They were done but not finished

Plus a bit more, and after that, they came back. We are really quite different now. I grew two feet and Alex has three feet now. It makes for such a hard time shoe shopping. I only call people by their middle name and wear leotards exclusively.

The last few weeks held so much as we worked to cram as much as we could between the fingers of days. Groping for something to neatly encompass the lessons learned usually proves unsuccessful. Perspective comes after you close your eyes and cease to search.

Now for some photos.

While out wandering, we came upon this right before a mountain climb at sundown.















We were waiting for the bus in Mendoza and saw the Argentine Kevin Pape animating a story complete with appropriate hand and shoulder movements.












Alex stretches before a flurry of rockhurling. It is his favorite thing to do from high points apart from challenge Brittany to jump from impossible places... which leads to one of many of...












BP's broosez. She can't say no.

















Afternoon sun peeks through Las Heras Pass between Mendoza, Argentina and Osorno, Chile.























I prize my olfactory senses . My hair brings me great olfactory pleasure. According to APB, I do this often. I never noticed it.














"His handiness was endearing, but it was his penchant for wire walking won them over..."















Fresh raspberry juice tempts the Brits waiting semi-patiently for lunch in the garage-living quarters on the farm.













Goat in a pan.















Thus begins The Moustache Tour '08...

















Part 1 of MT'08 (between El Bolson, Argentina and Bariloche). In the background there is the very common sight of a man drinking mate on the bus.














Bariloche breakfast. Haven of natural foods, pristine lakes and splendid mountain trails. Obvious stopping point on MT'08.














MT'08 Puerto Montt, Chile.
















Soccer game in Santiago between local favorites Colo-Colo and U. Catolica. Everyone we told we were going told us the fans would be nuts; unfortunately, reality was more lukewarm.










We made some cute.















And noticed some pretty.














Rock and Roll show. I had volunteering responsibilities and arrived late. As I inaudibly screamed to the doormen to locate my seat, I just "didn't hear" what they told me and miraculously found myself backstage.













































On the anniversary of my first worldly encounter, we jumped from an airplane. Alex goes up in the single-engine Cessna with a 16 year old pilot.












Getting all cinched up.





















Later that day I ran in a 10K. There are no good pictures of it.

After nearly three months of travel in S. America, I am proud to report there were no stolen or lost articles of importance. Our guts and our gums are still healthy and our minds are even sharper.

I've been doing some stuff.

Nuestra Casa formed to help people living in the street the resources they need to live a normal life. There are regular communally-prepared meals, laundry facilities, lockers, computers and classes taught thrice weekly.

There are regulars, they are friends, and they love showing off, teenage banter and pop radio. As one might imagine I have been enlightened on many subjects; including how the U.S. (the whole country) is the Antichrist, you can find evidence on the dollar bill. I have been lectured on everything from the serious artistic value of musical acts such as LinkinPark to the joys of Nazism. (For grandmas and others, this is sarcasm.)

I also volunteer twice a week bringing bread and coffee to De La Vega, an open air market by day that turns into a homeless safe haven by night. This work is headed by Chile Solidario, a governmental organization, for those who are not well enough to make it to the Nuestra Casa sites. Volunteers such as myself take the information of those living in the streets and report health complaints (which are numerous) to the city health department. Mostly, we provide food and listen to stories.

Mari bears a striking resemblance to a young Winnie Cooper from everyone's favorite ,The Wonder Years, is 11 years old and lives with her aunt. I do not ask how they live because that and other questions go unasked because one can barely speak, muffled by hugs and eruptions of her hoarse voice jabbing through whatever crosses her mind at a particular moment. She thinks I am crazy for wearing t-shirts at night, "Sister arent you freezing!?" she exclaims, rubbing my arms and holding the warmth of her 11th cup of coffee to my bare arms.

Cristian is a 27-year-old man with amazing story that can be interpreted as sad or up-lifting. Up-lifting is always more constructive. Born in the Atacama desert in Arica, the city where it is so dry they must make paper flowers for the dead. "But we have the most curious flowers in the whole world on the graves of our dead--blue ones, even green ones," he says as he cracks a smile.

He moved to Santiago as a 15-year-old who didn't belong. "It was hard for my parents and small town to accept a boy who was more a little girl than anything," he declared with a flourish.

He wanted to be at the center of the art and theater that Santiago is known for. He had little money and experience. In less than four months he was on hard times, drugs and dabbling with prostution to make rent. Two years later he was diagnosed with HIV. Times were very black.

In the end, it was his creativity that lifted him to be the stately, beautiful and caring man that he is now, ten years later. He still lives in the slums, but is proud. "We have fought to be here," he acknowledged the rest of the crowd with a twist of his sinewy neck. "I strive to enjoy my life. Most of us around here do too. I sew in the morning, I sing and paint in the day. At night I spend time with friends, going out. I really can't imagine a better life."

Cesar is charismatic. He writes and is a cartoonist. He has many big ideas about how the social system should function and draws very well-executed cartoons about the silly things he notices. He hates it that people around the center hang around all day and don't work. He has two jobs but all of his money goes to support his wife and child in Concepcion, to the South. His daughter is in first grade. He has a picture of her smiling in her school uniform. His manner of explaining is almost a theatrical performance as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms, stands as a statue with a foot on the floor and one on a chair. He enumerates his many points with his hands and articulates his emotions with his face.

People love telling their stories. It's one of the first volunteer experiences of this type in which the people involved are not ashamed. Cristian explained it well, "These nights are the best," he said with delighted eyes surveying the people in the De La Vega market. "Everyone who is here is not just here to get food, but to share. We are with each other. The volunteers could have spent their night in their own houses watching television, but they are here. That means something."