A Longwinded Journey South

Then on the ladder of the earth I climbed
through the lost jungle’s tortured thicket
up to you, Macchu Picchu.

High city of laddered stones,
at last the dwelling of what earth
never covered in vestments of sleep.

In you like two lines parallel,
the cradles of lightning and man
rocked in a wind of thorns.

Mother of stone, spume of condors.

High reef of the human dawn.

Spade lost in the primal sand.

This was the dwelling, this is the place:
here the broad grains of maize rose up
and fell again like red hail.

Here gold thread came off the vicuña
to clothe lovers, tombs, and mothers,
king and prayers and warriors.

Here men’s feet rested at night
next to the eagles’ feet, in the ravenous
high nests, and at dawn
they stepped with the thunder’s feet onto the thinning mists
and touched the soil and the stones
till they knew them come night or death.

I look at clothes and hands,
the trace of water in an echoing tub,
the wall brushed smooth by the touch of a face
that looked with my eyes at the lights of earth,
that oiled with my hands the vanished
beams: because everything, clothing, skin, jars,
words, wine, bread,
is gone, fallen to earth.

And the air came in with the touch
of lemon blossom over everyone sleeping:
a thousand years of air, months, weeks of air,
of blue wind and iron cordillera,
that were like gentle hurricane footsteps
polishing the lonely boundary of stone.

--------

Climb up with me, American love.

Kiss the secret stones with me.
The torrential silver of the Urubamba
sends pollen flying to its yellow cup.
The empty vine goes flying,
the stony plant, the stiff garland
over the silent mountain gorge.
Come, miniscule life, between the wings
of the earth, while—crystal and cold, a buffeted air
dividing the clash of emeralds—
oh wild water you come down from the snow.

Love, love, until the sudden night,
from the Andes’ringing flintstone,
to the red knees of dawn,
study the blind child of the snow.

-----

Macchu Picchu, did you set
stone upon stone on a base of rags?
Coal over coal and at bottom, tears?
Fire on the gold and within it, trembling, the red
splash of blood?

Give me back the slave you buried!
Shake from the earth the hard bread
of the poor, show me the servant’s
clothes and his window.

Tell me how he slept while he lived.
Tell me if his sleep
was snoring, gaping like a black hole
that weariness dug in the wall.

The wall, the wall! If every course of stone
weighed down his sleep, and if he fell underneath
as under a moon, with his sleep!

Ancient America, sunken bride,
your fingers too,
leaving the jungle for the empty height of the gods,
under bridal banners of light and reverence,
blending with thunder from the drums and lances,
yours, your fingers too,
those that the abstract rose and rim of cold, the
bloodstained body of the new grain bore up
to a web of radiant matter, to the hardened hollows,
you too, buried America, did you keep in the deepest part
of your bitter gut, like an eagle, hunger?

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Yet again, we've found ourselves in another country for longer than expected, but unlike Ecuador, our prolonged stay cannot be chalked up to enchantment for the country. Sure, there is endless to do and see in Peru and every region is certainly unique in its culture, history, climate, and indigenous population. Unfortunately, however, the common thread we've experienced is the degraded, cheap and saddening interactions we've had with so many people here. Beyond rudeness, we have encountered a downright meanness that I have never before experienced in Latin America.

Upon arriving to Peru, about 7 weeks ago, we crossed the border and stopped for a simple breakfast. The woman who worked at the restaurant was cold and proceeded to overcharge us with no explanation although 2 of us spoke Spanish. Our second meal in Peru, at the market in Chachapoyas, was served in a likewise manner, with the woman literally snarling at us as we ate. I brushed off both instances, as I has been forewarned about the less-than-friendly way foreigners are greeted in Peru. As we pressed on, however, we have been disappointed to find that we have been constantly lied to, taken advantage of, and disrespected. I don't know that I have ever felt so dehumanized in all my travels.

