Welcoming the New Year December 29, 2009

Hello all and Happy New Years! After over a year’s absence from our blog we figured we figured we’d resurrect it for our holiday letter.  I hope this message finds you and your family healthy and looking forward to your coming year.

Our 2009 was relatively quiet and domestic compared with our travels in 2008.  The year started with a new addition to our family….Bodie, yet another rescued Cheseapeake Bay Retriever. He has been a great playmate for Alli and his world-class cuddling skills endeared him to us quickly.

Bodie tries to look proper while Alli plays with a rock

Of course Bodie had to learn how to travel, so in late February Lisa took the van and kids down to southern Arizona for a few weeks in the  sun. I enjoyed tracking her with the Spot (her Personal Locator Beacon) but grew a bit concerned when once it showed she was camping in Mexico.  Fortunately she called in often enough to let me know she was fine and still North of the border.  For a minute there I suspected she was making a run for it!  By the time I flew down for my Spring Break the family was in full vacation groove and I quickly joined in.  Among other things our sabbatical helped us develop our “chill skills” and we put them to good use while enjoying the camping and climbing at Cochise Stronghold, east of Tucson.

Summer was filled with lots of regional camping. We spent about a month of camping in the Uinta mountains outside of Logan,UT and were snowed out (in July!) of another trip to the Wind River mountains with our good friends the Gervases.  The highlight of the summer for me was having my sister Georgia’s family come to visit us in Idaho which included a camping trip to Stanley Lake in the Sawtooths.

The Muellers discover the Sawtooths

It was wonderful getting to experience the outdoors through the eyes of my nephews!

Alex shows off his captive frog

Stefan wields the worlds biggest marshmellow stick

Lisa gives a botany lesson

I did manage to get up to the Canadian Rockies for a fantastic week of climbing with my friend Peter.  The Bugaboo spires have been a dream trip of mine since I first saw a picture of them.  They certainly lived up to their reputation of long beautiful climbs.

The way down....

Tod says; "Forget the view, how do we get down?"

With the end of summer we went back to our routines (for now!) with Lisa continuing to work with her clients and me starting another year at the middle school.  I made several trips to Denver to see my parents where they moved to be closer to my sisters family. Visiting our friends the Monroes in the Tetons was our best little getaway trip. Winter break has been quiet, as we’ve enjoyed the local nordic skiing and dinners with friends.

Local winter fun with friends

After years of failing health my father passed away before Christmas.    I was fortunate to see him over Thanksgiving while he was still telling his stories of college days and the marines over a drink.  His death has reminded me of the importance of  connection, love and forgiveness.  Not just as values but as actions.  I saw my dad more in his last three years of life than I had in the previous ten, and because of that, and for other reasons as well, our relationship grew, and changed.

There are some of you out there that Lisa and I met on the road, and we may never meet again.  But that does not diminish the value of our relationship.  I have friends in Australia I haven’t seen in over 20 years but they are still a part of my life, a part of who I am.  So I want to say thank you, to all of you:  Old friends, family, fellow travelers, work colleagues and the many more who have touched us.  Thank you for your friendship and know that across the miles and infrequent contacts you still hold a place in our lives.

With love,

Tod and Lisa

Losing Everything to Gain Everything July 26, 2011

[Hello everyone. Many of you haven’t heard from us in some time.  We hope that the following story explains some of what has been going on with us this past year.]

Guatemalan self portrait

Lisa’s Story

Imagine standing in front of your house.  It contains your memories, your belongings… and you can’t go in.  You want to, desperately, but you know what will happen if you do.  First, you’ll start to feel burning pain in your wrists and the rotator cuffs of your shoulders.  Then you’ll have stabbing in your deltoid muscles of your upper arms, followed by numbness and tingling in your left arm and hand that ends in the upper left chest. Your vision will start to go blurry.  From there, if you stay longer, it’ll be hard to breathe and you’ll feel faint.

And that’s not the worst of it.

The next day, even if you leave, you’ll wake up feeling like you ran a marathon. Incredible muscle and joint pain will course throughout your body; pain so bad you’ll cry and grit your teeth to roll over in bed. It feels like fire is in your spine, burning into your left hip and out your left foot. The base of your skull aches and your neck becomes unstable, clicking with each turn as pain radiates from it.  Finally, the muscles of your upper back will start to clench and burn.

You’ll be unable to think clearly and will stumble finding words. At its worst, you’ll be dropping things and feel like you’ve had a frontal lobotomy. Then later in the day, you’ll start feeling like you’re dying and begin sobbing uncontrollably. Thoughts of suicide come up from nowhere and you start to wonder if you’re sane.

This is not a dream for me . This extreme reaction has been my life for the last six months and haunted me in lesser or more isolated forms for the past three years.  It is a pattern we’ve been through many times. One that has now led Tod and I to give up our house, all our belongings and begin my true journey of healing.

Mysterious Symptoms

Let me start from the beginning. For those of you who know us well, you’ll know that I’ve been ill for over ten years with IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and random problems like fatigue that would keep me in bed a week and horrible canker sores, up to 30 at a time.

During those ten years I visited an amazing array of western and alternative medicine doctors and practitioners. Everyone tried to help, but nothing seemed to stick and many of the protocols – diet, herbal, conventional – often left me feeling more ill.

And those were the good old days, when I still functioned normally most of the time.

It’s different now.

Upon returning from our trip to Panama, I was strangely desperate to get rid of our house and stay out of it. I slept in the van for over a week because I didn’t want to be in the house. Many people thought I was being unreasonable and that I just wanted to stay on the road. The truth was much darker- on some level I knew the house would make me desperately ill.

Within six months of our return I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia (chronic joint and muscle pain) and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. In the next three years I would also be tested for MS (Multiple Sclerosis), Lyme disease and brain tumors.

At my worst I could barely speak and it was a challenge to walk across my bedroom. I was in constant pain and felt like all my life energy was being drained out of my body. I again tried many treatments, hoping to utilize the best of integrative medicine.  While many seemed to help for a month of two, they would then stop working and I was even worse off.

The worst part was the isolation.  I didn’t appear sick but was trapped at home and unable to explain to anyone what was wrong.  Social plans were often cancelled and we eventually stopped making them due to the unpredictability of my health.  It was difficult for friends to understand.

After two years of this I revisited my early concerns about the house and the potential for mold.  But how could our beautiful home be moldy, we asked ourselves?

The Real Problem

When we were in Guatemala three years before, I woke up one morning in a panic and told Tod that our renters were gone.. Of course, there was no reason to believe this, they had signed a year’s lease and seemed quite happy with our home.  However, after a quick phone call, we discovered that they had indeed moved out without notice. Given that it was the one of the biggest winters on record, not having someone taking care of the house was a problem and our usual ice dam issues grew enormous.

When we eventually returned home, there was an area of yellow on the ceiling of our master bedroom showing the water damage from the winter. A contractor we called about fixing it said not to worry about mold because we live in such a dry climate. Unfortunately, this well meaning advice was wrong.

Much later, when the mold remediators tore into our bedroom, they found over two square feet of mold.  Plus, there was water damage to one third of the ceiling, walls and wood floor.  It may not seem like much but we learned that over a million spores can live in one square inch mold

To make matters worse, we later discovered four inches of standing water in our crawl space. It turns out we’d had a freeze break on one of our exterior faucet and whenever we left the water on for long periods of time (i.e. filling the pond or hot tub) it filled our crawl space. In retrospect, we should have known when our end-of-the-world food stash showed signs of water damage and some plants were growing in our crawl space.

It’s hard to believe that in that beautiful house I was getting hit from above and below by mold, mycotoxins, bacteria and other particles that create the toxic soup known as water damaged building (WDB) or sick building syndromes.

Looking back, it turns out my beautiful office in Hailey I’d had for years had a leak in the ceiling tiles and air venting system too.  I had spent almost all of my days in a water damaged building of some sort, not knowing what it was doing to me.

The Path to Discovery

So how did I sort all this out?

In December of last year we bought our dream camper rig – a 1997 Tiger Provan in excellent condition. It only had one problem – it was from Seattle.  A window leak and some black mold on the fiberglass roof outside seemed like minor issues at the time for the great price we paid. Wrong.

I should have known when I could only drive it to my parents’ house three hours away before I started feeling really ill…and by the next day I was exhausted, in bed, and felt like I was going to die. Tod had to fly in to drive us back home.

Then, on my birthday, we took it camping…in a rainstorm. I started to have panic attacks, flash-back like memories, and again, was sobbing uncontrollably. My muscles hurt so bad it felt like someone had been punching me and pouring fire in my joints.  This was the worst of the worst.

It seems obvious now, but suddenly we realized that this wasn’t just my mysterious symptoms coming up again.  It was something in my environment affecting me. Something was wrong with this vehicle.

Shortly after, I attended a meditation retreat in coastal California. Within hours of being on the property I started to have the neurotoxic physical and emotional symptoms again and had to leave.  I finally started taking seriously the connection between my environment and mold.

Finally, three years too late, we had the mold remediators come in.  I mistakenly believed their statement that it was safe for me to stay in the house. While it may have been safe for someone else, within hours of them opening up the ceiling the horrible symptoms started again, worse than ever. I had to flee my home.

Happier days in our home

I spent February living with my family in Washington while the remediation was done.  This was when I discovered Ritchie Shoemaker’s book Surviving Mold. I asked my doctor to approve some of the recommended tests. After a quick blood draw it was clear: I not only had two mold susceptible genes but all three test results fit the pattern of mold poisoning.

After the remediation was completed I finally returned home. I did okay for about 4 days then the symptoms started again and we couldn’t figure out why. This was when we discovered the second blow: the water in the crawl space.   As it was spring break for Tod, I left for Washington again while he drained the crawlspace and left a dehumidifier running for the week to dry it out completely.  Within seconds of opening the door upon our return, I felt like I’d been hit by an invisible wall. I pushed through it – as I am known to do – only to have difficulty breathing by the morning. It was then we realized our tragic mistake.  The dehumidifier had dried the crawl space but also pulled the dust, mold, mycotoxins and bacteria from below and dispersed them throughout the house.  That night I left home again, not knowing it would be for the final time.

