That was 22 Months.

I didn't want to leave my blog up for weeks, months, years (God forbid), on some last random entry I wrote rushing out of the country...and so I've compiled some 'journal entries' I typed on my computer during the last month or so I was in Bolivia and the first days back in the states. I've modified them for Spanglish words I used and explained references I thought were confusing. I thought they were important to share cultural revelations that often only come with immersed contact in a foreign land and for personal insight as I try to figure out what it is I am prepared and qualified to do next in life =). It is long. Please feel free to comment or ask me, in person hopefully, about more stories or experiences or pictures I can share.

early OCT
I feel horrible...my head is stuffy and it makes my eyes and neck and throat burn and radiate heat. My stomach is growling a bit, but I have no appetite for the food I'm wasting in my kitchen. Yes, I am home, home in Huari for the last time with a terrible head cold, in the midst of a town tragedy (a car accident had killed 2 teachers a couple days earlier), trying to pack up my things but not really pack them up like I was moving, just pack up what is important to me and what I can leave behind or give away. I tried to go to Doña Cipriana's house and give her and her family some items (like my blender and some clothes for her girls and a re-gifted "made in china" electric fish bowl I simply couldn't find room for in my suitcase), but that turned into her inviting herself back over to my room for 2 more hours while my body got more feverish and she tried to tell me how to relieve my sickness by: 1-her taking things from my room, 2-giving me her version of a home remedy which always varied from person to person. All I want is to be left alone to deal with my things, and I quickly learned that it is simply human nature to hoard over things that are free, and I found it very difficult to gift an item here or there without them wanting me to give them everything.

My work is over here. It makes me sad walking the streets and knowing the women's faces for what they do (bread lady, coca lady, vegetable lady, cheese lady, gas lady, lady who has milk at her store, etc), and having kids yell or come running to me, "Where have you BEEEEEN?" It gives me a degree of respect and understanding for the traditional and for the culture of face on face contact and BEING there...always. And yet, the biggest success story is coming back and having my eco-club show me the trees they had planted in my 2 week absence, a project I had only talked about doing, and not actually prepared. That was pride in both me and in them. It is definitely a measure of self-accomplishment to have seen a class of kids grow and change and learn over 2 years, hopefully becoming more aware of my culture and a culture of environmental respect.

I can't breathe through my nose and my throat is dry and sore as I breath through my mouth. My eyes bulge from their sockets in heat and pain, my throat is inflamed and and I want to skip the next 4 days and be done with this place, done with the explaining of where I've been or where I'm going, done with giving things away or selling things in the city, done with packing my bags, done with crying. At this point, I want a place to be in that doesn't stress me out. I'm tired and confused, it was not supposed to end this way. So instead I try to be thankful that I will be returning to all those things I think about that seem so foreign to me now: water in the faucet and a bathroom that flushes, and a washing machine and a shower and a refrigerator to store leftovers. I've got chills and am dreading dealing with stuff from the apartment left in Oruro and moving on and moving away from this place. And yet I'm ready to leave because it is time to leave. I don't need someone telling me to pour hot lemon juice down my throat or that I'm blowing my nose too hard, or to wrap my throat in newspaper and a scarf to sleep in overnight...that will make me well by morning. What? I've got to sort papers and clothes and kitchen, but then I'll be done. I need to decide what I'm traveling with and what I treasure enough to send home in a box and hope it arrives.

I remember almost a week later, getting on a "Tres-Filas" (one of the nice 3 person across, instead of 4, lazy-boy type chair buses) on an overnight bus from Cochabamba to Santa Cruz at 9pm and feeling a relief. A huge relief. I had cut all official ties to everything and had only my backpack and timbuk2(my red messenger bag) to look after. I left my site, packed my things, said my goodbyes, sold the apartment items in Oruro, ran Christmas present errands and mailed boxes home, checked in at the pc office one last time, and was sincerely a wandering traveler in a country I felt home in. It felt great, and I slept well even on a bus.

a week or so later...
I'm on the road now, traveling but more mentally focused on returning home, trying to prepare myself for the shock. Trying to imagine myself in different situations and feeling both excited and a little nervous about different opportunities that I could get myself into, and feeling slightly nostalgic for an exciting fresh new start here in South America doing something different...following advice from people who were already home: "America is great, but not that great" I imagine farming, eating great food, getting involved in a cool internship, cooking in a nice kitchen, volunteering, speaking spanish, going back to school...

OCT 25
(thoughts as I sit in a bus terminal at midnight, getting ready to return to Bolivia from Argentina, and trying to portray images of what Argentina was for me)

I'm in one of those weird moods when I am annoyed at something that shouldn't be annoying at all. I'm annoyed at the country of Argentina. Why? Because I feel uncomfortable here, uncomfortable because here in Argentina ...mullets are in fashion, and I feel like I'm under-dressed in my nicest outfit that I have on this trip. It is overwhelming to people-watch people that are so different than me, making me self-conscious, half-depressed (for my lack of stylishness), curious, homesick for a place I feel more at home in, more confused, and yet happy about this world. We are all the same, being influenced by the people and culture around us with only a slightly different advertising scheme for what we should think is stylish or what we think is important in life. Emily and I in the particular pants or shoes or jacket were OBVIOUSLY American, and everyone else was OBVIOUSLY Argentinean...and how funny are we to think one thing is weird and another cool on two different continents?

