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Brazil: Even bigger than it looks on the maps...

10/22/2016

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"Having somewhere to go is a home.
Having someone to love is a family.
Having both is a blessing."

- Unknown

December, 2015 - Brazil is big. Like, HUGE… And I don’t just mean geographically. I spent more than a solid 24-hours on a bus to cross a mere segment of a portion of a piece of the bottom section of this massive nation. But, as mentioned before, it’s not just distance that measures "grande." Big personalities, gigantic parties, epic landscapes, deliciously rich eats, an enormous array of diverse wildlife, vibrant history, and buzzing cities simply steeping in colorful culture within some of the world’s largest urban metropolis: this is Brazil.
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​I was curious to see how Brazil would differ from its South American neighbors. Being the only province in the Western hemisphere that claims Portuguese ancestry (where the rest of Central and South America is majorly Spanish-based), and taking up nearly half the continent’s land mass, Brazil became a bit of an intrigue for me. It turns out, the intrigue was well deserved.
I wound up spending more than a month in this awesome place, but the expansive scale and cornucopia of culture than composes this country can keep you busy for years on end. I feel so grateful for the parts that I have seen, but admittedly still feel rather thirsty for more (and I intend to quench that thirst in the eventual future!).
My last post contains anecdotes about my experiences in epic Iguazu, so we can pick up where I left off there…
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The bus from the Argentine/Paraguayan/Brazilian border to Rio was a loooooooong 28 hours. The road felt ever-reaching, and my mood was emotionally dark, but thankfully my iPod musically generous.
Daniel and I had recently had disagreements about priorities for upcoming travel, and our conversations (in addition to my over-sensitivity and easily-threatened insecurities) left me in a long-term gloom that would last until our eventual, temporary parting-of-the-ways in Buenos Aires, Argentina. In the meantime, the shuffling songs on my headphones and verdant, openly-laid Brazilian hillscape (ripe with fruitful farms and seemingly never-ending rolling, green mounds slashed with well-kept, black roadways curving like smooth molasses dripped from a slowly swinging spoon) would occupy my mind when I was able to distract it from my mental burdens.  
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It was a sometimes effective distraction, as I have always, for as long as I can remember, loved watching the world fly past me while I travel… The rapid, colorful flashes from nearby trees, signposts, fences, and livestock that move so fast they blur and smear across my vision creates a juxtaposition against the languid, slow motion of distant fields, mountains, and the clouds above them. It can mesmerize me almost unceasingly.
I love seeing the land slowly morph, starting with small changes here then there that all eventually adding up to a new place as the intervening distances are crossed. For this reason, I really don’t mind a marathon bus trip. I have my music, some snacks, and a gorgeous world to capture my attention. It’s usually easy for me to enjoy. Night buses, however, are another story… 
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​It was in Brazil, I believe, that I lost my liking for night buses. Where I used to sleep rather readily and only wake for short moments, I now began to fight for every minute of rest, only to quickly lose it again and fail to regain it. With nothing to see in the sunless situation and nothing to do, the excruciating hours drag me onwards and I can become rather disgruntled and peevish. With my mood already as dark as the night, the tedium of being contained in an enclosed space did nothing to improve my state. Thankfully, every bus trip has its end, and I found myself arriving and disembarking on the coastal, cosmopolitan culture storm of Rio de Janeiro. 
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We pulled in late late late. FAR later than a foreigner would want to be seen mingling around a bus station with a bad standing. Rio’s reputation for danger is NOT understated. It has been earned repeatedly and ruthlessly. For such a fascinating, beautiful place, it’s important to not become too lost in the paradisiacal moments and forget your wits, especially in dodgier neighborhoods, like, say, the bus terminal next to the old ship yards, for example.
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Fortunately, Daniel’s friend (soft-spoken and remarkable kind and quiet Alessandro) was looking forward to our visit, but the commute from the not-so-central station to his apartment in the Tijuca barrio was no small distance across this sprawling mega-city (where districts are not divided by only boulevards and blocks, but mountains, jungles, waterways, lagoons, national parks, and the giant bay of Rio itself).

​Alessandro was adamant that we take a taxi (but only from a specific company at a specific location, to avoid being ferried under false pretenses and find ourselves robbed or worse). Being the stinge that I am, miserly as almost always, I emphasized to Daniel that there was strength in numbers (even though 2 is an awfully small number) and insisted that we could make our way on foot to metro station and pay the lessor fare for a subway ticket. 
I am both miserly and foolish, it would seem. 
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We were lucky.

