January 22- Shit Shamlessly

For those of you that hoped the title of this post was misleading... I apologize.

It's not.

I am, in fact, here to talk about poop.

Many of you have proably heard that travelling can often lead to constipation (yes, I went there).  I have always found this to be true.

The 9 hour bus ride from Medellin to Cali did not prove this theory wrong.  So, when I had the sudden urge to... well... you know... at Luz's godmother's house -- where we were staying for the night -- I picked it up and ran with it, only to discover (in the nick of time, I might add) that her toilet didn't flush.

"I'll just wait," I thought to myself.

But waiting proved to be a bad idea.

Every time I sat on a toilet after this instance, it was to no avail.

And let me tell you, a 12 hour busride from Cali to the border town of Ipiales (or probably any 12 hour busride, for that matter) is not conducive to relieving aforementioned constipation.

Needless to say, when I got off the bus in Ipiales at 7:00AM, I felt like shit.

...or lack thereof.

So we walked around a bit and sat and had a coffee.

As we were packing up to head into Ecuador, I declared that I was going to try my luck in the bathroom one more time.

Success!

I felt so relieved.

Then I realized there was no toilet paper.

At a loss... I just sat there.

I edited a few photos on my phone, hoping against hope that Maggie and Amanda would notice my absence.

Then, to my despair, a knock came on the door.

"One second!" I called frantically, kicking myself for stupidly using English.

"Katie?" A voice replied.  "It's Amanda."

Silence.

"...do you need some toilet paper?"

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD, YES! THANK YOU!"

I nearly screamed with relief.

So that was that.

The moral of the story?

When you gotta go -- GO!

And try not to forget that some countries do not grace you with the luxury of toilet paper.

January 21 - Cali

In Cali we stayed with a former landlord of Maggie's and his wife.

Fred is a slightly eccentric middle-aged man from Kansas City, MO - transported everywhere by, quite possibly, the only motorized wheelchair in Colombia.  Fred is the kind of guy who has no filter. On a walk through Cali on our second day, a police siren rang out nearby.  He looked at me very intently from his wheelchair and said unabashedly, "Hear that? That's the national bird of Colombia."

Eleven years ago, he married Luz, a native Colombian (and one of the sweetest and kindest women I've ever had the pleaure of meeting), after they met online while the two of them were living in Arizona.

From the moment they met - that was it.

I am such a sucker for a good love story, and watching theirs happening before me was almost too much for my little heart to handle.

The way they interacted, the way they looked at each other, their gentle terms of endearment, not to mention they were two of the kindest and most generous people that I've ever experienced.

They have travelled everywhere together.

From Medellin to Cali to Kansas City to Spain.

They were returning to the latter soon after our departure as they had just obtained their resident visa there.

Fred mused over after dinner cervezas that before he died he wanted to attach himself to Luz with a rope tied around each of their wrists and do ecstacy together in Ibiza.

Quite the image.

During the same conversation, he fixed us with a penetrating stare and said:

"Marry your best friend.  Make sure to marry your best friend, because if you don't, it's going to be long -- and it's going to be brutal."

Duly noted, Fred, duly noted.

January 19 - El Comienzo

Picture me, standing on a sunlit balcony, a light breeze blowing, my hair fluttering, looking out at the beautiful, hazy Colombian mountains from the city of Medellin.

Got that image in your head?

Okay.

Now, picture me, head back, eyes closed, mouth open, sweating uncomfortably, scrunched in a ball, my book open on my chest, fading in and out of sleep while loud Colombian music plays as the bus, that would hardly pass inspection in the US, rattles along, occainsionally dodging other vehicles on the twisting and turning roads.

I'll let you decide which image is more accurate.

*     *     *

I have been in Colombia for 2.5 days.

Medellin is amazing.

Full of fresh fruits, cervezas, homemade empanadas, meeting new people, and catching up with my sister and our travel companion (and childhood friend), Amanda.

We rode the metro cable, overlooking the city, and walked along a path in the mountains, passing through a park and near a river, ultimately reaching a bus stop where we rode a crowded bus an hour back to the heart of Medellin to prepare for a gathering of friends that Maggie had arranged -- our Colombian debut.

*insert flourish where necessary*

The next day I was spoiled by our visit to the Plaza Botero and the Museo del Antioquia, where I was able to see original works by Medellin's own Fernando Botero, famous for his absurdly voluminous figures.

I was particularly lucky that I came to el museo during an exhibition of Colombian and Mexican artists that featured works by Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo.

What. A. Treat.

