February 19, 2008

Couldn't resist one last note. I just got to BOLIVIA!! I'm staying on the shores of Lake Titicaca (really, the place exists!), in the little town of Cocacabana. A real place... I'll be here a week I suspect, as the town reminds me of the best place I shot in Colombia. It's waaaay tourisity, but has great atmosphere. And the plus of it being touristy is that there's lots of ammenities like laundry services, and it just feels EASY.

February 18, 2008

It was in 2000 that I first got the idea to write in a beautiful and changing landscape. It hasn't always been easy, but I never regret following the dream. It's Monday by the time I leave. We've camped here for three nights and I've gotten so much writing done!

February 16, 2008

Again I've camped on farmland, but not like any I've experienced before. A rare dirt track led up a hill. I park at the bottom and we walk up to what looks like a little used quarry, surrounded by terraced farms in the style of which has been used since Inca times. Amongst the rocks are scores of rabbits with thick bushy tails - heaven for the dogs. Again, the van will be very exposed, when what I prefer is to be hidden. However, what anyone will see from a few hundred meters away is a large white van. They'd have no idea what they would find if they braved the long stretch of dirt track to reach me. Could I be a bandit? Certainly, they'd never suspect a lone woman and two dogs. Most associate my van with smuggling. This gets me pulled over at check-points frequently. This time, I'll be using that 'look' to my advantage. Guaranteed Bruiser will run down to greet any unwelcome guests.

There's thunder, lightening and rain in the night, and I'm delighted that the triple layer of rubber seal to fill the gap made by the weight of the spare tire on the back door works great. No leaking. The morning is glorious. I discover wildflowers are everywhere when we take a morning walk into the hills. I realize their colour and that of the grasses is incredibly vibrant because of the cleaner air at this altitude. I spend the day writing. The dogs disappear every few hours to chase the rabbits in the quarry. It's far enough away that the rabbits will know they're coming, and I don't have to worry about gratuitous killing.

February 15, 2008

I wake up in the morning surrounded by a brilliant sun and fields of yellow flowers. It's quiet. There's a water source for the farmers nearby where waders cry. The bad feelings have passed with my stomach bug and I feel myself again. On our morning walk, I wander over to a house where I'd heard a dog barking. I talk to the man, who seems friendly enough while we chat about the vegetables he's growing. I ask if I can take a picture of his dog, who I can now see is roped to it's dog house constructed of stone. He seems ok, though not enthusiastic about the idea. As I approach the main house, his wife comes out and waves me away angrily, just as the man with the dead dog did. I leave while laughing. This time I'm not bothered.

I've found Peruvians to be the most suspicious of any group of people I've ever met, surpassing even Americans in their fear and paranoia. ;-) The first time I brought out my camera to photograph a dog in the street, the owner closed the door. When I knocked, to ask why the animal had a necklace of limes around its neck (old folklore remedy to heal a bite), the door was opened just long enough to slam it shut again. I didn't find this attitude prevalent in the cities, but now I'm in rural areas, I seem to be encountering it again.

I do some writing and at 1 pm head to Puno. I have to find somewhere to fax a contract to an editor. There's tons of internet cafes, and places to telephone and copy documents. Eventually I find a place. The machine says the number isn't valid. I find another number on their website. All this takes time. The dogs are in the van, in the shade. I'm relaxed. A firework goes off. In Costa Rica, Bruiser had jumped out of the van because of fireworks. I'd lost him for four days. This time I'm concerned for him, I know he'll be nervous, but I've learnt my lesson. Every time I run errands, I roll the windows up and leave about four inches open. Enough for him to put his head out, but no more. Today is no different.

This time, the fax just won't connect internationally. More fireworks go off. It's Friday afternoon, about 3pm, and there's a fiesta. Just like a year ago in Costa Rica. I tell the girl to stop trying, and leave, buy some bread, and run the remaining three blocks back. I open the van door, and Dog has the same look on her face as when Bruiser jumped out before. I don't need to look in the back of the van to know he's not there. Shit, shit, shit. How can a dog that large fit through an opening so small??

