I'll add more to this post, about what some of these things mean, at a later date (probably this weekend), but here's to getting started.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Christmas vacation - Parque Nacional Natural El Cocuy
I did WAY too much over the course of the last month to write it all here. From Yopal I went to Cali with another professor, and then to Medellin to visit Br. Martin, to Jerico (a small town a few hours from Medellin) to visit Martin's sister and her family, to Bogota, and to Parque Nacional Natural El Cocuy. It was absolutely incredible to be free from work for a little while, to explore Colombia, to see its landscapes and meet its people. I went dancing, I went tubing, I saw super cool Christmas lights, I went to a wedding (and I won the bride's garter, so who knows if I'm ever coming back from Colombia), I ate tons of food, I had quiet days in Bogota just me and Harry Potter (in Spanish, of course), and did all sorts of other things. Since I can't tell you about everything, I'm going to focus on just one. The best for me, my favorite part of the month off, was the 5 days I spent hiking in PNN El Cocuy. I should warn you now, this might get a little long. If you don't feel like reading it, just skip straight to the pictures.
I arrived in Guican, a tiny town in the department Boyaca, after a 12 hour bus journey from Bogota that started 3 hours late. My bus driver thankfully guided me to a fine little hotel where I got a good night's sleep and a cold shower (virtually all showers in Colombia are cold) for 20,000 pesos (about $16). I rolled out late the next morning, about 7:30AM, in search of food and information. I found information first, stumbling upon the park office and paying my entry fee (13,500 pesos, about $10) as well as lining up 8:00AM transportation to the top of the road, a little sooner than I preferred, actually. I found a little restaurant where I ate a bowl of soup for breakfast, grabbed my pack from my room, and headed out. There was another American hanging around town trying to find a group to hike the trail with, and he split the cost of the taxi with me up to the trailhead, hoping he might have better luck there finding people going the same direction he was. Long story short, between Guican and Las Cabanas Kanwara (the trailhead) I agreed to let him come along the trail with me, and he turned out to be pretty good company. A 23 year old Philadelphian, he had a good attitude, a good pace, and his own food (very important).
The trail, sometimes called La travesia de El Cocuy or La vuelta de la Sierra El Cocuy, starts at about 4100 meters (almost 13,500 feet) and never comes down until you're headed back to town on the last day. We started up the road from Cabanas Kanwara, which turned into trail about an hour later, and an hour after that we were on top of the first pass of many, Alto de Cardenillo (14,300 feet). From the very first moment this trek offered spectacular views, but I never could have imagined what was in store. From Alto de Cardenillo we looked down on Laguna Grande de los Verdes and across to some of the most incredibly stressed granite I have ever seen. The mountains here look like they've been punched out of the ground from below, or ripped up by crowbars like you'd tear out an old hardwood floor. Billions of years worth of rock layers sit exposed, one next to another, pointing toward the sky at over 15,000 feet. Immense cliffs have boulders bigger than apartment buildings sitting precariously on their faces, and among it all the white faces of glaciers reflect the sun as they feed the streams and lakes dotting the valleys. Lukas (my new hiking partner) and I descended the north side of the pass to the lake and stopped early, sitting around in the sun and exploring the cliffs around us. I made camp about 300 feet up the hillside on top of a little cliff with a great view, and from there I marveled at the stars and the half moon while fighting off the cold of the night. My resistance didn't last long, I retired to my sleeping bag to dream away the night in an alpine paradise.
The moments before dawn, when the light of the sun is just starting to brighten the horizon, are always the coldest. I woke with the chill at about 5:00AM and wasted no time getting moving. I packed up and descended to Luke's camp, about 200 feet below mine, where I cooked up my morning tea before we started up the next pass, Alto de los Frailes (13,800 feet). Lukas had recovered from his altitude induced headache of the day before (a potentially lethal condition if the body doesn't adjust, as it can be the precursor of cerebral edema) and we made excellent time up the pass, topping the ridge to find the first sun of the new year shining strongly on our faces.
The awe of those first days at every new landscape never left us the entire trip. Every time we peeked over a new ridge, or even just turned to look behind us, the park offered up a new vista, a new perspective to contemplate, a new reason to just stop and breathe. We climbed a second pass that morning, Alto de la Sierra (15,341 feet), and descended to Lake Avellanal before noon. From Lake Avellanal, the normal route is to descend another 400 meters into La Valle de Los Cojines, but we studied the topo map and asked another pair of hikers what they knew about the area, and decided to abandon the trail. A wide plateau runs the length of the valley at 4400 meters, and we opted to traverse high rather than descend.
Our traverse started in a bit of a swamp, the most interesting bog I have ever seen. Los cojines (the cushions) are what I would like to describe as a "tuffet" (you know, Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet). They are these round, green, moss-like growths that look soft but are actually very firm. What was so interesting was that we found some pools of water about five feet deep, surrounded completely by these cushions, with a strange white algae covering everything in the water, and the water was PERFECTLY clear. It really was like looking at an excellently clean, white bottomed swimming pool (full of glacier cold water). We found a couple others where the water was a crazy turquoise, and we couldn't figure out why. Surely it has something to do with the algae, but exactly what is going on is totally unclear.
Anyway, we passed the bog and had easy walking among the frailejones for a while (I cannot describe this plant, it looks like it's from another planet) Eventually our luck ran out and we found ourselves slowly picking our way over a ridge of boulders, carefully placing each step and risking an ankle or broken leg at every move (it's the nature of walking across boulder fields). What seemed like hours we inched along those granite traps before, mentally exhausted, we found a little flat spot tucked in against the cliffs and made camp.
Camp that night made every boulder worth it. With glacier-capped crags behind us, La Valle de los Cojines below us, and another valley falling away to the plains just ahead, we seemed to have the whole world to ourselves. We gathered up some dry brush and fought off the evening chill with a 4400 meter high campfire.
I went to bed happy at about 7:30 and woke up cold at 5:30AM. The dew turned into a frost and my fingers felt the same as I packed up my camp and struggled to light my stove for a cup of tea and some warm cardboard (oatmeal). Regardless of the quality, or lack thereof, in the food, that was the most beautiful breakfast I have ever cooked. The sun burned its way from the plains thousands of meters below us and lit the glaciers behind us with a golden glow that reflected back and brightened our little ledge.
