Zapata Falls

Zapata Falls is an easy hike just a bit south of the Great Sand Dunes. My dad suggested it to me, and I thought that it seemed like a good and easy way to ease into this adventure having that I have decided to do this summer. It was about a 45 minute drive to get to the trail head from Alamosa, during which I saw three large dust devils. That was exciting for me, as I am a giant nerd about tornados and anything that is related to them.

The trail head to the falls is at the top of a long, twisting gravel road that climbs up the foot of Mount Blanca. At the top I parked among quite a few other cars, situated my stuff, and began my hike.

Getting started!

The San Luis Valley

The trail up the mountain

The first thing I noticed was that I over packed. I have a tendency to do that, and I am pretty sure one doesn’t need food, a camelback bladder of water, two extra water bottles, and several layers of clothing for the half mile hike to the falls. In my defense, I didn’t know how short the hike was when I had packed for it, and I was debating going to the Sand Dunes afterwards and didn’t know how long I’d be gone for. Apparently I assumed it would be several days. Ah well, better safe than sorry.

The afternoon was beautiful, with some slightly ominous clouds blocking out the sun and making for a cooler hike. It was perfect for my first solo hike, perhaps ever. I usually have at least one friend with me, but today it was just me, God, and the mountain. Also, at least 30 other hikers, as this is apparently a pretty popular destination for visitors to the park, and particularly those with young children. A family with four young daughters passed me heading down. The girls were wrapped in towels and talking excitedly about what they just experienced. I heard one tell her dad, “That was worth the whole trip!” I got more excited about my destination and continued on, despite a sneaking suspicion that I was over dressed. As I worked my way up the path, I felt a few light raindrops hit my face and reflected that I left my raincoat in the car. Fortunately that did not amount to much. Then I heard thunder. I got instantly paranoid, as people get struck by lightning in Colorado more often than they should. I decided to press onward since I figured I was nearing the falls, but I listened carefully for more thunder. Fortunately I heard none. What I did begin to hear was thunder of a different sort.  

You can hear the falls before you can see them. That always seems the case with waterfalls. As I neared them, listening to their roar, I saw a sign warning against swimming. It made me flash back to my hike to Boti Falls in Ghana. (If you want to read about that: http://itinerantbarista.blogspot.com/2009/11/ghananana-ghananana-heeeey-goodbye.html)

The warning sign

I took some pictures of the ravine that lead to the falls, and debated wading over to get a good look at them. I didn’t want to get my boots wet, but then a couple of guys appeared down the trail heading my way. I didn’t want to look dumb in front of the strangers, plus I heard echoes of people laughing inside the ravine, so I started carefully picking my way along the wall of rock, heading towards the falls. I managed to make it into the cavernous interior, where the roar of the falls echoed off the walls and through my entire being. Mist from the water filled the air. A couple of other guys were playing in the water. I decided I would have to return in Chacos so that I could actually feel comfortable getting my feet wet. After enjoying the power of the water for a while, I picked my way carefully out of the cavern.

A dark picture of the ravine leading to the falls

A blurry picture of the falls and some people playing in it. None of the pictures I got were clear.

Once outside, I saw a large family attempting to get to the falls. I did my best to keep out of their way as they worked their way past me, helping a small girl who smiled bravely at me as her parents directed her steps. I passed everyone and was feeling pretty good, until I slipped. My right foot plunged into water up to my knee. My butt and back hit the wall, and my left foot got a little wet too. I recovered as gracefully as I could manage and worked my way the last few yards out of the stream to assess the damage. I had an intense internal debate on whether or not to wring out my sock then and there or wait until the car. I settled on waiting and started down. One of the guys who was playing in the water, a tan fellow who looked to be about 25, was having a cigarette and waiting for his friends. He looked very excited about his experiences, and he stopped me to ask if I had hiked over above the falls. I had investigated that path but decided against it because my foot was wet and it was really steep. I told him that I hadn’t but probably would next time. He said, “My friends did, but I had sandals on. I’m definitely coming back to do that!” I agreed with him on that fact and began my hike down.

