Iquitos! Peru

well, where shall i begin? let´s start with my river boat journey. i was on deck by 4, and the boat was supposed to leave at 5. the deck, which when i had previously been there was bare of only one hammock besides mine, was now completely full. it looked more or less the way i had expected it too, based on the internet prodding i had done and rick´s description (the man from the yukon i´d met at the hostal in huaraz) hammocks were strewn ¨cheek to jowl¨ as he described, all along both sides of the main deck, and more, in the same fashion, on the upper deck, which was a lot smaller and open, therefore a lot breezier, and after realizing this i sort of regretted handing over my hammock right away to the guy on the main deck, who was one of the few people there at the time, who skillfully tied it up in seconds. oh well, i wouldn´t be sleeping there, or at least, wouldn´t have to, as i also had the luxurious option of bedding down in my coffin-esque cabin, which came equipped with a simple metal frame bunk bed dressed with flimsy dirty mattresses, bare of any sheets or a pillow..well, what could i expect? plus, the little room stank, horribly, and i actually chose to try out hammock sleeping for a night out of fear of feroucious bed bugs. naturally, as events such as these are ran according to ´peruvian time´the boat didn´t actually get moving until around 1 the next day, so i, along with many others family members who had been unluckily named as guardian of all personal belongings that had been loaded that day, spent the night on the still sleeping boat. i was happy i didn´t have to pay another night in a hotel, at least. you know, sometimes i´m a little amazed when i look at the laid-back, accepting reactions the people have to situations such as these. whereas in northamerica something like this, for example, would undoubtedly cause a whole lot of fuss and whining, it doesnt even seem to phase these people that something inconvenient has just occurred.
´pedro martin´, that was it´s name. the walls of the deck are all lined with simple wooden benches that also run all the way down the centre of the boat. so i´ve got more or less two options as to where i´m going to position myself. seated there, with my back against the wall, or curled up awkwardly in my hammock, which, i just want to add, aren´t quite as luxurious as you might have heard. or, i could stand up front and bare myself to the wind, body leant against the front railings overhanging the nose of the ship which is cluttered and packed with cargo. the bathrooms were..well, let´s just say, every time i felt the voice of my bladder cry out to me i tried to ignore it for as long as possible, putting off the inevitable..dread. i opted to go the 4 day stretch without a shower than to brave the conditions. i mean, it wasn´t quite outhouse, but it was more disgusting in other ways. i´m really not one to whine about stuff like that, but that´s just part of my description. that first night once the engine began it´s metallic symphony, i tried the cabin out, and was kept awake for hours by this strange clanking symphoney that seemed to sound in each of the four walls i was enclosed in, along with the fact that i was practically sleeping on a board of wood. this symphony i´m talking about, this was really something that characterized the entire journey in a kind of special way that can only really be kept to myself as a little secret pleasure, as it became so by the time the trip was over. what was slightly appalling, though not to be unexpected, was just how pulluted this river is. all garbage goes straight into the river with absolutely no second thought, along with all the sewage...and this is the water thats being sucked right back up that you might very well be baptized by if you decide to use the shower facility..a pipe right about the toilet that squirts out the murky brown water. i wish i had known that the kitchen would only be serving one meal per day, as i had the naive notion that i´d be being served breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and hey, maybe even a coffee or a tea in the morning! no way, they don´t even provide you with a plate or cutlery. i´m glad i figured that out when i was approached by a desolate looking woman offering me a piece of tupperware and a spoon for a ´very cheap price´, before i had even boarded the boat. i would´ve brought way more snacks. at least there is always the option of buying whatever randomly comes your way as a whole other kind of joyful symphony sounds the boat when its docked at some town along the way and village people, mostly women and their children, rush on with bags of fruit and drinks and sometimes bread and whatever else is in abundance in that particular place. i once ended up with this huge bag full of exotic looking fruits that looked to me like a type of orange, or mini mangos, and got laughed at by an elderly couple when they noticed how i was trying to peel the wierd fruit with my knife. turns out the slightly bitter peel is basically the only edible part of the fruit, as the rest is this big hard seed that i was trying to sink my teeth into..oh well. i gave them away to some kids, who seem to love the stuff. there were many families on the boat, and a good amount of crying to go along with it. it felt very intimate. that was probably my favorite aspect of the trip. the days wouldn´t get boring because there were always so many things to watch, so many touching interactions to observe, though i, feeling kind of quiet for much of the time, didn´t do much of that. on the third day i finally befriended the group of 4 american women that were shacking up next to me in the cabins. an intriguing group, with one of the young beautiful women being in a wheelchair.i learned they were made up of 2 pairs of sisters. the woman in the wheelchair was rehabiliting from a spinal chord injury that left her paralyzed from the waist down. she was recieving natural treatments in lima. i´m not exactly sure, but there is an ancient medicinal practice here that is generally unheard of in northamerica, entailing all kinds of herbal remedies. ¨sometimes western medicine can do more harm than good,¨alisha said. she had had enough of the invasive and abrasive procedures. ¨and have they helped you?¨i asked. ¨oh, definitely.¨¨and you do believe you will walk again¨i said. ¨definitely, i never thought, oh shit, this is the end.¨ it sounded like even her voice box had been affected by the snowboarding, as it was, accident, and her voice was soft and wispy. it was touching to hear her story. i sat next to alisha while she was gently massaging )i forget her name! the woman in the wheelchair)´s, back, head, and neck, where i noticed some gruesome looking scars. i had also seen this woman working with her hands the previous day. she had bright pure blue eyes and a light, warm personality. ¨you do healing work?¨i gently asked. ¨i do¨, she said, turning to me with those intense eyes and smiling, ¨but we´re all healers.¨ and from there it seemed that´s where the conversation was deemed to go, and i felt like synchronicity had just come into play. i´m not sure why, but i began to open up a little about my own journey, i was practically vibrating, almost shaking, as though they were the first words i´d spoken in a very long time. ¨what a wonderful thing to meet likeminded people,¨she said, and i think i was probably beaming when, after inquiring a little about my astrology, she mentioned that i might be one of the ´indigos´, or´crystals´. i think in that conversation was the first time i have said, with conviction, that i am interested in studying and doing healing work when i get back to calgary, a frequently asked question..but it´s also something i am hesitant to speak about, (although i think it´s important that i do, as a lot might be learned if shared with the right people) since it is still very new to me. i can only really focus right now on my own healing that is taking place!