That evening, Maggie took us to El Poblado (another area of Medellin) to "tomar un cafecito" in what can only be described as a hipster coffee shop, more akin to the ones in Brooklyn than in the rest of Medellin -- cold brew and all.

After a delicious dinner, made by Maggie's boyfriend, Jhonny, it was off to bed for a few short hours before our 5:30AM wake up call to travel to the bus terminal and board a bus to travel 9 hours south to the city of Cali.

Medellin in 48 hours -- WHEW!

Until next time!

Here goes...

Hello.

Pardon me for my brief hiatus.

Remember 6 weeks ago? That huge trip that I was about to leave for? When I was an anxiety-ridden mess and crying about everything?

Well, I'm back.

Of course, it was incredible.

Incredible.

I'm sitting in a cafe in White River Junction, VT, drinking and iced latte, and eating a falafel sandwich.

All for the affordable price of $13.

*winces*

I must say, being back in America is not all bad.

I enjoy the creature comforts.

Being lazy on my couch, eating whatever I want, going to lots of yoga classes, playing with my dog, ...speaking English, etc.

But backpacking through South America sure made me appreciate the comforts of home a hell of a lot more than I did.

All of this being said, I now need to list the things I miss about South America:

Cheap food, fresh fruit, warmth, my sister and Amanda, the daily experiences, my sad attempts at both speaking and understanding Spanish, my lack of cell phone service and constant connection to the internet and social media, part of me even kind of misses the long sweaty, smelly bus rides..... part of me, not all of me.

Just under a week before I flew back to the United States, Amanda, Maggie, and I arrived in Puno, Peru.

Puno is a city on the edge of Lake Titicaca (possibly one of the most tremendously beautiful places I've ever been).  We arrived at the cheapest hostel we could find around 11pm and promptly went to sleep.

Early the next morning, we booked a two day tour of Lake Titicaca which departed shortly after.

At some point that day, Amanda and I found ourselves on the boat that took us to the tour's different stopping points on the vast lake discussing all of the American food that we missed -- namely, Snickers and cheesecake.

I kid you not, the conversation lasted at least an hour... at least.

Miraculously, while hiking to a hilltop temple on one of the islands later that day, a member of one of the local communities was selling American candy bars for the Peruvian equivalent of about $2.50 on the side of the trail.  Amanda and I bought one and split it.

It was as good as we'd imagined.

The craving didn't really subside for the rest of the trip. I think I bought more Snickers in South America than I ever have in the United States. And do you think I've indulged since I've been back?

Not even once.

I guess it's the weird thing about being away from home.  You miss the convenience of things.

You know what I mean?

I only wanted a Snickers because I couldn't have one.

Now that I'm home, minutes away from places where I can buy a candy bar for $1.09, I don't crave one in the slightest.

And this philosophy applies to most things that I longed for during my five weeks away from home.

But the creature comforts are nice... I'll just keep reminding myself of that.

Silver lining or something.

Thinking about all the South American things that I miss -- most of all.... South America -- makes me want to relive the trip, the memories.

So bear with me in this endeavor as I transfer my jumbled memories from the pages of my journal to the computer screen for your reading pleasure.

But, naturally, I must start from the beginning.

Hold that thought ----

My brain hurts.

Have you ever had one of those days where there is so much going on and so much for you to do that you find yourself unable to think because your head is too clogged up with a jumble of unorganized, bullet-pointed to-do lists? And your cluttered brain makes very little room for self-motivation to actually do all of these things it's telling you to do? And instead you just want to sit on the floor and cry?

This has been the last few days for me, I truly have no idea where I found the motivation to blog.  Probably just using it as an excuse to keep the rest of my "ducks" very distinctly not "in a row."

Here's a synopsis (a list of bullet-points, of course) of my last 48 hours, not including the part where my friend's car got stuck in the snow for an hour and a half on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere.

• Say goodbye to my boyfriend as he departs for his flight back to the Eastern Hemisphere.
• Run errands.
• Talk to one of my aunts on the phone.
• Try to come to terms with the fact that on Saturday, at 5:00 AM, I will fly from Boston to Medellin, Colombia to begin a 4 week South American adventure with my sister and our friend, Amanda.
• Come to terms with the fact that I haven't started packing.
• Procrastinate by watching 8 episodes of friends with my brother (damn you, Netflix).
• Figure out how I'm getting to Boston.
• Actually pack.
• Try to remember how to pack light.
• Re-pack.
• Talk to another aunt on the phone.
• Fix my camera.
• Check-in for my flight online, only to find that I am not qualified to check-in online? Whatever the fuck that means.
• Fight with customer service over the phone.
• Say goodbye to my brother and my mom.

