AQUI AQUI.

Makes me giggle picturing Anne-Marie and I bouncing up and down among the hundreds of thousands of people gathering in the Plaza de Armas for the Inti Raymi celebration. We were raising our arms and barely managing our plee for fresh bread through our laughter. Indian dancers clad in colorful clothing launched the fluffy, fresh discos into the crowds as they danced through the streets in the parade. Anne-Marie managed a save- she claims the loaf didnt touch the ground, just a few hands! I said we Campbells have done a lot for food, but never have we ever jumped like that! I caught a flying, hand-made straw hat with a bright green ribbon that I presented to Mother Teresa (Aunt T). We passed it on to a little Peruvian girl who blushed as she placed it on her head and instantly became the envy of her rosy-cheeked, dusty-haired brother.

6-25

Spent today flying high in the Sacred Valley! Paragliding was heaven... more to come- mucho AMOR from Cata

FESTIVAL OF THE SUN.

Life doesn't get any brighter than this sol crazed city in the weeks leading up to the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere! Inti Raymi, Quechua for Sun Party, is Cuzco's most celebrated festival. Our timing couldn't be more brilliant. We are here for the music, the parades, the elaborate floats and the costumes and the dancing that never ceases.

Under the Cuzco sky, there is a warmth permeating the cobblestone streets and the hundreds of people who dance on them from the rising of the sun until its setting. In the days and nights proceeding June 24th, people come from far and wide to gather and make merry. This morning as I sat in the bright light on an indigo blue balcony overlooking the Plaza de Armas, I couldn't have prayed for a prettier sight. All colors of the rainbow, just as the Inca bandera (flag), glistened. There were elements of stone and fortified structures like the great Cathedral and its mighty bells as well as natural elements such as the rich green grass and perky yellow blooms living there in the center of the square. A pair of Quechua women carried infants on their back and cradled baby goats in their arms. I smiled upon one lucky young boy, no older than 4 leading a procession of middle-aged dancers through the streets, twirling and stepping and waving his whip like the most valiant of Andean men. I saw whole families and the whole world seemed to be enjoying the journey in unison. I watched as a lame man crawled across the street beneath me, carrying the weight of his crippled legs swiftly. There were the rich and the poor, the weak and the strong, the old and the new being in perfect harmony. But the lovliest colors of all, turning in this real-life kaleidoscope, were Dad and Carmen sitting at the table next to me. Our shared joy tickles me to tears!

Dad and Carmen have abandoned me in the city for their adventure to Machu Picchu. It'll only be a mere 24 hrs solita (alone) before Anne-Marie arrives, but these days with family have spoiled me rotten and I have nearly forgotten what it is like to be in my own company, to let the wind fill my soul and explore with abandon. This has been a sacred journey, traveling solita as well as with my loved ones. I swear it is a constant evolution. I glimpse at a photograph from yesterday and it seems like a whole year has passed. I am rediscovering myself with every passing magical second in time.

For example, riding horseback with my Dad and Carmen through the hills to ancient Inca ruins. Leaving our saddles to hike to what many believe could be the Fountain of Youth and splashing handfuls of the cold rushing water all over my face with hopes to be forever young. Walking through Eucalyptus forests and stopping to chat with native farmers who are gathering and sorting their yellow and red skinned potatoes (known as the Peruvian potato because of its natural, national colors). Resting with my daddy on a bench made of soft green grass and carved into the mountainside like one of the niches (where mummies were stowed) in the Inca temples. Climbing atop the Inca throne and taking a moment to think in this seat where wisemen and kings once meditated. Going inside a cave representing a divine womb and coming out of it to be reborn as many have before me. Rushing with Carmen up to a stage where we danced traditional Andean steps for the whole dining room and returning breathless to sweet dad and Doug (my friend from Vilcabamba- crazy how he and other fellow travelers I have met keep showing up!) for more delighting in a show of traditional song and dance. We were almost the last to leave and we almost succeeded in having the lights dimmed to our liking. The reward for our endurance was a final, soulful Creole band- music from the Peruvian coast with mestizo roots- Carmen's favorite! We cast our shadows in the Saqsayhuaman (phonetically sexy woman) courtyard and Dad nearly had a heart attack when I insisted on going down the smooth (and steep) volcanic born slides. We are eating tons of fresh trucha (trout) whether on islands afloat on Lake Titicaca, the market at Matty's Restaurant in Barranco or from the mountain lagoon outside of Cuzco. I am still wearing a braided wreath around my head- the one the precious children from Lake Titicaca crowned on me as we sat on the shining golden reeds, playing and laughing in front of their tiny schoolhouse. Having to part with Dad and Carmen as they boarded their plane to Cuzco from Puno and then reuniting with them in a city that could not have ever been more sweet.

I had to take a wild ride with a woman I will fondly refer to as Carmen del Virgen and a daring driver I have dubbed San Juan (Johnny) who transported us safely by an alternative highway route in the midst of street protesters and civil conflict. It was a risk worth taking through the Cirquito de Cuatro Lagunas (circuit of 4 lagoons) where we wound in and out of the most breathtaking paisaje (landscape), occasionally going around blockades of stone, broken glass and tree trunks. After 6 hours in the green station wagon, still sparkling after kicking up clouds of pink dust, we were met with a fila (line) of cars that absolutely could not pass any more. Protesters destroyed the bridge and the only way to continue our journey was by foot. We walked about a kilometer- balancing across a plank high above the flowing river- to the other side where a bus had arranged to carry us the rest of the way.

