We stayed in Portland at Claire's parents house; George and Hansine were most gracious hosts, as always. Our time was spent seeing friends and family, drinking wine and beer, watching World Cup—¡Que viva España!, eating delicious food, and playing lots and lots of cornhole. And I suppose Whit and I worked a good bit.

Of particular note, we caught with Hannah and Ryan; Giselle and Gavin; Kelly; Hilary; and Spencer, Michaela, and Sebastian. The last two are Spencer's twins and Whit and Claire's niece and nephew: super adorable.

Portland has a few favorite spots and revisiting them did not disappoint. We met Giselle at Bridgeport Brewery: their beers and happy hour food were so great on a hot afternoon. My first time here was with Dave, following some Portland summer Ultimate tournament.

Whit, Claire and I ventured to Powell's bookstore, where I wandered around in a happy daze and finally purchased four titles: Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, Manhood for Amateurs, The Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis, and a novel for a friend.

Hilary, Hannah, Ryan and we three ate lunch at Pok Pok, which is likely my favorite Thai restaurant. Their chicken wings are incredible and we also devoured a summer special: fresh corn-on-the-cob cooked and glazed with coconut milk. So good!

So that's what I've got for now! Off, I think, to find some San Franciscan lunch and then keep on the work.

Seattle lasted me a good three and a half weeks before I felt that pull again, before I picked up and went elsewhere. It's not you, Seattle, it's me...

You see, I have a lovely little Civic at my disposal; I am reunited with Sparkle Motion. Of course I drove south to Portland with Claire and Whit. I am still a traveler, a vagabond, a rolling stone.

A month has now passed—four weeks—since I returned to the United States. Work has continued apace. I have discontinued my morning photographs, at least for the most part. I reunited again and again with dear friends. I played Potlatch.

Last night, after a day of flower picking and cornhole and delicious miso-peanut-butter chicken, I reclined in the living room of the Fisher house, with a little glass of port in my hand and Hansine, George, Claire and Whit all about me. We discussed my future. George declared me a complex person: a rare honor?

A hummingbird rests on the telephone wire out stretched across the blue sky beyond me, still but for a bit of head swivel, a bit of observation and consideration. I look down for a moment at my computer; I look back up and the bird is gone.

I was surprised to be caught so off-guard. Eric and I were sitting at Eugenio's drink stand on Cocktail Alley in Montañita, Ecuador. Every night this lane running to the beach would get busy, young folk stationing themselves in plastic chairs at carts filled with fruit, copious limes, and bottles of every conceivable hard liquor. We were drinking mojitos, naturally, and sitting across from Kate and Marie, two young women from England.

Marie repeated, "You guys talk like We Are Scientists."

I was astounded and delighted.
"You know We Are Scientists?"

"Of course: they're big in England."

"Um... I went to university* with them. They played on campus all the time. We were obsessed with The Creeper, you know, from their first album."

"Really? The Creeper? I've never heard of that song. I don't think that's on their first album..."

"Safety, Fun, and Learning?"

"With Love and Squalor?"

Le sigh. See, I don't blame the girl. We Are Scientists like to pretend that "Safety, Fun, and Learning" doesn't even exist. Boo. Therefore, I'm sure the guys, er, scientists won't mind my posting "The Creeper" here.

We Are Scientists - The Creeper

Kate and Marie thought we were, perhaps, 25 years old. Hah! Yeah, not so much.
We asked if they were 22. Nope: 19.

"Right, you would have been 11 years old when Safety, Fun, and Learning came out." And I declared, laughingly, "You definitely don't pass the half my age plus seven rule."

Eric and I switched to drinking Scotch. The Creeper, indeed.

* I am well aware Harvey Mudd College is not a university. One must speak thusly to be understood by English girls. University, not college.

Eric arrived one day late, on Friday; his bags have still not arrived. Midday before his arrival, I was treated to a rare glimpse of blue sky and sunshine while walking to town for lunch. Otherwise, we have seen neither sun nor star—so we are treated by Ecuadorian winter. Montañita is warm, all the same, and the ocean water feels good, but the sea has been choppy and messy and no good for surfing. Oh, well. We persist happily all the same. There is relaxing and eating and drinking to do, and we are damn good at it all.

I will be in Seattle in one week. What have I been doing? How has this time passed so quickly? Part of the answer are the multiple thirty-hour bus rides I braved to make my way up the Pacific Coast. What else, after Buenos Aires?

I spent just over a week in Mendoza and, despite some sickness between weekends, managed to enjoy wine tastings with friends, relax in hot springs, and fall in love with one concierge at my hotel.

