The road to Luangprabang

Chiang Mai:
My first day of exploring Chiang Mai started in the guest house pool as I tried to stay cool reading my guidebook and avoiding a (intoxicated?) man from Liverpool's attempts to initiate a conversation. I thought he was drunk because he kept asking me where I was from and didn't seem satisfied with the US or Seattle as a response so then he began asking me where my parents are from, Washington State and the US still wasn't enough. "no no no, I mean before that where is your family from?"

It clicked. "Oh, are you asking why I am brown?"
"yes"
"I am Native American"
blank stare
"American Indian"
"Indian?! Are you a proper Indian?"
I have no idea what this guys definition of a proper Indian is, and almost asked him to enlighten me, but instead decided that I would just store this into the memory bank of concepts of race, ethnicity and authenticity experiences on this trip and get out of there.

I was trying to make sense of a map of Chiang Mai, stopping at Wats in no particular order when I noticed several people that looked like they were on the way to a procession of some sort, and headed in the same direction. Everyone waiting for the procession was in front of the three kings statues, dancing groups, bands, people with large elaborate flower decorations/offerings. There were a couple other tourists drawn to this crowd, but I was surprised that it was only 5 or so. When the procession began I moved a little ways up the street to take a photo and the group that I took a photo of waved me over and handed me a decorated top of a young banana tree and I was part of the procession! Several people behind me in the procession poured flower water on me, which smelled sweet and cooled me off. The procession entered the Wat Luang (for some reason I am drawing a blank on the name, maybe because I have been to so many temples now) and I was in complete awe of the old chedi we walked towards and past. This was really the way to see it! Past the chedi there were people waiting with a big water hose to spray us down, so I got a taste of songkrat, the water festival that took place the three days before I arrived in thailand. Then the group I had been walking with wanted me to try this food and that food, the dance groups and musicians in the procession performed,and then there was a special blessing that my friend Lome encouraged me to take part in. He introduced me to sever other people waiting for the blessing, one was a woman who told me she has a son that studies in America. We spoke for a little while and after findng out I was staying at a guesthouse here she asked if I would like to stay in her home... I felt honored, and thinking back to the Liverpool guy this sounded even better. We stood with our cups of flower water during the talking/prayer and then went up to pour water on the two buddha figures and join a single file line that was going on their knees in front of a row of seated monks, pouring water on their hands that the monks then flicked over you, and then a row of elders that did almost the same, but would touch your shoulder and talk a little to those going through. After the blessing I went with Supasini and we decided that since I wanted to make it to Wat U Mong for the lakeside discussion with a monk that she would drop me off there and I could call her the next day (already paid for guesthouse and such) to come to her house.

I went to the lakeside discussion by a monk from England, it seemed every person who came was expecting a different thing of the experience. Some thought it was a meditation class, others had questions about getting married, a little bit of everything. I walked back into the city from here (this Wat is kind of out of town in a wooded area) and stopped in to a market along the way for some passionfruit juice and dried strawberries. I went to the sunday walking market/night market and it was wonderful, I especially enjoyed seeing the arts and crafts people had done... and having great fruit smoothies and phad thai for less than a dollar each.

The next day Supasini and her son and daughter came to pick me up and took me on a day of sightseeing, it was great to go to Wats and have someone to explain the significance of what people were doing and joining in, and to go out to eat with people that knew the best foods to order -expanding my horizons past phad thai :)
That evening when we went to their home, I realized that without this experience I wouldn't have seen a thai home with the beautifully carved furniture and doors, or the meditation room and area with family pictures, I adored my intricately carved wooden bunk beds.

After my first night in my cute bed we had a delicious breakfast and Bob and Poupee (Supa's son and daughter) translated the bizzare news on tv. They took me to Wat Ched Yad, where Bob did his monkhood for a total of 10 days. We also stopped by the museum before they dropped me off for the first day of the short meditation retreat offered by Wat Suan dok. Must give a shout out for Pun Pun, the restaraunt behind the monk-chat office. Good food and good people doing good things. I just had a smoothie, but I hear the food is great from some trusted sources. The retreat began with an intro to buddhism and overall was much less intensive than other longer and more strict retreats around. The retreat took place at a center outside of town and was lessons in meditation mixed in with some yoga, alms giving, and quiet. I liked the quiet. What was very uncomfortable to me was learning about the "bowing down to the triple gems", and then being asked to do so.

The next day strangely became what I will remember as my day in Thai beauty school, where I learned first hand what Ruth told me in Bangkok: Beauty is everything here. Supasini was concerned about my sloppy backpacker look (I wonder if she thinks I dress and look like this at home?) The full story is too funny to write here, maybe too awkward too. I'll tell you when I get home :) I can also tell you about my last night at Supasini's house, with Supa and Poupee and whatever forces there are there that open cupboards and close them right before your very eyes. I am not really a person who has many haunted house experiences. I really am still speechless on the subject.

The last morning there I helped prepare breakfast for a monk, nun, and their travel companions from Northeastern thailand, this was a great time and hearing the chanting that I had heard done only by monks with the addittional sweet voice of a nun was beautiful. I took a bus up to Chiang rei that same day, and from chiang rei rode in the back of a truck up to a bungallow guesthouse owned and run by an akha community. I spent two nights up there, I just needed to be out of the city. This was a great escape and hiking around there with the other guests to see the waterfalls. After the memory of my friend in Ecuador pointing out the face in the falls outside of Otavalo came to mind there was a remarkable face, clear as day, in these falls (must post picture). In the evening I heard some guitar playing when walking around with a guy from australia and when we found the source we were welcomed up the the house of a smiling woman that was playing music and singing out of a hymnal. I sang along, reading the words of Amazing Grace in Akha.

Going to have to end there for the moment, the computer I am on is having serious issues and I have to get back to my guesthouse before they lock-up. I am currently in Pakse, Laos and really loving traveling through Laos. I am making my way to Cambodia and can't wait to tell you about:

Bicycling through the ruins at Sukothai
Feeling like the only tourist in Kamphaeng phet and bicycling through ruins there
Going to Lopburi and having monkeys trying to get in my hotel windows
Going to the National Park outside of Pak Chong
Swimming in the waterfall from the movie the beach (with the whole place to myself!)
Camping alone at the park (not counting tigers, elephants, gibbons, deer, etc)
How camping all by myself turned into camping with 400 monks and new friends from Ayuthaya...
Giving alms (food) to 200 monks the next morning
Being given a grad tour of Ayuthaya by my friends,
Heading up to Laos
Hitchhiking (the road to luangprabang), oh the adventures go on and on...

and even more recently:
Knocking a wannabe thief and his motorcyle over while he attempted to grab my wallet
Having my fisherman trousers fall halfway down in front of a tuk tuk driver (on laundray aka no underwear day)
and donating blood in a "third world country"

Time for bed!

Thailand in a betelnut shell:

First day I set off to see the things that one must see in Bangkok, starting my day with a ride on a motorcycle taxi - pressing my right leg right up against the exhaust pipe resulting in my first and hopefully last "farong burn" The burn bubbled up later into the largest blister I have ever had in my life. I took the boat down the river to visit Wat Pho, the reclining Buddha and a wat also famous for it's long lasting role as a center for traditional thai medicine. The highlight of visiting here for me (other than being in awe of the reclining Buddhas toes) was that they had an area where the ceramic roofing shingles were piled up and you could write whatever you wanted on the underside of tile and that tile would be used in the roofing renovation... I quickly made a tribute/prayer tile... and then went back to make another donation and another tile for First Nations @ UW with the names of members and wishes of success for the graduates of last year and this coming June.

I went on to the Grand palace and to see the emerald Buddha. I had to borrow a sarong because my long shorts were not acceptable atire. Beautiful place, the mosaics that create the flowers and intricate designs, oh and the murals, I could go on and on. The clouds above had been threatening rain, and a little while after I sat down to gaze up at the emerald Buddha in his summer clothes (they change his outfits) the downpour began. A group of novice monks, young boys, had come inside and were ushered to the front where their chanting made my visit even more memorable. The picture above of the juice cooler/fridge with the chief logo is outside of the palace where I bought some chocolate milk.

I was hoping to make it to a meditation class at Wat Mahathat, but it seemed to be closed (turns out I was in totally the wrong place...and listened to the wrong person about the time that the meditation class would happen the next day) so I went to see one last Buddha, a large standing one, before taking the boat back up to Bangsue.

