I readjusted to traveling solo again and boarded a bus toward Puno to see the floating islands of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake in the world. I arrived in Puno and had some dinner at an overpriced veggie restaurant, but I was really hungry and didn`t care. I booked a tour to the islands through the hostel because I just didn`t have the energy on my own to go to the harbor and haggle with some fisherman.
I woke up at 6:30am and boarded a really really slow boat that wreaked like gasoline. I mean, this boat was slow. I probably could have swam to the first island faster if I had the stamina. I was just thankful that neither being on Lake Titicaca or being in a smelly gas boat made me sick.
Lake Titicaca has several `floating islands` which are man-made islands built on the water out of reed that grows in the lake. The first island I visited was called Uros and was one of these islands of reed. They were impressive and unlike anything I had ever seen before. The islands themselves were kind of silly though because they tried to claim that people still carried out a traditional way of life living solely on these islands, in their little huts with their solar panels for their TV´s and an income supplemented by the crafts they sell through tourist visits to the islands, but it was obvious that no one really lived there anymore and that the islands, now, were all for show. They reminded me of one of those historical towns where everyone dresses up in old clothes and you watch the blacksmith make horseshoes or something, except that they claimed this was real. It kind of bothered me. The second island I visited, Taquile had actual villagers who actually lived on the island. Taquile itself wasn´t that interesting, it was just a town that happened to be on an island. But what a wonderful place to live, on an island surrounded by the wonderfully peaceful and blue waters of the lake.
Was the boat delivered me back to shore I had some dinner and then headed to the bus station to head toward to Peru-Chile border and continue south through the continent.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 4.
After our trekking adventure we were exhausted and had to decide whether we wanted to continue rushing and rushing and see all that we could see in the 2 weeks Mike had to visit or if we should take a break, cut some things out, and relax a bit. We decided on the latter and skipped Puno and its floating islands and headed to Arequipa instead.
The first night we stayed in a hostel that was good enough, a clean private room (shared bath) with high ceilings, but not much in the way of charm and we wanted charm. So the next day we sought it out and ended up at a nice little place quite a bit South of the main square. It had a grassy little garden and several roof decks and patios to overlook the city and the volcano that towered over it. It had a friendly dog to greet us whenever we came in from exploring and on our first night we discovered that our room was the favorite of a cat with curious blue eyes who would enter our room through the open window. We enjoyed fruit salads and crossword puzzles on our grassy courtyard and get really sunburned because we ignored the fact that we were still in the desert. We ate at nearly every vegetarian restaurant in town, befriended a local doctor and fellow veg-diner, visited an old convent spookily lit by laterns and fires at night, and thoroughly explored the local food and artisan markets.
Mike decided to fly from Arequipa back to Lima for his return flight home so that we could have extra time to spend with each other in comfort, instead of racing back to the polluted mega-city of Lima and spending our last hours together on a cramped 18 or 22 hour bus ride. We had a poor excuse for a cheese empanada at the airport before parting ways, me back to our cosy little hostel, made less cosy in his absense, and him back to his routine of busses and airports and constant motion.
I am very grateful to have been able to spend two weeks out of my 6.5 month journey traveling with Mike. It was a great experience and although we acted as super tourists while he was here I was happy to be able to show him a taste of my way of life here and my love of Latin America. I hope he was able to slow down enough during our hurried adventure to absorb some of the peace I find here. I hope that Latin America has gotten into his blood and that he is eager to return again someday soon.
The first night we stayed in a hostel that was good enough, a clean private room (shared bath) with high ceilings, but not much in the way of charm and we wanted charm. So the next day we sought it out and ended up at a nice little place quite a bit South of the main square. It had a grassy little garden and several roof decks and patios to overlook the city and the volcano that towered over it. It had a friendly dog to greet us whenever we came in from exploring and on our first night we discovered that our room was the favorite of a cat with curious blue eyes who would enter our room through the open window. We enjoyed fruit salads and crossword puzzles on our grassy courtyard and get really sunburned because we ignored the fact that we were still in the desert. We ate at nearly every vegetarian restaurant in town, befriended a local doctor and fellow veg-diner, visited an old convent spookily lit by laterns and fires at night, and thoroughly explored the local food and artisan markets.
Mike decided to fly from Arequipa back to Lima for his return flight home so that we could have extra time to spend with each other in comfort, instead of racing back to the polluted mega-city of Lima and spending our last hours together on a cramped 18 or 22 hour bus ride. We had a poor excuse for a cheese empanada at the airport before parting ways, me back to our cosy little hostel, made less cosy in his absense, and him back to his routine of busses and airports and constant motion.
I am very grateful to have been able to spend two weeks out of my 6.5 month journey traveling with Mike. It was a great experience and although we acted as super tourists while he was here I was happy to be able to show him a taste of my way of life here and my love of Latin America. I hope he was able to slow down enough during our hurried adventure to absorb some of the peace I find here. I hope that Latin America has gotten into his blood and that he is eager to return again someday soon.
