Peru 19 - Dance of the Yellow Fever

Nov 20, Playa Hermosa, Costa Rica

We have discovered how to get completely painless yellow fever shots. A couple of days ago, at the Taca airlines counter in Lima, Peru, we have checked in our luggage for Costa Rica and the ticket counter girl is wavering our boarding passes in front of our eyes, but asks for our yellow fever shot certificates before she will hand them over. Annie and I are speechless. We don't have them, since Costa Rica doesn't require them from people travelling from US or Canada. Unless they first stop over in Peru. This last tidbit of info was lacking for us, and suddenly we were “trapped” in Lima. The ticket agent points to the local health office at the end of the terminal – perhaps they could help us? But even if we get a yellow fever shot now, you still cannot leave the country for another 10 days – for it to take effect I presume. I envision another 10 days at Eco Truly Park with a sore shoulder. And in 10 days Annies flight from Costa Rica back to the USA leaves.
We leave the secure area of checkin and wander into the airport Health Office. The lady says we can get our shots dated today, but each airline has the right to refuse boarding if we don't have the correct health documents – that is, yellow fever dated at least 10 days ago. Hmm, perhaps we could sneak into Costa Rica on another airline. I head back to check with another airline to see if they require the same health documentation (I am a naive traveller), but before I can get there I am bombarded with the usual “Taxi?” chorus from a billion taxi drivers. I lower my head and charge thru them like a bull let loose in the Madrid streets. But somehow above the taxi cacophony two words penetrate my shields: yellow fever. Huh? I turn around and a well dressed stranger with ID around his neck is asking me about yellow fever documents. How did he know about my lack of health documents? Turns out the Taca girl has surreptitiously called him on his cell to “bump” into me as I cross the unsecured area of the airport. He tells me he can get me the necessary health certificates for Costa Rica entry in 10 minutes. All I need to do is give him our names, birth dates and passport numbers. Oh, and pay a “fee” for his somewhat unorthodox health services. I smell a scam. I double-check with another airline – yes, you need yellow fever documentation to get to Costa Rica from Peru – its the CR government requirement you ignorant stupid gringo.
So we take the plunge – we give our ID to this man – in about 5 minutes we are holding Peruvian stamped health documents that state we both got yellow fever shots two weeks ago. We hand them over to a new Taca girl – she is young and confused (ie innocent and new at her post) about the already printed boarding passes – something is fishy here, but her co-worker sly tells her its all ok and soon we are jetting to Costa Rica, having danced the Yellow Fever Dance. Not only were these yellow fever shots painless (and much cheaper than US prices), but our new health documents are good for another 10 years. Life is Good!

Peru 18 - Ruined in 10 Days

November 17, leaving Peru

Sometimes you get carried away. Annie arrived in Lima 10 days ago, and since then, we bused to Nasca, flew over the Nasca lines – huge drawings in the dusty plains that can only be appreciated in the air – then bused 13 hours from Nasca to Cusco. That last bus ride was a ride from hell – things could only get better after that. Buses only leave at night from the coast for this journey into the Andes – what, no daytime buses so we could appreciate the changing scenery for dusty coastal dunes to pristine snow-capped peaks? No, I was told – only night buses.
Our first bus ride from Lima to Nasca was like flying overseas. Checkin at Cruz del Sols Lima headquarters was like a mini-airport – clean, efficient, and completely computerized. Onboard , upstairs and busing south along the dry coast, a uniformed “flight” attendant gave us blankets, pillows, drinks and a meal. He spoke a few languages so he could converse with all passengers. If Greyhound operated this way, North American airlines would be in trouble.
Of the 4 bus companies in Nasca, only one had room leaving that night, and we were eager to get to Cusco. She (bus ticket girl) told me it left at 5pm but didn't have any “beds” - that is, fully reclining seats, nor was any meal served. I returned to the hotel to ask Annie if this would be suitable. Yes. I returned to the bus station. The ticket girl then told me there was a bus at 7pm – maybe I would prefer that one since it had “beds”? Hmm, why didn't she tell me this earlier. Oh, and this later bus had dinner. Why did a 5pm bus have no dinner but the 7pm one did? I have no answer. I returned once again to the hotel to confer with Annie. Yes, take 7pm one. I return to the bus depot and attempt to buy the ticket. Sorry, cash only (I had paid with credit card for previous bus ride). I left the bus depot once again in search of an ATM. Good thing I had all afternoon to buy two bus tickets.
We left Nasca at 7, and for the next 13 mostly pitch dark hours, we were thrown about the semi-reclining seats (there were no “beds”) as the bus careened into the Andes on tight switchbacks for the majority of the trip. I threw up at least 5 times, and the bus toilet would spray chemical solution all over you when you flush it as you attempted not to get thrown against the tiny walls. In Peru? I recommend flying over busing if not a coastal route.
Annie and I both enjoyed Cusco, although we didn't miss the city noise (disco 2 doors down) when we soon left for the Sacred Valley. We visited ruins in Cusco, Machu Picchu, Ollantyatambo, and Pisac. The train ride from Ollantya to Machu Picchu was absolutely incredible – deep narrow valleys, high peaks, ruins everywhere. Following the Urubamba river, we descended down from mostly barren slopes and cacti of the upper Sacred Valley into the Eyebrow of the Amazon – the beginnings of a rainforest with the air warm and moist – orchids growing from tall trees and forest growth all the way up the steep granite walls. The train was clean and also operated like an airline – smartly attired attendants who served us food and drinks on this fairly short train ride. They even did a fashion show of local alpaca wear for the rich and famous to purchase (ie not us).
The train unloads us at Agua Callientes – a town positioned 1 km from the base of Machu Picchu, and would look like a Shangra Lai if the town itself was not so ugly – like a mini-Lima dropped in the Andes. Every restaurant served the same menu, and ugly concrete construction was the theme. We ran through it, hiking the 1km downstream and right at the base of Machu Picchu we find a delightful green carpet to pitch our tent right on the Urubamba river. Only two other tents – we more or less have the campground to ourselves. Bliss.

Next morning we hike up the steep trail – about an hour to the entrance to Machu Picchu. Beside the entrance is The Sanctuary, the only hotel right on the mountain. Its room rates start at over $1000 US (yes, US dollars, not Sols). Our camping cost us $5. Weather is warm and misty, but the sun peaks out and we can see all the ruins, even from the next local peak of Winyapicchu. Rain only descends at the end of our incredible time at this sacred site – one of the most amazing human constructions anywhere on this world.
We train back to Ollantyatamba, staying at the delightful Hostel del Orchidas, and visit more ruins up the local hills. This town still uses the same narrow street layout (and stones!) that the Incas laid down centuries ago. Then a fairly short bus ride to Pisac, for ruins stretched out along a long high ridge. We are blown away by all this amazing stonework – still standing centuries after continuous use and many earthquakes. But this whirlwind Peruvian adventure has taken its toll on us – we are both completed ruined out and exhausted. Downtime under a palm tree in Costa Rica is our only plan.

