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.
Today marks my 4th week at Busintana. I haven’t been keeping up with the blog for two reasons. First, I am writing every day from the murky depths of imagination. This place unlocks creativity and I’m writing more stories and histories about the people and land than I can keep up with. Blessed with good beginnings, I struggle to finish anything – or even get to the middle of things – but I enjoy it. The second reason you haven’t heard from me in a while is that I’m in the groove of daily life where extraordinary things happen and they just seem… normal.
So, here’s an update.
First, earlier month we had the women’s group at Busintana. It’s comprised of a core group of 18 women, all Arhuaco, who walk for hours to reach the meetings held every month or two. My mochilla (knit bag made of several thousand knots) was mostly complete – just needed to make the strap. The women in the group showed me how to weave 16 threads into a something that could be recognised as a device to carry a bag. It went well until I was left to my own devices. Then it all went to shit:
(The strap of 16 threads is tied around my toe, the threads tied to everything)
The amazing thing about these women, most of whom cannot read or write, many of whom speak only Arhuaco and little Spanish, is that they have inspired me to completely rethink art – how I think about it, what it is and maybe what it should be. Art is such a loose word, we talk about it in terms of mastery or expression, or mastery of expression. But what about simplicity and intention? These women make mochillas by repeating knots thousands of times. It sounds simple but it requires heightened mindfulness and a highly developed way of seeing things in a different dimension as they create complex patterns and colour changes in their heads, all the while creating every knot as a separate positive wish for the world. So in the course of making a mochilla they send out thousands of positive messages, little wishes for health and happiness for other people, the earth, the rivers, the air, the mountains, everything that is around them that they are connected to. I know many people who call themselves artists, but by this definition I know very few who make their work – or their life – an art. In short, these women are the knitting versions of Neo in the Matrix. (Or perhaps more aptly put – they’re the Oracle).
Oh, and the men! They came one night and played the accordion over Busintana 94.7FM radio waves. It was a great time, we danced, and they made me blush by playing songs special for “the blanca” on the 100+ year old community accordion. Me with old Mamos, and younger Arhuaco men, holding hands and shuffling side to side. We don’t look each other too often, but when we do it’s something special. Each man has such kindness in his eyes, but what’s more is this deep connection, knowledge, wisdom that shines out. It’s like they all know why they’re here, like the life they lead is the perfect meeting of destiny, choice and benevolence. There is something so hard to put into words about people who have that confidence, humbleness, connection. They know who they are and why they are here and it is both unshakeable and a gift to everyone around them. Similar to the women, they make an art of silence, eating cal (crushed seashells) and coca leaf out of poporro (gourd) and mochilla, while electrifying the air with communications sent without speaking.
Ok, what else? Well, it is the start of the cosecha de cafe – the first coffee harvest of the season. I scrambled around with everyone else on tarps under hot, hot sun, gathering the beans into burlap sacs which will be sent to Japan. Coffee growing is hard work I tell you… next week I’ll be out in the jungle picking coffee – a “meditation of the hands” they tell me. I think they just see me as cheap labour. (jajaja)
There has been a lot of rain here in the last few weeks. During this time snakes look for sheltered places to hide in and one found my overhang to be a good spot. He was little by Busintana standards (there was another 1.5m long and fat!), but Sarah, my Arhauco Zaku (mother) and the Mamo’s wife, told me that snakes show themselves when the viewer can expect their partner to come into their lives. She found him first so I’m not sure if it still applies to me. If so, that would be a rather interesting turn of events here at Busintana. I’m rather popular in town, and have received more than one proposal, but I can’t say I feel I’ve met a match here while walking past the pool halls and chatting with abuelos.
The girls, my students, my zatis (“sisters” in Ikan, the Arhuaco language) have been such a source of fun and learning. English lessons are still going, if slightly less enthusiastic after 4 weeks. “Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes” song has won the hearts and minds of all the neighbourhood kids (and the Mamo!). Saturday was Tima, the oldest’s, birthday. A bunch of kids came over, we ate, had cake, sang Happy Birthday in English (led by yours truly) and had a good time. Before everyone eats cake people say a few words to the birthday girl – a tradition I quite like. I was a bit on the spot with my speech in front of giggling 4-16 year olds, but I think it went okay.
Tima is a great seamstress and makes clothes for all the animals: the parrots, the dog, the chickens and this rooster sporting a vest and matching beret.