Desperate for a solution, I went into research mode as best I could with my severe symptoms. I discovered a website written by other mold refugees: www.momsagainstmold.org and emailed the author, Andrea, for advice on doctors.  She had been through it all: from the strange symptoms, to the disbelief, to finally leaving her home and fleeing to Arizona…and all of this with her family of nine. Andrea referred me to a board certified family practice doctor in Santa Barbara who specializes in mold/environmental illness and, most importantly, had also been through this herself.

My first appointment was on April 15, 2011 and lasted six hours.

Since then, it has been quite the roller coaster ride.

Environmental Refugees

Once out of the house, we moved through 5 hotel rooms, eventually learning that we were cross-contaminating each one by bringing our belongings with us.  It was then that we realized we had to get rid of everything. One of the hardest moments was standing in the supermarket aisle in our hastily bought new clothes, buying toothbrushes, toothpaste, and shampoo. I just cried because it all felt so surreal.

Our first priority was to find a safe place for me to live.  This was more difficult than we ever imagined. We’ve looked at over 40 rentals in the Wood River valley and have yet to find a place I can live.  We even spent a trial night in one, only to leave after a couple hours. Between mold, water damage in the roof or crawl space, and chemical sensitivities we knew we would have to get creative.

For now we have settled into a little 19 foot Airstream trailer.  A lot of factors made this our best choice. First off,  I could be in it without getting sick because it is truly green construction with very little offgassing! Other new RVs or trailers made me ill right away. All of the used ones smelled musty, which is a warning sign of potential mold. The walls are metal so we don’t have to worry about condensation breeding mold on them. It’s small and easy to keep clean. And finally it offers the mobility needed to visit friends, family and doctors with a safe place to live and sleep.   We were blessed enough to find new one in Spokane, WA that had been sitting on a lot for 25% off too.  So that is our home for now and while we’ve had some water leak scares, it appears we’ve managed to catch each one early enough to prevent mold formation.  By the way, her name is Hummingbird, or as the license plate says: HMNBGRD.

Another major issue was transportation. We needed something to pull our Hummingbird home.  For the truck, we originally bought a new Toyota Tundra that was all vinyl and rubber mats that would be mold free for life. Unfortunately, we hadn’t factored in the chemical sensitivity issues and soon realized I wouldn’t be able to tolerate the off-gassing.  That new car smell isn’t just a smell. It is actually volatile organic compounds (VOCs) that are toxic. After two months I still wasn’t able to ride in it at all.  In searching for a replacement we looked at 60 used trucks before we could find two we could test drive and one we could buy: our 2006 Chevy Silverado half ton.

We are currently looking for another Subaru as our run around car.  We bought one in February near the start of all this but it has, predictably, become cross-contaminated from Tod’s visits back to the house.  Having to buy yet another vehicle (this will be our sixth in a year) is part of what is so crazy making about all this.

The Diagnosis

So what really is a mold diagnosis?  When looking at mold problems there are really four main issues:

1. Mold allergies – either Type 1 (immediate and usually severe, like a peanut allergy) or Type 3 (delayed onset so it is difficult to link it to anything). I have no Type 1 allergies at all (to over 35 common items), but do have a bunch of food sensitivities which are different. Interestingly, mold did not show up as a problem as a Type 1 or Type 3 allergy (i.e., I could eat mushrooms without any problems).

2. Mold infection, including Candida. The Mayo Clinic has research suggesting that over 90% of sinus infections are fungal in origin. My sinuses are growing a fungus known as Bipolaris which is found in water-damaged buildings. Strangely, my doctor has never seen it in a person before but hopefully the prescribed nasal antifungal will get rid of it.

3. Mold poisoning (Mycotoxicosis) – usually involving genetics that cannot identify mold and mycotoxins, thereby failing to alert the body they are present and need to be removed.  This is my biggest issue.

4. Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS) – Dr. Shoemaker considers mycotoxicosis a bio-toxin illness that causes an unchecked chronic inflammatory response in the body. Mycotoxicosis leads to CIRS. This explains the pain I experience and preliminary research suggests it may cause up to 80% of the cases of chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia. It is less a cause of illness as an explanation of what happens as a result of the mold poisoning.

Note that you can have more than one of these problems in play…I seem to three of the four right now.

My current diagnosis is Mycotoxicosis and Neurotoxic Brain Injury (NBI) which is also known as Multiple Chemical Sensitivity (MCS).

Mycotoxicosis literally means mold poisoning but actually isn’t as much about the mold as the toxins produced by mold.  Mold and mold spores can be removed by remediation; mycotoxins on the other hand can only be destroyed by 500 degree heat and are related to epoxy so they act like glue. This is why once you’ve been poisoned and you have the bad genetics I have, you often need to just get rid of everything. If I am even in the same room as anything from the house, the symptoms begin again. It’s really quite crazy.

To confirm this diagnosis, I did a urine test that is used in court litigation cases. They test for parts per billion of three of the most dangerous types of mycotoxins. I was positive for 2 of the 3, one of which is trichothecenes. These are produced by the infamous black mold Stachybotrys chartarum and known as T-2 mycotoxins.  T-2 mycotoxins are nasty poisons that make up 80% of the Department of Defense’s bio-warfare program and are the foundation for Yellow Rain. They kill you by blocking all forms of protein synthesis in the body. Nasty stuff.

The NBI/MCS is less well understood. The current dominant theory is that a toxin-induced loss of tolerance (TILT) results in the breakdown of my body’s detoxification pathways. Luckily, I seem to be able to tolerate being around perfumes and other strong smells but pesticides and herbicides send me running. Part of the problem with NBI/ MCS is that the blood-brain barrier has been compromised (think of having swiss-cheese like holes in it) and that is why one can react so quickly when exposed to molds or other water damage building components.

Although most of you have never heard of mold poisoning, we are finding it is more common than realized.  One leading expert in the field, a brilliant toxicologist named Dr. Thrasher, calls mold exposure our newest pandemic. He cites one example of our nations aging school buildings making children ill, estimating roughly that 30-40% of schools have water damage in them.  An even larger problem is the ubiquitous drywall used in construction – it is the perfect food for mold to grow on if it gets the slightest bit damp. While many are not affected like I am, some are and haven’t been correctly diagnosed.  Regardless, it’s clear that I am not alone in this.

Pieces of the Puzzle

Many people want to know if I am getting better from just being out of the house. The answer lies in my previous exposures and my genes.

It turns out that about 24% of the population has genotypes that are unable to detoxify mold. So when Tod is exposed, his body finds the poisons and removes them like any other toxin. He doesn’t get sick. Mine doesn’t even notice the intruders so they just build up in my body. In addition, I not only have the exposure from the house and my office but from many other experiences in my life.

As a firefighter at the age of 23, I was cleaning out Forest Service cabins in Washington when I became extremely fatigued. I felt like I had the flu and had to crawl a quarter mile from our tent to the main compound for help. No one could figure it out and I slowly recovered over the course of 3 weeks. Looking back, I now know it was due to the mold exposure in those cabins.

After my late husband Kevin died, I had chronic bronchitis and pneumonia. I weighed only 107 pounds. My mind felt like it wasn’t working right and I was emotionally unstable; all symptoms readily ascribed to grief. The truth was that I was being poisoned by straw bale studio I was living in at the time – the very place we had built in Kevin’s honor.

Even as Kevin died, I now understand that his body was being affected by the moldy environ too. He coughed up blood while he was dying which perplexed his doctors. This is not normal for a brain tumor patient. However, it is normal for someone suffering from fungal colonization of the upper respiratory tract and lungs. His already weakened immune system couldn’t fight off the the toxic mold emanating from the straw. Even as the brain tumor caused his death, his body was alerting me that something was wrong with the strawbale studio. Too bad we couldn’t interpret the signs. It wasn’t until six months after moving back into the main house that I started feeling normal again.

And most recently, I had 8 years struggling with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). Coming on the heels of my first trip to Guatemala and that dysentery ward stay, everyone assumed it was caused by parasites I’d been exposed to. However,  it turns out that IBS is yet another sign of mold poisoning. I think of it as low grade exposure because I was able to live a normal life otherwise; this fits the low grade exposures at my office and house at that time. Of course, yet another warning sign was that none of the conventional and alternative (naturopath, chinese medicine, energy work)  treatments for IBS provided sustained relief either. We were simply missing the root cause.

This is what confirms my diagnosis of an environmental illness. Aside from the many tests, it explains so many of my life’s health mysteries. My doctor has described it as a cup that is finally full.  After years of exposure from our home and throughout my life, my cup is overflowing with toxins and making me sicker than I have ever been.

Treatment

Treatment of mycotoxicosis and NBI is three-pronged consisting of:

1 – Mold and chemical avoidance – selling everything we own and getting rid of our house, plus monitoring my environment closely. While this seems dramatic, it is the only effective way to ensure recovery. Most people use all their savings trying to remediate their homes, only to end up having to leave anyway. This is a very common occurrence when you have the genetic predisposition that I have. Most remediations after long term exposures fail, according to doctors and toxicologists I talked to, because it is impossible to remove the mycotoxins. This was true in our case too. We realized just how bad it was when Tod spent four days back in the house preparing for the auction and began to experience hip pain, lesions on his face and brain fog. These symptoms abated once he left the house, but were the first symptoms I developed.

2 – Removing toxins from my body – using binding agents such as activated charcoal and cholestyramine. Glutathione acts as the master antioxidant that I drink, spray up my nose, and inhale into my lungs. I also use anti-fungal nose-sprays.

3 – Rebuilding the broken down parts of my body – using careful lab testing to determine what deficiencies my body has and supplementing those specifically. We also found many food sensitivities that are a common occurrence with mycotoxicosis (including to coconut oil, oregano oil, garlic and yeasts known to help the body (like S. Boulardii). These were all supplements I’d taken before to help my body heal, which were inadvertently doing more damage.

The Way Forward

My current prognosis looks at a 3-5 year recovery period. Why so long? My understanding is that my broken down detoxification pathways can only handle so much at a time so I must go slowly. If I detox too fast, I get much sicker. On top of that, any mold infections can only be broken down in the mycelial form and that can take a long time. To be honest, we’ve been in so much chaos just trying to get a safe and stable base set up I haven’t been able to explore this more but intend to do so. My goal would be to shorten that to 2 years.

