Day 674: Luna

The internet seems to be a little bit up itself and not willing to attach itself to my computer without a fight. And I don't have a huge amount of fight to muster today.

I've had some very excellent times over the last how long. I remember so many times thinking 'THAT has to be blogged' and then not blogging. Like the fire with sweet Cecile. I say sweet. She was a total maestra, that one, though her fire-building needs some work. That's what we did – we had a fire. She bought vegetables and tin foil and we made a fire out by the pine trees. She made the fire and later, Anouk became responsible for putting the food on it, even though she wasn't eating.

After a hairy start, or more a 'not-lighty' one, the fire was actively good, the embers hot, the food cooked. Cockroaches love me, I've discovered. Whenever I turn my back, there's a little queue of them ready to jump onto me or rummage in my food bag (not a euphemism, Face). They were out in force that night. We laughed a lot too. I teased Cecile for her fire, but only because it made us laugh. She went on to build a raft out of old shit and sail alone up the Amazon for five days. She is an engineer, a ninja and a legend and I liked her very much. Please let piranhas be a myth (they're not – they're real and they have very sharp teeth). Please let them be in other waters, not those she floats by on.

After Cecile was lovely Basque Natalia, who was loved by moths. As we ate together the night after the fire, I was cockroached, she mothed. She had them mostly on her head, like little brooches on her short cut. And then came the biker boys, Nathans One and Two (one was called Paul, but they were both in the book as Nathans). They were generous, funny and full of talking. They came for massages two days running, bought me dinner on the first night, entertained me (not like that) and then left early to do Death Road before the mountain bikers got there.

The leaving is a theme. I meet so many lovely people here... and then they leave. I love the connection I have with them, but I'm yearning for community and longer term, deeper friendships. I have no doubt that they will come. I have moved to Doris's and Doris is a VERY good egg – clever, fascinating, ready as anybody ever, ever has been to laugh. She laughs such a lot! She's an artist, an art therapist and a homeopath. I like her very much too, and she is still here (hence the present tense to Cecile's past).

I also had a delicious time down at the river with Joy, who I actually know from another context and will see again, and with random Argentinian Adrian, with whom I'd shared a hostel room in La Paz. He sang some songs. I gave him his first ever massage. We chatted. And there he was, walking down the very long and very winding road to the river, so we scooped him up and he played his flute while we talked, mostly. We shared fruit and water and a little bit of talking.

The place was full of butterflies; bright yellow flitters dancing in and out of each other, Luna moths, as big as your fist and coloured a transcendent blue, not translucent, but shockingly, almost embarrassingly, gloriously blue. Adrian found bees, not quite a swarm, but a lot of them. The butterflies were hanging out in the bee cloud. The bees seemed interested, but not in a stingy way. They flowed around the folded-wingers balanced on rocks, sometimes touching, mostly not. Occasionally, a flash of colour as the wings opened up. Poetry walking on little insecty legs, waving its antennae.

So thank you for all of this. What's next is community, when I can get Paypal to stop being such a mountain of shittery and just let me resent my arsing password so I can pay for Workaway and find a community to go and live in for a while. Beautiful Aude is in one up in the North of Peru, but I'm holding off, partly because it's the rainy season and partly because I want to steer clear of Peru until January, get a better deal on the visa. Let's see. Let's see. Either way, I know that I am blessed. It's more and more apparent every day. So thanks, God, Love, Universe, Spirits, Earth and Sky – whatever you are to give me all of this, I give you thanks.

We all deserve it.

Day 673: Bruce Lee Yoga

It's been a lovely, many-faceted, simple, easy, pensive, rich day, full of birds and butterflies. Even a dull as shit day where nothing happens is full of birds and butterflies here, though if I spend too long swearing at a screen because the internet doesn't work, I notice fewer of them. There are bugs too, of course; a great big fat black and yellow thing upside down in the big plug-hole, plump enough to fill it. I tried to lift it with a scourer. I finally flipped it with a piece of grapefruit skin – the right way up it's just a massive cockroach, however pretty its belly is - only to find the fucker in exactly the same position two minutes later. I'm not going to spit my toothpaste on top of that! I scooped it out again and lobbed it into the bushes. It landed upside down. Some insects are losers.

Yoga was a laugh again, and a chance misunderstanding led to a conversation which in turn led to me preparing a Bruce Lee yoga class for tomorrow. There will be karate noises and chopping, mark my words. We will be channelling our inner Bruce Lee. If only I had reliable (or indeed, switched on) internet, I could do a bit more research, but as it stands, I'm going to have to make that shit up. There's not really a way to get that right, though, is there? If my karma is really mashed, a random Bruce Lee Uberfan will join the class tomorrow, and will tut and huff all the way through.

I spoke to both Ruths in the last 24 hours. Actually, I spoke to both Ruths yesterday, and then one of them again today, just for a flippety snip of a nanochat. Well, maybe a little bit longer than that, but it was short and meaty like a pie and well worth it, and I even had a tiny taste of David laughing about enemas in the background. I feel very loved when I speak to them. It helps when David shouts 'I love you... did you hear that?' and when Ruth says it lots of times per call. I love them too, so that helps. A bit of a great big love party, then, what with the deep pleasure of talking to my beloved Related Ruth too.

Good company on my trip to town today and the bonus of discovering a place where I can sit and drink coffee that tastes good - made by Dutch people in the 'making it into a drink' stage anyway – the coffee beans are local and delicious. Interesting conversations and ones that made me ruminate.


I am so very grateful to two people who have been with me for yoga and massage for four consecutive days (five tomorrow). It has been an honour, a pleasure and a massive way to go deeper in the work that's doing itself here. I feel like I'm being shown a whole shed-load of things.

I made a commitment to myself today, and I make it publicly here now: I will never again belittle this energy healing work by playing it down or trying to make it palatable and 'not too hippy'. In fact I'll stop using the h word. This is really profound stuff. It happens, when it happens, because the person is ready to do the work and open to surrendering to it. It happens because we are present and accepting and because we agree to do it. I don't have to know much or do much (hence feeling like an imposter), but it takes me to be there and to focus for it to happen. And it is life-changing, profound, wonderful work. It creates shifts. Things genuinely move on through and leave, sometimes things that have been hanging out in your energy field for years.

I don't mean Big Bad Scary Things That Will Eat Your Soul – I mean energy you don't need any more; stories that have woven their roots in and have no motivation to move; ideas that mess things up or looseness/tightness is places where the opposite would work better. You don't have to think of yourself as having been in some kind of psychic danger to feel better when stuff you don't need burns off or comes out and leaves your field. Combined with massage and hands on, deep bodywork, it's even more powerful. Well chosen words help too. Not chatting. Not me 'knowing' what's happening either, but listening and if it feels right, asking. As I can hear my wonderful coach Fiona's voice saying in my head this second 'Why would you throw away powerful tools you already have just because you're learning new ones?'.

