Who's Flying This Plane? The Power of Letting Go.

I think about the control issues I've had throughout life, and how as I've matured, I let go more and more. I just went through a couple of weeks of resorting back to some bad worrying habits, and then realized it was making me absolutely miserable. I had to do some evaluating of the situation and my issues due to some confusion at work, at home, etc. Dad loved the book, The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. The agreements are ingenious and simple. It teaches as follows:

(1) Be Impeccable With Your Word. The broad scope of this concept is to avoid "sin" against yourself by what you think. Sinning against the self takes many forms: such as, putting yourself down, gossiping, or putting anybody else down because you don't agree with what they think. Actions and words need to be consistent as part of being impeccable with yourself. The other side of the coin is the smoky mirror concept. Ruiz makes the point that our perceptions of others are merely reflections of ourselves. Therefore, to put another down or project negative words or energy towards another person, is to lash out at the other person because of our own insecurities.

(2) Don't Take Anything Personally. There is an awful lot of negative energy out there and some of it is directed at us by other people. If you take it personally and take on the poison of another's words, it becomes a very negative agreement you have with yourself. What anybody thinks about you, or says about you, is really about them. Not taking it personally allows you to be in relationship with anyone and not get trapped in their stuff. This agreement can also pertain to things that we take personally that cause us to go into upset.

(3) Don't Make Assumptions. What we think we understand about what someone says, how someone looks at us, what someone means by what they do, etc, may often not reflect reality at all, and more often than not lead us to think badly of ourselves or of others, and reinforce not being impeccable with our word.

(4) Always Do Your Best. Your "best" is a variable thing from moment to moment. "When you do your best, you don't give the Judge the opportunity to find you guilty or to blame you.” You can always say, “I did my best." There are no regrets. (p.80) The other key to doing your best revolves about being in action. "Action is about living fully. Inaction is the way that we deny life. Inaction is sitting in front of the television every day for years because you are afraid to be alive and to take the risk of expressing what you are. Expressing what you are is taking action. You can have many great ideas in your head, but what makes the difference is the action. Without action upon an idea, there will be no manifestation, no results, and no reward."

These agreements are freeing. Surrender! What a concept. This is "Ancient Toltec Wisdom," but also just plain relevant. You don't have to live life as a victim to what others think of you. Now, I used to identify with being a neurotic (I know, some of you just said: "Used to?" Ha. Ha.) and by following these principles, that means that I unfortunately had to let go of part of my identity. Previously, if I wasn't worrying-- I wasn't existing. Therefore, I found myself rather miserable, worrying about family and friends and coworkers and all of their actions. The key part: They weren't affecting me! Where was I in this equation? Nowhere. Why did I feel the need to be there? Ego. To make myself feel more important and needed. Surrender. You will wake up and realize you exist, that you haven't lost your job or your friends and family, and that it doesn't mean you don't care. Breathe. Let it go.

You're Hot Then You're Cold

Having lived in Arizona my entire life, minus that six-month stint in the UK, when someone asks me: "Do you hate the cold or the heat more?" I've always said the heat. It's blistery and sweaty, and everyone wants to talk about how what they grew up in was the most miserable of weather. I felt I added credit to my answer based on those few months I spent in one of the UK's warmest winters, the cold is also something you can bundle up in. In the heat, no matter how many clothes you take off without breaking laws, you can't really fool your body temperature. Every summer I tell myself I will somehow not hate summer as much as I did the year before. Honestly, because we cruise from our air conditioned vehicles to our air conditioned jobs or errands, we don't get to really experience it. Many are affected by Arizona's brand of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I am pretty sure that my lightly-sunburned chest that is present throughout the summer months still doesn't make up for the lack of sunshine I allow myself because of fear of scorching. Many citizens are only happy when there is "cool" nearby, usually in the form of a pool. In fact, there are friends that I keep around purely because they own a pool. Despite all of this, I think I will stop arguing with those from the midwest and northeast and admit that cold really sucks. I am currently peeling from a sunburn that I managed to get while laying on the beach in California in 70-degree weather.so I can't blame the heat for sunburns either. When I think to when I've actually been MISERABLE because of weather, it's always associated with things like rain, wind and not feeling parts of my appendages or face. You win, northerners. You win. So, for no reason at all, if you ask me in the future, you will know my answer.