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 3.
We spent New Years day relaxing mostly, drinking fresh juice concoctions, and preparing for our 4-day trek to the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. We woke up around 7 the next morning and got in a little tourist bus with a big bike rack on top and drove for a few hours.
Eventually they let us out and we had some lunch. The vegetarian lunch consisted of a banana, a fiber cookie, some chocolate, a Sunny Delight type fruit drink, and a ham sandwich on dry white bread with a measly processed cheese slice. After ¨lunch¨ we boarded our rickety bikes of questionable quality and ill-fitting helmets in the misty drizzle and headed down the mountain. We rode for several hours on combinations of paved road and dirt roads, dodging pot holes along the way. We rode through small villages and past fruit trees and several nice vistas. There were several places where the road was a momentary river due to the overflow of water coming off the mountain and running across the road. I developed a method of riding across these rivers very slowly and with my feet nearly on top of the handlebars in order to maintain dry feet. Mike did not request my secret to crossing the rivers until nearly the end, thus, he had wet feet and I did not. 60km (that`s 37 miles!)and many hours later we arrived at our destination. The hostel we arrived at didn`t look very nice and there ended up being too many people to fit in all the rooms. Since we had inquired earlier about a private room we were taken to a second hostel that was much much nicer than the first, had a small garden area with palm trees, and a ceiling in the bedroom at was open to the fresh air. Our vegetarian dinners of french fries, steamed vegetables and rice, were luckily more edible than our breakfasts...especially supplemented by our mangos bought from a little lady with a stand in the street.
We began hiking in the morning and over the next 48 hours trekked around 40km (24 miles) including a portion of the inca trail. The hike varied in difficulty and it was definitely challenging at times. I was very thankful for the mountain life I had in Ecuador and know that I would have been in rough shape had I not had the conditioning from living there. I was very impressed with Mike because he hiked the whole thing carrying the larger backpack with both of our stuff in it mearly the entire way, and he didn`t complain. I had a smalled messenger bag on that held water, my cameras, and our emergency food supply of very expensive granola-type stuff, corn nuts, and peanuts and raisins, and lots and lots of grapes. I got severly bitten on my legs by these tiny little bugs. The caused different reactions in different people. Some of the bites pussed and blistered, mine caused some sort of swelling and inflamation in my legs that caused fire to shoot up to my knees every time I stood or moved after resting for a moment. I was worried about my ability to hike to the ruins in the morning so I went to the pharmacy at Mike`s urging, and got some topical something rather which I am not sure helped at all or not.
The final morning we woke up at about 4:30am and began the final hike to the ruins so that we could arrive at the gates at 6am, just around sunrise when the park opened. To get to the top of the mountain the ruins were built upon it involved climbing up several hundred awkwardly sized stairs some 600 or 800 meters until the top. We made the climb nearly running and completed it in about an hour. It was quite chilly at the top and we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. The clouds rolled up the mountain for a few moments but then cleared and made way for the sun.
The ruins, though mostly reconstructed, were impressive and the stonework on the Incas is unlike any I have seen at any other ancient site. The cuts and fit of the rocks were incredibly precise. We spent some time visiting the different areas of the city and learning about aspects of Incan life from our guide, but I was so tired I found it hard to concentrate most of the time. We rested for a bit and then decided that we hadn`t put our bodies through enough rigor in the past few days and that we would regret it if we didn´t also climb Wayna Picchu (the big towering rock the dominates the background of most pictures of the ancient city). The climb was a very steep 360 meters above Machu Picchu. Some of the stairs were so narrow that I literally climbed them like a ladder using my hands because giant feet like mine did not exist in the time of the Incas. Our bodies were unhappy with us, but we heard the view from the top was spectacular and we knew we would regret it if we didn`t make it to the top.
Eventually, we slowly and painfully made our way all the way back down the tiny tiny steep steps of Wayna Picchu and all the way back through the ancient city of Macchu Picchu, and all the way back down the big awkward steps of the mountain, and all the way back to the town to Aguas Caliente and ultimately caught the train back to Cusco.
Eventually they let us out and we had some lunch. The vegetarian lunch consisted of a banana, a fiber cookie, some chocolate, a Sunny Delight type fruit drink, and a ham sandwich on dry white bread with a measly processed cheese slice. After ¨lunch¨ we boarded our rickety bikes of questionable quality and ill-fitting helmets in the misty drizzle and headed down the mountain. We rode for several hours on combinations of paved road and dirt roads, dodging pot holes along the way. We rode through small villages and past fruit trees and several nice vistas. There were several places where the road was a momentary river due to the overflow of water coming off the mountain and running across the road. I developed a method of riding across these rivers very slowly and with my feet nearly on top of the handlebars in order to maintain dry feet. Mike did not request my secret to crossing the rivers until nearly the end, thus, he had wet feet and I did not. 60km (that`s 37 miles!)and many hours later we arrived at our destination. The hostel we arrived at didn`t look very nice and there ended up being too many people to fit in all the rooms. Since we had inquired earlier about a private room we were taken to a second hostel that was much much nicer than the first, had a small garden area with palm trees, and a ceiling in the bedroom at was open to the fresh air. Our vegetarian dinners of french fries, steamed vegetables and rice, were luckily more edible than our breakfasts...especially supplemented by our mangos bought from a little lady with a stand in the street.
