There And Back Again

We have returned to the United States. I can't say we either rejoiced or grieved as we returned to Schenectady, we simply accepted the fact that all adventures have to come to an end so new ones can start. At least people weren't auctioning off our belongings and thinking we had just disappeared.

After spending one last day with out aunt in Guayaquil, Ecuador, she went to the airport and we went to the bus station. We boarded a bus that took us to the beach in Peru, where we walked in the surf for an hour before we had to catch an overnight bus to Lima. All went well until 7:00 am when our bus pulled into a terminal seven hours north of Lima and we were informed that our bus was delayed 24 hours due to a protest in the highway. Now, lest you think that Peru is completely out of control, please understand that these protests are actually quite common as they are the only way for the people to get the government's attention. So, people, in this case the cotton workers, put stones in the road and sit on them until someone in a big office realizes traffic cannot move and does something to appease the workers. Because we had nothing else to do, we sat and sat and sat. Meanwhile the bus grew warmer and warmer as the clock ticked towards midday.

Jim made some phone calls and we figured out it would be cheaper to take a taxi the last seven hours to Lima than change our flight, which was scheduled for 5:50 the next morning. Just after sending an email to our parents saying we were going to take our bags, walk through the protest (Jim and walked there earlier and said the protesters didn't look too angry or dangerous), and take a taxi to Lima, the buses began to move. It took a while for the 200 buses to make their way out of the terminal, but we were finally on the road once more. We arrived in Lima 10 hours after we were scheduled to arrive, but, oh well, so goes life in Peru.

After showers as some friends' house, we took at taxi to the airport at 12:30 am. We figured sleeping would be sweet, but the rising for our early flight would be miserable. Starbuck's free internet and not-so-free coffee menu kept us occupied. Our flights went off without a problem: Lima to Bogota, Bogota to San Salvador, and San Salvador to New York. The local time in NY at landing was around 10 pm. There aren't any buses going to Albany at that hour, so, once again, and for the second consecutive night, we stayed in the airport. This time we took turns sleeping on a cushioned bench while the other watched the luggage. For the record, staying awake at 2:40 in the morning after a day of flying and a sleepless night before is extremely difficult.

In the morning, after two train rides, one bus ride, and four hours, we arrived in Albany. It was rainy. The last feeling of warmth from the South American sun faded from our skin and the clamminess of Schenectady clung to lungs like a wet down-pillow. Need I say more?

We Ate Worms

Actually, they might have been caterpillars ... we're not really sure. We saw giant yellow wriggly things that were skewered on a stick and roasted for 15 minutes over a fire until they were crunchy. You wouldn't believe us if we told you they were actually very good and tasted like escargot , so for the record, the worms were disgusting. 

The worms/caterpillars were part of our dinner the last night of three that we spent in the jungle, a half-hour hike from the nearest house. The cuisine was mostly "jungle foods," from around our cabana, including the worms. We also harvested and ate yucca, wild onions, and the marrow of a palm tree. 

When we met our Aunt Leslie at the Quito airport last Wednesday evening, we didn't know exactly what we were going to do--only that it was going to be an adventure. As we were lying in our beds early the next morning, we decided to go to Mindo--the birdwatching capital of Ecuador. We arrived at the bus station outside of the city 40 minutes too late to catch the last bus, so after a few taxi rides in search of other buses, we decided to settle for a visit to the equator.

After a fun day at the equator museum and a tour of one of the largest inhabited volcano crater in the world, we found out about a tour the next day to an ancient Kichwan site that was actually on the equator. The site that is now the equator museum is actually about a quarter-mile from the actual equator, according to GPS readings. We hiked up a mountain to a site where, for the last 2000 years or so, the Kichwan people have sacrificed to Pachakamaq, the creator of the world, and observed the equinoxes. 

We rode the bus to Otavalo that evening to go to the Saturday market, said to be one of the largest in South America. We started around 7:45 am at the animal market, where farmers come to buy and sell livestock, including ducks and guinea pigs, and continued first into the fruit market, and then the seemingly endless rows of artesians' stands packed into the streets surrounding the main market square. By the end, we were all clutching large bags full of various gifts and seemly empty wallets. I can't even count how many times we said "alright, we have enough," only to find something else incredible. 

That brings us to the jungle. And the worms. We left Quito Sunday morning and spent the afternoon at a natural hot spring that is said to be the nicest in Ecuador. Even though I forget the name, I will never forget how clear and warm the water was--so warm we could really only stay in for 15 minutes at a time. I hope Seth forgets how I pushed him into the cold water pool. That was a little mean.

We didn't arrive in Tena, the city closest to the jungle we'd be exploring until after dark. We were all outfitted with ponchos and knee-high rain boots and bought what Aunt Leslie described as the "local insect repellent." She said on multiple occasions during our trip "okay, pass me the local stuff--it probably has the most DEET in it." It was so strong, the writing on the outside of the bottle started to smear, but not strong enough to keep all the bugs away from Aunt Leslie.

It was about 8pm when the local operator drove us 20 minutes outside of town and left us in what felt like someone's backyard while he went to pick up our local guides and cook. Eight of us hiked 40 minutes into the jungle, crossing several streams--or perhaps the same stream multiple times--until we arrived at the 3 story cabana and kitchen hut. We were the first tourists there in 6 months, so the crew worked to get our mattresses and mosquito nets ready while we watched a native dance performed by two energetic girls and one reluctant boy.

After dinner, which I confess I don't remember exactly--thus probably chicken and rice--we fell asleep quickly to the sounds of the nearby stream and an army of crickets.

The Race to Waynapicchu

The hike on Day 3 was mostly downhill and only took up the morning. We visited some ruins along the way, had more story times with Uncle Alex, and rolled into camp just before lunch. After lunch we had time to take showers or nap because our wake-up call was 4 the next morning to eat breakfast, get through the checkpoint, and arrive at Machu Picchu before too many of the yuppy tourists on buses arrived.

