I was in the second trimester inside my mother’s womb when the Stonewall riots erupted in 1969. I was born at the dawn of the modern fight for gay and lesbian rights in the United States.
I was three years old when the American Psychiatric Association declassified homosexuality as a mental disorder. I was growing up in a world where the medical establishment would not consider me sick.
As a teenager I was frozen by the horrors of AIDS and the clashes between regressive government policies and fearless gay-rights activism. I knew I was attracted to males but amidst this conflagration my future was uncertain.
In my twenties I marched in Pride parades, raised thousands of dollars and bicycled 500 miles to support AIDS-related charitable organizations, and worked at pioneering companies that offered benefits to same-sex domestic partners. Yet as an out gay person I was excluded from serving in the US military and witnessed the odious Defense of Marriage Act become law.
I was living with my partner of nearly eight years in 2003 when the Supreme Court struck down Lawrence v. Texas. It was no longer illegal for me to expressly love someone of the same sex.
During the past ten years, politicians and religious leaders shamelessly made gay people scapegoats in campaigns and pariahs on television and radio across America. They called me immoral. They blamed me for the decline of the country. They accused me of taking away rights of others, corrupting children and destroying marriages and schools and churches.
While this was going on my country didn’t stand up for me. The federal government told me my love didn’t matter and that my relationship wasn’t real. I wasn’t entitled to the same recognition and rights that other couples have. While it collected more taxes from me for the same-sex benefits offered by my employer, it told me that I wasn’t capable of serving my country, that I wasn’t worth protecting if I were fired from a job or denied housing, and that it didn’t matter if I were the victim of a hate crime.
Timing is everything and my arrival in Salvador da Bahia coincides with a growing Perfect Storm:
the lead-up to the São João festival that will spill into the cobblestone streets of the Pelourinho neighborhood with wild drumming, dance and drunkenness
the kickoff of the FIFA Confederations Cup in Brazil with matches watched on big screens and celebrated in crowds throughout the city
the headline-grabbing street protests clamoring against government corruption, poor services and the high cost of living here
These brewing forces will surge in coming days, auguring a street festa of Big Brazilian proportions. Here’s a snippet of the preparations for the São João festival I witnessed in the streets the day after my arrival. If this is just a warm up, the real deal this weekend promises to sizzle!
It was a gratifying return to the United States: a few days of affection and rest in my childhood home of Dubuque, Iowa. Dad and Kelly greeted me in blustery Rockford, Illinois and we drove the beautiful stretch through Terrapin Ridge to the icy Mississippi River Valley, my old stomping grounds.
After six months rambling in South America it felt good to be back with family. It was easy to adapt to non-Latino life — I found respite in simple things like hot showers, speaking English, brushing my teeth with tap water, and slumbering deeply under heavy blankets and winter’s darkness and silence.
I was treated like royalty: Dad carefully planned each meal of home-cooked fare and kept up lively topics of conversation about politics, history, academia, my travels and the wider world. We kicked back with bottles of Leinies, discussed articles from the New York Times and The Nation, and laughed in a tavern drinking pints while the snow flurried wildly outside.
Each night I fell asleep with freight trains sounding in the distance. I awoke to Dad waiting for me with a smile and a cup of coffee. I was warm and content and cared for.
While I’ve lived more than half my life away from Dubuque, it’s probably where I’m most rooted and will always find homey comfort. It is safe and familiar, where things are measured and known, my reactions predictable and my memories stored away securely.
I spent an afternoon cleaning up old papers, sorting through the blurred places and faces from elementary school, junior high, high school. Wistful feelings surface: compunction, gladness, ambiguity.
I guess that’s the key to going home: delighting in the nostalgia while accepting the ambivalence.
My childhood’s home I see again, And sadden with the view; And still, as memory crowds my brain, There’s pleasure in it too.
Early Sunday morning I departed South America after nearly six meaningful months of volunteering and travel. Six months of living differently and seeking challenges, learning language and culture, and forging friendships. Each and every day was a blessing. I enjoyed moments of extreme pleasure and inspiration while discovering new paths to my future.
And in her characteristic style, South America amazed me at the very end with a fireworks finale. Her wondrous display of stormy booms and flashes illuminated the Colombian skies as I flew over the Andes one last time.
