Peru Fragments: Part VII: The End of the Road

In the summer of 2014, I taught a short-term study abroad in Peru. Here are the fragments. Part VII can be found here.

What would be my last meaningful leg of the journey was going to take us to Puno and Lake Titicaca. We loaded up at the bus station in Cuzco early in the morning and settled in for an all-day bus trip.

The bus was nice enough and they had an "active" itinerary for us. With 3-4 stops along the way to give us a chance to stretch our feet. I appreciated the intent, it gave us something to see, something to do, etc. but on the last stop at a tiny museum,  I was just ready to get to our destination.  Nonetheless here are few photos from some of the sites:

I dunno, a window of an ancient structure.  If you've followed the Peru series by now, you know I am pretty much obsessed with shots like this. 

I liked this green example of pareidolia, especially the eyes.

Some old church in some small town, somewhere in Peru.

We finally arrived in Puno after a 9 hours of traveling. Puno itself isn't much to look at. The main attraction is of course, the highest elevated navigable lake in the world (and one of the best named lakes in the world) Lake Titicaca. We drove straight to the hotel (Eco Inn) and had dinner at the hotel (pretty decent). After a decent breakfast, we were off to the dock to explore the lake.

The water of Lake Titicaca was the bluest blue I have ever seen.

The water was so calm, our slow motorboat trip was so peaceful, you could forget you were even on the water.

Our guide for the next few days was pretty tripin'. Up until this point our guides had been friendly but pretty standard fare. Our guide for Lake Titicaca was much more open than our other guides and was more personal with us. We found out how she occasionally washed her hair in her own urine. Later on she told us about how she found out her future from someone who read coca leaves for her. She also told us that to find out what was wrong with a health problem, she had a guinea pig lay on her while she slept (I guess it was in a container of some kind), and then in the morning, they killed it to "read" its guts and tell her what was wrong with her. She was the real deal.

Our first stop was to the Uros islands. These are man-made islands that people actually live on! They've lived there so long they have their own unique culture (one that now is dependent on tourists coming to take photos of their unique living circumstances). It was cool to be there but it felt a little too "touristy" for me. The actual island is made up from reeds that grow in the lake "tortas" and it felt a little mushy, but strong. Apparently, they have to slowly but constantly rebuild it as the reeds rot underwater. Cool, but in retrospect, it was cooler in my imagination.

Then we headed over to the Llachón peninsula. I thought our plan was to stay at a local family's home but it was more of a B-n-B that was locally owned.  There were 3-4 unheated rooms with 2 beds each and an outhouse-like bathroom. There was no shower or bath for visitors. It was close to the lake and very quiet. 

We had a home cooked fish lunch that hit the spot and then we were ready to party. 

Yes, party. 

Our guide let us know there was party going on in town celebrating one of the saint's days. We had been to a few events that were set-up just for tourist but this time, the celebration was authentic and that was nice for a change. We were the only tourists there and we made for quite a sight.  Before we had left our "hotel", our host and guide and encouraged us to dress in the traditional grab before we went to the fiesta. I found this a little silly like if you should wear a cowboy hat because you're visiting in Texas. 

I felt a little ridiculous, but whatever, when in Rome...I also felt so cheap and trendy with the record amounts of selfies I was taking at this point. My quarters were behind me to the left, right after the archway. 

 We watched a local dancing celebration for about an hour. Some of the show was quite humorous, while we found other aspects baffling but it was a good time. The locals pretty much stayed clear of us, I didn't know how exactly how to take that....

After the celebration, we took in sunset on the shores of Lake Titicaca. It was a pretty nice moment. It was a good to be alive. 

A female sheep herder brought her flock down to the shore for one last drink before the day was over. 

That night we had another solid home cooked dinner and our hosts (a mother and her son) sang some tunes with us. Then, came the main event. Because our students at inquired at the mention, our guide had found someone to "read" our fortunes or answer questions by reading coca leaves for us.  He was called (and forgive me but this is going to sound made up) a "ya titty". I tried googling this to no avail, but just saying "Ya Titty" got way too many chuckles and laughs from one of our students and I. 

Anyway, our "ya titty" was almost toothless and looked like he'd had a rough day. We sat around the dinner table and an actual hush came over the table. Even I felt like I needed to speak in hushed tones suddenly but remember our questions were going to be answered by an old man dropping and swirling coca leaves on a table. Two of our female students asked about their romantic relationships or partners (they actually asked for us to leave the room as privacy was offered and taken). Our new age hippie student, asked about what college he should be transferring to. When it came to my colleague, he asked if he should go to law school or more graduate school in philosophy. Surprisingly he didn't really answer the question but the ya titty did tell him he would have a daughter in the next year. This made both C and I laugh as our guide, some of students and definitely the ya titty didn't know that this was a very unlikely event to occur. My colleague, C is gay male and while he is in a long-term relationship, they are not looking to adopt any time soon.