After breakfast on that fateful day, our group broke into two groups. One group would take their time on the last section of trail, stopping to take pictures, and walking at a leisurely pace. The other group would break the speed record in an effort to receive some of the 400 tickets issued daily for Waynapicchu. We knew we had to get their early because otherwise the yuppy tourists on buses would snatch all of the coveted 400. If you are reading this post, you probably know us well enough to figure out which group we joined.

Our group was the third one through the checkpoint, but we began running down the trail. It was still dark and drizzling. Our headlights bobbed up and down while our ponchos or raincoats flared out behind us. At first the groups ahead of us moved to one side to let us scamper past, but the group right in front had problems sharing the trail. To go into every little detail would make the moms back in the States feel bad, so we will simply say that when the narrow path widened a bit for a moment, one or two of us would dart past. Finally our entire group of 8 (minus those who were taking their time doing the trail) arrived at the Sun Gate, the entrance to Machu Picchu for those who hike the Inca Trail. We all did the trail between 34 and 38 minutes. People normally take 1 to 1 ½ hours to hike that section of trail. After some hasty pictures we walked/jugged down the last section of trail to the office to sign in.

The four of us who hiked down the trail fastest ran into trouble at the office because we did not have our tickets with us. Our guide did, and we had left him behind on the trail when we began running. Other workers told us there were only 10 tickets left to hike up Waynapicchu. This made us frantic, so we tried to get the special stamp before time ran out, but nothing could be done without our tickets. After 20 minutes of talking and begging the guards to let us through, we finally decided we had to go back up the trail to find our guide. Just as we started up the trail, we met him coming down. Now that we had our tickets we rushed through check-in, and then half-ran, half-stumbled to the other side of the park to get the stamp to climb Waynapicchu. There was a long line at the check-in, and the people at the back told us we had to go back to the front gate for the stamp. Exasperated and not knowing where to go for the much-wanted stamp, we ran into our guide, who went to talk to the people at the Waynapicchu gate. He returned to us, took our tickets, and went to the office again. When he came back he told us to follow him. His face was solemn.

Once around the corner his face broke into a huge grin as he waved our tickets with the stamps to climb Waynapicchu. We were so excited we took pictures of celebration by the poor llamas that just happened to be standing in the path at that moment.

The Road to Machu Piccu

Right now Seth and I are somewhere in Ecuador waiting for our night bus to Quito to meet our aunt. Our first impressions of Ecuador are that the cars are newer, the buses are smelly, and the ice cream isn´t that bad. For those of you looking for life advice, one liter of ice cream on an empty stomach in 95-degree heat is a bad idea.

Before we bring the blog up to current times, we felt the need to recount a little bit more of our hike to Machu Piccu, which by the way I´ve finally figured out how to spell correctly.

The morning of the second day hiking was the most difficult, consisting of a 3 hour hike up to the Dead Woman´s Pass, the highest point of the trek. DWP has an elevation of about 13,770 feet and is literally in the clouds. When Seth and I finally made it up, we could barely see anything--which was fine because the wind cut right through all our clothing. We took a group picture, broke up our 1-kilo chocolate fish to eat in celebration, and started down the other side.

By the time we meandered our way down through rainshowers and countless picture stops, the whole group was dead tired. We have a hilarious photo of everyone sleeping with their heads in their arms on the table in the lunch tent. No one really wanted to hike the second pass, even though it was less of an uphill climb than the last one.

Ironically, the views from this part of the hike were probably the best of the trip. The clouds constantly moved up and down the valleys, so a white wall would become a gorgeous view and then disappear in a matter of minutes. At the top of the pass we climbed along the mountain ridge taking pictures just as the sun came out from behind the clouds and we saw blue sky for the first time--it was absolutely breathtaking.

We watched the sun set from one of the Incan´s old guard posts overlooking the trail and heard yet another story from Incan history from our guide, affectionately known as "Uncle Alex" for his friendly and earnest way of telling his stories. Apparently, the Inca´s wanted to guard the existence of Machu Piccu from the Spaniards, so they destroyed the roads leading to MP and abandoned tell-tale guardposts, like the one we visited.

We hiked down to our campsite in the dark, which gave us all the satisfaction of using the headlamps we´d packed along with us. Snack time and dinner .... and the end of day two.

Onward and Slightly Upward

The night before we started the Inca Trail all three of us slept terrible. The room was hot, and at one point I woke up from a dream where I had woken up at 8 am with the sun streaming through the window and our bus long gone. It was actually only 1:30 and we will had three hours until we needed to get up. Finally 4:40 came, we got up, ate, and waited in the still dim streets for our bus. As the bus began the ascent out of Cusco, Jim and Lauren became more and more excited and the volume of their voices rose.

About half-way through our bus ride we stopped for a snack alongside the road. The bathrooms were closed, so we took turns standing guard and running around the building to answer natures' call.

Finally we rolled up to Km 82: the start of the Inca Trail. After standing in line to check-in and standing under signs for photos, we finally crossed the river and began!

The first half of Day 1 was easy because the trail was only 'undulating' (as our guide said), yet hard because it was only the first day and Jim kept stopping people to take more photos (it wasn't until Day 3 that I finally took the camera away from him). We all became super excited during lunch as we ate the hot soup, beef with fries (lomo saltado), and cooked vegetables. This first meal was just a sampling of the wonderful ones to come! After a quick afternoon nap we continued on our way. Towards evening the trail pointed steadily up, so we stopped for frequent breaks on the stone stairs (yes! built by none other than the Incas themselves!) Eventually we stumbled into our camp as the sun started to dip behind the mountains. Much to our pleasure, cookies and popcorn with tea or hot chocolate greeted us in the food tent. Our sleeping tent opened out on the mountain range; we could see the ice glaciers on top of the higher mountains from the door.