Peru 17 - Abandoned in the Un-Sacred Valley or Self-Service Eco Yoga

Nov 5, Ego Yoga Retreat, on the porch

The week has gone quickly, and I will heading out tomorrow for either another spiritual-oriented farm (la Casa de Gopal) if there is room, else bedding down in the nearby town of Pisac – a mini-Cusco – for it is a popular tourist destination. Both are only a short ride away.
To sum up this week, Eco Yoga Retreat has been abandoned, with only Martin here to greet us, and Prasada - one of the “owners” - invited a group of stoned travelers to stay here a couple of night ago – Trina and I were under the impression that this is a spiritual retreat and had a no-drugs policy. Martin (from Spain) was a young ex-devotee and now smoking weed – albeit off the property. Confusion abounded the first few days. Trina (who first came here to volunteer about a week before I arrived) is now in charge (ha!), as none of the owners are running the show here. Rama had passed on the key to Trina to cover while he was away teaching yoga for Chaityana in Cusco. Chaityana was away in New Mexico. Prasada was working 6 days a week in Pisac and had just moved to Eco Yoga to live – although Rama wasn't aware of this. Trina was doing her best to figure things out and try and find out who was really in charge here – no easy task when there are no phones nor internet. Basically, Trina and I ran the show here, with Martin occasionally pitching in. There is a sign on the road: Eco Yoga. I asked Trina to paint a sign to hang below it: Self-Serve.
One early morning Trina and I cross over the river and climb the mud steps to a small farm for fresh milk and eucalyptus honey. We missed the milk (5am or its gone to market), and all honey had been shipped to Cusco markets. On the way back we hear roosters and I comment that we could get fresh eggs – Trina says eggs are not allowed in our Krishna-based community, but after Prasada's stoned friends, I'm guessing a couple of eggs might be allowed in this Un-Sacred Valley. We both laugh.
One morning after another yoga bust due to Prasada's lack of clarity on scheduling, I walked down beside the Urubamba river and visited Vichu, an authentic tiny Peruvian hamlet, far from any tourist route or bus. Other than the ubiquitous TV satellite dishes, this adobe town probably hasn't changed much over the centuries. The church was locked, but the chickens in front of the wooden door made for a Kodak moment.
The yoga building here is the best I've seen anywhere. A spacious adobe octagon, Inca style windows (trapezoids), and a huge mandala skylight from which to view passing clouds during savasana. The east facing wall is open to the river just a few yards away, so the flow of water flows to your ears. All this place needs is people and administration to make it go. Perhaps in another era. I leave tomorrow. Both Trina and Martin are leaving the day after. Full self-service after that for anyone who follows our footsteps.

Peru 16 - Escape from Eco Truly

Nov 4, Friday, Eco Yoga Retreat, near Vichu, Peru

Last Monday (Oct 31) was my planned escape from Eco Truly Park. The night before I discover one of the kitchen helpers is also heading to the Lights of Lima (future book title) – perhaps we could share a moto-taxi in the morning to take us to the Pasamayo bus stop? I cannot call to reserve a moto-taxi – the community phone is out of money again – they pay bits here and there – kind of like pay-as-you-go phones in North America. But as luck would have it, the kitchen helper has a cell phone and will reserve a taxi – I wanted around 6:30am – she says something like probably no one will show up until 7ish. So I plan for a 6:30am departure. I'm awoken around 5:45am as a moto-taxi whizzes by the volunteer “temple”. That's odd, I thought. I get up, pack, and say goodbye to the early risers, including Pancho who has been in the temple since 4am (the life of a devotee!). By 6:45am another moto-taxi shows up, but my ride companion is nowhere to be found – I suspect she snuck out with the 5:45am taxi.
At the bus depot in the tiny hamlet of Pasamayo, I find yet another popular twin calendar combo on the shacks wall – one calendar with a religious motif (some saint), the other calendar a busty pin-up girl from some other country. I have seen this calendar combo before – sex and saints. It reminds me of Tibetan art, where the profane and sacred hang side by side, although I must confess the Tibetan art tends to be of a somewhat better artistic quality.
My bus ride into Lima goes smoothly – thankfully the ubiquitous in-road movies (twin CRT TV sets hanging from the bus's ceiling) are not blaring out at 7:15am – one is off, the other is flickering a slow disco death. I arrive at the airport with plenty of time to spare, so call up my amigo Ulises (from couchsurfing) and meet him for a brief visit. Ever the don Juan – he was busy setting up some cheap accommodations for three Swedish girls arriving that afternoon, and he said his girlfriend (from Denmark?) was arriving in a few days as well.
Flight to Cusco was cloudy, but I did get my first glimpses of the Andes – a fantastic mountain range that I've been dreaming about seeing most of my life. Cusco is nestled in the Andes at around 12,000', so coming straight from sea level meant I wasn't running around too quickly or very far. I did get light-headed and some mild head-aches, but overall was not bed-ridden nor require those portable-oxygen chambers they use at Everest base camp (I jest). Cusco is an amazing cultural centre in the Andes – the complete opposite to Lima. Concrete is to Lima as Cobblestones is to Cusco. Huge churches soar above many fountain-filled plazas. Hostals and great restaurants are by the dozen on every street. Inca ruins at the top of the hill, a mere 30 minutes walk from the central Plaza del Armas. Painted doorways and stone walls and curved roof tiling everywhere. I am in love with Cusco, and my camera battery is soon dead. I stay at Hostal Felix ($6 for private room) – recommended by resourceful Ulises that morning – and immediately bump into Trina, an American volunteer that I met a couple of weeks ago at Eco Truly Park. Not only was that meeting an amazing “co-incidence”, but she soon told me she was off tomorrow to Eco Yoga Retreat in the Peruvian Sacred Valley – exactly where I was going tomorrow – and she could show me the way. As usual, life just unfolds so smoothly that I cannot believe it. We spend that Cusco night out on the street, where zillions of tiny trick-or-treaters have flooded the plazas and cobble stoned streets. One family is fully decked out in pirate costumes and stand in front of a cross in front of the huge ancient church – I snap off at least a dozen photos.
At sunrise (5ish) and with 4 solid hours of sleep, I hop into the hot shower again for a luxurious soak – recall that I haven't had a hot shower for the past month at Eco Truly – and then slowly walk uphill to visit the ruins just above the city at sunrise. A solitary grass-munching alpaca completes the Peruvian scene – I'm not in Kansas anymore. At the morning market (in a roofed plaza about the size of Walmart), vendors sell all types of food, and I almost get bowled over as this small Peruvian comes running by me with a full sized dead hog (must have weighed about 200 lbs – the hog, that is) on his back.
Later I meet up with Trina, and we walk to the bus depot to catch a ride to Eco Yoga Retreat, near the tiny hamlet of Vichu. We discover the regular buses are not running – for it's a holiday, but somehow find a Toyota minivan that is heading to San Salvador, near Vichu, and we pile on board. Before we reach the city limits, the “bus” has stopped and picked up many more riders. Now this van is equipped with 15 seats, but I counted around 25 people – there may have been more under the seats, but it was totally hilarious, as both Trina and I had our first ToyatoVan Yoga session as people pressed in and out of the van – we required some odd contortions to fit people in. Somehow we made it to Vichu, and we both ejected ourselves from the van and proceeded up the stone steps to Eco Yoga Retreat, deep in the Peruvian Andes, beside the Urubamba River.

