Living On A Prayer

I've had plenty of time to think lately. A 24 hour bus to Santiago (surprisingly, one of my least painful bus experiences), wandering around the downtown, getting lost in the world's most maze-like city park (a multi-tiered wedding cake-esque monstrosity with more stairs than an Escher painting), and getting lost in the convoluted neighborhoods and backalleys of hilly Valparaiso. Yes, plenty of time to think back on the first half of this trip.

See, Santiago is the halfway point, in both distance and time. About 3000 to Quito, another 3000 to Ushuaia. Yes, plenty of buses, though the buses in Chile and Santiago actually have working lights, reclining seats, and don't break down daily. Until now, buses have been the bain of my existence, a cheap but painful regular mental flogging. Now, the buses are a painful existence to my wallet, but an almost pleasant jaunt through the high mountains or along the sea coast.

I've been homesick, friendsick, lovesick, but most of all travel sick. I first came ill in Baños, Ecuador. I'd had both the Amazon and Rural Andean Village trips behind me, so I suppose it came at a fortuitous time, but sitting awake on the toilet in Cuenca because you've got a fever and the brutal shits and the mutant roosters wont stop crowing, never comes at a fortuitous time. I got ill again in La Paz, not taking the advice to not eat the 2 Boliviano (30 cents) streetburgers, but street food is oh-so-delicious. I may have eaten at the priciest, swankiest restaurant in La Paz (an unheard of 12 dollars for a 3 course meal), but the best food I have is the pan-fried mystery meat (typically llama) they sell on the sketchiest of street corners. In my opinion, those who are too pussy to eat street food in South America fail to really experience the continent.

I've also been anxious. Deep, pervading, insomnia-inducing anxiety for days on end. I replay thoughts and emails over and over, preparing what I'll say for all possible outcomes. I pray, an act I don't truly believe in, from every deity from the Amazonian tree spirits to Tio, the protector god of miners in Potosi. It steals my time, my money, and even some of my enjoyment when I spend hours ruminating while hiking along the Inca Trail or speeding hazardously down the Death Road. This specter over my head is Graduate School. Australia promised me an answer in early November, and in early November Macquarie accepted me, but put me on a scholarship waitlist until early December. In the meanwhile, Arizona State, University of Texas, University of British Columbia, Eastern Michigan University, Eastern Carolina University, and Boise State have all expressed come-and-go interest in having me, and even less promise when it comes to funding. So I slowly hack away at various domestic applications while Australia haunts my dreams, on the occasion it lets me sleep. Reading Stephen King's 'IT' didn't get me nearly as bad.

I've seen my share of culture, from the Wonder of the World known as Machu Picchu to the disgusting facimile known as the Floating Uros Islands. I've also seen my fair share of bars, from the disconcertingly American gay bars of Quito, to the hostel bars of Loki, to the cokebinge Couchsurfer Halloween Party in Lima, to the pile of vomit on the floor next to my bed in Cuzco. However, I've come to realize I really need to triage if I want to see even a fraction of what I want to see. I'm a scientist, a biologist, and I'm best served seeing the myriad of ecosystems that set South America apart. One of the first things I did after arriving in Ecuador was hop on the first bus to an Amazonian lodge, and there I saw nearly every animal on my wishlist, from Goliath Bird-Eating Tarantula (on my shoulder) to Poison Dart Frogs, Bullet Ants, Morpho Butterflies, Piranas (in my stomach), to rowdy troops of Squirrel Monkeys. And I've continued to see the strange and wonderful, from foxes and bizarro wolf spiders on the Inca Trail to Vicuñas, Flamingos, and Rheas in the Salt Flats. Still ahead of me are the Arucaria forests and frozen Southern Coasts, replete with penguins, Elephant Seals, and perhaps even whales. And then there's the Galapagos, the biologist's version of a wet dream.

It's all been disturbingly expensive, far more than I budgeted for. I had maybe enough money to eat and sleep, but that'd make for pretty boring travel. If I want to ride the Devil's Nose Train in Alausi or visit the ancient pyramids in Trujillo or soar in the cloud forest canopy of Mindo, I need extra money. And ultimately, I had to do the thing I least wanted to do, short of selling my body to gross fat Peruvians: I had to come crawling back to my father and begging for money. Of course, he gave it willingly, happy to help me, but it didn't make me any less ashamed at having to admit I still can't take care of myself at 22 while traipising across the world.

No, ultimately I'm not independent. I'm not independent financially, and I'm hiking down the same Gringo Trail hundreds of others are and thousands have before me. I see some of the same faces from Cuzco pop up in La Paz. From Riobamba in Sucre. Everyone from Potosi in Uyuni. The further south I get, the more narrow the choices become, and the more likely I'll see the same faces again. However, this isnt an annoyance, it's something I look forward to. All those hours I spent in internet cafes, long conversations on Skype, uploading hundreds of photos, even updating this blog, they all exist to keep me from being independent, from floating free. I want to stay connected to my friends and family, they keep me sane in this insane continent, this crazy world. But most of my friends are thousands of miles away. Now I'm making friends here. Perhaps not the closest of friends, probably not even people I'll ever see again. Abigail, Nick, Christian, Eddie, Jessie, Tim, Andrew, Rose, and Martin: if nothing else, they're names I'll remember. Faces I'll see in my big boat.

I'll be honest though, months of solo traveling gets lonely, often. It's expensive, trying, and sometimes traumatizing. But I'm surviving. At this point, I'd even say I'm thriving. I'm adapting, I'm connecting, and I'm seeing both the larger world and my inner self in ways I never have before. And best of all, it's only half over.