The damage

The trail heading above the falls

About 200 yards down the path, I realized that I had lost a water bottle, most likely during my unexpected dip in the river. Fighting back irritation, I practically sprinted back and assessed the stream. I sort of expected that it was lost forever, and I sure didn’t see it. I was a little bummed because I hate losing things and I really liked that water bottle, but what else could I do? I sloshed down the trail towards my car, and ended up driving home before I took off my gross wet sock.

View of the Great Sand Dunes

Overall I enjoyed the hike. It was quick and pretty easy, which made it perfect for an afternoon. It offered beautiful views of the Great Sand Dunes and the San Luis Valley, which make it worth the trip alone. Plus, it’s pretty easy for children, so if you have kids and are in the area, it is an activity you should consider. And if you do go, keep your eyes open for a white metal water bottle. It’s mine.

Adventures

When I was a kid, all I wanted was to have adventures. Pretty much all my childhood fantasies involved some wild adventure or another. My mother cut out a newspaper article for me once that recounted the story of two young girls who had survived alone in the Amazon for a long time. She thought that maybe I would want to write a story about them one day, which I still might. Who knows? But what I ended up doing was pretending I was one of the girls, surviving in the Amazon. Armed with a knife with a plastic handle designed to look like bone and carved in the shape of an elk (a gift from a mother who knew her tomboy daughter all too well), I roamed the “Amazon” (my yard), surviving on my wits alone. My major problem with the whole thing was that my yard had far too few trees to pass for a legitimate Amazon jungle. Plus, my clothes were too nice and it was too cold to go barefoot at that time of year.

I also loved to read about adventures. Every summer, we would visit the library weekly, where my sister and I would each check out no fewer than five books each, but more likely over ten (we liked to read, what can I say?). If we went to the library today, I could still show you exactly where the adventure books were shelved in the children’s section, and I could still describe the brown “Adventure” sticker on the spine of each of the books that I wanted, no, HAD to read. Survival books like My Side of the Mountain and books that even remotely related to adventures, like mysteries and anything about flying or space, became the fodder for my imagination. The desire to read about adventures has not diminished with age. I am still drawn to mysteries, travel books, historical accounts of events, and other similar grown up adventure books. The desire to have adventures has also not diminished.

This summer I am doing my final fieldwork for OT school in Alamosa, CO. My reason for this can be boiled down to two words: free housing. But that aside, Alamosa is in the beautiful San Luis Valley which is full of potential adventures to be had. Therefore, I decided to attempt to actually seek out some nice adventures to take part in, and then document them for this blog. I figure it might be fun, plus it will motivate me to get out and experience this amazing and beautiful area of the state while I am conveniently in the middle of it. It will make me have adventures, just like I dreamed of as a little girl. I am making no promises, but the blog has the word “adventure” in the title, so I think it’s an obligation that I try!

All The Single Ladies

I went to a Christian bookstore today on a whim. I was in the area and they had all sorts of sales advertised on their window, so I decided to give it a walk through to see what I could see. I was perusing the books when I saw the plaque over a lone section of shelves. It said “Single Women’s Interests” or something along those lines. Being one of those, I went to check it out.

The options were slim, but they definitely had a theme. Nearly all of the books had something to do with marriage. They had everything from Lady in Waiting to some book about a praying wife which I think was probably in the wrong section. I was pretty irritated at the whole thing.
I am single, and most days I’m okay with that. In the place where God has put me in my life, having a boyfriend or husband would complicate all the things I want to do. This isn’t to say that I don’t want a boyfriend, and I definitely want to get married one day. In fact, if an awesome fellow came along, we would work through the complications together. But I am single right now. This is where God wants me. And most days, I love it.

Books like those that were displayed in the store have a place, of course. I have read at least snippets from many of the books they had, and they have benefited my life greatly. However, a section of a bookstore set aside for single women that had all those books in it gives us single ladies a strong message: “You are incomplete until you are married. If you are not married, something is wrong with you.” And even though I’m sure the authors of those books would be horrified at this unintentional message, it is being received loud and clear.

At my friend’s wedding a couple of years ago, she stuck me at a table of Christian single women with one of our friends from high school who definitely does not go to church. The women at the table talked about various things such as their jobs, but inevitably, as these things do, the subject quickly switched to men. I happily joined in and contributed my two cents about the sad state of affairs for us women. Later, my friend from high school pointed out that it was sort of weird and a little pathetic that all these women wanted was to get married. I realized that she was right. These women were great. They had good jobs, were quite good looking, and had an awesome network of friends through their jobs and church. But they were not looking at those elements of their lives. They were focused on the one thing they felt they lacked: a husband. And I joined right in.

