Machu Picchu and Mandor Waterfall

Marilyn, May 24, 2015

Knowing that our visit to Machu Picchu was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime adventure, Gene and I decided to splurge and make the most of the opportunity. As I mentioned in my last post, with the help and advice of our friends at Lost World Adventures, we booked a package deal at Inkaterra Machu Picchu Pueblo Hotel, and we couldn't have been more pleased with the wonderful service (and food!) there. Besides the activities and tours available on the hotel grounds, including a nature walk, a birdwatching tour, and a tea tour, which Javy has described here, our package included a full day at Machu Picchu with our own English-speaking guide, and another private half-day tour to a nearby waterfall.

We got up early Friday morning, ate a hearty breakfast at the breakfast buffet, and met our guide, Santos, at 7 a.m. He escorted us to the bus station and shepherded us onto one of the busses that ferry people up the incredibly steep Hiram Bingham Highway, a 9-km long road made up of about a dozen switchbacks and named for the explorer who made Machu Picchu famous. The only other way to reach Machu Picchu is by foot on the Inca Trail, a hike of 43 km (26 miles), much of it over original Inka stones. Teo and Javy and I are dreaming of returning to Machu Picchu this way when they are older. Unfortunately, it will mean that I am older, too -- a good reason to stay in shape for the next few years!

The bus ride took about 20 minutes, and all of it was spent craning our necks to take in every awe-inspiring view that we could. Unloading at the entrance to the site, we found ourselves in a mass of people speaking a multitude of languages, but Santos expertly weaved us through the crowd to the gate. We had to show our tickets and our passports (which we stamped with a special Machu Picchu stamp), and we were in, exploring one of the wonders of the world, the ancient holy city of the Inca. 

Santos suggested that we first hike to the Sun Gate, one of only two original entrances to the ancient city. It was a fairly strenuous, hour-long hike, so we kept the pace slow, soaking in the fact that we were walking over steps and along walls laid 500 years ago, and taking advantage of the opportunity to admire the orchids and other wildlife on the way. 

By the time we reached the Sun Gate, the clouds had blown in and were covering much of the view below us. We found a nice spot to have our snack, which Santos had carried up for us, and we waited for the clouds to clear. When they did, we posed for a family portrait overlooking the ruins of the citadel. 

Descending from the Sun Gate was a lot faster than climbing up, and once down, we walked to the other ancient entrance, the Inca Bridge. On the way, we delighted in passing some time with the resident llamas, whose job, besides charming visitors, is to keep the grass cut.  

The trail to the bridge was more treacherous, and we had to sign in and give our passport numbers to the guard at the trailhead, I guess so he could contact our embassy if we didn't reappear. We made our way over the rocky path, hugging the side of the mountain and trying not to look down over the sheer drop on the other side.

I was expecting to see a replica of an Incan suspension bridge like the boys and I had learned about, made from grass woven together in the traditional way, as in this video. But the bridge we saw was no replica, and it was even more amazing than a suspension bridge made of grass. Built into the side of a cliff, it was made of stone, with a short gap that could be spanned with planks. When the planks were removed, no one could enter the city by this route, so the bridge provided Machu Picchu with a great defence against the Incas' many enemies. As we marvelled at the engineering that went into creating this bridge, Santos wondered aloud how many lives must have been lost in building it, something that we'll never know but can easily imagine.

Returning from the bridge, we were more than ready for lunch. The one hotel right outside Machu Picchu's gates offered an elaborate buffet, which was included in our Inkaterra package. We refueled lavishly while listening to live Andean music and chatting with Santos.

Adequately rested, we reentered the gate to explore the Machu Picchu citadel. Santos was a wealth of knowledge, and led us from building to building, explaining the purpose of each location and pointing out details of interest. We had read that many of the buildings were made of stones cut to fit together so precisely that no mortar was needed. Even more amazing to me was that these carefully shaped stones were assembled in a way that they have stood undisturbed these 500 years on this earthquake-prone mountaintop. 

By mid-afternoon, we had taken in about all the marvels we could absorb and headed back to the bus and to our hotel. The boys enjoyed the rest of the day playing with the friends they had met the day before. They enjoyed each other's company so much that, tired as we were, we didn't try for an early bedtime. We wisely pushed the next day's tour back from 7 a.m. to 10 a.m. 

