Marshmallows Roasting on an Open Volcano...Live Turkeys Nipping at My Nose...

Greetings constant reader. This update comes not from my fingers, but from my long-lost 2nd cousin twice removed and once under the table Brett, who is coincidentally working down here in Honduras as well. I believe you will enjoy his witty banter and sarcastic voice. This is really just a ripped-off update email he is sending out to his "fans." But since I am lazy and he's actually a professional righter, I suspect you will enjoy. Here goes...



This one will be a long one, so settle in…or just hit the delete key now!

Sitting here in Copan Ruinas at the tail end of a weeklong vacation in Antigua, Guatemala. Lots of good food, coffee, bunsburying around, reading Steinbeck, and relaxation. Also lots of talking like ridiculous German tourists (“Vass?Fire sale on short pants!?”). All in all a wonderful trip, and a much needed break. It only took us just 16 short hours of riding on various buses to get to Guatemala. I have now increased my PR in the “holding pee in” event to 4.5 straight hours. In related news, I am now most likely sterile.

Lots of stories to tell, but I think I’ll start with the one where we roasted marshmallows with lava on the side of an active volcano. Yes, you read that right…that’s marshmallows cooked with MOLTEN ROCK FROM THE CENTER OF THE EARTH.

It goes a little like this:

We were told to take the “sunset tour” of the volcano, called Pacaya – one of 37 in Guatemala. Left on a “buscito” at 2:00 in the afternoon. Got to the volcano and bought walking sticks from waiting mob of stick-wielding children. Child salesgirl (Claudia) sold me a total lemon of a stick, weighing in at approximately sixteen pounds bone dry. Ben got “walking stick lite” and was much better off in that department. When I tried to speak to Claudia about my stick at the end of the trip, the customer service part of her brain must have been closed for the day, because she just looked at me like I was speaking jibberish. Perhaps I was.


We were headed to the top of this volcano

To make a long story short, the hike up the volcano got a bit difficult at the end, especially with the crazy 30+ mph winds that started up. I had tied my borrowed sweatshirt around my neck country-club style, which meant that I spent a large portion of the hike climbing blind while the sweatshirt repeatedly wrapped itself around my head.

By the time I got to the top, I was exhausted and a little encachimbado (grumpy) but the minute I saw the lava that all disappeared. Or, I should say, “the minute I felt my feet burning through my shoes and realized I was standing on the crust of semi-molten rock, things got a little more exciting. Also, remember the gale-force wind, constantly threatening to blow us all into the glowing red rocks of scalding, scalding, limb-melting pain and/or certain death in the river of flowing lava.

But before we get to the lava…a little context:

Our cast of characters for this little sojourn included an Italian-born racing-boat builder currently riding his motorcycle from Washington state to the southern tip of Chile, Norwegian girl named Mira (or “Look!” in Spanish) Taiwanese tourist/volunteer and “man-boy”-extraordinaire (looked 18, claimed he was 28) who was traveling around Latin America, one tourist who I will call “Frumpy McGirl” because I never caught her name and she was, two European tourists, possibly German/Austrian, and old goofy dentist man (with straw hat, which blew off and disappeared down the mountain but was recovered by a small child sometime later). Also our guide, who spoke so painfully slow in Spanish for the benefit of non Spanish-speaking tourists that it became difficult to understand her after the initial welcome.

Ikke fal ned fra vulkanen!

So we get to the top of our hike. Not the top of the volcano (remember, it’s active), just part of the way up. At this point, we are definitely standing on a volcano. The “path” that we are walking on is kind of like the Guatemalan Volcano version of those “Choose your own adventure” books: you choose to step on that piece of lava rock to your right and risk certain death, turn to page 122…you choose to follow the dog that has miraculously appeared at your side and hope for the best, turn to page 134. True story, a small dog followed us all the way up. We have the video to prove it. A few of the crusty parts of said “path” broke a bit when I stepped on them, causing a moment of sheer terror. This might seem fortunate, but it meant that my leg-meat survived long enough to become a happy home for a roving band of scabies. More on that later…

So then there was the REAL lava. About twenty yards past where we first started seeing (read: narrowly avoiding) glowing lava rocks is a river of lava. We stood about six feet from it, or as close as we could stand because of the intense heat. I kept my hood up so my hair wouldn’t catch fire. You’ll see from the photo.


