Mike Huber

Season of Change: Part 4

By Mike Huber

I awoke in my tent still buzzing from the previous night’s ceremony. A frequent side effect from ayahuasca is not being able to sleep that well, but even with little sleep I was ready and excited to face the day with a renewed feeling of positive energy. I had not only made it through the ceremony but came out the other side feeling a confidence and happiness that I hadn’t felt in years.

Even though I had this elated feeling I was still cautious not to be too upbeat. I had a final ceremony that evening to go through and I was certain there were still a few things I had yet to process. Hopefully, this evening would be where I would find the purpose that I originally sought, a star to steer by to light a path, even if it was just a few nearly dead chem lights to point the direction. Just something.

I passed the day by talking with the others and listening to their experiences and getting to know everyone a little better. As the day wore on, I began to feel uneasy again as to what that night’s experience would be. With the ceremony starting at 19:30, the two hours leading up to it I spent in solace and went fishing to pass the time (I had two solid bites but didn’t set the hook so off they went).

Upon entering the yurt I sat on my mat and awaited to be called. Since this was the third ceremony and I felt as though I had resolved a lot of what I had come here for I chose a smaller dose. I wanted to be semi-coherent this night so that I could work with the plant, build a relationship, and have her assist me in bringing my purpose into the light.

As I returned to the mat with my cup of medicine, I sat looking deep into the cup for several minutes asking for guidance before I drank the bitter tasting plant medicine. It didn’t take too long before the muscular black panther appeared and strutted up the mat to be face-to-face with me again. As I sat eye-to-eye with this magnificent beast, I noticed behind it was the entire universe filled with an infinite amount of lavender colored geometric fractal patterns. I felt so uplifted and began to repeat “what is my purpose?” It was at this time the panther left and the universe melted into a dark scary funhouse as I began to violently purge into my trusty bucket that was kept at my side. All the while the facilitators were singing and their icaros were resonating through my entire body. It was beyond overwhelming. Every sense in my body was heightened as I was blasted with emotion from every direction.

One of my proudest accomplishments is being a paratrooper in the 82^nd Airborne Division, but on prior occasions taking ayahuasca my prior Army service never entered my hallucinations. As the madness of the funhouse carried on, I looked up through the ceiling and could see an enormous 82^nd Airborne insignia light up the entire universe. I once again was in a dark place and began asking why was I seeing this insignia. Did the plant have a problem with soldiers? Paratroopers? Every time I asked my surroundings just became darker and darker. Every so often it would uplift me for a moment and I would ask about the insignia. Each time I was thrust back into the funhouse of Hell. Obviously, I was asking the wrong questions (I learned this after the third or fourth time purging and visiting these dark places).

I am a slow learner. I managed to refocus for a moment and it hit me. It was almost as if the plant was screaming at me and punishing me for not coming to the obvious conclusion of these signs. I had asked for purpose during that ceremony and that was it. The medicine was showing me what my purpose was. It is to help my fellow veterans in some capacity (this was the conclusion I reached). This was what I had asked for, but I had been too overwhelmed by the hallucinations to focus and obtain that answer.

It’s been three months since I attended the ayahuasca ceremonies. While I am still very mindful of what lessons the plant medicine has taught me, life (as it tends to do) has had me distracted and I find myself backsliding into old habits and losing focus on my new purpose. I am now alert enough to realize this and I have the discipline to push myself back on track. As I continue my path forward I am thankful for having the resolve to attend and learn from this beautiful plant medicine. It is not a magic bullet, but if you follow through on the lessons this plant teaches you there is no doubt you will be a better person.

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Season of Change: Part 3

By Mike Huber

I returned to my mat/astral spaceship with a full dose of ayahuasca in a cup that I was about to drink. This would be my 12^th time consuming this magical potion from the jungles of South America. As I sat staring into the cup that would soon bring me into another world I was as scared as I had ever been in my life, especially having just had one of the most frightening journeys of my life the night prior. Looking into the cup of dark molasses-colored and textured fluid I set my intentions and fearfully drank what was a little over an ounce, but it would prove to be more than enough to benefit me.

