My Arrival in Denmark and the Ensuing Events and Chaos.

Cleo was particularly happy to have me home. Or maybe she is always that loving. It's hard to tell with dogs.

       When I started this blog way back when, nearly four months ago, I promised something along the lines of one post every week. I had nearly flawless fidelity to that promise up to a few weeks ago and I feel that I could at least offer a bit of an explanation as to what's been going on that's been keeping me away from my keyboard.
       The truth is that the overwhelming number of engagements I had planned and unplanned for when I arrived back in Denmark simply distracted me for the past few weeks. I'll pretend you were all anxiously holding your collective breath as you waited for any sign of life from me. Well, here's that sign of life.
       Last time we talked I made it clear (at the end of post about Lake Titicaca) that my time in Peru was rapidly coming to a close. On April 11th I packed my bags, shaved my traveler's beard, and prepared myself mentally to return to Denmark.


       The flights back were quite manageable and my layover in Madrid was much more enjoyable than I expected. My overnight plane felt startlingly luxurious compared to many of my pervious (Note: I meant to type "previous" here, but I found "pervious" to be rather fitting) methods of transportation in Peru. I certainly felt more at ease knowing that the overseeing safety authorities probably had a hand up on the "Ah, it shouldn't be an issue" mentality of Peruvian bus drivers.
       Right around now is when I present you with some mind-blowing revelations I had on my flights home, yeah? Isn't that how the movies make it out to be? The hero is sitting on the bus/plane/train/car home and as he silently pores over his experiences from the past hour and a half of shitty faux-sentimental dialogue the camera quietly zooms in until he says something ridiculous like "You know, I think I kind of liked it here...". AND CUT! That's a wrap.
        Luckily for you and me both, life isn't quite like the movies and I don't have too many cheesy revelations to share with you from the ride back. In fact, as I look through my journal entries now, I think I was too excited to be returning home to do any clear thinking. I kept trying to sit down and pen something remotely interesting for closure sake, but I kept drifting off thinking about delicious Italian coffee, Danish rugbrød (Danish Rye Bread), and thick greek yogurt: all the culinary luxuries that would be waiting at home, happy to be devoured.
        I managed to avoid most of the bad luck associated with the date and I arrived in Copenhagen on Friday the 13th of April only a few hours delayed, but in otherwise good health. I was overwhelmingly happy to be greeted by my lovely girlfriend, Anna, and my mother both of which were waving Danish and American flags. Apparently Peruvian flags are a bit hard to find at the 7-11 kiosk in Denmark.
       I spent my first week back in Copenhagen quietly adjusting to "reality" and enjoying the creature comforts of my own house again.

Actually, wait. I didn't do that at all.

       In reality, I enjoyed the first 48 hours or so "adjusting to reality": eating meals with my family, going for walks with my dog, spending time with my girlfriend, and otherwise enjoying the company of those I had not been around in a few months. But, the honeymoon quickly came to an end and from there it was a busy, busy, few days.
       The long story made short is that my family is moving back to the U.S. of A. and therefore we had to move out of our house by the 16th of April. Those of you doing the math know that this meant I had roughly 72 hours to pack up my house and get out!
       Once that was out of the way I started playing rugby again. Then I promptly stopped playing rugby again after I sustained a minor concussion and received seven stitches after a hit-gone-wrong in my first game.
       How's that for you? I run around Peru for three months worrying the daylights out of my family with visions of kidnappings and robberies only to come home completely unscathed. Then, I get a good knocking about back home that actually puts me in the hospital (briefly).


       Remember kids, go traveling by yourself! Don't play rugby. Statistically, foreign countries are safer than Rugby: that's science for you.


       By the way, I'm fine now. Thanks for asking.


       But, let's get down to the business I'm sure you've all been waiting for: what did my three months traveling and six weeks volunteering really teach me? Do I miss Peru? And what's it like being home?


       I'll take those questions in retrograde order.


