What do you get when you cross Billy Christmas with Action Science Theatre?

I have some very talented friends. Now I think it's in the spirit of Marmalade to share this. Partly because one of them has written a book, I've written a review, and there doesn't seem to be an appropriate platform to post the review while the book is not yet available. (You'll also notice that I still feature in these plugs so I won't pretend that it's a matter devoid of self interest... it's probably mostly self interest).

The book is Billy Christmas by Mark A. Pritchard.

It's here to pre-order on Amazon 

Subscribe (along with 76,000 others) on Facebook

 Here's the review:

Billy Christmas is a young man in his early teens who carries the weight of troubles beyond his years whilst juggling an increasingly extraordinary, even life threatening, adventure to try and find his missing father. The characterisation of Billy is perhaps what makes this first novel.  His warm and well-meaning nature keeps us rooting for him as events never quite seem to go his way, and we experience the familiar injustice of why some people always seem to have to learn the hard way. All the while, we are conscious of the awkwardness of adolescence with all the clumsiness of lanky limbs and a school boy existence booby trapped with opportunities for social humiliation. The story has the makings of your typical teenage novel: Billy’s secret crush on his best friend Katherine, run-ins with the school bully. Only that’s only the start of Billy’s story...

Billy’s father has been missing for almost a year, having disappeared on Christmas day, and Billy has been valiantly holding things together for his mother, who sank in to a deep depression following her husband’s disappearance. Things start to take an interesting turn when Billy brings home what turns out to be quite an extraordinary Christmas tree, complete with an unusual set of decorations.  Think a talking tree is strange? Christmas decorations that come to life? That’s only the beginning of a series of weird and wonderful adventures as we a thrust in to a deeply magical and darkly dangerous world which as Billy discovers, was right under his nose all along. So what’s that got to do with Billy’s father?  Billy’s got to work that one out for himself if he, and those closest to him, can survive the challenges he’s got to overcome to find out.

Billy Christmas is an enjoyable read that will keep you guessing until the final pages. We are somewhat thrown straight in to the story with little scene setting and, when thrust in to some of the action later on, this absence of introduction to a wintry Marlowe, which is so central to the story, is often felt. As a reader, we can sometimes feel that we’ve missed something by not being able to visualise the Marlowe scenes that are so familiar to Billy. There is a sense that a huge amount has been crammed in to this story, which makes for some inconsistent attention to detail which speeds and slows the pace.

The characters, however, whether human, animal, or event plant, come to life through deft descriptions that allow us to see their mannerisms and expressions. My personal favourite was a mischievous little sprig of mistletoe, which is in an excellent example of the subtle comic elements that are woven around the action.

This book is a carefully intertwined exploration of both the fantastical and the soberingly real, wintry bite of life.  We see relationships strained and tested, weaknesses, fears and failings exposed, all within a whirlwind magical adventure that will keep all ages gripped in the cold evenings this winter, and perhaps giving their Christmas trees the odd second glance in the dead of night...

That's www.billychristmas.com and it's out this month, I believe.

( I don't know why the word 'giving' looks different, it just does)

..............................................................

Secondly, a quick mention of a very innovative project by the great trio: Action Dan, Science Brian and Producer Dan:

 "Action Science Theatre is a podcast that mixes action, science, comedy and silly voices to create a welcome distraction from real life for 20 – 30 mins, and who knows, you might even learn some science. Maybe."

I appear in episode 3, had a great time recording and was very impressed by all the skill, effort and talent that goes in.

It's already attracted the attention of a Minnesota radio station (I am proud to say that I got to share in the celebration with a Minnesota-shaped cake made by Producer Dan).

*Listen and enjoy here*

Mentions Barbie plus what happens when you're giving information on the phone and the other person doesn't have a pen.

So what's everyone doing? All those starry eyed volunteers who went to Peru/Guatemala/Argentina/Thailand. I've been checking up. If they're not still there, they're back home, looking for jobs. Slotting back in to normal life, enjoying proper tea/bread/chutney/dutch cheese/chipotle paste/pizza for a while until it's completely mundane again.

 All but completely broke, job comes first, you come completely consumed by the thankless hunt, then you're really happy to get one, then it's just business as usual.

Does that sound horribly negative, bitter and bleak? I don't think it is. 

I've got a sparkly new job. It's a step up in charity communications and I'm moving to London for it. It was that or more, longer term work or volunteering abroad. I'll occasionally wonder if that was the right call but, actually, I made it on returning from Peru because although in many ways it was an exciting adventure and I was the envy of my friends, it was still work and, in many ways, it was harder. 