Peru 15 - Harmonious Strawberries Fields for Ever

Oct 29, under moon sliver and headlamp

Ever since I saw and heard a harmonium play at a yoga festival this last summer, I've been wanting to get my hands on one. A harmonium is the offspring of the piano and the bagpipes – technically a wind instrument (bellows moved by one hand) – but with a tiny keyboard not unlike a piano – white and black keys. Yesterday my dream came true. Last weekend during the Sunday festival, a young German devotee played the harmonium and sang as well. I asked if she could show me how it works, and soon I was pumping air into a small box, while my fingers completely mangled the tiny keyboard and screeches filled the temple air. The birds flew away but I was enjoying the privilege to play a soaring instrument that India has adopted for its kirtan and other musical endeavours (this harmonium was made in India). Its particular forte (haha) is in meditation for unlike a piano where a keys sound soon dies away, a key pressed on the harmonium will go on for ever as long as the bellows is bellowed. The droning sound of a single key can be played in waves of volume as you move the bellows lightly or strongly – accompanying that with you favourite mantra is a shoe-in – although I've noticed the devotees here are shoeless so that word is completely inappropriate.

This morning I had the joy of working with Isabella, a young Mexican full of light and laughter and amazing stories and on a strong spiritual path that leaves most of us in the cosmic dust. She is studying eco-tourism, but she is leaning towards painting as her true passion. We worked together on the caigua cart, transforming the green and brown ancient veggie cart into a riot of bright colours. This cart stands near the front foyer, so roving tourists can buy organic veggies as they pass by. We traded stories on kayak surfing, lucid dreaming, Carlos Castenda, Carl Jung, snorkeling, as well as sharing memories of Puerto Escondido in the stunning Oxaca province of Mexico. She commented on how painting is her meditation, like sweeping is mine. Incorportating meditation in ones work or lifestyle is a great way to get this ancient practice out of the sacred halls and remote mountain tops. As a large bowl of freshly picked strawberries was placed on the the caigua cart, Strawberry fields forever sprung up, for indeed, as you walk down the dusty roads here you see strawberries growing everywhere – they thrive well here and are sweeter than our North American counterparts. Isabella mentioned that the Beatles have many connections to this corner of the world. My Sweet Lord by George Harrison is about Krishna, and not the Christian God that I had always mistaken the lyrics for (listening to lyrics is not my forte).

Vera has a copy of Samsara on her laptop and movie night is about to start. Its a great movie and much more appropriate than the prison movies that the devotees put on a few weeks ago.

Peru 14 - The P-Files or Why is Krishna Blue?

Oct 27, after laundry done but before breakfast

The hairs on the back of my neck are still raised as I type this in the secrecy of my adobe lair. My morning sweeping ritual is a total bust, for there is not a single broom to be found. Like toilet paper, shower heads and wheelbarrows, brooms are on of the growing list of items that disappear into the foggy air. I have a growing list of questions for Scully:

1. If the aliens are very very tall, why are so many doorways under 6 feet?
   
2. Why are the shower-heads removed every time after I put them on?
   
3. Why is Krishna always depicted in blue? (see Avatar)
   
4. Are witches in cohorts with the aliens or has Hogsworth opened a Peruvian academy? (hint: missing brooms)
   
5. Why is there a steady stream of buses and trucks 24/7 on the above highway (hint: watch the last few scenes of the first (1950s) Invasion of the Body Snatchers movie)
   
6. What is really behind the locked door on Truly #54?
7. Why do all the dogs here look like they have been genetically experimented on?
8. Why is serving one large hard cookie considered “dinner”?
9. Why is there only one verse in that “Hare Krishna” tune?
10. Why do only the volunteers get sick (at a fairly high rate)? Is it that experimental what-the-heck-is-this hot beverage that they innocently serve us every night?
    
11. How do all the moto-taxi and colectivo taxi drivers know exactly where the volunteers want to go without us telling them?
    
12. Why are there no post offices in Peru? (assumption: all aliens are telepathic and don't need primitive forms of communication).

On post offices – when I first went to Pasamayo, a town with five stores (one furniture, one baby clothing, the rest like miniatures 7-11s), I could see why there was no post office. But when I went to the next big town of Chancay (pronounced Shang-Hai by Spanglishers), a town with a port, a couple of refineries, and many many pharmacies, I asked for directions to the post office, and, after getting a few “I dunno's”, I finally got the real answer – there are no post offices in Chancay. There are no mail boxes. There are no stamps. I had a time-sensitive document (i.e. California speeding ticket to pay) to send, and was getting desperate – perhaps Lima (8 bazillion and counting) might have a PO? Two visiting girls from Lima – who work in an office there – perhaps they could stamp and mail my letter? “We don't know of any post offices in Lima, but we will try for you”, they reply. Gazooks!!!! That night I kneel down and pray for Krishna to manifest a Lima PO – a completely selfish act that will probably send me to a Hindu Hell.

Peru 13 -Tall and Skinny Eco-Aliens

Oct 26, 2011, after a chess game

One of the semi-devotees (he and family show up for meals and the odd ceremonies) plays chess, and after a 3-game losing streak (he's a fine player), it was satisfying to finish our afternoon chess session today with a tie. Perhaps it was the smell of burning plastic in the air that threw his game off – the irony of burning plastic at an “Eco” park.

My sweeping meditations (haha) have progressed quite well – yesterday I started in the bathrooms and ended up just at the entrance way of the inner temple – a flow from the gross to the sublime. By the temple a devotee asks me what I am doing as I sweep the tiled floor. Perhaps they have never seen a volunteer “volunteer” their free time with a broom. I replied “meditating” and that seemed to satisfy the query.