This is a town neither of us have ever been. I have no idea where he'll run, or whether he'll seek shelter. Last time, he headed back to where we'd been camping, miles away. He'd run across country, not via road, so had become lost. That time, and another time when we lived in Kenya and he was missing, I'd contacted Ronni Hall, an animal communicator. Both times she's been instrumental in me finding him. Immediately I wonder how long I should wait before contacting her again. Puno is not a place I want to stay. It has a reputation of having plenty of thieves and pickpockets. I will have to camp on a side-street where I've parked until I find him. I try and quell panic.

With no idea where to begin looking, I do nothing. I just stand in the square. I remember what Ronni Hall had said: "Imagine a piece of string connecting the two of you together." I'm calm. I soundlessly call to Bruiser and say, "I can't look for you, you have to return to the van." And within a minute, I turn back to our vehicle, and there he is running along the sidewalk.

To contact Ronni, or read her latest newsletter, go to: http://www.ronniannhall.com/intuitive/monthnewsletter.html.

I quickly go through the rest of my errands, never letting the van and dogs out of my sight. From now on, the window will be rolled up to two inches, unless I'm there.

February 14, 2008

I had fantasies of returning to the dog loving man and taking wonderful photos of him with his dog, while llamas grazed in the background. Later, I'd photograph them making their way through the amazing rock formations. All fantasy.

I feel like crap in the morning. Water I'd left outside froze solid. I have a hunch I need to get to a pharmacy to make sure the dosage of medicine I'm taking for a parasite is correct. So, I crawl over to the farm, not sure we'll be here later. Bruiser and the dog clearly don't like each other and have a tussle. The man is clearly annoyed to see me. "Why haven't you left already, it's sunny!" And waves his hand. For lack of something better to say, I ask if I could take pictures of his llamas.
"They're alpacas. That'll be $3."
I decline. I ask if I can buy eggs from him, he says come back tomorrow. Cleared this isn't going as I envisioned.

I bid farewell and head back to the van. His dog catches up to us. I take pics of him and the three, until Bruiser chases him away from the van. The dog heads out to the road where his female companion was killed. It's too far away to see clearly, but I imagine him snuffling at her in mourning. Then I realize he's looking for scraps. A truck honks its horn. I'd thought the female was killed while herding alpaca's across the road. Instead, she was looking to supplement her diet. This is something I'm to see later on.

I decide to wash my hair with lukewarm water. My solar shower went kaput, so I've devised a shower using the old tube, and the inner tube of a car tire. Unfortunately, even in blazing sun, the rubber is too thick for the sun to penetrate much. So I boil water and pour it in. I'll need to find another solution at the hardware store. I need something black, or maybe clear, and thick enough to hold water, but not too thick...

I'm too sick to write, and so driving some distance is a good use of my time. It's cold. I turn the car heater on and there's a horrific noise. With much fiddling, I get hot air, but the noise comes and goes. Something which needs fixing. I pass incredible scenery. We're now in the Altiplano!! Incredible clear skies and wide open landscapes which remind me of New Mexico. We take a fifteen minute break at a huge lake, and then a river flowers along the road. This is the time of year to be here, it's great and soon there'll be spring flowers.

And then begin the dogs. I'd heard about this phenomenon. Every kilometer or so there's a dog by the side of the road. Waiting every day for a source of food which would come flying out the window from one of many vehicles or tour buses. The dogs seem like they were in the middle of nowhere, but on closer inspection, I see there are tiny pueblos tucked away behind hills. It seems a gross, modern-day distortion of how dogs sat around our campfires thousands of years ago.

It's two hours till I find a town which has a pharmacy - all closed for lunch. We walk the streets and find people incredibly friendly. Alas, I feel crap and don't appreciate it. I check email, get more medicine, and we head to Lake Titicaca, and get hopelessly lost in the town of Juliaca, despite asking directions four times. In the process, I see more dogs than I've ever seen in one place ever. Pack upon pack roam the streets and trawl through the garbage, their food source. Clear up the garbage problem, and the amount of dogs would diminish. I'm amazed so many are tolerated. I wonder if this town puts down poison, or not.

