Grandpa Art, our breath from heaven

If you walked into Arthur and Dianna's home some years ago, you may have spotted the chips and candy bars that Grandpa had hidden beneath his favorite chair. While his Pepsi was no secret, he'd sometimes try to be sneaky with his junk food so that Gram wouldn't switch out his Snickers for a carrot stick. If Art had any vices, these were it. He was known for being a man of moderation.

What was most prominent about Arthur Emerson Marquart, really, was his gentleness. He exuded this, and it was indeed one of the qualities that drew the vivacious and beautiful Dianna Amys to him as she accepted a ride home from a party over 57 years ago, a ride that led into a courtship that led to a wedding and then to the creation of a family of three girls. It was his kindness that would win the affection of Abby as she remembers his quiet support throughout her adolescent years. It was this patience that would lead him to respond so calmly to Anne when she called him one winter day to tell him that she'd crashed Grandma Shirley's Dodge Dart into a tree in Central Park. And it was this even-temperedness that would save Kris's life on a number of occasions when her mother's fury would rise up as she would come home after curfew, three sheets to the wind.

Arthur's sweetness came from his own mother. He was born on June 18th, 1929, in Tomah, Wisconsin, to Ted and Shirley Marquart. Growing up, he loved playing sports and scouting, earning the top honors of becoming an Eagle Scout. After graduating from high school in Perry, Iowa, Art attended Marquette University, receiving his Doctor of Dentistry and opening his own practice in Superior, Wisconsin, after serving two years in the Korean War. Some 30 years after his wedding day on July 12th, 1958, Art's first grandchildren would crawl into his dental chair. Gazing at him with adoring eyes, Jamie and Lindsay would one by one prop open their mouths, looking forward to the piece of candy Grandpa would hand them after gently counting their teeth. With the heart of a servant of Christ, every week, Art would drive to Middle River Health and Rehab center to offer his dental services to the residents there.

Art's commitment to doing good was evident in all of the activities to which he dedicated his time. Passionate about his career, he was a devoted member of the Wisconsin Dental Association, receiving the President's Award of Honor in 1996, while also active in the Duluth Dental Forum, serving as President from 1985-1986. Faith was always a focus in Art's life. He and Dianna were married at Pilgrim Lutheran Church in Superior. At Pilgrim their girls were baptized, confirmed and married, and here Art served as the treasurer and president of church council numerous times.

Amidst these chosen responsibilities, Art also enthusiastically participated in certain social activities. Being a long time member of the Elks Club, Art would regularly join other men to play Poker, and sip a Pepsi while they sipped their whiskey. Some weekends he and Di would join other friends for dinner at the Elks club, these date nights being one part of the secret to their happy marriage. Aside from his family, one of his favorite pastimes was spending time at the bowling alley. Several times a week, Art would meet up with different leagues at different alleys, showing off fierce bowling skills while sporting his leagues' jerseys. Years later, his granddaughters would turn these bowling shirts into their favorite pajamas.

Whether in the office, at the bowling alley or gathered at his home with friends and family, what we also remember fondly about Art was his sense of humor, which he retained, even into years of dementia. This was another part of his successful marriage. It's difficult to stay irritated or mad at a man who could have you giggling, and then be chuckling right alongside you until that was all you could remember, that after years together, life was full of laughter.

We all have so many memories of laughing with Art, of attending sports games with Art, and of being loved by and loving Art. Those blue eyes, that smile and his sweet heart remains with us, now not in an earthly form, but a heavenly one. Grandpa Art, you are that star that sparkles so brightly in the clear night's sky, and you are our breath from heaven.

A sojournista's open letter to her parents

We ran towards the ocean as the waves crashed towards the shore as the tide was coming in and then the waves crashed into our bodies and I heard myself laugh in that free and genuine way, when your soul is so spirited and I felt so alive that in that moment I had to wonder if I would someday think about this day and believe that it was a dream. As I pondered this, the sun, mostly obscured by a blanket of clouds, revealed itself in its orange and pink fiery brilliance, drawing closer to the horizon. And I once again asked myself, "Is this my life?" and the reply came, "This is your life." And it was a moment when I knew I was just where I was supposed to be...

For many months I have been struggling to find an eloquent way to explain what my time abroad has really been, why I decided to stay a third year in Quito, and why I am contemplating other international posts.

I've become quite articulate with some of my sentiments, and in describing many of my experiences, but here I still struggle. Most of my tales are of trips to Mindo, doing yoga in (mostly) peaceful places with scenic views of the mountains, and having all sorts of adventures as I climb these mountains. Through narrating these accounts, I seek to share quirky and cool episodes, and, hopefully to entertain a reader or two. With the reflections embedded in the posts, I also strive to share wisdom...but still, the real depth of life abroad is not wholly present. Because it's really not about chocolatey and beachy adventures at its heart, it's about digging down deep into myself.