We began hiking in the morning and over the next 48 hours trekked around 40km (24 miles) including a portion of the inca trail. The hike varied in difficulty and it was definitely challenging at times. I was very thankful for the mountain life I had in Ecuador and know that I would have been in rough shape had I not had the conditioning from living there. I was very impressed with Mike because he hiked the whole thing carrying the larger backpack with both of our stuff in it mearly the entire way, and he didn`t complain. I had a smalled messenger bag on that held water, my cameras, and our emergency food supply of very expensive granola-type stuff, corn nuts, and peanuts and raisins, and lots and lots of grapes. I got severly bitten on my legs by these tiny little bugs. The caused different reactions in different people. Some of the bites pussed and blistered, mine caused some sort of swelling and inflamation in my legs that caused fire to shoot up to my knees every time I stood or moved after resting for a moment. I was worried about my ability to hike to the ruins in the morning so I went to the pharmacy at Mike`s urging, and got some topical something rather which I am not sure helped at all or not.
The final morning we woke up at about 4:30am and began the final hike to the ruins so that we could arrive at the gates at 6am, just around sunrise when the park opened. To get to the top of the mountain the ruins were built upon it involved climbing up several hundred awkwardly sized stairs some 600 or 800 meters until the top. We made the climb nearly running and completed it in about an hour. It was quite chilly at the top and we could see snow-capped mountains in the distance. The clouds rolled up the mountain for a few moments but then cleared and made way for the sun.
The ruins, though mostly reconstructed, were impressive and the stonework on the Incas is unlike any I have seen at any other ancient site. The cuts and fit of the rocks were incredibly precise. We spent some time visiting the different areas of the city and learning about aspects of Incan life from our guide, but I was so tired I found it hard to concentrate most of the time. We rested for a bit and then decided that we hadn`t put our bodies through enough rigor in the past few days and that we would regret it if we didn´t also climb Wayna Picchu (the big towering rock the dominates the background of most pictures of the ancient city). The climb was a very steep 360 meters above Machu Picchu. Some of the stairs were so narrow that I literally climbed them like a ladder using my hands because giant feet like mine did not exist in the time of the Incas. Our bodies were unhappy with us, but we heard the view from the top was spectacular and we knew we would regret it if we didn`t make it to the top.
Eventually, we slowly and painfully made our way all the way back down the tiny tiny steep steps of Wayna Picchu and all the way back through the ancient city of Macchu Picchu, and all the way back down the big awkward steps of the mountain, and all the way back to the town to Aguas Caliente and ultimately caught the train back to Cusco.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt 2. Año Nuevo
Cusco, Cuzco, or Qosqo in the ancient Quechua language of the Inca´s, was once a bustling capital of Incan life. After the Spanish conquest many of the Incan structures were destroyed to build churches and the Incans were forced into Catholocism. Today the city is a major tourist destination, acting as the main starting point for treks to Machu Picchu. The streets were packed before the new year and everywhere we walked it seemed like people were hasseling us to get massages or eat at their overpriced restaurant, local women and children dressed up in traditional ceremony clothes and walked around the streets leading baby alpacas and wanting you to photograph them and then give them tips. It all seemed very manufactured and in your face and drove me a little crazy. I guess I hadn`t been acting as a tourist so much up until this point and I wasn`t used to playing the part.
The hostel Mike had reserved didn`t have our reservation (they often overbook) so Nico, the man the reservation and our trek was arranged through, took us to a hotel in a less touristy part of town, though we were still near the center. It seemed no one else was staying in this hotel except for possibly some family members of Nico`s, but the room was suitable and we ended up with a private bathroom for the same price we would have paid at the hostel with a shared bath, so we took it. We explored Cusco a bit, hunting down veggies restaurants that again were often closed, and dodging people touting tours and all kinds of things on the street. New Years Eve was spent with Nico who made us and a bunch of Brazilian kids Pisco Sours, the regional drink. Pisco Sour is a drink made from distilled grapes, limes, and egg whites. It`s kind of margarita-ish, but thicker. After that we headed with the Brazilians to the main square where the festivities were ensuing. The celebration consisted of hundreds of people donning ponchos hanging out in the square in the rain and lots of fireworks and fire crackers set off with seemingly no regard to who was around. I think we got hit a few times with some small ones, but I can`t say for sure. We counted down in Spanish, popped some warm, nasty, sparkling something, and then joined everyone as we ran several times around the perimeter of the square. I don`t know why they do this, but they do, presumably for good luck.
We wandered around aimlessly for a while looking for food which we never managed to find before heading back to our hotel.
