July 31, 2004 Peru! Max Raby & I were scheduled to reach Lima at 10:30pm on July 9, and actually made it there 4 hours late, and one bag short, courtesy of Continental Airlines. We were thus bedraggled when Maricarmen (María del Carmen Ramos) arrived bright and early on the morning of July 10 to hand over to us the tickets for our flight to Cuzco. Should you ever contemplate organizing a trip to Peru, Maricarmen is the woman for you - she took excellent care of our party (whose number eventually reached seven), particularly on that day in Arequipa when fog had disorganized air services and it looked for a while that we wouldn't make it back to Lima that evening (we eventually did). You can reach Maricarmen at Express Travel Peru, Av. Tejada 470 San Antonio, Miraflores, Lima 18 Peru; phone +511-447-9577, +511-446-1319; expresstravelperu@yahoo.com.

We hooked up with Maricarmen courtesy of Dr. James Williams, who reached the hotel shortly after Maricarmen had departed. Dr. Williams (better known in Peru as "Dr. Santiago") was, sadly, heading out of Peru just as we were heading in, but in lieu of his own continued presence he turned us over to his friends Jackie & Julio in Cuzco. Julio has just completed his licensate in tourism (we seven met him at the university on the morning of his exam to wish him luck, and later that evening attended the dinner that Jackie threw in celebration of his success), and Jackie teaches salsa dancing. Max & Brandt, the two 17-year-olds on our trip, and I & Randy (who is roughly my age), enjoyed a salsa lesson one evening (despite being eight months' pregnant Jackie can still cut a mean rug, and gave us a truly memorable class) while my sister LaNell, and her fellow engineers Mollie & Bob, took in the consolation round (playoff for third place) of the Copa America (major South & Central America international soccer tournament) between Uruguay & Colombia (won by Uruguay, who had become our favorite after losing unluckily in the semifinals to Brazil, on penalty kicks). We all trooped over together from our hotel (for the new Cuzco stadium is separated from Jackie's house by no more than the width of a street), and after separating the folks who were headed for the football match enjoyed their own, wildly impromptu quasi-dance (a story to be later told).

But all this happened well into our trip, well after Max & I arrived and were placed by the sweetly attentive Jackie into the capable hands of agronomist David, who drove the two of us down to his 500-acre fundo (farm/ranch) not far from Pilkopata, which is near the jungle preserve of Manu. Accompanying us were Don Sebastian, a paco (ritualist) from the Q'ero tribe who is a dear friend of Dr. Santiago; Don Marcial, a shaman of the Shipibo tribe; and Manuel, Don Marcial's "ayudante" (assistant). The six of us began our trip by driving from midnight until 4 am to reach the ridge at Tres Cruces well in time for sunrise. At Tres Cruces (which is somewhat higher than 13,000 feet) one looks down onto the very cloud forest that was our destination (elevation about 3000 feet), and that near-180 degree vista looking nearly two miles down is indeed spectacular. Don Sebastian, who had before our departure performed a "despacho" ceremony to encourage all to go well with our trip, performed a second "despacho" at Tres Cruces just after dawn, at the end of which appeared an "alkamari," a good-looking type of hawk that Don Sebastian reported is good luck - for women, none of whom happened to be present just then. I decided to take the alkamari as good luck for our journey as well.

Of our onward trip to Pilkopata and beyond, and the ropeway over the river that takes one to David's fundo, and our rewarding adventures while there, including yet another despacho, and two ayahuasca ceremonies ably led by Don Marcial (whose repertoire of icaros and other songs is wide, and whose energy is strong despite his age), the flora & fauna (including in particular the bloodthirsty spiny bamboo), and our return to Cuzco through the town of Paucartambo, which houses the shrine of the Virgen del Carmen, I can but hint here; suffice it for now to say that we all safely avoided contact with the dreaded candíru fish. Back in Cuzco our group assembled, toured the city in the company of the indefatigable Jackie, shopped and ate (our one bad dining experience in Cuzco was far overshadowed by our other excellent meals; the four-course set menu at the Vrinda vegetarian restaurant is excellent value for a little over a dollar), and visited the Sacred Valley (including a lovely lunch at Urubamba, and a fine afternoon at the spectacular ruins of Ollantaytambo). We then departed for the delights of Machu Picchu, and two days later Jackie saw us off at Cuzco airport as we flew to Arequipa, to visit the Colca Valley. Three nights thereafter we were back in Lima, whence we emplaned for the USA. Hasta la vista Peru!

