i got robbed. by a kid. who looked me square in the eye, leaned in, smiled his syrupy thick smile while he...
ripped my necklace right off my neck. RIGHT. OFF. MY. NECK.
it's strange because the clearest memory i have is the sound of my necklace snapping. the thick silver chain cracking and echoing in my ears. like a shout in the grand canyon. CRACK...RACK... ACK..CK...K....
the kid turned around and started walking, not running, away... arrogant little bugger. for a moment everything just froze. a slight burning sensation began to heat up on the back of my neck where the chain broke. it must have fueled my adrenaline because before i know it, i've chased him down, got his shirt wrapped around my right hand and i'm shouting, "YOU LITTLE SHIT!!" (very mature of me... i know.) but he's Brazilian and has no clue what i'm yelling. i'm just shouting like a mad woman. he struggles to get out of my grip. his shirt tears. we stumble. he begins to wrestle out of what's left of his shirt. i lose my footing, and WHAM! we hit the floor with a thump. his torn shirt still death gripped in my hand.
the second sound i remember is of my necklace falling through the metal grates we were on top of. specifically, the charms scattering and scraping. again... the echo. he must have dropped it when we fell. i release my death grip.
he's wriggled his way out of his torn shirt by now and is scurrying to get up. in the chaos of it all, he has also lost both of his flip-flops. he runs off, barefoot and shirtless. he was twelve. maybe. somehow i've got one of his sandals in my hand and i watch as he takes off into the carnaval parade. for a split second, and ONLY a split second, i think about throwing the sandal at his head. don't worry... i don't throw the sandal at his head... luckily, my senses kick in and i see that he is just a kid. small, skinny and probably a bit shocked, if not scared. i drop the sandal and five minutes later, i break down into a jitter of tears.
"poor kid." my parents say when i recount the story to them. they are both shaking their heads. huh? poor kid?!? can i get a little "poor me?" ummm... just a little bit?!?
i think it was gandhi who said that he once had his pair of shoes stolen on the train but the man dropped one when he jumped off the train. gandhi then threw the other shoe onto the train tracks. when asked why, he said that the person who stole it obviously needs them more than him, so he may as well give him the pair...
but then again, i've seen slumdog millionaire and i certainly don't want to encourage this kid into a life of ripping people off...
yeah, i'm still workin' this one out. either way, i think my parents are right... 'poor kid' that he has to steal for any reason at all. that just plain sucks.
ps- a quick shout out to my wonderful, sweet friend lizzle. she bought me this necklace before i left for india and then got me another one when i left for south america. it's protected me for both trips. and now, it's somewhere under the streets of salvador... protecting others...
Monday, March 9, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
should i stay or should i go...
(written enroute to brasil... a couple of weeks ago)
it took 3 cramped, crowded & coughing buses, 48 hours along pothole-pocked dusty roads, 3 brasilia check points with military men in reflective glasses rummaging through all my dirty laundry, 1 italian-boliviano (marcello!), 1 peruvian minister (miguel!), and 1 argentine hippie family to get me across the border and into brasil safely... but here i am.... and already i LOVE it!
we crossed the border yesterday at 4pm, almost 48 hours after we started our journey in la paz. i had no idea how dodgy the bus was going to be. (sorry mommo and bubbi!) but since the border crossing (in the middle of the mosquito-infested jungle) here is mostly for the locals (and people who don´t have passports or proper papers (hippie argentine family), you can imagine the array of...err... 'colorful' people that occupied the bus... drug dealers, drunks, and prostitutes! OH MY! two rows behind me were these young, drunk guys that were transporting god-knows-what to god-knows-who from bolivia to brasil and back again. in the row in front of me, two girls with all sorts of body parts squeezing out of their infant-sized outfits, and to the left of me, an indigenous woman with her young daughter cradling an even younger baby in her arms...