It's all very well making learning something new easier by resisting the urge to compare it to/return to techniques that are already familiar, but once the learning stage is over and the work starts, bring it all back in. Use what works for the situation. If you have an awl and an awl is called for, don't shun the awl because there were no awls on your woodcarving course last week. Dig out the awl. Use the awl. Then if you want to carve the awl hole to make it prettier, do it. Don't try and make an awl hole with a wood chisel just because you learnt how to use one last week. It'll be shit.

So if suggestions come while I'm working and I have to tools to ask powerful questions that don't prescribe answers, and I think it's relevant, I take the risk of getting it wrong. I had a teacher recently who said not to do this. I decline. I will do it if I want to and if the person I'm working with is open to it. If they're not, I'll shut up and stick to pummelling glutes and digging my fingers into shoulder meat. I give myself permission to get it wrong (another one of yours, Fiona, thank you) on my own terms.

It's funny, isn't it, how solitude and sociability work. This was a topic on the table today. I love to be social, I love connection and I need quite a lot of time alone. When I don't get it, I turn into (or at least feel like) a monster. I'm not easy. I'm tight and ungenerous. When I know I can have space when I need it, I'm fine. Angel Bitch, my friend calls me. Harsh but fair. But all the bitch needs is a walk and a little bit of space. And when I'm too much alone, I turn into an emo waif with haunted eyes and sucky energy. I need connection so badly that I can hardly muster it and the pull from me makes all sane people keep their distance. Or so it feels.


Today, I enjoyed both and mourned both. I enjoyed being in company; I enjoyed being alone and on the edges of said company and I mourned it a little too. Grateful to have my autonomy and a little yearnsome to be part of the lovely laughter I could hear and the obvious connection. Part of me thinks that instead of being here in the mountains enjoying my massage and yoga, I should be 'Out There', making myself available to become part of a couple who can laugh with each other so well.

I see a lot of couples come through here and I marvel at their laughter and their ease when I remember my own tightness. I question my ability to be anything other than alone. I speak to friends who love each other deeply and I fear that maybe it's much too late for me – I'm past the point. It's not a question of attractive or not, more of how long I've spent alone (pretty much all my life so far, if we're talking extended periods, and happily coupled, very little indeed).

And then that jolts me into remembering how much I dislike being in 'the wrong' couple. I hate it. I feel trapped and enclosed. I panic like a fox in a trap. I would bite off my own leg to get out, and sometimes, I might as well have done for the pain I've caused myself, and undoubtedly the other person. But there is someone, maybe, with whom I feel like a fox in a field (with another fox, obviously, or the simile falls flat on its foxy face).

So here we are. I love the taste of melancholy of hearing others get on well. It's a thing of joy and my twinges are to do with wanting it, not with not wanting it for others. I also love the taste of freedom to choose what I want to do. It's a dance, as every aspect of life is. It's a question of approaching it all with at least some degree of equanimity. Something like that, anyway. And not believing too many of our stories or our lies.

And tomorrow, we do Bruce Lee yoga. Pensive or not, life is good.

Day 672: Stupid Hat

I found a stupid hat on the floor in town the other day. I washed it. I dried it (much harder work, in this climate) and now I’m wearing it. It remains stupid. It’s more of a head bag than a piece of haute couture, but it pleases me. I haven’t worn it out yet; just in my room. I look at myself and think ‘no, that’s stupid.’ And then I keep it on.

I also have a hat that isn’t stupid, also found on the floor (halfway up a mountainette on Isla del Sol). I don’t like it. I don’t even wear it in the ‘house’ (I live in a little room with a bed and a desk and a shelving unit. It’s not really a house. I love it). I put it on and I think ‘no, that’s a tourist hat without anything to recommend it’ and I take it off again. I haven’t given it away yet, though. I imagine myself toiling in a field under the beating, burning sun, grateful for the arse of a tourist hat, or without one, going to buy another to replace it and finding I have to pay an arse of a tourist price for an arse of a tourist hat that I’m going to get no joy out of, so I might as well keep this one.

The stupid hat would be no help in the sun. It’s thick woven cotton and it’s shaped like a clumsy bag. There’s no brim. It would just make your head hotter. In the cold, though, it’d only just take the edge off. It’s slightly too big for my head, so it reduces my peripheral vision (which always leaves me a bit confused unless it’s done by a bike helmet, and then its practicality overrules the confusion, meaning the confusion is almost certainly made up/psychosomatic). It’s a stupid hat.

Hats aside, I was thinking today about the strange intimacy of the work I’m doing at the moment. I meet strangers. Within sixty seconds, they’re down to their knickers and lying face down, usually with their eyes closed, waiting for me to put my hands on them. They tell me the things I need to know (if I ask them) and then they give me their trust and let me move my hands over them. I am genuinely honoured at the level of trust.

And I am trustworthy, which is good. In fact, I make it a main focus to make sure people feel that very strongly, and feel safe and respected while they’re with me. I keep confidences and I use touch with the deepest love and with absolute disconnection from sexual energy. There’s nurture by the fuckload (ha - I enjoyed writing that) but no drive.

For years, I’ve said ‘if I did this all day every day, I’d be bored rigid’ but I think I was wrong. Perhaps if there was nothing else I could do, that would be true, and of course I always do SOMETHING other than massage (yoga at the moment, but other stuff too). But so far, I’m finding it fascinating. The differences and similarities; the fact that every body is different and unique and that however different they are, there are so many things that are true of most of them, even though there’s no such thing as a steadfast rule. Pliability, musculature, bone shapes, skin, sensitivity, shape, size and solidness of ribcage, balance/symmetry and imbalance, breathing, not breathing, ease with receiving, trying to help, surrendering, emotion, body (dis-)connectedness, openness, fears, energy, so, so, so much more. And I’m genuinely not judging - it makes no sense - just noticing. Personality too, that comes through our brief conversations and a whole load of other stuff. I am really loving this work.

And the yoga teaching too. Both seem like they ought to be repetitive, and they are in a way, but they’re so fascinating too. And what a gift when I get to do massage and yoga with the same people! I can design classes that work the bits that need working and complement the bodywork and energy work we’re doing. God, I’m grateful. So grateful, in fact, and so pleased with it, that I’m staying another week. I’ve paid my board until the end of next week, so anything I make this coming week is surplus - for food and whatever I need. And that, to my delight, feels like a bonus. No, I wouldn’t feel as good about doing so many massages if I wasn’t getting paid, but I would do some and currently, the money feels secondary. It’s a motivator, but one that I often forget about. And look at me, with all my qualifications, academic degrees, studies in this and that. I’m working with my hands and my voice and my energy and I’m absolutely loving it. In this moment.

Thanks - I had a go one one Ruth, and wrote to the other. I had a big old faceful of beautiful Kath, a smattering of Rob, a taste of Eddie and nublets of Dan, Aude, Paddy, Steen and lots of others. God, I’ve got it good, me. 

Day 671: Happy

It’s been a week and I’ve been meaning to tell you about so many things: the Bo Selecta bird, which I have never seen, but every day I hear it making a call just like the Bo-Selecta-Michael-Jackson weoo-hooee noise. It makes me smile every time. I like to think of it in a rubber mask.