Our short term plan is that unless we find a rental this fall, Tod will stay in Hailey for the winter and I’ll take the trailer south. I hope that being out of the snow and closed buildings for a year will help me heal. As for now, we’re camping on forest service lands outside of Ketchum next to beautiful rivers and trees. And of course, we can’t complain about that!

The good news is that it won’t always be this hard.  While I’ll always need to avoid mold as much as possible, I should be able to live a pretty normal life. As my doctor says (she’s 7 years out now) she knows if she’s in a water damaged building that she’ll feel a little bad the next day, but that’s it. Some medications I may need for life but otherwise I’ll be able to hike and run and have my energy and endurance back…something I’ll never take for granted again. Plus, my doctor travels a lot which is something I hope to be able to do in the future.

Technically I’m doing much better than lots of folks at this stage and I attribute that to being proactive, the energy work I’ve done, meditation & prayer, following a pretty strict diet for years and the treatments I had pursued that helped to strengthen my immune system and body overall. Of course, all this is secondary to the amazing support I’ve received from my wonderful husband Tod and dogs, my family and friends…and the grace of the Divine.

Home for now

Losing Everything to Gain Everything

So…to put it succinctly…we are starting over totally from scratch after all hell broke loose. By that I mean all we’ve kept from the old life are our wedding rings. Our friends are holding a few photo albums and paintings too in the hope that someday I’ll be able to tolerate them.

On the one hand, living in a small house on wheels with limited belongings is a dream come true for me.  I get to live a simple life in alignment with my values. I hope that 3 years from now I’ll be well enough to feel this way most of the time. On the other hand, right now it’s hard to forget that it is a tiny refuge from a hostile world that seems to make me ill no matter which way I turn.

This weekend was the auction to sell our belongings.  This marks the true end and beginning, a place of no turning back.  There is a sense of relief around finally having completed this step and committing fully to the process of healing.

HOUSE AUCTION AD

I sometimes have thoughts that maybe I am making this up and I should just go back in the house and it will all be better. It takes Tod to remind me of what happens when I get “hit”, as we call it.  It is all so unreal, like a bad movie that you’re caught in the middle of, just doing your best to put one foot in front of the other.

I have experienced trauma before – from the death of my late husband Kevin to the dysentery ward of a remote Guatemalan hospital – but nothing like this. We joke sometimes that we’d be better off if our house had burned in a fire – our insurance would cover it and we could live anywhere. This is a fire that takes everything with no insurance and no safe place to rebuild.

So we have good days – when I can hike 3 or 4 miles and feel pretty good – and bad days, where I’m in lots of pain, fatigued and struggle to get out of bed. It’s frustrating because I still get blindsided by places or items I thought would be safe.  The good news is the bad days are not as frequent as they used to be and my energy levels are much better than before. And of course, just like the stubborn tenacity that made me keep looking for the real reason I was ill, I am equally determined to get better. Now that I know what is really wrong, I will never give up healing.

At one of the darkest times in this journey, I received an email from Andrea, the website author who has become an inspiration to us, about what to do with our house and belongings. She sent me this quote that has nourished me and given me courage in the face of this complex, confusing and mysterious illness.

In Japan they have stone markers placed throughout the villages by their ancestors with important reminders about life.  One reads:“Always be prepared for unexpected tsunamis. Choose life over your possessions and valuables.’’

In this world where we have so much stuff that we grow accustomed to and are comforted by, it’s a shock to walk away from it. But ultimately when the tsunami comes, in whatever form, we have a choice.

And I choose LIFE.

Another New Year January 2, 2011

Happy New Years once again!

Lisa and I hope that 2011 finds you in good health and cheer.  Winter is deep here this year and I have shoveled more already than I did all of last year.  We’ve spent the holidays quietly; nordic skiing almost everyday, watching movies or reading in front of the fire.  Enjoying the idleness that is often so elusive in our frenetic culture.   I hope your family enjoyed a peaceful holiday season as well.

Lisa's 40th birthday

2010 was a milestone for Lisa as she turned 40 in January.  We celebrated the event at a yurt in the mountains near our home with our friends Matt and Mary.   It was a great night and we followed it up with a weekend of skiing and hot springs soaking in Stanley, Idaho.

Princess Lisa rocks the yurt with her new travel guitar

Springtime found us once again in Cochise Stronghold (near Tombstone, Arizona) enjoying the sunshine and warm rock.  Our friends Steve and Kristen joined us there this year which added to the fun.  This spring break is becoming a tradition that I think we’ll be repeating again this year.

Thawing out in Cochise Stronghold outside Tombstone, AZ

Lisa continues her volunteer work with Chesapeake Bay Retriever Relief and Rescue foundation.  As the only Idaho representative she is frequently involved in saving Chessies from being euthanized and helping to find them homes.

Lisa and Sadie, one of her “rescues”

Another annual event was our camping trip with the Mueller’s in June.   It’s such a treat to get to see the wonder in the eyes of my nephew’s Alex and Stephen as they explore the outdoors.  This year we met in Flaming Gorge on the Green River in northwest Utah.  The heat kept us in the water much of the time but thankfully Brian brought the boat which made that easy.

Floating fun at Flaming Gorge

The rest of the summer involved local hiking and camping as well as another backpacking trip into the Wind Rivers of Wyoming and climbing in the Tetons for me.  I also entered my first trail race which I really enjoyed as it was 25 km of all trail running  up and over the Grey’s River range in Wyoming.  Might even do another this year.

Pointing out an anticipated climb in the Winds

Fall brought my return to work and more local hiking for us and the dogs.  I was honored locally as an Unsung Hero for prevention work with young people which was quite a flattering surprise. We also attended Kim’s wedding (Lisa’s sister) in Seattle which was a great weekend of fun and celebration with family.

Are we there yet? One more long drive for the kids.

The year rounded out with an exciting new addition to our little family. In December we purchased a 1997 Tiger ProVan CX…a truck camper we had been envying ever since seeing our first one in Costa Rica. That means Lisa spent three years researching these rigs and then figuring out how to buy one. They’re quite expensive new and not many are made each year, so these older units are in high demand…within a day of the listing on a special owner’s site there were 10 calls on it. That meant we had to move fast. Lisa took advantage of her ability to fly standby (thanks Kim!) and got to Seattle two days later without even seeing photos!  Bella (our name for her) is a big step up for us: a fully outfitted RV that has 4 wheel drive.  Oh, the places we’ll go!  No big plans as yet but stay tuned.

Bella, our new ride.

In closing, we are grateful for the opportunities we’ve had to enjoy our wonderful landscape here in the Northern Rockies.  As usual, our dreams always seem to be a little bigger than what we can manage to achieve but that should never stop us from dreaming.  We hope that you’ll see some of your dreams fulfilled in this new year.

Fondly,

Tod and Lisa
Bodie, Allie and Josie

Wishing you a new year that's out of this world!

Misfire! December 30, 2009

Sorry everyone but I published our Holiday letter a little prematurely last night. I had meant just to save the draft! Anyhow if you go directly to our link (www.todandlisa.com) you should see the post in full.

My apologies and Happy New Years everyone,

Tod

Back in the US: Trading Highways for Hiking August 7, 2008

Our re-entry to the US has us dragging our feet in a lot of regards. Although we are excited about some things; such as seeing our friends and family, the weight of returning to our responsibilities in Hailey is also a bit heavy after the freedoms of the road. Updating the blog has been one of those responsibilities we’ve been avoiding so now that we’ve been back in the US for over a month now I guess it’s time to catch up with everyone. Some people still think we are in Mexico!

Canyon hiking in New Mexico

Upon leaving Oaxaca we headed north pretty directly for us. We covered over 5000 miles in June which was a quarter of the total 20,000 mile we drove during the course of the trip. Our camping consisted mostly of staying in gas stations and rest stops along the highway at the end of the days drive, some of which were surprisingly nice. Some highlights we did take in while still in Mexico were the towns of Zacateca, another beautiful colonial city in the North reminiscent of Guanajuato, and Tepotzlan, a town south of Mexico city where we hiked up a mountain side to visit some ruins that were unfortunately closed.

We had thought we would spend more time in the Northwest of Mexico exploring the Copper Canyon region but a unique opportunity came up which is what had us hustling north. Friends of ours, Matt and Mary Gervase, were planning a week long backpacking trip into the Wind River mountain range and had invited us to join them. One of the things I missed most in our travels through Central America was the ability to access mountain wilderness and the recreation that goes with that. This offer was sweetened by two things: the fact that we would be using llamas to haul most of our gear into a high camp (9 months of driving is not a great fitness program for backpacking) and I would have a chance to climb Gannett Peak, the highest in Wyoming. Quite the attractive package!

The requisite cute Alli shot. That’s Gannett Peak in the background, left of center

After much deliberation we committed to the trip and started churning out the miles. Because of recent drug violence in the border towns near New Mexico we chose to cross the border in Texas and then cut across the western part of the state. Being in the desert the roads were much more direct than any we’d been on so far so it was easy to cover big distances. Finally, in New Mexico, we took a break from the heat and the long days of by spending a few days in the mountains around Silver City, New Mexico. We enjoyed a visit to the Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument and day hiking and camping amongst the high pines and sandstone cliffs.

Living in a cliff dwelling seems quite appealing to Tod

After New Mexico we had a hiccup, with Betty on our way into to Phoenix to visit my parents. I won’t call it a breakdown because it wasn’t her fault and she is sensitive about that sort of thing. On our way into the city we stopped for an oil change at one of those quick lube type places which always make me nervous. The mechanic seemed competent, or at least he was older than 17 however, shortly after the oil change, Betty stalled dead in an intersection and we were only able to limp her across the street to another oil change place. The short version of the story is that after one ride behind a tow truck, four different mechanics looking at her, and a full day wasted, someone finally figured out that a rag had been left in the engine compartment and had been sucked into the air intake. Pull the rag out and no more problems. Unfortunately this simple fix cost us about $200 to figure that out. We were really wishing we had broken down in Mexico instead where they probably would have figured it out in an hour and charged us nothing!

