Arnhem Cave Bat Adventure

Sure, the dark was darker than dark. Sure, the potent scent of ammonia made my eyes water and the dusty guano covered the ground making the rocks slippery to hike on. Of course, the 50 foot long section of low clearance made my innards churn, and the cave humidity + 27C (80F) underground made my sweaty skin extra grubby and itchy. And those blasted bats, thousands and thousands of flying mammals, darted through the cave disrupting my calm demeanor. They dodged heads and flashlights, eager to get away me as I was them.  Yet, I persisted.

For a long time I wanted to visit Arnhem Cave, a place thought to be the longest cave in Namibia at 4.2km, according to the polo shirt our guide wore. I imagined the educational glee we'd all experience, and the exhilaration facing my fear of flying creatures head on. Claustrophobia was also a factor, but I refused to even acknowledge it. I signed us up for a 9:00am tour, and we took off on a 90 minute drive involving 3 major turns to get there: onto the highway, onto the county road, and into the camp's entrance. We arrived to Arnhem Resort and Cave in plenty of time to be told our tour would be delayed by a half hour; plenty of time to go into denial! 

With indemnity forms for death and injury signed, we met our fellow hikers. Two of whom were Czech veterinarians here to collect test tubes of bat poop and a few bats close enough to bag (and tag). The vets were conducting an investigation on white-nose-disease, a fungal infection that infects only bats that hibernate. I was unaware that bats hibernate at all. The infection has been on the rise in recent years and has hit Europe's (the United States as well) bat population hard. They spoke very little English but had a translator on board who also carried the biggest camera lens I have ever seen. It was fantastic to see people so excited about caving, I couldn't help but to soak up their enthusiasm. Good thing I did, because almost immediately, one of our flashlights ran out of batteries. I suppressed the urge of an impending heart attack and continued on, using my phone's flashlight (at 50%) to guide the way. 

Margo and I hiked down, hand in hand. Mark and Deets were ahead of us, and the rest followed behind with their fancy lab equipment. Our guide told us this cave was once a cash boon for exporting guano to the United States for making explosives. He pointed out various bat species that were clinging to the ceilings and showed us mummified porcupine remains. Air circulation is quite stagnant inside the cave, so corpses do not decompose at a normal rate.

I am certain he said a myriad of other interesting facts, but I missed quite a bit. I mostly concentrated on keeping Margo distracted from my inner turmoil. At one point the cave split into two: the right was reserved for people who enjoyed walking through underground water and the left side for the rest of us. We continued on, where the smells of ammonia went from a whiff to full on saturation. Margo asked at this point why we needed flashlights in the cave and we proceeded to turn off all the flashlights for educational purposes. "Yeah, I guess it's dark," was her unimpressed remark. 

Beyond our guide, I spied a rapidly narrowing passage that dropped almost straight down and overhead was the saturation point of bats. The ceiling was literally moving. The group crowded together when one of the veterinarians produced a radio that picked up sonar, and we could hear the bat's tiny "voices" crackling through the speakers. He filled his tubes with guano which looked like innocuous, mushy Grape Nuts, and bagged a few live specimens. He held one up to show all of us the bat's tiny mouth filled with tiny yellow teeth before tucking him away. The vets were obviously in their element, so we left them to play while we headed back to the surface. I all but ran with Margo, in the lead. Fifteen minutes later we saw the light and I was safe again. While we waited for the rest of the group to return, I basked in the brilliant sunlight, grateful for my mental rebirth while I dripped ammonia laden sweat all over the place. 

In total we spent about 30-40 minutes in the cave which was more than plenty. Sometimes guests book tours for three hours and it makes me wonder about health ramifications of breathing in the pungent air- especially for the guides who conduct tours up to twice a day, 7 days a week.  I asked the guide if he knew of anyone contracting histoplasmosis, (a fungal lung infection contacted by inhaling microscopic particles of bat or bird poop) and he just looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. I guess it's gauche to speak of such atrocities.  

