As our first attempt to go to Machu Pichu was a complete failure, we had decided to try to get there, by our own means this time. So we were off last friday, taking a collectivo from Cusco to Ollantaytambo, where we then got in a train to Aguas Calientes, also called Machu Pichu Pueblo ( How inventive). Well let me tell you, THAT pueblo is the biggest tourist trap I have ever seen, and we were so glad we only had to spend a few hours there. After chasing after our hotel reservation (Of course they had messed up the dates, of course we had to go somewhere else...) we went for a quick dinner to a French-Peruvian restaurant owned by a guy from Marseille (which clearly got me wondering why on earth would you decide to settle down in that place, out of all the cities in the World...), and then we were off pretty early to our beds, as we had plan to rise at 4.30 am to climb the camino to Machu Pichu...
Well we eventually managed to leave the hotel at 5, and we were soon at the bottom of the endless flight of steps that constitute the "walking way" up to the top... We were definitely not ready (and not sufficiently awake) for that! So we sweated our way up and eventually made it, 1hour and 45 minutes later, at the entrance of the site, where 5 buses had already arrived (5 minutes ride up from the pueblo), therefore reducing to nothing all the efforts made to get there first! We were soon to find out some people had even left their hotel at 1.30am to be among the first in front of the gate... Pure madness, you are probably saying in front of your screen... But the early climb really made us feel like we DESERVED our Machu Pichu. So when we emerged from the bushes, all covered in sweat, hardly breathing and barely standing, we still managed to walk very proudly in front of all the tourists getting out of the buses, dropping some "ridiiiiculous", "lazzy tourists", "pff, if the Incas could see you they'd be ashamed!" along the way...
Still we didn't make it early enough to be among the 400 people who would be granted the right to climg Wyna Pichu, the mountain facing Machu Pichu which top offers a splendid view over the site. No worries, if there was no Wyna Pichu, there would be something else... And so we were off to climb the Machu Pichu mountain, towering some 600 meters over the site, therefore 400 meters higher than the Wyna Pichu mountain. The climb was..... well, experimental, for the least! A very (very very) steep stairway climbing perpendicular to the mountain for about 1h30, with some passages where there was hardly enough space to put your feet (especially when you are wearing hiking boots), led us to a breathtaking (litteraly, because of the climb, and of course for the views...) mirador, overlooking the entire valley, the Urubamba river, the snowy tops of the Andes mountains in the distance, and of course, the magestic Machu Pichu, laying at our feet....
Machu Pichu is this absolutely impossible construction, located on the top of a mountain, which sides are so steep no one could ever stand on them. Well, the Incas built a city on it! And what a city... beautiful stoneworks, perfect control and understanding of agriculture techniques, mastering of astrology and season rythms, mix of traditional and spiritual life in a gem-like setting... Clearly we asked ourselves the question: How can they have possibly, without weels or any sort of help other than human hands, brought up the stones used to build their houses, since they did not come directly from the mountain...
One thing we all agreed on, Incas were no lazy people! They weren't trying to make their lives any easier either, that's for sure!
After spending an hour at the top of that mountain, shooting hundreds of pictures, we eventually came back down and decided to take a little nap on one of the terraces, Inca way, before catching one of the last buses back down to Aguas Calientes, our legs hurting like hell, but our heads full of beautiful things...
The same night, we got a train back to Ollantaytambo, where we were supposed to spend the night. Well, as it was to be expected (couldn't get lucky all the way, could we...), the hotel was a dodgy, dodgy place, with cucarachas running around, hairs left all over the bathroom, probably more pulgas in the beds, and so on and so forth. Basically, we didn't sleep at all, and were out as early a we could to get a bus back to Cusco. I was starting to feel sick and that night hadn't exactly helped...
When we arrived in Cusco on Sunday morning, we went straight to the center, with our dirty clothes and our tired looks. I was feeling quite ashamed as Sunday is the day of Mass, and I didn't like the idea that for once, I would look more dirty than all the kids together after lunch time... But when I walked into the church, it became the last of my problems.. I didn't see it straight way, but only after Celeste indicated it to me, I saw the little white coffin in the middle of the main aisle. A little girl, Luz Marina, that I had taken care of and fed many times, had died as we were away.. Apparently a bad fever, some troubles breathing and the complete lack of care of the doctors were the reason of her death. She was laying there, in a white dress, in a white coffin, with a white flower on top, looking like a little angel that had finally found her peace... Looking at her, I felt infinitely sad, but also Infinitely relieved. Finally free from a body that had only caused her pain, she had to feel like the kid she never had a chance to be in her earthly life now. That's all I hope for, that those children one day get a chance to feel free of all their terrestrial pain, and get to be, finally, just like any other child, if not more, little stars shining in the sky, for they truly shine in mine now...
mardi 27 juillet 2010
Week 2 in Cusco
It is now two weeks that we are in Cusco ( Cannot believe I am only 2 weeks away from departure date...), and the second week has been just as full and a good as the first one (I chose voluntarily to erase from my memory all the troubles we had with the first travel agency, and the time spent at the police station...).
Our work at the center is becoming more and ore interresting as we are getting to know all the kids, what they enjoy the most, what makes them mad, which food they like and which they don't (that is, which food they will spit right back to your face)... I thought part of my volunteering work here would be hard, I thought there would be tough times... But for most of the time I was wrong: They stopped a while ago to be "special kids" to me. I just enjoy seeing their happy faces every morning, playing with them and making them giggle, even feeding them stopped being a fight between me, the not-so-yummy food, the spoon and their mouth. Every moment spent with them has just made me feel more aware, more thankful of my own luck, and of the luck of most European kids... And yet, despite their handicaps, these kids get to laugh, to dance, to play with a ball, to paint, to make scenes when then want more food, or simply to cry because they want to be held in your arms...
Each of them has its own, very defined character. Some of course, express it more than others. Like Luis. Luis is a little boy of 10years old, whose stomach is so small he can hardly eat most of the food that is given to him without vomiting it all right back... Though Luis loves to eat. So when the sisters or Dany take too long to give him his meal, he starts a real show of fake tears and sobs, until eventually he gets what he wants.. In short, a real little man! He can be very sweet and cuddly at times, and at some others, he will start hitting his head hard against the floor, or against anything he finds really (walls, chairs, toys, other kids, yourself...) this his part of his "abnormality": Probably some sort of hitch he gets, due to a bleed in his brain or something similar... Luis is very small for a 10 year old, mostly due to his stomach problems... Which is not quite a good sign for the future... Seeing him so full of life makes me feel really frustrated nothing can be done for him at the center to improve his condition. He could make tremendous improvements with a little bit of medical assistance...
Don't get me wrong here though, I do not blame the Sisters for it. They are doing a fabulous job taking care of them all, with such love and patience. But authorities make their life very difficult, and every attempt they make to cure those kids is closely watched by the police... If anything happens, they could close the center... How ironic! As if the Sisters could do them any harm! They are the only ones who still care for them!
Undertaking an operation on any of the children would be taking too much risk, and the best they can do is care for them in their current state. No worse, but not really better either... At least those children get all the love that was denied to them at first...
Our work at the center is becoming more and ore interresting as we are getting to know all the kids, what they enjoy the most, what makes them mad, which food they like and which they don't (that is, which food they will spit right back to your face)... I thought part of my volunteering work here would be hard, I thought there would be tough times... But for most of the time I was wrong: They stopped a while ago to be "special kids" to me. I just enjoy seeing their happy faces every morning, playing with them and making them giggle, even feeding them stopped being a fight between me, the not-so-yummy food, the spoon and their mouth. Every moment spent with them has just made me feel more aware, more thankful of my own luck, and of the luck of most European kids... And yet, despite their handicaps, these kids get to laugh, to dance, to play with a ball, to paint, to make scenes when then want more food, or simply to cry because they want to be held in your arms...
Each of them has its own, very defined character. Some of course, express it more than others. Like Luis. Luis is a little boy of 10years old, whose stomach is so small he can hardly eat most of the food that is given to him without vomiting it all right back... Though Luis loves to eat. So when the sisters or Dany take too long to give him his meal, he starts a real show of fake tears and sobs, until eventually he gets what he wants.. In short, a real little man! He can be very sweet and cuddly at times, and at some others, he will start hitting his head hard against the floor, or against anything he finds really (walls, chairs, toys, other kids, yourself...) this his part of his "abnormality": Probably some sort of hitch he gets, due to a bleed in his brain or something similar... Luis is very small for a 10 year old, mostly due to his stomach problems... Which is not quite a good sign for the future... Seeing him so full of life makes me feel really frustrated nothing can be done for him at the center to improve his condition. He could make tremendous improvements with a little bit of medical assistance...
Don't get me wrong here though, I do not blame the Sisters for it. They are doing a fabulous job taking care of them all, with such love and patience. But authorities make their life very difficult, and every attempt they make to cure those kids is closely watched by the police... If anything happens, they could close the center... How ironic! As if the Sisters could do them any harm! They are the only ones who still care for them!
Undertaking an operation on any of the children would be taking too much risk, and the best they can do is care for them in their current state. No worse, but not really better either... At least those children get all the love that was denied to them at first...
lundi 19 juillet 2010
Chasse aux puces, Demenagement et Messe du Dimanche
Deuxieme weekend a Cusco, qui devait initiallement etre moins mouvemente que le premier... Samedi etant notre jour off, nous avions prevu une fantastique grasse matinee, la premiere depuis notre arrivee puisque notre travail au centre requiert en general un reveil assez matinal. Et bien manque de chance, ce ne fut pas exactement le cas...