Similar to the prior evening I sat back to let the medicine absorb into my body. There was nothing for me to do but let the medicine perform its work now. Once the singing of the icaros began I could feel another entity coming towards me, but it wasn’t the panther from the previous night. It was a War of the Worlds type of jellyfish with tentacles. I was relaxed since in previous ceremonies this was the hallucination I was used to. One of the tentacles came down and at the end of it was the pattern of the inside of the ayahuasca vine but I could tell it was an eye scoping me out. Yet again I was eye to eye with a new entity introducing itself to me. What was constantly on my mind was if this entity would disappear and return me to the Hell I was in the previous night.

Pretty much as soon as the hopes of not returning to that Hell faded, yup, you guessed it I returned to the exact same Hell as the previous night. Damn it! It was for a shorter period of time though (or so I thought as time is relative in the spirit world). There were no voices or guidance this time, though, so I wasn’t quite sure of the lesson I was being taught (but I did vomit ferociously for quite some time). Once that began to wind down my name was called and I moved to the facilitator that would sing to me face to face. I was instantly uplifted and felt just pure happiness. A happiness and peace with myself that I hadn’t felt for years. I was comfortable within my own skin and felt as though I had been reborn and given a new chance to experience life through this new lens that I hadn’t had previously.

That evening I went back into the room to have tea with others and was no longer huddled in the corner. I participated in the conversations while also checking in on others to ensure none of them felt as I did the previous night. It was one of the best experiences I had to date with this medicine, but I still had one more night to go through, so I was cautious not to become overly comfortable. It was time to rest, eat, hydrate and get my head together for tomorrow night’s final ceremony.

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Physical Security

By Mike Huber

Okay, so having served in the United States Army I am always aware of my surroundings, my gear, and most importantly physical security of these items. This is even more true nowadays as a fulltime traveler on my motorcycle. This involves not leaving sensitive items on the motorcycle overnight and parking it near me (usually line of sight) or in a garage. These habits have kept my gear safe over the past six years of traveling, not just in the United States but across the globe.

Upon waking up in Baltimore on November 2^nd and looking out the window from my bedside I instantly was shocked to see that my BMW GS1250 was not in the parking spot where I had left it the day prior. My heart sank. Not only was the bike gone but so was a lot of my gear. Non-sensitive items thankfully were inside my friend’s house where I was staying. I combed the parking spot to see if I could find any pieces from the bike or any type of clue as to what happened. There was nothing. The bike was just gone.

I was devastated to say the least. The GS1250 still had its temporary tags on it; that’s how new it was. What hurt me even more was the panniers with dozens of stickers identifying where I had traveled. They were gone along with some sentimental items from the Army that were kept locked in them.

Within five minutes of calling the Baltimore police, three officers showed up, took the report, and fully understood my pain. They issued an alert for the missing motorcycle, which was my home.

It only took two hours and my phone rang. They had found the BMW two blocks away. I quickly ran down to meet the officer and was anxious to view what was left of the bike (if anything) and my gear. The bike had a few thousand dollars in damage, mostly from whoever took it snapping the steering lock to push it into this dark alley. Amazingly, most of my gear was intact, but the panniers were destroyed from the thieves prying them open with a crowbar (I’m assuming). Some of the gear was still hanging off the panniers and some of it was thrown all over the alley. Fortunately, my losses only included my raingear, air mattress, tool kit, and my fishing pole. I asked the officer to alert the Coast Guard as obviously the thieves were going to blow up the air mattress and go fishing in Chesapeake Bay. Even in times of darkness I find humor to lighten the mood, if for nothing else but my own sanity.

So the police found my bike, but it wouldn’t start due to the steering lock being destroyed. That began a painful day of finding a local BMW dealer, calling a tow truck, and beginning the paperwork for the insurance claim. I was still extremely distraught and depressed over the whole incident, and rightfully so. Over the years my mindset has changed from the “woe is me” negative thinking to a more positive one of “maybe this is meant to be and had the bike not been taken I possibly could have been injured or killed in a wreck that day.” It sounds cheesy, but I do believe this. Having a positive outlook helps take a bit of the pain away, even if momentarily.

Luckily for me I have incredible friends pretty much all over the world. The decision to rent a car was a no brainer. It would be a fun way to kill a couple of weeks and Kia Kamp while the bike was being repaired. I could continue the “Mike Huber friends and family tour.” This would not only occupy my time but reassure me that even though I was going through a difficult time, being surrounded by beautiful friends would provide the inspiration and confidence to move forward. This is not to say that a few times a day I don’t feel an emptiness in my gut. Having traveled so much of the world and especially doing so by motorcycle where I am so exposed has provided much more good than bad throughout the years. If you get off your couch and go live sometimes bad things happen, but more often than not you meet wonderful people and build relationships with new friends for life.