normally, i don´t get too nervous when i find myself in these seemingly precarious situations anymore. i breathe and surrender to the situation and take it moment by moment. it is what you make it. i glance over to the left and the mother of the child with the baby places a pail in the aisle between us. the boys in the back are starting to crank out obnoxious laughter like crazed hyenas. i try not to look and focus on the stains on the back of the seat in front of me. i burn a hole through the seat, but still i find my eyes wandering to the left as the boys' raucous shouting starts to build. and then, i like a horror freak show, i see the woman, put her dress over the pail, squat down, and pee.
ummm, what.
yes, folks, she is peeing into a pail in the middle of the aisle on this filthy cramped bus with a bunch of drugged-up, drunk teenagers screaming behind her. now how am i suppose to surrender to THIS situation? and then, as if the freak show couldn't get any worse... she takes the pail, opens her window and pours it out the side of the bus. really?! is that really necessary? considering we're stuck here for the next 48 hours, i guess it actually IS necessary. my bad. note to self: NO DRINKING WATER, NO FOOD, NO WATCHING OTHER PEOPLE PEE IN PAILS. close your eyes. feign sleep. the bus chokes to a start and i begin to feel the pangs of terror electrocute my system. do i get off? what do i do?!? find a potential buddy. i look around and immediately realize that there is not ONE person that in the awful chance that there is an emergency i would feel comfortable asking for help. not. one. single. person.
the bus starts to pull out of the terminal and i am playing 'should i stay or should i go' in my head. i quickly do the pros and cons in my head. PRO- get to brasil by tomorrow if i stay on the bus... CON- don't make it off the bus alive. tough call. and then, just as i'm nearing my decision to leave, the bus screeches to a hault. it's a sign, it's got to be a sign... get off the bus, NOW! the drunken hyenas grow wild hissing at the bus driver to get on the road. mayhem seems to be brimming. i grab at my bag and get up to leave. just as i stand up, in walks... marcello.
the universe always provides.
marcello. my italian-boliviano angel had arrived. and wouldn't you know it, he had the seat right next to mine. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said kindly, "permiso?" as he made himself comfortable next to me. he smiled his shy 45-year-old, doctor's assistant smile and i smiled my i can't believe it, thank you so much for being real and smile back. and for the next concussion-inducing-BUMPY 35 hours of jungle roads, marcello watched over me, worried about me, fed me, communicated for me, walked me across the border, protected me, and handed me off to a minister before he felt okay to leave me. he looked me square in the eye before he literally handed me over to minister miguel and said, ´SUERTE! CUIDADO! CUIDADO!!´ then he hugged me tight, gave me a kiss-kiss on both cheeks and walked away into the sunset... gracias marcello!!
not to worry... i am completely safe in the hands of minister miguel now. he won´t let me out of his sight. poor guy. i just want to whisper to him, "don't worry. the universe always provides."
yes, yes it does.
it took 3 cramped, crowded & coughing buses, 48 hours along pothole-pocked dusty roads, 3 brasilia check points with military men in reflective glasses rummaging through all my dirty laundry, 1 italian-boliviano (marcello!), 1 peruvian minister (miguel!), and 1 argentine hippie family to get me across the border and into brasil safely... but here i am.... and already i LOVE it!
we crossed the border yesterday at 4pm, almost 48 hours after we started our journey in la paz. i had no idea how dodgy the bus was going to be. (sorry mommo and bubbi!) but since the border crossing (in the middle of the mosquito-infested jungle) here is mostly for the locals (and people who don´t have passports or proper papers (hippie argentine family), you can imagine the array of...err... 'colorful' people that occupied the bus... drug dealers, drunks, and prostitutes! OH MY! two rows behind me were these young, drunk guys that were transporting god-knows-what to god-knows-who from bolivia to brasil and back again. in the row in front of me, two girls with all sorts of body parts squeezing out of their infant-sized outfits, and to the left of me, an indigenous woman with her young daughter cradling an even younger baby in her arms...
