of sociology and elephants

Two weeks in a vast circle around Chile and Argentina: finito.
No major physical injuries to claim, save one nasty bruise on my elbow- souvenir of my trekking mishap…but my mind seems to have come away spinning round on a sickening speed setting. I’ve spent the past two weeks with these major themes constantly in conversation:
Travel. Drugs. Faith.
And another constant “philosophy” being brought up as I finally convinced Sean to read Eat.Pray.Love. has been present- this idea of studying, exploration, purposeful discovery and searching, creativity…
This idea of finding self, reclaiming, redefining, accepting, moving with open arms, opening a third eye…

So all that this trip has left me with, I suppose, is a desire for exploration- a rekindled fire to ever move FORWARD, ever question, ever learn. And in light of all the more recent discussions of faith- this rebirth of an insatiable need to learn and seek has set itself ablaze within me. This burning to hear stories, philosophies, seek understanding, question the methods and prayers and practices of Christianity, Taoism, Buddhism, Judaism… just this desire for a full grasp on the world, a looser tongue with which to communicate with all the members of this world.
I crave understanding, context, example and a refuge in which to ask questions, debate, study, read and learn (maybe this is just the post-graduate panic setting in to my Nerd brain).

I know a lot of people in my life may interpret this as some lunacy new-age bullshit quest exposing me to the snares of conversion. Not so. I’m not quitting my job to go pet elephants from an ashram window in the slums of India, and I’m not going to go out and purchase all of the “spiritual” guidebooks in Oprah’s section of Barnes and Noble.( I did, however, pick up a collection of poems by Rumi and dust off my yoga-mat)
My mind is sound, albeit restless and hungry. As a sociologist I have been trained to reject complacency and stillness in my knowledge. I demand an environment with a constant influx of information, varying opinions, theories, stories, beliefs to feed into my common dialogue and thought process. I need to ask questions and experience and read just as much as I need to breathe. I need communication, I need to be challenged, I need to seek- lest I fall to fat ignorance for standing still too long in the same place of comfort and reasonable thinking lending itself to laziness and limited understanding of a world that is so vast.

I don’t know where the compass points next for this journey, though. Maybe India, maybe the Swiss Alps, maybe Lynn, Massachusetts. I have no idea, but I’m ready. My eyes are open and I even have a new pair of tortoise shell reading glasses- all the better to see you with, my dear. So pass me the cloak and the basket of bread and it’s over the river and through the woods, to wherever the winds may blow.

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass the world is too full to talk about.”
-Rumi

of chinese lanterns and chile

Bright paper pops of light dangle from the cathedral ceilings of this small log cabin Refugio hostel we have been directed to in Pucon, Chile- land of hot springs, volcanoes, waterfalls, rivers, mountains, and peace.
We left Bariloche yesterday morning with a few guys from our previous hostel and stayed in a the tiny, adorable town of San Martin for the night. I spent the afternoon hunkered down on a stone bench surrounded by rose bushes in a park while Sean walked around town trying to find the (only) hostel. A lovely Swiss couple asked us to share a bottle of wine with them and they joined us for a pre-sunrise walk to the bus station this morning to get here to Pucon. San Martin... what a gorgeous town. Where even the roses were trying to out do each other with their patterns and colours like I´ve never seen on roses before. If it weren´t that the Red Queen would insist on painting all flowers red, I would have thought we were in Wonderland. But her reign of terror would never have permitted crimson and cream striped petals, or an array of orange and peach colours layered on one another all within one rose.
Pucon is a quiet town, seems like all locals save those of us here at our campsite-cabin feeling Refugio. Sean and I opted for the 6-share tent in the back, plywood floor, chinese lantern in the center, dome tent and super soft bunk beds. There´s an outdoor kitchen, a ladder to assist in your pursuits with the cherry trees in the backyard, almost as many hammocks as there are trees, and a comfortable cabin inside with fireplace and high ceilings and Jack Johnson singing the sun through the windows. I feel like I´m back at the Shannon´s cabin in Bristol :)
Hard to believe that this trip is almost over.
At our previous hostel, at the Penthouse, we met up with Suzanna who had been with us since Mendoza, and as she checked in the day after us and was standing in the kitchen making tea and talking to another employee there- she walked herself right into a job there and decided, spoon in hand stirring her tea, that she would stay in Bariloche for the next...oh...maybe 3 months_ take Spanish classes, work at the hostel.. live life.
Mom- I promise you I almost enlisted right behind her.
After kayaking down a lovely lake with 4 others yesterday afternoon, having tea and an ICE cold swim and kayaking back, Sean & I and Suzanna made a feast of dinner with tortillini, sauteed onions and peppers with basil and some other spice that smelled really good... and toasted bread with olive oil, rosemary and basil. We toasted Suzanna´s new job, and threw the night to the wine and wind playing cards with a Swede and a Frenchman for our last night by the lake.
Now here´s to new evenings, new places, and Chile.

