journal – Nómada [con] Rumbo

Beach Day in Brazil: Reflections from Praia do Espelho

This journal excerpt is taken from week 4 in Brazil, January 25th, 2025. Since I named my blog “adventurer’s diary” I figured, why not post one of my journal entries? Along with some photos taken at this stunning destination.

This entry came 10 days after my time in Salvador. I arrived in Brazil on December 28th after sorting out the over-stay fine with Colombian immigration in Leticia. I took a motocarro to Tabatinga, the Brazilian border town, with my flight ticket bought, ready to go to Manaus. Or so I thought.

My entire time in Brazil, I had issues with GOL Linhas. I would buy a ticket online; they would say it was confirmed. Then I would find out my payment was refunded. With no email notification. Both in Tabatinga and Manaus I ended up having to buy the ticket in the airport. I never did figure out why. Was it due to the security on my credit card (which is supposed to be ideal for travel – come on Aviator Mastercard!)? Or the hold they put on my bigger transactions after a random case of fraud.

Whatever the case, I showed up at the airport thinking I had a flight and found out it was canceled. Lucky for me, there was another flight leaving about an hour after the flight I showed up for. So, it all worked out.

That was to get to Manaus. After attempting and failing to buy my Manaus-Salvador flight ahead of time, I knew what to expect. I made sure to get an airbnb close to the Manaus airport. Then, I went to buy my ticket in person.

This was just a sample of the setbacks I experienced. By making a plan, I finally could have this transcendent day at the beach – Praia do Espehlo, some 2 hours from where I was staying in Porto Seguro.

When you enter, bring happiness, when you go, leave yearning.

Here’s a slice of my experience:

I’m at Praia do Espelho with a tour group. The tour cost 120R$ (~21 USD). The ride here on the tour van was bumpy, but I’ve been so tired, I still fell asleep.

It’s hard to describe vibes and generalize my experience with Brazilian people. On one hand, groups I have been haphazardly integrated into have been hit or miss – sometimes coming off as cold or discordant. I guess in those rare cases where I was invited to join close friends, I felt like there was little room for a third wheel. Or maybe I’m not confident enough in Portuguese to break the ice. I could just as well be misjudging the situation based on the little I can see on the surface.

All the same, Brazilians have been some of the most helpful and patient people I’ve encountered. Even on the street. One of the silly little things that has stood out to me after so much time in Colombia is how people actually respect pedestrian crossing. Even in the States that is insanely rare – you’re at a crosswalk, and the drivers stop to signal you to cross. Even bike riders take heed. The sense of awareness of other people and road rules seems stronger here.

What scares me is the intensity of the men. If they find you cute, they shoot their shot at all costs. I’ve gotten three or more new contacts because of this. You have to set boundaries, but I learned that well in Colombia. Been there, done that, could write a book on it. You can’t take all the flattery too seriously because that is typical modus operandi. A thinly veiled tactic to convince you they’re sincere.

But, on the other hand, it’s been nice not being pegged as gringa right off here. Brazilians come in all shapes and sizes. And they’re aware of that. It helps that I also speak Spanish. Still, I try not to default to speaking it. That has made being spontaneous more challenging. But that’s the idea. I’m mainly asked if I’m “Argentina” because most tourism comes from there. After all, it is summer here in the Southern Hemisphere. It’s high season in beach towns (so not great for my wallet). I imagined that but still didn’t prepare. Sometimes you just have to do things, accepting all consequences of your rash decisions.

Brazilian music is fire. You don’t hear Colombian music much or any music in Spanish. And, why would you, I guess? You rarely hear Brazilian music in Colombia. Brazilian’s have such a rich variety of musical styles and rhythms of all types that unless you happen to be in a community where Hispanic people live (mainly of the Venezuelan diaspora), you aren’t likely to hear Vallenato or merengue, or even reggaeton for that matter.

That means full immersion.

I just explored the beach. We got here around 10 am and leave at 3 pm.

The beaches here are like natural swimming pools: few big waves, soft, fine sand, lukewarm water – cool but not cold enough to shiver. I walked along 4 different small beaches connected to this stretch, sectioned by rocks, cliffs, and reefs. I saw people snorkeling, and I imagined all the colorful fish, coral reefs, and anemones they could see.

I floated on my back, peacefully rocked by steady waves. No rocks under foot in most of the sections. Some are covered by black sand that ripples when you walk on it, others orange, almost red when mixed with the deep blue water; the sand turns black and seems to pulse like something alive when you step on it. In other parts of the beach stretch the sand looked almost tanned ivory, shining in the sun, lending credence to the name: Mirror beach. All of the sand is smooth, inviting when wet, hot from the Brazilian summer sun, but I followed the shoreline to soak my feet as I went.

Now I’m listening to a three-man band play what sounds like Brazilian zydeco. They play the same type of accordion popular in Louisiana. There’s a guy playing a triangle, and the accordionist is also the singer. I think I’m in heaven: sipping my obligatory (over-priced) cocktail, a mint-flavored piña colada, taking it all in from my wooden beach chair in front of the ocean under a parasol…

Survival Mode and Learning to Slow Down to Thrive

I wrote this on October 15th, almost a year ago when I was over two months into working at a jungle hostel. The transition from living in a city working at a private school and working and living in the middle of the jungle, in the middle of nature, in the hospitality industry, was not an easy one, as much as I wanted to be there and felt blessed by circumstance. There, I reflected and wrote about my internal struggle with living in survival mode and how hard it is to truly thrive in that state.

I went to walk down the closest stream today with the intention of simply observing and being present – meditating. All day I have been in fawn mode. Our body’s response to being in danger can come in many forms, but we are most familiar with fight or flight. We forget about fawn and freeze. Fawning is when we think we can placate the cause of our extra-alert state and by doing so, be safe from danger (the reason our nervous system is dysregulated). Freezing obviously is when we shut down completely (playing dead) when we can no longer fawn or fight or run away.

In this role I feel constantly stuck between the 4. I have been living in survival mode for so long, my nervous system doesn’t even know how to regulate itself – or rather, the processes it would go through need to be heavily strengthened because as it stands, I am in a state of hypervigilance that doesn’t allow me to function properly. This affects mood and bodily functions, and everything in between.

But the biggest thing I’m finding that it affects is the ability to be present. Without being present, you cannot observe and take in anything around you. An animal being chased by a predator does not stop to notice the ripples in the river or the color of the plants around it or even the scents left by other animals. It compromises this ability to stay alive, and to survive, it only needs to run as quickly as possible without feeling its own exhaustion.

That’s flight, but the same is true when we fight and black out. We might not even remember what set us off or who threw the first punch – this is why we so often misremember events after going through something dramatic or traumatic. We act on instinct, and that instinct could be to hit back.

It might equally be to fawn. No one is threatening my livelihood, but I fear being hated by my bosses and coworkers, making a bad impression on customers, and so on, and since these things rely on my disposition and the way other people perceive me. So, in this state the urge is to perform behaviors that will keep the perceived threatening party happy. The worst thing for me about being stuck here is that I can vacillate to fight because I am aware that this job is not a big deal. I am so grateful for the experience, which can lead to me being fearful of doing something wrong and losing it, but in reality, I am free, and my livelihood is not relying whatsoever on me working here. And I know that.

Sometimes though, we just freeze. For me it feels like my head is full of cement. It’s trying to move and form thoughts, phrases, actions, but it’s like pushing a boulder through pudding. Sometimes nothing makes sense to me. I can’t even breathe, think, take a moment to connect with my body and my surroundings.

That’s when it hit me. The water in that stream is full of ripples, forming little waves. Those ripples are caused by the movement of tons of tiny, small fish and insects and living things living in the stream, pushing against the waters. And that is every person and circumstance, moving through a stream we cannot control, hitting obstacles, running into other people and their feelings and their consciousness and not being able to see what causes those ripples. We can only see it if we slow down. We can only see the cause of the movements around us if we are present, observing, noticing. This has been coming up in my meditations a lot, the reason being still can be so essential to meditation. The need to connect.

The need to acknowledge other forms of consciousness and life. Living matter all must have some level of conscious awareness, even if it is not able to manifest itself. The living matter is full of energy that changes forms without being destroyed.

I would not notice this if I didn’t choose to slow down, stop, observe. I cannot notice anything in survival mode.

This thought led to another of my theories. Our bodies and our biology have a reason and a purpose molded by all of the thousands of years of evolution and changes we’ve faced as living things on this Earth. At one time, our survival depended as much on observing as it did on fighting or any of the other instinctual behaviors. Well, observing can be instinctual as well. It has also served us to thrive as living beings. And with our lives today, our threats have been misplaced to mundane situations related to our source of livelihood: money, jobs. For that reason, we cannot tell the difference between a true threat and something that simply feels uncomfortable.

Furthermore, we spend so much of our day passively engaging with technology. I realized that the energy in my body must be channeled in an active way. Otherwise, it could only be fueling my anxiety – the cortisol levels are not divorced from eons of evolution. We feel stress because we were wired to some extent to move. To use our consciousness to think, analyze, and observe. To use our bodies to walk, run, be useful, be active. And yet so much of our time is dedicated to sitting and staring at a screen and reacting to other people’s actions and thoughts and possibly expressing our own but in limited and formulaic ways. This can’t be serving the purpose we human beings have, our needs as complex beings to move both mentally and physically and act.