Lessons Learned

Sadly, this isn’t the first time I had a motorcycle stolen. I had a brand new Suzuki GSXR750 stolen when I was in college at Boston University. That moto was never recovered, but I immediately bought a caliper lock for my next motorcycle. This provided comfort, but it would not stop three or four big guys from simply picking the bike up and throwing it in the back of a truck. I stopped using the caliper lock when I bought my first BMW GS (in hindsight, this was not a good move). I didn’t think stolen BMWs were in as much demand as the Japanese motos.

There are motion alarms, airtags, and a ton of other security devices out there that I am sure I will be writing about in the near future. For now the bike is back and the panniers have a clean canvas to start over and begin adding new stickers. My travels will continue after a brief hiatus as we await BMW parts from the Motherland.

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Season of Change: Part 2

By Mike Huber

I was about to consume ayahuasca for the 11th time in my life.

The twelve of us gathered in the yurt around 19:30. Having previously participated in ten ceremonies, the process felt natural and comfortable. That’s not to say that I wasn’t scared, but I was familiar with this beautiful plant. Most importantly I trusted the plant and the people overseeing my consumption of it.

In the past, the first night for me was not that painful and was more of a “getting to know you” feeling. Normally it was a very pleasant experience. I would see a lot of colors and just the entire universe would unfold in front of me. The second night is when the effects of this medicine would become serious and step up intensely.

This would not be the case tonight. Within 30 minutes of setting my intentions, consuming the brew, and the singing of beautiful icaros (native Peruvian songs) by the facilitators, I began to feel the effects. About this time is when the hallucinations began along with an uneasiness in my stomach. One of the side effects of drinking this medicine is that purging, or vomiting, is a frequent occurrence.

What I am about to describe is my ayahuasca journey. Full disclosure: A lot of it won’t make any sense, but it is the outcome that I want to highlight. The hallucinations first came as a beautiful black panther crawling up my mat to sit in front of me. It was so close and real that I could feel the vibrations of it purring as we sat face to face for some time just staring at each other. I thought this was a new form of an introduction. The muscular black panther disappeared after a short time and at the instance of his departure I was instantly thrust into a hellish scene with a red sky and fire everywhere. The only structures visible were totem poles made of fire, and they were screaming at me. I then began to violently throw up into a bucket (which I had placed exactly where I could find it in the dark). This went on for…well, until I was finished reliving every mistake I had ever made in my life. Every time I’d been rude to someone. Every time I had put someone down. Every time I had doubted myself. Every time. Once that was over, I felt like one does when awakening from a bad dream, still having that feeling the dream was real. It was that feeling, but it was multiplied a thousand times.

After the ceremony the host came by and checked in with us all. I was still pretty shaken. I was putting the evening back together to try to ground myself.

Upon formal closure of the ceremony a group of us went inside the house to have tea and discuss our individual experiences. I sat quietly in the corner of the room listening to everyone’s stories. They were all beautiful and gentle. I was still reliving the hell I was shown. It would be a night of very little sleep for me.

The next day I was DONE. I was ready to leave and not stay for another ceremony. The day began with me crying inside my tent and really not much else. I talked with my friend who ran the retreat sharing my feelings about leaving. For me, even thinking I would quit is unheard of. I am a paratrooper and we do not quit! But that first night was so painful it was hard to imagine another two evenings like it. My friend shook it off as part of the growing experience. I knew he wasn’t wrong.

The next night not only did I attend ceremony, but I requested a 20% higher dose. As I drank it I said aloud “Run towards the sounds of guns” and tapped one of the practitioners and said “Hey, please look out for me I may need some help tonight.” He promptly replied, “I’ve got you!”

I returned to my mat to set my intentions for that evening and waited to see what this next ceremony would bring.

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A Season of Change

By Mike Huber

Having recently turned 50 and even though I feel it has been a super intense and successful ride (I’m still alive, so I guess that’s a barometer for success), I felt myself falling into a rut. I was unfulfilled in my job and things were just…blah. A close friend of mine made this analogy: When things tend to go flat for me I come in the room and flip the table over and the game board and pieces go flying everywhere. Well, it was time to flip the table again, and to do it with authority.

