You are in The Caribbean. There are exits to the north. What now?
It feels like i somehow came the full circle in the Spanish Caribbean, even though i only visited two countries (not including Miami). And yet... It's as if i saw it through the year, even after just 5 months.
When i arrived in Panama, it was still the tail end of rainy season. Every day would start out hot and sultry, then by the afternoon the skies unloaded with the fiercest of rainstorms. Mist hung in the air, and everything was covered with moss and other greenery. Eventually the dry season rolled in, and - despite the COVID slowdown - an influx of tourists along with it. The days were no different in length or temperature, but the humidity went down, and the afternoons felt blistering in the absence of clouds.
At some point i moved over to Colombia, where in Cartagena the tourist season was in full swing. Due to COVID, Barranquilla had delayed their carnaval for a month, so when i was first here the town was a buzzing hive of activity, but there weren't many tourists to be seen. The trade winds howled in from the east, and along the riverfront and Caribbean coast it almost felt like if you jumped up in the air you'd be blown all the way back to Panama. When i headed up to La Guajira, a friend of mine said "hey, you're right next to Aruba", and so i was. Anyone hoping to sail there would have a bad time of it, though, with the wind smashing so powerfully in the opposite direction.
Then i went inland, and experienced a little bit of South America proper, cycling my way past the colonial river ports that have long lost their economic relevance. A few still thrive as weekend getaways for the wealthier folks who live in the mountains, but for the most part the valley feels ignored, home to farmers, fishermen and extraction industry workers.
I spent 30 hours in bus stations and on buses making my way back to Barranquilla. I passed through Ibagué, which is the closest i got to stereotypical South America. A town perched on the edge of the Andes, surrounded on three sides by steep mountains that disappear into the clouds. Even if rainy season hadn't returned, i doubt i would've seen much sun up there. But rainy season had returned, so after the trip i arrived in a different Barranquilla. The delayed carnaval is over in the mean time, and there are still/again no tourists. But now the skies remind me of Panama City in December - a hopeful wash of blue in the morning, only for the black clouds to descend later in the day and explode in brief but tormentuous releases of rain.
You remember that desert landscape heading east out of Barranquilla on the way to Ciénaga - the first day of my bicycle tour? Turns out in the rainy season that vast, cracked earth turns into a shallow marsh. I even saw a pink flamingo - my first on this whole journey, outside of the distant specimens in the middle of Hialeah Park in Miami. It reminded me of cycling through Cameron parish in southwest Louisiana.
So here i sit, spending the weekend back in the same hotel i stayed in first time around. No air conditioning, no windows, but at least the tap water is potable. The small courtyard which the rooms connect to is now drenched with rain in the afternoons. I'm not sure i even realized that it had an open roof last time i stayed here.
The wind is barely there now rainy season has returned. When the lightning slices the clouds into jagged-edged shards, the air feels thick. Pregnant. Even if nary a raindrop is spilled, it forever feels like perhaps it could. And, as much as i hate getting wet, there is something magnificent about those restless skies.
Perhaps i didn't experience a whole year in the Caribbean, and perhaps i didn't really visit the Caribbean at all since i didn't go to an Antillean island. But it somehow feels like i did. Arguably i spent more time on the Pacific coast and interior of the Spanish Main than i did on the Caribbean coast... and yet.
At first i felt like i had somehow missed out on my Caribbean experience by not embracing the traditional holiday of white sand beaches and turquoise vistas and cocktails with umbrellas served in a coconut. Now, though... I have read a lot about the history of colonization, the slave trade, the indigenous peoples who were largely wiped out by murder and disease, the native animals driven to near-extinction thanks to the European lust for wood and meat... And i've traveled through those jungles and those swamps where hundreds died, seen those mystical peaks that were rumored to contain untold riches, and broken bread with the survivors of all this torrid history. Perhaps i didn't get "the" Caribbean experience, but i do feel like i've gotten something from this. I've learned not only about the history of the region but also gained a better understanding of Latin American and Caribbean culture, both the more US-influenced version in Panama and the more European-influenced version in Colombia.
I'm still not sure if i will try to make one more mini visit on the way back north. It might be interesting to put my Spanish to use a little more by passing through Dominican Republic or Puerto Rico or even just Miami again. But from now on, every stop is a bit more money beyond what i originally hoped to spend... And although i could keep on traveling for years if i slowly chipped away at mom's wealth that i locked away in an investment fund, i feel like i should leave that there until i can find something to do with it that would make her proud.
I suppose she would be proud of my journeys in the past 8-9 months, though. I thought of her often, especially when i was in the more remote and tree-filled locations that i think she would have enjoyed.
But there is this thing in the back of my mind that if i'm not using "my own" money to travel - that is, money that i earned myself - then i've lost my real independence. As much as i resent having to work, and i hate the idea of being stuck in one place again... I also value the sense that when i am free it's because i really earned it, and i'm not just existing on somebody else's charity. I'm not interested in being a trustafarian or a begpacker.
Perhaps that means i haven't really internalized that my mother has passed away. Or i haven't really accepted that the money she granted to me in her will is really mine. It doesn't feel like mine. I didn't earn it. I didn't want it.
Ugh. I don't know. This weekend i am going to refresh my résumé and consider my options. If looking at job ads for software development jobs doesn't make me want to vomit first. The thought of going back to that industry makes me feel nauseous. But it's my only mechanism for earning money outside of Canada. And do i want to go back and live in Canada? Sigh. Not really.
