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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What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.

As most of you know, we have been in an epic struggle with the University of Texas for some time now for Kyle's diploma. The news came the morning after our anniversary, that once again, Kyle would not be receiving his diploma. We had been so hopeful that this last step would actually be the last, but as this is an epic struggle, the conflict must continue epically as it’s name suggests. We don’t have all of the answers to the questions, but SAC now also does not accept clep scores despite being told by multitudes of employees within the school that they do. The only lady who seemed to have the correct information was only reachable when a student demands with unrelenting persistence to speak with the person in charge. Throughout this process we have assumed we were taking steps forward, but in reality we were taking double the amount of steps backwards. At the beginning of the struggle, our only conflict had to do with Kyle’s Spanish 4 course. Now, not only has that not been resolved, he is not receiving hours for his Spanish 3 course and 2 random hours that weren’t detected before have now appeared on the radar. The only answers we have to how this happened is, “I don’t know and I don’t understand!”
The bad news: Kyle doesn’t graduate and all schools have closed their doors for class enrollment meaning that the earliest Kyle could enroll in the classes he needs is Spring. Good news: My mom, after hearing the news and was as distressed as we were, called SAC, used her Dr. title and was put through to the woman she needed to speak with immediately. My mom called to ask about what could be done. Fortunately, right at that moment, a man from Texas State was sitting in the office beside her at the time of the phone call, overheard the situation, and said that he could help. Kyle is now enrolling in three 45 day correspondence classes that can be completed for credit within 45 days. Obviously we are bummed that Kyle cannot graduate when we wanted, but we are relieved that Texas State is providing a swift solution. When Kyle originally told me the news that once again, our plans were foiled, I felt paralyzed with hopelessness. We have been through so much with this issue, but in many ways we are lucky. We haven’t been in tragic accidents or lost a close family member, we still have our health and each other. It is important in these situations to keep an even-minded perception, and remember all of our many blessings. Our lifeline of hope has been shredded to small strands of thread, but we are still holding on, if only by a thread that soon, Kyle will be a graduated man. Please keep us in your prayers. We plan to stay in Seattle until our unknown departure date. We will keep you updated as more information comes our way.

Here are some quotes that my mom sent to make us feel better:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear; though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.
(Robert Frost)

Whether you'll do it or toss it aside;
You are the person who makes up your mind
Whether you'll lead or linger behind;
Whether you'll try for the goal that's afar
Or just be contented to stay where you are.
(Edgar A. Guest)

We keep on assuming that we know the play. We do not even know whether we are in Act I or Act V--the Author knows.
(C.S. Lewis)

* from Poor Richard's Almanack (Benjamin Franklin)
To err is human, to repent divine, to persist devilish.

* Success is going from failure to failure without a loss of enthusiasm.
(Winston Churchill)

*"I've missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times I've been trusted to take the game-winning shot--and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."
(Michael Jordan)

*Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan Press On! has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.
(Calvin Coolidge)

*Albert Einstein's explanation for his successful discoveries was..."not that I'm so smart, it's just that I stay with problems longer."

*Thomas Edison was one of the most prolific inventors with over 1,000 patents. Despite the fact that so many were flops, he continued, leaving as a legacy the light bulb, X-Ray technology, the microphone, the phonograph and more. He said, "Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up."

*We have a Christian duty to encourage one another. Many a time words of praise or thanks or appreciation or cheer have kept people on their feet. Blessed is the one who speaks such a word.
(William Barclay)

Oregon trip

Megan (black) and Clare (red)

At First Wednesday
Creepy photo taken at First Wednesday

After skipbo, we played Indian poker.