My job had been a great vehicle in my life for college, certifications, and traveling the world, but it seemed to have broken down on a desolate desert road with radiator fluid spewing all over the cactus that surrounded it. My management and the leaders above me were spectacular, but I was stuck and having been there for 21 years, I felt it was time to move on. My boss, after laying others off, didn’t look too well as he prepared me for the news over a video call. I wanted to volunteer for the layoff and simply said, “Sir, this will be the easiest call you have all day.” I had a Cuban cigar and a glass of whiskey ready when I heard the numbers. I instantly knew I had made the right decision when I felt a massive weight lift off me.

What to do with my life now was the next question. It didn’t take me long to realize I should blast out on the bike to figure it out. While riding through Joshua Tree National Park I reflected on my time in Peru. I took a trip up the Amazon and at a friend’s suggestion I tried this mystical hallucinogenic drink called ayahuasca under the guidance of a Peruvian shaman. It was an intense experience (to say the least) and it was a solid restart of my entire system. I felt as though it was time for this sacred drink again.

After a 3-month ride to British Columbia (nothing is ever a direct route for me) and experiencing some failures with the motorcycle, I arrived at my friend’s retreat. Ayahuasca isn’t a pleasant experience for me. It is a lot of work. You face your true inner self, even if you don’t want to. This can be painful and ugly. It is intense. In my life, there are two things that scared me: Exiting an aircraft in flight and drinking ayahuasca. Everything else is manageable.

I was beyond nervous so I thought prior to arriving I would throw a few casts out to kill an hour or two. My first cast I caught a beautiful bass.

The preparation for these ceremonies was not something to be taken lightly. This includes a very strict diet of no processed food or alcohol, and meats limited to chicken, turkey, or fish. The bass was a perfect meal to share with my new friends.

I arrived on my semi-trusty BMW GS1200 (the semi part is an0ther story) and pitched my tent where I would sleep after the ceremonies. There were 11 others that would be drinking along with 2 practitioners overseeing the ceremony. It would take place at 20:00 (that’s 8:00 p.m.) in a yurt on a beautiful piece of land next to a large river. It was the perfect setting and time for me to be in this place.

I was beyond scared to drink this medicine again, but I knew it would provide the life guidance I wanted. Having taken ayahuasca in Peru, I felt confident and familiar with the effects; however, I didn’t expect the impact it would have on me this time.

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Digital Nomad: Victoria, British Columbia

By Mike Huber

Landing back in Boston mid-November, the only thing perfect was the weather. Perfect for hypothermia, that is. It didn’t take long in the cold and damp environment for me to realize that this would not be a suitable location for winter, especially after having been in tropical climates for the past 8 months. Although the decision to not stay was an easy one, where to actually move opened up an entirely new set of questions. This part of the journey I had not planned for very well, or at all. Well…time to pull out some maps and just as I had done in South America find a solution to the problem I now faced: Where would be my new home?

I wasn’t a big fan of the southeastern states and hadn’t really explored many of the western ones. Since the gray damp weather wasn’t something I wanted to deal with deciding to choose the Pacific Northwest probably wasn’t one of my better ideas, but I knew it wouldn’t be as cold in that area. I was still feeling the culture shock of returning to the United States and after living in South America, the busy stressful vibe of the United States wasn’t tolerable.

Having narrowed the region down, the next step was to pinpoint a spot. Looking at maps I noticed a rather large land mass not too far off of the coast of Seattle and Vancouver. It was Vancouver Island, and the capital of British Columbia, Victoria, was there. This seemed like a perfect place to call home until I could find a better location.

After a quick and uneventful drive cross country I was at the ferry terminal in Port Angeles, Washington, about to embark on another out-of-country adventure. As soon as the Blackball ferry pulled into Victoria Harbor I knew this would be a fun place. The Inner Harbour had a number of float planes landing and taking off, the Victoria Clipper (a high-speed catamaran) was there, and tugboat-like water taxis buzzed around the much larger Blackball ferry like mosquitos around an elephant. The entire inner harbor was just so alive.

Upon disembarking from the ferry there was a bit of a wait going through Canadian Customs where they scanned my passport and I confidently assured them I was visiting only for a week. In all honestly, I really didn’t have much of an idea about the length of my visit, as my planning (much like today) is almost nonexistent. The next step was to find a place to stay for a week or so until I could get my bearings and determine if I wanted to stay here longer. Having just driven over 3,000 miles I wasn’t in much of a rush to leave.