that night we were hit by a fantastic wild storm that transformed our peaceful little ´lancha´as the cargo boats are called, into a screaming water world! one thing i like about a storm is the way they seem to unite and connect everyone who is together enclosed in the same space or seeking shelter when it hits. everyone, some frantically so, were quickly rescuing any personal belongings or baggage, or children for that matter, that might be in the line of fire- a fiercing blowing rain whipping down both sides of the deck drenching everything in it´s path. everyone was huddled together at the centre of the boat, and as lightning stung the sky and thunder rolled, i got into a long conversation with one very jovial man in the hammock next to mine which somehow ended up in (and i´m really not sure how, i kind of lost him after a while) receiving a book entitled ´the ten commandments´only in spanish. he even scribbled down a little note for me on the front page. i was happy that my last day on the boat i wound up connecting with a few people, laughing, and giving warmth.
i arrived at the dock in iquitos this morning, around 7 a.m...and what an extraordinarily full day this has been! i do not have the time at the moment, but i will soon write again. tomorrow, however, i will begin my jungle trek with a peruvian couple that i haven´t yet met, a 3 day trip that entails, oh i´m not even quite sure, jungle walks and boat rides and what not. i´m not doing any of the organizing, so i really don´t care! ciao, for now.

well, today´s the big day. my boat is scheduled to leave around 5, but i´m under the impression that these things never leave on time. i paid for my passage, got my bags locked up in a cabin, bought a cheap hammock and got some help from a dude on deck to string it up for me, 5 litres of water, and survived the tiringly endless attention from all the men loading cargo at the dock. i have found this to be the worst here that i have ever encountered, and i can´t lie and say it doesn´t bother me. it´s worse than just the looks i´m accustomed to, it´s disgusting kissing noises, the kind you make when trying to coax a pet towards you. alex wasn´t lying when he told me the people in the jungle are friendly, sure! the men all want a piece of me. every corner i turn i hear a, hay-loo meez! for the first few days here i felt extremely threatened by it, but i constantly have to remind myself that it doesn´t mean anything, they´re not trying to rape me or rob me, they´re just being, well, latin men, i guess.
there seems to be an imbalance of the sexes in this city. i noticed it my first day here, while orientating my self with the city on my initial customary stroll. for every woman i´d see there were 15 men! this is not even an exaggeration. this is especially true along the entire strip along the docks, where there are almost no females whatsoever to be spotted.
i´ve spent some time there, on the short cement wall that lines the garbage strewn slope to the waterfront, watching the shipping action take place, and a few cloudy but nonetheless fantastic jungle sunsets. the sky is usually at it´s peak beauty around 6, when faint shades of red and luminous gold animate thick heavy clouds in those dramatic moments before dark encompasses the city. to the right of the clocktower, which chimes every quarter hour, a small rowdy circus of mismatched tents of faded blues and reds boast a show of makeshift restaurants serving tables of dirty working men on the muddy shore. there are a few ´floating´houses just a few meters off, with small rickety canoes being utilized as bridges.
the small park at the waterfront has meandering sidewalks rippling outward from the clocktower, here too i see mostly men leaning against the cement divider in clusters, or single men solemnly stationed on stout cement benches smattering the grounds, casually lifting a cigarette to the lips, brown sheen of leathery faces, and character is undecipherable when my eyes meet with those dark and untelling. icecream vendors slowly push their carts along the walkways in the scorching heat burning sun, practically mumbling with tired lazy mouths, at anyone who shows the slightest sign of interest in purchasing. just making eye contact with a street vendor usually turns you into a target momentarily, then must proceed the shaking of the head and mouthing the word no.
i arrived here around 5 oclock in the morning from huanuco on a cramped and stuffy bus with seats that barely reclined and almost no possible way of stretching out my legs. we passed through the country´s major coca growing region, thereby making it one of the most dangerous routes, especially making the passage overnight, when frequent hijackings and armed robberies have taken place. this fact was reinforced when a guard equipped with a rifle and a bullet proof vest strapped onto his chest boarded the bus, made some kind of little speech, and took a seat up front by the driver. i couldn´t help but feel a little on edge for the first hour or two, but i soon let go and fell into a sound sleep. my eyelids fluttered open to the city flashing by my window ignited by silent lighting bursting through the cloudy sky.
