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We got a phone! (In Panama.) You can reach us at 68496294, and I think you dial this first: 0011-507.

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And since blog posts are no fun without pictures, here are some frogs I saw one night in Bolivia.

A Month in the Jungle

Simba

We just finished our month of volunteering at the Jacj Cuisi animal refuge in northern Bolivia. I arrived giddy to work with a puma, but unfortunately found it frustrating and scary. The park lies on the edge of the Amazon rainforest and is home to four pumas, all rescued from the black market or other abusive situations. Each puma lives in its own huge cage, reminiscent of Jurassic Park, and has its own set of trails surrounding it. Two volunteers work with each cat for at least a month, walking it for about 5 hours a day, 6 days a week. They use thick rope as a leash, attached to both the cat and the volunteer with carabineers.

I was assigned to Simba, who was sweet at first. When my partner and I approached his cage every morning, he would leap up purring, eager to lick our forearms in affection. Walking him was alternately exhausting and boring. We weren’t allowed to pull on the rope, but rather followed behind him, doing whatever he wanted to do. If he sat down to nap for two hours, we sat next to him for two hours. If he set off running down a steep trail, I ran shrieking behind him, dodging stumps and branches, terrified that I would trip and get dragged through the brush. If he refused to start his walk, we were supposed to tie him to a tree and wait until he finally gave up and reluctantly started down the trail. This could take over an hour, while I sat wondering why we couldn’t just leave him in his cage on days when he didn’t want to walk. I suppose the novelty of interacting with a puma wore off quickly for me and I felt like I was walking a spoiled, badly behaved dog.

Where we dined

Then there was the jumping. When the pumas attack you, playfully pouncing onto your leg or pushing you down to the ground, they call it a “jump.”  We were trained to stand our ground when this happens and calmly, firmly show the cat that we are not toys. Running or fighting would just excite them to chase us and bat us around like a mouse. Simba was usually fairly calm, but he gets agitated when he meets new people. After my first week with him, we introduced another new volunteer who would be my partner for the rest of the month. The moment I opened the cage Simba lurched out and wrapped his paws around my leg, latching onto my thigh with his giant teeth (I still have bruises from it). I did what I was supposed to – stayed calm, said “NO”, and stuck out my forearm for him to lick. It worked to get him off my leg but then he bit down on my wrist, pinching the skin between his teeth. Pulling my arm away just made him bite harder, and I felt powerless to stop him. My partner managed to distract him away from me, but after that I was a useless volunteer. When he jumped on my partner I screamed and leapt back instead of helping him, and I was constantly scared of being near Simba. I guess some volunteers build wonderful bonds with their cat, but I just felt like Simba was a wild animal who could easily kill me if he wanted to. I understand that he’s playing and not hunting when he jumps on us, but I’ve seen housecats “play” with mice and they usually end up in two pieces.

Where we bathed 

Tk's cat, Luna

That afternoon I asked to stop working with Simba, so I finished my month doing less exciting but more comfortable work at the camp. Tk wasn’t frightened by his puma, Luna, but found the job boring and got annoyed with the royal treatment lavished on the cats. He stuck with it longer than I did, but also switched to camp work after a couple weeks. We started a garden, planted fruit trees, built a compost, cleared trails, and cooked many meals. About fifteen volunteers live there at any given time, from all over the world, plus one Bolivian family who runs the park, and a veterinarian. We took turns cooking communal meals, and Tk and I cooked more than the others since we didn’t work with the pumas.

Building a compost

Super lindo three-stage compost

Garden plot we planted

It wasn’t what I had looked forward to, and we questioned the merit of this organization dedicating so much money ($10,000 a cage plus food and meds) and hours of volunteers’ time to ensuring the highest quality of life for four cats that can never reproduce or be reintroduced to the wild.  Especially considering that the streets of Bolivia are overrun with stray dogs that no one gives a thought to. But I was impressed to see a Bolivian-run organization with a sincere commitment to preserving wildlife.  We made the best of our time there, and I would even like to return in a few years when they have a monkey reintroduction facility. It was fun getting to know the other volunteers, from Canada, the U.S., Australia, France, Switzerland, Germany, Spain, Belgium, Lithuania, and Korea. (Everyone spoke English.) And of course, the jungle was beautiful.

Mad machete skills - clearing a second plot for tomatoes

Now we’re super excited to spend three months in Panama, working with preschoolers and permaculture. 

El Choro Trail

North of smoggy, dirty, chaotic La Paz, we hiked the Choro trail up and down seventy kilometers of pristine Andean mountains. We set off in sleet and finished three days later with sore knees in a sweaty jungle. I wanted to turn back after the first two hours. I dragged my feet up the black, rocky terrain, disappointed that all we could see was cold mist and an occasional group of llamas. I admittedly exaggerated my wheezing and panting when I told TK that I couldn’t manage this trek – I was too sick and out of shape. (I had seen a doctor in La Paz the day before, who gave me a slew of medications and a shot in the butt for a respiratory problem I’d been battling for a couple weeks.) TK asked me to give it another hour and see how I felt if we reached the summit.

We reached it within ten minutes and I agreed to continue down the trail, as it switchbacked through increasingly warmer and thicker air. The scenery turned greener, reminding me of Switzerland and TK of Scotland. The trail dates back to pre-Incan times and I began to appreciate the idea of walking the same path as ancient Incans. The area remains largely untouched – we hiked for hours without seeing another human and only occasionally sighted a humble house or two, with small patches of potato or corn crops.

Random house after hours with no civilization

At dusk we stopped at a campsite nestled in a valley, set up our tent, and collapsed to sleep without dinner. The last several hours had been steeply downhill on a path of slick stones. The concentration required to cautiously secure my footing for every step was as draining as the physical toll on my knees. I slipped three times and grumbled that this was not a beginner’s hike, as TK had assured me it was.

The second day’s hike led us through gorgeous, lush mountainsides and across rivers in between. It was so refreshing to be surrounded by nothing but green mountains and clean water in every direction, as far as we could see. I forget that places so beautiful and peaceful still exist, where you can easily imagine that humans don’t exist at all.

Rocks laid over 500 years ago. If only they
had chosen less slippery rocks..

In the middle of nowhere, TK finds someone to chat with about farming.
This lady was all alone, tending to her crops on the side of the mountain.

Somewhere around here I realized what day it was and that it was the
first day of class back in Bmore. SO glad I quit school.

Some of the extension bridges weren't in the best shape.

The third day was hot. The climate turned tropical, with more ferns, lizards, snakes, sweat, and sunburn. The trail ended in the small town of Chairo, where we devoured some sandwiches and beer before heading to our next destination.