Plotting Against the Meek

We Are Innocent! Baa-aaa!

"But I was like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter; And I did not know that they had devised plots against me." Jeremiah 11:19

This has been quite the week! Due to tribal politics, elections, and the fact that everyone running for office on the reservation are related to each other (not quite Deliverance-style, but purt'neer close), on Wednesday my fellow colleagues and I were told not to come back to work. The faithful soldier that I am, I did go back into work the following day to find that I still had my job, but everything feels tenuous at best. I am sure everyone in the United States feels the same way right now.

Seeing as how everything is a little shaky, I took a job on Saturday to do a lot painting and maybe a little leaf-raking in town, only to have the ol' bait-and-switch pulled, and I ended up doing a little painting and 8 hard hours of leaf-raking. I am pretty sure I could hear the clanging sound of men hitting rocks with pick axes and singing gospel somewheres nearby. This came after a full day of rock climbing the day before; my body gratefully gave in to Daylight Savings this morning as well as a midafternoon nap. The leaping sheep in my dreams quickly gave way to the leaping sheep next to my bunkhouse.

Yes, today was sheep culling day. Deciding the fates of 60-some-odd, innocent, cute, fluffy sheep (okay, they are also really stinky, dirty, way too strong, and wily!). Which ones are staying, which ones are going to be...

mutton chops.

Mutton chops for breakfast, lunch, and dinner given how many sheep we culled.

Speaking of wolves and lambs... Apparently, we are quite the exciting bunch! Margery's family has ulterior motives in running the ranch (from thousands of miles away), and as of this week they have hired a spy (ex-cop who is now a "private investigator") to come by a couple times a week, sit in his truck, and watch us. We are all plotting ways to have fun with him, so if anyone has any good ideas for messing with spies, let us know. Things that don't necessarily involve racecars, helicopters, and women in bikinis. Okay. Maybe we could handle the women in bikinis part. They could serve me drinks while I could start on my upcoming, award-winning novel.

Howdy Ma'am

Lander, Wyoming

After a quick trip home, and a freaky, icy trip back to Wyoming, I am now finally settling in at the Circle Pine ranch here in Lander, just in time to catch the tail end of the first snow storm of the season!

With copious amounts of sunshine this week, the snow quickly turned our dirt road into a big mudfest! My city slicker tires slid all over the place, making it a much scarier endeavor than during snow or ice. I broke in my car and mud-driving skills on the first day by driving the left side of my car into a deceptive snow-covered, muddy trench!! Fortunately it was on our dirt road, not too far from home, so a quick call and a few minutes later, Chris pulled me out with his backhoe!! Yeah, backhoe!! I highly recommend living with someone who owns a backhoe. My car is now outfitted with burly snow (mud) tires, so now it actually comes to a stop when that 100 head of elk crosses the road inches away from my car during the dark of night.

Ahhh, Wyoming. I love that I can pretty much go anywhere in this town and say, "Put it on my account," or rather, "Put it on the ranch account, Gary!" Or if you don't know what part or item you need from a store, they will just send you home with a few different options and you just bring back the ones you don't use, no questions asked, no collateral asked for, nothing. Everyone seems to have everyone's phone numbers memorized as only the last four numbers are different. Everyone knows what everyone owns, so you just ask for a part for "the tank" and you get the right part! The UPS man will wait at your house while you repackage something in front of him.

Quirkiness is everywhere. Today one of the admin people at the office took her shoes off at the main desk and started trimming her toenails, which spurred a conversation about diabetes and bad toenails amongst some staff, which turned into someone admitting they had all their toenails removed so they wouldn't cause problems. Fortunately I was in my office and couldn't see any of this, only hear it. The barista guy at a coffeeshop up the road was wearing a kilt. People laugh at you when you talk about washing your car, and they laugh again when your remote "beep" goes off, locking your car. There appear to be very few building codes, and antlers and railroad ties are viable and popular building materials. This morning I walked out of Ace Hardware and was greeted by a tall, dark cowboy on horseback; as I got into my car, he tied his horse up to the bike rack out front and went shopping!

The Circle Pine has been treating me well - I roll out of bed every morning and spend a solid hour or more feeding and moving ranch animals, so I start my day wide awake with a good dose of brisk, fresh air and a workout. Yes, as hard to believe as it is, I am getting up out of bed every morning before 7:30am! Margery and Chris have been feeding me a LOT - lots of steak and sheep and eggs and birthday cake. I am so well fed in fact, that if my name were Gretel, I might be worried! I've seen what they did to Buster the sheep; he was delicious!

I am a ranchhand

Last week we had a sculptor come to Stan's ranch to start sculpting a bust of his son Daniel. I mentioned that I was going to be going to Boulder to do some petsitting soon, and that I was a little tired of living in the tipi, so if she knew of anyone with a spare bedroom somewhere…. And bam! Serendipity strikes again! It just so happened she needed a petsitter this week for her ranch! Which has now turned into me living here through the winter!

Picture this: A small cluster of cabins and barns nestled into a tall, rocky canyon, sweeping yellow fields, red cliffs, emerald pine trees, fresh peppermint growing along the ditch, the swish of a river nearby, chickens clucking, roosters crowing, apples and chokecherries ripening - in other words, paradise!

I walked into the main house and thought I had walked into a movie set! An antique writing table sits in the hall, history books spilled open, notes taken, papers scattered around. To the left is a sitting room, the curtains are pulled to keep out the heat which lends the room a particularly mysterious quality as the dark shadows fall on the giant, stuffed big horned sheep in the corner, and there is just enough light sifting through to notice the tiger skin rug with head attached on the floor, thrown over another animal skin, a large antique couch, wood paneled ceiling, animal heads on the wall. The bedroom is all wood, silk, textiles, animal fur rugs, skeins of Navajo wool spilling out of a basket in the corner, boxed valances at the windows, stenciled in Austria. There is a stairway that leads downstairs, the light from the basement window shines bleakly up the stairway revealing larger than life murals of what seem to be the characters from Alice in Wonderland.

Outside there is a pool, slightly green because it is turned off, flowers spill out over the terraces above, a gorgeous oasis of a picnic area off to the side of the pool complete with teak furniture, antique grill, large candles. Under the main cliffs is a long, glass-enclosed art studio that looks down onto the living area. The "bunkhouse" that I stay in is one-story house with three bedrooms, a living room, a 10' long stone fireplace, a kitchen, dining room, laundry, a lovely bathroom, and many shelves filled with the oddest assortment of books, fossils, and little animal skulls. Everything here feels like it is at least 50 years old if not older.

