Setting the house on fire

Published: December 6, 2021 / Updated: December 6, 2021 Vilma Life in Belize

‘Who does this guy think he is?’ – I thought of Beno after spending the first 30 minutes with him.

I arrived to PG and got off at the last bus stop before the University of Belize (UB) branch in town, as per his instructions. I put my backpack on the bench and looked around, not seeing a soul, and thinking how the hell I’d be able to tell my host I was already there. No phone, remember? I saw 2 snack shacks nearby and marched into one of them. When I asked if the woman working there knew where my host lived, by giving her his full name, she told me she did not know. Now, being older and wiser, I’m thinking one of the two things happened there: 1) she didn’t know, as she didn’t recognize the name. The guy was simply known as Beno, or 2) she knew exactly who I meant, but she didn’t want to tell me. Oh, I wouldn’t be surprised! Trust me, there’s a lot of undercurrent in that town.

It’s a small place and in a way it reminds me of Alderney. Everybody knows everybody’s business.

Not having luck in the first snack shack, I marched to the second one. This time I asked the woman working there if I could use her phone (much smarter, eh?) and called Beno. He quickly answered and told me he’d be there in 5 minutes.

And there he was. Wearing his blue overalls, covered in grass (he worked as a gardener) he approached me, grabbed my heavy backpack and led the way to his house close by.

He talked non stop for about 20 minutes.

‘I am just looking for the right girl’ – he announced at some point, having talked about nothing but girls.

‘This guy is trouble!’ – I thought to myself then.

The funny thing was that he couldn’t take his eyes off the mirror the entire time he talked.

Beno looked himself up and he looked himself down, he checked himself from the left and he checked himself from the right. That made me smile. I couldn’t remember seeing a guy do that for a very long time, if ever!

Don’t take me wrong. I couldn’t take my eyes off him either…

But hey, who was I to say anything? If he was looking for the right girl, I was hoping he’d find one soon enough. In the meantime, I had a roof over my head and a couch to sleep on. I was good.

Once his short lunch break was over, Beno went back to work at the UB steps away from his house. The town was really small and you could easily walk everywhere. So that afternoon I set off to explore it.

That first night my couch turned into bed. Beno kept the only fan in the house in his bedroom, and I was not going to sweat myself to sleep.

That same night my bed turned into the mattress on the floor. The house I stayed in was a simple wooden house. And the roof was leaking. When the rain came and the bed started feeling wetter, Beno suggested putting the mattress on the floor and I happily agreed.

That night I hardly slept. Not only because of the rain but also because of the person lying next to me. The sparks between us could have easily set the wooden house on fire. The morning came too soon and I woke up with ‘he’s my host and I’m just passing by’ thoughts in my head. Was I exhausted? For sure. Was I hooked? You bet.

Before it all started (part II)

Published: November 22, 2021 / Updated: November 22, 2021 Vilma Life in Belize

Remember how I told you that quite often I get these glimpses of my past trip? I will be doing something and I’ll get this flash in my mind of a certain moment during my trip. The picture will be very clear, very unexpected and not related to what I’m doing at that moment. I may not remember the name of the place or the names of the people I’m with. But it is always a welcome image.

Sometimes reality brings back memories, too. Last weekend I was walking down the street in the neighborhood that I had not been in for at least a couple of years. It’s different from the city center where I live. As soon as I saw the simple wooden houses with big gardens, avocado and mango trees and chickens running around, I thought of Belize. In particular the Crooked Tree village (I love the name!), that was my home for a couple of days.

Crooked Tree is all about wildlife and bird paradise. To me it was all about beauty and peace.

Villages of Belize is what I saw and fell in love with.

It was amazing to be on my own and plan my days however I wanted. I booked my stay in a hostel in Dangriga (couchsurfing did not always work). When I arrived, I realized I was the only one staying there and so I had 8 beds all to myself. Yay!

I visited the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary. They say you have a good chance of spotting jaguars there.

