Thanksgiving far from home

Katie D.

November 28, 2008 - 5:23 PM

It's hard to celebrate a family holiday hundreds of miles from home. When I called my family yesterday (Thanksgiving), I interrupted Guitar Time, the family tradition during which Dad and various cousins play guitar, various percussion toys, and sing. This particular Thanksgiving there's a new factor in the festivities: Dad got a harmonica and holder so he can "pull a Bob Dylan" and play guitar and harmonica at the same time. What I wouldn't give to have seen that...

 

I am supremely blessed with wonderful Oregon friends, including one who welcomed me to her home in Portland for Thanksgiving for the second year in a row. I get to be a part of another family's Thanksgiving traditions and jokes, including feeding potatoes to the fat Labrador retriever and the kids falling asleep on the couches after dinner. We also got to start a new ritual: trying to prove oneself to be the most possessed of extraneous knowledge. We spent a good chunk of Thanksgiving dinner thinking of questions to text ChaCha for them to magically text back the answers. (Really-you send a message to "ChaCha" or 242242 and they will text you the answer.) We nearly stumped them with "What is the name of the boxer that appears on the cover of the Beatles album Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band? (If you want to know, you'll either have to text yourself or call Paul: he consistently had the answers faster.)

 

It is wonderful to be home with my friend, and I love to feel like a part of another family. I love getting to spend more time with her bumming around in Portland. It is truly a blessing to get to be a part of someone's childhood traditions and family quirks. And this particular family has been so incredibly gracious and welcoming.

 

But it is hard to be away from home on Thanksgiving. I miss Colorado and a good Thanksgiving snow. I miss my family and our traditions, including my grandmother's silver goblets we use just once a year and the yearly card games and music sessions.

 

I've come to really love Oregon. I knew that I would: it's beautiful, progressive, and opinionated in a really funky, funny way. I'm so happy to be at school here, and there are wonderful things about being an out-of-state student. Even if days like Thanksgiving and family birthdays are hard.

 

I've been learning Oregon for the past two and a half years. For example, I've learned that certain Halloween costumes that would be perfectly acceptable at home (like the hippy look) aren't impressive here (you wouldn't believe the number of people who asked where my costume was). Things that are unacceptable at home in Littleton, Colorado, like Tibetan prayer flags on front porches or extensive homemade lawn art in front of homes, are not only unremarkable in Eugene, they are also an essential part of its "Eugene-ness." I love all the bikes on the streets, the obvious efforts at conservation, the multitude of little coffee places, and other little sweet quirks of the place.

 

And Oregon is so beautiful. I need a regular visit to the ocean to fill my soul, and Colorado is mighty short on ocean. I love the Oregon coast and the drive there on Highway 99, and try to get various friends with cars to take me as often as possible. I love the fog in the mornings and the huge array of colors in the fall. I am continually shocked by how well things just grow here, like it's no effort and nothing to get excited about. But if you've tried to coax a garden out of the baked clay that is Colorado's natural soil type, the exuberance of the weeds here becomes something to celebrate.

 

Eugene also has this wonderful attitude of chilled-out welcome. People are very nice here. Not uniformly, of course, but I find people are likely to approach me, especially at places like the farmer's market or the alternative grocery stores around town. People seem to be excited to be where they are, and excited I'm here too.

 

One big adjustment I experienced in my move to the UO was the shift from a school and student base that was largely religious fundamentalist and conservative to a group of students who were mostly religious skeptics. Bringing my progressive Christianity into the conversations in class suddenly made me the "conservative" voice, rather than the defender of the progressive side as I had back in high school. This experience was a very exciting and freeing one for me: suddenly I was another face in a liberal crowd, able to look deeper into my beliefs instead of constantly being forced to defend the Left and Progressive Christianity against all of my peers at once.

 

Eugene has offered me a place where I can chill out; join the hippy groove, experiment with new ideas and ideologies. It is a beautiful place to study and live, and every morning I love to see the hills of South Eugene, and Spencer's Butte rising up out of the fog. When I walk home from campus I pass houses that would fit right in at home in my suburb south of Denver, with paint in shades of beige and two-car garages, while right down the block there are trees with tire swings and cargo net tree house, IMPEACH W banners and rainbow paint that would never fit in my parent's neighborhood. Everywhere I go there are signs that read PEACE. I wonder, sometimes, if this place is as exciting, as beautiful through the eyes of someone raised here, or if you have to see it through the eyes of an out-of-stater to appreciate what's around.

