Machu, The Inca Dog…

Posted on July 30, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

This is part 4 of our Trip to Peru. If you missed the previous two post, go back now and read them… Go ahead, this will wait.

Let us eat cake!

When we left off, we had two hung-over “kids,” two parents who’d found things a wee bit harder than anticipated and a guide who was days away from his wedding, and feeling a little “off” from his night out with said kids. And, a cake. There was a cake… for breakfast. So it’s not that unpredictable that when our faithful and apparently super fly dancing guide explained that we had more “options,” before heading out on our final day of formal trekking, we were all grateful curious. I had asked, What does today look like? Didn’t you say that this was one of the hard days, lots of up and down trekking?  It might have been my imagination, but it seemed like Edgard’s face looked a teeny bit greener than the usual mocha skin tones he’d had before a night out. Rumor had it that certain dancing fools members of our team had come in well after 2 AM, had consumed quite a few pisco sours, and were hung-over. Middle Man was not looking fit for the road, Principessa was a bit paler than usual and then there was Edgard. Our leader.

He smiled wanly and answered me. “Amigos, it’s true; the first part of our day will be very difficult. We will follow the road down from Santa Theresa.” (Down! Down! That road goes down for flipping ever, and my knee is killing me! Down! I thought) I nodded and poured some coca tea. Edgard continued. “This will take about an hour to an hour and half. We will cross to the other side of the river and we will follow the road back up for about two hours. We will be in the sun, and it will be dusty.” (UP! Up again! That road goes up forever! Dusty? Every time a car passes there’s a dust tsunami! We’re going to be climbing up and down these roads for 3 flipping hours! Hell no! I thought) I took a bite of my breakfast cake. “When we finish that, we will follow the railroad and the river from Hydroelectrico. That is a nice trail, that goes through the jungle. We will stop for our boxed lunches later.” (What! Boxed lunches after all that?! Seriously! And what the hell time are we eating those lunches? Sounds like a long time on this death march before we eat! I thought). I poured some more coca tea and smiled. “We will follow this trail up (Up! Did he say up again?) to the town of Aguas Calientes, where we will sleep tonight. We will leave for Machu Picchu from there in the morning.” We all watched Edgard’s face. Where were the options? “If you prefer amigos, we could skip the first part and hire a car to drive us to hydroelectrico, and then hike from there.” (What! Hell yeah!)

I was silent as I glanced around the table. I was weighing my responses, nursing my third coca tea. If I jumped in and admitted that I needed wanted the car, I would prove everyone right and be the official weak link in our group. I’d be hearing it for years: “We were suppose to trek for three full days but it was too hard for mom…” My knee was killing me and going down hill was like being stabbed, over and over. I’d pushed through it for a day and half of our trek, but the idea of hiking down a dusty road, was beyond what I could bear. Before I could say Let’s take the car, that’s my final answer, Middle Man spoke up. “Uh, I really would prefer to take the car. I don’t feel like hiking up and down the road part.” “Me too,” added Principessa. (What! Take the car! Suuuure, when you’re hung-over it all changes.) Edgard looked my way. Well, if everyone else would prefer to take the car… that’s fine with me too. That’s right folks, I squeaked right out of that bitch of an option, and right into a van.

The relief on Edgard’s face was clear. He smiled, “Well familia, I will find us a car. We will be saying goodbye to our wonderful cooks Samwel and Pancho today, so let’s enjoy this fantastic breakfast and then get our things ready.” Oh how the mood lifted. We all ate cake for breakfast, with relief on the side. For the record, the ever important record, it is not lost on me that my 20 year old son is able to simply ask for what he wants or needs and could care less what the rest of us thought of him.  Something for mom to keep working on. For the record.

We said our sad goodbyes to our wonderful cooks. They were truly good men and had fed us well and fed us generously for three full days. I hadn’t seen the boxed lunch yet, but it was sure to be good. The meals they’d provided three times each day, had kept us going even when the trekking was kicking my butt. It was sad saying goodbye, and sad knowing that our trip was nearing its end. I was just coming to like this stuff.

Do you like my hat?

Within an hour our things were packed on a van and we were all getting ready to ride to Aguas Calientes (Hot Waters). A British fellow that all the other hikers were talking about hitched a ride with us. He’d gotten blisters ALL over his feet… literally covering the entire surface of each of his feet. I’d seen him doing a hilarious drunk limp-stagger-dragged-by-others from the bonfire to his tent the night before. No doubt in my mind, he was even more grateful for this ride than me! Middle Man decided he really liked the bright yellow Inca Cola hat that the 11 yr old son of the driver was wearing and set out to buy it from him. Somewhere in the mountains of Peru, there is a small boy wearing Smart Guy’s Pebble Beach hat, and Middle Man is the proud owner of a yellow Inca Cola hat. For the rest of our trip, Middle Man was easy to find in a crowd.

It’s hard to tell you how good it felt to drive by all the other hikers that morning. It was blazing hot and the trail just went on forever down one side and up the other. They each had bandanas across their faces to keep out the intense dust that blew in their faces with each car. They all looked sweaty and miserable. One young woman flagged us down and jumped on board. “It’s horrible out there!” She exclaimed as she climbed aboard. Second only to the horse, it was one of the truly wise things we did on our vacation. I am certain that no one in our family regrets missing that part of the trek.

Hydro-electric project

At Hydroelectrico- just what it sounds like: a huge hydro-electric project that goes right through the mountain and brings water to the region- we all climbed out and and put our packs back on. It was really hot and the trail had little shade for the first bit. It left the railroad bed briefly and went up steeply into the jungle. Just when I was thinking this might be what we would be doing all day, we came out of the trees and back to the tracks. The flat, easy tracks. Yeehaw! The rest of our trek was truly sublime. In and out of the trees, the raging river beside us and then quiet sections of water, beautiful flowers and local people collecting hearts of palm, fruits and other things along the trail. Locals passed us or we passed them as they brought their items to Aguas Calientes, the one trail used by hikers and farmers alike.

We stopped at about 11:30 on Middle Man’s insistence (again, oh the freedom to just say what you want) to eat our boxed lunches. We sat down on an old stone wall, in the shade, beside the river and if I’d doubted for a moment that it would be more than a simple boxed lunch, I was a fool. Hallelujah! Samwel and Pancho came through one last time. Fried rice and chicken never, never, tasted so good in my life! Beat the hell out of the cheddar and apples we hike with at home!

Machu joins our trek

And this my friends is where we met Machu the Inca dog. The dog came trotting down the trail, in the opposite direction, just ahead of another hiker. The big brown, shaggy dog stopped to check out the amazing lunch smells; so we called out to the hiker that his dog seemed like he was set on eating with us. “That’s not my dog,” he answered. “He just started following me this morning.”  I shared some of the meat and rice from my lunch; he seemed hungry. Principessa gave me a hard time, again, for petting and coaxing stray dogs. Heartless. Admittedly, almost all of the dogs we saw were quite matted, scratched a lot and did not smell clean. However, they all seemed to be so grateful for a scratch on the head and a “pobrecito!” (Poor thing!) None of them spoke English. My kids were tired of hearing that; Principessa found the entire thing disgusting.  Machu had beautiful eyes, graying whiskers, and he was very grateful for the rice and the kindness.

When we got up to continue our trek he followed along.  “Come on boy,” Middle Man began to coax, as our the dog marched along. We didn’t name him at first; we didn’t know he was ours yet. And he stayed with us for two hours, trotting along beside us and stopping for pats when there was a chance. In short order, we began calling him Machu; Picchu didn’t sound right. Each time a train came along, Machu dashed at the wheels,

With our sweet dog Machu

barking and chasing the trains until they disappeared. That crazy dog would come within inches of the huge machines, as we yelled for him to stop. After a couple times, we gave up. It seemed incredible to all of us, for a dog who clearly had been around for a while. He stuck with us all the way to where the trail left the tracks and headed up (yes, up again!) to the town of Aguas Calientes.

Middle Man was disappointed when we turned and realized Machu was gone. He’d been a good companion for a while and we’d all become a bit attached. I know, it seems like a short bit of time… but when you’re trekking for days, and you’re just walking and walking, a friendly dog seems a little more special than other times. We had begun to think he might just stick with us, that he’d picked us out of all the other hikers… He’d followed us for two hours; he must be ours. Alas, he disappeared and we staggered into town, tired, smelly and very dirty again.

First glimpse of Aguas Calientes

Funny how different tired and dirty looks when you arrive back in civilization! On the trail, the sweat stains, the brown smudges of trail dirt (often mixed with horse dung), the lack of make-up or any effort to fix hair, the clothes you’ve worn for three days straight (yes, I did)- Well, it all looks and smells a little different when there are other people, clean people, around you. Passing some of the very nice hotels, on the way into town, was an eye opener. We looked filthy, and now we had people to notice we looked filthy.

Aguas Calientes is an amazing little town nestled between the peaks of Machu Picchu and surrounding mountains. The river: a fast rushing glacier melt, rushes through town and you can hear it from every point in town. Everything centers around a small square and a market place, and everything kind of stacks up from the river. Yep, that’s right, more UP. When I saw the endless steps in front of us, that Edgard thought lead to our hotel, I came pretty close to just sitting down and crying. I guess I figured that if I hiked all the way to Aguas Calientes, I was done. I hadn’t thought about getting around town. Two amused men told us that our hotel was several streets further up and without skipping a beat, I replied, in English: If you are lying, I will find you. They doubled over laughing, as I began the hike up to Gringo Bill’s, our hotel.

A room never looked so fabulous!

So laugh if you must. I am keenly aware that a name like Gringo Bill’s calls for some chiding, but let me tell you: Gringo Bill (a real person) built a mighty fine hotel, and when I saw those white linens, thick duvet, and pillows, I don’t recall loving a gringo more! The hotel was right off the square and our spectacular room had a charming balcony and the softest bed in Peru. The shower was beyond heaven and while we left a wet pile of very brown towels, something tells me it wasn’t

Erotica, Machu Picchu style.

the first time the staff had seen that. Each room had a mural and ours was a tad erotic. When our kids came in to say hi, Little Man exclaimed “Gross!” His siblings found it terribly funny, and made lots of jokes, until we warned them that we might be influenced by said mural. “Gross!”

Room with a view

We all showered and lounged on our super soft beds for a while. We washed our clothes in the sink and hung things all over the balcony. We gave each other foot rubs and were just lazy for a while. The water in the hotel was THE best water I found anywhere in Peru, and trust me that’s saying something. I drank and drank and drank, catching up on hydration and safe water. After nearly two weeks of gut issues, it was so nice to drink clean, cold*, tasty water and not worry about it. When we’d all had enough and wanted to go explore the market for a while before dinner, we headed down to the square, new clean people… and there was Machu!  He was strolling across the square and when I called out his name, he came loping over, clearly excited to see us. Other tourists wrinkled their noses and gave me looks, but that dog was so happy to be pet and loved again. He was a puppy for a few minutes. Pobrecito!

The streets of Aguas Calientes at dusk were magical, old worldly. It reminded me of scenes from the old Western movies of my youth. Dirty streets, no cars, and people walking down the center with their wares. The Quechua women with their long braids, skirts and hats were everywhere. The men pushing carts and coming from work in the stone quarry, smiled and nodded as I took it all in. The train came and went, up along the river and we moved out of the way, as we walked to dinner. The entire scene was exotic and magical.

    

(Quechua woman at the market, Main square statue, and (below) train at dusk- no flash and lots of dust on the road. You can see Middle Man’s yellow hat)

Train at dusk.

At dinner, we all met for the first time clean and civilized and it all felt a little off. Edgard was no longer wearing his leggings and hikers; I was in something other than my (borrowed) blue athletic shirt and hiking pants, and we all smelled good. Cocktails all around and a fabulous dinner of local foods was a real treat, a celebration of having made it so far together, through so many personal and physical challenges… There were a lot of warm smiles between Edgard and I. We had shared a lot of talks about the future and life, and he had played such an important, and caring, role in helping me accomplish this trek. The kids had their own (private) memories with him, and we all felt like the family he called us. I will be grateful to him for a very long time. As we all finished our drinks and got ready to go back to our rooms, the excitement of knowing we’d finally see Machu Picchu the next morning was foremost in our thoughts.

“Well amigos, we did it. Tomorrow at 6:30 AM we will ride a bus up to the gates of Machu Picchu (oh, such sweet words: ride a bus!) and I will show you the Inca city for two hours. When I am done, you are free to explore on your own (No! It won’t be the same without you!). We will meet for lunch at 12:30 and then we will each catch our trains, and we will say goodbye.”  All that waiting for Machu Picchu, something I’d wanted to see for my entire life, and suddenly the idea that we would be saying good bye to our dear friend, our family, mi hijo, seemed a little bigger and harder to accept, than the fact that I had finished a trek that I was sure I couldn’t do! We walked back across the square, where we saw Machu settled in for the night by the fountain, and went back to get a good night’s sleep.  As I drifted off under my warm alpaca blanket, with my soft, clean sheets, I imagined what the next day would feel like… and how we could possibly say goodbye to Edgard.