Trailside Columbine in the Gila National Forest

Frustrated by this and the 105 degree heat we pushed on to my parents and their new location, an assisted living center west of Phoenix. From there Lisa took Allie and Betty north to rendezvous with her family while I had a few days to catch up with my parents. Afterwards, I flew to the Bay Area to visit my new nephew, Trevor. I spent the weekend getting acquainted with the cute little guy …oh, and visiting my sisters. Then flew into Spokane, WA where Lisa and her mom picked me up. We spent the 4th of July with Lisa’s family and then, with family visits taken care of, moved on to Wyoming where our departure date for the Winds trip was fast approaching. Are you keeping up?

It’s amazing how out of practice we were at simply backpacking. We realized, as we prepared , that it had been five years since the two of us had done an extended pack trip together, mostly because Taku had not been able to hike very far those last five years. This was to be Allie’s first overnighter and we were excited to be in the Western mountains again. After buying enough food for a month and packing gear warm enough for an arctic winter we felt ready to go. First though I joined Mary and Matt in Lander, WY for a two hour crash course in Llama maintenance and upkeep. They are wonderful animals and of such a an easy going nature that they’ll rent them out to a group of novices like us for a week without hesitation. Or at least they didn’t show any. Llamas don’t spook the way horses can and are like goats in that they can eat almost anything so bringing extra food for them isn’t necessary. They are native to the mountains of Peru so are sure-footed, calm and confident. Apparently bears and mountain lions tend to stay away from them as well. Another bonus was that their soft-two toed feet didn’t hurt too bad if they accidentally stepped on you like they did Matt once.

On the trail near Double Lake

Once we learned how to properly load the llamas we were off to the trailhead to meet up with the others of our group. The first day was the hardest, even with the llama support: nine miles up hill with 3000 feet of elevation gain. The end of the trail for us, and basecamp for the climb, was 23 miles from the trailhead at the head of Dinwoody creek. We took three days to get in and were glad we took our time as we saw several folks struggling in under huge loads and tight time schedules. The camping was relaxed in spite of the voracious mosquitoes. We had been warned and were adequately prepared although it was my first time wearing a head net. I quickly learned it’s easier to eat with out the net on as I kept forgetting it was there and would stick sporks full of food into it.

Lisa and Malone talk over dinner

The group consisted of a couple from Seattle, Anne and Greg; our friends Matt and Mary and John, a ski patrol buddy of Matt’s from Hailey. Our three support llamas were Malone, Big Sandy and Pylon, who was a big talker. Everyone was pretty worldly in terms of travel and outdoor adventures so we spent many hours sharing stories around the fire. The trip up Gannett Peak went flawlessly with John, Matt and I being the climbing team. Timing and routefinding went well and the snow was perfect: plenty enough to cover the crevasses and firm with just enough for easy travel. We made the summit by 8 AM after a 2 AM start, a much faster time than we had anticipated as our camp was in the valley and not up in the moraines where most folks camp. We made the hike out in two days with lighter packs and llamas. Our last night at Double Lake was the most beautiful campsite yet with classic Winds scenery: grey granite cliffs climbing up out of clear pools of water.

From Dubois, we said goodbye to our new and old friends and headed over the mountains to visit my college buddy Dave Monroe near Driggs, Idaho. They were having a music festival at Targhee (the local ski hill) that weekend and we caught the last day and danced the evening away to Lyle Lovett and his Large Band. The time with Dave, Allison and the kids was the true highlight however. Caroline, my goddaughter, and Henry were little people now after not having seen them for a year.

Delone and his daughters: Lisa, Michelle and Kim. Notice the resemblance?

One last highlight awaited us before our travels ended for now so we cruised back across Idaho to meet up with Lisa’s family in Eastern Oregon. Delone, Lisa’s dad, had turned 70 this year and his three daughters treated him to a weekend horsepack trip into a lodge in the Wallowa Mountains. The good news is we all got to come along! Horsepacking and riding is a lot more work and expense than llama packing, I learned. I volunteered to hike in with Allie which saved me the pain in the ass (literally) of the time in a saddle. We certainly weren’t roughing it on this trip. The lodge was great with lot’s of good food and a wood fired hot tub as an evening treat. We had rented tepees which was a novel experience but I think I prefer tents overall. Lisa’s family is a fun bunch and the weekend was filled with much laughter and mirth.

The Krueger-Cregger Range Riders

Backcountry hot-tubbing??!!

So now Lisa and I are dragging our feet one more time as “move-in day” ominously approaches this weekend. Kicking around eastern Oregon these last few days looking for campsites and wifi has kept us from facing the reality of our imminent return. While seeing friends again will be great there is an essence of our experience that we know will be hard for us to maintain in face of the responsibilities of work and home. Spontaneity and the freedom from time both will suffer in the face of schedules and routines. What will we be able to hold onto? Stay tuned to find out how the transition goes…

Clean up day on Togwotee Pass after our Winds trip. Lisa heads for a much needed shower.

Late Nights with Tod and Lisa June 9, 2008

Lisa and I had this fantasy when we started this trip. A vision of a natural rhythm of going to bed with the sunsets and rising with the sunrise. The first blow to the fantasy was when we discovered that during the winter down here the sun sets around 6:30PM, same as in the states.

A little early for us. Also, since Betty has all the modcons, electricity, stereo etc it’s not like camping in the “wilderness” sense. Often it’s 10:30 before we shut down the computer or put down the guitar. The stretch of road we’ve been on the last few weeks has seen us staying up later and later, usually because of the interesting people we’ve met. No complaints there, especially since we still seem to be getting our ten hours of sleep in!

Our last episode saw us leaving our new friends (and tortilla instructors) the Hernandez family in Lago Yojoa, Honduras and heading out for the classic Mayan ruins tour. First off though, we spent a few days wandering through the southwest of Honduras visiting a string of towns on what is known as the Route of the Lencas (the local indigenous people). While I wrote a blog entry on some of the sad realities of the poverty in this region there was one highlight that I failed to mention.

We arrived at the town of La Esperanza, tired after a long day of driving the slow dusty roads. We had no camping information for the night so we began checking out likely places as we entered town. Usually in these cases we find a restaurant or hotel with a big enough parking lot for us to camp in for the night.

Unfortunately, this not being a tourist town, there was little in the way of those kinds of services. After a frustrating hour of wandering around town following false leads to campsites, we finally pass a soccer field. We had heard of others camping in soccer fields but had never tried it ourselves. This one seemed especially promising because on one corner of the field were a few small RV’s parked next to a big top tent.

That’s right. Big top tent as in a circus! We pulled past the sign announcing the Circo Black &White and parked next to one of the RV’s. A rail thin black man confidently strode toward us to wish us a welcome. Edipo Zaire was his name and we soon learned that he was the contortionist and ringmaster of the circus. Before long he and Lisa were deep in conversation while I assumed my usual role of playing soccer and fetch with the kids (not to worry, Allie was doing most of the fetching, not the kids.) They would have offered Allie a spot in the evenings show but they emphasized that it was a “non-animal” circus out of humanitarian concerns. They also insisted we be their guests for the evening.

The Circus Black and White

What an evening it was! Although more vaudeville than circus it was a bawdy and raucous affair complete with transvestite karaoke, belly dancers and a grand finale skit which starred a white faced (painted) bumbling gringo! As the only gringos in the crowd we got a lot of looks and smiles from the crowd after the show. It was definitely some local color.

One thing we loved about the whole production was that, as with most things in this part of the world, it was an all family show. Edipo and his brother were the lead actors, the wives were the dancing girls and the children served drinks and sold treats at intermission. Edipo’s mom and dad where the real ringleaders as they had been in the circus all their lives and Manuel, the dad, taught Edipo the tricks of being a contortionist. Now-a-days, Manuel operates the popcorn machine, which is two microwaves running full time with piles of instant popcorn bag. Mom seems to be everywhere at once, giving out the orders.

The Zaire family; heart and soul of the Circus Black and White

We wrapped up the evening talking to Edipo and his wife in their RV, talking until late in the evening.
The next day the kids were begging us to stay for the nights show, a different act, as we rolled off towards Gracias and the Copan ruins. We were smiling at how lucky we had been to have a look into their lives.

Another realization of the trip for me is that I really do like some tourist places. Copan Ruinas was one of those places I didn’t think I would like, but did. After years of living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming (the national park’s answer to Disneyland) I resented most aspects of tourist towns. However, if you can see beyond the crowds of camera-toting tourists (of which, I humbly have to remind myself, I am one at times) there is a reason everyone is here. In Copan Ruinas, it’s the ruins themselves that bring the people although the town was what really appealed to us. Laid back and friendly with lots of nice cafes and shops is a nutshell description. It’s popular with the younger backpacking set and doesn’t see the fleets of bus tours we would witness in Tikal.

One night we stayed up at the Hacienda San Lucas which is perched on a beautiful hillside property overlooking town, the river and the ruins themselves. It was our splurge dinner night (we have one per country), and we had picked the right place to go big. In a trip full of great meals in exotic locations this was one of the best. A set menu of six courses included an authentic Mayan cuisine with items such as roasted corn soup, tamales with Mayan herb sauce, roast chicken in adobe sauce, blue corn tortillas….you get the idea. The setting on the patio was intimate, lit only by oil lamps, with views over the lights of town. We met another British couple as well for the perfect end to the day with conversation, again, late into the evening.

The Copan museum with mock temple and stelae

The next morning we chose to skip the ruins themselves on recommendations from other travelers. The real gem we found is the museum on the grounds of the ruins. It includes a full size temple reconstruction, painted as it might have looked at the time of the Mayans. It is surrounded by many of the stelae, tall stone slabs with glyphs carved on all sides, that Copan is so well known for. The stelae were brought into the museum to protect them from the elements and replaced by replicas in the surrounding ruins. In all it was one of our best “ruin” experiences and we never even actually walked through the ruins!

And, after that, now we were finally back to Guatemala. Guatemala was the site of our first Central American adventures seven years ago. It still holds a bit of mystique for the both of us from those times . It’s grown in ways during the intervening years: cell phones are ubiquitous, there are less chicken buses and more shiny mini vans, roads are paved, and prices are higher. Still though, there is a sense for me that these are the lost Mayans. Eighty percent of the population is indigenous with most of them living in remote villages in the highlands. An old lady walking along the roadside in traditional dress with a bundle of firewood for cooking balanced neatly on her head seems oblivious to the traffic passing her by. A thousand years ago the same woman could be walking along some ancient forest trail and not be out of place.