Premierement grace a Coco. Coco est le perroquet du proprietaire de notre hotel. Coco qui s'appelle en faite Lorenzo, mais qui commme n'importe quel autre perroquet s'est fait renommer Coco pour la postérité. Coco est un oiseau bien stupide, et bien vicieux aussi, avec des facheuses tendances, comme celle de chanter ds 6.30 du matin, ou encore celle de me terroriser en faisant des plongeons rasants au dessus de ma tête. Je n'aime pas Coco. Et Coco le sait. Et par consequence, Coco a tout fait pour me pourrir la vie. Commme par exemple, se poster devant la porte de ma chambre en attendant que je sorte pour lancer une de ses charges (autant vous dire que Coco s'est prit la porte plus d'une fois en pleine tête), ou encore semettre a chanter a l'aube le seul jour ou Celeste et moi pourrions dormir...
Nous etions donc debout assez tot, pour decouvrir que nous nous etions faites attaquees par des puces pendant la nuit. Cette charmante surprise marqua le debut d'une longue, tres longue journee. La premiere reaction fut biensur de maudir Coco, qui bien entendu devait en etre plein, de puces. La deuxieme fut de se precipiter dans le premier drugstore et d'acheter une bombe anti-cafards, anti-mites, anti-araignees, enfin bref anti-petites betes degoutantes, mais pas anti-puces car apparement ca n'existe pas...enfin comme le vendeur nous l'a assure, "si ca peut tuer un cafard, ca peut tuer une puce".... oui, et d'ailleurs la notice disait que ca pouvait meme nous tuer nous...enfin bref, aux grands mots les grands remedes!
Apres avoir pulverise tous les recoins du lit ainsi que l'integralite de la valise de Celeste, et apres avoir jeté un ultime coup d'oeil a la moquette couleur vert bouteille de notre chambre sans fenêtre, qui devait clairement être un paradis a parasites, nous decidions de se mettre en chasse d'un autre hotel, qui lui aurait des draps propres, pas de locataires surprise, et peut etre même une fenêtre, sans parler d'une douche avec eau chaude...
Nous avons donc silloné la ville a la recherche de cette perle rare, visitant sur la route des endroits assez glauques, oú les lattes du parquet tenaient probablement par la bonté du Santo Spirito, de Maria et de Jezus reunis, d'ailleurs representé dans un joli cadre en macramé au dessus du sommier, parfaitement raccord avec le papier peint moisi. Bref, Coco Lodge, a côte, c'etait grand luxe.
Biensur nous avons aussi visite de charmants petits hotels avec de magnifiques patios interieurs ou je me voyais deja prendre le soleil en lisant le livre sur la fin du Monde légué par Tiphaine avant son départ (lecture tres joyeuse qui deja me predispose a la positive attitude...!). Malheureusement nos talents de negociatrices, quoique de plus en plus aigus, n'ont pas ete suffisants pour nous permettre de s'installer dans ces charmantes alternatives qui, a ce moment la, avaient tout pour nous du 5 etoiles luxe.
Nos efforts finirent quand même par payer, et c'est ainsi que nous trouvions le samedi a 9h du soir une chambre a 10 metres de notre premier hotel, dans un charmant petit bed and breakfast. Nos mines depitees ajoutées a la force du desespoir finirent par convaincre le proprietaire de nous louer une charmante petite chambre pour un prix qui nous permettait de continuer a manger pour le reste des 2 semaines. Apres avoir verifie les draps une seconde fois et lance un alleluia bien senti, nous disions donc ok a notre nouveau petit nid douillet...
Apres avoir passe une derniere nuit avec Coco (au grand drame de Celeste), nous sommes allées hier au centre pour assister avec les enfants a la messe Domenicale. Il y avait beaucoup plus d'enfants que pendant la semaine puisque certains d'entre eux sont suffisament autonomes pour aller dans une ecole specialisée pendant la journee. Biensur l'ecole etant fermee le weekend, nous faisions donc la connaissance de Carlos, Mari Lou, Martin et bien d'autres... D'autres jeunes venant d'un college voisin etaient egalement la pour donner un coup de main. Il y avait donc un volontaire pour s'occuper de chaque enfant.
Le petit garçon dont j'avais la charge s'appelait Martin et devait avoir dans les 6/7 ans. Un petit bonhomme deja bien costaud, qui malgrè un degré d'autisme assez poussé, regorgeais d'energie. A tel point que la messe fut pour lui la parfaite occasion pour faire une imitation de Tarzan sur les bancs de l'eglise. J'eu un peu de mal a canaliser son energie debordante au debut, mais il finit par se calmer, lorsqu'assit sur mes genoux et entourre de mes bras, je sentis sa respiration agitee se poser au même rythme que la mienne. Il etait alors devenu un petit ange recherchant la chaleure humaine comme abris. La trève dura seulement un temps, et au moment de la communion, il était redevenu un petit singe, sautant et criant a tout va, sous les yeux reprobateurs, mais toujours pleins d'amour, de la soeur principale, assise juste devant nous.
Ce matin encore, je profitais d'un moment de complicite avec le petit Gabriel, 3 ans, plus jeune enfant du centre, dont l'apparence exterieur ne pourrait pas laisser présager de son handicap pourtant existant. Suite a une meningite tres violente étant bébé, sa croissance fut completement altérée, et aujourd'hui ses muscles restent encore très atrophiés. Il est incapable de se maintenir droit tout seul, encore moins se tenir debout, et doit donc être maintenu en activité pour eviter l'ecrasement de ses organes. Malgré tout Gabriel est un petit amour plein de vie, distribuant ses sourires a tous ceux qui s'occupent de lui. Il a aussi fait beaucoup de progrès dernierement, en grande partie grace aux physiothérapeutes volontaires qui viennent passer un peu de temps au centre. La semaine dernière notamment, deux italiens s'occupaient des enfants avec nous, les faisant faire des exercices en tout genre. Ils sont malheureusement partis maintenant, mais il semble que régulièrement d'autres viennent et donnent un peu de leur temps pour aider les enfants a leur tour.
... Voila encore un message horriblement long, pour ceux qui ne se seront pas endormis pendant la lecture, je vous embrasse tres fort, et pour ceux qui se reveilleront avec les lettres de leur clavier imprimees sur leur front, je promets de faire plus synthétique la prochaine fois...
A tres vite,
Lea
Premierement grace a Coco. Coco est le perroquet du proprietaire de notre hotel. Coco qui s'appelle en faite Lorenzo, mais qui commme n'importe quel autre perroquet s'est fait renommer Coco pour la postérité. Coco est un oiseau bien stupide, et bien vicieux aussi, avec des facheuses tendances, comme celle de chanter ds 6.30 du matin, ou encore celle de me terroriser en faisant des plongeons rasants au dessus de ma tête. Je n'aime pas Coco. Et Coco le sait. Et par consequence, Coco a tout fait pour me pourrir la vie. Commme par exemple, se poster devant la porte de ma chambre en attendant que je sorte pour lancer une de ses charges (autant vous dire que Coco s'est prit la porte plus d'une fois en pleine tête), ou encore semettre a chanter a l'aube le seul jour ou Celeste et moi pourrions dormir...
Nous etions donc debout assez tot, pour decouvrir que nous nous etions faites attaquees par des puces pendant la nuit. Cette charmante surprise marqua le debut d'une longue, tres longue journee. La premiere reaction fut biensur de maudir Coco, qui bien entendu devait en etre plein, de puces. La deuxieme fut de se precipiter dans le premier drugstore et d'acheter une bombe anti-cafards, anti-mites, anti-araignees, enfin bref anti-petites betes degoutantes, mais pas anti-puces car apparement ca n'existe pas...enfin comme le vendeur nous l'a assure, "si ca peut tuer un cafard, ca peut tuer une puce".... oui, et d'ailleurs la notice disait que ca pouvait meme nous tuer nous...enfin bref, aux grands mots les grands remedes!
Apres avoir pulverise tous les recoins du lit ainsi que l'integralite de la valise de Celeste, et apres avoir jeté un ultime coup d'oeil a la moquette couleur vert bouteille de notre chambre sans fenêtre, qui devait clairement être un paradis a parasites, nous decidions de se mettre en chasse d'un autre hotel, qui lui aurait des draps propres, pas de locataires surprise, et peut etre même une fenêtre, sans parler d'une douche avec eau chaude...
Nous avons donc silloné la ville a la recherche de cette perle rare, visitant sur la route des endroits assez glauques, oú les lattes du parquet tenaient probablement par la bonté du Santo Spirito, de Maria et de Jezus reunis, d'ailleurs representé dans un joli cadre en macramé au dessus du sommier, parfaitement raccord avec le papier peint moisi. Bref, Coco Lodge, a côte, c'etait grand luxe.
Biensur nous avons aussi visite de charmants petits hotels avec de magnifiques patios interieurs ou je me voyais deja prendre le soleil en lisant le livre sur la fin du Monde légué par Tiphaine avant son départ (lecture tres joyeuse qui deja me predispose a la positive attitude...!). Malheureusement nos talents de negociatrices, quoique de plus en plus aigus, n'ont pas ete suffisants pour nous permettre de s'installer dans ces charmantes alternatives qui, a ce moment la, avaient tout pour nous du 5 etoiles luxe.
Nos efforts finirent quand même par payer, et c'est ainsi que nous trouvions le samedi a 9h du soir une chambre a 10 metres de notre premier hotel, dans un charmant petit bed and breakfast. Nos mines depitees ajoutées a la force du desespoir finirent par convaincre le proprietaire de nous louer une charmante petite chambre pour un prix qui nous permettait de continuer a manger pour le reste des 2 semaines. Apres avoir verifie les draps une seconde fois et lance un alleluia bien senti, nous disions donc ok a notre nouveau petit nid douillet...
