Tai Chi Zapote

As the last post was rather long, I´ve sliced the end bit of it like it were a ripe, creamy Zapote, and retrofitted it into the start of this next chapter.

So for you trustworthy readers, this might be old news, but now with the addition of some juicey imagery. 

However, on a different note, who of you have ever had the pleasure to put you teeth (well, you don´t really need them, as it´s so soft, but never mind...) into the deliciouss, bodily fruit that is sometimes called Zapote, or also Mamey? 

It is about the sweetest fruit you can imagine. A rare splice with the texture of salmon, mango and peach, and similarly coloured, the taste somewhat resembling condensed cotton candy, honey and watermelon, but way creamier, and feauturing a huge shiney seed in it´s midst, that is used to grind into porridge flour.

It often is the start of a glorious day, here, on the magic lake of Atitlan.

Anyway, to return to the story....

I left the crater on a Saturday, and headed for the capital. There I took a crazy seatless bus west, and made it almost to the Honduran border, to the town of Chiquimula to be exact. In the closed market district I found a derelict hotel and when making for the main street for a bite found almost every other shop to be a metal barred farmacy beaming into the night. 

Next morning, after doing my practice near the football field cum garbage dump, closely observed by squadrons of vultures, animal and human alike.  

Than hit the border of neighboring Honduras, and in the early morning touched base in the charming town of Copan Ruïnas. Where, upon reaching a safe hideaway, opened a little magic box.

Rize, oh Ancient Sun, and create this day Anew!

Got ready for another magic adventure, and dropped out. 

Then, there was a burst of energy, and I made my way over to the ancient city. I did not directly go over to the impressive heaps of stone, but first made a detour through the forest. Oh what Forest! How alive do I feel in this jungle,  so vibrant so green,  so alive. Upon a great  grandmother tree I came, Ceibal sacred world tree to the Maya, many hundreds of years old like a great elephant leg and a enormous skirt of wood big like a whole house, standing there clad in a coat of life, bromeliads and ferns and mosses dangling from it's ginormous branches, who, what a creature! How I enjoyed the smell of this forest, the forest floor so reminding me of that earthy smell that European Forests apparently share. At last I came to the central great Plaza where Aras dwell in  trees as one approaches. Their crazy loud calling deafening ones ears,  screaming, oh so funny they are. Copan  ruins do not future any great pyramids but instead there are many smaller structures, with lively inscriptions, and representations of human faces so queer and different and wonderful. How enchanting to imagine how all these statues and stones have just stood here all those long years in the jungle, being overgrown, until cleared one more in recent times. Once this city was home to some 60,000, now it is almost abandoned, but for nature, it is a new city all over again.  

Hanging out with the Homies at Copan, Back in the Heydays.

Oh these people, so insane! So

much Stone, entire Hills they moved. And then left everything, for time to devour.

Than, many eons later, coming back to that save haven, utterly exhausted but greatly enriched, you may be sure that I slept well that night. 

But in the dawn of the morning I practiced my Tai Chi, as the sun rose and turned the clouds to Cotton Candy pink.  Now onwards to the coast, a beautiful bus ride through a long wide Valley carried me Puerto Barrios. A forlorn town built by the United Fruit Company as a harbor for bananas mostly, back in the days of the banana republics. It started raining, which was a refreshing surprise, as I had not seen rain for over  two months, which is strange for a Dutchman. The usual Harbor charm appealed to me, and I walked the muddy tropical streets, bathing in it's muggy air. I did not linger long. But took a boat  along the shore of that sea seems like the end of the world. In reality though, it was only small Bay of the Caribbean, but emerges the question, what is reality? 

I arrived across the gray waves in the quaint little town of Livingston. This is a home to the Garifuna people, a tribe of mixed native and African descent, I could feel their vibrant existence. After finding the most amazing, inspired, seaside, shell covered and wreck  futuring organic Cafe called Cacahuatl, and meeting a bunch of friends. I stayed in the weird, half deserted concrete chunk of a hotel that to me seem to have absolutely no place in a town like this.  But I guess it has?  I made it to the rainbow gathering that was happening in the wild jungle nearby. A bunch of friendly folks welcomed me home, and for a night I stayed in their midst, with the mud, and the fire, and the Starlight.

Why are jungle Rivers so amazing, of course all rivers are amazing, maybe apart from that black open sewer I always remember in Kathmandu,  bubbling, full of filth, and a decaying cadaver of a herbivore on it's banks. 

That one too, of course, is amazing in its own right, but not as amazing as this stream of purity. With vines hanging low overhead, insects chirping all around, and the water a deep blue. So I bathed before once more heading back into that city, and wandering along the beach, so many coconuts I found. 

Oh what a joy,  joy to drink their iridescent fluid life. The waves or metal gray covered by Pelicans. I got to jump small rivers, and explore more of this amazing jungle that makes me feel so alive. This is where I breathe, this is where my whole being takes air, emotional air. I love it so much, this climate, however muggy, I love it. I don't care if my shirt sticks wet with sweat to my back, if pearls bead on my forehead, if I'm being chased by various insects, I love it.

From Livingston I took boat up river, the Rio Dulce, and came to a halt on one of it's branches where I stayed in a jungle retreat. Surrounded by that 24-7 wall of sound, of crickets, cicadas, all the thousands of little crawly creepers all around. Absorbing the life, the vegetation, taking it deep into my heart,  and breathing out exultation.

Oh yeah people do still live out here in small, thatched huts crafted from the wilderness. So imagine their surprise,  when suddenly out comes a tall, strange looking foreigner, just sitting down on the edge of their clearing, observing their normal life. So beautiful to me however, what to them is normal.  A tiny hamlet by a stream, ducks in the clear water, sun on the palms overhead, nothing special, but so precious.

After more wandering through the jungle, my machete close at hand, feeling so safe. Like it's that which I've been missing, this sword that gives an edge to reality, and provides accuracy. It makes me feel so manly, but also more compassionate, perhaps because it makes me more aware of that my sense of right or wrong, if such exist, is of importance.

Back on the river the next day, heading over to Rio Dulce town, the town's bewildering harbor vibe. I was on my way home now, home being The Lake. But on my way there, I was determined to pass by the hot waterfall I had heard of from several people. Basically it was just stunning. In one stroke my favorite place in Guatemala by far.  Hot water of perfect temperature, gushing into a big stream of gorgeous refreshing mountain quench. Steam rising up from the two rivers merging, and limestone rock stalactites and other formations embossing the scene. What a beauty, what a natural miracle, how lucky to have known such a place. I never fail to be intrigued by springs of any sort. But even more so by thermic ones. How magical, is this Earth, that such a blessing as this hot water, just bubbles up from the ground!

The rest of that whole blessed day feeling so clean, was spent rising up from the jungle of lower altitude, and reaching the Guatemalan state of  Verapaz, the true peace, so named in the time when the native Mayans were being converted, suppressed and decimated. History? Not-so-distant. This again is the area wear during the gruesome civil war of Guatemala most of the atrocities were being committed.

Clouds on the mountain....

So much respect I have for these people, so hardy, living in these mountains. When will they ever be allowed to have their own land back?  When will we ever stop denying the rights of these natives and honor them as they deserve? These are the timekeepers, who after the collapse of the great Mayan civilization, kept counting the days, in great Cycles, to this very day.