I didn't want to partake at all. First of all, at least 4 of the 5 students, some what college-educated students (two of them actual "Adults")  were taking this "ceremony" way too seriously. They sat around really watching the leaves as if this was a real reading of their future. I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut as it was all so dreadfully stupid.  My colleague ended up talking me into asking a silly question about work (long story) but I didn't get the answer I was looking for either!

Later, we came to find out our female student's questions had gotten very negative answers. They actually seemed annoyed and bothered by it, but I told it them it was crazy b.s. and that they were in control of their own futures (as much as humanly possible) not some coca leaves.

It was time for bed and as we paired off to our rooms, our host gave us a heated water bottle. I was a little perplexed but our guide told us, this was to heat up our beds.  Our rooms were unheated and it was cold night on the shore of the lake. The water bottle was a life-saver and it kept the bed warm well into the night. I remember that night I felt like I had a deep sleep. Restful and ready for what I felt like anything. It was last restful night I had for a long time.

The next morning we got up and left for Taquile Island, which was about an hour away. First we had one last hike in Peru. This time it was about a 30 minute hike at a fast pace up a very steep hill face. I tried to keep up with our male student F (pictures below) but couldn't do it. One more challenge but the sight of the lake below and Bolivia made it worth it.

 

I had been told Taquile island wasn't authentic but on further review, I thought it kinda was. First thing you notice is the archway to the path and the archway right before town. It was built by the community, not contractors. Second, the agency takes you to the pre-determined location for lunch. It's determined by the island government, so that everyone partakes in the money from the tourists equally. It's not about competition and letting the free market reign but balance and fairness. That's as foreign as you get compared to America's values.

The restaurants have pretty much the same food. Notice the rococo peppers on the fish. This was a nice lunch. Later a kitty came by and some of my students fed it some of their fish. 

We did some minimal shopping but the prices were very high and I think all of us were tired of shopping at this point in the trip. We hiked back down the other side of the island. It was downhill but still a good work out.

If you've read any of this Peru series you know I love windows, doors and archways. The archways on Taquile were really cool because they had those heads on the ends. It reminded me of Gothic churches in Europe but a toned down, simple, Peruvian style. 

When I hiked I usually went at my own pace. It was great to sneak in alone time and have space for my own thoughts.  On the way down I discovered this little lost lamb bleating out for his mother. I tried to console him to no avail but he still followed me. Eventually, I saw his reunification with this mother. It was a nice moment.

Finally, we made the long trip back to Puno. It was a peaceful trip and at least half our crew slept in the warm boat but I couldn't sleep a wink. We got back to our hotel and cleaned up for dinner. We planned on going out to a nice place where they had dancers and finally get to eating some cuy again. The time before I had been feeling ill and only had one bite. I was looking forward to a nice night out. But that wasn't going to happen.

I was sharing a room with my colleague C and our student F. F was on his phone texting and while I was sending photos of our trip out from the lake to my wife. We had been offline for a few days and I was eager to check in on the fam.  C was in the shower getting ready for dinner. Then I received a series of texts from my wife that changed our lives forever.

My wife was on her way to visit her brother and his family in Austin. It was supposed to be an informal "pop in" visit for a few hours and then she was supposed to head home after a long trip with her family and the kids from Wisconsin.

When she texted me, she was outside of his house. Police cars were there and her dad who had been riding with her went in to see what was going on. They had found out on the way that her brother had stormed out of the house with a gun after a fight with his wife. He had been struggling with alcoholism for the past several years and today he had been drunk when he came home. She was in the car with all three of our kids, just waiting on pins and needles to find out what was happening.

Then she texted me the news. He was gone. He had killed himself two hours or so earlier. The pain was primal, almost physical. I hurt for my wife, his wife and two young sons and my in-laws. My worst fear from traveling had come true - I was hopelessly far away and something tragic had occurred.

I instantly started bawling and my poor student didn't know what was happening. He was a sweet kid about it, said the right things and largely staying silent. I imagine it was a pretty big shock to see his professor crying like a baby. I swore like a sailor, especially cursing guns and the gun industry that sells fear and paranoia but the stats tell us hand guns are much more likely to be used for suicide than any other use. More than homicide and more than defending your house against someone breaking in.
My colleague C stepped out of the shower to hear me crying. Both C and F were so great they offered to stay with me in the room the rest of the night but I just wanted to be alone. I told them to go to dinner and that I actually wanted to be alone to think through this.  I had many details to learn,  phone calls to make and tears to cry.  It was a nightmare and I felt guilty for being so far away from the love of my life in her darkest hour. I failed to be there for her and there was nothing I could do.

