Skip Hunt's Banal Musings :-)

SEATTLE (KUSA/WTVO) — Diagnosed with coronavirus after an outbreak at her nursing home, 90-year-old Geneva Wood has made a remarkable full recovery.

Wood was healthy and living on her own when she suffered a stroke just after Christmas, and was recovering in a nursing home when it went into lockdown due to an outbreak just days before her release date.

Wood was diagnosed with COVID-19 a week later.

Her daughter, Cami Neidigh, says the prognosis wasn’t good. “Her lungs were filling up with fluid and they thought she wouldn’t last 24 hours,” she says. But after her family visited to say their final goodbyes and dropped off her favorite potato soup, Geneva started showing signs of improvement.

Last week, her test came back negative. Her family says she’s still not symptom-free, but she keeps improving.

“When she had that major stroke, we thought we were going to lose her. She’s come close to death and she rallies back, and that’s my mom,” Neidigh says.

Looking back at the timeline, Cami thinks her mom may have had coronavirus much earlier than first thought. February 18, she developed pneumonia, and now she thinks that may have been the first sign of trouble.

According to a report from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, as of March 9, they’ve confirmed 129 cases of COVID-19 at Wood’s nursing home, including 81 residents, 34 staff members and healthcare personnel, and 14 visitors.

A 103-year-old woman in Iran has recovered after being infected with the new coronavirus, state media reported, despite overwhelming evidence the elderly are most at risk from the disease.

The unnamed woman had been hospitalised in the central city of Semnan for about a week, IRNA news agency said.

But she was "discharged after making a complete recovery", Semnan University of Medical Sciences head Navid Danayi was quoted as saying by IRNA late Tuesday.

The woman was the second elderly patient in Iran to have survived the disease.

The other was a 91-year-old man from Kerman, in the southeast of Iran, the news agency said.

After being sick for three days, he recovered on Monday despite having pre-existing medical conditions including high blood pressure and asthma, it added.

The report did not say how the pair were treated.

Since Iran announced its first deaths on February 19, the novel coronavirus has spread to all of the country's 31 provinces and killed nearly 1,000 people.

The elderly are the most vulnerable to the disease, which first emerged in China late last year.

The World Health Organization this month estimated the novel coronavirus kills 3.4 percent of all those infected.

But for people aged over 80 the fatality rate was 21.9 percent, according to a report the WHO carried out with the Chinese authorities.

68-year-old Tom Panocha was the first person in the U.S. to contract the coronavirus from person-to-person transmission.

There’s so much terrifying coronavirus covid-19 reporting, I wanted to find some of the stories of those who’ve been infected, but then completely recovered. As I find their stories, I’ll add them as posts in this blog. Don’t wait for the government to tell you to lock down. This deadly game of whack-a-virus is only going to get under control if we can stop the transmission as much as possible. Stay vigilant my friends! #FlattenTheCurve #SocialDistancing

Schneider was spending time with friends at a cocktail party on February 22. The following week, she and others from the party felt sick.

“There were about 30 of us at the party,” explained Schneider. “I woke up and took my temperature -- it was 101 degrees. And by the evening, before bed, it was 103 degrees, which is quite high. And honestly, the highest that I've experienced recently in my adult life.”

Schneider said she signed up to get tested through the Seattle Flu Study and her results came back positive for coronavirus.

“As of today, it's been 14 days since the onset of my symptoms," she said on Tuesday.

Schneider said she’ll continue to take precautions when heading out in public.

“I am going to be a little more cautious about going into big groups with people, you know, physically, people. But at the same time, you know, I'm not gonna be able to live for the rest of my life over the next, you know, three months, like, in a hazmat suit or anything like that," said Schneider.

She shared her story on Facebook, where it had nearly 50,000 interactions. 

Some Facebook users posed questions to Schneider: “Have you gotten the flu shot? How did you get tested? How do you get confirmation?”

The place I’ve stayed in Merida is called Casa Bowen. It’s this sort of beautiful, but crumbling old place that I’m guessing used to be a residence. I’ll attach 6 more photos of this odd place at the end of this post, to show what I mean. It’s clean, reasonably comfortable, and definitely a bit eerie… but in a creepy good way. ;) 

Can’t remember when I first stayed there. Must be coming up on at least 15 years ago, likely more. And, it’s still pretty much the same as it was back then… just a bit more broken down with some patchwork done to keep it mostly rentable. 

Back then there was this burly Mexican man who was kind of suave with a deep gravely voice. The owner rarely made himself visible, but we ran into each other every now an then, especially when he started caring for his elderly mother who still lived on the premises. 

A few years ago I started noticing that he never seemed to age. I mostly wrote it off to good genes. After a few more years he not only didn’t look like he was aging, but looked as if he was actually getting younger! Very odd. 

Hadn’t seem him in the last few years, and learned his mother had passed away. Until this last time, he was there. I tried to get his attention when he was emptying the garbage or squashing plastic bottles to recycle. Each time he’d scurry off before I could get to him and say hello. Mostly I wanted to see if he was aging or getting even younger… Dorian Grey style.

When I finally caught him by surprise I was taken aback. Indeed, he looked like he was aging in reverse. I studied his hair that was very coarse, but mostly looked real. Searched for evidence of surgery or makeup. Nope. No clues whatsoever. 

We chatted some small talk for a few minutes, but I was having trouble finding words due to the distraction of his appearance. Finally, I asked him if he remembered me from like 15 years ago… thinking that maybe I was confused and this wasn’t the same guy. Maybe a younger brother? But no, he confirmed that he knew me from way back and thanked me for my continued patronage of Casa Bowen. So strange. 

During the few days prior to this encounter I heard what sounded like an old woman screaming and it sounded like it was coming from the room below mine. Each time I passed that room to climb the stairway up to the second floor, I hoped I’d catch a glimpse. The door looked like it had extra locks on it too. 

The same day that I finally caught up to the proprietor, later in the afternoon, or maybe it was closer to twilight.. I heard the screaming again. Only this time the door was open and the proprietor was in the room with an old woman in a thin white smock and a black eye patch. She was wailing again and he was yelling at her. I couldn’t tell if it was aggressive, or just that maybe she was nearly deaf and he had to yell in order for her to hear. 

He glanced back at me in the foyer looking and quickly shut the door and bolted locks. Again… so strange. 

I saw the old woman sitting in the foyer the next day on a weathered leather covered sofa. She was just sitting there in the same basic thin smock of a dress and sporting the same black eye patch. When our eyes met she simply smiled and said, “Buenos Dias”. 

Some places I’ve stayed are often conducive to bizarre and vivid dreams. For me, Casa Bowen is one of those types of places. I don’t know if it’s ghosts, or the experiences of past guests that are kind of etched into some kind of ethereal memory. If you sprinkle in some odd daily occurrences, the imagination can really get going in full gear. 

That night I dreamt that the old woman was really a teenager that the proprietor was really centuries old. He was keeping her locked up and sedated while he drained off some of her blood, or youth essence so that he might continue his immortal aging in reverse. He hoped to finally become once again… unborn.

There was a time while I traveled in the area of Palenque, Mexico, in the state of Chiapas, where you could stay in a small, open-air hut with a thatch roof, called a “palapa” for about a dollar… hang a hammock and fall asleep with Howler monkeys making this hypnotic echoing snoring sound while the rain fell in the jungle. That place was called Maya Belle, and it’s still there. Only, now it caters less to backpackers traveling on a shoestring, and has a swimming pool, proper rooms with air-conditioning for the more discerning traveler. The original little cafe is now a restaurant with a menu and waiters.

Maya Belle is still a nice place, but it doesn’t have quite the vibe it used to when I first started going there. 

Just down the road are the Mayan ruins of Palenque. Now, there are tons of tourist busses, flying by all day. And basically a small village of tourist gift stalls set up outside of the entrance. But, when I visited originally, you could sneak through the jungle on a small path all the way to the ruins. If you went at night, and didn’t get caught, you could spend all night exploring there under a full moon and even make your way down into the main pyramid Temple of Inscriptions.

I’m thinking maybe it’s been nearly 20 years since what I’m about to tell you took place. Or, thereabout. 

Back then, if you wanted to get a message back home that you’re still alive and what not, you had to catch a collectivo van-taxi into the town to make a call from the telecommunications place. 

There was this magnificent little place in town that used to roast their own coffee beans every day. Palenque is in the state of Chiapas which as spectacular coffee. Coffee and some sweet bread was all this place had. A couple of flimsy tin tables with chairs, a large coffee roaster, and a coffee machine. Man, this coffee was incredible. I don’t mean just tasty, but it was like a lightning bolt of energy just after the first cup. Your mind would be racing so fast that you’d swear you just learned all of man’s knowledge in one cup. Soon, you’d start sweating profusely for a few minutes. When that wore off, you’d order another cup immediately. Two cups was about the limit, because after two your brain would feel like it was being cut out and eaten while it was still throbbing… Mayan style. 

Before the coffee, I stood in line at the phone place. When it was my turn I was having trouble understanding the clerk’s Spanish and she was having trouble understanding mine. Twenty years now, and I still can’t speak Spanish fluently, but back then it was really bad. 

Luckily, there was a short local Mexican man behind me who spoke English. He asked, “Do you need some help?” I told him I did. He translated my request to make a collect call home. He said, “The girl has instructed you to enter phone stall number 4 and pick up the phone when you hear it ring.” I thanked him and carried on with the instructions. 

