Let’s explore the possibilities of life
Let’s explore the endless possibilities of life
Let’s explore the notion of life’s possibilities being
Let’s assume life’s possibilities to be endless
until proven otherwise
Let’s spend the rest of our lives searching
for disproval of the assumption that life’s
possibilities are endless
Let’s allow for the fact that one can only truly
explore the possibilities of one’s own
life, and so focus on disproving one’s
own endless possibilities and let others
figure theirs out for themselves
I sit above a taverna in Karavostasi, a small collection of buildings and houses in a bay at a breaking point in the formidable Taygetus just north of Areopolis. The hills flanking the bay drop steep down to the water. I remember the approach: coming down from the attacking peaks of the north, the new folds of mountains and hills running along the coast looked like a row of great sphinxes, lined up and facing out to the Messinian gulf. Their heads barren and scorched by the sun to a pale, dead brown, their legs laid down to the sea.
Four days ago I had arrived to a derelict Kalamata, wondering through the dusty streets in search of anything open. One o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday was not the best time to arrive; a combination of daily siesta and church day saw to it that most of the shops and establishments were reduced to dented, rusting shutters covered in scribbles of graffiti, giving the impression of many years’ abandonment. I found a small hotel near the station and waited for the town to return to life as the sun released its sweltering grip on the streets.
The view down the main street framed purpling peaks shooting up in ranks to the north. The dusk light softened the jagged points and derelict sides, as if I were an ant on some great, deep purple meringue, the calm tops of sugar walling in this town at the horizon.
I woke up at the crack of dawn and was forced to hurry as we were getting ready for another sure-to-be-busy day. The girls cooked up a lovely pot of hot porridge served with fudge sauce that we greedily accepted and much appreciated on the cold morning. Today we were exchanging the rest of the group money into Nuevo Sols. We asked at reception to use their phone and arranged for this with the bank. A little while after there was a knock on the front door of the hostel and two men carrying black drawstring bags walked in and emptied the contents on the small table in the reception area. We then had 28000 Nuevo Sols to count through, making sure that we had the right amount. It had all arrived in twenties and quickly mounted up in stacks of cash that covered the entire table.
With the mountain of cash separated between everybody in smaller chunks, we split up into two groups and headed off to central Miraflores. Our group headed off along the main street, looking for a place to change our personal spending money. We came across an intersection of bank houses and began searching for a good exchange rate. As we wandered around, we saw many Peruvians with fluorescent jackets on and huge wads of cash in their hands and sticking out of their many pockets.
These were apparently street money dealers that ran their own exchange service, often at a better rate than the banks they stood outside of. We found it curious that they felt safe with so much cash being flashed openly, but they must have been as they seemed to be everywhere around, standing in groups of two or three. Although they offered a good deal, we were cautious not to exchange money with them as we had heard from Tom that it was entirely possible, and quite likely, that they would have ‘fixed’ calculators that would alter the amount in the calculation and rip us off. We weren’t prepared to take such a risk and so we continued onward until we came across a small currency exchange at the mouth of an arcade. It had a good enough rate so we exchanged our money over to Nuevo Sols.
The trip that lit the fire of my ever-burning desire to travel: a World Challenge expedition to Peru in the summer of 2010. This month away, spent exploring city, jungle and village life, hiking across mountains, relaxing in hot springs and climbing a dormant volcano changed my life. Perhaps not in any profound, wishy-washy way, but ever since, I’ve always been looking forward to the next trip away, exploring the world and the people in it. To commemorate my beginnings, so to speak, I’ll be slowly releasing chapters from my diary of that month. The collection is also available in a bound book over at lulu.com or you can purchase it as an eBook pdf download. These posts of writings from years ago will be demarcated by writing in italics.
Yesterday we had a sixteen hour flight to Lima, the capital of Peru. The views from my window were often spectacular. None more so than as we entered the last leg of the flight, Houston to Lima. We had been drifting over the sea, far above the clouds for a few hours when a landmass scarred with valleys and glacial troughs emerged from the blue, like a rocky beach with the tide leaving limpets clinging to the mountains. Long shadows stretched away from the peaks, distorting the landscape like the gnarled skin of a crocodile.
Once at Lima we had pre-booked transport to the Inka Lodge. Close to midnight we hustled and bustled into the taxis and rushed off through a surprisingly busy Lima. The first thought was the run-down look of the whole place; very ad-hok constructions with little evidence of town planning. As a result the drivers were very aggressive, using the horn for anything from “hi” to “move!”
We appeared to travel all the way around Lima before heading inwards and rocketing down the thin and bumpy streets towards our destination.
Half in a daze, we arrived and shifted our bags inside. We were split up into our dorms with the six guys being cramped into a room with barely enough room for the beds let alone for us squeeze past. Read the rest of this entry »