Arriving back to the lodge, the kids were legitimately hungry and begged for food. Before any of that could go down, we had to change clothes and wash hands. The clothes were tightly bagged, but I could still smell the off gassed ammonia, or at least I imagined I could. We wolfed down PBJs and made an anticlimactic return to Windhoek. Overall, I am thrilled we went despite the danger, the stink, the dark, the flying animals.  It was cool to try something different, and I will encourage anyone who's remotely interested to see bats to give it a go. If anything, perhaps cave dwelling builds character? 

The inviting foot path- though not far, would have taken us at least an hour to arrive.

Going down.

Grabbing his specimen. All that sandy stuff: poop.

A low hanging bat.

A victorious Margo, first out of the cave.

Arrival to Windhoek, Namibia

Knowing me, one would expect that a lengthy stretch of travel over several time zones and airlines, combined with two young children, that something would go amiss. I prepared for the worst on this move from the United States to Namibia but all things considered, it was one of the most boring life events to date. Other than the kids commandeering the airplane bathroom lines announcing their urgencies and charging head-on to the front, they didn't cause a ruckus nor complain. We landed in Windhoek very tired and covered in food stains, but intact and on time. We arrived to our house and thanks to overwhelmingly supportive social sponsors, we had a bit of internet and a whole lot of cable TV to get us started. A few days after that, the kids started school and I was left to set up house.

The landscape of Windhoek in a nutshell is: dry and quiet. I walk around the house like a creeper with my giant bottle of Lubriderm, drinking liters of water that never seem to quench my thirst. With a 6+ year drought, most of the landscape has varying shades of brown though a few species of drought resistant plants and trees flourish with blinding color. The sky is huge and the wind blows high, so that you hear it causing mayhem in the branches but it never really seems to touch the ground. 

I'm told that during rainy season (January-April) the entire landscape is absolutely mind blowing with neon vegetation growing overnight. For now, there’s a huge variety of cactus, as well as succulents, perfectly waxed to hold in slivers of moisture. Looming palm trees have the thickest trunks I have ever seen, and the spiny aloe plants are unmoving, unswaying as they belligerently stare the sun down.

There is a single resident bird in our yard who has set up a mess of real estate in one of our trees, moving from one nest to another. His spread is impressive, homes with bottom entryways, carefully domed using nothing but grass wrapped around a branch. I see why the yellow bird hangs out in our yard: we have shudderingly huge grasshoppers here. Down low, instead of squirrels, mongooses dart up tree trunks and drain pipes. Instead of stray dogs, baboon troops roam the streets and what passes for sidewalks. Sometimes they make unwelcome entries into homes or dump over trash cans, rioting for free finds.  

The kids are recognizing their school-focused routine, getting up at the crack of dawn for a 6:20am bus pick up. Combine that with springtime day light savings and we’ve got the perfect brew of crabby pants. They start and end early due to warm temperatures, so they do get home around 2pm. Deets has been launched into a lot more reading and writing than he cares to do, but he counters that frustration in his Portuguese class, where he gets to relax and answer easy questions. I question whether this was a good idea. At least his homeroom teacher has solid footing on her curriculum, so I have confidence he will adjust. Margo, our chameleon, adapts to anything- she’s off and running, happy to be here getting filthy every day (did I mention it’s dry and dusty here?) For both of them, getting dirty is a point of pride.

For me, I have yet to shape my own routine. It’s been a stop and wait kind of lifestyle when people come by to make repairs, sign papers, or attempt to install internet. It’s not bad, I’ve learned to bake bread and have put forth an effort to cook meals half as good as Mark’s. Turns out I make decent daal, pizza, and bagels. I even made hamburger buns. I tried grilling for the first time. It didn’t go well. In between those times I get tangled in my TRX straps, or take walks around the neighborhood which is full of intimidating guard dogs. I inspect left over remnants of the people who lived here before us: snakes of fat pool tubing that explodes with dirt and dead bugs; neglected furniture that collapses when I place a cup of water on it; gathering up of forgotten, rusted herb planters and random tied up socks across the yard. I found about 20 so far and they keep popping up. 

However, I am happy to be here and ready to make scary decisions like buying a car- if I can. More often than not, spouses of the officer are limited to decision making because they are the “official” ones who can sign things, not us. It’s infantilizing, but I will make the best of it. That is what affordable South African wine and gin is for, right?