The hostel Mike had reserved didn`t have our reservation (they often overbook) so Nico, the man the reservation and our trek was arranged through, took us to a hotel in a less touristy part of town, though we were still near the center. It seemed no one else was staying in this hotel except for possibly some family members of Nico`s, but the room was suitable and we ended up with a private bathroom for the same price we would have paid at the hostel with a shared bath, so we took it. We explored Cusco a bit, hunting down veggies restaurants that again were often closed, and dodging people touting tours and all kinds of things on the street. New Years Eve was spent with Nico who made us and a bunch of Brazilian kids Pisco Sours, the regional drink. Pisco Sour is a drink made from distilled grapes, limes, and egg whites. It`s kind of margarita-ish, but thicker. After that we headed with the Brazilians to the main square where the festivities were ensuing. The celebration consisted of hundreds of people donning ponchos hanging out in the square in the rain and lots of fireworks and fire crackers set off with seemingly no regard to who was around. I think we got hit a few times with some small ones, but I can`t say for sure. We counted down in Spanish, popped some warm, nasty, sparkling something, and then joined everyone as we ran several times around the perimeter of the square. I don`t know why they do this, but they do, presumably for good luck.
We wandered around aimlessly for a while looking for food which we never managed to find before heading back to our hotel.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Frontera to Frontera, Pt. 1
I am way behind on my blogging. I haven`t written since my 3:30am border crossing from Ecuador into Peru. Waking in Peru to the expansive and unexpected desert landscape was surprising after the lush green mountains and valleys of Ecuador. Even more surprising was the amount of trash burning or buried beneath the sand. When the bus rolled past a populated area, the homes were in various states of construction or destruction, and it was hard to tell whether this was a result of poverty or possible earthquakes, or both. (I later learned that taxes are not collected on buildings in construction so many are left unfinished, which could account for some of this).
Busses in Peru are harder to navigate than busses elsewhere. Most cities do not have a central terminal where you can walk down the aisle and judge prices and bus quality. Busses here are mostly located in different places so you need a taxi between them and are then taken to which ever one the taxi driver has buddies at. Busses are also more secure, or they at least have more security. On the first bus I took in Peru from the border town of Piura to Chiclayo, a beach town where I expected to spend Christmas, they passed the wand over you as you entered the bus, then walked down the aisles with a camcorder and video-taped everyone´s faces after they were seated. I didn`t end up staying in Chiclayo because it sounded like all accomodation would be booked up since the beach is a popular destination on the holiday and it didn`t look so nice anyway, so I moved on to Trujillo, a town with a small colonial center but not much else to offer.
I spent the night in Trujillo in overpriced accommodation and then boarded a bus to Lima. This bus was more expensive than anywhere else I had seen in South America and I wasn`t sure why. In addition to waving you with a wand and videotaping you, they also fingerprinted everyone before boarding which I didn`t like at all. I wasn`t sure whether to be comforted by all this extra security or freaked out. Once on the bus I received service unlike any bus I had been on yet. A stewardess type lady came around and offered beverage service and then came around with a hot meal that I couldn`t eat, but I picked around the meat for the untainted mashed potatoes and enjoyed a traditional dish of Peru, Papas a la Huancaina, boiled potatoes with a mild chili sauce, a sliced hardboiled egg, and a black olive, and avoided the nasty gelatinous dessert. Before arriving in Lima I was served some crackers and tea. very strange. I arrived in Lima and got a dorm bed at the hostel Mike had reserved space at for the following night.
I spent the next day anticipating Mike`s arrival and exploring (but not too much) the neighborhood our hostel was in and showering. I picked up Mike at the airport in Lima and then spent the next few days traversing Peru`s capital, the 17th most populous city in the world. We scoped out vegetarian restaurants that all seemed to be closed, saw the one of the oldest barrios in the city on the way to the top of Cerro San Cristobal, and reluctantly inhaled all the burning smog the city had to offer. The only other time my throat felt raw like that was after I had smoked too many cigarettes in a single night. It´s sad that such a reaction can come simply by breathing air. In addition to horrible air pollution, there is also noise pollution. People use their horns like they are part of a symphony.
From Lima we traveled to Nazca, home of the Nazca lines, giant geoglyphs that stretch more than 50 miles. The lines feature shapes of several different animals and geometric shapes and are thought to have been made somewhere between 200BC and700AD. No one can say definitively why there are there. Some researchers think they represent the spirtual journeys of shamans, enhanced by the hallucinagenic San Pedro cactus. Other believe it was a form of calendar, a plea to the gods for water, irregation plans, or a means of communication with extraterrestial life forms.
Mike had a crash course in the way things work (or often don`t work) in South America as we waited six hours to board our plane over the lines (the entire trip was sold to us as taking about 2 hours start to finish). Eventually we packed into a small 4 person plane (5 if you squeeze a person next the pilot in the cockpit, which we did). After our plane was lifted into the air by a single propeller and our first bit of turbulance jostled us and threw my stomach for a loop I had a momentary feeling of panic and was afraid we´d made a horrible mistake and might not make it safely back to ground. Fortunately the only thing that went wrong was Mike getting a little nauseous during the ride, which is to be expected when you take Dramamine 6 hours before departure because you had no idea that they would give you the runaround for so long. I maintained my composure well enough to be able to take pictures of all the lines that Mike might have missed. They were pretty unusual and I have no idea why they are there...maybe it really is the work of aliens.