        Firstly, what is it like to be home? Well, it's somewhat similar to when I left, but the weather is a bit warmer and everyone is about three months older. No, but really, returning to Denmark has been much less of a shock than people seem to have expected it to be. People keep asking me if I "feel weird to be back". I'm not sure what to say to that: I generally never feel "weird" for more than a few hours at a time unless I ate some bad seafood or I fall into an uncontrollable bout of existential angst. Life goes on. I suppose my upbringing has a bit to do this this: I'm use to rapid geographical changes.
       It just feels "good" to be back. It's pleasant seeing old friends and it's great being around my family again. I enjoy everything from walking my dog to having my old gym back. 


       Now, as far as "missing Peru" that's tough one. I miss many things about Peru and I certainly miss the people I met there. I miss the lifestyle I had for those three months; I miss the traveling; and I miss speaking Spanish. Am I in constant agony at my current locational predicament? Not really. Am I just chomping at the bit to go back? Not really. I'm capable of holding two very polar emotions at the same time: the joy of being home and the dolefulness of leaving a country I quite enjoyed.
       My time traveling has taught me quite a lot of things about both myself and the world. Firstly, traveling alone has taught me how to take care of myself. It taught me to live independently. I might not be paying my own bills yet, (Hey mom! Hey dad! Thanks for that again) but as far as the day-to-days go I've got that covered well. The things that need to be done to keep life chugging right along are a breeze now.


       Traveling also taught me about how to come into communion with people of all types and of all places. When you're traveling alone it's not enough to just be "open" or "friendly", you have to actively seek others. Friends don't fall from the sky and you don't choose who you meet. This teaches you about how to "get along" and genuinely enjoy the company of people who made be completely different from you.
       When you travel alone people who hold completely different values and ideas become great friends. People who might get under your skin back home could be the only friends you meet in weeks. You learn very quickly that nearly anyone can be good company, to some degree, with a nice dose of patience and humor. I found myself drinking with Argentines;  partying with Peruvians; laughing with parachute pants wearing hippies sporting the latest in dreadlock fashion (which is remarkably similar to dreadlock fashion from 40 years ago); and chatting with Andrean campesinos (farmers). Everyone has their fun quirks.


       So, what's next for me?


       In the coming months I'll be in something of a transitional phase. My Mom has left Denmark for her new job in the U.S.A. and my Dad and brother will be following her once my brother has finished school. They'll all be heading back to good ol' Oklahoma.

Since you're too embarrassed to ask: it's right there. Just north of the cowboys and rich white Republicans.

       I will be heading off to the University of Wisconsin sometime in July or August, but seeing as all my "stuff" is en-route to Oklahoma now I imagine I'll need to at least swing by for a hello and some tea.
       Between then and now I plan on occupying myself with lots of reading and lots of time in the gym. You know, the ancient greek ideal, right? Study hard, lift hard, run hard, and f*** hard: training both the mind and body, hard. I also plan on spending as my of my rapidly passing hours with both my friends and family.
       That's the short version of what's going on in my life right now. If you want the long version, you'll have to ask me in person. You may or may not be happy to hear it, but I'm not planning on retiring this blog quite yet. Don't expect weekly posts, but I might drop by every-so-often to entertain you a bit more.


       Besides, you know I'm just going to post it on Facebook every time I update it anyhow. 


       Cheers! And a huge thank you one last time to all of you: your support throughout my time in Peru made traveling much easier on my mind and soul. Give yourselves a round of applause!

Adios. For now.

The End of an Era

        I debated for a long time whether of not to keep the beard or shave it off. Eventually I decided to shave for two reasons.

1. I refused to pay someone in Denmark 200 kroner when I could get it done here for 12 kroner.
2. The chances of me getting hassled at the airport have decreased 10 fold.

        My sincerest appologies to anyone who was looking forward to stoking my masculine mane while laughing about how I looked like a caveman, rabbi, or monkey. It had to be done.

        Tears were shed. Shaving was comparable to the end of "Old Yeller" or saying goodbye to a best friend. I'll be alright through, there's no need to send flowers.

On the left: final photo after three months. On the right: last night after a shave and a haircut.

        Have no fear! When I'm 70 years old and couldn't care less I will grow a similar if not more impressive beard. Imagine Tibetan-120-year-old-man style complete with the red robe and cane. Yeah.