**Insert intermittent crying where appropriate.**

In the spirit of bullet-points, here are some of the feelings I've felt based on this sequence of events.

• Sad.
• Stressed.
• Fuck.
• Tired.
• Hungry.
• Sad.
• Angry.
• Confused.
• Fuck fuck fuck.
• Excited?
• Frustrated.
• Sad.
• Sad, sad, sad, sad.
• Sad.

But here I am.

My to-do list finally seeming manageable:

• Shower.
• Walk Mac.
• Go to the bank.
• Say goodbye to Dad.

And around 4:45, I'll be heading down to Boston to wait for my 5:00 AM flight.

I'm not bringing my computer with me and I'm not sure what my wifi situation will be while I'm there, but I hope to be able to give you all a few updates during my trip!

Time to stop feeling sad and stressed and start feeling excited and lucky to be able to have this experience.

So far 2015 has been a lot of hiking, beer, snow-shoeing, reading, loving, skiing, driving, and eating. 

Can't complain.

Although, I am looking forward to adding "selfie at Machu Picchu" to the list.

Now I have to go walk my dog (check!).

Catch you on the flipside, y'all.

Reflection or something..

A year ago, I celebrated the first moments of 2014 at a party in a new city, amidst (soon to be) new friends and tequila shots, with a kiss from my gay roommate as another friend puked in the sink next to us.

I really hate New Years resolutions.

You don't need the New Year as an excuse to change something in your life.  If you really want to change, you can do it on your own.

That being said, there is something kind of nice about ringing in the New Year with a goal.

So, I think my vague, unofficial New Years resolution for 2014 was, quite simply, to make it better than 2013.

In hindsight, I think I was being a little dramatic, but at the time, all I could think of was how much 2013 sucked.  Like.... royally sucked.

So, here I am, just hours away from 2015, reflecting on the past year. 

I hate to be cheesy but...........

2014 was great.

Amazing.

Maybe it was just about my mindset, maybe it was because I was determined to make it great, I don't really need a reason.  I'm just happy that it was the way it was.

Highlights:

• I discovered Asheville.  Sure, I had already lived there for a few months, but 2014 was when I really discovered the city.
• Similarly, I discovered yoga.  (I had done it off and on for years, but 2014 was when I really realized what it was all about for me..... thank goodness and namaste, y'all.)
• I was reunited with family members I hadn't seen in years.
• I made an unforgettable group of friends, the kind of friends that almost feel like family. You know who you are.
• I road-tripped up the east coast with a good pal from my semester abroad that I hadn't seen since 2012.
• I was able to return to Buck's Rock Camp in Connecticut and reunite with old friends, make new friends, foster some creativity, eat a lot of peanut butter bars, learn a little something about forgiveness and second chances, and feel inspired by the youth as well as my peers that surrounded me.
• I worked on my first theatre production since college and received a much needed reminder of why I once wanted to devote my life to it.
• I was able to make a whirlwind trip to Florida to see my beautiful cousin get married and visit with old friends and family.
• And I moved back home for a bit.  Some might not see it as a highlight, I certainly had my moments.  However, I was able to save money, reflect on life, make some plans, appreciate the beauty of Vermont, hang out with my dog, and most importantly nurture my relationship with two of the most important people in my life (Hi Mom and Dad).

So there you have it.  

A list of things that is entirely irrelevant to most of you.  So, I'm sorry if I wasted your time.

But, I'll leave you with a small piece of my vast, vast fortune of wisdom (do you sense the sarcasm?).

If you're determined to make 2015 great, it will be. 

But these things don't happen on their own.

Have a happy, safe, and healthy 2015.

And, as always, thank you for reading.

To give credit where credit is due...

I think that I can safely say that one of my favorite feelings in the world, is that of starting a new book.

I always feel very ambitious and adventurous when I open the cover, flip through the first, relatively purposeless pages, and find myself face to face with the beginning of a new story.

A clean slate.

Fresh.

Somewhat similarly, but also not similarly at all, is the way I feel about finishing a book.

I say "similarly," because I also love the feeling of finishing a book.

However, these two feelings are vastly different.

Upon finishing a good story, I often feel some mixture of overwhelmedness, accomplishment, grief, and closure.

Mere moments ago I had the... let's say "experience" of finishing Ken Kesey's 700+ page behemoth of a novel, Sometimes a Great Notion.

I could go on and on about the intricacies of this story, but will simply say that very few pieces of literature have evoked in me aforementioned mixture of overwhelmedness, accomplishment, grief, and closure with such utter force.