I have now narrowed down the physical structure of the aliens that created this pod community. On the surface this place claims to be a Krishna collective of humans, but I suspect the only humans here are the volunteers. This thought arose early yesterday morning, as I trudged along the pathway with a wheelbarrow full of crap – literally – for I was taking care of the volunteers composting toilet by transferring the contents to a corner composting heap at the far edge of the property. The wheelbarrow is of standard South American design – creaky loose wheel, not an inch of unbent metal on it, and in place of plastic handles two pieces of dowel had been jammed into the metal tubes, one of which would slide out if you slightly tilt the wheelbarrow the wrong way – very stressful if you are carrying an upright bucket of odoriferous that could at any second tip over. Anyway, as I manoeuvred between the bumps on the path, I realized I could hardly fit between the wheelbarrow handles. I am a skinny rake, so for me to have to squeeze between the handles is a bit odd. Then I remembered the homemade ladders here, with steps so far apart that even from my 6' frame I have to stretch to make the next step. Clearly, when the “Krishnas” assume their native alien form, they are very very tall and very very skinny.

Peru 12 - Bun Energy and Hari Futbol

Oct 23, 2011, Sunday, after the festival

Generator has been acting up the past few days – power fluctuates on and off – having a headlamp handy is like wearing shoes now – just part of the nightly attire. A Krishna festival today – two and a half buses drop off a mix of tourists and Krishnas from Lima, and the place is buzzing with activity. I'm completely in my element for its my second day in a row in the panaderia (bakery) and I know I have found my new career. Today I made sweet and salado (savoury – although it sounds like salad bread) buns, and not only did I get bun compliments from various consumers, but the head baker herself said that both were really good – of course she baked it to perfection and told me what to throw in the bowl, but I'll take full credit for the kneading – it flows naturally thru me as I move my weight back and forth – just like that basic Tai Chi exercise that I learnt over the summer in Arcata. Yes, wheat, water, yeast and some chi and I am happy – not to mention my stomach. Last night I had an interesting conversation with Govinda – the studious devotee who has been tending the store (of Krishco fame). She asked about my time in the bakery, and after I said I am really content and positive about the whole experience, she comments how the “bun” energy spreads and benefits the community – a transference of positive vibes via buns. I envision a Bun Chi Bakery, where wheat devotees chant to the Omnipresent Grain God/ess, and buns are flying out the windows, where pilgrims scamper to catch them, and, as the warm dough descends to their stomachs, the positive energy touches their hearts on the way down.

The great thing about today’s festival is that a talented singer plus some real drummers have arrived, so the music in the temple today is actually quite good. In fact by the second song, I feel my heart open to the universe and tears of joy start to form, for when one transcends the gross and reaches the sublime (whatever that is for you), there is an incredible deep feeling of love and joy. I look over to another woman – she is openly crying and I know she has also heard/felt the divine. Whether it is Hare Krishna or Halleluiah, the many paths lead to the one source.

After “Hare Krishna”, the second most common phrase you hear here is “Hari Bol”. Both are basically Sanskrit mantras, and have no meaningful translation. “Hari Bol” is used in place of Hello or Goodbye quite a lot by the devotees. Yesterday, as we gazed out the bakery window, we see one of the devotees hobbling between two others – he has broken his leg playing football (soccer) on the sand – a common occurrence I am told since the foot sinks in the sand and a sudden movement in the wrong direction and snap! This morning he hobbles to the breakfast table with a new cast on his leg – I shout out “Hari FutBol”

Peru 11- FincaVille without Mark Zuckerberg

Oct 20, 2011, Eco Truly Park organic farm

Finca is Spanish for farm, and as we plant real seeds along the curving rows of real earth by the Pacific surf, I ponder the other millions who are sitting in their work cubicles, planting virtual seeds in FarmVille, a popular Facebook game. The cubiclers get sore eyes, whereas we get sore backs – a type of butterfly effect balance that makes our crazy world what it is. Seeds are amazing. They sit with their buddies in a bag, dormant and dreaming, then one day they are plonked into some earth, and, magically, they awaken and sprout forth, reaching on up towards the warm light. Humans are also seeds, sitting dormant with their buddies, until one day they find the right soil from which they can blossom into their full potential. That soil might be on a Peruvian farm, or it might be a career change that speaks to their heart, or a “chance” encounter with a stranger that diverts our well laid plans into new and enthralling directions.
I recall an interesting story during a Mexican dinner in Sandpoint, Idaho, where someone mentions this series of books called The Ringing Cedars of Russia. The story revolves around this young woman, Anna?, who was raised by the animals in Siberia, and who is a conduit for a fount of knowledge. In this case, she describes how plants are here to provide us with nourishment, but to communicate our particular needs to the plants, we should first place the seeds in our mouths, allowing the seed to absorb our DNA structure, so the seed can then grow with an optimized benefit to the consumer.

Do I walk the talk? I stand under the warming sun, a handful of seeds in my hand, but many other hands have touched these seeds, and with already too much roughage in my diet and an acute shortage of toilet paper, I throw the seeds in the ground sans human DNA.

As we later weed the carrots, more tours of Peruvians from Lima stroll by taking our photos – the irony of the locals taking pictures of “farmers” from Australia and North America does not escape us. Dos sols (60 cents) per photo! I shout out in Spanglish. I have to make a living somehow, but I am a terrible salesman and the tourists leave me sol-less.

Peru 10 - Breaking Brooms, Weaving Rafts, Krisco and “♫ Happy Krishna to You”

Oct 18, 2011, pre-breakie blog on the outdoor tables

My broom sweeping has reached a whole new level as the pole breaks into two pieces in one OMful sweep. Pancho hands me the last roll of toilet paper in the entire complex – that’s it for this year, I say (I hope this doesn't come true since there are 10 more weeks left in the year and Andy has diarrhoea). Jenny is weaving a raft out of banana leaves to get us off the Island. And since a new devotee has decided to join the sangha (oops, wrong faith) and its her birthday, we all get cake last night after an endless repetition of Hare Krishna sung to the tune of Happy Birthday – I kid you not.
Two nights ago Andy #2 (Brit visitor for two days) lent us his Five Crowns card game, and most of the volunteers (8 or so) were soon crowded in the common room – it twas a great social night for all and a welcome change from our usual independent night routines. We even got this scrumptious chocolate super-rich cake (yes – cake TWO days in a row – VUNDERBAR!) - my huge slice was a gift from the head baker to me since I didn't fail at my baking duties today. Yes, my dream came true. I finally got to work in the bakery on Sunday and we whipped up cakes, pies, buns, cookies and pizzas for all the visiting day-tourists who were flocking our Island. I made two pies – one apple, the other pineapple – and on the last pie I got creative and created a Truly design using pastry strips. Really enjoyed getting my hands in the dough and making everything from scratch – no canned fruit here as we shredded freshly cut pineapple and apples. Since no eggs allowed with Krishna followers, we used some sort of linseed substitute which worked just fine. Now if only they could keep the bakery open during the week...
A couple of nights ago, as we sat eating dinner in the foyer, loud Bollywood-type music is bopping out from the small store (where yoga pants, books and trinkets are sold). Govinda is the store clerk today, and she needs the music loud to stay awake (not many shoppers at this neck of the beach). Krishna Disco, I declare. Krisco, Andy quips back without a second thought.