Tune in for the next post, when we finally see Machu Picchu, decide what to do about Machu the Inca dog, and say farewell to our dear friend.

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.

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Oh Santa Theresa, We Seek Your Healing…Whatever That May Be.

Posted on July 28, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

After our killer first day of trekking, the roosters that woke me at 4:30 the next morning were in no way charming or exotic. I could hear them in the distance and wondered where they must be, having only seen outlines of mountains as I’d stumbled into camp the night before (read No Pain…). Just as my brain was clearing, Pancho tapped on our tent and called out: “Good morning Amigos; it’s time to wake up.” Arrgh. He put our coca tea at the entrance to the tent, softening the wake up blow a bit, and left to go wake our kids. We all had 30 minutes to drink our tea, get dressed and empty the tents, then meet at the breakfast table.

Wake up Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.

As I stepped out of my tent, it was something akin to the moment when Dorothy steps out of her Kansas clapboard house, and finds herself in Oz. The whole world exploded in green, then rosy haze, and then the colors of the amazing little homestead we were camped at. A small house had a smoke curling up from its chimney. In the yard there were chickens strutting, a black rooster, pigs, and several dogs playing in the yard. A small girl in pink skipped across the grass and looked my way curiously. The mountains: oh the mountains were amazing! The jungle wrapped hills rose all in all directions, as the rosy early morning sun beams shot across and between the crests of the peaks around us. I heard the river, ever

Farewell to our horses and wonderful riders

constant, and realized it was not far away but off in the jungle, and behind us falling from a water fall and again in the distance. Water all around. Mountains all around. Flowering trees and green, green, green. I stood, sore and stiff, taking it all in and sipping the last of my coca tea.

My yoga partner

At breakfast we all agreed to some stiff and tired muscles; I was not alone. We learned that our horse would be leaving us and a brief panic set in again. My horse! What if I needed another ride? I thanked the caballero and patted my sweet girl one last time as I resolved to the fact that it would be all walking for the final two days. After breakfast my little friend, six year old Marisol, and I practiced English and Spanish together: Dientes-teeth, ojos-eyes, me llamo-my name is… She showed me her pink bike and how fast she could ride. The bike had no wheels, so she pedaled furiously as the little bike sat still

Guinea Pig, it’s what’s for dinner…

in the dirt beside the house. She showed me the guinea pig (cuy) house and we all realized that was another source of income. Cuy is a popular dinner in Peru. I showed her Sun Salutions and practiced some yoga before we set out. She wanted her picture taken and smiled shyly for my Nikon. When it was time to leave, she waved as we marched off.

Edgard challenges us to cross the bridge.

As we came around the first bend in the road, we found the smallest towns! We crossed a swinging suspension bridge and watched as young kids passed us, headed to school in the direction we’d come from. Only later did we see the school, tucked away in the jungle. It was a long hike down at first, a gnarly piece of trail that had been washed away and barely hug the side of the steep hillside and a river crossing. All before the sun was high in the sky. The initial track was muddy, in the jungle with areas where the river had come up and gone back

We hiked twenty miles to school, uphill…

down. The mosquitoes finally came out and Edgard warned us to put on our bug spray, and I was silently thankful for the anti-malaria medicine we were all taking. I skipped it in India and Africa, but was grateful I had it in Peru as I heard reports of malaria outbreaks, the more we traveled.

Yummy fruits abound!

It was an up and down trek all day. It was an 8 hour day. The scenery was beautiful! We stopped at two different homesteads to rest and hydrate. Edgard picked or bought a couple of different local fruits for us to try, each a delicious treat. Puppies, dogs, were everywhere. They played with us and waited for petting. Children called “hola” from hidden villages and small houses, tucked in the jungle. And we walked on.  It was steamy and hot, not the chill and cold of the mountains.  A small boy named Juanito (Johnny) and I played in the dirt outside his house. He had Downs Syndrome and we drew shapes with our sticks: his a branch that

Hola Juanito!

worked as a horse, a sword and a pencil, mine a hiking stick that kept me moving. He was thrilled when I drew a star, and his very pregnant mother smiled to see him playing with us. It was hard not to imagine how difficult their lives must be, so far from modern conveniences, growing most of their food and living in a small house without electricity. And on we marched. While nothing was as challenging as the day before, it was

And always a dog to greet us.

hard nonetheless. For the record, Principessa and Middle Man were ahead of us the whole day, but I kicked Smart Guy’s ass. That is me bragging, and boy did it feel good! So much for me being the weak link, the lame duck, the whimpy mom… My knee was in agony the entire way, but no one waited for me. I waited for Smart Guy. And waited. It was a surprise to everyone, including myself!

Modern town at last…

Eventually we came to a small town with more houses and small stores. Kids in plaid uniforms passed us on their way home from school. The sun was strong and we were all grateful to be coming to our stop for the day. A small store and restaurant was the place where all the groups stopped to eat, or camp, or catch their rides on to Santa Theresa. Initially, the plan had been to camp at the site and hike to Agua Calientes the next day: a brutal hike similar to our first day without the altitude issues, but a lot of uphill, and long hours. The night before, ready to die from our first day, but before the second, we had unanimously voted to get a ride from the small town where

Farmers drying corn

we’d stop, to Santa Theresa and skip the extra hiking. Again, I was so grateful when others voted for this option, rather than leaving it to me. While I had no intention of doing that hike, I didn’t have to be the one to say it.

So we hung out at this tiny oasis, listening to loud American pop music (Katy Perry, Gaga, Rhiana are all doing well in the mountains and jungles of Peru), eating a delicious meal and getting our feet out of our

Bet we could get one more person in this van!

boots. We sat and waited for the tiny van that would eventually arrive and take all of us and several others to Santa Theresa. I’ve never been so happy to be crammed into a hot, tiny van with no seat belts, people stacked on people, to be driven up a zig zagging switch back road, on a waiting-to-slid-away-steeper-than-steep mountain road! I paid to do it, and felt zero guilt. We arrived at Santa Theresa, the most developed and modern town we’d seen in days, close to sunset. With our long summer days at home, it was hard to adjust to the 5 PM sunsets, but we rolled out of the van to the sounds of our favorite: Somewhere Over the Rainbow (by “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole. We got our tents set up, made sure everything was zipped tight (having been warned of the tarantulas, that prefer warm dark places) and got back in the same van, with the same group, to visit the local hot springs.

The hot springs were nestled beside the raging Urubamba river that we’d followed much of the day. The current is deadly, and in 2010 this same river rose up so high that it buried the hot springs in tons of rock and debris, took out the oldest and sturdiest metal bridge and left anyone who’d lived by the river homeless. The hot springs are fed by the river itself as well has boiling hot water that rises up in the pools. I’ve never been so happy to see hot water in my life! In the small waterfall-showers that we rinsed in, required to enter the pools, the water ran brown off my body. Despite long pants and socks, the dust from two days of trekking was in every follicle and pour of my body! Under the pools, the view of the mountains around us, the endless sea of gray boulders and gravel, and the setting sun, was spectacular. It felt like bathing on the surface of the moon. We soaked and played and let go of every ounce of tension that we’d felt, hiking for two (feels like four) days.

Gracias Santa Teresa!

We’d met a really fun family (father and 3 kids) from Tazmania along the trail. Dad had  stumbled down the trail with us the first night, and we’d met them again at the rest spot earlier in the day. They’d crammed into the van with us and an hour or so later we were all happy to be splashing together at the hot springs. Now we all introduced ourselves properly and shared the usual ice breakers. As pruned as we all got, it was hard to leave even after two hours. Back at Santa Theresa our wonderful crew had made another delicious dinner, and we all sat and laughed about how hard the hiking had been thus far and how well we’d all done despite that. The owners of the camp grounds set up a huge bon fire, and as soon as dinner was over, the pisco sours were flowing and Principessa and Middle Man had joined the mostly young thangs around the fire. A group of wild and hilarious frenchmen got us all going to I’m Sexy and I Know It. It is always funny to me how guys think they’re terribly sexy and hip when they dance to that song. These guys were the life of the party… until my kids got involved.

Before anyone could say baila, baila, baila (dance!) my two oldest children had our entire team of guides, cooks and many of the other hikers off to Santa Theresa to drink more pisco sour and dance the night away. I joined the Aussie dad and one of his daughters, as well as their guide and we sat up talking about for far too long. Smart Guy was out cold long before I got back to our tent and after checking for tarantulas, I settled in and hoped our tow oldest would make it back in fair enough shape to make the 6:30 wake up and start o our third day of trekking. It doesn’t take a fortune teller to predict where that was headed…. (actually I gave it away at the end of the last post). When Pancho tapped on our tent at 6:30 with our coca tea, there were audible moans from certain young people’s tents. Wake up was not an easy undertaking for certain members of our group… ahem.

Santa Teresa by morning’s light

I don’t know what Santa Teresa is responsible for, but in our case she brought great food, good company, strong pisco sours, music to lose yourself in, and memories for a life time. We each found something to sooth our tired bodies and make us laugh and celebrate. The next morning, that may have looked a little different, but none of us will forget Santa Teresa.

Hung over and feeling a wee bit worse for wear, a few members of our team made it out of their tents to take on day three, the final day of trekking before Machu Picchu. Check out the next post to see how it all goes…

**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.

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No Pain, No G… Wait, Is That An Option?

Posted on July 23, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note: This is part 2 of our amazing trip to Peru. If you haven’t read part one, go back and dot that! Then, join me as I stagger up the Salkantay trail, en route to Machu Picchu. These posts are longer than usual, to include all of the wonder that we experienced on the way. I wrote in my journal daily, and hope to share what was truly the trip of a lifetime with those who read these posts.

When our alarm clock went off at 3:00 and Smart Guy flicked on the ridiculously bright lights, I was sure it was a mistake. The mistake: that I was going to attempt a trek that I was woefully unprepared for, physically, and which I’d heard from numerous sources (including our guide, Edgard) was “very difficult.” Strangely no one said, “yeah, that’s a challenge;” they all said “Salkantay? Wow, that’s really tough!” We were setting out to do what Lonely Planet calls a “5-7 day trek,” in 4 days.  As I’d tried to fall asleep the night before, I’d also made an effort to talk myself off the ledge I’d wandered onto. What’s the worst that can happen? There’s a horse there if you need it. You agreed to go on this (even if Smart Guy did lie fluff up the details a boatload little).  You can just go slower if you need to… With these things running through my head, I’d drifted off for the barely four hours of sleep that I was now being woken from. None of my pep talk sounded right by the cool dark of morning.

In fifteen minutes we were all dressed and loading our stuff in the van, and getting settled for a four hour drive to the trail head. We road in a strange van with incredibly high ceilings. The cook Samuel, his assistant Pancho, Edgard our guide, the driver (with us only for that drive), and the five of us all settled in and tried to get comfortable. The idea was that we’d sleep in the van, but I couldn’t. The driver had the radio turned down low, but the lively music (imagine this playing, for four hours, along bumpy dusty roads) and the booming voice of the DJ announcing “El Radio Santa Monica,” kept me from dozing off. Someone had dropped a water bottle and it rolled back and forth with each turn or bump in the road, and with Little Man unconscious on my shoulder, I was incapable of putting back in a pack. Roll, thump! Roll, thump! For hours. I watched as small dusty towns passed outside the windows, in the dim headlights. Dogs, always the dogs, wandered the empty streets and occasionally we’d pass a small store lit up; but, mostly the towns were quiet as we drove up and onward. When the sun eventually began to rise, I began to make out the scrappy trees and dry landscape, the mountains around us, and others in the car began to stir as well.

Only the coca tea was warm, as we prepared for the trek

We eventually stopped and parked in a small pasture. The horses had arrived ahead of us, and had been loaded. Edgard informed us that our meal would be ready soon and that should get our day packs ready.  As we staggered out of the van, into the freezing cold morning, the cooks set up a our first “kitchen” and began making our breakfast. I made use of a secluded spot to go to the bathroom and took in the amazing mountain peaks around us and the trail ahead. Then I made a point of introducing myself to the horses. A  long time rider, I wanted those ponies to know who I was. It was incredibly cold and my anxiety began to set back in as I realized how far from Cuzco we were and how foolish I’d been to think I could change my mind and walk back if I needed/wanted to. It was clear from the long drive that there wasn’t any turning back, unless I hiked out and took the entire group with me. I felt sick thinking about the day ahead of me, despite the staggering beauty around me.

