My Burrito, Percy.

I´m sorry that I seem to have depressed everybody out of commenting on the second part of Cotopaxi but this story should give people a little more hope… sort of.

Last Saturday we started work at 7:30am. On Saturdays we mainly feed the animals, dividing the normal feeding jobs that take 5 hours between groups of volunteers so that they take only 2. Ariana and I were assigned´Bear Food´, which normally entails cleaning the porcupines, cleaning the rabbits, cleaning the clinic animals, moving the sheep, giving water to all the large animals, cleaning the bear trap cage and giving the bears their food. However, given the day, we only had to clean the porcupines, the bear trap cage and feed the bears.

Having finished with the porcupines, we put a shit bucket and the two buckets of fruit the ´Up Top Food´people had prepared into a wheelbarrow and headed down the hill. On the way down we passed a field where a very small, sad-looking donkey sat. I had noticed this donkey earlier in the week and liked to stop by the fence and try to convince it with little clicks to come over to my hand. It would prick up its comically large ears but never seemed willing to get up. This morning was no different. I stopped, called out ´Come here, Burrito!´, the donkey looked over but just dropped its sad little nose back to the grass. I remarked to Ariana that he was probably the saddest creature I had ever seen, but we concluded that it was probably just how little donkeys looked. Nonetheless I wanted to do something to cheer him up.

Having finished the morning´s work I asked Alex if she wanted to go with me to give the donkey last of our carrots. She agreed, I collected the three carrots and we went to the field. We lay down the barbed wire fence and slowly made our way towards the seated creature. As we got closer, we began to notice that the donkey seemed to have cuts on its face. As the cuts became more obvious, we realized that the donkey´s nose was really in very bad shape. Earlier in the week there had been horses in the field and I asked Alex if she thought maybe a horse could have attacked him, but she just whispered, ´No. Look´. Between the bloody flesh, we could just make out little blue stripes. They were stripes on a rope.

Immediately we left the field and I ran up the hill to find Dalma. Just before I reached the house, I ran into Joe and unsuccesfully trying to hold in my tears, I explained that he had to come and look at the donkey and that he had to bring his knife. Relieved because he had initially though I´d let out an animal, he followed me at a run to the field. The donkey, frightened by his rapid approach, tottered up onto its tiny legs and began to move away. Begging him through my tears not to grab the rope, I watched Joe capture him and examine his nose. Muttering curses under his breath, Joe began to cut the rope and, calming the donkey, gently pulled the copper-lined cord from its wounds.

I couldn´t watch and crouched crying in the grass a little way away. With Joe´s help, I pulled myself together and stayed, soothing the poor creature as Joe left the check if there was space in the cow shed. The area where sick cows are held was free and returning with a rope, Joe led the donkey to the pen. Although it was obviously better to remove the rope, in its absence, blood, pus and fluid began to seep from the wounds and flow down its nose into its nostrils. There were five wounds on its face: one large on across the top of its nose, two smaller wounds on either side of the large wound and two underneath where the rope had cut through its flesh to its jaw bones.

The donkey had been bought with 5 other adult donkeys as food for the carnivores. The others had already shot and butchered, but being a baby, the little one had been spared.. at least until it grew up a bit. Unfortunately, having been forgotten about, the farm hands had not thought to change the head collar it had arrived with. The fact that the rope was metal-lined had only made the situation worse and only luck and left-over carrots had saved it from further months of agony and possible death from infection.

Given that the vet, Patricia, was coming the next day, Dalma agreed to pass on the message that the donkey needed looking after and so we left for the weekend. When we returned on Sunday night, I went straight away to see how the burrito was doing. He appeared happier and all his wounds had been covered with a blue substance I assumed was antiseptic.

On Monday morning, I went up to the clinic to thank Patricia. I though my make-shift Spanish was unsurprisingly failing me when she appeared to have no idea what I was talking about, but following Dalma´s translation it became clear that, in fact, she had never received the message about the donkey and that someone else had applied the mysterious blue stuff.

