Cold Spaghetti

We leave early tomorrow for Sacred Valley.

Paul and I are sitting in a hot, sticky internet cafe (El Cyber) on the Plaza de Armas in Iquitos, a city which may hold the record for being the largest city in the world inaccessible by car. Mototaxis rule here, providing the bass to the continued 80s soundtrack of our trip. It´s great… we´re great… and we are safe.

Tomorrow we take off on the Amazon. Over dinner, we learned about several monsters that steal people from the river and jungle. Not counting the mosquitos, crocodiles, and pirranha. So keep your fingers crossed for our safe return on Sunday…

It’s been two very full, very long days… with a very early morning tomorrow (we leave at 4am) to visit the fish market in Callou at dawn.

Tomorrow afternoon is “off,” which will give time to do the numerous TA jobs keeping me up all night… and to catch up here. I tried to upload yesterday’s pictures to Smugmug last night while we slept, and woke up to find it failed. Rat farts. Using a different strategy, we’re trying again tonight.

One thought, though: Did Will’s voice always sound so angelic? Like the clouds opening up and angels singing? It’s all I can do to keep him talking. Thank goodness for Skype.

And a question: Would hearing my voice upset Kate? Apparently, she is missing me… crying periodically for Mommy. Would my singing her to sleep upset her? I’m guessing it might. It’s selfish to want to talk to her, too… but what I would give to hear her!

Lima is situated in an arid, coastal desert — it never rains here. Spaniards settled Lima mostly because of the location of three rivers which rolled full of glacial melt-off from the Andes into the ocean. Those once plentiful rivers are now trickles of water which still are responsible for providing much of the city with water. If I can, I would like to try and take some photographs of one of the rivers (Rimac, in particular, is my hope — it is hard to describe the vision of the homes perched precariously on the edges of the riverside, or cliffside, since the river is so low). Water is serious business here. Run on a water platform and you can get elected! I read somewhere that roughly half of the population of the city of Lima uses less water per day that is recommended for survival in refugee camps. I myself have seen mothers clean their children’s faces with dry rags… sort of re-arranging dust and dirt in want of some water to help the job along. Fights over the barrels of water filled outside of homes in shantytowns are not uncommon, bringing along all sorts of questions about how one develops a new community, how settlement should occur, and how new settlements should be laid out with respect to household water supplies.

It is winter here, cold and damp. La garua, a fine mist that hangs through the air of the city, keeps everything damp… and without the benefit of indoor heating, there is no escape. Imagine living in a tiny crowded tent, with a dirt floor and woven mats for walls and ceiling, with a constant drizzle drifting into your clothes to your skin. Even with relatively warm temperatures in the 60s, this constant cool translates to a cold that sets deep in your bones. Respiratory illnesses, including TB (and more alarming, rising cases of MDR-TB) are widespread.

So far, we’ve handled the weather with fleece and layers. It’s been pleasant, even though the grey skies and near shadowless days remind me of those impossible Michigan winters when I felt that the world existed only in 2-dimensions of grayscale color. Thankfully, the damp air is warm enough for plants… doorsteps and courtyards are filled with geraniums, cacti, ficus, coleus, and other bright and colorful foliage.

Three flights, no delays, Green taxi, no hitches.

Some notes: Spirit does not give anything on flights… no drinks, snacks, or meals. Drinks and snacks are available only for credit card purchase… when their credit card machine is working. Pack a dinner.

Even with lack of meal on 6 hour flight, Spirit was worth it because we booked early and paid an extra $20 for one of 8 “big front seat” seats. Awesome.

Paul and I are sharing a ‘habitacion matrimonal’ with a shared bathroom in One Hostel in Barranco, which has it’s own facebook page. It’s very clean.

So far, the constant soundtrack has been 80s pop… Tears for Fears, Eurthymics, Men Without Hats. Resting and settling tomorrow… Monday morning we start with the course orientation.

In order to let Paul crank up his efforts of getting the back ready for insulation this Thursday (and because our A/C was suppose to be installed) — I took the kids to Baton Rouge for the day on Saturday. Although the A/C guy never showed up (thank goodness for the unseasonably cool weather… high 60s, low 70s?!) Paul enjoyed a full day of work in glorious weather and I had a great time with the kids.

We went to Bluebonnet Swamp Nature Center. The map suggests it’s just south of the downtown area. This was the first time I’d ever been to Baton Rouge, so all I can tell you is that it’s smack in the center of suburbia — the Mall of Louisiana is about a mile up the street (it’s bigger than my entire college campus, and I went to a Big School) and about 2 miles from the Super Stores strip mall, a terrifying maze of parking and mega centers.