It was 11:45PM at the steak restaurant and we hadn't received our meal yet, the 2 member ensemble visited different tables singing a traditional Argentinean folk song, while members of the table would join in, often taking over vocals for the ensemble. We were at peak eating hour, some people had left others were arriving. Large groups of people, or a couple out on a date, all looking their best, and I only wonder what they did to keep themselves awake this late at night as we fought back the yawns and rumbling tummy.

We went to a movie to pass the time after we dropped our bags off at the terminal at 10am and waiting for our bus to leave at 1am, so after having done enough sitting in the plaza, people-watching, and patronizing the few restaurants open on a Sunday, we went to THE MALL, and ate McDonalds and went to a movie. Crazy, but like in any movie theater that I walk in to in a foreign country...it is an escape, an escape from the paranoia that lurks around me otherwise. Paranoia that someone will rob me or make cat calls or I'll leave my bag somewhere and I'll be left without money or a phone or people will stare at me or 'fill in the blank'. Sitting down in the 'anywhere in the world' movie theater, I can escape the world and pretend for 2+ hours that I am transported to wherever the movie is taking place. I have to remind myself when the movie is over exactly where I am in the world so the westernized look doesn't throw me off and I'm not shocked when I have to flag a taxi when I walk outside and not get in my car and drive home. Stepping outside is usually a breath of fresh air, thankful I do not have to drive myself home, and thankful for a 2+ hour break from thinking too hard on the details of how to get...bus tickets or food or a roof over my head for the night.

Being here in Argentina, makes me miss Bolivia with a deep ache for its humility and naivety and its strong power and all the things it has avoided in "development" of "more developed nations". Being in direct contact with the over-priced fashion boutiques, over-sized conveniences, acre-sized shopping malls, boulevards, 2-block plazas, security guards, control, and specialty conveniences, I can say that I don't necessarily appreciate any of the extras that don't make things easier, really: like meters on the cabs, and over-priced fixed prices, and automatic doors and indoor heating or cooling. However, I do see and can appreciate: security guards, waiters with an idea of customer appreciation, toilet paper in the bathrooms-usually, cold drinks, ice, and water.

So I will be leaving this place, where all the cooks wear scrubs like doctors, and even the bus terminal has WIFI, and all the 13-yr olds and older wear mullets and converse shoes and skin-tight ankle-biter jeans. But who knows? Maybe everyone is wearing mullets and ankle-fit pants in the 'modern world', I wouldn't know. I AM surprised at how much I don't care and yet it makes such a huge impression on how I feel and how I am aware of others and myself and the extreme difficulty I have in NOT staring at the difference between me and them.

The next day I came back to Bolivia, crossing a po-dunk river crossing with absolutely no signage or help in how or where to go through migration. That's more like it. A third world country. I felt home.

NOV 5
The salar trip felt like a trip to another planet. It was hours and hours of driving to what seemed like the end of the earth every time; we kept arriving to spots that were on the horizon before, or cresting another mountain, or seeing a completely different view every hour. From red, eroded and pillared hills to rolling pastureland, sand dunes, volcanic points, mineral colored lagunas, flamingoes, alpacas and vicuñas, moon-scapes and water-scapes and desert-scapes. The largest salt flat in the world, a coral rock island, 1,000 year old cacti, fossilized lava fields, boulders resting in sand, fields of cantaloupe sized rocks, mountains with humps like camels, dust/wind tornadoes, color combinations to trick my eyes, and sunsets and sunrises that transformed the land in seconds. Not to mention an appearance of 5 altiplano superheroes on Oct. 31st, just for giggles...(check out photos).

1250km of driving on dirt/gravel/large boulder/sand/borax/salt roads, 4 ipods, and many pit stops to water the few paja grass plants along the way, the 4 day trip was impressive. I now understand why most of the feature pictures of the Bolivia travel guide books or National Geographic articles are from the Salar Tour. They are out of this world, unique, and unbelievable unless you've seen it for yourself.

LA PAZ
Today we ventured to the Museum of Ethnography and Folklore and I walked around filled with an appreciative admiration of and for Bolivian people. It helped that the items were exhibited well, but with a history like that of Bolivia, it is hard not to be impressed. More than anything it boosts the pride I have in having spent 2 years living in the midst of the huge clash of tradition and modernity in an ancient part of the world where modern people are living an odd mix of practices, from weavings, dances, pottery, architecture, dress, food, land use, civil systems, etc. There were weavings from the 2nd century through present day and I knew most of their origins by recognizing the design pattern I've seen across the country as I've "been there and seen that"...plus a few explanations for the indescribable patterns that are mixed into present day touristy items. Then there was an entire room of feather-adorned dance head pieces and costume accessories. Head-dresses formed from a wooden structure shooting out rhea (similar to the ostrich), flamingo, and parrot-like bird feathers. An entire exhibit room devoted to pottery tradition, another to Carnaval masks from all over the country, and finally a modern artist tribute of a Bolivian woman sculpture artist.