As the new and different becomes the norm, you have all the same worries, doubts, insecurities and thoughts about the weekly shop or bills or, more likely, where to get the best rehydration salts. The weather is better and you can go surfing every day then off to the mountains for weekend adventures.At the same time, your digestive system never feels quite right, there were rats in the kitchen, you face daily racism and the constant threat of being robbed or kidnapped. 

Don't get me wrong, all of that is worth it, it is brilliant and you have some great stories but why should being back home be much different? What do we do when we're away? We make time for EVERYTHING. Never mind TV and the same pub every week, you go exploring and try new things. Admittedly, where I'm from it's harder because it's expensive and it rains a lot. That just requires a bit more creativity.

So there's a been a drought,  a double dip recession and an awful lot of rain but:

Over the past few months, I have been on a motorbike, I've flown a kite, been strawberry picking, salsa dancing, boat racing, went to a wedding where I didn't know a single person and ate jelly beans during the ceremony, got involved in a film version of Much Ado About Nothing, been a witness to a legal document signing in a hotel room, drunk gin and tonic in a hammock in the park whilst watching the sunset; seen comedy, theatre, music, the Olympics, ate street food from three different countries all at once, hung out with a group of pirates on the Bristol docks, HUGGED TIM MINCHIN 3 TIMES, been swimming in an Oxfordshire lake and sung along to a song called Everybody's Itching for a Party in the Kitchen sung by a guy in a tiger sitting by a campfire.
I could go on. I won't though.

You know that person you are when you're away, that really great open-minded, adventurous person who makes friends everywhere they go? If you were Barbie, this would be Malibu Barbie (or super tanned Hawaian shirt clad Malibu Ken). 



Do not make any mistake, I am not suggesting anyone let their inner Malibu roam free. Actually, she's really annoying. Smug, self satisfied, sits in the same bar telling the same stories to backpackers and tourists about all the great stuff EVERYONE ELSE HAS DONE TOO.

I had a few Barbies when I was little. my favourite one was casually dressed Artist Barbie. Now, I'd love to read in to this (having gone on to do an art degree) and pretend I'm especially grounded and valued Artist Barbie's talent which outshone the other dolls' sparkly dresses even in her jeans and paint palette t-shirt. But, honestly, she just had really brilliant hair.

Anyway, for argument's sake, let's say it was at least something to do with her talent, potential, lack of vanity etc. 

Malibu Barbie has a place, and it is not at home (or preferably not anywhere). The only difference between Malibu Barbie and every other Barbie is a brightly coloured bikini and Malibu Ken's little plastic surf board.

Artist needs no themed outfit. Artist is real. (yes, I know still a Barbie but a Barbie in overalls!).

I'm aware there are a lot of holes in this analagy but the point is... something about potential and not having to be in Malibu. Something like that!

Artist Barbie would say:

"My god! There's just no time! I have to stop watching TV, make some obscure blend of tea and decoupage a lampshade!" 

"Today I met a guy on a train and he's 94 and he's just travelling around tying to see as many places as possible - he's bee going for 3 months. How cool is THAT"

 "LOOK at this crack in my wine glass, it looks just like a giant squirrel on top of the Empire State Building."

So, to try and conclude this car crash Barbie analagy life observation thing; go bake some cupcakes, try and make the longest ever dominos trail, do something in a boat or walk/climb up somehere really high, do something for charity and write someone a letter - a proper letter. THEN you can wish you were on a beach somewhere warm (and you won't, you'll be too tired).

What else did the travel blog have that this doesn't? 
Amusing anecdotes about cultural differences. 
Actually, they're everywhere:

Just another day at the office. I take a phone call.

Caller says (with 'My Girl' by Otis Redding playing loudly in the background)
"Hello, I'd like to talk to someone about volunteering in the charity shop please"

"OK, I'll give you the number for the charity shop"

"Oh, right, I just need to get a pen"

*a bit of kerfuffling over pens and pencils ensues*

"Oh no that's a pencil, hang on"

*presume caller goes off to get a pen and wait for a while (meanwhile I'm thinking: what's wrong with a pencil for taking a number?)*

*still waiting and notice there's breathing on the line... maybe it's a cordless phone... wait a bit more*

*still breathing*
......
*breathing*

Eventually say:

"Hello?"

"Hello."

"Oh, I thought you'd gone to get a pen."

"Yeah, I did."

"Right, I didn't realise you'd come back..."
*silence*
"So are you ready to take the number?"

"Yes."