Photos of REAL Lava

For the main event, we found a hole down to some glowing hot lava rocks underneath where we were standing and roasted marshmallows. Delicious. Best damn marshmallow I’ve ever had. Hands down.

Marshmallavariffic!

One thing that was not said by anyone in our group (but should have been) was, “Now I know what God feels like when he roasts marshmallows.” That’s how it felt to me. (also, name that quote for all you Simpson’s fans.)

Then we “skied” down the side of the volcano by jumping at the top and then using the deep lava rock sand to ski.

So to summarize, I can now add to my life-resume that I have roasted marshmallows on lava and “skied” down a portion of a volcano. When we got to a restaurant to have nachos and beers afterwards, Asian Man-boy asked, “Did anyone else realize that was INCREDIBLY, INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS?” Touché, Man-boy. Touché.




Part II:

Lots of bus riding, a night in Copan, then met up with the Wyoming nursing student brigade in San Pedro and caught a ride with them to Concepcion. On the way, Alex and I got to spend a short time riding on top of the brigade bus. That’s definitely the way to travel around here, especially on the bad roads – laying up top in the sun, plenty of space, luggage for a pillow. Alex and I both fell asleep until a large bunch of tree leaves hit Alex in the head and made a bunch of noise. Some power lines came a little too close for comfort to my face, but other than that it seemed perfectly safe. Or at least as safe as lying on the top of a bus is, even with bars to keep you from falling off the side.

The brigade from Wyoming was a really fun group, and we ended the trip at Zona 504 karaoke bar in El Progreso. It only took 3 songs before they took the mic away from us. They never gave it back to us, though they sarcastically promised they would. The bus ride in to San Pedro to see the brigade off and then return here to Santa Lucia puts the total bus riding that I’ve done recently at 45 hours in two weeks. Bus riding after multiple tequila shots = bad, bad, vomit-inducing idea.

I spent most of the brigade translating for doctors doing patient consults, including an adorable 10 year-old girl named Paola with a severe heart murmur (I’m told it was a 6/6 intensity/loudness by the docs). The mother, when we got her into the clinic, said her child had been placed on a World Vision waiting list but was not sure if she was still on it, as they had not contacted her for some time and had told her there were worse cases that would get preference. Her daughter had apparently stolen and then burned the results of her tests in La Esperanza after she found out they meant she’d need surgery, so the specifics of what she has I do not know. I am not sure what we can – or should – do, but am currently trying to figure that out. If you have any ideas, or know a good cardiothoracic surgeon, let me know and I’ll keep you posted on progress…

Other brigade highlights include: 1) thinking we had lost one brigade member for two hours or so in Colomarigua 2) getting the truck stuck – I thought the axle had bent enough that we wouldn’t drive out of it – in a ditch for 45 minutes (we were finally wedged out by a group of Honduran men, women and children wielding fence-posts), and 3) bedbug infestation of various mattresses. When I say “highlights” here I mean, “potential disasters.”

Also, I may or may not have scabies. Really, I may or may not have had scabies. I hope that whatever I had they’re gone now, after 3 permethrin treatments and one night of doing laundry with boiling water in an industrial sized garbage can, which I called “Sopa de Ropa” (clothes soup) stirred with a mop handle. See below.


If anyone out there has had scabies or the like, I feel your pain…your itchy, itchy burning pain. If not, imagine the itchiest thing that you can, then multiply it by a thousand millions. Luckily mine were only below the knee. And luckily we have pictures of the laundry process. Maria the cook thinks that the fact that I had scabies is endlessly funny…especially since my nickname “Bobicho” (we finally figured out this was from Selena trying to say “Vos, Bicho” – “you, boy”) includes a slang word for “parasite” in it.