The change in attitude we have encountered, between other countries and Peru, is certainly related to the fact that we've had less volunteer opportunities here, and so have been regular tourists for longer stretches of time. I've been yearning for settling into a volunteer project run by Peruvians, but the opportunity has not been there: unfortunately, thousands of people pay thousands of dollars a month or even per week to come volunteer in Peru, making the options for volunteer work, in its purest sense, very slim. The willingness of so many foreigners to pay exorbitant sums to volunteer here only feeds the sense that foreigners are made of money and nothing else.

Another difference that has impacted our experience here is that we have had fewer opportunities to participate in the CouchSurfing network in Peru, which has left us meeting fewer Peruvians in the friendly, altruistic way that one meets people through CouchSurfing. Still, it is important to note that many people who have put themselves on CouchSurfing in Peru are actually trying to charge people to stay at their homes, which of course, runs counter to all that CS stands for.

A number of instances have left me near in tears as people demand money for no apparent reason and I battle to be left alone. You have literally to say “No me engaña” time and again when making purchases, because most everyone we encounter during exchanges seems to be looking to take advantage in any way possible. Taxi drivers attempting to charge double rates after you've just learned their childrens' names on the ride, waiters who will add 10 soles to your bill for no reason and after correcting them will short you 10 soles in change, women at the market who will add 4 soles to your total unless you stop them: The result has been my complete loss of trust in the people here and near constant suspicion in my interactions with them. I can only expect to be lied to at this point, and I have been made to feel like I am constantly defending myself.

So why are we still here? Well, a change of travel plans and a steep tourist visa for Bolivia has made
Peru the best option for us for now. Further, the difficulty with leaving has been that we have still hoped to see all of the wonders that Peru's tourist industry has roped off and charged up to 18 times more for foreigners than nationals to visit (Compare to Ecuador where Presidente Correa has made all national parks free to the public, whoever the public may be!).

Other travelers we have met making their way through South America have expressed similar sentiments about the people here- quite a few of them actually decided to pass through the country as quickly as possible to make it to friendlier lands, Ecuador or Bolivia. One Spanish man pinpointed that he never once felt like anyone was actually listening to him here. Questions are often met with a dirty look or no response at all. While I speak the language, the people here have put up a barrier in communication that is often impossible to break through.

So, tourism. Does it totally annihilate people's ability to treat others as people and not just a credit card? We hate it and fuel it all at the same time. But while I have visited the pyramids of Giza and the Vatican in Rome, I have never felt so disoriented by the way tourism has totally ravished daily human interactions with foreigners. I can only hope that the parallel relationship between the amount of tourism and the amount of cheating, lying and dehumanization is not universal.

Every year here, thousands of students graduate with 5-year degrees in tourism, in which time, it seems some of the key things they have come to learn has to extract money from these objects, these “extranjeros” and quite little about the actual places they have been “studying” to lead tours to.

So while I am sure we have been guilty of many of our own blunders in interacting, I know that I am familiar enough with manners and customs here to know that we aren't doing anything terribly offensive when we interact. Nor are we unable to communicate.

This is a strong reflection on the people here, and of course, this is what we have experienced mainly as tourists here. I know that most Peruvians are kind and friendly, as we have seen with the few CouchSurfing experiences we have had. I place a great deal of value on the human interactions I have while traveling, and so the degraded ones I have experienced here have certainly shaken up my understanding of Latin America and left me feeling downright awful and sad.

Febuary 18: Baños, Ecuador, diagnosis myself with parasites due to following symptoms: fatigue (energy one day but not the next), joint aches, easily blistered skin, consistent gas, occasional and small amounts of blood in stool. Our WWOOFing host, an aging Canadian ex-schoolteacher/hippy explained to me how she had been experiencing the 'sulfur burbs' and was afraid she had parasites. She pulled out the pills she said she takes at least every six months 'just to be sure', and for $2.80 it seemed to make sense.
Take Parasi-kit: 2/18 evening, 1 tablet albendazol 400 mg.
2/19 evening, 2 (1 g each) tablets secnidazol
I feel substantially better over the next couple weeks, higher energy levels, better digestion, less gas, less aches. No more parasites!