The next day I went and found where the meditation classes take place, but was late and really had the impulse to give up on the meditation idea, not knowing why I was there and confused about the class going on not being in English. Soon the director of Section 5 (the meditation instruction building) welcomed me in, a small smiling monk who has probably had plenty of farong come in with little to no knowledge of Buddhism. How embarrasing to me now, my assumptions that the classes I read about would be just like any other cutesy relaxation or "wandering through a beautiful forest when you come upon a clear stream, approach the stream..." -type meditation I had come across in my life, completely detached of Buddism. I needed a bubble above my head reading "oops, I think my judeo-christian upbringing is showing".

So Phra gave me a booklet to read on meditation technique. He said if I read it he would teach me more, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to leave and read it and come back or read it right there, but he pointed out a place I could sit. I asked again, for some obnoxious reason, about group classes in English. Phra smiled and reminded me in Thailand, where the language is Thai. How horrible of me, it's part of a larger realization that I agonized over needing to learn more Spanish, but not once put any thought towards learning any Thai. Good grief.

I read the booklet, some things made sense, others were like nothing I had ever really thought about before, and when I returned to the Phra's desk expecting an immediate lecture he instead asked if I had eaten breakfast. Catching me offguard I told him no, and he took me to the kitchen for a plate of melon and sweet ginger tea. I came back to his desk again "full? happy? we have to eat to be happy!" He talked with me about Buddhism and meditation training, but mostly about America and mental health in America... Contributing factors to the mental health problems. I am not sure if this is his usual approach, but I did tell him that I study public health. ((I am trying to keep this a brief over-view, which seems impossible to me so I will speed through the following)) The Phras assistant gave me a one on one in walking and sitting meditation, and afterwards I was invited to have lunch there as well. Delicous food and a very good immersion experience. I think I'll be going back.

I did a few more sight seeing activities before going back to Bangsue to visit with Ruth and Isabelle. They have started running in the park in the 40 C heat and I decided to join them. The park was an oasis surrounded by bustling city. Running in the extreme heat was intense to say the least, and I basically walked jogged one km, walked one, jogged one. To keep on going I applied what was in the meditation booklet about "walking fast" and just focusing on the moment, the impact, the movement of right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. When I really felt like giving up on jogging I saw the fountain marking where we had began on the loop, and there is nothing like seeing the finish line to give you knew energy. Later, when I was sitting down next to the pond sweating buckets and wishing for water, I thought about how this is true for my travels as well. I know the day that I am returning to Seattle and it is coming near. I can see the finish line and it is giving me new energy in my travels. I bought my ticket for Chiang Mai that night and went out to the night bazaar because Ruth and Isabelle had a going away get together to make an appearance at (this was kind of dreadful) and I was a bit too tired and am a bit too DONE with shopping to enjoy much more of the Bazaar. It was really great for observing other tourists though.

The next day the big event was getting my hair cut -read- butchered. I had many reasons for wanting to cut my hair, it had grown very long as hair tends to do. By any standards it needed a trim, and ---wait, before I go on and on about my hair I should probably preface this information by telling you that my hair for the last 10 years or so has always been cut straight across and I have had it grown out long for a good deal of that time. Just know that for some cultural, some personal, some reasons cutting my hair is kind of a big deal to me. The last people to have cut my hair were Alyssa (miss you girl!) and my cousin Andy. I don't know how to do a proper preface with such a broad audience so I will try to work in this information a bit more. Basically, I wanted to cut my hair differently for many reasons, the one I will describe to you being one that is most pressing in my mind at the moment.

While I was in New Zealand I did a lot of thinking and talking about identity, about the ways that identity politics create divisions in our communities, especially when you have a group of students of all different backgrounds uniting under the shared identity of Native American/First Nations, sometimes coming to a loss as to what is actually shared between individuals across that grouping. I had the much enjoyed experience of going to the Auckland museum with a new friend, Malia :), a doctorate student studying education with a focus on native education, and talking with her about her undergrad experiences at stanford ((where they have a native house run by the school?!?!)). We talked about the ways that some students (selves included) feel more of a need to make their native identity more visible when coming to university and the wide range of reasons for this reaction. "The bandanas come out (okay, she's a little before my time hehe) the hair grows longer..." and in thinking about how I experienced this, and how my long hair had become more of a symbol to others of my identity than holding the meaning, the sacredness that my hair also meant to me... somewhere along this thought process I decided it was time for change. I don't know if any of that will make sense to anyone, but there are ways in which increased comfort with my identity has caused me to feel the need to let go of the ways that I have marked my identity out for others.

Never has a haircut of mine involved a razor. Great plan Emma, get your hair cut by someone you cannot communicate with. I truly had to let go, and here I am today with the results of some trimming, razor cutting and a whole lot of thinning scissor work... It's not that dramatically different to most, but it's different to me and the really huge difference is that I just had to sit down in that chair and let go.

Tempted to delete all this hair business.

Other fun events of that day include making a shirt for Ruth's boyfriend in England based off of his idea to have a shirt that reads Similar Similar instead of same same. I'll have to get a photo from her of him wearing it because I forgot to take a picture. When it was time for me to take my night train to Chiang Mai I got a motorcyle ride all the way across several tracks right up to my platform, and the train ride was a blast. Oh I loved it, my little sleeping compartment. my blanket and pillow and all. If only I had had sleeping compartments on the overnight bus rides in South America!!!



(I am in Sukhothai now and want to head back to my cute little bungalow before it gets too late, the rest of the update will be on getting invited to join in on a procession, a blessing by monks and elders, being adopted into a thai family, meditation retreat, "thai beauty school", going to Chiang Rai... time up in the hills... okay must go, but much to tell)

Transitioning to Thailand

The day I flew to Thailand (the 16th) I felt like a travel pro. I wasn't stressed, I got all of my short to do list for the day done (short to do list because I have learned to not put everything off to the day of departure), I got to the airport early, and I was flying to another country, another continent and totally calm. Airports seem like more natural places to find myself now, and are a great place for me to debrief my latest adventures and prepare for the next. I bought my first guidebook of the trip for Thailand, I had looked in second hand stores earlier that day to no avail and decided that I know so little about Thailand that I may not be able to wing it as well without a guidebook.

I had a window seat with an empty seat next to me, optimum 9 hour flight conditions, and I spent a good amount of that nine hours working on a statement of purpose for the McNair Program (http://depts.washington.edu/uwmcnair/about.htm). One of the many excuses of why my blogging has slacked is that I have been spending most of my computer time writing for various applications. In New Zealand I was applying to be a cabin-counselor for the Patsy Collins Adventure in Leadership summer camp program(http://www.seattleymca.org/page.cfm?id=leadership), for which I later did a 5am phone interview for from Sydney and am very excited to say that I will be working for them for part of this summer, orcas island here I come! While in Australia I was working on my application for the American Indian Student Commission Director position at UW for next school year, which I hope to hear back about soon.

I got off the plane dazed with sleepiness. The international airport in Bangkok is HUGE, and my feelings of being a pro traveler were slipping away as I went past an area that said "Visa upon arrival" that I ran back to from the Immigration area thinking "wait -- I thought I didn't need a visa!?!" and panicked further when the US wasn't on the the list of nationalities that could get a visa upon arrival. It wasn't on the list because persons with US passports don't need a visa, as I already knew, but had instantly doubted myself about. So I went back to immigration without filling out an entry card, went and filled it out, went back, needed to supply more information than I had on the form, then made it through worried that all the other passengers from my flight would have already collected their bags and that mine would go someplace with unclaimed bags or just dissapear in general. This was only a slight worry, somehow over the time of this trip I have become much less attached to just about everything I am traveling with, and the thought of losing my bag is kind of more of a annoyance at the idea of having to shop for things that I would need to replace. There were so many baggage claim areas that I went to the board to see which crowd I was supposed to join, but out of my tiredness I could not find my flight information and luggage belt number, the board was switching between English and Thai too fast and there were far too many flights listed. It was hopeless, I just started laughing at how impossible it would be for me to ever find out anything on that board and at how I was at a 180 from my cocky-super-traveler thoughts from earlier. I was laughing though, so little can really get to me at this point which is still kind of amazing when I stop to think about it.

