The sun goes down with a perfect halo of golds and ambers, brilliance lighting up the hillside, illuminating the dried grasses that sway in the hillside on Oyster Ridge. I walk up to a view of the city, a view of the trains that make their way through the city, several times daily, freighters only, carrying coal, or pipe, or other hidden industrial materials within hard-sided train cars, brown and rusted and dark.
I can walk for miles here and not see a soul; I see more animals than people when I walk alone. Today, a jack rabbit, pouncing away in a criss-crossety jig-jag through three different types of sagebrush and wheat grass, and hiding in the boughs of an old and twisted juniper tree; a golden eagle, soaring and diving; vultures circling, hawks darting. Daily, herds of antelope, growing in numbers as the night-time lows drop below freezing, their populations peaking just before hunting season starts, their white behinds bouncing bright flashes in the hillside shadows at sunset. Sometimes a handful of mule deer, their ears long and slender, freezing for a moment to assess your movements, the males’ heads so adorned with antlers that it seems unnatural for them to balance.
In any direction one can escape the two-lane highways and amble by car or foot or horseback on dirt or two-track roads, into utter desolation, marked with an occasional home or abandoned wood cabin from the pioneer days, the ghost towns of decrepit buildings marking a resource boom at some time in the past, a few grazing black cows or wandering sheep, perhaps a strip of green indicating a riparian zone, but be just as likely not to see another human as to see one. The hills are painted in minerals and erosion, and shaded with vegetation fading into fall. The sky’s deep high-altitude blue plays host to magnificent cloud formations that catch the sun’s fading light at dusk in a myriad of ways.
Being in a small town, one can take one’s time, move slowly, wade through the days and appreciate drawn-out time. This, I believe, is accentuated by the fact that the last time I had a schedule and worked, I was also working on my masters degree, so in that perspective, I feel like I have all the time in the world. My days at work consist mainly of driving onto open sagebrush steppe and identifying plant populations and collecting seeds; on those days I don’t even feel like I’m working. There are so many spectacular places to go on the weekends that offer a botanically- or ecologically- or photography-minded person (like me!) a wealth of recreation. The days are warm and beautiful, with a strong high desert sun; the nights dipped into freezing at the end of August, and we could see our first dusting of snow any day (my car has already been frosty some mornings).
I can’t say I don’t miss culture, and seeing music in the evenings, or having tasty restaurants or microbrews to sample, and feeling that I can wear something funky when I’m feeling that way without getting stared at. I miss my good friends who I can relate to, and the spark and fizz of a progressive city or alternatively-minded college town. But here is the opportunity to know myself, to know the land, to immerse myself in the big open sky and undulating landscape, to develop friendships with people that I wouldn’t otherwise have the chance to know, and to stare down the cows from the safety of my big work truck while blasting Billy Jean as they turn their head to follow me, bored, chewing their cuds.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Wyyoooooming
In some ways Wyoming reminds me of the Bolivian altiplano: it is desolate and open. Though the inhabitants are not poverty-stricken peasants, they are a rural crowd with a different way of living than those in the big cities. The people who live here are rugged and strong and love their land. Hardly anything grows here due to the short growing season, and it brings me back to when we went to the Tuni Condoriri glacier, and saw the campesinos struggling to nurture even the hardiest crops, and relying instead on sheep, llamas and alpacas. Here, though I have seen a handful of llamas and alpacas, there are mainly sheep and cattle. There are mines in both places, albeit for different materials. The clouds are remniscent of both places: high elevation, puffy and white against a vibrant blue sky; and the sun is strong against my face even when the temperature is cool. The temperature varies 50 degrees in a day, with beautiful warm sunny afternoons and frigid, almost-frosty nights.
When I chose the name 'Diversidad de Vida' for our travels, it was because I knew it was a new beginning into exploring the diversity life has to offer: culturally, biologically, spiritually; experiencing this on a new continent with another language, getting to know the unknown.
Now that we are back, we have opportunities to continue exploring on our tierra nativa (native land). With the lack of attachment to place after such a dramatic uprooting, we find ourselves migrating to different parts of the North American continent. Jameson just accepted a job working as a research assistant in wetlands in southern Georgia, and I am working in the high desert in Wyoming, watching the thunderstorms roll through while drinking in the scent of sagebrush.
Wyoming is the land of the cowboy, and this tradition still lives on quite evidently. There are oil men and cowboy hats and cowboy boots, big trucks and western accents. Every day I see antelope; since being here I've tried antelope jerky and elk meat, both of which were offered to me by the people who hunted and killed the animal. I saw a moose in a town park, there are cottontails outside my window on lazy Sundays, and the magpies are a delightful replacement to the niche a crow fills in a city. The people here are incredibly kind and I am settling into being in a small town quite nicely. I could do away with the conservative talk radio, but see it as a chance to bite my lip and listen to the other side after I've lived in liberal Seattle and Olympia for 10 years.
It is possible to find true solitude here: one of my first days I headed up a lonely dirt road, guitar and camera in tow, found a place to park that overlooked a basin and some colorful sagebrush-dotted mesas in the distance, and made music as passionately as one can only do when entertaining a crowd of the wind, swaying golden grasses, and magnificent open sky. It is a place for soul-searching, to learn how to be lonely and then how to package that aloneness into something that makes one stronger; it is a place for self-reflection and growth; it is Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire in the 21st century.
When I chose the name 'Diversidad de Vida' for our travels, it was because I knew it was a new beginning into exploring the diversity life has to offer: culturally, biologically, spiritually; experiencing this on a new continent with another language, getting to know the unknown.
