Baja

I'm so grateful for the opportunity to spend the holiday with friends and family. Seeing my mom and brother's smiling faces in the airport when they picked me up was the best feeling. 

For the past nine days, it was as if life had returned to normal and everything was as it had been when I left. 

We had a great time together in Baja. We stayed in a beautiful house in a town called Los Barrilles in the southern part of Baja. We were on the Sea of Cortez and the views were incredible- bright blue water crashing into the sandy shore. Brightly colored squares splotched the sky as dozens of people kiteboarded off the shore. The beach gradually turned into the dry desert sand and was decorated with huge cactus trees and pokey bushes. The town is small and mostly ex-pats but the authentic areas are scattered with Taquerias and stores that sell Pacifico.

One day we drove to the Pacific side to surf at Todos Santos. Madde, Jake and I surfed in the warm water until the sun went down, illuminating the sky with a beautiful pink and reflecting a brilliant red on the surface of the water. 

Another day we went to Cabo Pulmo, a national park containing the only living reef in the Sea of Cortez. We snorkeled through the water searching for Nemo and Dori until we had ingested enough salt water, thanks to our malfunctioning 

masks.

On another occasion, we rented jeeps and went out exploring the sandy dirt roads. We drove up the dried creek beds in search for a waterfall and were slightly disappointed when we finally arrived at a five foot drop of water over some boulders. Some of us decided to venture up the hillside and got a little taste of what it would be like to be lost in the desert; not so pleasant. 

We had bonfires on the beach during night. It was wonderful sitting out under the stars; listening to the sounds of the crackling fire, the breaking waves on the shore and Van Morrison's voice as they all perfectly blended into a chorus of tranquility. The full moon illuminated everything around us, even the bottom of the ocean as we swam. We would sit and chat as the fire dried our wet bodies. Some nights I fell asleep on my towel and other nights my mom coaxed us all to stand up and dance to the music.

Some nights we played Shanghai or spoons, and when the rains from the supposed Hurricane Saundra hit us, we went out and splashed in the deep puddles that were rapidly accumulating outside.

For thanksgiving, we went to the market in town and bought a variety of foods. We all helped out in the kitchen, slicing veggies and putting shrimp on skewers. We took breaks to sit by the pool and soak up the sun. All sitting around the big dining table at the end of the night, we enjoyed the lovely non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner we had created and took turns saying what we were thankful for. 

There's a lot to be grateful for in this world. I'm feeling extremely lucky to have all the wonderful people I have in my life.

Photo Update

I was able to download some photos from the first leg of my trip! Here's the link for the albums :)

Galapagos Photos:
https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.919238448160755.1073741861.100002238269067&type=1&l=32cfabb82c

Phase Two

¡Mexico!

I left Canoa Thursday night at 9:00 pm and arrived at Los Barriles, Baja California at 2:30 am on Saturday morning. Overnight bus ride to Quito, an hour long taxi ride to the airport then four hours in the airport. Four and a half hour plane ride to Mexico City, an hour of customs and another hour of security again. Nine and a half more hours of waiting in the strange airport then a two hour flight to Cabo San Lucas where I met my lovely family!! I will spend the next ten days with them here in Mexico. 27 straight hours of traveling is proving to be a tad tiring, but I'm so excited to see the fam.

Ama La Vida: Ecuador In Review

Goodbyes are seemingly more difficult when traveling. In the states when we say goodbye to one another, it's usually just until we see them again, see them soon. On the contrary, most of the goodbyes I have said here are forever. This concept hits me every time I get onto the bus and the wheels pull away from the station, leaving behind every connection I had established over the previous weeks. Every time I changed towns, I had to say goodbye to all the lovely new people I came to know. Leaving my established routine and familiarity for a completely blank slate; to start from zero all over again. Each goodbye was accompanied with the realization of how many new friends I'd made and how quickly and easily these people invited me into their lives and treated me as though we'd been friends or family for years. 

As I look back at my time in Ecuador, the first thing that comes to mind is the people. 

