On Nerds, Nations and Education

Holy mackerel, I may just be the worst blogger ever! I get myself into these funks where I feel like I have to report on every single thing and then that's just too daunting, so I don't write anything at all, so more stories pile up and the cycle continues. That is until the masses (fine, just my mom and my baby sister... and that one anonymous person on facebook, who I have a feeling was also my mom) start demanding more brilliant blog literature. And here I am feeling inspired from reading my friends Jillian and Kayla's blogs about CWY in Moncton... so, the time is nigh to write!

Man, I'm a nerd.Who talks like that?
Canada World Youth is an educational program and one thing I have learned is just how nerdy I am... another is how much I like it! Practically every other thing that comes out of my mouth prompts my wonderful friend Tayte to chime in, "All I hear is; Nerd nerd nerd. Nerd. Nerd. Nerd", accompanied by the talking hand gesture. Beth laughs daily at my fascination with biology and, while I fully admit that it is nerdy to memorize the bar code number of your library card, Amanda insists that simply having a library card is nerdy enough. (Which is why I have created a poll to prove her wrong. See the right side of this page.) I quoted "Arthur" to defend myself in this case (That is what is called "digging a hole"). Honestly, our first aid instructor nicknamed me "Keener" within 5 minutes of my walking into the room. I don't even think he knows my real name. That is how much of a nerd I am. But why am I trying to convince you? If you're reading this you probably already know.

 Yesterday I heard a lecture by Cultural Anthropologist and Explorer (who knew "Explorer" was still a job title in this day and age?! ), Dr. Wade Davis. I was fascinated as he discussed disappearing cultures, how each culture has something to contribute to the "Council of Nations" and told stories of the people he has lived with. As he spoke of the Guarani people of the Bolivian Amazon, I was bouncing in my seat with excitement, having lived in the exact region of Bolivia where the Guarani traditionally do and knowing three words in their language: Ambue Ari, "New Day" and yassi, "moon". This in itself, of course, is nothing special but the amazing thing is how just a tiny connection to a place can make issues surrounding it touch you so much deeper.  The case was the same when Davis spoke of the Q'eros of Peru and their pilgrimage to Ausangate, where I went camping. (To read about that excursion click here: http://hooliabailey.blogspot.com/2011/02/princess-jasmine-goes-camping-at.html or for Bolivia click here: http://hooliabailey.blogspot.com/2011/04/every-day-at-ambue-ari.html) My imagination was absolutely captured by Davis' stories of the ancient wisdom of polynesian marine navigators, the sense of balance of the australian aboriginal people, the ingenuity of an inuit man determined not to move to a settlement... And in this I sensed that the world is grand and enormous and beyond understanding, even in a time when we exclaim over how small it has gotten. Physically? Yeah, maybe that american woman I met in Costa Rica in 2010 happens to know the young Brit I met in Bolivia in 2011... they met in Argentina, no big deal; but as far as the depth of experience, the breadth of realities? There is more than one person could ever know, let alone experience or understand, even a person as insightful and well-traveled as Dr.Davis. I know I won't make my amazement clear, but can you imagine that every other person on the planet is doing, feeling, seeing something different right now? Even if two people are in the exact same place witnessing the same event at the same time... they are seeing, feeling, living something completely different, based on their culture, their upbringing, their personality... based on every experience they've ever had. Not once in a story you read in National Geographic; right now.

So let's talk about something that I've done, felt, seen recently.
Tuesday night the group of us were lucky enough to do a "Discover Scuba" course at the local pool. Once we got through the obligatory cheesy-but-amusing aussie-narrated instructional video it was time to get in the pool. Our instructor (First Aid Dave), well, one of 7, was surprised at how ready and organized we were. Basically, we followed him around like a litter of puppies until it was time to get into the water. I caught on to breathing from the regulator right away and was pretty much giddy with joy the whole time I was in the pool. I somersaulted and twirled and played underwater Frisbee with the others. I stared up at Hala and Justine, beautiful swimming on the surface of the water above me. Dave even taught me to blow bubble rings... Not sure if he meant for me to try it, but I did, and was surprised and thrilled when I was actually able to do it. The bubbles were so beautiful as they rushed upwards, pulsing like sparkling jellyfish. I didn't ever want to get out,practically believing that I belonged in the water. While I wouldn't go so far as to say that breathing underwater felt natural or comfortable, that doesn't mean it didn't feel good! Sometimes it is best to be uncomfortable.

