“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”
― Pablo Neruda
A young woman travels to South America, alone – sounds like the start of a romance novel. It’s no wonder everyone asks me “So, did you find love in South America?”
The answer to this question is, yes, more than I ever thought possible. Yet, it’s not exactly what you’re thinking.
It seems every Hollywood movie casts latinos/as as gorgeous, fiery, passionate lovers. I’m certainly not here to contest this entirely. However, I’m also cast as a gringa which attracts more tour guides looking for someone easy/temporary/naive that it’s become a joke.
“How many marriage proposals this time?” says my friend every time I’m hiking in the wilds of Patagonia.
So, let’s forget stereotypes. We’re all so much more than that.
There’s also one minor detail.
It seems that quitting your job and selling everything to travel the world sounds, dare I say, romantic. I’ve stepped into a worn-in script.
I tend to follow my heart to ruins hidden in the mountaintops or chase after stories of witches.
“Eres muy romantica. You’re very romantic,” says my Ecuadorian host mother within minutes of my arrival.
Even with a very limited Spanish vocabulary, it shows.
OK, I’m romantic, but that’s who I am not what I’m after.
Yes, romance is fun and I’ve spent nights dancing under streetlights, talking until dawn while the full moon lit the tide, and sharing picnics and wine overlooking glaciers.
Yes, I see the world differently. I’m a writer, a poet, a dreamer, and a storyteller. I naturally tend to do follow-your-heart things and often steer shallow conversations into hours-long epiphanies.
Yes, I constantly make the choice to live in a “beautiful, loving world” which, contrary to how it looks outside, takes a lot of effort in the face of challenges.
Thus, over this last year:
I’ve laid in the shade of endless nuances of love.
I’ve been adopted by families, becoming a second sister to people from Patagonia to Peru.
LOVE.
I became “Aunti Ash” to the most adorable, heart stealing baby with cachetes (cheeks) the size of cantaloupes. Whose squeals of joy at my stupid faces gave me more fulfilment than any social accomplishments.
LOVE.
I have friendships that are better defined as soul mates. People I know would be there and were there when I called. Who went out of their way to check in or make me smile with a homemade green curry.
LOVE.
Meals with friends, intricate door handles, the smell of ocean air or crisp wind off a glacier, laughing until it hurts. All the little moments that make up this lovely, unpredictable life.
LOVE.
I’ve never had a closer relationship with my parents who often say things like “Don’t worry, it’ll be clear when it’s clear.” And, I know that I’m incredibly lucky to have inherited this spirit.
LOVE.
I was ill, painfully ill in Santiago, standing in line at the hospital trying to figure out the two line, one number ticket system. An Italian man in his late 70s came over, sorted it out, and got me sent to the right department. Then, he had his brother-in-law drive me to grab my prescription and drop me off at the hostel.
Gratsi Gratsi, I’m so glad I know one word in Italian.
LOVE.
My “trail wife” Kate slowing down and staying with me when I injured my knee on a hike. She kept pace at my side, at the risk of missing the fabled sunrise at Torres del Paine. We didn’t end up missing it but the point is: she stayed.
LOVE.
The street dogs including King Kong who always put his snout under my hand for company as I walked into town.
LOVE.
Writing this word, yes, this one here. Pushing through creative walls and practising art for the love of the stories and the hope that they reach someone, somehow.
LOVE.
For the Apu – the mountain summit gods – the mystery, the ruins, the senderos trails, the weird insects that land on my sleeve. Pure curiosity.
LOVE.
Saying “I love you, keep going, slow down, rest, you’re ok, you’re wonderful,” to myself. Self love isn’t narcissistic. I’m pretty badass, patient, kind, and cool. Other people are, too. I’ve stopped comparing and started appreciating myself.
Everything and everyone you meet is a reflection of you, and I love what I see.
LOVE. LOVE. LOVE.
I’m all loved up and loved over. Baby, I’m full.
And I think that’s a good place for any other loves to join me.
With all that love behind me, I’m not desperate. I don’t “need” anything more. Yet, it might be nice to share this overflowing cup.
I’m a lightweight, love-drunk to be honest.
So, yes. This young, single, solo woman travelled to South America and found love. All kinds of it. It just took looking at what was all around me and appreciating the hell out of it.
As for romantic love, who knows?
But, isn’t that what makes the start of every adventure so exciting?