I sometimes talk of my wanderlust, but what lies within is so much greater and deeper than lust, which is fickle and founded on impermanence and fleeting desire. No, this is not about lust, it is about a true love for new lands and the mysteries one may begin to uncover living within their borders.

I've spent some time in the past wishing I was someone different to some extent. I have envied Linds' self-assuredness in making swift decisions and Cass' confidence in speaking her mind, especially when it's laced with a bit of sassiness. This, in part, was why I felt drawn abroad. The strength I have uncovered within myself does not surprise me, but it was buried beneath a surface that needed a distance to reveal itself. I am a Baci-Marquart through and through, so proud and grateful to be so, but I have needed such an experience that would push my ability to be independent to discern who, really, is Jamie.

Why I couldn't have done this growing and evolving in Minnesota I may still not be answering so clearly; one can challenge herself whatever her geographic location, of course, but the draw was something bigger than me. When listening to that intuitive voice, when feeling the magnetic force of it, it is something beyond myself that guides me. This I have come to recognize as God's energy.

And intuition is a fascinating feeling. When following it, one may be able to articulate some of where the sense arises from, but so much is initially unseen, bringing clarity in hindsight, but still, perhaps, only partly so. When I signed that contract nearly three years ago, I could explain in part why I was drawing my name on that dotted line, but what this epoca de mi vida has been is so much more than I could have wondered at at the moment I accepted the position to teach at Americano.

This time abroad has brought me to be who I am meant to be; it is who I always was, but parts of me were buried under insecurity and doubt, and perhaps, for me, just not having the right space to push myself so profoundly.

During my nights of sleeplessness, I have done a good deal of soul-searching. Wanting to be most honest with myself, the revolving questions being Am I being selfish in making this decision? Is this life about indulgence? While I will not call it completely selfless, my motivations for being abroad are not altogether self-serving. I want to better myself. The more you evolve yourself, the more you are able to give to others and the world at large. This is how I have been called to evolve.

So in these past few years, but especially within the months of this third year, whatever sand that had been shifting within the foundation of my self has turned to smooth and solid marble. Never have I felt so sure-footed and confident. I am certain it was only by pushing my boundaries this far that I have come to build such a strength within myself. This woman that I am now, I am more capable of being what the world needs of me. I can't define that, I still might not even know what that is, but I have a deeper capacity to be that. 

I know whatever my struggles in reading a map and knowing east from west, and north from south, my heart makes up in being my keen compass. I don't know which direction I walk next year, but I am not lost. I trust in my wisdom to follow what my heart speaks. Whatever my choice, there are difficult tradeoffs, but whatever my choice, as Dad told me in the midst of a tumultuous time, the best times still lie ahead.

Still sometimes the conviction in my rather newfound poise and confidence does not buffer the pain of being so far from home. Missing milestone events, and just the everyday...dinners, Bocceball tournaments, evenings in front of the fireplace watching Modern Family. And this, I learn time and again, is life. Beauty mixed with heartache. Tears mixed with laughter.

As I am curled up on my couch in Quito, my resounding feeling tonight is one of gratitude. For the life you have blessed me with, for the privileges, of which I am so much more aware, you have granted me, and for your unending support and unconditional love. And here I will always fall short in saying my love for you, but I hope you feel the profoundness of that love across the continental lines.

So precious are our days, especially as we live them with such love and good health. And so priceless is the time I am home, cooking for my favorite people, spending nights with dominoes on the table, and hearing my laugh mingle with yours. I cannot wait to hug you and be hugged by you.

Les amo a la luna y lejos, Mom and Dad. <3 <3 <3

Your Jame

P.S. I think it is time for more South American adventures.

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God speaks to each of us as he makes us,

then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,

go to the limits of your longing.

Embody me.

Flare up like a flame

and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.

Just keep going. No feeling is final.

Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.

You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Rainer Maria Rilke
Book of Hours, I 59

Summiting a Snowcapped Volcano, A How-To Guide

In the summer of 2002, Dad took Jenn, Jake and me on a camping trip to Montana. During our week stay, we swam in some hot springs, and that was cool -- or, rather, quite warm -- we hung out with Dad's old college buddies a bit, which was also a lovely time, and then we hiked to the ridge of the mountain on which we were camping. And that was scary. Really scary. I kept sliding down the shale, certain I was going to fall to sudden death. I distinctly remember thinking how I hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye and I love you to all of my people. This is how my mind rolls sometimes, deep, and dark, and anxious. Clearly we made if off the mountain without the sort of drama I had whipped up in my brain; Dad would never have taken us on any real dangerous treks. No...no, only I would take myself on the riskier climbs...13 years later.  I do not know what has happened to me since that summer...except, you know what, I do. I've buckled down and determined that I rule my roost here. Fears do not control me and worry does not win. So, (within reason, Mom) I take calculated risks. This past weekend, Alli and I set out to summit Cayambe, a really big-ass, snowcapped volcano here in Ecuador. 

