Fan death

One of our most memorable moments in Chile was a dinner we had with our friend's host family. The season was turning, and cold had set in. In Chile, there are traditional foods for each time of the year. When it is cold, people drink a lot of matte. This is a type of tea drunken using a silver straw with slits at the bottom to keep from eating the leaves.
It is widely believed however that if you step outside after drinking a hot beverage without covering your mouth your face will freeze permanently. They believed this so strongly, they literally prevented us from leaving the room for at least fifteen minutes until they could be sure that our faces wouldn't freeze from the shock. This commonly held belief was so strong, that even well educated Chileans held strongly to this superstition. Everyone knew a friend of a friend whose cousin's mother-in-law had actually had this happen to them.

We have found a similarly bizarre conviction here in South Korea. It is called Fan Death.

Here is what Wikipedia has to say.

Fan death is a putative phenomenon, generally accepted only in South Korea, in which an electric fan left running overnight in a closed room can cause the death of those inside. Fans sold in Korea are equipped with a timer switch that turns them off after a set number of minutes, which users are frequently urged to set when going to sleep with a fan on. The specifics behind belief in the myth of fan-death often offer several explanations for the precise mechanism by which the fan kills. However, as explained below, none of these beliefs stands up to logical or scientific scrutiny. Examples for possible justifications of belief in fan death are as follows: * That an electric fan creates a vortex, which sucks the oxygen from the enclosed and sealed room and creates a partial vacuum inside. This explanation violates the principle of conservation of matter, as indoor fans are not nearly powerful enough to change the air pressure by any significant amount. Additionally if the room is closed and sealed, there is no place for the oxygen to be removed to. * That an electric fan chops up all the oxygen particles in the air leaving none to breathe. * The fan uses up the oxygen in the room and creates fatal levels of carbon dioxide. * That if the fan is put directly in front of the face of the sleeping person, it will suck all the air away, preventing one from breathing. This explanation ignores both the fact that a fan attracts as much air to a given spot as it is removing from it, and the fact that most people point a fan towards themselves when using one, which causes air to move past the face but does not change the amount of air present. * That fans contribute to hypothermia, or abnormally low body temperature. As the metabolism slows down at night, one becomes more sensitive to temperature, and thus supposedly more prone to hypothermia. If the fan is left on all night in a sealed and enclosed room, believers in fan death suppose that it will lower the temperature of the room to the point that it can cause hypothermia.

The Government of Korea doesn't alleviate this erroneous fear but rather propagates it.

In summer, mainstream Korean news sources regularly report on cases of fan death. A typical example is this excerpt from the July 28, 1997, edition of The Korea Herald, an English-language newspaper:

The heat wave which has encompassed Korea for about a week, has generated various heat-related accidents and deaths. At least 10 people died from the effects of electric fans which can remove oxygen from the air and lower body temperatures...

On Friday in eastern Seoul, a 16-year-old girl died from suffocation after she fell asleep in her room with an electric fan in motion. The death toll from fan-related incidents reached 10 during the past week. Medical experts say that this type of death occurs when one is exposed to electric fan breezes for long hours in a sealed area. "Excessive exposure to such a condition lowers one's temperature and hampers blood circulation. And it eventually leads to the paralysis of heart and lungs," says a medical expert.

"To prevent such an accident, one should keep the windows open and not expose oneself directly to fan air," he advised.

It makes me wonder what strange beliefs we have.

Reflections of our 8 months in Chile

(Another in the flashback series. Yes that means it is long)

Our family with baby Pablo in his pumpkin Halloween suite

Our house

Celebrating Chilean Independenc

The cueca, their national dance

Another national dance. The boys are pretending to row a boat.

Pichilemu, like Chile, was not what I expected. Expectaion plays a large role in one's experience in an unfamiliar place. My expectation was vague at best, but I am sure it played a vital role in our lives during our stay. The first thing I noticed upon arrival to Pichilemu was the red dirt like the dirt from childhood summers in Lubbock, Texas. I didn't like red dirt. I associate it with malicious fire ants and the burn from their bite. This red dirt had no such fire ants. Instead there were mysterious bugs that continually bit me throughout my stay in Chile. We still don't know what they were for sure, though every Chilean and their mother assured me they were mosquito bites, however we rarely saw mosquitoes.

Pichilemu was famous for two things, surfing, and being tranquilo. I don't enjoy pain, especially the searing burn of icy, salt water flowing from the Antarctic, so the nearest I ever got to surfing was dipping my big toe into the magnificent blue ocean. Although I consider myself a city girl, I loved living in a small, rural town. I loved the calmness but I also loved the town gossip; the mayor and his unusually bulging pockets was often whispered about in the teachers' lounge. The fresh air in Pichilemu was invigorating and I felt safe alongside nature. Maybe the best way to describe what it felt like living there is to take you on a familiar walk during our stay in Chile.

As I greet Canela, our adorable, and easily excitable chocolate labrador, the door shuts behind me. I walk around Jorge's motorcycle, his pride and joy, and out the tall black rod iron fence. The sky is clear and blue today, and although the house never seems to let go of the cold, the air outside is warm and inviting. With Canela trotting by my side, I walk towards town. I have two choices, the long way down streets and sidewalks, about 30 minutes, or the hazardous shortcut through the steep valley, over the bridge, through the mud and up a steep incline, surprisingly cutting the time in half. I choose the shortcut; I always choose the shortcut. The baby chicks pecking at the dirt road in front of me frantically scatter as I near, as if the ugly giant goblin has come to eat them one by one. I continue towards the pasture which is sometimes a soccer field, and sometimes a grazing ground for Don Pablo's horses. One time, Camila, our host mom, tried to teach Kyle to drive stick shift in that field. With Pablo screaming in my arms in the back it is a wonder how Camila, with true motherly skills, was able to think above Pablo's screams that hit every octave in the human range, to coach Kyle.

The field is empty today. I close my eyes, lean my head back and let my ponytail dangle free in the breeze, allowing the glow of the sun to envelop me. Behind me is our blue two story house, possibly the nicest house in the area. To my right, about ten minutes walking from where I stand, is one of my schools, Divino Maestro, where those diablitos we call children are sent to be babysat. Directly in front of me is a line of dilapidated houses blocking the view of the Pacific Ocean and grey sand beaches. And to my left is the valley, my chosen path into town. I take a deep breath and inhale the tranquility of this small town, far from the hustle and bustle of Santiago.

I walk through the horse pasture, seemingly lacking horses for the time being. Instead of horses however, I notice low flying birds, low enough to step on if one is not careful. They soar right above the grass, looking for those pesky yet tasty insects, I assume. I have never seen birds fly this low to the ground and I wonder where they come from, where they have been, and why they are flying around my feet now?

The first decline into the valley is similar to a dirt cliff side; steep, and without grass to hold the dirt in place. Rocks are dependable in some sections, but not all of the areas, especially during the rainy season when the dirt turns into a slip n slide made of mud. Had I not cared about the clothes I was wearing or the fact that I might plummet off the edge to my death, I might have taken up mudsliding as an extracurricular activity, but I did care about my clothes and my life.

We play a game while going down the hill; who can stay on one's feet the longest and not fall on one's butt. Of course I always win that game because I am the most graceful person you will ever meet; graceful maybe compared to Bozo the Clown!

As I make it down safely into the valley, I breathe a sigh of relief, but the obstacles aren't over yet. Next is the handmade bridge crossing the small muck colored creek. Luckily I have never had an issue with this bridge, although it is obviously older than I am, and missing planks. If it were a person, it would be an old miser who walks with a knobby cane and smiles a toothless mischievous grin. Once over the bridge however is the really challenging part, the "obstacle course," as we lovingly call it. The obstacle course is located in an open pasture that turns into swampland during the rainy season of winter. I keep expecting the swamp monster to come out of the sludge, growling and dripping mud, threatening to eat me. "Come on swamp monster, I deal with a room full of chalkboard scratching, booger throwing, snot nosed Chilean kids, I think I can take you!" But if he is there, he stays hidden in his swamp, smart monster.

A clear path lays straight ahead of me, but before I can reach that pass, I must traverse the obstacle course, a huge mud pit, with make-shift stepping blocks. First is the old tire, that has to be stepped on just right or else the side not stepped on will lift out of the mud causing the person to fall face first. Then its the rocks, boards, frisbees and some other objects thrown into the mix, helping passers navigate their way through the valley of mud.