This leads to the fact that I change my mind a lot. You know how your mother always thinks that you like the same foods you liked when you were ten? "When did you start eating mushrooms?" she bellows at you fifteen years later... Well, it's funny how, as a culture, we are not receptive to people around us just changing their minds. Our decisions are our reference points to how we view others/are viewed by others in our social circle. That's Jill-- she's a hippie liberal arts activist. Ok, I just described myself, but the point is, we love to throw titles around. At the same time, reinvention is what keeps us alive. I mentioned this in my first post-- that we have to tear parts down in order to build new ones. I started caring for plants recently, and I have been pruning leaves, so I am starting to get this nature metaphor. We have to continue to grow. Yet it's still a shock when someone that we define as X, Y and Z, decides to try something new or even more shocking when they completely reinvent themselves. We're almost resentful of that couch potato who joins yoga and becomes a vegetarian... WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE CHANGING THEIR LIFESTYLE? She's getting all this attention for making decisions she should have years ago and I've done yoga for seven years! Unfortunately, if you're consistently mediocre or just pretty good at something, you don't really get massive popularity one day. This does not mean that you aren't fantastic and doing your best! Don't lose heart just because your story isn't being highlighted by the news. Notice that the best stories are always from one extreme to another: Rags to Riches, Obese to Thin, Cancer Survivor Wins the Tour de France Six Times! ...That's enough, Lance Armstrong...

Yet 99.9% of us work on a smaller scale. So for those non-life-changing, but perhaps slightly view-shifting ideas that just aren't working for us anymore, let's just accept them in ourselves and those surrounding us. "You don't hate Mad Men anymore?" "You hike now?" "You started eating red meat?" "You dyed your hair?" "You're a hipster?" All of these may be followed by an "...well then I don't even know you." The fact is that many of us may be afraid to change these small things that helped define us because we're scared of being judged or for others to see our convictions weakened. Changing is my favorite part of being human. I love to find something that tests my previous notions, even though I might be stubborn or judgmental at first. For example, if someone asked me to go to a Nascar race. Actually, I just laughed to myself out loud. I don't know if I can get over my preconceived notions of being engulfed by a sea of mullets... I didn't think I liked Parks and Rec because I watched two episodes. I then decided to give it a real shot when I was bored last weekend and watched all three seasons. We can now not only call me a fan, but also an expert on Ron Swanson. I also love to surprise myself. For example, I am currently taking piano lessons and I got way too excited when I played Mary Had a Little Lamb with two hands. I start improv lessons in two weeks... Let's see if I'm funny unscripted. Why not? Get out, make some change and try something new. It's scary to prove yourself and those around you that you're capable of expanding and changing, but it's also an amazing quality that I never want to lose. So yeah, I hate the freezing cold.

Where's the Grief?

