twofunkyhearts

“…caught a swell, caught a wave to another inspiring place…”

I honestly can’t imagine a place more inspiring than where I’ve been. I spent the last week with my Italian hermana, Elena, outside of Pueblo Bello in the Sierra Nevada mountains. We stayed at botanical gardens owned by a local Mamo (spiritual leader, in this case, of the Arhuaco indigenous people). The term ‘botanical garden’ to me is a bit off. It makes me think of ButchArt Gardens or some city park, but Busintana is a project with greater social, environmental and cultural impact than any other botanical garden I can think of.

Mamo Menjabin started the park over 10 years ago, restoring land from cleared plains back to the jungle. The property is 17 hectares of stone paths, mango trees, orange bushes, and so much more. The site is totally organic and natural, with no pesticides or GMO seeds used. The way they plant trees works with the environment instead of shaping it. Where there is sitting water they plant a local indigenous tree, by splicing an existing tree, planting the stalks into the ground where it regrows roots and sucks up all the water in the area. In the herb gardens they grow plants which natural repel insects, thus saving the surrounding plants. The sugar cane growing here is used to create a variety of natural products, including alcohols for cleaning (and drinking!). Menjabin estimates he has planted over 100,000 trees on the property, and continues to plant each day. It’s simple stuff, but yet the knowledge of how to plant and work with the land is slowly getting lost. His work is incredibly inspiring to me and it’s been amazing to see the impact on the local community, the indigenous culture and the environment. Additionally, the gardens produce a variety of natural products, sold abroad, which support locals and help to preserve a more traditional way of life.

Additionally, all types of medicinal plants are grown here by the Arhuaco, and used for healing local communities as well as anyone intrepid enough to walk through the river and enter their gates. I’ve been lucky to have shared dinners with multimillionaire CEOs, learned from award-wining scientists, and have had long chats with athletes, entrepreneurs and a few ‘famousy’ people. But the time that Menjabin devoted to showing us around the gardens and teaching us about the plants, for me, is among the most inspiring and valuable time another person has ever shared with me.

There is so much more I could say about Busintana but it really just feels like magic to me, and magic is not something easily explained.

Tomorrow I catch my boat to Europe. It feels surreal after 10 months here in South America, mostly Colombia. So much has happened: I’ve jumped off cliffs and flown over canyons, played in huge surf, hiked mountains, learned some Spanish, fell in love with the land over and over again.

Leaving here I am already planning to come back. This place, this country, has become more of a home to me than anywhere else I’ve lived in the last several years. Even though it’s time to go, I know I’ll come home again soon.

To reach Colombia, I took a less-traveled border crossing through the Putumayo region of shared Ecuador/CO border on my way to meet my old friend Jhon Freddy in the jungle (la selvaaaaa!!!). The border crossing is incredibly simple – it was just a night bus from Canoa to Quito, at 5:40am hop another bus bound for Lago Agrio (Ecuador), take a truck to la puenta (the bridge at the border), then hop into another truck bound for La Hormiga, Colombia where you can find another bus on a very bumpy road to Mocoa, the capital of Putumayo.

It’s just that easy. Unless you’re Canadian.

If you’re Canadian you need pay a $171,000COP reciprocity fee to enter Colombia. That’s about $57, unless you get ripped off at currency exchange like yours truly and pay about $75USD because despite all information posted online and onsite, you can only pay on the Ecuador side with Colombian pesos. And there is nowhere to get Colombian pesos for 27km (which equates to 1 hour drive time). Luckily, after 3 motorcycle trips back and forth across the bridge, an opportunist offered to change my American dollars for pesos at a terrible rate. I figured by paying the ridiculous exchange I was burning off some karma, so I gritted my teeth, smiled, paid the man and went on my way. Easy peasy.

Arriving in Mocoa I have to say I was a bit disillusioned. Jungle towns in the Amazon have always surprised me with how loud and industrious they are, and Mocoa certainly is not an exception. Surrounded by such natural beauty, it was a shock to my system to stay awake with party music till 2am and be woken at 5am by the thoroughfare of big tanker trucks rolling their way out of town via main street. I can’t complain much though as it was a good stimulus to get meditating early and my hotel was cheap anyways – 15,000COP (~$6.50CDN) for my own room.

Mocoa boasts an incredible waterfall – well, actually there are 4 waterfalls, but the namesake, El Fin del Mundo, is the final one and really does feel like the end of something. The water falls off an abrupt cliff to the ground, 70m below. It was a great excursion – I finally met another foreigner, a German named Manuela. She was in the region to find a Yage (Ayahuasca) ceremony, so we had lots to chat about. It was very serendipitous to meet each other as we both travel sola, are the same age, and in very similar situations. We were the only foreigners either of us met in Mocoa.