Abandoning our respective jobs, Patricia and I headed to the donkey to try and work out what was the best thing to do. WIth warm water and a little antiseptic, we began to clean the blue substance, which had combined with blood into a hard congeled layer out of the wounds. As we gradually broke through, with every sponge applied, a little pus would leak out, promting both Patricia and I to curse and lament the poor creature´s tragic situation.

Throughout all the unavoidable scrubbing and dabbing and undoubtably agonizing cleaning process, the donkey remained remarkably calm. Barely reacting and rarely flinching, his calm and patient demeaner only endeared him to me more, though I expected and would have understood bucking and kicking. Eventually the wounds were cleared, antiseptic was applied, as was a cream that contained a local anesthesia and the whole area was covered with a light bandage. I fetched new water, found some volunteers who were cutting grass to give him the best of what they had cut and convinced the hacienda´s owner´s ex-wife to give me all the defective looking carrots she had. Content that I had done everything I could for the poor burrito, I left him to become comfortable in his new home.

Over the next week, Patricia cleaned his rapidly healing wounds and I visited him multiple times a day, dragging Joe with me as often as possible, to give him new carrots, a couple apples pinched from the kitchen or sometimes just to pet him and let him munch gently on and play with my fingers. Every day he became friendlier, braver and more responsive. Formerly static in a corner, he now came to the gate when I arrived and would poke his head out to watch as I walked away. On Friday we moved him back into the field and his wounds look like they will heal without complication.

Of course, it is unwise to become attached to a donkey at Santa Martha as he will eventually become a necessary food source, but Percy will, nonetheless, always have a special place in my heart. I was very sad to say goodbye to him yesterday and I know he is likely to end up butchered and distributed among the carnivores.. but then.. that´s life.

The Disaster of Cotopaxi Part One

As Ariana wrote, I spent my first weekend away from the twins in who knows how long. I´ll admit, it wasn´t easy (for many reasons) but in case anyone is worrying, we have spent every single day together since Sunday and the 48 hour separation has not caused any damage, permanant or temporary to our friendship. Now, to last weekend and the disaster of Cotopaxi…

On Friday night, at the end of the afternoon work shift, Sam, Joe and I packed our bags and took a taxi down to Tambillo to catch a bus to Baños. It was a normal evening: dark, rainy and cold and there were NO buses. Eventually, after waiting 40 minutes we saw a bus to Puyo and just got on. We were supposed to be meeting our fellow climbers, former Santa Martha volunteers Helen and Irene and Helen´s friend James at a famous cafe, Casa Hood in Baños at 9 and the whole 2 1/2 hour bus ride all I did was dream of the vegetarian lasagne I would enjoy there. Unfortunately, due to the wait for the bus, we did not arrive in Baños until 10 and Casa Hood was closed. So no lasagne. I could tell things were not going to be good.

Fortunately, we later found Irene, James and Helen at the hostal and made breakfast plans before going straight to bed. Breakfast in Baños is almost as much a highlight as the view from the hostal´s roof terrace. I always order Desayuno 3, which is homemade bread and scones, jam, cheese, butter, scrambled eggs, juice and coffe all for $3. It´s amazing. Anyway, we were all in pretty good spirits and soon made our way to the office of the company we would be climbing with.

In the office the usual banter and trying on of equipment commenced. We were introduced to our guides Jaime and Fausto and shown everything the company was providing. I have to say, I began to be a little nervous when they began pulling out balaclavas, fleece and waterproof jackets, fleece and waterproof gloves AND fleece and waterproof trousers, but I figured, yeah it´ll probably be a little chilly up there.. The first problem was my boots. I knew all the clothes were going to be massive, but they didn´t seem to have a pair of boots that didn´t make me look like a clown. The only pair in my size was broken and although he was told repeatedly, one of the staff guys kept pulling them out and giving them to me despite my falting, estan rotos.. (??) Eventually, some money changed hands and a pair of insoles was bought and put in a pair of boots that was hastily shoved in the kit bag without my feet ever going near them. I decided just to trust.