There are flashy yellow-tailed weaver birds who make some noise or other (I never see them do it) and weave cocoon-like, waspy nests that hang from tall trees. There are the little fat pheasanty things that hang out in crowds and make a raucous, rattly shouting sound.  There was a little red-headed screecher up a tree today and then there are the condors who really do soar, in twos or threes, circling the huge dip of the valley against a backdrop of clouds and tall, green jungle-coated mountains, with occasional white-capped grandfather mountains appearing behind.

There’s a cat that runs sideways - it starts forwards and then its back legs go all aflail out to the side as it keeps running away. I’m sure it’s a terrible affliction and I should be sorry for it but it REALLY makes me laugh. And it’s relentlessly scared of me, so it does it every time I see it. Result!

There’s a pretty, loafy girldog who follows foreigners up here from town. She followed me one day, and then a French couple who were camping. The night after, she scared the life out of me by appearing out of the dark when I went to the toilet. She was approaching all sumbissive, but she’s big and any creature that size coming towards you in the dark when you don’t know what it is gives you a fright.

There are storms where it rains so hard it’s like being underneath a train as it goes over, washing away the electricity for the whole town and days (less than 5 hours later) that are hot like a Magaluf heatwave and give you crispy pork scratching skin if you don’t take precautions.

There are days where not much happens and others where I do a yoga class and five massages (yesterday). That also involved one massage somewhere else. To fit it in, I ran there and ran back, and got to my next one about a minute and a half late. I was impressed and I really enjoyed the exercise.

And because I teach a yoga class every day, I now have a daily practice - sometimes before the class and sometimes just in the class, but my body loves it, and the massage is physical too... more of a tai chi pushing hands kind of exercise than a yogaly thing. My body feels stronger, though, and my arms are starting to have tone from all the talking  to a roomful of people in downward dog.

There’s a fantastic Swiss woman who comes to yoga pretty much every day, and has massages too. She is so willing to laugh, creative and playful and up for anything, including roaring, doing Ghengis Khan yoga moves and doing ugly first date chewing to warm up the jaw (vital for a good yoga class). She delights me.

And to top it off, despite a reliably shoddy internet service up here, I have manage to speak to two of my favourite people over the last 24 hours, though I missed out on a go on both Ruths, which I intend to rectify in the next 24.

So here I am, and I’m content. Do I want to stay here for the rest of my days? Very unlikely. Am I changing the world? Not exactly, unless you count stretching a few backs, releasing a few sets of shoulders, and changing my own world by doing yoga every day, doing work that is filled with ease and nurture and laughing enough to make things worthwhile. But I’m surrounded by beauty and I get to choose what I do and where I am and I am so deeply grateful for that.

And I’d love to be able to show you how beautiful it is here, but the internet (see above) says no to most uploads, so maybe you don’t need to see the mountains, the animals, the clouds or the testicle tree (that’s the one that breaks my heart!). Just know that I am here and I am happy, and that I am bathing in thankfulness for that simple fact, never to be taken for granted.

Love

Day 670: Testicle Trees and Free Cake

It rained last night. And the night before. All night, pretty much, and when I woke up, the whole place was within the clouds. I’m up in the jungle mountains of Bolivia right now. Semi-tropical (which means lots of beautiful flowers in ridiculous colours  and even some testicle trees, which I will show you if I can ever download the images, though seriously, complaining about internet speeds when you’re both up a mountain and in a jungle is not on). Done, but not on.

It’s nice within the clouds. It’s like still being in a dream and the smells that come from the flowers are suspended in the air right there, ready to entice you with their sweetness. There are big fat drops that magnify petals and bugs alike. There is ‘not much visibility’, which means you can see the clouds and the close things, but not the mountains, or even the next bit of this mountain.

This afternoon, on the other hand, everything was clear. There were clouds. There are always clouds. But they were right the way over on the other side of the valley and they were dividing and dissipating, giving glimpses of serious, white-capped ranges hidden behind the green mountains in front. The garden I was sitting in, which belonged to the most delightful Swiss artist-homeopath-art therapist massage client, was full of lemon trees and brightly coloured flowers, which Dionysis, the man who let me in, was just giving me a tour of when she arrived. I love that his name reflects the orgy of natural voluptuousness that makes the garden stickier than a siren. I’d have happily hidden in the bushes and stayed there all night, watching birds fly as the dusk set in, listening for creatures I can only sit and imagine shouting, singing, choiring in the dark.

I’m holed up in this semi-tropical semi-paradise in an ecolodge called Sol y Luna, doubly recommended to me by Julian and wonderfully-named Wolf, fron Germany, so his name sounds like the kind of bark a tired and curmudgeonly old dog might make, if it could be bothered. I have a room that’s straight out of what I dreamed of (apart from the shelf at the bottom of the writing table, but as details go, that’s a small one). A bed beset by bookshelves at either end. I only have four books (two of them the same, but in different languages), but I appreciate the thought that I might have brought 500. There’s room for them.

It has a complex shelf/hanger/shoe rack unit made of wood and a gap to hide a bag. The bed is high and comfortable. It’s single (I prefer a double every time) but I’m unlikely to have company up here. There’s a poetry in its simple singleness too. I even like the bedclothes.  It has a little bedside unit in which I hide vegetables and occasional biscuits (or the other way round). It has a bedside lamp, a mirror and a window onto lushness, clouds and birdsong (see above).

The town itself’s a little dull. It’s a long way from anything. There are a few tourists and a lot of people from here. There’s an honesty about this place (Bolivia so far, I mean by that) which means that sometimes, when I speak to someone, they glare at me as if they hate me (because they do, but it’s not personal). They’re not just a bit indifferent, they’re actively, aggressively, defiantly rude. I’be felt the ‘you’re a gringo’ thing a lot in Peru, and here, it’s up a level. It’s the first time I’ve ‘got’ what it’s like to be black in a white dominated world. I’m not saying I get it completely - how could I - I’m still part of a privileged race and very much conscious of it - but the contempt of racism that doesn’t give a shit who you are, just what you are, that doesn’t give you a chance to be anything but what they see and what they judge, whatever you do. And all I can say is fuck, I’m sorry. Just this level of it sucks, so what you go through in the States if you’re black, especially if you’re black and poor, is shit in a bag and it never goes away and I’m sorry you have to swallow that all the time.

And then there are other people who are gently, softly open, whatever, whoever. They just accept, speak, look, ask, ignore, nurture. All those things combined and separate. Take Trudi. The first time I spoke to her, I wasn’t sure. She seemed wary. She runs a shop which is the open door of her home, wider, with stuff to buy. She and her husband sit in the back with the telly and come out when you call. I bought something there on the trek back up the hill a few days ago. We talked and now each time I go, she offers me not only warmth and conversation, but some little freebie, a cake baked by her daughter, warm biscuits wrapped in kitchen roll, some bread. I took her flowers today, great ostentatious pink ones, just to say thank you for such kindness.