The highway protest surrounding Cuzco has been ongoing for 1 month now. It is not a violent protest, but people have died. Jungle natives want their voices heard and sadly this protest is the means to their justice- defying the government who...

to be continued! Girls gotta party! Love and miss you friends- and- for a Fathers Day surprise, I may be returning to the States soon!!! Much sunshine- and soulshine (planetshine for Hart) on this glorious day.

I love you, Dad, Gene & Papa!

A TIME TO DANCE.

When was the last time you... 

Were serenaded by 12 men and proposed to?

Ate alfalfa out of a llama´s mouth?

Dined (desert first- cake baked by nuns) in a convent?

Juice-hopped in the Arequipa market?

Life is a journey! There is beauty to be found and someone near to share it with. So keep your eyes and heart open. Funny how in times of stress or uncertainty, even the most extraordinary of events can go unnoticed, uncelebrated!

Dad, Carmen and I just arrived in Puno, a city on the famed Lake Titicaca after a long journey- busting at the seams with golden hills, volcanoes, llamas and rocky rivers- from Arequipa. We are all feeling a little under the weather, worn from the road and our bodies acclimating to the heightened altitude. Nothing that a steaming hot round of mate de coco could not cure. The chilly winds are blowing. I have a sneaky feeling that before it is all over, our trio will be dressed in complementing, brightly colored and brilliantly patterned, hand-woven wool ponchos from the native Aymara and Quechua people.

Much love and remember, it´s always a time to dance (Ecclesiastes 3:4)!

LLAMAS AND YURTS.

Good morning beautiful friends! Doing great... In Barranco, a colonial suberb of Lima, Peru with my Dad and Carmen. I rose early this morning and slowly but surely my greatest travel companions of all time are catching up with me and almost ready to hit the history laden streets for some cafe con leche and an invigorating ocean breeze. As I write, Carmen is sweet talking Bingo, the resident hostal labrador that reminds me so much of Oscar, my own handsome black puppy dog. I will take all credit, the good and the bad, for introducing my Dad and Carmen to hostal life and overnight busses. Our first road trip is this afternoon to Arequipa, another colonial city south of here where Carmen actually spent most of her adolescense (she was born in Lima bus lived in Atlanta for the last 40 years). I am excited about them experiencing the best seats in the house with panoramic views and knowing all of my poor girl bliss on this epic journey through a wild and magnificant continent.

We are all well and I will be in touch with tales of the glorious town of Huaraz soon. Remembering the golden mountain sides speckled with llamas and dotted with yurts is all I can do to keep my sanity in this dense yet somehow endearing city. I am surprised at how much Lima is growing on me. I am in good company and with you in song and spirit!

Catherine the Cheap (Sol savvy)

MIEL.

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.

ORGANIZED CHAOS.

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!

VILCABAMBA VERTIGO.

    

 

Life is beautiful. I could have a thousand splendid suns (ode to my current read, The Kite Runner) in this mountain paradise that is legendary for its residents having the longest lifespan of anywhere in the world! Vilcabamba is a sweet, perfectly set town in the foothills of majestic, green carpeted mountains. I´m mesmerized by the ridges and the folds of the incredible, shooting landscape. Looking out into the royal abyss from atop the 2 highest peaks of Mandango this morning, I felt lifted and perfectly suited for the warm light that drenched the living, natural sanctuaries and my salty, seed covered body. Millions of tall reeds swayed on the mountainside with fuzzy, purple tips. Families of brilliant yellow and black butterflies seemed to always be floating along, upwards and across the worn ridgelines spanning dropping cliffs on both sides. The hike will never elude my memory, I´m sure. I was happy to have the company of Douglas from Canada who I met on the bus here from Cuenca. Bearded and merry, he´s been a perfect travel companion with lots of common ground to speak of.

I´m looking over my shoulder now to catch the cheerful plaza in the setting sunlight. There sits Augustine who is 85 years old and who offered me a promise ring to return to him in Vilcabamba one day. This afternoon, a passing bunch of jovial elderly folks paused to join us at our bench and chat. There stood a jolly fellow boasting 100 years of age! One of the ¨old¨ women plainly stated that age is a matter of the heart. That my friend Augustine indeed was as young as me where it counted, inside his soul. Yes, all is well on this Día del niño (Children´s Day, celebrating the little ones).

The starry skies, mountain highs and human touch (yes today I indulged in a heavenly full body massage and facial by the lovely Piedad) have given me all I need to catch my early bird, 4:45 AM bus tomorrow. I´m border bound and cannot wait to set foot in PERU! My heart is set on Máncora, a sexy surf town on the northern coast, but you never can tell when you´re at the mercy of the wind. Speaking of, I found the following excerpt from my diary last night:


It´s really hard for me to fathom being- here- in this moment- moving on from a dream realized and being so much better for it. I thank my lucky shooting stars that I came- that I didn´t wait- that I took the wheel and went against the current to find a wind that has filled and carried my soul.

I encourage all who are reading this to reevaluate your living. It is always a good time to reinvent yourself and do what you always wished you had. I am your biggest fan.

Sending a guitar strummin´ hippie named Tom, a chilled fat-boy Pilsner and a Quechwa blessing from Delphina!