Author Archives: Jen

On top of the world

Train to Macchu Picchu

This was the big day we’ve been waiting for, so we didn’t even mind another very early morning. (Well, maybe Zoe and Caroline minded a little bit. I’ve been unaccountably waking up around 5 every day anyway.) Machu Picchu, being a remote Inca city on top of a mountain, is not the easiest place to get to. After a 5:30am breakfast, we headed on the bus to take us to the train to take us to another bus.

Machu Picchu Pueblo

The train ride was actually pretty cool. Trains are pretty cool to start with, and this one wound through mountain passes and tunnels alongside a rushing river. The train had windows all along the top so you could see the mountains, their tops obscured by wisps of clouds, towering on both sides. Seats were grouped in sets of four with a table in between, so people could chat or play games. All in all, a pleasant way to spend an hour and a half.

The train brought us to the bustling village of Machu Picchu Pueblo, full of markets and restaurants along the river, which was crossed by picturesque footbridges. It was a little like Venice in that the lack of cars meant you’d see lot of people moving things around using large handcarts. (Unfortunately for them, it was unlike Venice in that it’s very hilly here. Later, eating lunch on the patio, we watched a succession of poor workers pushing overloaded carts up a steep incline outside.)

From there we had to catch a bus that traveled up the side of the mountain, along a series of terrifying switchbacks. This was somewhat less pleasant than the train, though of course the views were spectacular. Luckily our bus made it to the top without falling off the side of the mountain.

At the end, a short hike up to the top led us to the iconic Machu Picchu view that you always see photos of. It was amazing, but Zoe and I agreed it had a strange Disney-like quality because it hadn’t required much physical labor to get here (although at this altitude even short uphill hikes have us gasping) and because there were SO MANY PEOPLE. All our travels had taken almost four hours, and so we’d arrived at a pretty peak time.

Christine, our local organizer who’s done this a few times, herded us away from the crowds and onto a hiking trail to the Sun Gate. This immediately took us away from the

Inca Trail to the Sun Gate

throngs and we were better able to appreciate the stunning scenery. The Sun Gate was the original Inca entrance to Machu Picchu, and the trek is along the original Inca trail. It’s amazing to think of the effort that was involved in constructing this place and the foot trails that cross the entire region. The Spanish never conquered Machu Picchu, because of its inaccessibility.

The hike was incredible — gorgeous views around every corner. We had to stop frequently to catch our breath and take photos. (Zoe’s cross country and track training served her well here, as she was generally zooming up the mountain while the rest of us panted behind her.) We took our time getting there and then spent

Caroline and I stop to rest among the clouds

some time sitting at the ruins of the Sun Gate itself, imagining arriving here from the original trail and emerging to behold the sacred city.

Once we headed back down, the crowds had thinned somewhat and we descended into the ruins. The Inca had amazing construction skills — modern scientists still don’t understand how they were able to build what they did using the tools that they had. (One of the local stories is that they were helped

At the Sun Gate

by aliens. Another theory is that they figured out how to turn rock liquid.) Their astronomical knowledge was way ahead of the Europeans, and their building sites are precisely aligned with the directions of the compass and/or the path of the sun. All that knowledge was wiped out when all the leaders were indiscriminately slaughtered by the Spanish.

On the left side you can see the road that bus takes.

On our way to the train Van had told us about an alternate route back down to Machu Picchu Pueblo — the original Inca steps set in the side of the mountain. Mainly at Zoe’s urging, a group of six of us decided to try it. Zoe and I, Ann and Shannon, and Tiffany and Ethan set off on foot down the trail, leaving the others to take the bus.

It was a cool experience following the path of the Inca, although tough on the legs and knees. I don’t even know how many steps it was, but some very large number. (It’s now three days later and my calves are still aching.) Given that they were constructed of somewhat uneven stone, it was a tough trek, but we had a great sense of victory when we finally landed alongside the river. (It was somewhat dampened when we realized we then had a

Inca steps

mile-long walk back to town, but it was flat and lovely, along the rushing whitewater of the river.)

The weather is interesting here. The temperature itself is not very high — highs in the sixties, much colder in the mornings and evenings — but being as high as we are, the sun is very strong. So when it’s out, we’re stripping layers and sweating (and for some in our group, getting sunburns), and when it dips behind the cloud or starts to set, we shiver and the layers come back on. On the walk back a light, misty rain was intermittently falling.

