VCA Kennel Club Resort & Spa

How are my crazy Bouviers? Any swimming pics? You know how much we miss them.

Dearest VCA, thank you so much for your generous donation to S P A R E In Argus’s honor. He spent quite a lot of quality time at your resort and you all cared for him so kindly. Thank you. Thank you from Ken and I, I.V. And baby Babu.

Are you looking to book your next vacation? Our auction has you covered, whether you're looking for a quick getaway to Catalina Island, a beach getaway to the Beach House Hotel Hermosa Beach, weekend wine tasting with Platypus Tours, a Big Bear getaway for 10, or a trip for 6 at a 5-star Diamond Resort Property. P.S. don’t forget about your pet and book them a little getaway at the VCA Kennel Club Resort & Spa!

Thank you to RHLS Parents Raquel Fernandez-Escudero of Children's Medical Group-Torrance, Brandon and Claire Lee, Cris Bennett, and the Sorenson family, as well as Beach House Hotel Hermosa Beach, Good Stuff Restaurant, Hermosa Cyclery, Travel Teens Educational Tours, Platypus Tours, The Lobster Trap, Catalina Island Museum, VCA Kennel Club Resort & Spa for your donations.

Preview these trips and more at our Families Helping Families auction site! http://bidpal.net/rhls2020giving

Argus and I.V. are home after the most wonderful staycation at VCA Kennel Club resort. Look how relaxed my girl is! Our two pups were loved and cared for. Thank you so much!! We love you guys. Stay safe.

Thank you for loving our pets while we are #stuckinperu here is the beginning of our story if you wish to read.

Covid - 19

There’s a moment when a surfer stands up on his board, right in front of a wave seemingly impervious to the impending bone crushing water about to consume him. He is all confidence and fluid grace.

This is our story about the tsunami called Covid-19, and our escape down the Amazon river, Peru.

The madness started for us when I was denied access to my doctor for a long standing annual appointment in Redondo Beach. I answered the receptionists questions about my whereabouts over the prior few days - I had attended my annual RE/MAX International convention in Las Vegas. Suddenly and very quickly a nurse manager came out most apologetically while approaching cautiously. She gently handed me a face mask, told me to go home, self quarantine for 2 weeks and reschedule my appointment. She never took my temperature, never asked me how I felt; in fact didn’t ask me any further questions. That was a Thursday, my husband and I flew to Peru on Monday.

LAX day of Departure March 9, 2020
The airport was quiet. Some travelers wore masks, most didn’t. Our flight to Lima was 98% full. No special precautions were taken, no questions asked, no forms filled out.

We slept fitfully. Sanitizing hand-wipes at the ready, the sound of snoring nearby, and worrisome coughing and sneezing from the passengers. We landed in Lima and exited the airport without even a questioning glance in our direction.

Lima for two days kept us busy and the news of Covid-19s unrelenting path of destruction filled the CNN stream; we were on the move again. Another flight, another complete absence of questions or screening.

Arriving in Tarapoto Peru, the tenor back home was definitely growing in augmented octaves. News was spotty. The US President was speaking, and then the literal border walls were closing in. By morning, my husband had a sore throat. Now it was personal my concern was growing. Zinc, Airborn, Vitamin C, and temperature reading. His cough got worse. He was sneezing. I could tell he was struggling and tired. I fluctuated between bossy and brave.

Another day another flight, again no screening, no questions, no forms to fill out. We were flying seemingly farther from the eye of the storm; Corona was on at our heels - we got news the schools throughout Peru were now closed. With every mile travelled, we hurried deeper towards the jungle and farther from the danger.

Iquitos was busy, a bustling city known for it’s rubber rich history. Life appeared normal. There was plenty of toilet paper to go around. Our Hotel was packed, people gathered around the TV - CNN; talk was entirely about the Virus. Europe was shut out and shut down. Italians sang from the window in beautiful haunting melodies.

Family and friends urged us to come home, to come to our senses, but quite honestly, we felt safer on the Amazon for the next 7 days. Our frustration and our blessing, was being away, far far away from Civilization.