Through a great wide valley, of steep brown slopes, I came to their city of Chichicastenango. Sunday, lively market day, understandably popular with other foreigners, but pretty all the same. I actually enjoyed it there a lot, wading through the colorful masses and every street carpeted with styles and local crafts, textures, patterns, designs, so much Beauty. People were very friendly, and even though I has not come to buy anything specific, I walked away with with a collection of aboriginal heritage in the form of various woven fabrics, with a dazzling array of designs. I felt much contented, exchanging 35 Euros for all this richness, this treasure of this memory of a people.

Did I say that I do like that town? From the rooftop of my simple hotel, the white walls of the vaulted cathedral could be seen, that which is built upon a Mayan temple platform, the original stairs leading up to it still there. 18 steps for the 18 months of the Mayan year. I did not know this when I sat down upon those ancient stones, resting after all my purchases, when a couple of street kids laughingly approached me, so shy, but finnaly eager to accept my offer of tostadas or anything they wished to eat.  What a precious moment, there on those stairs, overlooking the humming Market,  now coming to a close.

This was also the end of my nine day journey. Ask the dusk gathered, I felt most peaceful, contented and enriched by all these new experiences. Next day it would be time to reunite with my Love,  come back to that village of San Marcos with it's gravitational Force on my mind,  and start practicing Tai Chi once more.

As the weeks developed, practice became ever more intense. The village having less of a grip on me than ever before. How different this year from the last. Almost an entirely different place it seems. Every morning  in the darkness Peace and I would set out through the empty streets San Marcos, or san barcos as it might be called for all those dogs who seem so utterly nocturnal, so generously sharing their song with us throughout the nights.  So we would get to the temple, glowing yellow light shining down upon us, and many chimes tickling our ears. So in silence we would practice, slowly moving through the charged dawn air. The lake and volcanoes ever-changing, in every shade if gray, indigo, lilac and orange.  Sometimes we would be visited by a hummingbird as small as the 2 last digits of my pinky finger. Other days a sparrow would be singing on the corner of the tenple full of joy for the new day to come.  What a beautiful and intense thing it is this Thai Chi. How much there is to learn in something that externally seems so simple?! Every movement a piece of art,  a treasure slowely gained by daily attentive practice. And then again after class we would walk home passing the goat guy along milk fresh from the udder.  We would get back to our small pink house and cuddle in the sunshine, or make breakfas and live a beautiful life of sharing space together. What an intense thing as well relationships can be. Almost always are I guess? But so rewarding, so challenging, so enriching, so much opportunity to grow, and look at myself, discard the old, and develop the new. She is such a sweet being, I am convinced of it, I want to sing the song of her gloryall day, and yet sometimes my ego stands in the way. What a mirror. What an amazing opportunity to be together with such a woman of power.

While doing Tai Chi we also undertook to do a pranayama breathwork course at Las piramides with Jennica. That woman too is a Powerhouse. In only 4 days transferred to us a wealth of knowledge and wisdom, concerning Prana, the breath and its applications. We got high as a bunch of vultures, breathing deep and breathing shallow. And felt absolutely amazing. I keep passing out whenever I practice breathwork, which is very unusual for me, but I kind of like it. It's a new frontier to explore, and it feels so beneficial and with so many applications. 

Time is a strange thing, and even though the days hardly get any longer here, they  surely did pass. Peace and I treasured our every moment together, or we tried,  whenever we didn't get too caught up in our own stories. And thus celebrating life  we reached the moment that she had to leave. She going back to her life, and I remaining with mine. 

 

The temple of Dao

She left with the first boat and I saw her go across the silver water. How whimsical is this togetherness so powerful and so feeble. There were no words in the silence,  and in the darkness with my eyes closed I could not see. One day I remember before she went, we closed all the blinds one morning, and spend hours in the darkness, exploring  each others minds by orojecting our emotions to the inside of eachothers heads and living by sensation as guidance alone.  Then, when we broke the curtain, diamonds shot out in all directions, enchanting colors like never seen before, and indeed never seen are with those eyes, now anew, and  unconditioned. The trees, so vibrantly green, were absolutely crushing it out there in the sky of sun and air.

Descending them, back into that village along the lakeshore, so similar, yet now so different that she was gone. I don't know if I still remember what life was before she ever decided to bless us both and come out here. I moved into a room at the always lively Pacha Mama Family hostal, always featuring an abundance of kids, free travelers, dogs, and those clever green parrots that had learned to imitate the bunch, especially the kids. 'wait, is that a baby crying up there in that tree?'
I filled my room with papayas and other sweet wellodorous tropical fruits, and got ready for my final week in this magical town, in which I was to learn Chinese abdominal massage, from my former Thai massage teacher Zendrik. Several of my dear friends were also leaving, and I felt the draw strengthening aswel. It was the season, where one sells or pawns off as many of ones possesions as one gone one can do without, fills ones bag with as much cacao as one can carry, and heads into the many colored faces of the compass.

Everyday for a week, I rubbed peoples bellies in oil, and they returned the favor. It was a wonderfully painful experience, if such can exist. It is a curious skill to have, and I am thankful to carry it with me in my hands and heart.
Slowly I started packing my belongings,  and condensing what was needed and what to be left behind. Oh it seems like the days are always beautiful in San Marcos, even when there is fire on the mountain, or the church wakes up the entire town at 5 in the morning, with cheerful fanfare tunes intended to gather the faithful, aswell as the stray? They make sure you can hear it whoever you are, that much is certain. Practice became ever more powerful, some days,  especially in the afternoon, I would be feeling I was juggling glowing balls of hot lights from hand to hand. Every tiny movement an ammelgation of hundreds of moments of awareness, and letting go.

And so it ended, sweet as it had begun, the fore last week, our master filled us with inspiration by the show of his great understanding and possession of the technique. An inspiration that I will carry with me on my journeys to come. I came back to the lake to establish a daily practice of Tai Chi, and I feel like I can gladly say I have.
Now I am once again northbound, and then west, yes ever west, over that great ocean, where Asia awaits but without waiting.
Being, without being, that is the key.

Look!

Some more images of the recent escapade...

https://photos.app.goo.gl/45IyRZG9eduHBvWz2

....and Cacao

From Oaxaca, in two days and one night on various busses, coaches, tuktuks and other vague forms of mobility, I once more decended over the craters rim into this wonderful catastrophic crack of a hole in the ground that is Lago Atitlan. Beautiful as always, it quickly lured me back into that San Marcos lifestile of tantric cacao infuzed, panoramic, quasi spiritual and especially languid life that I knew all to well from the year past, before the whole American chapter, the European episode and the Venezuelan challenge.

View from the Tribal Village

I struck down at the Tribal village, where I had already many footsteps laying low in the soft mossy grass. A friend from Amster town dwelled there now, and it was the first outpost of San Marcos that I came upon. It turned out to be a partial home, at least for my stuff until the start of the Cosmic Convergence festival that was to start in about a weeks time, while I got my life set back up in the village. But first, there was the Fungi Cristmas party, from where on the rooftop, one can see the fireworks going off all over the lake, a spectacle to behold. And than there was the Eaglenest cacao dance, pulling it off every week now, but finding myself in their hot space there, I had one of the best sauna expiriences of my life! It's  built in a complete dome shape, or like a bell, where one enters the hotroom through the floor, so that all heat stays in and audiable reverberation is at it's best. A great place for humming! Outside a cold pool built into the rocks, and a tunnel under the whole thing. Beautiful. Or was it the Cacao...? 