Our plane was leaving Puno at 6:00 the next morning to Lima.  The Puno airport was being renovated and somehow, they couldn't heat the airport. It was freezing cold inside the airport. It was an all-around horrible experience. Cold and sad. The original plan was for us to spend two days in Lima but I wanted to get home ASAP. After our arrival to Lima and a torturous phone call with United Airlines the best I could do was fly out at near midnight that evening. I would be arriving home a day early, so it was better than nothing.

That meant I still had to be in Lima the whole day just waiting to get home. It was a horrible day. We didn't do much, lunch at as sub par restaurant, went to a museum and went walking around town. It was a cloudy day and fit with my mood. I just wanted to go home. I said a hasty set of good byes to the students and my colleague got me a taxi to take me to the airport. He insisted on riding with us, just to ensure everything went well. He really didn't need to do that but he's a great guy and close friend. He insisted on paying for the taxi as well (it wasn't cheap).

It was odd coming home alone. It equally strange to come down from such an amazing high to the lowest of lows. A dream had come true and a nightmare had started. I suppose it's life in a nutshell. The healing process is still going on for our family but at least we have each other. That's all you can ask for.

So, those our my fragments from my study abroad to Peru. It will always linked to this tragedy and yet, I can't forget it was an amazing trip.

The Art of the Mix Tape or My Summer Love Mix-Tape of '97

This past summer, during the Epic Re-Flooring of 2015, I came across one of my old poetry notebooks from 1996-1999.  Everything was going in boxes or being thrown out and I was tempted to throw this bad boy of bad poetry into the recycle bin.

Something stopped me though. I felt that if I threw the notebook away, it would have been a rejection of a part of me. Sure, that aspect of me is long gone but it felt wrong and I wasn't ready to let it go. At least not yet. Well, months later and I am still organizing my bookshelf and I found that old notebook of poetry again.

The notebook has more than just poetry, it has thousands of doodles, notes, script ideas for my summer film projects, and to-do lists, etc. To my delight I discovered an old mix tape track-list that I had made for my girlfriend Marie in the summer of 1997.  We had gotten together in May of 1997 and it was the first time I had experienced love. I was head over heels and having the time of my life. So, what's a guy in the 90's supposed to do for the girl he loves? Yep, make a mix-tape.

This was one of my first experiments in making a mix-tape. I might have made one for Mikey but it was all so long ago, it's hard to remember. I would later become an expert at pacing my track list and adding surprising or funny content to add to the listener's experience.

Here's a clip from High Fidelity about the rules of making a mix tape, also I wanted to include it because it's a great movie.

I ended up seeing High Fidelity with Marie and it was kinda weird because we were in a in-between spot when we saw it and the subtext for us was just hanging over us once the movie ended.  

Before we get to the track list, I have to set up a little more of my background.

First, I was pretty new to rock music in general.  All the time in high school I should have been discovering rock history and listening to the Beatles and Pink Floyd I spent listening to awful country music and being generally un-musical. So, my knowledge base of rock music was shallow to say the least. I was into "alternative" but it was mainstream alternative. I simply wasn't aware of the depth and richness in alternative, punk, indie,  you name it, etc. If this had been two years later (after being a college radio DJ) my track listing would be much more expansive and include some curve balls.

Also, Marie wasn't into rock music either, so I wasn't going to go too crazy here. I remember thinking it was going to be basic and straight forward.  I spent hours coming up with the track list. Looking at the track list today it's hard to see where I was going with this. Was it an introduction to stuff I liked and hoped she would like? Was I sending her any messages? I'm not even sure I knew at the time. Anyhoo, here's the track list with my additional content.

1. "Dill Pickle Intro"
2.  Smashing Pumpkins - "Today"
3.  Beck - "Hot Wax"
4.  "Talk Intro"
5.  Weezer - "No Other One"
6.   Bush - "Comedown"
7.  "Helicopter intro" - Nirvana - "Lithium"
8.   Dean Martin - "You're Nobody till Somebody Loves You"
9.   "DJ Speak"
10. Foo Fighters - "Big Me"
11. James Taylor - "You've Got A Friend"
12. Blur - "Song 2"
13. "Rocket Intro" - Rentals - "Friends of P"
14. Smashing Pumpkins - "Galapagos"
15. "Yoda Scene"
16. Pearl Jam - "Better Man"

I have to say this track list is full of rookie mistakes. There is no overall theme and the selections are haphazard (James Taylor to "Song 2"?) I also hate the fact that Bush is on this list...why did I include Bush?  I also am perplexed as to why I didn't end with "Galapagos" as it's a love song and it would have been better than the oddly placed "Better Man".

I have no idea what the "Dill Pickle" intro is nor what I talked about at tracks 4 and 9. Maybe "Dill Pickle" was an inside joke but the world will never know.