I once mistakenly attempted to avoid the obstacle course through the mud pit and instead went around the wallow. "What a smart and novel idea, I am so clever." I thought to myself! The lower pasture, the only alternative, seemed safe, but the green grass of the pasture was merely camouflage for the 6 inches of mud below. I discovered this hidden swamp on the day when I had dared to wear my brand-spanking new black boots to class. I meticulously negotiated my path, but without reward. There was no reliable path. Everything was mud. Life is sometimes like that, giving you a choice between decorated and disguised mud or obvious mud. Guess what happened next? Before I realized what was happening my entire foot up to the ankle was submerged in mud, but not just one shoe, both, because as I took that first regretful step, to my dismay, I lost my graceful balance that I am so famous for, only to have both of my beautiful new velvety boots covered in that dreadful, gooky muck. I nearly turned around and went straight home after my humiliation, but I didn't, I dredged on, literally.

Now, walking into a class full of recalcitrant Spanish only speaking students who don't know what the term discipline in English or in Spanish means, can be intimidating. But walking into an already unruly classroom with boots covered in mud and humiliated pride is certainly not a helpful addition to the already hopeless situation.

I have mixed feelings about the time I spent teaching my students. Starting off, I was eager to make a difference and I was energized with new ideas. Most of the students hadn't ever seen someone from another country and their exposure to English let alone an English speaker was limited. I wanted to reach out to the kids, expose them to something new and hopefully improve their English or at least their interest in English. I was given two different schools to help teach at; Divino Maestro, and Digna Camilo. Both schools had English teachers. Brenda spoke English and Carmen, however sweet, did not. Both schools gave me the warmest welcome I could ever have imagined, with a full school assembly, thanking me for my presence in their country and in their schools. Digna Camilo even included dancing and songs in English in their welcoming ceremony. The kids seemed ecstatic by my presence, but that was soon to wear off. After my first few classes, their attention waned. I tried grabbing their attention with games, but the games would lead to rough housing, and no one seemed interested in the English. By the end, I was much less interested in teaching than in keeping my sanity and them in their seats for 90% of the class. I am ashamed I got to this point. I gave up on them as most of their teachers had done. The classrooms were more for group babysitting than a place for education. I don't believe in giving up in principle, but I did. We spent nearly a month on learning how to ask and answer simple questions such as, "What is your name?" and "How old are you?" but after a month, no progress had been made. I tried games, quizzes, rewards but you can't make someone learn something if they don't put in the effort. Maybe they didn't improve their English while I was there, but I am hopeful that I changed their thinking. Maybe someday, one of them will dare to venture out of their country, because my presence proved that non-Chileans aren't aliens after all. Maybe, a couple of them will learn to value English later on in life and go on to college. I don't know what impact I made and I may never know. I just pray that I made a difference in at least one of their lives. I went to Chile to make my mark on the world, to make a difference in someone else's life.

Even though I am unsure of the impact I made on my students, there were many people who greatly impacted our lives while in Chile. I have learned that it is important when we fall in life that we have people close to us, to help lift us back on our feet, even if we are covered in mud. Being in a foreign country, made me feel awkward and out of place much of the time but we were so fortunate with our support. We had many people around that loved and cared for us. Not so much from the Ministry though, in fact, hardly at all.

Although the Chilean Ministry of Education assured us that they were a sturdy leg for us to stand on, that leg was more like silly putty; flimsy, and without support or reliability. Our host family, unlike the ministry, was such an important factor in our adjustment. From the beginning, they were kind, helpful and caring. We felt welcome and comfortable with our host mom and dad, like we were really home. Camila was compassionate, humorous and motherly. When one of us had a cold, she would make us a special hot lemon tea with honey. When we seemed sad, she would tell us stories of her childhood to make us laugh. Jorge was absent minded but easily excitable, especially when it came to food. They welcomed us in as their family, and they will always have a place in our hearts.

Brenda, my partner Chilean English teacher was especially important as well in our support system. Brenda is one of the most kind-hearted people I have ever met. I was so grateful during our first meeting with her and the principal. She spoke English so well and I don't know that I would have been able to understand him otherwise. Even some Chileans had a hard time understanding what the principal was saying since he spoke so quickly. After studying English in the University, Brenda spent three months living in New Jersey practicing her English. She moved to Pichilemu from her home town of Talca, away from her beloved family to fulfill her dream of teaching English.

Two days a week, Brenda and I would lunch together. Some days, she would fix authentic Chilean meals such as a special Chilean casserole. Other days the meals were as simple as rice with a fried egg. It was so nice to relax and speak English in her beautiful home and have a friend I could talk with.

Another activity we cherished while in Chile was our English group diners. There were two other English teachers in the town that spoke English well, Cecilia and Luz. One evening a month, we would gather together as an opportunity for them to practice their English and have a cultural exchange. In the beginning we shared American and Chilean food. We cooked things such as baked potato soup and cornbread, and they made pastel de jaiva (an excellent crab dish). Pisco sour, their national drink, was always a must, except for the time Bethany decided to make mojitos and had to go on a wild goose chase to find fresh mint.

Bethany and the other volunteers in our region were another vital part to our support system. Bethany was the only other volunteer in our city and we became a little gringo family while in Chile, laughing and crying together. Twice a month, we would gather to have a gringo reunion, sometimes in Pichilemu, and other times in the other cities where the other volunteers lived. (When I say gringo, I don't mean white, I mean those of us who were not Chileans.) Our gatherings were a time for us to vent, speak English, play games, drink Baileys and enjoy each other's company. I am afraid to imagine what our sanity level would have been if it had not been for those extremely important friends.

Nothing about the valley is easy; the path down the cliff, the old man bridge, the obstacle course and certainly not the incline out of the valley. The incline is steep and often has zero traction. Some days a kind soul has poured sawdust into mud on the hill, allowing your foot to find some sort of stability. The way out, is bordered with houses, not really houses, shacks; shacks surrounded by trash and junk. I avoid looking at the puppies with their rib cages protruding, shivering outside in a huddle. Today, the family is outside and the two year old is grabbing at the ax stuck in the stump in front of their house. After the hike up the hill, I take a breather, taking care not to stare.

My journey in Chile, like the valley, has had its ups and downs. There were times when I couldn't see out of the valley and the feeling of desperation overtook my body, but there were also moments of untainted happiness. Looking back, I can say without doubt, that although it didn't always feel this way, there were more ups than downs in our rollercoaster ride called Chile. I came to Chile for several reasons. First and foremost I went yearning for change; change in myself and change in others. I wanted to find more of myself by helping others. Living in a culture that is not your own is difficult and rewarding. Difficult because it can be excruciatingly uncomfortable, and frustrating, but rewarding because growing is never easy, and if there isn't a certain amount of pain involved, we aren't working hard enough. I struggled with the language, and I struggled with the students. But I learned that even though it was tough going sometimes, scratches and bruises are just reminders of the struggle and growth. I am always searching for more, yearning for more knowledge. Although I didn't always feel like I was growing, I know I did.

I left Chile with some scratches and bruises, but also lasting friendships and a family away from home. I went searching for the meaning of life, and my purpose in it. I may not have found the answers, but I am on the right path. I am on a path out of the valley and on to greatness, I can feel it!

Brenda, me, Bethany and Kyle, when Brenda took us to visit her family in Talca.

Me in my classroom

Me with my students

The kids are jump roping in the courtyard.

At one of our Gringo reunions, except with two other Chileans

Pablo in my suitcase. He wanted to come with us.

p.s. you still have time to write a caption.

Honeymoon in Ecuador September 2007

**Warning: Too Long! Very Verbose ! You may need to read it in increments. Forgive Me**

(While we have so much time on our hands, I have decided to write the stories I never got around to. This is the first hopefully of many. It is long, but I tried to make it entertaining. Enjoy!)