We bid farewell to the beauty of that moment and trekked on, sometimes moving easily along granite ridges and other times relegated to the careful tip-toeing along boulders that so strains the nerves and wearies the feet. We made the end of the valley mid-morning, climbing a ridge to look down on Laguna Rincon and the trail yet a kilometer away. The ridge we ascended we had to traverse, and it turned out to be a treacherous, packed sand knife edge. With the utmost care we made it across the most difficult parts of the ridge and descended into a scree field, the traverse of which turned out to be not much less difficult.
We did eventually gain the trail and were moving along well up the pass (Alto el Castillo, 15,000 feet) when we encountered a German or Swiss couple who appeared to have also chosen to stay high on the plateau, but had failed to descend to the trail at the crucial moment. Rather than turning back, I found the man contemplating a nearly impossible looking scramble with a very serious fall potential to gain the trail at elevation. The wife wasn't too keen on the plan to start with, but it took us half an hour to convince the husband that he needed to acknowledge the ridiculous risk and descend the ridge he was on until they could safely traverse to the trail. Deep in the backcountry, a two day walk from help, the man was willing to risk his life (and very likely lose it) for the sake of 45 minutes worth of difficult walking. We saw him again at the top of the pass an hour later, just as we were ready to head down the other side, and from his attitude you wouldn't have known anything ever even happened. He gave us a very friendly 3-minute geology lesson (which I actually found kind of interesting) and we bid him adieu.
From Alto el Castillo we descended to Laguna de Panuelo, crossing a landscape that made me think of the photos I've seen of Mars. The rocks were a copper red color mixed with black, the wind was blowing tremendously, and everything was dry. I have a lot more respect for those little rovers we keep sending to the red planet after walking through that valley.
We took a long lunch at the lake before ascending two other shorter, steeper passes that finally revealed an incredible view. The reds and blacks of iron and cobalt (I know from our German/Swiss geologist friend) that we had picked our way along all morning suddenly and drastically changed into huge slabs of granite - great, gray monoliths careening into the sky, separated from us by a lush green valley trekking away to the east. We set our sights on some small ponds the other side of the valley that seemed not too far away, and off we went again. As we descended, the oxidized cobalt shale turned to granite boulders (ugh, more granite boulders) beneath our feet. We passed under the shadow of the mountain to the west and climbed a boulder ridge, our weary feet and tired nerves expecting to see a gentle plateau heading up to our campsite. Instead, we discovered a steep descent over table sized granite rocks to the Rio Mortinal.
We must have passed an hour working our way to that crystal clear glacial river. By the time we got there I was finally feeling the day's mental and physical stresses, just as the walking promised to finally become relatively easy again. We continued on, but gave up our goal of the ponds almost the moment we found a flat spot on dry ground. We pitched an early, weary camp and gathered wood, what we could best compare to juniper, for a small campfire as the sun sank behind the peaks towering over us. I ate a modest meal and Lukas ate granola - turns out he has celiac disease. We just talked about nothing over that heartwarming little fire as the chill of dusk turned into the cold of a beautiful clear night, and by 8 o'clock I was drifting way in my sleeping bag with only the sound of my own breathing to whisper me to sleep.
The pre-dawn cold woke me and, eager to warm my bones (and especially my hands), I packed my frost covered tent and skipped my morning tea. I told Lukas I'd stop and wait for him when I could feel the sun on my face, and with that I was off. The morning always touches the mountains first, warming them in a bath of golden light long before turning its attention to the valleys, so rather than the sun coming to me, I walked 45 minutes to it. I passed our pond destination that we had failed to make the day before and rather went all the way to the north end of Laguna Grande de la Plaza. There, finally, I found the warmth of day coinciding with a beautiful mountain lake crowned by towers of rock. I huddled in a nook out of the wind, basking in the sun as I had my morning tea and waited for Lukas.
Here at last our feet encountered the unbroken slabs of granite that so inspired us the day before as we strolled along the east side of the lake. For an hour the going was easy, and then it stopped altogether.
To the southeast Laguna de la Plaza drains via a series of cascades into a valley so deep and long that it feels like it must go all the way to Venezuela. With the still young morning upon us, we stayed and stared in awe at the beauty of the land. Each of us with journal and pen in hand, we turned inward and, for at least an hour, a chill wind trying to rob us of the warmth of the sun, we sat apart and were conscious only to ourselves. I think, had clouds not finally blown up the valley, that I could have stared at the vastness of that landscape the entire day.
As it was, we eventually continued on a little farther to the designated camping area at the south point of the lake and spent a couple hours there just lounging in the sun and staring at the water and the mountains. Laguna Grande de la Plaza is essentially the last major feature on the circuit, and it made no sense to rush away. Early starts and long days plus a good general pace but us well ahead of our original schedule. We'd let our itinerary on the trail be dictated by the words, "well, we'll see," and had arrived at the Laguna a full day before we really needed to. With plenty of food and no plans, we were free to do whatever we wanted.
We sat around until 1 o'clock or so, finally moving on and climbing a little pass (Alto de Patio Bolas, 14,370 feet), then making a long descent among the frailejones to the bottom of Alto Cusiri, the last high point of the trek. I wanted to continue over Cusiri and camp at a pair of lakes on the other side, but, weary of feet and unready to leave the paradise of the park, Lukas wanted to camp in our little valley. I conceded, and we set up an early camp, the warm sun still shining down from overhead as we searched out clear flat ground.
That night got colder than any other had, freezing the water in my Nalgene and the hose of my CamelBak, so by necessity I again forewent my morning tea and started the trail in the predawn, climbing toward the sun and the warmth it promised.
From the top of the pass (Alto Cusiri, 14,470 feet) I climbed a ridge to the northeast for one last view of the park. Already I felt a little bit of sadness, a certain nostalgia, at leaving the beautiful gem with its hidden wonders. Years would not be enough to know everything about that incredible place. Nonetheless, I filled my heart with beauty (and my stomach with food, as my water had finally thawed) and headed back toward civilization, yet a full morning's walk away.
There is so much more that I could say about the month I spent exploring Colombia, about the other things I did and the people I met, and there's even more I could say about the 5 days I spent on the trail in El Cocuy, but as I'm slightly tired of writing, and you surely tired of reading, I'll leave it where it is. I hope my narrative here didn't bore you too badly, and do look at the pictures, because they tell the story much more elegantly than I ever could.
As always, if you have comments, please leave them in the section below or feel free to send me an email.
