Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Latin American Landings

It's early in the morning.

It's always early in the morning.

Everyone around me is speaking in Spanish.

And now I understand more than I used to.

There is a strangeness here. I am more at home now than I have ever been in. The mornings in Peru are cold and chilly. October is not yet summer, it's late spring. I'm entirely under-packed. I am entirely under-rested.

It is four a.m. and I find my taxi to the airport. The hotel staff is polite and discreet. Mysterious Madame Davila who is living with them for two weeks.

She says almost nothing.
She drinks a negroni at the bar sometimes alone.

She is often frustrated.

Mostly, she is sad.

I can feel the perception and I appreciate the astuteness.

In some places in the world who I am, what I do, is a level of attainment, but there is so much about what I do that is service through and through. I understand the audience because I feel the day to day experience of the audience more than most who stand in the same place. I have never forgotten that I am the audience.

It serves me well.

At four in the morning on the ride to the airport I watch the sunrise over the ocean shore, lapping waves, and the coasts of Lima from Milaflores to the airport.

I am quiet.

Days and days of walking across the tarmac. Myself. Alone. A plane full of travelers at four a.m.

We are all strangers.

We are all alike.

I love the fucking Andes.

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