Chris Blog

After a short bus ride, short boat ride, short motorcycle cab ride and short walk, we were finally at our new home in a small pueblo outside Tambo Grande, Peru. The fences are made of al-natural wood, the homes of adobe and the animals run as free as rain here. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

Around 5:30 pm I decided that I needed to take some alone down a dirt road to enjoy my immediate surrounds, which included light rainfall by the way. After dawning my trusty raincoat and shoes marketed as waterproof, I set off down this unknown path. Little did I know this walk of mine would garnish more than growth of the calfs, but would indeed prove inspirational to my eyes, mind and spirit.

I took a sharp right end entered the road. I say “entered” because it felt less like I was walking on something, but walking into something. The floor was made of dirty, muddy brown earth. Though there were no walls, I felt that there were “sides” To my right was green foliage more vibrant than the neon lights of Vegas. Each leaf and blade working harmoniously in the quilt of mother nature, unhindered by human interference and meddling. It also seemed, however, that each individual piece of foliage was shining extra bright, almost competing with the rest, so as to capture the most of my attention. To my left was a flock of sheep behind a fence made of branches and sticks. They played and shouted and fed like I have never seen. Though they were intrigued by my presence, they did little to let me know. As long as I kept a safe distance they weren’t encumbered by my presence. Ahead of me was a pathway that led to a beautiful sunset and, hopefully, more untold simple, natural treasures. The roof of this story story was a thick blanket of alternating white and dark grey clouds that were unleashing a fair amount of rain by this time.

Like a detective on a black-and-white TV set, I began to piece together the puzzle clues of my own psyche. I was noticing the fact that while others were relaxing under dry, covered shelters, I desired to get out into the rain for several reasons. I wanted to feel the rain hit my face, smell the oxidized air and just go for a walk. Though my travel companion tossed me a glance before I left that very clearly expressed his confusion, I still could not figure out what was so unnatural about this desire. Heck, even the town kids kinda knew how I felt, as they were not about to let their soccer game be called on account of a little water.

I also wanted to test out the gear I had purchased for this trip. A couple hundred dollars worth of waterprooffed material should be able to stand up to this little shower, right? So, as I walked, I carefully placed each footstep in slightly larger, deeper mud puddles and water streams. I meticulously focused my attention on every inch of skin under my rain coat, trying to find wet spot and I found none. This desire to get things dirty unneccessarily brought up some vivid memories that I started to piece together like clues at a murder scene. For most of my youth, I got things dirty for the sake of feeling like I was getting away from the city. When others wanted a Hot Wheels cars, I wanted a Big Foot and I took it around the lake and through every bit of dirt I could manage. In high school I found myself collecting camping gear when others were collecting posters of boy bands. On the drive to my school I remember gazing out the window and picturing the drive as if I were 50 ft off the road on a dirt bike at full speed. At school in Los Angeles, while others wore flip flops most every day, I wore hiking boots, just incase an adventure presented itself. The problem in all this is not the goofy actions, but that lack of action. That’s what I’m finding. It’s like my inner psyche was giving me all the signs to tell me what I truly craved and I never got the hint. I get it now! Thank you, rainy day walk.

The walk continued and realized I was nearing another town. I could see more houses made of large wood branches, natural adobe bricks and mud paint. There wasn’t a seem that connected air tight among them. The Big Bad Wolf would have had a hayday here. Literally, everything that made their living quarters consisted of natural materials found within a mile radius. It was crazy to see so many people living this way, oblivious to the niceties of so-called Western living. Little did I know that 3 days later and several nights closer to the good and the bad of natural living, I would only appreciate it more.

I looked up to realize that I was still walking, it was still raining and the world was still beautiful. I embraced the calm happiness that was flowing through my neurons. I let it warm me, hold up the corners of my mouth, relax my forhead and shine through my eyes. I like this happiness. I know that one day, all too soon, I’ll be back behind a desk, staring at a computer screen and answering phone calls, but at this moment. I’m just … happy.

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So many of you have asked what I’ve been doing for the last month, and Ias I ready to depart this beautiful little city, I’ll tell you! 

Upon arrival I knew this town was different.  The buildings are quaint, the streets are crowded with pedestrians, the shops sell handmade articles, the 12,000 inhabitants are “tranquillo” (chill) and this town derives 95% of it’s income from tourism.  I finally found a town were I truly felt comfortable walking around at night, not looking over my shoulder and asking the locals for advice.  That’s a rarity in Ecuador, I assure you.  

“Why don’t you go to Europe or something?” several of you asked.  The short story of this last month will answer that question time and time again.  The first night I was here, I jumped an open air, home-converted bus to a nearby mountain for a fantastic view of the neighboring, active volcano.  Yes, this town is loomed over by Tunguahara, the eternally active volcano that made international news a month ago.  Half way up the side we were invited to climb onto the roof for the rest of the switchback journey.  At the top of the hillside, we imbibed on local “Planta Verde.”  A homemade liquor, made from cane juice that’s as strong as Everclear but has a natural sugar aftertaste.  No, Mother, I never tried any of it! ; )  That night, Tungahara danced before us with such magnificent splendor!  It was like a small fireworks display in the distance, but every explosion was rich blood read.  The night grew chillier and the lava dance grew more beautiful.   Seeing such deadly majesty was truly an event. 