Goodbye South America. Thank you for treating me so well. I’ll be back soon.
I had no intention of visiting San Agustín and Tierradentro. But after perusing the information wall at the excellent Hosteltrail.com hostel, the Colombian Heritage Circuit struck me as the perfect four-day getaway to an interesting and not-very-visited part of the country.
This is an area that only recently opened to tourists. Long the domain of leftist People’s Army, a.k.a. FARC guerrillas (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia), the Colombian army has succeeded in pushing anti-government forces out. While I felt safe in my travels so far in Colombia, my current guidebook (published only months prior) still had intriguing warnings on specific routes:
You should not travel after dark, not because of guerrilla activity but rather due to late-night bandits…
I asked several locals in Popayán and no one seemed to think the area or the journey were all that risky. So off I went, during daylight hours of course.
San Agustín and Tierradentro are the sole UNESCO World Heritage architectural sites in Colombia, important reminders of the ancient culture of southern Colombia that dates from 4000 BC when settlers established agricultural communities and thriving trade connections.
Unfortunately little is known about this civilization. But hundreds of unearthed statues remain, beautifully sculpted from volcanic rock, represent humans, sacred animals and even fantastical monsters. Today these are viewed atop panoramic altos (hilltop burial grounds) overlooking emerald forests.
I arrived safely to San Agustín town after an uneventful (yet bumpy) bus ride through the sparsely populated Andean hills. I did see armed Colombian soldiers patrolling the roads but the only apparent threat were the hairpin turns on unpaved roads that teetered above steep chasms.
San Agustín is a boom town, more bustling than I expected. Tourism is set to take off with newly-arrived expats opening traveler-oriented businesses. I was greeted warmly at the flashpacker-chic Bambú Hostal where I spent a couple comfortable and undisturbed nights. Cheery Dionisio, the jazz-playing Argentine hipster who owns the hotel, pointed me to the remarkably tasty Tomate Verde, a healthy vegetarian restaurant run by a gifted German cook.
After a couple weeks in sleepy, southwestern Colombia – a tourist hinterland – Cali was a refreshing change. A large city of three million, Cali’s strong Afro-Colombian culture makes it one of the friendliest. I was greeted warmly by locals with a hearty Bienvenidos, de dónde viene? (“Welcome, where are you from?”).
In a country rich in rhythms, salsa reigns supreme in Cali. It blasts from buses, apartment windows, bars and restaurants, even in public plazas. And Cali’s energetic vibe is boosted by the strong coffee that flows freely in cafés on seemingly every street corner.
My stay in Cali was brief but I got a good taste of the city: its chaotic markets, the flavorful foods, the surprising large expatriate community, even the night life. With my mates from the hostal I took a salsa dancing lesson and enjoyed cold Club Colombia beers at a bar blasting cumbia tunes.
I stayed in the charismatic colonial neighborhood of San Antonio, just a few blocks south of the main city center, which is a bohemian cluster of residences, hip cafés and galleries. I enjoyed the tranquility of this urban barrio with its picturesque streets and ornate doorways and window, but I left the city wanting to see more…
My next visit to Cali will hopefully coincide with the renowned World Salsa Festival… ¡a baila’, a goza’!
Here in Colombia’s coffee heartland, I’ve been ingesting a lot of caffeine. And consequently considering things.
Today I’ve been on the road exactly five months. And I have to admit I’ve hit one of those moments. I’ll call it what it is: a travel low.
Independent travel is what I love and what I crave. But it can be hard work, occasionally I get tired and the luster fades. It’s bound to happen – endlessly overnighting in unfamiliar towns, countless buses and constantly eating out, routine conversations with strangers, forever packing, planning and figuring shit out. It all takes a toll.
I’ve never traveled this long or far in one trip. Long-term travelers I’ve met have told me that breaks are essential in enduring lengthy spells on the road. Stopping can be as important as moving. I’m ready to sit in once place for a bit.
Maybe I feel this way because this travel chapter is winding down. Knowing that I have a couple more weeks in South America hastens the process of boxing things up and turning things off. Paul and Mark and Amy arrive in two days – I am thrilled to close out this journey with loved ones but also caught in this hollow of waiting.