Once all the kit was prepared, we got into the minibus and began the 3 hour drive to the Cotopaxi national park. After about 15 minutes we pulled over by a sign that read Vucanizador. Inside a room, on a dingy couch, a man reclined, playing with a mobile phone. As we sat outside in the car, he glanced up noncomitally and then went back to his phone. After a minute or so, he dragged himself off the sofa and came outside. He grunted at the driver, put some air in the tires, then slouched back to the house. It was really very funny and slightly bizarre.

After over 2 hours of peaceful driving we came to a man sitting on the side of a track eating a bag of chips, his car left idle on the dirt road. We soon found out that he was no longer driving because the road ahead had been washed away by floods. We would have to find another way.

Our guides assured us that this was no problem. There was another road through the park and that it would only be another 2 hours.

Two hours and directions from a sheep farmer later, we encountered two men on a motorbike. The man in front was dressed in leathers and still wore a helmet. The man behind was very small and dressed in a brown suit with brown shiny shoes. He shouted to us, No pasa! No pasa! The other road had been washed away too.

Two hours later we were in Machachi. Just so you know, Machachi is the nearest town to Tambillo, our home town. Baños is three hours from Tambillo. We had travelled all the way to Baños, to come almost all the way back home..very slowly.. Anyway! It only took another 3 hours of bumpy driving through the national park to reach the car park. As we drove, the air was became increasingly thinner and our nerves built exponentially.

Once at the car park, it was time to get suited up in our marshmallow costumes and start the hike. This is what I wore. A white tank top, a t-shirt, a longsleeved cotton v-neck, sophia´s grey varsity soccer shirt, my northface fleece, the company´s gigantic fleece jacket, a pair of soccer socks pulled up to my thighs, my new alpaca wool socks, the fleece trousers pulled up over all my shirts above my waist (the crotch was still half way down my thighs), my waterproof trousers, my scarf, my balaclava, fleece gloves, waterproof gloves and my extremely large waterproof jacket over everything. That´s why I called it a marshmallow suit. I was supposed to be carrying crampons, an ice pick, a sleeping bag and a harness, but Jaime had taken a shine to me, and carried my stuff.

The hike to the Refuge was not difficult. We went very slowly, adjusting to the reducing oxygen and being constantly blown away by the view as the sun set and darkness began to creep over the mountains. We made it to the Refuge without too much hassle. Everyone had started to get quite hot, as we were really wearing the clothes just to get them to the refuge, not because they were all neccesary, but Irene seemed to overheat quite seriously. Once at the lodge, we tried to find a free litter, which was difficult given that the refuge was full, but Sam Joe and I found a space on the second level of bunks. I then did something I would seriously regret. I took of almost all my clothes.

Well, compared to what I had been wearing before.. Basically I was down to warm trousers and a t-shirt. I then went out to the outside toilets and became entranced by the moonlight, which had eluminated the whole area and the shimmering lights of Quito in the distance. Soon Jaime told me I was being an idiot and I put on my northface and although I didn´t know it yet, the damage had been done.

Because of the travel difficulties, we had arrived a lot later than we should have, and so we ate and went to bed as fast as possible, only staying up to prepare our crampons. Unfortunately I was experiencing my normal indigestion and was unable to eat any dinner, but hoped I would feel better to eat ´breakfast´ in 3 hours. By 9pm we were in our beds. Joe and I tried (pretended) to sleep for 20 minutes before we became very hyper and silly and started whispering and giggling and generally annoying every single person in the refuge. We decided we didn´t want to get ice picked in the head by a pissed off climber in a few hours, so we gave up on sleep, got out of bed and quietly stomped and clomped downstairs. On the ground floor we found all the guides up, which made us feel better to know that they weren´t sleeping too, and engaged in a very unlikely activity. They were watching Sex and the City!

Suddenly it was 11pm and time to get up. I clomped back upstairs to get Helen, Irene, Sam and James and we spent the next hour getting dressed and inventing team names like, Team Pony, which was supposed to keep us happy when we started to crash in a predicted 45 minutes. There was breakfast, but I couldn´t eat. Once we had taken our final pees, had our harnesses tightened and our balaclavas adjusted, we stepped out into the cold and turned towards the mountain. It was midnight.

cell reception from cotopaxi´s summit?