Goodbye Urubamba, Goodbye Arco Iris; Hello Puno, Hello Lake Titicaca

Arguably the most artistic thing I've created since kindergarten.

        As they say. All things must come to an end and my time in Urubamba at the Rainbow Center has done just that.

        I thoroughly enjoyed my time working at the Rainbow Center. I enjoyed my time there so much that I extended my stay beyond my original plans. Working alongside the other fantastic volunteers and the wonderful staff at the center has made me even more appreciative of the work that Kiya Survivors is doing.

        At no point in time did I feel money was being squandered or that time was being wasted. Without a doubt every cent was accounted for and overhead costs were kept to a bare minimum. I am proud to have had the opportunity to witness such a deserving charity in action and I sincerely hope to be able to return someday. Between my family and I moving back to the U.S. and myself starting university, in the immediate future, my schedule is a bit, ahh, full. But someday.

        On Wednesday, my final day at the center, the staff and students gave me a very kind sendoff. Quite a few of the students and nearly all of the staff came forward to say a few words kind words and give me a goodbye hug. I was surprised by the amount of students who came forward to say goodbye. I either made a greater impact on a greater number of students then I previously imagined or I'm just a cuddly dude. It could be both.

So. Many. Hugs.

        Whatever the reason, I was genuinely touched. I wasn't expecting a sendoff at all and to see so many of the children eager to say a few kind words before I went reassured me greatly that my time at the Rainbow Center was not in vain.

        As my lovely volunteer coordinator Aisha told me: "Even when you don't think you're making a difference... you are." The sendoff made me appreciate how much I had enjoyed my time at the center. I found myself a bit choked up as I said goodbye to all the teachers (or profes). From smiling Miguel, our indispensable outreach angel, to Louisa, the happy cook who always scolded me for not eating lunch at the center and everyone between the entire staff is worthy of a thousand and one thank yous. They make Kiya Survivors function day by day in a fantastic way.

        I encourage everyone to visit the official Kiya Survivors website (www.kiyasurvivors.org) and check them out if you haven't yet. Please consider spreading awareness about the work they are doing or, if you are able, assisting them with a monetary donation. You can make a donation, buy a gift for either a child or the center, or even sponsor a child monthly. Consider it a "tip" if you've enjoyed my blog thus far... or if you just want me to go away.

You can even buy feed for the animals at the center if children aren't really your thing.

        Now, let me tell you what I've been up to the past few days. On Saturday morning I took a bus to Puno, a city located on the shores of South America's largest lake: Lake Titicaca. Lake Titicaca holds the record for the being the world's "highest commercially navigable" lake in the world at 3,800 meters above sea level. Apparently, from here, "highest commercially navigable" means able to support boats "Bigger than those little rubber rafts that you weenies haul to the top of mountains in your vain attempts to 'prove' that your piddly little puddle is the highest lake!"... as the Peruvian's say.

Certainly not a little puddle.

        Please note: the last link where that ridiculous explanation of "highest commercially navigable" comes from is the same source that the infallible Wikipedia uses for its page on Lake Titicaca. The website makes no attempt to pretend that its a credible source of information; it claims to have got most of its information "searching the internet". How marvelously credible their information must be then! I mean, hell, the website is even called www.highestlake.com so they must know their stuff. Tsk, tsk, Wikipedia: I expect better of you.

        The lake itself has many charms, but perhaps the most renown are the "floating islands" of Uros. Here you can visit the unique living culture of a society of people who live on raft-like floating islands made from water reeds.

Say what?

        As the name suggests Uros is not your typical archipelago. The forty-two "islands" upon which a few hundred people live are not technically islands, but are large raft-like human creations made from the semi-edible and incredibly buoyant totora reed which grows just off lake Titicaca's shores. The authenticity of the current generation of island dwellers is often questioned (with good reason, the vast majority of the "islanders" live in Puno), but I nevertheless found my little glimpse into this dying culture fascination.

Yep, that's actually floating.

My day at the islands went something like this:

        I woke up early and had a quick breakfast of eggs on toast. This was something of a special breakfast when contrasted with the usual jam and bread that you get served at most hostels, but let's not dwell on my meal choices.

