I am content with simply watching the wonder,

Gently escape.

Like the scent of the flower itself.

Things are different now.

In what way it is difficult to put my finger on. Or maybe i should say.

I’m different now.

As i sit and watch a spanish film , trying to regain some of my memory of this romantic language that I seemed to finagle my way around..with out a snorkel ,just months ago. I find myself stumbling to remember any other tense than the present. Which in a way, is truly ironic as I try to stay in this tense for most of my day-to-day processing. Difficult ? Tru dat! However simplifying is a life long learning skill for me and I am finding the beauty in it daily.

although as I pack…or try to without too much procrastination. I am realizing there is still much simplifying to do!! Ahhh.

So we left off in Argentina. Having lost the need to have a job. Which at the beginning of my trip was definitely an objective, be it a unknowing one, or at least an objective that I chose not to realize. I decided not to spend hours on end in internet cafes and trying to rewrite what had already been written. I decided to , simplify , and write only in my journal. Which, alas, it  is escaping my knowledge as to where this said journal actually is at this present moment in time. I am trying not to admit to the possibility that It may actually be lost!

I do believe that every thing happens for a reason and so on a positive note I am trying to look at this mishap as an advantage. I will just have to recollect my memories as accurately as possible but with also a hint of imaginary situations.  As I remember my journey as the honest stories that they are . I will continue my blog with a mix of just that. Truth and stories, Fact and fiction….we will see how that works out. In the mean time. Spare a thought for my little blue journal which I bought in Buenos Aires ,where the second half of my trip started to unfold along with my continual and subtle self-realization of, maybe the hokey pokey IS what its all about anyways.

We followed the small road straight up. The Hostel was tucked away behind a stone entrance. The reception area was an adobe ties living room with a computer and a dorm room with 6 beds facing the front door. There were two other french women staying who were currently out. The price was about $6 for the night including breakfast.It was a steal. There were two other rooms off of the main living room, I assumed they were other bedrooms.

The kitchen was in a separate building past the reception room behind which were two bathrooms. Up some small steps was a terrace which housed the kitchen dining area. Where we were able to cook. The couple offered us coffee and we sat at the big oak table and tried to talk a little in spanglish. She was an English teacher. The Hostel was very unique. It had a very artistic flair with motifs and mythological birds and symbols painted or set into the walls. It was an adobe style house with terracotta tiles and plastered walls but with small nuances like broken cups layed into the plaster in the kitchen and  Huge dream catchers hung in the  patio outside the reception area. The Bathrooms were rustic but the appliances new and the hot water was heated but a huge kiln like fire next to the kitchen.It had a quaint domestic charm but with a modern traditional feel which enhanced its character.

He had built the place, it had taken 3 years. When we asked them if they lived there too they answered no, they lived in another house because they were expecting a baby. She was 4 months pregnant. They left to go and get some foot and jane and I mooched around the kitchen. There was a TV which was playing C.D’s through a stereo. The hostel had such a lived in Homely feel that we wondered if they had a dvd player. The thought of vegging out seemed like a treat seeing as though there was hardly anyone staying there and the owners lived in another house. I was flipping through the random C.Ds  Strewn on the side board next to the Tv , searching for some movies when the owners came back into the kitchen carrying a bag of food. They gave me a look of question and I felt like a complete busy body rifling through their stuff. I explained that I was looking for DvDs and wondered if we could watch a move. They explained that the Tv was broken and could only be used fr the speakers. I felt really uncomfortable like I had been caught snooping through their underwear drawer. Jane and I excused out selves from the kitchen and wandered back to the living area where our dorm was. The computer was located right next to the front door. They had told us there was free 24hr internet so I sat on the couch with one a cat and its tiny ginger kitten reading my guide book while Jane looked for Hostels Bariloche, the lake district in Argentina. We had decided to meet up again later in January.  We sat quietly and some time later the owner came in and flounced past us into one of the rooms at the back. We were confused.

We had been under the impression that the Hostel was purely for guests, but it was becoming more apparent hat the owners actually lived there and it was also their home. Their bedroom was one of the rooms off of the living room. No wonder they had given me a look of death as I picked through the C.D.s .

Often there is  Tv room in hostels and various books and dvds are for the guests to watch and borrow, but this wasn’t the case here. It was more like their home which they were kindly letting us stay. We retired shortly after feeling a little foolish but relieved that we were sussing out the situation.

The next day was a complete chill day. In Ville De Amaicha There are three hundred and sixty days of sunshine. It never rains. What is more, there are some residents who have never seen real rain. This beautiful settlement, which is part of the Tucumán Calchaquí Valleys, enjoys one of the mildest climates in the world with 360 days of sunshine for its visitors. So we were in our element. It is so easy when you travel to try to pack in so much.The contant travel getting to and from a destination and the constant feeling of not wanting to miss a trick often leaves you forgetting to take a day to recoup and relax. The hike at the waterfalls was a certain sign for me that exhaustion had set in. This little town was so sedate and the perfect place to “take a load off.”

That morning we had breakfast and sat out on the covered patio outside the reception area. She was giving a some kind of lesson in the living room and wanting to stay out-of-the-way ,we sat on the patio and read our books. However we definitely were feeling an attitude of coolness from this pregnant woman who had been so eager for us to stay the night before. Not being clearly aware of the situation we were very much trying to stay away from under her feet. But needing a day of doing absolutely nothing we were most definitely going to be around the hostel.  Much to her dismay.

At lunch time we went for a walk to the square. most things were closed for siesta but there was  “greasy spoon” open on the corner where we ordered a heart attack sandwich of hamburger, ham, cheese and egg which we shared anda salad to try and talk ourselves into the fact that it was a slightly healthy lunch.

The town is over run with stray dogs, so the sight of food brings a gang sniffing and prowling around your feet and table. Unfortunately that matter was made worse by a forlorn female dog with incredibly weeping eyes, who was on heat. So evey male dog in the area was trying their luck and fighting each other for their spot in line. There were about 7 males hanging around her. All she was interested in was out greasy sandwich. So I hasten to add that this was possibly one of the least enjoyable lunches I had ever had. The TV inside the restaurant was blaring so loudly that the speakers crackled and sounded like they were a bout to blow. So sitting inside was not an option. Yet outside we were in the midst of a barking sniffing dog humping frenzy. Gross!!

We finished our food and walked back through the to the hostel, only to realize that this little black dog with the manky eyes had decided to make us her new owners or was still under the impression that we  still had food. So not only were we being followed by her but by several other make dogs who were all following Her scent and the prospect of a doggy shag! It was like some kind of scene from lady and the tramp except it lacked the fairy tale ambience. We aggressively shood them away with little effect.

That night we made a dinner of fresh vegetables and rice. It was delicious and a treat to cook for ourselves. We made enough for an army so we were set for lunch and dinner the following day.