March 8: Puerto Lopez, Ecuador. On the bus to this coastal town I feel like I am fighting a sickness. The following evening I go to bed early with swollen lymph nodes and exhaustion. My lymph nodes return to normal but my energy level remains low the following two days in Puerto Lopez. Amy and I prepare delicious fresh fish (cooked!) meals at the hostal including beet salad. My urine is red.

March 12: Cuenca, Ecuador. Severe and consistent fatigue though little other symptoms finally prompt me to consult a doctor. After hearing Amy's translation of my past months health and self-prescribed parasite medication, the friendly doctor has a quick listen to my stomach and intestines and declares I have a bacterial infection. She writes a prescription for antibiotics as well as pain and bloating medication (neither of which I really suffer from) and almost as an afterthought tells me to go across the hall to get my stool tested. After successfully obtaining a stool sample with the miniature spoon and dish purchased for $0.07 I wait fifteen minutes for the results. Amy convinced the lab worker to test for parasites as well as bacteria ($4 for the former, $1 for the latter). The doctor emerges from the lab and exclaims “muchas amoebas!” were found in my stool as well as bacteria. She scribbles another prescription for Flagyl that I am instructed to take following my antibiotic regimen and we ask her how these intruders may have found their way into my digestive tract. “Comida del calle” (street food). She thinks I have probably had them for many weeks and not parasites but the steroids in the Parasi-Kit made me feel better for a little while. We happily pay her the $5 consultation fee and are on our way. I feel a little squeamish at the thought of all the things living inside me at the moment but am relieved I have gotten a diagnosis and prescriptions for treatment. I hypothesize that I ingested an amoeba cyst more than a month prior, after cleaning out pig pens in San Agustin, Colombia or while eating the double servings of blood sausage served at every meal there (Amy gave me hers). Impossible to know, bacteria or amoebas could have been contracted from any number of grilled street meats, unwashed or washed with contaminated water fruits or vegetables, juices made from unpurified water or chilled with unpurified ice, or any other food or less than purely hygenic situation we have been confronted with but embraced in the spirit of traveling.
March 13-March 18: 1 tablet Bactiflox 500mg every 12 hours, morning and night for five days.
March 20-27: 1 tablet Flagyl 500 after lunch and dinner, 2 pills a day for seven days.
I feel much better just a couple days after starting the antibiotics. My energy returns and the trip goes on into Peru. After finishing off all the medicines I still have some indigestion (perhaps because much of my beneficial digestive bacteria has been eradicated) but also some slightly sulfurous or stomach bile tasting burps and I worry that there are still some things going on in there that shouldn't be.

March 31, outside Tarapoto, Peru. We are now in the fringe of the Amazon river basin and jungle and contemplate beginning to take our Malarone for malaria but hold off after talking to our volunteer hosts who say there has not been any malaria in the area. They say some dengue has been reported in Tarapoto but none in this small town 40 minutes down a dirt road. I am quite sore and tired after building steps in the mornings and playing soccer with the locals in the afternoon. My body doesn't seem to recharge or rejuvenate as I would like despite the thoroughly enjoyable bathing and swimming in the river every afternoon. As has been the case throughout the trip it is so hard to tell what is normal work, play, and travel wear and tear and what are symptoms of something else...

April 6, arrive in Yurimaguas, Peru on the river Maranon, tributary to the Amazon. Amy and begin taking Malarone, one pill at sundown each day to keep the malaria mosquitoes at bay.

April 7, we depart Yurimaguas on a large passenger boat/barge heading down river to Iquitos. I have some diarrhea and compulsively I decide to take the recommended three day regiment of Ciproflaxin (1 500mg pill morning and night) somewhat preemptively as I have read many people contract forms of dysentery on this trip. Probably totally unnecessary and not the best idea in hindsight, but I have the medicine with me and down it goes to ease my bowels and my mind so I can get back to relaxing in my hammock berth and watch the river bank go by.