The natural, untouched beauty of the region is astounding. It’s like a big playground for running, hiking, swimming or birdwatching. The people in the area are super friendly and always up for a chat, despite my (still!) poor Spanish. On the way back we stopped to watch a group of circus performers juggling, doing acrobatics and walking a slackline across one of the waterfalls. I love how on a Thursday afternoon this is nothing unusual… the vagabond lifestyle always inspires.

Well, it’s time for me to leave town and get back to Colombia to prepare for my overseas voyage at the end of the month. It’s hard to leave considering how important I feel this work has been, and also because I’ve met some incredible people while volunteering with All Hands. When I arrived the team here had only had a couple of days to get organized to do some assessments and plan projects, and they did a great job. Usually they don’t start working with volunteers so quickly, but due to the great need in the area they made an exception. I was fortunate to experience what disaster relief looks like in the initial stages, with only 12 other people, most of whom were experienced volunteers or professionals, many coming straight from Kathmandu. It was amazing to hear their stories and learn from them, as initially, there were only 3 of us in the group who had never been in a disaster zone before.

In the last 10 or so days we’ve helped with demolition of buildings, rebuilt temporary structures for displaced people, and have worked to set up the base where we camp (me in my hammock), so that for the next several months the project can continue, and accommodate more and more people.

The work All Hands is doing here is good stuff. If you might be inspired to give a couple bucks to the cause, all of us and those we are working for would be exceptionally grateful. Check out my donation page here:  http://www.classy.org/Dinero. Anything helps, even if it doesn’t seem like a lot. The organization makes money go a long way to help those who need it most. Gracias, gracias, gracias! ❤

Today we started rebuilding Angela and her mother’s house using materials we salvaged from their old home. It’s not easy work as their old place wasn’t in the best shape to begin with. Add to it that, as with most families here, they had a pig sty underneath their houses, full of mud, and the humidity speeds up the rotting and disintegration of much of the cheap wood used in building. After the destruction of so many homes there are pigs strolling around the streets at their leisure. I’ve named them Babe, Babe #2, Babe #3…

Start of the families new temporary house

The plan is to build them a temporary place to stay as they’re currently housed in the local school and the local authorities are pushing to resume classes in a couple of days, so Angela and her mom need to move out.

The work is slow due a number of factors. One impediment was digging the holes for posts as each house needs to be raised due to frequent heavy rains in the area. However the water table is so high that digging down only a foot or two we find thick, slimy clay-mud that’s really hard to move. In the area there are several shrimp farms and the army had originally proposed moving the entire town to a new location – something which raised a few eyebrows as they (potentially) could be using the disaster as an excuse to evacuate people so big shrimp companies could expand operations here. I’m not sure how this plan was diverted, but I’m guessing that it likely had to do with having too many cooks in the kitchen. Everyone seems to be an authority here, meaning that once work gets started on one project, new heads of organization pop up wanting to exert an influence and change plans. This happened on my first day when we went to dig latrines in an IDP camp only to be told we had to fill in the 2m long, four-foot-deep hole dug the night before because some chief of something decided he wanted the latrine to be in a different place (not due to hygiene standards, by the way – only a change in mind). I’m learning that relief efforts, while incredibly rewarding, can also be hugely frustrating, and am beginning to have a sense that ‘recovery’ takes much, much longer than I ever thought. The people most affected, those already living in poverty, will likely never fully get back to the standard of living they had previously. Due to these reasons I now understand more the place for foreign relief assistance in these places, to give impartial perspective and unbiased help where most needed.

In my time here, helping with All Hands, I’ve learned two very important things about myself:

1. Sledgehammers are great therapy.
2. I LOVE POWER TOOLS.

In the last couple of days we demolished what was left of the home of a single mother and her daughter. It was grim arriving to the site, salvaging what we could, including a baby picture in the rubble, which touched me. Then the little girl, Angela, showed up and said it was her (she’s now 12). Her mood was buoyant and cheerful which lightened things up – if she can be positive about the situation why should we add to it?

Demo-ing is hard work! Moving piles of concrete rubble and rocks, pulling down rafters and sledgehammering through brick walls made for an excellent workout. We had about 19 spectators ranging in ages from four to twenty-four. They enjoyed my sledgehammer artistry as well.

Two, POWER TOOLS! Wow, I had no idea how great this would be for my life. I feel like a more complete person having felt the power of a reciprocating saw carving its way through  2×4. Or how competent I feel knowing how to change a drill bit. Wow. If anyone wants to get me a birthday present, any kind of power tool would get a very nice thank you card from me.

And the roof is down!

Ride back to base at the end of the day

This morning, after 7 hours on the night bus from Quito, I arrived in Canoa, Ecuador. This town is well known for pristine beaches stretching out from vine-covered cliffs, incredible ceviche and now, earthquakes.