Peru 9 -The Caverns of Nrsimha

Oct 15, 2011, 9:28am, the hidden caves of Chacra y Mar Playa

Breakfast is late, so time to write about our adventure in the nearby coastal caves. I'm up at 5:50am for the 6 am departure – silly me this South America, not North – actual departure time is 30 or so minutes later (mañana). With our Mexican guide, Govinda, Mika, Jenny, Casi and moi head out under foggy skies, heading south on the beach, then over the hill with the solitary Truly, down to the next cove. We strip off our shoes and are soon waiting outside a large cave entrance right at tide line. With huge swells coming in, we have to time our entrance between wave sets, otherwise risk getting a full salt water bath and a possible drag out to the ocean. Govinda has done this before – she is the first one in. We soon all follow, dashing thru the cave tunnel to reach the hidden beach in a huge cavern before the next wave washes in. A small beach is at the end of the cave, above which is a huge painting of Nrsimha – with a human body and a lion head. He is a masculine incarnation of Krishna. We sit cross-legged under the mural in a small semi-circle, and some OMs soon fill the cave with the crashing waves playing bass. A huge wave almost reaches our circle, and we spring up, ready to dash out in the next relatively safe moment.

Peruvian Perennial Psychology and Swami Paramadvaiti

I found a copy of Perennial Psychology in the volunteer common room last night, after playing a round of Hearts with Mika and Jenny. Published in 2007, this Manual on OIDA Therapy is written by Swami Paramadvaiti (born 1953 as Ulrich Harlan), the German founder of Eco Truly Park. This man had led a rich life, and has created many spiritual legacies around the world. He started a monastic life at 18. He has created many yoga ashrams and Eco-centres around the world – mostly in South America, and has studied and written and produced DVDs about the many world faiths. He lives between India and Eco Truly Park, but is on the road mostly giving talks around the world.

His basic philosophy is that secularism in education and ones life has blocked us from advancing as a human race, that leaving out the sacred and the mystical and the faith (regardless of culture) leads to egotism and greed and a lot of our suffering and pain. He encourages us to embrace our spiritual traditions, and meld them into our lives daily. There is no difference between a primitive man and a modern man. There is no difference between male and female. There is no difference between one faith and another. Underneath our various clothes, we are all human, and should treat each other as equals, with mutual respect.

Peru 8 - The Exploding Veggie in Eco Disneyland Park

Oct 14, 2011, 4:22pm, the Palapa “Bar”/Restaurant, Eco Truly

I sit in the large outdoor restaurant near the front entrance of Eco Truly – with its palapa roof and the sound of the surf, one could be anywhere in Mexico. But as a Krishna centre, there will be no alcohol served here, nor any fish nor carne. Its currently only used by the odd worker for lunch, but I suspect it becomes busy with tourists in the height of summer.

Caigua birds

I feel if I eat one more vegetable, I will explode with bits of corn, caigua, potatoes, lettuce and other assorted veggie shrapnel flying in all directions. As a dairy-grainaterian, I love not eating anything with eyes, but I don't think I have ever eaten so many veggies in my life – veggies for breakfast, veggies for lunch, and veggies for dinner, then repeat next day. Mind you, I am enjoying it, but am starting to miss pancakes, donuts, cakes, and PB M&M's.
This mornings breakfast was a real treat and exception to the norm. We had a mixed cereal (shreds of coconut, puffed wheat, crushed faux sesame snaps (a bit like styrofoam in texture) and other unidentified cereals) with warm milk (combo of cow + rice milk), topped with our fresh strawberries and chunks of pineapple. Yummmm!!! :)
I worked in the garden this morning – madly chopping lettuce, oregano, mint, etc for the market stand rush, then a more relaxed planting of new parsley-like shoots with Rosario the Gardener, then some weeding and raking.
Over 200 people from Lima arrived this morning by 1/2 dozen buses, for quick tour of our grounds. The Krishnas donned their official guide hats, and the gardener volunteers worked furiously to stock the market cart by the front entrance; for after the tour of the Bio-Huerta (organic gardens), most of the visiting women wanted to buy our fresh produce – the oregano and strawberries flew out of the cart and into the bus caravans. The place felt like Disneyland for a couple of hours.

 Eco Truly volunteer castle

The sun has been out for two days in a row – halleluiah!!!! After a week of fog and cool temperatures, it is nice to feel some heat for a change. Even my laundry (hand-washed before breakfast) was dry by noon – solar dryers rock. But already in the shade the wind feels cool again – back to long pants and a jacket.
Yesterday I went to Chancay with a couple of volunteers – an afternoon in the big (relative) city! I needed a data cable for my Nokia phone (to download pictures), plus another battery or charger for my camera battery, plus we all wanted to find an internet cafe to catch up on emails. Arriving at the town plaza (quite nice and spacious), we walked into the first corner store beside us – it looked like an ice-cream shop, and was about the size of a bedroom. Lo and behold they also did photocopies, and sell USB data cables the fit Nokia phones – AWESOME!
Then we walked down a narrow street filled to the brim of local vendors sending everything from fruit to CDs to TV remotes to fake Nike shoes. Then I stumbled past this tiny electronic vendor stall – could you help me senor? I showed him my dead camera battery. He pulls out a lithium-ion universal charger, demonstrates how it works (it even has a USB port for charging), and sells me it for 9 sols (around $3US) – VUNDERBAR! The universal charger I forgot back in Eugene cost me around $60. So lets say the $3 charger cost the vendor $1.50 wholesale. It is plastic, but contains a PCB computer board, USB port, and supports 120-220v. Its shipped from China – halfway around the world. It amazes me to have this device for such little cost – I am sure even child labour couldn't keep this price so low. But what do I know – nada – Yo se nada.

After emails at the internet cafe (no cafe actually, just internet) we board a shared taxi for home, and arrive in the dark for 3 sols ($1) each. There is no taxi dome light, so I pull out my tiny flashlight to count the change. A successful day! Now lets hope my camera battery doesn't explode when I attach it to the new charger.

My solar water heater project has been not completely successful. As a wimp, my daily cold showers are not the highlight of my day – but the other volunteers are amazed I bathe everyday – they hold out as long as possible before doing the cold rain dance. So when I found a 2.5 litre water bottle lying in a corner, I thought here was my shivering salvation. Gathering some broken mud bricks (everything here is built out of mud bricks), I made an open air oven outside – two towers of bricks – just below my window and placed my full water bottle between them, envisioning the hot sun creating boiling water by the end of the day. A week of fog prevented any rise in water temperature, but todays sunshine has given me new hope, and for the first time I could end my shower with less-than-lukewarm rinse. Since my window wall only gets sun in the afternoon, perhaps I will need to move to a sunnier location.