I didn’t get to see any, but I thoroughly enjoyed a very very long walk to the reserve all on my own. I didn’t mind, although a few locals I met on the way gave me funny looks, not quite believing I was making the distance on foot. While at the sanctuary, I was reminded that having a travel buddy was very useful at times. I started climbing one of the peaks, and it was not too hard nor too high, but I was so extremely hot (and already tired from walking all the way to the reserve) that I didn’t reach the top. The view was supposed to be amazing and I really wanted to see it, but I didn’t have anybody next to me not letting me give up: ‘You can do this, Vilma!’, ‘Just a bit more!’

The view I did get to see was nothing short of amazing and after that I jumped into the nearest waterfall to cool off.

It was while in Dangriga, in that empty hostel with 8 beds, that I contacted my future host in Punta Gorda. I did want to go there, I did want to leave Belize through its Southern border. In my mind that was the fastest way through Guatemala (which I had visited previously) to El Salvador, my next destination. That host was the only one living right in town, and even though his references didn’t shine, I sent him a request to host me for 4 nights. And he accepted it.

I remember how good I felt about seeing his message: ‘Yeah, you could chill with me, just keep me posted when you are in town’. And he gave me his phone number. Then I had to tell him that I had no phone myself, but would specify my arrival day through couchsurfing. ‘Have a bless day, Vilma’. And that did it. He seemed nice, very nice. He obviously could not spell, but, let’s be honest here, not many of us can, not all the time, not without the help of Google!

Before I reached PG, I spent a couple of days in Placencia. I had the best time there. My Canadian host treated me with extreme kindness and we spent a lot of time together. The beaches in the village are picture perfect and it was great to rest in a comfortable house and have my own room. When I told my host about planning to visit PG, he told me it was a dump. ‘Pardon me?’ He told me it was not a joke, there was a community in Toledo district near Punta Gorda called Dump. What an unlucky name! Disregarding his comment, however, I continued with my plan. I spent a couple of extra nights in Placencia and finally took a bus to the very South of Belize.

You better Belize it

Published: October 31, 2021 / Updated: November 8, 2021 Vilma Life in Belize

I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry once I found out (today) that Belize was mentioned in one of the ‘Breaking Bad’ episodes. I watched the show from the beginning to the end (and loved it, too) and did not remember hearing that. In my defense, I did that while collecting stamps in my passport. It would have been easy to miss one bit. Back then Belize was most definitely not on my mind. Fast forward three years, it was the only thing on my mind.

‘Oh no, don’t go there’.

I was reading the references of the couchsurfing hosts out loud, when Juanita’s sister spoke up while washing clothes and bathing her little girl at the same time.

Did you know that 5 years ago I didn’t own a cellphone? The last phone I had was the one I dropped into the washing machine when I still lived in Alderney. Needless to say, even after the tumble dryer cycle, the rice and the use of the hairdryer, it didn’t come back to life. So that was that.

Now tell me that spending a couple of years without a cellphone is not an attractive idea. It sure was to me. So not only I had set off to Peru not knowing the guy I’d be travelling with, but I’d gone without a phone too. I know, my poor family. But do give me some credit, please, I had my tablet with me.

‘How did you manage for over 3 years without a phone?’ – my friends often wondered. My Peruvian had his, thank you very much, so we were covered. Besides, I could do anything internet related on my tablet and we did manage to find and use some public phones when needed. On a very rare occasion. Where they still existed.

When my trip ended in Europe, I was still without a phone. When I went to Spain, I still hadn’t gotten one. And when I came back to Mexico, my tablet was my only means of communication. I remember my friends from the silver jewelry store asking how I could live like that, what if something happened? I didn’t think anything would happen.

Which brings me back to the moment I was searching for a host in the South of Belize.

‘No no, don’t stay with that guy,’ – Juanita’s sister volunteered.

Juanita was my second host in Belize. And her family was amazing. Before her, as I crossed the border, I stayed with a guy from Jamaica, still a friend today.

Juanita’s family was so much more than I could have ever dreamt of having as a couchsurfing host. The mother, the daughter, the sister, the husband, the kids… They instantly felt like family. And they are. Ask Juanita if she has a three year old in Mexico today: ‘She’s my baby, too!’ – my friend will tell you straight away.

