Is that all you got?

Cold Chicken

2011-06-05T10:33:00.015-06:00

We crammed ourselves into a series of chicken buses (also carrying chickens, naturally, in addition to people, not to mention dogs, bicycles, construction materials, fish, and plantains) as we headed south from Jiquilillo. Eight or nine hours later, we arrived on the shore of Lake Nicaragua in time to catch a ferry over to Ometepe Island, an island impressively formed by two volcanoes rising from the lake.

Many people are attracted to Ometepe by the opportunity to relax and explore nature and a good many others are lured by the opportunity to reach the crater of one active volcano and the crater lake of one dormant volcano. Aside from the fact that we had planned to visit here in 2009 and never made it, I am not embarassed to say that our keen interest to visit Ometepe was based largely on the promise of fresh baked bread and homemade peanut butter and nutella. Yep, to satisfy a craving. We had been given the inside scoop from other travelers in Jiquilillo that a certain 'finca' offered these tasty treats. They had actually ended up staying five weeks! Wow, I thought, that must be some seriously good bread.

We spent two nights at El Zopilote, sharing a rustic hut with some cute little lizards and some terrifying bugs the size of small cats. We met some lovely ladies from Australia and together we spent some time on the deserted beach and climbed Maderas Volcano (the dormant one with the crater lake. Yes, the smaller of the two, but need I remind you that we previously climbed eight volcanoes...?).

When we weren't eating peanut butter sandwhiches, we enjoyed the fine dining experience offered by the family across the dirt road. It took a couple minutes for my brain to do the translation on the first night when the nice woman told us that she didn't have any 'cold chicken' and that our meals would take 'some time' to prepare but as she walked behind the house and the chickens scattered, it all came together. I was greatful that she turned up the music just a touch.

Although we had originally planned to stay on the island for one more night, we decided to roll with the punches when we naively assumed that Sunday buses would run on the same schedule as every other day. Because the ferry terminal ended up being the end of the line for the bus we had boarded, we decided to head across the lake and spend some time in Granada instead. We spent our last day in Nicaragua wandering the streets of this colonial town, taking in some culture...and eating ice cream.

Chillin´in Jiquilillo

2011-05-26T18:58:00.009-06:00

We sadly said goodbye on Sunday night...

...and on Monday morning we headed to a tiny, sleepy, fishing village on the pacific coast in northwest Nicaragua.

Here is where we called home for three nights:After fully exploring the place, including a three hour walk on the beach, finding the best place to buy mangos, and checking out the estuary, we did manage to sit still long enough to read a good book in a hammock...

Here is the view from my hammock.
Here is me in my hammock (no, I am not naked).Good times.

Samoto

2011-05-26T18:44:00.008-06:00

Before leaving Estelli for good, we headed north to spend one last day in northern Nicaragua floating through Samoto Canyon. We embraced the rain and our trusty life jackets and scrambled, floated, and cliff jumped our way through the canyon.

Despite an incident on the bus involving a pocket knife and the fact that I am still sporting huge purple bruises on the back of each thigh from my cliff jump (landing in the sitting position is not recommended — ouch!), we lived to tell the tale and would recommend it!

The Reason for The Challenge

2011-05-21T11:32:00.023-06:00

The Volcano Charity Challenge we completed two weeks ago raised over $8,000 dollars for the GVI projects in Nicaragua with mine and Troy´s sponsors alone being almost enough to fund fund the much needed addition to the school in La Chiriza. We cannot thank you enough! Over the past week we have had the pleasure of watching the addition take shape. With close to 100 students in seven grades in only three rooms, the outdoor addition will give 40 preschool children their own space to do what 3-5 year olds do best—make their voices heard!

Our friend Aaron has been overseeing the school project here since its inception a year ago and in that time it has grown from simply chairs and tables set up in the open, to the three room structure that exists today which now boasts a brand new addition. The school, run by two local teachers in addition to volunteers, provides what is best described as a supplemental education. The learning environment of national schools is often less than ideal and depending on cost and location barriers, some parents don´t send their children at all. The volunteer-run school reinforces the national school curriculum at no cost, therby increasing the odds of successful education even for those with little or no means. In addition, adult literacy and english classes are provided twice a week.

Ofcourse it was not all business, we had plenty of fun and laughed a lot, especially during recreo!

The community of La Chiriza is quite new, only slightly more than a year old. La Chiriza is one of those communities that is all too real; the people are real and the poverty is real. It is a community in which the combination of tarps and scrap wood is a house, an outhouse is a bathroom, a bucket is a shower, and an open fire is a stove. This particular community is best described as a ´squatter´ community where people have travelled from both near and far to stake their claim on available land close enough to Esteli to find work there but with less expense. The community has only recently been legally recognized and it continues to grow. Power lines are currently being strung from plot to plot, though it has yet to be activated, and houses continue to go up.

After spendiing time in Chiriza, we have no doubts that the challenge and the project it supported was more than a worthwhile endeavor.

Only in Central America

2011-05-17T15:29:00.013-06:00

Had I been at home this week, I probably (though I can´t say for certain) would not have...

Thought it okay for three people to ride a motorcycle together, one being a tiny baby held by the second passenger
Seen a man walking the streets each day selling mattresses, with four of his finest strapped to his shoulders
Greeted Troy when he was dropped off by immigration, having been picked up for not carrying his passport with him
Spent a day with FUNARTE, a locally run organization that organizes human rights and mural art education workshops for children and young adults with disabilities from some of the poorest neighborhoods around

Eaten gallo pinto (rice and beans) three times a day
Witnessed a fire in a wood stove being started by using plastic bottles as kindling
Been subjected to music and propaganda blaring from giant speakers affixed to the top of a car
Skipped rope, danced the hokey pokey, or reviewed my times tables

Watched two grown men routinely, and seemingly comfortably, navigate the streets on the same bicycle (one on the seat and one on the top tube)
Thought it routine for there to be both a toyota and a horse ´parked´ outside my house
Been intrigued by the work of ERSLA, an NGO working to improve emergency services by bringing much-needed firefighting equipment and first responder education to Nicaragua
Smiled at the sight of tables and chairs being brought out onto the sidewalk at dinner time as homes are transformed into mini-cafes
Tried my hand at making paper with las Mujeres Ambientalistas (the association of Women Environmentalists), a local cooperative intent on recycling and composting and who make recycled paper out of food waste such as banana leaves and onions.

I mean, I can´t say for sure, but I probably would not have done these things.

The price is right

2011-05-15T20:50:00.004-06:00

This morning I paid 20 cents for the delicious mangos, sliced up and bagged for my convenience by the nice lady on the street, that I snacked on while Troy sipped his 27 cent cup of coffee. I walked two hours to a waterfall outside of town and paid $1 to enter the protected natural area. While there I contributed $3 to a local man who handcarved from stone the mortar and pestle set I purchased. I paid 45 cents for the bus to take me home.

As I write this I am spending 50 cents to use the internet for one hour to find out what is going on in the world I am accustomed to where buying a couple of starbucks coffees costs the same as a good night´s sleep and three meals a day prepared by a lovely woman who makes sure I exceed my daily recommended carb intake here in Nicaragua.

A Challenge Indeed!

2011-05-09T20:37:00.039-06:00

Over the course of four days our team of 14 sweated it out together, nursed our wounds, tended to our sunburns, bandaged our blisters and enjoyed the view from the craters of 8 volcanoes. We arrived at the top of the final volcano, Volcan Momotombo, a little bedraggled, alot dirty, and extremely satisfied with our success.

On the first day we were in awe of the first active crater we encountered. We tried to resist getting too close to the edge but tested fate just a little in order to hear the bubbling lava below. Ofcourse Troy threw rocks into the crater to summon the volcano gods but thankfully they ignored him.

We then proceeded to walk through fire (literally jumping over flames) to attempt the second volcano (note the smoking volcano in the background of the photo below). We ended up surrendering as we found ourselves surrounded by fire and the winds kept changing. The firefighter among us advocated for a swift descent and thankfully my shorts were the only casualty—I clumsily fell on my butt in my haste to retreat.

(We were able to keep the final trip tally 8 volcanoes, however, with an unexpected crater addition to the itinerary on the third day).

On day two, after having hiked about ten hours, we thought it fitting to climb up Cerro Negro in gale force winds, carrying what amounted to slabs of plywood, to try our hand at volcano boarding. We basically tobogganed 600m down a 43 degree grade and tried not to wipe out. At a cool 42kph I dusted Troy, but I was far from hitting the record of 87kph!

Day three was by far the longest and most taxing and had us walking from our third volcano of the day, El Hoyo (The Hole (see pic!)) down to a laguna. As with every destination on the trip, according to our guides the laguna was "about 30 minutes" from El Hoyo. Loosely translated, 30 minutes means anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours... In this case, it may well have been even longer than that but jumping into the cool water at the end made it all worthwhile!

On the final day, we hiked the open faces of Volcan Momotombo under the 38 degree sun, taking refuge wherever we could behind boulders or single free-standing trees.

I'd like to say we arrived at the top and relished the fresh air but in reality we gagged and choked on the sulphur and gases that were sputtering up. The view was incredible though and knowing that we were on our way down left us jumping for joy!

Our guides earned major brownie points by greeting the team with cold beer at the bottom. Despite sore feet and tired eyes, the celebration continued in Leon following showers and clean clothes.
(And yes, for some reason the celebration included cowboy hats...)

As Troy was quick to point out if ever there was any complaining by anyone, the event was not named "Volcano-walk-in-the-Park," it was, as it turns out, quite aptly named "Volcano Challenge" and challenging it was.

Nicaragua - The land of lakes and volcanoes!

2011-05-03T00:20:00.007-06:00

Plagued by indecisiveness as usual, I have packed and unpacked a dozen times fully recognizing that I will unlikely wear/use at least half of what I am bringing. One would think that packing for a single month should be easy compared to packing for a whole year but one would sadly be mistaken. We will be cramming a lot of different activities into a short amount of time, and I want to be prepared for anything!

We will be spending our first night in the capital, Managua, and will head to Leon the next morning to join a group of volunteers raising money in support of GVI's ongoing Phoenix Projects (community education projects) in Nicaragua by participating in the organization's first-ever Nicaraguan Volcano Charity Challenge. We have been sponsored by generous friends and supporters and over the course of 4 days (May 5-8), we will hike 8 volcanoes with all donations going towards a new school building in Chiriza, local teachers' salaries and food for the kids.

The last update received from Nicaragua was to suggest appropriate clothing to deal with 10-12 hour hikes in extreme heat and in the midst of, and I quote, "droves of bees!" Um, yikes. But a challenge is supposed to be challenging, right?!

And so...we're off!

The above map identifies four of the eight volcanoes we will be hiking: Telica, Cerro Negro, Las Pilas, and Momotombo (not shown are Santa Clara, Rota, El Hoyo, and Asososca)

With My Own Two Hands

2009-12-06T09:00:00.000-07:00

The World is so big.
We had the opportunity to see parts of it we had only ever imagined and even parts of it we never imagined. We met amazing people. We opened our eyes wide but sometimes had to fight not to close them. We sang our hearts out, cried our eyes out, and laughed until our cheeks hurt. We challenged ourselves to our limits. We experienced things we had only ever heard about and many things brand new.

The World is so small.

Our journey does not end here. Nor does a new one begin.
The journey continues.

Turns out that every step of the journey is the journey.

Go ahead, chase that rainbow.
And wherever you go, go with all your heart!

The happiest place(s) on earth

2009-12-06T08:13:00.003-07:00

Troy and I learned early on in our relationship that we both loved Disneyland and Christmas and counted them both on the top of our list of favorite things. Troy's list also included ninja movies and football but I was willing to overlook some things. Anyways, it only seemed fitting to cap off our year of travel by celebrating a few of our favorite things...

First stop, Disneyland! We took advantage of 24 hours in Hong Kong to relish the innocence that I'm convinced, now more than ever, can only be captured within the confines of the Happiest Place on Earth. As we took in the magic of the magic kingdom, we laughed at the cliche of the snow covered Canada in the It's a Small World display. (Little did we know at this point that the joke would be on us upon our return home when we would be assaulted with -30C weather and a foot of snow).

That evening as the lights of the Disney castle lit up in a spectacular finish, the curtain was also drawn on our 'whole year of awesome'. What had once seemed so far away was now upon us. Filled with excitement, anxiety, nerves and anticipation, it was officially time to go Home.

As we walked (who's kidding who, the picture clearly shows that I ran) through the arrivals gate at the Edmonton airport, it became obvious that not until that moment had we truly found the Happiest Place on Earth! Never had it felt so good to arrive at a destination. Probably had something to do with the familiar faces and the outstretched arms that greeted us despite having arrived home with little more than a day's notice and in terrible weather conditions.

There is no place like Home. And I don't think it could get much better than Home for the Holidays :).

We count our blessings having arrived home safely after 49 weeks of travel including visits to 11 countries! Home now for less than 48 hours, it seems a bit surreal. I am trying not to let myself think about What Next? Not yet anyway. After a year of constantly planning our next move, I can honestly say that I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow. With our calendars cleared until the new year, don't be surprised if we show up unannounced on a doorstep near you!

Big hugs and thanks to everyone who sent us smiles over the internet this year and to everyone who took time out to visit us at thefarnyard to check in on our journey. (Paige and Bree, this most certainly includes you, thanks for following along and can't wait to see ya).

It was great having everyone along for the ride.
Your support and kindness has literally meant The World to us!

Beach 'n Brawn

2009-12-06T08:13:00.001-07:00

While Troy spent our final week in Thailand healing his aches and pains, showing off his purple leg and stitches, and wearing out the Youtube link to his fight video, I resumed training.

You know, just another day in the life of a muay thai kickboxer...

Yib (the trainer) continued to encourage me to punch him in the face, convince me to stop smiling and keep my chin down, advise me that there is no squealing in kickboxing (even if I am a girl and that is my immediate response when my legs are kicked out from under me), and inform me that when we return next time he will train me harder and I will fight. I held fast to my position as a lover.

I embraced my last week of training, came away with my own impressive set of bruises, and after logging a few more hours in the sun and flexing some muscle on the beach (hehe), it was time to say goodbye to Thailand.

Knock Out!

2009-11-30T06:15:00.000-07:00

Undefeated in Thailand. Has a nice ring to it...

Sunday was spent on a wave of nervous energy. I'm not sure who was more nervous, Troy or I, but we both did a good job trying to hide it.

We entered the stadium and I was overwhelmed with the smells of sweat and tiger balm. Yep, we had arrived. The little kids were up first and while I watched 7 year olds with boxing gloves the size of their heads and practiced spectating without squirming, Troy got prepared. Or should I say that the pit crew (as i like to call them) prepared him. First was hand taping, then the massage and grease-up, some pep-talking and off to wardrobe!

This was the real deal, a professional fight. He looked the part and was the picture of confidence as he climbed into the ring in his silk robe. (Though he later confessed that he almost fell on his face as he negotiated the ropes...)

