I looked down from the sky and saw a city carved into the hillside. It reminded me of art class when  you made the mold for a print.  You would have to use that screwdriver-esque tool to etch the design into a mold.  From above, I saw a beautiful mold of a city carved into the towering lush green mountsides.  I felt like I was sneaking into a forbidden place.  I was excited, yet scared of how ppl would react to my alien appearance.  There was no denying that rush of blood, adrenaline and curiosity that you feel everywhere.

 When I finally got to the ground I saw a bustling city with cars, buses, and people!   There are people. Lots of people. Everywhere!  Feeling embarassed I tried to rid my mind of the image I created of the place I thought I was going.  I was thinking villages, poverty. despair. I felt like I needed to shower to rid myself of these thoughts.  After leaving the airport I immediately realize that I am in a much different place.  You don’t necessarily see it, but you feel that sixth sense kick in.  This is the first time I’ve felt relaxed in many months.  I’m in a place that has not yet been completely swallowed by our way of life.

Driving away from the airport I see that things are so different here.  Chaos. Diesel. Black Smoke.  I’m driving down a busy road in small cab.  It’s actually very small and the driver uses every spare inch of that cab to dart and weave through traffic.  I don’t know how he does it because I cannot see. God, I’m choking on this thick black smoke. It feels like breathing through a wet handkerchief.  The buses are spewing this toxic smoke.  It feels like I’ve stepped back into the industrial revolution.  I look around and immediately realize I’ve never been in a place like this.  I see faces that show hard work and years of struggle.  I immediately realize that this is not an easy place to live for many. 

 I get to my destination and realize that everything in this world is all so relative.  We think of luxury in terms of cars, delicacies and stars. I’m in a place that looks at luxuries as a solid house with a roof. Running water. Electricity.  I feel like I have forsaken it all for so many years.  I’ve been living a life of luxury and did not even know it.  These people would give anything for that.  I see mothers with children. Many children.  There is something very different about this scene though.  The child is not an object or show piece, but an extension of the mother.  The face and expression of this scene creates a vivid memory for me.  Similiar to the way a black and white photograph of an old man burns the memory.  You think that the photograph could be you someday. But you deny it and keep living. 

The food is very cheap and perhaps the most delicious I have ever tasted.  It is everywhere. I have never seen so much food in my life.  Street corners, cafes, markets.  It is all very fresh and homemade.  Where did it all go wrong? Whatever happened to this food.  This is the food I’ve been craving my whole life.  It isn’t reheated or processed into other forms, but made whole. Made with love.  As I eat I take a panorama shot in my head of what surrounds me.  I still don’t feel completely right being in this place.  I’m the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, but is awkwardly pressed into the necessary shape.  I haven’t earned the right to be here.  I see individuals on the streets selling gum, toilet paper, candy.  Their eyes are screaming louder than any voice I’ve ever heard in my life.  It’s like when the siren of a fire engine wakes you in the night.  You wonder what has happened to that poor person.  Maybe they will be on the morning news.  Then you go back to bed and forget it all.  I feel these people are doing anything they can do to survive. No infomercials or weightloss ads. Life is life. There is no time for pity or excuses.  They aren’t asking me for money.  They are trying to sell me items. They are asking me to take what they have so they can live another day. Feed their children. Everytime I have an encounter of this nature I feel that the person is floating off into space, while my arms remain by my side. 

I can tell that life is simple here.  Yet, I feel an undercurrent of unwelcomed change enveloping the city.  This change has distinctly magnified the position of the haves and have nots.  I’ve seen this back home, except that we can more easily ignore it there.  It’s just the homeless, downtrodden or mentally ill where I come from.  Here it is the people and their way of life.  It doesn’t take me long to realize that this is an amazing place. The culture, and people are incredibly vibrant.  Museums and culture are on display everywhere that represent a  rich cultural heritage.  The people I see are an extension of this cultural heritage.  It’s easy to tell that almost everyone in the town has a craft, talent or skill that puts food on their tables.  I see hope and life everywhere.  People of very strong beliefs and faith.  People are praying everywhere and not just in the pews or at the altar.  I can see it.  When I walk by someone I can feel it.  This place is truly magnetizing and eye opening for me.  The passion of the people is something indescribable.  Soccer is love here.

When it rains I feel something that is new and strange to me.  Perhaps, it is just all the green countryside and towering mountains that surround me, but I swear something is different.  The rain here is heavy. Very heavy.  I feel bathtubs full of water are being dumped upon me.  It is one of the most cleansing feels I’ve ever experienced.  Maybe I’m just letting go of it all for a few moments, but the rain feels so welcoming to my skin.  Like a mother hugs a child close to her warm skin.  I couldn’t think of anything else I’d rather being doing, but living in that moment.  Rain brings ppl together.  Strangers caught in the rain share a smile or at least moment when the awkwardness of artificial conversation flows natural.

