{4.4.15} multipurpose love buckets: a how-to guide

¡Dejale regalonearte! Let her love you! says Juan, my host dad, as my host mom hovers about trying to bring me ice or kleenex or an apple, all of which I turn down, even as I sit in a crumpled heap after yet another Knee Incident. I’m more than a bit desolate, but accepting help feels, in…

{15.3.15} crying to the swing of the pacific

In Latin America, I learned to cry. Correction: In Latin America, I unlearned how to not cry. When I was younger, long ago in the distant past of 18 on down, I fought a lot with my dad. A natural reaction to what I often felt –anger, frustration, annoyance, self-righteousness, not being heard– is generally…

{25.1.15} On Travel and Time in Bolivia (part 1/2)

Before going, I thought of Bolivia in very vague terms. I had some images in my head of Lake Titicaca and shepherds spinning wool thread in the ‘80s from my mother’s travels. I knew they had just reelected their first president that, instead of being a member of the white oligarchy, is an indigenous man…