Now that we are back, we have opportunities to continue exploring on our tierra nativa (native land). With the lack of attachment to place after such a dramatic uprooting, we find ourselves migrating to different parts of the North American continent. Jameson just accepted a job working as a research assistant in wetlands in southern Georgia, and I am working in the high desert in Wyoming, watching the thunderstorms roll through while drinking in the scent of sagebrush.
Wyoming is the land of the cowboy, and this tradition still lives on quite evidently. There are oil men and cowboy hats and cowboy boots, big trucks and western accents. Every day I see antelope; since being here I've tried antelope jerky and elk meat, both of which were offered to me by the people who hunted and killed the animal. I saw a moose in a town park, there are cottontails outside my window on lazy Sundays, and the magpies are a delightful replacement to the niche a crow fills in a city. The people here are incredibly kind and I am settling into being in a small town quite nicely. I could do away with the conservative talk radio, but see it as a chance to bite my lip and listen to the other side after I've lived in liberal Seattle and Olympia for 10 years.
It is possible to find true solitude here: one of my first days I headed up a lonely dirt road, guitar and camera in tow, found a place to park that overlooked a basin and some colorful sagebrush-dotted mesas in the distance, and made music as passionately as one can only do when entertaining a crowd of the wind, swaying golden grasses, and magnificent open sky. It is a place for soul-searching, to learn how to be lonely and then how to package that aloneness into something that makes one stronger; it is a place for self-reflection and growth; it is Edward Abbey's Desert Solitaire in the 21st century.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
How the time has passed...
After our 8 months abroad, we boarded a plane from Quito, Ecuador, touching down briefly in Atlanta (and getting to see Jameson's dad, granny and granddaddy, making the 5 hour layover pass all too quickly), and ending ultimately in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We're readjusting to having technology and modern conveniences at our fingertips, for better or worse. It's pretty nice having toilet seats on all the toilets. It was strange speaking only English the first couple of days, disappointing that one needs a car to get anywhere, and has been incredibly comfortable relaxing here (thanks, guys!).
The last two months volunteering provided us with insights into Ecuador: its people, its floristic diversity, its conservation practices; we made some good friends, learned about orchid morphology and pollination, and about tropical dry tropical forest ecosystems. We ate more verdes (green plantains) and arroz (rice) than you can imagine, lived in a little bamboo hut, and ventured into the jungle. We spoke only Spanish for a month and gained an appreciation for Ecuadorian pop music and musica liquida.
Now it's time to figure out the next steps in life. After an adventure like we shared, we return with more photographs than we can count, new ideas about the world and ways of living, and a clean slate for moving forward. Our minds our full but lucid as we begin to process the reality of our experiences. As we recount them to family and friends they at the same time become more real and more abstract, in some ways fantastical - did those things really happen? Did we really collect a rare plant in Bolivia? Did we really walk from Argentina to Chile? How did we travel so far using only public transportation through the wild and remote places that we now know? As we review and show our photos we see how the photos and the stories are not the same thing: the hallucinogenic landscapes of the Uyuni Salt Flats have a story, but it is not embedded in the photos; and we have few images of the places which were most extreme because we were living them.
We fell off the bandwagon of recounting stories towards the end of the trip, and have caught some slack from that. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this - if you are and you want to read more let us know, there is lots more to tell; and as we begin to incorporate these experiences into our frame of knowledge back here, I think there will be new layers of meaning in the things that we were immersed in while traveling. But I don't want to write to an absent audience.
The last two months volunteering provided us with insights into Ecuador: its people, its floristic diversity, its conservation practices; we made some good friends, learned about orchid morphology and pollination, and about tropical dry tropical forest ecosystems. We ate more verdes (green plantains) and arroz (rice) than you can imagine, lived in a little bamboo hut, and ventured into the jungle. We spoke only Spanish for a month and gained an appreciation for Ecuadorian pop music and musica liquida.
Now it's time to figure out the next steps in life. After an adventure like we shared, we return with more photographs than we can count, new ideas about the world and ways of living, and a clean slate for moving forward. Our minds our full but lucid as we begin to process the reality of our experiences. As we recount them to family and friends they at the same time become more real and more abstract, in some ways fantastical - did those things really happen? Did we really collect a rare plant in Bolivia? Did we really walk from Argentina to Chile? How did we travel so far using only public transportation through the wild and remote places that we now know? As we review and show our photos we see how the photos and the stories are not the same thing: the hallucinogenic landscapes of the Uyuni Salt Flats have a story, but it is not embedded in the photos; and we have few images of the places which were most extreme because we were living them.
We fell off the bandwagon of recounting stories towards the end of the trip, and have caught some slack from that. I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this - if you are and you want to read more let us know, there is lots more to tell; and as we begin to incorporate these experiences into our frame of knowledge back here, I think there will be new layers of meaning in the things that we were immersed in while traveling. But I don't want to write to an absent audience.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
For the first time, literally, in months, I come to a place with decent computers, and with the ability to access them frequently enough that internet 'homework' can be taken care of, family can be spoken with, and, all that finished, blog can be written in. Maybe I can even catch up on some of the adventures that we've had earlier, adventures that were beautiful and that took us to places and introduced us to people who we will remember always. Maybe I can add pictures to some of the previous entries that I scribbled (e-scribbled?) while in Bolivia, with computers that only half-functioned. My internet 'cafe' is in a papeleria (place that sells paper and office products), my computer has a flat screen, and when there are not wailing children and ATVs in the street outside, it is a calm enough place to be. It is in Puyo, Ecuador, where for now, I'm working at an orchid garden, with a myriad of orchids flourishing in the midst of a total of some 1150 plant species on 7 hectares.