That evening in the eating tent we shared stories of one of the favorite places we had visited. People named places from Hawaii, Argentina, Africa, and Asia.

White Jesus

Okay ... it's been a while since we posted and a lot has gone down: our friend Lauren flew down to hike Machu Picchu with us, we explored Cusco, the royal Inca city, and I finally figured out that "machu" only has one c ...

Lauren flew in to Cusco after a grueling 19-hour trip from Nashville at 7am last Wednesday morning. We explored a little and took some long power naps, but our first big adventure was on Thursday--our last Inca Trail warm-up hike, the hike to White Jesus.

The night before, we'd seen a giant statue of Jesus illuminated on one of the hills outside Cusco and we all thought the same thing--"we need to hike to Jesus."

The next morning, we started walking in what we thought was the right direction. Along the way, we saw some school children goose-stepping in eerie resemblance to a certain fascist army and a soda delivery truck half-way tipped over on a cobblestone street and only propped up by some wooden poles.

Eventually, after getting directions and drinking some hot chocolate on a patio overlooking the city, we found the staircase that said "Cristo Blanco"--white Jesus. We started climbing and about 12 steps later we stopped for our first break--climbing steps at 11,000 feet is no joke.

During one of our breaks, we stopped to watch a man carving tiny statues out of serpentine stone--with a bent fork because he didn't have any machines! Needless to say, we picked up some incredible souvenirs and photos.

Soon after our encounter with the statue carver (okay, maybe they were idols), the stairs ended and a maze of narrow dirt paths emerged. We started hiking alongside two engineering students from Finland, who knew as little of the trail as we did, and we were all soon in the middle of the bushes on the mountainside. We chatted for a while and found out they were visiting Cusco just for a few days on their way to Chile to visit a factory for a project.

Eventually, we all decided it was best to keep going up, with or without a trail. We helped each other scramble up 3-foot ledges and avoid pricker bushes until we were almost at the top--when we found a trail parallel to the one we'd just made ... oh well

We spent some time taking pictures with the giant white statue of Jesus and found a much better path on the way down that let us get home before the afternoon rain started. We were ready for the Inca Trail

The Adventures at Suyai Wari

After yet another overnight bus, Jim and I arrived in Cuzco at 6:30 am. It took some time, but after going to another bus terminal and taking a taxi, we arrived in time for breakfast at Suyai Wari, an organization devoted to helping the natives properly use their resources and improving their community. Our arrival happened to be the same week as the reforestation week, so we have spent many hours marking the locations for the trees and digging the holes. That sounds straight forward, but we are in Peru, so it can´t be that easy. And it isn´t. After spending an afternoon marking hole locations in a field, some locals came and complained that they didn´t want the trees there. In the end we had to abandone that field. Another day someone filled in about 10 of the holes we had dug. This turned out to be ok, however, because we had dug them too close to a water line. On yet another day the shovel broke, leaving us with only two picks. The shop in town fixed the shovel, but we managed to break it again, so finally we bought a new one. We also had to buy a new pick because Superman was digging a hole, went to pry out a rock, and broke the metal prong. After that show of strength, Superman wasn´t allowed to eat anymore oatmeal.

Because Superman (Jim) and I both speak excellent English, we have been helping the English teacher at the local school. We help the children say the words properly in the textbook examples. In one class I also taught the kids the names for relatives. The director of Suyai Wari, who speaks very good English, had us fill in for him at the after school English class he teaches twice a week. While we enjoy being teacher at the after school class more than helping at the school, the after school class is difficult because the students are all different levels. We are trying different styles of teaching to ensure the students learn something. As of now we have discovered the students grasp a concept better if they can see a physical action such as, ´I sit on the chair´ or ´He walks around the room.´

High Altitude Island Hopping

Probably because we were getting sick of buses, Jim and I decided to mix it up a bit and take a boat to some islands on Peru´s Lake Titikaka, the world´s largest high altitude lake. Not surprisenly, buses were not a transport option to the islands.

The first islands we stopped at are the very famous and very touristy floating islands of the Uros tribe. Back in the days of the Incas, the Uros tribe made their islands out of roots and mud tied together with about six feet of reeds stacked on top to escape the Incas. The reeds are continually decaying, so the natives have put on a new layer every 20 days or so. The women who showed us around their island wore bright clothes of yellows, oranges, and pinks. When Jim asked them why they wore such bright clothes they answered, ´Oh, because the tourists like them.´

To come to the next island, we rode the boat for three hours, during which we talked, read, and slept. Upon landing, we were met by our host dad, who escorted us to his house for the evening. Our meals all consisted of quenwa soup, potatoes, and vegtables becuase the natives only eat food they can grow on the island. Meat is very rare because it has to come from the mainland, a long boatride away. In the evening we climbed up to the top of the mountain, and then after dinner we dressed up in native gard and went to a party of other grincos dressed up in native gard. We managed to get a family photo before we took off in the morning, a task we thought might not happen because the 4 year old son was constantly running away from his parents and us!

We boarded our boat just past 7 and went to another island. At this island the natives actually wore colorful clothes because that was the custom, not because tourists liked them. Our boat met us on the other side so that we could walk half-way around the island. Just before we boarded we were taken to a restaurant to buy lunch, even though it was only 10:30. We decided to split a dish because of the time and the tourist price we were being charged. When Jim asked them why the lunch cost so much, the guide said because the food had to come from the mainland. But our food consisted of grains and vegtables grown on the island and, or all foods, fish. Considering we were on an island, Jim and I think it very unlikely the fish came from the mainland.