Troy went through the motions of the Wai Kru (the traditional 'dance' performed in the ring prior to fighting) and then the inevitable happened. The fight began. I had been hoping the formalities would last a while longer as I sought out an isolated seat in the corner from where I could watch alone with my nerves.

It started out a little tentative, as was expected. This was Troy's first fight. This was not the first fight for his Thai opponent. Troy took a couple of good kicks to the leg in the first round and then I watched the momentum of the fight turn as Troy got, well, pissed off! He found his one-two and got into the game. I didn't need that seat after all as I found myself jumping up and down and yelling like a hockey-mom.

Round 1 seemed to pass in a flash and the team sprung into action!

Round 2 was even shorter. This is a picture of Troy trying not to celebrate prematurely as his opponent, in the bottom right hand corner, lies unmoving on the mat... So proud!
The fight was definitely a crowd pleaser and it was agreed that while it wasn't necessarily a real pretty or technical fight, it didn't matter. A knock-out is a knock-out and the victory tastes just as sweet! He even ended up with a Thai Tattoo (aka stitches, four to be exact) as a souvenir. Who could ask for more?

On the way home, one of the trainers looked at me, nodded his head, pounded his chest, pointed to the box of the truck where Troy was sitting (he couldn't bend his leg to get in the cab) and despite the language barrier, he managed the english to say "Big Heart".

Check out the link below to watch the Farn in action :)

http://pub2.bravenet.com/forum/static/show.php?usernum=112235354&frmid=6346&msgid=816649&cmd=show

Hearing Things

2009-11-25T03:12:00.000-07:00

Though I had fully intended to attend each training session faithfully, (twice a day, six days a week, for the four weeks we have committed here), I was forced to take a day off on Tuesday of our second week. I knew I should have stayed away from that slimy incline bench. But I didn’t. Surrounded by impossibly toned six pack abs everywhere I turned, it had called to me. Unfortunately, what it didn’t say was ‘Take it easy Nicole, don’t overdo it’. If it had said that, I probably wouldn’t have lost valuable training time due to a pulled abdominal muscle.

By the following Tuesday I had also lost a toenail, the ability to turn my head to the left, several layers of skin from the bottom of my toes and feet, maybe a couple of pounds of sweat, the ability to run without a distinct limp, a small amount of dignity having been persuaded to participate in greased pig grappling, and the will to get out of bed.

Troy advised me to listen to my body and acknowledging the fact that it was screaming at me, I decided to give in and take a break. I have traded my remaining two weeks of group training in for one week of one-on-one sessions next week. This week I am concentrating on trying to heal my twisted joints, stretch my tight tendons, and relax my pulled muscles by attending the odd yoga class, receiving Thai massages, reading an embarrassing amount of chick-lit on the beach, and going for runs on flat terrain only. All in preparation to be in fine form to kick some butt next week! I prefer not to think of my need for a body break as wimping out but rather as a consequence of over-enthusiasm! It makes me feel better.

Troy, on the other hand, has decided not to heed his own advice and is clearly ignoring his body’s cries for help. He, instead, has committed much time to alternating an ice pack between his knee and his ankle and slathering his extremities with tiger balm. I suspect he will soon need earplugs to drown out the screams from his body. This morning I think even I heard little shrieks from his knee as he eased himself ever so gently out of bed and I swear I heard his ankle yelp as he wrapped it up in ice yet again this afternoon. However, with only three days of valuable preparation time left until fight night, I know that any reminders from me to listen to his body will fall on deaf ears. Instead, I am comforted by the words of the trainer this morning reminding me that regardless of the condition of his body, it is the size of his heart that will prove most valuable in the ring.

This is good news as, true to form, the only thing I can hear louder than the cries of Troy’s aching body, is the sound of his heart pounding with excitement, determination, desire, and sheer will. And so, I am not worried.

Out of my element

2009-11-18T05:50:00.001-07:00

A lot of giggling.

That’s how I would describe my first day at muay thai training. Is that even allowed in fight training? I guess so. It was tolerated at the very least as I didn’t get kicked out. In my own self-deprecating sort of way, this is how I dealt with my initial awkwardness and embarrassment. If you can’t laugh at yourself…

Though Troy has mentioned many times wanting to try his hand at a martial art, I have never been into any sort of contact fighting. I can’t even watch boxing on tv without my face contorting as if in pain and wincing and turning away every time someone gets pummelled. What can I say, I’m a lover not a fighter. Heck, I could barely even pronounce muay thai apparently as when I told my sister where I was, she thought I was at bar tending school. Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect from this training camp, just that it was located 800m from the nearest beach.

I watched in horror that first day as people shadow boxed their way up and down the gym, let out guttural sounds with every punch and kick and grappled like greased pigs inside the ring. Will this really be me? I am nervous. I know I will feel ridiculous and conspicuous and like everyone is watching and laughing as I fight, of all things, an invisible opponent.

In stark contrast to the gyms of my past, there are no cute little spray bottles of disinfectant or towels to blot sweat from shared surfaces. I share the pink boxing gloves with other gals and ignore the dampness when I put them on. The punching bags are often glistening and the one incline bench that exists is constantly dripping wet and it is not uncommon to see actual puddles on the floor underneath the knee-pit pads. Nope, this is not Club Fit. I am however not deterred, I always thought all that disinfecting was futile anyway.

From the start, I have really enjoyed working with the trainers, learning the moves and punching and kicking their pads. They call out a move, jab, one-two, punch, right knee, front kick, left block, etc., hold up the appropriate pad or make the corresponding offensive move (at a reasonable speed ofcourse) and allow me to respond accordingly. Seeking that satisfying slapping sound of perfect contact with the pads is actually quite addicting. This part of training is called Technique. I could really get into this, I mean throw in a beat, coordinate some movements, paste on some smiles, and we’re practically dancing!

And then we move on to Sparring. I do not love this. This is where the trainer actually wants me to punch him. Did I mention I’m a lover not a fighter? This is also the part where, when I’m not doing any punching, I get pummelled by fists from seemingly every which direction (seriously, does this guy have more than two hands??). Blocking requires a certain speed of reflex, which, if you lack, results in being punched in the head and kicked in the abdomen. In frustration with my lack of defensive moves, the trainer drops his gloves altogether and tells me to punch him in the face. Seriously? I wind up and swing, my glove stopping just shy of contact. I wince. I can’t do it. He returns to swinging at me instead and I hear him remind me to keep my eyes open…

Though I ache in places I didn’t know I had muscles (or maybe I don’t have and that’s why those places ache?) and I have a distinct limp when I try to get my legs moving after sitting for a while, I am really enjoying myself, feeling a little more confident and, dare I say, a little bit ‘tougher’ after each workout. Now, today, as I shadow box my way across the floor, I am suddenly aware of a faint guttural sound being let loose with my every movement. It is coming from my mouth! Barely audible, it is not intimidating by any stretch, but who would’ve thought? I notice that I no longer compulsively look around to see if anyone is watching me or can hear me. In fact, I no longer care if they are. I have become somewhat comfortable (though I have not yet been asked to participate in the greased pig grappling so this could change) in this new environment so out of my element.

Don’t get me wrong, it has not been without missteps. I did have to be told to wear my punching gloves when punching the punching bag (I didn’t know…), I did give the trainer a high five once (and only once) when he raised his hand as a target to be punched, and there was the one time that I may have interfered with his ability to father children when I delivered a front kick that slipped off the waist target I had been directed to aim for.

Contrary to my worries of looking stupid or feeling ridiculous, it has occurred to me that, well, nobody cares. As I watch boyz bouncing themselves off the ropes like WWF superstars (I resist the urge to tell them they’ve got the wrong sport because I’ve never actually seen a muay thai fight and maybe this does actually happen), I realize that everybody is too busy livin’ the dream to worry about anybody else. I like that.

Now this is my turn to brag. While I am here to embrace the fitness training only, Troy is keen to fight. Troy left me in the beginner ring after the first practice and is rapidly learning how to channel all the ‘power’ he apparently possesses. With hopes that the promoter can arrange a fight for him before we leave here, he has taken on the training full throttle and the trainers are eager to get him into the ring. I often glance over during his one-on-ones or while he is punching the bag or skipping or while we are running together and I wonder if the theme music from Rocky is playing over and over in his head. I suspect it is more often than not .

The smell of success

2009-11-05T11:52:00.000-07:00

Okay, okay, I know I touched on this already but I felt it needed a little more attention.

Let me share something with you: 14 days of trekking, two t-shirts, two sets of socks, and one pair of boots is a recipe for stink. Not to mention the fact that in an effort to reduce backpack weight, deodorant did not make it onto the packing list, coupled with the fact that we were too cheap to pay for warm water for washing let alone a hot shower, to say we were ripe would be an understatement.

In our defense though, check out this example of the hot shower 'contraptions', as I like to call them, that were available to us. Does it really look like a recipe for clean to you? I don't even know how you were supposed to see your body to clean it as this little gem of a shower shed doesn't even have windows.

Seriously though, have you ever gone for 14 days without showering? Now to be fair, Troy claims he did splash his armpits a couple of times and stuck his feet in a river once (as I recall, his voice was a few octaves higher afterward). So if you want to judge someone, judge me. I just couldn't rationalize the use of freezing cold water to clean any body part that was going to immediately be clothed with dirty laundry.

You come up with little systems to make yourself at least feel less dirty. For Troy, it was the little celebration he had every 4(!) days when he allowed himself a fresh pair of ginch, I myself ceremoniously pulled my second t-shirt out of reserves after we crossed the Chola Pass, and a hat or tuque became a no-brainer after Troy inquired one day why my hair was wet (it wasn't, ewww.).

Seriously though, think back, what's the longest you've gone without a shower? Not that this is a competition but I think I could have this one all wrapped up. I have a cousin (not to name names, Scott) who went through a phase when we were growing up of wearing the same clothes every day, even to bed, so he wouldn't have to get dressed in the morning. He might be able to give me a run for my money but other than that, I'm pretty confident about holding the title. Notice I didn't say proud...just confident.

Anyways, not to dwell... just had lots of time to think about how disgusting we were as we passed all the sparkling clean people just heading out on their treks. I smiled inside and thought, just you wait...

One foot in front of the other

2009-11-04T21:53:00.000-07:00

As I understand it, October is high season for trekking in the Himalayas. Based on this, a person would expect that flights in and out of Kathmandu's domestic terminal would be routine, after all they do this every day, right? The chaos we encountered however told a different story. Somehow, we weaved our way through the crowd of frustrated people clearly as confused as we were by the lack of signage and/or willingness of anyone to answer questions, and found our way onto a plane. As I looked out my window at the baggage cart, I was relieved by the confirmation that I would, by some minor miracle, indeed be on the same plane as our backpacks.

The 14 passenger plane spit us out on the air strip in Lukla and, much to the horror of my mother, we turned down the many offers of guide and porter service as we left the airport.

With plans to head up the western valley to Gokyo, go east over the Chola Pass, north up the eastern valley to Everest Base Camp, and back down the eastern valley, we hit the trail; Map in hand and backpack securely fastened!

We shared the trail with donkeys, cows and yaks, all earning their keep...

Our packs were dwarfed by the loads carried by porters which were at least twice their size, carrying not only individuals' belongings but also supplies to the villages and towns along the trail. It was not uncommon to see loads including such 'staples' as cases of beer, coca-cola, and even entire cows (butchered and soaking up the hot sun) being hauled up into the mountains
in baskets on backs supported by straps across foreheads.

Every day, the sights along the trail provided something new to look at.

We soaked in some culture,...

...we negotiated mountain side trails, and followed streams through the forest, ...

...we crossed bridges, and even enjoyed some solitude.

We trekked through tiny communities,...

...small, quaint villages, and some not-so small villages.

Each promised lodging with an impressive view (even if the message did lose a little in the translation).

Our first glimpse of Mt. Everest was met with a flurry of photo taking which required Troy to scale up the side of a hill, perch ever-so acrobatically on a stump, hold on to a tree with one hand and steady the camera with the other to get just the right shot of the very tip of Mt. Everest through some tree branches. Nevertheless, that first sighting, albeit just a teaser really, provided the rush we needed to propel us up the uphill section of trail we found ourselves on which led, naturally, to a lookout point where photos could be taken with no perching required. What fun is that?!

We spent an acclimatization day exploring the countryside and enjoying the mountains before heading on to Gokyo where we were promised our first panoramic 360 degree view of the Himalayas.

We arrived in Gokyo, assessed the trail up Gokyo Ri and after our ascent to 5,400m, were not disappointed in the least.

We were rewarded with beautiful blue skies (with only one cloud, naturally right behind Mt. Everest) and we celebrated at the top, having reached the first of our goal destinations. Our first glimpse of Everest, through the pine trees, obviously paled in comparison to this new view of The Big One!

The Chola Pass held our next challenge and at 5am we bundled up, not enough in retrospect as I quickly lost feeling in my fingers and toes, and headed out with headlamps blazing. This was the first of many occasions that I remember vowing to never again leave my sleeping bag before the mountains were cloaked in sunshine. Call me a slow learner. In this case however, leaving early was important as we wanted to be across the glacier, which was waiting on the other side of the pass, before the sun had warmed the surface too much, making it more difficult and dangerous to cross.

It was a slow scramble up and over the pass (the photo does not do justice to the gradient) and I had to make sure I kept the weight of my pack on the right side of vertical so as not to go 'ass over teakettle'. Half way up I passed a 74 year old man, 'supported' shall we say (some might say 'being dragged') on either side by two guides. He quipped to me that the website he had booked his tour with had claimed that this would be a moderate to challenging ascent. He felt quite comfortable in declaring it to be on the challenging side of things. He was in great spirits though and I was grateful that he made me laugh, especially since I think that helped kickstart circulation into my fingertips.

Up and over the pass, we were greeted by a winter wonderland!

Having cleared the pass, we eventually found ourselves in Gorak Shep at about 5100m. From here we would trek first to Everest Base Camp and then up Kala Patthar the following day.

We had been advised many times not to bother with going to Base Camp as it was described as a 'wasteland' with no views, not even of Everest itself, but we were glad not to have heeded this advice. It proved to be a highlight as it provided a visual of the scene we have so often envisioned in our minds when reading about Everest expeditions.

It was fun, though a bit eery, to walk across the glacier upon which Base Camp sits. On approach, it looks so unassuming, largely covered in rocks, it is easy to forget that you are actually on ice at all. That is until it gives off a grown or a creak, sending pieces of ice and rock falling down the sides. Looking out into (not to mention climbing on) the shear magnitude of the icefall, described as the first obstacle heading out of Base Camp on Mt. Everest expeditions, put the grandeur of our surroundings into perspective.

Reluctant to spend yet another sleepless night at altitude, we were eager to start our descent. The body has a way of waking up when it thinks it's not getting enough oxygen and many nights of sleep interrupted by waking up to take deep breaths were starting to wear on us. We climbed up Kala Patthar (5550m) (a little too early in the morning and again I remember repeating the vow of sunshine worship as we paused so I could warm my fingers in Troy's armpits. Don't judge me.), and began our descent into the valley.