The next morning, rain threatened, but by 10:15 it was clear enough that we started out with another guide, Ricardo, on a hike to a nearby waterfall. The route led us through the town, where Ricardo explained the symbolism in one of the fountains we passed. Among other symbols, the fountain portrays a serpent at the bottom, a puma (not distinguishable in this photo) in the middle, and a condor at the top. These three animals represented to the Inca the underworld, earth as we know it, and the realm of the gods. From that point on, whether we were looking at masterful works of art or cheap souvenirs, we recognized the serpent, puma, and condor over and over again. 

Continuing our walk through the outskirts of the town, we shared the road for a time with the tour busses on their way up the mountain to Machu Picchu. Ricardo asked the boys how they thought the busses got to the town, since no road leads there. The answer? They are brought in on the train, in parts. He pointed out the building in which the parts are assembled into working busses. We also passed the recycling sheds where enormous piles of bag after bag after bag of plastic bottles waited to be taken out by train. 

We followed the train tracks for much of the hike. I was able to have a rather extensive conversation with Ricardo about Peru's political history, which I appreciated. After an hour or so, we reached the entrance to Mandor Gardens, and after a short rest break, we started up the beautiful garden trail toward the waterfalls we had come to see. The gardens are privately owned, interestingly enough, by the family of the man who had told Hiram Bingham about the Inca ruins up on the mountain and led him to his "discovery" of Machu Picchu. 

The trail led us over a bridge rickety enough that Ricardo would only let one person cross it at a time.

After stopping for a snack, we wound our way up and up until we came to the first waterfall. 

Further still, we reached the second waterfall. It had gotten noticeably cooler as we climbed, and standing in the spray of the water, it was downright chilly, so we were happy to huddle together for another family photo.

On the hike back to the hotel, it was Gene's turn to have Ricardo's undivided attention, and the two of them found a lot to talk about. Ricardo had much to share about the natural history of the area, and was also very interested to hear about Gene's research. I, on the other hand, was not having much success keeping two very tired boys engaged in pleasant conversation as we walked, and so I was very glad to see the town finally come into view, and then to make our way to the hotel and restaurant for a late lunch. Worn out from two days full of physical exertion, and with plenty to keep our minds busy as well, we were grateful for the restful beauty and peace of Inkaterra. The boys kept asking, "Do you think we'll ever come back here?" I'm not sure about the answer to that question, but I would like to think that this might not have been a once-in-a-lifetime adventure after all. 

The Tea Adventure

Javy, May 21, 2015

On our first day at the hotel in Machu Picchu Pueblo, we went on a little tour of the place, and then we took another tour of the tea garden. The guide showed us how to make teabags.

First we had to put on a black apron and as you can see, I am wearing a pouch to put my leaves in.

The tea bush has two colors. We should not pick the dark green leaves because they are too old. You could pick the light green ones.

We picked and picked and picked. I became friends with the two boys in the picture. The one in blue is named Sam. His brother is named William.

Then we took the leaves and put them on a rock table. We took one leaf at a time and started to roll it until it was shriveled up. 

These are the drying racks to put the mushed leaves on to make them dry. We didn't have time to do that, so the guide gave us leaves that were already dry.

Here, he told us about roasting the leaves.

The next step was to sift the dry, roasted leaves, as you can see.

It was very fun, but I was making a big mess.

Here are the supplies for making a teabag. You have one stick, one piece of special paper, and some leaves. Also, you have a hot stapler, except it doesn't have staples. It is so hot that it can melt together the sides of the piece of paper.

You fold the paper like a note, and then staple the two sides to make the bag.

Here comes the tea! You put the tea into the bag, as you can see.

Here you have the stick at hand. You weave the stick into the top of the bag to make it stay in.

Here it is!

Now it's brewing. It looks so good!

Enjoy!

First day in Peru

Marilyn, May 20, 2015

Welcoming though it is, Uruguay, like most countries, expects its visitors to leave after a certain period of time. Within 90 days of arriving, we were required to renew our visas, which was accomplished with a simple visit to an immigration office. With those additional 90 days about to expire at the end of May, if we intended to comply with the law, we needed to exit and reenter the country. Apparently, overstaying one's visa, unlike in the United States, doesn't carry much risk beyond a modest fine, but wanting to be law-abiding visitors, we obediently made plans to fly to Peru.