These reflections came to me sitting on a mossy rock in the middle of the jungle, watching the stream, observing mushrooms growing on a log. Something this mundane is still crucial for us to reach our full potential as living things. A leaf has as much purpose as we do – it grows to feed its tree; it dies to feed other living things and to nourish the soil. And the cycle continues.

Thinking about life in this way is hugely comforting to me. It reminds me I can find the motivation I need to fulfill my own purpose as a living being, no matter how small and insignificant it may seem. But I must use all the tools available to me as a human: my mind connected to my body and the environment that surrounds me.

Of Aging

Every wrinkle, like a scar, is part of my story,
It’s part of my journey,
It’s deeper than the tattoos on my skin,
Written into my DNA
Like the generational trauma,
Passed down like family heirlooms
Through the years.

It is what I make it,
Like my story of–
pain, beauty, humanity,
witnessing.
I can erase my wrinkles,
But they would remain
All the same–
the wisdom, the hard fought
hard won wars with myself–
the stress and anxiety–
the fear of abandon.

Is beauty youth or grace?
Does “aging gracefully” mean
Showing grace, self-possession
And self-acceptance,
or is it dyeing my hair and getting botox?
Is that all a lie, manufactured confidence?
Is aging gracefully winning the genetic lottery?
Does it mean having no scars?

I’m 32,
and society already
has me labeled as
irrelevant, no matter
the creases on my forehead,
the greys in my hair.
Or at least that’s how it feels,
How it once was and for many
Still is.

Yet I choose to love who I am now,
Who I’m becoming and un-
Becoming–
Age-willing, time-abiding
Chronos-Prothimos,
I’m not done changing yet,
And to change is to live
And be alive.

One if by land, two if by air: A Gamble in Ecuador (a recap of my time in Quito in 2021)

Bear with me, but I am going through my drafts and trying to release a few. I wrote this back in 2021. I decided to leave out the cringe-worthy prologue about the plans I ditched that year reminding of how naive I used to be. But the information and experience I had in Quito as I described it was worth recounting, so here you go!

Currently, I’m sitting in the airport in Guayaquil, Ecuador. I’ve got about 6 hours until my flight to Colombia, so I’ve been reading through my new German Essentials for Dummies book and now finally updating this blog.

What have I been doing in Ecuador, you ask? Well, I needed to check off at least one country from my list this year. I wasn’t sure if I’d be accepted to the Trilingual International Studies program so I went ahead and booked a flight to Quito, Ecuador after deciding that I would make a trip home to visit my folks. My time home completely revolved around family – including a terribly wholesome family roadtrip to visit my grandpa in New Mexico. I really needed to do something for me after that; it wasn’t what I originally had in mind, as I have been hoping to explore several South American countries during the June-July break (thanks, Corona!), but it was a nice way of getting out of my comfort zone and exploring a new place.

I booked the flight back in mid-June after deliberating over flights with my brother. Parentals insisted that flying into Lake Charles was the easiest option for everyone, so I decided that if I was going to be paying extra to fly into a small city airport anyway, I might as well tac on a return flight to Quito. The roundtrip flight cost around $600, $400 of which were covered by finishing my 2-year work contract.

My time at home passed quickly, and before I knew it, I had only booked a single hostel for my first two nights in Quito. Frankly, I like traveling this way, because up until I stayed in Quito for the weekend, I wasn’t even sure where I wanted to go after exploring the capital. My original plan was to casually work my way north since Quito is only about 4-5 hours from the border with Colombia, then cross by land and bus around to some places of interest on the way home (including Pasto and a possible stop in Ibague or Villavicencio).

This was my plan. No flights back. I even did several searches to see what the most viable way of crossing the Ecuador-Colombia border would be. I had it all figured out, I thought, before I even had each day of my trip mapped out.

Until I started talking to other people in the hostel and got a more up-to-date view of the border crossing. Ironic that when you search for information about the Ecuador-Colombia border, the fact that it’s closed on the Ecuadorian side doesn’t come up.

Colombia has opened up their side with Ecuador since mid-June, however Ecuador doesn’t seem to be keen about letting people out or in by land. I understand that ground borders tend to be less regulated and therefore less practical for preventing people with the Corona Virus from crossing, but I feel this is more about population control in general. Plus, it does nothing to efficiently stop the transport of contraband. Airports are perhaps more orderly and “cleaner” in their regulation of the comings and goings of people.

One of my favorite things about solo travel is being able to time and pace things to my liking. I book based on my energy level and the amount I want to do during my stay. I knew from the beginning that I would probably only spend the weekend (Friday-Sunday) in Quito, so I intended to make my time count. That’s how I decided to book a bunk at the Secret Garden hostel in Quito’s historic downtown. This hostel has a breathtaking view of the city. Even when arriving, exhausted, at 11:30 pm on Friday night and having to walk up 4 flights of stairs (this is how you get the amazing rooftop bar view), I couldn’t help but stare in awe at the lights and illuminated monuments of the Ecuadorian capital.

This hostel was perfect for meeting travelers from all over the world, both young and old. The next day, I had breakfast around 9 am in order to be prepared to take off on a 2-hour free walking tour at 10. I sat alone and couldn’t help overhearing the conversation at the table next to me – a mixture of French, English, and German! I admit it, I was itching to just insert myself into that conversation and try practicing my language skills. But I was not fully awake or comfortable and felt that would be obnoxious and awkward, so I contented myself with just eavesdropping (one of the great joys of being a language learner/polyglot).

I cannot hype the walking tour enough. Once I ate and changed, I met on the same rooftop where reception and the kitchen/bar are located to wait for the guide to arrive. While waiting, a girl from Switzerland struck up conversation with me. In hostels, you find yourself meeting people from all over and initially starting conversations the same way over and over again (Where are you from? How long have you been here? What are your plans? Why did you choose x country to visit?). It’s inevitable but enjoyable nonetheless because every person you meet has a slightly different story.

Our group was a European mixture. I was the only American on the tour. Other hostel stayers included a Belgium couple, a Spanish couple, and a man from Sweden. We started with a group picture, being taught about the “Cuy” or rodents (like Guinea Pigs) that were a traditional part of local cuisine as we were told to shout “Cuy!” instead of cheese. (sidebar: I learned this is a homophone with the French word for balls)

The tour felt something like a hike as we went up and down the infinite hills and slopes of Quito. We saw several breathtaking and gaudy Catholic churches, including La Basilica, with its famous condor spire. Entry to most of these buildings and museums costs between $2-5 dollars. We were shown old buildings built on foundations mixed with bones. In pre-Colombian times, people would use the bones of their deceased relatives to infuse the house with their spirit and be protected by them. The bones in the foundations we saw were animal bones, but I wondered where I might see a structure old enough to still have human bones mixed into the stone. We also learned other fun facts about the architecture and saw stones around the Presidential Palace that could be traced back to the time of the Inca based on the shape and texture of their stones.

The highlight of this walking tour is the sampling we got to do. Angie, our guide, took us to a jugueria or fruit/juice spot where we got to try fruits typically used to make juice in Ecuador. Most are the same as in Colombia, except for taxo (I’m still not sure if it has an equivalent in Colombia or if it’s totally unique and native to Ecuador), and some with different names like naranjilla (known as lulo in Colombia). This reminded me of the walking tour I took in Cali which included a last stop in the Alameda market. I bought a jugo de taxo for one dollar, just for the sake of its novelty. I hadn’t missed out on much, though, as the orange-colored juice is quite bland and sort of tasteless in my opinion.

Our next stop included an explanation of how chocolate was made from the bitter cacao seeds/beans and included lots of samples of chocolates made from 60%-100% purity. Apparently, most commercial chocolates (Hersheys, etc.) can’t be considered true, high quality chocolate because they have under 60% of cacao needed to be called “real.” I had had a huge breakfast and was feeling so full I couldn’t even finish all of my chocolate samples – never thought I’d see the day when I didn’t have space for sweets!

Finally we finished our adventure in a private room upstairs where I assume people usually get together with their friends to drink and dance. I got to give a brief salsa demonstration (LOL) because out of everyone there I was the only person that new the basic steps (other than Angie). We got our canelazo (traditional cinnamon drinks mixed – optionally – with sugarcane rum, the most common liquor sold native to Ecuador) and everyone learned the famous drinking phrase: Arriba, abajo, al centro, pa’ dentro!

During this experience, I made plans with my Swiss friend Ramona to go on our own little tour. At first, we were just going to the teleferico (a cable car suspended in the air that is used to quickly scale mountains) to capture of view of the city. Our taxista convinced us that we could squeeze in La Mitad del Mundo (~50 minutes from the hostel) into our schedule and do it all – just for $35. Did I mention Ecuador is more expensive than Colombia? And the currency is dollars? Because that would be a shitton of pesos colombianos and I would refuse. But here, that sounded like a good deal to split between two people. Plus, just to get from the airport (some 45 minutes away at the time I got in, nighttime), I got tricked into paying $30 for a ride that usually would cost $20. Not knowing the local pricing and sleeping on negotiating can really drain your money.

For $5 we entered the Middle of the World monument park. There are lots of museums and shops to visit inside, but the gimmick that this is the exact place where the equator passes (0 degrees latitude) is apparently debunked in the museum we decided to skip.

