The Hardest Part

For the last seven months as I've made my way through southern and eastern Africa, bits of Asia and pieces of South America, it has required a constant, on-the-go lifestyle. Every four to six days I am once again crouching by my suitcase, repacking my things, and double-checking to see if there is anything I forgot or can get rid of. I have packed over fifty times since I began this journey, yet each time, I still dread the moment when I need to turn my bag into my a horse and myself into a cowgirl, hoping this time it will somehow be miraculously easier to close the zipper. The more clothing I have to wash, the more stubborn my horse becomes. But all this packing and the long hours on buses and planes really doesn't seem so bad when compared to the moment at which I have to say goodbye to people to whom I have met and grown attached without knowing if and when we will meet again.

I'm sitting in a bus station in Medellín, Colombia, reflecting on the past two weeks. I spent the first part of my visit on the northern coast of the country in Barranquilla, where I spent six days in the home of a lovely family of ten; three incredibly smart and well-mannered brothers, their parents, aunt and uncle, grandparents, and the woman who has been helping around the house and has been part of their family since the mother and her two siblings were small children.

It takes a very special type of person to open his or her home to a foreigner s/he has never met and welcome this stranger with the enthusiasm this family showed not only to me, but to a French couple who was also staying in their home that week. To say I was moved by their hospitality feels like a horrible understatement. Upon arrival in Barranquilla, they picked me up at the airport, and returned the next evening to pick up the French couple. They even threw a party for the French woman's birthday! Carnaval arrived and we went to concerts, attended parades and shared meals. They showed us traditional dances of Barranquilla's Carnaval, Cumbia being the most popular and my personal favorite, and I shared Brasil's Samba with them. Mom and Grandma were always there to make sure I had eaten, to help me with laundry, and to make me feel at home. The brothers and I quickly became friends. We had plenty to talk about, and they were kind enough to include me in their social engagements that week. It was amazing how far everyone's hospitality extended. When it was time to leave, I found myself wondering if and when they would come visit me in Boston, and I do believe they will.

My Colombian family singing Happy Birthday to Caro, the French visitor. 

Carnaval in Barranquilla

I then came to mountainous Medellín, and once again, I was blown away by the hospitality with which I was met. My hostess was my own age, and was getting ready for her first trip to Europe, and would be leaving in just a few days. That in itself spoke volumes of her generosity. I don't believe there are many people who would make time to house and entertain a total stranger while trying to get ready for a big trip of their own. Could you do it? Maybe you could, but would you?

As soon as she arrived to pick me up, I could somehow sense how well we were going to get along, and the following days truly felt like visiting an old friend. We share a love for salsa, so we went out dancing along with some friends of hers. We spent the following days sharing ideas and experiences, telling stories and laughing, jogging and doing some things to get ready for her big trip. I also spent a lovely day with one of her friends who invited me to her family's home for lunch, took me to visit the University of Antioquia campus and to the Plaza Botero where one can find several of the world-renowned artist's proportionally exaggerated sculptures.

Everything about my visit to Medellín had this strange sense of familiarity. Instead of the awkwardness that often exists when you spend time with people you've just met, the three of us fell right into a comfortable rhythm, as if we had known each other for years, and were just doing what we always do. They didn't have to make time for me in their busy schedules. I am just a tiny, insignificant dot roaming this massive, pulsing planet. Yet they chose to make me feel worth their time, and our exchange made my dot status feel like something more meaningful.

 It seems that no matter how much time I spend traveling, I still find myself astounded by just how good people are as a whole. I don't know that when I set out on this thirteen-month journey I had any particular goals in mind. I just wanted to live each day doing whatever felt right to me, and to let my heart carry me in whichever direction its beat would decide. I can say with certainty that I learn something from every interaction that takes place, and they have been overwhelmingly positive. I sometimes struggle when it comes to these blog entries, because I worry about boring my readers with sappy, cliche tales of how amazing people can be. But let's stop and think about that for a minute. Is it not pretty inspiring that the world in which we live is just brimming with benevolent people who want to reach out and spread compassion? It makes the world feel like such a promising place. 