Playa Trinidad was one of our best beach camps

Our first campsite was a great little beach on Lake Isabal. We had some of our best beach experiences in Guatemala and none of them were on the ocean! Afterwards we pushed north into the Peten and stayed for a few nights at Finca Ixobel, the first “real” campground we had seen since Costa Rica. Tikal wasn’t too far away now but we seemed to have a hard time getting there. First we went to Flores on Lake Peten but wanted to get away from the hustle so we drove around the lake to find Playa Trinidad, another beautiful beach get away. Jose, the vigilante (night watchman) remembered our good friends Paul and Bridgette who had recommended it to us, and welcomed us warmly. We also met Oscar, the owner we met the next day as it was Sunday, the beaches only busy day. We sat in hammocks most of the day reading and talking with Oscar. Allie had a crowd of kids chanting for her as she lept off the dock for sticks.

Airborne Allie goes big!

The next day found us back in Flores running errands with Oscar as our guide. Betty needed new shocks and Lisa got some medical tests for her continuing gut ailments. All the tests turned out negative which is a relief and frustrating at the same time as she is still plagued with intestinal issues from our first trip here. At least there are no lingering Guatemalan intestinal hitchhikers! We spent that night in Flores on the waterfront but slept little because of the heat and all the police and others walking by all night. In the Peten at this time of year, escaping the heat means being in the water which wasn’t always an option.

The Gran Jaguar temple at sunset, Tikal

Finally, the next day we made it to world famous Tikal. These are the temples that people think of when they hear Mayan ruins. We had to sneak Allie in as the whole area is a national park and closed to dogs. She stayed nice and quiet in the back while twice I had to assure the park guard we had no mascotas (pets). I’m such a bad liar! Lisa sat in the back with a big map spread out over top of Alli to help keep her hidden. Our plan was to camp one night in the ruins to get the best of both evening and morning light without the heat of the day. This also helped us by only having to pay one days entry fee, cheapskates that we are.

Temple V

Tikal truly is magical and for all the tourism focused on it, it holds itself well. They say only twenty percent of the ruins there have been uncovered. Looking out from the top of Temple IV you get an idea of the vastness of the city in it’s glory, every little “hill” you see is a buried ruin. That first evening we met a nice Vancouver couple Doug and Rebecca watching the sunset from Temple III. We wound up having dinner with them and, again, more conversation late into the evening.

While it was a wonderful time, this was a bad idea as Lisa and I had signed up for a guided tour first thing in the morning. …first thing being 4:30AM so that we could catch the sunrise from Temple IV. I felt like I was climbing again as the alarm woke us up in the dark of night. The tour was a bit disappointing as one of the guides bailed and left us as a group of forty with one guide. However, the temples hidden in the mist with the howler monkeys bellowing across the forest created a wonderfully mystical feel.

Feeling like bad tourists we left Tikal shortly after the tour to escape the heat. People talk about spending two or three days at Tikal but we could not tolerate the high heat and humidity. This time of year is definitely NOT the time to be in the Peten. Besides, we knew a nice beach nearby to retreat to! Jose welcomed us again at Playa Trinidad and we spent the afternoon in the hammocks out over the water, and in inner tubes on the water, recovering from all of the tourism.

Hammock self-portrait

From Tikal we moved back south and into the high-country and cooler temperatures. The roads were well paved for the most part but were tortuously slow and winding. The scenery was spectacular though and I had a hard time keeping my eyes on the next turn. Think six passes with elevation changes around 4000 feet for each!

We stayed a night in Coban at a tranquil little city park then pushed on to Chichicastenango where we visited their famous market. Here too we hired a guide to take us up to a Mayan ceremonial site. Part of our reason for doing this is that we have very few pictures of the Guatemalans themselves due to their shyness and sensitivity to cameras. With a hired guide we had permission to photograph the ceremony and the people. It was an amazing blend of the ancient and modern as a Pepsi can was offered on the alter was a request for a blessing on the family business.

Mayan blessing ceremony in Chichicastengango

From there we pushed on to Panajachel where friends had promised us excellent camping. True to form, at the Hotel Tzanjuyu we had a great spot lakeside all to ourselves. We spent several days there, mostly lounging by the lake but occasionally walking into town or taking a boat across to one of the other little villages. It was again, rather touristy compared to areas we had been in, but the natural splendor was quite remarkable. Think lake, a couple volcanoes, and great weather.

One highlight was going out to dinner at a locals word-of-mouth restaurant called Cordon Bleu. Tom, a long time expat from the States, had simply opened up his living room and balcony, put 5 tables in there and was serving food. He had started two of the most successful restaurants in town, sold them, and was now doing the low maintenance restaurant gig. A four course dinner for two, plus drinks, was $12!!! Lisa enjoyed meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. The fare was non-Central American, home-style cooking. And we got a long-time local’s view of Panajachel, Guatemala, world politics, and living abroad.

Another highlight was the utter transformation in our haggling skills. Given the huge economic discrepancy between our standard of living and the normal one for folks down here, we typically don’t haggle much when buying something. However, we had been told you can haggle in Panajachel and better do so if you don’t want to get eaten alive. The commerce here is so aggressive that on the first day when Lisa showed interest in one street girls wares she was immediately swarmed by five little girls, all under 12, draping scarves over her shoulders and twining ribbons through her hair. So we learned and gingerly started the buying process by asking prices. Literally, they were outrageous. Wanting to get some gifts to take home, Lisa suggested that we offer 1/3 to 1/2 of the initial price…and be willing to walk away. Again, another shocking act of street shopping we had not managed before. Lisa usually felt too guilty to do so. But we came up with the plan and it worked and soon the merchants were yelling at us down the street, that yes, yes, they would take our price. When we returned to pay we noticed a look of respect in their eyes. We weren’t being had.

A mural about Guatemala’s civil war

Leaving Panajachel we were followed by a British couple in an MG convertible who were driving from Patagonia to Prudhoe Bay. We chatted briefly during a rest stop and they seemed quite the explorers from the Age of Empire with their scarfs and explorer hats. He said he bought the car new in 1967 and it was the only car he’d ever owned. Another example of all different kinds of people doing cool things out there in the world.

Fishing boats on the shore of Lake Atitlan

We drove the high road off of the Pan American Highway up into the mountains to our rendezvous with Todos Santos, the site of our first visit with Guatemala. This return held a lot of questions for us: Would it be as we remembered? Would our family remember us? What changes have happened in us in that time that will make our visit different? There’s a saying that you can never step in the same river twice because both you and the river have changed.

The landscape was still as majestical and mysterious as we remembered although modernized with cell towers sprouting from several moutaintops along the way. Our family remembered us, but just barely. It had been seven years without contact. We realized that while our life was hugely impacted by our visit to their town, their lives had continued pretty much unchanged. When we retold the story of Lisa’s fall after the sauna and subsequent hospitalization, they recalled the story…although some had thought she had died!

Lisa and Martina, our host “mom” of seven years ago

What struck us most was how stark and hard life was there. Of all our travels this year this place seemed the most desperate. The climate was cold and everyone seemed sick. Children’s faces had the red sunburned cheeks that you see at altitude and patches of warts covered the hands of many we met. The reality of our return was a bit depressing. Our family had stopped taking in tourists for home stays, probably it seemed, because they tired of them living in their space. So while our Spanish was much better than previously, as we sat in the family’s new kitchen with Martina cooking over the wood fire, the conversation was still in Mam, their native language, leaving us feeling isolated.

Then we were off to visit our old language school, where Lisa’s instructor greeted us with big hugs and asked how long we would be studying Spanish! Her welcome was heartwarming and she was disappointed we wouldn’t be staying long…chastizing us to leave more time next time we visit. It was an interesting distinction that this time we were tourists, whereas before we were students. It was gratifying to see that our Spanish had improved enough to engage in a long conversation about our trip and lives in the States.

As usual, Alli stole the show in town. With villagers walking up and asking us to give them Alli as a gift or offering to buy her. Only the local dogs didn’t like her. All in all, while we were glad we had come back, we also found ourselves eager to leave. The harshness of the lives of the family and the general isolation with them was hard to face. This place was among the poorest we had visited.

With some small gifts and a final farewell we trundled back down the mountain ready for Mexico. The relief of re-entering Mexico was surprising. It felt like home in away. Cleaner, better roads and signs, more development, and Spanish that was easier for us to understand. The locals also seemed more comfortable with foreigners and easier going. This may be because our first stop was San Cristobal de la Casas, a mountain town renowned for it’s indigenous color, hippie subculture and being the heart of the Zapatista revolution. In all we were glad to be there.

Tod trying on the local fashions in the market, Chichicastenango, Guatemala

Although we spent a week in San Cristobal, again , like in Panajachel, we found ourselves mostly just enjoying the good camping. Sure we walked into town once in awhile, took a few pictures of churches and even visited a museum. Lisa got excited about the Mayan medicine institute. However, we never went out to the outlying villages and mostly we hung out in the campground on the grass in the sun chatting with other van travelers.

These two things have been fairly rare on this trip. Sitting in the sun has been rare we have spent most of the trip hiding from it. As a matter of fact our tans our rather pathetic for having so much time in the tropics. San Cristobal though is at such a high altitude that it is pleasantly cool during the days and can get a might chilly at night, the sun is a welcomed guest. The other oddity was meeting others traveling by car, van or RV. After 5 months of only seeing the occasional “land cruiser”, the name given our types by sailors, we now were in a campground with several of them. On top of that some of them were Americans, another rarity down here where most land cruisers are Canadian and the backpackers are mostly European. The atmosphere was perfect, relaxed with lots of music and again, conversations late into the night.

It’s been an exciting and varied stretch of road for the trip and now we are eager to get back on familiar ground in Oaxaca. Also it’s time for us to catch up on our sleep in anticipation of more late nights ahead when Delone, Lisa’s dad, visits!

Buen Viaje (Good Travels!)

Cleaning the Earth June 7, 2008

A low haze drifts across the valley. Smoke. This time of year it is always smoke as the milpas (small farm plots) are burned. “We’re cleaning the earth,” the locals tell us. Limpiar is the word they use. It is the word to clean. Fire cleans the land here in Copan, Honduras.

