danielbaylis.ca

Dear Family and Friends,

It has been three months now since my departure from Canada to tackle a one-year-around-the-world travel project. This means that I have completed a quarter of my journey.

Like… woah.

In some ways, it feels like just yesterday that I was at the terminal, hugging my mother and sister goodbye. In other ways it seems like three whole lifetimes of “Daniel Baylis” have passed. I’ve been an amateur mason, riding a bike along the levies of New Orleans at sunset. I’ve been a rebellious raw vegan, skinny-dipping in isolated Costa Rican jungle waterfalls. I’ve been an animated English teacher, attempted to funnel the energy of Peruvian schoolchildren towards the possibility of expanding their horizons. Each of these roles/adventures have been micro realities in a greater context that is, well, my life. And perhaps one day I might be lucky enough to make sense of all these experiences.

So, yes, this year will be a bit of a mindfuck. But it will be an incredibly educational and totally expansive mindfuck.

Travel (and life, incidentally) is all about making tradeoffs. For my project, I’ve opted to visit twelve countries in twelve months. Some travelers opt to explore Europe, for instance, and visit twelve countries in a single month. Other adventurers might choose one country for an entire year. Some people write tweets, some people write dissertations. And when it comes to travel, there is no right or wrong strategy; there are no necessary time parameters.

But, if you’ll permit some self-criticism, due to the time constraints that I’ve chosen for my trip, any volunteerism will inevitably be quite tokenistic. Greater systemic change, such as providing effective, free education to a community, takes years, if not decades, of dedication. At this point in my life, because I am still evolving, I am unable to conceptualize such a devotedness. But one day I would like to be capable of committing to a sustained intervention that serves to improve a community that has expressed interest in developing itself. I would like to participate in an involvement that leads to the greatest repercussion of community involvement – relationship development.

Still, after only four weeks of teaching English in Peru, my involvement is not without relationship development. I’ve had the privilege of meeting many charming folks here in Trujillo. But perhaps my most cherished connection has been with the woman who cooks weekday lunches for volunteers at Horizon Peru house. Her name is Estella.

Estella is a fifty-something Peruvian woman who lives in a small household of nine people (four generations of family). At home she is a daughter, a mother and a grandmother. Her life and my life are quite different – I am not a fifty-something Peruvian woman, nor am I courageous enough to live with my family. There’s an element of opposites attracting happening here.

Estella affectionately calls me “Danny-Daniel” (with the true “Dan-i-elle” pronunciation that French and Spanish speaking tongues tend to do). She loves that I know my way around the kitchen – supposedly a rarity for Peruvian men – and has generously donated her non-working hours to guide me through a Mercado, and then personally teach me how to make ceviche.

But the funny thing about Estella and I is that we don’t really talk to each other. My abilities to speak Spanish are similar to a beaver’s ability to converse with a llama. So our interactions are a series of charades and smiles and the occasional translation intervention from a more fluent volunteer. At times it’s amazing how unnecessary language can be.

There is much I don’t know about Estella. I know not if she has ever left Peru. Or if she speaks any other languages. Or what level of education she has. Or if she’s ever been in love. But, judging by her smiles and fondness for generousity, I’m pretty sure she’s a contented human being. So, it’s no surprise that we get along; I am drawn to happy people.

One of the things that I appreciate most about Estella is her quiet sense of divinity. After she serves lunch to us hungry and ritual-deprived volunteers, Estella joins the table and quietly bows her head to say a blessing. I am allergic to the dogma and doctrine of most religious beliefs, yet when she prays, my cynicism falls gently aside. Even if my own divine practices are nominal, through Estella I am motivated to make space for divinity, for sacredness, for appreciation.

During the free time on the weekend, Estella has unknowingly provided fertile ground for my own divine experiences. Over the past four weeks, she has generously extended invitations for little adventures, and I have always eagerly agreed. When a local offers to take me hiking or to give me a cooking lesson, I know that I’m being presented with an opportunity for an exclusive adventure that not every traveler is granted. I seize these opportunities with the same fever that I snatch every delicious fresh mango I can get my tropical-fruit-craving Canadian paws upon. My moments to dabble with divinity are at the top these mountains, knowing that I might never be upon these apexes again.

Estella has been my guide, and I say “yes” to her (and the adventures) because she is a lovely person to be around, but also because my time is restricted. Some people might find it daunting – the pressure to seize opportunities on the basis of the impending limitations of life (and ultimately, of death). But for me, it has been the greatest compelling force in choosing to travel. There has been and continues to be a pressure to live “now.”

And perhaps that’s the beautiful thing about limiting myself to only a few weeks in each of my twelve destinations this year. When I am able to acknowledge the constraints of time, I’m forced to make the most of it.

I thank Estella for helping me.

With much love,

Daniel

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