Did you ever find what you were looking for?
Sometimes you hear a song or a new album by an artist you like and it just grabs you. It´s hot. It´s got it going on, and before you know it you´re head is bouncing and your feet are moving. But other times you hear something by a musician you thought you knew and loved, one you thought you understood and it´s completely unlike what you expected. You thought they were zigging and it turns out they were a-zagging. And you walk away confused not knowing what to think.
And sometimes that bit of art just sticks in the back of your mind. It just kinda eats away at you. And you go back to it time and time again and maybe what you think and feel changes with every listening. And you struggle with it, and you ponder about it, and when you least expect it a song jumps into your mind and you feel like maybe you have an idea of what they´re talking about, and it´s like you just heard it for the first time.
Lauryn Hill started out humbly before she exploded beyond belief. She and the Fugees broke all kinds of records, she killed us softly with that voice of hers. When she went solo she was still dropping killer beats and doing that thing she did. But you could kinda feel the change coming on. She sold millions or records and collected more than a handfull of Grammy´s.
But when she came out with her Unplugged 2.0 album it was entirely different than what I think anyone expected. Gone were the finely produced rhythms and enchanting vocals. It was just her and an acoustic guitar and her bracelet jangling along for accompanyment. Her voice cracked, her fingers missed the chords she was strumming, she stopped and started in the middle of songs and broke down and cried as she played. The lyrics were hard to follow, deep and introspective.
Critics and fans couldn´t agree on anything. Some piled on the critical praise, some though she must be having a nervous breakdown. But as I reflect on that album now I think it must be among the most courageous things any artist has ever put out. She wasn´t what she was supposed to be, she kept it real by ignoring everything everyone thought she should be doing and defining her own path.
That album is raw and open like Dylan´s ¨Blood on the Tracks¨ It´s defying the same way Beck´s ¨Sea Change¨was. It´s like when Bruce Springsteen went to Nebraska or when Cat Stevens gave up music altogether because he didn´t believe in it anymore. It´s like when Nirvana started the whole Unplugged trend by doing what they weren´t supposed to. Or like when Marvin Gaye asked What´s Going On, or Charlie Parker started playing with strings.
I haven´t heard much from Lauryn since that album came out. I don´t know what she´s up to, but I suspect she found that piece of mind she was looking for. And if not Lauryn, you know it´s just right there, all you gotta do is reach out and grab it.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Pain sure brings out the best in people, doesn´t it
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
As far as I could tell the town of Uyuni only existed for easy access to the Solar de Uyuni. Other than that there was nothing I wanted to see in this hallow testament to the poverty of Bolivia. Unfortunately as Bolivia is lacking a well developed infrastructure of just about every other country in the Americas I was stuck there for a day and a half waiting for the next bus to La Paz, where I would take another collectivo to get to Lake Titikaka.
For some odd reason the busses to La Paz only travel over night. This is a problem because given the open valley, the incredibly high altitude and the vicious winds the ride over unpaved roads was colder than the night we spent at 5,000 meters alongside the Laguna Colorado.
I knew we were in for trouble when they started handing out blankets. I supposed that meant the heated bus I was promised by the ticket vendor was not to be had. As the night went on I put on all the bits of clothing I could find. The wool socks came on, as did the fleece and the jacket, and the headband and the gloves. None of them kept me warm, but they beat back the cold enough so that I could bear the 9 hour ride. The latch on one of the windows broke, but luckily one of the bus operators was prepared with a roll of tape to tackle the blistering wind.
As I shivered to stay warm I thought about the e-mail my dad sent me while I was in Cuba. He told me he hoped I was enjoying this hard life I had chosen. And the truth was, I was. My life before I started on this journey was fairly comfortable. It was easy.
And I thought about my two months in Buenos Aires. The steaks and the wine, the nights out which turned into mornings, the fun and interesting people around every corner, and of course the lovely sights that Argentina had to offer. That was all fun. This was something different entirely.
But after two months in Buenos Aires I was just two months older. Sure my spanish got better, but even that I didn´t study as hard as I thought I would. I´ve taken to refering to it as my lost weekend. This hard life, really wasn´t so hard when I looked at the faces of the locals who did this would enough frequency that they didn´t consider complaining.
I thought about Nietzche the Philosopher and Conan the Barbarian. None of this would kill me, I could handle it all, perhaps it would make me stronger, or perhaps I´d just have a good story to tell. Either way, it wasn´t really so bad. And it was far preferable to the comfortable life I enjoyed earlier where the sun set infront of me and come up behind me and I was just another day older.