Would we single ladies be so fixed on marriage if we were told that we were okay as we are? Why are we given the message that we are not normal if we are single? Why are we to prepare ourselves to be good wives one day when we could be encouraged to become the best woman we can be in the place where God has us right now? Is it possible to enjoy and be content in our single lives while still desiring to get married one day? I think it is.

Psalm 37:4 says, “Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” I think we get so focused on the desires of our heart that we forget to take delight in the Lord sometimes.  I know that I do. And then, as we are so focused on our heart’s desires, we ignore the first part of verse 5 too:
“Commit your way to the Lord.” I am going to start practicing the elements of delighting myself in the Lord and committing my way to him. Not so that he will give me the desires of my heart, but because He is the Lord. He is worthy of delight. And doing so will bring more fulfillment and meaning into my life than any person ever could.

Redeeming the Proverbs 31 Woman

A while back a friend of mine mentioned a breakdown group at a conference called “How to Marry a Proverbs 31 Woman.” It made me laugh. I said I could teach the group with two sentences: “Become the kind of man a Proverbs 31 woman would want. Next, pursue her.” I think the participants would feel a little jipped, but whatever, it’s not like I’d get paid to talk at a conference.

I have had a mistrust of the Proverbs 31 woman ever since I got old enough to appreciate gender roles and expectations, especially with Christian women. She is held up as a role model, the mystical and unattainably high standard of what a woman should be. She comes across as an Old Testament Martha Stewart, intended to show us how things could be but making us feel bad and inadequate instead. Plus, she is called “The Wife of Noble Character,” and considering that I’m not yet one of those, it’s hard to determine what exactly she has to do with my life right now.

After the talk with the friend, I decided to take a closer look at this lady. I decided to read the verses instead of just skimming over them to see if this gal has anything to do with me. The following are my thoughts, without much in the way of deep theological musings:

“A wife of noble character who can find?”

- Noble sounds lame, but at some point in the past I wrote “valor, courage” above noble. That sounds a little better. I can get behind that. I know of many single women of great character, so initially this didn’t make sense. But then I thought of the women on reality TV and it seems like maybe the good ones really are hard to find.

“She brings him (her husband) good, not harm, all the days of her life.”

– Okay, so no nagging. No tearing the guy down. No making him feel like a failure. Seems good enough. I guess as a single lady, I can practice this with my friends and family.

“She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands.”

– Does this mean clothes shopping? Because I can do that. Or craft time? Because I’m cool with that too. I would love to use that as an excuse for crocheting yet another hat: “I’M WORKING WITH EAGER HANDS!”

“She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar.”

– Cool. I like some good foreign food.

“She gets up while it is still dark;”

– Excuse me what? Is this really necessary? I mean, I don’t want to be lazy, but I think I can sleep in when the occasion arises.

“she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls.”

– I get that if a woman has a family, she should feed them and all. I’m not entirely sure how this applies to a single girl without even pets as a dependant (although I do have a plant). Maybe it means that she takes care of those over whom she has an influence. Maybe I could feed my loved ones love. Okay, that sounds corny, moving on.

“She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.”

– This part makes the Proverbs 31 woman look like she is single: she has a job where she earns money, and she is making big purchases and investing it WITHOUT ASKING ANYONE. I like her. She is a working woman, and she is savvy enough to make big financial decisions on her own. The point is probably that she is trustworthy and shrewd with her money, and not the financial independence stuff, but still. She is looking a lot different than the stereotypical Christian wife.

“She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.”

– So if she’s getting up early and staying up late, when does she sleep? I’ve always wondered that. Maybe the point of discussing her sleeping habits is that she isn't lazy and she doesn’t waste time. I am guilty of that way more than I’d like to admit.

“In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers.”

– Awesome. I can do that. But maybe mine would involve yarn and a crochet hook.

“She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy.”

– Social justice. She does not sit around and let things that don’t directly affect her happen. She helps people. She is involved. She cares. I like this.