For the first time in 6 weeks (or, let´s be honest, 3 months) I don´t know what Liz is up to. She went off this weekend with five other volunteers to climb Cotopaxi–an (active??) volcano that reaches 5897 meters. Sophia and I, call us less adventurous or perhaps more attached to our lives, decided to visit Quito this weekend with our German roommates. At around midnight Liz started the 6-hour ascent to the top of the volcano; we were dancing salsa. Since Liz hasn´t been able to call us yet (cingular isn´t that good) we have no idea if she made it to the top with all her limbs in tact. Hopefully she will soon let us all know how her adventure went…I know I´m curious.

Let´s just have bread and cheese..

Firstly, Ariana already wrote this, but I would like to say how amazing it is to have people actually reading the blog and that your comments really make my day..

I´m really sorry there have been so few post at the moment. I had actually written pages and pages in my diary and had two complete post ready to put up within three days of being here. However, my diary disappeared into thin air (I think I may have left it in the internet cafe) and I´ve been so in denial of it being gone, I haven´t written anything new.. not to mention the fact that I have no other paper. Anyway, I´m finally starting to come to terms with my diary and posts being gone and would like to write a little bit on how we are eating here in Ecuador.

When we wake up at about 7:10am, whoever gets out of bed first generally goes to the stove and starts to boil some water. We don´t have a kettle, but we have a designated pot which we use instead. Every morning we make instant coffee (Buendia is a lot better than Nescafe) and we add milk. Well, we don´t add milk, we add `Lechera`, which is a milk like liquid that does not require refrigeration until after it´s been opened. Being used to 1 or 2% milk in New York, one day the twins came back with the Lechera version.. It was called Svelty milk and I´d rather never remember how it tasted.

Once we have attended to our nagging caffine cravings, we generally make toast. There is a really really nice bakery in town where we buy these excellent chocolate-cinnamon breads that are mostly bread, but with just a hint of sweetness. Well, actually that´s normally what I toast for myself.. The twins stick mainly to cereal. We have found a cereal they like call Golds, but we also sometimes make oatmeal. When we do have toast, though, there is no toaster. We have a former frying pan that no longer has a handle, which we put on our gas stove and light with the shittiest matches in the world. We really need to invest in a lighter…

Anyway, generally the mornings are very pleasant. We don´t talk too much, and Sophia NEVER finishes her coffee, which is a problem given the rate that we go through it..  but we just sit at our little table in our green plastic chairs and prepare ourselves for the morning´s work which awaits us. After work we have two options for lunch. One is to make it ourselves, which is ALWAYS bread with cheese at various levels of toasted-ness. And the other is to go into Tambillo.

Although Tambillo is not far away, the journey to town can be quite exhausting. We always take a taxi, but they are little different from the taxis in New York. The driving is rarely more controlled, but the seating arrangements are much more precarious. The taxis are basically pick-up trucks and you sit on the back. Everybody has their own way of dealing with the voilent ride down the mountain. Some stand at the front of the trailer, gripping on to the cab and relaxing their knees to avoid the jolts, others sit on the floor or on the bumps in the floor above the wheels. I like to sit on the back corner of the trailer, I brace myself with one foot against the wheel bump, and then just hold on to the back and the sides, adjusting my weight as the taxi rocks fitfully. In general, we make it down to Tambillo in one piece and without too much pain, it´s certainly worth it when it only cost $3 between everyone.

Once in Tambillo, it´s straight to the restaurant . I have no idea what the restaurant is called or what they would do if I asked to see a menu, but the food is amazing. You basically walk in, sit a one of the 4 or 5 little tables and if you´re me, say uno sin carne.

First you receive a soup. At home I would not consider this soup suitible for a vegetarian because it is made with large chunks of some animals bones, but here the vegetarian version is simply the soup with the bones fished out. Sometimes the soup is green and tastes a little like brocolli, other times it´s oily with a large cooked piece of potato floating in it, but it´s always incredibly tasty. As you are finishing the soup, you are brought your main dish. The dish is simple and always based around the formula, rice + meat/fish/egg + salad/beans = delicious. The first time I went I had a fried egg with rice beans and avocado salad. It was heavenly, especially after 5 hours or hard labour. Since then, everytime has been similarly great. The food is simple and I love not having to choose, you just sit down and eat a freshly cooked, hearty meal. It makes you feel like a real work man! .. and I like it.

