The road behind us is never as far as the one in front of us. All that has happened will eventually lapse into the recesses of memory, and like a faded nostalgia, linger enough to remind us of this human experience. Though our paths differ, we are all the same, each and every one, in so many ways.
This is not so much realization, but natural understanding by gradual experience. An apt example being today´s venture out of Sucre into Tarabuco. Again I boarded a packed mini bus and followed the road as it lead through almost virgin land that stretched hundreds of miles in all directions. This is pristine country, and its people still smile with dignified mien despite the onslaught of history. I´m often left questioning how different they are from myself, and the answer is the same: there is no difference.
Culture and history maybe divide people, but this curious lot between life and death binds us. And here, in Tarabuco, the descendents of the Yampara people walk proud and ply their trades and earn honest living, removed from the troubles, mechinations, and politiking of the world at large. Some are happy, some not so much, some suffer along with much of the world. But are they any different from elsewhere?