I said this fellow was Mexican, but I’m not entirely sure that he was. He was slight and very short. He stood perfectly erect and had almond-shaped eyes. His skin was dark, but his features were more indigenous I think. Hard to pinpoint, but his nose was very large. Not garishly so, but it commanded more attention than the rest of his facial features. Kind of “royal” looking. Those almond eyes were an intriguing close second. 

After I’d finished my call, the fellow has just wrapped up his call as well. I thanked him for helping me out and asked if he lived there in Palenque. He said he did and that he had a small cafe. I said, “Perfect! Is is near here? I’ll come by and have a beer or something.” He said that wouldn’t be necessary and that I didn’t own him anything for his help. I said, “Well, it’s pretty hot out. I was going for some strong coffee, but it’s so hot out… figured I’d get a beer instead. Might was well get it from your cafe.” He accepted the logic and said, “Very well. My cafe is only about two blocks from here… “

As we walked, I tried to make the usual small talk, but he didn’t say much. He just quietly agreed, or gave simple replies. Once we arrived at his cafe, he motioned for me to sit at one of the two simple tin tables. There wasn’t much in the cafe, other than a few convenient store like items, and some local vendor calendars on the walls. Not much for decoration at all. The menu was sparse with a few basic items, beer, and sodas. I asked if the cervezas were pretty cold, and he said, “Si, very cold… well, it depends. Some are colder than others.” “Which is the coldest?” “Let me check… I think the Superior is the coldest right now.” “Perfect! Superior is one of my favorites. I’ll have a cold Superior please.”

After a couple of minutes of silence, I figured he wasn’t up for  chatting so much. I drank my cerveza and looked out toward passersby on the street. 

Glanced back and noticed the fellow has seated himself at my table and looked as if he were studying me. Or, deciding if he was going to tell me what he was about to divulge. 

Over the next 45 minutes or so, he told me about his people. “His people” is how he referred to them. He said that his people could communicate with each other over great distances with nothing more than thought… that they didn’t need letters or telephones. Said that at that same moment as we were talking, his two daughters were in the jungle not far away and were asking if they could stay out and play by the stream a little longer. “Your daughters just asked you that telepathically while you’re talking to me?” “Yes” “Did you answer them” “Yes, I told them it was ok to stay out playing, but to be home by 6pm for dinner.” 

He told me things about history, and that some things that seem horrific or wrong at the moment… that when you look at them from outside the timeline… way further out… they often make more sense. You see what happened before that led to that horrible action, and then you see what happens as a residual effect of that action further down the timeline. Most often you can deduce that this one horrible thing had to happen in order for these other greater things to happen. Everything is happening for a reason, and for good reason. 

I asked, “Oh come on… You mean to say horrible things like the holocaust were meant to happen and for good reason?!” He said, “Yes, as terrible as that was… it had to happen like that at that particular time, in order for other important actions to take place further down the timeline.” “That’s a bit hard to imagine… I mean, I can’t see how something that horrific could possibly be part of any righteous plan.” “I know, it’s very hard to see the whole from one particular section of events. I’m not saying that was a good thing to happen, but it was necessary for other things to happen years later.”

He went on to tell me that “his people” could also travel anywhere they wanted with thought alone. And, that it could be taught to others. However, they were very careful about who that taught how to do these things because they could be used for bad intentions. I asked, “So, you could teach me to communicate over long distances with only the mind and travel to anywhere I choose using my mind?” He said, “Yes”. 

There were a few moments of silence as I thought about this and while he studied my reaction. Until, he broke the silence saying that he had to leave to pick up some things at the market before the dinner hour and would chat with me later. I paid him for the beer and thanked him again for helping me out at the phone center, and even more so for the very interesting conversation. 

Headed back out to the scorching heat and waved goodbye to the gentlemen from the street. 

Walked around in a little bit of a daze after that. It was so hot and humid, all I wanted to do was get back to my hammock in the shade of my palapa at Maya Belle and lay there thinking about what we’d talked about. 

Later that afternoon I was hammock swaying in my palapa when some other backpackers I’d met earlier stopped by. They were curious where I’d disappeared to all afternoon. I told them I had to run into town to make a call home, but that I’d run into a very interesting fellow who’d helped me out translating. 

There were three of them, and I remember a couple of them were from Austria and another was Australian. With each of the details details I told them they drew in closer. When I finished all I could remember, they still wanted more. They asked, “Do you remember where his cafe is?” “Yeah, I think so.” I tried to explain how to get to the cafe from the phone place, but ended up saying, “Sorry, I’d know where we walked if I was there, but I can’t recall if it was one block, then turn, or two blocks…” “Well, could you take us there?” “Oh, I guess so… I don’t really have any reason to go back into town right now… but there’s still time before the collectivo taxis stop.. so why not… I’d like to hear more from him too.” 

They all seemed pretty excited and ran back to their palapas to grab their belongings, and we were off. 

Once we got back into town I was completely turned around. I wasn’t quite sure which way the cafe was and the group was getting a little annoyed. I said, “I’m sorry, it’s all looking the same now and I can’t remember which way I went when I left, because I ended up just wandering around making some photos. I’d also had a couple cervezas and it was so hot that I was a little delirious too.” “Should be go back to Maya Belle then?” “No, give me a second… I’m sure I can find it. Wait, lets just go back to the phone place. I’m sure from there I can retrace where we went.”

To be clear, I really had no idea at all. For some unexplained reason, the location of this cafe was escaping me. Maybe it was the heat beating down and radiating back up off the concrete. Maybe it was the beers. Going back to the phone place was a desperate shot in the dark because I was embarrassed that I’d been so confident of it’s location before. 

Once we got to the front of the phone place, I still didn’t have a clear idea. I remembered the direction we started off, but I we were chatting along the way and I really wasn’t paying attention. So, when we started off from the entrance in the direction we’d walked, I stopped even trying to remember. Sort of switched to a gut feeling or intuition. After about 20 minutes of walking, turning, turning again, then continuing around a corner… I was about to confess I was lost. When at that very moment I looked up and there was the cafe and the fellow standing there greeting is. Whew! 

The fellow went to the back for drink menus and I motioned for the others to take a seat at one of the two tables. The Australian guy pulled a chair over form the other table and we waited. The others were excited to hear more from this mysterious fellow, as was I, but I was also baffled at how I was able to find my way back to this place after being certifiably lost. 

The fellow came back and passed out some laminated single page printout menus of the snacks and drinks they served. Everyone just wanted cold cervezas and I confirmed that the Superior cervezas were still the coldest. They just wanted to get on with the good stuff, the mystic secrets… as did I.

When he came back with the cervezas, he passed them out then stood by quietly looking out toward the street. At that moment I noticed something that had been nagging me from the first time I spoke with him but couldn’t put my finger on. When you visit Mayan ruins sites, or look at photos of the stone carvings they left behind, you’re struck with one consistent characteristic. They’re almost always depicted in profile, and their noses dominate most of their face. It’s as if the top of the nose doesn’t stop at the bridge between the eyes, but instead continues up into the forehead. It’s a striking look, and this fellow had that very same look. 

The carvings always appear to have very smooth skin as well, completely free from imperfection or wrinkles. I suppose this is likely the case with most carvings and statues. But, this fellow’s skin also seemed nearly flawless and almond-colored. The majestic nose, the almond eyes, the way he sort of lightly glided as he walked… he looked like what I imagine a Mayan might’ve looked like. 

The others were motioning at me to try and get his attention and see if I’d start sharing the stories again. I asked him plainly, 

“Um… I was telling my friends here about some of the interesting things you were telling me earlier.”

”Yes, what things would that be?”

”You know, about communicating with the mind… the Hitler… traveling with thought…”

“Excuse me? I don’t recall any such conversation.”

“You don’t? Remember I was here earlier?”

“Yes, I helped you out at the phone center and then you stopped by my cafe for a cerveza.”

“Seriously? You don’t remember anything we talked about?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. And, I need to get back to the kitchen to prepare for the evening, if you’ll excuse me.”

He slipped away to the kitchen. The others looked at me with aggravation that I’d made the whole thing up and dragged them into the town for nothing. 

“I’m so sorry… I swear he said all of that stuff I told you. I’m not sure why he’s denying it. Very strange”

“Yes, sure he did”

“He did! If I was making it up, why would I double down and bring you all here?”

“It’s ok. The cervezas were pretty cold. That was worth the trip alone. We’re heading back to Maya Belle. You want to catch a collectivo with us?”

“No, I’m going to hit the market for some fruit before I head back. So sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it!”

They took off down and I sad there for a bit finishing my cerveza and having a smoke. The fellow finally came back and asked if I wanted another cerveza. I told him I did and then asked him…

“So, you really don’t remember our conversation from earlier in the morning after you helped me at the phone center?”

He stared at me and said nothing.

“Maybe, 3 or 4 hours ago? We came back here and you were telling me about how you communicated with your daughters using thought?

“Yes, I remember the conversation and everything I told you.”

“Then why did you deny it in front of my friends?”

“Because those things I told you were for you, and you alone. It wasn’t for them. And, I will tell you more and teach you the things I know when you’re ready. But, you’re not ready yet.”

“Ok… well, what do I need to do to get ready?”

“There’s nothing you can consciously do to prepare. When it’s time, I will see you again and tell you more.”

We parted ways and I went back to Maya Belle. I thought about what he’d said and that there was nothing I could do to prepare, so I just put it in the back of my head for later. 