• September 2, our anniversary, we got on a train from Tacoma, Washington to Salem Oregon to visit my aunt Pam and our friend Lindsay. I prefer trains to other forms of public transportation because instead of being stuck in a cramped and uncomfortable seat for hours on end, trains provide options such as dining cars and viewing rooms.
• Pam met us at the station, we dropped off our bags, met her adorable long-haired dachshund babies, Megan and Clare and headed off to a Mexican food restaurant. We haven’t yet officially celebrated our two-year anniversary properly, but the evening was nice arrival celebration never-the-less.
• The next morning was filled with drama and hysterics after receiving the devastating news concerning Kyle's increasingly absent diploma. Part of the purpose of our holiday in Oregon was to visit with our good friend Lindsay whom we met and befriended in Chile on our volunteer program. . We were to meet up with Lindsay later in the day so it was necessary that we lasso our emotions into a controlled and calm coral so as not to ruin our time together. It was actually very helpful just spending time with her to distract us from negative thoughts.
• That evening we attended Salem’s “first Wednesday” which is similar to Austin’s “First Thursday” or San Antonio’s “First Friday.” Artists and musicians lined the streets, and we wound in and out of shops. Kyle and I had been to Salem once before with our dear friends Will and Leslie, the year after we graduated high school, so many of the shops carried a sense of nostalgia of our time before.
• As a tribute to our time in Chile, after wandering downtown, we came back to the house to enjoy a game of skipbo with wine and cheese.
• The following day was by all definitions a lazy day. We slept in late, ate out, and watched “Over the Hedge,” until Lindsay had to catch her train.
• Friday evening we had dinner with Pam’s friend Sherry, and their boyfriends. Sherry fixed a Norwegian cod fish recipe and roasted veggies. It was decedent but I guarantee it would not be found in Cooking Light. Sherry’s boyfriend George is an obstetrician, therefore a great reference for all things medical. I spent much of the evening interrogating him on topics ranging from South American diseases to the link between autism and vaccinations to health care reformation. It was a wonderful evening of satisfying food, and stimulating conversation. Hopefully I didn’t go overboard with the questions, but I have so many questions about the field of medicine I sometimes think I should go to med school just to quench my curiosity.
• Saturday began as a sluggish day with everyone including Pam, sleeping in until past 11:00 am. We had failed to make plans ahead of time and we languidly discussed our possible plans as we laid around the rooms moving at the pace of slugs. By 2:00 we had piled our bodies, bags, and dogs into the car for a trip to the beach. Weather channel said there was a high of 79, sunny with a breeze. Once again, we were failed by weather channel, and the only remaining truth to the prediction was the “breeze” which was actually more of a forceful, chilling wind. The girls (dogs) were very anxious on the ride to the beach since their only association with the car was the evil vet.
• The drive, bordered by tall evergreens, was beautiful, sunny and scenic, however as soon as we neared the beach, the sun was kidnapped by the ever hungry cloud of whiteness. Past the first break point of waves, the ocean no longer existed as far as we could tell. It billowed in, streaming over itself like lava from the sky, covering the cliffs, the sky and the ocean, creating a mystical and eerie setting. The girls didn’t seem to mind however, and bounced in the sand like bunny rabbits. They burrowed in the sanddunes, attempting to discover and play with any rodent or creature hiding in the tall grass. Luckily non were found.
• Sunday was our last day with Aunt Pam. The day began with a church service in the shaded area, under the trees, in the lawn of the church. The choir, which Pam is a part of, structured themselves around the congregation, rather than in one grouping, creating the illusion that the congregation sang beautifully. A brass band played old American style gospel music. The service was followed by a potluck in the park beside the church. After church we jumped in the car and headed out to the oldest growth forest left in Oregon, Willemette National Forest. This forest is highly coveted by the lumber companies because it is the one of the last remaining old growth forests left in Oregon, meaning prime wood, for a high price. Many of the lumber mills have had to lay off workers, which is unfortunate for the workers but it is important that this forest be left to the people and nature.
• Leaving Oregon is sad, but we know we will be back again.

Megan was so nervous she sat on my shoulders almost the entire ride.