If you can't tell by the title, this is going to be a rant purely about grief. Dad passed away two months ago on April 9th. Heart attack. I woke up that Saturday morning he died to a car alarm going off. Later on, my coworker Kathleen asked me if the banshee had come to tell me, and I remembered the alarm and realized it had... He's gone. I can't really wrap my head around it. The moment I start to, I just feel angry and cheated and sad, frustrated, and terrified and drained, which comes before or/and after I'm numb and tired and happy and energetic and ambitious and ...it's like I'm experiencing a wealth of these extreme, down-to-my-bones emotions that I've never experienced before. I can only compare it to having those hormones I had when I was in high school, except I handle things completely differently now and my maturity helps. Yet occasionally I find myself having emotional moments in an inappropriate setting (i.e. work, or at a happy event), and I just try not to let it get too out-of-hand (Sidenote: When I am in that moment, typically started by nothing but my own mind, I really really want to punch someone in the face a la M'Lynn in Steel Magnolias). So, it becomes obvious that I don't have the tools to cope. Yet...I don't know anyone who does. I think that must be where the extreme frustration comes in. Grasping non-stop without actually taking hold of anything. What's appropriate in this situation? I want the answer to be "everything." I want to be able to act out and have someone explain that it's OK, my dad died. But that's not going to happen. I think many people see me as someone who makes jokes through everything, and as a person with lots of gusto, so I must be handling things okay. And no, I don't want to be treated with white gloves all the time, but yeah, sometimes I do. Sometimes I need some extra love and don't know how to ask. If I see you, I might give you ten hugs for no fucking reason. Hugs are better than slugs to the face, so I hope you appreciate them for at least that much. The process of grief is not only difficult for me, but also for those friends around me who don't know what to say. Some don't say much at all, others ask all the time. There might be a happy medium, but I'm not holding it against those who don't know what that means. I don't think I knew what it meant before this either... So to those friends who have sent or will send me "I'm sorry I haven't been there" messages-- The world can't stop because one big shiny light went out, even though I wanted it to, because no matter how much I dig in my heels, it just keeps on spinning...

There's a poem in a book of 100 Great American Poets that my Granny gave my dad one year for Christmas. It's the Ella Wheeler Wilcox poem, Solitude. I used to think, "Wow, this is beautiful, and horrifyingly cynical," and now I read it and see it in a new light. You cannot take anyone with you in grief. It is something you must go through by yourself, and not because there aren't empathetic or sympathetic friends there who want to help, but because it is so personal. That's the fact of the matter. This is also a comment on an overall human reaction to devastation. Apparently she wrote it after meeting a grieving widow, and she was devastated for her, and angry that she was so HELPLESS to take away that pain.

SOLITUDE by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Fortunately, sadness doesn't have to be despair. And some people still help and brighten my day just by saying hello and being genuine. When my dad died, it created a hole in me that the wind will always blow through. It will never really close. But I am still here. I can talk about non-death-related things, and I can joke and be a shell of who you're used to me being, but also know that my mind is muggy and exhausted because that's what grief does. So, that's where I am and I am where my grief is. It's currently a large part of me and I'm embracing it. So, embrace me! Thank you all.

Finding the Day-to-Day

I write this after a long year and a half since my last post. I stopped blogging because I allowed that horrible seed of doubt called insecurity to grow inside of me and poison my blogging well with thoughts on how my day-to-day ramblings aren't as interesting as my ramblings about foreign lands. Yet I find that even that daily grind brings up these moments of irony and hilarity that allow me to remember that I don't need a foreign country to find a difference in culture and outlook. Those foreign lands also cost money--the kind that I am trying to get more of, but I missed writing, so here we are.

Since I returned, I realize that South America has become my life's biggest milestone. I feel I grew some new legs in that time that nourished my ability to continue to grow in the coming months after my return. It offered me the greatest gift of courage to seek out opportunities for things that were not easy or on a strict career path, but it's exactly what I was looking for. A fire under my ass. I was looking for a good burn to remind of me what it's like to voraciously leap out of a $1,000 ergonomically-correct-yet-ineffective office chair that otherwise sits beneath me... I'm currently collecting tinder perfect for fueling the next one.

As life would have it, I've experienced a lot of change since that milestone. Both fortunate and unfortunate, but let's start with the fortunate. I began volunteering with Free Arts of Arizona as the Volunteer and Outreach Intern for last spring semester, and now serve as an advocate and mentor. We provide therapeutic arts programs to disadvantaged youth in shelters, residential treatment centers and group home situations. In my experiences, I feel almost as if I am revisiting many of the children I grew up with, many who were never removed from their unfortunate home situations. I wish that child protective services could ensure these children that things will be better... Unfortunately, "better" does not come until it is reaction to the situation, instead of prevention. In this experience, I am taught courage through children who have faced abhorrent situations that no human should ever experience. This small action of providing an art project or positive distraction here and there is one that I believe in. In those moments, there's focus and there's creativity and thought. So, what is "better"? I don't know. I just hope we give these kids a taste of how it feels.

