ambling the americas

Utila to Yojoa

Nothing resuscitate the writing muscles as efficiently as having the word slacker tossed in your face(book) by a dear friend… So with a new wave of inspiration, the unintentional blog-hiatus has been broken. Now I’m sitting here in Nicaragua with my mind stretched back in time, back to another country… Back to what almost feels like another universe: Honduras. And in truth, it probably serves us all best that I write about Honduras well after the fact; after I’ve had time to reflect and recover, because it was a ridiculous rollercoaster.

I remember the morning I left Guatemala - the air was bright and hot, the road a bumpy green trial with tumbling branches that reached out towards the bus windows as we charted our way south towards the border. The thick, green Caribbean edge was a tangle of trees and farmland and little towns. I didn’t know precisely where I would step off the bus that day. The little Bay Island of Utila was on my near radar, but I felt no sense of urgency. This was, after all, the Caribbean and from my seat, Honduras was revealing a stunning countryside that flowed into rocky green hills and tall mountains. But I was, at the time, innocent to the magnetic pull of Utila and it’s ravenous appetite for backpackers. I now suspect that Utila sensed my indecisive mood and knowing I could be easily swayed employed magical forces to suck me in at warp speed… Or perhaps I just met some lovely travellers heading to Utila that day and figured why not join along in the fun. Either way, I was on the first ferry the next day.

Looking back on that ferry ride across the sea, I can’t help but imagine our boat like an insect caught on the tip of a lizard-like tongue, being drawn in slow motion towards the belly of the island as it awaited it’s next feeding. And inside the belly was a blissful Caribbean island cyclone swirling with all the mischief and frivolity anyone could imagine. Days spent under the waves exploring the vibrant universe of the corals would turn into warm nights along Utila’s little village streets that pulsed with Reggaeton and meandering clusters of expats, backpackers and locals. More often than not, those nights would blur into silliness in the tiniest hours under the moon. Just kick back and watch as human inhibition fades into a sea of drunken bodies and boisterous behaviour. It was fun, no doubt. Insane amounts of college-style fun. But that daily routine of drinking and diving soon made me feel as though I was simply filling time, drifting through days uninspired, the mind superficially distracted by the next party. Two weeks swirling inside the belly was enough - I knew it was time to escape.

And with that, I went from the insanity of little Utila to the tranquil beauty of Lago de Yojoa in the heart of Honduras. It was the perfect place to slow down, recover and reconnect: serenely misty mountains encircling the vast edge of Yojoa; magical waterfalls tumbling out from leafy cliffs; tumultuous rains in the late afternoon that left everything quiet and still and dripping with freshness; narrow mud paths that passed little houses high in the mountains, adorable faces running out to watch us pass… Deep refreshing breaths.

And now I can look back on Utila with a certain appreciation because the craziness prodded me to recalculate this ambling path. Here I am, recalculating… Yes, I want wild, but wildly alive and inspired… Recalculating…

The Antigua Time Lapse

Two months. Really? Two whole months in Guatemala? Yep…

I’m left suspicious of that lovely little city named Antigua. Inside her thick, colourful, colonial walls she hides a secret charm. I’m certain she must have snuck into my dreams one night and slipped something into my subconscious  - something that completely distorted my internal sense of time. Perhaps I’m just making excuses for staying in one place so long; but truly, Guatemala felt like it occurred in a time vacuum. What I expected to be a few days turned into a few weeks… and then a few weeks more…

Of all the places I thought I might slow down for a while, Antigua was not one of them. It was, just as I had been forewarned, swimming with foreigners. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a bad thing or a good thing, it’s simply the nature of the universe. If a traveller’s goal is submersion in a local culture or language, Antigua may pose a few challenges. Fortunately, my goal is to simply let the ambling spirit take me where she takes me. To allow the path to unfold as I go. Sometime I actually have to remind myself of this. And although I caught myself judging Antigua for being a comfy bubble in a country facing lots of challenges, I have to thank her for all the beautiful friends that she brought me (both from back home and from Guatemala) and I must appreciate her for the many intoxicating stories that unfolded during my ‘Antigua time lapse’.

