Coastal tour of the Iberian Peninsula

View of the snow capped Picos de Europa

San Vicente de la Barquera

My tour of the Iberian coastline began in the faithful city of Madrid, with Marga and her red Peugot station wagon. I had left Peru about two weeks before, and spent my first days in the old world with one foot in Lima and the other in a plastic cast recovering from my injury. This basically meant hobbling around Madrid, visiting past friends, meeting with the US Embassy folk, and finishing with things in the new world. A side trip to Granada for the weekend, and another to Guadalajara and Siguenza spiced the routine up a bit, but I was fairly happy to simply experience a colder climate for a week or two. I had arrived into a beautiful Spanish spring, which was a nice retreat from the 10 months of continuous summer that I had accumulated thus far. I’ve recently realized that my time going to school in Maine has really affected me, because I’ve learned to love the seasons and to miss the seasonal change when it’s not there. Granted the Maine winter is a bit too extreme for me, but I see an intermediate out there in the coastal valleys of northern California. But let’s get back to the Iberian coastline.

Oh yes. To the snow and the sea.

Margarita and I left Madrid in the early morning of Thursday of Semana Santa, aka April 1st. We packed the car the night before and it was reminiscent of how it looked when we went north to then go south and swim across the Strait of Gibraltar. This time, our destination was the beaches of Cantabria, and we were looking for a few days of coastal greenery, good food, and a relaxing time together. The weather report was one of those slightly cloudy with a chance of rain forecasts that give you no certainty except that you’re going to worry about it raining, but after months of living in bone dry Lima, any drop of rainfall would have felt heavenly.

Marga in Santander

It never really rained, and we enjoyed four days of partly cloudy weather with bursts of glorious sunshine, exploring Cantabria and each day swimming in the frigid yet refreshing waters of a different beach. We spent one day at San Vicente de la Barquera, a beach town towards the west of Cantabria, famous for its beauty and good surf. The Picos de Europa, a small mountain range, jet from the coastal plain and jaunt the background with snow capped peaks, meaning that you are swimming at the beach in San Vicente with these mountains in the near distance.

Doninos...an awesome beach in Galicia

The small towns, nestled between blinding green pastures, were beautiful, and the scenery reminded me of an Ireland that I’ve never visited. My images of Spain were those of a much drier landscape, of the central plateau or of Andalusia, but northern Spain is a different place. It is verdant and full of grazing cows and sheep. There are small hamlets overlooking steep ocean cliffs that dot the rolling hills, and old men and women working the land. There is also a lot of money out there, something that is easily noticeable by the Mercedes that are parked outside these hamlets, or by the nice suits and dresses that the country folk wear to simply go for a morning stroll. It is even easier to notice this wealth in Santander, the capital of the Cantabria province. Santander is a beautiful city surrounded by water; the open ocean on its northern end and a long bay on its eastern and southern edges. The streets are impeccable, bordered by old eight story majestic buildings that have glamorous glass balconies from the ground floor to the top. When the afternoon light shines parallel to this façade, the buildings light up as if there were awakening and now ready to go to the gala.

Jumping into the frigid waters of a river in Galicia

Most everybody dresses very elegantly in Santander, the men in nice ironed pants with a vest and a jacket, the women in all types of skirt or dress combinations. And the majority of cars that roll the streets are of the BMW, Mercedes, Volvo, Peugot type, and most were made in the last 5 years. I asked a friend where all of this wealth came from, and he explained something about the banks in Cantabria being favored by Franco…I’m highly unclear on this matter, but this is just to say that there is an explanation out there.

Elegant Santander

Marga left for Madrid on the evening of Sunday the 4^th. I was supposed to meet up with Carlos and his crew to continue the tour of the Iberian coastline, but they got stuck waiting for boards and other equipment in France, and I was instead picked up by the father of one of the swimmers on their lifesaving team. Totally random, but I spent two nights in his home, going to work with him at a fitness club, where I was able to swim and use wireless internet until I had no more interneting to do, and I continued to explore Santander. By the time the crew showed up, I was on top of my game and ready to go.

