This is what I looked like on December 19, 2008.

This is what I looked like on April 2, 2010, the last time my hair was of this length.

And this is what I look like today.

My hair does seem to be the same length as it was some four months ago. Has my face changed? Do I look older, wiser? More caffeinated? More handsomest?

Please say yes. I drink these gloriously poisonous cups of coffee to burn through another day, to pay my way to some brighter future one bit of liver health at a time. Two years have passed, and forever, and what can I trust but that my face ages gracefully?
Another cup of coffee, please.

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.

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!

How wondrous to watch the shadow of one's own airplane slip across the fields and homes below. How can I guess what effect has this darkening? Were it slow enough, would a dog chase it, staying always in this cool patch I cast down from above and arriving finally and inadvertently in my same destination?

A glass Coke bottle from above: the gods must be crazy. A metal tube thrown by faith and ultimately magic into the sky, to cast its shadow out over the land and lost in the clouds: the passengers must be crazy.

And crazy we are not to rejoice and exult: we are strung up in the heavens, delicately balanced by the shape of a wing and the thrust of an engine. I am but a feeble man but set my wallet to vibrating and the gods of the sky accept me as their own. I fly.

I fly to Buenos Aires, to Argentina and away from Bolivia. Would that I could make this journey within the warm savory crust and stew of a salteña. A final goodbye to this fair and complex land.

But my airplane invokes the magic of metal and light and wind, not of whimsy and spice. Truly, I am an airborne god but surely they will serve me only a middling sandwich. Better they should light a grill in the mess and char a red bloody Argentinian cut. Bring me a glass of Malbec, steward, and some llaqwa for my steak.

In the face of everyday wonder, how impossible becomes the everyday. Yes, we will glide over the spine of this continent, but no, we cannot offer passable fare. I should calm my stomach and mind, awaiting whatever culinary offerings that come.

Forgive me and understand only that I tire in this station as a god and that already I feel the ache of absence of Bolivian soup and meat and rice and potatoes and llaqwa. I tire, indeed, every day in contemplation of and immersion in a decidedly unordinary life.

I never wanted to be a god. I never dreamed of this but instead a warm home, a place that smelled like forever, and a dog to follow my shadow and a partner in whose arms I could soar to the heavens and return to earth every day, every moment.

Better I should be a man eating soup at home than a god lost upon every wind and shore. Homeward, wherever that may be, but not quite yet.

On the morning of January 4th, I waited in the Miami airport and ate guava pastries. Brittney had arrived back in San Francisco that morning from Hawaii to find a package from me containing one DarkHorse Rainbow Pony fuzzy wristband. We exchanged photos of said wristbands, hers and mine, over airport wifi.

And then I flew to Costa Rica and then I took one hundred more morning photographs of my most important subject.

Sometimes I was not wearing a shirt. Frequently I had a cup of coffee. This was... is... Morning Carlos.

With changing light and backdrop, I would be hard pressed to measure my increasing and then declining tan. I forgot to flex my bicep in every single one so that's a bust, too. But my hair! Oh, my hair!

Go go go!

Oh, there it is.

Super Saiyan? Probably. Glorious? Definitely. Now, what to do with it... to cut or not to cut?

And, perhaps more importantly, when I finish this trip, to what song will I set the slideshow of all my portraits? Is there any song anyone knows, preferably a slow jam, called "I am so totally in love with myself (or maybe that's the coffee talking)?"

Spiral Staircase - I Love You More Today Than Yesterday

Imagine me, please, singing this to myself.

That is not their house. That is a cathedral.

Santa Cruz de la Sierra is a modern city of 1.5 million, in south central Bolivia. The economy and population have grown rapidly in the last few decades and the city has expanded outward in concentric rings. This expansion and the focus on commerce have not resulted in the most beautiful city, I will admit, but the center plaza has its charms. Also, I enjoyed a wide range of delicious food, at family's tables and at restaurants, in cuisine local and international. And there was one case of both at mi prima Claudia's restaurant, where I ate excellent salteñas and pique macho.

The Ovando family originally lived in Cochabamba—as did the d'Avis family—but relocated some years ago to Santa Cruz. (Gabriela Ovando and her husband, Jorge Barrero, live in Florida.) I was so pleased to reconnect with Sergio, Yovana, Jaime y su familia, Claudia y su familia, and of course the family matriarch, Doña Florencia. I had not been in Bolivia or seen any of them for twenty years! Their kindness and hospitality were overflowing and I am so thankful.

Jaime, pictured above, took me four-wheeling near Porongo one Saturday afternoon. We may have almost gotten stuck in the mud, but I had a brilliant time with him and his friends. Zooming along dried-up river beds was particularly great, as was the sunset from such a locale. The countryside surrounding Santa Cruz is lush and verdant and just gorgeous.

Yovana and Sergio likewise took me out into the country on the Monday of Carnaval. We drove up into the mountains and jungle to reach the town of Samaipata, at an elevation of 1600 meters. After feijoada for lunch at El Pueblito restaurant and resort, I photographed the surrounding hillsides and my hosts had a bit of a lark.