Nearby is a pond full of white geese. There is a barn with a dairy cow (Blossom) and her baby (Willow), a whole bunch of grey sheep, and four huge horses that like hugs. There are four barn cats, two dogs, a bunch of chickens and roosters, doves, and peacocks - one of which is about to hatch a baby! Across the river is a rustic cabin with an old-fashioned, wood-fired cooking stove, and there are 2 old silvery campers permanently fixed into the ground, complete with quilted beds and wood finishings.

The cliffs that overlook the house are filled with Indian paintings, bits of arrowheads and flints, graves, and more. I can't wait to go exploring! I can't believe I am living here!

Summer Camp

Having just arrived back in Wyoming after a 2-week stint at Mountain Therapy Camp, I realized that not everyone has a good idea of what it is I do there. Mountain Therapy Camp was created for children with disabilities, ranging from cerebral palsy, Down's Syndrome, Autism, and a variety of genetic disorders, and typically ages 4 - 8. The camp was designed as a way for these children to receive a week of intensive therapies, as well as to provide them with some "normal" summer camp activities that they would otherwise never get to experience. At the same time, parents get the day off to attend seminars or take respite, and siblings go to a typical summer camp.

Each therapy team consists of 5 therapists, 5 children, and 2 volunteers. Generally there is a Speech Therapist, Physical Therapist, Occupational Therapist, and Music and Art Therapists, and occasionally behavioral therapists too. For 5 days, each child receives 5 hours of one-on-one therapy and 1 hour of an activity like canoeing or climbing. That means in one week each child receives 25-30 hours of therapy, something that might take them up 6 months or more to receive at public school, plus all their therapists at camp are working on the same exact 3-4 goals the entire time - that is rare in the world of therapy! Which also means that as an art therapist, I need to find ways to use art to help kids learn to speak, learn to walk, control behavior, and other not typically addressed through art kind of goals!

We have 6 sessions a day, which means I have a couple minutes between each kid to document notes, go to the bathroom, and set up for the next child who has completely different goals as to the one before. Snack and lunch are sessions, there are no "breaks." Amidst all the therapy, we also are either changing diapers or toilet-training children that can weigh up to 50 lbs and might not be able to assist at all. Phew! After therapy, the kids go back to their cabins with their parents, the therapists finish notes, take a break, and meet as a team before and after dinner to discuss the day's work and start putting together treatment books, sometimes for 3 - 5 hours per night. On the penultimate evening, we put together the books, which means this day is easily 12 hours long. The last day we have a regular therapy day in addition to 5 hours of meetings with parents to let them know about the work their child did, meaning another 12 hour day.

Does it work? Does it pay off? Last week we had two 5 year-old girls who were only speaking 2 word phrases start using full, correct sentences. A 5 year-old boy who had only taken 3 independent steps in his whole life took 28 steps the second day of therapy, and continued to walk independently through the week. One child participated beautifully in all the sporting activities her parents claimed she never, ever would. A lot can happen in a week!

Make Yourself Comfortable

Northern Arapahoe Tribe

Recently I've received a few comments from visiting Indians at Stan's house that they were struck to see a white woman sitting around "as if she belonged" and looking so comfortable. More often than not, they drive up what I imagine they see is a pale woman in a skirt and a fitted shirt, sitting on a bench on the front porch of a mobile home, wedged between two very large Indians looking even larger because they are wearing oversized, XXL athletic clothing (generally all black), they are smoking, dogs are at our feet, babies crawling dangerously close to the edge of the deck. She is probably bouncing a tiny Indian baby on her knee while shooing off an older Indian child who could win awards with his "Little Brother Mental Torture" skills.

This morning I received a phone call and was asked where I was and what I was doing. My reply: I'm just out lounging on top of the old washing machine out behind the house in the shade. Their reply: "Daaaamn, you have definitely assimilated!" I have to admit, until yesterday I couldn't understand the draw to the washing machine/dryer loungers out back that the kids crawl all over all the time. But my tush was quite comfortable on the cold metal, and the slanted part where the dials are was the perfect incline for my back and elbow. Maybe I should sew some cushions for them because they certainly will never be dragged to the dump. Next thing we know I'll be sleeping on the living room floor without blankets, playing under the deck for entertainment, swimming in the ditch, and those liver and cheese sandwiches on wonder bread will start looking tasty.

With Eagles Wings

Today we entered into our second parade of the season, opening for the Lamont County Fair! Stan's boys and myself partook of the festivities through the non-profit group With Eagles Wings from Arapahoe, Wyoming. This group offers assistance to young men, women, and adolescents who struggle with chemical dependency and other issues, and the teens of this group have started some group therapy work with us once or twice a week at Stan's house. I hope you have the chance to check out my snapfish site so you can see all the pictures!

The night before the parade was as insane as I hope it gets around here. First off, no one around here likes to get up before 11am besides me, and even I fall short a few mornings a week after late night sweat lodge ceremonies! As we are winding down, trying to get into bed early by 10pm, Stan informs me that his two young nephews who normally help him out during the night and leaving with their uncle at midnight to go pick up some supplies for the parade. Which means I have to sleep in the house in case Stan needs anything during the night. As I am about to drift off, the young mother of Stan's grandson drops off her 1 year-old after her aunt threatened to hide him and take him away! So she brings this little baby, who had just been sleeping, into our house at the same time Stan's nephews start fighting over who got to sleep on the floor beside my couch when they got back from getting supplies. Suddenly I have a screaming, overtired, cranky baby in my arms as I am supposed to be getting some sleep. The boys are fighting, baby screaming, Stan yelling, and of course, the reason we have the baby is because its mom wanted to go out and party instead of caring for her kid. Arrrrg... Resentment, resentment... The boys finally take off, and teenage Sequoia comes in and takes the baby. Throughout the night the baby has nightmares and screams so loudly, that even with earplugs, my skin crawls. Everything is quiet, the boys come back complete with a full-on couch they decide to move into the living room at 3 o'clock in the morning. I get so fed up with the noise I finally grab my pillow and go back out to my peaceful tipi and catch some z's. At 4:30am another young mother comes into my tipi, crying that she needs a ride home and needs my phone. I let her borrow it only to have Daniel come back into the tipi, screaming at me to not lend my phone out to someone who is drunk and needs to stay put. Ack. I finally just get up since we need to get up anyway to get ready for the parade.

