Confessions of a stuttering white woman

Recent moments when I became scrambled:

1) Read a poem about race. For context: I am a white woman. This poem attempted to situate me within race. This poem was about political being personal, therefore, about my family. Slaveholders. Racists. Humans. Like me. Read to an audience of many people of color. I was scared. Realized the worst that could happen is that people thought I was a racist, bad lady. The worst that can happen to people of color speaking about race is much, much different (see Ferguson).

2) In an online forum a white lady wrote, "GURRRLLL" with the neck swivel & another white woman called her on it. A discussion on white privilege & language ensued. In the end, folks began donating to the PayPal accounts of the women of color who had spent so much time and energy educating. It was a payment, an energy exchange, an acknowledgment, a drink at the end of a long day.

3) I walked into a party where women were speaking Spanish. I introduced myself, discovering one woman was from El Salvador. Shared I'd been there and was robbed. In the course of conversation, shared that I'd lead two yoga retreats in Guatemala prior to the El Salvador visit. A look of, "You did what...?" As the opportunity presented, I offered that these retreats are in part an attempt to orient participants more firmly in the globe. Shift perspective, engage with parts of the world where the narrative is perhaps one dimensional. I was explaining with shuffling feet.

I want to draw conclusions here. I'd like to paint myself in a flattering light. Instead, I'm going to leave these right here.

Holiday in Cambodia, or, trying to be a white anti-racist ally

Travel is messed up.

Travel necessitates some type of transportation, which usually means using gas and hurting the environment. Then, what businesses do you support? How do they treat their workers? Their environment? What is the implication of your citizenship and level of access? Is that shared by those in your host community?

Yeah. And yet, travel can be absolutely illuminating. Travel can change consciousness and shift our realities. It can teach us greater levels of respect for humans and the environment. It can inspire within us dedication to justice and its realization.

Many people have asked me to develop a yoga retreat in the winter of 2015 to somewhere warm and not so far from the northeast of the US. I have been looking. Lordy, have I been looking. It's surprisingly complicated to find a place with a yoga space, the right accommodations, access to vegan food, and that doesn't require a ton of travel.

I found some promising leads in Vieques, Puerto Rico. And then I had to call some Puerto Rican friends and ask, is it right for me to go there? I was a part of the call to get the US military out of Vieques. There are still high levels of toxicity linked to cancer due to the military's experiments on the island. After conversations with friends, they felt it potentially could be a responsible act. The military stunted Vieques' economy. Tourism dollars, coupled with awareness of Vieques' history and current reality, could be beneficial.

I began concocting an experience including visiting the bioluminescent bay and inviting a Puerto Rican Independentista and former political prisoner to come speak to the group. And then I began calculating accommodations, transport to and from the local airport, and food. It would be nearly double what I charged in Guatemala, thereby cost-prohibitive to much of my community.

Accessible travel is important to me. I kept looking.

I found eco-cottages in St. Lucia that looked absolutely enchanting. Further research showed that while it would still be a little more costly than Guatemala (everything is) it would be more accessible for a larger demographic. I read on and discovered the site was a former plantation.

Seriously.

I checked in with a friend who recently returned from St. Lucia. Our conversation confirmed my sneaking suspicion. Tourism in the Caribbean generally means supporting a large multi-national resort where money is siphoned away from the local community and locals are largely exploited. Or, you can sometimes find small, locally-owned businesses, but many are located on former plantations.

Many of you followed the controversy earlier this year when Ani DiFranco cancelled a planned music retreat on a plantation outside of New Orleans. My friend, Clarissa, and I talked about our feelings over the Ani controversy. Clarissa largely felt sad because she felt like it was a missed opportunity for Ani, as a white woman, to model anti-racist solidarity. I also felt like Ani's defensive response was insensitive to the valid concerns of women of color and their allies.

And then I found a retreat center on a plantation in St. Lucia. WTF.

My first thought: you witnessed Ani's lack of awareness to the trigger of a plantation. Move along.

My second thought: why are so many plantations now restaurants and hotels?

I titled this piece, "Holiday in Cambodia," after the Dead Kennedy's song highlighting this behavior of white folk running all over and playing on beaches that were sites of massacres. In Cambodia, all tourists are invited to see the killing fields. While in Vietnam I talked to both Cambodians and tourists about this practice. Cambodians felt strongly that visiting the killing fields broadened awareness, provided history, and context. It kept alive both tragedy and accountability.

