Cut off from the world.

What a difference a generation makes. When our parents were cut off from the world it meant that they were stranded in some out of the way place because of a landslide, or something of that import.

Last week I was cut off from the world. In my world this means no internet. No virtual way out. No email, no Skype, no Facebook. And worst of all, no access to an online thesaurus. Is there a worse fate for a writer?

An addict in need of a fix couldn’t have been more agitated than I was.

My first trip to Peru was two months long, and I think I spoke to my family twice. I was immersed in the experience.

My last trip to Peru was at least that long, but email and cheaper calling made keeping in touch easier.

This trip? Well, haven’t I discovered this great thing called Skype? I brought a computer with me, the hotel has WiFi and don’t I find myself keeping in touch almost daily?

Seems to me the world is getting smaller. Until the internet goes down.

Then I am cut off from the world and I am forced to face the fact that I am in a foreign country.

Wait, isn’t that the reason I travel?

Hmmm.

Leymebamba or bust?

Yesterday I found myself sitting in a café high up in one of the mountains surrounding Leymebamba, a small town southwest of Chachapoyas. Directly in front of me was a tree full of hummingbirds, The Café owner has set out feeders in various nooks and crannies on her property and I enjoyed the sight of dozens of the wee beauties flitting to and fro.

It was quite a show, their colours mostly involving shades of iridescent blues, greens and oranges, and in sizes ranging from tiny thumb-sized to some 4-5 inches long. Long beaked and short, and one with tail feathers that were about 8 inches long.

They all made noise as they flew and the tiny ones made a hum loud enough to remind me of a seaplane taking off. The chorus of chattering and tweeting in the trees surrounding the feeders was unreal.

It was interesting to watch a hummingbird hierarchy at work. From what I could make out the mid sized blue and green birds dive bombed each other, yet got pushed aside by the orange ones, the small bright tree-frog green ones kind of snuck in whenever they could, but tiny blue guys were simply bullies… they just swooped in and kind of kicked everyone off and went to work eating.

When I shifted my gaze only slightly to the left I saw a patchwork of farms on the mountains next to us, and a little further left there was a house with some kind of grass thatching for its roof. Rolling mountain peaks rise all around me. It was a lovely spot to stop for coffee and some banana bread, and I sat there long after I had finished my snack while I tried to take hummingbird pictures. It was a welcome break.

My day had started as I let myself out of the hostal in order to catch a 6 am bus from the station a few blocks away. Formalities observed and ID checked off we went down the switchback road out of Chachapoyas and turned onto a road that would wind along the riverside and for the next few hours. We stopped every now and then to either pick up or drop off people at the various small farms and villages that hugged the space between the river and the mountains.

Found my hostel in Leymebamba easily enough, the room was large and clean albeit a bit on the musty side and paid my $6 for the night. Then I went to find a taxi to take me up to the museum that put this town on the map.

No taxis. No motocars. Hmmm.

I ask how long it will take to walk, and am told that it would be about half an hour. (This obviously from someone who had never actually made the walk.) I walked up the street from the main square for about 3 blocks and then ran out of town. I mean this place is small. Continuing up the now dirt road I pass people coming in to town, all friendly, all knowing that I was headed to the museum, seeing as that is just about the only thing that would bring a gringa here.

At a juncture I waited until someone came along and they pointed me up a road that turned into a path which apparently was a short cut to a switchback. Back on the road, I walk until another fork has me wondering where the heck am I?

The next passerby was a man headed in the same direction as me, very hard to understand, but he indicated a path that was apparently another shortcut and headed up before me. I spared a thought for the advice about not taking shortcuts, and the wisdom of heading up the same pathway as a stranger who carried a machete strapped to his belt.

With a voice in my head reminding me of all the horrible things that can happen to a woman travelling alone, I took my time and soon my travelling companion gave up trying to converse with me and was far ahead of me on what was a very steep, old, stone trail dotted with large smelly fly patties. The reward was finding myself in the middle of pretty farmland showered in old stone wall fencing and framed by a breathtaking vista of mountains. A wow moment.

When I FINALLY made it to the end of the shortcut (god knows how long the road would have taken me) I was a mere 100 meters from the museum, according to the sign at the bend in the road. And it was a nice museum, full of artifacts and the remains of some 200 mummies that had been found in the cliffs of a valley not far from town. It took me no longer than a half hour to get through the exhibits, which then had me wandering into the café across the street… and to the hummingbirds.

The walk down to the village was much quicker, and I shared the shortcuts with various individuals, donkeys and horses, and the things that rustle and skulk in the vegetation beside me of course.

Back in the main square (really? in a town this small?) someone comes up to tell me that my return bus has been cancelled for the next day. That is how small this is, everyone was on the lookout for me. I looked for food. There was rice. I tried the internet place but I couldn’t log on. I went back to my hostal and pounded on the front door until someone opened it. I went to have a shower but the hot water didn’t work. I packed my stuff and took the next bus out. My plan to hike to a local ruin was pretty much killed by the hike I had to make up to the museum anyway, I could not have done both.

