Looking for the salida sign...

My goodness, Copacabana was anything but relaxing.

Unfortunately for you guys, I haven't been able to process all the things that happened to us in the past week and therefore will not be relating all of my adventures just yet. Suffice it to say that Kira and I are now in La Paz, Bolivia, searching desperately for a way to be in Buenos Aires right now. We are escaping while we are still recognizable.

Before you get all worried, most of what we experienced was not bad. It was really quite good. We made some incredible friends in different corners of the world, and had experiences that I'm pretty sure no other tourist has had. A summary of the past week would include a lot about live music, good conversation, traveler's wisdom, late nights with amazing people, trying new things, and fireworks.

One of the hardest lessons for me to learn in the ongoing days of this journey is the fleeting nature of friendships. It is incredibly hard for me to believe that all of the amazing people with whom I have spent entire days or weeks will probably never enter in my life again. As traveler's lore goes, once you've got your community you see them everywhere. Maybe one day in the future I will stumble upon Sergio, the Chilean who talked fútbol to me for an hour, or Atahuallpa, the artesan that taught us macrame, or Carlos, the cynical Colombian who turned out to be a sweetheart. There is an amazing poem by someone I can't remember that wonders about the last times for everything, that somewhere in somecorner he said good day to someone he would never see again, and that somewhere in this world is a door that has already been closed to him. It was very strange to sit on the bus out of Copacabana and realize that I very well could never see it again, nor the friends that still waited within. How can I convince myself that I will never hear the voice of the person I spent the last 20 hours straight with?

I'm halfway through my wanderings now. Before I started, I thought that a month and a half was more than enough. Now, I can't believe that I ever thought to get to know any of these countries in that amount of time. I'll just have to come back!!

Here are some fotos, I think... they're taking forever to load recently. More to come from my adventures in Cusco and Copacabana, but hey, getting out of this country is more of a priority right now.

The sign we found at the top of the Incan stairs from Aguas Calientes to Machu Picchu... It said the same thing in English, Chinese, Spanish and Quechua, the local language.

The only tree on the compound... This is where the women used to tie their looms to make blankets, shawls, etc. Underneath this tree was found the only artifact on the entire site - a single gold bracelet.

The three windows... one of the more famous bits of the ruins. Just look at how amazingly they cut those rocks!

A view of the terraces...
The four of us before taking our incredibly satisfying siestas on Machu Picchu. Miss you, girls!

No moss yet!

Back in Copacabana.
Back in tranquility.
Back to the wind and whoever we meet...

The past week (as seemingly all of these weeks have been) flew in a flurry of quick decisions, amazements and hello/goodbyes. We actually left Cusco early and in the middle of its huge destination festival to escape the pace at which we were living!

Machu Picchu was incredible, to say the least. When we went to visit the Incan museum we found out that Machupiqcho was built in honor of a great Incan king, and that most of the stone was transfered from the shores of Peru (15 hours in bus, today) probably by using logs lubed up with the juice of coca leaves. It was only found in 1911 - and they're thinking about closing it for a while in the near future. It was actually a city, full of life and children and llamas. The llamas are still there, but the only artifact they ever found was a golden bracelet under the root of the lone and incredibly unique tree near the center of the complex.

Our journey started at 5 in the morning from Aguas Calientes (a bus and train ride from Cusco through fellow-ruins-town Ollantaytambo) on foot, with a breakfast sandwich of avocado and tomato, and coffee in a styrofoam cup. As we headed up the ancient Incan trail of stone steps, winding their way through the surprise of jungle green, bus upon bus of dozing tourists passed us. We were alone for the entire climb, arriving near the summit in time to see the first rays of dawn slicing the hovering fog to plate in gold the folds and reaches of the mountains around us. First to alight was la Puerta del Sol, where the Incas first came over the ridge to build their city.
The rest of the day was equally magical, spent eavesdropping on tourist groups and sitting in corners of former houses wondering what life was like. Stairs climb and fall around the entire site, opening onto large grass plazas or incredible vistas. Stones rest steady without concrete, except where modern-day man has tried to come in and restore the glory of the Incas.

In the stereotypical sense, the day was almost anticlimactic. No profound religious experience or hours poring over walls and pieces of an unknown life in an unexpressable awe... Machu Picchu was incredibly comfortable. We ate breakfast/lunch at 10 among jutting rocks over looking the ruins, wandered solo for a while to calm the spirit of travel, talked to some of the guides, avoided the whistles of guards, and even took little naps on one of the terraces. It was perfect.