Not quite ready to leave the mountains behind, we detoured into the Chukung Valley to take one last hike up to 5550m. Chukung Ri provided an incredible view of Ama Dablam and was our fifth and final goal destination. This would be our last day with Charles, our trekking partner from the Czech Republic whom we had met at the airport, so we made sure to capture the moment.

It felt good to be heading down although, as is usually the case, I hadn't anticipated so much 'uphill' sections to be in the 'downhill'. We decided to take our time though, and just enjoy.

While we did 'try' to take it easy, the call of a hot shower and hamburgers beckoned us and the four short days we had planned to spend on the descent turned into two long days instead with a stop in Namche Bazaar overnight.

As we had often met up with random butchered parts of animals in baskets resting on the side of the trail, on their way up the mountains on someone's back to eventually be turned into something gourmet no doubt, we decided to forego the eating of meat for the duration of the trip. When we reached Namche Bazaar however, the temptation of the hamburger and french fries, that out of nowhere once again appeared on menus, was too great and we decided to indulge. Only one day from Lukla, we considered it a calculated risk. Besides, we had missed this traditional feast to mark Dad's birthday and better late than never!

The protein craving out of the way left only one issue to deal with, that of a hot shower. We said goodbye to the himalayas, boarded our plane back to Kathmandu, and rock/paper/scissored for first dibs on the shower upon our arrival (I lost).

I read somewhere that if you don't like walking you shouldn't fool yourself into thinking you may like trekking because trekking is walking but with better scenery. I used to hate walking but these days I am constantly amazed by the places simply putting one foot in front of the other has taken me.

Back up about 3 weeks

2009-11-04T03:40:00.000-07:00

The front doors of shops and homes alike were transformed with floral garlands, strings of lights were strung from every conceivable hanging place, fireworks from all corners of the City were enjoyed from our rooftop and candles could be seen casting their glow from window ledges and railings, along sidewalks and staircases.

We watched as the Tihar Festival (Festival of Lights) unfolded and illuminated the City for five days in October.

During the Festival, the goddess of wealth, Laxmi, is worshipped. She is believed to enter the brightest house and give her blessings ensuring health and prosperity. Elaborate, illuminated designs appeared on the ground outside doorways from which colorful trails radiated, leading inside homes and shops, terminating at an offering for Laxmi. In our home, a trail of flower petals and colored rice painted on the floor led a trail in the front door, through the living room, up three flights of stairs and onto the rooftop, culminating in an offering of money, bread, and fruit surrounding the image of Laxmi.

Animals are also worshipped during Tihar with a day devoted to each of the crow, the cow, the dog, and on the fourth day, depending on your beliefs, either Oxen or cowdung (really).

Troy helped decorate the orphanage for the occasion while I 'helped' with the making of the traditional sel roti bread, some of which would be enjoyed by all and some of which would be saved to present as an offering to the goddess Laxmi.

On the third and fourth days of Tihar, children visit homes singing traditional songs, and in return are given money, sweets, or bread. The house was alive with excitement and anticipation that reminded me of Christmas Eve! Songs were sung, dances were danced, and we headed out into the neighborhood the way we would on Halloween (without the costumes or treat bags but with way more singing!).

Though we had to say our final goodbyes before the fifth day of Tihar, the day when sisters put tika on the forehead of brothers to ensure long life and when brothers give gifts to sisters, Harimaya blessed us each with tika as Brother and Sister anyway.

With a big group hug we bid farewell with the realization that the children from the SDC had left their mark on us in a big way and would hold a special spot in our memory bank along with Ruth, Harimaya, and her family that have created such a loving, caring environment.

You are all amazing!

The Freaking Himalayas...

2009-11-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

Just got back from our amazing Himalayan Expedition and I just had to brag about my wife one more time. Not sure how many mountains they let through customs but yet again, Nicole proved that she "Owns the Mountains". And not just any mountains, the freaking Himalayas...

The first 12 days of our trip took us to 5 heights over 5000meters. Not only did we get to those heights but Nic did it while carrying her back pack the entire time that weighed around 25 pounds. We had long hard days and it was me asking Nicole to slow down a little. I was often behind Nic (which by the way is not a bad view at all...) and trying to catch up. Simply put, she was a machine.

In a later blog Nicole will share pictures and stories with you that will clearly describe one of the coolest adventures we have been on this year. But for now, I just wanted you guys to know that Nic was amazing and the best trekking partner a guy could ask for. Way to go Nic, I am so proud of you it is sick...

love ya,

Troy

Headless chickens

2009-10-18T18:54:00.000-06:00

We are currently experiencing all the festivities of the Tihar Festival (Festival of Lights) which includes many fascinating traditions including cow worship, fireworks, lots of fried dough, and which feels like a cross somewhere between Christmas, Halloween, and the 4th of July! We also said goodbye to the kids at the Social Development Centre on Saturday (more of a "See you later" really, as goodbyes are hard and seem so final), wrapping up our volunteering commitments for the year. I have much to write about...!

However, we are running around like chickens with our heads cut off getting ready to set out on a trek to Everest Base Camp...and headless chickens don't type very fast. Will have to, instead, catch up in a couple weeks.

Namaste!

We Need a Vacation!

2009-10-18T11:20:00.000-06:00

I know it sounds weird to hear 2 people who have had the opportunity to travel around the world for the last 10 months say that they need a vacation, but it's true. We have just finished our 30th week of volunteering (32 if you count the 2 weeks lost to volunteering after we got robbed...) and WE NEED A VACATION.

Saturday was our last day at the Orphanage and our last day of volunteering on our trip. The last 8 weeks are going to be spent hiking, biking, trekking and sitting on a beach. And if I might say so myself, I think we've earned a little R and R. We leave in less than 12 hours to head out on our Mt. Everest Base Camp Trek and we are pumped!

I think that trekking for the next 2 weeks will allow us the time to reflect on the volunteering experiences we have had and to really soak in what a truly great journey this has been. We have had such wonderful experiences at every place we have been and although we are looking forward to the next 8 weeks of being footloose and fancy free we are also sad knowing that our volunteering has come to an end.

From Guatemala, to Ecuador, Peru, Uganda, Kenya and Nepal, we have met some of the most truly beautiful and inspiring people that we have ever known. We have witnessed courage, strength, love, determination, compassion and humility in places where you wouldn't believe they could exist. It truly has been an honor and the best thing I have ever done in my life...

Farn

Seeking postcard perfection

2009-10-12T09:47:00.001-06:00

We left the City Sunday morning in search of the postcard perfect views promised from the village of Nagarkot. As quoted from Lonely Planet (they are never wrong are they?), "...between October and March a trip to Nagarkot will nearly always be rewarded with a view over the Himalaya...". We had planned the trip as an overnight outing last weekend but canceled when the forecast was for cloud and rain. The purpose of the trip was, after all, to take in the amazing views.

The sun returned to us on Thursday and I checked and double checked the forecast for Nagarkot through Monday. All sunshine! No chance of rain. With the promise of 30 degree celcius highs, we set out. In just two and a half hours we reached Nagarkot, a whopping 32km east of Kathmandu, by public bus(es).

After negotiating the switchbacks to reach this viewpoint village, we walked the strip of lodging in search of the perfect accommodation. Having decided to treat ourselves, the checklist included windows out over the mountain range, maybe a balcony, and what the heck, a rooftop patio would be nice... We found a huge range of accommodation, everything from dingy two dollar dorm room right up to one hundred dollar suites. Most of the accommodation recommended in our trusty Lonely Planet guide however, was accommodating Kathmandu's Narcotics Anonymous conference being held, as chance would have it, this very same weekend.

Hungry from our travels, we ended up stumbling across an adorable hillside restaurant that happened to operate two small cabins. Basic, nothing fancy, but adorable and perfect with a view out over the valley. Just what we had been looking for for our overnight retreat from the City!

This little gem would cost us but a few bucks so we decided to splurge on a bottle of wine. (We hiked uptown, found the finest of 'blush' wines, got lost making our way back, wound up smack in the middle of the NA meeting, and cut in front of the stage, all eyes on us, with brown bag in hand,... oops). A whole lot chillier than in Kathmandu, we bundled up determined to soak up the peace of the great outdoors and enjoy a glass (mug) of wine by the light of the moon before turning in. Planning to hike up to the lookout tower to catch the sunrise, we peeked out our window at 5am to see a blanket of clouds. We could barely make out the hillside below let alone an elusive mountain range off in the distance. Realizing that we had experienced several hours of uninterrupted sleep (a rarity in Kathmandu) in this peaceful little paradise, we shrugged off the disappointment and welcomed a few more hours of shuteye. Surely the clouds would clear by late morning, the forecast was for a beautiful day afterall...

After breakfast, we hiked up to the lookout tower. The following photos compare my postcard perfection to the view we were actually afforded.

We decided to continue our hike down through the countryside from Nagarkot to Banepa, increasing our chances at catching a view of the Himalaya. Surely the clouds would clear by early afternoon, the forecast was for a beautiful day afterall...

Standing in the pouring down rain somewhere between Nagarkot and Banepa, I gave in to the fact that, not only had Lonely Planet lied but so had the weatherman! Taking on an optimistic, and somewhat naive, attitude I had decided against packing my raincoat. Though I shivered in the wet and cold, the friendly greetings and smiles from the women that we passed en route (who also were not afforded the luxury of rainwear), carting their huge baskets on their backs and sloshing through the puddles in their barefeet while pointing our way down the hillside, kept us motivated.

We eventually found the sunshine and I can't think of a better way to have spent the afternoon than navigating the countryside of the beautiful Kathmandu Valley. Though we still have yet to feast our eyes on the Himalaya, finding the peace and quiet of the hillsides and the beauty of the villages along the way was a more than satisfying alternative.

Passion

2009-10-12T09:04:00.002-06:00

As I have mentioned before, I love watching new places wake up in the morning, the ritual of it all as people go about their daily routines. Sadly, however, Kathmandu wakes up a little earlier than I do, or earlier than I used to I should say. The choir of dogs barking does not quite drown out the honking horns of the busses, the bell ringing or the chants being sung by the man who does laps around the neighborhood every morning pushing his bicycle. With the 'when in Rome' mentality, and as an alternative to lying in bed with our pillows over our ears, we have taken to joining in.

Being out and about in the mornings here in Kathmandu is especially interesting. You don’t have to look very far to witness both Hindu and Buddhist rituals being practiced and prayers being offered. From the grand temples where candles are lit and sacrifices are made, to women collecting jasmine blossoms (the sacred flower of the Hindu love God), to the individual early morning worshippers seemingly alone with their prayers at the park where we run, the passion for spirituality is evidenced everywhere. And ofcourse, not just in the mornings.

Last weekend Troy and I visited Pashupatinath, Nepal's most important Hindu temple sitting on the banks of the holy Bagmati River, a popular cremation site. Now I'm not talking about a location for funerals per say, or wakes, or even private moments of reflection here. What I'm talking about is very public burning of bodies (for lack of any more tactful description) on the banks of the river. Sure, there is some ritual involved, but remarkably little ceremony by our standards. Logs are laid, a body is lifted on top, and the fire is lit. Some friends and family do attend but this is in addition to dozens of tourists (most with an embarassingly long zoom lens), tour guides, hawkers, and yes, even cotton candy and balloon animal sellers looking on from the opposite bank.

As we took in the scene, looking in one direction at flames rising up from a platform and ashes being swept into the water, and looking in the other direction at the children jumping from the footbridge into the very same river below as if emphasizing the very open and calm attitude towards death that we have found in so much of the world, it was impossible not to reflect on our own mortality. Contemplating the contrast of life and death playing out before us left us with an uncomfortable sense of intruding on something very personal on one hand and a comfortable peace with the circle of life being accepted so openly on the other.

It was definitely an interesting experience but we made an abrupt exit when we suddenly became keenly aware that the smoke we were inhaling was not exactly from a simple campfire. And in case you're wondering, no, I could not muster an appetite for cotton candy either.

Many Hats

2009-10-03T23:58:00.000-06:00

Over the past week and a half we have taken on many roles. From tourist, to volunteer, to bumper car driver, to hiker, to cook, to personal shopper, to scary ride hand-holder, to sculptor, to reader, to vomit mopper-upper, to card dealer, and a few things in between, we have managed to wear many hats and keep things interesting.

Sight seeing has taken us to the Kopan Monastery where we admired the Stupha, took in wise words from the Dalai Lama and left some love for Buddha.

Hiking took us to the highest point in the Nagarjun Forest Reserve from where we were rewarded with views of the valley and the seemingly never ending stream of prayer flags adorning the treetops.

We celebrated the Dasain festival and took the kids to one of their favorite places, the Children's Fun Park!

From bumper cars to the ferris wheel, it was your typical carnival. Without the safety restraints, seat belts, or the 'You must be this tall to ride' signs ofcourse. Without these restrictions, the littlest of kids tested their moxy on the biggest of rides and so, yes, in this picture Troy is in fact physically restraining a six year old to keep her in her seat on the big boat ride!

We watched their faces fill with excitement as they experienced the thrills that were on offer and kept watching as their faces turned varius shades of green after said moxy tests. When the ice cream could no longer be held inside tummies, we called it a day.

At the house we honed our UNO playing skills and have learned to hide our hands to avoid being duped by strategy orchestrated around the table in Nepali. We have also learned the favorite local card game and are subjected to wild group cheers, finger pointing and 'Loser!' chants when we are beat. Aren't kids great? Troy has started playing them for money, insisting that this is okay because he has only just broken even...

We have been sculptors, creating plasticine masterpieces while also discovering that it is equally fun to throw it in the air and have it stick to the ceiling. We have giggled and wrestled, entertained budding magicians...

We even put on chefs hats for a day and were taught how to make momos, a traditional nepali steamed dumpling.

It was kind of like making perogies. Many hands required and hours of preparation to cut, roll, and pinch hundreds of perfect little momos. And all of this followed by complete consumption in a single meal!

Our culinary teaching in exchange was Worms-in-Dirt (you know, chocolate pudding, cookie crumbs and gummy worms). Although, we had to substitute the worms for these other gummy things that actually looked like larvae because we could seriously not find worms... Gummy dinosaurs, sure. Gummy fish, sharks or bears, easy. Gummy cheeseburgers, gummy spaghetti, and gummy strawberries, no problem. What happened to gummy worms??!!. The mud pies were inhaled however so apparently I was the only one bothered by the lack of worms.

Thanks to funds raised by the organization ELI Abroad, we were able to take on the role of shoppers as we have been charged with spending donated funds as we see fit to benefit the orphanage. After much discussion with the house mother, we have allocated some money for house needs and some money to be spent directly on the children.

ELI's generous contribution has allowed us the opportunity to really feel the joy of giving. Though we have not yet exhausted the funds, so far the children have each been decked out in a new pair of clothes, shoes were purchased for those who had outgrown them, individual water bottles were handed out and a new pressure cooker and steemer were added to the kitchen.

But perhaps the most fulfilling has been to help foster the joy of reading. The selection of reading materials at the house was looking a bit sparse and tired so we set aside a budget to help bring it back to life. We took the kids four and five at a time to a bookstore to pick out some new material. An adventure all on its own!

