Smoke Stacks, Tea, and the Pan American Highway

I live in a cute house, on a pretty island.

I just keep going from day-to-day, doing the right thing, taking bad pictures, throwing away hundreds and losing thousands.

I lost my photo library the other day.

I told myself, don’t panic. It’s just another tech hoop to jump through.

It’s spring and this is the time, every year, that I start dreaming, even more than usual. I see myself in exotic places. I hear myself saying things like, I know I can go around the world, on very little money, and have a great time!

My imagination becomes fueled, by the scenery projected through television and movies. There’s so many places to see and so little time.

My mind replays days of crossing the Sierras and passing through miles of uninhabited beaches along the Pan American Highway. I’ll never forget the daunting look of the Chiapas, the cobblestone streets of Antigua.

Yesterday, I read in Surf Travel magazine, that few people have the guts, (they used other anatomical parts) to do a road trip. And I agree with them. But I’m not one of those people. I’ve always loved to go. It makes me feel alive. I’ve never been in touch with what makes someone do the same thing, over and over, every day. It has little appeal to me.

The picture above is of our local marina. It’s not a great pic, but you get the point. In the back, on the left you will see the ever-burning smoke stacks of a paper mill. It roars like a dragon. If you were to turn north, from that vantage point, your view would be marred by yet, another mill, spitting and firing.

So, I call all elves and dwarves.

As I sit by the fire of my humble abode, I know, it’s only a matter of time.

I will trade the comfort of my afternoon tea,  for the precarious experiences of the trail .

“How we live seems more crucial than why.”