Call Me Kristen Bell.

Posted on August 27, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Ok, so I spoiled the whole snake hook in the last post. I thought about dragging it out, but I just didn’t have the heart. Truth is, I expected to see snakes everywhere we went in the Amazon for the entire trip, until we left… and then worried a tiny bit that one could have gotten in the luggage, along with a tarantula. You’ve been spared those worries. As I said in the last post: there was only one snake… that I saw. This post is about our final day in the Amazon: the trip to the canopy, and the moment I fell in love and decided I really must adopt a baby. Kristen Bell? Right, well some of you will figure that one out right away… the rest of you will have to wait. Given that many of my readers are in the (ahem) mature age range, my guess is that this new hook is safe until the big reveal.  For the record, I had no idea who Kristen Bell was until my kids started telling me I was acting like her, and I quietly googled her upon my return from Peru. Also for the record, I am nothing like Kristen Bell.

Our final big morning, we woke very early and got ready by the light of our kerosine lamps. The jungle sounds were stunning and I could just as happily have laid in bed, tucked in my mosquito net cocoon, and just listened all day. However, Luis was ready and waiting for us and we headed out into the jungle as the light was just making it possible to see our way. Principessa wore sturdy shoes and long pants. An Aside: For those of you who read the last post, Principessa would like it known that she is not a “clueless tourist,” who “doesn’t know how to dress,” despite her shoes. And this is true. She has traveled extensively in Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Paris, without her parents there to tell her what to do, and has worn shoes. She is generally a wise and attentive traveler, with shoes. She wants everyone to know that she was told that we’d be walking on a trail (As in boardwalk… you know, the kind they have all over the jungles of the Amazon region… Not). She thought that she’d be fine not wearing her hiking boots for one evening. Ok, so she was wrong and had a truly impressive melt down, but she wants you all to know that she is more savvy than my post may have suggested.

We walked briskly for about 45 minutes, all of us quiet and still waking up. The light was dim as we started out, but grew brighter as we made progress toward the Canopy Walk, the only one in the entire area, and built by Peter Jensen built. His ashes were spread from there when he died in 2010. The canopy walk is one of the longest in the world and rises to 115 feet at the top. It is not for the faint of heart or those with fear of heights… cue our next family vacation panic attack. Little Man is afraid of heights. Not just a little afraid, he’s very afraid. And so I want to start by giving him huge kudos for even agreeing to go up up in the canopy. We were all informed that it was “very high,” and that the “bridges from post to post sway and move quite a bit.” While we were also told that the mesh along the bridges could hold up to 800 lbs, we weren’t really prepared for the fact that the walkways would be about 18 inches wide, and that you are truly suspended VERY high up there… that when those bridges sway back and forth, or move because someone obnoxiously bounces you happens to be walking behind you, you really don’t know what 800 lbs means, but the cables seem thin.  So, Little Man gets my thumbs up for making the effort and trusting his siblings, even though he had little reason to do so. (The network of brides and platforms, and tree #6 with a platform 118 ft above the ground)

 

Not for the weak of heart, or those afraid of heights.

That said, Little Man had the other major melt down of our Amazon journey (after the shoe one). The canopy walk is sectioned off into 7 separate stations. Each station is higher than the one before, so that you walk across bridges that are suspended above the tree tops and ground; you then take stairs up on each new section and get from the ground to the top by making your way to each platform/station. By the time you reach station 7, you are a bit over 115 ft above the jungle floor. You can see forever. FOREVER. The birds are extraordinary, and that’s coming from someone who likes birds but is not a “birder.” Luis happens to be a birder of the highest level. He was spotting them from 1/4 of a mile off and calling out names faster than we could look. It was incredible! To see just how far off the lodge was, how far we’d come in 45 minutes of hiking, was equally amazing. To see how far the trees stretched, and then realize that up to 6 foot ball fields a second were once being destroyed in the Amazon, is a sobering thing.  It’s impossible to be in the Amazon and not think about its fragility. While current data suggests that perhaps deforestation is declining (while other statistic suggest otherwise), it is truly sobering to imagine the loss of the incredible wonders we saw in our short trip there. The Canopy experience was by far one of the most incredible opportunities to see just why the Amazon is one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World. (From the top: Amazon jungle forever and very strange folks, on the top platform)

 

Spectacular!

It’s not that all of that was entirely lost on Little Man, but as we rose higher and higher, so did his anxiety. Add to that: two siblings who did not show any particular compassion for their younger brother, and one of whom Middle Man might have made the bridges sway, or taunted him a bit… and another sibling, Principessa who took photos of Little Man’s terror and laughed a lot (one would think that said sibling might remember that she had behaved much the same during a jungle walk at night, when she WORE THE WRONG SHOES!)… and you have a recipe for a full blown melt down 115 feet above the ground. Not a pretty sight and certainly not conducive to peace and harmony in the wild. Again, I say kudos to Little Man, who continued walking on (and let me tell you, some of that walk was truly scary!).  At the very top, where we stopped to enjoy the sights for 45 minutes, he was able to pause and enjoy the beauty around him… and at least pretend he wasn’t terrified.

On the way back to the lodge, we stopped at the “compound” for the local Shaman. On the grounds we got to see the many Amazon plants he was growing to use as (natural) medicinal cures and remedies. Then we were welcomed into a covered area where the two Shaman for the region showed us what plants they use and for what illnesses. While I have read many times about all the medical solutions that come out of the Amazon, it was fascinating to hear these men talk about the ways in which they treat illness and what the jungle has to offer. At the end of the talk, they asked us to come up in pairs, close our eyes, and they did some energy work and passed some feathers over our skin, while chanting in their native language. It concluded when the Shaman wiped a local scented oil across our foreheads and hair. It was very calming and we all agreed that whatever he did, we each felt at peace when it was concluded. The final thing we each got the chance to do was get a local tattoo, that would last 2-6 weeks. The oil went on invisibly, but later came out bluish black. I did not tell the Shaman what I wanted, but asked him to do whatever came to mind. I had silently wished for a Humming Bird. As my tattoo dried, there was a small humming bird on my wrist. The humming bird is symbolic of overcoming difficult times, or personal challenge. I asked the Shaman why he chose the humming bird, and he said: “I felt that this is what your spirit needs. It is what came to me as soon as you sat down.”  I walked away a believer.  (Visiting the Shaman: spiritual cleansing, Amazon medicines, and tattoos that go on invisible but turn color)

  

Back at the lodge, we gathered our things and prepared to leave… something I was not anxious to do. My entire rhythm had slowed and I felt as if I could just stay on indefinitely: lying in my hammock each day for siesta, going out on adventures during the day and enjoying the beauty all around me. And then I met the parrot. The evil, killer parrot. I was minding my own business, waiting to talk to Luis, when a parrot landed right next to me. I’d seen one of the cooks holding this parrot and talking to it moments before and now it was staring at me, from about 18 inches away. I said: “what a pretty bird,” in a voice that I thought was parrot tone, and it suddenly flew toward my arm.

The face of Evil. (photographed the day before he turned violent)

Instinctively, I bent my elbow to present a perch, as I’d seen done a few times. I figured he’d land there and I’d be lucky to see him up closer. No, that parrot landed on my arm and instantly began squawking and biting me! Parrots are strong! Parrots are evil! Or this one was. I pulled away slowly and carefully, but he just kept coming at me until one of the cooks raced over and grabbed him with a towel. I tried to stay calm and not freak out, but my arm was bleeding and I was definitely unnerved. As I got bandaids for my arm, we heard the bird squawking over and over, and for the rest of the day the kids teased that I’d gotten the parrot killed, by squawking at me. (He wasn’t…killed.  Squaaawwwk!)

On the way back up river, we stopped to see the Yagua village and tribe. This was another incredible experience, but we all had very mixed feelings about that. Again, as I mentioned in the previous post, it is clear that these tribes rely on tourism and people like us visiting them, and buying their wares, to support and maintain their way of life. However, it was equally clear to us that this comes at a price. The older members of the tribe, in my opinion, exuded a quiet dignity and distance from us, an ability to do their thing and not allow our presence to take away from their beliefs. Some of the older ladies were very welcoming and seemed fine with us there. The younger tribe members however seemed less comfortable, and we felt more intrusive around them. We were welcomed into a round house, that is customary of the houses that the tribe has always used for large meetings. We sat quietly, and respectfully, as they sang and danced for us, playing small flutes and circling around the room. Small children peeked in at us, and ran away when we smiled or waved. When we were asked to get up and dance with tribe members, it was that much more awkward as we clearly looked like fools trying to keep pace, and it felt that much more obvious that we were part of a performance, that the tribe does to maintain its lifestyle. We talked a lot about this later, and each struggled in our own way with the dilemma of being there. (Yagua tribe members)

   

Seriously lethal mama: “Were you talking back to me?”

After the dancing, we each had two chances to try a traditional dart gun. For the record, the record: I hit the bullseye (as did Principessa) while the males in our group did not. If called upon to defend myself with a blow gun, you’re going down! We then took some time to look at the many items that the tribal members make and sell. We bought souvenirs to bring home, and this is where I fell in love and found out I share something with Kristen Bell. In one of the last “huts,” where a woman and her young son were selling items, we met a baby sloth named Juanita, and I fell crazy in love. I was totally unaware that there was apparently an entire web mania for sloths a few months ago, when Kristen Bell posted her sloth meltdown. All kinds of fools folks changed their Facebook profile pictures to sloths, to play along. When 7 month old Juanita was put in my arms, I was sunk. Totally sunk, by a sloth. I may have thought Kristen Bell was silly, had you shown me that video before this encounter, but I am a sloth convert. I would adopt one in a heart beat! Juanita is by far the sweetest, most amazing little creature I ever had the thrill of experiencing. (Ok, prepare to fall in love: you cannot have too many sloth pictures! Note the bandages from the evil parrot.)

     

Realistically, I had given sloths virtually no thought before this. I knew they existed; I’d hoped to see one in the wild; I new what they looked like (sort of); but, I had no idea that I could fall totally head over heals for one. I was ready to adopt that baby right then and there, and while I may not fall into waves of hysteria like Kristen Bell, I was absolutely giddy:  talking about that sweet girl, and wanting to go back and see her again, the rest of the week. As I write this, I feel a distinct sloth rush come over me. Let it be known that even Mr. Cool (aka: Middle Man) totally melted when I reluctantly handed Juanita over to him. When I look at the pictures I grin from ear to ear… and want a sloth. So, call me Kristen Bell; I’m not ashamed. I love sloths. I want a sloth; I’m totally smitten with them. Look at that smile! Look at those crazy beautiful eyes! If you had held Juanita: had her hug you, cuddle you (seriously!), you would be Kristen Bell too. Kristen, I feel the love.

Flash of pink: the Amazon pink dolphin

On the way back to Iquitos we were lucky enough to get to see the mysterious pink dolphins of the Amazon. Taking pictures was not easy, as they appear and then vanish just as quickly. They are shyer than the dolphins I’ve known here in the States, but there is no confusing them for anything else: they are pink. Traveling back, as the jungle grew a bit thinner and the water traffic and small houses on the shore became more frequent, I felt a sadness descend at leaving this magical place. There is no real way to fully express how the Amazon gets under your skin, how it burrows in your brain and infects your thoughts and dreams. It’s impossible to paint a full picture of the raw beauty and the simple magic there… But it stays with me, and I hope to go back and see more.

This picture says it all!