But “here” is even bigger than one place. Here includes vast swaths of Honduras and Guatemala, and parts of the other Central American countries we have visited.

We’re high on the side of a mountain outside Parque Nacional La Tigra in Honduras. The valley spills onto a wide plain below us, open and inviting. But we know it is there only because the German immigrants tell us. They have lived here for ten years. On our two day visit, only faint outlines tease us.

On a secluded rural road in central Guatemala we are greeted by bursts of color scurrying alongside the road. Women in traditional huipiles bustle by us as drifts of smoke climb skyward across the valley. Small clusters of people are tending them, guiding the flames. I see prayers rising in the heat at the end of verano (dry season), prayers for the rains to come soon.

Locals working the firelines in Honduras

Then there’s Lake Atitlan, Guatemala. An enormous lake surrounded by two ancient volcans (volcanoes). These sentinels set amongst nature and water led the Lonely Planet to call it “arguably one of the most beautiful places on earth”. But I don’t have any beautiful pictures to show you. The smoke, humo, hides them. They are simply ghosts to me, standing behind a sheer gray curtain.

On a lancha (boat) the other day, I overheard tourists talking about the “dreadful” smoke and fire.

“Can you believe they let them burn so much?”
“It’s terrible for the land.”
“It’s so UN-NATURAL, but they don’t know better.”
“Well, someone should tell them.”

The hazy million dollar view from our campsite on Lake Atitlan

Fire as it is used throughout Central America is anathema to the American West (and America in general), where decades of fire suppression have created ill, crowded forests. The green has turned rust-red in many places, as the pine beetle weaves a mosaic through the forests. The fires that spark there don’t clean the land, they sterilize it by burning so terribly hot. And the money required to fight these gigantic fires is enormous.

Quite the corner we are backed into. To start burning now, which many clear-sighted forest managers are attempting, is a house of cards. The fuel loading is so high many prescribed burns get out of control. Public outrage ensues. I know. I fought fires by rappelling from helicopters into them.

Change countries. Change mindsets. The land here isn’t for recreation. The land is sustenance. It is food. It is religion too, if you’re indigena (indigenous).

While I have no idea if burning truly cleans the land or if it helps with mineral content in the soil, I do know that it helps in other ways. Sure, you deal with the smoke problems in the form of lowered visibility and public health impacts. But if you look at it from an ecosystem point of view, it is rather ingenious.

Ecosystems of pine evolved to actually need fire. Many of their pine cones don’t open up unless they are exposed to heat. At that point, germination ensues. Pines also die at lower temperatures than do other, harder woods.

By setting fires annually in the pine forests and milpas, they are clearing the surrounding understory and preventing the catastrophic fires we experience routinely in the American West now. Healthy trees live. The understory opens up. Bugs are killed. Diseased trees removed.

When Columbus and crew first landed in America they declared the land to be a most amazing wilderness. There was so little understory that they could run their horses at breakneck speeds through the forests. It was pristine, they said…untouched.

We now know that those forests were anything but untouched wilderness.

They were carefully managed gardens, but gardens vastly different than the kind we are used to cultivating. The Native Americans of the eastern United States routinely burned the forests to cultivate a landscape that supported their lifestyle. They managed these forest-gardens to support animals they hunted, fruits they harvested, and more.

New books, such as 1491: New Revelations of The Americas Before Columbus, show history as taught in school is woefully misinformed. What we considered natural or wild was often manicured and guided by time-honored traditions.

Cleaning the land is a tradition. And within it, we just might find the keys we didn’t know we had lost.

The Search for the Perfect Tortilla May 13, 2008

According to the Mayan creation myths, it took the gods four tries to create humans. They first created deer, birds and other animals. Because these creatures could not speak when the gods called them, they were deemed unworthy and condemned to be eaten. The second creation of the gods was human-like, but made of mud. The mud person spoke without “knowledge or understanding” and soon dissolved back into mud. The third creation was a person carved out of wood. While an improvement because they could walk and talk and procreate, they could not remember their Shaper. As a result, they were destroyed on their own grinding stones. The gods finally got it right when they discovered maize, which became the flesh of mankind and the source of the heavenly food known as tortillas. (adapted from the Lonely Planet Honduras)

If you know me really well, then you know I have a weakness for one food in particular: fresh, handmade corn tortillas.

When we visited Guatemala seven years ago, I was famous for going into comedors (small local eateries) and asking simply for tortillas de maiz (corn tortillas) because they were so damn good and I NEVER got sick from them. The women and girls working there would repeat my order five times to convince themselves that that was all I wanted. It was such an odd request that one woman refused to give me just tortillas. She said I must eat something else with it and suggested a chicken soup. Which I must say, they went quite well with. But then, when you eat a good tortilla it goes well with anything.

Shopping at a local tortilleria

Because of this deep love and respect I have for the tortilla it has been a mission of sorts for me to try and find the best tortillas as we travel in Central America and Mexico.

Why? My first experience with truly amazing tortillas was at a restaurant on Phinney Ridge in Seattle. It was a couple blocks from a house I rented in college and served the most amazing southwestern food. There, tortillas took on a new meaning for me. They were as big as plates and a quarter inch thick. They were hot, steamy, and chewy. Wow! Who knew a tortilla could be all that?

This was followed years later by my experience of tortillas in the highland villages of Guatemala. There the corn was grown on milpas (small plots farmed by a family). When it was to be used for tortillas, the corn kernels were soaked in water and cal (lime) until it mildly fermented over several days. In the home we stayed in Guatemala, the resident parrot would sit on the edge of this vast pot of corn and water, while Tod and I watched in horror – hoping he faced the correct direction when relieving himself.

The hopefully parrot-additive free mix would then boil until the corn was thoroughly cooked. At that time, it was drained and taken to the local molino (grinder) where it was ground into masa, which is a rough paste. This masa would then meet stone under the skilled hands of women using matates, undergoing its final transformation to make it suave (smooth) just like it has been for centuries.

A local lady works the molino in her resteraunt/cocina

Next, came the shaping of the tortilla. Depending on the food culture, they would be patted in hands into small rounds (Guatemala), squashed using a tortilla press (Oaxaca, Mexico) or pressed on plastic guides using hands (Honduras).

In all of these countries, however, the preferred final step was the same: cooking them on a comal. A comal is a ceramic or metal plate set over an open fire. Tortillas cooked this way have a wonderful smoky smell that adds to my delight when consuming them. The downside? It is this method of cooking that is responsible in part for denuding the landsides of villages in every single country we visited. Deforestation from gathering wood to cook with is a major problem on at least two levels.

Cooking over the comal

First, people must walk long distances to gather the bundles of wood to burn. This takes up large portions of their time, especially women and children and removes wood from the forests. Second, the smoke from the fires causes lung cancer in the women cooking over them. Cooking using fire indoors, without a chimney, is obviously not a healthy idea, but that is how it has been done for centuries. In Oaxaca, where indigenous women are living longer due to better medical care, doctors consider lung cancer an epidemic.

Like all costumbres (customs), it is hard to break this method of cooking even when families have access to modern appliances. The indigenous families I met in Oaxaca had propane stove/ovens which they used to make tea, cocoa and rice. The fire still had its revered spot in the yard, where the real cooking took place – making tamales and tortillas. When I asked why they didn’t just use the stove rather than bother with gathering firewood and working in all that smoke they looked puzzled and shook their heads with silent smiles. It was obvious I didn’t understand.

But what I did understand was that these kinds of tortillas were a new personal high for me. They were small (maybe 4 -5 inches around), thick (think .25 inches), and made with yellow corn. I LOVED them and simply could not get enough of them. And really, I am not alone. In Guatemala, a family of eight will normally eat approximately 170 tortillas a day! Talk about not getting enough, that means each person eats seven tortillas per meal todo los dias (everyday).

On this trip, during our mad dash south to Panama we only stayed one night in Guatemala; we knew we’d have three weeks there on the return trip. The hotel owner’s wife was so pleased at my love of Guatemalan tortillas that she gave me a stack of 20 freshly made tortillas gratis (free) for us to take on the road. Needless to say, they didn’t make it that far…which is actually the whole point of tortillas.

You see, the problem with all handmade tortillas is that they don’t last long. Most locals tell me a freshly made tortilla will at most be good for 2-3 days. In the refrigerator, properly wrapped, maybe one or two more days can be gleaned. For this reason alone the armies of women in Central America cook every day vast quantities of this fragile food stuff. I have regularly experienced the anguish of finding my precious handmade tortillas sprouting colonies of unidentifiable life forms in fabulous shades of green, orange and white.

To meet this need for a super tortilla that doesn’t spoil muy rapido (very fast), the food industry has created those tortillas found in supermarkets everywhere. Yes, they are sturdy. Yes, they will live in your fridge or on a shelf for who knows how long. But also yes, they taste more or less like cardboard in my humble opinion.

Are they better than no tortillas? Sure.
But I am in Central America for heaven’s sake…I want the real thing!

Which brings up yet another distinction in the world of tortillas: corn vs. flour. Living in the States and enjoying the ultimate cheapskate meal, the burrito, one gets quite attached to flour tortillas. After all, they are malleable enough to hold vast quantities of beans, rice, steak, salsa, guacamole, and more, all stuffed inside them. Corn tortillas? Forget it. They fall apart when folded into more than a gentle U-shaped taco, meaning they hold significantly less comida (food).

As a result, most folks I know prefer the flour tortilla. When I wax on about the fine qualities of corn tortillas they stare at me as if I’m an alien. I know a secret they don’t, however: that they are missing out on one of life’s finest culinary and nutritional gifts.

Research has even shown that corn tortillas made the traditional way (with cal (lime)), contain significantly higher levels of calcium, B vitamins, and other elemental goodies than flour tortillas. Which makes sense, I suppose, when you consider that entire civilizations thrived for centuries with a food culture centered on corn and its offspring, the tortilla.

So, where is the perfect tortilla?

Angela at the tortilla press in Oaxaca

In Mexico, the tortillas are everywhere and they are fairly good. It has, however, gotten increasingly difficult to find tortillas a mano (by hand) in a public venue– most are made by machines or tortilla presses instead. However, even these are significantly better than what one can buy in the supermercados (supermarkets).