A brief rehashing of issues:     When Smart Guy first asked me if I was willing or interested in doing a 3 day trek to Machu Picchu, I told him no. Actually, I said “No fucking way.” I thought it was a pretty clear and definitive answer. I told him that I hate hiking up hill, my knee would never make it, I’m a weenie, and that while I understand that trekking is his thing, it really isn’t mine. Fairly clear I thought. Day hikes in the North Cascades, where we live, is my speed… and even then I huff and puff and swear my way up the tough inclines.  A 3-4 day trek, at high altitude, where much of it would be climbing, was not my game, and I said so. Suffice it to say, I was not a happy camper when a couple weeks later I learned that Smart Guy had booked the trek. When I said I wouldn’t do it, he informed me that he’d already paid for it. Arrgh. So, and there’s no sugar coating this, I bitched and moaned about it right up until our departure. I was not kind, and I did not let an opportunity go by to mention that I did not want to do the trek. I admit, I was not magnanimous in my attitude. For the record, I’ve never suggested that I’m easy to live with. The only thing that had kept me from losing it all together was my stop, drop and roll plan. I figured I had a way out if things got too hard.  (Read Peru or Bust)

Cold, cold.

As I huddled shivering in that pasture, drinking my coca tea and eating a bit of a breakfast I didn’t really like, I was miserable. I was honestly terrified that this was way beyond me and that I would now be in the position of letting down the whole family, when I needed to take one of Edgar’s quitter car options. I ate quietly and tried to think through the day. We would be trekking for about 12 hours Edgar told us, it would be “very hard amigos” but it was clear that once that van left I was in it, and I wasn’t ready to get back in the van. “We are a family on this trip,” he explained. “We must all trust each other and support each other.” We went around the circle and introduced ourselves, and shared a little about our lives. “The most important part friends, will be that you tell me honestly what you are feeling. It is very important that I know if you are having problems with the altitude, or anything else. Getting you there safely is my job, but you must be honest. I don’t want anyone in my family getting hurt. Altitude is a tricky thing. Sometimes you feel fine, and then suddenly things are very bad. If you feel anything, you must tell me.”  This was sobering, in my already anxious head, though I knew that Edgard was simply looking out for us.

The sun had begun to rise and the views were spectacular as we started out.

When we started up the trail, my lungs fighting to keep up with the altitude and my legs burning, my first thoughts were pretty negative. All of us were breathing hard, but in addition to keeping up with the physical challenge, I found my thoughts drifting to pretty negative, bitter places. I told him (Smart Guy’s) I hated uphill hiking. I will never listen to him again when he tells me something won’t be that bad. Blah blah blah blah. I began to spiral into negative thinking. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to quiet my thoughts and just focus on the scene around me. The views were stunning. The sheer razor sharp edge of Mt. Salkantay, blanketed in blinding white, hovered over us as we moved along. The site was humbling, truly amazing. Once we were in the sun, it got very warm and I took off my layers, and huffed and puffed along. As I walked, I began to dig in and remind myself that I had chosen not to take the van back, it had been an option, and I’d made a choice to be here. I would need to push on. I used my hiking poles and just began to talk myself through it, as we began to go up vertically and the effort intensified. I stopped when I needed to and worked on pacing myself. After about an hour and half, I had a slight headache and my lungs were still working hard, but I was finally finding a groove.  Then, I looked up and realized our trail was about to take a dramatic shift, and go up, up, up in a steep switch back that stopped me dead. Edgard had been chatting with me a bit, checking in from time to time, but allowing me my solitude as I’d begun to focus on the trail and tried to keep pace. Now he saw me looking up and he slowed down a bit and began to hike closer to me.

“Are you ok my friend?” He asked me as we started the approach to the switch back section. His voice was kind and non-judgmental. Yes, I’ll be ok. I’m just working on pacing myself, I lied.  And then I thought about his warning: “You must be honest with me…”  I do have a little headache, and I’m wheezing a little, but I think I’ll be ok. I acknowledged.  I’d used my inhaler a couple of times, but wasn’t very worried. The others were breathing hard as well. I didn’t want to be the weak link, I wanted to push on. He smiled and watched me for a minute. “Well, we have the horse you know. You can choose that any time you want. Remember, you have options.” Yep, I know. I think I’ll keep walking. He was quiet for a few minutes and he just walked beside me. “Well amiga, I don’t know your family very well yet, but I want you to think about this option.  This is why we have the horse. It’s important for you

Behold, an option!

to remember that you have nothing to prove, at least not to me. If you need the horse, that is what the horse is for.” I paused, not ready to give in but increasingly aware that the trail was getting steeper and seemed to go up for a very long time. “There is nothing to prove Amiga. This will be a very hard day and if you ride for this section, there will be plenty more that will be hard after this. It’s your choice, but there’s nothing to prove.”  Options.

And away I rode. Up and up.

I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. After hearing for months that I should train more, and building up in my own head that this would be impossible, it was so nice to simply hear that I had a choice, and the choice was mine alone to make. Nothing to prove? He shook his head and smiled. “Nope.”  I wanted to hug Edgard right then. Instead, I grinned and said: Ok, I think I’ll ride this section and then I’ll hike. “I think this will be a good decision for you Amiga.” I was coming to love that smile. Frankly, the rest of my family looked jealous when I got up on that horse, and all of my self doubts melted when I got in that saddle. I’ve been a rider all my life, and sitting on a horse felt damned good right then. I put my earplugs in and turned on my

My sturdy steed. She was a blessing, at just the right moment.

iPod.  As soon as we started out, the song They Live In You came on. In it Mufasa sings to Simba about his ancestors and how they live in each of us, and are always with us. I sang along and didn’t worry about who heard.  Sitting there, looking out over the Andes, I thought of my grandfather. We had so often talked of traveling together. He supported me in everything I did. I am a sentimental, spiritual person; for a few moments he rode along with me and I was so happy.

The horse was lead by the horse wrangler; I had no reigns, something I’m not used to when I ride.  I just sat there and enjoyed the ride… at first. Eddie Vedder’s Into the Wild came on next. Perfection. That music followed me around Yellowstone all last summer and the lyrics are perfect for wild places. I sang along to each song and my companion smiled. He had no choice but to listen, but the experience: The mountains around us, the deep blue sky, the shining mountains, all of it was so much bigger than me, so inspiring. I threw my arms out in the air and cried. I cried and cried, moved by all that magnificence, and I resolved to finish the trek and not complain any more. I would talk myself through my fears and doubts and not put it on anyone else. I would walk the walk and finish this trek. In that moment, I just surrendered to that idea and felt such relief.

The ride was a blessing, but let me clear: it was the scariest horse-back ride of my life!

Salkantay, “Savage Mountain”

The cliff we rode along was high up, very high up. The trail was about three feet across at the widest point, and two at the narrow parts. Horses do not like to ride against the hill; for some insane reason they prefer to hug the edge. When you’re sitting up on a horse, on the edge of a very high cliff, it’s hard not to look down… way down.  It’s a dizzying place to be. I can’t tell you how many times my little horse’s feet slipped and I thought I was going over. At first I made a high pitched whining/hissing sound when this happened, and my riding companion laughed. I learned to stay quiet, but I was so happy when we reached the top and were off that trail. Along the way we passed several trekkers who

At the pass. 15, 750 feet.

looked like they were about to die and I reminded myself, I have nothing to prove. We passed an emerald blue mountain lake with the skull of a cow, horns and all. It was surreal. And always the mountain loomed above us. We stopped at the top, 15, 750 feet,  and in my broken Spanish I told the wrangler that maybe one of my kids would need a ride (Little Man was very grateful); that I would wait at the pass for them all. He smiled and turned back down the trail, as I took in the view and got used to my land legs again.

Blessings in stone

I wasn’t alone long. A young boy, guiding other riders came along and stopped beside me. Hola, como esta? I asked, as he watched me. “Bien, et tu Senora?” Ah, muy bien! No caminando, pero tengo un caballo. “Tu hablas Espanol Senora?” No hablo bien, pero un poco. Entiendes? Como se llama? Me llama Dawn.  I’ll spare you the rest of my pathetic Spanish, but the boy understood. He told me his name was Elvis. For real. He was well aware of his famous namesake. (I would go on to meet a 10 year old Jefferson, “Like the American President, Mr. Thomas Jefferson”, a young Lincoln, and lots of Curt Cobain fans). He was 14 and had been working as a horse guide for a year. His family lived in one of the small towns we’d passed in the van. Elvis kept me company for about 20 minutes, as I waited for my family (all 7 of them) and we made do with the Spanish I learned 30+ years ago, in high school.

The view from the top was gorgeous. How many words can I use to describe beautiful? They all begin to sound weak, in relation to what we saw trekking. The landscape is like nothing I’ve seen before, and I live in the North Cascades. I’ve seen beautiful mountains; but the Andes are something else all together. The altitude was more challenging than I’d imagined in my many pre-trip thoughts, the experience so much bigger than I’d anticipated. The sun was intense, but the wind and cold bit through my jackets, as I waited for the rest of my party. I was there for about 45 minutes, checking out the many cairns, left by

Edgar explains that the Inca left coca leaves as offerings to mountains.

previous trekkers and the locals, as tributes to the mountain. When they arrived, I told Edgard about my few minutes of tears, and of feeling overcome by the place, and he held me in a warm hug and whispered: “Congratulations Amiga.” Edgard told us to place three coca leaves, along with our wishes or hopes, and an offering (mine was M&Ms) under our cairns. I wished for piece of mind on the rest of the trek, and to finish in a way I could feel good about. Spoiler: The fact that I’m writing this, is validation that those “wishes” came true.

The path never got easy; down we went…

From the pass on, the rest of the day was a series of ups and downs; some quite difficult, others easier. Edgard and I talked for a long while during our initial decent. He shared that that this was his last trek before he would be married the following weekend (6 days away). He would be celebrating his 30th birthday, his daughter’s first communion, and his wedding, all on the same day. Three became the magic number for our trip. We talked about life, marriage, and the things that bring us joy, and as we shared, we became the family that he kept calling us.

Our crew had set up a tent at the base of the pass, at the start of a long valley. We ate beside a stream, and guacamole, mushroom soup and chicken never tasted so wonderful! We spent about two hours crossing the valley, with pigs and sheep grazing, small homesteads and occasional glimpses of the farmers who live there. A small yellow cat ran out to greet me, happy for the petting. My daughter chastised me throughout our trip for patting the dogs and cats we met. Admittedly, most were filthy and no doubt flee infested, but they all were so grateful for the attention, that I couldn’t pass. I walked on my own for much of the day, listening to my music or just taking in the scene and thinking. I pushed myself on, and talked myself through it, despite a lingering headache. I picked up a pure white rock and a perfect oval one to bring home, and a few times wondered if extra weight was a wise choice or hoped there were no ancient curses coming my way.    (Across the valley)

  

Mountains melted into jungle…

The mountains fed into lush jungle, a surprise at such altitude.  There were thick vines and flowering plants, orchids everywhere, and always the sound of the river and the birds.  There were areas where the trail had been washed away by the frequent landslides and we clambered up and over precarious sections of trail, with steep drops to get around.  And the day went on and on and on. When I think back even now, it seems as if it should have been two days… at least. Instead, we walked and walked, up and down. I found myself thinking: this may be harder than childbirth, but I can do it… and I’m not sure it wasn’t. My knee (injured skiing a few years ago) began to ache hours before we reached camp, and even with the use of my poles the pain became intense. The final few miles were done in darkness, as night fell and the trail continued. Each time Edgard would say “it’s just around that bend,” my hopes would go up, until I just stopped listening to him. In the final section, I stumbled and fell 3 times, scraping my shin, as my knee gave out. Yet, when we got a glimpse of the full moon through the jungle and beyond the darkened mountain, I howled like I do each month at home. It was such a joyful moment, howling on that trail!  Edgard was amused. “You are a very different kind of family Amiga!”   (Scenic, treacherous, fragrant and colorful- the trail went on and on!)

   

I stumbled into camp a wreck, but deliriously proud of myself and truly grateful for each thing I’d seen and done that day. I had talked myself through all of my anxieties and through each tough moment, and had made it… albeit a filthy, smelly, sore-all-over mess. I crawled right into my tent and would have happily skipped dinner if Edgard had not come and rattled the tent and insisted that calories and hydration were necessary. I don’t remember ever, ever, being that tired. The popcorn our cooks had made over the fire, for appetizer, was delicious. The dinner, who knows. I was too tired to really register it, but I ate it and was happy to have it. I was much happier to climb into my down sleeping bag and drift off… to the sound of the river, other camper’s voices outside and yes, the dogs playing outside my tent.  (Another day, another dog…)

Dogs, dogs everywhere!

In part 3, the trek continues. Day one was the hardest, but the scenery only changed and grew more amazing each day. Next entry: on toward Machu Picchu, with a brief stop to party in the mountains. Trekking with hang-overs.

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Posted in Aging, Awareness, Beautiful places, Beauty, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, Nature, Personal change, summer vacation, travel, Women's issues, Wonderful Things, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Peru or Bust

Posted on July 20, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note: There is NO way I could share the details and wonder of our recent trip to Peru in one post. No way. So, I’ll start with the beginning and share the rest over the next few posts. After a full month off, I’m working to find my groove again. Please be patient.