The Adventures of a Peruvian Bus

We kicked off our Peruvian bus adventures with a cool 48-hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Tacna Peru with one of Argentina´s top bus companies. The first class floor, where we decided to get seats since the ride was so long, had its own steward, dressed in dress clothes and a tie, who made us tea and gave us cookies at random hours of the day. The half-dozen movies were remarkably good and our fellow passengers, a retired couple from Lima, bought us apples after ours were confiscated at Chile border and offered us their spare room whenever we pass through Lima again.

Then we were dropped off in Tacna, Peru´s southernmost city, and our Peruvian bus adventures began. The two señoritas at the front desk gave us directions to the ATM and then when we arrived to board the bus and the waiting room was crowded, they invited us to sit behind the desk with them. We chatted with all of them, I think there were four, for a while, and then the truth came out: one of them thought Seth was cute and wanted to know if he was single.

We played along for another 10 minutes and then boarded the bus. By this time Seth had managed to communicate the idea of "blowing kisses" between his human Spanish dictionary, yours truly, and some expressive pantomime. There were various giggles at this display as we boarded, which escalated to an entirely new level as the bus pulled out, with Seth¨s window in full view of the front office.I´ve never been to a Justin Beiber concert, but I have a feeling the ensuing shrieks that attracted the attention of everyone on the bus, are probably akin to the noises made by similarly-aged girls at such concerts. The analogy is even more apropos since Seth´s still uncut hair is starting to resemble that of young Beiber.

The bus ride was a little cold, but not terribly awful except for the incredibly monotonous movie about British fighting Zulus. We arrived in Puno around 3:30 am, spent a few hours on a hotel floor, and shoved off for a 2-day tour of the indigenous islands. Upon our return, we acted on the suggestion of one of our fellow tourists and asked to pay for 2nd class but sit in 1st class.

Once again, the señorita was very friendly and gave us the desired upgrade. She also had lots of questions about our lives and home ... including whether or not we were single. In retrospect, it may have turned out better if she had been less effusive. The bus was hands down the worst bus we´ve ever ridden in--the seats did not recline all the way, the leg rests were too short, the seats were too narrow for first class, the gears screamed every time we hit 3rd gear and the toilet hole dumped directly onto the road.

Surprisingly we slept a little bit and haven´t been too tired in our first day working outside Cusco. We laid out a field for reforestation and tomorrow we´ll start digging holes. We´re looking forward to our 2 weeks in this area, which should give us enough time to prepare for the next bus ...

The Wedding Feast

Please don´t think the only thing we liked about the wedding at the Tribe of Issachar was the food. I actually think the tribesmen, if that is an appropriate term, would approve of the characterization of their ceremony as a "wedding feast." They try to mimic the book of Revelations in their wedding ceremony, with the groom playing the role of Christ and the bride that of the church. The marriage supper of the Lamb is a celebration feast that celebrates the victory over the forces of evil.

We were helping make up plate of appetizers when the groom arrived, clothed in white and accompanied by three companions, also wearing white robes. After mingling for a few minutes, the groom took his seat on his emerald throne, formerly the easy chair in the music room, and the festivities began. First was a skit where Christ, played by the groom, spoke of his longing for his bride to overcome her adversaries. His companions, who turned out to be the Apostle John, the prophet Daniel, and Abraham. After a while of recallining biblical prophecies, a messenger arrived to say the bride was ready.

We all moved over to the platform the stood about 6 feet off the ground. After a few words from one of the elders, the groom yelled for his bride and she came running out of the house and up the ramp to meet the groom.  The bride and the groom had been separated for a week and the excitement in both their faces and demeanors overshadowed any corniness potentially inherent in this type of bridal entry.

With the bride and groom now firmly holding hands, something they did for the rest of the afternoon, the dance of the overcomers was performed. Most of the community members participated in one of their traditional dances, specially prepared for the occasion. A few representing evil, clustered in the middle. They wore black hooded robes, each painted with a different sin--rebellion and love of money are the two I remember. Different statements were hurled between the twirling circle and the miscreants wandering in the center, but the good finally triumped and the black hoods were left lying on the ground as we moved off for the rest of the dances.

The bride had a dance for the groom and the groom likewise. The children also had a dance and after a few more appropriate words, we moved the tables onto the dance circle under the shade of the giant tree and the feast began. Everyone was served a giant tender piece of lamb along with potatoes and bread baked the day before by yours truly. In the interests of full disclosure, I measured the flour and then cut the dough into little pieces, but I see that as an essential part of the baking process, hence "baked by yours truly." On the subject of disclosure, both Seth and I were offered a second plate, which we accepted with great eagerness. Eating only beans and rice for the week previous made us very grateful and appreciative for any sort of meat--and this lamb was exceptional, so it was easy to find room for all the lonely pieces.

After the dinner finished, the bride and groom both sang songs to honor their parents, with parts in Spanish, French, and Russian to express their different ethnicities. The bride´s parents had emigrated from Ukraine and Keli´s mother was French, so he learned that as well as Spanish growing up in Argentina. After this, they said their vows, which were more of a free and sincere expression of what they believed they were doing by making a marriage covenant with the other and were married.

The craziest part was that we accompanied them to their new house on the property and sang a song as they closed the door. Seth and I couldn´t believe it--but since they were married ...

Here Comes the Wedding

To provide some variety, we are writing this post together.

For the first time in two weeks, Jim and I actually do not have a job to do. This is because everyone is practicing dances for the wedding due to take place this Saturday. All the members of the community are running frantically around trying to make the grounds look more beautiful and beginning to prepare the food for the feast. Both Jim and I are psyched about the feast because so far, we know there will be nine lambs, not to mention various desserts, appetizers, and who knows what else. Jim and I have moved lots of dirt because heaps of dirt don't look good in photographs. Today while driving the two-wheeled tractor Jim lost control changing gears and drove it into the hedge. I jumped off the trailer and proceeded to try not to laugh. It did not help that there was a weird neighbor (who was sneaking up to scare us) talking in Spanish very quickly. He had seen the maneuverer and was probably trying to tell us how to drive. In the end we probably scared him more than he scared us.