One of the reasons I had wanted to stop off in  to Ville de Amaicha was that there were ancient ruins built by local indians who had fought off the Incas for over ons hundred years. I thought it would be interesting to see a different kind of settlement which was different to all of the many Inca sites we had come so accustomed to. After our day of chilling we walked to the Pacha Mama Museum which was another attraction in this tiny little town.

As you enter Ville de Amaicha ,amidst the Mountains and ravines, an anomaly sits  set back from a round about, sticking out from the pedestrian style of the paved roads but at the same time merging in with the natural formations of the mountainous back drop. It is the Pachamama Museum, a monumental stone project that was built by artist Hector Cruz,  a descendant of the Quilmes Indians, the ethnic group that has inhabited this valley for thousands of years. The Building is a mosaic of stones and sculptures.

The museum houses many exhibits. The most prominent among them is  is the history of the place and it geology of the area and the many types of rocks, crystals and mining history of the region There is a room which explains the anthropology of the region with examples of pottery and ancient scenes of life, reenacted by mannequins in a staged, stiff , still life exhibits.The interior information is informative and worthwhile but I found it a little dry and for me the beauty of the architecture and the incredible work of the artist who built it is what makes this stunning place such a must see attraction. You can wander through the many courtyards, and cacti filled gardens. walking up and down the stone stairways onto the roofs of the buildings to get and even more spectacular view of the over all lay out of the museum. The floors are inbedded with ancient stickmen ,walls with mythical monsters , fountains, Sculpturs, Iron gates cut into the antient motifs and symbols of mother earth. Everytime time you look back at what you think you have seen there is something there you hadn’t. You could spend hours if not days discovering another little hidden nuance in the rock, of the design of the place. It was incredible. Even more incredible that it sits on the outskirts or a relatively unknown place when it is artistically on a par with that of Barcelona’s renoened Gaudi structures. I felt very lucky to have experienced this incredible place, built so obviously with  someones life and soul.

After the museum we caught the local bus to the Quilmes ruins. The bus left at 3.20 pm and there was a 5 KM walk up to the site. The last bus returning to Vila De Amaicha left at 6.20 so we had to be back on the main road to catch that or we were hitching a ride home.

One of the oldest indigenous communities in Northwestern Argentina survives in this quaint little settlement. the Ruins of Quilmes  is a fortified citadel which was raised by the Quilmes Indians. One of the most important archaeological locations in Argentina, the ruins were discovered by ethnographer and naturalist Juan Bautisa Ambrosett  in 1908 and restored in 1978. As of 2007, this archaeological site is in private hands, and has a private hotel on its territory.

The Quilmes people were an indigenous tribe of the Diaguita group who settled in the western sub-andean  valleys of today’s Tucaman province, in northwestern Argentina.

The Diaguita, also called Diaguita-Calchaquí, are a group of South American indigenous peoples. The Diaguita culture developed between the 8th and 16th centuries in what are now the provinces of Salta, Catamarca, La Rioja and Tucumán in northwestern Argentina, and in the Atacama and Coquimbo regions of northern Chile.

Diaguita peoples were one of the most advanced Pre-Columbian cultures in Argentina. They had advanced architectural and agricultural techniques, including irrigation, and are known for their ceramic art. They preferred the colours white, red and black. They mostly did not build large cities, but were sedentary farmers raising maize, pumpkins and beans, and herd animals such as llamas. They reflected the Andean culture they shared with the Inca. They worshipped the Sun, thunder and lightning. Although they shared similar religious beliefs as the Incas they were one of the fiercest indian cultures and  resisted the Inca invasions of the 15th century, and continued to resist the Spaniards for 130 years, until being defeated in 1667. Spanish invaders relocated the last 2,000 survivors to a reservation  20 km south of Buenos Aires. This 1,500 km journey was made by foot, causing hundreds of Quilmes to die in the process. By 1810, the reservation was abandoned as a result of its having become a ghost town. The survivors ultimately settled in what is now the city of Quilmes. Today, there are only a few Quilmes left in Tucumán Province.

The ruins were constructed differently from those of the inca In Peru. more like stone walling layering thin slices of rock on top of each other. Some areas were off bounds because they are still used for ceremonial purposes. I walked to the top and looked over at the desert view of cactus and the expance of yellow earth. I sat for  a while and pondered. Some thing I like to do at the ruins I have visited. Sitting with my back against the rock. Feeling the energy of the place. It was very apparent as medicine work is still performed here. After  a while I thought I had better find Jane. She was waiting for me outside. We checked the time. We basically had 35 minutes to walk the 5K back to get the last bus. We power walked all the way to the main road in Half an hour, only to catch the bus 25 minutes later! It was 6.20 pm Argentinian time!

The following morning we caught the bus to Tucuman and then the major town of Cordoba.  The bus to Cordoba was great! It was like being on a plane. We were served  food and even played bingo! Driving through Argentina there were varying modes of transportation including bicycles, Horse and carts and a lot of mopeds. The easiest fastest option for zipping around the cities. It was lovely to see the old-fashioned horse and cart still in effect. It helped to appreciate the slower pace of life and the fact that people here in Argentina really do take the time to enjoy it.

Throughout the bus ride I was deciding whether to stay in Cordoba or go straight to Rosario. I had to start making my way to Uruguay for Xmas and if I wanted to visit the beaches there I had to get a move on.

So once I had arrived in Cordoba it was around 11pm. I decided to keep plowing on and bought a ticket to Rosario. The bus was leaving in 45 minutes so I would just sleep on the bus.

It was a sad farewell to leave my friend Jane, We gave each other a big hug and promised to see each other again in Buenos Aires.

Once again we were solo.

We arrived at the small bus station in Cafayate. There was a guy there who was offering a ride to a local hostel. We had been recommended a good one by some people in Salta but seeing as the easiest option involved getting transportation we thought we would take a look and if we didn’t like it we would go and investigate at the other one. Cafayate was a small town after all.

The hostel was fine. We booked into a six bed dorm which was empty and we got a deal if we booked a tour through the hostel. Seeing as en route we had passed through the most glorious mountain ranges we decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

After checking in we grabbed some food and then decided to walk to a local cheese factory. Cafayate is famous for its goats cheese and wine. The farm was only a 2km walk, but I suddenly developed the most uncomfortable bloated stomach. My new jeans were extremely tight and I had chronic indigestion. This had been a reoccurring theme for the past couple of days. I was in such Agony I could hardly walk!!

It’s ridiculous when you get sick. You think the symptoms are never going to go away and that you are going to have this problem for ever! Jane thought it might be raw onions. We had eaten salads with raw onions for 3 consecutive days. I had no idea. usually having a stomach of steel and never having allergies to anything, I was dumbfounded.

We got to the cheese factory and joined a tour half way through. With us only being in Argentina for a few days I was still not used to the accent so we didn’t really understand allot. We went out to the farm and saw the baby  goats with their mamas. There were two different types. A long-eared variety which were from Africa. These were only used for meat. The Baby goats stay with the parents for 45 days and the mothers are not milked at all during this time as it is all for the babies. The goats are fed on a diet of alfalfa, which was being mowed in a field next door. There is nothing more sweet-smelling to me that freshly cut grass. It was a treat.

