Coming to South America

the view from heavenThe moment I stepped foot on South American soil is but a distant memory, one that I attempt to recreate but seems unattainable in the mass amount of experiences I have enjoyed since that fateful moment. My journey has taken me from the city of Buenos Aires to the remote barren desert of Bolivia to the jungles of Ecuador and all the way back again. In what was only two months of travel, I became a walking art installation weaving my way through back roads, luscious forests, deadly highways and run down hostels. I was the “moving post card” so to say, a tall blond guy with a huge head of hair getting gawked out wherever I went and yet simultaneously feeling at home in the most foreign of places.

The more I lost myself on the road, the more I realized that losing yourself is the only way to find what you’ve been looking for (as cheesy as that may sound). An example of one of these moments was when I traveled by boat to Isla Del Sol in the middle of lake Titicaca. I met some random German people who were the most hardcore travelers I met on my journey. I’m talking cooking with a camp stove, sleeping in tents, carrying around pounds of rice and hiking for days on end with no destination in mind. Though I myself wasn’t exactly this type of traveler, and when I say not exactly I mean not at all, these nomads would keep me alive for what was to be a crazy journey to the Island of the Sun. We made our way to the Island in a shanty boat with a crazy driver who piled as many people and things onto the vessel as possible. I’m talking wooden toilets, cut up beef products, tools, chickens in cages, plungers, fruits, vegetables and a score of other random things in bags that I didn’t venture to look through. As the boat trudge along the water I made my way to the top part of the boat and peered out at the island that laid before us. It was at this moment that I finally felt like I had begun my travels. The stench of meat in the air, the random people who had become my new best friends, the dangerous waters that the boat battled against and me- one random American who had finally made his way to the lake who’s name he used to poke fun at in elementary school.

The Germans and I found ourselves homeless in an island with just a 100 families, most of whom had lived there for generations, dating back as far as the Incan civilization. We found a place to stay with the most beautiful view I had ever encountered in my life, and I hadn’t even seen it at night yet. We made our way to the hospedaje and were greeted by Pablo, one of 5 brothers who had lived on the island his whole life and whose toothless smile couldn’t help but make you want to stay in his home for a couple nights. I realized that I had arrived at the island with only 70 bolivianos in hand, about 10 US dollars and I immediately asked where an ATM or maquina de dinero was. I was responded to with a hand that pointed to the mainland, and right than and there I realized I was in for an experience. For three days and nights I ate food that I scrounged up from random tourists and locals I met on the island. I had no money to pay for the hospedaje so I did chores to help renovate the hostel. I slaved away moving rocks and cutting down trees. I painted buildings, removed disgusting bugs and did everything that a tourist with no money in the middle of lake Titicaca is forced to do, when they can’t pay for anything. Though it wasn’t the most typical experience one encounters on a vacation, it was a truly rewarding experience and one that wont soon be forgotten.