I don’t do re-entry well. I never have. For two and a half weeks as I travelled around Peru, I thought of titles for posts, ways to start them, how I would describe what I was seeing and experiencing. For those 2+ weeks my writer’s brain worked out how to express all that I was taking in. Yet now that I’m home I’ve found myself unable to focus, and put thoughts to page. My head has been slow to re-engage in the “real world” of daily life here.  I’m still processing amazing things we saw, amazing things we did. I’m reliving some of the most challenging days of my life, some of the most inspiring and beautiful, and some of the wildest most incredible places I’ve seen.  I’m still missing people we met, and wishing for a little more time in places we landed.  Doing 15 loads of the smelliest laundry this house has ever seen, groceries, bills to pay, catching up on things that were undone for three weeks while we traveled, all took precedence in the first few days home… as my brain tried to re-boot and get back to speed. Life in Peru was one big sensory high, and my thinking slowed down as I took it all in and savored it.  I don’t do re-entry well.

When we left here four weeks ago now, I was stressed and anxious. Weeks of getting three teens through finals and seeing two of them off, as China and Denmark returned home; having our two college age kids home, and adjusting to their moods and impact on our day to day flow; as well as all the details and effort that went into getting ready for a 3 1/2 week trip away; none of it was easy or relaxing, to say the least. Add a stomach bug onto the first part of our trip and I did not leave for Peru feeling my best. I arrived feeling anxious about the major trekking trip we had scheduled and felt fairly certain that I might fail. I knew that I hadn’t “trained” for it, as Smart Guy had urged for months. Much stronger, in shape friend, had warned me that this was the hardest hike they’d ever done.  I’d heard countless tales of altitude problems and the challenges I would be facing. Here I was starting out down points, as I recovered from the bug.  I can’t lie: I was wary and scared of what I was in for, and had developed a “stop, drop and roll” plan that included backing out if I couldn’t manage after day one.  (I’ll come back to this…)

Our arrival in Lima, after an 8 hour flight from Newark, was surreal. We got in late at night and found our guide, Fabian, in a crowd of Latin faces all holding signs and calling out to people. We didn’t see him right away and we all looked around, exhausted, as we were bombarded by sights, sounds and the smell of the city. It immediately reminded me of India, though not as chaotic. Fabian, our puffy, red-faced, fast-speaking guide grabbed us, just as we were starting to think he wasn’t there, and ushered us to a white van that smelled of syrupy sweet air freshener, the kind that comes from paper pine trees dangling from the rear view mirror, or other such things. The thick smell thinly veiled the cigarettes they were meant to cover.

From the airport we sped through hazy Lima, the famous winter fog (referred to as the garua) settled wrapped around everything. It is rumored that Francisco Pizarro designated Lima as the nation’s capital in February, when the skies were vivid blue and the views of the sea were stunning. Little did he know that when the garua sets in from June-December, the city remains a dismal gray. Buildings downtown are painted bright colors to combat the blahs, but our first views of Lima at night, through the fog, were not endearing. With its crowded streets, endless billboards and colorful graffiti, the city was mysterious and shrouded at best.

Fabian had brought a driver as well, but little was said as we drove to our hotel in Mira Flores, a small district just north along the coast, from downtown Lima. Given our late arrival and the fact that we had an early morning flight to Cuzco, the hotel seemed particularly out of the way, as the driver made one turn after another and then headed along the coast. The kids and I glanced warily at each other from the back seat as downtown got farther and farther away.  I had that uneasy feeling you get when you have no idea where you’re going and it all feels like the wrong way. Ferrel dogs crossed the streets, cars crossed traffic lines with no signals and we drove on and on.

When we finally arrived at our hotel, on what seemed to me a sketchy alley/street, I was sure there’d been some mistake. Why would we be staying so far from the airport, in an area that did not seem particularly good. Fabian did little to allay my worries, as he dropped off our bags curbside and reminded us that that he’d be back to get us at 7 AM, for our 9:45 AM flight to Cuzco. We would soon learn that the tour company was dedicated to having us at airports at least 2, and up to 3 hours before every flight. We spent a lot of time in the Lima airport in two weeks, and a lot of time waiting at airports in general. For a family that often races to catch flights, this was an entirely new experience.

Our first task was to find some food, late at night in a place we knew nothing about. We hit a popular sandwich shop two doors down and Middle Man (a vegetarian) ordered an egg sandwich, while we got chicken. The concept of avoiding lettuce and other high water content fruits/veggies went right out the window, when we found ourselves woefully inept at speaking Spanish, and holding the biggest sandwiches ever (monster frigging sandwiches!), that both had mounds of shredded lettuce and umpteen sauces. As we waited, locals stopped to say hi to us and test their English.  Clearly we stood out. One enthusiastic guy enthusiastically told my kids that the surfing was amazing in Lima, and “the weed, the weed is the best!”  Little Man’s eyes widened as Smart Guy and I tried not to laugh.

View from the plane

The next morning, we flew on to Cuzco to begin to acclimate to the altitude and get ready for our trek to Machu Picchu.  This is when Peru really came to life for me. As we flew into Cuzco we got our first glimpses of the Andes, something to truly take your breath away. Stepping off the plane, the altitude was immediately evident.  Cuzco was the capital of the Incan empire and sits at 11,200 feet, high enough that breathing is a bit tougher from the minute you arrive.  Altitude sickness billboards and warnings abound, but the fact that walking is more of an effort as soon as you arrive, was enough to make it clear that we were no longer where we live: at sea level.  Surprisingly, as the day went on I learned that it did not bother me nearly as much as I’d anticipated. I felt the extra effort, but insisted on taking the stairs each time to our room on the second floor, as Smart Guy yelled “Are you kidding?! You’re going to regret that!” I didn’t.

Sacsayhuaman

Our Cuzco guide, Manuel, urged us to drink our first cups of Coca tea in the hotel lobby, and then we were off to see the Inca ruins of Scsayhuaman (pronounced similar to sexywoman), Quenqo, Puca Pucara and Tambomachay.  The ruins sit high above the city of Cuzo, and as our first Incan ruins, were very impressive to see. When you first approach these massive rock formations it’s impossible not to be humbled and amazed. The people who created these sites, the Incas, only existed as a nation for about 100 years, but accomplished so much and on such an enormous scale. Huge boulders moved and cut into perfect shapes that lock and fit together to form exquisite walls, temples and cities. Many of the stones fit so perfectly, so tightly, that today you can not slide a piece of paper between the seams. Despite the many earthquakes in the region, which have destroyed countless “modern” buildings, the Inca sites still stand: solid and impressive to see, by any standard.

We all moved a little slower through these initial sites, as the altitude impacted our

Cuzco from the ruins above

muscles and lungs. The many steps up from one level to another were challenging and we all found ourselves winded and laboring to breath, even when we walked slowly up only a few levels.  Principessa, Middle Man and Little Man all partook of the 500+ year old slides, that were probably enjoyed by Incan children in the 1500s.  We looked out across Cuzco, from the edge of the site and I wondered what it all had looked like when the Incans had looked out from that very spot. The entire world seemed to be theirs at that time, not understanding that in a very short time the Spaniards would wipe them out completely. In just 40 years, the Spanish completely annihilated the the Inca nation, despite the fact that the Incas often outnumbered the Spanish by enormous numbers. The public murder by strangulation of the great Inca chief Altahualpa was the essential end of Incan supremacy, but 40 years later, their decline was final when the stronghold of Tupac Amaru was discovered, and he too was murdered.

These seams don’t fall or split. Amazing to behold!

As we listened to the stories and history of the Inca, many of which I’d learned in school, and Little Man has studied and memorized, it was chilling and haunting to walk the very grounds where many of these great warriors and their people lived, farmed, worshipped, and worked to build their amazing society. Francisco Pizarro and the Spaniards took more than 8 tons of gold from the Incas in ransoms, literally walls of solid gold and rooms filled with it, in each case murdering the chief when ransoms had been paid.  All of this was done with less than 200 Spanish soldiers to carry out the conquest. It is difficult to imagine how this could possibly occur looking at the fantastic sites, many of which seem so impenetrable and highly defendable, even today. As I walked amongst the ruins, looking out at herds of alpaca and other tourists, it was stunning to imagine the history we walked on.

Alpaca, ruins and Viva!

The hills around Cuzco rise up, with farmland and eucalyptus trees everywhere. Herds of Alpacas are a common site. The ruins often pop up in between small enclaves of poor, modern communities where clean water and electricity are in short supply.  Many of the local people, of Quechuan background, still subsist on trading and farming, making meager incomes and trying to support their families by selling hand-loomed items and local arts to tourists like us. They live around and amongst the ruins that we explored and found so amazing, playing soccer on the very same places where Inca warriors lived and fought. Ferrel dogs are everywhere, though it’s hard at times to tell which are truly ferrel and which are tagging along behind someone going down the street. Collars and the niceties that our dogs enjoy are in short supply in the streets, mountains and jungles of Peru. But the dogs were everywhere.

“New” structures atop Incan

We spent all of our first and second days in Peru touring the ruins and and sites of Cuzco with our guide Manuel, or on our own. He showed us the ruins and tourist stops, while we explored more on our own the next day.  We found our way to a small local restaurant on day two for favorites including Chicharrones (delicious fried pork) and sopa de gallinda (chicken soup), two local favorites, and drank freshly squeezed juices and smoothies most days, that

Narrow alleyways to explore

would rival any shiny place at home. We wandered through the impressive halls of a small local museum, and the beautiful interior of the Cathedral on Plaza de Armas. Narrow alleys abound, with cobbled streets that are precarious at times and countless buildings that sit atop ancient ruins. As you walk around Cuzco you are constantly aware of the history, as Incan ruins mix with Spanish Colonialism and “modern” construction.

My first real Peruvian meal: Chicharonnes

Vendors sell beef hearts on skewars (Peru is not for the weak of heart when it comes to meat!); roasted corn, bigger than any corn we grow here and not genetically modified. The Peruvians grow 35 varieties of corn officially, but locals claim more.  Old women straddle vats of freshly squeezed pineapple, maracuya (similar to Passion fruit, and my favorite) and other juices, and people present their arts on every corner and in between. The city is alive. Cuzco was a constant visual feast, with temptations for your other senses along the way.  And always the dogs. The dogs lay in the streets; they wander the alley ways with you; they are everywhere, and would play a bigger role as our adventure expanded.

At 6 PM on day two, our trekking guide Edgard met with us in the lobby of our hotel.

Cathedral at the Plaza del Armas

He’d come to lay out our trek to Machu Picchu via the Salkantay trail. He had a warm smile and wonderful brown eyes, and was clearly sizing us up from the moment we all sat down.  I was sizing him up as well.  As I mentioned earlier, I had a back up plan, and that plan involved possibly walking back to town on day two. I’d need s support team… IF I was indeed the weak link we all anticipated. In my mind, I had figured that I could surely manage the first day and then, if it was more than I could do, I’d simply hike back down the trail to Cuzco (Stop), stay in a hotel for the final 3 days of the trek (Drop) and then take the train I’d heard about and meet my family at Machu Picchu (Roll). I’d been working out this plan for weeks. The only problem: I had not really looked at a map; I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

When Edgard began to lay out the actual plan, that began with a 3 AM departure by car, then four hours of driving into the wilderness, my plans began to dissolve. As he talked, my head spun and I started to plot that I’d now need to get through day one, go back to the car with one of the crew and drive all the way back to Cuzco. This was going to be much harder than I’d expected, and I didn’t realize (yet) how completely out of touch with reality I was. Edgard seemed to already be realizing that mom might be an issue. Look folks, I put it right out there:  “I am the weak link here Edgard. I am not in shape. I swear too much, and I’m not sure I’m going to make this.”  He looked at me seriously and said “Yes amigos, this will be very, very hard. Perhaps I should tell you some other options.”  He then laid out the possible places during the trip where we could hire a car and bypass some of the arduous trekking. He looked at me as he said all of this.  “These are merely options amigos. You should think about them and let me know. I will need to arrange things if you choose to use these options, but if one of you needs the car, we all take the car. We stay together.”

I could here the air fizz out of my plans right then. What?! We’d all have to weenie out? I’d be hearing about that for the rest of our lives! Remember how mom ruined our whole trekking trip because she was too lazy to get in shape for it in the first place? As the others listened, my head was now cartwheeling, and I gulped my coca tea. By day two I was beginning to crave the coca tea and if there was any chance it would give me strength (as some locals had hinted), I would drink it all day… as I had been doing. “So family, we will all need to get to bed very soon. I will be back here at 3 AM and you will need to be ready;” Edgard looked at me warily as he said goodnight.