Meeting many old friends from last year, yet definitely missing also those that I rememberd, but that are now walking other roads, have gone back to studying or dwell in the other lush havens on this planet.

Than I got a call from the Festival, that I was wanted, and I left at first chance. Three days I helped building an amazing organic corn inspired dance stage. erecting huge corn house high cobs and dressing the whole set with various woven and macrame'd artsels that resembled to more or lesser extent the Lord Imix, the Mayan god of Corn.

Imix Stage at New Years Eve

It was a good festival. Ofcourse. It's always weird when on the saturday night lots of townies arrive and give the whole place an alien crazy feel. So on new years I just huddled close to the sacred fire where mayan elders made tobacco and incence offerings and Shantaram, a friend from San Marcos tried with all might to play over the bizarly weird sounds that came from the nearby world stage after midnight, with absolutely no-one watching but for one drunk dude, and all of us at the fire cringing. Anyway. There were so many beautifull faces near the fire, and they inspired me greatly. Just be in peace, radiate peace and happyiness, intense love and intensity, and be present. Hold the space for all these fluctuating energies, it is important. The two times that I told myself that I had to go walk around and see what was going on I found myself back at the fire within 20 minutes. The night came to a close being cuddled by my 3 favourite women on the festival at the same time. Oh what a lucky person I was!

I did not stay for breakdown, but swiftly made my wy back to San marcos, where I was to start a daily practice of Tai Chi at the magnificent Tao Temple the next day. I moved into a cute little adobe house in the upper part of town, with two floors and a little kitchen, just enough for one large person, or maybe two humble ones. My landlord was called Lucas Panabaj, and old mayan man with the signature white plastic cowboy hat, and life was good. Starting at the temple was not always easy. Getting up at 5 am, walking the dark empty streets up to the hill where the temple stands. Doing 2 or 3 hours of very zen (not really applicable in a Tao Temple, but you get the idea) Tai chi, with lots of very slow and simple movements repeated beyond count. As the sun rises I am often distracted by the crazy mountain of fire Fuego, spitting out a plume or two, or even some magma glowing red when the dusk still lies low. There is a grandiose vieuw over the lake from there, much bestilling, but I don't even look at it that much. Keeping the attention to what is being thought, to all the different points in the body, and the breath is occupying enough to make the hours glide by, even if the body has to adjust to this sudden vigorous regime of exercise.

The garden vieuw from my window at Panabaj

For a wek I lived in this fasion. And though my life quite organized. All the while I was talking to my beloved over in California, if perhaps she would not come down and join me on the lake. Than, by surprise, suddenly she got on a plane, and a few days later, we embraced eachother under the big tree in the center of the village.
My life took a dramatic turn, as she moved in to my little adobe house and we once again started sharing our life together in the physical form. Needless to say I was overjoyed, we both wer, often still unable to believe that this was actually happening. I got to see San Marcos partly through her eyes, she inspired me to visit new places and eat things I had not tried before. I took her around, culminating in together leaving the lake for a few days to go and climb Volcan Acatenango on her 30th Birthday.

That, now, was a proper adventure! leaving the crater and heading over to Antigua where we stayed one night. Than early next morning we got picked up by a van and headed into the hills from where this 4000 meter Titan rose up above anything nearby other than Fuego Vulcano nearby. Fuego had been very active of late, and I had been eagerly looking at it during Tai Chi the days before trying to decipher it:s rhythm or logic of eruption, if any.

At 3900 mt. 6 in the morning, -5 Celsius

We were equipped with our own breakfast and lunch by our tour guides, taxied to the actual foot of the mountain, and than left to scuffle up the very dusty and gravel laden trench of a path that led, often almost straight, uphill. There were many stations and rest areas going up, luckily, and also our being in a group slowed us down considderbly. At several points we managed to break away though, Peace and Me, from the main horde, and walked in simple silence or cheerfull chatter on this beaufifull ash heap of a volcano. You pass different climatic zones on your way up. From arid semi-tropical, to cloud forest, to pine groves badly damaged by the pine beetle, but full of ferns and wavey grass, and at last, to the death zone, where the entire slope is nothing by coarse gravel and dust, so much dust, and some foolhardy shrub trying to eke out a living in all this devestation. 

Before we came to the deathzone though, we made camp for the night at 3600 mt. A camp was already set up there on a shallow ledge directly facing the now very close Volcan de Fuego. It rumbled as we emerged from the low altitude clouds and we imidiately got our first taster of flying rocks.

Somehow Peace and I got ourselfs into the tent with the most bomb ass vieuw, and  made our bed with great contentment. Casually watching the volcano as the sun went down, the much anticipated cold decended, and we rested our legs. Not really trying to socialize with our group companions, we did eventually gather around the fire for a warm meal and hot Cacao, before hitting the sac. 

Much sleep we did not get however, because THIS..........

KKKRRRAAAGGGHHGGGAAOAOGHH BOEOEOEMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

....KEPT HAPPENING!!! Everytime the wave of sound hit us we would quickly lift our heads and see the fire sprout from the mountain, it's slopes covered in glowing cinders, and we moved by the might of its sound and proximity.
It was an unforgetttable expirience, and doing it together with my love was all the more Magic.
At 4 am we got back on our feet and climbed the last 300 odd meters to the top of the mountain we were on. That was hard, but not as hard as I had imagined. It was bloody cold up top though, and in the end we were happy not to hang out there longer than needed. We witnessed the sunrise that broke in many shades of orange and turquoise, and the clouds were like a sweet blanket covering the world. We stuck close together in the bone chilling wind, and now looked at Fuego slighty from above, as Acatenango stands a mere 100 meters higher than it's close neighbor.

All the other mountains around are life hills to us now, even far off mountain ranges in reality big and mighty. Even the Atitlan lake could be seen, and the ocean assumed to the west.
Decent was really quick, ofcourse, and we discovered a new way of moving ones body that lay between running and jumping and sliding down the gray dust with lots of it ending up in ones shoes, or in my case, in my sandals. We made it back to the bottom and even to the lake that day, happy to rest our tired heads once more on the sweet cottons of our little adobe home in the village.

The weeks moved on, and still Peace was by my side, in my life, and in our home that we shared together. More and more expiriences we shared. Visiting the various towns on the lake for their colourfull market days, or sipping Cacao in our own kitchen, or at some crazy luxuburant event or other, of which there is one almost every day in this village. 

I started teaching a weekly Shiatsu Basics workshop at the La Paz Eco Hotel. That was a great learning expirience, and enabled us to go and do some more fun stuff. 

Tai Chi became more and more interesting as I learned the moves by head and Heart, so that they started integrating with my being, and less thinking is required. It becomes an almost holy activity to go there, and learn with those soloms, blue robed monks at the temple. And I love it a lot.

That´s why I decided that, after that first month was up, I would continue for another, and see how deep this rabbithole goes...

And what is more, Peace has joined me at the temple. Well really, she is not joining me, but walking her own path with Tai Chi, but in this time and place, we are walking it together.