I think of Richard, the guy who cooked on our boat in the Galápagos. Darwin, our friend who taught us about geology and tried to touch the hammerhead sharks when we were snorkeling. I think of Mario, the man who runs a beautiful bed and breakfast in Quito with his wife, and I remember him waving goodbye to us out of the tall beautiful door. Jose, the owner of the nature reserve who reluctantly played cards with me at night and told me about the 60's and how he got out of the draft. Fousto, the man who helped me ride the mules to the reserve and showed me all the scary bugs he found. Alex, my young friend who opened my eyes to what t means to be fortunate and who swam in the cold waterfall with me when it was sunny. Todd, my hiking buddy from Colorado who adventured to a waterfall hidden in the forest with me. Wilson, the person who took me to my first disco teka and taught me how to say the body parts in Spanish. Lily, my friend from Alaska who was excellent company in the streets of Quito as we enjoyed delicious juices and ice cream. Leila, the woman who invited me into her house and taught me how to make ceviche and fried platanos. Olga, the sweet lady who says "mi amor" every time she talks to me. Luis, my friend who I went out to get batidos with at night as I helped him practice his English. Frederico, the guy from Austria who took surf lessons with me and was always equally as confused as I was when people started talking too fast. Roque, my "tourist guide" who kept me occupied every day and had the simplest and most light-hearted laugh I've ever heard.  His daughters, Olartia and Nerexy who I went to fiestas with, swam in the waterfall with, and ran through the cemetery with at night. Delsi, the woman who knitted as I slept on the ground under the cacao tree when we finished picking maraquya. Mario, my surf teacher who helped me paddle out past where the waves were braking and laughed as I struggled to sit balanced on my board. Alberto, the surfer bum who walked the beach with me and showed me all the coolest bars. Ingo, the Brasilian who brought me to a good hostel and sat with me on the beach to watch the sunset. 

My time in Ecuador flew by. The country is so vast and diverse it would take at least a year to explore everything it has to offer. Each municipality has a different dish, a different indigenous culture, a different dialect, a different history and a different economy. 

I absolutely loved seeing a slice of these different aspects of the country and am hungry to return one day to continue my exploring. 

"Ama La Vida" is the slogan for Ecuador and it means "Love The Life." I think this is a very fitting slogan because everyone I met was so incredibly happy. Though their lives at first appeared to be simple and repetitive, they lacked the stress and distractions that we face on a daily basis in the U.S. They live a pure and simple life and I'm so grateful to have taken part in it. I will always remember the kindness and hospitality they so generously showed me.

Until next time Ecuador... Ciao.

New Waters

It's like snowboarding, only different. I walk out into the waves, picking up my heavy legs in the moving water as though I was making a fresh boot track in the powder. I look out to the horizon and a smile reaches across my face as I think of the joy I am about to experience. 

Battling against the waves, I trudge out farther and farther into the ocean. Now, we wait. For a moment it is still. I spot a wave about to break and Mario yells to me to catch it. I start to paddle with my tired arms and look back over my right shoulder just as the wave nears my feet. I push up on the board and my feet navigate to a balanced stance. Now I'm here to enjoy the ride. I shift my weight between my legs and practice my turns, remembering what Cedrich told me, "it's just like snowboarding in powder, use your back leg." I get closer to the shore and dive off into the water. Some of the local surfer guys were watching me catch that one and, because I'm the only foreigner and female currently in the water, they pump their fist in the air; they're  cheering me on.

It feels good. My knees are sore from continually hitting the waxed board and my ribs have a nice little sore spot where they rest on the board. My hair is tied in  knots and my nose stings from ingesting the salt water. 

Every once in a while I get tumbled in a big wave. Freely floating through the spinning water, I plug my nose and let the ocean take me for a ride. Eventually the water releases me from its hold and I take a breath of fresh air. The leash cord tugs on my ankle as my board spins up and out of the wave.

It's just like snowboarding. A board under my two feet, floating on the surface of water. It's so much fun.

It's an adrenaline rush. 

Here, every day is a powder day.

Ecuadorian Hamburgeza (cheeseburger)

Beef, fried fish, ham, fried egg, lettuce, cucumber, tomato, cheese, mayonnaise sauce, bun. 

America, you're doing it wrong...

How To: Café

It is crazy to think of all the work that goes into making that brown substance we so effortlessly scoop into our coffee makers at home.