​I employed the tricks my father used to mention that can help to sidestep a mugging (avoid being ostentatious or boisterous, walk fast, keep away from alley entranceways and doorways, stick to well-lit streets, clench fists and jaw (makes you look tougher and less approachable), don’t make eye contact, and, if possible, use only well-populated paths (with women and children, if you can)). Turns out, it worked! (Thanks, Dad!!) A slightly scary and surely sketchy hour walk away from the docks and into the city found us buying our metro stubs and taking the subway (a FABULOUSLY air-conditioned train to beat the humid, midsummer heat) and setting out into Tijunca to meet Alessandro. 
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He was shocked that we braved the perilous journey sans taxi, and probably decided that we could no longer be trusted to keep ourselves out of harm’s way. 
We fed our growling stomachs with traditional (and sensational) savory food stuffs paired with a variety of chilly, fruity suco smoothie goodness, a trademark of Rio’s beachside cuisine. We talked as we dined, and I quickly learned that not only is Alessandro a good person, he is a unique one. It sometimes felt like he generates an atmosphere of calm of quiet around him. The way his face moves when he smiles as you thank him, and the “Oh, it was nothing” attitude he had towards his own admirable generosity was something that I do not think I will forget. I was immediately grateful to him, just for him being who he is.
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Continually and reliably throughout our two weeks with him, he was kind, polite, funny, curious, calming, patient, and generous with his schedule and his knowledge. Our shared adventures included an exploration of the Tijuca tropical forest in the center of the city, regular visits to the fabulous Ipanema and Copacabana beaches, trying tasty treats (“air cookies” on the Pacific sands with refreshing local liquids poured from hawker-toted steel barrels), farofa served with EVERYTHING, bathing in stream-fed waterfalls in the Rio jungles surrounding the city, looking upon from afar and learning the history of the hill-hugging, fascinating favelas, talking about Lapa history and walking the winding, lopsided lanes of the terrace-leveled town of Santa Teresa, spotting stellar street art that was slathered on almost every surface, fact gathering with the bright and beautiful Roberta (and meeting her adorable, bear-sized puppy!), family visitations outside the city in the industrial Volta Redonda (along with lessons on it’s interesting past with the US), museum hopping and in the remarkable and gorgeously worn historic district complete with flea markets stands, colonial architecture tucked right next to modern business towers, broad boulevards intersecting classic alleyways, a monastery-turned-private school overlooking the bay crowned with the brand-new and terribly popular winged Museum of Tomorrow. 
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The most memorable moments, however, were shared during the traditional holidays, most notably a family Christmas in Volta Redonda and the downtown mega-party of New Year’s night at Rio’s Reveillon: The biggest New Year’s Eve bash in the world (Google it…).
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New Year’s in Rio is unlike anywhere else in the world. On some occasions, Copacabana beach is flocked with over four million enthusiasts, many dressed in white to represent the peace they hope to bring in with New Year’s (and some with colored accents which represent their resolutions (red for love/passion, yellow for gold/money, etc). Enormous, sand-strewn dance parties, circles of friends swapping stories and laughs, families finishing dinner, and full-scale concerts pack the beach while a seemingly endless lines of marchers pour from the downtown streets and continue to fill the few empty spaces while still more follow after, somehow finding room where there seemed to be none. Sailboats, yachts, cruise ships, barges, and other boats are visible on the black ocean only by their glittering lights that shimmer and sparkle off the inky water’s surface.
At midnight, the handful of barges that float amongst the water vessels unleash their inferno, blasting a world-class barrage of fireworks into the sky that rivals any performance on earth. The gigantic fire blossoms boom and illuminate and bedazzle the sky, making flashes that for a split second reveal the armada of boats and the infinite throng of faces all turned towards the fiery heavens. For up to 20 minutes the spectacle continues, until the ceremony finds closure with a human flood racing into the sea, each person leaping over seven individual waves to seal their fortunes as they enter into the New Year. Champagne flows and music pounds on into the night. The entire affair can cost the city almost $7 million. 
A week before the fireworks, however, I was blessed with the chance to share another holiday, but this one was more private and simply familial. 
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There is a town not far from Rio, an industrial community centered around a steel factory that was built by the USA in repayment for Brazil’s support during the war. Alessandro’s parents live here, and his siblings and their respective broods had a planned Christmas party to which I was fortunate to be invited. 
They are openly kind and good-natured people. It is warmingly evident where Alessandro inherited his generosity. His father is softly smiling and reliably quiet, but quite proud to show off his collection of butterflies pinned to display board (but he lets their beauty speak for itself). Alessandro’s mother, on the other hand, is a woman who cooks industriously, chats along while she does, and will repeatedly and gently check in on her guests with sincere care in spite of language barriers or age gaps. Both parents dutifully perform their functions as grandparents with heartfelt dedication. They dote on and lovingly embrace their children’s children all for the joy of seeing those little ones smile. 
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Custom, honed over the years of holidays, promises an enormous dinner of farofa sprinkled on just about everything in the spread, followed by a gift-giving routine that left me simultaneously enjoying this family’s love and missing the signature love of my own clan back home.​

​A combination of foods I have seen every Christmas since I was a boy along with new sights and flavors piled onto my plate until I was uncomfortably but happily stuffed. After grandma spent days preparing the feast, grandpa will spend the next several hours cleaning up, all to ensure that their family and guest’s celebration can carry-on carefree and without avoidable interruptions or needless burdens.
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​A gift exchange ensues with well-practiced precision, beginning with the first participant standing up in front of the rest and holding their well-wrapped package to give away. Before handing off, however, the gift-giver starts to describe the personality and character of the recipient, dropping hints and clues while a spectating audience of family member attempt to guess the identity of the soon-to-be revealed new owner of materialized Christmas cheer. One by one, aunts and mothers and brothers and nephews and grandparents and children ceremoniously pass on their gifts to the appropriate recipients. 
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At one point, while witnessing the tender and jovial exchange, the entire affair unearthed feelings of my own past family gatherings that I fondly recall. I remembered the sense of inclusion, significance, and comfort in my yesteryears where special occasions calls back family members from afar and brought them home again, if only for a day or two. At this stage in life, I never, ever feel unwelcome obligation to be with my family. It is a pleasure, indeed, a privilege and a delight, to have even brief moments with them. My parents and my siblings truly can be considered my favorite bunch in the entire, wide world. My cousins and aunts and uncles and nana all give me so much reason to be happy, when I have the opportunity to be among them for holidays or even casual occasions.

I reminisced on my relatives in a bittersweet stupor as the family in front of me carried on their traditional give-away, wondering while I watched what feelings might come as someone lists your apparent virtues and composes extemporaneous accolades to your character prior to offering a material manifestation of their appreciate and affection in the form of a carefully wrapped package containing a thoughtful gift.
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When it seemed to me they were concluding the event, gentle Alessandro stood up one more time and began to speak with two bundles in his hands, and began to describe someone to whom he would give them. He spoke in Portuguese, of course, but even without recognizing the exact words I could discern for whom these final presents were destined. I felt hot, prickly tears sting my eyes and my throat tighten and clog as the tender emotions suddenly seized me. I fought to compose myself as his siblings, in-laws, niece, and nephew called Daniel and I out and I received the gift. I was nearly overwhelmed, and in my happy haze did not even care what might be within. 