Back in town we had a late lunch, did a little shopping and exploring, and then repeated the morning’s transportation in reverse. By the time we arrived back, no one was interested in dinner — just showers and bed.

Coolest day ever and we haven’t even gone to Machu Picchu yet

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Maras Salt Mines

The view from outside our room.

Despite the exhaustion of the past couple of days, I woke up at 4:30am this morning (having gone to bed at 8:30). Once it was light out I stepped outside to get a look at our hotel, which we’d seen only in darkness the night before. It did not disappoint. It’s built in a 17th century monastery, with old stone walls, twisting passages, and flowering courtyards. Mountains tower over it on all sides.

Another view into the Sacred Valley.

Today we were easing into our volunteer service with a visit to the Anta Home for Girls, a home run by nuns for girls who are orphaned or whose families can’t take care of them. Our Peruvian leader, Jaime, was very anxious that we arrive on time. (“The nuns,” he said, “they are not relaxed about time.”) But on our way to the bus our American leader, Van, couldn’t resist a quick side trip into the backyard of the hotel to show us the “center of magnetic resonance” (I’m still not sure what that means), an area low in the ground with a strange stone structure that is apparently some sort of ancient massage chair. He wanted us all to try it to see how comfortable and relaxing it was, so we were a little late for the nuns.

Luckily they didn’t seem to hold it against us. The little girls at the home were thrilled to see Van, who visits regularly. They poured into the van, full of smiles and hugs for everyone. Despite their difficult circumstances, they seemed to be some of the happiest children I’ve come across.

Today the adults were working with newborns, giving baths and supplying new diapers and outfits. The teens had a great time running around with the little girls from the home, painting nails and playing tag. When we were heading out for a tour, a little girl beckoned us in to the courtyard — and we found ourselves in a raucous jump rope competition. Caroline gets extra credit for attempting to jump with a small child on her shoulders.

Later a volleyball game broke out, and we were amazed at how good the girls were and wondered how they’d learned.

Then Mother Superior arrived:

How cool is this nun?

After leaving the girls, with promises to return in a couple of days, Van took us to the Maras Salt Mines. (I should mention here that all our travels are by bus, and (1) that the views are so incredible all the time — the towering mountains are never out of sight; and (2) the bus drivers here deserve some kind of medal. Our driver has had to navigate narrow, winding streets with literally only a few inches of clearance on each side, and, more concerningly, narrow dirt mountain roads with sheer drops that are two-way but not wide enough for two cars. One of our scariest moments was when we were on such a road, headed to the salt mine, on the outside lane, and saw another bus approaching from the opposite direction.)

Anyway, the salt mines were incredibly cool. At a place where warm, salty water runs out of the mountains, the Inca built a huge system of terraces (these guys were the masters of terraces) and an irrigation system so that salty water could be routed into a shallow pond and left to evaporate, leaving a harvest of salt. There are a vast number of ponds that are owned and farmed by individual families from the area.

Native Peruvian hairless dog. Called by our guide, “the ugliest dog in the world.”

We hiked down to and along the salt terraces, sometimes on a very narrow path with a stream on one side and a drop on the other. We made it all the way down to the bottom of the Sacred Valley to the river. Zoe declared it the “coolest day ever”.

Bonus pic: Grumpy llama.

Airports, Andes, and Incas

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Cusco overlook

Sunset over New England

Zoe and I have started our adventure, a nine-day trip to Peru with several others from our town and the organization Generations Humanitarian. Turns out that getting 13 people from New Hampshire to Peru is quite an accomplishment. We knew it would be a very long day, but didn’t know quite how long. We were split over two flights from Boston to New York, and the five of us on my flight were trying to make the best of a 3+ hour layover by planning for a nice sit-down dinner at JFK.