"OK.... "

(This picture was stolen from here: http://convozine.com/8846-pierre-hauser/19875)

"You have to play the board and not your dreams"

Scrabble philosophy.

I lodge with friends who are a married couple. Recently they've got in to Scrabble in a big way. Mrs was getting increasingly frustrated that she had the makings of a brilliant word but nowhere on the board to place the letters. Mr then came out with this golden Scrabble rule for life:

"You have to play the board, and not your dreams"

Maybe you have got 7 of the letters for xylophone and maybe there are 2 triple word scores available but if there isn't an appropriately placed 'H', you have to suck it up and work with what you've got. Luckily, you can get better at making the most of the board and the letters that you have. But if you keep on mourning that non-existent 'H' by the triple word score, you'll never be satisfied.

I've overheard a few, quite common, appeals to the Board:

Dream says: I want to be a princess
Board says: You are descended from lowly farmers and you've got about as much chance of hooking Harry as you have of pulling zygote out of the bag across that triple letter score.

Dream says: Happily ever after?
Board says: Alright, you can have a team-mate. Two brains will do better than one but don't think I'm making it any easier for you.

Dream says: I want to travel the world forever
Board says: Your overdraft is laughable, you are a credit lender's dream, you've got a bit of a distant niggle about your biological clock and your friends all have fabulous careers taking off and are buying houses. But you could get a respectable score of 30 with 'employment' over a double letter, and you'd still have your H and other Y to save for an amazing 'holiday', with any luck on a triple letter.

Dream says: Lottery win?
Board says: Ha!

Really good Scrabble players always do pretty well, even with pants letters and a sarcastic Board. They practise, they probably read a lot, they're often older and wiser than you.

Dreams are important, but without a good healthy dose of reality, you'll be left crying in to your Scrabble tiles and mess up your whole game.   

 
For those who don't know, I work for a mental health charity. Sometimes, it's an absolute pleasure talking to service users. Some of them have had a really tough time - multiple bereavements, redundancy, relationship breakdowns, physical disability - and they are so grateful for the little support they get, and sound genuinely happy. They've already gone through all the kinds of things we worry about happening, or forget could ever happen to us because we're worrying about which route our already very comfortable lives should take, or body image, or new car vs holiday, or WHY HASN'T HE CALLED*?! These are people who've got through the scenarios our nightmares haven't even imagined and they are happy just because they are OK and their loved ones are OK, and they've got somewhere to go and be with people twice a week. That's what I call making the best of the board.

Having been inspired by the simple things, I'd like to take this opportunity to say, just LOOK at my desk orchid!

It was bud-less before. Now it's bursting with green shoots of loveliness with little buds all ready to explode in to smiley white stars.

Anyway.

In other work moments that bring you down to earth, my colleague observed a great one at a campaigning event, only today, promoting the 'Five Ways to Wellbeing'**. We have a branded minibus for the occasion, smart new postcards, publications, branded balloons, interactive activities... and an extra today was some baked goods courtesy of a cooking group.

There we all were in Abingdon Market Place with Oxford United, the Mayor, journos, photographer etc, in my colleague's words "trying to look like a slick, media savvy organisation" schmoozing away with our glossy new campaign materials, when a loud voice pops up:

"HAS ANYONE SEEN THE KNIFE FOR THE LEMON DRIZZLE CAKE?"

Oh.

Cake anyone?



*This is an abstract question for entertainment purposes only. If you haven't called, I haven't even noticed.
**Are you interested? I can expand if you're interested.

Same same but different

"What do you miss most about Peru?" asked friend (having just received present of Peruvian brand 'Fanny' mustard)
-"The heat."
I say, wearing a thin little 50s-style tea dress and high heels I put on for the cold April evening at home 'to cheer myself up' (first time I've tried this in a long while. It worked, and was worth being chilly. I'd been wearing a much-loved giant wool cardigan that belonged to my grandmother all day. As much as it is one of my favourite things in the world, the sleeves are too long and impractical for work, and I mostly feel like a clumsy sheep).
The same friend said I should keep blogging, and that was all it took. That on top of the odd blog-related ego stroke that I'd received over the past few weeks.

The glorious high of being back from abroad in a mini March heat wave with a glowing tan and catching up with everyone and being very busy and exotic came to a withered end, and everything was the same as before but without this big trip I'd been looking forward to for 6 months. Queue plan of action (or ¿Qué plan of action?)