Orchid at the reserve
We left the beautiful city of Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru, heading north to enter Ecuador. I'd like to add a separate segment about Chachas, a wonderful place with gracious people, pre-Incan ruins, quaint villages, and lovely countryside.
We left Chachapoyas, heading north, having chosen the border crossing of La Balsa-Zumba, the most remote but real border crossing between the two countries. I enjoy the extremely out-of-the-way places one can experience with a few more painful hours of travel; they are vale la pena worth the pain) in rewards of solitude and authenticity, of scenery and opportunities to speak with people less accustomed to turistas.
Mototaxis: photo from San Ignacio, but rode on one in Jaen.
It was a day of quick transitions: a 3 hour bus to Bagua Grande, a one hour hop in a collectivo (shared taxi) to Jaen, and another 2.5 hour collectivo to San Ignacio, the largest town close to the border. Along the way, the scenery sank from dramatic drop-offs in the mountains near Chacas to rolling, carpeted, sunken hills near the low elevation San Ignacio. We saw flooded rice fields filled with the grain in about every stage of growth, we melted in the heat of the midday in cars with no aire acondicionado and strong, equatorial sun, we saw mototaxis (think 3-wheeled rickshaws of Asia) decorated with streamers, multicolored lights (headlights that changed colors -- really!), plastered with posters de modo, and blasting local music. We saw a papaya as big as a watermelon, and I don't mean one of those little trendy small watermelons, but a big, hunkin'15¨ long watermelon. We passed hundreds of coffee and cocoa plantations, saw coffee beans in various stages of secando (drying) on blankets, on cement pads, with people raking them, turning them, gathering them. We walked the streets in San Ignacio, and when we tried to buy a final bottle of pisco (traditional Peruvian hard liquor), we were instead talked into sampling, and then purchasing (of course) a few sips of the local liquers de cocoa y café. Delicious!
San Ignacio is the city of bosques y cafe, as their town welcome sign proclaims. Indeed there were gorgeous forests and mountains extending in every direction, in this very undeveloped area of the country. It is fascinating how far one can go on dirt roads...
In the morning, we had a 3 hour ride to the border, in another collectivo, on an entirely dirt road, this time in a station wagon with a full trunk, and four adults in the back seat, three in the front, quite uncomfortable on the bumpy ride. Here, we saw coffee, coffee, coffee, if only we could get a decent cup that was not NesCafé! The remoteness of the villages we passed astounded me, little groups of coffee growers, clustered together, like coffee beans at the end of a raeceme, in a wilderness of leaves.
La Balsa, on the border, was about 10 houses, a restaurant, and a casa de cambio (money-changing place). Ecuador is on the US dollar, so we didn't need to do that. Because we were advised to leave very early to make it to our destination, Vilcabamba, by a San Ignacian local, we woke at the crack of dawn and were at the border by shortly after 9am. Unfortunately, there was no transportation to the nearest town on the other end until 12:30, and though our guidebook indicates this town is 10 km, this did not seem to be the case. (Thanks, Lonely Planet, for forgetting this crucial info in your writeup.)
So we waited. In our hammocks.
The truck arrived. It was similar to a camion, or cargo truck style, but the back was opened up, had a roof to provide shade, and hard wooden benches. Luxury, I tell you! It creeped, it crawled, it slithered slowly, it sank into potholes and climbed up the other sides, it grumbled and griped ascending hills, it maneuvered hairpin turns skillfully, it moved like a snail but more slowly. We bumped and bounced about (no seatbelts here!), clinging to the bench in front of us, we breathed in the aire puro, felt the breeze, and the sun, felt the branches of the encroaching vegetation as we moved through this labyrinth of forest and mountain. I likened it to paying $30 to enter an amusement park, I think some people enjoy bodily self-torture in that way, as well. It took an hour and a half, and though our bums were a bit sore, it was one of my favorite rides.
Our truck.
A bus was about to pull out to Vilcabamba and we jumped off to board it. We stayed two days in this pueblo of longevity, as it is known, with its influx of ex-pats (where we did find real coffee), perfect climate, and moved on up to begin our volunteering positions.
Jameson and I parted in Loja. We booked buses to different places that departed at the same time. We embraced at the terminal, with wishes for our independent journeys. After 6 months of traveling together, of experiencing together, of growing together, we chose to learn about life on this continent solito for a little while. It was something we had dabbeled in with thoughts and conversations, but realizing separation was difficult, as we wanted to make sure we would be safe. Having a partner to travel with is not only enjoyable, but provides a thousand conveniences (most importantly, having someone watch your bag in the bus terminal when you have to pee). We have two volunteer opportunities in Ecuador in which we will alternate: one at the orchid garden (where I am now), and the other at a dry tropical forest on the coast (where he is now). We thought that this would provide us safety, companionship, purpose, and a place to lay a few roots, while growing and experiencing South America on our own.
Orchid at the reserveWe left the beautiful city of Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru, heading north to enter Ecuador. I'd like to add a separate segment about Chachas, a wonderful place with gracious people, pre-Incan ruins, quaint villages, and lovely countryside.
We left Chachapoyas, heading north, having chosen the border crossing of La Balsa-Zumba, the most remote but real border crossing between the two countries. I enjoy the extremely out-of-the-way places one can experience with a few more painful hours of travel; they are vale la pena worth the pain) in rewards of solitude and authenticity, of scenery and opportunities to speak with people less accustomed to turistas.