The bus ride back was long, and I was too tired to be bothered when all the people across the isle started vomiting or when the nice man sitting next to me kept falling asleep with his head on my shoulder.

Sunset saw me back in Chacha, after a long tiring day. I crashed after finding food, and slept until 11pm and the planned earthquake response re-enactment… Planned mayb,e but no one had told me about it so when police, fire, ambulance and military sirens started going off I wondered just how many busses must have driven off the highway or where the plane had crashed.

What a day. Good and Bad.

A girl can dream, no?

By this time it should be no surprise that I love this part of Peru. Chachapoyas captured my heart last year, and continues to captivate to the point of thinking of making a home here.

As I wandered the streets this afternoon I couldn’t help but wonder what that would look like.

Would I have a little farm next to the river in one of the small villages outside of town?

Would I build on the ridge above the city so I can watch it grow, even as I enjoy the mountains in the background?

Do I buy on the edge of the city at the base of the “big mountains”, so as to wake each day to their splendour?

Or do I build on the edge of town, teetering at the top of a narrow deep valley slicing through the hillside, farms tucked here and there where there is nominally flat land, mountains rising in the distance?

Probably on the edge of town, a tiny adobe house, not out of place with all the other local dwellings, on a rise that is surely only one serious rainfall away from a landslide. The vista of the mountains and valley would surely be worth the risk.

I would have a dog, oh who am I kidding, I would probably adopt every stray dog that wanders by.

In this alternate world I would stop at the market each day after teaching my classes, then wander the 10 blocks or so home and cook a little supper. A siesta, then hanging out on my front step with the rest of my neighbours (of course in this alternate existence I speak fluent Spanish, and a smattering of Q uechua too), and watch the sun go down.

Sigh.

Photos from Macro

So I have had a nice couple of days teaching english in the mornings. Wandering and writing, and touching base with home by skype. What a wonderful thing that is!

Anyways I will try to upload a slideshow of photos from my excusion on Sunday. Auto play is off so click forward. Hope it works...

I Write

I think and I write.

I pace, and I write.

I pull memories from the place I had buried them, a painful process that has me slumping my shoulders in defence and denial, and I put them to paper.

Can I do this? I must do this.

Not for posterity, and not as I have claimed for my children. No I must do this for me. I must finally be allowed to speak about what my life has been and what I needed to do to survive, ultimately intact.

And so I write, my fingers punching and punishing the keys while the anger and feelings rise up to the surface until I think I will go mad. I pull at my hair and try and ease my tightened muscles.

Then for the first time in a long time I shut down, a veil that simply takes the feelings away and I am calm. So calm.

Too calm.

That in itself is a warning that I have overstayed my time in the past.

To the farm

Janet and Carlos are tour agents here in Chachapoyas, and in the Peruvian way have befriended me. I often sit in their office chatting with Janet… She practices her English and encourages me to continue to break my teeth in Spanish.

They are a lovely and hardworking couple, who have managed to buy property in a small town a couple of hours from here that lies directly below the Kuelep ruins. An invitation was issued to go with them to their property today, which I gladly accepted.

The town of Tingo is not much to look at upon arrival. We stood and looked out over the river and Janet pointed to a lovely expanse of land and said with pride “That is mine”. Over the bridge we strolled, squeezed through a fence and wandered. Part of the land is cleared and part is wild… But there are orange trees, avocado trees, sugarcane, bananas and a number of different plants used for medicinal purposes.

We made our way to a lean to type structure at the spot the land slopes up and away from the river. A large log was procured and we sat just looking around and in general talking about what a great future they could build here. Big plans… an upscale hostal where people can take a break from their travels and unwind. Group pictures: Janet, Carlos, their son Daniel, nephew Brian, Hostal owner Eduardo, puppy and I.

And we swatted mosquitoes. I suggested they might want to get busy building some bat houses, many bat houses, to encourage the feisty mosquito eaters to come and breed.

We ate lunch, mine consisted of a pre-cooked, seasoned bean melody bought at the market in the morning, (here’s hoping that my digestive system stays unaffected) and I shared the cookies I bought at the bakery.

We picked oranges, Carlos took his machete to some undergrowth, and Janet took me up to the spot they thought to build their house. The view was magnificent.

I feel a Peruvian retirement coming on.

Off to the river to cool down. The kids went in and water-fights ensued. Eduardo and I tried to stay away from the fallout, and I took pictures.

Back to the village to look for transport to our second planned excursion for the day… Macro, with are Chachapoyan ruins built high up on the cliffs at the base of the mountain that holds Kuelep. Transport turned out to be a Moto-truck, something I have not seen before. Think motorcycle with a trailer built into the back. What a hoot, bouncing down the dirt road, dust flying and wind whipping our hair around.

