I'm not sure why the proprietor of Posada Japones decided to tell me most of his life story, but I'm glad he did. From the time he left the farm in the mountains for the city, and then dragged back home where he says he had no shoes or clothes to speak of. He told me of how he learned fighting skills with knives, getting shot a few times, trafficking cocaine and managing a billiards parlor. All fascinating, especially after he said the moment that changed his life was seeing the twin towers fall on September 11. The following day he cut off his long hair and started yoga. After he got out of prison, he returned to San Agustin and began by sweeping the street for money until he had enough money for materials and built his Hostel/Posada with his own two hands. He is very proud that he is no longer a slave and owes no one any money or anything at all.
Another fellow named Oliver who first said he was Swiss but also French, had spent several months in a Bolivian jungle. He was smoking weed pretty much the whole time I was there, but never seemed all that stoned. Just calm with an easy smile.
I never saw him the slightest bit stressed until after he told me of a strange ritual he took part in that was supposed to cleanse his soul and give him a second life. The ritual involved a shaman cutting the head off a monkey and then placing it in Oliver's hand. He seemed still stunned by the memory of how much blood was draining out of the monkey's head and down his arm.
At this point the shaman chopped open the top of the monkey's head exposing the brain and Oliver was to gobble it all up quickly. I thought it odd that it was the blood draining that really got to him instead of the main course.
I asked him what it tasted like and he started to look a little ill as he recalled. He swallowed hard and confessed that he got very sick to his stomach but managed to keep it all down. I pressed on about the taste and he said that monkey meat is really very tasty. He asked if I'd ever eaten horse. I told him not to my knowlege and he said it too was very good. I asked one more time about the taste of the monkey's brain and he said it was hard to describe, but it was kind of like spaghetti only finer in texture.
Now I was feeling a bit queasy and was at first a little jealous that the exotic level of his experience trumped anything I had, but at the same time I was sad that such a ritual existed at all.
Oliver is really such a cool, laid back person who seemed to be so at ease and completely trusting and positive about everything. So much so, that it was difficult to imaging him gobbling up a monkey's brain or posessing a soul in need of that kind of cleansing. Perhaps if I'd known him before the ritual, I might have understood.
It would have been easy to stay at Posada Japones a few more days relaxing in a hammock and trading travel stories, but I felt myself begin to get a little lazy so I figured I better keep moving.
I had been warned that the bus through the mountains to Popayan was brutal, but that was an understatement. I still can't believe that little bus even made it as we fishtailed around muddy corners with cliffs dropping off to a raging river below. The bus slammed over the terrain and threated to crush my vertebrae. It was briefly amusing to watch everyone on the bus fly up at once until we all came crashing down onto armrests or whatever was sharp and nearby. It's amazing I didn't bust a rib or lose any teeth.
When the bus was stopped at a military checkpoint and boarded by armed personel, it was almost a relief. I thought I'd just show my passport and we'd be on our way. Instead, all the males were thoroughly frisked one-by-one, and then we lined up to have all our luggage opened and gone through down to pulling out all our clothes and checking the pockets. They even knew instantly where my secret backpack pocket was. Yet, they weren't intimidating at all. Very pleasant and professional. Sounds strange, but they even seemed gentile as have most of the Colombians I've met so far. So sweet and friendly, it's hard to imagine any of them at all involved in a civil war, trafficking drugs, or violent criminals.
I'm now in Popayan and thought I'd continue my search for an ayahuasca ceremony in one of the nearby small villages. However, after a conversation I had with another backpacker woman who had tried San Pedro cactus in Peru and was asking what I recommended for a beginner, I was a little stumped. Then she asked me to describe some of the insights I've garnered from taking part in some of these indigenous plants, etc. Again, I was stumped. I have had insights here and there, but most of the time they've come from quiet thought or sometimes forced after some traumatic experience. Not so much from the plants themselves and it made me question why I was even obsessed with finding ayahuasca again, especially since I'd already done it twice in Peru and gained nothing from it.
At this point, I think I may have lost interest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for now I think I'd prefer to stay clear headed and focus on the raw experience rather than look for ways to warp it.
All for now. One more day here in Popayan and I think I'll move on up a bit more North to Cali. More about Popayan once I've moved on.