Fortunately in the midst of all these misadventures, we get lots of snacks. Most of the men start working around 8:30 and continue until past midnight. Even 12-year-old-Issachar (jokingly referred to by the other children as "Is A Car") was up putting up lights until 2:20am last night! Needless to say we don't stay up quite that late helping out, but when the night shift starts after dinner, we usually help out until at least a few snacks have been served. On one memorable occasion, Inhemia (that might be how you spell his name, which means "Comfort of God" in Hebrew) was explaining what I was going to do in Spanish when the snack arrived. He abruptly switched to English (which he only shouts) and said "now drink mate and eat cookies!"

Yesterday we made a 5 benches out of new wood and old metal from defunct park benches. I'm not going to lie--they turned out pretty well. As we put the finished benches outside the workshop, all sorts of people would stop to try them out and say "Que lindo!" (which means "how beautiful") and thank us profusely. The traffic became so noticeable that one of our 12-year-old sidekicks suggested we start charging admission!

The custom at the Twelve Tribes is to not allow the bride and groom to see each other for week before their wedding. The guy with whom we share our house, who is the groom, had someone take the screen off his window because the house door can be seen from the bride's window. Jim even macheted a path through the hedge (not the one he drove into) for the groom. Now he will come flying through the window and land with a loud thud on the floor anytime, regardless of whether or not it is pitch black.

We have heard of several other wedding customs that sound very interesting. Before we write about them, however, we are waiting to see them so that we don't judge to quickly.

Exodus in Argentina

Jim and I were raking grass the other day and it reminded me of a comment he had made a while ago on the last farm. We were doing another miserable and boring job and he had said, "Seth, I think being a WWOOFer is a lot like being a slave. We aren't paid and we have to do as we are told." After some thought I had to agree, especially when we began making bricks out of clay and horse manure. We seemed to have step right out of the book of Exodus: we were living in a another land making bricks for the 'ruler.'

Fortunately, however, our situation is better than a Siberian concentration camp. According to Jim, who is reading a book about a Siberian concentration camp, the oppressed people there had to get up at 5; we only have to get up at 6:40 (although it feels like 5). Instead of working 10 hour days, we only have to work a 7 hour day. We also can eat as much as we desire at meals, unlike the those in the concentration camp who had to work extra hard for an extra 6 oz. of bread. I don't think they had much bread to begin with either.

So all in all, among the many places we have seen and the many things we have done, Jim and I can also add the experience of slavery to our travel resume. But lest you think us ungrateful, we do appreciate the experience we are gaining working with our hands. As a note to those in the United States who had the thought of making a list of things for us to do, please keep in mind that what happens in Argentina, stays in Argentina.

The Wedding Crashers

Greetings from the Tribe of Issachar, a member of the Twelve Tribes Christian communes, a Christian community about an hour outside the city of Buenos Aires.

In case you think we've gone totally loco, rest assured that "Issachar" has visitors all the time who help around the farm and the bakery, most of whom are just looking for farming experience.

Right now there are about 40 people, with 20 more due to arrive tomorrow from the beach, who work in the kitchen preparing the food, in the garden growing food to eat and sell, baking bread, doing landscaping work around the community, and for the next two weeks, preparing feverishly for their first wedding. It's the day we originally planned to leave, but this is a BIG deal here, so we're definitely going to stay.

The groom is my roommate, a serious bearded Argentine who speaks very good English. He's been a member of the community for about 10 years, as has his fiancée, who's from Ukraine. Tomorrow I think I'm going to help him tile the bathroom in his new house, which will give us lots of time to talk more about the community.

From what we have learned so far, they try to model their community after the early church and have all things in common. The money they earn is put into a communal pot and whenever someone needs something it is procured, either independently if it's a small thing, or through the approval of a council if it is a larger item.

We're having a good time so far and Seth, I think, is a potential Martin Luther for the Twelve Tribes. His planned reformations include meat everyday and an optional 7am meeting (it's mandatory right now), with closed-circuit television for those who want to "participate" while remaining in bed.

We'll keep you posted on the wedding preparations (11 days to go!) and on other potential reformations.

Hitchhiking: Harder Than It Looks

It's a quiet Saturday night in Buenos Aires, so a retrospective at our first "successful" hitchhiking adventure is in order.

One of the other volunteers had a problem with his leg, so we hitched a ride from the estancia into sleepy town of Gobernator Gregores. Pauline dropped us off with our bags and some food and told us she'd come back in 3 hours to see if we were still there. The traffic was quite sparse, maybe a car every 5-10 minutes, and so thumbing was slow, but fun. Most of the drivers would react, giving us various signals that seemed to indicate they weren't going that far or were returning to town.

After about 40 minutes, a guy in a small car stopped and asked where we were going. We told him several times and he had no idea what we were talking about. After 4 or 5 times repeating "El Calafate" at various speeds, we tried varying the pronunciation which did the trick: we were saying the name incorrectly.

Unfortunately, Antonio, our friendly traveler, did not speak slow Spanish and we did not understand where he was going. He did say that we could get some kind of a bus from where he'd leave us to El Calafate. We hopped in the and 2 hour journey over gravel roads began.

Antonio finally dropped us off at the bus station in the town and wished us good luck. He is a technician at a power plant and was headed to the coast on business. In the station we saw the first map of this hitchhiking adventure ... It turns out there was a fork a few miles down the road from where we were thumbing a ride--and Antonio was going down the wrong fork!

