Friday, July 31, 2009
Full stretches, bear in mind
Just a quick preview! Do this every day before walking!
(eyes used for tooth support)
One week, One hundred lives
Well?
I'm in a stairwell in Leipzig. The Internet is best here. At Micha's flat, that is to say...
At any rate...
Working like a dog: ten hour days in the gallery, toss a few more back at the pad, go to sleep, repeat. Micha jokes: "next time you come for two months and do eight installations" ie., one a week. It's full throttle nevertheless... audio recordings of the show concept, two performances, an art pamphlet to create, finishing up the gargantuan sculpture tonight, opening tomorrow night. Sheeeeesh! And I thought customer service was tough! Haha! But, I'm doing what I love with the aid of one of the planet's coolest artist pals. Fortunately beer always accompanies day's end, as certain as coffee intertwines the morning to do lists and life philosophical discussions. And with that, the church bell just chimed six pm. Time to get back to it!
(eyes used for tooth support)
I'm in a stairwell in Leipzig. The Internet is best here. At Micha's flat, that is to say...
At any rate...
Working like a dog: ten hour days in the gallery, toss a few more back at the pad, go to sleep, repeat. Micha jokes: "next time you come for two months and do eight installations" ie., one a week. It's full throttle nevertheless... audio recordings of the show concept, two performances, an art pamphlet to create, finishing up the gargantuan sculpture tonight, opening tomorrow night. Sheeeeesh! And I thought customer service was tough! Haha! But, I'm doing what I love with the aid of one of the planet's coolest artist pals. Fortunately beer always accompanies day's end, as certain as coffee intertwines the morning to do lists and life philosophical discussions. And with that, the church bell just chimed six pm. Time to get back to it!
(eyes used for tooth support)
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The phone sez 6:57 pm
Funny thing, crossing over.
I've been in Leipzig for a number of days now, working rock solid day after day on probably my biggest construct/installation piece... the interweb connexion is dodgy at best; no real FB updates, no chit chat, no coolness constants of keeping constant vigil over posts and such-- a relief, actually. I'm covered in canal slime, mud, dirt, and the detritus of a night of post show celebration--did an action on a delapidated half-bridge with ten or so invitees and we attempted to fish ( results were hilarious, tell you later at some point! ); the head is a fuzzy logic woolly bug with all the odd-duck strands-- all the attempts to visualize things that've been happening-- beh, I'll just give up trying to focus on the finites! Working, playing, but defiantly and definitely mostly working... it's glorious, I mean, to be engaged full mind/body/hands with pals in a far away place. Micha, my friend and gallery curator, has been almost a Siamese twin to the day-to-day functions. We work, sleep, conceptualize, go to the lake, get back to work, haul ass. I think to myself: why do we fritter all this time doing the absolute LAST thing in the world we want to be doing? Not now, but whenever I sail back home--- always the same life in slow cycling troughs, not nor never ever rising up to... well? To full on. I know you two are at it, Molly & Jayray. I just throw the question out there, asking and wondering why it's so easy to forget... once home.
(eyes used for tooth support)
I've been in Leipzig for a number of days now, working rock solid day after day on probably my biggest construct/installation piece... the interweb connexion is dodgy at best; no real FB updates, no chit chat, no coolness constants of keeping constant vigil over posts and such-- a relief, actually. I'm covered in canal slime, mud, dirt, and the detritus of a night of post show celebration--did an action on a delapidated half-bridge with ten or so invitees and we attempted to fish ( results were hilarious, tell you later at some point! ); the head is a fuzzy logic woolly bug with all the odd-duck strands-- all the attempts to visualize things that've been happening-- beh, I'll just give up trying to focus on the finites! Working, playing, but defiantly and definitely mostly working... it's glorious, I mean, to be engaged full mind/body/hands with pals in a far away place. Micha, my friend and gallery curator, has been almost a Siamese twin to the day-to-day functions. We work, sleep, conceptualize, go to the lake, get back to work, haul ass. I think to myself: why do we fritter all this time doing the absolute LAST thing in the world we want to be doing? Not now, but whenever I sail back home--- always the same life in slow cycling troughs, not nor never ever rising up to... well? To full on. I know you two are at it, Molly & Jayray. I just throw the question out there, asking and wondering why it's so easy to forget... once home.
(eyes used for tooth support)
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
signing off
comrades, this is my last post from south of the equator. i begin my journey home tomorrow at 3AM and will travel for over 20 hours. i am nervous and unsure how i will re-adjust and gather the pieces to commence, not a new, but from where i left off. traveling allows one to gather parts and assemble something that, eventually, begins to form that which the traveler him/herself desires to see when they peer into a mirror. we throw ourselves out into the unknown as a one would cast a net, that upon retrieving, the fibers from the waters will produce fodder with which we might feed ourselves and nourish our souls. we spread ourselves thin, lose pieces, blur the lines, translate into foreign in tongues and then re-translate into our own so that we might actually understand what we want, what we seek, what we desire, what we crave... we send postcards, letters, e-mails and posts (like this..?) so that upon re-entering what we consider the norm we might begin the construction of our desired self from the pieces and parts that litter our world.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Oswaldo Guayasamín
Yo llore porque no tenía zapatos, hasta que vi un niño que no tenía pies.
i cried because i didnt have shoes until i saw a child who didnt have feet.
Oswaldo Guayasamín
i cried because i didnt have shoes until i saw a child who didnt have feet.
Oswaldo Guayasamín
calles del mundo (streets of the world)
(written for one of the millions lost in the shuffle, pushed aside and dismissed.)
i saw you in the
clouds,
an apparition between
the passing cars.
the whites of your eyes
spread,
you didnt see me
nor anything.
you were selling gum.
your fingers
pressed and fumbled
coins
to insure value,
you never saw me
nor anything.
you would whistle
tunes
and talk in songs
and gaze at the void
around you,
you never saw me
nor aything.
i saw you in the
clouds,
an apparition between
the passing cars.
the whites of your eyes
spread,
you didnt see me
nor anything.
you were selling gum.
your fingers
pressed and fumbled
coins
to insure value,
you never saw me
nor anything.
you would whistle
tunes
and talk in songs
and gaze at the void
around you,
you never saw me
nor aything.
the farthest south i've been
living the quiet and peaceful life here in tasmania with susie's family. their home sits up on mount dromedary, surrounded by trees and wallabies. they have almost 200 acres of wild, beautiful land to explore. each night we start a fire and sit with their dog, puppy, drinking tea and talking. went to the salamanca markets when i first arrived, later drove up mount wellington and found the top to be almost windy enough to blow us off of our feet. hobart is surrounded by bodies of water, and mountains stand tall in and amongst the towns. flying in to the airport, low to the ocean, i saw two dolphins diving through the green waves.
there's something different about this place.
i feel at home here.
tomorrow susie and i will rent a car and drive up the eastern coast of tasmania, to the bay of fires and freycinet.
there's something different about this place.
i feel at home here.
tomorrow susie and i will rent a car and drive up the eastern coast of tasmania, to the bay of fires and freycinet.