It didn’t take too long for me to find a cool hotel that allowed for longer stays near the center of town. The hotel was a great selling point, not only for the location, but also because it had what was probably the best Chinese restaurant ever. And if that wasn’t enough, there was the best dive bar attached to the hotel. Even with the rainy weather that lowered my morale, the restaurant and the bar gave refuge and let me refill my endorphins. This place would do nicely.

One of the best ways I’ve found to learn a new city is to go for long runs, get lost, and then learn the area. Frequently during these runs I would find someone running the same pace and strike up a conversation. This happened on one of my first days in Victoria. I kept pace with a man a few years older than me, and as our conversation continued I jokingly explained I was here working remotely, possibly quite illegally, and we both had a good laugh. Our finishing point was just after we crossed a bridge, when I introduced myself and he did the same. “Nice to meet you, Mike,” he said. “I’m Dean, the Mayor of Victoria, but you can call me Mayor Dean.” He handed me a business card and invited me to visit his office if I needed anything. My jaw was on the ground. I expected Canadian Mounties or Immigration to jump from around the corner. This, of course, didn’t happen (it was Canada and they are super-warm people, even to illegal visitors like me).

Despite the weather being a bit gray (which is to be expected in December in the Pacific Northwest), this island was a great choice. Within two weeks it was obvious this was to be my home at least through the winter months (unless Mayor Dean disapproved). It was time to find a longer-term rental on a month-to-month lease. A month-to-month lease was quite a commitment for me (even more so since I probably wasn’t allowed to be in Canada for more than 90 days per their immigration laws), but that would be a problem for future Mike to deal with (which he did successfully several times). It was now time to start exploring my new home and see what there was to offer this American traveler and digital nomad.

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 4 (It’s Probably Time to Head Back)

By Mike Huber

Balancing life is rarely easy. It seems there is something almost always out of sync, be it work, health, or a loved one in need of help. Peru is one of those rare times in my life where I and everything surrounding me seemed to be in perfect harmony. I was coming up on six weeks living in Cusco and the adventures seemed endless from my home base there. I was making a ton of new friends, but with Cusco being so much more of a tourist town these new connections were always short lived. Surely now it’s different with so many Westerners living abroad and working remotely, but being a pioneer of this lifestyle in 2012, missing a community began to set in. Not so much on the weekends as I was too busy, but during the weekdays a void began to drain me.

The decision to make the long journey back to the United States was not an easy one. It took so long to get to where I was and had built connections for my next planned move to La Paz, Bolivia. I was running very low on vacation time and everything I wanted to see in Bolivia was a multiple day bus ride. Buffering in unknowns (such as a bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere) was necessary. I would be city bound in La Paz, and I don’t think they had as many baby llamas to pet, so Bolivia just didn’t feel right on any level.

The last week in Peru was a much deeper experience (I didn’t even know it could get deeper than where I had been). Every moment I was out felt much more special knowing that time was short in this magical place. There was a lot to do in my Cusco backyard that hadn’t been explored. My focus had been on visiting remote areas such as Lake Titicaca (I had to say it again), rather than exploring the wonders closer to my home.

My final week in Peru was filled with exploring local points of interest such as the San Pedro market where there were all kinds of foods, drinks, and potions that most Westerners will never see or smell (be thankful you are missing the smell part). The market consisted of endless types of foods. Many of these foods seemed to be pulled straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. It wasn’t strange to see Guinea pig’s necks being snapped, and then the animal being tossed into a boiling pot, gutted, and grilled. Other items included horse heads, pig heads, and snakes in water jars. This market was a plethora of sensory overload. Normally I would just visit it to pick up a bag of coca leaves for about 30 cents and some of my “special” tea mix.

Somehow, I still managed to find time to do silly things with downtime during the weekdays. The last Sunday I was there it poured, and being bored, I was searching the apartment for something to eat while watching TV. I found in the back of the refrigerator a beer pitcher that I had filled with coca leaves a week or so prior and added a bottle of white wine. Well, it seems the wine had absorbed the coca leaves and turned the wine into a dark yellow. Being that this chapter was coming to an end I thought it would be the perfect day to partake in this concoction. Who knows, maybe it would have similar effects to the coca beer. I drank the entire pitcher. The coca-infused wine just had this bitter earthy taste that I really enjoyed. Like the coca beer it provided a jolt of energy with a nice light buzz that assisted me in packing and wrapping up my life in the Andean city of Cusco.