The other thing we’d learned as Edgard spoke, was that the “Peru for Jews” portion of our trip (explained in previous post) was pretty much USELESS. Edgard and his crew, he informed us, knew nothing about kosher cooking, Jewish traditions, or anything that remotely resembled the things necessary for Principessa to trek without concerns. At the end of our meeting with him, Smart Guy and Principessa had to head out into the Cuzco evening to secure pots and pans and food that my daughter could eat, for the next four days of what would be “very hard” travel, far from civilization. I’m not sure who was more worried, her or me.

The next post covers our life changing trek through the Andes, on a trail called Saltankay (Savage Mountain).

*    *    *

GIPY

Make me smile; HELP ME REACH MY GOAL:  I’d love to see the Tales From the Motherland Facebook page reach 800 likes in 2015. I’m nearly there! Have you stopped by to spread some fairy dust? Follow me on Twitter; it’s where I’m forced to be brief.  Most importantly, if you like a post I’ve written, hit Like and leave a comment. I love to hear what readers think. Honest, positive or constructive feedback is always welcome. Click Follow; you’ll get each new post delivered by email, with no spam.  If you see ads on this page, please let me know. They shouldn’t be there.  ©2015  Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Posted in Beauty, Blogging, blogs, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Natural beauty, summer vacation, travel, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

After The Bug

Posted on June 27, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Tomorrow we depart for Peru and my stomach is churning. Thankfully, it’s just nerves… now.  The stomach bug that laid me low, low, low last weekend has mostly passed. This does seem to be a dastardly bug that lingers for days. After eating, my stomach still cramps up and feels uneasy, but overall the worst has clearly passed.  Now I’m feeling a mix of excited, anxious, nervous, revved up, and anticipatory. Strangely India did not cause this level of uncertainty, though it’s hard to remember. I keep realizing that I’ll soon be in a place that does not speak English as a main language (as they do in India); where the altitude remains a big scary question mark, and where I’ll be called upon to put forth a physical effort that is well outside my general comfort zone. In case I haven’t been clear: I’m not an athlete. Serious cardio strain is not my thing. Ask me to come root for you while you run a marathon, and I’m your girl. Ask me to run with you and you’re in for a big let down.

So as our family convened in Vermont at my brother and sister-in-law’s super amazing eco home, tucked away on one of the most beautiful parcels of land possible, butterflies of doubt and anticipation kept mixing in with my on-going gut thingy. As one improves, the other intensifies. It may be an indication of age that I find myself more uncertain about adventure than I once was. In theory, the idea of seeing Machu Picchu and the Amazon thrills me to the core.  It’s the idea of getting to both places that triggers self-doubt and nerves. But ready or not, tomorrow depart.

This week was as successful a family get together as one could hope for with our posse. We’re a complex group of personalities and desires, but we never fail to entertain each other. There is a lot of laughing, which often includes the inhalation of liquids (or clams), snorting, fits of giggles that cause others to stare, and a deterioration of all propriety.  We are a goofy lot, or goofy a lot. This week was no exception. With three young teen boys, there was no shortage of Beavus and Butthead humor, and with too many exceptionally smart people (they would say) there was no shortage of debate about anything from global warming, the Paleo diet, sustainable living, Jenga strategy, the Paleo diet, frogs, Mexican train game strategy, biodiversity, the Paleo diet (mostly trying to talk sense into followers: Come to the dark side and eat these maple donuts with us!), potential future family vacation destinations, the weather forecast for Cuzco Peru (Smart Guy needs to proclaim the weather forecast or he isn’t really alive) and an endless list of other diverse subjects. We can argue debate discuss any subject to death and still end up in ridiculous bursts of laughter.

(<–The view of the perfect pond, from a perfect house)     Vermont is an exceptionally beautiful state and our family has been meeting there, in various locations, forever. Now that there’s a really special house to visit, it’s all the more alluring. It’s a state that forbids billboards and prided itself on earthy-granola-environmentalism long before most other states caught on. Sadly it was cold and rainy while we were there, as my brother-in -law wisely chose a property with a pond. He and I never met a pond or lake that we wouldn’t jump into, and

so he made sure there’s always one to jump in.  With the bad weather however, we got to watch the peaceful scene and listen to the abundance of frogs that their pond is home to, instead.  We walked the 100 acres, went for gelato, checked out Dartmouth (last time I was there was in college. I was young and single; this was a different kind of visit), played endless rounds of Jenga /Bananagram/and Mexican train game, sang Benny and the Jets more times than I can count, and ate an awful lot of BBQ while being lectured educated as to why all that meat was much better than carbs (Paleo nut. Nuts are good). No doubt it was all that anti-carb rhetoric that led us right to Captain Jack’s (in Easthampton, MA) on the way back to CT for fried clams. Ok, maybe we would have gotten the clams anyway, but we felt much more entitled to eat all those fried carbs. If truth be told, we ate a lot of french toast carbs as well. <–Smart Guy’s mom was the queen of french toast. Since her death two years ago, his dad has stepped up and taken the crown. Good stuff.  Basically we have activities that kill time between meals.

If you like lush greenness and pastoral splendor, it’s hard not to be happy in Vermont. Black and white cows dot the endless green hills and amazing barns, many of them 200 years and older, are common. Living in WA state, it’s easy to forget that people live in really old houses back East.  At home we think something’s old if it’s from the 1940s, but here 200 years is not at all unusual… especially in places like Hanover (where Dartmouth is) and the surrounding area. My brother/sister-in-laws house had lots of floor space for all the teens, and the rest of us rented an amazing house on a hill looking out over the area.  It was a dream house with cozy spots to curl up and read or daydream and a killer rope swing that we all took turns on, before leaving.  On the way out of town we also got to make a quick stop at Dan & Whit’s. “If (they) don’t have it, you don’t need it.” The place is packed floor to ceiling with anything you could possibly think you need.  It made me dizzy just walking around. And finally, the icing on the carb-free cake was the fireflies. Most of them seem to live in my brother/sister-in-law’s meadow, and when it got dark it was an amazing show. There were hundreds of twinkling lights!  One little guy got caught inside and we all watched him blink on the ceiling, as we oooh’ed and ahhhed.

There are times like this week when I wonder if we should have settled back here, where we are both from and where we always imagined we’d live one day. It’s great to see my kids laughing and fooling around with their cousins. It’s great to see us laughing and fooling around with our siblings and their families. These visits are rare and special; and in the moment it’s easy to imagine leaving the place we love and being closer to all this goodness.  It’s so wonderful to joke with my nieces and nephews (who I adore) and, feel like I’m surrounded by people who have known me since I was a kid… or a kid as young as my kid is now. I met my sister-in-law when she was in high school; now she’s one of my best friends. Her husband is forever my side-kick as we smirk and parry our way through visits. My brother-in-law and I were dear friends through college and now he and his wife have children close in age to our two younger kids, and we’ve shared many years of familial story boarding. Each year, as we all age mellow it gets better and better. It’s good to be where you are known and accepted for the good and the bad.  The fact that these are places that I spent my childhood and youth only adds to the magic.

Still I know that when I land back in Seattle in two weeks, whether I end up trekking all the way to Machu Picchu, or survive the potential anacondas and biting ants of the Amazon, I will be happy to be home. I only wonder about our decision to move so far away, when we are all laughing and having a good time here. The rest of the time I am certain that I am where I should be. As for tomorrow, the butterflies are bound to cause some difficulty sleeping tonight (that, or the fried clams). It’s all very exciting, despite any trepidation I feel. One of my nephews said to us today: “You guys are always going to such exciting places; we only go to moldy houses on the Cape!” (For the record: that’s not true; though they tend toward more traditional destinations).  In the meantime, before we leave there’s a lot of laundry to do, re-organizing of bags, and getting all the dressy stuff from this past week packed and ready to ship home. When we board the plane to Peru tomorrow, we do so without computers and cell phones. There’s bound to be some withdrawal to work through as we test ourselves on the Inca trail. There will be lots of amazing stuff to post when I get back, of that I’m certain. In the meantime I’m trying to get my mojo back and hope that this week of being laid low doesn’t bite me further on the trail. Testing myself will ease the sting of family withdrawal. I’ll be missing all these good laughs and knowing glances, the rib splitting moments that will hopefully sustain me when we land in the land of high mountains and magical jungle.  It’s been a great week, but tomorrow the real adventure begins.

Family reunion/vacations: wonderful or challenging? Do you live close to your family and where you grew up or did you move away? What brings you home? Does your family take adventurous vacations or stick to the comfortable path? Leave a comment.

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Posted in Aging, Awareness, Beautiful places, Blog, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Parenting, Summer, Teens, travel, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

One Woman’s Stomach Flu is Another Man’s Yellow Fever.

Posted on June 25, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

To start, it’s worth noting that I have been considering GI problems since we decided to make a two week trip to Peru. I’ve read up on the water conditions in Peru; we’ve purchased a purification wand; and I’m ready to start brushing my teeth with bottled water, avoid fresh veggies and drink only what I’ve sterilized or purchased come this Thursday, when we arrive in Peru. I’ve been to India twice and Africa once, I’m no stranger to travel issues that involve stomach bugs; so I was already on board with precaution preparations. I was not however prepared to get the mother of all stomach bugs here in New England. Of course with the Norwalk Virus (the likely culprit), I should have considered the ironic fact that we would actually be in Norwalk, CT for a little while.

Shazam! Faster than you could say hand me a bucket, I was doubled over in both directions. Doubled. Over. This bug (a friendly little word for something much worse) was not fooling around. When it hit, it hit with a fury and all of my good intentions and plans to avoid S. American yuckiness congealed (that word brings back horrific memories) morphed into a good and proper N. American sucker punch to the gut. Suffice it to say that N. America gives it’s southern bug brother a serious marathon run for its money. I was pretty sure I might die, and Smart Guy was pretty sure an ambulance should be called.  I refused the trip to a hospital on the mere fact that I would not be seen in that state by anyone… I’d rather die in a lousy Doubletree room. The pain was unreal, the destruction was truly impressive. I cried. I wailed. I apologized out lout, uselessly, to the baby I cuddled and each cousin I hugged. I called out to God and Jesus, totally ironic as this whole thing started at a Bat Mitzvah.

Right, a Bat Mitzvah.  The weekend, in fact, started so nicely. My sister in law and I spent Friday running around shopping for last minute items for the big event and the throng of guests that would be at her house throughout the weekend. We laughed a lot, as we always do, we whined about having so much to do, we did a lot of things… but we did not worry about touching grocery carts or other objects that infected people might be touching. We did not wash our hands as much as we might have had we known what was coming. We were in mission mode and getting things done. We got a good thunder storm in, and a trip to Stew Leonard’s (in Ripleys!). We were busy getting things done. Washing hands was not one of those things.

And so we were happy when everything was falling into place on Saturday. The party went off without a hitch. My sister in law is a detail gal and every detail was perfect. Beautiful balloon arrangements that matched the tables, that matched the kippahs, that matched pretty much everything, perfectly. The venue was in Norwalk, CT right on the water and it was a gorgeous, sunny day. A lot of our family was there and we all sat around eating (and drinking) by the Sound, as the day passed perfectly. Somewhere in the latter part of the day, I started to not feel so great. I figured it was grapefruit cocktails too early in the day and stopped drinking; turned to water only for the rest of the day. I stopped eating chocolate cupcakes and other yummy stuff. I didn’t think I was sick, only that my stomach was off a little from the travel and all the work of the week before. And because I didn’t think I was sick, I held babies, I hugged everyone, I danced close, and kissed people goodbye. This would haunt me in my doubled over state a few hours later.

We continued the day back at the house with more food (namely lasagna, a food I will not eat for a long while) and fireflies; my vacation seemed almost perfect on day two! Thunder and fireflies, two of my favorite things… family and the ocean, perfection. So when my stomach started grumbling, just before we headed to the hotel I couldn’t quite imagine things going bad. Really bad. But bad they were about an two hours later, and bad they stayed for many hours more. Very, very bad. I am sure that I haven’t been that sick in many years and hope to not be that sick ever again. I certainly feel that I’ve paid the stomach Gods and should be spared any discomfort in S. America.