In Iquitos, we said goodbye to our wonderful guide Luis, our final guide and host on a spectacular trip to Peru. It was an honor to have benefited from his wisdom and quiet knowledge and we all were sad to see him go. We wandered the hot, dusty streets of Iquitos for the 8+ hours until our flight. We tried fruits from vendors on the street; we explored the sites; we stood out like the strangers we were. We found our way down to the river at dinner time and ended up at the perfect place, with a full menu of Peruvian and Amazon specialities, and a spectacular view of the Amazon across the street. When we boarded our flight a few hours later, I lingered on the tarmac a moment to breath in the humid air and let the place wash over me one more time, and then we flew back to Lima. (Final day in Iquitos: last glimpse of Amazon, at sunset; street art- murals and graffiti)

   

  

Our final day in Peru was spent wandering the Mira Flores area: exploring galleries; savoring the best ceviche ever, in a tiny place tucked away and filled with locals; walking for miles along the coast and then in and out of the streets of the artsy and architecturally spectacular San Isidro district. The murals, the art galleries, the graffiti, the Bridge of Sighs, the vibe, was worth the day spent. We ensconced ourselves in our hotel lobby for the final 3 hours (before our ride to the airport), spiritually one foot in Peru and one en route home already, and began our re-entry with Facebook, online news, and emails via the two computers there. Then we made our final trip to the Lima airport and began our long and much delayed (United, you suck!) trip home. (Final day in Mira Flores and San Isidro (districts of Lima)

        

Six weeks later, each night I inhale the scent of aromatic wood sticks that we bought in the market near Cuzco and I drift off to sleep, and dream of… Incas, Andes, Jungles, Rivers, Color, beautiful children and kind people, murals and art work, Spanish architecture, skeletons, tarantulas and snakes, salt mines, towering trees and jungle sounds, dark inky water in shallow boats, parrots and piranha, and… sloths.

If you read the entire Peru series, let me know what you liked best. What would you have liked to have read more about (is that possible)?  What’s the best family vacation you ever took and why? Share some dialogue!

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Is That a Snake? Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Posted on August 24, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

On The Amazon

From the comfort of home, it’s especially hard to believe we were in the Amazon this summer. None of the documentaries, none of the things I read beforehand, nothing prepared me for the shear wonder and sensory shift I’d feel there. Nothing prepared me for the creatures, the magic of the place, the incredible impact of being in such a special place. If we’d been questioning whether we wanted to leave the mountains (And we were; read previous post), I think it’s fair to say that we changed our minds as soon as we landed. Honestly, the only thing that stood in my way of totally immersing myself in

Everything looks like a snake in the Amazon. This is not a snake.

the exotic pull of the place, was the mere idea of snakes. I hate them. Don’t even like to look at them. Trying to be humorous, a few friends (they know who they are, and should feel guilt as they read this) had made numerous references to snakes before my departure, pointing out the movies about snakes that are set in the Amazon. (Python, Python II, Boa, Anaconda and it’s sequel, you get the idea… of course, I’ve never seen any of these movies, because I hate snakes… more than Indiana Jones.) So, as silly as it may seem to some of you fearless folks, I kept expecting one to drop into the boat, or to see them hanging from each tree; heck I actually expected that there would be snakes everywhere in the Amazon. And so, I was leery.

The water churning with the acrobatic of local children.

However, the Amazon works it’s own brand of magic and I lost my fears (briefly) and thoughts on the boat ride to the lodge, caught up in the incredible beauty and lull of the scenes we passed. I arrived in a haze, the trip down the Amazon a truly hypnotizing experience. After a wonderful lunch and a siesta in a comfy hammock, ignoring the two parrots who did a perfect imitation of two small dogs barking at each other, I heard laughter and happy screams coming from the river. Naturally, I wandered down to see what was happening. A group of local children from across the river had swam over to play with a group of kids from the U.S. who were in the Amazon on a summer educational program, and were paddling around in canoes. (For the record: when traveling in S. America, locals hate it when you say American, referring to anything from the US. For example: “We’re from America,” or “We’re American,” or “American kids and local kids.” They are American as well: South American. They consider us North Americans.)  The kids were all tipping each other over in canoes and the younger kids from the village competed with one another to see who could do the most impressive flips off of the tied up boats for Explorama lodge. Their energy and enthusiasm was incredible and I watched them for ages, tempted to jump in myself.. but leery of snakes and piranha. They asked me to take photos and then got excited to see the images in my viewfinder. I stayed on land and took pictures. They were a riot.

We left the lizards alone. They eat mosquitos.

Our rooms were rustic, but at least had toilets. That would change at our next destination. All meals were eaten in a common dining room at both Explorama and ExplorNapo, the only screened in area in either place. The daily meals were served all you can eat buffet style and consisted of locally caught fishes, chicken or beef, fresh fruits, vegetables, potatoes, rice and a dessert. Nothing was gourmet, but every meal was good. The fish, every time they served it, was amazing and I ate more fish in the two weeks we were in Peru, than I do in months at home… if you don’t count sushi. The rooms were simple: singlebeds with required mosquito netting, a kerosine lamp, and at Explorama: bathrooms. Chugs of fresh water were stationed in the dining hall and outside each section of rooms. The water is not safe, unless boiled.

Tarantula. Almost beautiful by photo…

Our guide Luis told us to meet him outside our rooms, after dinner and to bring flash lights, for our first adventure: a tour of the jungle by flashlight. It is difficult to explain just how dark it was, but we truly could not see our own hands in front of us, without the lights. At one point Luis had us all turn our lights off to listen to the jungle and experience the darkness… I kept thinking just how amazing it was that Luis had grown up in a jungle like this, and without flash lights or many other modern technologies, he told us. Within the first five minutes of our walk, Luis pointed to a hole in the ground which none of us would have noticed, had he not pointed it out. “Come here everyone,” he coaxed. I stood behind Middle Man and looked over his shoulder. When Luis put a stick in the hole and a tarantula the size of my hand came out, I nearly wet my pants a little… and Principessa had a full blown panic attack.

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep…” Robert Frost. As we walk through the pitch black jungle.

Honestly, I thought she was kidding. If I hadn’t thought that, I probably wouldn’t have laughed so hard. Probably. (I have been known to laugh at others’ crises. For instance: bees crack me up, when they’re bothering someone else.) She wasn’t kidding. Principessa had foolishly worn her Tevas (open toed sandals) for our night walk in the jungle, and now every single thing that touched her feet (Did I mention biomass? Leaves? Vines? Tarantulas?), made her loose her cool. Completely. So now we were walking through the jungle, Luis pointing out poisonous jumping spiders (Sorry, but who cares if they’re poisonous; they jump!); beautiful frogs; moths; bugs of every shape, size and color; and tarantulaS. (Yes, there was more than one), and Principessa was a wreck.  It occurred to me pretty quickly, as it probably had with her, that if Luis saw one in the first few minutes, and another shortly after, how many were we not seeing? And, if I was wearing Tevas I’d probably be crying and squealing, and clinging to those around me (too), but I had worn my solid hikers, long pants and anything else that might keep all of the above noted creatures off me. Principessa in Tevas: not so much. So give me my mother of the year award: I laughed until I nearly wet my pants a little, again. At my age, these things happen. (Night photos all taken by Middle Man, who is very good at it! L-R: Stick bug, deadly leaping spider, adorable frog, tree frog (there were so many types of frogs!), and leaf bug.)

  

  

The jungle is a whole other beast at night, and for that matter, there are whole other beasts that are in the jungle at night, that you don’t really encounter in the day. Tarantulas for example: they really are nocturnal. We were warned a couple of times that they like to crawl into suitcases, because they’re dark and warm. Smart Guy actually knows someone who came home from the Amazon and had a tarantula in their suitcase, no urban myth here. That knowledge alone had me checking my shoes each morning, shaking out all of my clothes and checking my bags. No doubt some of you are wondering why anyone would go on a vacation where tarantulas can climb in your suitcase; and, I hear you. There were certainly moments when I too asked: why aren’t we in Paris like so and so (so and so, you know who you are), eating stinky cheese and drinking wonderful wine, instead of drinking fermented corn and alcohol and dodging crawling, slithering things?  But, in the big scheme of things, I am clearly an adventure girl, and fermented corn alcohol gets you buzzed just like expensive wine. Some of it may make me uneasy, but I prefer the edge. Admittedly however the jungle at night, despite creepers and crawlers, was spectacular! It was magical and mysterious in all the ways one might imagine it would be, if you’re wearing sensible shoes.

Elegant accommodations. Mosquito nets are your friend.

The next day we boarded yet another boat to transfer to ExplorNapo lodge, another two hrs. down the Amazon. We would spend 2 nights and three days there. The ride was just as beautiful and I arrived excited to see what adventures lay ahead. Each day, there were three “adventures.” Early morning, afternoon and evening, Luis would meet us and take us somewhere to learn about the Amazon and the area.  Like Explorama, ExplorNapo had a screened dining hall, a wonderful covered area with the most delicious hammocks anywhere, a small bar, a dock area and private rooms. However, our rooms at ExplorNapo (the first of the lodges built by Peter Jensen– from the U.S.- in 1964) were even more rustic than Explorama, and had no toilets in the room. Having seen bats flying around the stalls in the pit toilets and heard rumors of a tapir in one of them, this did not sit well with a gal who would inevitably need to go in the middle of the dark, dark night… when tarantulas, snakes and other creatures come out. I promptly commandeered the metal bowl that was to be our wash bin, put it in a corner and as quick as you can say kitty litter, I had my own private toilet. Don’t use this bowl, I told Smart Guy, just in case there was any confusion. Amazingly, at ExplorNapo, there were no toilets, no hot water for showers (rustic wood-walled, open air showers with icy cold water) and all drinking water is brought in from Iquitos, BUT, there is wifi!

Beautiful children waved, everywhere we went.

After breakfast we headed out on our first big adventure: piranha fishing. Yes, seriously. We took a small boat, low in the water, to a smaller tributary off the Napo. The water was truly inky dark and the small clusters of local houses appeared in the thick jungle, along the river. Occasionally we were greeted by locals out fishing as well, in dug out canoes. They waved and greeted us, always friendly, though I couldn’t help but thin, that we must have been intruders for them. The fishing itself was a lesson in a lot of beef for little tiny fish. Piranha eat meat: other fish, mammals that are foolish enough to be in their water, humans- if you’re bleeding and in the water. Luis explained that you will see  locals with small chucks of skin missing, generally from piranha bites. I kept my hands in the boat, and saw no one swimming here. For bait, Luis and the driver used pieces of bloody, red beef, on sharp hooks on the end of thin lines. Smart Guy caught the first fish, a freshwater sardine. It might have tasted good had I not freaked out flinched when it wiggled in my hands, as I held it. I leapt out of my hands, across the boat and over the side. Shortly after I caught the next fish, our first piranha!

My humble, first catch: a piranha. That’s right, I fish too!

They are beautiful fish, piranhas. This was a surprise to us all. After all those documentaries where all you see is flesh being torn away and snapping, sharp, needle like rows of teeth (all true), I don’t think any of us had stopped to really notice that piranhas are actually quite beautiful. They do in fact have the infamous jaws and teeth that we all expected, but their skin is a veritable rainbow of colors: emerald greens, pink, blue, rosy reds, vibrant orange, yellows, with a bright white belly and a sharp, impressive a line of sharp fins across it’s spine.  When caught they snap and bite forever. They flop around the boat and you move out of the way. You don’t even try to touch it or hold it,

Luis’ magnificent catch: PIRANHA!

like I did with the sardine; you leave piranha alone. And that is not easy. They stay alive for a very long time. I admit to some guilty feelings, watching them try to get back to the water. All the while, as we put more meat on our hooks and hoped to catch more, we stayed clear of those tiny fish flopping around the bottom of the boat. Of course, Luis caught the biggest, most amazing piranha I could imagine. It was a Great White of piranhas! After we’d fished enough and we had several small and the one large fish on a stake, we headed back. For lunch, we had the most delicious fish I’ve ever eaten, pan fried piranha! Little Man brought home the piranha jaw.  (Local fisherman, beautiful scenery, children by the shore, our catch for the day, and lunch… absolutely delicious!)

