No lie, this transition sucks. I’m sure it comes as no surprise to anyone other than me that living carefree with plants, animals, children and people who wear white every day is slightly less taxing that the narrow streets of Brussels, with speeding cars, impatient French people and military trucks parked in public squares.
That said, despite me being a grumpy, miserable person myself, I keep getting comments from strangers that I’m smiling (they’re afraid it’s contagious). This shocks me because in reality I feel like I’m walking around under a big grey rain cloud, though I suppose it’s an improvement to the parliamentary vampires who walk between big grey buildings with no direct sunlight (even on rare occasions that the sun is shining). I’ve been annoyed by stupid things – internet doesn’t work, I cut my thumbnail off while chopping carrots, I get lost as soon as I wander 2 blocks from my front door – but even the Irish bartender at O’Reilly’s commented on me being cheerful – poor guy must have lived in Brussels too long.
Thinking about this on my way home on the subway I thought about how much better the city would be if one car on the subway was a party car, with music and dancing, for whoever wanted to walk on. A subway rave! How great would that be?! [Whoever wants to implement this, take the idea please! Everyone would be so much happier – especially if you play Ace of Base during morning rush hour – or any time, for that matter.]
Busy planning my underground subway car party, I became that weirdo you see in public smiling to themselves alone and you look around to make sure no vulnerable people or sharp objects are close by. I caught the eye of another traveler and we had a really fun moment, two strangers looking at each other through the glass, smiling like idiots, waving as we were pulled in opposite directions. Then walking home, there was another sour looking man who almost dropped his guitar when I smiled at him… on double take he crinkled his eyes at me, his lips almost curving upwards. And now I’m home, completely cheered up by all the other closet smilers in this city.
Actually, please don’t. I didn’t mean that. Let’s try to be friends this time instead.
I arrived 10 days ago to Belgian winter and was reminded of a Game of Thrones meme. I think the phrase “Winter is Coming” has nothing to do with real wolves and people-eaters, but rather is a thinly veiled reference to Brussels.
Personally speaking, history has been inconveniently repeating itself. I landed back in-country greeted by changes in my work situation (including absence of my long-awaited work permit & visa, changes to plans for Australia, amongst other things). Ironically I went straight to SJM offices with Costa, who picked me up from the airport, bless her curly hair. Following this, I proceeded to get my clothes unpacked from storage and later flooded the apartment with all my stuff in it – a move reminiscent of 2013.
On a greater scale, the city has changed in the last 2 years. Armed military men stroll the streets, subways and train stations with submachine guns. Despite most of them being quite good-looking (and sometimes a bit flirtatious!), their presence is off-putting. Last night I was walking through Gare du Midi and one actually pointed his gun at me by accident. Okay – maybe I’m a bit more sensitive to this than most would be, growing up with a father and biathlon coach who taught strict gun safety – but it made me stop in my tracks. Talking to friends about this, they have speculated that while the purpose of some of these ‘defence’ tactics isn’t immediately clear, that maybe intimidation works. I can’t say I agree, and feel like this causes some significant harm to peace of mind and unity between people who look different to each other.
But enough of that – there have been some truly wonderful things about being back. I’ve had the chance to catch up with great friends like Costa (who follows the blog of a South African baby leopard – but not this one) and Remi (whose apartment I am staying in and who has plied me with chocolate, champagne, and chocolate – BFFs forever). I also popped over to Edinburgh for the weekend and down to Beverley to talk nerd with my great friend Jane. She was an EP fellow in Kingston when I still lived in Canada and it did my heart and brain such good to see her and talk about things no one else wants to (like U wave analysis in AF and Strictly Come Dancing).
Despite the way Brussels and I don’t really fit together, there are worse places to be and I have faith that we may be able to work our differences out with time. Besides, even if I am destined to stay here through winter, there are certainly perks: Birkebeiner, Vasalopet, Transjurassienne, Artic Circle Race… Cross country ski events designed to kill whatever Brussels doesn’t.
Beautiful on the inside and out, this friend journeyed with me countless miles, across oceans and continents, in storms and sunny days, lifting my spirits and always making me feel good. Complimented by many, always comfortable to be with, and at home anywhere – day or night, North or South America, beach or mountains, party or relaxation, always a joy to be with.
It’s hard to imagine how we could have been closer. Always within reach, often in touch.
Remembered for leading roles in major works such as:
Daryl Falls in Love – Part 1 & 2
Daryl Finds Gratitude in Dark Colours when Unwashed.
Daryl’s Birthday Suit
Daryl Wears the Same Thing but Puts a Shirt on Top to Make it Look Like a Different Outfit
Daryl Has Two Outfits. This is the Good One.
