Freedom of speech…and freedom to live
Originally posted on Happy Holly Project:
A commendation on all they have published? Absolutely No.
A commendation on their freedom to publish it? Most definitely Yes.
Acting on disagreement or anger with murder or violence? Vehemently No.
And still they will rise.
Restriction of the freedom of speech … no matter how offensive that speech may be … is the first step in repression.
Civilized people will prevail.
And still they will rise.
Techniques used in other countries?
Kill enough of the smart people and scare everyone else.
And still they will rise.
Freedom of speech is allowed in most countries. It is freedom AFTER speech that is important.
If you don’t like the speech – don’t listen.
But above all else – don’t deny it’s existence.
And still they will rise.
The idea of free speech and speaking out will be conveyed for as long as we…
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It will never be said about Santa Teresa that ‘the best thing about it is the road out of it’. This is a figure of speech used in Ireland when poking fun at a rival towns-land. It was time to leave the cloud forest jungle and this tree-house style room in which I had spent two airy Peruvian nights.
The unpaved dusty wriggly road, high upon the canyon’s ledge lay waiting for me to chance it one more time, except this time the car travelled on the side closest to the edge. There was no getting used to it, especially when the driver met another vehicle at a particularly narrow bend and had to reverse to make way for it to pass. I just thought ‘if I die now at least I can say I have dared to live life to the maximum’. If I had died then I would have died blissfully ignorant of the truth I had neglected to heed.
I had brought with me to Santa Teresa a curiosity that needed to be satisfied. A woman of my imaginative creation desired to finally put her past to rest and move her life forward once and for all. I had written a story around her and it intrigued me as to how it really would pan out for her if she were indeed to settle in this country and live a traditional modest married life. She would come to an exotic place such as Santa Teresa to play out her romantic quest in a daring manner like never before.
I pondered the sequel to this story as the canyon glided beneath the car window.A happily ever after ending would never do the trick. She deserved to be happy that was certain. But for how many years should she be allowed to retain that happiness? I thought I could reasonably allow her 15 years or so. A tragic accident would widow her and she would be faced with the decision to return to her home country or remain amongst her new family in Peru. There would be a twist too. All the ingredients of a good story or so I thought. Can you have too much tragedy in a story? If there is tragedy at the beginning is it over the top to subject the heroine to further misery towards the end?
All in all, perhaps my idea of tragedy was over-imagined. But to live a whole life without the knowledge of self that only comes from attempting to fully know another, would that not then be a tragedy? I wanted to divert my heroine temporarily from her tragic route.
By now I had transferred to the bus that took me from Santa Maria back to Ollantaytambo in the Sacred Valley. This time there were absolutely no seats remaining and I had to stand in the aisle. The air was still hot from the jungle. A nauseous unease welled inside me accompanied by a faintish daze. I must have looked like I was going to collapse on the seated passengers. Someone pointed to the rear of the bus and bodies made way. I squeezed into a corner of the back of the bus on the side that faced deep into the floor of the mountains footholds with all the windings of roads yet to be travelled set out like threads below. I stood in a leaning position as there were no seats in this part of the bus but at least I was secure enough not to collapse.
It occurred to me that my Ollantaytambo friends would be curious about my trip. I realised then how much that humming bird had come to my rescue. Without doubt, seeing this wondrous bird before my very eyes was the best thing about my visit to Santa Teresa. It was a blessing then as I diverted their further questioning and it was a blessing later when the dreams I had dared to realise fell to shambles.
I too had a story. I didn’t want anyone to know the truth of it. I did not want to be seen floundering with the eyes of the world upon me. For those days in Santa Teresa I fooled myself, thinking love was on its way. It was in fact withheld once again. I misinterpreted every word, every in-action.
As I stepped from the bus onto the cobbled stones of Ollantaytambo, I turned to wave goodbye. It was the start of a slow series of goodbyes but also the beginning of something new for I never felt about myself the freedom as I had then. I was living an adventure and my arms were wide open to the highs and lows that were to yet to come.
© Caroline Cunningham Author of Wild Star Landing
Why would you go all the way to Santa Teresa along a treacherous road in Peru? For some reason it called to me and I subconsciously ignored the part about the treacherous road. In this seemingly sleepy jungle town, nature’s wonders were alive and busy. The hummingbird (Picaflor/Colibri) certainly was the most stunning of these. My encounter with this ‘flying jewel’ was fresh in my mind.
Walking along the narrow sandy paths to my left and right I set my eyes for the first time upon coffee beans growing in their perfectly natural source. Further along near the small town itself a large area of bare ground had been set aside for the drying of the beans. There they lay, roasting in the midday sun oblivious to cities and cafes and paper cups.
If you follow the river you will eventually discover the main attraction. At least for Peruvian people this is so. Cocalmayo is the name given to the outdoor hot bath known locally as ‘Aguas Calientes’. It is idyllic in its surrounds and clearly a hit with Peruvian people continuing their Independence Day celebrations.