Isla de Plata

Kyle snorkeling

Puerto Lopez

Isla de Plata

Montinitas
A humpback whale

When Kyle and I got married, September 2, 2006, Kyle was finishing what we thought was his last semester in school. The wedding took place the first weekend of the fall semester. We knew when planning the wedding we wouldn’t have the resources, aka: mula, to take the honeymoon we had always dreamed, so instead, we took what we dubbed “minimoon” to the hill country of Texas for three nights and two days. It was a lovely couple of days but was lacking significant factors that we felt were inherent in a proper honeymoon. A “proper honeymoon” needs to have the following qualifications; beach with warm, swimable water, relaxation, nice accommodations (not hostels) and plenty of sun/ sunbathing and it needs to be at least a week long. Obviously the Texas hill country is lacking in a beach, and the honeymoon was only a couple of days, therefore it did not meet the qualifications and could not be considered a proper honeymoon. Around the time of our one-year wedding anniversary, Kyle and I decided it was time to take the honeymoon of our dreams with the little money that we had. The main deciding factor in choosing Ecuador was because we had heard from our good friend and fellow Chile volunteer, that Ecuador had humpback whale viewing which was amazing. For any of you that know Kyle and I well, you know that we LOVE nature and things to do with learning and experiencing nature. We were big nerds in our Texas Tech biology class, and would stay after class to talk with the professor; NERD ALERT!!! We even took a two week camp, herpetology course with this same biology professor where we spent our days chasing snakes, reptiles, and other scaly, slimy green creatures, despite our mothers’ fears. That course was one of the highlights of our Texas Tech careers. All of this to say, we love the outdoors, animals and biology, so when we heard about this opportunity to see humpback whales, we couldn’t resist. Now, I know some of you might be thinking if you love animals so much, and you decided on Ecuador, why did you not choose the Galapagos Islands. We definitely did consider the Galapagos Islands, but in the end, decided that however much money we were making up just to make this trip in the first place, we couldn’t spend the amount necessary to visit the Galapagos Islands, but make no mistake, we will someday make it there.
Border Crossing
The trip started September 18, Chile’s Independence day. We wanted to make sure we had some good solid celebration time with our host family before we headed out on our vacation. Chileans receive an entire week off for Independence Day, and it is by far the most important holiday because they can revel in their pride for their country and culture, which they believe to be an outstanding culture. We, the country and I, have differing opinions on whether their culture is amazing or not, but we wont go into that now. After attending the parade of all the schools with their children and teachers walking through the streets of downtown Pichilemu, displaying their school banner, a fascinating spectacle, we jumped on a bus to Santiago to catch our plane to Lima. After our Peru trip, we had become excruciatingly familiar with the Lima airport, and felt as though it had become our second home. Our flight to Tumbes was not until the wee hours of the morning, but we didn’t feel it was worth our time and money to catch a taxi to a hotel/hostel, sleep a couple of hours in a real bed, take another taxi back to the airport to catch our flight. Instead, we toured around the airport, ate Papa Johns pizza, that’s right Papa Johns, we were so excited to find it, visited the tiny chapel, discussed whether they would take offense to the pews being used as beds, ultimately decided against it, and finally settled down to sleep/pretend to sleep on the chairs adjacent to the entrance of the airport.
Ecuador/Peru border crossing
Our arrival in Tumbes, was an experience in itself. Tumbes is on the Peru, Ecuador border and is not considered one of the most safe of border crossings in fact, it is considered by some to be quite dangerous. Gathering around the only conveyer belt in the tiny airport the size of a large office, a man came around offering taxi rides over the border, including to the immigration office and check points. He sat in the front seat next to the driver of the taxi. Kyle and he made small chat, as I stared out the window at the gray skies and desolate, dead fields, trying to quiet the overweight butterflies crashing into my stomach lining. I was wondering if we had made a mistake in coming to this country. I am not going to lie; I was scared. We were seasoned travelers, and we had been through many border crossings before, but this one seemed the sketchiest of them all. Although our guide assured us that he was trustworthy, we didn’t know who to trust or what to believe. The butterflies only seemed to put on more weight as we drove through the town. Women walked down the dirt streets wearing, tight, unflattering shirts that exposed their midriff. Little boys ran around in raggedy clothing, barefoot. The streets were chaotic, and full of people, animals and vehicles. As our taxi came to the border between Tumbes and Haquilles, we were halted by a police officer eating a burrito. He wouldn’t look directly at us, but wouldn’t let us pass. The taxi driver got out of the car to explain that he had a license to cross the border and that he did this everyday, but the police officer stared into his burrito chewing meticulously, unmoved, as our taxi driver grew angrier, throwing his arms wildly in the air. By this point our car had been surrounded by 12 to 13 year old boys offering to help us with our bags. I clutched on to my belongings until the cords cut into my hand, watching the boys carefully to make sure they didn’t run off with any of our bags or money. We gathered our luggage and walked two blocks through the chaotic streets to catch another taxi. The man, who rode in the front seat, stayed with us throughout the entire trip, for which I was grateful. We jumped in another taxi for $2 and rode 2km to the Peruvian checkpoint to let them know we were leaving Ecuador. We then had to jump in another taxi to the Ecuadorian checkpoint, to inform them that we were arriving in their country. Outside the checkpoint, friendly men with fixed calculators were happy to exchange money for a good deal, in other words, pay you 60% of what you should receive. We politely declined. We were really on edge and felt extremely vulnerable throughout the whole process, but somehow we made it through without being robbed. After the checkpoints, we walked to a station where our guide said we could catch a ride to Guayaquil. However before we were to depart from our guide, he asked for a tip. Now when we negotiated the original price of the trip “only $10” was his response. Evidently that $10 was to go to the taxi that couldn’t make it across the border. We then had to pay more money to take more taxis, not part of the deal. We gave him $5, nearly all of the cash we had left. He wasn’t satisfied, but after haggling with us for sometime, left grumbling. We paid much more than what we had read it would cost to cross the border as it was, and $10 was the agreed upon rate. In my opinion, he needed to take up his complaints with the taxi driver.
The trip to Puerto Lopez
We had arrived in Tumbes around 7am in the morning. The border crossing although it had felt like days, only took about an hour. The red van, equipped with AC, would take 4 hours to arrive to Guayaquil, the main hub for Ecuador and we were just in the initial stages of this epic journey. We piled in to the impressively clean van for South America with three other men. Our stomachs ached from lack of food, rumbling and grumbling in an attempt to display their unhappiness, but there was no guarantee that the food at our food stop wouldn’t anger our already disgruntled tummies with unknown bacteria. Although we explained this to our digestive organs, they didn’t want to listen to our logical arguments and continued their squabbling. Between the seats in front of us lay a cardboard box labeled sandwiches, and for a fleeting moment of illogical hunger-driven thinking, I thought that the box was filled with food to feed us. What a kind bus driver to think of his potentially famished clients. However, t as I stared at this box that could hold my potential lunch, I observed holes which I thought strange for a sandwich box, since we all know sandwiches don’t need to breath. And then the box moved. Out from one of those curious holes flashed a brown oddly shaped object, only for a brief instant. Perplexed and a little alarmed, I leaned in closer to get a better look. When the object poked through once again, a small thin dark tongue emerged, and to my horror, I realized that within this box, not more than four inches tall, lay a parrot desperate to escape. The hole grew as I watched the beak rip at it’s cardboard prison. The owner of the box/illegal parrot, sat with his head leaning against the window, mouth open and snoring. We decided to wake him, only when fear that the parrot might actually be successful in it’s getaway attempt became evident. My heart hurt for the trapped parrot in it’s unnaturally small box, but I also didn’t want to be a sitting duck, confined in the van with a maddened parrot, squawking and flying around looking for another escape route and/or someone to blame. Not to mention, the legal ramifications of smuggling a parrot might not mean prison or capitol punishment for all in the van with the criminal party, but I didn’t want to take my chances in country with a corrupt government. He patched the hole with tape, and although it slowed the determined creature, the call of the wild was strong in him, and if left to his efforts for just a couple more hours, his attempts would have probably been successful.
We jumped out of the van, almost literally, at the bus depot in Guaquille and ran to catch our next bus that was leaving within five minutes. Kyle’s bladder had been full for over an hour, but rather than risk missing the bus and having to wait for several more hours until the next one, he crossed his legs and stepped on to the seedy bus for yet another 5 hour bus ride. The bus jetted almost as soon as we stepped on making several stops to pick up vendors selling everything from bottled water, to fruit, to ice cream and candy. We were parched and starving by this point, but had been advised by more than one source not to eat street food, and we figured food sold on buses were included in that category. We did break down and buy a bottle of water, but when we opened it, we discovered that it had been opened before and had probably been filled with tap water. We were parched but our desire not to have Mantasuma’s revenge on our honeymoon took priority; we didn’t drink it. The ride was bumpy and long and poor Kyle had to endure almost the entire trip having to pee. Several hours in, we made a quick stop at a gas station to refuel. Seizing his only opportunity, Kyle jumped off the bus to find a restroom. Visions of the bus leaving with Kyle running behind, permeated my mind. I was in a delicate state, and although my fear had mostly subsided by this point, my senses were on high alert until our arrival to our hotel. Luckily Kyle returned, safe and sound without having to race after the bus.
The sun retreated behind the mountains, and darkness slowly sprinkled the sky until it was fully saturated in black, but the bus driver seemed to take the lessoned vision as a cue to drive faster up mountains. I tried to look out the window as we drove at lightening speed, but Kyle assured me, it was best that I couldn’t see anything.

When we arrived in Puerto Lopez, we took a motocab, a motorcycle with a cart attached to the back to carry people, to our Hotel. We were relieved to have arrived at Hosteria Mandala alive, and with all our belongings. We had been traveling for 30 hours straight. We were wearied and famished, but we were home.