The Swamp Center is 101 acres of preserved land in the middle of all that madness. The Center offers a fun learning center with an impressive collection of snakes and turtles, including a monstrous Burmese Python that could pop up, swallow me whole, and lay back down without showing even the slightest lump down it’s massive body.

We walked two of the three walking paths (roughly a half a mile and a quarter mile, respectively). The paths are a mixture of wooden paths over the swamp and marshlands and gravel paths through the woods.

We knew that this (above) was a sweet gum because there were collections of them in the children’s “hands-on” section. Also in the collection were nutria pellets, raccoon skulls, various leaves and seeds, layers of shed snake skin, and feathers.

We saw a bunny, who sat close by in a bush until Kate realized what it was and shouted, “HI BUNNY!” When he hopped away, she followed that with “BYE BYE BUNNY!” Dragonflies were plentiful. I played with the 28-135IS on the 10D… (although I haven’t used the IS yet, silly me).

This is sort of what the park looks like, with several ravine sections that make the walk more dramatic than expected. The kids LOVED it. Will was pretty hot on a hunt for alligators… but was happy with the many tadpoles we saw. This is one of the first times I can remember truly seeing tadpoles — complete with tails and little legs growing from their round bodies — swimming around. I feel like I have to have seen this as a kind, hanging around in Dorchester Creek digging for sharks teeth at every free moment*, but I can’t remember.
This is close to the head of the paths, near the Center. The kids spent a lot of time checking out the bugs here.
Inside, there was a fun play area with a tent, books, and a ton of stuffed toys. The kids dove in and I read them (okay, Will… Kate was too busy) a few nature books about turtles. At one point, Will dove into the tent and bonked Kate in the face. He pulled back crying “OW!” and I realized from his cry that he’d collided with Kate (I was behind Will and didn’t have the side view to be sure), so I held my breath waiting for Kate’s wail… which didn’t come.

Instead, she scrunched up her face, looked uncertain, wiggled her nose a few times, paused… and then carried on as if nothing had happened. Okay, I thought, it must not have been that bad.

Thirty minutes later, when we left, her nose was red. I thought maybe she had a sunburn? Or maybe rubbed her nose too much with the sunglasses she’d be playing with? The head-bonk was already out of my mind, since it had been such a non-event; it didn’t even occur to me that this could be the source of the red. It was still red when she went to bed, color deepening, which is when I remembered the collision.

Then this morning, she woke up with a HUGE PURPLE WELT on her nose. Two, actually. And eyes slightly black and blue. She looks like she was in a bar fight. Or been burned on the face. We figure that the bonk must have bruised cartilage in her nose? Maybe? She is completely fine otherwise… no tenderness when we touch it, blows her nose fine, etc. We’re not sure about what we should do, if anything, but are sure that our girl is One Tough Cutie Patootie.

—
* In want of documenting this somewhere, my neighborhood friends, my brother, and I spent countless hours of our youth riding our bikes down to the Creek to dig for stuff in the water. It started when I got bored waiting around my brother’s soccer games and practices… the YMCA and soccer fields were right by the Creek, which we had to cross over to ride home. So I could hang out there until everyone was done and then ride home with the family. You could just walk along the sides of the river and find little teeth in the dirt. My brother and I still have a tackle box filled to the brim with teeth and bones. It was fun and we spent a lot of time digging and searching and storytelling and imagining. One of the teeth was so impressive, that we took it to the Charleston Museum to ask about it. The museum was REALLY interested, asked where we got it from, and took notes. About a week later, a team of student scientists was there and had corded off our favorite spot… there was a big lump we liked to sit on to dig in the water at our feet. Turns out that big lump was a huge prehistoric turtle shell. The only one ever found intact (at least, at that time). Story ran in the paper and everything.

We’ll be away from the kids for 20 days in May/early June while we’re in Peru. When we get back, we’re thinking of taking them to the beach for a few days for the four of us to reconnect with no other distractions.

Where: Anywhere along the gulf between Gulf Shores and Panama City. (We’ve been thinking Destin to Fort Walton Beach area)
What: 2-rooms with kitchen or kitchenette, W/D is plus (but not must), internet plus (possibly must), on the beach with available chairs/umbrellas, swimming pool

Days… 3 days between the 8th and 15th of June… we can be flexible.

Doesn’t need to be close to anything but the beach and the pool. We might venture out for go-carts or something, but mostly we’ll just hang out at the beach.

Can we find a decent place for, say, $100-130/night? We could go for a little bit more if some other things were included (W/D, free breakfast, other amenities, etc.)

Any thoughts or suggestions?