Another fun tip is to make sure you bring layers or a good jacket. It was so windy, and after sweating during the walking tour, Ramona and I were convinced it wouldn’t be too cold. We were wrong, oh so very wrong – and me more than her because I didn’t even take a sweater just in case.

The real chill factor came with the teleferico. After the fast yet interminable climb to the top overlooking the city (roughing 15-20 minutes long), we were literally in the clouds. We could see our breath. I started losing feeling in my fingers and had to hike at a brisk pace (as brisk as my gasping breaths in the high altitude would allow) in order to stay warm. The trail leads to a swing set, el columpio en las nubes, or the swing in the clouds. By the time we finally got our turn on the swing set, the mountain was completely embanked by clouds and fog.

Instead of waiting in an infinitely long line to go down, we waited out the cold in the cafe. We were literally the last of the people to go down the mountain and had a surprise scare when the gondola suddenly froze when we finally had the base station in view. Trust me when I say, I was lowkey-highkey screaming on the inside.

Our night was tied together with a mediocre meal at the hostel and a great night out. We went up in taxi with a Danish guy that had been sat with Ramona for dinner and the Swedish man we met on the tour. We enjoyed a couple cups of canelazo and an incredible view of the Virgen del Panecillo, the name for the hill overlooking the city. We weren’t expecting to find a full fair of street food and live performances at the top of that hill, but our night was made by the visit.

To return to my predicament, I discovered that night that I wasn’t the only one hoping to cross into Colombia by land. After making lots of calls, an acquaintance I made in The Secret Garden hostel concluded that you could cross by taxi without getting stamped, as long as you didn’t need to return to Europe. Obviously, the legality of such a situation is murky, but with that information, on Sunday I booked my next stay at Hospedaje Vertientes del Imbabura. I set out full speed ahead towards Otavalo once I felt rested enough.

The Ecuadorian countryside was lovely. I got to meet some kind locals — a taxi driver that told me about how inflation with the switch to the dollar had affected people living in Ecuador for the worst; a kindly innkeeper for lack of a better name that told me about the local Andean culture of Imbabura with their Summer Solstice festival and rituals; even in Otavalo I found kind faces in the Plaza de los Ponchos where I ended up buying two ponchos (one of which unfortunately was synthetic, but I got what I could on a limited budget). From Otavalo, I hiked up to a waterfall with a local guide and tried some local food before caving to the realization that I was not willing to risk crossing the Ecuadorian border illegally.

Tearful, I ended up booking a flight from Quito which I honestly do not regret as much as I thought I would. The funny thing about spending money when you travel is you rarely look back and say, “Fudge! I shouldn’t have spent that money that clearly went towards making my life better!” It hurts in the moment, especially when you miss a flight and have to pay for a new one, but in this case, the monetary cost of leaving Ecuador legally was worth the stress of booking a last-minute flight to avoid taking risks by going in some pirate taxi on some sketchy dirt road between Ecuador and Colombia that could have ended up costing more in more ways than one.

So! Moral of the story: spend the money and forget about it. In the long run, it doesn’t matter. Traveling well and taking precautions will never be a waste of money, even if that money could have been spent better or wiser.

At least that’s my takeaway from this experience 3 years later. It hasn’t been that long in reality, but it feels like ages have passed since then, and so it goes….

Summarizing a Decade: 2010-2020

I want to open this entry with some food for thought: writing is a spontaneous process, guided and crafted, edited and poked at, but at the end of the day, for me, it is best done as a spontaneous, passion-filled, heat-of-the-moment endeavor. My best writing comes at my best moments. I never really know when those moments will strike. So I will try to write more in the hopes of having more of those “Aha!” moments.

My friend’s mother gave me the best spark to the meager kindling of my inspiration on New Years Eve. We were discussing, as many have, how this 2020 is the beginning of a new decade. How crazy is that! We both were meandering along the paths our lives had taken during this decade, and how with this new one, we were granted more new paths, more new journeys and lessons. In a sudden “aha” moment burst, I told her that 2010 had been for me my first full 10 years as an adult. And what a strange concept being an adult is. But it was true. She looked at me, a long look, the type you know will be followed by something you’d better take note of, and told me I should write it down, reflect on what these 10 years have meant to me, how I have grown, where I have been. And how that might show me well where I can go in the new decade.

And, as you can guess, I am heeding her advice.

Being an adult is no small thing although in the US we make it as simple as having a car and moving out of your parents’ house. In the past, passing from a child to an adult was a huge deal, communal rites of passages established in every culture and religion. We still celebrate many of these landmark moments: graduations, confirmations (if you’re Catholic), marriage (in many cultures, the first time you are made to leave your family home), and more. The age marker shifts depending on these cultures and traditions, just as what it means to be an adult can shift.

How did I know I had been an adult in 2010 for the first time in my life? Well, yes, some of it is obvious. I moved out officially, although I already lived and studied outside of my home from the age of 16. But still, once I graduated from high school and moved to New Orleans for college, it became a ritual to only visit home about twice a year. And it’s been like that ever since. I have not once lived in my house since the summer following my graduation in 2010.

Responsibility is also a common thread. We joke about it when we proclaim we are “adulting” just for getting out of bed, having some caffeine, working most days, cleaning our house, paying bills, etc. Being autonomous beings in a Capitalist society, basically, where our biggest concerns are first HOW and then WHAT we will eat, HOW and WHERE we will sleep, and HOW we will provide for ourselves to shape our present and maybe, just maybe, our future. These are things that as “real” adults we have nobody there chiding us and telling us when to go to bed or how much money to spend or save or even forcing us to go to work. Our choices become autonomously OUR OWN once we are Adults. And now I had this role, well I had for a while, but now bills and jobs were also included in the picture. Of course it became even more “real” once I graduated college, but that can just be added to the list of milestones marking this decade of First-time Adulthood.

When discussing the decade, my friend’s mother (being in a much more advanced stage of life) mentioned that hers was defined by loss. Loved ones and friends passing away, in greater and greater number. I, too, felt this shift during my 2010’s. For the first time, I began to lose people I had cared about and known since I was a child. When I moved to California after graduating from UNO, I was hit by two very large losses: the death of my paternal grandpa and two close elderly neighborhood friends. It was at the middle of the decade, 2015, when I realized that I had made a very tough choice. Even though moving away was the dream I had fed and pursued since I was young, I had no idea how hard it would be to have to hear over the phone or read a message stating that someone that I had loved and felt eternal had passed away. Death really does exist in a paperweight – it is a part of life, one nobody escapes. It is a season, and as seasons go, we will experience our times of abundance and our times of loss.

I was lucky, however, looking beyond those I lost, to experience an abundance of love in the form of new friendships, new journeys, and new opportunities. With time, these experiences brought confidence, something which has not been entirely stable for me by any means, but has completely shifted the way I view myself, others, and generally the world around me.

I lived as a nomad, or so I believed. Almost 5 years in New Orleans. Graduated. On to almost 3 years in California. And now 3 years in Colombia. Three very different places. Each place has marked me, just as the tattoo I have marks my chest. The symbol is important to me – the heart, guiding and guided by travel. Why did I end up in California? Well, I fell in love while I was studying in New Orleans. Many times I fell in love during my first decade as an adult. Many times I was made to say good bye and let go of people, realizing that perhaps I loved something more than the person, but the concept of a perfect existence in harmony with someone else. In truth, only the universe knows what’s in store, and so I guess I’ll keep wandering, although I’m not anywhere the nomad I like to think I am.

Comfort. Economic stability. Struggles. Transition. All of this marked the second half of the past 10 years. I had moments where I felt perfectly content, and yet still anxious because I wasn’t completely doing things on my own. I still needed help. Being autonomous does not mean you stop relying on others. We all are in this web of interconnection and interdependence from the very beginning – there’s no escaping it. Sometimes I made choices simply out of necessity, living with people because I feared I could not afford to live alone, or taking jobs (or extra jobs) to keep myself afloat. I’ve been lucky to reach a point where I have no imperative to do either – I can finally be a self-sustaining individual. But that comes from years of sacrifice, saving, and biting the bullet when asking for help.

I thought moving away would magically give me a complete detachment from my family and the humble, somewhat embarrassing place I come from. It does not. In fact, becoming a full adult has made it sink in even deeper that we must embrace ourselves for what we are, and that means accepting our roots. It also means making peace with them and the people that brought us up, as flawed and problematic as they may be.

In these ten years, I broke ties with people I thought I loved, and I mended and forged ties I never thought possible with the people that watched me grow. I spent Christmas with my family this year, and I couldn’t help marveling at how at peace I felt being at home with them. I wasn’t running from the reality of things. The illnesses, the financial struggles, the religious tension – it’s all there, but as an adult, I’ve been able to forgive the scars given when I was too young to understand them and fully understand why these things had happened. It was not an overnight process. It wasn’t some lifetime hallmark experience where one holiday we finally all came together and put our differences aside – no. This took years of healing, years of talking and not talking. But in the end, somehow, throughout all of the turbulence that was my 2010’s, I found peace. I was able to let go of all of that bitterness and just forgive and accept the things that had happened.

No small part of that was realizing that I didn’t need to let myself be ruled by those negative feelings. Therapy helped me become stronger during this decade, and I hope it continues to do so whenever I need it. Friendly reminders that we are all humans living on a rock floating in this infinite galaxy just trying to do basic things like survive and be happy – and all of the complications our expectations can put on that and stress us out.