         

One of our days there, Luis took us to see a local village as one of our outings. I had truly mixed feelings about the experience. It was fascinating to see how they lived, to go inside one of the small houses up on stilts that we’d watched as we went up and down the river. It was humbling to see what they have and what they don’t; much of which we take for granted at home: clean water being the most obvious thing. It was interesting to ask questions and spend time communicating in my broken spanish, with other mothers in other cultures and small children who were inevitably excited to meet us. But, we felt like the voyeurs we were, and we were all very aware that even as they welcomed us into their homes, they did it to feed their families and would clearly prefer to live their lives

Mango buds. Spectacular scent!

without us sitting on their open air decks. How would I feel if strangers walked into my kitchen to ask me questions, to see how I keep my house? What if welcoming them meant my that my kids could get school supplies, or I could buy food? Changes the picture entirely, and we knew it. I did not take pictures in their homes, or the village.  Still as we walked along the shore between houses of the village, a few locals came out on their own to exchange greetings. One woman, speaking only in the local spanish they speak (which sounded like Portuguese, Spanish, Italian and something in between), complimented me on my children and told me she had three sons, but wanted a daughter.  I told her that her house and garden were beautiful, and she shook my hand and smiled, and then gave me a delicious piece of a fruit I’d never tasted before. As we got back in our small boat, she stood on the shore and waved to us smiling sincerely.

Waking up to Jose. He was so close, I couldn’t focus… the camera either.

We spent another early dusk coasting up yet another tributary, watching the locals bring in their animals, bath their children in the river (piranha do not live in every river), fish for dinner or just paddle up and down the river to visit friends. We saw two sloths high in a tree, but we all doubted Luis’ good eyes, as they only looked like lumps to us. We saw the moon rise on the water and listened to the cicadas and other night creatures start to sing. We lost track of the number of species of birds that Luis pointed out, but held up

The beautiful, but evil Jose.

our binoculars each time he spotted one. Each adventure was special, was wondrous, and each one, for me, was sandwiched between trips to my hammock, where I read Game of Thrones, wrote in my journal, napped, or fought to keep Jose- one of two Trumpeter birds that live at the lodge- away from my hammock. When he wasn’t chasing the poor, little black dog that he bullies all day, he was fascinated with me and I would wake to find him sticking his beady eyes in to see what I was doing in my hammock. Crazy bird. Hard life: lying in a hammock, eating, and going on adventures. If there were proper toilets and hot water, I might stay.

So what of the snakes I feared? How many did we see? Did they drop into our boats or cross our paths? Did we see snakes sliding down the branches of the trees as we hiked in the jungle, over our four day stay? Spoiler here: No we didn’t. When we got back to the compound, after our hike in the jungle our first night we were told that there was a snake on the grounds: a rosy boa. Damn! I thought. I knew it! They’re everywhere! We followed the board walk to where the snake had been spotted. Nocturnal creatures, we were told that it would probably be in the same area/spot. It was. Hanging down from a branch and stretching out to smell something, was a 6-8 ft long rosy boa. “A youth,” Luis told us; I

Snake! (I knew it…)

had no desire to meet its parents. I noted warily that it was hanging from a tree, just 200 feet from my room, with its open walls and ceiling. I can’t lie, it was pretty. Yes, pretty…. in an Amazon jungle wildlife kind of way. And that, that one snake was the only one we actually saw the entire time we were there. But, it was enough to make me think that I saw them everywhere. It was enough to suggest that they were in fact hanging from branches, waiting to drop in my boat or on my head; it was enough to make me watch carefully where I went and which vines I grabbed while hiking; it was enough to make me duck my head when low branches moved. That one little (relatively) snake, however, was our only Amazon snake and I was happy to see it. Who wants to go to the Amazon and not see any snakes?

In the next (and likely final) Peru post, we go to the top of the Canopy, visit a Shaman, get tattoos, find a baby to adopt and spend a day in Iquitos. That’s right… if you caught that teaser: I fell in love and want to adopt. Meet her next time.  (See why this takes multiple, lengthy posts!?) But… we do not see any snakes.

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Posted in Adventure, Aging, Awareness, Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, blogs, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, Nature, Parenting, Sarcasm, Summer, travel, Women, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A is for Amazing Amazon! (S is for Snakes)

Posted on August 20, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Skip one of the 7 natural wonders of the world? Hmmm…

When we left off, before a couple of detour posts that called out to be written, our band of adventurers (AKA: my family) were leaving the wedding of our dear friend and guide extraordinaire, Edgard. They hoped to get a few hours of sleep and leave the Andes, for the second half of their adventure (Cue suspenseful music, for a kick: on a second screen, while reading this. Try it.)… in the Amazon.  Honestly, the reality was much less suspenseful than that. We were tired; Prinicipessa was starving (as on observant Jew, she was certainly not eating the heaping plate of pork that we were served for dinner) and  so was Middle Man (as a vegetarian, he was certainly not eating the heaping plate of pork we were served for dinner);  we had a flight fairly early the next morning, and we were all wondering if perhaps we might want to just stay another week in the mountains and skip the Amazon all together. I can hear you now: skip the Amazon!?! (Mixed punctuation and all) Who in their right minds would skip the Amazon? Well, that my friends is just how fantastic the trekking and mountain part of our trip was. Truly. (If you haven’t read the 4-5 previous posts about it, go back and do that now). We didn’t want to leave.

Hard to leave this, when you have snakes on the brain.

We had such an amazing time in the mountains; we all felt so utterly thrilled with the adventure, the physical challenges, the friends we’d met and the fun we’d had, and we were so taken with the city of Cuzco and the area around it, that we really could imagine just continuing our adventure right where we were and skipping the Amazon portion. We’d adjusted to altitude; there were places we still wanted to see, and suddenly the idea of leaving our comfy hotel and great adventure for a place that we’d heard had tons of mosquitoes, (snakes), malaria, (snakes), crawly things, giant spiders, (snakes), no Edgard, (snakes), heat with no air conditioning…  and I happen to hate snakes. Hate. Them. The idea of snakes was enough to make the Amazon sound less and less appealing and another trek much more inviting. The only snakes I’d seen in the mountains were those carved into Incan ruins, nothing live and moving. So, while the others were not worried about snakes (they’d want you to know that, for the record), we were all happy enough with our adventure in the Andes, to at least chat about the idea of wishing we were staying.

However, we are pragmatic for the most part, so we got up, packed our stuff and waited to go back to the airport. It was not lost on me that I’d set out on this trip feeling anxious and wary of the mountain portion of the trip, and much more invested in the Amazon portion, only to find out that I had a bit more mojo than I’d thought, and would happily continue on in the mountains. None of this was anticipated when I arrived, when I’d been pretty sure that the altitude and trekking were bound to lay me low. Instead, as we left for the airport, we all felt a bit sad to leave and little of the excited anticipation I’d imagined we’d feel, going to the Amazon. That put me 2 for 2 in the getting it wrong category, for this vacation.

The San Francisco Catacombs
photo: Nicholasspyer.com

Once again, we found ourselves spending a brief time in Lima, before heading on to the Amazon. I’d love to say that Lima is an amazing city, and we were all glad to have some time there… but I can’t. From about April to October, Lima is a gray city that is highlighted by dabs of color in it’s colonial buildings. The sky is gray, the sea looks gray, the beaches en route to Mira Flores are brown, and it’s a city. While I do love cities more than some, when I travel I am not a fan of the big city experiences. In fairness, it could be that we saw Lima sandwiched between Cuzco/Andes and the Amazon, and it couldn’t possibly stand up to either (for me), but I’m also inclined to believe it’s because Lima is just not that spectacular. Some of the architecture, the Spanish history (this was where Francisco Pizarro established the capital of Peru, after visiting in early January, when skies are blue and weather is perfect), the culture and food are certainly worth note. The catacombs of San Francisco Monastary, deep below the surface of the city, were pretty claustrophobically creepy fascinating, though the idea that we might be trapped down there were there an earthquake, distracted me throughout our tour. The 5’6″ high ceilings didn’t help, nor the dank smell and approximately 70,000 skeletons. It was however, one of the highlights of Lima that I would recommend. The other highlight would be the ceviche, which alone is worth a visit to Lima. However, aside from a few things, there is little in Lima that held our interest.

(<– Flying to the Amazon)

We were grateful to board yet another plane (For the record, we spent a lot of time in airports! Much of it in Lima) and leave for Iquitos, the gateway to the Amazon. Iquitos is the biggest city in the world, that has no roads in or out of the city proper, with a population of nearly 500,000. There are roads within and around Iquitos, but the only way to get there is by boat or plane. As you fly into Iquitos, the population is not evident and I got the distinct impression of arriving somewhere out of one of the many documentaries I’ve watched, about jungle towns… where men with machetes and wild things, wait to ambush you. The runway sprang out of the tall grasses and bush and just before landing, Little Man and I got our first glimpse of the mighty river, The Amazon, as it formed a perfect snake in the sea of dense jungle. Admittedly, it gave me chills.

Stepping off the plane reminded me again that we’d left the mountains, as the hot, humid air hit me and the ease of breathing at sea level returned. My hair began to curl immediately and would provide entertainment for my family for days to come, as it found new ways to coil tighter and tighter. The team from Explorama Lodge rounded us up with the other guests who would be traveling there, and we were all herded into a rickety old school bus with no windows, with our luggage piled precariously in every empty spot, for the thirty minute ride to the river.

Iquitos: home to the motorcycle.

Iquitos is not like any city I’ve ever been to, and yet it reminded me a bit of India in it’s chaotic beauty. The dusty streets were crowded with thousands, thousands, of colorful motorcycles (not scooters) zipping along in every direction. There were virtually no cars, but every one and their mother was riding a motorcycle. Families of 4-5 all piled on one bike, businessmen and women in nice clothing and even heels, vendors with goods, two men with a mattress, and everyone in-between navigate the city on sleek motorcycles. Even the taxis are comprised of a cab with 1-2 benches, fashioned onto a converted motorcycle. As I watched out my missing window people noticed and smiled or waved. Young children dared each other to wave at us, or excitedly waved and waited for me to wave back. There are still few enough tourists in Iquitos that our foreign faces elicited lots of reaction and excitement, adding to the thrill of being in such a uniquely different place.

Streets of Iquitos

We made our way through the city of colorful colonial remnants and “modern” tropical architecture, palm fringed streets and squares, more dogs, fruit carts and interesting shops, with glimpses of the river down each side street, until we stopped at the boat terminal. There we waited in the open air station while our luggage was loaded and guides assigned. Our guide, Luis, introduced himself to us and made sure our bags made it, and we all boarded the a large boat right out of Huck Finn, called the Amazon Queen. Luis shared that he was born in the jungle, his family “River people.” His father was the village Shaman and his mother the midwife. As a child and young man he had hunted wildlife in the jungle and lived entirely away from development until he was in his twenties, when he eventually married and moved to Iquitos.  Over our three days together we would learn that Luis could spot a small spider from 50 feet, see birds that we could only make out with binoculars and track, spot, name or share things that we had only seen on T.V.  A quiet man who is passionate about the beautiful place he lives, we were very lucky to have Luis show us the Amazon.

