the commune

the last five days have been spent living as true communists. We have gotten jobs painting murals for a hostel that is not open yet. in exchange for our work we recieve a free place to live and three meals a day. we wake up in the morning and head up from our tent which is set up under a roof type structure to the main house. a rivers' large boulders, crystal clear aquamarine water and humming insects  create a constant background song. We eat breakfast with about 10 men and one woman. 6 of the men are german, 2 american, and one australian. The woman is the only local colombian in the group. We spend the day painting our murals of different jungle scenes and spend our evenings cooking or relaxing with our new short term community. the artwork is a slow process and there is no knowing how long it will take. in the meantime we have found a truly beautiful place in the hills of san rafeal to spend a few weeks.

The Bus

I awoke on a bus, my sleeping bag rapped around me. The sky was a black background interrupted only by an uneven line of even darker black. The line came cascading down in all directions creating a landscape of shadow. The bus swayed as it turned a little to quickly around the edges of the silloutted hills. Dawn was coming, the sun would soon peak above the hills. My tired mind ached to stay awake to watch the sun slowly paint the blackness green and blue. I fought off sleep for long enough to press play and heard a few cords of guitar...
My eyes opened, it had been long enough that shapes had begun to form in the blackness. the solitary black line became detailed with trees and farms. Again my eyes slip shut...
Sleep escaped me again and i could see that the supple curve of orange light that had begun to bring morning to the uneven section of earth. The curve of orange grew and grew, emminating warmth and promising life itself. The birds began to fly into the sky, and those who breath began to awake. people watered their plants and fed their animals. A new day had come to us all, and it would in fact be a great one. I could see the jungles below the sky and as my mind began to dream i thought to myself, it is not how i see the world, but how i view it.

Humans, Cartagena CO

sickness

Being sick in a foreign country means remembering why the comforts of home are comfortable. It means wishing you had a place to sleep so that you could close your eyes for a couple of days and wake up and feel better. It means knowing you may not find a place to sleep and you might need to take a bus for 13 hours to your next destination. Being sick in a foreign country means you go through every possible scenario in your head of what you might be sick with before you realize its probably not dengay fever.  It means that Gatorade will be your new bestfriend (if you can find it). But mostly falling ill in a Foriegn country means you may need to take a day off and find somewhere to sleep where your not on the ground and surrounded by farm animals.

Four days at the beach

 Me and my mangos 

The old Colombian man and the sea 

 Stormy Youth 

The reality of no running water 

Barú

I awake to the sounds of birds crying out to one another. A thin layer of sweat and salt on my skin. As I sit up I glance through the mesh of our tent And see the persistent crashes of the ocean.  a thick gray fog seperates myself and the blue sky above me. I roll over, and start thinking about the days that had already passed on the island. Without meaning to, I begin translating my thoughts into spanish. I reach for the dictionary and begin looking up the words I should have known the night before while I conversed in my second language with some friendly Argentinian travelers. Yet somewhere between spanish class and the campfire on Barú the words got lost.
I decide to go get some fresh water from the man down the beach who sells it through a hose. As I walk people greet me as if they remember my face from the days I've spent on the island. I reach the water man and crouch down to fill up my gallon tub of what was once coca cola. I give the man 500 pesos, about 20 cents, and hope that my remaining 200 will be enough for a small cup of Cafè Negro on my way back.  I find a man who carries the signature multicolored canteens and ask Cauntos Pesos. I am 200 pesos short of the best coffee I have ever tasted. I begin to walk away, a different man yells after me "Cauntos tienes". I show him my hand filled with 3 coins and he places a forth one in my hand. I ask "Si?" He nods, "gracias señor" and I get my tiny cup of the best coffee I have ever tasted. I sit and drink it as I look out at the sea as she makes sweat and soft love to the sand, who cannot commit. The actions of the man make me think, he gave a stranger something for nothing in return. Someone who looks different, speaks differently, and is from a different part of the world. It puts a smile on my face to know we may be different, but we are still ultimately in the same big family.
I finish my coffee and walk back down the beach. People greet me "Buenas" "Buenas dias" "Buen Dia". The stray dogs sleep on the beach and I walk home to my sand filled tent holding my coca cola bottle. I walk by the fat grumpy man whom I befriended yesterday when I helped him sell things to the gringos who don't speak any spanish. He waves to me, I say "Buenas" and he replies "Dias".
I sit down in a green plastic chair and the fat man begins to rake up the garbage and leaves that have accumulated since yesterday morning.
The sun inches higher slowly and starts to burn off the layer of gray from early so the water and the sky begin to match as usual. The daily visitors are  arriving,, some running by, some waking sleepily, others already swimming in the early morning sun.
Life seems sweat here in this beautiful and peaceful. The landscape is breathtaking and the people incredibly kind. Barú, an island worth visiting.

what are you looking at

 What are you looking at. 

Cartagena CO

Working hard or hardly Working.. Kicking back in the shade

Tiempo para una siesta. En route from Baranquilla to Cartagena.

La Mejor Cerveza en Colombia

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One girl on the bus got up for an old woman.
Two old ladies greeted eachother like old friends.
Three people pulled us away from some con-men.
Four cops warned us to travel with caution.
Five Colombians laughed at my spanish.
Six workers enjoyed a siesta in the shade of a tall Palm.
Five persons yelled at us as we walked by.
Four people shared a wonderful conversation.
Three women told us about the funerary parade.
Two people have lets us into their wonderful home.
One city is vibrant and intensely alive.
Baranquilla, CO

Pollo y Raz en Barranquilla

 In flight from Panama City to Baranquilla CO

Female Road Narrative

Where are my female travelers? where is my woman Jack Kerouac? where are the stories of the women who pioneered?  No one has ever told me a story about female Frodo and Sam Wise with a vagina! Where are Lady lewis and Cunty Clark? Where are the stories of the women who decided the man in the shadows wasnt going to scare them into inaction?

I know they are out there, the women who face big snakes and giant cats, who carry everything they own in one bag and depend on the sweat of their brows and the strength of their backs to keep them alive. Where are the women, the women who keep walking when their feet blister and their minds wander. Where is my lady odysseus? The ladies who know that being strong means doing something like a girl. The women who know what it is like to be a female first, and a human second. The ones who say "I have a cunt and you just might have vagina envy!"  

When we go, we go with more things to fight against, when we walk we walk with more things to fear, when we dress, we dress with the knowledge that someone might call our short sleeves an invitation. When we plan, we plan for everything. When we do it, We do it as women! 

Here is the Female Road Narrative, and you can be sure well be even bigger than the Frodos, Well be even better than the Clarks and well be even more iconic than the Kerouacs. Here it is, for i am woman and I am the god damn fucking protagonist!