Playing cards in some random town...taking advantage of their street lights.

We left for the Galicia province of Spain, which is the piece of land that sticks out from the northwestern edge of the Iberian Peninsula. To me, Galicia is the northern California of Spain. It rains all the time and the forest extends itself to the water’s edge. The place is orientated around fishing, farming, and small industry, and while reminiscent of Cantabria, it is much more humble and welcoming. When speaking Spanish, the Galician accent is a joyous and friendly melody that easily sticks to you, and Carlos, who had lived for a year in the capital of Galicia, A Coruna, immediately began to talk like a Gallego as soon as we met up with his Galician friends. They also speak a different language in Galicia, called Gallego, which is basically a hybrid of Portuguese and Spanish. It is one of the four official languages of Spain’s linguistic anomaly, alongside Spanish, Euskara, and Catalan. When speaking in Gallego, I can usually understand the idea of what’s being said, although I didn’t encounter the language as much as I had expected.

A Coruna, very elegant as well, but more down to earth than Santander

We spent four days in and around A Coruna, surfing at different beaches, all of which were peacefully rural. We also had an awesome night on the town that ended at 2pm the following day. It was a combination of the beaches, the people, and the great weather that we had during our stay, but I can honestly say that of all places in Spain, Galicia is my favorite.

Fishing boat in A Coruna

We traveled in the awesome vehicle of El Club Alcarreno de Salvamento y Socorrismo, a nine passenger van that has sand and food particles accumulated from years of use. The thing is awesome. With a life of its own, the van is like a Marry Poppins bag that can hold just about everything. And it did for us, including five people, at least 8 surf boards, a bicycle, rescue cans, ores, food for an army, clothing, wetsuits, buckets, and probably a number of other things that I either never saw or that I’ve forgotten. In any case, the van is amazing, especially because it is has giant photos of lifesaving competitions covering its outside. There are the people with rescue boards ready to hop into the surfline, swimmers diving to the bottom of a pool in search of a plastic mannequins, and runners jumping forward for flags on the sand. And all of this on a moving vehicle, and I have forgotten to mention that we were towing a 15 foot trailer stacked full of surf skis and rescue boards. This is all to say that alongside the labyrinth inside, people were at a loss when they saw us pass by. One of my favorite parts of the trip was watching the reactions of bystanders as we drove through the streets. There were the typical jaw drops, faces of disgust, the excited thumbs up, and the funniest of all, the quick glance followed by a straight head as if they had never seen us.

Oh yes. Our van, our trailer, and the hammock...in Portugal

Well, from Galicia, we continued our trip in this thing all the way down the coast of Portugal, then back into Spain and to the Strait of Gibraltar. It was a quick trip, but the little I saw of Portugal was amazing. We spent one night camping on the plateau of a seaside cliff 200km south of Lisbon. The plateau was full of low Mediterranean shrubs that were all in bloom; purple, yellow and pink flowers. It wasn’t a desert environment, but there is a brilliance of desert flowers that I saw in this vegetation. I believe it is a product of growing in very sands soils, which can’t be easy.

Awesome flowers on the cliff dunes of Portugal

The crew was composed of Carlos and his friends, but in the typical Spanish way, we become close in no time at all. Jose Miguel is Carlos’s cousin, he is a man in limbo between Spain and a new life he is about to begin in Edinburg. Danny is one of Carlos’s surfing buddies from A Coruna and is a super laid back biologist. Rodrigo, aka El Pequeno, is somebody that I met in France way back in August, and is probably one of the funniest people I have ever met. When they left me in Tarifa to cross the Strait of Gibraltar towards Morocco with my bag, an 11 foot rescue board and my surfboard, I felt like I was saying goodbye to a group of longtime friends. It was an awesome chill trip that I would repeat at any moment in time. Basically, I had a badass time.