Hosteria Mandala was an amazing hotel. A labyrinth of paths, fringed by exotic and colorful plants connected the individual cabins. The rooms were small, but held the essentials. A large bed covered by a mosquito net took up most of the room. There was a closet, a small bathroom and a porch with a hammock and chair. It was a perfect paradise in the sea of chaos that colored our journey up till that point. At the restaurant connected to the hotel, our red eyes from lack of sleep, our slow yet deliberate motions and our near silence as we ate might have led some to believe us zombies and another day of hectic travel like the one before might have sent us over into the zombie realm, but luckily the longest travel portion of our trip was over, and we were glad of it. That night we went to sleep zombies but awoke live humans, refreshed and ready for whale watching. The whale watching journey included much more than just watching for the large knobby sea mammals; a boat ride for the whale watching, a guided tour of Isla de Plata, named for silver supposedly hidden on this island with the blue-footed boobies, and snorkeling for anyone who dared. Our boat ride was over an hour, and during that time we saw many humpbacks breech the water, unruffled by our presence. Their stunning yet peculiar bodies surfaced not 20 feet from our boat and as their tales hit the surface of the ocean, the upset water splashed the boat. It was the end of mating season, and during peak season, the males jump out of the water, performing whale acrobatics to impress the choosy females. At the end of mating season, less jumping and impressing is to be had, but they remain in the area for humans to enjoy. We were lucky in that we did see one jump clear out of the water, creating a tidal wave to be envious of any cannon ball connoisseur. These resplendent creatures range from 40-50 ft and weigh approximately 79,000 lbs. “The humpback has a distinctive body shape, with unusually long pectoral fins and a knobby head. It is an acrobatic animal, often breaching and slapping the water. Males produce a complex whale song, which lasts for 10 to 20 minutes and is repeated for hours at a time. The purpose of the song is not yet clear, although it appears to have a role in mating.” (wikipedia)
We arrived on Isla de Plata (Island of Silver), and took a guided tour by our Spanish only speaking guide. The main draw to this island is the blue-footed booby, a clumsy bird with blue feet. We couldn’t get over these birds and their blue feet. We must have taken over 30 pictures of just these birds and what’s more, their feet were not homogenous in the chromatic sense, their feet varied in the color blue from one bird to the next. These colorful birds made delightful models for our ever snapping camera, seemingly indifferent to the humans with the black boxes attached to their heads. Occasionally the birds would block the path across the island, and because coaxing was punished with a swift snap of the beak, we would have to wait for them to cross. The trip didn’t end there however, because after ogling came snorkeling. The water was clear but not exactly warm, and although the sun was out, the day was not HOT. We jumped in the water for all of five minutes, partially because of the temperature, but also because of the invisible, microscopic jellyfish, stinging our bodies. We never identified the stinging culprit, but whatever animal or thing was guilty of the crime, we didn’t like it.
The following day, we rented bicycles and road what we were told was 12km, but what takes 30 minutes by bus, you do the math. Either that bus moves at tortoise speed, or 12km was not an accurate distance. Nevertheless, we road bicycles to Los Frailes, reputedly the most beautiful beach in Ecuador. The bikes were old, the road, bumpy, in poor condition, and much in need of a repavement. By the time we arrived to Los Frailes, our legs were sore and I was sure my butt was black and blue from bruises since it felt as if someone had used it as boxing practice. The warm and inviting sand made an excellent bed for our bike worn bodies. Soon the dampness that hung lightly from the grey overcast sky like spider webs that brush lightly against your skin, progressed to an unwelcome misting. From vibrant tropical green to desolate, near death brown, the mountains that surrounded the white sand beaches were not the mountains from the brilliant posters, rather in the dull light and mist, they looked melancholy, but none-the-less they still held a certain awe-inspiring quality. The misting continued to thicken as we hopped on our bikes for the ride back into town. Contrary to what the bike shop said, the ride back was not easier. The soft sand had not healed the bruising on our behinds, and despite the rain, we walked the last five blocks back to the shop.
The next day was our relaxing day. We slept in, ate a large breakfast, lay reading in our hammock and took a stroll on the beach collecting shells, rocks and sand dollars.

Montinitas
Montinitas (little mountains) was the next town on our trip. After an hour long bus ride in a beat up puke green school bus speckled in mud from the unpaved roads, we arrived at our destination. It was a cute, colorful hippie surfing town that has become an international hub for arts and crafts vendors. A quiet city by day, and a pueblo loco by night. Famous for it’s nightlife, Montinitas comes alive by dark. Our hotel, however, was situated away from the hustle and bustle of the famous nightlife, tucked away in a quiet corner far from the craziness, or so we thought. Because we were only spending one day and night in Monitinitas before dragging our lifeless bodies on a bus at 5:30 am the following morning, we specifically picked the hotel known for it’s peaceful and quiet evenings. Our heads hit the pillows by 9pm but by 10pm our beds were jumping and jiving with the rest of the wedding situated directly outside our hotel. Eighteen huge speakers, 300 crazy Ecuadorian guests, and a blushing bride and groom were to blame for the lack of sleep that evening. Luckily our bed was not agile enough for swing dancing and we were spared acrobatics. By 5 am the party raged on as we left the hotel, giving our saturated ear-drums and vibration worn bodies a reprieve.
Vilcabamba
Three bus rides, fourteen hours and one swollen and itchy foot by an unknown bug later, we arrived to heaven on Earth, Vilcabamba. The Valley of Longevity as is it often called, is not only known for it’s outstanding beauty, perfect all year climate, but it’s inhabitants who live well into their 100’s with the oldest reporting 135 years of age. Located in a valley at the foothills of the perpetually green and beautiful Andes mountains, Vilcabamba, because of it’s stunning beauty and magical air, could be the home to the supernatural creatures found in fairy tales. Our lodging, Madre Tierra hotel and spa (Mother Earth), was a paradise within heaven on earth, and had the most outstanding accommodations yet. The rooms, tucked away on the mountainside, were individually designed and decorated and included a large stylized porch with an amazing view of the valley. An organic breakfast and dinner were included in the price of the room, only $70 per night and 50% off all spa treatments.

After passing up Madre Tierra after having explained three times to the bus driver our destination, we arrived just in time for a romantic dinner, outside, under an awning dotted in Christmas lights. The tables were long, family style, and covered in colorfully striped tablecloth. The food was delicious, a perfect reward for our long, arduous day of travel. On our first day we spent our time between leisurely strolling through the tranquil, and quaint town and fabulous treatment at the spa designed to feel like a tropical cave dwelling. (For all of you who are wondering, Kyle has been converted to that of a spa-going and spa-enjoying male.) The spa had a special sample treatment deal which included a foot massage, a facial, a mud bath, a salt rub, a sauna treatment and a hair treatment. In total the treatment took three hours and only cost $45! (If I sound like an advertisement, I can’t help it, it runs in the family, I love a good deal!) One of the most interesting of the treatments was something we dubbed sauna box. After having our feet rubbed, our heads massaged and conditioned while listening to the extremely soothing and relaxing music our bodies were no longer our own, but had been molded into rag dolls. We were told to strip down to our Adam and Even suits, sit in this specially designed wooden box with a hole on the top. The hole’s purpose was so that while the body was being steam-cooked like a vegetable, the head could rest above with the cooler, fresher air. However, the seat within the box was crafted for one much taller than I, and I strained and stretched my neck to keep my chin above the hole. After steaming for a while, the lady came back in to let us out of the melting pot. It was a strange feeling standing naked and vulnerable in front of this stranger, but I did as I was told. She stood me up and using a hand towel soaked my wilted body with cold water. At first I shrank from the stark change in temperature, but I slowly felt my body rejoicing in the refreshing coolness. But we were not done yet. After fully adjusting to the coolness, I was placed back in the oven. This routine happened three times with only how I was drenched in cool water changed each time. The second time, I sat in what seemed to be a sink and had water poured on me. The third, I stood in a shower and was sprayed with water like I was car getting a spray down. There is sometimes a fine line between torture and pleasure, with this activity slightly leaning towards the pleasurable side.

Our activity for the following day was a guided tour to a hidden, therefore magical waterfall. (Ok so it wasn’t actually supposed to be magical, but it makes the story all the more interesting when there are magical elements. Am I right?). Our tour guide was very nice, spoke English well, and was eager to share any and all information on his country. Although, I found the waterfall to be plain and not as magical as I had hoped, the hiking was lovely. Had we come across the waterfall unexpectedly on our trek, I might have found the waterfall to be one of the most spectacular sights in the country, but because it was our destination, the goal of our entire trek, my expectations were high and in the end, as with most high-expectation situations, I was disappointed. On our walk back to the hotel, our guide took us to a sugarcane factory where the raw sugarcane plant is processed in a huge tub of boiling goo. We were given samples of the golden magma goo, which was delightfully sweet and lovely.