It was my first time staying with them and the friendship was only beginning. I didn’t think anybody else in Belize could treat me so well, and I needed to plan my 30 day visit in the country well. Sure, Belize is small, but I wanted to squeeze in as much as I could within that time. So knowing my stops and finding my hosts was an important task at hand.

There was a big difference after I crossed the border. From the noise of the state capital in Mexico I came to a sleepy border town in Belize. The time seemed to have slowed down there. But I loved it! As I sat on the bus next to a local boy, I started chatting to him, and to every question I asked he’d reply: ‘Yes, Miss’ or ‘No, Miss’. Now this was something new to me. Nobody called me Miss before. This young boy just met me, yet he was so polite. ‘Why do you call me ‘Miss’?’ – I asked him. ‘Because I respect you, Miss’ – he replied without losing a heartbeat.

What I fell in love with from the start was the diversity of this small nation. Different ethnic communities live side by side in this country, they are all brothers and sisters. I found that heart warming after the racist attacks you kept hearing about in the States and kept hearing whispers about in Mexico.

As a tourism destination, it packs a punch, too. When my Peruvian and I were considering visiting Belize, we were warned by other travelers of this country being very expensive, and neighboring Honduras and Guatemala being able to offer the same or better for much less. So we skipped it then.

This time I was on my own and I was already here. But by then I had seen enough of pretty beaches and picture perfect Caribbean islands, so I was exploring inland only. I didn’t find sky reaching mountains or deep canyons. I did find small and simple things to explore, enjoy and appreciate. And I was welcomed by extremely friendly people.

There is a downside to living in Belize, too (that’s what I thought in the first two weeks). Buying food in the hot supermarket with limited choice of products is not fun. I was used to the blaring A/C and anything my heart wished for browsing the isles of Walmart or another big chain supermarket on the other side. But very soon I got to appreciate the local markets and the fresh produce. Less choice is better (that’s what I thought on week three). Life seems simpler that way.

I now know much more than when I first stepped into the country, though. There’s trouble, injustice, struggle and tears. There is all that. But then, then my journey was just beginning and to make sure I had a roof over my head was my top priority.

I kept re-reading the profile of the only host in Punta Gorda. One of the references kept jumping in front of my eyes: ‘I woke up and my camera was gone’, – some girl complained. I didn’t need drama. I didn’t want to wake up and find my things missing. That’s why Juanita’s sister kept telling me to stay away.

And so I listened.

The (lack of) men in my life

October 25, 2021 Vilma Life in Mexico

I feel like in these past couple of weeks I’d gone from zero to hero and become this femme fatale.

Mind you, it didn’t last long. Just a few days later I was back to zero. No!..

Here is what happened in between the two zeros.

As you well know, I’d been mopping around for the longest time, not getting any attention whatsoever from any man alive (the Walmart delivery man still keeps coming, bless him). When suddenly I seemed to have four (FOUR!) men (REAL!) in my life:

  • London boy. Yes, that same one. I got to know him a year ago on bumble.com, when the pandemic was in full swing. And by ‘getting to know him’ I mean just that. We have never met in person… I call us (and he agrees) the modern day pen pals. He’s the one I was and still am infatuated with. I believe we are a match made in heaven and I know he is perfect for me. He, on the other hand, is on the flight to the USA to meet his new girlfriend as we speak, to get married and have babies. Still, he’s been a figure in my life for a year, which is a lot. I like talking to him and I’d call him a good friend. ‘You get on my nerves, I get on yours. That’s how it is, babe’ – being sweet and adorable is not his forte. Every time I see a missed video call from him (my phone is ALWAYS on silent), the message follows: ‘I didn’t mean to call’. It makes me smile. London boy doesn’t ‘do’ emotions. He always listens to his head. In my opinion, though, he should for once listen to his heart, come to Mexico and marry me!
  • The guy from Belize. He’s been in my life for longer than London boy, close to two years now. Thanks to the social media we started talking while I was still in Europe and he visited me once I came back to Mexico a year and a half ago. He lives about an hour away from here so it was easy to see each other. But then just like that, he disappeared. I didn’t hear or see him again. Until very recently, when he came to see me again and I laid my head on his shoulders and just breathed. It felt good to spend an afternoon with a man who’s kind, caring and damn good looking.
  • The traveler (with one l). We’d been on a date (thank you, tinder.com) a few months ago. It was very low key and that’s what liked about it. I didn’t have to worry about trying to impress him, it was like meeting an old friend. We had a great time laughing and sharing stories. And we keep in touch still, asking what each of us is up to every couple of days. He keeps travelling, so he moves from one place to another, but he’s still in Mexico. And he wants to see me again. ‘I really want to see you again. It would be nice at least to hold you in my arms’, – he says in his message.
  • The Canadian guy. Remember how I told you I stopped using all the dating apps? I did, till I started using them again. What can I say, swiping right still gives me hope that one day… And one day this guy did not hesitate and asked to meet. I did not hesitate and asked where. We met twice and although going on both dates with a toddler is a very different story (please don’t ask to elaborate), I think he enjoyed it as much as we did.

