Cusco, Peru

According the Lonely Planet Peru, "the Incans deemed Cuzco and the Sacred Valley the belly button of the world." Now, I have worked as an operating room nurse and I have pulled some strange and very gross things out of belly buttons so I found the book's description nauseating and well, wrong. Cusco et. al is anything but, and we could feel this the moment the plane broke through the fog of Lima, rising against the grain of the Andes Mountain Range. When I first saw the snow peaks I was so excited that I jumped out of my seat and across the aisle, scaring the man dozing against the window. He accepted my apology and adroitly went back to sleep despite the wafting dung bomb in the bathroom, and my children (and me) cheering over the fact we were flying over 25 million year old mountains.

In less than 90 minutes we found ourselves wandering past baskets and baskets of free coca leaves, eager taxi drivers jockeying for customers, and into the parking lot to meet our Air BnB hostess who hired a van to take us across town. She marched us inside our home for the week to discuss not only the house, but to assist us in planning transportation and timelines to make the most of our time here. We'd have a few big, napless travel days to tour the valley mixed with a few milder days exploring around Cusco. The kids, already adept to Schlink Family Fun Hikes went along with the plan more or less. We tried to focus on all the awesomeness that granite rocks, forts, and llamas bring to the table, and less on the long curvy roads, elevation challenges, and the inevitable amount of walking we'd do.

Luckily, our apartment was only a fifteen minute walk to Plaza das Armas, the big famous square of Cusco. Adorned with giant churches, gaping tourists, shops, and restaurants, there's plenty of comforts to be found. We marched the kids directly there in search of food, but first and foremost to watch the 2016 Champions' League Final. The entire city was busting with sounds of soccer fans, and nary a seat to be found- which didn't bode well for exhausted and hungry kids. We ended up at a pub with a surly bartender where we (I) ate a lack luster plate of tapas: pickled meats, spicy olives and cheese. Perhaps it wasn't the best choice, for the kids lasted about twenty minutes before I tugged them back up the hill to take a much needed nap. Luckily, they bounced back for another trek into town at dinner time, where Deets picked a Peruvian restaurant called Deva that boasted its famous "chicha de jora" a sweet and frothy fermented corn beer. To make matters even better, we enjoyed pisco sours and Cusquena Quinoa Beer to wash down ceviche and roasted alpaca tenderloin. Verdict on the alpaca: chewy. Perhaps grilled might be better?

The Plaza on the way home was crammed with spectators watching a traditional music dance show. The kids danced to stay warm in the quickly cooling night while I jogged off to pick up necessary ground coffee for the morning. We made it home around 8pm and... by 8:30pm, we had all passed out. 

Andes Mountain Range

Peaks estimated to be around 20,000 feet.

Big.

Just outside Cusco

Overhead view of Saqsaywaman Ruins
overlooking the valley in which Cusco sits.

Cusco, Peru

Plaza de Armas
Church of the Society of Jesus

Quinoa beer. Clean taste but you need to
ignore the smell of silo corn storage.

Porto de Galinhas

In Porto de Galinhas, before you even get out of your car the vendors will find you. They stand in the middle of the road, frantically waving down cars promising a full day of adventure, leisure and wonder. The enthusiasm is no less upon the cobblestone pedestrian streets lined with restaurants and vendors, or the beach... lined with restaurants and vendors. I love that I could buy myself a wooden boat, or eat myself sick with fresh-shucked oysters. I love that I can drink a cocktail from a cored out pineapple and pick out fabric for the dinner table and only get up from my chair to pee in the ocean. The quest for lethargy is equal to the enticing snorkeling, surfing and SUP lessons opportunities. I will admit though, that the constant milling and prodding can get annoying but my kids have the "thanks but no thanks" gig down pat so that helps. I just need to teach them not to yell it before the vendor even arrives.

This Saturday's excursion was no different except this time we did an overnight stay at a local pousada owned by one of Margo's classmate's moms: Perola do Porto. There were 5 other school families already there so my kids paired several hours of swimming at the beach with several hours of pool time while the parents drank caipirinhas and beer will into the night. With all the sun exposure, I used Deets' 8pm bedtime as an excuse to pass out early because going to bed with Margo (who asked to go to bed) at 6:30pm would've been unseemly. The next day my kids woke up right on time (crack of dawn) for several more hours of swimming completely unbothered by pruned fingers or chlorine reddened eyes. They are so hardcore.

Lounge, boat, swim, repeat.

Buy, buy!

Sell, sell!

"Mustache Kiosk"

Snack, snack!

Eat, eat!

Tablecloth vendor.

Voice vendor.

Fresh pressed sugar cane juice vendor.

Chickens, roosters, hens...

Porto de G around the bend.

Girlfriends. 

The Fearsome Four.

February March April in Recife...