April 9, arrive in Iquitos, Peru on the Amazon river, the world's largest city unreachable by road (over half a million inhabitants). End self-prescribed Cipro medication, feel good.

April 10, Iquitos, Peru. Following a delicious palm heart salad dinner and the best chicken I have ever tasted I enter the bathroom of the rotisserie chicken diner. After what seems to be a little diarrhea I wipe only blood. Many pieces of red toilet paper later I am finally clean and very worried. I wonder if a fish bone from lunch at the market earlier has punctured my insides or what else could possibly be causing so much blood. Amy asks our waiter where the nearest clinic is, we pay the bill, and hop in one of the thousands of rickshaw taxis racing around the city. I don't feel bad but I don't want to mess around when there is blood coming out of me. Amy has to do all the talking as usual at the clinic and tries to relate my health history over the past 6 weeks and explain the current situation. The doctor thinks the blood was probably full of dead amoebas being expelled from my system. He asks for me to poop in a cup but after extended effort I cannot produce anything. No blood, no feces, shit. I take the cup with me and promise to return before their overnight shift ends to avoid paying another consultation fee with a new doctor (65 soles or about $25). After four hours of sleep we return, I perform in the bathroom, and we deliver the specimen to the lab. Two hours later we receive the results: everything normal, no blood, but under 'celulas de almidon' the test finds 'escasos' which we understand to mean cell casings or probably dead amoebas. The test also finds Blastocystis hominis, a parasite. After these results the doctor prescribed me Colufan (I believe, difficult to read doctor's handwriting...) for the parasites but the pharmacies only had Noxzolin 500mg (Nitazoxanida) which I was assured was the same thing. I was also prescribed Bactim Forte, an antibiotic.
April 11- April 13: Noxzolin 6 tablets morning and night, every 12 hours for 3 days.
April 11- April 15: Bactim Forte 10 tablets, every 12 hours, morning and night, for 5 days.
During this period, from March 12th to the 14th we went on an eco-jungle tour where we slept in tents, went on hikes through the jungle and waded through multiple flooded trails, one in which we had to swim. We saw only two snakes and didn't find any leaches on each other but who knows what other organisms lurked in those murky waters. I stopped taking my Malarone after I began taking these other medications and hearing from our guide (who had contracted malaria multiple times and whose wife was a malaria researcher, actually they met when he was her patient!) that there was no malaria or dengue in the area currently. It was probably unrealistic, but I felt protected against contracting more parasites in the jungle since I was already on medication for them!

Apart from a few insect bites I returned from the jungle unscathed and feeling fine. We flew to Lima, Peru on April 17th and that afternoon my temperature began rising, accompanied by body aches and a headache. I had a fever through the night, maximum measured temperature of 100.1 (my normal temperature is usually around 97) but my temperature was back to normal by the morning and I began to feel better. I had my feces tested again in the lab which I had been planning on before the fever and waited for results before consulting a doctor. That night I had severe indigestion and some diarrhea. The next morning we returned for the results which found no bacteria and all normal except for a small amount of Blastocystis Hominis. Later that day, despite trying to eat simple foods, bread, bananas, rice, and some vegetables, I developed severe stomach cramping to the extent that it was painful to walk and very uncomfortable in any situation. We went back to the clinic where my feces had been tested to see a doctor (5 soles for the test, 4 to see the doctor). After poking around my abdomen where a few spots hurt some but no shooting pain, just general cramping and pressure, the doctor wrote me a prescription for Ciproflaxin. We didn't understand since the test had found no bacteria but she believed that I have a bacterial infection in my stomach. After the 7 day regimen of Cipro she prescribed Nitoxozanida or Colufane (slightly different deciphered spellings on these doctors notes but I believe the same medicines as before) twice a day for three days to finish off the Blastocystis Hominis.
April 18-April 26: Ciproflaxin 500mg tablets at 9am and 9pm daily while abstaining from alcoholic drinks and trying to eat simple food.
After asking about probiotics, the doctor also gave me a prescription for Enterogermina, spores of polyantibiotic resistant bacillus clausii to take once daily for five days. I have been feeling a little better but my energy levels are still low and my digestion has not been good. I have not had diarrhea, just some cramping, bloating, and discomfort.