The shower head has vanished – I scrounge around in the other shower stalls until I find a spare shower head on the floor behind a sink. But now the water pressure is so low that its almost better to shower without the head. Water pressure is created by gravity feed from tanks on the roof, so as the tanks get lower in volume, pressure decreases. There is no power here to generate water pressure via pumps. To get an idea of the pressure coming out of the tap on the sink: cup your hands, place under faucet, count 4-5 seconds, then your hands will be full. Shower volume is a little better, but I find rinsing from my 2.5 litre bottle more effective than waiting under a dripping shower pipe. Interesting fact: your body will feel warm about 5-10 minutes after taking a cold shower.

Peru 7 - Mangoes and Mongrels

In the pre-dawn light, a solitary Krishna is singing outside the volunteer windows: ♫ Mango lassi...Mango lassi. ♫. At least, that’s what it sounds like – my dairy-craving translation of Sanskrit – for other than a morsel of cheese and a small ice-cream, I've had no dairy – one of my two “normal” food groups. A mango lassi is my favourite drink (like a milkshake) at Indian restaurants. I shuffle off to the composting toilet – its full and I will have to empty it. By “composting toilet” I mean a garbage pail with a hole cut in its lid, to which a broken toilet seat is attached. Sawdust is used after each use.

Last night Eliza translates the dog story – of why there are so many mutts and mongrels hanging around. Not long ago, a man drove down to the beach here in his truck. He opened the back tailgate, and thru out a haunch of meat, whereby a dozen or so dogs leaped after. He drove away in a cloud of dust. The cute looking dogs where adopted by the nearby homes and farmers. The remaining motley mutts took up camp at Eco Truly.

This reminds me of how masters and mutts tend to look alike. I ponder how over thirty years ago, the German founder of this ashram left his legacy, and, like a tasty morsel, wayward human mutts and mongrels flock here from around the world.

Somewhere between a light rain and a heavy mist falls outside – the ground is wet for the first time since arriving. Good thing I hung up my laundry last night to dry – now my clothes have been blessed by Natures Second Rinse. Hare Krishna.... ;)

Peru 6 - Dune Krishna (apologies to Dune Messiah and Frank Herbert)

I been wanting to climb the 1500' sand dune behind us, and this afternoon is Expedition SandWorm. I toss my Stilsuit into my pocket (Mighty Mango Naked Juice Smoothie bottle from Joshua Tree), and head up in them yar hills. Within minutes a local dog (in no short supply) joins me and together we ascend the sandy slopes. Soon the winding trucks and buses are far below, and the occasional flowering plant starts to appear. Then we are in a field of white and blue flowers – we have reached the alpine montane section (haha) of the dune. The sand is almost wet here, for up here the coastal mist rises up and blows across the upper half, given sustenance to the sand plants. Doggy finds a large animal hole in the ground – a sandworm lair I suspect. Near the top a brilliant yellow canola field appears (well the colour is canola), and I snap summit pictures of me and doggy – first ascent, without oxygen or porters. Then the fun part – I come screaming down the steep dune, doggy sliding beside me. A small sand avalanche starts just above the road, complete with fracture lines, and I envision the Pan American highway blocked for hours by a careless Canuck.
This morning Eliza, Mica, and I continue to paint the ashram – the final coat of whitewash has been applied, and I work on the black detail of some Sanskrit words on the wall. Mica comments on my good painting. I reply, Me llamo Michaelangelo, and I contemplate desecrating the wall with that signature.

Peru 5 - Yoga Dos, Burning Palapas, and Signs of the End of the Weekend

Oct 10, Monday, 9:38am, outside dining room table, Eco Truly, Peru

How do you know the weekend is over? The new bars of soap in the bathrooms that appeared Friday night have vanished this morning. But the tranquillity!!!! All those pestering weekend yoga warriors / turistas have vanished, so us true spiritual seekers (sans soap) can restore peace in our souls. Actually I am just waiting for breakfast, which is a tad late today – I think that’s a sign that they are baking cinnamon buns, Eggs Benedict, fresh mango/orange/strawberry juice and chai lattes.

Had a long sleep last night, so off to yoga this morning for my second class. The instructor slowed the pace a bit this time, for we are slackers. Seven appeared at 7am, five volunteers, one visitor, and one “office” worker who left sniffling after a few minutes – her cold must be worse than mine. I'm thinking maybe the Krishnas have their own yoga classes separate from the peons – I will ferret out this info as my infiltration into this community deepens. Sure enough, I ask Pancho about it later. The Krishnas work early in the morning, and will do yoga in the afternoon if they wish. Y tu, Pancho, practica yoga? He replies, No, I prefer to run and do pushups.

Halfway thru the yoga, the teacher says Muy bien Miguel. For I can almost do one pose relatively well – as a rank beginner my ego swells at the comment, instead of my heart. Fail!

I took a short stroll on the beach after my sweeping meditation (my favourite practice). Eco Truly is beside Chacra y Mar Beach, a popular beach in the summer when it gets hot (Jan – Mar). There are these huge palapas just above high tide, with roofs of thin bamboo to provide shade on this treeless desert coast. Of the twelve palapas all but three are missing most of their roofs, for underneath are remains of some fires – marauding night beach gangs need to keep warm so they have torn down the roof for some easy firewood. Or perhaps the beach “owners” are simply replacing the old roofs and what better way to dispose of the rotting bamboo than to roast marshmallows.

Wow, a huge lineup at the breakfast window (9:53am) – we are all hungry and ready to start another relaxed day in our little paradise by the sea. I really like the pace here – so civilized! :)

Oh oh, another bus just arrived with a large group of male students all in school dress of white shirts and black pants – dang, way to blow my bliss bubble.

