Yeah. I could live here.

A brief rant of frustration any writer can relate to: losing your work...
I love blogger for many reasons. Being able to save offline, auto-saving, etc. But why go through that trouble dear blogger if you are going to freeze when I add too many photos, and then never let me access that post again?! Okay, rant over. Also I wanted to include that as a semi-excuse for blogs coming in much after our adventures and our lack of photos of recent, plus we have not had steady wifi connections and taking the entire time at an internet cafe only to write the blog seems touch when we can (sort of) write it from the comforts of our hostel, cabin, cabana, apartment, or wherever we are writing from.

Back to the adventures!!

Arrival in Argentina: After many hours of busses, we get to family for the holidays. It is wonderful. We are loving our time together and have extended it.
Ups and downs with finding a farm in this gorgeous area, but we have settled in and are making the best of it, as adventurers do. The graciousness of family has allowed us to relax in a house in a small town called Lago Puelo.
Previously, we were in Bariloche, the largest ski town in Argentina we hear. Ski season is over, but snowy mountain tops can still be seen across windy lakes. I ventured out on Christmas night after feasting for days (Winter Solstice through Christmas), smelling of garlic, red wine, and pasta, and decided to begin my burning off some of the thousands of consumed calories from the past, oh, hour or so. Bariloche is known for their chocolate shops which can be attributed to their Suisse founders. We took full advantage of this and devoured chocolate fondue, dulce de leche chocolates, chocolate covered orange peels, and all sorts of holiday goodies. I can also thank the founders for the architecture that I fell in love with. While snapping shots on this walk, my phone camera died. Sigh. More technology bites the dust on our journey. Let's hope a few devices hold up. (I'll work to post from the phone when I can. WiFi access is only a short walk from where we are staying now.)
In addition to the Suisse style cottages with steep sloping roofs, everyone seems to have amazing woodwork, even on the most modest of homes. Beautifully finished wood that isn't an eyesore because it keeps the integrity of it's natural shape is hidden amongst evergreens in quaint neighborhoods. Stonewalled structures, one in particular that had been abandoned and graffiti artists had taken over with carefully detailed drawings, are nearly missed due to the mountainside rising up behind it. Rock earth desperately tries to break through the green that takes over until you reach treeline and the rock appears to have succeeded. Brightness and stillness surround me, but it isn't quite quiet. The sounds of children old and young playing Christmas night futbol in the street can be heard and I can hear the imagined crowds cheering as three of them yell that a goal has been scored.  A solo star hangs near the moon as if it were a fly waiting to be swatted away by an irritated tail. All is right in the world. Yeah. I could live here.

