Three's Company (Monday, November 28th)

I had the honor to spend last week with Brian Baker and Brian Bielen, two of my very closest friends from Montana, in what turned out to be one of the most memorable and enjoyable weeks of my life. On the surface, this was a week spent hiking the trails of Southern Utah, exploring the treasures of hidden spur-canyons, chatting late into the night around a warm fire, and eating delicious meals of fresh venison and homegrown potatoes. But underneath, this was a week that taught me a lot about the importance of friendship, the beauty of companionship, and the constant struggle for personal integrity.

(I know. I know. It seems like every day is a life lesson and every experience brings some epic epiphany. It is what it is. So we'll continue...)

I am so grateful to have had the chance to share this enchanting place with two people like Brian and Brian: two people who truly love the outdoors, who are always looking for an adventure, who participate on a daily basis with the world around them, and who appreciate the beauty and silence of the desert. I experienced this place much differently with them than I would have on my own. Neither better nor worse--just differently. Their keen eyes allowed me to focus on details I would have otherwise brushed over--the patterns of colors and lines in rock walls and the curvature and texture of the soft sand and unique pebbles. Their curious natures allowed for us to explore unmarked canyons and unveil the secret hiding places of ancient granaries and villages. Together, we were kids again--asking the unanswerable questions, noticing the smallest details, immersing ourselves into this big unknown world, and laughing until we couldn't breath.

Spending this time with them also gave me the chance to test some of the personal theories and positions that I had been developing over the past few weeks. If my new perspectives were truly genuine, then I would have to maintain them while remaining comfortable and confident around the people that I care about most. If they accept me, and most importantly if I accept me, then the quality is worth embodying and strengthening. So I was able to test some things out: staying slow and being present while power-hiking at top speeds through a canyon, looking inwardly at ones own perfections and imperfections before looking outwardly at the qualities of others, being humbled by a world so big that neither you nor your friends can grasp it, and coming to understand that true freedom comes from that humility.

So here's the "A-ha moment." Let's skip the long explanation and go straight to what I know. Happiness, as well as the answers to life's great questions, comes from inside an individual. I hold my key, just as you hold yours. I need me--truly present and fully aware--I need me. However, we often need others to spark us, to share with us what they have already discovered, and to pull those mysteries out from deep within us. We need others. My search for community, for understanding, and for commonality is not a weakness, but a strength. I need others. And that's humbling. I wonder, then, if maybe true freedom will come from that humility as well...

The Farm Tour: Three farms in two weeks (Saturday, November 19th)

Networking. Networking. Job security. Get yourself out there. Make connections. Business cards. Resumes. Applications. Charm them. Smile more. Chin up. Work harder. Make them want you. Networking. Networking.

 

Don't worry. It's not like that. Not entirely, at least. From the moment I started planning this trip, I knew I wanted to supplement my hiking and exploring with farmwork and manual labor. I wanted to begin to immerse myself into the ever-growing network of local, organic farms; I wanted to meet farmers, have conversations, learn individual techniques, and see how different people are responding to current conditions. Logistically, I wanted to stay fresh and healthy throughout my travels; I wanted my body to maintain its strength and stamina, and I wanted to continue to have a supply of local, organic food. And of course, I wanted to introduce myself to southwestern farmers so when my job in Tuscon is finished, I will have plenty of nearby, quality internship opportunities.

 

Okay, it's networking. But it is networking in the most enjoyable, fulfilling, beautiful way.

 

Even though I only spent a few days at each farm, I still learned so much--both technically and philisophically. At each place, I participated in the daily routines--milking the goats and processing the milk into cheese and yogurt, weeding and watering the gardens, feeding the chickens and cleaning the coup, cooking and sharing meals with the families. Moreover, because I visited these places in the off-season, I was able to participate in the end-of-season rituals--chopping wood for winter, packing the root cellar, collecting and storing the watering lines, building and reparing green houses. I guess it didn't really surprise me to see how different each of these three farms was. Each farmer was his own character--from idealistic hippy to retired construction worker--and each farm had a different relationship with the surrounding commmunity--from a communal space of sharing and growth to a protected safe-haven against angry conservative neighbors who think environmentalists are destroying the country and ruining the economy. And yet, each farm had a similar thread, a thread that I have seen at each farm I have ever known, and a thread that still shocks and amazes me each time. Farmers are brilliant, well-rounded, remarkably proficient individuals. Not only are they animal caretakers and master growers, but also they are contractors, mechanics, plumbers, electritions, marketers, businessmen, community leaders, philosophers, and economists. They do it all. They do it all because they have to. I'll get there, but I have a lot to learn.

 

Apart from the technical skills and the nit-picky specifics, the philisophy of farming  is--in and of itself--its own subject to master. Farmers see the world differently. I don't yet fully understand it, and I don't expect to be able to fully explain it. As caretakers of the earth and providers for their communities, they have their own set of values and priorities. Time and space take on a quality of their own; farmers work in seasonal cycles yet their timeline expands accross generations; they focus on the mundane details of the field yet they are always aware of their inextricable connection to the rest of the world. Success and failure are defined on their own set of terms. The act of daily work helps to achieve a degree of physical, emotional, and intellectual enlightenment. And at the end of the day--no matter how politically involved a farmer may be, no matter how much he cares for his community, no matter how much he thinks he can change the world--all a farmer can do is live his life the best way he knows. He is the change he wishes to see.

 

For me, my time spent on these few farms has reassured me that I am exactly where I need to be. It fits so perfectly. Like a farmer, I find joy and fulfillment in any form of physical and mental labor. For me, that is the purest form of fun. As a farmer, your work is your play. In fact, your work time is your personal time. Your life becomes seemless. There is no difference between the working businessman and the at-home caretaker. You are everything. All the time. All at once. So you better love what you do--fully and completely--or you'll never make it. You must find wonder in all the details. You must pay attention. Constantly. Because there are no problems. There are only solutions. Create your perfection. It's not easy. I know this. But it's a fight worth joining and a life worth living. If not me, who? And if not now, when? (Sidenote: that's 2 MLK Jr. quotes in one blog).

 

And that's what I'm doing. Networking. Networking. Job security. Get yourself out there. Make connections. Business cards. Resumes. Applications. Charm them. Smile more. Chin up. Work harder. Make them want you. Networking. Networking

 

Or something like that.

Capitol Reef National Park (Monday, November 7)

I just spent the last few days in the Land of the Sleeping Rainbow…Capitol Reef National Park. One of Southern Utah’s many treasures, Capitol Reef is slightly off the beaten path and often overshadowed by the infamous Bryce, Zion, and Arches. But come on…with a tagline about “sleeping rainbows,” I had to be there. And oh my goodness, what a beautiful treasure it is.

This was my first exposure to the intense red rock for which Southern Utah is known. 800 ft. of sheer cliffs. Huge hidden arches. Canyons and mountains and gorges with snowcapped mountains in the background. The landscape was truly remarkable.

The benefits of visiting National Parks compared to National Forest and BLM land is that the history is preserved as well. Of course, their modest—but thorough—visitor center provided plenty of information on the geological prehistory and the waves of Native American occupation. But for me, the best part was learning about the frontiersman and homesteaders that occupied the space well until the 1950s. While the majority of the country was celebrating the post WWII boom, these families—occupying a small ‘town’ called Fruta—were living without running water and electricity, were working the land with horse drawn plows and man power to produce orchards and gardens, and were occupying their time with reading and quilting. We’re not talking hundreds of years ago. Mere decades, no more. And the evidence is still there—blacksmith shops displaying the range of skills a person must master, the one room school house that doubled as a church, and the rows and rows of heirloom fruit trees that the NPS still maintains and that guests can come and harvest during the season. Yes—participatory farming on the NPS level. Beautiful.