The hungry cloud

Us, Pam and the girls at the beach. Can you see the water?
Kyle the tree hugger

Cool wooden bridge

Old growth forest

More pics
And Even more pics.

Bumbershoot

Seattle has an arts festival very similar to Austin City Limits (ACL) called Bumbershoot that we attended this past Monday with Aunt BB. In my humble opinion Bumbershoot is better than ACL. The major difference between the two is that while ACL has an amazing line up of musicians with many stages and styles of music to choose from, Bumbershoot doesn’t stop with the music but extends it’s doors to almost all forms of performing art. There are about 5 stages of music, but the fun doesn’t stop there, 4 other stages are devoted to other types of performing arts such as comedy, film, monologues, and dancing for this weekend long event. Another major difference was the venue. The day Kyle and I attended ACL was the hottest weekend of the summer, and the sun bore down on us with no reprieve. Water fountains had hour long lines since no water stations were provided. Trees were the only shelter because the venue was in Zilker Park, entirely outside and heat stroke was a serious danger. Bumbershoot had many indoor stages along with the outdoor stages. If the 67 degree heat was too much for any of the Seattleites unaccustomed to the sun, shelter could be found. We began our day, satisfying our growling stomachs with a plate of cilantro salmon on rice, (not your typical carnival food.) We explored the park grounds, admiring Keniche’s architectural designs found on the grounds, the first being a metal dome shooting out streams of water called the International Fountain. Vendors lined the sidewalks with everything from “caveman jewelry for the modern men and women,” to very fashionable pasties. We abstained from buying the fascinating goodies, however much we wanted them, (we are on a budget you know.) We were grateful for the grassy knoll to rest our rumps while listening to a new form of music branded “country noir,” called Mark Pickerel & His Praying Hands. Our next activity was the comedy show featuring the author of “He’s just not that into you.” BB had requested that we see a specific feature at the movie stage, but by the time we arrived, the show was full. We wandered around some, catching the last song of Mariee Sioux, a Indie folk singer who sang a song about blood and flowers (I can't pander a guess as to what that was about.) The next movie showing was called True Stories and we chose it just for filling a time gap. As we sat in the theater, BB asked the name of the show again. We knew nothing of what we were about to see. Three documentaries that can only be described as bizarre, or as bizarro as my mom likes to say, followed. The first film was a French documentary about women and breast cancer. Pictures of naked women floating through the water was the main visual for the entire thirty minutes. The next documentary was all of five minutes and included a grumpy old German man and his giant rabbits. The third and final documentary was the only film in English, named Certain Green, but was no less weird than the ones before it. An old woman continuously talked about a certain green that she saw once but could never find again. In all honesty I have not idea what it was about, and I am not sure the writer and director did either. The highlight of our evening was listening to “Old 97's” a band I recently heard interviewed on NPR. We downloaded some of their music and we were delighted to discover that they were playing at this festival. We sat on the grass, but the music was contagious and made it impossible not to dance, even if only bobbing with one’s head. The day was a fabulous success! Too bad we don’t live in Seattle and can’t make Bumbershoot a yearly event.

(Sorry there are no pictures to go with this post, bumbershoot did not allow cameras with recording devices on the fair grounds, although once inside we saw several people with cameras, but we played it safe.)
p.s. You can check out the bands by clicking on the links and some of them have sample songs as well.

The International Fountain by: Keniche's firm http://www.nakanoassociates.com/

Happy Anniversary to us!

September 2 we celebrated two years of wedded bliss! It is hard to believe that two years have already gone by but they have. We spent the day on a train down to Salem, Oregon to visit my Aunt Pam and Lindsay (a friend from the volunteer program in Chile). We didn't do anything romantic yet for our celebration, but we plan to soon! Thank you to all of our wonderful family and friends who have supported us throughout our relationship. We couldn't have done it without you! Here are some pictures of our wonderful wedding day!