normally, i don´t get too nervous when i find myself in these seemingly precarious situations anymore. i breathe and surrender to the situation and take it moment by moment. it is what you make it. i glance over to the left and the mother of the child with the baby places a pail in the aisle between us. the boys in the back are starting to crank out obnoxious laughter like crazed hyenas. i try not to look and focus on the stains on the back of the seat in front of me. i burn a hole through the seat, but still i find my eyes wandering to the left as the boys' raucous shouting starts to build. and then, i like a horror freak show, i see the woman, put her dress over the pail, squat down, and pee.
ummm, what.
yes, folks, she is peeing into a pail in the middle of the aisle on this filthy cramped bus with a bunch of drugged-up, drunk teenagers screaming behind her. now how am i suppose to surrender to THIS situation? and then, as if the freak show couldn't get any worse... she takes the pail, opens her window and pours it out the side of the bus. really?! is that really necessary? considering we're stuck here for the next 48 hours, i guess it actually IS necessary. my bad. note to self: NO DRINKING WATER, NO FOOD, NO WATCHING OTHER PEOPLE PEE IN PAILS. close your eyes. feign sleep. the bus chokes to a start and i begin to feel the pangs of terror electrocute my system. do i get off? what do i do?!? find a potential buddy. i look around and immediately realize that there is not ONE person that in the awful chance that there is an emergency i would feel comfortable asking for help. not. one. single. person.
the bus starts to pull out of the terminal and i am playing 'should i stay or should i go' in my head. i quickly do the pros and cons in my head. PRO- get to brasil by tomorrow if i stay on the bus... CON- don't make it off the bus alive. tough call. and then, just as i'm nearing my decision to leave, the bus screeches to a hault. it's a sign, it's got to be a sign... get off the bus, NOW! the drunken hyenas grow wild hissing at the bus driver to get on the road. mayhem seems to be brimming. i grab at my bag and get up to leave. just as i stand up, in walks... marcello.
the universe always provides.
marcello. my italian-boliviano angel had arrived. and wouldn't you know it, he had the seat right next to mine. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and said kindly, "permiso?" as he made himself comfortable next to me. he smiled his shy 45-year-old, doctor's assistant smile and i smiled my i can't believe it, thank you so much for being real and smile back. and for the next concussion-inducing-BUMPY 35 hours of jungle roads, marcello watched over me, worried about me, fed me, communicated for me, walked me across the border, protected me, and handed me off to a minister before he felt okay to leave me. he looked me square in the eye before he literally handed me over to minister miguel and said, ´SUERTE! CUIDADO! CUIDADO!!´ then he hugged me tight, gave me a kiss-kiss on both cheeks and walked away into the sunset... gracias marcello!!
not to worry... i am completely safe in the hands of minister miguel now. he won´t let me out of his sight. poor guy. i just want to whisper to him, "don't worry. the universe always provides."
yes, yes it does.
pop like popcorn for carnaval!
the boom boom bass of the samba rattles the street with mini earthquakes...
people shake. shake. shake.
their booties.
their titties.
their popcorn souls.
and then.
they shake some more.
pop!
pop!
pop!
balloons the size of planets sail between the buildings,
beating to their own heartbeat.
glowing like comets...
celestial cinema.
confetti, newspaper, and silly string waterfalls...
splash the parade like a giant decadent cupcake.
and in the middle of the street...
a little ecstatic 'scarlett-siu-jie popcorn',
shakin´ and poppin' it like she means it,
stares up at the drizzling speckled sky...
blows a kiss of birthday bliss...
to her "old peach" bff...
(... AND, thank you everyone for sending me their birthday looooove & wishes too... i am doing my best to spread it all over salvador!)
