I never - not in a million years - thought I would be able to say I spent part of my honeymoon in a pigpen in Bolivia.
But alas, how life can surprise you…
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“Amigo, hold this.”
Immediately, I regretted stretching out my hand as our tour guide placed a charged stick of dynamite into my palm. The rest of the group backed away in disbelief. McKenzie stayed by my side long enough to take a picture before retreating herself. After lighting a “3-minute” fuse and jamming the stick into a hole in the wall, I hurried towards the others up the narrow mineshaft - our guide calmly taking his time behind me. About two and half minutes later a burst of the wind from the explosion echoed by us. This was not your typical mine tour.
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McKenzie and I both took a pinch of coca leaves from a plastic bag handed back from our driver, Orlando, and stuffed them into the sides of our cheeks. The leaves, Orlando explained, helped prevent altitude sickness - (they’re also the same ones used to make cocaine). In a matter of one day we had gone from sea level to 16,500 feet. And after watching another guest get carried back to the Jeep and in rough shape, a hard sell wasn’t needed. It wasn’t as if we would be drug tested anytime soon.
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If my sister was a city, she’d be Valparaiso.
Colorful. Artsy. Messy. A little bit complicated. With a heart bigger than life itself and personality that sparkles as the sun goes down.
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We haven’t planned much of this trip. We might have a broad idea of things we want to see or places we want to visit, but a lot of the time we’re flying by the seat of our pants, figuring things out a week or a even a day in advance. And it’s cool because it gives us freedom. The freedom to change our minds, to redirect our course on a whim. If we like a place - we stay, if we don’t - we get our butts on the next bus. We’re not in a rush to have it all figured out. We’ve let a lot of it surprise us along the way. And I for the most part, l really like surprises.
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