Why Peru, when Argentina and Brazil are just across the border? One reason is that both Argentina and Brazil charge U.S. citizens hefty "reciprocity" fees, reciprocating for the high price their citizens must pay to apply for visas to visit the U.S. Another reason is that all of us have long dreamed of visiting Machu Picchu, the ancient Incan city high in the Peruvian Andes.  

So, at 4:30 a.m. last Wednesday, we found ourselves walking down our silent road under a beautiful moon to the bus stop. Always wary of the unreliability of bus schedules, we were relieved when the second bus that came down the highway was indeed going to the airport. Dozing just a bit on the way, we arrived in plenty of time to check in and get to our gate. Our tickets were on a Colombian airline, Avianca, which I had heard great things about. We were not disappointed! The extra courtesies shown to the children were especially appreciated. I also loved that this was my first flight captained by a woman.

When I mentioned to an Uruguayan friend several weeks ago that we were planning a trip to Peru, he told me, "Peru is South American, not like Uruguay." At first, I thought that was a strange comment, but immediately after stepping off the plane in Lima, I understood exactly what he meant. Even in a bustling airport full of travellers from everywhere, I could tell that we were in a place entirely different from Uruguay: much more brown skin, a more familiar Spanish dialect, and not one person drinking mate. It was disappointing, but not too unexpected, to find McDonalds, Papa John's, and Subway in the airport's food court. They served InkaCola, though, so I guess that redeemed them a bit.

After the boys ate their Subway sandwiches and I drank the InkaCola that they rejected, we boarded our plane to Cusco. Once over the snowy Andes, our next task was to find transportation to Ollantaytambo, where we had hotel reservations for the night. The advice we had gotten from internet resources was that starting out in Ollantaytambo, 2000 feet lower than Cusco, was a good way to avoid altitude sickness. We had also read that we could find very inexpensive busses from Cusco to Ollantaytambo. Just after disembarking, we passed a desk in the airport advertising private transportation, and with two tired boys and a couple hours of travel still ahead of us, we abandoned our noble plans to travel as the locals do. The impulse decision to hire a private car and driver for $60 was one of the best decisions of our trip. It turns out that a 2-day "strike" was in progress, and the main road to Ollantaytambo was closed, so busses weren't running. I asked a lot of questions about the strike, trying to understand what was at issue. I finally figured out that it wasn't a strike as we would think of it as much as it was a protest. People upset about an increase in public transportation costs had blocked the highway and train tracks with boulders, logs, and their own bodies, and shut down virtually all regular movement for thousands of tourists and other travellers. Our driver took us on the only alternate route, a narrow dirt road that added about an hour to our trip and took maybe a year off our lives. He tore around mountain curves, ignoring the "beware of landslides" signs, and brought us to the edge of more than one precipice. Halfway through the drive, he told us he had never been this way before; nevertheless, he seemed confident in his ability to get us where we wanted to go without killing us. It wasn't until we were almost there that I realized that he was facing the return drive in the dark, and then understood better his hurry. We did pass one area where large logs were blocking the road, and local folks were hanging out watching the show as cars and trucks going in opposite directions aggressively and loudly vied for the narrow passage around the barriers. I suppose it would not have been a wise thing to get out and try to clear the obstacles out of the way.   

Reaching Ollantaytambo, our driver was eager to deposit us on the street and start back toward Cusco. We weren't sure where our hotel was, but found refuge in a lovely restaurant overlooking a river. There, we happily tucked into the best food we've tasted in South America. I had traditional Peruvian lomo saltado, and Gene had an alpaca dish. It was enough to make me consider a permanent move to Peru.

With dinner gratefully eaten and eyelids drooping, there was not much left to do but find our hotel. We asked a few questions, shouldered our backpacks, walked down the road a bit, asked more questions, crossed a bridge, and finally arrived at the hotel, called Tikawasi Valley. The inn was warm and inviting, and the staff exceptionally helpful. The boys were especially thrilled by the towels folded into swans that greeted us in our room.

