Three Months In

     On a cold blustery day of January I hopped on a plane that took me from Chicago to Guatemala City. Now I am three months in, and I am aware that a shift has taken place.  These southern lands, this latino-latina culture, these inviting families, salt filled winds, these beats that blare from speakers at all hours of the day, these old white churches and most of all, this underlying sense of heart that permeates through every mountain village, every crazy city, every coastal town, has captured my heart.  South America has taken me in, and I have surrendered.
     And everyday is not perfect, in fact most days hold little trinkets of challenging events.  For example, my now constant travellers diarrhea (excuse the gross honesty, I have lost all modesty in traveling) has become completley normal.  Many hours and nights have passed on a bus, clutching my stomach, and praying that the bus driver will find it in his heart to stop for a break somewhere within the fifteen hour trip.  I have gotten used to waking from a small nap on the bus to us passing a large truck at what seems like 70 miles per hour around a blind curve, headlights from an oncoming vehicle glaring, and horns blaring as passing signals.  I am no longer fazed by perplexing toilets and am learning to remember more often to bring my own TP or napkin with me, as often is the case, there is none.  There are different standards of cleanliness now.  I have grown accustomed to my clothes reaking of a weeks activity, and in turn, gotten used to washing my clothes by hand, rubbing them vigarously over stone washboards like the local women (while contemplating how women find time to do  anything besides the wash) and hanging them on rocks, in trees, on rails.
     My wallet has been heavy with unchangable coins, my eyes heavy with sensory overload.  I am learning new rhythms of living, and how to discover and follow my own beat.  Plans change, new ideas manifest, and at times I find myself going or arriving to places I did not expect.  For example, Fabienne and I just bused all the way through Colombia, stopping only briefly in Popayan and Medellin along the way.  Many people asked why we would do such a thing, and miss out on visiting all of the different places, old ruins, mountain markets, coffee farms, places to rock climb and dance salsa.  But the truth is there can always be more to see, more to do, what really matters is how one is where one is, and in this instance for Fabienne and I , we needed to return to the waves, to the people of the coast.  We had many other plans that got left behind as we awoke each morning craving the ocean.  Now we are here, re-energizing and re-rooting a bit among the sweetest mangoes, most kind people, and music to accompany the drips of sweat that run constantly down the whole body.
     I have found that with enough time and curiosity interesting things will happen.  Time reveals a place.  Conversations with sun worn fishermen manifest, friendships with locals happen, laughter and play with children has an oppertunity to surface.  Sometimes it is difficult to arrive in a new place, but mostly it is the leaving that anxiously pulls at my heart.  Leaving Canoa was one of the hardest decisions to make, and at each stopping point heading north I questioned turning back.  Traveling encourages the practice of trusting, of following intuition, and then sometimes without quite knowing how or why, going forth, following pathways of the heart with blind faith that what will be, will be, nothing more is necessary.  I read a passage recently that stated: If you´re not doing something new, you´re doing something you´ve done before.  Simple in context, profound in enactment.
    So, will you all be seeing me soon?  Probably.  My beautiful friend Melina has a grand wedding planned to take place come mid May, my mom tells me to come home as soon as possible, and friends assure me there is beauty and magic that still resides in the United States.  However, on days like today, surrounded by turqoise blue Carribean water like I have never seen, a wonderful girlfriend to share beer and coffee and matte with, a family with a child called Etienne who has curly dark hair and teaches me spanish words like ´paloma´ and ´cucaracha´- a little bit of my mind wonders about staying here, teaching yoga, laughing, learning, and exchanging- in these lands so rich in heart.
Cheers.

Photography Five

http://picasaweb.google.com/adley.bertsch/PhotographyFive02#

Dear friends and family.  It has been a while.  I have stepped more fully into the lands and ocean waters of Ecuador, more fully into a place that is not Wisconsin, Vermont, or Colorado, into differing rhythms of cultures, paces of a day.  The last two weeks I have spent in the small coast town turned half surfer town of Canoa.  The weeks have been full..., ceviche, guitar playing, laughing, getting totally smashed and thrown around by waves, and then slowly slowly learning how to ride them unstead of fighting them...of dancing salsa, talking with locals, walking through old colorful graveyards, and most of all being blessed by the company of a new dear friend, Fabienne.  But also, it is with some hesitancy, I must write, that the last few days have been hard.  I hestitate for two reasons, one being it will surly worry my mother, and two being, it is not uplifting news.  That being said, two nights ago a freind and fellow traveler was attacked and raped by a gang of six men on the beach.  The shock and horror of this kind of news, no matter what the cirucumstances, is chilling and has left me and the community grappling with the complexity of emotions that follow such an occurance.  It leaves me questioning...the intention of people, the energy of a surfer party town, why and how.  Tonight I will leave with Fabienne.  I had planned on traveling south to Peru and Boliva for the last leg of my trip, but now, for a varity of reasons,  including the landslides that have led to a late opening of machu picchu, including wanting to continue to travel with Fabienne, and including all of the good tales I have heard of Colombia, I now head north.  I will keep you posted.  We will be safe, strong, and mindfully aware.  Enjoy these photos.

What One Might Do or See in the Landscapes of Otavalo

one night.  Take a stroll across the country road to a family home which also serves as a small panaderia.  proceed to walk in and be greeted by eight or so faces smiling and staring at you (the gringo).  speak somewhat incoherent spanish.  Laugh much.  Successfully purchase three pieces of pan de dulce

some mornings.  listen to the sound of flutes played by the school children outside the window

get sick from foreign foods and elevation

an emerald green hummingbird with a six inch black tail

buy a conatiner of honey for one dollar.  eat a lot of it.

women with strong stout legs.  skirts.  necklaces of gold, covering the whole neck-part of the chest.  top hats and feathers.  dignity.  kind beauty

every morning.  as you walk down the stone made mountain road wave and greet the tiny children trekking up the hill to school.  observe their sometimes shy, sometimes boisterous, sometimes sly trickster smiles

ask your spanish teacher for her quinoa soup recipe

go to buy a bit of salt.  find only enormous bags.  again in broken spanish, ask if it is possible to buy a smaller amount.  watch as the woman with the twinkle crinkled eyes opens the large bag of salt, gets a napkin out, unfolds it and dumps a handful of salt in.  hands you the napkin bundle of salt free of charge

buy the sweetest tasting pineapple, a head of garlic, one bunch of chard, and a bag of the most tender tiny fingerling potatoes, all for under two dollars

dream, and study, and talk to yourself in spanish

most every afternoon.  stop by the resturaunt de Rosita for one of her fluffy steamed sweet cornflour sort of snack, wrapped in a banana leaf with one juicy raison on top

on your morning walk-delight in discovering what music blares out from the homes of these rural indiginous peoples- at seven am...reggae, classic ecuadorian, salsa, the beatles

bright colors. salmon orange.  turqoise. tile red roofs.  long black braids. white pants.