Apres avoir passe une derniere nuit avec Coco (au grand drame de Celeste), nous sommes allées hier au centre pour assister avec les enfants a la messe Domenicale. Il y avait beaucoup plus d'enfants que pendant la semaine puisque certains d'entre eux sont suffisament autonomes pour aller dans une ecole specialisée pendant la journee. Biensur l'ecole etant fermee le weekend, nous faisions donc la connaissance de Carlos, Mari Lou, Martin et bien d'autres... D'autres jeunes venant d'un college voisin etaient egalement la pour donner un coup de main. Il y avait donc un volontaire pour s'occuper de chaque enfant.
Le petit garçon dont j'avais la charge s'appelait Martin et devait avoir dans les 6/7 ans. Un petit bonhomme deja bien costaud, qui malgrè un degré d'autisme assez poussé, regorgeais d'energie. A tel point que la messe fut pour lui la parfaite occasion pour faire une imitation de Tarzan sur les bancs de l'eglise. J'eu un peu de mal a canaliser son energie debordante au debut, mais il finit par se calmer, lorsqu'assit sur mes genoux et entourre de mes bras, je sentis sa respiration agitee se poser au même rythme que la mienne. Il etait alors devenu un petit ange recherchant la chaleure humaine comme abris. La trève dura seulement un temps, et au moment de la communion, il était redevenu un petit singe, sautant et criant a tout va, sous les yeux reprobateurs, mais toujours pleins d'amour, de la soeur principale, assise juste devant nous.
Ce matin encore, je profitais d'un moment de complicite avec le petit Gabriel, 3 ans, plus jeune enfant du centre, dont l'apparence exterieur ne pourrait pas laisser présager de son handicap pourtant existant. Suite a une meningite tres violente étant bébé, sa croissance fut completement altérée, et aujourd'hui ses muscles restent encore très atrophiés. Il est incapable de se maintenir droit tout seul, encore moins se tenir debout, et doit donc être maintenu en activité pour eviter l'ecrasement de ses organes. Malgré tout Gabriel est un petit amour plein de vie, distribuant ses sourires a tous ceux qui s'occupent de lui. Il a aussi fait beaucoup de progrès dernierement, en grande partie grace aux physiothérapeutes volontaires qui viennent passer un peu de temps au centre. La semaine dernière notamment, deux italiens s'occupaient des enfants avec nous, les faisant faire des exercices en tout genre. Ils sont malheureusement partis maintenant, mais il semble que régulièrement d'autres viennent et donnent un peu de leur temps pour aider les enfants a leur tour.
... Voila encore un message horriblement long, pour ceux qui ne se seront pas endormis pendant la lecture, je vous embrasse tres fort, et pour ceux qui se reveilleront avec les lettres de leur clavier imprimees sur leur front, je promets de faire plus synthétique la prochaine fois...
A tres vite,
Lea
vendredi 16 juillet 2010
First week in Cusco
I am finally starting to be up to date with this page, as I will now start to tell you a bit about my first week here in Cusco...
We arrived last saturday Tiphaine, Celeste and I, with no real idea of what we were going to find here... Well Cusco is a beautiful city. Just like Arequipa, it is set in the heart of green mountains, and consequently pretty high in altitude: around 3,400 meters. Today, Cusco has about 300,000 inhabitants, which is about three times more than what the city had 20 years ago...Well, turism did its job, and not always a nice one...
The city itself is a piece of art, with its colonial buildings, mixes of wood balconies and white stones, old churches built in an harmony of red rock and golden embellishments, its large plazas where Cusqueños come to rest on benches or just to go about their businesses, selling all sorts of "100% Alpaca clothes"... Well, you have more chance to find 100% Alpaca in the souks of Marrakesh than on those street merchants stands. If you are lucky, you will end up with a mix of silk and lama hair. If not, congrats, you just bought yourself a great acrylic jumper...! No need to travel that far for that, H&M does just as great a job!
I could only feel glad that this was the place we had decided to spend the next 3 weeks... I looked forward to walk the narrow (and steep, very steep!) streets, try the lovely taverns and restaurants of the place, and of course, discover Cusco surroundings that host the very famous Machu Pichu, but also the Sacred Valley, the Choquequiraw temple, and so on and so forth... But most importantly, I looked forward to finally start the one thing for which we were to spend so long here... Our volunteer work at the Missionares de la Caridad, operated by the sisters of Mother Teresa, who take care of handicaped Children and orphans (most of the time they are both), and elders left without family or simply to sick to be taken care of by their own...
Our first meeting with the sisters was quite an experience by itself. After being shown the way by an infinitely kind Carmelite mother, resident of a convent close to our hostel, we arrived at the center where a boy, who could have been in his 20s (his clear handicap made it hard to tell) openned us the door. He led us to the head sister in charge of the center, a tiny Indian woman who nevertheless transpired the strength of her devotion... She looked almost angelic in her white "dress" bordered with blue linen, outfit caracteristic of the sister of Mother Teresa. She looked very pleased with our intentions to come and help for a few weeks. Apparently, help is pretty scarce around here, and volunteers are never numerous enough to handle all the work that needs to be done in the center. We were soon to discover for ourselves that it was, indeed, a lot of work to take care of all those persons, who had not a glimpse of autonomy and whose life depended completely on the good cares of the sisters.
She shown us around the center, introduced us to the people we were gonna be working with. Mostly, we were to help with the children, for the majority handicaped to the point of not speaking, not moving, hardly understanding what was said to them. She also took us through the adult quarter, where I had the first most revealing meeting. There was a person, burnt almost entirely, with 2 wide open gaps where her eyes should have been, an indinstinct shape where her nose should have stood, no lips to cover her difformed teeth range, almost no hair left on her scalp, and many, many scars all over her skin... I knew it was a she for a sister told me her name. Antonia. Well, at first, I couldnt help but take by eyes away from her, for her sight made me feel incredibly sick... but after a while, I resolved myself to look again. It took a lot of strenght to do so, but I started asking questions to the sister about her, decided to see the human in this person who had nothing left of humanity... Her name is Antonia. Antonia is 38, she has 4 kids. She was found by them in her burning house, where she had fell asleep after leaving the cooking pot on. They brought her to the hospital, with patches of her skin falling off her. They left her there and never came back. She had several operations, but none could give her back even a bit of the look she had had. Once a women, a mother, a wife, now a monster for the eyes of all.
The worst thing is, Antonia is fully conscious. She hardly speaks, but she understands perfectly well. As she understands her family left her, probably not able to look at her without disgust, or too poor to care for her now that she can hardly move, because of constant nerves shake and spasms. She also feels the full pain of her situation. The sisters cannot give her medecines every day because they are too expensive. So she gets them only when the pain is so strong she cannot possibly stand it anymore. And that¨s her day to day life.
Tiphaine helped a woman undress Antonia and laid her in her bed. I infinitely admire her for that, not many people could have dared to touch the scared skin, the rotten body of that women. But she did, and as she said, she got a sense of the human inside the monster...
Not every of our days at the center are like this one. As I said, we work mostly with Children. They are aged from 3 for the youngest, Gabriel, to 16 for the oldest, Carmela They are for the most part severely impaired, often both physically and mentally, and need constant attention. Our role is to wash them in the morning, then play with them and make hem exercise for about an hour and a half, then feed them, brush their teeth and get them ready for their afternoon nap. In the afternoon the other women working full time in the center and who are not sisters, take over. Celeste and I have been working for a week now. And every day has been more gratifying. We are starting to know each of them, their stories who are often to dark and to terrible to imagine, their diseases, often incurable or whose cures are too expensive to be undertaken, but most importantly we get to know them, outside of their dark pasts and overly present handicaps. We get to learn what they like and dislike, what makes them happy and what makes them cry... We get to learn that just like any other children, they might do things just to piss us off, or to amuse us. And for a moment, we stop considering them like handicaped kids, and we simply try as hard as we can to make them happy, to make them feel like any other kid on this earth, born without a lethal disease. And as Celeste told me one night that we were having a very deep conversation around a mango daiquiri, the one single smile those children can give you are worth more than anything on this earth...
I know my staying here for 3 weeks won-t make any difference in their life. I know they will all die way too soon and there is nothing I can do to prevent that. But if I can give them only a moment of joy, make them feel only for a moment that life for them as well can have nice surprises, then it was not all for nothing.
I am no Mother Teresa. And again, as Celeste said, doing this might be for a large share selfish, because I will never make those kids feel just as happy and as alive as they make me feel. So do not misunderstand what I wrote in this last message. There is no pride to have here. My contribution won-t change anything. It just makes me feel more conscious of my luck than I have ever felt. And for that I am infinitely grateful to those children. The real heroes here are the sisters, who every day of they lives, without interruption, attend those people and give them the attention and the affection that was taken away from them...
I have loads of things to tell you more about Cusco, about how the 3 of us got ripped off by a Tourist agency, got abandonned in the midle of nowhere and had to spend 3 days in a police station arguing with the whole world, how we still haven-t got the full money back, how we tried to find a room to rent somewhere so we could spare some money, how we met those random people with random life stories along the way, how it was all unsuccessful in the end and how we just ended up staying in our hostel, where there is a killer parrot that is trying to kill me since the day we arrived... I will tell you all that of course, and tell you about the rest of our stay here, that will not just be about working for Mother Teresa... But really, I feel that what I will remember from Cusco in the end, is the time I will have spent with those children...