While rehabilitating my back after an injury, I decided I wanted to do physical labor for a conservation corps. I sought out some opportunities and applied. Why? Because I'm crazy. No back injury can phase me, SO SUCK IT! (damn foreshadowing)... I started work with the Coconino County Rural Environment Corps back in May and was chosen as a crewmember of a 10-person team in the Grand Canyon rebuilding part of the Kaibab Trail with the National Park Service. My first day of training in Flagstaff, I showed up with some light make-up on (so as to look my best on a first day, as I have done my entire life) and was immediately called out:

Instructor: "Is that...Is that glitter?"
Me: "Oh, uh, I think it's in my blush?"
Instructor: "Well...I think that's a first. Wow....*ahem* Well everyone, now I'm going to show you how to poop in a hole."

I threw them for a loop. What was I doing there? Well, I think that being able to see the fruits of your labor is important. One of the number one complaints from those in office positions is that there is no tangible evidence of all of those logged hours. The ability to work with your hands allows you such a luxury, and I was to work in the grandest canyon in the world as a job. Yes, it was for pittance, but it was an opportunity that I would have regretted seizing.
-I hiked down to the Colorado River.
-I watched the sun set and rise over cliffs and monuments.
-I woke up at 4:45 in the morning and in the largest composting toilet that you have ever seen. We nicknamed it the poopzilla. After using that, no one can ever say I'm not green.

In addition, I cried, took muscle relaxers every night, and did not take a proper shower for 8 days of the sweatiest work I have ever done, but never thought I could do. I surprised myself and realized how rewarding that feeling can be. Next week, I re-injured myself by simply picking up my niece and then laid in bed on and off for three weeks. I was heartbroken to not be able to finish my service. My disappointment was an amplified response to the one I had to the game of "Sorry" that I played as a child. I have a flare for self-pity that really is quite impressive when I turn it on...

Pity doesn't pay the bills. I sucked it up. I applied for jobs left and right and asked people to ask their friends and eventually received a call that the Tempe Center for the Arts needed a part-time office assistant to come in. I took it immediately. I started working 40 hours a week before long and helping out with events more directly, so I got some of my groove back in the work force. It felt like I had one of those career thingamabobs. Still, I had no medical insurance and had acquired a knee that clicked and stuck funny like a rusty door hinge and a back that threatened to go out on occasion. So, I needed it and the the poor little TCA just couldn't afford to offer it to me. I decided to take a chance once again, and I applied for a job with ASU. I WON the grand prize of the position of Receptionist, Sr/Office Asst.

Yes. That long dual-title just to say that I work at a front desk. Apparently someone was offended that both duties of assisting in the office AND receiving people were not identified in their title. I find that neither of those titles sounds any more interesting than the other, so it's like doubly-boring BUT I GET BENEFITS...at the cost of a pay cut :P I will say one thing, I have SIX student workers to help me answer those phones. YEP, I am a big deal here. Now my daily routine takes place here at the old ASS-U. I will have to post some of the fantastical stories from the calls and visits that take place. Some stories make me both happy and positively terrified for the future of the world...

I will also write about Dad. He passed away over two weeks ago and things feel so strangely still and yet in total upheaval. One of his favorite quotes was: "Oh how daily life is..." Indeed. Till then.


javascript:void(0)

Cusco, land of the Incans and "Massage?"

