Haha, that made me laugh! Thanks for the post.

My friend and I, traveling down through Mexico and central america, flying into Columbia (the road was not finished then), traveled through this beautiful country by bus. Eventually, the reason lost for decades, we found ourselves at the end of a 50 mile dirt road in this magical place, which even then was a get-away-destination for Columbians.

Stayed at what can only be described as a boarding house. One room on the second floor overlooking the main street, with a courtyard in back. We took our meals with the home’s family and also, with a group of hippies who, having set up shop in a rented house, had a Columbian woman bring in their meals.

Stunning landscapes, ruins, horseback riding, hiking, seeing 2000 year old carvings under running waters in a stream.

Then, one day someone suggested that we take the early bus back out of town along that dead end road back toward the real world and get off at mile post 17 or 20 or whatever to find the magic mushroom growing fresh in the morning, out of yesterday’s piles of bull shit. This we did, and then, waiting under a hot sun for the bus back into town. Being so aware that no one thought it odd that two american kids, with long hair, had just flagged down this bus in the middle of nowhere, next to a farmer’s field overlooking a valley view worthy of your soul.

Back in town, early afternoon, in our little room where we fired up our Colman camp stove to boil down the morning’s take. For a while nothing, then, what little spanish we knew left us, followed shortly by our english.

And a revelation that something was happening out on the street. A parade, a celebration, a question. Is it real. Could this really be happening. We two Jews from New York, realizing at some point that we were witnessing the pagent Good Friday, almost as a pagan ritual, ultimately feeling the true beauty and reverance which was being displayed. Etched in my mind forever is that parade below.

Shortly thereafter, we left Columbia and made our way back through Central America and Mexico to the United States. By then, our money having run out, the luster of the trip with it.

Oh, but the stories we can tell of our trip to San Agustin and the long journey home.

2 questions……….

Have you ever considered writing travalogs/descriptions for elementary school geography textbooks? You write better and describe fuller than the writers of my long forgotten grade-school geography texts. You see well, have a good command of the language, and express it well.

Second question……..In a Spanish context I encounter the following words:

bampo…….e.g. Toplobampo, Huatabampo, towns in Mexico and a restuarant in Chicago

La Bamba…..a Spanish song

Riobaamba…..A town you mentioned today

What does this similarly spelled name mean? I have asked various Spanish speakers to no avail.

Thanks for your help. Will say “hello,” to your “cyber mom” when I speak with her this week end.

JB

looking back from my late middle age years, back to the mysterious times connecting a mystical community that moved from Goa’s shores to Andean heights, wonder where they are, if they are at all.such a precious time two generations ago. the full moon will be arriving soon. it casts a path across maunalua bay, past the volcano, out into the pacific towards distant shores. i will be musing soon about exploring for what is left of those fabled times. your blogdowbrigade is an interesting shell to collect on this sandy beach. a reminder of quests past, and perhaps one left to still unwrap.