As they walked away the baby girl watched me and smiled and then started giggling with joy. As if our encounter had tickled her as much as it did me.
Standing on the platform, I try to ignore the thoughts about what I look like and focus on something else. Anything else. At least I know that the reality is, I don’t know these people and they don’t care about me.
Colonia del Sacramento in Uruguay moves at a slower pace and is a much needed sanctuary from the never ending commotion of Buenos Aires, across the river in Argentina.
The air. The air is always different. Buenos Aires air is heavy. It’s a city without a filter. Loud noises. Chaotic sidewalks. And a brilliantly blue sky.
Cloaked in a yellow dusty light was the pueblo of Tilcara. All I will say for now about camping in Tilcara during Carnaval is this: Don’t do it.
Intense Carnaval under Tilcara’s bright sun, Incan ruins, eating llama, camping in the cold Andes, and viewing the Hill of Seven Colors. There is much to tell.
The wind was beautiful and soulful, light yes riddled with gusts of beauty. On the walk to Mount Shannon I heard Irish ancestors speak to me in the mist.
The Himalayas were always releasing snow and pouring it down the mountainsides, keeping the stream behind the nunnery filled with fresh water.
No, this isn’t some city girl complaining about a small town. Easiest way to express how much you don’t want to move? Call everything crappy.
Why, when I am in the midst of an amazing, beautiful and rare adventure am I paralyzed by myself? Why do I fear life? I drift through the days, counting.