These mini travelogues are the result of an exercise I once tried; writing one hundred words a day for one hundred days, the point being to gain discipline and economy with the written word. Once started, it became addictive. A terse sort of prose is the usual result; in which one tries capturing the essence of time and place. Although I may have been a little liberal with the facts in some, it’s only to better express the spirit of the experience. Some over the one hundred word parameter have been added, just for mischief. Maybe you’d care to count?
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LOS ANDES A VIEW FROM SANTIAGO |
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They surround one. From almost any vantage point in the city one looks, they are there; drawing one’s eyes ever up, ever higher, so high it feels disrespectful. So imposing are they it begins to feel perilous to look too long, perhaps it’s forbidden? Like silent watchful sentinels they stand, as if in some Imperial service, guards of honour keeping at bay all who would trespass beyond their border posts into those secret, forbidding realms that lie beyond; where today only the mighty Condor and the ghosts of Incas and their many, long forsaken, Gods now stir; Los Andes, Santiago. |
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It starts in Miami at the Suriname Airways counter. One can always pick the Surinamese passengers; they are different from other Caribbean peoples. They are probably the most diverse multi-racial mix; quieter, more reserved yet one feels from their open friendly smiles, hints of something shared amongst themselves that outsiders can only guess at. The chaotically casual check-in disarms, disquiets, just as the applause the pilots receive as a reward for each successful touchdown affirms, Suriname Airways only owns one small twelve-seater and one never knows whose logo will appear on the larger chartered aircraft for the twice weekly flights. |
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At first light, in an ancient wooden chapel, chanting monks provide distant harmony as she pays homage to the Golden Image; her contemplations broken only by the arrival of the bird sellers. Offering a few small coins she takes a tiny wicker basket and releases its two captive birds. For five days she comes, one for each year of entanglement. Ten birds released; one each for herself and the partner she wishes to unbind. Thus from past lives rejoined she now unwinds for the final time, the bonds that have cut them both so deep. How hastily those birds flee.
Karma Birds for release at temple in Chiang Mai |
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“Y’all from England Sah? “No, from New Zealand.” “Noozealand? Oh, I ain’t never heard of that before. Is that near Alabam Sah? I went to Alabam once on the bus with my Momma; her Momma came from Alabam too.” “No. It’s near Australia. Do you know Australia?” “Oh, I aint never heard of that neither, is that near England Sah?” A crude world map sketched quickly on a paper napkin offered little real enlightenment to this delightful young Miami maid it seemed, until with eyes growing round in wonderment, the reply came, “Oh, now that’s far. I wouldn’t want to go that far on the bus. No Sah!” |
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Flying to Chile southward bound, I sleep exhausted through the night. On waking and sliding up the blind, I sit incredulous. Snow capped colossi spread as far as the eye carries, so close one might easily step out upon them. But no stable place affords my startled foothold, rather each a massive, terrifying monolith, jagged - razor sharp, rising one after another, mesmerizing all into reverie. I have seen the Himalayas but these are different, wilder, more tempestuous known only to those gods who alone are brave enough to abide here or us fools who dare to fly across their eerie vastness.
The elegance of Santiago |
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Travelogue