That evening we had a charming dinner with some volunteers on a medical team from California who had come to Ecuador on a mission to repair skin damage on fire victims. One of the benefits of the long, family-style tables was that it supported a community feel, and we got to know many of the other travelers at Madre Tierra, including a crazy Austinite who had come to Madre Tierra for a week, but had stayed five and counting. After dinner we watched The Year of Living Dangerously, an old Mel Gibbson movie in the ballroom. The wind, which can often be playful in the valley, was serious and forceful, howling into the night as we walked up the mountain to our room. Not minutes after we had climbed into bed, did the windows start rattling. I thought the wind was up to it’s mischievous and odd behavior once again, until the bed that we were in began to shake. It felt as if a giant was trying to jiggle his favorite toy out of the room. Afraid to move, I asked Kyle what one might find an obvious question, “Is this an earthquake?” Neither one of us had experienced an earthquake before, nor as the shaking continued did we know what actions to take while in an earthquake. As a child, we had tornado drills in elementary schools where all the students kneeled in lines against walls and covered their heads, but never had we practiced what to do in the case of an earthquake. For a moment I became aware that our room overhung a cliff, and feared that if the quake continued much longer, our room may be found at the bottom of the valley. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only 45 seconds, the shaking ceased. Our friend whom had befriended at dinner and had the room adjacent to ours, called through the wall, “is everyone ok?” Shaking and strangely excited, we threw on light jackets and headed next door. From this incident, we learned that the latest reports on safe procedures in an earthquake are to stand against a wall instead of a door frame like previously suggested, and being under a heavy object that could fall and crush your body, was not a good idea. An hour later, still jittery, we crawled back into bed.
I was surprised, the morning after that the workers seemed unfazed by this 6.0 earthquake, brushing it off as “solo un temblor,” (only a tremor). We might not have been at the epicenter of the earthquake and I might not be an expert, but a tremor does not shatter the glass walls to a spa.
Paradise, although near perfect, can sometimes have it’s draw backs. For me, these draw backs came in the number 60. Our very first evening, one of the first questions I asked was if bug spray was necessary. I have a special relationship to bugs, I hate them, and they love me. In fact, you could say I am a beacon in the night, a lighthouse, for all those creatures who seek blood. My blood is like the holy grail of bloods according to the mosquitoes and their kin, and is sought after like Pooh bears to honey. I was assured that this was not mosquito season and bugs were not an issue. This statement might have been true for a person like Kyle who only received 5 bites during our stay, but not for an attractive blood donor like myself who by the end, had over 60 bites. Yes, I said 60, not 6, not 16, but 60, 15 at least on each limb. But what made these even more special was that these weren’t just regular bites, they were unique. Two of my bites on my ankles caused swelling and discoloration with a diameter of at least three inches. Another bite bubbled up in a form of a blister that had to be popped. By the end, I was like an art project gone wrong, splattered in colors and shapes, but not very sightly. But despite my multiple itches covering my body, we had a fantastically romantic time in Vilcabamba.



Zorritos
Zorritos (little foxes) was the last stop on our honeymoon. We were the only guests staying at the hotel, situated on a picturesque and serene white sand beach. Zorritos itself was a dump, but we hadn’t come for the town, we had come for the sun and the beach, a last repreive before we returned to cold Pichilemu. We spent one day on an unexciting tour of the mangrove forest while the other was spent lounging on the beach. The chef at Costa Azul, our hotel, had amazing hands for seafood and we dined in ecstasy nearly every night. Our time in Zorritos was relaxing and uneventful, unless you consider my crisply burnt feet, but nearly a perfect ending to a perfect honeymoon. On our last day as we walked along the beach, holding hands and reveling in our perfect honeymoon , a fin penetrated the water. A pod of dolphins of at least 6 swam along the shore as if to say goodbye and good luck.

Our honeymoon, unlike the easy uneventful, resort honeymoons that many people enjoy, was full of wild border crossings, long bus trips, and painful bug bites. But as we are not most people, and enjoy adventure and all the hazards that come along with adventure, we consider our honeymoon a success. It was a fabulously romantic adventure always to be remembered. It was the best honeymoon we could have asked for, and I loved it as I love Kyle exactly the way he is.

Kyle crossing a very scary bridge

Weird starfish critter
My leg covered in huge bites
Vilcabamba
On our hike to the waterfall
Juancho, the dog at Zorritos who adopted us. He went on all our walks with us.

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Saying Goodbye to Bethany

The calmness of her voice gave her away. I knew the instant I picked up the phone, the meaning of the call, but she didn't say it then. Instead, she said she wanted us to get together for pisco sour and manjar (something very similar to dulce de leche) and she would be over in an hour or so. My anxiety, which had begun in my big toe shot bolts of lightening first through my calves, and then thighs. Once it reached my stomach, the game was over. The stomach is like miracle growth to anxiety, there is no turning back after miracle growth has cast it's spell. After the anxiety had reached the furthest regions of my body, it began planting clouds of doubt. What will you do when she leaves Chile? What will life as a sola gringa be like? Will we make it? Should we consider going home as well? I knew why she wanted to go home. She had been talking about how unhappy Chile had made her, and that staying in Chile for the sake of finishing the program was not as important to her as being happy. But, I was not Bethany, and although I had ridden along a similar roller coaster as she, mine consisted of less dips and more height. There were definite pockets of unhappiness in my life in Chile, and moments when I thought to myself, “What the hell am I doing here? All I want, is to be somewhere comfortable and familiar, with heaters and Taco Cabanas!” But life as a roller coaster does not coast only in the low points but also reaches heights unimaginable. Walking home from school through the valley near our house, I often feel overwhelmed by the beauty of the sunset in the sky as big as any Texas sky. The horses would look up from their grazing seemingly annoyed by my presence, but a little apprehensive. The rolling hills surrounding the town never turned brown, but seemed to grow greener with each passing day. Life is not meant to be a walk in the park because without a struggle, there is nothing to be proud of and I was proud of our bold decision to come to a foreign country to help children possibly get ahead in life.

Over pisco sours we discussed in detail her decision to leave. Although I would have preferred her to stay I knew that this was her choice, something that could only be decided by her. The determination in her voice dared anyone to argue and we respectfully made no attempt to contend. We discussed her plans for the following two weeks before her departure. Her flight was to leave from Santiago, and we would meet there with our fellow fifth and sixth region buddies to say our adieus to Bethany. We treated ourselves to one night in the luxurious Marriott with Bethany's ex-employee discount, and lived lavishly the following morning with a dip in the hot tub and a roasting in the spa. We feasted on sushi in the richer part of Santiago, partied with our fellow Chilean friends and said what we had come to say, “goodbye.”

Walking home from the bus stop in Pichilemu, I felt a physical change to the town. An emptiness that hadn't been there before, was present now. Possibly it was the hole in my heart projecting onto the town, a hole that I didn't want to face. But it is my opinion that the town felt her departure as well, and formed a black hole where her spirit should have been. As I walked, I kept repeating to myself, “We are going to be Okay. We are going to make it. We CAN make it.” I knew the words I said to be true, but life would change, and the emptiness saddened me. Life had been easier with our friend and ally, but we could prevail, we WOULD prevail!

The Tale of the Passports or Nearly Deported. (By Kyle Rogers!)

It all began back in March, when we had first started the program. Things were going relatively smoothly and it looked to us as though the Ministry had everything under control. Little did we know that within a month, all Hell was going to break loose.

As the orientation commenced, the Ingles Abre Puertas aka IAP (English Opens Doors for all you Gringos) staff assured us that the few hick-ups that many of us had faced upon our arrival were typical and we SHOULDN'T WORRY. This phrase; “no se preocupen” would be repeated to us countless times at every point in which a normal human being would in fact worry. On the third or fourth day of orientation the staff collected all of our passports so they could register all of us at once and save us the trouble of having to do it ourselves. Needless to say, this was a bit nerve racking. From the very moment we get them it is ingrained in us that our Passport is our life when abroad and should never be handed over without question. However, considering that we were told before hand that it would be necessary to receive temp visas, and the collection of the passports was done so in a very orderly manor, we handed our lives over with the reassurance of “no se preocupen.” This was the moment that Hell's gate slowly began to creep open. Over a week goes by and we trusting little volunteers still had not received our passports back. The only form of encouragement we have is that we ALL have not received them, not just an unlucky few, so in the case of some huge mishap the ministry would have to deal with 70 angry foreigners and not just a couple. As fate would have it though, our passports were actually returned ahead of schedule and all of us got them back with plenty of time to spare. At this moment, one VERY important thing should have happened that did not and if said thing had happened, I would not have needed to write this story and you would not be having the pleasure of reading it. This is of course the ONLY good thing that came from our passport adventure; a wonderful story to tell.