First you have to dry out the pink fruit. We laid it all out on the sidewalk by our house and let the sun do its magic.

Next you have to crush the shells to remove the small little green beans inside. After you make a fool of yourself trying to separate the shells, you roast the beans over the stove for about an hour. Finally, you put the cooked beans back into the grinder and the result is coffee. The best coffee you have ever tasted.

The past few days of work now result in a warm cup of joe; one which will be gone in less than five minutes.

How To: Mantequilla de Mani

PEANUT BUTTER! 

If you know me well, you know that I'm an addict so when I had the opportunity to learn how to make the wonderful gold called peanut butter, I was very excited; to say the least. 

Step 1: Walk to the neighbors house and buy three pounds of peanuts

Step 2: Peel the purple shells

Step 3: Roast over a hot stove in an even gotten kitchen for an hour

Step 4: Crush in the molino, watch as the gold leaks from the metal grinder

Step 5: Enjoy

Faster

There's so much dust in my eyes- the sun is blinding yet I don't dare close them. I don't want to miss one second of this view.

I'm on the back of a four wheeler, grasping tightly to the skinny waist of my friend Luis. My hair is tangling into dreadlocks and my helmet is loosely flapping in the air. We are bouncing wildly as we explore the bumpy dirt roads connecting the farms and hills of the countryside. Occasionally we tip a little when we round a corner too fast or smack into each other when we plow through a pit of mud. We're going incredibly fast and I can't stop smiling. I feel so alive.

We drive up onto the even-bumpier-dirt-road and up onto the ridge of the hill. We are surrounded by 360 degrees of beautiful farmland. This landscape has been carved by history. Thousands of years of civilization has left the hills geometrically painted with different shades of green. The ground below is a brown blur but the horizon is consistent and its incredible beauty remains unchanged. Occasionally we pass a small house in the middle of a farm- the dogs come out to bark at us as we dodge the chickens in our path. The sun is starting to set and everything is illuminated with the most perfect glow you have ever seen. It's the golden hour and it feels as though the flowers are releasing a pollen of pure happiness and joy. This is what it feels like to be alive. I feel so alive.

My mind is too preoccupied with this overwhelming happiness that it is incapable of processing any other emotion. 

Faster. I feel so alive.

How To: Yucca

Working on a farm has proved to be an excellent learning experience. I am able to learn about many of the foods that I so commonly eat in the US; not thinking twice about where they come from. 

Walking through the farm, we pass so many different things- huge orange trees, lime trees, lemon trees, mangoes, papayas, bananas, grapefruit, guavas, maraquya, avacado, pineapple, mandarin, sweet potato, yucca, coffee, cacao, macadamia nuts and others that I don't know the name of. 

Today, we went to harvest some yucca from a friend's farm and the following is an 19-step instruction manual for preparing a yucca dish.

Step 1: Cut down yucca trees from the neighbor's farm

Step 2: Clear your field with the machete

Step 3: Hack away at the dry ground with a dull shovel to make holes

Step 4: Cut the tree into smaller sticks

Step 5: Put sticks into the holes, cover

Step 6: Wait a year

Step 7: Loosen the ground around the tree with a machete

Step 8: Harness your inner-hulk and attempt to pull the root from the ground

Step 9: Ask for help from someone who actually knows what they're doing

Step 10: Carry the heavy sacks of yucca to the house and feed most of it to the pigs

Step 11: Peel the yucca with a machete

Step 12: Wash in dirty water

Step 13: Shred the yucca into pulp

Step 14: Squeeze the liquid out of the pulp 

Step 15: Throw the pulp at the gringa

Step 16: Mix with onions, a few eggs, cheese, salt, and cilantro

Step 17: Fry

Step 18: Enjoy

Step 19: Wash yucca out of your hair

Beach Day

Over the weekend I had the chance to go to the coast with Roque and Delsi. It's about a 2.5 hour bus ride from San Isidro to Canoa and it was neat to see the countryside in between- scattered with small rural farms and rolling hills. 

It was a cloudy day but beautiful. The sound of the crashing waves is one that positively innundates your senses and gives off an indescribable sensation of happiness and content. It was wonderful to walk the shore barefoot, sand squishing between my toes. I associate these feelings with memories I have from my childhood.