We were bummed we had to end up traveling 3 sides of a square to get to El Calafate, but we were thankful that someone picked up us and all our bags. Both of us agreed that we're not even sure we would pick ourselves up, so we're thankful for whatever generosity we get. Next time though, we're taking a map.

The Adventures of Bread

Jim and I walked by a bakery today and it brought back memories from our two weeks on the estancia. Since we were left alone for two weeks, we ate all the fresh meat we had in the first four days before it went bad (our dog loved the bone we gave her when we were done!). Bread did not make it into our collection of supplies, but we found yeast and flour in the cupboard. After about half a week I decided I wanted to try to make bread, so I mixed some powered milk with water, beat in two eggs, and then poured in flour (with a dash of salf) until the batter seemed appropiate. Then I added some yeast and beat, rolled, and kneeded the dough just like I thought a peasant should. The bread went into the oven, and since we had no way to measure the heat, I had to keep my eye on it (but I knew NOT to open the oven door because the bread would fall!) After all was done, we ate the bread and decided it was a huge success, especially since I had no way to measure anything.

I made bread again after we had moved. This next batch we cooked in a wood stove, so it took longer. The bread came out a little flat too because I didn't put in enough yeast.

The last batch was cooked in the outdoor, brick oven. We cooked pizza crusts first, and afterwards stuck in the bread. The fire had become very hot by that time, so hot that when we came to check on the bread 15 minutes later, the top was completely black. Jim put out the fire and we let the oven cool. Since the underside of the bread was still soft, we flipped the bread in the pans and stuck them back in. Over the course of the next couple days we ate the bread down to the black crust. Our dog ate the burnt part for us.

From Glaciers to Air Conditioners

The hike around the glaciers was probably the most amazing hike either Jim or I have even done. After some steep uphill parts, we arrived at a small lake the color of mysterious green with a mountain looming overhead (Fitz Roy). We sat on one side of the lake, but there was snow on the other side. Needless to say, the water was frigid since the water came from melted glacier ice. The next day we went to a huge glacier, Perito Moreno. Only 180 feet of this glacier is over the water, but that is impressive, especially when ice chunks break off the glacier and crash into the water below (and the chunks really do crash!) The glacier itself is about 18 miles long and just over the surface area of the city of Buenos Aires. On the way back to the town we had the shuttle drop us off near a lake a native had recommended to us. We walked for about two hours before a family picked us up and took us to the campground (finally! successful hitchhiking!) We found a shelter made out of thick branches near the top of a hill by the lake to spend the night. In the morning we started out once again. And once again we successfully hitchhiked to where we wanted to go! We have a 50% success rate now!

We arrived in El Calafate at 1:30. At the bus station we were told we could catch a bus a 2 that would take us to another city where we would catch a bus to Buenos Aires at 8. With half-an-hour we ran back to our hostel for our bags; Jim bought bread from a bakery for the ride on the way. While Jim made a reservation for a hostel in Buenos Aires (we got a discount if we reserved beforehand) I dragged my luggage to the nearest ATM because we did not have enough money in cash to pay for the tickets (the all powerful VISA is not as widely accepted in Patagonia). The first bank was closed, so I ran to another. That one had a line, so with no other choice I stood there trying not to keep looking at my watch. My ATM receipt reports the transaction time as 1:56; the bus pulled out of the terminal, with us on it, at 2:11.

Part of the reason we rushed for that particular bus was that we got a really good deal in the first class compartment. So instead of skinny seats to spend the next 38 hours on, we spent them in plush seats that allowed us to move from one side to the other as we slept. We had more leg room (something I do not fully appreciate) and even reclined our seats one time to do crunches. Last night we switched buses at the halfway point. Two hours into the journey on the new bus, the tire blew. We spent almost five hours at a random gas station in the middle of nowhere (remember! we were in Patagonia!) before another bus came to pick us up. It turns out the bus that came to pick us up was the same bus we had left only 7 hours before. Without more excitement we arrived in Buenos Aires this afternoon. The weather of Buenos Aires is sweltering. Instead of spending the evening in sweatshirts like we did in Patagonia, we dug out our shorts and listened to the air conditioners humming.

Hello Electricity

Seth and I are finally back from another world--the world without electricity. I don´t really know how best to start describing our time on what I think was 81 square miles, so I think I´ll just string some impulses together. It is after all after midnight and I can see in front of me without a candle--and there are no mice hear to run over my legs (easily the scariest part of the 2 weeks).

I think I´ll start and end with describing our typical day and let Seth pick up the torch with some of the juicy details. We kept a journal every day to make sure nothing important, or unimportant, was forgotten.

We rolled out of our sheepskin beds shortly before nine to make a giant pot of oatmeal. Often I would get up a little early and read while Seth barricaded himself in our room for a precious extra hour of sleep away from Sheeps the dog--who enjoyed licking any bare skin she could find. During our week at the first house on the estancia, the puesto, we had fresh cherries to stick in the oatmeal, which almost made up for the lack of peanut butter.

We´d usually work for a few hours repairing fences, making canals, picking cherries, or something else. Our tasks were varied, so we usually didn´t get too bored with the jobs. About 1 pm we´d break to make lunch, something we´d always plan at dinner the night before. After lunch we would read or write for at least an hour until 3:30, when we started work again. We always tried to do something a little bit easier in the afternoon, like making cherry dulce, so we didn´t wear ourselves out before dinner.

Making dinner was often the highlight of the day.We had no measuring cups or recipies, which led to some hilarious culinary accidents, including but not limited too 1 gallon too much of rice for stir fry (we gave it to the dog) and some very, very bad crepes (we ate them anyway, but in the dark so we couldn´t see how bad they looked). We often made several courses to stretch out the meal and dessert was often eaten around a fire or by candlelight as the sun set. It was quite bro-mantic

Now we are in the mountains about to do some hiking around the glaciers, so I need to go to bed so Seth doesn´t leave me in the dust going up the mountain tomorrow.

