Hikers stomp.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.

While hiking non-stop these past four days, I’ve realized there is a distinct rhythm to a wilderness walk. The first thing I noticed was my feet: Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch… Then comes the hiking poles on every other crunch. Add in the chirp of a bird, every few minutes and the whistle of a marmot… And it seems like I’m playing a game of stomp with nature. Today, on our last leg of the hike, my pack added in the clunk, clank of my cooking set to the mix every time my pack swayed from left to right.

It’s amazing how this rhythm keeps one motivated to keep chugging along on the trail. Today, however, my little stomp game with nature was not enough. I caved in and decided I’d let my iPod give me its own motivating beat to keep me hauling up the mountain. It worked! I’m now at the top of Cottonwood pass with a four mike decent to our trucks, and an hour’s drive to our hotel and food in Bishop!

I feel bad that I caved in and used technology to aid my wobbly knees and blistered feet up the mountain. But hey, I would be fooling myself to think that I wasn’t only a few miles away from civilization anyway. This blog posted at 11,160 feet proves that point quite well. 🙂

Morning muse in the mountains

Its 8:00 in the morning, the sun is warming my shoulders enough that the fact that it’s only 40 degrees out doesn’t bother me. Im sitting on a chilly rock next to a small river, watching about six beautiful golden trout fight the current. Big Whitney Meadow, where we have been camping the past 3 nights, is utterly breathtaking. Every morning Ive come to this spot on the river to wash my feet and enjoy the warm sun in solitude. This serene scene has me longing to stay here a few more days.

I didn’t feel like staying here the first night we arrived. After the most grueling workout I’ve ever experienced (walking 8 miles, up 1300 feet, with a 30+ pound backpack), I was physically and mentally spent. It took every ounce of energy to set up my tent. I only wanted to be back in the comfort of my own bed. After forcing myself to eat dinner, I slipped into my sleeping bag wondering what I had got myself into. I’ve been dreaming about doing a trip like this for years, yet that night I wondered if I could ever enjoy backpacking, or even this particular trip.

That next morning it was this river that revived me. Washing my worn feet with freezing river water, filtering and drinking water straight from it’s source, feeling the soothing hand of the sun on my back. Somehow these things gave me strength for the next days wilderness workout.

It’s the last day in Big Whitney Meadow and somehow I have survived. Surprisingly, I’m not as afraid of the ascent of Cottonwood Pass, though I’m not necessarily looking forward to it. I’m certainly looking forward to a warm bed, a loooooong overdue shower, and real food, but this first leg of our journey has been well worth the effort.

Greetings from Lone Pine

I was just about to sit down to write this post. Sitting in the truck, I could see that Adam was trying to get my attention. “A chipmunk!” I smiled and said, “Yeah, they’re cute aren’t they? I saw one earlier.” Then he says, “He’s eating your hot chocolate!”

This is, of course, typical. I’d imagine I’ll have many more encounters with these furry friends throughout the week. Last night I also realized I will also have many nights of interrupted sleep. While tonight was the perfect temperature for sleeping in a tent, my sleeping pad rustles as loud as those new earth friendly Sun Chips. No Joke! It’s comfortable and insulates well, so I guess I shouldn’t be complaining. 🙂

Today we are headed on our first hike of the trip. We are headed up through Cottonwood pass and will be camping in Big Whitney Meadows for a few days. This morning we all packed our bags up and tried not to complain about the weight. Some of my fears about this hike have been overtaken by excitement… and the fact that my pack somehow ended up as the smallest in the group. I’m praying my knees hold up!

Well, time to go. We are all about to gorge on breakfast before the trip!

Photos! (Hopefully they post!)

Courtesy of Subway, here is a First look at the Sierra! Don’t have time to write, but wanted to give you a taste of my first day! (The photos are totally out of order, oh well.) Tomorrow we are heading to the backcountry, so possibly no posts for a few days.

El Sur

A few photos from our trip down south.

Nacho

Nacho is an adorable little Chilean boy – huge brown eyes and a smile that can melt a cold heart in a second. He is – however – driving Joy and I completely nuts. This sweet-faced boy just spilled a bottle of bubbles on Joy’s lap and, now that she doesn’t want to play with him anymore, he is screaming at her. Nacho has spent the past 24 hours gnawing away at our resolve to not scream back him and offend our Chilean hosts… I’m afraid he doesn’t have much longer to go before we snap. As a precautionary measure, I’ve locked myself in my room.

