Casa de Milagros

How do you come to the Casa de Milagros? Well, if you are one of the residents here, your parents may have died in a car crash and you were brought here. Or your mother had six other children and threatened to drown you if you weren't taken in. You may also have witnessed your father murder your mother and were placed here for your own protection. Or, sadly, your father passed away and your mother gave you up rather than have you subjected to sexual abuse by her new boyfriend.

About thirty children live at the casa ranging in age from three to twenty-one. All have unique stories. All have suffered some untold form of abuse. All are survivors and all are amazing human beings with much to offer the world. But more importantly, once they cross this threshold, they are promised food and shelter and an education for as long as they care to study. They are not turned away at eighteen but rather encouraged to attend college and pursue their dreams. Hopefully, once accomplished, they will feel a need to give something back to society or stay on to be role models for the younger children. The Casa is their home and the heart of their family.


I sat in the courtyard for about an hour before Ted and the rest of the gang showed up. Even though the grounds and the buildings were in need of some TLC, there was nothing cold or sterile about the place (like the Chinese orphanage my daughter lived in.) The four house dogs all came by to check me out and a white rat (one of the kid's cage-free pets) scurried in and out of the hall, failing to scare me. Some of the kids stopped by and said hello before running off in one direction or an other. Used to people volunteering for a day, or week, or two, they simply referred to me as, "Amiga." No need to learn my name as I would be gone soon enough.


Kata, the woman who manages the yoga retreat, brought me up to the Library to share some of the games I had brought for the kids. The girls jovially swarmed me to see what I was offering. I was relieved to see that they had never played Blokus and I quickly set about teaching them how to play the game.


The next couple of hours flew by as groups of children took turns playing. It was quite gratifying. I had also brought a block puzzle and the toddler of the orphanage, Baby S., completely obsessed over it. Insisting on doing all six puzzles and having me watch her do as she did it. She was a cutie.


Before I left, my friends joked and warned me not to bring a child home. I thought about that as I hung out with them. It's not that the idea didn't cross my mind, it's just that the kids that stood before me had a rich life (in spite fo the fact that they don't have electronics and actually have to walk two miles to school everyday.) In the community where they live, these kids are the lucky ones.


They get fed. They go to a private school. They are not beaten and they don't have to work to support their families. They actually have as much a shot at real a childhood as you can hope for, which is more than you can say for the majority of the children in the Sacred Valley.

So, no, I didn't come home with a child. I came home with thirty, solidly lodged in my heart and who I will try to support as best I can.

Is grateful

Holy Cow

Carlos, the person that was sent to drive me to the yoga retreat, arrived on time in a brand new station wagon. I welcomed the sight as I figured the car's shock absorbers would be good and soften the blow of driving on the pot marked roads. (Seriously, chiropractors could make a fortune in this part of the world.) As we headed out of town, Carlos told me that he would be taking me to the orphanage instead and that Ted and the rest of the group would meet me there - which was fine with me. When I set off on this trip, I told myself not to attach myself to any schedule and leave myself open to changes. Just go with the flow. In any case, I was eager to feel how happy my lungs would be at a slightly kinder, eight thousand foot altitude.

The country side was spectacular as we climbed out of Cusco and driving by Saqsaywaman, the Incan ruins. I whipped out my camera and happily took pictures, trying to balance taking it all in in the moment versus grabbing shots and then reviewing them at a later time.


It took a certain amount of nerves of steel to ride shotgun in a car as my driver speedily navigated the windy canyon roads, snaking his way across the Andes, skirting cliffs and cattle and so many stray dogs, I stopped counting after ten minutes. Sometimes, the two lane highway would be eroded down to one lane. He would honk, barely slowing down to see if another vehicle was coming round the corner in the opposite direction. Nor would he slow down through the smoke from the burning fields that would waft over us, so thick, we would lose all visibility for a few seconds.

I finally stopped taking pictures and threw on my sunglasses just as I noticed a cow grazing in the opposite embankment. As we were about fifty feet from it, the animal decided to cross the highway in our direction. It all happened too fast for me to even panic. All I remember is the cow lowering it's head just before we were to collide with it and then jutting its horns out at us as if we were in a corrida. Carlos swerved slightly just before the impact and all I felt was a shower of shards blasting across my face. I looked down at my lap and my hands and for an instant, I assumed that I was looking at pulverized bovine horn. But it wasn't. It was shards of mirror and window.


The car pulled over, avoiding four kids and a dog lounging on the side of the road, a tour bus passed us and Carlos, white knuckled and nauseated, clutched the wheel, hyperventilating. I looked back and saw the cow bucking off into a field and the kids and a dog looking back at us, shocked.

As I carefully extricated myself from my glass covered seat and wiped the little cuts on my face, I kept thinking, "Wow, how lucky are we?" I really meant it in the coolest way. I felt lucky that thirty seconds before the collision, I had put on my sunglasses. I felt lucky that a week before I set off on this adventure, that I had purchased travel insurance. I felt lucky that the tour bus hadn't flattened us like a pancake. I felt lucky that we didn't take the kids and their pet out, and I felt grateful that I didn't have 500 pounds of steak on my conscience.

Carlos looked at me shocked and muttered in spanish, "Porque eres tan serena?" (Why are you so serene?) I just told him that I didn't feel like wasting energy freaking out. Today, wasn't our day to die, so I was grateful and happy. Then I told him that I could drive us the rest of the way, if he wanted... He thought that was funny.