Regretting our lunch beers a bit, we hauled our full bellies up a few hundred more meters to visit El Fuerte de Samaipata. The main local attraction are these Incan ruins, marking the furthest east extension of the Incan empire. We tried to see the carvings worn away in the stone, imagined the layout of the community, and were unimpressed by the depth of the prisoner hole.

Overwhelming, the countryside was just gorgeous and completely different than I expected from Bolivia.

I suppose that is all I have for now? I was able to work quite a bit in Santa Cruz; I was not particularly busy socially and that was actually good. I am keeping some record, as I am able, of food and wine in my written journal and I will try to put together a summary soon. Family, friends, more food and drink, and more work here in Cochabamba are occupying me presently. Sometimes there is too much life to recount. Sometimes there are horses to stand in, yo.

Signing off, for now, this is Carlos Andrés d'Avis, Rey de Caballos Oscuros.

* I cannot presently offer the photographs from my single night out in Santa Cruz during Carnaval—they do not yet reside on the Flickr. In summary, I drank beer, saw a parade and got shaving cream on my head.

I miss the sunset, and the sundowners.

I miss the surfing, and I miss two sundowners.

And I'm sorry, Ashleigh, but the mustache was brilliant, and I miss that, too.

We Grupo Did It, Grupo Do-It.

Hold me, Eric, and tell me we can always go back.

I am pictured above on the morning of my departure from the United States, on January 4th, 2010. My mother took this photograph in our house in Hamilton, Massachusetts.

I appear to have many possessions with me—two bags-full, in fact—and such is true. I had to choose those items such as socks, shirts, books, electronics, etc. that would last and satisfy me throughout journeys somewhat indeterminate. Do you know how many awesome t-shirts I have, not to mention button-downs? It's a bunch, for serious, and it was no simple task to elect apparel companions for my southern sojourn.

In other news, and themed similarly, I made a few changes to the website here and added a little view of my time abroad, titled "Morning Carlos." Here's a hint: if you want to be happy, look for some happiness, and click on it. (It's up there at the top! It's a SMILEY FACE!) So far, I have only missed documenting myself one morning since I began the trip. I will do my best!

I was happy to purchase the lens used from Emlyn Stokes, reunited with him briefly in Massachusetts between Christmas and New Years. This lens provides a bit more versatility than the single lens I owned previously,  a 50mm f/1.8 prime. To be fair, I freakin' love my 50mm prime, and I used to have a 28-200mm lens that got kicked a few years ago in Italy. Anyway, the lens will be my go-to while traveling and the 50mm stayed at home.

I was quite pleased to shoot a few lovely photographs from seat 10a on my flight from Miami to Liberia.*

My first few photographs from Costa Rica are on their way—I am quite pleased with how the new lens is performing. Here, let me offer you a preview. Pictured throwing is Arnie Larson.

* I am not in Africa, people. Liberia is a city in the Guanacaste region of Costa Rica. Come on, people, learn some geography (that is specifically relevant to me).

This story is impossible to write perfectly.

This story is a smell and a feeling and a smile and three years and a half years of big life changes and rain. Seattle has treated me well and for that I am thankful. I have experienced such fantastic joy and friendship and love and growth and food and coffee here.

But I have been sad in Seattle as well and often a bit lost. I could simply continue my life here, and such would not be disagreeable, but I would do so lacking faith and ease in the direction of my life. If you have spoken to me in the last year, you know this feeling of mine and you are familiar with my uncertainty.

I awoke this morning in a cave created by my soft, cozy bed and my cold room and the growing rain and dark outside of Seattle autumn. I knew, upon waking, that I would be purchasing a one-way plane ticket from Boston, Massachusetts to Liberia, Guanacaste, Costa Rica for January 4th, 2010. One-way, in that I am not returning to Seattle following my month working and surfing in sunny Tamarindo. I am leaving Seattle on December 22nd, eight weeks from tomorrow. This is real.

Yes, I know that is really super soon and I know that you will miss me. I will miss you, too.

The beach, and the waves, and all of Latin America beckon and what can I do? If not now, when?

I will continue from Tamarindo to Bolivia and I will live there. I will live in the country where my father, Federico Antonio d'Avis, was born and I will connect with my family there and I will find the street in Cochabamba that shares my name and that of mi abuelo, Doctor Carlos Andrés d'Avis. I will live in Chile and I will live in Argentina. I will eat salteñas. I will climb Machu Picchu, as I have dreamed of doing since I learned of its existence over two decades ago.

I will remember what it is to feel challenged in the minutiae of my daily life and I will remember how to speak Spanish well and I will find time alone in my head. I will think about where I live and where I have lived and how I want to live the rest of my life. I will think about how to find love and whether that is actually defined as someone to have babies with in the next ten years. And I will, of course, be updating Twitter and continuing work as a web developer. Honest, I asked my clients! They said I could!

And I will return... probably. I mean: totally. Yes, I will totally be back to the United States in June. I cannot promise where I will live when I return. I don't even have a flight out of Costa Rica yet so, please, be patient. I love you, and all the Malbec in Mendoza couldn't change that.