Meet Juancho #3, my new pet scorpion. He’s the latest Juancho (pets keep getting more exciting – the original Juancho is a dog, the second Juancho was a grasshopper, and my latest Juancho is a predatory arachnid).
Juancho was living under my bed until two nights ago. We shared a few laughs, had a beer, then Juancho decided he was tired of me and decided he’d try his luck in more desert climes.
At long last, welcome to my new home! Chicharrita: La Casa Loca.
Familia y amigos!
Feliz Navidad from my current hometown of Barichara, Colombia! I’ve been wanting to write this letter for days, but have been pleasantly distracted by tropical weather, good coffee and Latin men. Now I’m taking up a table at a busy cafe on Christmas night trying to get this out before I lose wifi.
2015 has been a year of big changes. In January I gave my notice at St. Jude in Belgium, sold most of my possessions, packed a backpack and set off, not quite knowing where I’d end up. Initially I took my 10 week notice period to visit friends and run trail races around Belgium and France before hopping on a plane with my mom to Istanbul then Kenya. We spent 6 weeks together, exploring beaches, mountains, cities and islands – a great trip to celebrate her retirement. Following I hopped on a plane back to Canada for a friend’s wedding and decided to stay and trek across my own country. When I lived in Canada I always spent my holidays traveling internationally, but taking this time to explore was such a fantastic opportunity. I took boats, cars, ferries, trains and planes. I walked, ran, bicycled, hitchhiked and swam in some of the most incredible natural places in the country, including the entire provinces of Newfoundland and Nova Scotia in addition to Jasper, Mount Robson, and the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island in the west. After traveling in my own country I now feel that I now have a better understanding of where I come from and finally get why people say Canadians are “so nice” – there are few things that make a person more grateful than getting picked up while hitchhiking in the pouring rain, or that make you feel more welcome than being invited for holiday dinners with people who were only moments before strangers.
In September I flew to Colombia. I was here about 5 years ago and have always kept a soft spot for the country. From Medellin I figured I would travel south, eventually reaching Patagonia, however I could never come up with the desire to leave. Aside from a one-month detour to Ecuador to complete my certification as a yoga teacher, I’ve remained in Colombia, traveling to the coast, jungles, and mountains. I’ve avoided cities for the most part, preferring being in the country or in small towns. Currently I’m renting a house in Barichara, a beautiful town perched on the side of cliff, beside the world’s 2nd largest canyon. The house, “Chicharita: La Casa Loca” as we call it, has a spirit of it’s own. The upstairs loft bedroom has windows open to the east and west, making you feel like you’re on the beach as the wind blows in both directions during the day. There are also a few quirks, the biggest being that it doesn’t like multitasking: if you try to turn on 2 lights at the same time, neither will work. It refuses to power a blender, and if you attempt to plug in an power-hungry device like a 4” hair straightener you’ll lose power everywhere (not that I have much use for a 4” hair straightener these days). Don’t attempt to turn off the light once it’s on either – you may find yourself with a numb right arm from your fingertip to chest after you watch the spark jump from the outlet to your hand. When I’m there alone I no longer touch light switches.
All in all, life is great. At times my mental health is questionable – mostly when I wake up missing winter weather and snow, but I find these bouts of mania are short lived. Sunshine and good coffee are great remedies.
Sending much love from (close to) the equator,
Daryl
Hey Everyone,
You’re going to get a much more detailed post in the next day or two once I download some photos from a friend (this whole losing-my-camera-again-thing sucks), but in the meantime here’s a quick blurb about where I’m at.
For the last 2 1/2 weeks I’ve been in the small town of Barichara in the Santander province of Colombia. When I arrived here I hadn’t expected to stay this long, but have quickly become a resident of sorts – a regular at local coffee shops and popular with the construction workers on my corner. This little town, perched on the side of a cliff, is like a step back in time. The tempo slows as soon as you get off the bus at the town square where older gents loiter the day away. I’ve been loitering here too, reading, studying, writing and restarting my yoga practice (oh, and learning to ride a motorcycle!). The tropical weather is something I appreciate every day, yet I have to admit I miss the white Christmas of home – especially at 4am every day when locals light fireworks to kick off morning mass.
I’ve been staying with friends in the small and lovely town of Barichara in the Satander district of Colombia. This whole post could be dedicated to pristine whitewashed walls, orange tile roofs, cascading vines of flowers, red cobble streets and enormous trees infested by parasitic moss that hang down from branches like old man beards. It’s a pretty magic place.