We are deposited at the side of the road where the adventure got started by crossing the river in a cable car type set up, load a couple of people into the box and just keep pulling the cable until you reach the other side. Carlos did all the pulling, young strapping man that he is.

And I found myself following another one of those ancient trails… up, up, up. Not a profusion of stairs, and a lot of dirt scrabble. We kept an eye out for fossils, this area is just filthy with them, and admired the view as we got higher. The first rounded house was easily accessed along the trail, but we were headed to the caves above the ruins and so kept on.

Searching for handholds in the crevices of the ruins and then the cliff face became the name of the game. At one fairly critical point (think teeny path, long, long drop down) the only handhold I could find had visible spider webbing, and I stuck my fingers in even as I asked myself just what I would do if a spider actually came out and made my acquaintance. Happily the situation did not materialize and I made it up to the next switchback. Climb, climb climb. No, do NOT use that tree for a handhold because it is actually the base of a very big cactus and will rip your fingers to shreds. Oh, that one is ok to use.

Scrable, scrable and I am inside a cave that used to be a tomb, before the grave robbers got to it. There are remains of offering that have been made recently, some burned coco leaves and sea shells. I look out and drink in the view. I look up and see the rest of the cliff face, heavily dotted with looted caves, and wonder how anyone got up that high, yet alone carried remains and offerings to be left.

Used my bum on more than one occasion on the return trip. What goes up has to come down (i.e. ME) and I did, again often with fingers clinging along the way.

Fun, fun, fun.

Back to the cable car, with a stop in at the local farm after an invitation is issued. A sugar cane brew called Chicha was served (I took a polite sip, but didn’t want try the tummy gods a second time today) and we got a chance to peruse the amazing collection of fossils they have found over the years.

After a return trip over the river we prepared ourselves for a walk back to the village just as a bus came along the road. There was room for 3, which meant 2 kids and 2 adults, so Eduardo, the kids and I left Janet and Carlos to wander back and find a ride. They insisted.

I collapsed on the bed and flaked out for an hour, forced myself up the hill to eat dinner, had a cold shower and am now just finishing up with my tale of the day.

Great day. The kind of day I make the for which I journey.

Tomorrow I teach.

Buenos noches!

A slice of writers heaven

This is my home for the next 4 weeks... my little slice of writers heaven, so to speak.

And the view... well how much better can you get than balcony doors that open right onto the main plaza?

Today is Saturday, and after suffering no internet access here at the hostal, and I am like a wounded animal… restless and wanting to strike out at anyone near. Talk about addicted.

I spent yesterday puttering around the hostal, sitting in the main square reading and doing more writing. I have been having some pretty vivid dreams since arriving here (maybe the altitude?), and have been trying to record them in detail and see what I can make of them.

The weather is beautiful, hot in the sun, cool in the shade, and a tad cold at night. Chachapoyas sits 2335 meters above sea level… high in the mountains, so although we are a scant 6 degrees south of the equator it is far from sweltering.

With a population of just under 23,000 people it is a good sized town, with a friendly, but conservative local population. Here you will not see sleeveless shirts or shorts. No plunging necklines, no miniskirts. Unless you are looking at a tourist. What strange creatures we must seem to those whose hometown we have invaded.

Backpackers especially… those young, young men and women who have counter cultured to the extreme. They arrive in town dirty and grimy, finding any ultra cheap nook or cranny to lay their heads at night. It costs money to have your clothes laundered, so they don’t. They wear a special “eau d’ I don’t know what”… Some have Spanish, some not, but they bargain at the market, and think spending $1.50 for dinner is outrageous.

Although not as bad as the drunken idiotic behaviour I witnessed in the Dominican, many tourists are loud and rowdy, crowd the bars and display far more affection in the open than any Peruvian would.

Thank god we are not all like that. I have already had the pleasure of meeting some lovely folks from England and a German man that looks Indiana Jones and has one of those bold fun characters that is infectious.

And the lovely people of Chachapoyas treat us all politely and warmly, but sadly are learning to adjust their prices to Gringo. My advantage is taking a native to the market with me… people laugh as I try and speak Spanish without spitting all over the place. As a language that is spoken from the front of the mouth and sometimes uses the tongue to form the sound of “C or S”… well I embarrass myself a lot, is all I can say.

At the market I managed to purchase some fruit, crackers, laundry soap and a basket to put on my nightstand, which will become my default kitchen. I forgot to buy a towel though, so I am still using the little 12x24” travel rag I carry around. (You can only imagine how much one can appreciate an oversized bath towel until you make do with the travel version.)

I followed Janet around as she scouted out her families lunch. She bought some pork and then headed to the “pre-cooked” section of the market. This was a new one for me. There were rows of people selling grains, shelled corn and various beans, all pre-cooked and ready to take home and add to your favourite meal. Sacks and sacks of a vegetarian paradise, all calling out to me, just needing to be scooped out eaten. Some of them were even seasoned. When she was done, Janet had collected enough food to make dinner for her family of three… all for the sum of 7 soles, or about $2.