After 45 days the animals are separated and the milking routine goes back to normal. When the goats are milked they played classical music to relax them as the procedure itself is not harmful but their heads do get locked into grids so they can’t move around. We also saw some cows being milked but they did not get the privilege of classical music. Favoritism if you ask me! Apparently the cows are milked twice a day and the goats once.

After the tour we had a little cheese tasting session. The tour was free if we purchased some so we bought a smoked and a basil variety. Delicious.

Luckily we bumped into a British couple  from our hostel who were on a tour, they offered us a ride back. I jumped at the chance as my bloated belly was still causing a large amount of discomfort .God help the people near me when my trapped wind decided to make an exit.

We walked to the plaza to get  glass of wine and bumped into an English couple from the tour of the slat flats and their Canadian friend. We sat and drank wine and discovered that wine in Cafayate was cheaper than water! We arranged to meet the following night for dinner and Jane and moseyed home for a plate of ordeurves, Olives, parma ham goats cheese apples and crackers..the perfect supper.

Cafayate wa a picturesque little town with a grassy plaza and artisan markets on either side. The crafts and textiles here were very different to that of Peru and Bolivia so it was a refreshing change to walk around and browse some different merchandise. Although I didn’t indulge I did take down some numbers and information of different vendors.

The following day we went on a tour of the surrounding Valleys. It was amazing, The result of thousand of years of volcanic activity, the shapes and ravines in this area were incredible. Like many canyons which once housed flowing rivers the striations and ridges in the mountains caused by ever decreasing water levels created unique and fascinating patterns. Not only this but the colours in the rock were amazing. Stripes of Green, cause by copper deposits, Red from Iron and yellow from Sulphur. Cafayate is best known for its contrast of colours and its unique geography that ranges from the mountain desert to the subtropical forest. I can see why, you felt completely engulfed in the echoing canyons and vastness of the area. Some of the formations even looked like mini villages built into the mountain sides. shapes of turrets and circular rooftops, almost like that of a fairy tale.

That night we met up with our fellow British travellers and one Canadian (Although Jane would be most peeved for me including her under the umbrella of british) She is fiercely Irish and I have had many telling offs for daring to cover her in the british blanket! (sorry Jane)

Our friend were told of a couple of places that were a few streets away from the center of town.  They were very basic. plastic white chairs on the pavement with red plastic coco cola emblazoned table cloths. There was a man tending a huge grill with hunks and slabs of various cuts of meat and sausage heavily toasted over he huge flame. The price was 10 pesos for a steak. after ordering we were beckoned over to the grill and the chef gave us samples of different variations of cooked meat so that we could have our order cooked exactly to our liking. Cooked a little more or a little less than the offerings that we sampled and the meat was then prepared to out personal preference. There must have been at least 20 pieces of meat on the grill and this pro knew exactly how they were all cokoed and how long for. Our steaks were served on a wooden chopping board. accompanied by a basic salad of lettuce and tomatoes.

Well, This was a stake like none other ever tasted in my life. Granted I didn’t eat meat for 17 years and would have no idea how to prepare or cook a decent stake , but I have never experienced a steak that melts in the mouth, this buttery tender, perfectly cooked and not too bloody specimen must have been a happy cow. cause boy did it taste happy to me. and all for 10 pesos. I have eaten steak in the poshest restaurants and paid the most expensive prices on the menu and never in my life have a tasted one as good as this!! The Canadian Girl ,Haley was a vegan. Well not any more. As of this night she ate her first whole steak unable to resist the delicious smell and our groaning noises of culinary orgasmic bliss, she succumbed and wolfed down a steak like there was no tomorrow!! vegetarians beware of your morals when visiting Argentina!! You will become a vegetable turncoat before too long!

We went back to our hostel and sat on the rooftop bar with a couple of bottles of wine.  we retired at 2m feeling like we had experienced a truly Argentinian evening.

The following day we rented bikes and rode up to the mouth of a trail which lead up to a water fall. The bike ride was 5 km but felt like 20. The bikes themselves were not the best a little mechanically rusty and very heavy. The road was a rocky dirt road which made the friction even more arduous. I was shocked at my fitness level. I used to ride 14 miles to work in 1hr 20 minutes and this 5 k dirt road took me at least an hour and I was NOT having fun. We got to the trail head and gladly locked up or bikes. I was exhausted. The trail was gorgeous and climbed up next to a river. We had to boulder hop a little and part reeds to find the trail. Families were dotted along the river BBQ-ing and picnicking. After about  40 minutes I decided that I couldn’t go any further. I was so tiered that I kept loosing my footing and was becoming more and more agitated. I have a tendency to feel like I have to push myself even when my experience is getting less and less fun. So I told Jane that I was going to stop and she could collect me on her way  back down from the waterfall. I lay on a perfectly shaped boulders next to the river and listened to the rushing water. The hard rock shaped smooth by wind and rain cradled me like  baby. It had a dip in the middle and held my body perfectly like a manger. I dozed , very happy with my decision to stop. Feeling no guilt at not reaching the water fall and sucking in the fresh air, the sounds and the cool wind that had picked up.

Jane returned after about 20 minutes, she had not managed to find the water fall.

We made our way back to the bikes , hoping for an easier ride home. It became quite apparent that out road up was a slow gradient uphill, no wonder it had ben so arduous! we flew down the rocky road back to the main highway in about 15 minutes flat!! This definitely made me feel a little better about my sucking wind to get up there.

That afternoon we ate tamalies and Humitas and took the bus to Ville Amaicha. This was a small town on the way to Cordoba, that I had read housed ancient ruins of the local indian tribes. It was only  a few hrs away. Cafayate had treated us well. We left with very fond memories of this sweet little town with its slow pace and layed back attitude, yet still a slice of Argentinian sophistication that gave it a Rustic appearance and with a classy , welcoming atmosphere.

At 7 we tried to get a taxi to the hostel but the driver refused us telling us it was too close and that we could walk. fair enough…We walked, but it took half an hour.

The girl at the hostel told us she had a bed for us but we had to wait until about 10.30. We sat in the sunny courtyard and drank tea and read our guide books. We decided to waste some time in town until our rooms were ready. Always a bad move when you are exhausted as most of the time is spent unsuccessfully trying to make decisions and staring off into space. But hey, it was better than nodding off on the patio. We went into town, every one was beautiful, and fashionable and I was completely distracted by wanting to purchase  lots of new clothes. In Peru and Bolivia fashion is not at the forefront of peoples priorities. A travelers attire usually consists of those god awful zip off pants and a fleece, so it’s not something you even think about. But after three months of the same limited wardrobe, I was drooling on the glass of shop windows with money burning a hole in my pocket.

