Chile: Where Technology Goes to Die

I mean that quite literally. I was unprepared for the outlet situation being different in Chile than in Peru, and literally all of my electronics died: my phones - Peruvian and international, my laptop - no work for me! and my camera - no pictures for you...

Not the weekend I had planned.

Border hopping turned out to be quite simple: pay a combi driver to drive you to the border, walk you across it, and there you are! As with any border crossing, there's some paperwork involved, a bit of security, a few stamps, and you're in . It was, however, quite possibly the quickest and simplest I've ever done - airports seem to make everything complicated - who knew?

Crossing into Chile at night made for some spectacular night light views, but unfortunately, my camera, even when it has a charged battery, takes terrible pictures at night. So after a few attempts, I gave up and just sat back to see what I could see. Arica is fairly small, about 80,000, and sits about 20km from the border, although it's built right on the beach, it's also situated in the middle of the Atacama desert - the driest desert in the world, but no big deal... It's summer there now, mild at night but hot and dry during the day. Upon arrival I had to simple exchange my soles for pesos, find a taxi to my hostel, and try to feel like I knew what the heck I was doing in Chile.

As per usual, the hostel staff was friendly and helpful, giving me maps, WiFi password, key, and free breakfast - only the most important of gifts.

Saturday morning I set out, on the back of a motorcycle, to explore the city. (Some questions that start out with "Do you want..." are panic inducing, forcing me to question my priorities in life, my morals, or even my interests.but this one, "Do you want a ride? I'm going into town now on my motorcycle..." only prompted me to ask myself what kind of good luck I had stumbled into! It was glorious.)

First I just wandered around a bit, exploring the pedestrian street in the center of town, and then winding my way back through a maze of one-way streets to the base of Arica Morro. It's a short climb  up to a cliff that overlooks the city and the beaches, and included at the top are various museums and monuments. I sat for a long time watching the waves, the cars, the people, and the clouds. It was sunny and windy up at the top, and I felt like going anywhere would be a sin against my luck of the day.

When I finally descended, I bought a hot dog and commenced my wandering walk along the beach and back through town, and after 7 hours, at least as many kms, a terrible sunburn, and some yummy street food, ended up back at my hostel, tired, hot, and (for the moment) happy.

I had a nice plan to blog a bit, take some pictures, eat, shower, talk to my family, and guess how many of those things I did?? Two - the two that required no electronics...

Overall it was a relaxing day, but I knew that I had to either buy a converter (I tried, everything was closed since it was Sunday...) or get back to the civilized land of normal outlets. So Sunday morning it was pack up and snack up, then try my luck at Chilean public transport, border hop right back to the place I came from, and somewhere along the way decided where I wanted to go next.

As I sat in the car making my way back toward Tacna, the Peruvian border town, I couldn't help but muse a bit over the similarities and the differences between Chile and Peru. Though I barely made it over the border, some differences were marked - Chile's economy is clearly superior; Chile has less history and more modernity; Chileans are more guarded but also more open at the same time (read, they'll talk AT you, but if you actually try to talk TO them, they're not too interested); Chilean food is...ok - I'm spoiled, Peruvian food is widely regarded as the best in South America, with good reason; and finally, Chile has bread, real, honest-to-goodness bread! I don't even like bread very much, but the stuff they try to pass off as bread here in Peru, well.... It makes me die a little inside.

So my curiosity is certainly piqued. In what ways are the rest of the countries here different? Similar? Looks like I'll just have to travel some more to find out...

Day 6: On the Road Again

Arequipa was lovely, but as Friday dawned warm and sunny, I knew it was time for me to be moving on. 

Buying a bus ticket to Tacna, from where I would cross the border into Chile, went without a hitch. All 5 of us got on the bus, and we got on our way only fifteen minutes late.

As the white brick buildings and tanned faces of Arequipa faded into desert sand I couldn't help but feel the freedom that always comes with starting off to a new place. The thrill of the unknown, the excitement of the experience. I was more than ready for some new places and some new faces. I couldn't help but marvel at the contrast between the lush valley surrounding the riverbed and the arid mountains that rose on all side - my first trip across a desert was just beginning! 

As we wound our way around mountain bases and zig-zagged our way up their sandy sides, my mind wandered off to a place I haven't been in a while, summed up in this song lyric: "Don't be scared to walk alone - don't be scared to like it! There's no time that you must be home, so sleep where darkness falls."

These simple words have always expressed perfectly the freedom I feel wandering the world on my own. I like my own company! And even though things haven't exactly been easy recently, I felt hugely relieved to realize that once again I felt like myself - the independent, inquisitive person I like being.