Sunrise over the Andes

Alas, it was not to be. Somehow (we still don’t know how), in getting from our arrival terminal to departure, we managed to go through security and thus found ourselves back on the wrong side. Zoe’s friend Caroline is traveling without her parents, and they’d told us she’d need to get a boarding pass at the gate — so that meant we had to wait in the long checkin line since she couldn’t get through security. (It was very lucky we’d realized at the 11th hour that we needed a special form signed by Caroline’s parents, or the day would have gone much, much worse.) Back to security again — only to have them refuse to accept the boarding passes that Zoe and I had printed off at home because they had the wrong airline on them (our two flights were on different airlines). This time the line was even longer. By the time we actually go to our gate, we were lucky to have a few minutes to buy cold, soggy sandwiches. (Turns out we even could have held off on that, since Latam Airlines unaccountably decided to serve dinner after we’d taken off — at 1 am. We decided to pass.)

Caroline is skeptical of the giant corn kernels

After a third flight from Lima to Cusco, we had finally arrived. We’ve been hydrating like crazy to avoid the effects of the 11,000+ foot altitude, and in Cusco started chewing coca leaves, the local remedy. The weather is beautiful — sunny and around 70. Our first stop was a restaurant with huge plate-glass windows looking down on the city. Our trip leader Van set us up with a six-course meal of foods that are traditional here, and it was so much fun to try all the different courses. Among other things, our meal included coca tea, a plate of giant corn kernels (I mean GIANT) with some kind of cheese, a soup, and a crazy, but surprisingly good, kind of purple juice

Alpaca! The entree reminded us of the $7 Galapagos dinners we enjoyed so much. I don’t want to break it to Bob that our six-course meal here only cost $7.50.

made from some kind of fermented corn juice, pineapple, and cinnamon (chicha morada). Zoe and I bravely elected to try the alpaca steaks, and they were amazingly good — tender and flavorful.

After that we hopped back on our bus to travel from Cusco to the Sacred Valley. It’s at a slightly lower altitude to help us adjust, but in order to get there we had to cross a pass at 13,400 feet. (Our trip’s leader, Van, told us that planes are required to use oxygen at 13,000.) There were amazing views around every corner and green peaks rising sharply on all sides. All the

Sacred Valley

mountainsides, however steep, seem to be covered with vertical lines — a remnant of the agricultural terraces built by the Inca.

We made another stop at the semi-famous market at Pisac, where we found amazing woolens and textiles. We picked up some great bargains, though after a while Zoe and I had to go into hiding, exhausted from the hard sells and our weak attempts at bargaining. At the end Van took us to a shop where they had original pottery from the Incas and before — available for $60 or less. (No, I am not going to attempt to bring that home in my suitcase.)

Pisac Market. Zoe is sporting her new alpaca sweater.

We were all grateful to eventually get back to our hotel, exhausted and desperate for showers. We’re staying at an old monastery in Urumbamba in the Sacred Valley. We couldn’t see much when we arrived after dark, but I’m guessing it’s beautiful.

Our options for dinner turned out to be a mile-long walk into town or the hotel’s fancy restaurant — so Zoe, Caroline and I unanimously opted for room service and an early bedtime (and the best and most-needed shower in the history of the world). Tomorrow we start our volunteer service at the Anta girls’ home.

Thighs of steel

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As the final part of our week arrived, we might have felt some temptation to rest on our laurels, and give a break to our aching legs. This would have been quite a hit to our egos, though, considering that we were surrounded by fit old people, zooming past us with no sign of fatigue.

I don’t know if all of Quebec is like this, or if Mt. Ste. Anne particularly is some kind of geriatric paradise, but we were astonished at the average age of the weekday clientele. Everywhere we went — the lift lines, the cross country trails, the apres-ski bar scene — we were among the youngest people there. Apparently retirees in Quebec don’t sit around on their patios playing shuffleboard. One man who rode in the gondola with us told us that he’d skied 115 days the prior year. The vast majority of them were better skiers than we were. And once the lifts had closed, there they were again, dancing to the live music in the bar.

In any event, Wednesday dawned with bright sunshine and a brilliant blue sky, and the cross country trail system (described to us by a fellow NH tourist as the best in North America) beckoned. So we set aside our downhill skis and took off into the woods, on beautifully groomed trails that seemed to travel into Narnia.