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From what I could see, in the end, everyone enjoyed, each person prospered, and as goodbyes were offered and accepted and cheeks kissed it was clear to me that all the efforts (the cooking, planning, shopping, financial expense, time off work, and the cleaning-up afterwards) were happily executed and richly rewarded. I feel so lucky to have been a beneficiary of their kindness. They were as gracious in our parting as they were when I arrived. These people are genuinely amazing.

Following our stay in Rio, we traveled south to Brazil’s biggest megalopolis: São Paulo.
​Daniel’s actor and playwright friend, Roberto, guided us through the enormous maze of skyscrapers and towering buildings, navigating us to museums and historic landmarks, all the while endowing us with snippets of trivia and personal anecdotes gathered from a life lived amongst the gigantic city sprawl. 
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With Roberto by our side, we walked the wide avenue of iconic Paulista, and visited the public gardens and free-entry exhibits (while keeping a lookout for cheap ice cream to cool off on in the hot sun (even found a deal for $.12 cones while in downtown! (yes, I had four))). 
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We gave a try to traditional rodizio (where a single entry fee earns you a buffet and stop-and-go light system for summoning seared meats on sabers to your table until you literally cannot eat anymore). He took us to his local Jewish community club, complete with athletic gyms, day programs, playgrounds, cafes, theaters, art schools, and even a pond with decorative box turtles tumbling about and sun basking, their permanently grinning faces only adding to the sun-shiny, carefree attitude about the place.
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​I had my own opportunity to bask a little afterwards, being invited to leave behind the concrete jungle of São Paulo and journeying to the fabulously idyllic, palmed and perfect paradise island jungle of the aptly named Ilhabela (translated to “beautiful island”) off the appropriately famous Brazilian coast. 
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A long-time haven for Brazilians hoping to escape the more complicated life on shore, Ilhabela holds true to a simpler way of life. Tiny shops, cozy cafes, and local businesses only briefly line the single main street around the islet, where smaller lanes vein off towards the island’s center before trickling on and giving way to the lush forests that cover the land. After the main road leaves behind the quaint town square, it quickly converts to an ambling dirt road. It weaves its way adjacent to the water, and frequently spouts thin offshoots to the sea that function as narrow walkways over mossy, exposed boulders and cold, mountain streams for pedestrians to find their way through the jungle to the ocean’s waves that crash frothily against soft, sandy stretches amongst the craggy rock bays. 
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But as with most paradises, the dreamy scene, while picturesque, has a mar on its apparent perfection (although nothing that spoils its awesome beauty). 
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Almost invisible due to their minuscule size, biting flies plague the beach. Their stinging nips are painful straightaway, but it’s the tiny, itching welt you gain afterwards that is the real curse. These sores last for WEEKS, pocking your exposed skin with red, scabby circles that have a most unfortunate stamina. And every single time you scratch, you release more of their toxin into your body and only increase the burning itch. It is AWFUL.

But braving the biters was well worth it. Our fabulous hosts (who I quickly decided I wanted for lifelong friends) were reason enough to endure untold swarms of flies. 

Daniel met Gusti and Rafael through his photography, and after a time writing back and forth met the two of them when they were passing through the Seattle area. I sadly missed that delight, and I wasn’t sure what to expect of them, now that I, too, would have the chance to know them for myself.
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I can claim with confidence that I have never met anyone else who travels more than Daniel and I, but these guys travel incessantly and gracefully, and have for years on end. More importantly than that, they are vivacious, funny, smart, talented, handsome, inspiring, warm, and good humored. Seriously, they are the total package, and enough to make any sane person at least a little envious of their combined combo of character traits. Beyond that, they are native Brazilian to boot (which just make then awesome and attractive to an unfair degree).
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Their hosting was made possible through Gusti’s gorgeous and generous aunt, who’s powerful and touching life story made her presence in Ilhabela even more admirable. Her beautiful home, only a hundred meters from the beach, and a quick walk into the main town’s square, features family photos and meaningful mementos spread amongst a homey beach décor rich with blues, greens, and earthy off-whites. Rain, shine, or storm, the living room’s French doors to the outside were always widely welcoming to the open-sky courtyard that housed an external dining area and kitchen, where Rafael would expertly craft his culinary masterpieces (including my favorite of his creations: pasta with fresh squid in cream sauce). Their preciously adorable pups (a rascally retriever and a sweet’n’somber long-haired Dachshund) would lounge on the rugs and couches until dinner, when they were surround the table outside along with the humble hostess and her happy tenants. 
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This pair of pleasant Brazilian boys and their family really made this place for me. Yes, the beaches are gorgeous, the atmosphere wholesome, the community safe, and the forested mountain staggeringly beautiful, but nothing was more welcoming or warming that their friendship. Both individually and together, Rafael and Gusti are keepers for sure, and I am thrilled to say that the future would favor me lavishly with their companionship on numerous occasions to come. 

Leaving the island was a time of both gratitude and sadness. I fell in love with Rafael for his easy smile, his boyish attitude, and his restaurant-quality cooking skills, and I fell in love with Gusti for his selfless giving, his insightful mind, and his wholesome character. It wasn’t easy to watch them disappear in the car’s rearview window, but the thought of seeing them again encouraged and comforted me, and I looked forward to that future more than I longed for the past. ​

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We hitched a ride with Gusti’s loveable relative, the sweet and simple Guillerme, who lives in São Paolo and works in a hospital there. His child-like personality and ever-positive spirit were easy to respect and appreciate, and he proceeded to give us even more reason to love Brazil as we commuted back to town and had a merry little sleep over before finding our bus to Uruguay early the next morning, which would begin our longest continuous commute to date: a 46 hour journey by bus and foot across southern Brazil to Montevideo.