The young kids were mesmerized by size (the bigger the better), hard covers, and plastic wrap. Actually being able to read the book came secondary. We had to talk many a six year old down from Harry Potter, The Collector's Edition, to something a little more comfortable and explain that No, we couldn't add plastic wrap to their selections once we left the store. It was fun to watch the agonizing decisions being made by some, surrounded by so many choices, while others walked in and requested specific titles without having to look around.

Although, two days later, young Chek's book, My first 1000 words, is still tucked away securely in it's vacuum packaging, most of the kids have delved into their new books and each time we visit they announce proudly the number of pages they have read in our absence. From Mr. Happy to Nancy Drew to The Alchemist, the new library includes almost forty books, covers all reading levels, and promises to keep them busy for a while :).

Hats off to you ELI!

Swingin'

2009-09-23T09:34:00.000-06:00

Longing for some fresh air after watching one too many cartoon movies on a perfectly sunny afternoon, we decided to take the kids on a field trip to The Garden of Dreams. This beautifully manicured garden with benches and goldfish ponds, flower gardens and trees, terraces and high walls, makes it possible to escape the noise of the City while providing a relaxing atmosphere and many peaceful shady spots for people to come and relax and read a good book. It also happens to be the only significant patch of grass I have seen in Kathmandu so far.

Much to the dismay, i'm sure, of those seeking just such a quiet spot on Wednesday afternoon, we unleashed 13 kids into this 'playground' of sorts.

The cylindrical pillows and cushions layed out in the grassy areas for resting on became weapons for sword fighting and logs for rolling down hills. The outer benches of the picture perfect white gazebo became a platform from which to jump into the 'wrestling pit' below and the goldfish became pawns for the amusement of children as they narrowly escaped their clutches.

I'm sure you can imagine how these elephant statues (aka climbing structures) and pretty much every other lawn ornament or fixture for that matter, became jungle gyms and acrobatic training obstacles.

The peaceful moat waters became the scene of many a shipwreck as many small hands claimed ownership of a single vessel and flowers became bouquets as they were plucked from their stems despite the false sense of security the rules forbidding this provided them.

And then there was the swing. The swing was adorable, supported by four equidistant bamboo poles gathered together at the top, teepee style. The swing itself was made from bamboo chutes, strung together and it hung at the bottom of two thick ropes. It was set in its own peaceful little area, almost decoratively. To be honest, at first I didn't think it was actually to be used as a swing but instead that it was there simply to provide some ambience. I was proved wrong.

Over and over again the kids lined up to experience the ultimate in underducks. Chants requesting "Higher, higher" would quickly turn to screams of "Stop, too high!". The turn would be over all too soon and they would jump off and rejoin the line for "More, more!".

Remember how much fun it is to swing? The faces in these photos helped remind me. Most are smiling, but I think some are showing sure signs of fear....

Our camera changed hands all afternoon while budding photographers captured the magic. They did a great job and I can honestly say that from the fish to the flowers, I have a picture of each and every living thing in the Garden of Dreams!

While I did notice that a few people relocated upon our arrival, and a few gave us raised eyebrows over the tops of their books, there were a few parents trying to entertain toddlers without disturbing the peace who actually looked quite relieved that we had replaced them as the noisy ones. It was our pleasure.

Though we were skeptical at first and a little nervous about getting tossed out, there was room for everyone at this 'playground' afterall, those that wanted peace and those that wanted to play. (And, we managed to leave without having been asked to or being escorted out to boot).

Going up?

2009-09-23T09:21:00.000-06:00

We decided to switch things up last weekend and instead of climbing up, fighting gravity with the promise of a view at the end of the day, we decided to embrace gravity and focus on climbing down. We made our way north of Kathmandu, to a beautiful spot about 10km south of the Tibet border. It was here that we would try our hands at canyoning.

Decked out in wetsuits that fit a little too big (pulled down over the tops of our shoes in yet another feeble attempt at combatting leeches), our harnesses snugged up (perhaps a little too tight), and donning bright blue helmets designed to make us feel like conspicuous rookies, we scrambled, slid, and abseiled our way down the canyon's waterfalls.

While similar to repelling in rock climbing, which we have done, the added element of rushing water over the rock faces and the 'showers' pelting us from above, made it something new and exciting, not to mention slippery and, at times, even a bit scary!

We made it out with only a couple blisters and one high fever and discovered that, as it turns out, climbing down is pretty fun, despite the lack of view from the bottom.

Full House

2009-09-17T21:41:00.000-06:00

I love the overwhelming feeling of finding yourself in a new place, not knowing where anything is and feeling lost, knowing that, as impossible as it seems, in a week’s time it will feel like home. Such is true of being in Kathmandu.

We have been here almost two weeks and the hour long walk from our neighborhood, Maharajgunj (try saying that to taxi drivers) in the north of the City to the orphanage has already become routine. We navigate the public transit system with ease to explore new corners of the City, sticking to the basic premise that the big blue buses stay on the ring road while the little white microbuses go up and down major arterials (not a scientific method but colors and sizes are generally easy to remember). The trickier part is remembering where to get on and off as everywhere starts to look familiar. Or is it all equally unfamiliar? Without fail I convince myself that I have missed my stop, my heart will pump a little faster as I wonder where I will end up, and then a familiar ‘distinctive’ landmark, like a Tuborg Beer sign, a string of prayer flags or a restaurant with dhal-bat on special, will put my mind at ease.

The same overwhelming feeling describes the first day at our volunteer placement. From the front gate of the orphanage we survey the narrow streets of the neighborhood lined with four and five storey buildings, the shops with their wares spilling out into the sidewalks, the restaurants steaming mo-mos and displaying deep fried Nepalese goodies in the windows, the fruit and vegetable trolleys staked out roadside and I can almost taste the hot chilis in the curry on offer from the streetfood vendor. Taking this all in I can’t help but wonder, how will we ever find this place again? Was it the second left, first right? Or the other way around?

Once inside, having been greeted by Harimaya, the mother of the house, we are met with the rush of her 13 charges as they come hurrying through the door in school uniforms and disappear to change into play clothes. After 13 “Namaste” greetings and introductions I am left wondering how we will ever learn to pronounce, let alone remember, unfamiliar names like Srijana, Asmita, Dipesh, and Tulasi?

Two weeks later and I am once again pleasantly surprised by how easily names are remembered once they are accompanied by not only faces, but personalities as strangers become new friends.

The children here (4 girls and 9 boys) range in age from 6 to 15 and attend school from Class 1 to Class 6. Most have been here since the doors opened four years ago while a handful have been part of the family for just one year. Individual pictures are displayed proudly on the wall under the heading “Our Happy Family”, and there is no doubt that this is a family. I naively asked one of the girls if she had any brothers or sisters who also lived there and was met with a confused look as her response was simple “these are all my brothers and sisters”. Though we spend only afternoons with them, we have joined the ranks as Sister Nicole and Brother Troy (or some variation thereof as Troy is pretty hard to pronounce, Harimaya mostly just refers to him as the Joker).

Their home occupies the first floor of a multi-storey building and consists of three rooms, the girls' bedroom, the living room/boys' bedroom, and the kitchen. The yard is a concrete patio shared with the other building tenants and the clotheslines, the water is pumped from a rickety hand pump held together by rags and wires, the bathroom is the shack out back and the cockroaches keep hidden as long as you don’t move the furniture. Despite being rough around the edges, it is a warm, welcoming place that warms the heart nonetheless, proving that it is indeed the family inside that makes a house a home.

Lucky number three

2009-09-15T05:00:00.000-06:00

It is the tail end of the rainy season here and having our heart set on the Scar Road bike ride, we ignored the warnings that the trail could be slippery and I held in my girly squeal at the mention of leeches. We were restless, didn't want to wait the recommended two weeks for things to dry up, and we somehow rationalized the six hour ride despite the fact that we hadn't actually been biking in four months.

Now, I am no stranger to the leech but as far as I understood they lived in the water. I remember playing in the creek with my sisters when we were kids and the "Leech Check!" that one of us would announce at regular intervals before running out of the water in our rubber boots, which had inevitably overflowed, inspecting each other for leeches, and trying to pull the slimy little suckers off each others' legs with wet fingers.

I think I was tougher as a kid.

It was a sunny day and our guide announced that probably there wouldn't be any leaches today because it was pretty dry. We had heard the stories about how they stick to the leaves of bushes and the grass and basically latch on as you ride by, we had even purchased thigh high socks and wore long sleeves to combat against them. This seemed like good news, we had lucked out. Or so we thought. The "Leech Check!" on our bike ride came after walking our bikes down a downhill section that was too rocky and slippery to ride but that apparently had just enough grass and moisture to house the leech population.

While I had been routinely checking my legs after Troy picked up a leech on his calf early on, I should have been checking a little lower as, upon closer inspection, leeches (yes plural) were clinging to my socks, shoes, and ankles. The shoe provided no obstacle between my blood and the leeches as they slimed their way through the mesh and sidewalls of my running shoes, through my socks and onto my feet. Judging from the girly shrieks ahead of me, I could only assume that Troy had come to the same realization.

I'm actually surprised we made it to the 'safe zone', a dry section of trail signifying the end of leech-land, without breaking our necks as we rode like crazy, driven by irrational fear of these tiny little leeches! We threw off our socks and shoes and began de-leeching.

Before we set out, I had actually consciously contemplated where the best riding position would be in terms of leeches. (I can't help it, my mind just things about stuff). Would the first person down the trail attract the most leeches? or the last person? I can officially report that it appears that the first rider merely roused them, they were ready in waiting for the second rider and the third rider was a target only for those leeches slow to react to the first two.

Unlucky for Troy...rider number two.

Lets Go Broncos!

2009-09-12T05:05:00.000-06:00

What is up?

So Nic and I are in Nepal and have been here for a week already. We arrived on Monday, took the day to rest and then got to it on Tuesday. We are volunteering at an Orpahage in Katmandu. There are 13 kids in the orphanage and most have been there since the doors opened 4 years ago. The kids there are really great kids and Nic and I both love it there. As well as working at the orphanage 4-5 times per week we are going to try to squeeze in some time at a school where most of the kids are either affected by or infected with HIV or are orphans themselves.

Katmandu is a great city. All your senses get punched in the face with the smells ( mostly not good smells either), the traffic, the crowds, the never ending honking and all of the cows (yeah the cows... apparently they are a sacred animal here and the roam freely all over the city). It is great to be surrounded by moutains again and we are looking forward to taking advantage of our surroundings. This Sunday we are heading out on our first mountain bike ride in months and we are jacked up and really looking forward to it. We also have a couple of treks planned, hopefully some more mountain biking, some repelling down waterfalls and maybe some kayaking. All of our weekends are booked up until the end of our volunteering and we might get a chance to volunteer on a moving medical camp trek that would take us to some of the remote villages in the Himalayas. Also hoping to get a Yoga retreat in there somewhere.

So, I think we will be able to keep ourselves busy over the next 3 months.

And just to add some things that I am sure got lost in translation...

The other day Nic and I could have taken a bus to the land of " Ta Ta's", eaten at a restaurant called "MasterBakers" and ordered some "Indians and Dog Nuts". We didn't eat there but if we would have I would have stuck with the burger and fries.

Oh Yeah, the NFL season just started and although this season doesn't look that promising for the Broncos I think that they might shock some people.

LETS GO BRONCOS!

Take only Pictures, Leave only Footprints

2009-09-04T10:15:00.000-06:00

Shortly after 1am we emerged from our tent and were greeted by a full moon and a clear sky full of stars. Perfect. As we began our ascent, layered to the max, I remember naively thinking to myself "Boy I hope it gets colder because I'm really hot". It did.

Wiggling my fingers and toes to maintain circulation the whole way and having added more layers, we reached Uhuru Peak, the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest point in Africa, the highest free-standing moutain in the world, at about 6:20 am! Looking like ninjas.

The sunrise was gorgeous. The morning light revealed the many glaciers surrounding the Kibo crater and the sun's rays, combined with our adrenaline, quickly warmed us.

As I watched people take their turns, posing for pictures beneath the congratulatory summit sign, some holding pictures of loved ones , some recording video messages to their kids, some simply smiling proudly, and all radiating a sense of accomplishment, the woman's advice "Bring tissue" suddenly made sense.

We took our turn, smiled for the camera and headed back from where we'd come. While it was extremely satisfying to reach the summit, I couldn't help thinking that, as with so many things, it had been just as much about the journey as the final destination.
We arrived back at base camp shortly before 9am and rested for an hour before a grueling 2 and a half hour descent to the Mweka Camp at which we would spend our final night. Descending always makes me feel like an old lady as my knees burn and I try to fathom how going down can possibly be so much more painful than going up.

The following morning we hit the trail early and were back in Moshi town by 11:30am.

At night, we celebrated with Kilimanjaro beer at the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Seemed only fitting. Okay, I cannot lie, I just posed for the picture. (I still can't drink beer without my face puckering into crazy contortions).

We celebrated sweet success. At the end of the day, we heeded the advice of the signage at the Park Gate, taking only pictures and leaving only footprints. Okay, it's possible that I may have snuck in a few memories and a couple of ounces of pride for good measure, but don't tell.

On Track

2009-09-04T10:10:00.000-06:00

Leaving from Barranco Camp on Day 4 required scaling the Barranco wall (pictured above, you can just make out the path above our heads). This was by far the coolest day in terms of terrain. We had to scramble, literally, which I love, pulling ourselves up and over the 'wall'.

As I stopped once in a while to survey my surroundings, I tried to ignore the porters (with the aforementioned 25kg loads balanced precariously on their heads) passing by me, both hands in pockets repeating the now infamous Swahili phrase "Pole pole" which means "Slowly, slowly". We were told this is a form of encouragement, a reminder to take it easy, but sometimes I can't help but wonder what they might really be thinking...

We reached the ridge (4200m) in about an hour and the ironman T-shirt Troy was wearing with "Pain is only a state of mind" emblazened on the back seemed fitting. Today, as it happens is also the day of the Penticton Ironman, in which we had a number of friends competing and we thought of them often, drawing parallels between their journey and ours.

From the wall, we carried on to Karanga Camp, but didn't stop there. By this point, the decision had been made to shave a day off the climb. Our guide, Daniel, was determined to get us to the summit on a clear day as we had shared with him our past bad luck with cloudy summit days. He was constantly 'reading' the weather and decided that we were on track for a clear summit morning if we carried on. Who were we to argue?

From Karanga Camp, we carried on, I meanUP, to Barafu Camp at 4600m. As we went up, we passed a group who had summited earlier in the day who were on their way down. I asked eagerly and innocently "So....How was it?". Mistake. The man was quick to pipe in sarcastically "Piece of cake" while the first woman, looking worse for wear, said "He's lying". A second woman, as if shooting daggers at her guide added "Wear everything you own". From behind me, I could barely make out the last woman adding her two cents "Bring tissue!".