“When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.”

– I think this can be taken as being prepared for inevitable problems. Like, when my car breaks down, I’m not worried because I set aside money for such emergencies. That can be applied to anyone at any time. Even people who don’t look good in red.

“She makes coverings for her bed;”

– CRAFTS! DON’T QUESTION CROCHETING!

“. . . she is clothed in fine linen and purple.”

– She dresses nice. She looks hot and has nice clothes. To achieve this, she needs to purchase said fine clothes. Shopping. Okay cool.

“Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.”

– Although this doesn’t directly apply to me as a single lady, I guess it can mean don’t date someone people don’t respect.

“She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.”

– She has a business. She is working and making money. She is busy and productive and HAS A JOB. I’m not getting my master’s degree for my health, believe me. I want to work, and this Proverbs 31 woman is doing just that.

“She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.”

– There are so few women about whom this can be accurately said. We women tend to worry and do things that make us look foolish out of our worry and insecurities. I want to be clothed in strength and dignity. I want to look to the future and smile, knowing that God has everything under control. Maybe one day.

“She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.”

– Women like this are priceless.

“She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.”

– You don’t have to be married to have a household. This is something I can do now. And that bread of idleness part. . . ouch.

“Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:”

– I guess for the single ladies, this can be our friends, family, and coworkers.

“‘Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.’”

– I like this praise. It isn’t about her looks. It isn’t about her cooking and housekeeping skills. The definition of noble is “possessing outstanding qualities.” And remember the words I had written by noble character in the beginning: valor, courage. This woman is more courageous and has more outstanding qualities than all other women.

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her the reward she has earned, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.”

– I spend way more time thinking about how I look than about my character. I spend too much time in idleness and not enough time caring for people and for the areas in my domain.

I suppose with the outstanding character that the Proverbs 31 woman has achieved, she wouldn’t rub my face in my failings. She’d probably help me up, dust off the butt of my pants where I’d so resolutely plopped, point me in the right direction, and give me a friendly push. Maybe I don’t resent her any more. Maybe I want to be her friend. Maybe one day, I’d like to be her.

Here is an interesting blog entry about the Proverbs 31 woman and her virtues. I recommend reading it: http://evangelicaloutpost.com/archives/2008/06/dont-marry-a-proverbs-31-woman-2.html

My conclusion is this: I have misjudged the Proverbs 31 woman, but I am not alone in this. I don’t know that men realize what sort of woman she is. I think my breakdown group would list some of this woman’s qualities: strength, wisdom, grace, independence, and general awesomeness, among others. I would ask them if this is really the kind of woman they want, because it would take a man with qualities equal to hers to truly be secure with such a woman.

And as a woman, I don’t think she is an impossible standard any more. I think she is a difficult woman to become, but to be like her would be worth the effort. So these are my thoughts. Take them for what they are worth.

A Letter to Men

Dear Men,

Hi. How are you doing? I’m okay. I’m fine, really. Okay, maybe I’m not.

A friend of mine posted this article on Facebook the other day: http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/04/opinion/bennett-men-in-trouble/index.html

Go ahead and read it, then come back. I’ll wait.

You back, Men? Cool. Well my first reaction to this was pretty predictable: “See! See what I have to deal with?” I wrote in an email to my step-mom with the link. It got me all riled up to read the facts that as a single woman I’ve so lamented about the opposite sex.

But then I realized something. I am doing nothing to help you guys. It is easy to complain about the state of manhood. It’s easy to create unattainably high standards and get frustrated when you fall short. It’s hard to care and it’s hard to do something to help. And let's face it, women are far from perfect. FAR.

So I wanted to tell you something, Men. I believe in you. I believe that you can step up and do amazing things. I know that failure is hard, but not trying guarantees failure. I know that trying to figure out what you want to do in life is hard, but it is time well spent. And guys, friends, I’ll be here for you. I will give you a hug and rejoice in your successes, and I will give you a hug and mourn in your defeats.

And Men, I’m praying for you. If I’ve seen you in person in the past couple of weeks, I’m probably even praying for you by name. You are my brothers, my friends, and frankly, I hope to marry one of you one day. So in the meantime, I will pray.

