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It’s been many days since Colombia. I started to write while there but there wasn’t time. I was left incomplete and needing more. For legal reasons I can’t yet return, knowing me you can already imagine. But I’ve dreamt many nights of that house perched just above that blue lagoon.

It is now in my renewed solitude that my soul cries out for evidence of what transpired all those many days ago. So with a full tummy and just the sounds of the ocean beneath me can I return to the native tongue that at times feels so foreign.

Regrese al corazón de Colombia. Al corazón que hace muchos años respiró aire a mis pulmones. Mandando me en el camino de soñadora. Me senté rodeada de las montañas y mis emociones.

Me pregunto mi Chef como se sintió regresar después de tanto tiempo. La verdad es que aún estaba allí hace muy poquito fue este viaje que devolvió mi corazón a mi tierra. Se siente como respirar. Como la sangre que antes andaba despacio por mi venas ahora corre hasta mi corazón, mis pies, mis dedos. Moviendo me a conocer a caminar a volver amar.

No soy poeta en español. No sé como describir que siente mi corazón al ver el horizonte bajar detrás de las montañas. Como mi suspiros suben a caminar y respirar las nubes. Aquí la noche me alcanza y los sonidos del campo me tranquilizan. Si la puerta tiene llave o no me escapa la atención y el querer.

Es verdad que la sangre reconoce su tierra. Puedo oír los pedazos de piel encontrarse y tejarese a formar una cicatriz. No me duele, me inspira que mi cuerpo se puede recuperar, mi alma también.

No sabía lo grande que era mi país, pues es lo mismo que la mente, alma y ser emocional de uno. Tenemos tantos rincones que guardan memorias, experiencias y sentimientos.

Cada lugar que visitó trae a mi lobo frontal un recuerdo que no existe. Espérame mi amor que ya pronto vuelvo.

It seems impossible to fly into this city and not think of you. To feel the wind on my face and not think of that first time I saw you standing in the freezing cold waiting for me.

Time has made me less susceptible to the nostalgia of those memories. So while I remember that smile on your face I remember the anger in your eyes the next day when I feel short of your expectations. I no longer see just snowflakes I see the blizzard I stood in. I still however wonder where you are. Whether concrete walls are once again your home or whether you’ve found how to push thru and be the man your grandmother always knew you to be.

I am so different from that girl you once kept on the phone for hours. Who was she ? How deep and wide were the body of lies she believed that ran thru her. I’m not quite out of that river yet but I know that what we shared was not love. It was power it was possession it was fear. Neither of us was ready for the next stage of our lives and our presence in each other’s lives kept us tethered to a past we no longer belonged too.

I hate that I had to live thru you. I hate that I offered up so much of me for your amusement. I hate that the words I love you escaped my lips so many times, but worse I hate that you were a reinforcement of a misconception of love and sex, one that I continued long after I tried to quit you.

Why is my name still written in your bible, why does a city call your name to me. I thank God I no longer answer, “I am temporarily disconnected”. Unable and unwilling to return to the time and space where every moment of my day was accounted for and never belonged to me.

I made it, back in the safety of the terminal.

Mom said there is this switch inside and with one flick everything changes. I was sure that was an oversimplification, but I’m finding she is right and more than that I think that’s the day the switch flipped. The standard changed all of a sudden and nothing seems acceptable and yet everything seems possible. I now sit with the traffic of hundreds of people, some finding their way home others off on an adventure or the few that are most at home in these crowded halls with only letters and numbers to situate you. It is in the reflection of the sky in the smooth floor that I see the possibilities, the one that my grief, fear and loneliness prevented me from seeing. Right now in this moment, I am lucky, I am blessed, I am fulfilled, satisfied but expectant of the future. Mom you did that for me, silent support has pushed me to jump into free fall, you are the net beneath me. Strong only because even you find your strength in something other than yourself.

There are so many things my heart still longs for, the switch has not shut those off but now I’m willing to trust in “perfect timing”. I see that now only after seeing the consequences and scars I myself am responsible for. I don’t know that I’ll be here tomorrow I can only trust that each day I will renew this desire to wait and truthfully choose to no longer struggle.

But Now….

It’s time I’m honest. I started this blog as a way to record my hearts thoughts as they happen on these solo trips and yet somehow during this trip as I attempt to put my fingers to the keys I become stumped. Not because of the adventure itself but rather because instead of being a melody of the things I see and feel it is a play by play of the things I did. I don’t want that for me, for this, for us. So there may be days where I post every detail and others where just my heart emerges to imprint on that small part of you that draws you here. I’ve realized this isn’t a travel blog it’s a story about a woman on the road and at home and how a country can change or reveal that which we might try to suppress.

So shall I tell you how this trip has made me feel….

There is something melodic about a new city. The pace of those who call this home. It feels as though I am inserting myself into someone’s family. Sitting at their table for dinner and hearing their private conversations.