I have SUCH beautiful photos for you. I’m aching to share them, but they just won’t post. It’s too much for the tiny modem to handle. Let’s hope this goes and if not, I’m thinking of you. Thanks for reading. Thanks for taking a little bit of Bolivia with you in your mind, even if it’s British Claybourne flavoured in its filter. I’m delighted to be able to share it with you.  Love love love.
x

Day 679: Not Much Peace

But lots of light.

As I said in my last post, I'm in La Paz. It's not where I'd have chosen (though in fact it was my suggestion). I've lived in London for 12 years and I'm here in South America. Big cities aren't by any means what I'm craving. Peru, and now Bolivia, don't go light on the car horns or exhaust fumes. There's noise. There's rammed and ramshackle busyness. There are crowds.

But here I am and here I was this afternoon, a little unwillingly in my heart. It's been a time of compromise. I'm travelling with a beloved friend and we're finding that our tastes, our styles, our desires are very, very different. So coming to this city was a compromise. I'm on my way to the mountains really, via here. We were walking and exploring, and while it was good, there was a tight, tense nag in me. I was inside out and everything was a little bit 'not how I'd do it'... even though I had no idea what it was, in fact, that I would do. I laughed at myself many times along the way, but ultimately, the fumes and dirty streets were getting to me, so I took my leave to head back to the hostel.

As soon as I did that, my step was lighter, my eyes more open, the beauty in my path more visible. The flowers in the central bit between two massive roads were beautifully put together, colours contrasting, different heights, shapes, patterns. Such love in their design, I saw. Just love. 

All I needed to expand was to be alone...but of course, that never lasts for long when things are flowing. I stopped and bought a coke (yes, I drink coke, yes, I know it's paint stripper and big business nastiness; I hate myself a little every time, if that helps*) from a street seller woman in traditional dress and a hat (they all wear hats). I went to leave and she did a grump-faced nod at the glass bottle. I had to give it back. I stood to drink.

Not a minute passed and she asked where I was from. We got to talking. When I said I did massage as a job, her shoulders hunched, her hand reached for her midriff and she asked me more and more. She took my hand, showed me where it hurt. I stood behind her and gave her a little taster. We talked style, location price (no price for her, not this time anyway – if we do this, we do it for the sake of it). She said no to a bit more of a trial through clothes. She wants the full works – clothes off, oil, deep tissue massage. Let's find a way.

I sat, on her command, on a minuscule stool and we talked longer as she sold and changed and bagged without a flinch. As always here, the questions: children? Husband? Why not? Age? On my own? Really? Family? She went deeper. Why here? Why now? When had I last spoken to my mother? Why would I be away from my family? She was very concerned about my travel plans and tried to make me promise to take my friend wth me to the mountains for protection. What she did do, before I left, was show me exactly how to find her again and make me promise to come back and do so as soon as I set foot in La Paz again. And gave me a gift – a little bag of tortilla chips. And lots of nurture. I hadn't felt I needed it, but I was very grateful for it – just easy, gentle, maternal, freely given love for a gringo stranger who bought a bottle of coke (and gave the bottle back).

I gave her a hug and a kiss as I left. Ascencia. Thank you, Ascencia. You certainly lifted up my day. I smiled the whole of the rest of my afternoon, wandering the streets on a tomato hunt (another story), clutching my little bag of gifted crisps and grinning. A blissful gift, the whole experience. I'm lit. 

* on the Coke/sugar front, I would like some help! I've got me quite a little refined sugar habit going on and I'd like to quit it. It doesn't help me. I feel clear in so many other ways, but I lean on sugar like a drunk old friend. Anyone like to scare/encourage me onto a new path?

Day 678: (Not) Coming Home

I'm in La Paz. It was by no means my intention, certainly at the start (though at the start of what, I couldn't tell you).

Two weeks or so ago, I was supposed to fly 'home', back to England, because that's what you do, isn't it, when you were born there, when you've been living and working there for years and years and years (since last time you upped and went travelling, anyway) and when it's full of people that you love and miss. Only I didn't.

About two months before the date of the flight, I remember saying to John (who now, weirdly, is on his own way back to the country he comes from) that I was feeling uncomfortable, because I suspected I wasn't going back – not soon, at least. He laughed and said 'Oh yeah, I remember that. It'll pass.' He was right. I don't feel uncomfortable any more.

When I was still in the phase of deciding, I was prodded with weepy dreams of having 'done the right thing' and gone home, despite the nag that said that now was not the time. They were full of fraughtness and a feeling of 'oh no, what did I do?' and of being lost and out of place in the writhing mass of London.

I did try to change my flight, but the price was prohibitive. As I waited for them to call me back to confirm that this really was the case, my belly was a-bubble and my heart was all excited. When they came back with a reasonable fee for the change, it sank and died. He gave me a few minutes to decide and call him back, but the decision was made – I let it go. When he called back to say they couldn't do my dates, it was easy to say 'just let it go, then'. Either way, there was no way I was getting on it, and what's the point of paying hundreds of pounds for a date you know you're not going to make anyway.

So to all those beloved people I will miss for longer (most of whom don't read this blog, some of whom do), I love you more than ever before, in fact, because I had to think about you so hard deciding that this journey right now had to carry on even if it meant not seeing you. I am grateful beyond measure for how many fantastic people I have in my life, many of them spattered (spat?) around the world already. I'm grateful for the richness and the sweetness of the people who cross my path here, from heartfelt deep friendships to casual kitchen chats with open-faced sweethearts.  Thank you, that force that is providing this. Thank you all for being who you are. I'm terribly pleased with you, whether we get to be close right now or not.

And thank you, sweet soul sister, for being both the rock and the water that helps me flow and hold.

Europe, see you sometime. South America, let's do this. 

(internet too slow for pictures, which is a shame  -  I have some crackers I'd love to share)

Day 676: Fucking Massive Spider

Found this on my shoulder yesterday. I saw it earlier (hence the photo) on the leg of the chair I was sitting on when it was subsequently noticed Walking All Over Me. Dave (American, lives where I live) said ‘Do you know you have a spider on you?’ in such a calm voice that I had no fear at all and just said ‘Oh, have I? Brush it off then.’. His reply changed all that. It went something along the lines of ‘Eeeee, no I’m not touching that, it’s massive!’. So I found my phone and brushed the spider off with that.

It was a tarantula, but little (for tarantulas) Still big. I was a little bit freaked, but also a little bit honoured and pleased. It was quite a creature.I’m going to take it as a sign. A good one. Why not?




We had the best pizza night that's ever been had by anyone, ever last night. Armando outside getting wood, doing the fire, making things right. Aude making pizza base and chocolate mousse. Me and Lorena making the red pizza sauce and cutting cheese and making toppings. People arrived just as the pizzas were ready (we nearly esconded) and we had a marvellous time. It was easy. It flowed like water from one bit to the next. There wasn't a moment of stress and we laughed a lot. Thank you. It was amazing. 
Today is hot and full of lovely people (or lovely and full of hot people) from all over the world, all over the world on the end of whatever type of technology, in every bit of the world.

