Going with the flow is letting go of the idea of control and embracing the chaos of life.
If you observe, there is only a limited amount of control you have in your life; you take certain actions and hope for certain outcomes. Whether those outcomes happen or not is not in your hands. For example, sometimes the meal you cook comes out better than you had hoped and sometimes, despite your best efforts, the taste isn’t to your liking.
After the proverbial slap in the face that my life gave me, I found myself going with the flow and allowing myself to be carried forward by life.
This blog post is about the chaos that ensued after I left La Paz, Bolivia and headed to the safe haven in Cusco, Peru that my friend had mentioned to me. This short time was defined by chaos, letting go my idea of control and going with the flow.
No part of this experience was planned and that’s what made it so memorable.
Dimly, I became aware of movement in the room. Where was I?
Cusco, Peru.
That’s right, I had made it to Cusco with friends I had met on the bus.
The road here from La Paz, Bolivia had been more eventful than I’d expected…
Company
Jumping out of the cab at the La Paz bus station, I found my bus and settled into my seat. This bus would take me to Copacabana and from there I would be able to catch a bus to Puno and finally to Cusco.
I made myself comfortable and pulled out my journal. Over the past few weeks, bus rides had become a bit of a of haven for me. They were safe, familiar and closed off from the world.
In the bus, no one expected anything from me, and I didn’t have to communicate with anyone. I had a few hours to myself to rest, put my thoughts together and process my next move at my own pace.
Just as I opened up my journal and settled in to write, I became aware of warm, hazel eyes peeking at me from over the seat in front of me. I glanced up to a grinning face that went off in Spanish as soon as I made eye contact.
My eyes widened and I stuttered the few phrases in Spanish that DuoLingo had taught me. A blank stare, then another wide smile, “No Spanish?”
I sighed in relief and shook my head, “No.”
“No problem, I practice my English.”
The hazel eyes were friendly and kept me company for the rest of the ride. I smiled, grateful for the company.
Pit stop
The bus I had taken, locally called a collectivo, came to a grinding halt on the mountain road before reaching Copacabana. There were protests going on in Bolivia and the roads were blocked.
I got out of the bus and waited with the rest of the passengers. What now? I stepped closer to my two new friends; Hazel Eyes and his travel companion.
After a little while, the passengers began climbing back into the collectivo. Glancing around in confusion, I decided not to bother trying to find out what was going on. Going with the flow of events, I filed back into the collectivo and watched in amazement as we drove forward and eventually navigated onto a boat.
The silence of the peaceful night was broken by the boat’s noisy motor. I poked my head out the window and turned to look up at the twinkling night sky as the boat wafted across the lake.
I couldn’t help but laugh. This was insane! Unsafe! Incredible!
This would never happen back home.
Happy Campers
On the other side of the lake, we were met by another road block and once again filed out of the collectivo. This time, it was clear that the collectivo couldn’t take us any further.
I decided to stay with my new friends until we reached the safety of Cusco and together we began the trek to Copacabana. At some point Hazel Eyes and his companion stopped and communicated that they intended to camp.
I balked at the idea.
Camp?
Here?
In the middle of nowhere?
It was dark and cold and I didn’t have camping gear.
I looked around at the deserted area, the rest of the passengers had gone ahead, likely back to their homes in Copacabana. Where would I go if I went ahead?
I looked back at my companions setting up their tent. I nodded and communicated that I would stay with them.
As luck would have it, Hazel Eyes had an extra sleeping bag and their tent was large enough for the three of us.
I went to sleep thinking that if I spoke Spanish, I would have been able to contribute to this decision rather than just blindly going with the flow.
The next morning was cool and brisk. Packing up, we walked the rest of the way to Copacabana. We found a place to freshen up and eat and I decided to accompany the two to Isla de Sol, an island on Lake Titicaca. We’d head to Cusco together afterwards.
My first headstand
I sat alone on the beach, staring out at the calm waters lapping at the sandy shore.
My travel companions were having a blast chatting with fellow beachgoers in Spanish. I looked back at the lake.
It was such a strange place, overnight my teeth had chattered from the cold, and before mid morning, the sun was so strong that I had to drape my scarf over my head to stay cool. The water was icy, so using that to cool down was a limited option.
My eyes strayed to the chattering group of beachgoers, one of them was practicing yoga asanas. She planted her forearms and lifted herself effortlessly up into a headstand. Hazel Eyes beckoned and asked if I would like to try.
Eyes wide, I nodded, “You first!” He lifted up easily into a headstand. My heart began to race, it was my turn.
“It’s easy!”
The woman sat in front of me and demonstrated the steps. Gulping, I followed along. At some point, someone grabbed my legs and lifted them up into the air.
I laughed in delight and gasped as the grip on my legs loosened, “No, no! Don’t let go!”
“Okay, I stay here.”
I accepted help in lowering myself and dissolved into laughter.
Cusco, Peru
After two nights on the island, we boarded a bus to Cusco, Peru.
One of my two new friends departed and I struggled to understand why. They had been travelling together so why leave behind the known and the comfortable to be on your own?
Hazel Eyes and I explored Cusco together for a few days and then it became clear that our paths, too, were parting.
I went off in search of the hostel my friend in La Paz, Bolivia had recommended to me.
“It’s a big one, they’re always looking for volunteers.”
As it turned out, the hostel was right around the corner and they needed a minimum commitment of two weeks from their volunteers.
Nostalgically, I bade farewell to my companion and our tiny oasis of sunshine, frigid lakes and headstands.
At the new hostel, I was shown to a room with 11 other volunteers. I glanced around in fascination at my new home. Clothing and bags hung from bed posts and lay in every available corner, colorful sheets hung around bottom bunks, effectively shutting off half the habitants from the rest of the room. Amidst the chaos, there was a certain order in the room, an air of community and respect for one another’s space. I smiled to myself, there was room to grow here.
I had received a top bunk. Relatively little privacy but I did have a corner and a locker. Making myself at home, I had dinner and crawled into bed. Tomorrow at 11 am, I would start at the front desk.
A fresh start.
Going with the flow on Isla de Sol
The time I’d spent on Isla de Sol hadn’t been easy for me.
After being robbed, I was looking for an opportunity to decompress, time to truly soak in what had happened, learn from it and then breathe it all out. I was looking for a place where I wouldn’t burn through my bank balance at an unsustainable rate as well as somewhere where I’d feel safe and at home.
I grasped at any stability that came my way. This began with my friend in the Bolivian hostel, continued to the pair I met on the bus, our island haven on the lake, and then even to the routine we’d settled into in our few days together in Cusco.
At every step, I had to let go.
I had to let go of the idea that I was in control, and the idea that I could hold on to situations and people.
At every step, I had to embrace chaos and begin going with the flow.
My mind didn’t give me a moment’s rest.
At this phase of my spiritual journey, every step was full of insecurity, self-doubt, fear of failure and the desire to possess every comfort that came my way.
I felt a tangible resistance to moving forward and a desire to latch onto safety and stay in one place and one frame of mind.
At the same time as wanting to stay static in one place, I felt left out everywhere I went because I was a foreigner. I felt like an accessory; something to ooh and aah at and then leave aside when the real conversation and connection began.
I was putting together that my experience in Latin America would be severely limited by my inability to speak Spanish. Aside from being constrained to travelling in a certain way and with a certain group of people, I would never be able to blend in and live the life of a traveler as opposed to that of a tourist.
I was unable to simply accept that I didn’t fit in, nor did I want to be affectionately or not-so-affectionately labelled “Gringa” or foreigner.
I made up my mind.
Cusco would be different.
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