I used an old pair of earphones as my microphone. I remember it sounding better than you might expect. I thought the fact that I had discovered how to record my voice on a standard stereo pretty awesome. To achieve my sound effect introductions (I overlapped sound effects over the beginning of tracks 7 and 13), I would run the sound effects CD on a second CD player while holding the mic up the speakers as I recorded the music from the actual attached CD player. It was creative and I think it gave the mix tape a feeling "what will he come up with next"?   I believe the "Yoda Scene" on track 15 was the whole "There is no try" speech from Empire, although Marie probably had no idea where that was from and why this character was speaking in such a weird voice.

I'm not sure if this was one side or maybe just a sixty minute tape. I thought about adding up the times but I don't care all that much.  I remember spending hours  on the creation of my mix tapes. I would try to squeeze the perfect fit of songs so that each side was balanced and the listener wasn't left with 45 seconds of silence before the end of one of the sides. It really is a lost art form.

My wife had a little fun at my expense as I told her the topic of this blog. I was lamenting the loss of the mix tape and she laughed and said, "I wouldn't say it's sad, people are still sharing music".

"Yeah, but not like I did it!"

Of course she replied, "Everything has a purpose for you". And that's true enough.  As the years went by my mix tapes would morph into mix CD's but the same effort was there, including snippets from TV or movies, adding vocal tracks to introduce songs or share something crazy or funny. It was a way of sharing who I was, whether it was my love interest at the time or just a friend. It was also a lot of fun.

I suppose you could put together a YouTube playlist but it just wouldn't be the same for me.

I have a warm memory of how I delivered this tape to Marie. It was one of those wonderful youthful summer days, when there wasn't much to do. I had finished the tape that afternoon and I just couldn't wait to give it to her. She was working at a local diner and I drove down to see her and give her the tape. I remember it was early evening and the sun was just starting it's descent as I drove to the diner. I was wearing my Kurt Cobain shirt and she said she liked it, although I think she was just being nice. I gave her the tape and sat on the bar stool for awhile, watching her work and making small talk, as time allowed.

I went home probably listening to one of the many mix tapes I put together for myself. There might not be very many mix tapes any more, but at least they're missed.

I found another track list - so, here's another blog post on another mix-tape! 

Death is like...

Death is like a petulant child, you would rather ignore her, but you know you can't.

Death is like mystery novel, except you don't know when the last page is.

Death is like a rainy day, it usually ruins whatever you had planned.

Death is like a friend that you don't really like but they always seem to pop up in your Facebook feed anyway.

Death is like that old person at the grocery store writing a check, it seems to take forever but you know eventually it will be your turn.

Death is like a life; it's not fair.

Death is like God, mysterious and full of wonder.

Death is like a blockbuster summer movie, full of hype but usually disappointing.

If you liked this post, you weirdo, you might like, Life is like.... written two years ago.

The Wonder Years: Sophomore Year 1992-1993

This is the second of four posts on my high school year. I have dubbed it "The Wonder Years" series. Here is the first post.

Most people get a chance to grow up and get into high school, for some it's a great time for others it's horrible. Personally, my sophomore year was my high school year of purgatory.  Here are the fragments to prove it.

The Nightmare of Lunch 

If I could sum up my sophomore year of high school in one word it would be: lunch. Yeah, lunch. As I detailed in the first "Wonder Years" post, I had ONE friend to eat lunch with my freshman year. Of course, going into my sophomore year, I was hoping and praying my sophomore year would be different.

It turned it it was different. My sophomore year I had ZERO friends in my lunch.  Now, it wasn't like my social life was teeming with friends, but this was a bad case of bad luck. All possible 7-8 people I could have had lunch with had the other three lunch periods.

My first day, I scanned around the cafeteria, my head on a swivel. I didn't see anyone I knew. Not even a pal. Not even a good acquaintance. I spun around and headed back outside (our campus was open and the buildings connected by covered walkways). I milled around, trying to look busy. God forbid that it looked like I DIDN'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS.

Not really but my sophomore year really could be summed yup pretty well with Awkward Penguin.  

That was my whole school year, lunch by myself. I was ashamed to even tell my friends or family about it. Eventually, I had a whole routine for the Loser Lunch Half Hour.

When the bell rung, I would walk as fast as I could to the cafeteria without looking crazy.  Once in cafeteria, if the line wasn't too long, I would head for the "fast food/snack line". I would usually grab a chicken sandwich or hamburger (sandwiches were conveniently wrapped).  If the traffic on the way to the cafeteria had been crazy and the line was too long, I would go the the snack machines and buy a pack of Lance Cracker Sandwiches (which I am still a fan of).  I would then walk straight outside and covertly hide my food in my backpack. Then I would head into one of the academic buildings.

