Unpredictable. That´s what I love most about South America. Its ¨organized chaos¨, agreed 2 British globetrotting guys with whom I shared another surreal day in this wild continent.
Yesterday´s journey to Máncora, Peru was a total out-of-body experience. It was as if I was looking upon my colorful, crazy self instead of looking out of it.
I saw myself in the early morning piled into the back of a white pick-up truck, wrapped in an orange sarong trying to keep warm and squinting my eyes to see the morning light flood the velvety green sea of mountains. I sat completely calm and mesmerized as the racing truck kicked up dust. It whirled past tiny villages awakening with uniformed, hand-holding and school-bound children and barely missed taking out grazing cows planted along the road´s edge.
I saw myself on a bus. I was hanging out of the window and snapping pictures of the bright white clouds filling the mountain valley like beer froth consuming and spilling over a generous mug. I heard myself squeal with terror with 2 guys from Manchester as the rickety wheels tightly hugged the mountain turns with no room for error in our decent into the thick fog. We had long since surrendered our fate to the driver (and our guardian angels) and were enjoying the ride for all its worth.
In a flash there I was walking over the Río Machala, feeling the weight of a dusty pack on my shoulders and reading a sign welcoming me to Peru.
I saw myself hopping into a small white and unmarked ¨taxi¨. Me and my 2 new mates packed like sardines in the backseat, slowly making ground through the desert and in route towards Sullana, where another terminal terrestre (bus station) awaited. Up front there was a woman shielding her head from the sun with an old newspaper and a driver who, much to her discomfort, kept picking up hitchhikers for a stretch or 2. There must have been 10 strange men who scooted into her lap. The dance went on as such and I sat giggling, glad that it was her and not me.
There was a whirlwind of more mountains and more plains, tall palm trees and rice patties. I saw myself on another bus stretching my neck to smile at the massive, magenta sun burning in a peach horizon. I sensed the sea was near. Then I was jumping into a moto, chariot-like taxi and ringing the bell of La Posada, on a lone stoop in the moonlight, hoping for a refuge.
Dreams of the beach lulled me to sleep and there I´d had another unpredictable, full day from mountains to desert to coast.
From truck bed to bus to car to bus to moto.
From Ecuador to Peru.
From old to brand new.
Off to soak up the heat of the day. I may even try my luck at kite surfing. I urge you to do something crazy today, something utterly unpredictable in my honor :)
Much love!
Yesterday´s journey to Máncora, Peru was a total out-of-body experience. It was as if I was looking upon my colorful, crazy self instead of looking out of it.
I saw myself in the early morning piled into the back of a white pick-up truck, wrapped in an orange sarong trying to keep warm and squinting my eyes to see the morning light flood the velvety green sea of mountains. I sat completely calm and mesmerized as the racing truck kicked up dust. It whirled past tiny villages awakening with uniformed, hand-holding and school-bound children and barely missed taking out grazing cows planted along the road´s edge.
I saw myself on a bus. I was hanging out of the window and snapping pictures of the bright white clouds filling the mountain valley like beer froth consuming and spilling over a generous mug. I heard myself squeal with terror with 2 guys from Manchester as the rickety wheels tightly hugged the mountain turns with no room for error in our decent into the thick fog. We had long since surrendered our fate to the driver (and our guardian angels) and were enjoying the ride for all its worth.
In a flash there I was walking over the Río Machala, feeling the weight of a dusty pack on my shoulders and reading a sign welcoming me to Peru.
I saw myself hopping into a small white and unmarked ¨taxi¨. Me and my 2 new mates packed like sardines in the backseat, slowly making ground through the desert and in route towards Sullana, where another terminal terrestre (bus station) awaited. Up front there was a woman shielding her head from the sun with an old newspaper and a driver who, much to her discomfort, kept picking up hitchhikers for a stretch or 2. There must have been 10 strange men who scooted into her lap. The dance went on as such and I sat giggling, glad that it was her and not me.
There was a whirlwind of more mountains and more plains, tall palm trees and rice patties. I saw myself on another bus stretching my neck to smile at the massive, magenta sun burning in a peach horizon. I sensed the sea was near. Then I was jumping into a moto, chariot-like taxi and ringing the bell of La Posada, on a lone stoop in the moonlight, hoping for a refuge.
Dreams of the beach lulled me to sleep and there I´d had another unpredictable, full day from mountains to desert to coast.
From truck bed to bus to car to bus to moto.
From Ecuador to Peru.
From old to brand new.
Off to soak up the heat of the day. I may even try my luck at kite surfing. I urge you to do something crazy today, something utterly unpredictable in my honor :)
Much love!
1 comment:
hmmm...gardening in the rain?
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