It's brilliant going away and doing something you love in an exciting place with a great group of people but, more often than not, it's temporary. I only met one person in Peru who could not wait to get home and live in their home town forever (one of my favourite people, in fact). Most other people, and especially the ones who have been away the longest, feel a certain dread about the 'what next' and 'the life I had before won't be enough now'. Then, just occasionally, you get the other extreme of deeply tanned, multi-lingual eternal travellers who have had a lifetime of drifting, unable to settle in any way shape or form. Those are the ones (in my experience) that seem to either cry or fly in to a rage about life when they've had a few too many cuba libres. Nobody really wants to be those ones, do they? A girl/boy in every port, extensive romantic email correspondence to keep up (Facebook must be a nightmare to manage), worldly possessions filling one smallish rucksack and a general air of dissatisfaction under the various gripping tales of adventure. (Apologies but I tend to do stereotyping in a big way. Just blame it on my theatrical background).

So if you don't become a natural fibre-clad nomad, what is next? You get "life plus" in these travel/work abroad situations - a big, very close and culturally diverse community, the reality of extreme poverty in front of you every day, intense heat, brighter colours, noises, smells, breathtaking sunsets, warm nights and so much outdoors, activity and constant stimulation. Most lifestyles would be pretty bland after that. (I say this, I was at a meeting at my 'day job' the other day that got interrupted first by a dog coming in, then by the dog's bed coming in and finally by a photographer taking photos of the meeting (not because of the dog, this was a completely separate issue). Not entirely usual...)

However, the sun-baked nomads don't seem happy to me. They constantly talk about their enviable lifestyle, as a kind of affirmation to themselves. No, that is not the way to go.

Spoilt for choice, footloose and fancy free, I endeavour to explore what is the way to go. Not my way to go necessarily, I'm interested in the balance between satisfying itchy feet and becoming a sort of lost drifter whose feet never land anywhere.

For over three years, I've been working for a mental health charity and the issue of happiness or wellbeing is constantly cropping up in media monitoring, press requests, promoting our services etc etc. So it's something I've become increasingly interested in. Added to that, I've been meeting more and more people of my generation who are experiencing some sort of late-twenties/early-thirties crisis. Did our parents have this, or is it a new thing? Are we all just a bunch of overgrown brats spoiled by endless opportunities and credit cards?

How have I been beating post-adventure, back to reality flatness? (I hasten to add here that 6 weeks is not the same as, say, a year. I have a job that I like and I don't live with my parents. I am 10 steps ahead of some others who I plan to quiz about this. I can feel instantly cheery about a new shoot appearing on the orchid on my desk (it sounds lame but there really is something in that plant on the desk tip)). I have many tactics. However, the favourite Oxford-based replacement for surfing/jungle trekking/mountains etc:
climbing.
With some basic experience and a shiny, just about the right size harness, I started back up immediately post-trip. There is nothing like terrifying and exhausting yourself and then defying every fibre of your being that's saying "GET DOWN FROM HERE!" and actually getting to the top when it seemed impossible. No, 364 days of the year you can't go for a balmy sunset beer afterwards, but overcoming deep seated fears combined with adrenalin and endorphins is not to be underestimated. And that's only indoors, as a beginner. These are exciting times.

Since I now can't remember a time when it wasn't raining in Oxford, indoor climbing is one of a few very good things. Another involves paper mache, but that's another story. Now, I'm going to catch up with some of those deep in post-adventure "what now?" crisis and see what amusing, insightful blog material I can garner.

10 is a nice round number

I couldn't just leave it there. I didn't intend to drag it out for another two weeks either but there's less time for blogging in real life. People keep asking me if I miss it (Peru, not the blogging). I do but it was only ever going to be as long as it was so it's like missing the time time that you were on holiday, or a short course you went on. I do miss having my washing done, and dried and folded the same day for about £2, and getting taxis everywhere (and arguing over the price when the difference is only about 20p).

Some of us were thinking about the cultural differences and how it would go if you were to take some behaviours home.

In a clothes shop:

-How much is this jumper?
-That’s £32.00.  

-What? I’m not paying that.
-Um, ok...
-I’ll give you £20.00 for it.
-I’m sorry but that’s the price, it’s £32.00
Start walking away, looking furtively back for them to change their mind.

Cafe 1:

-Can I get an orange juice to take away?
-I’m sorry, we don’t do take-aways here.
-Can’t I just take it out though?
-We don’t have any take-away cups.
-That’s ok, just put it in a plastic bag with a straw in the top...

Cafe 2:

Go in with two plates and a glass and ask for a take away on those plates and demand to be charged less for it.

Cafe 3:

Spend an entire day in one cafe,  only order 1, or maybe 2 drinks in that time, do some work, have a nap stretched out across a bench, go for a swim in the sea and come back in swimwear and a towel back to finish the one, half-full drink.