So I walked along and of course found just where I needed to be, and about 40 minutes after landing the luggage still hadn't shown up so I didn't have to worry about my bag dissapearing from the luggage area. When I did get my bag I got out of the airport and into the heat. It is the hot/dry season in Thailand, I know I had planned on following summer around the world, but this might be a bit overboard. Taking a taxi from the airport to the area that I was going to stay in was much easier than I thought it would be as far as getting from point A to point B, but dificult in that I was instantly realizing I didn't know a single word in Thai, I am another farong/foreigner here being taxied around. I had arranged to stay with someone that responded to my globalfreeloaders request. I was really lucky that I could stay with her, she planned to be out of the country at the time and when I was in Canberra Australia two days before leaving for Thailand I woke up with all of my thoughts wrapped around not knowing where I would be staying in Bangkok and the fact that I would be arriving at 10pm Thailand time, so I got on the internet to look up a guesthouse Sarah Spence had told me about when I was in Omak asking her questions about thailand, and there in my inbox was a message from Ruth asking if I was still coming and saying she would be in town. Ruth met me outside of a supermarket that I was dropped off at. Sitting and waiting for her I realized again how little some things that would maybe stir a negative reaction in me (the heat, the less pleasant smells, the big rat scurrying past) don't really phase me anymore.

The one thing I have heard over and over again about Thailand is not to take a tuk tuk, and the first thing that Ruth and I did was catch a ride in one back to her place. When I was in the taxi I had this kind of strange feeling like I would be thrown from the taxi and scrape along the pavement, an irrational fear for being in a taxi, but a possible tuk tuk premonition... I made a mental note to avoid tuk tuks.

I never planned on going to Australia

And yet here I am wondering how on earth I could have ever not have come here.












Apologies: This photos loaded in a odd way so you have to click on them to see the whole thing, it would take a long time to fix this and I think I should probably spend as much time as I can on actually writing. I haven't been writing on here, mostly because I have fallen so far behing that I don't know where to start. So I am going to start very very recently in a new post, get what I have done in the last three days out there in the open and then see if any attempts at back tracking can pay any service to where I have been.

Where is Emma?!

Where to begin...



My plane landed in Aotearoa before sunrise and I very sleepily dealt with a minor immigration situation that could have been a very large one. I was unaware that in order to enter New Zealand I needed proof that I would be leaving New Zealand. From my impression these are not strictly enforced guidelines, but I have been informed by several people now that I am lucky they let me through. All I was really required was to wait for two immigration officials to come talk to me and then prove that I have enough funds to purchase an exit ticket (which I did with a wadded up atm receipt where my account balance was reported in Bolivianos, which I then needed to roughly convert for them) and promise that I would do so before my three month visa expired. After making it through immigration and agricultural inspection I received my first true culture shock: the airport bathrooms. After four months of using toilets that more often than not would flush (sometimes requiring a bucket or two of water), but under no conditions could handle toilet paper and after adjusting to the practice of throwing away used toilet paper in a bin near the toilet, I probably would have carried on and done the same in the airport bathroom if the rubbish bin wasn't the excessively technological do-dad that it was. For my convenience and guaranteed sanitary-satisfaction this rubbish bin was sensor operated to open just as I reached toward it... which scared the crap out of me (not literally, ha). Upon closer inspection this waste bin also does some kind of sterilization process within itself as well. So, I thought, wow -- I'm in New Zealand.


Karina Walters and her family had kindly invited me to stay with them in response to the "I'm coming to New Zealand and have no idea what I am doing" distress email I had sent out. At this point I knew Karina only through several meetings that we both attended and a fabulous presentation she gave on historical trauma that also included really interesting myth (more like oppressive social construct) busting facts to counter stereotypes that privilege western science. So after getting ahold of her, taking a shuttle to her home but writing down the wrong address number and taking a long walk along the shore to get back to her neighborhood, I got a chance to put down my pack and relax. I don't know how to describe my first few days in Auckland. It was a dramatic transition from the last four months of my travels, and I was pretty worn out. On my second day in New Zealand I attended a meeting that took place in the beautiful Marae that was focused on possibly policy changes at the University of Auckland that would dramatically impact Maori students. I don't really know how much I should say about this, but what I walked away from this meeting thinking about (that is not specific to the issues discussed at the meeting) is how desperately we need a Native American Center (learning house, long house) on our campus at the University of Washington. Seeing the potential for that Indigenous space, a place to be heard, understood and supported. Seeing the no-nonsense way of dealing with what was going on was refreshing as well, so often Universities are the places with the most activism, but also the places where faculty, staff, students can be broken down into inaction over time. Another aspect of this meeting that sparked my attention was the consciousness and familiarity with policies at educational institutions in the US, Canada and Australia... "good on them". These are all the beginnings of things that I would see to greater degrees in my time in New Zealand.

Karina introduced me to Mere Kepa, who then sent me on one of the most unique adventures of my travels: Tagging along on a 9 day school trip with a Maori-only speaking primary school, Te Kura Mana Maori O Maraenui. So basically, after a short time being somewhat bewildered by my opportunity to communicate in english, I was suddenly in the back of school bus immersed in te reo Maori. The group was made up of students from ages 5 to 13 or so, parent chaperones, teachers and elders. After experiencing my first Pohiri and spending the night with them on Marae Orakei, I went with the group all the way along the east coast of the North Island up to Cape Reinga and back down to Auckland on the West Coast. Along the way I got to learn about the land and history with the kids (as much as I could from the translations graciously given to me by whomever was closest to me at the time) and experienced/visited:

-The first pool with a wave machine I have ever been to, I spent most of my time as a sort of floating device/ climbing toy / diving board for some of the smaller kids in the group.
-A whole new level of eating, you could never go hungry with this group. I could not bring myself to eat the classic New Zealand breakfast of spaghetti on toast, but during the trip I was urged to try a warm fermented corn and cream (and who knows what else?) dish, and as we traveled up north along the coast there were clams, oysters and snails gathered and cooked up. I am not a shellfish person, I can imagine plenty of coastal natives (TYSON) being in heaven with all these kind Maori women working shells open and offering them for their "American" guest. I could not decline, ofcourse, but for the record I would rather eat snails over oysters.
-Learning songs and dances that the kids performed in Kapa Haka for their hosts.
-Visited and watched Nanny Blue in her Harakeke (flax) weaving, she made me a bracelet and was so good to me on the trip. My Nan away from home!
-Waitangi, where the treaty of Feb. 6th 1840 was signed.
-Hundertwasser's Kawakawa Toilets :)
-Cape Reinga, the tip of the North Island where the Pacific and Tasman sea meet and the last part of Aotearoa that Maori see before their spirit leaves this world.
-Involved in some skits too ridiculous for me to begin to describe.
-I went to a funeral, a Tangi, when we stopped to pay our respects at a Marae we had planned to stay at before the death.
-I saw the ways that missionaries impacted the Marae buildings, their strongest hold being in these northern areas we were visiting.
-Visited Tane Mahuta, the god of the forest and largest tree I have ever seen. A beautiful Kauri.
-Visited a reforestation project area, Trounson Kauri Park, which was a chance to see the dramatic difference between the way the land that is now farmland used to be. The kids loved this, and I really loved the poetic trailhead information along the paths. For example, part of a poem at the start of the park reads "-in the white wings of sailboats, whalers and sealers and sailors and saviors with family, with God and guns and liquor and lawyers, migrants and merchants with money, breaking the land"
-Visited Kaipara Harbor

I met incredible people, had great conversations, I can't possibly share them all, nor would I even if I had the time or the patience. So many of the lessons in Aotearoa were very personal. Things I struggle to put into writing, especially writing for the whole world to see. Writing in retrospect is especially difficult because now I feel more like describing the themes than the detailed acounts of how they were raised.

Traveling with this group meant being asked several times each day by students, teachers and chaperones about whether or not I speak my language. Over and over I was explaining that I only know a handful of words in my language, and at first I would even try to explain to the children's blank faces historical reasons why very few people in my family know any of the language. I began to think about how awful it would be to be giving this same explanation to my future children or little cousins when they are wanting to learn something from me. The repition of this question combined with speaking to chaperones and one of the head teachers, Robin Mohi, about learning their language as adults and their love for te reo caused me to reflect more on my relationship with and feelings about my language. I began to recognize that when I think about my language I am always caught up in thinking in terms of colonization and the depressing influences of residential schools, discrimination, genocide, alcoholism, internalized-racism, devalueing of cultural continuity, everything that has separated me from my language. This victim response is a valid one, but it is not a place that I should allow myself to stay when there are ways to learn more of my language. I feel pushed into action, and as with many of my experiences during and after the school trip, I feel more aware of the ways in which I need to connect more with home (and all that home evokes for me) than I ever have.