Sincerely,
Alex
I arrived in Guican, a tiny town in the department Boyaca, after a 12 hour bus journey from Bogota that started 3 hours late. My bus driver thankfully guided me to a fine little hotel where I got a good night's sleep and a cold shower (virtually all showers in Colombia are cold) for 20,000 pesos (about $16). I rolled out late the next morning, about 7:30AM, in search of food and information. I found information first, stumbling upon the park office and paying my entry fee (13,500 pesos, about $10) as well as lining up 8:00AM transportation to the top of the road, a little sooner than I preferred, actually. I found a little restaurant where I ate a bowl of soup for breakfast, grabbed my pack from my room, and headed out. There was another American hanging around town trying to find a group to hike the trail with, and he split the cost of the taxi with me up to the trailhead, hoping he might have better luck there finding people going the same direction he was. Long story short, between Guican and Las Cabanas Kanwara (the trailhead) I agreed to let him come along the trail with me, and he turned out to be pretty good company. A 23 year old Philadelphian, he had a good attitude, a good pace, and his own food (very important).
The trail, sometimes called La travesia de El Cocuy or La vuelta de la Sierra El Cocuy, starts at about 4100 meters (almost 13,500 feet) and never comes down until you're headed back to town on the last day. We started up the road from Cabanas Kanwara, which turned into trail about an hour later, and an hour after that we were on top of the first pass of many, Alto de Cardenillo (14,300 feet). From the very first moment this trek offered spectacular views, but I never could have imagined what was in store. From Alto de Cardenillo we looked down on Laguna Grande de los Verdes and across to some of the most incredibly stressed granite I have ever seen. The mountains here look like they've been punched out of the ground from below, or ripped up by crowbars like you'd tear out an old hardwood floor. Billions of years worth of rock layers sit exposed, one next to another, pointing toward the sky at over 15,000 feet. Immense cliffs have boulders bigger than apartment buildings sitting precariously on their faces, and among it all the white faces of glaciers reflect the sun as they feed the streams and lakes dotting the valleys. Lukas (my new hiking partner) and I descended the north side of the pass to the lake and stopped early, sitting around in the sun and exploring the cliffs around us. I made camp about 300 feet up the hillside on top of a little cliff with a great view, and from there I marveled at the stars and the half moon while fighting off the cold of the night. My resistance didn't last long, I retired to my sleeping bag to dream away the night in an alpine paradise.
The moments before dawn, when the light of the sun is just starting to brighten the horizon, are always the coldest. I woke with the chill at about 5:00AM and wasted no time getting moving. I packed up and descended to Luke's camp, about 200 feet below mine, where I cooked up my morning tea before we started up the next pass, Alto de los Frailes (13,800 feet). Lukas had recovered from his altitude induced headache of the day before (a potentially lethal condition if the body doesn't adjust, as it can be the precursor of cerebral edema) and we made excellent time up the pass, topping the ridge to find the first sun of the new year shining strongly on our faces.
The awe of those first days at every new landscape never left us the entire trip. Every time we peeked over a new ridge, or even just turned to look behind us, the park offered up a new vista, a new perspective to contemplate, a new reason to just stop and breathe. We climbed a second pass that morning, Alto de la Sierra (15,341 feet), and descended to Lake Avellanal before noon. From Lake Avellanal, the normal route is to descend another 400 meters into La Valle de Los Cojines, but we studied the topo map and asked another pair of hikers what they knew about the area, and decided to abandon the trail. A wide plateau runs the length of the valley at 4400 meters, and we opted to traverse high rather than descend.
Our traverse started in a bit of a swamp, the most interesting bog I have ever seen. Los cojines (the cushions) are what I would like to describe as a "tuffet" (you know, Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet). They are these round, green, moss-like growths that look soft but are actually very firm. What was so interesting was that we found some pools of water about five feet deep, surrounded completely by these cushions, with a strange white algae covering everything in the water, and the water was PERFECTLY clear. It really was like looking at an excellently clean, white bottomed swimming pool (full of glacier cold water). We found a couple others where the water was a crazy turquoise, and we couldn't figure out why. Surely it has something to do with the algae, but exactly what is going on is totally unclear.
Anyway, we passed the bog and had easy walking among the frailejones for a while (I cannot describe this plant, it looks like it's from another planet) Eventually our luck ran out and we found ourselves slowly picking our way over a ridge of boulders, carefully placing each step and risking an ankle or broken leg at every move (it's the nature of walking across boulder fields). What seemed like hours we inched along those granite traps before, mentally exhausted, we found a little flat spot tucked in against the cliffs and made camp.
Camp that night made every boulder worth it. With glacier-capped crags behind us, La Valle de los Cojines below us, and another valley falling away to the plains just ahead, we seemed to have the whole world to ourselves. We gathered up some dry brush and fought off the evening chill with a 4400 meter high campfire.
I went to bed happy at about 7:30 and woke up cold at 5:30AM. The dew turned into a frost and my fingers felt the same as I packed up my camp and struggled to light my stove for a cup of tea and some warm cardboard (oatmeal). Regardless of the quality, or lack thereof, in the food, that was the most beautiful breakfast I have ever cooked. The sun burned its way from the plains thousands of meters below us and lit the glaciers behind us with a golden glow that reflected back and brightened our little ledge.
We bid farewell to the beauty of that moment and trekked on, sometimes moving easily along granite ridges and other times relegated to the careful tip-toeing along boulders that so strains the nerves and wearies the feet. We made the end of the valley mid-morning, climbing a ridge to look down on Laguna Rincon and the trail yet a kilometer away. The ridge we ascended we had to traverse, and it turned out to be a treacherous, packed sand knife edge. With the utmost care we made it across the most difficult parts of the ridge and descended into a scree field, the traverse of which turned out to be not much less difficult.
We did eventually gain the trail and were moving along well up the pass (Alto el Castillo, 15,000 feet) when we encountered a German or Swiss couple who appeared to have also chosen to stay high on the plateau, but had failed to descend to the trail at the crucial moment. Rather than turning back, I found the man contemplating a nearly impossible looking scramble with a very serious fall potential to gain the trail at elevation. The wife wasn't too keen on the plan to start with, but it took us half an hour to convince the husband that he needed to acknowledge the ridiculous risk and descend the ridge he was on until they could safely traverse to the trail. Deep in the backcountry, a two day walk from help, the man was willing to risk his life (and very likely lose it) for the sake of 45 minutes worth of difficult walking. We saw him again at the top of the pass an hour later, just as we were ready to head down the other side, and from his attitude you wouldn't have known anything ever even happened. He gave us a very friendly 3-minute geology lesson (which I actually found kind of interesting) and we bid him adieu.
From Alto el Castillo we descended to Laguna de Panuelo, crossing a landscape that made me think of the photos I've seen of Mars. The rocks were a copper red color mixed with black, the wind was blowing tremendously, and everything was dry. I have a lot more respect for those little rovers we keep sending to the red planet after walking through that valley.
