phase deux

i don’t mean to be so linear in my description of my time here: phase two to follow phase one, to be followed by phase three, and all that jazz. but this certainly feels like the next part, or a different part. i suppose i can just say i’m in transition. things are changing. the context i arrived in is morphing into something else and i’m trying to figure out how i can morph as well so as to not be pathetic, outdated lady. nobody likes her. she’s sad faced and kind of smelly. the first friends i made here have left, the volunteer role i had is not sustainable, my first apartment was suffocating me, i have lost contact with my hometown friends and family, and my intestinal tract was trying to kill me. some folks told me much of this would happen around month three. it’s time to shake things up, and ensure it doesn’t make me vomit.

beautiful, random chance, or something else, threw lovely people my way when i arrived. i was able to adapt to this place well. being someone who is not terribly social, doesn’t intoxiparty, and finds most folks difficult to engage with, it was quite fortunate to meet these guys. i relied on them for quite some time and now i have to up my social game. and i despise organized sports. meep.

i’ve whined plenty at this point about volunteering, so i won’t delve into it too much, but… honestly, i don’t know where to put myself in that shit show. part of me just wants to get a job, watch tv, have sex, and buy shit. yeah! because now and then, i completely forget why i came here in the first place; in the in between moments, i feel ready to go back. for the first time, i’m starting to miss my city. i went on craigslist, even.

my landlord suddenly became a crazy, alcoholic, coke fiend. i think it’s coke. he could be freebasing oxycotin, which is apparently a thing. he took issue with my active sex life with my samarian, and i had to put the smack down on his paternalistic, misogynistic, xenophobic nonsense. he hasn’t looked at me straight since. his mom and grandma moved in too. grandma would randomly walk into my room and turn the lights off because she thought i’m not there. and she’d stare into my window, which was just spooky. i think she’s got a bit of the alzhies, poor thing. i moved out yesterday. i’ve now got a cute little expensive studio apartment closer to the city center with all the amenities. how very san francisco of me. i have a feeling this is not what i’m supposed to be doing. supposedly.

and now i will do the unthinkable: travel. i’m off to medellin for a minute and then wind up the coast back to santa marta. i’m hoping vacating from my vacation will trigger memories of the inspiration for my self-deportation. wish me luck. proxima estacion…

photo overload:

buritaca. river to sea.

moto trip to minca.

minca. i’m fascinated by places where less than a decade ago were crawling with guerrilla, military, and paramilitary forces. sometimes i find myself staying still and quiet trying to hear the past and understand the present more. but all i hear are tourists, which i’m sure everyone prefers.

our moto broke down hours away from home. we had to use a combination of our own momentum, kids on bicycles pushing us, or a motorcyclist riding along side us with his foot on our bike, this all meant i had to ride with my leg up. half of this was done while navigating wacky south american traffic at night. puro caribe.

taganga. gratuitous sea shot from motorboat.

la brisa loca and tony the cat. my second home. mean, mean little putty.


super brisera and fellow volunteer. i spend much time here. we hold our meetings there, it’s where i host trivia nights, they have free coffee and wifi, and now i’ve taken to eating everybody’s left over food. also, there’s really not a whole lot else to do in my beloved santa marta.

on the way to costeno beach. gringo surfer camp hostel.

palm tree farm.

gringo paradise.

i follow the way of the freegan iguana.

tejo. folk game where you throw a metal ball like disc into this clay. you are aiming to hit the explosives in the middle. the whole experience was reminscent of my gun range trauma. eek!

bracelet making artisanry. my new gringo hobby.

lucy loca. they were gonna throw her in a garbage can. she was full of worms, ticks, had anemia, an inflamed leg, and some kind of infection. she loves me, and i have to give her away. love is doom.

new digs. back to yuppieville.


About trying not to touch anything

living in a space where i am half packed, or half unpacked, depending on how you look at it; going somewhere else; wanting to write about my misadventures on a planet i don't feel like i should be on

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