Cayambe had begun to call to use this autumn, in a way that Vikram Oberoi articulates: “When the wind calls, you know, that somewhere in the mountains, it has found the answers that you were looking for. The pull of the horizon overcomes the inertia of reason…And you just have to go.”

The following is our advice for how to commence such a mission...

Step 1: Join a climbing club
While one could plausibly climb some of the Ecuadorian Andes with merely a map and a couple of adventurous amigos, to avoid getting lost in the descending fog, or getting struck by lightning on Rucu Pichincha, it is wisest to join a climbing club. To save you the time and effort it takes to research a reputable empresa, I will tell you there is only one sensible choice: Paypahuasi.
The benefits of this group are as follows:
1. Security:
The knowledgeable (y guapos y fuertes) guides will be willing to lend their hand (and legs and encouragement) on sketchy rock scrambles (note: You can simultaneously be a badass, independent woman and not too proud to say yes to a manly mano), they will be willing to put you on a leash to get your booty to the cumbre, and they will know the shortcuts to take when thunderstorms break out on the mountain
2. Transportation:
While you will need to arise long before the sun to embark on the climbs leading up to the Big Kahuna, you will still be able to count some (mis)fit sheep while someone else navigates the road. This also ensures that you will not end up in Cuenca when trying to reach the base of Corazón.
3. Camaraderie: 
Even if you are one of two, three or four trekking gringos, you will be warmly welcomed into the community of Ecuadorian climbers. They will offer their hands when a guide is not nearby, their snacks at mountain rest stops, and big abrazos at the cumbres. In union there is strength, said the Ancient Greek story-teller Aesop, and this union is built through enduring wind, rain, sleet and snow together.  
4. Celebratory Toast: While Pilsener may not be your drink of choice when out for an elegant dinner, it proves to satiate your thirst in the jungle, on the beach, and when saying ¡Salud! in a celebratory toast after a successful summit. Paypahuasi is always up for a pit stop on the way home.

Note: You may find this time of enlistment the approriate time to assure your parents that you will only climb with Paypahuasi so far into their mountain cycle. No one needs to push beyond the four cumbres of Pichincha, and it would be downright silly to consider summiting Cotopaxi, one of Ecuador's snowcapped, active volcanoes. 

Step 2: Locate your mountain-climbing soulie
It is useful to establish a criteria for your adventure-seeking, pain-embracing partner in crime. The following are recommended qualities:

• encouraging, especially when you are hanging on to a rock while looking down the drop-off
• positive in the face of rain, sleet and snow
• baker of many endurance snacks, and eager to share with you
• physically strong, perhaps having completed many fierce Ironman competitions
• being something of a morning person, willing to rise at ridiculous hours 

Alli, exhibiting quality #2, on the Pichincha trek.

Not a mandatory quality, but a welcome one is a mountain-climbing soulmate with a cigar-smoking husband who will offer you a Cuban and a chair on their balcony where he will talk you off the ledge of anxiety induced by his wife's idea to climb the snowcapped volcano to begin with...which brings us to the next step...

Step 3: Choose your challenge
After summiting a number of Andean mountains, you will likely find your sights are set higher and higher. As high as 18,996 feet, in fact. As Cotopaxi has come back to life and is blowing a great deal of ash into the atmosphere, your previous parental reassurance not to scale those snowy slopes was no falsehood. Instead a wiser choice is Cayambe. The abysmal and beautiful crevasses that lace the mountain make this choice even more exciting, and will prove to inspire a great deal of anxiety, as previously mentioned, making this challenge that much more purposeful because it will become about more than a summit, but also about personal growth.

One of many crevasses that you may encounter. You'll need a running start to fly over some of them,
but be weary not to run too quickly, lest you run right off of the mountain.