The tourists I spoke to were deeply affected and reverent.

I mentioned the St. Lucia plantation to a Jewish friend. "Yeah," she mused. "Former concentration camps are all museums. There's reverence in visiting these sites."

Old sugar-wheel on the grounds of the eco-retreat/former plantation

Granted, there are more plantations than concentration camps. But why have so many been converted into tourism spaces?

What do we do with these spaces of tragedy? I called Clarissa to talk this through. I explained that part of me wants to go and think through slavery's legacy. To do that responsibly, I think I would need guidance from and participation with an ally of color. But what does that mean for any participants of color? And a retreat implies some level of self-care. Would participants of color be able to feel safe there?

As Ani said, we all inhabit plenty of buildings and places with tragic histories that we don't know. But what about when we do know? When it's super obvious or we've done due diligence? Is there ever a way to inhabit that space respectfully?

The specific space I'm considering is owned by a German family who bought it in the 1960s. They've completed ecologically-sustainable renovations, created a diverse organic farm, and opened up partnerships with the surrounding community. From my research, it seems they've made space for neighbors to have farm plots, and share in other collaborative, community-driven enterprise. The owners are historians and speak openly about the land being inhabited first by Arawak Indigenous people before slaves and slave-owners.

No amount of community gardens erase this place's history as a plantation. Is there anything that can be done to make this space safe for people of color and allies? Who is this space meant for?

I'm genuinely interested in your comments below. I'm working to be clear, considered, respectful, and uplifting in my words. I ask for the same.

Clarissa urged me to write this piece to be transparent in processing as a white anti-racist ally. So often, I'm scared of being offensive or insensitive. I closet many processes for just that reason. She pointed out this tendency can be a disservice to other white allies on the same journey. Let's be open about these conversations and support each other in navigating responsibly.

With love, justice, healing, and accountability,
Maiga

Home is Somewhere

A bright red tuk tuk-- a three-wheel taxi-- roared down the steep Volcanic cliff and skirted past my ankles. As I hopped on the sidewalk a lazing dog lifted his head before resuming his nap. Some kids, definitely under 9 years of age, used a machete to open up coconuts at a fruit stand. Aromatic wood to cook dinner burned in my nostrils and blurred my view. My vision is conscious in San Marcos la Laguna, Guatemala. My eyes hungrily take in the sunset-steeped sky, the profile of trees along Volcan San Pedro, across blue, blue Lake Atitlan.

Guatemala becomes an adjective and an adverb. Guatemala knows itself. I know Guatemala. I know myself in Guatemala.

I start to think that Pennsauken, New Jersey, USA, the place I've chosen to call “home” is less self-aware. Suburban sprawl between Philadelphia and New York. Melting pot. Land paved over. Culture diluted by consumerism.

But that's crap too. Pennsauken knows itself. I know myself within it.

When I travel, especially to somewhere as sensory as San Marcos la Laguna, I'm wide open. I've set my email to vacation mode. There's a warning on my voice mail to not expect a quick call back. I'm off the grid and unavailable. I'm all in to wherever I am.

It's not that home is lesser than, it's that home is where I'm spread more thin.

This morning, work is canceled, a performance I'm supposed to give is probably rescheduled, and most on the northeast corridor of the US are hunkering down under a few more feet of snow. I'm catching up on work, planning yoga classes for the upcoming week, making playlists, and cleaning the house. My husband stood in front of the kitchen window doing dishes. I wrapped an arm around him and put my chin on his shoulder. As we looked out the window, the forsythia branches drooped under an inch of snow. The wet whiteness evened the landscape, while punctuating plant skeletons. If I decided to call this “foreign” or “travel” I would likely be enchanted.

Instead, I'm working to find mindfulness whether I deem my setting to be “home” or other.

An aspect of that mindfulness is consciously not answering every phone call and not feeling so obligated to respond to the email right this second (within twenty-four hours is reasonable). When I was freshly arrived in San Marcos la Laguna this last trip, I had a conversation about work-life balance. Part of this travel experience was work. In Guatemala, I offered two consecutive yoga retreats. I was working, but in a fabulous, sunny location with a lot of people who I love. In the course of the conversation, my companion shared that she no longer seeks “balance,” given that implies a static state. Instead, based on input from her teacher, she works to create “harmony.” Maybe it's semantics, but harmony to her meant an on-going rearranging, an continuous attentiveness to her well-being, her state, and her own well-being. I read it as mindfulness.