The students were fascinated by my journal, asking to page through it, asking questions about my drawings and gathering around whenever they caught me writing. On the last day of the trip, or what was to be the drive home and drop Emma off in Auckland day, one of the busses broke down. We spent about 7 hours in the playground of a small town waiting for the bus situation to be sorted out. I helped with talking groups of students to the store and to the bathrooms, but mostly I was feeling a bit anxious about getting back -I had a flight to wellington the next day. I was also reminded every time that a student or chaperone mentioned wanting to go home that I would be returning to Auckland, but I would not be returning home for a long long time still. It wasn't until I was in New Zealand that I fully felt how much I missed the land where I come from. I miss my family, I miss my friends, but little did I know how much I would miss the land, the dirt, the sage brush, the pine, the lakes, everything that makes up my ancestral home.

Home, I want to pull those hills close like pillows. Bury my face and soak up the scent of sagebrush. Gather up the greasewood willed by _____ into being and make them my bed.

When we found out that we wouldn't be returning to Auckland that day, I became determined to make the most of this extra time I was given (as ungrately as I was for it) with the group. I was going to find a way to do a journaling activity with the kids. I walked down to a store that I had walked past earlier and had noticed they had art supplies. They were just closing, and when I explained I was just looking for paper for the group with the broken down bus the woman behind the counter pulled out a big stack of scrap paper she had already stapled together into notebooks and handed them over to me. Could it have worked out any more perfectly? I brought back the notebooks and got pens from the other bus and back at the park I openned up my journal knowing that it would be all I needed to do to spark some interest in what I was doing. I began the first lesson I have ever given in journaling, passing out a journal to each student that was curious about what we were doing. I explained the ways that I go about journaling from the very start. Journal stratagies: writing about the "event" of the day (what happened, how it made you feel, what it made you think about) and drawing a picture to go with it. By request I showed students step by step how I would draw a bus. Soon there were beautiful journal pages, some in english, some in maori and most with illustrations of a bus breaking down and their favorite toys to play on in the park. It was so fun to see them take off in different directions with the project, we took a break for "tea time" and ate fish and chips off of newspaper (a very New Zealand experience I am told) and then journaled a bit more before we were all off to the nearest Marae to stay the night. That is the wonderful thing about traveling with a maori student group, there is always a Marae somewhere nearby for you to stay.

More soon (I hope)

Chile

To sum up the rest of my time in Chile will be a great disservice to the full stories, but I am so far behind in blogging at this point that I must be brief:

After the intensity of meeting with Armando, Jose and Alberto I realized that there is only so much I can learn at this point in my limited Spanish. I spent another day with Ines and prepared to go further south to Chiloe island.

Chiloe is beautiful. Anywhere that you have to take a ferry to get to is beautiful. The ride down to get to Chiloe was like a birding tour, I saw really unique looking birds that clearly weren't as exciting for the people sitting around me. I happened to be on the island during their Costumbrista celebrations. I was in Castro for their Costumbrista fair, food, crafts, demonstrations of basketry, weaving, wooden boat building, old machinery for making hay bails, and some rather disgusting demonstrations of killing goats (?). Really though, everyone was there for the food and I ate my way through all of the favorite foods of Chile. They were selling big plates of salmon and potatos for what would be 6 bucks US, wish all of First Nations student org was there to dig in! Image of Castro burned in my mind: Bright colored leaning houses on stilts at the waterfront. I went up to Ancud next and got to go see PENGUINS at their summer home, some islands off of Chiloe near Ancud. I went with a tour and there was a woman from Vashon Island there, great coincidence really because I got to hear a little of the traveling she did when she was my age. Delicious sea food on Chiloe.

From Ancud I went to Puerto Montt and on up to Villa Rica/Pucon where I soaked up sun on the lake. Great views of the volcano and some great inspirations for future projects. I took a night bus to Valparaiso, which is one of the greatest cities (perhaps the greatest) that I have visited. I was once again hooked on the graffiti art got to know the city by following the graffiti up and down the streets. Hostels in Chile are more expensive, just like everything else, but wow. REALLY nice places. So nice that you preted you really live there and imagine your life in Chile. Or you can go see one of Pablo Neruda's houses and pretend you live there, very interesting man with remarkable houses. I told my parents if I hadn't bought my ticket to leave Chile I would just stay, find a flat and spend the rest of my days painting in that bright colored sea port city.


And then I took a 12 hour plane ride to Aotearoa, nearly crying on arrival. I have wanted to come here for a very very long time. Now I can move on and start talking about my time in New Zealand... real soon.

The Next Day...

¨Tienes familia en Chile?¨ -Rodrigo ¨Claro, ella tiene una hermana, yo!¨ -Ines

This is my sister Ines at work in the office

Eastern Washington Anyone?

La casa de Armando

Armando explaining more about the significance of the drum symbols to me

Mapuche pride

Armando, Alberto and Jose

The next day, after spending a very comfortable evening in a very comfortable bed at Ines´ I went to Cerro Nielol park and spent the morning hiking around paths through the woods and up to a volcano research center-observatory. The Prof. working there that came out to greet me has a friend teaching at Central Washington University. I didn´t think I would have a conversation about Mt. St. Helen´s that morning, but it was interesting to talk about the countries I have visited with someone who knows so much of the world through volcano studies whereas I am learning more about the world through indigenous issues and human rights.

Trees, flowers and steep hills were abundant in Cerra Nielol along with little lizzards and birds digging at the base of the bushes lining the paths. I could have easily convinced myself I was in a park near Seattle. Cerra Nielol also features some Mapuche carvings, I saw some like them when I was learning more about Mapuche people via google a year ago and was really surprised at how much the faces look like coast salish carvings. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised by these sorts of things, but they never cease to spark my interest.

I walked back to the office and went with Alberto in his pick-up truck to run some errands, picking up Jose and his daughter and then moving books and furniture to Jose's (Jose's daughter and I spent most this time talking, she had assumed that Alberto was my grandfather). Then Jose and Alberto gave me three books that served as a great addition to the responses they were giving to the questions I had about Mapuche intercultural education, language preservation and legal positionality. A booklet of the laws concerning indigenous people in Chile, a book on intercultural education including bilingual education and my favorite: a book of poetry by school children, which really is the one that is more of my spanish language reading level. I started reading as we drove out towards Carahue which I was told was a city where Mapuche resistance had a long standing history. The Spanish started a city in the same area three times and according to Jose had planned the area to be the capitol of Chile or the main city, but each time the city was destroyed, burned to the ground. This is where Jose was born. The area is mostly agricultural *see above picture* and the wide glossy river Chol Chol was just within view when we pulled over and got out of the truck to visit with Armando.

While Jose first went down to the house to greet Armando, Alberto talked to me outside of the truck as we looked out on the valley. I would have given so much to have been able to better understand what he was telling me. I really couldn't though. Spanish in Chile is beyond difficult to understand, and became even more difficult when what he was saying became very heartfelt and emotional. I did understand that at one point he was talking about not having the professional training that someone else has (Jose?) being a campesino that has had a very different experience as a Mapuche... Earlier in the truck there was what seemed like a very light hearted comparison made by Alberto between himself and Jose. He told me that they were both Mapuche, but he was 'pure'. That you could tell that Jose was not pure because his hair was curly and Mapuche hair is thick and straight. The ways in which Indigenous identity are defined, discussed and interpretted is something that I have only been able to pick up on in bits and pieces in my travels. Language Barrier, what can I say. But this moment really sticks out to me, because it is an example of the ways that we often, even in the smallest and most light hearted ways, challenge eachothers identity, eachothers background. Whether it is based on phenotypical differences, cultural involvement, class, ect. we create "others" within our communities.