If you want me to pray for you by name, let me know. If you don’t want me to pray for you, you can let me know too, but be warned that it will just make me pray for you more. I love you guys, you Men, more than I can say.

Love,

Kaylee

Here are a couple of good things, for your reading and listening time:

http://www.relevantmagazine.com/life/career-money/features/26969-slacker-for-jesus

http://marshill.com/media/trial/marriage-and-men

What an adventure!

My friend/sister Kira couldn't smell. I know this because I made the mistake more than once of asking her if I smell okay (confession: I have a paranoia of smelling bad. I don't want to be THAT KID. You know who I'm talking about.). Anyways, Kira posted this the other day on facebook, and as she is a phenomenal writer I am just going to repost it. No one can tell this story better. And what makes this story great is that it's TRUE.

The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these

by Kira

It was stink bombs and passed gas that revealed it. When the middle school halls emptied and I was left wondering why, it became clear that I couldn’t smell. Or rather, that my brain has difficulty perceiving smell. Years later, when my doctor was concerned that the anosmia might be a sign of a brain tumor, a CT scan revealed that there were no tumors and my nose was fine, but probably a childhood bump to the head or a high fever had damaged the olfactory bulb. The subsequent tests indicated that there was a small percentage of smell ability, but not enough to be significant, which made sense of the strange fact that I could occasionally smell potent things like gasoline. The doctor suggested I take shots of a certain steroid if an occasion like a trip to Italy arose as they had had some success with temporary smell returning, but that there was no cure and that I would probably have limited taste and also struggle with remembering since the limbic system as a whole was compromised.

Being limited in smell hasn’t been all bad as far as disabilities go. I have been spared skunks and trash cans and all manner of foul odors, but there have been near misses and losses too. There was the time I nearly offed myself closing the door to our small bathroom and spraying every surface with bleach cleaners. And my babies have incurred unnecessary diaper rash because I forgot to check. I don’t get the nostalgia from smelling baked goods and I’ve never enjoyed that “new baby” smell that all mother’s rave over. Once in a while, like during my last pregnancy, a smell will wash over me out of nowhere, but it has almost always been an overwhelming experience and distasteful to my senses—something I wanted very badly to escape from and was grateful to have depart quickly.

But tonight this all changed.

This evening Amelie, Cosette and I made banana bread with the collection of overripe bananas I’d stored in the freezer. While it baked, I sat out on the porch and worked on my Community Bible Study on John. Coestte ran around the yard, but Amelie asked if she could help me. In my usual mode of task-orientation, I was actually a little bugged. The night air was so perfect, the porch chair nice for just one, and the Pharisee in me was so thrilled at the chance to make progress on this week’s long study. The mother in me won and I read aloud from John chapter 9 while she perched next to me with her own pen and spiral notebook. When we finished the section, we both answered the study question. “What impressed you most…” Amelie wrote,

“Do you know what impressed me [?] that Jesus heled [healed] the blind with mud and water. It is amazing how he can do those cind mericals [kind of miracles]. To me it seems cool to be able to do those thing[s] like Jesus. But how does he do them?”

Back inside, the bread was nearly done. We headed in and Amelie commented, “I wish you could smell the bread, Mom. If Jesus were here, He could put mud on your nose!” I laughed. Absently, I told her that Jesus said we would do miracles even greater than him by his empowerment. Amelie is 8. Her brain fires faster than any lightning I’ve witnessed. Instantly, with stars in her eyes, she asked, “Can I do it, Mom?”

Oh, the shock of a moment of truth. I had walked right into it, and I could see there was no way back out. I realized with terrible clarity that I wanted to protect God from looking like a fool in front of my children. How would they deal with the disappointment I was sure was coming full speed ahead. Coinciding fear and doubt and awe made mincemeat of my brain and I answered, “Yes,” before I really knew myself. Amelie ran back outside, and after I pulled the bread from the oven, I found she and Cosette making mud of the pumpkin planter boxes. We went to the kitchen where Amelie smeared my nose and there, on the linoleum, my two daughters prayed very simple prayers to God. “We believe You can do it, Jesus,” they each told Him, and their faith called out to my faith. Like the possessed boy’s father, in the quiet of my heart I confessed my own belief and asked Him to “overcome my unbelief” (Mark 9:24). Little hands were pushing me to the kitchen sink, our own little Pool of Siloam, where I washed the potting soil from my nose and turned to their questioning. A scented candle was brought for the test. A birthday gift for my house more than me since I have never enjoyed the fragrance of a candle, but there it was, a sweet smell like the taste of orange, and sure enough, the label read, “Citrus.” I was smelling citrus and Cosette was screaming with delight. Never before has Amelie cried for anything but sorrow and pain, but tears of joy were literally coursing down her face and she was saying, “Thank you, Jesus!” She was a ball of true delight, running from the kitchen to the porch as if looking for someone to whom she could bear witness, and when she returned, she asked if we could tell, “Everyone!” She called our dearest friends and family, and to each, she told of God’s goodness with audible adoration, praise, joy and wonder.

