Really, that's all this is about. It's just a link to a sweet page about some awesome posters. I hope you enjoy.

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2011/12/16/vintage-science-ads-1950s-1960s/

I've been interested in learning Quechua (a native Peruvian language) for all of about a month and a half. I haven't looked into it a lot, but I just found some information that I thought was interesting. And I've got to give credit to Barry Brian Werger who seems to have put together the website where I got this info.

Singular		Plural
NOQA	I	NOQAYKU (exclusive) NOQANCHEQ (inclusive)	we (and not you) we (you and I or us)
QAN	you	QANKUNA	you all
PAY	he, she	PAYKUNA	they

One thing I really like is that Quechua has an exclusive "we" form to mean "we but not you." English and Spanish both lack this form so you can never tell if the speaker is including you or not.

Here's an example of how they conjugate words (simple present tense):

RIY - to go
Singular		Plural
-NI	RINI: I go	-YKU -NCHEQ	RIYKU: we go RINCHEQ: we go
-NKI	RINKI: you go	-NKICHEQ	RINKICHEQ: you all go
-N	RIN: he/she goes	-NKU	RINKU: they go

I find it so interesting to see how a non-romance language is put together. Interesting tidbit though: the verb "to speak" in Quechua is parlay which is almost exactly what it is in French, parler.

My ticket for Machu Picchu included a ticket to climb a lesser known, ableit in-plain-sight, land mark: Huaynapicchu. It's the mountain looming behind Machu Picchu in every postcard of the place that you've ever seen (I have a picture like I'm talking about on my post "See"). I was going to climb it to the peak, a la cima.

The path.

The steps—the climb—up to the top was made by the Incas. The steps are steep, but when they get really steep there's a rope (which was not made by the Incas). However, about two-thirds of the way up the trail takes a break from steps. Now the trail was just a steep, narrow trail of mountain. Here and there you'd get that rope, but more often than not you just relied on your balance and footing as you climbed ragged rocks up and up and up. You look over the edge, which is inches from you, and see just how high you are and just how easy it would be to make a mistake and fall off the mountain.

At this point it struck me: if something were to happen, there's no one to fall back on. There aren't park rangers or security guards on the mountain. If you were step wrong and shatter your ankle, there's no way you're getting down the mountain without using that same ankle. If you have a heart attack, there's no one to call for a helicopter—and if there were it would be impossible for the helicopter to pick you up from the mountain side. If you trip and fall, you could actually plummet from the side of the mountain.

Huaynapicchu.

We were all tourists climbing this mountain, but we were each entirely alone, entirely responsible for ourselves, entirely independent. It was not entirely familiar for me. My dependence was wrenched from me because Huaynapicchu rendered it impossible to hold onto. It was empowering. More so than at any other time in my life, I felt a powerful sense of being alone; alone in the sense of being a lone one: a lone person, independent of all others. Not a sense of irresponsibility of my effect on others, but a sense of total responsibility for my effect on myself.

At the top of Huaynapicchu I looked around and saw everyone else who had hiked to the peak as well, all on our own, each one of us. I've never felt or been quite as accountable for my actions as at that moment. Going back down the mountain the feeling stayed with me. The deep, clear breathes of independence at the peak of Huaynapicchu were very unfamiliar but very welcome.

Sixty-three.

Today you'll learn how to say "feces sample" if you look again at the title of this post. A week ago Brandon and I spent our days at the clinic working in the laboratory. It's a very interesting place to work. It's also really fun because the people in the lab are hilarious and really relaxed.

Most days the lab has been my favorite place to work because the people are so great. However, one Monday about a week ago, the lab was a pretty crappy place. Let's take that literally. On a regular day there are about 10 sample of urine, 15 samples of feces, and plenty of blood samples.

On the Monday I'm talking about there were 63 poop samples! It was a day full of a gracious amount of smells and I don't care to repeat it. The poop never stopped showing up at the window. We'd finish making 10 slides and then 10 more would magically appear—one of the worst kinds of surprises indeed.

Since that Monday I've worked more in the lab again (after really psyching myself up) but we've never come close to 63 poop samples again. You have to be thankful for small miracles.

Just before leaving for Peru my grandparents asked if I had packed peanut butter. They told me that I'd want some as a taste of home down in Peru. I thought, Oh I've never been homesick so that won't be a problem. Nevertheless, peanut butter sounded like a good idea so I planned on getting to the store before leaving Bismarck to go pick some up. In the rush of finishing packing, I forgot to make that trip.

Flying somewhere over the U.S. I remembered that I forgot to make that trip. It would have been nice, but I'll be fine, I thought. And for a while I was fine.

A short while though. About a week after arriving I came down with giardia, and at that point there was nothing I wanted more than a taste of home. It was peanut butter that I was craving, and the craving never stopped. One day, in fact, I payed over $2.00 just for a Reese's (which are a rare animal here). They simply don't eat peanut butter down here in Peru. It's nowhere to be found.

But I kept looking, and just a few days ago I found some peanut butter. A month and a half of looking in every shop for peanut butter and now I have some. It cost 19.00 soles which comes to around $8.00 but it was worth it, because my grandparents were right. When you're traveling for an extended period of time it's really nice to have a taste of home.

On Sunday Brandon and I caught a tour of the Sacred Valley of the Incas. It included a few different ruins and a great lunch. After leaving the last site at Ollantaytambo, the (amazing) water temple, we were just about on the bus when Brandon noticed something.

Coke is very common here in Peru in plastic bottles and glass Cokes are abundant as well. But for whatever reason cans of anything are very rare. I've only seen 2 or 3 little shops that carry cans of Coke, and you've got to take advantage of those opportunities. They are few and far between.

It's also common for pop to be in refrigerator displays--like you'd see at the grocery store--but it's very uncommon for those displays to be turned on and keeping the pop cold. Why? I can't figure out why you'd buy the display and not turn it on, but maybe they come free or something.

But on this occasion what Brandon noticed was a fridge display of cold cans of Coke. The stars had aligned. I jumped on this opportunity without any hesitation because a can of Coke is far superior to a bottle of it. There's just something worlds better about it (although fountain Coke is, in my opinion, the best).

There are 1000s of different potato species.

Did you know that potatoes came from Peru? I feel like we learned that in World History one year, so when someone told me that this summer, my brain went Oh yeah. Anyway, the people here know it and they really love it too. And they really love the potato: it's in almost every dish I've had since arriving a month ago.

The Incans or pre-Incans were the first to domesticate the potato some time between 8000 and 5000 B.C. Then they fell in love. We, myself and the scientists, believe that Spain brought the potato back to Europe some time in the 16th century while they were conquistadoring down in Peru. And then the world fell in love with the potato.

Today there are thousands of distinct species of potato and all ones I've tried down here have been pretty great. I'll be eating some great french fries—which are served at tons of meals—only to find they aren't french fries at all, but some potato-cousin-fries.

Peru, I'd like to thank you.