Suddenly I understand how the restaurant that charges me $1.50 for a three course meal can actually make a profit.

Last night when I went up the street to the restaurant to get that meal, I was met with closed doors. Right. I had forgotten they are Seventh Day Adventists, which means they celebrate their Sabbath from Friday evening until Saturday evening. So it was yellow cake and water for dinner.

But it was the moon that really captivated my attention. A full, massive moon shining eerily through a yellowed haze, all surrounded by one of the biggest rings I can remember seeing. That is usually an omen for a change of weather, which can either be seen as good or bad. They have been experiencing drought conditions this year so the crops could do with the rain. I have plans to visit a small town 2 hours away tomorrow to visit Janet’s farm, and I know I would rather do this in the sun because it involves windy single lane dirt roads. But, Que sera, sera

Got up this morning early, and went on a search for a good cup of coffee. Since Peru exports most of its best coffee, finding the elusive cup of drinkable coffee is a challenge. I was spoiled in Tarapoto because the hostal is a staunch supporter of a local farmers collective and as such is privy to their beans. So far here in Chachapoyas it has been one cup of bitter, weak, or worse yet… instant, brown liquid in a mug. Ick.

This morning was no better. I miss Becky’s.

Today is a good day for a walk. After writing though so I better get at it.

Talk to you later.

This and that.

I have wonderful friends. . And such a variety of personalities and outlooks. I had the opportunity to visit many of them while I was in Toronto recently, and what a wonderfull way to fill up a soul. I think a book could be writen just looking at life through these womens eyes.

One of these ladies is much like my sister, in the way she sees things clearly easily. She gave me wise words and gifted me with a calm certain heart. When she reads this she will know I am talking about her and thanking her all over.

I don't see my friends often enough.

On a totally different note, I will tell you that last week I was the recipient of many "wolf whistles" as I wandered around Tarapoto. Just wandered. I was enjoying myself, the weather and being alive. Somehow my contentment and enjoyment must have given me a certain vivacity that captivated attention. Wow. What a confidence booster. I have never been the type to inspire whistles before (that would be my sister Leanne) and it feels good. And me an old lady of 51!


That is on a good day. Then there are the Dimmage and doltage days when I am lucky if I can get a pair of socks on. Days when my brain just refuses to fire up past the 20% performance meter. Full sentances elude me, as does clear speach. Did I skip meals? Did I drink enough water? Did I get enough sleep? Are my meds off? Why is it that I can have days of strength and confidence, yet sometimes wander around brainless? Whatever.

Brainless days like that make travel planning a challenge, and although I have just arrived in my little slice of heaven I find myself turning to plans for the last few weeks of my time here. It is all very well to sit and enjoy a favored spot, but I am in Peru and should see something new while I am here. So I am headed to Arequipa for the last week of March... it is a city in the south, reputably beautiful, and situatied next to the Colca Canyon, which is considered to be one of the deepest in the world... who can pass that up?

Then if things go well I will make my way back to the Cusco area and see some things I missed last time I was there. If you recall I was ill pretty much the entire time I was there, and there is much to see in the sacred valley that I would like to see. So south, and then UP!

But in the mean time I will enjoy my little slice of paradise right here. My room is perfect, and I can already feel my muse calling loudly. Write. Write. Write.

However I do need to find myself a contemplation / meditation spot. The courtyard at the hostal would be ideal if there weren't people coming and going... however a hostal it is, and housing hoards is its lifeblood. No, I will need to wander around the outskirts of town and find a quiet place among the farms I think. We'll see. Finding the perfect spot makes the difference between some nice scenery and having a joy filled heart. Very important.

Off to the market I go...

The long drive up

South America boasts such a thing as a semi-cama bus, which is a bus with gloriously cushy seats that recline back like a lazy boy. It is a great way to snooze your way through a long trip, which is what I mostly did.

Every once and a while I would emerge from my rock-a-bye, gravol induced stupor to watch the world pass by. Of course it wasn’t the world that was moving so I am not at all sure the phrase fits. I find that bus travel somehow makes viewing the scenery a “once removed” kind of experience. By car it seemed closer and more tangible.

As you may remember, I travelled this road last year by car and found it compelling. With its twists and turns, and incredibly lush tropical flora it leaves me searching for the appropriate words to do it justice. This year it is as compelling, however the sky is overcast with heavy thick clouds and they mute the colours around me. There is more of a khaki tone to the greenery, and in the distance a bluish tinge paints the mountains which has the effect of making them seem more intimidating… perhaps the word sinister fits as I look into the wildness of the growth.

Until the sun breaks through here and there, and I am delighted to see the multitude of intense greens sparkle. Gives me goosebumps it is so pretty.