When i arrived in Panama, it was still the tail end of rainy season. Every day would start out hot and sultry, then by the afternoon the skies unloaded with the fiercest of rainstorms. Mist hung in the air, and everything was covered with moss and other greenery. Eventually the dry season rolled in, and - despite the COVID slowdown - an influx of tourists along with it. The days were no different in length or temperature, but the humidity went down, and the afternoons felt blistering in the absence of clouds.
At some point i moved over to Colombia, where in Cartagena the tourist season was in full swing. Due to COVID, Barranquilla had delayed their carnaval for a month, so when i was first here the town was a buzzing hive of activity, but there weren't many tourists to be seen. The trade winds howled in from the east, and along the riverfront and Caribbean coast it almost felt like if you jumped up in the air you'd be blown all the way back to Panama. When i headed up to La Guajira, a friend of mine said "hey, you're right next to Aruba", and so i was. Anyone hoping to sail there would have a bad time of it, though, with the wind smashing so powerfully in the opposite direction.
Then i went inland, and experienced a little bit of South America proper, cycling my way past the colonial river ports that have long lost their economic relevance. A few still thrive as weekend getaways for the wealthier folks who live in the mountains, but for the most part the valley feels ignored, home to farmers, fishermen and extraction industry workers.
I spent 30 hours in bus stations and on buses making my way back to Barranquilla. I passed through Ibagué, which is the closest i got to stereotypical South America. A town perched on the edge of the Andes, surrounded on three sides by steep mountains that disappear into the clouds. Even if rainy season hadn't returned, i doubt i would've seen much sun up there. But rainy season had returned, so after the trip i arrived in a different Barranquilla. The delayed carnaval is over in the mean time, and there are still/again no tourists. But now the skies remind me of Panama City in December - a hopeful wash of blue in the morning, only for the black clouds to descend later in the day and explode in brief but tormentuous releases of rain.
You remember that desert landscape heading east out of Barranquilla on the way to Ciénaga - the first day of my bicycle tour? Turns out in the rainy season that vast, cracked earth turns into a shallow marsh. I even saw a pink flamingo - my first on this whole journey, outside of the distant specimens in the middle of Hialeah Park in Miami. It reminded me of cycling through Cameron parish in southwest Louisiana.
So here i sit, spending the weekend back in the same hotel i stayed in first time around. No air conditioning, no windows, but at least the tap water is potable. The small courtyard which the rooms connect to is now drenched with rain in the afternoons. I'm not sure i even realized that it had an open roof last time i stayed here.
The wind is barely there now rainy season has returned. When the lightning slices the clouds into jagged-edged shards, the air feels thick. Pregnant. Even if nary a raindrop is spilled, it forever feels like perhaps it could. And, as much as i hate getting wet, there is something magnificent about those restless skies.
Perhaps i didn't experience a whole year in the Caribbean, and perhaps i didn't really visit the Caribbean at all since i didn't go to an Antillean island. But it somehow feels like i did. Arguably i spent more time on the Pacific coast and interior of the Spanish Main than i did on the Caribbean coast... and yet.
At first i felt like i had somehow missed out on my Caribbean experience by not embracing the traditional holiday of white sand beaches and turquoise vistas and cocktails with umbrellas served in a coconut. Now, though... I have read a lot about the history of colonization, the slave trade, the indigenous peoples who were largely wiped out by murder and disease, the native animals driven to near-extinction thanks to the European lust for wood and meat... And i've traveled through those jungles and those swamps where hundreds died, seen those mystical peaks that were rumored to contain untold riches, and broken bread with the survivors of all this torrid history. Perhaps i didn't get "the" Caribbean experience, but i do feel like i've gotten something from this. I've learned not only about the history of the region but also gained a better understanding of Latin American and Caribbean culture, both the more US-influenced version in Panama and the more European-influenced version in Colombia.
I'm still not sure if i will try to make one more mini visit on the way back north. It might be interesting to put my Spanish to use a little more by passing through Dominican Republic or Puerto Rico or even just Miami again. But from now on, every stop is a bit more money beyond what i originally hoped to spend... And although i could keep on traveling for years if i slowly chipped away at mom's wealth that i locked away in an investment fund, i feel like i should leave that there until i can find something to do with it that would make her proud.
I suppose she would be proud of my journeys in the past 8-9 months, though. I thought of her often, especially when i was in the more remote and tree-filled locations that i think she would have enjoyed.
But there is this thing in the back of my mind that if i'm not using "my own" money to travel - that is, money that i earned myself - then i've lost my real independence. As much as i resent having to work, and i hate the idea of being stuck in one place again... I also value the sense that when i am free it's because i really earned it, and i'm not just existing on somebody else's charity. I'm not interested in being a trustafarian or a begpacker.
Perhaps that means i haven't really internalized that my mother has passed away. Or i haven't really accepted that the money she granted to me in her will is really mine. It doesn't feel like mine. I didn't earn it. I didn't want it.
Ugh. I don't know. This weekend i am going to refresh my résumé and consider my options. If looking at job ads for software development jobs doesn't make me want to vomit first. The thought of going back to that industry makes me feel nauseous. But it's my only mechanism for earning money outside of Canada. And do i want to go back and live in Canada? Sigh. Not really.