On a bus:

At any point on the journey you like, stand up and shout “I’m getting off!”

Call a taxi over:

-I’m going to the shopping mall, will you take me for 45p?
-No, I’ll put it on the meter, it will be about £6.00
-Okay then, 65p.
-No, it will be a minimum of £3.
-Look, if I gather some more people...there are 10 of us: 2 in the front seat, 5 in the back and 3 in the boot. Can we pay 20p each?

So, back to Lima:
On the one hand, it was a shame that I didn't get much time in Lima but, on the other hand, it is a city with a lot in common with most other big cities. It is right on the coast with impressive views on the front but, generally, unless you're living there, a day is probably as good as a week to get a flavour of the place.

I did make the mistake of getting too little sleep on the last night, which was spent with some 2 for 1 Pisco Sours, braving some unbearably hot clubs and then giving up to go and find reasonably priced water and enjoy the night air on the cliff tops. After sitting there for a while, some guinea pigs emerged from the undergrowth, presumably escaped from wherever it was they were being reared for oven roasting whole.

So on my last day, my three tour guides: Nico, Nico's Peruvian friend William + Michael, an ex-SKIP volunteer, also of Mancora trip fame, fuelled me with coffee and dragged me off to see the sights. These included the impressive catacombes and, after my enthusiasm for the Natural History Museum in Cusco (which turned out to be a musty collection of a few stuffed birds, some pickled mutated animals in grubby jars, and a large collection of plastic fruit and vegetables),  got the proper natural history experience in Lima, complete with dinosaurs and even live snakes.

We had a final lunch in a smokey Chinese place, brief nap, a supermarket sweep for treats to take home and then hugs on the pavement before paying far too much for a taxi to the airport because I'd only left myself with a 20 dollar note.

When you haven't really been alone for much more than a second in 6 weeks, the taxi felt very quiet. It was a bit like getting home and not sharing a bedroom with someone for the first time since I went away. Having been surrounded by people since arriving in Trujillo, I'd sort of forgotten that I went there by myself. Luckily though, I did bump in to someone from our trek group at the airport. It's amazing how you cross paths with people at Lima airport and/or on the Inca trail. I think we had 6 such coincidences in 1 week.

That was it really, apart from finishing off some SKIP work back home. I should add that you can subscribe to the SKIP newsletter here (recent edition includes articles from me...):

http://www.skipperu.org/en/you-can-help

You can buy products made by SKIP mothers, and contribute to the economic development project.

http://www.skipperu.org/en/skipshop

And of course you can 'like' them on Facebook.

My photos available on request (or on Facebook). I may continue my marmalade musings along a different theme, but I'm taking at least a short break for a slightly dull, chilly and rather uneventful April.

Here's a couple of pics from the last week in Peru.

The almost Inca Trail

The Inca Jungle trek starts at 7.30am... a Peruvian 7.30am (so nearer 8). There was a lot of faffing about the streets of Cusco, and then when we finally got on a bus, there was a good long wait while they loaded bikes up on top. The best solution to the madness was to fall asleep and conveniently wake up once we were in the stunning mountain panoramas. It's the kind of scenery that makes you feel the size of an ant and the size of a giant at the same time, with nothing to really put the size of the mountains to scale.

The epic drive continued as we gradually got to know some of the group members, again from all over the world. When a wave of nausea and dizziness came over me, and my ears started popping, I became aware of just how high we were. This was all to take us to a point where we could be loaded off on to mountain bikes (for my parents' sake, I won't say too much about the bikes...) for the most amazing bike ride  imaginable -straight down the mountain road in to a valley. Three hours of Andean exhilaration. The group spread out a lot, depending on weight/gravity or confidence so I was often free to imagine that I was biking solo through the mountains, interrupted only by the various fords where waterfalls met the road. You could slow down, you could lift your feet up, but you were getting a soaking. And just as you got dry, there was another one.

The ride ended in a bit of a mud bath before we reached a village, Santa Maria, where we stayed the night in a proper hostel (no hot water, no wifi, TV, free tea or towels etc). So it was here, in my Paddington Bear notebook, I wrote the first part of this post - just like in travel journal days.

Santa Maria is what you'd expect of a more remote village: small, simple, centred around a football pitch where all the youths gather of an evening to play. However, it's very much a stopping point for treks like ours, with shops loaded up with water, Power Raid drinks and toilet paper. There is even a bar with a happy hour. Lower than Cusco, it's much warmer, but not the same stifling heat as in the northern desert, and my ears were ringing with the sound of insects instead of traffic and Latin music blaring from passing cars.