I incessantly told Ken that I felt flippant, too nonchalant with my feelings of being one step ahead of the wave. I didn’t want to be home, quarantined, obsessed with the news, the hoarding, the lack of food, the deaths.

Here we were. On a luxury boat in the middle of the Amazon feeling removed, displaced yet safe albeit looking over our shoulders when a trace of internet would slip into our purview. The news back home is grave. The USA is an island.

The Boat had been booked for 15 people from across the globe. Only 5 of us are aboard, being cared for by a staff of 18. This would later become a huge blessing in disguise.

We visited native tribes, the warrior women, the hunters. We learned about ancient botanical medicines, toured a baby monkey refuge and I got to hold my first sloth. all the while the world outside our jungle universe was spinning off it’s axis in slow motion whilst we are educated, entertained, waited on and bitten by mosquitos.

Life is surreal. Today we ran out of Zinc lozenges.

The future is uncertain. But as I watch a mysterious pink dolphin swim past I ponder the imagery of our journey into the unknown future.

For now all I see is miles upon miles of water, jungle and endless sky.

Pre-dinner festivities included many pisco sours mixed with laughter. Dinner was elegant, delicious and robust. The five of us retired for a peaceful sleep, or so we thought.

Midnight day 4 we were awoken by a sharp knock on the door. Our guide had urgent news from our Captain and we all assembled in the hallway in various states of undress and lucidity. Thoughts of pirates raced through my groggy brain as I tried to digest what was being told to us. Peru was in a state of total lock down; no domestic or international travel of any kind was taken effect in 24 hours. At an unknown point our ship could be grounded. No way in or out until March 30. We were given three options as we gathered on the main deck area.

Turn the ship around and race back to Iquitos with an uncertain ability to catch a flight within the 12 hour deadline. Also a risky move as travel at night exposes the risk of pirate attacks.
Take a small skiff through the night that would take 5-6 hours and arrive to an uncertain outcome in Iquitos.
Stay aboard, continue the remaining 3 days of our journey, then return to Iquitos and stay aboard our Ship until such a time that we could catch a plane, train or car to anywhere.

As a group, the 5 of us, Ken and I and the other 3 travel mates from Florida decided we wouldn’t risk going to Iquitos. Who knows what mayhem was transpiring there.

New concerns rose quickly from the water depths of my very active brain; supplies, fresh water, food. How cut off would we actually be? For the foreseeable future, we were totally disconnected from the rest of the world. No internet, not phone SOL. Our very beautiful vessel felt like a TRUE sitting duck for frantic locals in need of supplies. Increased security on board patrolled with rifles.

We retired to our respective cabins and the sky seemed to rebel in parallel and mother nature let loose with a fury of lightening, thunder and torrents of rain.

Morning brought little news, but our captain reconfirmed that we could stay aboard indefinitely. No news had come in overnight from our Tour Operators. Still no internet connection but we had a window of several hours that maybe communication could be achieved at our next port of call. A tiny village in the middle of the jungle.
News of price gouging in Peru and the army getting involved added to a low lying anxiety.

The ships captain offered us a discount on our rooms. We sat in silence in the main area looking for clues in our travel insurance. Medicine was counted for an extended stay. We were also concerned for the staff, the ramifications for their lives, their families.

This was rapidly becoming an adventure.

Lost track of days.

Normally Amazon cruises (remember they are smaller vessels) do not navigate at night. There is a real risk of Pirate attacks, however yesterday we were told in yet another group meeting that it was for security reasons not to be anchored on shore near the small village.
Dinner last night was business as usual. White linens, white wine, all 5 of us trying to be upbeat, but the air-conditioned room carried an questioning atmosphere delving into unknown topics from our quarantine, politics, our families and next steps. When we decided enough was enough we watched a Clint Eastwood movie on the main deck. Then Ken showed photos of our last trip to India. We went to sleep quiet rightfully unsure of how the morning would play out.

The sun rose through the unrestricted by any intergalactic quarantine.