The ridge behind our house.  

Bougainvilleas

Resident Weaver.

His newest remodel.

Tiny and spiny orange tree.
The kids drew Halloween faces on the oranges.

An acacia type derivative, next door.

Up close with purple spikes. If the tree wasn't surrounded
by razor wire and an electrified fence,
 I would have tried to feel the puffs.

Socks. Everywhere.

They grow them big here.

Last day in Cusco: Shiny babies, soup, chocolate and acrylic paint

I don't think we could have planned this any better. All the boys opted to relax at home while Margo and I spent the morning walking down to the Plaza. Originally, I planned to take her to a chocolate museum, but when she specifically asked me to visit a church instead of eating chocolate, I had to oblige. The two of us went to the Society of Jesus Church to admire the "shiny babies" (according to Margo) perched on the shoulders of saints and their spectacular gold display at the pulpit. We made our way out with enough time to visit the chocolate museum's gift shop for a few souvenirs and to pick up the boys for lunch at Mister Soup.

For the afternoon I made reservations for the five of us to do a wine & painting & chocolate session with a company called Faces of Cusco. It's similar to those foofy classes where you drink a bunch of wine while painting on canvas. Don't get me wrong, I love those events. However this event was way better for a few reasons:

1. it required very little energy, which the boys needed after steamrolling their psycho butts up Rainbow Mountain in 2 hours instead of three. 

2. it involved drinking + kids which meant we could all stick together. The hostess was patient and enthusiastic with our various ages and abilities, so it wasn't stressful.

3. we had unlimited access to chocolate in liquid, solid, and cookie form, plus unlimited items to paint, plus a ready supply of tasty beer and wine. 

4. we were doing it in Cusco while on vacation which made it feel exotic and chic. 

5. the kids didn't complain once. They were so into their creations, eating chocolate and painting masterpieces they even forgot to fight each other.

It was a perfect way wind down to our trip. Maybe it was a teeny bit pricey at $45/person, but considering the top notch customer service we received (even before Peru when were planning the trip) and the "make yourself at home" atmosphere, I was more than happy to pay. Plus when Deets' painted pots and bulls sell for thousands of dollars, I know it really will have been worth it. 

Kids Center, Ice Cream and Religious Icons in Cusco

Knowing that hiking Rainbow Mountain would require some post-recovery, I let the kids make every decision the following day. Mark had found a "The Chiquity Center" that promised arts and crafts, fossil digging, trampolines, and a vast collection of skewered bugs to enjoy, so promptly at 9am we meandered down to the plaza to find it. The usual crowd of tourists, hikers and vendors filled the streets, but there were also several marching bands and a mess of men getting ready to carry large, well adorned religious icons perched on planks of wood through the streets. Color and noise were everywhere, a promising start for the day. 

This distracted the kids only in the slightest, so onward we went to have some real kid fun where about 4.50 USD equalled unlimited play. They did just that while I flopped onto a bench trying to re-forget a long forgotten scent of old diaper the hung in the air. Other than that, the place teemed with energy and mischief- especially when a birthday party arrived to take over. Only these 8 year olds were no match for Margo and Deets who kept trying to interact with them. One kid would jump on the trampoline, one of mine would follow. One would start a dance party, but would give up when one of mine would join. Obviously this became a game of cat and mouse and was only interrupted when Margo asked if we could get some ice cream. Stifling a yawn for the millionth time and ignoring my creaky knees, I got up after watching them play for over 3 hours. The lunch decision had been made. 

Interestingly, the place we ended up going to didn't have ice cream per se, but milkshakes, which according to Deets doesn't count. But all was well in the world with full bellies and a large collection of children's books that needed to be read. We sat at the cafe, reading odd-end donated books before retreating back to the house for a nap. Margo and Deets passed out, but sleep eluded me when I heard the rumblings of marching bands and men carrying giant icons came up the street. At 3pm in the afternoon, the streets were crowded and full of well wishing beer drinkers who followed the parade up the mountain to the Church of San Cristobal. In their wake were hundreds of discarded soup bowls, beer bottles, plasticware, and happy stray dogs taking full advantage. I felt so disappointed to see the trash, but the sanitation workers (consisting mostly of women) made quick order of it all. 