One of our facilitators at Orientation camp said, "You are uncomfortable when you are learning." If this is case, which I wholeheartedly believe it is, I will be a frickin' genius by the time March rolls around. Working with people from completely different realities than my own for weeks now, discomfort is pretty much my default setting. In only ten days' time I will be plunged into a situation where my reality isn't "the one that makes sense" any more. It is just a fact of my personality that I will have to work extra hard to remind myself of this truth. I can hope for the support I need, but in the end it is up to me to make this work. That's another thing I will need to fight to believe; that if it is up to me to make this work for myself it is equally up to the others in my group to make it work for them... In other words their success is their own responsibility, not mine. I would be even crazier than I am already if I didn't have Tayte here to remind me this when I need it!

Thank you to everyone at home who knows and understands me. You are worth so much to me... just thinking of how you would react to my struggles makes me better, even if I don't tell them to you.

Maybe I will tell some more stories about Newfoundland tomorrow... but this is what's in me tonight.

Don't forget to laugh at yourself.
Sending love on these howling St.John's winds,
Julia

Is it Raining Outside?

Oh My Goodness. This must be the most speedily I have ever updated the blog.

This morning I was none too excited to begin this adventure, but I guess it's hard to be optimistic after a practically all-nighter of packing and worrying. I am not much of a good-bye crier, but this morning I made an exception... The security officer at the Kelowna airport made a joke of asking if it was raining outside. With cherry season and the short notice of this trip I just didn't have time to mentally prepare for a six month absence. And at first it felt like I was being ripped away, rather than bounding off into the horizon.

The plane ride was pretty long, stopping in Edmonton and Ottawa before arriving in Halifax at 3:45 BC time/7:45 local. After each stop the flight attendants would say stuff like, "Oh, you still on here?". Yes, it was a long day of zooming through the clouds: catching up on some much-needed sleep, listening to music and letting my thoughts wander around, with only Bits and Bites and bottled water for sustenance. In an emergency exit seat with lots of legroom and no one beside me, thanks to Rhonda. :)

My outlook has changed almost completely since this morning. I feel ready to face everything new and interact with the group, something I dreaded this earlier today. Lesson learned, sleep=important.

Thanks to everyone who came over to my house last night, it was a perfect good-bye for me and I am really glad I got to see you all!

So. I got to Halifax no problem, I am not ridiculously over-packed (as I expected), I saw the Parliament buildings from the plane, I am in a province I have never visited before, I saw Shaun Majumder at the Halifax airport, I have had a swim in the hotel pool with some of the other girls, and I even get to update the blog! Life is good! And the time change is to my advantage... waking up at 9:00 tomorrow will be a breeze. :)

ALSO, let me just tell you a cool story. As I was packing my backpack for this trip I went to rip off the baggage tag from my return flight from Peru... only to notice that on it was an announcement for new non-stop fligths to Accra, Ghana! The Prophetic Luggage Tag escaped the trash can in favour of my future CWY scrapbook!

Yes, life is good and I suppose that's all I have to say to you for now. I hope you find ways to realize how good life is when you are in a terrible mood too, because it rocks!

Con amor,
Julia on the other side of Canada!

Princess Jasmine goes camping.

I woke up to a knock on my door rather than my alarm clock. It was 7:30 a.m., an hour and a quarter after my intended meeting time with Marla and our guide from rock-climbing, Chalex. So much for the showering off last nights dancing sweat...