Today, Maria, Ben, and I are going to buy our Thanksgiving Turkey. When we asked Maria if she could help us find one, her response was: “Sure, but Bobicho’s catching it.” We’ll see how that goes. Then you’ll see how that goes, because we’re going to film it.

The Moment of Death

Aftermath

Don't play with your food!


I’m sure there are a thousand more things I wanted to put in here, since it’s been a while since my last update…which I end up saying every time. But I’ll try to remember for next time!

Hope all is well! Enjoy the cold weather, suckers! It’s a balmy 90 degrees and sunny here!!! But come to think of it, my legs are starting to itch again, so I guess it all balances out…

Love,

Brett

"Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooool!!!!!"

A few weeks back, a group of us around the clinic organized a trip to head into San Pedro Sula, one of the big cities here in Honduras. The occasion? World Cup qualifier, Honduras vs. USA. The stakes were high, with the winner guaranteeing themselves a coveted spot in the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. The US has been in the last 5 World Cup tournaments, but Honduras has only been in 1, back in 1982. So this was a big deal. The US Embassy travel warnings were posted, Peace Corps volunteers were officially prohibited from attending the game, and there we were...a truckload of gringos heading into the lion's den...none of us knew what to expect...

First of all, the car ride there was a barrel of fun, spawning mountains of inside jokes including "round eye, round fruit" and "quieres la buburin?" which I won't take the time to explain here. I will only tell you that there was a lot of laughing going on in the car. It was about a 6 hour ride from Santa Lucía to San Pedro, with yours truly behind the wheel following a carload of our Honduran co-workers. It was to be my first time driving in the city and I was a little nervous but despite a few close calls, everything was fine. (That sentence could have been used to describe pretty much any car ride I've ever participated in while in Latin America). We made it to our hotel and rested for a bit before heading out into the madness. Our honduran friends decided on Burger King for lunch. Not my first choice for a "cultural experience" but it's not like the place was empty...plenty of Hondurans were having it their way before the soccer game, so I didn't feel like such a foreigner. We hopped back in the pick-up (we all squeezed into one truck to help with parking) and before we knew it, it was pouring down rain. The tropical afternoon rainstorm had struck again. They tossed us a blue tarp from the cab so we stayed relatively dry and the rain only lasted about a half hour. We found a parking spot and started walking towards the stadium.

This was approximately 2pm. The game was scheduled to start at 8pm. Our Honduran friends had told us we had to get there very early in order to ensure that we got into the game. "But we have tickets, why will it be a problem?" we responded. Marvin (our main tour guide for the day) shook his head a smiled with a "silly gringos" look on his face. He informed us that black-market tickets were a huge deal here and that there were probably 15-20 THOUSAND bogus tickets floating around. So in order to get in, we needed to be there early and get in "line." I put that in quotes because the lines were really just huge twisted masses of people all sort-of aiming for the entrance. The stadium only held about 30,000 people and I marveled at how at an Ohio State game we still managed some kind of order with over 100,000 people trying to get in. There were no gates or ropes differentiating one line from another, just a few police officers sitting around "keeping order." We stood there for 3 hours advancing about 60 feet and I was ready to pull my hair out. My patience went out the window and I was ready to just leave, especially when it looked like we were not going to make it in. At one point a large group of gringos walked through the crowd completely obnoxiously decked out in American garb...soccer scarves, big uncle sam hats, american flag capes...the whole nine yards. They came traipsing through this crowd of thousands of angry Hondurans and were just getting harassed. Not in an unsafe kind of way, but in a sporting-event kind of way. My first thought was "those HAVE to be Peace Corps volunteers." I could just see James, Bryan, Andy, Joe and Yamasaki leading a group of us Bolivian volunteers through this madness and soaking up every minute of it. My friends and I had kept a low profile, at least trying to where neutral colors. These people were unabashedly being obnoxious Americans. And while usually I'm not a huge fan of that kind of behavior, a large part of me wanted to throw my lot in with them. The only thing that prevented me from doing that was the fact that I knew they had arrived to late to get into the game, the crowds and lines were now far too large for any hope to remain for them.