My zatis. Maybe my favourite picture of the year.
Honey straight from the hive
Speaking of which, I’ve done a few interviews while here! One was for a cultural TV channel here in Colombia who do an incredible series on different indigenous tribes throughout the country. They were contracted before the Colombia “no” vote to peace to film about what can be learned from these people who were among the most negatively affected by Colombia’s war with the FARC (and other internal and external groups – guerrillas, missionaries, paramilitary, industry, etc, etc). Interestingly, all indigenous groups I know of supported the peace deal, as did people in rural areas most affected by violence of that era. Apparently, from what locals describe, the vote was blocked mostly in cities where the effects of war were not felt nearly as harshly. Locals were heartbroken and shocked when the “no” vote came through, but no one is really talking about it, aside from saying they make peace every day and that the announcement of the president winning the Nobel Prize was a big score (interestingly, the Mamo has shared the stage with the president, and he actually came to this area for the blessing of the Kogi people – neighbouring indigenous group – before he took office). Anyways, back to the interviews: the film crew was great and the director and I have chatted about doing something similar – a series or a documentary – in English. He wanted me to join them a remote region of Putomaya, in the Amazon jungle bordering Brazil, but I had reasons to stay here with the Mamo and family… But who knows, maybe something will come of it. I certainly seem to have connections to the film industry in Colombia – which is ironic considering I sound like a 4 year old speaking Spanish on camera.
Well, as I am sure you can feel through the waves of wifi, I am doing great and loving being in the heart of the world, the Sierra Nevada. I’ve got less than a month of living this way left, then I’ll have a bit of a transition. Back to Europe for end of November through January, then another transcontinental move. As the time draws nearer I feel excited for what is next. I’m acutely aware now of all the little pulls on our time – the thought of doing my hair and makeup every day or commuting feels like it will be a big challenge to rise above. Yes, I can hear all of you snickering and thinking me soft, but just think, not necessarily about what you can do with that time, but how much more tranquilo you can be when you don’t think about those things, when you wake up in the morning the same as you went to sleep: with frogs, crickets, the smells of flowers. It will be a great transition, I’m just preparing myself to make it a mindful one.
Well, I am back at Busintana and have made it through the hurricane rains that nearly doubled the river and brought down a few tree branches by my house in the jungle. The rain was great for the first day – super peaceful. But I have to say that after 4 days of wet clothes steeped in jungle stink, I was ready for it to stop.
View from my porch. Mochilla is about 80% complete!
Always, the first days when I arrive I always feel a bit weird – Pueblo Bello is a frontier town. There are donkeys, horses, motorcycles, goats, the odd duck, and Land Rovers blazing up and down main street. In the four times and few weeks/months I´ve spent here, I have met only 6 other non-locals. So when I show up there is a bit more attention than I like, especially when walking past the open-air pool bars. After a few days I blend back into the proverbial wallpaper, and I remember why I love it here. The community is fantastic, the kids have tons of patience with my Spanish, the old ladies stop to chat, and older gents always want to know where I am from and what the heck I´m doing here.
Those of you who are wondering how can I possibly STILL not have a job or roots, you might be pleased to know that I´ve picked up work and a family! Sure, the job doesn´t really pay, and I don´t exactly match the family, but those are just details… After I´ve woken up, meditated, done my yoga, sorted out my little hut, and put a few stitches into my mochilla, I move onto other pressing matters like planting mango trees, picking oranges, or teaching english to the Mamo´s daughters (he has 4 of them). I never thought I would enjoy the English part so much, but I am having more fun with them than I ever could have imagined. There is next to zero English exposure here, so we are starting with the basics. The most fun game we have made so far is “Sit, Stand, Jump”. I tell you, things get crazy, when Sama (4), gets her jump on. Today there was a little fiesta at the house with about 10 kids. “Sit, Stand, Jump” literally rocked the house.
Two of my best students: Sama (4) and Kwey (10)
Mi hermanita
T-7 weeks until I am back at a more traditional concept of work. It will be great, but right now, right here in Pueblo Bello, I am so ridiculously happy I feel a little bit sorry for everyone else.