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So... Where were we????
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The Dry and the Dazzling

8/18/2016

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"We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty."
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-Maya Angelou, poet, philosopher, and activist

December, 2015 ​- ​Goodness, gracious, what a long time it has been!!! And here I assumed when we reached Europe back in March we would have more Wifi access than we could shake a cyber stick at.

Turns out, I never managed a chance to find out! Our Schengen visa was so disallowing of extra time that we raced through at a pace that granted almost no free time to work (and left my parents uncontacted for FAR longer than is appropriate). So I fell (even more) behind on the photoblog.

​Oh, well… Better late than ne-… Anyway, let’s talk about Argentina!
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It’s safe to say (and I’m guessing also presumed) that we would come to certain places that were simply “–er” (bigger, broader, tastier, nicer, cheaper, beautiful-er) and that when we arrived we would rightly find just cause to invest more time in the area. As an example, Mexico quickly granted us sufficient incentive to stay. Due to its richness of culture, diversity of ecology, and the strength of the US dollar that permitted gut-busting amounts of deliciously dirt-cheap grub, we broke our country-a-week rule and remained there for nearly a month without regret and without satiating our hunger for more…

​More tacos, that is.
Upon leaving Bolivia, we once more we found ourselves compelled to make more room on our calendar, but this time for the self-proclaimed "Europe of South America," the land of tango and beef: Argentina. Yes, the southern giant of South America caught our attention, and it’s still one of the only countries we have traveled to twice since leaving the U.S. last year. The first entry led our expedition across the Bolivian border and through the deserts of Northeast Argentina.
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Before I left Bolivia, I was honestly expecting a much more drastic change from one country to the next. It had been described to me by one source that such a notable and blatant contrast was awaiting me. Interestingly enough, however, I found that with the exception of Buenos Aires and some parts of the Central and Southern East, Argentina shared much more with the rest of South America than I had been led to believe, and some care to admit.
Our first stop on Argentine soil (after a seven-hour, on foot border crossing, where we spent the night on a dividing bridge and STILL somehow found ourselves in the wrong line for immigration) was the small, soon to be up-and-coming yet still authentically quaint-and-charming desert town of Humahuaca, placed amongst the roots of the Hornocal mountain range.
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I quickly learned (once again) how remarkably fortunate I was for Daniel’s vast and well-deserved network of friends when I met the compassionate and lovely Paulita.

What kindness, what heart, and what sweetness she conveyed and evoked… I was so tenderly touched by her openness and sincerity. She was warm and gentle and darling, working hard to do good while making it look effortless to be so as she fulfilled her life-long ambition to buy and run a homey, heart-felt hostel in humble Humahuaca.
While in this delightfully dreamy world of hers, I wandered narrow, sandy streets lined with crack-walled houses and infrequent splashes of bold paint whose stamina could never quite outlast the wear of the wind. I stumbled into even smaller general stores, where smiling, dark faces laughed at and encouraged my bumbling Spanish while I failed to find ingredients to make American Chili for my hostel friends.

I explored surrounding mountains banded with colors and patterns I had never seen before, striped with and adorned by geological layers like filo dough that slashed the hills with wavy stripes of bloody red and tangerine and coffee and crème.

I stood in the tiny public square as a clearly marked outsider while tight-knit town folk gathered to watch the village’s ancient, colonial clock tower make its daily display of St Antonio’s statue like it was Beyoncé singing the National Anthem at Kennedy Center. 
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Sometimes, it felt like magical things would (and did) happen there. Like a butterfly spawning that ended the species' twenty-year incubation period, sending clouds made of millions of small, flapping bodies bouncing through the mountain air like infant angels still discovering their pale wings.

​Sometimes it just felt like a town untouched, on the precipice of discovery from an unholy outside world. I’m grateful that I was able to see it prior to a more expansive exposure that feels quite inevitable. 
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Difficult goodbyes ensued when we made leave, but our promises to see each other again buffered the bitterness.

Keeping with the Northern parts, we rode East towards Brasil. The landscape evolved from barren, dusty oranges and sandy yellows to the verdant greens of thick leafery and the terra cotta red of fine-ground earth as we entered the jungles who create the intersection between Argentina, Brasil, and Paraguay. 

*Side note: It was here that I had my first taste of Argentine steak... Maybe I'm not a connoisseur, but I liked my mother's better (thanks, Mom!). That said, my post on Buenos Aires will shed more light on the real​ story of Argentine beef that I learned during our interview.
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 These thick, tropical woodlands ring the awesome display of Iguazu, one of the greatest wonders of the world. A stellar series of thundering falls surging over wildly wooded cliffs.
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But as we approached the site, I noticed something which caused me to question whether what I was seeing was normal.
​As the bus drove over a raised highway towards our destination, I considered how the seemingly endless forest stretching about and below us had no solid ground that I could see, for filling the space between the trunks and branches was a flood, densely saturated with the clay-like soils that made up the earth here.
​Those great cascades and the rivers that fed them were bloated and browned by the rampage of recent rains that had fallen, and much of the entire region that might have typically been (comparatively) dry was under the rust-tinted flood waters.
As a matter of additional (albeit unrequested insight) let it be known that I am actively working on and making progress in the area of avoiding disappointments created by unfounded expectations.

I don't mean to do it, truly. Yet when something is presented to me (even just the idea of something, like a trip, a meal, a person, a place, a film, etc) I start to think about it in my future. What could it be like? What might it be like? Then, without warning or realization, these thoughts transform into daydreams, which in turn morph into fantasies, where they eventually mature into those most unwelcome expectations that sneak up on me.

I will continue to pursue liberty from this repetitious process, but until then, Iguazu's off color felt like a let down.
What awaited me was like a nature's version of dirty dishwater, namely debris-ridden cataracts, discolored sprays, and a kind of caramel-colored river, not unlike the one which churned chocolate in Willy Wonka’s candy factory.