So these driftless past weeks have been hard for me. I feel I’m at my best when I have specific objectives, like the Kiva fellowship, working on a technology project or learning something (like Portuguese) in a structured way.
Yet simply traveling around with a backpack is, and always will be, an important goal of mine. But now after extended periods in South America and Southeast Asia – nine months of transient world travel – I’m ready for something with a different purpose: a new vocational direction, more volunteering, deeper engagement with people, some rooting in a community.
It’s not that I don’t have any plans. There’s much I want to accomplish professionally and personally. Paul and I have lots of exciting ideas and are working on them. But nothing yet is concrete. Things remain uncertain, unclear. This business of changing one’s path is a deliberate process. It takes time. And patience has never been one of my strengths.
Soon I will say goodbye once again to South America and it will not be easy. These past months have been gratifying beyond words and my love for this continent and people grows deeper with each visit. And I look forward to my journey northwards; I want to greet family and friends, taste foods that I miss, start new projects, enjoy the ease and familiarity of home turf for a while.
That’s it, my low point: a threshold. My apprehensive transition between here and there. I know things will sort themselves out in time. Today’s trough will be a peak tomorrow.
So enough of these ruminations about past and future!
Here’s where I am right now:
I sit on the colorful wooden balcony of my charming hostal overlooking the main plaza of Filandia. It’s an overcast Sunday, the town is abuzz with locals enjoying this day of rest, this Sabbath. The busy work of yesterday and tomorrow weighs on no one.
Sunday – a threshold too – is a time to pause, sit and chat, sip steaming cups of coffee to lilting ranchera music…
There was so much we loved during our weeks in Ecuador but here are the standout “Number Ones” from each of us:
Paul’s #1 Thrill
Riding the “milk truck” on a journey that seemed to climb its way to the apex of a very remote and stunning area of the Andes. We enjoyed the open air with the camaraderie of the locals who, like us, were taking the only ride out of town that day. The only thing missing was a thermos of nice hot coffee because we did have the luxury of an endless supply of fresh creamer right at our fingertips.
Peter’s #1 Natural Wonder
The captivating Quilotoa Crater Lake was a supremely blissful start of our 3-day trek through the remote Andean highlands. Every step of our walk was beautiful but the splendor of Volcán Quilotoa’s turquoise water was the most dazzling of all.
Paul’s #1 People
The group of young Ecuadorian hikers we met at the waterfall near Baños. If they are an example of the young and upcoming generation in Ecuador I have great hope for that country. I was thoroughly impressed with their enthusiasm, curiosity and manners not to mention they were just plain fun.
Peter’s #1 Animal
We encountered countless friendly critters in Ecuador, but none endeared our hearts like Felipe in at our hostal in Chugchilán. This lovely little cat spent every moment with us: purring on our laps, rambunctiously playing with peacock feathers, knocking over beer bottles, sneaking in the dining room to sniff our food, and generally being an entertaining nuisance. Oddly the owner said Felipe was in “mourning” over the recent death of his sister, but to us Felipe was always in the highest of spirits – he certainly lifted ours.
Paul’s #1 Area
Baños. I not only enjoyed the immense beauty of the stunning scenery which engulfed this town but the energy that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny was infectious. The town was filled with backpackers who seemed to be on a single quest… to challenge themselves with a myriad of activities ranging from zip lining to bungee jumping and every other hair-raising experience in between. Oh… did I mention the daily soak in the natural hot springs which was just icing on the cake in this little paradise of the Andes.
Peter’s #1 Show
Barnum & Bailey’s it wasn’t but the traveling Miami Circus’ small troupe of performers that landed in Vilcabamba far surpassed our expectations. The clowns had us laughing hard while the charmingly hokey trapeze acts kept us in our seats – unexpected feats for a pint-sized Big Top!
Paul’s #1 Hostel
The beach shack in Canoa which was akin to popping several Valiums every day. I have never known such deep relaxation in the week we had the pleasure of staying there. I’m not sure if it was the fact we were barefoot the entire week…or could it be the gentle sway of the hammocks which we seemed to live in….or maybe the mellow rhythm of the surf… how about the cool and constant ocean breeze which kept us so wonderfully comfortable? It was all just perfect.