Date Night, a requiem
Ooosh. Heavy clean-up today. The gallery is completely, utterly trashed. Well, not that bad; just looks bad. Piles of paper. A spilled bouquet of fake flowers. Two dead sturgeon costumes. White flecks of sawed styrofoam. A banner reading: "tonight is your hot date with crank sturgeon". A papered-over window, with characters featuring smiles and pointy heads and yes, well, orifices and obscene holes (but with smiles mind you, SMILES!). A very wet red checkered table cloth (and table piled in damp electronics). A few markers, knives, bottles, plastic tubing, little contact mics everywhere, coils of tangled guitar cable. A basket woven to resemble a stag head. Fish eyes... where are my damn fish eyes? String. Rosin. Duct tape. Red plastic lips that you blow into and a little reed emits a beautiful shriek. A little jar of "noise putty" which basically sounds like bad flatulence. My favorite squeezy blowfish toy. A plastic table top soccer game. Newspapers everywhere. Veritable nightmare to pick through and hope to trust to find all my needed ingredients for the next program of events; to stuff the stuff with any luck back into Pandora's backpack.
That's the physical side of things.
Mentally, still processing what a large gulp of activity does. Build build build build build build, then SCHWVVVOOOP! Done with in 20 minutes. Plus, what an odd crowd of onlookers... I've performed here countless times, all over Germany, have many friends here (including last night's audience), yet they're soooo stoic. Stroking beards quietly while an absurd paper fish man tells them a silly story of his invisible hot date, gets water everywhere, then proceeds to copulate with drawings on a window.
Well?
Oddness treated to more oddness, I suspect. Hee hee. More on this later.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Bloggy eyed and Berlin (up too late)
Ooooeeeee!
BIZZY dern day on the construct of a new performance. Some tender issues happening in and amongst some of the friends here (rivalries?), yet, that stuff aside, I've been plowing thru with carte blanch to "make whatever" in this particular gallery space in Berlin for tomorrow night's action/"ACT-SHUN"/piece. S'good. S'gute. Not a lot to report REALLY, other n' a sense of massive release and relief; a big wondrous sneeze or, well, grande shit, in all honesty... while my dollar holds mere cornflakes to the euro, it's, well... WELL worth the endeavor to come and plop here in an amazing city for a stint to release the proverbial eels and cathartic mumps. Plus the Schneider-Weise is unlike anything I've had back home, hee hee. That said, I cannot really explain the joy it is to saddle into a job of sorts here, working on a show in my friend's gallery and starting it all from scratch too!
Aaah. Wish you were here to play part in the process.
Berlin tips its hat... er... monocle?
death/life
she called me kind and said that she wanted to feed me - that to her (and within her beautiful culture) food was sacred and the act of sharing was a blessing and a gift. we ate bowls of soup with large chunks of vegetables from unknown species (all grown in their gardens) followed by rice, lentils and lettuce. I ate every morsel and happily accepted seconds. we ate in their communal room that doubled as a classroom. the windows that adorned three of the walls opened to an amazing view of quito and the barren mountains that neatly channel the expansive city through the valley. knowing my grandmother was ill laura turned the conversation to death. laura, the headmaster at yachay wasi, is a mystic. she looks into you -- not at you, speaks to your heart -- not your ears. she is barely 5´3", dresses in traditional attire (she is from otovalo - each region has its own style and dress) and fills a room with such intensity one almost falls over when faced with her presence and the altitude. her eyes never strayed when talking to me. she said i should celebrate death, embrace it. that life is continuous and death is surely not the end but an extension. in their culture they talk to the wind and sun, the mountains and trees -- these are the spirits of the deceased. i was silent during the winding bus trip back into the city. i felt moved, alive and, more than anything, deeply touched. when i returned to the hostel (our home away from home here in quito) i learned that my grandmother had passed away that morning. she slipped away into the endless abyss of nature and the universe surrounded by all those whom she touched during her amazing life. laura must have felt this -- she knew! she read the signs strewn about in nature and spoke to me with her endless wisdom and compassion to both guide and comfort me! i sat on the veranda overlooking 6 de deciembre, the sounds of busy quito a mere hum, and wept. leaning back on the pollution stained lawn-chairs i gazed into the fist like mountains that interrupt the flow of ecuadors capital and bid my grandmother a pleasant journey knowing she was there -- within the mountains and wind, the sun and air... it seemed to me, in that moment of clarity between sorrow and joy, i could feel her wishing me a pleasant journey as well.
r i p abuelita!
(phyllis m. nolan 03.22.28 - 07.21.09)
r i p abuelita!
(phyllis m. nolan 03.22.28 - 07.21.09)
goodonya'
somehow got a table at the "best indian restaurant in australia" last night. felt a bit underdressed, but susie and i enjoyed the mango lassis, the eggplant bhatha, butter chicken, garlic naan and palak paneer. apparently bill clinton is a fan of the highly praised restaurant as well. thought of you both - we'll have to reconvene at bombay mahal in september and tell stories.
the past week has been good - exploring canberra, then adelaide. took a day trip out on the ferry from adelaide to kangaroo island - a very protected island that is still wild and green, with beautiful wildlife and rugged coastline. saw all of the animals that i've heard so much about. australian sea lions resting on the sand of seal bay, after three long days out at sea, diving deep to the bottom of the ocean to find food. they were all around - close enough to touch. they stretched their necks towards the sun and rolled back onto the sand next to their partner or pup, to sleep. saw a lone sea lion surf in completely enveloped by a wave, visible through the clear blue water.
later met some birds of prey face to face including a falcon,a barn owl, two kookaburras (clancy and banjo) and a wedge-tail eagle...the eagle with the largest wingspan in the world.
also looked a few koalas in the eye - they hold eye contact for quite a while. so do the wombats (i've only seen one...and may have found a new favorite animal).
sadly my first wild kangaroo that i saw was a dead one, on the side of the road...and it wasn't the only one that i have seen in that state. i guess they are often killed by cars here because they are so great in number. but later i saw a whole "mob" of them jumping through a field. they are quite beautiful.
also in adelaide visited a museum and gallery space for the aboriginal people. am learning a lot about australia's history with their native peoples. horrible things have happened here. up until as late as the 1960s aboriginal children were taken from their homes and families and sent to "missions" where they were taught about jesus and forced into a "white" way of thinking. this was all government funded and supported. only a few years ago did the new prime minister, kevin rudd, finally apologize for the atrocities commited against the aborigines and the complete disruption of their culture and way of life. i have so much more to learn about this world.
why aren't we taught the important things in school? the true things?
tasmania tomorrow...to susie's hometown in the bushland. there, i shall try my hand at left side of the road driving! more later.