***beijos muito grande from carnaval! POP. POP. POP!
people shake. shake. shake.
their booties.
their titties.
their popcorn souls.
and then.
they shake some more.
pop!
pop!
pop!
balloons the size of planets sail between the buildings,
beating to their own heartbeat.
glowing like comets...
celestial cinema.
confetti, newspaper, and silly string waterfalls...
splash the parade like a giant decadent cupcake.
and in the middle of the street...
a little ecstatic 'scarlett-siu-jie popcorn',
shakin´ and poppin' it like she means it,
stares up at the drizzling speckled sky...
blows a kiss of birthday bliss...
to her "old peach" bff...
(... AND, thank you everyone for sending me their birthday looooove & wishes too... i am doing my best to spread it all over salvador!)
***beijos muito grande from carnaval! POP. POP. POP!
8 days a week...
right now, i´m sitting in an internet cafe in santa cruz, bolivia with 7 hours ahead of me, waiting for my next bus to the border of bolivia and brasil that will take no less than 16-18hrs. it´s hot. the kid playing video games next to me is humming like a racecar. i think he just crashed. it´s humid. i´m sweating. i must smell like a peach....
last night, i grabbed the bus from la paz, bolivia. it took 16hrs to swivel down from the high altitude to this more tropical side of the country. at hour 12, the bus became so hot, humid, and wet (it´s pouring outside...and so, subsequently, its also pouring all over my entire right side, of course it ís, why wouldn´t it be??), that i considered letting the indigenous woman sleeping in the aisle have my seat. (i´m such a generous person... wait until the seat is a proper puddle THEN offer it up. better late than never??) i peered over luisa, the teacher who just got separated from her husband of 10 years because she wants to switch jobs but her husband thinks she´s cheating on him´(???), so they had to separate b/c he was getting increasingly more loco - (all told to me in spanish) snoring softly next to me, and lightly tapped the woman wearing her customary top hat (which acording to luisa, helps to keep the grey hairs away) but she only rolled over slightly and ignored me. her colorful sack of goods crackled under her weight. i sat back in my soggy seat. drip, drip, drip. this is not helping the fried onion smell that is permeating the bus. it´s like soggy fried onions mixed with vinegar. drip, drip, drip.... only 4 more hours to go...
2 nights ago i was on a boat returning from the isla del sol on lake titicaca. yes, that´s the real name of it. lake titicaca. where if you try and take a dip in the lake, you will freeze your titi and your caca off. it´s the highest altitude inhabitated lake in the world. it´s breath-takingly, literally, gorgeous. the clouds are so close you can practically pick some off, eat it and let it melt in your mouth like cotton candy.
3 nights ago i found myself dancing in the streets of puno, peru with HUNDEREDS of electric and eclectic groups of costumed dancers from fuzzy white bears, to sparkly-space cadet soldiers, to vegas-style-feathered mistresses... it was a rainy mess, but that didn´t stop them from celebrating until the wee hours of the night, drunkenly stumbling with half their costumes hanging off their bodies like an over-stuffed coat rack. it is a very strange sight to have an enebriated half fuzzy, now brown bear almost fall on top of you in the middle of a cobblestone street. very strange. and yet, at 8am the band struck up that same ól tune again, and there they went stomping through the puddles towards the cathedral to offer up their dance in prayer and celebration.
4 nights ago i found myself huffing and puffing up the steep alleyways of the witches market in la paz, bolivia staring at dried llama fetuses on sale. dried. llama. fetuses. apparantly, if you bury it in the ground in front of your house, it wards off evil spirits or brings good luck to your house and family. um, okay.
5 nights ago i found myself dancing with local bolivians to both traditional music and their version of dance-club hip-hop cumbia cumbia.... to be honest, the moves were the same. the music just changed frantically.