on my second morning here, i awoke with a little more energy than i´d been feeling in a while, and i was in a good mood. the day that would follow was more fluid and rewarding than i could ever have hoped for. it felt like each time i needed to step in a different direction to reach my destination, there was someone to point somewhere that would lead me on. around 11 i easily nabbed one of the thousands of rumbling mototaxis that rule the streets, and was bounced and jostled in the storm of flying dust for the distance to yarina, a small town on the lake yarinacocha. i asked my young driver with slick sunglasses if there was a place i could find a guide to tour me around the small indigenous communities along the river that i had read about. he didn´t know but he pointed towards a big shop on the plaza, an artesan coop for the shipibo community, where i browsed the beautiful handembroidered fabrics and felt that kick of shameful lustful fashion urge, (ah, i need this, i want that) for the rustic looking skirts and tops with traditional shipibo patterns embroidered on the natural fabrics. i hadn´t seen any crafts so far quite like these. i resisted buying for the time being, but asked one of the numerous friendly women in the shop who were practically following me around while i gently looked at everything for sale, if there were guides to the communities. communication was a little off, but one of the ladies walked me down a few blocks to the docks where a bunch of little colorfully painted boats, each boasting thier own name on the front, were bobbing up and down along the shore. you are trying to go to san francisco? she said. i shrugged my shoulders and said yes, guessing this was the most well known of the communities. a few were full with people, and one of these she pointed to, it was a ´colectivo´boat that would take me to the community about an hour down the river for about 70 cents. i sat down in one of the few benches that had space left, bumping my head twice on the very lowlying roof, recieving a round of careful! from observing passengers. a few minutes later the boat pulled away and the motor began to chug. a girl next to me, in a pink shirt and a sweet voice, asked me what my name was. we talked a little bit, covering the usual ground, where are you from, how long are you in peru, which places have you been to in peru, when do you return to your country, and, without a doubt, if she had been a man, i would´ve got, single or married? as well. then the noise from the motor became too loud to hear each other´s soft voices. as soon as i had stepped into the boat i got such a different feel from what i´d felt tormented by in pucallpa. it was as though i had stepped into a family where i was unconditionally included in, everyone knew each other and were laughing with each other. there were women in their traditional dress with children on their laps.
after i paid the fair and stepped up unto the dock, walking towards the lightcolored dirt road, unsure of where to go or what to do, karla, the girl from the boat, approached my side. how old are you? 15, she said. and you? 20. oh, i thought you were 18. (i get that all the time. everyone thinks i´m at least 2 years younger than i actually am, i guess it´s my face) she guided me around the community, first stopping at her house, where she set two glasses on a little wobbly table outside, and we shared a bottle of water. it was exactly what i needed. i met some of her cousins and her sister, friendly and curious, and i thought- finally, among women. then we passed by the much smaller and barer version of the artesan shop i´d been in earlier, past her school, and then to the little plaza, at it´s center, a little area that was roofed by a sculpted turtle. we sat there and had conversation that was slow and gapped with silences, but she seemed content to be spending her afternoon with me, though i felt a little bit awkward. you are my first canadian friend, she said, i have met french, german, and japanese, but never a canadian. then she mentioned that her father was a shaman, and that foreigners came to a place, in which she pointed the direction, where they could stay and take ayahuasca. she told me that there had been a group of japanese guys that had been there for 6 months studying this, and natural medicine, with her dad. hmmm, i was thinking, maybe....i´m hungry, she said. i was too. we´ll go to my house and cook together, she said. her house was divided into three sort of huts, built with wood and thatched roofs, one for cooking and eating, and the other two with bedrooms. i was sort of surprised by such modern cooking utensils that were there, like the brand new ricecooker gleaning in the barebones room. first we sliced plantains that she cut off from a gord lying against the door, nearing the end of it´s days, only a few greenish fruits still clinging to it. my slices were awkward and knobby, with no consistency in the width, well i´ve never been good with knives, while she quickly and efficiently slit the plantains into perfect slices. she assigned me the job of rinsing the rice. i had to use water from the large basin at the side of the sink because there was only running water between certain hours in the morning and the evening. she also assigned me the job of frying the plantains in a skillet with about 2 inches of oil. (man, no wonder i´ve put on a little weight) while she took care of the rice in the cooker and prepared the lemonade. after i awkwardly fished out the plantains from the jumping spitting pan of oil, she fried the eggs. once the rice was ready we sat down and had our meal.i was grateful because i hadn´t had breakfast that morning and thought i would get something to eat there, but i learned that there were no restaurants. this little angel was taking care of all my needs!
i, forcing myself to put forth a little initiative, washed all the dishes, albeit a little awkwardly, slopping bowl fulls of the basin water over them to get rid of the green grimey soap, while she disappeared for a bit to use the bathroom. we sat outside for a little bit as i delightedly discovered a cat in the yard and brought it into my lap.