So I send you loads of kisses from a beautiful place on earth, where I am having a fantastic time.
With all my Love,
Lea
We arrived last saturday Tiphaine, Celeste and I, with no real idea of what we were going to find here... Well Cusco is a beautiful city. Just like Arequipa, it is set in the heart of green mountains, and consequently pretty high in altitude: around 3,400 meters. Today, Cusco has about 300,000 inhabitants, which is about three times more than what the city had 20 years ago...Well, turism did its job, and not always a nice one...
The city itself is a piece of art, with its colonial buildings, mixes of wood balconies and white stones, old churches built in an harmony of red rock and golden embellishments, its large plazas where Cusqueños come to rest on benches or just to go about their businesses, selling all sorts of "100% Alpaca clothes"... Well, you have more chance to find 100% Alpaca in the souks of Marrakesh than on those street merchants stands. If you are lucky, you will end up with a mix of silk and lama hair. If not, congrats, you just bought yourself a great acrylic jumper...! No need to travel that far for that, H&M does just as great a job!
I could only feel glad that this was the place we had decided to spend the next 3 weeks... I looked forward to walk the narrow (and steep, very steep!) streets, try the lovely taverns and restaurants of the place, and of course, discover Cusco surroundings that host the very famous Machu Pichu, but also the Sacred Valley, the Choquequiraw temple, and so on and so forth... But most importantly, I looked forward to finally start the one thing for which we were to spend so long here... Our volunteer work at the Missionares de la Caridad, operated by the sisters of Mother Teresa, who take care of handicaped Children and orphans (most of the time they are both), and elders left without family or simply to sick to be taken care of by their own...
Our first meeting with the sisters was quite an experience by itself. After being shown the way by an infinitely kind Carmelite mother, resident of a convent close to our hostel, we arrived at the center where a boy, who could have been in his 20s (his clear handicap made it hard to tell) openned us the door. He led us to the head sister in charge of the center, a tiny Indian woman who nevertheless transpired the strength of her devotion... She looked almost angelic in her white "dress" bordered with blue linen, outfit caracteristic of the sister of Mother Teresa. She looked very pleased with our intentions to come and help for a few weeks. Apparently, help is pretty scarce around here, and volunteers are never numerous enough to handle all the work that needs to be done in the center. We were soon to discover for ourselves that it was, indeed, a lot of work to take care of all those persons, who had not a glimpse of autonomy and whose life depended completely on the good cares of the sisters.
She shown us around the center, introduced us to the people we were gonna be working with. Mostly, we were to help with the children, for the majority handicaped to the point of not speaking, not moving, hardly understanding what was said to them. She also took us through the adult quarter, where I had the first most revealing meeting. There was a person, burnt almost entirely, with 2 wide open gaps where her eyes should have been, an indinstinct shape where her nose should have stood, no lips to cover her difformed teeth range, almost no hair left on her scalp, and many, many scars all over her skin... I knew it was a she for a sister told me her name. Antonia. Well, at first, I couldnt help but take by eyes away from her, for her sight made me feel incredibly sick... but after a while, I resolved myself to look again. It took a lot of strenght to do so, but I started asking questions to the sister about her, decided to see the human in this person who had nothing left of humanity... Her name is Antonia. Antonia is 38, she has 4 kids. She was found by them in her burning house, where she had fell asleep after leaving the cooking pot on. They brought her to the hospital, with patches of her skin falling off her. They left her there and never came back. She had several operations, but none could give her back even a bit of the look she had had. Once a women, a mother, a wife, now a monster for the eyes of all.
The worst thing is, Antonia is fully conscious. She hardly speaks, but she understands perfectly well. As she understands her family left her, probably not able to look at her without disgust, or too poor to care for her now that she can hardly move, because of constant nerves shake and spasms. She also feels the full pain of her situation. The sisters cannot give her medecines every day because they are too expensive. So she gets them only when the pain is so strong she cannot possibly stand it anymore. And that¨s her day to day life.
Tiphaine helped a woman undress Antonia and laid her in her bed. I infinitely admire her for that, not many people could have dared to touch the scared skin, the rotten body of that women. But she did, and as she said, she got a sense of the human inside the monster...
Not every of our days at the center are like this one. As I said, we work mostly with Children. They are aged from 3 for the youngest, Gabriel, to 16 for the oldest, Carmela They are for the most part severely impaired, often both physically and mentally, and need constant attention. Our role is to wash them in the morning, then play with them and make hem exercise for about an hour and a half, then feed them, brush their teeth and get them ready for their afternoon nap. In the afternoon the other women working full time in the center and who are not sisters, take over. Celeste and I have been working for a week now. And every day has been more gratifying. We are starting to know each of them, their stories who are often to dark and to terrible to imagine, their diseases, often incurable or whose cures are too expensive to be undertaken, but most importantly we get to know them, outside of their dark pasts and overly present handicaps. We get to learn what they like and dislike, what makes them happy and what makes them cry... We get to learn that just like any other children, they might do things just to piss us off, or to amuse us. And for a moment, we stop considering them like handicaped kids, and we simply try as hard as we can to make them happy, to make them feel like any other kid on this earth, born without a lethal disease. And as Celeste told me one night that we were having a very deep conversation around a mango daiquiri, the one single smile those children can give you are worth more than anything on this earth...
I know my staying here for 3 weeks won-t make any difference in their life. I know they will all die way too soon and there is nothing I can do to prevent that. But if I can give them only a moment of joy, make them feel only for a moment that life for them as well can have nice surprises, then it was not all for nothing.
I am no Mother Teresa. And again, as Celeste said, doing this might be for a large share selfish, because I will never make those kids feel just as happy and as alive as they make me feel. So do not misunderstand what I wrote in this last message. There is no pride to have here. My contribution won-t change anything. It just makes me feel more conscious of my luck than I have ever felt. And for that I am infinitely grateful to those children. The real heroes here are the sisters, who every day of they lives, without interruption, attend those people and give them the attention and the affection that was taken away from them...
I have loads of things to tell you more about Cusco, about how the 3 of us got ripped off by a Tourist agency, got abandonned in the midle of nowhere and had to spend 3 days in a police station arguing with the whole world, how we still haven-t got the full money back, how we tried to find a room to rent somewhere so we could spare some money, how we met those random people with random life stories along the way, how it was all unsuccessful in the end and how we just ended up staying in our hostel, where there is a killer parrot that is trying to kill me since the day we arrived... I will tell you all that of course, and tell you about the rest of our stay here, that will not just be about working for Mother Teresa... But really, I feel that what I will remember from Cusco in the end, is the time I will have spent with those children...
So I send you loads of kisses from a beautiful place on earth, where I am having a fantastic time.
With all my Love,
Lea
jeudi 15 juillet 2010
Arequipa & Colca Canyon
Voila maintenant un peu plus d'une semaine que je suis arrivee au Perou. Apres avoir quitte la Bolivie, nous nous sommes dirigees directement vers Arequipa, seconde ville du Perou en terme d'activite economique, en passe de surpasser Lima.
Nous avons donc pris un bus depuis Copacabana a direction de Puno, plaque tournante sur les rives du lac Titicaca pour les touristes qui souhaitent se diriger vers la Bolivie, ou qui au contraire remontent vers Cusco. Nous etions les seules de notre bus a avoir choisi de passer a Arequipa. Nous avons donc embarque dans un bus tres moyennement comfortable, dans lequel nous etions censees passer la nuit, avant d'arriver a Arequipa sur les coups de 4h du matin. Soit. Sauf que, chose que l'agence ne nous avait pas dit, c'est qu'il ferait a peu pres -10 degres a l'INTERIEUR du bus cette nuit la. Charmante surprise pour Tiphaine, Celeste et moi qui sentions progressivement nos orteils se congeler, nos doigts se raidir, et tous nos muscles se tendre dans un effort completement vain pour se rechauffer. Resultat, Tiphaine opta pour le mode pneu Michelin/Bibundum, disparaissant quasi completement sous ses couvertures, et Celeste et moi fimes un ultime effort en se collant l'une a l'autre sous le meme duvet, pour ne pas arriver au moment fatidique ou l'on devrait nous emputer des extremites dans un hopital Peruvien...
Finalement le bus arriva a Arequipa, 2 heures plus tôt que prevu, et nous nous trouvames donc un hotel pour tenter de recuperer l'usage de nos membres et passer quelques heures de sommeil.
Je crois que j'ai rarement apprecie autant le confort d'une couverture et d'une douche chaude au reveil. En definitive, on prend beaucoup trop de choses pour acquises en Europe...
Le lendemain nous etions enfin mieux disposees pour visiter la ville, qui nous apparut vraiment sublime, sous un beau ciel bleu. Arequipa, située a une altitude de 2.380m, et localisée dans un ecrin de montagnes et de volcans aux sommets enneigés dont le volcan El Misti, fut pendant longtemps le carrefour commercial et politique du Perou, notamment sous le directorat Espagnol. Cela reste une ville tres active, tout en etant veritablement magnifique, du fait de son architecture heritee de l'epoque coloniale: La place centrale avec sa cathedrale gigantesque, son parc ou les Arequipeños se prelassent a l'ombre des palmiers, ses couvents et monasteres dont l'interieur ne laisse toujours pas indifferent aujourd'hui...
Apres avoir pris un verre de vin au balcon d'un café français avec vue sur le toit du couvent Santa Caterina, veritable bijoux de par sa taille et le detail de sa construction, ainsi que sur le sommet du Volcan El Misti qui domine la ville, je me faisais la reflection que je pourrais tout a fait passer un bout de temps dans cette ville..