So not only did I not get my much-desired blue-and-green shots, but I was really craving a Snickers bar...
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I was disappointed. I admit it. And rather than attempt to appreciate the rarity of the occasion (floods like this hadn't happened in recent memory, according to locals, making it a markedly rare event), I told myself I could fix it in Photoshop later. As you can see, I did not. Yet it was nothing a little black and white rendering couldn’t mask, and I must say I did take a liking to the dramatic results of the monochromatic final products. 

​And even if I didn't, it was a blessing just to be there and see it, no matter the color scheme.
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Those who have also trekked here can attest that as one travels from ledge to ledge of the enormous jungle, striving to find a better, wetter outlook, it’s quickly apparent that the trees are already occupied. ​
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Plush-crested jays and long-schnozed coatis (a kind of cute lovechild from a monkey-anteater-raccoon romance) inhabit the branches and boughs, entirely unafraid of the two-legged travelers who walk the paths through their forest.

​Clearly, however, there have been…. altercations, in the past. Signs are commonly seen dissuading humans from feeding these pointy-toothed, sharp-clawed cuties (some postings even feature a grotesque photograph of a coati bite in the torn remains of soft, pink man-flesh… Ew).
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Butterflies flit about everywhere, also undeterred by the invading, camera-wielding crowds.

Some silly people run away from them (afraid of what? I haven’t the faintest idea…) while others aggressively try to catch them (some wings, sadly, did not survive the clumsy, crushing grips of less-than-careful children and insensitive adults) and others still take the peaceful road, permitting the graceful bug-birds a chance to flutter about and land where they will, frequently on a head or hand where they would probe pollen-less skin before deciding there was no nectar to be found and fly on.
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While on the subject of fauna, I also decided to toss into this post a mogwai-looking marmoset I found closer to Rio de Janeiro (see more in my post to follow this one!) just because they are so darned precious!
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Those little devils really seemed to me like a pretty solid closer for this post... A wittle, bitty, ultra-cute incentive for YOU to get out there and make your own difference!
For information how to help us on our way, see our How to Help page for more!

Explore the world. Make it better.

Although we did not manage to find a family to interview until Buenos Aires, we still have people to thank!
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​First among them is our host and dear friend Paulita. A gem and a human inspiration, this angel spoke softly and powerfully, and I could feel changes happening within me in response.

Muchisimas gracias, amiga querida. Please, por favor, come to see us when we return home! I truly want to pay your kindness in due time.
Also, to Daniel’s friend and anonymous donor, you merit ENORMOUS gratitude and true blessings. We could not (seriously, could NOT) finish this without you. 
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​I also want to thank my family. Yes, I have in the past, and I will again. Each of them deserve it. Daniel for his patience, Brandon for his example, Laura for her light, Briana for her strength, Sal for his passion, Gavin for his spirit, Tyner for her resilience, Madeline for her soul, Lily for her grace, Nana for her legacy, Nancy for her loyalty, Keith for his courage, Vicki for her joy, Juli for her acceptance, and especially my parents for their applaudable support and generosity (they never did ask that I reimburse my childhood debt accrued since birth), my papa for his well-earned wisdom, his misfiring charm, and his remarkable progress as a human being, and to my dearly beloved mother, for her virtuous choices, her humbling sacrifices, and her undying and life-changing love. There is more, there always will be, but this is for now, not forever.
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As mentioned, we did eventually meet a family to interview for Argentina, although it wound up waiting until Buenos Aires!

​This current section of Argentina served more as a glimpse into the dusty, delicate rural life that still lives in the Northwestern corner of the country, and the fertile, forested majesty of natural wonders that fills the North East. Even still, that was only a fraction of the country. We still had to see the capital, and the wild Patagonian frontier. But first, we took a trip through South America’s Portuguese-speaking big-boy, host of the 2016 World Olympics, and the sole subject of my next post: Brasil. 

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There is more to see than a post has room for!

​Click the links and take a gander at the internal gallery or Instagram account! 
​

LOVE it? Visit Daniel's store here!

Don't forget to visit on Facebook and Twitter!

So... Where were we????
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A bit more Bolivia...

6/7/2016

1 Comment

 
"Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's needs, but not every man's greed."

-Gandhi, peace activist and spiritual inspiration

December, 2015 ​- A combination of ecological brilliance and faulty computer software compels me to dedicate an additional post to Bolivia's remarkably stellar and truly unique landscape. Photographic splendor was simply plethoric, and I really don't mind paying additional homage to the otherworldly backdrop, specifically the Southwestern corner of Bolivia's wilderness: The Uyuni Salt Flats.
Explorations such as this, through Uyuni (and Machu Picchu, and Torres del Paine, and Iguaçu, and Teotihuacán, and Caye Caulker, and, and, and...) might seem like a departure from the family culture and child-life that creates the center of our project. But part of our project's objective is to find the pieces that make up a place and to learn about them. So that's what we did.
And so, if I may - filled with moonscapes, tar pits, grey waters, blue skies, white sands, flocks of flamingos and deserts that would make Salvador Dalí's mustache twitch - I'd like to publish my 50 Favorite Photographs from the Flats.
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Explore the world. Make it better.

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As always we offer our thanks to those helping us to realize our journey. Discretion is a frequent request from those who lend us a hand, and so we publicly (but without names) thank all donors, family interviewers, hosts, friends, relatives, and fellows from the road and back at home who give us the means to continue. Thank you!

For information that could help on our way, see our How to Help page for more!

Like the photography?
​​
There is more to see than a post has room for!

​Click the links and take a gander at our internal gallery and Instagram account! 
​

LOVE it? Visit Daniel's store here!

So... Where were we????
1 Comment

Flat deserts and (even flatter) desserts...

5/20/2016

0 Comments

 
"The aim... is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance."