¨i was thinking,¨i said,¨ i could come back tonight to take ayahuasca?¨
¨yes, sure. you can collect your things and then return, and i will meet you here, and introduce you to my dad. he is in pucallpa right now. his name is roger. and you can sleep here¨
she told me when the last boat was to san francisco, which would be just in a few hours, so i had to leave right away. i thanked her very much and made my way back to the docks in the beating heat, where a boat was moments away from departure. unfortunately, i lost the money that i had already spent on that night for my room, but i was too excited about the opportunity that had risen that day to care.
i don´t have to go searching for opportunities, it´s true. this is one of those things that underlies much doubt that i find difficult to look past and simply be in what i feel to be is true, what i want to be true. all i have to do is ask, to be clear in my intentions, keep moving forward, and the universe will assist me. i become frustrated and, as i have learnt, vulnerable, when i put myself into that ´search mode´for any given experience or opportunity, that strips me of my boundries, as i look for something other than my own will, which feels like a burden in those times when it struggles to reconcile the internal with the external, to embrace me and carry me along. i have been having a hard time understanding how i fit into the reciprocative nature of things, how my will and desires fit into this system that i feel left out of. after i emerged from that bout of crippling anxiety i had experienced in huaraz, i had a bit of a clearer understanding of how choice is so key, how there is really no ´wrong´decision that can be made because i am activily creating my path with each choice i make, and in that line of thought i can kind of ditch the infectious concept of ´fate´. i am sort of thinking of it as thought opportunities are like these holes that open up, are opening up all the time in every moment, that follow the rules of linear time while at the same time belonging to the shapeless eternal truth. like holes that are only open to step through for a certain period of time until they shrink back into blackness and another opens up 2 inches away, they are opening up all over the place, but the chances of ´missing´out on something is probably pretty slim, because the chances are you`re going to find yourself in more or less the same place no matter which one you step through because you´re you...alright maybe that wasn´t even worth putting in there, but, hey, just a rough idea. i´ll get on with the story.
it was perfectly timed, as the sky began to darken i had a seat on one of the last boats to san francisco with my backpack on board. for the entire duration of the ride we were blessed with the most gorgeous sunset over the outlying jungle, completely free from any obstructing buildings. when i arrived i was met by some guy who wanted to carry my pack for me, some converstation followed where i was a bit confused by his intentions, and then finally got that he was karlas uncle who she had sent to meet me at the docks. (the accent here is different from the rest of peru, and it´s incredibly difficult for me to decipher words.i feel like i´m back at square one again, every sentence spoken to me is usually met with squinting eyes, a scrunched forehead, and an exasperated, what?)
i was greeted by karla at her front steps, and was introduced to her entire family. i was invited inside and had a short conversation with her dad, defying any stereotypical ´shamanic´image that i had in mind, wearing a basketball jersey and a pair of shorts, and explained to me how the evening would go. i think because i had expressed some worry to karla, earlier, about some stories i´d heard about malintentioned shamans who violated women once ´high´, she said something in the shipibo tongue and then her mother told me in spanish that she would be there, and karla would accompany me as well, just to make me feel safe, since there would be no one else with me during the ceremony. i was so thankful for their generosity and kindness. a few hours later, we were all piled into a mototaxi and i was taken to the special space their family had constructed for this purpose, where there were a few rooms for guests, and a larger communal space with a huge mosquito net protecting the circle from any insectintruders. the sky was immaculate. it felt like i could see every star in the sky, even the milky way was clearly visible. they would prepare everything and we would all rest for a few hours, and then i would take the ayahuasca.
and so...
when it was time, i was seated on a mat facing roger and his brother, who assisted him during evenings such as this, and karla and her mother were wrapped in a blanket off to the side, sleeping soundly. it didnt taste any worse than the san pedro i had in saraguro, a little to my surprise. we sat in silence for about 15 or 20 minutes as i awaited the affects, them smoking tobacco out of a big wooden pipe. i had been so technical about it all, having been so careful earlier to state my intentions clearly, and trying to keep my nerves calm by sitting and breathing in a meditative form on the mat. what would follow was not what i had expected based on everything i had read about other people´s experiences. purging inner demons? i saw nothing even the slightest bit frightening. i was brought home..
first i began to feel a swirling pressure at the centre of my forehead, or the 6th chakra, which i have often been experiencing on a regular basis at random times, only now it was accompanied by the same kind of pressure on the sides of my temple as well. kristina? hmm? he asked me if the visions had started. no..i said. he scooted up towards me and began singing. he blew the tobacco over the top and past the sides of my head. he continued singing. then i felt my stomach lurch. and a few moments later the hallucinations had begun, and dimensions were no longer familiar. using the same substance that i recognized from my previous experience with shamanic ceremonies, he gently sprayed the strong smelling liquid from his lips onto my face, i felt nauseous, burped, and grabbed the container at my feet and wretched and vomited, only for a minute, and the nausea was completely gone. now roger too was at my side, gently singing...it´s hard to describe what i felt. i kept my eyes closed for most of the time, because when i opened them i was blown away by the figures of roger and his brother, i couldn´t tell their exact positions in the room, it was as though everything was made up of these energy panels, and they existed in each on of them, and the same with their voices. my perception of my body was much the same. i felt as though i was perceiving everything in a triangle. my mind contained the entire universe and my body was present everywhere. my visions were all shapeshifting designs of every color imaginable, beautiful patterns that i couldn´t even really ´see´because it was changing so rapidly, nothing ever once tangible really but perceived only, felt sensed. and i began to weep, crying uncontrollaby, and i didn´t stop until i began to come down and return to my regular state. i was crying with absolute joy, absolute gratitude to my creator, for the simple truth that i am, and absolutely full of love. the aspect of spiritual boundries being dissolved were much more meaningful than any of the visionary effects i was experiencing. this is what is most hard to describe, because it was a connection which allowed me to understand god. it was a meeting with my creator. so silent, so beautiful, so simple, and yet so, so powerful. i was practically laughing at myself for thinking i might meet with something alien and frightening to me. i know this. it is this awe-some love that heals. thankyou so much, my mind was uttering. thankyou so much. this is all that ever needs to be understood, this is all that matters. there are no words..there is no need for words...when this is truth. when truth is love..when the tears let up i laid down and my body became familiar again, and there were certain faces of those present in my life that came to me and i was blown away by my own, now raw and flowing, love for those very special people that have brought light into my life. i sensed that everyone else was asleep now, and i gathered my things and sort of wobbly made my way to my little room, let down my mosquito net and arranged it around my bed frame, and slept well, until woken early that morning, by a husky female voice speaking to me through the screened window, kristina..ahh,hmmm? that was your first experience with ayahuasca...your second time will be..pffhh, heheh, making a gesture with her hands. i was sleepy and my responses to her were generally just sounds, they were leaving now to go to pucallpa and i had to pay her. we thanked each other and i fell back into bed and slept until the early afternoon.