the past week has been good - exploring canberra, then adelaide. took a day trip out on the ferry from adelaide to kangaroo island - a very protected island that is still wild and green, with beautiful wildlife and rugged coastline. saw all of the animals that i've heard so much about. australian sea lions resting on the sand of seal bay, after three long days out at sea, diving deep to the bottom of the ocean to find food. they were all around - close enough to touch. they stretched their necks towards the sun and rolled back onto the sand next to their partner or pup, to sleep. saw a lone sea lion surf in completely enveloped by a wave, visible through the clear blue water.
later met some birds of prey face to face including a falcon,a barn owl, two kookaburras (clancy and banjo) and a wedge-tail eagle...the eagle with the largest wingspan in the world.
also looked a few koalas in the eye - they hold eye contact for quite a while. so do the wombats (i've only seen one...and may have found a new favorite animal).
sadly my first wild kangaroo that i saw was a dead one, on the side of the road...and it wasn't the only one that i have seen in that state. i guess they are often killed by cars here because they are so great in number. but later i saw a whole "mob" of them jumping through a field. they are quite beautiful.
also in adelaide visited a museum and gallery space for the aboriginal people. am learning a lot about australia's history with their native peoples. horrible things have happened here. up until as late as the 1960s aboriginal children were taken from their homes and families and sent to "missions" where they were taught about jesus and forced into a "white" way of thinking. this was all government funded and supported. only a few years ago did the new prime minister, kevin rudd, finally apologize for the atrocities commited against the aborigines and the complete disruption of their culture and way of life. i have so much more to learn about this world.
why aren't we taught the important things in school? the true things?
tasmania tomorrow...to susie's hometown in the bushland. there, i shall try my hand at left side of the road driving! more later.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Arriba Doytch
No huge postulates yet, although the warmth is here in the first hours of Berlintime, the beer fortunately is not, and a few cold gold gems go down with breakfast with my friend, Mr. Lanz. A few quality strolls thereafter and I'm right pooped-- likewise fortuitous is a bed awaiting and a good afternoon bout of wood sawing snores. And now, still woggy from the lag ( but refreshed no less-- a scrubdown helped ), I'm off to find Daniel and Rashad for some outdoor concert. We will test the sleepy seeds; I know I'll be requiring a solid 12 snoozes in order to cycle thru the six hour fast forward. More then! Hasta!
(eyes used for tooth support)
(eyes used for tooth support)
Monday, July 20, 2009
ramble on...
(should i post this? it might come across as negative... but something tells me to post it here...)
i see the stars through pollution. it moves in large, rectangular shapes across the night sky. street lights indicate the boundaries; the shapes shift and drift as unearthly light dictates where my eyes will travel. where am i? the framed window rests ajar, no screen, the high altitude produces a chill but no bugs. the glass is old, wavy, time is pulling it towards the earth as it is us all. the frame itself consits of more rust than wood, more chipping paint than hinges. the glass extends to a certain point before stopping, leaving a gapping hole to the outside - a thick, dark night full of sounds that dazzle and disturb. there seems to be a constant hum here, as if the world itself were alive, breathing... thinking. what does she (earth) think when i tread upon her? there is an engine running - the hum of gears, or a motor... but organic -- does this make sense? what does sense mean? how can i measure something like that here, in this realm so forgein yet known? dogs talk, they sound fierce, territorial. are they underfed like so many here - attempting to exist in a society that feeds upon weakness? are they striving to be noticed like the natives? hoping for a role that places them in the spotlight opposed to pale skinned actors selling products from road-side billboards; large, rectangular images that appear and disappear from plumes of exhaust spit out by ancient buses that insist "dios es mi guia!" (god is my guide!)
i see the stars through pollution. it moves in large, rectangular shapes across the night sky. street lights indicate the boundaries; the shapes shift and drift as unearthly light dictates where my eyes will travel. where am i? the framed window rests ajar, no screen, the high altitude produces a chill but no bugs. the glass is old, wavy, time is pulling it towards the earth as it is us all. the frame itself consits of more rust than wood, more chipping paint than hinges. the glass extends to a certain point before stopping, leaving a gapping hole to the outside - a thick, dark night full of sounds that dazzle and disturb. there seems to be a constant hum here, as if the world itself were alive, breathing... thinking. what does she (earth) think when i tread upon her? there is an engine running - the hum of gears, or a motor... but organic -- does this make sense? what does sense mean? how can i measure something like that here, in this realm so forgein yet known? dogs talk, they sound fierce, territorial. are they underfed like so many here - attempting to exist in a society that feeds upon weakness? are they striving to be noticed like the natives? hoping for a role that places them in the spotlight opposed to pale skinned actors selling products from road-side billboards; large, rectangular images that appear and disappear from plumes of exhaust spit out by ancient buses that insist "dios es mi guia!" (god is my guide!)
re-cap
i am writing like a basket-case in my journal but have been a bit lazy about the blog. no worries, posts to come! as you know we work at yachay wasi monday-friday, but the weekends are our time to venture off and explore -- heres a bit of a recap of the adventures thus far! (pictures to come!)
july 11 - 12 we went to otovalo and mitad del mundo (middle of the world). otovalo is a large, open air market. the craft-work, weavings and other goodies are amazing!
july 18 - 19 we ventured to mindo - its still in the sierra but a different world all together -- the jungle, basically. rode some zip lines, hiked in the jungles, swam in water falls, went to a "frog concert", toured a coffee plantation and breathed in fresh, mountain air -- unlike the pollution filled air surrounding quito! mindo is a gem! very small but friendly.
we are debating on what to do this weekend -- its out last in south america! god, it might be another 10 years (or more) before i retrun! i doubt it though, im in love and planning on returning ASAP! we have been inviting by the folks at yachay wasi to spend the weekend in their community near otovalo OR head to cuenca. the tickets are too pricey so, if we head to cuenca, it will be via bus! a 8 (plus!) our ride on the pan-american highway -- what are guardrails? good questions! i rode north to quito when i lived in cuenca many-a-years before... am i ready for this hair raising journey again?
july 11 - 12 we went to otovalo and mitad del mundo (middle of the world). otovalo is a large, open air market. the craft-work, weavings and other goodies are amazing!
july 18 - 19 we ventured to mindo - its still in the sierra but a different world all together -- the jungle, basically. rode some zip lines, hiked in the jungles, swam in water falls, went to a "frog concert", toured a coffee plantation and breathed in fresh, mountain air -- unlike the pollution filled air surrounding quito! mindo is a gem! very small but friendly.
we are debating on what to do this weekend -- its out last in south america! god, it might be another 10 years (or more) before i retrun! i doubt it though, im in love and planning on returning ASAP! we have been inviting by the folks at yachay wasi to spend the weekend in their community near otovalo OR head to cuenca. the tickets are too pricey so, if we head to cuenca, it will be via bus! a 8 (plus!) our ride on the pan-american highway -- what are guardrails? good questions! i rode north to quito when i lived in cuenca many-a-years before... am i ready for this hair raising journey again?