Someone told us it was like Disneyworld without the rides, and we wholeheartedly disagreed at first. But I say this - if you ever go to Machu Picchu, climb it. And get there as early as possible. By around 11 or 12 the place was swarmed with lines of tourists in their sun hats, pale faced sunscreen, cameras, bright colors, and high socks. Around 8 and 9 the place is comparatively empty. And amazing.

Aguas Calientes is the opposite. We're trying to make a list of things you should know/bring that the guide book doesn't tell you... One of those is that whenever you get off a bus into a city of any size, prepare yourself to be bombarded by people promoting their hostal or restaurant or taxi. In Aguas Calientes, they pretty much run you over. And it doesn't stop. Ever.

We returned to Cusco, and eating dinner the night after MP couldn't believe we had really been there. Since Brady and Debra were leaving for Lima/Santiago on the 22nd, these days were spent just being with each other, getting last minute gifts, and relaxing. We found an amazing restaurant that's not in the guidebook, ith a view of the plaza and surrounding mountainsides with food for cheap (relatively) and really good desserts. It's called Yaku Mama's, and Kira and I went there much more than we should have. We met this guy named Roberto (he was actually our waiter) who introduced us to his buddies the tattoo artists next door. That sounds like a sketchy connection, but I'm convinced that tattoo artists are some of the most trustworthy people - they do what they love, love what they do, and are passionate not only about their work but the people it brings them. And these guys were also the beginning of an amazingly off-the-beaten-path experience.

So Debs and Brady left in a rush, and Kira and I were a bit rocked afterwards - we didn't really know what to do. When you've spent the last fifteen days straight, no breaks, with the same four people, and then two of them are gone, the whole feeling of life changes. So we took a nap, wandered aimlessly, then got our lives together. Denis (tattoo guy) had told us about this cool bar with a juggling show that night, so we decided to check it out.

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but we stumbled into Cusco in the middle of their huge festival Inti Raymi, which is the Incan celebration of the winter solstice. Cusqueñas are kind of like Chileans in the way they celebrate, only they do it for a week instead of just a night. Each day is dedicated to a different section of society - one day for the municipalities, one for the middle schools, etc. They have dances, costumes, huge floats, music, and everyone walks around in traditional dress. It is absolutely incredible. They start early morning and go until the bars are hopping with tourists. So anyways, this night we headed up towards Kilometre 0 to see the clowns and got completely distracted by the plaza. It was almost impossible to move there were so many people - live Peruvian music was rocking from a huge grand stage - vendors walked around selling candy apples and cow on a stick - and then the fireworks started. Pretty awesome. So we eventually made it to K0, where there were hardly any tourists - too late for the clowns but just in time for some amazing Peruvian funk music en vivo, with bongos, triangles, bass, the whole deal. The lead singer kept giving us shout-outs as we sipped our Cusqueñas. Awkward.

Day 2 solo started with breakfast at noon with Denis and his buddy Giorgio (g's are like y's), who that evening promised to help us get to know Cusco. This resulted in leaving the city by taxi around dusk and getting dropped off in a place with no buildings, only rolling hills and lights coming on below us. Sounds pretty sketchy, right? Like the beginning of one of those horrible abduction stories? It wasn't.. so far we have had a pretty good sense about the people we meet.
After wandering in the dark for a while (they got lost) we ended up at Zona X, where the UFOs land and phones and GPS things dont work. Then they took us down into old Incan tunnels carved from the very rock that I'm pretty positive no tourist has ever gone too. It was awesome! We had one flashlight, squeezing down these smooth slits in between boulders to come up in some other part of the hillsides. Apparently they were built to provide an escape route from the conquistadors, and some of them start there in Cusco but end up in Lima, Puno, and even Copacabana. Incredible, no? I wanted to get down into the hub of it and snoop around, but without ropes, food, water, light, etc it was of course a bit of a stupid idea.

Walking back to Cusco, we were chased by an enraged bull.

