I'll be hyperlinking as often as possible in each blogpost to the songs that were in my head during the experience I'm describing, hopefully helping you have a richer vicarious sensation. However, sometimes I won't have time to hyperlink or those particular experiences won't make it into a blog post, so I'll be doing a summary of my internal soundtrack here.
Still Young: wanting to listen to some music with Spanish, I put on the entire Cat Empire "Steal the Light" album on my bus from Latacunga to Sigchos, where I started the Quilotoa Loop. A few of the songs have some Spanish, but "Still Young" definitely spoke to me at this time, because of this lyric that I felt spoke to my journey: "While you're still young, find your heart and find your song."
Moon Tower: during my first night of the Quilotoa Loop, staying at the Llullu Llama Hostel in Isinlivi. This cozy wood hostel is reminiscent of a tiny lodge, and does have both llamas out front and a big St. Bernard puppy, named Baloo, out back. After my crazy (and crazy awesome) day of trekking the unbeaten path and facing down furious dogs, I arrived at Llullu Llama exhausted, starving, unadjusted to the altitude, and extremely relieved to be out of the dark. I was greeted there, unexpectedly, by friends I had met a week earlier in Quito. After an outstanding communal dinner and lounging by the fireplace drinking wine (tea for me, still too soon after the food poisoning), we headed out back where I cuddled Baloo like crazy -- so happy to see a friendly dog -- while we all looked up at the star filled sky. The comfort, company, and celestial beauty brought this new Dirty Heads song to my mind. "Let's go outside and look up at the starlit sky, let's all go for a ride, meet me at the moon tower tonight."
Like a Drum: because I listened to the "Steal the Light" album on the bus to Sigchos, all of the songs were in my head to a certain extent. But this song, mostly in Spanish, became the soundtrack of parts of my hike where the strenuousness of the route as well as the intense altitude made my heart beat like crazy. It then emerged once again in my mind after the loop, back in Latacunga for La Mama Negra Festival. La Mama Negra (the black mother) Festival in Latacunga celebrates the end of summer and is a rowdy parade that starts in the afternoon and goes until around midnight. The costumes, volume, drunken debauchery and gluttonous extravagance draw parallels to a Mardi Gras type citywide party; and the constant beat to which the procession marches kept making me think, "My heart is beating like a drum."
Wish You Were Here: this song was in my head during my time in Guatapé. Guatapé is the most beautiful place I've ever been. It's like a postcard and, before Pink Floyd's song, postcards were the most likely of places to find the phrase "Wish You Were Here." But more than that, I feel like this song speaks to an important aspect of my travels. The lyrics set forth a series of two choice options; however, many of the choices are kind of confusing or simply undesirable either way you go, especially: "Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?" (Appreciating that I'm speaking from a point of privilege), sometimes when none of the apparent options seem appealing, it's easy to forget that there are infinitely more options out there. Traveling through South America for half a year certainly wasn't an evident option for me, but it was there, hiding in the wing, a clear and hugely fulfilling alternative to the war and the cage.
La Bicicleta: definitely the most catchy song I've been hearing, repeatedly, during these travels. Makes locals (and me) go NUTS at the clubs. Gotta love Shakira. Also, doing this song on lyricstraining.com was a hugely beneficial part of my Spanish studies. The song also mentions many places that I've now visited in Colombia, such as Tayrona where I body surfed with a crocodile :)
The World Ain't Slowin' Down: thematic of my trip in general, the song made its way into my head during my joyful trudging through the Caribbean downpour in Tayrona National Park, Colombia. "You got to get gone, you got to get going..." The song insists, because "Hey, the world ain't slowin' down for no one; and it's a carnival calling out to you." It really is, and I'm loving every second of exploring it. Even the seconds that are uncomfortable and maybe even a bit frightening. Such was the complete deluge of rain that broke through the just clear blue sunny sky in northern Columbia as my friend, Mark, and I trekked towards Cabo San Juan, a beach with hammocks where we would spend the night and the following day. I'm talking buckets and buckets of rain, relentless and almost comically thick, hurling straight down through the still hot and sticky Caribbean air. "And I get the sensation of joy and frustration, like being caught by a tropical rain." The line was spot on. When we arrived at Cabo San Juan, the couple in front of us secured the last two hammocks, and we were cast back out into the rain to look for other shelter. Wading through the now more than knee deep water and mud back the way we came, the path completely lost in the flood, we continued to be soaked through every inch of our clothing and bags. We laughed at the unsettling notion that the water was deep enough there could be crocodiles swimming in it and we'd never know -- but there aren't crocodiles in Tayrona, right? Our adventure at the beach the following day, where we inadvertently body surfed alongside a Cayman (crocodile) put our former jubilance into a strange context such that it was now even more funny, because we were alive, but wouldn't be funny if it were to happen again. Tayrona presented us with all sorts of spectacular and welcome surprises -- monkeys all around us, a giant Python slithering under our footpath, and the surfing crocodile -- as well as some frustrating ones -- the "tropical rain" and, in another regard, the fucking surfing crocodile!! All full of joy because all are part of the adventure, and you gotta get gone, you gotta get going.