Anywhere in the world can be the site of our strife or it can be our haven. Home can be where the stress lives, or it can be sanctuary.

A few years ago I traveled throughout northern Spain with a friend. We were speaking at squats, community centers, and universities about political imprisonment in the United States. It was demanding work. I felt like I was on tour. Every morning, we woke in a different city. Every day, we traveled hours in a little van to our next destination. We arrived, spoke for a few hours, ate, and crashed in a new bed. The next day, we repeated the cycle.

My friend brought an iPod docking station. When we arrived in our room for the night she would play Stevie Wonder and pull mint tea packets from her purse. Something warm between our palms, fragrant mint aroma, and Stevie's familiar voice. I was so comforted by the little ritual and amazed at how quickly she found home. Because in this instance, when travel was work, home was relief. We sat and listened to the music and knew we could receive ease anywhere in the world. The whole world could be home. Home could be enchanting.

Viking Gods & Revolutionary Priests: Travel-sparked learning

The other day I readied to purchase flights to Guatemala for the retreats I'm leading this winter.  Kevin said, "why don't we stick around a bit?  Travel some the two of us?"  "Hmm..." I responded, "Belize?  El Salvador?  Elsewhere in Guatemala?  Mexico?  Honduras?"  "El Salvador," he answered decisively.

OK then.  Tickets are temporarily postponed.  Lonely Planet is ordered.  I'm excited to learn more about another corner of the world.

The first thing that came to mind is Liberation Theology.  Kevin worked with the Catholic Worker in Norfolk, VA as a teenager.  The beliefs and actions were highly influential to this young activist.  I'm increasingly interested in faith as the galvanizing force in social justice.  I feel like so much of my own social justice work stems from my evolving beliefs.  Liberation Theology is linked to beliefs of groups like the Catholic Worker.  It compelled many members of the Catholic Church to fight alongside the poor and disenfranchised in El Salvador and elsewhere in Latin America.  I've always been curious about this belief system, but also about it's history in the region.  I reached out to some friends I thought might be better versed in this field and they've sent me suggested readings.  I'm so excited to learn more about this movement where it was so influential.

This is one of my favorite aspects of travel-- immersive learning.  In Vietnam, I had a huge stack of novels and histories by Vietnamese authors, as well as works by those who lived in Vietnam and were affected by such a lush, rich space.  I can't wait to return, and look forward to reading Thich Nhat Hanh and others influenced by Vietnamese Buddhism & Animism.  In Argentina & Cuba I read memoirs of Che Guevara, histories, short stories, and epic poems.  Gauguin took on new depth after visiting Panama.  Travel is an opportunity to learn deeply.

I've also found that host community members are often grateful when they see a visitor reading and learning more about their host environment.  I'm preparing a yoga retreat in Iceland & becoming better versed in the rich literary history of this island.  There are Viking epics and novels and poems that are referenced in daily conversation.  It seems to me that an experience would be limited if those sweeping landscapes weren't partly back-drops to these age-old stories.  I can't wait to become better versed in this canon.

Out of respect for other humans, for spaces, and experiences, I want to learn world histories, stories, songs, and graphic depictions.  There's only so much any of us can digest in any moment, but that's why I'm thankful for building in annual international travel.  Every trip, another opportunity.

Chichicastenango

I realized that in accounting for my time in Guatemala I made a huge omission: the market at Chichicastenango.  I had read that this is one of the most exciting markets in all of Central America, but wasn't sure if I'd have time to get there on a market day.  When Kevin & I decided on an extended stay in San Marcos, on Lake Atitlan, we learned that Chichi was an easy day trip.  The next market day was the day after my birthday.  Sweet!

We loaded into a van on a Sunday morning to wind through the mountains northwest towards Chichi.

The market is as wild as promised.  Not only is it vibrant and fun, but the shopping is fantastic!  Well, it's fantastic if, like me, you adore the rich, bright, hand-sewn tapestries famously made in this region of Guatemala.  I first sat in a cafe for a hearty plate of huevos rancheros and strong, dark coffee.  After I was properly fortified, it was on.  I had birthday money in my pocket, knew my budget, & was in bargain-mode. Thankfully, there is an ATM in Chichi!