April 25, Arequipa, Peru. We got off an overnight bus from Nazca to Arequipa this morning and despite a slightly funny stomach I had plenty of energy to tromp around the city with our bags and find the best hostal deal. Walking into the seventh or eighth hospedaje of the morning I was greeted by a middle aged guy smoking a cigarette who said he could give me a room for two people for 30 soles (around $11). The place had Wi-Fi and a kitchen on a quirky but nice rooftop terrace, even a place to wash clothes, so I asked for 25 soles. The friendly guy declared it was his birthday so he would do it and asked if I wanted to have a vodka drink with him! I wished him 'Feliz Cumpleanos!' and gave him a chocolate Amy had picked up back in Ica. I then had to explain to him that I was taking antibiotics and despite the tempting screwdriver offer at 11am, I would have to pass. I felt good most of the day but had a lingering headache I made sure wasn't dehydration and this afternoon my energy abandoned me. My last Cipro pill goes down the hatch in the morning and then it will be on to the Nitoxozanida for three days. Maybe soon I will feel healthy again.

Vilcabamba, Ecuador: an odd assortment of established ex-pats, transient long-term travelers, vacationing gringos, and locals both catering to and trying to ignore all the foreigners. This eclectic jumble of people have all been drawn to this beautiful valley in southern Ecuador (or were born here) yet groups remain largely divided, each with their own jaded views of the others. National Geographic published a story around 10 years ago 'discovering' not only the natural beauty and sublime climate of this area but also that many locals lived more than a century. Foreigners began flocking to the 'Valley of Longevity' and many bought land in the surrounding hills to build their retirement dream homes. Yves (pronounced Eve) arrived in Vilcabamba just before the article, looking to put down some roots and begin his own farm after spending a number of years traversing the Americas. He and his partner had moved from farm to farm through the WWOOF and word of mouth networks, working and learning about permaculture, animal husbandry, and organic gardening. Through a series of events, some lucky and others unfortunate, Yves ended up owning 30 or so hectares of a mountainside on his own. He had wanted a challenging place to test his agriculture knowledge and he certainly got it. Hacking trails through the dense undergrowth, cutting steps into the alkaline clay soil, digging contour ditches, and macheting down hectares of yashepa (head-high ferns) to build terraced garden beds, Yves began the long process of restoring the soil and sculpting the ecosystem into a sustainable place for flora and fauna (including a few humans).


Eight years later Yves, a lively red-headed Canadian, has put not only his time and money, but his heart and soul into carving out a habitat for himself, his animals, and anyone interested enough to haul themselves up the rugged 8 km trail to the haven known as Sacred Sueños. It turns out over 100 volunteers spend time on the mountain every year, and with Yves' guidance and positive attitude, an amazing place has been created. Snaking out from the main kitchen/library/dining/lounge building, a network of paths leads one past terraced garden beds fighting to remain seen among the encroaching undergrowth, chicken tractors hard at work, numerous fruit bearing saplings and vines being encouraged by thick layers of mulch and humanure, compost pits and piles, and greenhouses and nurseries nestled into the slope. Many paths end at habitations from canvas yurts to tree high platforms for yoga and mosquito-net bedrooms, all with glorious views of the valley below. Other trails wind along to a peaceful waterfall or climb upwards over rough earthen stairs to the ridge and pine forest; some disappear completely, left incomplete by a wayward volunteer or simply reclaimed by the vegetation and forgotten.