We ate seafood and ceviche in a small little hut on the edge of the beach, drank fresh cocnut water, swam in the tumbling waves then returned to our small town of San Isidro. It was a great day.

A Day In The Life

I was wide awake well before the alarm on my watch planned on waking me. 

At about 5:00, the roosters all seem to be awake, and the motorcycles have already started their daily commute. The people who are renting a room next to me have already turned on their music and I can hear it perfectly thanks to the lack of glass in my windows. I untuck myself from the pink mosquito net draped over my bed and throw on some dirty clothes; because all my clothes are dirty at this point it's just a matter of partial cleanliness.

Opening the gate, I watch as the kids in uniform cross the street on their way to school. Three blocks down I come to La Pandería, one of the two bakeries in town and I exchange my shiny coin for some fresh bread. Walking back on the wide dirt road, I pass the little houses and shops which line the block side by side, the walls are all connected. When I get back to the house I fry and egg and some banana in the little pan and slice up a fresh tomato. 

"Seymie! Seymie!" 

Roque and his wife are on the street outside waiting for me, it's time to go to work. I fill my water bottle and throw on my shoes. Here we go.

We walk down the road until a truck passes. We ask the driver, a friend of Roque, where he is going and quickly hop in the back, walking treacherously over the tree trimmings that fill the bed. Gripping the side tightly, the fresh air tangles my hair as we speed up the dirt road, we honk to say hello to the people walking up with their mules. Once we arrive at the driver's destination we climb out of the back and start walking up, waiting for the next truck to pass by. Today we aren't so luck so we end up walking the rest of the distance. 

At the neighbor's farm we stop to cut down some yucca trees. Apparently this is alright to do so I just go with the flow and sling the long branches over my shoulder. 

As we walk the trail to our farm we stop at the various trees to collect some fruit for later. 

Roque is telling me about the importance the farm has had in his life. He teaches me the word "desestrezarse," which essentially means to de-stress, and explains how the farm brings him peace and tranquility in his life. 

Once we arrive at the farm Roque hands me a big bag and we start our work. Today we are collecting Maraquilla (passion fruit). It's like a large-scale Easter egg hunt. Scouring the ground for the fallen yellow fruit, we spend the next few hours filling our bags. The work is tiring and it's really hot and humid so I sit down to chat with Roque's wife Delsi as we take a water break. She peels one of the oranges we picked earlier with the machete and hands it to me to drink. Refreshed and covered in orange juice, it's time to plant the Yucca. As I quickly learn, it is a three persons job. Someone needs to cut the tree into small pieces and shave the ends. The other two need to clear the ground with the machete and dig holes to put the branches in. We plant six rows of yucca and will call it a day once we finish collecting firewood to fuel the stove. It makes me smile when I look over to Delsi; this little woman in her rubber boots with a huge dead tree, swinging it in the air and smacking it down on the ground in an attempt to break it into smaller pieces.

We pile the wood, cut it and put it into bags and bundles. Eventually the truck comes back around and we load all of our things as the herd of cows simultaneously passes by on the narrow road. Delsi and I squish into the front seat and we head back to town, listening to the radio and the sound of the squeaky old car as the 78 year old driver shifts his red truck into first to go up the hill.

We stop at a shop in town to weigh our bags of Maraquilla and are paid for our work. Roque and Delsi invite me over for lunch and we sit in the hammocks of their bamboo house and wait for the rice to cook. After lunch we sit around and talk, visiting with the various people who come in and out of the house just to say hello or just to chat. I excuse myself and walk home. 

Cooling off in the shower, I listen to the mice scurrying in the ceiling above. The cold water seems like an inconvenience but is so refreshing in the heat. I wash the several layers of dirt, bugs, sweat, leaves, mosquito repellent and fruit juice off of my skin and put on my somewhat-cleaner clothes.

Siesta has now begun and I have an hour or so to relax and do as I please. As I'm flipping through the last pages of Jack London's Call of the Wild, more people have invited themselves over to chat. While they are talking, the heat seems to get the best of me and my translations become a bit blurry. Focusing too hard on one word I don't understand, I fall behind it what they are saying and eventually resort to saying "si, si" every minute or so. It has been a while since I've had a verbal conversation in English so I naturally start to wonder if my English will sound different when I speak it again.