Vendors expect you to haggle.  You always want to be fair, but firm.  Kevin & I established before-hand that we would walk away before committing to any purchase.  That way we could clear the air and ensure every decision was considered.  I became so addicted to bargaining it became hard to turn off!  The following day we got into a taxi & I tried to negotiate the fare!

There are some aggressive sales people in Chichi.  There are also children asking for money.  Poverty is always hard to bear.  I try to be human, generous, and safety-conscious when I'm in a new community encountering requests for money or resources.  I have no hard and fast answers on how to handle these situations.  I usually just weigh safety.  Obviously, if someone is asking for money, they are concerned for their own welfare.  If it seems safe to take out money and share with them, I will.  If, by taking out money I open myself up to an onslaught of requests-- or demands-- and potentially endanger myself, I usually acknowledge the human making the request but keep moving.  This never feels good because it's not an answer to poverty, or access, or any of the issues that arise in this encounter.  However, it's the best I can come up with at this time.  I also investigate organizations doing good work in the local community to see if they have guidelines on these situations or if I can support the group's work.

If it gets overwhelming, I suggest ducking into one of the second story restaurants.  Look up-- you'll see them!  From there, you can watch the crowds of the market with a bit of a buffer.  A calming cup of coffee can steady you to return to the teeming maze.

 The rooster-est rooster.

Hard to find, tucked behind the kiosk stalls, is this lovely mural depicting a Mayan understanding of the dawn of Creation.

If you have the opportunity, I highly reccomend spending a day at Chichi.  Smell the incense and roasting food, haggle with vendors, purchase beautiful handicrafts, sip a coffee as you watch it all unfold.

Journey with books

We've tried a lot of approaches to transporting books.  We love to support libraries, so we have traveled with library books.  I know, not advised.  Kevin got a kindle specifically for travel, but as I wrote before, it broke a week into our Guatemalan adventure.  Kindle was responsive once we were home & at a stable address, but we were moving around too much within Guatemala to have received a replacement device.  Not so helpful.  Ultimately, we've found it's easiest to purchase used books & leave them at hostals & community centers once we've finished the read.  Good karma.

I don't have all my reading lists, but a few.  Most guidebooks offer some suggested reading.  Also, check out http://www.worldcat.org/ to search books related to your travel destination.

I no longer have my reading list for trips prior to Guatemala, but I do remember reading Confessions of an Economic Hitman & Graham Greene in Panama.

We took the following to Guatemala (pay attention 2014 retreat participants!):

Secrets of the Talking Jaguar by Martin Prechtel
Bitter Fruit by Schlesinger & Kinzer
I, Rigoberta Menchu by Rigoberta Menchu
Men of Maize by Miguel Asturias
The Open Veins of Latin America by Eduardo Galeano

A selection from Vietnam:

Paradise of the Blind by Duong Thu Huong
Shadows and Wind by Robert Templer
Buffalo Afternoon by Susan Fromberg
Dispatches by Michael Herr
A People's History of the Vietnam War by Jonathan Neale
A Wavering Grace by Gavin Young

I found Shadows and Wind dry-- it's a collection of essays on Vietnamese cultural, political, and economic life.  Compelling subject matter but a poor telling.  Buffalo Afternoon & Paradise of the Blind stand out in that grouping, but then again, I love a good novel!

Ecuador & the Galapagos:

Galapagos by Kurt Vonnegut
Savages by Joe Kane
Living Poor by Moritz Thomsen
Darwin in Galapagos by Grant and Estes
The Mapmaker's Wife by Robert Whitaker

I would only recommend Living Poor if you head to the Ecuadorian coast.  It's interesting to watch the author's evolving thinking about US-Ecuadorian relationships, but I cringed some on the journey.  If you travel in the Ecuadorian Amazon I think Savages should be required reading.  Don't be thrown off the title-- it questions whether or not that word applies to foreign companies ravaging the rain forest.  Written by a NY Times correspondent it's even-handed and informative.

If you travel from Guayaquil to the Galapagos do what I did & read Vonnegut's Galapagos en route.  The experience truly freaked me out.  Once in the Galapagos we read Darwin in the Galapagos for context.  Good scientific content, but not the best writing.  Floreana was a surprisingly fun account of a German woman who moved to the (almost) uninhabited Galapagos island of Floreana early in the 20th century.  The memoir certainly enriched our visit to said island!

