Away

This is how I'm feeling, mostly.

When I landed in La Paz at 5:30 in the morning it was still dark out, and the temperature was a stunning 34 degrees Fahrenheit. I had been dreading the altitude and its possible nose bleed inducing effects for weeks but had somehow managed to eclipse any concept of cold from my mind. I fled the plane with two covertly stolen airline blankets and hit the tarmac breathing ice. At the bus station in Al Alto, hovering 13,000 feet up on a steep incline above La Paz, I could see the snowy caps of the nearest peaks of the Andes as dozens of marvelous looking indigenous women trudged between the buses. Everyone looks so damn cool here. I know nothing of the socio-economic geographies of this country yet, so if El Alto´s bus station is the most hard core I get to see, I will have to go back. Old men in woolen button ups and caps giggled at my state, helped me get my shit together.

On my double decker bus I sat next to an Andean woman; black and grey braids down to her waste, tied together at the tip with bright blue wool strings from which hug woolen bell shaped pieces, a long bright satin skirt, sweater, rainbow cloth tied intricately into a bag, fabulous bowler hat with tassel perched improbably on her head. Apparently I will soon be able to tell the exact region of origin of these ladies by the length of their skirt and shape of their hat. The folks behind us brought on a couple of chickens which clucked quietly and intermittently throughout the ride, like my cat might on a long ride to the vet. At a certain point, as the sun got up over us in the afternoon and we found ourselves gliding neatly along the bends of the Andes, through miles and miles of desert, that same couple pulled out a small boom box and serenaded the bus with classic pop hits from Bolivia and the States alike. Bolivia may be the most bizarre and fascinating place I have ever been.

When I woke up on my first morning in Cochabamba, after a blissful 18 hours if sleep at my hostel, I held my eyes shut and tried to stay floating in that nebulous place where you don´t remember where your body could possibly be in space or time or intent... but when I finally did get the balls to get up and get out the door I had one glorious moment when I couldn´t help but think- fuck yeah. I got here. I moved my little feet along, into one thing that moves, into another, and here I am, in a valley in the middle of South America, in the sun, completely and totally alone. Which is a feeling that fast becomes disquieting. But still. When some well dressed young lady at the French-Brazilian dinner party our neighbors in Brooklyn were holding in their loft upstairs asked me for one piece of profound advice on traveling, all I could think to tell her was: it´s easier than you think. I stand by that. For all my anxious whining, I´m standing here disposed to create a life from scratch, for a while, because I can.

I went into the city center and got myself a phone for cheap. As I worked out its inner workings, I came across the pre-made texting quicknotes. I´ll be there in 5. I´ll be late. I´ll see you soon. Take care. And lastly: Te amare por siempre. I will love you forever. Can´t wait till I settle down enough to start sending that one out to folks.

I´m still figuring absolutely everything else out.