In Oaxaca, my struggle was that they used a white corn to make the tortillas AND a tortilla press. This is not heche a mano (made by hand) in the truest technical sense to me. The white corn made them taste pretty bland and the thin nature of them was disappointing.

I can live with the tortillas in Mexico, however, and eventually found the sister of a cook/cleaning woman for a family living down the road from our camping place in Oaxaca. She made a deep, yellow tortilla that I liked. I have even heard of the elusive azul y rojo (blue and red) tortillas in Oaxaca but must continue my search for them when I return.

In the meantime, I was profoundly disappointed by the lack of tortillas in Panama. Their “tortillas” looked like a round polenta blob. I was too deeply disappointed to even give them a fighting chance. Of course, the other countries of Central America don’t even consider Panama one of their own. Perhaps this is the real reason why?

In Costa Rica, I was floundering with store bought tortillas until I had an authentic, local tortilla experience. We were house-sitting our friend Billy’s place outside Herradura. Think mountains, rivers, a beautiful, fairly tight valley that is high and cool. This region has the highest mountains in Costa Rica and we loved it. Returning from a hike outside the national park (the Alli factor: no dogs allowed), we passed a couple of houses. I saw a small, older woman on the side of the road working and started talking with her. Her first words to me were an apology that she was not educated. After I reassured her that my Spanish was obviously not educated either, we got on quite well. Tod, seeing this was a woman’s thing, quickly escaped back to the house.

Meanwhile, I got the tour and introduction to the family and gardens, followed by special guest treatment. I was served 3 tortillas a mano with coffee on china, with silverware and a cloth napkin. What was weird was that no one sat with me and the living room was dark. They all bustled in the kitchen 20 feet away, as I sat alone in the shadows eating. I kept getting up at odd intervals and going to the kitchen door to tell them how wonderful the tortillas were. They would smile and nod before guiding me back to the guest of honor position….at least that was what I made of it.

So in the rural homes in Costa Rica, folks were still making these fabulous tortillas. We moved through Nicaragua too quickly for me to get a feel for the tortillas there, but given the poverty I am reasonably sure people still make their tortillas there too.

In truth, the simple answer is probably that they are in the small homes of the poor in every single country. It is there where people still make them in the time-honored traditional way. If I really wanted these kinds of tortillas all along the way, I could stop and poke my head into any appropriate-looking shack and ask. And I venture that in such homes in western Panama I might even be able to find them.

It was in Honduras, however, where my personal relationship to tortillas experienced a radical and unexpected shift. And all because of a 13 year old named Nolvia who shares my birthday. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Nolvia and her family live at the Balnerio Paradise, near Lago de Yajoa in central Honduras. It is actually a working shade coffee farm that also sells flowers. Her dad is the manager and her four other siblings have run of the place. A frigid river runs through the property, a mere 100 yards from where we camped for the week that I worked there. It was a delight for the kids to live there as they proudly showed off their knowledge of plants, animals and….tortillas.

Fernando, Henry and the maestra herself: Nolvia

From their initial introduction to Alli, these kids fast became our friends. They are smart, polite, interesting, and great Spanish teachers. Once allowed in the van they would sit and stare and just make “oooo” sounds as they relaxed in the chairs of the van. They LOVED the cocina (kitchen) as it really is kid-sized. With Nolvia, however, it went one step farther.

As I told her how much I loved tortillas, but got frustrated at not being able to find them she simply asked why I didn’t make them. I told her it took too long, and she simply laughed. It doesn’t take long at all she assured me. When I asked how she made them, she said you started with Maseca.

Ahhh, we were dealing with a middle class Honduran family here. Of course, we should have known this when Tod asked Henri, the seven year old, if his mother did laundry in the river as many women we had seen did. Henri gave him an odd look and said “No, she goes to the lavenderia (laundrymat).” Tod looked as sheepish as he felt.

But back to tortillas. Maseca is a store-bought corn flour used as a quick way to make tortillas. I had no idea. However, I did have Maseca on hand for the oddest of reasons. I had bought it to supplement Alli’s diet as she had been on a hunger strike of sorts. She wasn’t eating regularly because the antibiotics for her ear infection upset her stomach. She’s pretty skinny anyway, but a veterinarian we met near the National Park La Tigra (on the other side Honduras) begged me to add it to her food. It was embarrassing having a dog which apparently looked like a starving Honduran street mutt. Alli soon returned to eating just fine and left us driving around with a full bag of Maseca.

But as providence would have it, I could learn to use Maseca the way it was truly meant to be used. Nolvia proudly took over the kitchen, shooing her brothers to the side, and began instructing her pupil in the fine art of tortilla making.

First, you add water and mush it up with your hands to get the right consistency. This masa can easily be stored in the refrigerator for up to a week. Already we have circumvented the need for corn, cal, boiling, a grinder and the use of heavy, primitive stone tools. This was beginning to look possible.

Next, you work a wad of dough into a flatish disc on your hands.

Then, you take a piece of a plastic grocery bag and cut into so that you get a circle. These are your guides that the disc of masa goes on.

Now to the most difficult part: shaping the tortillas. Yes, they make it look easy. Nolvia was such a skilled expert. Her brothers would laugh as I struggled to make the sacred circle. When I finally got it right, there would be shouts of approval from them.

Lastly, we cook it. Using our cast iron trivet or pan, we place it on our propane gas stove. This actually takes skill as the transfer can easily break up the fragile disc. I broke several initially, and still do on occasion. When this happened, you would hear audible intakes of breath, a hushed silence, followed by a simple shoulder shrug. With the words “no hay problema” (there is no problem), Nolvia would smile and we would squish up the dough to start over.

It’s all in the wrist

Each side is cooked once, then the first side is cooked again with you poking it with your fingers to try to get it to balloon up with air. When it did this, the kids would squeal with delight.

After the transfer to the plate, I would high five Nolvia and her brothers and she would yell “Muy rico” (very rich, delicious) followed by her brothers chanting those same words. With that, we would start anew.

This was the first of our many van cooking classes that took place after I worked with clients during the day. I also learned to make frijoles fritos (refried beans: they were shocked at my addition of onions and garlic but we love it), limonada (a lime juice with sugar, very refreshing, from limes I gathered with the kids), and flour tortillas (much more involved, but yummy).

To be honest, I have since given up the need for shaping my corn tortillas into perfect rounds. A round-ish shape is what we usually eat these days. It is certainly sacreligous on some level, but I hail from eastern Washington not America de Central so it I think the gods will forgive me. Still, please don’t tell Nolvia!

The result of this profound new life skill is that my relationship to tortillas has changed.
While I don’t think the maseca-made tortillas are quite as rich tasting or nutritious as the ones made the old-fashioned way, I love being able to make a couple for each meal. Unlike the traditional families, we each usually eat just two per meal. And now I understand the silent smiles from my indigenous friends in Oaxaca. Tortillas imbued with the wood smoke of the comal have a flavor that propane stove “smoke” just can’t match.

Nonetheless, these tortillas I make are one hundred million times better than the store bought variety and I don’t have the tortillas-turned-science-project issue. I also don’t feel as helpless as I used to when we ran out of tortillas, wondering where the next good tortilla could be found and how the hell was I going to get there.

The finished product!

Big road trips are a curious thing. You start out with certain goals in mind, but are constantly astonished by what you learn about yourself and the world. Perhaps this was one of the unconscious forces behind this trip in the first place…to become the tortilla maker rather than just the buyer. I’ll never really know.

But according to Tod, with this newly acquired skill I am now the perfect wife. While I doubt the veracity of that statement (the men and women of Central America argue I must give him a baby first), I do find his other piece of wisdom rings true:

You find the perfect tortilla within yourself.

The Children of the Lenca May 2, 2008

The little girl tucked herself into the high bank of the turn as far as we came rumbling slowly around the corner.  We passed and her eyes were haunting as her face shimmered with fear.   Her older sister, on the other side of the road watched her anxiously as if she would disappear forever in the few seconds the van separated them.

We were used to getting looks.  Ever since we crossed into Mexico Betty has been turning heads.  We know when we’re on the backroads by the amount around the road that life stops as we drive pass.  Usually it’s just a look of wonder and then a friendly wave.  Often there is pointing at the bikes with some shouts of “regalame!” (literally: gift me!)  But these looks were nothing like that.

Lisa saw them first, two little boys playing on the roads edge.  Once they spotted us they began sprinting towards  the safety of their home, a meager one room hut.  As we neared the high embankment separating their house from the road they crept back to the edge. When we passed underneath them we saw those eyes again, wide and fearful, peeking between blades of grass as the boys lay on their bellies, hoping not to be seen.

The Lenca are the largest indigenous group in Honduras, occupying the dry hills that make up the southwest corner of the country.  Lisa and I were driving what is referred to as the Ruta de (route of the) Lenca., a patchwork of roads connecting some of the major towns in the region.  Life along the roadside spoke to the abject poverty; barefoot mothers walking with large loads of firewoods balanced on their heads.  Old men pushing even older bicycles up the rough hills, machetes balanced between the handlebars.  And the children.

In the market of La Esperanza, earlier that morning, Lisa and I had drawn more stares than usual as the only gringos in the sea of faces.  This is one the areas of Central America many aid organizations such as Save the Children and the Peace Corps  focus their efforts.   We were making our way through the crowds searching for the freshest fruits and vegetables when suddenly two boys, probably six and four years old, darted out from behind some stalls dancing around me laughing and grabbing at my legs.  I was surprised at first, this wasn’t the withdrawn suspicion most of the children greeted us with at first.  As I shooed them away I saw them return to their mother who was watching them quite intently.   Realization dawning,  I checked my pockets carefully.  Some of my side pockets had been opened but my wallet was still safely zipped into it’s hidden pocket. This was the first theft attempt we had experienced on the trip and I was saddened deeply by it.  The boys had obviously been put up to it by their mother.