The next morning when I was still barely able to stand, I had to rally enough to check out of the hotel, where I was plastered to the very fluffy pile of pillows on my bed, to attend the post Bat Mitzvah brunch. I was dying to eat bagels and lox right right about then. As we drove over, I got word that my sister in law had spent the night bowing to the same porcelain gods as me, and was out for the count at the house. When we arrived I made a bee line for her room. Misery needs company in such situations. I grabbed a pile of blankets and pillows and settled on the floor (For the record, my SIL offered a space next to her on the bed, but misery doesn’t need that much company). Combined, we’d lost 8 lbs, split pretty much down the middle on the scale. We lay there in our Typhoid Mary den of misery watching Pride and Prejudice, the one with Keira Knightly and oohing and ahhing to all sweepingly romantic scenes, as the party thumped on below us. As I lay there listening to aunts and uncles, nieces, nephews, friends and strangers laugh and the younger kids squeal, strange thoughts passed through my foggy and wearied brain:

None of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills would lie on the floor if they were sick.  Pink Agendist wouldn’t lie on the floor either (unless, maybe there were some kind of Gucci pillows all around him). I bet it was the artichoke and goat cheese balls. I wish I was by the sea. I’m not training for the Inca trail, it’s going to be a bitch. Mr. Darcy does have beautiful eyes. I hate lasagna. Hate. Lasagna. I miss my mom. I miss my mother in law. I wonder if they have capers with the lox…

By late in the day the two of us made our way down stairs, trading floors and beds for the sofa. The guests had gone and the house was quiet. Others had cleaned up and the idea of food was far from the agenda anyway. About that time we settled downstairs, Smart Guy started saying that he didn’t feel so well, he felt hot. “I have myalgias,” he informed my 15 year old nephew. Nephew glanced at me for translation. Aches and pains, reassured him. Despite his hifalutin’ medical jargon, SIL and I felt the right amount of pity for  our potential comrade and said the appropriate compassionate things: “poor guy, how’s your stomach?” We coo’ed and nodded knowingly. We knew the worst was still to come.  Admittedly, I knew what was coming though, as Smart Guy doesn’t do sick well and this was sick. When my brother in law decided to take Middle Man, my nephew and Little Man for clam pizza at Peppes (cruel on so many levels) and a movie and left us all lying prone in front of the TV, I selfishly thought Damn, I can’t clean up after someone right now. Then Smart Guy took a turn for the worse.

He insisted that he felt very hot, but had none of the horrific stomach stuff that we were united by. We were starting to feel a tiny bit less badly for him, if truth be told. But we were on the mend and he was going down, so we got him water, and blankets, and more water, and Tylenol, and just about everything he asked for in his limp, possibly dying voice. When he became convinced that he needed to know his temperature my SIL went to search for a thermometer. For the record, again, SIL and I were moving slowly at best and just eating toast (our first food in more than 24 hrs).  All she could find was a some strange strip that you hold on your forehead and it tell you your temperature in colors. When Smart Guy let me hold it there (he was too weak) it read 104. I wasn’t sure as the mood colors weren’t totally lit up. I asked my SIL to check as well and we both agreed that it was at least in the 102 box and appeared to be in the 104 range.  Oops. Maybe he was in fact sick?  “Shit. That’s not good,” he told us.

Within a few minutes he had his iPhone out and started researching causes. Given his recent Yellow Fever shot, he came to the rapid conclusion that this was a rare but serious reaction to his Yellow Fever vaccination, the week before. “Oh man, this only happens to 1/250,000”  Yes, that’s why it’s especially unlikely, was as snarky as I could be in my weakened condition. SIL gave me her signature eye brow raise, as we silently considered the situation. “I might need to go to the hospital.”  SIL and I looked at each other nervously. Neither of us was driving anywhere, and the guy was wailing in a bathroom, so our compassion was drying up… but, what if this fever meant something. 104 was worth noticing, but his forehead just didn’t feel that warm. You really don’t feel that warm honey. “I’m burning up,” he said listlessly. It should be noted that is general composure wilted noticeably when he heard the number 104. “Check my temperature again.” I put the strip to his forehead again and the 104 box lit up clearly. Um, well, it’s definitely 104 now. SIL looked at it and said, “Yep, it’s all the way over to right in colors.”

Smart Guy wilted further and then glanced at his iPhone again. “Multiple organ failure and then death is possible,” he shared with us. SIL switched to Jon Stewart and I’m sure she was trying to figure out (like I was) whether the rest of the family would hold it against us if we didn’t get him to the hospital in time. We were skeptical, but also aware that 104 in an adult is very serious, and maybe we were being stupid just sitting there. “Jaundice is a clear sign of this, are my eyes yellow?” Smart Guy pulled his lower lids down so that we could check his eye balls and SIL and I dissolved into pee your pants fits of laughter that caused our stomaches to revolt into fresh spasms of pain, making us laugh and cry at the same time. Smart Guy did not find it funny. I can understand that no one wants to die to the sound of laughter, but we could not stop.

As soon as SIL could compose herself she went to look for a real thermometer. I was not racing to the hospital on the word of a glorified mood ring. I have prided myself for years on knowing the temperature of my kids and spouses with the touch of my hand. The fact that a strip of plastic read purple did not seem reasonable. SIL came back with a real thermometer and Smart Guy limply held it under his tongue. A minute later it informed us that his temperature was in fact 101.2.  He didn’t believe it and checked it again, immediately while SIL and I settled back onto the couch, confident that we would not be driving anywhere and our comrade was no longer part of the outbreak. Fever vs chills, sweats and illness that brings significant weight loss is not, I repeat, not equal.  “You know these things (thermometers) can be off by as much as .5 to .7,” he informed us. So, your temperature might be in the 100.5 range as well? He glared at me and sank back on this pillows. Honey, be happy. You’re going to survive Yellow Fever.

This morning I awoke to the sound of violent thunder. The house seemed to shake for nearly an hour. I lay in bed smiling, not ready to get up but so happy to hear the sound. I love thunder. Love it. To lie in bed and listen to it only makes my soul sing. I wanted to sleep longer, but didn’t want to miss the show. Yet, as much as I wanted to go sit on the covered porch and listen and watch more closely, I wasn’t quite ready for that.  Smart Guy woke a little while later and announced, “I think we’re through the worst of it.” Uh, you did’t have the worst of it hon. He ignored me at first and then turned and said, “I’m not going to argue about this.”  I’m not arguing; I’m discussing, I replied, borrowing his favorite line. Look I’ll give you the fever. I’ve had fevers before; it sucks. But, you were hot for a while on a comfy sofa, while your sister and I were pretty damned sick for much of a night. The two don’t equal each other. Smart Guy headed to the shower with a look of disgust, that I probably deserved.

Upstairs we all agreed that we all felt a lot better, not quite well. Jumping in a car and driving 4 hrs to our Vermont reunion was not high on list of things we were dying to do, but we packed none the less. Smart Guy tried cooking a bagel over and over, each time forgetting he’d put it in the toaster and informing us all that he was suffering from “mental lapses” from his fever the day before. Better than the myalgias, we all snickered.

It was slow going, but the two cars got packed and we all headed out. We listened to pod casts, sang along to indie folk music and joked about the visit so far. There are no shortage of stories when this tribe convenes. We stopped in Northampton, MA for lunch. As hard as it would have been to pass on Captain Jack’s Fried Clams, I admit to some  relief that it was closed. As a transplanted New Englander, I never pass on real fried clams, but I’m not sure that it would make the first real meal in two days. We settled for Noodles, one of the many hip places to eat in this super cool Western MA town where Principessa went to college. Driving through town without her, knowing we wouldn’t be here much anymore, was bitter sweet. As we all ate lunch the thunder returned. So far, all things considered, it’s still been a pretty good adventure so far. We survived Yellow Fever, Norwalk, and there were some fireflies and thunder for bonus points.  On to Vermont and in three days we land in Peru. What a strange strange trip it’s been… So far.

Do you think men handle illness better or worse then women? Do your summer adventures include travel or nesting at home? Jump in and share your thoughts.

**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 blogs, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, My world, Summer, summer vacation, travel, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Circumcision, Bin Ladin and the Olympics. This Is How The Adventure Begins…

Posted on June 24, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Yes, you read that right and with our family it should be no surprise. Our big trip to New England and then S. America began with a very animated drive to the airport.  We have headed out for a three week trip to attend my niece’s Bat Mitzvah, a family reunion of sorts in Vermont and Connecticut and then our family’s two+ week trip to Peru. To avoid weeks of parking and travel headaches, we hired a driver to pick us up and take us to the Seattle airport about two hours away, with morning traffic. We used this same driver a few years ago when we went on a very long summer trip too, and all remembered him being a super great guy. He still is.

Fuaz (name change) arrived early for our 7 AM departure and waited patientyl as we all ran around doing the flurry of last minute things that happen when you’re taking off for a long trip. I found myself adding more notes to the already too many notes I left for the house/dog sitter. He’s extremely capable and knows our dogs and house, so the notes were probably unnecessary all together. A lot of the running around before big trips and once I’m on that plane, it all fades away. No doubt much of the worrying is for nothing. I was proud that I was able to get three weeks of clothing, including trekking, formal events, hot and cold weather, and 4 pairs of shoes all in one carry on. Bonus points please. After all the chaos of the past few weeks (see Sh^t), it was such a relief to have Fuaz calmly take the bags and herd us into the giant Escalade, knowing that there was nothing else to get done… we were on the road.

And then the fun began for real. Our family isn’t the family who chats about the Mariners or school getting out, the conversation started almost immediately with circumcision.  A  typical discussion right? Middle Man noted that circumcision is now outlawed in Finland, and a serious debate ensued regarding the religious right to circumcise a baby vs the individual rights of a child to decide whether to be mutilated in this way. Middle Man gave solid arguments for why it should be a personal choice (when said child is old enough to do it) and Principessa feels strongly that it’s a religious tradition for Jews and Muslims that is absolutely sacred and holy, and should be upheld. The discussion remained passionate, though respectful… surprisingly. I added that when I first had my sons this was a real stumbling block for me, knowing that it was unpleasant and that (at the time) a lot of pediatricians were against the custom. Middle Man argued that “if a religious group wanted to cut off the pinky toe of babies for religious reasons (the pink toe being unnecessary also) would that be ok,” and Principessa eventually agreed that if it were religious reasons it should be accepted.  Throughout, our driver Fuaz watched from the rear view mirror. After about twenty minutes, when Middle Man said “I can’t believe you’d be ok with cutting the pinky toes off 0f babies!” Fuaz glanced back at us and I exclaimed Gee, I’m so excited that we get three weeks together to explore all of this, a broad smile finally spread across his face as he looked at me in the mirror.

I bet you don’t get this kind of conversation very often, I asked him. He smiled again. “No, this is very unusual, but I am really enjoying it.”  Oh yeah, we’re a barrel of fun, I responded sarcastically. “No truly. I drive a lot of families back and forth and most often when I get a family in my car, they get in excited for their trip and within a few minutes they are fighting. First one argument and then another and another. Give us another minute, I countered. “You all have had a very good discussion while remaining respectful and intellectual, no insults despite the fact that you feel strongly about the subject. I am enjoying this. Most families I drive would be fighting. If it were my daughter, we would be arguing by now!”  I remembered that when we last drove with him he’d had a young daughter and I asked how old she is now. “She is 13.” Oh, well… it’s hard to discuss anything with a 13 year old girl and not have an argument. Fuaz laughed at this and agreed that raising a girl is trying at times.

He then discussed his family a bit more, and shared that he’d been back home in Pakistan this past year. He spoke fondly of his former home and the people he loves who still live there, how beautiful much of his country is, but how difficult it has become since the war. “No one trusts anyone anymore, where once everyone knew each other and you could count on everyone to help you and be friendly.” He continued to explain that while it’s still a beautiful place, the war in surrounding areas has impacted everything, and this is sad to see. And then he shared the most amazing detail of his trip. While visiting in spring 2011 they were awakened in the middle of the night to the sound of helicopters and gun fire. As they all came out of their homes, word spread that Osama Bin Ladin had been killed. He lived two blocks from Fuaz’s home. “Seriously?” We all exclaimed. “Yes, it was really incredible, we had no idea” he continued. You had no idea that Osama Bin Ladin was living two blocks from you? “No, we had not returned to our family home in ten years…it was all very amazing.”

To hear him discuss the events of May 2nd, when Bin Ladin was killed by U.S. Navy Seals, as a local event was stunning. The drama of the day and the international impact was enormous in such a small Pakistani area. Some of the locasl knew that Bin Ladin was there, but many did not. The military might that swooped in to complete the mission were a huge thing by local accounts. Fuaz, who has lived in the states for many years, talked of it as nothing short of incredible, to wake to the swarm of military and then news agencies. Wearing a UW (Univ. of WA) hat, he was picked from the crowd to give a comment on the news and his family back in the states saw him as it was all going down. His wife, wisely, suggested he remove his hat.

Against all this animated discussion, the Olympics and the Cascades surrounded us. The sun was shining and the mountains, the fields of Skagit County, and the waterways on route to Seattle, and at the end: Mt. Ranier, reminded us all that we are leaving a very special place for a different kind of adventure. I am always sad to leave what I have, and grateful to return, no matter how wonderful the destination. We are blessssed. As conversations about religious traditions and Osama Bin Ladin filled the time, I watched the beauty along the way, a superstitious sign (as this adventure begins) that we will have an amazing time.

Do you have big plans for the summer? Family reunions or travel? Share your adventure. Is your family colorful as well? Jump in and share your thoughts.  **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 Beautiful places, Beauty, Blog, Blogging, Car trips, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Musings, Teens, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Sh^t!

