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Dispatches from Patagonia - Day 1: Coyhaique

It is hard to believe it, but I have been magically whisked away to an instant summer.  The grass is green, flowers are blooming (maybe I should have brought more allergy meds!), and moreso, the feel in the air is booming with summertime joy. You can feel that this is the very beginning of a season for outdoor leisure. While I only endured a few weeks of the cold, dark, snowy winter leading up to the winter solstice, the people around me have suffered a long and dark session that has just had a nail put in its coffin by the summer solstice.
The weather is still cool - jeans and long sleeves, especially when it is overcast as it is right now - and is perfectly reminiscent of early summer in Burlington. As it should be - I am currently around the 45 parallel South, equidistant nearly to where The Vermont-Canadian border is in the northern hemisphere. This sensation is distinctly different from when I travelled to Central America, where the heat and humidity was so different that it wasn't like I was transported to a summer that I knew in the completely opposite time of the year. In Guatemala, I was actually experiencing their invierno - normally translated as winter, which they use to refer to the dry season.
But this is most assuredly verano, no doubt about it. The sun didn't set until nearly 10 pm, and it is slated to rise early, around 6. Gives me plenty of tine to enjoy all that there is to enjoy here! More to come...

Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches

by Mary Oliver

Have you ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives --
tried to imagine what the crisp fringes, full of honey, hanging
from the branches of the young locust trees, in early morning, feel like?

Do you think this world was only an entertainment for you?

Never to enter the sea and notice how the water divides
with perfect courtesy, to let you in!
Never to lie down on the grass, as though you were the grass!
Never to leap to the air as you open your wings over the dark acorn of your heart!

No wonder we hear, in your mournful voice, the complaint
that something is missing from your life!

Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch?
Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot
in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself continually?
Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed
with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone?

Well, there is time left --
fields everywhere invite you into them.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away
from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

Quickly, then, get up, put on your coat, leave your desk!

To put one's foot into the door of the grass, which is
the mystery, which is death as well as life, and not be afraid!

To set one's foot in the door of death, and be overcome with amazement!

To sit down in front of the weeds, and imagine
god the ten-fingered, sailing out of his house of straw,
nodding this way and that way, to the flowers of the present hour,
to the song falling out of the mockingbird's pink mouth,
to the tippets of the honeysuckle, that have opened in the night

To sit down, like a weed among weeds, and rustle in the wind!

Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

While the soul, after all, is only a window,
and the opening of the window no more difficult
than the wakening from a little sleep.

Only last week I went out among the thorns and said to the wild roses:
deny me not,

but suffer my devotion.
Then, all afternoon, I sat among them. Maybe

I even heard a curl or tow of music, damp and rouge red,
hurrying from their stubby buds, from their delicate watery bodies.

For how long will you continue to listen to those dark shouters,

caution and prudence?
Fall in! Fall in!

A woman standing in the weeds.
A small boat flounders in the deep waves, and what's coming next
is coming with its own heave and grace.

Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things,
upon the immutable.
What more could one ask?

And I would touch the faces of the daises,
and I would bow down
to think about it.

That was then, which hasn't ended yet.

Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,
I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the ocean's edge.

I climb, I backtrack.
I float.
I ramble my way home.

---

My friend Michael recently reminded me of this poem when I met up with him in Burlington last night as he passed through. I had this poem committed to memory for some time (thanks to extensive theatre training), and I recited it at a sacred fire held after the death of a close friend of ours over five years ago.

Clearly, it is an amazing poem, and it was one of my inspirations for setting forth and trying to live a life filled with adventure and wonder. I know that in my three and a half years in between high school and college, that was my goal. Even during college, it was still my mantra. As time goes on, we all start to feel the pull to stay at the "desk" referenced in the poem, and we step out less and less into the "fields."

My last post explored the idea that we simply live with too much stuff, and this is what keeps us from getting out there and exploring. But I now realize that exploring doesn't just have to be the North Face-style "Never Stop Exploring" adventures that take you to the high peaks, distant shores, and isolated peoples of the world. Mary asks us if we have ever tried to enter the long black branches of other lives. People. Our family... friends... neighbors... and strangers.

I keep finding myself in positions where I just "don't have the time" for spontaneity anymore. To sit up all night in great conversation and not worry about what time I have to wake up in the morning. Those are the times when we can really enter the lives of other people. My good friend David Dunbar (whose amazing blog is linked on this site - the DKDK Zone), reminds us that is experience is what we do with what happens to us. One of the greatest things we can do with our experiences is to share them. With other people, to make meaning of it. This is where those long walks, not hurried dinners, and all-night conversations come into play. They help us make meaning.