-Aristotle, philosopher and scientist 

December, 2016​ - Imagine a world were every third person you see on the street is above the poverty line, and TWO out of THREE are poverty-stricken. One out of those two would also be living in extreme poverty, "a condition characterized by severe deprivation of basic human needs, including food, safe drinking water, sanitation facilities, health, shelter, education and information."

In this world, one in five people you meet live without the enabling power of electricity. One in ten won't taste the cleansing relief of pure, fresh water. And HALF of the people you run into don't even have a sewage connection to take away their own waste...

Imagine this world. Now squish it between two nations who each have almost four times the average GOP of this world. A central deprivation betwixt two relative luxuries. 

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​You're in Bolivia.
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Even with the facts seeming grim, there is a lot in this struggling world that inspires and warms and delights. It's important to note that most metrics of "Good" and "Bad" are purely relative and subjective to one's personal judgments and experiences. Bolivians live in a startlingly gorgeous world, rife with an enormous variety of fantastic foods and organic vegetation exclusive to their territory, a rich and vibrant cultural pride which blankets the society, and sprawling, stunning landscapes that are truly unlike anything else in the world that I have seen. 
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Bolivia is starkly and beautifully unique to a thrilling degree.

And while traveling, I have repeatedly found two opposing yet complimentary excitements that can take place, one when you find a place that reminds you of home, and one when discovering someplace that shares very little with it.

Bolivia is is one of those "someplaces" that is very, very ​ different from my home. 
That said, I found it to be a delight for my camera (and my stomach). 

But seriously, doesn't some of it just look like another planet? You can just picture a spaceship landing and a light-saber duel unfolding in some places...
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The society in general, like Peru, felt quite closed to outsiders, and hesitant to engage, despite my sorry excuse for Spanish. We lucked out, though, in having time to spend with some friend's of Daniel for our interview.

The family we were fortunate to have interviewed lives in a more developed La Paz neighborhood that hosts the first (and only) international chain restaurant I saw in all of Bolivia (Subway, for interested parties).

Bolivia boasts a plethora of organic, fresh fruits and vegetables at local markets. The company's "Eat Fresh" slogan seemed silly and ironically out of place and as US-based fast food joint in the midst of such remarkable selections of straight-from-the-dirt food.
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Although their home sports any number of modern conveniences that other sections of the country lack (rendering the house on par with today's standard of living) the shortage of educational and medical opportunities is as prevalent here as it was throughout the rest of the nation. In fact, we were told on both sides of the border that medical patients in Bolivia are regularly advised to head to Argentina for treatments, where federal healthcare permits free hospital care that is too expensive for a majority of the population on the Bolivian side. It can often cause problems for Argentina (even where foreigners aren't using services), but we were also told that "that's just the way of things right now."
It was an interesting admission to hear... Seeming to support that positive change is neither imminent nor worth the fight. I'm sure that wasn't the actual intended sentiment, but that's just how it felt to me.
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I cannot recall having seen a larger sea of sad faces than in Bolivia... There are so many wonderful things about this very special land, but my strongest memory of the 2.3 million people on the street are their sorrowful expressions, and their reluctant outreach to foreigners. 
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On the bright side, we met some truly enjoyable people, had a blast making cookies with new friends (flat, silly little things that collapsed under the 12,000 ft elevation (see below)), explored new terrain, and stuffed our bellies with new favorites (namely, the famous trancapecho (literally translated to "chest clogger," a fabulous, carbivoric, high-calorie masterpiece comprised of rice, cheese, potatoes, veggies, two kinds of meat, a fried egg, all on a thick-bread sandwich... Oh... my... goodness...) and as-fresh-as-can-be strawberry sorbet (where they actually blend newly picked strawberries into shaved ice). The allergic reaction was VERY worth the indulgence... 
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As with most things, there are and were exceptions to the perceived norms (including our door-opening family whom we interviewed, and our bus administrator turned buddy-in-La-Paz), but for someone who felt very sensitive to the emotional ambiance of those bloated streets, I just felt more like an outsider in La Paz than I had at any point on the road.
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All things considered, I believe deeply and truly that ALL things work together for Good in the end. I don't believe everything happens for a reason, but I believe you can find a reason for everything that happens. I believe in the human heart, even when there's little evidence to support it. I believe in the Why's behind the What's. I believe that crying is as important and valuable as laughing. I believe in human love, and it's mysterious power to make change.

These people have something special that I wish I had the time to have explored deeper. With time, earning trust, I have little doubt that the spirits of these people would have warmed my own, changing both of us for the better.
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To hopefully activate that change, we are traveling the world. Meeting, talking, and learning how to be better humans. Everyone can make a difference.

We have a promotional video for you to see at the fund raising site for our mission!

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! ​​​For coming along, for taking steps everyday, for being YOU. Thank you.

Explore the world. Make it better.

In sincere and deeply appreciated gratitude, we would like to thank those donors who have decided that what Daniel and I are doing isn't entirely crazy. In the name of anonymity (nice little pun, there), they remain unspecified. But even so, their generosity in monetary contributions, enthusiastic encouragement, homey accommodations, and yummies in our tummies certainly merits mentioning. Thank you! 
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For those donationally curious minds who feel compelled to also contribute (anything from foodstuffs to funds to words of affirmation), by all means visit our website and watch a video here!