Yesterday afternoon, Will saw a picture of Mount Everest with hikers climbing around in some area low enough and far enough away that they were relatively mildly dressed and outfitted. It was such a causal picture that it almost didn’t seem out of the ordinary for Will to suggest, “we should go hiking there one day.” I explained that this was the tallest mountain in the world and that it was very far away and very dangerous. No matter, he was hooked: “Mommy, can we go there? Can we hike on the Tallest Mountain In The World???” (The fascination was extreme; he spoke those last words in Capital.)

Somewhere, the universe is laughing at me. Because the one thing I made Paul swear he would NEVER, under ANY circumstances take up was extreme mountaineering. I do not want to ever be in a position where I am biting my nails while someone I love is playing that roulette game with nature: the Into Thin Air IMAX convinced me of this. It would figure that Will is now fascinated with the idea of climbing Everest. (Mental Note: work on instilling fear of heights into children.)

We now have a second “No You CANNOT, Not EVER, NEVER.” I don’t care how the water is low and the current mild. This is crazy!
h/t: growabrain

On Sunday, we slept until 9am, 8am Central Time, had breakfast and ventured in the 20-degree, clear sky D.C. day. Paul feared of frostbite at every turn, with good reason, since I was dragging him all over hillsides and sidewalks. We walked down to The Marine Corps Memorial, which I had never seen in person. I am embarrassed to admit it: but I didn’t even know it was in Virginia (I assumed it was near the memorials along the Mall area.) I also didn’t know it was so. damn. big. The thing is huge! After seeing it so many times in pictures, I was a little caught off guard when I noticed a lump in my throat looking up at it. It is surprisingly moving in person. (It is also surprising that the photograph of the monument on the National Park Service website is marred by a huge street sign in back of it. Yikes!) Can you see the Washington Monument peaking out to the right of the monument? It’s a beautiful view into the District from this hillside.Then, after a 5 minute detour due to being lost, we headed into the District. We ended up hitting Independence almost all the way at the Capital, at the end of the Mall. A parking space magically appeared and we took it as a sign we should get out and go to the Museum of the American Indian.
If you went to public school in the United States, chances are pretty high that you know next to nothing about American Indians. By American Indians, or Native Americans, I mean in indigeous peoples whose residence in the Americas (South America, Central America, and North America) pre-date European settlers. What I know about Native Americans I learned mostly by going cross-country with my family when I was 16 (our first family vacation, but that is another story). The bottom line of this learning was that I uncovered the horrible truth: we (European settlers and early White Americans) were shit-heads to Native peoples and are country continues in this legacy to this day. Somehow this message got watered down in schooling.

Side note… One Big Reason for this, incidentally, was because Lynne Cheney (AKA: the Antichrist) during her tenure as the Director of the National Endowment for the Humanities in the 80s (*shutter*… a Reagan appointee… one of the many reasons that the nostalgia over ‘the Reagan years’ makes me hurl), she was hell-bent on an agenda for the design of teaching standards in American History. She advocated for “America-first” curriculum which heavily favored teaching U.S. students of the good ‘ole days when our country’s leaders were limited to wealthy, land-holding white men who own black slaves and discussed the merits of whether or not it was wise to let women learn how to read. Any type of programming which challenged the idea of the Destiny of America as some sort of Divine province worked against this ethnocentric vision. Programs which logically and realistically portrayed Native peoples or showed the happenings of history in a less-than-rosy light were Not Part of The Plan. So if you grew up thinking, “jeez, I know we’ve made some bad moves with Native Americans, but it’s all good, ’cause we’re the good guys!!” then you’ve got Lynne Cheney to thank. (Side note: she would rally against this very program when it was altered after her tenure at the NEH and later, she would advocate for the de-funding of the entire program. I watched her testimony on Capital Hill while I was a federal employee at the NEH’s sister agency, the NEA.)

Anyway, if you grew up in the Lynne Cheney bubble, there is a cure. This museum. It is fantastic.

The inside has a huge open atrium that circles up (not unlike the Hirschhorn) — like the inside of a huge hive. I only took A Photograph inside (below, of an Aymara Reed boat).

We didn’t have enough time to enjoy all of the exhibits but were incredibly impressed with what we did see. I think my favorite exhibit was on the Contemporary Lives and Identities of Native Peoples, focusing on several tribes (the Igoolik in Canada and Pamunkey in Virginia are the ones that I can remember). The honesty and clarity within the presentation of materials was striking. Other areas that stood out were pieces that illustrated the impact of disease in Native peoples as a result of Contact (a word capitalized through exhibits) and the immense quantities of gold and treasures stolen. The range of quotations, thoughtful and memorable soundbites, and video clips were impressive. The Museum is a beautiful tribute to what must have been an incredible creative partnership. I strongly recommend taking the kids and giving it a go… can’t wait ’til our kids are old enough to appreciate this sort of thing.