Walking through clouds (a good sign for a clear morning), we reached the base camp and prepared for the summit ascent. With our tent secured (?) on a ledge, tied around rocks on all sides, our clothes carefully planned out, new batteries put in headlamps and camera batteries secured in wool socks so as not to freeze on the way up, we climbed in early to catch some rest before the planned 1am ascent to the summit.

Up, up, up

2009-09-04T10:05:00.000-06:00

Day 3, again a change of scenery as we enter alpine desert.

We enjoyed lunch with a view as we ascended from 3700m to 4600m to Lava Tower camp. This climb was purely for acclimatization however, and we then descended to Barranco Hut camp at 3950m to spend the night. Still feeling good and strong at this altitude, we can't help but wonder if our time spent at altitude in Ecuador has helped us with the acclimitization.

With amazing views of the mountain's peak, the Barranco Camp was by far the most scenic and beautiful. This is also where we enjoyed the first of our rationed packages of m & m almonds :).

Now, it's at about this point in the trip, when you can actually physically see the dirt piling up in your pores, every wrinkle of skin and fingernail and crevice being filled with dirt and dust that you start to really think about what it would be like to shower. Even wearing long pants, the dust seems to sneak in and attach itself like a stain. Ewww.

Whiskey

2009-09-04T10:00:00.000-06:00

When we decided to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (Kili) as part of our East African experience, I must admit I didn't know much about it. I didn't know about the three volcanic craters, Shira, Mawenzi, and Kibo. I didn't know that while Shira and Mawenzi are extinct, Kibo is considered dormant (although it has not erupted for a gazillion years). I did not know that the highest point of Mt. Kilimanjaro, Uhuru Peak, is actually located on the peak of Kibo.

What I did know was that Mt. Kilimanjaro was, well big. I knew that they probably didn't call it 'The Rooftop of Africa' for nothing! I also knew that there were several routes to climb the mountain. When I contacted a local guide months ago, he gave me a number of route options. At one end of the spectrum was what was coined the 'Coca-Cola' route. This route could be ascended in as little as five days with accommodation in huts along the way (where, you guessed it, coca-cola is available!). At the other end of the spectrum was what he coined 'The Whiskey' routes. Theses routes are camping routes and should take about seven days.

We went for Whiskey and chose the Lemosho route. Just a clever name as it turns out as there was no whiskey to be had...

We had met a number of people throughout our travels who had attempted and/or summited Kili and had heard all accounts and stories. From altitude sickness, to massive headaches, to loss of appetite, to freezing cold, to sleeplessness, everybody shared their tales. They all agreed on one thing though, that it was worth it.

With our packs filled to bursting with rental equipment including -20 rated sleeping bags, thermal pants, beleclavas, fleece jackets and mittens, we felt prepared. We met the team on Friday morning and learned that apparently it takes a 'village' to climb Kili.... With our tour operator, driver, guide, assistant guide, cook, and four porters in tow, we crammed into a single land cruiser and headed out.

After a sketchy drive which made last week's dhow and ferry ride seem like smooth sailing, we arrived at the Londorossi Gate of Kilimanjaro National Park to register. The 'village' weighed our supplies and got thet nod from the warden (each porter is allowed to carry 25kg, which is embarassing as I am convinced that some of these guys couldn't have weighed more than me), and we headed toward the trailhead.

Today's hike, beginning at an altitude of 2200m was to be a gentle introduction to the mountain. We were pumped to be in the great outdoors and were almost giddy breathing in the fresh air as we cruised through the forest reaching our first camp in less than two hours. What, that's it?? A gentle introduction indeed. We arrived at camp with tents already pitched and hot water at the ready (guessing it probably only took the 'village' a half hour to arrive).

Sure, we were surrounded by luxury operators toting their dining tents, complete with dining tables, full back chairs and silk flower centerpieces. Sure, some groups were afforded the luxury of toilet tents and even toilets were being carted up the mountain to accommodate them. One group of porters actually burst into song when their clients arrived in camp (like at a restaurant when it's somebody's birthday!).

We, however, were on a budget. Our 2x2 table would do just fine and when it was too cold, we would eat inside our tent. We were no strangers to latrines, and so what if these ones didn't have doors? What our team lacked in frills, they made up for in flair! We would rough it.

The next morning, we were up bright and early, enjoyed our first of countless bowls of porridge and white bread and headed back into the rainforest.

We emerged from the rainforest, entered the moorland zone and got our first glimpse of Kibo!

Now, with Kibo like a beacon ahead, we carried on, moving through the first campsite (Shira Camp 1) and on to the second. We were feeling fine and it was early so what the heck. We stopped only for lunch (a honey and carrot sandwhich??) and to assess the direction of the lion prints (what? lions? nobody said anything about lions!) along the way.

Shira Camp 2 at 3700m offered us great views of the mountain and the outhouses even had doors :).

We watched the sun set over Mt. Meru in the distance, ate dinner at our private table for two, Jeremy (our 'waiter' and assistant guide) delivered my Nalgene bottle filled with hot water for the bottom of my sleeping bag (soon to become a ritual) and we settled in for the night.

Good for the Soul

2009-09-03T03:00:00.000-06:00

From Safari, we took to the sky, boarding a lovely 20-seater to take us to the island of Zanzibar, where we found plenty of sunshine and put on many miles exploring the narrow streets of Stonetown. We followed Troy around, who claimed a superior sense of direction, and while we were never 'lost', he made sure we saw every nook and cranny, wanting us to get the full experience ofcourse...

We learned about spices, sampled exotic fruits, swam in the ocean, toured some historical sites....and SHOPPED! We visited the tourist shops but also gave mom the full experience of the sights, sounds, (and smells) of the local market. This is where we snagged the real bargains ofcourse! The best strategy was to just let Troy do the talking.

Mom and I also ventured out on our own, giving Troy a break as the lead negotiator. We photographed the infamous doors of Stonetown and also tried our hands at doing some bargaining on our own. After being followed down the street by persistent salespeople, and being welcomed a little too eagerly into shops, we decided it was in our best interest to once again retain Troy's services.

We also took a sunset dhow (sailboat) cruise. I hesitate here to use the word 'cruise' but that is what we signed up for. With many tour operators around town, we ofcourse shopped around. While mom was content to sign up with the first outfit with a shiny brochure, as saavy travelers Troy and I were sure we could get a better deal. What we got was....interesting (?).

The three of us climbed aboard and the sail went up. It was cozy, just the three of us and two 'sailors'. Never mind that the sail had a few small holes in it and the fact that the 'sailors' replied either 'yes' or their names to anything we asked of them, we were going to sail!

Now, as you can see, these two were the picture of calm, enjoying the breeze off the ocean, and the rise and fall of the tide.

This here, on the other hand, this look on my face, is the picture of fear. Shear and total fear! As the winds blew, the tiny boat would rock and tip and I swear the tip of the sail was going to hit the water each time we were met with a gust. I asked the 'sailor' if the boat ever tipped over. He grinned, said 'yes' and told me his name... Helpful.

Mom and Troy were entertained though. As they laughed hysterically at me gripping the high side of the boat, I watched another dhow, a bigger one, one that probably cost the extra measly ten bucks, sail smoothly and peacefully into the sunset.

At night, we checked out the Forodhani Gardens where tables and tables of skewers of seafood, and meats were set up. Breads, fruits, sweet treats, and fresh sugar cane juice all waited at the ready. Think Taste of Edmonton - African style. If you looked at something too long, you were bound to have it thrown on the bbq for you before there was time to protest! Mom and Troy sampled octopus and shark while I stuck to the chicken and beef side of things with yummy Zanzibar pizza for dessert (you can never go wrong with bananas, nutella, and a little deep frying!).

The days passed by in a frenzy of activity and Troy and I commented that it was us who would need to rest once mom left. We wrapped things up with henna tattoos, wanting to send mom home in style!

We ended things off with an excrutiating ferry trip back to Dar Es Salaam. Apparently mom has her sea legs while both Troy and I were doing our best not to join the ranks of the sea-sick. (Unfortunately, as I sat there with my eyes closed and my fingers in my ears, all I could think of was the pie-eating contest scene in the movie Stand by Me).

We parted ways in Dar. Mom caught a plane home and Troy and I boarded a bus bound for Moshi to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.

Mom, thanks for sharing these experiences wih us! Thanks for all the treats you brought for us. Thanks for letting me raid your suitcase before you left. Thanks for carrying an extra bag home on account of us. And thanks for reminding me that dessert and new clothes once in a while are both good for the soul (and even better when purchased by your mom).

Let's Safari!

2009-09-03T01:51:00.000-06:00

Bernard and Edward showed up at our hostel about a half hour late (which is actually pretty early by African time, this is something that Mama would soon learn) and we were raring to go! Bernard was to be our guide/driver and Edward, our cook (chef, really!).

With our belongings secured on the roof, we piled into our very own land cruiser...complete with pop-up top ofcourse :) and headed toward the Serengeti. The drive provided Mama with her first real look around since she had arrived. It was fun seeing everything for the first time again, through her eyes. From the bustle on the streets, to the rural huts, to the loads being carried, the markets, the animals, the transport, the roads, the sights and the sounds all sort of mingling and coexisting. It had become routine for us and it was fun to experience it all again, seemingly for the first time.

We soon ran out of pavement and the road to the Serengeti had us bouncing all over (no seatbelts ofcourse). I kept looking at Mama who was trying to hang on for dear life and the fact that she was laughing hysterically at the same time made it even more difficult. Troy was trying his best to hold his position on the bench seat in the back. On safari, laughing out loud with two of my favorite people, hard to believe it could get any better.

The following days spent in the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater were incredible! We wasted no time in seeing animals and were more than thrilled to see lions, elephants, and giraffes on our very first day. We got right into the swing of things pulling out our binoculars and cameras and even safari hats (when in rome...).

Bernard was a whiz at locating game. No sooner would we voice a desire to see something and he would make a quick left, or right, and there it was!

While each animal sighting is exciting the first time, the big game continued to be our favorites. Especially the elephants. Finally, elephants! We had seen two on our first day, up close, and we marvelled at their shear size.

We wrapped up an early morning game drive the following day surrounded by a herd, cooling off in a mud hole, actually rolling around in it and spraying themselves and each other. They didn't seem to mind the audience, except when I climbed on the roof...

An elephant at the Ngorongoro Crater camp was particularly friendly. And thirsty. He was not shy to walk up to the water retention tank, and settle in to satisfy his thirst.

Watching the giraffes, so graceful in their movement, never seemed to get old.

Not sure what it was about the lions but we always seemed to catch them when they were feasting, or relaxing following a meal. Whether it was gutting out a water buffalo or munching on a giraffe, it felt like we were watching The Nature of Things. It was a family affair, from cubs to mamas and papas, noone was left out.

We learned how to tell the difference between cheetahs and leopards and were lucky enough to see a few of each. While the lions always seemed to be eating, the cheetahs seemed to always be hunting. We sat and watched from a distance as they stalked their prey. No kills to be witnessed though, weird that this was actually disappointing at the time, how morbid... We found the leopards lounging in trees, I guess hunting must be tiring work.

The zebras and the wildebeests are chummy and while most are migrating this time of year, there are resident herds in the Ngorongoro crater who stay put. Thousands of them! It was quite a site to see, the zebras and the wildebeests, just chillaxin'.

The hippos were also among the favorites and we stayed at a hippo pond for quite some time watching them wake up.

Seeing the animals by day often made my heart pound but sleeping among the animals (literally)by night provided a whole different kind of adrenaline rush. Not sure if Mama knew exactly what she had signed up for when she agreed to join us. There were no lodges, no warm towels with which to wash up after a dusty day of game driving, no lounge chairs, and no fine dining. We were camping. Keeping it basic. Roughing it.

It hadn't occurred to me at the time that, while she often camps in her horse trailer, she probably hadn't slept on the ground in a tent in a while, up close and personal with nature. She was a trooper though and each morning we would debrief about the animals we had heard during the night. The lions just outside camp, the hyenas dragging around the garbage bins, the zebras munching on grass outside the tents...

Yep, up close and personal alright! I wouldn't have changed a thing though and I don't think she would have either.

I wasn't the only one out there in the wild roughing it with my Mama though. We were in good company...

'Mama'

2009-09-03T01:50:00.000-06:00

I alternated between pacing back and forth and trying to peer through the divider which separated the arrivals lounge from the arriving passengers. Finally, she appeared, luggage in tow and a big grin. It felt so good to see a familiar face and get a familiar hug from my mom!

I think the taxi driver was the first to do it but by the time she left, everyone we met took to calling her 'Mama'. I kinda liked it and so it stuck.

It was almost 9pm by the time we arrived back in Arusha and we introduced Mama to our digs. It was a backpacker's hostel and she didn't seem to bat an eye. I was thankful it was dark out and she probably hadn't noticed it was on stilts above a gas station... Nothing but the best for my Mama. We reasoned that we didn't need anything fancy, just a bed, as we would be up early the next morning to head out on safari. And besides, Mama was visiting us and we thought we'd show her the ropes of budget travelling :).

She opened her bags and, in addition to the items we had asked her to bring from home, she revealed homemade chocolate chip cookies, rice krispy squares, and bags upon bags of M&M almonds! (We vowed to save the M&M's for our Kili climb but by the time we fell asleep, we had taken down at least two...).

We ate and talked and talked and talked. Mom provided fresh ears that hadn't yet heard our stories and it was exciting to talk face to face and hear about home. She finally hinted that she needed to sleep and so we tucked in, looking forward to the morning which would bring the beginning of our 4-day Safari in the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater!

The Ripple

2009-08-15T02:33:00.000-06:00

~The continuing and spreading results of an event or action~

We have come to the time in our journey where we have acquired many experiences, witnessed some of the best and worst of humanity, spirits, and souls. We have taught, we have listened, we have learned, we have built, we have torn down, we have created, we have danced, we have laughed, we have shared. But have we made a difference??

There is just so much need.

We have seized opportunities to learn about development, successful and unsuccessful aid programs, charitable giving and handouts versus accountability and sustainability. Lately we have let ourselves become frustrated, so obssessed with the notion of sustainability, we often feel like we are not doing enough. It is times like these when I need to remind myself of…

The ripple.

We headed out on this trip knowing that we lack the skills to provide essential services like healthcare, but hoping to be able to make a difference simply as capable, open-minded, willing, able-bodied people. We headed out on this trip because…

We believed in the ripple.

Maybe we can't make someone’s life better in the short time we have here but I think we have made some days better. Maybe we can’t change the world, but maybe we can make it a little brighter. And sometimes, maybe that is enough?

I have to believe in the ripple.

Did painting a mural change a child’s life? Did it make a child laugh out loud? Did playing a game fill a tummy, heal a wound, or clothe a body? Did it bring joy to someone today? Sometimes we get so carried away and put so much pressure on justifying our time, judging our success based on the goal of achieving lasting, tangible change. While I ultimately agree with this measure of success…

I also still believe in the ripple.