Heading back to the mainland we picked up The Mapmaker's Wife.  The jacket reads like a bodice-ripper, but this is another journalist telling of an historic event, the journey of mapmaker's to measure location of the equator.  If you're a scientist, I'd imagine you'd finding the telling substantive & the history interesting.  Thankfully for the rest of us, there's also love & intrigue to keep us page-turning.

Kevin bought State of Wonder by Anne Patchett on his Kindle while we were away.  I read the book on flights home.  It's set largely in Brazil but delves deep into the Amazon.  The Amazon is surprisingly distinct, depending on where you visit, but doesn't know borders.  After having skirted the border near Tena, the imagery was rich in my mind.  The story is gripping and poses serious moral questions I continue to consider.

Belize:

The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman
Satsun by Dr. Rosita Arvigo

All good trips require good books.

San Marcos La Laguna

Years ago, my friend Monica suggested I become penpals with her mother, Clementina, to improve my Spanish.  Clementina sent me a postcard from Lake Atitlan, explaining its sacred significance to local Indigenous Mayan Kakchiquel.  I put the postcard on the refrigerator wistfully.  It was so unbelievably beautiful.  I didn't think I would ever see it in person.  It struck me how many awesome sights the earth holds.  How few of them have reached my awareness.  How few of them any of us experience.

One morning in Antigua, Kevin & I boarded a collectivo to Panajachel.  We were headed to the sacred waters of Atitlan.

Disembarking, I pinched myself.  I was seeing Atitlan!  I was there.

Panajachel is the first lake point from Antigua & Guatemala City.  As such, it's pretty developed, touristy, & sometimes seedy.  I knew we weren't going to stay there.  Tons of towns dot the lake's shores.  I'd read about a few of them.  I'd thought we would head to San Pedro, which is described as quieter than the larger Pana.  While in Tikal fellow travelers suggested we head to San Marcos.  I referred to my dog-eared Lonely Planet.  There was a short one paragraph description of little San Marcos.  This is why getting reccomendations on the road is essential.  In Pana we boarded a water taxi to San Marcos.

People kept asking us if we were riding chicken buses while in Guatemala.  We never did ride a chicken bus, but we did ride a few chicken boats.  The sweet grandmother next to me had a woven basket on her lap housing three quiet, clucking chickens.  She had a soft cloth napkin loosely over their heads.  

San Marcos is impossibly beautiful.  We did take water taxis to a few other towns dotting Atitlan.  None of them compared to the shifting light & depth of color found at San Marcos.  I don't know what composite has created the magic of San Marcos, but this place is indeed magic.

We were met at the dock by aggressive kids who wanted to tote our luggage for a fee.  I'm big on getting my bearings in a new place.  Firmly, respectfully, we declined all offers while making our way through the small footpaths to Aaculaax, the hotel our friends had suggested.

We love San Marcos.  We love Aaculaax.  So much, that of all the places I've visited I'm planning my first yoga retreat to this location.  I want to bring people I love to this majestic place.

Most days in San Marcos we woke early for a big beautiful & locally grown breakfast.

We walked to a good spot where we could lay, read, swim, & be sun-baked lizards.

At night we went to one of the wonderful restaurants.  Sometimes we caught some live music or a volleyball game.  We watched views like this:

On my birthday we hired a guide to take us on a hike to Jaibalito.

We stopped for lunch.  There was a pool you could use if you bought lunch.  I really love Guatemala.

My birthday is February 12.  Two days later, we decided to take a Valentine's Day hike up La Nariz de Indio.  We first took a water taxi to San Juan, where we could visit a women's weaving cooperative.

We still needed to get to Santa Clara, much further up steep mountains, to reach La Nariz. We asked about a chicken bus & were told that it may come but who knew when?  It would take awhile to get up the mountain due to stops.  We hired a tuk tuk.  It broke down en route.

Our resourceful driver worked it out.  Santa Clara is a small town on top of one of the mountains surrounding Atitlan.  There were beautiful farms and a small school.  This is very much a town where people live and work.  We found the trail head and began weaving up the summit.