Saturday, July 18, 2009
things they say here..ta..cheers..no worries..jumper..lolly..
hello from canberra, australia! i went for maaany hours without sleep, and my first evening here at susie's house i couldn't stay awake any longer than 7 pm...and slept straight through til 7 AM! i've arrived in "winter" which really is more like our fall...about 50 degrees everyday, but with nice sun. i haven't met any kangaroos or wombats yet, but i have become quite taken with the common magpie, a big black and white bird that has a very interesting song. realized i haven't traveled to a place where they speak english in a long time. many gum trees here, and wattle. the sky seems bigger here too...and so blue.
tomorrow we go to adelaide, closer to the ocean. the airline, virgin blue, that we're taking to adelaide had this funny rule on its website: "The only item that can occupy a seat (apart from a Guest of course) is a cello. To book an extra seat for your cello please call the Guest Contact Centre." ha!
susie showed me this video last night on youtube...thought you guys might be interested in seeing it too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJ3RrqBqk14
tomorrow we go to adelaide, closer to the ocean. the airline, virgin blue, that we're taking to adelaide had this funny rule on its website: "The only item that can occupy a seat (apart from a Guest of course) is a cello. To book an extra seat for your cello please call the Guest Contact Centre." ha!
susie showed me this video last night on youtube...thought you guys might be interested in seeing it too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJ3RrqBqk14
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
San Francisco
Writing to you from my home for the next 7 hrs.... The San Francisco airport.
Two beautiful things that happened to me in the hours before I left:
--- last night I took Toby down to simpson's point for a swim in the ocean. It was raining as I drove there, but as I got closer
the rain stopped. I pulled the car off to the side of the road and was looking out at the field of wildflowers near Old Penneville Road
when I then looked up in the sky and watched a rainbow appear before my eyes!
--- this morning on the drive to the bus in Portland, I was involved in a conversation with my mom but happened to glance out the
window to the side of the highway where I saw a mother and three white-tailed deer fawns!
Good omens for the journey ahead perhaps!
I hope you both are well.
Two beautiful things that happened to me in the hours before I left:
--- last night I took Toby down to simpson's point for a swim in the ocean. It was raining as I drove there, but as I got closer
the rain stopped. I pulled the car off to the side of the road and was looking out at the field of wildflowers near Old Penneville Road
when I then looked up in the sky and watched a rainbow appear before my eyes!
--- this morning on the drive to the bus in Portland, I was involved in a conversation with my mom but happened to glance out the
window to the side of the highway where I saw a mother and three white-tailed deer fawns!
Good omens for the journey ahead perhaps!
I hope you both are well.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Bleary filters/late night mission statement
Awrighty.
For the moment, for the temporal time width band-aid, this one's for the two of you. This what I do. I confuse moments, slap skin, start over, and wear cardboard! Also, just seein' if this will upload in the proper fashion. It's probably too late to be nudging portals with non sequitur, but a young man and I had an argument tonight, and he kept KEPT overusing the words "liberal" and "conservative" with every earnest intention of making himself appear nice, but I can't stand the wings of this type of bird these days. Anyway. SO, here's the false start video.
un descanso
home for a brief moment. took a few days to settle in, felt settled for maybe 1 day...now preparing to go again. and not just to go, but to travel for 40 hours. i have a nice line up of books and poetry to keep me company, so i will be just fine.
from my previous post about luchita, the woman in chile...here are a few photos of her.
like my fellow traveler i too had a craving for a salad when i first arrived home and
probably have never enjoyed a salad more! the weather has been beautiful since i've been in maine and i've been glad to have a few short days at home to recharge.
on to australia! i leave my house at 5 AM on wednesday and will not arrive at my friend's house until close to 8 pm (our time) thursday evening. it will be 11 am friday in australia. we'll see how my body does! might take a little while to catch up with me. trips to adelaide, kangaroo island, and tasmania planned.
matt, very good to see you. safe travels next week! we'll be in touch with our hi-tech technology!
jeremiah, i have not had much luck on the apartment search. the one i thought i had turned out to be a no-go..one of the girls has changed her plans and is staying in the apartment. i've looked at another one, and talked to a few landlords...but - maybe we can find one together once we're both back? i'm glad that working with yachay wasi is proving to be such a meaningful and nourishing experience!
my next post will come from a land down under!
from my previous post about luchita, the woman in chile...here are a few photos of her.
like my fellow traveler i too had a craving for a salad when i first arrived home and
probably have never enjoyed a salad more! the weather has been beautiful since i've been in maine and i've been glad to have a few short days at home to recharge.
on to australia! i leave my house at 5 AM on wednesday and will not arrive at my friend's house until close to 8 pm (our time) thursday evening. it will be 11 am friday in australia. we'll see how my body does! might take a little while to catch up with me. trips to adelaide, kangaroo island, and tasmania planned.
matt, very good to see you. safe travels next week! we'll be in touch with our hi-tech technology!
jeremiah, i have not had much luck on the apartment search. the one i thought i had turned out to be a no-go..one of the girls has changed her plans and is staying in the apartment. i've looked at another one, and talked to a few landlords...but - maybe we can find one together once we're both back? i'm glad that working with yachay wasi is proving to be such a meaningful and nourishing experience!
my next post will come from a land down under!
yachay wasi
hm, where do i begin? we are working a typical work-week. but there is something more here. we are gaining perspective on life that will alter us -- forever! monday - friday at yachay wasi, enrolled in some spanish courses and the weekends are set aside to explore.
i noticed, though, at la mitad del mundo (the middle of the earth), that my passion here is yachay wasi, the culture that is housed in the outskirts of quito in a small school that borders dirty streets filled with underfed dogs, children hanging on rusty jungle-gyms, stores that sell everything and nothing and people that stare at you from the back of pick-ups until they have crested a hill -- they are still looking our way long after they are out of sight, wondering what brings us to their neck-of-the-woods. the first few days i was getting back into the language. when the children said something to me i would often ask them a few times to repeat themselves -- they did, with eager eyes and hands that found their way without my noticing into my large, pale, gringo hands. after a few days i didnt ask them to repeat what they said. it began to understand and, after thinking about it today, i realize that i am understanding more than their spanish, i am understanding their way of life, their culture, their heritage. they call me friend in their tongue, quechua, and i feel honored. we are working on a mural that will cover a large wall within the courtyard of the school. it will attempt to tie brunswick maine and quito ecuador together. when i begin to think about brunswick i feel so far removed. granted i have been traveling since june 1st... but there is something lacking and that very void is filled with their culture, their passion for life, their understanding of the universe. we eat communally. i help serve the food (rich soup made of quinoa and vegetables they grow at the school). i feel nourishment that i havent felt in ages - a connection to something greater than myself yet, at the same time, a link to myself. they call my friend in their tongue, quechua, and i feel honored.