With the coca wine buzzing inside my head, a bigger question emerged: Where was I to live upon returning to the United States? My Boston condo was rented for another five months, so that option was out. I was not sure if it was the wine or the fact that this change may not be as simple as I had anticipated. Throughout my travels around Central and South America, it always seemed that if things went south, I could just return to the United States. Being so preoccupied in the moment during my travels, however, I never designed a fallback plan aside from boarding a return flight.

As the week came to an end, I was now boarding that flight. I was not, however, in too big a rush. It felt right to instead return to Nicaragua for a couple weeks and ease my way north and see my dogs. While I was there, Hurricane Sandy hit and knocked out power throughout the Northeast. That morning as I watched the news, I had a decision to make: Do I power up the laptop and be the only person in the Northeast who showed up for work, or do I continue with the “I am in Boston” charade?

I chose Option A, deciding that I was on my way back and had been outperforming most my peers for six months in five countries. Owning my choices and riding it in felt like the correct decision. My coworkers immediately questioned how I had internet, and my answer was simply “I saw there was a hurricane, so being remote I chose to go south to avoid it.” Not a lie, but not totally forthcoming. If I had replied with “I am working in the jungles of Nicaragua” no one would have believed me (this came up months later and no one did).

After the two weeks it was time to fully return to Boston to regroup. It was a rainy November day when I touched down at Logan. I weighed 30 pounds less and mentally I was even lighter. I still had no plan regarding what to do once I left the aircraft in Logan. My car was at a friend’s house. My Ducati was at my parent’s home in Maine. Before I had even cleared through Customs and Immigration, though, I knew this was no longer the place that called to me. The reentry shock into the United States was too much. I was swelling up with tears knowing It was now time to make the hard decision to leave New England, but where would I go as winter was just beginning?

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Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 3 (Lake Titicaca)

By Mike Huber

No trip to Peru can be complete without a journey to Lake Titicaca. It is the largest alpine lake on the planet at an elevation of 12,500 feet, and the lifestyle of those who live on the lake is beyond fascinating. This huge lake is nestled in a giant basin between two of the Andean mountain ranges and extends across the border to Bolivia. And yes, it has a funny name. There was no way I was going to miss this place even though it was quite a distance from my home base in Cusco.

Having planned to use all my vacation time while in Peru, it wasn’t too difficult to load up on my work early in the week and take a four-day weekend to knock out Lake Titicaca (did I mention it has a funny name?). Allowing four days would provide me with enough time to take a leisurely tour bus to this region of Peru, get some hikes and tourist attractions in along the way, and then return on an overnight bus on Sunday. This would assure (hopefully) that I would make it to work on time Monday morning. Instilling project management principles usually results in a successful outcome. To me the planning of a project or a vacation followed the same rigid processes. Of course, the vacation ones always had a few surprises along the way that I would have to adjust to, but that’s part of the fun.

The bus ride was filled with incredible beauty with stops at local markets and panoramic mountain views that had me saying to myself “wow, I am in the Andes!” over and over again. Out of all the bus rides I’d been on, this was by far the most pleasant. I was used to the altitude, there were no Kirk Cameron movies, and I had made a special tea to enhance the ride (PM me for details on that, but it will probably bleed into another article). The entire ride was an extremely joyful 8 hours where I had an opportunity to meet two wonderful girls from Japan (we are still friends to this day).

Feeling beyond happy but tired, we finally pulled into the lakeside city of Pulmo, Peru. This first day here would be relaxing and adjusting to the world I had just entered. There was a giant golden condor statue on a steep hill above the city, which provided a sense of calm. There was a large market that made for great people watching while having some coca tea and even a coca beer. The beer was like a prehistoric provided a buzz and amp at the same time. It almost reminded me of my Jager bomb days in Boston. Thankfully for the people of Pulmo I didn’t take it that far.

The next day I joined a boat tour that took us to many of the man-made islands. These islands were floating and made of dried totora, a type of papyrus the local population harvested from the lake marshes. The people are known as the Ura. The islands are fairly large, some of them over an acre or more in size. There were stores, restaurants, and cafes on some of the islands.