As sleep caught up with me, I dreamt of the sweltering carribean beaches that awaited. I had my ticket to Cuba purchased. I only needed to make it to Lima, Peru by the 7th of June. And while that meant I would have to cut short some of the sights I originally planned on seeing in Bolivia and Peru. I wouldn´t have it any other way. But really I suppose we all live our own hard lives or alternatively we wait to die an easy death.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
No Regrets
As our group of not-so-merry travellers rode along the Bolivian landscape in our 4x4 jeep along with our guide and cook we took in the scenery that unfolded before us. Beyond every pass another spectacular view point presented itself, more unique and awe-inspring than the once before it. A diversity lagoons, packs of wild llama and apaca, thermal springs and rolling mountains that I simply couldn´t imagine picturing anywhere else but the southwest corner of Bolivia.
But after 3 consecutive 7 hour days packed in a jeep, journeying through the desert that burned us during the day and froze us at night, suffering the affects of altitude sickness that the local medicine couldn't seem to alleviate and wanting for a hot-shower there wasn´t a lot of cheer to go around. We idly glanced at the towering cacti, the vivid rolling rock faces and the perfect snow capped volcanos set amongst the painted desert. The Brazilian girls continued jabbering away in Portuguese but the Canadian guy and I had run into a lull in our conversation. My thoughts turned once again to how fast I could make it to Lima if providence worked in my favor.
I´ve seen more splendid sights in the past several months than I previously thought possible. And while every beautiful mountain, ever winding river and every white-sand beach made me stop and ponder the masters plan that created these sights none of them tortured my thoughts the way a single human soul did.
I´d started this four-day trek not knowing where my next destination would be, but hoping and dreaming that somehow fate and fortune would find a way to deliver me back to where I wanted to be most. Arrogance, pride and insecurity kept me from absolutely throwing caution and reason to the wind and doing the inadvisable. But I told myself to be patient, not to fret about what I couldn´t control and wait and see what the world presented me. Those words brought me comfort but I still found myself imagining what messages might await me once I was finally connected back with civilization. No matter how I tried, I couldn´t control the anxiety that boiled inside.
The fourth day of our journey we finally came to the Salar de Uyuni. The largest, highest salt flat in the world. All of us were in a little better mood after a decent night sleep and finally having had a shower. The Korean girl even managed to make a few jokes and jump into the conversation. And when we found ourselves in the middle of the 12 thousand square kilometer, 8 meter deep, remnant of a long forgotten sea we forgot our trifling complaints and marvelled at this surreal sight.
This great salt flat is nothing like I previously imagined. And I continued to be shocked at the thought that this scene wasn´t known throughout the world and recognized as the one of a kind spectacle that it was. As we stopped and lunched at the Isla de Pescado, an ancient coral reef that died and gave way to a land of mass jutting above the flat stretches of salt that seemed to go on forever, dotted with towering cacti older than the civilization that now protected it, that for thousands of years lay at the bottom of an ancient sea which vanished once the neighboring volcanos forced this entire region towards the heavens, we counted our fortune and being able to witness this sight ourselves and knew that no words or pictures could convey what we were seeing with any sense of justice.
We eventually made it to the end of our journey to the uninspiring town of Uyuni and our group of 5 travellers agreed to spend the night before heading our own seperate ways tomorrow. We found a hostel and a hot shower and figured out tickets to our next destination and made plans for dinner. My thoughts once again turned to what messages could possibly be awaiting.
My Dutch friend Joost who I met in Cuba gave me some excellent advice not too long ago. He told me that when you experience magic in its truest form you only have two options. You can try to recapture that magic or not. If you try and fail, you will certainly be disappointed. If you succeed there is no limit to the rewards that await you. But if you never try at all you will certainly spend the rest of your life regretting your decision.
When I finally checked my e-mail the message I had been hoping for was there. I already knew that Joost was heading back to Cuba. And now so was I, coincidently during the same dates. But I of course was not heading to see him. I was venturing of to chase a lightening bolt, hoping it would strike twice in the same spot.
As our group of not-so-merry travellers rode along the Bolivian landscape in our 4x4 jeep along with our guide and cook we took in the scenery that unfolded before us. Beyond every pass another spectacular view point presented itself, more unique and awe-inspring than the once before it. A diversity lagoons, packs of wild llama and apaca, thermal springs and rolling mountains that I simply couldn´t imagine picturing anywhere else but the southwest corner of Bolivia.