Mototaxis: photo from San Ignacio, but rode on one in Jaen.It was a day of quick transitions: a 3 hour bus to Bagua Grande, a one hour hop in a collectivo (shared taxi) to Jaen, and another 2.5 hour collectivo to San Ignacio, the largest town close to the border. Along the way, the scenery sank from dramatic drop-offs in the mountains near Chacas to rolling, carpeted, sunken hills near the low elevation San Ignacio. We saw flooded rice fields filled with the grain in about every stage of growth, we melted in the heat of the midday in cars with no aire acondicionado and strong, equatorial sun, we saw mototaxis (think 3-wheeled rickshaws of Asia) decorated with streamers, multicolored lights (headlights that changed colors -- really!), plastered with posters de modo, and blasting local music. We saw a papaya as big as a watermelon, and I don't mean one of those little trendy small watermelons, but a big, hunkin'15¨ long watermelon. We passed hundreds of coffee and cocoa plantations, saw coffee beans in various stages of secando (drying) on blankets, on cement pads, with people raking them, turning them, gathering them. We walked the streets in San Ignacio, and when we tried to buy a final bottle of pisco (traditional Peruvian hard liquor), we were instead talked into sampling, and then purchasing (of course) a few sips of the local liquers de cocoa y café. Delicious!
San Ignacio is the city of bosques y cafe, as their town welcome sign proclaims. Indeed there were gorgeous forests and mountains extending in every direction, in this very undeveloped area of the country. It is fascinating how far one can go on dirt roads...
In the morning, we had a 3 hour ride to the border, in another collectivo, on an entirely dirt road, this time in a station wagon with a full trunk, and four adults in the back seat, three in the front, quite uncomfortable on the bumpy ride. Here, we saw coffee, coffee, coffee, if only we could get a decent cup that was not NesCafé! The remoteness of the villages we passed astounded me, little groups of coffee growers, clustered together, like coffee beans at the end of a raeceme, in a wilderness of leaves.
La Balsa, on the border, was about 10 houses, a restaurant, and a casa de cambio (money-changing place). Ecuador is on the US dollar, so we didn't need to do that. Because we were advised to leave very early to make it to our destination, Vilcabamba, by a San Ignacian local, we woke at the crack of dawn and were at the border by shortly after 9am. Unfortunately, there was no transportation to the nearest town on the other end until 12:30, and though our guidebook indicates this town is 10 km, this did not seem to be the case. (Thanks, Lonely Planet, for forgetting this crucial info in your writeup.)
So we waited. In our hammocks.
The truck arrived. It was similar to a camion, or cargo truck style, but the back was opened up, had a roof to provide shade, and hard wooden benches. Luxury, I tell you! It creeped, it crawled, it slithered slowly, it sank into potholes and climbed up the other sides, it grumbled and griped ascending hills, it maneuvered hairpin turns skillfully, it moved like a snail but more slowly. We bumped and bounced about (no seatbelts here!), clinging to the bench in front of us, we breathed in the aire puro, felt the breeze, and the sun, felt the branches of the encroaching vegetation as we moved through this labyrinth of forest and mountain. I likened it to paying $30 to enter an amusement park, I think some people enjoy bodily self-torture in that way, as well. It took an hour and a half, and though our bums were a bit sore, it was one of my favorite rides.
Our truck.A bus was about to pull out to Vilcabamba and we jumped off to board it. We stayed two days in this pueblo of longevity, as it is known, with its influx of ex-pats (where we did find real coffee), perfect climate, and moved on up to begin our volunteering positions.
Jameson and I parted in Loja. We booked buses to different places that departed at the same time. We embraced at the terminal, with wishes for our independent journeys. After 6 months of traveling together, of experiencing together, of growing together, we chose to learn about life on this continent solito for a little while. It was something we had dabbeled in with thoughts and conversations, but realizing separation was difficult, as we wanted to make sure we would be safe. Having a partner to travel with is not only enjoyable, but provides a thousand conveniences (most importantly, having someone watch your bag in the bus terminal when you have to pee). We have two volunteer opportunities in Ecuador in which we will alternate: one at the orchid garden (where I am now), and the other at a dry tropical forest on the coast (where he is now). We thought that this would provide us safety, companionship, purpose, and a place to lay a few roots, while growing and experiencing South America on our own.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Twenty-five men, all with brown faces, in twenty-five hats, sun protection. All of them sitting on the side of a dirt road, surrounded by maize, brown, slain, baking in the sun from the morning's work. All of them grinning, and calling out, 'Hola, chica, chicha? Como estan, amigos? Fueran a Choquequirao? Quieran chicha, un vaso?'
The two of us, tired, sweating, hungry, arriving back to the pueblito of Cachora around lunchtime after 4 days of trekking in the steep, mountainous terrain of the eastern Andes in Peru to a complex of ruins that is said to match the importance of Macchu Pichu, but was only (relatively) recently discovered, and is still being excavated. We encountered the group of campesinos in a corn field that had been high as an elephant's eye when we departed for the trip.
We accepted a glass of chicha, which is a fermented corn drink. Jameson had not tried it before, and it would be almost rude not to take it. It was being poured from an old gas can container.
They were all in good spirits. 'Where are you from?' 'Estados Unidos.' 'Do you have a muleta?' 'No, we probably should have gotten one, we have our heavy packs...' 'Next time find me, I will take your goods with my mule. When are you coming back to Cachora? Tell your friends to come!'