Once we started moving at a decent rate and we realized we were going to make it in, the frustrations lifted and we started getting pumped up. We got into the game at about 5:30 or so and found some seats down in the second row...which sounds good, but there was a huge roll of razor wire obscuring our view. Personally I didn't really care, I don't really like watching soccer. The place was a madhouse. No one was unfriendly, they could all tell we were there to have a good time. I am 100% confident there is more scorn for Michigan fans at your standard OSU game than we felt as Americans in a foreign land. The speakers were booming, the announcer was firing people up and people were screaming. We all thought the same thing..."they can't keep this up for 2.5 hours," but we were wrong. They even had some army paratroopers jump out of a circling helicopter and land on the field...it was a pretty amazing sight.


By the time the game actually started, I had already felt like I had been partying like college again for hours. I've never really liked watching soccer, but it was a pretty unique experience to be there in the thick of all of it. The first half was scoreless, but when the second half started, the U.S jumped out to a 3-0 lead fairly quickly. I actually missed a couple of the goals because they were on the other end of the field and no one seemed to make a big deal out of it. This, however, was not the case when Honduras finally scored. The entire stadium erupted into pandemonium, noise makers blaring, people screaming and throwing beers, hugging, crying, high-fiving...it was pretty amazing.




Celebrating with Juan

Hanging with my buds




The game ended anti-climatically, with the U.S hanging on to win 3-2. Hondurans would have to wait until the following Wednesday to finally determine their World Cup fate.

The ride back to Santa Lucía the next day was just as fun as the ride in, only with the added benefit of having picked up Jody in the city, who is another one of the gringos that works in Santa Lucía. She had been visiting friends and also went to the game, but it had been a few weeks since we'd seen her. We laughed even more on the way back than we had on the way in, only stopping for a delicious fish lunch near at the pretty lake Yojoa.

It was a very good trip, although pretty quick. Here is a shot of the great sunset on the ride back..



Epilogue: The following Wednesday a Honduran victory over neighboring El Salvador coupled with a US tie with Costa Rica opened up a berth for Honduras in the World Cup for the first time since 1982. They fought like Hondurans, and won their freedom.


And then a national holiday was declared for the following day.

Stories Through Photos

So far life is good. I'll leave it at that and continue with some pictures and commentary...



The building in the front is the clinic and the building in the back is our apartment.

A view of the front of the clinic. In the mornings this is where the patients wait to be attended.

The first floor of the dorms/apartment buildings is where we eat...kind of like training tables.

An average street in Santa Lucía. Narrow and steep. These are just the "urban" roads. Once you get out of town the roads are much more...interesting...

My office/desk. Pretty nice huh?

The outlying clinic in Santa Rita...about a 25 minute drive from Santa Lucía

This girl and her baby sister were waiting on their mom who was being seen at our clinic in Santa Rita


No better way to secure things to a truck than duct tape...I haven't found any goma yet in this country, sadly.

Alex and I are in charge of any and all reparations here at the clinic. Here you see the dental suction machine after we got our hands on it. It's nice to not have any official rules or codes, we can do whatever we want and it's a success. As you can tell, things like duct tape and wire ties are pretty key.

After a long day's work hanging electrical boxes and messing around with a generator, Alex and I ventured into town to find some dinner but could only turn up this box of frozen chicken wings. Without a microwave, we improvised and just cooked them in a frying pan. Delicious.

Sundays at the clinic, our cook doesn't come so we have to fend for ourselves. Alex is quite the gourmet and whipped up some vegetable lasagna, and here Leslie and I are working on brownies for dessert. It's always a collaborative effort.

Another one of Alex's amazing creations in the kitchen...barbeque chicken pizza from scratch! Seriously, if you come to visit make sure to be here on a Sunday...

Everybody pitching in to clean up after the big meal...even doctors can do dishes!

View from the top: Early Sunday morning we decided to hike up to the cell towers high above town. It was about an hour walk but straight up, kind of like walking up school section road for about an hour. It was worth it though, to see the morning fog clearing out above town.