So if you’re ever in the area, I suggest you come. It really is in the middle of ‘nowhere.’ I drove over 100 miles from the east and passed through three towns, two of which had gas stations and none of which seemed to feature any people. The bordering town of Torrey all but closes up in the winter months. But even here, treasures are to be found. A small apple tree outside a school yard with plenty of fallen fruit to pick, an unopened traveler information building with an electric plug outside, and a small pizza bar open from 5 to 10 every day that will play the Sunday Night Football Games. Perfect.

So now, my days of endless hiking and exploring are going to be put on the back burner. It is time to begin my other intention for the trip: farming. Cainville to Boulder to Moab. Let’s see just how much I can learn and experience from a mere few days at each farm. And just in time, too, because there were 4 in. of snow on the ground when I woke up this morning. Oh, how confusing this desert it.

San Rafeal Swell (Saturday, November 5)

I spent the first week of my roadtrip exploring the San Rafeal Swell in central eastern Utah. When I first began planning my adventure, I thought I would first head all the way down to Zion, located in the most southwest corner. From there, I would work my way northeast, hitting Bryce, Escalante, Canyonlands, and Arches before heading down into New Mexico and Arizona. But a good friend of mine suggested against it, saying that if I wanted to experience an eye-opening introduction to the real Southern Utah, I had to hit the Swell first. So that’s what I did, and holy cow…was he ever right.

The San Rafeal Swell is an absolutely breathtaking, and marvelously undervisited, piece of landscape. Baziollions of years ago (more or less), an egg-shaped section of the earth’s crust was uplifted. This chunk of land, roughly 124km by 65 km, has slowly morphed over time as wind and water erode the dirt and rocks. The dense—albeit fragile—masses that remain display a variety of canyons, reefs, buttes, and mesas of all shapes, sizes, and colors. It is truly beautiful.

I wish I could put this in a more lyrical way, but it would lack zest. Southern Utah is simply bad ass. It is harsh and unforgiving. It is real and it does not mess around. If you’re not already humbled by nature by the time you visit the Swell, you will become humbled rather damn quickly. So come prepared with more than you think you need. Check the weather and plan ahead. Take a good map and pay attention to all details or you’ll get lost, swept up in a flash flood, or worse.

Gosh though what a wonderful experience. Every day I see something completely different. Every bend hides yet another surprise. Huge orange overbearing cliffs of Buckhorn Wash. Tight narrows of the wild horse canyon. Ancient pictographs of Black Dragon Canyon. Erie abandoned mines of Copper Globe Canyon. I really felt that I received the full desert experience and I look forward to whatever else may come. What a glorious adventure.

The Sensational Desert (Wednesday, November 2)

Anyone who has spent any significant time in the desert has left with the surest sense that they have just felt something. What, exactly, they felt is hard to say. Some of the most profound thinkers throughout the history of mankind have spent time in the desert and even they sometimes have trouble communicating their experience to themselves and to others. So here’s my first attempt. To make it simple, I’ll break this “feeling” down to the ways we learned as kids. Senses.

Sight. In the desert, the air makes everything crisp and vibrant. It is similar to Montana’s mountain air, only here there are different details to focus on. I have to train my eyes to notice the desert’s hidden details—the subtle overhands, the deep caverns, the patterns in rocks and sand. I try to look BIG. I try to see the whole picture at once; but it is impossible to take it. My brain cannot comprehend what exactly it is I am seeing, and I feel overwhelmed.  So I break it down in sections, staring at one piece of the vista at a time; this helps, but only a little. I think that with practice and time, I will be better at seeing all that there is to be seen in the desert.

Hearing. I remember this distinctly from my time in Northern Chile. It is a sensation one can only grasp, I believe, if she is truly there to experience it. Empathy doesn’t cut it. What I hear in the desert is silence. Pure silence. It is a heavy sound that echoes in your head and your ears physically strain themselves to notice anything at all. Occasionally, a guest of wind will hit an object or an airplane will fly overhead, and your conscious is relieved to know it still maintains the ability to hear. I hope that I can learn to take advantage of this exterior silence in order to hone in on the internal noises that my body and spirit are making.

Smell. I think if my best friend Matt were here, he would be able to describe this experience better than I. Smell, for me, is something that I do not notice until months or years after the original experience. I smell only in my memory. Certain whiffs will strike a cord, and I will be transported back to a time or place that resonates. In the desert, in this new place and this almost new experience, I smell only dry, crisp air. I look forward to the day when something will cross my nose and I will be moved back to Chile and Argentina. If it is bound to happen anywhere, it is bound to happen here.

Taste. As strange as this seems, I have found that my ability to taste has greatly diminished. I am spicing my food with great seasonings and I am cooking beautiful local produce; but the taste is not satiating me the way I had hoped. My only explanation is that I am so cold that my taste buds are numb. It is a distinct possibility. I’ll get back to you.

Touch. This has always been my favorite of senses. I have always felt the world best through my fingers. Whether I was strolling along the streets of

Commonwealth Avenue

or hiking through the forests of Montana, I would touch whatever was around me and I would be reminded that I am alive. It is no different here. I feel the contours of the rocks and I come to understand what water and wind have done to the landscape over time. I feel the trees and the shrubs and I realize how strong a species must be to fight to live here. I sit on the ground and feel history rush through me as I think of all the people who have been here long before me. I have come to understand that I am a tactile person, and I will continue to use this gift throughout my travels.

6^th sense. This may not be a typical sense that we learned from our childhood picture books, but I believe in its existence and its power. I believe that the desert allows an individual to reach a certain state of clairvoyance.  Answers are revealed to questions you didn’t even know were being asked. These revelations come from deep within us. We hold the truths in ourselves. They come from our subconscious instincts or from the lessons we have internalized from previous experiences. The desert simply provides the setting where such a state of mind can be achieved. It is a beautiful process and I look forward to opening myself to all this sense will allow me to feel.

Semi-intentional intentions (Sunday, October 30)

Last night I found a beautiful campsite off a dirt road in the Caribou National Forest Land. I practically slept right on the Idaho/Utah border. I pitched the tent, cooked up some delicious cabbage with ginger, and snuggled into my sleeping bag to sleep through the cold night. That morning, I awoke to the sound of nearby coyotes and to a light dusting of frost that had settled on my sleeping bag. Already the second day and my senses were overwhelmed.

Before I cross the state line into Utah, I want to clarify a few things. Why did I choose the Southwest? What do I hope to gain from this two month escapade? What do I plan to see and do each and every day?

This is a huge country, and I could have chosen a variety of places to spend these few months. Yes, okay…there is an element of convenience to consider here. Southern Utah, Western New Mexico and Northern Arizona all strategically lie on my way to Tucson—where I will begin my next job in January. Also, these places are warmer (although not by much) and easier to travel to during the winter months than the Northwest states, another mysterious section of our country. But most importantly…these places are deserts. And although Montana has my heart, the desert moves my spirit. I still cannot explain the way that the desert of Chile and Argentina made me feel. Their beauty shocked, humbled, and captivated me in a way few places have before. I want to feel that way again. In the desert, you realize how small you are—both in terms of space and time. The landscape is vast. It is a massive space that contains multitudes of different forms and environments. From every vantage point, you can only grasp the slightest slightest percentage. The desert is ancient. Its formation has taken place over millions of years, and continues to change and shift today. My lifetime on this planet is so miniscule in comparison to its.

So here I am, exploring a part of the American frontier that few people have had the opportunity to see. This harsh country will test my resourcefulness and strengthen my independence in a way nothing else can. Our culture doesn’t provide us with those “coming of age” rituals I learned about in all my anthropology classes. Graduating from college? Smoking pot for the first time? Getting a job? I did all these, and while some of these achievements made me feel accomplished, I didn’t feel as though I experienced any grand transition. So over the past few years I’ve created my own rituals to mark transitions. I’ve gone West to live in Wyoming, experience the American frontier, and interact with the natural world. I’ve traveled around the world to learn different cultures and experience different realities. I’ve gone far South in the attempt to seek authentic culture and educational experiences. And then, of course, I’ve gone West again to learn how to explore a place deeper. Now. I’m going Southwest in the hopes that this “coming of age” ritual will give me the results I need.

