A lesson learned

I could say that the closest I've ever been to miserable was my short stint in Lima, Peru. Not until recently could I figure out what was wrong; Sure, I was broke, but making my way in an unknown city was just another challenge. I was working as a teacher, which is both a fulfilling and humbling experience. The simple act of traveling to and from work was an adventure: Riding decrepit combi buses filled beyond capacity, negotiating the fare with ornery ticket men, and seeing the neighborhoods of one of South America's most expansive cities. I was living in a hostel, surrounded by travelers who told stories over beers and had few cares in the world but to make the next bus. I had found people who shared my situation, and we lamented our lives while converting temporarily to alcoholics and drug addicts. Why in the world were we so sad?

Several times in my young adult life I have been approached with this question, but coming from a very distinct person than myself.
"I am only 33 years old and I am very successful," the man on the bar stool next to me said. He offered me another drink and looked out to DC's frozen night air. "I've done what I was told to do. I completed the equation. A, B then C. I've been to college, went to grad school, and now I have walked my way up a corporate ladder nearly to the top. I've got money, I've got stability, I've got everything I was told I would want. Tell me then," he said, choking back tears, "why aren't I happy?"

A couple more people, all strangers, have confided this to me. Just recently, a close personal friend had a similar breakdown. "Tell me Jenny," she said amongst sobs, "why do you do it? Why do you travel? Do you just feel unsatisfied?" She went on to explain her discontented state of being in the same job, the same city, the same life for most of her 20s. "I envy your freedom," she said.

After thoughtfully absorbing the story, I tell each person the same thing: take the money you've saved up, leave the dog/kids/condo and take off for warmer waters. So to speak. Surely there are several ways to find the peace of mind these people seek: Meditation, volunteerism, extreme sports, religion; Travel is my personal solution, because that's what I've always done and I've always found myself to be content.

Until Lima, that is. I thought about the life my friend had made for herself in San Francisco; She had a cozy apartment and a fantastic family and a great group of friends. Not until after our encounter had it occurred to me what had been missing all the time I was abroad. It wasn't that I was alone, because I wasn't. It wasn't that the city of Lima was an overcasted, polluted and noisy mess. It wasn't that I was broke, or that I was forced to watch my traveling peers move on to new places at their own leisure. It's that I hadn't doubled over in laughter; I hadn't danced wildly; I rarely met someone for lunch to share news and light gossip; I hadn't sung my favorite song at the top of my lungs. My spirit was starved dry of authenticity and genuniness of self.

My friend should travel for a while, and when she does she will realize that what she was looking for was right in front of her all along. For that, I envy her.

True Love

It seems there is not a soul for a million miles. We are the modern nomad, fueled by petrol and fiber cookies. The sheer magnitude of this space that I glide over makes me feel small, yet not insignificant. For why else would all this exist if nothing was here to appreciate it? We are the conscience of the world, after all...

O the wonder! To see the Earth´s formation at its purest. Gaze on the fine sands molded by the wind and rain and time. To imagine the millenia of work it took to create these incredible peaks! It´s as if time is shown in its parts, the evolution of a mountain at its rawest. From the soft rolling dunes to the abrupt and flat faced gorges to the jagged and lightly frosted peaks of the Andes. You can see where the water flows and the intricate design it makes on the grandest canvass of all. Nothing could be more perfect than this land. I know we are meant to exist here and now for we appreciate, somewhere deep inside, the magnificence of it all; of the things we could not fathom create, or even recreate, for pictures do it no justice.

THIS is love.

Me gustan los filmes de Schwarzenegger

If you are a backpacker in Montevideo, you are most likely headed east to Brasil or west to Buenos Aires. I am no exception, and I make my way toward Argentina along with a large caravan of people from all parts of the world: Germany, England, Brasil, Scotland, Canada and the U.S. My new friend Malin, from Sweden, and I are decidedly slower, and watch the hordes race to BA while we sit back in the historic Uruguayan town of Colonia. We ate sausage and drink $3 wine. I tried the local whiskey Dunbar. We said hello and goodbye to what will be our last beach.

The common route to Argentina is a ferry from Colonia, but a more interesting route is to ride north to Carmelo and take a launch down the Rio Plata to Tigre, Argentina. I was stoked on the latter, and Malin tagged along. But as traveling goes, you lose things, you get had, you miss buses. Well, we missed the boat, one of only two that leave daily for Argentina. So we spent the next 12 hours in the tiny, but shockingly noisy, town of Carmelo. We ate sausages and drank $4 wine.

A graying security man of roughly 80 sat outside our lovely boatdock-cum-hotel and drank mate. He chatted with a younger man who seemed to be passing through. The latter asked where we were from.

"Suecia," said Malin.
"California," I said, and the young man cackled.
"Arnold Schwarzenegger! Hahahaha," he responded. I laughed too, because, well, it´s funny.

Later the elderly guard and I shared some words, and he told me how much he loves the Schwarzenegger movies. I told him that Schwarzy wasn´t the worst governor the state has ever seen.

"He´s your governor?!," he asked, apparently not understanding that fact from the previous conversation. "And you have a black president? Things are changing," he exclaimed and let out a loud, gutteral laugh.

Sleeping on plastic chairs in a cement enclosure is not conducive to good rest, believe it or not. We finally boarded the boat at 4am, and I fell fast asleep as did the rest of my fellow patrons. And since the sun didn´t rise until we arrived in Tigre, I didn´t see a damn thing. Why? I am too tired to care.