azul de Patagonia

Sean and I arrived here last night in darkness. after taking the service elevator to the back end of the dingy looking city centre building to the tenth floor, we found a penthouse transformed to a charming and richly decorated hostel in indian-vibes of red and orange, lamps, cushions, incense and tapestries- yet still we had no idea what we were really in for. we sat with our tea and coffee in plastic chairs with our feet on the cement railing of our balcony, watching the city lights grow to dark sky, to sparse stars, to thick clouds and talked of our time back in Uganda, all the while minding the mysterious black abyss on our right. what we knew was lake, we knew only by map. so we joked it was nothing- this deep darkness of the scene in front of us- a canyon, a pit, a mine unworth viewing, while secretly we let the mystery of darkness unwind us- me to a giddy smile in unadulterated anticipation of the scene only morning would unlock.
having been rewarded now, i swear i won´t stop smiling.

i have woken up from dreams to find myself firmly inserted in what can only be a real fairytale land. Bariloche. from a less-than-$20-dorm in a penthouse hostel on the 10th floor, lakeside of a highrise in Argentina.
and i dont dare to blink.
i literally woke up this morning at dawn and thanked god i had taken the top bunk last night instead of sean, opened my eyes and saw THIS.

beautiful doesn{t even touch the majesty of this scene.

wonderous is too little a word to scratch at the sensation of sitting on a balcony, drinking coffee, just silently watching this sherbert sunrise quite literally unfurl and spill over these mountains.

all this and i cry: there MUST be a creator.

rolls of hills and pine and rock cradle this small, layered lakeside town with its buildings of airs of Swiss style structure against the thin shoreline of the lake, surrounded by purple mountains and flowing, frothy candy clouds- a lake, a mirror for a bursting sunrise proclaiming *viva! life! i bring you today!* with all her fiery orange and diva pink tones in her rising voice.

resplendent is the small token of praise and recognition i offer.

and if all my travelling of South America, little as it may be, was but for THIS morning, this sunrise, i welcome the bruises, the aches, the cut on my right elbow, the tear gas and tight neck and lost sleep and carsickness on dry roads with arms holding nothing but gratitude.

of turquoise and addicts

I have always dismissed the style of sporting large stoned rings as I find they catch on everything, scratch others in a heated game of Egyptian Rat Screw, and just all in all are too flashy for my taste. However, amidst years of spoon rings and silver designed pieces, I have also worked in small turquoise numbers because I simply cannot escape the marvel I feel toward the particular colour. This past year I have managed to lose the last two turquoise rings that I used to have and so began my search through Maine's seaside towns, the Old Port, and every boutique and consignment store around Massachusetts's North Shore for the perfect turquoise ring.
Not to worry, I found one. :)

Other recent adventures have included starting a new job as case manager/project head in Lynn working with high school dropouts, kids on probation, etc. It's been a taxing position to start up a program with my supervisor only in contact a couple days a week from New Hampshire and just all around trying to keep my head on straight while managing the beginnings of this program, answering to my boss south of Boston, and trying to reel in kids from barber shop hang outs, street corners, and the ones who have all but completely slipped through the cracks in the Lynn school system. It's the most exciting, terrifying, incredible job I could have dreamed of.

In addition, the hotel I bartend at was hosting a conference of over 900 members of Narcotic's Anonymous. THAT was an interesting crowd. Throughout Friday afternoon, I saw:
A woman who had been drunk since the previous night, distraught over having just said goodbye to her possibly-soon-to-be-deployed-for-a-sixth-time fiancé (he was summoned to report to his commander after failing to show up for routine drilling a few weeks ago, and they both presume the consequence will be that he is deployed…?).
The local drunk sexist old man that comes in routinely throughout the week to drink pinot grigio and hit on women 1/3 of his age.
A man proudly spouting that he's been clean and sober since 1998.
Kids my age with tattoos and piercings, proactively attending marathon meetings and support sessions.
Two guys playing pool, where one said to the other following a scratch, "Simon, stop shooting heroine and start shooting pool!"
Two women calmly sitting down to lunch with decaf tea, sweater sets and genuine pearls.
And everything inbetween.
the clientele seen when one works at a hotel bar is far from mundane. I see it all, hear all the stories, and meet all the people from every walk of life imaginable. Movie producers, jazz musicians, the desperate fiancés of brave soldiers. Drug addicts from every walk of life, mothers of daughters looking for college, ranchers from Colorado. Bankers, brewers, bakers and Baptists. Officers and gentlemen, football coaches, high strung pageant moms with their toddlers in tiaras, the aspiring romance novelist, and the Chicago chef who drinks Canada Dry.
As a sociologist, I love it. I thrive on these interactions. On the varying degree of class and the constant change of faces and the countless accents and languages, skin colors, ages- everything. It's beautiful.
And I hear it all, too.
I hear the stories that make people laugh so hard when they remember, they nearly fall off their barstools (with only one drink!). I hear the stories of old couple that have been perfected to a rhythmic, familiar telling after years of sharing the tale with friends, family, strangers. I hear the stories that make one person blush, another guffaw, and the teller's eyes light up with the thrill of the memory. I hear political opinions, childhood memories, snippets from international travel, the tell-tale tragedy of business deals tanked, games won, moves made, girls lost…what was her name? I'll have another, yes- thank you. You know, you have very pretty eyes… Oh! Thanks, hun. That'll be five fifty.
And I love it all.
And I am happy to hand over the glass of water, extra ice, two limes with my turquoise-ringed hand to the beautiful transvestite drug addict, call it a day, turn off the lights, and walk away from the bar sober and fulfilled.