Gnarly

As I've been reminded, I haven't updated in a while and it's time for a new post.  Mostly this has been out of my control. However, I've always thought living life is much more enjoyable/important than writing about or taking pictures of it.

Our week of non-violence activities went extraordinarily well. My kids even decided to do a skit for the others in the program highlighting the dangers of drug use. Afterwards, they explained steps to keep friends and family substance free. Go kids.

Last weekend we went on our 4-day trek to Machu Picchu. Highlights include biking down the Andes, picking mangoes, playing soccer with local Peruvians, subsequent humiliation, and getting to know the others on the trip. Out of the 10 of us, we represented 6/7 continents. I now have friends in Peru, Germany, Spain, Switzerland, Holland, South Africa, Israel, and Australia.

However, it was quite disappointing to shuffle my sore, sun-burnt body through the line to the entrance of the great Incan citadel amidst crowds of Americans with ipods, "hiking sticks", grande lattes, and borderline imperialist mentalities. (There's a train-bus service that brings you to the doorstep.)

I suppose this should be expected at one of the world's most popular tourist spots, but it's disheartening when we blatantly ignore other cultures/customs. I understand the American reputation around the world. In fact, others on my trip admitted that when a local reprimanded them, they would reply, "I'm American!"

After returning from the trip, I decided to leave Cusco and the program I was with in hopes of finding a place that genuinely needed my help. The orphanage's nifty website and English-speaking staff attracted volunteers from all around the globe. Too many, honestly.

I hope I don't lose any man-points for this, but at the end of the night I still had "leftover love", and it made me uncomfortable. I took a year off to make a difference (however small) and get outside my mental and physical comfort zones. I felt like I couldn't do that in the "gringo capital of South America."

38 hours in buses and I ended up in Mancora, a gorgeous city on the Northern coast of Peru. After a series of fortunate events, I'm living with two surfer-dudes (Skip & Rain) in a house overlooking the small town. I started work yesterday in a daycare for special needs children. I'm the only volunteer at the time. (Volunteers are hard to find during the holiday season.)

I'm planning on being here until the wind blows me somewhere else. My help is needed. The fruit is cheap. I can't complain.