We did our best to get a good night's sleep, as we had to be up early the next morning for breakfast and a walk to the train station. If the altitude was not enough to take our breath away, the view we got from the hotel balcony when we walked out the door in the morning was. Besides the beauty of the mountains, we loved the little bull statues on the next-door roofs. Traditionally, these statues are given to new homeowners by friends and family to ensure good fortune to all who dwell under them. The cross is often added as a nod to Catholic tradition as well.

   

Walking to the train station in Ollantaytambo

The 90 minute train ride from Ollantaytambo to Machu Picchu Pueblo was as spectacular as PeruRail had advertised. The sides and roof of the train cars were mostly windows, providing amazing views as we made our way through the Andes. 

As we had been promised, we were met at the Machu Picchu Pueblo train station by staff from Inkaterra, the resort hotel where we were staying. From this point on, our trip had been arranged for us by my friend Beth's agency, Lost World Adventures. We have never traveled with help from an agency before, but after this trip, we may be spoiled for life. It was such a gift to not have to worry about the next day's transportation or directions or itinerary, knowing that someone with infinitely more experience than we had was planning it all for us.

Our bags in the care of the helpful Inkaterra porter, we were escorted the short distance through the small town and over a bridge to the resort. We were given warm washcloths to freshen up, served organic tea that had been grown right on the property, and invited to wander the extensive grounds or relax in the beautiful lobby area until our room was ready. An unexpected delight was meeting a California family including two friendly boys and their parents and grandmother, with whom we immediately hit it off. Teo and Javy, long tired of having only Gene and me as companions and audience, were thrilled to have new friends who not only invited them to join them in the hot tub and pool, but even loaned them swimwear. It seemed to me that we had found a paradise, even before we started off on the adventures we had come seeking. The next few days were ones that we'll never forget, and that we will report on in upcoming posts!

Thoughts on Studying Uruguayan History

Marilyn, May 10, 2015

Friday, I had big plans for an educationally-loaded trip into Montevideo with the boys. Among the things on our agenda was a visit to an art museum to see the most famous work of one of Uruguay's most famous artists, Juan Manuel Blanes. We had read about the painting and the event it commemorates in our history book. It seemed like something we should lay our eyes on, and this was as good a day as any to get that experience checked off our list.

I could detail our many hurdles in actually getting out the door of the house, and I could describe the tedious bus ride into Montevideo. I could explain how several frustrations piled on top of one another once we got to the city, and I could expound on the interminable bus ride to the museum. But I will limit myself to admitting that 40 minutes into the second bus ride, I reached the point of incredulity that I was dragging my kids through all of this just to see a painting. What painting could possibly be worth all this effort? My boys remained remarkably patient up until almost the end, but even before they started kicking each other across the bus seats, I was sinking into despair over one more failed educational outing. I began to consider cutting my losses, wondering how I could justify the cost of a taxi home.

Luckily, it was right about then that we arrived at our stop, or at least close enough that I could push my kids off the bus before they caused any real damage to each other or anyone else. We walked a few blocks along a crowded street that looked like an unlikely location for a museum. And then, kind of all of a sudden, there it was, a stately old building in the middle of a lovely park-like setting, very warm and welcoming. I could feel the anxiety start to lift. We walked in, were greeted by friendly guards, and soon were in the gallery housing the painting we had come to see.

And it was simply glorious.

Breathtaking. Magnificent. Profound.

Almost alone in the gallery, kneeling between my boys, taking in this masterpiece of art and treasure of history, I knew that this is exactly why we home school. We have the freedom to invest ridiculous amounts of time and energy into experiences that drive deep into our emotions and infuse our learning with meaning, that cut across all sorts of subjects and curricula, and help us touch and feel and taste and understand what's real in the world and in ourselves.

Of course, this image doesn't do the painting justice, but you get the idea.

Our whole study of Uruguayan history has at times seemed like a ridiculous investment of time and energy for questionable payoff. Early on, I recognized a few obvious benefits, including the language practice it was giving me as I painstakingly translated each word of our history book. Too, the boys really enjoyed the artwork component as they drew pictures of what they imagined each upcoming chapter to be about. But, really, I asked myself more than once, how valuable is it for Americans, and Guatemalan Americans at that, to have such an in-depth knowledge of Uruguayan history? And since much of the history we were reading was battle after battle, war after war, conflict after conflict, there was little content that we found very uplifiting. We were invested, though, and I was determined to plod on through.