Moving on, we went down to the house to meet Armando and sat down at the table in his mostly unfurnished home. Hanging from the walls were dried bull kelp, corn (chocle), and a number of tools and instruments along with photos of him with several politicians at different gatherings. Armando was such a character, somehow I could understand him better, he had a much slower meter (possibly for dramatic emphasis) to his speech. Our greeting began with some joking, but became more serious when Alberto made an introduction for me, the story of why I was there with them. He explained how I had just been trying to go to an internet cafe when I stopped in and met him and his secretary, and that he felt that he needed to help me, that now he feels I am like a daughter to him and that he wanted to make sure I could learn more about what I came here to learn about. It was now time for me to give my talk, so a direct translation of what I said next would be: I am here because I think it is very important for indigenous people to know more about other indigenous people in the world, because we have different histories, but they are also the same, the same things, problems with the government, with rights, and also similar philosophies. That was about as good as I could get in explaining my purpose for showing up at Armando's. What followed was a heated discussion of water rights and land rights between the three men at the table. It started slowly, with the intention of explaining previous laws and ridiculous offenses made by the government, but then as the three men were swept into conversation I could no longer understand the words. Instead I saw the emotion, the fury, the loss, the impact of this topic on these three men that have been fighting for self-governance, rights and cultural preservation. When I had the opportunity, I asked a question about the Kultrun, the drum that I had seen so often associated with Mapuche culture. Armando's eyes brightened at this question. He went back into another room and brought out two drums. Carefully, he explained meanings of symbols and the different ways in which the Kultrun is used by Mache's. Jose and Alberto began pointing out other articles in the room, some of which seemed to be types of cultural property that they hadn't seen in a very long time. They taught me the names of these things and had me guess what they were for before explaining them to me. Meanwhile, Armando again went to a back room and returned with a big chest. He openned it and pulled out the regalia that he was wearing in the photos. The real surprise was that underneath these in the bottom of the chest was the full woman's regalia which my three "dad's" then helped me put on over my clothes, Alberto looked very proud when the outfit was complete.

Before leaving we talked about how good it would be for me to come back when I can speak more Spanish and understand Chilean. Alberto picked some berries for me from a boldo tree/bush while I said goodbye to Armando. The berries were very sweet despite being completely green. Alberto, Jose and I got back into the truck and went to see the town of Carahue. On the city sign it calls Carahue the city with three levels/floors, no mention of the city being destroyed three times. The river Chol Chol is runs wide and calm along this city, we didn't spend much time here though. On the drive back I realized just how much this place was like home. Like a drive home from Spokane with some uncles, is what I thought.

After dropping off Jose, Alberto and I went to his son's home to meet his family and have one of those late meals that Chile is known for. Alberto's son Luis works for the government in agricultural partnerships with Japan, so he told me a bit about his travels to Japan. Luis has clearly had a very different life than his father, something that Alberto pointed out was the result of the much more limited access to education and the higher levels of discrimation in his lifetime. I told him that my father could say the same for the differences between his school experiences and my own, and after telling them about the ways in which racism has impacted education for Native Americans Luis said (in English) "But there is supposed to always be freedom in your country, the American Dream"

"Si, La Sueno Americana, pero solo para los Blancos" I said. Alberto understood.

I went back to Ines' that night simply amazed at the odds of getting to see Chile in this way.

The last stretch of my time in South America

One thing I forgot to mention that I learned from Ida... A quicker pace of travel! So when I landed in Santiago Chile my first stop was to the bus terminal to buy a ticket for a night bus to Temuco. Santiago is another huge city that I am excited to explore, but for now I would much rather make sure I get to see places further south and save Santiago and the coast near Santiago for last. I only have two weeks here in Chile before I fly to Aotearoa (Maori for New Zealand).



I bought my bus ticket and spent a few moments dazed by the hefty price, along with the prices on the signs for snacks and food that are three to five times the cost of things in Bolivia. I had 4 or so hours before my bus ride and I decide to walk around near the station. I made a lap around the block passing many people that were all dressed up to go to the giant church near the terminal. My trip around the block brought be back past this church, only this time the music peaked my interest. I stood in one of the many doorways for a little while before sitting down. This was most definately the largest congregation I have ever seen. My home church of Saint Anne´s Episcopal is proud to have a congregation larger than twelve on any given Sunday, and although I have seen many gathered at bigger churches in Spokane and Seattle, I have never seen anything like this one in Santiago. Several times on my trip so far I have visited churches, sometimes just to see the elaborate decorations inside, but mostly to have a peaceful place for me to sit and write and gather my thoughts. With all of my things in tow, my big backpack, small back pack and handfuls of other things (journal, sweater, jacket--the latter two items completely pointless in Chile´s summer heat) the church was a wonderful place to tuck everything under a pew and write in my journal. I listened to the music and soon realized that the speaker being introduced was not from Chile, he was from some Southern State and a representative of some kind of international pentacostal organization. There were two men actually and both of them spoke in English while a translator tried to keep up. It was kind of bizzare to be listening to English, and to be listening to pentacostal church messages. When the music started up again and I must have looked helpless because the young woman in front of me gave a copy of the music and the guy next to me pointed out where they were in the song. It was a little thing, but as they continued to help me along during the service I felt very taken care of. At the end of the service she gave me the program booklet as a souvenier and I left the church feeling really relaxed and calm, something a bit uncommon when setting out on a city you don´t know.

I found the bus terminal that I was supposed to be at (different than where I bought the ticket), found my bus and boarded early. There weren´t many passengers so I got two seats to myself. To my great annoyance there was a young guy in the seats in front of me that would not stop turning around and staring at me. I was continually positioning the book I was reading to block his face, but he moved his seat down so he could stare at me even more obviously. I am so sick of creeps. The bright side was with such an annoying guy in front of me and hardly anyone else around I felt free to slip off my shoes and unleash the stink of my dirty feet and socks. ¨How do like that mister?¨ I was thinking.

I got some sleep on the bus, not much though, so when we pulled into Temuco I decided to just find a bench to sleep on at the station. It was around 6 am and nothing would be open until 10 or so anyway. I woke up about 3 hours later to a woman (a mapuche woman to be exact) nearly sitting on my head. I put on my pack and asked the same family which way I needed to head to get to town and started walking. As I walked I realized what a large urban city I was entering and really just wanted to go and talk to the ladies that had nearly sat on me. I spotted some other backpackers and asked them about a hostel, I already new that backpacker accomodations here would be sparse. I got a suggestion from them, but decided to first use the internet, look up a couple more places and let my parent know I had made it to Chile. I found another hostel name and address, but wanted to check out the center before needing to take a colectivo to get to the address.

I was feeling a bit strange about being in Temuco. I planned to come here because when I looked up info on Mapuche organizations way back in time most of the offices were here. As I walked I thought about what a strange thing to lead me here, I questioned myself a bit about what I thought I had to gain or give by coming for the purpose of learning more about Mapuche people, their struggle and their lives. During my entire journey I have been contemplating and genuinely experiencing forms of Indigenous Solidarity, but with the language barrier it has really been difficult to understand what people are telling me and to feel understood. I realized that although I came here because of my interest in the land and water rights that are constantly being challenged by the government and idiots from the US and Europe... maybe I would just end up wandering through markets where ¨Mapuche¨ souveniers are sold and then going to a beach. I especially felt this way because I didn´t know how I would go about learning more. I honestly did the following: I didn´t see many other people after the bus terminal that were in obvious Mapuche dress, so when I saw an old Mapuche woman walking ahead of me in the street I walked faster to catch up with her and asked if there were offices of Mapuche organizations nearby. What would I think or do if someone did the same???!!! It wasn´t an inherently rude question, but it was a very uncomfortable thing to do. Part of me felt like I was now just the same as some of the crazy white people that have approached me and asked questions that seemed totally ridiculous at the time... She told me that there was an office right in front of us, on the other side of the street. I thought, great she is just trying to get me to go away, before I spotted the office. It is an office run by the government of Chile though, with a focus on Indigenous rights, but not really what I was hoping to find. I looked around a little with my giant bag on my back and decided maybe I would return later. This was not the type of office I hoped to find and again I was feeling like A) I had just violated an old womans space by asking the kind of question that I myself don´t really enjoy getting from outsiders B) I may just need to move on and forget about the solidarity component...

As usual, fate had a rather different idea.

I did wander through a market, two actually. There is a permanent mostly touristic market and right now there are a lot of vendors and musicians in the center because it is (like practically everwhere I have gone!) the foundation days of this city. I looked around and sat down to write for a while before buying nectarines for lunch (all other food is too expensive) and deciding to use the internet one more time at a cheaper place I had spotted during my walk. I climbed the stairs of the building, but the internet place was closed. I was sitting outside of the door eating my nectarine when I noticed that the office next to me said something like ¨Associacion Nacional Mapuche Democracia y Justicia.¨

At this point I thought. Okay. I wake up this morning to a Mapuche woman nearly sitting on my head, I followed someone down the street to find myself right outside the local office of the sector of the government that deals with Indigenous rights, now I am sitting right outside of another Mapuche office, is this the world-life making sure I don´t give up on any of my hopes for finding Indigenous Solidarity in Chile?

