exit blog

5:30 am under the black pre-dawn sky in el Salvador. last night i stood on the mezzanine looking at the ink sky with its few bright stars and three-quarters of a bright moon illuminating a silver dollar of dotted clouds who were otherwise as dark as the sky in which they floated. the spread of the city continued twinkling green lights into the distance, faint specks dotting the mountains that rose silently into the darkness. i feel sad to leave this country. i have been welcomed here, well-fed here, well-coffee’d here, and there is a million other things to do that i simply could not this week. i will come back and surf in the ocean, hike the volcanoes, eat fresh mango and coconut and drink rich warm black coffee. being here has reminded me of all the dreams i have to be lived out in the near future, all of the things i want to learn.

my attitude toward this counrty is not the same when i landed 4 days ago. i came to central america with a strong prejudice against hispanic men; i expected this to be a very lonely, anxious week. to date, i feel as at home as i have ever. in fact, spending time away from the states is like getting away from a bullying older brother. i am so grateful that i am not a member of the republican secret society. i am caught up in where will i go when i move away, what will i do, etc etc, but that's a semester or two away.
many of my prejudices have been dissolved, my fear of speaking spanish has given way to solid conversational, and my fair skin is ever so slightly kissed with equatorial sun. today was cold, maybe brushing 50 with strong winds whistling through the palm trees. walking through the streets, one looks up and sees the volcano, the mountain in the distance. the sky a pal blue with cliche'd white cottony clouds stretched gingerly, the citizens bronzed and kind and happy to be here.
i am filtering more through the new way my brain has been thinking, and i find that i am growing years in months, mentally, it seems. my attitudes and the exolution of my thoughts is an incredible process to behold: contemplating the responsibility every person has to follow the course of the universe, as one misstep on your part can disrupt the lives of many others. look at adam and eve, the consummate fuck-ups. imagine where we'd be if they had never done what they did.
i want to come back to el salvador and surf.

not only can i wash dishes and salsa...

monday, 16 january 2006. late publishing. no internet connection, natch.

So it’s sugar cane, not random sticks.

5 am the alarm clock wakes me up. I’m dreaming of Los Angeles, and I wake up thinking I’m in the Valley. Brew the best hotel coffee I’ve ever had, and take a hot shower with pressure enough to peel off a layer of skin. Watch the sun begin to rise over the mountains from my south-facing window, trying to peer around the building to catch a glimpse. Change into a green blouse at the last minute, head to the lobby at 6:45. Orange juice, two slices of watermelon and a cherry yogurt and by 7 am, we’re all out the door. The two colleagues whose flights were fucked up from the northeast and whose luggage is lost are wearing borrowed clothes, and we’re all in good spirits.

Sit in the small conference room in the school, orange and red and open and warm. The smell of now-familiar coffee, warm and rich, wraps around the room and floats out the slats of glass window near the ceiling. Voices of children echo down the halls outside. I am terrified at this point. I sip half of my caffe negro, and follow the rest of the team on a tour to our rooms.

When I ask for no carne at lunch, the woman behind the counter speaks rapidly and incomprehensibly about a dish I will find delicious. 10 minutes later, she re-emerges with cut up hotdogs and potatoes on a plate. That, paired with a thin, watery sugar drink resembling Pepto-Bismol in both color and flavor, make for a pretty gnarly repas. I did like the thick, flavorless tortillas, though. It reminded me of Edward.

We walk to the hotel after school, dodging low-hanging coils of razor wire surrounding house fences. After a stint poolside, I accompany a colleague to the airport to retrieve the lost luggage. The drive to the airport in daylight was fascinating. Abba’s greatest hits in the radio and street-side merchants abound, from bread to coconuts to ass and everything in between. The sun set in a blaze of orange and pink, illuminating palm and Cyprus trees all over the valleys. Shacks clung barely onto mudslide-ravaged hills, all the pipe work exposed. After chasing ID’s to enter customs, losing one guy helping us, almost bing bribed and seduced by a creepy man named Pablo with a jank grill and finally reaching a woman who not only spoke English but also found the missing bags and paperwork, we were headed back to the hotel. At several points during my conversation with Pablo, I heard the back of my head go Um excuse me, what the fuck? You’re standing in an airport in El Salvador speaking Spanish (albeit poorly) with a man trying to negotiate the release of baggage, fending off pervy advances and translating for your colleague. When the fuck did this happen? Helloo? It was pretty exhilarating.

Sushi for dinner, watching the full orange moon rise slowly over the barrios and mountains until it glowed bright white and cheerful. Caffe con leche and tartaleta banana and back to the hotel at 10p. Not bad for a full day’s work.

Sticks. And a Full Moon

Sticks.

Sticks in the road, semis lousy with bundles of them, fallen trees on the side of the road, the larger survivors marked white up 3 feet of trunk. A full butter-yellow moon dodging in and out of mountains. The smell of the old Toyota van, the sound of its dying transmission. Toyota and Nissan pickup trucks stacked with people, furniture, more sticks. Small clusters of people standing roadside, some crossing perilously in the dimly lit highway traffic. Hot. Humid. Dark. The eerie glow of fields of white washed trees. Churning the question in my head over and over in Spanish, trying to inquire this phenomenon. The surreality of stepping off a plane in a third world country and meeting a man with my name on the back side of a sheet of paper. The withered abuela across the hall from me. The Salvadoran flight attendant who roused me from coach to watch the sunset over Mexico from first class. Understanding more Spanish than I care to admit. Blushing and reluctant to speak any myself.

So tired the room is swaying. No internet access tonight. Adrien Brody on dvd. Caffe con leche delicioso. Pescado frescado con vegetables y arroz. Agua con gas.

Safe, more importantly. I feel safe. The steep brick sidewalks and fountains running alongside steps to a plaza of restaurants remind me of the Sacre Coeur arrondissment in Paris.

Approaching 11. The End.

this was the first travel blog i wrote last week in texas..

Addison! Texas, a place to Be

Addison!

The soft blue-grey sky spiked by a cotton wave of apricot glow from the setting sun. The swollen white moon tucks itself behind evening clouds. A warm wind blows over dry brown grass.

The roads large and intimidating, streaked with luxury cars and SUV's looming.

A young boy leaves the music studio and sings as he rounds the rotary, skipping under the web of deep blue steel sculptures suspended on matching steel beams. Zero 7 smoothlyh pours out of speakers flanking the doors to a salad shop, its sole occupant the handsome dark haired server.

Addison! Circle Esplanade Park. Dry roses hand full and blonde on tall green bushes along the wide walkway. The park slopes down in an almost ampitheater form.

Busses lurch out of their hub, behind the park. Dog owners and runners move quickly in the warm fading evening.

Smells from nearby restaurants sail on breezes through the clusters of hotels flanking Quorum Drive.