Reverence seems to be my word for this voyage. Living in such a young country we tend to not have the resilience of countries that have fought wars on their lands for thousands of years. Understanding occupation and oppression not in the modern view but a literal one. Where people stay in their homes as bombs go off around them, their churches burning and their fortress turned into a symbol of intimidation.

My head hit the pillow and almost instantly I was off dreaming of the adventures to come. One of the many gifts of these foreign lands and their time zones is the facility with which I am able to sleep. It is a gift I am never quick to forget. I awoke with no jolt but rather from the cold air that has penetrated the brick walls meant to protect me.

Auf Wiedersehen

Shall we begin….there have been times I have wanted to start these posts like a stewardess on an aircraft. Advising of the dangers ahead as well as the exit locations and life jackets. There are moments…small moments where sadness can creep. Sometimes its on a mountaintop others its in the back pew of a synagogue. I find the need to honor those moments not because I want to be sad but because to avoid it will only cause further rot. See this is an exit…this is where you kindly thank me for going on this trip but excuse yourself from the continuous monologues I find are necessary to get the fingers against the letters.

We begin where we alway do in an airport, anxious and waiting. This time someone is by my side. I’ve had this countdown going for the last 6 weeks “Europe with Tuti”. Now for the first time this journey won’t be alone. The solemn moments will be few and far between and the wheels that roll will only be those of the train and yet I am filled with excitement.

Normally my travel posts begin once I have arrived to the city and yet the journey to this country requires re-examination. It has been an indicator of the overall vibe of this trip…mind you we are only on day 3. The bulkhead seats that we selected and purchased months ago someone how disappeared behind a new row of seats with a very comfortable and annoyed Russian (I technically don’t know if he was Russian or not and yet my spidey sense aka Shanka, recognized her compatriots and the pure douchebag of it all) His feet perched high upon the wall in front of him and his chair reclined as far back as it would go. As my eyes found the toots the annoyance became palpable. But what were we to do, would we argue and become one of those viral sensation videos that seem to be the norm these days. “Crazy ladies fighting for a seat…an economy seat at that” Nope!

I gently asked if he would move his seat up so we could at least be in our seats before he made us as uncomfortable as he could. He begrudgingly obliged, we took our seats and the case of the giggles began. I’m fairly convinced it was the complaining and the laughing that made the unbearable flight bearable. MIA-LIS began as we ascended and night began to fall. The next time we would see this sun we would be across the Atlantic and everything would be different, we would be different. The Bermuda Triangle ain’t got shit on a woman who crosses an ocean with nothing more than sheer force of will. We would not remained satiated with the small corner of the world that we had been designated. I sat in the most uncomfortable seat with the lingering smell of some pretty terrible food and the unheard of heat of the plane yet I would not have traded that seat for one of great comfort but her not by my side. Other than the sweetest woman who birthed me there is no one I would rather travel with. She is a wall that is always closing in on me and yet never crushes me, every inch that she pushes me I become better, more aware more in desire of change of growth of becoming better. See what I mean about the exits…..this is just the plane ride….!EXIT!

“EIGHT HOURS! LATER!”

So we land and the mad dash begins to get our luggage down and off this plane as quickly as possible. A nice walk would soon reveal the relatively short customs line. Ok let’s stop here for a moment. You know what they say about first impressions. Portugal gave me their best, let’s be clear the men in Miami and in the US that I have seen really don’t hold any kind of candle to the men on this side of the world. The words in the English language give not reverence to the beauty of God’s hand. Instead all I can seem to find is “Arequipe”. Let’s not linger here anymore, I hate thinking that I left the love of my life back in Customs. We continued on the catch our next flight LIS-VIE. Having been highly annoyed at the confusion of the seats we quickly logged onto the airline and changed to the magical first row that just seemed to appear when it damn well pleased. A bus took us to our plane where I lovingly lifted my way too heavy for a carry on suitcase. We found ourselves sandwiched between another pair of men…my kind of sandwich.

You know that feeling when your tired of being tired….I got to that point at about minute 22 of the flight. Which is not very helpful when there is about 2hrs and 38 min left. I sunk down in the chair and lifted my feet the same way the man I despised had ( I’m cuter so it’s ok) and soon enough we landed. But of course we were closer but not enough – we made our way to the train station and boarded our next and I thought final leg. As the train filled up and began to chug along the crazies began to come out, not in the they are funny and crazy but more the Are you freaking kidding me. I digress…almost literally. Finally the train stops and we disembark.

Another moving vessel awaits us yet as soon as we board soon our exit is announced and there we stand before our home for the next few days.

I’ll be back tomorrow and we can catch up on the last two days. I’m going to need a lot of coffee!