Sadly, today we also say goodbye to Zebra Dress’ other companions: White Linen shirt and Birkenstock shoes. White Linen Shirt was a true friend, who always served in cool modesty and took the stains of living in the jungle with grace. And Birkenstocks – one can only imagine, knowing the depth of adventure in that roving sole, meandering the streets of a jungle town in a humid afterlife. Always willing to go one more step, Birks will be remembered for quick recovery after numerous surgeries in foreign countries. Despite being glued, stitched and re-rubbered, Birks never complained and always moved forward, pushed onwards, ventured further.
I have spent much of my life and countless formative experiences with these dear friends, and their memories will be imprinted on my memory and in countless photographs of me wearing the same thing for the last 2 years. Also in mourning during this difficult time is Blue Sweater, the last surviving member of Sabbatical 2015-2016. Beset with holes and besieged by an unusual jungle odour, we ask that your prayers be directed for Blue Sweater’s health until it is possible to find a suitable resting place in cooler climes.
In lieu of flowers, donations to Rebuild Daryl’s Wardrobe gratefully accepted.
Well, I suppose I always knew this time would come, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Two days ago I left Busintana to start a very long journey back to Europe. My travel plans look something like this:
Busintana –(bumpy road trip)–> Valledupar —(fly)–> Bogota (1 night) —(fly)–> Leticia, Colombia (Amazon) —-> Santa Rosa, Peru (1 night) —(14 hour speedboat)–> Iquitos, Peru —(fly) –> Lima (20 hours) —(fly)–> Toronto (7 hours) —(fly)–> Brussels, Belgium
Yes, that trip is a week long. Currently I’m sitting in Iquitos. Being in the Amazon again brings back memories, and makes me realise how little I wrote about it last time. I wonder if I should document it now as I’ve found this little blog a nice way to recall things I otherwise would forget to remember. However, being in Iquitos right now isn’t jiving with me. This place is full of the bright eyes of recent Ayahuasca voyagers and I feel a bit like I’ve unwittingly knocked on the door of an overzealous Jehova’s Witness, with everyone from the moto driver to the waiter to the skinny Hungarian telling me about their pinta and how the universe really works… Two quotes come to mind:
“The secret of being a bore is to say everything” (Voltaire)
and “He who knows, does not speak. He who speaks, does not know” (Lao Tsu)
I wonder if there is a polite way to drop these into conversation. Probably not. I know – I see the hypocrisy and realise I’m showing my own limitations with annoyance at self-proclaimed shamans and zen masters… But in spite of my own shortcomings and impatience with people, I heartily agree that these experiences are exceedingly valuable for pretty much everyone. Even though I might be wishing in my head that they’d go somewhere else so I could get back to my book, I do silently applaud anyone open to these experiences.
Anyways, moving on… I am always astounded at how many unbelievable things happen that I don’t really write about, probably mostly because my goldfish attention span is distracted by some other new magic. So please forgive this ‘dump’ of amazing things, but here goes…
First, where you can normally find me at 6am:
My often-spoke-of morning meditation place.My Last Zaku Arumake Women’s Meeting:
The things in life we take for granted we can afford. A few life essentials for the women: nail clippers, facecloth, comb, toothbrush & paste, mirror, underwear, soap.
Infographic given out with the seeds to encourage eating self-grown produce
Ceremony to bless the seeds: music, dancing, laughs.
This was a really special day for me as I finally finished my mochilla (and started a new one!). I felt accepted on a deeper level, having spent more time with the women, and was able to tell them how inspiring I found their work to be, and how much I had learned in making my mochilla with their help.They smiled at my efforts, noting that the finishing knots were much cleaner, “showing a cleaner mind” than when I started 5 months ago.
With the Mamo and Sara’s guidance I’ve learned how to offer some of my own knowledge to the circle, especially when it comes to health and basic nutrition. I brought some small essentials back from Bogota for the women – items they otherwise can’t afford, in addition to seeds and a very basic infographic I made to encourage women to grow and eat their own vegetables. Giving seeds is a very symbolic and profound gesture in Arhuaco culture, one that I am still learning to understand.
Snakes. Everywhere: The girls and I found this 1.5m+ long snake tangled in some garden mesh. It is poisonous and quite dangerous but super beautiful. Here the Mamo is giving it the what-for in Ikan, telling it not to bother humans and to live on the other side of the garden. I shared how as a little girl I loved catching garder snakes and chasing boys around with them – an anecdote my zatis quite liked. This was only one of several in my last days.
Trip to the FundAmarIn School & Becoming a Mandarina:
Shot of the kids at school. There are 29 students, ranging in age from 6 to 20 years old.
Lovely. She and I had an affinity for each other – something the teacher liked to say was due to her grandmother’s name: Sama. My name here is Dinsama, and the women say when names are shared in families it creates a bond, even if you’ve never met.