In this decade, I found stoicism and meditation. I found family with new friends in different places. I found commonalities in things that seem oh so very different at first glance. I learned how to listen more and react less.

Most importantly, I am still learning and will continue to learn in 2020. I never intend to stop learning. I think I may have even finally found my calling, or the “Next Phase” in the plan. I always like the feeling of having a plan, something I can coordinate and follow when my internal chaos seems too much.

Yes, I was shattered many times. I suffered in relationships that I chose and chained myself to. I became a victim, the thing I detested most, just to “save” someone else (I guess that would be a martyr, right?). And I realized that true love really does start within oneself, within one’s friendships and the ties that bind beyond romanticism and physical and chemical urges. Love, as a concept, is so much more than anything we give because we feel we must in order to be loved. I began to learn at several points of love’s infiniteness. And I continue to walk that path and realize it’s okay to walk it alone at times, to walk it sure of one’s own steps, without diving in and getting lost in the murky waters of another person’s ego.

I survived this decade as someone who honestly didn’t want to survive sometimes. A person paralyzed by fear, yet willing to travel to another country and try something different. A person believing herself insignificant and flawed, yet willing to make mistakes in order to learn. The 2010’s may have been my rite of passage, my baptism by fire. And the truth is, I am and will always be the same person with a few new ideas and experiences and traumas to carry along with me.

But at the heart of this is growth. Growth and change, not fearing either of them. That is the pride I carry after so many dark and inspiring moments in the 2010’s. I started believing I had nothing to show for myself and my dreams. I have ended it and walked into 2020 knowing I have everything, certain that I will somehow continue to be exactly where I am meant to be.

Epic Semana Santa: Cali y el Eje Cafetero

April was a busy month for me. It was full of my greatest aspiration: traveling! I made lots of new memories and travel friends along the way. I also made a lot of mistakes and I learned a lot of lessons, which I will be sharing with you guys, free of charge, today! After all, as you may recall, another one of my great aspirations for this blog is sharing information and experience gathered while traveling, as well as my general experiences teaching and living abroad.

This year, Holy Week (or Semana Santa), a Catholic holiday which marks the “Spring Break” of Colombian schools, fell between April 14th and 21st. Most people take this time to travel and detach from work as much as possible. During this week I was able to visit 5 different cities and many places in between. So where did I begin my week-long excursion? Cartagena de las Indias, the capital of the department of Bolivar. Where was I supposed to begin my trip? Barranquilla, Atlantico.

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The first leg of the journey^

Cartagena: Misadventures and ProTips

How did that happen? Because I didn’t pay attention to my itinerary and got mixed up with my flight to San Andres out of Cartagena (a trip I took 2 weeks later). I ended up going to Cartagena instead of Barranquilla. Oops.

Sometimes mistakes end up being big wins. I can’t complain because I got to spend a day with two of my best friends. We went to the closest (if far from the best) beach, Bocagrande, located conveniently in downtown Cartagena.

I stayed the night at Folatún hostel, a hostel right next to San Felipe Castle in a neighborhood called Mango. This area is pretty touristy. During that weekend they charged only 21.000 pesos for a bunk in a shared room – a great price when lodging costs usually go up during Semana Santa. They have good ratings because of their low prices compared to other options in Cartagena, but I wasn’t too impressed with the space. It’s a pretty small hostel, located on the floor above a salsa restaurant called La Colonia in a bright green colonial house-style building. The view looking out on the city isn’t that great either considering there’s construction going on in the area. But, true, for the price – and the delicious breakfast it included – it got the job done.

Bear in mind, the historic part of Cartagena is super touristy in general. If you go, even just for a layover, and you want to go out, expect to spend. One of the two friends I met up with had lived there teaching English for several years so he was able to keep the price reasonable with the taxis, but as a rule of thumb, be wary of taxis in Cartagena. The drivers are not the friendly, serviceable type. In every city I stayed in I could tell you volumes just by how the taxi drivers treated me and how much money they tried to get out of me – not to mention their methods for doing so. The taxi I took from the Cartegena terminal drove around in circles groaning about not knowing where my hostel is based on the address. Of course he wouldn’t hear that I couldn’t do much more as I’d only been to Cartagena briefly twice before…and yet I had to be the one to suggest that we stop at a nearby hotel and ask for directions to get to the hostel. Then he tried to overcharge me. Note: make sure you confirm a price you’re okay with before getting in the cab. That’s what saved me.

As an aside, if you plan on taking a taxi in ANY city in Colombia, I 100% recommend you download the In-Driver app. While it may seem sketch, it’s just as legit as the uber app in my opinion, but the major difference is you set the price. I didn’t pay more than 10 mil for any taxi I took during my whole trip thanks to it, even in routes where the taxi drivers naturally up the price (airports, long treks downtown, terminals, etc.). It’s yet to steer me wrong.

During my visit to the beach with my friends we had lunch (McDonald’s – I know, so Colombian, but it had literally been almost a year since the last time I had McDonald’s) and had to head back in time for me to get a taxi to the bus terminal and take off to my actual departure point, the airport in Barranquilla. Luckily Barranquilla is only 2 hours (3 max with traffic) from Cartagena, so I left in the afternoon and had just enough time to make it to fly at 8:30 pm.

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Cali

I loved Cali. If I could go back and stay even a month, I would (and I’ve met people traveling for months in Colombia that ultimately go back and stay in Cali indefinitely). I would even be so bold as to state that it is my favorite Colombian city that I have visited so far, Medellin notwithstanding.

That being said, I suffered a relatively drastic misfortune during the beginning of my stay there. I arrived late Monday night only to realize the bag I had checked wasn’t my bag. I thought, “Surely this must be Avianca’s fault!” But no, it’s more bizarre than that.

I was riding on a bus in a rush to get to the airport, because, you know, I went to the wrong city to begin with. When I got off the bus, it was dark, we were stopped in the middle of the highway, and the bus guy literally threw a bag that in the dark bore a strong resemblance to my grey backpacker’s bag (it was even mostly the same color). The only clue I had at the time was that it felt…heavier. But I was in a rush and had to call a cab right away and basically threw it in without stopping to study it closely. When I got to the airport, I had to run to check the bag and run back to withdrawal money and pay the taxista. Throughout all the running, I never realized I had someone else’s bag.

It took me getting bombarded by likes, messages, and a friend request from a girl that had been on the same bus for me to realize what had happened. I had left her bag with Avianca, assuming the mix-up had happened post check-in. And that was the story I was sticking to so that Avianca would play a major role in switching our bags back.

After lots of calls and stress (and wearing the same clothing I had traveled in for almost 2 days straight, the real nightmare), I finally had my bag sent to me (no easy feat and not cheap as the other girl basically used the argument that she had no money to send me my bag and refused to take equal share of the blame). All of the stress and having to return to the airport was worth it to get my clothes back, though.

The moral of the story? Be careful on those smaller colectivo-style buses in Latin America. Most of the big buses will tag your bag. This bus did not, and ultimately cost me some stress, time, AND money.

In spite of all this background stress, I went on an excellent Street Food walking tour organized by a tour company called Callejeros (wearing the same clothes I had arrived in the day before and sweating my ass off in jeans and a black shirt, no less). Cali is pretty ideal for walking tours as it may get hot around midday but is pretty mild in general and quite cool in the morning and at night, especially when it rains.

The Street Food Walking tour was guided by a Cartagenero, so we got to discuss some differences between Cali and the coast. Turns out Caleños favor ¨cachaco¨ slang like chimba even though they are practically on the coast too – albeit the Atlantic coast. The Caribbean coast is just special I guess. The tour guide and I both agreed that costeño Spanish was a million times more vulgar (backed by lots of evidence which deserves its own post), and we had a good laugh which other tourists probably found hard to understand.

We made our way to the big market, Galeria Alameda, stopping along the way to try ceviche and local mini empanadas, all the while discussing Cali identity, safety, salsa culture, and art found around the city. Once we got to Galeria Alameda, we started by sampling lots of fruit. I loved it. Some I was familiar with but new for a lot of the Europeans and gringos on the tour (like lulo) and others were totally new to me or avoided because it looks weird but actually really good. We also had samples of dishes like sancocho (a typical stew also eaten in the coast), ceviche, and samples of morcilla (blood sausage), yuca, catfish, and a Colombian-style corn meal tamale called “bollo.” We also stopped and tried juices like borojo which I had tried before but not love nearly as much as I did in Cali. Last but not least we had some delicious coffee and gelato on the way back to the hostel.

Now as far as Colombian cuisine goes, most foreigners I know find it bland. I like it, but I also have a low tolerance for spice due to my dear friend Acid Reflux. Colombian spices tend to revolve around cumin and salt. But Cali people seem to enjoy a good deal of peppers (called aji in Colombian Spanish) and spices. Most of the us on the tour were quite impressed, even me after living so long in Colombia. The tour costs 30.000 (aprx. 10 dollars) which when you consider all the food you try and the places the guide shows you and the great information, it’s totally worth it. I could go on more about this tour but it practically deserves it’s own post.

Thanks to the tour, I made some cool friends from South Africa. We got together from the beginning when we were both waiting to go on the same tour. We grabbed a cab together and started talking about what travelers usually talk about – where we had come from, why we were there, and where we were going. They were two girls, both in their early twenties, who had done so much that I honestly was not expecting to be so much older than them. I love meeting people while traveling. They told me about how safe and serene it is to travel in Africa, at least in non-conflict zones and all they had seen. They were coming from Boulder, Colorado and just barely learning the basics in Spanish so I was happy to give them some mini lessons and translate when needed.