Patagonian Paradise

Up until just a few years ago, it was only an expensive brand of clothing I always noticed on the top floor of R.E.I. and every other outdoor store in which I had ever set foot. I wasn't sure what made Patagonia so famous until 2010, when I decided to take my students to Chile. After almost one year of planning and several rounds of negotiation with a company that could help me make it happen, we were headed south, to the Chilean side of Patagonia.

The bus rides alone were enough to leave my mouth agape. We were surrounded by vast expanses of land dotted with roaming alpaca and snow-capped mountains illuminated by soft morning sunlight, the road leading to them like a zipper.

As we set off on our trek, we came across gorgeous gauchos and their horses and marveled at the New England-like foliage and pristine blue streams as we hiked toward the granite giants in Torres Del Paine National Park. The rich, autumn-like colors and the crisp air did something to me, and I found myself thinking, “I could happily spend a while here”, and at that moment, I told myself I'd be back.

Fast-forward to January of 2013. I was sitting in Punta del Diablo, a dusty fishing village on the east coast of Uruguay, thinking about where my next destination should be. “Do I travel to the north of Argentina at this unbearably hot time and visit the desert-like regions, complete with salt flats?” And then it hit me...this is the perfect time to visit the Argentinian side of Patagonia! It took all of thirty minutes for me to research plane tickets and decide that my adventure would begin in El Calafate, home of Perito Moreno glacier. I had never seen a glacier in my life, and I couldn't think of anything that would thrill me more. A perfect change of pace after several months of summer heat.

As it turned out, even landing in El Calafate was exciting. The mountains in the distance and the strangely bright, green water below made me want to hit the ground running. My mind was already churning with imagines of what else awaited me.

To stare out into the silence of a two-million-year old, still-advancing glacier is to experience a type of beauty comparable to nothing else. To study its thousands of ridges, its sharp tips and sudden dips, its changes in hue from soft white to glowing blue, is to experience proper stupefaction. And just when you think you are beginning to digest the magnitude of this ancient mass, you hear a crackling sound pierce the air - not unlike a gunshot - and turn just in time to witness a giant piece of ice come crashing down into the bright water, rocking its surroundings, water splashing back up onto the glacial walls. And you wait for more.

El Chaltén, a three-hour ride north of El Calafate, is a hiker's paradise. It is a very small village, peppered with restaurants, lodging and a few small markets. There is on ATM in the mountain-surrounded village, zero cell phone reception and possibly one of the poorest internet connections in the whole of Latin America. So if you can post your “On Vacation” sign, forget about the rest of the world for a bit and focus your energy on all that nature has to offer, you'll be in for a real treat. There are campsites by lakes, and trails as short as one hour, and others that take seven just one way. It was Lago de Los Tres that solidified my love for the Argentine side of Patagonia. A constant view of Mount Fitz Roy getting closer and closer was only part of the joy of this trail. When you get to the top and find yourself before a shockingly blue lake surrounded by peaks and glaciers, it is difficult to find anything appropriate to say or do, other than to take a seat and just breathe it all in.

Bariloche was the perfect place to end my time in Patagonia, and the twenty-nine hour bus ride was worth it, although I admit that next time I would go for the plane. My days were spent hiking, swimming and lounging by lakes with picnic lunches and good company. The sunny paths boasting orange, yellow and purple flowers were a spectacular contrast against the blue backdrop of water. Berries are plentiful in Patagonia, and buying some fresh raspberries and boysenberries at a roadside stand to mix with some fresh yogurt was a sweet way to end a perfect, active day.

Patagonia invigorated me despite the exhaustion I felt at the end of most days. With no doubt in my mind, it is the south of Argentina that I prefer. I have been to Buenos Aires and watched dreamily as couples danced tango in La Boca. I've walked through the chic streets of La Recoleta neighborhood and enjoyed lazing away a few hours in its grassy parks, surrounded by Buenos Aires natives, the Porteños, whose accent is as sweet and smooth as thick, melty caramel. But in the south of the country lies the real gem. Sure, it may mean spending more than a budget traveler is accustomed to, or crouching to pee in an unseen patch of stick burrs. But it is well-worth it for the inner peace it brings, and I think it's safe to say that I plan to return, and I encourage you to do the same.