During our whole outing, we barely saw another person. (This may have been because they heard us coming and hurriedly decided to try a different trail.) The kids held up well, given that they had little to no experience on cross country skis. Within the first ten minutes most of us were down to our shirtsleeves. Our 8km loop was just the right distance for us to get in before returning to the lodge for lunch. At that point most of the underage crew decided they’d had enough, and petitioned for a return trip to Quebec City. Zoe and I decided to persevere on the ski trails, and managed to get in another 10km before the end of the day. We even tried a blue (intermediate) trail, despite my reservations. (I was more afraid of the downhill than the up, but apparently the laws of physics do not apply the same way in Canada, because I swear the loop was uphill both ways.)

View from the gondola

The next day, of course, our legs were even more tired…but with several inches of snow having fallen the night before, the siren song of one more day on the mountain was too much to resist. We didn’t exactly get an early start, but eventually we’d gotten everyone out the door.

A return trip to the toboggan ride, which we discovered goes 44 mph! No wonder it was so terrifying.

If we thought we were in for an easier time than the day before, we were greatly mistaken. We found that the mountain had groomed only a few trails, leaving the others with large mounds of powder scattered across them in uneven lumps. After one run, our thighs were screaming. (I have never before had the experience of having to stop and unzip my coat because I was sweating from the exertion of going DOWNHILL.) Most of our crew called it a day by lunchtime. Bob, Chris and I dragged ourselves back after a long break in the condo, and were glad we did. After what we assumed would be our last run, we saw the lift was

Game night back at the ranch

still running at 4:05 — and hopped back on. Given how the weather has been in NH, this may be our last skiing of the year, so we wanted to make the most of it.

After that, not much remained but to pack up, eat and drink all the remaining food in the house, spend our last Canadian dollars at the grocery store (embarrassingly, we miscalculated and had to put something back) and prepare for the long drive home. The kids are already talking about a repeat next year, and we adults didn’t say it was out of the question.

Final trip to the IGA

Revisiting our youth

A day of extremes

Zoe tries to kill me

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We have discovered that it’s a lot easier to get everyone moving in the morning when the lodge offers an extensive breakfast buffet. Between that and the sun shining in through the windows of our east-facing cabin, we got off to a pretty early start. (Spoiler alert: it was not as early as we thought. Details in a future entry.)

So many rocks to climb.

After fortifying ourselves with enormous breakfasts, we headed back into Zion. It was just as amazing as we’d heard. Every bend in the road reveals a new breathtaking vista, so after a while you just get saturated with the beauty. Fortunately there’s a park shuttle, which goes to nine popular hiking spots, so we could look out the windows with abandon.

The vast majority of this hike had no guardrail.

These switchbacks are called “Walter’s Wiggles”.

Our first destination was Angels Landing, because Zoe apparently has a death wish and wants to take her parents out with her. Only the last part of Angels Landing is truly terrifying, so the whole group of us headed off to hike the first two miles. It climbed steeply up to the top of the canyon through a series of switchbacks and awe-inspiring views. Lucky for us it’s only in the high fifties here, so we weren’t sweating too much (except for Bob and Nadia, who were sweating with nervousness over the sheer drop that we had on one side of us).

The final mile of the trail is along a knife-edge ledge, with steep ascents and descents and a chain drilled into the rock to hold onto in most areas. Bob was bravely planning to accompany Zoe, but was clearly suffering after the first few

Proof that Bob gave it a try

feet, so I offered to take over.

The most frustrating thing about the trail was that you’d be climbing up to the top of a hill, thinking you were done — only to see further undulations stretching out ahead. My strategy was to maintain a death grip on the chain and stare at my feet. This worked reasonably well except when there were people coming from the opposite direction who were trying to follow the same strategy.

Eventually we labored to the top, at the end of the ledge, with spectacular views of the canyon stretching on all sides, and the road and river tiny ribbons far, far below. We stood a few seconds, breathing in the thrill of victory.

That knife edge ahead of Zoe is the trail we’re following.

I was not looking forward to the descent, but was feeling pretty good about having made it.

Then it started to hail.

Seriously. The skies darkened, and fearing rain, I told Zoe we should start down right away. The wind picked up. Then flurries of white specs appeared in the air. I think I said something like, “You have GOT to be kidding me,” maybe with a few expletives thrown in. And we were still passing people going UP. Call me crazy, but when ice starts to fall from the sky I think it’s time to call an about-face.