Once everyone got up, parade preparations went smoothly and everyone had a great time! The boys looked awesome in their warpaint, and they are hoping to win First Place for Mounted participants in this parade as they did in the Lander parade. After the parade we all jumped into Stan's pickup truck and headed down to the swimmin' hole to cool down in the 90F heat! Later, back at Stan's, the 3-week old foal I have been trying gently tame to my presence was lying down taking a nap, and it finally let me come right up to it and rub it all over - it never even got up! It just enjoyed its little massage. Afterwards I cooked dinner for about 20 people and we had a small, super hot sweat lodge ceremony. I ate and promptly fell asleep, the moon and stars lighting up my tipi, happy that the night before was not an omen for the day ahead.

You Just Never Know...

Western Diamondback Rattlesnake

Ahhh... Just another typical day of housework and looking after children... or is it??

Finally fed up with the state of Stan's bathroom, I decided it was time for an overhaul. The 300 bath towels, medical supplies, Daniel's various hair clips and hair products and hair brushes and rubberbands and all the other pretty boy items needed to be dealt with. The obvious place for much of these was the cupboard under the sink. As I opened the cupboard door to put them away, a large, coiled rattlesnake greeted me with a loud hiss (I think he was sitting on his rattle)! Ack!!

I quickly shut the door and summoned the guys who were all sitting around in the kitchen smoking and swapping stories. It was the fastest I ever saw this bunch jump up to attention, and several of them took turns bashing the snake without much success. Ken finally grabbed it by its tail, swung it around, and smacked its head on the bathtub, leaving me with the addition of snake blood and a soggy dead mouse to clean up.

I now peek into cupboards before I open them up all the way, I jump a little more at weird sounds in the grass, and in addition to shaking my sleeping bag out each night, I hang it up during the day.

As The World Turns

"In the far and mighty West
Where the crimson sun seeks rest,
There's a growing splendid State that lies above,
On the breast of this great land;
Where the massive Rockies stand,
There's Wyoming young and strong, the State I love!"
-Wyoming State Song

Two days before 4th of July, Stan decided it would be a great idea to throw a bunch of at-risk teenagers (most of which had only ridden for one day of their lives) onto half-tame, barely trailer-trained mustang/arabian horses and put them all into the blistering hot Lander 4th of July Parade complete with hoards of children running amok and spraying fire hoses - yeeeeeehaw!! Being the thoughtful (*cough*: scared to death) and service-oriented person I am (*cough*: not insane), I look it upon myself to drive the truck with Stan so he would be able to come along and all the others could participate in the riding crazy horses in the city streets part.

On 4th of July, I got up at 5am - which was when everyone said they had wanted to get up - and spent the next hour and a half being a highly caffeinated human snooze button. We had to be at the parade - 30 minutes away - by 8:30am. Everyone started casually rolling out of bed at 6:30am and were outside to start trailering 11 horses by 7:30am. Using various tools (corral fence posts, large sticks, lead ropes, trailer doors, strong strapping men and one with a bunch of broken ribs) we finally trailered all the horses by 8:10am. Only two of the horses reared inside the trailer and tried bashing their brains in. We made it to the parade slightly late, but then again, nothing much was going on at that point, so we ended up with plenty of time to saddle horses, paint horses, and decorate the pickup truck with blankets, posters, and fancily dressed young Indian girls armed with giant bags of candy.

The parade was the biggest one I have ever seen! It took 2 hot, sweaty hours to make it down 10 city blocks, and man, they do parades differently in The Great West - everything here but particularly parenting out here is a huge contrast to Boulder, Colorado parenting/hovering. I'm pretty sure parents weren't even on the same block as their 2 and 3 year-olds as I spent most of my time peering out from blankets hanging over the window and windshield, dodging tiny children playing in the spray from the firetruck in front of us and viewing the 10-foot space between us and them as a mobile crosswalk. Apparently, to the horror of some of our riders, several ran right up to our horses thinking they were as tame and friendly as fairground ponies. The firefighters thought they were being merciful in the heat of the day by spraying their firehoses at the horses, but let me tell you, these horses typically spook when you start filling their water troughs up with a garden hose!

At the end of the day, everyone was hot, sweaty, and happy, the paint was running off of the horses, and the horses went onto the trailer much more readily than they had in the morning. 4th of July is quite a popular celebration out here - fireworks are available most of the year and isn't it precious how even the youngest of children hold them with their bare hands as they stand out in the middle of the dark streets in their own homemade fireworks arsenal, ahem, I mean, display?? That being said, we celebrated with a giant BBQ complete with steaks cooked on a charcoal grill that had been preheated in 1 minute flat with a giant blow torch - man, living where there are no laws, or at least no one to enforce them, totally rocks! The celebratory night ended with every square inch of Lander being lit up by giant, stadium-style fireworks!

Yeeeehaw!!

Wind River Reservation, Arapahoe - west central Wyoming - The Wind River Indian Reservation spans 2.2 million acres and is home to 2,500 Eastern Shoshone and more than 5,000 Northern Arapaho Indians. The Northern Arapaho were not originally given a reservation by the US Government, and instead had to find space on what was originally the Shoshone reservation. This was a big sacrifice and problem considering the Shoshone used to be everyone's enemy! The Arapaho had to petition the government to allow them to be able to live on the reservation, and so, this small space - probably only half of which is usable, which was originally only designated for one tribe, is now home to two tribes.

I am spending my summer living on the hot, dusty reservation at the home of my friend, Stanford Addison, a Northern Arapaho Indian who has a particularly novel and gentle approach to taming horses, and has also found a way of helping at-risk youth through working with horses. Stan is a lesson in courage and tenacity - besides the fact that he is not too far from the ripe old age of 50, living on an exceptionally poor reservation rife with alcoholism, drug abuse, and unemployment, and besides the fact that he has already outlived two sons, a few siblings, and several close friends, he was also injured in an accident nearly 30 years ago that rendered him quadriplegic. Through all of this, he has become a medicine man and recognized elder of his tribe, he has developed his horse taming method, and he has also opened his home to several foster children, and travels around the country speaking about his experiences. You can visit his website for more info, or you can come down and take a clinic!! http://www.stanaddison.com/ Or you can come down to keep me company! Please!! For the love of god!! Visit me...