Yes, friends, I was healed. I can smell. And it pains me to confess that even still I am afraid and doubtful. Will it last? Is it all psychosomatic? Am I setting up my children to be persecutes or at least ostracized? Is it real? Amelie is not wrestling tonight. Before bed, I asked if she would write in her journal about this miracle of God. “Oh, I already did!” she exclaimed. She brought it to me, and read, “Today my mom started to smell just becase I beleved [because I believed] and prayed! And it was not just the mud that helped. It was faith. Jesus to[o].”

Others will struggle like me. I am fairly certain I will be misunderstood by some who think I am pulling some sort of Tooth Fairy shtick—trying to encourage belief with false pretences. I am sure others will ask lots of the questioning sort of questions that have more ridicule than honest inquiry to them. I already sense that much like my mud-speckled friend of old, I will be as befuddled as I am tonight. Like him (John 9:25), I imagine I will answer, “I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was Anosmic but now I smell!” I smell geraniums. I smell pizza sauce and balloon, and because of the faith of my beautiful children, tonight I smell banana bread.

I've been missing the ship a lot lately, so . . .

It has been a while since I've been able to write something, so I thought in the meantime I would repost an entry from my Mercy Ships blog. So enjoy!

It's something unpredictable . . .

A crack rang out just before the bed collapsed. Everyone started laughing. Except for me. I was busy trying to get my foot out from where it had been crushed under the weight of the bed and three twenty-something girls. . .



12 hours earlier:



We all gathered in reception, bags in hand, excited to start our long weekend. Then we looked outside. It looked like we were being blessed with a small hurricane. None of us had seen it rain like this since we arrived. Most of us ran down to get rain gear, and then we waited for our taxi. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally something that looked like it could potentially be a taxi drove up. "Are you Michelle?" Dorothea called down to the driver.

"Yes!" he replied.

So we seven girls gathered our things and made our way down the gangway, getting soaked in the process. As we threw our stuff in the back of his vehicle, it became apparent that this was not our cab and he was not, in fact, Michelle. So we went back up the gangway, getting more soaked by the minute.



two hours later



Michelle, who had been claiming to be on his way, finally admitted that he hadn't left yet. "It's raining!" he said. "I can't walk to my car in the rain!"

A cab driver who claimed to be a friend of Michelle's came up and told us he was Michelle, and that his friends would take us to Possotome. I had driven with this guy the weekend before, so I knew that even though he was not Michelle, he was an okay guy. We loaded our stuff into two rather decrepit cars with leaky windows and cracked windshields, and headed out.

We arrived about two and a half hours later. The whole time our driver was listening to what I can only describe as African PBR. It was very repetitive and very boring. They delivered us to a lovely hotel. It absolutely made up for our extremely late start. Until they said that this was not our hotel and they didn't have room for us. Eventually a fellow showed up to take us to where we were staying, which turned out to be a dirt lot with some huts. Slight dismay. Then the cab fellows told us that we weren't paying enough. They claimed that since we took two cars we should pay twice as much as the agreed upon price. All this took place to the odd sound of a child's hysterical laughter (it was one of the driver's cell phone rings). In the end, we didn't have to pay more, but we were unsure if the guys were coming back to get us the next day.