         After breakfast I was off to Uros. I took a tricycle from outside my hostel down to the port. Even though it was downhill most of the way I wasn't entirely sure how to feel about being peddled around in a tricycle. I was paying him, but something about being "driven" around in a peddle bicycle just reeked of imperialism. "I'm sure the British felt alright knowing they were 'paying' the Indians..." I thought to myself as I tried to justify my own ride.

The elusive and awkward "I'm not sure if this is morally right" smile.

        In any case, after my guilt-ridden journey to the port I bought my boat ticket and away I went. I took pleasure in being the only gringo in my tour group. When you're traveling you know you're doing it right if you look up and you're the only foreigner in a group of tourists.

        A short thirty minute ride left us at the first floating island. And how bizarre it was. Everything was made of the floating reeds. We stepped (gingerly) onto the floating mass to learn more. Our friendly island guide gave us a brief, but informative introduction to life on the islands.

Being greeted by the islanders.

        We learned that the bundles of reeds were over 2.5 meters (8 feet) deep and rested on the underwater root system of the original reeds some 3 meters (10 feet) down. The islands are then moored in place by eucalyptus trees driven into the lake bed 15 meters (50 feet) down so they don't "wake up in Bolivia". Each month the islanders put down a new layer of reeds to replace the older ones which rot away from the bottom. The culture of these islands may be dying, but the islands are very much alive.

A nice illustration: the block on the bottom is the "root bed" upon which 3 meters of the green reeds are laid. Houses are then build on top.

        Naturally we were hounded for money and repeatedly offered hideously handmade crafts, but only with halfhearted enthusiasm. I believe the islanders must save their energy for the larger fanny-pack toting and alpaca jumper wearing foreign tour groups.

        We were taken on a quick boat ride in one of their traditional reed boats and dropped off on the "main island" where we had the opportunity to buy overpriced food and drinks. I passed on the kind offer. We then returned to Puno by boat.

Two traditional boats joined together to form a pontoon boat. I suppose that makes it non-traditional, but let's not get too technical here.

        All in all the whole journey took roughly three hours and I felt they were three hours well spent. The trip set me back only 8 USD as well so I definitely got good value for my money. If you have the patience to visit the island sans organized tour I would definitely recommend it. Granted you have to be in the southern highlands of Peru first!

        Puno itself doesn't have too much to offer in the way of entertainment. As a matter of fact it really has nothing to offer aside from letting you visit Uros and a few other nearby islands. I spent the rest of my day there walking around and writing up with blog. There is a small hill you can climb for a good vista of the city, but I usually don't count that as "something to do" in a city.

        Tomorrow I begin my trip home! I have a flight out of Cusco (where I am now) at 12.00 and a flight from Lima to Madrid at 19.45 tomorrow evening. This puts me in Madrid by 14.30 on Thursday and after an overnight stop I continue again to Copenhagen . I will be back in good old Denmark by 15.00. As you might imagine I am incredibly excited to be returning home to the land of good food, good family, and good friends. I assure you that if you're reading this blog, then I'm probably excited to see you when I get back: I don't imagine too many of my arch-nemeses are reading this now.

         See you all on the other side!

Puerto Maldonado: The "Real" Jungle.

Monkeying around a bit on the vines.

        When in doubt drink a few cups of coffee and start writing. That’s quickly becoming my catch phrase for this blog. Fort Minor in their 2005 song “Remember the Name” says “this is 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain, and 100% reason to remember the name”. Let’s just say that regardless of what percentage luck, skill, and concentration play in this blog at least 50% of it comes from good ol’ coffee. I was trying to rework the lyrics a bit to make “caffeine” and “coffee” fit, but finding a suitable rhyme with either of them proved to be more difficult than finding a white guy at a Black Panthers meeting. It might be hard to believe, but I was never much of a rapper.

        My lyrical prowess aside I’ve become quite fond of writing this blog. With my trip rapidly coming to an end I’ll need to find another project to channel my artistic talent. Maybe I’ll write the most pretentious autobiography in the world. I mean really, who thinks they’ve lived long enough at the ripe old age of 19 to warrant an autobiography? I wonder how many pages my life story could fill before it became boring enough to put a coked-up hummingbird to sleep. Maybe 20… with lots of pictures.