The second day, we really did set of at 7.30am. It was a tough hike with steep climbs but the views more than made up for it. There were regular stops, mostly at houses where they'd sell bananas and fresh juice, and they tended to have very cute puppies, kittens and ducks wandering around. One of the houses had a very hyperactive monkey (sadly tethered up) jumping around/at us and getting cosy with his teddy bear 'girlfriend'.

The 8 hour walk involved various, increasingly hair-raising river crossings; whether it was a few logs over raging rapids, or a strange sort of tray on a pulley system.

The marathon walk ended with a visit to some hot springs and then a heavy downpour which caused chaos around the only 2 undercover areas at the springs. We waited out the worst of it and then walked over a landslide to get a bus up the hill to the town. A small Peruvian boy, Anthony, somehow ended up on our combi bus. He must have been a bit overwhelmed ; he did eventually decide that it was safe to sit on the empty seat next to me, but spent more time standing after Nico thought it would be funny to tell him that I eat children.

It was the only wet evening, and it happened to be at the one town that has one disco/bar, which presumably survives off trekking groups passing through. One bar is all you need though, and some of the group members stayed until unreasonable hours. How they managed the trek apparently unscathed the next day, I can only assume is coca-related. For the trek, we moved from tea to chewing on the dried leaves. This is how Inca messengers used to run 26 mile (steep up and down) sections of the Inca trail in less than 4 hours. Incredible but feasible when you've felt the reviving effects of 7-8 coca leaves half way up a seemingly vertical jungle path in the hot sun.

The third day involved a later start and a flatter walk, mostly along the train tracks of the line running to Machu Picchu. It was a tame 6 hour hike, other than a couple of wobbly suspension bridges with a few too many slats missing. Along this walk, we got our first glimpse of the ruins up on the mountain side before reaching the town of Aguas Calientes ('Hot Waters', ironically, because it was a very very cold shower).

Machu Picchu itself was truly amazing. We set off on the gruelling final climb at 4.30am, head lamps on and up through the clouds. When the sun rose, the weather was perfect - a winning combination with the low-season crowds. I'd expected an anti-climax but it was the complete opposite and I spent 8 hours wandering the ruins, only trekking down out of exhaustion to indulge in another cold shower, pizza and ice cold Cusqueñas.

With the end of the trek, the reality of going home was creeping in. It was sad to say goodbye to the group; again, a good international crowd providing lots of Spanglish conversation and hilarity. We all went our separate ways after catching the train back (and sadly missing the views from it in the dark, but we'd seen most of it on foot).

A final night in Cusco and then it we were back up to Lima for my last 26-or-so hours. There we were reunited with another SKIP volunteer and fellow Mancora traveller. The part of Lima where we stayed, Miraflores, could almost be a city in north America with higher prices, ocean views and all the chains and brands you'd expect. However, I fitted in some cultural activities in a whirlwind city tour.

Now I'm finishing this up back home with a cup of Earl Grey, but it is not the last post! I've also yet to finish the Spanish version of the SKIP annual report and a couple of articles so it doesn't quite end there (denial?).
Sum up and a bit more about Lima to follow...

South to Cusco

The SKIP 2011 Annual Report is online!

http://www.skipperu.org/en/about-skip

It actually still needs tweaking a bit but I won't say where. I may have only been with SKIP for a month but I've got something to show for it and it will stay on the website...maybe forever as well as being sent to all sorts of people and potential funders (I was informed that there has already been some interest on the back of this report alone...).

I didn't have time to think about leaving SKIP very much since I was still working right to the end. A lot of people asked how I felt about leaving and, quite honestly, more than anything, I was excited about getting to Cusco! It was tough finishing work off in a busy house in the heat whilst simultaneously planning the trip south. However, when the time came, it was a Thursday evening (family dinner night) so everyone was around and I got a lovely send off that made it feel very strange to leave everyone.  There's a tradition of creating a human archway leading up to the door for you to walk through as you walk out for the last time. With such a full house, my archway was a tunnel across the entire patio. Then, suddenly, I was in the taxi to the bus station along with a very stuffed rucksack (I bought a couple of scarves made by SKIP mothers but I'm sure I got rid of a lot of stuff too...) and travel buddy Nico. I'd better introduce Nico since I'll be spending the whole week with him. Nico is from Cleveland in the States, he's a teacher but he took 8 months off to come and volunteer for SKIP. He likes karaoke, water polo and Mentos.