With non-stop rain from our good friend, Hurricane Matt(hew), the local radio has been scraping the bottom of the barrel for entertainment. Enter me. After my last on-air interview a few months ago in fuddled Spanish, my buddy Angel at Busintana 94.7FM wanted me to go on-air for some comic relief. I got out of it, trickily turning the tables to become the interviewer, and Angel the interviewee.
Angel is a nice guy from Santa Marta who has been working at the very-part-time Busintana FM radio station since the beginning of the year. (Below are pictures of the radio and Angel inside).
Today in my interview with Angel, he helped me to decode the onomatopoeia frequently used by Colombian men in search of a mate or when calling domesticated animals. He classified four categories:
The “Pspspspst” – used to beckon dogs
The “Psssst” – frequently used on the street to indicated interest and hopefully catch the attention of the female of the species.
Whistle #1 “The doo- dooowhoop” – this is similar to how I think Roger Rabbit used to describe his wife, Jessica Rabbit. It means “Your radiance makes me catch my breath – which is why I can’t move from this street corner.”
Whistle #2 The “Complex One” – this starts with a basic whistle, but then converts to a higher pitched tone than the basic using a fancy tongue technique. I haven’t ventured close enough to be able to describe quite how it works, but the meaning is clear: “Please come back, please come back, please come back.”
And there you have it: (Colombian) Men Decoded.
I officially declare this to be the best off-air interview ever had at Busintana 94.7FM.
My flight from Toronto to Bogota the other morning was super weird. I woke up in my plane seat to the seemingly nice (Canadian) man behind me reaching through the crack between the seats to stroke my back. I turned around, thinking it was a mistake and asked if he needed something to which he responded that he didn’t. So I rested back, happy to write it off to some strange half-asleep misunderstanding on my part, until once again his fingers slithered through the crack… M*F-ing snakes on a plane! I bolted my seat upright and barricaded myself in using airplane pillows and blankets to block any points of entry.
People always ask me how it is to travel alone as a woman. Traveling isn’t hard. Being a woman, though… it’s like a huge cosmic joke where we all have to work to be seen and heard, and yet at the same time can never quite blend into the wallpaper when it would be nice to do so.
“I was born on the prairies where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures.” -Geronimo
Leaving home always reminds me what a special place I come from. For most of my youth I didn’t appreciate Saskatchewan – flat fields, flat river, flat lakes. It seemed so small, like nothing was happening there. But I realise more and more that this is one of the qualities that make it great. It’s an enormous province, almost twice the size of Germany with about 1/80th the population. It’s a place where there’s not a lot of voices so you have to listen, and where nature doesn’t shock, but unfolds secrets continuously, free to see by anyone wiling to stop and really look.
I haven’t been home in September for years and years. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is to sit in the car, watching combines in the fields, making paths in gold, speeding along a highway that runs in a perfectly straight line, without a bend or hill, for the next 30km. Our license plates call this “Land of the Living Skies”, the most perfect tag line for a place I know of, evidenced by endless blue, puffy white cumulus, rolling grey and magic northern lights when it is cold and dark. There’s not a lot going on, but everything is happening all the time.
Dane (my brother) was returning for the first time from Pakistan and since he and I have been away my parents have both retired, my dad turned 65, and they marked 35 years of marriage. It seemed like a good time to surprise them with all of us being home at once, so a couple weeks before Dane’s return I booked my flight back, unbeknownst to my mom or dad. (Which is also why I haven’t updated my blog at regular intervals, not wanting them to know I was in North America at Burning Man in case it raised suspicions I may be working my way farther north). It was really great to be together as a family again, and to do something stupid with my brother (this time thankfully it didn’t involve champagne or cell phones, but instead swimming 3.5km across the lake in 7C weather, 18C water temp and splayed, cramped fingers which made totally useless swimming paddles. I feel I’ve learned something about hypothermia).
Being home was special. I even went out to my high school, meeting old teachers and sharing stories of adventures we’ve had in the last 12 years. It was great to revisit memories (like running on the beach in Italy with my gym teacher, and staying after school to learn about the Khmer Rouge and Angkor Wat – which inspired my first trip to Asia). These people were teachers in many ways, and it was cool to learn these times were also important to them.
While this may dash the romanticism, I don’t feel Saskatchewan is my place anymore, but connecting with where I came from and being with family reminds me that special places imprint on you and support you long after you leave. I think we always carry them with us to new places, just with a little extra beauty from where we’ve been.
twofunkyhearts 