I take a wrong turn and instead of north to go around Lake Titicaca to reach Bolivia, I've gone south. The weather patterns are interesting here. The mornings are brilliantly clear and so warm that some days I've worn flip-flops, tank-top and shorts. Around noon a cool breeze picks up and by nightfall it's bitter cold. The overcast sky has prevented me telling north and south. I've had enough for today. I've bought two dinners, one for me and another for the dogs to share. I need a place to camp. I'm pissed off, hungry and cold and crabby. Gone are the incredible landscapes which I was sure would stay with me for several months. I'm confronted with filthy villages and no tracks. I eventually find a place off a farm track.

It's almost dark and we take a walk along a river. I'd stumbled upon a wonderful place to camp, despite being twenty minutes from a big town. I take another look at the day, and realize it was all just fine. I decide instead of trying to find the way north again, since I'm heading south, I'll continue in that direction.

I'd emailed a fellow traveller I'd met at www.HorizonsUnlimited.com to tell him of my northward journey. It's always a mistake for me to do this. Events often take unexpected turns on the road.

February 13, 2008

I've arrived. I have no idea where, but somewhere between Arequipa and Puno, Peru. We passed the turning to Machu Pichu. I decide not to go there this trip. If I could take the dogs, I'd go. I even have a free hotel room for a few nights. Also, I've found places I discover on my own seem to give me greater satisfaction. I can return when one day I go to the Galapagos Islands, another place I couldn't take the dogs. Even so, I stall at the crossroads, buying supplies and gas from a man who pours it from a five gallon container. I want to head towards Lake Salinas, but take a wrong turn on a dirt track. I'm a bit relieved. Bruiser is hating the bumps. And it's off the beaten path. I'm new to camping at these elevations. We're at over 4000 meters. It's very cold. Cold scares me far more than heat.

An hour later I come across amazing rock formations. Herds of llamas, the first we've ever seen, cross the road. Dog barks. I roll down the window to get a better view. I smile at the little boy helping to herd. He smiles back, amazed to see dogs in a van, and a Gringa. Instead of searching, sometimes in vain for camping spots, as was the case throughout Central America, Colombia and Equador, now I debate which of many dirt tracks to take which will lead me to a wide open space. This one isn't right, so I head back to another I'd seen. At the turning lies a dog, recently hit by a car. An unusual site as there's no villages around.

The track leads straight up to the rock formations. I'm a few hundred meters from the main road. For security, I prefer being completely hidden. For this environment, I'm willing to compromise. Besides, once it's night, no one will be able to see me on the side of the hill.

The dogs and myself clamber up amongst amazing formations, which must've been spewed from a volcano eons ago. It's hard going, I haven't adjusted to the altitude and it's bitter cold. But it's worth ever second. We're in a fairytale land. Once at the top, a valley lays before us, over 100 llamas dotting the landscape. We descend. I've wondered for months how the dogs will react to these creatures, and envision them scattering herds all over the landscape. Instead, they seem to instinctively know this is lifestock - untouchable.

We head towards a series of buildings. There doesn't appear to be anyone around. And then, the bark of a dog. Such a familiar and welcome sound. This one is covered in lots of hair, the same as the few I've seen in the past few hours, and so different than indigenous ones I've encountered thus far. Everything is suddenly new, new, new. Bruiser and he sniff, and we're again on familiar ground.

A few women come out, and like many Peruvians, are suspicious. Why am I here? I say some pleasantries and then an older man comes outside. Immediately he asks about Bruiser. 'Is he male?' I say yes, and that he's castrated. I say I have another, but she's nervous of his dog. Dog sits 50 meters away, waiting for me to return. The man misunderstands me, or perhaps hopes what I've said is that I have puppies with me. No, I don't. He is sad.