 

Today is the day after Thanksgiving, and I'm in a café in Portland with my friend, making use of the WiFi and, as always, searching for the perfect cup of hot chocolate. (This morning's was the most beautiful I have ever run across, but not as good as my favorite in Eugene. I'll keep you posted.) Anyway, as we were walking up to the café I noticed a truck out front with a bumper sticker of the Colorado mountains. It said "I'm not a NATIVE but I got here as fast as I could." It made me simultaneously nostalgic for Colorado-the mountains, the people, the ridiculously large trucks, the whole deal-and also made me think that I really feel that way about Oregon these days: that the Northwest is the place for me, not by birth but by natural, easy fit. That I am meant to be here with these quirky, liberal, and prayer-flag-type people.

 

Even on Thanksgiving weekend.

 

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The Question of Energy: And why the answer is not a simple one

Katie D.

November 28, 2008 - 3:42 PM

I am entering into adult life at a very interesting moment in history. There seems to be an infinite list of issues, campaigns, imminent disasters, and humanitarian concerns that are worthy of my time and attention. I feel compelled to take part in efforts to end war, poverty, hunger (here and abroad), human rights abuses, and on and on. There are new ideas I'm excited about and new causes I support. I have taken classes in Feminist Theory, Systems of War and Peace, and Mexican Migration. I hope to use all this information in my adult life to effect change in the world.

 

But this term I am also in a class on the global energy crisis and systems of energy production that has dramatically shifted my perspective on this issue. Energy production and resource consumption are issues that affect everyone on the planet, either directly through the need to heat our houses and power our cars, or indirectly as we continually power our lives through environmentally damaging means that results in damage to everyone's quality of life. There are a myriad of solutions being offered to these problems, taking into account a huge variety of factors. This issue is something that has interested me for a long time, but is also one that I never felt I understood in-depth, possibly due to my humanities-based education. It has been hard for me to understand the science behind all these issues, without having a true grasp on the important scientific factors.

 

The class is called Principles of Global Energy Production, and what I am learning is that our energy future is much more complicated than I had imagined. The question of energy production and consumption is not determined solely by our energy needs, or by the demands of the environment, but also by market forces, economic concerns, individual conceptions, and, most importantly, the political angle. As our existing energy base is both running out and destroying our global environment, we are unable or unwilling to take the drastic measures to implement the technologies we must in order to survive as a nation and as a world. This class has helped me explore some of the angles of this problem, starting with the basic limitations of our physical world.

 

The most basic physics problem we face is that we live on a planet with limited resources. For example, we are effectively out of copper. Any and all future technologies that require copper will have to recycle existing copper sources. That is a serious problem for our future as resource users, and one that could have been foreseen. We face a similar problem with other earth metals, such as platinum, which is essential for current models of fuel cells for powering automobiles. Super efficient solar panels have been developed, but cannot be implemented because we lack sufficient reserves of the required rare earth metals.

 

The basic problem is that we have rapidly overdeveloped our world, both in terms of land use as well as basic materials available to exploit. We have developed ourselves into the uncomfortable position of needing a massive investment of money and materials for re-creating an energy infrastructure and being less and less able to do so as time goes on.

 

Human beings often have trouble planning on the grand scale. We build wind farms that power 100 houses when what we really need to do is invest in the infrastructure and facilities to enable a single wind farm to power the entire Northwest. This is something we have the technology and resources to do; and wind energy is something that can be produced cheaply and requires minimal upkeep and monetary investment after the initial setup. Everyone talks about the startup cost of a wind farm, when really this amount is vastly less than that of a nuclear facility and can be brought online in one tenth of the time. (Aside from environmental and health concerns, nuclear power plants are a problematic solution because a large-scale nuclear reactor requires 10-12 years to build.) Wind is actually a very inexpensive resource, once the electrical grid has been set up to transport the power.

 

Infrastructure is the largest barrier to implementing energy structure changes. Most of our electrical grid is about fifty years old, which leads to all kinds of maintenance and efficiency problems. But replacing and expanding the grid now requires a huge investment of money: approximately one and a half million dollars per mile. This presents a real problem for a resource like wind, which has most energy potential located in areas like the Midwest, while the country's population centers are on the coasts. Despite the necessity of updating the system, it is politically risky to mandate such a huge monetary investment, and the market has been unwilling to see this as something that must be done, regardless of the initial costs it is something that our energy future and lifestyles demand. Instead of moving toward large-scale change, we have collectively focused on small-scale model projects that are helpful in proving we have the technological capacity to make a change, but do not make a substantive difference in our energy problem.