        But I digress; this post is going to focus not on my non-existent autobiography or my lyrical genius, but on my recent trip to Puerto Maldonado. Puerto Maldonado lies 230 km east of Cusco in between the hot, humid, and huge rainforest reserves of Manu and Tambopata. Together these reserves cover 30,000 square kilometers (3 million hectares) of Amazonian rainforest and represent some of the most biologically diverse areas in all of Peru. One tree in these parks can be home for over 1,000 species of ants alone.

And it would be a pretty sweet home at that.

        When I labeled my last post “Welcome to the Jungle, baby!” I believe I did a disservice to the actual jungle of Peru. Quillabamba may have been hot and humid, but at no point was I woken up by a monkey or did I have to sidestep a tarantula on the way to the bathroom. Puerto Maldonado, on the other hand, was the real deal.

        I, along with my two traveling companions from Urubamba, had the pleasure of spending four nights in a jungle lodge roughly one hour away from Puerto Maldonado down the Rio Madre de Dios. Well, 40 minutes with the current and an hour and half against it. The lodge was a bit of a bare-bones place. To say that there weren’t a lot of frills would be misleading: there were no frills. But complete with several hammocks, a residential monkey, and a coffee loving macaw it was just fine for us.

Our lodge. You don't want to know how much trouble I went through to get this photo.

        Now I’m not going to bore you with an exhaustive list of what we did each day. I don’t have the patience to type up such a list and I know you don’t have the patience to read it. Instead I’m going to focus on two things which capture the essence of trip: the pets and the ecology. The first covers life at the lodge while the second covers the ever living jungle that surrounded us.

        Now I mentioned earlier that the lodge we stayed in was pretty “bare-bones”, but the lack of creature comforts was more than rectified by comforting creatures.

        We had Lola, the adolescent howler monkey, who was fond of crawling into your hammock for a little snuggle, surprising me on more than one occasion. Lola joined us on several excursions into the jungle choosing to take the easy way by hitching a ride on my shoulders. With his tail gently wrapped around my neck Lola would ride along happily occasionally reaching for a tempting leaf or hopping off on his own little adventure in the branches above us. Lola was incredibly mischievous and enjoyed sneaking into our bedroom to play “Try to find and eat all of Ben’s food before he notices”, a game I’m certain he enjoyed more than I did.

I learned, much to my dismay, that my beard is more effective at attracting monkeys than women.

        The other pet at the lodge was a colorfully feathered red macaw. Aside from the occasional “Hola!” he wasn’t much of a talker, but he captured my heart in another way. Like most successful friendships our relationship was founded upon common interests: we both love coffee. I spent several afternoons sitting with a cup of coffee and my feathered friend spoiling him with spoonfuls of tasty dark brown magic.

Coincidentally, “Dark Brown Magic” would make a good stripper name.

        In between sleeping, meals, and playing with the animals we did a fair share of excursions. We walked, we canoed, we zip-lined, and we kayaked our way around the jungle. We certainly saw a plethora of plants and animals I could never have imagined existed. And a few I wish I didn’t.

        In a place where competition for sunlight is fierce and nearly everything could eat you, given the chance, you can bet that there are a fair amount of plants and animals that have adapted in extreme ways.

        My personal favorite was the “Leaf Cutter Ant”. These ants take their name from how they cultivate their primary source of food. They harvest small sections of leaves and carry them to their colony where they use the leaves to grown a type of edible fungus. Yep, that’s right, they’re little six-legged farmers. The ants are second only to humans in the size and complexity of their societies. One colony can be comprised of over eight million individuals and they even have a caste system to divide up labor based upon ant size. The smaller ants work as “leaf checkers” making sure that the quality of leaf cuttings is up to scratch while the larger ants forage or protect the nest. In short, they have testers, gatherers, and soldiers.

A line of ants carrying their green trophies. If you look closely you can see the smaller "checker ants" on the leaves.