About a year or two later, I was once again traveling in Mexico and had wondered back to Palenque to stay at Maya Belle. I hadn’t forgotten about the experience with the strange Mayan looking fellow and couldn’t wait to get back to his cafe to see if I was finally “ready” to learn more. 

Again, it took me awhile to find his cafe again, but I did. Took a seat and eagerly waited for the fellow to take my order. Only, it was a different man now. I stepped back on the sidewalk to double check that I was at the right cafe. 

I asked the man if the owner was there. He said…

“I’m the owner.”

“Ok, well… I’m pretty sure I was at this cafe a year or so ago and there was a different owner.”

“Yes, a short fellow with almond eyes?”

“Yes! Is he still here?”

“No. He was here, and then he disappeared.”

“He moved? Do you know where?”

“No. When I say disappeared, I mean he, his wife and two girls were here one day, and the next they were gone. They didn’t even take any of their clothes or belongings. They just disappeared.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, it was very strange. He was renting this space and operating the cafe, and then they disappeared. Nobody had any idea where they went. They even left the stove and refrigerator. It’s like they vanished into thin air.”

“That's pretty bizarre. No clue where they went at all?”

“No. The fellow was renting this place and had paid for the next month in advance. After 3 or 4 months went by, I asked the landlord if I could take it over and she agreed. All of the furniture, cash register, stove, refrigerator, tables and chairs… everything is actually their’s. I figured I’d put them to use until they come back… if they ever come back.”

I walked around Palenque streets for awhile wondering what could have happened to them, or if I’d ever see the fellow again. 