Step 4: Secure Supplies
Now that you have named your challenge, it is important to acquire the appropriate gear and buy, or bake, the best food for your belly so that you may increase the comfort and enjoyment of the climbs that prepare you for Cayambe. A stop at the local climbing shop will prove fruitful (for your body, less so for your bank account) as it is recommended you purchase 1. compression socks, especially important if you have problems with circulation and prefer to avoid amputation of your toes,             2. waterproof pants (because someone in a region experiencing a draught has clearly done a rain dance on the day of nearly every climb and the dark clouds will pass over your path on the way to wherever they are really needed), 3. a buff (you may think you're cute when you sing "I can´t feel my face when I'm with you, and I love it, and I love it" at the cumbres, but it's actually more fun if you can feel your face)

In addition to the gear, you'll need to pack fuel to keep from looking like a neglected flower wilting in the sun on a certain Quiteño terrace. In a hurry, you may grab dried fruit and nuts from the nearby grocery store, but if you are feeling more ambitious, the following treats have proven to aid in helping climbers endure and enjoy long treks: 1. cinnamon pecan granola, 2. gingersnaps, and 3. quinoa coconut bars. It is also strongly suggested that you pack 2-3 dark chocolate bars to share with your soulie at the summit.

Step 5: Face down your fears
If Step 3 has you feeling a little queazy as you come to terms with the significance of what you have verbally signed up for, you are not alone. It is entirely normal to dream about Cayambe, wake up each morning feeling as if you have spent the night hyperventilating, and to daily question your student who moonlights--and yes, moonlights is the appropriate term here as you begin snowcapped mountain treks in the middle of the night--as a guide how dangerous he thinks this particular mountain is, really. There are a couple of things that you can do here to ease some of the tension. First, make up a mantra. Repeat the mantra during workouts, on the bus, and in between sentences when speaking with your soulie. It is most useful to use a mantra that has a rhythm as you'll need to use it when methodically mounting the mountain. If you can add in some alliteration, that's fun too.
You'll find it especially amusing if you are of a literary liking. An example of such a mantra may be Climb Cayambe, to the cumbre. Now, the next step is to post this mantra all over social media, really for the sake of holding yourself accountable. You can't put those words out there for weeks on end just to back down. That would be foolish and embarrassing. Your friends may tire of you filling their feeds with your motto, in addition to inspirational mountain quotes, photos of overstuffed packs and countdowns, but no matter, you have chosen good friends who love you in spite of your quirks, goofiness and obsessive mountain posts; they (most of them) will not unfollow you, but rather supportively like all of your output and offer a great deal of heartening encouragement.

Step 6: Become accustomed to the equipment
As you approach the day of the Cayambe ascent, you will no longer refer to what you are doing as hiking or trekking, but rather high altitude climbing. When summiting a snowcapped mountain, you will need to use a pickaxe, and mountaineering boots with crampons attached. It is highly recommended that you attend Escuela de Hielo, or Ice School, in order to learn how to appropriately use the equipment and become acquainted with how these clumsy boots feel on your feet. What this is largely about is becoming accustomed to the pain the boots will induce in your shins, but hey, you'll have battle wounds to bare when you're detailing the experience to others. To keep things positive, though, Ice School does lend itself to more bonding and stunning views, which will remind you of why your insanity is acceptable. 

The sun may be so intense you wish that you had packed your bikini, but avoid the desire to strip down
in the face of the scorching rays. Second degree burns will not make for good sleep in the following days. 

This...this will inspire your hopes and dreams of that big summit.
This induces quick amnesia of fear and pain, at least momentarily.

Step 7: Let go of modesty
To be frank, you are going to have to come to terms with bearing your bum in public. The training you do to prepare for the snowcapped summit will start to predispose you for this reality as you will begin by having to pee publicly, at first behind a boulder or large tree on earlier hikes, and then you will graduate to sticking your butt out of a tent as the refugio may be full when your posse shows up for Ice School. 

Despite the close proximity of the tents, this will feel like a safe space to pee in retrospect.

As you're echando de aguas, praying no one steps out of their tent to spotlight you with their flashlight, you may begin to worry about...pooping. And the thoughts begin to spin: What if I have to take a dump on this big climb? Altitude can do funny things to my tummy. Should I try Smooth Move tea the day before the climb to just cleanse....oh, but the last time I drank that... But the deal is, everybody poops. Though not everybody poops in front of their headlamp bearing peers, which is realistically what you may end up doing. Thus, an important note: Considering these immodest situations that are bound to arise, it is wise to mindfully consider who you entreat to be your fearless leader. It may seem exciting to ask one of the most handsome guias to guide you, until this moment. And then you will mortifyingly wonder at your lack of foresight, so head this warning now. 

Step 8: Find your fight song
The final 7-14 days before you embark on scaling the snowy (and very steep) slope are crucial for keeping up your moral. Similar to many other transformative experiences--such as getting married, having a child, or moving abroad--as the date approaches, the emotional pendulum will swing more severely in both directions, so that your heart will race with excitement and then you will sweat with the fear of regret. This is where the fight song comes in handy. You want something you can play in the moments that you aren't repeating your mantra to get you pumped. up. A song that makes you feel fierce. And a song that drives your determination. That song may just be Eminem's Lose Yourself. But remember not to take the title literally. Lose yourself, but not on the mountain, or in the mountain. Here, visualize losing yourself in the moment because "You own it, you better never let it go you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity comes once in a lifetime." 