Today everything is back to usual: the delivery man is due to bring my groceries today; London boy is sitting happily on the plane; Belizean guy has disappeared again; the traveler keeps traveling; the Canadian guy went back home. It was fun while it lasted and it felt good to feel wanted.

It also felt great to be reminded that I was an interesting person and a great company, all on my own. Sometimes I am genuinely surprised that people like me or that they want to spend time with me. That they miss me and want to see me again.

When I travelled with my Peruvian, he always was the center of attention. Mostly because of the language. My Spanish may be half decent these days, but it wasn’t when I started travelling. So I always held back and let him do the talking. He was smart and charming, so he had no problems making fast friends with people we met along the way. Me? I took a back seat and took my time. However, the people I connected with are my dear friends till today.

Travelling alone did lots of good for me. I couldn’t hide behind somebody else’s back. I held my conversations and shared my experiences. People got to know the real me. Sure, being on your own with two backpacks in tow brings its own hardships. Going to the bathroom is the trickiest part, when you need to drag all the stuff with you and squeeze it all into a tiny cubicle. And, I admit, I was never a light packer.

And so, as ending up on an old American school bus crossing the Mexican – Belizean border, I was starting a new chapter, that turned out into a magical story book.

The pursuit of…

Published: October 8, 2021 / Updated: October 12, 2021 Vilma Life in Mexico

‘Are you happy?’ – she asks me.

‘Yes, because I have you’, – I say.

‘Are you happy?’ – I ask her.

‘Yes, because I have you’ – she replies.

Young children live in the permanent state of happiness.

Can you blame them? They only want what is fun, and they want it now. When they don’t get it, they cry and they stomp their feet. Not being able to go to the park because it’s raining outside is the end of the world for them. Sometimes I feel like a child, just can’t stomp my feet.

I watched ‘The Pursuit of happyness‘ a couple of weeks ago. I am pretty sure I had seen it before. How could I not, Will Smith is in it, so I must have seen it! This time the story played on my heartstrings. How much has a parent got to do to survive, to pull through. How one just doesn’t give up, because he can’t afford to, because there’s a little person who needs him. And how imagination and games make it all so much easier on our little ones. How amazingly beautiful and at the same time awfully hard it is to be a parent.

These days I work eight hours a day, five days a week. I feel constantly tired and can’t find time for anything, especially myself. Back then I worked twelve hours a day, six days a week. And during my weekly day off I managed to clean the house, do my laundry, buy groceries and enjoy the beach.

How? How was it all possible back then?

Five years doesn’t seem to be such a long time, in the scheme of things. But how everything has changed. Hell, things drastically changed in two years for me!

After I ran away from Spain, I emerged myself into a very comfortable routine in Mexico. I didn’t care about boys. That was definitely not on my mind. Mark my words, love does find you when you least expect it. Funnily enough, I tend to forget that.