Road conditions were as bad as I had thought they would be. The rains have been heavy on the eastern slopes of the Andes lately, and this always takes a toll. There were washouts all along the road, and many places where you could see cracks in the pavement where a washout was pending. It was slow going through all the areas that the crews had managed to re-open to single lane traffic only.

The road itself… this snaking marvel carved through the jungle filled mountains, is two narrow lanes, with one foot shoulders. There are culverts hugging up against the walls of the mountain on one side, and on the other it is a very short few inches to a very deadly plunge down to, oh wherever your vehicle gets stuck in the vegetation WAY DOWN THERE. Not much room for driver error.

Makes for some difficult driving for a supersized, overloaded, lumbering bus. Most curves required that it be driven into the other lane before being able to manoeuvre the curves. And there is a fair amount of traffic coming in the other direction so there ensues honking and braking as a frequent occurrence. I amuse myself by watching the small compass I carry swing around and back as we take the curves. S. no W. no wait. N. no. W..S..E. S. W.. on and on. You are now aware of why the gravol was necessary.

The bus is huge, designed for long distance travel with few stops along the way. I am riding only part of its route, from Tarapoto to Pedro Ruiz, but it continues on its way for the 22 hour trip to Lima. At the terminal I watched the people as they handed over huge bags stuffed full… even a huge bag of rice that I won’t even guess how much it weighed. All of it was loaded into the cargo areas of the bus, and then all the passengers got on. They need a new term for the kind of full this bus was. Double decked, heavy, it’s whole frame sitting low to the ground, just making it out of the parking area seemed a chore, never mind over the Andes. But make it they do, as this is the main mode of transportation for the masses here.

And as we lumber along I see again the small homesteads that people have carved out of the areas next to the road. On land that is flat, rolling or steep, there they are having built lean-tos or small houses. There are women and children sitting on their porches, watching the traffic go bye. Sometimes there are large black tarps laid out with some kind of crop drying on them in the sun. Can you imagine an existence like that? What would you do each day after you have swept, done your laundry fed the kids… then what? Maybe if you are luck a neighbour comes to visit. They have the same 24 hours in each day that we do. ?

Many times the bus had to slow or stop for cows, chickens, pigs, donkeys or horses that had wandered onto the road. The dogs seem to instinctually know to get up and out of the way, but not the rest of them. Between these road obstructions, road construction, police checkpoints, cars parked on the road, and the occasional accident, I would say we were lucky if we broke 40 kmh most of the way. And just how many people do you think it is going to take to upright the truck that blocked half the road having tipped over onto its side after driving into the culvert? Oranges everywhere… in the middle of the mountains. I doubt that CAA comes calling this far south.

Eventually the vegetation on the mountains began to change as we got further west and into higher elevations. Less broad leafed jungle and now more of a grassy shimmer over mountains that appear to have been settled, like meringue on a pie.

So this trip was 7+ hours, and there are few among us that can go that long without needed to pee. Even severely limiting food and water intake I found myself needed to brave the bus toilet experience. And quite an experience it was. Way more interesting and challenging that on an airplane. I mean this bus was taking hairpin curves people. Just getting the door open and closed while remaining standing was a feat. Now try and get your pants down one handed (the other clinging to the support bar as I am being thrown from side to side, back to front), and then try and get the toilet seat down, and then try and actually get onto the toilet. Peeing while on a roller coaster is fun. Now repeat process in reverse and stumble back into seat. Wow. The bus ride was worth it just to find out how much fun that can be.

And so we got to my stop. I collected my bag and managed to find another person headed to Chachapoyas… a Spanish speaker that will find out all the info and get us to the right collectivo spot. And he does. So I hop into one of these kamikaze driven taxis, along with 4 other passengers and zigzagged my way along the river and then up into the clouds to Chachapoyas.

I now sit, settled into my hostel room, which will serve as my base for the next month as I write, teach, walk and explore. My room is very basic, rustic even, although I do have a shower with purported hot water (haven’t tried it out yet). There are wonderful old wooden doors that open onto the main Plaza d’Armas, and I am sitting in sunshine and warm breeze. What I need now is to get a small selection of munchies and fruit, a towel, toilet paper and maybe a toilet seat. Although I am happy enough just to have my own bathroom… All in all perfection for $65. For the month. Really.

Minor notes: I love Skype… really, what a great invention.

My mosquito net is mildewy, so I need to have it washed. Right now it is sitting in a pouch, having been sprinkled with laundry soap. Not a worry here because at this height, and being in town, mosquitoes are not a huge bother.

I love having my laptop, but will admit that having something to “secure” is a bother. Internet Wi-Fi is not very reliable (the signal doesn’t reach my room), so keeping in touch will be harder than it was last week.

I wonder if snake anti-venom is generic. This area is dotted with caves, and to get to them one would have to hack and crawl through brush. And there are probably snakes and spiders in there somewhere. So if you are bitten by a snake, is there an anti-venom for each kind of snake? The advice is always “try and kill the snake and bring it in so it can be identified”… why? You see the way my mind wanders?

