Keep on moving

On the morning of Wednesday 25th, I shed a few tears saying goodbye to the staff of La Serrana & my little friend Niamh. And then some more on the bumpy old ride into town.

It was just a happy accident that I got to see Jon and Big Mike on my way out. We had already said our goodbyes on Monday morning after my last Ayahuasca, but it was super to be able to give them one last hug in the middle of the dirt road I’d walked almost every day.

I’d gotten quite used to having Big Mike around. Big Mike is a bit of a lone wolf from The Yukon: An exploration miner. His work involved getting dropped out into the middle of nowhere by chopper and then he’d go out in these wild unchartered lands on his own – for days, weeks at a time to look for mining opportunities (oil that is, black gold, Texas tea). He’s a man with a lot of stories. A little bit of darkness. And a big big heart. He saw me. And had my back when I needed a friend. He reminded me a bit of Rog. He loved The Rolling Stones. And was forever bashing away on his guitar. I have a lot of time for the man & I hope to see him again one day.

I remember looking through the back of the Jeep and seeing La Serrana getting smaller and smaller. And I remember thinking, ‘I want to hold onto this memory forever’. Sometimes I worry I’ll forget.

We all come in the same way, and we all go out the same way. And all we take with us is knowledge (& hopefully some wisdom) gained from relationships and experiences. I know I got a while to go yet… but sometimes I fret: What if my mind goes first?

What becomes of amazing experiences when they get forgotten? Do they still exist?

 

Pravin was a beautiful young Sri Lankan boy from Melbourne who had (no questions asked) helped me out of a banking pickle by lending me a few hundred dollars (– there’s a long boring story attached to this where I yell down the phone a lot to various bureaucracies in Australia & in the US to people who either don’t have the capacity to solve problems or aren’t empowered to do so, and so don’t. Do not get me started!)

Anyways, Prav & I went to Cali together for a couple of nights. And it was there I got my tattoo. We tramped all over town meeting artists – none of whom particularly grabbed me … until we walked into Zebra Studios. Stylish. Professional. Clean. And the artist was a dude. Crazy. But in a good way. I had agonised a bit over the placement of it, worrying that putting it on my wrist might mean limiting future professional opportunities but I figured I’m supposed to be creative. And I probably don’t want to work for the sort of organisation where that’s a problem anyways. I could cover it up if I absolutely needed to. Besides, I stand behind the words & their significance to me.

The day after I went to pretty Popyan with its big wide cobblestone streets & clean white washed walls. The trip there took twice as long as it should have, due to a savage accident. When we later saw one of the cars, it seemed unlikely there would have been any survivors. Many of the passengers on my bus made the sign of the cross, as we inched slowly past. As a result I got in late in the evening and only had the morning to have a quick look around. I wished I had more time there.

But I was now a girl on a mission. I still had a bit I wanted to see & do in Ecuador on the way down to the Galapagos Islands. I had a flight booked for the 4th – which gave me just 6 days.

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