So I knocked and the door was opened. Opened by Luis Alberto Coilla Marin, the president of Asociacion Nacional Mapuche Wenewenche (http://www.wenewenche.org/). I told him that I am from Estados Unidos, from a tribe and hoping to learn more about Mapuche people. I was welcomed in and after talking with him and Ines the secretary for a little while he asked where I was staying. I explained that at the moment I didn´t have a hostel, but I had an address for one. Ines took a look at the address and said it would be better to find one close to the center, they discussed where the nearest one would be for a moment before Ines´face lit up and she said that I should just come stay with her because here family is away on vacation! It was lunch time anyway so Alberto gave us a ride to Ines´ and said that he could take me to a community the next day, but today I could get some rest and get to see more of town.

I was feeling pretty rugged after the night on the bus, so I was ecstatic about get to take a shower at Ines´ and when I got out of the shower she had coffee, yogurt, bread and cheese ready for me. She had given me a tour of the small apartment that she lives in with her family and I could tell that the bed and bedding would be one of the most comfortable of my trip. She gave me a key to the place before leaving again for work and I had the afternoon to wash my clothes in the washing machine and sleep. Glorious Sleep. When I woke up I got ready and left to return to the office where I met Ines´ best friend and the three of us walked around the stands I had visited earlier in the central plaza and bought food for one of the most popular foods in Chile: Hot dogs. We went back to Ines´ to make dinner, and I had hotdogs like I have never had them before. On really good bread with avacado, tomato, mayo, mustard and something that was like relish...although really I have no idea what it was. Later when it was just me and Ines´we watched a movie and all I could think about was the luck, the chances, that brought me here.

Traveling Juntas

Yesterday I said goodbye to my friend Ida, she is heading to Uyuni to see the salt flats and then on to a combination of Chile and Argentina, skipping back and forth across the border. She took a taxi to the bus terminal around 6pm yesterday. Saying goodbye was anticlimactic, we have already learned that despite our goodbyes we will always be seeing eachother again (planned or unplanned), but the loneliness I felt after she left was very real.

Traveling WITH someone has been an entirely different experience. I felt myself relaxing in certain ways, knowing that with two eyes watching everything around us I didn´t have to be quite as alert as usual, knowing that I wasn´t the only one completely confused by situations, knowing that I could count on always hearing Ida´s signature ¨ho-hum, goodnight¨ before drifting off to sleep in shared double-beds, crowded dorm rooms, our carnaval sick room and at the bed we shared here at the Barja´s. Being with someone that knew enough about me to understand (tolerate) some of my travel idiocyncracies, my constant journaling, the way my backpack completely explodes creating chaos the moment I set it down in the corner of whereever I stay, my inability to read less than three books at a time, walks being interrupted by taking photos of graffiti (something that actually started to rub off on Ida) and how a lot of my favorite activities in travel are not activities planned for travelers. I like to set out on the city, town, whereever and find art, community shows, people creating things, and learn about what they are doing, how they are doing it, and if I can join in. I would rather go to a small art exhibition openning than to see this-that-or-the-other in the guidebook. I also am drawn to organizations, to people doing something about whatever it is they are passionate about... especially when it comes back to indigenous solidarity or solidarity in a movement. So for me, although I know the salt flats are something incredible to see, I know that there are many times when going on a tour and taking the same photos that everyone takes just feels a little bit empty...or rehearsed...or just a little too unreal to me. So I need days like yesterday, where Maria from Mujeres Creando was not there for me to ask ask ask every question I have thought of, but I found other ways to take in the surroundings of the great building and read about more of their programs and then I met some comic book artists having coffee in the Mujeres Creando restaurant-cafe and was welcomed to look through their works.

The drawback to having a travel partner is when it limits your interaction with people who are from the places you are visiting, so you have to find a balance between going out and exploring together (juntas) or separate. I can´t say that I really found this balance while Ida and I were together. I did have some alone time, but I didn´t feel as motivated to go out and meet people or go out and make my own observations as much as I usually do. During carnaval I had little choice about experiencing the majority without Ida because she was sick in bed, so when I wasn´t playing nurse I was playing in the streets.

Another aspect that puts me at odds with traveling partners in general is my relationship to travel, that this is my first trip outside the US and Canada and my travels are sometimes more of a challenge for me than a vacation. Because despite this being the most amazing opportunity of a life-time, being away from home and any sort of planned predictable week for 8 months can also be difficult. I admit there have been times when I have felt banished from my life in Washington, in Omak, in Seattle, at UW. Expelled from these places until I can come back with the thoughts, feelings, lessons, experiences that 8 months abroad doles out in the best and worst of moments. I feel bad for sounding like I am complaining, because this has been the best 3 or so months of my life (feels more like 3 years for sure)... but what I am trying to express is that the nature of my travels is different from the other backpackers and vacationers I have met and this makes traveling solo almost easier. Add on top of that the fact that there is no destination that for me is a place that I am going to ¨party¨, I don´t want to spend my time drinking with a bunch of travelers anywhere, especially not spending an evening where I just stay inside of the hostel at a hostel bar, not even setting foot in the real world, in the place I have traveled to (and people do this! I have seen it!).

Back on subject: At the same time I let the negative media attention about Bolivia get the best of me and really don´t know if I would have come without her. And although I saw no riots (only a bit of evidence here and there that they ever happened) and I wasn´t caught in any floods (although this did limit where I could travel) I have to say that Bolivia did not feel like the friendliest or safest of countries I have visited. I had heard from other travelers that the people of Bolivia seem more reserved about getting to know travelers and this does seem like truth to an extent, but with a travel partner I made less attempts and had less opportunity to test this generalization.

Traveling with Ida also raised my awareness about areas of my social interactions or interpersonal relations, if you will. I may have relaxed a bit with the sense of comfort and safety of having a traveling partner, but on the other hand there were times when I had a heightened sense of needing to put effort into conversation and planning and compromising. I could tell at times that my satisfaction, my enjoying the little things or making perhaps an excessive amount of observations aloud and in my journal where not entertaining for Ida and this was a little distressing. I most of all noticed how protective I was of Ida, even before she was ill and how much I did all I could to make everything easier for her or to meet her wants and needs.

This reminds me most of my childhood friends, Ashley, Whitney, Katie, and how much I wanted to take care of them and never complain... and scratch punch and kick anyone who messed with them. This runs into a lot of constructs of gender and race in my mind because I remember never really felt I fit into the world of these childhood friends, a world where being the ideal girl (the epitome of girl-ness) was blue eyes, blonde hair and frailty... and so with my tom-boy tough girl nature I felt like the protector and strength within those friendships.

My most pronounced observations of having a travel partner took place when Ida and I went to the Isla del Sol and spent the day hiking from the south end of island to the north, with no particular trail to follow for most of the trek. I realized how well Ida and I work together, how insync we are with taking turns being the lead, whether that meant walking first or making decisions or both. At times we would decide on a point we could see that we would need to get to and take different routes to get there, different routes suited to our different immediate preferences (me finding the best way to go with my knee troubles), but the outcome being the same. What a perfect day that was overall, why did I stop blogging for so long instead of writing right after some of these great experiences?!?

That too, I think, was the result of having a travel companion, I forgot how much I want to tell everyone at home about my travels and instead spent much more time talking about home with Ida. Exchanging stories from our homes and our travels and learning about eachothers cultures and perspectives on what we were seeing hearing and eating.

To combat the twinge of loneliness I felt after Ida left I got together the last package I will send home from South America, I am sooo excited about the space that this will create in my backpack!!! I actually should really get my mess of stuff organized again for my flight tomorrow to Santiago. Then I have prescriptions to fill, a package to send, and time to meet with Maria of Mujeres Creando.