there was a man from france who was staying in one of the other rooms there, studying the plant. ¨he is a philosopher,¨ the brother told me, ¨and he writes on his lap top¨ ¨about his experiences with ayahuasca..¨¨yes¨ (nice job...) afterwards it made a whole lot of sense to me, i can see why people might stay here for long periods of time, studying the plant, and it´s affects, as a healer of mind, body and spirit.
another day of blazing sun, a slight breeze tickled the blankets and sheets hung up on lines to dry, while a woman and a child softly spoke with one another, and a man came over to speak to me, he was another brother of roger´s. ¨how was last night?¨he asked me. all i could say was, ¨incredible,¨and i smiled and hoped the look in my eyes would communicate everything. he showed me the way back to the community, walking me halfway, than shaking hands as we parted and i headed back to yarina on boat. i felt calm, and i could hear the voice of the river, the voice of the swaying trees, in a special way.
i do not mean to give the impression i had found a miracle. my mind is unchanged, and my perspective is not now magically transformed into thirdeye vision or something. i sort of thought i would experience something that would make everything clear to me, to recieve a vision that transcended everything i have ever percieved as reality...well, not so. but i was able to directly experience the nature of God, the nature of love, and that is something...that is really quite something.
now i really must get some lunch, and make sure no one´s moved my hammock!
i love you all, thankyou for keeping me in your thoughts and hearts.

big city, peru

this is my second day in lima, and i hope not to be here any longer!
i do not have the creative energy to write, but felt i needed to update my whereabouts. i´m planning my trip into the jungle now. i´m taking the ´adventurous´route. i think i´ll be taking a bus to huanuco tomorrow, (not sure if it´ll be overnight or not) and from there to pucallpa, where i´ll be taking a cargo boat to iquitos, the jungle capital which can only be reached by boat or plane. the trip can take anywhere from 4 to 7 days, i´ve read of other´s experiences and talked to a man who did it, seems the quality of experiences vary, but overall an unforgettable one, and i´m gonna do it. then i´ll fly back to lima.

i don´t think ever in my life i have felt so lost as i have this last week or so. i have felt heartbroken and confused, weak and lacking energy to do anything. i have literally made myself nauseous with anxiety, throwing up a fruit salad that cost me 10 soles.
i have not much else to add, but i sense today that i am recharging. and i think this upcoming leg of my journey will require me to be very strong.
i might not feel like writing for quite some time, but i think my email is clearly accessible here for anyone to contact me?

rambling bus mindvisions, the hours are ploughed away. chimbote, flyby city in the night, i will never know your streets, will never know their names. slick roads, rattling glass, we move on, on, on through the night. sleep comes in waves, nearly here nor there. fabulous dreams of color huaraz, huaraz, mystic rocks on a desert horizon... approaching, great red dawn red sun halfway born into the sky, with strange tubes of rays transforming before my eyes, now great skeletal sun, then shattered, swept away, eyes blinking open, time after time dream after dream, to a condenscating windowpane showing bleak dreary outlooks of passing walls of rock, grey in the cloudy light.
damp pantlegs from virgindew grass, long fingers of earth, knees drawn into my chest. hoarse breath of bus, passengers snoring, grunting, shifting bodyweight in confining seats. cajamarca-trujillo 8 hours, 2 hours in wobbly blue plastic chair of the station, cheesy latin television drama, plastic bag full of snacks, and shared eyestares of fellow travellers pale of skin. from trujillo-huaraz 10 hours, arrived disoriented and legs wobbly from all night scrunching, greeted by strange brown faces of hotelpushers and taxidrivers expectant of their estranged family memeber being i and having forgetton i was on my way to the reunion. all speaking to me at once, oh please pick me, pick me their eyes say, and i'm almost laughing as i say, yes..i need. a taxi. new city take a look so cold and early in the morning, dont know why he had the window rolled down all the way, and american 80's radio, i almost clap my hands together in the wakeupdawn disorientation of self and disarranged personality inhibitions, to cry, bruce springstein! and kade flashes through my mind, dancing in the dark as my body twists at the knees climbing backwards into the trunk to retrieve my book for an adress for the driver.
