I’m in Cozumel. It’s my first time here. I’m lying on a towel in my black and white retro high waisted bikini–lathered in sunscreen, of course–already dry from a long swim in the ocean.
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.
Age, late 20s Pacific Northwest Roots In the weeks leading up to my journey to the Pacific Northwest, I was experiencing higher than normal levels of anxiety. Trying to chase and catch enough jobs so I would have enough money to pay rent and pay for my trip. I suppose I was feeling a sense…
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.
My anxiety was growing and I did not know what could relieve it. I visited Posada Itaca, an oasis of a farm only an hour and a half from Buenos Aires.
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.