I was quite happy with my twelve hour shifts, to be honest. Oh, it wasn’t easy, but the money at the end of the day was good. Besides, the job was not stressful at all. I just had to get used to the following:

-power cuts

-flooded streets

-no running water in the bathroom at work

-people being late

The hours I’d spend waiting for the store to open, sat on a bench next to it and having conversations with whoever was in a mood for it. To me 10 am meant arriving 10 min early. To Mexicans it meant showing up at about 10.30 am or so. Remember what I said about wanting things now? Plus, not having any patience? Here you have it! It was pure torture… I just wasted time and energy getting frustrated about it. Being late is part of the culture here. But even after four years I still can’t get used to it. They even have a joke about it. Invitations to attend an event are sent for an earlier time, not the real hour it starts. But those who are invited know the trick. Mexicans still show up late, as they know they were invited early.

I was saving my pesos (and dollars) and was set on leaving when the slow season started. I had a plan to visit those Central American countries that me and my Peruvian skipped: Belize, El Salvador and Costa Rica. I read the guidebooks, I marked the pages, I was getting ready.

I promised my boss I’d be back. And why wouldn’t I? Working in the silver jewelry store was a great way to make money, to practice my Spanish, improve my Russian and my French, make new friends and even meet people from back home. If not for the shortage of toilet water!..

Soon enough April came. I packed my backpack, took those guidebooks and boarded a bus going to Belize.

Hasta La Vista, Baby

Published: September 27, 2021 / Updated: September 27, 2021 Vilma Life in Europe: Spain

I arrived to Spain eager to start the new chapter of my life.

2 weeks later I was ready to quit. Why? Let’s make a list:

  • I couldn’t stand the Spanish accent in Spain. In Latin America they spoke beautifully and the language was like music to my ears. In Spain, not so much…
  • The people in the Northern Spain reminded me too much of the people in my country – never a smile on the face…
  • The children did not want to learn English. It felt like they were there only because their parents could afford to pay for the academy.
  • The prep for lessons took up way too much of my free time.

Not to mention:

  • I was staying a tiny room in a tiny apartment.
  • The apartment was shared with 4 other woman.
  • I couldn’t afford a place on my own. The rental prices in town were outrageous!

Not all was doom & gloom, though.

  • Wine was good and it was cheap!

I did enjoy going for long walks on my days off.

Some days I’d walk for 10 miles or so.

But as I started working in October, the weather started getting chilly quite fast.

It was definitely not my cup of tea (or my glass of wine).

As soon as I moved there, I instantly clicked with my housemate from the UK. We’d sit at home sharing pizza at the end of the day and ponder about the fact how we ended up in cold Spain. We wanted to be anywhere but there.

I told her all about my time in Mexico. And so our secret plan was born – we would go to Mexico!

2 more weeks later we quit. Well, technically, we just left. Don’t shake your heads now, it’s not something I’m very proud of. It did take a bit of sneaking around to get the bus tickets in advance. Everybody in town knew who we were. And still, only a month after we’d come, we were back on the bus to the Madrid airport.

I don’t remember much about the flight itself or how we managed to get from the airport in Mexico to the town where our couch surfing host was waiting for us. All I remember is waking up the next morning and feeling the humidity in the air. And it felt like home.

Going sola

Published: September 6, 2021 / Updated: September 13, 2021 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

I cried when my Peruvian said goodbye to me in Berlin. It was all too familiar. I’d been in tears leaving Petoskey behind me. I’d had teary eyes when I said goodbye to Parga. And now I was sitting on a bus going from Berlin to my home country. After a strong hug and a brief kiss, he was gone.

We had left Latin America and came to Europe. My Peruvian was eager to visit. He was eager to visit every continent! To me Europe was home. It could never compare to the majestic mountains of Peru, vast desserts of Chile or Caribbean beaches.

He wanted to keep travelling. I wanted to sleep in the same bed for longer than a week. I needed a break. And just like that we parted our ways.

I had never seen him again.

I was so happy to see my family. It was great to be back.

But after two weeks a big ‘What now?’ crawled upon me. I had no idea. What DO I do now?

Back then I was the girl that lived day by day. I didn’t have a plan and I was just happy to go with the flow. Somebody called me that recently: ‘A girl who lives day by day – that’s you’. But they are wrong. Today that is definitely not me. I may be lost trying to create a perfect plan. But I am no longer the careless girl who’d drop everything at her heart’s desire.