I refrained. acknowledging my tiredness and recognise any purchase made now was not well thought out. We went to the local indoor market for breakfast. It was quite a walk and was packed. As we walked into the entrance I was flabbergasted to see rows of stalls selling Mate and coca Leaves! There was me absolutely soiling my knickers on the bus thinking I was going to get thrown into an Argentinian prison, smuggling my leaves over the border ( I am exaggerating, But I was worried!) And here are sack loads of them. It is obviously not Illegal in Argentina after all.We walked up the stairs to the food area. It was baking hot and sweat started to immediately stream down my temples. A man approaches us and we asked how much a coffee was.

“4 pesos” he said after thinking for a minute. He had obviously though that being a couple of gringas we didn´t know any better, but there was a sign up advertising cafe con leche and tostadas for 3 Pesos.

“okay thanks.” we said and abruptly made an about turn and retreated down the stairs. The flourescent lights of the market and smell of raw meat, mixed with the over stimulation of colors, crowds and my exhaustion created a bubbling  sense of panic.

“let’s get out of here,” I said to jane.

“Yeah, good call ” she said.

time was nearing lunch time and we wer hungry. We mulled over different salad options at various restaurants but temporarily inept at making a decision and  still on a Bolivian we  were  feeling as though everything was really expensive. We had not quite adjusted to the new currency or the in inflation.

We walked past a small hole in the wall cafe with a simple wall table and stools. In the window were parma ham and cheese sandwiches. for $1. We indulged. In the cafe was a guy buying coffees. He didn´t look Argentinian. We both noticed him but thought nothing of it.

We walked back to the hostel to freshen up and see if we our beds were ready.

On the way back we walked past another hostel and decided to go in and see how much the prices were.

We rung the bell and who opens the door but the non Argentinian fellow in the cafe.

“Hola!” We all resounded with the mutual recognition.

He was English. His Name was Gareth..I secretly called him Gazza.

He showed us around, there was an empty dorm with 4 beds that he said he would give us for the same price as we were paying at the other place. He said he would eve drive us there to pick up our stuff if we wanted. I was tiered and couldn´t be bothered with shifting myself so we agreed to come back the following night. The deal breaker was that breakfast was included and it included corn flakes!! Corn flakes were the deciding factor, such a treat from the usual bread and butter which by the way was also on the breakfast menu!

As we walked back to the other hostel we decided that it was more hassle to unpack and then repack to move and we should just explain to the first hostel that they didn´t have corn flakes so we were moving.

So we did. Not literally but you get the drift.

Our new hostel was great. Gazza and Enrique were the main dudes, Incredibly accommodating and a home away from home.

I met Enrique, who helps run the place in the kitchen. I was making coca tea and he took great pleasure in trying the Bolivian coca I had smuggled as opposed to the Argentinian. Probably also from Bolivia but I suppose it was a novelty for him. I told him about my escapade on the bus. He laughed and explained that coca is only illegal if you are trying to cross the border with several hundred kilos. I felt a little foolish.

The next day Jane and I took ourselves to a nearby town called San Lorenzo. The Bus dropped us off right at the foot of the trail head which was situated in a small park. It was gorgeous. the hike was not very strenuous so we double backed on ourselves to try to get a bit of an extra work out. Jane has legs up to her armpits and is a marathon runner, so often I am sucking wind trying to keep up with her. I suppose its good for the heart rate?!

The lush green vegetation and various species of trees and plants made me feel like I really was in a new place. The  hike was perfect as the over hanging trees shaded the trail and even though it was sometimes arduous, the temperature was perfect.We reached a vista point where you could see the whole of Salta and the neighboring towns. So far I was liking Argentina Allot.

We decided to walk a little through town to get the bus instead of catching it directly from the trail head.  The road curved down wards and high walls hid the large homes sitting behind them. They looked like old  stately homes from yester year. Some had been turned into hostels and sat on vast grounds with swimming pools in the garden. Even though they were huge , their charm was that they were slightly run down and full of character. Some  had been slightly updated but were renovated still with the colonial charm of their original construction. Wounded shutters with missing slats, white washed walls grimy with age. sweeping grand stair cases leasing up to the main door with balconies off of the bedrooms upstairs. I imagine these homes had 7 to 8 bedrooms with several drawing or reception rooms. I imagined the families that used to live in them and the lives that they used to lead. Some families still lived in them, the family home passed down from generation to generation. But the money to renovate was long gone and humble living now took place. This was a precious little place which gave me a wild imagination and a glow of excitement daydreaming about meeting a rich,hansom,warmhearted  Estate owner who rode horses and lived in one of these run down historic abodes….I would have a herb garden and he would teach me to ride thoroughbreds . there would be a glass house behind the house that would be my studio. But I would´nt have any pressure to make money because he would be independently wealthy. I could spend my days interior decorating his wonderful home and baking. (even though I don’t bake.) Sounds good doesn’t it!

That evening we strolled around town and went window shopping. Except I couldn´t just stick to window shopping and talked myself into absolutely needing a new air of jeans as I had been darning the arse of mine since Cuzco. and they were about to rip right up to the back rise. I could have darned them again, it is true, but there is only so long you can fake a fabric until it reaches the point of no return. So There I am in these dark blue skinny jeans, which make me look tall ,10 pounds lighter and my but a perky peach. They were stretch so they definitely  hold in some thigh fat making you look smaller than you really are. The tell tail factor was a slight muffin top creeping over the waistband but I told myself that famous white lie that us women love to tell ourselves

” When I have lost that few pounds they will fit perfectly!”

The shop owner and Jane raved about how good they looked and they were a good deal in comparison to the prices I usually pay for jeans (which is extortionate amounts) So there was nothing for it but to indulge. It’s amazing the power of retail therapy. For me it’s like crack cocaine to a junky…I floated home with my new purchase!

That night The hostel was having its weekly all you can eat BBQ. All you can eat and all you can drink. I opted out of the meat  but the salads were amazing. I certainly took advantage of the all you could drink part of the deal. There was a german guy, a french Canadian , and 2 french couples, and of course me and Jane. We spoilt ourselves with good  food and conversation. Then a couple of Gazza’s friends popped in with incredulous stories and we dug in to each others histories, love lives, vocations, among many other things. It was a fun night indeed. A little to fun as my hang over quickly informed me the following morning, and the red wine spatters all over my cream dress that I spent most of the afternoon trying to clean off with vanish. Ho Hum, what to do. It was the first hang over since I had started this trip. I had been white as the driven snow up until this point. Probably why I was hit so badly, that and the cheap wine.  Still It was a cloudy day with imminent rain, so I didn´t mind wasting it curled up in bed and taking things extremely Slow!