Day 675: Like Water Over Stones

Things change so bloody quickly in this town. Two weeks ago, I was spending at least a part of every day with the same person, and although the skies were dark with water in the background, it had definitely become a comfortable habit. A single morning changed all that for good, and in an instant that constant present was past. Although it isn’t/wasn’t what we thought we wanted, like any good storm, there’s a relief in the fresh new times that come after. From here, I notice how close the air was hanging before it happened. Thank goodness for the break.

And then the next phase, rich and heady, all exciting, already transformed too. Worries here burn off like cooking rum. Happinesses do too. How rich, how sweet, how transient.

Today, I laughed until my belly hurt, but not until I’d screamed. Marvelling at where I live, I was engrossed in a post on facebook when a monster growled at me from just beyond the kitchen walls (the kitchen is a hut, a little shacky one, with walls you can see the light through, when there is some). It wasn’t just a shriek, it was a proper scream that came out. I was entirely asustada. Shocked as fuck. It was Dave, on his way to his room. He’d done a burp. A deep one, but just a burp. We hardly know each other, but we well into a massively giddy hug, which  couldn’t last because we were both laughing far too hard. Embarrassment, relief, still a little shock. Whatever. Made my night, that did. I’m still sniggering.

My day was made by (and of) massage. I have posters up. I love a good, deep massage, me, delivering, mostly (though if you ever get the chance to work with Ayres - there’s only one of him - then do, do, do. Best massage ever, that man gives). I gave three today. That’s nowhere near a top for me, but it’s good.  A few more days like that and my rent’s paid, but that’s far from the point. The pleasure was the point. I loved it. One regular client and two new ones. It was really lovely to do two back to back, entirely different people, different spots, the same rich, present, open energy when I’m working. I loved it so much. And two was perfect. Not too tired. Less tired, in fact, than before I started. I’m beginning to love working on the floor, too. Thank you, universe (and Nidra Wasi) for sending me this opportunity.

Walking into town today, we were accompanied by two white dogs, one tall and male, one shorter, female, his mother. I felt like I was in a film and there was an adventure afoot. They followed us into the market and lay down while we drank juice and I ate a little egg bap (not what they called it in the market). Then they got up and followed us to the chemist. It’s only happened once before. Again, I was accompanied, and again, I think it was the person walking with me that the dogs were escorting. A mottled brown bruiser walked us home one night, and the two whites too. The three of them flanked us and warned off other dogs. When we got to my place, Jaqui (or whatever he’s called), a local dog with eyes like human eyes from magazines, stuck on, came up to wag and greet us and the terrified one with the limp snuck in behind him for a cowery lick, but dared it only if he was between us.

Thanks Armando, Eduardo, Domingo, Enrique, Robert, Arjuna, Ottorongo and ninja boy Prem,, Michael and Milan from Croatia, Scott from Prague/USA - just some of the fine men who’ve filled my recent days. Oh, and Dave, for scaring the shit out of me. Thanks, Kath Jones, my beloved sister, Tiu, Kati, Vic, Nadia and Ruth from afar, sweet, magical Aude, Aga, Diana, Premita (only 4) Sophie, Lorena with your gentle eyes and rich, strong voice. Good women, all.

Thanks for unexpected, hearty soup with rice, yucca, potatoes and a knaw of tasty chicken. Thanks for an impromptu exercise class involving clowning, mime and general twattery, as well as exercise. Thanks for a solo yoga buzz and a night fire with beloved friends.

And thanks, my fine friend Armando, for staying longer here. Adventures are afoot, dog escort or not.

In Sickness and in Health

I’m off today. For the first time in the whole of my trip (now a little more than two months) I feel ill. And not so terribly ill that I can’t do anything. Look at these fingers go. And that’s pretty good going, right? Two months and not a day of this before? Thanks, Peru.

I feel sick and like my skin’s on inside out, physically,  and I’m a little bit sad. I’m feeling romantically jealous. That’s a difficult feeling, but one worth talking about, I think. Self-help wisdom says that when this comes up, it’s time to focus on feeling like you’re enough without any need for external affirmation. There will always be people prettier than me, funnier (more of a thing, in my world), more loving and lovely. There will always be people who match the people we think we match better than we do.

I spent the best part of six months feeling jealous earlier this year and it lifted only the weekend before I left for Peru. But it did lift, and now that feeling just isn’t there in that context. I can feel joyful for the people involved, glad that I’m not them (because really, the match was not a match and the feeling of being one of many was not a good one) and free.This time, like then, there’s chocolate involved. Every cloud...

This also springs to mind: If he’s not wide-eyed and crazy about you, if he is looking elsewhere while you’re actually there, if he’s just not that into you, let it go. It’s so easy to say to someone else. And it works both ways, of course.The person we feel we love, or the person we think loves us... surely we should feel like there’s nowhere else we’d rather be - at the start at least. I’m not imagining that after 15 years, every second is a joy. I’d be delighted to some time find out. But if it’s just a way of passing the time, maybe let’s not do it to each other. Maybe let’s wait for something that feels really deeply good and nourishing, that feels like the job we’re here to do and then when there’s work to be done, it’s worth it.

People living together creates things that aren’t as you want them to be, especially when control is as big a thing as it is for me. But that can be worked on too (more on letting go of the need to control than on getting everything just so) So I’m sitting with that with my sickly stomach and wrong-way skin and wondering what the two have to do with each other and how long I’ll need to sit with it. And what tantra can do to help me feel saner on this front. but thats another story altogether.

There’s always the possibility that it’s all in my head, and that it’s a pattern I need to work on. This last is true whether it’s ‘real’ or not. So thanks, pattern, for presenting yourself for a bit of a workout. And thanks, I think, sweet man, for being open enough to work on it with me without anger or defensiveness. Again, whether fabricated or happening, there’s work to be done. Let’s do it.

I spoke to three special sisters today. My soulsister and sweet-faced angel Kath Jones, who has been so present with me on this trip. Kath Jones, I am grateful for you every single day. Wise owl Ruth Blake showed her owly face too (though I didn’t actually see it). And my teeth sister Kati Schweitzer, currently in Canada but on her way to South America (yeeeoooaarrssss!). Thank you, all of you, for being my wonderful women and sweet sisters. Thank you, all of you, for making me laugh. Thank you for your beauty and your joy and your honesty.

Thank you too for all the life-rich men in my life. There seem to be more of them here in person than there are close women friends,though there are some good ones here too (Aude, you spring to mind like a quebecoise gazelle, if there is such a thing) and Sophie, you are a delight..

So let’s end with this. All others aside, I’m sitting with ‘enough’.Enough with all my faults, my questionable fashion sense, my extra weight, my over-working storymind. Enough with an early night and a slightly sad face. Enough with all the love in the universe, and all the illusion that makes it. Thank you, water, fire, earth and air. Thank you, wind and sky and sun and mountains, oh, mountains, you absolute beauties. Thanks for standing by while I wonder all these things. Thanks for your solid strength and presence, for the way you make me feel, for the ruggedness of you and your reliability too.. Oh dear... I think I might have fallen in love.

Day 673: Tears and all of That

I have nearly cried or actually cried three times today and yesterday, more times than I could put a single finger on, and yet I feel grounded. I've also laughed a huge old heap of laughing, walked in sun and air and mountain bliss and had good, rich time with people who nourish me.