Mushroom Hunting

The underside of a mushroom

Lots of the wrong kinds of mushrooms

We were sharing one pair of gloves

My Aunt BB has a good Japanese American friend named Keniche. His family, who almost all live in or around Seattle, have a tradition of mushroom hunting on the base of Mt. Rainier. These mushrooms only grow wild, cannot be cultivated and are considered a delicacy by many Asian cultures, especially the Vietnamese and Japanese. The French prefer a different mushroom that can also be found growing wild on the base of Mt. Rainer. Keniche invited us to come along on their adventure, well we actually invited ourselves, but who is really counting.
The day of mushroom hunting, starts with three little chickens running around the apartment with their heads cut off, as Buttercup anxiously looks on at the crazy humans. The mushroom hunting family tradition goes like this: meet at 85 year old mother's house, drive to secret mushroom location in inconspicuous, camouflage vehicles, making sure guests are blindfolded, search the woods for delicious mushroom while trying not to fall on butt on steep and slippery mountainside, after mushrooms are gathered a picnic ensues, potluck style, and if the crop of mushrooms is plentiful, cook a magnificent Japanese meal with said mushrooms. But we must return to the beginning of the story, headless chickens. Our contribution is dessert and salad to the potluck. However we are not overly prepared in the morning and we have a few setbacks, mainly dressing appropriately. Although the weather report forecasts a cold, yet dry day, they are only correct in the prediction of cold because it is far from dry, quite the opposite, one might even say wet. We wake up to a dreary, cold and rainy day, and realize we are not prepared for this type of weather. Our cold weather clothes are locked away in the forbidden vacuum sealed bags, that are only to be opened on our arrival or by a serious force of nature out of our control (according to my husband who had the pleasure of closing the bags in the first place.) We scrimmage through BB's clothing, for me not for Kyle. We throw many layers of clothing on, chop up veggies, run around in circles, search for our heads, and head out the door, late, for Keniche's mom's house. The family going today consists of the mom, the three (grown up) brothers, including Keniche, two daughters from one of the brothers, two cousins of the brothers, a great uncle and tiko the chow/lab mix dog who in my humble opinion, had the best time out of anyone on the trip. We head out to the secret location, and although we are not actually blindfolded, it is important that we keep this location a secret. The Vietnamese and others forage all of the other good mushroom spots and sell the mushrooms for a very lucrative profit to the tune of $40/Ib. They ask that we do not divulge this secret to anyone. I assure them, I have no idea where I am, and my direction sense dictates that what is in front of me is North, and what is behind is South, therefore, even if I was being held hostage and tortured for the location of these wonderful mushrooms, I would not be able to disclose their precious secret. We are handed walking sticks made from old pool table sticks and given a general description of what the mushroom looks like and where it might be found. Under the canopy of the forest, the rain is lessened, however the cold is increased. It seeps through my pants, and underpants and slithers around my legs.. The floor is squishy beneath my feet, the dead pine needles and leaves piled one on top of another until the entire floor is slippery, bouncy, uneven moonbounce. I wonder at the process beneath my feet, death and decay giving way to new life. Forests are amazing organisms living, dying, creating, destroying, but it is all part of a cycle. Death and destruction are not feared and loathed because from that death and destruction comes new life and restored health. Wildfires which occur naturally in nature are good for the growth of forests, not good for the people or homes that we have built in or around the forest, but part of the natural cyclical life of the forest. I crane my neck to look at the trees surrounding me, and realize that these ginormous, moss covered trees are older than me, older than my grandmother, they are centuries old. The dark and damp forest holds secrets deep in the roots of the trees. Did Tolkein have it right when he wrote that about the Ents, speaking and moving trees that are as old as anything, and wise from centuries of living. Were these century old trees wise? Did they hold close secrets unknown to anyone else on Earth? As I hunt for the mushrooms, I feel like the ginseng hunter from the book I just finished. I often transport myself into the characters in my book, but this scenario works out perfectly. This Chinese man has spent his entire life hunting ginseng in the mountains. As a boy, his father tells him, "Listen to the woods, it will give you the answers if you just listen." The sparrows song leads them to their beloved plant. He spends his life in solitude, finding joy only in hunting ginseng. I am no hunter, be it animal, ginseng or mushroom, but the woods force me to look within like no other place. My senses leap around like a jumping jellybean. Childlike joy, curiosity, inspiration, and fear are all emotions that swirl, and entangle themselves in my ribcage and around my kidnies. I pretend to look for mushrooms for a while longer, but having no luck, partially because I am not trying very hard, but also because there are no mushrooms to be found. I move my gaze from the floor of the forest to the location where the mountain top used to be visible. A cloud of whiteness has not only intimidated any bit of blue and grey into hiding, but has now taken over the top of the mountain. The whiteness moves quickly encompassing anything that stands in it's path. It is moving closer creeping towards us, slipping and sliding over moss covered stumps, decomposing logs, and the tallest trees. It is like the blob from the 1950's horror film, gathering speed and size as it eats it's prey. I wonder what it will feel like to be eaten by the white blob, but as quickly as it came, it descends back into the forest. The whiteness and it's mist/rain has spared us for the time being.
After an hour of searching and no mushrooms, not even rotting or eaten mushrooms, the search is over. This year is one of empty boxes. One of Keniche's brothers explains that sometimes they fill boxes full, while other years they go home empty handed. Maybe next year will be better. We spread our food out on picnic tables under an awning in a national park, to protect ourselves from the rain, but it does nothing to keep out the cold. The tip of my nose matches Rudolf, but I am enjoying myself and I love a good potluck. The spread is a very interesting compilation; rice, hot tea, teriyaki weenies, boiled eggs, sliced pork, green beans, spam sushi rolls, yes spam, pasta salad, not to mention our cucmber, tomato, avocado salad, and blondies. Most of the family ate with chop sticks, but I could hardly hold a fork with my ice-cold fingers, let alone chop-sticks. I even sometimes resorted to just my fingers. Keniche's family was friendly, hospitable and a very enjoyable bunch. We had a wonderful day exploring with them. We came home with empty pockets but full tummies and a bowl of good solid fun.