In the end, Antigua was a magical place to get stuck in time. Nestled in the beautiful central highlands with three grand volcanoes to gaze up at from the historic cobble streets. Each block, a simple cube facade of concrete with occasional openings that carry you inside to the most wonderful little courtyards. It’s nearly impossible to walk more than three blocks without stumbling upon the crumbling ruins of an old colonial church. It’s a town full of secrets and surprises where nothing is overtly evident upon first glace. All of Antigua’s magic is tucked behind a thick wall with minimal signage because UNESCO says so. With Spanish schools at every corner and an overflowing handful of non-profit organizations, it’s tremendously easy to find engaging ways to occupy time. I did a little of both (although I certainly need further advancement on the Spanish-learning front). And then there’s Antigua by night. A little bit of salsa dancing, rooftop terrace shenanigans, stargazing, cervezas in the park, pupusas in the street…

Once I learned to accept Antigua as she was, our relationship became quite a wonderful rollercoaster. Quiet days spent learning or volunteering followed by silly nights. But even so, I knew we weren’t meant to last. The spell was eventually broken. Say goodbye and make trails to the east.

Guatemala is a gorgeous country with so much natural beauty to explore. The last days there were a fast and furious love affair. Semuc Champey, Las Conchas, Rio Dulce, the Caribbean Sea. Rickety roads, beautiful rivers, tall mountains, picturesque pastoral landscapes, caves and waterfalls, jungley vegetation. There were many calming moments in natures lush beauty; sitting by a grassy field glowing with hundreds of fireflies in the early hours of darkness; floating in the blackness of the ocean while gazing up at the gleaming milky way; swimming beneath a warm waterfall as water crashes all around; drifting down the deep green gorge of Rio Dulce towards the turquoise waters of the Caribbean. A deeply memorable affair. 

And with that, I leave Guatemala behind. It was a rich two months and I’ve left you with just an idea. Now it’s time to make room for a new romance… Honduras.

If you want to learn about the amazing organization I volunteered with, please check out wingsguate.org. They are doing some really important work!

Last Weeks in Mexico

Two relaxed bodies plunked side by side along the hushed ‘main street’ of Mazunte, surrounded by balmy night air and the yellow glow of a nearby street light… It’s me an my new friend Jorge indulging in one of my favourite Mazunte rituals… We sit, slumped next to the street, sipping a beer from the ‘tienda’ across the way while sharing stories and speculations about life and love and all the rest… Those first hours of evening darkness would tiptoe by, almost without notice while thick drops of condensation would roll down the side of our cool bevs. Waves of conversations periodically dawdle past us, breaking up the quietness of Mazunte’s main: splashes of Spanish from groups of local kids; murmurs of English from little squads of yoga junkies; ripples of German, French or Italian from dreadlocked and tattooed backpackers.

Mazunte felt like a surreal little hideout from the universe. We joked about the ‘Mazunte syndrome’ as we sat street-side sipping cervecas. I have to admit, I almost caught the syndrome myself. One week in that dozy little beach town next to warm ocean water and a relentless sun that refuses to let a single cloud get in it’s way… Mazunte makes people slow down. It makes people slow down so much that many often get stuck. It’s true. That’s the Mazunte syndrome. My only immunity was a fixed date at the end of February where I would meet a friend in Guatemala… I don’t know if Jorge ever got out. Its possible the syndrome got to him too…

With Guatemala nearing on my temporal horizon, I decided to make tracks after a little more than a week in slow motion. I packed up my bag and hopped in the back of truck headed to Pachutla. From there I slept for hours as the bus climbed 2200m through the blackness of the night into the highlands of Chiapas towards San Cristobal de las Casas.

San Cris is another magical city but its magic is far different than that of the coast. Thick, colourful, colonial walls line narrow streets that host a bustling mixture of local indigenous cultures, local and visiting Mexicans and lots of foreign travellers, volunteers and ex-pats. And the market - a massive maze food and artisan work that pours with colour and texture. Gorgeous.

But for me, the true magic of this little city came with the turn of a corner - literally. One afternoon out wandering, I turned the block and find myself looking straight into a very familiar face from the dance floor back in Vancouver. What a brilliant surprise! And with that, I was treated to a couple of days of very awesome company of a San Cris local.

What gorgeous timing and what gorgeous people those last couple weeks in Mexico brought me. Feeling incredibly lucky and grateful.