Yesterday, I cried for a difficult situation with a friend which feels pretty important. I felt sad. i wanted to talk about it but I couldn't do it with full integrity. I wanted to stay open to my perception of things not being true, but by talking, I'm putting my slant on things. So I tried not to, and ached with it, or did and fretted. And I rode my bike and sang and gave thanks for those things too, and for the silence that lets what feels genuine rise up like coffee froth.

I left before I cried when I saw tears in a man-friend's eyes. Man acquaintance friend, not yet fully friend, or I'd have been in there. I was protecting myself. I was so close to tears and I didn't want to break. Today, it was for another man-friend's sadness. His almost tears brought mine to life. I didn't protect either of us this time. And a little for the sadness, but the froth is thicker now... not immovable, but it's pretty clear what's watery and what's not, so sadness can sit beside a little more sureness, and a little more need for quiet. 

And I cried again for joy and being moved by my beautiful friend Lilley's testament to her husband, praising him for his fatherhood of their fabulous daughter. I cried (and am crying again now, actually - notch up another one on the headboard of tears) not only because she took the time and effort to name the things he does so well, but that there are men like Daniel in the world and one, That One, found my friend Lilley and that together, they made Tulsi and that they are doing, both of them, such an incredible job of parenting her. And that she will be a child, as Lilley says, who will have high hopes of men, who will know what a loving, clever, creative father does, and who knows what it is to be loved to the very roots of her by a mother who would do anything it takes for her, who delights in her, who makes her life a positive, healthy, happy place. I cried with joy for all the children who know that they are loved, for the world they are already creating through this love.

I laughed like a beast last night with my lovely visitor. and his massively stoned face. My face, I'd like to add, was not stoned. His was. Every time I looked, it was still funny. I laughed many times this morning, walking up the mountain that's right by where I live, taking photos, lots of very stupid selfies (I much prefer the term 'long-arm' for them). I laughed with my sweetest of sisters, Kath Jones and with relative strangers. And I stroked a skinny, happy, writhey cat, petted the nose of a teddybear dog, eyeballed the lanky one that tried to do friendly biting last night, but would only peel back his eyes a bit today. 'We know each other', I say to him. 'Nos conocemos'. He doesn't always admit it, but he hasn't chased me in a while. 


And here's the thing. Right, wrong, happy, sad, laughing, crying, meandering, sighing or steaming on ahead, I am grateful. I am where I need to be and a situation that dTgs around in me and makes me hurt a bit can sit next to tears of laughter, love and delight and still be both valid and okay.  

And who can stick only with the sad bits when there are mountains to be climbed up, when everywhere I turn, there is beauty to be drunk like nectar? Who can ignore the friends who are already 'for life', although they aren't yet long in my world? Who can turn up a nose at friendship, technology that lets me talk to those I love for almost nothing without a hitch, or with hitches that make the smooth bits feel like the gifts they are. I mean fuck, I can SEE Kath Jones! For free!

So thank you, spirits who love us whether or not we love the moment that we're living. Thank you, moments. May I remember to love you whether or not I'm enjoying you. Thank you, Viber, Skype, WhatsApp and Facebook, for letting me have the best of many worlds. You rock.

Day 672: Noses, Teeth and Moons

Me and Eduardo, who runs where I live

So much rich bliss in this time. Yesterday's blood moon full eclipse bonanza of beauty and wonder was a sweet culmination of a week full of magic. Seven of us sat by the old maloka kitchen in the gardens of my beautiful temporary home with a fire, guitars, soup and songs. There were beloved people from Peru, Chile, Mexico, England, and the USA. We laughed a lot and sang a lot and cooed a lot at the incredible red-white-black moon, the shimmering stars, the fickle clouds and the fullness of the beauty.

A wonderful ceremony, which included my first ever (but hopefully not my last) luchadora-masked, dancing shaman, gave me back the gift of gratitude more than ever before. Long or short, this needs to become a daily practice again. There is so very much to give thanks for, from the taste of broccoli and green bean soup (I cannot help but think of you, Kath Jones) to the fact that I can see my sweet soul-sister's face for a flit of a second as she walks through Easton and I sit in my mountain-shouldered garden to the simple nourishment of that. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you, for the ground I get to walk on and the people who dance across my path, while we love each other richly and when we struggle too. Thank you for the wisdom and generosity of my friends, and for the guidance that they offer. And thank you, love and gratitude itself. 

Day 671: Payday

Thank you, thank you, thank you, people who pay me! And people who give me work. I love you and I am full, full, full of gratitude. Without you, I'd be hungry. Without you being so timely, I'd be worried. Without you popping up right when I need you the most, I'd be frettish. 

Thank you Domingo, with your beautiful clear green eyes made of souls of aeons, and Wilco, with your brown ones the same. Thank you beautiful Argentinian angel-voiced one, whose name is wriggling from my grasp like an eel. Your clear, gentle tones are still drifting through my mind, kissing me gently on the insidest insides of my ears. Thank you Ian and Aga for sharing the experience with me, for Azul (curly little girl dog with a penchant for belly loving) and Rayo (retriever/setter cross boy, 5 months old, like Azul, with gentle ginger lashes and hair like a girl's). Thank you OttoXXXX (it's not Ottolenghi, but near enough) and Diana, for looking after us so well and feeding us a hearty soup.

Thank you, my beloved sister Kath Jones, for your constant support, wisdom, joy and laughter. It's a little bit frightening how much I love and appreciate you. Thank you, beloved Tiny Pikey Beectoreea, for making today start with love and joy and eenapropreeayness and more wisdom. Thank you, internet, for making my connection with these beautiful women (and many more, including wise Ruth Blake) so easy and so instant. 

Thank you Lawrence for your brilliant help. Massively appreciated, with bells on.

And thank you, Ian, for a good day and good conversations and a visit to a new town to richen up my stay. So much more to thank for (oh, you mountains, with your little morning cloud hats, oh, you reliable wind, popping up at 3 like clockwork, oh, you brilliant friends with your beautiful faces and your ideas and your conversation). And thank you for the supper that will soon be mine. Better go. 

Love, coming at you all, right in your lovely faces. 
xx

Day 670: Follow

Oh, what days this country is giving me. Oh, what days. 

A day or two ago, the day Venus threw in her backwards towel, in fact, I got out of town for a change. I made a plan to go to Urubamba and take a tourist taxi to Maras y Moray and Salineras - archeological sites and salt pans respectively. Impressive. Moray (I think) is round. It looks exciting. Behind the rush was the fact that I had a ticket for all sorts of sites. It covers 17 and lasts ten days. I'd done a handful, plus Pisaq ruins, where they didn't check the ticket, and I felt the need to see sights. 