In the meantime, I have the freedom to create a lifestyle here; one that I hope to continue in the future. Here, I am living as sustainably as I possibly can. Yes, I am driving a jeep; but because I spend so much time in one area, I use just as much gas here as I did living in Montana—which is about one tank each week. What can a person do? I cannot control the lack of public transportation to these remote places and I have no desire to hitch hike. So to counteract that, I am living a life without electricity and without running water. I am eating all organic and local food. I am separating my trash into recyclable material, compostable food scraps (which I trade to farmers in exchange for eggs), and regular trash (which I intend to accumulate only one shopping bag per month).

By living this type of lifestyle, I will be able to take the chance to SLOW DOWN. Even at Mountain Sky, where our bubble-world functions on mountain time and our lives revolve entirely within those 9000 acres, I moved so fast. Too fast.  Part of this is the life of the top-notch hospitality world and part of this, I’m sure, may have been self-imposed. Regardless, I barely found time to enjoy every delicious bite of food, to run each day, to follow the events of the outside real world, or to sit on that beautiful porch and take it all in. Such is life, and I cannot possibly imagine how anyone else, any person with a full-time job or a family, can actually slow down enough to enjoy life. But here, in the desert, I will move on my own time. I will respond to nothing buy my own wills and the wills of surrounding environment. I will take the time for yoga and meditation each day. I will cook each meal and eat it with gratitude. I will read, sit, think, watch that crow fly and hear the wind blow. I will find grace, rhythm, and poise once more. Hopefully, if I can better master this over the next few months, I will be able to make it a natural part of my every day existence—no matter the place or the occasion.

Truth be told, there could be any number of reasons why I am doing this. The fact is, this was an instinctive decision and I have come to whole-heartedly trust my instincts. It didn’t occur to me to find a temporary job to cover my expenses during the months of November and December. I didn’t even think to try to find a cheap apartment in Bozeman and collect unemployment. I didn’t think to drive all the ay home, no matter how much I miss my family, only then to drive all the way South again. This was the plan from the beginning, so I went with it. If there is one thing that I’ve learned, hindsight often reveals the true reasons for everything. Even today, I come to understand more and more why I chose to go to BU, why I became and RA, why I went to Yellowstone, why I chose to begin farming. So with time, I expect that all my unconscious logic will become unraveled. In the meantime, I am living my short little time on earth to the absolute fullest. I am learning to connect with my home country, and in turn learning to connect with myself. I am living, rather than making a living. This is my life; and I am honored to have the opportunity to live it.

Welcome back (October 28, 2011)

I haven’t written in a long time.

I’ve been sitting here for nearly 25 minutes, and that’s the only line that I’ve typed. I haven’t written in a long time. The continuously blinking text indicator keeps reminding me just how out of practice that I am. I’ve forgotten how to put my thoughts into coherent statements. I’ve forgotten how to slow down enough to process my experiences. I’ve almost forgotten how to think. I can’t believe I’m going to say this but…I miss blogging. So here we are, then. Welcome back. Labor, language, and character. Round 2.

I’ve spent the past five months at home in Montana. I use the term “home” loosely; after all, I wasn’t born here nor does my immediate family live here. But it is home. This was my second season here at Mountain Sky Guest Ranch, a dude ranch deep in the hills of Paradise Valley, about 20 miles north of Yellowstone. I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to live and work in this beautiful place. To explain everything I’ve learned and experienced would take a lifetime. I’ve gotten to spend the majority of my days guiding hikes, and I’ve seen how open and free strangers can become when you lead them through this breathtaking landscape. I’ve spent my weekends volunteering at a local organic farm, where I have worked alongside inspirational individuals as we participate in the farm's daily transition. I’ve learned a variety of skills, from the art of flower arrangements to the technique of sanding and staining a hard wood floor. I’ve spoken with incredible people, from Wendell Berry to the founder of Food Corps, from British royalty to NFL stars. I’ve danced; I’ve sang; I’ve ate (A LOT); I’ve laughed (SO MUCH); and I’ve worked my ass off each and every day. Most importantly, I became part of a family. I have found a group of friends who allow me the freedom to be myself. We're a quirky bunch. We laugh over the silliest of situations and we talk about the bigger picture; we play a mean game of pool and we share every meal together. With them, I am fully present and completely genuine. I am honored to have known them, and I know that they will be there when I am ready to come home.

But home will wait. In a few minutes, on this beautiful fall morning, I will begin yet another exciting adventure. Autumn is a time of transitions for a lot of us; changing jobs, changing weather, changing locations. For me, I am beginning my journey in the world of food. I am going to be a farmer. This much I know. But before I get there, I have a lot to learn. Now, I begin my apprenticeship. I will move from farm to farm—spending anywhere from a day to seven months—talking to farmers, working the land, learning techniques, experiencing the ebbs and flows, and participating in the daily routines. My first job is outside of Tucson, Arizona on Sleeping Frog Farms. It’s owned by four young friends who left their big corporate farm to begin a small-scale, community-oriented, organic farm. I’ll tell you more about them later. For now, the most important piece of information is that I have exactly two months to get from here (Emigrant, Montana) to there (Tucson, Arizona). What, pray tell, is a girl to do?

ROAD TRIP! Southern Utah. Northern Arizona. Western New Mexico. Nothing but red rocks, deserts, and big skies. I have a tent, a cooler, a lot of water, 15 pounds of beans and rice, a portable compost bin and recycling can, a variety of bumper stickers (Wandering Organic Worker, Never Forget 9-11-73, No Farms. No Food, YNP, aqui y ahora) and a jeep with a new homemade Green Bay Packers themed rack. I cannot say for certain where I’ll be going each day (although I have a rough idea). I cannot say for certain where I will be sleeping tonight. But the desert calls, and I’m going. I’m going to slow down and find the time to  process everything that has happened this summer. In fact, I'm going to slow down and finally find the time to process everything that happened during my time in South America. I’m going to reconnect with nature by experiencing something entirely new and foreign. I’m going to master a level of independence I have not yet needed. I’m going to find a way to combine the happiness I experienced this summer with the fulfillment I receive while simply living simply. I’m going to keep being me. Fully present and completely genuine.

So I hope you will join me. The theme is the same; only the scenery has changed. I’ll still be performing labor—whether it be as I hike through the mountains or work on a farm. I’ll still be perfecting a language—only this time it will be my ability to communicate my thoughts and theories with people who may not share the same views. I’ll still be building character—because in all honesty I’ve realized you really can never have too much. 

Until next time...happy trails.

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all"
-Hellen Keller

"If you want to sing out, sing out. If you want to be free, be free. Cause there's a million things to be. You know that there are."
-Cat Stevens

What I learned from traveling (Saturday, April 30--Day 172)

I have always made the claim that a person can learn more from traveling than they can in school or at university. I'll refine the statement slightly, but in general I still believe it to be true. A person doesn't learn 'more,' per se. It's hard to quantify something so abstract. And what one learns isn't 'better' by default, either. Just like one's experience at university, the quality of the material learned depends on how much personal energy and intentional thought one is willing to devote. Qualifications aside, here is what I know. Traveling is worth it. Traveling is important. Traveling is a necesity. During these past six months, more specifically throughout the last five weeks of pure traveling, I have learned so much about myself, about people in general, and about how the world works. I hope to continue processing this all for the rest of my life. But here's what I have to share with you so far....