After lunch, you really shouldn´t be hungry, but if you´re feeling greedy, you can head over to the bakery to buy a pastry, a bread, a biscuit, or even go into one of the stores and get a Magnum ice cream! There are also other options in Tambillo. On one side of the square, there are a couple of street vendor ladies, who cook up fresh mini corn pancakes, cheesy cornbreads and a bean salad that is sold all over Ecuador and is definitely worth it. However, nothing is quite a satisfying as a fresh Almuerzo.

Dinner is a family affair. The twins and I have made various dishes over the last few weeks and fortunately they have been steadily improving in taste and decreasing in incomprehensibility. Our best dish is grilled Tilapia (Thank you Liat!!!) which we prepare with salt and lots of spices and, although we know it is probably impossible to screw up, always makes us very proud of our culinary abilities. Tonight we are making quiche with onion, tomato, spinach and cheese with the Swiss chard and feta dish that reminds me of home.

Basically, we´re not starving, and the significant amount of nutella, cheeses and crackers is counteracting any effect the high altitude is having on our calorie burning, but, nonetheless, we are very very content.

“No puedemos…change his agua!!”

..I said hysterically, showing the vet, Patricia, my bleeding hands.  Ariana and I were cleaning the animals in the clinic as part of our Bear Food duties when Patricia asked us to change one of the monkeys´ waterbowls.  I began by untying the wire that seals the cage door and started to take out the devil monkey´s water when it started to crawl onto my hand.  Having monkey´s crawl all over me has become pretty normal as we´ve had two squirrel monkeys at the centre for about 2 weeks now..but this new monkey didnt crawl up on my arm and onto my shoulder like the others, this one went straight for the open door.  After cursing loudly and over the monkeys awful highpitched scream, I heard Ariana yell, “Sophia, shut the door!” Luckily I was able to get the door closed, but I had to let go of the tiny monkey because it had just bit through my thumb. Fortunately there is a sizeable gap between the clinic door and the floor, which the monkey immediately began crawling under.  Somehow, Ariana and I managed to grab the monkey and drag it away from the door and after a lot more cursing, screaming, monkey shrieks and a few heart attacks, we were able to get the monkey back into the cage.  Because of all the noise we were making I was sure that the other volunteers and Patricia would have heard, but no one did.  The vet looked shocked at the sight of our bleeding hands and terrified faces.  As she was cleaning our cuts, our roommate Corin came over and made fun of us for not being able to control a tiny monkey between the two of us, but we assured him that this monkey is insane and ferocious.  After we were cleaned up and finally calmed down, the rest of our day carried on as usual–we fed the bears their two buckets full of fruit, gave water to the 6 lions, 3 ocelots, the jaguar and the 3 pumas.  The last hour of our day was spent washing all the clothes that are used as animal bedding, which was pretty gross, but necessary and reminded us that we still have to do our own laundry.  We were lucky however, to have most of the afternoon off because Johnny, the owner, had to take us to Quito to withdraw the rest of the money that we owe the centre.  The three of us were also thankful for this because we had a pretty tiring weekend in Baños–a small town about 3 hours outside Quito, known for its hot springs.  We went there with 6 other volunteers and enjoyed great food, much improved night life from our last weekend (which involved a small karaoke bar and bizarre company) and incredible canyoning–which is basically climbing down waterfalls.  Unfortunately we dont have many photos from the weekend, but we will go back to Baños to visit the hot springs and do bridge jumping (we promised our canyoning instructor).  Also, whenever we get the chance we will upload some photos of Santa Martha, however, we dont get to the internet very often or for long amounts of time..but we are eager to show everyone what our home for the next 2 1/2 months looks like!

We will write more soon, we are missing you all very very much and would love to hear about what you are all doing as well!