PS matt, no pisco just cheap beer. tonight however we will have cuba libres ... i have some more zwack that will share upon your return from the wild east -- we have much to discuss amigo mio.
molly, hows the apartment situation? still saving a room for my dirty, poor but highly nourished (mentally, physically, spiritually) ass? :)
i noticed, though, at la mitad del mundo (the middle of the earth), that my passion here is yachay wasi, the culture that is housed in the outskirts of quito in a small school that borders dirty streets filled with underfed dogs, children hanging on rusty jungle-gyms, stores that sell everything and nothing and people that stare at you from the back of pick-ups until they have crested a hill -- they are still looking our way long after they are out of sight, wondering what brings us to their neck-of-the-woods. the first few days i was getting back into the language. when the children said something to me i would often ask them a few times to repeat themselves -- they did, with eager eyes and hands that found their way without my noticing into my large, pale, gringo hands. after a few days i didnt ask them to repeat what they said. it began to understand and, after thinking about it today, i realize that i am understanding more than their spanish, i am understanding their way of life, their culture, their heritage. they call me friend in their tongue, quechua, and i feel honored. we are working on a mural that will cover a large wall within the courtyard of the school. it will attempt to tie brunswick maine and quito ecuador together. when i begin to think about brunswick i feel so far removed. granted i have been traveling since june 1st... but there is something lacking and that very void is filled with their culture, their passion for life, their understanding of the universe. we eat communally. i help serve the food (rich soup made of quinoa and vegetables they grow at the school). i feel nourishment that i havent felt in ages - a connection to something greater than myself yet, at the same time, a link to myself. they call my friend in their tongue, quechua, and i feel honored.
PS matt, no pisco just cheap beer. tonight however we will have cuba libres ... i have some more zwack that will share upon your return from the wild east -- we have much to discuss amigo mio.
molly, hows the apartment situation? still saving a room for my dirty, poor but highly nourished (mentally, physically, spiritually) ass? :)
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Zwack & such...
Awrighty,
Been a while. I've suppressed my tappin' fingers on the solhush because not a lot was occuring on the peninsula whilst you two's were getting Arctic and proto-Atacaman. Of course, there's a gravity to saying such, as it undermines the value of living in one place vs the elixirs of travel; the two modes if dwelling are simply incomparable I realize. Honestly, I've been green as a young tomato with envy, laying in wait-- in a mental line that stretches around the street corner--for my "time" to arrive, when I can finally type words from a different continent.
Nevertheless…
No more of these staccato gulps (read: absence) of word pulp: I'll try and rewire the seachange and be more active in the fingers!!!
News then?
1. Good dose of Molly sighting yesterday. Braaaavo!
2. I've scored a writing job for August-- while I'm in CZ, I shall be blogging for the Portland monthly, The Bollard (so no excuses for not writing here, I know I know!). I'll post that info when things are up to date therein. There'll be some relief in that regard, as I'll be using a real computer, vs the one-fingered iPhone method that I'm using now (and getting finger-itis); alas it demands I bring clunky laptop overseas! Ah well.
3. Molly again. Let's figure out Skype... we have the technology.
4. Jay Ray: any Pisco in Ecuador?
5. Sun. Sol. Finally.
6. I leave with this. Every summer I greedily await all the laundry lists of outdoor activity and wishful to-do's to accomplish here in Maine. Funny thing happens though-- I knock out maybe two outa' the three thousand items and find that come September, I'd frittered a lot of time away on less-than exciting deeds (namely making money and all the associated drama that accompanies that serfdom). Summer has come to mean a childlike giddy enthusiasm that always falls short? I dunnae! Ack... even languishing lizardlike in the sun with ideas fomenting (my favorite activity with morning coffee) feels mildly desperate or disparate. Hmmm. Not to end with a blue funk... perhaps with everything so close to bursting, I'm finding summer to be a game of when-to-cue the needle on the proverbial vinyl. Hee hee. Bad metaphor.
7. I love bad metaphors!
(eyes used for tooth support)
Been a while. I've suppressed my tappin' fingers on the solhush because not a lot was occuring on the peninsula whilst you two's were getting Arctic and proto-Atacaman. Of course, there's a gravity to saying such, as it undermines the value of living in one place vs the elixirs of travel; the two modes if dwelling are simply incomparable I realize. Honestly, I've been green as a young tomato with envy, laying in wait-- in a mental line that stretches around the street corner--for my "time" to arrive, when I can finally type words from a different continent.
Nevertheless…
No more of these staccato gulps (read: absence) of word pulp: I'll try and rewire the seachange and be more active in the fingers!!!
News then?
1. Good dose of Molly sighting yesterday. Braaaavo!
2. I've scored a writing job for August-- while I'm in CZ, I shall be blogging for the Portland monthly, The Bollard (so no excuses for not writing here, I know I know!). I'll post that info when things are up to date therein. There'll be some relief in that regard, as I'll be using a real computer, vs the one-fingered iPhone method that I'm using now (and getting finger-itis); alas it demands I bring clunky laptop overseas! Ah well.
3. Molly again. Let's figure out Skype... we have the technology.
4. Jay Ray: any Pisco in Ecuador?
5. Sun. Sol. Finally.
6. I leave with this. Every summer I greedily await all the laundry lists of outdoor activity and wishful to-do's to accomplish here in Maine. Funny thing happens though-- I knock out maybe two outa' the three thousand items and find that come September, I'd frittered a lot of time away on less-than exciting deeds (namely making money and all the associated drama that accompanies that serfdom). Summer has come to mean a childlike giddy enthusiasm that always falls short? I dunnae! Ack... even languishing lizardlike in the sun with ideas fomenting (my favorite activity with morning coffee) feels mildly desperate or disparate. Hmmm. Not to end with a blue funk... perhaps with everything so close to bursting, I'm finding summer to be a game of when-to-cue the needle on the proverbial vinyl. Hee hee. Bad metaphor.
7. I love bad metaphors!
(eyes used for tooth support)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
poem
I.
i awake to
sounds
foreign to me.
are they also
forgein
to the natives?
a dog
talks to his echoe,
his voice walks
the mountains
now shrouded in
clouds,
the tops
are
as mysterious to me
as i am to myself
here - in this land.
II.
i see myself
in their
eyes,
large
dark, mysterious.
they watch me
and, in turn,
i begin to watch
myself.
a looking glass?
a gift?
they call me
friend -
i hold them,
touch their long,
black
braids -
i call them precious.
III.
mother is watching,
we
tread upon her,
they walk beside her.
they whisper to
her
and allow a generation to
pass
for a response.
they touch
her
with patience,
they whisper -
to her.
IV.
a circular measurement -
duality.
i know this not -
but understand.
her words enter me,
i no longer
translate -
rather accept.
V.
they talk of
our
technology
and
our logic
and i realize that we
have
left out part of the equation...
