Into the ether

(Pereira, Colombia)

Paul Thoreux, in his book "The Old Patagonian Express" says that traveling (alone) is like pulling a disappearing act. The farther away you get from home, geographically as well as mentally, the more invisible you become. When I first set out on this trip I had a lot to say and write about, which is partially due to the fact that I was travelling alone and in need of some kind of companionship. I also heard from my friends and family quite often. The more time goes by the less I write and the less I hear from you. Certainly, this is somewhat an out-of-sight, out-of-mind phenomenon, on both of our parts. But it is also true that I feel farther and farther away from home and more comfortable and closer to this world in which I inhabit down here in South America. This is not to say that I don´t get home sick, I do almost every day. The following blog was written during a bout of grumpiness a week or so ago. Forgive me for being such a spoil sport.

Long-term travel is weird. I´ve decided that loading a few important items into a backpack and trekking off into the great unknown for an extended amount of time--3 months for me but I´ve met many people who are out for 6 months, a year, a year and a half and more--is just strange behavior. Especially when you spend a lot of that time in the company of your countryfolk, speaking English, watching the World Cup, eating cornflakes, and getting drunk. Don´t misunderstand me, I have very much learned to appreciate a good backpacker hostel where I can get my laundry done, cook my own food (which might actually include a fresh vegetable), and compare stories with my fellow travelers, but there are times when we all just wish we were at home and I wonder what this is all for. Picking up and moving cities every few days, packing and re-packing the bag, showering in cold water which tumbles out from an exposed pipe in the wall, using toilets without seats (not sure why, but the seat seems to be a frivolous luxury in this part of the country), eating mostly fried meat and bread in restaurants, where you may or may not actually get what you ordered, fighting off bugs in the night (disease-ridden mosquitos, giant spiders, imagined fleas), trying to stay upright on a bus ride which would be the equivalent to driving up and down a poorly paved Bear Creek Canyon for 5 hours, constantly sticking out like a sore-thumb every where you go (I am so privileged to be able to pass through most of my life without being noticed), wearing the same three outfits for three months, which are dirty most of the time...shall I give it a rest?

I know, poor me, right? I don´t want to give the impression that I´m NOT having a fabulous time on this trip, because I am. I just have moments where I would give it all up for home, where I can cross the street without fearing for my life, pay for an item with a twenty-dollar bill without getting any gruff, and drink a decent freaking glass of wine.