On another long dirt road, far between towns we turned a corner to find a small knot of children in the middle of the road.  As the rough roads had us driving all of five miles per hour they were in no danger from us.  We approached slowly and the group divided but only enough to let us pass.  The little girl on my side couldn’t seem to decide if she would flee or join the boys on the other side of the road  which left her darting back in forth in front of us.  Lisa stopped the van to let her make up her mind and the group of boys quickly pressed forward waving a bag at  us, shouting a garble of words.   Lisa began rolling down her window when  she saw it was a bag of fresh berries.  We often buy things from kids even if we don’t want them.  Just to support their efforts and encourage something other than begging and pickpocketing.  The berries would be good in our morning smoothies but as window came down the boys started climbing up through, fighting amongst themselves to get at us.  There was a threatening air about the whole thing; the intensity of their shouts, the desperation in their eyes, an anger. One kid started banging on the side of the van.

I’m ashamed to admit it but I started to get anxious.  Not one of these kids was over eight years olds but the recklessness with which they threw themselves at us was unnerving. Bringing out money in front of this group seemed like it could have sparked a riot.  With a quick “No, gracias”  Lisa rolled her window back up and carefully drove off.  The little girl had now fled in terror as the some of the boys banged the side of the van more while others stooped to pick up rocks.    We picked up our speed a bit to get out of range of their rocks and rage, feeling helpless and frustrated.

These moments are the dark side of the “indigenous experience” we have sought out in our travels here.  Gratefully, they have been rare but as I look back now on that day, it was important. I tend to glorify the traditional indigenous life without always acknowledging the difficulties and insecurities that seem inherent to it in this age.  Poverty, malnutrition and lack of education are all far too ubiquitous in these societies.   Not inherently I believe, but almost as a consequence.  A consequence of being undervalued and left out of the developments in the rest of the world.  Looking beyond the beautiful artisan crafts, tight family units and the quaint customs I have to recognize that these people want a seat at the table.  The table of bounty that they see us partaking of.  It doesn’t mean they want to give up their culture or traditions but they want the opportunities, the securities, they see in us.  The children of the Lenca need a ruta for themselves: one that connects the traditions of their past to opportunities for a secure future.

Central Central America April 26, 2008

A quick geography lesson. I probably should have learned some of this in sixth grade but it took me traveling down here to really put it together. First off, Mexico is not considered apart of Central America. Duh, that’s why they were included in NAFTA as they are apart of North America.

Also, Panama is not largely considered a part of Central America either. This one is more debatable but the idea probably has it’s origins in the fact that it was originally apart of Colombia. Interestingly, it was the US that encouraged Panama to become independent with it’s support. Not surprisingly, shortly after that (one year exactly) the US began construction on the canal. Coincidence? Culturally speaking though, from our experience, Panama is very much the crossroads of the world. It is not only the land bridge between South and Central America but the most famous short cut in the world as well. All this has created a very diverse culture that has a unique feel, quite different from the other countries of Central America.

Then there is Costa Rica. With no civil wars and tourism developing for the last fifty years it feels quite a bit more Western than the other countries. In fact between our two months in Panama and Costa Rica, Lisa and I lost a bit of our Spanish as English was so widely spoken. Also, education levels are much higher in Costa Rica with it’s strong middle class and limited poverty.

So where does that leave us? In what I call central Central America. Honduras is where we are right now actually. Our experience has been that these middle countries: Honduras, Nicaragua, El Salvador and Guatemala constitute the backbone of what I would consider the real Central American experience. When we crossed from Costa Rica into Nicaragua a few weeks ago it felt as if we were reentering the 3rd world.

Backtracking a bit to catch up…in our last post we were still living large in Costa Rica, and that seems a long time ago now. We managed to finally break free of the spell Finca Bella Vista (the blooming tree house community) had cast on us and made our way down the coast towards some of the more well traveled tourist paths.

Hanging bridge through the cloud forest canopy

As mentioned in Lisa’s post, the world famous Monteverde cloud forest reserve almost scared us off at first with it’s carnival veneer. Fortunately we found a little base to enjoy the sights from. Honestly though, the forests were quite similar to what we had already been hiking through for the last few weeks, just with better trails, signposts and more people.

From Monteverde we headed over to Lake Arenal, another beautiful attraction with an active volcano parked at the head of a long lake which in turn is nestled into surrounding hills. Our campsite by the river watching the volcano for lava flows at night was fabulous. It was hit and miss with the clouds though and although we saw some of the lava flows it was brief, distant and at night so hence, no photos.

Volcano Arenal from near our campsite.

Leaving the Arenal area we headed down to Liberia, a transportation hub on the Pan-American,to connect up with our friends Kathy and Rick. We had originally met them in Oaxaca and as they have been living in RVs and trucks for going on six years now, needless to say they are veterans of road travel. They are an inspiring couple and have taught Lisa and I a lot about the ins and outs of life on the road and about building a mobile community. We spent three wonderful evenings with our friends sharing in good meals and lengthy conversations. We based ourselves at the Rincon de Vieja park where we could punctuate our discussions with walks through an assortment of volcanic features. Rick and Kathy are heading south (lands end for them is Tierra del Fuego) so unfortunately we said our sad goodbyes and crossed into Nicaragua.

Walking with Rick and Kathy in Rincon De Vieja park

The first recognition that we were in a different land was the transportation. Many of the cars and trucks had been traded for horse and oxen drawn carts. Even the little three wheeled taxis where now bicycle taxis. As I write I wonder if the differences I noted earlier between the countries are as much cultural as they are economic. Certainly there are strong ties between all the Central American countries with the Latin culture but the poverty of the central Central American lands really stands out and changes the experience for the traveler.

Local transport

Adjusting to the changes, Lisa and I headed to the Volcano Masaya area, just outside of the capital of Managua. The volcano and visitor center museum was fantastic, We camped the night in their parking lot and in the morning drove up to volcano’s edge for a peek into the caldera. That’s right, parking for fifty cars right at the lip of an active volcano. Of course they have precautions like back in parking only for fast escapes and limit your stay to 20 minutes because of the dangerous sulfur fumes. Conservative stuff like that. A place like this would never exist in the US with all the liability concerns. The caldera of a volcano is truly a raw force of nature. No lava churning around as one might think but the tortured cliff walls and noxious gases spewing forth were unlike anything I’d seen before.

Moving from the volcano to higher and drier Western Nicaragua we did a rural loop drive that took us to a night at Finca Silva Negra. It’s another coffee farm, this time owned by a family of Germans, hence the name (Black Forest). We had a tour of the operation in the morning with Mousey, one of the owners and they are doing an incredible job of making the entire place ecologically and socially sustainable. Schools for the workers kids, including scholarships to university, worm composting, reusing methane from their cows to cook with, the works. Amazing to see all this in a medium scale business. They are showing how it can be done.

A long slow drive through rural farm and ranch country brought us back to the Pan-American highway at the town of Esteli. We visited the Museum of Heros and Martyrs here although there are many across the country. These are tributes to those who died in the Sandanista revolution and this one was run by the mothers of the deceased. It was a powerful experience and spoke loudly to US interference (they call it imperialism) down here. Some times it’s hard to be an American traveling through this part of the world, knowing some of the history. I’m actually surprised we have been received as kindly as we have.

This painting is based on a famous photo from the revolution, in front are old weapons.

Entering Honduras we were given the usual run around at the border, Los Manos. Even though we have gotten better overall at avoiding the scams you still need a constant vigilance. We camped that night a little ways into the country at Danli, an area famous for it’s Havana cigars. It may not be Cuba but many of the Cuban cigar makers immigrated here after the rise of Castro and their cigars are considered as good as. Onwards and upwards we once again moved up into the mountains outside of the capital Tegucigalpa or Tegus as the locals call it. Valle de Angeles was a nice opportunity to do a little gift shopping and afterwards we spent the night near the entrance to La Tigra National Park. Our hosts were another German couple who had the only flat camping spot in the area…their parking spot. We spent two nights here, hiking outside the park (national parks here have a dog prejudice just like in the states) and learning from Jurg and Monique about their life as essentially homesteaders in the wilds of Central America.

Moving over the continental divide one more time we spent the night at an abandoned national park high amongst the pines. Honduras is the only place we’ve seen in Central America that reminded us of the mountains of Idaho. The high rolling pine forests are kept clear of undergrowth through annual burning, set and managed by the locals. The park itself was abandoned a few years ago as the conflict between conservationists and loggers grew increasingly violent. It was quite tranquil for the night we were there. No park managers, visitors, or anybody else for that matter.

The now closed visitors center at Parque La Maralla

The next days drive is the subject of our other recent blog entry titled breakdown. You can probably guess the jist of it if you haven’t read it yet. . After getting Betty back together we left Sambo Creek and headed along the Caribbean coast to La Cieba where we spent a few days running errands. You realize the reality of globalization when you leave the poverty of rural Honduras to find an air conditioned mall with all the modern conveniences.

That brings us around to where we are now. Lago Yojoa is situated in the hill country an hour from the Caribbean coast and surrounded by farms and ranchland. The family that manages the Finca Paradiso (Paradise Farm) where we are staying. Again, they grow coffee mainly but we are realizing that they have to do many things to stay afloat so they also rent cabanas, operate a private swimming hole (balanerio) and sell many fruits and other small crops.

Spanish Scrabble with the family

Getting to spend time with the Hernandez’s reminds us of how people make up more important part of the landscape of travel than geography does. We’ve rented a cabana for Lisa to work from and I have spent my days working on Betty (she now has tinted windows all the way around), doing laundry, fixing bikes (ours and the kids) all the while accompanied by at least one, sometimes up to five of the children. The schools are attended in shifts here with three shifts a day. That means many teachers work from 6AM to 10PM and kids are on the highway coming or going to school all day long. Mostly the finca kids just play with Alli but they’ve also given me a good chance to rebuild some of my Spanish skills and just have fun with kids again. Lisa has been playing the guitar for them in the evening and we’ve played a few rounds of Spanish Scrabble. Tonight, being our last night, we are piling into the van to watch Star Wars on the laptop, complete with popcorn and brownies. Connections such as these are the true highlights of the trip and we’ll remember the Hernandes family for a long time to come.

Lisa entertains while Fernando keeps the beat

Future plans include staying in the mountains and visiting ruins and cultural areas for the next month. Tikal and Copan top the list while cities like Panachel and San Cristobal de la Casas await us. As it is warming up we won’t see much of the ocean again for the remainder of the trip most likely. That’s assuming we stick with our current plans which would be very surprising indeed!