VI.
they have no word
for
"bad"
-
just time
that isnt ideal.
i want to forget
the idea
of "bad"
and, like them,
see connections,
see possibilities.
i wish to bid life entrance,
like air
within my lungs!
they
will teach me,
they
will show me!
i awake to
sounds
foreign to me.
are they also
forgein
to the natives?
a dog
talks to his echoe,
his voice walks
the mountains
now shrouded in
clouds,
the tops
are
as mysterious to me
as i am to myself
here - in this land.
II.
i see myself
in their
eyes,
large
dark, mysterious.
they watch me
and, in turn,
i begin to watch
myself.
a looking glass?
a gift?
they call me
friend -
i hold them,
touch their long,
black
braids -
i call them precious.
III.
mother is watching,
we
tread upon her,
they walk beside her.
they whisper to
her
and allow a generation to
pass
for a response.
they touch
her
with patience,
they whisper -
to her.
IV.
a circular measurement -
duality.
i know this not -
but understand.
her words enter me,
i no longer
translate -
rather accept.
V.
they talk of
our
technology
and
our logic
and i realize that we
have
left out part of the equation...
VI.
they have no word
for
"bad"
-
just time
that isnt ideal.
i want to forget
the idea
of "bad"
and, like them,
see connections,
see possibilities.
i wish to bid life entrance,
like air
within my lungs!
they
will teach me,
they
will show me!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
la segunda vez
they say learning spanish from a chilean is like learning english from a jamaican. i remember now why they say this. the accent is so quick, allowing for only certain syllables - others are dismissable. i had to do my warm ups the first couple of mornings to get my mouth ready to speak with them, and my ears ready to listen. there are certain voices i am very accustomed to. voices i remember. voices i love. the voice of my host father, elias. his laughter and the thought that goes into what he says. my friend, juan pablo`s voice with that particular inflection and his propensity to break out into song at times. magdalena, and her pouted lips that more often than not would rather be speaking french, her absolute love. and of course, luchita. luchita`s voice is one that i think i hear in other places. "are you from chile, by any chance?" i asked a woman in a coffee shop in cuenca. "no i`ve lived in ecuador my whole life." it´s a voice i long to hear when i am far from this thin and far-reaching country. her playfulness with the language, her sarcasm, how easy it is to make her laugh.
i met luchita through the family i lived with here in santiago 2 years ago. luchita works as their maid. she has been working for them for 11 years. when i was here i became friends with her. we made each other laugh, she had patience with me and my growing comfort with spanish, we drank cup after cup of tea together, telling stories of our families. i asked to meet her family and made the hour long trip into the southern part of santiago, a complete turn around from the area my host family lives in. we walked down the dirt road past small homes clumped together, painted vibrant colors, garbage on the ground, dogs running free. before entering her home she said "my house is not extravagant, but it has a very big heart." what i found inside was a group of people that i would soon consider my own family, my chilean family. her children, her grand children - the small and delicious meals they would prepare, sitting together for hours talking of the world and telling stories.
this is what has meant most to me my second time here in chile - seeing her again, and being with her family again. i spent the night with them last night, making the trek to her house with her, and back here to the center of the city, to suburbia, early this morning. i helped her with her chores, washing the dishes, and soon, when i finish writing, will help her make dinner for my host family. i leave chile tonight thinking of her family.
here is a poem i wrote about her.
Otra Realidad
highway vespucio is the route for them
every morning they wait for the bus
they greet a neighbor, or a dog that they know.
on the bus they talk to one another sometimes
but mostly it`s a silent recognition.
they see themselves in one another
and questions are not needed.
the bus follows the highway for kilometers
past shops on corners
past a vineyard, dry and dormant, the snow-covered Andes beyond.
past men laughing, huddled on benches
dogs, lazing in the shadows of the trees.
"look at the mountains," she tells me. and i do.
past supermarkets now,
past cinemas
and metro stations.
people selling car parts
people selling newspapers
selling cigars.
one of the women on the bus coughs. "she always coughs like this."
"you know her?"
"no, but i often see her here."
the bus is quiet. they look out the windows
their backs aching,
their ankles aching
feeling the silence that their journey allows.
they think of their children, of their grandchildren,
lost loves, old friends.
they imagine life outside of the bus,
outside of their route that they follow
everyday.
"and in a plane, can you see all of santiago?"
their wonderings are interrupted by the beeping of the impending stop.
manquehue, the weigh station where they all disperse.
some to apoquindo, some to colon.
all to homes or apartments that are empty
save for the dirty dishes
and dirty clothes,
dirty floors and dirty windows
left by those in suits and dresses, with briefcases and breaths of brandy.
and so her hands that rubbed her eyes so early and then set the kettle on for tea,
her hands that held her granddaughter when she woke,
so these hands will clean the squalor,
will set the table
and fold the clothes,
put them right again.
here the dogs walk on leashes, they don`t run free.
and they are all poodles, or scotties. fancy and well groomed heirs of their family`s good fortune.
not like the dogs dirtied by games, love and adventure,
chilled by the wild outdoors, seeking out the sun and food scraps left on the ground.
not like them.
these poodles don`t yearn to be touched or talked to, they don`t look at you.
because neither do the people.
as the elevator takes us up one floor at a time, luchita searches for her silver key.
"otra realidad, no?"
knowing full well that in eight hours she will be back at the bus stop, seeing herself in the eyes of all of the other women who are living parallel lives, with her.
i met luchita through the family i lived with here in santiago 2 years ago. luchita works as their maid. she has been working for them for 11 years. when i was here i became friends with her. we made each other laugh, she had patience with me and my growing comfort with spanish, we drank cup after cup of tea together, telling stories of our families. i asked to meet her family and made the hour long trip into the southern part of santiago, a complete turn around from the area my host family lives in. we walked down the dirt road past small homes clumped together, painted vibrant colors, garbage on the ground, dogs running free. before entering her home she said "my house is not extravagant, but it has a very big heart." what i found inside was a group of people that i would soon consider my own family, my chilean family. her children, her grand children - the small and delicious meals they would prepare, sitting together for hours talking of the world and telling stories.
this is what has meant most to me my second time here in chile - seeing her again, and being with her family again. i spent the night with them last night, making the trek to her house with her, and back here to the center of the city, to suburbia, early this morning. i helped her with her chores, washing the dishes, and soon, when i finish writing, will help her make dinner for my host family. i leave chile tonight thinking of her family.
here is a poem i wrote about her.
Otra Realidad
highway vespucio is the route for them
every morning they wait for the bus
they greet a neighbor, or a dog that they know.
on the bus they talk to one another sometimes
but mostly it`s a silent recognition.
they see themselves in one another
and questions are not needed.
the bus follows the highway for kilometers
past shops on corners
past a vineyard, dry and dormant, the snow-covered Andes beyond.
past men laughing, huddled on benches
dogs, lazing in the shadows of the trees.
"look at the mountains," she tells me. and i do.
past supermarkets now,
past cinemas
and metro stations.
people selling car parts
people selling newspapers
selling cigars.
one of the women on the bus coughs. "she always coughs like this."