At this point, I would walk around in circles in the biggest academic building. I walked in a random pattern because, duh, I didn't want anyone to know I was a loser.  I would stop in the men's room just to waste time and stop circling. If someone came in, I would have to pretend I was washing my hands and head out to my next stop. At some point, the most humiliating part would come because I was so hungry. I would find an empty and somewhat clean bathroom (usually near the science wing) and eat my food in a stall. If it stunk like poo, I couldn't do it.

This isn't my high school but it captures the feeling.  Just picture it more dingy, dark and depressing - as my high school was older and less well-lit. Just seeing this takes me back, to those icky, awkward days.  

Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, I would walk around in our other buildings. Occasionally a teacher would ask for a pass and I would have to confess I didn't have one and head back outside. Most of the time, they didn't even ask because I was a nerdy looking white kid, OF COURSE HE HAS A PASS. This did teach me an important life lesson though: if you look like you belong or know what you're doing, people will let you get away with a lot. White privilege plays a big role in that as well.

When I got home, I would eat way too much snack food to make up for the fact that I wasn't eating much at school. Sometimes, I would pack something from the house and eat it before lunch or in my class after lunch, as that class was out of control and the teacher didn't care.

It was basically terrible, but after awhile, I got used to it. Every so often we would have testing or something else would mess with the typical schedule and I would have lunch with my friends. What a heavenly joy that was!

Academically, my sophomore year mirrored my freshman year.  I was beyond underwhelming and it was likely my low point in my sub standard academic life. I would make a mix of B's, C's and D's with an occasional A or F from time to time per grading period.

Back Row Blues 

My first period English class was the most eventful and memorable of classes. Our teacher was a first or second year teacher and she was hot. She was a blonde beauty that had been a UT cheerleader. It didn't get any better than that (still didn't make up for lunch though).  She was a pretty okay teacher and while I loved reading, I just couldn't get into most of the class.

I sat on the back row with a old buddy from middle school band, Marcus (saxophone), a stoner named Mike (I think that was his name), and a gang member, Fernando. We were a motley crew but we shared a love of slacking off, joking around, otherwise, being stupid. I am sure if I had sat elsewhere in the classroom, I would have done much better. I have no idea why she never moved us. I remember really hating poetry and Haiku in particular.  I think I wrote a really stupid Haiku just to make a point.

At the end of one grading period, our teacher was calling us up to her desk to show us our grade for the term. I was excited because I might get to look down her blouse (and I did). I figured I had a D. This was no big deal to me - it was still passing! However, I was more shocked to find I had a 58. "There's gotta be a mistake!" I said. "You honestly should have been even lower than this - you have six zeros!" the teacher said softly so that the class couldn't hear.   "Oh...." I said and stumbled back to my desk. My parents were furious about the 58, I had failed before, but never this bad. The last grading term, however, I would have a turnaround and have one of my few high school victories (more on this later).

The Hopeless Romantic, Hopeless 

My love life pretty much mirrored everything you've seen above. It was non-existent. I had crushes on 10 different girls but didn't talk to many of them and most of them probably didn't know who I was or if I liked them.  There were no leads in my classes, just losers and students who didn't much care.

My biggest crush of the year was ironically, Stacey's friend, Marissa. This is ironic because all of my freshman romantic interest had been centered on Stacey. However, she was taken and I became quite taken with her friend (clever, eh?). She was very cute but the most I did was make awkward small talk with her.  I'm pretty sure she didn't have a clue I was interested in her. What made the crush less likely to go anywhere is that she went to a different school, so if I was going to see her, it had to be at a youth event for church. It didn't stop me from putting her on a pedestal and dreaming about her constantly.

Although our church probably had over 500 members, the youth group was pretty small. There were four older girls that I wasn't much interested in and a few more our age that were also not interesting or exceptionally pretty. Then there was Stacey, who, again, was off the market at this point.  My friend Doug and I were so bummed. We dreamed about a new girl showing up some random Sunday. When we would go to city wide events, we would stare at the pretty girls but were much too shy to actually talk with any of these girls.

The Fight

Meanwhile, back at school in PE, we played basketball almost every day. Six different hoops surrounded the court and we would divide into 12 teams of 3 on 3 or 4 on 4. There was no instruction in class and no supervision. The coaches would just call roll, open up the bins with the balls and the coaches would head back to their office. Needless to say, the coaches were stereotypical douche bags. However, I loved basketball so this set up was fine with me.

We settled into some familiar teams. Of course this would lead to serious, epic basketball games. One guy in particular I remember banging with in the post nearly every day. He was bigger than me and a little taller, but I somehow I was one of the taller guys that could play in the post. Holy cow, those were some battles. Think Celtics-Pistons 86-90 or Bulls-Pistons of 87-91.

In high school, I wanted to play like Charles Barkley. In reality, I was more like Bill Laimbeer without the height or shooting touch. Although when I got hot, my good buddy Eric
would call me "Larry Legend" (but that's just because I am really white). 