Teo with a few of the many drawings of Uruguayan history that adorn our walls

And then the aha! moment occurred. We had just read about Uruguay achieving its independence. We learned that soon afterward, the leaders of that independence movement, who had been friends and allies, became bitter enemies, each vying for power, and throwing the young country into civil war. As we read this history, our conversation immediately turned, and we weren't just talking about a small South American country 5000 miles away from anything that seemed pertinent to our lives at home. We were talking about something much broader, about what has happened and what continues to happen in country after country after country when fighters become leaders and only know how to lead through continued fighting. We got to talk about how the U.S. more or less avoided a similar fate, because its leaders were not limited to fighters, but included scholars who knew history and philosophy and rhetoric, who could write and persuade and compromise. We got to honor the contributions of the slaves who were back on the plantations doing all the work so that the Washingtons and Jeffersons and Madisons were free to devote themselves to thinking about how the new country could be peacefully governed. Once again, we got to cut across subjects and ideas and uncover new meaning and new insights.

Not long after, we learned about labor uprisings in Uruguay in the late 1800s. Much of what we read sounded very similar to the history of the labor movement in the United States. Again, we realized how universal many of these issues are, and how connected people can be across borders. We learned that the workers in Uruguay felt a deep relation to labor protestors in the United States, and organized annual events to honor the "mártires (martyrs) de Chicago" who were executed after the Haymarket Affair. We learned that the history of struggle for an 8-hour workday was international, and that the U.S. was just one player, one partner, in a shared history. I found myself reflecting not just on the history, but on how I learned history, how I teach history, and how I want my boys and my students to study history. I've always given lip service to the importance of studying U.S. history in the context of the wider world, but it took this venture to this little corner of the wider world for me to really understand how very connected our histories actually are. My teaching from here on out will reflect that connection in a more meaningful way, I am certain.

Besides reading, drawing, and venturing out on field trips, our study of Uruguayan history has included identifying places in Uruguay named for the people and events we've learned about. From our first days in Montevideo, I noted how very many of the streets were named for people or dates. And as we've traveled to other areas, we've noticed how so many of these names are repeated in every little town or village we come to. One obvious explanation for this is the same explanation we hear for so many differences we notice: "It's a small country." It's a small country, so everyone knows everybody else. It's a small country, with not much need for professional childcare, because everyone has an available family member nearby.  It's a small country, so the president can continue his medical practice while in office. And so on. Well, it would be easy to say that it's a small country, with only so many heroes and important dates to go around, so each place uses the same ones over and over and over to name their streets, plazas, and parks. 

But there's more to it than that. From the perspective of the history book that we read, Uruguayan heroes were pretty much manufactured through intentional campaigns to create a shared culture among the distinct groups that found themselves lumped together into one nation. Uruguay was carved out of the "Banda Oriental" in a deal between Argentina and Brazil, brokered by England, which was trying to protect its trading rights. Boundaries were drawn and indigenous gauchos in the campo learned that they were now countrymen with the rich Italian comerciantes in Montevideo. Descendants of African slaves were citizens just like new immigrants from Holland or France. Those who had fought on the side of the Portuguese, or the Spanish, or the revolutionaries from Buenos Aires, found themselves neighbors with equal stakes in the new nation. Someone realized that what was needed to draw these people together was a common culture, even if that culture had to be created for them. So statues were erected to whoever might qualify as a hero, preferably without riling one side or another. Storytellers and writers were called upon to breathe new life into old accounts of brave deeds. Contests were held to create poetry honoring the "fatherland." Magnificent works of art, like the one we viewed on Friday, were painted and sculpted to depict historic events not as they actually happened, but as a common cultural memory might envision them. Although no one has told me for sure, my guess is that it was at this time and for this reason that so many places all over the country were given names for military leaders like Artigas, Rivera, and Lavalleja, and for important dates like July 18, the anniversary of the writing of the Constitution. But also we have found places named for education reformers, for artists, poets, musicians, journalists, physicians; for indigenous leaders and former slaves and immigrants. More recently, the cultural net has cast itself even wider, and heroes from farther afield have been honored in names like Parque Roosevelt and Rambla Gandhi. There's someone for everyone to identify with, a reason for everyone, even a Yankee from Georgia, to feel included.