The following week was occupied by meandering through the town, 1/2 days of spanish lessons, and afternoons filled with self-teaching and lazy reading.  The week went by fast as I expanded my mental horizons in all directions.  I also discovered that the lazy days of my childhood, that I used to hate for their lack of productivity, could be turned to sheer ecstasy in the right surroundings.  Every day I’ve awoken to a valley carved from slices of heaven, filled with trees, plants, green and a light morning fog.  The breadth of self-understanding, self-acceptance and innocent happiness that can be achieved here is astounding.  

This valley is more than just for looking, it’s for doing and being.  I visit the I biked 18 miles through mountainside to pier.  I swam through spacious hot springs.  The pool-like water wasnt’ dangerous enough so I jumped in with another group on a 1/2 day rafting adventure through 4+ rapids.  I even signed up for a 3 day kayaking course only to find out the first day after being in a kayak, in a pool, that I don’t like being upside down, under water with any kind of feeling of being trapped.  I threw myself into rock climbing outdoor, for the first time, only to find out that I need to work out a lot more, LOL.  The commingling of  new activities with time to thoroughly self-analyze is a wonderful breeding ground for growth.  

A few days later my travel cohort arrived back in Baños and I was a part of a team again.  We rested and studied.  Then we biked 36 miles of mountainside, which included a terrifying dash through 500 ft. of unlit tunnel.  We ran through the streets in the morning, pushing ourselves to acclimate to the altitude even more than we had. We cooked dinner in our terrace.  I ate onions!  We rented motorcycles (I got a Honda 230 CRF) and rode up the backside of our trecherous Tunguahara volcano.  For the first time we could appreciate the destruction this sleeping giant could truly cause.  National highway was erased, like ill fated rough drafts of primary school term papers, by the vicious aftermath of an eruption 3 years ago.  Pavement gave way to landslide and muck.  Green hillside crumbled into muddy cliff.   Large bridges had been crumpled and tossed away, like your Diet Coke can, leaving remote communities to fend for themselves and then rebuild a patch to civilization.  I slammed on the breaks after a particularly quick streak when I noticed that the road in front of me disappeared completely, leaving me with a 100 ft drop-off.  There was no vegetation or even mud, just dirt and dust that billowed from below into a blinding sand storm.  The only remanence of the bridge that had coupled these nearby town were 2 beat up cement pillars.  The were now connected by a 1/2 in. of cable strung across with a small metal create attached on rollers, allowing for one person to traverse the little gorge in a very harrowing manner.  The ride enlightening, magnificent and terrifying in a way that these words give little justice. 

But, all good things must come to an end.  We packed our bags, left of our little home and headed south.  A 3 hour bus ride delivered us to Riobamba for the night.  There, we were thrust back into the world of the traveler, watching each others backs, waiting for someone to stick their hands in our bags and keen of the sounds around every corner.   All that is fine though, because is just makes the slower pace of smaller towns that much more enjoyable. 

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Sitting on the tiny balcony of a $6.00 hostel while on a life-quest (aka - extended vacation) is like nothing else.  Months of preparation, dozens of life-altering decisions and here we are, eating through my savings one night at time.  

The purpose, of course, is to accomplish… nothing.   To remove oneself from the burden of “things” and “somethings”.  i.e. - “I have something to do this afternoon.”  “I don’t have time to read because I’ve got things to do.”  “Sorry, I can’t make it, something came up.”  Well, I’m sure you get the point.  

There is an alternate life out there and it is achievable by all. 

I have accomplished “nothing” and it feels great.  This very minute I have the time to  slowly and deliberately expand my lungs, feel the muscles move inside my chest, flood my nostrils with an air riddled with subtle flavors and actually dissect every new smell.  Attempting this simple and often overlooked feat in Las Vegas usually ended up in an uncontrollable coughing fit. 

People who have lost one sense, going blind for example, sometimes report heightened abilities with other senses.   I feel as if ALL my senses have become attuned … but only at the loss of my sense of time.  

I can smell the fresh air that my patio ficus is producing this very moment, like water straight from a well or glacier stream, it’s overpowering in it’s purity.  Another breath and I can distinguish a wood fire has been lit somewhere in my neighborhood, though I can’t even see the smoke.  Yet again, a deep breath, and I become aware of the faint telltale sign of fresh oxygen, signifying the coming of our ritualistic afternoon sprinkle.  Other than trying to figure out the authenticity (and eatability) of foods held prisoner for hours at the local buffets, my nostrils have never been put to such a rigorous test. 

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