Posted on June 18, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

It’s hard to think straight right now. What I want to write and what comes out are two different things, as my brain whirrs indiscriminately. One minute I’m focused and on task, the next I can’t think of what to do next. Fried; my wiring is fried. Too much stimulation, too much to think about. To much to do! It’s been like this for weeks and now I just can’t move out of the rut I have slipped into over the past couple of days. Somehow, seeing China and Denmark get on that plane and leave just fried the wiring. So much anticipation leading up to it, and a big crash when it happened. Sh^t!

However, this is hardly the time to crash. We leave for a three week trip in barely three days. I need to pack for severak different experiences: visit with family back East, including a dressy affair; trekking in the Andes to Machu Pichu (rugged, limited items); and then on to the Amazon. In between the two, we’ll be at nicer hotels in Lima and Cusco, so there’s another environment to prepare for: city site seeing. The clothes for the first part will not work in S. America, so we’ll ship those home, but I’m stumped over how to pack sparingly for two weeks with such diverse destinations. My piles grow, then shrink as I think I want this t-shirt and then throw back that pair of shorts. How much is too much? There won’t be many opportunities to do laundry, so we need to really think this through. Smart Guy keeps reminding me: “We can wash it in the sink.” And that, just pushes my wiring past the brink. Sh^t!

<– Drowning in a sea of pink slips and lists!

Trying to get all of the must do’s organized before we leave: must write notes for the dog/house sitter; must make sure all of Little Man’s assignments are in and he’s cleared at school; must figure out alternate foods for the trip, in case we can’t find what we need on a given day; must mail gifts to China and Denmark; must mail baby gifts to three new parents (and not include a snarky note about the messes their wee ones will make in a few years); need to figure out the clothing for the various legs; need to make sure all loose ends are tied up at home, before we leave; need to make appointments to dentist, physicals, stuff that gets done in the summer; need to charter a sailboat to spread Mom’s ashes; say goodbye to a friend that’s moving before we return; make plans for the summer after we get back, so everyone isn’t sitting here playing video games the rest of summer; figure out what to do about the book when I get back, so I can jump right in; check off as many of these pink slips as possible, even as they seemingly multiply by the hour; stay calm as kids settle back in and personalities clash (much easier said than done!); thisisonemotherofarunon sentenceandprettymuchhowmygbrainlooksrightnowfromtheinside!Scrambled,frazzled, fried.Sh^t!

I’m struggling to maintain clarity as my kids come home and assert their independence and as I try to maintain a fraction of the routine that I depend on and have carved out in their absence. Daily arguments seem to come down to control and each of us asserting our own needs, and I don’t do well with it. The problem with raising kids who think for themselves is that they think for themselves; and then they feel inclined to debate every single issue that they have a different idea about. Please don’t leave your shoes there. “Why does it matter?” I prefer they’re not in the living room. “Why are shoes in the living room a problem?” The debates are endless. And I find myself wondering what ever happened to “Because I said so?” Suddenly it doesn’t seem so irrational. I’ll give my mother that point, finally. The earth seems to be shifting beneath my feet as two kids left and two returned. The differences are enormous. My desire to connect and forge new relationships, adult relationships is thwarted by my equally strong need to not surrender my own needs to theirs. They don’t really live here anymore; it’s my house. Selfish? Sh^t!

I NEED the house to be neater than it’s been for the last week. I need the solitude I have when kids are at school and I can spend my day how I want. I like things where I keep them and not pulled out, left out, messed up, left for me to look at and try to ignore. The return of melted cheese on my sink each day is enough to push me over. Yellowstone calls. Instead, we’re boarding a plane in 2.5 days and spending three full weeks together. I’m excited and terrified all at once. I’m not that mom who is just overjoyed to have us all together again and off on an adventure. I’m trying to quiet that part of me and surrender to the experience; let it unfold and not expect anything in particular. I’m trying to stop using the nifty pulse-ox reader we bought for the trip (to monitor my asthma at altitude), because my heart rate is too hight, each time I check it… checking it is not helping. Sh^t!                         (96 is too low, 88 is too high–>)

When I go to climb the stairs, where I’m training for Machu Pichu (I don’t train for things, this is outside my norm too!) I try to quiet my head as I make my way up each of the 98 steps up, and the 98 down, I try to let this all go and surrender. I try to just listen to my gasping breathing and the birds in the woods around me. I try to envision the mountains on the trail to Machu Pichu, the guides and the horses, the amazing things we’ll see… I try to calm my mind and let some of this other stuff go. Yet when I walk back in the house and laundry is sitting on the floor, papers piled, cheese or eggs in the sink, the dogs imploring me to take them out to play, I lose some of my resolve and begin to doubt my ability to do all of this as well as I want to. I consistently fall short of my own expectations… Even my expectation that I could just let it go and ignore things. Sh^t!

So, I’m going to try and just accept that I may feel this way until I’m totally out of this environment. I’m going to try and not fall into old habits and let things go when their said to me and I feel my feelings get bruised. We’re entitled to your labor, but not the fruits of your labor. Doesn’t matter how much I wish things to improve and all of us to work better with each other, we still slip on old patterns and I’ve got to learn to breath through it and not stumble. I need to sleep… for long hours, uninterrupted by deadlines and lists. I will start by taking some deep breaths and try not to say sh^t for a few days. That’s a place to start.

Do you struggle with the transition from school year to summer? Are you overwhelmed by the end of the school year and things in front of you, or are you excited for summer and easing into it?  **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 Awareness, Beautiful places, Blog, Blogging, Daily Observations, Honest observations on many things, Life, Musings, My world, Parenting, Summer, Teens, travel, Women's issues, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 14 Comments

Lessons in Loss and How The U.N. Really Did Dissolve… Into Puddles.

Posted on June 16, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note to new readers:  Our family took in two foreign exchange students last August for the entire school year. Denmark is a 17 yr old girl. China is a 16 yr old boy. The U.S. is our 15 yr old son (Little Man). Israel, when home, is our 22 yr old daughter (Principessa), and Canada our 19 yr old son (Middle Man). I am The Secretary General. Smart Guy is Dad. Together, we are the U.N.: a home where laughs come daily, chaos reigns and borders fall easily, as we live like a real family.  Know that no foreigners were hurt in the making of this blog post or in the incidents cited. All parties were aware that their comments were being noted, and pictures were used with permission, and assistance in editing for privacy. That said…

Today as I was driving over to work out: training for Machu Pichu, six flights of stairs up and six down, 6 times= 36 flights up and 36 down, mwhahaha (aching calves to show for it) and as I drove The A-Team came on the radio. Denmark and I both love that song and sing it all the time. It’s not a happy song anyway, but today it really got the best of me. I had been thinking about Denmark’s impending departure and all that has happened in the 10 months since she and China came into our family. Obviously, huge amidst those thoughts was my mother. One year ago she was plodding along, and we all thought she’d be around for at least a year or two… she seemed so determined to not go down with the sinking ship she was on. Huntington’s had taken so much from her, but not her willfullness. However, just a month after China and Denmark arrived, she fell, broke her elbow and then died two months later. Those two months in the hospital and then hospice were exhausting. My head was constantly torn between the kids who were settling in at home, and my mom’s rapid decline and death. It was surreal; stunning, frankly. While I knew she was deteriorating, that was not what I had envisioned, not what I was prepared for. Only recently have I realized what a fog I’ve been in for much of time since her death, most of the time that the kids have been with us. So, the song came on and I began to cry… and then cry harder.  (Mom, when she still had a Monopoly on fun, with Middle Man and Principessa, 1998)

As I’ve mentioned previously, my life has been forged and founded on loss in many ways. My father’s sudden death when I was a child was a shocking introduction to the world of loss. My childhood prior to that had seemed mostly charmed, and suddenly everything seemed veiled in instability.  There were several untimely deaths in only a few years and by the time I was a young mother, it wasn’t all together surprising to have Huntington’s Disease ram down our door. Since that morning when my mother called me to say that she too was positive and symptomatic, (my grandmother, who I was very close to- a second parent- had recently died of it), my world has been lived in the shadow of that on-going specter. I now live with the knowledge that my sister has it, my brother is likely positive and that each of my nieces and nephews may have it. I do not; and for that I am grateful… but it is a truly bitter sweet gratitude. In the past five years there have been four deaths, all with enormous impacts. Two, my aunt and my cousin, were in their 40s.  (I would not have guessed that four months after this photo, mom would drop to 80 lbs and die)

So, I am not that person who is shocked when someone dies young. I grieve, but I am not looking for “reason” anymore. Loss is part of the fabric of my life and while I don’t lay awake worrying about that, it finds me in my dreams and is there to remind me that nothing is certain, and nothing is necessarily lasting.  That said, and I’m certainly aware that it is not the cheeriest start to a weekend, this life of losses has taught me many valuable things as well: most importantly, to truly value what I have when I have it. There is little I take for granted, and if  that was learned through the losses that came before, then for that I’m grateful. I take little for granted.

<–The first weekend China and Denmark were here. China smiled little, and Greece was with us often.

When China and Denmark arrived last summer, with a bunch of fresh summer produce from the Farmer’s Market, I wasn’t thinking about what it would feel like to see them leave. We weren’t even sure we’d keep them. I certainly didn’t imagine I would love them so much and that it would hurt to see them go. Our last night together we all went out for dinner- Principessa and Middle Man were both away and it was the nuclear 5 that we’ve been all year- It was a highly emotional dinner. The sun was shining and the San Juan Islands, the sail boats and water around us shimmered, the harbor a million diamonds. Anyone who lives here knows that perfect end of a San Juan day. We all laughed and shared stories of their time here. How China had greeted me at the airport calling me “Mum” and while that seemed so strange at first, Smart Guy/Dad and I came to love it.  China’s early problems with “Mum’s cooking,” all so different than the insanely spicy food he has grown up with. He said “noodles” and I said “pasta,” and there was little similarity between the two. We laughed at Denmark’s adjustment to two brothers, having grown up with only a sister. Beavis and Butthead drove her mad and made her laugh every day!  We relived the wonderful times we’ve shared and the difficult times they saw me through, when my Mom was sick and died and the homesickness and adjustments we saw them through.  Such strong, wonderful kids to have supported me through such a difficult loss… even as they were only adjusting to living here themselves.

For the past ten months we have been a family and I was given an opportunity to pull some magic out of a questionable hat. All of last year I was working on pulling myself out of a quagmire of self-doubt and dark times. I was questioning my ability to move forward and do something worthwhile, that excites me and fills me. I was feeling like a difficult friend, a questionable person in general, and mother, who can’t seem to be the person that I want to be for my kids. Honestly, it has occurred to me many times that I’m better suited to being an aunt than a mom. I love my children more than anything els I can think of; and I say that without a second’s hesitation. But, I’m not the greatest mom material. High strung, filterless, insecure and unpredictable, and I have little in the way of early role modeling for this marathon… My mother’s example was dubious at best, though I always knew I was loved fiercely. My kids know that too, but I would have liked to have done better in this role. I was in the middle of purging many of these demons, when these two kids landed in my nest. It was a fragile place at best, for them to land.

That said, there was no better place at the time and it gave me an unanticipated chance to turn things around and work on demonstrating the changes I was working on in myself. We were all very fortunate. The two kids who ended up with us were both great kids who were grateful for a place to stay, that wasn’t the lousy situations they were heading into when they left their home countries. We were flying blind and just grateful that once we’d  said yes to both Denmark and China, it went as well as it did. And it went very well for most of the ten months. There were some rough patches, no doubt, as I’ve noted in previous U.N. updates, but overall we all hit the lottery when it comes to good experiences and wonderful outcomes. Asked individually, I am certain that each of us would say that we see ourselves as family. We love each other. We are so happy that we ended up together and that we all grew and came out better people at this end of the journey.

And so, the end of the journey was bound to be rough. Saying goodbye is a just another loss. We all hold onto the hope that we’ll see each other again, and in this case the chances are fairly good, but we will no longer wake up to each other, joke around the dinner table, or share the amazing times we’ve shared for this year. We won’t get to tell each other about our days and or giggle over Chinese idiosyncrasies, and Danish accents. There will be no one to enthusiastically exclaim “Oh, Rice!” each time I make it (which will be less often now). I’ll miss the wonderful bond that Denmark and I shared, facing three obnoxious males each day. The potty humor and silliness, that we could mutually roll our eyes at is now on me alone, though the humor will be dimished. Our family, the family I made, is a more serious lot. We could learn a thing or two from the U.N.