Luckily, the weather here is even more changeable as it is in New England, and it wasn’t too long before the storm passed and the sun was shining again. We made it back to the regular trail without incident. Bob, Nadia, and Lanie had been waiting for us there, but gave up and headed down once the hail began.

On the plus side, the trail down seemed like nothing after that. Zoe and I walked along side by side, carefree and nonchalant. (In contrast, Bob told me he’d been nervous enough on the descent that he made the other two keep one hand on the canyon wall the whole time.)

And this was just the morning! Tales and photos of our afternoon to come in a future installment.

We survive Sin City with our virtue intact

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We tend to find, on vacations, that everyone in the family has somewhat different priorities on where we should spend our time. Fortunately, Las Vegas caters to all tastes.

Of all of us today, Zoe had the worst luck. Her main focus was going on thrill rides. We’d told her about the New York New York roller coaster and the rides on top of the Stratosphere (which Bob refused to go within a quarter-mile of when we were here long ago). Alas, we kept an eye out all day and did not see any coaster running at NY NY. Despite walking our feet off all day, we didn’t quite make it all the way up to the Stratosphere way in the north of the strip. But Zoe is patient and we have promised to return next Saturday, before we fly out. And luckily, she also likes dolphins, which we saw in large numbers at Siegfried & Roy’s Secret Garden behind the Mirage.

Ceiling at the Forum Shops

Nadia had much better luck, given that her primary interests were Starbucks and gelato. There is a Starbucks approximately every quarter-mile here (that probably isn’t even an exaggeration), and all of them have long lines. She was also a big fan of the Forum Shops mall. And although our main purpose going in was visiting a Starbucks for Nadia, we all thought the mall was pretty cool. It had extremely elaborate “Italian” architecture, and a cloud-painted ceiling with lighting made to look like you’re strolling down a street in Rome at dusk. Plus, curved escalators! (There are a LOT of escalators here too.)

Sunset in Little Italy? No, just the Forum Shops at 10am.

Lanie was content just to take pictures of everything we saw. In the elaborate and beautiful conservatory within the Bellagio, I had to stop her from individually photographing each flower. She was also thrilled that we got back to our condo just in time to take a quick dip before the 9:30pm closing time at the pool.

Gelato!

Beyond that, there were several attractions that all of us enjoyed. When paying the (rather exorbitant) entrance fee to the Secret Garden, we discovered we could buy a three-attraction pass for $57 — a tempting deal since individual attractions mostly cost around $30. So we sprung for the pass and elected to try the “CSI” attraction where you study forensic clues and try to solve a crime. A good time was had by all and we figured out the solution even before the clues made it totally obvious.

The four-storey M&M store also provided a fun diversion. At the picture below, you can see Nadia and Lanie struggling to figure out which of the countless flavors and colors to choose. We ended up sampling Pecan Pie, Holiday Mint, Vanilla Cupcake, Cherry, and Pretzel, among others.

Living painting at the Bellagio

We caught the fountain show at the Bellagio, and strolled through a simulated St. Mark’s Square and Doge’s Palace at the Venetian (where we recognized some details from our trip to Real Venice a few year’s back). We saw real flamingoes, and a black swan, at the Flamingo. When no one could agree on what they wanted for dinner, we found The Yard House, which served Mexican, pizza, burgers, sandwiches, AND pasta. The girls bought post-dinner gelato and ice cream, even though we were all stuffed — which meant Bob and I got plenty of leftovers.

But the definite highlight of the day was at the end — the Cirque du Soleil Mystere show. A kind usher upgraded our high-up seats to 8th row,
where performers soared over our heads and ran through the aisle behind and next to us. (Bob got to reveal one of his special talents before the show, when one of the performers was throwing popcorn for guests to catch in their mouths and he was the only one to manage it on the first try.) The show was amazing and also very funny, and we all highly recommend it.

This is what democracy looks like

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Sometimes democracy looks like a long line of people waiting for an overflowing porta-potty.

When we went to vote on November 8 (yes, Mr. President, we did in fact vote), my husband and I dragged our daughters out of bed and to the polls with us. We even pulled them into the voting booth. We told them they were witnessing history as we filled in the oval for our first female president.