The islands were surprisingly stable and didn’t rock as we stepped onto them. When talking to one of the Ura (and speaking as well as I could in Spanish), I asked how they made the islands once they gathered the papyrus. It was a constant cycle of drying the papyrus, bundling them, and tying them to the upper part of the island. He showed me a hole cut into the center of one of the islands. It looked like a hole you would ice fish through and it was about 3 feet wide. The hole was large enough to see the bottom reeds starting to decay and back into the water. It was a constant process to keep their “land” from being swallowed by the lake. Many of the Ura, not much more than a mile offshore, hardly ever returned to the mainland shores of Pulmo. They much preferred their isolated yet tightly knit community on the lake where life was simple.

The city of Pulmo was so different from both the Amazon jungle and where I lived in Cusco. The more I explored Peru the more diverse and mystical it became. Sunday was a relaxing day with more coca beer and local foods with my new Japanese friends.

As the sun began to set it was time to find my way back to the bus depot and board the redeye that would return me to Cusco. It didn’t take too long for me to peacefully fall asleep on the bus. I didn’t wake up until the bus entered Cusco. It was a short taxi ride to my home and just in time to lead my first conference call of the day. Still bleary-eyed and having a buzz from the weekend (and the coca beer) my workday progressed as though the trip was just a dream. It was an adventure I wanted to share with my co-workers, but they wouldn’t understand as they were still under the assumption I was living in my condo in Boston. Throughout the day I wondered if and when I would ever return to Boston.

Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru Part 2

By Mike Huber

Peru is most famously known for one of the 7 Wonders of the World. What’s frustrating is that like national parks in the United States, whoever declares things a “Wonder of the World” keeps adding more to the list, or in this case with the 7 Wonders, they change them. Absolutely one of my life’s objectives is to hit all 7 Wonders. Machu Picchu is and should always remain in that highly respected list of these magnificent artifacts of humanity’s past.

Getting to Machu Picchu isn’t easy even if you are living in Peru. I feel the best way is to hike the Inca Trail over three or four days to arrive at this city deep in the Andes. One of the biggest issues with my whimsical lifestyle is it is difficult to plan too far in advance. To reserve a spot to hike the Inca Trail (at the time in 2012) was about four months. In Huber travel years that is equal to about two years, so that option was out. The more touristy way to arrive is via a train with a glass roof. Compared to my past bus rides, it was heaven (there were no showings of Fireproof on this ride).

The train pulled into Aquas Calientes, which is the small town nestled deep in the Andes at the base of Machu Picchu. Almost instantly I was filled with energy. I don’t know if it was energy from the ancient civilization that once resided here or that I was at a lower elevation of 7,000 feet as compared to the 12,000 feet where I had been living.

The following day I was up early to catch the first bus up to Machu Picchu. The bus ride was filled with hairpin turns with quick glimpses of one of the 7 Wonders. I had my face pressed into the cold bus window awaiting each new view around every corner. Upon arrival, I stopped at the kiosk just outside the park entrance to load up on water since a full day of hiking was on the itinerary.

Once entering the ruins and taking some time to… yes, hang out with the llamas…the realization hit me that I had two full days in this mesmerizing ancient city! I noticed people would unload from busses do a quick photo in that iconic spot we all have seen in every travel magazine, have an hour or so to explore the ruins, and then they were off. What’s funny is that angle is not even of Mt. Machu Picchu, but of Huayna Picchu. Having two full days here would allow me the opportunity to summit both mountains and enjoy the area to its fullest.

The first day I decided I would climb the higher and much less visited of the two summits. Mt. Machu Pichu towers approximately 1800 feet above the Inca city below. This should have been a more strenuous hike but between being 4,000 feet lower in elevation, the energy from these powerful ruins, and a solid reserve of coca leaves, the mountain was a fairly easy climb. With so few people along the trail (I was one of the first in the park and many were just there for the photo ops) the trail was pretty much mine for the morning.

After the hike and with the coca leaves leaving my system, it was time for a siesta. I wandered throughout the ruins until I found a hidden room and climbed atop the walls in the sun and snoozed for a bit until I was awoken by some new friends. Marmots. The little guys were scampering throughout the ruins and occasionally would knock off rocks loud enough to jostle me awake. The day couldn’t have been more perfect.

Day Two in the ruins was a similar routine with me catching the first shuttle of the morning. Plans for this day were to summit Huayna Picchu and then hike down behind the mountain to almost the same elevation as my base of Aquas Caliente, but on the other side of the mountain. This area had no one in it. It was a steep trail. In one hike it left the Andes Mountains and descended into a rain forest that felt like no one had visited in centuries. It wasn’t nearly as large as the main city on top of the mountain, but it had a few structures overrun with jungle growth. The difference in climate in this short and steep hike was amazing. After returning it was time for another nap and a few more short hikes along portions of the Inca Trail before returning to the shuttle to bring me back to Aquas Caliente.

