Gringo!… Tranquilo!

Gringo!… Tranquilo!-

There is a series of network commercials for the Nat Geo Adventure channel under the tag line “Lets Get Lost” that I recently fell in love with. One in particular showed a shot of a skinny white guy fresh off the boat somewhere in South America. He has a backpack on and keeps looking up and down the dirt road impatiently waiting for his bus to pick him up. You then hear from across the road, an older local guy, who’s sitting on a stoop with 2 other old local guys, yell out to him; “Gringo!… Tranquilo” the greenhorn traveler gives an awkward smile and politely waves his hand in obvious ignorance of what the guy said. This gets repeated 3 or 4 times, each time the traveler looking more impatient and the local emphasizes the word tranquilo longer an slower each time. “Traaaanquiiiiilo”. Each time it happens the local guys laugh a little more that he’s still waiting for the bus an not heeding their advice. Day, turns to night, back to day etc. In the final scene there is a different traveler standing in the same spot waiting for the bus. They pan back to the other side of the street where the first traveler has joined the 3 local guys drinking on the stoop and now he’s the one that yells it; “Gringo!… Tranquilo”… If you’re not up to speed on your Español, don’t worry I had to look it up to, Tranquilo basically means  “Chill Out”.

As I’m limping down the street with my sprained ankle looking for a pharmacy to pick up Ibuprofen this commercial immediately comes to mind as I pass a group of 5-6 old local guys that invite me over to sit with them. With nothing better to do (than to chill out), I go pick up some meds and a bag of ice then come join the crew on the stoop. I’m there for about an hour, just kickin it local style. Whenever another westerner would pass by they’d give a little chuckle when they saw me with the group. At one point the guys are discussing my injury and one of them suggests that I go to the village and make a visit to the “Medicine Man”. My interest is more than aroused right away. I told my new friends I would definitely be interested in going to see this person. They told me he is a holy man, a shaman. He practices in paranormal healing and that I would have to be open and respectful if they were to take me there. He’ll yes! I’m thinking, lets do this!!… I ask the final question. How much would that cost me? The reply; “He doesn’t accept money, I’ll drive you there. We’ll stop along the way to pick up a bag of sugar and two packs of cigarettes that you will give to him as a gift for seeing you”… Oh man, this is awesome! Can we leave now!? Is going on in my head, but I give a more composed response.

We get to the little village which is about 45 minutes away. When we get there we stop for directions and are pointed to a little shack behind a rice patty and some buffaloes. My friend leans over to me and whispers “ok, you’re going to give the sugar and cigarettes to the madame, make sure you use your right hand only when giving it to her”. I hand over the gifts and they welcome us inside. The small room has 6 people inside and when I sit down one guy starts massaging my leg and ankle right away while the others chat about who I am and where I’m from. (Apparently it is extremely rare to have a foreigner make a visit here). Then the guy massaging my leg stops and the entire group becomes silent on cue as the old shaman walks into the room. The two guys that brought me both stand up and formally shake the mans hand (with both hands) while slightly bowing. I follow suit and do the same. This guy is older and is obviously well revered, but did not look the way you would picture a medicine man in your minds eye. He was not shirtless, had no paint on his face, nor feathers on his head. He wore blue jeans with a polo shirt and sported a medium length goatee. He gave me a look of skepticism and began to speak Indonesian. When my friends answered “America” on my behalf, he gave me a concentrated squint. Not that he had anything against Americans, he just wanted to make sure I was open minded enough for his practices apparently. He sat down and began.

A girl brought him a 1.5 liter of bottled water and an empty cup. He opens the water bottle and pours about a cap full into the cup. With the lid still off the bottle he then stares into the bottle intently. I’m not sure what prayer or mantra is going on in his head, but to me it just appears he is staring, transfixed, at the water. Nobody in the room moves or makes a noise. This goes on for about a minute. He then reaches for the cup and pours another 2 or 3 ounces into it and hands it to me to drink. The same girl goes to the other room and this time returns with a small water bottle that’s half full of pure coconut oil. He opens this and blows softly into the bottle for another minute. Again the room looks on in silence. He gets up from his chair and kneels at my feet to apply the oil on my ankle, rubbing and blowing, rubbing and blowing. He whispers something barely audible in Indonesian, stands up and returns to his seat. He addresses me and my chaperone translates “I have blessed this water and coconut oil. Please take them with you. Drink the rest of the water throughout the day today and apply the coconut oil twice a day until you run out. You will have no ailment within two days”. Completely mesmerized by what just happened I humbly hold my hands together, bow and thank him as we walk out of the room. On the way back to the car I cant help but make a miraculous observation; I no longer have a limp.

Bob