Like Peregrine Roam

After dropping out of the air at 6:40 am local time, I took the local shared van to the city center with another chap who was on the same flight. As I didn’t have any Bolivian currency, I had to pay with US dollars to cover the 4Bs fair. The fair collector agreed to take $3 between us, equal to 21Bs at the current exchange rate. To my surprise, a couple of the local Bolivians voice protest to the bus driver saying that the clerk was trying to rip-off the tourists. This is always a good sign when the locals are honest.

After checking in to the hostel to rest a little from the altitude shock, I took a walk by morning to explore the center of town on foot. As the hostel is only 3 blocks from Plaza Murillo, I went to explore the government buildings and see Evo Moralles’ presidential abode. It’s a pleasant welcome to see local city life bustling about – reminds me I’m home on the road again.

From there, I wandered off the map into the winding streets up the hillsides; perhaps not the smartest thing as it really tested my lungs and stamina at this altitude. The higher I went, the more stunning the view of the city nested on high slopes.  So far, La Paz has already proved unique in what she has to offer.

After resting atop the hillside a while, I wended back to the hostel pass food stalls, stray dogs, local markets to rest and obviate against any altitude related problems. Just in time too as torrential rains just started pouring… time enough to plan for the next few days ahead.

Once again I’m in transit via Miami, gateway to South America. Having charged the boat to a friend’s tending, off I go to roam this wide earth. Everywhere I pass, the voices and dreams of millions echo our common destiny. Truth is, there is really not difference between here and there. One may ask “why then constantly uproot?”; to this I rejoin it is precisely because there is no difference between here and there. In some ways, we are all strangers to this strange land. This surreal existence was only re-enforced by the beautiful sight of hundreds of fishing vessels out trawling off the shores of New Orleans – each barque flickering silently in the darkness through the plane’s window.

The red-eye flight departs soon and I’m slightly apprehensive about dropping out from sea-level to 13,000 feet; along with the severe difference in weather to be encountered on the loosely planned route has made for heavy packing. But regardless, La Paz, Bolivia awaits at the crack of dawn.

Scourge of time and happenstance have wrought their thrashes; that we survive its attrition is by attribution of fortune and fortitude. Many miles have I roamed in search of proverbial home. Yet for now, I have given up my lodging to find myself moored to a homesick heart, harbored for the moment from the travails of life. Such is such to brave the storms as they come. It so happen that, by chance, my first week aboard this floating life is met by forecast of a full week’s storm. For a better part of 2 days already the boat has been jostled by wind and rain. There is a sad romance to it all if one pauses long enough to take in the surroundings: the flap of canvas, the creaking mast, the bangs against the hull, the thumps of stays, etc. There are a couple of minor drip leaks, but the hull is sturdy and intact; and I doubt there will be any cause for concern. It is not the most ideal of situations, but it makes for sound economic planning for one who longs to travel more. My plan is to bide the time, hoping to light propitious after.

You never know where the tacks and turns of life will lead. As fortune would have it, I touched down back in Costa Rica again for a week near the beginning of the dry season when the air is clear and weather clement.

…becomes more than a convenient metaphor. I suppose it has been a long romance of mine to be adrift on a skiff or boat; in fact, I can distinctly remember having fancied the notion even while young. Well, happenstance come as they come, and given all due consideration in regards to economics and the life style amenable to my personality, I settled on the idea of living on a boat. I had no idea a boat could be had for so cheap, and for a period of a week I actually had two boats.

There is a pristine beauty and calming pleasure of being at harbor. The concept of a boat safe at harbor as metaphor applied to life is scarce lost on anyone with a perceptive mind. It will be a good base to bide the storms of life for now, perhaps even learning to sail competently will come to pass.  Either way, plenty of beautiful sunsets are awaiting apt appreciation — anyway the wind blows… such is this floating life.

Whatever the mysterious happenstances between the finite and the infinite that daily shape the course of lives may never be fully known. Some times the least expected and statistically most improbable can happen when we wonder the pathless woods that are seldom traveled. Such was the case yesterday while meandering through enchanted Muir Woods, home of the 2000 year old ancient redwoods that tower well in excess of 100 meters. As I wandered through the majestic woods following the lay of the hills, up from the opposite way emerged the familiar face of a friend with whom I had lost touch with to time. Not so odd, one might think, except that the last time I saw her was in these very same woods three years prior. Given the geographical distance it seemed most improbable. Given that chance had brought us back to a joyful encounter, I told her that we should ponder the meaning of this strange encounter.

We then exchange contact information and parted again.  After a while further hiking through the misty forest, I remembered the moment three years past when she quoted, out of the blue I recited:

Out of this wood do not desire to go:
Thou shalt remain here, whether thou wilt or no.
I am a spirit of no common rate;
The summer still doth tend upon my state;

Indeed, for now such was the pacified mind of one content to wend the paths untrodden and untried. The delight of these too came to pass, and the failing light hastened us along. However, on the way back to San Francisco, on a whim, we veered up the northern outlook over the bay to enjoy the last view of sunset. In a word, sublime.