One day it got real heated and as everyone else was headed back to the showers. We squared off as we insulted each other. I didn't want to fight him as he was bigger than me. I knew would likely lose but what was I to do? He came towards me and I kicked him as hard as I could in the groin. It was a direct hit. I remember one of our teammates say something like, "Woah!". Most of the class and even the coaches hadn't seen anything.   I waited for him to respond but the guy was hunched over in serious pain. My battle was over. I jogged back into the locker room, got dressed quickly and within seconds the bell rang. While I am not an advocate for violence, he never challenged me again to an actual fight. We even teamed up a few times, and usually, when we played together, we would win.

The Trouble with Notebooks

Just like in English, I sat in the back row in history class (with another crappy teacher), I really hammed it up with this Puerto Rican kid. He was tough and kinda gangsta cool so, I kinda admired him. One day I found a way to impress him. Some poor sap had left his notebook in my desk from earlier in the day. He was in ROTC and I hated ROTC guys, because well, I was just wired that way. I took his notebook and wrote all sorts of obscene things on it. I mean, really, really bad, weird stuff. Things that didn't make any sense just to laugh it up with this cool kid that sat next to me. My plan was to leave this folder in another desk or somewhere else, but I was stupid and forgot all about it. I ended up leaving it right in my desk.

The next day, our teacher began class and she said, "N, does this look familiar?" "Huh?" "Did you do this?" My cool friend laughed out loud. I couldn't deny it and I was sent straight to the office. One of the VP's took me in and looked at the notebook. "Do you know him?" "No." "Why did you do it?" "I don't know." "Well, you're going to call your mother and tell her what you did right now. Then you are going to replace this notebook and bring me a new one tomorrow." I called my Mom at work to tell her and she was upset. Like the quiet shocked upset. The kind that makes you feel really bad because you let your mom down. Ouch.

I was pretty mad at myself. I thought about what my Mom and Dad would do when they would see this crazy, curse word-filled notebook.. I mean, the F word was scrawled all over it. THE F WORD. I don't think I had ever cursed in front of them at that point in my life. This was going to kill them. What's a boy to do?

Then, waiting for the bus after school, it struck me like lighting. I started drawing over the worst of it. I remember making weird ugly faces out of the words and drawing sharks and crazy monsters that covered over the curse words. Of course, I kept some of it, but I had saved myself serious trouble. No one ever found out about that one. Until NOW.  (Lost "Boom" sound effect).

The Try- Out

Another big event happened early in the fall when I tried out for the basketball team. My freshmen year, they only allowed the kids that signed up for the special Basketball class try out (my 8th grade coach was an asshole (I don't use that word lightly either) and refused to sign me into that class, because I wasn't in "athletics" period of 8th grade). Anyway, it was me and maybe 6-10 other guys.We were invited in to a JV practice one Saturday morning. I knew my chances were slim, even though there were clearly guys on the JV team that were only on the team because they played football or because they were big. There were even a few short players and I knew I could take some of them one on one. Even still, I knew my only shot was to play up a particular role.

So, I went balls to the wall playing the hustle/crazy-defense-white-guy-that-will-likely-never-play-in-the-games-unless-they-are-blowouts. I had to guard a very good player and I made his life a living hell, I was draped all over him and I am sure I probably fouled him quite a bit. I think I got the ball twice, and the one time I got it, of COURSE I shot it, and missed.  I got a few boards, played good D (my man scored once on a tough shot in 20 minutes) and you can guess what happened.

 (I didn't make it, in case you couldn't figure it out).

The Shame

Some time during the year, probably when I was in some dark place I started listening to country music. I still look back in shame. You have to understand that country music in San Antonio in 1992 was HUGE. To my credit, I did like some credible stuff like Dwight Yoakam.  Look, don't hold it against me, I was young and stupid. I grew out of it by the summer before my senior year.

 

Actually, this is a pretty solid song. I would listen to this one on my Walkman, over and over and over. 

Still with all my defeats, my life wasn't all bad. I was reasonably happy. I had friends. We had fun. I have a ton of memories of spending the night at friend's houses and renting a NES, Genesis or SNES game and staying up really late. We played a lot of street basketball after school and my YMCA  basketball season was fun. I was involved in our church youth group and we had a lot of good times. My family life was mainly good (except when my report card would come in).

The Victory of '93

Even though I didn't act like it, I really did like English class. I loved Animal Farm, An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge and Julius Caesar, but I just wasn't consistent in my efforts. I was stupid (Exhibit A: the fact I was a fan of country music). A few years ago, I spotted my sophomore report card at my parent's house. My grades for each term in English were something like this: 82, 73, 91, 71, 58, 84.  I am sure I was a perplexing student for my teacher.