Point one, at which all could have been prevented; the IAP should have made it very clear to all of us that this was not the last thing we would need to do to register with the grand Republic of Chile. When we arrived at our respective towns we would have to register our Visas and receive our Chilean residence identification cards or carnets as they're called here. Now, to give IAP due respect, this vital little piece of information was in fact included in our Volunteer hand books that they did tell us on numerous occasions that we needed to read. The problem was that the hand book said very clearly that the regional coordinator would inform us when and where we would need to go to register our Visas. We, the 6^th region volunteers have no regional coordinator. Thus the gates of Hell swing wide open.

For the next Month Bethany, Vanessa and myself struggle through what would prove to be one of the most frustrating and disorganized times of all our lives. Fact 1; Bethany is the only one of us that spoke Spanish. Fact 2; No one at the Departamento Provincial de Educacion (Provincial Department of Education in Gringo) aka the Prov. speaks English. Put 1 and 2 together and Bethany becomes our coordinator. Let me also point out that we were told prior to our arrival here in Pichilemu that everything had been arranged and someone from the IAP would be there for a week to get us acquainted with our new home so “no se preocupen.” Definitely did not happen, and definitely needed to have. This would be point two, at which all could have been prevented.

Point three, at which all could have been prevented is slightly dependent on point two and slightly resembles point one but could certainly have occurred without point two having taken place and is slightly different than point one. To receive your Carnet (see above if your not sure what that is), you must register your temporary visa within 30 days. After the 30 days, you are required to pay a fee of 50 US dollars and, as we would find out later, be put under residential probation pending an investigation. I will explain this in due course, suffice it to say, we were screwed. 33 days after we had received our Visas, the IAP calls to find out how things are going and to make sure that we have registered our Visas. 3 days after the deadline. Not 3 days before, not even the day of, but 3 days after. So this point gets included because I feel that had the IAP truly been considering the well being of their volunteers, the backbone of their program, this phone call would not have come when it did. Regardless, the IAP informs us what we were supposed to have done and that it was clearly stated in the volunteer hand book that we obviously did not read. After pointing out that in fact it was not the accused who had obviously not read the manual but the accusers, we got around to how to resolve the issue. Now the fun began.

We were told that the first thing we would need to do is go to the Governor's office here in Pichilemu and inform them of our situation. At this point one could add another point at which everything could have been prevented, as this was yet another perfect opportunity for the IAP to send someone to help us through our ever increasingly difficult situation. We met with the Governor's secretary who after hearing a good 5 seconds worth of our situation promptly told us exactly where we needed to go to resolve our issue; the Police of Investigations in San Fernando. The red flag shot right up at this but who were we to say no and she did tell us that we would not be fined and of course “no se preocupen.” Bethany then called the IAP who then called the secretary and then called Bethany back to say “go to San Fernando, you will be given a verbal warning, you won't be fined and, of course...”I don't even have to say it do I? If that sounds confusing to you just imagine how we felt. Certainly could have used a coordinator at that point right?

Point four, at which all could have been resolved was the day we went to San Fernando. You would think that the fact that we were having to go to the Police of Investigations would have merited a liaison from the IAP but Bethany spoke Spanish so clearly there was no need. We were then taken to the office of so and so. Officer so and so then spent the next two hours typing up a written warning stating that we had committed such and such infractions of such and such laws and that pending an investigation and such and such actions we would be given our Carnets. As this form was being written, officer so and so received a phone call. Bethany overheard him say that he did not understand why the Governor's secretary had sent us to him as he was obligated to put us under investigation and that all of this could have been resolved there in Pichilemu, by her. Either she wasn't paying attention when we were explaining our situation, (YES) or she was lazy and didn't want to do the work, (PROBABLY YES ASWELL). Anyways, after the papers were made we signed the forms and received our temporary residential identification cards and then were very casually asked to hand over our passports. All three of us froze. Without knowing it, Bethany and I both started to consider walking out then and there. My mind began to race with what ifs and plans of escape. Alas, out of sheer lack of a better idea and a pure leap of faith that this guy wasn't going to screw us over, we agreed and for the second time handed our lives over. We were however very certain to make it clear that our passports were extremely important to us and we were somewhat reassured by the fact that so and so told us if at any time we needed them, we could come and borrow them. He also said however that we were not allowed to leave the country during our probation. This concerned all of us a bit but I figured, if there was any kind of emergency, we wouldn't really have any problems getting out of the country. Later that week I contacted the US consulate in Santiago who told us that they knew exactly where we were and if anything were to happen, they would get us out and recover our passports. This was the first time in a long time that someone said “don't worry” and it actually made me feel better. Anyways, Officer so and so informed us before we left that under normal circumstances, infractors such as ourselves would have to come once a week to check in so as to make sure we hadn't left the country. He told us that because he didn't really think we were going anywhere, we could just call every Monday to let him know we were still around. He also said that at most, we would have to wait 2 weeks to get our passports back, at most. 2 weeks turned into 3 and still no passports. Bethany then receives a call from the Governor's Secretary informing us that we will have to pay a fine before we can get our passports back and our Carnets. We all think EXTORTION and quickly contact everyone we can think of at the Min. of Education so that someone will come and sort this out for us. This is quite obviously Point five at which the IAP could have stepped in.

Resolution. At this point we were all a little furious. We refused to fork over the third of our paychecks they were asking of us for a mistake that was clearly the Ministry's booboo. I was ready to be locked up kicking and screaming, just so the IAP would finally get the point that this was not something they could continue to ignore and work on from the fringes. Unfortunately, I never get the opportunity. Bethany relays our situation to her boyfriend Nick who relays it to his dad. His dad relays it to his Lawyer friend from Santiago who calls Bethany and says what the heck is going on and how can I help? Bethany tells him all that has happened and within 24 hours he is able to get more done than anyone else has in over 3 weeks. He calls her the next day and says “go to San Fernando and get your passports. Then go to the Governor's office in Pichilemu and get your ID cards. If anything doesn't happen how it's supposed to, call me!” Thus a lawyer slams shut the gates of Hell.

Now, after Bethany gets her lawyer involved who has pretty much already saved all our butts and did 90% of the work for them, the IAP sends someone to help. Gabbi, who we really do like by the way, meets us in San Fernando and takes us to get our passports and then our money which was a whole other can of worms. We weren't quite home free at this point cause the Carnet office in San Fernando was packed and the bank was closing so we chose to get the money that day and go to Santa Cruz another day to get our Carnets. This proved pretty painless actually but still inconvenient and rather anticlimactic. They don't even look all that great and we hardly ever use them. I often wonder what would have happened had we never registered anyways. Would they really have known? Some days I'm just not sure and other days I'm positive that the Chilean Gov't. doesn't have a clue!

So in the end it all worked out and the many points at which the Ministry could have stepped in proved to be useless. Who knew that all we needed to do was get a lawyer involved? In the end, we are still here and each day things get a little easier. Do we still have some problems? Of course, but the trick to it all, we finally realize is simple; “NO SE PREOCUPEN!!!”

Peru; Lima and the Jungle

We were badly in need of a Vacation, and Peru with the Family was just what the doctor ordered. We left for Santiago, Wednesday evening after school. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 6 am Thursday morning, meaning we had to be at the airport at 4 am. Little did we know, that this habit of waking up before the sun rises and proclaims it's presence to the world, would be a regular event in the life of the Sanders\Rogers\Braun\Mayne Family adventure. Arriving into Lima and did not find our names on the numerous boards being held for arranged pickups. We searched our bags for the name of our hotel. Luckily we found it and asked a friendly cabdriver if he new of our hotel or where our previously arranged driver was. After a couple of minutes he returned with a man who had the name of our hotel on his sign but not the names of his passengers. The cabdriver helping us insisted with urgency and authority that he obtain the names of his supposed passengers before we enter the other guys car. We had heard horror stories of unreliable taxi drivers taking their unsuspecting and vulnerable passengers to deserted locations and stealing anything and everything they could, leaving them stranded without money or valuables. Though Kyle and I are sometimes naive and overly trusting, I believe that we are pretty safe travelers so we quickly agreed that the man should know who we are or at least be able to find out. After all of the hassle, it turned out that this particular driver from our hotel, did in fact obtain our correct names and he didn't rob everything we had. I was still thankful for the bossy cabdrivers assistance in our complicated and yet simple ordeal.