Our weekly volunteer costume party is at the Aldea Yanapay restaurant on Friday nights. The theme this week was "Disney". A Princess Jasmine costume easy to pull off, thanks to my partiality to a certain turquoise colour and arabian-style pants.  The only things I bought were a couple of scrunchies and a golden bangle, which cost me four soles and fifty centimos ($1.60). I figured no one would recognize Jasmine without her hair so I put my leggings on my head and put the scrunchies on the legs to create her signature voluminous ponytail. After our dinner we played some drinking games, like passing an orange from person to person with your neck ("Nice to meet you too, random german girls breasts!") and musical dance partners where the odd one out had to dance with a broom. Fortunately for me my team kept winning (or losing, depending how you look at it), so I didn´t have to choke down any Ron Cartavo. Later we had a limbo competition, which Marla and I tied for the win. We finished the night dancing at IncaTeam... our costumes (especially mine and Heather´s homemade garbage-bag-and-tape Cinderella dress) drew a few looks. One guy asked where I was from and the way he said it made me think he meant what planet, rather than what country... Marla and I left around 1:30.

Fast forward to 8 am the next morning and I am in a spendy hotel near our bus stop, using my best spanish "pretty please" to convince the concierge to let us use the bathroom before our 4 hour ride; when you sleep through your alarm for the first time ever you neglect important parts of your morning routine. "Us" was Marla, me and a Texan we had just met that morning named Chandler. I feel privileged to have met some named that in real life. The bus ride was sleepy and slightly queasy. A baby bundled in colourful cloth on his mothers back held on to my finger part of the way. We got off the bus and into a taxi in Tinqui. The driver took a regular station wagon up winding, rocky roads that I would never attempt in anything but a quad... or maybe a horse. The land was crisscrossed by dozens of mortar-less stone walls (some topped with cacti) containing cows, alpacas and potato crops... dividing the rural area into each family property. We climbed and climbed, further and further from the highway and into the middle of nowhere. We got out of the taxi near the barely-there village of Packchanta, ditching our big bundles of gear at the roadside for the horses and walking the rest of the way to our campsite. At the campsite a stone-scattered valley spread out before us across the swollen Packchanta river. Not a tree in sight, it was as though God had taken a mountain and thrown it to earth, smashing it to pieces of every imaginable size. At the end of the valley loomed snowy Ausangate, impressive even mostly veiled by clouds. Our campsite seemed to exist in some parallel universe, though the village was just behind us, hidden behind the ridge; far from anything but the perfect, lone, white-washed, mud-brick-and-thatch house perched on the hillside to our right. Bouldering and exploring, then a steaming bowl of soup in the Party Tent (as we called our orange, circus-like kitchen tent). We went back out to boulder, but I was too cold for climbing so I started building an Inukshuk nearby. A local woman came by, traditional dress and all, came by to sell me her handicrafts. Luckily for me I hadn´t brought any money. She sat with me for a few minutes anyways, babbling away in Quechua, even though I clearly had no idea what she was saying. Her teenaged daughter came and sat with me when she left, helping me choose stones for my Inukshuk and laughing with me when it fell over.

 In the tent I shared with Marla I changed into my bikini as fast as I could manage then bundled back up into every layer I had brought (plus the down coat Chalex had brought) to ward off the bitter cold of the Andes at night. Fifteen minutes walk to the village later we were stepping into the perfectly warm water of the Packchanta hot springs. It was pretty surreal to sit in deserted outdoor hot pool in the Andes in the dark. I also appreciated the dark because it camouflaged the murkiness of the water. These hot springs were no luxury spa, that´s for sure. The pools were just a pair of rectangular concrete basins (a little slimy in places), the latrine was locked and the change room was a creepy, graffitied concrete box with a dirt floor which I came to refer to as the "Sketchy Shed". But oh how the water warmed you through... and kept you warm until bedtime, which came after the most delicious bowl of spaghetti I have ever eaten. One of the guides with us, Alfredo, was principally there to cook; and cook he did. We ate about five (delicious) meals a day; breakfast, first lunch, second lunch, soup and supper. Camping was not like the camping I have done at home; little annoyances like washing the dishes were non-existent, the food was always ready when we were and because we didn´t have to carry our gear far I could afford to have two sleeping bags.