Anyway, at the end of the year I finally found a project I could get into. The assignment was to present a novel to the class as one of it's characters. We would basically summarize the plot, characters, etc. and have the class ask questions about our story. I had just read Micheal Crichton's Eaters of the Dead (which, I recently re-read this past May and discovered that over 20 years later - it just isn't that good). So, I went with the lead of the book. I also borrowed a costume from my dad that he had made for a church VBS production (he was David in his prime). Because the main character is from the Middle East, I began practicing my Arabic accent, although looking back it probably sounded more Indian. I spent hours getting my facts down straight about the novel and practicing my accent.  I figured everyone was going to do that sort of thing.

Boy, was I wrong. Most everyone held their note cards in their hand and just read off their report in first-person. It was boring. I think one other student dressed up, but I was the only one to give it in an accent as an actual character.  Looking back I am proud I wasn't afraid to perform. I guess I knew I did a hell of a job and wanted to show off. The students in class looked shocked when I came into the room to present (I had stepped out to change in the restroom). They were even more shocked when I started talking. After all, I was pretty quiet in class and didn't answer too many questions. No doubt about it, I did great and it felt good.  I ended up getting 110 for dressing up and a nice note from my teacher on my score sheet. I kept that sheet for a long time. It was a small victory but small victories in purgatory sure do mean a lot.

Dog Days of Summer Fragments

There's no doubt about it, it's the longest and most dreary part of the year (at least for South Texas). It's downright miserable outside.

I am not the most patriotic guy, in fact nationalism goes against my natural inclination but due to the in-laws we found ourselves at a local suburb's small 4th of July parade. At the very end of the short parade, I could believe what I saw. It was a  "Sons of Confederates" group marching with drums and the occasional gun shot. Of course this was right on the heels of the recent events in South Carolina, I was dumbfounded. It was so tone deaf and offensive. However, a moment of shame came with pride, my oldest, C (age 9) started booing them and I followed her lead.  Definitely a proud papa moment.

H (age 3) continues to grow like a weed. He has always loved animals and has grown to love to pretend to play "Cheetah Simba", which is just like Simba from the Lion King but he is a cheetah who just happens to "blow fire". He came up with that all on his own. Typically, I am "Uncle Scar" and we plot the overthrow of Musfsa and/or Simba. Also, we fight a lot to determine who will be the King (or sometimes who will be the "boss").

E (age 6) is swimming like a pro. She swam the length of the pool last night and I asked her if she was tired, and she was shocked I would even ask. Awesome. While all the kiddos are imaginative, she seems the most capable of being completely in a world of her own by herself. She craves alone time to play on her own more than the other kids. Sometimes I will go by the door and hear her belting out a tune, or playing teacher or mother with her dolls. She's very coy about it and doesn't like to share exactly what she was playing or saying if you ask.

Summer II drones on but it's is almost over. I taught Maymester, two Summer I's an now two Summer II's. Am I brunt out? Maybe a little but next week will work wonders on me (my one week "off" even if it is filled with meeting and prep work).

There's a veterinarian clinic near our house that still proclaims:

"Go Spurs Go, NBA Champs!"

After the summer of 2014 went by, I kinda thought it was cool they left it up. Like, "Hey, this could be the last go-around, let's celebrate and appreciate this championship, people!"

Then the 2014-2015 season started and I still thought that was cool, like, "Yeah, man, we're the defending champs until you knock us out!"

Then in May we lost in the playoffs and days, weeks went by and the sign stayed up.  It was clear we were not going to be the champs again, but I guess technically, we were still the champs.

Now, even after the finals, even this very day the sign is still up. It's time to let go. It's time to let go.

Speaking of the Spurs, they had a great summer. My good friend Phil sent this to me, and it's been floating around the SA social media/interwebs.

That's all party people, drink lots of water, don't eat so many carbs and slow down and watch of out for dogs and cats crossing the road, you'd hate to run over someone's pet wouldn't you?

Peru Fragments: Part VI: Coming Back Down to Earth

In the summer of 2014, I taught a short-term study abroad in Peru. Here are the fragments. Part V can be found here.

It was the late afternoon when our bus descended from Machu Picchu and we finally came back down to earth. Some students wanted to do a little shopping near our hotel, while others wanted to grab a bite before we were to board the train in the early evening back to Ollantaytambo.

I didn't want to shop nor was I hungry but I hung out with my colleague and three other students. We actually played pool in a nearly deserted bar for about 20 minutes but people were hungry, so off we went. The restaurants on the main drag in Aguas Calientes look pretty much the same and most look to be serving the same exact food. Many offer a free drink just for stopping in. I wasn't hungry, so I let everyone else make the selection.

We sat down, everyone ordered (sans me) and one of our female students went to the restroom. When she came back she informed us, there was "poop on the wall", no toilet paper (of course that explained the poop on the wall) and no soap at the sink. My colleague (a male) decided he would check out the men's room. He reported there was no toilet paper and no soap either.