It’s now been over 20 years since I met the mystical Mayan interdimensional fellow. Strangely, I still think I may see him again one day just as he promised. I only hope that when that happens… this time… I’ll be ready.

~~~

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I just remembered the name of an eccentric, bohemian woman I met in Palenque, Mexico many years ago. Her name was Hilda and she was the person who told me about the mystical place called Huautla de Jimenez in the mountains of Mexico. I referenced this place in another account called “The Reluctant Curandero”. She also went by the name “Coco” when she was with the Mezatecas. 

Hilda ran a little cafe in the jungle. Only vegetarian, bottled soft drinks, and cerveza. The cafe was open-air in the jungle. All the tables and chairs were made of large tree slices, and there were some hammocks around. You really didn’t feel like you were in a cafe at all, but more like you were relaxing in the thick jungle, only with amenities. There was a basic kitchen behind a simple bar, and a small cottage attached. 

Hilda made the most amazing vegetarian dishes. I wasn’t even vegetarian, but I recognized the culinary artistry to make healthy food taste like pretty much anything you wanted it to taste like. Hilda was a wizard with many things, and the culinary arts was definitely one of them. 

I was staying down the road at Maya Belle in a palapa hut and sleeping in a hammock. On a previous trip, Hilda had told me about a near total eclipse that was to occur right there at the Palenque ruins on July 11th, 1991. She said I ought to try and be there for it, and I managed to make it all the way back a week before the eclipse would occur.

The only problem was that I’d been robbed on the bus. Nothing violent, just wasn’t paying attention and left my bag untended while I got off the bus to use the restroom. Or something like that. I didn’t lose everything, but there was only enough money for a bus back to Texas. I’d have to miss the eclipse I’d come so far to witness at one of the most mystical Mayan ruin sites I’d been to at that point in time. 

There was some hidden money in my backpack, and a few travelers checks left. I calculated that if I stayed in the simple open-air palapa for about a dollar a night back then, and took the least expensive buses all the way back up to Texas, I could just barely make it a week if I didn’t eat anything. Once I got back over the border, I could get more money for the last portion of the trek back home to Austin. 

A week without food was going to be a stretch though. I didn’t even have enough extra to get some cheap food items from the local produce market. So close to being able to stick it out, but about $20 short of being able to pull this off. 

I’d already paid for the first night in the palapa and planned on catching the first bus out in the morning. Sadly moped back to Hilda’s cafe to lay in a hammock and enjoy my last evening in the jungle. The stars were incredible and I could hear howler monkeys making this omnipresent, low pitch that sounds like the entire jungle is snoring. The insect buzz comes alive with this almost electronic drone that overtakes the senses. The jungle at night is an extraordinary thing to experience. You sort of just melt into the surreal soundscape, while fireflies, and random eyes glowing in the dark forest underneath a thick blanket of stars. And I was going to have to leave early after only one night.

I dug one of my last cigarettes out and flipped open my Zippo lighter. The flame seemed exaggerated in that perfect darkness. It caught the fancy of Hilda’s partner Mario. He came over to the hammock I was floating in and asked to check out my Zippo lighter. He flipped it open several times, and then made out like he was a Clint Eastwood movie star cowboy flipping open the  lighter off his jeans:

“Que bueno… I like this Zippo. How much does one like this cost in Estados Unidos?”

“Thanks, not sure about the cost… it was a gift. They sell knock off copies that aren’t very expensive, but this is a real one. They’re made a little better and have a nicer feel when you flip them open.”

“Would you sell me this one and you could get another one when you get back to the United States?”

“Hmmm… I kind of need it, and I have to leave tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying for the eclipse?!”

“No, that what I came here for… but I got robbed and don’t have enough money to last the week. I’ve got just enough for the bus home, and the palapa I’m renting, but not enough to eat. So, I have to go home early.”

“What if you trade me this Zippo and you can eat and drink as much as you want here at the cafe for a week? Maybe not too many cervezas, but a couple a day would be okay.”

“Really?!”

“Oh wait, this takes special fuel yes?”

“I’ve got a container of lighter fluid that’s nearly full I could include.”

“But when I finish that one, I won’t be able to find something like that here in Palenque.”

“I’m sure you can, it’s not really that special. Besides, I read that these were actually originally made to burn any kind of fuel for soldiers in the field. I think they’ll burn kerosine or even gasoline… but I’ve never tried and wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mario flipped the Zippo open to light and tried to get fancy with his opening and closing moves. He lit a joint with it, took a huge drag, then passed it to me. As he let out the smoke he said:

“Si, we have a deal compadre. I keep the Zippo, and you can eat and drink for free for a week so you can stay for the eclipse.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’ll bring the fuel back mañana and I think I have some spare flints too.”

“You can have my cheap plastic lighter to use and I’ll include some cigarettes from the bar in the deal too.”

“Gracias!”

There were some other backpackers, a hippy couple from Montana, a girl from Australia, a cigar puffing grad student from Indiana, and I couple of brothers from Austria. We’d all sort of been hanging out for the day since we were all palapa neighbors and kept running into each other at either Hilda’s cafe, previous destinations before Palenque, or around Maya Belle. They were all sitting around Hilda’s cafe having some cervezas when they overheard that I was going to able to stay for the clips. They all raised their beers and cheered at my great fortune as Mario brought me the first free beer of our trade. 

I’m not sure why this little group so quickly formed a bond as if we’d known each other for years. It might’ve had to do with none of us were of the dreadlocked bongo-playing variety of backpackers. None of us spoke Spanish with much fluidity. We all just clicked I guess. 

At night we’d either chill out at Hilda’s cafe, or the cafe at Maya Belle… and then late at night we’d convene at whichever palapa was the most convenient or had a nice fire going. We’d talk about what each of us had experienced that day, and the Anthropologist grad student would fill us in on what was known of the Maya from their ancient book called The Popol Vuh. 

One day I was walking between Hilda’s cafe and Maya Belle, when a taxi from the town of Palenque pulled up next to me. A man wearing a blue turban got out and was clutching a very large book covered in worn leather. It looked very old, but I couldn’t make out the inscription language on the cover. The fellow seemed in a hurry, and maybe a little rude in asking directions. He wanted to know if I’d seen a woman from Nebraska, and if the ruins were nearby. I told him that I’d overheard earlier in the day people talking about this and wondered who she was:

“She’s believed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe of the Americas. Do you know where she is?”

“No, I think someone said she was going to spend the night at then ruins for some reason… that she had some kind of special permission or something.”

“Yes, she’s going to spend the next couple of nights in the ruin called the observatory.”

“Why is that?… if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Many years ago there was a crystal skull found a this ruin site. It was taken away and many bad things have happened since then. 

“Does that have anything to do with the coming eclipse?”

He got visibly a little agitated at my incessant questions at this point.

“Yes. It has everything to do with the eclipse. She’s preparing for the ceremony and will return the crystal skull from where it was taken.”

“Hmmmm… the reincarnation of Guadalupe is a woman from Nebraska?”

“I have to go… which way to the ruins… I must reach her before nightfall.”

“Just keep going straight, it’s just another couple of kilometers down this road, around some curves at the end.”

The turbaned man jumped back into the taxi without saying anything else to me, and then ordered the taxi driver to proceed toward the ruins.

That night at Hilda’s cafe I asked around and confirmed that there was indeed a woman from Nebraska there, and that she was believed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe. So odd, I thought. Not that it mattered, but I asked what she looked like. Wondered if she was even hispanic. They said she wasn’t hispanic and looked pretty much like any average middle-age housewife from Nebraska. 

Joined up with the group I’d been hanging out with. They were already seated around one of the rough tree-trunk tables and drinking cervezas. The anthropology dude fancied himself some kind of Indiana Jones character… with a jungle pith helmet, mostly khaki garb, and puffing on a cigar. I’m not sure that he realized that he looked a bit pretentious and well… silly. Yet, I liked out he kind of stood out from everything else in this scene. 

Caught the eye of a woman with dark, olive skin. Her eyes were smoky and a bit sunken into shadow, but sort of attractive… or maybe spellbinding is a better description. She was dressed all in white flowing fabric that you could almost see through like muslin cloth, and her hair was wrapped in the same white cloth in sort of a loose turban fashion.

Noticed she was staring at me and smiling. At first I thought maybe she was just observing our little group… or maybe she was amused with the Indiana Jones dude’s get up, but her eyes were definitely locked with mine. I pointed to myself to confirm. She nodded in affirmation. 

The others didn’t notice and were all half intoxicated and in the middle of a loud conversation. I walked over to the woman’s table and sat down. Asked what she wanted, but she said nothing. Just kept staring at me and smiling… somewhat seductively. I wasn’t sure. She didn’t answer any of my attempts in English or Spanish to make conversation. Staring and smiling. 

I was about to head back to the table when she slid her closed hand across the table toward me. She slowly turned her and over and opened it. In her palm were three small mushrooms. She motioned for me to eat them. 

Although I’m no stranger to the magic of mushrooms, normally I would’ve asked a few questions, got a better feel for the intent of the person giving them to me, and made sure of what I was about to eat was reasonably safe… or, at least not poisonous. This time I didn’t. I just stared back at her, picked up the mushrooms and ate them. The turbaned woman in white nodded affirmatively, then stood up and sort of floated away into the night. At least that’s what it looked like with the flowing muslin like cloth and the way she moved so effortlessly. 

I returned back to the table and tried to catch up on the group’s conversation. 

Didn’t even seem like the group had noticed me gone, or the strange woman in flowing muslin white. The anthropologist was pontificating about something and the Australian girl was making fun of him a bit. We all had some great laughs over more cervezas. 

Maybe less than an hour later, I started feeling a little bit queasy. I’d completely forgotten about the mushrooms the woman in white gave me. I knew what the effect of magic mushrooms should’ve been, but this wasn’t it. Well, it was to some degree. My head spun and I definitely felt drugged, but not in a pleasant way or in a way I’d known before. 

Hadn’t mentioned to the others anything about the woman in white yet and didn’t feel like I could communicate. Thought I was going to pass out or get throw up. Walked out into the night toward the edge of the jungle for some privacy. My head spun even more as I scrambled into he jungle a bit further from the light of the cafe. Went in a further than I really needed to because I didn’t want anyone to hear me vomiting. 

In my rushing scramble, I slipped on a moss covered rock and fell down pretty hard. The fall was broken by my knee making contact with the sharp edge of another rock and cutting pain shot up my leg. My knee felt wet from mud and kind of sticky warm. 

After I’d finished emptying my stomach in the jungle, I managed to stumble my way back toward the light of the cafe on my injured knee. The Australian girl gasped when she caught sight of me:

“Oh man! What happened to you?! My god are you ok?!”

The others came rushing toward me. I did have a good deal of jungle mud all over me, but my knee was split wide open with blood gushing out. Someone handed me a cloth to put over my knee and helped me to a chair. 

Hilda came over and took the cloth off to examine the extent of the damage and clean off some of the mud. 

“What happened?”

“I fell out in the jungle. There was a woman here earlier in white..”

“You didn’t talk to her did you?”

“I wouldn’t saw we talked, but she motioned for me to come to her table.”

“Oh no… you should’ve have gone over.

“I didn’t know. She gave me some mushrooms.”

“And you ate them?”

“I wasn’t thinking…”

“Hold this on your knee, I’ll be back in a moment.

Hilda took a flashlight and went toward the back of the cafe to cut some plants. She came back and started scoring some of the leaves and fronds with a knife in a criss-cross pattern until they oozed. Then, she started applying them to my knee.

“This is a very bad woman. Wicked. If you see her again, you should turn the other way.”

“What did she give me?”

“Quiet sabe… who knows. Poison…”

Hilda wrapped my knee with more strips of palm fronds and tied it very tight. 

“Leave that until tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I mean, looks like it’s pretty deep. Maybe I should go to Palenque in the morning and find a doctor to get some stitches?”

“You don’t need stitches. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. From my past experience, this definitely looked like a bad enough cut that it could use at least a dozen or so stitches. At the same time, I completely trusted Hilda’s medicine. 

We all walked together back down the road to Maya Belle. The cafe there was already closed so we all piled into nearby hammocks to enjoy the night sky and listen to the jungle sleep.

Early the next morning, the brothers from Austria joined me for some mushroom hunting in the cow pastures. These are psychedelic mushrooms like I’ve mentioned before, only these grow in the cow manure. Same species that grows in the United States, only the effect can be very different. I’m told it’s because the cows there eat much different plants than the cattle in the U.S. 

We left early because if you don’t, the caballeros (Mexican cowboys) will have picked them all to sell to the backpackers. We were out there early enough, stomping through all the mud, picking out stickers, scraped by thorns, sweating from the intense humidity, etc.

After we all had a nice bag full for us and our compadres back at Maya Belle, we headed back toward the main road. Only to be met by caballeros who demanded we hand over our bounty or pay them. Dang! All that work and we had to pay anyway. Next time we’ll just sleep in and wait for the caballeros to bring them to our hammocks instead of dealing with all the mud, manure, thorns and stickers. 

Later that afternoon I wandered back down to Hilda’s place for some food and drink. Hilda greeted me and asked how my knee was doing. I told her it seemed fine and I’d almost completely forgotten about it. The tied frond wrapping was pretty frayed but still holding together. Hilda said I could go ahead and take that off now. 

I pulled out my pocket knife and cut the frond and dressing off. What I saw was absolutely incredible. There wasn’t even a scratch. It was as if the wound hadn’t even happened at all. I looked up at Hilda in amazement. Literally couldn’t believe my eyes and started searching all around my knee for evidence. All perfect, no markings at all. 