OK, see that rickety fort at the summit?  When we arrived an entire class of school children also scampered up.  They had one or two mild & quiet teachers.  The kids all had machetes, the girls carried HUGE pots of beans on their heads, & apparently they were all part billy goat.  These trails are steep.  The summit is not large & obviously there are no guardrails.  The kids thought we were the best entertainment yet.  Apparently, Kevin reminded them of a Guatemalan cartoon character named "Mr. Pancho."  Plus, it was Valentine's Day.  They kept goading Mr. Pancho to kiss me.  They formed a line to take turns sitting on the one bench next to us.  It was really sweet, but because the falls were so steep I was truly scared that one of those kids would cause me to lose my balance & plummet off the cliff.  I asked Kevin to begin descending with me before the kids had finished lunch, so we wouldn't have to play tag with them while desperately staying connected to the trail.

Of course, as soon as we began moving they wrapped it up.  Next thing you know, a steady stream of mountain goat-children began racing past us. At least it was over quickly.  Those kids were impressive!

We passed this guy as we approached the trail head.  Huh.  It was late afternoon and there wasn't a bus in sight.  We had to somehow descend this mountain & get back to San Marcos before nightfall.  There weren't any taxis nor tuk tuks.  We began walking down the switch-back highway.  Rounding a curve a big open-bed truck filled with people stopped & offered us a ride for about $.10 each.  With few options we paid our fare & were aided by other passengers onto the standing room only truck bed.  Kevin wedged his feet on the bumper-- it was that packed.  As the truck gained speed around the curves I kept a steady mantra of "these people do this daily.  They're all still alive."  When I could breathe, watch the quickly passing views, & smile, it was actually fun!  We disembarked in a town near San Marcos.  Thankfully, this town was big enough where securing a taxi ride back to San Marcos was simple to find and negotiate.

Some say that certain places, times, or people have a special energy.  My travels make me a believer.  There's something in San Marcos that is special.  There's a quiet vibration and sweetness that make me want to honor & cherish it.  I met so many interesting people involved in great projects like barefoot acupuncture, building rocket stoves, creating composting systems to avoid lake pollution, building with trash since there's no government trash removal, making yoga accessible, or creating art through repurposed materials.

Dive in.

Antigua

We booked a van to drive us five hours through the mountainous jungle (or did we decide on jungly mountain?) to Antigua.  Oh Antigua.  A hot shower.  A soft(er) bed.  Promises of tamales, fresh brewed coffee*, and internet access!

*Remember, most coffee producing regions export their coffee.  Unfortunately, most Guatemalans are only able to afford instant coffee.  Likewise, in Cuba I only tasted grade B fruit.  The good stuff was sold for juice production.

I've studied abroad in Argentina & Cuba & traveled in the Dominican Republic, Uruguay, Mexico, Costa Rica, & Panama.  If I were to enroll in a Spanish language immersion abroad I would go to Antigua.  The Guatemalan accent is so much easier to understand!  (Dear Lord, learning Spanish in the Caribbean is rough!)  Antigua has created a really navigable system of homestays, tutors, & classes.  There are enough tourists so you're less likely to be homesick, but few enough where you have to use Spanish 90% of the time.  Big endorsement!

 The mountains and volcanoes surrounding Antigua offer a slew of adventures.  Antigua is an enchanting base.  Check out Old Town Outfitters-- they're more expensive, but by far the best operator in town.

 From Antigua you can easily book a van to take you just about anywhere. Beaches in Belize or El Salvador sound interesting?  In 2011 it cost about $12 for transport.

Get it?

Jump!

I'd like to interrupt these travel reflections with something that gives me endless glee:

Kevin jumping into bodies of water.

Behold!

Semuc Champey.  This rope swing subsequently broke. (In all fairness, it had lived a good & long life.)

A bit blurry, but A for effort!

That crabber found the gringoes to be awfully amusing.  These are from San Marcos, Atitlan.

Switching gears to north-eastern Vietnam, near the Chinese border.

That German Shepherd found the event to be terribly unexpected & exciting.

Back to the Western Hemisphere, from the Kuna Yala, off the coast of Panama approaching Columbia.

Moving south to just outside of Tena, Ecuador, & into the Amazon.

 Unfortunately the shot is dark, but Kevin is standing about 30 feet up on a rain-slicked, mossy, stone ledge. Swifts circled overhead as light drifted down through the ferns.

 And... he made it.

 Like a maniac, he followed the foot-holds of some local Galapagos teens to find another jump, this time in Las Grietas on Santa Cruz island in the Galapagos.

 Gringooooo!

Lived to tell the tale.

I think the enthusiasm sells it.

Lake Crescent, Washington June 2009