The banter continued, and we enjoyed the respite of the company and the beverage, and the knowledge that the town was so close. Then, things got better: they invited us to take part in almuerzo (lunch) with them. It was a delicious and wholesome meal of fava beans, a squash soup, salad, a piece of pork, cancha (a usually toasted, but on this occassion boiled, corn kernel snack). These were being served up by a group of 4 women, in traditional clothing, from huge buckets. Despite the bulk nature of the food, it was delicious. We sat on the side of the road with them, next to huge bags of corn, beautiful corn, deep reds, flecked kernels of orange, maroon, and blue, small and large. This was a bad corn year due to the rain, they are usually larger. They would consume much of it but also sell a good portion to Lima. We continued talking with them until it was apparent that it was time for them to get back to work.
It is hard to describe just how welcoming, authentic, and treasured this experience was, and how it will remain in our memories for a very long time.
Choquequirao was an intense and rewarding journey. From the offset, we met a French guy who suggested we get a mule to carry our bags. Though he seemed in shape (equivalent to us, anyhow), we didn't pursue this. The first day was fairly easy. We had camp in a perfect place to hang hammocks, under huge trees that bear a fruit quite similar to chiramoya (though I can't remember the name right now). We slept wonderfully, and the second day were quite ambitious. We descended another 600 meters, and then ascended 1700 meters to reach the archaeological site, and then back down another 900 meters to reach our camp, hiking a total of about 26 km in this day. The switchbacks were grueling, cruel, never-ending, the mountainside steep, descending into the river canyon of the Rio Apurimac and back up to cloud forest, where the civilization was centered. Que pena!
However, it was worth the difficulty. Though probably not as magnificent as the world-renowned MP, it is an extensive archaeological site, with excavations stretching over the hillside: the main plaza, a lookout area, a housing collection, and farming terraces on hillsides so steep one could only imagine. And between some areas lay unbroken tracts of forest, so that one could only imagine what other surprises are hidden underneath the dense vegetation. The site was relatively quiet, and we saw only a few other people while we wandered the ancient rocks. We could only marvel at the civilization that lived here, close our eyes and try to imagine what life was, and also how it evolved from that into the tiny villages we passed along the way (inhabited by about 10-20 people each, in these rugged, remote lands without cars or any real type of modern convenience, however, complete with coca-cola!)
Cachora, the main pueblo which is the access point, was in almost every way the complete opposite of Cuzco. Not much English spoken here (where there were signs, guides, etc in English everywhere in Cuzco), little tourist infrastrucutre but a brand new tourist office (open about 7 months) that was happy to give us a little map and enough information to DIY (whereas in Cuzco there were plenty of places advertising tourist information but it was hard to get info on how to just DO something without a guide or tour), about 4 restaurants in the entire town all serving a 'menu del dia' but not much else (no sweet specialties like the amazing diversity one can find in Cuzco). It was a welcome change after we had soaked up enough of being spoiled in the big city.
From there we headed straight to Lima on a 16 hour bus, stayed a day in the city enjoying ceviche, pisco sours, and the city sights in the centre, and caught a 22 hour bus to Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru. What a long stretch of travel, but I don't think we'll have to do that again, thank goodness!
Now we are enjoying Chachas, which hosts pre-Incan ruins, most notably in Kuelap, in hazy cloud forest, remnants of a group of people who were not conquered by the Incas until about the 1400s. We'll be heading to the main site tomorrow.
The two of us, tired, sweating, hungry, arriving back to the pueblito of Cachora around lunchtime after 4 days of trekking in the steep, mountainous terrain of the eastern Andes in Peru to a complex of ruins that is said to match the importance of Macchu Pichu, but was only (relatively) recently discovered, and is still being excavated. We encountered the group of campesinos in a corn field that had been high as an elephant's eye when we departed for the trip.
We accepted a glass of chicha, which is a fermented corn drink. Jameson had not tried it before, and it would be almost rude not to take it. It was being poured from an old gas can container.
They were all in good spirits. 'Where are you from?' 'Estados Unidos.' 'Do you have a muleta?' 'No, we probably should have gotten one, we have our heavy packs...' 'Next time find me, I will take your goods with my mule. When are you coming back to Cachora? Tell your friends to come!'
The banter continued, and we enjoyed the respite of the company and the beverage, and the knowledge that the town was so close. Then, things got better: they invited us to take part in almuerzo (lunch) with them. It was a delicious and wholesome meal of fava beans, a squash soup, salad, a piece of pork, cancha (a usually toasted, but on this occassion boiled, corn kernel snack). These were being served up by a group of 4 women, in traditional clothing, from huge buckets. Despite the bulk nature of the food, it was delicious. We sat on the side of the road with them, next to huge bags of corn, beautiful corn, deep reds, flecked kernels of orange, maroon, and blue, small and large. This was a bad corn year due to the rain, they are usually larger. They would consume much of it but also sell a good portion to Lima. We continued talking with them until it was apparent that it was time for them to get back to work.
It is hard to describe just how welcoming, authentic, and treasured this experience was, and how it will remain in our memories for a very long time.
Choquequirao was an intense and rewarding journey. From the offset, we met a French guy who suggested we get a mule to carry our bags. Though he seemed in shape (equivalent to us, anyhow), we didn't pursue this. The first day was fairly easy. We had camp in a perfect place to hang hammocks, under huge trees that bear a fruit quite similar to chiramoya (though I can't remember the name right now). We slept wonderfully, and the second day were quite ambitious. We descended another 600 meters, and then ascended 1700 meters to reach the archaeological site, and then back down another 900 meters to reach our camp, hiking a total of about 26 km in this day. The switchbacks were grueling, cruel, never-ending, the mountainside steep, descending into the river canyon of the Rio Apurimac and back up to cloud forest, where the civilization was centered. Que pena!
