La Ultima

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Subtleties, sticking out like different colored water. Starkly visible from above as you fly overhead and watch murky brown change to a deep blue. Not gradually, but all at once. A pronounced line clearly marking the difference. Swimming in it is a different story... the change is harder to see. Vancouver, North America, and the world outside. The differences that may seem so subtle, but in ways indicate the vastness between different exposures to what it means to be alive.

The ferry, it's giant mass cruising across the ocean. Eerily smooth and silent. The only indicator of the work going on underneath by engines and fiery metal is a slight rumble and barely audible hummmm. Looking out of the window is like being on one of those moving sidewalks where there are moments when you can't differentiate between what is moving and what is not. It could be an ever changing photograph, being pulled across the windows to give the illusion of motion. It's funny having traveled all these places, having experienced more of this in between time then I had before. The moments, minutes, hours when you watch the outside change while you remain in the same clothes. If the journey is long enough, maybe at the end of it a film of sweat will coat your back, the only tangible evidence that you've really gone anywhere in the first place.

I remember being on a "ferry" in Nicaragua that took us from the mainland to the Isla de Ometepe. The boat was rusted out on the bottom and creaked and wheezed as we left the small port. I remember birds flying overhead, wind in my face, and entertaining the idea that there was more then a reasonable possibility that we might sink (I've never thought that on a Canadian ferry in my life, the idea seems almost absurd... the smooth sailing mammoth of white metal and the BC ferries logo printed pretty on the side, the "coastal inspiration", sinking?). I had heard that a few months ago one of the "ferries" (in Nicaragua) went down because they overfilled it. Indeed, the lake was supposedly filled with many sunken ships,a graveyard of hollow boat skeletons finally at rest. Remnants of managers needing to make a few extra cordobas. As sad as it is, those people's lost lives probably helped pay for someone's next meal... although they didn't know it, they died so others could survive, or just live a little better.

Standing in the line up for the "coastal cafe", my eyes are burning in their sockets, half closed from tiredness. I am standing relatively close to the man in front of me. His clean cotton shirt smells like TIDE and looks softer then the most luxurious pillow that I can imagine. I feel my body leaning forward instinctively, drawn towards the warmth of his back and the prospect of a few supported moments to close my eyes. I catch myself just before my cheek makes contact and pull myself back to standing. There wouldn't have been a rational or socially acceptable way to explain it... I just needed someone to lean on.

It was our first bus ride in Guatemala, a 10 hour trek on bumpy roads from the city to the North. The bus was packed form the start, and people kept getting on and off, filling up the isles. It was so full at some points that I could imagine people being squeezed out of the cracks in the floor, bursting at the seams. About one hour into the ride Chrissy gave up her seat to a woman with a baby. She spent 9 hours standing at the back taking part in something amazing. There were about 6 people crammed back there and one seat available. The group took turns supporting each other's body weight to snooze in a huddle like formation. After a few hours, just when Chrissy felt that her legs were about to fall off, she felt a hand on her shoulder, motioning her to sit in the seat. She dozed for a while, and then gave the seat up to someone else in the huddle who looked desperate. And that's how it went. Rotating and rotating untli we climbed off the bus in the thick of the night.

On this ferry, there is no opportunity for the kind of generosity that rises to the surface when there's a need for it, when the people beside you are all you've got. This ferry is a quarter full, and I have an entire row to myself. Entire sections are empty, and it seems strange to me. In other places there wouldn't be 7 sailings a day. The one or two sailings would be packed, because it just makes sense. Less money on gas, less work, more time to do things that need to be done. This ferry is also equipped with more services then a town like Las Tunas could ever hope to have. It has two coffee shops, a giant cafeteria, a gift shop, full restaurant, VIP lounge, various bathroom facilities with at least 15 stalls in each one, and hot water that comes from the tap. All of this for a boat not even half full. I don't know if anyone in Las Tunas has ever felt hot water coming from a tap, and here it flows freely on a public transport service. It's not fair to compare, because it's just different, but sometimes the contrasts are staggering.

I can remember days when I would have been wondered by the ferry, and in ways I still I am... with its expansive hallways and diamond tiled floors. But it's been complicated so far past its purpose... to move people from here to there. It has to have atmosphere and be an experience for the passengers. Do we really expect this kind of luxury? Or is it just given to us and then we come to expect it... There is a set of giant blown up photographs on the wall illustrating BC wildlife. They're nice, but seem extremely unnecessary. A product of having to much money on our hands.

This is probably one of the biggest changes I've experienced since I've gotten back... the way my eyes see things is slightly different. I'm finding that excess stands out more then it used to, but I don't feel as outraged, in ways it's almost amusing. The buses lighting up at every stop, red writing running across the screen spelling out the street names. The shininess of buildings downtown, an island of glass and cars. The wideness of the streets. Welcome mats and baby harnesses. Kitty corner Starbucks and fancy names for coffee like vivano and carmel machiatto. I'm not trying to paint things as negative... but at times I have those moments like I did while I was on the road, for one second everything is so clear that you can almost feel the way it all ties together, an abstract clarity that can't be explained or reasoned with... it just is. I've also had many blurry moments since getting back, where everything meshes together and it's hard to understand how I am a part of what's around me and i can't see straight.

There are many things about being back that rock. Quiet time to think and reflect, knowing where i am without having to be aware of it, dancing naked around my room with the music blaring, YOGA, drinking water from the tap, being with friends who know some of your history, walking through parks that you can get lost in, outward expression (dyed hair, crazy clothes... even though sometimes this seems a bit imagey desperate to me, in ways it's super refreshing), hearing the wind blowing in the tress. Vancouver is so quiet. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person in the world when i walk home at night. except when I can see the moon. The moon reminds me of its presence all over the world, how everyone can look up on a clear night and see that same moon shining down on them.

For the most part, the important things seem to be pretty similar in different parts of the world that I've experienced. The sun glistens on the water and stops you in your tracks. Trees make the air feel cleaner and more breathable. The stars feel like old friends who I need to gaze at for a long time to really see properly. People constantly surprise me with their abilities to reach out, to be generous, to love.

I think that all of our experiences change us in subtle ways, and my journey has definitely done that for me. I am not the same as when I left, but then again I'm not the same as i was yesterday. Although I know this probably takes a lifetime to truly embrace, traveling showed me the beauty in riding the waves of change while maintaining a connection with yourself that remains constant. It's the one thing we can truly count on; to breathe, to live, to love, to grow, to change.

"To live is to be marked, to live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really have. In perfect stillness, frankly, I've only found sorrow"- Barbara Kingsolver

ps- thank you to everyone who supported me through this blog... your comments and love gave me strength when i needed it most. you are all amazing.

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