The Whiteness

click to see more pics.

A Response to "A Cat's Memoir" by Queen Aurora and Princess Isis

(Written by Aurora and Isis jointly, sent by their loving Foster parents, Kay and Mark Rogers)

We cannot believe you are living with a *C*A*T!! You are both traitors! A cat cannot be a Princess- or any form of royalty!! We understand that you really don't have much choice - IT came with the apartment - but really, your approval rating has been down graded from staff to staff support, you are no longer first choice for caring for us. We regret this unfortunate turn of events perhaps it will serve as a lesson to you both in the future. You have one year to make everything right again. We expect wonderful presents fit for true royalty - consider this your first warning!
Our current LOYAL Mom servant took us to the vet yesterday to get our annual shots. We passed with flying colors and were treated as the Queen and Princess we are. Even though they did rude and embarrassing things to us we know it was all done in love. Our LOYAL vet thought we are the cutest Royalty and praised our beautiful fluffy coats. Princess Isis weighed in at 10lbs and dainty Queen Aurora 8.4. We were very polite but extremely curious about the Guinea Pig that was brought in to spend the weekend. It was in a very expensive cage with lots of interesting toys. It made funny noises at us but we turned up our noses at its smell - puey!! There was also an Italian Greyhound that was making such a ruckus it hurt our ears. The vet told us that he was feeling sorry for himself because he had to have stitches but he wouldn't leave them alone so they had to put a "party hat" on him to keep him from licking them. He was letting everyone know how he felt about that! What a whimpy whinner!!
We hope you come to your senses and remember where your loyalty should always remain.
Princess Isis & Queen Aurora