The crew. Max, Jose Miguel, Dani, Carlos, Rodrigo

There were two gradual changes that I noticed as we traveled down the Atlantic coast from Galicia to Andalusia. The first was the language continuum, which began in Galicia as a mix of Spanish and Portuguese, otherwise known as Gallego, and also included a melodious Spanish accent. This changed into Portuguese in Portugal, which sounds like Spanish being sung in French, with the ends of most words cut short by a tapered note. As we stepped into Andalusia, the Spanish language took over with a quick accent that was like Portuguese on speed without the music; the ends of the words were all cut short and the people spoke faster than you can even imagine is possible. The water temperature also changed as we traveled south, from me going for a quick 5 minute dip in Galicia (12 C), to a 10 minute bath in Peniche north of Lisbon (14 C), to a 20 minute swim 200km south of Lisbon (16 C). Now, I’m writing from Morocco and swimming in the ocean without time limits due to the cold (19 C).

MOVIES from Peru...and good bye Lima

There is too much to say about leaving Peru. Too many beautiful people to thank, too many projects to praise, too much left behind. Plus, I've been in Spain for the past three weeks, and am only moving forward with things between Spain and Morocco. But I still want to give homage to what I feel has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. 18 weeks in Peru, and more specifically in Lima. S

So, for your viewing pleasure, below are a few videos taken from my time in Peru.



This is my improvised speech at the closing ceremony of the first session of the junior lifeguard program...I almost started to cry.



Here, we're swimming with a bunch of dolphins at Puerto Viejo, a beautiful beach south of Lima. Honestly, I have never been surrounded by so many dolphins.




Here, just yelling because we are so damn happy. Still at Puerto Viejo, with the dolphins.


Here,the take off for the 2500m race at El Dia de Travesias, a day of open water swimming competition that we organized in Lima, with over 140 participants.



Here is the traditional fan that is done to commemorate the end of the lifeguard course, and now, the junior lifeguard course



Here, the photo presentation for the ceremony of the second session of the junior lifeguard program. It was really funny, but you may have had to taken part in the course to really get the humor.

Salvavididas Junior II - Another session of the Junior Lifeguard program

And the Ceremony Begins!!! The first Junior Lifeguard program ends and we get ready for another.

The first session of the junior lifeguard program ended on February 1^st in a very elaborate closing ceremony that included lines of police in full riot gear, lots of marching and standing in formation, the Peruvian national anthem, and certificates with official police seals. I had been working hard and was so dedicated to the success of the program that I didn’t see how much it was valued by the kids, their parents, and all the police at lifeguard headquarters, and it wasn’t until this closing ceremony that I felt how important it really was to all of them. When we were preparing for the ceremony, I felt like they were putting too much importance on something that we see in Los Angeles as a summer camp for kids. Here, however, it was the first time that a group of international lifeguards had come to lifeguard headquarters in Lima since the mid 90’s, and our “simple junior lifeguard summer camp” was respected as a youth training in lifesaving skills. Our last day of junior lifeguards was more than a ceremony, it was a real graduation.

This is our container...our equipment box. I painted it with the help of Chiroke and the wife of El Comandante Ramos. We had it made especially for the Junior Lifeguards

Because of the success of the first program, we were asked to continue with a second session and a new group of kids. I wasn’t quite convinced that we could make it happen- it was hard to find 30 decent swimmers for the first session and we didn’t want to organize a second session if the new kids didn’t meet the swimming requirements (which were same as the first session, 100m in 2min). I was also exhausted. Our daily schedule during the month of January started at 6:30am and usually ended at midnight. We were constantly busy, whether it was preparing power point presentations for the following day, writing lesson plans, creating the instructors manual, getting uniforms, certificates and awards made, or simply spending hours discussing the successes and difficulties of each day and reflecting on the program’s future. We were the program’s founders, instructors, directors, and coordinators all at the same time. And on top of this we were organizing the Dia de Travesias, a day of open water swimming competitions in Lima. This being said, you can understand why it was hard to imagine doing this all over again and why we were looking for a bit of repose after the first program ended. The second session didn’t really concern Carlos, although he is invested in the program’s longevity and thought that a second session would help this, but Carlos was going to return to Spain two days after the start of second program, and I would continue alone. I ultimately agreed to instruct a second program if enough kids met the swimming requirement, and left the swim test in the hands of El Superior Andres. In hindsight, this passive attitude of mine seems rather silly, because the second session was almost more miraculous than the first, but I swear that it was just my fatigue that had gotten to me.

