La Playa: the word for "beach" and "parkinglot" is interchangeable.

Word on the street: when one door closes, another opens.
Tentatively between doors is where I stand, simultaneously gawking at the bus before me and the terminal behind me.

" I miss you already!"
Small arms enfold me, muscles, bones, tendons, skin, succour in the midst of austerity. Entangled, entwined, she is my best friend, my sister, my soul. So close a match, we found ourselves in a house of mirrors armed with wrecking balls. Forced to face ourselves and each other, unable to locate the exit. Glass shattered and ground shook as we smashed all available reflective surface. Skin punctured and split by shards suspended in the slow motion battle-royal. Eventually we stood in the wreckage, a gallery of slivered silver and light refracting quivering digits and damp cheeks. Seldom have I felt amity of this measure.
In the calm proceeding the hurricane we found the bond between us unyielding.

Back in thee day

Cait in the doorway, *click* my retinal aperture closes: Figure bolstered by cinder block wall, head tilt, arms fold, chestnut waves, purple fabric, flip flops... A cerebral Polaroid pinned to the cork-board of my memory.

Fingerprints are taken, passport admired, ticket administered, I climb aboard my first Spanish-only bus solo. Five young men are seated in the front two rows, I'd wager they're Brazilian but I'll never know. My assigned seat allocates my position next to latino-Adrien-Brody who correctly reads my helpless smile as an indication of a need to access my seat.

Time and space elude me in the vortex of bus travel. Music, reading and fidgeting along with fluctuant sleep somehow fill the 24 hours to Lima. Winding through the Andes, many a curve appearing to bend the laws of physics in terms of  "spaces our bus can actually fit in."

Fatigue and disorientation hug my weary bones as I step into the station. An absurd sensation of familiarity engulfs me as I have returned to a place previously visited, yet it is still so strange. Having no desire to remain in Lima, I had booked a back-to-back bus marathon of 48 hours total bus travel... who knew sitting for 48 hours could be so exhausting? Peruvians openly gawk at me as I fold forward to fully embrace gomukhasana. My hips burn and the gawking continues, apparently yoga is not a common bus-stop activity around here.

24 hours later I am in Tumbes, the largest metropolitan center on the Panamerican highway before Ecuador. Dust and poverty assault my nose, I make quick work of grabbing my bag and hopping into a cab. My cab driver has a gold tooth, this makes me irrationally nervous, but he gets me to my hostel without a fuss.

3 Puntas/Casa Grillo is an eco hostel in the town of Zorritos. I HIGHLY reccomend this hidden gem to anyone who is in Northern Peru and would like to visit the beach in a quiet, peaceful manner (note: party animals should go to Mancora.... surf and happy hour abound) The budget rooms are reasonably priced and rather charming, sporting private balconies equipped with hammocks!

Sleeping quarters.

Greeted by Leon, owner of the hostel and 32 Peruvian hairless dogs... and his sister Anna (they are both 5'2, stark raving mad, from Spain with love) Not a lick of English between them, but we managed with the assistance of Heidi (from New Mexico, rejecting the american dream with gusto by residing in Peru).

 Silence in conjunction with regular power-outages rendered a rather meditative experience: I rose with the sun, spent long days wandering the beach, swimming in the sea, dozing in hammocks, reading, and returned to my quarters to sleep when the sun went down. Simplicity is something we often take for granted and I was fortunate enough to be force-fed the simplest existence possible in this mermaids paradise.

During my stay I had the pleasure of dining at the hostel restaurant, "La Papaya Verde." Incipiently, awkward sensations filled me; a lone traveler dining in the midst of couples... I kid you not, it was as though I had mistakenly found my way to a couples retreat... fortunately I quickly determined the benefit of eating greater than that of being inconspicuous, I brought my book to meals. Fruit salad composed of fresh, local fruits and green tea for breakfast. Ceviche, Paella, gazpacho and veggies for dinner,  words cannot describe how happy my stomach was.

I was not entirely alone, an american family residing next-door in their 5th wheel took a shine to me and had me over for dinner once or twice. Never have I encountered folk so thirsty for interaction! 'Twas as though they had been saving up words for decades! Sentences charged forth from their vocal cords, nearly shattering teeth on their way out. Festooned with tales of wanderlust and nomadic revelry, they allowed brief reprieve of a split second for interjection and a breath of air before toiling on in their excitement.

Upon my final eve Julian appeared. A suave frenchman-cum-surfer-dude travelling Peru does not ask permission, he merely seats himself at your table and serves you half his beer. We spoke late into the evening, breeze of la mar washing over us as candles flickered and sangria sloshed within glasses. Sleep pulled at my lids and I indicated my retirement to Julian, who ensured I was equipped with his number and email address. Slithering to my room, I marveled at the moment; the souls you encounter only once, the comfort of company, the sour delight of still-borne romance...  like so many others, I would not be seeing him again.

Arriving in Lima for the third time, the finality of my adventure reached me; Canada so far behind me, yet it loomed on the horizon once again. I'd made a new friend on the bus and bid him adieu as we arrived in Lima. He bestowed upon me 3 postcards of his own design and a kiss on the cheek, a custom so invasive one month ago was now second nature.

As my taxi carries me from bus terminal to L'Aeropuerto, we venture through the education district of Lima. Grand universities encircle plazas, students wandering every which way; reminding me of my of an educational future awaiting me at home.... My heart strings strike harmony as I observe life, love, hustle and bustle. Peru has transformed me, and yet I am much the same... I feel a tranquility, as though the waves in Zorritos had swept the footprints of my past from the beach of my life. To Peru I say, not adios.... but hasta luego.

 All things move in a forward motion, we cannot regain days gone by, we cannot become a former self. We must move on and embrace the tides, for we cannot alter such grand force.