         In the history of humanity the invention of agriculture some 10,000 years ago was instrumental in the development of society. In those 10,000 years humanity went from a species of nomadic hunters and gatherers to the vast and powerful creatures we are today. Judging by that timeline I can’t imagine that it’ll be too much longer until the leaf cutter ants harness fire and invent the wheel. From there it’s only a small step to the printing press. I recommend we start building diplomatic relationships with these ants before it’s too late. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

        An honorable mention for “most interesting organism” goes to the “Tarantula Spider” simply for being the embodiment of everyone’s fear of the jungle. As this animal is one that lives in everyone’s nightmares I don’t think I need to show any photos of it. But I will anyways.

I did you a favor by not using my zoomed photos, but now you can see exactly how big this one was. Look at your hand. Now look at the photo. Sleep well.

        Measuring up to 10cm in diameter this furry arachnid does not create webs, but instead it lives in shallow burrows where is waits for its prey. They clear the areas in front of their burrows and patiently wait to ambush their meals. Luckily for us their venom (in most cases) is not strong enough to cause permanent damage to humans, but I don’t imagine it would be pleasant.

        We also saw “walking” palm trees, giant river otters, spider monkeys, and an abundance of insects and fungi. The jungle is not for the faint of heart. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip, but I don’t think it could have been done without lots of insect repellent and even more chutzpah. And I’ve got so much damn chutzpah I should be wearing a yamaka. 

It would match the beard!

Welcome to the Jungle Baby!

        I spent last weekend visiting the nearby (but oh so far away!) jungle town of Quillabamba. To reach Quillabamba from Urubamba you can jump in any one of the many cars, buses, or llama-drawn carriages heading through the breathtaking (and probably life-taking) mountain pass that separates the Sacred Valley from the jungle of Peru.

        The time the journey takes depends on exactly how much you value your life: if you want you could grab life by the cajones and speed along the twisted, cloud covered, and cliff-hugging 161 km to Quillabamba and be there in four hours, but a more reasonable driver would do it in 5-6 hours.

I did consider that despite their disadvantages llama-drawn carriages don't have "brake issues".

        Did you see that photo up there? When you see the sort of sheer drops that await anyone who has the misfortune to take a turn just a bit too wide you wouldn't fault someone who opted for an eight hour tour.

        This nerve-racking, but beautiful road deposited me in Quillabamba on Friday the 16th in the late afternoon. With a bright blue sky above me and the ferocious sun beating down on me the city was really living up to its nickname as "the city of eternal summer". I was forced to make an ice-cream stop en route to my hostel.

But the heat felt oh-so-good.

        Now my reasons for visiting Quillabamba were purely exploratory. I really wanted to take a weekend away from Urubamba to simply relax and unwind a bit. So why not the jungle?

        .... OK fine. The truth of the matter was that I'd heard that Quillabamba was something of a major hub for coffee in Peru. For those of you that know me you'll know that I perked up more upon hearing this than a kid does at the sound of "free candy" (or a major CEO at the sound of "free cocaine"). This little bit of information sealed the deal for me: I was going to Quillabamba and I was going to visit a coffee plantation.

        With all the love that coffee gets from the Western world you'd imagine that there would be more interest in coffee farm tours. Vineyards give tours, right? Why not coffee? If people can sit for hours tasting different wines talking about the "beautiful bouquet" of this wine or the "hint of cinnamon and cheese" in that wine the least I can get is a basic tour of a coffee plantation. Right? Whatever the reason I did not meet a single person in Quillabamba or otherwise who knew of any coffee plantations who offered tours. Coffee fields mockingly studded the mountainsides all around the city yet no one could point me towards a farm? I found this rather strange.


        Generally in Peru, someone always "knows a guy". If you need your toaster fixed the butcher will tell you to visit his cousin down the road. If you're looking for a guide to show you around "that mountain over there" you can bet that the little kid sitting on the corner has an uncle or a friend of a friend of a friend who'll take you there. Hell, you could probably find someone who sells baby ocelots if you've got the money. It's just the way things work around here. But strangely enough asking about coffee plantation tours draw many blank-faced stares.

"Would you like the one of the left or the right, sir?"

        But determined as I was to see a coffee farm and learn the ins and outs of its production I did what I seem to do best: I went exploring.