Ahem. Anyway. I spend my nights in a tipi next to the corral. It is one of the few places that stays relatively cool, and for some reason, is also a spot that most of the kids who run amok here don't generally think to look for me, begging for entertainment, piggy back rides, and if all else fails, start calling me names (especially creative ones, like 'Tonya Dumb-butt') and wrestling with me in order to rouse my attention. Yes, being a tall, female white person, I am novel entertainment. Akin to an amusement ride.

I spend my days being a surrogate housewife and ranch hand to about 10 people living in a small mobile home - cook up breakfast, sweep up the floor, throw a load of laundry in, go for a walk before everyone gets up at the early hour of noon, feed and water the horses, lay up the tack to dry out, hang up the laundry, clean up the kitchen, put up with endless bad jokes and teasing, check business email, pick up mail, delegate chores, saddle up the horses, ride, nap in the tipi, entertain children, help new riders, put chicken in the oven for a 11pm dinner, feed the dogs, take a shower, go to bed by midnight. Every few days we have a sweat lodge ceremony which breaks up the monotony, and my favorite new thing to throw into the mix - a visit to the "neighborhood" coffee house (it's 20 miles away in Lander) with velvet couches, jazzy music, dark moody walls, wireless access, and tied for First Place for awesomeness is the rich espresso and the cute barista guy. I'm not so far from civilization afterall.

USA or Bust

Nothing like a good bit of international travel to revive dying patriotism.

I managed to get out of Cusco on a riot- and tear gas-free weekend, on an earlier in the day flight than originally planned, and had a riveting 12 hour wait in the Lima airport. After this and 2 hours waiting in the check-in line, Continental airlines offered a $500 travel voucher toward another flight in the future if I was willing to take a different, non-overbooked flight the following evening. If only they had asked me before the 12 hours of waiting around... One plane experienced a medical emergency and stressed out a flight attendant so much, she almost decked a little old lady that was concerned about being late for her connecting flight. When the lady asked if there was a separate line for US citizens in Customs, the flight attendant snapped, 'Ma'am, there is NOT a separate line, you will have to wait just like everyone else, who do you think you are, the United States does NOT discriminate, we are not prejudiced or racist!' As if the old lady had been calling the attendant racist. I thought they were both going to burst into tears. And yes, there was a separate line for US citizens... And not only that, horrors of all horrors, they also had me cut to the front of the line so I wouldn't be late for my own flight. 24 hours of travel and two luscious exit row seats later, I was back in the good ol' USA! Cuts, buts, and chicken butts!

Some things I have noticed since re-entry: everyone is so big!! My first layover was in Houston, and at first I thought it was just a Texas thing, all these strapping men looming over me, but it hit me in Seattle when I thought, 'Hey, these Seattle guys aren't normally *this* tall when I realized I had been living in munchkin-land for 4 months! Also, the toilet paper is bigger, wider, softer - and, if that wasn't miraculous enough, you can throw it right into the toilet!! Yippee for healthy sewer systems!

Now, Starbucks seems like (and always has been, I can admit) a luxury - good god, you could go grocery shopping in Peru for what you pay here for a fancy cup of coffee! The TVs switch channels a lot faster here, the computer keyboards have all their keys, tables aren't precariously leaning to one side, the salad you're eating is probably safe to eat, you can drink water from drinking fountains, and men don't leer at you (as much) on the sidewalks. I am enjoying driving again, and I like the fact that there aren't any Peruvian taxi drivers on the roads. But I do miss my favorite restaurant, Kukuli, with its stressed out but happy grandma who mistook me for a vegetarian one day and decided from there on out what I was getting for lunch each day for my $1.50 US. I miss that I could just walk to most of the stores I needed to get to (I miss Boulder for the same reason, but that is a different blog), I miss the idea that you can get a good tattoo for a lot less money (grandpa: notice I said IDEA), and I certainly miss my kids.

But I don't miss that it is summer down there, and today I took advantage of it still being winter in the Cascades and hit the slopes with grandpa for an absolutely perfect day of skiing! I am now an official substitute for a school district out here, and I think I start tomorrow.

Protesta!

So, the Cusqueñas aren't the most organized group of people in the whole world. They were supposed to have their big protest riot thing last week but they kept postponing it so that they could have more time to read about rules and get themselves organized. Unfortunately they organized on the day of my return trip home. Now. I realize that most people would probably kill to be able to say to their boss, 'There was a big protest and I can't get out of the country for three more days!' And be elated about spending three more days in Cusco. They also haven't lived here for over four months. They might not even care about spending another $300 on ticket changes and hostals and food.

By early afternoon, the internet said I still had a flight waiting for me. Because the protest was happening there weren't any taxis, which meant I had to strap on my giant backpack and tote my carry-on about 2 miles to the airport in the blistering sun and walk through crowds who were just standing around gaping and playing futbol instead of working. It is curious that for a people who don't earn much money that there are so many strikes and protests. I got as far as the far outside wall of the airport when I saw the police, who were threatening to hit 12 year-olds on bicycles who thought it was funny to ride their bikes close by. What no one realized was that the protest crowd was just around the corner and the police were trying to get everyone to go home. I had been sitting in the shade, hoping that because I got their really early, maybe if I just sat around and waited my flight would still be on. What I didn't know was my flight had already been cancelled and the airport was closed. Suddenly I heard a crowd of people shouting so I started walking back to the hostal in the opposite direction, one block later I heard pops which I soon discovered were bombs of tear gas. Now we were all walking in the same direction with scarves over our mouths. 20 sweaty minutes and 2 wobbly legs later, I was back at my hostal.

It took four hours before my airline here in Cusco was able to reschedule my flight, yes, not until the 24th, and not the US until the 25th. Fie, cruel world!! I have already said goodbye to EVERYONE which was traumatic enough the first time around so I don't want to do that again. So it is just me and my personal TV with cable and Girls of the Playboy Mansion, which besides being in English and makes me want to dye my hair platinum blonde, kinda of makes me want to barf. I treated myself to my favorite restaurant for dinner, which fortunately is only $1.50 US, a bottle of my favorite yogurt (I might have to turn to something stronger after my 3rd episode of the Girls), and I signed up for a day of rafting this weekend so I can get out and enjoy the countryside for less than $30 US. This country is good for some things.