Positively every traveler who had already been had raved to us about how fantastic Cusco would be. After three weeks of traveling throughout the other hubs of Peru, Katrina and I had found some places of interest, mostly historic or geographical; a place just here or there, but not an entire city. So, I was excited to come across this place that was supposed to be amazing. I had this fantastic blue paper map that my dear friend Melodee from the farm, who had lived there previously, had written all over. She told me exactly where all of the best bars would be, the best vegetarian restaurants, clothing shops, hostels, you name it. We were set to go.

When we arrived, it was rather dark, and we’d pulled into a part of town that was less than lovely, so immediately we started to worry that our expectations had been set too high. Yet after settling into our hostel and starting to make it down to dinner, we started to see the character. There were cobblestone streets, which are quite common in different cities in Peru, and bits of architecture popped out to us. I have to say, nothing screams character like a one-way road with less than two feet of sidewalk that you HAVE to walk down to get to where you’re going. Now, this particular night, I wasn’t sure how close the cars could get, until a van’s collapsible mirror—thank God, smacked right into my right breast. It was as if life had shouted, “Welcome to Cusco! Look alive!”

Yet as we settled into dinner and I had the first fantastic burrito in weeks at a very chic tourist restaurant off of the main plaza, I was relieved to nearly be over my illness in a city that has fantastic cuisine. Now, because I am still vegetarian at this point, I couldn’t have any of the Peruvian “tipical food” that they have because this includes lomo saltado, a beef and rice dish, or the peppers that are stuffed with beef and potatoes. Now, in addition to this, they also have the fun dishes for tourists to try: alpaca, which they cook up like a steak, and guinea pig, or cuy, as they call it, which they grill up whole. You can still see this thing’s teeth apparently. I didn’t order it. It did not receive rave enough reviews from people for me to break the vegetarianism at this point. I was also still trying to get over my last bits of food poisoning. After the antibiotics had screwed my digestion up but killed the bacteria, I bought these yogurt probiotic drinks that truly seemed to help my stomach. And finally after a few days of this and two days before I had to start the Inca Trail, all had returned to normal.

Now as we made our way through the city, we would follow the magical map that led us to new exciting locations. In Cusco, the restaurants were positively posh at times, there were vegetarian options, and the people were friendly. Granted, this place is crawling with tourists. I’m talking Disneyland for Peruvian tourism. The natives literally pounce on the tourists here and will ask you at least five to ten times a day, if not more, if you would like to buy a water color postcard or painting, photos with a llama, or need a pedicure or massage. Not to mention the abundance of tours they offer there. There are about a dozen different archaeological sites to see around the area, not to mention water rafting, skydiving, bungee jumping, paragliding, blah blah blah. Apparently people who go to visit South America are considered the adventurous type. The point is that even though it’s the most annoying place in Peru for tourist bombardment, it still has really good vibes—also like Disneyland.

So finally, after our first couple of days exploring, we observed the following: Cusco was founded over and around Incan sites, which include all that incredibly close-cut stonework you’ve seen on the History channel that boggles the mind. Next, they have their own flag—it’s a rainbow, and when Katrina and I first walked into the main plaza, there was a parade going on and a rainbow flag waving in the air. I’m not going to lie, of course we got very excited and started looking for our gays and friendly neighborhood transvestites because in America—this means it’s Gay Pride! Alas, we realized that it was not gay pride when people were parading around for business or something terrible to parade around about… we never completely understood some of the parades.

Cusco really has a fantastic location that, although is cold quite often, is so beautiful and close to the clouds and you can see why the whole area was and is so sacred to the people. There’s a deep-seated culture and history in the mountains and many of the people’s ancestry comes from the indigenous peoples and the Incans, so the culture is still personal and very obvious and preserved. While in Cusco, we went exploring to the nearby ruins called Sacsayhuaman and went horseback riding in the hills and we went white water rafting in the Urubamba River which leads into the Amazon. Also, we went to a fantastic folk show called Kusikay after meeting the drunk/juggler in a vegetarian restaurant the day before. Now this show included dance and acrobatics and interaction with the audience and highlighted how Cusco and Peru had evolved over the past several hundred years with the Incans, and then the coming of the Spanish, and how this changed politics and trade and all of these topics, but all while making you laugh. I got to go on stage and be a bull that has a very sexy moo and kills the matador while he’s thinking he’s won. I was quite good.