Leaving Iquitos

As we motored down the main inlet out of Iquitos, the buildings thinned and signs of extensive deforestation reached to the edge of town. I remembered watching Fern Gully with my kids so many years ago, and the shock of the turned earth and massive felled trees settled on me.  Luis joined us as the boat began to turn away from shore and said: “Welcome to the Amazon,” as we crossed into a rich brown water that stretched far across and onward. It was stunning! So much more than all the documentaries we’ve watched, or anything I’d imagined.

View from the Amazon Queen. The Amazon goes on forever.

Iquitos disappeared quickly and was replaced by small homesteads and parcels of farmed land. Each house looked much the same with tin or thatched roofs, open air living areas with a small enclosed sleeping room, and up on stilts to protect it from the rising river each season and wild life. I was immediately struck again, as I have been each trip to India and in Africa, by how little people can live with compared the plenty we take for granted. Women washed the family laundry in the brown water, men and young boys fished with fine nets in dug out canoes, while small children raced along the shore waving at us or swam close to shore. Most of the homes were not much bigger than my kitchen and I felt humbled, again, by the reminder.

Jungle view from a boat

About another 2 hours up river we stopped to switch to a smaller, faster boat, for the final hour+ of travel. A lazy tapir searched through the garbage near the dock as we boarded, and our adventure got even more exotic. The second boat sat much lower in the water and I dragged my hand in the warm dark water, as we started out, but then became worried that there might be something in there.  As I held my hand out the window, just above the water, it splashed gently over my skin and the shore and wake of the boat cast its spell. I listened to my iPod, and as it so often happens the perfect song came on. Peter Gabriel’s Washing of the Water seemed almost a hymn to the place and

Tapir

moment. My thoughts and breathing slowed down as the trees and jungle sped by and the water stretched around me. It was hard to think, as thoughts floated in and out of my consciousness and I gazed at the shore. I felt myself lost in the beauty around me and sensation of the air and water, hypnotized by the Amazon.  (Views from the boat, before my brain stopped working: Where the rainbow ends; typical (nice) Amazon house, laundry time and Ceiba tree)

         

Arrival at Explorama

Eventually the boat slowed and turned into a narrower waterway, the Napo river, and then into an even smaller tributary. The water instantly turned darker and quieter, the jungle crowded in, and sound seemed amplified. A small village hugged the shore as we slowed down and we saw the lodge come into view: a series of simple buildings set up on high stilts and surrounded by thick jungle. We docked and stepped into another world. The bird sounds were nothing like the ones at home, the smell of the river and the air was floral and yet earthy, like decomposing leaves and biomass. My senses were on overload, while my head still struggled to process anything. I stumbled out of the boat and made my way up the dock and up the boardwalk to the lodge, taking it all in, my legs unsteady. The others on our boat seemed to be abuzz upon our arrival, while I struggled to form coherent words or walk properly.

 

View from the dining lodge

Explorama consists of several lodges, all constructed with jungle woods, thatched roofs, with screens only in the dining area. The bedrooms and other areas have walls that are open to the air at the top. Rustic would be generous at home, but somehow in the jungle it all came off as exotic. As I entered the dining hall, where our lunch was waiting, I tried to pull myself out of my fog. People smiled at me and said hello but I continued to move in slow motion, as I made my way to the pit toilets near the jungle’s edge. It took much of lunch for my brain to spring back into action and my kids watched me as I tried to operate as if things were normal, when I felt anything but. It kept occurring to me that I felt much like Alice, dropped down a hole into a world of wonder and enchantment.

Titi Monkeys rush out to get bananas

Towards the end of lunch we all heard loud screeching and people hurried to the doors and out onto one of the boardwalks, connecting the buildings. The staff had set out an enormous bunch of bananas and small titi monkeys had come from all over to fight for them. They leapt from the branches and flipped from branch to ground and back, as we all took photos, and my thoughts were forced back into action. I took in my surroundings: the Napo river, still and dark by the docks, the boats sitting still and the jungle all around. The trees surrounded us; the branches a mass of twisted green, and

View from a hammock

the lodge stood like a small oasis in the lushness. One open area had several large hammocks, another a small bar and seating. The rooms were all set along a single boardwalk, everything up on high stilts. We were given two hours to settle in and enjoy the lodge before our first of what would be several daily adventures. I grabbed a hammock and sunk into the magical place we’d landed.

**In part two of the Amazon adventure, we head into the jungle at night and during the day. We fish for piranha, see some creepy, crawly, colorful, amazing, and beguiling things, a climb to the top of the canopy and snakes. Join me for the next post.

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Posted in Adventure, Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Music, Musings, Natural beauty, Nature, Personal change, summer vacation, travel, Writing | 8 Comments

Into The Depths

Posted on August 13, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Sunday night we finally took my mother’s ashes out of my dining room cabinet, amidst the fine china and stemware she loved so much, and spread them in the waters around the San Juan Islands. This was her wish. My sister and I have discussed it for months, but it became a real effort to find a time when we could all make it:  4 of Mom’s 7 grandchildren (the other 3 live in Florida), her two daughters (son is in FL too) and our spouses. Two of those grandchildren (my two oldest) are “adults” now, and finding time when they would not be out of town, working or busy, that also worked with all of our busy schedules, was like herding butterflies. But we did it, and it ended up being the perfect evening for to celebrate my mother.

Mom loved her china. I love it now.

While I’ve had my ambivalent moments, I’m really glad that Mom didn’t want to be buried. On the one hand, there would be a tangible place to go and grieve, on the other hand there would be a tangible place to go and grieve… and a place to feel pressured to go to. I’ve thought many times in the eight months since her death that I’m grateful that I don’t have to bring flowers to a stone, or fulfill some duty to a final resting place. I’ve passed by my dining room even more often and thought of her there, in a box, that did not really honor her memory either. I didn’t want to go out and buy an urn and then spend years moving it around, leaving it to who one day? Each of us must make these decisions in our own way and time. We lose people we love and want to do the right thing by them, by their memory, but it can all get so convoluted in the process I feel. I’ve gone round and round in my mind about this, so it was such a relief to know that we finally had a plan.

Mom, my sister and I… years ago, when we all were different.

Some time ago it occurred to me that a sailing trip was just the right thing for Mom. She loved sailing. Loved it. When I was young she would tell me that she wanted to meet someone (she was widowed with three kids, at at 29) with a sailboat and sail away. She told me that she always felt so free and at peace out in a sailboat. Ironically, I never went on a sailboat with my mother. It wasn’t something our family did, or something that I knew much about. Consequently, the things she told me about sailing never totally jelled with my images of my mother and our life together. As a young person, I didn’t understand my mother’s yearning for something outside of what we had, something she found special that didn’t encompass us (three kids). So typical of kids, to not really understand their parents as people. Still, it was there in the back of my head and when, in her last few days, she told my sister and I that she wanted her ashes spread in water, I began to think back on the woman who told me these dreams.

One of my favorite pictures of my mother and sister is of them in a sailboat in Seattle, about 10 years ago, smiling and holding up drinks,  just before a sunset sail. That picture was in Mom’s room at Hospice up until her death.  When she died, and I began to put her things away and clear the things she’d kept near her, there was the picture, there were my memories of past conversations, and there was my mother’s dying wish. The choice became obvious to me. Finding a sailboat wasn’t as easy as I’d hoped however and as this summer passed, with trips abroad and a multitude of schedules to juggle, I began to fear we would not be able to do it this summer. I wondered if she would remain in my dining room, a comfort and a painful reminder of both her passing and my inability to give her what she wanted, in the end.

A perfect night on the water

Along came Todd Shuster, the owner and Captain of Gato Verde, the beautiful catamaran we chartered. When I called him about potential dates, he was booked pretty solid; it didn’t look very good. However, as we discussed what the trip was about, he told me that he’d see if he could make a few changes and fit me in. He called back a few days later and was able to take us all this past Sunday, August 12th. Ironically, it turned out to be the last weekend possible as Middle Man will now leave for school this Friday. I wanted to make it special and immediately started thinking of things we might do. Should I do a reading? Would my sister like to do something? Should I throw flowers into the water as well, or each of us throw one, as Mom loved flowers so much? What would make it truly special for her? The answer was absolutely obvious, something I would never do on an ordinary day:  cigarettes and Coke, two of Mom’s greatest vices and greatest pleasures.

Headed out.

Being a creature of conviction, I just couldn’t bring myself to go buy cigarettes. The idea of paying a dime to the companies that have killed so many other mothers and fathers just irked me no end. I had refused for years to buy them for Mom. My sister had the perfect idea that we could “bum” some off some guys at the pier, and that’s what I did. I ran up and told them that I’d never begged a cigarette off anyone in my life, but that my mom had been a lifelong smoker and we were going to spread her ashes at sea.  We wanted to smoke one in her honor. These big, beefy guys, covered in tattoos, turned to mush and gave me two, and offered me their lighter as well. Mom would have laughed to see me bumming cigarettes in a parking lot, for her.

We set sail under dusky skys and warm temperatures. The bay was totally still, not ideal for sailing, but in perhaps the only biofuel/diesel/hybrid sailboat on the west coast, we were able to coast out to windier parts of the bay, with only the slightest engine sound. We cruised past my house and along the shore, and the sun slowly went down in the sky. We all sat on the “trampoline”net at the front of the catamaran, all of us enjoying the time together and thinking of Mom/Grammy. When we finally reached a good spot, Todd put the boat in a gentle reverse and suggested we pour the ashes off the very back of the

Spreading Mom’s ashes with my sister (and my niece)

netting. We had brought along the ashes of both of my mother’s beloved pugs, which she had kept for many years (Dobey died 12 years ago, Mea 3 years ago). We also brought some of our dog Callie’s ashes. My mother adored Callie, and she adored Mom. Little Man thought it was the right thing to do, so we did. We have planned to spread the rest of Callie’s ashes up on Chain of Lakes trail at Mt. Baker, her favorite place of all, but the trails haven’t opened for the past two years due to record snows. We brought some to go with mom, and will finally spread the last of them later this fall when the snow melts a little more.

Overcome.

As the boat slowed and we lit the two cigarettes and passed them around. No minors were involved in this, but the rest of us took a drag and we all sipped cold Coke. Mom would have laughed out loud to see me cough away at my mid-life effort. When the boat was steady, and positioned properly to avoid a Big Lebowski moment(see minute 1:30), my sister and I opened the sealed bag that had held Mom’s ashes, and we slowly poured them in the wake behind the boat. As the ashes fell into the water my emotions rushed to the surface and I was completely overcome. I wept as if it was the morning of December 31, 2011 when she died. It felt so final and powerful to watch those ashes melt into the depths of the bay I look at each day from every window of my home. My sister

and I held each others’ hands, and someone held my shoulder as I crumbled in heaps of tears. When we’d both pulled ourselves together, we all sat for a few moments and just watched the sun sink below the horizon. Then Captain Todd turned the boat engine back on and we began our gentle return to the harbor. I lay on the netting and watched the mast as my kids nestled up in my arms, bringing silent comfort to me.

When I envisioned a farewell for my mother, I wanted to celebrate her and not feel tied to the those final years, when her body was broken and her dreams as well. She fought it to the end, asking us to see her as she had lived most of her life: independent and spirited, but it was hard to do sometimes. Out on that boat, with the people I love most in the world, I felt my mother as she wanted us to see her. She would have loved every single minute of the evening. She would have loved that we were all there; with no arguing and lots of laughs. She would have loved that we remembered her pups. She would have loved the cigarettes and our efforts to honor her that way. Coke was the only thing she clung to up to the end, the onlything

Coming into the harbor. At peace.

she consumed in her final weeks. It killed me to see, but she loved it. We loved her and she would have felt that, if she’d been there, or if she could see us all. I will miss her, and grieve for her for a long time, but for all that she lost in her final years with Huntington’s, if felt so good to bring dignity to her memory again.  It was the perfect night for my mother, and I felt at peace when we moored and it was over.