When the Buzz is Over

Ahhhh child labor. There are some things I will and will not miss about Peru. I will miss the markets where you can buy an entire blender full of fresh juice made any way you like it for about $1 US made by a pleasantly plump mom-like lady. Actually, I will miss how far my dollar goes in general. I will miss the dogs running all over the city even if they are dirty and don't like people and sometimes like to chase after white people. I will miss my professors asking me to pick them raspberries from our very tall raspberry trellis at school. I will miss that every day is different and every day something unusual happens whether it's a riot with people burning tires (because somehow burning tires symbolizes that the people don't want a commercial company buying out Machu Picchu) or running into someone from Colorado with so many similarities it's scary. I will miss that the people here work damn hard and I never hear anyone complaining. I will miss the snazzy cafe with the cute waiters and good cappuchinos, although I guess we have those in the States. Now that I am living safely and securely in a hostal within the grounds of my project at the Clinica San Juan de Dios, I certainly don't miss the sounds of children getting hit and screaming next door to my previous house. I'm not really sure what kind of malicious mischief a 4 year-old can truly get into or for what a young teenaged girl needs to scream for an hour straight. Today I learned that domestic violence is tolerated unless a family member reports it - if you tell the police, and you're not family, they won't do anything. I also found out from a fellow volunteer at my project with the teenaged girls that he has taken two of them, after they have left the project to go back to living with their families, to go have abortions (which, surprise, are illegal here) after being raped by family members. I won't miss the dirty 3 and 4 year-olds coming into restaurants to sell me candy because they need to make money 'for the family', nor will I miss the dirty parents of these children who openly ask me for money for 'their children' with alcohol on their breaths. I won't miss hearing Peruvians talking about how wrong it is for white people to come into their city and try to help all the poor children. Although I was heartened today in my art studio project to hear that most of my girls dream of being lawyers and professionals so that they themselves can help the children. I won't miss my eyes being red from all the exhaust on the main drag in town (the air there is almost worse than in Paris). I won't miss having to purify all my drinking water. I won't miss that I have to buy my cheese in one store, meat in another, curry powder in another, and that the yogurt is never refrigerated, and often not the meat either for that matter. Although I have been blessed that I haven't been struck by a serious bout of Travelers diarrhea.

Today's art studio project was to create a collage of all the things you want in your life. Most of the girls chose pictures of cars and houses and children, some wanted to be chefs, others lawyers, a few wanted husbands but emphasized that the husbands and children need to wait until after they have their professions. One girl with a picture of a mosaic of Jesus in the center of her collage said she wants to see God in her heart.

Aguas Termales!

Cconnoc

The week before last Oscar and I headed out to the Cconoc Hot Springs for a day away from Cusco. Actually, I had no idea where I was heading just that it had the words aguas termales in it and that was sufficient. We rented a taxi and headed down into the warm, humid valley away from the cold mountains of Cusco. It was, by far, the most gorgeous trip of my stay here - rolling hills, green fields, tiny adobe houses, cows all over the road, sun setting...gorgeous. Our taxi also picked up 4 other people (yes, that is 7 people in one taxi) but we ended up being the odd-men out so to speak as no one else wanted to stop in Cconoc. So instead of being $5 US per person it was now $80 soles (which, in the grand scheme of things, is only $25-30 US but it is all relative - 80 soles always sounds like a lot, and more importantly, he was price gauging). Oscar and I found ourselves dropped off on a deserted road in the middle of nowhere forestland in pitch black country darkness. Our taxista pointed at a trail, the beginning of which we could just make out by the light of the brakes, and said he had to just follow that trail. And then he drove away. Fortunately both of us have a healthy sense of humor and flashlights too. We skidded our way down a very steep and twisty dirt trail surrounded by cacti and trees with thorns, and I think I nearly drove Oscar, who is already scared of things like mice and spiders, over the edge with my questions about bears and mountain lions living in the valleys and mountains of Peru. After a half-hour we finally saw some lights and came upon the hot springs. The next day I discovered that this little resort is right on the side of the biggest river I have ever seen outside of the Columbia. It is gorgeous, surrounded by mountains, exotic plants, warm sun, and my favorite, mosquito-like bugs. Although when they bit it didn't hurt and I thought I got away with murder the next day when they STILL didn't itch. Unfortunately, 10 days later, they are still driving me insane!! We left later that morning by walking back up the killer, this time with 90F heat and mosquitoes. I was happy to see a rock slab of a seat sitting in the shade and promptly laid down on it to revive myself. But then a bus came by, a saving grace I know not, except there wasn't any room on it which meant we had to stand most of the 3 hour bus ride back to Cusco. There is nothing like a giant bus filled with people who don't use deoderant or even shower that much in the height of a humid summer up and down twisty mountain roads when you are already exhausted and overheated and just finished all your water. Mind you, most of the people on the bus were young men, but it was a woman in her 50's who finally took pity on me and let me have her seat for awhile, and later when enough people left that I had my own seat, I promptly fell asleep for a nap and some kid outside threw a water balloon at my window which woke both me and my seat partner.

I spent Valentine's Day at an English pub, the same one I had Christmas dinner and Thanksgiving dinner at, and had a delicious cheese and, later, chocolate fondue. One American and two Irish male friends surprised us all by leaping into the restaurant in full-on homemade cupid/devil costumes complete with horns, wings, red underwear, red soccer socks, and shooting rubber bows and arrows. All three very single cupids were very happy to see 5 angels in full on white dresses and feathery white wings slugging back a few hard drinks at the bar. Ahhh amor!

¡Carnavales!

Somehow I had the crazy idea of actually going to the center of downtown Cusco on Sunday on the last, and biggest, day of Carnavales. When I arrived, everything was eerily calm, and I saw a crowd sitting on the cathedral steps preparing for... a parade, a festival, something...? I eyed the vendors selling plastic ponchos suspiciously especially considering that the cloud cover was steadily clearing. Fortunately after 4 months here I speak and understand Spanish passably well, and the man sitting next to me explained that yes, there was a parade, and yes, I was going to get wet. Ever prepared, I had my raincoat with me. Which at that point didn't help much with the 85F full-on 11,000ft altitude 10 point UV rating sun exposure. But in a way the gods were smiling on me and I was quickly surrounded and leaned upon by several standing 5 year-olds who blocked the sun fairly well. As did some old man with a parasol hovering over me.