Sometimes it is about the single, solitary interactions. And that has to be ok. Small acts of kindness (making a child laugh, listening to a grandmother talk, providing an outlet for a friend, teaching a lesson), no matter how small the acts, they do matter. I believe in the spreading results of solitary interactions.

I believe in the ripple.

I believe that taking great care in doing something, anything, will help make our world just a little bit brighter. In the face of the despair and the sense of hopelessness, I believe that what we are doing is worth it. Being surrounded by life here that seems impossible for some and difficult for most, we find ourselves hoping that we change someone’s day, someone’s hour, someone’s now.

Though sometimes I even need to remind myself,
I do still believe in the ripple.

Mercy

2009-08-15T01:00:00.000-06:00

We spent our final day at the Mercy Children's Centre on tuesday and headed to Nairobi to pick up our new passports before heading east to Tanzania. When we weren't dodging luggage flying off the overhead racks as we maneuvered the road between Kenya and Tanzania (for some reason I thought this route would amount to more than a dirt track...) the many, many, many hours on busses afforded us the opportunity to reflect on our time in Kenya.

We got our hands dirty (and not just with fingerpaint). Troy got his hands dirty practicing his cement mixing techniques as he helped with on-site construction.

And I got my hands dirty (and blistered if you can believe it!) removing maize from the cobb. It is funny how relationships are often fostered in the most unlikely ways. It was sitting on the floor, ankle deep in maize that I got to know the Class 4 students.

We explored artistic abilities with song, dance, art, and even culinary skills!

We rolled on the floor and played with stuffed animals, Troy called this session First Aid. Catchy title.

We ran during Phys. Ed. (I mostly just tried to keep up…), and cooled off with a dip in the river.

We marvelled at the football skills and gave them some pointers ‘American’-style.

We even made some mistakes.... We taught The Macarena....‘nuf said.

We were watched and studied by this small community and greeted at every turn. In turn, we also did our share of watching, especially on market days. Children carrying chickens in their arms or dangling them precariously by their feet, one in each hand, women carrying produce in huge baskets on their heads, and cyclists trying to keep their balance with their cargo of hog-tied goats attemptng to stand up in their baskets...

A colorful experience and time well spent.

Imagine

2009-08-09T04:07:00.000-06:00

Imagine never having thought about what you want to 'be' when you grow up. Here, not only does this question elicit blank stares and confused eyes but the question could just as easily be "What do you want to be 'if' you grow up?"

Even with the government's intervention with respect to making ARV drugs available, HIV, AIDS, and related illnesses continue to devastate individuals and families alike. In the far reaches of these rural communities, the stigma alone associated with the disease still results in denial and a reluctance to testing. Not surprising when a positive result could see you abandoned by your family or kicked off the ancestral land.

The impact of AIDS on children, both directly and indirectly, is obvious at the Mercy school, which is attended by orphans who have lost at least one parent. The impact and effects on community and family however, became increasingly clear to me this week as I visited the small subsistence farms of the members of a local widows group.

As the widows typically do not hold any sort of government identification like a birth certificate (heck, most of them can only give you a ballpark estimate of their age), they cannot apply for or receive social assistance or individual loans. Banding together and registering with the government as an official widows self-help group provides an I.D. of sorts for the executive members and qualifies the group to receive aid such as the World Food Programme, and the services of the Kenya Women's Finance Trust.

Amenah, another volunteer completing an internship here, has been working with this particular group of women to help them organize. We were invited to their farms as we wanted to learn more about their efforts and their challenges in order to gain some insight which could potentially help guide future assistance programs.

We were greeted at farm after farm by incredibly strong women.

Some were eager to show us their successful crops, while others showed us baron land whose crops had all but been destroyed by weeds and pests. Some had tiny plots of land, while others had an acre or two. Some invited us into their homes (which is where they store their harvests as thievery from their graineries has become a problem) to show us the fruits of their labour, while others suffered a weak harvest with little to show. Some had cash crops in addition to food crops which allowed them to sell their goods at the market, while others would have to ration what they had produced just to feed their families. Some were preparing for the August rains which signal the next planting season, while others were struggling to bring in this season's harvest in time. Some shared with us the prohibitive costs of hiring an ox and plow, explaining why the work instead had to be done by hand, while others pointed out their most prized possessions including fruit trees, goats, and ducks (that would bring home a tidy sum at Christmas!).

All had a story.

Some shared their stories with us, while others did not. Either way, you could almost read their stories through their eyes, see their stories on the lines in their faces, and feel their stories on their calloused hands.

Though I stood beside these women, sat in their homes, greeted their children, and their grandchildren and listened, I can't pretend to understand. For this is a life, though try as I might, I cannot fathom.

As much as we would like the kids at school to jump up and down and yell Firefighter! Policeman! Doctor! Teacher!...when asked what they want to be when they grow up, it is easy to see how the obstacles inherent to their lives and the future they can foresee often elicits blank stares and confused eyes when posed this very question.

Hands up!

2009-08-02T06:18:00.000-06:00

Thursday we declared as a get-your-hands-dirty kind of day and after a trip to a bookshop and a wedding store in the neighbouring town of Busia, we had had all the supplies we needed to create handprint masterpieces.

The kids rotated in ten at a time and chose two colours of paint. We painted their hands one at a time and encouraged them to put their hands to paper in whatever orientation they wanted.

It was fun to watch the kids’ reaction to the whole process. Some were stoich, not really sure what to make of this, others were intrigued by the feeling of the paint between their fingers, others giggled as the tickly bristles ran over their palms, some were excited to get their turn while others seemed stressed out having been burdened with the responsibility of complete creative liberty.

Some thought for a great deal of time before placing their hands just so and others squished all their fingers together and slapped their hands down quickly in a big beautiful mess. It was the ones who colored outside the lines so to speak, the ones who turned their pages upside down and backwards, the ones who wrote their names vertically, between their fingers, or up the side of the page, that kept me smiling all day. I have included many sample creations below because I think that they will make you smile too :).

In addition to putting handprints to paper, everyone added their handprint to a school banner. From the students, to the teachers, to the kitchen staff, everyone got in on the action!

Joanne, from the sewing/tailoring class, provided the finishing touch by hemming the sides and adding button holes to the corners to allow it to be hung proudly in the school’s front entry.

All filled up

2009-08-02T05:47:00.000-06:00

What’s cool about the Mercy Children’s Centre is that not only do they fill the minds of the kids here, but their bellies as well. When it comes to food, the school is virtually self-sustaining and what’s even more impressive is that everyone gets involved.

The school day starts early here and the kids line up for tea each morning at 7:30. Milk for the tea is provided by the cows whom George tends to religiously. In addition to the three cows (and one calf), the school also has two goats, two sheep, several chickens and a rooster.

Lunchtime is at about 1:00 and the menu alternates between ugali with sukumawiki and ‘Mixture’. Ugali is the local staple food and is made from grinding maize into maize flour and cooking it together with water to make a sort of dough. The maize is grown on site and the kids help with the planting and harvesting of it.

The final harvest was recently completed in preparation for the August planting season. These boys were showing off and taking down the stalks with ninja-like prowess!

The maize is laid out to dry under the hot sun, is removed from the cobb, dried some more, and is stored so that it is always on hand to be used as needed. Sukumawiki, a green and leafy vegetable that looks like lettuce, or a close relative, is also grown on site. It is boiled and eaten together with ugali.

Mixture is just that, a mixture of maize and beans combined to make what can only be described as deliciousness. The maize crop alternates with the bean crop and planting and harvesting again involves the students.

Meals are prepared in the school’s kitchen by an amazing staff. They let Troy and I peer over their shoulders and taught us how to make ugali, even though we ran out of the kitchen everytime the smoke rejected the chimney and filled the room. I guess your eyes must develop a tolerance after a while. .. Most of the cooking is done in giant pots held on three rocks above a fire fuelled by the dry sticks that the kids bring in on their designated firewood-day.

Here, Seline is preparing the sukumawiki and Joseph, having returned from town with a gunny sack of freshly ground maize secured to his bicycle, is cheffing up ugali.

Bon Appetit!

It takes a village...

2009-07-29T03:05:00.000-06:00

We are currently in western Kenya in a tiny place called Bumala.

We are volunteering at the Mercy Children’s Centre, a school funded by a local Edmonton organization called One Child’s Village. This school provides an education for 220 orphans who otherwise would not be afforded this ‘luxury’. Attending public school requires the paying of school fees, the purchase of a school uniform, school supplies, and yes, even a desk, making it out of reach for many children who have lost their parents, many of whom now rely on the guardianship of their grandmothers.

The teaching staff is young and energetic, the students are eager and enthusiastic and I have been racking my brain to satisfy their desire to learn new games. We have been welcomed here with open arms, and ofcourse singing! As a relatively young project, foreign visitors to the school have been few to this point, but those who have been here have left their mark as the kids can’t get enough of ‘What time is it Mr. Lion?’ and doing ‘The Jiggalo’! You’ll be happy to know that yes, only two days in, and the chicken dance is now also part of the repertoire.

While we are here we plan to help in the classrooms, hopefully providing some extra one-on-one to students who could use the extra attention, teach first aid, and help with the construction of volunteer accommodation to facilitate a future volunteer program.

Pespective

2009-07-29T03:03:00.000-06:00

As I re-read my last post, having email access today for the first time since then, I am happy to report that I have since gained some perspective. It was not so much the loss of the material possessions that had me feeling so bitter (I am accutely aware, as I take in my surroundings on a daily basis, of the truly important things), but the loss of that which cannot be replaced, like pictures and journals, that makes me sad. It is the knowledge that my personal stuff is ‘out there’ that feels violating and it is the thought that any one of you could one day receive a picture of me to match that of Troy’s birthday post in some spam in your inbox, that makes me blush.

I am however reminded that while these personal things were to serve as material reminders, experiences cannot be taken away and though it would have been nice to fill a scrapbook, my memory bank continues to burst :).

Lighter Load

2009-07-19T08:27:00.001-06:00

It has been a while since we last updated. Mostly because my Mom told me that if I didn't have anything nice to say, I shouldn't say anything at all... So, instead of focusing on the fact that over the last two weeks we have been getting a first hand education on the finer points of theft and corruption, I will focus on the fact that my bag will now weigh a lot less as it will no longer be burdened with heavy things like cameras, computers, ipods, SD cards, USB sticks, passports, and cash (man, what a relief. cash is really heavy). It would have been a pain to come home after a year of travelling and have to sift through all those beautiful pictures of unforgettable experiences and memories, I should be relieved to have had this weight lifted. More good news is that I now only have one piece of luggage to worry about. It was kind of a pain carrying around two bags anyways and really, can you blame the guy, he needed something to haul away all our stuff in.

Don't worry Mom(s), we are safe :).

Happy Canada Day(s)!

2009-07-04T02:54:00.000-06:00

On July 1st and 2nd we celebrated Canada Day with the students at Ihunga, Kahunga, Kitwe, and Nyamyerande primary schools. Some of these schools having been partnered with sister schools in Edmonton as part of Ainembabazi‘s Synergy Project which promotes a cultural exchange between the young people in the two countries, the education committee interns orchestrated Canada day celebrations in an effort to teach the students here a little bit more about Canada and its culture.

I can't attest to how much actual ‘culture’ was learned but it was confirmed that we all speak the same language of laughter. And laugh we did! The classes rotated between each of our stations and from flag making to hockey playing, from ‘snowball’ fights to Canada facts sharing, from snowflake creating to dancing and games, we covered all the bases of a typical elementary school experience back home!

Troy took on the hockey station while I was charged with shaking my booty at the dancing station. I do however deny all responsibility if the Ugandans happened to come away thinking that any one of the Electric Slide, the Twist, the Hokey Pokey, the Hawaiian Cowboy, or the Can-Can are in any way ‘official’ Canadian dances…

Troy taught them the finer points of hockey, or at least of being a hockey fan, an Oiler fan specifically. By the end of the day, he had all the kids chanting ‘Let’s go Oilers!’ and they had all but mastered ‘the wave‘.

While it was our intent to share a bit of Canada, we also came away with more than a little Ugandan culture. All the kids were eager to share a song or a dance to kick things off at my station, with The Calypso being a particular favorite. At Nyamyerande, the students prepared a play for us and also shared some traditional dance, while at Kahunga they pulled us into their spontaneous dance circle and tried to teach us some new moves!

We were very grateful to have been welcomed in with open arms and while we hope we left them with a glimpse of Canada, they left us with an invitation to return for Ugandan's independence day in October :). They also wouldn't let us ride away empty handed and between the team we were gifted close to 100 avocadoes, 100 passion fruit, a dozen papaya and pineapples and a couple dozen eggs….! It seems that gratitude was indeed felt both ways.

The View from the Pop Top

2009-06-30T02:08:00.001-06:00

Two land cruisers pulled up outside our house at 7am Sunday morning. I took one look at the ‘old school’ model with it’s boxy lines and pop out top and selected it as our ride. Sure the newer one was prettier and probably had AC but the old boy had character, and hello, you couldn’t pop your head out the top of the new one! The ten of us piled into the vehicles and headed to Lake Mburo National Park for a day trip.

We drove through the park, standing up with our heads out the top of course, snapping photos left and right. Yep, we were on safari all right! The zebras were the highlight for me and it is strange to think that for the people here it is probably like seeing deer in Banff.

As we walked through the park, following closely behind our armed guide, it was cool to see the animals just ‘being‘. The warthogs, on their stubby legs, wobbled about while the zebras and water bucks grazed around them. The monkeys and baboons played around, swinging in the branches close-by not wanting to miss out on any of the action while the water buffaloes kept to themselves as if a little too good for the rest.

Following the game drive, we did a walking safari and intercepted several types of game, at a safe distance, as they made their predictable trek to the watering hole. We came upon a water buffalo who had, quite likely, just that morning met its unfortunate end at the hands of a rival water buffalo. We took this as an opportunity to get up close and personal to this creature to see its finer features. Troy took this as an opportunity to seize our guide's gun, kneel by the animal, smile proudly and pose for a photo suitable for a hunting magazine. His dad would be so proud.

While it was indeed a great day with the wildlife sighting tally for the day including...

Warthogs
Impala
Water Buffalo
Zebras
Water Bucks
Crocodiles
Monkeys
Baboons
Topi
Hippos
and Elands….

Still, no elephants.

5 years, 10 kilometers, and 1 new toothbrush

2009-06-29T03:24:00.000-06:00

Troy and I celebrated our five year anniversary on Friday by scrubbing up and putting on clean clothes (trust me this is a special occasion as we and everything we own is typically covered in a thick layer of red dust), jumping on a boda boda (goodbye clean clothes) and enjoying dinner at an African restaurant (which served Indian food and showed Mexican soap operas translated into English). We felt very cultured.

Saturday we participated in a 10km fundraising run through Mbarara. It was in support of the construction of an IT lab in one of the more affluent all girls schools here and cost us a whole $2.50 to enter. Having met the organizer at the internet café when he leaned over and asked me “Can you run?”, I recruited Troy and Lindsay as the token Mzungu contingent. The run was more of a celebration of sorts complete with DJ truck, sponsor visors, water sponge stations and color coordinated high school students. Troy left Lindsay and I in his dust (literally) early on and motivated many locals to achieve their personal bests under the threat of being passed by a Mzungu and being heckled by onlookers.