Carnaval - no salt flats for me - back to La Paz

Sunday, the last day of carnaval, was the day that I really got into the carnaval spirit. After being sprayed in the face repeatedly with lemon scented foam I threw down my nine bolivianos at the nearest foam vendor (a 10 year old girl wearing the popular denim bucket hat with one letter initial stitched on the front) and chased down my attacker with my foam ammunition. For the rest of the day I kept the foam canister at the ready in the right arm of my poncho-raincoat, ready to strike unsuspecting children and adults that thought I was unarmed. I also watched the parade from the plaza, the area broadcasted on TV and to see how whole other sections of town looked during the celebrations. The music went on late into the night again and there seems to be no end to the water fights.

Ida and I were going to head to the Salt Flats on a Monday night bus after we went to the doctor, despite her still feeling unwell, but there was no night bus, no busses at all to Uyuni due to the heavy rain (Bolivia has declared a state of emergency, whole lot of flooding going on). The only way to go is by train, which only runs on tuesday and friday... which wouldn´t give me enough time to go tour the salt flats and return for my flight in La Paz. The salt flats are incredible. I have seen pictures. It kills me a little that we won´t be able to go...

But it worked out for the best. Ida was still feeling horrible and we decided we should return to La Paz so she could have better medical attention. This turned out to be a more difficult task than we thought. It turned out that tuesday was also a holiday, so instead of the bus station being open and being able to just find a desk selling tickets to La Paz, there was a free for all outside of the closed station. Busses were departing from all sides of the station and people where frantically trying to get on the busses. Bus drivers took advantage of the chaos by upping the prices and tempers were running high since people would run onto busses and save seats for everyone in their family, so being the 10th person in line was a deceptive place to be. Ida was sick, I was still getting fatigued easily, but this was really too much running around for her at the time. So I got quite the adrenaline rush when she stayed with the bags and it was my job to get us on the bus... which involved me running all around the area finally finding a bus heading to La Paz, finding two separate empty seats on a bus and begging the passengers next to them to save them for me, getting our bags under the bus and getting Ida and I on the bus. I was really annoyed when we couldn´t leave when members the family that had rushed on to save all the seats in the back didn´t show up, and didn´t show up, and didn´t show up... But finally we were on our way. We drove past small towns with small bands and small crowds celebrating in the streets, some stopping to hurl water balloons and open windows in the bus. Blue skies and very eastern Washington looking scenery passed by as I read my latest book Instanbul memories of a city by Orhan Pamuk.

The very first thing on our agenda when arriving to La Paz was finding ¨Clinica Del Sur¨, the clinic suggested in Ida´s lonely planet guide. We took a taxi to the clinic, which as the name implies is in the south zone or more suburb type area of La Paz. Fortunately the clinic was open for the holiday and Ida could see a doctor right away. The doctor in Oruro that we visited basically just prescribed Ida some anti-diarhea meds and told her not to eat food sold in the street. This doctor went through the same routine, but also wanted to run lab tests... exactly what we wanted. The truly best part of this whole ordeal was when the doctor asked about Ida´s diarhea. Now Ida knows more spanish than I do, so maybe I just understood some of his questions better because I knew what questions he would ask... he asked the consistancy and I asked her in english, same for when he asked the color. In response, Ida put down her head and answered ¨depends, depends on whether I have Fanta or Coke¨ which was really too funny for us not to burst out laughing, all she had eaten in the last 4 or so days was Coke and Fanta. The nurse thought that this answer was soooo not funny.

Ida had her lab tests done and within 15 minutes she was taken back to hear the big news: Ida´s illness is caused by AMOEBAS. They where going to run more tests, but with these initial results we could atleast get the medicine to stop the amoebas that the doctor said from the looks of it she´s had in her system for atleast 15 or 20 days. It was while she received this news that I called the Barjas, the uncle and family of my first and favorite college roommate Margo. Rodrigo and his wife Ana really saved the day for us. Ida found out she would have to return in two days and we had no idea if there was a nearby hostel where she could have the much needed quick access to a bathroom. It just so happened that Rodrigo´s family lives in the South zone where the clinic is located and they came and picked Ida and I up at the clinic, took us by the pharmacy and to their beautiful home.

It was that night that I started thinking that maybe, just maybe amoebas were the reason why I still had minor stomach problems, fatigue and no appetite. So the next morning we returned to the clinic and it was my turn to, a-hem, give a stool sample (a poop pot as Ida called it) and await the results. Ida joined the doctor and I for the official results, so she was there when he said ¨You don´t have what she has... You have something else." It is ordeals like being sick together and making the best of the miserable times that bring about the sort of humor that Ida and I now share. We both bursted out laughing, we were sick at the same time with two different things and every day our illnesses were seeming more complicated. The lab results showed that I have bacterial gastroenteritis, and that it was time for me to use the Cipro that I was prescribed at the travel clinic before I left on this adventure.

Carnaval!

Goofy picture of me and... this guy
foam fights!
That little armadillo he´s holding is a noisemaker that they all spin around in unison

The BOOM of the marching band drums makes me really appreciate the fact that my flu and the accompanying headaches are long gone. Like my little bit of flu that I had in Banos in Ecuador, the chills and sweats and aches all passed in one night. Unfortunately they seemed to have passed on my my travel buddy Ida. She started feeling very ill at some point in night before our bus trip, and despite much rest yesterday she is still feeling very weak and immodium doesn´t seem to be doing anything for stomach trouble. Right now I am blogging as part of the carnaval parade passes by the narrow street directly outside of the internet business so that Ida can sit in a chair in the doorway and watch without getting too tormented by water balloons and the foam spray that is so popular for carnaval. It smells lemony fresh, but isn´t very much fun when you get a face-full.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carnaval_de_Oruro

Carnaval is the longest parade procession I may ever see in my life. It started before I woke up this morning and is supposed to go on for about 20 hours. I don´t even know how to begin to describe the elaborate costumes and variety of costumes in the procession. I think this may motivate me to finally put up a bunch of pictures instead. When I was in La Paz I went to a museum of folklore and there was a great display of the different types of masks and descriptions of their history. The descriptions were in Spanish so I only got bits and pieces of these histories. I was mostly wondering why so many of the masks seem to be the faces of black men, but with grotesquely exaggerated representations of common stereotypes. I reallly had to take a step back, accept that I found this offensive and then try to accept carnaval for all that it is at the same time.

I have been watching from side streets although I think the best place to see carnaval is from the main plaza which is completely packed. I have been going back and forth watching the parade and checking in on Ida. We both lived on coca-cola and water yesterday and I am hoping she will feel up to eating something today, but I have to admit after the flu the street food that I usually enjoy looks less enticing and more like another potential bout of tummy ache. I have however not lost my taste for saltenas, delicious pastries with a veggie and meat type stew inside (now I know why these are Margo´s favorite food in Bolivia, Margo by the way is the best college roommate ever and my first Bolivian friend... and is now engaged, Go Margo!).

Now that I am feeling well I am enjoying the water wars and can´t help but laugh out loud as I run, duck and dodge in an effort to escape the water balloons. I haven´t stocked up on any ammunition though. I have discovered some of the best ways to avoid an attack which are:

1. Walk close to the stands where the little old ladies are selling food, souveniers, decorations or miscilanious stuff from china. These tough grannies put up such a fuss at a drop of water getting on their merchandise that people don´t risk it.

2. Carry food. Surprisingly the kids toting squirt guns and water balloons didn´t attack while I was carrying my saltena and corn in full view in front of my body. I kind of did it as a test, and my potential attackers seemed quite disapointed.

3. If you have to move across the street or up the street walk will the dancers or just as they pass... those brief spaces between performers are an all out brawl with bleachers full of people pegging everyone with water balloons, and hard.

Time to go out and re-join the festivities!!!

I have the flu?

Which made it even easier to do multiple double takes seeing people that look just like known and unknown urban and rez natives. This country has the highest percentage of indigenous people and it is incredible how much some people here look so familiar. Especially the girls in the oversized sweatshirts and baseball caps in the market that looked just like they could be going from Pow Wow vendor to Pow Wow vendor looking for the perfect earrings.

This morning I felt out of it, the thought of eating food other than the watermelon at the hostel made me feel worse. Still I set out to the thermal baths with Ida, thinking of the healing properties of natural hot springs. The thermals were not quite what we expected with the music playing and the big pools of people playing around, but there were also private closed bath areas so I spent hours soaking (naked - in my out-of-it sick state I forgot both underwear to change out of from my bathingsuit and a towel, and I thought I might as well take advantage of the privacy of the bath... I think being sick brings out too many details, I digress) in the hot water listening to stories about finland, so happy that Ida was just letting me listen so I didn´t have to muster up too much brain power. I did tell her how incredibly fun the MECHA costume parties are and described everyones costume interpretation of the themes. The bus ride back was okay, but by the time I was walking to get 7up and juice and heading back to the hostel I must have looked like something out of the living dead. I was really afraid that out of Carnaval tradition I would be pegged down by some water balloons and not be able to get back up.

