Lost and Found in the Highlands

by Ariana Marisa Sotelo Zapatero (Peru)

I didn't expect to find Peru

If you drive too fast, you will pass right through it, but go slow enough and you’ll catch a glimpse of a sign with a name you might think is not local: Colca. Not as vast and not nearly as deep as its homonymous, the famous Colca Canyon in Arequipa, Perú, there lies between the lower highlands of a welcoming Áncash, the small rural village of Colca. Of all my comings and goings from the town hidden between the nooks and crannies in the lower Andes, the trip I remember the most is one I had at a time when looking for an escape; one of those moments when daily life engulfs you into a void of repetitive sequence and you get lost, and you lose that special connection with yourself. It was then that I decided to retreat and find a space to reconnect with myself in the safehouse that my grandparent’s farm in Colca represented to me. There is always this moment of spirit lifting wonder that hits you when you take that last turn in the highway leading to the highlands, and massive vegetation packed mountains appear right in front of you. You feel small, but your heart feels big. Once you jump out of the car upon arriving in the midst of the furious honking of local geese, you get to breath the cold unpolluted air of the countryside, and you breathe as if it’s the first breath you have taken in a long time. Low in oxygen but full of energy. Upon arriving that day, I settled as fast as I could to make a run equipped with my camera into the fields of peach trees that fill the estate with the thought of taking pictures of nature as a way to recapture bits of myself scattered among the leaves, the bugs, the creeks and paths. As I explored the land I know by heart since I was a four-year-old, memories of a small and lively me run through the fields and under the fruit bearing trees in search of adventure, in search of the unknown. Something invisible pushed me to follow her, curiosity getting the best of me as I tripped again and again when running across the narrow dirt roads. Along the way, always following the steps of my past self, I stopped from time to time whenever I spotted the reflection of light over running water to snap a shot; whenever a butterfly crossed my path and stood still in the tiny yellow flowers scattered through the grass to snap another shot; and whenever I saw beautifully intertwined vines not only to take more apparently random pictures, but to admire the easiness with which Nature created beautiful things. Step by step, I got nearer to the 150-year-old lucuma tree, the rich and decadent fruit that once dominated these lands, and sat down in silence under the fresh revitalizing breeze under the tree to rest. I started scrolling down the camera roll watching how the pieces of the scenery I had made still forever came together as a puzzle, forming the wonderful surroundings that little by little were telling me it was time to sit back and enjoy the view. At that point, I felt that my mind finally settled down, and after the longest of times I could hear my heart and not only my head. I had found a moment of spiritual reconnection with myself under the stage of Nature and recaptured some of that lightness found in childhood’s play, recovering that carelessness for a near or distant future. I knew I had regained the feeling of living in the present. Of all my comings and goings from Colca, I never expected to find the healing effect that the open horizons, the purer air and the abundant greenery could bring over the soul. It allows us to see with new ayes and newfound clarity, and to breathe again with a lighter heart. A few days later I would return to the city not only with a revitalized spirit, but with the promise of a place I could go back whenever I felt lost to bring back that sense of inner peace.