"you know her?"
"no, but i often see her here."
the bus is quiet. they look out the windows
their backs aching,
their ankles aching
feeling the silence that their journey allows.
they think of their children, of their grandchildren,
lost loves, old friends.
they imagine life outside of the bus,
outside of their route that they follow
everyday.
"and in a plane, can you see all of santiago?"
their wonderings are interrupted by the beeping of the impending stop.
manquehue, the weigh station where they all disperse.
some to apoquindo, some to colon.
all to homes or apartments that are empty
save for the dirty dishes
and dirty clothes,
dirty floors and dirty windows
left by those in suits and dresses, with briefcases and breaths of brandy.
and so her hands that rubbed her eyes so early and then set the kettle on for tea,
her hands that held her granddaughter when she woke,
so these hands will clean the squalor,
will set the table
and fold the clothes,
put them right again.
here the dogs walk on leashes, they don`t run free.
and they are all poodles, or scotties. fancy and well groomed heirs of their family`s good fortune.
not like the dogs dirtied by games, love and adventure,
chilled by the wild outdoors, seeking out the sun and food scraps left on the ground.
not like them.
these poodles don`t yearn to be touched or talked to, they don`t look at you.
because neither do the people.
as the elevator takes us up one floor at a time, luchita searches for her silver key.
"otra realidad, no?"
knowing full well that in eight hours she will be back at the bus stop, seeing herself in the eyes of all of the other women who are living parallel lives, with her.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
wood to build a home!
molly, retrieved your letter and contents today. i walked by the hotel hours before and didnt even realize.
thank you for your letter and token within! i will keep it dear to me throughout my travels and beyond.
thank you for your letter and token within! i will keep it dear to me throughout my travels and beyond.
quito
day started at 130am. i drifted in and out of weird and fanciful dreams on the way to logan. it didnt hit me until the plane hit a few air-pockets on route to miami that i was heading south -- far south! quito, from the air, doesnt look like a normal capital. the buildings and houses are spread all over the mountain sides, liquid like, they just curl over the land. but, in time and distance, the lands wins. the steep cliffs or alitutude indicate where man stopped and turned in another direction and continued onward with the ideas of progress. it was diesel fumes that brought me back. it was the spanish, or the insane custom lines or the "bienvenido a ecuador" signs that adorned each wall... it was the buses and cars and the fumes. they say that smell is the closest sense tied to memory -- they are right. i exited the airport pushing a massive cart of bags (none of the which were mine) for the yachay wasi center and was transported back over a decade. there i stood, a child, a young boy on the brink of understanding sense and world, a boy in a third world country trying to make sense of so much and, at the same time, wishing to simply be a 14 year old. the diesel brought me to cuenca, where i lived, to the bus station where we would depart on random adventures to random parts of the country. i could hear the bus drivers and their young helpers (often sons) yelling the name of towns i didnt know existed. i was taken to an open air market where cows hung, dis-emboweled from the cieling in the 90 degree heat. i was in a small jungle town of misahualli where we hiked with a native guide to mountain vistas before swiming in amazonian contributaries... i was taken back to youth... i awoke refreshed!
Saturday, July 4, 2009
journal entry - zurich, one day prior to departure.
i sit now in zurich, heat rises from the cobblestones in a trickling manner - this city is burning. i've come full circle. as i sit beside the gross muenster and listen to the rumble of trams i feel both sad and joyful. my attention is diverted by a pigeon feather, smokey white with strips of black, that dances about in a whirlpool of wind that moves invisibly upon the ancient cobblestones. this is my life; suseptible to the changing tides and winds, moving about freely yet tethered to something unknown. it is beautiful and freeing, hardening and molding, challenging yet...! i'm not ready to leave and close the cover of this epic book -- but i must. cliche as it might be, another chapter is beginning . but, how does one return? how do you sleep and rise again a person from another world? i've slept a million times and awoke another man... will i forget who i am or simply assemble something human-like from the pieces strewn about? the sun moves behind a small patch of clouds and shoots rays over the baking city. i count then re-count as the clouds, sun and day shift together in a time-tested waltz... its all very beautiful.
molly, your last post is amazing! thus the reason i entered the journal entry above. time IS NOT linear, rather circular. we are moving about and chasing shadows into a new day, chasing the sun into a new night - it is all the same. i've come across myself in a million different forms, in a millions different lives, in a million different cities! i have as much in common with the UBS banker in the S-bahn in zurich, as i do with the swedish bartender in umea, as i do with the drunkard slurring his way through the streets of a small town on that hugs the danube, as i do with my own reflection caught by accident at a twilight moment of instant clarity on some worn-&-torn train heading west from god-knows-where to i-dont-care. circular as it might be we cant stop and watch. we are sharks in water, always moving, always forced, by nature, to do so. but, if we could, would we really want to stop and get off this ride and watch it spin its way in a flirting game of batting eyes and wandering hands through the universe?
keep writing, molly!
molly, your last post is amazing! thus the reason i entered the journal entry above. time IS NOT linear, rather circular. we are moving about and chasing shadows into a new day, chasing the sun into a new night - it is all the same. i've come across myself in a million different forms, in a millions different lives, in a million different cities! i have as much in common with the UBS banker in the S-bahn in zurich, as i do with the swedish bartender in umea, as i do with the drunkard slurring his way through the streets of a small town on that hugs the danube, as i do with my own reflection caught by accident at a twilight moment of instant clarity on some worn-&-torn train heading west from god-knows-where to i-dont-care. circular as it might be we cant stop and watch. we are sharks in water, always moving, always forced, by nature, to do so. but, if we could, would we really want to stop and get off this ride and watch it spin its way in a flirting game of batting eyes and wandering hands through the universe?
keep writing, molly!
a thought
we always envision time as a line - the past behind us, the future ahead. i think it is actually the opposite. the past is in front of us - we are always looking to it, analyzing it, making decisions based on what it looks like and feels like. the future is behind us, we cannot see it and we know nothing about it. we use it to reference nothing. we are walking backwards.
a poem
Alligator Poem
I knelt down
at the edge of the water,
and if the white birds standing
in the tops of the trees whistled any warning
I didn´t understand,
I drank up to the very moment it came
crashing toward me,
its tail flailing
like a bundle of swords,
slashing the grass,
and the inside of its cradle-shaped mouth
gaping,
and rimmed with teeth--
and that`s how I almost died
of foolishness
in beautiful Florida.
But I didn´t.
I leaped aside, and fell,
and it streamed past me, crushing everything in its path
as it swept down to the water
and threw itself in,
and, in the end,
this isn´t a poem about foolishness
but about how I rose from the ground
and saw the world as if for the second time,
the way it really is.
The water, that circle of shattered glass,
healed itself with a slow whisper
and lay back
with the back-lit light of polished steel,
and the birds in the endless waterfalls of the trees,
shook open the snowy pleats of their wings, and drifted away,
while, for a keepsake, and to steady myself,
I reached out,
I picked the wild flowers from the grass around me--
blue stars
and blood-red trumpets
on long green stems--
for hours in my trembling hands they glittered
like fire.