Amy and I spent only a week in this beautiful place but it seems far longer based on the friends we made, experiences gained, stories shared, and projects completed. We arrived with Kendrick, a skinny kid from Oklahoma who was talkative and smart but inexperienced and naïve about manual labor. Waiting with lunch cooked for us when we made it up the mountain at last with our trio of pack animals (Bonnie the aging donkey and the two horses Joe and Two-Socks loaded with buckets of fruit, veggies, and other scrumptious vittles for our weeks cooking and eating content) was Fabian, the calm and merry dreaklocked traveler/writer from Switzerland. Matt, an intriguing Pittsburg native clambered down from his usual library loft perch and joined Yves, Kendrick, Fabian, Amy and I for a hearty lunch. Later that afternoon Emily, a jovial Quebecois biologist, and Ellen, a friendly and particular science teacher from Germany, returned from their hike in the nearby Podocarpus National Park laughing about how long it had taken due to countless photo ops. Ellen had in fact been the very first volunteer to help Yves build the first structures and gardens eight years ago and had at last returned to see what had become of her friend and the mountain. Our diverse group all spoke English quite well and we shared some great times working in the rain, relaxing in the sun and shade, and dining and playing cards by candlelight.

Our first day was an orientation to the gardens, greenhouses, orchard, kitchen and compost systems, and current projects as well as some guidelines for community living (treat others as you want to be treated!). Due to the severely depleted soil on the mountain (ph of around 4 and mostly clay, very few of Yves' first plantings produced anything) returning nutrients to the earth was of utmost importance. Compost from the kitchen was sorted into 5 different containers: horses/donkeys, chickens, standard, coffee grounds for mushroom growing medium, and hard to break down citrus peels. After the banana, mango, avocado, and other peels were processed through the powerful digestive system of the horses and donkeys, the manure was brought back and layered with standard compost and hay or grass for microorganisms and decomposers to thrive in. After just three or four months this concoction was turned into rich, fluffy, compost ready to be used in the nursery and frugally applied to garden beds. Human excrement was also used for its nutrients, simply mixed with sawdust and dirt, it too became valuable compost, but confined to uses outside of vegetable beds due to the very slight health risk of consuming parasites or bacteria that had previously infected a volunteer (sounds familiar...) and survived to remain present in the compost. The two chicken tractors were yet another tool for revitalizing and aerating the soil. Laying down fresh green leaves in the chickens movable rectangular pen and feeding and watering them daily yielded not only a few a eggs a day but mulch and chicken shit were composted in place. Any waste that was safe and satisfactory to burn was collected for fires, all other waste was either cut into strips for cob building material or if it was really nasty packed into the 'skank bottle' which was then sealed and used as a building block. In these ways, nothing was 'trash' on the mountain, anything that came up was used in its entirety. It was impressive to see many of these permaculture techniques in practice but also daunting to see how impoverished the land was and what a long process it was to restore its vitality and grow enough food to support a human community.


Yves hoped that the changing guard of volunteers could keep these systems of soil replenishment and garden growing in progress while he was personally at work on his own home a twenty minute hike away. Here he had developed goat cheese recipes without the use of electricity and refrigerators, which he brought down every weekend to the gringo market of Vilcabamba for some cash income. From two goats on a well cared for pasture he received about two liters of milk a day, enough to make numerous small cheeses a week. Yves is kept quite busy tending his goats, donkeys (Bonnie and Clyde), and horses, (not to mention his cute kitten and green-eyed puppy who play like siblings) while trying to organize volunteers and had little time to work on his own home. He was very grateful for construction help and Fabian, Kendrick, and I were enthusiastic to do some work other than garden maintenance and general farm upkeep. We gained some valuable timber framing experience as we worked to set floor posts and chisel out a large cross beam to connect them. Yves did not pretend to be a builder and was appreciative of the rough construction experience I had. Despite fighting a cough, our progress on his house cheered him up considerably and Yves kept mentioning all the other fun projects there would be for me if I was only able to stay longer.