I had coffee with the hostel owner this morning; he made it using tap water. Guess we’ll see how my tummy handles that one.

Hey… It is almost siesta time.

Talk to you later.

Contemplations...

It has been raining monsoon style for a good part of two days now, which made yesterdays planned boulder hop unwise. When I got to the checkpoint up the river I was only allowed to pass if I promised not to try and cross the river at the damn because the river was high and flowing fast.

Promise I did. Baby steps most of the way up the trail as I tried to stay upright on a path that had turned into a muddy skating rink. I found a dry patch of concrete at the damn and had a good think as I watched the water flow.

I ponder the multitude of Butterflies and Dragonflies I have been gifted to see in the past little while. If a great spirit (pick a religion and insert your reference) is sending me missives, then what message am I being offered over and over?

Well butterflies are symbols of transformation and of the soul according to many cultures. It's a process of metamorphosis which represents the changes we undergo during our lifetimes and the necessity to grow and learn.

If the butterfly undergoes total change multiple times, and emerges at the end as a creature of such beauty and grace, then it follows that I am being encouraged to accept and celebrate the changes that have happened, and are coming, to my life. Changes in my physical world and the growth and evolution of my sense of understanding and being.

I particularly liked this quote "Our responsibility is to make our way in faith, accept the change that comes, and emerge from our transitions as brilliantly as the butterfly. "

Acceptance of reading glasses is another thing altogether.

And the Dragonflies? In Native American culture they are said to represent the souls of the dead, and are symbols of change, victory, power and prosperity.

In wider circles they represent powerful force, renewal and the power of life. I like this description: "He is a symbol of the sense of self that arrives with maturity." (finally... score one for getting older!) "As a creature of the wind, he represents change. One of his lessons is to live life to the fullest because his own is brief."

Dragonflies are also considered creatures of the water, and in the animal world creatures of the water carry symbolism relative to the subconscious. "Dragonflies carry messages that deal with deeper thought - and they ask that we pay attention to our deeper thoughts and desires."

This seems fitting since I am forever rooting around in my mind to find the meaning behind the meaning. It crosses my mind that if this is delivered in a stunningly beautiful package that flits around lightly then perhaps the message is that I can explore life's meaning and have a happy life at the same time? Novel concept. I like it.

And while I am on the subject of animal symbolism let's explore the Gecko, another beauty that makes frequent (especially of late) appearances around me.

Geckos have a number of stories and traditions associated with them. Most often they are considered to be a sign of good luck and a symbol of keeping one eye on the past while focusing the other on the future. Other symbolisms include the release and regeneration of the gecko's tail. This is representative of the self preservation and regrowth people go through after trials.

Eerie really.

Here's what I have come up with:

Changes in my life that have happened and are coming are to be embraced,
and the souls of the dead are making an appearance,
and in their beauty can only represent encouragement.
Then with wisdom and forethought,
I should release the past while learning from it,
And embrace the future as a stronger, more powerful force.

What do you think? Did I nail it?

Back to the damn...

There were people crossing the damn, which was running a good foot higher than normal. A trickle of locals, barefoot, balancing carefully and gingerly feeling for toeholds made me glad I was not attempting the crossing. (It's just too early in the trip to be breaking something and / or drowning.) Many were carrying sacks filled with food gathered upriver... bananas and guava etc. Reminded me that many in this area rely almost exclusively on the jungle for their sustenance.

I made my way back down the path, passed the park ranger who thanked me for not crossing the damn, and strolled back to the hostal.

Total time elapsed 4 hours
Butterflies: dozens (I got photos!)
Dragonflies: dozens
Geckos: 3
Really cool irridescent green Lizzards: 1
Naked children playing in the river: 0
Pretty little yellow birds: 4
Pretty little blue birds: 2
Huge black birds with long tail feathers: lots
Other cool looking tropical birds: lots
Frogs: 0
Ants: really?

Back at the hostal I lazed in my hammock while being entertained by the resident Parrots, one of which deemed to perch next to me so I could scratch his neck while his feathers all fluffed out. The resident cat decided to settle down on my lap and I read for a while.

Laundry, skype, trip planning. Dinner. Bed.

Loud latin music blaring most of the night.

Today... planning, packing, writing.

The photo posting problems continue this trip. It is very frustrating not to be able to share my pics with you.

Time for dinner. If you are still reading, thanks for hanging in there!

Weather report.

Current weather conditions 30 degrees celcius, Humidity 56%, 21% chance of showers overnight.

:)

But seriously folks, after what I considered a pretty good day yesterday I am once again recovering from an "off" day. Whatever.

