Three years ago today, i woke up a mile or two outside of Yasila, Peru. You may also spell it Yacila, if you would like. i spelled it Yacila when blogging about it a few days later, from Trujillo. You must spell Trujillo Trujillo, unless you want to be wrong. It was July 26, 2008.
The surf was gentle. i was lying on my back.
i was thin. i hadn’t eaten much in the past month.
i had decided to die in that month, but only once. And really, maybe that’s not the best way to put it. Maybe it would be better to say that i had embraced death, or something like that. Anyways, it’s not as dramatic as it sounds. i had a little pity-party on the side of a mountain (and also, significantly, on the side of a road), and a semi had chanced to pass, and its driver had decided to insist that i ride with them. It certainly saved me a miserable 24 hours, as that’s almost certainly how long it would have taken me to reach the next town, but who’s to say whether or not it saved my life. It’s not out of the question that i could have died.
i was lying on my back.
There was a machete in my hand. It wasn’t really my machete, but i was caring for it for a little while. Actually, it was my ex-girlfriend’s machete, but she didn’t know about it yet. She had broken up with me a month earlier, on June 26. i didn’t understand it at the time, and i never really would, but i did eventually realize that even if i didn’t understand it, it was good that it happened. i acquired the machete for her two days before she broke up with me.
But what’s important to the morning of July 26, 2008 from all of that is that i woke up with a machete in my hand. Normally, i wouldn’t recommend sleeping with a machete in your hand. But sometimes you’re safer sleeping with a machete in your hand than without a machete in your hand.
The previous evening, i had backpacked a short distance from town, eventually stumbling upon a nice section of beach. i found out that my lens was done with life. A man approached me from behind.
Another figure loitered by the water a quarter of a mile or so away. The first man pointed to him ‘That man is a bad man. He will steal your things. He will kill you. He will come during the night, and he will have a knife. He will slit your throat. You shouldn’t sleep here.’ He drew his forefinger across his throat in a rather menacing fashion.
‘I’ll be ok’, i responded. i reached into my tent and pulled out my machete—a rather wicked looking device that had devoted ten years to hard labor in the mountains outside of Choco, Peru, hundreds of miles to the south.
The man smiled and walked away. Retrospectively, i have decided that one of the following was behind his smile:
1) He smiled because he was satisfied that i could defend myself. i don’t think this one is likely.
2) He smiled because he had intended to rob me that night himself, but was resigned to it not being worth his trouble.
3) He smiled because he was sure i would die that night.
4) He smiled because he had been pulling my leg all along.
Regardless, he smiled and walked away. Once he was gone, i smiled, and beat the dull blade of the machete against my palm. i would probably have had as much luck defending myself with my tripod.
On the morning of July 26, 2008, i woke up a mile or two outside of Yasila, Peru. i was lying on my back. There was a machete in my hand. i was very thin. i hadn’t eaten well during the preceding month. i was horribly sunburnt.
On the evening of July 26, 2008, i packed up my backpack and hiked back to Yasila, Peru. i was very thin. i hadn’t eaten well during the preceding month. i was horribly sunburnt. And i was giving up.
i had come to Peru to do awesome things. i had come to climb mountains. i had come to take pictures. To experience extraordinary places and events.
i had failed at everything i had tried, i felt. i was unhappy with all of my pictures. i would come back to America cold and withdrawn. Bitter and disenchanted. Yasila had been my last effort at making something extraordinary of the summer, and rare have been the moments since in which i have tried to do something extraordinary, or even seriously dreamed of doing something extraordinary.
But i remain convinced that the spirit that brought me to Yasila isn’t completely dead yet. i remain convinced that i might still see the world, and feel its vividness and strangeness.
i intend to throw some pictures onto this blog from time to time, rather than on facebook. Maybe sometimes i’ll include some poems, if i ever write a poem again. Maybe sometimes i’ll include short, frivolous research essays. Who knows. Maybe i’ll never update it.
Usually, it will probably be pretty mediocre. But sometimes, i hope, it will show—if even in the faintest echoes—the evidences of a latent Yasila.