Life on the Estancia

Our past couple days at the estancia have been filled with not terribly exciting work, but occasionally we find something worth writing about to do. For example, this past week we helped to slaughter a sheep. That was not a regularly occurrence back in Schenectady. Skipping over the details, I will simply say the priests who slaughtered sheep in the Old Testament would have stunk after offering a lamb on the altar (we all took showers afterwards). The next day we ate some of the sheep and cut up the rest and stored it in the freezer.

One evening we had crepes for dinner (remember, the estancia owners are French). Jim and I both had the chance to cook our own crepes, complete with the turning the crepe by flipping it into the air! We had leftover batter, so the next morning we practiced our crepe flipping some more. Of course we didn’t mind eating the results of our efforts!

The weather finally stopped being unusual and started being usual. The unusual consisted of no wind and a dry heat. One day it was just over 100 degrees in the sun. Needless to say we sat in the shade until the heat subsided a bit. Now the wind is returned, likely to stay, since Patagonia is known for its wind. The windmills that generate the electricity have been spinning all day. The air is not cold, but the wind has a chilly bite to it that makes it slightly more uncomfortable than refreshing.

The owners of the ranch are about to leave for a two week vacation. Jim and I agreed to spend those two weeks at the other estancia they own, 15 miles from the one where we are currently living. The estancia we are going to does not have internet. Actually, it doesn’t even have electricity. It does have gas for the stove though. We thought we were in the middle of nowhere now, but apparently this other estancia is even more in the middle of nowhere. It was described to us like this, “You can see the cars from this estancia [they are little dots with lots of dust behind them]. At the other estancia, you can’t see the cars.” When the owners bought this remote estancia someone told them it was a prime location for a serial killer because it is in such a lonely location. Oh! And we need to watch out for the pumas too.

Con cuidado!

What Did You Do for Super Bowl Sunday?

We spent the night in the town of Gobernator Gregores, population 3500, after 6 hours by the side of the road attempting to hitchhike to the Estancia (the Argentine name for ranch).

The next morning, I walked around and found the “Templo Evangelico,” which was quite an exciting discovery since we hadn’t been to church in a while. We went back at 10 and no, there wasn’t a service, but a bible study would very soon get under way. From what I gathered, the 2 hour study was about the devil and his various schemes, accompanied by a reading and extensive commentary on what is probably every relevant New Testament verse. Two long-suffering souls in the front row read at least 30 passages, as the adults listened attentively. Needless to say, Seth and I identified a bit more with the children, who fidgeted or tugged on their parents' clothing.

The service ended with what some of our French companions here on the ranch have described as an exorcism: The teacher would pray over someone and then push them back into the waiting arms of two or three other parishioners. At first it was novel, but the strangeness of the situation soon became overpowering. Seth and I agreed that it would not be ill-mannered to leave immediately, so we did. 

**Blog post interrupted to go catch and slaughter a sheep, no joke**

After lunch we took a taxi for 30 kilometers and then walked with all our luggage on a dirt road for almost 4 hours. The wheels on Seth's suitcase were not a big help and they are no more. The third car that passed us picked us up and dropped us off at the ranch, where we will be for the next 3 weeks. 

Somewhere in Patagonia ...

We took another overnight bus south ... again. It doesn't seem to bother us anymore. Honestly, its almost like staying at a hostel, except you can't lie down to sleep. If I hadn't been woken up by water (from the air conditioning system??) dripping on my forehead, I would have comfortably slept through the night.

I started to get nervous when the sun came up and we were driving down a gravel road--a road that is supposed to be a national highway. The sage and other knee-high underbrush spread as far as the eye could see on either side and we would only pass houses every 20 or 30 minutes. I started to be very concerned that the "town" we were headed to would be a few houses and we'd be stranded and unable to find a bus for the final 300 kilometers to the sheep ranch.

It turns out I had reason to be concerned. Even though the bus route goes within 75 K of where we need to be, there is no transportation across that stretch. For better or worse, we resisted to the temptation to hitchhike from the prairie crossroad. Now we are hanging out in the town until our next night bus, which will take us to the coast and then farther south, to a city that definitely has a bus going past the ranch ...

Currently Seth is finishing Great Expectations while I write this post. We're sitting in a museum/coffee house and I'm trying mate, the Argentinian herbal coffee substitute and national obsession. It's a bit bitter, but on the whole quite tasty. The best part is the ritual that goes along with drink: fill your pot mostly full with herbs and pour in a little hot water and sugar. After you've finished, you pour in a little more water and sugar and keep drinking. The mate straws are stainless steel and have a little filter at the bottom to prevent ingestion of the herbs themselves--they also look like something straight out of Lord of the Rings, which certainly adds to their mystique.

So here we are in cowboy country ... hoping to get to our ranch ... and hoping somehow we can watch the Super Bowl. Wish us luck.

From Water in the Sky to Water on the Ground

Our bike ride ended Sunday after several hours of riding in the rain. When we stopped for hot chocolate at a swanky restaurant along the road the waiter came outside to the patio so we didn't have to go inside. My bet is he didn't want two wet, gross looking guys sitting down inside. But at least we were dry on the patio and the hot chocolate was good!

We spent one last night in Chile before catching a bus to Bariloche, Argentina. Now we are situated in a hostel located on the tenth floor of an apartment building. The reason? The windows give an unobstructed view of the lake and Andes Mountains. From our windows we can see people swimming below us and snow-capped mountains across the lake. The swimming is not for us, however, since the water is frigid. We already went swimming in frigid water in Chile for Jim's birthday. It was the first time he had gone swimming outside on his birthday. Or worn shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt. We are scoring life changing moments on this trip.

