home
after traveling, it feels wonderful to be in one place, to feel settled. i admit that i love traveling because i have less things. i always come back after traveling having forgotten how many possessions i have, books, clothes, etc. despite the hassle of having so much stuff, i feel centered. i love having one place in which i cook, eat, sleep and do laundry. a home of course, can be anywhere, the point is that there is one place to which i return. home is where the heart is, as an old saying goes, and if that's the case, i have several homes all over the world. so it is a bit of contradiction, i suppose, to say that i am settled; because for the moment, it is a temporary settlement.
my thoughts on home, and the undeniable fortune that i have to have one, brings me back to what i saw in Perú. i wrote before on the homes of the poor that i saw in the northern coast. further travels provided other opportunities to view their living conditions, for they are not just on the northern coast. looking out the window on the bus from Puno (on the border of Bolivia) back to Cusco was like watching a video called "This Is What It Is Like to Be Poor." when i speak of the "poor" i of course use the word in its financial sense, because differences between the financially rich and poor are visible, whereas differences of the heart are harder to discern. the people of the countryside live in homes no bigger than a small apartment, one floor, and made mostly of brick and mud. roofs do not seem standard.
what was most difficult to see was the view out the window of the bus ride from Cusco to Lima. this was a 21-hour bus ride (a one-hour flight) through the mountains and up the southern coast. i took this bus 5 days after the terrible earthquake which hit Perú on August 15. we drove through towns where entire churches had collapsed killing those inside, homes had been destroyed, the highway had been split in two. tents were set up in front of damaged homes, families were camping. the worst sight was the people, many of them children, standing on the side of the road holding out bags in the hope that travellers would throw them money.
the U.S. is comparatively financially better off than Perú and we have still not recovered from Katrina. how can a country already so poor repair what has been lost?
if you feel so inclined, please go here to donate: www.thehungersite.com
i´m okay, but others are not.
there was an earthquake in Peru of 7.5 on the richter scale. it was very serious, although the epicenter was in the ocean, near a city called Pisco (from which comes the Peruvian drink Pisco Sour, a very good drink). Lima, the capital, was badly affected. so far there are more than 500 dead, and more than 2000 hurt, as i understand. here in Cusco a small tremor was felt, although i didn´t feel anything because i think i had fallen asleep. the people i know weren´t affected.
that is the update. i have much to say from these past few days, conversing with Cuscqueños, but it will have to wait.
the birthplace of the sun
to orient you-Lake Titicaca is a massive lake on the border between Peru and Bolivia. There are a hundred or so islands in the lake, two of which are Isla del Sol and Isla de la Luna, the supposed birth places of the sun and the moon.
i went to Isla del Sol yesterday, but only had an hour in total on the island. trying to go Che Guevara style, i wanted to get the history of the island from a local. after walking up an Inca staircase, which quite literally took my breath away every 8 steps, i eventually stopped and (with permission) sat down next a local, elder Aymara woman. i´ve observed people work with peasants, and i knew i first needed to gain her confidence. i only had an hour though, and i pretty much failed at this. i tried making small conversation, and then asked if she could tell me the history of the island. she said she didn´t know. i said " they say the sun was born here." she agreed, but said nothing more. i could get no story out of her. it´s not that peasants are distrustful people. on the contrary, i find peasants to be the most generous, humble, wise, and beautiful people i´ve ever encountered. many of them are in fact, quite open with foreigners (or at least, me). but many are also shy. it is my educated guess that if i spoke Aymara, she could have chatted my ear off. as it was, my spanish couldn´t serve me. i asked her friend if she could tell me a story. "there aren´t any stories that are told to children?" i asked. "ah yes, the children, they know how to tell stories. but they´re in school right now."
the first woman was weaving. yarn was looped around a small stick, and the stick she held in between her feet while she wove the yarn with her hands. i was mesmerized. she sells her work to tourists, and i bought one from her for about $1. it´s a small belt-like thing, with the woven inscription "ama sua ama llulla ama killa." Aymara for "don´t steal, don´t lie, and don´t be lazy," the three rules of ancient Andean society.