We took a long lunch at the lake before ascending two other shorter, steeper passes that finally revealed an incredible view. The reds and blacks of iron and cobalt (I know from our German/Swiss geologist friend) that we had picked our way along all morning suddenly and drastically changed into huge slabs of granite - great, gray monoliths careening into the sky, separated from us by a lush green valley trekking away to the east. We set our sights on some small ponds the other side of the valley that seemed not too far away, and off we went again. As we descended, the oxidized cobalt shale turned to granite boulders (ugh, more granite boulders) beneath our feet. We passed under the shadow of the mountain to the west and climbed a boulder ridge, our weary feet and tired nerves expecting to see a gentle plateau heading up to our campsite. Instead, we discovered a steep descent over table sized granite rocks to the Rio Mortinal.
We must have passed an hour working our way to that crystal clear glacial river. By the time we got there I was finally feeling the day's mental and physical stresses, just as the walking promised to finally become relatively easy again. We continued on, but gave up our goal of the ponds almost the moment we found a flat spot on dry ground. We pitched an early, weary camp and gathered wood, what we could best compare to juniper, for a small campfire as the sun sank behind the peaks towering over us. I ate a modest meal and Lukas ate granola - turns out he has celiac disease. We just talked about nothing over that heartwarming little fire as the chill of dusk turned into the cold of a beautiful clear night, and by 8 o'clock I was drifting way in my sleeping bag with only the sound of my own breathing to whisper me to sleep.
The pre-dawn cold woke me and, eager to warm my bones (and especially my hands), I packed my frost covered tent and skipped my morning tea. I told Lukas I'd stop and wait for him when I could feel the sun on my face, and with that I was off. The morning always touches the mountains first, warming them in a bath of golden light long before turning its attention to the valleys, so rather than the sun coming to me, I walked 45 minutes to it. I passed our pond destination that we had failed to make the day before and rather went all the way to the north end of Laguna Grande de la Plaza. There, finally, I found the warmth of day coinciding with a beautiful mountain lake crowned by towers of rock. I huddled in a nook out of the wind, basking in the sun as I had my morning tea and waited for Lukas.
Here at last our feet encountered the unbroken slabs of granite that so inspired us the day before as we strolled along the east side of the lake. For an hour the going was easy, and then it stopped altogether.
To the southeast Laguna de la Plaza drains via a series of cascades into a valley so deep and long that it feels like it must go all the way to Venezuela. With the still young morning upon us, we stayed and stared in awe at the beauty of the land. Each of us with journal and pen in hand, we turned inward and, for at least an hour, a chill wind trying to rob us of the warmth of the sun, we sat apart and were conscious only to ourselves. I think, had clouds not finally blown up the valley, that I could have stared at the vastness of that landscape the entire day.
As it was, we eventually continued on a little farther to the designated camping area at the south point of the lake and spent a couple hours there just lounging in the sun and staring at the water and the mountains. Laguna Grande de la Plaza is essentially the last major feature on the circuit, and it made no sense to rush away. Early starts and long days plus a good general pace but us well ahead of our original schedule. We'd let our itinerary on the trail be dictated by the words, "well, we'll see," and had arrived at the Laguna a full day before we really needed to. With plenty of food and no plans, we were free to do whatever we wanted.
We sat around until 1 o'clock or so, finally moving on and climbing a little pass (Alto de Patio Bolas, 14,370 feet), then making a long descent among the frailejones to the bottom of Alto Cusiri, the last high point of the trek. I wanted to continue over Cusiri and camp at a pair of lakes on the other side, but, weary of feet and unready to leave the paradise of the park, Lukas wanted to camp in our little valley. I conceded, and we set up an early camp, the warm sun still shining down from overhead as we searched out clear flat ground.
That night got colder than any other had, freezing the water in my Nalgene and the hose of my CamelBak, so by necessity I again forewent my morning tea and started the trail in the predawn, climbing toward the sun and the warmth it promised.
From the top of the pass (Alto Cusiri, 14,470 feet) I climbed a ridge to the northeast for one last view of the park. Already I felt a little bit of sadness, a certain nostalgia, at leaving the beautiful gem with its hidden wonders. Years would not be enough to know everything about that incredible place. Nonetheless, I filled my heart with beauty (and my stomach with food, as my water had finally thawed) and headed back toward civilization, yet a full morning's walk away.
There is so much more that I could say about the month I spent exploring Colombia, about the other things I did and the people I met, and there's even more I could say about the 5 days I spent on the trail in El Cocuy, but as I'm slightly tired of writing, and you surely tired of reading, I'll leave it where it is. I hope my narrative here didn't bore you too badly, and do look at the pictures, because they tell the story much more elegantly than I ever could.
As always, if you have comments, please leave them in the section below or feel free to send me an email.
Sincerely,
Alex
Thursday, December 20, 2012
A special thank you
I have to take a moment to give a special thank you. A lot of very generous people responded to my last post by donating to my effort to attend the Lasallian Volunteers midyear retreat. As of yesterday, my flights are booked! It´s going to take 4 different itineraries to get to Albany and back, and 3 layovers each way, for a round trip total of more than 30 hours of travel, but it will be absolutely worth it. To the many of you who made this possible, THANK YOU. Really, truly, sincerely, thank you. I was honestly very worried that I wouldn´t be able to go, but the response of my friends and family has been incredible. Besides the donations, I also received some very thoughtful and encouraging words from you, and for those of you reading this now, know that it means a lot to me just to think that you´re taking the time to follow what´s going on in my life, let alone that you might concern yourself enough to write me an e-mail. It´s easy to feel alone in the world, and it can be hard to reach out and help somebody feel connected. Thank you for reaching out to me.
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas (or, if you don´t celebrate Christmas, a wonderful few days off work, at least), and a happy New Year, assuming of course that the world doesn´t end tomorrow.
Alex
I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas (or, if you don´t celebrate Christmas, a wonderful few days off work, at least), and a happy New Year, assuming of course that the world doesn´t end tomorrow.
Alex
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Reflecting on a semester past
Well, dear readers, the semester is
over. I arrived at UtopÃa under a new moon, and have marked the passing months by its
wax and wane. The semester finished
under its determined gaze, and we now move forward into the break guided again by only the light of the stars. This seems as
good a time as any, and in fact better than most, to reflect on these first
three months.
To begin with, I can hardly believe the
semester is already over. It feels like
this should be just a weekend, and all the students will be here again on
Monday to continue this routine we have.
