One year ago today I landed in Seattle after 160 days traveling Latin America and 173 days away from Seattle. Happy Returniversary, Carlos. Thanks, Drew.

Good then, appropriate, that I saw Grupo Do-It. (I am endlessly drawn into the circular and cyclical.) Our fearless leader, Eric, was not in attendance tonight: he moved to Palo Alto with Carla last week. I settled in Seattle, eventually, and Eric and Carla left. Who'd have guessed?

One year ago today I had just finished a funny week in Ecuador with Eric. Funny in that the weather and surf were poor and in that Montañita was a weird and unhealthy little beach town. One week was sufficient—I wanted to be done traveling. I wrote End of the Line in Montañita, just prior to my return. Still, I had no idea, then, that I would I stay in Seattle. What did I expect? What did I want?

My personal journal entries from June 13th, 2010 reveal much, but not all. I tried to predict how I would feel in my return, how people would view me, how I would adjust. I reiterated some bit of philosophy constructed in the course of travel:

The world is larger and more complex and wondrous than I can ever hope to understand or experience fully, but I can find love and beauty and connection anywhere, all the same.

I always repeat words in my head; I construct fantastical conversations and act out improbable situations. A phrase can become an ephemeral mantra, unforgettable in some period but then lost completely if not inscribed. So was my consideration of complexity and wonder and so attached to the process and result of my tattoo in Chile. Sometimes I cannot lose a lyric. (Every day I see my dream.)

Lately I twist no philosophy but write poems about carrots, the original never sent to its inspiration but instead lost and deconstructed. Once, “earthbound dreaming ... of the fully bounty of summer.” Now, “chop chop chop chop, fuck you.” Oh, silly me.

For the first time, in this very moment, I realized that I know I will be in Seattle one year from today. Yes, yes, no one ever truly knows anything. And maybe I'll be out of town at a wedding or Taiwanese dog convention. But I want to be living in Seattle in a year, no matter the status of any carrots or the sunshine in Costa Rica. My dog likes it here. I like it here.

Team Grupo Do-It asked me, over our delicious Ethiopian cuisine, whether I preferred these last twelves months or those prior. I didn't pause too long in consideration. No matter the lack of grand adventure and passport stamps, I preferred the last year. I have been happier; I have had less emotional upheaval. I believe—I hope—that my life bends toward a more peaceful and tenable happiness. I could find happiness anywhere, perhaps, but I would like to build happiness here.

Welcome home, Carlos. Many happy returns, Drew.

My family traditionally spends Thanksgiving at Pinkham Notch, at the base of Mount Washington in New Hampshire. We hike, eat a meal prepared for us by the lodge staff, and enjoy the rustic comforts (read: reading by the fireplace). This year, icy alpine roads and distance from Boston physicians were not exactly favored criteria for the holiday weekend, no matter the other qualities.

Our menu was as follows:

• Beet Soup
• Biscuits
• Herb Butter Turkey
• Whole Pumpkin, Stuffed with Rice, Kale, & Cheese
• Brussel Sprouts with Mustard Vinaigrette
• Stuffing
• Mashed Potatoes
• Cranberry Relish
• Turkey Gravy
• Mushroom Gravy
• Llajwa
• Duckhorn 2006 Napa Valley Merlot
• Apple, Pear & Cranberry Crumble Pie with Whipped Cream
• Coffee

I would say we did stupendously, for my family being a bit out of practice. Have I mentioned that my favorite color is beet soup? Have I mentioned that I adore food? Have I mentioned that I am living on the East Coast through the end of the year? Wow.

The last time I spent more than two weeks in Massachusetts was the summer of 2001, having returned to live at home after my first year of college. How old was I? 19? Yes, 19. I will go ahead and call this, now, the first time I will have lived in Massachusetts for a significant period as an adult. I am not sure what to expect from this time.

Well, for one, and most importantly, I will become an uncle. Nicole and Mark are less than two weeks away from welcoming Blueberry into this world. Our family is getting bigger! I suppose our family is already bigger by virtue of Nicole's belly enormity. I love you, Nicole, and this is the best ever, but your belly is huge. You were always little Colie—once I got taller than you at least—but you're little Colie plus a watermelon now.

Tell me, again, how we became adults and this all happened?

Truly, I could not imagine being away during this period. Blueberry is coming! I need to be here to see Blueberry! I am so thankful for my present circumstance, that I can pick up and fly to Boston to be close to family. The religious or spiritual connotations of the word are not my favorite but allow me, please, to say that I feel blessed. Lucky is hapless and banal and I do not feel lucky. I feel blessed.

Etymologically, blessed is consecrated by blood. Allow me to redefine to suit my purposes: blessed is made dear by family.

Blessed is having been raised well, loved and cared for, in a warm family and home where hugs were given and hot food was served (however infrequently it was turkey). Blessed is the camaraderie, support, roofs, and shenanigans offered by that larger family, my friends in Seattle and San Francisco and everywhere.

Blessed is experiencing the wide world. Blessed is receiving an education, an inquisitive and critical mind, and the means and confidence to make my own way. Blessed is making that way, losing that way, and accepting that lost and found are all part of it. Blessed is knowing that I am never truly alone.

Blessed is returning home to my family glowing, reunited all about Mark and Nicole in this new consecration. Blessed is goofing in the kitchen and playing dominoes after dinner.

Blessed is love, blessed we be, and blessed be Blueberry. Thank you.

What does it take? Sometimes, a happy song.

Sometimes, a sad song.

Perhaps I'll consider an old photograph of me and Whit, 2001 say.

And then I'll marvel at a new photograph of us, thanks to Dave for the capture.

I'll think about breakfast with Faye and I'll think about my swim yesterday and the cool lake water yet to come in New Hampshire. Okay, I can do this.

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.