During the seemingly endless stream of parade dancers, children sprayed water from backpack waterguns and foamy stuff like merengue all over the participants. When the parade ended, these weapons were quickly turned on the attendees, and as luck would have it, I standout particularly well in this country and therefore make an excellent target, even for 5 year-olds. It didn't end in the main center either, I walked back home and was blasted from passing taxis with at least 3 very heartily flung water balloons and a few squirts of spumo from the buses too. It was all in good fun, everyone laughed, I cooled off, and now the waterplay is finally over.

I also went to work that day, the dedicated volunteer that I am. Unbeknowst to me, there was a small Carnavales celebration for volunteers and employees (set up by volunteers and employees too). They set up an already cut, live medium-sized tree into the futbol field and dangling from it were all sorts of kitchen utensils and toys. At first I couldn't understand why some of the teenagers from the clinic balked at going near the tree. When I walked down, paper ribbon was wrapped around my body, someone grabbed my hand, and suddenly I was part of a dance circle complete with an falling-apart axe. My favorite are the dances with dangerous rusty weapons. In pairs we all took turns chopping at the tree, and when it fell, it was a free for all with all the presents attached. I really didn't need a kitchen strainer or plastic tupperware dish, so I only fought my way through for a whistle that I promptly gave to the crying 3 year-old who hadn't been allowed to participate further once the tree started cracking and leaning. Afterward was a feast of fried sausages and fried potatoes - never complete without mayonaise - how I have lost weight in this country I will never know, but I expect my body to grow by at least 2 sizes once my plane sets down in Seattle next week.

Oh you joker, you

Yes, I forgot to knock on wood with my last blog, in speaking about Carnivales and water. That very day I had not one, but three buckets of water thrown on me while I was walking up the street back to my house! Those little Peruvian kids are freaking sneaky! Tiny and sneaky! They were hiding inside the doorways of stores so you look down the street and naively think it is all calm and safe, and then BLAM!! SPLASH!! Fortunately I was close to home so I was able to take it all with a smile. I wasn't happy to hear that Carnivales actually lasts the entire week here in Cusco, so there are still random kids out in the street with their water balloons and bottles of white spray goo a little like whipped cream that disappears after a few minutes. But they are also about 4 years-old and have really bad aim. In fact, sometimes their throws are so short that their balloons don't even pop when they hit the ground, they just roll down the street and fall into grates, and then you have a tiny flock of 4 year-olds laying in the middle of streets with their arms down grates with taxis zooming by.

Those little kids remind me - Pampers has a new advertising campaign here in Cusco, and so there are Pampers posters on all of the little tienda doors advertising their new size of diapers - XL! Because miniature Peruvian babies need XL diapers...

I had a wonderful birthday dinner with my friend Oscar's family - his brother is also a chef and had spent the day cooking a baked pasta dish with kalamata olives, eggs, chilies and spices, and also stuffed peppers with raisins, chilies, beef and cheese. We washed it down with good Peruvian beer and a giant chocolate cake! I had plans to go out and celebrate afterward, but after so much food I laid down for a little nap and woke up 12 hours later. Yes, as you all know, I am quite the party animal. Right now it is time for a belated birthday lunch at a little Israeli place that makes the best sauces for dunking your bread in, giant falafel balls, and a piping hot milk custard dessert! For $2 US! Woohoo!

The Zoo that is Cusco

Baby Quail

Ahhh, the days of Carnivales!

Superbowl Sunday, also known as Carnivales in Cusco, is the start of a whole month of summer celebrations. Sidenote: Yes, because this is the Southern Hemisphere, it is technically summer in South America. And all the other countries and cities call this time summer, but because it is constantly cold right now with torrential downpour rains, the Cusqueñas refer to this season as winter, too. So it might be summer, it might be winter. Whatever season it is, the children are celebrating Carnivales with water balloons, water guns, and my favorite, balloons filled with paint that people throw out of moving buses. I was resting easy when a friend told me not to worry, that it is illegal to throw these things at strangers and that you can tell the police if it happens. But as it draws closer to Carnivales, I am witnessing for myself that, like everything else in the Penal Code, while it may be illegal, it still happens! I have been fortunate in staying dry, but I am apprehensive about walking down to the farmer's market this afternoon to buy ingredients for dinner.

There are some funny animal things here: In the farmer's market, there are people with tiny carts filled with almost featherless quail who lay eggs, and as the eggs are freshly laid, the Quail People boil them, peel them, and fill plastic sacks with quail eggs ready to eat. While I tried Alpaca last week, I haven't been brave enough to try farmer's market quail eggs. People from the country bring their baby goats and sheep into town for picture time, and these farm animals follow them around like dogs. It is not unusual to see a llama or two tied up to a lamppost on the sidewalk, or following you up stairs in alleyways. They especially like the little tufts of grass growing out of the sides of the adobe buildings. Yesterday in front of my house, a pickup truck pulled over in a fit of panic: In the back of this tiny, not standard, pickup was a large black bull, cow, and calf with a roof of chainlink fence fencing them in. An 8 year-old boy was riding on top of the cab, wide eyed and holding on with only one hand as the bull began freaking out, bellowing, sticking its foot-long tongue out of the side of its mouth, and repeatedly trying to kick the fence and truck but actually kicking the cow and the calf. It was jostling the truck so badly that the two old men in the cab had to pull it over. I had images of wild cows running up and down Calle Arcopata. Dogs run pretty wild here, so it is not unusual to see them laying down just inside a fancy alpaca sweater and jewelry store, or hanging out inside an upscale restaurant, and pretty much lying down in every dry place possible. My neighborhood dog has taken to following me to internet cafes and chewing on the computer cables and foam pads of headphones. She gives me dejected looks when I get into a taxi in the mornings.

My art studio is going well, although getting interrupted by the typical Peruvian way of life. Last week the gates were shut and padlocked without any explanation. I found out later that the girls went on some kind of religious and hot springs retreat in the mountains. Yesterday class was cut short because the girls had to attend a traditional Peruvian dance class. These interruptions mean I am extended my studio by an extra week, because the girls absolutely love this time. You should have seen the look on the face of the new girl, Elizabeth, who arrived this week when I handed her her very own sketchbook to start working in, it was priceless.