That night, they invited me to go out and even gave me a change of clothes. I had decided to do another walking tour to learn about the history of Cali and see some of its major landmarks, so I was feeling really tired. Once I laid down, I knocked out fast. Oasis hostel is nice because it’s in a calm part of the city but still not that far from the center. It has a slight party hostel edge – a nice patio, a jacuzzi which never got used while I was there, and space for travelers to congregate and swap stories – yet noise winds down at a reasonable hour. The girl working the majority of the time I was there was also from the Caribbean coast and was super helpful in all things, especially when it came to retrieving my bag and avoiding getting over charged by taxis.

The next day, I struck out on my own to explore. I went to the famous Parque de los Gatos, a path lined with fantastical painted cat sculptures – a real cat fanatic’s attraction. I meandered around downtown and had lunch before deciding to grab a taxi up to the famous Cristo Rey, a 26 meter tall Jesus monument overlooking the sprawling city of Cali. The air was cool, and leading up to the statue there was a cute park and a marketplace full of religious and Cristo Rey paraphernalia and dulce cortado, a treat Cali is famous for. The panorama view made the 15 mil I ended up paying the taxista more than worth it – and that was a big bargain considering he also waited for me and took me all the way up.

The same taxista was kind enough to make some recommendations for what to see from there. He told me about Caliwood, a museum honoring Cali and Colombia’s cinematic history. This was a treat, and more so because the owner happened to be there. We started talking as soon as I walked in. It so happened that he had visited New Orleans and was a well-known director in his own right. The tour started with an explanation and showing of 6 original short films and included an audio walk-through (via headphones) of the history of cinematography in Colombia and in general.

Afterwards, the owner gave me his card and tipped me off on where to go next in my journey. I told him I wanted to go to Valle de Cocora but wasn’t sure where to go after that. He suggested Manizales and its hot springs. He also told me about the other museums I went to see once I left. This was another one of those moments that have taught me in recent years that it’s better to take a chance and talk to strangers than keep to yourself when traveling. That’s how you can get the most out of your journey!

From there, I walked to the closest museums he pointed out for me on my tourist map and got to explore La Tertulia. La Tertulia Museum of Modern Art impressed me because in every room, there was an art expert or historian available to explain each piece displayed. Sometimes art is not just about interpretation – talking to the experts, I was able to realize that even a plain dirty canvas had volumes to say about the social and historical climate of Colombia. If you enjoy art and history, it’s worth the visit.

Now, I’m sure at this point thinking: Hang on, you said you were in Cali, right? So what about the salsa? Well that night, thanks to my Couch Surfing App, I was able to experience Cali night life and squeeze in some salsa dancing before heading out to my next destination. I had taken a free salsa class at the hostel in the evening once I got back from my tours and was ready to try my new moves! I messaged a few people before finding someone that was free and willing to go out and show a foreigner the ropes. We went to his favorite salsa club (can’t remember the name right now, but it was not the one everyone always goes to – that one had an endless line out front). We, on the other hand, enjoyed live salsa music and danced a few songs. Seems like I’m not half-bad at salsa, but don’t take my word for it!

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Salento

As I said, Cali was a real catch. Like all Colombian cities, it was easy to get to the terminal de transporte and take off the next morning on one of the earliest buses and begin the next leg of my adventure. (*only downside: Cali’s terminal is one of the few I’ve been in with no source of wifi)

Many towns were recommended to me, but if you want to be close to the mystical Valle de Cocora, Salento is the one. The downsides: it was full of tourists. Semana Santa is high tourist season for pretty much any attraction in Colombia. The colorful colonial streets were full, I found myself wandering through elbow-to-elbow with people.

The weather was chilly and the atmosphere quaint. In the end, I was happy to have picked one of the last available hostels in the town – Coffee Plantation Hostel. Just as the name suggests, the hostel is connected to a coffee farm in the outskirts of the city where most people go to see how coffee is grown and produced. At my hostel, coffee is harvested regularly and sold to guests who can then roast it themselves. I watched the process but didn’t partake as it was already late at that point and there was no coffee left to buy.

The highlights of Salento were the beautiful colonial architecture and a charming, majestic lookout point on the extreme end of the city opposite where my hostel was. The walk up the winding staircase was steep, and as I mentioned, crawling with people. But the view at the top was worth it – the only bad thing? My phone was dead. Just like it was in La Tertulia. Sadness. But the image captured in my mind of the rolling green, a river and tons of palms off in the distance, past the mountains, marking Cocora Valley will not soon be erased. I learned from a local (creep – but I won’t get into that here) that the palms and trees are unique to the region, and there are several different species which produce woods and cocos. The area has been incredibly preserved, unlike other parts of Colombia. That along with its cool and temperate climate make this region the most comfortable and beautiful part of Colombia, on a practically objective level.

I spent a night bundled up in the cabin-like room of the Coffee Plantation Hostel, going to bed early in spite of the distant drumming of the Holy Week celebration. That was Good Friday, the night when they commemorate Jesus’ death on the cross. I didn’t feel like walking far in the cold to watch because the next day I had to wake up early to go back uphill into town to find a Landrover that would take me to the Valle de Cocora.

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Valle de Cocora

This had been at the top of my to-visit list. I had seen pictures and one night, I even dreamed about visiting the misty, enchanting Valle de Cocora. It’s a valley full of the some of the tallest palm trees in the world. I took a horseback riding tour, a typical tourist trap (40 mil or so to enter – it was way more if I wanted to do an entire runthrough “recorrido”), but I have to admit, it was fun and I got some excellent information about the palm season.

One drawback to keep in mind: April and the middle part of the year are rainy season months. I knew this going into it, so I was smart and took the earliest 4×4 Jeep to get there (thanks, Liz, for the heads up!), but many wait and get caught in the rain. Clouds started to push their way in around midday, and 1. I was out of there and out of the town by 2, just when it was starting to pour, and I regret nothing. Since I got to the park around 8 am, I had a solid 4 hours to walk around, hike up and down the path, and take loads of pictures of the otherworldly landscape.

So, protip: Go early to avoid the heavy fog that would ruin your photos and rain that would cause you to get stranded in the tourist-heavy area. Ask a local or the hostel people if you aren’t sure what season it is.

4×4 travel was super cheap, 6 mil or around that (I might need to go back and check). I was able to catch a ride in the first Jeep I saw on its way out, no hassle. It left me at the entrance of the city, so all I needed to do was walk back to the hostel, grab my things, check out, and head to the little bus station. As fate would have it, a bus was just heading out of the town. Most of these local buses and colectivos have a super low cost, anywhere between 4 and 8 mil depending on the distance. This one was heading for Armenia, which I had been advised to go to in order to catch a bus more easily to my next destination: Manizales, Caldas.

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Manizales

I booked a hotel once I had decided the route I was going to take in Cali. The Eco-friendly hotel is tucked away in the mountains, a bit far from the bus terminal, but the view is absolutely breath-taking. It was the priciest of my accommodations because it was an actual single-room hotel, but that was what I was aiming for. I decided after so much hiking, I would need a space to relax before making the 14+ hour bus ride back to Valledupar.

The 80 mil that I paid (only ~$35 USD so still VERY cheap) did not include the meals I ate there, but the additional cost was low, $10 mil a meal. I practically had the open-air hotel to myself, so I was able to enjoy the tranquil sounds of birds chirping and rain falling. It rained a few times while I was there, adding to the soothing atmosphere. The ladies that worked there made me feel at home and readily provided me with details when I asked about the hot springs, my biggest motivation for stopping in Manizales to begin with. They hooked me up with a taxi driver they knew and trusted (taxista de confianza) that gave me a ride there and back and also to the airport the following day.

I was charmed by how polite the people I encountered in this part of Colombia were. Nobody was trying too hard to get every last penny out of me (a regular thing living in the cost), people were calm while also eager to help out. Even the conversations I had with the taxi driver and hotel staff were pleasant. I truly felt a sense of hometown hospitality.

I didn’t get to see much of Manizales. Most of what I saw was from the taxi window on the 45 minute ride to the hot spring. In spite of how long of a distance it was, I was able to arrange with the driver a pretty reasonable fair – $30 mil roundtrip. He picked me up at the time I said and even pointed me towards the spring with the best deal: Termales de otoño. The entrance fee was only 25 mil. I also reserved a meal and had a delicious canelazo while enjoying the three levels of pools that were included. Once paid for, I could stay as long as I wanted, so I decided since I arrived at 6 to stay until 9.

This was the perfect plan to relax and contemplate everything I had done and seen in only 5 days. Colombia is truly an amazing country with a diversity of landscapes and activities. The best part is traveling is so accessible, and if you travel like I do, avoiding pricey things you can get cheaper, you are able to enjoy some luxuries here and there. My stay in Manizales was my luxury, my peace and quiet, my retreat before the long trek back to Valledupar. The warm, steaming pools were the ideal contrast to the chill of the region and the remedy I was hoping for to sooth my aching feet after all of the uphill walks in Cali and Salento.