Instead I’m going to write about silence. In the last 3 months my Spanish abilities improved, degraded then stagnated. Staying with Spanish-speakers has been a test not only for my language but also for my patience (with myself). Coming here I planned to become conversationally fluent, however my self-diagnosed ADD has gotten in the way. Having the attention span of a butterfly doesn’t help when new, shinier things come along and language study gets tedious. So it’s my own fault when I say that I’ve struggled with my own silence in the world of animated and lively Latin conversation.
I often felt this way living in Belgium where my French was poor and Dutch non-existent. Sitting at a table where I could understand snippets but never fully express my own thoughts was an excellent exercise in becoming a better listener and also in realizing that when you say nothing you can’t really get yourself in too much trouble. Except when you join in the laughter or smile with those smiling and they ask you “did you understand that?” and you didn’t really, but the laughter was contagious and the smile just seemed like the right thing to do. But no, you don’t really know why things are amusing. All you can stutter back is “…sort of” and hope that they don’t expect you to say anything more while at the same time desperately wishing that they won’t turn away so you have someone to talk to just a little bit longer.
That said, my hosts are the most gracious and tolerant teachers. They also all speak English and have seemingly infinite patience for my lame smiles and nods, sensing my irrational but very real fear of conversation. The Sound of Silence is Colombia’s favourite song for the panflute. Simon and Garfunkel understand me… maybe Paul also tried to order something other than eggplant for the first time in 5 days in a rural China. Perhaps Art found himself two Ecuadorian towns past his destination because he couldn’t make himself understood. Silence could be
good for inspiration.
If you’ve wondered where I dropped off the edge of the world to, it was the base of the Sierra Nevada mountains, close to the coastal city of Santa Marta. I posted about running in this area on my first trip a few months ago, but have since found it to be an even more incredible place than on first pass.
My return to this area was beyond serendipitous: meeting Julie in Ecuador and finding out that we have common familia from Finca Palmita was the first coincidence. Secondly, she mentioned that her cousin Ryan has a little finca outside of Minca, and third, our common familia were meeting there together after yoga training wrapped up in Ecuador. I returned and spent a few days with the crew, new and old, enjoying the view perched on the ridge of the mountain, looking in one direction at the city lights of Santa Marta, and in the other direction into the depths of the jungle.
The trip up to Ryan’s place is a lovely adventure. For 20,000 pesos you hop on the back of an old motorcycle and do your best to keep your feet under your shoulders. I stayed for about a week, exploring the base of the mountains and helping with a few jobs around the finca. When my friend Binendra came to town we returned and wasted away a few nice days exploring the hills, painting walls, repairing water pipes and enjoying some pretty amazing meals by a self-proclaimed raw vegan chef (the papaya-coconut-banana icecream was amazing. Definitely not to be missed if you venture into the jungle).
Inconveniently the water cut out for 4 of the 5 days we stayed at Ryan’s. After 3 days of sleeping in a hammock, baking under the sun, splattering myself in paint (which I’m pretty sure was lead based), and jungle dust made for a euphoric shower when we returned to Minca. In reality, it was a hose sticking out of the wall spewing cold water in an icy trickle, but to me it was pure heaven.
I’m now heading back to Satander, home of Chicamocha Canyon and the Finca Palmita folks. More on that soon!
PS, Thanks to Binendra for the photos! My camera was stolen (again) in Palomino a few weeks ago.
I’ve officially reached the level of self expression of a 16 year old. While most might think, as I’m nearing 30, that this would be a regression, I wholeheartedly disagree. As a little girl I desperately wanted more than anything to be a tomboy, feeling great fulfillment when my brother and his friends called me one not knowing I loved it. As a teenager I was always a square, running between biathlon and, well, running. In university I was busy looking the part to fit in for my waitressing job in a cocktail bar with sorely lacking advice from my also-very-square boyfriend at the time. And finally, as an adult, for the last many years I’ve fit the role of corporate air traveler (as much as I thought I loved them, I do not miss those pencil skirts or heels as I sit here in my $3 thrift store dress and clunky Birkenstocks).
At a market a few weeks ago I had a street artisan put a wire coil in my hair and bought a super beautiful black and white feather. Just the touch to make it known I’m my own woman (and that I’m unemployed).
With this feather I’m writing from the beach in Palomino, a place full of magic at the foot of the sacred Sierra Nevada mountains, the port from the sea to jungle, with the background music of humming mosquitoes and the ocean crashing into cliffs of sand.