~B

Three Borders in Three Days: Life on a Bus

Depart Valladolid, Ecuador on Wednesday at 6pm. Much later in the day than we expected due to delays of busses because of construction. Arrive in Zumba, Ecuador, last major town before the Peruvian border around 9:30pm. A sleepy town at that time of night where no taxis are waiting at the small bus terminal. We hoof it to town and locate a hostal with the help of a taxi passing by that charges us full fare for half the amount of a ride (I discovered this the next morning). A short, and mostly restless night's sleep and we are up at 6:30am to catch a combi-taxi to the border crossing. Combis are generally trucks that require a certain number of passengers before departure. With the help of some patient commuters, we loaded a pick-up and headed to the remote La Balsa fronterra, border crossing. It was fairly self explanatory, which it needed to be because there was hardly anyone there. Unlike any border crossing I had ever seen. There was no customs, no guards, just a wooden pole across the small bridge that led across the river to Peru. We entered the Ecuador offices and the guard was just waking up. He walked out shirtless to collect our information and give us our stamps.
We took the lead of a couple other people we had seen and showed ourselves across the bridge. On the other side we could barely locate the office with a small sign (animal control was the most apparent office) but at least someone was awake and willing to help us fill out our forms. However we had to go to another building, obtain a stamp, and then head back. I was realizing how remote of a border crossing this really was and not common for foreigners to cross here. The main crossings are located along the coast or to the east into the Amazon. We boarded a colectivo, mini-van, with 9 adults, a baby and a young child, and headed to San Ignacio, our next largest town about 2 hours west. Immediately I thought I could see the economic differences as we drove along smooth paved roads, the first we had seen in day it seemed, but that lasted all of about 8 miles and we were back to bumpy, winding roads plagued with construction that had us stopping every 15 minutes or so.
Our driver was kind enough to take us to a bank and show us to the next colectivo, probably after seeing the distressed look on my face when we pulled into a dirt lot with no busses, only taxis and vans. I figured we must just be at another small stop, but then he started unloading our bags. Our next ride we managed to pack 17 adults, a baby, and a chicken onto the van. I started taking advantage of the vendors who come up to windows and onto busses selling their fruits, candy, snacks. It is likely the only way to ensure getting food on long drives and while bus hopping. I also discovered my true love of chickens and babies. Okay, this had probably been brewing for some time, but I seriously am fascinated with both creatures.
Our arrival in Jaen a few hours later brought another fun form of transportation, a moto-car...basically a rickshaw attached to the back of a motorcycle. The fumes and dust were less than pleasant, but zipping around with hundreds of these on the road was super fun. There were hardly any other cars on the road in this town. They remaianed fairly visible in small towns throughout much of northern Peru. We weren't exactly sure of what our next move was. Get to the bus station and see what busses were being offered at that time of day. It was nearly 3pm on Thursday and it was looking slim. We had missed our bus connecting to the next major town, but as our moto-car pulled up, there was an overnight bus departing for Lima, some 19 hours from Jaen. We took a risk and boarded with luckily just enough cash to pay for the ride.
In the hopes of making it to Argentina to meet up with family for the holidays we had considered the option of overnight busses, but just in case, I had spent hours shuffling through our guide book looking for stops along the way, hostals in which to stay, and alternative routes through three countries. The overnight experience to Lima wasn't awful, I imagined that if my dream of being a touring musician had ever panned out, it would have been a way of life to sleep, eat, and write on busses. Huge bonus that they brought us a tasty boxed dinner. I was imagining that I only had junk food and fruit for the next day.
I watched the landscape change from green rolling hills with fast rushing brown rivers, to brown rocky mountains breaking through, back to flat green farmland. The sunset's pink puffy clouds set the backdrop for mountains to drift into the darkness of night. I couldn't tell one apart from the other at times. I let my mind wander as my eyes passed over the changing formations until I drifted off to sleep. Babies crying (19 hours on a bus, I can't even imagine...) and old Latin American musical on the television woke me up early. We arrived in Lima due to get off at a stop called Ventanilla, a dusty stop on the far end of town (because I thought the man at the ticket counter wanted to know if I wanted a window seat...) I managed to catch our driver to ask him where to go to catch our next bus and he took us to the last stop where there was a proper bus station almost resembling a small airport terminal.
Perhaps we were in a daze from travel, or just really excited that the first ride was basically smooth, but we decided to keep on the distance busses (saved money on food and lodging at least) and booked a bus to Santiago where we paid in advance to get to Mendoza. It was quite a bit more expensive than we had bargained for...but considering that it is two border crossings, three countries, and who knows how many hours....we will total at some point, it seemed worth it. We could have maybe saved money shopping around to different bus companies, but they are located all over Lima and this was simple, quick and everyone we encountered was super friendly and helpful. An hour later, some fast food for good measure, and a stroll through the mall (complete with Christmas music, all the decor, consumerism, and comforts of home) and we were back on our butts for the next leg of our trip.
It has been non-stop traveling and everything turned cold overnight as we passed through throngs of very rocky mountains. I slept well until the tight turns and rocking bus woke me up around 2am. I'm not exactly sure if I got much sleep after that. Madagascar 3 was totally a highlight of my evening. It might be more hilarious in Spanish, although I haven't seen it in English. Totally had the 5 year-old inside of me giggling up a storm.

The Farm Kitchen

http://instagr.am/p/TZipODCkRV/

Learned to make comfrey tea (for fertilizing, not drinking), Punto sugarcane moonshine (for drinking, not fertilizing), Amazonian secret (cloves) bug repellent, simple Spanish (Canary style) tortilla, rain water filtration systems, naranjilla and sweet lemon/ sour orange agua jugos, and much more!!