here at caroline lodging, a nice little hostal, i have a dorm bed and free breakfast, internet, book exchange, dived straight into the motorcycle diaries, and people to talk to. like a quick instant family together from all parts of the world, a girl from france, one from belgium. a guy from germany, identical in glasses to john lennon or harry potter, a handsome guy from bosc country which technically is a part of spain, and i, the only native english speaker, awkward self done haircut and janis glasses canadian.
we grouped together, all having arrived the same day, and set off for a little adventure. first to the market place for some fruit and snacks, then to the street advised by helpful hostal staff to hire a car up to pitec where our little trek would begin. 6 soles each and i'm balancing on belgiums lap steadying myself with hands on back of orkatz seat trying not to grind my boney butt into her fleshy legs, head being bumped into the roof of the car as it slowly makes its way forward steering around deadly potholes and portions of dirtroad eaten away consumed by rain. villagers stone faces almost dramatic movielike poses as our eyes meet separated by glass, sombreroed heads turning slightly as the vehicle outreaches their view. brightly skirted women in colorful leggings, little feet snug in dusty dark shoes, chasing their in-transit sheep and sad looking cows off the side of the road to make room, strange bumbling car of funny white faces a top torsos of raingear.
pitec the climb starts, deserted bare wilderness reminiscent of the belovedrockies. out of breath and panting, but i got into a rythym and soon i was practically bounding from rock to rock, the body always finds a way, its natural, not much thinking needs to be done bout where this foots gonna go and where the right ones gonna go after. the boys ahead, the girls behind, im always in the middle, no one by my side. then climbing vertically and bosc man gives the ladies a hand, splitting waterful of glacier ice, cold hands whimpering on the slippering rocks, mud splashes inside shoe. over then, the lake comes into view. deep blue and emerald hues, foggy blanket of skyclouds and distant snowy peaks. so much energy i feel, jumping from boulder to boulder to get the best view, ahead of all the others, but they soon follow and then all of us seated together opening last minute lunch efforts, pitying lennon's slapping together pathetic sandwhiches of flimsy white bread and 'cheese'. me with the 'energetic food' as boscman comments, walnuts and raisins and dried apricots.
i have the tendency to postion my ears closer to the guys, both speaking poor goofy english swapping stories and jokes, corrupt peruvian police, false papers, i learn the rules for slipping a police man a bribe without offending, always making me laugh, belgium and france chatter away in french and of course i dont understand a word. boscman travelling on motor bike, started in buenos aires zooming through chile and bolivia, now working his way up to columbia, then through central america and eventually canada. yes, i tell him, do it. you've got to see the west coast.me dreaming secretly of doing this myself, buying a tent and a fake license and a used bike somewhere and mabye finding someone who can tell me how to work the thing, burning lonely planet in a personal firey ceremony and then setting off on a totally new and unpredictable adventure through south and central america.
food consumed, sky drizzling, coats zipped up, and then back down to the trail, careful on the slippery rocks.
the next morning a man arrived from dawson creek, canada, old guy retired and fluffy white hair, age tired and worn skin of life experiences. along with 2 girls from britain, the 4 of us paid for the tour to the ruins of chavin de hauntar. long tiring bus ride packed with peruvian tourists, i of course picked the seat which would soon be neighboring whiny kicking children on fleshy laps, and felt annoyed and sad the whole way there. the day dissapearred into the hours. more rambling mind visions only so melancholy and uninspired. the ruins were not fascinating but worth the tour, keening ears tuning in to the boisterous guide, absorbing enough to feel expanded but not so much i could relay the information to anyone else. here and there words catch my attention and give me faint ideas of something ancient and discovering, black and white, male female, sun, numbers, calender, rocks, solstices and equinox.
in the evening a glass of rum in the common room and once again find myself the only female in a circle of men, more stories now with my fellow canadian included, all talk of culture and countries, i have learned more about and gained more interest in europe in those few hours than ever before. rex, an employee here from holland, oh the places hes been, and he will be living like this for the rest of his life. 'after a year, you know the only thing that had changed', he says in his lofty accent, 'was me'. emphasizing that with his entire body. 'and i couldnt get along with anyone anymore.' and hasnt been back since. i learn there are people doing round the world trips on bicycles with 4 year old children, an irish girl doing the same thing on motorbike. now dreaming of turkey and france, india and egypt. motorcycles and bicycles and gypsy vans and thumb jabbing the highway.
today to a trout farm, no official tour, but teo one of the owners drove us out 40 minutes in a van, old and dustsmell like the oldsmobile from my childhood,and the great beastly red and white thing that we rode all the way down to guatemala, snap back ashtrays, and stinky interior.
beautiful countryside, andean farmland, peace at last. one moment of joy, overflowing with it as i watch a small herd of ducks waddle down the bank towards me. great mother earth, creation. in all its curious and beautiful diversity. life on this planet, creator earth, all things growing and giving life, all things nurturing and being nurtured, all things passing away, all given back into the cycle. i wasnt interested in listening to all the fish talk so i wondered off trying to lure stubborn and independant dogs towards me, but to no avail.

