So I have left the Sucre universe behind in exchange for the for the airy mountain city of La Paz. "The Peace." The city has been somewhat quiet due to the resurrection of Jesus, but I ate a chocolate bunny and got ridiculously lost while jogging uphill with limited oxygen. I have enjoyed good food, helped Nathaniel pick out an increasingly large stash of fine knitted alpaca "gear" for re-sale in the States, and planned out the few remaining days of "This Trip." (You know, this absurd-kaleidescope journey that's gonna be reduced to a label just like that in 16 days.) I've also purchased a strange array of cheap earrings, some of which involve colored feathers... and discovered that I have a weakness for knit leg-warmers.
Before leaving Sucre I had the immense pleasure of hiking through the mountains (my mountains?) one last time. The moon was full and deep yellow--Henrry, a guide for Condortrekkers who has come to be a dear friend, told me that the moon flickers golden like that when it's sad. I dunno... The stars were out of control before they were eclipsed by the melancholy moon, I saw silly rainbow caterpillars, I bathed in a waterfall, and I talked with Henrry about the way in which people re-interpret and express the intangible beauty of the universe. The mountains simply Were, still secretive, monolithic, just out of reach, almost breathing. And I said goodbye.
On the way back from the hike we rode in the over-packed camión. I had space for one foot on the floor of the truck, the wind whipped my hair, and a lady made my Australian friend hold a box that turned out to contain a live chicken. Then I got back to my home in Sucre, where I've lived for almost three months. I bid farewell to a beautiful community in that white-washed city and packed my life into a bag again. Movement: a beautiful, exhilarating exercise in serial heartbreak. I am addicted.
Next Nathaniel and I are planning on visiting a small organic coffee farm in the Yungas, the high altitude jungles a few hours outside of La Paz. We met the owner of the farm today--he served me a steaming delectably foamy delicious cappuccino and talked rapid-fire about his passion for coffee. His eyes were exactly the color of coffee. As a coffee aficionado, I am brimming with anticipation
Before leaving Sucre I had the immense pleasure of hiking through the mountains (my mountains?) one last time. The moon was full and deep yellow--Henrry, a guide for Condortrekkers who has come to be a dear friend, told me that the moon flickers golden like that when it's sad. I dunno... The stars were out of control before they were eclipsed by the melancholy moon, I saw silly rainbow caterpillars, I bathed in a waterfall, and I talked with Henrry about the way in which people re-interpret and express the intangible beauty of the universe. The mountains simply Were, still secretive, monolithic, just out of reach, almost breathing. And I said goodbye.
On the way back from the hike we rode in the over-packed camión. I had space for one foot on the floor of the truck, the wind whipped my hair, and a lady made my Australian friend hold a box that turned out to contain a live chicken. Then I got back to my home in Sucre, where I've lived for almost three months. I bid farewell to a beautiful community in that white-washed city and packed my life into a bag again. Movement: a beautiful, exhilarating exercise in serial heartbreak. I am addicted.
Next Nathaniel and I are planning on visiting a small organic coffee farm in the Yungas, the high altitude jungles a few hours outside of La Paz. We met the owner of the farm today--he served me a steaming delectably foamy delicious cappuccino and talked rapid-fire about his passion for coffee. His eyes were exactly the color of coffee. As a coffee aficionado, I am brimming with anticipation
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