6 nights ago i found myself in sucre, bolivia dodging pre-carnaval water balloons thrown by adolescent boys that would ear-graze passed my head in whizzing speed in the center square where the indigenous people were holding a protest in front of the government house. ear-splitting booming dynamite was going off every 20 minutes or so to call all the villages together to protest. i watched as a man tried to cross the protest line on his scooter and he was literally pushed and pulled OFF his scooter and onto the ground. within moments he was hovered by the angry shouting protesters. a friend told me that a bus recently crossed a protest line in bolivia and the driver was dragged out and beaten, and some of the passengers hurt too. you just don´t cross protest lines in bolivia. the passion and need to be heard is both staggering... and humbling. some might find it scary, but i find it rather intriguing. when a friend educated me a bit on the plight of the indigenous people, it gave me goosebumps and filled me with compassion. so much history. so much oppression. then i got tagged by a red waterballon on my left leg. score.
7 nights ago i found myself on a yet another bus from uyuni, bolivia to sucre with a new friend who decided that i was going to be his human pillow for the entirety of the 9 hour trip. really, dude? really? YOUR space... MY space.... but i forgave him his ´´too quick to cuddle´´ ways as he DID help to stop the bus when i couldn´t get to my backpack because the travel agency had locked it away and decided to disappear for an hour as i waited, sweating bullets, outside. wouldn´t you know it, just as the bus took off, the lady came slowly waddling down the street. ´´no understanding of personal space´´ guy ran and stopped the bus for us. so i guess it´s okay that he crushed my lungs for a good 5 hours... only to have to transfer from bus to sedan ´´taxi´´ car at 1:30AM for another 3 hours with his head rolling back and forth on my left shoulder and the backside of the old bolivian man´s hand tapping on my right thigh to music so blaringly LOUD that i felt like i was going to throw up from the pounding bass. i didn´t have the nerve to ask the driver to turn it down for fear he would fall asleep at the wheel and drive us straight off the cliff into the deep, grey mining town of potosi.
8 days ago i found myself dancing in the otherworldly, blank white canvas of the salar de uyuni in bolivia... where the sky and the ground is such a pure white that you can´t distinguish between where the ground ends and the sky starts... there are no words, metaphors, analogies to describe the incomprehensible feeling and beauty of this place... so i grabbed my ipod... ran towards that blank bleak beautiful canvas and just started to DANCE DANCE DANCE... WAAAAHOOOOOO!!!! painting it with my breath.... my smiles, my laughter... after a good thirty minutes of this... i turned to the sun, did 3 sun salutations to give gratitude for my family, my friends, and my life... thank you, thank you, thank you.... then i skipped my way all the way back to the jeep.
ready to paint my life along....
last night, i grabbed the bus from la paz, bolivia. it took 16hrs to swivel down from the high altitude to this more tropical side of the country. at hour 12, the bus became so hot, humid, and wet (it´s pouring outside...and so, subsequently, its also pouring all over my entire right side, of course it ís, why wouldn´t it be??), that i considered letting the indigenous woman sleeping in the aisle have my seat. (i´m such a generous person... wait until the seat is a proper puddle THEN offer it up. better late than never??) i peered over luisa, the teacher who just got separated from her husband of 10 years because she wants to switch jobs but her husband thinks she´s cheating on him´(???), so they had to separate b/c he was getting increasingly more loco - (all told to me in spanish) snoring softly next to me, and lightly tapped the woman wearing her customary top hat (which acording to luisa, helps to keep the grey hairs away) but she only rolled over slightly and ignored me. her colorful sack of goods crackled under her weight. i sat back in my soggy seat. drip, drip, drip. this is not helping the fried onion smell that is permeating the bus. it´s like soggy fried onions mixed with vinegar. drip, drip, drip.... only 4 more hours to go...
2 nights ago i was on a boat returning from the isla del sol on lake titicaca. yes, that´s the real name of it. lake titicaca. where if you try and take a dip in the lake, you will freeze your titi and your caca off. it´s the highest altitude inhabitated lake in the world. it´s breath-takingly, literally, gorgeous. the clouds are so close you can practically pick some off, eat it and let it melt in your mouth like cotton candy.