Mais c'était sans compter sur la quantité de choses que nous desirions egalement voir avant que Tiphaine ne reparte pour l'Europe. Nous decidions donc d'aller passer 2 jours dans le Colca Canyon, situe a 3h de route d'Arequipa, pour y admirer les vestiges d'une installation agricole Inca, se baigner dans des sources chaudes, et aller observer le vol des condors au petit matin a un point culminant du Canyon.
Malgré un guide plus qu'enervant et quelques touristes qui semblaient tenir absolument a prouver qu'ils etaient les plus grands abrutis de la terre, ces deux jours dans le canyon furent vraiment geniaux. Apres etre arrivees dans le village ou nous devions passer la nuit, nous sommes parties pour un trek de 3 heures a travers la montagne, un ancien village Inca, traversant le canyon et plusieurs terrasses d'agriculture ancestrales, pour arriver finalement aux sources chaudes ou nous nous sommes baignees. L'hotel ou nous sommes restees dormir ce soir la etait juste une petite merveille au fin fond de nulle part, et nous offrit un comfort auquel nous n'etions plus habituees.
Le lendemain matin assez tot, nous etions en route pour voir les condors... et nous n'etions pas les seules. Des files entieres de cars touristiques devant nous, des groupes entiers de personnes tant bien que mal aglutinees aux miradors dans l'espoir de voir les fameux oiseaux... Si j'avais ete un condor, jamais je n'aurais voulu sortir pour voir cette foule de touristes, bruyants et toujours en mouvement, a peine respectueux de la nature qui les entoure. Et je pensais a quel point il est dommage que les Peruviens eux même ne prennent pas plus de mesures pour proteger cet ecosysteme si precieux mais si fragile deja...
Enfin clairement les condors sont moins rancuniers que moi car ils se montrerent assez rapidement, et en grand nombre, pour nous offrir un show aerien assez impressionant. Ce sont probablement les animaux les plus majestueux que j'ai vu jusqu'a aujourd'hui. Et les voir evoluer dans cet environement de montagnes pelees, au dessus d'un des canyons les plus profond au monde, est une experience assez magique, que la horde d'appareils photos et de flashs crepitant qui m'entouraient a ce moment la ne parvint pas a gacher.
En repartant vers Cusco, nous avons fait plusieurs stops pour admirer le panorama depuis la route, et j'essayais alors d'imaginer ce que les Espagnols avaient du ressentir en penetrant dans cette vallee. Comment ne pas se sentir humble devant tellement de preuves d'une maitrise deja si evoluee de la terre et des techniques d'agriculture, il y a plus d'un demi siecle deja... Si tant est que les conquistadors aient eu cette pensee, ca ne les a quand meme pas empeche de chasser a grands coups de massacres et de maladies europeenes les habitants originaux de la vallee... Comme quoi l'homme n'a jamais vraiment cesse de faire des choses stupides..
Apres notre retour a Arequipa, nous prenions le soir même la route de Cusco, ou nous devions arriver le lendemain matin aux alentours de 6h. Cusco est encore une autre aventure, qui va suivre tres vite dans un prochain message...
Je vous embrasse fort,
Lea
Nous avons donc pris un bus depuis Copacabana a direction de Puno, plaque tournante sur les rives du lac Titicaca pour les touristes qui souhaitent se diriger vers la Bolivie, ou qui au contraire remontent vers Cusco. Nous etions les seules de notre bus a avoir choisi de passer a Arequipa. Nous avons donc embarque dans un bus tres moyennement comfortable, dans lequel nous etions censees passer la nuit, avant d'arriver a Arequipa sur les coups de 4h du matin. Soit. Sauf que, chose que l'agence ne nous avait pas dit, c'est qu'il ferait a peu pres -10 degres a l'INTERIEUR du bus cette nuit la. Charmante surprise pour Tiphaine, Celeste et moi qui sentions progressivement nos orteils se congeler, nos doigts se raidir, et tous nos muscles se tendre dans un effort completement vain pour se rechauffer. Resultat, Tiphaine opta pour le mode pneu Michelin/Bibundum, disparaissant quasi completement sous ses couvertures, et Celeste et moi fimes un ultime effort en se collant l'une a l'autre sous le meme duvet, pour ne pas arriver au moment fatidique ou l'on devrait nous emputer des extremites dans un hopital Peruvien...
Finalement le bus arriva a Arequipa, 2 heures plus tôt que prevu, et nous nous trouvames donc un hotel pour tenter de recuperer l'usage de nos membres et passer quelques heures de sommeil.
Je crois que j'ai rarement apprecie autant le confort d'une couverture et d'une douche chaude au reveil. En definitive, on prend beaucoup trop de choses pour acquises en Europe...
Le lendemain nous etions enfin mieux disposees pour visiter la ville, qui nous apparut vraiment sublime, sous un beau ciel bleu. Arequipa, située a une altitude de 2.380m, et localisée dans un ecrin de montagnes et de volcans aux sommets enneigés dont le volcan El Misti, fut pendant longtemps le carrefour commercial et politique du Perou, notamment sous le directorat Espagnol. Cela reste une ville tres active, tout en etant veritablement magnifique, du fait de son architecture heritee de l'epoque coloniale: La place centrale avec sa cathedrale gigantesque, son parc ou les Arequipeños se prelassent a l'ombre des palmiers, ses couvents et monasteres dont l'interieur ne laisse toujours pas indifferent aujourd'hui...
Apres avoir pris un verre de vin au balcon d'un café français avec vue sur le toit du couvent Santa Caterina, veritable bijoux de par sa taille et le detail de sa construction, ainsi que sur le sommet du Volcan El Misti qui domine la ville, je me faisais la reflection que je pourrais tout a fait passer un bout de temps dans cette ville..
Mais c'était sans compter sur la quantité de choses que nous desirions egalement voir avant que Tiphaine ne reparte pour l'Europe. Nous decidions donc d'aller passer 2 jours dans le Colca Canyon, situe a 3h de route d'Arequipa, pour y admirer les vestiges d'une installation agricole Inca, se baigner dans des sources chaudes, et aller observer le vol des condors au petit matin a un point culminant du Canyon.
Malgré un guide plus qu'enervant et quelques touristes qui semblaient tenir absolument a prouver qu'ils etaient les plus grands abrutis de la terre, ces deux jours dans le canyon furent vraiment geniaux. Apres etre arrivees dans le village ou nous devions passer la nuit, nous sommes parties pour un trek de 3 heures a travers la montagne, un ancien village Inca, traversant le canyon et plusieurs terrasses d'agriculture ancestrales, pour arriver finalement aux sources chaudes ou nous nous sommes baignees. L'hotel ou nous sommes restees dormir ce soir la etait juste une petite merveille au fin fond de nulle part, et nous offrit un comfort auquel nous n'etions plus habituees.
Le lendemain matin assez tot, nous etions en route pour voir les condors... et nous n'etions pas les seules. Des files entieres de cars touristiques devant nous, des groupes entiers de personnes tant bien que mal aglutinees aux miradors dans l'espoir de voir les fameux oiseaux... Si j'avais ete un condor, jamais je n'aurais voulu sortir pour voir cette foule de touristes, bruyants et toujours en mouvement, a peine respectueux de la nature qui les entoure. Et je pensais a quel point il est dommage que les Peruviens eux même ne prennent pas plus de mesures pour proteger cet ecosysteme si precieux mais si fragile deja...
Enfin clairement les condors sont moins rancuniers que moi car ils se montrerent assez rapidement, et en grand nombre, pour nous offrir un show aerien assez impressionant. Ce sont probablement les animaux les plus majestueux que j'ai vu jusqu'a aujourd'hui. Et les voir evoluer dans cet environement de montagnes pelees, au dessus d'un des canyons les plus profond au monde, est une experience assez magique, que la horde d'appareils photos et de flashs crepitant qui m'entouraient a ce moment la ne parvint pas a gacher.
En repartant vers Cusco, nous avons fait plusieurs stops pour admirer le panorama depuis la route, et j'essayais alors d'imaginer ce que les Espagnols avaient du ressentir en penetrant dans cette vallee. Comment ne pas se sentir humble devant tellement de preuves d'une maitrise deja si evoluee de la terre et des techniques d'agriculture, il y a plus d'un demi siecle deja... Si tant est que les conquistadors aient eu cette pensee, ca ne les a quand meme pas empeche de chasser a grands coups de massacres et de maladies europeenes les habitants originaux de la vallee... Comme quoi l'homme n'a jamais vraiment cesse de faire des choses stupides..
Apres notre retour a Arequipa, nous prenions le soir même la route de Cusco, ou nous devions arriver le lendemain matin aux alentours de 6h. Cusco est encore une autre aventure, qui va suivre tres vite dans un prochain message...
Je vous embrasse fort,
Lea
mardi 13 juillet 2010
Bolivia Express
It's been a while now since I last updated you on my trip... Well It has been a busy while on my side, that's for sure!
The last time I wrote here, we were in Arequipa, getting ready to go to Cusco. Well we have been in Cusco for 4 days now, and will be staying here for the next 3 weeks. But before I tell you about Peru, let me tell you a bit about Bolivia...
My arrival in La Paz was already quite something. First, my landing in El Alto, highest airport in the World, and my taxi ride down a bumpy road to the town center, gave me a good overview of the chaos of this town. Built on the slopes of the surrounding mountains without any apparent urban logic, filled with cars that barely stand together, women in traditional costumes (forced on them by the Spanish and that still haven't been traded for more modern versions) selling all sorts of things in the streets, from Alpaca clothes to Lama foetus, weird heritage from old believes... All mixed in a compact crowd that comes and goes in the incredibly steep streets of the highest Capital in the World. I did have to catch my breath a couple of times. I got lucky enough not to get sick from the altitude though...