Is lucky

Cuzco

Coca tea is the bomb. The taste is like watered down dirt. I try not to smell it as I drink it. Otherwise, this is just what the doctor ordered. No headaches and I´ve spent the last four hours walking everywhere without labored breathing. I´m exhausted. I´m having a bad hair day and I have a feeling that the sunscreen I slathered on my face around three-thirty this morning probably wore off before my arrival in Cuzco at noon.


Otherwise, the solo part of this day has been great. I ate at a really delicious vegetarian restaurant but broke a cardinal rule by having a large salad. I walked around the town which is slightly dilapidated (the city planners set it up during the Inca reign and the the Spaniards did a Catholic number on it.)


It´s gorgeous and ridiculously packed with tourists. Scary crowded. A lot of backpackers headed for the Inca Trail. A lot of hippie artist types and a world of nationalities all here to make their way to Machu Pichu.


One more cup of coca tea to make it until 8 o´clock, at which point I hope to sleep for at least eight hours.

Is happy.

Is and Ted´s excellent adventure.

Leaving everything to the last minute, I finally overpacked my bags around midnight and I don´t think that I finally passed out before 2AM, I was so wired. In any case, I clocked four hours of beauty sleep before heading to the airport.

Ted (aka yoga boy, my teacher who is leading the retreat) and I were on the same flight and I was permitted to sit next to him as long as I didn´t talk too much. I was like, "Dude, please, I´m the one who needs peace and quiet. I´ve got some deep thinking to do so you don´t talk to me, you dig?"

I whip out my self-help book about recovering my creativity and he whips out his self-help book about understanding women. So we basically spent the next six hours debating what makes relationships work or not, comparing the thoughts from my book and ultimately trying to explain to poor, confused, Ted, why women say something but really mean another. Two vegan meals later and a transit in Panama, we landed in Lima.

It was midnight by the time we headed to the hotel and three-thirty in the AM when the taxi picked us up to take us back to the airport for the flight to Cuzco. We are standing in line waiting to check in when the airline announces that our 5:30 AM flight is delayed until 10:45 later that morning. This is where a good yoga practice comes in handy. We both took a deep, cleansing breath and debated what to do. I needed sleep which I was not going to get seated at the gate and I wanted to get back to a hotel. Ted was inclined to be productive at the internet cafe. I won. We checked our bags and then hailed a cab and the taxi driver took us to some three star establishment (maybe it was two, since I paid $60 for the room)where we could catch a couple more hours sleep and save me from turning into Isabitch.


(Okay, so maybe I should have spent the cash on Botox. This is us, headed back to Lima airport for the second time in 8 hours.)

The flight to Cuzco was smooth and quiet until the hairpin roller coaster descent the pilot took on his approach to the runway. Apparently, this is how all landings are at this treacherous locale.

Ted and I parted ways at the airport. He went onto set things up at the retreat and I opted to spend a day (by myself) exploring Cuzco. I travel there tomorrow afternoon to start the yoga part of this eat-play trip.


Is still breathing.

Mommy is going to clear her head

It has been quite a transformative year for me. A year filled with sadness, fear,loss, grief, compassion, certainty, calm and hope woven through a thread of love that has not been broken, For those of you who know what our family has been through, you will understand why I need a little escape to process and reflect on the past several months and couple of decades before that.

Grateful that my kids have adjusted to this transition and knowing that they would be well cared for, I began contemplating attending a yoga retreat in Peru about the same time I boarded my return flight from Singapore to Los Angeles, last April. (Which is when I really should have started this blog.) I came home. The children were happy to see me and after a few days of jet-lag, I settled back into a routine which involved brushing their teeth and feeding them green vegetables.

This imminent ten-day getaway involves yoga every morning, some meditation (which will be a challenge for me since it will mean sitting still and keeping my mouth shut for an indeterminable period of time,) hikes in and around Machu Pichu and a couple of days helping out at an orphanage. The lodging, as far as it has been explained to me, is basic and I already know that I am going to be frozen half my stay because it is presently winter in the southern hemisphere and the temperatures dip to just above freezing at night. I also figure that the oxygen deprivation (and lack of Chardonnay) will help me clear my head - if I don't pass out - and hopefully, focused thoughts will ensue. Yeah!

So I am counting the days - one, as of tomorrow! And I am scrambling to gather supplies for the orphanage. I am also busy trying to get the plastic taste cleared from the camel pouch that I was instructed to purchase so that I can stay hydrated during my adventure.

In any event, I am psyched. I am doing this without the camaraderie of any of my friends (caveat: I do know the yoga teacher) and otherwise flying solo. I will be by myself exploring Cuzco for a couple of days and I am already trying to come up with an excuse to stay longer so that I can get to lake Titicaca and check that part of the country out. The most challenging aspect of the trip (other than breathing at high altitude) will probably be saying goodbye to the kids in the orphanage and not bringing them home with me.

Bottom line: Life is too short and Botox is way too expensive. I actually debated the pros and cons of spending $700 on a couple of injections in my face and erasing some of the tell tale signs of my life eventfully lived. I am gambling that the money will be better spent on a flight to Lima and banking on the thought that I will feel pretty good about myself for going on this journey and accepting the fact that I can't run away from my wrinkles. The trip in itself is Botox for my heart so that I can feel young on the inside.

Je depose ma valise.

Is - almost on my way.