Driving past numerous police cars lining the streets, we discovered that the teachers in all of Peru were striking and affecting all aspects of Peruvian life including tourists traveling. Luckily the strike never effected us throughout the entire vacation, but we ran into several people along our path whose planes and buses were prevented from continuing to their appointed destinations because of the ruckus, including a couple who spent over 30 hours on what was supposed to be a 6 hour bus ride. Arriving to our hotel, we found Mayne, my mom's co-worker in the hotel alone. Mayne flew separately and my families flight had been delayed out of Miami, and although they should had arrived at the hotel the night before, they still hadn't left Miami. So here we were, in a foreign country with my mom's friend who I had only met twice before, who seemed very nervous with the whole situation, and all I wanted, was a nice shower and to crawl into a nice warm bed. Although Lima is definitely warmer than Pichilemu, the clouds were gray and ominous and looked to be threatening rain and possibly a demolition of our first day of this supposed vacation. We made an expensive international call to my mom, and learned that she is booked for the next flight out and should arrive before our next flight to Iquitos the next morning. As for Nancy and her kids, we still had no word. Lisa and Jonathan, who self-admittedly proclaim to have little patience with traveling, were ready to spit bullets and wanted nothing more to do with this trip to Peru. The original flight had taken off, but because of mechanical issues with the air pressure, they were forced to return to Miami, and endure the pleasures of sleeping on airport floors and dining with airport fast food. The entire trip from Texas to Peru took over 48 hours and during the whole ordeal, no one had a full night's sleep or anything remotely close. But as they didn't arrive until a whole 24 hours after we did, I will continue with our first day in Lima.

After cleaning up, Kyle and I find Mayne and we drew out a makeshift plan. Nancy had already determined what we would do in Lima, so I hadn't bothered to plan anything for our first day, which made us lost little puppies in the big scary city. We asked for advice at the front desk, and they sent us to a restaurant across the street appropriately named Las Tejas. I still claim that as the best food we ate in all of Peru. Of all places, the one named after our state! The three of us split an appetizer and then a large meal and headed on to the markets of Peru. Normally on the first day of a trip, I don't buy souvenirs as I am still testing out the waters of the appropriate price and the means of bargaining, plus I was just feeling non-committal. Having traveled in Italy with the cleverly thieving gypsies, Kyle and I are very aware of how to hold our belongings and how not to. Peru is infamous for it's high crime rate of tourists which puts one on edge to begin with, but walking with Mayne who was comfortable holding her camera dangling, from her wrist, making her a walking target, made us want to panic. We quickly told her, and the day continued on without hiccups. In the evening, after getting lost, which of course never happens to us :), we enjoyed a nice evening dinner by the ocean in the tucked away Larcomar, a very Ritzy shopping area that is literally on the side of a huge cliff. Tuckered from our early flight and painfully aware that our next flight the following morning was at 5 am, meaning that we had to leave the hotel by 2:30 am, we headed back early. Our nights rest, as I predicted was not very restful because my mom was scheduled to arrive around 11 pm to the hotel. Also, our friend Bethany, the other volunteer in Pichi, was supposed to arrive and introduce us to her boyfriend who was coming in from the United States at midnight. When our alarm went off at 2 am and no one had knocked on our door, I became worried. Where was my mom? Where was Bethany? Mayne informed us that my mom had not arrived, and that she had stayed awake waiting for her. I was baffled by the woman's energy! We asked the desk clerk where my mom was and he informed us that her flight had been delayed but she should be in the airport. As for Bethany, she was on her way. The way our flights worked out, Bethany, her boyfriend and Kyle and I should have had a couple hours to chat away the night, but as fate had it, we were only alloted 15 minutes to meet the man we had heard about for 4 months.

On our thirty minute drive to the airport, Mayne finally got some sleep, while Kyle and I marveled at the tackiness of the Casinos with their bright lights and silly English name like “New York”and “Atlantic City” illuminating our drive. We arrived at the Lima airport, which we later dubbed our home away from home since so many of our flights were through this particular airport. We found my mom, in her purple dress and bright Bahama bag, curled up and sleeping in a chair. She was very relieved to see us, and exclaimed that she was going to fall over and die of exhaustion if she didn't get some sleep soon. Nancy, Lisa and John were not going to make this flight to Iquitos, but were supposed to meet us there later in the day. As luck would have it though, our flight to Iquitos was canceled because of “weather.” This was funny because the other airlines didn't seem to need to cancel their flights. We were handed cards with phone numbers of the appropriate people to contact to reschedule and told to pick up our baggage. I made my way to a phone, and discovered that the phone required money almost every couple of minutes to keep it activated, and that the office wouldn't open until 8 am, another 3 hours away. After being given various and distinctly different directions from many different people, we decided to stand in line for customer service with many other English speaking people. An airline worker asked why we were standing in line, and told us that we were in the wrong place. Having deposited my sleepwalking mother and Mayne in chairs, Kyle and I refused to leave the line until we talked to someone at a computer. Another couple behind us decided to try and do some research over the situation and discovered that flights were being sold for the 3:30 pm flight. The Canadian girls in front of us who switched between speaking French and English informed us that they did not believe “this hocus pocus” about the problem being weather because if planes could land in Canada, they could fly and land anywhere. They instructed us to not move until we were given what we wanted, which is exactly what we ended up having to do. When we arrived at the front of the line, originally we were ignored for a good ten minutes after which we were told that there was nothing they could do for us, and we needed to call the number on the card. We explained to the woman that we could not make the call since the office wasn't open. We didn't have a phone and didn't have money to use a pay phone and she could do something for us because there was a computer at her fingertips. The Canadian girls walked off with tickets in hand, and we used that evidence as leverage. The couple who had previously been standing behind us also started arguing that there were seats available on the 3:30 flight because they were being sold, therefore the airport should give the canceled passengers first priority. The University of Texas biology graduate student(what a small world!) standing behind us also chipped in. We had formed a type of gringo blockade and were not leaving until we accomplished what we came here for, obtaining tickets. It was a painful process for me, especially since I hate confrontation and I'm embarrassed easily, but Kyle took the reins and guided us to victory after the stones of my wall front seemed to be in danger of a collapse. We stood in line for a good 30 minutes and argued for another 30 until we victoriously walked away with our 4 new tickets for the following day at 1 am. We then informed my mother of our valiant victory, but she couldn't hold her eyelids open. We went in search of finding a hotel, and in the process found Lisa and Jon. Our greeting was less of “hello, how are you, oh how I have missed you.” and more of barking orders. I felt like I had been at the airport for an entire day, and all I wanted was to get my mom to a bed, and make sure that Nancy, Lisa and Jon got on our same flight so this vacation could actually start.

Arriving at our new hotel, just in time for breakfast, we determined that we should do Lima for half of the day while we were still awake and come back to the hotel in the afternoon and sleep until we had to leave at 11:30 pm for our 1 am flight. I have to say the taxi ride was the most exciting part of all of Lima. Seeing the faces of the moms who we later dubbed as “The Queens” as they stepped out of their taxis was almost enough to have Kyle doubled over on the dangerous Lima street in tears of laughter. My mom exclaimed that Fiesta Texas should add “taxi rides in Lima” as a new roller coaster. If there are traffic laws at all, they are mere suggestions, and loosely followed. Nancy gave us the task of finding one stop sign in the entire city, which I am pleased to say, we found two, not that they were respected, but who cares about traffic laws anywho! Honking is the mode of all needed traffic communication. Whoever honks first and loudest gets the right of way. All cars seemed to drive with no more than two inches between bumpers, and we were nearly hit by two buses. Occasionally there were traffic lights, and luckily they held enough authority to stop traffic. It was also common for cars to stop where they pleased. In the middle of a street with moving traffic for example is A Okay. After our eventful roller coaster ride, we visited a church which was pretty dull in comparison to the death defying drive in the morning except for the catacombs underneath the church with the bones in delicate and interesting patterns. We wandered around the city admiring the sights and sounds of our foreign surroundings. We watched the changing of the guards, but what was even more interesting than a bunch of men in uniforms playing silly tourist songs was the old man with the graying and tired dog, dressed up in a hat and sunglasses obviously well accustomed to his picture being taken. He looked around at the laughing tourists as if saying, “Am I really all that funny and interesting? Can I go home now and have my treat?” But of course we had to take his picture, because what is cuter than a dog in human clothing, and even better, in Peruvian clothing! We also made our way to Chinatown and ate at a Dim Sum restaurant where Jon promptly fell asleep on the table. Shopping of course was inevitable in Chinatown, but after avoiding too much damage to our wallets, we made our way to our hotel. However this place was anything but restful, being situated right on a main street and very close to a drive through Kentucy Fried Chicken!

Iquitos

Arriving into Iquitos at 3:30 am, we waited for all of our luggage to find it's way to us. Lisa and Mayne's luggage were the very last pieces to be unloaded, and as they waited standing side by side, each with long, black, carefully groomed hair, wringing their hands awaiting the disastrous words, “lost baggage” I thought about how alike they both were. But luckily those words never came and peace reigned again as we were taken to our lodging in Iquitos.