What traveling has taught me about myself.
Traveling has given me a priceless opportunity to really get to know myself. I have learned that there are some essential characteristics about me that I just cannot change (or cannot change easily). So rather than fight to change myself, I have learned to accept myself, to utilize my strengths, and to love who I am.
On a simple level, I am refering to basic personal preferences. The enjoyment I receive from riding bikes is minimal to the happiness I feel when taking walks. Night life and general nighttime activities make me uncomfortable and suspicious. And whether I am in the United States or Chile, nothing bothers me more than when people talk on their cell phones in public. Basic.
But mostly, I am refering to the things that make up the very core of who I am. I view the world through a critical eye. Yes, at times this can be exhausting for me and for those around me. At times it fills me with doubt and stresses the people with whom I am conversing. But I would rather live by asking questions and seeking answers than live without any thought or consideration. Having a critical eye is a healthy quality for any good citizen--be it citizen of the world or citizen of a community. The key that I must learn, and have been learning througout these six months, is how to balance this skeptical eye upon a foundation of hope and optomism. Only then will I be able to note what needs to be changed, to give credit where credit is due, and to envision a better future. To envision a better future. Yes, the future is something I think about. Try as I might, I cannot always live here and now in this very moment. Yes, I do appreciate the beauty that is around me at each given moment. But at the base, I am a foreward thinking planner who needs to feel productive in the moment and likes to be somewhat ready for what is to come. Because of this, I have trouble taking a vacation and relaxing. All that I am seeing and doing must be part of a greater good, of a learning experience that will strengthen me and prepare me for my future tasks. I am flexible, but only to an extent. I have goals and I am determined to achieve them. So I combine the best of here and now with the best of then and there. For me, this is the only way I can live a life of adventure and happiness each day, because I know that my current experiences will help create a better tomorrow.
But how do I prefer to live each day of adventure and happiness? Well, when I am traveling, the answer is simple. By myself. Every Chilean asked me the same question with the same sense of shock...'You travel alone?' Yes, I do and yes, it is fantastic. I have had the privelege of waking up each day and asking myself 'What do I want to do today?' I have been able to spark conversations with every type of person because I am not dependent on another companion for constant reassurance and entertainment. I have been comfortable enough to spend hours and days entirely by myself, because I am accustomed to the joys of the solitary experience. True, I am not opposed to the idea of company. I have met some wonderful people who have inspired me and given me strength (more on that later). I can travel with someone else, but I can only do so for a day or two before I must move on. This explains why I don't like taking tours--in this situation, I find that I see, experience, and understand my surroundings better when I am alone. This also explains why I will cut a new relationship short the minute I find the other person becoming to attached. I cannot count the number of times I've performed the infamous Montana Exit throughuot my travels.What can I say. I am who I am.
But there have been some moments when I don't feel like myself, when I will experience emotions that are different from what I am used to. And although these moments may feel foreign, they too are a part of me. Rather than fight them, I should listen to my body and my mind and learn from these experiences. On a physical level, this happens whenever I get sick. Getting sick when traveling is an awful experience. You have no support, you are in an unfamiliar place, and you are living in the public eye. But pretending you are not sick will only make things worse. In stead, I have learned to listen to my body and give it the time it needs to recover. On a mental level, this happens during those inevitable times that I become numb to the scenery or homesick for the States. Months ago, I would have chastised myself for these feelings. I would have called myself weak and forced myself to cover up these emotions. But now I know that these feelings are part of me, and that I should acknowledge them and work with them rather than ignore them and hide them. I have learned to respond to these situations in a way that allows me to experience the emotion fully and change the feelings slowly. When I feel unable to grasp the beauty of what is around me, I stop focusing on the big picture landscape and start to notice smaller details. I look less at the grand mountains and more at the way the leaves sparkle. When I feel homesick and exhausted, I change locations or make a subtle physical change. I get on a bus or I get a hair cut. Something so simple allows me to mark a transition that reinvigorates me and allows me to continue.

What traveling has taught me about other people.
People judge that which they do not understand. This is natural. It's human instinct. We do it for survival so we can have a sense of what we should avoid and what we can approach. We do it to make sense of the world so we can deconstruct the unknown into something logical and understandable. An important key to traveling, however, is learning how to be safe and understand others without passing judgement. This has been relatively easy for me to do when it comes to local Argentines and Chileans. Thanks to my background in anthropology, I have approached most interactions with an understanding of cultural relativism. I have been able to understand why they live the way they do, why they prioritize their present relations, and why they distrust people from the United States (surprisingly this has less to do with our dark history and ugly international policies and more to do with our seemingly cold, self centered personalities). However, my greatest challenge came in the form of other travelers. At first, it was difficult for me to open up to the tourists and backpackers whom I met in hostels and on buses. It took an intentional effort to realize that not every young traveler is a party seeking, tour group hopping, unconsious money spender. Just like I have an interesting story for my quirky adventure, so too do they. Once I realized this seemingly obvious fact, I began to meet a range of fantastic, brilliant, inspiring people. The French motorcyclist who has driven his beloved bike around the world. The American Fullbright Fellow who, at 60, divorced her husband and moved to Chile. The rare jewel traders from Australia who have an entirely self-sustainable farm. The retired US Marine who now begrudgingly flies planes for Monsanto. The maried couple from New York who lives and participates in their forward thinking, progressive community outside of the city. The Spanish farmers. The Swedish biker. The English soul searcher. The wide-eyed dreamer from Santiago. Everyone has their story. Everyone has their reason for traveling. Everyone has their goals that they wish to accomplish. The quicker I realized that, the more I was able to get past the pleasentries and to begin the real conversations. Those were the conversations I cherished and those were the interactions that inspired me. But to get there, I had to suspend judgement for the time being and lower the wall ever so slightly.
This is an important lesson to take home to America with me. I know and have met many Americans that make me never want to return to the United States. They are self centered and close minded. They think any form of lifestyle other than their fastpaced, car culture, consumeristic world is boring and regressive. They refuse to see the impacts their actions have on the rest of the world or they feel so entitled to their position that they don't care. But for every one of these Americans, there are dozens more who give me hope, who make me proud of my country, and who drive me to return. Maybe they don't live a sustainable lifestyle and maybe they don't concern themselves with the current global state on a daily basis. But they are interested in what I am doing, they are conscious of their actions, and they work hard to improve their community. Then there are those who are making positive changes in the world and who are living active, concerned lifestyles. It is with them that I fight and with them that I will live and work upon my return. As one of my American muses told me throughout my travels, 'There are a lot of great people in the States. And there are a lot of great people who still don't yet knwo that they are great people.'
When all is said and done, everyone is the same. We are all people living our lives. On the surface, we all may appear different. But that is because we have adapted to our current locations and time period. Chile is a large country with many different climate zones. People live differently in the desert than they do on the island of Chiloe. That goes without saying. But when I pass them on the street or look at them from the bus, everyone is living. They are walking home from the supermarket. They are buying birthday presents. They are walking their children home from school. They are talking on street corners. They are embracing a lover. They are smoking a cigarette. On the surface these faces and actions may not appear noteworthy or interesting. Their not photogenic like San Pedro's salt flats of Patagonia's mountains. But they represent life, and life in and of itself is noteworthy and interesting. The key now, is to make everyone realize that although we are living our own lives, our lives are inseparable. We share a world and we share a mental connection.
But I cannot force people to change and I cannot force people to adapt this world view. I can only learn to understand where they are coming from. The only change I can actively cause, is the change within myself. Change myself. Unite my mind and heart and soul and body. That will inspire people. That will set an example. That spark will start a light that will spread accross the globe and illuminate us all. I have that light. You have that light. Those around you have that light. The more we open ourselves to others, the more we can inspire each other, invigorate each other, support each other, and brighten the world.