Have you lost your parents, or other family member? How did you honor their memory? What rituals brought you comfort and how did you move on. Share your comments below. If you enjoyed this post, show some love and hit Like. Pass this post on with Share.

Note: A special thank you to Todd Shuster, of Gato Verde,  for his truly kind and thoughtful efforts to make this meaningful for us all. He made the time and then he became part of our group, never making us feel anything but supported. In addition to a good sense of humor (we’re a dark and sarcastic crowd), he made every effort to help make our intentions come true. He has a gorgeous boat and it was an honor to spend such a special night on it. Todd and Gato Verde do multi-day cruises in the San Juan Islands, as well as single day cruises. I can think of no better way to spend a day, in this spectacular place we live. Thank you Todd.

Also thank you to my brother in law, Rich, who took some of these photos. I could not have done it, but am grateful he did… though the moments are burned in my memory forever.

Posted in Awareness, Beautiful places, Blog, Daily Observations, Death, Death of parent, Dying, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, My world, Parenting, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

Weddings and Animal Parts, in Peru

Posted on August 11, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

(<– Yes, but can you pronounce it?)

Back to Peru folks. We left off finishing in the Sacred Valley. At the end of the day, we headed back to Cuzco, a city I came to really love, where said goodbye to our guide Miguel. He let us know that someone else would be driving us to the airport and we all said our goodbyes. Nice guy, good guide, but he was not Edgard, no? We arrived late friday, in time for Principessa to head over to the Chabad house of Cuzco, for Shabbat, while the rest of us headed out to find dinner. We walked around the Plaza de Armas where we got to see two very traditional and fun Peruvian weddings. Trumpets blowing, dancing, and singing crowds: it was a community thing. We were all excited for the wedding we’d waited all week for, our guide and friend, Edgard’s on Saturday night.

Inca art from the Museo de Machu Picchu

The next day (Saturday), Smart Guy, Middle Man, Little Man and I went off to explore the city solo, biding our time until the wedding. We started at the Museo de Machu Picchu at Casa Conche, which was an amazing follow-up to our trek to Machu Picchu. I would argue that it’s best seen before visiting the archeological site, but it was amazing anyway. The Museum of Textiles proved surprisingly interesting as well. The best selection of hand woven textiles, with local women working on looms to demonstrate the art form, and a small but very complete and interesting museum, showing the various clothing of Quechua culture (over time) and the use of various weaving styles. (Cuzco: narrow streets, religion, Inca statues, 600 yr old balconies, and Quechua textiles)

        

We decided to go to a market we’d read about in The Lonely Planet guide book (our travel bible) and began to walk across town. When we were in the market area everything changed. Loud speakers called out deals and items for sale. The crowds thickened. We were the only non-local people there, and we definitely drew attention. We stood out. The sites and sounds had my head jerking left-right-up-back-left again as I tried to take it all in. Dead chickens hung from hooks over a stall where the woman selling them ate her bowl of soup. Cow stomachs and other innards were dried and hung out for sale, next to booths with eggs, fresh fruits, grains and a myriad of colorful food items. A man called “Sangre, sangre, sangre!” (blood, blood, blood!) in front of a wide bowl of bright red blood. My head swung around, and then another surge of people and a new site. It was a sensory tsunami surging and washing over us over and over. Llevos (eggs), grains, meat (note the woman eating her soup. Nothing like slabs of cow to make you hungry!) and lots of fresh fruit. This is a market!

   

We wandered through an indoor market that sold thousands of items. I believe there was absolutely nothing that you couldn’t find in there! Tampons, next to batteries in every shape and size (the batteries). Baby products, children’s toys, wigs, cooking tools, tires, shoes, music, hair care, costumes, Disney things, it was truly stunning. Aisle after narrow aisle of stuff, and like all malls, a food court. Yep, a tiny strip of soup counters and food vendors where people congregated on small chairs and crowded in to eat freshly made lunches, mostly soups. We all wandered through with our heads continuing to jerk to see all of the items on display. Then, back out into the crazy streets again to more shouts and animal parts.

We ate in a polloria (chickenria) where whole chickens were cooked on rotisseries in

Fresh killed chickens, mean fresh chicken for lunch

wood fed ovens. It was delicious! We watched soccer on a large tv and tried not to pay attention to all the other diners watching us eat. Again, the only non-locals in site. Middle Man, a vegetarian since age 8, grabbed a bowl of some kind of fish stew in a much more local restaurant, when we’d finished our chicken. A tiny place that listed 3 items (all in Spanish) on a chalk board and then brought you whatever was available, regardless of whatever you ordered. More staring, tighter seating and my head was imploding with all the stimulation.  After lunch, we walked back in the late afternoon and Smart Guy and I went to collect our laundry, which we’d brought to a local lavandaria:  all of our clothes totally covered in dirt and and desperately in need of cleaning. The boys went back to the hotel to check out the computers and hang out, and we got some amazing coffee and waited for the laundry, knowing we’d be sprinting back to get dressed for the wedding.

We all had to rush to get dressed once our clothes were finally ready. The reality was that we didnt’ have appropriate clothes to wear to a wedding, clean or dirty. We brought trekking cloths and some neat casual items that we could wear to dinners out and the few places we’d go that were a little nicer. Nicer, but not wedding garb. I refused to wear my hikers and so I had dressier sandals to wear, on a 35 degree night. We taxied over to the Catholic church that Edgard had told us to come to. Other guests wore suits, shiny gowns with sexy shoes. We fit right in.

The Vows.

When we arrived at 6:30, as Edgard had asked, there were very few people there yet. His future mother in law had clearly heard about the family that would be attending her daughter’s wedding, and she graciously came over to greet us. After that however, we stood out like a sore thumb as 5 non-Latino people, sitting at a wedding, dressed for nice hiking and clearly not part of either family… not the family they knew about at least. It could have been an episode of Candid Camera to watch family members and friends arrive and each do a double take when they saw the five of us sitting there. I could hear them wondering: “Hmm, tourists who stopped in to see the church and want to see a wedding?”  During our trek, I had joked with Edgard all week that I would rush into his wedding and call out “Edgard! Usted dijo que encanto mi hija!” (You said you loved my daughter!) My guess is that played into his inviting us; a bribe for silencio!

Karina and Edgard’s first dance: magnifico!

From the church, we walked with their friends over to the reception… starving. If we’d known that Peruvians party all night and have a completely different idea about timing than us, we’d have eaten before went. There would be no food for hours! As we sat at our table, everyone checked out that strange family that somehow ended up at the wedding. I’m sure that many of them spent much of the evening trying to figure out how the hell we got there. Mr. and Mrs. Condori arrived quite a while after we all did, and we got to listen to several rounds of Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You (I thought this clip was particularly appropriate), which was their entrance song… but they didn’t arrive when planned. We heard that song about 5 times. When they did arrive, looking beautiful and happy, they started with a dance, and we knew our man Edgard could dance… and dance… and dance. They danced with each other, with their daughter Tracy, with grandparents, parents, friends and most of the room. And still we didn’t eat.

Middle Man is tall man at a Peruvian wedding, where he caught the boutonniere.

Next they cut the cake and shared it with each other. They danced some more. Pisco sours were served. They tossed the garter and Egard’s silk floral boutoniere, and landed right in Middle Man’s hands (about a foot taller than anyone else out there), despite his best efforts to avoid it. More portraits, as Middle Man posed with the couple.  The bouquet managed to find its way to someone other than Principessa. Champagne was served and toasts were made. We smiled as they all said meaningful and funny things, in Spanish. On each table was a full bottle of wine and a full bottle of rum (for rum and cokes) and we began to think that maybe we were drinking dinner. A reception line formed and everyone went up to give their gifts and congratulate the couple. No dinner. We hugged them all and shook hands, we did our best to say how honored we were in broken Spanish, and it got later and later. By the time dinner came out at 11:30 PM, we had figured there would be no food. Wrong! A mountain of Peruvian pork, potatoes and other yummy items. Sadly, we had a flight to Lima the next morning, so we ate quickly and had to say our goodbyes, long before those bottles were opened and the party really got underway. While I can’t confirm this, I am willing to bet that that reception went on until 3 or 4, with young children and grandparents all participating. The gringos, the Americans, we pooped out and went back to get a few hours of sleep before the airport in the morning.

Before we left we went up to say our true goodbyes to our dear friend, our familia, Edgard. At Machu Picchu we had said our goodbyes knowing that we’d see him again; however, as we hugged and said goodbye at his wedding, we knew that we would not see Edgard again anytime soon. His wife Karina, who had never met us before that night, embraced us too and told us how grateful she was that we’d come. Edgard’s parents, cousins and friends all welcomed us and waved as we departed. We felt truly blessed to have made such a special connection and to have gotten an opportunity to share in their big day. Little Tracy hugged us and enthusiastically waved, “Adios!”  And off we went, into the dark streets of Cuzco to find a taxi. What a week, what a time we’d had!

Next stop The Amazon! We thought that the Andeas and Cuzco could not be trumped, but we were about to find out we were wrong!  Join me for the next post and come along for the ride, starring: boas, tarantulas, piranhas, blow guns, canopies, River people and Yagua…

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Posted in Adventure, Beautiful places, Beauty, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, summer vacation, travel, Writing | Tagged , | 4 Comments

30,000: Arrogance Abounds, and That Should Be At Least A Bronze!

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This is what I found this morning, while I was busy checking on sex at the Olympics

Another detour, not because I’m tired of blogging about Peru, but because I miss blogging about other things, and hitting 30,000 hits on my blog today is well worth celebrating! Last night I almost posted something about hitting 30,000, but I was nearly 70 hits away. I should have figured that something about sex and the Olympics would bring in 70 readers, easily. Who isnt’ curious about that? But, I wasn’t really doing the math and when I got up this morning and had already hit 30,000 it was a very pleasant surprise. So from this point to the end of this brief post, I will proceed to toot my own horn, blatantly brag and gloriously gloat. You’ve been warned. (And thank you Pink, AKA Pinkagendist, for helping me out!)

One year ago (plus 3 days, technically) I was Freshly Pressed (Check out the current recipients). Being Freshly Pressed is the crown jewel of posting on Word Press. Theoretically, you’ve made it once you are Pressed. However, I was a new blogger at the time, only having blogged for 6 weeks, and it was a total surprise. Frankly, I didn’t actually know what it meant. I didn’t aspire to it (yet) or appreciate the impact, until the day it happened. As a new blogger, I was still completely clueless about uploading pictures, adding links, tags, all that stuff. I was an utter newbie and had only read a few Freshly Pressed myself. A year later I appreciate that positive acknowledgement, that cyber praise, but no longer seek it. I write for me and hope others will find something meaningful in my writing, and sincerely this blog has been key to my sanity this year.

Saving my sanity: I blogged through the decline of mother’s health, suffering from Huntington’s, and her blindsiding death on December 31, 2011. Those of you who read those posts sent your thoughts and support and it meant more to me than most of you probably realize. As I came out of that difficult time you cheered my happier posts, as I hosted two exchange students and our home became the U.N.  As a mother I’ve posted about growing pains with my kids and growing pains in myself, and many of you have written in to say “me too,” “you’re normal,” or “you made me laugh.” Sharing with others and feeling part of a tribe makes a lot of things better, and writing about those things and getting your responses has been a validation that I didn’t anticipate when I started blogging.

iamgratefulhowareyou.wordpress.com image
TOOT, TOOT, TOOTING MY OWN HORN!