...mary oliver...
I knelt down
at the edge of the water,
and if the white birds standing
in the tops of the trees whistled any warning
I didn´t understand,
I drank up to the very moment it came
crashing toward me,
its tail flailing
like a bundle of swords,
slashing the grass,
and the inside of its cradle-shaped mouth
gaping,
and rimmed with teeth--
and that`s how I almost died
of foolishness
in beautiful Florida.
But I didn´t.
I leaped aside, and fell,
and it streamed past me, crushing everything in its path
as it swept down to the water
and threw itself in,
and, in the end,
this isn´t a poem about foolishness
but about how I rose from the ground
and saw the world as if for the second time,
the way it really is.
The water, that circle of shattered glass,
healed itself with a slow whisper
and lay back
with the back-lit light of polished steel,
and the birds in the endless waterfalls of the trees,
shook open the snowy pleats of their wings, and drifted away,
while, for a keepsake, and to steady myself,
I reached out,
I picked the wild flowers from the grass around me--
blue stars
and blood-red trumpets
on long green stems--
for hours in my trembling hands they glittered
like fire.
...mary oliver...
there are places i remember. (a list of memories that will keep me day-dreaming for a lifetime!)
1) dancing to the angelic voice, groovy bass and hypnotic drums of "regina" while clubbing in helsinki. releasing to the music, not understanding a word, feeling high.
2) disembarking in tallinn and wondering if i entered a dream-world. climbing the once highest observation tower in (medieval) europe and casting an awe-struck gaze over spires into russia while turning to see the gulf of finland and her unique coastline just upon the horizon.
3) looking at the arctic-circle and thinking "in my life i've crossed the equator and arctic circle!"
4) driving in the endless day-light to the worlds end. fighting the wind and cold while standing on the northernmost point of europe. inhaling crisp, arctic air.
5) attempting to block the sunlight from entering the car (where i tried sleeping to save $). only to awake in broad daylight with a layer of ice on my water!
6) landing in hungary and feeling at home.
7) getting lost in the hungarian woods northwest of the balaton and feeling good about it.
....
(to be continued)
2) disembarking in tallinn and wondering if i entered a dream-world. climbing the once highest observation tower in (medieval) europe and casting an awe-struck gaze over spires into russia while turning to see the gulf of finland and her unique coastline just upon the horizon.
3) looking at the arctic-circle and thinking "in my life i've crossed the equator and arctic circle!"
4) driving in the endless day-light to the worlds end. fighting the wind and cold while standing on the northernmost point of europe. inhaling crisp, arctic air.
5) attempting to block the sunlight from entering the car (where i tried sleeping to save $). only to awake in broad daylight with a layer of ice on my water!
6) landing in hungary and feeling at home.
7) getting lost in the hungarian woods northwest of the balaton and feeling good about it.
....
(to be continued)
overnight train: budapest - zurich
parting, it occurs randomly - even if planned the feeling is awkward and draining; how hard must you hug someone to indicate love?
the station is massive. a large dome of skeletal steel, the top of which is glass, rectangular frames that are neither clean nor dirty. i was once told that the buildings in parts of buda and pest are dirty because of the smoke from fires during wartime. i looking up, well over a hundred feet, to the pinnacel of the dome and question the frames of glass - did they survive a bombing and are dirty from the smoke of one siege or another? or is it pollution from the buses and trucks that zig-zag this city from dawn until dusk? pigeons scurry in their endless search for food. their flapping wings echo within the steel beast giving it an organic feel. the mighty danube flows beneath me as we cross into buda, it is murky yet gentle. i see my reflection in the window as i gaze out into the foreign landscapes attempting to soak in as much as humanly possible before the rapidly accelerating train moves onward into the night. my pupils dilate and contract as we enter and exit tunnels, each time the city-scape changes, i am disoriented, my whereabouts unknown in this massive city... i simply let the train pull me along. the train coasts, shifts from side to side and picks up speed. 12 hours+ until zuich. a non-reclining seat (no sleeper for me) accepts my tired body, the weiner express charges against the ending day chasing the sun westward. i can feel hungary retreating beneath me; its people, culture, language and history... they relinquish yet another traveler and settle into their proper place, resting there not far from the west. when will i see this captivating gem again? budapest is no more. the sun cascades in radiant pillars, heaving the last of its might upon lush fields of sunflowers; the rows of which sprawl out over the small hills. neat, uniformly planted rows with magically brilliant heads, all of which have turned to watch me leave.
the station is massive. a large dome of skeletal steel, the top of which is glass, rectangular frames that are neither clean nor dirty. i was once told that the buildings in parts of buda and pest are dirty because of the smoke from fires during wartime. i looking up, well over a hundred feet, to the pinnacel of the dome and question the frames of glass - did they survive a bombing and are dirty from the smoke of one siege or another? or is it pollution from the buses and trucks that zig-zag this city from dawn until dusk? pigeons scurry in their endless search for food. their flapping wings echo within the steel beast giving it an organic feel. the mighty danube flows beneath me as we cross into buda, it is murky yet gentle. i see my reflection in the window as i gaze out into the foreign landscapes attempting to soak in as much as humanly possible before the rapidly accelerating train moves onward into the night. my pupils dilate and contract as we enter and exit tunnels, each time the city-scape changes, i am disoriented, my whereabouts unknown in this massive city... i simply let the train pull me along. the train coasts, shifts from side to side and picks up speed. 12 hours+ until zuich. a non-reclining seat (no sleeper for me) accepts my tired body, the weiner express charges against the ending day chasing the sun westward. i can feel hungary retreating beneath me; its people, culture, language and history... they relinquish yet another traveler and settle into their proper place, resting there not far from the west. when will i see this captivating gem again? budapest is no more. the sun cascades in radiant pillars, heaving the last of its might upon lush fields of sunflowers; the rows of which sprawl out over the small hills. neat, uniformly planted rows with magically brilliant heads, all of which have turned to watch me leave.
Friday, July 3, 2009
hmm, i love the smell of maine in the morning!
jet lagged. trans-atlantic flights are great for the mind. i fell asleep in the car on the way home and awoke with a start thinking "why aren't i driving? am i driving?" shaved and showered, shifted through a stack of junk mail (... credit card offers for a nomad! huh?) and hit the bed hard. a nice load of laundry is in order! i will type up some journal entries before leaving -- i fly out monday for quito! my priorities until departure are a bit F'd: 1) call matt for a sampling secession of hungarian liquor. 2) have rebecca trim my crazy hair. 3) eat salad. 4) eat salad. 5) eat salad. molly, i can't wait to retrieve the item you left for me! is it a fresh garden salad? (can you tell i'm a bit deprived of something?)
journal entries to come!
journal entries to come!
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