Stay Human: one of Michael Franti's favorite metaphors, that he invokes in multiple songs, is the image of plants growing up through cracks in the sidewalks. To me it's a symbol of resilience, of the persistence of nature (both Mother Nature and Human Nature) over destruction and perversion, and of the indelible hope that (somewhat ironically) nests itself in the promise of impermanence. In Medellín, adjacent to the metro stop, is a GIANT, gorgeous tree that has BURST through the sidewalk, ripping apart and throwing into disarray immense concrete slabs. In Medellín the metro is a HUGE symbol of progress/industry/modernism, which is very important to the former murder capitol of the world that is now not only very safe but thriving in various industries, including boasting some of the best surgeons in the world. Human progress is good, but lest we forget the balance and let human progress ebb into human greed, being at the expense of other humans or to the detriment of our planet, this beautiful tree burst out from the ground to remind us of our place, demanding respect. Michael Franti does not invoke this metaphor in the song Stay Human, but that's the song the tree made me think of, because it offers many metaphors and criticisms along the same lines, including "every flower's got a right to be bloomin." A lot of the lines in this song gel with many other aspects of my travel. The chorus of the song is, "All the freaky people make the beauty of the world." And traveling is all about meeting people who are different, who challenge our ideas about everything, and thereby challenge us to grow and be better. I saw this tree back when I thought a Trump presidency was impossible, but accepting that a Trump defeat wouldn't heal the divide in our country and around the world. The friction between the wealthy and the poor, the races, the sexes, the religions, the university educated and the community educated, the old and the young, fans of one sports team versus another, and all the other fabricated (bullshit) lines we draw that grow into hatred filled tectonic plates, inviting a disastrous grinding as the two sides continue to move in opposite directions; all of this lives on. Especially now WITH a Trump presidency. But all we can do, like the song says, is appreciate everyone, promote peace and tolerance, even better promote Love, and simply "Stay Human." Be resilient, like the tree growing up through the sidewalk. Refuse to let hatred in the world breed hatred in us. Fight fire with water. Fight ignorance with enlightenment. Heal divides by refusing to be relegated to a side. The more they cut you down and put seemingly unbreakable barriers, concrete barriers on top of you, grow, Grow, GROW! And help those around you to grow, who may be buried so much deeper. Stay Human.
Good To Be Alive Today: this song starts, "It's a long road...", a line apart from all the other lyrics, separate from any verse or chorus. That is what we have to remember right now, as we suffer the set-back that is a Trump presidency. The song proceeds to chronicle an impressive list of really fucked up stuff going on in the world today, things that we shouldn't ignore and we should continue to fight against. But the song is also hopeful, with the main goal being that, eventually, every person can wake up and say, "It's good to be alive today." But bringing us back to the fact that it's a long road, Franti asks, "What if this song was #1, would it mean that love had won?" Michael Franti has put multiple songs at the #1 spot in iTunes, songs that also carry the message of love and include political undertones and even overtones. So what does that mean? It means the youth believe in that future goal, but believing is only half the battle, and it's going to be a long road. But the song ends, repeating, "One day, one day ... One day, one day, everyone will say, 'It's good to be alive today." One day.
Hey Mami: this one being stuck in my head is kinda funny ... It's basically just because saying "Mami" and "Papi" in Latin America is so common. Every time I hear it, I hear this song.
Coat for a Pillow: the song's actual meaning has no bearing on my experience, but it was still stuck in my head during the 4 day and 3 night Salkantay trek to Machu Pichu, during which I used my coat for a pillow each night. A pillow was not one of the amenities provided. Those amenities numbered two: a permanent tent structure and an inserted sleeping mat. The song remained in my head as I continued to take night buses through Peru and Chile. The song ends with a repeated refrain, "Sleep now, sleep on the plane. Sleep now, sleep on the train." It doesn't mention a bus, but close enough.
Recognize Me: I remember always listening to this song in the past and feeling that I didn't quite understand it. I understood exactly what it was saying; it's not full of metaphor or obtuse language; it's pretty straightforward. But I couldn't grasp the concept of the kind of transformation John was implying he'd been through such that people who knew him might not recognize him. I think I get it more now. To me, it's less an expression of worry that his loved ones will no longer recognize him, but more that a return home means facing the person he used to be in the eyes of those people. I like to think that I've grown, that I've cast aside certain negativities and biases that some people could say used to be part of how people viewed me. Some people might argue they were part of what made me "Me." I would disagree. I think those things were never a part of Me, but were acquired baggage and inadvertently worn protective armor and masks. I don't want to sport those things any more, and I don't want to be the old version of Me. I'm worried people will try to fit me -- like with worn, familiar and comfortable jeans -- back into my preconceived notions, fears and tendencies, because change is hard for everyone, especially when it happens all at once (as people have not been along for my metamorphosis, although metamorphosis may not be the right word since I believe it's more of a return to a purer state). "I hope when I'm going home, they're gonna recognize me."
Alice's Champagne Palace: "Sometimes you gotta go to the end of the earth just to turn yourself around." It's a song about a bar in Homer, Alaska, but damn does it speak to my experience in Chilean Patagonia. Torres Del Paine (Chilean Patagonia) is just about at the jumping off point to Antarctica. The actual jump off point is Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina, a brief bus ride south. ThIs place is referred to as "The End of the World" and oftentimes the phrase is used to describe Puerto Natales (Chilean Patagonia Basecamp, where I stayed) and Torres Del Paine as well. The idea of the song quote is that a physical journey to a remote end of the earth is sometimes required in order to find the inner quietude needed to undergo a big and essential recalibration of your life perspective. After my 8 days hiking the wilderness of Patagonia, and attaining just such a transformation, I couldn't agree more.
Spirit: because this is what I call the "love every moment, every frustration, every surprise and enjoyment" mentality that I obtained in Patagonia: The Spirit. And I intend to keep it. And if I had one wish I would give it to every person in the world. And this song reminds me of it and played in my head throughout my eight day trek.
Nico On the Night Train: another one that is thematically unrelated but contextually invoked. At Campamento Paso, night four of the Patagonia circuit, I met a group of medical students from Santiago who were super cool. My favorite of them is named Nico. This song has been in my head ever since.