Like much of the country, we were stunned and crushed as the results rolled in. Not because a woman lost. But because the man who won was an openly racist, sexist bully. A man whose main goal in life, besides enriching himself, was seemingly to find people who had so very little, and convince them that their enemy was others who had even less. A man whose go-to response for any provocation, however, slight, was to behave in a way that most of us wouldn’t have tolerated in our toddlers. The people telling us to give him a chance had missed the point. Regardless of his future actions, the fact that a person could be elected in spite of this behavior — or, worse yet, because of it — made us realize we didn’t live in the kind of world that we’d thought we had.

Ready for the road

So we decided to march, and witness a different kind of history. To show the world, and ourselves, and our children, that we are not alone, but part of an army.

It wasn’t the easiest trip. We drove late into the night through remote parts of Pennsylvania (having chosen an alternate longer route to avoid traffic in the major cities on the coast). It was raining and foggy, and everything was complicated by trying to drive two minivans in caravan. After arrival, Wendy and I had to go out again to attempt to secure Metro cards. We are two of the most directionally-challenged people on the planet, and Wendy’s cell phone that provided navigation was about to die, and the first station we went to had no clear place to park and then turned out to be closed. By the time we got back (victorious!) it was near to 1am.

Tyra and Riley even managed to bring posters on the bus ride!

We shouldn’t complain, though, because our friend Tyra and her daughter Riley had to take a 12-hour bus ride up from Georgia. The bus left an hour and a half late, and then they had to catch the Metro from DC to Bethesda, and then they WALKED a mile and a half, at midnight, carrying all their stuff, to the house.

But these are not the things we’ll remember. By now just about everyone has heard what the march was like — the crowds, the love and solidarity, the energy and inspiring speeches and funny signs. So here are a few other things that will stay with me.

It’s the bond with my long-time mom friends — Wendy, Judy, Tyra, and Susan. We realized that we’d all met in a class about sustainable parenting back when our kids were babies and toddlers. How great it is that we’re all still working together for the same cause, more than 10 years later, and that some of those same kids are now engaged young adults who are marching by our sides.

And those same kids, who were up past midnight, and smiling and ready to go by 7am. They stood in crowds and cold through several hours of speeches, with nothing but granola bars to sustain them, all without a word of complaint.

It’s Wendy’s eighteen-year-old son Sam, who voted for the first time this year — and chose to give up his weekend to join a group of ten women and girls, marching through DC in his pink hat and being helpful to everyone. And his friend Haley, who jumped in a van with a bunch of people she’d never met because she wanted so much to make her voice heard.

It’s those who made the trip possible even though they didn’t attend themselves. My generous friend Kathleen and her family, who opened their lovely home to a bunch of people who were mostly strangers. Our friend Heather, who made us hats. Our husbands, who held down the fort at home and welcomed us warmly on our return.

It’s the woman working in the Grosvenor metro station the night before the march. She’d probably had a very long day, dealing with scores of out-of-towners who didn’t know what they were doing. She can’t have been too excited to see two people jump out of a car with NH license plates past midnight and run toward the ticket machine, with confused expressions and several half-used Metro cards clutched in our hands. But she greeted us with a smile and walked us through our lengthy transaction with cheerfulness and patience. And then she turned around and did the same thing for the two people who rushed in five minutes after we did.

It’s her co-workers who were on duty the night of the march, greeting train after crowded train with claps and shouts of “thank you!” as throngs of marchers streamed out onto the platform.

It’s the other marchers on that train, which was the most crowded place I’ve ever been in my life. Instead of glaring and grumbling, people chatted and helped each other. When someone left the train, the entire car gave them a big cheer like they were a rock star leaving the stage after a concert.

And the woman restocking the restroom in a highway rest area the day after the march. The whole rest area was overwhelmed with marchers, and probably had been since early that morning. She undoubtedly had had a tough day — but she smiled and chatted and cheered with the long line of women waiting for an open stall.

Even those crowds and long lines, in the streets and in the subway and at the rest stop. Those things meant that the march was a tremendous success, and that was more important than a little delay or discomfort.

And most of all: it’s the fact that it was totally unspoiled by conflict.

Think about that. Over half a million people crammed into a few city blocks. Women and men, eighty-year-olds and college students, rich and poor, black and brown and white, gay and straight, urbanites and farmers — all wedged together in a giant mass of humanity. We were sleep-deprived and travel-weary, hungry and cold, footsore, dehydrated and desperately needing to pee. And yet there was not a single violent incident or arrest.