Meanwhile, it seems I have also started something of an art studio at my morning clinic with the disabled children. For some reason, this time of year, during their summer break when they don't have school or anything else going on, their playground is locked shut. Usually I try to set up a little art space for a few children, but the nurses see that suddenly the children have entertainment and suddenly I am doing art with 30 kids who can barely feed themselves much less make art without a lot of support. I make about 100 trips to the kitchen sink every morning. My favorites are the kids who think dumping the giant can of crayons and pens, repeatedly, onto the floor is great fun. Yesterday my three teenagers, Yosmar, Andres and Ermitaño, had a sparkling moment of insight (and we were fortunately that it was also a sparkling day out) to paint outside at the tables with umbrellas. We had a splendid morning of painting, joking, and making fun of the security guard, and I only had to make one trip to the sink.

The Lost City of.... Rain and Fog!

I am probably the only person in the world who is enjoying the small little gateway town of Aguas Calientes almost more than I did Machu Picchu!

Aguas Calientes is a small town in the Peruvian 'cloud forest' of about 1500 residents and a whole bunch of tourists. Although, this is the off-season and thus the 100 or so restaurants, which open at 5am for the first batch of tourists heading off to Machu Picchu, each have about one or two people sitting in them. Aguas Calientes (hot waters, for the non-Spanish speakers), besides having the amazing raging Urubamba River next to it, which makes me drool about the idea of river kayaking but not drool about the high possibility of a dramatic and quick death, is home to... hot waters. Hot springs to be exact. After a 10 minute walk through a dramatic, dripping with water and ferns and flowers, boardwalk along the river, you arrive at a little resort with about 5 pools. And a bar overlooking the pools. And a bar next to the pools. And a bartender at the pools who comes around and takes your orders and returns promptly with your 4-for-1 drink special. Personally, my favorite part is the bar and balcony overlooking the pools. Apparently it isn't just my favorite, it is also the favorite hot spot of several I am sure very hard-working, diligent, and extremely loyal local guys who like to gawk, I mean, watch over the pools just like lifeguards. They seem especially concerned about the younger more delicate women in bikinis as I am sure they are much more susceptible to those 4-for-1 drink specials. Because you know everyone is safe, you are much more easily able to relax at these pools compared to other more secluded spots. Anyways. If you turn your back to these guys and look around, you see you are surrounded by amazing natural beauty, soft summer rain, and the sound of the Urubamba drowns out the whistles and hi-fives from the balcony. And while this is a small, quiet town without cars, it is still a tourist haven. And despite most people needing to get up at 5am to get to the opening gates for Machu Picchu, I woke up at midnight to a raging, hilarious Capoeira lesson going on outside my window in the main square. Nothing like adding alcohol to the already dangerous and horrendously difficult national martial art of Brazil. Although it looked like a whole lot more laughing and falling down than Capoeira.

Machu Picchu was, of course, amazing, and our group was lucky enough to catch it at 6am right before the clouds from the... cloud forest... moved in. And it disappeared. Fortunately four hours later, it came back. The cool thing about Machu Picchu, like all ruins here, the rooves of the houses were thatched, and therefore there are no more rooves and you can see down into all the empty, rectangular, identical buildings all over the mountain. The bad thing about Machu Picchu is that none of the houses have rooves, which is really smart thinking during the RAINY SEASON IN A RAIN FOREST. I was lucky and happened to find a Model House during a rainy time, which was also the same place that the sick and infirm of the day decided to rest. Which means I got to literally feel the popping that was occurring next to me when some Peruvian Guide with a young altitude-sick client decided to try an 'ancient Chinese' head massage which involves pinching several different bunches of hair and pulling until there is literally a popping sound creating from the skin on your scalp popping away from your skull. Mind you, nothing is being ripped out, that you can see anyway. But if you sit next to someone getting this treatment, you can feel the popping in your own skull. I won't be surprised if this woman is bald by the weekend.

Here is some interesting trivia about Machu Picchu that I hadn't realized. The people of Machu Picchu deliberately left Machu Picchu, which is why there are really no artifacts here. So they had time and planning, and did rituals to say goodbye, but just never returned. Yet, the locals say. Yet. Apparently someone did find a gold bracelet - the only gold object ever found in Machu Picchu - which was part of the goodbye ritual, and the archaelogists took it and put it in a traveling museum (currently in Japan), but then lots of bad juju started happening, so they did a goodbye ritual for removing the goodbye ritual artifacts, and there wasn't bad juju anymore. Also, like other important Incan sites, they deduct (because no one knows the true history of Machu Picchu) that everyone had 7 jobs in their young lives and then whichever one they were best at, that's what job they did for the rest of their lives. Also everyone ages 16-80 had to pay taxes, and at age 16 the boys worked as foot messengers between here and Cusco, and the 80 year-olds got to watch the crops to make sure the animals stayed out. I think my Bacca Gene already does that! Speaking of foot messengers, it takes 4 days to hike the Inca Trail from Cusco to Machu Picchu. It took the Incan foot messengers 4 hours.

Back in Aguas Calientes after a hard day of taking pictures, I just polished off a strong cup of capuccino and a flavorful, mind you cholesterol-free, alpaca steak. Time to go rest up before I have to board the train for the 4 hour trip back to Cusco.

The Crazy Life

The city fires off canyons every morning to celebrate life, so every morning is punctuated with a near heart-attack before I realize what is happening.

My neighbor's dog has grown on my roommates and I - a sweet heeler mix with eyes lined with eyeliner and a fluffy tail. Sometimes we let her into our house and give her a snack. Sometimes when she sees us on the street she likes to walk with us to school. Normally this isn't a problem. But now it is officially Springtime and apparently she is a hot item on the doggy streets of Cusco. This morning I had a line of four dogs following me into town, arranged by size - in back, the smallest terrier mix just twice as big as a chihuahua and about three times smaller than the much-desired Fair Maiden. She sat with me while I worked at the internet cafe while the gentlemen got chased out by the owner. Speaking of Springtime, my friends and I were walking our little, innocent kids from the clinic around the gardens the other day and the clinic's three llamas were going at it. I mean, seriously, how does that work?? Our kids were seriously confused but managed to double over with laughter during their confusion.