“How could that be?”

“Is Maya medicine. She heals if you let her.”

“But, seriously… this was a pretty serious cut last night wasn’t it? Everyone saw. It wasn’t just me!”

“Is Maya.”

Hilda just smiled and returned to cleaning the bar.

“Hilda… I meant to ask you… where are you from exactly?”

“I am from everywhere.”

“I mean, are you from Mexico? Or Europe? Another country in South America? I can’t quite place your features.”

“I am from todo mundo, I’m from the whole world.”

She grinned and then disappeared into the kitchen area.

The next couple of days leading up to the day of the eclipse were mostly hanging in hammocks, reading, hiking in the jungle, and telling each other stories of Mayan lore and myths. 

One evening I joined the anthropologist in Indiana Jones attire, for a hike in the jungle behind Maya Belle. There are several footpaths in the jungle that I’m told lead to some Lacandon indian villages. The Lacandon are considered to be decendants of  the Mayans. Many of the paths eventually take you to the ruin sites. 

I’d told Indiana Jones that I knew of one trail that takes you to a place called “The Queen’s Bath”. No clue why they call it that, but it’s a nice set of waterfalls in the jungle that form a pool beneath you can swim in. Perfect way to cool off under the canopy of the jungle. 

Not far into the jungle, Indiana started hacking away at vines Indiana Jones style with a cheap machete he’d bought in down. The trail was pretty clear so I don’t know why he felt the need to whack away at vines, but he wasn’t wasn’t harming anything. 

Until, one of the whacks disturbed a huge snake the was wrapped up in the thick vines above. Indiana dropped like a rock and turned white as a ghost. The size of the serpent started me a bit too, but there was enough distance that I wasn’t too worried. Indiana started fumbling around in his pockets to retrieve a cigar and a lighter. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, so I took the lighter and held it while he puffed. 

“Gracias”

He puffed away creating a thick mass of smoke that encircled us.

“De nada. You’re welcome. Do cigars relax you in stressful situations?”

“Yeah, a little bit. But that’s not why I’m smoking. The cigar smoke should keep snakes, jaguars, and pretty much any animals away from us.”

“Smoke?”

“Yes, they’re terrified of fire and will keep their distance if they smell smoke.”

I’d never heard that before, but it made sense. Besides, even though I’m not wild about the smell of cigar smoke, whatever Indiana was smoking had a decent aroma. And, it made our hike to the Queen’s bath for a swim, a little more “Indiana Jones” like.

Finally, the morning of the eclipse had come. Every day leading up, there were more and more people arriving. I didn’t know where the others had gone, so I walked down to Hilda’s cafe for a coffee and to relax before going to the ruins for the event. 

Hilda was busy cleaning up around the cafe. I got into one of the hammocks to read for a bit, when Hilda came over and told me that I would be coming back to the cafe to do her a favor. 

“Sure, no problem. But, after I leave here, I’m going to stop back by Maya Bell to grab my bag and head to the ruins for the eclipse. I won’t be coming back this way.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Well, I didn’t really plan on walking all the way back the opposite way. Can’t you just give me the instructions for the favor now before I leave?”

“It’s not time. You will return before the eclipse.”

“Ok, well… alright. I guess I’ll come back.”

Hilda smiled, nodded, then returned to her cleaning.

I didn’t really plan on walking back. It wasn’t all that far, but in the tropical heat it was a bit of a hike. And, I’d have to walk the distance twice since the ruins were the opposite direction away from my palapa at Maya Bell. 

There were a few others hanging out in the cafe by that point. Someone was playing a bongo drum, and another person was banging on one of tables like a drum. It was getting a little hard to concentrate on my reading, so I waved to Hilda and walked back to Maya Belle to chill out in my own hammock.

Fell asleep reading back at Maya Belle. When I woke up I briefly panicked because I thought that after everything, I’d ended up sleeping through the eclipse! Happily, I still had a good hour and a half to go. Tried to tell myself it’d be cutting it too close to try and hike back to Hilda’s before the eclipse, and that she’d understand that I’d fallen asleep. But, I knew that was a lie. I easily had enough time to go back to the cafe to find out what favor she needed me to do, and still make it to the ruins for the eclipse. 

After grabbing my daypack, and some water I headed back to Hilda’s cafe. When I arrived it was completely empty. No one around at all, but I could hear some Indian Hindu music playing over the speakers. Figured someone must be there so I sat down at one of the tables and called Hilda’s name. 

From the garden behind the cafe, Hilda came toward me smiling and dancing seductively to the Hindu music. She had changed clothes and was wearing a flowing saffron-colored sari. Her hair was bound up like a turban in a matching lace scarf that had small amber charms dangling from it around her face. And, she had a small colorful parrot perched on her shoulder.

I watched her move and twirl about. She almost looked as if she was in some sort of a trance, and that trance was starting to feel like it was having an effect on me as well. 

Hilda motioned for me to stand up and follower her as she danced out of the cafe and into the adjoining cottage. I’d never been in the cottage, but was surprised how sparse the decor was. In the main room there was almost nothing but a beautiful white hammock that was hung from one corner of the room all the way to the opposite corner. 

She motioned for me to continue following her into the bedroom. This made me a bit uncomfortable… as I obeyed and followed her into the bedroom. I wasn’t sure what was about to transpire. Hilda motioned for me to sit back on the bed as she continued to dance and twirl. 

While dancing, she scooped up a deck of large tarot cards on a white dresser. Everything in her place was white. She started shuffling the tarot cards as she danced and then suddenly flung them all across the bed. She instructed me to select a card. I told Hilda that I didn’t want her to read my cards… that I knew of someone who was told they would get cancer from a fortune teller. This person did in fact get cancer and I never knew for sure if it was because the fortune teller actually foresaw it, or if it was the suggestion itself. 

Hilda told me not to worry, that she was not going to read my tarot cards. She instructed me to pick one card and look at it, but don’t show it to her. Then, mix the card back into the rest of the cards, and then shuffle the deck a few times. After I shuffled the deck about 3 times, I handed it to Hilda. 

After she also shuffled the deck 3 or 4 more times, she quickly flung the deck back onto the bed and the cards all spread out. Instantly, she reached down and plucked a card from all the cards and turned it around toward me. 

“Is this your card?”

“Yes!”

“This is the seven card… the Sun Card, on the day of the eclipse.”

I examined the card and it had a figure holding up the sun I believe. Hilda took the card from me and rolled it up in a long piece of muslin cloth. She put the wrapped card in a cotton bag, along with some oranges, and some calla lilies. I think there were some other small items she put into the bag as well, and handed it to me.

“Take this to the ruins and give it to the woman from Nebraska who is the reincarnation of Guadalupe of the Americas.”

“But, I don’t know where she is, or even what she looks like.”

“You’ll know who she is and where she is when you get there.”

“Ok. Is that it? I should get going now or I’m going to miss it!”

“Yes, please hurry and don’t forget to give this to her.”

The time was getting a bit short, but I still had enough time. I just couldn’t dawdle much and had to walk quickly. 

The closer I got to the main entrance to the Palenque ruins, the more people there were. It looked as if they’d all arrived today and what a bizarre bunch most of them were! Like some strange multi-cultural, international convention of astro-space aliens from the planet of dreadlocks and tie-dye. So many in fact, that I didn’t think there was any way possible that’d I’d be able to find a person who I didn’t know their name or what they looked like. All I knew was that it was a she and that she was from Nebraska. 

Just after I passed the largest Temple of Inscriptions pyramid on my right with the observation tower complex on my left, I had  sort of a “knowing” or intuition that the woman I was looking for was on the top floor of the stone ruins tower. 

At the entrance of the tower there were two men in suits. I couldn’t make out where they were from, but they they spoke English with a foreign accent. I nodded to them as I passed into the entrance, when they held out their arms to block me.

“Excuse us Sir, but no one is allowed to pass into the tower right now.”

“Why not? I’ve been here a week and have been up there several times. Why can’t I go up today?”

“Very sorry, but you can go anywhere else you like on the grounds, just not up to the top of the tower.”

“Oh, ok. It’s not that I have a burning desire to go up there, but there’s this local cafe owner named Hilda who gave me this bag of stuff and told me to take it to the woman from Nebraska who’s supposed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe.”

The two men looked at each surprised.

“Ok then. You may enter.”

Whoa, that was weird. How did they know? I didn’t ask anymore questions and started up the narrow stone stairway to the top level of the tower. 

At the top level, the walls are open on all four sides with the roof supported by 4 stone columns. There were 7 people sitting in a circle chanting with a light-haired woman presiding. She looked to be in her early 40’s and looked… well… like she might be from Nebraska. All of their eyes were closed. I didn’t recognize the others except for the man with the turban I’d given directions to a few days prior. The woman from Nebraska opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled as she nodded. It felt a little bit awkward, like I was interrupting something. So, I took the bag Hilda had given me and set it down in front of the woman from Nebraska. She closed her eyes again and joined back in with the chanting. The language they were chanting in wasn’t familiar to me.

For a short while I stood in the corner and watched, then quietly backed out, down the stairway, and continued out to the grounds to wander around the ruins site. It seemed that most of the people at site were of the strange variety I mentioned before. Mostly of the bohemian sort and they were all performing various rituals that involved dancing, singing, chanting, and there was a bit of primal wailing as well. 

I didn’t have any eye protection, so instead of trying to view the eclipse directly I focussed my attention on all of the bizarre spiritual circus taking place all around me. 

At Palenque, the eclipse wasn’t total, but it darkened to about twilight. The entire surrounding jungle erupted into a cacophony of buzzing night sounds with howler monkey drones. Most of the singing, drumming, and wailing raised a couple octaves in pitch as it blended into the jungly symphony. Time felt like it stopped, or at least the perception of time did. 

After what must have only been a few minutes, the light brightened as the sun shone full again. There were gasps and some singing, but the tone was more subdued. The jungle sounds went back to a normal daytime nature, and there was a palpable spirit of peace in the air. 

I wondered around the ruins for awhile, and down the trail toward the Queen’s bath to cool off. Wasn’t quite sure how to feel about what had just transpired, but I knew I wanted to hang onto the feeling as long as possible. 

Some time later, I meandered down the jungle trail and back toward Hilda’s cafe. When I arrived, it appeared empty. I heard some voices behind the cafe. It was the hippy couple from Montana… of our little group. They acted like they were somehow still enchanted. I felt that way too. A lingering feeling. They asked me where I was for the eclipse.

“I went to the ruins. Lots of people there. Very odd for the most part, but cool. You?”

“We had planned to go to the ruins too, but instead we wandered out into a cornfield. Not sure why, but it was also very cool.”

“Cool in the cornfield?”

“Yeah, it was. The corn stalk leaves created little pinholes that were projecting the shapes of hundreds of eclipse shadows on the ground. When the breeze would blow the stalks, they’d all dance about. And, the jungle sounds!”

“I know! Wasn’t that incredible? It was pretty intense being at the edge of the jungle at the ruins with all of the singing and wailing going on.”

“Oh, I bet…”

“Hey, have either of you seen Hilda around?”

“No, why?”

“Before the eclipse I came by to do a favor for her. She was dressed up in a saffron outfit with a parrot on her shoulder. She was dancing and around and summoned me to her bedroom…”

“Was she playing with some tarot cards by chance?”

“Yes!”

“And did you pick the seven card… the Sun card?”

“Yes! How’d you know?!”

“She did that exact same thing to each one of us over the course of the morning. All seven of us! And we all picked that same card. You must’ve been the last one to go.”

“She wrapped it in muslin and put it in a bag with some other items… oranges, calla lilies, and some other charms I think. Ended up taking them to that woman from Nebraska. Know idea how I knew where she’d be.”

“She was at the ruins too?”

“Yeah, doing some ceremony in the observation tower. Mostly chanting. Hey, there were seven in her chanting circle too. Including that dude with the turban I mentioned before.”

“What a wild day. Such a blessing. I think I hear some people in the cafe now.”

We all walked back inside Hilda’s cafe where there were several people gathering. Hilda smiled and was putting out some food and drinks. I saw the woman from Nebraska talking with some others from the circle. Said my goodbyes to the group after we compared stories of the seven card… the Sun Card, on the day of the eclipse. I shook everyone’s hand including the woman from Nebraska, and a kiss for Hilda.

It was difficult to leave just then, still processing the events of the week, and this incredible day… but, I’d made it all the way up to the day of the eclipse with barely a peso to spare. I’d already purchased my bus ticket heading toward Mexico City, and on toward the Texas border. It’s a long trip and I couldn’t drag my feet anymore. I’d already packed my backpack and only needed to catch a collectivo taxi to the bus station in the town of Palenque.

On my way out of Hilda’s cafe, I saw the man with the turban with his giant, ancient holy book opened. He was reading a passage to himself, but in a language I didn’t recognize. Then, he spoke to me in English.

“You are leaving us now?”

“Yes, I’ve got to get back home. I’ve been gone awhile.”

“Buenas Suerte. Good luck on your journey. And thank you so much for all that you’ve done. I am from the Mexican town of San Cristobal de las Casas in the mountains. It’s beautiful there.”

“Yes, I’ve been there before. It is very beautiful. But I was robbed there a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. Please return to our city. I promise the next time you will be welcomed with open arms. Again, I’m very grateful for all you did to help us.”

“You’re certainly welcome, but I don’t really feel like I did much of anything at all. All I did was give you some directions when you arrived, and dropped off a bag with a tarot card, some fruit, flowers, and trinkets during the eclipse. I don’t even know what any of that meant.”

“It’s not important that you understand. Just know that your blessed involvement played an important role in our ceremonies and intentions… especially during the eclipse. Muchas Gracias.”

The bus trip back North was a long, uncomfortable, marathon of a journey. Did the whole 33 hours or so, in 3 hops. Overnight 12 hours to Mexico City, then another 16 hours overnight to the border, and another 5 hours from the border back up to Austin, Texas. Barely even noticed the trip at all. I was still in that state of wonder I think. Replaying the events and what they’d meant. 