A year later, I feel good about my writing. I feel good about the feedback and thoughts that come back at me in response to that writing. I know a lot more about uploading pictures, links and other cyber info, now (hence all the cool graphics to support my gloating and bragging here), and that makes my posts a bit more interesting for all of you as well. A year ago I rarely had more than 20 views a day (those were the good days) and now I rarely have less than 200. The summer is a slump and like so many other writer-bloggers I strive to not look too hard at the stats in July and August. Like a junky however, I do need a daily fix. I generally check the site stats at least once a day, unless I’m traveling.  A year later I know what stats mean and I have goals and vision for my blog. One year later, when you type Tales From the Motherland into Google, my blog is the first thing that comes up. That is something to brag about!

This is the country stats for the last week. Coolio!

I love that WordPress has added cool things that allow me to see what countries my hits are coming from. Some weeks I get more from seeing how many countries have viewed my blog than from how high the numbers are. Watching the Olympics, it’s fun to see what countries are at the game and on my blog site. Seriously, is Moldova at the Olympics? Belarus? Ecuador? Sri Lanka? Qatar? At least one reader in each of those countries have visited my blog in this last quarter, and that makes me feel excited, proud, giddy even! The fact that I can see details like where the hits are from, what search engines people used to find me, or which posts were particularly popular lets me know what I’m doing right, and what I’m doing wrong… and despite the fact that I write for myself (what I want to say, what I’m thinking about), and I try very hard not to think too much about the people I do and don’t know who might be reading, it is rewarding to see that my posts reach others all over the world. (Below, you can see the countries where readers have checked out my blog, over the last quarter.  That’s right, it takes 3 images to show you them all, she said braggingly.)

         

I try not to gloat. Really I do. But 30,000 is a really flipping big number and admittedly, for this one day I’m feeling really impressive. I felt like a WordPress rock star today. I know there are others out there, some of whom I follow, who do this all the time. Lesley Carter (of Bucket List Publications) probably does this about every 10 days, and it blows me away. Mikalee Byerman has hit millions, even if she did use a brick. I get it: there are much bigger rock stars out there, but today I get to toot my own horn and I am. I am also stretching the limits of my readers’ patience by posting twice, but I’m that good today.

Compare with stats at the top, 12 hrs apart. Also note that Sex sells. The top hits for today are all posts people think are about sex… even if they’re not.

One final outright boast:  A year ago when I’d just been Freshly Pressed, and was a newbie, I was sitting at well below 10,000 hits and about 7,000+ came in from that one post (The Grass Is Always Greener On Someone Else’s Head). I hit the 10,000 mark in October with a huge push from the readers who checked out Freshly Pressed and found me by accident. Today, 10 months later, and 20,130193 (as I type) more hits, those hits are all from my own hard work and writing. No influx of people who see me and drop in briefly. I have 493 Followers (can’t wait to hit 500) who check this out enough to keep the numbers growing. That is truly gloat worthy in this girl’s world. I am proud of that fact and what I’ve done in one year.

This is me demonstrating my Olympic style swagger

So, I may not be winning any real awards for this, no gold medals, nothing tangible: But thank you one and all for helping that number grow. Thanks for supporting my desire to write and express myself. Thanks for making me a rock star, a gold (or at least a bronze) medalist for a day. Hip hip hooray, I’m 30,000 today!

While I’m already bragging, help me brag more: **Please take a moment and support this blog. Share your thoughts in the comment section at the bottom of this post (hit the title to open the link), and join in the conversation. Or post your comments on the Tales from the Motherland FB page.  If you appreciate this post, click on the title and then hit the Like at the bottom of the post.  And if you’re really a fan, consider subscribing. Let’s see that number hit 500. It’s easy and painless. Your information is private; I see only the log on you use. Once you hit the subscribe link to the right of the post, you will get email updates each time I post a new story… No spam, no junk mail… nothing but my deep appreciation.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Blogging, blogs, Daily Observations, Ego, Foreign exchange students, Freshly Pressed, getting published, Honest observations on many things, how blogs work, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Personal change, Sarcasm, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

Golden Hook Up? Sex and the Olympics. (Yeah, you read that right)

Posted on August 9, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note: I am taking a break from Peru posts to comment on the shocking news that came out today regarding Olympic athletes. Peru stories will resume shortly.

People.com Look at that swagger.

Ok, CNN has ruined the Olympics for me, and now if you’re reading my post I might ruin them for you. That is your spoiler alert: if you don’t want to think about sex and the Olympics, go back to some other reading now. Run!  Tonight as I watched the Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh Jennings take the gold in women’s Volleyball, thanks to CNN news all I could think was Oh yeah, sex for them (Ok, maybe not Misty and Kerri. Maybe.) All those swimmers: definitely getting their sexy back. Track and field? Definitely hooking up. Usain Bolt? No doubt in my mind. Look at that swagger, that dance he does: that’s a oh yeah baby, I’m hooking up dance if I ever saw one. I refuse to believe that Gabby Douglas or some of the adorable girls from China are doing anything other than high fiving and dreaming of Wheeties endorsements, but frankly, some of those Eastern European and Russian goddesses look like they may be doing some jiggy too. Those icy stairs and hidden smiles, those women own it.

Portlandmercury.com I’m seeing the Olympics a little differently now… yes, those are condoms.

Up until this morning I have watched the Olympics for the thrill of the competition, the patriotic surge you feel when they play the soaring music and these elite champions work for Gold, Silver and Bronze, the pageantry, the drama. I thrill to the amazing accomplishments like most of us do. But tonight it was all different. With each win, I was no longer thinking of all the things that athlete did to reach their goals, I was thinking of the party after. I was thinking about (up to) 150,000 condoms and all those hard bodies in action… that kind of action. That’s right, CNN has made it clear that all of those athletes are not just sweating it out for medals, there is apparently some big time hooking up going on as well. The big nasty. Sweet stuff. Horizontal horseplay. Horizontal Bop. Gettin’ business done. (There are more folks, this girl does her research.) These are not officially Olympic sports, but much to my horror and naive disillusionment more than a few of the athletes are participating.

guardian.co.uk Ryan Lochte, too beautiful to just be a swimmer.

I should be clear here: CNN said nothing about Usain Bolt, Gabby Douglas, Misty May or Kerri, but there were plenty of others stepping up to brag admit they have done more than compete in athletics at the Games. Ok, Ryan Lochte is just too gorgeous to have been as All-American as I allowed myself to imagine when the announcers are telling the stories of his years of practice in the pool. Hell, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that fair play is not running through my head when those swimmers are in the pool. But, I want to believe they love their mothers (shown crying in the bleachers) and are saving it all for the pool, not that (according to Lochte): “Seventy to 75 percent of the Olympians hook up behind the scenes.” What! Seriously? How did this not occur to me before? Now I feel foolish. I drank the Olympic-glory kool-aid and missed something that should have been obvious. Olympians are having  sex, at the Olympics.

Of course they’re hooking up. How did I not see that? All those beautiful people: all those golden girls and boys (literally for some of them) could only find each other too good to pass up. But the volunteers too? Really? That threw me for a loop, honestly. Naive, naive and silly girl that I am. I thought they volunteered to get autographs and see famous athletes. Groupies at the Olympics? That definitely took me by surprise. I expect groopies at an Aerosmith/Bon Jovi/Snoop Dog/(insert many other bands here) concert, not the Olympics. It’s all so obvious now, and it’s hard to watch each competition now and not wonder which of the athletes on screen are in the 70-75%, and which ones are not.

doobybrain.com All that glitters is not just about gold…

NBC (the main network of the Olympics) has duped me, sugar coated my usually savvy views… for years and years. Clearly I should have been watching CBC. The Canadians are honest; they would never have set me up this way. Bob Costas isn’t asking athletes who their, ehem, hooking up with. No, sugar coat it Bob. Again, I just feel so gullible. I have bought into all the commentaries about athletes who give up everything (everything?) to compete in the competition of all competition. I tear up at all those commercials (<–warning: serious tear jerker) about the athletes thanking their moms, making them that much more pristine and innocent, right? (Admittedly, I cling to those commercials because they give me hope that my own kids will one day thank me for something other than dinner.) The videos of them as young kids working up to these games. The concentration and focus, all the good and glory, is all put in front of us as the end all and be all of Olympic competition.

All of that is over. I am a new woman watching the Olympics now. Instead of all that patriotic, emotional, touchy feely stuff I’ve been feeling when I watch the Olympics, now that I know that so many of them are having sex in that Village of Olympians (but with 150,000 condoms, at least they’re safe!), I will just feel… Well, I probably shouldn’t say, but my eyes are now open.

Posted in Awareness, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, TV, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

It’s All Old, In Peru… No?

Posted on August 8, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

By the time we finished Machu Picchu it felt like a full vacation. Sitting on the train to the Sacred Valley, to be honest I felt a bit deflated. We all felt badly leaving Edgard behind. It just didn’t feel right being on that train without him! How would any other guide fill his shoes? And what would we do without him? Those things ran through my head and popped out in discussions well into the next few days. The train ride was beautiful and so relaxing, but it was hard to imagine enjoying the next 10+ days.  That said, we had a great few days in the Sacred Valley and then back in Cuzco. We quickly learned that each guide would bring his own personality, and his own quirks with them, and that Peru has so much to offer that 10 days would only scratch the surface of things to do! Manuel, our guide for the Sacred Valley and Cuzco area was fond of adding the word “no,” as a question, to the end of almost all sentences (“this is an original Inca structure, no?”), a tendency that we all found funny at first, confusing at times (“This is a puma, no?” Wait, is it? You don’t know?) and infinitely annoying after a few days (“You want a local restaurant, no?” Yes! We’ve said it over and over!). He also liked to use word enigma, something that did not always work. According to Manuel, there were a lot of enigmas in what the Inca did! Stones were an enigma, some Inca architecture was enigma, river sources were enigmas… Hmm, puzzling, no? None the less, Manuel saved our butts upon arrival in Sacred Valley, and worked hard to show us every amazing thing to see.

After a glitch, wherein our driver and guide were not at the train when we arrived, we ended up hiring a cabdriver who totally ripped us off. When other cab drivers are yelling “Ladron!” (Thief!) at your driver, you’ve clearly been taken.  Smart Guy is smart about a lot of things but bargaining and negotiating should remain in my hands, lesson learned. To add salt to the wound, this same taxi driver dropped us off at the wrong remote hotel, out in the middle of the valley, which was also the most expensive hotel imaginable. When we all walked in dusty, dirty and sweaty, wearing our trekking clothes, I could practically hear all of the other guests mutter pee you!  I did say, upon pulling up in front of the place that it didn’t look like the reasonably priced place we’d booked, but again, Smart Guy is smart in some things…  So, this jerk taxi driver left us there, and we would have had to pay for another taxi to go back out and find the right place (because at $700 PLUS a night, we were not staying), but magically our Cuzco/Sacred Valley guide, Manuel materialized in the lobby, as he dropped off much wealthier Japanese clients who were in fact staying there… and who were not sweaty and dirty.

We felt lucky to have this small hotel all to ourselves…

Phew. Before we knew it, Manuel had our things loaded back in our van and our driver (who had the wrong train times and was leaving to get us right then!) deposited us, even more sweaty, tired and hungry, at the hotel we’d actually booked… which proved to be just perfect! We swore that for 3 days we were the only guests at that hotel, but they insisted there were others. We never saw them, an had the incredible dining room to ourselves, and one silly kitten, for every dinner and breakfast. A true oasis, with a small stream through the courtyard, canopied lounge chairs (that we never used) and rooms that were just fantastic, made it a real sanctuary.