But after 3 consecutive 7 hour days packed in a jeep, journeying through the desert that burned us during the day and froze us at night, suffering the affects of altitude sickness that the local medicine couldn't seem to alleviate and wanting for a hot-shower there wasn´t a lot of cheer to go around. We idly glanced at the towering cacti, the vivid rolling rock faces and the perfect snow capped volcanos set amongst the painted desert. The Brazilian girls continued jabbering away in Portuguese but the Canadian guy and I had run into a lull in our conversation. My thoughts turned once again to how fast I could make it to Lima if providence worked in my favor.
I´ve seen more splendid sights in the past several months than I previously thought possible. And while every beautiful mountain, ever winding river and every white-sand beach made me stop and ponder the masters plan that created these sights none of them tortured my thoughts the way a single human soul did.
I´d started this four-day trek not knowing where my next destination would be, but hoping and dreaming that somehow fate and fortune would find a way to deliver me back to where I wanted to be most. Arrogance, pride and insecurity kept me from absolutely throwing caution and reason to the wind and doing the inadvisable. But I told myself to be patient, not to fret about what I couldn´t control and wait and see what the world presented me. Those words brought me comfort but I still found myself imagining what messages might await me once I was finally connected back with civilization. No matter how I tried, I couldn´t control the anxiety that boiled inside.
The fourth day of our journey we finally came to the Salar de Uyuni. The largest, highest salt flat in the world. All of us were in a little better mood after a decent night sleep and finally having had a shower. The Korean girl even managed to make a few jokes and jump into the conversation. And when we found ourselves in the middle of the 12 thousand square kilometer, 8 meter deep, remnant of a long forgotten sea we forgot our trifling complaints and marvelled at this surreal sight.
This great salt flat is nothing like I previously imagined. And I continued to be shocked at the thought that this scene wasn´t known throughout the world and recognized as the one of a kind spectacle that it was. As we stopped and lunched at the Isla de Pescado, an ancient coral reef that died and gave way to a land of mass jutting above the flat stretches of salt that seemed to go on forever, dotted with towering cacti older than the civilization that now protected it, that for thousands of years lay at the bottom of an ancient sea which vanished once the neighboring volcanos forced this entire region towards the heavens, we counted our fortune and being able to witness this sight ourselves and knew that no words or pictures could convey what we were seeing with any sense of justice.
We eventually made it to the end of our journey to the uninspiring town of Uyuni and our group of 5 travellers agreed to spend the night before heading our own seperate ways tomorrow. We found a hostel and a hot shower and figured out tickets to our next destination and made plans for dinner. My thoughts once again turned to what messages could possibly be awaiting.
My Dutch friend Joost who I met in Cuba gave me some excellent advice not too long ago. He told me that when you experience magic in its truest form you only have two options. You can try to recapture that magic or not. If you try and fail, you will certainly be disappointed. If you succeed there is no limit to the rewards that await you. But if you never try at all you will certainly spend the rest of your life regretting your decision.
When I finally checked my e-mail the message I had been hoping for was there. I already knew that Joost was heading back to Cuba. And now so was I, coincidently during the same dates. But I of course was not heading to see him. I was venturing of to chase a lightening bolt, hoping it would strike twice in the same spot.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Bolivia at long last
After spending a few more days exploring Northern Argentina I decided to cross into Bolivia. The border was only a short 5 hour bus ride from Jujuy and I spent just about all of it staring out the window the landscape unfolded.
Both the Argentinean and Bolivian customs and immigrations were suprising efficient. The border town of Villazon however did not seem to have much to offer, and my plan was to get out of there quick. I was hoping Villazon wasn´t representative of the rest of Bolivia.
I knew I wanted to explore the Solar de Uyuni, the highest salt flat in the world. It seems like there are a lot of sights in Bolivia that are prefaced with ¨the highest blah blah blah in the world.¨ I suppose that´s because Bolivia is pretty high, must be the coca leaves they sell freely in the markets.
But I found out that the train to Uyuni didn´t run on tuesdays and that left me with the option of waiting around for another day or taking the a collectivo across the dirt roads for 7 hours. But a friendly Bolivian who noticed the disappointed look on my face suggested I head to Tupiza instead, only two hours away by collectivo. Lots to do and see he assured me. And since the Lonely Planet seemed to confirm this idea I hopped on the next bus out of town.
Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, and everything I passed by proved to be a testament to that fact. And of course that means everything regarding tourism is quite cheap. When I arrived at the nicest hostel in Tupiza I was told a dorm room was 20 Bolivianos ($2.50) per night, but I could get a private room with a private bath for 35 Bolivianos ($4.50). So I decided to splurge.
Tupiza is a charming little town set among the broken rock face of the surrounding mountains. It´s main claim to fame is that it was the scene of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid´s last heist before they were gunned down just a few 100 kilometers away. I´m constantly amazed when I realize how small this world has become in the last several years, but it´s stranger still to think it´s been small enough, long enough that two characters that I unequivacably associate with the Wild West met there fate in Southwestern Bolivia a 100 years ago.
The next day I arranged for a guide to take me on horseback through the same canyons and valleys that those two outlaws rode through so many years ago. This was actually my first experience being on a horse amazingly enough. There was that 15 minute pony-ride in Colombia but that hardly counts.
Horses are great animals, but the steering can be a little tricky. It´s like they have a mind of their own. 2nd gear was pretty unconfortable but when that horse kicked it into a gallop the ride got real fun real fast. I found myself annoyed once again that I´d lost my camera in Buenos Aires, one of these days I really must buy a new one.
The good part about the 5 hour ride around Southwest Bolivia is I may no longer have to worry about whether or not I want to have kids, I´m not sure I can procreate anymore, saddle sores are no joking matter.
Tomorrow I head off on a 4 day jeep trek across the Solar de Uyuni, I´m not really sure what to expect but I hear the salt flats are a sight to be seen. So far, Bolivia is treating me pretty well.
After spending a few more days exploring Northern Argentina I decided to cross into Bolivia. The border was only a short 5 hour bus ride from Jujuy and I spent just about all of it staring out the window the landscape unfolded.
Both the Argentinean and Bolivian customs and immigrations were suprising efficient. The border town of Villazon however did not seem to have much to offer, and my plan was to get out of there quick. I was hoping Villazon wasn´t representative of the rest of Bolivia.
I knew I wanted to explore the Solar de Uyuni, the highest salt flat in the world. It seems like there are a lot of sights in Bolivia that are prefaced with ¨the highest blah blah blah in the world.¨ I suppose that´s because Bolivia is pretty high, must be the coca leaves they sell freely in the markets.
But I found out that the train to Uyuni didn´t run on tuesdays and that left me with the option of waiting around for another day or taking the a collectivo across the dirt roads for 7 hours. But a friendly Bolivian who noticed the disappointed look on my face suggested I head to Tupiza instead, only two hours away by collectivo. Lots to do and see he assured me. And since the Lonely Planet seemed to confirm this idea I hopped on the next bus out of town.
Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, and everything I passed by proved to be a testament to that fact. And of course that means everything regarding tourism is quite cheap. When I arrived at the nicest hostel in Tupiza I was told a dorm room was 20 Bolivianos ($2.50) per night, but I could get a private room with a private bath for 35 Bolivianos ($4.50). So I decided to splurge.
Tupiza is a charming little town set among the broken rock face of the surrounding mountains. It´s main claim to fame is that it was the scene of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid´s last heist before they were gunned down just a few 100 kilometers away. I´m constantly amazed when I realize how small this world has become in the last several years, but it´s stranger still to think it´s been small enough, long enough that two characters that I unequivacably associate with the Wild West met there fate in Southwestern Bolivia a 100 years ago.
The next day I arranged for a guide to take me on horseback through the same canyons and valleys that those two outlaws rode through so many years ago. This was actually my first experience being on a horse amazingly enough. There was that 15 minute pony-ride in Colombia but that hardly counts.
Horses are great animals, but the steering can be a little tricky. It´s like they have a mind of their own. 2nd gear was pretty unconfortable but when that horse kicked it into a gallop the ride got real fun real fast. I found myself annoyed once again that I´d lost my camera in Buenos Aires, one of these days I really must buy a new one.
The good part about the 5 hour ride around Southwest Bolivia is I may no longer have to worry about whether or not I want to have kids, I´m not sure I can procreate anymore, saddle sores are no joking matter.
Tomorrow I head off on a 4 day jeep trek across the Solar de Uyuni, I´m not really sure what to expect but I hear the salt flats are a sight to be seen. So far, Bolivia is treating me pretty well.
Monday, May 22, 2006
One step closer to something or other
I first heard about San Salvador de Jujuy when I was lying on the Ipanema beach. The Argentinean guy I met there, Flaco, lives in Jujuy. As we were parting ways he told me I should come to Jujuy when I´m in Argentina and get a hold of him.