Leila, the woman I am living with, walks over to tell me that we're going to make peanut butter so we walk to the market a few blocks away and purchase four pounds of peanuts. Passing all the small shops on our way, people are gathered together on the sidewalk chatting and enjoying each other's company. Leila says hi to everyone as we pass by and turns to me to explain that, because it is such a small town, everyone knows everyone. 

Once we get back to the house we sit and peel the purple skins off one by one then roast the nuts over the stove in a ceramic bowl that Leila's grandparents used to use. Afterwards, we scoop them into the molino and take turns manually spinning the crank. Excitedly, I watch as the creamy substance slowly seeps from the edges of the grinder. 

More people come over to chat and watch as the gringa learns how to make her first batch of mantequilla de mani. 

It's finally starting to cool off now and I'm incredibly relieved because I've been hot and sweaty all day long. I walk to the store to buy some ingredients to make a pasta and cook a dish to share with my new friends. After dinner we sit and chat and some more people stop by to say hello. I try to subtly hint that I'm tired but end up talking for another hour or so. 

I eventually manage to sneak away to the comfort of my bed and the false security that the mosquito net provides. For the next three hours or so I will listen to the loud disco-tec music that the neighbors play and once they finally go to bed, so will I.

Adios Reserva Los Cedros

I am now back in the city and have said goodbye to the nature reserve in the cloud forest. Reflecting back on my experience there, I am sad to leave such a peaceful place. As I was laying in bed last night, rather than crickets and frogs, I listened to car horns and sirens. The simple things like this are the ones which I am going to miss the most. After three weeks there, it became a comfortable place for me; the closest thing I have found to home so far. I got used to the unique aspects of life in a cloud forest. 

My volunteer work consisted of setting up trail cameras to monitor the surrounding wildlife, hiking down to the water intake on the hydro to fix our power source (multiple different times), and taking pictures of the birds. The various waterfalls and swimming holes were wonderful ways to spend the afternoons with rare moments of sun. 

Tonight, I have a nine hour bus ride to a city near the coast called San Isidro. There, I will volunteer on a small farm with a local family and participate in a home-stay cultural exchange for about two weeks. I'm not entirely sure what to expect but I'm excited for this next adventure!

Living History

I vividly remember sitting in my world geography class freshman year, in a wooden desk by the window at BHS. I remember the textbook we had and when we did a unit on Conservation. We had to draw a piece of paper which determines whether we were 'pro-environment' or 'pro-logging.' From there, we had to read about the deforestation in the Amazon Rainforest and debate the opposite opinion. I remember looking through the glossy pictures- images of trucks hauling out lumber and entire fields of felled trees- like it was yesterday.

Every day on the reserve it was always disheartening to hear the chainsaws off in the distance, illegally cutting down the beautiful trees that I was surrounded by- while the helicopters circled overhead, searching for magnetic fields that would be good areas to open new mines. This was my first experience of being fully immersed in the damage that humans are causing to our environment. On my first mule ride going up into the reserve, we had to pull over to let the oncoming traffic (eight other mules hauling huge logs) pass by. 

While simultaneously seeing these negative effects, I was reading the book Collapse by Jared Diamond; learning about past civilizations, like the Mayans, the Vikings and the people of Easter Island, whose societies failed to succeed. Most of which were at the fault of damaging the environment (i.e. deforestation, poor agricultural practices etc..) at a rate which was unable to regenerate. I learned that without trees, there is an entire ripple effect. No lumber to build houses, no roots to hold soil, no fertile top soil to plant crops, no crops to feed humans or domestic animals, no lumber to heat houses, no lumber to cook food, no lumber to build canoes to leave the island (obviously in a more primitive scenario). 

It's definitely a dooms-day way of thinking but incredibly fascinating and extremely necessary to be cognizant of, and if you haven't read it I would highly recommend it.

My worry after seeing all this and reading about other societies is that there isn't enough time. Yes, there are people like Jose fighting for conservation, but the governmental process is slow, and there is a lot of negativity surrounding the concept. I worry that the people will only realize the consequences of their actions once there are no more trees to cut down, once it is already too late.