Amy and I agree that Sacred Sueños was our most enjoyable volunteer post to date. The work was flexible, interesting, and though many tasks were routine maintenance and chores, you could see the purpose in them. Yves was incredibly knowledgeable about plants and permaculture techniques and very willingly to talk about past experiences and future ideas. The library was extremely impressive for its size and included a wide range of acclaimed novels as well as a multitude of references for all things agriculture, animal, ecology, building, and community related. Though not our most posh accommodations (certainly our best views though), the living areas had a feel of history to them (perhaps too much so for only being 8 years old or less) and being there felt like we had become part of a meaningful community, not simply our own with fellow volunteers but all the Sacred Sueños members who had come before us. By far the most authentic and organized attempt at a sustainable living community we have been a part of, it was sobering to see how much food still had to be hauled up the mountainside to sustain us. Yves was thorough with his shopping and kept the kitchen stocked with the most ingredients and best variety we have been privileged to use, which was great for our cooking and eating, but reinforced the fact that the most fundamental part of sustainability, growing food, is not at all easy. Sacred Sueños certainly began with quite a handicap due to its location and soil but it is a hearty reminder that growing enough food to survive is a challenge, while having a variety of food is an immense luxury indeed. Balanced meals full of nutrients and hopefully some protein become even more important when the work necessary to live off the land is mostly hard manual labor. Yves has most definitely shown us an inspiring example of what can be done, while reminding me that a cash crop or value added product is quite important (cheese now, Yves wants to brew mead and grow mushrooms in the future), as well as proximity to a market for those products and a place to buy goods you cannot produce yourself. In other words, its no coincidence that rural farmers have been trekking to town and back for as long as agrarian societies have existed.


When the week came to an end, Amy and I had gained two traveling partners on our next leg to Peru! Emily had biologist contacts in Chachapoyas, Peru (where we were headed) and Fabian (who rarely makes plans) felt that it was a good direction to go. On Sunday we descended from the mountain and that night the four of us boarded a night bus bound for Zumba, leg 1 of 7 to cross the least traveled Ecuador/Peru border. A sun-rise truck bed ride to the border, a simple stroll across a bridge, a couple muddy Toyota Corolla hatchback jaunts, one short rickshaw ride, a speedy van stint on paved roads across what looked much like the American southwest, one sleepy driver, a final cruise through a canyon road full of fallen rocks, and 20 hours later we arrived in Chachapoyas: land of the cloud people!

I have not written much for the blog in a long while. Well, I have written brief descriptions of stops on the map and attempted to manage my mounting pile of digital images but I haven't continued my enthusiastic writing from the beginning of the trip. Luckily, Amy's blog writing has waxed as mine has waned and I have been able to contribute the pictures to go with her well-picked words. I have grown quite fond of my camera and enjoy pulling it out of my pocket to snap quick images in order to better share and remember experiences. I will blame some of lack of motivation for writing on the ameobas and bacteria that infected me for probably more than a month before I felt weak enough to get a test at the doctors (my self diagnosis of parasites was probably wrong but made me feel better for a little while). Now the little guys living in my digestive tract have been conquered by modern medicine I hope, I sure feel better.

In an attempt to get back in the swing of posting my writing I am publishing a couple brief little things that were written in my little pocket notebook. I carry it everywhere with me now and it is filling up with bus routes, hostal names and numbers, notes on plants and building techniques, email addresses of new friends, recomendations of destinations, and all manner of other jotted lists and numbers. One page contains ideas for pieces to write for the blog but many are still just titles at this point: Latin Futbol, Ecuador: Microcosm of South America, What does climate change mean for remote rural farmers? The microeconomies of buses, and others that have yet to take much form. Hopefully I will get the chance to elaborate on these ruminations soon, perhaps at our next stop volunteering in the eco-art village of Sachaqa or after while we float down river into the Amazon jungle. For now this is what is done. The poem was actually written in Colombia when I first experienced the Granadilla (a type of passion fruit) and sought for a way to share my fascination with it, now it has returned to my life for an even better price in Peru! The mountain list was inspired by our time at our last volunteer post in Ecuador just a week ago. Feel free to laugh at both!