However, it was worth the difficulty. Though probably not as magnificent as the world-renowned MP, it is an extensive archaeological site, with excavations stretching over the hillside: the main plaza, a lookout area, a housing collection, and farming terraces on hillsides so steep one could only imagine. And between some areas lay unbroken tracts of forest, so that one could only imagine what other surprises are hidden underneath the dense vegetation. The site was relatively quiet, and we saw only a few other people while we wandered the ancient rocks. We could only marvel at the civilization that lived here, close our eyes and try to imagine what life was, and also how it evolved from that into the tiny villages we passed along the way (inhabited by about 10-20 people each, in these rugged, remote lands without cars or any real type of modern convenience, however, complete with coca-cola!)
Cachora, the main pueblo which is the access point, was in almost every way the complete opposite of Cuzco. Not much English spoken here (where there were signs, guides, etc in English everywhere in Cuzco), little tourist infrastrucutre but a brand new tourist office (open about 7 months) that was happy to give us a little map and enough information to DIY (whereas in Cuzco there were plenty of places advertising tourist information but it was hard to get info on how to just DO something without a guide or tour), about 4 restaurants in the entire town all serving a 'menu del dia' but not much else (no sweet specialties like the amazing diversity one can find in Cuzco). It was a welcome change after we had soaked up enough of being spoiled in the big city.
From there we headed straight to Lima on a 16 hour bus, stayed a day in the city enjoying ceviche, pisco sours, and the city sights in the centre, and caught a 22 hour bus to Chachapoyas, in the northern highlands of Peru. What a long stretch of travel, but I don't think we'll have to do that again, thank goodness!
Now we are enjoying Chachas, which hosts pre-Incan ruins, most notably in Kuelap, in hazy cloud forest, remnants of a group of people who were not conquered by the Incas until about the 1400s. We'll be heading to the main site tomorrow.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Nos reunimos en Cuzco
In a rickety old bus, we entered Peru, with what felt like a thousand other tourists from Copacabana, Bolivia. We'd spent a few days on the spectacular salt flats (sorry, never got a chance to write about those, probably will post pics on FB), in the spectacular Sur Yungas where coca grows climbing on steep terraces and fills warehouses in bags all the way to the ceiling, the smell drifting out and encircling you as you walk by. After resting in a cush hostel in La Paz, cuddling up with a DVD player in our room and the nicest kitchen we've used since the farm, we headed to the border town of Copacabana, which straddles Lake Titicaca, famous for being 'the highest navigable lake in the world', though evidently this is disputed.
From Copacabana, we visited Isla del Sol, a spectacular island on the lake, and in Aymara culture, it is considered to be the birth of all life. You deserve to see photos of this too, the high open altiplano, the crops in pre-Incan terraces, the deep blue of the water. You'll have to wait as I've had a few hard drive issues (got a virus, lost a whole bunch of data, and am only giving supreme thanks that my photos from the trip were not in the mega-file that got erased), and it was hard to take care of them in Bolivia; just finally catching up on photo/memory card transfers.
Now we are in the capital of Inca territory, in the spectacular city of Cuzco, where many buildings rest upon ancient stone walls, where there are as many gringos as Peruanos, and the architecture is spectacular. Street vendors are more aggressive, approaching everyone with their artesanal goods. A woman sat next to me as I was journaling, trying to sell me a belt, weaving a new one to convince me. With the floods in Macchu Picchu and Aguas Calientes, residents here have suffered from the lack of tourism and therefore greater difficulty in attaining income. From what I heard much of the international media focused upon the plight of the tourists here, but the people have been much affected: some bridges have been rebuilt only recently, the competition in restaurants and accomodations was fierce, and the Peruvian government evidently did not handle the situation very well.
We've had the good fortune to reunite with friends and family here. Jameson's padre y hermano are here for a few days, and we've been having a great time catching up and sharing about our lives, over a few Pisco Sours, cuy (guinea pig), and alpaca. However, we passed on trying the goat's head (available in the market, as a whole head, or they will cut it in half for you). To give the Honeycutt clan a bit of bonding time during the days, Natalie enrolled in language school for a week and is enjoying improving her Spanish, thrilled at the increase in overall comprehension. Friends from Evergreen are also here, and we've been enjoying our time with them as well.
We watched a film called 'Mi Chacra' last night. It was about a campesino man, who also works as a porter on the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu. He had worked on the farm all his life; he tried to go to school but had to leave when he was 16 when his father got quite ill, and soon passed away. At this point he stayed with his family and assumed the work on the land. This is hard work: all by hand, without machinery, at high altitude. Upon raising his own son, he went in search for work so that he could try to provide more so that his son could obtain an education. Since he could not read or speak well, his options were limited. His work on the Inca Trail as a porter showed some pretty powerful differences between the native people and the tourists. The tourists carried light, half-full day packs and cameras while the porters' backpacks extended a couple of feet above their heads; he wore campesino sandals over the rough landscape; they served coffee and tea 'in tents'... at one point in the narrative he said something to the effect of, 'I am not like these people, they are educated, I have only my strength...' It was pretty powerful, especially as the end scenes depicting the harvest showed the donkeys with heavy loads, contrasting these animals as load-bearers with the workers on the trail. It was in Quechua, with Spanish subtitles, and produced by an American. The peruanos had some interesting comments afterwards, too.
We're not sure how long we'll be here, or where we are going next. Maybe Chachapoyas. If I get my photo thing figured out maybe I'll catch y'all up on some Bolivian adventures.