There's something in the water...and other murmurings

Water has been the topic of many a conversations since we arrived in Ecuador. First, in Quito upon arrival it was stressed for foreigners not drink the water due to our bodies not being able to process naturally occurring elements that may be found in it. In fact, it was recommended to not even brush our teeth with it. We were told by every local that the water system has been completely refined in recent years and it was perfectly safe to not only brush our teeth but also to drink. "Europeans have been know to fall sick after drinking it, but Americans should be just fine...and its usually all in their heads..."
Teeth brushing has not caused me any issues, but I continued to buy gallons of water from the supermercado. Once on the farm I will start to use my super fancy water filtration system.

Vilcabamba, the valley of longevity, is a haven for people from all walks of life from numerous countries who are looking for answers. Many foreigners pass through for organic and natural remedies that are much less expensive than can be found elsewhere, and of course, the water is clean to drink and has healig properties.  Yesterday, I met Jim from North Carolina. He is accompanying his wife who was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer and her 90 year old father who has Alzheimer's. I have met quite a few people who came for similar reasons but then decided to stay, open their own "practice" (my mother and I were recently discussing people who open practices and make a living being an expert but do not have any official type of degree in the area for which they have become an expert... is this the new self-educated group of people who will lead us forward? Isn't this how information was previously disseminated amongst healers, shaman, spiritual leaders? Are they any more or less qualified than someone who has numerous framed degrees in a sterile office with expensive furniture?) and any of these people live happily here for sometime. Others do not.
Last night, a traveler friend, Natalie, and I ventured off to an all night outdoor music festival. We were briefly sidetracked in the center of town by a very loud, boisterous, impromptu celebration that was taking place to commemorate the win of a football (soccer, of course) championship. Lots of dancing and drinking in the main square of town (population of Vilcabamba and surrounding areas is only about 4000, and probably 300 people were out in the streets). We brought a flier with us telling the party's location and had a taxi driver take us up about a 15 minute drive from town. The driver told us that it would be too late to come back to pick us up but it was probably only a 45 minute walk back and it was very safe. Again, I'm thinking about my mother and how at this point she is gasping that I could even consider walking back in the middle of the night...
We went out of sheer curiosity. How do the people who have moved here from all parts of the world to drink this magical healing water party it up on a Saturday night? There seemed to be an interesting lineup of bands with names like "Vilkabanda," clearly some gringo creation, I thought judgingly, but I was correct. Mostly reggae beats and rhythms, the bands that we saw were transplants to the area, like many of the people that we met there.
I was somewhat surprised as we departed about the types of interactions that we discussed. There is clearly a utopian vibe. Travelers who came here for a week and stayed for a year, or seven. Children who have been raised here for most of their lives that now openly, at nine years old, invite their mother to come "smoke weed." Oh no, of course the little one doesn't smoke, says his much older wiser thirteen year old brother who may have caught my slightly surprised glance as we walked by. Also being passed around was San Pedro, the hallucinogenic cactus juice.
The intoxicated guests, one in particular from Australia, did little to hide their disdain about the United States. Lazy, loud, rude, pompous egotistical- that's how all Americans are, she says. She has been living away from Australia traveling for about 10 years, and was originally born in Johannesburg, so she really doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere. I struggled with wanting to wage an all out war then and there about how rude, loud and egotistical she was being by saying things to someone who is from there and we can't help where we were born, and learning and experiencing was precisely the point of our travels, but I smiled, asked questions and eventually found some common ground when we began talking about working the earth. Not everyone here is so Zen that they have let go of judging one another. As I glanced around I noticed that this gathering of 75 or so people did appear rather cliquey and perhaps this woman felt not only the political tensions that many feel about the US, but also she seemed to have some very specific personal issues. I can imagine in a place where people come for a visit, get stuck, and are in a small community, that some amount of drama could take place...and that became more apparent as we decided to head home. We were accompanied part way down the road by a friend, Juan, from Spain who left his house three months ago for just one week and hasn't returned since. Juan is likely close to 50 years old and was having his own little experiment with San Pedro, which w decided was not like peyote, but must be an experience something similar. I was happy to see Juan this afternoon back at the ecolodge where I first met him. He survived his adventurous evening, deciding that perhaps he had ingested a bit too much of the cactus juice. He said that he awoke feeling guilty, because not all of the people had really been kind to him at the gathering. Here he was opening his mind to the universe and some people were poking fun. He came back in one piece which was reassuring.
Vilcabamba is amazingly gorgeous, scenic, peaceful. But I remain a bit sceptical for any place that has this much hype. I truly believe it is a magical place full of pure water and beneficial energy, but if I needed to be sold on something, and lectured to while trying to get a morning smoothie and coffee, I would attend a new age expo and sit through demonstrations. I have experienced euphoria when climbing mountains, seeing mystical spiritual places, and having amazing connections with loved ones, but I do not need to be told by every person that I meet that I will find myself here, that there is something more magical here than any other place on earth. I suppose I feel like I need to experience all things for myself, not take someone else's word for it. That is why religion has had such an interesting place in my life. I need to experience it for myself, not base my decisions on anyone else's perceptions. There are meaningful connections to be made all over the world and I will find them everywhere I go, regardless of what is or is not in the water. I am in no way cynical about this situation, in fact, I feel quite enlightened.