Next, I will delve into the Inca Trail, which allowed me to connect to nature and my mind, “Why am I doing this?” body, “Ow…keep breathing, ow…” and spirit, “God help me.”

Special for you! Tourism in Peru at its best...

Ciao mi amigos! It is a beautiful morning here in Puno, overlooking Lake Titicaca. It´s been a while since I last wrote, so I must fill you in on the dazzling details. First off, the day before we left Ica, the dazzling oasis where we went sandboarding on spectacular hundreds of feet high dunes, I decided I wanted ceviche again. Now, we were still close enough to the ocean where ceviche was offered at every single tourist eatery in the area. Thus, I did no rationalizing, I just wanted my nearly raw delicious fish I had so enjoyed in Lima only days before! So I order some at a restaurant right on the water that, as Katie and I realized as we began eating our food, meant you pay for the scenery more than a delicious dish. The ceviche was a little more rubbery, but still good enough and these people don´t do the whole returning dishes for something else, and hey, I paid for it, so I ate it like a good little tourist. Now, perhaps we shouldn´t cut to me 24 hours later, keeled over in the bathroom for the entire night before a 9-hour bus ride to Arequipa. I could not keep a single thing down. This is the second time I´ve had major food poisoning in the past three months, the first time was a bit after we returned from Costa Rica, so I´m officially at the point where not only karma, but all of Latin America, is out to get me.

Now, although I am weak, I do not want to miss a single beat, because I am here to do my touristy duties! So I decide that because I am able to leave the bathroom for more than an hour at a time, this makes me fit for good tourism. We go to see Juanita the morning after we arrive in Arequipa. What a wonder she is! 500 years old and she does not look a day over twelve, that little Incan sacrifice. She is still swaddled in the same clothes they buried her on the mountain in, and she´s tucked into a fetal position in her refrigerated home. Her skin, especially her hands, are amazing to look at because they aren´t aged much at all and still bear her skin color and wrinkles. Then, I decided to go see this convent that housed a bunch of rich nuns back in the 17th century, aaaaand, it was boring. There are still current nuns there, which, although I know it´s strange, I always sort of get excited when I see a nun. It´s not an everyday occurrence in Arizona, so they´re fun to stare at. So I thought yay! I get to see where they live! We get it, you have the same sort of living quarters with a very basic bed, a chamber pot, and a little kitchen with a kettle and a hearth. More than I had at the farm, eh nuns? Just kidding, but in all seriousness, I guess as much as I like to pretend I am mature enough to see things like old convents and appreciate them, I´m not. The architecture wasn´t exciting enough to make up for it. I also didn´t see any current nuns. Disappointing. But good on them for doing the whole bit!

So, then I realized I had done far too much walking and was still quite sick, so I took the next day off while Katrina went water rafting. Well isn´t it my lucky darn day that when she returns, she tells me that she just happened to be put in a boat with an entire fleet of Spanish firemen on vacation. Wasn´t that just an extra punch in the gut? No offense to the Peruvian men, but the looks of the locals are none too plentiful. The next day, afraid to miss another tour but still having minor issues, I decide to go to Colca Canyon. This was spectacular, long bus ride, you´ll see pictures. It´s not the Grand Canyon--we went up really high, like, 13,000 feet, saw some condors, alpacas and llamas.

Now, I had inquired earlier about a hospital in Arequipa just in case, but because I thought I was able to complete all of these touristy things, I was certainly getting better right? Off to Puno we go.