What traveling has taught me about how the world works. 
People have the power to create the reality they experience. To a degree, they choose the world in which they live. They choose to prioritize certain things and to focus on certain truths. Everyone does that. You do it. I do it. When traveling in Chile, I chose to focus on the countryside, on the natural environment, on small towns, on the daily life of families, on the effects of institutions of religion and international corporations. Those are the questions I sought, so those are the answers I received. And I received these answers in different ways. In the countryside, I walked. I walked and I walked and I walked. Hills, fields, farms, mountains. I took in everything by moving. But in a city, where everything else is moving around me, I was the one that stood still. So I sat. I sat and I sat and I sat. Park benches, cafe windows, street corners. I took in it all by staying still. This is what I know of Chile, and this is how I came to know it. I won't claim to have an understanding of it all. I don't know what life is like at night. I don't understand the importance of restaurants or national cuisine. I made a choice and I prioritized. I chose my reality. If you understand the lens through which I see the world, you will understand me and my perspective better. It is important to talk to people, to understand what matters to them, to understand the lens through which they view the world. It will help you understand them, the country, and the world a lot better.
Of course, there are a set of confines within which we must live. We are only human, and we cannot control the world. We shouldn't even make the attempt. But what we can do is choose how to respond to the world that we are presented with. We can do this on a large scale. The world is flattening, and globalization has connected us in ways we are only beginning to understand. We must choose to be active members of our local community, as well as conscious global citizens. Buy local and recycle. Simple enough place to start. But we can also choose to respond to the world on a daily basis in our own personal lives. I make it a habit to find at least one thing each day that blows my mind, that makes me grateful to be alive. Sometimes it is as shocking as realizing that there is an active volcano in my back yard. Other times it is as simple as biting into a freshly picked apple. This seems like a minute task. This seems so easy that it couldn't possibly have any grand impacts. But the more I think about it, the more I realize how lucky I am to have at least one moment a day. And the truth is, I have multiple moments each day. Life is filled with ironies and coincidences. The more I notice them, the more enjoyable life becomes. The more I find something unique about each and every sunset, the more special this beautiful occasion becomes. I look at the people who pass me by on the streets, hurrying from one task to the next, and I wonder if they can say that they find a moment of peace and happiness in their busy, routine lives. But I can say that each day is spectacular. I choose to say that. And so it is. The world becomes beautiful, and I become inclined to dance, to sing, to laugh, to smile. I turn the switch, and what appeared dull and grey is now radiating with sunshine and color. Joy spreads within me and it expands. I pay it forward and the movement grows.
Learning to create my reality and choose my world has shown me that the world is not so black and white. Answers are neither simple nor obvious. Maybe the answers don't even exist. The only thing I can do is to keep asking questions, keep absorbing information, and keep learning. Confusing, I know. But exciting, too. So what's real? What are the answers? I don't know. It seems like cities are not the enemy, and the nostalgic countryside cannot offer us all salvation. Cities are sites of intense consumerism and superficial relations. The countryside can be a place of closeminded mentalities and inbred pessimism. So what am I fighting? I am fighting against a life of extremes. Against a life without hope, without thought, without passion, without love. Against a motonized world filled with self serving, bland, disconnected individuals. That can happen in the country and in the city. That's how the world works. And right now, more than anything, we need to bring out the best of everyone and every place. We need the progressive thoughts of the city and the natural connection of the country. We need the work ethic, reliable qualities of the conservatives and the free thinking, accepting mind of the liberals. We need the hope and optomism of each and every person. We need it all and more so that our world can be one of love, hope, connection, spark, culture, peace, and beauty. So that our world can be one we are proud to call home, we are honored to love, and we are grateful to share.


What I learned was not small. What I learned was not easy. The emotions I have experienced over the past six months were the strongest I have ever felt. I have never been happier, and I have never been more sad. I have never been more certain, and I have never been more filled with doubt. I have never been more present, and I have never been more lost. These answers are not final. These lessons are not over. My journey does not end here. This is simply another transition. Another movement. The adventure continues. The spark spreads. Today is beautiful, and tomorrow will be just as spectacular. This much I know for sure.

Una campesina por siempre--A farmer for always (Wednesday, April 27--Day 169)

There are few things I know for certain. In fact, the more I learn, the smaller that list becomes. But there is at least one things at this stage of my life that I can say with confidence and with gusto--I will always be a farmer. The obvious similarities need no explanation. Brilliant, hard working, nature loving. Obvious. What I am referencing is something found at the core of a great farmer. It is at the center of who he is and at the base of all he does.
Picture a farmer as the individual who can feed his family from his crops and from what his neighbors supplement, and he still has enough left over to sell to his community for a small profit. This farmer--a great farmer--always has the bigger picture in mind. He knows what his end product will look like. He knows what he will be able to improve upon years in the future. He knows what he is working towards. But in order to move towards that final picture, he must live in the present moment. He must pay attention to the most minute details. He must be attentive and attuned to his surroundings. He must know the ins and the outs of whatever crops he is working with. He must constantly keep in mind the impacts of the environment. Whatever changes happen--be it a slight change in the weather or a minor quirk in a particular plant--he can respond accordingly. He can make the necesary alterations to his routine or to the environment so that his product still continues on the path of his choosing. This does not make him manipulative--it makes him empathetic. He pays attention so that when a plant or an animal, at whatever stage of development, appears off track he knows how to fix it. This does not mean he is all-knowing. He is just wise. His wisdom comes from his ability to listen--to listen to himself, to listen to his surroundings, and to listen to others. A great farmer knows that his most treasured resource is the shared knowledge of others. As an individual, a farmer is just one man, with one mind and one history and limitted experiences. But as a community, a farmer becomes many, with many minds sharing their unique histories and unlimited experiences. As a community, there is nothing a farmer cannot do. Yes, he will make mistakes--he is human. Yes, there will be rough years when nature doesn't provide--he's human. But a great farmer will weather through and a really great farmer will remain optimistic. In this way, a great farmer--with the help of those around him--will carry himself and the world on his shoulders, providing the priceless gift of life throughthe healthy food he produces with care, love, and consiousness.
That is a great farmer, and that is who I want to be. I, too, have an end goal in mind--a bigger picture of a future world where we live in community with each other and in community with nature. It is idealitic, yes, but no to the point of being impossible. I have been detailing it for months, if not years, and hundreds of thousands of others share the same image. Of course, I have not yet reached the level of 'great farmer' so the image is still lacking in some of the finer details. But the end goal is there, and now I just have to reach it. You may wonder where exactly is the farmwork in that. It's there. If the goal is to live in community, then it is my job to develop the minds of those with whom I will be living. Remember though, a farmer is not manipulative. He is empathetic. This is not about brainwashing, scare tactics, guilt trips, or patronization. Tis is about planting ideas, supporting growth, giving strength, and providing resources. My toold are dialogues, the help of those around me, the surrounding environment, the history, and the power of hope. My actions are like those of a farmer. As a farmer knows the intricacies of each individual specias, I too must learn how each person differs from the next. Every crop is different. Some need more water and others more sun. Some grow best when planted beside another specieas and others need their space. Some grow best in the hot summer and others thrive in the frigid cold. Even two plants of the same species must be seen as unique individuals. Depending on what stage of growth they are in, one may need shade while the other may need to be trimmed. People are no different, and if I hope to converse with them, to inspire them, and to build community then I have to learn what makes each person click, what talent each person has to offer, what each person loves most, and where each person needs to be supported. Empathy. To do that, just as a farmer must consider the qualities of the plant's surrounding environment, I too must note the outside forces that have impacted and continue to impact each person. Where they came from. What pressures they feel. What responsabilities they have. Who has inspired them. What theyfear. The important thing to remember throughout all this is that I cannot do it alone. I must be humble enough to accept help from others, curious enough to ask questions, and wise enough to listen to the very people with whom I am speaking. We have the advantage of living at a time when information and support can be shared with virtually anyone around the world. At the same time, we live in a time when the actions we take impact everyone living on this planet. I am not looking to save the world. I am human. I am not looking to build a cult of drones. You're human. But I have hope and I have endurance. Combine that with the sense o urgency that we face, and I have adrenalyn.
Now I just have to practice and to observe. For some people, this may be the first time that they receive a seed like this. A new idea entirely, or perhaps no one has planted it quite this before. I don't know how they'll respond, so I wait it out. Note the subtle changes and be ready to react to any sign of life. Maybe the response will be positive, and the concepts I planted will sprout. Maybe I'll see no changes at all, but I will trust that years down the line that seed will still be there, waiting for just the right conditions or just the perfect farmer to come along and give that seed life. Maybe they have grown so accustomed to this seed that they have become numb to it all. They have subconsiously built up a resistence such that the things I say are hackneyed. So I learn to say it another way, to plant the seed differently, to support it with different nutrient, to team it up with other ideas. Maybe they are intentionally immune. They are so morally opposed to what I have to say that they will use all their possible strength to counteract my efforts. So I learn to study their surroundings, to see if something is currently blocking their sunshine or is something deep within their roots is sucking their energy. Or maybe I am not dealing with a seed at all. The seed was planted long ago by someone else, and now I have a fully living plantling on the verge of perfection. But it isn't their yet, and I must choose how to react. Do I give it physical personal support and prop it up as it grows? Do I occasionally douse it with other elements knowing that it is fully capable of extracting what it needs on its own? Do I uproot it and plant it in alongside other species that will provide nutritional support? Or do I let it go, trusting that it is strong enough and ready to continue on the right path on its own?
I am a farmer. I plant seeds. I give support. I learn. I am helped. I listen. I have hope. The sun is almsot up, and it is time to start working. Winter will be cold this year, but the weather optimist in me tells me that we are bound to have a beautiful spring.