Aye, aye, aye… somebody help me, please!

In these moments it’s hard not to judge. Back home it’s rude to let your kids “run wild”. The most praised parents in America are those who keep their kids “under control”… kids who don’t bother strangers and say “may I please” when they’re asking for something. Staying culturally objective when you’re about to go postal is not an easy task.

But alas, this is a natural, everyday part of partaking in a culture that is not your own. As open-minded as I would like to think I am, I still suffer from an ethnocentric viewpoint. (As we all do!) The fact that parts of this culture are getting on my nerves is actually a good thing. It means I’m growing and changing. The more I expose myself to this massive world of opposing viewpoints and perspectives, the better I am able to calibrate my own biased view to be a more accurate depiction of what the world is actually like and why it functions the way that it does. If I allow it to, this momentary frustration will turn into increased understanding.

Taking this time to process through my frustration I realize that Chileans have so much to teach us about valuing family. Children are embraced as an integral part of everything the family does. As far as I’ve observed, Chileans have a much better tolerance for kids and are rarely bothered to have them around. I really hope that I am able to integrate the inclusive-ness of the Chilean perspective into my own way of life when I get back home.

Hmmm… I guess its time to let myself out of the room now.

Little blessing, little tears

(A “media agua”, or temporary shelter, in our Chillan neighborhood.)

The other day Joy and I were walking through the neighborhood and observing the situation of those whose houses were destroyed in the earthquake. The new “houses” have been constructed to shelter these families from the weather, but are built with little more than plywood. On our block alone five families are living in “media aguas” and countless others have a temporary wall or roof made of corrugated steel and plastic sheets.

We’ve been walking by these houses for a week and a half, feeling vast need of reconstruction weighing on us more each day. “Why don’t we bake some cookies and take them to the families who live in the media aguas?” I proposed. It was a small idea, but at least we could do SOMETHING to put a smile on a few faces. There was no hesitation from Joy… so we got to work planning how we would make it happen.

Saturday we spent most of the day baking and putting together plates of cookies and brownies with youth from the local church. They were exceptionally resourceful and willing to serve in whatever way they could, writing notes to the families and decorating the plates with hand made ribbons.

When it came time to pass out the cookies on Sunday evening, a storm had rolled into Chillan. Despite the weather, 20 people showed up to help us pass out the cookies. It was actually quite a funny sight… 20 sopping wet Chileans and two strange gringas wandering around in the rain with bags of cookies, followed by a few soaked stray dogs.

At one of the houses, a grandmother, mother, and daughter invited us into their home. They talked with us about the struggles of living in a media agua, and learned that the mother had been out of work for the past month. “Thank you for this…” she said, “life has been difficult for me because I haven’t been able to find a job.” At the sight of her mother’s pain, the shy 10-year-old girl burst into tears.

All of us left that house with tears in our eyes and heavy hearts. This is only one family, and there are hundreds more here in Chile whose situations are even worse than this family’s. A few cookies are not going to fix their problems… not by a long shot… but we were happy to, in a small way, show the family that they have not been forgotten.

The hardest part about being here in Chile during this time is realizing how much need there is, and how little we are able to do in the grand scheme of this disaster. But I’ve also learned that the little things we CAN do, like baking cookies or buying groceries for a family in need, can help lift spirits and give at least a small glimpse of hope that, while life may look bleak now, things will get better with time.

When a big heart is too big.

No lie, today I’m a bit depressed.

No one died; nothing happened to make me miss home; I’m not running out of money; the food here is still delicious; my bed is comfortable. Everything on the outside is perfectly fine. But on the inside my mind is running in circles around itself.

The problem? I think my heart is too big for its own good.

I am too easily caught up in experiencing what is happening in the world. There is a flood in Pakistan-I want to go help. A landslide in China – maybe I could help dig people out of the mud. An earthquake in Chile – I have to go see my friends. Add to this my interest in the Middle East and you have a very confused 20-something-year-old with whole lot of love but no time, no resources, and no truly effective way to make a difference. What good is my heart when it is divided between 30+ countries and unconnected interests?