 

I have a whole term's worth of statistics and examples I could write out, and maybe I will come back to this topic at some point. But here's the Cliff Note's version of this course:

 

1. We are running out of time.
2. Seeing that we are running out of time, we have to focus our investment in change on large-scale efforts. The world does not quantatively care if one house is energy- or carbon-neutral. It does not care if one city is "green." We have to stop investing in pilot projects and make sweeping change possible.
3. We, as a country, cannot continue to depend on fossil fuels for our energy. That means more than shifting away from oil, it means that we cannot keep going the direction we are headed in, which is a new reliance on natural gas imported from Russia and Iran (how do we think this will help?).
4. We cannot physically solve this problem in ten years, much as we might like to. This is something that will take huge quantities of time and money and resource shifting to fix.
5. We have to base our decisions on science to make intelligent investment and implementation decisions. That means that we have to have studies done on effectiveness of fuel sources as a whole, and not each industry advocating for their own brand of national salvation.

But the most important conclusion we can draw is that our world's resources are a shared commodity. We cannot continue to structure our society as though all the world's petroleum is ours for the buying. There needs to be a world-wide understanding of energy as something we all need and all deserve access to. We have to begin to think and act like we are citizens of a world ecosystem and a world supply of resources, and that these must be developed carefully and respectfully.

 

It is within the power of our society today to solve problems like the global climate crisis and energy demands. But these solutions must be carefully considered, and must be made despite their immediate effects on politics or market prices. Somehow we must restructure our conceptions of problems to include their long-term implications, as well as their impacts on the larger world. Hopefully as more people come into a more complete understanding of our global problems we can move toward sweeping and effective solutions.

 

This ten week long class on Principles of Global Energy Production course has enabled me to begin understand the complexities of the problem and the true requirements of a solution. This is my generation's great problem to solve. I hope we'll be ready, and I hope I can somehow contribute to the solution.

 

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Bienvenidos: Welcome

Katie D.

November 21, 2008 - 1:45 PM

I spend four hours every Thursday doing volunteer work as a translator at a free medical clinic in Eugene called Volunteers in Medicine. I work there with the Hispanic clients, helping them to check in for appointments, making phone calls, and translating for doctors' visits.

 

I found this volunteer position through the University of Oregon's Participatory Learning Services, through which students have the opportunity to participate in internships for UO credit. They have a variety of Spanish options, from translating positions to leading Girl Scouts or volunteering with English as a Second Language classes. The idea of the program is to give language students the opportunity to use their skills in real world situations and to help in the community.

 

I chose Volunteers in Medicine because I feel very strongly about the issues of just and compassionate health care for everyone. I agree with President Elect Barrak Obama's statement that health care is a right for every person living in the United States: that we deserve to receive treatment when we are sick, regardless of our socioeconomic status. I believe this is just as true for the Hispanic people living in our communities, who face discrimination in many areas of their lives and often do not have access to a Spanish-speaking doctor. They are confronted, therefore, with a double problem: that of cost and that of language. I am not a medical student, but I do have an advanced level of Spanish. So I'm put to work making a difference in these areas that matter to me, trying to improve people's lives.

 

Volunteers in Medicine serves a specific population of the working poor: those who have jobs but cannot afford health insurance. There is a qualification process, but once a person is approved for service at the clinic the service and prescriptions are free. When a patient enters the building there is a volunteer greeter to direct them to the pharmacy or check them in for an appointment. There are also people who come in for eligibility screenings and are helped by other volunteers. A large majority of the clinic staff is working there on a volunteer basis, but the clinic is run like any doctor's office, with highly qualified staff and high quality services.

 

I usually hang out in the reception area with the greeter. I help translate while people get checked into their appointments, or when people do their eligibility work and the application process. I answer the phone and make reminder calls for appointments. I help new patients fill out their medical history forms and schedule new appointments. I take patients to their rooms and help the nurses go through the basic check ups and the initial conversations about the purpose of the appointment. Most of the Spanish-speaking patients see a doctor who also speaks Spanish, but sometimes scheduling conflicts mean that she is not available, in which case I also translate for the doctor's appointment itself.