I talked to new people, tried new food, and crossed the border into a new country - all the while feeling exhilarated instead of intimidated! Ah...it's good to feel like myself again...!

The desert has a stark and ferocious beauty all its own. Every few minutes I tried to capture the wild and desolate feeling the mountains gave me, or the empty wholeness the sky offered, but in vain. Tiny little pictures would never be able to capture the freedom, lonesomeness, and breathless excitement of that 6-hour bus ride. So I gave up taking pictures, opened my window, and just sat back to soak it all in.

And before I knew it, I was in Chile.

Colca Canyon: to the Very Bottom - and Back (Kind of)

The Colca Canyon near Arequipa, Peru is the second deepest canyon in the world. Whether it's trekking to the bottom and back up, touring the rim, or chasing condors, people come from all over the world to experience its grandeur.

My plan was to do the 2-day trek. I really had no idea what that would involve, and specifically had no idea what it would mean to me. But I just figured, "Hey, I like hiking, and I could use some alone time out in nature - why not?!"

I had no idea that the two days I spent exploring this giant crack in the world would be some of the hardest of my life.

I had no idea that in these two days I would come to a deeper understanding of pain than I'd ever even imagined

I had no idea that those two days would draw lines in my mind between the concepts of power and strength, control, weakness and asking for help, autonomy and humanity.

We left early Tuesday morning - breakfast was small and I'd slept barely 3 hours the night before. But I started out hopeful. 

As we neared the trail head I decided that I would spend the trek down exploring the reasons for my pain - what exactly it was that had so profoundly affected me.

At first I seemed to make no headway at all. 

But then things started coming together... I knew it pertained to the loss of control and feeling completely powerless over the things taking place in my life. But why did this hurt so much? 

As we descended further and further into the canyon, the painful realizations seemed to come thick and fast: when someone takes something from you that you would never willingly give, or does something to you that you would never willingly choose, they effectively say that your wishes, your desires, your choices, mean nothing. You, as a person, are worth nothing at all. 

It's like someone looked you in the eyes and said, "You are not human. You are stripped of your personality, your heart, your character, your mind, your will, your soul, your individuality - in short, you are stripped of your humanity."

And recovering from that is truly daunting because you truly feel as if that was true!

It's not true, of course. I know that. But something this traumatic has affected every part of me, and although I know I still have all of those components of myself, they are all somehow different. And this is another large portion of the pain - feeling like you don't even know yourself anymore.

As the hike continued, these thoughts flooded my brain and my heart. The sun beat down on me and I began to wonder what my next step could possibly be. It wasn't a difficult question. My knees were aching and nearly all my mental strength was being put toward taking another physical step. 

When I finally reached the bottom I sat down and my mind and heart felt completely empty. I indeed, felt exactly like the canyon into which I had just descended.

As we began a small descent up the other side toward the place we would finally eat, the hard truth set in: I was in no physical shape to be able to complete the trek. Almost four weeks of intense stress and all my energy going toward remaining mentally and emotionally strong had left my body in the worst shape it's been in in years. I had nothing left to give. 

The guide was helpful and the others in my group were kind. In time I recovered enough to make it to lunch and felt a bit better for the food and the shade. 

But the hike wasn't over for the day. 

The next three hours we climbed, descended, climbed, walked, and then climbed some more. 

I can safely say that I have never felt so weak before in my life. So many times I thought to myself, "I can't do this..." And even now I have no idea where I found the physical strength to continue putting one foot in front of the other. 

But even more than that, feeling like I simply could not complete the trek triggered again all of the emotions that I had just attempted to sort thru earlier in the day. The physical powerlessness, the lack of control over my own body, the feeling that resistance was utterly useless all triggered the feelings of intense worthlessness I'd just o recently identified as the source of so much pain.

I somehow kept walking even when I felt like I couldn't - because I knew that staying where I was was simply not an option. 

The guide was kind, waited for me, treated me like a normal human being - albeit an obviously unprepared one. I couldn't help but notice and intensely appreciate his humanity in the face of what I felt was my own lack of it.

In time we reached our lodgings for the night. It was a beautiful place.

I spent a long time just trying to figure out how exactly I was going to climb the 3000+ meters back out of the canyon. In the end I determined that all I could do was put one foot in front of the other. 

And I tried. I climbed up more than I even thought I could, but I was still a good way behind everyone else hiking up that trail that morning. 