July 16, 2004 Early in July my mother & I emplaned for Washington, DC, to meet there my sister and her choir from Houston's Tallowood Baptist Church, who embarked upon their 2004 East Coast Tour in the Capital. The young man who wheeled Laura to baggage claim looked East African to me, and when I enquired he reported that he was a member of the "Lost Boys," a group of Sudanese war orphans who had been saved and rehabilitated by various relief agencies. This chap had lived in Kenya for many years, near the very Pokot tribe that I joined (as its first white member) in 1973, and enjoyed his stay in Kenya, except for the police, who he reports are too easy to bribe; having been in the USA for but a few months thus far, he appreciates our police for their straightforwardness.

After an evening visit with Kirrin Gill, whom I met 20 years ago in India (Kirrin now busies herself cycling or dancing the tango when she is not wandering the world working promoting reproductive health), we gawked touristically the next day, following a White House tour (complete with a "Run Against Bush" contingent that trooped by as we stood in line to get in) with a stop at the new WWII Memorial, ending with an afternoon at the Holocaust Museum. Most interesting person met that day: taxi driver Khalid Abbas, born in Pakistan into a family of practitioners of "Tib," better known in India as Unani, or Arabic medicine. I enjoyed the opportunity to speak Hindi with Khalid, who is here making money to support his three kids and get them through school, after which he wants to return home and learn his family traditions properly (he picked up a little when he was young there, but conditions were never right for him to study it thoroughly then) so that he can treat people naturally. Khalid bewails those in any country who learn a little of the healing art and then promptly hang up their shingles; an Urdu phrase says it best: neem hakim, khattra jaan (with a half-baked doctor your life is in danger). Khalid enjoyed talking with me so much that he refused to let me pay him for our cab ride, a gesture that I warmly appreciated. All the best to you Khalid!

That evening my mother & sister & I went out of the District for dinner with Lisa Hemmer & her husband Chris. Also present were their kids Suzannah & Emily & Ryan, and friend Catherine, who demanded that I speak of the Pokot tribe, and schistosomiasis (which they refused to believe existed until Catherine's father, a doctor, happened to drop in & confirmed my account), vegetarianism, &c. At dinner the conversation shifted to internet telephony and the use of litigation to facilitate the use of environmental laws to protect against development (!).

Next day the Tallowood choir sang at the National Cathedral, and the day after in a park near the Capitol. As my mother & I flew out we again saw the young Sudanese (whose name alas I cannot recall) and, smiling, he gave us a "thumbs up" sign as we headed for our plane ...

July 1, 2004 Back from nearly a month in South America, and from a computer crisis which seems now mostly resolved, I had intended to take up my narrative thread during August - and suddenly now I find myself having just arrived in Australia on September 1. I now resume my narrative, in Houston, in latter June, where yoga teacher John Coon related to me the story of his two phone calls from space - from Gennady, the cosmonaut who is one of John's students. Gennady is currently spending time on the International Space Station, and phoned to cheer John up during a recent spell of ill health. On returning from Houston to Floresville my mother & I found that the San Pedro had bloomed not one or two but three flowers, on three different "stems" (does cacti display stems, stalks, or trunks?). Thankful though I was for the blossoms, particularly given my impending departure for Peru (San Pedro's home), I can admit to suffering a twinge of regret at having missed their flourishing. My disappointment was to some extent assuaged by the arrival of a new book: Yoga: The Essence of Life, by Alix Johnson. This was the second recent addition to Alix's family, the first being new baby Anouk. In the book (published in Australia by Allen & Unwin [www.allenandunwin.com], ISBN number 1-74114-295-4) Alix interviews seven yoga teachers, and also me.

More assuaging came in the form of a day of laser tag & bowling with Travis & Curtis, the sons of my cousin Marjorie; and then again from nature, in amphibian guise. Heavy rains on June 30 left water flowing strongly through the park, and frogs bellowing at its bridges. As I approached one three-inch croaker on the mid-park bridge he hopped promptly into the rapidly flowing water - so I promptly squatted there, and remained sufficiently still that soon he reappeared, hopping out to sit two feet from my feet and resuming his near-deafening personal declaration. I crouched there on my heels, amazed at how so small an animal could make so loud a sound by a simple out-puffing of his throat pouch. The next night the water in the park had fled, and the remaining frogs croaked only in the pool underneath the road bridge. Unseen insects had taken over the park concert, generating an intense din that was something like an extended duck call - a reedy bleat, a nasal "maa" - in counterpoint, from four locations - first one note, then another that was but one tone above it, creating the chord known as a second (as opposed to the generally more euphonic fourth or fifth).

Where there are frogs there must be snakes about, and I found a serpent the next day, wrapped along a branch of a blooming rose bush that sits partly shaded by the garden's persimmon tree - sinuous grace among stout thorns ...

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