I am sitting in yet another Irish pub, drinking chilcano con pisco (way too sour for me) and feeling the space of solitude about me. It is something that I have grown accustomed to and even grown to cherish in a certain way, even though it can be difficult at times. Something about my pride prevents me from sucking it up and forcing myself to befriend all of the Irish and Kiwis, etc, that surround me in these kinds of gringo hang-outs. It is linked in some way to my distaste for being an outright tourist. It is too easy, perhaps, to give in and just converse with other similar young travelers on the circuit and get wasted. This space of solitude, for me, is equated in my mind with the maintanence of integrity. If someone is capable and willing to traverse the space required to get close to my heart, then I know for certain that they are true. And I will be true to them for life in return.