A toast to Perú

In one hour, I will be loading my backpack into a taxi, driving along Avenida Arequipa to La Marina and then to the airport to start a month of travels through South America. I've been reflecting a lot on Lima in the past week as my time here (for now) comes to an end.

As a final goodbye, I thought I would write a toast to Lima.

Here's to a city of 9 million people struggling to develop, a sprawling, active home to countless neighborhoods and people. Here's to the incessant honking in the streets, the jumps of adrenaline from near crashes, and the confidence of knowing where I am going. Here's to the strong presence of the indigenous culture, the traditionally dressed women I pass on the street. Here's to Peruvian pride, the signs that proclaim "somos Perú" (we are Perú), and the perpetually terrible Peruvian soccer team.

Here's to late nights at the discotech and evenings passed sitting on the roof. Here's to not being able to communicate, to working on my Peruvian accent, and to finally making it through a conversation without asking "what?". Here's to opening myself up to new people, to being able to identify changes in myself and to being proud of who I've become. Here's to traveling both near and far, viewing the most wonderful sights, and feeding a love to know. Here's to getting everyone through a trek, to meeting someone who does not know what McDonalds is, and to shopping in a traditional market.

Here's to getting cheated, to bargaining for Peruvian prices. Here's to completing errands, to visiting the pharmacy, to getting my glasses fixed.

Here's to sharing cultures, sharing food, sharing time, sharing love. Here's to feeling that pain in my stomach and pressure in my throat that reminds me of my sadness leaving. Here's to the wonderful workings of the brain that allow me to hold my memories of Perú in hand. Here's to old friends and to new adventures. Here's to life.

Reflections on a Storm - an exercise in literary writing

We saw the clouds approaching, felt the sky darken. I rocked left, right, left, right as the sky seemed to fall around me, carrying the lullaby of rain patter over miles of flat ground and river. Although dry behind a screen netting, I felt a phantom wash of cool brush through my hair, relaxing outward and downward through my whole body until I could no longer feel the taut strings of the hammock below me or the cloth of my clothing resting on my body. In the flatness of the river and the ground beside it, the space surround me felt empty, home to nothing but air. The thunder cracked directly in me, the warmth of the large crashes sheltering me from the piercing hook of lightning that broke the peace but brought an edge to the night. I was floating through the current, meandering left and right not on a hammock, but on a draft far above the plane of the earth. I rode slowly around and above, circling the dark mass of clouds below me, sliding down raindrops and wandering through particles in the clouds until I was the storm, spreading myself slowly and tranquilly over miles and miles, every breath sending clouds farther over the lightly soiled earth and mighty river.

This was the Amazon Rainforest.