Uspallata offered a stunning taste of autumn in the Andes and a welcome time of peace and simplicity.

I never felt fully connected in Santiago and did not stay there over long. I did enjoy some delicious food and a lovely sunset.

Valparaíso had far more character, I thought. The city was beautiful, with all the colorful houses and hilltop neighborhoods and even perhaps because of the dilapidation and decay.

Arica treated me to delicious seafood stew and charming port town atmosphere and vistas.

Some bits of Peru felt like a happy return to Bolivia. Arequipa had a lovely small town feel, despite being quite a large city, and I think I could have stayed there happily for weeks.

As in Bolivia, I took any chance to drink chirimoya juice from the markets in Peru, and even converted to worship of this wondrous fruit a few travelers I met in a hostel there.

I even became instant friends with a group of locals drinking at dusk in the square of a hilltop neighborhood. Hugo (pictured below, center) and Mathilde offered me a place to stay in their home whenever I return to Arequipa.

I headed from Arequipa to Lima to meet with my mom, Melanie. We delighted in good food together and she made friends with cholitas and baby llamas in Cuzco.

And then—no big deal—my mom and I went to Macchu Pichu. Yes!

And now I'm in Ecuador.

I have, in the time spent writing now, lost track of bites suffered and mosquitoes slain. Time for bed, I think, safely away from their appetites. But still: how wondrous this life! And how happy I am in consideration of the good times past and the future coming in Seattle (and beyond).

Jump for joy!

My mother, Melanie, joined me in Lima on Tuesday night and is staying through next Tuesday night. ("Technically," she says, "it's Wednesday morning.") We were most sad that my father was unable to join her in this visit—work travel denied him such opportunity. Still, without our darling Fico, my mother and I are having a great time together experiencing Peru.

In Lima, mostly we ate. Sure, sure, we walked around downtown and saw a totally beautiful cathedral but the most important parts of Wednesday were surely the causas and ceviche at La Mar, a well-known and quite happening cebicheria near Miraflores.

After Macchu Pichu, my mother and I will return to Cuzco for a night and then fly back to Lima. Following her return to the United States, I will head north into Ecuador to begin my final week and a half on this adventure, Adventure 2010. I will meet Mr. Eric Mattson in Guayaquil and venture out to Montañita for sun, surf, and relaxation.

Granted, this time together is somewhat dependent on the (literal and metaphorical) fallout of the eruption of the Tungurahua volcano in Ecuador. The Guayaquil airport, presently: closed. My fingers are crossed... for Eric. Me, I'm taking a 24 hour bus from Lima to Guayaquil at one sixth the price of a flight.

I might have mentioned that I am quite excited to return to Seattle? I sure hope the Guayaquil airport has international flights departing by the 12th. 14 days, and counting!

Flamingos are rad, but they're not quite llama-level.

Here is a gorgeous photograph of Robin.

I am a bandit.

Trina is triumphant.

And that's a buttshot.

Have I mentioned that llamas are fluffy and adorable?

Vicuñas are so fluffy and delicate that they are protected by the Bolivian government and only run wild.

We saw the incredibly red and totally huge Laguna Colorada.

And were treated to a crazy wind storm thingy above the lagoon.

We frolicked in hot springs at sunrise.

And marveled at the frozen blue lagoon.

And that was Uyuni: you know, no big deal, just the best ever.

I am so happy to have a firm plan for what I'll be doing upon my return to Seattle.

We set off on a three-day tour with Cordillera Travel. We were comfortably packed into a Landcruiser with Brenden and Allison, from Australia; Tony, from England; and Robin, from the Netherlands and with whom we had shared a ferry from La Isla del Sol to Copacabana. Our driver was Jhonny, younger than all save Robin, married with two kids, and totally great.

I'm just going to say, and then get to the photos, that Uyuni is the shit.

The train cemetery just out of town is filled with the evidence of a once booming international mining operation.

Jhonny checked on our LandCruiser frequently—the trucks took quite a beating driving through all that salt and sand and such.

Allison applied a (thankfully temporary) shrink ray to Trina and Robin. I always knew Australians were deviants.

And then they all got in a Pringles tube.

Trina and I did a bunch of jumping.

The Salar has an "island" of rocks and ancient cactus, some of them thousands of years old.

You see, it's this ginormous, um, gargantuan, um, LIMITLESS plain made of SALT. Apparently they could keep mining the salar for another million years, at present rates, and they still wouldn't use all the salt. (I might be misremembering this statistic, maybe.) Wikipedia tells us that Salar de Uyuni is the largest salt flat in the world at 4086 square miles, was formed by the transformation of a few lakes 30,000 years ago, and contains 50 – 70% of the world's lithium reserves. Really, other than it being huge, who cares? You just need to go there and see it. It's incredible.