It is beautiful and challenging to live together, it is rewarding and sometimes very comfronting, it peels layers of my heart, and pours in expiriences that are invaluable. 

She is also staying another month, and we will share our lifes together for that time, in whichever way feels right. 

For nine days though, after the completion of my first month at the temple, I decided to go and explore a bit. To discover some of the parts of Guatemala that have always deluded me, and gain insight into what all af this means. To take some distance from my love, so that I may see what is real, and appriciate her again even more when we re-unite.

Perspective about the life in that strange town that is San Marcos. And know what it means to me.

What I have already learned is that. Yes, the community in San Marcos is amazing, and the lake is so beautiful, and it's great that the Mayan woman wear their traditional dress there, but I do not love it there. I do not particularly enjoy the climate or the nature there. Where as here, in the jungle, Nature speaks to me. It breathes me and I breath it through all my pores. I live to a different degree here, and my heart sings of joy. 

There is wind, there is the lake, there is fire on the mountain, there are magical events all the time, and ofcourse course, there is Cacao.... 

Foto's Guatemala....

Of last year, but still beautiful....

Copy paste this link into your browser.

https://photos.app.goo.gl/NySa4588uyuT1ER93

Enjoy!

La Vida Escondida

La Vida

Un vida Escondido. 

Donde Los Memorias son como las Playas.

Nuevo cada Momento, La Agua

El mano del Creador, 

Siempre en Movimiento.

Yo soy Libre.

El Camino estas estirando.

Para conocerte.

La vida, En Mexico, es Differente. Like I wrote before, the ambience at both sides of the wall that separate the 2 young nations, is dramatic. As I was somewhat at a loss as to why there was no American immigration at the border in Tijuana, and feeling that at the least I should get some kind of stamp or something, the Mexican border guy told me to go back into the American side, and ask there. This I did, and they weren't pleased. It only resulted in a bunch of very surprised and slightly annoyed American border guys. 'Of course there is no exit stamp', they assured me. Checked my bags again, took my mandarins which I had only minutes earlier acquired in the exact country I was again going in to, The US, pointed out that my visa was to expire the next day (You don't say! Well thanks officer, I might have missed that quintessential fact.) and walked on. So let's get this clear. The American gov'ment don't want any Mexicans in their country and are kicking tons of them out, but they do trust the Mexican border guys to prove with their stamp that visitors have left the country, just to save some what.....Ink?

 

Anyway. Safely back in Mexico, feeling much relaxed now that all of this was over. I sat down and made a last phone call to my Love over the wall, already surrounded by general chaos and debilitation, bombastic Mexican Mariachi music blaring from grotty speakers, a general absence of signs and plentiful presence of street vendors, I delayed not to catch the first bus out of town, to what from a distance seemed a safe port of landing, Ensenada. 

We made it in a whirl through the unknown darkness, and I was dumped on a corner somewhere, in an unknown town. Am I in danger? People keep assuring me that I should be, But I don't feel that way.

Luckily I walked into a beautiful looking cafe or shop or something full of Buddhas and eastern art and indoor fountains, where friendly human being directed me to the nearest cheap hotel. 

Passing a few sketchy looking grottoes of bars with neon interior lighting and a desperate looking prostitute trying to whistle down cars on a corner, I found hotel Del Mar. It turned out to be a reasonably clean, pretty affordable and actually not unfriendly place. I stayed 2 nights, just to get my bearings in this new and wild land, and to mentally prepare for the journey that lay ahead of me.

My plan was to hitchhike down the Peninsula of Baja California all the way to La Paz, Mexico, and from there cross over to the main land. 

Next morning, the first guy to pick me up was actually a bus driver, who, it quickly turned out, was a Jehovah's Witness. He was real friendly, and took me all the way out of town to a good hitching spot, even providing me with some interesting reading material for on the way, mostly about what the bible really says. 

Next was a couple of men in a pretty run down Ford type landcruizer, that they were driving down from the US to sell in the Peninsula. The 200 odd km. journey turned out to become a day filling affair, as we stopped a good few times at the houses of this friend or that relative, who might wanna buy his car. The last stop we actually left that car behind, changed to another, that also belonged to him but that he was trying to sell through a friend. It ran out of gas as soon as we got back of the road though, like literately, in less than half a kilometer, whence we parked it at a shop. His car-buying friend than showed up with yet another vehicle of doubtful repute, than we than used to get to my ride providers house. 

This house was one like one sees in many suburbs of Mexico, one in a whole neighborhood of exactly identical single-form 2 room poured concrete blocks, without running water or any real functional furniture, the dessert creeping in through the garden upon which it was built.

He invited me to stay, but I felt the urge to go on. So I walked away, hitching sigh in hand as a strode through this forlorn outpost, dozens of startled eyes following my foreign feet, until I once again come to the road. A short hop in a pickup followed, than a longer ride in a huge RV, Like I mean HUGE! One of those massive contraptions that you see all over the States, with a jeep in tow, usually driven by some old dude livin' it up on his retirement.

To my surprise however, I was shown into this luxury palace on wheels by a young Ukrainian girl, and her two Ukrainian friends. They were all on their way south as well, hoping to get to Panama in only five weeks, with their current form of transport a bold leap indeed, considering the deteriorating roads we were facing, and they would only get worse the further south they pushed their monster truck.

I spent the night sleeping under a tree, and when the light returned, jumped in a car with a young beach loving couple on their way to Bahia de los Angeles. I was tempted to join them, since this bay was reportedly the prettiest in the Baja, but as we drove through a marvelous stretch of dessert full of large beige boulders interspersed with thousands of giant cactus, I decided to stick to the road, and keep going. 

A happy Chilean Family was next, taking me across the border of north and south Baja in their classic looking camper RV, with 3 kids on board, crawling all over the place as we rode on with a cloud of yellow dust following us wherever we went.

I was dropped at a large junction, where I waited a while, a bunch of cars passed, but it seemed they were giving me the time to notice that hearts were everywhere. My Love was strong on my mind and suddenly I recognized the shapes of hearts in the broken window glass on the road, in several stones, in a piece of gnawed old wood, that bit of sand.....a heart.....yes! Even as I looked around the corner of the nearest electrical shack, sure enough, someone had been kind enough to graffiti a green heart there. Love, was in the dessert air.

Waking up in the Oasis

My final ride that day took me to the village of San Ignacio. A hamlet of two streets struck down in the middle of a Date palm oasis. Now where we had been riding through the utter dead of dessert all day, however much it does change, with its different cacti and shrubbery, it's vast plains and volcanic peaks of red crust, there was never any water to be seen other than that salted one of the poisoned ocean. But now, in the oasis, the warm air was humid and alive. There were many birds of song, and the place felt quite jovial. I managed to locate the casa de la biciclista of which I had read online, and got to pitch my little red tent under the eaves of a fine foliaged tree next to the river. As yes, here the water flowed freely, and date palms were everywhere, a low, lush valley surrounded by a steep wall of red volcanic boulders and dryness.

My host was very friendly and I played with his tiny puppy and equally sized kitten, who immediately made themselves at home in my tent at first opportunity.

It took me a while to decide if I wanted to leave this oasis (of calm, literately) and so made a morning walk through the river bed, gorging myself on freshly fallen dates and discovering many a romantic view between the palms, and got the first scents of the tropics coming through, of some abundant pink flower, or a hidden glade with juicy tall grass featuring frail silver tassels.