Peru 4 -Toilet paper is Gold and Surfing Krishnas

Oct 8, 2011, 7:48pm, Eco Truly Park, Peru

Yesterday I asked Pancho to let me know where the toilet paper is stored, so I don't have to bother him every time we run out (which is often – double rolls don't exist here and Peruvian single rolls are about 7/11 the size of North American). He replies, no, for such paper is under lock and key and only I have the key. Yes, toilet paper is a hot commodity here (all over South America I'm told) – if it is attached with anything less than a Kryptonite bike lock then it will vanish. So isn't there a lot of wood in the Amazon rainforest for making toilet paper? ;) My honey-pushing dreams morph into ocean containers filled with toilet paper, landing them in the middle of Peruvian ports and opening the doors wide to watch the tide of humanity deprived of Charmin and Scott-o-so-Soft come screaming down the dirt roads to grab it. Forget yoga, bottled water and save-the-rain-forest NGOs – toilet paper is where its at.
Speaking of commodities in short supply, I notice fresh bars of soap in our composting toilet bathrooms - wow – better than Christmas – I feel suddenly rich and giddy with luxuries – for there never has been any soap anywhere. Why the soap? Well, its Saturday today, and there are many tourist groups coming thru for the tour of our little community, so the place is spruced up to impress the visitors will illusions of soap. What would Krishna say about this devious practice?
For a second day in a row, we paint the trulys at the ashram – the ashram is the building at the far end of the community, where the Krishnas sleep. Up a homemade wooden ladder with steps too far apart for anyone under 6' (ie anyone from South America) I apply black paint to round stones that outline spiritual symbols. The stones - about small melon in size - are half sunken in the walls and some of them look like Nubian breasts – I caress them gently with my 1” artist brush. Yes, I miss Annie – she is too far away so I have these odd fantasies in a Krishna centre. “Tu eres una surfista???” a little girl yells up at me and brings me back to another reality. I look down – a well-dressed Peruvian family that have finished the tour are exploring the grounds and their little girl is pointing to a surfboard resting on the bathroom wall behind us. ”Yo no, pero el otro Krishnas...” I fluently speak to them (haha – joke). But as they leave, the old guy says “Hare Krishna” to me. If only he knew..... :)

Peru 3: Yoga and Strawberries

Oct 6, 2011, 2:30pm, Eco Truly Park, Peru

Alarm didn't go off but made it to yoga – Mica and another – with Maha Prema instructing. Sun salutes a bit tricky – the roof is low (but made of bamboo!) - good thing I'm in the middle of the room where the roof is the highest (8'?). Sandals must be left outside (is the energy that bad outside but within Eco Truly borders?) - Mica has to retrieve her sandals from a wandering dogs mouth.
Spent the morning with Rosario – a local farmer who has been here a year – we dig water trenches between the strawberry rows – dig too deep and you reach sand – no surprise there with the beach next door and the surf pounding away. I use a pickaxe – good honest work with a cool breeze flowing thru. Rosario is quiet and has a peaceful aura – we get along well as he teaches me a few words of Spanish. Life is good. And lunch is awesome.
Both Mica and Eliza have camera battery chargers. Super!!!!! I will be able to get my camera going – the sun is shining – I'm stoked! Alas, engineers from Canon and Fuji made sure their batteries are not compatible with Olympus (my camera) or each other – even though the voltage is the same for all three. Stupid humans (including myself since I forgot my charger).
We can put a man on the moon, but we still think a futon is a comfortable bed. Its not. Cotton compresses into cement after a few months. I will inflate my thermarest tonight – my spiritual practice (ha!) will take in cold showers, but I draw the line on sleeping on hard beds.
There are three groups of people here – although some float between the three or belong to all three: the Krishnas, the “office” workers (cooks, gardeners, etc), and the volunteers. The office workers run the place, but don't practice yoga nor greet you with “Hare Krishna”. The volunteers run after the office workers, and practice yoga. I'm not sure what the Krishnas do – none of them were at yoga this morning (except the instructor) and I haven't seen them in the garden – a couple of them do work hard in the kitchen and the front reception area. Like any community its the differences that make life so colourful.
8:30pm. My privacy is short lived – four young volunteers invade (more than doubling our group) – two guys take over the loft section of my room. The two girls are bunking with Micah. Nice group – they are spending months in South America travelling from yoga ashram to ashram.
I spent the afternoon exploring the coastline. First north – where the endless beach is covered with trash that floats with the current from Lima just to the south. I see one young couple (immune to trash), and one old guy with a rake and bags around his waist – he of one-mans-trash-is-anothers-gold philosophy. Otherwise its just me and thousands of sea-birds – for what idiot would want to spend their free time walking thru garbage? If only I had a mirror. Instead, I poke around looking for an Olympus battery charger, but the old man has beat me to it. Finally my passage is blocked by a large stream entering from the mainland. I could take my shoes off, but I've walked by these rivers/sewers before, and I haven't had my boosters for typhoid, dengue fever and foreign-travellers-paranoia fever.
Heading south from Eco Truly, cliffs, coves, caves and goat trails reign. This section is gorgeous – if you keep your eyes off the truck/bus highway high above. The coves are fairly clean, since high tide buries the entire beach. Some caves require low tide for further exploration. At one cliff, crashing waves soar up almost a hundred feet. A few local fisherman stand atop of theses cliffs and cast long fish lines from hand (no rods) into the water far below. I return at sunset bypassing a solitary truly on the cliff beside Eco Truly.
Before dinner, Eliza and I head to the temple to listen to some Krishnas chant – we are invited to join in, but a short while later I leave – I love kirtan but the Krishna chants don't align with my soul. The temple is really beautiful – the center is open air, a huge tile mandala covers the floor, and at least 18 trulys surround the space.
Dinner is huge cookies, hot chocolate, and as an afterthought, left over cold rice 'n salad from lunch. Did I mention that lunch is the best meal?
Shower stall #3 is a bust – not a drop of water from the pipe. And I now do my laundry while taking a shower – getting into the swing of travelling far from the luxuries of North America.

Peru 2: Pasamayo and ALT 64

Oct 5, 2011, 7:53pm, on two hard mattresses, Eco Truly park, Chile

So what does 1 hard futon + 1 hard futon = ? Twice as hard. My hips did not like 1 futon, so will try 2 tonite – if all else fails there is my supersmall backpackers thermarest I can blow up.
Just had cold shower with lights on – yes I'm learning. I tried another shower stall to see if the pressure would be better – there was just a small piece of plastic pipe sticking out of the wall. When water came half pouring out the wall, I realized the pipe was broken off, but you could sort of jam the pipe back in to get most of the water to come out the pipe. Tomorrow I will try shower stall #3.

Looks like there is just two volunteers here at the moment – me and Mica from Japan – although another arrived around lunch – Eliza from New York – yippeee another English speaker who knows some Spanish.

Mica and I spend the morning in the huge kitchen making lunch – huge sinks, tiled walls/floor, palapa roof with sky lights – nice and airy. Santa is the head cook today – we chop endless veggies picked from the garden. One veggie looks like a green parrot (sans wings). At one point I went out to collect lettuce for the salad – doesn't get much fresher than that. Lunch appears to be the best meal of the day here. Breakfast was a very simple but nourishing type of quesadilla – melted cheese inside a type of pancake/crepe/flatbread.

