A hippie house of mismatched found objects
There isn’t much to do in Bussana except wander. Getting lost is impossible -- after six or seven turns you end up right back where you started. We found a small church with a caved-in roof that sat on a bluff overlooking the valley, and nearby, a tall metal sign that formed an arch, with the words La Barca (The Boat), written in cursive.
In the yard behind the sign was a crumbling pickup truck festooned with flowers, knickknacks hanging from trees and an assortment of mismatched lawn art. The work of a Burning Man creative genius? Or straight-up trash collected by your quirky grandma who lives in the middle of Bumblefuck, Idaho? Tough call. A pig rooting around in the dust and a duck waddling by helped to classify the situation.
We climbed some stone steps to the main floor of the house, an open-air patio strewn with memorabilia and miscellanea that suggested Neal Cassady’s brain had exploded into a house. Japanese lanterns dangled like heavy fruit from the trees. A long, weather-worn picnic table ran the length of the patio. Trees were wrapped with twine, tucked into which were dolls, sandals, and posters. License plates, dart boards, tiki torches, globes, jewelry, troll dolls -- the only thing missing was a live baby ostrich running around underfoot. Except that there was 100% a live baby ostrich running around underfoot.