Buttercup: A Cat's Memoir

Buttercup/ Pumpkin/ Pumpkinator: A Cat’s Memoir
Mow, mow… purrr. Oh, hello there, I wasn’t expecting company so soon. Come in, come in. Take a seat on the couch, take the blanket nearest you and lay it across your lap so that I may grace your lap with my presence. That’s right, just like that. The blanket is optional, but for your protection. As I am petted, and you are now to be the designated petter, I tend to knead, a habit I greatly enjoy but humans do not. It just goes to show, the lack of sophistication in the human species, kneading is a refined art, that only the most cultivated cat masters.
But I have yet to introduce myself, where are my manners? I am Princess Buttercup III. I am descended from a long line of royalty, as most cats believe about their family, which in my case is actually the truth. Of course I have no legal papers to prove my royal standing, but I know it to be true, as I feel the regality coursing through my veins. I assume the papers were lost when I was moved to the shelter from where BB rescued me. I take after my mother, a beautiful calico Queen, covered in enough soft, fluffy fur to make eight XL sweaters. I, like my mother, leave my fur all over the house in case my owner might want to take advantage of this fact and knit a sweater. I know, I know, I am so magnanimous, I just can’t help myself. My mother, however, was not able to give her most beautiful daughter the attention that she deserved because I am unfortunately the sibling to 8 other twins. Because there were so many, and my siblings didn’t understand my need for space in the womb, my tail has been twisted, and shortened in an unusual way. I prefer if my tail is not touched, but I view my tail as singularly stunning quality and believe it should be modeled as the next fashion movement, similar to the Chinese women crushing their feet to be small and delicate, so should cats follow in my example. Another one of my alluring qualities is that I have two eyes of different colors. Technically, an untreated infection as a kitten caused blindness in one of my eyes, but I see it as an uncommon and therefore royal trait.

My owner however, BB, an easily trainable and devoted human is unaware of my status as Princess and possibly one day queen and has therefore dropped the Princess from my name. I demonstrate my royal qualities daily, snubbing food, demanding attention, and sleeping where and when I please, which is often and frequently under the TV stand, it reminds me of a throne. I do not meow, but make a very delicate, high-pitched “mo” sounds, barely audible to the human ear. I need not risk damaging my vocal cords, and the humans should be listening for my call at all times. In fact, not only has BB dropped Princess from my title, which is insulting enough, she has given me many nicknames, pumpkin, pumpkinator, pumpkaroo, sweetums to name a few. She is a simple creature, as are all from the human race, therefore, I have not smote her for her error of grand proportions. Life in our new, tiny palace, sometimes referred to as an apartment by humans, is simple, yet pleasing. At least it was until those two other fowl creatures named Vanessa and Kyle invaded my territory. The day it happened, I was taking my daily nap, when loud voices, proceeded by strange smells entered the entranceway. Three huge suitcases, capable of carrying 20 cats apiece were drug up the stairs into our palace. I believed them to be new visitors who would soon be leaving, but as the days wore on, and the smelly humans did not leave, I became suspicious. For the first few days, I used my very effective method of ridding things I dislike, avoidance. I remained tucked away, in the office, far away from these lowly creatures, listening and spying until BB returned. Their activities were and are very limited. The thing with a screen and symbols, which is referred to as a computer, I believe, is always in front of them. The prettier one, posts blogs, while the uglier, taller creature plays a game called Runescape. I occasionally see him drawing. They leave the house for an activity they call “working out,” and cooking and eating seem to be the next common activity. After my avoidance method proved ineffectual on these over grown gnomes, I tested their intentions by sleeping in the same room they inhabited during the day, of course with one eye open. When they made no move to attack or kidnap me, I am worth quite a pretty penny you know, I decided to try their laps. It took some time before they learned my rules; no touching my tail, paws, underside or neck, when I stick out my paw, you are not petting enough, and petting is not allowed unless given explicit permission, aka: being in your lap. These creatures are acceptable for a temporary basis, and I have given my stamp of approval to BB, but only for a temporary basis.