Much Needed Peace

It is perfect but only in its own definition of the word! It does not compare to an artificial flawlessness that has become the aesthetically norm, but the beauty is revealed through the chaotic rugged discrepancies. The rocky hill of an island is entirely etched with terracing that defines the sever range of elevation as clearly as a three-dimensionally topographical display. The brown soil and green grass distinctly contrasts deep gray and white rocks that frame the endless scattering of boulders. Miles of undeveloped footpaths weave into every corner of the island but leave no evident trace of dominance over the rustic serenity. There is a powerful grip of silence over the island. Noise from the wind rustling bushes is more of an intrusive than commonplace. Daily life is dictated by the patient growth sustainable agriculture and an overwhelming dominance of cultural pride. The 1,700 indigenous Tequilians are proud of their sustainable isolation. They maintain their lifestyle in honor of the ancestry that were near the last to abstain from Spanish conquest. The collectivist lifestyle propagates the Inkan Moral Code of "do not steal, do not lie, do not be lazy". There is not a Tequilians over the age of 8 without dirt under their fingernails. They live hard, complain less and smile more. The Isla Tequile lies just 45km from busy port of Puno but years in the past of modernized life.

Let´s call him, Dick. I never caught his name but it just seems fitting. This proud to be an American, pompous, loud-mouthed ass kindly transformed the serene four hour boat ride to Isla Tequile into a torturous endurance test restraint. Though I quickly learned not to instigate chatter from the 65 year old retired ex-floridian, the blond German sitting to my right found Dick quite engaging. After the first hour conversation, I realized that the Germans minimal comprehension of the English language left unafflicted by the unrelenting annoyance. She must have been dazed by the penatrating volume of his speech.

Honestly, I should have felt fortunate. It is not everyday that I am able to sit next to a man that knows everything. Again, I should concede that it was impressive to the sheer number of times he was able to use the words I and Me. Sometimes, even more than once in the same sentence. I should also be impressed to be in the presence of such a chameleon of inter-cultural relations. This over-weight, white Floridian had no problem telling any of those who would listen that he never looked like a tourist. He largely attributed this to the fact that he died is hair and bread from gray to brown and a wore soccer jersey. Let me lay out some of the other highly education nips of wisdom he shared with those within 100 feet and not entirely deaf.
-Sailboats don´t work on Lake Titicaca because of the elevation.
-Winds increase over water the shallower the water gets.
-Americans have to acquire more Visa´s because other countries are jealous of us.
-He is unaffected by lack of oxygen at elevation because he plays wind instruments. (This was quickly refuted as soon as he began hiking at the island.)
Typically, while I travel I maintain an open mind, enjoy conversations of all types and love meeting people that I normally wouldn´t interact with. Dick was different. Any facsimile of a symbiotic conversation was thwarted with his ability to connect any subject to a particularly bad story about himself. Unable to endure even 4 hours with Dick, I was fearful of the three people that at one point said "I Do" to the man. After only thirty minutes, I knew why the relationships never worked. I almost fear to run into the people that were able to tolerate him for long enough to commit in matrimony.
Dick made quite an impression on me. After he began his endless rants of egotistical enlightenment, it was not a President that made me want to say I was Canadian, it was a Dick.