here now, completely in pieces. many stormy nights have passed.
why cant i keep it, why cant i have this! crying and pushing inside.
i dont belong here, like this. i belong out there. out there. i belong to the wind. oh great mother, am i not too in your care.
everything goes, truth goes, truth present in all things and all things being reborn every moment there is nothing for me to hold on to. i open the palm of my grasping hand only ever to find skin shed of a light now gone, moving on, i feel deformed in this body, broken and lost. crying in my war of words, i declared battle the day i understand them as symbols and nothing more. but years gone by and i feel naively dependant on these illusionary creatures of the mind, i know no other way to myself. i cannot let them go i cannot let them go! is it fear of the serenity, to blink my eyes open to a scenery where nothing is caught, nothing is found, or described.i dont know the difference between love and fear in these moments of thunder, my footing is swept upwards and away in the storm. i know nothing.
i do not become anything, i am only forever becoming.
throughout ramblingmind journey i try to break it up when my arms are flailing sorrowfully and my voice crying to no one, try to bring myself someplace real by snapping my fingers, signalling stop sign--this is temporary. sometimes for a moment i loosen my grip and i watch what was tying me up in knots disassemble and float away, but time after time my mind launches forward once again into my drama, broken and lost to this world that has forgotten its divinity, all human beings illuminated that might not ever find out, and me, in my poor farsighted vision it comes and it goes, at times vivid like the sunrise of heaven, but mostly somewhere far, it feels far far within me. life feeling like a game of remembering and then forgetting

no birthplace, and no point of termination. every moment born anew....

Cajamarca, Peru

today i am faced with a decision, and trying to come to an answer through a balance of logic and intuition overwhelms me to the point where i am wishing i were not a person in this moment. to make a decision completely based on my intuition would be ideal of course, but this is something that might take time and time before it comes natural to me. if i could have it my way, this day, i would be, just a body of senses. i could just spend all day sensing things. just recieving things. i would be moved by the current around me, introducing me to new colors to explore, scents to savor. this is perhaps in fact the reality of the moment, but it is difficult to let go of my rationalizing aspect of mind. i also feel very low on energy, and i am searching for the cause. this also is affecting my decision. and i´m not feeling very articulate, so this entry might unfold in kind of messy icing job of cake.
lets see, also my sense of time is out of whack, and i have to concentrate to know where and what i´ve been doing in the past 2 days. i awoke at 5 oclock to catch my bus to cajamarca. i arrived at 130 the following morning...which was yesterday? or..im not sure.
the road was stunning, absolutely stunning, winding and curving through the mountains with a steep deadly drop inches away from the wheels. but the conditions were bad, as is typical of all unpaved roads at this time. it was supposed to be a 13-14 hour trip. and it ended up taking us about 18? there were several landslides that had to be cleared for passage, and so at one point we were stuck for about 4 hours. at least the sun was shining.
we stopped for a breakfast at a basic village community restaurant. i watched a little boy gutting a guinea pig in a big blue basin under a tap of running water. they eat guinea pigs here. yes, it is actually quite popular. i will never. i could not. would not eat a guinea pig. to me, these are cute little animals that live in little cages in homes and get fed by little children who love them and pet them and have named them. actually, i am finding it increasingly difficult to eat any meat at all, perhaps this is becuase of the way it´s prepared, just barely so. when i ask for a dish with chicken, there it is. i can see it. i see the chicken, i dont see food. the dimply skin, a wing, it´s neck, it´s spine even. the other day it was like, i had this little baby chicken on my plate. the whole thing without it´s head. and perhaps also there is another reason that is tied to something deeper which i cannot really explain at this moment, but it is a shifting that i am feeling all chocies and reasons being affected by.
everyone eating greedily sloppily and quickly shovelling spoonfulls of rice and beans and licking chicken grease off fingers. i just asked for a soup. chicken noodle. i recieved a bowl of broth with a good hearty serving of spaghetti and a big, fat leg of chicken, yellow and pink and dimply. i sat at a table with the boy with a thick wavy head of hair and deep slanting eyes. his head was down in his plate but i felt that we ought to talk to each other. for the first time ever i spoke the first word to someone. this sounds so obvious and simple, but i am discovering how awesomely good it feels to just do or say something when i get that little impulse to, instead of saying no to myself. and when he noticed me struggling to separate a little piece of meat from the bone with my spoon, he said, in english. ¨it is better you use your hand.¨ and i just laughed and said yeah. and just left it alone. i wondered if the ladies would put it back in the pot.
we continued to talk on the bus, he asked me permission to sit next to me, and he, boy, he was not so shy as i had thought! he just went right into life, his perspective.
something funny that seems to happen all the time is, when i´m in conversation with a native spanish speaker who is able to speak english, well, he wants to speak in english for me, and i of course feel i ought to be speaking spanish, because how else will i ever learn? it just happens, and so the conversation goes like that, both sides speaking in a language which is not their own. and i think, perhaps it is better this way because this way we are more on the same level, and equal in ability to express things. although i have to admit his english was better than my spanish. well anyway, we got into talking about ayahuasca and his experiences with it, what he has learned about univeral love. he showed me a rock that he kept in his pocket. it was in a roughly shape of a cross, with a spiral sort of fossil looking imprint something in the centre. he traced his finger over the spiral.¨this is the birth of the universe¨he said. ¨and sometimes i play my guitar to these rocks, and i sing. it is worship. in these rocks are the spirit of our ancestors, in the mountains are our ancestors. very powerful.¨
my voice became soft as i listened and responded with my physical body. and i felt, as it is very rare for me not to, that i had been pulled away from my centre, and i was floating, somewhere in between myself and himself. and as positive as the interaction was, i felt drained of energy, and i wondered, and maybe sensed, that eventually he felt this also. i have yet, ever in my life, to recieve any sort of clarity on the way i experience other people. i have experienced moments where i remained connected to myself while totally engaged in someone else, i know this is possibe. but i cannot figure out what happens to my world when it must open to another, and i have only ever created metaphors to express this to myself or others.