And this was just the first day! I haven't even started telling you about the salt hotels or llamas or rocks or lagoons or flamingos or vicuñas. Wow. More to come! For now, I give you the A Team.

Trina and I took an easy bus ride from La Paz to Copacabana, the primary city on the Bolivian side of the lake. The best bit of the ride is crossing a little strait at Ancoamaya. We got on one boat; the bus got on another.

Trina and I lunched in Copacabana—the trout there is amazing—but then immediately embarked for La Isla del Sol, the birthplace of Manco Capac, the first Inca. The island is quite rustic—it has electricity, but just barely, and certainly no internet. For three days, I did no work, tweeted not twits, checked no email. Shocking I know. Turns out the island is totally worth it.

We stayed at a lovely little hotel called Inti Kala, on the Peru-facing (western) side of the island. I loved it there—their bread was delicious—but the shower still electrocuted us when we requested hot water. All the same, we did our best to relax, despite requiring as well some hiking about old Incan mazes and ruins and rocks.

The island was surprisingly fertile—some of the best agriculture of Bolivia is produced on the old Incan terraced fields. At times, I felt I was in California with the eucalyptus trees or in the Mediterranean on an rocky cliff-side path with the blue water below. And the island was full of llamas, mules and drowsing pigs. I loved it!

Trina did her best impressions of the Great Cornholio.

I jumped in the lake, naturally.

We lived the dream: taste that Paceña. So good!

I departed from Sucre on March 12th, to reunite with Trina in La Paz. I found her waiting (read: napping) in our hotel room. All hugs and smiles upon this union of friends from home, we turned quickly to an important pursuit: catching Trina up on the new LOST episodes since she had been traveling. My thanks, again, to Sarah for the LOST season pass on iTunes—I would not be maintaining sanity without it. Indeed, interspersing adventures and exploration with LOST became a bit of a theme of my two weeks with Trina.

Trina and I explored La Paz on foot, heading through the market neighborhoods and around downtown. La Paz is huge and just so full of people. I never felt particularly unsafe but I was rarely relaxed, at least during the busy hours of the day. I believe I am inheriting my, ahem, father's dislike of people walking very close to him. Moving on!

We marveled at the amazingly dressed cholitas and the wide array of goods for sale all over. I always particularly enjoyed the action figures arrayed on blankets on the sidewalk—this presentation somehow lends them more value.

We visited churches and squares. I introduced Trina to salteñas. Generally, we were not incredibly successful, I would say, in our dining in La Paz. Some of the restaurants recommended by guidebooks (or my mother) simply did not exist anymore. Furthermore, the area in which we stayed was a little tourist center, full of the same shop over and over again selling ponchos and blankets and place mats. I missed the Bolivian cuisine of Sucre and Cochabamba and regretted my inability to share it with Trina in La Paz.

Regardless, I enjoyed La Paz. I did not necessarily view it with the same wonder I held as an eight-year-old but the city was a wholly unique and unquestionably significant part of Bolivia, and my experience of the nation.

Trina and I spent one day venturing out with a tour group to Tiawanaku, the ruins of the center of a pre-Columbian, pre-Incan culture. This people maintained a nation stretching over Lake Titicaca, western Bolivia, and the coasts of Chile and Peru for some five hundred years. They were concerned greatly with astronomy and Tiawanaku was arranged in conjunction with the passage of the sun and constellations.

As previously mentioned, Trina and I spent another day in La Paz riding bikes down the World's Most Dangerous Road. I took no photographs during this tour—I was too concerned with not dying—and I have not yet posted the (low-quality) photographs provided by Gravity Bolivia. Here, all the same, are my notes on this day:

1. Gravity Bolivia is the shit, and by that I mean that they know what they're doing far better than the other tour companies. I cannot recommend them highly enough.
2. This ride is amazing, and I never felt particularly in danger. I tore down those 10,000 feet of elevation loss and it was AWESOME. If you are in Bolivia and enjoy fun and excitement, you have to do this ride.
3. You read me correctly: we started at 14,400 feet and descended to approximately 3700 feet, from cold high mountains into warm humid jungle. Bolivia is an incredible land.
4. Trina wrote a wonderful post describing the ride in more detail. I suggest you read her story of the World's Most Dangerous Road.

I am so thankful for this opportunity to adventure with Trina and I have much more to recount. She likes, I like fun, and we both speak English and Spanish. You understand, I hope, why this worked out well?

Up next, Titicaca!