Ruins like this can be seen all around.

We spent our time in the Sacred Valley seeing all of the sites that people come to see.  We walked up and down a lot of very old stairs, all made of stone and all challenging. We loved the scenery, were lucky to meet some of the people, and eventually got to eat true, authentic Peruvian cuisine, versus the tourist version that is so often offered up to… well tourists. I was especially struck by the other worldly feel to every site we visited. The sense that very ancient people once walked where we walked, or lived in the ruins we explored, built cities and civilizations that have come and gone… the history and mystery of it all permeates everything. It is humbling to stand in the “ruins” of such greatness and wonder who will stand there another 400 years from now.

Spectacular scenery blew us away!

While Smart Guy and Middle Man did a high country mountain biking trip, Little Man, Principessa and I took the easy way out and went by van, to the same places. What we all agreed on at the end of the day was that the countryside in the Sacred Valley was spectacularly beautiful. Mountains all around, golden fields of wheat, Quechuan farmers herding their livestock along the roads, and countless ruins to explore. We drove up from the valley to high country, where the air became a bit thinner again and the landscape moved and breathed with the wind. Quechua farmers herded their livestock along the dusty roads and through the towns, while our van inched past them. (Views from the car)

    

As we passed through a small village, two upset looking women, with a young child, flagged us down. Our guide Manuel rolled down his window, exchanged a few words and then shook his head, said a little more and we drove away. What did that woman say to you, I asked, uncomfortable with the disappointment on the woman’s face. “She wanted to know if we could drive them to her daughter’s school.” Aren’t they going our way? “Yes Senora, but I told them this is a private van, no?” What! Stop the van! Tell him (driver) to stop the van! We need to go back and give them a ride.  I was stunned that we had driven away, leaving them like that. Manuel turned around, “Are you sure you don’t mind?”  Of course not! We have 5 empty seats in this van, let’s give them a ride! We stopped and our driver put the car in reverse. Manuel yelled to the women, “Senoras, vamos!” When they ran up to our van, out of breath and looking desperate, Manuel spoke quickly and pointed at me. I could understand enough Spanish to know that he’d told the women that I wanted to give them a ride. They were taking one of the women’s little girl (6) to school, while both women were trying to get to their jobs. “Gracias, muchos gracias,” they both said gratefully. De nada senoras. La escuela is mucho importante por todos los ninos. (Your welcome, school is very important for all children!) My spanish was terrible, but I managed to communicate wherever we went.

The women turned around in their seats and smiled. They explained that the girl was late for school and each would lose their jobs, if they were too late; however, getting transportation is very challenging. I imagined we’d drive a little ways up the road and they’d get out. No. We drove about 10 or more miles before we arrived at the long drive to the school and job. These women, had gotten out of one public transit and would have then walked this same 10+ miles!! I was astounded. The little girl was quiet and shy, clearly intimidated by foreigners. She had long braids, as is common in Quechuan women and girls and smiled and said “gracias” when her mother told her too. Su hermana es muy bonita, senora (your daughter is very pretty Mam), I told the women. She took my hand and smiled. “Ah! Me gusto los ojos de su hermana!” (Ah, but I like your daughter’s eyes) She told me. Principessa, who speaks Spanish pretty well carried on a conversation about our travels and they told her simple things about themselves. I told them that I would be tutoring reading with Spanish speaking children at home in the US, when we returned home. They found this very exciting and clearly surprising.  The mother told me about what her daughter was learning in school. When we arrived at the spot where they got out, they told us again how incredibly grateful they were but we were the ones who felt grateful.  I felt touched to have gotten to share a few moments with another mother, that was not staged or part of tour, and to help her get her child to school. It stayed with me all day. We also stopped for a young boy (9) on his way to his job at a farm. It was these moments that were the true highlights of the day.

The Moray

That said, the Inca ruins along the way were pretty amazing as well. Our first stop, the Moray, is an incredible series of spiraled terraces that the Inca brilliantly used as a scientific study of agriculture. Each terrace, as they spiral down, has its own climate and growing conditions, growing warmer the further down one goes. The Incas used the Moray to study how to grow various crops, and what conditions were needed. That knowledge enabled them to plant their crops accordingly at the various sites where they built fortes and complexes, including Machu Picchu. The terraces served to both stabilize land that longs to slide, as well as provides micro-climates where certain produce would grow

Watch your step…

more optimally. The walk down was long and hot, and we were all struck by how much the temperatures did in fact vary as we walked into the spirals. My knee still hurting, I stayed on the top levels. The steps, that had been built into the walls, with a single large stone suspended from the walls, were unnerving in their simplistic precariousness. Yet, they have remained anchored to the same spots for hundreds of years, thousands in some cases. We watched as some groups joined hands and paused to experience the “energy” that many believe exists in the center of the Moray, tempted to join them but not wanting to intrude.

Approaching the Maras salt mines

From the Moray we traveled to the ancient salt mines, the Maras. These snow white terraces are simply stunning, as they come into view on the road down to them. They have been continually mined for a thousand years, and were worked by the Inca. Saline water rises up from springs in the hillside and is directed to the many separate “ponds,” where workers rake the salt water and allow it to dry in the sun. Water is constantly repositioned by controlled channels and raked until it is ready for harvest. The work is hard, hot, and filled with drudgery. As we watched an older women rake the minerals and dig, I felt a terrible sense of conflict: bringing our tourist dollars to the people, on a tour that someone else planned, but watching these people do arduous work that they undoubtedly don’t enjoy. This Maras is a cooperative and is farmed and shared by anyone who wants to do the work. Many vendors then sell their products on the way in and out of the “mines.” We sampled the many forms of dried corn  and fava beans (my favorite!) and all the various salts they produce, and I purchased seasoned salt, simple white salt and snacks, but I was glad to leave the site. (Scenes from the Maras, salt mines: hard work and stark beauty)

   

Doing puzzles with local kids

We all met up a popular restaurant on the way to Pisac ruins, Manuel refusing to accept that we didn’t want to eat at tourist spots. “This is very popular, no?” (Our point exactly.) The food was in fact great. After lunch I did puzzles with some Peruvian children and Middle Man played soccer with some young boys. Then we headed out to yet another Inca ruin, Pisac.  More steps, many more steps! The ruins are set high above the Pisac market, perched on the hillside. Views to an amazing fortress built into the cliff face on the other side of the valley, the bull ring in Pisac, and the simpler but still amazing ruins of Pisac. Seeing the ingenuity of the construction of the complex, Middle Man and I argued as to why a people who could build such a place could then be wiped out by barely 300 Spaniards. Pisac is in fact one of the only places where the Inca defeated the Spanish, initially.  They dropped rocks on them (hmm, why didn’t they do that a lot more?), actually redirected a river to drown the horses and men as they gathered at the bottom of the hill (astounding!), and used superior military strategy. Huge slabs of stone amazed us. As we walked the steps and complexes, we were all as amazed as we had been at Machu Picchu.  (Pisca ruins)

      

Amazing fortress set in the cliffs. Can you see the face in the rock? Ollyantaytambo.

The next day, our final day in the Sacred Valley, we visited the challenging trails of Ollantaytambo (Oyan-tye-tambo). Perched high above the small town of the same name, it is a restored and some original ruin of an extensive Inca settlement. Narrow pathways link sections of the complex, along cliffs and terraced areas. An ancient bath still holds water, a sun temple remains intact and stunning, a tunnel through the mountain where one part of the path links to another, were all incredible. It went on and on! When we were done, admittedly getting tired of Inca ruins (no matter how impressive), we went to the market place and we had an opportunity to buy some local items that the Quechua make and sell.  (More rustic Inca dwellings, constantly going up or down, and Smart Guy would have been a very tall Inca-passing through a tunnel section of trial)

      

Local children in traditional Quechua costumes

I bargained for a hand woven alpaca wall hanging, and we bought traditional Peruvian caps as gifts. Small Quechua children dressed in costumes and carrying baby lambs or goats vie for a few sole to pose for photos, as we walked among the stalls. The colors and smells of the market were my favorite part of the day. We visited a local baker, whose huge outdoor oven is wood fired, and were able to sample fresh, hot empanadas and see the cuy (guinea pigs), who would later end up on other tourist’s plates. We skipped that one. And finally, finally, we ate at a small local restaurant where there were no other tourists. No one spoke English, and I ordered the daily special… which turned out to be cow stomach. Ok, authentic experience that I would not necessarily repeat, but glad we insisted that Manuel take us there, no?  (Scenes from the market:  One happy kitty, baker and dried grains)

        

At the end of the day, we headed back to Cuzco for our final day of site seeing and Edgard’s wedding. In the next post, an authentic Peruvian wedding and a sensory filled day at the local market.

DIGAME!  **Please take a moment and support this blog. Share your thoughts in the comment section at the bottom of this post (hit the title to open the link), and join in the conversation. Or post your comments on the Tales from the Motherland FB page.  If you appreciate this post, click on the title and then hit the Like at the bottom of the post.  And if you’re really a fan, consider subscribing. It’s easy and painless. Your information is private; I see only the log on you use. Once you hit the subscribe link to the right of the post, you will get email updates each time I post a new story… No spam, no junk mail… nothing but my deep appreciation.

Posted in Adventure, Beautiful places, Blogging, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, summer vacation, travel, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

And Finally… We Arrive: Machu Picchu!

Posted on August 4, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

After three days of perfect Andean bluebird skies and sunshine, it was unreal when I woke to the sound of rain on the tin roof, that I’d found so charming the night before. Nestled under the cozy alpaca blankets the sound was a lullaby. I drifted in and out, dreaming of mountains and jungle and trails that go on and on and Machu Picchu. Machu Picchu! I sat up in the early light and registered the pouring rain outside our windows. That mesmerizing sound meant that after waiting years and years, I would finally see Machu Picchu in the rain! Worse: my mind immediately went to the bus we were scheduled to take up to the site and the narrow dirt roads that I’d seen washed away for three days of trekking. I cannot sugar coat it: as I lay there waiting for the alarm, my mind raced in and out of some very scary scenarios. Suddenly I could recall every isolated headline that had involved a foreign bus crash, “Five American tourists were on board.” I had been commenting all week that the entire country of Peru seemed like it was trying to slide, split, or wash away. Listening to the pouring rain outside, the idea of driving up a dirt road to Machu Picchu was not at the top of my list of things to do list.

Let me say however, that despite my paranoid anxious concerned thoughts, that morning in Aguas Calientes, with the rain hitting the tin roof and the soft light in the room, the comfort of clean soft sheets on me… was one of the sweetest mornings I remember, ever.

The alarm went off and we all jumped into order. The plan for the day involved loading all of our things and storing them with the hotel while we toured Machu Picchu. Our guide Edgard would be at the hotel between 6:30 and 7 AM to pick us up for the bus, and we had to eat breakfast, be dressed, and store our stuff, to check out on our return. At the end of the day we were heading to the Sacred Valley region, and saying goodbye to our friend Edgard. While we were all getting used to early starts, it is a lot harder when the bed is warm and cozy and it’s raining outside. I must admit that I had a momentary thought of bailing all together. Looking up at the mountain, where Machu Picchu sits nestle between the peaks, I could not imagine enjoying a trip there. Hundreds of wet steps, fog and obscured views- this was not at all what I’d envisioned.