 A (quite small) family dinner

Cusco is everything I hoped for and more. I was nervous about the altitude hitting me hard, arriving by plane directly from sea level. At 3399m in the main square (and I hasten to add that our hostel is a fair bit higher!), it's not the highest I've ever been but it is the highest I've been without the help of Diamox. However, I'm clearly from mountain goat stock as the effects have been minimal (*smug*). Walking up the steep hill to our lovely hostel with stunning views was very slow on the first time but it was accompanied by a fairly pleasant floaty feeling rather than the pounding headache that people talk about. The hostel provides unlimited 'mata coca' a 'tea' that's a natural remedy for altitude sickness (basically a handful of dried leaves in got water and genuinely delicious, if a bit awkward when you get a bit of leaf or stem in your teeth).

So, Cusco. For those not familiar, it sits in a sort of well in the mountains, and the outskirts sprawl up the sides of them. It's much more 'old school mountain Peru' than the coast, much more abundant in tourists, which is a shame but at least people don't stare at us and shout things in the street. They do try to sell you things and coerce you in to restaurants. I don't know which is more annoying. Nico and I have developed a come-back that works for most of their offers. When one of us is offered something, you say "No thanks, I have him/her." For example, "Would you like a baggage trolly?" (not free!) -"No thanks, I have one (pointing at Nico)". This has also proved effective when offered massages, a 'beautiful little doll' and a horse to help with the walk.

The ruins in the surrounding mountains are horrendously underrated by the guide book, probably just because there are so many of them. The past 3 days have felt like borrowed time because I was expecting (on the advice of many people + books) to be incapacitated with altitude sickness. So to have seen some stunning Inca ruins and panoramic mountain views and trekked around the nearby town of Pisac among waterfalls, whilst being serenaded by panpipes before even starting the trek to Machu Picchu, is quite exciting.

 Cusco

A view from Sacsayhuaman ruins (pronunciation easy to remember, it sounds just like 'sexy woman')

A baby Alpaca (I ate some today too)

Pisac was pretty exhausting, not least because of the bus ride back to Cusco. The bus was full. Or so we thought. They managed to pack us on a few more behind so we were standing, contorted and holding on for dear life right at the front. At the next stop – maybe some people will get off? Oh no, they’re getting a couple more on. Meanwhile the bus makes its way up steep, winding mountain roads with breath-taking drops off the edge of the roads (with no barriers). When I managed to take my eyes off the steep drop/where I could get the best hand hold to stay upright on the bus, I focused on a window sticker at the front, roughly translated: "This ride is safe...because Jesus lights my way." I think there is such a thing as too much faith...

Tomorrow we’re heading off early for a 4 day trek ending at Machu Picchu, with some mountain biking, jungle trekking and hopefully river rafting (weather dependent) along the way. All being well, I’ll be back in Cusco on Thursday night with several billion photos, mosquito bites and muscle pains. Do I have several billion muscles? It already feels like it after today's little walk.

It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a tin opener

I've been observing throughout this trip how Peruvians don't like to explain anything. You never know what's going on here. Clearly, it's a cultural difference, and I am sure they find me pushy or anxious or something for asking why something is late/closed/how long something will take. Standard responses are
-Don't worry, every thing's fine
-Won't be a moment, every thing's fine


Mancora return journey:
-Me: Do I get the bus from here?
-Travel agent: Yes
-Me: (doubtfully) The bus actually stops right here?
-Travel agent: Yes, here.
I arrive later to get the bus there, only to be taken in a taxi to a bus station to get the bus
-Me: Why did you tell me the bus leaves from here?
-Travel agent: Because you had to come here to get the taxi, it's the same.

*It's not really the same though, it it...*


I got 'shown around' the gym on my first visit, which turned in to a sort of personal training session without any consultation whatsoever. The instructor set me going on the treadmill. I asked if he could show me how to work it, to which he said,
"It's OK, I'll do it"
- But can you show me so I know for next time?
- "It's OK, I'm always here so I can do it"
- But I don't want to do this programme
- "It's OK, this is a good one for you"
- I'd like to know how to work it myself
-"But why? I can help you."
- OK, fine.

This is all very light-hearted and amusing but there is a really hard aspect life here. I just saw two very bad, rather chilling, road accidents in two days; and the constant safety precautions you have to take to do the simplest of things makes me really appreciate the independence I'm afforded in the UK. If you listened to all the advice of the locals, you'd never go anywhere here. The main risk is getting robbed, so it's a case of never letting your guard down, especially since fair skin stands out a mile here. There is no blending in. Anywhere.