Prior to coming to Vilcabamba we spent an unexpected week in Cuenca. We intentionally went there for the first night, but found that the city seemed to offer so much more with it's colonial architecture, thriving cultural experiences, museums, music, and food, that we stayed a second night. And then one more. By the following day, Ameen wasn't feeling well and had a slight temperature. So he rested and I explored the city. This went on for another full day before we decided that a hospital visit was necessary. His fever was nearly 103 F and he was clearly weak and in pain. The manager at the hostal we were staying, Veronica, who was from Ecuador but spoke wonderful English, accompanied us to the nearby military hospital. She was such a saviour for the experience. We were there for nearly 5 hours of Ameen getting first a shot of some sort to reduce the fever, then hooked up to an IV for rehydration and antibiotic doses, followed by a blood sample to determine what exactly was wrong with him. It was an intestinal infection they concluded. I'm still not exactly sure what that is, or how he contracted it but it seems to be bacterial. After two full days on the antibiotics, he is still a bit weak, but is hopefully recovering.
On the last night in Cuenca, Veronica invited us to attend the final film at the Cuenca Film Festival, entitled Yakuaya, about the spirit of water (fits nicely with the theme of this post). It was a documentary style film produced and directed by Ecuadorians. Five years in the making, it featured Ecuadorians from all parts of the country and the effects that water has on them. A particularly beautiful scene followed a farmer leading his sheep to a river, and then back to the farm where he chooses one to take to market. They make the long trek to the market which followed the same winding roads we have become accustomed to, and likely took hours for them to reach. We see the farmer stand with the sheep and no offers are made. He makes the long trek back to the farm and slaughters the sheep. The water washes away the sheep's blood into the same river it was drinking from earlier that day.

We spent the week of American Thanksgiving in Ba~nos (still can't get my keyboard to make those correctly). It is a beautiful town known for it's hot springs (melts away pains), cane sugar taffy (that I just cracked open today and cannot stop snacking on) , and cascadas (waterfalls). On Thanksgiving day, we met up with a great group of travelers to repel down those waterfalls! Our guide was full of energy and laughs and educational experiences for us. The pictures tell that story. The adrenaline rushes of clambering up hillsides just to repel, zipline, or slide down these waterfalls was totally an awesome experience and I wouldn't hesitate to do it again or recommend it to anyone! That weekend we met up with the Scottons again and toured the waterfalls from the comfort of an open-air chiva bus. It was wonderful to have that time with family. I feel so fortunate that we are all able to be here at the same time. I can't wait to share and learn about the adventures that occur before we see them next.

First thing (6am) tomorrow morning, we head to our first farm about 50 kilometers from the Peruvian border. Until then sending love and light to those in need from this vortex of powerful energy.