We moved on from Nazca across more desert until we arrived in Cusco where we planned to station ourselves to ring in the New Year.
Busses in Peru are harder to navigate than busses elsewhere. Most cities do not have a central terminal where you can walk down the aisle and judge prices and bus quality. Busses here are mostly located in different places so you need a taxi between them and are then taken to which ever one the taxi driver has buddies at. Busses are also more secure, or they at least have more security. On the first bus I took in Peru from the border town of Piura to Chiclayo, a beach town where I expected to spend Christmas, they passed the wand over you as you entered the bus, then walked down the aisles with a camcorder and video-taped everyone´s faces after they were seated. I didn`t end up staying in Chiclayo because it sounded like all accomodation would be booked up since the beach is a popular destination on the holiday and it didn`t look so nice anyway, so I moved on to Trujillo, a town with a small colonial center but not much else to offer.
I spent the night in Trujillo in overpriced accommodation and then boarded a bus to Lima. This bus was more expensive than anywhere else I had seen in South America and I wasn`t sure why. In addition to waving you with a wand and videotaping you, they also fingerprinted everyone before boarding which I didn`t like at all. I wasn`t sure whether to be comforted by all this extra security or freaked out. Once on the bus I received service unlike any bus I had been on yet. A stewardess type lady came around and offered beverage service and then came around with a hot meal that I couldn`t eat, but I picked around the meat for the untainted mashed potatoes and enjoyed a traditional dish of Peru, Papas a la Huancaina, boiled potatoes with a mild chili sauce, a sliced hardboiled egg, and a black olive, and avoided the nasty gelatinous dessert. Before arriving in Lima I was served some crackers and tea. very strange. I arrived in Lima and got a dorm bed at the hostel Mike had reserved space at for the following night.
I spent the next day anticipating Mike`s arrival and exploring (but not too much) the neighborhood our hostel was in and showering. I picked up Mike at the airport in Lima and then spent the next few days traversing Peru`s capital, the 17th most populous city in the world. We scoped out vegetarian restaurants that all seemed to be closed, saw the one of the oldest barrios in the city on the way to the top of Cerro San Cristobal, and reluctantly inhaled all the burning smog the city had to offer. The only other time my throat felt raw like that was after I had smoked too many cigarettes in a single night. It´s sad that such a reaction can come simply by breathing air. In addition to horrible air pollution, there is also noise pollution. People use their horns like they are part of a symphony.
From Lima we traveled to Nazca, home of the Nazca lines, giant geoglyphs that stretch more than 50 miles. The lines feature shapes of several different animals and geometric shapes and are thought to have been made somewhere between 200BC and700AD. No one can say definitively why there are there. Some researchers think they represent the spirtual journeys of shamans, enhanced by the hallucinagenic San Pedro cactus. Other believe it was a form of calendar, a plea to the gods for water, irregation plans, or a means of communication with extraterrestial life forms.
Mike had a crash course in the way things work (or often don`t work) in South America as we waited six hours to board our plane over the lines (the entire trip was sold to us as taking about 2 hours start to finish). Eventually we packed into a small 4 person plane (5 if you squeeze a person next the pilot in the cockpit, which we did). After our plane was lifted into the air by a single propeller and our first bit of turbulance jostled us and threw my stomach for a loop I had a momentary feeling of panic and was afraid we´d made a horrible mistake and might not make it safely back to ground. Fortunately the only thing that went wrong was Mike getting a little nauseous during the ride, which is to be expected when you take Dramamine 6 hours before departure because you had no idea that they would give you the runaround for so long. I maintained my composure well enough to be able to take pictures of all the lines that Mike might have missed. They were pretty unusual and I have no idea why they are there...maybe it really is the work of aliens.
We moved on from Nazca across more desert until we arrived in Cusco where we planned to station ourselves to ring in the New Year.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
More Sacred Sueños
The 3 hour hike up the mountain placed me at about 2,200 meters. This meant that the days were pleasant for being outside and working without it getting too hot and unbearable. I have no real sense of temperature aside from me being either too hot or too cold but I found the weather to be moderate and enjoyable. I believe it was usually around 75F give or take a few degrees in the daytime with varying levels of sunshine. Most afternoons, around 3pm, it would get cloudy and ominous and we played the weather game, wondering whether it would in fact rain and if the rain would hit us or somewhere else along the valley. There were many afternoons when the clouds would shadow the farm and the thunder would turn Rumbi, the dog, into a shivering mess and lightening bolts seemed to be only a few feet away, and yet the rain would miss us and we would watch it drench some nearby part of the mountain of valley below. Other days the rain would hit us as expected or often unexpectedly. We´d run to cover the adobes and oftentimes go search for the horse and donkeys and put the goats in their corral early to escape the incoming downpour.