And then, before you know it, it's go time ...

Step 9: Establish a ritmo and get gritty
As the day of the climb has arrived, you will join up with your fellow trekkers (crazy-mad-gambling peoples) to leave the city in the late morning, to arrive to the refugio by afternoon, to "sleep" until 10:30 pm, to get up and start climbing by 11:30 pm, a charming and eery moonlit hour on the mountain. You now don your favorite blue helmet, equipped with a headlamp, do your best to quell the nerves, and get your march on. It is best not to project more than the next step into the future as this could lead to losing the will to live. You didn't pack the white flag for a reason; there is no surrender. Make use of that mantra and match your steps to that of your guide's. Remember Kerouac's words: In the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain. 

Step 10: Accept that summits are not always glamorous, but pride and glory are
On a number of other climbs, you likely arrived at the summit still looking stylish and triumphant. Endorphins began pumping through your veins almost instantaneously, so that even if it was raining and windy, you could grin and bear it without having to employ your acting skills too deeply. Well, forget that. This summit will be something quite different. It is best to launch off from the refugio expecting to indeed arrive at the cumbre, which will be less about the good luck your friends and family wished you when you departed from the city, and more about the fortitude you have found within yourself. But expect to arrive a disheveled, icy mess. It is possible, and more, likely, that your face will be too frozen to smile. You may be surprised at the speed at which you want to end the stay at the summit and just get back down the damn mountain. No Emmy worthy performance is even within conjuring distance at this point. Looking down at yourself, you may wonder why your mother never told you that you are a near relative to the Abominable Snowman, but then, she keeps almost telling you that you're adopted, because that is the only explanation for why you're at the top of a mountain, freezing your pants off, and she and the family are chillin' by a fireplace, sipping hot toddies, so it's probable that she didn't know to tell you about your sharing genes with a yeti-like creature because she didn't know of the relation. 

“It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.” ~Sir Edmund Hillary

The thing is, you may not wholly comprehend what you have just done until much later than the usual mountain high. And that's okay. You've managed to take a few photos, and you'll be able to stare at these memories for long moments, mesmerized by the crevasses, reminded of your beautiful mistake to look down one before leaping over it. You'll laugh at the fake, goofy, I don't know, do we even call those grins, that you and your best climbing amiga are wearing in the photo from the top. And the next day, and for days and weeks to come, you'll marvel at yourself, your friend, and the majesty of that mountain. 

"And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far into the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." ~Rainer Maria Rilke

Afterward: 
Some people walk into this climb blind. Sometimes they summit, sometimes they don't. Sometimes you prepare for months, and sometimes you summit and sometimes you don't. For me, though, to have skipped the weeks of training--visualizing, chatting out my fears with Alli and Charles, Zening my disquietude with a good deal of yoga--this would have been missing the mark. Cayambe was much more than a grand summit. It was an exercise in facing down my fears and looking anxiety in the eye...and not backing down. I have begun to write for the Chicago-based blog aSweatLife. My latest post on this empowering and positive fitness blog was about the process of overcoming this anxiety. 

So now, how about some Christmas shopping?? I am not wishing the time away, but I am looking forward to curling up on some couches, sipping some wine and catching up with my dear friends and family. 

So much love from the south.

Jame

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You were born with wings, why do you prefer to crawl through life?

~Rumi

and then our stay in the Land of Longevity got longer

Outside the terminal doors a cone-shaped, orange flag was blowing against a mountainous backdrop. The wind indicator was only on the periphery of my attention, though, as I was focused on the perfect ratio of grated ginger, cinnamon, cayenne pepper and number of 100% cacao squares I was going to whisk together before even unpacking when I walked back into my apartment. I was vaguely aware of the absence of any plane that would charter me back home to enjoy dessert for dinner...until muffled, staticky Spanish prompted Michelle to turn towards me with an eyebrow raised. Cancelado, Guayaquil and avion crackled through the microphone, though the message in its entirety was quite unclear. My Ecua Older Sis, as I like to call Miche, walked over to the desk to gain some clarity and came back guffawing at the news. Well, it's too windy for the incoming plane to land here right now, so they've sent it to Guayaquil to hang out for a bit. I sighed heavily because this meant postponing my chocolate consumption. After twiddling our thumbs for 20-odd minutes, the news man came on the microphone again. While our fluency in crackle-Spanish had not improved in this time, the collective groan from the other passengers was an indication of the situation having gone further awry. Michelle marched back over to the desk and reported that There are no lights on this runway (though the airport had just been renovated) and as we are approaching dusk the plane will not be able to land this evening. Also, there is no room on another flight until Tuesday. The voiceover in my head then went something like This pickle brought to you by This South American Life. I stared blankly at Michelle for a few moments, unable to conjure Plan B. She, on the other hand, had already whipped together our next move. Before too long, well, before kind of long as we had to wait in line to confirm our place on the Tuesday flight, we were making our way back from the airport in Loja to the tranquil town of Vilcabamba.