Now I’m in Guatemala - another breathtaking place. But I will save that for the next blog post…

A Shift From Mexico City to Mazunte

The blissfully hot days here in this little beach town of Muzunte have left me with little desire to sit in front of a computer, but as my skin begins to turn a rich shade of gold, I figure it’s a good time to escape from the rays and reflect on the past couple weeks I’ve spent roaming around this vast country. The pace has been fast. Days of excitement and exploration interrupted by long and often very cold bus rides. Now that I think back on this time I realize that I can only offer a string of moments; bright memories from rich story. It would require unwarranted amounts of time to share the details and depth of this adventure and I am in no mood to write a novel - at least not today. So, like the crashing waves of the Pacific, here are a few rolling moments from the ocean of the past two weeks.

Mexico City Serendipity strikes as lovely Carolyn from Vancouver passes through Mexico City during my last few days there. Two girls basking in the urbanity of that crazy city, navigating the ferocious metro system at rush hour, sipping coffee along old narrow street corners in the most vibrant of neighbourhoods. Escaping the city to drift down the quiet stretches of water channels in Xochimilco while nibbling on delightfully fresh avocados from the nearby market. And finally, climbing the ancient ruins of Theotihuacan surrounded by an eerie sky of distant lightening and gusty winds after a long meandering bus ride through small towns and massive rain drops. The clouds graciously relent just as we arrive.

Morelia Down a narrow alley filled with an aged charm that is reminiscent of old European streets, up three flights of stairs to a quite rooftop where traces of a solo piano spill into the air and drift up in wafts of romanticism. There, we sip the smoothest mezcal under the subtle chill of the night’s air. I notice that I am falling fast and hard for the calm colonial beauty of this amazing little city.

Maruata This tranquil little beach village feels far from the beaten path and I am reminded of the dozy little villages along the Oregon coast. Worlds apart and similar at the same time. In the heat of the afternoon sun I lean against one of the giant rocks that intersects the beach right where the waves of the Pacific bubble up and meet the sand of our campsite. With my swiss army knife in one hand, I look down to watch little chunks of hair get swallowed up by the salty water. So refreshing.

Mazunte The easy stride of existence in Mazunte has invited me to slow down. I find myself happily stuck in this little place. I’ve decided to stay until I get the urge to go. I decided that the very first night as I stared up at the milky way while soft reggae rhythms pulsed in the background. Then I met Kathy. She’s studying yoga nearby. She suggested that I check it out. I did. It resonated - the style, the teachers, the space. What a pleasant surprise. A shift - what had been a very physical journey from place to place has become more of an inward adventure. At least for now.

Slowing down. Deep breaths of warm Pacific air.

VAN to MEX

I felt overwhelmingly ready to get out of the States and into Mexico by the time I was done with the Bachatta festival in Reno. My eyes were dead set on Vancouver where I would say goodbye to Debbie, my accomplice on the meandering roads of the west coast. We shared many amazing and unexpected adventures together and I’m certain that engine of hers has many more exciting trails ahead.

It was that nagging sense of restlessness inside me,

an eagerness to get on with my journey, that took me from Reno to Vancouver in less than 23 hours. With one mischievous speeding ticket and a wicked beast of a snow storm, I was back in the city that I loved, the city that I had called home for a number of years. But those few days in Vancouver felt awkwardly surreal. I felt estranged from my city and I realized that could no longer claim ‘home’ to a physical place. Home has now become this shifting sense created by the kindness and warmth of the people I meet along my travels. But I will certainly remember my time in that gorgeous city as a special place and time in my life. I will always remember the way the tall glass buildings sparkled against the dark mountains, the way the wet streets would reflect the glowing city lights on a rainy night or my favourite, the way the whole city would come to life on

a sunny day. Oh sweet memories. 

And now begins part two of the adventure. I find myself inside the bustling boundaries of Mexico City - a city 8 times bigger than the one I used to call home. I love it. The city hums with activity and the neighbourhoods are full of colour and texture and contrasts. The old streets possess a charm that is almost unbearable. Adorable buildings, fantastically lush tree-lined avenues, countless little shops and vendors that tumble onto the sidewalks and the drifting aroma of delicious street food. It’s such a refreshing contrast to the hushed atmospheres of the many American cities I visited over the past three months

(sorry USA, I love you too, but for different reasons).

I’m still wrapping my head around this city, trying to grasp it. I must admit, my head has been in quite the daze since the day I arrived due to my very first lesson in Mexican culture: Mexicans know how to party - at least the ones I’ve been spending my time with. No complaints, but once I’m free of all this delicious beer I will try to formulate some more cohesive reflections on this charismatic city. I think I’m falling in love - but it could just be the booze!