The following day we headed off on a 10K jaunt down to the river. The trail followed the railway tracks and we ate banana sandwiches by the river. We were going to be adventurous and try a different route home but after losing the trail several times and ending up scrambling across logs and in neighboring farms we decided the thought of getting lost was just too exhausting so we headed home the same way we had left. All in all we had walked a decent 20K through canyons and through tunnels bored out of solid red rock So after fulfilling our need for a bit of excercise we bought our tickets and headed for the border the following day.

We survived the last of the Bolivian Buses to Villazon. Here we were eager to cross over to Argentina, but I must admit I was a little bewildered at the prospect of immigration and crossing the border. I had no idea where it was. Usually I get off of the bus and follow the crowd. Then follow the crowd back on the bus. But this time was a little different as we intended to get another bus on the other side. So as we disembarked the bus, the crowd dispersed, leaving me no-one to follow.  Jane and I got our back packs from the hold, two men relentlessly haggled for us to buy bus tickets from them. ” Chicas, where are you going? la Quaica? Follow us Good price.”

“no thanks !” we muttered, busy trying to organize ourselves. they repeated their spiel over and over again getting closer and closer until I shouted.

” We don’t need bus tickets…..Thankyou!”

I get techy when I am with my bags and people are trying to distract me. For obvious reasons.

This is a definite technique in Bolivia. the technique of repetition, when you are trying to get your bearings and these cunning touters try to wear you down by hanging around like annoying flies  sounding like a broken record. The trouble is it has the opposite effect  on me. I just want to swat them rather than taking them up on their offer. So with the harsh brush off. They scampered.

The fact was that we did want bus tickets but not from them.

Jane and I headed down the main drag figuring this was the most obvious option. It had the usual border town street vendors, local goods, knock off sunglasses and watches, electronics machine-made artisan products, cheap clothes and food, Including what had become my favorite Bolivian snack which I still have not figured out the name. It’s a triangle of corn bread stuffed with cheese and packaged neatly  in a corn husk. It’s not a tamale, It’s different and its bloody delicious if you get a fresh one. Which this wasn´t. But I didn´t care as it was a symbolic tribute to all I had become fond of in this country for which I had grown a strange love hate relationship.

We got to the immigration offices. It was as easy as Pie. They stamped asked no questions. I walked across the border to Argentina, They stamped. Asked no questions, waved me on a to a guy who was half heartedly checking bags. I had smuggled some coca leaves in my bag. Not really knowing what the deal was I decided if they were found and it was a problem that I would play the innocent unknowing dumb female. But the act wasnt necessary as the guard simply patted down the bag and waved me on.

We grabbed a cab with a french couple to the terminal, it was about 10 minutes drive away. Unluckily for them we had no Argentian pesos yet but it was cheap so they told us not to worry. Very Generous of them, hope they have many good deeds done to them.

We got to the terminal, figured out the bus, went to the bank got dinero, went back and bought our tickets for the 11 o clock bus to Salta and headed to a coffee shop to while away the next 3 and a half hours with a hot chocolate and a large cold beer.

We got back to the terminal and dug in our bags for warm clothes for the bus. It is always mandatory to wear long underwear and thick socks on the bus at night. For some reason they whack up the AC, probably to keep the driver awake and in turn the rest of the passengers who are unprepared for arctic conditions, freeze.

On the bus we dozed and about half way through the night we were rudely awakened buy a soldier standing on the bus telling us we all we had to get of.

Well lets just say in the nicest possible way ,that I shit my pants .I had a bag off coca leaves in my bag and the army were about to search the bus!! I shoved the bag of coca in my sleeping bag and shoved the sleeping bag under my seat.

We all piled off of the bus and lined up in front of two tables with our hand luggage and also collecting our big bags on route. Children were left sleeping on the bus. As we got off, soldiers got on.

I stood in line watching the top-level of the bus as the soldiers flashlight darted from seat to seat, pulling at left bags and up heaving blankets. I stayed clam, well actually I was pretty much frozen to my spot waiting for one of the guards to step off the bus holding a bag of coca leaves saying

 ” Who is in Seat Number 17?”

As we all shuffled one by one towards the search tables I could see that the searches were about as thorough as at the border.  Should have left the coca leaves in my bag! I thought. I got to the table with one eye still on the bus. Every time a soldier got off, I scanned his hands for the contents. At the search tables , seeing I was a tourist they patted down my bags, opened a few side pockets and waved me on. We started a line outside the hull of the bus waiting for the go ahead to re-pack out luggage. The soldiers got off the bus, we were motioned back on. I had a lucky escape. I got back to my seat. My sleeping bag had been taken from under the seat  thrown across it. I rummaged inside it for my coca. There it was. Had they not looked inside? Whatever the reason. I was not going to question. It was there. So was I . I sat down and tentatively waited for the bus to move to be sure I was out of the woods.

Why  you may be asking. Why risk it.?Well they are coca leaves. They are not drugs. As far as I am concerned they are medicine.  they’re a offering first and foremost, They sooth the tummy..They make great tea and to me they are a sacred plant. I thought they would not be available for the rest of my trip and it is absolute sacrilege to throw them away. Not an option. I could have given them away but  Selfishly I kept them for me. I share them, but I was not in the mode of grace and abundance and wanted to take the risk. Plus there was a little piece of anti authority thrown in for good measure where i didn’t want to be told what I can honour and believe and what I can’t. The coca is a plant spirit not a drug and I would need several other very obvious toxic ingredients to make it so. That is why I took the risk.

We all sat on the bus a little shell-shocked. The engine started and the bus started to move.

I started to breath.

We arrived in Uyuni late and hungry, We checked into the Hostel and made outr way to the minute man pizza . This place was hopping!and the Pizza was amazing. Roasted vegetables was just the ticket. It was devoured with out a crumb left on the plate.

The next morning, after buying our tour was a tad stressful trying to squeeze in  a police report, yes Jane had had her bag stolen on the bus to Uyuni. Seems like everyone has it happen once. Luckily the only important thing in it was her camera.  With the usual bureaucracy it was not an easy task. The Police report was an eventual success after batting my eyelids and schmoozing the men in uniform, ( my favorite thing to do) trying to persuade them to actually do some work rather than stand around and feel self-important was not an easy task.  After I ran to buy train tickets to the border town for the night of our return from the tour. This was  not so successful. After waiting for 30 mins I was old I was not able to purchase them until the day of travel. Thus making myself and the rest of the jeep load of ” tourists” ( literally), 10 minutes late.

I offered my sincerest apologies which were met by a very understanding french couple, but the male half of the couple in the back replied with a cold stare behind some dark sunglasses. I decided I would melt him with kindness later.

We headed out to the first stop of the tour which was the train cemetary.