Still baffled as to why the woman in white muslin would try to poison a complete stranger. Or, how a few carefully selected jungle plants could heal a long, deep gash in my knee overnight without even evidence of a scratch remaining. Or, what any of that ceremony related to the seven Sun tarot card on the day of the eclipse meant. 

I think what meant the most to me though, out of all the entire trip, was the realization that sometimes… likely most of the time… it has little to do with you. Your purpose isn’t always related or even meaningful to your own personal story, but instead you may be playing a crucial role in a much larger narrative that you may never completely comprehend. 

© 2018 Skip Hunt

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The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

"Cat Feed" ~ Porto, Portugal

Size: 12 H x 18 W (overall size including paper border)

Below I could see some cats on a tin roof scrambling for something falling from above and a large bird surveying the gang of feral gangster kittens below. I looked up and saw an old woman tossing out food for the gang below, and became fascinated by the little line of multi-colored clothespins just below her. I took a drag off my smoke and thought, "Dang, I bet that would make a nice image." The sun was quickly slipping away, so I raised the camera up, didn't even look at my settings, and then the woman went back inside. The sun direction changed so that that last light was gone, and the cats moved on. I got one shot only and I was nearly blind when I made it. You can even see some of the food debris she was tossing below caught in mid-air. At first glance it just looks like a nice architectural image. But if you give it a little time, it reveals so much more.

Printed on Luster Paper

Luster paper has a semi-gloss finish, less shiny than a glossy finish, and more reflective than matte.

Superb color stability makes this a print paper of archival quality, exceptionally long lasting.

I’d been in Bolivia for a couple of weeks and it was every bit as grand as I’d dreamed. Admittedly, I was very nervous about how I’d handle the high altitude there. Much of what I read about what happens to some people at high altitude was sketchy and inconsistent. Some of it was downright terrifying. I mean, your brain swelling inside your skull and shutting down vital organs and such. Scary.

At the same time I knew that Bolivia was a popular country to visit and that if the altitude reactions were really all that dangerous I likely would’ve heard more about it.

I had seen an English doctor on a previous trip, turn white as a ghost and go down hard at Machu Picchu in Peru, so I knew high altitude was definitely something you have to watch out for. Most of what I read said that if you have certain symptoms that you must get yourself down to lower altitude immediately. What are you supposed to do if your brain is swelling, you’re traveling alone and have just stepped off the plane in La Paz, Bolivia at 12,500 feet above sea level… how are you supposed to get yourself down to lower altitude while your brain is swelling and being crushed inside your skull? Seems like under those conditions you might not exactly have your wits about you.

I read all I could, took all the recommended precautions and hoped for the best.

As soon as the plane landed there were several people on the plane having severe problems. Many were throwing up all over the place and there were Bolivian airline employees rushing onto the plane with small oxygen tanks. I was seated toward the front of the plane so I was able to make my way off the plane after the emergency staff had passed.

I stood up and put one foot in front of the other… fully expecting that I’d likely be going down too. Evidently I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have a problem with altitude. I kept waiting to feel faint or sick, but all I got was a mild headache that lasted a couple of days. I didn’t even have to take any of the altitude pills that you can easily find anywhere in La Paz.

After about 5 days of acclimating myself, I even went up even higher to over 18,000 feet with a small group. Young and fit climbers were having trouble at that altitude, but I was still going strong. A little slower perhaps and breathing hard, but mostly unfazed.

One of the main destinations I wanted to see was the Salar de Uyuni area. It’s a vast area of salt plains that stretch into infinity as far as you can see. This area is also high altitude and called the Altiplano.

I took a couple of busses and then a train to a small town almost all the way to the Argentine border. I’d read that if you do the Salar de Uyuni tour from the opposite direction, you end up getting a whole extra day of exploring. And, because most people start from Uyuni and going the opposite direction, you end up not seeing as many of the other tours.

This turned out to be an excellent choice. There were two vehicles in my group. A driver for each and one cook for the group. Eight backpacker tourists (including myself) and that was it. For four days we hardly saw anyone else. Just llamas, alpacas, all sorts of exotic altiplano animals, massive flocks of flamingos, and poisonous lakes of arsenic.

There were some incredibly active thermal geysers you could walk right up to the edge of. Though, it turns out they’re very dangerous as well. At one point I was standing at the edge of one and the crust broke off. I got my balance quickly, but the driver told me that it’s extremely risky getting that close and that people often burn to death from falling into one. He told me that’s what the little white ropes were for, to keep you from getting too close. Good to know! Might’ve mentioned that to me before I pranced right up to the edge of one!

There was an abandoned train graveyard that was surreal. And all throughout the region the landscapes were like no other I’ve ever seen on this planet.

It’s hard to pinpoint a highlight of this tour, because if that complete four days was all I got out of this trip and I had to head home early, I’d have been satisfied with just that tour. That four days was everything I imagined Bolivia to be and then some.

One of my favorite moments during that tour was going to this strange island in the middle of the infinite salt flats. It looks like a small island covered in boulders and cactus surrounded by an endless plateau of white salt flats for as far as the eye can see. Incidentally, underneath all that salt is supposed to be one of the largest deposits of lithium in the world.

When our transport vehicles arrived about a half hour or so before dawn, our little backpacker caravan sleepily made our way up craggy paths with our flashlights. Pitch black and we were all looking for the one spot to get that one unique photo no one else has ever managed. Truth is, there’s likely been millions of images made from this little island over the years and not likely there are any truly unique angles left. We all still tried though.

I thought I’d found a nice spot, but then noticed there was someone else who moved right in front of me. I moved to another spot and the same thing happened. By that time dozens of transport vehicles had arrived at the island and the lookout spots were starting to get crowded.

Frustrated, I moved as far away from the rest of the group as I could. Everyone else tried to get as high up on the island as they possible, so I decided to move a bit lower down the slope instead.

It was hard to figure out where a good spot would be because it was so dark and hard to tell what the scene might look like as soon as the sun began to rise. As the dawn light started to increase, someone else moved in front of me. Again I scrambled over some cacti and boulders to find a good last minute spot.

The air was crisp and the sky was clear. You could finally see where the sun would rise and I could start to make out the lines of cracks creating a patchwork pattern over the sea salt plains surrounding us.

I grabbed a few shots but it was still a little too dark. Then I heard some rustling around me and just in front of me. Not again! Another backpacker blocking my view? No! It was a pack of dogs. They didn’t seem like they were domesticated pets, but they also didn’t growl or appear to be aggressive at all. The light was coming up fast now and there was no time left to move again.

This one dog positioned himself right in front of me and just sat there. I tried to get him to leave but he just sat motionless. Finally, I just gave up and took a few images of the dog silhouette next to a cactus. I was hoping the sound of my camera shutter would scare him off and out of my view. He didn’t budge and stayed put long enough for me to take a few shots. Then he sort of gave me one of those doggy smiles before he headed off with the rest of the pack. The sun now had that golden color and I was able to get a few more landscapes of the incredible vista before it became too bright.

Later, when everyone shared their photos—I noticed most of them looked pretty much the same. My landscapes looked similar to the other photos I saw as well.

Until I got to the throw-away shots I’d made of that dog who insisted on posing right in front of me right at the break of dawn. I then realized that I’d actually succeeded and got one of the most unique shots of that location I’d seen, unlike anyone else. The way that dog became perfectly still in the brisk Altiplano morning air and waited patiently to welcome the rising sun, mirrors exactly how I felt standing there waiting for the same.

Thank you amigo.

The next stop was Coimbra and a few other towns heading North. Lovely, but the usual travel stuff. First, had to find a budget place to stay, then look for some food, then look up in the guide book or maybe ask around on the street what unique things Coimbra is known for, then wander around aimlessly. Finally, I’d dare adventure fate to take the reins. The usual.

Might’ve called it too quick, but after a good hike around the town, checking out the University campus, and a couple of the parks… it basically just felt like any other cozy college town. Small bars and coffee shops, pretty landscape, and mostly quiet. Figured it might take more time to find any potential adventure than I’d afforded to this one location. I’d only stopped in Coimbra sort of randomly on the way North anyway. Not even sort of randomly. Literally at random. I met another traveler who said he liked to jump on a bus going anywhere, then get off at one of the stops randomly. Sounded cool and so I tried it out with Coimbra. 

Definitely, a lovely place to go to school and live, but wasn’t quite giving me that adventurous edge I was hoping for. Pleasant, but decided to cut bait and keep on moving North toward Porto.

When I made it to Porto, near the border with Spain and the Northernmost port city in Portugal... named after and known for its delicious port wine, I felt the travel magic start to kick in much stronger.

I’m not even entirely sure of the moment the travel vibe shifted from rote to full-on mystique. Might’ve got a hint of it in the ancient Porto train station as I gazed at the giant clock’s antique second hand begin to move in what I began to perceive in slow motion. Or, it could be when I took the train for the day, passing through the vineyards in the rainy emerald green countryside. I looked out the back window of the last train car, through the raindrops collecting on the glass... the vineyard-lined tracks appeared to fall away faster than the train was actually moving. 

It’s bizarre how the perception of time can so drastically change in psychedelic ways when you’re traveling. It speeds up and slows down in ways that can sometimes induce mild vertigo. That’s when you know it’s about to get good.

The moment in Porto that was likely the strongest trigger happened later that day and is also the most vivid. 

The port of Porto is fed by the sea and into the Douro river. The sides of the Douro are lined with tug boats, colorful architecture, and lovely silver bridges. You can wander all day along both sides and will perpetually be presented with the most amazing views across the Douro from just about any point of view.

Near the mouth of the Douro are dozens of places where you can taste fine port wine from various vintners for only a few euro. This is what I’d spend the afternoon doing after the train returned from the vineyards. The sun was now out and the sky defined the words Royal Blue. Contrasted with the colorful tug boats and architecture… it was simply sublime.

Tried to keep my wits about me and pace myself with regard to the wine tasting. The port wine was so incredibly divine that this conservative task of pacing myself was hopelessly futile. Before I knew it, I was so intoxicated that walking and remaining upright had become a bit of a challenge. 

Luckily, while I could still mostly function I realized the beautiful warm light falling all over the uniquely curved and stacked architecture. I knew this would be my last chance to get some final photos before moving on into Spain in the morning so it was time to voluntarily cut myself off from the sweet port nectar. 

Meandered and wobbled my way into the shadowy passageways decorated with flourishes of laundry hung to dry with pigeons swirling about. I could mostly still function well enough to compose a few quick images. I hadn’t counted on the buildings blocking the majority of the best golden light rays streaming across the city. Most of the corridors had already fallen into the darkest shade. 

I panicked that because I’d once again been too lazy and not bothered taking the needed time to capture this special place. Started darting quickly from passageway to passageway, desperate for any bit of leftover light I could find. Moving like an early evening moth drawn to the last diminishing pockets of sunset light. There! I spotted a final sliver of amber rays shooting down a long dark tunnel. I quickly made my way toward the end and when I popped out the other side, I was instantly blinded by last rays of sun burning directly into my retinas. 

Tried to shield my eyes but couldn’t see anything at all until several seconds later when they finally acclimated. Reached into my pocket for a cigarette and lit it to kill time. At this point, I was reserved to the fact I’d have to give up. I’d lazily let the day slip away and wasn’t going to get anything decent after the sunset. And, I didn’t have the time or funds to stay on another day. Besides, had I stayed another day, I’d have likely tried to do the exact same port wine tour I’d just done and would make the same mistake again. I know myself too well. 

Inhaled the cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the last of the rays dance in the swirling smoke. There was a sound that I couldn’t quite make out. Sounded like small seeds or small pebbles being shaken onto a big tin plate. I looked to my right. My eyes had finally adjusted and noticed that the last shaft of sunset light was illuminating an old Portuguese woman standing on her balcony tossing refuse down below. It was as if she was in a theater with the main spotlight illuminating her. The sound  I heard was whatever she was tossing from her balcony, landing on a large tin roof below. There were about a dozen cats scrambling across the tin roof for the discarded treats. I could also now hear the cats meowing and scrambling for the best bits. A large, lone seagull watched the cats from above as sentry and I noticed the shaft of light diminishing rapidly as it moved past the opening between the buildings. 

Didn’t even have time to check my camera settings or consciously frame the image. Still partially blinded, I raised my camera up quickly, turned it vertically to my right side and blindly snapped one image. Then, just like that, the magnificent light was gone and the old woman went back inside her home. The cats scattered away and the seagull flew off.

Frantically checked to see if I got the lucky shot. I had. This was the precise moment the pure travel magic truly kicked in. —Skip Hunt

(from Absinthe Carousel - A Novela by Skip Hunt - Available as ebook on Apple Books + In Print and on Kindle at Amazon + As a PDF download from this Site