A visit to the local Quiropractico yesterday was a true test of my Spanish skills, and the application took about 10 minutes to figure out. The questions I absolutely couldn't understand I decided were really not relevant to my aching back anyway. After two pages of Spanish words and phrases I have never seen, my doctor turned out to be Canadian. Hopefully he worked his magic because I have spent most of my time this past week laying on my back in bed. Thankfully I have had a good Lance Armstrong-Tour de France book to entertain me, which maybe isn't so good now that I think of it because it makes me want to race bikes. Except when I read about the crashing parts, and there are a lot of crashing parts.

Modern Marvels

Sometimes I walk around thinking, 'These people are the from the same race who built Machu Picchu with exceptionally sophisticated engineering??'

Today I got to experience more Love from the Cusco Post Office. A package, sent from the US one month ago arrived last week and I finally received the pick-up notice yesterday. You can only pick up packages at the post office between 8am-11am. I decided to take a little time off from work this morning to pick up my package, only to end up waiting until 9am before they even called my number (4). Once in the package office, the package people tell me I need to open my package and also need to pay tax. I open the package, which contained some previously frozen ice packs, which, as one might guess, after a month in the post, had melted. But miraculously none of this water leaked out until I opened my package on top of the post office desk. Divine justice, I think. The desk probably really needed a cleaning like everything else around here. Apparently their machine had registered I had CD's (oh god, no, CD's!!) in my package and that had to be verified. To my surprise they told me that I had to pay $37 US in taxes, but do you think you can pay this AT the post office?? Nope. So they sent me about a half-mile up the street to a bank, wherein the bank lady told me the number on my certificate did no exist and I had to return to the post office. Which I did. The post office man told me to go to a different, farther bank. Which I did. But they don't take cards, so then I have to find an ATM, return to the bank, get personally escorted to a special desk where I paid my $107 soles, returned to the post office and had to pay ANOTHER $7 soles to re-pick up my package. Three hours later I officially receive my 5-day Special Post package one month later.

Another thing that makes me question the intelligence here.... electricity is very expensive here, thus most people have propane to heat their water and warm their stoves. The Propane Delivery Boy? Yeah. That is a guy about 15 years-old on a 1970's honda motorcycle with three propane tanks strapped to the back of his bike, and to conserve gas, he turns his engine off while going downhill. I will also mention the police here have the same kind of motorcycles, and they too coast downhill.

Much to my delight, I recently discovered there is a Pentacostal Church on my block, with full-on dancing, singing, and tambourines.

I am sad to say this might be my last day in this particular internet cafe. All the desks are slightly tilted toward the left, so I am definitely leaning as I type this. When the 12 year-old girls running the place aren't watching Telenovelas (Soap Operas) on You-Tube, they are blasting old school hard rock on the stereo. The spacebars all stick, and if you type anything remotely 'racy' on a search engine (relationship, kiss) or if you try to look at photos that 'may' contain adult contect (e.g., Dad's Harley website photos), the computer instantly locks down into ANTI-PORN mode and you can no longer use that computer.

My first Art Studio session with my teenage girls went great last Friday. It was the first time I have seen all the girls actively, happily engaged in an activity, and for two hours no less. They were enthralled with all the new art materials (particularly the chalk and oil pastels), they are cherishing their very own art notebooks, and after much giggling, they patiently sat through a short lecture about being non-judgmental about other's art in this particular studio. My favorite moment with this particularly rowdy bunch was when their two directors came in during discussion time and saw all their girls sitting quietly and listening to one another. Completely different young women. Thank you again to everyone who has donated to this project! I am going to try to find another volunteer to continue with the project once I return to the US.

Cusqueña New Year!

Nothing like bringing in the New Year with a big bowl of raw fish in an inland town in a foreign country.

With that being said, the ceviche here is amazing, and is a national delicacy (although generally in seaside cities like Lima). For those not in the know, ceviche is raw fish marinated in citrus for about 5 minutes before it is served, and while still being raw, it has the texture and taste of cooked fish, mixed with chilis, vinegar, salt, and herbs. I have the fortune of having a friend who is a chef at one of the most well known cevicherias in town, Olas Bravas (Brave Waves), and yes, it was delicious - spicy, salty, succulent - and no, I didn't get sick! WOooHooo!

I passed my New Year like the old lady that I am - asleep in my bed, but as one might expect I woke up at midnight to the sound of millions of fireworks. I ran to all the various windows and saw shooting starts surrounding all the hills and the sound of thousands of clapping hands (actually, that is what it sounded like, but it was just the sound of people lighting firecrackers for about 30 minutes echoeing in all the hills). Within about 15 minutes, I thought clouds were rolling in on this exceptionally clear night, only to discover that it was the smoke from so many fireworks for such a long period of time! My roommates reported that the main plaza was insane, even the police were shooting off hand-held fireworks, kids were aiming aimlessly, and everyone was calling relatives on their phones wishing a Happy New Year!! Unfortunately their relatives probably didn't realize that because of that phone call, lines were tied up for, what I imagine, the many people who got shot in the eyeball with a firecracker held by 2 year-olds and tried to call an ambulance. This morning, I dutifully got up at 7am to go to my project and spend my day with 37 little kids who don't understand what day it is, and I got to feed them an amazing lunch of smoked roasted turkey (I snuck a piece from a 4 year-old, shhh, don't tell), baked potatoes, apple pudding, and veggies. Yum. I wish I had an oven. All storekeepers, taxistas, and security guards were in an especially jovial mood this morning, and I expect they were all still very drunk. Within an hour, with barely a hello, I had four grown men ask me my stats: where are you from, how old are you, what is your name, are you single?

Mom, I am losing weight. I am sorry but it is happening. But honestly, I am eating all the time here! The food is amazing, how could I not? Besides normal healthy stuff, I even eat things like Panetone and butter and real hot chocolate, I even have a very mom-like lady at the farmer's market make me extra rich, thick milk and bread with a cream spread. I eat 3-course lunches, sandwiches with 5 different kinds of meat on them. I am trying here, if for nothing else, for the fact that I can't buy pants here in my length or size! Honestly though, I think it is the pilates three times a week. My abs burn, my legs cramp, and dang, it is a good feeling, plus I walk everywhere at 11,000 ft altitude, maybe that has something to do with it too.

I am happy to report to my Divas that, during my island trip the other week, I spent time with 6 New Zealanders, and three of them were wearing Icebreaker! I was wearing my Icebreaker at the time too, so we really bonded. It was beautiful.