We just spent one full day in La Paz, wandering through the busy market place of the main avenue, where orchestras were playing typical music and people, young and old, were dancing happily together. Besides this festive sight, the town was truly too compact, too messy, to fast and in the same time incredibly slow for me. I guess it was just the same for Tiphaine and Celeste as the 3 of us decided to head the same night to Copacabana, on the shore of the Titicaca Lake.
Our ride there was a public bus in which you could have seated no more than 6 people. Well, we were 10. And the package the guy next to me was carrying had that weird smell of old fish that was making me feel quite sick. We also shared the bus with a French girl, who had apparently left civilisation for a tiny bit too long... She had been travelling for a while now, and her and her dreadlogs friend had to move fast out of Bolivia cause their visa was about to expire. We couldn't help but thinking that she was probably convinced she was living the real thing, by not taking showers, sleeping on beaches and getting acquainted with local hippies... But really, how much did she know about Bolivians and their way of living? Besides smoking weed and having a " chillllled time" in a sort of new woodstock experience, she wasn't quite the most openned minded person I had met so far...
Anyhow, we made it a bit after nightfall to Copacabana, and dropped our bags in the hotel. Celeste wasn't feeling quite well, so only Tiphaine and I left the hotel for a quick dinner, asking beforehand the receptionist at what time the doors would close. Assured that we would make it back way before that, we took off. We were back only an hour later, to find the doors closed and no one to open them for us, despite our shouts and continuous knocks. After 30 minutes of trying, with no one to help us in the streets, and hotels closing one after the other, Tiphaine and I settled for an hotel down the street were we tried to get in touch with Celeste, left alone in her hotel room... well it turned out to be much more complicated than expected... The rest is only history, history the 3 of us have tried hard to forget, for it was one of the longest and scariest night we have had. Only important thing is, in the end, we were all ok and ready to continue our trip..
We took a day trip to Isla Del Sol, where we hiked in the mountains for 4 hours. The view was unreal and even if the hike by itself was surprisingly hard, we enjoyed every minute of it. Clearly we were not the fastest, but we just blamed it on the sights, which by themselves justified the extra time we took... Funny enough, we bumped into that same French girl we had travelled with from La Paz to Copacabana. She had put down her bags on the beautiful beach of Isla del Sol, and at the time we saw her she was giving a foot massage to another hippie, drinking and smoking I don't know what, and spoiling a bit the beauty of the place... Well I would not be surprised if she were still there now..
The same night we took a bus from Copacabana to Puno, and from Puno to Arequipa-Peru, from where I posted the previous message. Passing to Peru truly felt like a relief after what we had lived in Bolivia. I did not get to see the incredible Salar de Uyuni, and I hope I will have the occasion one day to go back and see this wonder on earth... But except for that, meeting the Bolivians truly was the worst experience I had since the beginning of this trip. I mean, my previous messages were sufficiently explicit for you to understand how much I enjoyed Argentina and the Argentinians. I was definitly not prepared for this: completely unfriendly, unaffected, inefficient, and infinitely slow. Lonely Planet should clearly review its description of this country's people. There was no such thing as a welcoming spirit and generous character in what we have experienced..
Well, I can tell already Peru is much, much better... I will tell you a bit more in a following post, this time about Arequipa and the great Colca Canyon, and also about Cusco, where Celeste and I have started to work for Mother Teresa, with handicaped children and orphans. It already looks like it's gonna be the hardest but also the most fulfilling thing I have had to experience so far...
So I will give you more news very soon, and for now I send you many, many kisses all the way from Peru, and hope all of you are well!
Lea
The last time I wrote here, we were in Arequipa, getting ready to go to Cusco. Well we have been in Cusco for 4 days now, and will be staying here for the next 3 weeks. But before I tell you about Peru, let me tell you a bit about Bolivia...
My arrival in La Paz was already quite something. First, my landing in El Alto, highest airport in the World, and my taxi ride down a bumpy road to the town center, gave me a good overview of the chaos of this town. Built on the slopes of the surrounding mountains without any apparent urban logic, filled with cars that barely stand together, women in traditional costumes (forced on them by the Spanish and that still haven't been traded for more modern versions) selling all sorts of things in the streets, from Alpaca clothes to Lama foetus, weird heritage from old believes... All mixed in a compact crowd that comes and goes in the incredibly steep streets of the highest Capital in the World. I did have to catch my breath a couple of times. I got lucky enough not to get sick from the altitude though...
We just spent one full day in La Paz, wandering through the busy market place of the main avenue, where orchestras were playing typical music and people, young and old, were dancing happily together. Besides this festive sight, the town was truly too compact, too messy, to fast and in the same time incredibly slow for me. I guess it was just the same for Tiphaine and Celeste as the 3 of us decided to head the same night to Copacabana, on the shore of the Titicaca Lake.
Our ride there was a public bus in which you could have seated no more than 6 people. Well, we were 10. And the package the guy next to me was carrying had that weird smell of old fish that was making me feel quite sick. We also shared the bus with a French girl, who had apparently left civilisation for a tiny bit too long... She had been travelling for a while now, and her and her dreadlogs friend had to move fast out of Bolivia cause their visa was about to expire. We couldn't help but thinking that she was probably convinced she was living the real thing, by not taking showers, sleeping on beaches and getting acquainted with local hippies... But really, how much did she know about Bolivians and their way of living? Besides smoking weed and having a " chillllled time" in a sort of new woodstock experience, she wasn't quite the most openned minded person I had met so far...
Anyhow, we made it a bit after nightfall to Copacabana, and dropped our bags in the hotel. Celeste wasn't feeling quite well, so only Tiphaine and I left the hotel for a quick dinner, asking beforehand the receptionist at what time the doors would close. Assured that we would make it back way before that, we took off. We were back only an hour later, to find the doors closed and no one to open them for us, despite our shouts and continuous knocks. After 30 minutes of trying, with no one to help us in the streets, and hotels closing one after the other, Tiphaine and I settled for an hotel down the street were we tried to get in touch with Celeste, left alone in her hotel room... well it turned out to be much more complicated than expected... The rest is only history, history the 3 of us have tried hard to forget, for it was one of the longest and scariest night we have had. Only important thing is, in the end, we were all ok and ready to continue our trip..
We took a day trip to Isla Del Sol, where we hiked in the mountains for 4 hours. The view was unreal and even if the hike by itself was surprisingly hard, we enjoyed every minute of it. Clearly we were not the fastest, but we just blamed it on the sights, which by themselves justified the extra time we took... Funny enough, we bumped into that same French girl we had travelled with from La Paz to Copacabana. She had put down her bags on the beautiful beach of Isla del Sol, and at the time we saw her she was giving a foot massage to another hippie, drinking and smoking I don't know what, and spoiling a bit the beauty of the place... Well I would not be surprised if she were still there now..
The same night we took a bus from Copacabana to Puno, and from Puno to Arequipa-Peru, from where I posted the previous message. Passing to Peru truly felt like a relief after what we had lived in Bolivia. I did not get to see the incredible Salar de Uyuni, and I hope I will have the occasion one day to go back and see this wonder on earth... But except for that, meeting the Bolivians truly was the worst experience I had since the beginning of this trip. I mean, my previous messages were sufficiently explicit for you to understand how much I enjoyed Argentina and the Argentinians. I was definitly not prepared for this: completely unfriendly, unaffected, inefficient, and infinitely slow. Lonely Planet should clearly review its description of this country's people. There was no such thing as a welcoming spirit and generous character in what we have experienced..
Well, I can tell already Peru is much, much better... I will tell you a bit more in a following post, this time about Arequipa and the great Colca Canyon, and also about Cusco, where Celeste and I have started to work for Mother Teresa, with handicaped children and orphans. It already looks like it's gonna be the hardest but also the most fulfilling thing I have had to experience so far...
So I will give you more news very soon, and for now I send you many, many kisses all the way from Peru, and hope all of you are well!
Lea
vendredi 9 juillet 2010
Sorry Sorry Sorry
Hello everyone!
It's been a while since I last wrote but we have been moving pretty fast with Celeste and Tiphaine, and haven't had quite the occasion to properly update this page... I hope I will get a chance to do it very soon. Do not worry though, I haven't quit writing just yet!
I am now in Arequipa, Peru, and we will be taking a 12h bus tonight for Cusco. There again, our planning will be quite busy, due to the fact that we have to be in Lima by the 13th for Tiphiane to catch her flight back to Europe... Between then and now i hope I can tell you a bit about my -quick- passage in Bolivia, and the fantastic landscapes we saw here, close to Arequipa, in the Colca Canyon...
Many hugs and kisses all the way from Peru!
Lea
It's been a while since I last wrote but we have been moving pretty fast with Celeste and Tiphaine, and haven't had quite the occasion to properly update this page... I hope I will get a chance to do it very soon. Do not worry though, I haven't quit writing just yet!
I am now in Arequipa, Peru, and we will be taking a 12h bus tonight for Cusco. There again, our planning will be quite busy, due to the fact that we have to be in Lima by the 13th for Tiphiane to catch her flight back to Europe... Between then and now i hope I can tell you a bit about my -quick- passage in Bolivia, and the fantastic landscapes we saw here, close to Arequipa, in the Colca Canyon...
Many hugs and kisses all the way from Peru!
Lea
dimanche 4 juillet 2010
Hasta Pronto Argentina
Je finis donc de raconter mes derniers jours en Argentine depuis La Paz, ou je suis arrivee hier soir.