Eliza is feeling sick from her long travels from New York and requires some meds from a pharmacy. I offer to pick some up in the nearby small hamlet of Pasamayo – she wants to come in with me since she too is looking for an internet cafe as well to let her family know she arrived safely. We head out down the dusty road, past fields of corn and stinky water viaducts (sewer + irrigation combined), and eventually reach Pasamayo. I find batteries, but there is no pharmacy nor bank. There is one internet “cafe” - by that I mean there is someones house with a locked gate instead of a front door – inside a 12 year old unlocks it and for 40 cents/hour, you can use one of the computers on some tiny desks. Three or four other kids are playing video games in front of some TVs. I cannot connect my netbook, so am soon using Google Chrome in Spanish. The keyboard has an '@' sign above the 2, but no key combo will produce it, and we cannot log in to our web mail accounts without the '@'. The “boss” comes over and helps us – ALT 64. Ah yes, ALT + keypad numbers will generate any ASCII character – I knew ALT 32 will give a space (handy if space-bar busted), but I'm not Data and I didn't have an ASCII chart handy.

Apparently another new arrival today has been roped in as the new yoga teacher – if I wake at 7am tomorrow I will try out some Peruvian yoga – hmmm, downward dog – would that be perro debajo?

Peru 1: Eucalyptus and Salt Air

Oct 4, 2011, 7:13 pm, on hard mattress, Eco Truly Park, Peru

The lights have just come back on – some soul has restarted the generator – and perhaps that will mean a warm dinner tonight at 8 pm. I sit on the bed in my cell, er, room – two hard mattresses to choose from – I consider placing one on top of the other but that might be bad karma and result in a roommate arriving tomorrow – currently basking in the joy of solitude in my own private room. At $12 day (3 veggie meals, room, and yoga when the teacher returns) I want to take full advantage of this unforeseen luck.
I left Mr Adventurer aka Castaway aka Ulises Robinson's “couch” in Lima late this morning – had a wonderful sleep under the staircase. I am feeling brave this morning, for today I will try the hot shower – that is, I will flip the large lever with exposed copper wires (a la mad scientist) beside the shower head and engage 220 volts directly into the shower head, where, using water as the resistor (yes WATER), the electricity will directly heat the water and give me a warm shower. Yesterday Ulises told me these devices are not available in the hotels. He also said not to put my hand too close to the shower head since I might get a shock – a thought I did not forget as I stood soaking wet (but warm) in a small plastic tub – a true eco-warrior bathroom – the tub saves shower water that is used to flush the toilet (since toilet does not have a water tank). Annie, if you think BRING (Eugene recycling company extraordinaire) has changed your habits, wait till you come here! :)
Ulises continues to ply me with his amusing adventure stories, even on the city bus as we swerve roughly, heading downtown to catch another bus for Eco Truly Park. I stand and foolishly stick my head out the bus window to snap photos of how close the other buses/taxis/people are to us – Ulises reminds me that I could lose my head by another passing bus (I offer my backpack to him if I lose my head), or a thief might grab my camera from my hands. Neither happens of course – I lead such a charmed life that what could possibly happen to moi? We pass by KFC, McDonalds, ScotiaBank, HSBC (yes, BC for British Columbia – a Hong Kong bank that merged with a BC bank), and a gargantuan billboard with Justin Beiber staring down – gawd I hope I don't run into Justin in the Costa Rica jungle – if I do I'm taking the first flight to Mars.
Now my butt is sore (hmm, two mattresses might be necessary) and I think dinner might be ready and I missed lunch.... I'm off to find some veggies with the nearby surf as the background theme... back already – make that dinner (la comida) at 8:30pm – how fashionably late.
Back to bus this morning – Ulises takes me right to the bus station (Tourismo Huaral) and makes sure I get on the Pasamayo (not “V”) bus – he's a real trooper and has made my introduction to Peru go really smoothly – thanks Ulises!!!! I take a seat near the front – since Latin Americans are not as tall as North Americans, the seats are fairly close so my knees appreciate the fact that the trip north will be only 1.5 hours.
Back to Eco Truly – my neighbour Mica ? has locked herself out of her room – Pancho (from Chile) has bought in a huge bucket of unlabelled keys and he is trying every single one to get her back in to her room. No luck so far....
Back on no-leg-room bus. The right arm rest is just a metal knob – the actual arm rest must have been stolen. I notice the seat belt buckles are attached to a thick wire (in addition to the regular cloth belt) – assuming to prevent theft of this precious metal. (note to self: collect seat belt buckles from Canadian car junkyards and sell them in the Peruvian black market). Good news about this bus is the windows open – so again I stick my head out to snap stupid tourist photos of laundry drying on everyone’s roofs. In between photos I watch a dumb American movie on the TV on the front of the bus – didn't know Robert deNiro spoke Espanol with a Peruvian accent.
The drive north is close to the coast, but I don't see the sea until over an hour along the highway. Lima stretches all the way (8 million souls) until huge vertical cliffs/sand dunes block any further progress. The next 15 minutes is spectacular coastline as the highway weaves across the walls of sand/rock, then the next flat ground appears, with a Truly (domed structure of Indian architecture) stuck on the last cliff, welcoming weary pilgrims to Eco Truly Park – a yoga ashram (Krishna-based) oasis between the Pacific swells and dry steep slopes of coastal desert. The bus drops me above the oasis on the highway, and I climb down the sandy slope to my new home.
Locked room update – Pancho finds a ladder and Mica squeezes thru top floor (loft) open window.
Arriving at Eco – surrounding beach is full of garbage – the irony – I walk by tall Eucalyptus trees – I rub the leaves on my hands to release the welcoming aroma – if wolf is my totem animal, then eucalyptus is my totem tree. The air is heavy with cool salt. Buses and trucks zoom above me down and up the Pan-American highway. Although Eco is at the end of a dirt road, the above new addition of the highway probably wasn't there when Eco was a gleam in the founders eye.
10 pm update – lights vanish again – generator must be off for the night – looks like my first shower will be with headlamp. I sit on the “firm” bed in darkness, a glow from my netbook and my fading headlamp – plan for tomorrow afternoon: walk to town and stock up on batteries and candles. Speaking of which I had planned to bring my nifty universal charger down to recharge all my batteries – such as my now dead camera battery. Opening my bag of electronics that charger is nowhere to be found. Nice move idiot.
9:13 dinner update – when the cook says viente (20) minutos till dinner, that is in Eco Truly time. Earth time is actually 53 minutes. No, I’m not wearing a watch, but I'm still in hypermode – especially after spending the past two days in frenetic/frantic Lima. Breatheeeeeee in, smile. Breatheeeeee out, calm. Relax – you will enjoy the difference. So dinner is tofu slabs with boiled potatoes. Someone offers his potato to one of the 5 dogs that magically appeared when dinner was ready. The dog sniffs the spud, then turns away – dog is not impressed with vegetarianism. And why are all the humans eating these spuds if the dogs are not? I sneak away into the dark and dive into my backpack – where were those PB M&Ms?
Some parts of the world use cold showers as a spiritual practice. This is one of those parts – ie there is no hot water anywhere. But the showers do have nice tiling.