Well after a 12 hour bus ride from Cordoba I did make it to Jujuy. Unfortunately I had long since lost the little piece of paper that had Flaco´s e-mail address and phone number. That wasn´t too suprising seeing as I have lost my fair share of things while I´ve been travelling. My wallet, my ATM card, my camera (I bet you were wondering why you haven´t seen any pictures lately, huh?) and most recently my comb.
I also ran out of shaving creme and have kinda just decided to let that be. I won´t worry about shaving or combing my hair for a while. I think it gives me a crazed look that I kinda like. Plus I´m hoping my new beard keeps me warm as I meander through the unforgiving mountain ranges passing autumn by.
After spending 25 hours in busses of one form or another and another 15 hours hiking in the last 3 days my body was letting me know it was not a fan of this itinerary. So when I got to Jujuy and heard about the thermal springs only an hour away I was sold. The one-hour turned to almost 2 when factoring in how long it took to figure out directions and waiting for the collectivo to come.
But I´ve been promising myself to not press and just let things happen in their own good time. And soon enough I was at the Termas de Reyes overlooking a beautiful valley. The termas turned out to be water piped from a thermal spring high up in the mountains into a couple of swimming pools by the city. But it was amazingly relaxing nonetheless.
My body had began complaining a few days ago and I could pinpoint every sore spot to a root cause. The side of my knee where I bit it on my mountain bike a couple years ago. My right shoulder from where I wiped out swimming on the Ipanema. My back where I hurt myself playing basketball countless ages past.
But as I soaked in those mineral waters everything started feeling like new again. I even got a chance to swim again for the first time in since I was in Brazil. It was nice to know that I hadn´t forgotten everything I´d learned, and giving it all a couple months to sink in seemed to work fairly well.
Tomorrow I was planning on figuring out how to get to Bolivia and what to do once I got there. There was this poster in the common area of the hostel I was staying at that caught my attention too, La Quebrada de Pucamarca and I was going to work on checking that out. I keep finding myself awe struck at the scenery I pass. The world we inhabit it truly a remarkable place, there´s no place I´d rather live.
I first heard about San Salvador de Jujuy when I was lying on the Ipanema beach. The Argentinean guy I met there, Flaco, lives in Jujuy. As we were parting ways he told me I should come to Jujuy when I´m in Argentina and get a hold of him.
Well after a 12 hour bus ride from Cordoba I did make it to Jujuy. Unfortunately I had long since lost the little piece of paper that had Flaco´s e-mail address and phone number. That wasn´t too suprising seeing as I have lost my fair share of things while I´ve been travelling. My wallet, my ATM card, my camera (I bet you were wondering why you haven´t seen any pictures lately, huh?) and most recently my comb.
I also ran out of shaving creme and have kinda just decided to let that be. I won´t worry about shaving or combing my hair for a while. I think it gives me a crazed look that I kinda like. Plus I´m hoping my new beard keeps me warm as I meander through the unforgiving mountain ranges passing autumn by.
After spending 25 hours in busses of one form or another and another 15 hours hiking in the last 3 days my body was letting me know it was not a fan of this itinerary. So when I got to Jujuy and heard about the thermal springs only an hour away I was sold. The one-hour turned to almost 2 when factoring in how long it took to figure out directions and waiting for the collectivo to come.
But I´ve been promising myself to not press and just let things happen in their own good time. And soon enough I was at the Termas de Reyes overlooking a beautiful valley. The termas turned out to be water piped from a thermal spring high up in the mountains into a couple of swimming pools by the city. But it was amazingly relaxing nonetheless.
My body had began complaining a few days ago and I could pinpoint every sore spot to a root cause. The side of my knee where I bit it on my mountain bike a couple years ago. My right shoulder from where I wiped out swimming on the Ipanema. My back where I hurt myself playing basketball countless ages past.
But as I soaked in those mineral waters everything started feeling like new again. I even got a chance to swim again for the first time in since I was in Brazil. It was nice to know that I hadn´t forgotten everything I´d learned, and giving it all a couple months to sink in seemed to work fairly well.
Tomorrow I was planning on figuring out how to get to Bolivia and what to do once I got there. There was this poster in the common area of the hostel I was staying at that caught my attention too, La Quebrada de Pucamarca and I was going to work on checking that out. I keep finding myself awe struck at the scenery I pass. The world we inhabit it truly a remarkable place, there´s no place I´d rather live.
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