 

I am rarely busier or feel more appreciated than I do when I am working at VIM. There is a real need for a Spanish translator, and the clients I work with often express true gratitude for my presence, which serves as a strong motivator for me to work hard. I remember coming home from my first day of volunteering completely exhausted and immediately logging into a medical Spanish tutorial to study. My Spanish classes never prepared me for vocabulary like "gall bladder" and "dosage" and "Pap Smear." I watch tutorials on acne treatment, cancer detection, back pain, arthritis, and diabetes. I feel like every time I come home from VIM there is some new chunk of vocabulary to look up. This is not casual conversation I am dealing with: my understanding of certain vocabulary can dramatically influence people's welfare.

 

The VIM staff has been so helpful and friendly to me. The volunteer coordinator worked with me early on, giving me vocabulary and websites to visit and study, as well as showing me videos and telling me about the role of the translator. Ideally I am not even a part of a conversation between a doctor and patient: I am simply a means of communication that translates word-for-word and is a sort of unobtrusive presence. This has been a real challenge and source of growth for me, as I am generally someone ready to jump right in to any conversation. But my work as a translator is not about me: it is about a patient being treated by a doctor.

 

Of course, these situations are not always ideal. Sometimes a patient only needs a backup translator to augment their English understanding. Other times I work as an "unobtrusive" translator while holding the patient's screaming child.

 

When I work out front as a greeter, my job is to be as welcoming and as friendly as possible. Some people come in exhausted and irritable, while others come and want to tell me all about their families and histories and ailments. I am not a translator, exactly: I welcome people into the clinic, and make sure that they understand that their needs will be met and that their presence is valuable to us. There are days when I work as the greeter for everyone, helping English speakers check in along with the Spanish-speaking patients. That is actually when I am most enthusiastic about my presence at VIM: when I feel very needed and like everyone who walks through the doors is being greeted as equals.

 

Making phone calls is the hardest job for me. It is harder to understand what a person is saying when you cannot watch a person talking. Also, over the phone they can't see the blonde hair to tip them off that I'm obviously a Spanish learner. Sometimes I'll start off with a "how can I help you?" that digresses into a "I'm sorry, will you say that again," or "please spell that for me" or "can you tell me another way?" People are patient. Usually. Mostly people are just happy that there is someone who they can communicate with at all. And I'm getting better.

 

I love working at VIM, especially when the place is busy. Some days the place is full and the phones are ringing-the whole place gets this great vibe to it. I'll have a couple minutes to hold a baby and ask the mother how she's feeling before I'm off to answer a phone, then get one patient checked in before rooming another. The people on staff all know my name and will yell out for me to come help in one place or another. The clients can all see I'm busy and stressed and sometimes egg me on; asking me where I'm off to now or shouting to slow down. You have your own energy field at times like that.

 

I've worked at VIM for two terms and I intend to continue working there one afternoon a week until I graduate. Last week an older woman sat down next to me and told me (in English), how glad she was that VIM exists. She said she didn't know what she'd do if we weren't around, and how good it felt to have a stable doctor, "just like anyone else." Ten minutes later I answered a phone call in Spanish and the woman spent five minutes telling me how glad she was to talk to a Spanish speaker. She asked how old I was, how long I had been speaking Spanish, and if I would be there for her appointment. It was for Thursday afternoon, so the answer was yes, nos vemos. We'll see each other soon.

 

This is the VIM website if you have questions about their philosophy, services, or needs.
http://www.vim-clinic.org/default.htm

 

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One Ticket to Peru

Katie D.

November 19, 2008 - 9:00 PM

Getting to the top of that mountain was one of the hardest and most rewarding things I have ever done. The view was astonishing, but the mountain wasn't terribly impressive by mountain climbing standards. There were stairs, after all, and 400 other people climbed it that same day. The mountain is Wayna Picchu, and stands above the site of the ancient Incan city of Machu Picchu.

 

I went to Peru alone. I took a week off from my classes during my semester abroad in Chile last spring. For one reason or another, none of my friends could join me so I seriously considered not going: I was already traveling around Chile almost every weekend-it would have been easy to skip the long bus ride to Santiago, the flight to Cusco, and the week of travel by myself. No one wants to be by themselves in a famous tourist destination, right?