The option was the "donkey of shame" for those who couldn't, or didn't want to do the hike up, they could pay the additional charge, and ride up. As I contemplated the option I nearly cried. What was wrong with me?? Hadn't I been so strong over the last month? Why couldn't my mind will my legs to do the entire climb? Why couldn't there just be this ONE THING that I could do right?!

Our guide, Rafael, had stopped and was sitting waiting for me. 

As I approached he asked me calmly how I was, if I was sick like yesterday, and finally, if I thought I could do the climb. 

I knew what my answer would be, but it still took me a minute to get it out...

"Me gustaría pensar que si. Pero...la verdad es que no puedo." (I would like to think that I can, but really, honestly, no  - I can't.)

He just smiled slightly and nodded. Let me talk a little more, then offered to arrange the ride for me so I didn't have to explicitly ask. I nodded. 

He sat and waited for the donkey with me and we talked. We talked about the last few weeks of my life, we talked about traveling, work, what we'd like to be doing in a year, tourists, and our hobbies. Then my ride arrived and he set off to catch up with the rest of the group. 

I spent the ride up thinking about asking for help. Not only is it hard and humbling to admit you need help, but it's difficult to know how to ask for it, who to ask, and most times, it's even difficult to know what to ask for. 

The view from the top was incredible, but I was consumed by my own thoughts, emotions, and experiences of the last 24 hours. 

I felt exposed, empty, weak, embarrassed, confused, sad, tired, and as always, hurt.

The ride back was a mix of trying to forget the trek, trying to figure out what I should have learned from it, and trying to appear as if I wasn't crumbling inside. 

Also we stopped at a few places and I had some nice chats with the other hikers, some nice time alone, and the chance to build a "dream tower" as I've done in countless places all over the world. 

Usually I wish "that the adventure never end." 

This time I wished to be happy again some day.

And again, I felt that this canyon was a metaphor for myself at the moment. That the only way to heal is to fill the canyon inside of me, but that all the positive moments of the last few days were like throwing a handful of marbles down from the rim and expecting to see a change in the course of the river at the bottom.

And yet, just like I'd had to realize on the afternoon hike the day before - as useless as it feels to try to move on, as hopeless as it seems to throw marbles in a canyon expecting to fill it up, I have no choice. If I stay here I will die. 

The last couple hours of the ride back were peppered with conversation, a few short blissful moments of napping, and vacillating back and forth between freezing from the wind coming thru the open window, and getting sunburn from the sun coming through the closed window. 

When we finally made it back to the city, I was sore, hungry, and overwhelmingly tired. 

After two of the hardest days of my life, mentally, emotionally, and physically, I'd never felt weaker or more exposed. I just wanted to go to bed and act like it had never happened. But before I walked away, Rafael gave me a quick hug and said quietly, "Good luck, Beth. I know you're strong!"

I will never, ever forget the kindness, sincerity, and acceptance of that moment.

Day 2: Beauty

Arequipa, La Ciudad Blanca, is beautiful. And sometimes in a beautiful place, beautiful things happen..

The sun is strong - this is a desert region. But it makes for gorgeous afternoons full of light and shadows, smiles and sunburns.

It is a beautiful thing to be given a choice in what happens to you.

These modern houses contrast quite nicely with the colonial mansion in the photo before.

To sit and drink and talk and laugh like life is completely normal - to feel for a couple hours like life will go on, it's reassuring.

And then to watch the sun paint the sky a million shades of amazing, tipping the mountains with brilliant pink, casting long shadows to contrast with the last rays of sunlight...

...I am privileged to be a part of such thoroughly beautiful moments.

And then as the sky turns dark and the conversation turns serious, I can't help but remember how truly great a gift it is to be granted a choice, to have that choice respected, and to be able to go on with life the way the I had wanted.

The peace and calm inside the many many churches all around the city was soothing and pervasive. Even casting a spell on the streets around the buildings... Places of searching and healing, places of history and future, places of love and loss, places that mirrored the ache in my heart while simultaneously soothing it.

And in the last few minutes of sunlight in such beautiful surroundings, I couldn't help but feel, for a moment, that everything will indeed be ok again, some day.

Night 1: Good night, Cusco; Good morning, Arequipa

I've never been happy to leave Cusco before. 

But the evening I started off on my current adventure was clear and beautiful, with views that reminded me of why I fell in love with Cusco in the first place. And knowing that the absence would only be for a few weeks at most, I couldn't help but feel that incredible thrill that appears at the beginning of any new experience. 

We started out with 3 occupants.

 As I watched Cusco's familiar buildings and streets disappear behind me, and faced a whole new world of landscapes, towns, and thoughts, I knew I was in the right place.