First night in Puno? The food poisoning came back full force. The amazingly kind man who manages the hostel I´m staying at made me tea and called hospitals in the middle of the night for me. The doctor came and took me to get an IV for fluids and antibiotics because the food poisoning was throughout my entire intestines, and I could feel those bacteria like a little sea monster in there, stirring up trouble in the bowels of my ship... Sorry, I went there. So I was forced to not go sight seeing that day and given warnings of certain parts of excursions on the islands in Lake Titicaca because of my weakness and the altitude, along with about 7 different types of medicine. Now, a note about clinicas in smaller cities--this one was more like a home. It had two beds in a carpeted room, with a TV with cable. If there had been no TV with cable, I may have not been distracted enough to notice the lake of scrubs or sterile anything. I just said a little prayer about not getting a staph infection, and didn´t even freak out when the nurse, Nelly, missed my vein the first time and just needed one more do-over. When I told them I was hungry, a good sign, they handed me a food menu from the restaurant next door that they also must own. I explained I wasn´t quite ready for the typical Peruvian dish, thank you, do you have some toast?

The next day, I keep on trucking as usual. The antibiotics are working slowly, but food is started to hurt my system less and less. We head to the islands. First, there´s the floating islands of Uros, where there´s 60 of different names, where they live on islands made of reeds as their people have for hundreds of years. Yes, incest was a problem, yes they are taking care of that-- they are only about 5 feet tall on average for the women, and men aren´t much taller than they are. Yes, they have an island for peeing, and an island for pooping. Do they always make it to those islands? No. I saw a little girl hike up her skirt, go number one where she was playing with others, then pretty much sit back down in the same spot. Reeds are very absorbant, I hope. All Western judgment aside, it was still neat to see that such indigenous culture is still carrying on. On our way to the island of Amantani, where we would meet the host family that we stay overnight with, the view is spectacular. Because we are so high, 12,500 feet, the clouds are low and especially puffy and reflect on the water. It´s such an amazing view that I can imagine a spot in heaven looking the exact same way. Now, we get to the island and meet Nicolas, our host dad. He takes us up the 300 meters (you know, the ones my doctor told me NOT to climb) to his home with no electricity, running water, and four adorable little girls and a killer cook of a wife. These people need the extra money, so they give up the little extra room they have, sleep altogether in one room once a week, so that they can house a funny tourist or two and hope that we give an extra gift or tip at the end. Now, I explain that he has four little girls. Aaaand we all know I am a sucker. I end up showing them every video I´ve taken on my Flip, giving two of them bracelets from my arm, and then going and buying them crackers and cookies in the evening. Not to mention that I was their personal donkey for a good deal of time as well. Toys aren´t very common there, but tourists are. After dinner, the mom, Viviana, dresses Katrina and I up in the traditional garb. Again, I will post pictures. You know, they´re just not so becoming on a 5`6" lady like myself. We go to a traditional dance where I last about 20 minutes, and request to go home to bed. Nicolas didn´t seem to mind. Although the tourists more than twice my age jabbed me about it the next morning. That night though, you could see every star in the southern hemisphere because of the lack of electricity on this island in the middle of the lake. There were shooting stars, and off in the distance, there were great lightning storms that we just stood and watched for a while. You couldn´t ask for more beauty.

The next day we went to another island, ate lunch, and headed back off to Puno. The boat broke down two times on our way back. Black smoke, rocking boat, water level hitting the railing next to the window-- you know, call me high maintenance, but I was not on board for this. I asked the tour guide what the problem was and voiced my being a bit scared, where his response was, "Why? The worst that can happen is you die. We all have to die sometime," with a little smile on his face. Hmm, I´m learning that the tourist industry here is not too sensitive and seemingly out to exploit you as much as you are out to exploit the cheap exchange rate. "Special for you," means, "More expensive because you´re a tourist," and if you´re given a deal, don´t worry, you will be charged for it later on in some way. There is a 50% poverty rate, and there are children in the streets begging or doing circus acts at the street lights, and it´s tough to balance out the point between having compassion or being taken advantage of.