Mucho amor

Day one

“Have you seen the butchering machete?”
Ten minutes later I´m holding on to the back of a trailer, gripping tightly because I´m balanced on one foot on a 4×2 inch piece of metal that juts out and the steep road that the tractor is descending is far from smooth. In the trailer stands Irene, with a bucket in her hand. The white plastic bucket contains a short brush and a little shovel. In her other hand she holds an orange handled machete.

Joe is on the front of the trailer, facing forwards, his arms wrapped around the metal bar behind him. No one talks as we bounce down the path. Apart from the engine, the only sound is the clicking of horse shoes against the trailer floor.

Once down the hill, we unload our cargo onto a space of grass. Past a small hedge of bushes the four ocelots prowl and further down the mountain, Pumara is howling. She is in heat and will do nothing but lie on a plank of wood, scratching her hind claws under her and crying out moans that male pumas apparently find irresistable in the wild. If we could see far enough, we could watch the four lions far below pacing their enclosure, back and forth, back and forth. At first glance you might think there were four females, but the large-muzzled maneless lion is actually a male who was castrated at a young age and lost the hormones neccesary for a mane. The other three lions are females. One has hypnotizingly large pupils. Forced to jump through hoops of fire, her retinas were destroyed and she is completely blind.

All the lions walk slightly strangely. Rescued from a circus, their front claws were ripped out and to avoid the agony, they learned to walk only on the back of their paws. The result of their maltreatment and their modified walking has also left them with damaged tendons and ligaments.

Down another path lives Brenda the jaguar. Kept as a freak show animal in a tiny cage and regularly abused by strangers, she hates humans. She is a beautiful animal, and her spotted coat really does shine, but her eyes are always angry.

Irene, Joe and I begin the morning by cleaning out the trap cage of one of the ocelot pairs. Crouching down, we pick up the remnants of their last feathered meal and any droppings. Joe makes the most of his supervisor status and earnestly claiming morning sickness, sits back and enjoys a cigarette. Once the ocelots have been taken care of, it is time to return to the grass.

Yesterday, a bull had run into a horse and killed it.

My very first job on my very first morning of my very first day was to butcher that horse.

Irene was in charge. Having worked at a wolf sanctuary, she was pretty much an expert at butchering deer. She started with a foreleg, following the muscles, Joe and I pulling on the leg to create tension and eventually pop the leg out of its joint. Irene finished cutting away the muscle and the hide and soon the leg lay a few feet away.

We worked steadily removing each of the legs in turn. Irene had some trouble findin the joint where the back leg met the hip and as she searched the intestines began to bulge out. Gigantic swollen balloons flopped out onto the grass, groaning and gurgling like the horse was still trying to digest its last meal.

After the legs, Joe began to cut down the centre of the horses belly. As Irene and I held the skin apart to give him better tension, Joe suddenly puncured the stomach. A wet gust of its contents sprayed over my face even as I instinctively turned away and shut my eyes. Irene and I finished the opening the chest as Joe hacked the head from the neck and the neck from the shoulders with the large machete.

We had the most trouble cutting the guts from the spine. Up to her elbows in blood, Irene fished about trying to organize the swollen intestines. I suggested that we lift the front part of the ribcage to let the blood and guts run down and make it easier to cut them away. Once the cold heap finally lay on the grass, the only task left was to split the ribcage into servable portions.

I had already done some knife work, but now I really had the chance to hack and saw my way through the hide, membrane, fat and muscle. As we were finishing the butchering, Joe was called away to lead a tour for the new volunteers who had just arrived. Irene and I were left to distribute the meat.

Although I had worn gloves during the butchering, it was a purely psychological aide. The gloves were old and full of holes and my hands were already covered in blood. From the force of the machete, flecks of blood and gore were speckled on my t-shirt, arms and hair. My jeans were soaked and the knees from kneeling by the carcus. If I thought the hardest part of the task was over, I was very very wrong.

The two young lions were the first to receive their meat. A brother and a sister, former circus animals who love eachother dearly and are ferociously protective of each other, they are known as the babies but are actually fully grown. I carried the horses neck in my arms as Irene dragged the rump by the tail along the rocky path, down the dirt steps and through the grass to the enclosure. Having succesfully moved the lions into one side of the cage, we dropped the door and placed the meat on the other side.