I got there early in the morning as the sun appeared across the lid of the mountain and infused the air with it warming rays. I waded in the warm blue green waters staying close to rocky perimeter gazing at the waterfall which provided a natural shower for the bathers.
Even at this hour there were many people, despite this a hushed quiet prevailed. No rush, until however, sounds of splashing followed by some shrieks broke the silence. Many people, mostly young girls were scrambling to exit the bath. An attendant appeared with a large hooped net. It took some time to capture the creature as it managed to hop itself free from the net many times. It had fallen from the rock face at the far side of the pool. I understood that they believed it to be poisonous frog. I watched from a safe distance. Eventually calm was restored and the basking resumed.
Later, I sat in a village market watching a local woman making the most amazing concoction using only a liquidiser (batidora). She piled everything into it. Peppers, soft cheese, crackers and spices, I lost track of the variety. It was explained to me that she was making a sauce to accompany a potato dish for the workers in her community.
Many people visit this town in order to start their trek to Machu Picchu. It can be reached in a matter of hours on foot in the direction of Hidro-Electria power plant. They call it the low-budget route and back door to Machu Picchu. I had already arrived there through its front door the year before. It is splendid. My trip to Santa Teresa was a spur of the moment plan. I didn’t want any of my visits to Machu Picchu to be so haphazardly arranged. Going there was something I wanted to have the opportunity to look forward to, no matter if it would be my hundredth time to visit.
Have you been to Santa Teresa and what were the highlights of your visit? If you enjoyed my story please share and I invite you to follow my journey in Peru.
The reference to the ‘flying jewel’ is credited to artist and blogger Janet Weight Reed for this beautiful metaphor of the Humming Bird which features in her art.
©Caroline Cunningham – Author of Wild Star Landing
I have been at a loss for words to describe this following encounter I had whilst visiting Santa Teresa in Peru’s cloud forest jungle. I have been conflicted by the beauty of it because I cannot proceed with the remainder of my Peruvian tale until I have attempted to relay this part.
I awoke that first morning in my tree-house style room (Eco Quechua Lodge) with the warm breeze gently swaying the light-filled drapes that hung inside the wooden rails, where fell the jungles feet along the Urubamba (Vilcanota) River.
Birds were chirping and most likely there was a nest of them in the highest eaves of my room. I had packed sparingly and since I had chosen a room with the greatest view, forsaking the favour of an en-suite version, I had a little distance to travel to the nearest shower. The towels provided gave scant coverage so I wrapped myself in a sheet and waddled to the nearest cubicle crossing the stepping stone path. Showering whilst looking out across the tree tops was bliss but nothing like the experience that was yet to come.
Sitting at the breakfast table on the platform overlooking the cloud forest on a balmy sunny morning, sipping papaya juice, I gazed beyond the flowering plants that popped their heads idly along the balcony. I had not yet deciphered the static chirps that hinted at the spectacle that was about to transfix my senses.
In nano-seconds my eyes were deceived by objects beyond the flowering plants. They appeared and disappeared so fast I had not time to ascertain what flickered there. And then it did appear. One single of the flickering bodies presented itself swiftly before my eyes. For this brief moment I held myself on the border of my emotions unsure which was the most appropriate. I wasn’t breathing at this point. The story of Peter Pan tickles my imagination and something of this creature, fanning its wings so fast they could barely be perceived as wings, beheld the magic of a visitation by Tinkerbell.
A joyous feeling began to overflow my heart at last deciding this was a most special experience a beautiful encounter with a humming bird ‘Colibrí’. It hovered mid-air for those brief moments only two arm lengths from my side and some seconds later flew out into the trees as swiftly as it had appeared.
I sat there mesmerised. This smallest of birds with the fastest of beating wings, with versatility of movement in any direction even upside down or backwards, had chosen to present itself before me. I later discovered that some Peruvians believe it to be a messenger. The ‘Colibrí’ (Humming Bird) was certainly significant to the ancient Nazca civilisation as they featured this creature centrally in their mysterious Nazca lines. The meaning has been lost to present culture however but it wasn’t lost to me. A humbling grace fell upon me upon me. I felt immense gratitude. This encounter with beauty is held high amongst my most special experiences ever in my life.
That night I slept with my curtains parted so as to entice another visitation of this magical creature in my waking hours. I was being quite wishful but realised even more that I had been blessed just once and once was more than I could be hopeful for.
©Caroline Cunningham Author Of Wild Star Landing Blog
Santa Teresa beguiled my senses of the risky road that delivered me to its leafy sleepy tropical surrounds. I welcomed the melting temperatures that embraced my body parts inside and out. According to my booking details Eco Quechua Lodge was not far from the centre of the village. I was at a loss as to which road to take however, so a taxi was required. Another traveler had prompted me to stay here. ‘A tree house in the tree tops,’ was how she described it. It sounded heavenly.