The passage of time is difficult to mark here, especially without the
usual coming of fall, the quick change into winter, and the expectation of snow. We are just about to begin the Colombia
summer, and every day feels a little more like what I expect from August. But instead, everyone has left for a full
month to recuperate, to work, and to do what they do. I won’t see them again until January. As for reflecting on the past, though…
Teaching English in Colombia is a
challenge, no doubt about it, and especially in this program. Students are up at 5:30 in the morning for
“productive practice,” where they work in the field until breakfast. With another 4 to 6 hours of class in a day,
they’ve put in a full time week before they even start their homework, which
they dedicate themselves to with some gusto.
Most are headed for bed by ten o’clock, and almost all are asleep by
twelve. The most common phrase I hear in
class is, “teacher, tengo sueño,” that is, “I’m tired,” and they usually they
say it in a tone of voice that implies, “I’m exhausted and about to fall asleep
on my desk.” Add to this the fact that English is, though
required, considered extracurricular, and it won’t come as a huge surprise that
frequently my question, “Did you do the homework?” is met by noncommittal looks
and excuses.
I certainly don’t blame my students for not
doing their English homework, and I sympathize with their situation. What I meant when I said that English is
required but extracurricular is that students of Universidad de La Salle are
required to demonstrate an intermediate English level in order to graduate, but
the University doesn’t require that they take their language courses
internally. If they do choose to study
English here, their grades in the language don’t affect their GPA, so of course
if they have to choose between their biochemistry homework and their English
homework that doesn’t affect their overall grades, they’re going to choose
biochemistry. Llike I said, it doesn’t
upset or offend me, however it does make teaching difficult. There was one particular day when not a
single person in a class of 23 had even attempted the homework. Unfortunately for all, test grades reflected
out of class prep time. Of my 112
students, 51 did not pass the course, and of the 61 who did pass, the vast
majority did so with a D or a C. The
number of As and Bs could be counted on two hands.
Going forward, it is unclear what this
means. The students (and their classes)
are organized into six blocks – 2 groups of first year students, 2 groups of
second years, and 2 groups of third years.
With some from every group passing and some failing, we don’t know how
we can arrange the schedule for next semester.
I certainly don’t have the ability to spend 48 hours a week in
instruction. We’re waiting to find out
if we might receive an assistant language teacher from Bogotá for the next
semester, but there is not yet any concrete evidence that will happen, and I
don’t have a lot of hope. But, well,
we’ll see.
This semester was difficult on a personal
level, too. People here ask me all the
time if I miss my family and friends, and I always tell them that I’ve lived
away from home for a long time already and this isn’t a big deal. That isn’t completely true, though. When I was teaching in New Zealand
(June-August, 2009) I was living in a “community” of Brothers (all of two
people that I hardly ever saw) and working in a school where I was closer in
age to the students than the teachers. I
had no transportation, no friends, and a lot of free time to sit around with my
thoughts for company. I found ways to
occupy myself, and I wrote A LOT in a journal I had to submit for my course at
Saint Mary’s. I didn’t realize how
difficult that experience really was until the end of the course, when my
instructor (who will read this blog post) commented on how appreciably
estranged I was from any significant social interaction. I think it didn’t bother me at the time
because I was happy in my work and because I knew I was only there for three
months. In a short time, I would go back
to my friends and community at Saint Mary’s feeling that much better about life
for having taken the time to both give and receive. Evaluating my Colombia experience to date in
light of that experience, there are some parallels, and some things that are
even more difficult.
Colombia is the same in that I am somewhat
estranged here, too. I am friendly with
my co-workers and my students, but between my natural reticence and the
significant linguistic and cultural barriers, I have found it very difficult to
foster meaningful relationships. I hold
all my thoughts in my head, saying them only to myself, not necessarily because
I lack anyone else to say them to, but because I lack the words to say
them. Add that I tend to be a relatively
reserved person to begin with and I think it´s clear why life here has been
socially difficult.
I also feel sometimes as though I lack
freedom. UtopÃa is about 6 miles up a pretty terrible road, and
opportunities to get into town are few and far between… not that there’s a lot
I need to do in Yopal, but it would be nice to have the option. Unfortunately, my days off this semester were
Friday and Sunday. Friday ended up being
my planning day since there wouldn´t be any way for me to get back from Yopal
before class Saturday, and there´s no pointing going on Sunday because everything
is closed. So, in the end, I mostly just
never left campus, and that starts to feel a little confining after a while.
Lastly, it´s often difficult to stay
motivated when so many of my students don´t seem interested/willing to do the
work. I have one class, especially, that
I have to mentally prepare myself for before I could go. This particular group of students never does the
homework, resists any efforts toward having a focused or productive class, and is
generally poorly enough behaved (and yes, we´re talking about university
students) that I´m tempted on occasion to tell them all to just leave. In our second to last class, I finally did
tell them that anybody who didn´t want to come to the last class before the
exam didn´t have to. I was not surprised
when only five showed up for that session.
I was also not surprised when four of those students were four of the
five in that entire group to pass the course.
What´s so difficult about it is that my students all recognize the
importance of learning English for their professional futures, they will
happily expound on the many benefits it will provide them, and they all say
they want to learn it, but they resist so stoically my attempts to teach it to
them. Staying motivated, feeling satisfied in the
work, is incredibly difficult some days.
In the midst of all this whining, I do have
some good news. The Lasallian Volunteers
(most of you will remember that I worked with them the last two years) have
invited me to join them in New York this January for their mid-year
retreat. It´s a long way to go for a 3
day retreat, but it will be absolutely worth it. The LVs are an inspiring group of people and,
in the midst of the many difficulties, time with them always reminds me of the
grand purpose this Lasallian mission has worked toward for more than 300 years,
namely changing the world through education.
Sharing with them, hearing their stories and telling mine, never fails
to revitalize my spirit and prepare me for the work ahead. Saint John Baptist de La Salle knew how
important community is, it´s why his teachers lived together and it led to
their first heroic vow. Recognizing the
power of this community, I am super excited to have the opportunity to share
time with them.
Of course, as with all things, this won´t
be easy, and I have a selfish request to make of you. You see, the flight from Colombia to New York
and back is not exactly cheap, and volunteering doesn´t really pay well. I am hoping those of you who read this blog
might be willing to help me out? I
wouldn´t ask if I could afford to do it on my own, but I´m afraid the funds
just aren´t there. Would you be willing
to donate to my mental and spiritual well-being? If so, you can send a donation (please make any check out to ´´Christian Brother´s Conference´´) to:
Attn:
LVs/Alex Branch
Hecker
Center, Suite 300
3025
Fourth Street, NE
Washington,
DC 20017
So, I hope this blog finds all of you well,
that you are getting into the festive spirit of the holidays and looking
forward to a brief rest from the usual routine.