How does one know a mountain? One can point to a mountain and say “such is a mountain”, which is tantamount to knowing a mountain from the view of a mountain. There is, however, alternatively knowledge of the nature of a mountain by climbing and know by viewing from the mountain. Such glory is all that is divine (not in the Christian sense) and earthly open to the new vista of perception. The climb up to the top of Yosemite Falls – one of the tallest waterfalls in the world – was strenuous to say the least, but well worth the while. It truly is one of the marvels of nature… particularly in mid-autumn when the oak and ash are glowing saffron in the evening sun.

Every path may have its own reward, but still, I can say that some are a bit better than others. I had started on the trail late, and by the time I reached the top, it was well nigh dusk. There were only a sprinkle of people left who had made the climb earlier. Once they all left, I spent the remaining time enjoying the sunset with three others I’d ascended with. In the end I can report that it’s other-worldly to feel the spray of the falls blown back in your face in the evening sun, with the rainbow fading with the dying light. After a bit of rest, we hiked back down in pitch darkness.

For those long pent in to the bustle of urbanity, there is always a desire to escape into nature. California has some of the most unique natural beauty in North America. Having little to occupy my time, I set about with a few friends and drove up to Mono Lake, passing by the snow-capped Sierra Mountains and desert landscapes along the way. There is a certain inescapable allure of sparsely populated areas where human influence is kept at margin, where the sublime quietude of nature is left unto itself – undisturbed. One example being a lone, yellow gingko tree that we spotted in a field, glowing in full autumnal splendor in front of the adjacent snow-capped Sierra mountains – just one speck of brilliant yellow contrasting the white mountains behind it.

We made it to Mono Lake by early afternoon to see one of the most surreal natural wonders. Mono Lake, is one of, if not the oldest lake in North America. As salinity is more than twice that of the ocean, no fish can survive here. The surrounding landscape is largely barren, but the its unique ecology does host numerous species of migratory fowl.  Simply, this massive lake is a strange site to behold with its amorphous calcite tufas protruding from the surface.

Its a pity we couldn’t stay to camp there, as I can imagine its remote location would afford an incredible view of the night sky, possibly even more spectacular if the water surface is calm enough to reflect all the stars.

Never thought I could fly, but this is sufficient proof maybe? Today was a slightly overcast day, but still with the weather being near-perfect, I wandered Brooklyn with my friend afoot for the entire day. It’s one of the small wonders to passively observe the subtle happenings of life: a young woman walking her dog, lovers lounging on the grass gazing over the distant skyline, two elderly gentlemen in mid conversation gesturing with their hands, children chasing pigeons, etc. In retrospect, I can imagine what other people must have been thinking observing my friend and me – here were two full-grown adults frolicking like children running along the grass, then meditating, and then doing performance-art jumps without a care in the world.  Maybe this really is flying, or as close to it as earthly possible?

To all beginnings, a necessary ending. Some times they are planned, but most times events and occasions resolve to their own course in due passing. But with every ending also affords new possible beginnings. Who knows where the road will unexpectedly lead next; as it were, for the brief time I was in Belize – and as harsh as it was to see reality and poverty there (despite the high prices) – I enjoyed it without biases or judgment all the same.

Pleasant surprises abound in life. The unexpected and natural beauty that jut from the mundane trappings are those we hold dear most. Today was a prime example of such, as on a lark, I staid one more day in Flores, Guatemala, only to encounter one of the most beautiful moments of this trip. Words are rendered inept in all such encounters; so, suffice to say that I meandered the town of Santa Elena outside of Flores today looking for a bank, and got lost briefly in the ugly surroundings. When I finally returned, I opted to walk the 3 km distance, pass the shack building store fronts, tuk-tuks, and traffic… slowly working my way towards the bridge that led to Flores. In an instance, I stopped in my tracks when I spotted the perfect spot to idle for 2 hours. In life such moments will be few, one can’t be blamed for losing all sense of purpose when granted such splendor before the eyes…

A must-see list on any itinerary to Guatemala is, of course, Tikal – the remains Mayan civilization at its apogee. Hidden almost complete in jungle, the pyramids of Tikal peek over the canopies to loom imposing over the tropical landscape. The howl of monkeys and calls of myriad species of birds echo off the ancient walls of Tikal like voices calling from an extinguished past (interestingly, the etymology of ‘Tikal’ means “place of voices”) – a reminder of a time long lost. The footfalls of visitors, likewise, echo off the walls to intermix with the sounds of the jungle,vas if the ancient Mayans were attempting to convey the legacy of their culture. I remained for for a few hours wandering the park and ascending a few of the temple pyramids… each time remaining in long silence trying to picture what it must have been like in this metropolis during the peak of Mayan culture. And though the site altogether is not as stunning as Angkor, nonetheless, it holds a beauty all its own that is incomparable.