I said, "I sure hope they have soap in the back."

That soon started a discussion on if we should stay or go. It was all so panicked and quick because while they had taken our drink and food orders, nothing had been brought back yet. I simply stated I would do whatever they wanted to do, but that if it was me, I wouldn't eat there.  I remember saying that if we were going to jump ship, we ought to go "one or two at at time" but suddenly someone got up and the next thing you know, we were all standing up, heading for the door, fighting to not be the last one out.

We found ourselves running down different directions on the 45 degree slanted street, laughing as we ran.  Many of the other patrons and workers at the other restaurants were laughing and smiling as we made our escape. We had left in such a rush, we had made no plans on where we would meet up at. Eventually, we all made it back to the hotel, laughing and in high spirits. Thankfully, we didn't have to pass the restaurant on the way back to the train station. Some of us got snacks at the woeful train station snack bar, while I waited for a solid tomato and cheese sandwich on the train.

It had been a wonderful day and we were exhausted but still buzzing from a fruitful and fun day. After our short train ride, we quickly boarded a bus back to Cuzco. The next day was to be a "free" day for everyone. Some wanted to go white water rafting but it was an all day investment (9:00 AM or so to 7:00 PM) and I just wanted some downtime in Cuzco to do what I wanted. Besides, I am more interested in culture than adventure.

The next morning, one team went rafting while we the rest of us decided to go horseback riding in the early afternoon. This also appealed to me because it was cheaper and at age 36 I had yet to even ride a horse in life!

We got to the "farm" after being stuck in the rush hour traffic. I awkwardly climbed up onto the horse and thought of all the bad scenarios possible. The horse was going to take off and I was going to have no idea how to stop him. I was going to fall off and hit my head, etc. etc. As you'll find out, my thinking wasn't as far-fetched and paranoid as you might think.

At the start of our journey.

I have to admit, as silly as it sounds, it was cool riding a horse. Here I was, finally doing something that for much of human history was pretty much THE mode of transportation. So, this was what it was like, eh? My horse was trotting all up and down this insanely rocky path and I felt really bad for him. I was thinking, "Oh, watch out for that stone!"; "Ooh, that had to hurt!", etc. etc."  I couldn't tell if he was old or hurt or what, but boy was he slow. He would stop and occasionally graze on some stubby grass. I didn't mind at all because I figured he earned that little bit of stubby grass. The horses were obviously well traveled because the supervision for us was nil. They knew just where to go. What a boring life for the horse though. 

My only real picture of the horse. I still don't like him. 

When we got to the "halfway point" we got off our horses and allowed them a 15 minute break to eat and get some water. It was at this point where I made my mistake. You know in the US when they tell you way too much information and safety precautions? This was the one time it would have come in handy.

My horse was eating and I figured, why not pat him on the side as he ate? After all, we had bonded on our trip. Why not pat him, like, I'm an old cowpoke and this here, is my old horse taking me on one last journey.

My horse was not having it. I patted him and I could feel his whole body move. My Spidey-Sense went off. This is one of those moments I wish someone had been recording so I could watch this in super slo-mo. Using both arms, I shoved off of his body as he turned on me and kicked me in the chest. My shove had worked handily and his hooves only grazed my chest. It still packed quite a wallop though and knocked the wind out of me. Although my chest felt like it was on fire, I was okay. After that, all compassion for the horse went out the window. No more breaks for stubby grass, ya jerk.

After our horse ride, we grabbed a quick lunch, walked around town and went shopping for tourist stuff in a nearby market, near our hotel (Eco Inn on Av El Sol, which, by the way, was fabulous and it's right across from this pretty little park). The market was like a nice flea market and generally had good prices. It's called the "Handicraft Center" if you're interested. Just know, there are a billion places to find this stuff and it's all pretty much the same. If you see something unique though, grab it.  I really do think the best prices were in Cuzco but maybe that's where I did my most serious looking. 

I have pretty much have no recollection of what we did for dinner that night (Hmm..maybe waiting to write this a year later isn't such a great idea...??) Wait. It came back to me, it was snacks from my backpack. Later that night and I meet a few students for dinner at the hotel later that night and scammed some bread off the table and maybe had an appetizer of some sort.

The next day was another travel day to Puno. It was a 10 hour bus ride. Sure we stopped at a really old church somewhere, some ancient ruins somewhere else, stopped at another market and a tiny little museum and finally onto Puno. I didn't mind the stops but on the other hand, it felt a little frivolous and silly after coming from the heights of the Sacred Valley.

My next post should be the last post in my Peru series. Up until this point out trip had been about as perfect and dream-like as I could have imagined but little did I know how my trip would come to a soul-crushing and sad end.

Thought of the Day

You can tell a lot about a person by who their heroes are.