Calle colon

So I don´t know how many of you have experienced traveler´s diarrhea, but let me tell you about it. It´s the type of thing that will always remain a mystery - attributable to nothing but everything. Am I reacting to the ridiculous altitude, the greasy food, the stress of travel, or am I just experiencing some cosmic retaliation from Pacha Mama? I may never know, but what I do know is that shared bathrooms at hostels are not my favorite place to experience such discomfort. Bananas. That´s the answer. This old guy at a hostel in Panama once recounted a dream to me. He had dysentery for a few days and was in dire straits. After spending ample time on ¨Calle colon¨ he had a vivid dream that cut through his hazy mental state. He was being attacked by a black panther (the cat) and right as it was about to bite him, it spoke to him - looked him right in the eyes - and whispered, ¨bananas.¨ True story. And so he took it as a sign, went out and bought a gaggle of bananas, and was cured. Happily ever after. Thanks dream panther!

The Pigeon

The city is a bowl of gazpacho with legos
South of the mirador lies a dried and wrinkled landscape
Grey and red - a rare steak - topped with dashes of herbs
The shadows of bursting clouds interspersed
Create transient masks for valleys and peaks
Crevices appear deeper as the sun travels
Illuminating then masking
The ridges, valleys, streetsides and alleys
Now it spotlights the market
Neverending maze of knockoffs and mystery
Foods and drinks we´ve never seen
Tended by small dark women in bowler hats
Shrouded in rainbows
It is quiet
Peaceful
Despite the crowd
Our aimless wander finds us in an unrecognizable corner of the Peace
A taxi carries us to the viewpoint
Where the clouds are closer
Our location clearer
Allison sketches the scene
The camera in a lockbox at the hostel
We process the moment
Startled by a small multi-colored soccer ball tossed by a playful child
Which hits Allison´s back with a thud
She thought it was a pigeon

Thin Air

Wired webs wind wildly outside my window
The roof´s red tiles are no longer orderly
Consumed by lichen and weathered by 3500 meter tropical sunshine
They crack and dangle precariously over the sidewalk below
Wires connect buildings
Labrynths of half used infrastructure
Walls in vibrant hues reveal their layers - lime forest turquoise burnt peaches
Peppered with graffiti
Post-it notes of angst
Futilely covered in another shade of paint
Enhancing the inadvertent and beautiful mosaic
Now the setting sun saturates the coral buildings of the hillside
Rugged rock carved into livelihoods
The locals saunter along the skinny sidewalks
A bird exotic to me busily tends its nest in the crumbling roof tiles
I wonder where to get my next cup of coca
I´m in no hurry

embracing the journey

So, we got to the airport at 6 AM to catch our first flight. The engine on the plane was leaking something. They called in the mechanics. The mechanics said they needed a part. The part had to come from Chicago. We stood in line for 1.5 hours afterwards to get rescheduled. Our new itenerary: hotel in Seattle for the day, red eye that night, hotel in Dallas for the day, flight to Miami in the afternoon, red eye to La Paz. What luck? we thought as we accepted our new fate and $60 in food vouchers. The hotel was decent, though the toilet didn´t work initially. And the vouchers only worked at one restaurant outside the airport. So we ate two meals there and slept until our red eye to Dallas. On our way back to the airport, I checked my stuff to make sure my passport was there. It wasn´t - and Allison´s had been in the same bag with it. YES! I kicked myself for being such an amateur while Allison remained calm and reassured me that it would be OK. Eventually, I realized it would be OK as well and decided that the debacles of the day were a sign that I needed to (1) Be super careful about passports and (2) Embrace the freaking journey - goods and bads. Isn´t that what travel is all about? Gracefully accepting every experience as a learning opportunity. We got our passports back - I had left them on the leaky plane, and some kind soul had found them. Dodged that bullet, eh? So we took a breath and accepted our new itinerary, which would have us spend the night in Seattle and fly the next day with a more continuous schedule. Seriously, despite the 24 hours of flying / airports yesterday, it was remarkably peaceful - as if it were the day we were supposed to have left. Bolivia is very comfortable and tranquil thus far. Our little hospedaje is great and cheap - so is the food. Í´m currently combatting altitude sickness with coca tea and relaxing. I think I might learn Quechua - it seems interesting. If the past two days were any indication of what´s to come, I think this could be an interesting and educational adventure.

here we freakin go!

So departure time is looming, and here I am in my room, sitting on my yoga ball for the last time for 2.5 months. Wow, this is it. This is the last time I'm going to sit on this yoga ball for a long time. It just hit me. I'm tearing up. I just slept in my bed for the last time. And ate oatmeal out of my own pots and pans for the last time. Oh my God. This is it. Who knows what I'll have to eat for breakfast down there. Probably not oatmeal. Man, this is gonna be tough! And this is the last day that the toilets will drain in the correct direction. I wonder if gravity works the same down there? Do things even drain, or do you have to stuff them down a hole using your hand or a special tool meant for doing such things? Will the people like my mustache? I doubt it, but maybe it will be sufficiently intimidating to prevent kidnappings. Or maybe it will encourage a kidnapping? Oh no! What should I do?! Are three T-shirts really enough? I mean, for 2.5 months that averages out to like 0.05 T-shirts per day! I can't wear just 5 percent of a T-shirt - I'll freeze! AHHHH! Here we freakin go!