Wet trek to the bus

We all bundled up against the cold, put our rain gear on and headed out, after a yummy breakfast in the dining hall. Peruvians like their breakfasts and even the simplest hotels seemed to serve up wonderful freshly squeezed juices (there is no competing with fresh squeezed pineapple or mango juice!), eggs, yogurts and other yummy things. As we headed across the square we all felt tired and deflated, the weather a distinct downer on such an anticipated day. We were silent in the bus. Who knows what the others were thinking, but I was checking to see where all of the escape routes were and trying to figure out how I would get to each of my children.

First view, through the clouds

As we drove up the twisting road the rain slowed and then stopped and I began to hope that we’d at least not be soaked. At the gates we handed over our tickets and stowed away the rain jackets. It was drying up, but still chilly as we entered. When you step past the gate and the initial (restored) houses, the view before you is nothing short of heart stopping. For me, it was a lifetime of seeing that image and thinking: one day I will go there.  Edgard swept his hand across the view and said: “Familia, welcome to Machu Picchu,” and I began to cry. I was totally unprepared for what emotions would surface once there, after days of arduous trekking and somehow losing track of what this moment might look or feel like.  There was a huge wave of gratitude-peace-awe-pride-happiness-amazement- and ripples of so many other emotions that washed over me and left me tearful.  “Are you ok Amiga?” Edgard asked me quietly, as the others took in the site and found a place to sit, so that that Edgard could begin our “tour.” I’m just so happy, it’s been my whole life of imagining this place… I’m just so happy. Edgard squeezed my arm and stepped back to let me take it in alone for a moment.

Edgard shares his knowledge

We spent two hours walking the ruins with Edgard, as he shared his amazing knowledge of this mystical place. The incredible story of how quickly it was all built (between 40-100 years, many cathedrals have taken 200 years to build!); the fact that it has survived for 600 years perched between two peaks, in a country fraught with earthquakes and weather; the immensity of it and the spectacular architectural detail; these are all things that are hard to describe and stunning to behold.  As much as Edgard was able to tell us about Machu Picchu and with everything we learned at the Machu Picchu museum in Cuzco, or read on line, it is incredible to me what is still not really known about the place. While some scholars maintain that it was built for the great Inca emperor Pachacuti (1438-1472), others maintain that it was being built for many years before that. Some believe that the site was in existence long before what is commonly accepted as the original construction. Though it’s been know to the modern world since 1911, I came away thinking that we may not know as much as we do know about Machu Picchu.

National Geographic photo, 1912, after clearing the vegetation

The place is awe inspiring, regardless of what you know the history to be. Edgard shared tales of Emperors, mummies found, concubines and slaves, the development of metal work and weaponry, and the stunning feat of building such a complex high in the mountains, in a place that then remained unknown for 400 years, except to a few local farmers who often slept amongst the ruins and grazed their livestock in the 600 year old pens and terraces. When Hiram Bingham asked a local Quechua farmer to show him this secret place, it is said that he only offered them one sole (approximately $.30 today). Inconceivable! The many treasures and discoveries that he discovered were shipped off to Yale University in 1912 and have remained there since. In 2011, on the 100th anniversary of Machu Picchu’s discovery, many items were finally returned to Cuzco and are now on display at the Machu Picchu Museum at Casa Conche. Nearly 47,000 items were originally taken and only 366 returned, with a promise to return the remainder by December 2012 (Peruvian Times, June 2011).  We visited the museum after visiting the archeological ruins, but wish we’d done so before, though either way, the artifacts and place are spectacular. (Below: Cliff hugging terraces, vault for mummies, llamas, magnetic dial and precisely cut windows and arches)

     

As we walked through narrow passage ways and sacred chambers of Machu Picchu, I was struck over and over again by the reality that I was walking in a place that has for so long seemed a fairytale to  me. The iconic photos of Machu Picchu are something most of us have seen at one time or another.  The images had become stuff of legend or fantasy for me, and as I’d trekked all week I’d kind of lost track of what the goal was: to see this sacred place. I’d imagined it and thought about it, but it had all become surreal and hard conceptualize in concrete terms. As I walked around it all sprang to life and I found myself on sensory over-load, the imagery so vibrant and breathtaking that it’s hard not to be swept away.

Research continues at Machu Picchu

Much of Machu Picchu has been restored over the many years since its discovery, or since the 1980s when it became a world heritage site. When Bingham found it, the jungle had kept it “secret” for nearly 400 years and the entire place was covered in vines and growth. Still it is remarkable to see how intact it still is and how unchanged, in many ways.  Llamas graze on the terraces, as they have for hundreds of years, now brought in by the Peruvian government to help keep up the greens. Rock seams are as strong as they were when built, the walls and arches all still intact over so much time.  The Incas were masters at stone work and were known to intentionally cut stone to take into account earthquakes and landslides. Again, it is truly incredible when one sees the damage that these natural disasters have done to so many other places around Peru, yet the Inca sites (all of them) remain so remarkably intact.

   

Electric!

Their study of the stars and astronomy is equally fantastic. In each of the ruins we visited throughout our trip to Peru, there was evidence of their exceptional knowledge. In virtually every site there is some relic that, when viewed on the summer equinox of June 21st, changes. Some cast a shadow that forms a sacred animal (llama, puma, snake, etc) while others line up and cast light onto other objects and point due North, South, etc or tell accurate time. There were stones that are reported to emit magnetic energy (we thought we could feel it, but the place does cast a spell…) and stones that are still shrouded in mystery; but stones abound. If nothing else, the Inca were superb masons and the fact that so much of Machu Picchu remains intact, most often with no mortar or additional structural additions (aside from cut stone) is a true testament to this fact. Buildings that still stand, fountains and aqueducts that still bring water, the stone steps, hundreds of steps to climb and navigate, all have been walked on or remained standing and working for 600 years or more! It occurred to me over and over, that the Inca must have been extremely physically fit to have navigated Machu Picchu on a daily basis.

     

    

As the clouds lifted…

The sun slowly made its way out and we watched as the low clouds slowly lifted and changed the vista, as our time there passed. Each time I looked, the view had changed and I found myself snapping picture after picture. For the record, we came home with over 2,000 photos, breaking the previous India record of 1400 by a mile. As I look through the images now, I am still stuck by the changing light, the vibrant colors, and the incredible beauty of the place. As is often the case in vacation photos, the images do not seem as impressive as the place itself, but I am still taken away as I look at them. In the moment I found myself walking along as if in a spell. Some moments silent and introspective and others bursting to exclaim Look at this! Oh my God! This is incredible!  Garnering me eye rolls from my kids.

Sun finally shining, Machu Picchu!

(<– I sat and watched this)

At the end of our two our tour with Edgard, he said his farewells and told us to enjoy the site on our own until our agreed upon lunch in town. Smart Guy and Principessa decided to hike up to the Sun Gate, the end or beginning of the Royal Inca Trail (depending on the launch point) that so many trekkers arrive or depart from. Middle Man, Little Man and I found a terrace to sit on and just watched the sun move across the grounds, the light change and the enormity of the place. I watched small birds dart in and out of a small shrub and the river move far below. Time stopped. I stopped noticing the other tourists for a brief time and only heard the wind. I imagined what the Incas must have felt living in this high fortress, some of them living there their whole lives, while others only summered there from Cusco, the capital of the empire. My mind wandered and my muscles relaxed as I enjoyed this place of wonder.

On our way out we stopped and got our passports stamped with the heritage site stamp. I have not traditionally added extra things to my passport but this one seemed worth having. We lined up and got on the buses again. The sun making it much less likely that we’d all plummet to our deaths on the return trip, I relaxed and enjoyed the ride down. At lunch it hit us all that we would soon say goodbye to Edgard and a distinct sadness descended. How had we all grown so attached to this wonderful man, in the short period of four days?  Four days that felt like weeks, on so many levels! He hugged me as I went to sit down and I tried not to get emotional. We relived our adventure and worked toward goodbye, a wonderful meal in a restaurant filled with tourists.

Our faithful guide, our friend, our family: Edgard

As we finished Edgard said to us: “Amigos, I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you this, but there has not been one. I would be honored if you would attend my wedding this Saturday in Cuzco.” We all burst into grins and agreed that we would indeed be there… how could I miss my son’s wedding? We said our goodbyes, filled with big hugs, hand shakes and the tears we’d been holding in (Smart Guy, Middle Man and Little Man would all want me to clarify that their eyes remained dry). Edgard had a train to race to, back to Cuzco, and we had to get our luggage and catch our train to the Sacred Valley.

Off to catch the train.

When we’d dried our eyes, said goodbye and headed back out into the streets of Cuzco, just outside the restaurant was our dog Machu once again, waiting for us to pet him. Middle Man and I burst into excited grins and called him over to us. A wise dog, he knew we were leaving and he barked at us, as we left him to chase the train. We raced back to the hotel, got someone to help drag all our stuff to the station and boarded what has been called one of the most beautiful train rides in the world. Along the river, always along the river, we travelled past Inca terraces, scenic farm lands, Andean peaks and small villages.  Middle Man had developed a fever and mild illness and we were all tired and ready to just take in the views, lulled by the swaying train. The ride was incredible and we arrived around dinner time to the small village of Urubamba. No driver there to meet us and empty streets, aside from a few vendors and the dogs. Onto the Sacred Valley, and our next adventure!   (Below: Views of/from the train)

    

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If You Visit My House, And I Offer You Cheez Its… Pass

Posted on August 1, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This is a brief, and I mean brief, detour from the current series of blog posts on our trip to Peru. I’ve missed writing about other things, and frankly the universe has been so busy f—ing me royally, that I decided to call her out.

Suffice it to say that things have been less than great since my return from Peru. I’ll spare you the gory details of daily my shit storm and the inner workings of my dark mind. It’s just been tough. And since our return, I’ve found myself surprisingly frustrated by the lack of physical challenge that I had every single day in Peru. Apparently I flourish with a tour guide there to wake me early, push me to keep going and drive me around to the places I will be doing said activities. Having cooks to prepare the food I need doesn’t hurt either. Maybe I’m more of a princess than I realized? Anyway, being home I’ve found myself much more sedentary again and in addition to watching the 7 lbs I lost in Peru  creep back on, I just feel blah.

Daily conflict with my college and post college age kids contributes to the dark place I’m dwelling. And the universe: the bitch just keeps tossing stuff in my face and challenging me to shit or get off the pot. My iPod which has about 3,000 tracks, mysteriously keeps shuffling to The Secret, a new age-“let the universe show you the way”-embrace change- kind of audio book that I downloaded several years ago. And while I generally hit skip right away, twice recently I’ve listened to the annoying Austrailian author, Rhonda Bynes, make her point… And had to concur that she had one. A point. None the less, why is this series of lectures suddenly popping up on my shuffle (a theoretically random selector!), when it generally only happens 2-3x a year? The Universe… messing with me… royally.

So, this morning, nursing some pulled muscles and feeling like I deserved to lick my wounds and something crunchy/salty, I pulled out my Costco size bag of Cheez Its. I haven’t eaten them in ages and I felt it was just the right poison for what ails me right now. It should be noted that when I stripped my bed this morning, there were 2 chocolate stains, some popcorn crumbs and an unknown grease finger print. Admittedly, sedentary days are not my only problem in the weight department. Still, I wanted those Cheez Its. I deserved them. So I opened the mega bag, set them on the counter to get a bowl, and voila! That stupid bag was pushed off the counter by none other than…

Screw you universe! I eat food off the floor all the time…

What the hell could the Universe possibly intend? What’s her point? I’m fat? I shouldn’t drown my issues in food? I should go for another walk? What?! This much I know, I picked those damned crackers up (eating a few directly off the floor) and put them back in the bag. I made every effort to remove any dog hairs, but if you visit my house in the next couple of weeks, and I offer you Cheez Its, I’d pass.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Summer, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 16 Comments