I’ll venture south towards the Pacific in a couple of days; but for now, I intend to fully indulge my Mexico City crush.

A Solid Dance Fix

I’ve been unintentionally neglecting tumblr for the past couple weeks… Too busy dancing and catching up with friends.

After my quiet time by the Salton Sea I was off to Palm Springs for 3 days of west coast swing - daily workshops, occasional volunteer shifts, poolside napping and innumerable hours of late night dancing. It was perhaps the best new years eve in recent memory.

With one of my dearest friends in tow, we ventured towards San Diego to spend a few more days in the So Cal sun. A quick trip to Tijuana, a couple nights of so-so salsa dancing and our week together was over in a flash. A sad goodbye at LAX was followed immediately by a long drive up to San Francisco for the next dance binge - the Fusion Exchange. 5 nights of phenomenal dancing, 2 sunrises, lots of laughs with old friends and some wonderful new connections.

Now it’s time to figure out the next part of this journey. I’m done with the States. Say goodbye to Debbie, my partner in crime, the ‘95 Saturn. Downsize to a backpack. Hop on a plane. Hello Mexico City.

But first, one last dance fix back home. Surprise! Swingcouver.

Days by the Salton Sea

I’ve emerged from the post-apocalyptic desert landscape of the Salton Sea without disappointment. The sea and it’s surroundings were just as strange and bizarre as I’d hoped. Radiantly white beaches that crunch as thousands of delicate fish bones break under the weight of your footsteps. Quirky towns that go from ghostly derelict to hoarder haven to desert charm in the turn of a corner. Abandoned towns that remain forgotten and others that are slowly and quietly resurrecting. People who have chosen to live at the very fringe of society in makeshift towns like Slab City. Unexpected and untamed displays of creativity in the middle of the dusty desert. Peculiar places like Salvation Mountain where unfathomable amounts of latex paint create a jungle of colour and chaos in the name of God, literally. It’s endlessly fascinating.

And among all the oddity I was so pleased to find a collection of wonderfully normal people. Well, as ‘normal’ as any of us get anyway. Warm, friendly people who opened their homes and shared their lives with me over the holidays. If you ever begin to question the integrity of humankind, do a little couchsurfing. All faith will be restored.

For more pictures of the Salton Sea, check out my facebook album ‘The Desert’:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150447149763256.384104.506988255&type=1&l=6db33875e8

WWOOFing at ArtBarn

I have a big crush on Ventura. It’s this eclectic little coastal city at the northern periphery of where the suburban sprawl of the Los Angeles area meets the Pacific. I spent a week there, sandwiched between the ocean and the cute little downtown that strikes a charming equilibrium between quaint and quirky. The street is coloured by hippy characters and hipsters and is lined with an abundance of amazingly cheap thrift shops that counterbalance the urban-outfitter-american-apparel type shops. It’s walkable. People ride bicycles. Big crush.

I felt like I won the lottery. Not only was I in a city that I actually liked, I was at the ArtBarn, pretty much the hippest backyard in Ventura (although I may be slightly bias). The barn sits behind an old heritage house surrounded by rowdy gardens of herbs and succulents. Inside the barn is a creative place for kids to play and make art. When the little kiddies disappear it becomes a place where big kiddies (a.k.a. adults) explore their own artistic endeavours - late night jam sessions, acro yoga, dance parties, you name it. I have to say, WWOOFing has proved to be a very efficient vehicle for amazing travel experiences. In exchange for a few hours of work each day I got connect with this unique place and the many inspiring folks that frequent it.

Lynne was a dream to work with, although it rarely felt like work at ArtBarn. When we weren’t out dancing, riding bicycles or tasting delicious beer, we were excavating the ArtBarn - getting rid of clutter, organizing supplies and making space. Too much stuff can weigh a place down. Four big carts and the back of a pick-up truck later. Very satisfying.

This was familiar territory. Getting rid of excess stuff. Over the past year I’ve been excavating my life; from an apartment full of stuff to a bedroom full of stuff to a car full of stuff. Soon, I’ll downsize to a backpack. It’s freeing; I feel light and mobile and more available for adventure. It’s funny to think of those moments of letting go and the tendency to want to hold on. But in a very short time the stuff becomes irrelevant. What did I do with so much stuff…  

Freedom replaces stuff.