The next morning, it was back to the terminal – which YES, does have wifi. Unlike the two buses I had to take to get back to Valledupar which did not. The return was my least favorite part, naturally, because neither one of the buses I took was spacious or nice, and the trip was long. Long. There was construction on the highway from Manizales to Medellin, causing a regularly 5 hour trip to take almost 7 hours due to lots of stops along the way. Then, I had to take a bus from the Southern terminal to the Northern terminal in Medellin – yes, that’s how big of a city it is. From there, it was a full night on the bus to get back to Valledupar. That usually has a length of 14 hours. I got lucky in that it was an hour or so less, but man was it a relief to be back.

Seeing the Eje Cafetero gave me a different view of a Colombia, a green, scenic, peaceful side I would not mind spending more time exploring in the future. I will definitely be going back in 2020!

Familiar Spaces: Festival de la Quinta, Ed. 3

It’s become a highly anticipated event in el Valle, a true festival for locals. Another Festival de la Quinta has come and gone in Valledupar. Something about this time of year generates a feeling of nostalgia surrounding the festival. One must not suffer through the suffocating heat and rain that plagues the Festival Vallenato. Instead, the weather these past years has been refreshingly cool during the weekend-long festival.

So far, I have attended Festival de la Quinta in its 3 installments, but this year was different than the last two years. The first year, I had every interest of going an entire day, Saturday. I’m not sure it was a two day or 3 day event then. However, the person I was supposed to go with never showed up, forcing me to go later with other friends and missing most of the shows. I pretty much showed up, took some pictures in the streets with my friends and left to go eat. No real memorable experiences to be shared.

But as I talked about in a previous post, last year was a different experience entirely, a more immersive, folkloric event, like the beginnings of a ritual I hope to continue every year. I made new friends and completely immersed myself in local culture, the spontaneity of walking down the street and being embraced by new and relatively old friends, dancing and drinking in the streets, and finding out just how much this city is growing.

This year, the narrow streets seemed even more packed. Turn out was huge, however there was an area they did not use this year, and most of the music was focused on the big main stage and a smaller set up on the corner nearby where the La Espinita restaurant is. Some commented that this year it was less organized than last year. While they were partly right, if they knew the struggle that took place behind the scenes for La Quinta to get funding from the city, the conflicts between certain organizers that come together to make the festival happen, then it is all too clear why this organizational lapse was felt.

Palenke itself has also been undergoing a remodeling process to continue promoting itself as a multi-faceted cultural space within the city. Some neighbors focus more on the revenue and bar life, but Palenke’s cerebral mission is part of what makes it such an incredibly enriching place to begin with. It is far from “just a bar” – it is a space made up of heritage, especially the Afro- and indigenous contributions to Colombian culture. That being said, the bar was just reopening and not completely set up in the back, so this year there were no major performances to go to in Palenke after the live music stopped in the streets. That was something I missed greatly, as that music was what kept the atmosphere going. For me, nothing beats live music.

In the festival itself, a lot of local bands got to take to the stage to perform for a stuffed street full of spectators. Because of my personal connection to Monofonico (myboyfriendisinthebandcough*) I focused on their performance and showed up just in time to get a front row view of their performance. What sets Monofonico apart is the blend of talent, charisma, and passion with which they fill their performances. I never get tired of watching them – and no, I swear, zero personal bias on my part. They play lots of champeta classics (El Sayayin’s Paola, La invite, some salsa like Centurion de la Noche by Joe Arroyo) and take some urban and Afrocaribbean songs and put their own spin on them as well.

Other bands that can never be missed was Sr. Gustavo, another champeta group that has been on the scene in Valledupar for a while now, and a new rock band called Veneno. Their style is a classic rock en espanol sort of vibe with clear, heavy vocals and throbbing instrumentation to hold it together. All of the bands that played the main stage came alive with excellent lighting that filled the street with colors contained by the umbrellas suspended above the streets. Seeing the way the youth of Valledupar flock together and become powered by the music and the atmosphere causes a sort of nostalgic feeling of being in a place where there is still hope, where things still feel fresh.

Apart from the music, I did more poking around in the art and vendors area. Because I’m gringa I noticed I got some special attention. They were really trying to sell me their art in the artist hall and travel packages, assuming I was vacationing. All the same, I tried to take in as much information as I could manage in the short time I was there. I learned about some wonderful eco-tours that have began in areas that used to be heavily affected by the civil conflict in the Colombian countryside. Most locals would not go to these areas because of stigma related to the guerrillas, so now they are trying to attract visitors to explore and learn about a different side of Colombia while supporting the communities with the money spent and appreciating the beauty violence could not erase.

The local art scene is an old institution important to people from this region of Colombia. Any house you go into will be adorned with a large still life painting hanging in the living room, usually elaborated by a local artist. I was invited to a local studio to check out the art after admiring both modern and classic styles on display in a university building located within the festival grounds.

Check out some of the pictures I took. Even with the rainy season climate and some organizational and logical problems, the overall vibe of the festival was positive and forward thinking, a new tradition establishing itself in Downtown Valledupar.

((pics to be added – I just had this post in my drafts for waaaay too long – time to continue)

Updates: Minca and what I’ve been up to (Reflections on Stagnation)

Anybody who follows this blog knows it’s been a long time since I’ve posted. One might question, “What the hell has she been up to? Por que tan perdida?”

In reality, I have been lost, lost in a whirlpool of endless work and exhaustion. When I’m not working, I’m too tired to dedicate my thoughts to anything in particular. You see, for the past month or so, I’ve been working double, and I’ve had my weekends taken from me as well. Now that I finally get a long weekend (and I don’t travel *sigh*), I decided to rectify the situation by posting a blog entry.

So what have I been up to, aside from work?

Back in January, I visited Minca. I had been wanting to wait and post about this when I had all of my pictures uploaded on my computer. It’s 3 months later, and I still haven’t done that, but I might as well stop procrastinating.

Minca was the first solo trip I had taken in while without much planning or premeditation. The last time I did that was when I went to Palomino for the first time during my first two months of living in Colombia. That was an experience to remember, one that I look back on when I think about traveling alone and ask myself who will I talk to? Literally every time I’ve had that concern and chosen to just ignore it I always end up meeting the best people.

That day, I literally woke up at 1 am on Saturday, got ready, went to the bus station, and took the first bus going to Santa Marta (with a good company, that is – Copetran). There are always buses leaving to local destinations in the coast (and I think in most of Colombia), which makes this spur of the moment travel so ideal. Can you imagine doing that in the states? Well, don’t if you have because unless you have your own car, there is no same-day travel planning that won’t cost you an arm and a leg.

Minca was an introspective experience. I road around the area with a mototaxista all day, from 9 till 6, exploring everything on the map of interest they had shown me when I arrived. I didn’t pay for a tour or anything, though I’ve heard there are some great ones. I realize if I had done that I may have interacted with more foreigners, but I was going for a laid back, more introspective getaway, and that’s exactly what I got.

The highlights were the waterfalls and the amazing views. I started the day by going to swim in Pozo Azul. When going up those steep mountain paths and roads, I tried to imagine doing it all on foot instead of paying to 100 mil to get taxied around. Nooo thank you. I was looking to relax, after all, not get home more exhausted than when I left.

If you are looking to push yourself and have a hiking retreat, of course I would definitely say go for it! And if you’re staying for an entire extended weekend, it just makes sense to save money and explore on foot. But I went with a single day and night planned out in my mind – and initially, I wasn’t even sure if I would stay the night.

I took a tour of a coffee farm, La Victoria, which turned out to be extremely fascinating and less fluff than you would expect. The tourguide happened to be a physicist who knew all about the ends and outs of the coffee gathering, preparation, production, and distribution process. I learned everything from why the coffee sold inside Colombia is such crap to how the irrigation and draining system works to shuck (I think that’s the word) the coffee beans. Plus it came with two cups of coffee, one at the beginning and one at the end. I had lunch there (an over-priced vegan friendly doubledecker sandwich because I was too hungry to be asked to wait and look for something cheap and local).

The coolest part was having a taxista willing to wait on me for 2 hours and watch my things when I went swimming. He also tolerated all of my questions about the place during the ride, which meant I got to learn a lot along the way.

The “tour” was followed by more winding up and down the mountain and stopping at Los Pinos (the pines) to peep the amazing (if smoggy) view of Santa Marta, the ocean, and the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Unfortunately, said smog was veiling the view, so no dice. Still, I enjoyed taking some pictures with my camera.

From there, I got to see the famous Casa Elemento. I didn’t go all the way to their treehouse hammocks, but I did some lounging about on the big ones in the main common area. You buy a wristband to get in for like 15 mil and you can spend as much time as you want. The hostel covers an expanse of property with lots to do and see. The wristband also includes a drink. Obviously if you stay there, you get access to the hammocks, pool, and cabins without paying extra. It’s worth it, but I chose a hostel close to the town of Minca to leave early the next day, and Casa Elemento is still about 40 minutes away from the town.

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I couldn’t lounge for too long because the sun was starting to go down at this point, and I had one last top before going to the hostel. The Marinka waterfalls were amazing – plus you get a good, exhausting hike as well. Be sure to check them out. On the path up, I had an old man compliment me on my tattoo (which I never expect from the elderly for obvious reasons), and the best part was he wasn’t even hitting on me! He even told me to look out for those costeños and their “labia” (a sort of sweet-talking bullshitting). We both had a good laugh.