Santa Lucía from afar...the clinic is at the very top of town, the long red roof.

The mountains around here are really amazing, every time I'm out I add another one to the list that I need to get to the top of.

The hiking crew: Alex, Edgar, Alan, Yaniré, me...and Yuki the dog!

We've started playing basketball a few times a week, it's good fun and good exercise. This is me celebrating probably after hitting a 3 in Alex's face to finish off the game


This huge frog hopped it's way into our room as we were cooking dinner in Concepción. Wildlife is sweet.

Out for a Sunday swim at the river...not the clearest water around but refreshing just the same.

The view from our balcony in our apartment/office. The only thing missing from this shot is me in the hammock.

The rainy season here brings some pretty awesome night-time thunderstorms. It's nice to sit out on the balcony listening to the rain fall and watching the lightning brilliantly light up the sky with some chill music playing in the background...

Settling In

Today is my first Sunday in Honduras. I am bit-by-bit adjusting to life here, no big surprises so far. I find myself often comparing to Bolivia and the Peace Corps, which I expected. The main differences are that I have a lot clearer view of my purpose here than I did when I first arrived in Bolivia and lot more direction. Part of the Peace Corps process was finding your own way, your own path, your own way of doing things. There was support where you needed it, but we were certainly not coddled once training was over. I got dumped into a town where I was the only American with maybe a few ideas for projects but nothing officially set up for work. It took me months to meet people, earn their trust, get into the swing of it all and finally drilled my first well about 9 months into my service. By the end of my time in Hardeman, however, new people were knocking on my door every day asking if we could drill them a well. It went from one extreme to the other.

Here, my set-up is quite different. I am a new employee at a health clinic that has been in this small, rural town for about 20 years now. I'm no longer the local gringo celebrity, gringos are a dime-a-dozen in this town. Many have come and gone along the years, and large groups of them invade on our brigades. I don't think I will necessarily get lost in the shuffle, but it's far cry from Peace Corps where I was the only gringo to ever spend a significant amount of time in my little town. And there are benefits to both. It is pretty nice having all these resources here, for example wireless internet all the time, access to trucks and some other Americans around who can get excited about Ohio State football for example. I try to imagine all the work I could have gotten done in Hardeman with just a fraction of these resources. But as strange as it sounds to say it, Peace Corps wasn't just about getting a bunch of work done. It was just as much about spreading goodwill to my fellow man and hopefully showing the folks in my town a good example of an American, as well as learning about them and sharing what I learned with other Americans. So that time spent getting to know things was a very important part of my service. It is not like that as much here. Townspeople have an idea of what Americans are like and may assume that I am the same. And perhaps I am, depending on their ideas. It's just a whole different experience from arriving to Hardeman. But I definitely find it much easier to adjust to this life having been through my Peace Corps experience in Bolivia.

As far as my day-to-day goes, I share a room with my friend Alex, who is a nurse here in the clinic but dabbles in just about everything. In our "apartment" right now are Leslie & Mark, a married couple who have been here for a little over a year. Also in another room is Yanire, a researcher working on a nutrition study. We have some common space as well, a big living room and a kitchen, but all that doubles as offices for all of us, which really consist of lunchroom tables mostly. There is another apartment up here as well that houses the majority of the Honduran medical staff...doctors and nurses. We are on the second floor, downstairs is the main kitchen and eating area where we eat most of our meals. There are some more employees living in rooms down there, and people are always coming and going, for a few months, weeks, or days at a time. It's a little strange living with the same people I work with and working in same place I live. But for now it's all there is. I am settling in very nicely and have felt pretty useful up until now. More to come soon.

"is nothing sacred?"**

7:13 am, Columbus airport. I had no idea they had free wifi here at the airport, so this is quite the pleasant surprise. So the next stage of my life begins today. It's been a hectic week of traveling, packing, saying goodbyes (as well as hello to my new nephew Conrad!) and all the other things you do before a grand journey.

I feel calm and ready. It was nice to be able to get through the hard part yesterday in Cincy before traveling today. I got to Columbus in the afternoon and shared a great last night in America with two of my very best friends David and Kreiner, which included a nice cigar on the steps of Orton Hall, watching the oval drink in the rain. It was extremely calming.

