Dispatch Number 71- Nomads: The Virus of Wanderlust

In rural areas of South America conveniences are less and I learn to go without many things because they simply aren't offered. The reductionism of the countryside is satisfying. Dusty farming communities where men come to town on horseback with bundles of vegetables or bags of coffee to sell at the open air market and unload at the cooperative. They head back into the hills with money in their pockets and empty sacks tied to their horses, leaving a wake of sounds. The clack of horse hooves over paving stones mixed with the sound of men greeting each other with warm smiles and handshakes.

The rural communities with their unfashionable clothes, earthy smells, seasonings from kitchens and clods of green horse shit that dot the street. Rustic farm houses with children and cows and bird song from every tree. Laughter that comes from them and the silence that falls after they see me, the foreigner pass, they quickly recover and their silence turns to giggles. Children play without a yard full of toys. A milk crate and string make a sled ensuring hours of fun and entertainment.

I see the Latin American children play this way with crude toys and appear content. I can't spot a toy, except the ones they made.
Seeing this draws out a thought, Why do Westerners believe toys make children happy? Are toys a myth?
Perhaps the toys that fill most North American houses have little to do with distraction and happiness, and more likely to do with fostering consumerism at the earliest of ages.

These journeys into the countryside are humanizing experiences. Back to the land. Where people work it to feed their community and country. The city person is humbled here and struck by the seeming contentment and satisfaction with which these small farming communities lead their lives with. Eye contact is followed by warm greetings. They are places that manage perfectly well without the conveniences of the city.

Conversation comes easy in the countryside while walking back roads or sitting in a park. The gristled farmer with his lean body, hands and face like leather. Disarming smiles and eyes. I can feel the human condition in these areas, life has not been blocked out by the kaos of the city.

Cities are congested with cars, motorcycles, heavy trucks, blaring horns, hair trigger car alarms and noxious exhaust clouds belched from buses. Stinging fumes hang in the air of narrow streets. People crowd the sidewalks squeezing past shops that offer every product or service possible, shops with smart window displays. Smart. Advertising is sexy. People of the city are plumper from inactivity and rich diet. And true to most cities the habitants make brief eye contact, if any.

"...the people who move through the streets are all strangers. At each encounter, they imagine a thousand things about one another; surprises, caresses, bites. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second, then dart away, seeking other eyes, never stopping." -Italo Calvo, Invisible Cities

The city is too much internet, too much food, too much tv, too many sweets. It is here, in these dense dirty cities that I find them -the long term traveller. In cheap hotels with sagging doors, lumpy beds and musty showers. Those that roam the earth without itineraries or destinations. Just a nap sack with a dogeared book and dogeared clothes that look like they need a wash or have been washed too many times. Perpetual wanderers that have been on the road a long time.

They ply the globe with their knapsacks picking buses or jet planes, places, hoped destinations, better towns, better times, better love, better luck, better something. They'd never find it, they'd never stop looking. The ones who took on steady jobs, steady towns, steady lives, steady routines, steady house and car payments, steady relationships and steady gardens wouldn't fare any better.

I screw on the gas cap and keep driving south.


David
Yurimaguas, Peru