Thanks to two down sleeping bags I woke up at 6:30 feeling refreshed and ready for a day of hiking.
Six hours went by like lightning. How can I describe the hike? Surreal. Our trail wound past creeks farms and valleys, turquoise lakes and herds of alpacas. The local people tended to their livestock; shearing and  herding, all in traditonal dress. The men wore wide-brimmed felt hats adorned with bright, woven bands. The women´s voluminous skirts swayed as they walked after their alpacas with nothing but crude leather sandals on their feet. Their hats were platter-like circles perched on their heads, secured by strands of white seed beads and covered in colourful embroidery with yellow, red or pink fabric hanging over the edges like a tableclothes. Each lonesome adobe house was a little more remote than you had thought possible before, snuggled into the base of imposing mountains. As we struggled up hill after hill it became obvious that we were at even higher altitude then Cusco. Each twist and turn afforded incredible new vistas; a glacier here a soaring rock face there... We arrived at the base of Ausangate (summit 6384 m), for our picnic lunch of sandwiches, apples and cookies (that would be lunch number one). Clouds twining around the rocky peaks of Ausangate and it´s nearly-as-impressive neighbours lent a mystical impression to the landscape. We sat there staring for a while, layering up again after hiking in powerful sunshine for part of the three hours we had been on the trail. We had to set off again without seeing the full summit, unfortunately. I was filled with energy after our meal and rest and was happy to bound along the now downhill trail when I fell behind taking photos. We crossed a spongy meadow where tiny white flowers punctuated the emerald green grass between deep, serpentine creeks, leaping across the water where we had to. Hawks, viscachas and vicuñas all made their appearances as we went by, the natural inhabitants of the landscape. Rain, sun and wind all fought for supremacy but it was the sun who was winning as we finished the hike and found the perfect spot for a nap. It turned out to be the perfect spot to view Ausangate completely for the first time. I was in awe. A local man stopped by to give Chalex a gift of a whole roasted cuy (guinea pig) and some potatoes in a plastic container. Dinner was good, but it wasn´t cuy. I would rather try it when it is fresh and has been beheaded. After hot-springing it with Marla it was time to get my poi out for the first time this trip and put on a bit of a show beneath the murky multitude of stars.

The next morning we had the most delicious breakfast; homemade hot chocolate, bread rolls with butter and cold chewy, perfectly seasoned alpaca meat (another gift). Mario, our local contact, sat tightening yarn as we ate, waiting to pack up the camp and load the horses for our departure. Marla and I started our return walking as Chalex waited for the gear and the car to load it in. As we passed children in the road we would wish them "Buenos dias." and they would just stare at us and giggle, turning over their shoulders to look as we walked on. I know that because I was turning over my shoulder too. But these were the friendliest most curious stares and it just felt right.

The bus ride back to Cusco, despite amazing views ("So that´s when we gained all that altitude!"), was not the most pleasant experience. Stench, wailing music and inconsiderate behind-seat neighbour. We got back to Señora Haydee´s house twenty minutes before school started. So much for showering off all that camping filth.

With love from,
Julia

Yawar Mayu

I was relieved to get off the bus. It had been swaying through the Peruvian countryside for about an hour, making my breakfast feel a little less than secure. Relieved to get off the bus and into a taxi with a local campesina riding in the hatchback, voluminous skirt, fedora-esque hat and all. Our Peruvian Paso horses were waiting for us by the colonial church in the town of Maras. Waiting with them was an old man in a green felt hat with a crinkly smile. Our guide, Alvisu, introduced us to the horses; Inti (the sun god) and Tobias (I liked to call him Toby) were Victoria and Marla´s mounts. Mine was the beauty of the bunch; a rich bay with a handsome face named Yawar Mayu. Soon we were riding out of Maras, smiling and laughing at the thrill of riding horses... in Peru! To our right, farmland sloped down to plunge into a steep valley whose other side rose abruptly in rugged green peaks. Our path was a dirt track bordered by american agave; winding up and down, in and out of little canyons.Winding out of little canyons and into rolling, tree-less grassland. We waved to farmers, hunched over their crops, as we approached the ruins of Moray. A light, sunny rain was falling.

We dismounted and stared into the deep, amphitheater-like ruin. Built in a meteor crater, the Incas used Moray as an experimental agricultural centre. There is a difference of about a degree Celsius betwen each terrrace; the ones at the bottom once grew coca, which normally only grows in the jungle! The ruin is beautiful; such perfect circles ringed in green. Alvi stayed with the horses while the girls and I descended into the ruins down the steeper-than-they-looked-from-above Inca stairs. I introduced Kyla and Dylan to Marla and Victoria, which made them laugh... they loved the idea. Climbing back out from the very lowest terrace took a TON of energy. An old peruvian man told me to breathe through my nose, which I´m sure would have been very helpful if I wasn´t so congested and physically able to follow his advice. He thought I just didn´t understand Spanish.