The nights could be chilly at times and the clouds would creep their way up the walls of the valley and into the open kitchen, pleasantly causing the lights of Vilcabamba below to disappear. The lows would fall to about 50 degrees overnight, never so cold that another layer wouldn´t cure you. I´d fall asleep bundled under two heavy blankets listening to the owl who took up residence nearby. A few years prior all wildlife was vacant from the area, but thanks to the progress on the farm birds and other animals are slowly returning, worms are beginning to live in the now fertile soil that was once only clay.
When I first arrived at the farm I stayed in ´the dorm´, a 2-level building with the ability to sleep 6 people. The other volunteer at the time was staying in a private room called Trin´s Room, so I had the dorm to myself. It was a cloth and post structure with a wooden deck area that I would use to stretch in the morning and before bed. If I knew Yoga I probably would have practiced there daily. I stayed in the dorm for a few days, after the volunteer staying in Trin´s Room left, and another volunteer, who moved into the Yurt, arrived. Eventually a group of kids I knew from Neverland came to the farm and though I enjoyed their company very much I needed my privacy. Even the most mature 19 and 20 year olds still act their age when surrounded by their peers. So I gave up the stretching deck for privacy and Trin´s Room became my room.
The gardens aren´t producing enough food to sustain 7 or 8 people so every 5-7 days Yves and/or Jenn take the horse, Joe, and the donkey´s Pasito and Bonita into town on a food run, returning with a bounty of fresh fruits and veggies and dried legumes and grains. Breakfast was a free-for-all and everyone catered to themselves. Most people ate eggs from the chickens who worked the chicken tractor, bread, oatmeal, fresh fruit, or sometimes leftovers from the night before. I usually had bread and butter and oatmeal or fruit and my special stash of granola that I brought with me from town. And coffee, of course.
Lunch was always shared as a community and it was one of the daily chores for one or two people (depending on the number of people currently staying at the farm) to prepare lunch for everyone. Lunch was usually some delicious concoction of fresh veggies and a salad, sometimes accompanied by rice or beans, but the veggies were always the star. Green salt (salt mixed with a crazy combination of ground green herbs and sesame seeds) and Ají (a type of hot pepper ground and mixed with vinegar to keep) always shared the table. Lunch time also served as a time to discuss the activities of the farm. We´d talk about what projects we worked on in the morning and what our plans were for the afternoon. We addressed any questions and used lunch to learn more about our projects and their greater connection to the farm which in turn connected us to one another.
Dinner was also shared as a community, though it wasn´t required. Dinner prep was also a daily chore but was really easy as lunch was always the most substantial meal of the day and dinner was always light and usually only involved making a fruit salad and some kind of soup out of the leftovers from lunch. I feel like I lost weight on the mountain, and I definitely felt really good while I was there. But it´s hard to say whether the fresh fruits and veggies or the daily work and climbs up the mountain side were responsible. Maybe it was just knowing that my days were spent accomplishing something and contributing to something important. I have decided that there are really not many things better than eating good food and playing in the dirt all day.
The nights could be chilly at times and the clouds would creep their way up the walls of the valley and into the open kitchen, pleasantly causing the lights of Vilcabamba below to disappear. The lows would fall to about 50 degrees overnight, never so cold that another layer wouldn´t cure you. I´d fall asleep bundled under two heavy blankets listening to the owl who took up residence nearby. A few years prior all wildlife was vacant from the area, but thanks to the progress on the farm birds and other animals are slowly returning, worms are beginning to live in the now fertile soil that was once only clay.
When I first arrived at the farm I stayed in ´the dorm´, a 2-level building with the ability to sleep 6 people. The other volunteer at the time was staying in a private room called Trin´s Room, so I had the dorm to myself. It was a cloth and post structure with a wooden deck area that I would use to stretch in the morning and before bed. If I knew Yoga I probably would have practiced there daily. I stayed in the dorm for a few days, after the volunteer staying in Trin´s Room left, and another volunteer, who moved into the Yurt, arrived. Eventually a group of kids I knew from Neverland came to the farm and though I enjoyed their company very much I needed my privacy. Even the most mature 19 and 20 year olds still act their age when surrounded by their peers. So I gave up the stretching deck for privacy and Trin´s Room became my room.
The gardens aren´t producing enough food to sustain 7 or 8 people so every 5-7 days Yves and/or Jenn take the horse, Joe, and the donkey´s Pasito and Bonita into town on a food run, returning with a bounty of fresh fruits and veggies and dried legumes and grains. Breakfast was a free-for-all and everyone catered to themselves. Most people ate eggs from the chickens who worked the chicken tractor, bread, oatmeal, fresh fruit, or sometimes leftovers from the night before. I usually had bread and butter and oatmeal or fruit and my special stash of granola that I brought with me from town. And coffee, of course.