Yesterday morning was spent lazing in bed, followed by some writing done outside. First day of my period is usually problamatic, and I am still dealing with an almost 60 degree celcius change in temperature, so I planned a quiet day. Washed my hair, did some yoga, went for a reasonabley long walk around the city. Sky was mildly overcast... no chance for sunstroke. Came back to the room after a healthy dinner, and then settled in for a pretty serious writing session which had me wandering down some dark memory lanes.

I knew coming down here that the plan was to complete last years writing about dark personal times. It will be draining and painful, but I feel it needs to be done. Last nights session left me wanting the comfort of sleep.

Cue the all night, saturday before Valentines day street party next to my room. Now I am usually capable of sleeping anywhere, anytime, and through just about anything... but this was so loud the walls of my room were vibrating and my windows were rattling. Well by 4am my body decided that it had had enough and was going to protest. Not horiffic, 6/10 on a pain scale... but the fatigue factor was through the roof, and if my life had depended on it I might have been able to put together a full sentance, but otherwise I was brainless.

Tylenol 3s and sleeping until 2 had me able to get up and eat. Shower. Rest. Stroll. Rest. Eat. and now type.

Today WAS to be spent at a Jungle retreat with friends, but when the knock came at my door at 5:30 am I had to pass it up. Too bad, cause I was really looking forward to it.

Next time, I suppose.

I am well nourished and hydrated so Look Out Tomorrow! Some gentle boulder hopping anyone?

Maybe my next post will be entertaining even!

Buenos Noches

P.S. I have discovered I do my best writing naked. Who knew? Means I will be spending a lot of time in my room, because (as I told my friend sanna) my willingness to entertain the locals has limits, and sitting naked in the jungle... well do I really need to explain why that won't work?

:)

Close to perfection

ok, so the spellcheck has decided to default to spanish again... reader beware.

All the sleep yesterday did it's trick. I awoke ready to enjoy my Tarapoto time.

Breakfast was bread and jam, which is pretty much all you get when it is included with the price of a hostal. It was accompanied by one of the best cups of coffee I have had in a while. Home grown, organic and sold through a local growers group. I am pretty sure I waxed poetic about it last year in one of my posts.

I followed breakfast up with some time dreamin and scheming. Life, you know. How, where, when kind of stuff. Several people have recently given me much to think about, so I will devote time to doing so.

I wanted a walk today, so headed out into familiar territory, upriver towards the waterfall. Suited up in my "crazy Canadian lady"outfit. Remembered my sunscreen, packed my water, poncho, mosquito repelent and camara. The day was overcast and humid, a great day for a walk in the woods.

The flowers were out and resplendent, the river sparkled, and I got to watch a passle of kids having what looked like major fun and games in the water. School is out for summer break, and I guess they have "camp" here too. I occasionally stopped to put my feet and hands in the water for a cooldown. Much needed. Oh the difference a day can make, no?

There was a new checkpoint / entranceway to the footpath that continues upriver at the road's end, and it looks like the intent is to try and raise funds to maintain the areas around the river - that is just a guess though, because it was spanish only on the signs, and I am pretty sure that the guides were trying to communicate to me in Quechua. I just stood there patiently with my make nice smile, and they eventually let me pass. Really, the things I get away with.

I knew that there would be no major hiking for me today. Pacing and all that. It has been a while since I had a good walk and I didn't want to overdo. I took a break at the municipal water control dam, and perused the cliff like walls surrounding me. The crags and pits, the vegetation clinging precariously here and there. Birds nesting. Spider web holes big enough to make me shudder. And the butterflies. Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing a bright blue shirt, but the area seemed to come alive with huge, irridescent blue wonders. (and no, there are no pictures... butterflies are really hard to photograph when they are flying!)

Along came Aldrich from Ohio, and we had a nice chat after he had a wee swim. Another wanderer, although he has put down some roots here. Nice guy. Suprised me when he said he really didn't like the locals. It became clear that he had an expectation that they be more like "us"... Peruvians rarely like to admit they don't know something, and will tell you what they think you want to hear, not what might be true. Comes from a combination of misplaced machismo and a reluctance for confrontation. I have found that letting go of what I expect to be, and just accepting what is, has perhaps allowed me to enjoy the people here more. Because I really like the locals. Friendly, welcoming and helpful, even if the help is sometimes uninformed.

So off went Alrich from Ohio, back to the bario he lives in with his wife and daughter. Our chat did leave me with a warning of sorts... Dengue fever is apparently making it's way around town, and he has just recovered from a bout. No malaria in the area though, which is good news. But I will watch out for the mosquitoes. No need to add more excitement than necessary, no?

I continued my way upriver, crossing the "footbridge", and boulder hopping. I found that my balance is not keen right now, and that put some hesitation into my movements. Didn't like that.