what divided me from this woman? i looked at her feet, and at my own. i was wearing New Balance sneakers that i had bought less than 2 months ago when i was San Fransisco. i had sustained an injury and needed tennis shoes so i went to the store, and paid $65 for a new pair of good shoes. her shoes were mocassin-like, black, faded, cracked and worn leather with holes in the top where her equally cracked feet poked through. her feet told a history, but i never got it from her.
what does it mean to be poor? to be rich?
arriving
when we arrived in La Paz, Bolivia, we got off the bus in a crowded, narrow street. after moving out of the congestion, the three of us stood around, quite obviously looking for a taxi. a policeman came up to us and said, are you looking for a taxi? we said yes, and we showed him on the map the hostel we were looking for. he helped us get a safe taxi, and told the taxi driver where we wanted to go. it was a fabulous welcome, i´ve never felt so safe and cared for. Paul pointed out that maybe Bolivia takes such good care of her tourists because she needs the money they bring. this could be, but regardless it was wonderful.
when i arrived back in Cusco, Peru, it was midnight and i got off the bus into a sleepy terminal. i walked toward the exit, and was suddenly swarmed with taxi drivers. it was amazing really, i felt like fresh meat being thrown to the dogs. they weren´t aggressive, but they wanted my business so 4, 5, 6 came up to me at once and the crowd of other taxistas lurked behind the more forward ones. one sleepy fellow was sitting on a bench, eyes half closed,head hanging low, but when he saw he leapt up and barked "taxi?" poor guys.
my thoughts are just going to fly out at random because i´m way behind.
i love Bolivia. i love the feeling that i have here. most of it has to do with my obsession with Andean culture, and Bolivia is a country that has a higher percentage of indigenous people. La Paz is a city surrounded by snow capped mountains and suburbs (very poor ones) clinging to the cliffs around the city. the poor districts are at a higher altitude than the rich, contrary to other major cities. granted, i was only in La Paz for 2 days. but never once did a guy whistle at me or molest me, and i think this is why i felt so wonderful in La Paz.
the city is basically one big market, which may be unfair to say since i didn´t see much of it. but besides all the tourist markets offering loads of textiles and ceramics, the streets also convert themselves into day markets for bolivianos selling any assortment of vegetables, fruits, contraband CDs and movies, and clothes. as one also obsessed with markets, i just loved the atmosphere.
i haven´t written about my trek to Machu Picchu. Dan, however, has done a fabulous job of recording the moment, please see the link "my travel compadre" at the left. the trek was 5 days, 5 days even out of a year isn´t much, let alone in 22 years of life. it was a small drop in a very big bucket. nonetheless, during those 5 days it seemed like it was a very significant part of my life.
walking is one of my favorite activities because this is how one gets to know the land, be it a city or a mountain. i walked for 5 days in the Peruvian Andes. in such a short time, i got a taste of what it would be like to be a peasant in these mountains, or what it was like to be a Quechua in the time of the Inca. difficult. but even though life is hard and uncomfortable, the people, because they know their land, are intimately connected to it, and this is what attracts me.
oh i could write forever on this...more to come.
update
i'm way behind on posting but here's a quick one just for an update. my travel compadre and i have split, due to various practical reasons like money, time, and sickness. when you travel alone, it's true that you can do whatever you like when you like. however, this is the only benefit and traveling with a companion, i've decided, is infinitely better. he's probably still on a bus, heading for Chile. at the moment, i'm in Copacabana, Bolivia.
i have much to say about our 5-day trek to Machu Picchu but that will come later.
for now i'll give the observation that traveling makes you realize how many people there are in the world that you could potentially fall in love with. at the same time, the very nature of travel makes a love relationship almost impossible. it's a strange feeling to think about where you were born and about what if you had been born in a different place, who would you fall in love with? traveling allows you to meet many more potential lovers, but unless it is "true love" it is a love almost never fulfilled.