Michelle and I had landed in Vilcabamba on Friday morning as she'd read about its mystère. Known by the Incas as the Sacred Valley, a number of Vilcabambans have lived to see the turning of a century, making "the balmy air synonymous with longevity." So, in truth, while a longer stay had not been scheduled, the Absent Airplane had now made for an unfortunately fortunate turn of events.

As the taxi pulled back into Izhcayluma, I waved at my nos vemos that still hung in the air from all of five hours ago. So, here we were, getting cozy in the Land of Longevity, settling in to Round Deux.

This following is most definitely a plug for this pueblito...

While mountain climbing is my thing here in Ecuador, Michelle's thing everywhere is horseback riding. My last experience with her and her mane-y friends was in Monpiche last fall. That experience was not desirous of repeating, so when Michelle threw out the equestrian card I was a bit hesitant. Vilcabamba's cabello aficionado happened to be around our hosteria on Friday morning, so we had the opportunity to chat him up a bit. By his appearance, it did not seem that he would likely own horses with ticks and flees, nor would it be suggested that we corral the horses ourselves or ride bareback, so I felt fairly sound in a decision to give it another shot. This was a wise decision. The morning looked like this...

Cass gets coined the trendiest Baci sister, but I think I may be on to her style here...#readytoride.

Cowgirl at heart

More of breathtaking Ecuador

Holgar. The fresh air and views and horses-que estan bien educados-and organic coffee that his tour offers will certainly add years, or at the very least, memorable moments to your life.

Now, if being in the saddle has one a little sore, Izhcayluma has some yoga for that. (And a kick-ass spa where you can score a 75-minute massage for $22...this may be precisely why there is an expanding expat population.)

Here is the Yoga Shala, the beautiful space and vista for aligning your chakras. Photo credit: Izhcayluma.

After the aforementioned activities, and a good meal (or two), Michelle and I felt keen to check out whatever night life Vilcabamba offered. I didn't have high expectations, per se, but one of the women working the check-in at Izhcayluma had talked up an event at the church across the street. It seems we had arrived on a weekend that celebrates the Virgin of Fatima. She enthusiastically talked about a night including a choreographed dance and music and general merry-making, so Michelle and I trekked the short distance a la iglesia to find...this...

There is music coming from that stage, and difficult to depict the whole scene in this photo, there are loads of townspeople gathered here. Staring at one another. Then staring at the empty space...a void these niños finally decided to fill with some cartwheels and games. I, the rule-obliging hermanita, kept silently willing my hips to lie, lie still that is, while Michelle, a bit more of the line-pushing rebel, was just trying to decide which note would be the best to break out her first move and see what party she could get started. Before she set out on this solo endeavor, we ran into our friend from the hostería, who was with a group of other gringas. We joined forces and started moving our groove things, but to no avail. After several songs of being the only objects of interest, a scenario that just generally makes me feel awkward, Michelle and I decided our beds and our books would be a more interesting scene. Perhaps this is another key to the valley's longevity. More rest, and more sleep. Except...except the music played until 2 am. And then played all the next day. An eclectic mix of hip-hop, bachata and new age Christian songs. And then this continued for three more nights. So much for the land of little noise pollution as Michelle had read. The last night of our stay, which was the 2nd extra night, the music was punctuated by very intermittent...bombs? shot guns firing? No, it turned out they were fireworks, but all of the extra life we had gained from the fresh air, organic food and activity in nature seemed to evaporate with each spasmodic BOOM, causing our hearts to palpitate and thrash against our ribs. 

This, my friends, is quintessential Ecuador. You're standing in tree pose, listening to the chickadees chirp, breathing in the freshest mountain air, working on aligning your chakras...while the refrain of LMFAO's "I'm Sexy and I Know It" blares in the near distance. You've just finished a fine meal of locro con queso and hornado, which has gone down the pipe deliciously...but will soon awake you from your slumber with gastronomical Ecuadorian surprise. You're immersed in Michael Pollan's latest, greatest read, nestled in a cozy bed with wine by your side...when people start playing with pyrotechnics outside your door. 

And herein lies the life lesson: choose what enters your consciousness. Or perhaps allow it all into your consciousness, welcome it all in even, but choose where to put your focus. Our departure, which did take place on Tuesday evening, was an excellent time to put into practice this wisdom. You could center yourself on the unsteady angle of the plane's wing...or you could observe the patchwork beauty below...