We are also looking for a housing opportunity in July September outside of the Schengen Area of Europe, where we can work on interview content and photos until our visas can be renewed and we continue. Feel free to write us if you have any friends who want to be our friends!
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Also in need of thanks, our hilarious and fast-talking friend, who had us laughing and learning and loving La Paz. Your puppy is adorable, you cooking skills commendable, and your quick wit enjoyable. Thank you for literally saving us! (You what I mean...).
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To Daniel's dear friend and the focus of our interview, we express our appreciation to you and your family for your openness and willingness. This project needed you! And it is better because of you. Thank you!
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To my family (both biological and by marriage), who puts up with us vanishing for weeks on end, who inspire me and tolerate me and love me (especially when I don't feel I deserve it) I feel so thankful. I don't need to list names to say how much your words, written and verbal, have warmed me and left me feeling like maybe (just maybe) I have something good to offer this world. 
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To my patient and caring friends (both years in the making and those I made as early as last week), who may feel abandoned or misplaced while I'm gone, or who simply wait patiently for my eventual return, I'm so grateful to know that when I do go back I can super--duper-squeeze every... last... one... of you.

Thank you for waiting.
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And lastly, we thank YOU, dear reader. Friend, family, or future companion. We love you for coming with us, and making our journey special.

Don't forget to visit our How to Help page to see where YOUR difference can find footing.

Like the photography?
​​
There is more to see than a post has room for!

​Click the links and take a gander at our internal gallery and Instagram account! 
​

LOVE it? Visit Daniel's store here!

So... Where were we????
0 Comments

Kingdoms come and gone...

3/4/2016

2 Comments

 
"I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul."

-Nelson Mandela, Radical Activist and Politician

November, 2015 ​- It's sometimes said to be unprofessional, blaming outside forces for a lacking product. But fortunately, I'm not being paid, and therefore am withheld from status as a professional. 
I do quite lament the embarrassingly overdue nature of this post... I'm guessing there aren't too many who visit it, but I think those who do deserve an explanation.

​Daniel and I spent weeks at a time without connection to an internet signal with site-building strength. For those who are familiar with my nature, you know I'll dive into a detailed apology to justify the delinquency. But first: Let's talk about Perú, shall we?
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I used to think I was a pretty close to "getting it together."
I mean, just generally speaking, I tend to catch on to the way of things, and adapt myself to a point of advantage within my given circumstances. I decently recognize patterns and have basic skills to sufficiently complete tasks at hand, and would like to think that my reasoning is at least moderately sound. ​​
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To that end, a few years ago, I felt pretty solid about who I was, what I was about, and how to navigate my life. I had earned fantastic grades in college, had been blessed with a fulfilling and diverse social network, had a promising career ahead of my that I enjoyed and where I performed well, and felt emotionally sustained and appreciated by my beloved family.
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It was an incredible state to discover within myself, an enormous and awfully welcome departure from the relatively aimless and oftentimes uncomfortably insecure youthful angst it replaced.
Granted, I never expect to have it ALL figured out, or to reach a point where I would beat the game of life, but I at least thought I had a solid handle on the fundamentals and a well-honed bank of disciplines to fall back on when situations would complicate.
Well, sorry to disappoint you again, Mr. Strawn, but you were quite wrong... again.
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And thank goodness for that. I'm not at all abashed to declare that not only am I frequently wrong, but were I always right this world would be in a wretched state. Thankfully for you citizens of Earth, I am not in charge. Someone far more clever and merciful holds those reins. 
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It seems one - of many - lessons this universe is determined to teach me in recent months is how painfully incapable I seem to be in certain realms of the human emotional experience.
I have repeatedly felt as though my maturity and much-practiced self-awareness are battling with my fragile innocence and inner-child sanctuary, creating a conflict that has lamentably been dragging others into the fray (others who by no means deserve the burden). Perú was a challenging (and hopefully effective) lesson for me in the relationship between these two extremes.


Throughout our culture-hopping, explorational adventure, we have observed so many different manners of human life, states of childhood, and family formulas throughout history and today. 


This range is diversely exemplified throughout Peru.
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Things sometimes change and sometimes continue on, from life lived in a colonial city, electrified and plumbed for comfortable home-making in those same historic houses, to abandoned ruin sites that haunt with vacant echoes of peoples long past, to the cosmopolitan metropolises constructed over the graveyard capital of a long-dead civilization.
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​There are villages with man-made islands, where reeds are like bricks and water like soil, cities where buildings crowd one another and backyards or front lawns exist somewhere far away, UNESCO-protected towns that feature structures from the past with the amenities of the present.
Some have homes with gardens, courtyards, and body guards. But at the same time, if anyone in Peru tells you that all they own are the clothes on their backs, it might not be far from the truth.

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Largely up to this point, we have seen a near ubiquitous progression of societies towards a much-desired technological evolution, even if only in small ways. The people of Puno, who cleverly have been using the reeds of a lake to build boats, homes, and even islands for hundreds, now incorporate recycled plastic bottles into the hulls of boats and beneath floating cities, improving longevity and stability. 
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But now our entry to Perú brings us geographically and ethnically closer to the center of South America, and to the descendants of the Incan kingdom that once ruled it. These descendants still seem to claim their ancient royal roots to this day, causing a new manner of living from which to learn.
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The variety of families that compose Perú's population range widely, from thoroughly Westernized, largely modernized city-slickers to old-world, indigenous descendants, sometimes desperately holding fast to the customs and values of their forefathers.
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To exemplify this range of communal diversity, one can make a comparison of the country's largest city versus its rural outliers.
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In the capital, Lima, a plethora of conveniences and contemporized luxuries offer citizens amenities and comforts. Notably among them, a glittering, state-of-the-art shopping mall engineered into sea-side cliffs just out from the downtown district.
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Five, open-face stories of restaurants, gardens, sculptures, boutiques, and theaters vertically nestled in the bluff's recesses hundreds of feet above crashing, ocean waves well-stocked with wet-suited surfers paddling the frothed saltwater, who carve the rising swells beside a full-scale restaurant fancifully stilted above the water's undulating tide.