El Regreso-The Return (Monday, April 24--Day 166)

I will be flying out of Santiago in a week. It has been 166 days since I began this chapter of the grand adventure that is my life. I have known for awhile that this journey was nearing its final days. In fact, since the moment I left on that sunny Wednesday afternoon from Chicago, I have been thinking about my return. Thinking. Not awaiting. Note the word choice. So much for 'Here and Now' I suppose. Writing a blog kept me constantly connected to home, and made it extremely hard to forget my life in the States. But I cannot place the blame entirely on blogwriting. Thinking about my return is part of my natural tendency to critique my surroundings and plan for the future. How does our current lifestyle impact our world and what can I do to make a positive impact? These questions are never far from my mind. Regardless of the causes, these feelings and thoughts about my return are becoming even more frequent, more powerful, and more divided.
Don't be offended when I say that there is a part of me that does not wish to return. I am nervous. I am anxious. Sometimes I can barely breath. I'll miss Argentina and Chile. That is for certain. I'll miss speaking spanish. I'll miss the color and vibrancy of the streets, the houses, and the markets. I'll miss the subtle cultural differences that made each day so fresh and exciting. I'll miss the long busrides through the beautiful countryside peppered with small, family farms. I'll miss living in a country that puts such a grand value and emphasis on agriculture. I'll miss old men in freshly pressed pants and warm sweaters. I'll miss public transportation that picks you up and drops you off in practically any location. I'll miss the family friendly central plazas. I'll miss the signs proudly displaying the public works projects that the government is providing. I'll miss the Chilean flag. I'll miss internet cafes. I'll miss feeling homesick.
Homesick. That alone makes me nervous and anxious. I know that nostalgia can be dangerous and that memories can be deceptive. I know that things change, and that the home I left and the person I was when I left are no longer the same. That's reverse culture shock. Culture shock can be rather daunting. But when you arrive in a new country and a new place, you know it is new so you expect it to be different. Reverse culture shock, the shock you receive upon return to your own country after a long trip, is often more powerful and more subtle. I've experienced it before, and its impacts can be practically debilitating. No two people express the same symptoms. When I came back from Brazil, South Africa, and Vietnam, I had no idea that I was having problems coping. I thought I was strong. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could handle it all. But I crashed and burned. Slowly but surely, I came to realize just how much my re-entrance into the United States was tearing me apart. But I moved on. Eventually I came to terms with what was happening and with how I was feeling, and I am stronger for the experience. For that reason, I doubt that I will undergo such a shock upon my return. I am older and wiser--I know how to use my critical eye to my advantage and I know the changes that I want to make in the States. But also I am more humble and more attuned to the world--I am looking for the support of others and I understand that my return home marks a mere continuation of my journey rather than an end.
More than anything, I am nervous on a more personal, perhaps more selfish, level. If you can believe it, I have grown even more independent, more self-sufficient, more opinionated, and more determined over the past six months. The realist in me knows that these qualities are bound to clash with the lifestyle and opinions of friends, families, and collegues at home. For so long I have had the privelege of freedom. I could spend each and every day walking with the sole purpose of seeing what I'll find. If I chose to do so, I could spend every waking second inside my own head, assessing the state of my surroundings and dreaming of what I could do to make positive changes. I could meet people and make aquaintances, but in every relationship I had the upper hand because I had the power to leave whenever I pleased. I don't like conflict and I don't want to offend people. So naturally, I am genuinely afraid of what life will be like when I must return to a time schedule, when I have to consider the demands and desires of those around me, when I have to explain my thoughts and my emotions to loved ones, when I have to accept the lifestyles of friends and family members even though I am opposed to so many of the actions and thoughts that they have.
I say these things to you now so that you can understand where I am coming from. I am asking a lot. I am asking for you to give me space but also to hold me close. I am asking for you to love me but also to understand why I may be slow to return such emotions. I am asking you to ask me questions but also to accept a wide range of responses. I am asking for you to be empathetic. More than anything, I am asking you to realize that, although I may be afraid and nervous, my anxiety cannot erase my joy and excitement. Every single day, I experience a moment of sheer bliss at the thought of my return. It can come at any moment. I could be staring out the window of a moving bus, pushing my way through a crowded street, or making my way over a sandy hill. But wherever I am, when that emotion hits, I am overwhelment. My smile stretches to the widest possible degree, and I am inclined to skip, to twirl, and to squeal. It's a beautiful feeling, and it is well justified. I have so much to look forward to. The warmest, most loving embrace from my diamond. Being held in the arms of my dad and giving Jeannine the biggest bear hug. Blasting music with my Stttelllaaa. MAN reunions. Late night walks around Boston. Sassy conversations. Deep discussions. Making that first turn into Paradise Valley and knowing that I've come home. Reuniting with my Mountain Sky family.
Thoughts of these moments give me strength. They make me happy in a way that few things can. They alone are strong enough to calm my anxiety and to fill me with excitement. But luckily for me, these thoughts are supported by something else. This something feeds off of my fears and anxieties and it embraces my loves and my joys. It gets my adrenalyn pumping and my passion surging. It is the thought--or rather the knowledge--that I am going to do something great in the United States. I come back a stronger person, a better person. I come back an inspired person, a driven person. I come back with the desire to experience, to build, and to strengthen communities in mi patria. Mi patria. My homeland. I am from the United States. I may be disappointed in what we have become, but I am not ashamed of where I come from. I will not abandon one of the few things I have that is truly mine. Maybe I am a romantic after all. Call it what you will. But I have hope, I have ideas, and I am ready. Change is already happening, and I look forward to being part of a movement that will be responsable for saving us all from ourselves. All beautiful things are worth fighting for. And I can think of nothing can be more beautiful than the people I love and the place I call home.

Una pregunta para ti--A question for you (Saturday, April 23--Day 165)

Ask yourself this one question, dear reader. Answer with your instinct--that gut feeling deep in your core that has been slowly buried beneath public education, media sources, and social cues.

How long do you really think you can continue to live your current lifestyle?


...Okay. Two questions.
If you know that you cannot continue to live this way forever, then isn't better to start making changes now? Today? This very moment?

...unless you really are just waiting to die. Not a very joyous life plan, if you ask me.