Heaven was well disguised. A narrow sandy path lined with coffee trees led the taxi car to a simple hut proposing to be a shop, one that was quite bare and lacking in change (coins). To the left, a series of stepping stones led steeply to a wooden terrace amongst the tree tops. Like a curious child I hopped giddily from stone to stone arriving at the wooden sheltered platform. Bowls of ripe avocados and bananas greeted me. From the balcony I absorbed the beauty of the tree top canopy of the jungle cloud forest. Exotic flowers bloomed effortlessly from pots and transported earth. The air was sweet and exotic with so many new scents. The sun beamed serenely for this time of afternoon. I was at once at ease and surrendering to a blissful feeling.
The owner ‘Kiki’ appeared and gave me a warm welcome. He had a few rooms available and offered me a choice. I was sold on the first he presented, a makeshift space of almost three surrounding walls consisting of thin branches, loosely bound planks and a roof of matted twigs and nest-like vegetation with an open balcony providing glimpses of the Urubamba (Vilcanota) river below. A simple mesh net proposed to protect the sleeper from the jungles tiny creatures in the twilight hours. I was not leaving this room. It was mine for the next two nights.
A romantic location it surely was and it was especially the place for lovers. Beneath the eaves of the main reception platform I savoured a simple meal of rice and chicken and sampled a Pisco Sour. Couples quietly ate their meals before retiring to their tree top quarters which were intimately spaced together.
This would certainly be the place that my novel heroine Kitty Clinch would have chosen to bring her Peruvian lover. What of this Kitty Clinch of my creation? Would she really go through with her plans to settle and end her days hitched in Peru? What would it take to make such a move? I had to find out so as to write more authentically about this woman who was compelled to radically change her life.
In the night time bodies enveloped each other, some more noisily than others. The Urubamba sighed heavily at the feet of the trees that jostled at the edge of my open balcony. Water cleaved the rocks below at a steady breathy pace. An outrageous giggle from the other side of the partition to my left gave an uncanny feeling of being part of some voyeuristic party. It was not the place for loneliness but I considered it momentarily. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to be in this special place. To come alone or with another, did it really matter? Yes it mattered entirely. I would rather be alone than to have a watered down memory of a touch that was not filled with the heart-depth of another.
I could take the river and the trees and the jungle night time air in this paradise destination and they could take all of me. A soul filled with beauty eventually tires itself to sleep. I slept soundly.
© Caroline Cunningham Author of Wild Star Landing
‘Riding along the high ledge of a canyon’, wasn’t too unlike how my American traveller friends had described it in a text a few weeks earlier. I did not consider this news when I made my decision to travel to Santa Teresa. The bus journey from Ollantaytambo (Peru) to Santa Maria had taken me three and a half hours over and beyond the Abra Malaga Pass. The views were stunning and the roads extremely windy as I travelled almost an extra 1,500m.a.s.l. into the atmosphere from the Sacred Valley.
It’s an hour by car from Santa Maria to Santa Teresa. In that hour I contemplated the possibilities of life and death. I observed the faces of the other passengers either side of me. They had the usual expressions of everyday acceptance of the familiar. The car rocked from side to side as it grappled with the rough terrain of this dusty, un-tarmacked road. The driver drove steadily, negotiating bends and occasional oncoming traffic which threw up blinding screens of dust. I had become more accustomed to the bends but what bothered me most was the fact that to my left I could see right down into the depths of a canyon where the Urubamba River snaked its path with greater speed towards its Amazonian counterparts.
I observed the driver and his co-pilot. They did not look like fellows who were set to die on this particular day. Logic butted in. An unexpected necessary swerve could send us off this narrow ledge to a certain death. Could I handle it? I had no choice right now. I was certainly not offering to walk or turn back alone. I could handle death if I knew it could be swift. Looking over the edge of this cliff-road it would surely be swift.
What were my alternatives? I could have stayed at home in my safe environment where life threatened to tick itself away minute by minute repeating the same un-holistic patterns until I died tediously and tragically without much sympathy. My logic drove me to dramatic lengths to justify the fact that I was now sitting in this car on a treacherous route to Santa Teresa’s cloud forest.
Slowly I allowed the thrill of this high risk situation to take me over. I had passed the pinnacle of Veronica en route, the glacial mountain which stood adamant in its promise that dreams can be made real as long as we do not give up. Perhaps it was more risky to believe in the dream that I had beset myself and kept within my heart. Risks have to be taken in such pursuits. This was practice.
The car trundled towards a break in the road. A cascading waterfall, which in another setting would warrant a day of natural observation, was in this instance presenting an obstacle as it flowed heavily across the dirt path. There were two apparent options. The first option was already being negotiated by another vehicle as it waded ever so slowly through the deep trough of the stream. The other option our driver took without much hesitation. We were driving across the fast flowing waterfall stream along a few planks of wood arranged to bridge the gap as the water beneath us took its magnificent plunge towards the Urubamba far below.
And in this fashion I eventually arrived with the dust of the earth in my mouth and matted to my skin and hair, into the tranquil surrounds of tropical Santa Teresa.
© Caroline Cunningham Author of Wild Star Landing Blog