I did move on in the end, but not after some 3 hours of waiting in the full sun, good thing I still had my hat, 'cause I was about to lose it.

In those 3 hours, I studied a colony of ants, that had a highway running alongside ours for at least 30 meters, probably more, over blade of grass and over sand, an amazing feat!

My only ride for the day was a long one, carrying me for some 4 hours along the east coast of the peninsula, crossing some spectacular bays and rocky coastline taking the road up and down and through many an old mining town where the french had left their traces of baguette and architecture, before pulling out in the 80'ies. 

He dropped me in a beach town just as the darkness overtook us, and in the commotion, my hat was forgotten. And when you are hitchhiking, and you forget something, usually, it's really gone. I often only chat while driving, and did not exchange contacts or anything. 

It was sad, but there was nothing else to it, I walked to the nearest camping accompanied by a guy with a trumpet that had only been playing for 2 days, but was trying relentlessly nonetheless, and I could hear him still long after I had found my nightly resting place that evening.

This was a pretty cute town really, and one of the oldest European settlements on the Peninsula. 

In the morning, while on my way out, I ran into a large crowd of Horsemen and women gathering in front of the church for a much needed parade in the name of some saint or other. Possibly in preparation for the name day of the Virgen of Guadelupe on the 12th of December. There was a cheery vibe in the air. Many of the horses were decked out in beautifully crafted saddles and hoistery, and some of the men wore large leather leg caps, and all wore their finest cowboy hats!

I kept walking, but was soon followed by the cavalry horde of some 300, and a traditional band playing in the back of a pickup truck, all boys in fancy blue satin shirts and wearing white waistcoats with proud silver buttons.

Again, one ride did the trick, and an American man on his way to the cabos, all the while assuring me that he didn't like the cabos, even though he had never been there exactly for that reason, but still going there now, maybe just to prove to himself that he was right, dropped me at the fringes of La Paz a few hours later. 

La paz is where the ferry crosses to the main landmass of Mexico, as Baja de California might as well be an island for all practical matters, being connected only by one road all the way in the north as it is, that runs right along the border with the US for a good while.

One night I dwelled here, enjoying the strange atmosphere of my hotel, with lots of decaying charm, half abandoned as it was, and brightly painted where still in use.

The complex was extensive, and its furthest quarters had the ceilings fallen in, or rooms stacked to the roof with old car tires, or toilet pots, or had now windowless cavities in their walls that looked out over the jumble of random construction that fills the bay of La Paz. 

The ship was Titanic. A white mountain of steel, coughing up a pillar of exhaust fumes like a volcano, grunting like a thunder cloud.
I got a chair in the cheapest compartment of the vessel, pushing off as darkness set in once more, and made my bed on the floor though in the flickering light of some weird movie about King Atrhur, a concept totally alien to most of the Mexicans watching I'm sure, and so bizarre in this time and place. Huge flat-screens blaring, and most nodding in it's radiance. Why?

The morning was fresh and much needed, and brought a new surprise.

While on deck outside, enjoying a simple breakfast of French-Mexican baguette, tahini, miso and trail mix, a crowd gathered on one side, and there, some ways away in the deep green of the sea, a group of wales could be seen, possibly humpbacks judging by their back fin. Spewing out fountain of vapor into the morning light. Not so close, but definitely present. 

What a gift to be allowed to encounter these majestic creatures. The skeleton of one of which, had been consuming all my awe only the day before, in front of the maritime museum.

It's bones sooo huge, so colossal, like nothing I had ever seen before. Much larger than dinosaurs for sure, a water dragon indeed!!

Not ere long we pulled into the harbor of Mazatlan, where once again again released into the Mexicam mayhem, but now so much more vibrant ant tropical, and started on my way further south. As the roads now became more complicated, I resolved to take the bus sometimes. That night was spent camping in a sugarcane field, and than the morning gave me the gift of a sweet ride in the back of a pickup filled with furniture, all the way through the Mezcal heartlands where Tequila is won, up and over the mountains, to the town of Guadalajara. I was invited into the house of my ride provider and his friends, who lived in a mansion of sorts, but unfinished, so without water, gas or pavement, but with designer door knobs and luxury build in kitchen, and since that day lost of extra beds that we had just brought in. They were a group of middle class students of civil engineering house sitting for their boss. They invited me to the local real Italian pizza place run by a real Italian, and nibbled crunchy crusts by a campfire in the sand in his lovely decorated restaurant garden with lights dangling from the branched of a huge overhanging tree and palm and sweet music drifting through the gentile evening air.

Than, down to the coast, more rides, and than buses, dead dogs on the road and the landscape switching between lush greens and dry shrubbery hills supposedly once carpeted with thick jungle cover. It was definitely getting warmer though, and I welcomed it, whenever I managed to escape the icy claws of airconditioned travel. 

From town to town I hopped. Often not making more than 250 km a day, but with the state that the roads are in, and the considdering that the whole Mexican countryside is infested with deadly 'topes' (homemade speed bumps) that was still quite a feat.

This way, at last, after journeying some 4700 km from northern California by land and sea, I reached the state of Oaxaca, which had been my destination for now.

Whilst in Guatemala last year the name of a certain beach called Mazunte had often come up in conversation. Also it is close to Zipolite, a tropical marvel of which I cradle fond memories of my firs journey to these parts back in 2004. So I decided to go and check it out.

The last bus dropped me some 7 km from the beach, and I decided to make it a nice morning walk. As the silver moon rose low, now almost fully inverted, I camped at the first possible abandoned lot, and could already hear the thunder of the fray far, far over the hills.

Once at the beach, soon a wonderful bed I found. On a rocky rise overlooking a small cove hangs my bed from the rafters, covered by a mosquito net with the large waves crashing on the rocks right below, swinging in the breeze. A bunch of thatched dwelling has been built along the shore in which free folk of many walks of life find themselves voluntarily stranded for short or longer periods.

I soon found some friends, as this place is somewhat of a sister village to San Marcos Atitlan. 

We went to see the sunset that night on a cove a little ways away, it was beautiful, so imagine my surprise when next morning, I awoke to see the sun rise over the ocean as well!!

What?! How is this Possible? Have I gone crazy? Am I tripping balls? Have I slept through the whole day or has time started running backwards? All thoughts that crossed my mind in that moment. 

But No, The Sunset beach is on yet another peninsula, facing west, whereas our cove faces east, and my bed even more so. Yet, it was pretty Bizarre.

For a Long weekend I dwelled on that sun laden beach, mostly hiding from the fierce cosmic rays under leaf of palm or simple hut, surrounded by the free and frolicking of the world. Did I ever say I did not much like the beach? That was a mistake. I love the beach, the gorgeous waves that crash and destroy behind you as you try to stay afloat. The might of the fountains of vapor escaping as the water caves in on itself. The ever changing sands of the shore, uncovering and hiding new rocks every day.
One day I walked the length of the strand towards Zipolite, along the wild cliffs and deserted beaches where sea turtles apparently make their nests.
I had changed, of course it had, from how I knew it 13 years ago. Or maybe, it is just my memory that is different?
Still beautiful though, if slightly faded, the water ever still pushed through that large heart shaped hole in a rock with every rise and fall of the waves.