Per their request, I took the kids to pick out yogurts and cereal to eat while we waited for Mark and Josh to come home. Imagine my surprise when these dudes came home absolutely ravenous to eat Italian food instead of passing out like I did. We headed back down to La Bodega for some well reviewed pizza, pasta and beer. Only one more day left in Cusco...

Digging into the icy, rock hard dirt.

Margo's drum circle.

Examining his fossil finds.

Taking over the dance floor.

Practicing with a icon-less table...

...to eventually carrying the real thing.

Beach Jesus with potato offerings.

And Circus Boy.

Taking a break.

Machu Picchu

Machu Picchu! Do I really need to say more? Ok maybe a little. It was painful waking the kids up at 3:45am, dragging them onto the cold ceramic tile and getting them dressed- neither kid could function and I can't say I blame them. One mention of seeing Machu Picchu though, helped their frosted spirits of the morning. The driver picked us up at 4:15am with an estimated arrival time to the train station in Ollantaytambo at 6:00am. Traffic wasn't a problem, but police stops along the dark road were. At the first stop, our driver handed over documentation which didn't seem to make them happy so he was asked to exit the car and enter the station. I wasn't sure if they were bribing him or needed decent light to read. I wasn't even sure he'd come back. Ten awkwardly silent minutes later, he popped back in the van as if nothing had happened. About 30 minutes later it happened again, but this time the conversation between the police officer and our driver seemed more tranquil, as if they were discussing the weather. The command of "go with God" was given and off we went.

It was barely light at the station, but already packed with people going in the exact direction as us. We waited patiently for the announcement to board Inca Rail, and at 6:40am we embarked on the bumpiest train ride ever. I love how kids give you no warning of tummy troubles. Halfway through the trip Deets was on my lap drawing pictures of volcanoes and birds, when he stopped, coughed, and barfed all over the table, himself, and me. That was drippy and gross, but particularly entertaining to the passengers across from us. This is exactly why I always carry baby wipes with me. Mark convinced Deets to sleep off the second half of the trip, while the rest of us drank our "free" drinks. This was where I got to try tea infused with coca and eucalyptus, and Peruvian coffee. My god, they were good. Once drink/snack service finished, then came the next wave of entertainment: the bathroom line drama.

I mentioned the train was bumpy, which meant the line to the bathroom needed to be spaced apart so that one would end up flinging their bodies on the tables or each other. Our neighboring seat mate took this as his opportunity to jump the line, destroy the bathroom, and coyly say thanks to the line of women staring at him horrified. They tried to gain strength in numbers by bunching closer, but no sooner did the woman in front turn her head to chat with her friend in line, did another neighboring seat mate cut in front. Faces of disgust was all they could do. It was rather unfortunate too, that Margo and I got into the back of the line (she has this obsession with using strange bathrooms- I suspect it helps with the monotony of waiting) and when we popped out, the last man standing was sent back to his seat. But for a good thing: after nearly two hours we had arrived to Aguas Calientes, placeholder for the busses and trail hikers to get to Machu Picchu.

It was around 8:30 and we were relatively on time. I didn't know this at the time (Mark swears he told me, I'm certain he didn't) but we had to be at a specific trailhead inside the park by 9:00am or we'd miss our window. We paid out more money for bus transportation to get to the entrance, which was a series of dusty hairpin turns to get to the top within 25 minutes. We arrived, stripped clothes, and had a pee break before presenting passports and tickets to the entrance. I heard something from Mark that we'd had no less than 10 minutes to get to a trailhead- but which one and which way?! 200 feet inside the park and we were faced with: left or right. We chose right, an unfortunate decision.  By the time this was realized, we were on the opposite side of the park and missed our chance. It took about 20 minutes for the sting to go away and to accept we wouldn't be hiking up what I now as Sun Gate. It's the hike that gets you the most idyllic view of the giant peak Huayna Picchu.