...and just as I'm finishing up here, fireworks are going off outside my window. Because this is Quito. En punto, Quito. En punto. 

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 “If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?” 

― Rumi

Corazón, Take Two

This post may also be entitled Oh, how quickly amnesia sets in. 

Hace dieciséis meses, that is, sixteen months ago, Alli, Mike, Andy and I climbed Corazón, one of the closer mountains to Quito, whose summit rises to 15, 718 feet. More than anything, I remember the hike being soggy. Specifically I remember putting my hand in a can of nuts on the descent and finding them soaked. Soggy nuts are not appetizing. What I do not remember from this particular subida was the amount of rock climbing involved to arrive at the cumbre. I cursed myself for this as we spent an hour and a half scaling the spine of the mountain in the face of 30 mph winds (and not gusts, mind you, just constant blowing), part of which was spent maneuvering up up up all that roca. I know it wasn't like this before I insisted to Alli. These words were uttered a mere 60 minutes after I had thought to myself How fitting this mountain is named Corazón. I believe I love it more than most any other climb. These words were voiced at a time my insides were quibbling. A sensation I remember not from Corazón, Take One. I cursed myself again for not looking back at the photos. Except, even if I had, this is the image I would have marched to that mountain with...

I'm a sucker for the patchwork landscape. It gets me every time. 

And the rock climbing that was documented...

well, that face makes it look fun. This is the stuff that hey, Mom and Dad, look what I can do now is made of. 

It seems none of us took out our phones during those treacherous moments when we were scaling the rock face. Ultimately, this was wise as a leading cause of death on such ventures is that by selfie. I write not with an air of levity here. But the lack of rock-climbing documentation allowed me to conveniently forget the anxiety-inducing, gut-quivering ascent to the summit. I suppose it made possible my skip, skip, skip-to-my-lou attitude for the first hours of the climb, where my mantra climbcorazon to climbcayambe, climbcorazon to climbcayambe was in rhythm with my marching. That mantra did then take the form of fml...fml...fml. This was not in good time with my marching, nor my breathe. It simply began to spin around in my unhappy brain with Why am I so willful about pushing my limits, damnit? Why did I choose this climb when I could be eating chocolate in Mindo? Doing yoga on my terraza? Shit, why am I even here when I could be in Minnesota biting into an Honeycrisp apple at an orchard on a beautiful autumnal day?? You see how I digress. Moments of this second ascent, I was rather certain that I'd wrap my arms around a rock and wait for a helicopter to come pick me up. Quite rational I am in times of such unease. 

Somehow, through the patient coaching of the Paypahuasi guías, I made it to the pinnacle, which is at such an elevation that we were now above the wind. How quickly does one's heart flutter with joy at reaching flattish ground? How readily do the endorphins start to pulse through one's veins at such a feat? So quickly, and so readily, that we could turn our attention to the prize within minutes of wanting to wave the white flag and surrender to the mountain. As if the endorphins needed a boost...

After snacking on our favorite Ecua-chocolate, and having a bit of lunch, the matter of the descent was at hand. With such summit-inspired elation coursing through me, I figured backwards rock-climbing, or rock-unclimbing, err...?...would be a simpler endeavor. Gustavo, admittedly my favorite Paypahuasi guide, thought we should take precaution, just in case the nerves returned, and put me in a harness, so that I might call on Ivan to rope up with me should I once again feel quivery-wivery. And so the descent began.

Now as I sit here thinking back on the decline, I am blushing a bit. You see, at one point I was aware that there were three out of three guides to one Jamie. Usually I would say three-for-one is a mighty fine happy hour, but in this case, I find myself a bit bashful. One of the guides was helping me with my hands, the other with my feet, and Gustavo was standing back verbally coaching and offering encouragement once again. It seems I'm a high maintenance climber at times. I guess it's just that I'm a little special, with that blue helmet and all, right, Uncle Joe Joe? Sigh. 

So, we did make it back down to my favorite part of this mountain, where the ground is plush and each step feels springy again. And this time I had a can of dry nuts to dip my hand into. Even as I recount the story, remembering the angst, I have no real sense of those sentiments. Because endorphins create elation...and #blissfulamnesia. A mere 24 hours after returning from our climb, this is what I remember most...

Yes, the majesty of the mountains keeps calling...

Until next episode, my love and good energy to you.