Lobitos

Lobitos

To escape from our busy schedule in Lima, Carlos and I returned to Lobitos, a surfing and fishing village 18 hours north of Lima. We arrived on February 3^rd and went directly to Gustavo’s house, a small shack of a home that we had stayed in during our previous visit to this surfer’s paradise. Aside from Gustavo, we were accompanied by a 20 year old rasta Argentinean from the mid to upper class of Buenos Aires who had recently found out that his girlfriend was pregnant with his child, and a crazy Italian who has spent the past 11 years of his life on the road in search of perfect waves and who was presently bitter because he couldn’t get in the water due to a seriously bad ear infection. I wasn’t in perfect form myself- I passed most of the ten days we spent in Lobitos swinging in a hammock nursing bruised to broken ribs to health, praying that I would recuperate in time to swim 21 kilometers across the Bay of Lima on the 14^th of February. While it would have been great to surf, it was honestly awesome to chill in a hammock for hours each day and have the time to relax. I also did a lot of writing, including my med school application essay, and was able to finish the junior lifeguard instructor’s manual.

The 12ft rescue board. Carlos accompanied me on this board, with a big plastic bin full of snacks and water attached to the front.

After a few days of rest and reflection, which included processing the impact of our first closing ceremony, I began to get motivated about instructing a second session of the junior lifeguard program. I didn’t have cell phone reception, and there is hardly electricity and definitively no internet access in Lobitos, and so I had no way of staying in touch with El Superior Andres to find out enrollment numbers for the second session. The days continued to pass, my ribs were healing, and on the bus ride back to Lima, Andres told me that 20 kids had passed the swimming exam and that we would go ahead with a second session. To me, this was a perfect number. Most of the kids from the first session never wanted their program to end, and continuously asked if we could prolong the course through the remainder of their summer. Having 20 kids that passed the swim exam allowed enough space for ten to fifteen of the kids from the first session to continue with a few more weeks of instruction. I saw that allowing the dedicated junior lifeguards to continue and act as leaders during the second session would benefit the group as a whole.

The finishers of La Ruta de Olaya...21 km across the Bay of Lima

After swimming 21 kilometers across the Bay of Lima in 5 hours and 14 minutes on Valentines Day, the second session of the junior lifeguard program in Peru began at La Comandancia de Salvataje en La Costa Verde de Lima on Monday February 15^th at 9am. Even before our first buoy swim I noticed that something was different about this second group of kids. During our baptizing bano de la foca, or “seal swim”, where we drag ourselves across the sand and into the ocean, the group was much keener about reaching the water’s edge than the first group was. And during our first buoy swim we didn’t have to help so many kids past the surf and around the buoys. Likewise, the few kids that were scared of the ocean progressed towards a more friendly relationship with the sea in just a few days, something that took weeks for few scared ones in the first group. In general, the kids of the second session advanced towards a relatively high comfort level with the ocean much more quickly than the kids of the first session.

CPR with Chiroke

It wasn’t that the 20 new junior lifeguards were much better swimmers, or that they had spent more time in the ocean than the 30 kids from the first group, but it was the fact that there were 10 to 15 kids from the first group that continued with the program and led the novices into the water. I saw it as creating tradition, or even culture, because what I experienced was that a group of people were suddenly doing something that they wouldn’t do if it weren’t for the fact that their entourage was taking part in the practice. From the first day, a large group of the kids already felt comfortable in the ocean; they knew how to get in and out of surf, they understood what a buoy swim was, and they simply weren’t afraid of the ocean. This was the ocean tradition that we had created during the month of January, that we saw being practiced in February, and it was a shockingly beautiful image.