Don't be afraid. Just go for it. Feel a little. Love a lot. 'Be the change you want to see in the world.' And if you don't want to see any changes, then open your eyes and your heart. The time is now, and 'it is too late to be pessimistic.' We need a revolution. A global one and a personal one. It starts with you and it ends with you, but you are not alone.

Please.

Things I Miss: Update (Wednesday, April 20--Day 162)

1. American Football

2. Peanut Butter *

3. Oversized Cotton Hoodies

4. Pool

5. Yellowstone

6. World news

7. Being able to walk down the street without feeling objectified.

8. Being able to walk down the street without dodging a sleeping dog, a pack of fighting dogs, or whatever excrement said dogs left behind.

9. Being able to walk down a street where other people are smiling for no reason at all. 

10. Being able to run down the street without being constantly terrified that I'm going to get hit by a speeding vehicle that doesn't acknowledge a pedestrian's right to space.

*I took Peanut Butter off the list for now. Maybe the food is better in Chile or maybe I have made it through rehab. But either way, the craving is gone.

El Desierto (Monday, April 18--Day 160)

What do you think of when you hear the word desert? What image comes to your mind? What feelings does this spark? Dry. Expansive. Lifeless. Hot. Nothingness. Death. Ruthless. Loneliness. Foreign. Oil. War. Bland. Salt. Fear. I thought all of these things before I decided to make my way to the north of Chile. The Atacama Desert. The driest place in the entire world. Truth be told, I had never seen or experienced a desert before this place. And while I had my predispositions, I truly had no idea what to expect. Throughout the past month, some of my preconceptions about deserts were verified. But more often than not, they were often challenged. Ongoing wars between Peru, Bolivia, and Chile have been fought over this land of 'nothing.'  Tensions are still high, but Chile refuses to share its prized possession. So 'prized,' in fact, that the government must incentivize people and businesses to settle in this forsaken place with tax cuts and duty free goods. But the money spent on incentives, on drug trafficking, and border control seems to be worth it. What appears a lifeless stretch of land is actually flowing with energy and activity. In monetary terms, coal mines, energy production, and oceanic trading represent the life of Northern Chile. But on a deeper, more powerful level, this place acts as nature's liaison to mankind. Geyser fields. Oases of citrus trees. Hidden underground springs. Roaming guanacos. Moving clouds. Mountains that shine every possible shade of orange and yellow. Pockets of life in a lifeless expanse. Vibrant colors upon a bland canvas. The desert is nothing, and yet the desert is everything.
It would be easy enough to conclude from these observations that the desert is a mere conglomeration of contradictions. Its qualities are inconsistent, and it is pointless to attempt to make sense of it all. But I'm not going to take that route. It's too easy and quite frankly it doesn't do the desert any justice. If I said the desert contradicts itself, I would be implying that I understood the desert enough to draw such a general conclusion. But I don't know enough about the desert to make such a poignant statement, and from what I do know I can say that the desert is neither manipulative nor evasive enough to produce contradictions. It has secrets, but these secrets are not hidden. They are present, just waiting for us to open our eyes and minds enough to take notice. If we are able to do that, I believe that the desert will appear less as a foreign, suspicious universe and more like a powerful, trusting muse.
Okay okay. I'll step down from this cloud for a second to let you know that I have not, by any means, reached that stage of my relationship with the desert. Gurus and spiritual leaders spend years and years in its presence attempting to reach such a state of peace and clairvoyance. I've only been here for a matter of weeks, and some of those days were spent in air-conditioned buses and lush river valleys (well...lush by desert standards). But even so, I did experience enough to realize a thing or two about this landscape, this world, and my place in both.
First, let's just get this out of the way. People--real people--LIVE in the desert. Building upon the knowledge of previous generations and combining that with modern technology, people have adopted a lifestyle that fits this place. They navigate the dry endless hills, forming subtle roads that can only be understood by those who have traveled them before. They form settlements--both temporary and permanent--in places where water can be captured from the sea's morning mist or gathered from deep underground wells. They adapt to the excessive heat and to the apparent lifelessness by creating public spaces that provide shade and by decorating buildings with color and designs. People LIVE here, and they're not alone. Plants and animals have managed to settle in this harsh environment. Animals scavenge to survive and plants dig their roots deep into the dry soil. Life prevails.
Life prevails, but only as much as nature allows. In the end, every person, plant, and animal is powerless against La Pachamama. Flexible and creative as we may be, if the desert wants us dead then so be it. One can use the desert to escape from the rest of the world, but one cannot escape from the powerful desert itself. There is no where to hide. So be humble. Be grateful. Be respectful. We are in its powerful, expansive hands.
Powerful and expansive as the desert may be, it is neither monotonous nor stagnant. Yes there are parts where the sand dunes stretch on for endless miles. But there are times when you can walk for three hours and see the landscape shift five or six different times. Sandy hills. Salty flats. Rocky slopes. Violent cliffs. Crumbling towers. Looming mountains. The surface varies in space. The details change over time. From year to year and from season to season, a shift in the wind or an unexpected rain can cause massive alterations. New valleys will form as newly fallen water rushes over the hard, impenetrably surface. Hills and rocks move as erosion occurs and the earth trembles. Even from hour to hour, the desert can change. As the sun and the moon make their way across the sky, shadows form and stretch--revealing new crevices, noting subtle details, and causing a range of colors to appear. It's magical how the world can shift before your very eyes--as if nature is revealing a hidden message that only you can understand, if of course you take the time to notice.
So pay attention. Look. Feel. Listen. The world is always speaking to you. Nature is always at your side. In the desert, there is a silence unlike anything I have experienced. Unlike the 'silence'  of the forests--where animals talk, leaves rustle, and winds whip--this silence fills your every pore and begs you to find a noise to break the vacuum. So you listen hard and you listen deep, and through it all, you find yourself.
A desert is not nothing. It is everything. Be with the desert, and you too become the world.

Pisagua, Chile: Past, Present, and Future (Tuesday April 12—Day 154)

