A lot of love

So for 3 months I lived the San Marcos life.  

The life of the expat half of the town that is,  Quite different from that of the local Mayan populus. Largely,  my days are spent at the webcast Yoga Forest, switching between working in the cafe,  to doing permaculture,  to managing the place while our actual manager was away.  An ever changing stream of guests, taking different courses passed through, from youngsters Re-wilding, to full-on woman rebirthing retreats,  as well as a whole yoga teacher training. 

The various other volunteers became dear friends during my time there,  and the spirit of conjunct grew strong.  Some nights we made pizza,  others we sang by the fire. Every other week or so there would be another crazy beautiful psychedelic party somewhere in town an we'd all go and dance through the night. Not able to ever fully comprehend how it could all be so beautiful and wondering if everyone here if just amazing, or all my friends are legends? 

The realms that have been created to host the San Marcos trim scene kept surprising me,  as does the lake,  like always. Some of the magic nights are facilitated by this amazing woman Asaya, creating magic tantric cacao infused dream states of harmonic union in different places.  She helped me break throug the mental barriers of separation and I found that I could connect to a deeper level. 

Madness in San Marcos culminated only after Semana Santa, the holy week with the Feria de San Marcos. The now distant memories of new years boms and random fireworks violently returned with all night music, robberies and drunks in the streets, and of course lots of bombs.

What happened to our more or less quite town? Stalls sprung up everywhere and the central squere features a bizare collection of feris weels and such, ´not a senic, but a thrill ride´, as one of my friends rightfully spoke. and the official 3 days were stretched into 3 weeks.... 

Sawdust streed deco for Easter Processions

The spring equinox came and went,  and the rains started moving in. Monsoon season was about to begin and I was ready to move on.  So I said farewell to all the dear friends, the brothers,  the lovers,  and took to the open road again,  in the Guatemalan chicken bus,  to that great open cesspit,  that is known as Guate city.  A night,  the first of three as free,  in a sleasy brothel, was followed by 48 hours in the de-humanizing flicker of 4 different airports,  waiting,  getting screened,  getting ripped off,  taking a flash walk through the old town of Panama city,  falling apart,  decaying,  devaluing itself. 

Such an uncivilized tree.
This ficus, the idea,  of them as urban....
A tree,  full of pelicans, 
They snap as they're landing,
As the city crumbles,
At the ocean, the great wide ocean.
Smooth and seductive karaoke,
Flows through the afternoon.
Lush, warm tropic air,
Strokes my fluffy hair.
I like it, and my skin breathes,
Oh a different side of Panama indeed.

Getting of the plane, seeming to be the only foreigner in the entire airport,  The first Venezuelan I spoke to seemed surprised to see me here,  ' why' he asked? A fair question. He bade me Goodluck as we parted. 

Money than.  I had read online that the official exchange rate for dollars is far lower than on the Blackmarket. This is not unusual,  but here is's over 4 times as high.  So I located a guy confusingly wearing a official blue shirt (Who appeared to be a porter of some sort and conveyed him my intentions.  He beconed me to a small table on the arrival hall's extremes and gestured me to put my 20 dollar bill on the round surface. He bent over his one leg,  fumbled at his pants sleeve,  and produced 3 fat stacks of 100 Bolivar bills,  600 in total,  making a staggering 60.000 Bolívares.  I didn't know how to feel with all this cash on me, but stuffed the paper bricks in my bag,  and made my way outside. 

Around 15 euro´s worth of Boli´s

Now these are not old scruffy little wads of paper like one may recieve in India,  but nice clean,  relatively new pretty bills neatly packed in rubber bands by the 200. Venezuela is going through a  case of hyper inflation.  Everyone has lost faith in the currency so a strong dollar highly valued.  To really understand the consequences of this. Imagine that there would be nothing in your country over 5 cent coins.  Imagine how that would change your life every time you buy anything!  Now imagine that those coins would be bills,  and that each bill would be a hundred euro bill. That's what these people are going through. 
Only years ago,  those 100 bills would have had some actual value,  now,  they are just a nuicence. To avoid the endless counting,  some places have started to weigh the money by the brick to estimate it's value!  the largest bill right now is only worth 4 dollars. I feel very strange carrying around such vast amounts of cash,  than again I smile,  yes,  this stack of banknotes is only worth a few quarters. And than,  in the last 2 weeks,  money devalued by 20 %. Yesterday I did the very ever cheapest thing in my life that wasn't free,  I took the Caracas metro for a staggering 4 boli's, costing me,  hold your breath,  € 0.00,01 cent. That is one thousandth of a euro!  That's because it's government owned,  so the price can not go up because they want to keep the impression that everything is okay.  