He tells me that yesterday his female dog was killed on the road. The dog we just saw... She was just over a year old. I commiserate. The man is almost in tears. Obviously an animal lover, he asks what I feed my dogs. I tell him eggs, milk, bread, dog food, meat, everything. He does the same, and adds soup to the mix. While we've been talking, (me in my abysmal Spanish) his dog Chochee has gone to visit Dog, delighted to have company again. He trails us to the top of the hill, and I sit, not wanting him to come to the van with his. The man had warned me of the road, nervous my dogs will suffer a similar fate as his.

Shortly, someone calls, and the dog bounds down the hill, presumably to herd the llamas in the coral for the evening. Repeatedly, I find my dogs open some very interesting doors. I believe if they weren't with me, the man would never have told me about his deceased dog. He wouldn't bother sharing information about feeding habits. There would be no reason to, I'd just be a solo female traveler passing through. Instead, I discover many, many people who have a deep kinship with their animals.

February 12, 2008

I spend the first two nights not more than 1 1/2 hours away from Arequipa. I realize from previous experience that after a spell in the city, it takes time to regroup and regain my camping legs. Traveling like we do, I need to be sharp, and constantly aware of my surroundings. City life turns me to mush. And, the van is a mess. I've bought quite a few items of warm clothing, necessary for the high altitudes of the Altaplano. I need to store warm-weather clothes and make sure everything is easily accessible.

I need to wait for anti-parasite medicine to kick in. I've become victim to Inca Revenge. I need to get the hang of two new stoves I've bought, one which burns kerosene and the other alcohol. I try the alcohol burner first, and almost set the van on fire. Slowly, slowly.

We're camping in what seems to be a pumice stone quarry, and take walks down into a wash. The second afternoon when we return, I see a small herd of what I think are llamas around the van. I can hardly contain my excitement. I wrap my scarf around Bruiser's neck so he doesn't chase them. I need not bother, they're donkey's, not llamas. They've knocked over the burner, and ruined one of the dog bowls. They chase Bruiser, and Dog and he cower near the van in-between barking madly. All good fun.

February 11, 2008

It's 12 noon by the time I leave my hosts Bob and Angie and her family, who've graciously welcomed me into their home for almost three weeks while I've visited and waited for minor repairs on my van which took far longer than expected. It's been amazing to speak English everyday. And to just hang out, and watch tv. Though I'm not a city person, I enjoy Arequipa, helped largely by a series of almost gated communities interspersed with parks. Not once do I put Dog and Bruiser on a lead. There is no leash law, and the dogs and I wander the streets freely. All the neighborhood dogs are free to interact as they wish. There are a few who don't like us. There's others we don't like. And some we adore. Not once does a fight break out.

It's wonderful to see their puppy Cookie learning to interact with my dogs. Cookie learns to respect heirarchy, an important dog skill in Peru, something many dogs in the U.S. have trained out of them. Cookie learns what she can get away with. It's been fascinating to watch how quickly she's learnt how to do 'tricks', something I've never been interested in teaching Dog and Bruiser. Bob and Angie have tried their expert techniques on my dogs. And decided it's not worth the bother. At 11 years old, both Dog and Bruiser know if they wait long enough, the treat will be theirs.

Ironically, CBS television contact me and invite me to apply for a reality show they'll be making - the search for America's Top Dog duo. I'm initially very interested until I learn that instead of a crew flying down to film us, it means flying back to the states immediately. We'd be one of 12 dog/people teams in a house in Los Angeles for 40 days - the length of time it took me to travel the Forty Days Road by camel. And, it means choosing only one dog. Dog OR Bruiser, but not both. I feel it's a Sophie's Choice situation. The pot of gold at the end is high. But so is my respect and love for my dogs. We've been together 24 hours a day for the better part of over four years. It isn't worth the stress they'd have to endure. If we were already in America, it might be different. I trust something else will turn up which more readily suits what we're doing. Besides, I feel we're on the brink of what this adventure is all about. I don't want to disrupt that momentum.