I’m depressed because I know, at some point in the very near future, I’m gonna have to choose something to focus the majority of my attention on… and it freaks me out! What happens if I pick a certain path, go full steam ahead, then realize I’ve made the wrong decision? I only have one life to live, I don’t want to waste any time! And, of course, me sitting here paralyzed by this irrational fear of failure is also a waste of precious time! I feel like I am stuck in a catch 22 – doomed if I do, doomed if I don’t.

The clouds aren’t gonna part and shine beams of light onto the path that fate has destined for me. Nope, I’ve just gotta suck it up and make a decision… pick a country to love, pick a profession that will keep me interested, and be satisfied that I am doing the best that I can do to make a difference in this world.

If only it were that easy.

Sopaipillas, que rico!

“Estoy muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuy feliz!”

I must have said that 15 times last night – and for good reason. We ate a mountain of my favorite Chilean pastry, sopaipillas.

We arrived at Señora Juanita’s casa with our mouths already and our hands ready to cook. Two kilos of flower was waiting for us on the table, along with two packets of yeast, salt, lukewarm water, and veggie oil. I let out a squeal, “Eeeee! Tan feliz estoy! Muchisimas gracias!”

Our lesson began. First, the yeast and salt was mixed into the flour. Nothing was measured in the typical American fashion – Señora Juanita had made enough sopaipillas in her lifetime to simply “feel” when the ingredients are right. “The trick is in the texture,” she explained. “It should feel like this.” Joy and I touched the dough and made a mental note that will most likely be forgotten by the time we make it at home.

Once the dough seemed right, it was plopped onto the table. For five minutes it was mixed and folded with abuelita’s strong arm, then ripped into cookie-sized pieces. As I was intently documenting the whole experience with my camera, she said to me, “Hey – you’re not gonna learn how to do this if you don’t get your hands dirty!” I smiled, put down the camera, and promptly got to work.

In no time we had pressed all the dough balls into disks, poking holes into the center so they wouldn’t float in the oil later. Señora Juanita did all the cooking… the kitchen is her domain. Besides, why risk spoiling a couple of them with our inexperienced hands. 🙂

Then, the moment came that all of us were waiting for! The sopaipillas turned from a conglomerate of a few bland ingredients into a beautiful, golden brown saucer of heavenly goodness. I couldn’t wait any longer, grabbed a sopaipillas, lathered it in it’s accompanying sauce (pebre – cilantro, onion, and lemon), and devoured it! With my mouth stuffed I mumbled, “Oooohhhhh, estoy feliz!”.

We all sat down at the table to “tomar once” (A small late evening meal). While snacking on fresh olives from a tree down the road we chatted up every topic under the sun: the earthquake, Chilean slang, problems with immigration in America, the difference between Latino and American family relations, traveling, and about how I should marry their 26 year old son.

At one point Joy, who had a massive smile on her face, turned to me and said, “I’m so happy!”

Frozen fingers, warm smiles

Who cares if this is Santiago’s coldest winter in a century, that I somehow still haven’t managed to kick this cold, or that I haven’t had a good nights sleep for the past 48 hours. Hell, I could probably have my luggage stolen… or be stuck here for the rest of my life and be confined to a lifetime of drinking Nescafe. None of it matters, in just 10 short hours, all my love for Chile has come flooding back. I am on cloud nine.

Only 12 hours ago I was concerned that I’m pushing my limits of loving countries. It’s been five years since I’ve been in Latin America, and most of my energy since then has been focused on the Middle East and Central Asia. I wasn’t so sure that I would be able to shift my focus so suddenly.

Boy, was I wrong.

With my eyes focused eastward, I COMPLETELY forgot about how fantastic Chileans are. They mesmerize me with their smiles and warmth. Even the immigration officer at the airport exuded the type of welcoming smile and pleasant conversation that makes you never want to leave. Here at our hostel, I’ve already made friends with one of the employees here at the hostel who would win an award for worlds easiest person to talk to.

All this to say, I am SO happy I decided to take this trip… happy to make new friends and to reconnect with old friends and soooo honored to be able to help and serve this country in whatever ways I possibly can!