My next stop was Oaxaca. The vibrant central city of the south. Nestled between several ranges of brown mountains on the bottom of what must once have been a large lake or sea, lies a town where the facades of the houses are as bright and colorful as it's inhabitants.
They take no shame in fierce shades of paint and so the streets are a pleasure to behold.
After a 6 hour ride through the mountains I found a sweet hostel on the edge of the old town with a lovely courtyard full of flowers and a fountain. It was so clean and well managed, but not totally like me. So I moved to a more shabby place with a real mexican feel, and met some very talkative local folk, staying in the dorm.

The Colors of Oaxaca

Than I heard about a range mountains nearby and decided to go and explore.

Getting ot of town was not easy, having to discover which shared cab exactly went where, with the abundance of them around as there was. Luckily there is always some helpful folk everywhere, and so soon enough I was buzzing up the hills, to a town that would be my starting point.
I had a Map, I spoke Spanish, I had my tent and some extra gear, this should do the trick. And so I started Hiking.

The Sierra Juarez where I now found myself is a densely forested area with a few small hill towns where real Mexican village life still takes place. Many people speak the local Mixtec language as their first tongue, woman wear skirts and aprons, and men wear hats and often carry machetes. They were all really friendly to me, and often quite surprised I felt, to see such a strange foreign being walking the common dirt roads all by himself.
Even though the area has an ecotourism agency, I, like usual, wanted to draw my own plan, and so just set out walking without a guide.
It was a really good experience. The first night in Capulalpam I got to camp at a place with an amazing view over a wide valley, and as Christmas was drawing near, I was able to witness the first night of procession that traditionally takes place before the holy evening. It consists of a rowdy fanfare band leading a crowd that carries a Christmas stall or idol through town, stopping at several houses to give blessings? I'm not sure, I coulden't really see
but it was really cute. On the fringes of the mob, kids were lighting fireworks, and there was a
general warm feeling and lots of chatter between the villagers, even during service!

For 3 days I walked, going ever higher through the pine woods, the roads often lined with giant agave plants as fencing to keep the cows out, or in, I don't know. One night I camped in the town of Yavesia, right next to a beautiful 16th century church with a double bell tower, where a man sounded the bells by hand once a day, like, he actually went up to the bells and hit them with the clapper.
The last night I reached the small village of Cuajimoloyas, way up at around 3000 mt. altitude. The air was crisp, and the night was dark and full of stars. People were so friendly and genuinely interested in where I was from anbd what life in my country was like.
Simple food of tortilla and beans, and the cooked leaf of the prickly pear (without the needles thank mercy) known as Nopales, is what is eaten here, and I love it.

I may be so thankful to be able to experience this simple life. To walk in the forest on my own. To have time and space to think about my life and dreams.
I often get carried away taking myself too serious.
and than other times I feel I am not being serious enough about life.
But these are really healing moments.
I generally feel that this is my time in life to manifest, and that whenever I'm not doing that, I feel rather lost or like I'm wasting my time.




The next day I went over the pass, and started descending back to the valley.
Views were spectacular, and the road long and dusty.
Hazy mountain after mountain, and the brown lowlands at ridiculous angles from where I stood.
The vegetation changing as I descended, and the tropical heat engulfed me once more.
With heavy limbs and slightly blistered I walked into the town of Teotitlan that afternoon, as the shadows lengthened.
The 60'ties still seemed to linger here, as there was hardly a car to be seen, streets were cobbled and woman of small stature wore their dark hair in braids.
The white church I passed has apparently been built right on top of a Aztec pyramid, but sitting on its large raised doorstep, I was overcome by the rich sweet smell of the many white lilies that lined the walls inside in rich bouquets, transporting me to some cool, ancient roman temple or other, once, long long ago....

Overwhelmed too I was, by the stunning weaving skills of the many local carpeteers.
Many bundles of natural hand dyed wool could be seen hanging in the shady courtyards of the houses that lined the central street. Patterns of incredibly beauty and intricacy, shouting at me to take them with me. So stunning these motives, and so bright the colors used. I could only barely resist.
But where to put such an artwork? In which house, and how to take it? Oh, but marvel at the skill and creativity I did with glee!
Than I caught a ride back to the city, that funnily gave me a detour past the world's larges tree by girth, El Tule.
I had been here before, but it was no less impressive, and now supposedly slightly larger than last time. The difference would hardly be noticed however, 2000 plus years old as it is.
A building of wood, a cavernous canopy of millions of leaves. Such a great, great, great, great grandmother tree. Oh what a miracle indeed!

Now I'm back in my chilled out shabby Mexican crib, sitting on the high wooden bunk bed as I write this to you.
It's been a beautiful journey, and it still is.
Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think.

For more photos of the Mexican chapter, you may check out:

https://photos.app.goo.gl/7xNenIHW4WbRqjGj2

The Giants

Land of Giants, crazy Emerica. I had not expected to be back here, one year ago. 

Yet here I am, Back in that City, that crazy city, that I love, along the Hudson.

The rush of people, the vibrant buzzing energy down on the street. The high vibe of the high life in Manhattan, creativity is so abundant and even the homeless seem ambitious. 

Everyone wants to make it here, score in New York, and make it Big. 

Coming out of the alloy tube, time traveling across the Atlantic, screened and mangled I was thrown out once more onto the night lit streets of Brooklyn. Sirens ever howling somewhere in the distance, and suspicious fellas hanging out on the corner as I exit the subway station, which is actually overhead. The train rushes on, right through the night, and I make it to the safe haven of my dear friend Audrey's house That I know from the volcanic shores of lake Atitlan in Guatemala. We spoke and shared our adventures since our last meeting till the wee hours before a much needed sleep. Only one night I reposed there however, before heading to the sweat lodge camp in upper state New York again near the beautiful lake Ashokan.  

The dear family I had gotten to know one year back gathered under the tall eaves of green maple and hickory again, and we made camp for the weekend of Labourday. 

These are some wonderful friends, and even though our last meeting was brief, I felt immediately part and welcome to this new world Bigheart Tribe.

It got real cold real quick that weekends, but with the help of my family, we all stayed warm and cosy, and the warmth of the lodge and the clear river water we were cleansed of many an unnecessary issue, before moving on. 

Back to that big city than, to hang out more with my Australian friend, I got to know her life in the borough, where she was building up a cacao and yoga flow studio, in the middle of the bustle of the city. I got to know some more interesting spots of Brooklyn, made it to the House of Yes one late night after a cacao ceremony party. A crazy cool mix-up of many scenes of my past and maybe future, the House features things like a swinging cage where any stripper can wing her arts if the call comes. Super tall cross dressers and a glitter ball dance floor plus dancing pole, people of every color and creed, and even a pinball machine!

In the ecstatic masses I encounters a being carrying a tray full of dice-like beads. And the one I picked up read: "Gentle" on one side and "friend" on the reverse.

Was this an omen for what was to transpire in the days to come?

Having tried to get out of the city by ways of ride share for a few days now, the very next morning after the House I received I call from my dear big heart brother Rick, who offered me to ride with him on a moving truck up to Buffalo, NY, right on the shore of one of the great lakes, right near Niagara falls in fact.
One night I stayed in the house of this gentile bear of a friend. I helped pack the truck and next day early we drove right across the green and blue state of New York, north and ever west till we reached our destination; a white American house in a forlorn suburb of a middle size town, with a veranda of course. 