Too often, we just don't allow the time for this to happen. Now, it may seem like I am being entitled, but I really don't think that we all have to work as hard as we think we do. If, as I said in the last post, we cast away most of those things that are holding us back, that are sucking our resources (monetary, physical, and emotional). We'd have more time to allow for long dinners, long walks, and long conversation if we weren't so tasked-out all day long. So, as time goes on, I will choose jobs and lifestyles that that allow me to take back time in my life. The time it takes to ramble my way home.

But Will it Make You Happy?

If you are able to get to this link to a recent article in the New York Times, I highly suggest the read. The article entitled "But Will it Make You Happy?" by Stephanie Rosenbloom is a good reminder for all of us about how we seek happiness.

My favorite quote from the article is the title of a paper written by researchers at Harvard and UVA: “If Money Doesn’t Make You Happy Then You Probably Aren’t Spending It Right.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/08/business/08consume.html?src=me&ref=homepage

What I love about this is that it is a perfect dose of advice for all of us who continue to be let down by the promises of our "You Can Have Whatever You Like" American Dream (sorry, T-Pain). My Spanish language teacher in Guatemala told me several times in our discussions (en Español) that anyone who had money and wasn't happy was crazy. If you saw where he lived and heard his life story, you would probably agree with his statement, regardless of how cynical he was being at the time.

In this article from the Times, the focus is on spending you money on experiences rather than things, because experiences will have a far more lasting impact, and the gratification is not instantaneous and (therefore) fleeting. So the next time we start wishing we had more money to do this or that, maybe we can just think about what it is we really want to do with our money, and spend less of it on the stuff that we think we ought to have.

On that note, I am gearing up for a two-week trip to Washington state filled with reconnecting with college friends, a 5- to 6-day long hiking trip in the North Cascades, and a two-night long Dave Matthews Band concert with a friend I haven't seen in years... I am looking forward to the memories already.

More to come on all that soon.

Homecoming

Well, after reading Joe's most recent post about how I don't post to my blog anymore, I thought... why the hell not!

First off, I will say that something I learned is that I would do a much better job of blogging had I brought some personal laptop computer with me. This way I could get my thoughts out when the mood struck, and not just when I happened to have internet access (and often trying to beat the clock in the internet café).
Well, now I am in San José, Costa Rica, with access to free, fast internet. So I will write. My journey is ending, and tomorrow morning - Saturday, May 1 - I get on Spirit Airlines for them to take me home to those country roads and the mountain momma of western North Carolina.

I must say that after 3 1/2 months, I am nothing but excited to return to the States. I am excited to see friends and partake in al my favorite traditions - LEAF, contra dances, potlucks, GOOD beer, and oh yeah, MY BICYCLES! Never again will I travel for so long without biking. One lesson learned.

Another lesson? I have loved travelling by myself, but in the future will certainly make sure that for any long-term travel I have more work (paid or volunteer) to give my time in the country(ies) I visit some purpose. It has been too long to go without working towards something. It has been a great exploration of self, but now I am at the brink of wallowing in self-absorption if I don't get to work soon!

My heart will most fondly remember the 9 weeks I spent getting to know the people, landscape, and history of Guatemala. I am thankful that I decided to get to know at least one country very well. Honduras and Costa Rica presented much fun in the sun (scuba, zip-lining, and other touristy things), and Nicaragua was, well, HOT, but absolutely a delight, especially since I spent it with great friends from back home.

I know now that for all the adventure and excitement I have been trying to pull into my life, I do truly miss so many of the things that might otherwise seem "routine" - such things as biking the same delightful trails and roads over and over again, delicious potluck brunches and dinners on someone's porch or yard, giving your partner or shadow an allaman left, sipping on beer and bullshitting about the same bullshit we always bullshit about. Or simply coming home to a familiar bed. It really isn't all that bad!

For me (and I emphasize this, because I know that others are different), travel brings me greater clarity of myself and my home. I am not simply a "citizen of the world." True, the world is getting smaller and smaller - for the good and the bad - and I listen to endless podcasts of nearly one dozen NPR shows just to keep up with it all, but I definitely yearn for citizenship and a sense of place somewhere particular. A place where I can truly live out my scatter-brained, do-it-all lifestyle (all those from Warren Wilson know what I am talking about).