We were grateful for our very own fan support who brought us water and cheered us along the largely gravel road route. Lindsay and I also managed to make it through the ’Finishing Point’ in a respectable time and while we were pleased with our performance under the hot African sun, trailing behind more than a few participants wearing flip flops and even several who chose to forego footwear altogether, speaks volumes…

Glancing at a calendar amidst all the celebrating this weekend, it did not go unnoticed that we have also officially reached the halfway point of this yearlong adventure. Can’t believe it! As I ceremoniously changed the head on my travel toothbrush, I smiled to think of all that has come to pass and all that still lies ahead :).

Dr. Martin

2009-06-29T02:41:00.000-06:00

So, as you may or may not know, I am teaching some basic first aid skills in the communties that we are doing work in. So prior to heading up to these communities to deliver my aforementioned stellar first aid course, I thought it would be best to visit the local health care center and find out a few things first.

The first thing I wanted to know was, what problems the Doctor at the health care center encounters most often. Doctor Martin explained to me that the most common problems that he sees are burns, fevers, infant poisoning and infections. As Dr.Martin and I talked we both felt that we could greatly reduce the risk of these injuries through teaching a little prevention to the families of these communites. We also knew that we could reduce the severity of these injuries by teaching a little basic first aid. So that was great, I now had knowledge of the main problems seen at the health care center and I had a clear plan of how I could help in this situation.

The second thing that I wanted to find out was what Emergency Services are provided to the people in the communities, at what cost the services are provided and what resources are available to them. Here is where I learned alot about the challenges the health care system faces and how the system runs. It is not pretty.

I found out that although the Health Center has two ambulances, they only use one because they can't afford to pay two drivers. It wouldn't matter though if they had 10 ambulances because to use an ambulance comes with a cost. The cost is roughly 30,000 shillings (about 15 cdn dollars) and most families can't afford such a cost.

I then discovered that when someone gets sick or becomes injured one of two things typically happens. The first (and most common) is that someone from the family of the sick or injured person will bike down to the health care center and ask the Doctor what is the best way to care for the sick or injured person. Once they have the advice they were looking for they will bike back up to the community to administer the care and medicine as described. As you can imagine, this is not the desired practice to treat someone who is in need of medical care but due to financial restraints these families face, this is usually the only option they have.

The second solution to help someone who is seriously injured and needs immediate medical attention is to put this person into a "taxi" and send them to the hospital that way. This is done because sending someone in a taxi (that generally has 9 or 10 other people in it) will only cost a family about $2000 shillings and this is all they can afford. Again, not a desired medical practice but many times this is what needs to be done.

Doctor Martin then explained that although the government "provides" the Health Care Center with materials, medications and resources every 3 months, the supplies recieved are never enough and he often runs out of medication and basic medical resources about 6 weeks before the next installement arrives. What this means is that sometimes for 6 weeks at a time, the health care center has to turn patients away unless they bring their own supplies (like surgical gloves!), as they can't properly care for them. This means that the patients have to head into Mbarara to the larger hospital at a greater cost to their family.

A very interesting look into local health care. Finding out what we did about the health care system and its lack of resources, it is our hope that Ainembabazi will be able to team up with Doctor Martin to implement a community health outreach program that will see the Doc heading up to the communties one time per month to better serve the people of these rural areas. We (Ainembabazi) will also be providing each community with a First Aid Kit and some basic knowledge that will hopefully reduce the number of times families need to go see Dr. Martin.

I believe now, more than ever, that health care is a basic human right that everyone should have access to. Unfortunately, I have also discovered that sometimes money is the only way to ensure that you get your basic human rights. That kind of sucks.

Ihunga Artistes

2009-06-24T09:21:00.000-06:00

This past Monday and Tuesday I ventured out to Ihunga Primary School with two other interns, Rivka and Matt. The journey out includes a 45 minute mini bus ride followed by a 20 minute boda boda (motorcycle taxi) ride up the 4x4 trails into the hills. It is a beautiful ride through banana and matooke plantations, winding through small communities, swerving around coffee beans laying out to dry in the roads and being greeted by school children left waving frantically in our wake.

Rivka had started an art project, called the Art Murals Mile Project, with kids in an after school program she is involved with in Edmonton. They completed half of a 12 foot canvas mural and it was brought here to be completed by kids in Uganda. We worked with two kids from each grade level (P1 to P7) to finish the mural themed 'Children and the Environment'. We brainstormed ideas and the kids took turns bringing their ideas to life on the canvas.

The kids, though quiet and reserved for the most part, were very creative and as evidenced in these before and after shots, the finished product is truly a masterpiece!

TIA - This Is Africa!

2009-06-16T07:56:00.000-06:00

It is said that time is Relative. Here however, I would say that time is Irrelevant. People are just not in a hurry. Period. Troy is convinced they must know something we don’t. Maybe he is right.

We had planned to meet the YC on Saturday at 2pm to kick things off. We set off from Mbarara to Kinoni (pronounced Chinony) with the intent of arriving a little early to set up. When the mini bus we found ourselves on detoured to the other side of town to pick up somebody’s lumber order, it became apparent that expecting to run on any sort of schedule had been optimistic. After being loaded, unloaded, and loaded back into the mini bus several times in order to pack us in just right, tight, and in a logical drop-off order, we were finally on our way. Just the 21 of us…in a fifteen passenger van….with four or five two by twelve 8 foot lengths of lumber.

We had been told to expect that a set meeting time in Uganda should be assumed to represent more of a ‘guideline‘ than anything hard and fast and so when we arrived in Kinoni at precisely 2pm, and wedged ourselves out of public transport , we shouldn’t have been surprised when we were met by a solitary youth. I considered for a good half hour that maybe all our planning had been in vain and maybe we should head home, but we hung on and about 20 others eventually trickled in. We got started just after 3pm which apparently was “Right on Time”.

We made a plan to meet again the following Saturday. At 3pm. I am confused, does this mean 4? We shall see. The 45 minute ride home was again via shared transport, but in a car this time. Your standard five passenger variety. At one count there were ten of us. Could have been more though, I can’t be sure as you can really fit a lot of babies into the nooks and crannies and I may have lost count….

TIA. Love it :)

KYC

2009-06-16T07:45:00.000-06:00

Still no elephants, though I have been promised Zebras at Lake Mburo National Park, a park just outside Mbarara which we hope to visit one day this week.

We have settled into Mbarara, living in a house rented for use by Ainembabazi interns. There are currently ten of us here, which is the most they have ever had at one time. Everyone has their own projects to focus on in one of two counties in which Ainembabazi supports orphans, Kinoni and Kyabugimbi Projects include agricultural initiatives, education programs, health and AIDs education, micro-finance lending, and youth work. The other interns are all University students in some capacity or other and Troy and I are once again the old dogs. We are getting used to being ‘old’ by typical volunteer standards. It is fun to watch as people bite their tongues when describing siblings, or friends, or professors in their 30’s as ‘old’ before considering their company…I guess no one told them that 30 is the new 20! We have discovered over the last 6 months that age truly is just a number.

Troy is holding up rather well though considering he is living with 8 women. He has been hiding in our room a substantial amount though and doing a lot of reading, mostly about Africa. We are both trying to use some of our free time here to learn more about some history and Africa’s past. The group here is fairly passionate about all things ’developing world’ related as most are studying in the field of political science, community health, or medicine. It has been interesting to hear the discussions and the debates that ensue. It seems that nightly we are discussing a controversial topic and true to form Troy always seems to say just the right thing to get everybody excited and worked up and he ofcourse does this with a big grin on his face.

With two weeks down, we are slowly moving our youth project forward. That is how things happen here. Slowly. We met with the youth on Thursday night to find out the goals of the group. There were about 14 youth aged 13 to 18 in attendance. It was determined that with school, homework, and other responsibilities at home, they were able to commit Saturday afternoons to some sort of youth group activity. They had tried to organize themselves in the past but without sufficient ’adult’ mentorship, the group kept falling flat. Not short on ideas, (football and dance ranked high on their list of interests, so did drama, music, art, netball, volleyball, AIDS awareness, human rights, first aid, and crafts, just to name a few…) what they were lacking was the know-how, the resources, the contacts, and any process to bring these things to life

We are here for such a short time and while it would be fun to simply be youth group leaders for eight weeks, it is important for us to try to figure out how to provide a sustainable impact. What happens when we leave? And so with the aim of creating a self-governing, sustainable youth committee, we have established our goal as setting up the framework and processes for the group which will facilitate them operating on their own when there are no interns around to facilitate.

After our second meeting with the youth on Saturday which included a discussion on their overall structure in addition to some teamwork, leadership and communication games (thank goodness for 4-H camp and a good memory!), it was decided by the group to dedicate every second Saturday to sports and alternating Saturdays to some other ‘social‘ activity, be it a discussion topic, a guest speaker, a workshop, or whatever. Troy and I will be planning the activities while we are here and will transfer this responsibility to the newly formed Sport Committee and Social Committee when we leave. We are currently drafting a Kinoni Youth Committee (KYC) Guideline document outlining the roles of their newly formed executive and committees, a meeting schedule, and proposing how to work together with Ainembabazi staff to secure resources.

While working with the youth to form a sustainable youth committee is our primary role here, we will also be getting involved in some other projects. We will be working to get an agricultural project off the ground, partnering with a governmental agency whose aim is to educate on ways to increase soil productivity and repair land degradation, Troy will be working with both communities teaching basic first aid to both the guardians and teenagers and I will be working with two other volunteers to do some strategic planning and needs assessing. There may also be an opportunity to work on a community garden project that is just getting underway. Will hopefully have more to add on these things later….

Mzungus in Mbarara

2009-06-07T05:29:00.000-06:00

We are definitely not in Kansas anymore… Our first experience in Uganda was a helmetless motorbike ride through the crowded streets of Kampala. As we held our giant bags in front of us and our drivers zigged and zagged in and out of traffic, I noticed Nicole was laughing hysterically, partly out of fear and partly out of shear enjoyment. That is when I realized we had made it to Africa. Then, doing our best sardine impersonation, we were packed onto a bus for our 5 hour journey to the town of Mbarara. About half way through the bus ride we had to pull over to the side of the road and wait for about an hour so the bus could cool down, which was much appreciated by both me and my bladder. With the bus cool and ready to go we headed off to attack the road on our way to our final destination. To say that this was the bumpiest bus ride of my life would be a drastic understatement. We were hitting bumps on the road so fast that Nicole actually had to hang on to my pants because she was getting thrown off of her seat. At this point Nicole and I both felt that our senses had been punched in the face and all we wanted to do was get back in the ring for some more abuse. It was awesome. The traffic, the colors, the horns, the animals, the buildings, the smells and of course all the locals yelling “hey Mzungu” (which affectionately means, hey white person), we couldn’t get enough and we were pumped to finally be starting our African Adventure.

Our first week here was a week of adjustment and planning. Adjusting to the heat, the jet lag and the slow pace at which things seem to happen here and planning for our projects and getting ready to head out to the community. So, with a week under our belts and our senses almost fully recovered (it is amazing how fast you get used to something) we are loving Mbarara and still excited to be here. Our fist week was full of exploration and discovery. We have discovered that in Africa much like in most of Central and South America, people here sure like their carbohydrates. In any given meal you will be given a potato (or a potato substitute), a portion of rice along with a portion of pasta, topped off with some bread. Every meal is a “loosen the belt and undo the top button” type of meal. We also continue to realize that it is going to suck to buy produce when we go back home. The other day for 4000 shillings we bought 6 tomatoes, 6 onions, 4 carrots, 4 green peppers, 4 mangoes, 2 avocadoes and 3 cloves of garlic, keeping in mind that 4000 shillings is the equivalent of about 2 Canadian dollars. And the final thing that I discovered is that I couldn’t handle the heat and the long hair. So yesterday, despite my best intentions to grow my hair for a full year, I had to give in and get my head shaved. To my relief, there was no regret, just instant relief. In short, Africa is hot and awesome. We haven’t seen any elephants yet but I will keep my eyes open.

Keep it real,
farn

The Big Idea Guys

2009-06-03T05:18:00.000-06:00

Last week, our final week in Pisco, was busy as usual at PSF and with a record number of volunteers, various projects were underway. On Tuesday I worked with a team putting together a modular home for a woman and her three children. She shared with us her Tsunami story and considered herself lucky as while she was at home alone that day, treading in water up to her neck, she was secure in the knowledge that her three boys were safe on higher ground at school.

As you can see, it was 'safety first' while somewhat creative as we managed to put the roof on without a ladder...

Meanwhile Troy, Will, and Dipper, having had their water supply line trenching plan foiled due to lack of water pressure, were drumming up plans of their own. All planning to leave at the end of the week, they brainstormed ways to make their last few days in Pisco count the most. The El Molino community had plans to build a medical aid station (see previous blog), and Dipper being a contractor by trade, Troy the supplier of plenty of brawn and Will being the Spanish speaker of the group, they decided that between the three of them, all that was missing to get this project going was the funds. While fundraising was in progress for the project including raffles, fundraising lunches, and a fundraising appeal website, there just weren't enough funds yet to get it off the ground.

Though Harold (PSF director) was hesitant at first, having been burned in the past by empty promises, the boys convinced him that between the efforts of the three of them (and their lovely significant others ofcourse, Jocelyn, Lara and myself!), enough money could be raised to fast track this project asap.

And so, thanks to volunteers, family and friends, the fundraising target for the medical aid station was exceeded, allowing excess funds to be allocated to the future child care centre and the provision of blankets. Wow, there are no words. The generosity is overwhelming!

The eyes of the community leader welled up on Wednesday morning as we pulled up to the site, loaded with cement and a concrete mixer in tow. By Wednesday afternoon, under the watchful eye of Dipper, and thanks to the hard work of ten or so volunteers, a concrete pad had been poured.

Thursday, the lumber supplies to prefabricate the building had been purchased from a neighboring town and after a ride back to Pisco on the back of a flat bed semi-truck (again with 'safety first'), some pre-cutting was done by the light of the moon to get a jump start on Friday construction.

Friday was a long and busy day but by the time we had to leave to catch our plane in Lima, most of the walls had been pre-fabricated, ready to be erected on Saturday morning.

What a team! So many thanks!

Helping Hands

2009-05-25T10:29:00.000-06:00

Over the past week, we have had an opportunity to see more of Pisco and its surrounding area. We have shopped in the market and eaten at local restaurants, we have visited and worked in outlying communities. We have tried to digest the startling pauverty here and have sat in the central plaza taking in the gaping space next to the town hall building where a cathedral once stood, having crumbled during the earthquake killing over one hundred inside.