 

But I had wanted to go to Machu Picchu for as long as I could remember. I had studied it in history and Spanish classes, and was totally fascinated by the idea of a city that old in a place so beautiful. I was already in South America. I had to go.

 

My host family was excited for me, but typical of Chilean perspectives on Peruvians, warned me to be very, very careful-Peru was beautiful but all Peruvians were thieves. I was concerned by this advice, but took it with a grain of salt. Chileans are often politically incorrect, and don't dance around the subject. (I imagine that was exactly what some US friends meant when they warned me to be careful in South America as well.) People are so often unwilling to trust each other. But I decided to trust in the goodness of fate and humanity and set off alone and without itineraries or reservations. I figured that if I asked, people would be happy to give me advice.

 

Trusting to the goodness of the Universe paid off pretty well. I actually met another University of Oregon student and his family on the plane to Cusco. They had a hotel reserved and I shared a double room with one of them. So I got to explore Cusco with people from my neck of the woods-they were also fellow Coloradans. Small world.

 

Cusco is a wonderful place for a tourist. It is incredibly beautiful, for one thing. It was a capital of the Incan empire, and one of the first cities established by the conquistadores. So many of the streets and lower walls of the buildings are obviously Incan with beautiful stone masonry that is well over 500 years old. Then there are the colonial era buildings, including old Catholic Cathedrals. There are museums and monuments everywhere along the hilly cobbled streets.

 

When my newfound US friends were busy that afternoon, I struck off alone to make travel plans for the next stage of my journey. I briefly considered booking with a travel agency for the trip to Machu Picchu, but in keeping with my slapdash approach up to this point, I decided instead on the most cost-effective and least glamorous option. I would take the train into Aguas Calientes, the town closest to Machu Picchu itself. But the woman at the train station explained that I could take a sort of mini bus service halfway there for a quarter of the price. So I recorded the information on the mini bus, bought a train ticket out of Ollantaytambo, and hoped I could find something to do in the little town. Sounded like an adventure to me.

 

Then I went out onto the street to do some shopping. Once you make a purchase, street vendors are often great sources of information and conversation. I bought some sunglasses and then talked to the vendors. They asked if I liked Cusco, and I told them it was an interesting and incredible place. I told them I wished I had months to stay in Peru and that I thought it was more beautiful than Chile (international relations at their best). Then I asked what they would do if they had four hours before dinner, and also for a recommendation for a cheap restaurant with good Peruvian food. So I was off to the Incan museum that had been mentioned negatively in my guide book, and with directions to a restaurant the locals ate at. The museum was incredible, and I was offered me a guided tour at a discount because I could speak Spanish. So much for the guide book.

 

Again and again I found that speaking to people in their own language, complimenting their city and children, and asking them genuinely about their lives and habits is immensely rewarding. I was directed several times to smaller monuments and sacred spaces that I otherwise would not have seen. It was also a local who told me that I had arrived in Cusco in time for Corpus Christi, a major Catholic holiday. I had bought my tickets to Machu Picchu for the day of the celebration itself, but I heard from that woman that they would be bringing in all the patron saints from the churches around Cusco all to the central cathedral in a parade the next day. And what a sight that was! The saints came from all over the city, riding shoulder high on platforms and accompanied by marching bands and people from all walks of life. It was truly a remarkable experience, and was also a genuine cultural moment. This was not a tourist show: it was a religious festival honoring both the Catholic traditions and showing signs of the older Indigenous spiritual practices as well.

 

The trip to Ollantaytambo was very funny. "Mini bus" turns out to mean a taxi that you share with three other people. I was crammed in the back seat and was frankly terrified by the narrow roads, but it cost $3 for the two hour ride, which was about right on target for my budget. It was also a beautiful ride. We drove through farming areas and tiny villages. The Peruvian mountains are so dramatic: like a little kid's squiggle line drawing of mountains.

 

Ollantaytambo was far more than just a train stop. I wish I had researched more! There were beautiful terrace ruins built into one mountain of the many that surround the little town. I started off in that direction with the other white folks, but decided to stop into a café first. I asked the owner what he would do if he had four hours to spend in the town, and he told me he would leave his luggage at the café and hike up the mountain on the other side of the town. He took me to the second floor of the restaurant and pointed at the mountainside, explaining that some of the ruins there were Incan and the higher up ones were Pre-Incan, including the face of a god either carved or naturally appearing in the face of the rock. I took his advice. I took my backpack with me, left my bag of clothing with him, and said I'd be back before dark to try his hot chocolate.

