Life is a buffet. It is full of tastes, scents, sights for your taking. One simply must make the step, organize, seize his/her courage and book the flight. You can see a lake so large its opposite shore hides behind the horizon. You can dip in its cool waters at the altitude of the highest European peaks. You can climb mountains who’s summits tickle heaven’s belly. In this part of the world, the sky is quite literally the limit. Life is a buffet, the world is yours for the taking. You share experiences with fellow travelers, give advice, low-key brag about what you have done. I’ve climbed the Huayna Potosi. I’ve seen five countries, ten, have traveled for a month, six. Estonia? I don’t know, I’ve probably been there. Planes are busses, life a marathon; we are running out of time and passports are running out of pages. Life is a buffet, the world is yours for the taking. A commonly heard sentence in hostels is “I’ve done lake Titikaka”, “I’ve done Argentina”, “I’ve done the Amazon”. Countries and the planet’s lungs are now squares to be checked on a to-do list. Travelers are working hard to switch verb tenses, to transform a “to do” into a “done”. A question who’s answer remains a mystery is “how do you “do” Argentina, how do you "do" the Amazon?”. Life is a buffet, the world is yours for the taking. A boat full of sunburnt gringos docks on the small island. They are wearing bright-orange life jackets and it screams against the peaceful setting of the quiet island. Small houses, small market. Impression of invading private space. They race up, breathless because of the altitude. A young child, perhaps three, looks at the white hair and baseball caps approaching. A large man in his sixties arrives first to the top of the climb. I can hear his heavy breathing; I can see his face violently blushing under the UV’s intimidating touch. He pulls out his camera and approaches the child, less than a meter away, points the black machine toward his round face. Clear invasion of private space. Questions in large, black eyes. Click. The big man is gone. Welcome to the Bolivian safari. I feel anger toward the man; anger toward myself for my passiveness or slow thinking. I feel ashamed of my backpack, my accent, my presence here, my white skin. Life is a buffet, the world is yours for the taking. People are side characters in your life, you are the protagonist. They provide you with what you want to further your plotline, but your plotline does not ask for any character depth. You make up by calling their culture “rich”, a term you keep for any customs that is different from yours.
“I was in Patagonia. I think it is beautiful, but I honestly can’t tell. I’ve seen so many mountains and landscape you get used to them. It was cold and mountainous, it felt like the alps. I did not stay long, I wanted to see Argentina, not a second Europe.”
“I’m just staying one night. Honestly at this point I just want to get it over with.”
“I’ll do fine honey, I’ve seen more places than you ever will.”
The world has become a buffet. You pay and get all you can eat, try hard to leave no leftovers. You gulp as many calories as your body can process, in as little time as possible. You consume places, nature and people as a distraction, an escape. You do not notice hostels are separated into two: the volunteers and the clients. All are travelers in their twenties, but the first must work for bread and board to afford being here. The second travels, but must work to remain on schedule, remain aboard. All are on holiday, a beautiful mix of cultures, a blend of two continents separated only by income. You are traveling, and which side of the Atlantic you were born in decides which side of the reception desk you see. Latino and European holidays merge; only together can a hostel properly function.
Life is a buffet. Take, take, take. After all, by being here you pay them. Thanks to you, they can live. Isn’t that giving? | Traveling can feel like following the white rabbit, like taking the red pill. I have been in Bolivia for nearly a month. Lets have a chaotic peek at how deep the rabbit whole goes.
Welcome to a world where teeth are golden, silver, witnesses of concave smiles. Welcome to a world where buses drive with open doors and car’s bodywork is a surface to be written on. Seat belts occupy the same place in peoples’ hearts as selfie-sticks should: a special place just for useless, slightly annoying inventions.
A man working in the dark, in a one square meter office, cashing in the ten cents it costs to use the public bathroom. He is underground, far from the sun, he has a broad smile. A woman working in a bus, helping people on and off, announcing every stop, ploughing through the loud advertisement playing on repeat. Conditions I would hope to survive in are conditions they seem to live, even thrive in. Great, deep inner strength I admire.
Welcome to a world where anything can be bought from south America's largest market. Fruit, clothes, guns, drugs, some say happiness. Welcome to a world of hidden nightlife. Down a flight of stairs from an unlit corners of the street, a cellar where alcohol flows and the bar is covered in white, pure, cheap snow. Imagine a nightclub full of moving, sweating, living bodies on the first floor, the second being dedicated to marking your body with ink and marking your night with a trip within your trip. How deep does the rabbit hole go?
A man stops a car on the side of the freeway, cars flying by. He calmly opens the trunk and gently gives a few sips of water to his small dog. Poverty, but no misery. Small flying meat landing and large dead meat laying on a market floor. Cholitas defying tradition and wining sport competitions; climbing, running with braids in the wind. Ancient men sit on the floor and babies do not cry. Drums and djembes, guitars and flutes played in the street. A twelve-year-old driving a motorcycle. Energy drinks. Gell-O. Coca-Coa monopoly. Out-of-order cash dispensers. Stolen bag, stolen book. Overprices for white gringos. Children following me to practice their English. Me slowing my pace to practice my Spanish. Change and exchange. Overwhelmed yet?
Traveling stretches normality to a point where it loses any sense of common meaning. The word is violated, deprived of its identity. It is morphed into a general term giving no information whatsoever on what it does or does not encompass. In a night bus, somewhere south of the equator, I discuss normality’s substitute, what is going to take over in a daily life I cannot anticipate. It is dark outside, it is dark inside, our voices are low and full of air. We discuss values, the compass that will guide our actions. It is not a topic to agree upon, and yet we find consensus: empathy, open-mindedness, integrity. Empathy to notice you may be having only glimpses of lives, but they are lives just as full and complicated as yours, not meant to be framed in an unconsented photograph. Open-mindedness to try and understand, with help of empathy, opinions and habits that challenge your own. Allow yourself to change, allow yourself to disagree. Integrity to act upon these learned lessons, assimilated bathing in the first two points.
Like a buffet-adept, I am once a protagonist, but I am also seven billion times a side character, nearly never mentioned. It is a humbling, intimidating, and reassuring thought. Everyone is tumbling down the rabbit hole. |
