from the other class, I decided that was a good time to call it a day and see what they were up to. What I saw, when I caught up with them, made my heart rate double. One of the older boys, Sergio, 10, was revving up a chainsaw with no gloves, no safety glasses and obviously no real training. About ten feet away from Sergio, two of the girls from the class were crouched at the base of a tree, hacking away with hatchets. Don Carlos meanwhile, was swinging away, Paul Bunyon style, with what looked to me to be a two headed battle ax. After I came out of my state of shock at the situation, I ran over to Sergio who had just gotten the chainsaw running and put my sunglasses on his face. I turned to see how the girls were coming along just in time to see one of them barrel roll out of the way of the falling tree without a second to spare. After four trees had been cut, they were taken away by some guy in a truck and I still don't know what for. It was the most interesting time I have had yet teaching English. That day the students learned the words tree, ax, hatchet, chainsaw, and the two most important words of the day, safety and TIMBER!!!