Over the last eight weeks, the Schlinks have fallen into a comfortable routine mostly consisting of school, work, and beach. Deets started kindergarten and joined a soccer team. He's been tasked with reading and math homework nearly every night at an impressive pace of curricular expectation. Margo isn't far behind with twice weekly homework assignments such as learning how to tear pieces of paper, rolling them into balls and gluing them down; a development of fine motor skills for three year olds. Glue is probably her favorite thing at the moment. That, or lipstick. She and her brother both swim twice a week at school too. Last Friday I broke the news to David that his back ordered sunga (bikini brief swim suit) finally arrived and he'd be required to wear it from now on. His response: but it's so tiny! Sure is, kid.

I had a work trip to San Diego where I spent the week dealing with buckets of fake blood, asphyxiated babies, mass casualty situations, and meeting my nursey cohorts literally from all over the world. I filled up a notebook, agonized over my IV placement skills, and drank a ton of beer with old friends to soothe all that learning. When I got back, I got talked into joining a ballet class. While I have yet to purchase a tutu, I love the regiment and conformity of it all. All the women coif their hair in tight buns and present themselves in chest popping leotards. They couldn't be any nicer. It's not a class where we perform recitals which is a double bonus- sorry to disappoint those looking for a good laugh. I know I would if I saw me dance. I'm quite awkward.

Mark travelled a little too. He flew to Rio de Janeiro where he participated in what I can only imagine as nail biting, collaborative, show-and-tell work meetings. In classic Mark fashion, he trekked along the beaches, hiked Pão de Açucar, and blasted through the city on foot. In a downpour. He too, drank beer and ate fancy food with old and new friends. He continues to work his tail off and looking to the future, mostly about the big move to Namibia and fantasizing about grilling zebra meat. 

Back in Recife and between the work trips, we rekindled our motivation to do the beach thing, heading out nearly every weekend to surf, boogie board, and/or snorkel. Most of our trips focused on Maracaìpe for the big waves. I'd hide under the umbrella and nag my children to put on more sunscreen to the point that Deets tried to avoid me altogether. Mark and Deets would fight waves or go boarding- heck even Margo tried it a few times. We'd wash out the taste of sea water with coconut water and beer, and do it all again the next weekend.

One weekend we decided to branch out and went to Serrambi, a swanky, isolated, and tranquil beach good for snorkeling. The catch: there are no services aside from the occasional ice cream vendor or the price gouging services at the Serrambi Beach Resort. Going rate to use their umbrellas: 100 Reais/person. Unprepared yet determined to have a good time, we endured the cloudless, breeze-less sky. While Mark snorkeled with the kids I wallowed in the disconcertingly warm water and pretended to love it. Margo exfoliated my hair with handfuls of sand while she waited her turn to snorkel. It was 100% my fault, but since I didn't jump onto the snorkeling train soon enough nor express my desire to leave, I morphed into an angry cur, yelling my indignation to anyone who'd listen. Good thing everyone else was also too hot and tired to pay me any attention.

I swore off beaches. Until the next weekend when I got talked into going back to Maracaìpe with some friends. So we returned with smiles and everything. Now this weekend has passed and we spent today at Porto de Galinhas, the most popular beach in the northeast. It's a huge touristy sandy spread one hour south of Recife, known for "piscinas naturais" (shallow pools good for snorkeling) and scuba diving. There's boat tours, dune buggy tours, vendors and curios available from the moment you make eye contact. You don't ever have to leave your chair. The busyness and milling of people has its own charm, and the collection of colorful sail boats add to the atmosphere of eternal optimistic paradise. I still need and want to spend more time in the town itself, which is a mixture of quirky, hippy, and tropical chic. Unfortunately our trip got cut short due to a down pour so we opted to drive home soaked and crusted in sand, but for the first time ever- not hot. Perhaps obviously I will return for a do over but with a proper camera and dry clothes in tow.

Despite not being a huge fan of the beach, I am glad we resumed taking advantage of the weekend day trips. So much so, that I've begun planning the next several weekends with enthusiasm: a return to Porto and uncharted territory north of the city: Maria Farinha. We will see. It breaks up the week, though I relish the monotony of homework and projects- it's like our kids are turning into real people. 

Deets' new sunga.
Yes- we feed this kid.

A snapshot of nursing fun.
For more: https://goo.gl/photos/RsTguagSK18rpDnX8

Zinka's awesomeness. Maracaipe Beach.

Dancing. Sorta. Boa Viagem.

Master of the boogie board.
Maracaipe Beach

Porto de Galinhas

Porto de Galinhas

Carting snorkel gear to the boats:
Porto de Galinhas.

Scuba tanks: Porto de Galinhas.

Carnaval 2016

Argentina came and went. It was all things a good vacation should have: great weather, fun activities, family time, and a working credit card. But I was pretty happy to come home. Home, where the humidity instantly cured my dry chin (I don't know why, don't ask) and my dirty jeans sagged even lower from the heat. We walked off the plane into a lavishly decorated airport, all ready for Carnaval 2016. I appreciated seeing the hallway lined with Pernambuco umbrellas and giant staring dolls (bonecos gigantes). I practically forgot Recife's week of nonstop of partying and dancing, and for about half a second I thought I should rally and do my part. Instead, all four of us slept like hibernating bears for about a week.