My return to this part of the world was to rejoin some friends, however plans are constantly in flux and I haven’t completely decided where I’ll go next. The beauty of this place is that you don’t really have to decide. It’s un lugar muy especial… though it’s also an exercise to get comfortable with as there’s nothing really to do here. Sit at the beach, listen to the waves, do yoga on the beach. Sleep. Make lunch. Write. That’s about it. Add that my Spanish hasn’t improved drastically so I’m constantly drifting out of group conversations, it could be a lonely experience. Instead I look at it as a practical equivalent to Elizabeth Gilbert’s La Dolce Vita experience in Eat Pray Love when she works at doing absolutely nothing. Entonces, I’m not doing nothing – I’m in training.
At night I sleep in a hammock 100 meters from the beach, with an interesting group. There’s a maestro sculpurist with a glorious white mane of hair and artsy goatee, a sullen French woman who is actually quite friendly if you catch her after she’s eaten, and funny enough, I’ve run into Jhon Fredy again. I knew he’d be in this general area, but by this point, it’s beyond coincidence to keep finding him. In usual Fredy-fashion he seems to be well nourished by various people on his path that are inspired by his presence. In the last few weeks he’s been given an iPhone, new clothes and many nights of room and board. Walking proof that the universe always provides, even if you do dress like you’re a nomad/unemployed/wear a feather in your hair.
Opa! I’m a yoga teacher! Just finished my RYS-200 hour certification in Ecuador. It’s been a great month with some great people and I must say I’m bit more bendy now than I was 5 weeks ago.
Leaving Tumbaco I’m full of ideas for how to use yoga in my personal practice as well as to foster relaxation and mindfulness in otherwise stressful environments (hospitals, senior care, workplaces, etc). At the moment though I’m heading to the beach, back to Colombia to bask in the sun, listen to the waves and donate blood to the insect population.
Today is the last day of yoga teacher training here in Tumbaco, Ecuador. As I sit writing this in the morning sunshine before the 4 hours of Tantra yoga today, I am glad it’s coming to an end. The space is beautiful, the experience has been a good one, and I now feel prepared to run my own classes, however our happy family of 15 seems to be fed up with each other and the girls are ready to scratch their way out of here, even if it’s through your eyeballs.
Thankfully I’m on the periphery of all the drama but I won’t pretend to be a Yogi Bhajan here – it’s time for me to get out of the fray too. Whenever I’ve done personality testing I’ve always come out as an E(xtrovert), though I think there’s a catch to it – extrovertism for me comes only after lots of I(ntrovert) time. Living with 13 women and two oblivious men (who never once signed up for Karma yoga duties like cleaning the kitchen or sweeping the floor!) makes me feel claustrophobic in some way. I just can’t get out from under the downward dogpile.
Anyways, I won’t bore you with the details, but will give you the hint that it has something to do with a girl, her ex-boyfriend, and a tattooed German in a bathtub together. For your entertainment I’ll leave you with some memorable quotes, were said by various yogis and yoginis over the last 4 weeks in complete seriousness.
Male Classmate: “Daryl, I have a question for you.”
Daryl: “Yes?”
Male Classmate: “What do you think about me getting a second wife? My wife is open to it, but I’m just not sure.”
(I swear, this was a real conversation, totally serious!)
Spanish Yoginis: ¿Que?
The Greeny Yogini: “….blue green algae…. spirulina… it’s like real stem cells…. chlorella… superfoods… micro greens… blue green algae…”
Poyan Yogini: “I watched this video this morning. It was 5 minutes long of a man’s finger trying to get a butterfly to land on it, set to music.”
(Ok, fine, this was partly in jest… but she actually did watch all 5 minutes – Julie!)
Spanish Yoginis: ¿Que?
Imitator Yogini: “…blue green algae… superfoods… chlorella… stem cells?… spirulina… green… um… food…”
Yoga Teacher Teacher: “Raise both legs, crossing the right over the left. Enter the hole between your legs with your hands, then arms, then shoulders, then head… Enjoy your sacred space.”
The Imitator Yogini: “That song, it just made me feel something. Like it moved me. Like I think my chakras opened up. It was special, different from the other songs you played – can you tell me why it was different? What does it all mean?”
Musician: (puzzled) “It was the only song written in a minor key….”
The Young Male Yogi: “Relax in your Shavasana… Breathe into your chest. Breathe into your abdomen. Breathe into your pelvis. Breathe into your anus. Don’t exhale.”
Spanish Yoginis: ¿Que?
Sensitive GI Yogini: “This yuca-almond flour bread is for the gluten intolerant.”
Imitator Yogini: “I’m now gluten free.”
The Yogini’s Boyfriend: “….chlorella… superfoods… leafy greens aren’t even really vegetables, they’re a class of their own… spirulina…. blue green algae… spirulina….”
Spanish Yoginis: ¿Que?
twofunkyhearts 