while we waited for an enormous piece of rock to get cleared off the road, bus stalled behind a build up line of other vehicles, we got out and stretched our bodies. sat at the edge of the cliff, gazing out into the valley, and the on and on, and i only have a limited repetoire of words to describe nature, it is not that easy for me, and i have probaby used them all up already in this entry, so all i can say is. magnificent.
he was crouched next to me, we watched two yellow butterflys playing with each other down in the tall swaying grasses of the slope, chasing connecting then separating, flittering fluttering beautifully and real. ¨it´s love¨he said. and i knew exactly what he meant, because i saw it too, and i wondered, if maybe i saw even more. i also, am learning about univeral love, i told him. and maybe, the way i phrased it, it sounded more like, i also, am learning how to love the universe. but it´s okay, because the meaning is the same.
i fell asleep on the bus and was jostled awake hours later when finally the bus´s engine started up and we slowly inched and bumped our way forward. raul was back in his own seat, and the rest of the ride was quiet, as the sky darkened the air got cooler. the moon was bright, oh the joy, when it is not hidden by nighttime clouds in the infinite sky, it shone irridescent finger nail clipping, mysteryjoy of the sky. the bus halted at a roadside something, i dont know, some kind of fruit factory where women and children were yelling and screaming out names of fruit holding bags bulging with round ripe limes and oranges and mangos and apples and cheapcheap cheap and everyone rising from their seats, hungry since breakfast, and sliding open bus windows with heads popped out yelling out names of fruit with bills and change in hand, ready for the exchange, me laughing, a bursting moment full of noise, raul asks me excitedly, you want anything? an orange! i cry. naranja! naranja! he shouts out the window, and moments later a pink plastic bag fat and full with oranges comes to the window and into my hands, and i put one sole into his hand. thats all it cost me, 5 oragnes for one sole. thats like, a third of a dollar. and then everyone energized as the bus moved onward into the night, conversations all around me trading fruits as sweet juices oozed and got hands sticky, fingers peeling, and the guy a few seats back yells out to me if i need a knife, proud with his big shimmering blade, me, alright, carving away the tough green peel with my little red pocket knife. raul, still up on his knees in his seat, passes to me a piece of fruit ive never tried before, never heard of, i forget the name. it was delicious like a thick red watermelonmango, and i worked my tongue around the big long strange seeds and flicked them out the window.
i fell back asleep, into those kind of moving car dreams where you´re so barely asleep yet dreaming, and slipping back and forth in a confusing way that you dont know what you´ve dreamt and what really happened, and i was startled and my heart jumped when i became aware of raul bent towards me in the seat next to mine, shhh, he says. ¨if you like, you can stay with my family, there will be a spare room for you, and then you can look for a hotel tomorrow, because at this time, trying to find a hotel...¨ in the moment i could find no reason to protest, and so there i go, shacking up with strange boy i met on a bus, but i knew his intentions were not harmful and that his heart was kind. and so i tied up my shoes which had migrated all the way up under the seats in front of me which i had to awkwardly fetch because the seats were almost fully reclined backwards into me and i pulled on my poncho and followed him down the aisle as he spoke to the driver, telling him where to let us off.
the home of his aunt and uncle was quite nice, and i could see they were a family well off. there actually did not happen to be a spare room for me but i gratefully accepted the couch anyhow, this his sleepy cousin prepared for me. i closed my eyes and i could hear the scrubscrubbing of teeth being brushed in the bathroom down the hall after raul said goodnight to me and disappeared.
for breakfast, sat at a little table with his aunt who had the same slanting eyes and those sparkling of his lighthearted uncle. there was a thick warm drink that tasted sort of like a rice pudding which apparenty was made of the same thing that beer comes from, he said..hmm. wheat? it was very tasty and filling and i also gobbled up lots of little white buns, slopping spoonfulls of jam into the crumbling space torn through with knife. and i thanked her very much, and oh what a sweet boy he was, truly honest and kind. and i took a nice warm shower there in the blue tiled bathroom while he scrubbed his dirty clothes outside in the washing station in the yard, and soon afterwards, he accompanied me in a taxi to the centre of the city where i paid for a room and where i spent the night and today i do not feel like laying out this decision i have to make which contains things like carnaval, an ayahuasca ceremony, geographical route, and time, going and returning. and possibly twice to here and it doesnt make any logical sense and i feel like i need to choose between the ceremony next saturday with raul´s shaman, or carnaval towards the end of the month, which is the very best here in this city than in the whole country, and i think i would choose that, but also i wonder if this is even something i actually have to decide and will it not just work itself out without my scrambling mind?
well, thats all for now.