It is time again to share the computer with another hosteller, I have a bus ticket for 7.30 tomorrow morning and hope I can carry my pack by then. Then I am off to Oruro where the real waterballoon action is at.

The Peace, Bolivia

It's 8 am in Bolivia and I am wondering where exactly I will be going outside of La Paz. I have several places I really want to travel to in this country, but the weather does not seem to be on my side. Bolivia is in a state of emergency due to flooding and the roads are at there worst. Some busses aren't even going the routes that I would need to go to get to the salt flats and other cities, or the busses are being delayed to the point where I am not really sure when I would make it back again.

Update:

It's 1:30 pm and I have just returned from a long walk through La Paz and I found the Mujeres Creando building!!! It took some walking, but it really wasn't hard to spot. A bright red building with feminist decor inside and out. They have many campaigns, many projects, are responsible for quite a bit of graffiti and they have won me over. It is places like this that make me want to be 100% fluent in Spanish. I am heading on a bus to Ururo today to find a hostel and make reservations for the weekend of Carneval *spelling?* and then I am going to Sucre, BUT when I return to La Paz you can bet I will be spending quite a bit more time at La Casa de La Virgen de Deseos, Mujeres Creando headquaters extraordinare. http://mujerescreando.org (I suggest reading "Evo Morales and the Phallic Decolonization of the Bolivian State" under the english articles. To learn more about Mujeres Creando in English you can always gooooooogle them). I really wish I could teleport everyone from the UW Q-center and the Women's center to see this...

A girl just passed by the hostel computer area showing off a great looking tattoo she had done today. Getting tattoos in 'third world' countries? Sounds like an adventure, a very inexpensive adventure... Scared yet mom?

Winter Pow Wow

(This is actually from my last day in Cusco, before bussing to Copacabana)

I am currently in La Paz, Bolivia and hoping to meet some of the incredible women of Mujeres Creando... But all I can think about at this moment is Winter Pow Wow at UW. The Pow Wow is going on right now, if you were to walk around UW campus there would be a dramatic increase in Natives, an event that helped me survive my first year of college and made me actually feel truly at home for the first time at UW. I am on a computer at a hostel with many people waiting patiently (and impatiently) so all I really have time to say is what is on my heart: I wish everyone safe travels to and from this uplifting event.

Just a heads up *added mo'

These pictures loaded in a very strange order but here goes: Me with the INC group in the protest, they asked me to come visit them in the office and I helped them fix some translation they did for a project proposal that needs to be submitted to UNESCO in English.
GABIE and I, leave it to me to make a lot of friends at bakeries
Horseride to see ruins close to Cusco
Thats Saqsaywaman behind me, my favorite of the ruins
More of the protest.

machupicchu
Ximena took this picture of me outside the shop
Ximena art action photo

Looking down on Machupicchu from up up up high

Journaling at the top of the smaller of the two peaks you see in pictures of machupicchu
Me journaling atop the larger of the two peaks you see in the pictures, that was quite a hike

THE picture... Its a nice to get there before there are people walking through
Ya!

I really really will write about my time in Peru, highlights being art projects with Ximena, Yanapay restaurant, horseback riding to ruins, stumbling upon the St. Antonio procession, being in a protest march, visiting Machu Picchu, meeting Mary Rothschild (first director and starter of womens studies dept. at UW) and returning to Cusco to help the Instituto Nacional de Cultural (friends I made in the march) edit a grant application they are translating to english to submit to UNESCO. Another big highpoint has been receiving emails from cuzzin Joey! Lowpoints being: homestay experiences, homesickness (if that´s what it is), a package from my parents that never arrived and general (premature?) bouts of weary-traveling-philosopher moments where I asked questions like ¨what is the marrow of my soul? what is harbored in those hollow spaces hardened by history?¨I will write about these things, it´s just that I have reached a point where I am doing so much that it is really hard to sit down and type everything out.... But I will soon.

Come to think of it, I have been recently reflecting on several parts of my journey that I have not yet written about in my blog and might go back to:

1. My time in Monte Verde, Costa Rica
2. My jungle trip to Tena, Ecuador
3. I know there was one more, I can´t think of it just now

But my theory on why I didn´t write about these times is that I was uncomfortable for one reason or another (very opposite reasons for 1 and 2). Monte Verde was a strange experience because I was suddenly surrounded by English and a side of travel where the majority of your interaction is with other travellers. There were supermarkets with brands of food and types of food sold in the US that I didn´t see anywhere in Mexico or Nicaragua. The entire place revolved around tourists, and everything came with a price. Everything, but my precious time in the tree. Maybe I said all this before, I don´t really read back in my blog very much. A very uncomfortable experience happened in Monte Verde as well. I stayed in a private room the first two nights in the really fun hostel I was staying at, and then switched to the dorm rooms. I moved my stuff in and didn´t meet my dormmates until much later that day. One of which was a very creepy and revolting guy that was the only one in the room when I came in alone. He instantly was talking to me from his top bunk that was next to mine, asking my name, telling me he noticed me in the common area, that I am beautiful... which then turned into him asking where I am traveling next, telling me he´ll buy a plane ticket to go along, that he just wants me to sleep in his bed - that I don´t have to have sex with him... It was utterly disgusting and all I could think is "drawback number 1 of travelling alone.." In that case all I had to do was let one of the other four guys I was sharing the dorm with know that I was uncomfortable and they made sure I never had to be alone in the dorm with Kabir the Creep again. This is when I learned... or was reminded that it really is often in my best interest to lie about my itinerary, the length of my trip, the number of people I am traveling with or meeting up with, and mostly that I do not need to be nice when someone is making me uncomfortable. And usually I'm not, I mean I'm Emma, in my mother's own words "we didn't raise Emma to be nice", this is the situation where I become outspoken and tough, but I didn't and I think my embarrassment of the entire ordeal led me to write absolutely nothing about it.

When I went to Tena it was completely unplanned. I had been waiting for the bus back to Quito and thought "hey, I would like to see the Amazon." So I got on a bus to Tena instead. I looked high and low for a jungle tour, and went to a strange island zoo/park with a guy I met from Hungary where we received some unwanted attention from a Tapir that roams free on the island. And by roams I mean he lays around like your typical lethargic looking zoo tapir until suddenly he is running around tearing up plants and trying to bite your legs. I ended up doing a jungle tour alone with a guide that at several points made me pretty uncomfortable as well, which resulted in my tour being cut short of a few activities. No need for details, but another aspect of this Jungle tour that was hard for me that I keep thinking back to was the family that I stayed with outside of Tena and the poverty. The recognizable health ailments of the children, things that I have seen slides of in public health classes and in my text books. What really got me though, is after helping with some homework for an hour or so I went and used the outhouse and saw the same brightly colored workbook papers in wads in the garbage bin. The thick workbook paper and school projects were also used as toilet paper. I tell myself this really is no big deal, that it is actually good that the paper is being reused... that I shouldn't think about how much my parents and grandparents treasured some of my school work.

Tena left me with a colorful assortment of bug bites and rashes and after going on a night jungle walk I have a renewed fear of gigantic spiders. I know that on my next jungle tour I will be patient and find another traveler to go along with me, and I will wear twice the bug repellent.

I crossed the border to Bolivia and am currently in Copacabana. I was honestly going to skip going to Bolivia as of just 4 days ago or so, but my friend Ida and I took the night bus together and for the first time on my trip I am traveling WITH someone. I have moments where I need to go do my own exploring or journaling (although my blog has been neglected, my journal has received double the attention) and Ida is wonderfully understanding of these needs. We just rented a ridiculous paddle boat shaped like a swan to get out on Lake Titicaca, and are going to spend tomorrow night on the Isla del Sol. I am not sure how I have managed to be present for so many celebrations everywhere I have gone, but tomorrow is a big day here in Bolivia where people have miniture figurines of things they want blessed to bring these things their way this year. Ida and I have been discussing what sort of figurines we should be looking for in the market, and which ones we may just have to make ourselves.