Each pair of ocelot received half or a third of a rib cage. These portions had to be carried ¨bloody hug¨style. With barely any hide left on my piece of ribs, as I held it to my body, I could feel the blood soaking into my t-shirt and skin. It felt like a cold, bloody hug.

The little ocelot received a third of a rib cage and Brenda had the head. (The ears make great handles.) The three pumas also had ribs, which left the guts and the legs. Four legs for four hungry lions.

There can be nothing more backbreaking than carrying a horse´s leg over your shoulder, up a steep and rocky mountain with the horse´s own liver draped over its ankle. But that´s what I had to do. I don´t mean a pony´s leg up a little path, this was a large horse´s leg up a mountain at an altitude of almost 3000 meters. Climbing one of the flights of stairs cut through the brush is hard enough empty handed, this was a whole new catagory of endurance. My muscles, lungs and heart soon proved utterly inadequate, only will power forced me and my horse´s limb and liver to the top.

The drama did not end once we made it to the lions. Having separated the blind lion from the three others we gave out the legs. Unfortunately, the blind lion carried her leg straight into the electric fence (vital for our safety) and dropped it in fright. The leg fell into a dip under the electric wire and she was too nervous to try and get it.

Now we had to find a way to get her back into the other half of the cage so that Joe could go into the cage and retrieve the leg. Once this was done , using the horse´s liver as encouragement, we opened the dividing door and instead of the blind lion going back, the other three silly lions all rushed through. As the blind one is clearly skinnier than the others, we just shut the door and allowed her to enjoy three legs unharrassed. Of course, we let the others back in later to have their fill, and as the horse meat was only a lucky bonus, all the carnivores also received their regular ration of chickens.

In comparison to my morning´s labour, my afternoon spent cleaning the small birds´cages was almost like a nap. Well, not quite. To clean the cages you have to first get in them. As the door to one of them is only 1×3/4 ft, it´s not that roomy and as only the wood slats can support your weight, you discover you can bend in ways that never seemed possible before.

After a rewarding first day, Ariana, Sophia and I cooked rice and bean sauce for dinner. Not understanding just how much a kilo of rice is when cooked, we put it all in the water and could have supplied the entire volunteer population with dinner. Luckily we were all starving and had fun trying to plan the next few dinner, all of which would clearly focus on rice.

Anyway, although I did my best, I was physically unable to write more than a couple papagraphs in my journal. I was tired, but it wasn´t that I was too tired to write, my arm, back and neck muscles were all too sore to permit me to properly control a pen. As a result, I´m finishing this Wednesday night. Despite the delay, I can remember every detail from that day because every single part was incredible. I really didn´t know what I had got myself into when I said yes to Dalma about being comfortable with cutting up a horse, but I´m so glad I did. The strangest things can change you. One day at Santa Martha and I´m not the person I was before.

Two hours left.

I am leaving for the airport in two hours and I feel strangely calm. I know Liz and Sophia understand the full weight of what’s happening right now. They’ve expressed feelings of anxiety and nervousness throughout the day. After spending so much time preparing for this trip I’m either finally ready or haven’t realized that I’m leaving for an entire year. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.

Anyway, my bags are all packed. I’m ready for the heat, the cold , the rainy season…as long as it doesn’t snow I should be fine. The September newsletter for the Rescue Center came out today. They just received many new animals, including a puma and an ocelot (what’s an ocelot???) and there’s a week-old lion cub waiting for us! If you’re interested in more details about what we’re going to be doing check out the newsletter for yourself: http://santamartha-en.blogspot.com/

I have no idea what to expect from an animal reserve in the Andes. I can try to imagine what life will be like these next few months, but for now I can only conclude that it will be something completely different from what I have experienced so far.

Here’s our address in case you’re inspired to send us mail:

Centro de Rescate “Santa Martha”
Panamericana Sur Km 13° y Raimundo Santa Cruz
Estación de Servicio
Guamani de P y S
Quito – Ecuador

The next time we write we’ll be able to tell you what it’s like to feed a jaguar!