As always, please feel free to comment or send me an email.
Alex
Friday, November 2, 2012
Something a little different
"I'm feeling super lazy today, which is like normal lazy, but I'm wearing a cape." Facebook is good for some things - occasionally humor is one of them.
... this conversation is maybe a way to show people how strongly we feel about the treatment of women, and to let them know that we'll put a stop to this when we see it. If we're lucky, it's also maybe a way to convince a few people to stop and think a moment about their actions and how they affect the community around them, to stop themselves before someone else has to step in.
Hatred toward women isn't limited to the kayaking community, but that doesn't mean we should tolerate it here. (And let me be clear, "tolerate" means "don't say anything" means "leave them alone.")
... When behavior like that is normalized it affects everybody. It takes power away from victims and puts it in the hands of abusers, and it warps the minds of young people growing up in a culture where they can't be sure what's appropriate and what isn't.
I don't think we should give these guys a break. I don't think we should give anybody a break when it comes to the disrespect of others. That doesn't mean we need to call their sponsors and demand they get dropped, but it does mean we need to have conversations with them about what's appropriate and what isn't.
Today's blog is going to be a little different. I mostly just use this forum to say what I've been up to, and I generally try not to be too touch-feely, philosophical, or current. I'm leaving my reticence at the door.
I've been in a half-funk lately. Not a true funk, because I feel fine. In fact, I didn't know I was in a funk of any kind until sometime around ... this morning. Then I just kind of had this realization that I haven't really been DOING anything. Writing lessons, teaching, hanging around, and not really anything more. My life as of recent has been lacking intention. Since he's over-quoted, I'll go ahead and leave Plato out of this, but let me just say that I've been failing to examine myself, and I only realized it today. Why today? I'm not sure. It probably had something to do with drinking coffee before bed last night.
So, my resolutions as of this morning:
1. I'm going to get up earlier. I usually wake up between 7:00 and 8:00, any given day but Monday (when I have a 7:00 AM faculty meeting). Well, 7:00 AM is late in Utopia. Students have productive practice (field work) starting at 5:30 AM every day but Sunday (no wonder they're always tired). I'm not aiming for 5:30 everyday, mostly because I'm not even aware of having a body at that hour, but I'm thinking I need to roll back my clock to sometime between 6:00 and 6:30. It's time to get a little more out of my day.
2. But what ever will I do with all this extra time? Stop being a louse and get some exercise. I play micro-football with the students here on occasion, but not enough to qualify it as regular exercise. I can feel my body atrophying from lack of physical exertion. So, push-ups, sit-ups, maybe pull-ups if I can rig something in my room. Some early morning stretching, maybe? It's time to get health care into my routine as something more than a political talking point.
3. Spanish. Talking to people in Spanish, in my mind at least, does not qualify as practicing Spanish. Conversations with students are like competing in a soccer match. That's performance time. Practice happens away from that environment. It involves intentional study of forms and vocabulary, pronunciation and interpretation. I've been studying a bit since I came, but not enough. Hence, I'm dedicating at least 30 minutes, 3x/week to the actual study of Spanish.
And that's that. After all, I have to save some things for New Year's, right?
Now another thing completely out of the ordinary for this blog. I want to touch a little bit on a subject that some may consider sensitive. If I say anything in the following paragraphs that you find offensive, please know that is not my intention. If I say something you find provocative, please feel free to email me or to comment on this post.
I follow a couple of online whitewater forums, just to keep a bead on the industry and to paddle vicariously through other people who have access to boats and rivers, since that isn't part of my life right now. On one of the forums, the issue of how women are treated in our niche community came up. "Balls Deep Productions" (BDP) is a group of young Montana paddlers who are absolutely killing it on the river. They made a kayaking movie, "Pleasure Strokes" that turned out to not only be about kayaking. It included some scenes taken at house parties that glorified potentially dangerous alcohol abuse and, especially, mistreatment of women. Somebody took the time to ask how we all felt about it (as well as some VERY incendiary comments made on facebook by BDP) and the wall blew up. Over 200 replies to the thread, more than 45,000 views, responses from major companies in the industry, including a kayaking/traveling high school, some paddlers maybe losing their sponsors, and the conversation continues. I'm bringing the conversation to my blog because, as I and others pointed out, the issue is bigger than the niche community of paddlers. It's part of our larger culture, and it needs to be addressed. So.
What follows is a post I made on this message board. It refers to the conversation taking place there at the time, but in a way I think is broad enough for readers here to understand without additional context and to apply in the broader culture of the United States. Without further ado...
"What are you guys about to go do?"
(holding a shotgun) "Shoot some b*tches."
-"Pleasure Strokes" by BDP
There seem to be two main defenses of this kind of behavior going around.
The first is that it isn't serious, that it's all a big joke for the sake of entertainment, and that that makes it OK. I have to disagree with this defense for several reasons. First, your entertainment is not worth somebody else's dignity. Statements and actions like those portrayed here are affronts to the humanity of the people on the other end. Their intent is to amuse, but to amuse yourself at the expense of somebody else is to declare your narcissism to the world. Some argue that these things are happening between friends, and that that makes it OK, but when "jokes" like these are published to an international forum, the joke is no longer between friends.
Which brings me to the second defense, that if we don't like it, we don't have to watch it. That's true, of course. We don't have to watch it. The argument forgets, however, that we do have to live in the climate it creates - a climate where violence against women is normalized. Katie Dean posted about being a young woman in the kayaking community, and that because she was strong and knew how to take care of herself the boys knew what line not to cross with her. What I'm asking is, should she have had to? The culture as it stands now puts the onus on the victim to stand up for him/herself, but shouldn't the onus be on the other person not to victimize the people around him? This same culture is the one that believes in the "Did you see what she was wearing? She was asking for it." defense of sexual assault. Degradation is not the fault of the victim, it is the fault of the perpetrator. The boys at BDP might not think of themselves as sexist, but their behavior says otherwise, and the only thing accomplished by publishing such behavior in a public forum is to declare it normal and appropriate.