Day 1…Done

I sit quietly as I hear them reminisce of days long since past. How their tones ebb and flow, accommodating the intonations provided by the other. I sit amongst these selves that are so distinct from one another and yet the cement that brings them together lies just a few feet away, your spirit filling the crevasses of this home and of their lives.  My how varied your children are. Only such a multi-faceted woman could lovingly and carefully raise up such children. They whose personalities would be strong and all hallmarked by the pillars of your spirit; wisdom, care, strength, empathy, gentleness, and modesty. Every breath you no longer take are now drawn in by each action your children take moving forward with your indelible mark left on each of their souls. The unity of who you are is evident in the tether that binds them together. Each of them carrying their memories, their quiet moments with you all in the pocket of their heart reserved only for you. 

Your departure has left us silent and yet laughter and joy fill the air. You have brought them together once again, you have given each of them strength to carry the other.

Tears involuntarily and quite quietly begin to stream from my eyes. I am so sorry Abuela, sorry that I allowed the locust in to eat away the years we had been given. I look to my mother and there is so much of you in there, how could I not have sought out more moments garnering wisdom at your feet.

“The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

John 3:8

It has arrived. The water drifts down from above me, pouring over me. It is meant to cleanse and instead it beats. My capillaries burst beneath it and my eyes begin to contribute to the downpour. I have descended from the mountain tops and what lies below is the rocky valley. I do not trust the feet beneath me nor each step they take. I can see the road before me, though the curves it takes makes my stomach quiver at the thought. I cautiously move forward for fear of what standing still will cause me to miss, and yet the fear of what lies ahead or what doesn’t shakes my knees and breeds distrust within me.

We truly are each our own worlds. No matter the parts that we share there are pieces of us that remain only ours. I fear those pieces have become too numerous for me. It is when this moon rises on this day this year that they have begun to topple me. Those things I have seen, those things I have yet to feel become a tether to the silence my soul sinks deeper into each passing year. This sadness is safety, it is the halls of a dark home I know too well. I do not lose my way but rather find the cold dark corners familiar. I ease my back against it like a castle against the loch, safe from invaders.

Sleep has returned to me and has even brought with it pleasant dreams, dreams I could only wish for. But are they just dreams. It seems a cruel joke to offer me the sleep I have long desired and the dreams I have patiently awaited only to have the morning light steal them from my sight. Patience I have found is not something that is needed or asked for, true patience does not ask it simply waits. Each year brings more patience and unopened boxes. I do not wait because I expect, I wait because there is nothing else left to do, the choice has never been mine. Those who walk beside me do not lay beside me, do not comfort me, they do not guide me. How difficult it is to explain, this is not ingratitude, this is longing, this is emptiness that no landscape can fulfill.

I heard a pastor talk once about Controlled Burns. In the forest with storms branches break, trees fall and debris begins to form, this debris will dry and become kindling, that which sparks an easy flame. So these firefighters set a perimeter and they light it up. It is in this controlled burn that they are able to clear this debris and avoid a dangerous flame by lighting a fire. Perhaps the timing is bad considering this is the day chosen to celebrate my life, but in many ways this is my controlled burn. I need to burn these things here, with all of you watching within the confines of this screen. This has always been the way I get things out, I simply have witnesses now. You have all in many ways become my accountability.

I drop these tethers or communication buoys with each land I visit. I left a part of my fear in Scotland. She’s an iceberg and I was only able to leave part of what was above the water. This burn is reaching its end as the piano reaches its crescendo and finds its way down to meet the violin before quietly sending me to the land where the things I desire await me when my eyes close and my body paralyzes.

Today is my new day but before I could see the forest for the trees I had to clear the debris that has long been blocking my view. I pray my eyes adjust to the new light this cleared path will bring. I pray that patience no longer becomes the enemy always awaiting me when I slip between the sheets, I pray she be the path to the things I dream of; the farm on the mountaintop, the smell of bread early in the morning, arms wrapped tight around my waist, the gentle kick in my belly.

Farewell…

I awoke to the symphony of sea gulls. I had expected them in the evening when the fisherman threw the fish insides over for their pleasure but what could they be howling for this morning. It seemed as soon as I lifted my heavy body from the bed they ceased.

It was my first full day in Stonehaven and I was determined to make the most of it. I headed down the breakfast table for the much needed fuel for the long day of driving and walking I had ahead of me.

One of my favorite things about staying at B&B's, especially as a single women, is the owner typically turns into your mom for the day or two you share. Making sure you have enough to eat, wanting to know where your going and if you'll be back before dark. As Anne lovingly fried my egg, making sure it was a bit runny in the middle the way and the bacon was extra crispy the way I like. I know I'm paying her for it but the tenderness is still appreciated. Included in the attentiveness were the recommendations for the things I had planned, whittling down my large list to the must sees and the not realistic but nice if you can make it.