Lunch was always shared as a community and it was one of the daily chores for one or two people (depending on the number of people currently staying at the farm) to prepare lunch for everyone. Lunch was usually some delicious concoction of fresh veggies and a salad, sometimes accompanied by rice or beans, but the veggies were always the star. Green salt (salt mixed with a crazy combination of ground green herbs and sesame seeds) and Ají (a type of hot pepper ground and mixed with vinegar to keep) always shared the table. Lunch time also served as a time to discuss the activities of the farm. We´d talk about what projects we worked on in the morning and what our plans were for the afternoon. We addressed any questions and used lunch to learn more about our projects and their greater connection to the farm which in turn connected us to one another.
Dinner was also shared as a community, though it wasn´t required. Dinner prep was also a daily chore but was really easy as lunch was always the most substantial meal of the day and dinner was always light and usually only involved making a fruit salad and some kind of soup out of the leftovers from lunch. I feel like I lost weight on the mountain, and I definitely felt really good while I was there. But it´s hard to say whether the fresh fruits and veggies or the daily work and climbs up the mountain side were responsible. Maybe it was just knowing that my days were spent accomplishing something and contributing to something important. I have decided that there are really not many things better than eating good food and playing in the dirt all day.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sacred Sueños and Never Never Land
After spending over 3 weeks either in a valley or up in a mountain without electricy I have now returned to babylon where I am just another consumer...though a conscientious one, and getting moreso every day.
The first farm I arrived on was called Never Never Land. I was attracted to this farm because the write up about it mentioned that it was an organic farm that used the antique methods of farming. It was said to have a composting toilet and was run my a local midwife who was involved with empowering and educating the local community. After spending some time at the farm I realized that it was a far cry from the organic farm run by the community organizing midwife that I have envisioned. Instead the woman running the place was more like a chain smoking, over the hill, mostly miserable, energy sucker. The composting toilets were merely latrines, the gardens were in complete disarray, and everything seemed disorganized and lacking vision and purpose. Portions of our $35 weekly food donations were used to purchase cases of box wine (gross) and sometimes weed and I didn´t agree with many of the things I saw happening there. No work seemed to get done and it seemed not to matter as long as the money kept coming in.
In any case, though it had gardens (sort of) and was rustic without electricity and many comforts of home, it was not the right placement for me. I decided to leave Neverland and check out another farm near Vilcabamba called Sacred Sueños (Sacred Dreams). Getting to Sacren Sueños involved walking 45 minutes from town (or taking a $3 cab) and then hiking up a mountain which could take anywhere from 1.5 to 3 hours. The hike was almost entirely up, without much relief. Upon arrival, the view alone made the grueling hike worth it. Then I saw the farm and talked with Jenn, one of the two full time residents.
But I was pretty terrified at the same time. The worked described was pretty structured. You must be active before 9am (not hard except that it was the complete opposite of my bartending schedule), you were expected to work 4-6 hours on top of your share of the daily chores. There was only one volunteer there the night I visited and I saw him building and moving adobe bricks all day, pretty heavy duty work. I was worried that I wouldn´t be able to keep up with the pace and demands of the farm. It was built into the top of a mountain and everything was at an incline. Physically I knew it was going to be a challange.
I spent the night and then hiked back down the mountain the next day. I thought about not returning, the hike itself was deterrent enough. I talked to two other nearby farms but I knew that this farm was the one I was looking for. I returned to Neverland and gathered my things and the next morning began another hike up the mountain.
Sacred Sueños was started about 4.5 years ago by Yves, a Swiss-Canadian and everywheresman. A son of dairy farmers, he hitchhiked and WWOOFed his way from Canada through the US, Mexico, Central America, and South America, eventually finding a spot in Ecuador. He then went to Japan for a year a whored himself out teaching English to save enough money to buy the farm. Ever since he has been working tirelessly to restore a degraded mountainside, destroyed by slash and burn agriculture, by planting exotic and native tress, building earthen structures, using permaculture methods, growing organic vegetables and so much more in the hopes of eventually being completely self-sustaining. In 10 more years he will donate the entire farm to the community as an example and educational center of an alternative to the harmful practice of slash and burn agriculture.
I spent the past few weeks shitting in a bucket, emptying my shit along with everyone elses into piles to then be composted and turned into humanure. I wake up early every day and stare out over the valleys from this amazing mountain that I somehow managed to be lucky enough to find myself upon. I take care of the goats, make cheese and kombuche, and hunt for the donkeys in the afternoons. I work in the orchards and prepare soil in order to plant dynamic accumulators. I wait for the perfect time of day and weather conditions to transplant little plants being ever so caring with their delicate little roots. I harvest beans and uvillas and agchochas. I stop whatever I am doing when it starts to rain and run with the rest of the community to cover the adobe bricks before the get too wet and ruined. I learn about using recycled plastic to build cobb walls, about contour bunds and grey water systems. I share delicious food and stimulating conversations and read every night by candle light. I´ve showered once in the past 2 weeks and am hairy and greasy and I think I smell like onions but it´s okay, because there are no mirrors on the mountain and everyone else is dirty and smelly and greasy. I have dirt under my fingernails and callouses on my palms. I feel happy and centered and alive.