Summiting a small hill, the boys surprised us by the expansive ruins of Sawsaywaman (.... it sounds exactly like "sexy woman." It took forever to explain to our two Spanish speakers why we were cracking up about the name of this sacred religious site.. but eventually they got it.) It's forbidden to go into at night, and when I asked Denis he told me that the worst that could happen is one night in jail. "Or deportation?" "Oh, yeah, or that... I forgot you're not from around here." Thanks Denis. The ruins were incredible, especially lit up the way they were, spread under the star and half-moon. There were people setting up for the ceremonies the following day. These rocks are huge, ladies and gentlemen. Have you heard the claim of rocks cut so perfectly you cant fit a piece of paper into them? That's how these are, and they're taller and wider than I am. Incredible.

We finally went out and hit the town. Usually we're grandmas and are in bed before midnight, but the boys convinced us, and we went out dancing and listening to music, away from where most of the tourists are (and there are tons of them!). A few besos were exchanged.
Over stimulation, bad experiences with the hostal, and general discontent convinced Kira and I to leave the city before we planned. Actually, in the middle of the celebration that thousands of people come to Cusco just to see. I do not feel bad about it.

The hostal was annoying. They ruined my better-shape sweater and tried to charge us absolutely ridiculous amounts. Whatever. I'm back in Copacabana!
Kira and I are now going to take our boxed wine to the water to watch the sun set over the beautiful Lake Titicaca. Tonight we're looking forward to live music in the lovely hippie club here, then perhaps a dance fiesta with some of the people we met when we were here a week ago. Life keeps moving! At least here it's at a slower pace.

(PS - pictures are coming... this internet is really slow and takes FOREVER to load them... so sorry about that but I'll get some up later. The ones at the top are from Machu Picchu, and then some of the parades in Cusco, and then how Kira and I felt on the bus to Aguas Calientes, veering around sharp curves on the top of really steep and tall mountainsides. It's good to feel safe.)

nuevos dias, siempre!

Everyone's gotta have that bus ride sometime, right?

We arrived last night at midnight in Cusco, Peru. We though we were going to arrive at 8. Instead, we were on a bus without soles (peruvian currency) and without food, being harassed by Peruvian border police, trying to ignore the smell, and rubbing elbows with the surplus of people crammed into the aisles. Hell in a metal box on wheels.

Cusco is incredible. I feel like I can just stop telling you how beautiful the places I go are, because they are all beyond belief, each with their own charms and grand vistas. We spent most of the morning gazing at the city, which spill up onto the hillsides with its cobbled roofs and simple buildings. When it was discovered by the Spanish, Cusco was in the shape of a puma, which is the spiritual symbol of power for the Inca. Their other main worship symbols are the condor for peace and the serpent for wisdom. I also found out that Titicaca (the beautiful lake we spent time on after La Paz) despite having an awesomely fun name to say, actually means "puma lying on a stone." Maybe not so unusually, this description is almost perfect for the sensations the lake gives off.

I think the last time I updated we were in La Paz. As much as I loved it, we didnt stay very long. Kira and I will be back. We fell too hard in love with Bolivia. Instead we took a short bus to Copacabana, hippie haven of Bolivia, on the shores of Lake Titicaca and on the border with Peru. The whole town was like the lounge of an amazing hostel, and we met some very incredible people. The first afternoon was spent with Atahuallpa (which is the name of the son of the Incan king) and Kia, an artesan who's been traveling for 13 years and the Texan student who met and fell in love with him, respectively. They were refreshing and relaxing to talk to, as was Sven, the Swiss wanderer who never spends more than 6 months in his own country, and who passed the evening playing poker and Jenga with us while jamming out to live Colombian music.

I climbed up the mirador above the city for sunset, and was ever glad I did. It was amazingly beautiful, great to get some exercise, and peaceful to have some time for myself. Even a mindless traveler's gotta think sometime!

We also spent a night on Isla del Sol, a somewhat small island off the coast of Copacabana, reached by 2 hours of slow travel by boat. Much better than a bus. Now, here is the "interesting facts" portion of my entry. Lake Titicaca is the highest lake in the world (La Paz is the highest capital city) and sits at roughly the altitude of Mt. Whitney's peak. 14000 feet. We've got our packs, which aren't two heavy, maybe about 30 pounds. When we get off the boat to la isla, the first thing we have to do is walk about 30 minutes to our hostel. Not bad, right? Except imagine the stairstepper from hell. Only the fantastic views and prolific llamas saved us.