I was going to get a collectivo - a bus, basically - to Urubamba and seek out a taxi and some tourists to share it with from there. Luckily, though, I spoke to my sweet soul sister and beloved friend Kath Jones on the phone just before. We gave each other mantras. Mine, I'll share, given to me by her. It was 'follow, follow, follow, follow'. So I did. Thank you, Kath Jones. You made this:

A taxi stopped, as they do, and offered me a ride. Oh, what days this I said no, but as I stood there, the owner of the hostel I'd just booked into grabbed it and climbed in. He was going part of the way, and with him and his son in the taxi, the fare to Urubamba was totally doable, so in I got. They got out at Calca and I climbed in the front. While chatting, I found out he was off to Ollantaytambo, a very picturesque little place. He lives there. Follow, follow, follow, follow. I stayed on in and went there instead. A taximan called Fernando approached me and chatted for ages. His taxi price for me alone to go to M&M was way too high, so I thought I'd maybe find some others. I failed delightfully, and headed to the ruins in that town. They were ACE. I liked them better than all the others that I've seen so far (I'm saving Machu Picchu for the right 'date' to go with - I don't want to go alone unless I'm bigly in the mood).

Once in, I found my way to the top, where there was a door. I stepped through it. It was all a bit Mr Benn. On the other side was a mountain path. I took it. It led me up and up and up. I passed a couple. Further up, I bumped into a fabulous young Chilean man called Nahual - translator, writer, lovely thing - who told me about a place in Pisaq I could stay and his work and life and loves a little bit. Then up and off I went. There was an extra bit of ruin at the 'top', but I could see more mountain, so I carried on. Paths were questionable, as was safety, to some extent. I enjoyed it very much. I met bugs and many cactus plants. I carried on till I was on the top of something again and then I stopped. 

The views were beyond my dreamiest mountain imagingings. The light was crisp and the sun unforgiving hot. I scrabbled down, finished the ruins (very nice), made off into the artesanal market (significant feather tools abounded) and then cocked around the pretty town eating theoretically unwise things from stands in the street until it was time to make my way home. I am all humbled with the flow of it. It rocked. 

Since then, my time has been full of friends and nice experiences. Thank to Fabian (the nice looking boy on the Pisaq rocks), I was alerted to the presence of a clown in this little place. Said clown turns out to have moved in with my friend Ash, from Pucallpa, and to be a druid too. I have been a happy parasite at their place for a few nights. The first was full of sweet potato mash and garlicky omelette, healings, nurture and hearthy fires; the second rich with ginger-soy broccoli treats laid on by Ash. Both evenings were full of lovely conversation and playful general joy. 

Today, Ash went on an adventure and the clever clown and I (his name is Ian and I like him very much) planned to play.  We planned more than played, but had a lovely time, ate street food sitting in the market with the trader women from the mountain villages nearby and hatched plots of games and workshops and all kinds of magical things to do. He bought balloons, the fingery ones, to make some hats from. He went to a school and I visited potential new places to live. The likely trump is a community with cats, guitars, children, flowers, an essential oils laboratory and an organic farm nearby. Eeep!

Later, I did a yoga class at Nidra Wasi, a retreat where I shall do a try-out tomorrow to be on their books as a massage therapist. The yoga was lovely. It's been FAR too long since I did a class. I was about to leave and check out a third home option, but the guests there, all about to eat, enticed me to stay and order something. They said the food was great. I had met one of them before, but not the rest. I stayed. The food was beautiful in every way - brightly coloured, beautifully combined, tasty, healthy and all organic-fresh. I had my own and the leftovers of one person who'd ordered three dinners by mistake and was supposed to be fasting. I went to pay, and one of these strangers who'd encouraged me to stay said her husband had sorted out my bill - they'd put it on the tab. Just so. 

How sweet, how generous. What gifts! Not just the dinner(s), but the eagerness to have me stay, the ease, the heartfelt conversations and the laughter. Of course the dinner(s) too. And to top it all, I caved and agreed to get a taxi when my walking plans were putting fear into people, but the owner, who was just about to go to bed, insisted on giving me a lift instead. What? How did I get to be this lucky and this blessed? Such easy giving and such happy, honoured receiving. How can I not be wallowing in the riches of these days? I am.

Day 669: Venus Did WHAT?

I fucking missed fucking Venus in fucking Retrograde

Fuck. I missed Venus in Retrograde. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit. No firey romance or sudden soulmate for me, then. No feet-sweeping or deep-connection-can't-believe-it-could-ever-be-so-right kind of click. Do I have to wait for the next one? I say again: fuck!  

There's still a part of me that holds out hope for that – that sudden knowing, that sense of ease, that 'this one's different' that I've seen so often happen to my friends. Or even just that 'and then at some point, it just seemed to make sense'. It doesn't always happen with a bang.
 

I'm stuck on the pouring chemistry lab cup (can't remember what they're called). Maybe all these years have been a gentle tipping, a settling of silt, a slow build and when the liquid scales the lip, the meniscus breaks and the force flows forth, it's on – there's no going back. There's no way to sense it from the bone-dry other side, where the wait is interminable and you just have to get on with something else.

Love shows itself in many different ways

And for all of those magical stories, there are those that aren't, or that were and are no longer, or that are just a kind of 'oh well, we're kind of in it now, so...'. 

Or kids. Are they a reason? Well, of course they are. There are so many romantic ideals out there that get in the way of sensing when love is present.

Always the cat in a veil, never the bride

And I forget that when I think that I'm in love (though so far, I've been wrong), it still feels heady, giddy, all a twitter with excitement and with possibility. It feels like playing does (and there's the thing... let's play, let's yes, let's create something together – when that's happening, the yearning for romantic love can wait; the well is filled and creativity, joy and co-creation take the yearning's place).

Current widsom, whatever that might mean, says to open and accept that it won't happen, and to make life make its sense without that kind of soulmate intimacy. 

Some say (Elizabeth Gilbert wrote an article) that soulmates are soulmates and lovers, husbands, wives don't need to be the same. And I have soulmates in my life, and that's no little thing – that fact, those people give me so much active joy I'm very grateful for. And children. There are so many, so many in need of love and nurture, so many being born in every second. There's no real need for more.

Would you like to go for a drink with me?

And still, with all the joy and all the gratitude, I'm bummed I've missed out on Venus. Sweetheart, I wish you'd knocked. I wish you'd given me a nudge and said 'come on, girl, get yourself on point, I'm all a flitter with my fire: I have a gift for you. Just come and get it'. Still, she's a goddess, that Venus. She doesn't do errands, especially not when she's in retrograde (firey, moody, fickle as they come). I'll keep them peeled next time. I'll put my alarm on LOUD.

Or perhaps I won't, and things will take their course. The cup will overflow, or then it won't. The mountains will still rise up and touch the sky. The hummingbirds will still plunge into flowers. Ripples will still ripple and dogs will still bark. And monsters will open up their hearts to warriors with swords, whatever may come of it. 

Day 668: Mountains

Actually not fake. Real.

The rain is here, shrouding the mountains in soft clouds and filling the air. The flowers in the botanical garden next to me are lifting up their faces. The cactus plants are taking shelter. There are tastes of blue in the sky, and swathes of grey. I feel the cold, but I love this weather too. It makes a change. I haven’t dug myself out of town to go sightseeing today. I did a massage this morning, and was planning to travel, but I may just hang out and do a little work (what brilliantness, I have work to do too).

