Slow Life in the Countryside
Randomness in Negril, Jamaica
Ashore on Montego Bay
The mundane seasons pass uneventfully as I’ve tried to steady the keel in unsteady climes. The inane work has been given begrudging priority over my wanderlust for untrodden territory. After being mostly stationary for 1.5 years, an eight day break into the Caribbean is a most welcomed change. And so it is, I set my sites on Jamaica; one of the few destinations worthwhile given the 8-9 day time constraint.
A three-leg flight through Miami landed me in Montego Bay, point of entry for most venturing to Jamaica. Though I’m aware that the city is more renown as a resort and cruise ship destination, somewhere I was holding out that there’d be enough off-the-beaten-path to amuse my interest. Alas, the welcoming scene proved disillusioning as quite a few flights landed simultaneously, pushing the immigration wait line to 3 hours. Standing there in the suffocating head with thousands of expectant tourists afforded plenty of time to survey the environs. I’m sorry to report that the serried throngs of obese tourist — all seeking some pre-packaged “dream” vacation — foretold that I would probably be hard-pressed to find unobstructed local culture removed from the tourist scene.
After 1 hour or so of negotiating with the taxi drivers for a fare market price, I was on my merry way. Although everyone is exceedingly friendly, it is always … taxing. By the time I reached the guesthouse, of course, the driving complained that it is farther than he had thought and demanded $2 more even though the drive was less than 10 minutes.
Upon arrival, a German woman about 30 of age greeted me. She runs the Bird’s Nest guesthouse and kitesurfing school. As I hadn’t eaten all day, and with the hour passing 9 pm, she offered to drop me off along the way to the “corner jerk chicken down the way”. Well, starving and disoriented in the dark of new surrounding is not the ideal condition to navigate. The jerk stand is no more than a shed off the main road, some 3.5 km or so from the guesthouse.
Trekking the Local Mountains
This winter’s mild climes have offered rare opportunities to explore the local mountains. Notwithstanding the pain and agony of 10-plus hours of grueling, the vistas rewarded cannot be understated. On this particular day, another predawn trek of nearly 20 miles in the mountains afforded the following view:
Seasons Pass Over the Mountain Groves
Indulging in the autumn scene amidst the breathless woods after 17 miles trailing through the sylvan wonders; splendor upon splendor wending through the escarpments and ravines.
Flirting with Death Valley
Aptly named to say the least. Death Valley is no place for the unexperienced or tame of heart. Even having visited multiple times in the past and having wandered a great portion of the area, the valley still had a bounty of surprises left to present.
Wandering NYC, again
Hi Sarah, pride of Persia. if you are reading this, I had the most wonderful day.
Chasing the Winter Sun Southwards
The slinking autumn sun culminates lower along the meridian with each passing day. In the little time I have on this short break, I follow it’s steady course south in search of warmer coastal climate. From Playa Rosarito, I wound along the toll road a bit, stopping by even sleepier coastal towns that hardly register on most maps. Near La Mission, I strayed inland from the main coastal highway for a closer look at untouristed parts of Mexico. As with much of Latin America, there are shanty towns here and there, makeshift shacks dot the landscape; however, unlike any other part of Central or South America, this region of Mexico seem to have many abandoned mobile homes littering the landscape. One can only assume these were left behind by many an American who came to escape their past or simply to drop off radar. Certainly, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that they are drug related.
With each winding turn down a lone country road, I drove closer until I edged near the bluffs of La Bufadora. This place would not even be on the map were it not for its namesake: the world’s largest “blowhole” that frequently spouts water 100 feet above sealevel. Unfortunately, the visit was anticlimactic as I happened to arrive during slack tide. Fortunately enough, the outing offered one spectacular sunset over the calm Pacific and numerous opportunity to nibble at local cuisine.