The lake also has a lot of religious significance for the Incans (we went to the museum today... that society is incredible. I want to be them.) It is said that the Daughter of the Moon and the Son of the Sun rose from the waters at the north end of the island with a golden staff and begun their search for the heart of their civilization, where the staff would stand up in the ground. They continued north until they reached present-day Cusco. There, in the Sacred Valley, they began their civilization. For this reason the area is known as the 'bellybutton of the world.'

The first thing that strikes you about the island (besides how freaking gorgeous it is) is the people that live there. They are simple, with their food or water or children wrapped in colorful shawls on their back. Their faces reflect the wisdom of their lives and of their history, of the profundity of their existence spiritually. The only thing they say to you is "Comprame." Comprame means buy from me. Tourism has affected their lives in such a way that even a three year old can only tell you to pay for the picture you just took, and look at you with unbelievably deep confusion and hatred when you say you have no monedas or caramelos to give him. How can you react to that when it's all because of you and your history?

On a happier note, we're climbing Machupiqcho in two days. I am very excited. The place looks incredible. We hope to be up at the top before sunrise. It is also getting very close to the solstice - on the 24th in Cusco is the festival Inki Raymi. They're already celebrating! This trip has been wildly full of growth and questions and change and belief... I hope Machu Picchu will bring either closure or clarity, or por lo menos a very beautiful and powerful day.

You all have to come here one day. That's a requirement.

I still have a month of travel. Our plans just changed somewhat drastically. That tends to go with our trend of doing what we want, in the moment, without obligations to anyone but ourselves and our plane tickets. Simply breathing here makes me feel free.

Oh, and PS - I cut my hair. It is now very short, and very easy. I no longer have a rats nest at the end of the day!

The Tari the other day (a Tari is an Aymaran who reads the future or your luck in coca leaves) told me that I would spend the majority of my life outside of my own country. (Sorry Mom and Dad) Can I live in Bolivia?

My Chilean mother is also sending me emails checking up on me, harrassing me for not writing and letting her know what's up, and trying to convince me to move in for the rest of the summer. They of course come nowhere close to matching my real family, but damn, it is going to be so hard to really leave them at the end of July. Now I know I've got at least a few days with them, but then? Weones, no me olvidenpo!

Well it's about time for another ridiculously cheap but party-in-your-mouth delicious meal. I'll leave you all with yearnings to join me in this traveler's paradise, and enjoy the uncomfortably hot days of North Carolina! (or wherever you are..) Love you all....

I am at a loss to describe to you the past week (has it only been a week?) of my life.

Most journeys travel in one direction: a line. That line may meander through forest and vale, ocean and mountaintop, but we can all agree that a journey has a beginning, it has an end, and it has a direction in between. I feel like this road I am on does not move like that. We have had specific paths that can be measured by specific times (cumulative 47 hours on buses so far), but the experience is different. It's almost radial. Or, here. Imagine an upside-down pyramid that contains what you can see of the world. Your feet start wedged at the point, but as time goes on you rise upwards, and can see and feel more space and existence and reality around you. That is how I feel.

Today and yesterday were very profound days, even though all we did was ride buses and shop. We left the wonderful country of Chile and entered the unknown, dangerous dream of Bolivia. Over the course of the ten hour bus rideto La Paz from Arica, I experienced the spectrum of emotions from fear (imminent death - Bolivia is rated the world's most dangerous roads - to something much stronger but deeper and without source) to isolation (thank you bus full of Bolivians who don't mind staring, and White Chicks coming on the TV) to awe to relief to happiness to excitement to nervousness to doubt to nostalgia to hope to that sense of the future taunting just ahead of you.

Chile is somewhat like the States. They have capitalism, social classes, malls, small towns, etc. Bolivia is not like the States. We passed what looked like former cities, abandoned now with vicuñas roaming the streets and canvas ceilings on homes. Spiritual traditions are very strong, and almost everything has to do with luck or health. I love the old ladies with their tiered skirts and shawls, the little bowl hats perched up high. I love the children with tobaggons and runny noses, with eyes much wiser than you ever expect. Bolivia is poor, but the people help the people. We met many people today, and every single one of them was simple in their interactions, their words, their acceptance of life. I love this city built on hills, with people crowding the streets as old striped buses honk their crammed way down twisting streets. I love the little corners of buildings with small prayer flags to Pachamama and llama fetuses for their offerings. It offers much chance for reflection.

I guess I should go back and fill you in on what we've been doing. Short itinerary:

• Thursday: board a bus at 3:30 in the afternoon. Head north.


