Outside Santiago, Chile

In the summer of 2006, I found myself trying to drive in the city of Santiago, Chile, on the other side of the equator. Somehow renting a car by myself in a country where I had only basic language skills seemed like a big deal. I had a driving map of the city/region (barely comprehensible) and tried to find a road that would get me out of town. I found myself driving in circles trying to fit in with local drivers by weaving in and out of traffic maniacally. I could not seem to find the road that would get me to the outskirts of town where I could head to what I knew would be the promised land of mountains, streams, flowers and trees. After stopping to ask for directions I was more confused than ever. I felt trapped in this sprawling urban hell (a recent theme for me) and was on the verge of tears. After close to 2 hours of pure persistence, I found a way out; I was free.

Unlike in the city of Santiago, in the country, one can actually see the mountains, being free of the thick smog that envelops the city on most days. Wandering around the windy roads among the infrequent, nestled mountain homes, I found myself quite unexpectedly at the Cascadas de las Animas, a rustic "resort" with cabins, hiking, waterfalls, and a lovely little restaurant on site. Realizing that I had read about this place previously, I quickly decided that this was my heaven on earth I had been seeking. There seemed to be few, if any, other guests and I would have the place virtually to myself.

It was the kind of experience that one would hope would last forever. Though it was winter there, flowers were blooming. My cabin had a kitchen and fireplace and I set out out immediately to start a fire to warm things up. I went to the local store and bought some food - rice, vegetables, eggs and a bottle of Chilean red wine. I took my first hike and I marveled at the quiet. All the hiking trails seemed to lead to the waterfalls so I found myself heading towards them. The power of the water rushing down from the snowy mountain was intense and loud; and yet, infinitely quiet. I explored the grounds photographing flowers, and making friends with some of the country cats. I ate some memorable soup at the multi-windowed restaurant that included Tibetan prayer flags flapping in the mountain wind.

Later that weekend I would sit, and chant, looking toward what I took to be the most inspiring of the mountain peaks. And that's when it seemed like that mountain really spoke to me, like I was being called. The mountains would heal and teach me, it seemed to be saying. I don't think it was the wine speaking. Since my return, I've been working to heed the call; I'm trying to find my way to the mountain. It's a literal and figurative journey for me. I think I'm closing in. More to come on this front.