Details for were limited; it was a precautionary measure. So we motored thru the night and awoke in Inquitos, not the most picturesque spot, especially when the Military puled up along side our vessel. There were three men, two Military, and one Navy. On Military guard wore a mask - according to a nurse friend back home, incorrectly.

We were told by the one and only English speaking staff that two of our crew, the Captain and one other man had to disembark for “emergency reasons” not shared with us.
These two men had to go thru a rapid screening to test him for Covid-19 and if he tests ok then he will get off our boat. IF he tests positive, heaven help us.

The first evidential crack of a decline in supplies has reared it’s ugly head. It’s definitely a non essential item but Black Tea and Pepper are no longer available. Other teas yes, juices which were 100% fresh squeezed now appear to be mixed with water. I am not petty, I’m more easy going and adaptable than most, but this is a tiny peek in perhaps what’s yet to come.

Update:
Our Captain and another staff just left the boat, we were told again for testing to see if he could stay off the boat for his personal reasons.

The view outside the main deck is industrial on one side, green on the other. There is mandatory cessation of all travel, but we see small motorized canoes zipping across the water, most likely in haste to avoid the patrolling army.

Once we achieved a good cell tower connection, I sent a group email to the US Embassy with our passport numbers etc. We are all registered with STEP, the State Department site so we are able to get alerts.

Ken is now suffering from his typical hot weather edema. Staff nurse is trying to obtain the necessary meds. I’ve been administered an antibiotic which seems to be helping. It’s some sort of Amoxycillin.

Update:
Our skiff just left with 9 big blue empty water containers. NOT a good sign. That, and the illness on board are my two concerns. Concerned for the staff who are missing their families and their families who are concerned about them. You couldn’t tell their deeper inner thoughts because they are all smiles.

Yesterday we were to continue onto the next beautiful phases of our trip; Cusco, Machu Picchu, train to Lake Titikaka. The travel dreams are made of; but instead here we are, on our vessel, gobbling up any scraps of information. We are docked close to Iquitos with a cell tower, so we have intermittent internet and CNN.

The connection to others locally via FB and WhatsApp is a source of comfort and distress at the same time. There are many here in Peru from all nations including the US suffering worse fates than us 5. One woman posted that she has no window in her lodging, has no outlet to the outside world.

To make this unprecedented situation all the more surreal, last night was had a Bingo night with all the staff, and finished off the evening with Karaoke. The owner of the vessel is lucky to have his wife aboard. All the other staff are missing their families, yet they are all smiles, laughter and a deep desire to be of service. I cannot give high enough praise for the crew.

My gratitude for our good fortune turns into a sour taste of guilt.

The days and nights are beginning to blur together. I have one book to read and am savoring the pages. We do have coffee table books on Peru on board, but that’s not as appetizing as a good old page turner.

Let’s go by first names now; we are all family it seems. Jodi, John, Lloyd, Ken & I have our spots on the upper deck. We gaze out the window at the never changing scenery. The days are punctuated by meal time; again another surreal experience - white linens, doting staff. Things have loosened a little, the staff laughs more, there’s less of an austere atmosphere.

We’ve been on the boat for a week today. Those first few days were magical, and I cling to those days.
Cruising down the Amazon, taking the small skiff into narrow waterways, marveling at the shy pink dolphins that our guide has a unique ability to commune with. Seeing a wild sloth in a tree, Macaws flying the way mother nature intended, unrestrained squawking their dominance over the tree tops.

Last night was light triumphing over darkness. Last night transcended nationality, social status or language. Last night the commonality of food made us one, one life, one unit together against the quarantine.

I donned a chef’s coat and hat and began to share my version of love via a little bit of flour, eggs, milk, sugar, butter and music. Our new friend John Clarke took everyone’s order starting with the staff.

Last night summoned smiles, joy and endless laughter. For a precious moment the global disaster outside the boat seemed far away. Everyone was served one of my crepes, all staff, owner and wife, and lastly the 5 guests.

We retired to our cabins warm with brotherhood, not fever.