Two
The sun is up
i'm so happy i could scream
and there's nowhere else in the world i'd rather be
than here with you
it's perfect
it's all I ever wanted
Almost can't believe that it's for real
i really don't think it gets any better than this
so kiss me quick
Spanish lessons kind of move at an accelerated pace:
~in the airport restaurant in Lima when you've been flying for 8 hours and are starving
~when the local charter boat drops you off unannounced on a breathtaking island and you need to find a family to stay the night with
~alone, waiting to cross the border from Bolivia to Peru... and meeting two Argentine fellas taking their GS Adventures across... learning about their long fascinating trip and wishing you could ride with them
~the last night in Cuzco... saying goodbye to the shy gal working at the hostel, and trying to politely tell her she is beautiful
The first thing, the very first lasting memory of that place, was not the initial layover in Lima. International airports all look the same... But after we took a hop to Cuzco and walked down to the tiny terminal to find our bags, my ears picked up the first hints of what would be a wonderful backdrop for the entire experience... harmony. A group of folk musicians fluting and strumming lines of generations-old Andean memories invoked feelings I will never forget... and two weeks later at another small airport in Juliaca, my plane back to Lima -- and my farewell to this journey -- got delayed for 4 hours. Another flock of troubadours entered that terminal and began to play to pass the time... so my first and my last memories of micro Peruvian life were the passion these people had for their history and their beautiful music
Well I guess I did get to do a little riding. Not even acclimated to the altitude, and we leave Cuzco for five hours to see the farms, the fields, the pueblos. We on our motorbikes, the farmers on their horses. Various methods of transpo over the next two weeks -- our city guide's minivan... a coach bus, bathroom included... the "local" bus, 15 people in a 10 person van, 'asses and elbows' redefined... our boots... one gal was carried down the mountain by a porter... trains... charter boats... reed canoes... tricycle taxis... in Bolivia, got my bike fix again, this time cycling down the Yungas road with some good friends...
you... soft and only
you... lost and lonely
you...
strange as angels dancing in the deepest oceans
twisting in the water
you're just like a dream...
Friends. Sitting in those medicinal hot springs drinking Mojitos... carrying each others' weight when we got sick on the trail... Team Slow... discovering someone else who is a hopeless romantic... sharing the love of your favorite song with a soul from the other side of the world... listening to half an iPod... trying to eat guinea pig, llama, alpaca, corn chew, and seeing the looks on their faces as they do the same... playing some of the most cutthroat games of UNO ever... playing mountain futbol together 8,000 feet above the earth... running into old companions amidst a festival on a beautiful island in the middle of nowhere... dancing with them... two days later watching the sunset with them on the boat back to shore... standing on top of the world with the fellas... enjoying a pair of Havanas in Lima right before going home... sharing this whole experience
The small Iglesias. The lovely Catedrals. Guess I took some of my Spanish heritage for granted until I was immersed in a more or less unfading reflection of Catholic history. Built atop native foundations, each church is uniquely tailored to the culture in that town. In the middle of the day I walk inside and kneel with the few persons quietly praying, enjoying the serenity. Christian images have been radically intertwined with symbols representing earth, life, and other remnants of the old native beliefs. A naked mother earth embracing a cross... pumas, condors, serpents (which represent the underworld in both the old and new faiths). In the larger cathedrals the suggestions change as the art gets more modern. Around the time preceding the revolution, paintings show Spanish soldiers performing the crucifixion. The Last Supper is repainted, and the cuisine is changed to guinea pig and corn. The conquistadors were eventually cast out, but their mixed descendants and the religious beliefs they brought across stay forever.
And over my shoulder as i walk away
i see you give that look goodbye...
i still see that look in your eye...
It's so hard to think it ends sometime
and this could be the last,
i should really hear you sing again
and I should really watch you dance
Because it's hard to think
i'll never get another chance
to hold you...
I was looking back through my notes -- I don't keep a journal, I just scribble little things down and hope I find them later -- and I saw the phrase 'group hug' already fading on the page. Then I remembered... the long walk we took through the mountains. 500 years ago, a civilization vanished in these mountains. Religion, disease, bullets... all washed through the green valleys like a frothing wave. They saw it coming, and they left their cities, and their farms, and knew they would not be coming back. They destroyed hundreds of miles of trails so their history would never be found by the visitors. And they hid in the jungle. Most died, many interbred with the Spanish, and the rest is history. Yet here we were walking in one of the most preserved, sacred places the human world has ever been a part of, on a trail unearthed only 50 years ago. After three days of what could be considered pretty deep reflection, we found ourselves within the walls of the biggest ghost town I will ever know. As dawn continued to break, I was blessed with one of those moments you don't get often in life, and I just listened... to the wind, the grass, tiny bits of cloudy condensation colliding with my eardrum... and as a group we continued to follow our guides through the ruins, as the clouds continued to roll through us and through the city. And in the freezing rain, our group... merely strangers half a week ago... began to hold each other.