Jim sent me out today to shop for dinner while he went to buy the bus tickets. With the intention of making stir-fry, I bought pasta. But my true Italian instinct kicked in and instead of being satisfied with one pack, I bought two. Only after I had paid the bill did I realize there were only two of us to feed. Now I think I am finally beginning to understand how my mother feels when she cooks for us.

I´m Standing Up to Write This

Seth and I have just finished Day 2 of our 120 mile bike ride around Lake Llanquihue in southern Chile. The rolling hills are occaisionally occupied by dairy cows and are always incredibly green. The lake is dominated by 3 snowcapped volcanos, even in the summer.

We didn´t know this before we arrived in the town of Frutillar 3 days ago, but Chile is one of the most developed countries in Latin America. Most people have at least one car, and the family we´re staying with tonight has a giant flat screen TV with cable from America. All that to say, this part of Chile is very touristy for Chileans--I don´t think we´ve run into any foreign tourists.

These beautiful green hills are our nemisis. They just never end. Our ride yesterday was up and down the entire time, often on gravel roads with bone-jarring bumps.

Our legs hurt, but the worst parts are our bottoms. Every time we mount up after a break, we wince in pain from the hours of sitting on a fairly hard seat. It gets better as the ride goes on, but the ache is always there. At this point, Seth and I are labeling scenic bike tours on gravel roads with hills as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. We both plan on sleeping on our stomachs and being less sore for the last 76 kilometers ... however far that is

The Virgin Mary watches over Santiago

Jim and I are now in Santiago, Chile. We arrived here after a 22 hour bus ride to the south of Peru, and then a 30 hour bus ride to Santiago. Whenever we got off the bus to stretch our legs we feared that we had finally gone south enough where the air was cool. But no, we are still basking in 80 degree weather in our shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. My dad send me the weather link for NY and it appears snow is still falling there. I wouldn´t know from first hand knowledge.

Yesterday we took the metro (yes! Santiago has a metro) to a park. The park is actually a really big hill (or a small mountain by NY standards) in the middle of the city. On the top of the hill is a statue of the Virgin Mary. Since we both have a fascination with posing in the same position as a statue, Jim got to pose with the Virgin Mary. I posed last time with Jesus. Jim definately got the bitter end of that deal. On the way up the hill we stopped to drink a Chilean drink: two canned peaches in peach nector with a type of grain at the bottom. Although it looked almost deadly, it was remarkably enjoyable. After descending the hill we walked through downtown Santiago. The city is beautiful with wide widewalks, many older buildings with colonnades, and of course, palm trees! We spent a while sitting at the plaza where the Spanish soldiers use to drill. It doesn´t get dark until 9 pm, so just before 9 we ate some Chilean sandwiches by a fountain in the gathering dusk.

According to the locals, it is possible to see the Andes from Santiago. While all the pictures on the postcards prove this, we cannot see the Andes yet because of the smog. Tonight we leave for a region called the Lake District in southern Chile on an overnight bus.

Sweaty Onions

Day 1 in Lima is drawing to a close. Seth and I are definitely beginning our trips a bit differently than last time. There were no late night walks around town, and no random accosting of strangers for directions. We haggle properly with taxi´s and use the drivers as unofficial Spanish tutors.

Most spectacularly, for the first time, we found a restaurant using a guidebook. We never owned one in Central America, so the option of taking one with us when we explored the Miraflores neighborhood was a new experience. We decided to take it, ostensibly as a reference for our dinner discussion about the next leg of our journey. I confess I felt we were channeling a little bit of the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing-SLR-toting tourist, but we only pulled it out on deserted street corners when we were sure no one was watching.

We decided to go with the Lonely Planet editor´s choice for dinner: Hot ´n Cool--a sandwich shop purportedly bursting with personality and hot sauce. The pork-pineapple-and-banana chip sub was not a disappointment, along with a glass of pomegranate juice, nor was Seth´s Iberia--a sausage and pepper sub

According to the English translation on the menu, both were served with sweaty onions. One can only hope this a reflection of poor English as opposed to poor food service standards.

On a completely unrelated note, we showed up unannounced at a Peruvian think tank, hoping to learn about their work for property rights in developing countries. The secretary was quite apologetic: it seems that the boss, the economist Hernando de Soto, was in town and everybody was in a meeting with him. She didn´t want to disappoint, so she arranged for us to spend a few minutes with someone. It was the librarian, whose only spoken English was ¨"librarian"!  We didn´t do too badly for our first day back speaking Spanish, but to be honest, it was a little rough.

We´re headed to a Wycliffe Bible Conference, hoping to meet a few translators. Do you know there are over 2,000 languages that don´t have a Bible translation? Neither did we.

From Snow to Palm Trees

Jim and I arrived in Lima, Peru tonight. Outside my open window the palm trees are rustling in the balmy breeze. Once we arrived at our guest house from the airport, both Jim and I traded our jeans, sweaters, and coats for shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. Coming to Peru while New York is covered in snow was definitely a quality life decision.

Rewinding back to Monday night, Jim and I boarded a bus to NYC. We then took two trains to JFK airport, where we spent the night. Since we knew we had 12 hours to spend in the airport we rode the airport train past all the terminals to see which one we liked the best. Terminal 1 fit our fancy, so we hung out there until midnight, when we were asked to move to Terminal 4 because the guards wanted to close Terminal 1. Jim and I took turns sleeping on a bench that had pads while the other one read, ate, and watched our baggage. Morning came and we saw precipitation through the windows. We, however, took off at 10:45 am and have no more knowledge of the weather in NY. Nor do we really care as we sit beside our open window and listen to the palm trees rustling in the wind.