The awards ceremony at the end of the second junior lifeguard session. Somewhat less dramatic than the first ceremony, but equally powerful. Here, I'm with Carlos Castaneda y El Comandante Ramos

Like I said before, Carlos was only present for the first two days of the program, and from there on I was helped by a rock solid group of instructors: Puca Puca, Anita, and Chiroke. Puca Puca is young, sassy, and always had a lot to say. Anita is a sweet young mother that consistently told me to sit down while I was on crutches. Chiroke was the man; a paramedic lifeguard, father of two, and more kind and considerate than the friends I met in Yemen. We all worked well together, and having Chiroke there to do the first aid and CPR lectures was a real treat.

Max, Chiroke, Ana and Puca. The rock solid group of instructors.

The program lasted three weeks, from February 15^th to March 5^th from 9am to at least 12pm, Monday thru Friday. About eight kids were only able to participate in the first two weeks of the program because their schools began on Monday the 1^st of March. Another chunk missed their first week of school to finish the program, and like I said before, of the 35 kids in the second program, 20 were novice junior lifeguards, and 15 had taken part in the first session.

Giving the results of the OCEANMAN

Making good use of the boards....doing a Taplin relay.

Thanks to the consistent persistence of El Comandante Ramos, another quality that made this program different from the first was that the insurance company La Positiva donated 10 rescue boards to lifeguard headquarters, and the junior lifeguard program had full and even primary access to them. It was awesome. We went from having 2 boards and 30 kids, to 12 boards and 35 kids. Because of this, we used these rescue boards every day and the kids have developed a love for paddling. La Positiva also donated uniforms to the junior lifeguard program, which basically took away the only cost we had to run the program.

!!!GRACIAS!!! LA POSITIVA

Carlos Castaneda...completed the OCEANMAN 3 times!!!

I organized an Oceanman as a final exam on the last day. It was a 400 meter swim, followed by a 1500 meter run, and ending in a 400 meter paddle, all continuous. We had three heats of kids, and there were a number of them that completed the event twice. Because we had the closing ceremony of this second session scheduled for that same afternoon, many of the parents were present, and the event was a perfect way for them to see all that their children had learned and how strong they had become during the past three weeks. Carlos Castaneda, who won the award for best athlete, did the entire oceanman three times. He had the champion time after the first round, but was then beat by Luis Ramirez in the second, and so completed a third round in an attempt to regain his title. He could have won if he hadn’t gotten slaughtered by a set of waves as he entered with the paddleboard, but his determination was an inspiration to us all.

Luis Ramirez. Champion of the OCEANMAN

Both sessions were a huge success, and the next step is to think about the future of the junior lifeguard program in Lima. El Comandante Ramos talked about using experienced junior lifeguards as part of a civilian volunteer lifeguard force that could work alongside the “real lifeguards”, and in exchange for their service, they would receive university scholarships. All firefighters in Peru are volunteers, and there is a similar government sponsored program in place for student firefighters. It will take a lot of work to put this project together, but I see it as a real possibility. Plus, I honestly believe that many of our junior lifeguards are just as capacitated as the actual police lifeguards and would do a great job working at the beach.

No hesitation. Going right into the water.

The second set of future plans is to continue with the aspect of international cooperation and cultural exchange that has been a major part of this year’s program. I would like to see foreign instructors in Peru every year, from the US and/or from Spain. I would also like to see if a few junior lifeguards from Peru could come to L.A. and take part in the Junior Lifeguard program there, living with a host family for the summer. Likewise, it would be great if a few kids from L.A. could come to Peru and become salvavidas junior for summer. Many details will have to be figured out, including funding, responsibility, and the fact that the northern and southern hemisphere’s summer vacations don’t exactly line up, but the idea is great, or at least we think so.

Photo of the second group of Junior Lifeguards in Lima. Los Pequenos Delfines.