Once my belly had been stuffed till my ears I grabbed my bag and headed to the car. I had a reorganized agenda and the energy to match. headed first to Braemar- a lovely little castle high above the street sat next to a quite loud sheep farm.
My heart was set on the Balmoral so the Braemar got very little of my attention. Touring all these castles can get expensive and they almost never allow you to take photographs inside. I had this same experience in Ross Castle in Ireland- didn't make sense then either. I know in art museums its to keep the paintings in pristine condition as the flash can actually deteriorate the paintings but the inside of a castle is normally dark and really just stone walls, there doesn't seem much possibility to damage anything and nothing in there can be deemed proprietary and possibly stolen. Anyway sorry for the rant just gets annoying when I cant sure what I have seen. Jamie and I took a couple of pics outside which garnered some glances but we had a good ole time.

I eagerly left Braemar knowing that Balmoral lied just a few minutes on the road ahead. I arrived at the car park and situated all my needs in my bag and slung it over my head and headed for the bridge. I stopped in the middle to listen to the rushing waters below. Every time I see a stream or river with its rocks I think of one of the last truly good times I had with my brother on our way to Falling Waters in PA. On our way there just talking in the car one of us spotted the stream running beside the highway and we stopped to see its beauty and hear its song.
I saw the stream in my mind and missed him so much in just that moment. I'm trying to learn to remember these moments and then leave them there in the past without allowing them to influence my present. So I snapped a new picture of the new river and alleviated the memory.
I arrived at the gates of the Balmoral estate, purchased my ticket and opted to take the journey to the main house on foot instead of via the trolley. As everyone else formed a line to wait I took the opportunity to walk these woods- the trees towered above me obscuring the sky from my view. I navigated the recently rained roads, following the directions of the guide who furrowed his brow when I insisted on walking up. I took the right at the fork as instructed and landed at the stables, I collected my audio guide and began the route prepared. As is the case with almost everything I do I decided to break the rules and skip some stops and stopping in certain places before time. I spotted this lovely bench which seemed so small sitting beneath a great tree.

The tour walked me up a gentle hill only to reveal a lovely garden and conservatory. As some of you may know I have a slight obsession with doors, as mentioned before I blame my mother for this. As I approached the garden it was the first thing I saw.

I did as instructed and remained on my side of the gate and lovingly admired the different flowers growing wild and chaotic and yet in perfect harmony.

One of the groundskeepers noticed me I guess lingering in places others it seems pass over and decided to come over to talk to me about what I was seeing. I learned that the different greenhouses were necessary to grow fruits in vegetables out of season in order to be ready for the queens arrival. He was kind enough to actually let me sneak into one of the houses for just a minute to see the temperature and explain the different seasons each of the houses was. I thanked him for his time and left him to his work. He stood beside me for a few minutes as I snapped some pictures of his grounds, he asked if he could see his garden thru my eyes, so I should him. They weren't anything artistic I was simply documenting for the future but he smirked and said "Lovely"
After finishing in the gardens the Castle came into full view taking up all my breath as this behemoth stood before me.
The remainder of the grounds now seemed pointless and I now understood why they had planned the tour as they did. Once you have seen the estate everything pales in comparison. I headed back to the stables to hand in my audio tour, soon the sprinkle which had followed me around turned into a true Scottish rain storm. I waited reluctantly underneath the clock tower for the trolley that would take me back down to the entrance. I returned to the car and changed the soundtrack to my Claire de Lune. I would remain in silence for the hour long drive to my next destination. I allowed the curves of the road to match the notes of the violin.

I arrived at Castle Fraser, tired but excited to see the grounds and do the trails that I had found. I went towards the front of the castle to take my obligatory photographs before wandering aimlessly (kinda) my mind would be aimless while my feet would follow the path. I was only able to get one or two before the rain storm I had left behind in Balmoral had found its way here to me and had gained in strength on its journey. The rain began to come down with violent intention. I hid beneath the trees hoping that it would pass as I had seen them do before. But they only gained in strength and to be honest I didn't want to get my hair wet. Lol I opened the large wooden gate and began to make my way back to the shelter at the entrance. The rain was faster than me and the ground beneath me turned into mud, I hid my camera in my jacket and began to whisper a prayer, I feared the lack of strength in my ankle as I climbed the muddy and rocky path uphill. I finally made it to the shelter but seemingly pointless as I was soaked. I waited till the clouds eventually passed (20 minutes later) and I made it to my car where I promptly removed my soaked jacket and dried my camera and prayed it would be fine. Disappointed I turned the engine over and entered home into the GPS and set off.

An hour later I pulled into the Seaside haven and went to seek refuge and dry clothing before dinner. What happened after dinner….come one haven't you learned anything. Here's all you'll get…
lets just say he didn't drink alone..this post took three drinks and dinner to write. The bathtub in my current residence is calling me and I feel much obliged to answer. I shall return to this table with this view and give you another day.