Today i have arrived in Vilcabamba. there are certain spots on the map that draw in backpackers like a magnet. this is one of them. the southern highlands feel more beautiful to me than in the north, though i can´t quite put my finger on why. the mountains are so pure, lush. this area is absolutely gorgeous. not the town itself exactly. it´s more or less what i have come to expect of a small ecuadorian town. the slow dusty streets. abandoned construction projects. the simple cement homes. children in muddy clothes chasing each other down the street. dogs peering at me from their shady napping places under sagging balconys. sometimes when i´m walking down the street i can´t be sure if i´m looking into someone´s kitchen or if it´s a restaurant. doors are open. i can look right in, to these bare simple lives, unlocked. little to protect, nothing to hide.

i was in Saraguro for 3 days, a sizable mainly indigenous town (in comparison to the others i´ve visited) several hours away from here. now to throw a little ´practical´information in here (for my dad) the saraguros are believed to be a population descended from the incas from peru or bolivia, and for the last few hundred years, have been considered one of the most successful indigenous groups in southern andean ecuador.

it was a chilly wet thursday evening when i arrived. i found a place to stay, a cheap hot meal, and spent the rest of the evening in my bed. i´ve been reading east of eden by john steinbeck, and perhaps it was a combination of the novel´s content and the email i had recieved from cassandra (for those of you who don´t know, she was a very close childhood friend) that sent my mind reeling into my past. and i saw everyone. sometimes a thing happens in the mind, when all thoughts stop, and it takes a different route. memory after memory scroll by, and it´s all vision. all feeling. scent. even texture. as the faces of my past appeared i could sense their entirety, as physical boundry is dissolved, and with each arose something within me. i could almost touch each unique personality, and the emotions, fears, insecurities, and jealousies of girlhood. and i noticed that the relationships i was exploring in this way were significantly women. ashley´s presence arose in my mind and i felt connected to her in such a way i think i never have. i saw her and i knew her. and then all of my aunts became present to me. when i thought of robin, i could feel her strength. her gentle voice, the sincerity of her nature that is so distinct from others, and i felt such an affection that tears sprung from my eyes. and images began to move forward through time, and i remembered the knives, and i cried out because all i´ve ever wanted was to express myself. and then evelyn, cynthia. a relationship in which it perplexes me so to try to unwind the complexity of all the fibres. and eva, who continues to grow in importance to me as i discover new things in my world.
and there i was, all alone, cradling myself in a big stiff bed. cold cement floor of basement and bare walls. rolling on the waves of emotion. i thought of the postcard natalia sent to cynthia and i, from europe. ï feel so intimately alone¨she wrote. i find myself tracing over this sentence every day, wondering, is this what i feel too?intimately alone?

the next day i timidly approached the tourist office and asked for some information on things to do in the area. i recieved a pamphlet and looked it over on the leather couch next to the entrance. one thing struck my interest a bit. a short walk from town there´s some caves behind a waterfall that they call the inca baths. i hadn´t planned on staying for another night, but as i was heading out, a woman with stringy graying hair, a tacky western shirt, and an american accent introduced herself to me, informing me that she was an anthropoligist who has lived in saraguro for 10 years, and that if i had any questions, feel free to ask. there has been one thing on my mind for the past little while that i´ve been unsure of where to look for information on, a little unsure how it would be recieved by the locals, and that´s shamans. and i had a little feeling that this might be the right place, so i gave it a shot.
ï´m interested in experiencing a shaman ceremony¨i said.
and she seemed to hesitate for a moment, and her face changed expression, as though her impression of me had as well. ¨well, it´s friday. so you can. there´s a man named paulivio japon that lives up there..¨, she huffs her way up a few steps on the central courtyard and i follow, as she points to a spot up the hill a bit. ¨there, you can´t really see it from here, but you can take a taxi up there.¨
¨have you been to one of them?¨i ask.
ï have. now i don´t really like what he does, but maybe that´s just because i´m old fashioned.¨she chuckles at herself, and began to describe the ceremony to me. an excitement tinged with nervousness began growing inside of me. i found it, i thought. this is what i´ve been looking for. ït starts at seven, that´s when the drumming starts, thats when you know, and goes on all night, finishing at 7 in the morning. now, i know it´s safe. you´re totally safe, but don´t do anything you don´t want to do. now, i´ve got to go pick up some papers in the office over there..¨and i thanked her as i walked in the opposite direction, with a spring in my step.

and i will continue this tomorrow..as hunger is calling!