***
Across Independence was the Department of Education (where we parked) and after dragging Paul around the Mall, I noticed the little read school houses covering every entrance of the building. I had to get a closer look.

See the bell? It’s a school bell from Milford, Pennsylvania. The plaque reads:

How nice! It’s to symbolize the Mission of the Department of Education to provide a quality education to all American children. What is that, in back of the bell? Those little red houses? What do they symbolize? A closer look:

Expensive edifices with no purpose, reminding us that the No Child Left Behind program reigns this country. You know, the program that works fitfully against the message on the “enduring symbol” emblazed on the monument that sits in front of the building. Ack! The irony!

***
We drove more around the District (read: got lost a lot) and finally determined that it would be too long of a walk to see the WWII memorial. Instead, we drove down to Hain’s Point, stopping along this bridge, by the George Mason Memorial.

Hi George!
Finally, we got to Hain’s Point (read: got lost and almost couldn’t find it). The Awakening was still there. The sky was crystal blue and we were the only ones there. (See that red car in the corner? That was the Ford Mustang the rental agency upgraded us to when we gave her Mardi Gras beads at check-in.)
Looking out Hain’s Point.
Will would have LOVED this sculpture.
***

It took us about 30 minutes to get the airport (26 minutes were lost) and we had an easy trip back (read: there were no kids to wrangle). Great trip!

Not really. Just thought it summed up the weekend.

We’re back. Some lessons:

— Flying without children is a treat, no matter what happens. You can sleep, read, use the bathroom, and actually have that bag of pretzels and cranberry juice from the attendant. These are true luxuries, even when they happen in coach.
— Shots pushed into your hand from someone who maybe a boss of your spouse is a very different type of peer pressure. Especially when you’re the one in the room giving out Mardi Gras beads.
— I have become the one who can handle cold. Paul complained of impending frostbite in the 20-degree weather on Sunday (granted, that hard wind was bitter, and I was dragging him all over monuments on exposed hillsides) while I surrendered winter gear to ease his pain. Make no mistake: the cold still hurts, but I didn’t find it particularly bad — and my ears were as exposed as Paul’s and I was wearing less layers and a lighter jacket. Still, I was shocked when (I-love-hockey) Paul admitted, “there is no way we can ever move to back Michigan.” Either he drank so much the night before that his thinned blood couldn’t take the cold, or my cross-campus marathons over iced paths and brutal winds hardened me more than I thought. It was a surprise: as long as the sun is shining, 20 degrees and freezing winds are no huge deal to me.
— We really do love DC. We mean that as DC, the area across the Potomac, where one is taxed without representation. There is no great desire to live there, although we admit that living in the District would not destroy us. Paul is perhaps less interested in the idea as me (and by interested, we mean “not 100% against the idea as something to do if we had to” and by had to, we mean “otherwise would suffer ignoble destruction”) — mostly this is because he is certain that the likelihood of the city being hit by a Really Big Bomb in our lifetime is at the same level of risk of New Orleans’ flooding once again. We’ve done one of the two and would like to stay with experience.

The point of the trip was for Paul and I to attend his company’s post-holiday (“no, we always planned it to be a post-holiday”) party. Thank goodness for the post-holiday idea, which is a brilliant one. Bummer was that it coincided with Krewe du Vieux and blasted those plans. But it was too hard to not take the opportunity: professionally, socially, politically.

The party was at Clarendon Grill, set in a flashy area of Northern Virginia located near Metro stops and built up with all the accouterments of the urban yuppy: huge Pottery Barn, Crate & Barrel, Whole Foods, Container Store, and even an Apple Store… all glowing new and shiny with ‘clean lines’ and ‘simple design.’ It’s a fun area; young and hip, single and swinging. The hotel was perched on a hillside 2-blocks from Courthouse Metro and offered easy access to all the area’s offerings.

The party was fun, mostly because of some really cool and interesting co-workers. The rest of the fun was due to the incredible band, Gonzo’s Nose, a local cover band… a really, really, reeeally good cover band. You can’t have a bad time when them on the stage, nor can you avoid the dance floor all night (although Paul gave a valiant attempt, he eventually gave in over “Jessie’s Girl” and once broken in, became a permanent fixture to the pit). We brought throws in the requisite Endymion bag… beads of all types, a light-up crawfish, a few spears and tomahawks, Frisbees, some stuffed toys. Just a little NOLA spirit going out in party shwag.