A colleague of Mark's plays in a drum group called Quebra Baque, and were making Carnaval rounds throughout the city, so we did emerge from the apartment for an afternoon downtown to support them and do what everyone does during Carnaval besides drink: people watch. Even having attended several events last year, I never did see the famous "coboclos de lança."  This year I did. Dressed in ridiculous amounts of cow bells and metallic fringe these folkloric warriors essentially symbolize the state of Pernambuco and during Carnaval, they literally part the crowds with their bulky costumes, noise and quantity- something like 10-15 of them in a row. This is particularly useful since the streets are packed with bands, dancers, spectators, and vendors- all of which march in seemingly random paths. These glittering, spear carrying warriors bring vague order to organized chaos. If that makes any sense. 

The drums were hypnotic and fabulous, even Deets got into dancing and pirating his way through the crowd. After a couple hours of great music, photography and diligent child-watching, the party was just getting started. Mark and I needed no words to communicate our readiness to go home. To sleep. 

Barlioche Paleontology Museum

We couldn't resist another museum to see dinosaur bones. After all, Mark already talked up Argentina's reputation for unearthing bones of the largest shark known to man: the megalodon. We needed to confirm this so on our last leisurely afternoon in Barlioche, we set out to walk a whopping 500 meters to the Paleontology Museum. After kilometers of hiking and driving and busing, this was an fantastic discovery. 

The museum is tiny. Single room tiny. But adorable and remarkably packed with fossils. By the time I handed over the cash (4 USD ) to enter for two kids and two adults, the kids had already gone through the museum. Needless to say we went through a second time so slowpokes mom and dad could enjoy. At the "far" end of the room, a five foot wide gaping shark mouth with monster gnoshing teeth. It was amazing even if was only a reconstruction. 

I loved this museum so much we bought t-shirts and was saddened when they had run out of adult sizes. 

Afterwards we strolled to the lake's chilly edge to say goodbye to Barlioche. I stood there amazed by the hard core Argentinians swimming and wondered if my tolerance to cold would ever be up to snuff. When did I get so wimpy? When did dipping my toe in a lake suddenly become a badge of honor? Sad.

Megalodon 

Giant sloth!

Ankylosaurus shell.

Cerro Tronodor, Nahuel Huapi National Park, Argentina

To get the heart of Nahuel Huapi National Park we knew at some point we'd need to rent a car. We had been deeply annoyed in El Calafate when our Hertz reservations went sour, leaving us to scramble for transportation so I wasn't feeling the rental love. Luckily, Budget had our back and made everything easy. We were given a 200km range to, leaving a 20 km cushion to get us to, from, and lost around Cerro Tronodor, an extinct volcano/mountain peak shared by Chile and Argentina. The guide book promised multiple waterfalls and 8 glaciers, including the Black Glacier (aka: Ventisquero Negro) which is covered in volcanic ash and dirt, thus making it a dirty looking glacier. Which it did. But the concept was pretty cool. 

I'm so glad we rented a car because had we used our own, I'd have wimped out due to the 90 minute long potholed dirt roads. I'm equally glad we didn't take a tour bus, I'd have barfed. A lot. Deets too probably. The loud drive notwithstanding, our first view of Cerro Tronodor stopped us in our tracks (actually it was the lumbering tour bus that suddenly hit the breaks on the one-way road but I digress.) From there we drove even deeper into the park past Pampa Linda, a popular trailhead and camp ground and finally into the parking lot where we could hear roaring water.  I waited for my teeth and butt cheeks to stop chattering and scrambled after Mark and the kids into the Garganta del Diablo (Devil's Throat).

We hiked to the trail's end point and picnicked in the blazing sun, watching tides of glacier water free fall into the creek. Hiking back down we stopped to cool our feet in the water where the kids played for over an hour and watched glistening shirtless people amble across the slick rocks. Somehow these yahoos didn't burn, yet I did. Two matching shoulder stripes near my backpack. What is this? Amateur hiking? 

We could only exit the park via the one-way street after 4pm, which in truth wasn't enough time. We wish we had planned to camp or hotel up in Pampa Linda for another day to savor it all. An hour and 30 minutes later we washboarded our way out of the park and onto civilized asphalt back to Barlioche.  All good things must come to an end. Besides, I was running out of clean underwear so maybe it was time to go. 

Cerro Tronodor

Deets and Mark leading the up Garganta del Diablo.

As far as we could go.

Collecting volcanic rocks. 
Which promptly were taken away 
by airport security: "weapon threat"

Waterfalls. Check.

The Black Glacier dumping into Lago Manso
Manso: meek, mild, gentle, tame.