From Copacabana, we visited Isla del Sol, a spectacular island on the lake, and in Aymara culture, it is considered to be the birth of all life. You deserve to see photos of this too, the high open altiplano, the crops in pre-Incan terraces, the deep blue of the water. You'll have to wait as I've had a few hard drive issues (got a virus, lost a whole bunch of data, and am only giving supreme thanks that my photos from the trip were not in the mega-file that got erased), and it was hard to take care of them in Bolivia; just finally catching up on photo/memory card transfers.
Now we are in the capital of Inca territory, in the spectacular city of Cuzco, where many buildings rest upon ancient stone walls, where there are as many gringos as Peruanos, and the architecture is spectacular. Street vendors are more aggressive, approaching everyone with their artesanal goods. A woman sat next to me as I was journaling, trying to sell me a belt, weaving a new one to convince me. With the floods in Macchu Picchu and Aguas Calientes, residents here have suffered from the lack of tourism and therefore greater difficulty in attaining income. From what I heard much of the international media focused upon the plight of the tourists here, but the people have been much affected: some bridges have been rebuilt only recently, the competition in restaurants and accomodations was fierce, and the Peruvian government evidently did not handle the situation very well.
We've had the good fortune to reunite with friends and family here. Jameson's padre y hermano are here for a few days, and we've been having a great time catching up and sharing about our lives, over a few Pisco Sours, cuy (guinea pig), and alpaca. However, we passed on trying the goat's head (available in the market, as a whole head, or they will cut it in half for you). To give the Honeycutt clan a bit of bonding time during the days, Natalie enrolled in language school for a week and is enjoying improving her Spanish, thrilled at the increase in overall comprehension. Friends from Evergreen are also here, and we've been enjoying our time with them as well.
We watched a film called 'Mi Chacra' last night. It was about a campesino man, who also works as a porter on the Inca Trail to Macchu Picchu. He had worked on the farm all his life; he tried to go to school but had to leave when he was 16 when his father got quite ill, and soon passed away. At this point he stayed with his family and assumed the work on the land. This is hard work: all by hand, without machinery, at high altitude. Upon raising his own son, he went in search for work so that he could try to provide more so that his son could obtain an education. Since he could not read or speak well, his options were limited. His work on the Inca Trail as a porter showed some pretty powerful differences between the native people and the tourists. The tourists carried light, half-full day packs and cameras while the porters' backpacks extended a couple of feet above their heads; he wore campesino sandals over the rough landscape; they served coffee and tea 'in tents'... at one point in the narrative he said something to the effect of, 'I am not like these people, they are educated, I have only my strength...' It was pretty powerful, especially as the end scenes depicting the harvest showed the donkeys with heavy loads, contrasting these animals as load-bearers with the workers on the trail. It was in Quechua, with Spanish subtitles, and produced by an American. The peruanos had some interesting comments afterwards, too.
We're not sure how long we'll be here, or where we are going next. Maybe Chachapoyas. If I get my photo thing figured out maybe I'll catch y'all up on some Bolivian adventures.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Bofedales in Bolivia
After weeks of waiting and uncertainty, we set out on a trip with a group from the University in La Paz to collect data in the bofadeles (peat bogs) of the sierras, north of the city, in the Cordilleria Real. The glacier on Tuni Condoriri is retreating, which is of great concern, particularly as it provides much of the water to the capitol city. The University is conducting several studies on it, and this one is examining the unique bofedal ecosystems. We accompanied 6 students and the project lead, Teresa, as they took measurements of vegetation, tested water pH and chemistry in the pozas (ponds, which they also called 'ojas de agua': eyes of water), collected macroinvertebrates and soil samples, and recorded the influence of the stream on the surrounding landscape.
We arose before 6 am, and climbed into a jeep: 10 of us in total, with all of our bags, food, and science equipment piled up on top. The jeep snaked through the streets of La Paz, and then El Alto, until we were on the carretera (highway), surrounded by altiplano. The mountaints in the distance grew closer, and Heber (one of the students) started pointing them out: Huayna Potosi, Tuni Condoriri, Illampu. Eventually the jeep turned off onto a small dirt road, and we passed by small adobe brick huts, punctuating the open grasses of the vast landscape; we saw occassional campesinos in traditional dress: women with a baby on their backs wrapped in colorful blankets, men on bicycles traversing the long stretch of road.
Eventually we arrived at a building which would be our shelter for the duration of the stay. We were thankful as the weather was colder than we were prepared for, and the clouds were ominous. Before this, we'd been told we would be camping, and we don't have the right equipment or clothing to brave the weather at 4300 meters. The accomodations were basic: two small rooms, no heat, no water, no electricity; simple shelter.
After unloading and organizing, we headed out for the first site. It was not far, but as we approached, it began to snow. In true scientific passion, this did not stop anyone from heading out and collecting data. Patricia lent me some mittens, thankfully, and I protected Monika's camera from the precipitation as best I could. Jameson set up a seco/humedo thermometer reading, and we braved the weather as best we could. When it finally cleared up, we walked up the side of the mountain a ways, searching for plants, finding interesting species in rocks, and came to a beautiful lake. It was magnificent, and the climb got our heart rates up a bit.
Still, we never got warm, and returning to the cabaña, even with all of our clothing on, we were huddled, first in one room all together as we cooked on the portable gas stove. Then, the seven girls retreated to one room, arranging ourselves to take advantage of our collective body heat. The three guys remained in the kitchen, sleeping in three separate corners. Pobrecita Jameson didn't even have a sleeping pad the first night. It was wicked cold and the wind blew outside.
