Hola!
Hello family. Hello friends & acquaintances. Hello random surfer internet dude who anticipated watching “cute kittens in overalls spooning,” but somehow ended up on this page…hello!
I will first start out by explaining the intention and purpose of this travel blog. I will admit that I have had reservations about creating a travel blog to share my swashbuckling adventures, as sometimes these things are more effort than they’re worth. But having a space to describe, in detail, my experiences that of which are unique to my own person (oh the potentialities…D gets in an argument with a non-English speaking sweaty bad attitude cab driver, or…. D barters with an elderly Afro-Caribbean lady selling dust collecting trinkets…I like it already) is not only beneficial for my own growth, but might provide another adventure seeker valuable insight before departing on a similar trip.
The problem isn’t a hesitation for sharing, but the upkeep. I do admit I have a problem with maintaining contact with those who aren’t resting at the tip of my nose. And I certainly believe that I was sick, or missed the school bus during the “HEY KIDS, LET’S LEARN ABOUT INTERPERSONAL AWARENESS” day. (That being a cornerstone to effective and long lasting social and emotional relationships…still whiteknuckling it at age 24…) Yep, I’m the first to admit I’m just plain bad at it. But, following this new year’s common thread which seems to be “moving beyond fear,” I will create this page and try my best to update it accordingly. However a public service announcement and pre-apology to those who might *gasp* enjoy my content musings and *gasp* anticipate more—I apologize for a potential & rather likely unforecasted cease in material. Spoiler alert—I’m out there having fun.
Getting down to it.
In no time, I will depart from my freezing, albeit increasingly comfortable home town in Michigan with a carry on size Kelty backpack strapped to my waist and (hopefully) a sense of optimism for the following months to come. (Fingers crossed the buoyant feeling can be felt in conjunction with a nauseated stomach and/or small stream of pee cascading down my legs…). To answer the question: Hey D, are you afraid of traveling to South America ALONE as a blonde hair, blue eyed gringa? Aren’t you afraid the bad guys are going to kidnap and hold you for ransom? Aren’t you afraid all your life’s posessions will be robbed of you and your life with forever be ruined? The answer is YES. Claro que si. Yes, I have fear regarding all of those things, however dramatic they may be, all of those scenarios have not weighed on my mind lightly. (So unless you’re my petrified mother, please do not approach me with such considerations. *cough cough* guy working behind the gun counter at Gander Mountain **cough** <-- that is acutally a pretty hilarious story for future telling).
I'm excited to visit a country distinctly known for its "phoenix rises from the ashes" story. Once known for its “narco traficante” culture, Colombia is successfully disassembling its old stereotype of violence by building strong ties with tourism and budding infrastructure. Like many Central and South American countries, the locals are accommodating and friendly. I've heard on many accounts that Colombians seem to be the friendliest of all…and their interactions seem to be the most genuine. (Not an excuse to let my guard down, chill, mom.) While threats do still exist from guerrilla groups and drug trafficking, the Colombian government has classified many cities as safe for tourists throughout the country.
I will begin in Cartegena—a hot & humid port town nested on the northern Caribbean shore of Colombia. After meeting up with a travel companion and spending roughly two weeks together, a soft schedule will guide me down into cooler regions near the Coffee Triangle, Armenia, Pereira, Salento, through the country’s Capital, Bogota, with eventual means of departing back to los Estados from Peru. Such is the next three months of my life—vagabonding on a shoestring from hostel to hostel, striving for fluency by devouring every rapid Spanish sentence that whirs by, squeezing it dry to the pulp in reverie.
Now. What better way than, instead of crappily ending this inaugural post with a cheesy “I’m making my dreams come true!” saga, what better way than allowing the blissed out dream mystic Jack Kerouac to inject his starry sailor eyed perspective into my last paragraph? I think he is a hell of a lot more qualified. What’s more, he’s the one that helped me on when I felt trapped, when I never believed I’d see what I wanted to see, or be what I wanted to be.
Was it not the great Jack who taught me the importance of doing, of seeing, or trying when he said:
“The best teacher is experience and not through someone's distorted point of view.”
Yes, it’s all distorted. We’re all distorted. And it’s complicated until it’s not. And it’s only not when you are taught.
“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”
Through my travels, I hope to know this.
-D