On Tuesday thru Thursday, we worked in a bamboo-home community, rebuilding a bamboo structure more suitable to accommodate the family of five living inside. These communities are what we, unfortunately, would perceive as `shanty-towns`, erected in the dessert to house the masses of displaced people following the earthquake. The homes are typically bamboo posts, crushed bamboo walls, lined with plastic and crushed bamboo ceilings/roofs as well. These homes don’t have plumbing per say and the bathroom is often a bucket in the corner of the house. In some communities however, public toilet blocks have been built (PSF has also helped to build some of these).

Friday, we worked on a project building a fence at a school, while Saturday we attended a fundraiser in a small community of 88 families, located within a greater community (about 1,000 families) called El Molino. This community moved to their dessert location when their seaside neighborhood was wiped out during the earthquake/tsunami. They families of El Molino have banded together and have organized themselves to create some positive change in their community. PSF has been working with them to help them realize some of their needs. The local ladies cooked for us and the money raised was to support their efforts in raising funds for a medical aid station and a day care. As they are a good distance from decent health care, they would like the ability to treat minor accidents and other basic needs in a small aid station and, while work is scarce, there is no-one to look after their children when they do find opportunities. To generate income, some may clean fish at the docks at 3 or 4 am, some sell vegetabls in the market, some collect plastic bottles for the recycling refunds and some scavenge scrap metal from the rubble piles to sell by weight.

A woman, Mary, explained to us how PSF is the first group of people who has ever taken an interest in helping them and that they are eternally grateful. She explained how hard the life is there and though they seem to be fine with their shanty homes, it is not easy to live in such conditions. She delivered an emotional address that I think made us all think about the work we were doing. After spending an afternoon in El Molino and after reflecting back on our first week of work in Pisco, we are certain we made the right decision to stay an extra week to help where we can.

It was great to see a community such as this one that has pulled together so strongly to help each other and work together. It seemed like a strong environment for change and I found it inspiring to see such strength in what appears to be such desperate times.

Me and Mario

2009-05-18T14:56:00.001-06:00

I spent most of the day today with a lovely man named Mario. The concrete pour site we were working on belonged to one of his friends. Exterior walls had been constructed out of bricks and this house was the only one of its kind on the dusty road we found ourselves on. The others houses, sparcely scattered in the area, having been built with the more common alternative, bamboo. We were pouring footings for the interior walls.

Mario told me that though bamboo is far less expensive, money was borrowed from the bank to construct this more permanent structure. I hesitate to use the word ´permanent´however as there is nothing temporary about the bamboo homes here. These are not homes waiting to be upgraded, these are homes.

Today, together, Mario and I supplied water to the construction site from two 1.5m deep wells. He would draw the water from the well and fill my bucket and I would carry it to the site. Upon my return to the well, we would chat and I would try to understand the stories he was telling me. He didn´t speak a word of english and though my spanish has improved, his lack of teeth and the speed at which he spoke meant that I missed more than a few bits. A smile and a nod though, encouraged him to keep sharing more with me each time I returned. In addition to the more important things I understood, I also learned that he loves to salsa dance and enjoys Gloria Estefan and Micheal Jackson, though Micheal Jackson is a bit crazy in the head...

Mario´s home was destroyed by the earthquake along with everything in it. The piles and piles of rubble that fill the fields lining the roadsides are evidence of many buildings that crumbled that day. Pisco is still Mario´s favorite place and he wouldn´t want to live anywhere else.

From the two-room bamboo home that a volunteer group helped Mario rebuild, he travels the globe, he told me, through his books. Though he has never seen outside of Peru, he would be particularly interested in visiting USA, Canada, or Alaska if given the chance. Or maybe Cuba too. His eyes lit up when he fantasized of taking a cruise one day. Mario held particular interest in the story of the Titanic and when he first read of it, he thought it was a make-believe story. He shared this with me, almost asking me to confirm that, in fact, it had actually happened.

Mario kept me entertained today and though I tried to understand stories that I´m pretty sure included things about Europe, the fishing industry, the way things used to be in Pisco and I couldn´t tell you what else I missed, my language skills failed me. I did however catch the parts where Mario kept reminding me how strong I was and wanted to make sure that I was returning the following day. He told me that drawing the bucket from the well was really hurting his back but when I asked him if he wanted to switch jobs for a while, he told me there was no time to worry, there was work to be done. Just a sweet old man.

Today, Mario and I spent part of the day learning about each other, part of the day in silence, and the whole day united by a common goal, helping a friend build a home :).

Pulling our weight in Pisco

2009-05-18T14:40:00.000-06:00

We arrived in Pisco on Sunday morning to volunteer with a non-profit organization called Pisco Sin Fronteras (PSF). Pisco Sin Fronteras (Pisco without borders) started in August 2008 on the first year anniversary of the massive earthquake which devastated the city, destroying 80% of homes and killing around 600 people. Volunteers here are helping to build houses, schools, sanitation units and helping with other community-based projects. It’s been almost two years since the disaster and there are still a huge amount of people without adequate housing and sanitation.

The director, Harold (only 24 years old!) is from Pisco, born and raised, and is passionate about PSF and helping his local community to rebuild. In addition to providing a labour force, by way of volunteers, to help with construction projects, PSF also provides tools that people may not readily have, like a concrete mixer and power saw for example.

The organization´s plea for volunteers includes the following "we need hard working volunteers who come with patience, enthusiasm, an open mind, flexibility and the willingness to get stuck in and get their hands dirty".

Looking forward to getting our hands dirty in Pisco.

Bicycles and Bathtub toes in the Andes

2009-05-14T14:34:00.000-06:00

We met up with Julio (our ride guide and owner of the only quality full suspension mountain bikes in Huaraz, we were told) at 9:30am on Friday morning. It was a beautiful day and we were ready to see what the Andes had to offer. The plan was to head up into the hills on the Cordillera Blanca side in a taxi (yes, the taxis here have bike roof racks for just such scenarios) and make our way back to Huaraz.

To our surprise there were two other English girls at Julio's shop ready to take to the mountains when we arrived. The more the merrier, right? Right. However, I could see Troy's face take an ugly turn when Julio asked the girls about their experience and then changed over the front and rear brake for them to conform to the way they are in England. The girls responded that they were used to riding on pavement on flat ground and what do you mean there's a front and rear brake, don't you just use them both at the same time?? Uh oh.

At this point, luckily Julio also thought it best to split up the group. We proceeded into the mountains with Julio and he sent his bike mechanic with the ladies. Crisis averted :).

We rode for about an hour in the taxi and when we unloaded and waved him off, we took in our surroundings at 4,000m, beautiful! Julio was great, as he apparently pioneered the mountain biking game in Huaraz and knows all the best places to ride. We were treated to a combination of trails - downhill, single track, cross country and everything in between.

After the success of Friday's ride, we decided to go again on Saturday. Only this time on the Cordillera Negra side. We were once again accompanied by Julio and while this ride was a little more tranquilo, the view looking across to the Cordillera Blanca from 4,000m was incredible, at one point being able to see all the way from one end to the other including Huascaran, Peru's highest peak at about 6700m..

It was the perfect ride to do as a prelude to a three day trek which we had planned to start the following morning, just the right amount of 'hard', not so much that I wouldn't be able to get out of bed the next day and not so little that Troy would be bored. Thanks Julio!

After considering our options, we decided to do the Santa Cruz Trek (the second most popular trek in Peru after the Inca trail) unassisted. The highlight of the Santa Cruz Trek is the Punta Union pass (4,750m) promising one of the most spectacular views in the Andes. We had briefly considered joining a tour group as we didn't have any of our own equipment. We ruled this out because the cost seemed silly and besides the groups take four days and based on a book I had read in our hostal looby, we were confident that "fit, experienced trekkers may finish in three"... We then briefly considered 'hiring' a donkey, because seriously how cool would it be to take your own donkey into the Andes? But apparently you can't just take the donkey, you have to take his 'driver' too. This was ruled out.

We rented some sleeping bags, a tent, a stove, and some trekking poles, and with no guidebook to speak of and only a cartoon-style map in hand, we set out on our adventure. We were assured that this was a popular trek, well signed, and we would see many groups on the trail if ever we were in doubt of which way to go.

After taking a collectivo (basically a minibus jam packed with people) for about four and a half hours up the switchbacks into the mountains, we arrived at the starting point of our trek, the tiny town (three buildings) of Vaqueria. Our bags were thrown off the bus and we were pointed in the direction of a donkey tied to a sign on the side of the road and an old man sitting on a stump. After he offered to carry our packs on his donkey and a young woman collected five soles from us ($1.65) to contribute to campsite maintenance, we felt relatively sure we were in the right place. The first of many PB & J sandwhiches to come was consumed and we set out from an altitude of 3,700m.

The first day was mostly uphill, albeit relatively gradual, and we wound our way past small pockets of houses, and local people more than happy to offer a smile and point our way up the trail.

We arrived about three hours later at the first campsite opposite Quebrada Paria (3850m). The view was incredible and having found the place deserted, we celebrated our first day success and picked out just the right spot for our tent (to get the best picture ofcourse). We chefed up a hardy meal of rice and veg, rehydrated with crystal clear glacier water (purified ofcourse) and called it a night.

We got an early start the second morning, which proved to be a good idea about two hours in when we found ourselves in the middle of a swamp, clearly off-course wondering where all the signs and people and tour groups we were supposed to be able to follow were?? We did some backtracking, found our way, and eventually laughed alot. The first person we saw on our journey was another lowly traveler on his way to making the same mistake we had made. It made us feel better that we weren't the only ones to have been confused and he seemed pleased to have been spared our swamping ordeal.

With wet feet, and two extra hours of hiking under our belts, the experience was now truly our own!

As we neared the pass, we met up with two drivers and their mules, the only other people we had seen on the trail thus far. The driver going our way stopped short of the pass however, advising that it was going to rain early today so he was packing it in to set up camp. We, ofcourse, pressed on.

Reaching the pass was nothing short of amazing. And although, as we all know, I am not the emotional Farn, I was surprised at my reaction and literally found myself almost choked up...only almost. Just so happy :). It was beautiful and though the climb was challenging and my body was tired (let's not forget the wet feet and the extra two hours of wandering...), the view was definately worth it and ofcourse photos will not do it justice. The donkey driver may have been on to something as it started to flurry about this time...

From here we began the descent and reached the next camp in time to set up, cook dinner, and enjoy a cup of tea before the rain really started coming down.

Again, we got an early start the following morning and followed the Santa Cruz Valley to the town of Cashapampa, the finishing point. We found a great lunch spot where we could enjoy the sunshine and look back towards the pass and on the path we had traveled. Unfortunately the path we had traveled that day also included a marshy swamp that, sans guide, we didn't know how to avoid and so two hours into our six and a half hour hike, we once again had wet feet. By the time we got back to our hostal in Huaraz, our toes and feet were so white and wrinkly that they looked as though they had been soaking in a bathtub all day...

However, with bathtub toes and all, we give the Santa Cruz Trek a glowing recommendation and can't wait to do more backpacking upon our return home to the great Canadian Rockies :)!

Towns that begin with the letter 'H'

2009-05-07T21:02:00.000-06:00

We took an overnight bus from Mancora to Trujillo on Tuesday night and arrived about 7:30am Wednesday morning. The next bus to Huaraz wasn't until Wednesday at 9pm so we had some time to kill. We had been advised to spend it at the nearby beach town of Haunchaco instead of in the City of Trujillo and so we checked our baggage at the bus depot and headed out to Huanchaco by taxi.

Huanchaco is a beach town operating mostly on tourism and fishing if I had to guess. The waves in the open water were the biggest I have ever seen. Rolling in one after the other with ridiculous force and power! Even the smaller waves, in what i would call the surfing area for the semi-sane people, were massive in comparison to Mancora and the water was wetsuit-cold. However, neither of these factors were enough to deter Troy from renting a surfboard and a wetsuit and heading out into the ocean. The sea was angry that day my friends...but Troy put up a valiant effort!

We headed back into Trujillo at about 8pm and made it in plenty of time for the bus but just barely alive after riding with a maniac taxi driver. I seriously considered asking to be let out on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

We arrived in Huaraz at about 7am this morning (Thursday) and spent the day getting our bearings in this new City and resting up since we are now back at altitude and spent a sleepless night on the bus. Exploring a town and getting my bearings and the feel of a place is one of my favorite things to do upon arriving in a new location. We found the important things first, grocery store, fresh food market, and mountain bike shop.

The only thing more traumatizing to Troy in the fresh food market than the whole guinea pigs sliced open and displayed on their backs in all their hairless glory were the fuzzy little guinea pigs, eyes open and alert, sharing a potato sack with 8 of their buddies. We almost acquired pet guinea pigs. I had to explain to Troy that we couldn't save them all.

It is great to once again be surrounded by mountains and snowy peaks. Three mountain ranges surround Huaraz, the Cordillera Blanca, the Cordillera Negro, and the Cordillera Huayhuash. The first day feeling of this new place is that it's a keeper.

Holy Hammocks Batman!

2009-05-07T16:20:00.000-06:00

We ended up spending nine sunny (aka 'scorching hot' if you ask Troy) days in the small surfing/fishing town of Mancora Peru. We were eager to test out our surfing skills and the four of us each took a surfing lesson bright and early on our first morning. We spent about two minutes on the beach stretching, practiced jumping up from our bellies to our feet about once and then it was into the water! Yep, it was just the way we like it, none of this 'classroom' stuff, on to the 'practical'! Sink or swim...or SURF!!

And surf we did :). As long as standing up on the board, long enough to wonder if you look like a surfer yet, counts. It was a blast so we ofcourse decided to repeat the routine the following morning. Us gals were to take another lesson and Josh and Troy would take a shot at doing their own thing on rental boards. To our disappointment, the waves weren't great the next morning and the tide was low so after sustaining my very own 'surfer injuries' which included scraped up toes, fingers, and arms from the rocks, we hung up our surfboards for the day.

The next seven days are a blur of activity in slow motion. Tanis and I shopped the strip, testing our bargaining skills (the best tactic seemed to be Tanis pleading language ignorance and just handing them what she thought the item was worth), Josh and Troy did a lot of reading (codeword for napping) in hammocks...

...we surfed, we sunned, Tanis and I baked yummy treats (I know, who knew?) in exchange for the boys playing games with us, and the boys chefed up fabulous meals in exchange for us tolerating their hammock obssession.

Tanis and I took one additional surfing lesson and even rented our own boards one afternoon to test our skills. Very fun. We looked something like this, only in the water :)

Feeling quite successful at surfing, we decided that we should take it easy and that boogie boarding might be fun to try. We were wrong. It was a comedy of errors from the get-go as we strapped the leashes to our ankles (only to find out later they belong on your arms) and headed out into the waves. It only took one good wave to rocket us both back onto the beach flayling as we attempted to stand up and walk in our flippers... After having provided entertainment for the people on the beach, we decided to retire back to sunning and swimming.

The boys on the other hand, were quite dedicated to mastering the surfing thing and would get up early in the mornings to give it a go (both to catch the best waves and also to get some practice time in when few other people were in the water, safer for everyone that way).

While it was difficult to get any good 'action' photos so-to-speak, they did look awful cute trying and experienced more than a few successes by the end of the week!

Thanks Josh and Tanis for all the fun!