I love these two. Such beauties.
This beautiful girl and I hit it off. Everyone wanted in on our selfie. Apparently her grandmother’s name is Sama too.
We reached the school after driving for almost 3 hours on a “road”, which in most places was too narrow to pass oncoming traffic, so one of us would have to back up for a few hundred meters so the other could pass. It was an adventure as the road literally followed the edge of a cliff, but Lorenzo, expert driver and brother to the Mamo, was incredible. Twice we encountered other trucks stuck in the clay after torrential rains and had to get out to help them out or literally dig out banks of soil to widen the path so we could get around.
The school is one small classroom, built last year by the FundAmarIn Foundation (which I’m a part of). The kids range in age from 6 to 20 years old, and teaching is done in the traditional language of Ikan as well as Spanish. They are smart as anything and full of life. There is no real town here – all students live rurally and walk or run to school each day. Before it was built most kids didn’t receive any education as the closest school was a 4 hour walk (one way).
We had an amazing lunch of vegetables, served by abuelas, and hung out, took pictures, shared laughs. I brought suckers, pencils, erasers and combs for each child and took great joy in sharing these. Such small tokens, such big smiles. The term ‘mandarina’ is used to describe a second mother, like a godmother or a family friend. A great honour and great responsibility, I’ve been named the mandarina for the school.
The Great Bolo Feast:
This is only about 1/4 of the corn
Finally, on our last day together, we (the women and the blessed Gustavo) made bolo. Bolo, for the uninitiated, is a ball of maize that takes about 36 times longer to make than it does to eat. Together, 8 of us husked two hundred heads of corn, cut off the kernels with machetes, manually ground it to a pulp (thanks Gustavo ❤ ❤ <3), added a bit of salt and panela, then stuffed the concoction back into the husks and set all 110 bolos to boil in a giant pot on a fire outside in the dark. After 6 hours of preparation, we blissed out for the ten minutes it took to eat. Food is such a cool way to share with people and and now that I’m gone I like thinking that the energy and happiness I put into the process is in the leftovers with my zatis (though I am a bit jealous!).
And to finish on a sentimental note… Writing all this brings on such feelings of gratitude and inspires me to say a big thank you to all of you who read this and who have supported me through this journey – even when I’ve dropped completely off the map into the heart of the world, I’ve still felt how much you look out for me. Thank you. I am probably only aware of a fraction of all the things I should be grateful to you for, but nonetheless it’s overwhelming. Love love love.
Today we harvested coffee at Finca Mandarina in the mountains above Pueblo Bello. It may look like fun, but it is a ridiculous amount of work, between picking, weighing, removing the skins, drying in the sun (and running like crazy to cover the tarps when rainclouds come), then bagging all of in into 120lb bags bound for Japan.
Nonetheless,we had a good time…
International Coffee Pickers Federation:
Weighing (8 of us picking for 1.5 hours = 15,000COP, roughly $6.50CDN)
Leftover coffee skins:
Drying (I’m the slacker in the team):
The way home, and taking Sama’s questionable advice that the white flowers are delicious:
I arrived in Bogota a week ago, planning to stay for 2 days. Leaving my little house in Busintana I decided not to take my yoga mat or my running shoes, wanting to go light. I really should have known better as I came here to sort out my work visas, and forgot that consulate affairs always take twice as long as you expect, and Belgium in general likes to drown foreigners in a sea of useless tasks (for example, tests on 5 different body samples, including same-day pregnancy test and chest x-ray. Something about that seems a little off, no?)
Anyways, it’s been almost 8 days and while feel my skin itching to get back to the Sierra Nevada, Bogota has treated me well. I’ve been spending time with a princess. She’s 67 years old, the last princess of the Muisca indigenous. This woman really knows what’s up and I am so inspired by her, she’s magic. She is a tremendous advocate for women and has connected me to so many fascinating women here that I feel like I’ve got a permanent community I can always come back to. The princess is an abuela (grandmother) to me, and it’s been such a blessing for me to meet a woman who is so wise and honoured for her years instead of forgotten about, something that seems normal in my culture. Without quite knowing how to describe her, I’ll leave this picture which I think is better than any words.
La Princesa with the biggest Tihici flower (Scopolamine) ever seen anywhere, ever.
It’s also been fun to be here as this is such a cool city, teeming with interesting people, culture, events and amazing, accessible art. My good friend Katie is here and after 6 weeks of rice-and-beans every day she opened my eyes to some great veg eating. Since we met at Wok the first night here I feel like I’ve eaten my way through Bogota since.
As I walked around my neighbourhood here I developed little friendships with security guards, construction workers, arepa sellers, fruit vendors. I’ll be sorry to leave them and the Princess behind, but cannot be more excited to return to Busintana tomorrow.
twofunkyhearts 