I was 35 and I had nothing. Or, if you will, I was 35 and I felt richer than I would have ever dreamed of being. Seeing the world was my greatest achievement and the memories and experiences will stay with me forever. It’s funny how once in a memory from those hitchhiking years pops up into my head. Completely unrelated to what I am doing at that moment, yet always so welcome.

I remembered then, being at my mom’s, how much I enjoyed teaching English to those kids in Guatemala. And so I decided to get a TEFL certificate, which would allow me to travel and live abroad and make a living out of it. It was right up my alley.

200 hours online course was not easy, but it was great to remember the ins and outs of the language that I loved since I was a child. I remember how eager I was to lay my hands on the English books and magazines that my cousin got me. How I practiced my English from an old pocket book with my mom, while she did laundry (and kept telling me that she couldn’t remember much of the language!) That’s what I wanted to give to the children – that desire and that love that I had when I was their age.

I passed with flying colors and got my certificate. My poor mum couldn’t get anything out of me in the meantime, I was always sitting at the computer. I couldn’t wait to finish the course and go someplace again (so much for sleeping in one bed for long…) I always felt like that whenever I was back. It was amazing to be there, but it was more amazing to leave two weeks later.

Looking for a job as an English teacher was fun. Going back to Colombia was inviting, but the weather in Bogota didn’t warm my heart. Italy seemed interesting, but so did Spain. When the job offer from an English academy landed in my inbox, I knew I had another adventure coming. I just didn’t know it would turn out to be almost criminal.

Little pearls of wisdom

Published: August 24, 2021 / Updated: August 30, 2021 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

I met a guy on the playground the other day. Amongst all the other parents he stood out with his long blond hair and 2 most adorable little kids (after mine, that is).

‘How do you manage?’ – I asked watching him effortlessly juggle both toddlers. ‘I can hardly manage with one!’ – I added.

He smiled.

‘I’m not usually on my own here’, – he responded, ‘but once in a while I like to give my wife a break’.

Was that an exception from the norm or was it the norm? I don’t even know anymore. At that very moment to me he seemed one of a kind. Where are those men that do half of the house chores? Where are those dads that are as much involved in their child care as the moms are? Where are those men that go on a date with a girl online and end up marrying her? Where are those men that love their woman so much that they accept her children as their own?

Not in my universe.

There is this elderly lady that I’ve known for quite some time now, a few years. We used to live next door to each other. She’s seen me single, she’s seen me pregnant and she’s seen me broken down. I got her message the other day, like I do once in a while, just checking in.

‘Vilma, how are you? How’s your little girl?’ – she started as usual. ‘You know, nothing would make me happier than to know that you have found somebody and are no longer on your own’.

That made me smile, but it was a sad smile.

That makes two of us, my dear, I thought to myself.

‘Hello, neighbor’, I said in a fake cheerful voice. ‘Of course I’m on my own’, – I told her matter of factly. ‘Nobody wants a woman with a child’.

This, of course, is based on me raising my daughter alone and receiving zero interest from any man alive. Having a child is the most beautiful thing in the world. Raising one is the most difficult one. It’s a blessing to share the good and the bad with another person. But the men I’ve come across run away as soon as they hear me mention my daughter. The only male constant in my life at the moment is the man delivering my groceries once a week, and it’s not even the same man every time.

‘No, Vilma, don’t say that. Good men exist. You just wait’, – my ex-neighbor continued. ‘I was with the man who cared for me and my children like they were his own’. Lucky you, I though, where did you find a man like that? The don’t seem to exist in my universe.

And so it makes me wonder. I spend so much time every day thinking about where those men are and why I haven’t crossed paths with them in the recent years. I keep dreaming, obsessing, hoping, crying, guessing, searching, complaining, giving up and starting again. I use so much time thinking about men and hoping that one will just magically step into my life (well it happens to others, so why not me?) and never leave, that I now realize it’s a complete and utter waste of my precious time and energy.

I read this really interesting article recently.

What struck me the most the part about self education:

‘The truth is that anyone who is part of the 1% not only values education, but is also a lifelong learner. Being a lifelong learner helps them understand the world they live in, provides them with more and better opportunities, and improves the quality of their life. It is a deliberate and voluntary choice, not a chore. 