~~~

I don’t get to order that many prints for myself unless I’m getting something as a gift or a new photo for my portfolio.

Every time I order a new print for myself, or anyone else for that matter… from the second I submit the order I get a tingle on the back of my neck anticipating opening it up. And, no matter how fast the printer can get it completed and delivered, it’s never fast enough. That feeling when you see it for the first time after you’ve carefully removed it from the shipping container is magnificent. It is for me at least.

I’ve decided to try something a little different than what I’ve done in the past. I’m going to have a little flash sale. It’s my very first one so I’m going to keep it simple. It’s just one image, one size, and luster paper finish. The shipping is included if it’s delivered in the U.S. (for international orders, message me and I’ll see what I can do)

"Cat Feed" ~ Porto, Portugal

(SPECIAL FLASH SALE PRICE GOOD THROUGH SUN 11/24/19)

Size: 12 H x 18 W (overall size including paper border)

Below I could see some cats on a tin roof scrambling for something falling from above and a large bird surveying the gang of feral gangster kittens below. I looked up and saw an old woman tossing out food for the gang below, and became fascinated by the little line of multi-colored clothespins just below her. I took a drag off my smoke and thought, "Dang, I bet that would make a nice image." The sun was quickly slipping away, so I raised the camera up, didn't even look at my settings, and then the woman went back inside. The sun direction changed so that that last light was gone, and the cats moved on. I got one shot only and I was nearly blind when I made it. You can even see some of the food debris she was tossing below caught in mid-air. At first glance it just looks like a nice architectural image. But if you give it a little time, it reveals so much more.

Printed on Luster Paper

Luster paper has a semi-gloss finish, less shiny than a glossy finish, and more reflective than matte.

Superb color stability makes this a print paper of archival quality, exceptionally long lasting.

Fine art photographer Skip Hunt of Austin, Texas traveled Westward via motorcycle in search of the exotic within the mundane. He found so much more! This issue contains the entire set of chronicles from Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, California and Arizona. What began as a curious wandering with no particular path or direction, became a powerful life-changing adventure. Sometimes we must become lost before we can truly find our way.

This is 112 pages of pure adventure in rich color and text!

Also available in print from Amazon HERE

5.0 out of 5 stars Take me with!, January 1, 2011

By Kris Newman "Kris Newman" (Minneapolis, MN) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

Books and pictures transport us from one place to another. When a visual artist mingles his experience with a written journal, the most interesting thing happens. Imagination mixes with reality and the reader becomes a co-traveler with the writer.  Such is the case with Skip Hunt's Go West. Photos rich in color, depth, perception and story fill the pages pulling the reader along through the desert. Having never walked this piece of the earth, my imagination could never have conjured what Hunt's images brought. Not the "tourist vista views," but captured sunsets, flaunted murals, juxtapositions of old and new, natural and manmade dot the journey.  A photo journal so rich in texture would have been enough to satisfy my curiosity.  But that's not all Hunt offers in this piece. A travel journal threads between the pictures. Again, not the typical, "I woke up on Sunday and shopped at the mall," kind of travel. This journal introduces characters and places so familiar I swear I have been there, known them, drank their coffee. As the trip explores the deeply spiritual side of desert silence, Hunt begins to also explore a deep spiritual side of himself and takes the reader with him.  This is the kind of book that will shift your paradigms if your world is small. It will expand your imagination. It may possibly need to come with a label: "Warning: May cause wanderlust and the inexplicable urge to buy a motorcycle and camera."  An excellent read. An excellent view. An excellent way to spend a quiet Saturday. I highly recommend this book. 

5.0 out of 5 stars WOW!, December 30, 2010

By jaguargirl213 - See all my reviews

Skip has a way of capturing the moment that makes you feel like you're on the back of his bike. There were a lot of surreal stories, but my favorite was the old lady in Arizona on the ranch that had customs on her back. The colors in the photos are amazing and it really makes me want to buy an RV and head out on the highway. In the meantime, I'll be travelling vicariously through this spectacular book!

5.0 out of 5 stars Travel With Skip, December 2, 2010

By 1stAngel Arts Magazine "Beth Edwards" - See all my reviews

Skip Hunt has written a book of his unplanned journey that would be enough on its own to make the reader enjoy it. However, he has also chosen to add some of the most amazing photography that really spices up the story and allows the reader to travel on the journey with him. 

You are taken from one place to another and can live in the moment as you view the beautiful photography and read his words.  Whatever you read this year, make sure you have added Skip Hunt Go West: finding the exotic within the mundane (Volume 1) to your reading list.

4.0 out of 5 stars Reaching Deep Into Intuition, November 29, 2010

By Benné Rockett - See all my reviews

Traveling without a plan, Hunt's keen ability to use intuition to guide his images, leads to a surrendering of the mind, allowing immersion into present moments.

5.0 out of 5 stars Wonderful piece of work, November 29, 2010

By Dixon R. Hamby - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

Not only is Skip a photographer with a great sense of place and design he also knows how to write. A rare combination. This is visual interesting and orally stimulating. He can tell a story.