Breakfast this morning was mom's home-made chocolate chip cookies...talk about a lucky morning. With any luck, I'll have a few left for tomorrow morning.

Well, they're calling my number. Bon voyage, see you in Honduras!

**quote spoken by me while in Columbus, upon realizing the storied bar JR Miggs had been torn down so the hair salon next door could expand...

American Summer

Allow me to lay out the scene here: Sitting on a deck overlooking the placid Lake Washington, soaking up the sun, which is just enough to make 75 degrees seem hot. I've got some quality tunes playing in the background (a recent playlist entitled "19 Hours In Brunswick") and have spent the day relaxing, taking stock of where this past year spent here in the US has taken me. I done more than my share of traveling and have been fortunate enough to spend lots of quality time with my family in Ohio and seen friends quite literally all across the country. I have hiked up the highest mountain in New Hampshire, spent a night in an igloo, went rally-car racing in Mexico, climbed up various rock formations in Alabama & Kentucky, looked on as a best friend and a cousin got married (not to each other), rode on the back of a scooter through the streets of San Francisco, slept in the woods and on the beach in Maine, entertained my amazing little niece Riley Jo and even got a haircut (just the split ends of course!). I've spent countless nights with countless friends (and cousins, and parents, and sisters & brothers-in-law) enjoying countless adult beverages and countless hours of conversation.

I can safely say I have made the most out of what will be just under a year in the good ol' U.S. of A. No regrets for sure. In less than two weeks I will be all packed up and moved to Honduras (it's this whole other country), having taken a job with a non-profit organization called Shoulder to Shoulder. Check out the website for more info on that, or just buy some delicious coffee through the link on the right.

So as my time in America draws again to a close, I'd like to share a few photos of how I've been occupying my time in the past year. Please be sure to check back for more regular updates from Honduras.

Máncora, Peru – South 04deg06’18.5” West 081deg03’21.8”

“Allo, mai friend, where you from? United States? Oh, I live there, 3 years, in Alaska. Where you live?”

As far as broken English conversations go, this one was pretty normal. A skinny Colombian man named Kenny had approached us on the sandy beach of northern Perú trying to get us to come into his “delicious Colombian restaurant.” I did my best not to commit to conversation…we continued walking, avoided eye contact, etc. But his last question stopped my mind in its tracks. In his less than perfect English, he had asked me “where do you live?” and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have a response for him. I haven’t lived in Ohio for 2-plus years, and my home in Bolivia has recently been snatched away and I am now actually, for the first time in my life, homeless. Of course I know I always have a place in Cincy, but I am currently without any place to call my own. And that is an incredibly liberating feeling. Writing about it here brings the huge smile back to my face.

The hair in all its glory. Please note similarities with Jesus mural on the bus behind me

This is our fourth night on the beach in Máncora, Peru. And when I say on the beach, I really mean on the beach. We found a hostel whose foyer is made of sand. From the front “door,” one can spit in the ocean at high tide. No lie. The constant crashing of the waves is incredibly soothing, especially at night and in the mornings. Our days have consisted mainly of getting up early, having some coffee on the beach, walking on the beach, napping on the beach, playing in the thundering waves, eating delicious seafood on the beach, napping again on the beach (this time in a hammock), maybe reading a little on the beach, heading a few blocks inland to find some dinner, then back out here to the beach for hookah smoking, beer consumption, great music and excellent people. It’s true, one of my fellow ex-volunteers has brought an entire hookah along with him and we are all very thankful for that, it’s a fantastic way to share the evening with a big group of folks. We are eleven people from all different places and from all different groups in Bolivia. My friend Naya and I were in our third years as volunteers, others had been in a year or so, and one of us had only been in country for about 8 months. It’s a great mix of PCV personalities.