Most of the tourists I met in Minca were German and French. The hostel I stayed at was run by some Argentinians that were really nice, the usual open-minded traveler types. That night, I went to an open mic and shared some wine and beer with one of the girls and a volunteer at the hostel. He happened to be a Colombian transplanted and living in Canada. We shared our philosophies on how we hated living to work. He explained how he uses his hated 8-5 job to pay the bills and save to travel for months at a time every year.

Lately, I’ve been thinking more and more about purpose – the purpose of me living in Colombia, working as much as I do, the purpose of this blog and the way I organize my time. I’m not working to live; lately I’ve been living to work. And that has to stop. That’s part of why I chose this lifestyle. That’s why I write and do other things. My purpose is trying to produce something meaningful while I’m alive. I think we should all aspire to do as much. Not to live to work, but to try to move beyond the realm of simply existing, tolerating, rinsing, washing, repeating.

Therefore, I’m in transition, trying to slowly find my way again. A year ago, my goals were very clear. I go back to that dauntingly clear and ambitious list and wince. I am still working towards those goals, but I haven’t been taking as many steps to see them through.

That’s why, as much as this post is about Minca, it’s also a recap of why the hell I’ve been lost all these months and where I want to go with this blog and my life. I’ve been having a lot of conversations about maintaining a sense of clarity towards the things that matter in life. About dedicating time to things that matter. About why this matters. It’s time to replant those goals and water them and give them another chance to flourish and blossom. It’s never too late.

I took a book from the hostel I stayed at in Minca which just seemed right: Sobreviver. It’s in Portuguese. I’ve been reading it very casually, but my goal is to finish and post about it and my insights here. The book is basically about the following reflection: life isn’t just surviving, but in order to live well, you must be resilient. In order to be resilient, you must be a survivor. And that means pushing past negativity and working through every obstacle thrown at us.

Day 1: San Antonio, Laredo, Monterrey (aka the longest day ever)

It’s officially been over 24 hours since I began my journey, and let me tell you: my body feels every second of it. I’ve now been on 4 buses, so far, with another one to go to get to our first major stop: Mexico City (CDMX). Right now we’re resting at our 3rd pit stop in Monterrey, Nuevo Leon, Mexico, about 12 hours away from our final destination.

Let me back up. The travel delirium is making my thoughts spin. It started at 5:15 yesterday morning. I was awoken after what felt like the fastest 5 hours of sleep of my life – blink and you’re awake. Time to go to the greyhound station, a grimey gas station/run down casino off of the highway in Lake Charles.

Word to the wise: greyhound SUCKS. You pay over $100 for a 7 hour trip in which you’re guaranteed nothing more than discomfort 100% of the trip. I had experience with greyhound before this, but getting used to Colombian bus companies of superior quality and cheaper cost made me somehow less prepared for the experience. Somehow it always smells like someone forgot to bathe. The seats have no cushioning. The TVs are just for looks. And there’s zero leg room. Now I have long legs. I felt like I had been stuffed into a tiny box for the past 4 hours when I finally got from Houston, the connecting city to San Antonio.

Luckily, Natalie and I met pretty soon after that. Her flight arrived about an hour after I did and then it took her almost an hour to get to the Starbucks where I was freezing waiting.

Another word to the wise: store your bag if you want to walk around and sightsee. I feel so clumsy with this thing. It’s not that it weighs too much, but it takes up space, and I hit people without meaning to which led to a very tense situation at my first McDonald’s pit stop in Houston. So yeah, it’s like having a person strapped to your back. Look out for that.

San Antonio is beautiful especially downtown where we decided to kill time before making our way to the border city of Laredo. That was 36 dollars, not so bad, but again, greyhound. We left from Houston at 9:30 pm after spending the afternoon wandering along the river walk looking for cheap eats before realizing that on Sunday most everything is closed and settling for the cheapest thing we could find open near by – McDonald’s. Spoiler alert: my stomach was not happy after the last 2 bus rides. I think I know why.

In line in the greyhound station, we quickly made friends with some Mexican people planning to cross back into Mexico. They explained that there are two or three ways to go about this: cross in your car or a taxi (*expensive* – around $60 – NOPE) or walk through on foot.

So once we got down, we immediately set off on foot with two older women and a young man towards the border customs building. It was a straight shot from the station – no taxi required. We finally crossed the border at 12 am after converting a dollar for a moneda in pesos, slipping it into a slot, and walking through one of those turnstile things. Easy as that.

As we made our way down this sidewalk, closed off from the cars crossing back and forth on the road, the other lady that was walking with us pointed out all of the people seemingly camped out, thrown on the walkway on the opposite side. All waiting to cross the border. It’s not as crazy as you might think, she said, but that’s the reality. I couldn’t help but think about the children at this point that have been taken from their families and isolated just for daring to look for a sanctuary. Since being here, I can only imagine why. Just like in Colombia, the corruption and dangerous parts are clear, well-defined boundaries. But there is a since of warmth and solidarity that I feel in both places and have felt so far as a simple outsider in Mexico so far. If only we shared that solidarity in the states, a place where hostilities are so high that even walking into a McDonald’s in the poorer side of a city can lead to suspicion and tension.

So, it wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Our guide of the moment, who fortunately was a lawyer, informed us having our bags quickly scanned in customs that we needed to take a cab to Migration to get our visas. Yes, you have to pay a visa fee in Mexico – $533 pesos or $30 dollars. The process was easy, but I would recommend getting money changed sooner rather than later, even though people are more than willing to accept or even exchange dollars for pesos. Also have the exchange rate present, which I didn’t. I didn’t even know there was a visa fee. Shame on me.

Luckily, it wasn’t a big deal. We waited for the taxi to come back after taking the lawyer lady back home. Our original companion was waiting for us, a very kind woman from Monterrey. She’s basically the reason we came here. We wanted to see the Mexico vs. Brazil game, which is currently happening, and then continue our journey from here.

In the bus station, we found out the trip with the lady would cost us $23 dollars to travel about 3 hours away – much better.

While in the bus station in Nuevo Laredo, we realized that (just like in Colombia) toilet paper was not supplied in the bathrooms. Make sure if you are traveling in Latin America to always be on the safe side and *bring toilet paper*! BYOTP. Because most buses don’t have it either, and trust me you don’t wanna go hours without wiping. Luckily, another kind lady gave me a big wad of hers in the bathroom when she saw I didn’t have any.

The Senda bus company was literally world’s superior to Greyhound. We even got a bottle of water and chips included. We left at 2 am and got here around 5:20, pure sleep in some of the softest seats with the best leg room I’ve seen on a bus like that.

Since arriving to Monterrey, we have been taking it easy. Initially we were totally lost – no pesos even to just go to the bathroom (Yes, you have to pay to use the restroom in most large bus stations, it was 6 pesos, so pocket change – Colombia and Mexico have this in common), confused about the public transportation system, and exhausted (at least on my end – Natalie sleeps surprisingly well on buses. I never feel rested). Thanks to being surrounded by helpful strangers though, the confusion aspect resolved itself quickly.

So take away since we’ve been here: people are your friends. Leave your bags if you’re going to even just walk around to take pictures because these bags are bulky and awkward. Make sure you know the details on where you’re going. Monterrey has a good metro service that connects the city with a fare of only a few cents, and we had no trouble getting to the downtown historic district near Barrio Antiguo, a must see according to our acquaintance from the bus. Still getting in this area before 7 is not ideal. Nothing happened to us, but I still felt very uneasy. We talked to another local that clearly was confused by our presence with these bags at 5:40 am and gave us some good advice to avoid losing all of our things.

Welp, that’s what led us to where we were chilling for several hours, VIPS, a Mexican American-ish diner where we got some good eggs, bread, and coffee (and even refried beans and nachos). It’s a bit expensive, so we got the cheapest possible thing, around $45 or 4 dollars each.*

We watched the game, which started exciting and hopeful but ended in silence and disappointment as Mexico lost to Brazil 0 to 2. Oh well, it would’ve been great to see them win, but frankly I’ve never been a big fútbol fan anyway. It was just cool to see Mexico play among their paisanos.

From there, we walked around exploring Barrio Antiguo and the historic district. There is plenty to do, make no mistake, you could spend at least a weekend exploring Monterrey – the palacios, teatro (theatre), multiple museos (museums), and even a lovely river walk with a boat tour akin to that of San Antonio called Paseo Santa Lucia. The truth is colonial San Antonio and Monterrey are rather similar.** Both cities have the same Spanish colonial origins and charm. Monterrey, being the capital of the state Nuevo León, literally has lions and references to the colonial heroes of Mexico everywhere. I spent a good while perusing the statues and getting a feel for Mexican pride towards its history and origins. There’s art and a strong respect for history in this area – not so useful to visit only to glimpse inside because it leaves you wanting to spend more time. We went past the Museo de Historia Mexicana, and my intrigue nearly led me inside but my aching feet and back stopped me.

Did I mention it was really hot?! And we were walking around with all our stuff. Mostof the bars and clubs in Barrio Antiguo were closed up, so it was really just wandering until finally I had to stop, sit, and change into more comfortable shoes.

Final recommendation: Monterrey is worth a day visit but probably not great to explore on foot if you haven’t had a proper sleep in 24 hours.

