Not quite the same as that miel (honey) Jorge and El Negro had on Betica, their farm in the ever enchanting land of Quindio, Colombia, but the bottle of honey Meli and I picked up at the market in Mancora sure did do the trick!
As my gorgeous, vibrant friend and I floated through the covered market lined with row after row of tables bearing bright fruits and vegetables, herbs and- say it ain't so, honey- we looked for just the perfect ingredients for a refreshing, fruit salad. We bargained for bananas and sniffed at least half a dozen pineapples. We gripped the oranges and pursed our lips as the apples were weighed. We couldn't believe it when the young handsome man bearing the real goods, the miel let us take our prize on a promise to return when we had enough monedas (coins). That trusting gesture was a glimpse at the goodlife. The simple life where there is faith in the word of 2 complete strangers.
Mancora was lovely. The sun was hot indeed. I enjoyed strolling around like a gypsy and slurping up fresh pipa (coconut juice) streetside. Only to wait for the gentleman with the machete to finish the deed by carving out all of the white, nutrient rich meat for me. It's fascinating how 1 coconut has everything one could ever need, so pure and satisfying. Mother Earth provides. The water was much cooler than in Ecuador and the current was fierce. Carelessly yet perhaps intentionally, I allowed the waves to sweep over me and I'd tumble like the brilliant, green seaweed that I found amongst the rocks. Exhilarating.
There were kite surfers, surfers, runners and lovers. There were lots of travelers, lots of people playing paddle ball and children making their own little "swimming pools" in the sand- holding their breath as the water ran in to their castle walls and laughing as it transformed into foam. There was an old cowboy named Jose who had 2 spirited, saddled horses. I rode "Caramelo" (Caramel), a stubborn Chestnut at sunset along the water.
I spoiled myself with tuna steak and lots of coffee. I dabbled in watercolors and one night even cut my hair! As we all know, living and being in the moment is my creed. And in a moment under the growing moon, I let go of any fears I'd been carrying and prayed for renewed strength, renewed faith. Shedding my locks was a transformation of sorts, symbolic of this unpredictable rebirth.
After one last sensational, seaside sunset in Mancora with 4 lovely ladies (2 from Colorado and 2 from New Zealand) over rum, bright ideas and a waterfall of laughter, I jumped on an overnight bus to Trujillo, a colonial city on the coast. I slept through the night with earplugs (Jorge, if you're reading this- thank you- they spared me the snores of the man in asiento 21) and by 9 AM this morning was rolling into Huanchaco, Trujillo's neighboring fishing village and surf haven renowned mostly for the nearby City of Chan Chan: the largest pre-Colombian city in South America built by the Chimu in 850 AD and conquered by the Inca Empire in 1470 AD.
Chan Chan was surreal. It was another world entirely and the bright, overcast skies added to its mystique. I wound around countless adobe walls and walked down seemingly endless hallways. There were narrow passage ways and ramps. I delighted in the carvings, the careful handiwork of our ancestors still intact. I imagined the estimated 30,000 people who used to live, work and play in Chan Chan. I marveled at the ceremonial pool still filled with water, lily pads even and dunking ducks. I marveled at the tombs and perhaps the living spaces. It's one thing to read about history. It was entirely another thing to witness it. To see the evidence. To be in that space was sacred.
1 more dawn and dusk in Huanchaco before I venture to Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca (a town at the foot of the White Mountain Range) on another night bus taking off tomorrow evening. I intend on getting a good dose of seafood before landing along the snowy peaks that draw adventurers from all over the world. It will be a quick trip as I've got my eyes set on Lima, where my Dad and Carmen (his Peruvian girlfriend) will join me in a few days. I couldn't be more thankful for their much anticipated presence. As well as that of Anne-Marie, my beautiful cousin who flies south on the 20th.
Now before I sleep, I'm going to have some honey. What taste would you rather have lingering on your tongue and what I ask could bring sweeter dreams?
Miel.
As my gorgeous, vibrant friend and I floated through the covered market lined with row after row of tables bearing bright fruits and vegetables, herbs and- say it ain't so, honey- we looked for just the perfect ingredients for a refreshing, fruit salad. We bargained for bananas and sniffed at least half a dozen pineapples. We gripped the oranges and pursed our lips as the apples were weighed. We couldn't believe it when the young handsome man bearing the real goods, the miel let us take our prize on a promise to return when we had enough monedas (coins). That trusting gesture was a glimpse at the goodlife. The simple life where there is faith in the word of 2 complete strangers.
Mancora was lovely. The sun was hot indeed. I enjoyed strolling around like a gypsy and slurping up fresh pipa (coconut juice) streetside. Only to wait for the gentleman with the machete to finish the deed by carving out all of the white, nutrient rich meat for me. It's fascinating how 1 coconut has everything one could ever need, so pure and satisfying. Mother Earth provides. The water was much cooler than in Ecuador and the current was fierce. Carelessly yet perhaps intentionally, I allowed the waves to sweep over me and I'd tumble like the brilliant, green seaweed that I found amongst the rocks. Exhilarating.
There were kite surfers, surfers, runners and lovers. There were lots of travelers, lots of people playing paddle ball and children making their own little "swimming pools" in the sand- holding their breath as the water ran in to their castle walls and laughing as it transformed into foam. There was an old cowboy named Jose who had 2 spirited, saddled horses. I rode "Caramelo" (Caramel), a stubborn Chestnut at sunset along the water.
I spoiled myself with tuna steak and lots of coffee. I dabbled in watercolors and one night even cut my hair! As we all know, living and being in the moment is my creed. And in a moment under the growing moon, I let go of any fears I'd been carrying and prayed for renewed strength, renewed faith. Shedding my locks was a transformation of sorts, symbolic of this unpredictable rebirth.
After one last sensational, seaside sunset in Mancora with 4 lovely ladies (2 from Colorado and 2 from New Zealand) over rum, bright ideas and a waterfall of laughter, I jumped on an overnight bus to Trujillo, a colonial city on the coast. I slept through the night with earplugs (Jorge, if you're reading this- thank you- they spared me the snores of the man in asiento 21) and by 9 AM this morning was rolling into Huanchaco, Trujillo's neighboring fishing village and surf haven renowned mostly for the nearby City of Chan Chan: the largest pre-Colombian city in South America built by the Chimu in 850 AD and conquered by the Inca Empire in 1470 AD.
Chan Chan was surreal. It was another world entirely and the bright, overcast skies added to its mystique. I wound around countless adobe walls and walked down seemingly endless hallways. There were narrow passage ways and ramps. I delighted in the carvings, the careful handiwork of our ancestors still intact. I imagined the estimated 30,000 people who used to live, work and play in Chan Chan. I marveled at the ceremonial pool still filled with water, lily pads even and dunking ducks. I marveled at the tombs and perhaps the living spaces. It's one thing to read about history. It was entirely another thing to witness it. To see the evidence. To be in that space was sacred.
1 more dawn and dusk in Huanchaco before I venture to Huaraz in the Cordillera Blanca (a town at the foot of the White Mountain Range) on another night bus taking off tomorrow evening. I intend on getting a good dose of seafood before landing along the snowy peaks that draw adventurers from all over the world. It will be a quick trip as I've got my eyes set on Lima, where my Dad and Carmen (his Peruvian girlfriend) will join me in a few days. I couldn't be more thankful for their much anticipated presence. As well as that of Anne-Marie, my beautiful cousin who flies south on the 20th.
Now before I sleep, I'm going to have some honey. What taste would you rather have lingering on your tongue and what I ask could bring sweeter dreams?
Miel.
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