On the volunteer house side of life, the new Brits have been dropping like flies with various ailments. Don't want to speak to soon but I'm extremely proud to have not been held back once, suffering only minor complaints. They all had an intense week of training last week, which I've dipped in and out of. It began with orientation of Trujillo on Monday, then an 'ice-breaker' activity on Tuesday morning, in Spanish, to help with learning names (of something like 40 people!) and likes, which ranged from guinea pigs (to eat!) to butterflies (probably not to eat). The energetic start was followed by presentations from each of the SKIP departments. This gave an overview of the range of programmes that make up SKIP’s holistic approach to helping the families in El Porvenir to get themselves out of poverty. 

Throughout the rest of the training week are various sessions for the different education and social work teams. Training is thorough, covering most aspects of working with children including first aid training, behaviour management, boundaries, child protection and teaching procedures. Then today, only a week later, they all got stuck in to teaching as the children returned from holidays ready to supplement their school classes with SKIP classes. Sadly, I'm not going to have time to get involved, with only a few days to finish up my Communications work.

 I have mixed feelings about leaving the house in Trujillo. We were all reminded of the wonderful convenience of having running water and electricity when we suffered a day without either. Dirty dishes and disgruntled people mount up very rapidly on a hot Sunday afternoon. Generally, though, it's a fun and sociable place, perhaps best represented by the weekly 'family dinner' on a Thursday night. Two people cook for everyone (usually around 20). This doesn't sound too bad until you begin to factor in the various dietary requirements (ranging from vegetarian to no dairy, no wheat etc), the limited equipment in the kitchen and the lack of availability of various ingredients that most of us are used to. There is a lot of buzz about family dinner and I couldn't believe how many people asked what we were going to make (and how, and what not to do, and what time because if you say 8pm, it will be 9pm etc) when I took on the challenge in my second week. A 6"4 Australian and I (has anyone seen 'Big Cook Little Cook' on CBeebies?) set about making vast quantities of Italian-style fayre followed by roasted bananas with chocolate and ice cream. By all accounts, our efforts were a resounding success. There aren't enough forks to go around, and people improvise with spoons, chopsticks, sporks etc but then how often to you get a round of applause for cooking a meal?

One of my greatest work challenges came on Saturday morning, when the entire SKIP team gathered at the office in El Porvenir for the monthly meeting with the parents. My main objectives (besides just being there to observe) were to get some quotes from parents and children and to get some photos of the older children in the secondary education programme. There are not enough photos of teenagers, now I understand why. Whilst the young children are quick to give you a cuddle, chat to you and *love* having their photo taken, the older ones are much too cool. They are lovely but tend to look embarrassed/unimpressed, giggle and joke with each other. Then when I get my camera out, even after long negotiations, they'll just run away. So I managed to get one, and she had her eyes closed. The parents, on the other hand, are perfectly obliging and I took a couple of lovely shots of mothers or fathers with their children (which I'd post but one of them might be an annual report cover image so it would be an unfair preview! Instead, here's a brother and sister of 8 and 5 who I had a chat with whilst helping with their puzzle).

I'd been keen to get some more information and some direct quotes from one of the mothers whose story is going in the Annual Report. I'd gone along armed with a tape recorder so I didn't have to worry about understanding every word and translating on the spot whilst taking notes. Unfortunately, I failed to get the tape recorder working, and this lady was a TALKER. It was almost painful, knowing she was giving so many fascinating insights and not being able to get it all down. On a hot day, conducting an interview in a  different language, perched on the end of a flower bed, is exhausting. I made notes, which I'm converting in to elements of the article, only for it to be translated back in to Spanish. It's great experience since I'd normally take it for granted that everyone I need to communicate with for work speaks the same language.

The rest of the weekend was somewhat indulgent, including pampering (it is £6 for a French manicure and pedicure), shopping and eating out at the nicest restaurant I've seen here (still ridiculously cheap though). On Sunday a group of 3 of us headed to a nearby Moche ruin site where they are excavating a richly painted temple at the foot of a mountain. like the previous site, the scenery and vast spaces are worth the trip even without the incredible things that they are uncovering there.

From ancient civilisations to a North American basketball game at the stadium in Trujillo on Sunday night. A well-rounded Sunday, I thought.

Now, it's a race to finish up by Thursday night when I'm heading south to Cuzco for a week with yet another American travel buddy. A good way to sum up this one is by last Monday evening, when we went for a fairly relaxed walk around the central plaza and somehow ended up in a karaoke bar (Trujillo's one and only as far as I can tell) singing Eternal Flame... It should be a good week.