The huts weren't so bad on the inside. We were feeling good about life as we headed out to relax by the beach. At the beach there were a lot of chickens. One of them decided the beads dangling from Annemarie's swimsuit looked nice. A scream from Annemarie's side of the lounge chairs informed us that she had been pecked. Shortly thereafter, Dinante became the target for some bird poop. The menu's were delivered, and we discovered that the food looked really nasty, and we couldn't figure out where they cooked it. Some older Mercy Shippers came along and had a drink where we were. They said we should probably eat with them at their hotel, so after we bought some Youki's (BEST SODA EVER!) we headed over. Their hotel was a slice of paradise. We took pictures, relaxed, and ordered a tasty meal.

We then learned that the ladies didn't speak French. God bless Dorothea. She translated their extremely complicated dinner order without irritation on her part. As the night fell, we realized that it was way too dark to walk home alone. We hired a guy from the hotel to accompany us.

We arrived back at the huts and went in our separate rooms to change before meeting in the biggest room to eat cookies and peanut butter. Mid-changing session, the power went out. Dinante had her ipod and phone, so we started eating. The other girls joined us shortly thereafter, and Dorothea had a torch (flashlight). We laughed at how hot it was, and how much stuff had gone wrong. We wondered what would happen next.

A crack rang out just before the bed collapsed. Everyone started laughing. Except for me. I was busy trying to get my foot out from where it had been crushed under the weight of the bed and three twenty-something girls. It was about a minute before anyone realized that something was the matter with me. At this point I was crying and had freed myself, but I wasn't sure what to do next. Dorothea, who is a nurse, and Dinante, who is a med student, took charge of my situation. They had people get towels and wet them because we didn't have ice. They had me lift my foot and wrapped it in the towels. Dorothea happened to have a wrap, so she got that. The girls examined my foot. Then Dorothea suggested that we pray. It was really nice, amidst all that hurt and darkness and weirdness, to pray. Annemarie stayed by my head to pat my hair and give me hugs when I needed it. Everyone was really sweet.

Somewhere after that point the power came back on. We cheered (I think I smiled through tears), and they examined my foot in the light. It was bruising. They wrapped it nicely and gave me ibuprofen. We discussed returning to the ship that night, but ultimately it seemed like it would be too much effort. After making sure I was okay, everyone went to bed.

The next day the men who owned our hotel were horrified to discover what happened to me. They immediately went about arranging a massage for me, which Dorothea (God bless her) stopped. They did take time to poke my foot very hard for several minutes, which was very uncomfortable especially since I didn't know how to tell them to stop. They had their friend give me a ride down to the beach on his motorbike as I couldn't walk well.

I spent the day with Dorothea and Michelle relaxing on the beach. The other four girls went on a fishing expedition with the guy who enjoyed poking my injured foot. A different friend of our hotel owners gave me a ride back. We packed and ate lunch, all the while praying that our cab drivers would actually show up today. One of the drivers did. We found ourselves with no choice but to seat seven girls in a car that would comfortable seat four people besides the driver. There were two of us in the front seat, four in the back, and one in the trunk area. The driver played one tape pretty much the whole time. It was one song too. I'm pretty sure I didn't hear any breaks at all in the tape. Just when we thought it would drive us insane, it finally ended (but how could he tell?) and he put in something at the same extremely high volume, but not quite as annoying.

The ship has never looked more beautiful than it did when we pulled up to it. We were relieved and exhausted that our crazy adventure was over. I had my foot checked out, and the nurse said it was probably just a sprain. I spent some time with my roommates, and ate about half a bag of candied nuts. I went to bed feeling a little sick, but relieved to be done with the crazy part of the weekend.

Somewhere around three in the morning I got up and puked. I ended up throwing up about ten times. I still didn't feel good, so I switched most of my bedding to the bottom bunk as Katie was out of town, and slept next to a trash can. By the next morning, my illness had moved more southerly. I was sick all morning, and I slept a lot. Dinante, as one of my roommates, knew all about my intestinal issues, so it was fitting that she was around when I woke up from a nap with a giant sty under my right eye! I walked out to where she was talking in Dutch on the phone, pointed to my eye, and said, "Seriously? What the heck?" She was so taken aback that she started responding to me in Dutch. She took a second to reorient herself, and then said, "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

The sty was taken care of through benedryl. The stomach issues are subsiding. I can walk well enough. But I'm pretty sure I'm not going to wonder what will happen next. I don't think I want to know!