We hiked up, we hiked down, we hiked in circles and peeked through windows of time. The kids were amazing and entertaining, free climbing where it was safe and holding our hands when it wasn't. They played king of the mountain and this ridiculous game of "do you like ___?" It's similar to the game of "would you rather?" I loved people watching. The mountain was crowded, but at least it was filled with enthusiastic people from all over the world. I mean, there were a few a-holes, but there always are. Mark took 659 photos to my scanty 279; it was fun watching him analyzing a shot then attacking.

Due to an urgent bathroom break the last half of our time there caused Mark, Deets, and our friend Josh to split up from me and Margo. She and I were left to master the mountain on our own. We made our way to the upper route of the trail which is killer. Margo made zero complaints and just went for it. This sounds pompous, but people were impressed by her energy and I was as proud as a damn peacock. We finally caught sight of the boys on the decent and made our way out to catch the bus back down. There was ice cream and beer waiting for us before getting on the train and again to our driver who waited for us since 6:00am that morning. Mark convinced him to stop at the Sacred Valley Brewery for one last time and then make our way back to Cusco (don't worry, we tipped him well). I had to settle myself for an early sleep since the next day I was scheduled to get up for a 2:15am pick up time to hike Rainbow Mountain...

Waiting for the bus in Aguas Calientes

The big MP.

Climbing.

Climbing.

Climbed.

Back side of MP.

Sacrificial block- carved straight from the mountain top.

Through the foliage.

Margo choosing her weapons at the brewery.

Light saber rock guns.

Walking Around Cusco

Temporarily satisfied with seeing Incan ruins, today was another "light day" touring Cusco. On the agenda: visit a few churches, markets, and time permitting- a museum or two. Because our days seemed to mostly start at Plaza de Armas, we had already tracked down two: the Cathedral of Cusco aka Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of the Virgin, and Church of the Society of Jesus. Church services were always going on so we didn't get a chance to visit inside. Continuing on our jaunt, we passed by Church of San Francisco and the Church of San Pedro, both which had a live marching band getting ready for processionals down the street. 

Margo was in some need of butt paste (hiking is hard work on wee bums!) so I detoured to a pharmacy while the others peered inside the doors for details. Busy with preparations and/or services, we missed these as well. No matter because we arrived to the San Pedro Market, which was full of entertainment and colors. Stacks of bamboo, buckets of juice, and piles of vegetables were everywhere. Then we wandered inside the tarp covered portion, and even Margo was distracted from her bottomly discomforts (man it's dry here. In Cusco, I mean) to stare at the products on offer. The cool morning weather meant glorious smells of fresh meats, produce, and breads. 

Walking back toward the Plaza with efforts focused on getting lunch, we turned onto a pedestrian street attracted by sounds of traditional drums and flutes. We walked right into a tiny courtyard where the musician was playing in full-on Incan dress. Of course the herd of alpacas totally eclipsed this experience as the kids rejoiced and begged to feed them. Donation in the pot, the kids stuffed corn husks in their faces, squealing with joy. It was all good and fun until the alpaca lady tried to put Deets on an alpaca. Neither the creature nor he were impressed. Taking this as our cue, we had one other church in mind: San Blas aka Saint Blaise, patron of throat illnesses, animals, wool combers, and wool trading. Seems appropriate. Up the steps we went, where- yes the church was closed. But no matter, we were waaaaay overdue for lunch so we stopped at a volunteer run cafe right on the square: The Meeting Place where proceeds go to local charities. They make big-ass yeasty waffles, and killer mango lassis. I ate so much I felt drunk. To walk off the food stupor, we made our way home for an early evening. Tomorrow would be another epic travel day to: MACHU PICCHU! Estimated time of departure: 4:15 am...

 Many vendors serve the juice
in a plastic sack with a straw instead of cups.

Outside the San Pedro Market.

Bamboo and coconuts.

Fresh and cool air running through the market.

Gizzards? Feet? Beak? All included.

Margo wanted to know why their eyes were still open.

Alpaca feeding time.

Shaggy.

Margo, Em, Deets and Josh.

Planning.