It  is an antique train cemetery. It is located 3 km outside Uyuni and is connected to it by the old train tracks. The town served in the past as a distribution hub for the trains carrying minerals on their way to the Pacific Ocean ports. The train lines were built by British engineers who arrived near the end of the 19th century and formed a sizeable community in Uyuni. The engineers were invited by British-sponsored Antofagasta and Bolivia Railway Companies, which is now Ferrocarril de Antofagasta a Bolivia. The rail construction started in 1888 and ended in 1892. It was encouraged by the then Bolivian President Aniceto Arce, who believed Bolivia would flourish with a good transport system, but it was also constantly sabotaged by the local Aymara indigenous Indians who saw it as an intrusion into their lives. The trains were mostly used by the mining companies. In the 1940s, the mining industry collapsed, partly due to the mineral depletion. Many trains were abandoned thereby producing the train cemetery. There are talks to build a museum out of the cemetery. It actually made me a little sad. There were plastic bags everywhere caught in the dried shrubs, In an ignorant way it was  a coloured array of plastic beauty. There is no concept of litter in Bolivia. Trash just gets thrown out of the windows or straight onto the floor. With the blustering wind, all rubbish is strewn around the open desert catching on what ever lays in its path. The train cemetary was rusted carcases of once magnificent steam trains. The shapes and patterns were inspiring but other than the bolted textured metal, I felt this place a bit of an eyesore.

Next we drove to the salt flats Salar de Uyuni (or Salar de Tunupa) is the world’s largest salt flat at 10,582 km² (4,085 square miles). It is located in the Potosí and Oruro departments in southwest Bolivia, near the crest of the Andes, and is elevated 3,656 meters above the mean sea level.The Salar was formed as a result of transformations between several prehistoric lakes. It is covered by a few meters of salt crust, up to 4 in some parts, which has an extraordinary flatness with the average altitude variations within one meter over the entire area of the Salar. The crust serves as a source of salt and covers a pool of brine, which is exceptionally rich in lithium. It contains 50 to 70% of the world’s lithium reserves,but that lithium is not being extracted yet. Yet being the operative word. 

The large area, clear skies and exceptional surface flatness make the Salar ideal object for calibrating the altimeters of the Earth observation satellites. It is incredible, Miles and miles of white crusted snow like salt. In some areas Men had shoveled the salt in to small piles ready for collection. Little of the salt is actually used for food consumption. Most is used for industrial uses and to make the gimmicky salt Hotels. Some are exclusive and are off bounds unless you are staying there. Others you couldn’t enter unless you bought something, so I just wandered around the outside. They structures themselves were uninspiring. The Novelty was that they were made out of salt, but even with this ingredient I found them a little uninspiring, A bit like cookie cutter houses you see in the burbs.

We drove for about half an hour across the endless shimmering salt flats. It had rained recently so the thin-film of water created a mirror of magnificent reflections of the surrounding  mountains and volcanoes. I thought this to be one of the most beautiful places on the planet. With a view unlike any other I had ever seen in my life. An immense space of land air and salt and nothing else.Even though I was in a crowded jeep, I could breath. The sky was vivid blue and the ground was almost blindingly white.

Salar de Uyuni is part of the Altiplano of Bolivia in South America. The Altiplano is a high plateau, which was formed during uplift of the Andes mountains. Underneath the surface of the Salar is a lake of brine 2 to 20 meters deep. The brine is a saturated solution of table salt, lithium chloride and magnesium chloride in water. It is covered with a solid salt crust with a thickness varying between tens of centimeters to a few meters. The center of the Salar contains a few “islands”, which are the remains of the tops of ancient volcanoes which were submerged during the era of lake Minchin. They include unusual and fragile coral-like structures and deposits that often consist of fossils and algae.

Incahuasi Island or Inkawasi (Quechua, meaning “Inca house”), also known as  Isla del Pescado, Isla de los Pescadores or Isla Inca Huasi, is an island in the middle of Salar de Uyuni, this is a rocky cactus ridden oddity in the middle of its serene surroundings. The total area is 24.62 ha. Geographically, the terrain is harsh; it is a rocky, hilly island. It is incredibly beautiful in its visual contradiction. There are 1000 year old cacti some of which are 12 feet tall. we stayed here for lunch. You can wander around the Island and from every angle the view takes your breath away. It was past two and I was ravenous but my eyes won the fight with my belly as the uniqueness was too good not to soak up. Lunch was a delicious fresh salad and veggie burgers. After Jane and I played around taking photos with a plastic dinosaur. The Vast space made it easy to crEate a deceiving  perspective. We Spent the night in a hostel in San Pedro Quemez where our crew of two drivers rested and the chief cooked us  lasagna. The team consisted of a husband and wife, so,  crew. Our driver was the son and in the other car, driving another crew of people,were his parents.  While we waited for dinner a 10 year old daughter of the woman who run the place, asked us if w wanted to hear a song. How could we refuse! of course one turned into five which turned in to a request for money at the end. again. How could we refuse. After she sat with us at the dinner table and we practiced our spanish she wrote down songs for me that she had learnt at school about discrimination and spiders webs. It was fun and educational. She was quite the little character.

The next morning we awoke at 8pm to visit a mutated landscape of petrified plants, coral shapes wind beaten and wizened. All of this area was once covered with sea. Once the volcanoes erupted and the land rose rapidly exposing all that had been marine life. With the combination of salt , high winds  and high temperatures all exposed plant life was petrified into a rock like state. As if Medusa had layed her  piercing stare across the land and turned everything to stone. Next we drove to Laguna  hedionda. This Laguna was rich in sulphur and tinged green with the mineral. The wild grasses growing around the lake blew in the cooling winds, Flamingoes fed and the green waters off the lake changed from white to green depending on the depth of the water. The weather grew cold. we ate lunch outside which was again prepared by our chief. We ate quickly as rain was imminent. We drove to a different lake. Laguna Onda. This was a bigger lake  and we  were able to get closer to the flamingoes. The mossy black volcanic earth squelched under my flip-flops. The surrounding mountains were layered with colour and the grey sky and the black sand off set the green waters of the lake to a beautiful tone of teal. The yellow grass, dry and straight, bent in the rushing air.

We next drove to the 7 coloured mountains. Not wanting to spend 5 bolivianoes on a squat down toilet at the lunch stop, by this point we were all about to wet ourselves. As the jeep drove through the rocky road that split the wind swept sand dunes in half ,our bladders sloshed and eyes squinted with necessity. As soon as we stopped we all ran for cover behind the nearest dune. Relieved and able to concentrate we took in the 7 coloured mountains.These magnificently layered multi coloured mountains are the result of millions of years  of volcanic eruptions. The different minerals which have been exposed have created a rainbow of muted colours. It was late in the afternoon and the light was golden projected on their peaks.

From here we went to The Arbol de Piedra is a volcanic rock formation in the desert Siloli in Bolivia. The rock is unique because the natural elements have carved its shape into that of a tree. Quite amazing.  The only bummer about this tour is that everyone else and their aunt is in Uyuni for exactly the same reason. To see the salt flats. All of the tour companies go the same route and so when you pull up to a site there are hoards of people already there milling around. I found this site the worst for that. boys showing off their rock climbing skills on National Monuments. Climbing the tree of Stone and taking pictures. The Rock that it is made from is very soft and in time just as it has been shaped by wind and rain it will eventually break at the base. Like the beauty of a young woman it is slowly deteriorating. Therefore this kind or treatment only erodes it more it is not durable enough to be abused in this way. This behaviour annoyed me, but I think I was mor annoyed at not being able to get a clear shot with out one of these dudes constantly in the way. I mean How inconsiderate! Didn’t they realise I was trying to give the photographic illusion of having the place all to myself!!