With life always seeming so busy and the pressure to constantly move and go it was more than nice to be able to allocate so much time here and fully embrace every part of this city. Few people have this opportunity and the ones that do tend to rush through it so quickly that they don’t allow themselves to feel the mystical energy that emits from this city in the clouds of Peru called Machu Picchu.

Life as a Digital Nomad: Peru

By Mike Huber

Feeling sad departing Ecuador as it was quickly becoming a home for me where I was very comfortable, I boarded a flight to Lima, Peru to take in a new corner of the world. Peru has always felt like the pinnacle of South America, and even though I had never been there and knew very little about it, there was a calling for me to embrace this country. In fact, this resonated so strongly with me that I had purposely cut a lot out of Ecuador just to conserve my vacation for Peru.

After only two days in Lima, I quickly learned this wasn’t the Peru I was looking for. It was just a large city, and cities weren’t where I would find the culture and experiences that would help me grow. Knowing this, I booked a 12-hour bus ride to Cusco. Surprisingly, I clearly hadn’t learned my lesson from the Nicaragua to Panama bus ride, but I figured the chances of a repeat performance of Fireproof being played nonstop were pretty slim.

Falling asleep on the overnight bus ride while gazing out the window at the ocean and expansive desert of Lima, and then awakening to the massive vistas of the Andes Mountain range wasn’t a bad way to travel. I did however have a killer headache upon arrival in Cusco. Wasting no time, I found a cab to drive me to my AirBnB where I could relax for a bit. The host noticed I wasn’t looking too well and made me some tea. Within an hour I felt great. Turns out the elevation of approximately 12,000 feet, along with some minor dehydration, was the cause of my headache. The tea she gave me had coca leaves in it. These leaves not only are the cure for the altitude sickness, but soon became a replacement for my morning coffee.

As with Ecuador, it didn’t take long for me to get into a productive work and exercise routine. My lunchtime became a break from technology which was replaced by runs through the city of Cusco. It was beyond magical. This place was a perfect balance of culture and history with some color mixed in. During my runs I noticed there were always girls dressed in full Peruvian dresses walking around with what looked like baby llamas. It turns out you can hold and pet a baby llama for like 3 sole (about $1 USD). I like baby llamas. I mean, who doesn’t? So, every night during my evening strolls I ensured I had a few soles to give them and looking back I probably spent more on pictures with the baby llamas than I did for dinners.

Obtaining Peruvian soles for currency was as simple as going to an ATM. One problem that seemed to constantly arise was if the money was not in pristine condition the stores would refuse to take it. This refusal was often after a long huddle of the store’s employees and management to confirm the currency was too badly damaged to accept. After a few frustrating days of this I happened to visit Paddy’s Pub. It is the world’s highest Irish pub. I noticed they took my currency no matter what condition it was in. Perfect! Adding Paddy’s Pub to my daily itinerary to launder money for baby llama petting was an outstanding solution. The world was coming together quite nicely for Paddy’s, the llamas, and me.

It took no time for me to fall in love with Cusco. The people were wonderful, every weekend there was some type of event in the square, it was easy to jump on any random bus and end up in hidden ruins, AND there were baby llamas everywhere to hang out with. My work performance was improving even more than in Ecuador. At this time no one knew I was anywhere but Boston and would occasionally ask “How’s the weather up there Boston”, which I would quickly google it and reply “Meh, 60s cloudy, it’s Boston, ya know?” I never lied to them on where I was, they just never thought to ask, and even if I had told them they never would have believed me.

With my morale greatly improved and in a productive routine I was convinced Cusco would be home for the foreseeable future. Even better, my AirBnB host’s son was a travel agent. Perfect. We met for dinner, and he helped me set up plans to travel to different parts of the country every weekend, and many became 4-day weekend trips allowing me not to rush and really absorb the beauty and culture in remote areas that many would never see or experience. These trips included Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca (like I would miss out on going to not only the highest alpine lake on Earth, but endless jokes based on the name, “Lake Titicaca”). After three weeks of adapting to Cusco it was time to get out and really take a bite out of the surrounding areas that would yield some of my greatest memories and travel experiences to date. That’s coming up.

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