Now we’re finally on the bus headed to Mexico City after waiting for 4 hours for our bus in the terminal. We were debating after getting back from downtown if we should take the first bus heading to the capital or not. In the end, after weighing our options, we decided that it would be better to wait in order to arrive when our host would be more likely to be waiting for us and we could hopefully get a full night’s sleep on a comfortable bus. We chose Futura Select, a cushy luxury bus replete with wifi, large reclining chairs, screens on the back of each chairs, and even free snacks included (a drink, sandwich, and dried fruit snack combo). We could not complain, as we got this amazing setup for a 13 hour trip for a mere 90 dollars/1200 pesos. Truly better than anything you get with Greyhound in the states – but okay, that’s not saying much.

You would think with such luxury I would be sleeping. It’s 3:12 am. Despite the comfort, my body is sore from being in the same position sitting down for so long. I feel exhausted and driven to finish this post.

Here’s hoping our arrival in roughly 3 hours is a success! And that we’re finally able to shower and lay down. The rest for me is secondary at the moment.

*The exchange rate is mostly a dollar to $18 pesos, which I found up to $20 or down to $10 to convert in my head, but still it’s been a bit awkward to figure out if I’m spending a reasonable amount or not.

**Later I will edit and post pictures to compare the two.

Birthday Reflections: How living in Colombia has changed me (from 25 to 26)

It’s been an amazing birthday week, the kind of week that has me reflecting on all the changes in my life that have brought me to where I am today. One of the greatest changes by far has been all of the transformations and confrontations with self I have made since living in Colombia.

Before, I was never one to socialize among coworkers. I kept my head down and my eyes on my work. I felt afraid to show who I really was most days because I wasn’t sure if anyone I worked with would be able to relate to me. As a result, I stole from myself the opportunities to form bonds with my coworkers and create lasting friendships. I also struggled to define limits in my romantic life. I spent more time spinning my wheels than actually acting with the end result in mind, and that was mainly due to self-doubt and insecurity.

Last year, I was still green to living in another country. I didn’t know many people – I barely knew my coworkers. I mostly spent time with a girl that lived in the same house as me and took care of the kids and the chores (we became friends and have been ever since!). I was far from home and at moments very lonely. But with a few spontaneous invites – and then spontaneously accepting them – from my coworkers, I slowly began to go out and really experience the culture of Valledupar and form relationships which became key to my self-esteem and growth.

I’ve learned that ex-pat camaraderie is strong, even if you don’t come from the same country. My first step outside of my comfort zone in Colombia came when I made and shared king cake with a few coworkers. One of them, Noel, took interest in the place I’m from, Louisiana, mainly for the food and music, and I couldn’t help but open up, little by little. So we began to hang out more, and from there we decided to make a king cake together and have a get-together to share it. Since then, he has become more of a brother than a friend, a trusted confidant that has seen me through hard times, listened to me and my whining, and shared advice with me, and I with him.

Slowly, I allowed myself to get to know my coworkers more and stopped closing myself into my classroom and focusing only on the serious aspects of work. It didn’t hurt that I also finished my TEFL certification around the same time and suddenly had the time to go out and socialize. By keeping my eyes peeled for opportunities to go out and explore my new home, I began to get to know a Colombian teacher at that time working in Prekinder in the school, Osiris, and a young woman from Nigeria working in Nursery named Dami. Osiris spontaneously invited us to go hiking up the local lookout point, Cerro Ecce Homo, one weekend in February and from there the three of us became good friends.

Female friendship is powerful.

Shortly after that, the adventures began. Dami, Noel (my British brother), and I along with a Colombian friend spent a weekend in Nabusimake, an isolated indigenous village nestled in the Sierra Nevada. We slept in tiny bunk beds in a cozy cottage and built a fire outside to make our dinner under the night sky, sharing music and laughter throughout. It’s funny how strangers can become so close in so little time. But near-death experiences will do that. During that particular trip, when we decided to go back to Valledupar, it had started drizzling. Of course we thought, who cares? We were ready to get back and rest and prepare for another exhausting week of work. However, once we were zig-zagging and swerving up and down steep, narrow mountain passes covered in mud and clay, we swiftly realized the err of our thinking. We were screaming in the land rover and hiking up along side it, trying not to get hit, all the while and not to slip down the mountain in turns. It really brought a whole new layer of meaning to our friendship, as surviving a near-death situation usually does.

In this way, many of my coworkers also became great travel companions since we all have pretty much the same aspirations to get out of Valledupar and explore. Last year I managed to either plan or be involved in 4 different trips, including a weekend in Palomino and a whole week discovering coastal cities like Santa Marta, Barranquilla, and Cartagena, and then later go further South to Ocaña – but I’ll have to dedicate another post to those trips.

Then there were all of our little get-togethers. We would go to the large house that Noel and his brother lived in, a hostel of sorts because it housed many temporary or short-term tenants, and make food and blast music. At the end, we would always get fussed at by the house owners for turning the house into a discoteca (which, by the way, we now practically live in one since getting our own house), but we rolled our eyes and turned down the music, choosing to ignore the negativity and keep enjoying each other’s company. It’s not like we don’t suffer through the hours on end of blaring Vallenato music constantly.

Our team has always been close knit. There was birthday party after surprise party throughout the last school year that added to my sense of integration with my coworkers. Even my birthday was celebrated as a surprise which was and wasn’t a total surprise since there was a group dedicated to doing just that last year. Still, that party was one of the most beautiful moments yet and continues to stick with me to this day. After all, I could have never imagined that a group of virtual strangers would take me in, buy me a cake and booze, and celebrate my special day as if we had known each other for more than a couple of months.

People here have sincerely taken me by the heart and the hand and welcomed me into their lives. I began to dance and be myself among these diverse people. We traveled together, from the beaches of Palomino to the rainy streets of Bogota, to the Walled City of Cartagena. We rang in the New Year together, drank together, and complained together about the injustices we have faced at the school and the shitty discrepancies with our own expectations.

More than anything, I became entirely me this year, while also letting another culture transform me. I felt myself truly adopt the costeño dialect when conversing with my close Colombian friends while also being able to stand up and give presentations in Spanish and English in workshops and trainings. I’ve spoken my mind and stood up for myself and my friends more than once in the face of the aforementioned injustices at the school that range from unfair working conditions and sanctions based on false information and bias. I’ve realized I’m not afraid to be the person that says no, that doesn’t work and it doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve discovered my voice, both personally and professionally.

Now that I’m 26, I’m staring over an intimidating precipice. On one side stand my goals, my mountain, the things I’ve been working toward tirelessly since I was in college, and perhaps even before that. I’ve always been tenacious, and now I feel I’m halfway there. First, I wanted to get out of the country. Before I turned 25, I accomplished that goal and found a job that worked for me. I wanted some semblance of stability, which I have achieved, while still being able to save and travel all at once. Then I wanted to continue my education and explore other avenues of employment. That is the part I’m still working on – mainly with writing and translating, but I also have a desire to break out into work related to human rights, social justice, and international relations, because that is where my passions truly lie. But in the meantime, I have to give myself some credit – I’ve become a full-time, certified teacher, and damn competent one, one that knows her students and does everything she can to help them reach their full potential and learn and to be passionate about learning.

I’ve discovered my capabilities and that I don’t need anybody else in order to feel fulfilled in my life or have significant and extraordinary relationships. I’ve also learned and thoroughly internalized that it does no good to compare my life to others. We all get where we need to go at different times. The key is living our moment one second at a time.

I am now quite content with my close friendships, with the variety of people that share their time with me and support me in a variety of ways. The next step is simply deciding: which direction do I need to go in in order to get closer to my mountain? How can I stop measuring every step and just let go as I fall into my future? Because in the end, all we are doing is falling. Nobody knows where we will end up, as much as we try to plan and plot our stops along the way of this vast journey we call life.

I will say that the spontaneous choices I’ve made have ended up being the most rewarding. When I set my mind to something, from the age of 5 to 25 and beyond, I have always found a way to see it through. And even if the results are not what I expected, I find a way to learn so much that the experience is totally worth it and part of what makes me me.

In Colombia, I’ve encountered some of the most loving and genuine people I have ever known. I’ve also encountered selfish people, rude people, people that are only interested in themselves and think nothing of how that self-interest can affect others. That, however, is the human experience – no matter how much culture shock was locked into that experience, it is not culturally dependent – and learning how to distinguish one group from another is also part of growing up. I guess what I’m trying to say is that this year in Colombia has been like a rite of passage for me in which I came through the other side as a fully-fledged woman that has committed herself to her vision and doesn’t back down in the face of adversity.

That’s the direction I want to continue going: upwards and outwards, to help and to let myself be helped in order to grow and mutually impact others in a positive way. The interconnectedness of people is one of the great lessons I’ve learned here, just how much we can make or break an experience by being involved with each other. For those that have blessed my days with their light, I will be forever grateful. And for those that steal my energy, I am thankful to know how to distinguish them from the genuine people who are worth the effort and simply remove them from my life in order to focus my energy on the people that fan my flames.

Life happens fast. I imagine we all experience different rites of passage throughout life and at different stages. When was yours? When did you look in the mirror and realize that you were no longer pretending to be a self-sufficient, self-aware adult, but that you actually were one, and not just a scared, lost kid trapped in an adult’s body? I’m interested to know what that turning point is for people. But I would say in spite of everything I lived in my two post-university years in California, Colombia has defined that for me. And to the universe, I will be forever grateful for pushing me to leap from that precipice and into a new challenge. May I have the courage to leap some more in all the deciding moments that come my way.