After offloading all our carefully wrapped wares, the day drew to an end. But we, Rick, his well spirited Mexican employee and I, none of us ever having been to the falls, couldn't resist the urge, and so made the 20 minute drive to Niagra as the dusk settled in. We reached the thundering wall of falling water with the last light of day, the cascades already lit up in changing shades of colored light, amazing us and the rest of the crowd that had gathered here, even at this unlikely hour.

Across the water rose a full sparkling city in the land that is Canada.
It did not matter that darkness fell upon us now, as we had seen the falls, for now and forever, and carried them in our hearts.

 While driving up to Buffalo, I was already planing my advance, strongly determined to reach the west coast this year, in the light of last years events. So I got on the bus next morn, a ride from Chicago down south already seemingly acquired. But as usual, the universe never quite is what it seems. And so my ride evaporated even before the sun had risen, and I was now on my way to Chicago without the promise of shelter for the oncoming night. The gods treated me kindly though, so after skimming the shores of lake Erie and Michgan the whole day, riding through the wide open plains, we rolled into the wind city, great old Chicago. The lake shore provided me with a most hospitable shelter that night though, and I found a dry patch of green grass under a shrubby bush, near a dear rabbit and the concreted shores of this vast expanse of water, that the eye is unable to cross.
Next morning, I discovered that some kind of grey aphid had painted almost all of my belongings a fierce orange upon touch, that I now still carry as a tribal marking, whatever that was I can only guess at. I wandered along the lake's coast for a bit, this water, which has all carateristics of the sea, apart from being salt.

Than I took the train. The texas Eagle. And let it carry me across this vast continent of America, with it's grandesque mountains and vast open plains. The first day was all cultured land, becoming ever more desolate and arid. An occasional red barn might split the great open sky in two parts, but otherwise fields went as far as the eye could see. Night fell, still rolling down the tracks, and when the morning emerged we were in northern Texas.
We had crossed straight through the heart of America, and the landscape was now distinctly different from the north and east. This was the South, and getting dirtier. All day we drove through that Lone star state, and as dusk settled in once more, we were still in it. That night we stopped for a few hours in fine San Antonio, where I discovered a beautiful system of low lying canals weaving through the modern city grid, where huge old ceder trees grew from the original river bed, now flanked by bars and restaurants, but still with a very charming feel, quite unlike anywhere else in America. I sat there for a while, with my feel swinging in the cool water, as the evening heat was still on, and watched the ducks peacefully drifting by in this Western faerytale of a city. On it went, and next morning we were still in Texas! So huge this once upon a time country, but now quickly approaching New Mexico.

Now the land was dry and scorched. Much more like the Texas I had imagined before witnessing that in fact it has some really lush and green parts. We came to the weird outpost of El Paso on the Mexican border. I knew we were at the border at once, because there across the Trump fence, there was hill upon hill of chaoticly organized but colorful slums, rising up like a wall. The fence, still under construction, is an 8 meter high array of iron spikes along a ditch on the Mexican side, cutting right through the heart of this border city, Gosh, doesn't this remind me of something....

The land became drier and drier, and now there were almost no fields to be seen. Only the occasional ranch or fertile valley, fed by vast irrigation schemes that made the yellow dessert bloom, and rows upon rows of Pecan trees greeted us with their shiny green leaves.
Now the sky turned pink, and huge thunder clouds filled the wide expanse. No rain would ever come of it, but the purple towers of highly charged water vapor were a majestic sight indeed.
Openness, emptiness, desert by name and actuality, this is what we now witnessed, enormous long valleys, much resembling mongolia's rolling plains now engulfed us, and it was upon the third night that I gathered my stuff and left this rolling metal island, and was warmly received by Teak and her Husband Gijs, who picked me up in Tucson, Arizona, and took me home to Phoenix.

Here I was, back again at that strange and comfortable life in the dessert city. Returned to this cool and wonderful castle on the outskirts of nature, the strange Cactei and Havelinas all around, warded by the Suguaro.
Coming back here had been one of my objectives, this time by land, and now it was time to plan the rest of my journey to the west. Only a short jump really to LA, a mere 6 hour drive. First however, I was in Phoenix for a few days, and helped my stepmother with some jobs around the house. I made a few nice hikes through this ever baffling landscape and than one day we drove up in Teak's very comfy Subaru to the Meteor crater at Flagstaff.
A huge hole in the ground, like a valley, but perfectly round. Hardly eroded through the conserving atmosphere of the dessert, in that aspect at least. Some 2 kilometer across, and several hundreds of meters deep. The scale and power of the impact it had is hard to grasp. And this was only a small piece of debris it is said, no larger than a colonial age trade ship, but infinitely more dense.
Would it impact now, all within sight would instantly be destroyed.
But now, after some 50.000 years, it seems quite peaceful there, surrounded by a vast cattle ranch as it is, and pretty dead.
What I found most impressive was the sight of it as one drives up to it from the highway. Where one may witness how the crust of the planet was torn open, liquefied for an instant by the immense heat and pressure, and a whole mountain ridge created.

All that I write more than 40 days ago, while hiding from the fires in northern California where I than found myself. Since than, I have fallen in love, made many new friends, and learned a bunch of new skills. But let us now continue with the story in correct order....

Coming back to Phoenix, I soon found a ride to LA.  One of the last nights there I took the red Ford pickup truck again and parked it somewhere in the nearby dessert, made a bed in the bed of the vehicle and slept under the open stars. The next morning, upon making a little hike, I met with a lovely cactus that produces some kind of death balls. As soon as you touch them they attach themselves to your bare skin, any skin, even your fingers, and work their needle like barbed spines deeper into your flesh with every movement. You have no defence, Shaking only makes it worse. It is vicious. Taking a rock and painfully tearing this little monster from your flesh is the only solution, and avoid them in the future at all cost.

My LA ride was a young student girl with whom I chatted straight through the dead dessert and down to the orange country. She dropped me somewhere 1.5 hours drive outside the center of the city, and we were already in it's suburbs. It's that big! After being told by various people that there was no way to get to my destination (Venice beach) that night even though it was only 6 in the evening (American public transport is grotty). Not giving up. I finally managed to get to a greyhound station that would take me through the night towards Sequoia NP.
Screw it, No Venice beach than, Let' just ride! So, as the sun rose I found myself in the sleepy town of Visalia, where I stocked up on food and made for the hills. Only two rides later I was cruizin' up the mountain in a extra low Audi A8 with a Canadian Chinese guy who took me from 500 to 2000 meters altitude. Gosh, sure was a change of temperature, even in the bright sunlight of the afternoon.
I said goodbye to him on the park parking lot, now surrounded by giant red furry baobab like Sequoia trees.
After gathering some information, alone I headed out onto a trail through the woods. Not all sequoia they were, but interspersed with many a respectable old pine and fir, that would certainly catch the eye in any regular forest. Here they were like children though, dwarfed by the immense dinosauric branches of the ancients. They just keep on growing, century after century. Never die unless they fall over or burn, and than still their blackened stumps are colossal, the size of a house or more and higher. The play of life and fire, of the green and the red. So solemn some of them, standing in small groups, perhaps once, thousands of years ago sprung from one root, or one tiny seed. These are the absolute mammoths of our planet. If we cut them, they will never come back, not in 20 generations on men. They are like living fossils.
High and cold is what they like, where life is slow and long. And cold it became.