While the idea of manufacturing a common culture seems odd and uncomfortably disingenuous to me, I'm seeing its value in a society such as this one, where so many people with so little in common had to work out their differences and function as one. I find myself wondering if similar efforts were made in other parts of the world, for instance in the Balkan States, or in Middle Eastern countries, where lines drawn on a map resulted in nations made up of people with no common history or any investment in each other's traditions. I'm wondering if these efforts have been part of what led to Uruguay, once the fighting stopped, to rather quickly becoming one of only a handful of nations that are rated as free from conflict.

These are questions for another time, but questions that will stay with me and color the way I look at the history of my own country and of others in the future. There is much more Uruguayan history to learn, because as it turns out, our book only brought us to the beginning of the twentieth century. I am itching to dive into the more recent history, the dictatorship of 1973 - 1985, the rise of socialism, the life of President Mujica, who just left office. I don't know that we'll get to any of that before we leave here in just a few weeks. But I am appreciating how what we've studied so far has given me a new perspective, and for how much all of us are learning here in this fascinating place.

Flora and Fauna Adventure

Javy, May 1, 2015

Yesterday we went on an adventure to a place that was sort of like a zoo. When we got there, we got out of the car and we looked around. There was a little playground with a spinny thing, and there were peacocks all over the place. It was very neat.

We played awhile and then we went into an aviary with a lot of birds. There were flamingos, turtles, and interesting birds with a yellow face and feet that looked like leaves.

Next, we saw coatimundis. They are a mix of a monkey and a raccoon. Their tails look like King Julian's tail from Madagascar.

We went on to see monkeys on Monkey Island, but they were resting in the shade, so we didn't get a great picture.

Then we walked over and saw the reptile house. There were awesome-looking snakes and a snake that was shrivelled up that had two heads. It was a mutant.

After that, we walked over to the bunnies. There were five, all of different colors. My favorite one with the gray and white one.

We moved on to boars. They were disgusting creatures because they were so fat and luggy. Then came these animals that were like a bunny except that they had small legs, sort of like a gazelle, and the head of a dog. They were about knee-high to an adult person. They are called maras.

There were more colorful birds, and more colorful birds, and then we saw something so weird! It was a chicken. Why would a chicken be in a zoo?

So we next saw a wild cat. It was sort of like a cheetah, but really small and cat-like. There was a llama in the enclosure with the alligators, but alligators were just minding their own business.  We looked at some turtles that had fungi on their shells. It looked like moss.

Then we continued to the titis.  Titis are a form of monkey. They live in the rainforest of Brazil. They live in little family groups. They are about as big as a man's palm. If you have a baseball cap, a titi would fit inside it. They are known to live for about 12 years in the jungle, but in captivity, 20 or 25 years.

Then our mom and dad looked at some camels, and we stayed behind to play on the playground. Then we got into our car and went away. We thought that it was great fun to look at all those animals.

Javy's Adventures on Horseback

Javy, April 27, 2015

We went to an estancia last week. It was great! We went every day on horseback to round up sheep and cows!

In the  mornings, we went to the corral.  We got our helmets because the gaucho wanted us to be safe. If we fell off the horse, our heads could be mush. But the best thing was we got to wear gaucho boots!

We saddled up our horses, but we had to do it by ourselves. We first put on two layers of pads so the horse wouldn't feel uncomfortable. The gauchos helped us get the saddles on because, as you know, we are very short, and we had big horses. Then we put the bridle on by opening up the horse's mouth to make it bite the metal bit and then we put the straps on over the horse's ears.

We went with our horses and started to ride. It was a good feeling, and it was fun when the horse started to move. I felt like I was very powerful to be riding a big horse. I could control where it went, when I wanted it to go, and how fast it went.  When I wanted to turn left, I would pull the reins left and it would go left. If I wanted to go right, I would pull right. If I wanted to go fast, I would tap  the horse's stomach with my boot and it would go fast. When I wanted to stop, I pulled back on the reins.

When we got off  the horse, we would take the harness off and then we would take off the two pads and the saddle. Then we would get a brush and start brushing the horse. Then we needed to pat the horse goodbye and set it free. I loved to ride and I hope to ride again some day!