So, on a final note, we are off to Cusco today. The antibiotics are continuing to work, and I am better and stronger every day. Inca trail is only a week away, folks! Wish me luck.

Kali

Away from Greener Pastures and onto Pisco Sours...

Ohhhhhh how I miss the simple life already. I spent two weeks on the farm. I had incredible conversations about religion and spirituality with different Hare Krishnas and got to truly sit and eplore myself in a new light. The idea that the body and the mind and soul are all holy and we need to take care of ourselves is a concept that, although is well received, is often ignored. I didn´t drink caffeine or any alcoholic beverages, I did yoga everyday. I woke up at 7 a.m., did yoga, ate breakfast, helped in teh kitchen typically after breakfast, had lunch, then was free to read my books and have a run. I could really get to know the people I was around and everyone was walking around high on life! Ahhh yes, I can remember it so well those five days ago! Leaving was difficult because I knew that my stress was only bound to return with traveling. Immediately as we got into Lima we met new people though. We met one man who we will call Gary. Gary has leeched himself onto us. He´s a lonely Canadian traveler who has followed us from Lima where we still thought he was OK, to Ica., where he has steadily digressed into very annoying and hard to shake off. Ica is a beautiful Oasis in the middle of the desert (Huacachina) and we are staying right on the little lagoon surrounded by sand dunes and blue skies. It is a dream image. Then Gary usually comes in, says something about how me and Katrina should put our bikinis on, adds some odd Star Wars reference, has an opinion and thinks he´s right about everything, dontcha know, eh? Well he sealed the deal last night by thinking a ten year old boy was a sixteen year old girl and still almost hit on him/her. What a guy.
Well, I suppose this is Krishna testing me. See, before I left there were three days of holiday where we made wishes to Krishna by lighting candles made of ghee butter and cotton and waved it around a picture of him and then bowed to the ground before his feet in hopes that they would come true. I don´t think this is the same as a birthday wish, so I will tell you what I wished for: patience, tolerance, and focus, one on each night. So, I think my tolerance level is already disintegrating dramatically. My focus on being zen is going along with it, and my patience is dithering. I have to build myself back up! I think it was all the wine from the wine tasting yesterday that´s put me on edge. After not having a drink for over a month and a half, I sure did overdo it yesterday. Ica is wine region and also Pisco region. Pisco is the local liquor. First off, I don´t often drink liquor. I´m a beer and wine girl if I have a drink and I usually stop myself at 2 or 3. But let me tell you, when you put wine and pisco in tiny little vasitos (little cups) at only an ounce at a time and you drink over 20 of those, you still get drunk! Tiny cups are very misleading. We started off at a beautiful winery called Tacana. This was your typical nice winery with the grape leaves and the tour of the facility and then a sit at a counter where you went through the different types. How nice. Next tour was at a rather less nice facility, same sort of deal though, a bit rough around the edges, but good stuff. Next place was a shit hole, but at this point we´re a bit gone so we are more interested in the look of the taxidermied animals hanging about than questioning why they are there and we drink the wine straight out of the barrel served to us by our crazy taxi driver, William, himself. We finish off the tour by singing, very loudly, Eye of the Tiger, where William pulls a fake microphone out from under his seat and hands it to each of us. Something tells me this scene happens often.
Today when we had to visit some rare bird island, I was a bit Weekend at Bernie´s about the whole debacle. Put my sunglasses on and spin me about with a camera in my hands. There were sealions. Those were nice.
I think I will go meditate now and try to regain that balance that I had just days ago with people that smiled and focused on my soul. I highly recommend an ashram to anyone. Go. I made great friends there and had a little cry when I left because that´s how much I realized I love peace. We made tons of pastries the last day as well. I miss those too.
I am now going off to Arequipa tomorrow where we are going to see the most well preserved mummy, Juanita. In Lima, we also saw the catacombs, and there were bones on the beach by the farm. Along with the taxidermied animals in the winery, I am set on bodies. I will continue to fill you in! Miss you much. Ciao!