Beach jogging with Anna & Emily


Tom and I catching some waves

Hitting the Hookah

Currently as I type this we are seated around the hookah and a few people have expressed interest in being contributing writers to The Story of Ben…so here are some thoughts from a few friends:

Hey Ranza Ganzas and friends, I’m a friend of Joseph Ben Ranz, name is Anna. I’m a big fan of Ben and his company for the following reasons: Ben has great hair. Better than it’s ever been in all his life, I’m sure. Ben makes super, very good French toast. Ben bathes more than the average peace corps volunteer, but he doesn’t mind when we smell. Ben asks good questions. Ben is a good man. I’m glad he’s my friend. –Anna from Charlottesville, Virginia (see "Fun With Tom & Anna" link on the left)

Hi everybody! I’m a friendly Hoosier and fellow ex-volunteer with li’l Ben. If it weren’t for the beach, the transition back to the US of A would be even more difficult. But here we are, enjoying each other’s company, the wonderful Peruvian sun, and the freedom of short-term unemployment! –Emily from Goshen, Indiana

So long and thanks for all the hard work. Good luck deciding what your life will consist of during the next two days. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here… So where else would we go to figure out the rest of lives, or at least the next step, than to the best beach on the Pacific side of the lovely South American continent. Here we are soaking up the sun like Sheryl Crow and relaxing in a hammock and listening to waves crash on shore to clear our minds. One step closer to the answer and much less worried about what that may eventually be. Chowabunga dudes! –George from Gary, Indiana

Hello Ohio!!!!!! This is Naya aka The Little Mexican (as Ben likes to call me). Just wanted to give a shout out to the state that the Mr. Ranz comes from. Cute lil’ story about Ben and I, he is the first ever mid-westerner I have met. Yes, it was 2.5 years ago that we met in that fateful Miami hotel as we started our adventure to Bolivia. He was the first volunteer as well that I had met and oh what a ride it has been. We now part ways on this oh so sweet beach town finally going our separate ways. A quick shout out to Coleman, it was a pleasure meeting you and hopefully I’ll see the Bens again live and in action in Ohio one day. Good night and good luck! -Naya from Ventura, California

That was just a small sampling of the excellent crew of people with whom I have crossed paths over the past 2.5 years or so. It truly has been a pleasure to share this Peace Corps experience with such excellent folks. I look forward to staying in touch and going to visit them at their homes of record as well as enjoying their company in Cincy for perhaps a Christmas tree bonfire or a Harvest Home Parade. You are always welcome.

Jump Photos!




I truly can’t remember the last time I swam in the ocean. The last few times I’ve been on the beach it’s been in Oregon or without a bathing suit…not very suited for swimming. I honestly think the last time was when I was in Ecuador back in summer 2002. Well, whenever it was, suffice to say that it has been far too long and I don’t intend on going that long again. We came this far north to escape the cold and cloudy beaches of southern Peru and it was well worth the 16 hour bus ride. It’s hot and sunny during the day, perfect for swimming and cool at night, just enough that you want a sweatshirt but you’re not shivering. The ocean is incredibly refreshing…I almost forgot that it was going to be salty. We’ve spent hours battling the waves and mostly losing. It’s a good workout and wears you out so that afternoon nap is all the more satisfying, especially with the ocean spray falling over you. We’ve also managed to get a few beach runs in. Jogging is something else that I haven’t managed to do in a long time. So it’s been a trip of relaxing, tanning and enjoying. Needless to say, I am super contento.

It is with a bit of sadness that I report that we will probably be shoving on tomorrow, along to the next adventure in what will probably become a long string of them. We are looking to head south to a town called Huaraz, which lies high in the mountains of central Peru. There is excellent trekking and beautiful views of snowcapped mountains all around. So that’s what we’ll probably do. But the beauty of all of this (as my friends alluded to above) is that there are no real decisions to make or deadlines to worry about. We are free in every sense of the word, free to do whatever we please, to travel wherever we please, answer to no one but ourselves. Cheers.

Group shot

Some beach shots:





Some random shots:
Tiny shadows...we are near the equator

Some lovely ladies...

Raw fish anyone? This is a Peruvian delicacy called ceviche...uncooked fish soaked in lime juice...delicious!