5.0 out of 5 stars Go West, November 28, 2010

By J. Foye (West Yorkshire, England) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

Fantastic images of the American South West in this beautifully produced book. Skip is a really talented photographer and his journal of this latest road trip carries you along with him, in words as well as stunning and sometimes quirky images. Makes you want to head for the open road, great reading on a snowy English day!!

5.0 out of 5 stars You'll like it, November 26, 2010

By aaron schwartz - See all my reviews

Skip Hunt's photography is remarkable for its beautifully vivid color, incisive composition and varied locales, including Mexico, Guatemala and South Africa. Now he has published this book on his motorcycle travels through the South West U.S. It's beautifully done, and would make a great gift. Or even better, keep it for yourself, and some cold grey afternoon, jump on the back of the bike and travel with Skip on an adventure through the sunny Southwest. Skip is a wonderful photographer, and proves himself to be an equally skilled writer. You'll like it.

5.0 out of 5 stars Transforming!, November 15, 2010

By E. Keller - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

"When one man's singular obsession leads him to the brink of death."

 There's a true tale I've been telling for over 13 years now. My obsession with writing down a screenplay in Mexico very nearly cost me my life. I tell the story most often as a warning to others, but the response I most frequently get is that my true story may be better than what I was writing at the time. The last person I told this story to late at night, out in the desert of the Wirikuta region of Mexico was an Argentinian juggler. We didn't particularly hit it off, but we both found ourselves killing time late at night in the middle of a full-moon night and too wired to sleep.   

 This fellow was game for listening first to my entire true tale of obsession and then the entire story I was trying to write at the time. His assessment was that the true story was his preference. He very much loved both, but he believed the true story actually happened exactly as I told it, and this gave it more appeal. 

I decided to finally record this story that I've told for so many years by desert camp fires, jungle treks, and caffeine-fueled late-night cafe chats. I'm not certain what I'm going to do with it, but I broke it down into chapter notes in pieces that I felt I could get through a recording in one take. It was recorded in the same room I used in the desert 13 years ago.

"This is an absolutely incredible, riveting story! I do agree that THIS is the story that should be the screenplay!" 

~ E. Davie

"I could visualize the scene of the 'Ladie's Bar' through a fish eye lens sort of in the style of Twin Peaks. Truly an odd trip with some weird encounters." 

~ Y. Buckley

(Will play on anything that supports iTunes standard audiobook file type)

Seven Chapters | Running Time 1:45:32

An incredible true story. It was to be a three-country, backpacking adventure of making a giant circle from Portugal, Spain... up into the South of France, back through Spain, and back over to Lisbon. The author set out to make the best of a shoestring budget, get a few nice photos and hopefully a decent story to tell. What ensued was a nearly unbelievable journey immersed in the rich culture of the region, emotive prose that makes you feel like you're traveling along too, and images that take the reader into mysterious dark corners, ethereal rendezvous, Scottish wizards, an unwitting encounter with dark revolutionaries, and so much more. Punch your ticket and come along for a once in a lifetime, spectacular adventure!

Review from EA Keller

“Light Love and Magic: What a delicious ride! Take me with you again- soon! The people, the places and the bumps in the night- all of it makes me want to pack my bags and get a ticket to wherever Skip is going to next!”

This is an eBook in the PDF format

148 pages

I’d been in Bolivia for a couple of weeks and it was every bit as grand as I’d dreamed. Admittedly, I was very nervous about how I’d handle the high altitude there. Much of what I read about what happens to some people at high altitude was sketchy and inconsistent. Some of it was downright terrifying. I mean, your brain swelling inside your skull and shutting down vital organs and such.

At the same time I knew that Bolivia was a popular country to visit and that if the altitude was really all that dangerous I likely would’ve heard more about it.

I had seen an English doctor turn white as a ghost and go down hard at Machu Picchu in Peru on a previous trip, so I knew it was definitely something you have to watch out for. Most of what I read said that if you have certain symptoms that you must get yourself down to lower altitude immediately. What are you supposed to do if your brain is swelling, you’re traveling alone and have just stepped off the plane in La Paz, Bolivia at 12,500 feet above sea level… how are you supposed to get yourself down to lower altitude while your brain is swelling and being crushed inside your skull?

I read all I could and took all the recommended precautions and hoped for the best.

As soon as the plane landed there were several people on the plane having problems. Many were throwing up all over the place and there were Bolivian airline employees rushing onto the plane with small oxygen tanks. I was seated toward the front of the plane so I was able to make my way off the plane after the emergency staff had passed.

I stood up and put one foot in front of the other… expecting that I’d be going down too. Evidently I’m one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have a problem with altitude. I kept waiting to feel faint or sick, but all I got was a mild headache that lasted a couple of days. I didn’t even have to take any of the altitude pills that you can easily find anywhere in La Paz.

After about 5 days of acclimating myself I even went up to over 18,000 feet with a small group. Young and healthy climbers were having trouble at that altitude, but I was still going strong. A little slower and breathing hard, but mostly unfazed.

One of the main destinations I wanted to see was the Salar de Uyuni area. It’s a vast area of salt planes that stretch as far as you can see. This area is also high altitude and also called the altiplano.

I took a couple of busses and then a train almost all the way to the Argentine border. I’d read that if you do the Salar de Uyuni tour from the opposite direction, you end up getting a whole extra day of exploring. And, because most people start from Uyuni, you end up not seeing as many of the other tours.

This turned out to be an excellent choice. There were two vehicles in my group. A driver for each and a cook. Eight backpacker tourists (including myself) and that was it. For four days we hardly saw anyone else. Just llamas, alpacas, all sorts of exotic altiplano animals, flocks of flamingos, and poisonous arsenic lakes.

There were some incredibly active thermal geysers you could walk right up to the edge of. Though, it turns out they’re very dangerous as well. At one point I was standing at the edge of one and the crust broke off. I got my balance quickly, but the driver told me that it’s extremely risky getting that close and that people often burn to death from falling into one. Good to know! Might’ve mentioned that to me before I pranced right up to the edge of one!

There was an abandoned train graveyard that was surreal. And landscapes like no other I’ve ever seen on this planet.

It’s hard to pinpoint the highlight, because if that four days was all I got out of this trip and I had to head back home early, I’d have been fine with that. That four days was everything I imagined Bolivia to be and then some.

One of my favorite moments during that tour was going to this strange island in the middle of the infinite salt flats. It looks like a small island covered in boulders and cactus surrounded by an infinite plateau of white flats for as far as the eye can see. Underneath all that salt is supposed to be one of the largest deposits of lithium in the world.

When our transport vehicles arrived about a half hour or so before dawn, our little caravan sleepily made our way up craggy paths with our flashlights. Pitch black, but we were all looking for that one spot to get that one unique photo that no one else has managed. Truth is, there’s likely been millions of images made from this little island over the years and not likely there are any truly unique angles left. We still tried though.

I thought I’d found a nice spot, but then noticed there was someone else who moved right in front of me. I moved to yet another spot and the same thing happened. By that time dozens of transport vehicles had arrived and the lookout spots were starting to get crowded.

Frustrated, I moved as far away from the rest of the group as I could. Everyone tried to get as high up on the island as they could, so I decided to move a bit lower down the slope.

It was hard to figure out where a good spot would be because it was so dark and hard to tell what the scene might look like as soon as the sun began to rise. As the dawn light started to increase, someone else moved in front of me. Again I scrambled over some cacti and boulders to find a last minute spot that was clear.

The air was crisp and the sky was clear. You could finally see where the sun would rise and I could start to make out the lines of cracks creating a patchwork pattern over the sea salt plane all around us.

I grabbed a few shots but it was still a little too dark. Then I heard some rustling around me and just in front of me. Not again! Another backpacker blocking my view. No! It was a pack of dogs. They didn’t seem domesticated, but they also didn’t growl or appear to be aggressive at all. The light was coming up fast now and there was no time to move again.

This one dog positioned himself right in front of me and just sat there. I tried to get him to leave but he just sat there and didn’t move. Finally, I just gave up and took a few images of the dog silhouette next to a cactus. I was hoping the sound of my camera shutter would scare him off and out of my view. He didn’t budge and stayed put long enough for me to take a few shots. Then he sort of gave me one of those doggy smiles before he headed off with the rest of the pack. The sun had that golden color now and I was able to get a few more landscapes of the incredible vista before it was too bright.

Later, when everyone shared their photos—I noticed most of them looked pretty much the same. My landscapes looked similar to the other photos I saw as well.

Until I got to the throw away shots I’d made of that dog who insisted on posing right in front of me. I realized that I’d actually got one of the most unique shots of that location, unlike anyone else. The way he became still in the brisk and still morning air and waited patiently to welcome the rising sun, reflects how I too felt standing there waiting for the same.

Thank you amigo.

—Skip Hunt

~~~

I don’t get to order that many prints for myself unless I’m getting something as a gift or a new photo for my portfolio.

Every time I order a new print for myself, or anyone else for that matter… from the second I submit the order I get a tingle on the back of my neck anticipating opening it up. And, no matter how fast the printer can get it completed and delivered, it’s never fast enough. That feeling when you see it for the first time after you’ve carefully removed it from the shipping container is magnificent. It is for me at least.

I’ve decided to try something a little different than what I’ve done in the past. I’m going to have a little flash sale. It’s my very first one so I’m going to keep it simple. It’s just one image, one size, and luster paper finish. The shipping is included if it’s delivered in the U.S. (for international orders, message me and I’ll see what I can do)