The last stop of the day was the Laguna Colorado. This was absolutely incredible. A mass of red water surrounded by a myriad of  yellow grass, green moss and white salt. Unexplicable beauty. Flamingoes basked in the red waters made red from the micro organisms living in it. This lake holds vast amounts of Borax. There were no other groups at this spot. It was tranquil and the wind blew just enough to create an atmospheric edge to the experience. It was calming and the perfect situation for reflection. Which I think we all did as we seemed to sit enough of a distance from each other to feel as if we were all there alone. It was the perfect end to the day.

We jumped into the car and headed to the hostel. Once we got there , the girl in charge came and met the jeep. She looked sheepish! The wind was blustering and sand whirled around us. two llamas roped up, put on a show for us while we waited, strutting and jumping around as if performing a mating call.

The roof had blown off the hostel that we were supposed to stay at. It was inhabitable. We drove to 3 others which were all full. The hostels were situated in a line. There were several all built next to each other and this is  the only accommodation available for miles and miles. We were literally in the boonies. I could tell the driver was nervous. Finally, after driving back and forth along the line of small bungalows we found one that had room. But all six of us were crammed into one room with an inch of space between the beds! That night we bought two bottles of wine and over dinner, drank and got to know each other. It was our final night together and even though we had been crammed in the close quarters of the jeep we hadn’t talked that much. We had been soaking up the beauty of our surroundings. We slept well on full bellies of wine and food.

It was an early start the final morning. We arose at 5am to make it the geysers. Natural boiling mud formed by the volcanic activity under the surface.  On the way we drove past the rocks they call the Salvador Dali rocks. These are in the far distance but with the contrast of the vast sand dunes these strange surreal rocks dot the land scape. It is as if you have just stepped into one of his paintings. We arrived at the geysers as steam billowed out of the earth. These crates of boiling mud were literally that! Boiling! Next we drove to some secluded hot springs. Finally I had my rustic hot spring experience, with sulphur waters and the view of the morning sun starting to rise. It was perfect. especially as non of us had had the opportunity to shower the day before.

In peru I had soaked my spirit in the ancestory of the place. Bolivia I had been mostly cities. Lots of research, but not much soothing activity. This trip had been the soul food that I needed. As we drove back to Uyuni, I felt fulfilled.

After my coin had decided my destination of Sucre. I got to the bus station and bought my ticket. I got a more expensive ticket for a bus Cama. These have bigger seats that recline back. And why the hell not I had been scrimping and saving for weeks now, I decided to treat myself.

The bus arrived about 7am. After a disjointed sleep I had to prize my eyes open as the daylight streamed in through the window. I gathered my belongings and checked for the bus times to go to Uyuni, my next destination, before grabbing a taxi to the hostel.

When I arrived, I found the hostel to be allot nicer than I had anticipated and a bit more money than I wanted to spend. So I decided to search for something a little more “down market”, they are usually more interesting anyway.

The woman at reception had suggested a place one street away, so I made my way there. When I got there , there was a young woman standing on the steps of the entrance, Staring down the street and  looking perplexed. I stopped in front of her. I recognised her from the bus.

” No rooms?” I asked

“no.” she answered

At this moment a man approached us holding a clip board.

” Are you looking for a room?” he asked

Well pretty obvious seeing as though we were both looking lost with huge back packs. He told us of a couple of hostels near by that were only about $7.  So we followed him. The first Hostel was full. The second only had one room for two people. It was an ancient old mansion with a court-yard in the middle. I am sure it was the home of a very rich family back in its hay day but it had been sorely neglected.

The double doors to the room would not close properly as the lock was a little squew wiff. But here were two beds and another set of double doors at the opposite side of the room that lead out to a kind of conservatory type balcony. It had a kind of ancient charm.

But It was a little dirty and I had the idea that if we shared a room at the 1st hotel it would only cost a little more.

We trekked back there. My plan had failed, It was double the price, we tried a few other hostels but everything was full. Apparently there were some kind of international games going on. This made sense as in all the hotels I was seeing young teenagers walking around in tracksuits embellished with flags from different countries.

We decided to head back to the ancient old mansion, scurrying back hoping the room was still available. It was. But the proprietor was a little strange or severely hard of hearing. Maybe a little of both.

” hola, Buenos Dias, ” I said cheerily.

She looked at us blankly

” we were just here, we would like to take the room” I said.

” Which room?”. She barked

“the  room upstairs with two beds”

“Its 30 Per person.”

“Yes, we know.” She  was acting like she had never seen us before in her life.

” Passports” she said holding out an expectant hand.

We settled ourselves, showered and went to the market for breakfast. My new found friend was called Jane. A tall lean Irish lass with blond curly locks. We had been on similar routes and were on a similar journey. She had also had a difficult time in Bolivia. Her original Idea was to stay in Sucre for a while and take spanish lessons but was feeling like she wanted to keep moving and find the land of hope and glory she called Argentina.

I like her. She was level-headed and softly spoken. A psychologist by trade.

I told Jane of my plans for the day, which were to visit some agencies and find out about tours to the salt flats in Uyuni and then visit the Textile Museum. She was Game on.We finished breakfast and walked down to the market to get some juice, well actually they are more like a smoothy, fruit blended with milk. Fresh. you pick out what fruit you want and they throw it in the blender there and then. It’s like a milk shake in a diner they give ALL of whats in the blender so you get second helpings. All for 50 cents. We got down to the juice stands at the bottom of the market and low and behold they were sporting the most amazing looking fruit Salads! A mountain of fruit, every kind imaginable with whipped cream and yogurt. Heaven. Feeling quite jilted with our bread and cheese breakfast we decided to come back for lunch. Across the market facing the fruit sands were lines of blue Sacks full of potatoes. Many many different Varieties. The women wore blue aprons and were uniformly colour coordinated with their wares. We wandered around town looking for tours to Uyuni and comparing prices.

We sat in the square for a while and fought of the street sellers. One woman in particular, selling woven goods. I made the mistake of asking to see a red and black striped woven bag. It was a basic square bag bur she wanted $30 for it. It was too big for my needs. I was on the look out for a new small bag like the one that had been stolen. This was not it.  However I had open the flood gates with this old Aymara Woman and in her angst to sell her product she prodded and poked and pleased with her face 1″ away from mine, shouting her toothless mouth ” por favor amiga, !” with a mix of Spanish but mostly Amarayan. She told me I could cut the bag and make it smaller. All the while showing me other goods, Placing woven wristbands on my lap, aggressively coaxing me.

