Considered In Transit

I am located presently in the city of Santa Cruz de la Sierra in the nation of Bolivia.

The following is excerpted from my real physical journal (Moleskine, naturally), written on the bus from Nosara to San José on February 4th, 2010, resisting the difficulties of dying light and asphalt vibrations:

Crossing the pass to San José at sunset.
A man watching his white rooster prance on his front porch.
A pine tree tall and proud in a front yard.

A pregnant woman, seemingly content, leaning and holding her belly at a bus station, wearing a green and white patterned shirt.

Earlier, the radio played the Cure's "Just Like Heaven"…

"show me how you do that trick…"

The smell of brushfire, the cold and darkening evening, the trees with impossible rusty orange red flowers.

I'm on a bus and I'm reading "Dune."
Tomorrow I fly to Bolivia.
This is my life.

And then the radio played "Don't Stop Believing" and everything was right with the world. That is to say, understanding that any condition is relative and temporary, I was alive in it moving beneath me.

I am still unraveling Costa Rica or, perhaps more specifically, the last two weeks of my life, which encompass "Mountains Beyond Mountains" and waves and Natalie and Carolina's and Eric's departure and Nosara and waves and a quiche in San José and the end of my time in Costa Rica and my transition to Bolivia. You know, no big deal—I'll likely just cop out and offer you a few "photo essays" instead of real writing. Look! A pretty bird!

Fine! Here: my take-aways so far are that I would like some evening to have my own bright white rooster… and that I'd trade it all for one night as Arsenio Hall in 1989.