        Without much more to go off than "I've heard there are lots of fields that way" I set off. I heard that on the way to the "Waterfalls of Mandor" roughly 20 minutes outside Quillabamba there were many coffee chankras (small family-owned fields). My plan was to get dropped off in Mandor and hike my way to the waterfalls hopefully coming across some family kind enough to show me their way of life. I was going to make a day out of this little adventure.

I better put on my badass sunglasses.

        I found a taxi to take me down the dirt road leading to Mandor where I would start my hike up to the waterfalls. He was kind enough to drop me off somewhere between "Where are we again?" and "Are you sure this is it?"

"Here? Really? If you say so."

        It wasn't long into my upward hike that I looked to my left and saw a small patch of paved ground covered in drying coffee beans. Where there's smoke, there's fire. I was close.

So close.

        Visions of inky dark expressos made from only hours old coffee grounds pushed me towards the farmhouse. I wasn't particularly worried. Confident in my Spanish and armed with my irresistible charm who could say no to this lovable gringo? Three bemused Peruvians, a man and two women, were outside the house. Few people and even fewer foreigners visit this part of Peru. To say that this particular family was not expecting visitors of my, um, complexion would be a fair guess.

        "Um hi. My name is Benjamin and I'm a volunteer in Urubamba." Damn, I sound like I'm selling something."Ah... These are your coffee chankras, right?"

        "That's right. They belonged to my parents and now they're mine" replied the man. 

        He said it with curiosity and a slight edge of distrust as if to say "what's it to you?". I flashed them all as big of a smile as I could manage and plowed on.

        "I'm only here because I wanted to ask you if I could see how you produce your coffee. I saw the drying beans from the road and I'm really curious about the whole process. I know that coffee comes from a red fruit, but from there to my cup in the morning it's all a mystery."

       They all visibly relaxed. A smile of realization spread across their faces as they saw that I was just a harmless traveler looking for a little tour. They welcomed me in and invited me to sit down. The man was kind and explained everything I wanted to know. He showed me the process from fruit to final product explaining how the fruits are harvested, sorted, de-shelled, cleaned, dried, and roasted. The family laughed often as I continually asked "Could you show me how you do that?" and "Can I see the tools you use for this?"

The red ones are ready to be picked. By hand, naturally.

A coffee pod "de-sheller". That's a scientific term.

A coffee bean roaster.

A hand cranked coffee bean grinder.

        The man happily showed me around his small farm. He proudly pointed to his large mango trees, his many lines of coca bushes, his banana groves, and his occasional cocoa and papaya plants. It was more more than I was expecting when I spotted the drying coffee beans from the road. In roughly one hectare of land this family of three was raising pretty much all of the essential cash crops of this region. I was loving it.

Walking among the coffee plants.

Coca leaves in the front. A cocoa pod in the background.

        I must've done something right because the family was kind enough to invite me to lunch there at the farm. I enjoyed chatting with them and the man opened up a bit a share some of his true feelings about export coffee prices and how much he makes on the kilo compared to what it sells for abroad.

       I left after lunch and tipped the family well. A couple hour tour and lunch was more than worth the tip I left them, but they seemed quite pleased and surprised to receive anything at all. They told me to come back and visit some day even if that day comes many years from now. Perhaps I will.

To be honest, they were probably just trying to set me up with their daughter.

        After my coffee farm adventure I continued up the hour long climb to the waterfalls. At the base of the hike I was told that it was a 20 minute walk. Halfway to the top I was told it's roughly 30 minutes in total and only once I could actually see the waterfall did I realize it was closer to an hour than anything else. Let that be a lesson Ben: those who have actually gone the distance are the best judges of the time. Now that I think about it that applies to a lot of things in life.

        The falls were lovely though. Well worth the hike. I spent some time admiring them before I set back. I wanted to reach Quillabamba before nightfall. The rest of my time in that jungle town was spent either sleeping, reading, or chatting with the hotel staff. There was a lot of sports to be watched. I even managed to catch the Wales V. France rugby match on Saturday. It's been a while since I saw one of those!