Je ne me suis pas vraiment rendue compte que je devrais dire au revoir si vite a l'Argentine. Apres 3 semaines passees la bas, j'ai encore l'impression de n'avoir vu qu'une infime partie de ce pays qui me fascine de plus en plus...
J'ai pourtant vraiment profite de mes derniers jours. Mercredi j'ai eu la chance d'être invite a aller jouer au polo a l'estancia de la Martina. C'est un des noms les plus respectes dans le monde du polo, tout d'abord pour sa longue tradition d'elevage et d'entrainement de chevaux, mais egalement pour la renommee de la fameuse marque eponyme, La Martina. Mais ce qui fait par dessus tout la gloire de l'estancia, c'est le talent du plus jeune fils Cambiaso, portant le numero 1 de l'equipe La Dolfina, et egalement le numero 1 mondial dans le cercle des joueurs de polo.
J'ai donc eu la chance d'être accueillie par des personnes incroyablement simples et chaleureuses, a defaut d'être pretentieuses et snobs. Je m'etais toujours represente le polo comme un sport elitiste qui ne laissait la place qu'a un cercle bien defini de personnes qui avaient deja leurs entrees dans le milieu. Grace aux Cambiaso je decouvrais un sport a part entiere, une ambiance familiale et decontractee, et des sensations a cheval assez fantastiques! Apres une initiation d'une heure au maniement du maillet avec Juan Jose, un garçon de l'estancia, nous avons tous partage un asado, qui encore une fois aurait pu facilement nourrir un village entier. 5 autres français nous avaient rejoint entre temps, tous membres d'un equipage d'Air France, et s'appretaient egalement a prendre une leçon de polo l'apres midi. La plus part n'avait jamais eu l'occasion de prendre de vraie leçon d'equitation, et a l'exception de l'un d'entre eux, qui etait un fan de polo et possedait un club en France, aucun n'avait jamais joue a ce sport. Ce qui ne nous empechat pas de se lancer a toute vitesse sur le terrain, et de passer plus de 2heures a jouer sans relache. A la fin de la journee, nous etions epuises et pouvions a peine sentir nos jambes et nos bras, mais nous etions surtout, sans exception, incroyablement enthousiasmes par ce sport. Je dois dire que aujourd'hui encore, 4 jours plus tard, je suis encore pleine de courbatures et marche d'une façon un peu raide. Mais si on me proposait de remonter a l'instant, je n'hesiterais pas une seconde!
Un jour et beaucoup de douleurs musculaires plus tard, nous avons decide avec Pierre, un ancien ESCP (et chose assez extraordinaire, un ancien de Stan-Cannes aussi, rencontre a Buenos Aires par l'intermediaire de mon ami Juan), d'aller passer la journee a Colonia Del Sacramento, en Uruguay. Nous avons donc pris le ferry a 7h du matin pour arriver 1h plus tard de l'autre côte du fleuve, dans une petite ville coloree et atypique, pleine de charme et de contraste, avec ses maisons acidulees, ses viellies voitures, son eglise coloniale et ses petits squares bordes d'arbres tropicaux. Chacune des rues du centre semble garder une trace d'influence Portugaise ou Espagnole, preuve aussi d'une lutte pour la possession de cette petite colonie situee juste a l'embouchure du fleuve Rio Paraña. Nous en avons fait assez vite le tour malgre tout et avons alors decide de louer pour quelques pesos une petite golfette pour aller faire un tour sur la cote.
Avec des pointes de vitesse a 30km/h (en descente et en vent arriere), on est pas alle bien loin. Enfin suffisament loin pour se rendre compte que passe le centre ville, le paysage n'etait plus aussi propre et lisse... Proprietes en ruine et maisons bidonvilles se tenaient a cote de proprietes plus richement construite, possibles pied-a-terre de quelques Porteños fortunes, qui de ce fait pouvaient profite du sable fin des plages de Colonia.
En continuant sur la route du bord de mer nous sommes tombes sur un enorme hotel&Golf Sheraton, contraste assez frapant avec ce que nous avions vu jusque la. Profitant du fait que les vigiles etaient tous rentres a l'interieur de l'hotel pour voir le match Uruguay-Ghana, nous sommes rentres avec notre mini golfette sur le terrain de golf pour admirer les environs. Enfin, officiellement.. Le but etait surtout de voir au bout de combien de temps on reussirait a engager une course poursuite avec la securite du golf dans nos mini epaves qui faisaient un bruit de feraille a tout casser!
Finalement la securite ne se fit pas voir et on decida d'aller jeter un coup d'oeil au match de foot a notre tour. On arriva juste a temps pour voir le Ghana marquer, et on dut partir tout aussi vite apres que Pierre ait exprime un peu trop ouvertement sa joie pour ce premier but.
Au retour, on fit un detour par "l'hippodrome", ou plutot immense pature où quelques chevaux gambadaient en liberte, puis par la "Plaza de Toros", ultime vestige de la tradition espagnole de la corrida, qui n'a plus cours ici depuis des annees. Les rues etaient desertes, mais un cri de joie unanime venant de toutes les maisons alentours nous fit comprendre que l'Uruguay venait d'egaliser...
On est don rentre dans le centre pour voir la fin de la partie. Apres la victoire, plus que tiree par les cheveux, de l'Uruguay, les rues se remplirent de centaines de personnes en quelques minutes! Et soudain, ce petit village qui nous avait semble absolument desert etait en fete et revetait des allures de Place de la Bastille pour la fete de la musique...
Apres un retour en ferry le soir et le bouclage de ma valise, je me jetais dans mon lit (avec precaution quand meme au vue des courbatures que je sentais et sens toujours!) pour quelques heures seulement, et etais de nouveau dans le bus samedi matin direction l'aeroport et la Bolivie, d'ou je vous ecris aujourd'hui!
J'ai retrouve Celeste et Tiphaine assez depitees apres une experience plutot tres desagreable dans une boutique de developpement de photos qui a reussi a perdre une bonne partie des photos de Celeste.
Enfin apres s'être faites traitees de "Gringos de Mierda", elles ont finalement eu gain de cause et on pu reucperer une partie de ce qu'elles avaient perdu.
Je dois maintenant arreter d'ecrire car nous devons liberer notre chambre d'hotel. Nous partons vers Copaccabana aujourd'hui, sur les bords du Lac Titicaca.
Je vous embrasse et a tres vite!
Lea
Je ne me suis pas vraiment rendue compte que je devrais dire au revoir si vite a l'Argentine. Apres 3 semaines passees la bas, j'ai encore l'impression de n'avoir vu qu'une infime partie de ce pays qui me fascine de plus en plus...
J'ai pourtant vraiment profite de mes derniers jours. Mercredi j'ai eu la chance d'être invite a aller jouer au polo a l'estancia de la Martina. C'est un des noms les plus respectes dans le monde du polo, tout d'abord pour sa longue tradition d'elevage et d'entrainement de chevaux, mais egalement pour la renommee de la fameuse marque eponyme, La Martina. Mais ce qui fait par dessus tout la gloire de l'estancia, c'est le talent du plus jeune fils Cambiaso, portant le numero 1 de l'equipe La Dolfina, et egalement le numero 1 mondial dans le cercle des joueurs de polo.
J'ai donc eu la chance d'être accueillie par des personnes incroyablement simples et chaleureuses, a defaut d'être pretentieuses et snobs. Je m'etais toujours represente le polo comme un sport elitiste qui ne laissait la place qu'a un cercle bien defini de personnes qui avaient deja leurs entrees dans le milieu. Grace aux Cambiaso je decouvrais un sport a part entiere, une ambiance familiale et decontractee, et des sensations a cheval assez fantastiques! Apres une initiation d'une heure au maniement du maillet avec Juan Jose, un garçon de l'estancia, nous avons tous partage un asado, qui encore une fois aurait pu facilement nourrir un village entier. 5 autres français nous avaient rejoint entre temps, tous membres d'un equipage d'Air France, et s'appretaient egalement a prendre une leçon de polo l'apres midi. La plus part n'avait jamais eu l'occasion de prendre de vraie leçon d'equitation, et a l'exception de l'un d'entre eux, qui etait un fan de polo et possedait un club en France, aucun n'avait jamais joue a ce sport. Ce qui ne nous empechat pas de se lancer a toute vitesse sur le terrain, et de passer plus de 2heures a jouer sans relache. A la fin de la journee, nous etions epuises et pouvions a peine sentir nos jambes et nos bras, mais nous etions surtout, sans exception, incroyablement enthousiasmes par ce sport. Je dois dire que aujourd'hui encore, 4 jours plus tard, je suis encore pleine de courbatures et marche d'une façon un peu raide. Mais si on me proposait de remonter a l'instant, je n'hesiterais pas une seconde!
Un jour et beaucoup de douleurs musculaires plus tard, nous avons decide avec Pierre, un ancien ESCP (et chose assez extraordinaire, un ancien de Stan-Cannes aussi, rencontre a Buenos Aires par l'intermediaire de mon ami Juan), d'aller passer la journee a Colonia Del Sacramento, en Uruguay. Nous avons donc pris le ferry a 7h du matin pour arriver 1h plus tard de l'autre côte du fleuve, dans une petite ville coloree et atypique, pleine de charme et de contraste, avec ses maisons acidulees, ses viellies voitures, son eglise coloniale et ses petits squares bordes d'arbres tropicaux. Chacune des rues du centre semble garder une trace d'influence Portugaise ou Espagnole, preuve aussi d'une lutte pour la possession de cette petite colonie situee juste a l'embouchure du fleuve Rio Paraña. Nous en avons fait assez vite le tour malgre tout et avons alors decide de louer pour quelques pesos une petite golfette pour aller faire un tour sur la cote.