Here is the photo presentation from the ceremony of the second session....it was really funny, but you may have had to be with is to get the real laugh.

The progress we were able to observe between the first and second sessions of the junior lifeguard program was an immediate example of creating an ocean tradition in Peru. I’ve previously written how most Peruvians have a relationship with the ocean that is based on fear of the unknown, and that they constantly talk about “el oleaje anomalo” as if the ocean could rise up at any time and swallow them whole. The kids from the first program lost much their fear of the ocean through learning ocean science-in and out of the water- and were able to transmit this to the second crew of junior lifeguards. They exchanged fear for respect, and I can only believe that they will also pass this knowledge to their friends and family.

Crutching across the sands of Puertro Viejo...our field trip to the beach

I hope to return next year. I promised the kids, and I can’t go back on a promise. I want to be a leader, an example, a friend and a role model for this group of 60 teenagers, and believe that consistency is the key to long term effectiveness. And because I can and want to come back next year, I believe that I will. I should also mention that Carlos is planning to return as well, for many of the same reasons. For now, I am forever thankful to all the people that have helped to make these two sessions of the junior lifeguard program possible. For the past few years I have been envisioning the junior lifeguard program abroad, and can honestly say that the success of this project has been a dream come true.

My going away party at the beach...so sad to go home...or back to Spain.

I broke my foot

Field trip to Puerto Viejo with the second session of the Junior Lifeguard program

I broke my foot. It happened as I was playing the role of a Spanish conquistador chasing an Incan across the sands of Lima. Fuck. I’d do anything to travel back into time and change history. One moment and everything would have been different. One centimeter to the left and the Incans would have won the battle, or maybe one centimeter to the left and my foot wouldn’t have broken!

On the battle field. The war that did me in.

It was a very unglamorous way to break my foot, this is considering that there is a glamorous way to break a bone in your body. But what I mean by glamour is that it would have been a lot easier to explain that I broke my foot in a surfing or lifesaving accident, running into the ocean or riding the face of a gnarly wave. Instead, I have had to explain that I basically, no, that I did indeed, step on the heel of a chubby kid and broke the second metatarsal of my left foot. We were playing a game called Incas y Espanoles, and I was one of the Incan warriors, chasing a Spaniard across the sand. Running away, this Spaniard fell to the sand in front of me, and to avoid stepping on his head or back, I awkwardly stepped on the heel of his foot, which was planted toe first into the sand. It just so happened that all of my weight fell on the second metatarsal of my left foot, which was placed directly over his heel bone, and as it happened I heard a snap and thought “Shit. I think that I just broke my foot”.

Me, Chiroke, Anita, and Puca

I tried to shake it off, and my fellow Incans pressured me to stay on the battle field, but I knew that something was seriously wrong. My mother happened to be visiting me in Lima and was there on the sand, and in the natural instinct of an injured child, I hobbled over to my mother and sat down by her side. She took one good look at me and said “What the fuck did you just do to yourself?” I laughed and said “Momma-joe, I think that I just broke my foot”.

Hanging with my mom in the mountains. We love each other so much and she took wonderful care of me.

They lifeguards mentioned that they could take me to the hospital of the Peruvian National Police, which I considered would be a really cool experience, but I was advised not to because of long lines and poor service. Instead, I went to one of the most prestigious medical clinics in Lima, The British American Hospital.

Watermelon and a broken foot.

My treatment was quick. Within two hours I had an x-ray done and a cast on, but the quality of medical attention was barbaric. I was treated by Dr. Alfredo Chiappe, and I feel no shame in stating his name because the man really treated me poorly. My x-ray had already been taken and evaluated by the nurse practitioner, and I was sitting on the hospital bed in a waiting room, hanging with my mom and two Peruvian friends when Chiappe arrived. The man had cast materials in hand and immediately began to put the stuff on my foot, without even asking me my name, what had happened to me, of if I was in pain. Neither did he mention how long I would be in a cast, or anything about my injury in general. I will honestly say that I was most concerned with a waterproof cast, and wanted to make sure that I could get one p if it were an option. And if it weren’t for the fact that I literally put my hands over my leg to prevent him from placing the cast on my foot, I don’t think that I would have gotten a word out of the man.