My body remembering a chilly night, next morning I packed my tent in between showers of icy sleet, my neck still cramping from looking up at the trees all day. I was not prepared for this, I was coming to sunny California, what the heck!
I planed my escape, but as I stood hitchhiking to get out of the place, I was picked up by two young park rangers on their day of, and I was to be their entertainment. They bought some beers (10 am) and after dropping my gear drove me to another grove of giant trees where we hung out a bit and explored the hollow inside of a giant fallen one, laying like a tunnel uo the hill, I felt like in the belly of a great blue whale. We than took to cruizing the countryside and visiting a rocky knoll that supposedly had a great view, but it was closed. One of my new friends did proceed to steal a plastic garden chair from there though, which surprised me, being a ranger...
I spent the nigh in one of their cabins, but not after my very girl oriented companion had managed to convinced the 2 lovely french girls Yuna and Anna to join us to a shared dinner at his co Ranger's house. This great character was part of the bear team, that tracks bears and makes sure they stay away from humans for their own good, as you might imagine, he had some interesting stories to tell, and the warmth of his house was most welcome as there was now 5 cm of snow covering all that was outside.
Yuna and Anna shared one bed that night, and my ranger friend and I both had our own, much to his dislike.
The girls were much of my own kind, traveling Psy-tribe on their way up from Guatemala to northern California. We immediately got along very well and so next morning I left with them in their rental whip (car), going to Yosemite NP.

I had given up going to Yosemite this year round because of transportational complication, but now I was super happy to get there anyway.
It was just gorgeous there. A narrow valley with huge grey boulder like cliffs on either side. A home to a small native tribe once, the entire valley is now tastefully designed for Eco-tourism.
We made some stunning hikes that day still and the next, climbed up past several powerful waterfalls, sometimes climbing up steep rocky shelves full of tame chipmunks and rocks carved by countless aeons of wind and water
That night I slept on top of an enormous boulder that time had once deposited here and was now deeply embedded in the soft valley soil. Natives had carved small grinding holes out of its flat top for grinding acorns, one of their main foodstuffs. Yet now it lay forgotten, and I lay on top of all that. The girls slept in the car down on the hotel parking lot, and next morning we sneaked into this massive wooden wonder of a thousand trees, where the fireplace was lit and all the western comforts provided amidst art deco pleasantry. Free hot choco warmed our hands, and we were on our way down to the bay. They dropped me right in downtown San Fransisco, bewildered even though I was, at the sudden change of scenery.

It had been 17 years since I had last been at this side of the Pacific, half a lifetime for me.
Yet I found my aunt Sophia all the same, across the magnificent rusty red expanse of the golden gate bridge. Se received me warmly in her super cosy one floor home, with thick carpets and ceiling lights. She showed me the Poekynook, the business she has built up, where kids can come and create their own beany baby dolls and paraphernalia, amidst a sea of created objects dangling from wall and ceiling, in the fancy town of Mill Valley.

Once again, I did not linger too long, as her life is busy, and so was mine about to become.
She connected me with some friends of hers that lived in the country side about 2 hours north of the Bay, and next day I got another ride up there, crammed into a small car full of household stuff, a baby and it's mother, who had to hold a big wooden statue of some kind of eastern deity awkwardly across her lap to make it all fit.
We got there though, and so I ended up with this lovely family and their cute baby daughter Mila that live in a small richly wooded valley with thick oaks and Madrone trees in a red house
under the eaves.
They let me stay in their trailer for a bit, and I enjoyed the beautiful lands around there while helping them out a bit in the garden.

Soon I was connected to a community nearby, and without further due moved there, high up on the hills overlooking a beautiful valley. One of the first people I met there immediately asked me if I accepted hugs, and me and this lovely woman soon became close friends. Her name is Peace and we spend a lot of time together while doing our daily community chores. Community life engulfed me whole, and the days were filled with taking care of each other, cooking and eating wonderful meals, tidying up around and inside the house, having meetings, playing hacky sack, burning excess stuff from the garden, talking, lots of talking, and than once a week we would all be silent for a day, to give rest to our ears and and focus on what is ever inside of us all.
Than one night, as Peace and I slept in one of the living yurts, we got woken up in the middle of the night.
"There is a fire on the mountain" Spoke Sam, we must all gather in the house. The wind had been crazy all day previous, with strong sharp blasts whipping up dust wherever we went.
Once dressed and back at the house, we could all see the fire, and how quickly it spread and took the whole now darkened mountain in front of us in less than 30 minutes
New fires sprung up in several places, and joined together to make one giant sea of flame across our whole horizon.
We decided to all get some essentials together in case we needed to make a sudden evacuation.
It never happened that night, but we all slept huddled close together for what remained of this weird night.

Next day passed, and we started to hear reports of how many other counties had been affected by the nightly fires. 
We had been lucky with the wind blowing away from us, but two days later, the fires still not contained, the police made us evacuate nonetheless.
So 11 others and me, plus 9 dogs, big and small piled into Sam's Moms house a 45 minute drive away, for now spared from the flames. It were a crazy few days. Not knowing what was going on, when we could go back or what would happen. Luckily we had each other. And I started to grow more and more fond of Peace.
Eventually the fires died down, with the help of firefighters from all over the world, and all that remains are scorched hillsides. Now that the rains have come is seems strange to think about those dry times. Cause once it starts raining, it almost doesn't stop for 3 months.
So we moved our lives mostly inward, made fires in the stove and made sauerkraut or delicious sugar free treats.
Often in the morning, when Peace and me would come into the house (we slept in a big tent in the forest) someone would be doing yoga, or meditate. There would be collective planking sessions or house cleanings. It was really wonderful, and I have learned so much.
I feel thankful for having met Peace, who has enhanced my life in such an unexpected way. Our interaction has been a true catalyst for personal growth, and she made me dared to be in love against logic.
Time passed quickly this way, and so it happened that my permitted stay in the US came to an end. I said goodby to all the beautiful beings there all of them memorable, like Johnny with his amazing morning Beatologic exponentiations of vedic mythology and ancient politics, and his jazz style bamboo flute play on the balcony.
Or David with his amazing vitalizing morning cacao, maca, macha, mate, date, coconut butter bliss smoothy concoctions or other scrumptious creations.
Most of all, though, I will miss Peace, as a part of my heart stays with her. Luckily I also carry a part of her heart with me as a treasure, and I feel so enriched because of it.

Than I returned to the home of Sirius and Rose, together with my aunt, and we shared the Thanksgiving meal with them and some 15 of their friends in that cosy red house under the eaves.
Now back down it went, and after a quick browse through San Fran, with its many homeless and tents on the sidewalks, continued down by Chinatown bus straight to San Diego, right on the border of Mexico, Tijuana.
Yes, it may be hard to get into this country at times, but leaving is so easy that I managed to miss the American immigration all together. Simply because there isn't one. They don't care if you leave, only if you try to enter. Mexico welcomed me most warmly though. What a stark contrast, one side of the wall, it's completely Emerica, other side, taco vendors, dramatic Latin music, sidewalks broken up, uniform chaos everywhere. I love it!
Bienvenido, a Mexico!