Most people are unable to enter the niche because they undervalue the power of self-education. They think that getting some degree will be sufficient to be successful. But it’s not like that. Self-initiated education focuses on personal development and offers many long-term benefits, including improved self-confidence, renewed self-motivation and the building of new skills’.

So instead of staring at my phone, or texting the wrong guy, or feeling self pity, I should be doing something. Learning something. ‘Debes ocuparte, no procuparte’, – I was told more than once lately.

Every time I think about moving back to Europe I automatically dismiss countries that require me to speak the language I don’t know. Had I done something about this 2 years ago, I would have mastered at least two new languages by now.

I also have to remind myself that things happen to us only when we are ready for them. Not earlier, not later. It’s one of the four Shaman laws, which I came to love and seek out when times get hard.

The first law says that the person that is in our life is just the right person. Nobody is here by accident, everybody we surround ourselves with is here for a reason.

The second law says what happens is the only thing that could have happened. Whatever happens couldn’t have happened in any other way whatsoever, not even by the tiniest detail. It happens exactly that way so we learn and move forward. All the situations in our life are perfect, even though our mind and our ego resists that and doesn’t want to accept it at times.

The third law says that when something happens, it happens at the right moment. Everything starts when it should, not before, not after. When we are ready for something to happen in our lives, that’s when it happens.

The fourth one says that when something ends, it ends. Just like that. If something ends in our life, it’s for our evolution, and it’s best to leave it. To move forward and take this experience with us.

And so I must not be ready for a new and good man in my life, although that doesn’t stop me from saying a little prayer every night hoping that day comes soon.

Live and love

Published: August 8, 2021 / Updated: August 16, 2021 Vilma My backpacking years

Raise your hand if you are a little bit in love with Bruno Mars. I know, so am I! Great talent and a killer smile.

Not long after the start of our trip I heard his newest single at that time – Gorilla. I kept listening to that over and over again. Just like in the past months I had been listening to Usher’s Tell Me. I wonder why we do that – keep listening to the song over and over again till we eventually get tired of it and move on to the next one? Bruno Mars had accompanied me on my trip almost from the start, and we were in a good place, I was not even close to getting tired of his music.

You can imagine then how I felt, when Bruno Mars agreed to host me and my Peruvian in his house in Brazil. ‘For real?’ – you ask. Ok, he wasn’t the REAL Bruno Mars, but tell me they didn’t look like two pees in a pod!

Falling in love with this guy was unavoidable. I think I melted as soon as I stepped into the house and saw our host. He was extremely sweet, made damn good savory crepes and mean margaritas. Plus, he sang and played the guitar just like the star.

While I showered I dreamt of him walking in on me. While passing his kitten from my arms into his I dreamt of being the kitten. I dreamt of kissing the guy.

I did feel bad afterwards as I believe my feelings and my thoughts were clearly written on my forehead. After we had left, my Peruvian asked me if I had been flirting with Bruno. ‘Not that I care’, – he added. I told him no, as I was doing so much more than flirting.

That was the only time when I got head over heels over a guy I’d met during my 3.5 year long trip. I guess by then I was sure there could be nothing more between me and my Peruvian than the friendship and companionship while the trip lasted.

Moreover, the trip could have ended at any moment. Just like life in general can end in the blink of an eye and without a warning.

Today, my memory of Paraguay is a blur. I don’t remember the names, I don’t remember the places, I don’t remember the faces. But I know I almost died there.

Late at night we arrived to a town where we had a couch surfing host waiting for us. The ride over was uneventful, but I do remember munching on chipa while relaxing next to the truck driver. Food in Paraguay was not impressive, but the chipa I liked!

We were walking along the road in the rain, trying to reach the house of our new host. That was all I remembered until I woke up in the hospital 3 days later with the bandage on my head, not being able to stand on my own two feet, and tubes poking out of more places than I care to remember. I did have random flashes of me being taken to the x-ray room or seeing the face of our host (I later found out that was him) by my hospital bed.