Civilization... governments evolving to manage economy and technology... religion providing beautiful ways to cope with the natural world and the pain it often brings. Yet human nature... constant. We might as well have been standing there, 500 years ago, being told we had to evacuate the city and never return... holding each other, crying, saying we love each other. As the cool clouds lingeringly roll through. I am glad it wasn't a sunny day
Ok, I just want to warn you that when I wrote this I was listening to the Cure a lot. -- Adam Sandler
i'm so happy i could scream
and there's nowhere else in the world i'd rather be
than here with you
it's perfect
it's all I ever wanted
Almost can't believe that it's for real
i really don't think it gets any better than this
so kiss me quick
Spanish lessons kind of move at an accelerated pace:
~in the airport restaurant in Lima when you've been flying for 8 hours and are starving
~when the local charter boat drops you off unannounced on a breathtaking island and you need to find a family to stay the night with
~alone, waiting to cross the border from Bolivia to Peru... and meeting two Argentine fellas taking their GS Adventures across... learning about their long fascinating trip and wishing you could ride with them
~the last night in Cuzco... saying goodbye to the shy gal working at the hostel, and trying to politely tell her she is beautiful
The first thing, the very first lasting memory of that place, was not the initial layover in Lima. International airports all look the same... But after we took a hop to Cuzco and walked down to the tiny terminal to find our bags, my ears picked up the first hints of what would be a wonderful backdrop for the entire experience... harmony. A group of folk musicians fluting and strumming lines of generations-old Andean memories invoked feelings I will never forget... and two weeks later at another small airport in Juliaca, my plane back to Lima -- and my farewell to this journey -- got delayed for 4 hours. Another flock of troubadours entered that terminal and began to play to pass the time... so my first and my last memories of micro Peruvian life were the passion these people had for their history and their beautiful music
Well I guess I did get to do a little riding. Not even acclimated to the altitude, and we leave Cuzco for five hours to see the farms, the fields, the pueblos. We on our motorbikes, the farmers on their horses. Various methods of transpo over the next two weeks -- our city guide's minivan... a coach bus, bathroom included... the "local" bus, 15 people in a 10 person van, 'asses and elbows' redefined... our boots... one gal was carried down the mountain by a porter... trains... charter boats... reed canoes... tricycle taxis... in Bolivia, got my bike fix again, this time cycling down the Yungas road with some good friends...
you... soft and only
you... lost and lonely
you...
strange as angels dancing in the deepest oceans
twisting in the water
you're just like a dream...
Friends. Sitting in those medicinal hot springs drinking Mojitos... carrying each others' weight when we got sick on the trail... Team Slow... discovering someone else who is a hopeless romantic... sharing the love of your favorite song with a soul from the other side of the world... listening to half an iPod... trying to eat guinea pig, llama, alpaca, corn chew, and seeing the looks on their faces as they do the same... playing some of the most cutthroat games of UNO ever... playing mountain futbol together 8,000 feet above the earth... running into old companions amidst a festival on a beautiful island in the middle of nowhere... dancing with them... two days later watching the sunset with them on the boat back to shore... standing on top of the world with the fellas... enjoying a pair of Havanas in Lima right before going home... sharing this whole experience
The small Iglesias. The lovely Catedrals. Guess I took some of my Spanish heritage for granted until I was immersed in a more or less unfading reflection of Catholic history. Built atop native foundations, each church is uniquely tailored to the culture in that town. In the middle of the day I walk inside and kneel with the few persons quietly praying, enjoying the serenity. Christian images have been radically intertwined with symbols representing earth, life, and other remnants of the old native beliefs. A naked mother earth embracing a cross... pumas, condors, serpents (which represent the underworld in both the old and new faiths). In the larger cathedrals the suggestions change as the art gets more modern. Around the time preceding the revolution, paintings show Spanish soldiers performing the crucifixion. The Last Supper is repainted, and the cuisine is changed to guinea pig and corn. The conquistadors were eventually cast out, but their mixed descendants and the religious beliefs they brought across stay forever.
And over my shoulder as i walk away
i see you give that look goodbye...
i still see that look in your eye...
It's so hard to think it ends sometime
and this could be the last,
i should really hear you sing again
and I should really watch you dance
Because it's hard to think
i'll never get another chance
to hold you...
I was looking back through my notes -- I don't keep a journal, I just scribble little things down and hope I find them later -- and I saw the phrase 'group hug' already fading on the page. Then I remembered... the long walk we took through the mountains. 500 years ago, a civilization vanished in these mountains. Religion, disease, bullets... all washed through the green valleys like a frothing wave. They saw it coming, and they left their cities, and their farms, and knew they would not be coming back. They destroyed hundreds of miles of trails so their history would never be found by the visitors. And they hid in the jungle. Most died, many interbred with the Spanish, and the rest is history. Yet here we were walking in one of the most preserved, sacred places the human world has ever been a part of, on a trail unearthed only 50 years ago. After three days of what could be considered pretty deep reflection, we found ourselves within the walls of the biggest ghost town I will ever know. As dawn continued to break, I was blessed with one of those moments you don't get often in life, and I just listened... to the wind, the grass, tiny bits of cloudy condensation colliding with my eardrum... and as a group we continued to follow our guides through the ruins, as the clouds continued to roll through us and through the city. And in the freezing rain, our group... merely strangers half a week ago... began to hold each other.
Civilization... governments evolving to manage economy and technology... religion providing beautiful ways to cope with the natural world and the pain it often brings. Yet human nature... constant. We might as well have been standing there, 500 years ago, being told we had to evacuate the city and never return... holding each other, crying, saying we love each other. As the cool clouds lingeringly roll through. I am glad it wasn't a sunny day
Ok, I just want to warn you that when I wrote this I was listening to the Cure a lot. -- Adam Sandler
Comments
Post a Comment