I am sitting at the bus station now and will be boarding something that isn´t at all similar to a donkey. It doesn´t leave until 11pm and I haven´t been up past 10:30pm in weeks. I am sad to be leaving Sacred Sueños but I am on my way to Peru to meet up with Mike for a few weeks and I am very excited about that. Besides, I am fairly certain I will find my way up that mountain again in the near future. They´ve made a comfortable community up there and it is rewarding work that I truely felt good about at the end of the day...and I have so much more to learn!
The first farm I arrived on was called Never Never Land. I was attracted to this farm because the write up about it mentioned that it was an organic farm that used the antique methods of farming. It was said to have a composting toilet and was run my a local midwife who was involved with empowering and educating the local community. After spending some time at the farm I realized that it was a far cry from the organic farm run by the community organizing midwife that I have envisioned. Instead the woman running the place was more like a chain smoking, over the hill, mostly miserable, energy sucker. The composting toilets were merely latrines, the gardens were in complete disarray, and everything seemed disorganized and lacking vision and purpose. Portions of our $35 weekly food donations were used to purchase cases of box wine (gross) and sometimes weed and I didn´t agree with many of the things I saw happening there. No work seemed to get done and it seemed not to matter as long as the money kept coming in.
In any case, though it had gardens (sort of) and was rustic without electricity and many comforts of home, it was not the right placement for me. I decided to leave Neverland and check out another farm near Vilcabamba called Sacred Sueños (Sacred Dreams). Getting to Sacren Sueños involved walking 45 minutes from town (or taking a $3 cab) and then hiking up a mountain which could take anywhere from 1.5 to 3 hours. The hike was almost entirely up, without much relief. Upon arrival, the view alone made the grueling hike worth it. Then I saw the farm and talked with Jenn, one of the two full time residents.
But I was pretty terrified at the same time. The worked described was pretty structured. You must be active before 9am (not hard except that it was the complete opposite of my bartending schedule), you were expected to work 4-6 hours on top of your share of the daily chores. There was only one volunteer there the night I visited and I saw him building and moving adobe bricks all day, pretty heavy duty work. I was worried that I wouldn´t be able to keep up with the pace and demands of the farm. It was built into the top of a mountain and everything was at an incline. Physically I knew it was going to be a challange.
I spent the night and then hiked back down the mountain the next day. I thought about not returning, the hike itself was deterrent enough. I talked to two other nearby farms but I knew that this farm was the one I was looking for. I returned to Neverland and gathered my things and the next morning began another hike up the mountain.
Sacred Sueños was started about 4.5 years ago by Yves, a Swiss-Canadian and everywheresman. A son of dairy farmers, he hitchhiked and WWOOFed his way from Canada through the US, Mexico, Central America, and South America, eventually finding a spot in Ecuador. He then went to Japan for a year a whored himself out teaching English to save enough money to buy the farm. Ever since he has been working tirelessly to restore a degraded mountainside, destroyed by slash and burn agriculture, by planting exotic and native tress, building earthen structures, using permaculture methods, growing organic vegetables and so much more in the hopes of eventually being completely self-sustaining. In 10 more years he will donate the entire farm to the community as an example and educational center of an alternative to the harmful practice of slash and burn agriculture.
I spent the past few weeks shitting in a bucket, emptying my shit along with everyone elses into piles to then be composted and turned into humanure. I wake up early every day and stare out over the valleys from this amazing mountain that I somehow managed to be lucky enough to find myself upon. I take care of the goats, make cheese and kombuche, and hunt for the donkeys in the afternoons. I work in the orchards and prepare soil in order to plant dynamic accumulators. I wait for the perfect time of day and weather conditions to transplant little plants being ever so caring with their delicate little roots. I harvest beans and uvillas and agchochas. I stop whatever I am doing when it starts to rain and run with the rest of the community to cover the adobe bricks before the get too wet and ruined. I learn about using recycled plastic to build cobb walls, about contour bunds and grey water systems. I share delicious food and stimulating conversations and read every night by candle light. I´ve showered once in the past 2 weeks and am hairy and greasy and I think I smell like onions but it´s okay, because there are no mirrors on the mountain and everyone else is dirty and smelly and greasy. I have dirt under my fingernails and callouses on my palms. I feel happy and centered and alive.
I am sitting at the bus station now and will be boarding something that isn´t at all similar to a donkey. It doesn´t leave until 11pm and I haven´t been up past 10:30pm in weeks. I am sad to be leaving Sacred Sueños but I am on my way to Peru to meet up with Mike for a few weeks and I am very excited about that. Besides, I am fairly certain I will find my way up that mountain again in the near future. They´ve made a comfortable community up there and it is rewarding work that I truely felt good about at the end of the day...and I have so much more to learn!
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