Peter’s #1 Meal
Weary after a couple weeks of dining on heaps of rice and heavy fried plantains, we keenly ordered up two salads in Vilcabamba that were delightfully satiating. With crisp, crunchy greens from the surrounding fertile valley and delicious home-made salad dressing, it was a pleasingly healthy and hearty meal. And despite the nationwide Sunday ban on alcohol, the waiter was gracious enough to surreptitiously serve us beer in coffee mugs – ah, the recalcitrance of small towns!
Paul’s #1 Drink
My Club Rojas beer. I can’t think of a better way to spend a dollar on a warm and sunny afternoon.
Peter’s #1 Non-alcoholic Beverage
We loved the fresh-pressed sugarcane juice found everywhere in Ecuador. Street vendors cranked the tough stalks through clanking presses that squeezed out fresh yellowy guarapo. After our active days in Baños, the sweet glasses of jugo de caña never failed to replenish our energy.
Paul’s #1 Scariest Moment
Coming inches away from cracking my head on a concrete wall at the end of the zip line ride. Going from 40km per hour to 0 head first just a few feet from this wall gives me a headache just thinking about it.
Peter’s #1 Ride
Our Ecuadorian train journey up and down the sheer 600 m (2,000 ft) cliffs of Nariz del Diablo in the Andes was a pure thrill. We were mildly disappointed when we learned we could no longer ride on top of the carriage (two Japanese tourists fell off and died), but the panoramic windows provided sufficiently knuckle-biting views.
Paul’s #1 Exciting Moment
Galloping down Main Street in Vilcabamba on a horse named Tequila. It would have made John Wayne very proud.
Peter’s #1 Rainfall
Passing through Mindo, the birding capital of Ecuador, we decided to take a waterfall walk through the rainforest. And it rained and rained and rained. It is the rainforest after all… ‘nuff said.
The Basílica del Voto Nacional in Quito offers intrepid travelers a chance to scale the soaring bell towers for blessed views of the city and area volcanoes. Paul said I look like a Broadway actor wannabe in this photo… it would make a great setting for a Cats-inspired musical: Bats! (In The Belfry)
Quito’s Old City, a wondrous maze of colonial architecture, is the largest and best-preserved in the Americas. Having endured a massive upgrade in recent years – with historic buildings restored and dicey barrios revitalized – the Old Town now boasts an impressive list of notable wonders: nearly 60 colonial churches and plazas, a bevy of Independence-era buildings, dozens … Continue reading “Reliquary of the Americas: Quito’s Old Town”
Quito’s Old City, a wondrous maze of colonial architecture, is the largest and best-preserved in the Americas. Having endured a massive upgrade in recent years – with historic buildings restored and dicey barrios revitalized – the Old Town now boasts an impressive list of notable wonders: nearly 60 colonial churches and plazas, a bevy of Independence-era buildings, dozens of private homes, and a long list of outstanding museums.
Wandering the Old Town is a treat for the eyes and I was entertained for days. I’m not normally a huge fan of Latin American capital cities but the lure of Quito’s centro histórico is hard to resist!
There’s not a lot to report from the Pacific Coast of Ecuador – we spent an uneventful week relaxing with our feet plunked in the sand, swinging in a hammock under palm trees, drinking cold beers and eating fresh catch seafood with piles of rice and fried plantains.
After months of being at altitude high in the dry Andes of Bolivia and Peru, I was craving water. Specifically the ocean. My home for the past decade has been coastal Maine and the sea has become a constant in my life. I was drained from my service as a Kiva Fellow crisscrossing Bolivia and Paul was ready for a break from the airlines.
It was time for some beach R&R.
Canoa was recommended to us by several travelers – it’s small enough to duck the surf-and-party scene yet large enough to offer good backpacker accommodation and an assortment of mom-and-pop restaurants. And with surfable waves and undeveloped beaches that stretch for miles, Canoa was our pick and we quickly settled into our comfy beachfront bungalow at the Hostal Baloo.
![Posing with quiteño street graffiti... I love the ironic anti-TV message: \"Consume! Everything\'s fine\" and \"Don\'t question\"](https://peregringo.com/wp-content/gallery/quito/quito-05.jpg "Posing with quiteño street graffiti... I love the ironic anti-TV message: \\"Consume! Everything\'s fine\\" and \\"Don\'t question\\"")