To illustrate the point of normalcy, try this experiment. In the BDP quote that starts this thread, try replacing "b*tch" with "n*gger." There was a time in history where culture allowed such a statement to be normal, and it was a time when black people were hated for nothing other than their skin color (let's be honest, many people still have this problem). Now is that epoch for women, when hatred for hatred's sake is scapegoated on the excuse of sex. History will shed light on the ignorance of our times, it will honor people like Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues) the way it already honors Martin Luther King Jr. We don't have to wait for history, though. Culture is the name we give to collective norms, and we can change those collective norms by vocalizing our desire to. Every person has this responsibility personally, and the louder your voice, the greater your responsibility.
BDP, I don't have an online video with more than 7,000 views. You do. Use the power of your voice to make the world better, not to perpetuate the violence and hatred we already have too much of.
(holding a shotgun) "Shoot some b*tches."
-"Pleasure Strokes" by BDP
There seem to be two main defenses of this kind of behavior going around.
The first is that it isn't serious, that it's all a big joke for the sake of entertainment, and that that makes it OK. I have to disagree with this defense for several reasons. First, your entertainment is not worth somebody else's dignity. Statements and actions like those portrayed here are affronts to the humanity of the people on the other end. Their intent is to amuse, but to amuse yourself at the expense of somebody else is to declare your narcissism to the world. Some argue that these things are happening between friends, and that that makes it OK, but when "jokes" like these are published to an international forum, the joke is no longer between friends.
Which brings me to the second defense, that if we don't like it, we don't have to watch it. That's true, of course. We don't have to watch it. The argument forgets, however, that we do have to live in the climate it creates - a climate where violence against women is normalized. Katie Dean posted about being a young woman in the kayaking community, and that because she was strong and knew how to take care of herself the boys knew what line not to cross with her. What I'm asking is, should she have had to? The culture as it stands now puts the onus on the victim to stand up for him/herself, but shouldn't the onus be on the other person not to victimize the people around him? This same culture is the one that believes in the "Did you see what she was wearing? She was asking for it." defense of sexual assault. Degradation is not the fault of the victim, it is the fault of the perpetrator. The boys at BDP might not think of themselves as sexist, but their behavior says otherwise, and the only thing accomplished by publishing such behavior in a public forum is to declare it normal and appropriate.
To illustrate the point of normalcy, try this experiment. In the BDP quote that starts this thread, try replacing "b*tch" with "n*gger." There was a time in history where culture allowed such a statement to be normal, and it was a time when black people were hated for nothing other than their skin color (let's be honest, many people still have this problem). Now is that epoch for women, when hatred for hatred's sake is scapegoated on the excuse of sex. History will shed light on the ignorance of our times, it will honor people like Eve Ensler (Vagina Monologues) the way it already honors Martin Luther King Jr. We don't have to wait for history, though. Culture is the name we give to collective norms, and we can change those collective norms by vocalizing our desire to. Every person has this responsibility personally, and the louder your voice, the greater your responsibility.
BDP, I don't have an online video with more than 7,000 views. You do. Use the power of your voice to make the world better, not to perpetuate the violence and hatred we already have too much of.
And this, highlights from a post I made on my other message board (where I introduced the topic):
... What I'm interested in, the whole reason I brought this up here, is the attitude of the kayaking community toward this kind of behavior.
... this conversation is maybe a way to show people how strongly we feel about the treatment of women, and to let them know that we'll put a stop to this when we see it. If we're lucky, it's also maybe a way to convince a few people to stop and think a moment about their actions and how they affect the community around them, to stop themselves before someone else has to step in.
Hatred toward women isn't limited to the kayaking community, but that doesn't mean we should tolerate it here. (And let me be clear, "tolerate" means "don't say anything" means "leave them alone.")
... When behavior like that is normalized it affects everybody. It takes power away from victims and puts it in the hands of abusers, and it warps the minds of young people growing up in a culture where they can't be sure what's appropriate and what isn't.
I don't think we should give these guys a break. I don't think we should give anybody a break when it comes to the disrespect of others. That doesn't mean we need to call their sponsors and demand they get dropped, but it does mean we need to have conversations with them about what's appropriate and what isn't.
So, if you managed to make it through all that, I applaud and thank you. This post turned out to be pretty long, and very different from what I usually talk about. As always, please feel free to send me an email or post in the comments. I look forward to hearing from you.
Alex
P.S. Since this was a pretty serious post, I'm going to leave you with a picture of cute baby animals (this is actually copied and pasted from the first Google search result of "cute baby animals." I chose the tiger because they're FIERCE!)
Monday, October 1, 2012
Flexible
Working in Colombia is slowly redefining how I think of flexibility. It's pretty incredible how inconsistent things are around here. Indeed, the only things that seem particularly consistent are the kitchen on campus and the inconsistency of everything else. In particular, there hasn't been a week since I arrived here when at least one of my classes hasn't had to be rescheduled. Every week there's some sort of special seminar, or extra-curricular classes, or a field trip, or a building dedication (ok, that only happened once), or something else that makes it so I have to juggle classes. I feel silly writing how frustrating this can be, but honestly, this can be really frustrating. Between the students' busy schedule and mine, the only time to reschedule those classes ends up being at night or on Sunday. I end up teaching 7 days a week, or finding out half an hour before class that I suddenly have that day off. It's very different from my college experience, for sure, when if a class was cancelled for any reason, that was pretty much it, because getting everybody in the same place outside the regular time was like trying to catch all the mice in a hay field. Here, the students all live on campus, they all have the same class schedule (within a given group - there are 6 groups), and they all eat at the same place at the same time. Rescheduling a class can sometimes be as easy as standing in the dining hall and shouting the new class time. The students grumble (as do I, in my head) but they all show up, and that's that.
I'm glad I'm a volunteer, because if I was getting paid, I'm not sure it would be enough.
I'm glad I'm a volunteer, because if I was getting paid, I'm not sure it would be enough.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Teaching and spiders
I've been somewhat reticent as of late, regarding this blog. I swear, it's only partially my fault. For about two weeks we haven't had any internet access. That, and I also started teaching 3 weeks ago, which has kept me more than a little occupied. In fact, that's exactly what I want to write about today.
This is not the first time I've taught. I taught math in New Zealand, I taught "life" in New York, now I'm teaching English in Colombia. In truth, it's not a whole lot different, except that right now I have 6 classes of English level 1, almost 120 students, and an actual amount of information I'm responsible for conveying to those students. It keeps me on my toes, to say the least.
I enjoy the endeavor. Time in the classroom seems to disappear. One moment I'm checking attendance, the next I'm welcoming a new group of students and wondering how two hours have already passed. I feel a little crazy, in truth, like I'm living in the twilight zone. Twenty minutes pass for me, and two hours (well, I hope it's only two) for everybody else.