Excursion into Baja at Playa del Rosarito
As another glorious day sinks into the distant horizon over endless sands of Playa del Rosarito, I came to reflect how through all these years I never ventured pass the Mexican border. Baja is famed for some of the finest stretches of secluded beaches and sleepy Mexican towns; however, Mexico’s general notoriety for corrupt police and infamous drug cartels dominates in reputation stateside. So it is, after all these years I drove across the border with someone whom I had met while wandering through Bolivia. As neither one of us seems to be able to slake this thirst for adventure, nor have pressing obligations or engagements, I convinced her to fly out to visit for a quick excursion for lobster tacos down south. We’ll have a few days over the extended holiday weekend to explore – some fine local cuisine in dive restaurants and whale watching is on order.
Harvest Moon
There is a season when life lays full and possibilities are at its zenith. The tide rides high tonight, the harvest moon is full, and Jupiter shines bright. Forget that which needs to be forgotten, remember that which needs to be remembered. The orbs of heaven align rarely in our lives. Lead us the way, oh beacons of hope.
Cycle of day and night
Afoot and afield in Northern California, again.
Blowing through the Windy City
Long ago, I had made a promise to visit an old friend who had relocated to Chicago. As chance would have it, I finally made good on the promise after man years and spent a few days in the Windy City.
The melting-pot of modernity
With rare exception, again I make the yearly pilgrimage to pay homage to Manhattan, the cosmopolitan capital of the world, and showcase highlight of modern civilization at its ostensible zenith: The massive edifices stand imposingly glistening in the sun, the masses in fine couture and accessories roam the streets; where, by day, multi-billion dollar commerce is transacted in split-second, and by night, myriad lights ignite the skyline in suffused halos. Having just returned from the Third World, this unapologetic show of wealth is in grand contrast to, say, the El Alto district in La Paz, Bolivia. Yet most of the middle and upper class in First World societies as represented by 5th Ave. of New York are largely oblivious to the suffering of the vast majority of the earth. For all the charitable hearts amongst the people here, sadly there are also many who feel a sense of superiority and entitlement over their fellow citizens of this earth merely due to disparity in material advantage. Surely, this is against the natural order of things, and I suspect, as history has proven time and again, the poor shall revolt one day. Somewhere in the distance, ever assuredly, the tocsin tolls of impending decline, presaging an ineluctable end to this conspicuous consumption to excess. Seemingly, the foundations of the entire institutionalized system seems to be trembling at the foundation.
However, cynicism aside, this is a beautiful city with infinite charms. To a mind at ease there seems New York should just be enjoyed for what it is: a lot of things going on, but nothing is happening. All the beautiful and the ugly of humanity can be found in one small little place, a mere dot on the map bulging with massive foot traffic.
Small pleasures in the city by the bay
Unable to settle in one place for long, again I’ve been beckoned by the splendid city by the bay. The pass few days I’ve wandered the cities that dot the Bay Area in visit of friends, and mostly just to absorb the vibe and allure of its environs simply because I miss San Francisco (which has ever ranked first in my estimation among US cities). There is no more simple pleasure than roaming her hilly streets, sipping scented coffee and random cafes, and watching the spring blooms sway with the bay breezes. Such are the small pleasures that balance the confusion of this world.
Six days in the Bay afford a chance to visit and re-connect with some people. A friend, who had moved here a few years back, showed me her favorite secret haunts around the city. Though SF is no more “home” to me than any other city, all the same I cherish its unique charms.
All morning yesterday whilst wondering the small neighborhoods in the city, the words famously celebrated in song by Simon and Garfunkel came to mind:
I’ve got no deeds to do,
No promises to keep.
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep.
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me.
Life, I love you
With the burden of the rat-race lifted, one tends to view the world from a more refreshing perspective. Having no schedule to meet, life flows at peace more when the politics and posturing of the world at large are forgotten. Freed from worldly worries for now, I wander with the spring petals blown in the wind and all is at peace for nothing is happening (in the most profound sense).
The remaining few days were spent picnicking with friends in the park, lounging at cafes to catch up on the news, and here and there, capturing a photo of the city’s steady pulse of life happening. Being neither a stranger to the town, nor a local resident, I come and go unnoticed by the tourists and residents alike. So it’s said, “Wherever you go, there you are!”… might as well enjoy it.