The beauty of the road less traveled is always the unexpected beauty that takes one astray. As this journey draws to a conclusion, the intended quick stop to the ancient ruins of Tikal lead to the unexpected town of Flores – an islet located in the middle of a lake. The easy quiet and uber small-town feel compelled me to linger yet another day, if only just to swing on a hammock overlooking the placid lake at sunset.

After spending the morning at Chichicastenango a couple of days ago, I boarded a tourist shuttle to Panajachel on the east rim of Lake Atitlan. This is undoubted one of the true wonders of Guatemala with three volcanoes jutting a few thousand meters high each above the majestic lakescape. The only detraction is that, since the rainy season has started, much of the afternoon from 2 pm onwards is drenched in tropical thundrestorms, rendering sunsets non-existant. This aside, the landscape is very dramatic, changing from moment to moment as the clouds envelope the hills.

I have spent the last two days exploring a few of the towns dotting the lakeshore, principally Panajachel, Sand Pedro, Jaibalito, and beautiful San Marcos. Despite the active tourists crow, the tranquility here is about as pure as it comes: imagine Mayan children frolicking by the lakeshore’s crystal waters lapping the sands, the local fishermen out tending to their nets, the chatter of the tiny markets, the winds that sweeps easy over the water surface, etc. Because of the natural beauty and culture here, there is again a strange mix of locals and tourists. It’s sad in a way to report that, though the tourist come for the local culture, by their very presence they corrupt the culture. Additionally, due the severe economic disparity, many foreigners have opted to stay by the lake and have purchased or built homes here. A property that would cost $2.5 million else where can be had for $75,000 here. But, one must admit the sad reality of how much the locals have to toil only to have their natural resources slowly plundered by the wealthy. What’s more, the poverty here is not hard to see as children and the elderly (some even 80 years plus) having to work, wondering the streets all day in heat and rain to earn barely enough. Just today, a little boy with amputated hands from the forearm came begging for change. It’s inhuman not to react with sympathy.

Still, such is the wonder to wander far and see human society in flux. And beneath it all, nature ever remains surround our trifling presence, ever inspiring awe and threatening destruction.

About 50% of Guatemala´s population are Mayan, making it the last territorial stronghold of this ancient people since the Spanish conquest. However, beyong the surface, there seems present an undercurrent of deep inequality and pain of the people. Despite the almost forced conversion to Roman Catholicism, the majority of Mayans hold to their ancient believes and rituals, often incorporating them with Catholic rituals.

Chichicastenango´s central Mayan market seems to be a strange almagamation of this hybrid cultures of sorts. The people here are predominantly 100% of Mayan blood — yet, precisely because it is a last bastion of Mayan heritage, the market draws a lot of tourists from the world over. As a result, a strange implicit social contract seems to have emerged: The locals have a love/destain view of the tourist, yet most tourist find a fascination in traditional Mayan culture – almost a livign relic in some ways. To what degree each group is fully aware of this social contract is uncertain. But this much is true, there is not real understanding betweent the two groups; as the Mayans see tourist as a money bag mostly and will tolerate them insomuch as such, but almost every Mayan will not allow their photos to be taken (exactly why I am not sure). In like manner, the tourist´s transaction with the locals are almost strictly materialistic in that they will buy all the traditional textiles and wares made from cheap labor extracted fromt he locals. Yet, because of this strange social contract… an entire sub-economy exists in these Mayan towns.

This aside, the Mayan market is a spectacle for the eyes and really is something that needs to be appreciated up close. The fascinating faces of the locals have a rich history to te; and one can easily see the hardship and sadness hidden behind every smile.

After the market, I hopped on a bus bound for famed lake Atitlan… will report later.

To say that one can easily fall in love with Antigua is an understatement. Situated amid three volcanoes in the highlands of Guatemala, it is the ideal location to explore the entire region. Indeed, there is much to love about this town: from the market place, to the cobble stone streets, to the numerous crumbled churches, to the traditional Mayan dress – this place certainly has character despite of throngs of foreign tourist that flock to it like Mecca. Still, it retains enough cultural identity to make it truly endearing.

Today, after deliberating in the morning my remaining itinerary, I opted to hike Volcan Pacaya… an active volcano spewing molten lava. At 8,400 feet high, it’s a moderate 1.5 hour hike from the last outpost town. The scenery is breath-taking as soon as you pierce the clouds line. Thence, remainder of the trek up traverse volcanic rocks until finally reaching the lava flows.

There have been constant activity since a huge eruption in 1965. Prior to that, Pacaya has erupted 23 since the Spanish conquest. Unexpectedly in 2006, the continued increase in activity formed flows of lava “rivers”. Word got out and huge tour groups have been going there since. Still, it is quite dangerous as the ground near the lava flow is not solid by any measure. Serious injures have occurred – even today, one of the men felled twice and badly skinned his knee and arm. Dangers aside, it’s quite an experience to approaching lava. The heat is utterly unbearable qua Dante’s inferno.

Time to rest up and prepare for Chichicastenango tomorrow…it’s Mayan market day.