• Friday: arrive in San Pedro, north Chile, at 5:00 (yes, 26 hours). Manuever the crowd of owners to find an amazing hostel called La Florida. Make it a home, go out to dinner at a family owned restaurant and have delicious food under an amazing sky.


• Saturday: Tour of the alpine lakes - La Reserva Nacional Los Flamencos (we saw flamingos!) which are amazing salt flats, then to lagunas incredibly higher than I was acclimated for but whose beauty made up for it, the small town of Toconao for a delicious lunch. Proceed to celebrate your vacation freedom and have too much fun going out with the Belgians and Frenchies.


• Sunday: get up somewhat early to bike out to Valle de la Muerte for some tranquil reflection and awe, attempt sandboarding, and generally have a great time. Spend the afternoon at Valle de la Luna and La Cordillera de la Sal (80% salt). Watch the sunset sitting on top of a dune - see colors you never knew existed.


• Monday: get up at 3:30 to go to Los Geisers de Tatio - freeze while walking through and around beautiful steaming geysers, then watch the sun rise blue and incredible over the Andes. Swim in natural thermals. Goodbye dinner with the wonderful Frenchie Suzanne, then catch a 10 hour bus to Arica.


• Tuesday: break your plans to stay in Arica for a day and jump on a 12 hour bus to La Paz, Bolivia. Meet a Dutchman who sells you a guidebook for Bolivia and Peru, the first you have seen. Yay! Now we can start to plan what we'll do in Bolivia! Incredibly awkward and amazing bus ride... arrive in La Paz and have the incredible luck of finding the hostel La Austria, meeting a great guy named Freddy who points you in the direction of Angelo Colonial, deeeelicious food. Sleep.


• Wednesday, today: explore La Paz. Meet amazing people. Buy amazing things. Eat delicious food. Relax.

I have seen incredible landscapes! We've spent much more money than we planned on... but I think it was worth it. We had to have that initial tourist splurge, and now we've all agreed it will be better just to wander around and relax, since it is vacation, and get to know the places we go. We much prefer to go our own way and create our own plans anyways.

I really have no idea how to go about relating my adventures.

First of all, we've met a lot of really cool people. In San Pedro we met the Frenchies Damien, Julian and Suzanne who provided good company and laughter for the days and the nights. There were the Belgians, Steign and Lisa, who had been traveling for five months already and shared lots of wisdom. There was Juan, the tour guide, who definitely provided laughter, cariños, llama meat and the opportunity to learn a lot about northern Chile. Then of course there are all the randoms you meet and chat with and never really get their names. The old guys on the bus, the Patagonia trek leader, the surfer, the guy with dreadlocks who rented us bikes, the ladies in the stores, everyone. Freddy was coincidental, and coincidental again and you just have to wonder how much of what goes on everyday is by chance.

Today we went to an old Aymaran fortune teller who reads fortunes in coca leaves. It sounds hokey to a lot of you, but in this point in my life I have many questions, many choices, many changes. After only saying my name, this man touched on every one of them. This was the most profound thing that happened to me today. Days and weeks and even months of thinking and changing and adapting and critiquing all came together. I still have questions, obviously, but the falling of coca leaves, one side dark one side light, made so many things become clear. I don't know if it was the altitude, the hookah, or simply existing here, but for the rest of the day I had this incredibly clear and spreading sense of living in a time that was not now, that many of these things that were on my mind were actually part of my present. I was in two places at once.

The cafe is kicking us out. Where will I be next time I right? I don't even know where I'll be in two days... we'll see where the wind blows.

Silver birds and misty mornings...

Transitions are always such a strange thing. It seems that no matter how much you examine and reexamine them, you can never quite tell what it is. This is blue, and blue, and blue and.. wait, this is green. When did that happen? This period of my life is not like a bridge crossing from one reality to another. It's more like a broken trampoline, with springs pulling in different directions, all having some sort of claim to the future and the past. Eventually one of them is going to pull hard enough that all other connections will finally let go and then I'll be off and focused in one place. At least I hope so. Kind of.

It rained in Santiago. Second rain I've seen here in three and a half months. It poured! Hail the size of your pinky nail collected in gutters and bounced off our fingers. Strident sunrays pushed their way through the nubles fuertes, and we almost watched the smog wash away.