        It was exactly what the doctor ordered. Just a bit of down time to do my own thing and relax. Life continues to come along well here in Urubamba and I've adjusted well to independent living. While Peru may not be the U.S. of A. and Urubamba certainly isn't Madison the life lessons I've learned from living and traveling alone for the past two months will carry over well.

Hasta pronto amigos!

Introducing "Project Luz"

This picture is completely unrelated to this post, but I wanted to set a happy tone.

        This post will be considerably less heavy than the previous. You have my word on that. In fact, this post is something of a joy for me to write because it allows me to share with you my new project here at Kiya Survivors: Project Luz.


        It is a remarkably simple project which I hope can help improve the quality of life for some of the families here. The best part of it all is that it won't cost any of the families a dime and the cost on our end is very minimal.


        What is Project Luz? Project Luz is my hope to use cheap and locally available resources to build "solar bottle light bulbs" which can be installed in the roofs of homes. They are well suited for the sunny climate of Peru and they work particularly well for poor families who live in either semi- or total darkness due to a lack of windows or electricity. Kiya Survivors frequently works with this particular demographic.

        These "Solar Light Bulbs" are nothing more than empty coke-a-cola bottles which are filled with water and a touch of bleach and then fitted into a hole in the roof of the house. Once they are installed in the roof they refract the sun's rays and scatter them inside the house. They work, as I have seen and read, roughly as well as a 50 watt light-bulb. They require no maintenance and their estimated lifespan is between 3-5 years. They are, if I may say so myself, a textbook example of simple ideas making a world of a difference.


Total cost per light: roughly one US dollar.

One such bottle light.

        In reality, their construction is slightly more nuanced than simply taking a hacksaw to a roof and hoping for the best, however they are sufficiently simple to build that even your average idiot (such as myself) could manage to build and install one.

Tools needed for installation: a ladder and two boards. I said more "nuanced" not more complex.

        I can not take claim for the idea of these "Solar Bottle Lights". This idea was first publicized by the "Isang Litrong Liwanag" (A Liter of Light) Project and installed in poor neighborhoods in the Philippines. I remember reading a news article about them some time ago and I remember thinking that it was a very clever idea. But at the time I had no use for it.


        I was reminded of these solar bottle lights a few short weeks ago when I stood in the home of that very ill girl who I spoke about previously. Among many other things, the house was very dark inside. Even a few light bulbs would have made a world of a difference, but the house was without electricity and without windows. How we could bring a little light to the house without major renovations was the challenge we faced.


        This is where the idea for Project Luz first conceived. It was not the result of hours of concentrated problem solving or even some creative thought process, but it was more a spark of inspiration where, for whatever reason, the neurons in my brain fired in just the right sequence and my memory of these solar bottle lights was recalled.


        Regrettably that girl will never see us install one of these lights in her house, but the poetic beauty of it all is that out of that very dark situation an idea that has the power to brighten the lives of many was born.

        I am pleased to say that we have already installed three of these solar lights and that they are working even better than I could have hoped. Even at two weeks of age Project Luz is already helping two families. Next week we will install at least one more.

The children of the first home in which we installed two solar lights. They're holding some of the foodstuffs we regularly deliver to them: milk, oatmeal, and canned fish.

        In light of these recent developments with this project and as a result of me thoroughly enjoying my time here in Urubamba I have changed my travel plans. I planned on leaving Urubamba on the 18th of March and spending nearly a month in northern Peru, but I have decided my time would be better spent in this region. Therefore I have decided to spend an extra two weeks here at the Rainbow Center and I will not be leaving the highlands of Peru until the 11th of April. This doesn't really change anything for you all back back home, but there's the new plan!


        This does mean that I won't get a chance to see Mama Cocha, but I will get to see the Peruvian jungle, Lake Titicaca, and I'll get to take another two weeks of salsa dancing lessons. Dancing in size 46 (size 12) hiking boots does add an extra bit of a challenge.

Look at the shoes! The shoes!

        That's all for now. If you're reading this thinking "I could use some solar bottle lights!" then please direct your attention here. If you're reading this thinking "this whole Kiya Survivors thing sounds pretty cool" then direct your attention here.


Ciao!