I greet you as I so often do, reflecting out a bus window. Today
I’m in route to Costa Azul, which you have probably never heard of, because it
is a tiny little stop on the Uruguayan coast. I’m checking myself into a sort
of rehab for the suffering there with the hope of making peace with these damn
depressions that knock me to my knees out of nowhere. I suppose damning them
doesn’t get us off on the right foot, does it? Well, I can’t say as I fancy how
they show up uninvited, wreck the place and then wear out their welcome to top
it off. I’ll scratch damn and replace it with one of Pop’s
expressions, “dat gum their sorry hides.” That’s about the best I can do until
they show their willingness to negotiate.
Sometimes people say to me that I was courageous to quit my job,
get rid of my material possessions and walk the trail my heart lays before me.
Maybe, but to me, the decision to “commit myself” to a rehab takes more. To
admit that I need that degree of help and to go to a place where I know they are
going to ask me to feel to the fullest extent the pain repressed deep inside of
me is much scarier than uprooting my life of security in the U.S.. Anyway,
that’s the truth of the present moment.
We’ve much backtracking to do given that I haven’t sent out an
update in three months. I’ve forgotten where we last left off, so I’m sure you
have, too. Oh, right, Chile…I was at that hippie commune where I recounted my
nasty kitchen, cold shower, deadly spider adventures and reminisced about the
recycled pig pen project. I was just about to move along little doogie in
search of more hospitable conditions. Here’s exactly how the last T-logue
ended:
Next I’m off to Eco Yoga Park, which is somewhere south of here
and near the coast. I know little about it except it has HOT water, they serve
vegetarian food, it has HOT water, one class of yoga a day is included in the
price, it has HOT water and the pictures of it on the internet look pretty. It
came up when I Googled, “spirituality retreats Chile.” Kind of like playing
Spin the Bottle with your vacation, isn’t it?
On the 13th I’m
off to Miami for my first solo tour to Cuba!!
Here’s where the next one starts:
Eco Yoga Park, my ass! A patch of land with a few big rocks,
scraggly trees and a dried up gold fish pond 50 yards off a major, roaring
interstate does not constitute an eco-park. The one remaining koi in the
stagnant mud puddle they call a pond was swimming cocked over on its side
trying to keep at least one gill moist. I wanted to bring the cat down there and
get the poor fish out of its misery. That was the eco disillusionment. As for
the “Yoga” part, burning incenses and doing a few back bends and toe touches
does not constitute yoga.
I’ve gotten ahead of myself and need to
back up to my arrival to “the park.” I was told by the person I had been
emailing with that I would be picked up by someone from the EYP holding a sign
with my name. Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass and I see no such sign. Finally,
a strangely dressed woman with a dot on her forehead approaches me and
asks, “Are you Gigi?”
“Yes, I am.”
“HIRA KRISHNA!!” she declares excitedly, and kisses me on the
cheek.
“Well, Merry Christmas to you, too!” is what came to mind to say,
but “Hi” was all that came out.
Hira Krishna? There was no mention of Hira Krishna on the webpage.
Eco and Yoga are pretty non-denominational to me. It’s not that I have
anything against HKs. I dig that they are vegetarian and burn good smelling
incense and sell carnations, but it would have been nice to have known that before
signing up so I could prepare myself. Honestly, as my short time there
unfolded, this surprise felt more like a sneak attack recruitment strategy than
a spiritual getaway.
Immediately after greeting me, Lakmu or Lashuk or Lahhum or
whatever her religious name was, (I never did pronounce it right and resorted
to calling her what they all called each other and me: “mother”—No matter what
had or had not entered and exited our vaginas, we were all thrown into the same
pot--mother)….anyway, Mother said we were going to the Temple down town. “Temple? Down town? I signed up to stay at
a nature reserve where they teach yoga, grow their own food in an organic
garden, recycle and shit like that,” I responded, or something like that, minus
the cursing.
“Oh, don’t worry, Mother,” she said, “Calm down. We’ll get there.”
From the temple she dragged me through the streets of Conception
shopping for the supposedly “organic, home grown” ingredients for the meals we
were to have. Many of these purchases we made at Chile’s version of SAM’s
wholesale in the frozen foods section.
There were five of us mothers going out to the park from the
temple that evening.
Since we didn’t get tickets prior, we had to board the bus
last and travel standing. I’ve been on some crowded buses before, but this one
was over the top. Mother1, Mother2, 3 strangers and I had to stand in the stair
well, sandwiched between the door and the toilet. (This was one of those
double-decker buses that has the door and the john smack dab in the middle of
it.) For forty minutes I had my nose tucked in the armpit of a Uruguayan soccer
player as he held on to rail above us and I held on to him. Really, I didn’t
need to do much holding because there was only a 3 inch margin of empty space
to fall anywhere. Every time somebody got on or off the bus, all the stair
dwellers had to unload and then reload.
Don’t you know I was ready for a HOT
shower in a spider-free bathroom. Not what happened. To heat the water, they
had attached to the showerhead a metal contraption that looked to be a
coffee can with electrical wires strung up through the ceiling. Even if I could
have figured out how to turn the thing on, I wasn’t about to and get the shit
shocked out of me. As for the spiders, I walked in the b-room the first night
to brush my teeth and in the 5 inches of space between the sink and the wall, a
Ricon big as a chocolate-chip cookie had built a mammoth patio off its
doublewide in the wall and was defending it with great fervor. So, I dry
brushed and swallowed the toothpaste, which isn’t so bad, if you can work up
enough spit to get it diluted down to a milkshake consistency.
Despite all of this, it turned out to be a wonderful experience. I
met one of the coolest people of my travels to date—An Aussie named Alice. Poor
thing had been cohabitating at the EYP with the Mothers and their husbands for
over a week, not knowing any Spanish beyond “por favor” and “gracias.” The HKs
don’t know any English beyond “Whut iz ur name?” and “Were ur jew frum?”
Was Alice ever thrilled when I showed up!
Though both of us had committed to staying through the
weekend, we conspired to bail before the day was through. Using her daddy’s
credit card, she made a reservation at a 5 star hotel in Concepcion and invited
me to share the room, insisting
that I not pay a dime. (See how these random acts of generosity come to me?
)
Well, you know exactly what the first thing was that I want when
we got checked-in. A hot shower! No, actually, I didn’t want a hot shower…I
want a bubble soak in a tub of water just short of scalding for two
hours. No, F-N-way! You are not going to believe this. The boilers at this
five star hotel went out and they wouldn’t be able to fix them until tomorrow!
What have I done to deserve this? Is it karmic payback for dumping a bucket of
ice down my softball coach’s shirt? I packed up my stuff and decided to take
the overnight bus back to Santiago.
From there I spent three days in Valparaiso, which is jockeying
for number one on my list of best towns to visit in Latin America. It’s so
bohemia and groovy. After that I was off to Cuba and will save those
adventures for the next one. The company I worked cancelled two of my trips, so
I’ve been hanging out in my beloved fishing town in Uruguay. Off to Cuba this
weekend and then to Dallas for the Vision Quest.
Sorry, no pics this time.
Much love,G