<– View at airport first departure

Departure round one:  So, as things go in the U.N. the departures were not easy. That was almost predictable. We can barely cross from Canada to the States smoothly, so International flights were bound to be a drama. Denmark was the first scheduled departure. Friday we spent the morning getting her things ready, staying calm and avoiding eye contact. It seemed like a perfect day… too perfect. The sun was shining; Mt. Baker was out and we were happy to have the morning together. We went out for sushi because she loves it and sang along to songs in the car because there were no boys to complain. I drove her over to the high school so that Beavis and Butthead U.S. and China could say goodbye where they had asked to meet us at the office, for one last hug. When we arrived, they came bursting out of the office, each wearing the Danish soccer shirts Denmark had given them and carrying the Danish flag. They emotionally stoically wrapped her in the flag and  showered her with hugs. China was a mush ball. Despite appearances, China is not as tough as it would have us believe. We got to the airport, my favorite airport employee waved her baggage fees and we said our goodbyes at security.  It was really hard. Yet… Somehow it didn’t feel like a goodbye. It wasn’t.

   

I pulled over just outside the airport and sat in my car, feeling like something was amiss and the phone rang almost immediately. Denmark’s flight from here to Seattle was delayed by an hour. No worries I said. Just sit tight and I’m sure it’ll work out. In reality, I felt pretty uneasy about the entire thing. Sure enough over the next hour the delays mounted and in no time we were made aware that she could not make her flight from Seattle to Amsterdam. Delta was willing to put her at a hotel near the airport and get her out today. No. Not having my 17 yr old daughter alone at a hotel outside the airport. So, Denmark came home again.  Oh the fun with had with this turn of events!  China, can you get the groceries from the car? I could see the “why me?” cross his face as I didn’t ask two other kids in the kitchen (who both knew Denmark was in the car). We videotaped China’s reaction and laughed for the rest of the night.

Departure round two: I had told everyone that we must leave our house no later than 3:35 this morning. I got to bed at 11:45 and set my alarm for 3:20. At 3:42 China banged on our door and woke me straight into a panic. Smart Guy had been called to an emergency and had not heard my alarm, I’d slept through it. I threw on clothes, raced up in an instant sweat and yelling: “Get your things in the car!”  They were both sitting at the counter, wondering why I was late, China’s bags still not loaded… Oops. Luckily, the drive to our airport is a good ten minutes faster with no other cars on the road and all green lights. We were there in barely 15 minutes. I dumped all their stuff at the curb and urged China to get in line right away; we were all concerned about getting him booked through to his city in China. Denmark’s reservation already noted all the issues we’d remedied the day before (extra bags, extra weight- we tossed the 5 lbs of peanut butter). I went to park the car. Just as I was pulling into the lot, my cell phone rang.  “I left my wallet in the kitchen!” Denmark told me anxiously. Seriously? Seriously! Today! She had to fall apart today? Ten months of being the one always on her game; ten months of making the boys look bad and today she blows it! 

I pulled up, ran in and helped them get in the line. I gave China a big hug and kiss, just in case they made him go through security before I could get back, and I burst into tears all over again. Back on the highway, back through the empty streets, back through the green lights. Smart Guy met me near the highway looking pretty ragged, having been up much of the night, working, himself. We exchanged some rolled eyes and the wallet and I was on my way back to the airport for the third time in twelve hours.

Both kids were sitting by security, the other travelers already at the gate. China got a good laugh at the idea that Denmark had messed up on their last day, not him. “I am the favorite child now!” He beamed.  And then, the tears really came for all of us as I held each one and wished them safe travels. I was relieved to see them leaving together, but seeing them both leave was so much more final. I stood by the security desk as they made it through x-ray and the rest of security. Exhaustion washed over me and the poor kid at TSA tried not to watch me blubber. China and Denmark both paused and sent air kisses; we all called I love you, and they went through the gate.

I drove home as the sun was coming up. There was a light rain, more of what we should have expected than the bright sunshine when Denmark set out on her first departure. At home I went out on the deck and waited. After they’d gone through security, Denmark had called and I’d told them that when they flew over the house I’d be standing on the deck watching. I was. I realized how seldom I am up at that hour, as I listened to the birds singing, the train slowly passing, the rain hitting the deck. I stood there taking it in until the buzz of the plane drew closer. The cloud cover was too low and I couldn’t see the plane, but I could feel my kids watching out the window. So I sent one last air kiss and waited until the sound of the plane faded.

After note, or Departure 3: As I finish this, Denmark has not had it so easy.  Her flight from Seattle to France has been delayed by at least an hour and there is a big question as to whether she’ll make her connection from Paris to Copenhagen. It’s stressful and there have been lots of phone calls from her to me and from me to her parents in Denmark. I’ve spoken to Delta (second mechanical delay in 12 hrs, not a good record!) and they assure me she’ll get home today/tomorrow (it’s +9 hrs there), but we don’t trust them until she’s home eating leverpostaj.  China is in L.A. his flight to China boarding. He’s called several times and texted me as many. His last call, I could hear the flight crew calling people in Chinese. He’s excited and sad, missing us already and us him. Such a brave boy to travel so far and land with us.

I keep waiting for the two of them to come upstairs, waking up late as these three teens often did on a Saturday. I’ll be looking for them and missing them for a while, but this loss is temporary. We are a family now, and we will find each other… here or there, sometime in the future. For today, I am not taking any of it for granted. The tears represent hugs, endless laughter, learning about each others’ cultures, angry words and sincere apologies, moments when I wanted to pull my hair out and moments when I beamed with pride.

Most often loss reminds us that we have loved, and been loved. Losses that are permanent force us to look at each moment that is special and not take it for granted. We will not always have those moments with those we love. They pass. Other losses are a reminder to work harder to hold on to the bonds we forge. These kids are part of my life now, part of my family. The year we shared represents different things to each of us, but love is the thing we all share and that makes this loss bearable. These tears remind me that I love big, and that is a rich thing. They remind me to continue working on change, and to embrace the things I don’t want to change. The tears remind me that we will find each other… and we will all laugh again.

**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. If you like Tales From the Motherland, go to the Facebook page and give some love, by hitting like. And if you’re really a fan, consider subscribing. It’s easy and painless. Your information is private, even from me. 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, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, High School, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Music, Musings, My world, Parenting, Personal change, Teens, traveling alone, Women's issues, Wonderful Things | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

The Middle… Dissolving the U.N. and Other Updates.

Posted on June 13, 2012 by Dawn Quyle Landau

Note to new readers:  Our family took in two foreign exchange students last August for the entire school year. Denmark is a 17 yr old girl. China is a 16 yr old boy. The U.S. is our 15 yr old son (Little Man). Israel, when home, is our 22 yr old daughter (Principessa), and Canada our 19 yr old son (Middle Man). I am The Secretary General. Smart Guy is Dad. Together, we are the U.N.: a home where laughs come daily, chaos reigns and borders fall easily, as we live like a real family.  Know that no foreigners were hurt in the making of this blog post or in the incidents cited. All parties were aware that their comments were being noted, and pictures were used with permission, and assistance in editing for privacy. That said…

As much as I’d like to put my head in the sand and pretend that Friday isn’t two days away, I can’t.  In barely 48 hours Denmark will be on her way back to… well Denmark. Twelve hours after that goodbye, at 3:45 AM on Saturday, China will be departing for China. Try as I might to imagine that we will still carry on, it has become pretty obvious that the U.N. cannot handle two resignations and function with same frivolity and nutty humor. True, both Canada and Israel are here for the summer session, but it seems likely that they will go back to being Principessa and Middle Man, and I will be stepping down from my post as Secretary General. As much fun as we’ve had, new delegates are not currently up for consideration.  And so, the packing, planning, and goodbyes have begun.

(Danish gift)

Denmark has resolved all issues regarding items no longer wanted and put together a large pile of donations, even as more things are acquired. Top of that list is the shiny new year book that China, Denmark and the U.S. are all carrying around these days. Signatures must be gotten, friendships immortalized, and tears shed. If tears were Euros, Greece would be financially solid. Denmark is a goldmine in that department. Water-proof mascara would have been a good investment, but alas. As Secretary General, I’ve tried to remain balanced and neutral, but who’s kidding anyone? Not me. I can barely look either country in the eye without watering up. When Denmark presented us all with incredibly thoughtful gifts (all sent from Denmark, planned and ordered ages ago), and then the most amazing thank you/goodbye letter, that was just one giant cue to lose it. Lose. It. And lose it, I did.

Tuesday night, China hosted a farewell party, and in keeping with U.N. protocol of incorporating as many nations as possible, festivities were at a local Thai restaurant. Denmark and the U.S. both attended. All are on good terms with each other as negotiations come to a close.  While the past month has been a wee bit rocky, with nations venting against nations, Secretary General having to assert a bit more pressure on all sides, and hostilities sometimes flaring, things are winding down and all concerned know that closure of all national activities is very near.  China posted a heart felt thank you to Secretary General in the comments section of the last post: A Bunch of Kids Made Me Cry.  In keeping with that post, Secretary General began to cry all over again, and China asked for a hug. Of note, this is a very different China than the one who initially sat at the table and rarely smiled.

Last weekend, Secretary General and Smart Guy co-hosted with another family a farewell party for both China and Denmark, and another exchange student from China. This was an opportunity to say thank you to several families who have been important parts of this ten month effort. Families who welcomed the entire U.N. to their homes, helped Denmark or either China when they needed extra support, attended holiday dinners and ski vacations, or provided familiar, smiling faces all year. I cooked several pigs’ worth of ribs, made loads of sangria, and my wonderful co-host made several amazing side dishes and an incredible dessert.  We got the fire going later on, and China and Denmark got to try S’mores and roasted marshmallows… something neither China had ever done. It does indeed take a village and I for one could not have done this entire enterprise without the love, support and good humor of many friends, who have stepped forward and helped us keep the U.N. afloat. Merci! Tak! Thanks! 謝謝 !

Four days after we see our National Assembly off, and dissolve back into the chaos that is our nuclear family (Hello? Nuclear is just about right), we depart for three weeks away. One week with family on the East coast and then two weeks in Peru. We’ll be spending three full days hiking the Incan Trail, and if we survive that, travel on to the Amazon. Personally, I believe there are reasons you don’t hike for 3 days in the Andes. Rumor has it that it’s grueling, 19,000 feet worth of altitude issues and spicy food that may make weight loss the big bonus of this trip. The Incas are extinct… Need I say more? All will be fine in the Amazon as long as snakes keep a wide birth and nothing bites me. If I sound whiny, it’s because I’m tired and whiny.  To manage our dietary issues (gluten free, kosher, fussy) we have hired a tour company that has a division called Peru for Jews (I kid you not), who will assure that Principessa has all kosher meals throughout our trip, and a place to stay on Shabbat.  Personally, I just want a sturdy horse to carry me. This will be a trip of a lifetime and I know it. However, given the general level of argumentative snarkiness that our family is prone to, there may be some sacrifices made at Machu Pichu. Or, I may end up on a locked ward come mid-July. Either of those things should guarantee me a Freshly Pressed. I know they love photos and travel stuff, but who can compete with human sacrifice and break downs? Anything for the writing…

Of note: I am probably not going to bring my lap top to S. America, and thus will not post for at least two weeks, possibly the full three weeks of vacation. In general, when I travel abroad I try to unplug. That said, this blog has become my outlet on so many levels… it would be admittedly tough to go cold turkey. Final vote is not cast yet. For now, I am typing away and making dozens of lists on the handy pink scrap paper that my aunt gave me. Pink slips are everywhere these days, and without them my life would undoubtedly crumble. Or, maybe the pink slips are the source of all anxiety?

A major writing update: As of last week my manuscript is in the very competent hands of an Editor in Chicago. I have a lot of faith in her work and think it will be great working with her. If nothing else, I’ll come home to some solid feedback regarding content and all things grammar.  Though I’ve had my writing group and one other Editor read the book, it’s a scary thing to send your baby out into the world and this was a big step for me. From there, it will be published in collaboration with a talented magazine publisher in CA who I know, and who wants to work with it. He has read the blog for a while and contacted me. I sent the manuscript to him, and he feels confident that it could do well published. So, while I struggled with the idea of self-publishing and what was the right route for this story, I’m jumping in and hope to see it in print by early fall. There I said it. It’s a whole other thing to know that people will actually read it, but it’s all very exciting as well. Thanks to many of you who provided advice, clarity and hand holding as I worked through this decision.

(Image from the internet)

For now, I feel distinctly like I’m on a roller coaster (I can barely watch this!)… Those crazy moments when the cart is clicking slowly up the track and you realize you don’t really like roller coasters. But, it’s too late. The big drop is inevitable and I just hope it’s fun and I end up wanting more. I’m trying very hard to keep my eyes open, despite the tears, and my head clear to take on a few more adventure.  Given my crazy departure last summer, anything is possible! One thing’s for sure:  it will not be boring.

Posted in Awareness, Blog, Daily Observations, Foreign exchange students, Freshly Pressed, getting published, High School, Honest observations on many things, Humor, Life, Mothers, Musings, Parenting, Personal change, summer vacation, Teens, The U.N., travel, Women | 18 Comments