Todo fluye

Teetering on changes, expectations, and patience

Going on four weeks of travel, and so far very little has gone to plan. As a new friend reminds me, todo fluye, everything’s fluid, and change is welcome. Amidst these changes, my heart and mind feel heavy with the heartbreak of watching news on the violent occupation of Palestine and the immense loss of life. I’m grateful for my community back home and others across the world for organizing for justice and peace.

Heron on the bank of the Yacuma river

A few weeks ago, I left La Paz for a town in the Amazon called Rurrenabaque in a plane that cruised over the Andes and down above the twisting rivers and staggered hills of the jungle. It was really hot– like sweating-sitting-still hot– and the first hostel I landed in was devoid of other guests and full of mosquitos. I was planning on being in Rurre for 3 months, working with a local organization in their efforts against the construction of two mega-dams that would flood thousands of Indigenous people from their homes as well as huge sections of Madidi National Park, the most biodiverse national park in the world. Unfortunately, like so much activism work everywhere, anti-dam organizing is not realistic as a full-time occupation, and my main contacts were busy with other organizing, jobs, and family tasks. I realized I didn’t have anything to fall back on if this plan fell through, which I only realized when it did, in fact, fall through. I wanted to get a sense of where I had landed though, and moved to a friendlier hostel (still lots of mosquitos) and went on a multi-day trip into the jungle. While I didn’t see Rurre and its surroundings in the way I would have had I stayed for 3 months, I did get snapshots that have left me grateful for my unpredictable time there.

I drank freshly pressed sugarcane water out of a halved nut shell, saw one of the proposed dam sites and countless plastic bottles and chunks of styrofoam spiraling through it on the boils and whirlpools, walked to a swimming spot with two friends from my hostel and jumped and splashed in the same river that was to be dammed and is full of mercury from upstream gold mining. I ate a larva (!) in the jungle and have a vivid imprint of our guide Juan’s face as he laughed at the gringas’ queasiness about eating jungle food. I can still hear the shrill sound of cicadas so loud that it hurt my ears, and feel piranhas nibbling at the fishing hook Juan strung with raw meat. Rurre, its people, and its surroundings are so expansive and generous! And I’m still working on feeling the disappointment of flopped plans at the same time as the wonder that comes with travel.

photos from the jungle!

Since leaving the jungle, I’ve met wonderful and kind friends with whom I’ve visited ruins, eaten yummy sushi, and navigated 8 (read: 10) hour buses with. Solo travel has been exposing difficult and lovely things within myself and within the world that I’m moving through. I’m still exploring options for next steps. I’ve moved to a smaller city south of La Paz and will be heading to a Workaway project on a farm a few hours away in a couple days. I’m reaching out to a lot of folks about opportunities to help with environmental (specifically river) advocacy, alternative education, and Indigenous sovereignty projects (if you know anyone working in something similar…. hit my line!) and I’m looking into spending some time at a spanish or music school after the farm stay and am hoping to get on some rivers in December. Life is full of changes! Thanks for sticking around <3

on the way out of Rurre