 

There was no one else up in those ruins. And they were fantastic. The other side of the valley held the famous ruins, at $20 a visit. These were older, more complicated, and also had a feeling of modesty that is often somewhat spoiled by tourism. These were houses and roads people had used, and places they had worshiped at. I climbed around for three hours and only encountered four other people. I looked over stone walls to the valleys, examined plant life growing from crevices, and nearly fell down the mountain twice. I also spent a long time in relaxed contemplation and meditation. Old places feel holy, and these were ancient sacred places. I felt an intense regret that my family and friends were not with me, especially the two of my closest friends who are archeology students. But I also felt very connected to the place and my experience there. The town was spread before me, with tin roofs and chickens crowing and children playing. I would have been happy with my Peru trip even if it had only included that town.

 

I had dinner at the café, with fabulous Peruvian soups and a kind of grain dish. I also had fabulous hot chocolate. I am a hot chocolate fanatic, and make it my business to find the best wherever I travel. That little café in a little town in the mountains of Peru has the second best I have ever tasted.

 

The owner of the place talked to me about the ruins and growing up in Ollantaytambo, and sent the waiter with me when I left to help me carry my light luggage and make sure I found the train station OK in the dark.

 

I spent the night in Aguas Calientes at a hostel I found with a British couple I had met on the train. The train ride itself was fine, but it was dark by then so I couldn't see the countryside as we rattled along. Aguas Calientes itself is really just a stepping stone. Everyone there talks of nothing but Machu Picchu: have you been yet? When? What will you do afterward?

 

We loaded up on snacks for the next day, bought our tickets to the park itself, and went to bed early in preparation for an early departure.

 

I was at Machu Picchu at 8 am, in a place high on the south side of the city when the sun rose over the surrounding mountains. The city is completely beautiful. It is shockingly green, and the stone walls are beautifully crafted. It looks like it was built to be a ruin, blending with the green and the rocks of the surrounding landscape. There were llamas running around picturesquely, and the normal hordes of tourists were not as bad as I had feared, both due to the early hour and because of the festival in Cusco. The place was beautiful in the half-light of dawn, and watching the line of the mountain-shadows creep down the scene made me feel like a kid a Christmas. And the whole time I was looking at the Mountain Wayna Piccu and trying to imagine the scene from its top.

 

The sun rose, we took our pictures and marveled at the sight, and then raced through the city to be among the 400 allowed to go up the mountain. The stairs are old, Incan old, and it was a long climb. It was incredibly steep, and at high altitude it was hard to truly catch my breath. But the city dropped away below me and I could see more and more of its configuration as a part of a larger landscape.

 

Reaching the top felt like a miracle. The city is so beautiful from above, and I was surrounded by the other giddy and exhausted tourists who chattered in more than ten languages. We were all victorious. The mountains surrounding Machu Picchu are jungle-covered, with brilliant flowers and trees. It was amazing being so far above such an iconic place. There are temples at the top of the mountain: somewhere back in history the Incans would climb those steps as a normal activity. We rested and took pictures before descending, stopping at several other temple sites along the way. (Because my Mother might read this, I will not give you full details of the descent. Suffice to say that it was terrifying and if I had slipped I would not be here to write this today.)

 

I said goodbye to my climbing companions, and wandered the ruins alone. I touched the stones, listened in on tours, and climbed more stairs. I thought about the miracle of a place like that still existing, a relic of an older time hidden so long amid mountains and jungles. There is no way to describe the place and the holy feeling around it. I can only say that I am not the same person I was before I went there: somehow a feeling of sacredness, of connection to the past was introduced to me that day that I hope will remain a permanent part of my soul. I was not lonely that afternoon, sitting alone beside rocks and climbing up yet more sets of ancient stairs. I was at peace, at joy with my place. I would like to say that the most beautiful place I have ever seen is somewhere no one has ever heard of: some obscure corner of the world that belongs uniquely to me. But that is not true: Machu Picchu, with all its fame, remains the most beautiful and most mind-altering place I have visited.

 

I learned in Peru that you do not travel anywhere alone. Humanity is always there, and can often be trusted to supply adventure and connection to someone willing to risk that. Machu Picchu broke my heart wide open, and I can still feel that place like a quiet center within me.

 

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