Found a lovely big boulder to perch on to soak up some sunshine that had broken through the clouds. Tried closing my eyes to meditate, but just couldn't give up the grandeur around me. I sat still though and let the mystical to soak into me. Somehow I am usually rewarded with gift of a beautiful moment when I sit still, and this was no exception. Soon the greenery around me was filling up with lovely small dragonflies, bright red bodies in contrast to their black legs and black lacey wings. The air filled with butterflies of many hues and colours, and small fish started wandering the water in front of my perch. It was a wow moment, and I felt as though I had been blessed. I have needed that.

Saw a cute small bright green and black frog making it's way, carrying its tadpoles on it's back. Reminded me of my time poisen dart frog hunting in the amazon. Why not, this is the "amazon light"... supposedly all the good and little of the bad.

Nature was calling by this time, and I scouted out a cleared area to squat and take what must be one of the fastest pees I have ever taken. All the while swatting at the air around the lilly white, exposed mosquito and/or tick fodder, and keeping an eye out for scurring spiders and inquisitive ants. Mission accomplished, I headed back down the path towards town.

On the way home I stopped to buy some Guava from a local that had a huge load of them packaged like firewood and carried on his back. Quechua again. Friendly local woman came out and helped, which allowed me to revist the experience of peeling the pods back to expose the fuzzy white fruit chunks that lie in the pods like peas. Eat the white, spit out the poisen seeds. Repeat. I consider it the ultimate jungle treat.

And yes, this gringa paid way more than she should have. I consider it a "visitor tax", so to speak.

There is soot floating about, a reminder that the jungle still burns.

I made it back to my room, nicely cleaned, and put back up my mosquito netting around the bed.

Had the pleasure of listening to the guy in the room next door do his bathroom duties. He has diarhea and likes to ***** in the morning. Hard not to hear it though because the wall between us only goes up one floor and there are two floors to each room. Lovely really. Hopefully he will check out tomorrow?

I have not yet braved the cold water shower, and have contented myself with sponge baths. Tomorrow I think I will take my shampoo with me and wash my hair in the river. I find cold water is more palatable that way.

And so I will leave you with the vision of me laying in my hammock under a lovely night sky, surrounded by tropical vegetation, typing away on my netbook. Much nicer that the internet cafe next door.

Damn it, I just got bit by a mosquito. See, it is not perfect after all.

:)

FINALLY... a hammock

So I have made it to Tarapoto, and my hammock. And I am happy to report that I am also warm again.

Yay!

Flights were fine, although the overnight at the airport has had me sleeping away most of my first day here.

Tropics. Rainy season. Humid. A short walk this afternoon sucked up whatever energy I had gained with the am sleep. Forgot the sunscreen too. Got in some reading and a pm snooze. Will head off to grab some food and then head back to bed. Tomorrow I should be back to my usual peppy self.

Stop laughing.

That´s it. Just thought I´d let you know I made it safe & sound.

:)

Stuck in the middle again

Snow, snow, snow... oh the joys. With wind, without. Frigid or simply damn cold. God bless every hearty soul that can endure a Canadian winter.

I have had the privilege of joining these quasi pioneers on the streets of Toronto for the past little while, and I can tell you with all honesty that I have had my fill. Two snowstorms and at least as many cold weather advisories later I find myself being led down the streets by my darling daughters, huddled against the elements. There is a certain position that is assumed during extreme winter weather... arms crossed, shoulders hunched forward, chin tucked in, with a very concentrated forward focused demeanor; ie: get me the hell out of this weather and into a warm environment.

For most Torontonians this means either a) work, b) home or c) the mall. I can't find the 8 hours a day relief at work here, and home is relative given that I have been bouncing between the homes of my friends and my daughter.

That leaves option c)... the mall. A shopping Mecca experience really. Floor after floor, and boutique after boutique, all selling the most wonderful variety of consumer goods. Spent over an hour wandering through the fine china department of the Bay's flagship store on Yonge street. Sigh. Like perusing the loveliest of museum exhibits.

And the shoes. Practically orgasmic.

However I remind myself that my life choices have been quite different, and I believe I am richer for them. There are more than enough beautifully decked out designer city women making their way around this town. I bow out of the competition gracefully. Will leave the plastic surgeons to them too.

Friend wise however, I will never relent. I have the bestest, most wonderful friends a girl could ask for here. Eclectic too. The discussions have run the gauntlet... kids, teeth, middle east peace and magic tricks. I have known most of these amazing women since my kids were babies and I treasure every one. They are the big slice of Ontario I miss when I head home to BC. It is so neat to see that their kids are now where I started out when I first moved to Ontario.

Would that I could pick them up and bring them with me when I return to the valley.

Anyway, anything deep and meaningful is still out of my writers grasp so I will share that tomorrow I will repack my bags, head for a final visit with a friend and then, hopefully, finally, will be rid of this city I once called home, and be Lima bound.

Reservations have been made for my flights back to Jungle light, and Chachapoyas awaits for my arrival sometime the week after. My fingers and toes are crossed in the hopes that I will see Peru this trip after all.

Midnight, and so Buenos Noches.

:)