Here in the present, we look to the past in the attempt to control, manipulate, and predict the future. Whether you view history as an infinite  line or as a cyclical series, whether you live here and now or you live for the future, this relationship of past, present, and future is valid, applicable, and powerful. So where are we now and where are we going? To answer that, we must go to Pisagua, Chile.
Pisagua, Chile--a small coastal town roughly 300 kilometers south of the Peruvian border--has played an active role in nearly all of the major periods of Chilean history. In fact, I would even argue that this small South American seaside town can actually represent the historical progression of many people, communities, and cultures around the world.
Pisagua has had it all. Native tribes formed villiages here, taking advantage of the calm shores, protected banks, and prime fishing. Ancient remains and geogliffs can still be seen in Pisagua Viejo, a valley of ruins and rocks roughly 7km north of the town.  During the time of the Spanish conquest, some of the earliest naval battles were fought on the beaches and cliffs of Pisagua. A military graveyard and well-maintained monuments peppering the northern banks of Pisagua pay homage to this proud historical moment. Once Chile secured control of this area, Pisagua became a prosperous port. One can still see the remains of the old  train station that brought nitrate from Bolivia and of the old mansions and theater halls that housed and entertained the rich business owners of the day. When the world no longer needed Nitrate, Pisagua--like many Chilean towns involved in this international trade network--fell victim to the economic crash. Buildings fell into ruins and fires demolished this once bustling town, and Pisaguans began to gather and sell fish, algea, and bird droppings--jobs that are still done today amongst modern Pisaguans. Then, just as hope was spreading throughout Chile--just as progressive socialists and reformists in Northern cities began to gain power and propose positive changes--the tide turned for the worst  and Pisagua, once again, found itself at the center of a new era. Pinochet and his supporters ruled for nearly 25 years. They ruled by force--capturing, torturing, killing, or exiling anyone whose beliefs countered theirs; and they ruled entirely--adapting the ¨earn money now, ask questions later¨ economic policy of the Chicago Boys. Pisagua, unfortunately, was more involved in the former. Rather than re-open its ports to respond to the international deman for Chile´s new copper mines, Pisagua expanded its prison and opened a concentration camp where thousands of men and women would spend their final years. In 1990, a mass-grave was found 5km North of town, but many bodies still go unaccounted for. A memorial and haunting graveyard no stand in this place, in the hopes that ¨nunca màs¨ will such atrocities occur. Now, Pisagua is a small town of less than 350 people, most of whom have recently moved here to live a tranquil life as a fisherman (in fact, only 6 people were born and raised in this town). Three years ago, the goverment began a public works program to improve the 40kms of road between Pisagua and the main highway and to provide a public transportation route that runs three times per week between Iquique and Pisagua. I think this was a way to placate complaining citizens who were asking to re-open Pisagua´s port, but that is just a guess. All and all, Pisagua is still a small, off-the-map-town that has very little access to the rest of Chile and very little access to the rest of the world (save for the algea and fish that they sell to a middle-man in Iquique who then turns around and sells it to a distributer in Japan).
And that´s Pisagua--a small town with a tremendous history--some of it proud and some of it dark. But here´s the thing with Pisagua: it´s history is our history. It´s history is everyone´s history. With the global communication system and the essentially borderless trading  network, the world is becoming seamless and flattened (not to be confused with transparent and equal). For us in the States, this history touches us personally, considering our economic and political practices directly influenced what occured in Pisagua over the past 200 years and considering that we have countless small towns and one motor city that have declined like Pisagua because of outsourcing and shifting economics.
So if their history is our history and our presents are intertwined, then what does that say about our future? That, you need to know, is up to you.We are not all going to agree on what is best for our future; we may not even agree on what was good from our past. But the most important thing for then, now, and later is that we think about it. We live in a world where ideas can be shared at anytime and with anyone. Groups, movements, and networks form at every moment and with people from every corner of the world. We can get our hands on practically any piece of information at any time of the day. So...do it then. Learn what people are saying and doing. Talk with those who share your beliefs and talk with those who think differently. Learn what is happening around the world and learn about the events that led to our current state. And think. Don´t let the lessons of the past go unlearned. Don´t let the exemplars of history go unrewarded. Don´t let thsoe who have fought and died for their passions lose their lives in vain. It is our right and our privilege as human beings to think. But we are losing our desire and our ability to do so. We are losing it to an institutionalized and safe education system, to overstimulating and desensitizing entertainment sources, and to an individualized and egocentric life track. You think about paying your taxes in a few weeks and about how you have to run an extra 15 minutes because you ate that cupcake last night, but you don´t think about how your actions impact the world and how your past has brought you here. Every day you spend as a passive passender on this planet you directly contribute to the invalidation of our past, the destruction of our present, and the instability of our future. Think about Pisagua as an image of your past and use it as a guide to think ourselves a better future.
Then, once you are done thinking...do something about it.

Basta, Chile! Habla! (Friday April 8—Day 150)

Part 1: Written on a Friday night, around 9pm...

It is so remarkably  easy to visit Chile without ever having to be in Chile. You can get away without speaking Spanish, and if you visit all the pretty places then you can get by without knowing the culture or the history. Yeah, the Chileans may call you a ¨rich gringo¨ behind your back if you can only say ¨Hola¨ and  ¨¿Cuàntos cuesta?¨, but as long as you eat whatever  food they give you and buy the occasional trinket then they´ll love you. Don´t worry if you don´t know about the US´s role in Allende´s death, the atrocities of the recent dictatorship, or the current state of corruption and exploitation. Because these subjects won`t come up. Do you know why? Because it is so remarkably easy to live in Chile without ever having to be in Chile.

This is a country with a history of debt and economic crises, yet people live off of credit cards and spent their paychecks on shoes and cell phones. This is a country with a history of corruption and power struggles, but news programs and TV shows are filled with updates on car crashes and tasteless music videos.  This is a country with a very recent, very dark history of military dictatorship and mass killings, yet the majority of historical sources (museums and texts) as well as informal political discussions seems to skim over this twenty-five year period.And for me, it is this last scenario that bothers me the most. 

As an anthropology major with a history teacher as a best friend, I believe that in order to understand a people, a culture, or a society you have to understand their history. Before coming to Chile, I did my homework. Books, wikipedia, you name it. I had a general understanding of Chile`s history before coming here and I was eager to take advantage of my travels to gain first hand access and personal responses of Chile`s past, present, and future. So imagine my surprise when the National Historical Museums in Santiago stopped their cronological displays in the early 70s with the death of Allende. Imagine my dissapointment when the only book I could find in the university bookstores that vaguely refered to the dictatorship was an anthology on the ¨Izquierda y Derecha en Chile.¨ And now imagine my extreme dismay to find out I have traveled all the way to Iquique--a city greatly impacted by the regime and located a mere 3 hours from the site of one of the biggest mass gravesites and concentration camps in Chile--only to find out I cannot find a single travel agency or public transportation to bring me there.

I am neither dumb nor insensitive. I know that this is a heavy subject that touches the hearts and souls of many people. The dictatorship ended a mere twenty years ago, and nearly everyone knows someone who was killed and tortured or who performed the killings and the torturing. It is not a happy topic and it is not something I can openly ask any stranger. But the fact that no one wants to talk about this seems far more disturbing than if everyone were spilling out each awful detail. They cannot erase their past, even if they refuse to acknowledge it. They cannot forgive and forget--as South Africa´s Truth and Reconciliation Committee has claimed to achieve in a process that influenced Chile´s post-dictatorship government--without having the important dialogues. They cannot avoid the powerful, albeit subtle, distrust that constantly glosses every interaction, without getting over the fear of offending a stranger or losing a friend through these necesary conversations. 

Look, I know we do the same thing in the United States. I know that there are some people who would rather read Danielle Steel novels than a social commentary, who would rather blindly consume than think about the impact of their purchase, who would rather believe what CNN and FOXNEWS tell them than really investigate our country´s current economic state or international policies. But that´s not everyone. You know why I love my country? Because for every five people sitting back and losing themselves in the system, there is one person asking questions, talking about the tough subjects, proposing changes, and making a difference. Don´t forget where we come from. We are a country of revolutionaries. Don´t forget how we´ve grown. We were a country of rebels and fighters. Know your history, and don´t let that spirit die. I´ve seen what is happening to a country that doesn`t ask questions or have dialogues. Keep our history of rebellion alive and maintain that culture of passion and critique, or we will fall victim to the same disease that is killing (or maybe already has killed) Chile.  

Part 2: Written on a Saturday morning, around 1am...

Get a few zesty, free-thinking Chileans drunk, and the conversations come out. Why don´t people talk about what happened in the past? Why do people waste their money on clothes and cell phones? Because the past doesn`t matter and the future may never come. Because in Chile (and in all of South America, really), here is the reality: the past is too ugly to talk about and the world is so unpredictable (natural disasters and military coups) that they may all die tomorrow. For Chileans (and for most people in South America), what matters is here and now. 

This is what I was told tonight. Plain, simple, and spelled out. Buddha would be proud. Maybe. The more I thought about this explanation, the more my experience over the past few months started to make sense. That`s why there is such an emphasis on friends and family. That is why every goodbye comes with such a dramatic display of tears and kisses. That is why the food is so rich and delicious and heavy. That is why the desire to work hard in a career seems to be lacking. That is why there appears to be so little citizen participation. That is why they desire so much government support for food and health. That is why people of all ages appear inactive. That is why they party all night and sleep all morning. That is why they treat every stranger like they are best friends. That is why they don`t talk about the past, and that is why they don`t plan for the future. Here and now.

Okay. Fine. Understood.

But correct me if I`m wrong....but can`t you still have those important conversations right here and right now? Can`t you live in the present, but still consider the past and think about the future? Can't we find some middle way between the here-and-now-Chileans and the plan-for-later-Americans? 

Enough excuses, Chile. Talk already.