Canoa is at the epicentre of the 7.8 earthquake that hit Ecuador on April 16th, killing over 270 people and injuring thousands. Arriving at 5am, even in the dark, I could see the destruction immediately, not just in terms of the fallen buildings and rubble, but also in the tents set up in the main square – people who sleep in the middle of town under plastic tarps on pavement, because they have nowhere else to go. Felt even more strongly was the feeling of desperation, evident in the flashlights roaming the streets. Due to increased theft and even some violent crime, the local authorities walk the streets in the dark trying to prevent looting and theft of stupid people like myself who get off a night bus at 5 in the morning with nowhere to go because every place to stay in town is, at best, under repair.

Feeling a bit intimidated I walked to the hotel owned by a friend’s friend, only to find it locked and dark. Fortunately they had a street light and were tucked mostly out of view, so I put my bag down and waited for the sun to rise.

With the sun up, I explored town a bit and found my way to the All Hands volunteer base where I’ll be helping with recovery efforts. Usually they don’t bring people in so early, however due to the great need here and the total lack of salvageable housing for most people, they’re getting started quickly, doing both assessment and starting projects at the same time. With the military, police, other aid groups, and locals all having different ideas of how to manage resources and time I can already see that a high degree of patience will be necessary, but at the same time it’s amazing to see people coming together to help each other.

Bulldozer getting cozy with power lines

Alto Paraiso is a funny place. When I arrived I expected to stay 3, maybe four days maximum. I’ve stayed almost 3 weeks.

I wrote a bit about the town a while ago in this post, but have since explored more than just the waterfalls in the area. Mostly, I’ve gotten to know quite a few people who have quickly become very good friends. Everyone laughed at me when I told them how overwhelmed I feel at all the choices here, yet feel I’m without any decision making power. Apparently it’s a common phenomenon here… people come for days and stay for years. Making plans outside of Alto Paraiso just feels so difficult… and with an organic farmers’ market, great veggie restaurants and incredible nature with pure rivers, it’s really tough to imagine being happier somewhere else.

Yet I have left, and all day have been plagued with thoughts about whether it was the right decision. In this small amount of time I feel I’ve made better connections with people than in the 2 years I spent in Belgium.  I rented a room in a house with two other girls, spent the days writing, meditating, exploring, hiking, having conversations about more than the weather.

Along the way I met Thomas and Deborah, two Belgians I crossed paths with in the Amazon weeks before. In a country the size of Brazil, to meet these two in Alto Paraiso, thousands of kilometres away from where we met, felt nothing less than serendipitous. These two are amazing – they originally brought scooters to travel on, though they quickly broke and instead they hitchhiked for days in Minas Gerais before we met in Alter do Chão. Thomas has some mad didgereedoo skills and Deborah is one of the most well-read, deep thinkers I’ve met. Add that they’re vegans, meaning they have to cook their own food most of the time, and I struck gold – amazing veggie burgers, pizza and UNLIMITED chocolate truffles. Incredible. Incredible.

No doubt I’ll return to this magic place, it’s just a matter of time.

…She went to Brazil.

When I was 15, with a mouth full of metal and the skinny awkwardness of that age I went on a school trip to Italy. Ever since I’ve wondered why parents, instead of spending thousands on counselling for their daughters’ low self image problems, don’t just take a family trip to a Mediterranean country. Having dozens of men approach merely to say “Thank you for being so beautiful”, was a pleasant boost to my self esteem and helped me forgive my ungainliness.

Brazil seems to have the same effect. Strolling the streets, minding their own business, girls are complimented and admired in a usually-not-creepy way. They’re told they’re beautiful, the stars are in their eyes, the heavens open wherever they go and shower blessings from the clouds. I wonder where they get some of this stuff – these guys can get pretty creative.

It might be shallow of me, but I think it’s rather nice.

Today was a historic day for Brazil. Minutes ago the vote to remove President Dilma Rousseff completed – she’s out of a job. It only took decades of corruption, months of squabbling on social media, and 5 hours of speeches to seal her fate. Each politician in the vote (513!!) gave an impassioned speech about the spirit of Brazil, the evils of corruption, and even the crisis in the Middle East (I’m not joking). The hours and hours of bravado made me miss getting a lift back to Alto Paraiso tonight, so I’m taking refuge in Brasilia’s airport. I’m a bit bitter – both at the politicians for talking so much and at the airport for having rows and rows of connected chairs made useless for sleeping with armrests.

Despite the inconveniences I have to say it was a fun day. I walked around the downtown of Brazil’s capital with thousands of people, the Dilma-haters holding plush toys of her in striped prisoner jumpsuits, the supporters sported red headbands and sashes. There was music, laughter, beer, and dancing – a great party.

People here have been screwed by their government on every level; I’ve met couples my age living on one income, dealing with long term unemployment and student debt, putting off having kids and unable to leave the country or take vacation. Yet, despite problems and political affiliation, they didn’t squander a day to be happy, to enjoy. Instead of fighting or watching in resigned silence, they used the event to come together and party. It’s a bit unconventional, but I think there are a few things I think we could learn from this culture. (Especially the dancing part).