I got hit by a bus. I spent 2 weeks in a private hospital and a week later at a hotel, all expenses paid. We didn’t have travel insurance (I believe very few, if any, backpackers do) and we didn’t have home in Paraguay to go back to and rest. We had been on the move for years and suddenly I couldn’t move. It took a lot of effort for my Peruvian to fight for me, and with the help of a couple of influential friends I received a pretty good care.

Just remembering chipa made me nauseous for the longest time as it was the last I had eaten. Slowly, my head wound started to heal (today the big scar is hidden by my hair) and my swollen legs started to recover.

However, being able to walk unsupported was not the same as carrying a 15 kg backpack on my back and a 6 kg backpack on my front. Even after 3 weeks of rest I was not ready for that. But the insurance was no longer covering our stay and, honestly, we wanted to get the hell out of the country. So we started moving again, my Peruvian dragging 2 fully loaded backpacks while I just about managed the small ones. I don’t know how he did it. But he did. He saved me.

The lows

Published: August 2, 2021 / Updated: August 2, 2021 Vilma My backpacking years

The story of us crossing the Darien Gap simple deserves to be told.

Our boat had no motor, so we spent 7 days on the water, when the trip usually takes 3-5days. However, the crew was tight and we had lots of fun.

We were about to reach the San Blas islands, Panama. We had taken boxes of mangoes from Colombia with us and had been munching on them along the way. After a few days, however, the mangoes started to rot and it was impossible to escape the bad smell on the tiny boat. Remember, there were eleven of us and a dog. Before stepping on the boat, we had been eating the fruit for 3 days straight: mangoes for breakfast, mangoes for lunch and mangoes for dinner (the result of us running out of cash and not finding ATM machines in the small town of Capurgana, Colombia).

Mangoes gave me a rash and I couldn’t even look at the big beautiful fruit for 2 years after this trip, but trust me, the worst was yet to come.

I was going strong. Despite the never ending mangoes, despite the rash they gave me and despite the motion sickness that I had felt since the first night I spent on the boat. As I child, I suffered from that a lot (my mom would always have an extra bag with her whenever we went on a bus or stepped into a car). I couldn’t sleep inside the boat, that made me even more nauseous. I preferred to sleep outside breathing in the salty air, feeling the fresh wind, and looking at amazing night sky before closing my eyes. But then along came tuna.

Our captain, bless him, was as gorgeous as he liked to drink. He did take care of us: gave us food (the mangoes!) and water (sat inside plastic containers for days and looked questionable for sure). The captain did try, I have to say. One day he pulled out two beautiful tuna fish and made us all a huge bowl of ceviche right there and right then. It was awesome.

The second tuna was left on the side of the boat for a couple of days. We cooked it on the fire as we reached the first San Blas island. Yummy! We were finally on the ground after a few days at sea and we managed to put together a proper meal. The tuna with potatoes was just what we needed.

Back then I wasn’t keen on potatoes. Please, I had eaten them in every shape and form know to the human kind. In my country you eat potatoes for breakfast, lunch and dinner (so a bit like you do mangoes before you go on a sailing boat from Colombia to Panama) and for a snack in between. So it was just fish for me at that time in San Blas…

I was lying on the sand after a delicious meal, feet in the water, smiling to myself, when my Peruvian pointed out I had a big rash on my belly. I suddenly started to feel my cheeks burning and had to run to the bathroom (not an easy task when there were no real bathrooms on the small island). Then I needed to run again and again. Lord help me. My Peruvian reported that a few others were not feeling well either. The only girl who didn’t get food poisoning was the one who didn’t eat fish. She only had the potatoes. The first one to get sick was the one who skipped them.

Now let me remind you that we are talking about the same tiny boat with eleven of us and a dog. We had to get moving and could not stay on the island any longer. I don’t think you need much imagination to see us sharing the tiny claustrophobic bathroom amongst us. It was a disaster. It needed a lot of cleaning after.

And who cleaned after me? My Peruvian did.

My Peruvian was a hard core travel companion, and he didn’t think twice for the sake of everyone’s wellbeing. And for that am I grateful. We had each other, even at the worst of times.