The city of Caracas,  I arrived in the first of may,  labor day. Grandesque manifestations covered every main Avenue and square, all in support if president Maduro and comandante Chaves. Hero status assured,  as their faces cover every facade and open wall.  Surprising they even left me in,  at this fragile moment of economic collapse.  The military,  omni present,  only served me once as I walked through the city,  trying to find my nonexistent hostel. More out of sheer interest I felt than anything else.  They sure didn't like how calm I stayed, showing them the meagre contents of my pack. Than sent me in my way.  Eventually,  with the kind help of an elderly Venezuelan, I did manage to score a room at hotel Inter. A classic city place seemingly stuck in the 1970ties. And the desk clerk typing away at a antique type writer defenitly deserving a place in the local museum of antiquities. My room than, with private bath,  towels and big double bed,  cost me a full 9.500 Bs. Our just over € 3. After the last 2 wearisome nights I crashed out on the soft matress and snoozed the afternoon away.
As the late orange light struck the grey apartment blocks opposite I headed down to the streets for something to eat.  Choices are very limited,  and for the last 3 days I've lived almost exclusively on a  diet of bananas,  mango and fried things  but I feel okay.  Shops do actually have food to sell, which 

is against expectations,  but it's often pretty far past is prime. Fruit is cheap,  bread is expensive.

Fuel goes for 5 cents a litre, but lentils are nearly unaffordable. This is a  strange place.  I do not feel particularly welcome here, because,  I assume,  they think I'm American. but maybe that's because these of the constant organized conditioning of hate by the forces,  as a tool to take away the focus of the problems they have internally.  Once we start to converse,  they are really warm. One can feel that only quite recently,  this country experienced relative prosperity. Smartphones are a rarity here,  and if seen at all,  are only of the smallest, simplest kind.  

Yet now,  it all crumbles,  and trash fills gutters and abandoned lots.  People hang out in the streets and protest,  but mostly in favour of the regime. Only at night,  when most hide inside because of the urban violence,  they are heard. Suddenly,  around 20. 00 I realized from my room that there was a selling sound coming from the outside.  Hundreds of pan lids and metal things being slanted together on a cacophonous orchestra to voice their discontent. Loud, strangely happy music being played from somwhere, and fire crackers going off in the abandoned streets,  to express their support for the opposition. In the daylight once could almost believe there is no such thing.  And the media surely only speaks about them to to remind you that they are the fascists, and the enemy.  But I felt a strange alliance, with these voiceless. Why does communism time and again lead to famine and repression? I do not support corporate, but am I really so conditioned by capitalism to see what is really happening here?

Really,  one might believe it is okay.  From where I'm starting now,  in a villa on the fancy,  safe and gated communities on the city,  with their private luxurious shopping arcades where the societies fortunate buy and eat under golden arches,  and no one walks home. Where it seems,  I'f one is very close eyes that everything is working fine.  But down in town,  on the guys of the modern looking metro system,  there was a young mother,  with a half naked baby cradled in her arms,  

looking lost, and with no hope in her eyes. 

How beautiful this country,  so green and lush.  The vipassana center where I went,  on a fresh mountain slope, views of distant lands. Sometimes rained, than there was sun,  but always there was named,  inside my head,  even though outside was usually still,  and full of crickets of every possible kind,  many of who probably weren't crickets at all.  the universe gave me a nice bunch of stuff to work with four this course. Helped me to get rid of my conditioned reactions or sankara's. From the very mundane of wanting a certain pair of pants I'd left behind in Guatemala,  to the building of a house,  it all passed,  and I struggled.  It never becomes any easier. The sixth course,  but still as hopelessly resisting as ever,  only the posture improved. 
Now south America lays before me,  and I am to figure out how to proceed.  Luckily a  friendly older lady from the course offered me to stay in her enormous house that is slowly falling apart,  as he husband and daughter have fled the Venezuelan collapse to Peru,  and she is pretty lonely. 

And I worrying about my petty things,  while my life is so great.  

Thankful we should truly be for every day,  that we are healthy and free. 

Blessed with prosperity and choices, 

and people to love.