Jame

The Chocolate Chippiest Summer School: Auntie Jamie's Little Sobrina School of Cooking

This part of summer always makes me think of The Great Gatsby. The connection between my reality and the classic is obscure, really, but Fitzgerald is able to make the feeling of summer -- and the way you can smell it, see it, sense it wane -- palpable. I'm certainly missing my Quito crowd, but a bit of apprehension of the near "nos vemos" is building. The beauty, though, in navigating between two worlds, is that when I'm home, staying in the present is nearly effortless. Time is fleeting always, but my awareness of that, and in turn, my recognition of the preciousness of each day, is quite keen now, at least for these sultry days that are too quickly melting into fall.

Really, the summer has been chalked full of playtime, and my favorite among the precious moments has been the time I've spent with my Chica Littles in the kitchen, conducting baking lessons at my very own Auntie Jamie's Little Sobrina School of Cooking.

If you ever have a hankering for a tasty treat, do read on, I'm about to share some delectable recipes, and even sweeter photos.

Recipe #1: Avocado Mint Cream Bars

My favorite sonrisas are made of chocolate, and some of it did manage to make its way onto the top of the bars. Full disclosure: the sobrinitas did not give this dessert rave reviews, but my palate was quite pleased. 

Recipe #2: Quinoa Coconut Granola Bars

You may want to eat the whole pan in one sitting.

Recipe #3: Almond Butter-Quinoa Blondies

This was one of Bapa's favorites! The blondies were nearly gone moments after their appearance onto the kitchen counter...and we made them several times. 

Recipe #4: Blueberry Muffins

One of the best things about this summer school: learning in our pjs. 

I found the concentration on her face each time she began mixing pretty priceless. 

Recipe #4: Carrot Muffins

These earned a big thumbs up from Jenn's 2-year-old son, Jay. He does also like sardines, but I think it's safe to say that kiddos and grown-ups alike could happily devour one or two of these fruit and veggie packed snacks. 

Recipe #5: Veggie Muffins

These muffins become meat and cheese sandwiches, and the way that Natalie was devouring them made my heart happy. 

poem by Ken Nesbitt, slight changes made by Auntie Jamie

My auntie ate my homework,

which I thought was rather odd.

She sniffed at it and smiled

with an approving sort of nod.

She took a little nibble --

it's unusual, but true --

then had a somewhat larger bite

and gave a thoughtful chew.

I think she must have liked it,

for she really went to town.

She gobbled it with gusto

and she wolfed the whole thing down.

She licked off all her fingers,

gave a burp and said, "You pass."

I guess that's how she grades you

when you're in her cooking class.

Recipe #6: Pink Cookie Dough Balls

Beets. The Chica Littles will eat beets if they come in tandem with chocolate chips. I felt so victorious. I just felt like...#winning.

Recipe #7: Fruit and Veggie Kabobs (whichever frutas y veduras fits your fancy here)

Cooking with and for friends makes food extra fun. Anah's chicitas, Grace and Leah, are as cute as they come, and we had a great time artistically creating our fare this day.

Recipe #8: Chocolate Cupcakes

After weeks of healthy treats, we concluded this summer's classes with cupcakes that aren't pretending to be particularly nutritious, but delicious all the same. In fact, in spite of a number of guests at the Baci's Bed and Breakfast, a couple survived the night. I'll be right back...

All summer, Izzy was into trying out new skills and flavors. She loves to crack the eggs...and taste bare vanilla and cinnamon.

Gia Boo was into the tangible math of it all.

#cupcakeassemblyline #workingtogether #learningtogether #baciblood #welovetoeat

As I often do with my high school students, I conducted a little exit survey at the end of our classes. I first asked las sobrinas what they had learned over the course of our baking sessions. Gia responded that she knew there was a 4 on the 1/4 cup and Nat said that now she knew there was such a thing as a 1/4 cup and a 1/3 cup. The following question was "What was your favorite part of baking?" Natalie immediately replied with "The brownies!" while Gia quickly followed with "Cupcakes and carrot muffins!" Huh. Absent was the "Hanging out with my auntie!" or "Learning from the best chef in the world!" Have you ever...fished for a compliment? I was doing just that, as I knew my response to "What was your favorite part of baking?" was "Hanging out with the coolest kids on the block and beyond." I don't often write questions for primary students, so I thought perhaps I just needed to reword the question and try again. "Okay, chicas, what was the coolest thing about cooking this summer?" Cool being the operative word here, of course, as I mean, cool? That's shmee.

Well, I still didn't get quite what I was digging for, but if Natalie thinks carrot muffins are super cool and Giatta simply thinks bananas and chocolate chips and carrots are the bees knees, I really cannot pout about it. These Littles are learning to bake with love, just as I learned to do from my grandmothers.

It's a good thing seasons are cyclical and the freshness of a new summer will come back around. Planning for next year is what keeps me from turning into a puddle right now. Teachers try not to play favorites, but the Chica Littles son las estudiantes que quiero el mejor.