Still filled with the adrenaline that pumped through my body for the last 50 pages and while the spirit continues to move me, I would like to share, via Mr. Kesey, an anecdote that deserves acknowledgement; one that was particularly moving to me.

...About a guy I met in the nuthouse, a Mr. Siggs, a nervous, quick-featured self-schooled hick who had spent all his fifty or so years except for Service time in the eastern Oregon town of his birth. A reader of encyclopaedias, a memorizer of Milton, a writer of a column called "Words to Adjust By" in the Patients' Paper... a completely capable and sufficient person, yet this intense little self-styled scholar was perhaps the most uncomfortable man on the ward.  Siggs was terribly paranoid in crowds, equally hung up in one-to-one situations, and seemed to enjoy no ease at all except by himself inside a book.  And no one could have been more shocked than myself when he volunteered for the job as Ward Public Relations Director. "Masochism?" I asked him when I heard of his new position.  "What do you mean?" He fidgeted, hedging away from my eyes, but I went on. "I mean this Public Relations job... why are you taking on this business of dealing with big groups of people when you're apparently so much more at ease alone?"
  At this Mr. Siggs stopped fidgeting and looked at me; he had large, heavy-lidded eyes that could burn with sudden unblinking intensity. "Just before I came in here... I took a job, stock outrider. In a shack hid away outside Baker. A place a hundred miles from noplace. Nobody, nothing, far as I could see. Sweet, high country; beautiful... Not even a cedar tree. Took along complete set of Great Books.  All the classics, ten dollars a month, book salesman took it out of my wages in Baker. Beautiful country. See a thousand miles any direction, like it was all mine. A million stars, a million sage blossoms--all mine. Yes, beautiful... Couldn't make it, though. Committed myself a month and a half." His face softened and his blue star dimmed again beneath his half-closed lids; he grinned at me; I could see him forcing himself to try to relax. "Oh, you're right. Yes, you are: I am a loner, a born one. And someday I will make it--that shack, I mean. Yes. I will, you'll see. But not like last time. Not to hide. No. Next time I try it it will be first because I choose to, then because it is where I am most comfortable. Only sensible plan; sure of it. But... a fellow has to get so he can deal with these Public Relations, before he can truly make it. Make it like that... alone... in some shack. A man has to know he had a choice before he can enjoy what he chose. I know now. That a human has to make it with other humans... before he can make it with himself."
  I had a therapeutic addition to this: "And vice versa, Mr. Siggs: he has to make it with himself before branching out."
  He agreed, reluctantly, but he still agreed. Because at that time we both considered this addition pretty psychologically profound and--in spite of its chick-or-egg overtones--the very last word in "Words to Adjust By" at that time.
  Recently, however, I found that there were even further additions.  A few months ago I was sage-hen hunting in the Ochoco Mountains--high, spare, lonely plains country and certainly as far from noplace as any place I know--and I ran into Mr. Siggs again, a healthier, younger-looking Mr. Siggs, tanned, bearded, and calm as a lizard on a sunny stone.  After overcoming out mutual surprise, we recalled our conversation after his acceptance of the Public Relations job, and I asked how his plans had worked out. Perfectly--after some successful therapy he'd been discharged with honors over a year ago, had his outriding job, his Great Books, his shack... loved it. But didn't he still occasionally wonder if he were really choosing his shack or still just hiding in it? Nope. Wasn't he lonely? Nope. Well wasn't he bored, then with all this sunshine and adjustment? He shook his head. "After you get so you can make it with other people, and make it with yourself, there's still work to be done; you still have the main party to deal with..."
  "The 'main party'?" I asked, right then starting to suspect that statement about his being discharged "with honors." "What do you mean, Mr. Siggs?" The 'main party'? You mean deal with Nature? God?"
  "Yes, it could be," he remarked, rolling on his rock to warm his other side and closing his eyes against the sun. "Nature or God. Or it could be Time. Or Death. Or just the stars and the sage blossoms. Don't know yet..." He yawned, then raised his little head and fixed me once ore with that same intense look, a demented bright-blue look galvanized by some drive beneath his leathery face that sunshine--or therapy--could never adjust... "I am fifty-three," he said sharply. "Took fifty years, half a century, just to get to where I could deal with something my own size. Don't expect me to work this other thing out overnight. So long."
  The eyes closed and he seemed to sleep, a skinny back-country Buddha, on a hot rock miles from noplace. I walked on, back toward camp, trying to decide if he was saner or crazier than when I last saw him. 
  I decided he was.

(Sometimes a Great Notion, Ken Kesey, 1964)

Here, his words inspiring me to write a few of my own words for the first time in nearly two months.

Words are incredible.