This side of the classroom is very different. We've had three weeks of class, and there are about ten remaining. My feeling, we've ALREADY had THREE WEEKS of class? And there is ONLY TEN LEFT??? I used to sit on the other side of the room and wonder how there could possibly still be ten weeks left of class. The semester seemed interminable. Now I find myself presenting material at what feels like breakneck speed to make sure everything gets done, and I wonder at the idea that we will somehow fit it all in. An interesting perspective, this side of the classroom.
Aside from the classroom, I find my Spanish progressing a little here and there, though certainly not in leaps and bounds. I understand more now than I did when I first arrived, but it doesn't always feel that way. Indeed, I hadn't really thought I understood more at all, until somebody I knew from Bogota happened to be in Yopal the other day. I realized how much easier our conversation is here than it had been there. Progress, but slow.
This place continues to enchant me, as well. The sky is different from what I'm used to, but beautiful all the same. There is no North Star, and I haven't been able to spot the Big Dipper, but Vega is still easy to find and Orion makes his appearance every night, albeit in a place I'm not used to looking. This place is very dark when the lights are off, and the stardust scattered across the sky reminds me of Montana.
Last weekend Brother MartÃn took me for a ride around the farm on horseback. It was blazing hot, but very interesting. The students here study agronomical engineering, so the fields are small, practical application laboratories. Most of the farm, however, is not tended by the students. Rather, very little is cultivated at all. The area is wild and used as range for the cattle kept here and tended by ranchers employed by the University. Jungle, meadow, streams and swamps govern an area roamed by free range stock. At one point we came across a small herd of horses that clearly weren't wild, but which I don't guess feel a saddle very often. They came to greet us, but kept a healthy distance, as well.
One thing I'm struggling with a little here is bugs. Spiders and mosquitoes, in particular, but occasionally others as well. To try to keep the number of mosquitoes in my room to a minimum I've made a point of not killing spiders - the web-making kind, anyway, and that's all fine and well. But.
Yesterday morning my foot had the unfortunate experience of finding a different kind of spider in my shoe. With it's legs spread out, it barely would have fit in the palm of my hand, and it clearly doesn't make webs. I didn't know what it was, at first, but it didn't belong in my shoe. I took my foot out (before I ever even got the shoe all the way on) and shook it upside down. Well, I saw something come out, but couldn't tell what it was. Then I looked all around and couldn't find it, so I figured it probably had been a large spider and had run away. Well, I was half right. Often one to learn practical lessons a little slower than I ought, I proceeded to put my shoes on. My left foot then encountered the same spider, because as soon as it hit the ground, without my even getting a look at it, it managed to flee INTO MY OTHER SHOE! Well, eventually that problem got taken care of, but this morning I found the exact same variety of spider clinging to my shower curtain. I haven't motivated myself to study for the GRE yet, but I have at least made good use of the book.
Anyway, I have plenty more to write, as always, but think that's probably enough for the moment. I need to finish writing some exams.
Feel free to leave comments or send me an e-mail.
Alex
This is not the first time I've taught. I taught math in New Zealand, I taught "life" in New York, now I'm teaching English in Colombia. In truth, it's not a whole lot different, except that right now I have 6 classes of English level 1, almost 120 students, and an actual amount of information I'm responsible for conveying to those students. It keeps me on my toes, to say the least.
I enjoy the endeavor. Time in the classroom seems to disappear. One moment I'm checking attendance, the next I'm welcoming a new group of students and wondering how two hours have already passed. I feel a little crazy, in truth, like I'm living in the twilight zone. Twenty minutes pass for me, and two hours (well, I hope it's only two) for everybody else.
This side of the classroom is very different. We've had three weeks of class, and there are about ten remaining. My feeling, we've ALREADY had THREE WEEKS of class? And there is ONLY TEN LEFT??? I used to sit on the other side of the room and wonder how there could possibly still be ten weeks left of class. The semester seemed interminable. Now I find myself presenting material at what feels like breakneck speed to make sure everything gets done, and I wonder at the idea that we will somehow fit it all in. An interesting perspective, this side of the classroom.
Aside from the classroom, I find my Spanish progressing a little here and there, though certainly not in leaps and bounds. I understand more now than I did when I first arrived, but it doesn't always feel that way. Indeed, I hadn't really thought I understood more at all, until somebody I knew from Bogota happened to be in Yopal the other day. I realized how much easier our conversation is here than it had been there. Progress, but slow.
This place continues to enchant me, as well. The sky is different from what I'm used to, but beautiful all the same. There is no North Star, and I haven't been able to spot the Big Dipper, but Vega is still easy to find and Orion makes his appearance every night, albeit in a place I'm not used to looking. This place is very dark when the lights are off, and the stardust scattered across the sky reminds me of Montana.
Last weekend Brother MartÃn took me for a ride around the farm on horseback. It was blazing hot, but very interesting. The students here study agronomical engineering, so the fields are small, practical application laboratories. Most of the farm, however, is not tended by the students. Rather, very little is cultivated at all. The area is wild and used as range for the cattle kept here and tended by ranchers employed by the University. Jungle, meadow, streams and swamps govern an area roamed by free range stock. At one point we came across a small herd of horses that clearly weren't wild, but which I don't guess feel a saddle very often. They came to greet us, but kept a healthy distance, as well.
One thing I'm struggling with a little here is bugs. Spiders and mosquitoes, in particular, but occasionally others as well. To try to keep the number of mosquitoes in my room to a minimum I've made a point of not killing spiders - the web-making kind, anyway, and that's all fine and well. But.
Yesterday morning my foot had the unfortunate experience of finding a different kind of spider in my shoe. With it's legs spread out, it barely would have fit in the palm of my hand, and it clearly doesn't make webs. I didn't know what it was, at first, but it didn't belong in my shoe. I took my foot out (before I ever even got the shoe all the way on) and shook it upside down. Well, I saw something come out, but couldn't tell what it was. Then I looked all around and couldn't find it, so I figured it probably had been a large spider and had run away. Well, I was half right. Often one to learn practical lessons a little slower than I ought, I proceeded to put my shoes on. My left foot then encountered the same spider, because as soon as it hit the ground, without my even getting a look at it, it managed to flee INTO MY OTHER SHOE! Well, eventually that problem got taken care of, but this morning I found the exact same variety of spider clinging to my shower curtain. I haven't motivated myself to study for the GRE yet, but I have at least made good use of the book.
Anyway, I have plenty more to write, as always, but think that's probably enough for the moment. I need to finish writing some exams.
Feel free to leave comments or send me an e-mail.
Alex
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