Instead, there were people looking out for each other. Yelling back to the people behind them to tell them a step was approaching. Climbing a tree so as to direct people around a low fence that was impeding progress to the street. Supporting those who stumbled and helping those who needed a leg up. Swapping stories and smiles and Metro maps. And knowing without a doubt that they will not be fighting alone.

Derailed and all shook up

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Our last couple of days in Quito did not lack for excitement.

Violin with a view

Things started out pretty low-key. On Sundays, one of the main avenues through the city — that passes by the park right outside our apartment — closes to traffic and is taken over by bikes. Our plan was to rent bikes then bike into the Old City (several kilometers away), which is also closed to cars.

Alas, we were foiled by Lanie’s diminutive stature. The first bike rental place we found didn’t have a small enough bike. They attempted to make a larger one fit by lowering the seat all the way, but this proved rather disastrous when Lanie took it for a trial run and, out of her depth trying to control it, immediately almost took out another biker. We quickly said our no, graciases and our lo sientos and bolted out of there. We thought there would be more options, so we walked…and walked…and walked…and didn’t find anything.

Fruit in the park

At this point, I should say that Zoe, usually our most intrepid hiker, was lagging further and further behind. Zoe is joining the high school cross-country team next year, and is expected to run 5-6 days a week all summer, traveling or no traveling. But our daily runs in Quito (elevation 9350 feet) had done a number on her.

Eventually we reached another park. It did, in fact, have many bikes for rent, but at this point we’d rather lost our appetite for it. So we contented ourselves with lounging around for a while, reading, people-watching, trying out various playground equipment (in Lanie’s case), and eating random food from the abundant food carts. The park was full of people enjoying

Sausages in the park

their weekend, with pickup soccer games and bike-riding families everywhere.

Cool water feature in the park. People of all ages were giggling and running through.

I should add a word about Quito’s parks. We’ve been so impressed with the amount that the city has clearly invested in becoming a healthy and livable place for its populace. The park by our apartment, Parque La Carolina, was huge and filled with attractions. Along with the usual paths, fields, and trees, there was an elaborate botanical garden and “serpentarium” (which Nadia refused to enter). There was a winding lake with islands, bridges, and paddleboats. There was a brand new one-kilometer synthetic track, the center of which was filled with athletic fields and courts as well as a set of metal non-electric exercise equipment. There were extensive networks of well-paved bike paths, as well as a bike terrain park and a huge skateboard park. There were any number of playgrounds, which brought delight to Lanie’s heart. (She was most excited about the attraction pictured below, which we thought would be a kind of trampoline but which in fact she landed in with a bit of a thud. Someone quickly appeared and told us it was

This is the sort of play structure you don’t find in a country with strict liability laws.

for ages 4 and under only, so she only got the one crack at it.) The paths were lined with carts selling about anything you could want — fresh fruit and ice cream and sausages and a pile of cotton candy almost bigger than Lanie. Everything was clean and well-maintained, and the locals made great use of it. I’ve never seen so many runners and bikers as I did on a weekend morning in Parque La Carolina.

Eventually we decided the

prudent course was a cab back to our park, and an afternoon relaxing there and in our apartment. We had dinner at the local pizzeria, and thought we’d have a nice calm movie night followed by an early bedtime.

Botanical garden in the park

We were watching National Treasure 2. If you are not familiar with this franchise, it is basically a PG-rated Da Vinci Code. The end was very exciting, with the characters trapped in a cave that was collapsing. Boulders were falling everywhere, water was pouring in, and crashes sounded from the television. Also, the whole building was shaking! Wait, why is the building shaking??

Bob and I quietly debated this for a bit. Our apartment was on the 10th floor. Was it possible that the effect was due to high winds? It seemed to stop for a bit, then started up again. When I noticed the picture frame on the wall rocking back and forth, I decided to check in with our landlord. Lo and behold, we had just experienced an earthquake.

We also worked in a little dessert from a nearby bakery.

On his advice, we went downstairs and out to the park to mill around with various other building and neighborhood residents, not quite sure what we were doing or how long we should do it for. Eventually, people started drifting in so we followed along. Not quite the restful night we had planned, but it certainly could have been worse.