I arrive by bus to Tupiza, Boliva at about 3:30 in the afternoon from Potosi.  I´ve only been here a few hours and have already fallen in love with this city.  Nestled in a small flat, surrounded by mountains, it´s a quite city but still seems to maintain a vibrant feel as the locals are bustling around and the many local teenagers are chatting and laughing among themselves along the streets.

The poverty stricken houses normally found surrounding other larger Bolivian cities are no where to be seen from my view atop of the small mountain I decided to  climb. From my vantage I see a city thatbenefits from tourism, but isn´t overrun by it.  It´s a pleasant equilibrium that is a first for the cities I´ve so far visited.

The warm wind blows gently as I watch the sun setting over the horizon of distant mountains.  Clean air fills my lungs with each relaxed breath, a sense of tranquility falling over me.  The sound of children playing soccer in the streets and dogs barking along whispers up the mountain from far below me.  I sit down and face the sun as it slides behind another mountain.

I eventually get up and slowly trek down the back side of the mountain.  A small garbage dump is at the base where I´m descending and I see a mother and her son in it, combing through the refuse, looking for what I can only guess will be something to sell or recycle for a few cents.  It pains me to see this. Every time I have to drive through the shanty towns of cities it depresses me.  It´s an all too common reality here in Bolivia, and obviously everywhere in the world. The advantage that so many of us have in our first world countries becomes glaringly apparent.

At this moment though it´s too much for me. The mother is sitting on the ground with worn plastic containers around her, examining the different objects she sees around her, occasionally calling out to her son to bring her what he is finding. I go into my wallet, find a $100 bolivian bill ($1CAD = $6.7Bolivians) and clamber over a few piles of garbage, avoiding the dog shit that litters the ground. Getting the mother´s attention, I hold out the bill and tell her inspanish that it´s for her.  Her worn and tired eyes look up at me as she takes the note and looks at it.  She seem confused at first and then her eyes light up as she realizes what she´s holding. She thanks me many times and we smile at each other as I walk away.  I only hope it will help make a difference in her and her son´s life, if only just for a few weeks. It´s hard to escape the reality of people´s situations even in such a seemingly perfect city.

I stroll back into town, passing more kids playing soccer in the streets and families walking around enjoying the evening. One small child wears aspider-man mask and runs around his parents making his own sound effects, we all laugh together at his antics as I pass by.

Losing myself in the streets I realize this is definitely a place I could definitely stay for days or even weeks.  It´s too bad I have my flight out already from Buenos Aires on the 17th.  My god it´s fast approaching.  At least I still have a few more days here, horseback riding in the mountains tomorrow and a 4 day tour of the salt flats the day after. Ahhh the traveling life is hard

I lazily walk past the small, covered trucha kiosks that line the Lake Titicaca beach front in the tiny town of Copacobana, Bolivia. Without fail, each owner beckons me to come and sit with a look of hope (not desperation) in their sun worn eyes. They each seem to be run by one family, with the mother outside trying to bring in patrons, the father in the back cooking and the kids either playing along the beach or helping their parents.

I chose the ninth covered kiosk, aptly numbered Kiosk #9 and the mother at the entrance beams with pride as I settle in to one of the red plastic seats and look over the menu (which is the same as kiosks 1-8 and 10-20). She says some soft words to her daughter who then comes over to wait for my order.

The small girl giggles as she takes my order of trucha a la mantequille and un servesa. When I ask how much the beer is she replies with a giant ear-to-ear grin that the servesa is $8Bs ($1.15cad) and then brings it out with a small glass to pour it into. I can hear the fish, caught fresh today in the lake, frying in the pan just behind the counter as the aroma pleasantly fills the air.

After a little while and half a beer later the succulent food is laid before me on the table by the smiling father, who goes then to the front to join his wife and chat.

The flesh of the fish nearly melts off as I take a piece and put it into my watering mouth. “Esta muy rico!!” I exclaim to them as I realize this is probably the best trout I’ve ever had. “Gracias!” replies the father.

The little girl walks by with a grin as I take another sip of my servesa, lean back in my chair contently and happily return the smile.

Just did a photo journal thing on facebook so follow this link to check it out!

“Why are you doing this?” my grandfather asks of me. “You have a good job, you save money, you buy house, find good girl, get married and have children. This is what you do, not this quit work and fly to South America.” I smile and laugh as he asks this of me and then questions everyone in my family as to why they are letting me do this crazy thing.

To me, our experiences define us. Our memories are who we are and shape us into the people we become. It’s these memories that slow down our illusion of time. It’s about looking back on the previous years and not thinking “Damn, where did those years go?” but rather knowing exactly where they went with vivid clarity and a large database of pictures.

You don’t need to travel the world to do it (just the avenue I chose), it’s about just doing anything worth that precious space in your mind. It can be playing soccer with your kid in the backyard, taking a chance on a new restaurant or driving out to the lake, opening up a bottle of wine with someone special and giggling endlessly while bouncing up and down on a teeter-totter.

It’s not that I wasn’t enjoying work because I certainly was. The friends I made there will last a life time and the hilarious times we all had and millions of never dying inside jokes will stay with me forever, but what more the world can offer?   What do you feel gazing over the ancient Incan ruins of Machu Pichu as the sun creeps over the mountain horizon? How much work is required to live on an organic farm in New Zealand? What stories from far away places can a new friend share over a beer in Vietnam?

How could I ever know without trying? Life is about experiences that create pleasurable memories upon reflection, and if they’re not pleasant memories then you use the memories to know what to avoid or to learn from and turn a potential bad experiance into a good one.

Sure I could stay at work and still be happy, but the vast number of experiences I could get from travelling around the world is incredible. How can I possibly not do it when I follow this philosophy?

Life is fleeting, the world is continually changing and if right now I’m able to do this I really feel I should. It’s scary as hell especially when I haven’t done the planning or research I normally do to make major decisions, but that’s also part of the excitement of it. It’s pushing my own boundaries and expanding my own capabilities. It’s forcing me to grow in ways I can’t yet imagine.

As I write this on the bus to the airport, I think of everyone I’m leaving behind. My friends, my family, the people I love. My eyes water knowing I won’t see them all for a while. Will they all still be the same people when I return? Who will change, who will be the same? How will I have changed to them?

I don’t know the answers, but I’m dammed excited to find out

My bags are packed, my adrenaline is pumping and time is running short.  To the Robert Q (that’s who) I go!

See you all on the other side =D

Carpe diem friends, carpe diem!