Is there such a thing as one raby? I think I have at least two.

There’s really nothing quite like the experience of being very sick (or potentially very sick) in a foreign country. Like if you think you might have rabies, for example. I recently had such an experience in Vietnam. I visited an island in the very picturesque Ha Long Bay called Monkey Island. What no one told … Continue reading Is there such a thing as one raby? I think I have at least two.

The Inscrutable World of Buddhism

I raised the stick high and tried to look threatening. Dogs can smell fear, an unidentified person whispers to me from the dark recesses of my memory. Maybe it was true. But what about the geese? I’ve heard they’re vicious. I was so close to my destination - a meditation center where I would be … Continue reading The Inscrutable World of Buddhism

Thank you Mother Ayahuasca, for the peek under the hood

“There’s got to be a better way,” I thought to myself as I carried the fifth bucket of water to the raging fire out in the parched yucca fields. The Shipibo locals were hurried but surprisingly relaxed about the situation, accustomed as they were to renegade fires while burning the fields for crop rotation; but … Continue reading Thank you Mother Ayahuasca, for the peek under the hood

This is not the story I meant to write, but it’s the one that needed to be written.

On the hard clay shore of the Río Villano in the Ecuadorian Amazon, me and another volunteer jump around, shaking our limbs and wiggling our bodies to keep the tiny biting flies, known as chuspies, from leaving more angry red welts on our skin. We have also partially covered ourselves in the clay upon which … Continue reading This is not the story I meant to write, but it’s the one that needed to be written.

Evidence of foul play on a Thursday morning.

Chichicastenango, Guatemala. Thursday morning, market day. 9:31AM. I wake up on the tiny couch and stretch my cramped muscles. Most of the woolly blankets I had piled on the night before are now bunched up on the floor next to my overflowing backpack. I often marvel at how much it resembles a drunkard, vomiting up … Continue reading Evidence of foul play on a Thursday morning.