In contrast, five hundred kilometers inland, deep inside the mystical Andean mountain stretch, different buildings clinging to different cliffs.
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Small, rock-walled huts grip to the steeply-sloped Sacred Valley beyond Ollantaytambo and before Aguas Calientes. Beneath the misty, raw peaks of the range, their simple foundations dig stubbornly into the earth, standing strong against the assaulting elements that wrack the land.
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No power-lines or pipes reach these places, and no regulated institutions break ground. ​
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The rugged homes are ringed with battered gardens and grazing livestock, in the seemingly traditional fashion of Incan farms from eras long ago. The structures almost materialize what their builders feel within: a steadfast dedication to old ways, lacking much of the rampant assimilations and adaptations to so-called "First World" priorities.
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Skyscrapers and country clubs and cinemas and dealerships are distant things to the mountain dwellers.
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It makes this rapidly evolving nation all the more precious to me now, when what is there at present very well may disappear into the ages.
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The more I think about this notion of a desperate past, grappling fiercely to retain its relevancy while growth threatens to render it obsolete, the more I reflect upon such movements within myself, and how it is that my decently developed, deliberately gained behaviors and tendencies can be so at odds with a simpler side of myself.
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It sometimes seems to me that my soul is like a constantly expanding organism, comprised of previous experiences and conjectures that blend in with and make way for new exposures and fresh information.
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As I confront the new and unfamiliar, I sometimes face that which may be in conflict with or contradicting my preexisting ideologies, my beloved principles, or my core values.

​Suddenly, these new and powerful forces are assaulting my traditional supports, and wracking the carefully laid foundations within myself.
I may choose to cling to the ground, or to adapt. Either way, I don't think I can escape feeling the approaching power of an uncertain future, bearing with it frightening consequences and undesirable adaptations. Such ferocity could cause to vanish my familiar self within the destructive and restructuring fires of change that reforges our characters again and again, reshaping spirits and strengthening hearts, where we only survive if we are strong enough to withstand.
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And we are strong. Don't forget that.
Life may throw curve balls, it may threaten my comforts and identities, and it will certainly divorce me in the end. But even if only internally: "I am the captain of my fate."
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We may not have control over the winds and weathers that batter us, or even full mastery over the havens and vessels that carry us onward, but we hold within ourselves the power of dedication, strength, and (not to be underestimated) remembrance.
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We will change. This is certain. We will have things taken from us. We will face loss and heart-break. We will find success and triumph. We will fall. Will we rise. But with dedication in our righteous convictions, strength in our spirits, and remembrance for our pasts, we can move towards a better future.
Come with us as we travel.

Explore the world. Make it better.

Now, it indeed has been an abnormally long time between posts... When this blog was initially conceived, I had hoped to keep up with our country-a-week pace.
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Lamentably, lacking internet access quickly rendered that posting frequency unrealistic. Building a website requires a strong, secure connection (something I've rarely found in the last six months).
I hoped and attempted to find away around the obstacle of slow (even nonexistent) Wifi, but have yet to discover a satisfactory option.

It's time to re-strategize....

I think I will either take my mother and Daniel's repeated advice and see if I can use weak internet to craft mini-posts to fill the silent void, or will just expect monthly publications of equal size and content to previous articles.
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Feel free to chime in with your opinion or suggestion! I'd love to hear from you in any capacity! Thank you!

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We have another HUGE thanks to offer our new friends, fantastic and fun Lima hosts: Mac, Fernado, and Logan, who graciously (and deliciously) provided commendable accommodations in the delightful Miraflores district of the city.

You made available to us security and safety while we awaited visas and explored the city, enabled walks on the malecon with Logan and jaunts to the Barranco, and helped us to discover the taste of Chifa. 
You were patient, positive, and supportive, conversational and kind. Rare generosity to earn from a stranger.

​We have many reasons to recognize how lucky we were.

And we won't be forgetting this chaufa!
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And to old acquaintances Stephanie, Cecille, Felipe, and new little Emilia, we offer our gratitude.

What a wonderful diversion you offered us with your hospitality and humor in La Molina (the house looks wonderful! And the location by the park is so ideal).

Your sweet granola grab bags kept our stomachs healthily happy and occupied as we headed east.

​We are so excited to see you all again (Stephanie: So sorry we missed you in Chile! Next time we will try to plan better).
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We also want to acknowledge and applaud Señor Carlos of Cuzco, and the darling, dulce Wara the Adorable, for your flexibility and friendship we thank you. Such an incredible meal for our first night in town (complete with alpaca steak, cow heart kebabs, and a decadent, dark chocolate cake with ice cream to complete the "Inkan" meal). Enjoying walks with Wara and sharing fresh-baked, home-made chocolate-chip slices of heaven when our schedules crossed on National Cookie Day, we truly appreciate and are indebted to you. We miss you both! And LOVE seeing your smiling faces on social media.

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Another appreciative comment belongs to Daniel Bernstein, who has recently volunteered to critic and edit my frequent typos, rambling run-on's, and proper nounery. I'm glad I have someone to watch my literary back!
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Further more, we giddily recognize and (very belatedly) celebrate that fabulous, recently passed holiday of St. Valentines, where love between humans is to be lauded and prioritized (for those who attend to the traditional meaning). We had spent the day on a bus ride, but nonetheless, no matter timing or location, like any holiday worth enjoying, I feel compelled to try and adopt the spirit of the day in year-round appreciation. The love of Valentine's, the spirit of Christmas, the gratitude of Thanksgiving, the hope of Easter, the fun of Halloween, the excitement of New Year... Why restrict them to one day? Let the love live on!

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And lastly, we thank YOU, dear reader. Friend, family, or future companion. We love you for coming with us, and making our journey special.
Don't forget to visit our How to Help page to see where YOUR difference can find footing.
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See you next time! It's off to Bolivia...

As mentioned, we have a promotional video for you to see at the fund raising site for our mission!

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! ​​

Like the photography?
​​
There is more to see than a post has room for!

​Click the links and take a gander at our internal gallery and Instagram account! 
​

LOVE it? Visit Daniel's store here!

So... Where were we????
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