Momma-Joe in the Andes

I protected my foot as I asked a bunch of questions about my injury, and Chiappe gave me fairly decent answers, although he seemed rushed and indifferent the entire time. But after he finished setting the cast, I realized that he hadn’t even covered the part of my foot that was broken. The fucking asshole had hardly looked at my x-ray to see that the broken section of my metatarsal was close to my toes, and he had left this exact part completely exposed. I told the man to fix this, and while he at first denied, he later agreed, and even apologized for his mistake. But instead of taking the cast off and putting the it on anew, he simply wrapped over the existing section, this time taking care to cover the broken bone, and I was left with this huge ball of a cast on my foot.

Me and my Junior Lifeguards

Whatever. This happened on Tuesday February 23^rd, and I was back to my routine at the beach on Wednesday the 24^th. The only thing that changed about my life in a cast, aside from having to walk with crutches, was that I couldn’t swim. I still went to the beach everyday to teach the junior lifeguard program, I simply had to hobble around the sand on crutches and ask the fellow instructors to set the buoys in the morning and work water safety as I watched from shore. I still ran around Lima to get things done, and I still stayed just as involved in life at lifeguard headquarters as I always had been. Looking back to my four weeks on crutches, I don’t remember it as a painfully incapacitated time. I was definitively handicapped, and it did kind of suck, but it was all part of the experience I was living.

Taking off my cast with my pocket knife and the help of a nice old lady.

The cast didn’t last all that long anyways. I took it off after 17 days. And when I say that I took it off, I literally mean that I sat there with my pocket knife and cut the cast off of my foot. They were supposed to do it for me at The British American Hospital, but Dr. Chiappe’s secretary wanted to charge me again for the service, a service that I had already paid for and even assured during my first visit, and my anger towards him was so great that I couldn’t possibly leave him with another sol, and so left. I went directly towards an orthopedic store, because I was really only replacing the cast for a plastic boot that I had to wear like a cast, but that I could take off to swim. When I arrived, the old women at the store could see that I was upset about something, and when I told her the whole story, she pulled out her knife and said “No te preocupes mi hijito, te sacamos este yeso en seguida”. Her knife was a little too dull to do the job, but the small saw on my pocketknife did the trick. It was a strange vision to see my foot after 17 days in hiding. It was swollen and had skin peeling off in all directions. Pobrecito. From there on out, a speedy recovery has taken place that includes physical therapy in the water.

This is what I have to say to the British American Hospital... "I'll take this damn cast off on my own!"

Traveling from Lima to Madrid on crutches, with layovers in Miami and London, and carrying a surfboard, two big suitcases full of lifesaving uniforms that Carlos had bought in Peru, and my carry-on backpack, is worth a blog entry of its own. The best image was of me getting pushed around in a wheelchair through the Miami airport by a bleached blond 50 year old Puerto Rican woman who had spent 20 years partying in Ibiza and who spit and smelt of cigarettes as she talked. I carried the surfboard and she pushed my wheelchair with one hand, and pushed a luggage cart with my other two suitcases and my carry-on with her other hand. She took me through immigration, where I got questioned about my Yemeni visas, and proceeded to drop me off at my next gate, talking incessantly about Ibiza and Spain.

El Rancho Es Sagrado. Atahualpa protecting his food.

Now, on March 30^th, I’m walking around Madrid in shoes, with only a slight limp. My foot feels good, although it still hurts a bit, and I fear that it may never heal! This is crazy, because like Ari Goodman’s father Dean would always say “You have a strong body that knows how to heal itself”. And I believe this. I sometimes wish that I had never broken my foot, but similarly, is it even possible to think what Peru would be like if the Spaniards had never conquered the Incas?

The Junior Lifeguard Container