Aware that we were in the Jungle, Lisa began asking what animals we might encounter. Lion was the first on her list, but Kyle assured her that even though we had just seen a statue of a lion, there were no lions or bears in the Amazon Basin. Our lodging in Iquitos was only temporary because our real lodge was four hours away from Iquitos by boat. We were told that we had till 8 am to sleep, which was only 4 hours away. Noticing the giant whirlpool tub in our bathroom, I excitedly stripped my clothes off for a nice relaxing bath only to find that we had no running water. I stood there naked, willing the water to flow out of the facets and grant me this wish after three nights of incomplete sleep, but it refused to listen to reason. We are still unclear as to why the water was turned off and why we were teased by this magnificent beacon of cleanliness and tranquility and not warned beforehand of it's impending message of sadness, no running water. After spotting the water in buckets, we brushed our teeth and crawled into our large magnificent bed which seemed like it would be true comfort, but it was more like a hard cardboard box with sheets. 6:30 am there was a knock on the door. Lisa wants us to wake up so we can stare longingly at the Amazon River outside our balcony. She hadn't slept the entire night for the excitement of truly being in the Amazon Jungle, but unlike Lisa, I could continue to sleep with that knowledge. An hour later, my mom knocks on the door and tells us we should wake. The time is 7:30 and I distinctly remember the woman saying we had till 8 am to sleep. Why is no one sleeping!? We grudgingly crawled out of our bed and dressed into our summer clothes! Putting summer clothing on after being in Chilean winter without heaters is why I came to Peru. It is a wonderful feeling knowing that one layer of clothing is sufficient, and that the sun will bath my ghostlike body in blankets of gold and keep me warm. I felt like, I hadn't seen the sun in years. This was entirely my fault, however, since, we moved to the Southern Hemisphere. To winter, when Summer with it's fiercely powerful rays scorching the air is in the Northern Hemisphere.

Our balcony had a fantastic view of the Amazon and I was so excited to finally be on the famous River that we read about in Geography and History class. It's undoubtedly, the widest river in all of the world, but it is also debated to be the longest river, when including it's tributaries. A river that holds so much majesty, and mystery, and has given birth to some of the worlds most interesting wildlife. Right outside my window, so close, I could run out and jump in if I so pleased. It is a body of water that regardless of it's statistics deserves respect just because of it's immense beauty and splendor. What secrets did it have in store for us?

After the long process of herding our family to the front, ready to face the jungle, we head out the door ready for breakfast. Iquitos, the self-proclaimed motorcycle capitol of the world, is a crazy place with truly more motorcycles than anywhere I have ever been. So many in fact, it is rare to see a car. But we don't walk to breakfast, we take taxis. If the only mode of transportation is zipping motorcycles, how did my mom in her bright pink shirt, and her matching and extremely wide brimmed pink hat, climb onto the back of a motorcycle, put her arms around a strange Peruvian cyclist's waist and hold on for dear life? Ha ha; I wish that had been the case, because that would have been a terrific picture. Instead of that hilarious scene, however, imagine horse drawn carriages, not so fancy, being pulled by motorcycle instead of horses. Two to three people could fit in one comfortably and off we went zooming around the motorcycle capitol in our motorcycle drawn carriages.

Ordering breakfast was an ordeal, not only because we seemed to have trouble describing French toast, but also because of the hoards of walking vendors who spotted unsuspecting prey in my mom and Nancy. We tried to warn my mom not to make eye-contact, but ignoring our advice, she got sucked into the world of “buy this!, real cheap, please miss!” and I knew we had lost her. Luckily she made it out of that jungle without too many bite marks. We finished our breakfast, with our guide Edson mulling in his head, “What have I gotten myself into.”

Finding our seats on the boat that would take us to our wilderness lodge, we settled in for our four hour journey down the Amazon. Who knew that all of our winter clothing would come in handy in our Amazon boat? The wind was forceful and cool off the water, making the air within the boat whipping around our scantily covered bodies much colder than we had anticipated. The boat consisted of our crazy family, a nice talkative couple, our guide and the driver. After pulling out my and Kyle's arsenal of winter clothing and passing them out to to the boat, the nice couple in the front were kind enough to share their winter gear with those of us still lacking in coverage. After arriving at the main lodge, and eating lunch, we headed to our lodge which was tucked even further away in the midst of the jungle, at a more leisurely pace. The winter gear was re-packed, and the sun found it's way from out behind the overcast clouds to shine on not only us, but the beautiful wildlife surrounding us. Nancy found herself the first victim of travelers illness along our route, not from motion sickness, but from something from breakfast currently in disagreement with her body. Her kids crowded around her concerned because they had never seen their mom ill in that way. Luckily travelers illness did not linger long with Nancy and moved to it's next victim of the trip Kyle, by the following day.

Naps were the first line of business, followed by a hike through the woods. Dinner was fantastic and I found myself eating too much and breaking my rule, of only eating until full. After dinner we walked down the treacherous wooden stairs without handrails and uneven planks down to the water's edge. After risking life and limb just to arrive at ground level, we had to make our way from one log laid in the mud to the next, without falling or slipping. As soon as we had found our way to the boat, the rain released from the Heavens in sheets. Our intent, this evening, was to go Caiman searching or crocodile hunting as Nancy liked to call it, to make the adventure sound more exciting. But soon it was right back through the obstacle course to the lodge as it started to rain. We weren't giving up, only retrieving our ponchos for protection. The rain let up, and we made our way back to the boat, and within fifteen minutes had caught a Spectacled Caiman. He was much smaller than I anticipated, but beautiful. We then continued on our night outing. We didn't find anymore that evening, and our guide decided to turn around, when he noticed some of his passengers passed out in the boat from exhaustion.

Each bed at the lodge had it's own mosquito net. We learned how important these mosquito nets can be when camping, after hearing a story of one of the other guests at the lodge. He said that while camping in the woods, he once leaned against the mosquito net surrounding him, and in the morning along the side that he had leaned against, the mosquitoes had feasted, leaving him welted and in pain. The next morning the Queens went on a bird watching outing, and came back with a long list of birds they had seen. Honestly, it is a miracle that Nancy convinced my mom to wake up before six at all, but miracles obviously do happen. After breakfast, we headed back to our lodge were we hiked, laid in hammocks, and tested out the zip line. Our hike was hilarious in itself, because we all had to find our size boots for walking through the mud. I have discovered that trekking through sludge is one of the greatest feelings in life. Normally we try and avoid stepping in mud because we ruin our shoes and the rest of the day our feet are cold, wet and covered in goo, but with the protection of our mud boots, we were allowed the privilege of stepping in every mud puddle we could find. Mud was not our enemy on this outing, but a friend and a playmate. The brown soft, squishy substance that makes wonderful gurgling noises when stepped in filled my being with over bounding joy. I felt like I was rebelling against all the years of oppression of not being able to enjoy the loveliness of stepping ankle deep in a mud hole. With each step through our hike, I specifically attempted to find the best mud pits. If I had worn clothing that could be thrown away or if I hadn't been afraid of some of the creatures I might find, hiding in that gooey substance, I might have rolled around in it, to fully appreciate the release of my emotions. I felt like a child, who was allowed to get as messy as possible, it was great! After our hike, we ate lunch and laid around in hammocks again. Kyle was taken hostage by the evil traveler's illness and therefore turned down the idea of zipping along the tops of the trees in harnesses. The rain started again, but the trees protected us from the forcefulness of the water. Not to say we didn't get drenched, because I was completely wet, from head to foot, but I didn't mind. Because of the rain, we ran more than we hiked to the location of the zip line, and the rain increased the depths of the mud holes, causing more splatterage along my unprotected pant legs. After harnessing up, we zipped from one tree house like structure to the next, admiring our height and the immense world around us. It was a really beautiful sight, and would have been even more lovely, had the mosquitoes not feasted on the only unexposed area of skin, my hand. After that outing, I discovered 21 mosquito bites on my hands alone, which was with mosquito replant.

The following day, before we returned to Iquitos, we visited a small village with a school and a market, just for us. The shopping was the best part, and we would have bought more had they been able to make change or accepted bills with any type of damage. But as it was, any bill that wasn't brand new, was rejected, limiting our ability to buy their goods. We also visited a school in the village, where the children sang us songs, and we taught them to dance the hokey pokey.

We spent two nights and two full days in the Amazon. If our flight hadn't been canceled, we would have spent three nights and three full days roaming around the jungle. Because of our limited time, we had limited activities. I enjoyed myself there, but I was aware of our press for time and that caused my anxiety to lash out. I would like to return someday and explore more of that mysterious world. On our boat ride back we spotted three gray river dolphins. I had really been hoping to see the pink river dolphins, but the baby gray dolphin made up for our loss by jumping out of the water, dancing for us.

link for photos

http://utexas.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2316867&l=64ec3&id=7908592