Avec des pointes de vitesse a 30km/h (en descente et en vent arriere), on est pas alle bien loin. Enfin suffisament loin pour se rendre compte que passe le centre ville, le paysage n'etait plus aussi propre et lisse... Proprietes en ruine et maisons bidonvilles se tenaient a cote de proprietes plus richement construite, possibles pied-a-terre de quelques Porteños fortunes, qui de ce fait pouvaient profite du sable fin des plages de Colonia.
En continuant sur la route du bord de mer nous sommes tombes sur un enorme hotel&Golf Sheraton, contraste assez frapant avec ce que nous avions vu jusque la. Profitant du fait que les vigiles etaient tous rentres a l'interieur de l'hotel pour voir le match Uruguay-Ghana, nous sommes rentres avec notre mini golfette sur le terrain de golf pour admirer les environs. Enfin, officiellement.. Le but etait surtout de voir au bout de combien de temps on reussirait a engager une course poursuite avec la securite du golf dans nos mini epaves qui faisaient un bruit de feraille a tout casser!
Finalement la securite ne se fit pas voir et on decida d'aller jeter un coup d'oeil au match de foot a notre tour. On arriva juste a temps pour voir le Ghana marquer, et on dut partir tout aussi vite apres que Pierre ait exprime un peu trop ouvertement sa joie pour ce premier but.
Au retour, on fit un detour par "l'hippodrome", ou plutot immense pature où quelques chevaux gambadaient en liberte, puis par la "Plaza de Toros", ultime vestige de la tradition espagnole de la corrida, qui n'a plus cours ici depuis des annees. Les rues etaient desertes, mais un cri de joie unanime venant de toutes les maisons alentours nous fit comprendre que l'Uruguay venait d'egaliser...
On est don rentre dans le centre pour voir la fin de la partie. Apres la victoire, plus que tiree par les cheveux, de l'Uruguay, les rues se remplirent de centaines de personnes en quelques minutes! Et soudain, ce petit village qui nous avait semble absolument desert etait en fete et revetait des allures de Place de la Bastille pour la fete de la musique...
Apres un retour en ferry le soir et le bouclage de ma valise, je me jetais dans mon lit (avec precaution quand meme au vue des courbatures que je sentais et sens toujours!) pour quelques heures seulement, et etais de nouveau dans le bus samedi matin direction l'aeroport et la Bolivie, d'ou je vous ecris aujourd'hui!
J'ai retrouve Celeste et Tiphaine assez depitees apres une experience plutot tres desagreable dans une boutique de developpement de photos qui a reussi a perdre une bonne partie des photos de Celeste.
Enfin apres s'être faites traitees de "Gringos de Mierda", elles ont finalement eu gain de cause et on pu reucperer une partie de ce qu'elles avaient perdu.
Je dois maintenant arreter d'ecrire car nous devons liberer notre chambre d'hotel. Nous partons vers Copaccabana aujourd'hui, sur les bords du Lac Titicaca.
Je vous embrasse et a tres vite!
Lea
jeudi 1 juillet 2010
Hay que saber mover los pies
Hey hey hey guys,
Change of plans after all, no more Salta or Jujuy, just stayed in Buenos Aires some extra days instead. It wasn't quite what I wanted at first, but the people I was supposed to travel with to Salta figured that the trip was just not realistic time-wise. And my crossing to Bolivia alone in a 28hours bus was not exactly something I looked forward to. So anyway, BA...
Well I just decided to make the most of it, drop the touristy part and just have fun for some days. And it seems that we were in for some music...
So my Argentinian friend Juan and I started off by a Cuban club on Sunday night, where we tasted great food, enjoyed some of the best music in the world, and even hit the floor for some salsa, merengue, samba and chacha dancing.... Well it goes without saying that I surely made a fool of myself in the middle of all the great dancers from Brasil, Paraguay, Uruguay, Chile, even Peru (and no, there was no quechua dancing involved). I really think those people were born with dancing feet! The way couples move together, as if every little step had been repeated over and over again to finally create this flawless evolution, the joyful colors of their music translating in every move, everything about this show just make you feel genuinly happy!
On Monday, we headed with some people of the hostel to see "La Bomba del Tiempo": A great music show with percussionists, trumpetists, guitar players, 2 fantastic female singers, all led by a Maestro who had some "druming" of his own going on, and staged in a old warehouse...
The crowd was a mix of old and young hippies, some tourists, mostly locals, an old couple of Americans who clearly were wondering why the h*** there hotel had led them there. And in the middle of it all, us, jumping up and down and enjoying the powerful sound of music!
After the show we were up for more, so we headed towards a club in palermo, where some musicians were performing live, offering us some more occasions to jump up and down..
That had to lead me straight to bed with sore feet and a bit of a cold as well...
Tuesday was the game Brasil-Chile, and we went down to Plaza San Martin to watch it with a bunch of people, mix of brasilians and Argentinians, mostly Brasilians though.. Can't quite describe how the whole place was transformed after Brasil won... Some guys started playing on drums and percussions airs of Samba, and all the Brasilians, girls and boys, formed a spontaneous circle and started dancing their victory... I am sure many of the guy-readers here would have appreciated the show.... ;)
I could not imagine this kind of celebration would happen before the finale, but it seems that for some people, football does mean a bit more than "just" a multi-millions cheque at the end of the year.. It truly is a federating event here, and the players know that they have a nation supporting them behind. They don't just play for their own glory, but they also carry the hopes of their people. And that's why in my opinion it is only fair that France was kicked out. We should have never been their in the first place anyway... Which kind of motivation did we show anyway, besides demonstrating one more time that they were just a bunch of spoiled kids with egos to big to coexist anyway..
I will dedicate another post, this time in french, for the rest of my week here... I had the incredible chance yesterday to go play polo in the oldest estancia of Argentina, La Martina, with Marcial Cambiaso, brother to #1 polo player in the world, Adolfo Cambiaso... And I want to share this experience in particular with my dad, as he was the one to put me on the back of a horse for the first time some 19 years ago....The only thing i can tell you guys, is that i never had such a rush in my whole life! I might very well be back here this winter for more...!
I will have a day trip tomorrow to Uruguay, and then be off to Bolivia on Saturday, Where I will be meeting with Celeste and Tiphaine. Will give you more news from there!
loads of love
Lea
Change of plans after all, no more Salta or Jujuy, just stayed in Buenos Aires some extra days instead. It wasn't quite what I wanted at first, but the people I was supposed to travel with to Salta figured that the trip was just not realistic time-wise. And my crossing to Bolivia alone in a 28hours bus was not exactly something I looked forward to. So anyway, BA...
Well I just decided to make the most of it, drop the touristy part and just have fun for some days. And it seems that we were in for some music...
So my Argentinian friend Juan and I started off by a Cuban club on Sunday night, where we tasted great food, enjoyed some of the best music in the world, and even hit the floor for some salsa, merengue, samba and chacha dancing.... Well it goes without saying that I surely made a fool of myself in the middle of all the great dancers from Brasil, Paraguay, Uruguay, Chile, even Peru (and no, there was no quechua dancing involved). I really think those people were born with dancing feet! The way couples move together, as if every little step had been repeated over and over again to finally create this flawless evolution, the joyful colors of their music translating in every move, everything about this show just make you feel genuinly happy!
On Monday, we headed with some people of the hostel to see "La Bomba del Tiempo": A great music show with percussionists, trumpetists, guitar players, 2 fantastic female singers, all led by a Maestro who had some "druming" of his own going on, and staged in a old warehouse...
The crowd was a mix of old and young hippies, some tourists, mostly locals, an old couple of Americans who clearly were wondering why the h*** there hotel had led them there. And in the middle of it all, us, jumping up and down and enjoying the powerful sound of music!
After the show we were up for more, so we headed towards a club in palermo, where some musicians were performing live, offering us some more occasions to jump up and down..
That had to lead me straight to bed with sore feet and a bit of a cold as well...
Tuesday was the game Brasil-Chile, and we went down to Plaza San Martin to watch it with a bunch of people, mix of brasilians and Argentinians, mostly Brasilians though.. Can't quite describe how the whole place was transformed after Brasil won... Some guys started playing on drums and percussions airs of Samba, and all the Brasilians, girls and boys, formed a spontaneous circle and started dancing their victory... I am sure many of the guy-readers here would have appreciated the show.... ;)
I could not imagine this kind of celebration would happen before the finale, but it seems that for some people, football does mean a bit more than "just" a multi-millions cheque at the end of the year.. It truly is a federating event here, and the players know that they have a nation supporting them behind. They don't just play for their own glory, but they also carry the hopes of their people. And that's why in my opinion it is only fair that France was kicked out. We should have never been their in the first place anyway... Which kind of motivation did we show anyway, besides demonstrating one more time that they were just a bunch of spoiled kids with egos to big to coexist anyway..
I will dedicate another post, this time in french, for the rest of my week here... I had the incredible chance yesterday to go play polo in the oldest estancia of Argentina, La Martina, with Marcial Cambiaso, brother to #1 polo player in the world, Adolfo Cambiaso... And I want to share this experience in particular with my dad, as he was the one to put me on the back of a horse for the first time some 19 years ago....The only thing i can tell you guys, is that i never had such a rush in my whole life! I might very well be back here this winter for more...!
I will have a day trip tomorrow to Uruguay, and then be off to Bolivia on Saturday, Where I will be meeting with Celeste and Tiphaine. Will give you more news from there!
loads of love
Lea
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