3 nights ago i found myself dancing in the streets of puno, peru with HUNDEREDS of electric and eclectic groups of costumed dancers from fuzzy white bears, to sparkly-space cadet soldiers, to vegas-style-feathered mistresses... it was a rainy mess, but that didn´t stop them from celebrating until the wee hours of the night, drunkenly stumbling with half their costumes hanging off their bodies like an over-stuffed coat rack. it is a very strange sight to have an enebriated half fuzzy, now brown bear almost fall on top of you in the middle of a cobblestone street. very strange. and yet, at 8am the band struck up that same ól tune again, and there they went stomping through the puddles towards the cathedral to offer up their dance in prayer and celebration.
4 nights ago i found myself huffing and puffing up the steep alleyways of the witches market in la paz, bolivia staring at dried llama fetuses on sale. dried. llama. fetuses. apparantly, if you bury it in the ground in front of your house, it wards off evil spirits or brings good luck to your house and family. um, okay.
5 nights ago i found myself dancing with local bolivians to both traditional music and their version of dance-club hip-hop cumbia cumbia.... to be honest, the moves were the same. the music just changed frantically.
6 nights ago i found myself in sucre, bolivia dodging pre-carnaval water balloons thrown by adolescent boys that would ear-graze passed my head in whizzing speed in the center square where the indigenous people were holding a protest in front of the government house. ear-splitting booming dynamite was going off every 20 minutes or so to call all the villages together to protest. i watched as a man tried to cross the protest line on his scooter and he was literally pushed and pulled OFF his scooter and onto the ground. within moments he was hovered by the angry shouting protesters. a friend told me that a bus recently crossed a protest line in bolivia and the driver was dragged out and beaten, and some of the passengers hurt too. you just don´t cross protest lines in bolivia. the passion and need to be heard is both staggering... and humbling. some might find it scary, but i find it rather intriguing. when a friend educated me a bit on the plight of the indigenous people, it gave me goosebumps and filled me with compassion. so much history. so much oppression. then i got tagged by a red waterballon on my left leg. score.
7 nights ago i found myself on a yet another bus from uyuni, bolivia to sucre with a new friend who decided that i was going to be his human pillow for the entirety of the 9 hour trip. really, dude? really? YOUR space... MY space.... but i forgave him his ´´too quick to cuddle´´ ways as he DID help to stop the bus when i couldn´t get to my backpack because the travel agency had locked it away and decided to disappear for an hour as i waited, sweating bullets, outside. wouldn´t you know it, just as the bus took off, the lady came slowly waddling down the street. ´´no understanding of personal space´´ guy ran and stopped the bus for us. so i guess it´s okay that he crushed my lungs for a good 5 hours... only to have to transfer from bus to sedan ´´taxi´´ car at 1:30AM for another 3 hours with his head rolling back and forth on my left shoulder and the backside of the old bolivian man´s hand tapping on my right thigh to music so blaringly LOUD that i felt like i was going to throw up from the pounding bass. i didn´t have the nerve to ask the driver to turn it down for fear he would fall asleep at the wheel and drive us straight off the cliff into the deep, grey mining town of potosi.
8 days ago i found myself dancing in the otherworldly, blank white canvas of the salar de uyuni in bolivia... where the sky and the ground is such a pure white that you can´t distinguish between where the ground ends and the sky starts... there are no words, metaphors, analogies to describe the incomprehensible feeling and beauty of this place... so i grabbed my ipod... ran towards that blank bleak beautiful canvas and just started to DANCE DANCE DANCE... WAAAAHOOOOOO!!!! painting it with my breath.... my smiles, my laughter... after a good thirty minutes of this... i turned to the sun, did 3 sun salutations to give gratitude for my family, my friends, and my life... thank you, thank you, thank you.... then i skipped my way all the way back to the jeep.
ready to paint my life along....
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