I travel to a point that overlooks the city.  It is truly amazing, although thunder is beginning to rumble, like a mother warning a child to be on time for dinner.  I feel like I am being warned from above.  The hill I stand on is separated from the city.  I cannot find transportation back down, so I make a move to descend the hill back into the city.  As I begin my descent I realize my path is taking me through a territory that may not look kindly upon strange faces.  I see corrugated tin roofs and animals.  Shelter and food.  My thoughts wrestle in my mind for what seems like an eternity.  Suddenly, I get this very sharp gut instinct to return back to the top of the hill and find transportation to the city.  These are the most lucid moments of life.  I felt that if I continued down the hill through this area something bad would happen.  Yet, I continued and the feeling became stronger.  I knew I would regret it if I continued.  Sometimes in life we still continue in these moments and wonder why bad things happen.  We always ask ourselves why we didn’t trust our gut instincts.  Realize that everything has a 50/50 chance of happening or not happening.  Readjust those odds to fit your current situation.

I made it back up the hill to find a security guard who offered to call me a cab. God, my spanish skills are awful.  Researchers say that communications skills are learned, but I’m not so sure.  I feel like my conversations about ppl’s lives, the weather and dogs are surface level.  It reminds me of something you would say to your boss.  Worst thing I feel ppl here see through this fake conversation more than I will ever realize.  I feel ashamed when someone can speak English, yet I can barely communicate in their language.  At least enough to handle a normal conversation.  The cab arrives and I jump in.  The driver appears to be younger, so I try to communicate with him. I ask what he likes to do and he looks at me confused.  I’ve failed miserably again at this communication. Small talk powers the world and I’m struggling at this.  The driver has an appearance like he got pulled away from something important, like a seat at the poker or dinner table.  Water is everywhere.  Rivers are running in the streets.  I’ve never seen this much water in my life.  For a moment the awkwardness between the driver and I is subsumed by this heavy liquid spilling from the sky.  Cars are everywhere. Lots of cars.  Thank god the rain is watering down the thick, black diesel smoke.  I can breathe again.  After messing up the directions and arriving at the wrong location I ask the driver to take me somewhere else.  He gives me a strong look, before I reach into my pocket and jingle around some coins. 

Finally, I arrive at my destination.  It is still raining and my clothes are beginning to stick to my skin.  I can’t wait to get home and peel off the layers of clothing, like the deconstruction of a paper mache sculpture, yet to dry. I need coffee. Strong coffee.  Coffee that tastes like what coffee is supposed to taste like.  How can we drink what we call coffee back home. The flavored liquid.  Back home we add high fructose to everything. We take dishes and add too much salt and say its for taste.  What is wrong with us.  The coffee picks me up, like a wounded soldier on the battlefield.  My umbrella’s exposed metallic tentacles could easily support this theory.  Oh No. Please say this isn’t happening.  Don’t panic.  I just realized I lost my wallet. Where is it? Who Stole it? Why me.  You think and ponder in these situations.  You blame.  Usually it is the easiest of targets you aim for first.  Then it hits you.  You remember.  It hits me that my wallet was on my lap and likely fell out in the cab.  In the rain.  Surely, it’s gone by now. It has to be.  That’s the world we live in.  I once lost my wallet back home when it slipped out of my shorts.  I wanted to cry.  I was about to call my bank and credit card companies.  Then an officer called me to tell me someone turned in my wallet.  My jaw bounced off the floor.  It had only been 20 minutes! Some kind soul found my wallet and turned it into the police station in that small time frame. This person did not even leave their name for me to thank them.  I was killed by kindness that day. I had to do something to make up for that kind act. Instant Karma. 

However, would there be any chance of me finding my lost wallet again, in a foreign country?!  Luckily, I was calm after the initial rush of adrenaline because I had prepared for such a situation.  I slowly finished my coffee in the street side cafe waiting for the rain to go to sleep for the evening.  As the drizzle died out I made my way for the bus station.  I had no idea how to get ahold of the cab.  I suppose I could hike back up to the hill miles away and talk to the security guard that phoned it for me.  Then again it was only a wallet.   As I walked back down the street I see a small black object in the gutter.  I squint my eyes to make up for the droplets of rain wet and dried stuck to my black frame glasses.  People are walking by the object cars have likely hit it.  I realize that the object is my wallet.  I dart through traffic to grab it fearing that someone will see it first.  A sudden weight is lifted off my shoulders.  Thousands of elephants scamper home dissappointed with this turn of events.  I feel that my trip has suddenly been redeemed, in danger of being tarnished by a wallet.  We are told not to trust strangers and guard our objects with care.  Yet, sometimes I think this shield may obstruct our vision to the whole story. Sometimes on the news between a traffic accident and the sports highlights you will catch such a story.

I did not climb a cliff face, but I did what I needed to do to get my life back in order.  I did not solve any problems in my life through traveling, but just ignored them for a short while.  Distractions and interruptions to the normal flow and chaos of life could be rather illuminating.  I doubt if I went back it would be the same.  A famous greek philosopher once wrote that you can’t step in the same river twice. This is the same way I feel about my trip.  Although, I can’t step into the river again I will be able to remember the sight, feel and taste of life in the present moment. To make this happen you have to be fine with the feeling of losing your wallet. Your identity.  When I lost my wallet I came to grips with the fact that life would go on and it did.  Now that my wallet is back, so is the life it brings.