All play and no work

Leaving the Amazon, I thought, “I could stay here quite a bit longer.” The tiny villages with their school buildings, the lumpy but much used futbol greens, the acre or two family plantations of banana, plantain, yuca (not to be confused with yucca), the butterflies everywhere, the river full of fish and dolphins, the markets, the sleeping dogs—all pulled at my heart.

Leaving Lima, I thought, “Three days was plenty.” I happily used the currency exchange and laundry services, watched a 49er game at a sports bar, sampled pisco sours and lomo saltado at several restaurants, visited the amazing Larco Museum of precolonial arts.

With some relief, I flew away from the busy sidewalks, miles of shops and apartment buildings, dense traffic.

Arriving in Urubamba, I thought, “Ah, I could stay here quite awhile.” A river runs through the narrow Sacred Valley, and small towns congregate along the river. The one road is lined with homes, shops, and chicherias made of brick and stone—some decrepit, some new, and some in-between.

Crops cover the fertile valley floor—corn especially, also potatoes, strawberries, broccoli, cauliflower. A bit of barley and alfalfa for the cuyes.

Arriving back in Cusco after experiencing Machu Picchu (more on that in another post), I thought, “Yea, laundry time again! An ATM!” A day and a half of cultural history and city convenience—perfect.

My heart and soul open up when the proportion of people, pavement, cement, and steel is small in relation to the proportion of dirt, water, trees unfettered by sidewalks, and naked hills.

It’s about dirt vs. cement. You mostly don’t touch the ground in a city; you touch hard barriers separating your feet from the ground. Whatever my life-force or energy or soul is made of, it’s fullest when there’s nothing between me and the ground. (Yep, I feel grounded on the ground…)

It’s also about the airspace—the openness all around me and extending from the dirt up to the sky. My energy/soul/life force balloons into the openness, feels free. It contracts when buildings dominate the airspace.

If I have to be hemmed in, put me in a forest. Even in a forest I like to get to sky-space after I hug some trees.

Maybe this is true because I grew up in a wide open rural valley. Seems obvious. But I’ve met a lot of rural people that couldn’t wait to leave for the city where “there was something to do.”

Maybe it has to do with HOW I was raised in that area. Often, I was holed up with a book—my heart- and soul-space opened up by that world. But if not reading, I was out.

I was at the creek with my dog, poking around the puddles looking for pollywogs or just lying on grass, daydreaming. I was on my horse, riding anywhere I wanted to go, all day if I felt like it. I was free in a wide-open world of dirt, sky, and pure sunlight.

I have sense memories of dissolving into warm open airspace while sitting on a rock jutting from a spine of red sandstone halfway down the Grand Canyon, and while lying on a boulder the size of a house in the Sierras. Feeling sun, sky, trees, dirt, grass, stone. Nothing else.

I chose a profession that required indoor work—brain-taxing, heavy-thinking work. It required a lot of air travel (speaking of feeling hemmed in…) primarily to cities.

I LOVED my work, and I cherished the opportunities to travel…all paid for!

In New York City, I enjoyed Broadway plays, walks through wildly varying neighborhoods, cuisine imported from every corner of the world, some of the best art museums in the world. The American Museum of Natural History was a client for nearly two decades. My inner anthropologist fell in love!

In Philadelphia I walked dozens of city blocks, amazed at the sculptures on street corners. I saw the Liberty Bell in Independence Hall. I ran up the steps of the art museum and raised my arms, Rocky style, along with dozens of other people from all over the world. Chicago, Washington DC, Atlanta, Montreal, New Orleans, Charleston, Columbus, Twin Cities, LA, Seattle, Milwaukee, St. Louis…these and other extraordinary cities. So many histories, foods, people of every background, countless experiences that enriched my life.

Without fail, after three days in a city I feel a near-desperate need to flee. My heart/soul space becomes congested with people, cement, movement, noise, light from everywhere but the sun.

Long ago, I expressed this to a colleague as we were enjoying an exceptional meal at an outdoor cafe. “I love New York, but I need to get out of here! I need some dirt and trees!”

She said, “We’re staying a block from Central Park—It’s full of trees!”

Well, who doesn’t love Central Park? I’ve spent many enjoyable hours there, not just immersing in the art at the Met but also strolling the wooded paths. But still…

I replied to my friend, “Yes, but the trees aren’t free! They’re surrounded!”

The day after a work trip, I spent little time at my desk. I had to “go to church”—to hike up a ridge or along a beach until I reached a place where I could sit, surrounded by air, and fill my soul-space.

Scenes from post-travel “church” days in West Marin

I’m a country girl. Show me the city, then drop me off in a little town.