This is because I don't have any ONE thing I am really into. I have a pu pu platter of interests, and thrive off of throwing myself into different situations and massively over-comitting myself. That has been the missing link on my travels in an otherwise pu pu platter-style adventure. Committment. To something, someone, some place. Alright, I know that you think that Ryan Morra commits to nothing... but that is only to abstract things in the future. I'd like to think that when it matters, I do throw myself whole-heartedly into whatever project comes my way. So I return to the grand U. S. of A. with a renewed commitmment to actually commit. I will give it a shot, and see how it goes. All else fails, I don't really have to commit, right?

Well, I think I will close with the ending lines of Mary Oliver's great poem "Have You Even Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches?":

Meanwhile, once in a while, I have chanced, among the quick things, upon the immutable.
What more could one ask?

And I would touch the faces of the daises,
and I would bow down
to think about it.

That was then, which hasn't ended yet.

Now the sun begins to swing down. Under the peach-light,
I cross the fields and the dunes, I follow the oceans's edge.

I climb, I backtrack.
I float.
I ramble my way home.

Thanks for reading... whoever you are.

YOU WANT TO SEE SOME PHOTOS?

Well, for now, just go to my Facebook page.

I have successfully loaded ALL my photos onto several albums. Much easier and faster than blogger.

Perhaps when I get back from another trek I will update the blog. Until then - enjoy!

Friday News Round-Up Part 2

Welcome back.

Now, if anyone knows anything about soccer/fútbol, you know that the rest of the world lives for it, so naturally in the second largest city of Guatemala, there will be a stadium. Albeit a... basic one with poured concrete tiered seating and a field that looks like it good use a green thumb.

But, Xela-ju, the Super Chivos (rams), are still a crowd pleaser here in Xela. As my teacher would later tell me though, they do stink. :-) Guatemala rarely makes it even remotely close to competeting in the world cup, and our new friend from Inglaterra (that's England) claims that a pub team could easily take these guys. But that doesn't stop the fun of going to a game.

Guatemalans have little care for screaming obscentities to the other team (or their own players who mess up big time), and spare no fanfare of drums, trumpets, flags, and even facepaint to support their local team. One of the more interesting encouters happened within the stadium when I tried to find the bathroom. I saw the one for "damas" but could not find "caballeros" anywhere. Then I looked at a wall in the back of the entryway, and saw a line of men just doing their thing on the concrete wall in a not so discrete manner. There was an armed guard less then 10 feet away who didn't seem to mind, so I just joined right on in.

Oh, and Xela-ju did end up winning 2-0.


Back to Zunil
Later in the week we revisited the town of Zunil (from the last post) in order to visit a famous church there as well as a women's textile cooperative. If anyone has interest in me bringing back a boldly colored hand bag or belt - please let me know! Every item seems to have a mix of any and every color below.


Another thing I was quite proud of is that the many German friends who helped form this cooperative made sure to include bicycle power in the textile machines. Ah, gotta love those Europeans. It made me smile.


The other favorite part of my visit was getting cursed. Yes. Even though we went to visit a town centered around religion, we did get cursed. Or, maybe that is precisely why it was bound to happen. The local saint, San Simon, is "housed" in a shrine room just a few streets down from the white church Zunil is famous for (and shown at the beginning of this section). Now, in order to enter the shrine area, it costs Q5 (less than $1), and to take a photo is another Q5. I so wish I did take a photo now, because you´d have to see this guy to believe he. He was one pimped out saint: cream colored suit with matching Fedora, sunglasses, mad bling bling around the neck, and a fat ole cuban cigar coming out of his mouth (this is a mannequin, mind you). I do have a friend who sneaked a photo (I am sure she is extra cursed), so maybe I will find for you.

Anyhow, we had one person go in for the group to take a legit photo. We all pitched in Q1. No big deal. Until. The man running the the show demanded Q5 (if not Q10) from each one of us because we had entered the foyer of the building - which was specifically mentioned as not costing anything. After a little bit of arguing back and forth with one of our Guatemalan teachers, the man let it be known that San Simon is going to curse us all. Dang. The recession is every being felt my mafioso appartions.

Perhaps my curse did come through when we played poker last night and three times in a row when I was dealt beautiful cards that allowed me to slow raise everyone else down to one person, I was suddenly defeated on the River. Dang you San Rimon! Well, I was only out Q4 (that's $0.50).

So this weekend is off to the beach, and then coming back in time for Super Bowl Sunday. Amazing how many people down here (and in Norway, apparently) follow the NFL. Go Saints!

Till next time.