Mountains. Sky. Breathe.

The trees are full of birds. Ther are pigeon-likes, only gentler in their shape. There are little flitty things, too fast to see. Yesterday, a condor, and yes, majestic. They just are. They’re so big and strong and calm in their flight. Two plucky sparrowhawks or kestrels were defending their territory, dive-bombing the condor as she soared. She wound up and up in her spiral. They chased her. The game went on, and they did not let up, not did she care. She’s ten times their size at least..

My friend Fabian the Swisser

We watched this from a perch on the edge of the Pisaq ruins. We being me and Fabian, the smiling Swisser. now departed for Cusco and Machu Picchu. We walked and marvelled at the size of the stones, the work it took just to walk up with water and a few bananas, let alone hunks of granite bigger than a chicken hut and heavier than a car. We snuck up from the back, not to avoid paying (I have already paid), but because it was beautiful, and involved crossing a stream on bouncing logs and finding our way rather than following painted arrows

I have explored a new place to live, down by the river instead of up in the hills. My heart lives in the hills, and my independence thrives on being able to walk to where I live at any time, without fear and without worrying that the last of the motokars will have packed up and gone home, leaving me with a dark and windy walk up a long, long hill. 

I walked down a good part of it today, as rides into town were unforthcoming. Eventually, I found one. The place has served its purpose, in a way, allowing me to have peace and a room to myself for a happy price, and to wake up with mountains right next to me, flowers, quiet, water. The compromise in town is noise. Safety and independence are the benefits. There'll be a way that this will work. 

I am blown away by the landscapes here. If it's possible to believe, it becomes 'normal', but look at it: it's beautiful. This is what I get to see just by lifting my head. This is the quality of the colour all around me. This is nature, huge and present, just doing its being wherever you turn. Magic! 

Pisac ruins from the bottom(ish)

Day 667: Oh, Peru

 

Too many things. Of course there are, and they pale into the distance the longer it takes me to write.

Where to start? ~With the pregnant cat who gave us such pleasure in Santa Clara, with her skinny frame and her enormous belly, her softness, her constant presence. What about the 'us' she gave pleasure to? The beautiful, funny, complexly bound Argentinian sisters Sandra and Adri, who made my experience there so much richer when I moved to share their little house with them that I stayed almost an extra week, paying to change my flight to the mountains I'd yearned for. How about Raphael, savvy, clever, understated, very funny, multilingual and really fucking patient. He enriched my time there too. How about macrame fiend Antoine, 23 and all Frenchness and laughter, a rapay fiend too (not my preferred spelling, but without easy accentage on the 'e' I've substituted with 'ay', I'd be painting him in a pretty grim light). And Sebastian, Eric and Claire, travelling in different shapes in time and with varied purposes, all thrown together.

How about shaman Jose (Josay?), blessed with gentleness, integrity and patience, and his 'reina' and beloved wife, Juana, strong, tranquil, beautiful. How about Shaman sister Maria, 72 and still carrying water buckets I'd struggle with, up at dawn (5.30) to work all day, as were they all. How about Nicole and Chico, 6 and 5 respectively, both bickering and laughing almost constantly, playing with anything and nothing. Chico built us some seating outside our casita with wooden planks the heaved from underneath the house.

How about the five kittens said pregnant cat (named gatita (little girl cat), michi (kitty), Sweet Girl and latterly, by Armando, Yarina) did on Eric's bed one night as he slept, by his head, so he woke up to find placenta and three sticky kittens right next to his face. The next day in the morning, she pushed out another two, still on his bed, all healthy, and lay exhausted with them scrabbling to latch on and feed. She has more nipples than kittens, but still they push each other out of the way.

How about a lovely visit from Armando, Roger and Maycol from my time at Amelia’s house, Armando for whom I feel a great warmth and curiosity, as he is all the right way as far as what matters goes; outrageously model-boy handsome (and 22-year-old) Roger, already a father, blessed with a sweetness of soul and some calm wisdom and very affectionate; and Maycol, a practising rapper and easy giggler, a really lovely boy (17, I think). They drove all the way from Pucallpa in a motokar and rocked up just like that.

We all (them, Sandra, Antoine, Rapha, a bunch of kids and Toby, the ginger-eyed black dog who revelled in the whole outing and came along of his own accord, loving the water and the attention. Watching Sandra and Rapha dance and swim in the water was one of my favourite things ever; river water that swung from hot to cold in inexplicable ways. That day felt idyllic, and indeed it was, ending in a strong ceremony and some even deeper bonding with Sandra and Rapha. Beautiful.

Followed by Fin, beautiful soul and Fine Young Man and his parents, here to visit him in Peru. I love them all and I’ve loved hanging out with them for the last four or five days. It’s been mint. They are mint. Fin has energy and easy joy. He moves a lot, whether it be to dance, to try brave handstands or to wrestle with dogs. Fiona has a gentleness about her that I like very much, and such warmth. Paul is big and funny and has smile lines like eagles’ feet, not crows’. He is generous and honest and easily teasy.

What about constantly smile-ridden Fabian from Switzerland, smiling with his eyes first; a loping young boy-dog called Rocco who bites and plays at the most inconvenient of times, rejoicing in waiting until smaller, older Toffee is asleep to pounce and bite his legs; patient Hanu (Hanuman), big, blond, scruffy, whose house has been invaded by these other strays; and the ridiculously named Beyonce, the only girl dog in the pack, sweet-smelling and delightful. Their owners Paul and Sue care as well for them as they do for the people who visit them, if not more (and they care for us very, very well indeed).
I have been blessed by abundant hummingbirds, sparrow-hawks and flitting, nameless birds. I have watched stars appear and moons change size and shape and colour. I have gazed at mountains in awe and yearning,there are landscapes and skies and shooting stars, motokars that flow in a river of weavy traffic and taxis packed with ten people (three in the boot with luggage) navigating muddy/dusty roads full of holes and puddles. 

There are sunsets to die for and misty sunrises to revel in; there are nights of unbearable heat and now some that are cold like a British winter night, despite hot and skin-burny days that descend into wind buffets by 3pm, blowing the endless market merchandise from the stalls. There is beauty everywhere, poverty too, dirt and humbling displays of nature, but above all that, it’s the people who make this trip come alive, who give all this wonder context.
Bouncing around in the boot of a taxi could have felt like a chore alone, but with Sandra, it was an adventure. Driving through Pucallpa in motokar is neither here nor there, but sitting in one with Seb and weaving in and out of getting ahead of or behind them was great fun. Failing to find a boat to Yarina would piss me off alone, but in a friendly pack, it’s just another experience to be enjoyed.
Thank you, people flowing in and out of where I am. Thank you for making this an experience to be grateful for. All the less than easy experiences that have also helped shape this trip have been more fathomable, interesting and wisdom-inducing thanks to you people. I give my gratitude freely, to you and to the forces that brought us all together. Thanks, all.I feel beautifully blessed. 
PS - sorry for all the gaps. Very hard to navigate getting photos in the right place on this computer.