After a few hours of beautiful views and fading light, it was two dark to take pictures, or even see anything, and I dozed off. I woke up a few times at one stop or another, and promptly fell back asleep. But some time around 11:30 I woke up, and as we pulled away from the station, I was too

much in awe to go back to sleep....

Have you ever been in an open place on a clear night? Have you ever seen a sky so full of stars that you're not sure where the star ends and the sky starts? I remember growing up on a farm in rural Tennessee, every night I would go lie in the yard and just look at the stars. And watching the stars out of my bus window, I finally understood how my hopes, dreams, and ideals survived the struggles of adolescence: there is something brilliantly thrilling, calming, and endlessly hopeful about a vast expanse of lights so strong that they travel billions of miles to illuminate my small life. And I couldn't help but feel their power, their warmth, and their light. 

As I stared open-eyed (and open-mouthed) out of the freezing cold window, my mind began to wander to some of the places I'd not yet been brave enough to enter.

The emotional trauma I'd been through had seemed to pose an insurmountable obstacle. How could I even begin to face the wall of pain that seemed to surround me? I felt that if I even began to acknowledge its existence it would consume me. But as I looked up at the stars - too bright to even say they were shining in darkness - I came to an understanding and acceptance of my own pain that I knew was the first step to conquering Pain Mountain. 

In the case of a physical wound, the first few minutes or days, depending on its severity, are spent guarding the wound. Bandages, using body parts not exercised in years, pain medicine, and more bandages are the typical remedies for trauma wounds, and this is normal and natural as the first steps of healing are difficult to detect, and hardly seem to abate the pain. But after some time, the bandages have to come off. Without exposing the wound again, it won't heal. 

And so with emotional wounds. 

So it's ok to just hurt for some time. Guard my heart with everything I have. But at some point, I have to take an honest look at the wound, expose it to the fresh air, accept its intricacies, and recognize that the healing process has only just begun. It takes courage to face and accept both the immediate trauma and the long-term effects of the kind of pain I'm experiencing. And it takes hope to believe that in the end it will be worth the effort of healing. An honest look at the effects of this situation paints a daunting picture: Pain Mountain won't be vanquished in a day or even a month. Only time will tell how long it will take.

But as a woke up to view that looked like this...

...I realize that there will be beautiful and happy moments along the way. And the view from the top is something that I can't even begin to imagine. 

So bring it, Pain Mountain.

A Healing Quest

Traumatic events can happen at any time, in many ways, and in any place. They come with their own special set of challenges regardless of where, when, and how they happen - but these challenges are also specialized depending on each of those factors, how, when, and where.

In my case, the how was a combination of many factors... My extremely non-violent family, past, and personality; my open and trusting nature; differing cultural perspectives and expectations; a few poorly-timed decisions; and a whole lot of unknown (to me) factors contributed by another human being.

When, well, it's probably nothing like this would have happened to me at any other time in my life. Again, a result of a string of many decisions, by me and by others, that led to an event that no one imagined could come from such innocent and normal choices.

And finally, where... As many have asked, "Would this have happened in the US?" And of course the answer can't be known for sure, but probably not.

Each of these factors is also integral in the recover process.

Being here, so far away from everyone who loves me has both its benefits and its challenges. It gives me the chance to focus on myself, my own healing process, without being weighed down by the pain that those closest to me are also experiencing. But it also means that my local support system is made up of people who have known me for a month or less.

While a traumatic personal emergency is never, ever welcome, I have much to be thankful for in terms of the timing. After graduating college in May, I spent the summer relaxing and, yes, recovering, from 5 of the most stressful years of my life. I'd found peace and power over many of the issues I'd been struggling with years. I felt better, mentally, emotionally, and physically than I had ever before in my life. and although I would never have chosen this path for myself, walking through an incredibly dark time is made slightly easier when the clear and hopeful past is a only a few months behind.

And finally, I understand that this situation, as terrible and terrifying as it has been, could be much worse. What happened, and how it happened, have hurt me more deeply than I can yet understand -but due to the relatively simple nature of the trauma, recovery has started almost immediately and is of a mostly personal nature - for which I am thankful!

One more significant contribution to the list of things to be thankful for in this situation is the opportunity I have over the next few weeks to travel - exploring southern Peru for the first time. I plan to take this time to be alone, to focus on emotional healing, and to remember what makes me the person that I am regardless of any trauma and pain. Writing is therapeutic for me, and I look forward to chronicling my experiences here - photos of the wonderful places I see, my experiences in the new places I visit, and the lessons I learn about healing along the way. Please join me.