I had ruined out tranquil sit in the park. There was nothing more to do but get up and walk away.

It was time for a fruit salad. It was just as delicious as anticipated. Papaya,melon, apple, orange, banana, strawberries, strawberry yogurt, brazil nuts, fresh cream and a token chocolate wafer sticking out of the top. I could have eaten 3.

Sucre has a warm and sun filled climate. Down town is busy but no where near as manic as La Paz. I liked it. It was clean and bright like Arequipa. There were good food and bars with a cosmopolitan feel. But I knew I only needed one day here and was craving some wilderness and natural beauty.

In the afternoon we went to the indigenous textile museum.It was really the main reason for me going to sucre, thats why I flipped the coin. It was great and again really informative but almost too much information. The art of Bolivian textiles is so incredibly complex and regional that there is so much information to take on. There is so much to learn in order to do this art form justice that I left feeling completely overwhelmed and almost beaten by the idea of working with Andean Textiles. I think I have just completely over done it and milked my self dry.  I am overloaded on textiles and think I have made it a kind of mission of mine whilst in Bolivia and have made this investigation into a little mini job for myself. I need a little “Time out to reassess the options. Maybe I will end up having an epiphany of a completely different kind. Being Dog Tiered also didn’t .A sleepless night on a bus can leave one feeling deflated , regardless.

Jane and I decided to relax a little before heading off to dinner. We hit  up a vegetarian place with a german influence. Although my dish of Tofu curry was more indian than German. It was certainly nice to have something different to eat than bread and cheese or chicken and rice. After the meal we went for a couple of glasses of wine and battled over whether we should have apple pie and ice cream. I talked us out of it knowing that it would tip us over the edge of belly comfort after such a big meal. I was quite surprised at my restraint.

That night after we had fallen asleep, a howling wind rushed through the room and both sets of double doors flung open crashing and flapping against the walls. We both Shot up in bed and  gasping with fright It couldn’t have had a better effect if it had been in a movie set! I got up and shut the doors thinking to my self that this old house was definitely haunted. We fell back to sleep immediately.

In the middle of the night I awoke to

” OH MY GOD , OH MY GOD ! CAN YOU SEE THEM ?THEY’RE EVERYWHERE!”

I opened my eyes as wide s an owl and froze in my bed. It was pitch black. I could see nothing.

” What?”I asked pensively. Afraid of the answer.

“THEY ARE CRAWLING ALL OVER THE WALLS AND THE CEILING THEY ARE EVERYWHERE! OH MY GOD!”

“What?” I asked again.

I was visualizing an infestation of cockroaches crawling all around us.  Jane was shouting rapidly in a complete panic and I was wondering what an earth to do, but not knowing what these things were it was a tough call!

“THEY ARE CRAWLING EVERYWHERE THEY ARE ABOUT 10 FT LONG!!” She cried.

“10 feet?” I questioned feeling this was a tad unbelievable. Even in the haunted house of what was fast becoming the horrors.

“Oh Don’t worry”, Jane said calmly and paused. ” I think I was dreaming.”

Heads Sucre Tails Uyuni. I was going to go straight to Uyuni and miss Sucre but at the last-minute I decided to let a coin chose my fate. Heads it was, I was off to Sucre.

I got to the terminal and bought my ticket thinking my departure was 6.30pm instead of the actual time of 7.30pm. So sitting once again at a bus terminal in South America, trying to drown the constant din from workers all trying to shout louder than each other, all trying to get the next person who walked through the door to buy a ticket from their counter. In the midst of chaos, I thought about a question that everyone thinks, and some are brave enough to ask when you say you are going to travel.

What are you looking for?

Earlier that day , I had taken my self to a movie to kill time. I was what I thought was  chick flick but ended up being a deeply sad film with Cameron Diaz (surprisingly enough) and that little girl from little miss sunshine. I bawled my eyes out. It was amazing I hadn’t cried since, well since I spoke to My Mum when my bag was taken, but before that it had been years.

I am about half way through my trip now, and I must admit, Bolivia has not been easy. But at the same time, I have met some very interesting people, learnt allot about the culture of Textiles and gone head to had with some life lessons and challenges. I have spent allot of time on my own looking at my own reflection. Sometimes wondering what the hell I am doing and sometimes not. Sometimes loving having no one to answer to and feeling free as a bird and sometimes feeling lonely as hell and completely alone in a foreign country. But at the end of the day, I pack my bag, heave it on to my back and get on a bus to somewhere.

So, What am I looking for?

Good question.

In the beginning I really did think I was looking for something. I didn’t know what. Hopes of finding love, hopes of finding a new vocation in life, hopes of finding a change in my self.

Now I sit here watching all of the people milling around the terminal. Lugging back packs, sleeping on each others shoulders, staring into space, looking lost. I realize that I don’t really think I am looking for anything. I’m just going. I am looking for the next destination, but thats as far as it goes. The journey is literally in the journey. There is nothing specific to find, but there is a hell of a lot to see.

Once you tell yourself there is something to find, you have a goal. And boy, do I love a goal.

” I am going to travel to South America and find women’s collectives to work with”.

That was my goal. And yes, I have done that, but it turns out very different from the original expectation. Dangerous word that. Expectation. I am realizing that I am not “finding” I am seeing, or more watching.

Finding, somehow insinuates that what ever you find is yours. When you travel, nothing is yours. Not even your bag! Everything is simply there. It’s just up to you if you want to see it.

I feel allot more than I used to. Obviously if I am crying at a movie. All of the things you see effect the way you feel about the world at large. Dont get me wrong. I struggle with my patience every day, I struggle with feeling sad and hard done by. I get annoyed when people shuffle along to slowly in the street when I am on a mission to get somewhere, when people stare at me for too long. But I also feel compassion. I accept situations more as they are without struggling to change them. I understand how incredibly fortunate I am . I feel less fear than I used to , mind you I tend not to put my self in fearful situations, but in general, my capacity for faith is greater. I deliberately put myself in situations of slight discomfort, like staying in a really low-budget hostel or sleeping on a bus, or eating bread goods for a week. Situations which before would have irritated me or tested my ability to ” keep it together”. However sometimes with no other choice, what are you going to do? Or even with another choice, its good to humble yourself.

When you walk past a man who shoves a stump for a hand in your face and one block later, an old woman, who could be your grand mother is sitting in filth with feet that are so crooked you wonder how she manages to move herself. How do these people get through life having to beg for food and being completely disabled?

Then there is the complete opposite. Magnificent views of absolute wonderment that leave you completely breathless and emotional. Luckily enough, I have been born with vision. That I have the chance to experience these wonders that sometimes seem so ridiculously beautiful to be real, is a miracle in itself. These are all the moments I AM LOOKING FOR.

So ultimately, at this point in time what am I looking for?

I am looking for what I see and seeing what I feel.