We found Alvi and our noble steeds and bridled them back up (just the steeds, not Alvi) to head for our picnic spot. We lunched in the shade of a grove of trees next to an abandoned mud-brick house with a wide view of the valley. From Yawar Mayu´s saddlebags Alvi produced a salad of cooked cauliflower, carrots and beans, bread, cold chicken, yucca and chicha morada. All delicious, even the cauliflower.While we ate Alvi told us that the house belonged to his family and how he dreamed of turning it into a guest ranch. When I went around the front of the house to take some pictures the mountains ahead and to the left pulled me like a magnet. I walked and ran as far towards the "edge" as I thought I could without getting separated from my group. A local man with a cowboy hat on his head and a dog at his side was contemplating the view from a few hundred metres ahead of me. I snapped a few photos, took a deep breath and reluctantly returned to my friends.

Riding on, we quickly noticed the horses´ distinct personalities... Inti was deadset on following our guide horse (even when he tried to pull aside for a picture) and would cut everyone off to be second in line. Toby was pretty lethargic, yet he too wanted to walk ahead of the others. Yawar Mayu was the only one who didn´t mind bringing up the rear, but because Toby would walk so slowly we always ended up tailgating him massively. Consequentially, my left knee was nearly pooped on... twice. I would have rather ridden out front.

The rest of the day was a blur of hoofbeats, sunshine and countryside. People working in the fields would stop to stare at us or call out a "buenas tardes". And a buena tarde it was; drinking in the scenery (think green fields in the foreground and glacier draped mountains in the background), singing and laughing with my group and breathing in the fresh country air. How epic is it to ride through the peruvian highlands on a beautiful horse whose name means "Blood River" in Quechua? The Paso horses gait is famously smooth, but we had to work to keep them moving that way rather than bouncing us around like sacks of potatoes. 6 hours on a horse is a long time. By the time we rode into Chinchero I was getting almost unbearably sore and cold. The most comfortable and (to me) natural parts of the ride were the brief minutes we sped up to a canter along the more level stretches of red earth road. By the end of the day I was more relieved to get off the horse than I had been to get off the bus. All of us, Alvi included, were completely knackered and dozed the whole (freezing cold) taxi ride back into Cusco. I came home from my day of riding feeling like I´d been run over by a bus. Sore muscles? Check. Bruises? Check. Sunburn? Check. Nasty cold? Check.
It´s not a day well spent unless you have battle wounds, right?

Con amor,
Julia

Introducing... Aldea Yanapay♥

I thought I would post a little something to show you why I am so excited about spending five weeks in Cusco. Enjoy! :)

Blogginning.

So, here goes nothing! I made a blog. This is it.


My main purpose in creating this blog is to have a place to tell the stories of my travels, starting with PERU(!) this January; but I thought, "Hey, why not get a head start and get used to the process?"


Well, that and "Man, I'm bored! Maybe I'll start the blog to use of some of this excess spare time!"


Spare time does not come naturally to me... I can't be content just to sit around and do nothing. Now, being out of school and not working during the day I have to find things to do. Weird. They used to find me. But I think I might be getting the hang of it.


Well as kick-off to the blog, here are the lyrics to the song "I Will Go" by Starfield, which inspires me every time I hear it. That's all I've got for now, so I'll leave you with the beautiful lyrics.
With love,
Julia

To the desperate eyes and reaching hands
To the suffering and the lean
To the ones the world has cast aside
Where You want me I will be


I will go, I will go
I will go, Lord send me
To the world,
To the lost
To the poor and hungry
Take everything I am
I'm clay within Your hands
I will go, I will go, send me


Let me not be blind with privilege
Give me eyes to see the pain
Let the blessing You've poured out on me
Not be spent on me in vain
Let this life be used for change


I want to live for You
Go where You lead me
I want to follow You