The next day was a relative heaven: the sun was out, the landscape as beautiful as any I knew, and after walking for about 15 minutes Teresa pointed out a few plants and let me loose to collect and photograph. She is working on a field guide and said that many of the plants included they do not have pictures of. It was lovely work, just me and the rocky alpine plants, miniature, but quite diverse, varied, hiding. Jameson found me for lunch, having helped the girls with miscellaneous things throughout the morning.
Throughout the entire time, very little English was spoken, and we communicated in Spanish. It was a rewarding, though at times difficult, experience. It was comfortable to be with a group of students who share our same interests but hail from a completely different culture. When they spoke with each other, we listened and tried to understand as much as possible; this differed depending on context and complication. The Spanish immersion in this manner helps us to improve by leaps and bounds, as the 'travel Spanish' that we do otherwise has actually become relatively simple, and we use too much English when it is only us together. In any case, the group was very accepting and welcoming, and we had a lot of laughs as we braved the sun and the snow and collected data. In many ways it was similar to our field experiences in classes and seasonal jobs in Oly.
The next day Jameson was sick... a very unpleasant experience. He did his best to do his work in the field but we ended up retreating early. A couple of girls did reiki for him back at the cabaña, and they allowed him to sleep next to me, huddled in our room, warmer due to the body heat. Despite this, I found myself with bone-chilling shudders waking me throughout the night, and odd recurring dreams.
On el dia final, we hiked further to an absolutely gorgeous mountain lake, situated at the base of the Condoriri glaciar formation. We were told how the glaciers at one time reached much further down towards the lake. It was warm and everyone soaked in the sun, and they invited us to a dinner back in La Paz. Field work commenced late, and our 2 p.m. arrival time back in the city was pushed back to about 7. Ahh, Bolivian time. I continued with the photography and plant collection, Jameson recorded temperature and took it easy in the sun. We enjoyed our last moments in this fragile, phenomenal, difficult-to-access ecosystem.
We arose before 6 am, and climbed into a jeep: 10 of us in total, with all of our bags, food, and science equipment piled up on top. The jeep snaked through the streets of La Paz, and then El Alto, until we were on the carretera (highway), surrounded by altiplano. The mountaints in the distance grew closer, and Heber (one of the students) started pointing them out: Huayna Potosi, Tuni Condoriri, Illampu. Eventually the jeep turned off onto a small dirt road, and we passed by small adobe brick huts, punctuating the open grasses of the vast landscape; we saw occassional campesinos in traditional dress: women with a baby on their backs wrapped in colorful blankets, men on bicycles traversing the long stretch of road.
Eventually we arrived at a building which would be our shelter for the duration of the stay. We were thankful as the weather was colder than we were prepared for, and the clouds were ominous. Before this, we'd been told we would be camping, and we don't have the right equipment or clothing to brave the weather at 4300 meters. The accomodations were basic: two small rooms, no heat, no water, no electricity; simple shelter.
After unloading and organizing, we headed out for the first site. It was not far, but as we approached, it began to snow. In true scientific passion, this did not stop anyone from heading out and collecting data. Patricia lent me some mittens, thankfully, and I protected Monika's camera from the precipitation as best I could. Jameson set up a seco/humedo thermometer reading, and we braved the weather as best we could. When it finally cleared up, we walked up the side of the mountain a ways, searching for plants, finding interesting species in rocks, and came to a beautiful lake. It was magnificent, and the climb got our heart rates up a bit.
Still, we never got warm, and returning to the cabaña, even with all of our clothing on, we were huddled, first in one room all together as we cooked on the portable gas stove. Then, the seven girls retreated to one room, arranging ourselves to take advantage of our collective body heat. The three guys remained in the kitchen, sleeping in three separate corners. Pobrecita Jameson didn't even have a sleeping pad the first night. It was wicked cold and the wind blew outside.
The next day was a relative heaven: the sun was out, the landscape as beautiful as any I knew, and after walking for about 15 minutes Teresa pointed out a few plants and let me loose to collect and photograph. She is working on a field guide and said that many of the plants included they do not have pictures of. It was lovely work, just me and the rocky alpine plants, miniature, but quite diverse, varied, hiding. Jameson found me for lunch, having helped the girls with miscellaneous things throughout the morning.
Throughout the entire time, very little English was spoken, and we communicated in Spanish. It was a rewarding, though at times difficult, experience. It was comfortable to be with a group of students who share our same interests but hail from a completely different culture. When they spoke with each other, we listened and tried to understand as much as possible; this differed depending on context and complication. The Spanish immersion in this manner helps us to improve by leaps and bounds, as the 'travel Spanish' that we do otherwise has actually become relatively simple, and we use too much English when it is only us together. In any case, the group was very accepting and welcoming, and we had a lot of laughs as we braved the sun and the snow and collected data. In many ways it was similar to our field experiences in classes and seasonal jobs in Oly.
The next day Jameson was sick... a very unpleasant experience. He did his best to do his work in the field but we ended up retreating early. A couple of girls did reiki for him back at the cabaña, and they allowed him to sleep next to me, huddled in our room, warmer due to the body heat. Despite this, I found myself with bone-chilling shudders waking me throughout the night, and odd recurring dreams.
On el dia final, we hiked further to an absolutely gorgeous mountain lake, situated at the base of the Condoriri glaciar formation. We were told how the glaciers at one time reached much further down towards the lake. It was warm and everyone soaked in the sun, and they invited us to a dinner back in La Paz. Field work commenced late, and our 2 p.m. arrival time back in the city was pushed back to about 7. Ahh, Bolivian time. I continued with the photography and plant collection, Jameson recorded temperature and took it easy in the sun. We enjoyed our last moments in this fragile, phenomenal, difficult-to-access ecosystem.
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