Cassidy Parker | Wanderings
I have cycled along dirt roads in Vietnam, hiked across Canadian glaciers, and danced upon Bolivian salt flats. These posts document my wandering feet.
Cassidy Parker, wanderings, travel, adventure, globe, planet
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Two experiences defined my love for travel. One was a hiking trip in the Cedarberg Mountains north of Cape Town when I was 16 years old. I vividly – viscerally – remember standing at the summit of the range’s second highest peak with nothing but mountains and sky for company, and learning the definition of perspective. The second was a shower I took on a train midway between Kapiri Mposhi in northern Zambia and Dar es Salaam in Tanzania when I was 20 years old. An old pipe above spluttered water onto me as I leaned out of the window and into a balmy night webbed with lightning. That lesson was about freedomadventurelove, all in one.

Since these pivotal moments, I have cycled along dirt roads in Vietnam, hiked across Canadian glaciers, and danced upon Bolivian salt flats. These posts document my wandering feet.

Our boat driver kills the engine with a single click. It is silent. A moment later, our guide turns off the enormous torch he has been using to search for caymans. It is dark. Except: It is not silent. It is not dark. As we float down the Tambopata River...

People travel and they talk. They form opinions and pass these on to friends and fellow travellers, they rave and condemn, they write guide books and online reviews. You listen to these suggestions, conduct some research of your own, add some salt, and decide whether or not to take them...

Slowly, I close my eyes. And snap them open. And close them again. And open them. As much as I try to search for a slither of light, for a break in the smothering blackness all around me, I cannot. The darkness is absolute. My sight robbed, I am more...

My weeks in Bolivia have passed by with ease and fluidity, with a gentle contentment and a wide-eyed wonderment. Instead of running my fingers over a keyboard, I have run my feet across the country. I have gazed at new faces and outfits; explored unknown cities, towns and villages; eaten...

I spend my week in Argentina on the back of a stegosaurus. He moves laboriously, with gentle movements that have me rocking from side to side. His flesh is calloused, hardened and eroded by millennia of wind and rain, and cacti rise from his skin like prickly pimples. But it...

My heart hammers in my ears. I attribute it to one of two things: either its the whopping altitude I suddenly find myself at, or it's the fact that I'm fighting with a Bolivian border official about my passport in a language I barely speak. For a moment, I feel...

A jolt in the road, roused from a sleep so deep I feel drugged, I peek one eye out from the curtains of the bus carrying me into northern Chile. The thought occurs to me for the first time. It strikes again several hours later when, travelling by daylight on...

Chile's intercity public transport system is impressive. Buses leave precisely - precisely - on time; those that don't are met with flailing arms and frustrated wrist-tapping by the next drivers in the queue. The seats recline like dentists' chairs and the country's seatbelt laws are both strictly enforced and strictly...

As it turns out, I don't have an ass of steel at the end of day two in Valparaiso. I have an ass of jelly and I have legs of jelly. Yesterday I walked, and walked and walked and walked. And then I went for a run. Today I walked,...