I found myself throughout my 2 years saying to myself, "I just don't get it," for the seemingly insensible actions that occurred in my path. But, I "get" a lot more than I did 22 months ago and because of that I feel like little pieces of Bolivia will always be missing from my life and I will find myself saying "Me hace falta a Bolivia-" roughly translated as Bolivia is missing to me.

NOV 20
My last day I spent on a wild goose chase, picking up all those things I was saving for the end, hiking up and down cobblestone streets, buying my last supervitaminico fruit drink and 1bs. popcorn on the street. Trying to take mental images of the crowded market streets, the food, the people, the mountains. Bolivia is an amazing country with amazing people and I feel so lucky to have been able to live here. Yes, I am sad to be leaving, not knowing if or when I'll return, but it's great how the mind can prepare you for something like a plane ticket home. I'm ready because I've seen the date on the calendar and knew it was coming and yes, I am also very ready to be home.

I look forward to not having to wind through labyrinth markets huffing and puffing at 12,000ft, or decipher what people tell you as lies or truths, or be constantly paranoid about keeping my wallet and phone hidden within my clothes. I'm looking forward to blending in a bit more, to understanding how things works inherently, to a clean and comfortable bed, and fluffy towels. It's small things like fighting for a cheaper bus ticket that I will not miss, and the really big things like the slow-paced lifestyle that I will long for in the coming months. So don't find it weird if I try to greet you with a kiss on the cheek or say 'provecho' when you are eating, it will be all a part of readjustment.

So as my bags are packed with little things I just couldn't leave without, I look forward to them being a reminder of a people, a history, and a culture in the amalgam of American culture that is the result of borrowed traditions and constant change. The beautiful part about Bolivia is its consistency and thick traditions that haven't changed in hundreds of years and there is a certain pride in having ownership to a culture so firm, and even though I don't feel like I own any part of it I do feel like I know what it would feel like if I did.

NOV 28
Home for a week
What strikes me as odd? Free water at restaurants WITH ice, the existence of ice tea, reflectors and lines painted on the roads, stoplights, clean everything, huge people, toilet paper goes in the toilet not the trash can, toilet paper goes in the toilet not the trash can (I have to repeat it over and over because I still look for and reach for the trash can), hot water in the sink, water in the sink period, all the food has taste that isn't necessarily just salt, comfy beds, clean sheets, large towels, hairdryers, carpet, a closet of clothes I wore in high school, the fact that everything looks the same and yet I can pick out the few differences...like didn't that church get a fresh coat of paint?

But then there are times when I am just too overwhelmed and it becomes uncomfortable. In Whole Foods today, there were raspberries and blackberries and blueberries and strawberries, all perfect and packaged...from Argentina. Broccoli and cabbage and carrots and greens, all stacked high without blemish. Cinnamon swirl peanut butter, bread crumbs in a can, and at least 10 different 'types' of bottled water filling an entire row of the grocery store. Water, packaged and bottled and on display. I remembered a RPCV(returned peace corps volunteer...sorry for my governmental acronym jargon) saying she had cried when seeing the bottled water selection in Walmart after coming home from a much more water-stricken country in Africa. Images filled my head of people filling up less than clean buckets of dripping water at the plaza faucet or men manually drilling through rock hard soil up to 10 meters deep to hopefully reach a water aquifer (I could literally see the amount of water I had available for the day and it only filled my sink) and the Monday market in Huari where I found broccoli 3 times in 2 years and the fruit lady only had the 'leftovers' of fruit from the Sunday market in Challapata (therefore not even close to blemish-free or very varied). But did I feel cheated? No. I felt blessed and fortunate to have the water I did, the vegetables and fruit that were available, and I learned to DO without.

We live in a country of plenty, a country of abundance, and a country of innovation and convenience. It is a beautiful country but I don't believe we think twice about not picking the blemished bananas or demanding that blueberries become available year-round. How naive are we to think we can have everything? Well, its not naivety, its reality. America is a world of innovation and discovery and we've found a way to do or make just about anything happen as long as someone gets more money for it, whether it is the 'right' thing to do or not.

Ok, that's enough preaching from me. I AM enjoying the washing machine, and the most comfortable of all comfortable beds, and the amazingly warm shower I have at any moment of the day I please. My stomach is adjusting to the richness and taste of all foods. But, I still have trouble counting my change when I can't remember how much the coins are worth or deciphering the made-to-be confusing cell phone packages. Little by little I'll remember it all, and hopefully never forget those 22 months I spent in Bolivia.