My life is full of juxtapositions, and it all leaves me without words to express myself to anyone. Is there a word that means hello and goodbye? happy and sad? friendship and love? now and eternity? memory and future? I don't want to leave Chile, but I don't want to go back to the United States. I want to travel, but I just want to stay in Santiago. I miss all of my friends and family so incredibly much, but I just can't be there right now. It is time for the program to end, but do these people really have to leave me?

This afternoon I bought a 25 hour bus ticket to San Pedro de Atacama, leaving Thursday with three amigas. Here is what I know for sure about the next month and a half:

I will arrive in San Pedro on the 8th.

I will fly out of Santiago on the 20th of July.

When traveling through Bolivia, I should carry at least a week's worth of food in case the street protests shut down the nation.

I'm going to have the time of my life.

I feel like I've been down here for so long, always in new situations, that I should be prepared for it. But for some reason I feel almost the way I did before getting on the plane in Raleigh 104 days ago - like I have no idea what to expect. The only difference - now I'm friggin' stoked! No use being afraid of something you know you will love.

I am ready to close this portion of my life. The last week has been incredibly intense. Finishing up interviews and trying to organize the three months of thought, conversation, observation, belief, everything in my head was nearly impossible, and after five days without leaving the house, I ended up with my own beautiful 38 page paper, in Spanish, somewhat explicating the noble fight of alternative communication. I didn't get to half of what I wanted to, and still don't really know how it all concludes, but it's over and I feel good about it. Especially since I was the only one to actually turn it in on time.

After that it's been a lot of just hanging around waiting for it all to end. I painted a mural in our institute. Hopefully it will always remind René of our group, his guinea pigs of education, his sobrinas and sobrino who loved him (love him) dearly. It was inspired by Reading Rainbow. Yup, that's right. You're loving it.

We had our farewell dinner (at a Cuban restaurant... what?) with all of the families, starting with kisses and ending with dancing. Even some of the adults did some carrete this night! Like my mom and her cousins, here, dancing after dinner, which they continued to do until about 3 in the morning. Gotta love em! It is really amazing the kind of relationships that have been formed here in the last three and a half months... I never really expected all of this. Now I don't know how to leave. When I board that plane out of Santiago, I don't know that I'll see any of these people again. I guess I've got to keep living by my new favorite quote, gracias a Quito... "Si quieres, puedes." It means if you want to, you can. Life shouldn't direct you, but you should follow life wherever it takes you, wherever your feet create a trail. I will come back if it means that much to me. I will.

What started out being a summer of relaxing in my new house, working with Lizzie, and biking around Chapel Hill has now turned into a practically nonexistent summer in North Carolina. (Not that I'm complaining) That just goes to show how you can never really plan on things! In some ways I wish that I will have more time to just relax, but who else will be doing what I am doing? My heart is in all that is ahead of me. That is something that I am taking back from the Chilean people - their dedication to whatever it is they do. There are no half-hearts here.

I have learned how to laugh.

We spent the past few days in Algarrobo, doing presentations and relaxing in each others' company. There haven't been goodbyes. I somehow think we won't have them. After all, this is not goodbye. It is only a changing.

Rossanna gave us a fabulous example of this type of moving on. It's as if we're all on the Metro, squashed into TranSantiago, and when we came here on this trip we all pushed our way out the doors and onto the platform. That packed metro that is normal life back home kept going without us. Now some of us are getting back on that metro and trying to reorganize back into the comfortable rocking of adaptation. Or maybe those of us still here are just making a connection, hopping down another path for a while. Whatever it is, I'm glad I don't have to get back onto TranSantiago any time soon! Definitely not looking forward to 25 hours on a bus though. Scenery?

I have felt so inspired for the last three months. I worry that it will be lost to the jungles and people I will meet in the next month and a half, and will be buried under the social pressure and bureacracy of everything when I get back to the States. Inspiration is impossible to capture and store away. And how do I take the amazing ideas I have seen here and translate them to my personal context? It just doesn't work the same way. Inspiration, adaptation, provocation, realization.

Realization in the Spanish sense. It's more romantic, and not in the love sense.

I am not afraid of words. I am afraid that my words will give the impression of being a totality, when the constellations and waves of wine and little white flowers that are hidden by them mean so much more.

Like Liz said - There is not enough time to say what we want with our words, so instead we hug and put all of our emotions and sentiments into our arms. Into that abrazo that could last forever, but never does, and in the same moment never ever leaves.